i 
 
 GIFT OF 
 Mr. Henry F. May 
 
THE 
 
 REMAINS 
 
 REV. JAMES MARSH, D. D 
 
 LATE PRESIDENT, 
 
 PROFESSOR OF MORAL AND INTELLECTUAL 
 PHILOSOPHY, 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF VERMONT; 
 
 WITH 
 
 A MEMOIR OF HIS LIFE. 
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 BURLINGTON : 
 
 CHAUNCEY GOODRICH. 
 
 1845. 
 
 

 Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1843, 
 
 BY CROCKER & BREWSTER, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 
 

 " Sunt qui scire volunt eo fine tantum ut sciant, et turpis curiositas est. 
 Et sunt qui scire volunt ut sciantur ipsi, et turpis vanitas est. Et sunt item 
 qui scire volunt, ut scientiam vendant, verbi causa, pro pecunia, pro honori- 
 bus, et turpis quaestus est. Sed sunt quoque qui scire volunt, ut sedificent, 
 et charitas est ; et item qui scire volunt, ut eedificentur, et prudentia est. 
 Horum omnium soli ultimi duo non inveniuntur in abusione scientjse, quippe 
 qui ad hoc volunt intelligere, ut benefaciant." St. Bernard. Floret cap. 
 196. 
 
 
 * 
 
 8341G2 
 

 
 
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 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 
 
 <V 
 
 *i 
 

 
 
 m 
 
 v 
 
 <% 
 
# 
 
 LETTER TO AN ADVANCED STUDENT. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 OUTLINES OF A SYSTEMATIC ARRANGEMENT OF THE DE- 
 PARTMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE, WITH A VIEW TO THEIR 
 ORGANIC RELATIONS TO EACH OTHER IN A GENERAL SYS- 
 
 TEM. 
 
 I promised to comply with your request in re- 
 gard to a course of study, and though I have so 
 unreasonably delayed to fulfil my engagement, I 
 have not forgotten it. What I wished was to fur- 
 nish such a sketch as, by its distinction and 
 arrangement of the departments of knowledge, 
 should enable you to view them in their proper 
 relations, and so that the preceding should, at 
 each step, prepare you the better and more ade- 
 quately to understand the succeeding. After you 
 left me, instead of completing, as perhaps I should 
 have done, what I first projected, I was led to aim 
 at a more enlarged plan, and at exhibiting the 
 reasons of the method which I adopted. This, 
 however, I have found to involve questions and 
 discussions of a nature incompatible with the pre- 
 sent purpose, and must content myself with mere- 
 
188 
 
 OUTLINE OF A 
 
 \y distinguishing and arranging with a view to 
 practical results. The reasons which justify the 
 method adopted, or lead to a better one, I must 
 leave to your own more mature reflections. In 
 many cases, I might, perhaps, have found as many 
 reasons for a different order, as for that which I 
 have adopted ; and should I wait to settle all the 
 questions that arise, my promise to you would 
 probably never be performed. The distinctions 
 made, and the objects of knowledge embraced in 
 the different divisions, will be in some more and 
 in some less important, as applied to existing sci- 
 ences and the present state of our knowledge. I 
 have aimed only to mark in succession, with more 
 or less minuteness, objects of contemplation that 
 seem distinguishable in thought, and deserving, 
 from their connexion and relation, of separate and 
 distinct attention. For the same purpose of 
 avoiding perplexing questions, I have not attempt- 
 ed to group the divisions which I have made 
 under more general heads, but have simply ar- 
 ranged them in an unbroken series. 
 
 1. Space. By space, as a distinct object of 
 thought, I mean that in which all the outward 
 objects of sense and sensuous representation are 
 necessarily placed. If we analyze the form under 
 which it presents itself to our thoughts, we must 
 distinguish it into absolute and relative space. 
 Absolute space is that in which all relative spaces 
 and finite determinations of space are contained, 
 and which, in the imaginary construction of these, 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 189 
 
 is always necessarily presupposed as the condition 
 of their possibility. It is that in relation to our 
 outward beholding, which, beyond every excursion 
 of the imagination, still presents itself as a contin- 
 uous extension, comprehending all forms and limi- 
 tations, itself uncomprehended by any. Again, it 
 is necessarily pre-supposed in order to the con- 
 ceivability of motion, and to it all actual motion is 
 ultimately referred, as that in which it took place, 
 while it is itself necessarily conceived as fixed and 
 immovable. It is moreover conceived as a unity, 
 in which all distinguishable and finite spaces are 
 included as parts. It is one continuous expansion, 
 in which there may be imaginary limitations, but 
 no separation of parts, and in which all imaginary 
 divisions are co-existent and unchangeable in their 
 relations to each other. 
 
 Relative space is any imaginary or real determi- 
 nation of limits in space, conceived as fixed, in the 
 relation of its parts to each other, but moveable, 
 in its relation to absolute space. A geometrical 
 sphere of a given radius, or the orbit of the earth, 
 is, in itself, the same space, whether at rest or 
 in motion, and may therefore be conceived as 
 moving in absolute space. It is to relative space 
 that all determinations of place have reference ; 
 while with reference to absolute space neither 
 place nor direction of motion is determinable. 
 Thus a particular continent has its place on the 
 earth, the earth and its orbit its place in the solar 
 system, and this again its place, and perhaps di- 
 rection of motion, among the fixed stars ; but if 
 
190 OUTLINE OF A 
 
 we ask for the place and motion of the material 
 universe in reference to absolute space, the ques- 
 tion admits of no possible or conceivable answer. 
 
 2. Time. By time, I mean that to which we 
 ascribe the relations of past, present and future, 
 and in which we represent all events pertaining 
 both to our outward and inward experience as 
 taking place. Events occurring in time we con- 
 ceive as simultaneous or successive, while the dis- 
 tinguishable portions of time itself are necessarily 
 represented as successive only, in an unbroken, 
 unending series. Time is necessarily pre-suppos- 
 ed, in order to the possible conception of that 
 which occurs in time ; and all distinguishable and 
 finite periods of time are included as parts of one 
 infinite succession. In making the distinction 
 here between relative and absolute, the latter 
 term seems obviously not applicable to time, but 
 the distinction is designated by the word eternity. 
 When we represent time as a flowing quantity 
 under the form of distinguishable periods, succeed- 
 ing each other, we refer it to eternity as the abso- 
 lute, in which all succession is lost, in the same 
 manner as we refer relative space, conceived as in 
 motion, to absolute space in which it moves, and 
 in which, as the fixed and immovable, its motion 
 is described. That the mind makes such a dis- 
 tinction between time and eternity, any one, it 
 would seem, might be satisfied by the conscious- 
 ness that we cannot, without obvious incongruity, 
 apply to our idea of God the necessary relations of 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 191 
 
 time, nor conceive him to be older now, than he 
 was in the beginning of the creation. The same 
 may be said of our ideas of all immutable and ab- 
 solute truths, as transcending the relations of time. 
 It is necessary here to conceive time, only as the 
 necessary antecedent form and condition of all 
 that is presentable in our experience as taking 
 place, whether in the sphere of the outer senses, 
 or of our inward consciousness. It is, no less than 
 space, necessarily pre-supposed or involved in the 
 conception of local motion, and of all changes in 
 the outer world ; and is, moreover, inseparable 
 from the conscious changes, which take place in 
 the agencies and states of our inward being, to 
 which the relations of space do not belong. 
 
 Thus space and time are related to whatever 
 else is knowable in our experience, as the neces- 
 sary a priori forms and conditions under which it 
 is presented to our observation. The form in 
 which we present them to ourselves is not learned 
 from experience ; but all experience, and all exist- 
 ence of objects pertaining to our experience, pre- 
 suppose these. We may conceive the removal 
 and non-existence of whatever we represent as 
 existent in space and time, but space and time 
 remain, and cannot be conceived not to do so.* 
 
 3. We have seen that space and time, with 
 
 * See, on the subjects of space and time, Kant's Kritik der r. 
 Vernunft, erster Theil. Newton's Principia. Def. 8. Scholium. 
 and Kant's Naturwissenschaft. What they are in themselves, in 
 relation to real being, this is not the place to consider. 
 
 
192 OUTLINE OF A 
 
 the negation of reality existing in them, or pure 
 space and time, are necessary presentations, the 
 negation of which is impossible. Space expands 
 itself into a boundless inane ; and time runs on in 
 endless succession, in which nothing succeeds to 
 nothing. These so presented, as the intuitions 
 of pure sense (in distinction from empirical sense, 
 or sense as affected by sensuous phenomena pre- 
 sent in space and time) constitute the sphere of 
 possibility and of those possible determinations of 
 quantity and figure which are the object of pure 
 mathematical science. Whatever may be postu- 
 lated as possible, and representable to the pure 
 sense as determinate under the forms and rela- 
 tions of space and time, is properly included as 
 an object of mathematical intuition. The free 
 and productive imagination, unrestrained by the 
 conditions of actual existence and the limits of 
 experience, here generates and combines for it- 
 self all possible and conceivable forms, peopling 
 the void with its own ideal creations. The law 
 of spontaneity in the creative imagination itself 
 is the determinant of its agencies, and the lines, 
 surfaces, and solids, rectilinear, curvilinear, &c. 
 of the geometrician are the records and products 
 of its action. These, in their endless variety, are 
 the data of the mathematician, and regarded as 
 fixed and determinate objects of contemplation. 
 As their essence consists in their determinate form, 
 generated by the imagination, and exhibited to the 
 pure sense, they admit of perfect scientific insight 
 i and are the objects of pure intuitive science. 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 193 
 
 We may distinguish here (1st) geometry, as the 
 science of pure space, or of delineations in space 
 as the objects of pure sense. Its distinctive 
 character arises from the threefold dimensions of 
 space, and the freedom of the imagination in gen- 
 erating forms in space by the geometrical motion 
 of their boundaries : (2nd) the science of time, or 
 chronometry, the arithmetical numeration of suc- 
 cessive, distinguishable moments, in a single line 
 of succession, which is the common character of 
 time and of arithmetic. It is, however, obvious, 
 that arithmetic is not limited to time in its appli- 
 cation, but extends to quantity universally ; as do 
 also the more general methods of algebra and 
 fluxions : (3rd) the principle of order or syntacti- 
 cal arrangement, having reference to the possible 
 changes which the imagination may make at will 
 in the arrangement of given elements; the doc- 
 trine of permutations and combinations. 
 
 It is important to be observed here, in refer- 
 ence to the nature of pure mathematical science 
 generally, and to the place which I have assigned 
 it, that it is strictly a priori, and independent of 
 all facts of experience. Even the idea of motion, 
 as an idea, and pertaining to the acts of the im- 
 agination, is inseparable from the representation 
 of extension, and the postulates of geometry 
 necessarily involve it. All the constructions of 
 pure mathematics require only space and time, and 
 the free outgoing of the productive imagination. </ 
 It is thus that the forms of possible existence and 
 action are produced and contemplated in anticipa- 
 25 
 
194 OUTLINE OF A 
 
 tion, as it were, and as the antecedent determi- 
 nants of the actual in space and time. 
 
 It is, again, no less true, and important to be 
 observed here, that these pure and a priori scien- 
 ces are the necessary antecedent condition of all 
 our scientific knowledge of the actual phenomena 
 of nature as given in our experience. They fur- 
 nish the intelligible principles and forms, under 
 which the phenomenal forms of nature are contem- 
 plated and determined, and by which a scientific 
 insight is attained into the laws of nature. 
 
 It will of course be understood, that I aim at 
 present to characterize the pure mathematical 
 sciences only in a very general way, and with a 
 view to their place and relations in a systematic 
 arrangement of the different departments of 
 knowledge. For an enlarged view of their philo- 
 sophical nature and relations, see Fries 7 Mathema- 
 tische Naturphilosophie, erster Theil, and his 
 System der Logik, | 16. HerschelPs Discourse 
 on Nat. Phil, chap. 2. 
 
 4. Besides the a priori truths of mathema- 
 tics, certain principles are determinable independ- 
 ently of experience, or at least as necessary prin- 
 ciples in regard to the existence, in space and 
 time, of that which is the possible object of expe- 
 rience and of knowledge for us. These princi- 
 ples have been termed metaphysical principles of 
 Natural Philosophy. The clearest exposition of 
 what is here intended as a distinguishable depart- 
 ment of knowledge, will be a brief statement of 
 

 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 195 
 
 its general heads as treated by Kant and Fries, the 
 only authors who, so far as I know, have distinct- 
 ly treated the subject in the form adapted to this 
 connexion. Kant distinguishes, 1st, the principles 
 of Phoronomy, or the necessary laws of motion, as 
 pertaining to that which exists and is moveable in 
 space : 2d, the principles of Dynamics, or of those 
 powers by which matter manifests itself as a 
 space-filling substance, and the necessary condi- 
 tions of such in order to their possible actuation in 
 space : 3d, the principles of mechanical action, as 
 treated in mechanical philosophy ; and 4th, Phe- 
 nomenology, or the conditions under which mat- 
 ter, as existing in space, and moving in it, exhibits 
 itself to us. 
 
 To these four divisions Fries has added Stcechi- 
 ology, or the principles of affecting the possible 
 modes of aggregation among the smallest parts 
 (<7roi%eict) of matter, as in solids, fluids, gases, &c. ; 
 and Morphology, or the laws of form necessarily 
 pertaining to that which is extended in space, and 
 their possible determinations. 
 
 It is in this treatise, that Kant has controverted, v 
 and, as it is generally admitted, confuted the 
 atomic and mechanical systems of Natural Philos- 
 phy ; while he has exhibited briefly the principles 
 of the Dynamic theory. The purpose of this is to 
 show, that the phenomena of the material world 
 must ultimately be referred, in our endeavors to 
 form a conception of their grounds, to the agency 
 of powers, acting according to fixed and determi- 
 nate laws. To attain a constituent idea of those 
 

 196 OUTLINES OF A 
 
 living powers of nature, and an intellectual insight 
 into the laws of their action, is then the ultimate 
 purpose of Natural Philosophy. The principles 
 in question in this division, and exhibited in the 
 treatises referred to, pertain to the necessary laws 
 of intelligence, or to the conditions of our know- 
 ing, as well as to the conditions of the knowable 
 in space and time. They consequently imply a 
 relation between the two, and that the objective 
 or material is capable of being contemplated under 
 the intelligible forms or ideas of the subjective in- 
 telligence. This relation, however, it is not to 
 my purpose to consider here ; and the method of 
 arrangement which I have adopted, requires only 
 the contemplation of the principles referred to, as 
 conditions of scientific knowledge in regard to the 
 world of sense. They are a priori and necessary 
 principles ; yet differ from pure mathematics, in 
 that they assume the existence of matter as that 
 which is moveable in space, as that which fills 
 space, &c, and is the object of a possible knowl- 
 edge from experience. Assuming this as actual, 
 they aim to render intelligible the possibility of it, 
 or what it must be in regard to its properties as a 
 moveable and space-filling substance, if it be con- 
 ceivable and knowable at all by us. Thus they 
 represent matter, not as composed of ultimate 
 atoms forming perfect solids, and so furnishing 
 the ground of a mechanical explanation of its 
 phenomena, but as resolvable into ultimate pow- 
 ers, which belong to all matter as such. Attrac- 
 tion and repulsion, as correlative and counteract- 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 197 
 
 ing forces, are ultimate constituents of matter, and 
 therefore universal. They are necessary to the 
 conceivability of matter as a space-filling sub- 
 stance ; and nothing higher than these, in the re- 
 lation of a physical ground, can be conceived as 
 the object of physical science. In transcending 
 these, we transcend nature, and find their ground 
 in the supernatural, which is not the object of 
 science. 
 
 In these universal powers of matter, therefore, 
 and the other general laws exhibited in the trea- 
 tises referred to, I find the point of transition from 
 the pure a priori sciences, and the objects of pure 
 sense, to the world of experience, and to those 
 powers and agencies of nature, which manifest 
 themselves in the phenomena of empirical sense.* 
 
 5. In passing to those departments of knowl- 
 edge which immediately concern the objects of 
 our experience, or the actual in space and time, I 
 shall endeavor to direct the attention simply, at 
 each step, to that which may be regarded as the 
 true object of science I mean the distinguishable 
 powers of nature and their several laws of action. 
 There is, indeed, a necessary distinction to be 
 made here between phenomena and those intelli- 
 gible agencies which reveal themselves in and 
 through these ; but it is unnecessary for my present 
 
 * See on this subject Kant's Naturwissenschaft, and his Gedank- 
 en von der wahren Schatzung der lebendigen Kraefte. Vermischte 
 Schiiften, Vol. I. Fries Math. Naturphilosophie. 2 ter. Theil., and 
 Kant's Reine Vernunft. S. 197293. 
 
198 OUTLINES OF A 
 
 purpose to class the phenomena, as a distinct ob- 
 ject of knowledge, and under distinct heads. This 
 will be done sufficiently in designating those 
 powers to which the various classes of phenomena 
 are to be referred, and in their relation to which 
 their only scientific value consists. Thus the 
 phenomena of gravitation are contemplated by the 
 natural philosopher only as indices of that power, 
 and of its law of action ; and with the clear intui- 
 tion of these, as the proper object of intelligence 
 and scientific insight, the phenomena of sense 
 cease to be regarded as having an independent in- 
 terest. We cannot, indeed, in the existing state 
 of science, understand all the phenomena of the 
 world of sense, and refer them to an intelligible 
 law of action from which they result ; but there is 
 yet a striving after and anticipation of the law, 
 and every system of arrangement must have refer- 
 ence to the knowledge already attained. 
 
 From the view already taken of those depart- 
 ments of science, which are necessarily antecedent 
 to that of the world of sense and experience, and 
 from the method adopted of distinguishing and 
 arranging the distinguishable powers of nature, as 
 the proper objects of knowledge, the first in order 
 here will naturally be those universal powers, 
 which manifest themselves in space as co-exten- 
 sive with the material universe, and which have 
 already been mentioned as inseparable from our 
 conception of matter as such. These are attrac- 
 tion and repulsion, or the universal principle of 
 gravitation, and that inherent power by which any 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 199 
 
 quantity of matter occupies a given space, or re- 
 pels and excludes from it other portions of matter. 
 In any given mass of matter occupying a determi- 
 nate space, these powers are conceived as being 
 in equilibrio ; and the space filled with a certain 
 degree of intensity. Hence, without regard to 
 the superadded agencies, by which different kinds 
 of matter are distinguished, in the relation of their 
 parts, as solid, fluid, aeriform, elastic or inelastic, 
 &c, from the equilibrium of its inherent powers, 
 as matter and a space-filling substance, it remains 
 at rest in itself, and is only moved from without. 
 The intensity with which it fills space, and the 
 energy with which it tends to maintain its exist- 
 ing state of rest or motion, are the basis of its 
 motive force, without which velocity, however 
 multiplied, would be a multiplier of zero. These 
 are the ground of the so-called vis inertia, and in 
 connexion with these, the powers above designa- 
 ted, and their laws of action, as applied to all those 
 phenomena in which masses of matter act upon 
 each other, either in motion or at rest, are the 
 proper objects of that wide field of science, em- 
 braced in mechanical philosophy in the most ex- 
 tensive sense of that term, at least in its applica- 
 tion to the agencies of inorganic, nature. I shall 
 not, however, aim at great precision, or at making 
 nice distinctions here, in regard to the division of 
 those sciences, in which the pure mathematics are 
 applied to inorganic matter, considered as acting 
 in masses, and as it is acted upon from without. 
 So long as it is uninfluenced by powers affecting 
 
200 OUTLINES OF A 
 
 the inherent form and relation of its parts, the 
 phenomena which it exhibits in the change of its 
 outward relations in space, are included in the 
 general term mechanical ; and so far as concerns 
 permanent natural agencies, are ultimately refer- 
 able to those here spoken of. Where other me- 
 chanical agencies are exerted, they are still con- 
 ditioned by these, and the law is still the same, 
 when once the force and direction of the moving 
 power are determined. It is unnecessary here to 
 specify the different kinds of machinery or the 
 mechanical forces, other than the universal powers 
 of matter, such as that of steam, &c, since the 
 general principles of science, which apply to them 
 as moving powers, are the same. The general 
 laws of motion, I regard as included under the pre- 
 vious head ; and magnetism, whatever connection 
 it may have with the powers already named, and 
 however it may in some respects act mechanical- 
 ly, is now regarded as connected more essentially 
 with agencies of another kind. 
 
 Looking at the subject, then, in a somewhat 
 different aspect, we contemplate here, as next in 
 order to the sciences of pure space and time, the 
 agency of two living powers, manifesting them- 
 selves to our outward sense under the relations of 
 extension and form in space, and having their law 
 of action determinable by the application of those 
 pure sciences, which arise from the contemplation 
 of space and time alone, as objects of pure sense. 
 Considered in reference to material substance, or 
 matter in itself and its properties as a space-filling 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 201 
 
 substance, we may regard them, in the equilibrium 
 of their counteracting forces, as universal, or ne- 
 cessarily pertaining to all matter as such, and, in 
 relation to our experience, its ultimate constituents. . 
 Considered in reference to bodies or determinate 
 masses of matter, we contemplate them, not as 
 they are united, and neutralize each other in each 
 corpuscle, but as they manifest themselves separ- 
 ately in the action of masses upon each other. It 
 is in this latter relation, that they are the cause of 
 mechanical phenomena, and their laws of action, 
 the object of mechanical science, whether applied */* 
 to solid, fluid, or gaseous bodies. Here, the 
 masses or portions of matter, whether great or 
 small, in which they become phenomenal, are re- 
 garded as acting mechanically and outwardly upon 
 each other, with a motive force resulting from the 
 quantity, velocity, &c. of each mass, considered as 
 a whole, and acting out of itself upon another 
 mass. Thus, in relation to mechanics, matter is 
 considered only as it acts in mass and out of itself \ 
 or as composed of parts extended in space, and 
 like those of space itself mutually exclusive of each 
 other, without reference to the inward being and 
 essential ground of its properties, whereby it thus 
 occupies and acts in space. In its mechanical 
 character and relations, it has no inward ; but out- 
 wardness of action and of parts in space is an # 
 essential property, and presupposed in the consid- 
 eration of attraction and repulsion as mechanical 
 forces. So again, in the application of these as 
 mechanical forces to the different modifications of 
 26 
 
202 OUTLINES OF A 
 
 material masses, under the divisions of solid, fluid 
 and aeriform, elastic, and unelastic, &c. ; these 
 modifications are assumed according to given de- 
 finitions having reference to their peculiarities of 
 mechanical action, and not to the inward ground 
 of these modifications. 
 V On the other hand, when attraction and repul- 
 sion are contemplated as united, and counteracting 
 each other in each corpuscle, they are referred to 
 the inward being of matter, as the universal and 
 dynamic constituents which pertain to all matter 
 as such, and form the basis or antecedent condi- 
 tion of those other powers, whereby different 
 bodies are modified and distinguished from each 
 other, and which manifest themselves in these 
 modifications. In this point of view, they concern 
 the subjective form of each mass in itself; while, 
 as mechanical forces, they affect the objective re- 
 lations of masses to each other in space. Regard- 
 ed as subjective, or among the inward powers that 
 reveal themselves in the phenomena of nature, 
 they are more easily intelligible, and their law of 
 action is more obvious to our conceptions than any 
 pother. Their agency is manifested to our experi- 
 ence in the spherical form of all bodies, when left 
 free to the agency of their inherent powers, and 
 when their parts are so moveable among them- 
 selves, as to permit them to obey these laws. It 
 is important to remark, too, that these powers, as 
 the constituents of matter, as well as in their 
 more properly mechanical relations, are conceived 
 as acting with a determinate relation to space, and 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 203 
 
 necessarily occupying; space, in a manner repre- 
 sentable to the pure sense, and determinable, as 
 to its extension and form, by mathematical princi- 
 ples. But the treatises of Kant and Fries already 
 referred to will direct to the right distinctions and 
 limitations here, and I need not dwell longer on 
 this point. 
 
 The field of science, embraced in the applica- 
 tion of pure mathematics to the agency of mechan- 
 ical powers, as conditioned by solid, fluid and 
 aeriform bodies, whether in motion or at iffst, is of 
 course sufficiently 'vast, and more cultivated, be- 
 cause more accessible, and the conditions of a 
 scientific knowledge of its phenomena more 
 within our power, than is the case in regard to 
 the more complex agencies of nature. The laws 
 of action that determine the forms and motions of 
 the heavenly bodies, and so of mechanical phe- 
 nomena under any given conditions, are extremely 
 simple, compared with those from which the sim- 
 plest forms of organic life result, and it might be 
 expected that science would there gain its first 
 trophies. 
 
 I need not refer to authors under this general 
 head, though with a view to its systematic rela- 
 tions I refer again to those mentioned under the 
 last head, and to Kantfs Himmels System in his 
 Vermischte Schriften, vol. 1, s. 233; a part of 
 which, at least, may be read with profit. The 
 French and English w r orks on all parts of this 
 general subject are easily found. 
 
204 OUTLINES OF A 
 
 6. The agencies of nature which seem on the 
 whole next in order for scientific consideration, 
 are those of Light and Heat. In their relation to 
 space, and their laws of radiation, reflection and 
 refraction, they have, indeed, a near affinity to 
 those already considered, and their phenomena are 
 equally determinable by pure mathematics. On 
 this account, they are classed by some with solid, 
 fluid and gaseous bodies, as a fourth division, un- 
 der the name of radiant matter, and with the sci- 
 ence of optics as a division of mechanics. But 
 whatever may be found true in regard either to 
 the mechanical or chemical relations of these 
 agencies, there seems to be sufficient reason, in 
 the present state of science, and with reference to 
 the present purpose, to contemplate them distinct- 
 ly and separately and their laws of action as ob- 
 jects of a distinct department of science. Even 
 though they may be identified with electrical 
 agencies, they yet exhibit their peculiar phenom- 
 ena governed by distinguishable laws, and these 
 capable of scientific determination. With refer- 
 ence to our knowledge, and their subjectivity as 
 agencies of material nature, they may be regarded 
 as intermediate between the original and univer- 
 sal powers of attraction and repulsion, and those 
 which are more exclusively exhibited in chemical 
 phenomena. They are obviously connected with 
 the inward powers by which the distinctive forms 
 of matter are modified, and reveal themselves from 
 within, either as independent and distinguishable 
 powers, or as determinate phenomena of those to 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 205 
 
 which all properly chemical agencies seem at pre- 
 sent likely to be referred.* 
 
 7. These powers, which seem to have so ex- 
 tensive and varied an agency in producing the 
 phenomena of nature, are the two polar forces of 
 electricity, the positive and negative, or the acid 
 and alkaline agencies, as they manifest themselves 
 in the electric, galvanic, magnetic, and more pro- 
 perly chemical phenomena. The identity of all 
 these seems to be now admitted ; and if we regard 
 heat and light as products of the same agency, a 
 great apparent anomaly will be removed, and we 
 shall have two correlative living forces, or more 
 properly speaking, one power, resolving itself into 
 two polar forces, with a tendency to re-union, and 
 producing all these varied phenomena. Regarded 
 in this light, it is the great subjective power, 
 whose agency constitutes the inward life of nature, 
 I mean inorganic nature, controlling in its various 
 modes of action the chemical affinities and elemen- 
 tary combinations of matter, as the powers of 
 attraction and repulsion in their mechanical action 
 do the relation of bodies to each other. 
 
 But although there are no longer supposed to be 
 several distinct powers, from which the phenom- 
 
 * See on this subject, besides the standard works on Optics 
 and Chemistry, the Encyclopedia Metropolitana, article Heat and 
 Light, the Treatises of Brewster and Young, and Oersted's Identity 
 des forces chimiques et electriques. In this last work, both Heat and 
 Light are exhibited as the products of two correlative powers, 
 which also manifest their agency in all chemical affinities, and, 
 as is afterwards more fully proved by the same author, in the phe- 
 nomena of magnetism. 
 

 206 OUTLINES OF A 
 
 ena of electricity, magnetism, and chemical affin- 
 ity result, but all are referred to the agency of one 
 primordial power varied according to the different 
 relations and circumstances in which it acts, yet 
 these classes of phenomena have still their several 
 peculiarities, and may be, to some extent, separ- 
 ately considered. * * * 
 
 8. Next, we may contemplate the dawn of an 
 individualizing and formative power in the crystal* 
 ization of homogeneous substances, the Bildungs- 
 kraft of Blumenbach, the power which, without 
 internal and organic action, determines the ar- 
 rangement of parts by external apposition of pre- 
 existing homogeneous matter, and thereby con- 
 structs in each after its kind a specific geometrical 
 form. Read the Introduction to Mohs' Mineralogy. 
 
 Then follow the powers of organic life, where, in 
 the relation of the subjective power of life to its 
 correlative object, instead of an equilibrium of coun- 
 teracting forces and consequent rest, there is a 
 predominance of the subjective and a living process 
 by which the principle of life subordinates its cor- 
 relatives and assimilates heterogeneous elements to 
 the developement of its own organic form, and to 
 the attainment of its own pre-determined end. 
 This subjective pre-determination of the specific 
 form and of the assimilative and formative process 
 by which its organic structure is unfolded and its 
 proper end realized, is the Bildungstreib Nisus 
 formativus of Blumenbach, and pertains to each 
 individualized principle of life relatively to its indi- 
 
PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 207 
 
 vidual end. As distinguishable powers in the de- 
 velopement of organic nature, we may consider 
 
 (a) Productivity, or the simple power of assimila- 
 tion, nutrition and growth ; the production, in each 
 individual, of its own form, and the developement of 
 its organs by subordinating the outward elements 
 to its use. Here observe, 1st., the unity of the 
 subjective principle of action ; 2nd, the immediate 
 relation of action and reaction between this and 
 its outward correlatives ; 3rd, the conditioning of 
 the actuation of the subjective power by the pres- 
 ence and the correlative nature of the objective ; 
 yet, 4th, the predominance of the subjective and 
 the subordination of the objective as means to its 
 prescribed end. This is the sphere of vegetable 
 life, and exhibits the dawning of a subjective indi- 
 vidualized power, having a unity in itself, and in 
 its manifold agencies working harmoniously for the 
 attainment of an end, which end is determined, 
 not by external agencies, but subjectively, in the 
 inherent law of working, which predetermines the 
 form and measure of its outward developement. 
 
 (b) Irritability, the power of acting upon out- 
 ward objects, excitable by specific outward stimu- 
 lants, as in the apathic animalculae of Lamarck, 
 the nervimotility of Du Trochet, the muscular 
 fibre, the organic action of different organs, the 
 heart, lungs, &c, and the nerves of motion in the 
 animal system generally. Observe here, that in 
 the animal organism, this power intervenes as it 
 were between the proper functions of organic life, 
 assimilation, nutrition, &c, and the outward cor- 
 
208 OUTLINES OF A 
 
 relative objects, by which the organic life is to be 
 sustained. In the plant, the organs of nutrition 
 are in immediate contact with the nutritive ele- 
 ments, its subjectivity is comparatively superficial, 
 and its organic apparatus more simple. In the 
 animal there is a higher subjectivity ; the antithet- 
 ical relation of the subjective principle of life to its 
 correlative objects, by means of which its organic 
 ends are to be attained, is more distinct ; and the 
 conflict is maintained by the aid of an intermedi- 
 ary apparatus of organs, to which the specific 
 character of irritability and of outward organic re- 
 action pertains. I speak here of simple organic 
 irritability and specific reaction, determined by the 
 subjective law of action in the organ where sensi- 
 bility is still latent. 
 
 (c) Sensibility, a still higher or more central 
 developement of the subjective and a still super- 
 added medium enlarging the sphere of its active 
 relations to a correlative objective. Here is not 
 only a subjective power that needs its correlative 
 object as the means of objectizing its own form and 
 realizing its own end, but such a developement of 
 that power as constitutes an inward finding (Ger- 
 manice Empfindung) of its need, a. feeling of its re- 
 lation to its object, a sense of pain in the want of 
 it and of satisfaction in its attainment. Simultane- 
 ous with this developement of the subjective sense 
 of organic want and craving of a correlative object, 
 is the developement of the outward organs of 
 sense and the sensuous presentation of the outward 
 objects of sense among which the animal is to 
 

 PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 209 
 
 seek its appropriate objects and strive after the 
 realization of its organic end. When the animal 
 feels a hungering and thirsting after food, the 
 senses direct to the selection and attainment of it 
 in the outer ivorld of sense. Where sensibility is 
 thus unfolded, the irritability of the system is of 
 course connected with it, and the muscular organs 
 are excited to act upon their proper objects, 
 through the medium of the inward and outward 
 sensations. Here observe how the nerves of the 
 ganglionic and sympathetic systems connected 
 with the function of nutrition, the nerves of the 
 outward senses, and the nerves of motion are 
 united in a common centre, and give unity and 
 synergy to the whole organism. Remark how in 
 the insect, the organs pertaining to these three dis- 
 tinguishable powers are divided into as many dis- 
 tinct sections, while yet in some form the several 
 powers are present and act each in all and all in 
 each. Observe how, in the progressive develope- 
 ment of powers, the subjectivity of life increases, 
 the sphere of its relations to the outer world is en- 
 larged, its contraposition and conflict with the out- 
 ward elements become more distinct, and the 
 means of appropriating these for the attainment of 
 its organic end more numerous, and complicated. 
 See how, in relation to this end, the irritability and 
 sensibility, the muscular and nervous systems, the 
 sensuous apprehension, the muscular prehension, 
 and the process of digestion with its complex ap- 
 paratus, are all in order and subordinate to nutri- 
 tion, while nutrition, on the other hand, serves but 
 27 
 
210 OUTLINE. 
 
 to develope these various organs and maintain their 
 several functions. Observe, in a word, how first, the 
 principle of life in all these distinguishable powers 
 and functions is placed in the relation of antithesis 
 to the outward and material elements, how it over- 
 comes and subordinates these, appropriating, trans- 
 forming and assimilating, so as to make them the 
 bearer of its own form, the plastic material in 
 which it bodies forth and objectizes its own sub- 
 jective and inward being, seeking as its end the 
 perfect developement of its form, the realization of 
 its own idea. Observe how, secondly, in the re- 
 lation of the distinguishable powers, organs and 
 functions to each other, we are constrained to ad- 
 mit the apparent paradox that these, throughout 
 the organic system, are reciprocally means and 
 ends, each subservient to all and all to each, and 
 the result of their combined and harmonious ac- 
 tion, the full and symmetrical developement and 
 maintenance of the whole organism, in the unity 
 and integrity of all its parts. Observe again, how 
 thirdly, we are constrained, in endeavoring to form 
 a conception of the one principle of life, which 
 thus organizes itself in the harmonious develope- 
 ment of its manifold organs and functions, to re- 
 present it to ourselves as a power that, in relation 
 to its organism, is all in every part, interpenetrating 
 all its organs in the totality of its vital energy, 
 working in all towards the same end, limiting the 
 measure and adapting the form of each of its dis- 
 tinguishable agencies to every other, and thus 
 effecting the unity of the whole in the manifoldness 
 of the parts. 
 
REMARKS 
 
 OH SOME OF 
 
 THE LEADING POINTS CONNECTED WITH PHYSIOLOGY. 
 
 \/ 
 
 In Physiology, as in all other departments of 
 knowledge, we must distinguish between phe- 
 nomena or appearances and that to which the 
 phenomena are referred as their proper cause. This 
 distinction we make instinctively and necessarily. 
 We inquire in every case what determines the 
 phenomena to be what they are, and refer them to 
 that which is not itself phenomenal, as their ground. ^ 
 
 True, we have given, in the external object of 
 knowledge, no other means of learning what is the 
 ground of the phenomena, but the phenomena 
 themselves. They are the condition of our knowl- 
 edge ; yet knowledge or science in its strict sense 
 does not terminate on these, as lis proper object. 
 There is properly no science of phenomena But 
 in and through the phenomena we instinctively seek 
 a knowledge of that which produces the phenomena, 
 and whose being and mode of action is revealed, 
 manifested to us by these. Phenomena are fleet- 
 ing and evanescent, we seek that which is fixed , 
 
212 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 
 
 and unchanging, as the true and only possible ob- 
 ject of unchanging and scientific knowledge. 
 
 This correlative object of science then, is every- 
 
 ?t where the 'power or living energy, from the agency 
 
 < ^ c ^ l \ of which the phenomena result, or which is con- 
 />*-' 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*-</w~d 
 organic structure. 2nd. The increase and growth 
 of an organic body is not by external apposition, 
 but by means of elements first received into its 
 vessels, assimilated, and made instrumental to a 
 developement from within. 3d. Consequently 
 internal vessels, and the motion of fluids in these, 
 
'. L 
 
 220 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 
 
 is the most essential character of organic forms. 
 4th. By the reception, assimilation, transmission 
 by vessels, and secretion in the several organs the 
 nutrition and growth of the whole organism is 
 effected, and this constitutes the life of plants. 
 
 Thus, by means of the assimilative organs, and 
 the motion of the fluids, the plant has the power 
 of self-developement and self-conservation, by ap- 
 propriating and converting into its own organic 
 form the heterogeneous elements which are the 
 objective means and condition of its growth. The 
 relation of subjective and objective is here exhib- 
 ited in its simplest form. In crystallization we 
 conceive the crystallizable material, and the ten- 
 
 l uJs dency to crystallize, as inseparable and coextensive. 
 
 The material is pre-existent, as a homogeneous 
 
 -**- element, and merely assumes a crystalline form 
 
 J~ * without change of its chemical properties. While 
 
 w 7 e distinguish between the power and the mate- 
 rial in which it manifests itself, we still do not 
 conceive it as a new power supervening, but as al- 
 ready present in the material itself. 
 
 In organization, on the other hand, we do not 
 conceive the organic power as latent in the organ- 
 izable elements. But this, as an active principle, 
 exists subjectively only in the seed or germ, the 
 already organized form, while the correlative ob- 
 ject, which is the material on which it acts, is 
 conceived as merely passive in relation to it, or as 
 having, in itself, no tendency to assume this or 
 that organic form. It is rather indifferent to all 
 organic forms, and, relatively to the organific prin- 
 
REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 221 
 
 ciple, the mere plastic material to which it super- 
 venes, and by means of which it developes its own 
 predetermined form of organization. 
 
 Here observe, the form, the specific and individ- 
 ual character of the organism, is subjectively pre- 
 determined, and not objectively ; in the unity of the 
 living principle, and not by the outward and cor- 
 relative material. It impresses its own character 
 on that material, forms out of it, by assimilation, 
 the organic elements of its own growth, and deter- 
 mines the form of its own developement, according 
 to its own inward law of being. This inward law, 
 pertaining to the unity of the principle of life in 
 each organism, and predetermining its form of de- 
 velopement, and the end, in the realization of 
 which its functions terminate, is what I mean by 
 the subjective, while the correlative objective is 
 found in the extraneous and yet heterogeneous, 
 but plastic and assimilable elements, in which it 
 seeks, as it were, the means to its ends, and makes 
 them the bearers of its own living form. 
 
 that 
 have 
 
 organific process, the relation of its agencies to an ' 
 end is an essential point to be considered. We 
 see manifold parts and organs, each with its sev- 
 eral functions, and with various relations to the 
 outward elements, but all working unitedly towards 
 one and the same end. It is this relation to one 
 and the same end, that gives its unity to an organic 
 system, as a whole. The forms and functions of 
 
REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 
 
 the several parts can be understood only by their 
 relation to the whole ; and the perfection of the 
 whole, as resulting from the free and perfect de- 
 velopement of all its powers and organs in due 
 proportion and harmony, is the end, in reference 
 to which organic action must be contemplated. 
 This end the phenomena constrain us to conceive, 
 as pre-determined by the subjective principle of 
 life, while the objective and correlative elements, 
 on which its transforming power is exerted, are 
 but the plastic material, though the necessary 
 condition, for its attainment. According to the 
 '- ^k**- Platonic doctrine, the formative or organific power 
 ^ y \A- 'Jvyhexe is to be conceived as an idea, that has at 
 h-*0 hjJL/ir the same time a living, self-realizing energy as 
 a living law, manifesting itself in the outward 
 forms which it constructs, and constituting their 
 inward life. 
 
 This idea of a subjective tendency, or of an end 
 subjectively prescribed in the unity of the vital 
 principle, that end being the perfection of the or- 
 ganism itself as a whole, is that which essentially 
 distinguishes organic from mechanical powers and 
 , x " " " ~ * -""agencies. In a machine, the controlling idea and 
 power which determines its form, the nature of 
 its materials, and the relations of its parts, is ex- 
 traneous to the machine, in the mind and skill of 
 the machinist. The end also, which it is designed 
 to effect, is in like manner extraneous, or out of 
 itself, and the machine is regarded only as the 
 means for the accomplishment of this. On the 
 other hand, that which determines the specific 
 
REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 223 
 
 form of an organic system, must be conceived as 
 an actual power, subjectively present in the living 
 body, and building up by its agency, the form in 
 which it reveals itself. In reference to the end 
 for which it works, it builds up its manifold organs 
 in the unity and harmony of their relations, as 
 constituting one organic whole, not, as a machine, 
 for the accomplishment of an ulterior end, but for 
 its own sake. It is, in short, its own end. That 
 which it strives to accomplish as an end, is the 
 perfect realization of the idea which constitutes 
 the inward law of its being. It is a self-realizing 
 idea an idea working as a living power, and re- 
 vealing itself outwardly, in the material world of 
 sense, in the organic form which it constructs out 
 of the material elements, which it subordinates to 
 that end. 
 
 This train of thought would be incomplete, 
 were it not added, as a truth essentially involved )\\ju4p^^' %J 
 in the idea of an organic system, and manifested,, 
 by the phenomena which it exhibits, that no par- \y/tti o^M' ' 
 ticular part, organ, or function, of the system can ^jjJyr'ti fiM ' 
 be conceived as merely a mechanical means in its ^ jJi-~ & 
 relation to any other, but all the several organs ^A^ (yJuJ* 
 and functions have to each other reciprocally the (XijuM"&*** 
 relation of means and ends ; the one living and or- 
 ganific power, in the manifoldness of its distin- 
 guishable agencies, thus combining and harmoniz- 
 ing the whole, according to its effectual working 
 in the measure of every part, and making increase 
 of the body, until it attains the full upbuilding and 
 developements of its pre-determined form. 
 
224 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 
 
 These remarks are general, and apply to all or- 
 ganized bodies. Whether more simple or more 
 complex in the number of their organs and func- 
 tions, they have the same general characters, in 
 regard to the relation of the parts to each other 
 and to the whole, and of the subjective principle 
 of life to its pre-determined end. The same gen- 
 eral relation of subjective and objective also sub- 
 sists in all cases between the inward principle of 
 life and the correlative elements, which are the 
 outward means and conditions of its actual devel- 
 opement. But in regard to this relation, and the 
 modes and organs by which the subjective, re- 
 garded as the unity of life in the entire organism, 
 T acts upon, and appropriates its correlative objects, 
 there are connected with the successive gradations 
 in the developement of organic nature, very obvi- 
 +- J& ous distinctions. Only some of the most general 
 need be noticed here. 
 
 It was remarked before, that in the organic ac- 
 tion of plants, the relation of subjective and objec- 
 tive is exhibited in its simplest form. In this we 
 see the organization adapted to the relative out- 
 ward condition of those elements on which the 
 several organs are to act, that condition being con- 
 sidered as fixed, and the plant itself without organs 
 of locomotion. It has no provision for changing 
 either its own place, or the place of those elements 
 which are the conditions of its growth. It simply 
 projects its organs in search, as it were, of its ne- 
 cessary food on the one hand, and of air and light, 
 the other essential conditions of organic life, on the 
 
 cf 
 

 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 225 
 
 other. Its root, with its branches and their root- 
 lets, descend, and insinuate themselves into the 
 soil, while the stem with its branches and leaves 
 expand upwards, both to act, in the performance of 
 their appropriate functions, immediately upon the 
 elements with which they there come in contact. 
 The transmuting and assimilative functions seem t 
 to be performed by these peripheral organs at the CCwuaa< 
 point of contact between their expanded surfaces 
 and the outward elements. Here the subjective 
 and the objective, considered as the power of as- 
 similation and the assimilable element, are in im- 
 mediate connexion, with no intervening function. IcJiUo- 
 This too, the process of assimilation and growth, 
 or productivity, by the agency of these organs, is 
 the whole sphere of vegetable life. The subjec- 
 tivity, therefore, of the principle of life here, rela- 
 tively to its corresponding objective, may be said 
 to be comparatively superficial. This remark will 
 be better understood and appreciated in the sequel. 
 If we compare with this the organic relation of 
 animals to their outward correlatives, we see, as it \ 
 were, a greater subjectivity of the principle of life, J 
 greater complexity of organs, and other functions V 
 intervening between the ultimate one of assimila- 
 tion and the outward objects on which it is to act. 
 Thus, instead of expanding its absorbent vessels 
 in contact with their surrounding objects, the ani- 
 mal is provided with an inward cavity, and with 
 organs for apprehending and depositing within it 
 the elements on which those organs, which are 
 29 
 
226 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 
 
 analagous to the rootlets of the vegetable, are des- 
 tined to perform their function. 
 
 The function of aeration seems to be performed, 
 to some extent in the ascending scale, by the ex- 
 , ^ panded surface, without a more special apparatus. 
 
 But as we ascend, we find for this function too, 
 special organs, endued with specific irritability, 
 and a power of motion, for the purpose of acting 
 upon the surrounding air. Ascending still farther, 
 we find this, like the other function, provided with 
 an internal cavity, and an apparatus for conveying 
 to it the atmospheric air ; and thus the functions 
 
 -o 
 
 **- u C, 
 
 performed by the expanded roots and leaves of the 
 vegetable are here performed by organs wrapped 
 "c4 <"^M."P anc * secure( ^ m tne internal cavities of the sys- 
 A tern, while a complex apparatus, endued with a 
 
 fVj higher organic power, is provided for preparing and 
 bringing in contact with these now internal organs 
 the material on which they are to act. That which 
 constitutes the objective correlative to the inward 
 power of life, is here, then, instead of being acted 
 upon directly and primarily by those organs which 
 effect a change of their chemical properties, and 
 assimilate them, is first acted upon by a mechani- 
 cal force, pertaining to an additional set of organs, 
 and resulting from a higher organic power the 
 irritability of the muscular system. The point of 
 contact, and the primary action and reaction be- 
 tween the organism considered as a whole and the 
 outward elements, is now in the muscular system, 
 and results from the relation between the irritabil- 
 
REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 227 
 
 ity of the muscular organs and their correlative 
 stimulants in the outer world. Those muscular 
 organs which act independently of sensation, must 
 be conceived to have a specific irritability, and to 
 react immediately and organically to their appro- 
 priate stimulants. There is reason to suppose, 
 that in some grades of organic nature, such irrita- 
 bility alone pertains to the system, sensibility be- 
 ing still latent. 
 
 A still higher and the highest form of mere or- 
 ganic developement, considered as the manifesta-^ 
 tion of a new power, is that of the nervous system, 
 and the sensibility, which is here superadded to 
 the irritability of the muscular. Here, too, we 
 find the complexity of the whole system increased, 
 the inward principle of life becomes still more sub- 
 
 L "* i 
 
 jective, and its primary functions still farther re- 
 moved from immediate contact with the outward 
 elements. The muscular organs in turn, instead 
 of being now acted upon immediately by an out- 
 ward correlative, are stimulated through the medi- 
 um of the nervous system, and the organs of sense. 
 The point of contact between the organism as a 
 whole, and the outer world, is in its sensibility. 
 Its muscular powers do not act upon their appro- 
 priate correlatives, but on the condition of being 
 excited and directed by the powers of sense. 
 Again, the assimilative powers of its digestive and 
 secretory organs can perform their functions only 
 as they are supplied with their appropriate materi- 
 als by the muscular organs which are destined to 
 that office. 
 
228 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 
 
 But again, while the inward and more hidden 
 powers and functions of life are dependent for the 
 conditions of their agency upon the more exterior 
 and peripheral organs, with their irritability and 
 sensibility, as the media through which the neces- 
 sary relations of action and reaction are established 
 between the ultimate subjective principle of life 
 in the system and its correlative objective in the 
 world of sense, it is a proposition no less obvious 
 and important, that the specific susceptibilities of 
 j/J?^U these exterior and as it were intermediate organs 
 il. and their peculiar relations to the external world 
 
 are dependent on and predetermined by the in- 
 ward principle itself. The irritability of the heart 
 
 are dependent on and predetermined by the in 
 ward principle itself. The irritability of the hear 
 and lungs, or their muscular apparatus, for example, 
 
 piA^/-^ and their specific relations to the blood and the at- 
 mospheric air as their outward stimulants in gen- 
 eral, and so in all their specific modifications, from 
 the white and cold blooded animals with their 
 
 <L slight respiration, up to the mammalia and birds, is 
 
 just that in kind and degree, which the specific na- 
 ture and wants of the one inward principle of life in 
 the organism determines it to be, or which is neces- 
 sary for the attainment of its end. So the still 
 more peripheral sensibility of the system and its 
 relation to the external objects of sense, considered 
 in reference to mere organic existence, have a like 
 dependence on and are equally predetermined in 
 their susceptibilities and functions, by the one in- 
 ward principle of life and its specific wants as con- 
 nected with the outward world of sense. The 
 mere creature of sense, in other words, has no sen- 
 
REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 229 
 
 sibility, it is not excitable through the medium of 
 its senses, except by such objects as have a speci- 
 fic relation to the character and organic wants of 
 its inward life. 
 
 In a word, the external form and organic excit- 
 abilities of the organic system, in its relations with 
 the external elements, must be conceived as sub- i QL^tXi 
 jectively determined in the specific principle of 
 life, yet as correlative to those elements and their 
 inward powers. The specific principle of life, in 
 each organism, strives after the realization of its 
 own ends, in the developement and organic action 
 of precisely those organs, and the agency of those 
 organic powers, which are necessary to the attain- 
 ment of its end ; the outer correlatives in the world 
 of sense, with all their manifold powers and agen- 
 cies, being pre-supposed as containing the condi- 
 tions of its outward existence. 
 
 In the outer elements, as containing the condi- 
 tions of its outward existence and developement, 
 the means by which its end is to be realized, the 
 living creature, whether plant or animal, may be 
 said to seek and strive after the end which the 
 inward law of its being prescribes, by appropriat- 
 ing the necessary surrounding elements as means 
 to that end. 
 
 But while we contemplate the organs of mus- 
 cular action and of sense, with their peculiar func- 
 tions, as instrumental to the nutrition of the sys- 
 tem, and so in relation of means to an end, it must 
 not be forgotten, that all are reciprocally means 
 and ends, and that the function and organs of nu- 
 
n 230 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 
 
 trition, in turn, are instrumental for sustaining all 
 J^x*^ ..vjtathe other organs and functions of the system. In 
 one point of view, we might be led to regard what 
 some have termed the animal sphere, including 
 the irritability and sensibility of the system, as of 
 higher dignity than the so called vegetative 
 sphere, or the nutritive organs and functions, and 
 so the latter as only in order to the former. But 
 it must, be considered rather, that in the successive 
 gradations of organic nature, what is termed for 
 the sake of distinction the vegetative system of 
 the animal, does not remain on a level with the 
 organic system of the vegetable, and serve as a 
 basis, on which are built up the higher forms of 
 animal organization. The whole system, regarded 
 in the unity of its vital principle, is higher in the 
 'f\*kJL* Jprv animal than in the vegetable, and in the more 
 perfectly organized animals than in those of sim- 
 pler organization. With the enlargement and 
 multiplication of its outward relations and the 
 corresponding organs, the subjective principle of 
 life must be regarded as elevated in rank, and 
 every part as partaking of the dignity which be- 
 longs to the whole. 
 
 Nor can we even with strict propriety distin- 
 guish, as some have done, between the so-called 
 functions of nutrition, as vital functions, and the 
 other above mentioned, as functions of relation. 
 True, in the more highly organized animals these 
 are, as I have said before, the more external and 
 immediate instruments of action upon the objects 
 of the outer world. But in strict propriety, the 
 
REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 231 
 
 aliments deposited in the stomach and intestines 
 are still extraneous to the system, in the same 
 sense as the surrounding elements are extraneous 
 to the roots of the vegetable. The subjective 
 assimilative power of the system is still to be ex- 
 erted upon them, and a relation subsists here be- JL(XJ 
 tween a subjective and its corresponding objective, 
 as well as between the muscular apparatus by 
 which the food is deposited there, and its correla- J^vxa**^ 
 tive objects without. In a most important, sense, y{ % ^jt2iX^ 
 all the organs and functions are vital, and all rela- . 
 
 tive. The system as a whole is placed in a rela- 
 tion of action and reaction to the outer world; and 
 the agency of the muscular and sensitive organs, 
 no less than that of the more properly nutritive, 
 terminates in the developement of the one prin- 
 ciple of inward life, the realization of the one self- 
 determined end of its whole being. Its most ex- 
 ternal organs and relations are the necessary con- 
 dition for calling into action and perfecting the 
 developement of those powers, which are, as it 
 were, more inward, and determine the ultimate 
 tendencies of the system. Thus, while, with the 
 successive gradations of organized being, from the 
 vegetable up to man, its distinguishable powers 
 with their several organs and functions become 
 more and more distinct and individualized in their 
 forms and tendencies, each acquiring by degrees a 
 more fully developed form and individuality of its 
 own, the unity of the whole is still preserved, and 
 the ultimate perfection of the whole organism at- 
 tained, by the due subordination or proportionate- 
 ness of each to all and of all to each. 
 
 
 
232 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 
 
 Observe, as another point of some interest, by 
 what successive gradations the organized being, in 
 its relations to external nature as containing the 
 objective conditions of its existence, becomes more 
 . .1 and more free, seeks the end which its nature pre- 
 
 scribes in a wider sphere, and with increasing 
 power as to the selection and appropriation of 
 
 fry (jfysi*jui>*~* 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 </K organic life, the assemblage of organs in the living 
 body, their various functions, mutual relations, &c. 
 is the object of physiology, or physical anthropol- 
 ogy- 
 
 Psychology, in its limited and proper accepta- 
 %\ tion, consequently, is confined to the investigation 
 
 :^^A u_ of those phenomena which are exhibited in the in- 
 ner sense, and concerns itself with those of organic 
 life no farther than they may afford ground of con- 
 clusions in regard to its own proper sphere. 
 
 - ' 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 241 
 
 The spheres of physiology and psychology, as l'*C' 
 thus defined, are clearly distinguishable by the qJ(j^> *~**-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<A/t^^ 
 ers to come to an agreement, with respect to the ,>-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 <A 'f/W- the completion of a system, the determination of 
 its technical terms would be essential, it is more 
 important in the commencement of the study to 
 describe the facts in such a manner, as will help 
 to recognize and reflect upon them. When these 
 are clearly apprehended, they must be fixed in the 
 mind, and distinctions marked by the most appro- 
 priate terms which the usage of the language will 
 admit. A technical phraseology, connected with 
 this subject, can hardly pfc be said to exist to any 
 considerable extent in the English language ; and 
 this fact greatly increases the difficulty of advancing 
 in the knowledge of the subject, but still more of 
 communicating our views to each other. 
 
 Yet with all the difficulties which attend the 
 pursuit of this study, the interest and importance 
 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 247 
 
 of it are such as amply repay the labor which it P oj. u_ L vr 
 
 imposes. As an introduction to logic and meta- o-<j <^_ 
 
 physics, a knowledge of psychology is indispensa- ^"tc-.JK^ 
 
 ble. It lays open to us, and teaches us to observe g^u ^)v^A c 
 
 and contemplate with ever growing admiration, J 
 
 that inner world of our own consciousness, which, 
 
 rightly understood, is far more wonderful than all 
 
 the phenomena of the world without. It reveals 
 
 to i&, in a word, our own being, the power by 
 
 which we are actuated, and the laws of nature by 
 
 which we are governed. 
 
 Psychology also connects itself intimately with J . 
 the business of instruction in all its departments ; o 
 
 though expectations that are not well grounded in *~ ^ K 
 all respects, have sometimes been indulged, res- 
 pecting the advantages of this sort, which were to 
 be derived from it. 
 
 In a more general view of it, we connect it with 
 the history of human cultivation, in the gradual 
 developement of the mind in successive periods, in 
 the history of particular nations, and of the race. 
 Here too, and in the study of the languages of 
 different nations, and at different periods of their 
 progress from a savage and childlike to a refined 
 and cultivated state, we find an interesting appli- 
 cation of the knowledge which it gives us of the 
 laws of human thought and feeling, as well as 
 important materials for the enlargement of our 
 knowledge of the science. 
 
 In the present course of inquiry, as already re- 
 marked, that method of arrangement seems best, 
 which begins with facts most easy to be desig- 
 
248 
 
 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 1 I 
 
 nated, and recognized in our own experience. In 
 accordance with this purpose, and as best suited 
 to its attainment, the following arrangement will 
 be adopted. 
 
 1. A general view of those powers which re- 
 veal themselves in our consciousness, their leading 
 divisions and relations. 
 
 2. The investigation of the several leading di- 
 visions in the order of 1. The faculties of know- 
 ledge, or the speculative powers of the soul. 2. 
 The powers of feeling, the capacities of enjoyment J L/vx/ 
 and suffering, or those by virtue of which an in- 
 terest is awakened on the objects of our knowl- 
 edge, and 3. The power of voluntary action. 
 
 Oj 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 STATEMENT OF CERTAIN PRELIMINARY FACTS AND 
 DISTINCTIONS. 
 
 In the study of empirical psychology, it would 
 seem necessary, as already intimated, in order to 
 consistency, that we abstain from advancing a 
 priori principles as the ground of inference, and 
 proceed, as far as may be, in the order of our expe- 
 rience. This method I shall endeavor to pursue 
 as far as possible; though, to a mind accustomed to 
 reflection, the principles which facts of experience 
 necessarily presuppose, will sometimes force them- 
 selves upon our notice. 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 249 
 
 My purpose at first is to state certain general 
 facts, and mark a few general distinctions, which 
 you will see I think to be verified by experience ; 
 while some of them may perhaps at the same time 
 be seen to be grounded in a rational necessity. 
 
 1. All the knowledge which we have of the ! ^^J^jJLy^ 
 soul empirically, is a knowledge of its conditions 
 
 and relations, and of its conditional and relative 
 phenomena. Experience teaches us nothing of 
 what must be absolutely and unconditionally, but 
 only what takes place under certain circumstances. 
 
 2. We must therefore consider the soul with 
 reference to those conditions and relations in 
 which its phenomena are manifested to us, and 
 observe the phenomena which it exhibits, as the 
 means of learning its nature. This is true of the *-^ 
 knowledge which we acquire by experience of all ^ 
 natural objects. The chemist, in order to learn 
 
 the nature of a substance, observes its general re- 
 lations to his own senses, and to other substances ; 
 and his knowledge of its chemical properties is co- $u v/L, *-*H 
 extensive, or rather identical, with his knowledge ^ qAju>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- \} \ ><jji 
 don. These powers, too, stand in the same general * JLtfc^x 
 relation to the objects and powers of nature. The 
 inward principle of life can be unfolded only by 
 means of those external elements which have a 
 correlation to its specific wants and agencies. If 
 we look now at the process which takes place 
 here in the developement of the organic system 
 with reference to time, we know that from the 
 necessity of the case it must be, at least in part, 
 antecedent to sensibility and consciousness, and in 
 that respect analogous to the life of a plant. We 
 know too by our daily experience, that the mere 
 powers of organic or vegetative life may exist and 
 act in their full vigor without consciousness, as in 
 sound sleep. In these cases, neither the inward 
 wants and activities of the organic system, nor its 
 relations to nature, are matter of consciousness or 
 knowledge; and the question is, how, to these S^- 
 states of the organic system and the agencies 0^^~ 
 which take place between it and the surrounding 
 objects and powers of nature, sensibility and con- 
 sciousness supervene. JL ' 
 
 In answer to this, we can only state the fact, 
 and some of the conditions in regard to the state CS^T > 
 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/ 
 
 <i< 
 
280 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 I do not consciously distinguish or make myself 
 distinctly conscious of them. I feel the combined 
 effect, but can become distinctly conscious of what 
 was present to the sense, only by a voluntary ef- 
 fort of consciousness. Thus, too, I see in the face 
 of an individual that which enables me to distin- 
 guish him at once from all other individuals, but 
 am unconscious what it is in the immediate phe- 
 nomena of sense that is thus distinctive. By rep- 
 resenting the phenomena and directing my atten- 
 tion to them, I may become conscious of that 
 which I saw before but unconsciously. So when 
 an extensive prospect lies before me, regaling the 
 senses with sounds and odors, as well as form and 
 color, the whole is continuously present to the 
 sense, and cannot become more so by any volun- 
 tary effort on my part; but I can render myself 
 more distinctly conscious of a particular fragrance 
 in the air, or the music of a particular bird, or the 
 beauty of an individual object of sight, by a volun- 
 tary effort of attention directed to what was al- 
 ready an object of sense and of immediate sensu- 
 ous intuition. The same may be said of the phe- 
 nomena of the inner sense. The mind may be 
 absorbed in a reverie, either occupied with the im- 
 ages of the past, or involuntarily shaping some 
 picture of the future, with fluctuating emotions of 
 regret or hope and fear ; and we may in a moment 
 arrest the spontaneous succession, and fix our 
 thought at will upon any one of the phenomena 
 that fill the horizon of the inner sense, make our- 
 selves conscious of the agencies that we find in 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 281 
 
 play, and the objects about which they are em- 
 ployed. ^\l Xj- -*. 
 
 That attention by which a particular object^ ^ 
 present to the sense, is rendered more distinct ini-< \J^^ 
 our consciousness, may be excited by an involun-jju^ ** 
 tary interest awakened by it ; or it may be volun- jj^y 'tZ^ t 
 tarily exerted, and admits of degrees of intensity. ^ qJja*^ 
 When feeble, we know little of what is present to ^, 'Vj^ - *"I 
 the sense ; when intense, we distinguish with ra- [^Ar<h*~~ 
 pidity and clearness the distinguishable in the sen- 
 suous impression or intuition. The consciousness 
 thus excited may embrace many objects lying 
 within the horizon of sense, or may be limited to 
 a single object or a mathematical point. What- 
 ever is present in the agencies of the soul, and ca- 
 pable of affecting the sense, may by an effort of 
 will be made an object of consciousness ; some 
 with less, others with greater facility. There are ) <vji~>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 //^ <u/(JwL} 
 the phenomena of our own inward life, that we 
 36 
 

 282 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 gradually attain self-knowledge. This, either ex- 
 cited by an involuntary interest or determined by 
 the will, brings into the clear light of conscious 
 self-knowledge the obscure agencies of our being. 
 I qj. The control and direction of this is the ground and 
 l /"* Ui conal ition f a ^ mental discipline and cultivation. 
 Without it, the activity of the mind is dissipated 
 HSfi* and lost without purpose or method ; and by it we 
 take, as it were, the powers which nature has giv- 
 en us, and the materials of knowledge furnished 
 in the data of sense, under our own control, and 
 direct them to the accomplishment of precon- 
 ceived ends. The power of the will and of the 
 understanding over the direction of our attention 
 and consciousness, is the innermost power by 
 which man holds the control of himself, and with 
 a spiritual or supernatural efficiency, transcends and 
 i j jl regulates the movements of his own nature. This 
 
 i wakeful and intelligent consciousness inwardly dis- 
 tinguishes what the man is and does ; wherein he 
 is free ; and for what he is responsible. It raises 
 the man above the sphere of obscure organic feel- 
 ^l fi^JLsA^ ^Hngs and impulses, and brings the inward agencies 
 of his being into the clear light of knowledge, and 
 under his own self-control. 
 
 The rude and uncultivated man lives absorbed 
 in the world without, and knows nothing of him- 
 self but the. relation of his wants to the external 
 objects of sense. The awakening of reflective 
 self-consciousness lays open to his view the pro- 
 cesses and the character of his own being, and 
 
 t 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 283 
 
 renders it possible for him to apply to them the 
 conscious law of moral obligation. 
 
 But here it may be necessary to repeat more C {j Q^^ 
 distinctly, that this higher and reflective conscious- 
 ness can have for its object matter, only that which 
 is present in the sensuous and momentary con- 
 sciousness before described. When I look upon a }**^ 
 strange face, though I do not become at once dis- {yby>~-\ 
 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^ .-<rO of taste, distinct from the general nerves of sense. 
 
 tc^'L^U'v tr Here t00 ' tne 0D J ect must be in contact with the 
 
 organ, in order to awaken the sensation of taste, 
 
 and must moreover be dissolved in the fluids of the 
 
 mouth. 
 
 In the affections of this sense, the subjective sen- 
 p mjJL* Id v sation predominates, and the attention is ordinarily 
 excited by and directed to the sensation, rather 
 -*-** /JrH-M*Hv t nan the object of sense. Of itself indeed, the sense 
 \jJfcU *^> 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 
 <k/>\ 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 (<a ~~ ***** 
 
 as a necessary prerequisite, to all outward experi- 
 ence, and all knowledge through the intuitions of 
 the outer senses. We cannot conceive or repre- 
 sent to ourselves the possible existence of any - 
 thing as the object of the senses above enumer- 
 ated, under any form that is not extended, and that 
 does not presuppose the antecedency or space as 
 that in which it exists. , 
 
 Thus too, we represent what takes place or is J u **- **-/ 
 presented to our senses in our experience, as oc- ^ i/w^ 
 curring in time and under the relations of time, as .jT 
 coexistent or successive, and we cannot do other- 
 wise. The knowledge of time, like that of space, 
 is necessarily a priori, as the antecedent condition 'V s ~ 
 of our experience and knowledge of that which is 
 
 in time. "^ 
 
 Again, space and time being once presented to . 
 our consciousness, we cannot again divest our-vTx* />o-y^ 
 selves of this form of consciousness. We cannot /?*- < 
 
 conceive the negative of space and time./ They 
 are immediate and necessary intuitions, including 
 Y all other possible intuitions of sense, and being 
 the necessary ground of possibility for all others. 
 Time is inseparable from consciousness. The af- C j , 
 fections which in our consciousness we refer to self, 
 are successive. The conscious self, as present in 
 the successive states of consciousness, and contin- 
 uously the same, is the necessary condition of our 
 representation of time as successive. 
 
 Though the intuitions of space and time may 
 be excited in our consciousness, by occasion of our 
 experience or perception of something in space 
 
{ 
 
 y 
 
 304 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 and time, they are still therefore in their proper 
 origin antecedent to, and the a priori ground of, 
 all experience, and predetermine the conditions of 
 our knowledge. They are implicitly contained as 
 the ground form of whatever is known in our ex- 
 perience, space in our outward, and time in both 
 our outward and inward experience. Thus we 
 may abstract from our perception of any thing 
 known, all those properties which affect us with 
 the sense of reality in the phenomena of touch, 
 taste, smell, &c, but its ground form as extended 
 in space, or continuous in time, or both, still re- 
 mains and cannot be abstracted. 
 
 Thus we have an intuition of space and time, 
 independently of any thing existing in space and 
 time, and this is what is meant by pure sense. 
 
 The intuition of objects existing in space and 
 time, in those immediate affections of sense which 
 are peculiar to the several organs of sense, as 
 warmth, color, sound, &c, is distinguished from 
 the former as empirical sense. 
 
 Here, if we would distinguish accurately be- 
 tween that which belongs to sense, in our imme- 
 diate intuitions, and that which belongs to the 
 higher powers of understanding and reason, seve- 
 ral observations are necessary. 
 
 1. An essential character of what pertains to 
 sense is its manifoldness, and the mutual exclu- 
 siveness of its parts. In the intuitions both of 
 pure and of empirical sense, every part is out of 
 and excludes every other part. In the objects of 
 pure sense, time and space, the parts are alike ; 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 305 
 
 but in the intuitions of empirical sense, there is an 
 infinite manifoldness in quality, as well as quan- 
 tity. Not only are the affections of the different 
 senses unlike and exclusive of each other, but 
 there is an infinite manifoldness in the quantity 
 and quality of the affections and intuitions of the 
 same sense. This is illustrated by the distin- 
 guishableness of that which affects the sense in 
 the tones of voice, to such an extent, that the 
 blind man learns to distinguish persons without * 
 limit, by this alone. / 
 
 2. The sense takes cognizance only of the 
 present and the individual, in the objects of empi- 
 rical intuition, in distinction from that which is 
 absent either in time or space, and from that 
 which is general or universal. Thus the affections 
 of sense are essentially transitional, and in a per- 
 petual flux. The difficulty of understanding this, 
 arises from our confounding what strictly pertains 
 to the senses, with what results from the agency / 
 of other powers. I find myself at the present 
 moment affected by a determinate impression of 
 the sense of sight. I see what I have learned to 
 call a piece of white paper. If I remove the pa- 
 per, the sense is no longer affected by it. The 
 image of it, which I may represent to the inner 
 sense of the imagination, is then present to the 
 inner sense as an image, which, by the exercise of 
 another power, I refer to an absent object, and a 
 past impression, of which it is the present repre- 
 sentative. A reference of that which is present 
 in the sensuous consciousness to the past and 
 39 
 
306 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 future, or to the absent in space, does not pertain 
 to the faculty of sense, but to the understanding. 
 The empirical sense is limited to the present and 
 the actual, as a passive receptivity of impressions ; 
 and we can find in our consciousness of these, only 
 what is given in the passive affections. Again, to 
 illustrate the individuality of sensuous intuitions, 
 as opposed to general conceptions ; suppose your- 
 self looking at an object which you call a tree. 
 Now the word tree will serve to express an indefi- 
 nite number of intuitions, no one of which is iden- 
 tical with that which you now see. The word 
 tree, expresses a general conception, and does not 
 serve to represent the present intuition. If you 
 can designate it more particularly as an oak tree, 
 your term is still general ; and when you have ex- 
 hausted the powers of language, in seeking ade- 
 quately to express what belongs to the sensuous 
 intuition and distinguish it from other sensuous 
 intuitions, there will still remain an infinity of 
 particulars which belong to its individuality as an 
 immediate object of sense, which may be thought 
 of as distinguishable by thought, but which we 
 have not yet attended to and designated by the 
 faculty of thought, and by language. The distin- 
 guishable in the immediate intuitions of sense is 
 thus the inexhaustible material of thought, in itself 
 infinitely manifold, and infinitely diversified. Each 
 present intuition of each of the senses, is distin- 
 guishable as an intuition of sense from every intu- 
 ition of the other senses, and from every other in- 
 tuition of the same sense, as other than these, and 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 307 
 
 having its own distinctive individuality, and its 
 own reality. / 
 
 3. Unity, therefore, and the principles by 
 which the manifold in the intuitions of sense is 
 combined together and represented as one, and 
 by which the individual is referred to the general, 
 do not belong to the faculty of sense. So far as 
 space and time are, properly speaking, objects of 
 sense, as implicitly contained in the intuitions of 
 empirical sense, they are presented only as a man- 
 ifoldness of parts, mutually exclusive, without a ^ 
 principle of union. Suppose I look upon an ex- 
 tended landscape, and see its parts as coexisting 
 
 in space. For the immediate intuition of sense, 
 there are as many distinguishable parts as there 
 are points, each given in its position as related to 
 the eye and to the other points in the sphere of 
 vision, given also in its determinate qualities of 
 form and color ; and what I wish to say here, is, 
 that the faculty of sense furnishes no principle of 
 unity, by which these manifold phenomena are 
 presented and thought of as one, or as parts of 
 one whole. So with relation to time. The affec- 
 tions of sense, considered as successive, are repre- 
 sented in our consciousness as a point in motion ; 
 and each successive moment excludes from the 
 sphere of immediate sensuous intuition, that which 
 was present in the previous moment. 
 
 4. That which belongs to the faculty of sense, 
 as the passive receptivity of impressions, in its 
 strict limitations, is to be distinguished, both from 
 that which we perceive as necessary, (the contrary 
 
308 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 of which is seen to be impossible, ) and from that 
 which depends on the loill. In an affection and 
 intuition of sense, as when I open my eyes upon a 
 window, I find myself conditioned, my conscious 
 state modified in a precise and determinate man- 
 ner, and have a precise and determinate intuition 
 of a sensuous object. Its apparent extension, 
 form, color, multiplicity and relation of parts, &c, 
 as present in my intuition, are wholly independent 
 of my own will. They are there before me ; and 
 when I open my eyes, I see them, whether I will 
 or not, with just these precise and determinate 
 limitations of quantity or quality, neither more nor 
 less; and no effort of thought or will can make them 
 different as sensuous phenomena, from what I see 
 them to be. I seem to myself to be the passive 
 recipient of impressions ; to have the state of my 
 consciousness affected by that over which I have 
 no control. It presents itself, therefore, as an inde- 
 pendent reality, of which I have the highest possi- 
 ble certainty. My intuition contains the unequiv- 
 ocal assertion of its reality in all its particulars. 
 Again, my affection or intuition changes perhaps, 
 with each successive moment, with the variation 
 of the intensity or the direction of the light, or 
 from other causes, and this too, independently of 
 my voluntary agency. And thus, though I see 
 and assert the reality of the phenomena here, and 
 the existence of that which is present to the sense 
 as independent of self, and so objective, I do not 
 see or assert its necessity, or the impossibility of 
 its being otherwise than it is at any given moment, 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 309 
 
 V 
 
 y 
 
 or of its entire nonexistence. This is the charac- 
 ter of all that is known empirically, or by means 
 of the empirical sense. 
 
 5. There is then, a wide difference between 
 the functions of sense as an organ of empirical 
 knowledge, in our immediate and merely sensuous 
 intuitions of the manifold in space and time, and 
 that which we have called pure sense, as an intu- 
 ition of the a priori and necessary ground of expe- 
 rience, under the forms of space and time. In the 
 former, we experience a fact, and our knowledge 
 is assertory. In the latter, we have an intuition of 
 necessary truth, and our knowledge is apodictic ; 
 I affirm not merely the fact that it is now so and 
 so, but that it must of necessity be so, now and at 
 all times. * 
 
 Again, in time and space, or what are called the 
 intuitions of pure sense, we extend our view be- 
 yond all the limits of experience, and represent 
 them as infinite. We moreover combine the man- 
 ifold intuitions of empirical sense, under the forms 
 of time and space, and represent them as included > 
 and as composing one universe. 
 
 Whence then come the ideas of necessity, of 
 infinity, and of unity, in these representations ? 
 
 Strictly speaking, only the qualities of objects 
 corresponding to the distinctive perceptivity of 
 the several senses, and empirically known as re- 
 alities in space and time, are the objects of sensu- 
 ous intuition ; and the a priori ground of the possi- 
 bility of experience in the presentations of space 
 and time, with the ideas of infinity and unity, be- 
 long to the reason. 
 

 310 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 Each of our senses has its distinct and peculiar 
 objects in nature. The sense of sight perceives 
 colors ; that of hearing, sounds ; that of smell, 
 odors ; each so different in kind from all the rest, 
 that if one sense be- wanting, its immediate and 
 proper objects can never be known by the sepa- 
 rate or combined agency of all the rest. There is 
 nothing in the perceptions of one to suggest, or in 
 
 V any way to connect with it, those of another. ( The 
 principle of unity, therefore, must be referred to 
 the unity of our reason. It is by the develope- 
 ment of this, that we represent to ourselves space, 
 which to the empirical sense is but an infinite 
 manifoldness, or an infinite multiplicity of points, 
 each extraneous to all the others, as being yet one 
 space, of which all particular spaces are parts, and 
 which therefore comprehends infinite manifoldness 
 
 uL.- in unity. 
 
 It is by the same principle of unity in reason, 
 that we combine all the manifold variety of phe- 
 nomena presented to the several senses in space, as 
 belonging to and parts of one world, included in 
 space. Neither of these is perceived by the em- 
 pirical sense ; but this mode of representing them 
 originates in the mind with the dawn of reason, and 
 we think of it as a necessary mode. It is not 
 founded in experience, but is a priori. If we 
 strive to represent the matter otherwise, we fail to 
 do so, because the mind still assumes a higher 
 unity in which all are included. Such is the 
 spontaneous utterance of reason, the moment we 
 are capable of rational insight, and take a rational 
 
 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 311 
 
 view of the objects of knowledge. The same re- 
 marks apply to our representation of time, and of 
 the sequence of events in time. We represent 
 time as one continuous succession of like parts, 
 and cannot think of it as broken and severed into 
 two or more. So of nature, as including the whole 
 series of events in time. We represent it as an 
 unbroken series ; and if we seek to do otherwise, 
 our imaginations spontaneously fill up the interval 
 and connect the one with the other, as necessarily ^Y 
 parts of the same unity. 
 
 If now we consider our representations of a 
 limited and individual object in space and time, 
 we shall find the process to be of a like kind. It 
 includes three things clearly distinguishable. 
 
 1. The intuitions of empirical sense, in the 
 sensible qualities of the object. These are mani- 
 fold, and as immediate phenomena of sense, are 
 wholly dissimilar and disconnected. Sound has 
 no affinity to color, nor hardness to the affections 
 of smell. 
 
 2. The intuition of space and time, in which 
 these qualities are represented as existing object- 
 ively each for itself. 
 
 3. The union and comprehension of these sep- 
 arate qualities, the immediate objects of the seve- 
 ral senses, in a limited and determinate form and 
 figure in space and time. 
 
 Of the two first, nothing more need be said at 
 present. By what process of the mind we come 
 to represent sensible qualities under the determi- 
 nate relations of figure and position in space and 
 
312 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 of duration in time, as in the third particular, needs 
 further inquiry. 
 
 Here it is important to observe the distinction 
 
 ^WxfcX-, between the immediate perception of the qualities 
 
 tujk f an object, which express its relations to the per- 
 
 +j cipient as susceptible of being specifically affected 
 
 muJmX*' ky them, and the representation of its quantity, as 
 
 determined by its extension and mathematical form 
 
 _-%u w an d relations in space. 
 
 Our perceptions of qualities generally give us, 
 in the affections of the outer senses, a knowledge 
 of reality, existing out of self and in space ; and, 
 moreover, excite the spontaneous powers of the 
 mind, not only to the contemplation of the unity, 
 the several dimensions and the boundlessness of 
 space, but also to the construction of mathemati- 
 cal forms in space, each having its unity given to 
 it by the mind itself. Now this power of the 
 'jhr^. mind, thus freely and independently of the con- 
 trol of the empirical sense, to construct forms in 
 space, is called the productive imagination* No- 
 
 * The simplest and most obvious import of the word imagina- 
 tion is that which is suggested by its etymology. An image is 
 the sensuous form and representation of an object, without the 
 substance ; as a shadow, a picture, the colored image of an object 
 r> reflected in a mirror, or formed by a lens.( These are external to 
 the mind ;\ and, as well as the objects which they represent, be- 
 long to the outer sense. The word image is also used to designate 
 those representations of outward objects which are presented to 
 the inner sense ; as, when I call to mind an absent friend, I have 
 his image present to my inner sense. Rather, that which is so 
 presented to my inner sense, when the abstract object is called to 
 mind, is called an image ; and the power of presenting and mak- 
 ing use of such images is the imagination in the most obvious 
 sense. Now such images are presented in the ordinary remem- 
 brance of an object formerly known. An image is also presented 
 in the casual succession of images, under the law of spontaneous 
 association. 
 
 f 
 

 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 313 
 
 thing is plainer than that this power can, indepen- 
 dently of experience, produce mathematical forms 
 and constructions without limit, in the exercise of 
 its own activity, with only the postulates that are 
 given in the immediate apprehension of space. 
 
 This is an important point ; and the mathemat- /7 s ) r. 
 ical intuition of forms and their relations in space J > r^^lc* 
 is properly the common ground of all our know- L^Aq^ ^j *( 
 ledge of distinct outward objects, and of our zbll-j^^J JlA 
 ity to understand each other in regard to the iden- f J ^ j" 
 tity, the quantity and quality of objects. The ff 
 mathematical intuitions of pure sense and the pro- 
 ductive imagination enable us to give to the mani- ,Q 
 fold empirical phenomena of an object, a syntheti- J crvn 
 cal unity, by representing them as combined under 
 a determinate figure in space. 
 
 Here the mathematical form, as the construction 
 of the productive imagination, and the object of 
 pure sense, becomes xhe fixed and determinate lim- 
 itation of the qualities which are referred to the 
 object as an object of empirical sense. We can 
 represent the qualities as varying in number and J? ^X J 
 degree ; but the figure and position in space, as an -Jyjr. 
 object of pure sense, cannot be abstracted ; but 
 remains as the fixed ground of reference and com- 
 parison. The imagination, in representing the 
 figure of an object, and its relations and bounda- 
 ries, is excited, indeed, and guided, to some ex- 
 tent, by the empirical affections of the senses of 
 touch and sight ; but we can acquire distinct know- 
 ledge only by reflexion upon the empirical phe- 
 nomena, in their relations to possible forms con- 
 40 
 
314 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 templated as objects of pure sense. It is by its 
 freedom from the domination of the present and 
 the actual in the immediate affections of empirical 
 sense, and its activity in the construction and con- 
 templation of*the possible, that it furnishes the 
 antecedent ground for such reflexion, for the com- 
 parison of the empirical with the mathematical ; 
 of the fleeting and indeterminate with the fixed 
 and determinate ; and thus enables us to represent 
 the actual under mathematical forms. Thus the 
 spontaneous agency of the imagination and the 
 iutuitions of empirical sense furnish the form and 
 matter of our knowledge of objects; and it is by 
 observation and reflection, that our knowledge is 
 y^*~ rendered distinct. 
 
 Here it is to be observed, that only the qualities 
 are immediate in the intuitions of empirical sense, 
 and that in them there is no principle of unity. 
 
 Again, in the intuitions of pure sense, as be- 
 longing to the passive sense alone, there is no 
 unity, but infinite manifoldness. 
 
 The representation of unity, the contemplation 
 of the manifold as one, is an act of the mind it- 
 self, grasping its object, and comprehending the 
 many in a unity of consciousness. 
 : \ % '4>/0-'* This representation of unity, or the power of 
 ^\^> comprehending many as one, belongs to the origi- 
 A *# ... i/ na l f rm of the understanding, and is the subjec- 
 / I 40 ** ve conditio 11 or " knowing. The mere presenta- 
 1 tion of the manifold in the intuitions of empirical 
 sense, is not knowledge ; but the material of a pos- 
 sible knowledge, or that which may be known. 
 

 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 315 
 
 The understanding apprehends and takes cogni- 
 zance of it, according to its own inherent forms 
 and powers of apprehension and of knowledge. 
 
 The distinction of the subjective from the ob- 
 jective, of the self from the not self, in the prima- 
 ry act of self-consciousness, it has been already 
 remarked, is the activity of the awakened power 
 of thought. So the reference of that which is 
 given in an immediate intuition of sense to self as 
 one, or to an object considered as one, is an act of 
 the understanding. The doing this is the uniting 
 of the manifold in a unity of consciousness ; and 
 this is the form under which the understanding 
 takes cognizance of that which is presented as the / 1 
 
 material of knowledge. An object of knowledge ^"^ j 
 for the understanding is that in which the mani- ] \^AnMr^^i 
 fold qualities of a sensuous intuition are combined'Vljs-> CvwC/t 
 in a unity of consciousness. We represent vari- i*t**Jifj** 
 ous distinct qualities, as extension, hardness, 
 sweetness, whiteness, &c, as united in one and 
 the same object. Each of these, as immediately 
 affecting the sense, and contemplated as an objec- 
 tive reality existing in space, I represent as having 
 its reality, and as being substantiated, in a subject 
 other than self and out of self, and therefore in 
 space. Now I say, the understanding, in combin- 
 ing these in a unity of consciousness, and at the 
 same time giving them outwardness in space, re- 
 fers many qualities to one and the same subject in 
 one and the same space. But this other subject 
 represented in space is the object of the under- 
 standing ; and what is represented as an object in 
 
V" 
 
 s 
 
 316 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 space, is of course extended and constructive by 
 the imagination under the mathematical form, and 
 determinations of pure sense as a figure ; and thus 
 the empirical qualities of an object are presented 
 as united in a form representable in space. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT. THE IN- 
 NER SENSE AND ITS OBJECTS. 
 
 The principal aim here is, to distinguish clearly 
 between what is given in the immediate affections 
 of sense as the passive receptivity of the mind, and 
 what pertains to the higher power which takes 
 cognizance of what is thus given. In the former, 
 we have the material or object-matter of possible 
 knowledge, as manifold as our susceptibility of im- 
 pressions under all the forms and affections of 
 sense ; in the latter, that agency of the mind which 
 is excited by and directed to this, apprehending, 
 knowing it, &c. Now to this higher agency there 
 necessarily belongs a unity, inseparable from the 
 unity of consciousness as expressed in the form, / 
 think, I know. In the self, as knowing, there is 
 no representation of manifoldness, but a simple 
 unity. The manifold, as given in the intuitions of 
 sense, I combine in one consciousness, or refer to 
 self as one percipient. This is the necessary form 
 
</ 
 
 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 317 
 
 of thought and of conscious knowledge. That 
 which is given as the material of thought and of 
 knowledge, is an intuition, and antecedent to the act 
 of knowing, by which the manifold of the intui- 
 tion is synthetically combined in a unity of con- 
 scious perception. The^act by which I represent 
 the manifold in a unity, is an act of spontaneity, 
 originating in the cognitive power, and does not 
 belong to the sense. We can represent nothing 
 in the immediate intuitions of sense as syntheti- 
 cally combined, without having first combined it 
 together by our own act. Whether we are con- 
 scious of it or not, the representation of the union 
 of many distinguishable qualities in one object 
 does not come from the objects ; is not given in 
 the affections of sense ; but proceeds from the un- 
 derstanding itself. It is not meant to say that the 
 object is not one, and that the synthesis is not real; 
 but only that its unity is not among the qualities 
 given in the affections of sense. Nor indeed is 
 the unity and connexion of parts here intended, 
 such as we learn by experience to exist in an or- 
 ganized body, or by any particular bond of union 
 in the object itself; but that which the under- 
 standing spontaneously gives to whatever is pre- 
 sented, and must give, in order to bring it within 
 its apprehension and make it an object of knowl- 
 edge. Thus we think of the sum of all outward 
 existences as one universe ; of the objects within 
 the sphere of our vision as one prospect, one land- 
 scape, &c. ; and contemplate the particular objects 
 embraced as parts of one whole. That we cannot 
 
318 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 do otherwise does not prove that the unity is given 
 in the intuitions of sense ; but only that we do so 
 by an act of spontaneity, and not an act of choice. 
 The power of perception or apprehension, when 
 excited by that which is present to the sense, acts 
 4 spontaneously and independently of the will, as to 
 the mode of apprehending it; just as the sense, 
 when affected from without, acts spontaneously in 
 the intuition of that which belongs to sense. The 
 intuition of the manifold in the immediate af- 
 fections of sense, is the spontaneous agency of 
 s the faculty of sense ; the apprehension of what 
 is given in the intuition in a unity of conscious- 
 ness, is the spontaneous act of the understanding, 
 according to its own inherent laws of action. 
 Neither the intuition of sense, nor the perception 
 of the understanding, is under the direction of the 
 will as it regards the laws of their agency. The 
 agency of both is thus far immediate upon the 
 presence of its object, and inseparable from it, and 
 therefore, as it were, organic and antecedent to 
 voluntary reflection. We can only, in regard to 
 these agencies, reflect and make ourselves distinctly 
 conscious of what we have done, after we have 
 done it. Thus, in this case, we are not conscious 
 of the synthesis of the distinguishable qualities of 
 an object as our own act; but the subsequent ana- 
 lysis which we make of the object as apprehended 
 by the understanding, proves an antecedent syn- 
 thesis, and we distinguish by analysis, only what 
 we had combined in the synthesis. Here observe, 
 that all the qualities so combined, are given in the 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 319 
 
 intuition ; and it is only the synthesis or putting 
 together of these in what the understanding pre- 
 sents to itself as one object, that originates in the 
 act of the understanding ; and all that analysis can 
 do again, is to dissolve the unity, and distinguish 
 the original qualities given in the intuition. The 
 union of many in one is not properly an additional 
 particular, to be enumerated with the several par- 
 ticulars so united. Nor does the representation of 
 unity arise from a perceived connexion of the sev- 
 eral parts or particulars, but that of connexion rather 
 from the antecedent unity. It must therefore 
 be sought for in that agency of the understanding, 
 which, from its own subjective nature, must be the 
 same for all the objects of its apprehension, and 
 independent of any ground of the representation in 
 the nature of the objects so apprehended. 
 
 Here it may be necessary, in order to avoid mis- 
 conception, to mark more clearly another distinc- 
 tion ; that, I mean, between the subjective and the 
 objective unity of our perception. 
 
 By the subjective unity of a perception, it is 
 meant to express the identity of the conscious per- 
 ceiving, as directed to the several distinguishable 
 particulars in an object. It is the same self and 
 the same agency, that apprehends the several qual- 
 ities of an object as coexisting in space, or as suc- 
 cessive in time. The thought, that all the several 
 particulars given in an intuition belong to me, con- 
 stitutes the subjective unity of a perception. It 
 combines the manifold in the affections of sense 
 in one act of self-consciousness, and I represent 
 

 320 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 them all as my affections. There is an identity 
 of the conscious percipient in all ; otherwise, self 
 would be as manifold as the qualities of the objects 
 of sense of which I am conscious. 
 
 The objective unity of a perception, on the other 
 hand, is the representation of the immediate qual- 
 l | ~ ities perceived in an intuition, not as having an 
 $ identity of relation to me, but as having a mutual 
 relation and connexion with each other as quali- 
 ties of one object. Again, in its objective unity, 
 an object of perception has its determinate posi- 
 tion and direction in space, and stands in relation 
 to other objects. It is necessarily represented un- 
 der the mathematical forms and relations of pure 
 sense, and has its extension, figure, &c, determined 
 for the percipient by the constructive agency of 
 the imagination. As such, and so determined, it 
 becomes a distinct object of the understanding, as 
 distinguished from sense, and an object of percep- 
 tion as distinguished from intuition. The intui- 
 tion is the immediate presentation of the manifold 
 in the affections of sense ; the perception is the pre- 
 sentation of the many as one objective thing, com- 
 bining manifoldness in unity. 
 
 The same remarks which have been made re- 
 specting our apprehension of that which we pre- 
 sent to ourselves as existing in space, will apply, 
 for the most part, to our apprehension of objects 
 as existing in time. Whatever is present, either 
 to the outer or to the inner sense, is necessarily 
 represented as existing in time, or as having dura- 
 tion ; and the same distinction between pure and 
 
 % 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 321 
 
 empirical sense manifests itself, as in regard to ex- 
 istence in space. The same distinction holds also 
 between the manifoldness of what affects the em- 
 pirical sense and the unity of consciousness under 
 which it is apprehended by the understanding. 
 The successive moments, and therein distinguish- 
 able parts of duration in time, are apprehended as 
 combined to make up one time ; or those within 
 given limits, as one period of time, one day, and 
 one hour, &c. ; and thus an object is apprehended 
 (abstractly from its qualities, which affect the sev- 
 eral senses empirically), as having extension, fig- 
 ure and duration, mathematically determinable in 
 space and time ; and an objective unity, combining 
 in one object a manifoldness of parts and properties 
 analytically distinguishable from each other. 
 
 2. The term inner sense, as distinguished from 
 the outer senses already treated of, properly desig- 
 nates the immediate consciousness of the states and 
 agencies of our own inward being. As I have an 
 immediate intuition of the qualities of outward 
 objects, as color, hardness, &c, which I refer to a 
 ground of being out of self, so I have an immediate 
 intuition of affections and agencies, which I refer 
 to self, as their proper ground and source ; such as 
 the feeling of pleasure and pain, desiring, willing, 
 and the activities of thought. 
 
 It is not, however, to be understood, that we 
 mean by this language to indicate a specific sense, 
 having its distinct organ, like the several external 
 senses. It is meant only that the states and agen- 
 cies of our inward life are immediately present to 
 41 
 
L 
 
 322 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 our consciousness, as the passive material of 
 knowledge, and so apprehensible to the under- 
 standing ; in the same way as the immediate af- 
 fections and intuitions of the outer senses are ap- 
 prehensible. When we direct the attention of the 
 understanding to what is passing in our own being, 
 we find the objects of attention presented for ob- 
 servation in a form which has all the characteris- 
 tics (in its relation to the apprehensive faculty) 
 which were before enumerated as pertaining to 
 V^Lcw sense# As P resent m our immediate consciousness, 
 jj or in the inner sense, they are manifold, immedi- 
 ate and individual, present and actual, as the mate- 
 rial of knowledge, and distinguishable from that 
 agency of the reflective understanding which takes 
 cognizance of them. They are presented, not as 
 extended and objective in space, admitting of con- 
 struction by figure, and so picturable to the outer 
 sense, but as continuous in time, and capable of 
 being designated and reproduced in our conscious- 
 ness. 
 jl An essential difference here between what per- 
 tains to the affections of the outer and what we 
 speak of as the inner sense, is, that while the ob- 
 jects affecting the outer senses exist independently 
 of our agency, and require only that the senses be 
 directed to them, and the attention excited, in 
 order to be perceived, those that belong to the 
 inner sense are our own agencies, and exist only 
 so long as the mind is in act, or actually affected, 
 conditioned in the manner which we wish to ob- 
 serve. When the feeling of pleasure or pain, or 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 323 
 
 the act of desiring, willing, thinking, &c, has 
 ceased, it no longer exists as an object of the inner 
 sense ; and how can we have a sensuous intuition 
 of that which has no existence, or a perception of 
 that of which we have no intuition ? 
 
 It is only, therefore, by reproducing and bring- 
 ing again into the conscious presence of the inner 
 sense, our past states of consciousness, by the ac- i **/ ^ 
 tivity of our own minds, that they can become A/i* * 
 possible objects of attention and observation. This 
 is done either spontaneously by the law of associ- 
 ation, or voluntarily by the control of the will over 
 the faculty of thought. 
 
 Thus, whatever I have once been conscious of 
 as a state of my own inward being, may be repro- 
 duced in my consciousness ; and whatever has 
 such a connexion with my inward being as to be 
 potentially reproducible in my consciousness by 
 the activity of my own reproductive and represen- 
 tative faculty, may be said to belong to the inner 
 sense, and to be a part of the internal world ; as 
 whatever exists in space, so as to be potentially an 
 object of outward intuition, belongs to the outer 
 sense, and to the external world of sense. 
 
 It will be seen from this view, that we include 
 among the objects of the inner sense those agen- 
 cies of the soul which have for their object the 
 outer world of sense. Thus I present to myself 
 an absent object of sight, a house, a tree, &c., 
 whether in a dream, a reverie, or by a voluntary 
 act of thought; and I picture it as outward, in 
 space, with all its surrounding accompaniments. 
 
324 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 Here the agency itself has or may have an out- 
 ward object perceptible to the external senses. 
 But that which is now actually present to the 
 mind is not the outward object itself, nor is it pres- 
 ent to the outer sense, but a representative image 
 of it only, the work of the reproductive imagina- 
 tion ; and this image, which exists only so long as 
 the imagination presents it, belongs only to the in- 
 ner sense or the inward consciousness. It has no 
 reality out of the mind ; and as an object of the 
 inner sense, is a sensuous image or representative 
 of an outward object, having the same relation to 
 the inner sense which the object itself has to the 
 outer sense. As an act of the reproductive imagi- 
 nation, it has the same reality for the inner sense 
 that the object itself has for the outer sense. Thus 
 all the reproduced images of the outer world, con- 
 sidered as representative acts of the imagination, 
 in dreams, &c, and reflected upon by the under- 
 standing, are presented to its apprehension as sen- 
 suous and present in the inner sense. 
 
 The same remarks of course apply to all the 
 agencies and states of the mind, in doing and suf- 
 fering, in thought, desire, and will. Considered 
 as objects of the reflective understanding, they are 
 presented for its apprehension in that immediate 
 consciousness of the inward phenomena of our own 
 being which is termed the inner sense. 
 
 The inward life and activities of the soul are 
 subjected to our observation and conscious notice. 
 I not only feel pleasure and pain, joy and sorrow, 
 love and hate, desire and will, think, imagine, &c., 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 325 
 
 but can make all these agencies themselves the 
 objects of the reflective understanding; can ap- 
 prehend and fix my attention upon them as objects 
 of study and of knowledge. Their presentation 
 in the inner sense or immediate consciousness is 
 the beginning and primary condition of self-knowl- 
 edge, as the presence of the material world to the 
 outer sense is the condition of our knowledge of 
 that. 
 
 But the point of most importance, here, is to J , 
 distinguish clearly between what pertains to sense, v 
 or is sensuous, and the proper agencies and pro- 
 ducts of thought, or of the understanding as the 
 faculty of thought. Whatever is presented as im- 
 mediate and individual in our consciousness for the 
 attention and apprehension of the understanding, 
 and so as the object matter of its cognitive agency, 
 belongs as such to the sense ; while that which is 
 derived from it, by comparison, abstraction, &c., 
 in the form of general conceptions, belongs to the 
 understanding, as the product of its agency em- 
 ployed upon the immediate intuitions of sense. 
 Following this distinction, not only the original in- 
 tuitions, whether of the outer or of the inner 
 sense, but the re-presentation of these in their 
 manifoldness by the agency of the imagination or 
 representative faculty, is also sensuous ; and such 
 a re-presentation is not a conception, but an image 
 of sense merely ; and the mere reproduced sensu- 
 ous image, like the original intuition, is not knowl- 
 edge, but only the material of a possible knowl- 
 edge. 
 
 JL 
 
326 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 It may be remarked here, that the objects of the 
 inner sense are embraced in the general form of 
 self-consciousness, or are recognized as existing in 
 self; as the objects of the outer senses are re- 
 ferred to a ground out of self, and recognized as 
 existing in space. This consciousness of self, as 
 the ground and presuppositum of those phenomena 
 which I refer to self, is termed pure and a priori 
 self-consciousness, as the necessary a priori ground 
 of our knowledge of the particular modifications 
 of self, as the intuition of space is the necessary 
 antecedent ground of our representation of objects 
 as existing in space. The conscious / am is ne- 
 cessarily involved as an antecedent in every quali- 
 fied determination of consciousness which makes 
 known to me how and what I am. To this, too, 
 pertains that representation of self, or the conscious 
 /, by which all my individual and successive feel- 
 ings, desires, thoughts, &c, are presented and 
 combined as the activities of one and the same in- 
 dividual. What are the possible modifications and 
 agencies of that self of which we are conscious, 
 can be known only by experience in the progres- 
 sive developement of its powers, and by making 
 ourselves conscious of those agencies as manifested 
 in the inner sense. Here they may be more or 
 less distinctly manifested, or our power of attend- 
 ing to and apprehending the phenomena there pre- 
 sented may be greater or less, according to age 
 and habits of thought, or to the general discipline 
 and power of the understanding. 
 
* 
 
 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 327 
 
 In general, it may be said, the phenomena pre- 
 sented to the inner sense, like those of the outer 
 world, are in a state of perpetual flux, varying 
 with every fluctuation of the powers of our inward 
 life, and the numberless influences which serve to 
 repress or to excite them. To most men, too, it 
 is an unknown world, as their observation and 
 their thoughts are directed exclusively to the world 
 without ; and it is only by careful discipline of the 
 understanding, and great precision in the use of it 
 acquired by philosophical reflection, and a critical 
 discrimination of terms, that we can seize upon 
 and trace the phenomena of our inward being. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MEMORY AND POWER OF ASSOCIATION. 
 
 Thus far, in treating of the powers of knowl- 
 edge, we have considered only those agencies by 
 which we have an immediate perception of a pres- 
 ent object, as existent in time and space. The dis- 
 tinctive characteristic of these is, that they are 
 accompanied with a sense of reality, and an irre- 
 sistible conviction of the actual present existence 
 of the object perceived, as it is perceived, and in- 
 dependent of the act of perception. The imme- 
 diate affections of sense in these agencies are pas- 
 
 
 . 
 
328 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 sive and involuntary; and what is given in the 
 sense is apprehended by the understanding, as de- 
 termined so and so in all its modifications of quan- 
 tity, quality and relation, and existing at this pre- 
 cise time and place. 
 
 We proceed now to the consideration of other 
 agencies and other modes in which the mind pre- 
 sents to itself the objects of its attention. In 
 these, the mind is more or less freed from the im- 
 mediate and absolute domination of sense and the 
 law of outward necessity ; and they form a sort of 
 transition from the passive determination of sense 
 to the freedom of voluntary thought. These, ac- 
 cording to the common use of language, may be 
 designated, in their general character, as the mem- 
 ory, the power of association, and the fancy or 
 imagination. But without attempting at present 
 to use these terms with precision, either as they 
 are or as they should be employed, I shall aim 
 merely to point out the more important distinc- 
 tions in things, as they are verified in our own 
 consciousness. 
 
 1. The power of simple sensuous re-presenta- 
 tion of a past intuition of sense, or, in general, of 
 a past state of consciousness. 
 
 When, by those agencies which have been al- 
 ready treated of, we have had an immediate per- 
 ception of the objects of knowledge, either in the 
 presentation of the outer or of the inner sense as 
 present to the sense, we can afterwards re-present 
 and contemplate them as past and absent. If, in 
 travelling, I pass a house upon the road, and ob- 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 329 
 
 serve it, have a distinct perception of it, my mind 
 can afterwards, when the object is now distant or 
 no longer in existence, re-present the house and 
 make it again the object of attention. 
 
 But observe, that in this simple representation, 
 the present agency of the mind is determined by 
 the past consciousness. It is merely, as it were, a 
 recurrence of a past state of consciousness, not 
 now as actual, indeed, but as representative, yet 
 limited and determined in all its particulars by the 
 actual past. The mind exercises no freedom of 
 construction, but presents to itself the past and 
 absent object as it was, with all its attendant cir- 
 cumstances of time, place, &c. In regard to its 
 object, the mind is equally passive as in the im- 
 mediate perception of the house when present to 
 the outer sense. That which is now present to 
 the mind is the simple counterpart or the repre- 
 sentative image of that which was before present. 
 Such a re-presentation of a past consciousness 
 may be called either simple memory, or referred to 
 the re-productive imagination. In its relation to 
 our powers of knowledge, it may be considered as 
 the reserved copy of an actual experience, reserved 
 in the mind, and capable of being re-presented as 
 an object of attention, and as containing the sen- 
 suous material of knowledge for the understand- 
 ing ; and the more perfectly it re-presents the ac- 
 tual past, i. e., the more entirely the present act 
 of the mind as representative is passively deter- 
 mined by the past as real, the more perfectly does 
 it subserve the purposes of the understanding. 
 42 
 
330 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 2. But again, the mind can present to itself a 
 modified image of the past, or a part only of a past 
 object without the remainder. This is done in- 
 voluntarily, in the imperfect and indistinct repre- 
 sentations which we make of our past experience. 
 Thus, in the illustration above given, I may repre- 
 sent the house without being able to fix the time 
 and place in which I observed it ; or I may recall 
 these and have but an indistinct image of the form, 
 color, size, &c, of the house itself. Here is an 
 involuntary modification of the original conscious- 
 ness. The present image, as representative, only 
 partially represents the past and real, or presents 
 it with the abstraction of more or less of that 
 which belonged to the original. Here we have 
 the distinction of remembering and forgetting, and 
 our ability or inability to re-present a past object 
 of perception ; and the degree of clearness and 
 perfection with which 1 am able to represent it, 
 depends upon various circumstances, both in the 
 original activity of the mind in the perception, and 
 in its present agency. In the progress of our ex- 
 perience, the mind becomes stored with the images 
 of the past, forming for each individual a world of 
 his own, in which he expatiates, or the parts of 
 which rise and fall, as it were, present themselves 
 clearly and adequately, or vaguely and imperfectly, 
 in the horizon of his present consciousness, and 
 supply him with the materials of thought and 
 knowledge. An important point to be observed 
 here is, that in the modified and partially abstract- 
 ed images of the past, the mind is already to 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 331 
 
 some extent freed from the domination of the im- 
 mediate impressions of sense. 
 
 3. The images which the mind has thus 
 formed, which had their origin in, and were repre- 
 sentative of, immediate and individual objects of 
 sense, become wholly freed from the order in time 
 and place, and from the connexion with each other 
 which they had as strictly representative of past 
 reality; and are spontaneously recombined in a 
 different order in time and place, and in new com- 
 binations with each other. Thus if, after passing 
 one house upon the road, I pass another of differ- 
 ent size, form, color, &c, I may afterwards re-pre- 
 sent the latter as antecedent in my experience to 
 the former, and combine in the representative im- , 
 
 age the color of one with the figure and situation 
 of the other ; or their qualities, without regard to 
 time and place, may be transferred and recombined 
 with each other, and with the qualities of other 
 objects without limit. In a word, the combina- 
 tions of distinguishable particulars, as presented in 
 our actual experience, are dissolvable in the inward 
 agencies of the mind, and the particulars reprodu- 
 cible under new arrangements and combinations 
 without limit, as we experience in our dreams and 
 our waking reveries, and witness in the effects of 
 delirium, &c. 
 
 4. In the new arrangements and combinations 
 which take place in the spontaneous reproduction 
 of these sensuous images, we trace the operation 
 
 of certain principles by which they are deter- 
 mined, and which constitute what is called the 
 law of association. 
 
332 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 The substance of this law in general, as the law 
 of spontaneous association, is, that images or par- 
 tial images of past states of consciousness have a 
 tendency, when present in our consciousness, to 
 recall others by relations subsisting among them- 
 selves, and independently of voluntary effort. 
 Thus, in our dreams, and whenever the spontane- 
 ous activity of the mind is left free from the con- 
 trol of the will and the interference of voluntary 
 thought, we find one image calls up another, and 
 a continuous succession of phenomena float before 
 the inner sense. These, indeed, are not composed 
 wholly of images of the outer sense ; but what- 
 ever has preexisted in our consciousness may be 
 represented and affect the present succession. Not 
 only so ; the present state of feeling, as cheerful or 
 melancholy, may have its influence in determining 
 the character of the associated imagery ; and this 
 again may have a reciprocal influence upon the 
 tone of the mind itself. 
 
 The most general principle, in regard to the 
 tendency of one object to recall another, is, that 
 whatever affections have once coexisted in our con- 
 "(f sciousness, as parts of one total impression or state 
 of consciousness, acquire thereby a tendency mu- 
 tually to reproduce each other. Thus, if, while 
 observing the house upon the road, I was convers- 
 ing with a fellow traveller, not only all the out- 
 ward circumstances would tend each to recall, 
 when re-presented to the mind, all the others, but 
 the subjects of our conversation, and the images 
 which that brought before the mind, would become 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 333 
 
 associated with the house, and tend to recall it. 
 A single word, or tone, or momentary feeling, if 
 afterwards heard, or felt, or represented, may serve 
 to bring the whole scene or any particular part of 
 it again before the mind. 
 
 Subordinate to this general principle, (1.) one v \ \ -' 
 
 image will tend more or less strongly to recall an- 
 other, in proportion to the strength of the original 
 impressions, and of the connexion which was 
 formed between them as parts of one total impres- 
 sion. Thus, if two objects of novel and peculiar 
 interest are present and occupy my mind, as two 
 distinguished persons, for example, at the same 
 time or in immediate succession, one will thereby 
 acquire a tendency always to recall the other. 
 (2.) This tendency will depend upon the relation 
 of the present state and tone and occupation of 
 my mind to the object to be associated, and a par- 
 ticular image will excite this or that other image 
 of objects originally forming parts of the same to- 
 tal impression, according as one or the other is 
 most consonant to its present state. When cheer- 
 ful, the same image would suggest a different 
 train of associated images from what it would 
 when melancholy. (3.) The principle of similar- 
 ity in the original affections of consciousness has 
 an influence upon the succession of the train of 
 representations. Affections of one sense tend 
 rather to recall each other, than the affections of 
 another sense ; sounds suggest other sounds, colors 
 other colors, &c. In general, the nearer the affin- 
 ity of representations to each other, the greater is 
 

 834 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 their tendency, other things being equal, to asso- 
 ciate each other. 
 
 We may enumerate, in addition to these, the 
 principle of order, of contrast, &c, but it is more 
 important to remark that all the agencies of the 
 mind are connected together as manifestations of 
 one inward life ; and the excitement of one power 
 has a tendency in a greater or less degree to ex- 
 cite every other. The present feelings influence 
 the associations of the past ; and whether in a mu- 
 sing mood or in a dream, this or that particular 
 train of imagery, this or that incident in our past 
 history, this or that picture of life originally formed 
 in the mind by the chance medley of a dream or a 
 novel, shall be now brought back to our conscious- 
 ness, depends upon contingencies that can be re- 
 duced to no general rule. 
 
 The clearness and vividness with which we re- 
 present past intuitions and states of consciousness 
 depend upon several circumstances; as, (1.) the 
 force and distinctness of the original impression ; 
 (2.) the fitness of the occasion to reproduce in all 
 its parts what constituted the original state of con- 
 sciousness ; and, (3.) the present vigor of the mind 
 and activity of the reproductive imagination itself; 
 (4.) state of health and affections of the organic 
 system. 
 
 In general, if one part of a total and complex 
 impression of sense, as one distinct object in a 
 landscape, awakens a strong interest and produces 
 a vivid impression, the remainder will produce but 
 a feeble one ; or if a variety of strong impressions 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 335 
 
 A 
 
 u 
 
 k. 
 
 ft 
 
 * 
 
 are produced at the same time, they tend to con- 
 fuse each other ; and these different effects will be 
 obvious in the subsequent representations. 
 
 It is only by the power of association, or the 
 tendency of a present consciousness to reproduce 
 former experiences, that the accumulated stores of 
 past observation and experience are treasured up 
 in our minds ; and in this way, as we have reason 
 to suppose, all the materials of each one's past * 
 history are so linked together as to be capable of 
 being represented to our consciousness. If so, 
 then nothing is in such a sense forgotten as to be 
 wholly lost from our minds; and we often find 
 that what at one time we could not recall by any 
 effort of recollection, will at another, without an 
 effort, and by the spontaneous power of associa- 
 tion, be brought clearly and vividly to mind. 
 
 In common language, however, we are said to 
 have forgotten a thing, when we cannot recall it 
 by the voluntary effort of the understanding in di- 
 recting the train of associations. 
 
 On the other hand, the power of memory, more 
 strictly defined, is the faculty of re-presenting to 
 the mind what has been before present to it, with 
 the consciousness that it has been so. We may 
 distinguish, here, the case in which we merely are 
 conscious that what is now present has been be- 
 fore present, and that in which we refer it to its 
 original connexions in time and place. 
 
 From the law of association, also, in part, arises 
 the formation of habits, and the anticipation of 
 the future. When the same process in which 
 
 /ifi/W 
 
 u\ 
 
 
 Y\i 
 
336 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 either the agencies of the mind alone, or those of 
 the mind and body together are concerned, has 
 been often repeated, each antecedent act excites 
 and reproduces its consequent by immediate and 
 spontaneous association, without an effort of thought 
 or of will. So, in regard to the future, when we 
 have seen phenomena often succeed each other in 
 a certain order, the occurrence of the antecedent 
 awakens the representation of the consequent in 
 the same relation of time, i. e., as yet future. By 
 this passive or rather spontaneous association with 
 the present of that which is yet future, even the 
 brutes have the power of foresight. 
 
 Thus far, I have spoken of the law of associa- 
 tion as a principle of spontaneity ; and of memory 
 and imagination chiefly as dependent on this, and 
 spontaneously reproducing the past in our con- 
 sciousness. In this form, merely, they exhibit 
 only the uncultivated and rude nature of man, as 
 it is common to him with the brutes. Left to this 
 alone, he would be wholly the creature of circum- 
 stances, directed by sensuous impulses, over which 
 he could have no power of control. 
 
 But, practically speaking, the will and the un- 
 derstanding in every one, with the first dawn of 
 conscious intelligence, controls and modifies, in a 
 greater or less degree, the law of spontaneous as- 
 sociation. It was before remarked, that, even in 
 the spontaneous agencies of the mind, the order 
 and combinations presented in our actual experi- 
 ence are dissolved, and new arrangements and 
 combinations produced. 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 337 
 
 I proceed now to remark, that the association of 
 objects presented to us can be influenced by the 
 will, and that we can, by voluntary efforts of the 
 understanding, determine the order and the con- 
 nexion of that which is treasured up in our mem- 
 ories. Thus, among the particulars presented in a 
 total impression to the outer senses, or at the same 
 time present to the inner sense, we can at will fix 
 the attention upon an individual or upon any por- 
 tion of the whole, abstract it from the rest, and 
 connect it or associate it by voluntary thought with 
 whatever else we are able to bring before our con- 
 sciousness. If our attention, for example, be fixed 
 upon a ship, as part of a scene presented either to 
 the outer or to the inner sense, we can think of it 
 in its relation to science or art, or in its relation to 
 natural scenery, and determine its associations ac- 
 cordingly, in its relation to our former stores of 
 knowledge. In this way, I determine, in a greater 
 or less degree, by my own voluntary effort, my 
 subsequent ability to rememberit, and the associa- 
 tions by means of which I shall be able to recall 
 it. It is by this higher power of thought, directed 
 to the objects present in the horizon of our con- 
 sciousness, that we are able to choose and limit 
 the objects that shall occupy our minds ; shut out 
 intruding associations; and thus pursue a fixed 
 purpose, and give a predetermined method to the 
 succession of associated thought and imagery. 
 Thus the spontaneous agencies of the mind are 
 gradually brought under methodical arrangement, 
 determined by the prevailing habits of thought j ~s 
 43 
 
 i 
 

 
 338 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY, 
 
 and even our dreams give proof of the mode in 
 which our waking hours are employed, and of the 
 degree in which our minds are disciplined and cul- 
 tivated. 
 
 The influence of the power of attention, both 
 in fixing particular states of consciousness or par- 
 ticular objects in our memories, and in rendering 
 our associations methodical, is of the highest im- 
 portance. The power to select, among the num- 
 berless objects present to our consciousness, that 
 which is suited to a preconceived purpose, with the 
 exclusion of the rest ; to retain it against the force 
 of the natural current of spontaneous association ; 
 is that which renders us capable of self-cultivation 
 and self-control. By this, we are able to rise 
 above the law of mere brute nature, and direct the 
 agencies of our minds to the accomplishment of 
 purposes which reason prescribes. 
 * The voluntary activity of the mind is no less 
 
 distinguished above its spontaneous agencies, in 
 what we have called the productive imagination. 
 In its spontaneous agencies, it was remarked that 
 it often produced new combinations among the 
 images of the past, as in our dreams, etc. But 
 these are rather the product of nature working in 
 us, than our own work. They are the results, re- 
 vealed in our consciousness, of powers which lie 
 beyond the reach of our immediate and voluntary 
 control, no less than the organic agencies of the 
 nervous and arterial systems. 
 
 But the imagination, in its higher functions, is 
 the power by which we are able voluntarily to 
 
 rt 
 
I 
 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 339 
 
 present to ourselves images, constructed and com- 
 bined otherwise than they are given to us in our 
 experience. If my mind were absolutely limited 
 by my actual experience, and I could only re-pre- 
 sent the actual past, then a series of objects, seen 
 to exist in only one order and mode of combina- 
 tion, could not be presented by the mind to itself 
 in any other mode. The objects a, b, c, if known 
 in our experience only in the order of succession 
 in which they are given, would always be repre- 
 sented in the same order ; and there could arise 
 in the mind no occasion for the distinction be- 
 tween the actual and the possible. But we know 
 not only that the spontaneous law of association 
 may represent them in a different order, but that 
 we can arrange and combine them, in the images 
 which we present to ourselves at will, without re- 
 gard to the order in which they were known in 
 our experience, and thus make ourselves conscious 
 of the distinction between the actual and the pos- 
 sible. 
 
 Thus the imagination is not at all limited in its 
 agencies, by the forms and combinations of the 
 real world of our experience ; but those images 
 which are first furnished by the intuitions of sense, 
 we can, by an exertion of voluntary power, shape 
 and combine together, and present to the inner 
 sense in an endless variety of forms. We can re- 
 present an individual object, like the sun for ex- 
 ample, as multiplied or enlarged, and think of the 
 sky as filled with a thousand suns. When we see 
 an object of a red color, we can represent to our- 
 
 I 
 
* 
 
 340 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 selves that color as extended to other objects, and 
 spread over all that surrounds us. So we can re- 
 present the qualities of an object, as abstracted 
 one after another, till the whole disappears, and is 
 represented as non-existent. 
 
 In all its creations, however, the imagination is 
 limited in regard to the materials of its workman- 
 ship to that which is given in the intuitions of pure 
 and empirical sense. However free the play of 
 imagery in fictitious representations may be, the 
 imagination, under the control of the will, can only 
 contribute the form and method in which the ma- 
 terials already given are combined together. 
 Hence the man born blind can combine in the 
 creations of his imagination no representations of 
 color, nor the deaf of sounds. Thus all the mate- 
 rials are from the empirical sense ; the form and 
 principle of combination in space and time, from 
 the mind itself. 
 v^ A distinction of great importance is made here, 
 between the mere aggregations of forms and 
 imagery, and that agency of the imagination in 
 which the imagery is strictly subordinated to the 
 expression of a pre-conceived idea. The former 
 agency is distinguished by some as the fancy, the 
 other as the imagination, in its proper sense. It 
 is the office of the former to collect and call up 
 as it were the images of the inner sense, as the 
 materials by which the creative ideas of the imag- 
 ination are to be expressed or realized. 
 
 The power to distinguish the possible from the 
 actual, and to present to ourselves a scene or com- 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 341 
 
 bination of circumstances, as possible, differing 
 from and better than the real, is the ground ot 
 hope, and the exciting cause of all effort to im- 
 prove our condition. It is the guide of the under- 
 standing, as it were, in presenting beforehand the 
 objects not yet existing, which the understanding 
 contrives the means of attaining. 
 
 It is this power, also, that constructs those 
 figures which are the necessary objects of the un- 
 derstanding, in seeking after general truths, as the 
 basis of its conceptions. We abstract from the 
 individual images of sense their distinctive charac- 
 ters, and present a general outline that applies to 
 several individual objects in common. When we 
 use a general term, as man, house, tree, &c, we 
 bring before our mind a sensuous representation of 
 it, that serves to designate the meaning of the 
 word, without including the characters which dis- 
 tinguish individuals of the species named from 
 each other. Or rather, perhaps, the imagination 
 enlightens the understanding here, by presenting 
 varying forms, or differing individual images of the 
 class, each of which includes the characters com- 
 bined in the general conception, with the con- 
 sciousness of the distinction between the concep- 
 tion and the individualized image. This will be 
 best exemplified by reference to the construction 
 of geometrical forms, all which are the work of 
 the productive imagination. When we represent 
 to ourselves the meaning of the word triangle, 
 ellipse, &c, it is by constructing figures, each of 
 which includes the characters combined in the 
 
 / 
 
 SY 
 
 sr 
 
342 
 
 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 definition, with the consciousness that they are 
 only inclusive of the conception, while the indi- 
 vidual peculiarities of each are unessential.* 
 Again, the activity of the imagination is neces- 
 Wt . tvvX- sary to invention, in the useful as well as in the 
 AXiJVih'h fi ne arts '> since whatever is to be realized, must 
 
 first be presented by the imagination as a possi- 
 ble construction. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 RECAPITULATION. 
 
 i 
 
 Before proceeding to treat more particularly of 
 the understanding as the power of voluntary 
 thought, let us review very briefly what has been 
 
 * A scheme, as constituting the identity of a conception in dif- 
 ferent minds, and the ultimate ground of community in language, 
 can exist only in the common method, or rule of representation, 
 by which the imagination is directed in producing images of 
 objects included under a general term. An individual object can 
 be subsumed under a general conception, only as it has in it that 
 which is identical in kind with the conception itself; i. e., as it is 
 generated, in the mode of conscious representation, by the same 
 method, by the same rule of generation in the productive imagi- 
 nation. 
 
 Different minds are brought to a mutual understanding of terms, 
 as designating a determinate agency in consciousness as common 
 to them all. Thus the images which A and B present to them- 
 selves, when the word triangle is used, are not identical, and 
 may be widely diverse. How then, since they represent the 
 word, each by the image in his own mind, does it mean for them 
 the same thing"? It does so, only as they are able to determine a 
 method in the productive agency of the imagination, by which the 
 image is constructed, and in the identity of the method is found 
 the basis of intelligibility in the use of the word. 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 343 
 
 said of the powers of knowledge. I wish to do 
 so, chiefly, for the purpose of bringing together into 
 one view the leading distinctions which have been 
 made, and stating, more technically perhaps, the 
 terms by which I shall usually designate them. 
 
 1. In speaking of the powers of knowledge, 
 
 we mean those agencies of the mind whose func- a -~ t/V 1 
 tion it is to know, or by whose activity we pre- 1 -^ ^ 
 sent to our consciousness, under some form, that 
 which pertains to our knowing, as distinguished 
 from designing and willing. 
 
 2. To know is a verb active, and necessarily J J^^ "^ 
 
 implies a something known. Every exercise of _. 
 
 the powers of knowledge, therefore, involves the '"T ' - 
 distinction of an act, and an object on which that' 
 act terminates. 
 
 3. That on which a specific act terminates, as Jvw^-c^ 4 -"^ 
 its specific correlative, is its immediate object. lA i^- 
 The object, according to its etymology and the /A 
 
 sense here given it, is that which lies opposite or ^ " j 
 over against the agent. 
 
 In order to render more obvious the distinction , - x_ 
 of immediate in our knowing, I must anticipate, in ' 
 a word, an account of that which is mediate, as 
 contrasted with it. When I have formed a pre-c^^-^ 
 vious conception, no matter by what method, and^V^^ 
 by means of that, as applied to the objects around 
 me, call this object of sense a triangle, that an ap- 
 ple, &c, my knowledge that the one is a triangle 
 and the other an apple, is through the medium of 
 the conceptions previously formed and present in 
 the understanding ; and this knowledge is, there- 
 
344 
 
 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 ) < t/KAA^ 
 
 
 fore, mediate. Now the intuition of that to which 
 the conception is applied is antecedent to and inde- 
 pendent of the act by which we determine what it 
 is, as coming under this or that determining con- 
 ception. 
 
 4. That faculty by which we present to our- 
 selves, or become conscious of the presence of, 
 that in our knowledge which is thus antecedent to 
 the determining of what it is, of that which is 
 knowable in distinction from the act of knowing, 
 is the faculty of sense. 
 
 In this strict employment of terms, therefore, 
 the sense does not know, but is the organ by which 
 we present to ourselves the material of knowledge. 
 It is the receptive faculty, the vis receptiva of the 
 mind ; and that which is present in the sense is a 
 something given, of which the sense is the passive 
 recipient. 
 
 5. The act of receiving, here, however, in what 
 is denominated the passive reciptivity of the sense, 
 is, nevertheless, an act, and supposes a specific 
 power of action. To be receptive of the impres- 
 sions of color, sound, &c., implies a specific sus- 
 ceptibility, not belonging to inanimate things. In 
 every conscious affection of sense, therefore, there 
 is a present determination of the passive suscepti- 
 bility of impressions, as in the affections of red- 
 ness, sweetness, hardness, &c. 
 
 6. In these determinations of our conscious- 
 /i ness, we have the most immediate and original 
 
 union or coincidence of the self with the not self; 
 f g^^o-**iv f tne su bjective and the objective; and distin- 
 
 v-i An/5 
 
 HjL 
 
 . ^Lcaj-c 
 
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 345 
 
 guish, in the same state of consciousness, the acts' ^-i> l - v " . 
 of seeing, feeling, hearing, &c, from the imme- r***-^**' *{jt 
 diate correlatives of these in the qualities seen, ~ ' 
 
 felt, heard, &c. 
 
 In these immediate and passive affections of our i a hL. ( 
 consciousness ; in these agencies of the vis recep-^ 
 tiva, in which we thus distinguish the conscious" - - (\4 
 
 seeing, tasting, &c, from a somewhat seen, tasted, 
 &.c, consists the feeling which we have of exist- 
 ence of something real and actual. In every such 
 state of consciousness, there is an affirmation, a 
 certainty of the reality, not only of the acts of 
 seeing, &c, but of the somewhat seen, insepara- 
 ble from the consciousness itself. 
 
 7. That in our immediate affections of sense, 
 which we are conscious of as our own act, we re- 
 fer to self, as the abiding ground of its reality ; 
 and that which we are conscious of as present to 
 the sense, but not as originating in our own agen- 
 cy, we refer to a ground of reality out of self, J$^ 
 That out of self, to which we thus refer what is 
 immediately present in our consciousness, is an 
 object of perception ; and the affections of sense , 
 which we refer to it are its qualities, and express 
 
 the relations between the object and our suscepti- 
 bility of impressions, or the modes in which it is 
 presentable to our minds. 
 
 8. Again, whatever is a possible object of * 
 knowledge for us, must be, in some mode, presen- //}l.^t < ) tj j& 
 table in our consciousness, as the condition of . t"~ t~" 
 its being known. Now the various forms and im- 
 
 pressions of sense, are the modes of presentation 
 
 44 
 
346 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 in which whatever is existent in time and space 
 can alone manifest itself to us and become appre- 
 hensible as an object of knowledge. 
 
 9. All our powers of knowledge are originally 
 . excited and called into conscious action by the 
 
 V^v-A-Aw Vi- affections and excitements of sense ; and all the 
 
 , <2<fly < - ^original materials of our knowledge are given in 
 
 ^ A the immediate consciousness of sensuous affections, 
 
 vi*w{x#tA^ e ^ tner f tne outer or f tne inner sense, and are 
 presented as existing under the forms and relations 
 of space and time, or, in regard to the objects of 
 the inner sense, of time alone. This proposi- 
 tion must be understood as limited to knowledge 
 founded in experience. 
 
 10. In the immediate intuition of an object, as 
 ^fc*^/^^^- ex * stent m s P ace a d time, the following particu- 
 
 Vf &****- lars are distinguishable : 
 
 tft^ (1.) "Those qualities of which we have an inci- 
 te mediate consciousness in the empirical affections 
 jQ of sense, and our knowledge of which, as objec- 
 tive realities, is, both in kind and degree, deter- 
 mined by that which is present in our immediate 
 consciousness. That agency of the several pow- 
 . . ers of sense by which we become conscious of 
 " lN these qualities, is immediate empirical intuition; 
 {> 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 
 
 <Jj L object of immediate intuition, can, afterwards, and 
 when absent, be re-presented in an imaginary intu- 
 ition, or presented in an image of sense which is 
 distinguished from the real intuition as representa- 
 tive only. The simple re-presentation of an ob- 
 ject in an image of sense, is referred to the agency 
 of the reproductive imagination. 
 
 13. Such a reproduced image, with a conscious 
 reference of it to a past experience, or with a con- 
 
 i sciousness that it has been before present to the 
 
 mind, is memory. The voluntary reproduction of 
 UvAu-fr~ an image of the past by means of the law of asso- 
 ciation, is recollection. 
 
 14. The law of association, considered dis- 
 ^ t / tinctively from the agencies of the understanding, 
 
 , v j is the tendency which the phenomena of our con- 
 v> 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 
 
 <Y 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 455 
 
 moving cause of our actions. As to their essential 
 moral character, they would be the same in what- 
 ever change of condition and consequent variation 
 of outward form, so long as they spring from the s* 
 same principle and aim at the same end. They 
 are the varying devices and inventions of the un- 
 derstanding, as applied to the outward sphere in 
 which we are placed, and striving to realize a pre- 
 scribed end by appropriate means. Thus, the man 
 who is actuated by a principle of ambition, and is 
 devoted to the attainment of political distinction, 
 will shape his more immediate and conscious pur- 
 poses in subordination to that principle, and with 
 a reference to its proper end. Yet, according to 
 outward circumstances and the judgments of his 
 understanding as applied to these, he might prac- 
 tice the arts of the demagogue as a candidate for 
 popular favor; might become a crouching syco- 
 phant at the footstool of power; or in reliance 
 upon superior physical force, boldly usurp the reins 
 of sovereignty. While the immediate purposes 
 and corresponding outward acts, here, would vary 
 according to outward relations, their essential char- 
 acter would remain the same. It is determined as 
 good or evil, not by what is conditional and acci- 
 dental, but by the relation of the higher principle 
 inherent in all the acts and purpose of the ambi- 
 tious man, as such, to the law of conscience. 
 
 With these distinctions in view, then, it is obvi- 
 ous that we can neither refer to outward occasions 
 and circumstances, as determining at all the moral 
 character of our actions, nor limit our responsibil- //" 
 
 V 
 
 & 
 
456 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 it)' and the application of moral distinctions to 
 those immediate and more conscious purposes, 
 which are necessarily relative to the outward and 
 circumstantial. We are responsible also for the 
 higher principle, as working in us, and shaping our 
 ends for good or evil, in conformity or in opposi- 
 tion to the law of righteousness. The votary of 
 a lawless ambition is responsible not merely for 
 the particular wrong which he purposes and com- 
 mits, as incidental to the end aimed at, but for the 
 wrong principle itself. This necessarily follows 
 from the positions which have been already as- 
 serted, upon the ground of our moral conscious- 
 ness. Whatever principle of action manifests 
 itself within us as directing and controlling our 
 purposes, in opposition to that law which pre- 
 scribes the ultimate and absolute ends at which 
 we ought to aim, we recognize as wrong, and im- 
 pute to ourselves as sin for which we are responsi- 
 ble. Nor can we feel our responsibility or our 
 guilt the less, that we find such wrong principles 
 of action deeply seated in our minds, and exposing 
 us to deceive ourselves in respect to our character 
 as sinners. The fact that our own evil principles 
 have acquired an entire control over us, and have 
 blinded our minds to all right views of what we 
 idj ought to be, cannot be plead; in extenuation of our 
 guilt. Experience, indeed, shows that the deeper 
 and more radical the principle of action which 
 gives its character to our purposes may be, the 
 more we are absorbed in devising means and in 
 executing subordinate purposes for accomplishing 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 457 
 
 the end which it prescribes, the less conscious 
 we become of its presence and its power. Look, 
 for example, at the man of business, with his 
 whole mind occupied and all his thoughts en- 
 grossed, or as we say with propriety, absorbed in 
 the accumulation of wealth. His ordinary con- 
 sciousness extends only to the immediate pur- 
 poses and occupations of the day. Of the deeper 
 principle which characterizes these, and of the 
 ulterior end to which they are directed by its in- 
 fluence, as something distinctive, and as having a 
 moral character of good or evil, he is, perhaps, for 
 the time, wholly unconscious. Yet, at the same 
 time, it will be obvious to the enlightened and 
 comprehensive observer, that the whole character 
 of the man is distinctly marked by the pervading 
 and controlling influence of the principle in ques- 
 tion. To his view, it will betray itself by innu- 
 merable and infallible tokens, while the subject 
 himself is unaware that he has given any indica- 
 tion of his character, or of the principle by which 
 he is governed. He unconsciously assumes that 
 all men are actuated by the same principle and 
 pursue the same end with himself. His conscious 
 being, his thoughts, his purposes, his interests, are 
 so limited and encompassed within the sphere 
 which it prescribes, and so determined by the 
 character which it imposes, that he can no longer 
 place himself without the compass of its influence 
 and contemplate it as it is, in the pure light of 
 truth. On the contrary, he sees all other things 
 through the colored medium which, as an artificial 
 58 
 
458 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 atmosphere, it throws around him. To his view, 
 the objects of nature in all their beauty and glory, 
 the powers of intelligence, as unfolded and en- 
 riched by education and science and art, and 
 even the higher excellencies of moral worth, have 
 no character and no interest, but in relation to the 
 purposes of gain. He sees in them only the more 
 or less appropriate and efficient means and instru- 
 ments for accomplishing the ends which the essen- 
 tial principle of his own character prescribes. He 
 can discover in the occupations and pursuits of 
 other men only well or ill chosen means to the 
 same end which he is pursuing, and is wholly 
 blind, not only to the desirableness, but to the pos- 
 sibility of proposing any other. Shall we say, 
 then, that such an one is excusable for his blind- 
 ness and insensibility ? Is it not rather sufficient 
 to say, as a plain and obvious truth, that he ought 
 nofcto be thus blind and insensible, thus uncon- 
 scious of the law and obligations of duty, and 
 heedless of his higher destiny as a rational and 
 moral being ? Will not his own conscience re- 
 proach him, whenever he is awakened to a sense 
 of its admonitions, for the domestic and social du- 
 ties which he has been led to neglect, as well as 
 for the wrongs which he has committed, in his 
 blind obedience to a principle and his eager pur- 
 suit of an end which, in the supremacy thus ac- 
 quired by them, are not in accordance with the 
 law of righteousness ? 
 
 But if we are responsible for such a principle, 
 even when ordinarily unconscious of its character, 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 459 
 
 and condemn ourselves for our blind ambition or 
 devotion to wealth, as well as for the more imme- 
 diate and distinctly conscious purposes which have 
 their origin in these, will the case be altered in re- 
 gard to our responsibility, if we find these princi- 
 ples embraced as but accidental modifications in 
 one still deeper and more universal ? It is obvi- 
 ous that different men, actuated by the same prin- 
 ciple of ambition, will, according "to their outward 
 circumstances, employ different means and form 
 different subordinate purposes. To these alone, as 
 diverse from each other, their ordinary conscious- 
 ness is limited. Yet if we suppose them to reflect 
 and bring into the distinct view of their minds the 
 controlling principle which alike governs them, 
 they will find it the same and having the same re- 
 lation to the common law of conscience in all. 
 Should more earnest reflection and the clearer 
 light of divine truth, then, convince us that such 
 principles of action as ordinarily distinguish men 
 from each other, ambition, devotion to wealth, the 
 love of pleasure, and all those which diversify the 
 surface of human society, are but the compara- 
 tively outward forms and phases of one and the 
 same principle, present in each of them and im- 
 parting its character to all, we may still find, in re- 
 gard to that, also, the same sense of responsibility, 
 and recognize its relation to the law of conscience 
 as good or evil. Though, by the supposition, not 
 within the sphere of our common consciousness, 
 like the immediate and particular purposes of to- 
 day, and farther removed from it even than the 
 
460 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 several principles by which different men and 
 classes of men are distinguished from each other, 
 yet, when awakened to a deeper knowledge of 
 ourselves, and made conscious of its presence, 
 either immediately or in its effects, we may be con- 
 strained to . feel, not only that we are responsible 
 for its character, but are justly chargeable with it 
 as evil, in the view of conscience and of God. 
 And this is what I understand by sin as a princi- 
 ple of action, and what the universal experience 
 of men, whenever they have reflected enough to 
 understand distinctly the principles which actuate 
 them, proves to be the truth in respect to the char- 
 acter of man. The import of it is, that there is 
 an ultimate principle of action common to all men, 
 and therefore deeper than those by which they are 
 distinguished from each other. It teaches that 
 this principle, common to all, imparts its character 
 to the more specific and more immediately con- 
 scious principles and purposes of each, by deter- 
 mining in every individual the ultimate end at 
 which he aims, as including and modifying all sub- 
 ordinate and limited ends. It imports, moreover^ 
 that the principle thus universal in respect to the 
 race, and thus comprehensive in respect to the 
 agencies of the individual, when brought into dis- 
 tinct consciousness by the clear light of truth, and 
 tried by the law of righteousness, is found to be a 
 wrong principle, and imputed to himself, by every 
 man, as one for which he feels and knows himself 
 responsible. 
 

 
 GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 461 
 
 In view of these distinctions and illustrations, 
 then, we cannot but recognize the importance and 
 the practical nature of the position which they are 
 intended to explain ; that it is not the consequen- 
 ces of our acts, nor strictly our outward acts, as 
 such, but the inward purpose and the still deeper 
 principles of action in which that purpose origi- 
 nates, that we distinguish as morally right or 
 wrong. It turns away our attention from the out- 
 ward and accidental, in our relations and in our 
 conduct, to the abiding fountains of good or evil in 
 our own minds. It points us to a knowledge of 
 ourselves, of the secret workings of our hearts, and 
 of the ultimate ends for which we are striving, as 
 alone enabling us to determine what is our char- 
 acter in the light of truth. But especially does 
 it bring to notice the fact, so important in its prac- 
 tical applications, that our sense of sin, of that in- 
 ward moral evil for which we find ourselves re- 
 sponsible, is not limited to our immediate and 
 distinctly conscious purposes, but extends to the 
 secret and yet unconscious principle from which 
 they spring. According to the view presented, it 
 is not necessary that we should have reflected and 
 made ourselves fully conscious of the principles from 
 which our actions flow, in their relation to the law 
 of righteousness, in order to their being justly im- 
 puted to us as evil. Those principles, obviously, do 
 not become evil by being known merely, but were 
 evil before they were known, and while we yet act- 
 ed in blind subjection to their power. When 
 awakened to a serious examination of our charac- 
 
462 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 ter and conduct, and when, by opening our minds 
 to the light of divine truth, we become more deep- 
 ly conscious of the inward sources in which our 
 daily purposes have their origin, we find principles 
 of action of which we were not before conscious, 
 but which our own consciences bear witness, ought 
 not to be there, and condemn as evil. It is enough 
 that we find them there as principles of action in 
 our personal being, and opposed to the law reveal- 
 ed in our consciences. We necessarily impute 
 them to ourselves, as our own principles, and their 
 contrariety to truth and righteousness as our own 
 sin. No matter how blind we may hitherto have 
 been to the true character of the inward principles 
 which determine our purposes and ends ; so soon 
 as they are brought into the light and distinctly 
 seen to prescribe other ends than those which God 
 has ordained, we recognize them as evil, and our- 
 selves as guilty in his sight. A principle of law- 
 less ambition is not the less blameworthy, that we 
 are so wholly subjected to its influence and absorb- 
 ed in the pursuit of ambitious ends, as to be un- 
 conscious of the claims of duty, and heedless of 
 the wrongs which we commit. A corrupt and 
 engrossing selfishness, under whatever decent exte- 
 rior, is still evil and unholy, though we may remain 
 ignorant of its all pervading and all-comprehend- 
 ing power in our hearts. We cannot shun respon- 
 sibility by abiding in darkness. We cannot escape 
 the consequences of the evil principles which lurk 
 within us, by remaining in ignorance of what they 
 are. It is enough for us, that we ought not to be 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 463 
 
 ignorant of ourselves, but to walk in the clear light 
 of our own consciousness and to keep consciences 
 void of offence. It is the very purpose and effect 
 of divine truth, and of the holy laiv of God, to make 
 known to us our true character, to bring to light the 
 hidden things of darkness, and to make manifest 
 the counsels of the heart. What these determine 
 concerning us when faithfully applied to the in- 
 ward principles in which our actions originate, 
 that we are in very truth. The evil which they 
 bring to light is the sin about which we are dis- 
 coursing, and for which we must answer at the 
 bar of God. If, by their verdict, as revealed within 
 us and testified by our own consciences, we are 
 convicted of transgression and sin, not only for our 
 avowed purposes, but for every inward principle 
 that is found at variance with the true law and 
 purpose of our being, we must abide by their 
 decision, whatever speculative objections we may 
 find against it. 
 
 What is meant here and explained by the pre- 
 vious illustrations is the simple fact, that we do 
 find such principles within us, and that when 
 found, though we may never have been conscious 
 of them before, we do condemn ourselves on that 
 account as sinners. The existence of such prin- 
 ciples of action in our minds, or rather of a uni- 
 versal principle common to all men, and found in 
 all to be contrary to the law of conscience, is 
 what is asserted by the doctrine of original sin. 
 It is the principle in which, as the ultimate ground 
 in us, in distinction from more superficial princi- 
 
464 
 
 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 pies or purposes, our actions truly originate. It is 
 that, too, in which they have their origin, as dis- 
 tinguished from all causes out of ourselves, and by 
 virtue of which we are really and truly the authors 
 of our own acts in respect to their moral character 
 and the ends to which they are determined. We 
 find evil originating in our own hearts, or we orig- 
 inate that which is evil. In acting out of an orig- 
 inant principle thus prescribing an end diverse from 
 that which the divine law prescribes, we transgress 
 the law, and impute it to ourselves as sin. It 
 is in this sense that we should understand the 
 import of the term, when sin is charged upon all 
 men, or the whole race of man represented as guilty 
 in the sight of God. It is not that all have com- 
 mitted distinct and conscious crimes, or overt acts 
 of known and wilful transgression ; but that all, 
 when awakened to a true sense of their own char- 
 acters, as tried by the law of holiness, will find a 
 principle of action not in harmony with it. It is 
 in respect to this deep and radical principle of 
 action that we are most liable to deceive ourselves, 
 and most need the light of divine truth to reveal 
 to us the secrets of our hearts. If any deny the 
 existence of such a principle, as by nature work- 
 ing in them and determining the ends at which 
 they aim, we may say, in the language of the 
 Apostle, they deceive themselves, and the truth 
 is not in them. 
 
 I have thus endeavored, as was proposed in the 
 first general division of the subject, to determine 
 what is the essential character of sin as a fact of 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 465 
 
 individual experience, and capable of being known 
 within the sphere of our personal consciousness. 
 I have aimed simply to set forth and illustrate that 
 which every man, who will earnestly look, into 
 himself and examine the deeper principles of his 
 conduct, may verify by its proper evidence. Nor 
 is it possible to determine on any other grounds of 
 knowledge, either what is the true import of the 
 language of revelation in regard to moral distinc- 
 tions, or what is our character as responsible be- 
 ings and as transgressors of a moral law. Such, 
 then, on the only evidence which the nature of the 
 case admits, is the essential character of sin, and 
 our individual character as sinners. These are, as 
 it were, the facts of the case, to which all our 
 speculative views must conform. We cannot find 
 relief from the sense of guilt in a speculative no- 
 tion that it is an evil only in appearance, but really 
 and in itself the necessary means to a good end, 
 and therefore good. The witness within tells us 
 it is an evil and bitter thing, the adversary and 
 opposite of all good. We cannot cast off our per- 
 sonal responsibility, and the attendant sense of 
 remorse in the commission of sin, by the delusive 
 doctrine that we are but the passive instruments 
 for working out the designs of an overruling pow- 
 er. Conscience charges the evil upon us as its 
 authors, and we know that we must abide its de- 
 cision. Nor can we find a refuge for our pride, or 
 alleviate the humiliating and upbraiding sense of 
 our character and condition as sinners, by regard- 
 ing the sin with which we are chargeable, as aa 
 59 
 
466 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 outward and merely incidental affection. We can 
 neither attach the imputation to our acts consid- 
 ered in their outward relations and consequences, 
 nor limit it to that which is merely relative and 
 accidental or variable in our conscious intentions 
 and purposes. We are constrained to take it home 
 to ourselves with all its guilt and shame, and with 
 all its forms and degrees of culpability, as grounded 
 in the inmost principles of action which pertain to 
 our personal being. We are necessitated, by the 
 testimony of our own experience and the verdict 
 of our own consciences, to confess that sin, as we 
 find it in ourselves, is no superficial evil, to be 
 subdued and eradicated by a few slight efforts and 
 good resolutions, which we have always the power 
 to employ, but grounded in a principle which, by 
 its influence, is present in and modifies all our 
 responsible agencies, with reference to the ulti- 
 mate end to which they are determined. We 
 recognize it as a deep and radical evil, affecting 
 our essential characters as accountable beings, and 
 constituting us sinners in the sight of God. 
 
 If such, then, be the truth on this great subject, 
 it cannot be denied that it is truth of a practical 
 character, and deeply concerns us all. Have we 
 faithfully examined our hearts and tried our inward 
 principles of action by the light of truth, to see 
 whether, in relation to ourselves, these things are 
 so ? Have we resolved in all earnestness to know 
 the truth concerning ourselves ; or have we chosen 
 to walk in the dim twilight of uncertainty, to 
 leave the most important of all questions undeter- 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 467 
 
 mined, lest we might be constrained to forego our 
 purposes and renounce the principles on which we 
 act ? Let us not deceive ourselves with the notion 
 that our own ignorance will excuse us in this mat- 
 ter. If we know not that we are sinners, or have 
 but an obscure and doubtful sense of our guilt, it 
 is because we have not liked to retain God in our 
 knowledge. It is because we have chosen dark- 
 ness rather than light, and have wilfully closed our 
 ears to the whispered admonitions of conscience. 
 The fact that we thus deceive ourselves, and that 
 the truth is not in us, makes not our course less 
 contrary to the law of righteousness, but prevents 
 our fleeing for deliverance to Him who alone can 
 save us from the power of sin. Though we have 
 not aggravated our guilt and braved the terrors of 
 the Most High by distinctly and consciously re- 
 solving that we will not obey his law, and that trie 
 purposes of our own evil will shall be our portion, 
 yet our consciences convict us of sin so long as we 
 neglect to choose Him for our portion, and to yield 
 all our powers to His service. Let us then go to 
 Him with confession of our sins, and implore the 
 aids of His grace, that we may henceforth walk in 
 the light, as He is in the light. With that sense of 
 our unworthiness and ill-desert which cannot be 
 separated from the indwelling of the word and 
 truth of God in our minds, let us look to the Lord 
 Jesus Christ and his righteousness, as that alone 
 by which we can be saved from the pollution of 
 sin and from its condemning power. For God so 
 
ON THE NATURE, 
 
 loved the world that he gave his only begotten 
 Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not 
 perish, but have everlasting life. 
 
 DISCOURSE II. 
 
 With these views of the nature of sin, as we 
 find it in our experience, we may proceed to con- 
 sider the second general division of the subject. 
 In this it was proposed to point out, as clearly as 
 the inherent difficulty of the case will permit us 
 to do, the ground and origin of sin in respect to 
 the distinguishable powers of our own being, and 
 so, the conditions of its universality. We are here 
 obviously concerned with questions of a different 
 nature from those which have occupied us in the 
 former part of the discourse. Instead of simply 
 exhibiting, as it was there intended to do, the na- 
 ture of evil as every one may find it in his imme- 
 diate experience and consciousness, we are now to 
 determine that concerning it of which we are not 
 immediately conscious. The inquiry, therefore, 
 becomes more speculative in its character, and be- 
 longs, indeed, to that vexed sphere of immemorial 
 controversy, which I should not, I confess, except 
 under strict imitations, deem entirely appropriate 
 to the services of the sanctuary. It is only in the 
 hope of arriving at practical results, and of remov- 
 ing difficulties in regard to moral and religious 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 469 
 
 truth which speculative minds are sure to meet, 
 and by which the most ingenuous are often stum- 
 bled, that I venture to make such an inquiry a part 
 of our religious service. Yet observe, it is not the 
 origin of evil, on the broad ground of speculation 
 upon which that subject is often discussed, with 
 which we are concerned, but the origin of sin in 
 our own personal being. Whatever moral evil 
 may have existed out of our minds and antecedent 
 to our existence, that is not now the subject of in- 
 quiry ; but what can we determine of its origin in 
 ourselves, as that for which we are individually re- 
 sponsible, but which is yet common to all ? What 
 do the practical principles already established on 
 the ground of our common consciousness, necessi- 
 tate us to admit in respect to the inquiry now be- 
 fore us? For we cannot too carefully bear in 
 mind what was stated under a previous head of 
 discourse, that no merely speculative conclusions 
 can supersede the immediate convictions of prac- 
 tical truth in our moral being. In seeking to de- 
 termine the origin of sin in those agencies of 
 which we are not immediately and distinctly con- 
 scious, therefore, we are strictly limited by the 
 conditions which our conscious knowledge of the 
 essential nature of sin imposes upon us. Nothing 
 can be received as true, which contradicts our con- 
 sciousness in this matter; and it is strictly, indeed, 
 by means of that which we find in our conscious 
 experience, as already exhibited, that we can alone 
 determine the truth and reality of what is affirmed 
 in relation to this part of our subject. 
 
470 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 Thus our views of the origin of sin in our per- 
 sonal being can have no authority and no reality 
 for us, except as they are necessarily involved in 
 the facts of our consciousness and the testimony of 
 our conscience, as awakened and illuminated by 
 the power of divine truth. If they are such as to 
 involve the inference, that sin is not what we have 
 already found it to be, on the highest ground of 
 evidence, they must be rejected as false. It is for 
 this reason, that I have endeavored first to show 
 what sin is in its essential characteristics, as a fact 
 of inward experience ; and no speculation in regard 
 to its origin must be allowed to change, or at all to 
 modify, our sense of its evil nature, the conviction 
 of our responsibility for it, or of its deep seated 
 malignity, as grounded in our own personal being. 
 Under these limitations, and with a view indeed 
 to guard these practical convictions from being 
 weakened by speculative objections drawn from 
 the same source, we may be safe at least, if not in 
 attempting to explain the origin of sin, yet in mak- 
 ing the distinctions necessary to guard us from 
 practical error, and to show the nature of the mys- 
 tery which the question involves. 
 
 The view then, which I shall aim to illustrate, 
 as in accordance with these conditions, and involv- 
 ing what is most important in reference to a right 
 understanding of the subject, is, that sin has its 
 origin in the will, or in that which is spiritual 
 in man, and is a principle of action in this, 
 contrary to the law and will of God. This pro- 
 position, rightly understood, may be said to contain 
 
 * 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 471 
 
 the whole truth, so far as we are practically con- 
 cerned with it ; and at the same time is so clearly 
 involved in our conscious experience of the charac- 
 ter of sin, (so far as our consciousness extends), 
 as to be admitted by all. Yet it is liable to such 
 misapprehensions, both from false notions of the 
 will, and from superficial views of the nature of 
 sin as originating in it, as to render necessary an 
 extended illustration of its import. We cannot 
 rightfully apprehend it and leave our practical con- 
 victions unassailed, without some just views of the 
 will, as the distinguishing prerogative of our per- 
 sonal being, and of its relation both to the law of 
 our inferior nature on the one hand, and to its own 
 law of truth and righteousness on the other. 
 These are the points in which the subject connects 
 itself with the essential truths of the Gospel, as 
 well as with the facts of our inward experience ; 
 and with the elucidation of these I shall chiefly 
 occupy your attention. \/ 
 
 In referring to the will, then, as that in which 
 sin has its origin, it is intended to designate, not a 
 mere faculty of choice, subordinate to a control- 
 ling principle, and directed by the understanding 
 and the senses in the selection of means for the 
 attainment of ends. It means, rather, that high- 
 est and constituent principle of our personal be- 
 ing, that power of self-determination, whereby 
 we are raised above the creatures of sense, and 
 are said to be formed in the image of God. It 
 is that power of free agency, by virtue of which 
 we are capable of the obligations of law and 
 
472 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 v reason, and which determines, in each man, not 
 the mere choice of means for prescribed ends, 
 but the ends themselves, and the ultimate ends 
 at which he aims. As such, instead of being 
 guided and controlled by the understanding, it 
 has this and all our other powers as subordinate 
 instruments for attaining the ends which it pre- 
 scribes. It is that in which most truly centres all 
 that essentially characterizes the individual man in 
 respect to his moral being, and by virtue of which 
 we denominate him a good or a bad man. It is 
 that supernatural power, by which we hold affinity 
 with the spiritual world, and are capable of being 
 made partakers of the divine nature, or, by its per- 
 version and consequent reprobation, of falling to 
 the opposite extreme of Satanic hostility to God, 
 and to all goodness. As a spiritual power, it is 
 essential to the very idea of it that it is self-de- 
 termined, or have in itself the ultimate principle 
 of its moral determinations. Nor does this suffi- 
 ciently distinguish it, without adding also, that, as 
 a responsible will, it is inseparable from the idea 
 of conscience, or the self-conscious recognition of 
 a law by which it ought to be governed, as pre- 
 scribing its true and rightful end. It is in the 
 power of this spiritual prerogative and self-con- 
 scious freedom of moral action, that we are raised 
 above the blind necessity of mere natural agents, 
 and have, as a matter of right and duty, the 
 world of sense, with all the powers and faculties 
 and creatures of sense, in a sphere below our 
 proper being, and subjected to our control. 
 

 GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 473 
 
 Without the idea of such a power, placing us in 
 a sphere of action above the control of that law by 
 which all mere natural powers are governed, and 
 by virtue of which our principles of action and the 
 ends which we pursue are conceived as our own 
 and self-originated, these principles and ends can 
 be neither right nor wrong, and the requisitions of 
 conscience are an absurdity and delusion. This 
 supernatural power, in its inseparable and self- 
 conscious relation to the light of truth and the law 
 of duty, is that which constitutes our essential 
 being as personal agents. It is most nearly sy- 
 nonymous with what we mean by the pronoun /, 
 when we speak of ourselves as individuals, and as 
 personally responsible for our actions. It is the 
 man himself, in his highest character and distin- 
 guishing prerogative. It is the ultimate subject of 
 all that is predicable of him as a man, and in the 
 consciousness of which he thinks and speaks of his 
 material body, with all its marvellous powers, as 
 something extraneous to himself and subordinated 
 to his control. Thus, in saying that sin has 
 its origin in the will, we mean that it originates, 
 or has its true beginning, in the man himself, in 
 that indivisible and spiritual or self-determined 
 unity of living action, which is most truly and 
 properly himself, in distinction from the subject 
 appetites and propensities of his nature, and from 
 the functions of the understanding and the faculty 
 of choice, considered as merely adaptive and in- 
 strumental agencies, by which he works towards 
 the attainment of his end. It is, in this view of 
 60 
 
. 1* 
 
 474 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 it, therefore, a spiritual evil, not strictly chargeable 
 upon our natural powers and affections as such, 
 hut to be imputed to the personal will, as its ulti- 
 mate ground and only proper cause. This distinc- 
 tion is a fundamental one, and cannot be too much 
 reflected upon, if we would understand the grounds 
 and just limits of our responsibility, and refer to 
 their proper source those higher principles of ac- 
 tion by which our essential character is determined. 
 Nor is the distinction a novel or unusual one. It 
 is contained in all languages, and constantly im- 
 plied in the ordinary intercourse of men. We 
 practically assume it in all our moral judgments, 
 and never indeed impute either moral good or evil, 
 except where we conceive the agency of a will or 
 self-controlling power, as distinguished from mere 
 natural causes. No one holds the brute morally 
 responsible, or charges it with sin and guilt, how- 
 ever noxious and hateful its nature may be to us, 
 simply because we ascribe to it no power above 
 its nature. It has no personal being, and the law 
 of its nature is the only law of which it is capa- 
 ble. We cherish, indeed, the innocent lamb, and 
 destroy the ravenous wolf; but for the same reason 
 that in a still lower sphere of nature, we cultivate 
 those plants that are useful or pleasing, while we 
 banish from our gardens the noxious and offensive. 
 In respect to the moral law, they are upon the 
 same level, and alike below its sphere. Whatever 
 may be the specific nature of the animal, its de- 
 terminate relations to the objects of sense, its 
 appetites and instincts, so long as there is no pow- 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 475 
 
 er whereby it is conceived capable of controlling 
 these and making them the means to a higher 
 end, the obligations of duty and the imputation of 
 blame are felt to be heterogeneous and absurd. In 
 obeying their appetites, they are controlled by the 
 same necessity, and are alike irresponsible with 
 the current of a river in obeying the law of grav- 
 ity. I have dwelt upon this, for the purpose of 
 characterizing the mode of action which pertains 
 to the powers of nature universally, as distin- 
 guished from a responsible will. Now man also 
 has his natural powers, more various, more compli- 
 cated and perfect, than any other creature of this 
 lower world ; and as he came from the forming 
 band of God, pronounced, like all his other works, 
 to be good. As a creature of sense, he has a ne- 
 cessary relation to the world of sense. The pow- 
 ers of animal life in man, as in all other animals, 
 have their proper law of action, and require, as the 
 condition of their natural agency, their correspond- 
 ing objects in the world for which they are formed. 
 The specific functions of sense and sensation, 
 the appetites and instincts of nature, are grounded 
 in the necessary relation of our natural life to its 
 outward means of subsistence. This relation, both 
 in respect to the race and the individual, is wholly 
 and obviously independent of any conceivable 
 agency on our part ; and the affections, the im- 
 pulses and instinctive propensities of which we are 
 individually conscious, as immediately resulting 
 from this, pertain to the necessity of nature. Thus, 
 we cannot avoid the sensations of hunger and 
 

 
 476 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 thirst, nor the natural impulse to action which they 
 produce. These, with whatever else pertains to 
 our nature as a distinct species among the crea- 
 tures of the world, or to its peculiar modifications 
 in the individual man, are determined by the Au- 
 thor of our being, and controlled by laws of action 
 in nature and providence, which make them what 
 y they are. For what is thus constituted and deter- 
 mined, independently of any personal agency of 
 our own, we cannot conceive ourselves responsible, 
 nor impute it to ourselves as either good or bad. 
 We have the best authority, if that were neces- 
 sary, for saying that it is not because the individ- 
 ual himself or his parents have sinned, that a man 
 is born blind ; and on the same obvious ground, 
 we may say it is no matter of personal responsi- 
 bility on oar part, that we are born with a phleg- 
 matic or a sanguine temperament, with mild and 
 gentle or naturally excitable and violent affections, 
 with great or small natural endowments of any 
 kind. These, irrespective of the control of a 
 higher or supernatural power, and the ends to 
 which by its agency they are made subservient, 
 have no moral character ; and we cannot, therefore, 
 . impute sin to them as its proper cause. It is thus, 
 again, because we recognize in ourselves a power 
 distinct from all that pertains to the agencies of 
 our sensual nature, by which we are capable of 
 rising above these, and of exercising a self-control, 
 that the sense of moral accountability and the very 
 distinction of right and wrong become possible for 
 us. It is only for that in our character and con- 
 

 GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 477 
 
 duct which has its ground and origin in this higher 
 power, that we are responsible. However sin, 
 therefore, may be connected with the exercise of 
 our natural powers and the indulgence of our nat- 
 ural propensities, it must be borne in mind, that it 
 pertains to them, not by virtue of what they are 
 in themselves simply, but only as they derive a 
 character from the free will to whose ends they are 
 made subservient. 
 
 Here, then, in the fundamental distinction be- 
 tween the necessary and blind agencies of our nat- 
 ural powers, and that free intelligence and will by 
 which we become capable of responsible action 
 and of moral good and evil, we find some of the 
 conditions necessary for determining what is the 
 origin of sin. We cannot do otherwise than refer 
 it to that higher power, by virtue of which alone 
 we can be conceived capable of sin. What, then, 
 let us inquire in the next place, is the form of evil 
 by which the will transgresses the law of God ; 
 and what is its relation to the agencies of our na- 
 ture ? What is the true import of the doctrine, 
 that we are by nature the children of wrath, and 
 in bondage to a law in our members which is op- 
 posed to the law of the spirit? The view which 
 I shall present, as answering these questions con- 
 sistently with what has already been said, is, that 
 the free will, or the spiritual principle in each man, 
 instead of putting forth its powers in conformity 
 with the spiritual and universal law of truth and 
 righteousness, and seeking the ends which that law 
 prescribes, determines itself to the pursuit of ends 
 
 * 
 
478 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 
 
 limited by the conditions of the man's individual 
 nature, and so becomes a natural self-will, receiv- 
 ing the law of nature as its law and inward prin- 
 y/ ciple of action. The fact here asserted is, that 
 each and all of us seek in the experiences of 
 sense and within the limitations which our own 
 sensuous natures prescribe, the self-proposed and 
 ultimate ends of our personal being. Instead of 
 finding in the sphere of sense and in the subject 
 powers of nature merely that which, by the essen- 
 tial conditions of our existence in a world of sense, 
 we must find the outward objects and materials on 
 which to exercise the agency of our higher intel- 
 ligence and will, and making these subservient to 
 our true end and the law of our spiritual being, 
 every man, I say, seeks within the limitations of 
 his individual experience and sensual nature the 
 end also to which his purposes are directed. Thus, 
 to illustrate these distinctions by a familiar exam- 
 pie, the natural wants and appetites, both of the 
 brute and of the man, excite to the attainment of 
 their proper food, and in both a sensual pleasure is 
 experienced in its reception. But while the agen- 
 cy of the brute here is limited and controlled sim- 
 ply by the natural appetite, so that it seeks food 
 only as its nature craves and the sense of hunger 
 prompts, the man, in the exercise of a power which 
 does not pertain to the brute, can and does, even 
 in the absence of the natural appetite, seek a repe- 
 tition of the pleasure as a self-proposed end. 
 Again, while the natural appetite of hunger is lim- 
 ited by the wants of his organic system, and ceases 
 
 V 
 
 & 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 479 
 
 when that want is satisfied, the desire of sensual 
 pleasure, as arising from the gratification of the y 
 appetite and the pursuit of it as a self-proposed 
 end, is without limit, and partakes of the infinity 
 of that higher power in which it originates. 
 
 It is plain here, moreover, that in the pursuit of 
 such pleasure as an end, the powers and agencies 
 of his nature, as known in his conscious experi- 
 ences, become the subordinate instruments of the 
 will for the attainment of an end distinguishable 
 from the ends of nature itself. Thus, as we well 
 know, the epicure artificially stimulates his appe- 
 tites, and abuses the powers of his nature, pervert- 
 ing them from their proper end, in order to that 
 more prolonged and intense gratification which is 
 his own purpose and end. This end, therefore, as 
 distinguishable from the ends of nature, and pur- 
 sued at its cost, or capable of being so, is one 
 which we propose to ourselves ; or in reference to 
 which we act, only in the exercise of that reflex 
 understanding and free will whereby we become 
 capable of responsible action ; yet, in the case sup- 
 posed, is sought within the sphere determined and 
 limited by a particular appetite of our sensual na- 
 ture. We freely seek, in this case, an end of our 
 own, and one for which we are responsible, yet 
 inseparable from a sensual appetite and limited by 
 its condition. Nor is it conceivable, that while 
 we limit our understandings and wills, in the deter- 
 mination of an end, to the conscious experiences 
 pertaining to this appetite, we can get beyond its 
 sphere, or pursue any higher end. We can only 
 
 / i 
 

 
 * 
 
 480 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 vary the forms and increase the degree of pleasure 
 within the limits which the nature of that appetite 
 prescribes. 
 
 Suppose, then, that instead of limiting ourselves 
 to the experiences connected with a single appe- 
 tite, we have the whole compass of our sensual 
 nature, and of the world of sense, as the sphere in 
 which we seek the determination of our personal 
 ends and purposes ; and we are still bound, each 
 by the conditions of his individual experience. 
 The highest result of thought and reflection, so di- 
 rected for the determination of our purposes, can 
 be but the pursuit and attainment of the highest 
 end within the limitations of our individual and 
 common nature, and can never transcend these. 
 Thus, if we were to imagine brutes of different 
 species, and of different grades in the scale of ex- 
 istence, to be endued with the power of reflection 
 and voluntary action, and each to limit its reflection 
 and the determination of its purposes to the sphere 
 of its own sensual experience and specific nature, 
 the silk-worm and the tiger would necessarily pur- 
 sue different ends, as their natures are different. 
 It would, in each case, be an end determined un- 
 der the conditions which the nature of the animal 
 imposes ; the one within wider limits, and in some 
 sense of a higher kind than the other ; but in both, 
 a conditional end, and subjected to the law of a 
 specific nature. So of ourselves, though the high- 
 est in the scale of nature. So long as we seek our 
 personal ends in the sphere of our nature and in 
 the world of sense, they are still conditional ends, 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 481 
 
 and in the will of every man are determined under 
 limitations which his nature imposes. The ends 
 which each man proposes to himself under these 
 conditions, will consequently differ from those of 
 every other man, as his individual nature and ex- y 
 perience differ. The ends thus determined, ob- 
 serve, are obviously not identical with the end and 
 purpose of nature as such, nor grounded in nature 
 as the active principle by which we purpose and 
 pursue them ; but have their ground and origin in 
 the understanding and will. Yet while the will, in 
 every man, seeks its ends under the conditions sup- 
 posed, it is necessarily a conditional will, and 
 every man must pursue his individual ends as lim- 
 ited by the law of his nature. A will then, which, 
 in the determination of its ends, thus limits itself 
 to the sphere and conditions of an individual > 
 nature, is a self-will, and in bondage to nature. It 
 can never, under these conditions, rise above na- 
 ture in respect to the ends which it pursues, nor 
 aim at any thing above and beyond the sphere of 
 self-interest, as prescribed by the nature of the in- & 
 dividual man. Now, if we conceive the will to be 
 thus determined to seek its ends in the sphere of 
 sense, by a necessary law of cause and effect, it no 
 longer answers the idea of a will, or spiritual 
 power, but becomes a mere link in the agencies of 
 nature. It must be conceived as self-determined 
 and self-limited ; and we thus come back to the of 
 statement of the ultimate fact at which I have 
 been aiming, and which, I trust, will be better un- 
 derstood from these illustrations, that the will, or 
 61 
 
 # 
 
* 
 
 $ * 
 
 482 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 spiritual power in each man, and so in all the indi- 
 viduals of our race, determines itself to the pursuit 
 of ends limited by the conditions of an individual 
 and sensual nature. The spiritual thus brings it- 
 self in bondage to the natural, and man becomes a 
 fallen being. In respect to the ends which he 
 pursues, and the corresponding principle in the 
 will by which he governs his conduct, he has fall- 
 en from his true sphere, as a free and rational 
 being, formed in the image of God, into the sphere 
 of nature and the world of sense. He has turned 
 away from the light of truth and the law of right- 
 eousness, which prescribe his true end as a per- 
 sonal being, and turned himself, with all the pow- 
 ers of his free intelligence and will, to the seduc- 
 tive shows by which we permit the senses to 
 beguile us. 
 
 I have thus aimed to exhibit what I conceive to 
 be the ultimate fact which can be made intelligible 
 to our minds, in respect to the relation of the spi- 
 ritual to the natural and of the universal to the 
 individual in man, as a fallen and sinful being. We 
 cannot go farther, and inquire for a cause of the 
 fact, consistently with that idea of the fact itself, 
 which reason and conscience require us to assume. 
 It must be referred to the free-will of the man, as 
 its ultimate ground and only proper cause, or we 
 cannot impute it to him as sin. But here again, 
 W 7 e have the unalterable testimony of our conscien- 
 ces, that it is sin, and that, in obeying the condi- 
 tional law of our sensuous nature, we transgress 
 the absolute and rightful law of our personal being. 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 483 
 
 With the earliest dawn of conscious existence 
 and of reason, we have a sense of obligation, and 
 hear the whispers of that still small voice, which, 
 listened to and understood, commands us to break 
 the bonds of a sensual nature, and to bring all its 
 powers and agencies into subjection to a higher 
 law and subservience to a higher end. These con- 
 victions, again, necessarily involve the idea exhib- 
 ited in the account of the creation and fall of man, 
 that in his original destiny, and in respect to that 
 image of God in which he was created, he was, in 
 his essential character and highest prerogative as 
 man, a spiritual being, in such a sense that the ab- 
 solute and universal law of truth and righteous- 
 ness, or the law of the spiritual world, was his 
 law, and that which prescribed his true and proper 
 end ; that in obeying the law and placing himself 
 under the conditions of f. nature, therefore, he is 
 in a fallen state, and subject to an alien law, from 
 the bondage of which he needs to be redeemed. 
 Hence the deliverance of man from the thraldom 
 of sin, or the limitations of his natural self-will, 
 must be conceived as a redemption from slavery, 
 and a restoration to his primitive state of freedom 
 in obeying the essential law of his own spiritual 
 being. The conscientious convictions, I say, of 
 every man who reflects, in respect to what he ought 
 to be, compared with what he is, are such as to 
 awaken the idea of a fallen condition correspond- 
 ing with that which I have represented, and what 
 I understand as contained in the language of rev- 
 elation. This condition, too, as we have seen, is! 
 
484 
 
 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 
 
 not a fault of nature, and is given neither by cre- 
 ation nor inheritance ; and though common to all, 
 must yet be imputed to each, as having its ground 
 | in the determination of his own will, or in that 
 which is his most true and proper self. It is a 
 condition of the will, for which every man knows 
 himself to be responsible, and for which every man 
 has in himself the sense of guilt and the sentence 
 of condemnation. It is nothing less than a fall 
 and alienation of the man himself from that state 
 in which, according to the divine idea of humanity, 
 he was destined to hold free and spiritual commu- 
 nion with God, walking in the light as he is in the 
 light, and freely conforming to the perfect law of 
 righteousness ; and is a subjugation of himself, in 
 his highest spiritual prerogative, to the narrow 
 conditions and enslaving law of a sensual nature. 
 This is that state of spiritual bondage in which, 
 by nature, we all find ourselves ; and this we re- 
 cognize as our misery and our guilt. We find, in 
 the heart of our personal being, a principle and 
 law of action which prescribes other ends than the 
 law of conscience prescribes. Instead of obeying 
 the truth in the spirit, and with free and rejoicing 
 hearts putting forth the fulness of our strength 
 in the pursuit of all that is true and holy and 
 godlike, as we ought to do, we are enslaved 
 to the law of our self-interest, and strive to 
 subordinate all things to our individual ends. In- 
 stead of subordinating the powers and propen- 
 sities of our inferior nature to the higher law of 
 our spiritual being, thus assigning to them their 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 485 
 
 appropriate sphere, and clothing them, as we ought, 
 with a supernatural dignity and glory, we rather 
 carry disorder and confusion into the sphere of 
 nature itself. We strive to force its powers and 
 capacities beyond their prescribed limits, and to 
 impart to them that infinity which alone can satis- 
 fy the wants of our personal being. We bring, as 
 it were, our spiritual powers into the sphere of a 
 finite nature, and then seek to make it the instru- 
 ment for satiating our infinite desires. We strive 
 with capricious folly and madness to stimulate and 
 task the powers of a corporeal and perishable na- 
 ture, and to accumulate the means of sensual 
 enjoyment, till they shall satisfy the infinite and 
 endless cravings of that which only the infinite 
 God and the absolute good can ever fill. 
 
 Thus I have endeavored, as was proposed in 
 the second division of the subject, to show the 
 ground and origin of sin in respect to the distin- 
 guishable powers of our being, and the conditions 
 of its universality. I have presented a view which 
 seems to me perfectly compatible with what was 
 before said of the nature of sin, as determined in 
 our practical convictions, and in accordance with 
 all that is taught or implied in the word of God 
 respecting the nature and origin of sin. I have 
 endeavored to show, that in all its length and 
 breadth and depth and height, as an evil principle 
 in the heart of our personal being, it is one which 
 we and we alone have originated, and for which 
 we are individually responsible. The view pre- 
 sented renders it apparent that this form of evil, 
 
486 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 which as an ultimate and original principle is com- 
 mon to all men, is such a determination of the 
 will or spiritual power to the conditions, and such 
 a subjection of it to the law, of an individual na- 
 ture in each man, as constitutes a corruption and 
 debasement of the will, limits it to the ends which 
 that nature prescribes, and renders it in its inward 
 and ultimate principle, a will of nature, or a self- 
 will. As such, it is opposed to that universal and 
 absolute law of God to which it ought to be sub- 
 ject, and which requires the subordination of con- 
 ditional and selfish ends and interests to those 
 moral and spiritual ends which have an inherent 
 and absolute worth, and an equal interest for all. 
 In making the ends prescribed by his individual 
 nature his ultimate aim, therefore, each man 
 swerves from his own true end, which can be at- 
 tained only in the subjugation of the individual to 
 the universal, and of the finite to the infinite ; of 
 himself, therefore, as an individual, to the pre- 
 scriptions of the absolute reason, or rather to that 
 Being of beings, in whom we no longer contem- 
 plate an individual as co-ordinate with other indi- 
 vidual existences, but the reality of the absolute 
 and universal in a personal form. In making our- 
 selves, then, and our own interest the end to which 
 we subordinate all other interests, we put our- 
 selves in the place of God. We strive to distin- 
 guish and exalt the conditional and individual 
 above the absolute and universal, and worship the 
 creature more than the Creator, who is over all, 
 God blessed forever. And such in each of us is 
 
* 
 
 GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 487 
 
 the nature, the origin, and the infinite evil and sin- 
 fulness of sin. Let us, then, not deceive our- 
 selves with any vain efforts to believe that we are 
 not sinners, or that the sinful principle which we 
 find in ourselves is not a ground of personal blame- 
 worthiness and the just displeasure of a righteous 
 God. Let us rather listen to the testimony of our 
 consciences, and with a full conviction and con- 
 fession of our exceeding sinfulness as transgressors 
 of his holy law and rebels against his rightful au- 
 thority, implore the bestowment of his grace, and 
 of the redemption that is in Christ Jesus. 
 
 DISCOURSE III. 
 
 The views thus presented of the nature and ori- 
 gin of sin, as we find it in our personal being, 
 though apparently abstract and speculative in their 
 general character, are yet inseparably connected 
 with all that is most important in respect to our 
 practical duties. True, it may be said, and few 
 would say it with more emphasis than I am dis- 
 posed to do, that in addressing moral and religious 
 truth to the consciences of men, we may safely 
 assume all that just and wise speculation can teach 
 and prove in respect to the character of man as a 
 sinner. This is, for the most part, undoubtedly, 
 the course pursued by the original preachers of 
 divine truth. Such, too, is the course ordinarily 
 
488 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 most appropriate for him who would awaken the 
 consciences of men, and lead them to repentance. 
 It might, perhaps, be always and exclusively pro- 
 per, were there no false opinions prevalent among 
 speculative men, by which their minds are closed 
 against the right apprehension of practical truth, 
 and their consciences made inaccessible to its 
 power. It is when the force of truth, as applied 
 to the conscience, is weakened and turned aside by 
 the influence of partial and false systems of spec- 
 ulation, that it becomes necessary in addressing 
 the consciences of men, to meet the cavils of ob- 
 jectors, to remove the obstacles which error has 
 raised against the influence of the truth, and to 
 vindicate the authority of conscience itself. 
 
 The more subtle the objections by which men 
 shield their consciences, and the deeper the sources 
 from which they are drawn, the more difficult, but 
 at the same time the more necessary, does it be- 
 come to expose their fallacy and guard our practi- 
 cal convictions from their influence. In doing 
 this, the most abstruse and subtle distinctions are 
 sometimes indispensable and infinitely momen- 
 tous, in order to the vindication of practical truth. 
 No where, obviously, can they be more so, than 
 in what concerns the grounds of our moral respon- 
 sibility and the immediate relations of our personal 
 will to nature and to God. It would be difficult, 
 perhaps, to over-estimate the mischiefs which have 
 resulted both to morals and religion from false 
 speculative views on these points, applied to prac- 
 tice both by moralists and by the preachers of the 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 489 
 
 gospel. How often must the enlightened chris- 
 tian rejoice that there is a depth and power in the 
 conscience and in the practical convictions of men, 
 which no speculative error of the understanding 
 can wholly destroy, when he hears arguments 
 used and sees means employed, which, if it were 
 possible, instead of promoting, as they are design- 
 ed to do, would subvert both morality and religion ! 
 In looking, then, at the practical relations of the 
 views which I have presented, as was proposed in 
 the third division of the subject, I remark, in the 
 first place, that if I have guarded my language as 
 I intended to do, there will be found in it nothing 
 that tends in any way to weaken our sense of per- 
 sonal responsibility, or to alleviate our convictions 
 of sin and guilt as transgressors of the law of God. 
 In speaking of the origin of sin, I have limited 
 myself to sin as we find it in ourselves, and as it 
 is a principle of action in our personal will ; and I 
 trust the views presented and the illustrations em- 
 ployed will rather strengthen than contradict the 
 testimony of an awakened conscience. But their 
 relation to the immediate convictions of our moral 
 being is so far given in connection with the views 
 themselves, that we need not dwell upon it more 
 at large. 
 
 I proceed, then, to observe, in the second place, 
 as a matter of great practical moment in the ap- 
 plication of these views, that if they be correct, 
 the distinction between motives of self-interest 
 and the obligations of duty cannot be too strongly 
 marked, in seeking to promote the interests wheth- 
 62 
 
(/ 
 
 490 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 er of morality or religion. In how many systems, 
 and those too which have been taught in the higher 
 schools of learning, has this distinction been virtu- 
 ally if not explicitly denied ! How often has the 
 violation of duty and conscience been represented 
 as arising merely from want of a prudent foresight 
 and a miscalculation of our own self-interest ! Nay, 
 is not conscience itself, in the systems most gen- 
 erally prevalent, resolved into a mere product of 
 the sensualized understanding, and regarded as 
 comprising the rules by which we are to be guided 
 in the pursuit of happiness, as the supreme object 
 of desire ? Not only from the theories of moral- 
 ists, but too often from the language of the pulpit 
 also, it would be supposed that an enlightened self- 
 interest was the highest, and indeed the only prin- 
 
 l \ ciple of action, by which it is possible for a wise 
 man to be governed ; and that the only difference 
 between the good and the bad man is, that the one 
 understands his interest better than the other. 
 Yet, if there be any ground of truth in the views 
 which I have advanced, the pursuit of self-interest 
 as an ultimate end is in direct conflict with the 
 law of conscience, and the very root and principle 
 of evil in our personal being is the determination 
 of the will to the attainment of our individual 
 ends, as distinguished from those which conscience 
 commands us to pursue. 
 
 * So long as our own happiness is the supreme 
 
 object of desire and the controlling motive of 
 action, there can surely be no essential difference 
 of character in the sight of God, whether we seek 
 
 ./ 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 491 
 
 it with careless impetuosity, or with cautious and 
 far-sighted prudence, in this world or a future one ; 
 or even whether it be by obeying or violating the 
 prescriptions of a divine law, so far as both are 
 possible from the same motive and inward princi- 1/ 
 pie of action. If self-interest, as a principle of 
 action, and in its relation to the law of duty, be 
 what I have represented it, then out of this there 
 can spring no true obedience to the divine law. 
 The highest that it can produce is what St. Paul 
 designates as the works of the law, or a mere out- 
 ward form of obedience, without a right spiritual 
 principle within. It is consequently not true spir- 
 itual obedience, and' is not accounted righteous in 
 the sight of God. The first step, therefore, of 
 man, as a fallen being and in bondage to the evil 
 principle, the very beginning of right action, is 
 repentance, or a turning away of the mind and will 
 from the ends of self-interest, and a turning to 
 God, as in himself the supreme object of desire. 
 There must of necessity be an absolute denial of 
 self, not the subordination merely of a less interest 
 to a greater, or of a present to a future ; but an 
 entire subordination of the individual and natural 
 will, and of all particular ends, to the will of God 
 and the ends prescribed by the universal law. 
 This, conscience commands, in its every admonition 
 of duty ; and this is the law of duty, as distin- 
 guished from the instinct of nature and the law of 
 the natural will. This, too, is the repentance and 
 self-denial which alone will satisfy the dictates of 
 an awakened conscience and the conditions either 
 
492 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 of the law or of the gospel. To effect this, by 
 awakening in the minds of men a distinct con- 
 sciousness of their relations as responsible beings, 
 of what they are as sinners, and of what they 
 ought to be, by strengthening the convictions of 
 duty, and as far as human agency can do so, em- 
 powering the conscience, is the true and legitimate 
 purpose of all moral and religious truth, addressed 
 to men as sinners and in need of repentance. 
 What, then, in relation to this end, must be the 
 proper effect of that instruction, which, instead of 
 enforcing truly the conviction, that in seeking our 
 own interest as the supreme end, we have griev- 
 ously sinned and done evil in the sight of God, 
 under whatever form and by whatever means we 
 have pursued it, teaches that it is only conditionally 
 wrong, and that our guilt is but an error of judg- 
 ment in respect to the right means of attaining 
 the desired end ? What is this, in effect, but to 
 resolve duty into the cautious and prudent pursuit 
 of happiness, and all sin into a want of prudence, 
 or a mistake of judgment ? 
 
 Again let me ask, what must be the effect of 
 that predominance, which we so often witness in 
 the instructions and exhortations of the pulpit, of 
 appeals to motives of self-interest, over that sim- 
 ple exhibition of divine truth, which is fitted to 
 awaken a consciousness of sin, and of the obliga- 
 tion to be holy ? True, our Saviour and his apos- 
 tles sometimes address themselves to the interests, 
 the hopes and fears of men ; nor can any one 
 doubt, that to arouse men from the lethargy and 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 493 
 
 false security of sin, it is necessary and proper. 
 But as the highest motive by which the good man 
 should be governed, and as a principle of action on 
 which the awakened sinner can safely rest, it is 
 authorized neither by conscience nor the word of 
 God. Is there not reason to fear that the character 
 and purpose of the gospel, and of the christian sys- 
 tem, are exposed to grievous misapprehension, 
 from a too exclusive reference to the natural desire 
 of happiness, in enforcing their instructions ? Some 
 of us, at least, have met with men of strong minds 
 and not wholly regardless of truth and duty, who 
 have been alienated from the doctrines and duties 
 of Christianity by being led to misconceive it, as a 
 system which appealed only to mercenary motives, 
 to the fears of punishment, and hopes of reward in 
 a future life. Such men see and know, that these 
 are not the true and highest grounds of moral ac- 
 tion, and so will maintain that they have a better 
 system, and are governed by higher motives than 
 the preachers of the gospel urge upon their hear- 
 ers. So much occasion, too, is sometimes given, 
 unhappily for men, who, instead of studying the 
 gospel as they ought, receive their impressions of it 
 from what they hear, to fall into this fatal error, that 
 one might be tempted to wish, according to a fable 
 of one of the Christian fathers, for the annihilation 
 of both heaven and hell, in order that men might 
 serve God from pure love, without fear of punish- 
 ment or hope of reward. The true end and pur- 
 pose of the gospel, in regard to the moral condition 
 of man, unquestionably is to subdue and eradicate 
 
494 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 the self-seeking principle of our natural will, as 
 essentially evil, and contrary to the law of the 
 Spirit, by the power of divine truth, and the aids 
 of that spirit which accompanies and abides in the 
 truth, to impart a higher and spiritual principle of 
 obedience to the divine law, and thus to restore in 
 us the ruins of the fall. But we obviously cannot 
 hope, from any conceivable relation of the means 
 to the end, to accomplish this by addressing to 
 others, or by considering ourselves, excitements to 
 action, which appeal to, and so call into exercise, 
 the principle itself which we aim to subdue. 
 To urge upon one, that he must deny himself 
 for the sake of himself, and his own interest, in 
 any strict and absolute sense, is either to expose 
 him to self-delusion, or to perplex him with con- 
 tradiction and absurdity. But to teach us that we 
 must truly deny ourselves, must suppress every 
 motive of self-interest, and subordinate all individ- 
 ual ends to the higher ends of truth and right- 
 eousness, must esteem our lives but for the truth's 
 sake, and our most chosen ends only for right- 
 eousness' sake ; that we must love our neighbor as 
 ourselves, and God above all, is to second the ad- 
 monitions of conscience, and co-operate with the 
 word and Spirit of God. Again, if we persuade 
 men, that they must obey the law of God in or- 
 der to attain happiness, and so make holiness of 
 life only the means to an end, we are involved in 
 a like contradiction, and preclude the true idea of 
 holiness as itself an absolute end, and desirable for 
 its own sake. Nor is it more rational, according 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 495 
 
 to these views, to urge the love and worship of 
 God merely as a being able and disposed to pro- 
 mote the happiness of his creatures. We obvious- 
 ly regard him and his agency in that view only in 
 the relation of means to an end, and our love and 
 worship properly terminate upon the ultimate end, 
 of which he is but the instrument. But if, while 
 we humble and abase ourselves in the dust, and 
 lose sight of all inferior ends, we fill our souls 
 with the contemplation of God, as including in 
 himself all absolute good, if we reverence his wis- 
 dom, if we adori/ his holiness, if we are penetrat- 
 ed and overawed by a sense of his omnipresent 
 power, as pervading and sustaining all life and all 
 being, if we love and worship him as in himself 
 all glorious and worthy of love and adoration, and 
 look to him as not only the first cause, but the 
 last end, not only of whom and through whom, 
 but to and for whom are all things, we may learn 
 more justly to appreciate the pursuit of happiness, 
 and its relation as a motive to the attainment of 
 our true end. We may learn what it is truly to for- 
 sake ourselves, to come forth from the narrowness 
 of our self-will, and with christian liberty to obey 
 God in spirit and in truth. This we can never do, 
 so long as we practically confound the requisitions 
 of the divine law with the dictates of self-interest, 
 and measure our obedience by our views of its 
 profit. It is only when the self-will is crucified 
 with Christ, that the free spirit of man can go 
 forth unshackled, and become fruitful in all good 
 works. It is only when that slavish bond of self- 
 
496 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 interest is broken, that the man can delight in and 
 without restraint pursue every good end, doing in- 
 differently whatsoever things are true and lovely 
 and of good report. 
 
 But I proceed to remark in the third place, that 
 from the views which I have presented of the na- 
 ture and origin of sin and of our character and 
 condition as sinners, we are able to understand our 
 need of redemption from the power of evil, and to 
 see that Christianity is a system adapted to our 
 need. Sin and redemption, the fallen state of man, 
 and that system by which, in the wisdom and love 
 of God, his restoration is to be effected, have a 
 necessary relation to each other. The deeper and 
 truer, then, our knowledge of sin may be, the bet- 
 ter can we understand and appreciate the character 
 of Christ and his gospel. Our views of Christian- 
 ity, indeed, must be, and always are, conformed 
 more or less fully, according to the extent and con- 
 sequentness of our reflection upon their relation 
 to each other, to our views of the natural condition 
 and character of man. If we regard ourselves as 
 not truly sinners, alienated in our personal being 
 from God and our true end, not so fallen and lost 
 as to need a divine power to redeem and save us 
 from spiritual death, but only ignorant and impru- 
 dent, needing but instruction and warning to 
 secure the attainment of our true end, and capable 
 of being educated into a life of holiness, then we 
 shall of course regard Christ as but a teacher, sent 
 to point out to us the way of duty and happi- 
 ness, and his gospel but a volume of instructions, 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 497 
 
 which we are of ourselves fully competent to ob- 
 serve. It could be for us, in that case, only a system 
 or collection of truths and admonitions, not essen- 
 tially differing in kind from the various systems of 
 ancient wisdom, in which the highest good, and 
 the way of attaining it, are professedly taught. It 
 might, indeed, be better than these, but would still 
 differ only in degree ; and Christ, instead of being 
 a manifestation of God and the divine humanity, a 
 realization of the highest idea of reason under the 
 forms of sense, is but an individual man, and to be 
 classed as one of the ancient sages. With those 
 superficial views of the nature of sin, and of man 
 as a sinner, which amount to a denial of the doc- 
 trine of original sin and of the fall of man, I say, 
 Christ and the gospel of the grace of God can ra- 
 tionally be understood in no higher sense. What- 
 ever perplexities we may find in explaining its lan- 
 guage on these assumptions, whatever apparent 
 mysteries and strange pretensions to a supernatural 
 and divine character there may be in Christ, and 
 in those words which he tells us are spirit and life, 
 we must resolve them into metaphor and eastern 
 hyperbole, or give up the whole as an unintelligi- 
 ble enigma. 
 
 But on the other hand, if we are indeed sinners, 
 and if sin be an evil of such depth and malignity, 
 and having such a relation to our spiritual being, 
 as has been represented in the former parts of this 
 discourse, then, again, we are prepared to appre- 
 hend the character of Christ, the meaning and 
 power of his words, and to appreciate Christianity, 
 63 
 
498 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 as a system in all its parts and relations, in a far 
 different manner. The whole then acquires a 
 depth and fulness of meaning and intelligibility of 
 relation, which of itself is a strong presumptive 
 evidence that those views of our native character 
 and condition are "essentially true, and such as 
 were acted upon by Him who knew what was in 
 man. It was not, indeed, the peculiar and appro- 
 priate purpose of the gospel to teach at large the 
 doctrine of man's fallen condition as a sinner, 
 since this is adequately revealed in the conscience 
 of every man who is in earnest to know his own 
 character, and was taught both in schools of phi- 
 losophy and in the more popular mythologies, as 
 well as in the Old Testament, before the coming 
 of Christ. It was, therefore, assumed, and must 
 be regarded as the antecedent ground and condi- 
 tion to which Christianity was adapted, and with- 
 out an assumption of which it must remain unin- 
 telligible. In order, then, to a right interpretation 
 of the system, and a right understanding of it as a 
 system, we must necessarily inquire what was as- 
 sumed, and on what assumption is it possible to 
 understand its meaning. What I mean to say, 
 then, is, that the views presented in the former 
 parts of this discourse, not only have their own 
 proper grounds of evidence, but that, when ap- 
 plied to the Christian system, they mutually 
 explain and confirm each other ; and that we are 
 thus, prepared rightly to estimate the work of re- 
 demption. On this ground, and with this view, 
 we cannot too often or too deeply meditate upon 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 499 
 
 our lost condition, the extent and malignity of the 
 evil, the depth and hopelessness of the ruin, from 
 which, in the boundless love of God, his Son came 
 to redeem us. We cannot be too cautious to ad- 
 mit the whole truth on the one hand, in order to a 
 just appreciation of the whole truth on the other. 
 If, then, we are in ourselves estranged from the 
 law of God, and in our personal being wholly in 
 bondage to sin, in the sense represented, we can 
 understand what our Saviour means, when he tells 
 us the Son of Man is come to save that which was 
 lost. If we are not only poor and miserable in 
 ourselves, but guilty of rebellion against God and 
 opposition to a holy law, and therefore under a 
 just condemnation, exposed to the righteous pen- 
 alty which we have incurred, we may apprehend, 
 in some measure, how God commendeth his love 
 toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, 
 Christ died for us. Again, if we so feel the evil 
 of sin, as a principle affecting the essential charac- 
 ter of our spiritual being and bringing us in bon- 
 dage to the law in our members, as to realize the 
 necessity of a higher principle than belongs to our 
 enslaved natural will, in order to overcome and 
 subdue its malignant power, we are prepared to 
 receive the doctrine, that we must be born again, 
 and to hail, with joy and thanksgiving, the prof- 
 fered aids of that spiritual power which is in 
 Christ and in the Spirit of all grace, to deliver us 
 from the dominion of death, and restore us to spir- 
 itual life. According to the depth of insight with 
 which we contemplate the apostasy of our whole 
 
500 ON THE NATURE, 
 
 race from God, and the import of the language 
 which represents the world as lying in wickedness, 
 so will be, in like manner, the degree of justness 
 with which we appreciate the ministry of recon- 
 ciliation, and the doctrine that God was in Christ 
 reconciling the world unto himself. Thus at all 
 points one thing is over against another, and all 
 the provisions of the gospel have a meaning and 
 an application which we can fully apprehend only 
 when we look deeply and steadfastly into our own 
 hearts, and become conscious of our spiritual mal- 
 adies and our perishing wants. An adequate 
 knowledge of ourselves and of our spiritual char- 
 acter and relations is thus the necessary condition 
 of our knowing what Christ is, as the Saviour of 
 sinners, and of our rightly interpreting all that in 
 the volume of revelation, which has reference to 
 our inward experience, and to that which is spir- 
 itual in us. 
 
 Nor, in reference to our personal estimation of 
 the need of Christ and the infinite worth and im- 
 portance of what he has done and is ever ready 
 and willing to do for us, will mere speculative 
 views of the nature and origin of sin suffice. It 
 must become, for each of us, a matter of personal 
 concern. So long as it remains in the head, it can 
 only remove the speculative obstacles to the prac- 
 tical admission of the truth. We must take it 
 home to our hearts. We must practically and 
 deeply realize that we, even we ourselves, are 
 guilty and exceeding sinful in the sight of a just 
 and holy God. We must not only feel that we are 
 
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 501 
 
 in danger, and our eternal happiness at stake, but 
 that we are ill-deserving, transgressors of the law 
 of God, and exposed to the righteous judgment, 
 not only of our own consciences, but of Him who 
 is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity. This, for 
 the fully awakened conscience, unquestionably is 
 the point of practical moment and of highest con- 
 cern. Before the tribunal of conscience, it is not 
 a question of self-interest, of safety or danger in 
 respect to present or future enjoyment, but a ques- 
 tion of desert ; not primarily how we can be saved 
 from suffering, but how we can be saved from the 
 inward reality and the oppressive sense of sin and 
 guilt. How can man be just with God, and be- 
 come holy and acceptable in his sight ? 
 
 It is in this state of mind, with these questions 
 pressing themselves home upon our hearts, and 
 giving us no rest till we find an answer, that we 
 can know the meaning of the gospel. It is when 
 we are overwhelmed with a consciousness of our 
 guilt, of the exceeding sinfulness of transgressing 
 a holy law, and of worshipping the creature more 
 than the Creator, of serving ourselves instead of 
 the adorable God, that we can feel the power of 
 those words of our Saviour, Come unto me, ye 
 that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you 
 rest. It is from the evil and burthen of sin, that 
 Christ came to deliver us ; for he was sent not to 
 call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. 
 
 i 
 
DISCOURSE, 
 
 THE TRUE GROUND, IN MANS CHARACTER, 
 AND CONDITION, OF HIS NEED OF CHRIST. 
 
 IN THE LAST DAY, THAT GREAT DAY OF THE FEAST, 
 JESUS STOOD AND CRIED, SAYING, IF ANY MAN 
 THIRST, LET HIM COME UNTO ME, AND DRINK. 
 John vii. 37. 
 
 The circumstances in which these words of our 
 Saviour were uttered, are briefly indicated in the 
 text. He seems to have seized upon a favorable 
 occasion which offered itself, as he often did upon 
 other incidents of a worldly nature, to give greater 
 significance and effect to the spiritual instruction 
 which his words conveyed. Could their full im- 
 port have been understood, and its relation to 
 themselves appreciated, by the thronging multi- 
 tudes around him, how unheeded would have been 
 the pomp of their festival, and how would all ears 
 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 503 
 
 have listened to the words of him who spake as 
 never man spake ! The occasion here referred to 
 was connected with the feast of tabernacles ; and, 
 even to our minds, perhaps, may serve to present 
 in stronger relief the character which Christ as- 
 sumed, and the import of the proclamation which 
 he made. The festival, in its general character, 
 even as instituted by Moses, was one of great na- 
 tional interest. In the pomp of its ceremonial, 
 and in the multitude of those who in after times 
 went up to participate in its numerous sacrifices 
 and to pay their vows unto the Lord, it was the 
 greatest and most celebrated of all the national an- 
 niversaries of the Jews. Designed to commemo- 
 rate their long and painful sojourn in the wilder- 
 ness, where, hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted 
 in them, it was at the same time connected with 
 the autumnal harvests, and was a season of thanks- 
 giving to Him who had delivered them out of their 
 distresses, and was now crowning the year with 
 his goodness. As they looked upon the crowded 
 tabernacles, or temporary coverings, under which 
 they were required to seek shelter during the pe- 
 riod of its celebration, their minds were carried 
 back to those tents which had been pitched upon 
 the waste and barren desert, where they wandered 
 in a solitary way, and found no city to dwell in. 
 But these, again, were now but an occasion for 
 national joy and thanksgiving, by their contrast 
 with that great city of habitation to which the 
 good providence of God had conducted them, and 
 
 
504 
 
 MAN'S NEED OF CHRIST. 
 
 with those surrounding palaces in which God was 
 known for a refuge. 
 
 Especially was it matter of rejoicing, that they 
 now pitched their tents in the precincts of their 
 national temple. This was the bond of union, and 
 the common centre of attraction for the whole peo- 
 ple ; and hither, at this season of national thanks- 
 giving, they came up from their cities and villages, 
 whether near or more remote, to contemplate its 
 outward magnificence, and to worship before the 
 holy place of the tabernacle of the Most High. It 
 was thus, that at each anniversary, its courts were 
 thronged with rejoicing multitudes, and the sol- 
 emn rites of the occasion performed with that fer- 
 vor of national enthusiasm, which they could not 
 but inspire. To these rites, as instituted by Moses, 
 we are told that in these latter times many addi- 
 tions had been made. Especially was the eighth 
 day, here called the great day of the feast, which 
 was at the same time the last in the festive solem- 
 nities of the year, crowded with many pompous 
 ceremonies, and celebrated with peculiar splendor. 
 It was a day of universal jubilee among the assem- 
 bled people ; and so greatly was it distinguished, 
 that the Jewish writers were accustomed to say, 
 " He had no conception of a jubilee, who had not 
 witnessed these festive scenes." 
 
 Among the additional observances practised in 
 these times, the most remarkable was that of car- 
 rying water in a golden phial from the fountain of 
 Siloa, and pouring it upon the altar. This is sup- 
 posed by many to have been suggested by the pro- 
 
 
 
 . fe 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 505 
 
 phetic language of Isaiah, and to have been adopt- 
 ed with reference to the expected blessings of the 
 Messiah's kingdom. It was at least regarded as a 
 sacred symbol, and carried with circumstances of 
 excessive joy, with sound of trumpets and shouted 
 hallelujahs, while the priests sang in chorus the 
 words of the prophet, " With joy shall ye draw 
 water from the wells of salvation." It was pro- 
 bably, we are told, with reference to this interest- 
 ing rite, and amidst these multitudes, dazzled with 
 the imposing splendor of outward ceremonials and 
 intoxicated with sounds of joy, that Jesus present- 
 ed himself, and addressed the people as related in 
 the text. And who is he, and what is his message, 
 who, upon the threshold of that temple, and upon 
 such an occasion, claims attention to himself and 
 his words ? We see him in the calm dignity and 
 commanding power of a higher consciousness, but 
 with no outward marks of distinction, standing 
 there, and calling away the attention of the multi- 
 tude from the sacred waters of Siloa, and from all 
 their outward occasions of national festivity, to 
 himself as the paramount object of regard. He 
 proclaims himself as being, both for them and for 
 all men, the true fountain of the water of life. If 
 any man thirst, let him come to me, and drink. 
 He that cometh to me shall never hunger, and he 
 that believeth on me shall never thirst. 
 
 What, then, let us inquire, is the true import of 
 a declaration, which, by the circumstances in 
 which it was made, so loudly claims our regard ; 
 and on what grounds, in respect to its author and 
 64 
 
506 man's need of christ. 
 
 to the individuals of our race, can the declaration 
 be justified to our understandings and our hearts? 
 
 In answering these questions, I shall endeavor, 
 first, to explain the import of the figurative language 
 in which it is expressed ; 2ndly, to show what it is 
 in the character and condition of man, which is 
 the ground of the relation to Christ implied in the 
 text; and, 3rdly, to exhibit the character of 
 Christ, as corresponding to that relation, and in 
 reference to our spiritual wants. 
 
 1. In the first place, then, we are to inquire 
 what is the literal sense of the figurative language 
 of the text. Such language is, indeed, of very 
 frequent occurrence, and may seem too obvious to 
 need explanation. From the circumstances in 
 which it was used, however, and in reference to 
 the views which I propose to take of it, I shall 
 venture to regard it in two senses, nearly connect- 
 ed, indeed, yet distinguishable from each other, 
 and worthy of distinct, attention. 
 
 According to the first and more obvious of the 
 senses to which I refer, the terms of the express- 
 ion are used, as hunger and its corresponding grat- 
 ification often are in like circumstances, for any 
 conscious desire in relation to its appropriate ob- 
 ject. As employed by our Saviour here and else- 
 where, they must be understood to refer to a con- 
 scious desire for those spiritual blessings which 
 were but symbolically represented in the festival 
 rites of the occasion, but which he claimed the 
 power to impart. To those engaged with fervent 
 enthusiasm in the solemnities of their national 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 507 
 
 worship, the meaning of his declaration was, if any 
 man truly and earnestly desires the spiritual real- 
 ity, which is here exhibited but in types and shad- 
 ows, let him come unto me, and satisfy the desires 
 of his soul with substantial good. Ye who look 
 and long for those waters from the wells of salva- 
 tion, turn away from the symbolical waters of 
 Siloa, and come unto me. In me will you find 
 the spiritual blessings which you seek ; and whoso- 
 ever drinketh the water that I shall give him, it 
 shall be in him a well of water, springing up into 
 everlasting life. 
 
 Similar to this language of our Saviour in its 
 figurative character, is that invitation of the proph- 
 et Isaiah : Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye 
 to the waters ; and that expression of intense de- 
 sire in the Psalmist, in which he exclaims, My soul 
 thirsteth for God, for the living God : when shall 
 I come and appear before God ? How blessed, in 
 their relation to him, are all those who find in them- 
 selves this conscious and outbreaking desire for 
 the spiritual treasures that are in Christ, and that 
 he is so ready to impart ! Blessed are they that 
 hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they 
 shall be filled. 
 
 But according to the other and less obvious 
 meaning which I ascribe to the declaration in the 
 text, it is understood to refer to that inward need, 
 which, though he may be unconscious of it, the 
 soul of every man has of Christ and of the spirit- 
 ual blessings which he proffers for our acceptance. 
 In this more extended metaphorical sense, the same 
 
508 man's need of christ. 
 
 language is often applied, not only to the uncon- 
 scious need of beings capable of conscious desire, 
 but also to the lower orders of organic existence, 
 and even to inanimate objects in relation to what 
 may be necessary for the attainment of their sup- 
 posed end. Thus every creature may be said to 
 thirst for and to seek after its appropriate good, 
 and that which is necessary to the attainment of 
 its prescribed end, though unconscious, and conse- 
 quently undesirous of that to which it holds such 
 a relation. In this sense our Saviour may be un- 
 derstood as saying that the inward necessities of 
 every human soul place it in this relation to him- 
 self. Such is the proper end towards which it is 
 borne by the original law of its spiritual being, and 
 such are the conditions of its attainment, that it 
 stands in need of Christ, and must come to him 
 for the supply of its spiritual wants. In other 
 words, Christ here proffers himself as the good 
 which the spirit of man needs ; and the intensity of 
 that need he expresses by thirst, the most unap- 
 peasable of our natural organic cravings, the most 
 indispensable of our bodily wants. Whatever 
 else we may do without, according to the sense of 
 our Saviour's language, we cannot do without him. 
 He is that for our souls, and the inmost necessi- 
 ties of our spiritual being, which water is for the 
 body when fainting and perishing for thirst. The 
 invitation of our Saviour, therefore, is to every 
 man to come unto him for the supply of his spirit- 
 ual necessities ; for that without which he can 
 
I 
 
 man's NEED OF CHRIST. 509 
 
 never attain the true and proper end of his being, 
 but must remain restless and unblest forever. 
 
 2. But let us proceed to inquire more partic- 
 ularly, in the second place, what it is in the inward 
 character and condition of man, which is the 
 ground of this relation to Christ. To this it might 
 be answered in a word, that it is found in that 
 higher capacity for the reception of spiritual good, 
 which, however uncdnscious he may be of it, per- 
 tains to the soul of every man, and which no infe- 
 rior or worldly objects can ever fill. To render 
 this fully intelligible, however, in its distinctive 
 character, and in the actual condition of man, far- 
 ther consideration may be necessary. 
 
 In a general way, then, what is here said of the 
 soul of man may be illustrated, by referring it to 
 that universal law to which all finite and creature- 
 ly existences are subjected ; that, namely, of de- 
 pendence and insufficiency in themselves for the 
 accomplishment of their proper end. All need 
 and require, as the indispensable condition of their 
 existence, a good out of themselves, which they 
 may be said, according to their several powers, to 
 seek after, and which in turn is suited to their 
 wants. Look, for example, at that beginning of 
 the ways of God, the mysterious life of the vege- 
 table world. See how it puts forth in boundless 
 luxuriance its ever-varying forms. With what per- 
 vading power it forces its way through all the 
 apparent obstacles of inorganic nature, clothing 
 the rocks with its verdure, and diffusing its fra- 
 grance over the burning sands of the desert. But 
 
i 
 
 510 man's NEED OF CHRIST. 
 
 on the rock and in the desert God has provided it 
 with the means of its subsistence, with the mate- 
 rials of its growth, and endued it with the pow- 
 ers by which it seeks out and appropriates them 
 to its use. While it clothes the earth with beau- 
 ty, and sends upwards its expanding foliage, 
 breathing healthful influences into the surround- 
 ing air, and paying homage to the sun, it must be 
 remembered that in and by these it lives ; that it 
 receives from the earth and air and sun the ele- 
 ments of which all the substance of its growth is 
 composed, its form of beauty or of stateliness, the 
 verdure of its leaves and the fragrance of its 
 flowers. It is God who has thus fitted them for 
 each other, and who so clothes the grass, which 
 to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven. 
 
 We may carry the same principle upward 
 through the whole range of living nature ; and 
 while we are compelled to refer to a specific pow- 
 er of life within, we are under an equal necessity 
 of looking to the specific provision for the devel- 
 opement of each successive power in the world 
 without. Thus, while the inferior life of the plant 
 finds the material of its existence and the condi- 
 tions necessary to the proper ends of its being in 
 the inorganic elements, it is itself, in turn, the out- 
 ward condition of life and growth to the various 
 orders of animal creation. These, as they go 
 forth in countless myriads upon the face of the 
 earth, as they pass through the paths of the seas, or 
 fly in the open firmament of heaven, seek, each 
 after its kind, an appropriate good in the world 
 
t 
 
 MAN'S NEED OF CHRIST. 511 
 
 around them, and receive their supply from the 
 same all-bountiful Giver. He causeth grass to 
 grow for cattle, and herb for the service of man. 
 These all wait upon Thee, that thou may est give 
 them their meat in due season. That thou givest 
 them, they gather ;' thou openest thine hand, they 
 are filled with good. Thou hidest thy face, they 
 are troubled ; thou takest away their breath, they 
 die, and return to their dust. 
 
 Thus far, the relation of man to external na- 
 ture, as the necessary outward condition of his ex- 
 istence, is obviously the same with that of the in- 
 ferior orders of creation. As to the powers of his 
 organic life, he stands related to all the elements. 
 The earth and sky, the illuminating and warming 
 rays of the sun, the vital air, the manifold products 
 of vegetable and of animal life, the world, in all 
 its fulness and variety, are the sphere and contain 
 the outward conditions of his animal existence. 
 These, the Giver of all good has placed around 
 him, and among these he must, by the conditions 
 of his existence as a creature of this world, and in 
 the exercise of his physical powers, seek the means 
 necessary to his sensual life. Without these he 
 cannot live. With all his superior powers of life, 
 and the wonder-working energies of his complica- 
 ted organs, he needs that which they cannot give ; 
 he hungers for a morsel of bread, and thirsts for a 
 drop of water. These he must have, or his eyes 
 will start from their sockets in the consuming rage 
 of hunger and thirst. He that feedeth the fowls 
 of the air, must feed him also. 
 
512 man's need of christ. 
 
 But has man no higher powers than those which 
 belong to him in common with the brute ; and is 
 he connected with nothing out of himself, as the 
 necessary condition of their developement, other 
 than that on which his physical existence depends ? 
 This is one point for which I wished to prepare the 
 way by the illustrations already adduced ; namely, 
 from what is so undeniable in regard to the powers 
 of vegetable and animal life, to render more pre- 
 sumable and evident the truth of the same princi- 
 ple in respect to whatever higher powers and ca- 
 pacities we may possess. If there be that within 
 us which is nobler than the instincts of organic 
 life, and strives for the attainment of a higher end, 
 it is yet equally dependent upon that which is pro- 
 vided without, as the condition on which alone 
 that end can be attained. Nor can those higher 
 wants be satisfied and that higher end secured by 
 means of the same outward objects and conditions 
 which suffice for the brute and for our own mere 
 animal nature. Strictly speaking, it is only in re- 
 spect to those powers of life which man possesses 
 in common with the vegetable and brute Creation, 
 those concerned in the growth and perfection of 
 his bodily organs, that he is immediately related to 
 the inferior objects around him, as before described. 
 It needs but a moment's reflection to see that he 
 has powers of action and capacities of enjoyment 
 which cannot find in these the means and condi- 
 tions of their growth, but must be excited and 
 nourished by that which has a specific relation to 
 their higher wants. For in the midst of material 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 513 
 
 nature, and surrounded by a ceaseless exuberance 
 and variety of that which supplies the mere wants 
 of the body, what is man without men ? Will he 
 or can he become truly a man, without that human 
 intercourse, and the presence of those more than 
 merely sensible objects, which properly awaken 
 and call forth the distinguishing powers of human- 
 ity ? Will he hold intellectual converse, and dis- 
 course of truth and right, with the senseless plant 
 or the speechless brute ? Will the human, the so- 
 cial and moral affections of his soul find adequate 
 excitement in the beauty of flowers, in the sub- 
 dued or even impassioned look with which the 
 forms and aspects of brute natures address his eye, 
 or the tones with which their thousand voices fill 
 his ear ? Will he indeed find awakened in him- 
 self those moral affections and charities which 
 raise him above the brute, and pour them forth, as 
 from an inward fountain, while, in the wide world 
 around him, there is no human heart that answers 
 to his ? To these questions, reason, analogy, and 
 experience, so far as it is possible to have its testi- 
 mony, answer, No. In these circumstances, man 
 would himself remain, as to the actual develope- 
 ment and exercise of those higher powers which 
 characterize him as a social and intelligent and 
 moral being, little more than a speechless brute. 
 However his bodily hunger and thirst might be 
 satisfied, and his corporeal organs attain their full 
 developement and symmetry of form, his soul's 
 need would be unprovided for. There would be 
 a hungering and thirsting for some unknown and 
 65 
 
514 man's need of christ. 
 
 unexperienced good. His higher powers and ten- 
 dencies would fail of their appropriate objects and 
 ends, and show their existence only in obscure and 
 ineffectual longings for that which the surrounding 
 world could not supply. 
 
 The human soul, then, in respect to those pow- 
 ers of intelligence and those moral and social af- 
 fections which are manifested in the relations of 
 society, has- its appropriate sphere of existence, 
 and finds the conditions of its growth and well- 
 being in the intercourse of mind with mind and 
 heart with heart. It neither finds its proper nour- 
 ishment, nor attains its proper end, without some- 
 thing above and beyond that which feeds the body. 
 As its own peculiar powers and affections are 
 higher and more inward than the life of the body, 
 so it seeks in the world around it for that which 
 has also a higher life and a kindred heart. It loves 
 only that which can return its love. It opens the 
 deep fountain of its joy and sorrow, the sacred 
 source of smiles and tears, only to that kindred 
 power whose presence it recognizes in the expres- 
 sion of a human eye, and in the tones of a human 
 voice. It speaks, it utters forth a thought, a word, 
 out of its inner world of thought, only to that 
 which has also its inner world, and understands, 
 and utters back, a word. This it is, and this 
 alone, which can call forth, and feed with food con- 
 venient for it, the inner soul, the mind and heart 
 of man. This is the provision which it needs, and 
 which again it must have, as the condition of its 
 moral and intellectual life, of its truly becoming a 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 515 
 
 human soul. And here, too, who will not recog- 
 nize the wisdom and goodness of the same all- 
 wise and bountiful Giver, in the rich supply for 
 these wants also, which, without our agency or 
 care, we find thrown around us. From the very 
 dawn of our existence, we are compassed about by 
 his care. As he supplies the wants of the body, 
 so he satisfieth the longing soul, and filleth the 
 hungry soul with goodness. 
 
 The world which our souls need, is the world 
 in which we live and move from infancy to age. 
 Look at the infant upon its mother's bosom. Does 
 it seek there for the food which nourishes its body, 
 believing as it were, with at least an implied and 
 undoubting faith, that He who gave it life has 
 made provision for its wants ? With the same 
 earnest seeking, and a like urgent need, does its 
 eye search for that which is necessary to the high- 
 er ends of its being, to the powers and capacities, 
 the dawning affections and sympathies of a human 
 soul. And lo ! this too it has found already there, 
 and beaming upon it in the look of a mother's love. 
 There, in alternate smiles and tears, and in those 
 tones which come from the heart and reach the 
 heart, it has found the provision which it needs. 
 It has found that which awakens and cherishes 
 the inward attributes of humanity. Thus, by all 
 the expressions of human kindness, the correspond- 
 ing affections are awakened and cultivated. How 
 soon, too, is the faculty of thought and of speech 
 excited and nourished by the sounds of our mother 
 tongue, and the mind brought into communion 
 
516 man's need of christ. 
 
 with other minds ! This stage in the develope- 
 ment of our powers once gained, the wants and 
 purposes of the heart converted into thoughts, and 
 thoughts into words, how rapidly are those wants 
 multiplied, and how eagerly do we seek in the world 
 around us for the objects which they require ! 
 These we find, according to our need, from child- 
 hood to youth, and from youth to manhood, in the 
 intercourse of kindred minds ; in the sentiments, 
 the passions and purposes which are manifested 
 around us and nourish our own. By all that en- 
 virons us in the sphere of humanity, the various 
 institutions of civilized society, the conflict of in- 
 terests and passions in which we are involved from 
 day to day, and especially by the treasures of 
 thought in the language which we inherit, the 
 powers of our own inward being are called forth 
 and their wants supplied. By these, as the out- 
 ward means and conditions, we, too, come to the 
 conscious possession and enjoyment of all that per- 
 tains to the social and intellectual life of man. 
 We, too, become prepared to exhibit the character 
 and to act the part of men, in the duties and re- 
 sponsibilities of human life. 
 
 Thus the individual man is the nursling of hu- 
 manity. As the life of his body is nourished in 
 the lap of nature, and seeks its proper food in the 
 material elements around it, so the soul is embos- 
 omed in the human world, which a never-failing 
 and all-comprehending Providence has made ready 
 and suited to its foreseen necessities. In this it 
 lives and grows, breathing the atmosphere of hu- 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 517 
 
 man affections, and feeding on human thoughts. 
 And how should our souls glow with special grat- 
 itude to God, that we have had our birth in a world 
 so richly fraught with provisions for the supply of ^ 
 all their need ! Above and around us, in the rec- 
 ords of the past, in the interests and movements 
 of the present, and in the hopes and fears awak- 
 ened by the impending future, we have enough to *^ 
 call forth all our energies. The manifold exam- 
 ples of great and good men in all the departments 
 of human action, are held forth to our view, and 
 shed down their influences upon us as stars in the 
 constellations of the firmament. We inhale an 
 atmosphere of domestic and social affections, in- 
 vigorated by the free institutions of our fathers, 
 and still retaining something at least of the higher 
 and healthier tone which it received from their 
 Christian spirit. We inherit and may feed upon 
 the accumulated treasures of ancient wisdom, and 
 we have the language of Shakspeare and Milton 
 for our mother tongue. V 
 
 By these illustrations, which may seem, I am 
 aware, unnecessarily prolonged, I have endeavored 
 to render intelligible what was stated as a univer- 
 sal law, and to furnish at least the means of better 
 understanding its application in the case before us. 
 In the last example, especially, which for this rea- 
 son has been exhibited so much at length, I have 
 aimed to advance the main purpose of the argu- 
 ment, by showing that we are endued with powers 
 of action, of enjoyment and suffering, which, 
 though they have their adequate objects and may (/ 
 

 
 
 
 j 
 
 518 man's need OF CHRIST. 
 
 attain their proper end in this world, are yet unde- 
 niably of a higher nature than those of our mere 
 sensual life, and require, as the outward condition 
 of attaining that end, objects in like manner above 
 the proper sphere of sense. For the powers 
 there exhibited, as constituting the true life of 
 man in the relations of human society, pertain not 
 to the outward life of the body, but to the inward 
 life of consciousness. Conscious feelings and af- 
 fections, thoughts and purposes, belonging to the 
 inner world, distinguish the refined and cultivated 
 member of civil society from the brute or the sav- 
 age ; and these have the conditions of their devel- 
 opement, not properly in the material objects of 
 sense, though it be through the medium of sense 
 and especially by the ministry of words, but in 
 that which in like manner belongs to, and comes 
 forth from, the inner world of humanity ; that 
 world of conscious being, that place of understand- 
 ing, which, in the language of Job, is hid from the 
 eyes of all living, and kept close from the fowls of 
 the air. If the true character, and outward relations 
 of what has been thus exhibited, be borne in mind, 
 it may serve in many ways to aid our conceptions 
 of the leading subjects before us. 
 
 With the aid of these illustrations, then, let us 
 follow up the inquiry, what is that in the character 
 and condition of men, on the ground of which he 
 has need of Christ ? What powers are to be un- 
 folded, and what wants to be supplied, which are 
 not yet provided for by the rich and abundant 
 blessings which are thrown around us, as we have 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 519 
 
 seen, in the material world, and in the society of 
 our fellow men? The difficulty of answering 
 these questions arises chiefly from the fact, that in 
 most men the powers and capacities referred to 
 are not so fully awakened and called into action 
 that they are distinctly conscious of their need. 
 Instead of opening their minds to the contempla- 
 tion of those higher and ultimate ends which are 
 prescribed by the original law of their being, and 
 in reference to which the need properly exists, 
 they limit their view to those worldly and selfish 
 ends which they have proposed, and are striving 
 moreover to satisfy the partial cravings of which 
 they have become conscious, in the pursuit of an 
 inferior and worldly good. They are ignorant of 
 what they are, in respect to the highest dignity 
 and capacity of their being, and consequently igno- 
 rant, both of their wants, and of the appropriate and 
 abundant provision which here too is made for 
 their supply. But let us endeavor, with all ear- 
 nestness, to understand the meaning of our Sa- 
 viour, when, disparaging, as it were, those abun- 
 dant provisions for the supply of our various wants, 
 which we have been contemplating, as well as the 
 human pageantry around him, he directs us to him- 
 self for the supply of our most urgent need. This, 
 indeed, as in regard to our more temporary and 
 superficial wants, we cannot do fully, unless our 
 minds are awakened to a practical sense of that 
 need. Yet, by a reference to those powers and 
 capacities of our nature of which I have before 
 spoken, and to that which every one will recog- 
 
520 man's need of chhist. 
 
 nize in his own consciousness, we may see that 
 we have within us a still higher, and, if I may use 
 the expression, more inward power, and that this 
 too requires its corresponding object, and seeks its 
 proper end. Strictly speaking, no man is unaware 
 t/S of the power to which I refer. We recognize its 
 presence in ourselves, and in our fellow men, as 
 paramount to the powers of nature, even of our 
 own human nature, and connecting us with a 
 higher sphere of being. We cannot but be famil- 
 iar indeed with its existence, and its essential 
 character ; for it is not only the most inward and 
 central principle of our consciousness, but mani- 
 fests its presence in all the outward relations of 
 man. It is only because it is one with our personal 
 being, strictly identified with the individual con- 
 sciousness of every man, that, like the pulsation of 
 our hearts and the unconscious breathing of the 
 breath of life, it escapes our notice, and is so diffi- 
 cult to be apprehended aright. But however un- 
 conscious we may be of its inherent necessities, 
 and blind to its own proper end, we yield to it 
 still in a certain sense the prerogative which it 
 claims, and submit all our other powers to its con- 
 v/ trol. For it is that in us which is capable of hav- 
 ing, and claims to assert, a purpose of its own, in 
 distinction from the subject appetites and propen- 
 sities of nature, and in distinction, too, from those 
 social and intellectual tendencies to which I have 
 referred. It is that to which we habitually refer 
 and impute the deliberate acts and purposes of a 
 
 man, as the controlling principle within him. It 
 at 
 

 man's NEED OF CHRIST. 521 
 
 is the man within the man. It is that by virtue ^ 
 of which we are capable of self-cultivation, of self- 
 knowledge, and self-control. It is, in a word, that 
 principle, whatever we may call it, of free, self- 
 conscious and personal being, by which man is 
 placed in connexion with the spiritual world, and 
 has wants which cannot find their appropriate ob- 
 jects in the world of sense and in the compass of ^y 
 nature. It is that which is properly meant by the 
 spirit in man, in distinction from all that pertains 
 to his sensual nature and the world of sense. Now 
 the point I wish, if possible, to make clear to your 
 apprehension, is, that what we here speak of, is 
 truly a distinguishable and higher power, in its re- 
 lation to those which find their adequate objects in 
 the world around us, and requires at the same time, 
 according to the meaning of our Saviour and the 
 general principle before illustrated, a good out of 
 itself, and adapted to its higher wants. The pow- 
 ers of our sensual nature, we have seen, have their 
 appropriate objects in the material world. The 
 appetites of hunger and thirst, by which the wants 
 of organic life are manifested, eagerly seek their 
 appropriate supply in the objects of sense, and in 
 the enjoyment of these rest and are satisfied, as 
 with their proper good. So, too, in the higher 
 sphere of our natural human affections, and of all 
 those powers of human nature which find their 
 proper objects in the corresponding powers and 
 affections of our fellow-men, the same principle 
 holds true. In the confiding intercourse of friends, 
 in the free interchange of thought and of social 
 66 
 

 522 man's need of christ. 
 
 affections, but especially in the relations of the 
 domestic circle, the mind rests and is satisfied, as 
 
 ^ with objects suited to its nature. But what is 
 that power, and its true objects and ends, by which, 
 in the exercise of a still higher prerogative, we 
 control these powers and capacities of our nature, 
 and indulge or repress, use or abuse them, at will ? 
 Our natural appetites are easily satisfied, and, left 
 to the law of their own nature, act in accordance 
 
 t/ with, and rest in, their proper end. But the epi- 
 cure pampers and stimulates his appetites, that he 
 may make them the instruments of his self-pro- 
 posed and capricious enjoyments. The demon of 
 ambition sweeps away from its' path the affections 
 and charities of social and even of domestic life, 
 represses the instincts of nature, and makes hu- 
 man life itself subordinate to an arbitrary will, 
 Nay, for all purposes, of good as well as evil, 
 man asserts the authority and control of his per- 
 sonal will over the powers and affections of his 
 nature. In the strength of its high preroga- 
 tive he makes them the obedient ministers of its 
 purpose, and subject to its law. He excites and 
 urges on the storm of unbridled passions, or arrests 
 its course, and says to their warring elements, 
 Peace, be still. The strong agonies of nature are 
 hushed by his mandate, and the humble Christian 
 in the midst of consuming fire can hold its out- 
 breaking terrors in quiet submission to his will. 
 It was the martyr at the stake who doomed his 
 own right hand to the hottest flame, and cried 
 with his last breath, as he held it unfaltering there, 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 523 
 
 This hand has offended, this wicked hand has 
 offended. / 
 
 But this power itself, the man in the energy of 
 that personal will which thus imposes its .immiti- 
 gable law upon a reluctant but subject nature, and 
 makes the highest ends of nature subservient to its 
 own, what are its ends, and the means of attain- 
 ing them ? With what scope and for what pur- 
 pose does it employ its higher energies, and those 
 subordinate powers which obey its mandate ? Is 
 it to seek and find these, in that very sphere of na- 
 ture over which it claims such a prerogative ? But 
 the ends of nature, with the outward means of at- 
 taining them, as they become known in our expe- 
 rience and consciousness, are, as we have seen, va-'^ 
 rious and manifold. Every distinguishable power 
 and affection here has its own appropriate craving, 
 and in the fulness of that world which God has so 
 amply stored for our use, it finds its distinct and pro- 
 per object and consequent gratification. Are the 
 ends and the objects of that supernatural power, 
 then, identical with these, equally numerous and di- > 
 verse ? But as a personal and self-conscious pow- 
 er, it places itself, as it were, in distinct and indi- 
 visible unity, at an equal remove from all these ; 
 present, indeed, in a certain and important sense, 
 to all, but becoming identical with none. Can we, 
 then, as personal beings, choose among the endless 
 solicitations and propensities of nature, and arbi- 
 trarily make to ourselves an end which we can 
 steadfastly pursue ? And will this be our true, our 
 destined and ultimate end ? Or can we attain our 
 
524 man's need of christ. 
 
 own proper end, through the appointed means, by 
 yielding to every solicitation of natural appetite, 
 and thus losing ourselves in the infinite dispersion 
 and manifoldness of nature ? 
 
 These questions are forced upon us by what w r e 
 see of the actual condition and conduct of man. 
 For, turning away from the one only true and ulti- 
 mate end to which he was destined, and in which 
 alone the powers of his spiritual and personal be- 
 ing can rest, he seeks his changing and inconstant 
 purposes, and strives to find an end that may sat- 
 isfy him, among the appetites, the passions and 
 propensities of his nature. Disappointed in his 
 search, in perpetual disquiet and vexation of spirit, 
 and changing his self-proposed ends with the ever- 
 varying solicitations of appetite and passion, he re- 
 mains fixed to no end ; and if he were, it is still 
 within the sphere of his lower nature, and his 
 spirit is in bondage to its law. Thus estranged 
 from his true end, and blind or indifferent, as he 
 must be, to that spiritual good which is the out- 
 ward condition of its attainment, he regards and 
 pursues only that which is fitted to satisfy the in- 
 ferior wants, and minister to the sensual or at most 
 to the social gratifications of nature. These he 
 covets and accumulates with ceaseless anxiety. 
 Still restless and unsatisfied, he still cherishes his 
 delusion, and strives to satiate the inward cravings 
 of his soul for a higher and enduring good, w 7 ith 
 the fleeting phantoms of sense, and the unsubstan- 
 tial possessions and enjoyments of that world, the 
 fashion whereof passeth away. 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 525 
 
 But neither in the ends nor objects of the natu- 
 ral world can the spirit of man rest. Though fallen 
 from a right apprehension and pursuit of its true 
 end, and too often unconscious and consequently 
 undesirous of that which constitutes its appropri- 
 ate good, it yet finds by experience, that what it 
 actually seeks, falls short of its aspirations ; and 
 that no finite and worldly good can fill the com- 
 pass of its desires. How should it indeed be oth- 
 erwise ? The inherent tendencies and wants of 
 animal life are not satisfied, nor do its powers find 
 their appropriate objects and sphere of action, in 
 the obscure form of vegetable life, to which, in the 
 first- months of its existence, it is limited. It must 
 open its eyes to the light, and its ears to the mu- 
 sic of sounds. It must expand its own lungs to 
 the vital air, reach forth its hands to that which 
 its eye sees, and walk abroad in this world of 
 sense. Neither, as we have already seen, can the 
 powers of that higher life by which our human 
 nature is distinguished from that of the brute, find 
 their proper objects and the conditions of their ex- 
 istence in the mere life of sense. They seek in 
 the higher sphere of humanity the objects which 
 correspond to their own nature, and in and by these 
 they live and attain their predestined ends. Equally 
 impossible is it that the spiritual power of which 
 we are speaking should find its needed good and 
 attain its proper end in a sphere below itself, or in 
 the whole compass of the life of nature. It has 
 its own distinct and proper end, which no capri- 
 cious and arbitrary purpose of its own can ever 
 
526 man's need of christ. 
 
 change, fixed by a law which it cannot annul. In 
 the inward principle of its being, it is essentially 
 above the powers of our animal nature ; and the 
 end towards which it is borne, is equally above and 
 beyond the sphere of our worldly life. How then 
 can it gain that end, and find the rest and happi- 
 ness, which, by a law of inward necessity, it still 
 seeks, while grovelling in a lower sphere, groping 
 for light in the thick darkness, and hunting through 
 the realms of nature for that which shall give rest 
 to the spirit ? The depth saith, it is not in me ; 
 and the sea saith, it is not with me. It cannot be 
 gotten for gold, neither shall silver be weighed for 
 the price thereof. 
 
 V There pertains, then, to the soul of man, a spir- 
 itual power and essence, which transcends the 
 powers of our inferior nature, having its own dis- 
 tinct and necessary end ; and that end cannot be 
 attained within the sphere of sense, nor by means 
 of those outward objects which are the conditions 
 of our natural and worldly life. In turning away 
 from nature, then, and distinguishing itself from 
 those inferior powers which seek in the objects of 
 this world the conditions of their existence, can it 
 find in itself that which it needs for the attainment 
 
 , of its end ? Can it place itself, in the confidence 
 of stoic pride, aloof from nature, and claim to have 
 in the resources of its own inward being a self- 
 sufficing good ? In the strength of its own self- 
 reliance, can it exclude and repel the sense of all 
 outward dependence, and attain its end by its 
 own self-productive and unnourished energies ? 
 
V 
 
 man's NEED OF CHRIST. 527 
 
 To these questions, reason and experience, so 
 far as our conscious experience can reach the case, 
 give the same answer. Though we may be un- 
 conscious of our need,* as the brutified savage is 
 ignorant of any wants but those of his physical ex- 
 istence, there is yet a need there, without the sup- 
 ply of which the life of the spirit is but a living 
 death, a mere negation of its true spiritual life. 
 It is a ceaseless hungering and thirsting, an aching 
 void, a hollow depth of inward poverty and want, 
 which only its own suitable and infinite good can 
 supply. For what we need, must be an adequate 
 and suitable good. It must be that which has a 
 specific relation to our inward necessities, and to 
 our proper and ultimate end. And how imperative, 
 whether we know it or not, how inseparable from 
 the inward law of our spiritual being, is that ne- 
 cessity, which commands us to go out of ourselves, 
 to forsake the resources of our own strength, to 
 deny the pride and self-reliance of our own self- 
 wills, and to seek the conditions of blessedness in ^ 
 that which is more and higher than man ! Thus, 
 in accordance with the universal law before illus- 
 trated, the finite spirit of man, like all other finite 
 and creaturely existences, is insufficient of itself 
 for its own end. According to the distinctive char- 
 acter of its inward being, it needs, and must have, 
 that which is suited to call forth and feed with 
 food convenient for it, its powers of spiritual life. O" 
 For, as the life of sense does not truly exist, till 
 we breathe the air and behold the light of this 
 world of sense, and as we have the empty capacity, 
 
 
 
528 man's need of christ. 
 
 but not the actual possession and enjoyment of our 
 higher social and human affections, without the 
 surrounding aspects and influences of humanity, so 
 till we are raised above the life of nature, till we 
 are awakened to a higher life by the objects of 
 that spiritual world to which we properly belong, 
 and by which in our inward consciousness we find 
 ourselves forever environed, we have only the 
 capacity, not the possession, of true spiritual life. 
 For what is the mere naked and arbitrary will of 
 man, uninspired and unarmed with inward and 
 spiritual strength, however terrific it may be by the 
 accidental possession and control of vast physical 
 power ? It may, indeed, for the time, and so long 
 as its physical resources continue, excite the won- 
 der and admiration of those who look only at the 
 world of sense ; but it has no inward life, no true 
 spiritual vigor, no enduring power, and accom- 
 plishes nothing that can endure. The will and 
 the cherished purposes of the most powerful and 
 crafty of despots, so far as they are unsustained 
 by a higher principle of abiding truth and right- 
 eousness, can be effective only for a limited time 
 and to the extent of his physical arm. Strip him 
 of his outward physical force, and in that very day 
 his thoughts perish. Thus the true life and power 
 of the spirit must be an inward life and power ; 
 and to attain this, it must be fed and nourished 
 with appropriate food, must breathe the air and 
 walk in the light of the spiritual world. As our 
 human affections are developed and strengthened 
 by that which is human, so the life of the spirit is 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 529 
 
 nourished and sustained by that alone which is 
 spiritual. Here, then, is the inward ground of 
 that need to which our Saviour refers, when he in- 
 vites us to come unto him and receive the waters 
 of life. 
 
 But however clearly we may be convinced of 
 our need, the question may still very naturally 
 arise, Why should we go to Christ for its supply ? 
 What is there in the distinctive character of the 
 wants of our spiritual being, so far as they are in- 
 dicated in our conscious experience, that should 
 lead us to expect in and from him a corresponding 
 good ? These questions find indeed a partial an- 
 swer, yet one, for the most part, of only a nega- 
 tive character, in the views already presented. 
 What more distinct indications do we find in our 
 inward experience, to determine the specific char- 
 acter 'of our wants ? Here, again, it is obvious 
 that only in proportion as we are excited to earn- 
 est reflection, and to a full and practical sense of 
 our need as a matter of our own experience, can 
 we be made to understand clearly what it is, or 
 what Christ is as suited for its supply. Yet there 
 are facts in the consciousness of all men, abun- 
 dantly sufficient to make known to them their ne- 
 cessities, and to guide them to Christ. The law, 
 says St. Paul, is our schoolmaster to bring us to 
 Christ ; and the same apostle asserts that all men 
 have a knowledge of that law. The law revealed 
 in the conscience of every man, is for us the ne- 
 cessary condition of all spiritual knowledge. How 
 much, too, of spiritual truth, and of what infinite 
 67 
 
f* 
 
 530 man's need of christ. 
 
 moment for us, is manifested in the simple fact of 
 conscience ; so simple, yet so central and so full of 
 light ! By it we know ourselves, and in its au- 
 thoritative law we have the essential and immuta- 
 ble law of our own spiritual being, and that which 
 prescribes its true and ultimate end. What is it 
 but this law, consciously revealed in the soul of 
 every man, that makes for us the absolute and im- 
 mutable distinction between right and wrong, and 
 commands us to do right, to obey the truth, to 
 love holiness? But to come nearer the point at 
 which I was aiming, it is undeniable, and a truth 
 of highest import, that the consciousness of a holy 
 and perfect law, in proportion as it is reflected 
 upon and becomes practically efficient in our minds, 
 fills them at the same time with apprehensions of 
 God, and an inalienable conviction of his exist- 
 ence, as a just, a righteous and holy God. It 
 opens, as it were, the eye of the soul to behold 
 the light of the spiritual world, and directs it to 
 the contemplation of God as the Sun of that world, 
 the eternal centre and source of its light. Thus, 
 in prescribing the law of our spiritual being, and 
 in it the ultimate end for the attainment of which 
 it imperatively commands us to strive, the con- 
 science directs us to God. For what is our end, 
 as prescribed by the law of conscience, but to be 
 Godlike ? Thus the ideas of a holy God, and of 
 our own duty and end, are inseparable from each 
 other ; and it is the first and great commandment, 
 that we love the Lord our God with all our hearts, 
 with all our souls, and with all our mind. There 
 
 t 
 
fr 
 
 man's NEED OF CHRIST. 531 
 
 is and can be no higher or holier law than this. 
 To contradict this law, to resist that in which our 
 inmost consciousness reveals and affirms itself as 
 absolutely and immutably good, is sin, is spiritual 
 evil. A sense of our imperative obligation, there- 
 fore, to obey and to fulfil this law of righteousness, 
 to realize in our own personal and spiritual being 
 that truth and holiness which we contemplate as 
 the glory and perfection of God, points us to our 
 true end, and is intimately connected with our need 
 of Christ. 
 
 But let me remark again, as another fact, al- 
 ready contained in what was before said, but more 
 practically revealed in our consciousness, that the 
 light of conscience makes known to us our own 
 character as sinners. For in turning ourselves 
 away from our true end, and subjecting our spirit- 
 ual being to the law of our sensual nature and to 
 the w T orld of sense, as was represented, we have 
 estranged ourselves from God, and live in the vio- 
 lation of his law. The law commands us, and 
 enforces its authority with fearful forebodings, to 
 love God, and to serve him in spirit and in truth. 
 But our hearts are by nature averse to God, and 
 choose none of his ways. Thus we find ourselves 
 at the same time responsible to God, and violators 
 of his law. We find ourselves guilty and misera- 
 ble sinners, estranged from God, and in need of 
 reconciliation to him. This we learn by the law ; 
 but neither that law nor the devices of our own 
 hearts can justify us to our consciences, or in the 
 sight of God. We are in bondage to the world, 
 

 532 man's need of christ. 
 
 enslaved to the law and service of our inferior na- 
 tures. We need to be delivered from that thral- 
 dom, that we may freely obey the inward law of 
 the spirit. We are without true spiritual life, our 
 eyes not yet opened to a direct beholding of the 
 things of the spirit. We need the quickening of 
 a spiritual power, we need the bread and the water 
 of spiritual life, that our souls may live. And what 
 is that which can thus nourish and promote the 
 growth of our spiritual life, but that to which our 
 spiritual being is preconformed ? What is it but 
 manifested truth and righteousness; that which 
 has in it the power and the life of the spirit ? This 
 it is, inwrought and received, as the inwardly 
 nourishing and sustaining power and life of our 
 personal being, that can alone satisfy our wants, 
 make us at peace with ourselves, and reconcile us 
 unto God. By contemplating these particulars in 
 respect to the nature of our wants, we may under- 
 stand, in some measure, what objects are suited 
 for their supply, and appreciate the blessings that 
 are proffered in Christ. 
 
 Once more I remark in this connexion, that as 
 our needful good, and the condition of spiritual 
 life in our souls, we require, in the object of our 
 spiritual intercourse and contemplation, a personal 
 being. If, in relation to our human affections, as 
 pertaining to social existence, it is the expression 
 of self-conscious and personal intelligence, and of 
 moral qualities as connected with a personal will, 
 which essentially fixes our regard and nourishes 
 our human powers and affections, much more, in 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 533 
 
 the highest concentration of our spiritual energies 
 upon their highest object, must that object be per- 
 sonal. It is the inalienable law of conscience, that 
 we love God with all the heart, and soul, and mind. 
 It is the first and great commandment. Has he 
 then no heart ? Has he no personal and self-con- 
 scious existence ? If not, then is prayer but a 
 mockery, and conscience a dream. But we are 
 told that truth, and goodness, and holiness, are the 
 objects of love ; and by the contemplation of these, 
 we are to be nourished and attain the end of our 
 being. What then are these, and how are they 
 possible objects of contemplation and love, except 
 as pertaining to the personality of Him that is true, 
 of Him that is good, and of Him who alone is 
 holy ? Can we pour out our supreme affections, 
 and pay the devout homage of our hearts, to a 
 homeless abstraction ? Can our souls cleave with 
 inward affection to a law of central forces, and love 
 the power of gravity ? Shall we, then, seek these 
 objects of devout and religious contemplation in 
 our own personal being, and in that of our fellow- 
 men ? Alas ! could we but find them there, and 
 not rather a lie in their stead. Away, then, with 
 the hollow and profane delusions of Atheism, and 
 let us, with St. Paul, love, and worship, and adore 
 the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. 
 
 But these views are designed more especially to 
 demonstrate our need of Christ, according to the 
 second and less obvious meaning which I ascribed 
 to his language in the text. Would that I could 
 awaken that actual sense of need, and that con- 
 
534 man's need of christ. 
 
 scious longing and thirsting for the waters of life, 
 to which his gracious invitation had a more direct 
 reference. Except as it awakens the mind to re- 
 flection, and so leads to this, all speculative truth 
 in religion is indeed but an empty show, and all 
 preaching vain. In what I have said in the pre- 
 vious parts of this discourse, I have endeavored to 
 show, that the earnest and loud cry of our Saviour, 
 as he stood upon the threshold of that temple, and 
 in the ears of that vast multitude, was not without 
 cause. I have endeavored to make it evident, on 
 no superficial grounds of conviction, that he who 
 thus claimed the attention of men, knew what was 
 in man. I have aimed to render in some degree 
 intelligible, the inward ground and reality, and 
 something of the character of those wants which 
 should lead us to Christ, as the truth and the life, 
 as the suitable and adequate good for their supply. 
 But it is, after all, chiefly by looking into your own 
 hearts, by listening to the voice of your own con- 
 sciences, and turning your eyes to the light of 
 spiritual truth, which is always radiant there, that 
 you are to know, and understand, and receive the 
 truth, so as to be benefitted thereby. There, if 
 you are faithful with your own souls, and banish 
 all false delusions from your minds, you will find, 
 that you are truly in need of Christ. You will be 
 conscious of the hungering and thirsting of your 
 inmost spirit after that spiritual good, which alone 
 can fill the capacious void. You will there learn 
 more than all books can teach you, of that root of 
 bitterness in the heart, which the divine power of 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 535 
 
 Christ alone can extract ; of that disease of the 
 will, which he alone can heal. It is only there 
 that you can fully know, and there only by slow 
 degrees, the depths of your guilt and alienation 
 from God ; that you can truly understand the rela- 
 tion to your crying necessities of that glorious pro- 
 vision which is made for their supply, and be 
 awakened to any due sense of grateful acknowl- 
 edgement, that the same God whose hand supplies 
 the daily and hourly wants of our bodies, and 
 whose higher care has surrounded us with provis- 
 ions for the larger capacities of our nature, has 
 here too appeared in the highest manifestation of 
 his love, to deliver our souls from death. Would 
 that we might all so feel and understand our own 
 lost and ruined condition, the depth and the char- 
 acter of our poverty and want, as to adore that 
 love which passeth knowledge, and rightly to ap- 
 preciate and desire the riches of the glory of that 
 inheritance which is laid up in Christ for all them 
 that believe. And let us remember that this will 
 soon be not only our chiefest, but our only want. 
 These eyes will soon cease to require the light of 
 the sun, and the vital air will be nothing to us. 
 Nay, the higher wants of our human nature, those 
 connecting us with our fellow men, by the noblest 
 and the strongest ties of mere human affection, 
 must cease, and their objects no longer be sought. 
 For, in the expressive language of the apostle, 
 This I say, brethren, the time is short. It remain- 
 eth, that both they that have wives, be as though 
 they had none ; and they that weep, as though 
 
536 man's need of christ. 
 
 they wept not ; and they that rejoice, as though 
 they rejoiced not ; and they that buy, as though 
 they possessed not ; and they that use this world, 
 as not abusing it ; for the fashion of this world 
 passeth away. But when shall we cease to need 
 those objects which are connected with the attain- 
 ment of our highest and ultimate end, as spiritual 
 and personal beings ? When will the inward eye 
 of the soul cease to require the presence of Him 
 who is the light of the spiritual world ? All those 
 powers that properly belong to our nature, have 
 their growth and decay, their highest point of de- 
 velopement, their revolving periods, and their ap- 
 pointed bounds, which they cannot pass. But 
 what periods are determined, and what bounds are 
 appointed, in the possible existence of that super- 
 natural and self-conscious being in respect to 
 which we are said to be made in the image and 
 after the likeness of God ? Who shall assign lim- 
 its to the capacity for its appropriate good, and the 
 need of its continual supply, or to the destined en- 
 largement and expansion of that soul whose 
 thoughts not only wander through, but essay to 
 grasp and comprehend immensity and eternity, and 
 whose desires can be filled with nothing less than 
 Cod-2 .'', /. . <-' 
 
 How happy, then, yea, how blessed of God are 
 they, who, awakened from the lethargy of sense, 
 to a consciousness of what they are, and of what 
 they need, and quickened to spiritual life, have 
 sought for and have found an adequate spiritual 
 good, and suited to their now conscious desires ! 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 537 
 
 It is then only, indeed, according to the language 
 of the apostle, that we can know the things that 
 are freely given to us of God, when we have re- 
 ceived the spirit which is of God. It is only by 
 the power of a higher spiritual principle of life 
 within, that we can either rightly apprehend, or 
 truly desire and appropriate to ourselves, the abun- 
 dant spiritual blessings which are so freely proffer- 
 ed for our acceptance. But those in whom this 
 power is awakened as an actual living power in 
 the soul, necessarily desire and seek for and re- 
 cognize its corresponding good. Where spiritual 
 life exists, in other words, there is a consequent 
 hungering and thirsting for spiritual food. There, 
 too, is a just and true apprehension of those ob- 
 jects that correspond to our spiritual wants, as 
 suited to nourish and unfold the powers of spiritual 
 life, as being indeed the highest and only absolute 
 good. The natural man receiveth not the things 
 of the Spirit of God, neither can he know them ; 
 but he that is spiritual, judgeth all things, and has 
 his senses exercised to discern both good and evil. 
 Thus, with appropriate agencies inseparable from 
 the existence of spiritual life in the soul, those who 
 are born of God open the eye of faith to appre- 
 hend the objects of the spiritual world, and not 
 only need, but consciously desire and long for spir- 
 itual good, as the proper nourishment of that in- 
 ward life. To satisfy its cravings, no sensual or 
 worldly good can suffice. Nor is it the mere 
 vague desire of happiness, which is inseparable 
 from all conscious existence, that distinguishes 
 68 
 
 
538 
 
 MAN'S NEED OF CHRIST. 
 
 them. They seek for truth as their proper object, 
 as the eye seeks for the light of the sun. They 
 hunger and thirst after righteousness, as having 
 the same relation to the inward life of the spirit, 
 which bread holds to the outward life of the body. 
 As the powers of spiritual life also transcend, in 
 their essential character and destiny, the powers 
 of our natural life, so should the desires which 
 grow out of them and the conscious necessity of 
 attaining the proper objects of those desires be 
 more intense and prevalent than all the cravings 
 of our inferior nature. Thus it would seem but a 
 matter of necessity that in the awakened con- 
 sciousness of spiritual life, the soul should cleave 
 to the things that are spiritual, whatever other 
 objects of desire might be torn from its grasp. It 
 cannot but desire and strive for the possession of 
 these, with more earnestness of purpose than for 
 all that pertains to the sphere of our worldly life. 
 In the awakened energy of that higher principle 
 which cometh from above, and is now received as 
 the inward principle of its life, it breaks through, 
 as it were, and dissipates the forms which pertain 
 to the outward life of sense, dissolves or trans- 
 forms into its own image and likeness all the bonds 
 of natural interest and affection, and with the eye 
 of faith still contemplating its appropriate objects, 
 desires and pursues them as of paramount and in- 
 dispensable necessity. These it must have, though 
 to attain them it should encounter evils from 
 which all the powers of our nature shrink with 
 amazement and terror. These it must have, though 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 539 
 
 it deny father and mother and wife and children ; 
 though not merely a right hand and a right eye 
 should be sacrificed, but the body be doomed to the 
 rage of wild beasts or to the consuming flame. And 
 these are the objects of desire, for the attainment of 
 which Christ invites us to himself in the language 
 of the text : If any man thirst, let him come unto 
 me and drink. He that cometh unto me shall 
 never hunger, and he that believeth on me shall 
 never thirst. 
 
 3. With these views of the grounds of our re- 
 lation to Christ, as they exist in the inherent char- 
 acter and condition of man, and of the specific in- 
 dications of our need which manifest themselves 
 in the different states of our inward life and con- 
 sciousness, I proceed, as was proposed in the third 
 place, to consider more directly what Christ is, as 
 corresponding to that relation and suited to our 
 spiritual wants. To this we are directly led by 
 the terms of his invitation as already explained. 
 For he not only refers to our need of a higher and 
 spiritual good, but directs us to himself for its at- 
 tainment. He proffers himself as a fountain of 
 living waters, able to quench that thirst which the 
 waters of Siloa could not allay. He claims to 
 possess and hold forth for our acceptance, provis- 
 ions for that spiritual need which we have been 
 contemplating, and for which, as we have seen, the 
 realms of nature furnish no adequate or appropri- 
 ate supply. If, then, that need be such and so 
 great as 1 have endeavored to show it, we may 
 well inquire, with all earnestness, who and what is 
 
 

 540 man's need of Christ. 
 
 Christ, his hidden treasures of wisdom and knowl- 
 edge, and the resources of his power, that he 
 should thus direct us to himself, and that we should 
 trust in and obey his word ? What are the attri- 
 butes of his character, and under what form are 
 they manifested to meet the essential and univer- 
 sal wants of our spiritual being ? What is he rel- 
 atively to our wants as fallen beings, as sinners 
 under bondage to the law of nature and in a state 
 of spiritual death ? By what mysterious and re- 
 generating power of divine love working in Christ, 
 are we to be renewed and reconciled to God ? 
 And again, for those who are born of the Spirit, 
 and by faith brought into spiritual communion with 
 Christ, what are the provisions to be found in him 
 that they may grow in grace, and that in their 
 creaturely dependence and conscious insufficiency 
 of themselves for the attainment of their prescribed 
 end, he may become the substance of their spirit- 
 ual strength, the bread of life to their souls ? 
 
 In answering these questions, I shall aim, as the 
 general method of the discourse requires, to show 
 what Christ is, simply with reference to those 
 wants, the inherent grounds of which I have al- 
 ready exhibited- It is only, indeed, in their im- 
 mediate and specific relation to each other, that 
 the objects corresponding to those wants, or even 
 the wants themselves, can be distinctly and truly 
 known. For as we could not know the distinc- 
 tive character of the wants that pertain to the fac- 
 ulties and organs of respiration and of seeing, nor 
 the nature of air and light as the outward condi- 
 
 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 541 
 
 tions of their exercise and the objects correspond- 
 ing to those wants, otherwise than by the experi- 
 ence of their specific relations to each other, so 
 here we can have a distinct knowledge of the 
 wants that pertain to our inmost spiritual being, 
 and of Christ as the object corresponding to those 
 wants, only in their immediate and experienced 
 relations to each other as manifested within the 
 sphere of our consciousness. They are what they 
 are, as objects of knowledge and of interest for 
 us, by virtue of those relations. In showing what 
 Christ is, therefore, in relation to our spiritual 
 wants, as we may recognize his presence in differ- 
 ent states of our inward consciousness, the nature 
 of our wants also will be made more distinct than 
 when separately considered. 
 
 In the first place, then, I remark, that in the 
 earliest dawn of our self-consciousness, or of our 
 existence as spiritual beings, and at every stage in 
 the developement of our spiritual powers, we find 
 ourselves in connexion with a spiritual world, and 
 the manifested presence in our consciousness of 
 that which has a necessary relation to our own 
 spirits. That in us by which we are raised above 
 the blind mechanism of instinct and made capable 
 of a conscious purpose of free and responsible ac- 
 tion, truly exists, indeed, in its distinctive and pro- 
 per character, no otherwise than as that spiritual 
 presence which is the outward condition of its self- 
 conscious agency, is manifested to and exists for 
 it. In other words, as the faculty of sight can act, 
 and as we can know that we possess it, only with 
 
542 
 
 MAN'S NEED OF CHRIST. 
 
 the presence of its proper medium, so it is with 
 our spiritual powers. As all men, too, in all con- 
 ditions of their existence, are still spiritual and ac- 
 countable beings, so to all is vouchsafed the pres- 
 ence of that which is spiritual. That God, who, 
 as we have seen, has so richly provided for all our 
 natural wants, and who styles himself, in a pecu- 
 liar sense, the Father of spirits, could not desert 
 us in our highest need ; nor has he failed to pro- 
 vide and to manifest in the consciousness of all 
 men, that which constitutes their highest good. 
 On his part is the same infinite freeness and ful- 
 ness in providing, always and for all, that which 
 corresponds to our spiritual need, as in satisfying 
 our inferior wants. If we fail to "recognize its 
 presence and to rejoice in it as the light and life of 
 our souls, we show thereby but the debasement 
 and perverseness of our own wills. That of which 
 I speak as the gift of God and having a specific 
 relation to our spiritual being, is still there in all 
 its fulness and in all its glory, and manifests itself 
 to us as we turn ourselves to it. It is still there, 
 a living presence, unchangeable, while all things 
 change ; and the more we open our minds to re- 
 ceive it, the more does it impart to us of that ful- 
 ness which is sufficient for all and overfloweth. 
 The more we think of it, too, the more do we find 
 it to possess a reality out of ourselves and above 
 ourselves, yet inseparable from our own permanent 
 being. 
 
 What I have thus described, every man, who is 
 not wholly void of reflection, will recognize as 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 543 
 
 present to his own consciousness in that of which 
 I have before spoken, as the manifested light and 
 law of conscience. We cannot but find it in that 
 presence of immutable truth, which, though we 
 may hold it in unrighteousness, still makes known 
 to us its existence, and reveals in our conscious- 
 ness, at the same time, its rectitude, and the per- 
 verseness of our wills, its purity and holiness, and 
 our inward pollution. And what, then, is the pres- 
 ence which we thus recognize, but the spiritual 
 provision which God has made and manifested to 
 our inward consciousness, corresponding to the 
 essential character, and suited to the inherent and 
 essential wants, of our finite spirits ? What is 
 it, but that true light, which lighteth every 
 man that cometh into the world ? What is it, 
 but the necessary form in which God manifests 
 himself to the spiritual intuition of his rational 
 creatures, as the proper and only adequate object 
 of desire and love ; as that towards which our 
 souls should turn with unceasing joy, as the eye 
 turns to the light of the sun ? Can we regard it 
 otherwise than as that divine Word, which was in 
 the beginning, and by which has still been ut- 
 tered in the consciousness of every human soul, 
 the absolute and unchangeable truth of God ? Why 
 should we not regard it as that first-born of the 
 Father of spirits, wherein is manifested, from eter- 
 nity, the perfection of his own glory ; and which 
 again, to as many as receive it, communicates of 
 the riches of that glory, according to their capacity 
 and their need ? So, and so only, can we represent 
 
544 man's need of christ. 
 
 to our minds the universal and necessary relation 
 subsisting between our spiritual being and its cor- 
 responding and appropriate good. For that good 
 is the ultimate, the highest and absolute good of 
 our souls, and nothing less than God. So only can 
 we adequately and truly represent it, whether we 
 look to the immediate testimony of our own con- 
 sciousness, or to the highest efforts and attainments 
 of speculative wisdom, or to the revealed word of 
 God. 
 
 Thus we find, as it were, for the original and 
 essential being and relations of our finite spirits, 
 their own appropriate and glorious provision for 
 the attainment of their proper end. The same 
 God who has provided the various powers and ca- 
 pacities of our animal life with a convenient good, 
 and surrounded us with objects corresponding to 
 our human affections, has here too, in the sphere 
 of our personal and self-conscious being, manifest- 
 ed that light of divine truth, that power of the di- 
 vine word, that law of righteousness and true holi- 
 ness, which are, for it, both the means and the 
 end, the way, the truth, and the life. These, for 
 every soul of man, as manifested in our inward 
 consciousness, and proffered for our reception, that 
 we may grow thereby to spiritual strength, are 
 free as the air we breathe, more free and more 
 universal than the light of the sun. As the nat- 
 ural eye, too, by which we look abroad upon the 
 world of sense, is no sooner opened than it is filled 
 with light, and sees all things illuminated with its 
 beams, so that higher power of vision by which we 
 

 
 I 
 
 man's NEED OF CHRIST. 545 
 
 contemplate a self-conscious purpose, and direct 
 our minds to the accomplishment of an end, and 
 act with reference to the absent and the future, by 
 which we look into the vastness of infinity, and 
 embrace, in its wide compass and far-reaching 
 scope, what no finite boundaries can limit nor re- 
 volving periods terminate, this power too has its 
 light, the light of the spiritual world ; and if only 
 its eye be single, sees it appropriate objects and 
 is guided to its proper ends, by the clear illumina- 
 tions of truth and righteousness. Thus should 
 we walk in the light of distinct consciousness, 
 obeying with rejoicing hearts that divine Word, 
 that righteous and holy law which guides us to 
 our true end, which constitutes the true and essen- 
 tial law of our own spiritual being, and fills our 
 souls with their proper and all-sufficient good. If, 
 then, in view of these remarks, the question be 
 now asked, what is Christ in relation to the origi- 
 nal and inherent wants of our being as simply 
 spiritual and finite ? the answer is, that the same 
 manifestation of the divine being, which, according 
 to the Gospel of John, was in the beginning with 
 God ; the same Word which was made flesh and 
 dwelt among us, was, even from the beginning, as 
 manifested in the consciousness of all men, the 
 corresponding object, the appropriate good of our 
 personal being, and the outward condition for the 
 attainment of our proper end. 
 
 But it is only in the original purity and integri- 
 ty of our spiritual being, that the soul of man could 
 be represented as turning, of itself, towards what 
 69 
 
546 man's need of christ. 
 
 is thus provided for it, and desiring it as its appro- 
 priate good. It is only the uncorrupted will, that 
 whose inward principle and law of action is iden- 
 tical with the divine will, which thus, in its own 
 original agency, chooses God for its portion and 
 acts in conformity with his law. Nor without 
 that integrity and uncorruptness of our own spirit- 
 ual being, can we conceive the manifestations of 
 the divine nature to our consciousness to appear 
 to us in their true character and in the fulness of 
 their own glory. How little indeed can we un- 
 derstand what would be our intercourse with God, 
 were there no obstruction on our part to his com- 
 munications of himself? If, with all our souls, in 
 the simplicity and integrity of that power by which 
 we are made capable of apprehending and receiv- 
 ing the things of God, we turned ourselves to that 
 of which I have spoken, as still manifesting some- 
 thing of his glory to the inward consciousness of 
 man, how quickly would it degrade in our minds 
 all the impressions of sense, and the sun itself be 
 darkened by the brightness of its everlasting light ! 
 Were our minds but freely expanded to receive 
 them, as the opening flower expands its leaves to the 
 light and air, what boundless communications of 
 wisdom and knowledge, of goodness and truth, of 
 light and life and love, would perpetually flow in 
 upon us ! For to what end were we formed in 
 the image of God, and capable of spiritual good, 
 but that he might freely pour forth the treasures 
 of his goodness for our supply ? How, then, would 
 our souls be filled with the manifestation of his 
 
MAM'S NEED OF CHRIST. 
 
 647 
 
 
 
 presence, and at once overwhelmed and upborne 
 with a sense of his all-pervading and all-sustaining 
 power. For if it be indeed true that in him we 
 live and move and have our being, what needs 
 there but to take away the veil from our inward 
 eye, that we may see and know how near we are 
 to God ? How infinite his condescension, how 
 boundless his love to the creatures of his power, 
 we may see indeed imperfectly by the eye of sense. 
 But it is only in the immediate manifestation of 
 his spiritual perfections, as recognized and con- 
 templated in our self-conscious and spiritual intui- 
 tions, that we can truly know what God is, and be 
 prepared rightly to apprehend the invisible things 
 of God in the order, beauty and harmony of the 
 material world. In the immediate and free spirit- 
 ual intercourse with that Word which was life, and 
 whose life was the light of man, for which we were 
 formed, how clear then would be our apprehension 
 of its living power and presence in our own souls, 
 and in the outward and visible world, as that by 
 which all things consist ! How freely to us would 
 its informing and sustaining power and life be im- 
 parted, awakening, exalting and strengthening all 
 the spiritual and vital energies of our souls, and 
 thus securing the attainment of our highest end 
 in the enjoyment of our only adequate good. 
 
 But such, though the original and rightful, is 
 not the actual relation between the powers of our 
 spiritual being and that inward manifestation of 
 God and the things of God which are its proper 
 objects. We have the evidence in ourselves that 
 
548 man's weed of christ. 
 
 we are fallen beings. We know that we do not 
 in singleness of heart turn ourselves to the light of 
 divine truth, follow its guidance with implicit faith, 
 and long for its greater illuminations. We do not 
 delight in the voice of the divine Word, which re- 
 veals in our awakened consciousness that holy law 
 and will of God which we should receive as the 
 rightful law and the true life of our own souls. 
 We turn ourselves away from these, call in ques- 
 tion their authority, and disobey their injunctions. 
 We trust rather to the impulses and tendencies of 
 our inferior natures. We confide in the experi- 
 ences of sense, rely upon the unstable judgments 
 and limited views of our own understandings, and 
 thus seek our ultimate end and highest good in the 
 world of sense and in obedience to the law of our 
 inferior nature. Hence we are said to hold the 
 truth in unrighteousness. That true light which 
 lighteth every man, we are told, was in the world, 
 and the world was made by him, and the world 
 knew him not. He came to his own, and his own 
 received him not. Hence, too, that divine word 
 revealed in our consciences, which should be at the 
 same time the inward and living principle of our 
 own wills, has come to be for us an outward and 
 constraining law, to which our natural wills are 
 averse, and thus evidence their own corruption. 
 Thus the commandment which was ordained to 
 life, is found to be unto death. We recognize that 
 law which commands our obedience, as holy and 
 just and good ; but we are fallen from a right con- 
 formity to it, and find another law in our members, 
 
# 
 
 man's need OF CHRIST. 549 
 
 by which our personal wills are controlled and 
 placed in opposition to its holy and divine requisi- 
 tions. We are estranged from a true confidence 
 in the manifested truth of God, and cleave to the 
 idols which our evil hearts of unbelief and our 
 self-confident but foolish and darkened understand- 
 ings have substituted in its place. So blinded, in- 
 deed, does the mind of the natural man become, 
 and so absorbed in those objects and pursuits which 
 lead him away from the light of spiritual truth, 
 that he denies its reality, or regards it with aver- 
 sion as false and delusive. His eye is evil, and 
 the whole body is full of darkness. His will, his 
 spiritual powers, are become apostate from God, 
 and have turned away from that gift of God which 
 is their proper good, and so have fallen into the 
 darkness of this world. Thus he is in bondage to 
 the law of sin, and his carnal mind is at enmity 
 with God. He is doomed by his own apostasy 
 and the perverseness of his evil will, to seek the 
 substance in the shadow, and to feed on ashes. 
 But while thus alienated from God, and lost to all 
 true desire and enjoyment of spiritual good, he 
 still retains and cannot change his essential relation 
 to God. As a spiritual being, he can find no true 
 rest or satisfaction but in a conformity to Him, 
 and in the reception of those divine manifestations 
 by which his own soul is filled with the light of 
 truth, with righteousness and true holiness. But 
 even when fully awakened to a consciousness of 
 his debasement, his guilt and misery, he yet knows 
 not nor can he apply the remedy to his deep and 
 
550 man's need OF CHRIST. 
 
 fatal disease. He cannot restore the ruins of sin, 
 nor by his own strength nor skill recover the good 
 which he has lost. That divine light which should 
 have guided him, that friendly voice that said to 
 him, This is the way, walk in it, now serve but to 
 make known the height from which he has fallen, 
 and to fill him with self-reproach and remorse. 
 That light reveals to him the truth of the un- 
 changeable God ; but his heart is deceitful, and 
 there is no truth in it. That voice proclaims to 
 him the holy and spiritual law of God ; but he is 
 carnal, and sold under sin. Though he has some 
 right views of what he needs and of what he ought 
 to be, and in his better judgment approves the law 
 of God, he still finds another law in his members, 
 bringing him into captivity to the law of sin. 
 Helpless, therefore, and conscious at the same time 
 that the law of truth and of righteousness de- 
 mands imperatively a right inward principle of 
 spiritual obedience, and that all his doings originate 
 in the evil principle of his own natural will, aim- 
 ing at no higher than merely selfish ends, he can 
 but despair of any obedience which he can render 
 in his own strength. He feels that he is indeed 
 a sinner, not in respect to the accidents and out- 
 ward circumstances of his character and condition, 
 but in respect to that out of which, as their origi- 
 nal source, his responsible actions flow. He finds 
 the need of help to effect a change, not in his cir- 
 cumstances, but in himself. He wants not new 
 appetites, not new instincts or passions, not strict- 
 ly a new nature, but a new principle of action in 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 551 
 
 his personal will, by which to control and direct 
 the powers and propensities of his nature to their 
 rightful end. These he now governs more or less 
 adequately. But from what principle, and to what 
 end ? Reflection now teaches him that it is from 
 a principle not in accordance with the original and 
 inherent requisitions of his personal being, but bor- 
 rowed from that nature itself, and limited by its 
 conditions. He finds that the end at which he 
 aims, consequently, and by which all his purposes 
 and desires and efforts are limited as ultimate and 
 inclusive of all subordinate ends and aims, is that 
 which his individual nature prescribes, and so a 
 limited and selfish end. But that divine manifes- 
 tation of truth and righteousness, which he ought 
 to have pursued, as at the same time his proper 
 good and his highest end, and which has now be- 
 come an accusing and menacing law of conscience, 
 enforces the sentence of condemnation upon this j 
 debasement of himself. By its light, he sees and 
 knows that in thus making himself and his individ- 
 ual interest his ultimate end, he is degrading that 
 power of his personal being which is essentially 
 universal in its character and aims, to the sphere 
 of that which is individual and finite. He sees 
 that instead of pursuing whatsoever things are 
 true, whatsoever things are honest, pure, and love- 
 ly, with a free spirit, he has imposed always the 
 limiting and servile condition of self-interest, and 
 that his spirit is in bondage to its law. Truth, as 
 manifested in the conscience, the proper law of the / 
 spirit, the law of freedom, requires him to love 
 
552 man's need of christ. 
 
 God supremely, as the only absolute good, and in 
 subordination to that, his fellow men as himself. 
 But in looking into his own heart, and the inward 
 spring of action there, he cannot but see that the 
 same evil principle limits and pollutes his regard, 
 not only for his fellow men, but for God, for his 
 truth, his holiness, and his glory. He is now con- 
 vinced that under the dominion of that principle, 
 he has set up himself in the place of God ; that 
 he has made his own selfish interests paramount to 
 the interests of truth and righteousness. That 
 holiest and most imperative law, the first and great 
 commandment, he constantly violates ; and the 
 wrath of God, which is revealed from heaven 
 against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, 
 now encompasses him with its terrors; for he cannot 
 but confess that he too has changed the truth of 
 God into a lie, and worshipped and served the 
 creature more than the Creator, who is blessed 
 forever. That idol, self, is between him and the 
 ever-blessed God. On it his affections centre, and 
 cannot rise to freely expand themselves upon those 
 objects which he yet knows to be alone worthy of 
 supreme regard. However he may control the 
 impulses of his nature, and subject them to the 
 law which he imposes ; however he may strive to 
 bring them into subordination to the divine law, 
 he still finds that the ultimate motive and end are 
 the same. He is only more consistently and pru- 
 dently selfish, and has not yet escaped from the 
 bondage of evil. Yet he is now fully conscious 
 that it is evil, and that it has its root in his own 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 553 
 
 heart. He finds that he is himself guilty, perverse 
 in his own will or personal being, and under the 
 condemnation of a righteous law. He now recog- 
 nizes his need of deliverance from the bondage, of 
 redemption from the slavery, of sin. He abhors 
 himself as an apostate from truth and from God, 
 and dares not so much as lift up his eyes to 
 heaven. He is weary and heavy laden with the 
 oppressive sense of guilt and condemnation, and 
 in the bitterness of his spirit cries out, with the 
 apostle, O, wretched man that I am ! who shall 
 deliver me from the body of this death ? What 
 divine power will interpose to redeem my personal 
 being from its state of bondage and spiritual death, 
 and restore it to liberty and life ? Who that is 
 all-powerful to save, will break through the strong 
 bonds of sin, take away the pollution of guilt, 
 make me at peace with God, and bring me into 
 the glorious liberty of the children of God ? 
 
 Thus, as was said more briefly under the pre- 
 vious head of discourse, the truth, as revealed in 
 the conscience, applied to the motives of our ac- 
 tions, and so the condition of our self-knowledge, 
 has become a law for us, and our schoolmaster to 
 bring us to Christ. It makes known to us our lost 
 condition as sinners, and our need of his redeeming 
 power. But I have resumed and dwelt upon this 
 point here more at large, with a view to the great 
 question, What is Christ in relation to our wants as 
 sinners? I have represented the mind as awakened 
 to reflection, and becoming more and more conscious 
 of these wants, both as to their intensity and their 
 70 
 
# 
 
 554 man's need of christ. 
 
 distinctive character. I have endeavored to show, 
 in some measure, as revealed in the conscience of 
 the avvakenned sinner, the oppressive burthen and 
 guilt of sin, and the necessity there is of a power 
 out of himself, as the condition of his deliverance. 
 It is only in the awakened consciousness of our 
 character and condition thus represented, that we 
 can understand or appreciate our need of Christ, 
 and what he is for us as the Redeemer and re- 
 storer of fallen man. It was obviously because of 
 our fallen condition, of our state of spiritual death 
 and alienation from the light and life of God, that 
 the great work of divine love and mercy manifest- 
 ed in the incarnation of the Son of God, became 
 necessary for our salvation. It is because we are 
 sunk in sensuality, in bondage to the elements of 
 the world, and under the condemning sentence of 
 the holy law of God, that the knowledge of that 
 law, as revealed in the consciences of men, is no 
 longer adequate to procure our spiritual obedience 
 and happiness, and can only make known to us the 
 , evil of our hearts. It is in the sense of guilt and 
 condemnation which that law awakens, and in the 
 (conscious terrors which it inspires in view of our 
 relation to a just and holy and heart-searching God, 
 that we are prepared to apprehend Christ as the 
 necessary mediator, in and through whom God is 
 reconciling the world unto himself. By the nkowl- 
 edge in our own souls, of the deep mystery and 
 malignity of sin, and by that alone, can we rightly 
 measure and apprehend the love of God, and that 
 ereat mystery of godliness, God manifest in the 
 flesh. That manifestation of divine light and truth 
 
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 555 
 
 ill the common consciousness of men, before 
 spoken of, pertains to the original and essential 
 relations of our finite spirits to the spiritual world, 
 and to God as the Father of spirits. But here we 
 have, as it were, a condescension to our fallen con- 
 dition, a love and mercy that follows us in our 
 guilty self-ruin and alienation, and reveals to us 
 the same divine Word incarnate in the world of 
 sense, and in the form of our own humanity, that 
 he might redeem us from the condemnation and 
 power of sin, and bring us back to spiritual life, 
 and to peace with God. God so loved the world 
 that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoso- 
 ever believeth in him should not perish, but have 
 everlasting life. But time will not permit a far- 
 ther developement of the answer to the question 
 before us. Let me then, in concluding the pre- 
 sent discourse, inquire, in reference to the general 
 view which has been given, whether we have so 
 heard the word of God, and so reflected upon our 
 need of Christ as sinners, as to appreciate the 
 character in which he is revealed to us in the gos- 
 pel of his grace ? Have we become so conscious 
 of our own guilt and condemnation, as to feel our 
 need of that reconciliation to God which can be 
 found only in Christ ? Are we so deeply impress- 
 ed with the sense of our own poverty and helpless- 
 ness, as to be prepared, with all the remaining 
 strength of our souls, to flee to Christ as the only 
 Saviour of sinners ? Let us examine ourselves, 
 whether we be in the faith, and seek for spiritual 
 life from Him who is able to save, even to the 
 uttermost, all them that come unto Him. 
 

 
 ADDRESS 
 
 AT THE INAUGURATION OF THE AUTHOR 
 
 AS PRESIDENT OF THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 VERMONT, NOVEMBER 28, 1826. 
 
 Under circumstances like the present, I should 
 have seemed to be disappointing your expectations, 
 as well as violating the proprieties of time and 
 place, if I had selected a subject for discussion un- 
 connected with the occasion which calls me be- 
 fore you. I could not, moreover, while preparing 
 to enter upon the duties of a station of much 
 responsibility, and requiring immediate attention, 
 have consistently diverted my own thoughts from 
 the objects thus placed before me, to foreign or 
 more abstract speculations ; and, although these 
 might have commended themselves more perhaps 
 to all of us by the attractions of novelty, I could 
 not on the whole wish to be freed from the neces- 
 sity which urges the business and interests of edu- 
 cation upon our regard. This subject, however 
 it may have been exhausted, as to its general and 
 
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 557 
 
 theoretical principles, by eminent writers of both 
 ancient and modern times, and rendered trite in 
 its details by the daily discussions of our own 
 periodical press, has still, like that of religion, a 
 hold upon our attention, that can be lost only 
 when we are no longer capable of improvement. 
 Like that, it mingles itself with the sweetest char- 
 ities of domestic life, and is second in importance 
 only to that in its relation to communities and 
 nations. It comes home to the heart of every 
 father and of every mother, as they contemplate 
 the future character of a son or a daughter, and in 
 the minds of the wise politician and philanthropist 
 is associated with their dearest hopes and most 
 labored efforts for the improvement of society. It 
 is practically connected with our daily and most 
 interesting duties ; and its principles can never be 
 too well understood, or too faithfully applied, by 
 those who wish well to the happiness of their 
 country. 
 
 But aside from the more general claims which 
 this subject has upon all men, there are circum- 
 stances, if I mistake not, in its relation to the peo- 
 ple of this country, which give it additional claims 
 upon our attention ; and perhaps the present occa- 
 sion cannot be more appropriately employed, than 
 in contemplating some of the peculiar advantages 
 which we enjoy, as a people, for giving efficacy 
 to the power and influence of education, and some 
 of the higher results, in the general cultivation 
 and well-being of society, ivhich we may reason- 
 ably expect it to accomplish, or towards which at 
 
 % 
 
\y 
 
 j 
 
 Hi 'V 
 
 - 
 
 558 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 
 
 least our efforts in relation to it should be di- 
 rected. 
 
 I am well aware, that on subjects of this kind 
 there is great danger of being seduced by the de- 
 lusions of self-flattery, and of indulging hopes that 
 are never to be realized ; that we, in this country 
 especially, have been charged, and perhaps not 
 without sufficient cause, with exhibiting an unu- 
 sual degree of these weaknesses by drawing upon 
 the day-dreams of futurity for the gratification of 
 our national vanity. But, if there is danger of 
 yielding to the extravagancies of hope, and of ven- 
 turing in our anticipations too far beyond the sanc- 
 tions of experience, there is in our circumstances, 
 perhaps, no less danger of limiting our views of 
 what is possible in the conditions of society too 
 much by our knowledge of what has been accom- 
 plished, and of thus having our active virtues par- 
 alyzed, and our well-grounded and self-realizing 
 hopes of the future withered, by coming under the 
 fascination of the past. In discussing the subject 
 of education especially, we cannot be too often re- 
 minded, that we are making an experiment upon 
 its efficiency, as yet untried in the progress of 
 human society. It is not that we profess to know 
 more of the principles or practice of education, as 
 an art, and in its individual applications, than was 
 known by Quintilian. So far, it may have been as 
 well understood and as effectually applied under 
 the dominion of the Ptolemies and the Caesars, as 
 it is, or is likely to be, among us ; but in its more 
 extended influence on the condition and well-being 
 
 n 
 
 
 
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 559 
 
 of community, and so of its members in their 
 social relations, it is accompanied and rendered 
 effectual by political and moral principles which 
 had not then dawned upon the world ; principles, 
 too, of mightest energy, and of intensest interest 
 to the general mind, which, among other nations, 
 are cautiously hushed to repose in the dormitory 
 of the soul, or, if partially aroused, are held in 
 durance by the chains imposed in their sleep, but 
 which amons: us have been active and unrestrain- 
 ed from the first landing of our pilgrim fathers ; 
 which have given birth to the ideas of society now 
 realized in our institutions of government and re- tf 
 ligion ; which are to us as free and as vital as the 
 air we breathe, and attest their vivifying presence 
 by the comparative enlargement and elevation of 
 soul which every where pervade our population. 
 What these are comparatively, and what is the 
 special importance of the principles to whose in- 
 fluence I have ascribed them, in giving efficacy to 
 the means of knowledge and improvement, is best 
 known to those who have had opportunity to com- 
 pare the spirit of society among a free people with 
 that which prevails among a passive and humbled 
 peasantry, hopeless and therefore thoughtless of 
 improving their condition ; or to those benevolent 
 but unfortunate individuals, who, knowing the val- 
 ue of knowledge and of character to men in every 
 condition, have labored to impart them to the 
 minds of their slaves. These principles, our com- 
 mon birth-right, and the experience and knowledge 
 of ourselves, the feeling of independence, and 
 
560 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 
 
 sense of personal responsibility in the performance 
 of duties which our institutions impose alike upon 
 all, and to which we unavoidably grow up, form a 
 common substratum of general character, on which 
 each individual more easily and more permanently 
 lays the foundation and erects the superstructure 
 of his own ; they constitute a living and life- 
 giving root, on which the homogeneous principles 
 of truth, of knowledge and of social improvement 
 may be engrafted, and thus yield a more abundant 
 harvest. For they are not merely proclaimed with 
 imposing solemnity in our declarations of right 
 and our constitutions, thenceforward to serve no 
 other purpose but that of a dead-letter introduc- 
 tion to our statute books ; but reflected back from 
 every page that follows, and infusing their spirit 
 into all the actual forms and positive institutions 
 of society, they impart to all a higher degree of 
 practical efficiency, and are felt in their all-per- 
 vading influence by thousands who are unconscious 
 of their power, as the vital principle of the atmos- 
 phere gives warmth and life to those who are ig- 
 norant of its nature. 
 
 But perhaps their legitimate character and ef- 
 fects are no where so clearly revealed as in that 
 remarkable institution, to which we are interested 
 more especially to attend, the institution of com- 
 mon schools. In the minds of those by whom our 
 principles and our form of society were bequeathed 
 to us, the maxim that all men are alike indepen- 
 dent and have the same right to act in the various 
 relations of society, awakened of necessity the 
 
 * 
 
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 661 
 
 idea of so providing for the instruction of all, that 
 they should be qualified to act well. Hence, at a 
 very early period after the settlement of New Eng- 
 land, free schools were established ; and a system, 
 unknown in every other country, which provides 
 that the property of all shall be taxed for the edu- 
 cation of all, under some varieties of form, now 
 every where prevails. The object or the effect of 
 this is not, indeed, to give very eminent attain- 
 ments to any ; but to accomplish what the spirit 
 of benevolence is now aiming at in other countries ; 
 to implant the great principles of knowledge, of 
 morality and religion, and to elevate the condition 
 and character of the great body of the people. It 
 goes among us to establish and secure forever the 
 principles of equality, from which it sprung ; to 
 secure the lower from the insults of the higher, 
 and the weak from the oppressions of the power- 
 ful. It prevents, therefore, all those evils, which, 
 in other countries, have arisen from the opposing 
 interests of different classes of the community, and 
 obstructed the progress of general improvement. 
 Instead of limiting our thoughts to a few only, it 
 extends our hopes and our designs of improvement 
 to all the members of the body politic, while it 
 presents them to us in a condition best suited to 
 receive the benefit of our labors. 
 
 It might be said, perhaps, in regard to the supe- 
 riority which we are here claiming, that, although in 
 a different way and by a different mode of instruc- 
 tion, the citizens of Athens were as intellectual, as 
 highly cultivated, and as jealous of their liberties, 
 71 
 

 562 INAUGURAL ADDRESS* 
 
 as we are. But even admitting that hi theif the- 
 atres, at their public games, and in their academic 
 groves, thej exhibited more acuteness and activity, 
 more cultivation, if you please, of the intellectual 
 powers, counterbalanced, as these were, by a dis- 
 soluteness of morals almost beyond our belief or 
 conception ; we shall, as christians, and with our 
 views of social happiness and cultivation, be little 
 disposed to retract our claims of superiority of con- 
 dition and of promise, when we consider, that in 
 the whole population of Attica, these proud dis- 
 tinctions, and that lofty independence of spirit of 
 which they boasted, were confined to a few thou- 
 sands, and, in perfect accordance with the politi- 
 cal and moral principles which then prevailed, were 
 purchased at the expense of more than twelve 
 times their number of slaves in a state of physical 
 and moral degradation, by the unprincipled op- 
 pression of strangers among themselves, and by 
 the frequent ruin of their colonies abroad. Nearly 
 the same remarks may be made with justice of the 
 inferior and less general cultivation of the Romans. 
 To them, the idea of extending liberty and instruc- 
 tion to all, to those who performed the labor as 
 well as to those who enjoyed its fruits, to the poor 
 as well as to the rich, had never occurred as even 
 possible. Not only the sensual epicurean, but the 
 stoic philosopher and speculative statesman had no 
 higher conceptions of a perfect form of society ; 
 and their most ideal theories of a free state took 
 for granted the necessity of the citizens being sup- 
 ported by the labor of slaves, that they might have 
 
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 563 
 
 leisure to cultivate their minds and attend to the 
 concerns of the public welfare. Even in modern 
 times, indeed, and under the influence of Chris- 
 tianity, till a comparatively late period, the means 
 and principles of education were confined to a very 
 small number. Comparatively a few only, consti- 
 tuting for the most part the higher ranks of soci- 
 ety, enjoyed its advantages personally, or felt much 
 of its indirect influence, in any country. Even in 
 those countries most distinguished for literary priv- 
 ileges and attainments, the great mass of the pop- 
 ulation, whether in the condition of slaves or vas- 
 sals, were not only placed, in fact, but believed to 
 be placed of necessity, beyond the reach of in- 
 struction, and remained, to almost as great a de- 
 gree as the slaves of antiquity, at a hopeless dis- 
 tance from every form of intellectual improvement, 
 ignorant of letters, and unknown to history. 
 
 Since the Reformation, indeed, there has been 
 in Europe, and, of late, through the efforts of be- 
 nevolence, in other parts of the world, a gradual 
 extension of the blessings of knowledge to all 
 classes of the people. In the Protestant countries 
 on the continent of Europe, and in Great Britain, 
 schools are established for the more or less general 
 diffusion of knowledge ; but no where are they 
 made, as they are here, an important and leading 
 object in the policy of government, or supported 
 on the same sure and liberal principles which have 
 been adopted in this country. 
 
 And even if they were universally established 
 and supported, there is by no means that entire 
 
564 INAUGURAL ADDBESS. 
 
 community of privileges and excitements to exer- 
 tion, which has so great an influence in giving 
 efficiency to our system. The same prevailing 
 opinions which formerly operated to exclude the 
 body of the people entirely from the means of im- 
 proving their condition, still operate, though in a 
 less degree. The existiug and established forms 
 of society still have their influence ; and even in 
 England, amidst the great and benevolent efforts 
 now made for the instruction of the laboring classes, 
 the political expediency and safety of such a diffu- 
 sion of knowledge are to this moment disputed by 
 no small portion of the privileged classes. The 
 efforts of the wise and the benevolent are baffled 
 by the apathy of humbled ignorance on the one 
 hand, and by the officiousness of proud ignorance 
 on the other. In this country alone is the ex- 
 periment undergoing a fair and unprejudiced trial, 
 of placing all classes and all individuals theoreti- 
 cally and politically upon the same level, and pro- 
 viding for all the same system of free, public in- 
 struction. Here alone, among civilized nations, 
 is political aristocracy entirely abolished, and the 
 aristocracy of nature permitted and assisted to 
 grow up, unrestrained by artificial relations and 
 forms of society. Our advances in general im- 
 provement are neither frowned upon on the one 
 hand by a privileged nobility, jealous of their rank, 
 and cautious lest the toe of the peasant should 
 come too near the heel of the courtier, nor on the 
 other our efforts retarded, our energies of mind 
 exhausted, and our resolutions and hopes dissipated, 
 
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 565 
 
 by a sensual and degraded race hanging upon our 
 skirts, from whose minds the gladdening rays of 
 knowledge are excluded alike by our precaution- 
 ary measures of self-defence, and their own incrus- 
 tation of sensuality. In the development of our 
 form of society, the only collision that can arise 
 from the cultivation of any or of all classes, must 
 concern individuals only, and arise from the free 
 and fair competition of talents in the general strug- 
 gle for advancement. This competition it cher- 
 ishes, and renders subservient to the general 
 improvement, while it furnishes security against 
 its evils. But no class of society can hope to ren- 
 der their condition more secure or more happy by 
 repressing the aspiring efforts of another. If evils, 
 real or imaginary, result from such a system, they 
 are trifling compared with its beneficial effects, 
 are felt under every form of society, and are such 
 as will accelerate that general progress of cultiva- 
 tion, in which they will find their remedy. If a 
 little knowledge renders men self-confident and 
 presuming, the only method of curing their folly is, 
 to give them more. If the refined taste and fas- 
 tidious feelings of the cultivated are scandalized 
 by the necessity of holding intercourse with those 
 of grosser habits, our state of society provides but 
 one remedy, which is, to awaken and cherish the 
 feelings of modesty and docility, by giving them 
 clear conceptions and living examples of more 
 perfect character, and with all patience and long- 
 suffering to teach them refinement. 
 
566 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 
 
 But while we observe with gratitude such ten- 
 dencies to improvement, and find so much to en- 
 courage our efforts and give them a permament 
 effect, in our frame of society and in the princi- 
 ples for which our fathers contended, we should 
 do injustice to ourselves, if we did not associate 
 them, as they did, with other principles of a still 
 more elevated and more sacred character. We 
 can never forget, nor can we be too careful to re- 
 member, that religious liberty, the right to worship 
 God according to the dictates of their own con- 
 sciences, was the great object, for the sake of 
 which they at first asserted their political rights. 
 In their minds, it was the power of religion, the 
 profound and abiding conviction of its divine prin- 
 ciples and its obligations, that gave their highest 
 importance to the rights and forms of human gov- 
 ernment. It was their views of eternity, and of 
 its interests, that exalted and substantiated the 
 interests of time. It was the power of faith in 
 the objects of another world, that sustained their 
 spirits, and enabled them to undergo hardships 
 and accomplish enterprizes, the consequences of 
 which have formed a new era in this. It was, in 
 a word, the Bible and the great ultimate princi- 
 ples of human reason which it announces, that 
 had taken possession of their minds, and kindled 
 up there an enthusiasm which no earthly power 
 could subdue. From these originated the new 
 and sublime ideas of human government and 
 human society which they cherished, and which 
 their posterity have so far realized. From their 
 
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 567 
 
 practice, as well as from their theoretical princi- 
 ples and their order of precedence in their own 
 minds, it followed too by an easy inference, that 
 the principles of religion, being of higher import- 
 ance and antecedent authority, could not, in any 
 of their developements, be subjected to those of a 
 political nature. Thus the principles which Mil- 
 ton proclaimed to unbelieving Europe, were put in 
 practice here, and history now furnishes an argu- 
 ment for their confirmation, which the genius even 
 of Milton could not discover. While the nations 
 of Europe, even those which are Protestant, have 
 still endeavored to control the power of religion 
 by human institutions, and to give efficacy to its 
 divine authority by the enactments of human legis- 
 lation, and still believe their establishments neces- 
 sary to its support, our experience furnishes, by 
 its contrast with theirs, ample proof that the effect 
 of their system has been only to overbody and en- 
 cumber the spiritual energy of religion with world- 
 ly interests and intermixtures ; of ours, compara- 
 tively, to give it a wider expansion, and its own 
 divine efficacy in subduing the hearts and forming 
 the characters of men. For, notwithstanding the 
 many faults in public as well as individual charac- 
 ter, which good men have deplored, and the tem- 
 porary effects of the revolutionary war, and the ab- 
 sorbing interest of politics that succeeded it, per- 
 haps no people have ever felt the influence of the 
 Bible so permanently, so efficaciously, and so uni- 
 versally through all ranks of society, as the descen- Y 
 dants of the pilgrims. There has been less of that 
 
568 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 
 
 passive acquiescence in its truths, which neither 
 implies nor produces the exercise and conviction of 
 the understanding, than prevails where religion is 
 more connected in the minds of the people with 
 their worldly interests. The sublime principles 
 and ideas every where proclaimed in the Old and 
 New Testament, even where they have not gained 
 an habitual control over the heart, have more uni- 
 versally called into vigorous exercise the rational 
 and moral powers, and produced a speculative 
 
 , faith. The sense of religious obligation and the 
 authority of conscience have consequently a greater 
 influence on the intellectual character, and the 
 fears and hopes which a consciousness of responsi- 
 bility and the revealed sanctions of religion awa- 
 ken, exert a more powerful influence over the pop- 
 ular mind. The inference from all this is, that 
 we have not only more already accomplished in 
 the moral elevation and well-being of society, but 
 a more sure foundation in the religious as well as 
 in the intellectual character of our population, on 
 which to erect the superstructure of future im- 
 provement, than can be found among any other 
 people. For as religious principles were the start- 
 ing point and the source of all those ideas which 
 we have realized in our institutions, so the influ- 
 ence of religion on the moral character and the 
 intellectual habits and acquirements of the great 
 mass of our population is still the foundation on 
 which those institutions rest. Thus, while poli- 
 
 * ticians in Europe consider it an essential part of 
 civil government to support religion, we have re- 
 
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 569 
 
 versed the order, and look to our religion as the 
 only effectual support of our government ; not in- 
 deed as a part of the political system, associated 
 and become one with it, as seems to have been 
 the original design, but the basis on which it rests 
 in the hearts of the people. For it is not only 
 withdrawn, more than in any other country, from 
 all secular interferences, but abstains from directly 
 interfering with all secular interests. It sustains 
 itself in and by its own spiritual life and energy ; 
 and while it is independent of all aid from human 
 institutions, and claims connexion only with heaven 
 and the hearts of men, as its appropriate home and 
 abiding place, it still sends forth its energizing and 
 quickening spirit through all the complicated forms 
 of society, building up the ruins that are fallen 
 down, uniting and organizing anew the elements 
 of good, which the warring passions and interests J 
 of men had torn asunder and scattered abroad, 
 and budding and blossoming'forth with rich luxu- 
 riance in the refined and pure affections of social 
 life, and in the nobler enterprizes of benevolence. 
 In the character and condition of the great body 
 of the people, its influence is visible, even to the 
 passing stranger, in the appearances of comparative 
 decency and regularity, which so generally prevail ; 
 and let it never be forgotten, when, in passing 
 through our country, we look with pride and joy 
 from the summit of some lofty mountain upon the 
 rich and splendid landscape beneath us ; upon the 
 varied tokens of wealth, and prosperity, and happi- 
 ness ; upon the cultivated and glowing fields, and 
 72 
 
570 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 
 
 the thick clustering villages, which impart by their 
 presence a human interest to the mountains that 
 hang over them and the rivers that wind around 
 them, O, let it never be forgotten, that the talis- 
 man which has called up before and around us 
 this more than "phantom of delight," this vision 
 of substantial beauty, is no other than those taper- 
 ing spires, which in every direction we behold 
 rising among the hills, and pointing to heaven. 
 That fervent and holy communion of men's hearts 
 with the objects of another world, which they 
 indicate, imparted an unearthly character of dura- 
 bility and progressiveness to their doings in this ; 
 it awakened those deep-rooted principles that 
 actuated them, and gave birth to those sublime 
 ideas of beauty and perfection which were a light 
 to their understandings, and have not only realized 
 what we may behold from a distant elevation, but 
 in each and all of those numerous villages have 
 stirred up a spirit of active beneficence, and scat- 
 tered along their shaded streets the schools of 
 knowledge and industry, have diffused the bles- 
 sings of order and domestic comfort through all 
 their dwellings, and from their outmost borders, 
 and far up among the hills, have banished from the 
 view of the traveller the disgusting haunts and 
 deformities of vice. 
 
 And while we rejoice, with more of thankful- 
 ness than of pride, in such fruits of the piety and 
 wisdom of our fathers, we are encouraged in all 
 our labors by the belief that the same productive 
 energies still exist in all their fulness and vitality, 
 
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 571 
 
 and that our labor shall not be in vain. While, in 
 other countries, the efforts of those who are be- 
 nevolently aiming at the general diffusion and in- 
 crease of knowledge and social happiness are baf- 
 fled and retarded in their effect by the conflicting 
 passions and interests that are connected with an- 
 tiquated but unyielding forms of society, and by 
 the fears of even good and wise men, in most 
 countries, lest disorder and revolution should be 
 the consequence, we have the way of improvement 
 open and plain before us; a population already in- 
 telligent, and therefore more conscious of their 
 wants, and more capable of advancement ; so 
 skilled in the arts of life, as with all the labors of 
 society upon their own hands to find leisure and 
 inclination for still higher attainments in knowl- 
 edge, and capable, as those arts shall be still far- 
 ther improved, of indefinite progression ; under a 
 form of society and of government established 
 upon general principles so simple and so powerfully 
 commending themselves to the understanding and 
 reason of all men, and withal so conclusively ap- 
 proved in practice, as to be perplexed with no fears 
 of change. In pursuing the great object, indeed, 
 of improving our condition as a people, through 
 the influence of education, and of attaining, or ap- 
 proaching at least, all those forms of ideal perfec- 
 tion in society at which our religion teaches us to 
 aim, we feel ourselves delivered from the slavery 
 of fear, and given up unshackled to the promptings 
 of hope ; and if it be indeed true, as we are com- 
 pelled to admit from the facts of history, and as 
 
\/ 
 
 572 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 
 
 the most philosophic historians have believed, that 
 the religion of the Old and New Testament has 
 been mainly instrumental in raising the Christian 
 world to its present comparatively high degree of 
 knowledge and civilization ; if it be true that our 
 pagan ancestors of the North of Europe were ele- 
 vated far above the debasing horrors of their own 
 paganism by the awakened hopes and fears of 
 Christianity, in its then corrupt and sensualized 
 forms ; if it be true that the power of the same 
 religion delivered the Protestant nations of Europe 
 from the thraldom of Papal superstition and tyran- 
 ny, and, recovering still more of its native divinity 
 from the burthen of sensuous and cumbrous cere- 
 monials, inspired our fathers with faith to seek on 
 these shores an asylum for the more free develope- 
 ment of its spiritual energies, and secure their in- 
 fluence upon " those who should come after ; " and 
 if, in that more spiritual form, it has already pro- 
 duced an elevation of the great mass of the peo- 
 ple, in their moral and intellectual character, above 
 the condition of any other people, and well nigh 
 delivered us from the fear and the power of human 
 laws, by giving to society "a power of moral ef- 
 ficiency above and beyond the law ; " then may we 
 with good reason hope, that, in the farther devel- 
 opement of its spiritual and heavenly powers, it 
 will bear us onward to yet higher degrees of social 
 happiness and perfection. 
 
 Nor is this animating hope discouraged, on a 
 nearer view, by the existing state and prospects of 
 religion among us. We have had sufficient expe- 
 
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 573 
 
 rience to be convinced, notwithstanding all we 
 may find to lament, that religion will best sustain 
 itself, in its spirituality and efficiency, in the inde- 
 pendent condition in which we have placed it. 
 We have proof of it in our multiplied and increas- 
 ing voluntary associations for every purpose of re- 
 ligion and charity. We have proof of it, and of 
 its increasing effect in promoting the intellectual 
 and moral improvement of the people, in the dis- 
 tribution of Bibles and Tracts, in the establish- 
 ment of Sabbath Schools and Sabbath School Li- 
 braries. In all these, indeed, we may find ground 
 to hope for far more than we have yet experienced, 
 in the efficacy of the public system of instruction, 
 and in the general character of the popular mind. ** 
 And even in its influence on the higher forms of 
 knowledge and cultivation, we have much to hope 
 from the increasing enterprise and more clerkly ac- 
 quirements of our clergy, from their more general 
 and more habitual recurrence to the original sources 
 of religious knowledge, and an apparent inclina- 
 tion towards the higher ethics and more spiritual / 
 philosophy of our ancient divines. In all things, 
 as well in relation to society at large as to individ- 
 ual character, indeed, the spirit of the Gospel, and 
 the nature of the ideas to which it gives birth, 
 teach us to go on to perfection. And why may 
 we not, without the charge of presumption, indulge 
 the hope, that by its all-powerful aid, and the more 
 efficient application of the means within our reach, 
 the universal standard of intellectual cultivation 
 may become far more elevated than it has yet & 
 
(/ 
 
 574 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 
 
 "been, and the power of moral principle increased, 
 till every family and every individual shall feel to 
 good purpose the influence of motives, far nobler 
 and purer than the fear of human laws. To realize 
 all this, indeed, to a very eminent degree, it seems 
 only necessary to carry into general operation the 
 methods of instruction already introduced and 
 partially exemplified in their effects in some of our 
 cities and villages. These methods, securing to 
 so remarkable a degree the essential article of 
 economy, and applying the general principles of 
 instruction with a practical effect so entirely 
 beyond what is attained in our common schools, 
 and withal so capable apparently of universal 
 application in a state of society constituted like 
 ours, seem to afford a sure presage, that our chil- 
 dren are destined to a far higher degree of im- 
 provement, than has fallen to the lot of their fath- 
 ers that the ability to read and write, which was 
 itself but a few centuries ago classed among the 
 " arts magicall " by the majority of our ancestors, 
 will soon be no longer the object of congratulation 
 and boasting, as the universal attainment of our 
 population. The results actually realized in some 
 of our infant schools, and in others, where still the 
 expense both of time and money falls within the 
 limits of our general system of public instruction, 
 and the redemption from moral degradation and 
 crime, said on the highest authority to be so 
 thoroughly effected by the influence of Sabbath 
 Schools among the most exposed population of 
 our cities, seem to give the sanction of experience 
 
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 575 
 
 to anticipations that a few years ago would have 
 been deemed chimerical ; and, with fidelity on our 
 part, as parents, as citizens, and as christians, to 
 promise, at no distant period, a waking up of the 
 dormant energies of reason and intellect, an inten- 
 sity of action in the popular mind, that shall give 
 to our social life " a being more intense," and dif- 
 fuse, through all classes of society, a kind and de- 
 gree of moral and intellectual enjoyment hitherto 
 known only by the few. s 
 
 Our views of intellectual improvement, how- 
 ever, and of acquired knowledge among the great 
 mass of community, we know and admit, must 
 have their limits. We cannot expect, that all men 
 will be philosophers. We cannot hope that every 
 farmer's son will exhibit the genius of Robert 
 Burns, or that every votary of the awl and last, 
 like a master-singer of Germany, will leave to pos- 
 terity his half-score of folios, and never make a 
 shoe the less. But with such methods of early in- 
 struction as have been just now alluded to, and the 
 aid of such institutions for the improvement of the 
 laboring classes as are rapidly going into operation fS 
 in some parts of Europe and of this country, and 
 of those village libraries and associations, the advan- 
 tages of which can be so easily enjoyed among us, 
 we may hope for the diffusion of the rich treasures 
 of English literature, and so much of practical and 
 scientific knowledge among all classes, that every 
 artist shall understand the principles of his art, j 
 
 and the labors of the agriculturalist be not alto- 
 gether empirical, that each shall be so well ac- y 
 
v^ 
 
 /I76 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 
 
 quainted with the sciences immediately connected 
 with his daily occupation, as to he prepared to 
 adopt or to invent the most useful and scientific 
 methods of accomplishing his ends. The advan- 
 tages to be expected from such practical and sci- 
 entific attainments may be estimated best, by those 
 who have observed the superiority in the state of 
 the useful arts, and in the conveniences of domes- 
 tic life, which the general diffusion of intelligence 
 has already given us over those countries in which 
 the laboring classes are untaught. It is not mere- 
 ly that with instruments adapted to their purpose 
 and skill in the use of them* more labor is per- 
 formed with the same expense of time and strength; 
 but more leisure from the laborious duties of life 
 is secured to a large portion of the community for 
 the acquisition and enjoyment of the higher sources 
 of happiness. That habit of mind, moreover, 
 which a diffusion of such knowledge would tend 
 to cultivate and render more extensively useful, a 
 habit almost unknown to the laboring classes in 
 other countries, is already strikingly characteristic 
 of ours, and the source of many of those interest- 
 ing and important improvements and inventions in 
 the arts which have been multiplied among us. It 
 is a habit, too, of higher dignity and importance, 
 in an intellectual point of view, than we might at 
 first imagine ; for the mind that is accustomed to 
 the free and bold use of its own inventive powers 
 in the methods of accomplishing its own daily 
 purposes, and, looking beyond the experience of 
 the past, has learned to aim at ideal improvements 
 
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 577 
 
 in its ordinary pursuits, is of the same class with 
 that of the theorizing politician ; and the power 
 of intellectual vision, that in the rude implements 
 still made use of in most other places, could dis- 
 cover the form and adaptation to its purpose of 
 the ordinary scythe or rake even, with which the 
 grass is gathered from our meadows, or which seeks 
 for ideal perfection in the form of an inkstand or 
 of a cooking stove, may claim some kindred with 
 that which discovered the- possibility of the steam 
 engine in the rise and fall of a pot-lid, or even 
 with that ethereal vision, which, in the fall of an 
 apple, saw the constructive principle of the mate- 
 rial universe. 
 
 In regard to the higher objects of a system of 
 education in the pursuit of the sciences, and of 
 that general cultivation of the mind which quali- 
 fies men for the business of a professional and lit- 
 erary life, it would be difficult to say, with any con- 
 siderable definiteness, to what points our efforts 
 may be consistently and safely directed. It must 
 be admitted, I fear, that the general spirit of our 
 institutions does not, as yet, so much favor the 
 pursuit of those higher attainments which from the 
 nature of the case must be confined to a small 
 number, as of those which may be common to all. 
 The consequence is, especially in the present in- 
 fancy of our schools of learning, that, in the pur- 
 suit of objects requiring for their attainment so 
 large and costly an apparatus of books and imple- 
 ments of science, our efforts are often frustrated 
 and our hopes discouraged, by the want of advan- 
 73 
 
578 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 
 
 tages which the European scholar can every where 
 enjoy. We have, however, no reason to doubt, 
 that, with the growing value of those donations of 
 land which have in fact been already liberally given 
 in this and most of the other states, and the rap- 
 idly increasing conviction of the importance of 
 such attainments to the general welfare of society, 
 this evil will be gradually if not speedily removed. 
 In the mean time, in order to arrive at the highest 
 results that may reasonably be expected from the 
 excitements to excellence which our state of soci- 
 ety furnishes, we cannot be too well aware, es- 
 pecially in this State, that economy in the dispo- 
 sal of our resources is indispensably necessary. 
 We cannot hope, from what we now know of the 
 sources from which they are to be derived, that 
 we shall ever be able to compete with most of the 
 other States of the Union in the pursuit of either 
 public or private wealth. We could not even ask 
 our Legislature to bestow its hundreds of thou- 
 sands upon the buildings of our University ; nor 
 have we many individuals who could, if they were 
 so disposed, bestow their tens of thousands upon 
 our libraries and philosophical collections. Nor 
 are we able, as in some other States, to derive 
 revenues to our higher schools from those who 
 enjoy their instruction. If we would encourage 
 and cherish the love of science and literature 
 among our population to any considerable extent, 
 we must bring them within the means of attain- 
 ment by offering them cheap. Under all these 
 disadvantages, it was not to be expected that we 
 
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 579 
 
 should very much abound in men of scholarlike 
 attainments. In the higher departments of sci- 
 ence and literature, consequently, it must be con- 
 fessed that our scholars are, as a body, inferior to 
 the scholars of Europe, though much has need- 
 lessly been- said to vindicate our character in this 
 respect. It is more correct, and more to our 
 credit, too, to say, that the infancy of our estab- 
 lishments, and our very limited means for making 
 such attainments, rendered them impossible ; and 
 that, if we have not had scholars, we have had men 
 who in our circumstances were far better ; men, 
 who, in a state of things entirely novel, and such 
 as would inevitably have led the slaves of knowl- 
 edge and experience into the grossest practical 
 anachronisms, had judgment and skill to shape 
 their own course ; men who had a heart to prompt, 
 a head to contrive, and a hand to execute ; of large 
 round-about sense and cultivated reason ; who, 
 with no guide but the knowledge of our common 
 nature, and the general principles which their own 
 reason furnished, without the aid of book or pre- 
 cedent, could form ideas of unknown and untried 
 institutions, and prove their practicability by giving 
 them actual existence. Of such men we have had, 
 and still have many ; and, while we acknowledge, 
 with regret for the fact, that in the higher attain- 
 ments of a systematic education we are inferior to 
 the scholars of European Universities, and that our 
 degrees in the arts are not indicative of as much 
 sound book-learnedness as theirs, we still hope 
 that the difference may justly be ascribed, not to 
 
580 
 
 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 
 
 the imperfect form of our social institutions, so 
 much as to their imperfect developement ; and 
 when we shall have acquired something more of 
 practical skill and efficiency in our systems of ele- 
 mentary instruction, and shall have had time to 
 accumulate at our Collages and Universities the 
 same means of giving and receiving instruction in 
 the higher departments of knowledge ; when our 
 master minds can be withdrawn from the great 
 work of completing the developement of our social 
 institutions, and we can assemble in our cities and 
 villages, and gather around our seats of learning, 
 men whose minds have received a more manly 
 discipline, and who are thus prepared for that re- 
 ciprocal action of mind upon mind, which is after 
 all the life and soul of a nation's literature ; then, 
 as we trust, may we hope to rival our transatlan- 
 tic brethren in the extent and variety of our indi- 
 vidual attainments, in the vigor and clearness of 
 the light that emanates from our halls of science, 
 and the glory that encircles the high places of our 
 literature, philosophy, and religion. Then will 
 our marts of literature, and our scholastic retreats 
 also, be furnished with all the abundance and 
 variety of the literary craft. We shall have an 
 ample supply, not only of men of learned lore, the 
 useful and laborious race of critics and lexicogra- 
 phers, but the numberless enthusiasts of natural 
 science ; those whose highest ambition will be 
 gratified by giving name to an undescribed flower 
 or fossil, and who will find matter for infinite con- 
 gratulation in the discovery of a beetle or a butter- 
 
-4 
 
 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 681 
 
 fly which had escaped their predecessors. We, 
 too, shall be thronged, in our own due time, by 
 men of minute attainments ; by antiquarians, and 
 topographers, and bibliographers, and the whole 
 catalogue of German subdivisions. And, if we 
 may safely hazard our auguries of the future from 
 the present appearances in our literary horizon, 
 we shall have no want of more popular writers ; 
 of those who shall weave the rich material exist- 
 ing in the strange facts of our early history, and 
 in the original, enterprizing and bold characters of 
 our early adventurers, into the variegated tissue 
 of their own beautiful and sublime fictions, and by 
 the power of their enchantments over the popular 
 mind, shall evince our affinity in peculiarities of 
 talent, as well as in our common ancestry and 
 language, to the great sovereigns of the human 
 heart ; of those who may claim relationship with 
 that peculiar but powerful race, who rule with 
 undisputed sway over the minds of our elder breth- 
 ren, and who have extended the dominion of 
 Britain, where her regal sceptre can never reach ; 
 whose unobtrusive but fascinating voice is heard 
 along the shores of our lakes, and among the re- 
 cesses of our mountains, and leads in unresisting 
 captivity the hearts of men who would not obey 
 the imperative thunders of her navy. 
 
 Then too, if not till then, we may hope to have 
 our men of poetic genius, 
 
 " men of highest gifts, 
 The vision and the faculty divine ; " 
 
582 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 
 
 men, who, drinking deep at the well-springs of 
 human knowledge, enriching their intellectual 
 stores, and building up their moral being, by daily 
 and nightly communion with the great men of 
 every age, and with that Spirit who enricheth with 
 all gifts of knowledge and of utterance, shall mould 
 the elements thus collected into the bright and 
 imperishable forms of their own creative imagina- 
 tion, a monument at once to their own fame, and 
 to the honor of their country ; men who, by that 
 magic power which language imparts to the genius 
 of the poet, shall give life to the inanimate, and 
 permanency to the fleeting forms of the material 
 world around us, and shall transport our beautiful 
 lakes and majestic mountains in vision of glory to 
 the people of other lands and of other tongues, 
 and make them to glow in our own imaginations 
 under a new and more brilliant veil of vernal 
 splendor, of which no blighting frost shall divest 
 them, and which can never again be hidden from 
 our view by the gathering snows, or the lengthen- 
 ing darkness of winter. 
 
 We, too, like the nations of Europe in ancient 
 and in modern times, may hope to have our phi- 
 losophers, and those worthy of the name ; men of 
 deep and mysterious thought ; men who, escaping 
 from the thraldom of the sensuous and the present, 
 and with large discourse of reason looking before 
 and after, shall form their minds to the discovery 
 and apprehensions of ultimate principles ; the ven- 
 triloquists of human reason, uttering forth her un- 
 told mysteries, and 
 
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. W 583 
 
 " truths that wake 
 To perish never ; " 
 
 who, learning to see all things in the laws of their 
 existence, and thus the future in the present, and 
 to divine the fate of nations from the principles 
 that actuate them and govern their policy, shall 
 look through the vicissitudes of coming years, and 
 be the wise men and prophets of their day ; men 
 who, by the depth and justness of the principles 
 which they announce, the living and productive 
 energy of the ideas which they promulgate, shall 
 impart wisdom to our teachers, and give laws to 
 our legislators, thereby exerting a controlling pow- 
 er over the minds of their countrymen, and the 
 future destinies of their country ; who, treasuring 
 in their minds 
 
 " the sayings of the wise, 
 In ancient and in modern books inroll'd," 
 
 shall put to flight the phantasms and hollow ab- 
 stractions of an unfruitful and lifeless system of 
 speculation, shall lead us to the true knowledge of 
 ourselves, and of that living and spiritual philoso- 
 phy, which elevates knowing into being, which is 
 at one with the truths of the Gospel, and which, 
 beginning with the fear of God, terminates in the 
 adoring love and holy participation of his divine 
 nature. Such we may be permitted to hope will 
 be the inspired and inspiring oracles of our acad- 
 emic groves, the philosophers who shall be hon- 
 ored and followed by the studious and choice 
 
584 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 
 
 spirits of their time, and in the language of a liv- 
 ing writer not unlike themselves, 
 
 " Piercing the long-neglected, holy cave, 
 The haunt obscure of Old Philosophy, 
 Shall bid, with lifted torch, its starry walls 
 Sparkle, as erst they sparkled to the flame 
 Of odrous lamps, tended by saint and sage." 
 
* * 
 
 t 
 
 DISCOURSE. 
 
 NECESSARY AGENCY OF RELIGIOUS TRUTH 
 IN THE CULTIVATION OF THE MIND. 
 
 [Delivered at the Dedication of the Chapel of the University of Ver- 
 mont, 1830.] 
 
 O, SEND OUT THY LIGHT AND 'THY TRUTH ; LET THEM 
 LEAD ME; LET THEM BRING ME UNTO THY HOLY 
 HILL, AND TO THY TABERNACLES. Psalm xliii. 3. 
 
 To God it becomes us, in every enterprise, first 
 to direct our thoughts. To recognize our depend- 
 ence upon him, and in all our ways to acknowledge 
 him, is our obvious duty, not as christians only, but 
 as men. Nor is it the superintending control of 
 his providence alone, that claims our regard. We 
 are taught also to look to that inward agency of 
 his Word and Spirit, whereby he hath wrought all 
 our works in us. He knoweth our frame, he re- 
 membereth that we are dust ; and it becomes us 
 to remember that all our springs are in him. It 
 becomes us to ask of him according to our need in 
 the varying circumstances in which his providence 
 74 
 
586 DEDICATION SERMON. 
 
 may call us to act, that his strength may be per- 
 fected in our weakness, that his light may illumi- 
 nate our darkness, that his unchanging truth may 
 dwell in and establish our inconstant hearts. Es- 
 pecially should we feel the propriety of doing so, 
 while engaging in those enterprises which in their 
 character and tendency are nearly related to the 
 operations of his Word ; and the accomplishment 
 of which, both from their nature and their magni- 
 tude, is, in a more peculiar sense, his own prerog- 
 ative. In devising means for diffusing the light of 
 knowledge, for sustaining and unfolding through 
 successive generations the intellectual and moral 
 energies of a free people, and thus carrying them 
 onward, both as individuals and as a body politic, 
 to the ultimate ends of their being, we ought un- 
 affectedly and unceasingly to pray to God with the 
 Psalmist : O, send out thy light and thy truth ; let 
 them lead me ; let them bring me unto thy holy 
 hill, and to thy tabernacles. In the prosecution of 
 such objects, the light and truth of the divine 
 Word are not only necessary to direct our labors 
 in the employment of other means, but are them- 
 selves the most efficient, and an indispensable 
 means of operation. 
 
 The connexion of these sentiments with the 
 present occasion, I trust, will appear obvious to all. 
 The institution within whose walls we are assem- 
 bled, is intimately connected with the interests of 
 education in the community to which we belong. 
 The character and consequences of our doings, and 
 of the principles we adopt in its organization and 
 
DEDICATION SERMON. 587 
 
 management, concern not private interests, not the 
 interests of one generation only, and not merely the 
 personal advantage of the comparatively few who in 
 successive generations may come under the immedi- 
 ate influence of its instructions. All that pertains to 
 a literary institution, especially among a free peo- 
 ple, is public in its very nature, and affects the 
 character and happiness of the whole community. 
 Such was the design, indeed, with which this in- 
 stitution was originally established ; and it is des- 
 tined, as we trust, to hold an important place in 
 that system of means by which the people of this 
 State are seeking to provide for the intellectual 
 and moral interests of themselves and of the gen- 
 erations that shall come after them. We contem- 
 plate it as an instrument for promoting among us 
 some of the higher and more important objects of 
 mental cultivation, of literature and science, of 
 philosophy and religion ; as a price put into our 
 hands and the hands of our children to get wis- 
 dom ; as capable at least of becoming an agent of 
 great power for the diffusion of light and truth, an 
 abiding and active principle of intellectual life in 
 the community to which it belongs. With these 
 views of its character, of its designs and its possi- 
 ble influence, and of the ultimate ends with which 
 it is connected, as an important part of our gen- 
 eral system of means for eliciting and directing the 
 powers of intelligence among us, we recognize the 
 propriety and the necessity of associating with it, 
 in the essential principles of its organization, the 
 efficient influences of divine light and divine truth. 
 
588 DEDICATION SERMON. 
 
 It is not, therefore, in conformity with established 
 usage alone, that this place has been provided with- 
 in its walls, or as a customary formality, merely, 
 that we are assembled to consecrate it to the duties 
 and influences of religious homage. We wish dis- 
 tinctly to recognize the truths and duties which con- 
 cern our relation to God, as intimately and essen- 
 tially connected with the appropriate objects of such 
 an institution. We would hereby express our 
 conviction, that in this and in all institutions that 
 are concerned in the proper business of educating 
 the minds and forming the character of a free peo- 
 ple, the influences of religion, the light and truth 
 of the divine Word, are essentially necessary to 
 the attainment of the end. Such, it is to be pre- 
 sumed, is the general conviction among the people 
 of this State ; and by them, we trust, the principle 
 will be recognized in its application to our whole 
 system of public instruction. It is not, however, 
 wholly free from contradiction, or so easily under- 
 stood in all its relations as to leave no room for 
 misapprehension. It implies, moreover, for those 
 who admit it as a principle of action, correspond- 
 ing obligations, upon which it becomes us to re- 
 flect, and of which we cannot be too distinctly 
 conscious. 
 
 Let us proceed to inquire, therefore, (as the oc- 
 casion invites us to do,) what is the practical and 
 necessary agency of religious truth in the cultivation 
 of the mind, and what are some of the inferences to 
 be drawn, icith regard to the method and the obli- 
 
 ,*- 
 
V 
 
 DEDICATION SERMON. 589 
 
 gallon of employing it in connexion with our gen- 
 eral system of instruction. 
 
 In attempting to give a satisfactory answer to 
 these inquiries, as to many others relating to the 
 subject of education, the difficulties arise chiefly 
 from the vague and contradictory notions which 
 prevail, with respect to the nature and proper ob- 
 jects of an education. We cannot of course de- 
 termine, in any case, the fitness and propriety of 
 the means proposed, unless we have distinct and 
 correct apprehensions of the end which they are 
 designed to accomplish. We cannot rightly ap- 
 preciate the labors of an instructor, and the suita- 
 bleness of the means which he employs, so long as 
 we mistake the object at which he is aiming. It 
 seems proper, therefore, to remark in few words, 
 that the legitimate and immediate aim of educa- 
 tion, in its true sense, is, not by the appliances of 
 instruction and discipline to shape and fit the pow- 
 ers of the mind to this or that outward condition in 
 the mechanism of civil society, but, by means cor- 
 responding to their inherent nature, to excite, to 
 encourage, and affectionately to aid the free and 
 perfect developement of those powers themselves. 
 We do not seek, in devising methods of instruction 
 and selecting the means of mental excitement, to 
 ascertain what will qualify the subjects of it for a 
 predestined routine of occupations, but what is the 
 character of their minds, and what will best serve 
 to stimulate their growth, to elicit and cultivate /^ 
 their latent powers. The question is not what 
 will make them skilful lawyers or adroit politi- 
 
 /r 
 
590 DEDICATION SERMON. 
 
 * cians, but what will make them men. Nor is this 
 a distinction of trivial importance. It affects not 
 only our speculative views of an education, but to 
 a great extent also our practical methods of in- 
 struction. It should be added, that in nothing per- 
 taining to an education is its practical importance 
 so great, as in that to which our present inquiry 
 j relates. If, in providing for the instruction of the 
 young, our guiding purpose be, as it too often is, 
 to prepare them for attaining some worldly end, 
 we make them, in fact, subservient to that end. 
 If their whole education be conducted with an ul- 
 timate reference to their success in the world, as 
 
 I merchants, for example, or civil engineers, or as 
 professional men, the results will be such a culti- 
 vation of their minds only as will shape them to 
 the particular relations in which they are to act. 
 The aim will be to make their powers serviceable 
 for attaining the outward object, rather than to 
 provide for their harmonious and perfect develope- 
 ment. The inherent claims of the mind itself, in 
 
 ' its own proper being, its inward seekings and ten- 
 dencies, are disregarded, or forcibly subordinated 
 to some object of worldly interest or ambition. If 
 we have right views, on the other hand, of the pur- 
 poses of education, instead of aiming at some 
 object alien to the nature of the mind itself, we 
 shall contemplate with reverence those awakening 
 energies that so truly claim our reverence, and 
 carefully inquire, what is their own proper ten- 
 dency and ultimate end. The great question will 
 be, not to what worldly purpose can the mind be 
 
 M 
 
DEDICATION SERMON. 591 
 
 made serviceable, but what are the inherent claims 
 of the soul itself; to what does it tend in the 
 essential principles of its own being ; what consti- 
 tutes the perfection of its being, and by what 
 methods and means of education can we promote 
 its attainment. If we distinctly apprehend and 
 admit this view of an education, we shall be pre- 
 pared in some measure to understand and appre- 
 ciate the means proposed for its attainment. 
 
 Especially shall we be prepared to contemplate 
 with growing interest that regard which we owe, 
 in our systems of education, to the higher claims 
 and tendencies of our being. That indeed would 
 alone be a perfect education, according to this view 
 of it, in which all our powers, both physical and 
 intellectual, were cultivated and unfolded in their 
 due proportions. But if, in aiming at the essen- 
 tial interests of our whole being and our highest 
 perfection as men, we reflect upon our various fac- 
 ulties in their relation to the end which we have in 
 view, we cannot but admit that the cultivation of 
 all is by no means equally important. Thus the 
 surprising physical powers which are cultivated 
 by the exercises of the gymnasium, contribute in 
 their proper place, if rightly understood, to the 
 general perfection of our complex being. But 
 when compared with a well cultivated understand- 
 ing, how little do they add to our estimate of the 
 man ! A similar remark may be made even of 
 those faculties of the understanding which the 
 occupations of society lead us to cultivate with 
 most care, when compared with those higher pow- 
 
592 DEDICATION SERMON. 
 
 ers of reason and reflection. We may be con- 
 vinced of this, if we contemplate them as they are 
 sometimes manifested alone, or accompanied with 
 little exercise of these higher faculties of the mind. 
 The Indian hunter in the pursuit of his game, or war- 
 rior in the stratagems to which he resorts, exhibits 
 a keenness of perception, an accuracy of discrimi- 
 nation, and a degree of skill in adapting his means 
 to the accomplishment of his end, seldom surpassed 
 by those who have enjoyed the advantages of edu- 
 cation. Again, in the opposite extreme, among the 
 over-civilized nations of the East, we may find 
 men, in all the various occupations of civilized so- 
 ciety, as well prepared to fill them, so far as the 
 faculties of the understanding which they call into 
 action are concerned, as in Christian nations. The 
 native merchants and lawyers of Calcutta are not 
 deficient in foresight or adroitness for the accom- 
 plishment of their ends. Why then are the ac- 
 complished Indian hunter and the well-bred Hin- 
 doo lawyer to be ranked so far below the well- 
 educated man of our own Christian land ? Nay, 
 why is the most crafty and the most eloquent of 
 all the sons of the forest, or the most far-sighted 
 and adroit politician of an Oriental court, placed, 
 as he unquestionably is, and ought to be, in our 
 general estimation of his character, far below a 
 man of plain understanding, who has grown up 
 under the light of the gospel ? Is it not because 
 the powers which they have cultivated, however 
 useful for the attainment of their worldly ends, 
 are essentially, in every degree of cultivation, of 
 
DEDICATION SERMON. 593 
 
 an inferior order, belonging to man in common 
 with the brutes ; while in a Christian land there is 
 among all classes a comparatively greater devel- 
 opement of a higher power ? In them we may 
 find even more, perhaps, of that which is merely 
 useful with reference to the subordinate worldly 
 ends of civil society ; but among ourselves, more of 
 that which constitutes inherent and essential worth, 
 self-consciousness and reflection upon the ultimate 
 ends of our own being. Contemplate, if you 
 please, in their highest degree and most perfect 
 developement, those powers which the warrior and 
 the politician would think it alone necessary to 
 cultivate for the pursuit of their ambitious ends ; 
 and how far do they come short of that at which 
 we ought to aim in the education of our children ! 
 Let them be the powers of a Napoleon or a Tal- 
 leyrand ; and suppose them, as they unquestionably 
 may be, to have been so exclusively cultivated as 
 to constitute their highest claims to our regard ; 
 and however they may excite, as beings of vast 
 power and forethought, our admiration, they can- 
 not and should not command our esteem and ven- 
 eration as men." Contemplate, on the other hand, 
 a man whose powers of understanding are com- 
 paratively feeble and but imperfectly cultivated, 
 but who, instead of rushing eagerly and unreflect- 
 ingly into the pursuits of worldly interest and am- 
 bition, has turned his thoughts to the knowledge 
 of himself; who has communed with his own heart 
 and cherished the powers of reason and self-con- 
 sciousness ; and we cannot but acknowledge a new 
 lb 
 
594 DEDICATION SERMON. 
 
 and higher claim to our regard. The man who 
 has been taught to reflect upon the ultimate ends 
 of his being, to contemplate with steadfast eye the 
 fixed and eternal principles of reason and right, 
 whose soul is filled and expanded with the ideas 
 of immortality and of God, and who, at the same 
 time, elevated and awed by the contemplation of 
 these, walks reflectingly with a sense of religious 
 obligation and reverence, he is the man in whom 
 we recognize essential and inherent worth. In 
 him we find unfolded the true and distinctive prin- 
 ciples and characters of our humanity. We recog- 
 nize in him the dawning of that light which breaks 
 in upon us from the spiritual world. We contem- 
 plate in him, not merely powers that are service- 
 able as means for the attainment of an outward 
 end ; but that which has a worth of its own, and 
 not only deserves but commands our reverence for 
 what it is in itself. We discover the awakening 
 of those energies by which our humanity is allied 
 to eternity and to God. And shall the cultivation 
 of these be forgotten or disregarded in our meth- 
 ods of instruction ? Shall we neglect to unfold 
 those powers which are of highest worth, those 
 powers of self-knowledge and self-control which 
 connect us with the spiritual world, while we ex- 
 ert our skill and exhaust our means in cultivating 
 those in the perfection of which, after all, the 
 brutes may be our superiors ? Show me rather 
 the youth whose soul has been wakened up and 
 aroused from the thraldom and lethargy of sense, 
 from the fascination of the present and the world- 
 
DEDICATION SERMON. 595 
 
 ly, to the contemplation of spiritual truths, to a 
 near and earnest communion with the secrets of 
 his own being, with the indwelling and humanizing 
 law of his conscience, with the self-revealing ideas 
 of responsibility and of God, and I will show you 
 one who, though unskilled it may be in the occu- 
 pations of the world and undisciplined to the rou- 
 tine of the merchant, the warrior or the politician, 
 has nevertheless, in a higher sense than either, the 
 education of a man in the great essentials of his 
 humanity, of a man in the image of his Maker. It 
 is this waking up and actuating of the essentially 
 human and the spiritual in man, which we are 
 bound to consider the highest aim in the educa- 
 tion both of individuals and of the community. 
 It is hardly necessary to add, that for the accom- 
 plishment of this, we must look to the influence of 
 religious truth. What other power has been found 
 among the arts and knowledges of civilized society, 
 in ancient or modern times, that could dissipate the 
 darkness of the understanding, by kindling up the 
 light of reason ; that could so fully emancipate the 
 truly human from the domination of the animal in 
 man ? Nor is it by a mere arbitrary agency, that 
 it produces such an effect upon our minds. All our 
 powers are actuated and unfolded by agencies cor- 
 responding to their character ; and the natural light 
 is not more perfectly correspondent to the power 
 of vision and essential to its exercise, than the 
 presence of divine light and truth, to the develope- 
 ment and exercise of our rational and spiritual 
 powers. It is indeed the essential correspon- 
 
# 
 
 596 DEDICATION SERMON. 
 
 dency and precon fortuity of our minds to the ideas 
 and truths of religion, that constitutes our human- 
 ity. Conceive them divested of the ideas of God, 
 of eternity, of freedom and absolute truth, and we 
 leave the animal merely, but the man has vanished. 
 There remains, indeed, a creature more subtle than 
 any beast of the field, but likewise cursed above 
 them all ; upon its belly must it go, and dust must 
 it eat all the days of its life. No, the great and 
 commanding truths of religion with which we are 
 blessed, and which we have the privilege of em- 
 ploying as means of mental cultivation, are no out- 
 ward framework of propositions for the understand- 
 ing alone, and proposed as the arbitrary instru- 
 ments of discipline and outward conditions of 
 intellectual improvement. They are rather inhe- 
 rently and essentially the correlatives of our in- 
 ward being. They are an expressed and outward 
 manifestation to our understandings of that which, 
 by reflection, we are to unfold in our own self-con- 
 sciousness and reason. No other truths can have 
 the same power, because no other truths have the 
 same relations. It is because we recognize these 
 relations, that we feel and cannot resist their 
 power. It is because they commend themselves to 
 our reason and consciences, as reflections of that 
 same light which in them, too, has its dawning, 
 that we cannot dispute their authority. It is be- 
 cause of this, that they seize with such energy 
 upon the minds of all men, and not only unfold and 
 call into action those powers of thought to which 
 they are more immediately addressed, but extend 
 
DEDICATION SERMON. 597 
 
 their quickening energies to all the germs of intel- 
 ligence, and give " unity and the circulating sap 
 of life" to our whole intellectual growth. 
 
 If such, then, be the inherent character and ne- 
 cessary relations of that religious truth with which 
 we are concerned, and such its practical influences 
 upon the developement of the human mind, may 
 we not draw some very obvious but important in- 
 ferences with regard to the use of it as a means of 
 education ? If those specific effects which it pro- 
 duces are of a higher kind, and more indispensable 
 to the well-being of the whole man, in relation to 
 his ultimate end, than the effects produced by any 
 other means of instruction, can it reasonably be 
 omitted in the choice of those means ? While we 
 make provision for every other object in the edu- 
 cation of our children, shall we leave that which, 
 considered, as it now is, with reference to the per- 
 fection of an education merely, is more important 
 than all others, to the operation of chance, or the 
 general and uncertain influences of society ? Or 
 shall we entirely separate this from the inferior ob- 
 jects and means of education ; and, while we make 
 other and distinct provision for its attainment, ex- 
 clude the exhibition and influences of religious 
 truth from our seats of learning? To all these 
 questions, the answer seems to me very deducible 
 from the views which have already been given. 
 To exclude the light and truth of the divine Word 
 from the minds of those whom we profess to edu- 
 cate, and to provide in no way for securing their 
 appropriate influence, to say nothing of its more 
 
 
598 DEDICATION SERMON. 
 
 criminal character in the eye of the christian, is 
 the grossest absurdity to the view of an enlight- 
 ened philosopher. However we may cultivate 
 other faculties, if the higher and religious tenden- 
 cies of our being are neglected, we do but educate 
 the animal man. We may make him, indeed, a 
 well disciplined and serviceable animal; but his 
 true humanity is yet latent. Cheated of its pre- 
 rogative, and shrouded in those webs of worldly 
 knowledge and those inventions of an unenlight- 
 ened understanding which serve but to exclude the 
 true light from heaven, it manifests its being and 
 its tendencies in the form only of groping super- 
 stition and idolatry, and becomes the blind and 
 gloomy prompter of those inhuman observances 
 which flow, even in the most civilized countries, 
 from the " dark heart " of paganism. That the 
 same outward results do not follow in christian 
 countries, with regard to those whose religious ed- 
 ucation is neglected, or from whose minds the 
 truths of religion are wilfully and. so inhumanly 
 excluded, proceeds from the fact, that, where the 
 light of truth pervades the community, no per- 
 verted ingenuity can wholly prevent it from illu- 
 minating the minds of all. Such general illumi- 
 nation, in a community like our own, will indeed 
 do much ; and it is this diffusive and holy light, 
 beaming upon our towns and villages and pene- 
 trating to every sequestered cottage among our 
 mountains, that, without any conscious effort of 
 their own, tends, more than all other agencies, to 
 elevate J;he general character of the people, and 
 
DEDICATION SERMON. 599 
 
 saves even the most worldly and degraded from 
 the gloomy abominations of paganism. But how 
 far short is the general influence thus exerted, of 
 the effect that might be expected from the direct 
 and habitual and personal application of religious (^ 
 truth to the minds of all ! 
 
 Nor is the effect at which we aim, considered 
 as a part and the most essential part of our human 
 education, one that can be separated, in the pur- 
 suit and in the use of the appropriate means, from 
 the other objects and means of intellectual culture. 
 The influence which religious truth exerts and the 
 energies which it calls into action, are essentially 
 connected, as was already remarked, with all our 
 powers of knowledge and all the products of in- 
 telligence. It is not so much a distinct and sepa- 
 rable part of what should be taught in a system of 
 instruction, to be learned and stored up in the mind 
 for future use, as a pervading and life-giving pres- 
 ence and power that should act upon the mind in 
 every stage and process of its developement, and 
 bring all the powers of the soul, as they are un- 
 folded, under its holy and humanizing influence. 
 It is not by the critical investigation of religious 
 truth, that its great and indispensable influence as 
 a means of education is chiefly to be secured. 
 Most of those great truths to which this influ- 
 ence is to be ascribed, have little need of the aid 
 of speculation in order to their proper effect. They 
 are such as address themselves immediately to the 
 intuitive perceptions of reason and conscience. 
 They need but to be distinctly exhibited and they 
 
600 DEDICATION SERMON. 
 
 carry their own evidence with them. And how- 
 ever the evil and perverse will may place itself in 
 opposition to the duties and obligations which they 
 imply or impose, the effect, so far as the specific 
 purposes of general education are concerned, is for- 
 ever secured. These are " truths that wake, to 
 perish never." When so presented and contempla- 
 ted as to waken up the corresponding powers of 
 our inward being, they become in fact identified 
 with them. When once the ideas of God and of 
 moral responsibility, for example, are distinctly 
 contemplated and unfolded in our minds, no soph- 
 istry of the understanding, and no perverseness of 
 the will, can ever dislodge them from their place, 
 or entirely divest them of their influence. We 
 must first cease to be rational, before they will 
 cease to form a living and indwelling principle and 
 power within us. It is the habitual exhibition and 
 present influence, therefore, of the great truths of 
 the divine word, from which the effects aimed at, 
 by their means, in a system of education, are 
 chiefly to be expected. In this way, at least, not 
 only the Christian, but every ^rational man, who 
 will reflect for a moment upon the nature of relig- 
 ious truth and its relation to the human mind, 
 must admit that its light and power ought to ac- 
 company all our general systems of education, and 
 pervade our schools of knowledge. 
 
 But if the energy of the divine word be as I 
 have represented it in its relation to our powers of 
 intelligence, an all-pervading energy ; if it be as 
 the sap of life to the living tree of our knowledge, 
 
DEDICATION SERMON. 601 
 
 will it not, and should it not, extend its influence, 
 in a greater or less degree, not only to the mind of 
 the scholar directly, as an accompaniment to other 
 means, but as a directing and modifying influence 
 to those means themselves, and to the subject and 
 material of our systems of instruction ? While we 
 employ it as a primary agent in cultivating the 
 powers of intelligence, ought not the whole system 
 of means which we employ, to be in harmony with 
 its influence ? We must not, indeed, confound the 
 objects and methods of a general system of educa- 
 tion, either with those of a professional education, 
 or those of the Christian ministry. It is not its 
 purpose to teach a system of theology, nor, in the 
 same manner as the ministry of the gospel, to con- 
 cern itself with the spiritual character and condi- 
 tion of its subjects. But, while it is directed to 
 its own distinctive and appropriate objects, should 
 we not be careful that there be no contradiction 
 and inconsistency in the means and influences 
 which it employs ? The powers of reason and in- 
 telligence, all those powers which it is the proper 
 business of education to unfold and cultivate, be- 
 long to the same mind. Though differing from 
 each other, and unfolded by different means, suited 
 to the character of each, they are not contradic- 
 tory and subversive one of the other. The perfec- 
 tion of mental development results in the united 
 and harmonious action of all our intellectual pow- 
 ers. A perfect system of education would consist 
 in the systematic agency of all such means as may 
 conspire for the accomplishment of that end. Com- 
 76 
 

 
 f 
 
 602 DEDICATION SERMON. 
 
 mon sense would teach us, therefore, that we can- 
 not, with propriety and consistency, combine in our 
 system of instruction the truths and principles of the 
 divine word, and other principles and influences of 
 contrary tendency. Our powers of intelligence are 
 not only without contradiction in their relation to 
 each other, but they instinctively tend, under the 
 control of reason, to systematise and reduce to con- 
 sistent and harmonious principles the whole com- 
 plex body of our knowledge. The mind is one, 
 and truth, in its relation to the mind, is one. The 
 power of intelligence admits of contradiction, nei- 
 ther in its being nor in its knowing. The more 
 deeply we reflect, the more distinctly shall we be 
 conscious that such is, and by a necessity of reason 
 must be, the case with every rational intelligence. 
 Thus the commanding power and influence of reli- 
 gious truth, where it is fully admitted, must espe- 
 cially tend to bring into harmony with its own 
 spirit the whole system of instruction. Nor can 
 any one deny that such ought to be the result. 
 Such will and ought to be the case, more especially 
 in those higher institutions of education, in which 
 not only the teachers, but the pupils, may be sup- 
 posed capable of reflecting upon and systematizing 
 the knowledge which they acquire. In this case, 
 even more latent inconsistencies would be liable to 
 detection ; and, whether detected or remaining la- 
 tent, their influence must be injurious. Do not 
 the interests of education, therefore, and it is 
 with these only that we are now concerned do 
 not the interests of education, as well as those of 
 
DEDICATION SERMON. 603 
 
 religion, require that we teach nothing incom- 
 patible with those great truths and principles of 
 the divine word, which are themselves fitted to 
 seize with such power upon the mind ? Especially 
 should all appearance of contradiction be avoided 
 here, in that stage of an education when the mind 
 is becoming more distinctly conscious of its own 
 energies, and of the grounds of truth in its own be- 
 ing. The systems of philosophy taught usually in 
 our higher institutions, even where they do not 
 immediately relate to the truths of religion, call into 
 action powers of thought and form principles of 
 reasoning, which cannot but be applied to all our 
 views of truth and the ground of our convictions. 
 The spirit of philosophical inquiry, and the ten- 
 dency to reduce our knowledge and our opinions 
 to the unity of a system, consistent and harmoni- 
 ous in itself, cannot be restrained in its application, 
 even if it were desirable that it should be. Is it 
 wise, therefore, as in the Scottish Universities, to 
 attempt to draw a line of separation between the 
 truths or doctrines of religion and the results of 
 philosophical inquiry ? 
 
 If the principles of religion are true, and hold 
 such a relation to truth generally and to our intel- 
 lectual being as I have represented, must they not 
 be such as philosophy also is bound to recognize ? 
 Whether we consider the truths of religion, or the 
 truths of philosophy, indeed, as the foundation in 
 the architecture of our minds, the superstructure 
 can be such only as the foundation will sustain. 
 The entire upbuilding of our intellectual being 
 
* 
 
 604 DEDICATION SERMON. 
 
 must spring from the same foundation of eternal 
 truth. It must be a living temple, animated and 
 adorned by the light and power of truth, and con- 
 secrated to the God of truth, or it will prove but 
 the fancy-work of vanity, or the more solemn 
 mockery of error and delusion. It was from a 
 deep conviction of this, produced by that percep- 
 tion of the essential relations and interdependency 
 of all the principles of truth which similar circum- 
 stances in the history of the human mind have al- 
 ways occasioned, that, in the fervor of the Re- 
 formation, so deep an interest was felt in the whole 
 system of intellectual discipline and instruction. 
 Thus we find, in the latter part of the sixteenth 
 century, the most powerful minds which the ex- 
 citements of the Reformation had called into ac- 
 tion, engaged in earnest controversy on the intro- 
 duction of a new system of Logic into the Protest- 
 ant schools of Europe. Is it because we are wiser 
 than they, and understand the principles of educa- 
 tion better, that we have no Logic, and do not 
 concern ourselves with relations of this sort ? I 
 dare not believe it. A system of education must 
 be one system, a united and consistent whole, re- 
 ferable, in all that it teaches, to harmonizing first 
 principles ; or it must contain, however they may 
 be latent for a time, the elements of distraction, of 
 error, and of dissolution. 
 
 Such a system, consistent with itself, in unison 
 with those principles of religious truth which con- 
 cern the essential constituents and the ultimate 
 end of our being, and irradiated by the light of the 
 
9 
 DEDICATION SERMON. 605 
 
 divine Word, we are bound to aim at, in all our 
 plans of general education. We are under obli- 
 gations, not as christians merely, but as men and 
 as members of a body politic, to give to the power 
 of divine light and truth the place which it so man- 
 ifestly claims, in providing for the education of our 
 children and the members of the community to 
 which we belong. Other and more mechanical 
 methods may give to men that partial and relative 
 discipline of their faculties which is more imme- 
 diately sought for, with reference to the different 
 occupations of civil society ; but only that which 
 forms them with reference to their ultimate end, 
 can make them men, or lit members of a. free com- 
 munity of men. The means of instruction and 
 discipline employed in the despotic government of 
 the East, may, as they have done for centuries, 
 make those subjected to them civilized; may shape 
 and mortice them, that is, to the places, and fit 
 them for the special services, assigned them in the 
 mechanism of civilized life ; but can never make 
 them, in the distinctive sense, cultivated, or give 
 them that self-knowledge or self-control under the 
 authority and law of reason, which are essential to 
 the enjoyment of rational liberty. We are bound, 
 therefore, so far as it is possible, by the influences 
 of religious truth in our system of education, to 
 cultivate and unfold the higher and distinctive prin- 
 ciples of humanity. We are bound to do so, as 
 men linked by the common bonds of humanity to 
 our fellow men. As members of the great com- 
 munity of persons, of rational and accountable 
 
<v 
 
 % * t I 
 
 606 DEDICATION SERMON. 
 
 y/ beings, we are under obligations, even paramount 
 to those which bind us to the interests of a worldly 
 state, to promote the higher interests of our own 
 and the common humanity. From these obliga- 
 tions, no mere worldly interests and no state pol- 
 icy can absolve us ; because all worldly ends are 
 subordinate to those which reason prescribes as the 
 
 P alone fixed and ultimate end of our rational being. 
 I make this distinction, because where the State 
 exists, with a fixed constitution and determinate 
 V \ worldly ends as a State, those ends are not identi- 
 cal or always coincident with the personal and ul- 
 timate ends of the individuals w 7 ho compose it. 
 Thus, in the civilized states of the East, the ends 
 of the state are answered, when, in the division of 
 labor and diversities of rank which the organiza- 
 tion of society renders necessary, every individual 
 is, fitted to the place assigned him, however unfit 
 he may be for attaining the ends of his own per- 
 
 /> sonal being. In this sense, indeed, the people of 
 
 , the East have reduced civil society to a more com- 
 plete organization, in other words, they are more 
 civilized, perhaps, than the nations of Christendom. 
 Every individual is fixed in his place, and taught 
 
 m the precise duties which belong to it. It is only 
 for the occupations of a state so organized, that a 
 system of education designed for the attainment 
 of particular worldly ends exclusively, can prepare 
 j its subjects. The two things, indeed, are nearly 
 related to each other ; and the perfect idea of a 
 state formed of such subjects, and for the attain- 
 ment of its own ends, with entire disregard of 
 
DEDICATION SERMON. 607 
 
 
 
 personal and individual ends, seems to have been 
 conceived in the earliest periods of hoary antiquity. 
 By the division into castes, not only the individual 
 with respect to himself, but the parent with res- 
 pect to his children, is deprived of all power and 
 privilege, both in the choice of an object and the 
 mode of pursuing it. All are predestined to fill 
 certain stations and perform certain services in the 
 mechanism of society, marked out for them with 
 the greatest possible precision ages before their 
 birth. Such is the highest perfection of state pol- 
 icy and state craft. 
 
 But for us and our children, in the provi- 
 dence of God, a better inheritance is provided. 
 We are not the subjects of such a state, nor 
 predestined to be mere working instruments 
 for attaining the subordinate and worldly ends 
 which the thraldom of civilization imposes upon 
 us. We can hardly, indeed, be said to be subjects 
 of any state, considered in its ordinary sense, as a i I 
 body politic with a fixed constitution and a deter- 
 minate organization of its several powers. But 
 we are constituent members of a community, in 
 which the highest worth and perfection and hap- 
 piness of the individual free persons composing it, 
 constitutes the highest aim and the perfection of 
 the community as a whole. With us there is 
 nothing so fixed by the forms of political and civil 
 organization, as to obstruct our efforts for pro- 
 moting the full and free developement of all our ^ 
 powers, both individual and social. Indeed, where 
 the principle of self : government is admitted to 
 
608 DEDICATION SERMON. 
 
 y such an extent as it is in this state, there is in fact 
 
 
 
 
 nothing fixed or permanent, but as it is made so 
 by that which is permanent and abiding in the in- 
 telligence and fixed rational principles of action in 
 q the self-governed. The self-preserving principle 
 of our government is to be found only in the con- 
 tinuing determination and unchanging aims of its 
 subjects. Its piinciple of unity exists only in the 
 unity of an all-pervading law of reason and con- 
 science. Our obligation to the state, therefore, 
 as citizens, is simply an obligation, as men, to pre- 
 serve and transmit to our children that condition 
 of society, in which the highest perfection and 
 well-being of the individuals composing it, is iden- 
 tical with the highest aims of the Commonwealth. 
 The rational idea of such a Commonwealth in its 
 full developement, permit me to add, would be 
 realized, where the powers of reason were unfolded 
 in all the members of the community, where all 
 were self-controled by the indwelling law of con- 
 science, and where the personal well-doing and 
 well-being of each results in the harmonious co- 
 agency, the ever-living combined energy and social 
 happiness of all. But this, I am well aware, is 
 an idea which belongs either to poetry or to relig- 
 ion. It can be contemplated only in the ideal 
 creations of the poet, or in the city of God. Let 
 us rather dare, in the power of a Christian's faith 
 and hope, to contemplate the latter ; to look for- 
 ward to the time when, by the free and living 
 energy of that Word which we are privileged to 
 employ, our land shall become indeed the city of 
 
 0/ 
 
DEDICATION SERMON. 609 
 
 God, a mountain of holiness, and a dwelling-place 
 of righteousness. 
 
 If in any way we can be honored and privileged 
 to be co-workers in realizing an idea so far beyond 
 the results of past experience, and the designs or 
 even hopes of the mere politician, it must be chiefly 
 by promoting the cultivation of the community. 
 If we would promote that cultivation in its dis- 
 tinctive and proper sense, as the developement of 
 the truly human in our complex being, it must be 
 chiefly by employing the more than human power 
 and efficiency of divine light and truth. With these, 
 should all our systems of instruction be accompa- 
 nied, and by these should our schools of knowl- 
 edge be always irradiated. It is from a conviction 
 of this truth that the place in which we are assem- 
 bled has been prepared in this institution, and that 
 we have come to consecrate it to the worship of 
 God and the influences of his word. The God 
 who claims our homage, is wonderful in counsel 
 and excellent in working. It is the same God 
 who worketh all in all. Most devoutly then would 
 we invoke his presence ; and most solemnly do \\e 
 consecrate to him and his more immediate service, 
 this place of our daily prayers. May he ever 
 vouchsafe to dwell in it, and make manifest his 
 presence here by the light and power of his word. 
 May those who teach, and those who learn, in this 
 institution, as they assemble here for their morn- 
 ing and evening devotions, receive with meekness 
 the ingrafted word, and be all taught of God. In 
 all the appropriate duties of this place, in the whole 
 77 
 
 / 
 
610 DEDICATION SERMON. 
 
 organization and instruction of this institution, and 
 from year to year and from generation, may the C 
 quickening and elevating and humanizing influ- 
 ences of divine truth be experienced. From this 
 place may a light and power emanate from age to 
 age, pervading and informing the mind of this 
 whole people, raising them from the slavery of 
 ignorance and vice to the freedom of knowledge 
 and virtue, unfolding those powers of their human- 
 ity by which they are most nearly allied to the 
 divine nature, making them capable and worthy 
 of those blessings of liberty which are yet untold, 
 but which God, in his providence, has placed be- 
 fore us and our children. May his light and his 
 truth be sent forth to give power and efficacy to 
 all our institutions and means of improvement, that 
 we may have wisdom and understanding in the 
 sight of the nations, and that a voice as from 
 heaven may be heard saying, Behold the taberna- 
 cle of God is with men, and he will dwell with 
 them, and they shall be his people, and God him- 
 self shall be with them and be their God. 
 
TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 
 
 ON THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE ESSAY 
 STYLE AND THE STYLE OF ORATORY. 
 
 The character of style denoted by the essay 
 style, is not, I believe, very distinctly defined. An 
 essay, according to Johnson's definition, is "a 
 loose sally of the mind, an irregular, indigested 
 piece." The style naturally to be expected in such 
 a production would of course be easy and inarti- 
 ficial, varying with the momentary fluctuations of 
 thought and feeling, as in the essays of Montaigne 
 and Goldsmith. The writer proposes to himself 
 no fixed object, no definite end, to which he shapes 
 his thoughts ; but allows himself to be guided by 
 the natural train of association. The style, con- 
 sequently, adapts itself to the thoughts as they 
 rise. It may be elegant, polished, harmonious, 
 energetic, or sublime ; it may possess all the vari- 
 ety of expression which Cicero would place at the 
 
* 
 
 612 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 
 
 command of his ideal orator ; but that variety is 
 undesigned and casual, not moulded, by the mod- 
 ifying power of the imagination and the regula- 
 tive power of the understanding and will, to a 
 unity of purpose and harmony of effect. All its 
 * movements are prompted from within by the suc- 
 cessive evolutions of thought and feeling, and are 
 in no regard prospective. In this point of view, 
 the essay and the oratorical style differ from each 
 other in a manner very nearly analagous to that 
 which Schlegel, in his " Poesie der Griechen," has 
 pointed out between the Homeric epic and the tragic 
 style. The one is absolutely general and indefi- 
 nite in its aim, seeking only to mould to a harmo- 
 nious form and movement the successive images 
 and feelings, as they present themselves in the 
 mind of the poet ; while in the other, the tragic 
 style, the poet seeks not merely harmonious move- 
 ments, but harmony and absolute unity of effect. 
 He has a fixed object, a definite and preconceived 
 result, to which every thing is made to converge. 
 He aims to make his work an organized and har- 
 monious whole, in which all the parts are modi- 
 fied and assimilated to a coincidence with the 
 ruling spirit and purpose of the whole. If this 
 view of the subject be admitted, it will be mani- 
 fest at once that the characteristic feature of the 
 oratorical style is, not that it employs exclusively 
 or eminently any one of the multiplied forms that 
 succeed each other in the indigested essay, but in 
 that shaping and conformation of the parts to the 
 whole which belongs to it as a work of art, as a 
 
TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 613 
 
 production of creative imagination. In order to 
 render intelligible my views of this peculiarity, I 
 must be allowed to go more at large into the the- 
 ory and some of the fundamental principles of the 
 art. 
 
 It will be seen, from what I have already ob- 
 served, that I consider oratory as belonging to the 
 circle of the arts. As such, it is dependent for its 
 characteristic peculiarities on the same powers of 
 mind, or in the language of Brown, on the same 
 species of mental action, as the dramatic or other 
 forms of poetry. The process of mind which 
 gives to all these their form and colors, is syn- 
 thetic ; and thus contradistinguished from the pro- 
 cess of scientific inquiry, which is analytic. This 
 latter, especially in pure a priori science, is, for the 
 most part, analytic. It begins with separating in- 
 tellectually and classifying ideas that exist in our 
 minds. It is purely an intellectual process ; and 
 not only does not require, but for the time being 
 and in proportion to the degree of its action, is in- 
 compatible with the presence of emotion. The 
 farther and more accurately the distinctions and 
 analysis are pursued, and the less this exercise of 
 the mind is disturbed by the blinding influence of 
 feeling, the more purely and characteristically 
 scientific is the process. I do not mean to be un- 
 derstood as saying that this power of mind, the 
 power of analysis, is unnecessary to the artist. On 
 the contrary, the more penetrating this power is ; 
 the more he analyses to their primary elements the 
 complex ideas and feelings which present them- 
 
 * 
 
614 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 
 
 selves, the more rich and varied will be his mate- 
 rials for accomplishing the reversed and synthetic 
 processes of creative genius. I say only that the 
 creative process of the imagination, which belongs 
 appropriately to the artist, is in itself directly the 
 t * reverse of the other, and that they cannot have a 
 coexistent exercise in the mind. He must dis- 
 solve, diffuse and dissipate ; but it is only in order 
 to his appropriate business as an artist, that he 
 may reproduce what Schiller would call the ele- 
 ments* in new and ideal forms, that the blending 
 and modifying power of the imagination may more 
 easily imprint upon its material its own character, 
 and mould it into its own harmonious creations. 
 A clear apprehension of the generic distinction be- 
 tween these two modes of mental action, I con- 
 ceive to be essential to a right understanding of 
 all that is distinguishing in the productions of 
 the arts, and no less of oratory than of poetry. 
 In their proper place and appropriate exercise, 
 they both belong to the artist ; but in the mode of 
 their operation they are as diverse, and as to the 
 possibility of their co-existent exercise as incompat- 
 ible, as the powers of dissolution and creation, or as 
 the apotheosis of these powers in the Vishnoo and 
 Siva of Hindoo mythology. Analytical specula- 
 tion, with memory and fancy, are necessary to 
 supply him with materials ; but as yet they may 
 be compared to the 'vav\ of the old philosophers, 
 
 * See his piece on the introduction of the Chorus intd the Mod- 
 ern Drama, prefixed to his Braut der Messina. 
 
TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 615 
 
 being without form or quality ; and it is in the 
 exercise of his peculiar synthetic power, that he 
 shapes them into beauty and harmony. It is the 
 creative power of imagination that bodies forth 
 " forms of things unknown, and gives to airy noth- 
 ing a local habitation." 
 
 The exercise of this power not only admits, but 
 presupposes, the existence of emotion in the mind 
 of the artist. I cannot but consider it, indeed, the 
 essential aim of all general arts, not only of ora- 
 tory and poetry, but of the plastic arts, to embody 
 and give expression to feelings, or to those states 
 of mind, which Brown* has classed together under 
 the head of emotions. An excited state of mind, 
 an emotion, whatever its nature may be, not only 
 gives an impulse to the imagination, but is contin- 
 ually present with it, and indeed constitutes per- 
 haps an essential ingredient of its creative energy. 
 It is not necessarily, to be sure, the individual per- 
 sonal feelings of the artist. It may be entirely 
 aloof from every thing personal. It is sufficient for 
 my present purpose to say that it co-exists in the 
 mind with the efforts of creative genius, and that 
 those efforts are employed in clothing it with a 
 body which gives it its appropriate expression. 
 The first process of the artist's power is, to con- 
 ceive that state of mind which he wishes to embody 
 in the materials of his art ; that form of thought or 
 feeling, which he aims to express or to lodge in 
 the minds of others. It is a secondary process to 
 
 * See Brown's chapter on the classification of the powers of 
 mind. Vol. L, p. 259. 
 
t 
 
 616 TRACT OH ELOQUENCE. 
 
 adapt the means to the end, so to embody the 
 primary conception as to give it an exact and per- 
 fect development. A work exhibits the perfection 
 of art, and so is classical, when this latter process 
 is complete, or, in the metaphysics of Coleridge, 
 when the secondary imagination fully and perfectly 
 re-echoes the primary. It is the purpose of these 
 remarks to show what I consider essential to a full 
 understanding of the subject; how the primary 
 conception and main purpose of the artist must 
 necessarily shape and modify the whole, and even 
 the minutest part of his production. In its exter- 
 nal structure and conformation, it must be moulded 
 to the character of the conception, the form which 
 it is designed to embody. I shall not, I hope, be 
 thought to frustrate my own design, if I refer, in 
 order to illustrate my ideas, to the system of phi- 
 losophy to which I have already alluded. The 
 animating and energizing forms of the Peripatetics, 
 as they represent them, have an agency in nature 
 precisely analagous to that which I ascribe to the 
 conceptions or forms of the artist's mind in the 
 productions of art. They consider those forms as 
 living, efficient powers ; and to the diversity of 
 these powers, the diversity of organization in the 
 corporeal world has reference. These organiza- 
 tions are precisely adapted to the forms which 
 they embody, as means to ends. Thus the mild 
 and gentle instincts of the lamb led to an organi- 
 zation suitable to its wants ; the ferocity of the 
 lion, to one alike appropriate ; and every soul, 
 says Aristotle, must have its proper body. The 
 

 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 617 
 
 aptness of this illustration to the plastic arts of 
 painting and sculpture will be obvious at once ; and 
 but little reflection, I think, will be necessary, to 
 see that it applies equally well to those produc- 
 tions in which the poet and the orator embody 
 their ideal creations. Here as well as there, 
 every soul must have its own body. From 
 the simple lyric ode of Anacreon and the 
 sonnet of Petrarch, in which a single and mo- 
 mentary movement of the soul is developed, to the 
 sublime and more varied harmony of the Oedi- 
 pus Tyrannus, and the immensely complicated 
 movements of the Shakspearean drama, and from 
 the brief eloquence of Homer's heroes to that 
 " which thundered over Greece, to Macedon and 
 Artaxerxes' throne," we shall find the same prin- 
 ciple apply. There is the same subordination of 
 the means to the end, and of the parts to the 
 whole. Both the poet and the orator, having 
 once distinctly conceived the things to be ex- 
 pressed, the end to be accomplished, chained every 
 power of the mind strictly to the point. The 
 shaping and modifying power of the imagination, 
 of which I have spoken, was ever active and was 
 everywhere present, raising and depressing to the 
 exact point of appropriateness, every lineament of 
 the organized whole. Every part was so arranged 
 as to give the highest possible unity to the struc- 
 ture, and harmony to the result. It is very much 
 to my point here, that Cicero*, in the work of his 
 old age, has referred to the inventive power, not 
 
 * See his Dialogue de partitione oratoria ; c. 1. 
 
 78 
 
618 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 
 
 the discovery only, but the collocation both of 
 things and words. By that secondary exercise of 
 the imagination, they must all be placed and mod- 
 ified with a reference to the whole. 
 
 Both the votaries and the critics of ancient art, 
 were equally nice in regard to the exact appropri- 
 ateness of language and imagery to the form and 
 degree of emotion to be expressed. The to Trpenov 
 was with them a thing all important. This was 
 the point in which, by the consent of antiquity, 
 Demosthenes far surpassed all his competitors. 
 The means, the instruments of his art, were so 
 perfectly at his command, that he not only expres- 
 sed every form and degree of emotion, but ex- 
 pressed them in language exactly fitted to them, 
 and without ever violating the strictest propriety. 
 Thus Hermogenes,* in describing the style adapt- 
 ed to the multiplied characters, or forms of emo- 
 tion, which he considers the elements of an ora- 
 tion, as well as in the account of that mixture and 
 blending of them which constitutes the harmony 
 and perfection of the combined whole, constantly 
 refers to Demosthenes as the perfect model in all. 
 All superfluity of language or imagery, all that was 
 above or beyond the exact requirements of the 
 thing to be expressed, was banished from the style 
 of Demosthenes ; and if Cicero sometimes over- 
 stepped the modesty of nature in his youth, he 
 lamented and corrected his errors in riper years. 
 It was not the partial splendor and pomp of single 
 passages, which the ancient artists aimed at, but 
 
 * See his book De formis oratoriis, passim. 
 
TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 619 
 
 the grand and combined effect of the whole. A 
 French dramatist or orator seeks to be clapped 
 and applauded at every paragraph or every line ; 
 while the genuine artist would be filled with indig- 
 nation at so absurd a discord in the deep and har- 
 monious movement which he was laboring to im- 
 part to the minds of his audience. It may be 
 inferred from what I have already said, that I con- 
 ceive it to be the business of the orator, as well as 
 of the dramatist, to impart such movement to the 
 minds of his audience, and not only to impart but 
 to preserve it unbroken ; to introduce nothing so 
 directly and purely speculative and analytical* as 
 
 * Here the distinction between science and oratory cannot be 
 too carefully observed. Thus Aristotle makes a distinction be- 
 tween him who seeks what is persuasive as an orator, and him 
 who seeks abstract truth. Rhetoric, he says, teaches to present 
 an enthymematic view of a subject, but to present it in a way 
 fitted to persuade. The orator reasons and uses both kinds of 
 logic, the inductive and syllogistic ; but he uses them in a form 
 peculiar to himself: not in that in which the simple inquirer after 
 truth uses them. An example is a rhetorical induction, and an 
 enthymeme a rhetorical syllogism. So the logic of rhetoric differs 
 from that of science, and assumes a form capable of falling in 
 with and increasing the current of passion. So we find it in the 
 great masters of Greek and Roman eloquence. In his oration for 
 the crown, Demosthenes must have had as cumbrous a satchel 
 as any bearer of the green bag in our courts of law. He brings 
 forward a great mass of testimonies, written and oral laws of 
 Athens, decrees of foreign towns and of the Amphictyonic coun- 
 cil, and records of history, all exhibited and discussed with the 
 utmost force and clearness. But through the whole process, there 
 is an under-current and moving power of passion and eloquence 
 that carries us forward to a final and unavoidable result. It is as 
 though we were embarked upon a mighty river. All is animation 
 and energy around, and we gaze with a momentary reverie upon 
 the deep and transparent waters beneath. But even while we 
 admire, the current grows deeper and deeper, and we are 
 
620 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 
 
 to be incompatible with its existence, and so dis- 
 turb and interrupt the impulse that should be 
 given. Thus, of the four parts into which Cicero 
 divides an oration, he has appropriated the first and 
 the last especially to the communication of an im- 
 pulse to the minds of the audience (ad impellendos 
 animos). The narrative and argumentative parts 
 that intervene, go to substantiate and realize the 
 movement already given. 
 
 Thus far, I have purposely classed oratory and 
 some other forms of art together, and have treated 
 of them only in regard to those principles which, 
 from the general and essential nature of the arts, 
 they possess in common. But there is one point, 
 in which oratory is not only distinguished, but con- 
 tradistinguished, from those to which I have al- 
 luded. I mean, the nature of the faith which it 
 requires, and the consequent nature of the effect 
 produced. The work of the dramatist is profess- 
 edly ideal ; and we require of him, as the condi- 
 tions of submitting to the effects which he would 
 produce, only a dramatic probability, and a har- 
 mony and unity of parts conformable to the natu- 
 ral and necessary principles of the art. He does 
 not ask us to be awake and believe ; but if he per- 
 form these conditions, we voluntarily surrender 
 ourselves to illusion, and indulge in a waking 
 dream. We suffer his magic power to transport us 
 now to Athens, and now to Thebes ; and to stir 
 up every emotion of our souls, for the mere pleas- 
 
 unconsciously hurried onward with increasing and irresistible 
 power. 
 
TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 621 
 
 lire with which he repays us. But then, in this 
 case, "our judgment," to use the words of an- 
 other, " is all the time behind the curtain, ready 
 to awake us at the first motion of our will." We 
 submit to the power of the artist, just so long as 
 his pageantry suits our convenience or our pleas- 
 ure ; and then we dissolve the charm, and step out 
 of his magic circle. 
 
 The orator makes no such contract with the 
 judgments of his audience, nor suffers them to 
 make it. What is professedly ideal in the crea- 
 tions of the dramatist, is substantiated and real- 
 ized in those of the orator, by the power of the 
 understanding. Every part of his work must 
 bear the impression of truth and soberness ; and, 
 instead of soliciting the voluntary and negative as- 
 sent, command the positive and involuntary con- 
 viction of the audience. He must lodge his pro- 
 positions firmly within the intrenchments of our 
 reason and judgment, before we surrender our- 
 selves fully to the movement that he requires of us. 
 Till our understandings are taken captive, we with- 
 hold the homage of our hearts. Thus, in Cicero's 
 division, he has appropriated the second and third, 
 the narrative and demonstrative parts of an ora- 
 tion, to the conviction of the understanding, ad 
 faciendam fidem ; that the audience may thus ad- 
 mit and follow on the impulse and direction given 
 in the first. The conviction must not only be 
 awakened, but continued unbroken, that what we 
 listen to, is not merely dramatic but absolute truth. 
 We must be convinced, too, that the orator be- 
 
622 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 
 
 lieves it, and is the subject of the emotions that 
 he would awaken in us. In short, we must be 
 out of the ideal world altogether, and in that real 
 world where there is no illusion. If he seeks to 
 move our passions without first persuading us that 
 he does it on just and true grounds, he confounds 
 two acts that are essentially distinguished. It was 
 on this ground that Aristotle* found fault with the 
 rhetoricians who preceded him. By teaching 
 their orators to move the passions, without teach- 
 ing them how to discover what was fitted to per- 
 suade and convince, they made them mere theat- 
 rical stage-players. Again, we must be convinced 
 that truth, or rather an effect founded in truth, is 
 the sincere and only aim of the orator. To this, 
 as the form which he is embodying, every thing 
 must be strictly and entirely subordinated. The 
 least overstepping of the vanity of art, or of self- 
 display, is like the tongue of flame and the serpent 
 eyes in Christabel ; it reveals to us the withering 
 secret, that we are the silly dupes of the artist. 
 This, from the representation of all the rhetori- 
 cians who have given an account of them, was, as 
 might from the nature of the case have been ex- 
 pected, " the main head of their offending," who 
 first taught and practiced oratory as an art in 
 Greece. They became so vain of the art, as to 
 make the display of it their main object. They 
 forgot to subordinate it, as they should have done, 
 as means to an end ; and so degenerated them to 
 what Plato has denominated them, to men Xoyo- 
 
 * See his Ars Rhetorica, cap. I. 
 
TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 623 
 
 BaiduKot. The consequences were sach as might be 
 expected. The auditors listened to their produc- 
 tions as specimens of only ingenious, artificial dis- 
 play. Thus the paranomasia, the antithesis and 
 finely-balanced sentences of Gorgias, the rhythm- 
 ical cadences of Theodorus and Thrasymachus, 
 and the rich and varied rhetorical artifices,* pom- 
 pse quam pugnae aptius, which Isocrates was so 
 fond of displaying in his younger, but which he 
 abandoned in his riper years, were all heard, not 
 for the sober truth they conveyed, but, like the 
 exhibitions of the theatre, for the mere gratifica- 
 tion of the fancy and the ear.f Even Plato is se- 
 verely criticised by Dionysius, t not only for his 
 dithyrambics, but fo^ his labored antitheses ; and 
 the great prince of orators, Demosthenes, first 
 learned to use the artifices of the middle style 
 without ever abusing them. 
 
 * So Quintilian, palaestrae quam pugna magis accommodatus. 
 
 t The style of eloquence here described had its origin in the 
 Greek colonies of Magna ami Grecia, or perhaps rather with Era- 
 pedocles, who taught rhetoric in Sicily 444, B. C. Lyscias and 
 Corax, however, are generally allowed (see Quin. B. 3. C. 1. and 
 others) to have been the first who laid down rules for it. These 
 were followed by Gorgias of Leontium, a scholar, as it is thought, 
 says Quintilian, of Empedocles. They taught and had followers 
 in Athens and other parts of Greece. Gorgias taught also in 
 Thessaly and other places. But the strength and energy of Athe- 
 nian eloquence had a different origin. It was born amid the con- 
 tentions and revolutions of that free republic, and nourished in the 
 assemblies of the Athenians. Pericles and Cimon were not in- 
 debted to the western rhetoricians for the power that swayed 
 those turbulent mobs. Demosthenes owed to them his art, but his 
 sublime power and energy was of Athenian and republican growth. 
 
 J De ad miranda vi dicendi in Demosthene, cap. 23 24. 
 
624 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 
 
 Many of the preceding remarks, I may be allow- 
 ed to say, apply with full force to the style of com- 
 position and the effect of sermons. The basis of 
 all sound eloquence, at least of all that is appro- 
 priately such, is the truth of Scripture, the author- 
 ity of revelation. The whole superstructure must 
 stand, and be seen by the hearer to stand, on that 
 immovable foundation. If room is left in the in- 
 terpretation, or the argument, to throw in a doubt, 
 or a query, it is so much clear loss to the eloquence 
 of the production. If it is to be highly splendid 
 and poetical, I may, if I choose, voluntarily surren- 
 der myself to the illusion, and enjoy the loveliness 
 of the song, but both the production and my own 
 mind, in that case, entirely change their condition. 
 That is no longer eloquence ; and it is no longer 
 my conscience that is addressed. I remember, for 
 example, reading, not long since, a splendid ser- 
 mon of one of our most popular New England 
 divines. The language was eloquent, and the 
 theory magnificent, but he had not secured his out- 
 works. My judgment stuck at this interpretation, 
 and I wrote Ichabod upon the sermon ; for its 
 glory had departed. In such cases the merit of a 
 work, as a mere production of imagination, is not 
 altered, but we must prize and enjoy it in a char- 
 acter entirely different from that which it was in- 
 tended to possess. Jeremy Taylor has much 
 poetry, where we could wish there had been elo- 
 quence ; and the sublime and magnificent concep- 
 tions of the Theoria Sacra of Burnet, though de- 
 signed to be eloquent, are now read only as poetry. 
 
TRACT OH ELOQUENCE. 625 
 
 Notwithstanding, then, all that has been and may 
 be said of the deadening influence of a critical 
 system of interpretation, it is a necessary and in- 
 dispensable prerequisite to all genuine pulpit elo- 
 quence.* 
 
 From all this, I gather the full conviction that 
 it is not so easy a matter as we may have been led 
 to imagine, to acquire the style and the art of ora- 
 tory. It is not true that the mere purpose, blind 
 and headlong as it generally is, will make man elo- 
 
 * Strictly speaking, the orator needs only to produce conviction 
 in his audience, by whatever means. If he succeeds in doing it 
 with false interpretations and inconclusive reasoning, he is in- 
 debted to the incapacity of his audience, and not to his- own wis- 
 dom. The degree of critical accuracy, therefore, necessary to the 
 effect, will depend very much on the character of the audience. 
 Though the theory of eloquence developed in the text is there ap. 
 applied only cursorily to the eloquence of the pulpit, it is believed 
 that it actually applies in nearly its whole extent, and that to fill 
 the perfect ideal indeed of sacred eloquence on any principles of art, 
 is far more difficult than to fill even the " aures avidaB et capaces " 
 of Cicero himself. To sustain the impassioned and divine enthu- 
 siasm of St. Paul, and clothe it in forms of human language and 
 human art, requires the learning and inspiration of Paul. What 
 is said in the text of the variety and extent of the requisite 
 qualifications for an orator, also, might be defended at any length 
 in its application to the sacred orator. The following brief sum- 
 mary is from the Ecclesiastes of Erasmus, a work more worthy 
 the attention of the student, and certainly more capable of inspir- 
 ing him with enthusiasm, than those most likely to fall into his 
 hands : quisquis praeparat huic tarn excellenti muneri, multis qui- 
 dem rebus instructus sit oportet, sacrorum voluminum recondita 
 intelligentia, multa scripturarum exercitatione, varia doctorum dic- 
 tione, judicio sano, prudentia non vulgari, sereno fortique animo, 
 praeceptis usuque dicendi, et parata lingua? copia, qua dicendum 
 est apud multitudinem, aliaque, quse suo loco commemorabimus ; 
 mea tamen sententia, nihil illi prius aut majori studio curandum 
 est, qui tam excellenti muneri sese praeparat, quam ut cor, orationis 
 fontem, quam purgatissimum reddai. 
 
 79 *> 
 
 I 
 
B26 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 
 
 quent. The ignorant wish for the power, with 
 the design of attaining some sinister and forcing 
 purpose by the use of it, will never lead to the 
 acquisition. Students are told, for example, that 
 they must be orators, that it is absolutely necessa- 
 ry to be orators, that their reputation depends on 
 it, that learning is useless without eloquence, &c. 
 So they resolve to be orators, they read or hear 
 the story of Demosthenes, of the letter ?, and the 
 pebbles ; that action is the first thing, the second 
 thing, yea, and the third thing ; and then they go 
 and act, and pronounce their words trippingly on 
 the tongue. But pray, what has all this to do with 
 the eloquence of Demosthenes ? Before we are 
 worthy to name that eloquence, we must have 
 learned and habituated ourselves more " deeply 
 to drink in the soul of things," and raise to " lof- 
 tier heights our intellectual soul." We must learn 
 in idea what eloquence is, and have imbibed a 
 genial love for it, before we are prepared for its at- 
 tainment. There must be enthusiasm ; the whole 
 power of the mind must be enlisted, and the soul 
 must be all a-glow with that aliquid immensum 
 infinitumque, which inspired the youthful ardor of 
 Cicero, and, after reducing him to the brink of the 
 grave, raised him to the summit of human glory.* 
 
 * Since writing the above, I have fallen upon the following pas- 
 sage in Quintilian : " We are apt to cloak our indolence under 
 the pretext of difficulty, for we are not very fond of fatigue. It 
 generally happens that professors of eloquence court her for vile 
 purposes and mercenary ends, and not because of her own tran- 
 scendent worth and matchless beauty. I desire my work may be 
 read by none who shall sit down and make an estimate of the 
 
TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 627 
 
 With such a preparation, we may begin to advance 
 in the path of genuine eloquence. But O, even 
 then, though we might utter our most fervent uti- 
 nam that it were otherwise, we shall find it no bus- 
 iness of a man's leisure hours, no holiday sport, to be 
 an orator, and a true one. The necessary requisites 
 are too various and too great to be thus attained. 
 The diversified powers of language, and the Pro- 
 teus versatility of style, which Dionysius * has 
 described by a dozen and a half of successive epi- 
 thets, as the style of Demosthenes, and which 
 formed so essential a qualification of Cicero's ideal, 
 is not the accomplishment of a day. Even in the 
 imperfect degree to which, by his own confession, 
 Cicero had attained it, but on which he valued 
 himself so highly, it cost him long and unremitting 
 labor, f We need but to study his conception of 
 a perfect orator, or even the account of his own 
 studies, to feel our littleness. { The laborious 
 pursuit of dialectics and philosophy, the daily re- 
 peated and never ceasing efforts of the voice 
 and the pen, under the best masters, in Latin and 
 in Greek, at Rome, at Athens, in Asia and at 
 Rhodes, omnia sine remissione, sine varietate, vi 
 summa vocis, et totius corporis contentione, omni 
 
 expense of time and application. But give me the reader who 
 figures in his mind the idea of eloquence all divine, as she is ; who 
 with Euripides gazes upon her all-subduing charms ; who seeks 
 not his reward from the venal fees for his voice, but from that 
 reflection, that imagination, that perfection of mind, which time 
 cannot destroy, nor fortune affect. See at the end of B. 1. 
 
 * De admiranda vi dicendi in Demosthene, cap. 8. 
 
 f Orator. 
 
 t Brutus, cap. 9193. 
 
628 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 
 
 genere exercitationis, turn maxime stilo, such are 
 the means to which the Roman orator submitted 
 to attain the object of his love. We can never 
 hope to attain it by efforts less varied and labori- 
 ous. The study of that technical and analyzing 
 species of criticism and rhetoric, which concerns 
 itself only with the external dress of oratory, with- 
 out communicating its spirit, can never make us 
 eloquent. We might study such works as that 
 ascribed to Demetrius Phalarius, and labor through 
 all the minutiae of rhetorical figures and elocution, 
 till our gray hairs told us what we should soon 
 enough learn, that art is long and life is short. It 
 is the most eloquent lesson they will ever teach 
 us. We must begin, where Aristotle and Cicero 
 direct us to begin, with the knowledge of things. 
 We must have eloquence of soul, before we have 
 eloquence of tongue. If we would speak in the 
 language of Demosthenes, we must learn habitu- 
 ally to breathe his spirit. We must read his works 
 till we love them, and then study them with the 
 intensity which they deserve. We must read 
 them till we catch the fire that lives and burns in 
 his eloquent pages. For it is only by the habit- 
 ual and yearning contemplation of the great mas- 
 ters of eloquence in the magnificent proportion of 
 their own monuments, that we can hope to attain 
 a sympathy with their minds. We must be con- 
 tent to rise step by step, with a humble but upward 
 and ardent gaze, till they unroll around us their 
 mighty gradations, "and growing with their 
 growth, we thus dilate " " our spirits to the size 
 of that they contemplate." 
 
TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 
 
 [Read before an Association of Ministers, 1837.] 
 
 IS IT EXPEDIENT TO EMPLOY EVANGEL- 
 ISTS IN CHURCHES FURNISHED WITH 
 THE STATED AND ORDINARY MEANS 
 OF RELIGIOUS INSTRUCTION? 
 
 la treating of this question, I shall inquire, to 
 some extent, into the purpose of the stated min- 
 istry, and its relation to the church and the com- 
 munity ; and then point out some of the effects to 
 be apprehended from the introduction of a distinct 
 class of religious teachers, such as we understand 
 by the term Evangelists in the question before us. 
 
 I. What, then, in the first place, is the proper 
 function of the established and regular ministry, in 
 its relation to the church and to the community at 
 large ? 
 
 The general answer, of course, is, that they are 
 appointed to preach the gospel and administer the 
 
 * 
 
630 TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 
 
 ordinances of the gospel. They are set apart as 
 a distinct body of men, necessary to the ends 
 which God in his word and in his providence pre- 
 scribes. But why necessary ; and what are the quali- 
 fications which are to distinguish them from other 
 christians, and on account of which the necessity 
 for them exists ? Obviously, they are required to 
 have a knowledge of divine truth, an intellectual 
 insight into spiritual things, a systematic and com- 
 prehensive acquaintance with all that is necessary 
 for the right and the effectual teaching of divine 
 truth and the application of the word and power 
 of the Gospel to the minds of men, which does 
 not belong and is not expected to belong to other 
 men. They are the appointed, and, if they are 
 what they ought to be, the divinely appointed and 
 authorized spiritual guides and guardians of the 
 flock. It is their business and their duty to be 
 thoroughly instructed in the things pertaining to 
 the kingdom of God, and able to teach others 
 whatever is necessary to their salvation. There 
 is a kind of knowledge requisite to fit them for 
 their duty, which is not necessary to the private 
 christian in order for his salvation. They must 
 have a theoretical and speculative and a systematic 
 knowledge of those truths which need only be 
 known practically and in their immediate relation to 
 the individual conscience, in order to have a saving 
 efficacy for the individual. Take, for example, 
 the doctrine of original sin. It is only necessary 
 for the individual, in order to its practical effect on 
 himself, to admit, with an inward undoubting con- 
 
 l 
 
.*. 
 
 TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 631 
 
 viction of its truth, the fact that he is a guilty, 
 self-ruined and helpless sinner, all whose thoughts 
 and purposes are evil ; and that in Christ alone is 
 his help and the power to overcome evil. The more 
 simplicity, the more immediate and unquestioning 
 assurance there is in the reception of this fact on 
 the simple authority of conscience, the less of 
 speculation and of speculative doubt about it, the 
 better for the ends of the gospel in the application 
 of all its truths. So, generally, the more the 
 minds of those whom we would save by the word 
 and spirit of the gospel are kept to the plain and 
 simple practical application of the truth to the 
 conscience, the more they can feel that it is purely 
 a matter between God and their own hearts, and 
 their minds kept free from doubtful and agitating 
 questions, either about essential truths and duties 
 or about matters in themselves indifferent, the bet- 
 ter is the opportunity of the preacher to bring 
 home the gospel to the heart with power and the 
 Holy Ghost and an elevating and transforming ef- 
 ficacy. But how is this simplicity of mind, this 
 humble and undoubting reception of the funda- 
 mental truths and principles necessary to the sav- 
 ing efficacy of the gospel in the heart and con- 
 science of the private individual, to be secured ? 
 By the supposition, and from the nature of the 
 case, it cannot be the result of speculation in the 
 great mass of the people. It must be from the 
 immediate agency of reason and conscience, en- 
 lightened and actuated by the Word and Spirit of 
 God ; and it is the business of the ministry to 
 
 it 
 
632 TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 
 
 know how to apply the rightly understood and in- 
 terpreted words of divine truth so as to produce 
 this result ; and instead of goading the people into 
 speculative difficulties and doubts, to aid their con- 
 sciences, and be co-workers with the Spirit of God 
 in bringing them into practical obedience to the 
 truth. But what will be the result, if there be no 
 settled and consistent system of instruction on the 
 part of those who are looked to as spiritual guides ; 
 but if, on the contrary, the effect of their teaching 
 is to turn away the minds of the people from the 
 immediate truths of reason and conscience, those, 
 I mean, which the unsophisticated practical reason 
 and conscience of all men will approve, and to 
 lead them into speculations beyond their depth, 
 and the exercise of a faculty which they are un- 
 qualified to employ on subjects of a spiritual kind ? 
 Will it not tend to unsettle their conviction of es- 
 sential and fundamental truths which immediately 
 and practically concern their own inward being, 
 and unfit them for being benefitted by the simple 
 preaching of the gospel ? 
 
 The clergy, then, the stated and established min- 
 istry, I maintain, must be, in order to the accom- 
 plishment of the purpose for which they were 
 appointed, a body set apart by their knowledge 
 and ministerial qualifications, and recognized and 
 respected by the people, as guides and teachers in 
 spiritual things. They must, as a body, respect 
 and govern themselves, with all humility, indeed, 
 as the servants of Christ, and with a deep sense of 
 their responsibility as the guides of the flock and 
 
TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 633 
 
 instructers of the ignorant, but without losing sight 
 of their place and office in the church. It is their 
 duty to be guides ; to understand many things 
 speculatively, which can be taught to the people at 
 large only practically, and so far as they practical- 
 ly affect their hearts and consciences. How can 
 they perform the duties for which they are set 
 apart and ought to be qualified, if they yield, on 
 all occasions, to those who are unqualified to act 
 upon them, the decision of those very questions 
 which they have themselves been specially quali- 
 fied to act upon and decide ? How can they shift 
 off the responsibility which, by virtue of their 
 office, devolves upon them, without a dereliction of 
 their most solemn duty ? As a distinct body hold- 
 ing this common relation to the church of which 
 they are ministers, they ought to agree together in 
 regard to the great and fundamental doctrines 
 which they preach, and in regard to the measures 
 which they adopt for the promotion of the interests 
 of truth and the well-being of the church of God. 
 They ought, as a body of qualified spiritual guides 
 and teachers, to settle among themselves all those 
 doubtful questions which they are supposed quali- 
 fied to understand and decide, but which, from the 
 nature of the case, the people at large cannot un- 
 derstand, and therefore cannot decide aright. They 
 must be responsible to each other and to the eccle- 
 siastical bodies in which they are united, and 
 must, I say, in order to the best practical effect of 
 their ministrations, understand and maintain this 
 common relation to the people of their care ; nor is 
 80 
 
634 TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 
 
 it possible for them in any other way to discharge 
 the trust committed to their hands. Such was the 
 purpose of ecclesiastical organization, in all the dif- 
 ferent denominations of Christians which would be 
 regarded as of any authority here. What else is 
 the proper end of our organization in this body, 
 but to secure unity of action and agreement among 
 ourselves in doctrine and in practice, so far as re- 
 gards the relation we hold to the church and the 
 modes we adopt for advancing the cause of truth? 
 What can be expected as to the practical advance- 
 ment of religion in the churches and among those 
 who are to be taught and guided, when the guides 
 are at variance, and lead in different and opposite 
 directions? It is unquestionably a matter of the 
 highest import, that the clergy, at least of the same 
 denomination, understand each other, and be re- 
 sponsible to each other for unity of action, in regard 
 to all those matters which it is their proper busi- 
 ness to examine and decide. It is important, and 
 a part of their responsible and especial duty, to 
 keep from the people all those agitating questions 
 which the people cannot act upon intelligently, and 
 leave their minds, as far as possible, unexcited by 
 them. In this case, a body of clergy, such as they 
 ought to be, truly reverend for their upright and holy 
 conversation, their sound knowledge and wisdom, 
 standing forth as the ministers, and speaking as 
 becomes the oracles of God, will be revered by the 
 great body of the people, and will have with them 
 that spiritual authority which will prepare their 
 minds to receive with simplicity and meekness the 
 
TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 635 
 
 ingrafted word ; to apply it practically and imme- 
 diately to their own consciences, with all its reno- 
 vating and redeeming power. 
 
 Now let us suppose a body of clergy aiming at 
 or having attained this position in relation to the 
 church and people of their care ; responsible to 
 and watchful over each other, as brethren ; under- 
 standing the principles upon which they act, and 
 working together in the same spirit, for the same 
 end. Suppose this as that which either is, or 
 ought to be the fact ; and then I am prepared to 
 show, in part at least, in the second place, my 
 views of the probable, or at least possible, effect of 
 the present mode of employing evangelists. 
 
 1. They may come into their sphere of action 
 from a distance, authorized to preach by they 
 know not whom, and wholly irresponsible to them 
 as a body. In this case, so far as they have any 
 settled and understood principles of action for the 
 promotion of religion, they are liable to be broken 
 in upon, and the minds of the people turned away 
 from the practical application of truth to their own 
 consciences, to the consideration of the changes 
 made, and the debating of questions which belong 
 not to them, and which they are unqualified to un- 
 derstand. All the advantages of union and con- 
 sistency among themselves are lost, and the peo- 
 ple are agitated by matters that belong to the 
 clergy. The whole purpose of ecclesiastical or- 
 ganization is prostrated ; the clergy appear before 
 the people, at variance among themselves ; and 
 even supposing the diversity to be incidental, and 
 
636 TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 
 
 of little moment in itself, it tends to direct the 
 attention to other things than those which imme- 
 diately and practically affect the heart. 
 
 2. They may more directly interfere with the 
 relation subsisting between the established body 
 or clergy and the people of their charge. I have 
 said that this relation ought to be, and must be in 
 order to its proper end, one of watchful superin- 
 tendance and guidance and spiritual authority on 
 the one side, and of confiding and reverential do- 
 cility on the other. This is liable to be broken 
 up, by a course that withdraws confidence from the 
 established clergy in regard to those very ques- 
 tions which it is their business and duty to settle, 
 and teaches the people to judge and decide for 
 themselves what they are wholly unqualified to 
 determine. When this is done, it has precisely the 
 same effect in the church, which the prevailing 
 radicalism of the day has in politics. It puffs up 
 the ignorant and inexperienced with a vain confi- 
 dence in their own understandings or their own 
 fancied experience in spiritual things, and leads 
 them to undervalue, perhaps to censure and deride, 
 those to whom they ought to look up with humil- 
 ity and reverence. It leads them to engage in 
 speculations wholly beyond their reach, from want 
 of discrimination to confound truth with falsehood, 
 to unsettle all fixed principles in their minds, to 
 make them regardless of the most sacred distinc- 
 tions between truth and falsehood, and leave them 
 the sport of every new doctrine, or the dupes of 
 every new form of fanaticism. This is the case 
 
TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 637 
 
 not only in regard to individuals, but to churches. 
 They become broken off from the ministry which 
 God has ordained, and heap to themselves teach- 
 ers who will flatter their self-confidence and be 
 governed by their ignorant and delusive notions. 
 Again, by seducing the churches from their proper 
 relation to their spiritual guides, it tends to seduce 
 from the truth and from the plain path of duty the 
 clergy themselves. It places them under the 
 strongest temptation to yield up their own princi- 
 ples and those of the order to which they belong, 
 to place knowledge under the control of ignorance, 
 and to subject the established order of the gospel 
 to the caprice of self-willed arrogance and pre- 
 sumption. It leads to the habit of referring to 
 laymen, and to those necessarily ignorant of the 
 matter, subjects and questions which belong pro- 
 perly to the clergy, and ought to be decided in 
 ecclesiastical bodies. In a word, it tends directly 
 and inevitably to strip the clergy of all their right- 
 ful prerogatives, held as they are, too, and delegated 
 solely for the benefit of the church. In other 
 words, the clergy are led to yield that which it is 
 their solemn duty to retain, and responsibly to 
 exercise for the end for which they were qualified 
 and put into the ministry. 
 
 3. From the nature of the case, where the 
 church is thus seduced from its confidence in the 
 established clergy, we are exposed to the incur- 
 sion of evangelists who are themselves wandering 
 stars, undeserving of personal confidence, and from 
 their erratic character irresponsible to any ecclesi- 
 
638 TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 
 
 astical body ; ignorant, conceited and fanatical. 
 Such an one, with his petty scheme of empiricism, 
 with a boastful proclamation of his numberless 
 conversions and testimonies to their genuineness, 
 like a medical empiric with his marvellous cures 
 and long list of certificates, and with the same 
 want of discrimination both as to the nature of 
 the disease and the employment of the rightful 
 remedies, with the same self-complacency as to 
 the superiority and wonderful effects of his own 
 petty inventions, the same contemptuous treat- 
 ment of those who profess to have any other and 
 better knowledge, and still farther, with the same 
 cautious avoidance of that inspection or publicity 
 which might perchance expose his shallowness, 
 will yet find admittance into our churches, break 
 up all established order, degrade and disgrace the 
 services of the sanctuary, diffuse a spirit of fanati- 
 cism within the church, and of contemptuous infi- 
 delity without, and then leave the tumult of dis- 
 order to settle as it may, while he practises the 
 same arts in other regions, with the same lamenta- 
 ble and disastrous results. 
 
 How different is all this from the calm and si- 
 lent, but laborious and persevering inculcation of 
 the truth, by a learned, a wise, a holy and revered 
 body of men, in whom the people confide, and 
 from whom, with docility, with simplicity and 
 meekness, they receive the ingrafted word, which 
 is able to save their souls ! And how vastly differ- 
 ent is the result upon the intellectual, the moral 
 and spiritual character of the community at large ; 
 
TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 639 
 
 upon the order and decency, the dignity and pro- 
 priety, the purity and sacredness, of all the minis- 
 trations of religion ! Yet, as evangelism is now 
 conducted, it cannot consist with that relation be- 
 tween the people and the ministry of the gospel 
 which is essential to this state of things, and to the 
 best interests of the church. Its tendency is to 
 disorder and irregularity, to the discredit of sound 
 and healthful instruction, to the dishonoring of the 
 Word and Spirit of God, and to the substitution 
 of the devices of the human understanding and of 
 men; will-worship for that worship which is in 
 spirit and in truth. I would not charge upon this 
 alone, by any means, all the evils which exist in 
 the moral and spiritual condition of our churches. 
 But I maintain, that the more superficial, the more 
 dead to spiritual things, the more in need our 
 churches are of a true and genuine reviving of the 
 power and graces of the Spirit, the more danger is 
 to be apprehended from the employment in them 
 of eccentric and self-confident and irresponsible 
 men. The excitement so produced is not the 
 awakening they need, and only aggravates the dis- 
 ease it is intended to cure. There is no cure for 
 it, but the patient and laborious and persevering 
 application of the truth, in its nakedness and sim- 
 plicity, to the hearts and consciences of men, by 
 a ministry whom they know ; in whose simplicity 
 and honesty and godly sincerity they confide ; by 
 men who have renounced the hidden things of dis- 
 honesty, not walking in craftiness, nor handling 
 the word of God deceitfully ; but, by manifesta- 
 
 w 
 
f 
 
 640 TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 
 
 tion of the truth, commending themselves to every 
 man's conscience in the sight of God. By such a 
 ministry, as the appointed and authorized instru- 
 ments of and co-workers with the Spirit of God, 
 the churches may be truly revived, so as to become 
 not revival but living churches, and be no longer 
 exposed to that " sad mixture of fanaticism and 
 knavish imposture " into which the " art of revi- 
 val-making " is ready to degenerate, in the pres- 
 ent mode of getting up and " conducting " and 
 " managing " revivals. 
 
 From these considerations, it seems to me per- 
 fectly clear, that it will always be unsafe to em- 
 ploy evangelists at all in the way in which it is 
 now done, out of the sphere of the ecclesiastical 
 bodies with which they are properly connected and 
 to which they are responsible. If they are em- 
 ployed in any way, the nature of the case seems 
 to dictate that it be only in correspondence and in 
 unison with their own association or presbytery, 
 and within their proper limits. Under such lim- 
 itations, they may, perhaps, be employed in the 
 destitute churches, and be occasional helpers of 
 those who are in the more stated labors of a set- 
 tled pastor, without danger of disruption and the 
 many evils which attend the course of an erratic 
 and transcendent evangelist. 
 
 These views I value chiefly as assigning, accord- 
 ing to my humble estimate, their proper and right- 
 ful place and dignity and spiritual authority, in re- 
 lation to the church and the world, to the regular 
 and established clergy. This is the position, 
 
TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 641 
 
 which, according to divine appointment, and in 
 view of the best interests of the church, they un- 
 questionably ought to hold ; and whatever inter- 
 feres with and dissolves this relation between them 
 and the people, is both inexpedient and wrong. 
 An established ministry, qualified for their place 
 and performing their duties as becomes their sa- 
 cred office, deserving the respect and the confi- 
 dence of the people by all those qualifications 
 which belong to their high and responsible station, 
 are entitled to that confidence, and may rightfully, 
 nay, must, under the highest responsibility, exer- 
 cise those prerogatives with which they are in- 
 vested, as the shepherds of the flock. To what 
 end are the schools of the prophets, and all that 
 laborious discipline, by which, as a matter of duty, 
 the minister of God prepares himself, with the aid 
 of God's grace and the teachings of his Spirit, for 
 the discharge of his high trust, if his judgment is 
 to be yielded on all subjects to untaught ignorance 
 or presumptuous folly ? To what purpose are our 
 associations and conventions, our ministerial inter- 
 course and our talk of the vast responsibility that 
 rests upon us as having the care of souls, if, after 
 all, every question that we are to decide, individ- 
 ually or collectively, may be decided for us by 
 those who feel no responsibility, and have never 
 qualified themselves for the task ? No, brethren ; 
 we cannot divest ourselves of our responsibility. 
 He who is ordained to the care of souls, is and 
 must be responsible for the doctrines which are 
 preached in his pulpit ; for the measures, whether 
 81 
 

 * 
 
 642 TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 
 
 of order or confusion, that attend, under his 
 charge, the ministrations of the sanctuary. He is 
 bound to see that nothing be there taught or done, 
 inconsistent with the established doctrines or or- 
 derly ministrations of the ministerial brotherhood 
 to which he belongs, and with whom he is a co- 
 worker, in the unity of the faith and in the order 
 of the gospel. On this ground alone can there be 
 any unity, or the existence and continuance of that 
 relation of the ministry to the church, which is 
 indispensably necessary to the performance of 
 duty, on the one side, and the reception of the ap- 
 pointed blessing, on the other. The manifold 
 blessings flowing to the church and the world, from 
 a ministry thus qualified, thus organized, thus re- 
 sponsible, can never be secured by the labor of 
 irresponsible and irregular dispensers of truth or 
 error, as the case may be ; and when its ends are 
 frustrated by such men, no power on earth can 
 remedy, no human wisdom foresee, the evils that 
 must be the inevitable result. 
 
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