Strongest where it might be least expected.—It has been frequently observed, by those who have made human nature their study, that the patriotic feeling is not confined to the inhabitants of the most favored climes and countries, but, on the contrary, is often most strongly developed in nations less populous, and in countries little favored by nature. The inhabitants of wild, mountainous regions, of sterile shores, of barren plains, manifest as strong a love of home and country, as any people on the globe. It is thus with the Swiss among their mountain fastnesses, and with the poor Esquimaux of northern Greenland, where, beyond the arctic circle, cold and darkness reign undisturbed the greater part of the year. Even in those dreary realms, and in those bosoms little refined, the voice of nature is heard, and the love of home and of country is strong. Even beggars have been known to die of nostalgia, or home-sickness.
MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS.
As distinguished from the Benevolent.—The affections have already been distinguished from other forms of the sensibility, by the circumstance that they involve, along with the feeling of pleasure or pain, some feeling of kindness or the opposite, toward the object; in the one case we term them benevolent, in the other, malevolent affections. Of the former, I have treated in the preceding chapter; of the latter, I am now to speak.
Resentment the generic Name.—These affections may be comprised under the general nameresentment, as that which underlies and constitutes the basis of them all. Envy, jealousy,revenge, etc., may be regarded as but so many modifications, or perversions, of this general principle. As the benevolent affections are all so many forms of love, going forth toward diverse objects, and varying as the objects vary, so the malevolent affections are so many forms of the opposite principle,i. e., aversion, varying, likewise, with the objects.
Founded in Nature.—As the benevolent, so likewise the malevolent or irascible feelings are, as to their principle, instinctive; they have their foundation in our nature. They are, as such, universally exhibited under the appropriate circumstances; they are early in their development, showing themselves often prior to the exercise of the reflecting and reasoning powers; they are, also, to some extent, common to man with the brutes.
Capable, however, of rational Exercise and Control.—While we pronounce them instinctive, however, we would by no means imply that they are not capable of being deliberately and intelligently exercised, or that they are not in fact, frequently so exercised. What instinct originally teaches, reason and reflection, when, at a later date, they come into play, may sanction and confirm. On the other hand, they may repress and forbid what instinct prompts. In the former case, the emotion, affection, passion, is none the less an instinctive principle in its nature and origin, although it has now passed from the domain of mere instinct to the higher sphere of reason and intelligence. What was done in the first instance from sudden impulse, blindly, without thought, is now done deliberately and intelligently. This may be the case with all our instinctive principles of action, as well as with those now particularly under consideration. Instinct and reason, or intelligence, thoughdistinguishedfrom, are not necessarilyopposedto each other, in the sense that one and the same mental act may not proceed, now from one, now from the other, of these principles. The love which I cherish for my friends, or my kindred, may bepurely instinctive, it may be strictly rational, a matter of reflection, the result of deliberate purpose.
Existence of such a Principle denied by some.—The existence of such a principle as resentment, among the original and constitutional elements of our nature, has been called in question by some writers. It has been thought derogatory to the divine character, that the Creator should implant the principle of resentment in the human heart. He commands us to love, and not to hate, and what he expressly forbids, he cannot have made provision for in the very constitution of the mind. Such a principle, it is also maintained, is altogether unnecessary. This is the ground taken by Mr. Winslow, in his work on moral philosophy.
The Question at Issue.—There is certainly much force in the view thus presented. The question before us, however, is not, what we might, à priori, havesupposedthe nature of man to be, nor, what itoughtto be, but simply, whatisthat nature as a matter of fact? Whether such a principle as resentment isnecessaryin a well-constituted mind, is not now the question; nor yet whether the Creator could consistently implant such a principle within us; nor, again, what may be the moral character of such a principle; but simply, Is there such a principle among the native elements of human character? If it be found there, we may conclude, either, that the Creator has placed it there for some wise purpose, or else, that the nature with which man comes into the world is no longer an adequate expression of the will of the Creator concerning him, but has, in some way, lost its original purity and integrity.
Existence of such a Principle.—Now that there are certain irascible feelings which find a place, under certain circumstances, in the human bosom, whenever the fitting occasion calls them forth, can hardly be denied; nor yet that they have their foundation in the nature of man. We have the same evidence of this, that we have of the existence of any other original and native principle. It manifests itselfuniversally, uniformly, under all the varieties of social condition, among all nations, in all ages of the world. It developes itself at an early period of life, before education or example can have come in to account for its existence. Reason may subsequently control and restrain it, or it may fail to do so; but the principle exists before it can be either indulged or restrained. When the occasion which calls it forth is some injury or evil inflicted upon ourselves, the feeling takes the name ofresentment; when others are the objects of that injustice, the feeling awakened is more properly termedindignation. We resent our own wrongs, we are indignant at those of others. The principle is, in either case, the same, and is as truly a part of our nature, as gratitude for favors received, or sympathy with the sorrows of the afflicted.
Term Malevolent, how employed.—The termmalevolent, as used to designate this class of affections, is, it must be confessed, liable to serious objection. It has come into use as a convenient term, in place of, and for the want of, something better, to mark the distinction between the feelings now under consideration, and those of the opposite character, already considered; and as we call thosebenevolent, so we call thesemalevolent, merely by way of contrast, and not as implying any thingcriminalin the character of the emotions themselves. The term, however, is unfortunate, as seeming to involve a meaning not intended. The moral character of the affections thus designated, is an open question, to be decided upon its own merits, and not to be considered as settled, one way or the other, by the use of the term now under consideration. This question we shall presently discuss. For the present, we have to consider, more particularly, the several forms in which the malevolent or irascible feeling presents itself.
Nature of Resentment.—Resentmentis the feeling awakened in view of injury received. It is precisely the opposite of gratitude, which is the feeling awakened by benefitsconferred. As, in the latter case, there springs up at once in the heart an affectionate regard for the generous donor, so, in the former there is awakened, at once a feeling of resentment against those who have done us the wrong. It is an instinctive emotion. No sooner are we conscious of the injury than we are conscious also of the feeling of resentment.
Design of this Principle.—The design of this principle of our nature is evident. It arms us against those sudden dangers and assaults, which no foresight can anticipate, nor prudence prevent, and which, when they occur, require instant action, and prompt redress. In such cases, reason and reflection would come to our aid too late; were we left to their counsels, however wise those counsels might be, we should already have suffered the injury from which they would seek to protect us. Something is needed that shall prompt to speedier action; some watchman vigilant and armed, ready on the first approach of danger to strike his alarm-bell, and summon the garrison to action. This we have in the principle of resentment. Were it not for this principle, moreover, a cautious and timid policy might often prevail over the sense of justice, and honor, and right, or a selfish policy might keep us back from interfering, at our own peril, for the protection of the injured, and the punishment of the aggressor. Instinct sets us right in such matters, before reason has time to act.
Necessary to the Punishment of Crime.—The malevolent feeling, at least in the form now under consideration, seems to be, in some degree, necessary for the punishment of crime, and the protection of society. It may be doubted whether, without it, we should act with sufficient energy, and promptness, for the redress of wrong, when that wrong is not inflicted upon ourselves. Nature has guarded against this danger, by planting in the human bosom an innate sense of justice, a hatred of wrong and injury wantonly inflicted, and a quick resentment against the perpetrator, which leads us to seek his detection and punishment, silences the pleadingsof compassion in his behalf, and arms us to inflict the merited blow. That is but a weak and short-sighted benevolence, that is incapable of hatred of crime, and criminals; and that, under the flimsy pretence of compassion for the unfortunate, and humanity, would shield from justice, and due punishment, those who strike at the highest interests of society, and put in jeopardy all that is most dear and sacred to man. There are cases, in which compassion becomes malice aforethought, and stern resentment is the only true benevolence. It is one of the sublimest and most glorious attributes of deity, as portrayed in the Scriptures, that with the highest benevolence he combines the stern, inflexible hatred of wrong, so that, while it can with truth be said, "God is love," it can with equal truth be affirmed, "our God is a consuming fire."
Liable to abuse.—While, however, the principle now considered has its uses, and must be regarded as a most important provision of nature for the necessities of our race, it must also be conceded that it is a principle liable to abuse, and requiring to be kept in careful check. Especially in its sudden and instinctive action, upon the reception of personal harm or danger, are we liable to be carried to extremes, and indulge a resentment out of proportion to the merits of the case.
A Check on excessive Resentment.—Against this excessive resentment of injuries, real or imaginary, nature has provided a check needful and salutary, in the indignation with which any such manifestation is sure to be regarded by others, and the loss of that sympathy, otherwise on our side, but now turned in favor of the object of our too great resentment. The wise and prudent man will carefully avoid such a result, and this prudence will act as a powerful curb on his anger. To the man of virtuous and honorable sentiments there is also another restraint, hardly less powerful, upon the exercise of the malevolent feeling in any undue degree, and that is, the feeling of self-degradation andhumiliation which such a man must feel, in consequence of his excessive resentment, when the heat of passion cools, and the moments of calmer reflection ensue. Even as exercised within due bounds, the malevolent affection is, from its very nature, a painful one. Not only the first emotion on the reception of injury or insult is one of a disagreeable nature, but the wish or desire, which instantly follows and accompanies it, of inflicting in return some ill upon the aggressor, is also a feeling which disturbs and disquiets the mind, and inflicts a species of suffering upon the mind that cherishes it, that may not improperly be termed its own punishment. And this again may be regarded, and doubtless is, to some extent, a check upon the indulgence of the malevolent affection.
Violent Exhibitions of this Feeling, where found.—It is accordingly in natures uncultivated and rude, little accustomed to self control, and the restraints of reason and religion, that we naturally look for the violent and excessive outbursts of passion. A regard for our own happiness, a due sense of our own dignity and moral worth, and a decent respect for the opinions of those about us, whose approbation and sympathy we desire, contribute, if not to diminish the strength, at least to repress the manifestation, in any considerable degree, of the feeling of resentment, in those who have arrived at years of discretion, and have profited by the lessons of experience. The child is angry with the stone against which he strikes his foot, and vents his resentment for any injury upon the unconscious instrument, which was the means of its infliction. The savage tears from his flesh the arrow that has wounded him, and breaks it into fragments. This is undoubtedly the instinct of nature, untaught by reason and reflection. It is probably the first impulse of every man, on the reception of any injury, and before he has time to reflect on the folly of such a course, to express in some manner his resentment against the immediate instrument of his suffering.
Deliberate Form of Resentment.—When the first impulse has passed, and time gives opportunity for reflection, this instinctive resentment dies away, or gives place to a deliberate and rational form of the same emotion. Thus affected, the mind casts about it to ascertain the real extent of its injury, and the best means of redress; it distinguishes between the conscious agent, and the unconscious instrument of its wrong, between the intentional injury and the unintentional, and, it may be, accidental harm; it takes into view the circumstances of the case, and the probable motives of the doer, and graduates its resentment accordingly.
Illustration of deliberate Resentment.—The law of retaliation which prevails among savage tribes, and which demands blood for blood, life for life, and exacts the fearful penalty with a justice inexorable and sure, though often long delayed, and which never loses sight of its victim, though years, and broad lands, and wide waters intervene, affords an illustration of deliberate in distinction from instinctive resentment. The law of honor, so called, as it exists among civilized nations, also illustrates the same principle.
Pointed out by Butler and others.—The distinction which we have indicated between the instinctive and deliberate form of this emotion, was clearly pointed out by Butler, though by no means original with him, as some writers have supposed; it is quite too obvious and important a distinction to have escaped the notice of earlier, and even of ancient philosophers, nor is it at all peculiar to this one affection, but common to all the sensibilities as I have already said.
Modifications of the general Principle.—There are certain modifications of the malevolent affection, which require a passing notice in this connection. I refer to those emotions commonly known asenvy,jealousy, andrevenge. These are all but different forms of the same general principle, varying as the different circumstances and objects vary which call them forth.
Nature of Envy.—Envyis that form of resentment which too often, and too easily, finds a place in the human bosom, when another is more fortunate, more successful, more honored and esteemed, than ourselves. Especially is this the case, when the fortunate one is from our own circle of companionship, and our own rank in life, and when the honors and distinctions, or the wealth and power, that fall to his lot are such as we might ourselves have aspired to reach. We never, I suspect, envy those whose condition is, and originally was, very far removed from our own. The peasant envies not the lord of the realm, nor the beggar the king, but rather his fellow-peasant, or fellow-beggar, whose hut is warmer, and whose ragged garment not so ragged, as his own. It is the passion of a weak and narrow mind, a mean and degrading emotion, the opposite of every thing noble and generous.
Nature of Jealousy.—Jealousyis that form of the malevolent affection which has relation more particularly, though not exclusively, to the attachment which exists between the sexes, and which is awakened by the supposed rivalry of another. It is one of the most painful of the malevolent affections, and, when thoroughly roused, one of the strongest and most powerful principles of our nature. It is the peculiarity of this passion, that the object of its suspicion, and resentment, is, at the same time, the object of the heart's deepest love, and, it may be, adoration; the strength and bitterness of the passion being in proportion to the fervor and earnestness of that affection. In the character of Othello, we have a fine delineation of the working and development of this trait of human character, as in Cassius we have a portraiture of the corresponding affection of envy.
Nature of Revenge.—Revengeis resentment in its most deliberate form, planned and carried into execution, not for the prevention of crime or injury, nor yet with reference to the ends of justice, but for the simple gratification of personal hatred. As such, and springing from such a motive,it is usually excessive in degree, and malicious in character. It is a dark and deadly passion, not more dangerous to society than degrading to the bosom that harbors it. It has not one redeeming quality to recommend it. It is neither the mark of a noble and generous, nor yet of a manly and brave spirit. It is the offspring of fear, rather than of courage. It usually seeks to accomplish, by secret and unlawful means, what it is ashamed or afraid to do openly, and by fair and honorable measures. It is a passion closely allied to those which may be supposed to reign in the bosom of a fiend.
Qualifying Remark.—I have spoken of envy, jealousy, and revenge, as modifications or different forms of the general principle of resentment, or the irascible propensity. There is, however, one important respect in which they all differ from the parent principle from which they spring. The latter, resentment, while founded in our nature, may, in exercise, be either instinctive or deliberate, as already shown; the former imply, I suspect, always some degree of deliberation, some element of choice. They are natural, in so far as there is a tendency in our nature to the exercise of these feelings under given circumstances, and, inasmuch as the principle from which they spring is founded in our nature, as one of its original elements; but they are not, like that principle, sometimes instinctive in their operation, but always, on the contrary, involve, as it seems to me, some process of thought, reflection, deliberation, choice.
Moral Character of the malevolent Affections.—It has been a question, much discussed, whether the class of feelings under consideration, in the present chapter, hasany moral character, and if so,what? The question pertains, perhaps, more properly, to moral than to mental science, but we cannot pass it entirely without notice in this connection. So far as regards those forms of the malevolent emotion last considered, envy, jealousy, and revenge, there can be little doubt. Their exercise involves, as already stated,something of reflection and choice. They are not instinctive, but voluntary in their operation, capable, therefore, of control, and if not subjected to the stern dominion of reason, if not checked and subdued by the higher principles that should ever govern our conduct, we are reprehensible. Their indulgence in any form, and to any degree, must be regarded as blameworthy. They areperversionsof that principle of resentment, which, for wise reasons, nature has implanted in our bosoms. Their tendency is evil, and only evil. They aremalevolentin the full and proper sense of that term.
Of simple Resentment.—As to the primary principle of resentment in its simple and proper form, in so far as its operation is deliberate and voluntary, rather than purely instinctive, implying the exercise of reflection and reason, it must possess, in common with all other mental acts of that nature, some moral character. Within due limits, and on just occasions, it is a virtue; when it passes those limits, when it becomes excessive, or is uncalled for, by the circumstances of the case, it becomes a vice.
Of Resentment as instinctive.—The question before us properly relates to that form of resentment which is purely instinctive, unaccompanied by the exercise of reason and the reflective powers. Has such an emotion, strictly speaking, any moral character? How far are we responsible for its exercise? It seems to be a principle of manifest justice, and accordant with the common sense of mankind, that a man should be held responsible only for his rational and voluntary acts, for such things as it lies in his power to do, or not to do, according as he chooses. But that which is purely instinctive, is certainly not of this character. It may be in my power to repress the feeling of resentment that arises in my bosom on the reception of manifest injustice and wrong; I may refuse to harbor such a feeling; I may struggle to rise above it; but the feeling itself is instinctive, and I can no more prevent its first awakening and impulse, than I canprevent the involuntary contraction of the muscles upon the incision of the surgeon's knife.
Views of others—Upham, Reid, Chalmers.—Such is the view now generally entertained, we believe, by psychologists. "Instinctive resentment," says Mr. Upham, "has no moral character." "A moral character attaches only to the voluntary form of resentment." The same may be said of other affections, and of the sensibilities generally. In so far as they are purely instinctive, they have no moral character.
Dr. Reid, in his Active Powers of the Human Mind, holds this language, "Nothing in which the will is not concerned can justly be accounted either virtuous or immoral." The practice of all criminal courts, and all enlightened nations, he adds, is founded upon this principle; insomuch, "that if any judicature in any nation should find a man guilty, and the object of punishment, for what they allow to be altogether involuntary, all the world would condemn them as men who knew nothing of the first and most fundamental rules of justice."
Dr. Chalmers claims for the principle now under consideration a place among the primary and universal moral judgments of mankind. "It is in attending to these popular, or rather universal decisions, that we learn the real principles of moral science. And the first, certainly, of these popular, or rather universal decisions is, that nothing is moral or immoral that is not voluntary.
"That an action, then, be the rightful object either of moral censure or approval, it must have had the consent of the will to go along with it. It must be the fruit of a volition, else it is utterly beyond the scope, either of praise for its virtuousness, or of blame for its criminality. If an action be involuntary, it is as unfit a subject for any moral reckoning, as are the pulsations of the wrist."
(Sketches of Moral and Mental Philosophy, Chapter V.On the Morality of the Emotions.)
NATURE AND CLASSIFICATION OF DESIRES.
General Character of Desire.—What we enjoy we love, and what we enjoy and love, becomes, when no longer present, or when, although yet present, its future absence is regarded as probable, an object ofdesire. In the latter case it is perhaps more properly the continuance of the loved object, rather than the object itself, that is desired. Strictly speaking, we desire only that which is not in possession, and which is regarded as good and agreeable. More frequently the objects of desire are those things which, in some measure, we have actually enjoyed, and learned by experience how to prize. In many cases, however, we learn in other ways than by our own experience the value of an object; we gather it from observation, from the testimony of others, partly, perhaps, from imagination; and in such cases what is known or supposed to be agreeable and a good thing, though never, perhaps, actually enjoyed by ourselves, may be an object of desire. Thus I may desire wealth, or power, long before they come into my possession to be enjoyed. The felicities which await the righteous in the future may be distinct and definite objects of desire, while yet we are pilgrims on the earth, and have not seen "the land that is very far off." Even in the cases supposed, however, we have enjoyed, to some extent, if not the very same, yet similar objects; we have experienced something, though itmay be on a small scale, of the advantages which wealth and power confer, while in our enjoyment of earthly happiness there is doubtless something on which the imagination can build its more glorious anticipations of the future, and it is this enjoyment and realization of a present or a past good, that constitutes the foundation of our desires. If we had never enjoyed aught, it may be doubted whether we should ever desire aught.
Law of the Sensibility.—The great law of the sensibility, then, may be thus stated, as regards the order and relation of the several classes of emotion to each other: Ienjoy, Ilove, Idesire; and the reverse, Isuffer, Idislike, I cherishaversion. That such is the order or law of mental operation has been ably shown by Damiron in his Cours de Philosophie, and also, before him, by Jouffroy.
Conditions of Desire.—Desire is a feeling simple and indefinable. We can merely specify the conditions which it observes, and the occasions on which it is awakened. These conditions or occasions are the two already mentioned; the previous enjoyment, in some degree, of an agreeable object, and the present or contemplated absence of that object. Where these conditions are fulfilled, desire springs up at once in the mind, a desire proportioned to the degree of that previous enjoyment, and the strength of the affection thereby awakened in our minds for the object of our regard.
Opposite of Desire, Aversion.—The opposite of desire is aversion, the feeling that arises in view of an object not as agreeable but as disagreeable, not as a good but as an ill. This, too, like desire, is based upon some measure of experience; we have suffered somewhat of real or imagined ill, which, while it continues, is an object of dislike or hatred, and regarded as something which, though now absent, may possibly be realized in the future, becomes an object of aversion. Aversion, as well as its opposite, desire, finds its object in the future, while its basis lies in the past.
It will not be necessary to treat particularly of our aversions as a distinct class of emotions, since they are, for the most part, simply the counterparts of our desires, the desire of life, or happiness, having its equivalent in the aversion which we feel to suffering, and to death; so of other desires.
Desire always preceded by Emotion.—With regard to the nature of desires, it may further be remarked that while they imply always an object, an agreeable object, and that an absent one; while they imply, also, some previous enjoyment of that now absent object, or, at least, some knowledge of its existence and adaptation to our wants, as the foundation on which they rest, they do not take their rise immediately from the simple perception or intellectual contemplation of that absent object, as presented again merely to thought or imagination, but always some emotion or affection is first awakened by such thought or perception, and the desire succeeds to, and springs out of, that emotion. The mere perception of the object which formerly pleased me, does not, of itself, awaken in me immediately a desire for the object, but first an emotion or affection, and from that arises the desire.
Permanence of the Desires.—The greater permanence which our desires seem to possess, as compared with other simple emotions and affections, and which has been sometimes regarded as a distinguishing characteristic of this class of feelings, is owing, probably, not so much to the nature of desire, in itself considered, as to the fact that the object desired is always an absent object, and so long as it so remains, the desire for it is likely to continue. Were our desires always gratified as soon as they are definitely known, they would be no more permanent than any other state of mind.
Desire a motive Power.—The desires, it is to be noticed, moreover, are, in their nature, motive powers, springs of action to the mind. They are, if not the only, at least the chief source of mental activity. They prompt and excitethe mind to action. The faculties, both physical and mental, are, in a manner, subject to their control. The intellect itself leads not to action; nor do the emotions; they agitate the mind, but it is only as they awaken desire, and that desire fixes upon a definite object, possible, but not in possession, that mind and body are both aroused to go forth for the attainment of the absent object of desire.
Classification of Desires.—Our desires may be classed according to their objects. These are of two sorts or classes: those which pertain to the physical nature and constitution, and those which relate to the wants of the mind rather than of the body. The desires, accordingly, may be classed as twofold—theanimal, and therational; the former having their source in the physical constitution of man, the latter in the nature and wants of the mind, rather than of the body. Of the former class are the desire of food, of sex, of exertion, of repose, of whatever, in a word, is adapted to the animal nature and wants. Of the latter class, the more prominent are the desire of happiness, of knowledge, of power, of society, of the esteem of others.
In connection with our desires are to be considered also those emotions which are known under the name of hope and fear, and which, as was stated in our previous analysis of the sensibilities, are to be regarded rather as modifications of desire, than as distinct principles or modes of mental activity.
DESIRES ARISING FROM THE PHYSICAL CONSTITUTION.
Nature of Appetite as compared with other Forms of Desire.—These are usually calledappetites, in distinction from those desires which are founded in the nature of the mind. They are, however, properly, a class of desires though not always so ranked by philosophical writers. They are feelings which arise always in view of some good, real, or supposed, which has its adaptation to the wants of our nature, but which is not in present possession. This absence creates a longing for the object, which longing, so far as it relates to the mind at all, and not merely to the muscular sensation—as of hunger, etc.—is purely adesire. It differs from the other desires, in the respect mentioned, that it takes its rise from the constitution and wants of the body, rather than of the mind. It is not, however, on this account, the less a mental state, a psychological phenomenon.
Ambiguity of the Term.—The termappetiteis ambiguous; sometimes denoting the uneasy physical sensations, as hunger, thirst, etc., which are conditions of the muscular and nervous systems, and not states of the mind; sometimes the mental condition which results from this, and which is properly called desire. It is only with the latter that psychology has to do; the former fall within the province of physiology.
Enumeration of the more important, and the End accomplished by each.—The desires, of the class to which we now refer, are various, comprehending all those which immediately relate to, and arise from, the various bodily wants. The more important are the desire of food, and of sex, to which may be added the desire of action, and of repose.The constitution of our physical system is such as to lay the foundation of these desires. They pertain to our animal nature, and, as such, have a most important part to perform in the economy of life. They all relate, directly or indirectly, to the continuance of life, whether that of the individual, or of the species. Each of the appetites, or animal desires, as we prefer to call them, has its own specific object to accomplish, with reference to this general end. The desire of food looks to the preservation of individual life and vigor, by repairing the waste which the physical system is continually undergoing. The desire of muscular exertion and repose has the same general design. The desire of sex has for its object the preservation of the species.
Importance of these Principles.—Not only has each of these desires a specific end to accomplish, but it is an end which, so far as we can see, would not otherwise be accomplished. Reason might suggest the expediency of taking food to sustain the system, or of resting at intervals from exertion, in order to recruit our exhausted energies; but were it not for the desires that nature has implanted in us demanding positive gratification, and reminding us when we transgress those laws which govern our physical being, how often, in the pressure of business, should we neglect the due care of the body, and deprive ourselves of needed food, or needed rest, or needed muscular exertion. Were it not for the demands of appetite, how imperfectly should we judge either as to the proper proportion, or the proper quantity, and quality, of that refreshment which the body needs, and which food, and rest, and muscular exercise supply. And the same may be said of the other animal desires. They are necessary to the economy of life, by supplying a motive which would not otherwise exist, and thus securing a result not otherwise obtained. The principles to which we refer, are not, therefore, to be regarded as of little importance because relating to the wants of the body, and common to man with the animal races, generally; or the contrary,they are of the highest importance and value; a due regard to them is essential to the highest well-being, and the neglect or abuse of them brings its own sure and speedy punishment. To be ashamed of our animal nature, is to be ashamed of ourselves, and of the constitution that God gave us; to think lightly of it, is to despise the divine wisdom and benevolence. It is no part of an intelligent and rational nature to contemn the casket that contains all its treasure. Even were that casket worthless in itself, it would be valuable for the office it performs; much more when it is itself a piece of rare workmanship, curiously and wonderfully wrought.
Not selfish.—The appetites are not to be regarded as essentially selfish, in their nature. They relate, indeed, to our own personal wants; so do all our desires, and, in some measure, all our sensibilities. But when exercised within due bounds, they are not inconsistent with the rights and happiness of others, but the rather promotive of these results; and, therefore, not in the proper sense of the term are theyselfishpropensities. Their ultimate aim is not the securing of a certain amount of enjoyment to the individual by their gratification, but the securing of a certain end, not otherwise reached, by means of that enjoyment. They are to be set down as original and implanted principles of our nature, rather than as selfish and acquired propensities.
Dangerous Tendency.—I would, by no means, however overlook the fact that the animal desires are of dangerous tendency when permitted to gain any considerable control over the mind, and that they require to be kept within careful bounds. They are liable to abuse. When suffered to become predominant over other and higher principles of action, when, from subjection and restraint, they rise to the mastery, and govern the man, then sinks the man to the level of the brute, and there is presented that saddest spectacle of all that the sun beholds in his course about the earth, a mind endowed with capacity of reason and intelligence, but enslaved to its own base passions. There is no slaveryso degrading as that, none so hopeless. The most earnest efforts, the best and most sincere purposes and resolutions are too often made in vain, and the mind, struggling, to little purpose, with its own propensities, and its own vitiated nature, is swept on by the fearful current of its ungoverned, and now ungovernable, appetites, as the ship over which neither sail nor helm have any further power, is swept along in swift and ever lessening circles by the fatal maëlstrom.
Curious Law of our Nature.—It seems to be the law of our nature, that while our active principles gain strength by exercise, the degree of enjoyment or of suffering which they are capable of affording, diminishes by repetition. This has been clearly stated by Mr. Stewart. It follows from this, that while by long and undue indulgence of any of the animal desires, the gratification originally derived from such indulgence is no longer capable of being enjoyed, the desire itself may be greatly increased, and constantly increasing, in its demands. It is hardly possible to conceive a condition more wretched and miserable, than that of a mind compelled thus to drain the bitter dregs of its cup of pleasure, long since quaffed, and to repeat, in endless round, the follies that no longer have power to satisfy, even for the brief moment, the poor victim of their enchantment. The drunkard, the glutton, the debauchee, afford illustrations of this principle.
Acquired Appetites.—Beside the natural appetites of which I have hitherto spoken, and which are founded in the constitution of the physical system, there are certain appetites which must be regarded as artificial and acquired, such as the desire, so widely and almost universally prevalent, in countries both savage and civilized, for narcotic and stimulating drugs of various kinds, and for intoxicating drinks.
DESIRES ARISING FROM THE CONSTITUTION OF THE MIND.
§ I.—Desire of Happiness.
Propriety of the Designation Self-love.—Among that class of desires that have their foundation in the mental rather than in the physical constitution, one of the most important is thedesire of happiness, or, as it is frequently called,self-love. The propriety of this designation has been called in question. "The expression," says Mr. Stewart, "is exceptionable, for it suggests an analogy (where there is none, in fact) between that regard which every rational being must necessarily have to his own happiness, and those benevolent affections which attach us to our fellow-creatures. There is surely nothing in the former of these principles analogous to the affection oflove; and, therefore, to call it by the appellation ofself-love, is to suggest a theory with respect to its nature, and a theory which has no foundation in truth."
This Position questionable.—I apprehend that in this remark, Mr. Stewart may have gone too far. The regard which we have for our own happiness certainly differs from that which we entertain for the happiness of others, as the objects differ on which, in either case, the regard is fixed. That the emotion is not essentially of the samenature, however, psychologically considered, is not so clear. Love or affection, as it has been defined in the preceding chapters, is the enjoyment of an object, mingled with a wish or desire of good to the same. Love of friends is the pleasure felt in, and the benevolent regard for, them. Love of self, in likemanner, is the enjoyment of, and the desire of, good to self. Whoever, then, enjoys himself, and wishes his own good, exercises self-love; and the essential ingredient of this affection is the desire for his own happiness. Not only, then, is there ananalogybetween the two principles, the desire of our own happiness, and the regard which we feel for others, butsomething morethan an analogy; they are essentially of the same nature so far as regards the mental activity exercised in either case, and the term love as properly designates the one, as the other, of these states of mind. I may love myself, as truly as I love my friend, nor is it the part of a rational nature to be destitute of the principle of self-love.
Not to be confounded with Selfishness.—There is more force in the objection, also urged by Mr. Stewart, against the phraseself-love, used to denote the desire of happiness, that it is, from its etymology, liable to be confounded, and in fact, often is confounded, with the wordselfishness, which denotes a very different state of mind. The word selfishness is always used in an unfavorable sense, to denote some disregard of the happiness and rights of others; but no such idea properly attaches to self-love, or the desire of happiness, which, as Mr. Stewart justly remarks, is inseparable from our nature as rational and sensitive beings.
Views of Theologians.—Misled, perhaps, by the resemblance of the words, many theological writers, both ancient and modern, have not only represented self-love as essentially sinful, but even as the root and origin of evil, the principle of original sin.
So Barrow expressly affirms, citing Zuingle as authority. English moralists have sometimes taken the same view, and the earlier American divines very generally held it.
Self-love not criminal.—It can hardly be that a principle, which seems to belong to our nature as intelligent and rational beings, should be essentially criminal in it nature. The mistake, doubtless, arises from overlooking the distinction, already indicated, between self-love and selfishnessThe love of self, carried to the extreme of disregarding the happiness of others, and trespassing upon the rights of others, in the way to self-gratification, is indeed a violation of the principles of right, and is equally condemned by nature, speaking in the common sense and reason of man, and by divine revelation. But neither reason, nor the divine law, forbid that regard to our own happiness which self-love, in its true and proper sense, implies, and which exists, it may safely be affirmed, in every human bosom in which the light of intelligence and reason has not gone out in utter darkness. The sacred Scriptures nowhere forbid this principle. They enjoin upon us, indeed, the love of our neighbor; but the very command to love him as myself, so far from forbidding self-love, implies its existence as a matter of course, and presents that as a standard by which to measure the love I ought to bear to others.
Opinion of Aristotle.—Much more correct than the opinions to which I have referred, is the view taken by Aristotle in his Ethics, who speaks of the good man as necessarily a lover of himself, and, inthe true sense, preëminentlyso. "Should a man assume a preëminence in exercising justice, temperance, and other virtues, though such a man has reallymore true self-lovethan the multitude, yet nobody would impute his affection to him as a crime. Yet he takes to himself the fairest and greatest of all goods, and those the most acceptable to the ruling principle in his nature, which is, properly, himself, in the same manner as the sovereignty in every community is that which most properly constitutes the state. He is said, also, to have, or not to have, the command of himself, just as this principle bears sway, or as it is subject to control; and those acts are considered as most voluntary which proceed from this legislative or sovereign power. Whoever cherishes and gratifies this ruling part of his nature, isstrictly and peculiarly a lover of himself, but in quite a different sense from that in which self-love is regarded as a matter of reproach." (Ethic.Nic., lib. ix., cap. viii.) This view appears to me eminently just.
That man is not, in the true and proper sense, a self-lover who seeks his present at the expense of his future and permanent well-being, or who tramples upon the rights and happiness of others, intent only upon his gratification. The glutton, the drunkard, the debauchee, are not the truest lovers of self. They stand fairly chargeable, not with too much, buttoo littleregard for their own happiness and well-being.
Not the only original Principle.—But while the desire of happiness is a principle which has its foundation in the constitution of the mind, and which is characteristic of reason and intelligence, it is by no means to be regarded as the only original principle of our nature. Certain moralists have sought to resolve all other active principles into self-love, making this the source and spring of all human conduct, so that, directly or indirectly, whatever we do finds its origin and motive in the love of self. According to this view, I love my friends, my kindred, my country, only because of the intimate connection between their well-being and my own; I pity and relieve the unfortunate only to relieve myself of the unpleasant feelings their condition awakens; I sacrifice treasure, comfort, health, life itself, only for the sake of some greater good that is to be thus and only thus procured; even the sense of right, and the obligations of a religious nature, which bind and control me, find their chief strength, as principles of action, in that regard for my own happiness which underlies all other considerations.
Such a View indefensible.—This is a view not more derogatory to human nature than inconsistent with all true psychology. That the principle under consideration is one of the most powerful springs of human conduct, that it enters more largely than we may ourselves, at the time, be aware, into those motives and actions that wear the appearance of entire disinterestedness, I am disposed to admit,nor would I deny that our sense of right, and of religious obligation, finds a strong support in that intimate and inseparable connection which exists between duty and happiness. The Scriptures constantly appeal to our love of happiness as a motive to right action. Their rewards and promises on the one hand, and their warnings and threatenings on the other, all rest on this assumed law of human nature, that man everywhere and always desires his own well-being. But that this is the only and ultimate ground of human action, that all the benevolent affections, all honor, and virtue, all sense of duty and right, all religious emotion and religious principle resolves itself into this, neither reason, nor revelation, nor the closest observation of the human mind, do either teach or imply.
This Desire, in what Sense rational.—Stewart's View.—We have spoken, thus far, of the desire of happiness as a rational principle. Is it, in such a sense, peculiar to a rational and intelligent nature? Does it so imply and involve the exercise of reason, that it is not to be found except in connection with, and as the result of, that principle? If so, it can hardly be called an original and implanted, or, at least, aninstinctiveprinciple. And such is the view taken by Mr. Stewart, in his Philosophy of the Active and Moral Powers. The desire of happiness implies, in his estimation, a deliberate and intelligent survey of the various sources of enjoyment, a looking before and after, to ascertain what will, and what will not, contribute to ultimate and permanent well-being; and this it is the part of reason to perform.
Not exclusively so.—That the desire of happiness, as exercised by a rational nature, involves something of this process, some general idea of what constitutes happiness, or what is good on the whole and not merely for the present, some perception of consequences, some comprehensive view and comparison of the various principles of action and courses of conduct, as means to this general end, may, indeed, be admitted. And, so far as the exercise of self-loveis of the nature now indicated, it is certainly a rational rather than an instinctive act. But I see no reason why one and the same emotion, or mental activity of any sort, may not be, at one time, the result of reflection, at another, of impulse; now deliberate and rational, and now, instinctive in its character. We know this to be the case, for example, with the affections, both benevolent and malevolent. A principle of action may be none the less instinctive, and originally implanted in man's nature, from the fact that, when he arrives at years of discretion, his reason confirms and strengthens what nature had already taught, or even adopts it as one of its own cardinal principles. It is not necessary, in order toalldesire of good, that I should know, completely and comprehensively, in what good consists, and I may still desire my own happiness, according to the measure of my knowledge and capacity, when I simply know that I am happy at the present moment.
Desire of continued Existence.—Closely analogous to the principle now under consideration, if not, indeed, properly a form or modification of it, is the desire ofcontinued existence. No desire that finds a place in the human bosom, perhaps, is stronger or more universal than this. Life is valued above all other possessions; riches, honors, place, power, ease, are counted as of little worth in comparison. There are, indeed, occasions when life is willingly sacrificed, rather than to incur dishonor and reproach, or for the defence of the innocent and helpless who depend on us for protection, or for some great and good cause that demands of the good and true man such service as may cost life. Even in such cases, the importance of the interests which demand and receive such a sacrifice, show the value we attach to that which is laid upon the altar.
Increases with Age.—The desire of continued existence seems to increase, as age advances, and life wears away. We always value that the more of which we have but little. It is a striking proof of the divine benevolence, that, in aworld so full of care, and toil, and sorrow, as the present is, and must be, to the multitude of its inhabitants, there are few so miserable as not to regard continued existence as a boon to be purchased at any price.
§ II.—Desire of Knowledge.
An original Principle.—Among the various principles that enter into the composition of our nature, and are the motive powers of the human mind, awakening and calling forth its energies, and impelling it to action, the desire of knowledge holds an important place. From its early manifestation, before reason and reflection have as yet, to any extent, come into play, and from its general, if not universal existence, we infer that it is one of those principles originally implanted in our nature by the great Author of our being.
Not Curiosity.—The desire of knowledge, though often spoken of as synonymous withcuriosity, is not altogether identical with it. Curiosity has reference rather to the novelty and strangeness of that which comes before the mind. It is the feeling awakened by these qualities, rather than the general desire to know what is yet unknown. It is of more limited application, and while it implies a desire to understand the object in view of which it is awakened, implies also some degree of wonder, at the unusual and unexpected character of the object as thus presented. While, then, curiosity is certainly a most powerful auxiliary to the desire of learning, and stimulates the mind to exertions it might not otherwise put forth, it is hardly to be viewed as identical with the principle under consideration.
Manifested in early Life.—The desire of knowledge is never, perhaps, more strongly developed than in early life, and never partakes more fully of the character of curiosity than then. To the child, all things are new and strange. He looks about him upon a world as unknown to him as heis to it, and every different object that meets his eye is a new study, and a new mystery to him. The desire to acquaint himself with the new and unknown world around him, keeps him constantly employed, constantly learning.
In later Years.—As he grows up, and the sphere of his intellectual vision enlarges, every step of his progress only opens new and wider fields to be explored, beyond the limits of his previous investigations. If there is less of childish curiosity, there is more of earnest, manly, irrepressible desire and determination to know. His studies assume this or that direction, according to native taste and temperament, early associations, or the force of circumstances; he becomes a student of science, or a student of letters, or of art, or of the practical professions and pursuits of life; but turn in what direction and to what pursuits he will, the desire to know still lives within him, as a sacred lamp ever burning before the shrine of truth.
Explains the Love of Narrative.—Every one has remarked the eagerness with which children listen to stories, histories, and fables. This is owing not more to the love of the ideal, which is usually very strongly developed in early life, than to the desire of knowing what presents itself to the mind as something new and unknown, yet with the semblance of reality. Nor does this love of narrative forsake us as we grow older. We have still our romances, our histories, our poems, epic and tragic, to divert us amid the graver cares of life; and the old man is, perhaps, as impatient as the child, to go on with the story, and comprehend the plot, when once his interest and curiosity are awakened.
A benevolent Provision.—We cannot but regard it as a benevolent provision of the Creator, so to constitute the human mind, that not only knowledge itself, but the very process of its acquisition, should be a pleasure. And when we consider how great is the importance to man of this desire of knowledge, and how great is the progress of even the humblest mind, from the dawn of its intelligence, on to the periodof its full maturity and strength; how, under the influence of this desire, the mind of a Newton, a Kepler, a Bacon, a Descartes, a Leibnitz, moves on, from the slow and feeble acquisitions of the nursery, to the great and sublime discoveries that are to shed a light and glory, not only on the name of the discoverer, but on the path of all who come after him, we can hardly attach too high an importance to this part of our mental constitution.
A rational, though an instinctive Principle.—The desire of knowledge, like many of the active principles which have already fallen under our notice, is capable of rational exercise and control, while, at the same time, an implanted and instinctive principle. It operates, at first, rather as a blind impulse, impelling the mind to a given end; when reason assumes her sway of the mind and its restless energies, what was before a mere impulse and instinct of nature, now becomes a deliberate and rational purpose.
Moral Character.—As to moral character, it may, or may not, pertain to the exercise of the principle under consideration. The desire of knowledge is not of necessity a virtuous affection of the mind. Characteristic as it is of a noble and superior nature, more elevated and excellent, as it certainly is, than the merely animal desires and impulses, it is not inseparably connected with moral excellence.
As rationally exercised it is laudable and virtuous, provided we seek knowledge with proper motives, and for right ends; otherwise, the reverse. Inasmuch, however, as we are under obligation to act in this, as in all other matters, from pure motives, and for right ends, the mere absence of such a motive, the desire and pursuit of knowledge in another manner, and from other motives, becomes blameworthy.
§ III.—Desire of Power.
A native Principle.—The desire of power must be regarded as an original principle of our nature. Like the desire of happiness, and of knowledge, it is both early in its development, and powerful in its influence over the mind. It is also universally manifest.
In what Manner awakened.—Of the idea of power or cause, and of the manner in which the mind comes, in the first instance, to form that idea, I have already spoken, under the head of original conception. We see changes taking place in the external world. We observe these changes immediately and invariably preceded by certain antecedents. The idea of cause is thus suggested to the mind, and cause implies power of one thing over another to produce given effects. We find, also, our own volitions attended with corresponding effects upon objects external, and thus learn, still further, that we ourselves possess power over other objects. The idea thus awakened in the mind, there springs up, also, in connection with the idea, an activity of the sensibilities. The power which we find ourselves to have over objects about us affords us pleasure; what we enjoy we love, and what we love we desire; and so there is awakened in the mind a strong and growing desire for the possession of power.
Pleasure of exerting Power.—The pleasure which we derive from producing, in any instance, a manifest effect, and from the consciousness that we have in ourselves the power to produce like effects whenever we will, is one of the highest sources of enjoyment of which nature has made as capable. It is, to a great extent, the spring and secret of the constant activity of which the world is full. It shows itself in the sports of childhood, and in the graver pursuits of maturer years. The infant, when it finds that it can move and control its own little limbs, the boy learning the art of such athletic sports as he perceives his fellows practise, theman when he finds that he can control the action of his fellow-man, and bend the will of others to his own, are each, and perhaps equally, delighted at the acquisition of this new power; and the pleasure is generally in proportion to the novelty of the acquisition, and the apparent greatness of the effect produced.
Strength and Influence of this Principle.—The love of power is one of the strongest of the ruling principles of the human mind. It has its seat in the deepest foundations of our nature. I candosomething; I can do what others do; I can do more than they; such is the natural order and progression of our endeavors, and such also the measure and increase of our delight. What, but the love of power, leads to those competitions of strength with strength, which mark the athletic games and contests of all nations, civilized and savage? What, but the love of power, impels the hunter over the pathless mountains, and deserts, in quest of those savage denizens and lords of nature, whose strength is so far superior to his own? What, but the love of power, leads the warrior forth, at the head of conquering armies, to devastate and subdue new realms?
Seen also in other Pursuits.—And in the peaceful pursuits of life, how largely does the same impulse mingle with the other, and perhaps more apparent, motives of human action? The man of science, as he watches the nightly courses of the stars, or resolves the stubborn compounds of nature into their simple and subtle elements, as he discovers new laws, and unlocks the secrets that have long baffled human inquiry, derives no small part of his gratification from the consciousness of that power which he thus exercises over the realm of matter subjected to his will. And when, in like manner, the orator, on whose words depend the lives of men, and the fate of nations, stands forth to accuse or defend, to arouse the slumbering passions, and inflame the patriotism, the courage, the resentment of his audience, or to soothe their anger, allay their prejudice, awaken their pity or theirfears, how does the consciousness of his power over the swaying, agitated multitude before him, mingle with the emotions that swell his bosom, and augment the fierce delight of victory?
Auxiliary to desire of knowledge.—The desire of power is accessory to, and in some cases, perhaps, the foundation of certain other principles of action. It is especially auxiliary to the desire of knowledge, inasmuch as every new acquisition of truth is an accession of power to the mind, and is, therefore, on that account, as well as for its own sake, desirable. As a general thing, the more we know, the more and the better we can do. Every mental acquisition becomes, in some sense, an instrument to aid us in further and larger acquisitions. We are enabled to call to our aid the very forces and elements of nature which our discoveries have, in a manner, subjected to our sway, and to conform our own conduct to those established laws which science reveals. The mind is thus stimulated, in all its investigations, and toilsome search for truth, by the assurance that every increase of knowledge is, in some sense, an increase, also, of power. Hence the aphorism so current, and generally attributed to Bacon, which affirms that knowledgeispower.
Auxiliary also to love of Liberty.—Thelove of liberty, according to some writers, proceeds also, in part, at least, from the desire of power, the desire of being able to do whatever we like. Whatever deprives us of liberty trenches upon our power. In like manner, writers upon morals have noticed the fact that thepleasure of virtueis in a measure due to the same source. When evil habits predominate and acquire the mastery, we lose the power of self-control, the mind is subjected to the baser passions, and this loss of power is attended with the painful consciousness of degradation. On the other hand, to the mind that is bent on maintaining its integrity, though it be by stern and determined conflict with the evil influences that surround it, and its own natural propensities to a course of sinful indulgence,every fresh struggle with those adverse influences becomes a pledge of final success, and the hour of victory, when it comes at last, as come it will, is an hour of triumph and of joy.
§ IV.—Certain Modifications of the Desire of Power;—as, the Desire of Superiority, and of Possession.
General Statement.—There are certain desires to which the human mind is subject, and which seem to have a foundation in nature, which, though frequently regarded as distinct principles of action, are more properly, perhaps, to be viewed as but modifications of the principle last considered. I refer to thedesire of superiority, andthe desire of possession; or, as they are more succinctly termed, ambition and avarice.
The Desire to excel, universal.—The desire to excel is almost universal among men. It shows itself in every condition of society, and under all varieties of character and pursuit. It animates the sports of childhood, and gives a zest to the sober duties and realities of life. It penetrates the camp, the court, the halls of legislation, and of justice; it enters alike into the peaceful rivalries of the school, the college, the learned professions, and into those more fearful contests for superiority which engage nations in hostile encounter on the field of strife and carnage. What have we, under all these manifestations, but the desire of superiority, and what is that but the desire of power in one of its most common forms?
Not peculiar to Man.—This is a principle not peculiar to human nature, but common to man with the brute. The lower animals have also their rivalries, their jealousies, their contests for superiority in swiftness, and in strength, and he is the acknowledged leader who proves himself superior in these respects to his fellows.
Not the same with Envy.—The desire to excel, or the principle of emulation, is not to be confounded with envywith which it is too frequently, but not necessarily, associated. Envy is pained at the success of a rival; a just and honorable emulation, without seeking to detract from the well-merited honors of another, strives only to equal and surpass them. This distinction is an important one, and has been very clearly pointed out byMr. Stewart, and also byBp. Butler, and, still earlier, byAristotle. "Emulation," says Butler, "is merely the desire of superiority over others, with whom we compare ourselves. To desire the attainment of this superiority by the particular means of others being brought down below our own level, is the distinct notion of envy." To the same effect, Aristotle, as quoted by Stewart: "Emulation is a good thing, and belongs to good men; envy is bad, and belongs to bad men. What a man is emulous of he strives to attain, that he may really possess the desired object; the envious are satisfied if nobody has it."
Not malevolent of Necessity.—Dr. Reid has classed emulation with the malevolent affections, as involving a sentiment of ill-will toward the rival; but, as Mr. Stewart very justly remarks, this sentiment is not anecessaryconcomitant of the desire of superiority, though often found in connection with it; nor ought emulation to be classed with the affections, but with the desires, for it is the desire which is the active principle, and the affection is only a concomitant circumstance.
View maintained by Mr. Upham.—Mr. Upham denies emulation a place among the original and implanted principles of our nature, on this ground. All our active principles, he maintains, from instinct upward, are subordinate to the authority and decisions of conscience, as a faculty paramount to every other. But the desire of superiority he supposes to be utterly inconsistent with the law of subordination. Whenever man perceives a superior, he perceives one with whom, by this law of his nature, if such it be, he is brought into direct conflict and collision, and as he issurrounded by those who, in some respect, are his superiors, he is really placed in a state of perpetual warfare and misery; nor can he regard even the Supreme Being with other feelings than those of unhallowed rivalry. A principle that would lead to such results, he concludes, cannot be founded in the constitution of our nature. He accordingly resolves the desire of superiority into the principle of imitativeness.
The Correctness of this View called in Question.—It is difficult to perceive the force of this reasoning. The desire of superiority, it is sufficient to say, whatever be its origin, leads to no such results. As actually manifest in human character and conduct, it does not show itself to be inconsistent with due subordination to authority, nor does it involve man in necessary and perpetual conflict with his fellows, nor does it present the Supreme Being as an object of unhallowed rivalry. We have only to do with facts, with the phenomena actually presented by human nature; and we do not find the facts to correspond with the view now given. Nor can we perceive any reason, in the nature of the case, why the desire in questionshouldlead, or be supposed to lead, to such results. The desire of superiority does not necessarily imply the desire to be superior to every body, and every thing, in the universe. It may have its natural and proper limits; and such we find to be the fact.
Actual Limitations of this Principle.—We desire to excel not, usually, those who are far above us in rank and fortune, but our fellows and companions; our rivals are mostly those who move in the same sphere with ourselves. The artist vies with his brother artist, the student with his fellow student, and even where envy and ill-will mingle, as they too often do, with the desire, still, the object of that envy is not every one, indiscriminately, who may happen to be superior to ourselves, but only our particular rival in the race before us. The child at school does not envy Sir Isaac Newton, or the illustrious Humboldt, but the urchin that is next above himself in the class. The desire of superiority, likeevery other desire of the human mind, looks only at what is possible to be accomplished, at what is probable, even; it aims not at the clouds, but at things within our reach, things to be had for the asking and the striving. But whatever view we take of the matter, the desire of superiority certainly exists as an active principle in the human mind; nor do we see any reason why it should not be admitted as an original principle founded in the constitution of our nature, or, at least, as one of the forms and modifications of such a principle, viz., the love of power.
This Principle requires Restraint.—I would by no means deny, however, that the desire now under consideration is one which is liable to abuse, and which requires the careful and constant restraints of reason and of religious principle. The danger is, that envy and ill-will, toward those whom we regard as rivals and competitors with us, for those honors and rewards which lie in our path, shall be permitted to mingle with the desire to excel. Indeed, so frequently are the two conjoined, that to the reflecting and sensitive mind, superiority itself almost ceases to be desirable, since it is but too likely to be purchased at the price of the good-will, and kind feeling, of those less fortunate, or less gifted, than ourselves.
Another Form of the same Desire.—The desire of possessionmay be regarded, also, as a modification of the desire of power. That influence over others which power implies, and which is, to some extent, commanded by superiority of personal strength or prowess, by genius, by skill, by the various arts and address of life, or by the accident of birth and hereditary station, is still more directly and generally attainable, by another, and perhaps a shorter route—the possession of wealth. This, as the world goes, is the key that unlocks, the sceptre that controls, all things. Personal prowess, genius, address, station, the throne itself, are, in no inconsiderable degree, dependent upon its strength, and at its command. He who has this can well afford to dispensewith most other goods and gifts of fortune; so far, at least, as concerns the possession of power. He may be neither great, nor learned, nor of noble birth; neither elegant in person, nor accomplished in manners, distinguished neither for science, nor virtue; he may command no armies, he may sit upon no throne; yet with all his deficiencies, and even his vices, if so he have wealth, he has power. Unnumbered hands are ready to task their skill at his bidding, unnumbered arms, to move and toil and strive in his service, unnumbered feet hasten to and fro upon his errands. He commands the skill and labor of multitudes whom he has never seen, and who know him not. In distant quarters of the globe, the natives of other zones and climes hasten upon his errands; swift ships traverse the seas for him; the furs of the extreme North, the rich woods and spices of the tropics, the silks of India, the pearls and gems of the East—whatever is costly, and curious, and rare, whatever can contribute to the luxury and the pride of man—these are his, and for him. No wonder that he who desires power, should desire that which is one of the chief avenues and means to the attainment of power, and that what is valued, at first, rather as an instrument than as an end, should presently come to be regarded and valued for its own sake.