No More Learning

In
that which had applied itself chiefly to agriculture, the poor would
live in great plenty, and population would rapidly increase. In that
which had applied itself chiefly to commerce, the poor would be
comparatively but little benefited and consequently population would
increase slowly.




CHAPTER 17

Question of the proper definition of the wealth of a state--Reason
given by the French economists for considering all manufacturers as
unproductive labourers, not the true reason--The labour of artificers
and manufacturers sufficiently productive to individuals, though not to
the state--A remarkable passage in Dr Price's two volumes of
Observations--Error of Dr Price in attributing the happiness and rapid
population of America, chiefly, to its peculiar state of
civilization--No advantage can be expected from shutting our eyes to
the difficulties in the way to the improvement of society.


A question seems naturally to arise here whether the exchangeable value
of the annual produce of the land and labour be the proper definition
of the wealth of a country, or whether the gross produce of the land,
according to the French economists, may not be a more accurate
definition. Certain it is that every increase of wealth, according to
the definition of the economists, will be an increase of the funds for
the maintenance of labour, and consequently will always tend to
ameliorate the condition of the labouring poor, though an increase of
wealth, according to Dr Adam Smith's definition, will by no means
invariably have the same tendency. And yet it may not follow from this
consideration that Dr Adam Smith's definition is not just. It seems in
many respects improper to exclude the clothing and lodging of a whole
people from any part of their revenue. Much of it may, indeed, be of
very trivial and unimportant value in comparison with the food of the
country, yet still it may be fairly considered as a part of its
revenue; and, therefore, the only point in which I should differ from
Dr Adam Smith is where he seems to consider every increase of the
revenue or stock of a society as an increase of the funds for the
maintenance of labour, and consequently as tending always to ameliorate
the condition of the poor.

The fine silks and cottons, the laces, and other ornamental luxuries of
a rich country, may contribute very considerably to augment the
exchangeable value of its annual produce; yet they contribute but in a
very small degree to augment the mass of happiness in the society, and
it appears to me that it is with some view to the real utility of the
produce that we ought to estimate the productiveness or
unproductiveness of different sorts of labour. The French economists
consider all labour employed in manufactures as unproductive. Comparing
it with the labour employed upon land, I should be perfectly disposed
to agree with them, but not exactly for the reasons which they give.
They say that labour employed upon land is productive because the
produce, over and above completely paying the labourer and the farmer,
affords a clear rent to the landlord, and that the labour employed upon
a piece of lace is unproductive because it merely replaces the
provisions that the workman had consumed, and the stock of his
employer, without affording any clear rent whatever. But supposing the
value of the wrought lace to be such as that, besides paying in the
most complete manner the workman and his employer, it could afford a
clear rent to a third person, it appears to me that, in comparison with
the labour employed upon land, it would be still as unproductive as
ever. Though, according to the reasoning used by the French economists,
the man employed in the manufacture of lace would, in this case, seem
to be a productive labourer. Yet according to their definition of the
wealth of a state, he ought not to be considered in that light. He will
have added nothing to the gross produce of the land: he has consumed a
portion of this gross produce, and has left a bit of lace in return;
and though he may sell this bit of lace for three times the quantity of
provisions that he consumed whilst he was making it, and thus be a very
productive labourer with regard to himself, yet he cannot be considered
as having added by his labour to any essential part of the riches of
the state. The clear rent, therefore, that a certain produce can
afford, after paying the expenses of procuring it, does not appear to
be the sole criterion, by which to judge of the productiveness or
unproductiveness to a state of any particular species of labour.

Suppose that two hundred thousand men, who are now employed in
producing manufactures that only tend to gratify the vanity of a few
rich people, were to be employed upon some barren and uncultivated
lands, and to produce only half the quantity of food that they
themselves consumed; they would be still more productive labourers with
regard to the state than they were before, though their labour, so far
from affording a rent to a third person, would but half replace the
provisions used in obtaining the produce. In their former employment
they consumed a certain portion of the food of the country and left in
return some silks and laces. In their latter employment they consumed
the same quantity of food and left in return provision for a hundred
thousand men. There can be little doubt which of the two legacies would
be the most really beneficial to the country, and it will, I think, be
allowed that the wealth which supported the two hundred thousand men
while they were producing silks and laces would have been more usefully
employed in supporting them while they were producing the additional
quantity of food.

A capital employed upon land may be unproductive to the individual that
employs it and yet be highly productive to the society. A capital
employed in trade, on the contrary, may be highly productive to the
individual, and yet be almost totally unproductive to the society: and
this is the reason why I should call manufacturing labour unproductive,
in comparison of that which is employed in agriculture, and not for the
reason given by the French economists. It is, indeed, almost impossible
to see the great fortunes that are made in trade, and the liberality
with which so many merchants live, and yet agree in the statement of
the economists, that manufacturers can only grow rich by depriving
themselves of the funds destined for their support. In many branches of
trade the profits are so great as would allow of a clear rent to a
third person; but as there is no third person in the case, and as all
the profits centre in the master manufacturer, or merchant, he seems to
have a fair chance of growing rich, without much privation; and we
consequently see large fortunes acquired in trade by persons who have
not been remarked for their parsimony.

Daily experience proves that the labour employed in trade and
manufactures is sufficiently productive to individuals, but it
certainly is not productive in the same degree to the state. Every
accession to the food of a country tends to the immediate benefit of
the whole society; but the fortunes made in trade tend but in a remote
and uncertain manner to the same end, and in some respects have even a
contrary tendency. The home trade of consumption is by far the most
important trade of every nation. China is the richest country in the
world, without any other. Putting then, for a moment, foreign trade out
of the question, the man who, by an ingenious manufacture, obtains a
double portion out of the old stock of provisions, will certainly not
to be so useful to the state as the man who, by his labour, adds a
single share to the former stock. The consumable commodities of silks,
laces, trinkets, and expensive furniture, are undoubtedly a part of the
revenue of the society; but they are the revenue only of the rich, and
not of the society in general. An increase in this part of the revenue
of a state, cannot, therefore, be considered of the same importance as
an increase of food, which forms the principal revenue of the great
mass of the people.

Foreign commerce adds to the wealth of a state, according to Dr Adam
Smith's definition, though not according to the definition of the
economists. Its principal use, and the reason, probably, that it has in
general been held in such high estimation is that it adds greatly to
the external power of a nation or to its power of commanding the labour
of other countries; but it will be found, upon a near examination, to
contribute but little to the increase of the internal funds for the
maintenance of labour, and consequently but little to the happiness of
the greatest part of society. In the natural progress of a state
towards riches, manufactures, and foreign commerce would follow, in
their order, the high cultivation of the soil. In Europe, this natural
order of things has been inverted, and the soil has been cultivated
from the redundancy of manufacturing capital, instead of manufactures
rising from the redundancy of capital employed upon land. The superior
encouragement that has been given to the industry of the towns, and the
consequent higher price that is paid for the labour of artificers than
for the labour of those employed in husbandry, are probably the reasons
why so much soil in Europe remains uncultivated. Had a different policy
been pursued throughout Europe, it might undoubtedly have been much
more populous than at present, and yet not be more incumbered by its
population.

I cannot quit this curious subject of the difficulty arising from
population, a subject that appears to me to deserve a minute
investigation and able discussion much beyond my power to give it,
without taking notice of an extraordinary passage in Dr Price's two
volumes of Observations. Having given some tables on the probabilities
of life, in towns and in the country, he says (Vol. II, p. 243):

From this comparison, it appears with how much truth great cities have
been called the graves of mankind. It must also convince all who
consider it, that according to the observation, at the end of the
fourth essay, in the former volume, it is by no means strictly proper
to consider our diseases as the original intention of nature. They are,
without doubt, in general our own creation. Were there a country where
the inhabitants led lives entirely natural and virtuous, few of them
would die without measuring out the whole period of present existence
allotted to them; pain and distemper would be unknown among them, and
death would come upon them like a sleep, in consequence of no other
cause than gradual and unavoidable decay.

I own that I felt myself obliged to draw a very opposite conclusion
from the facts advanced in Dr Price's two volumes. I had for some time
been aware that population and food increased in different ratios, and
a vague opinion had been floating in my mind that they could only be
kept equal by some species of misery or vice, but the perusal of Dr
Price's two volumes of Observations, after that opinion had been
conceived, raised it at once to conviction. With so many facts in his
view to prove the extraordinary rapidity with which population
increases when unchecked, and with such a body of evidence before him
to elucidate even the manner by which the general laws of nature
repress a redundant population, it is perfectly inconceivable to me how
he could write the passage that I have quoted. He was a strenuous
advocate for early marriages, as the best preservative against vicious
manners. He had no fanciful conceptions about the extinction of the
passion between the sexes, like Mr Godwin, nor did he ever think of
eluding the difficulty in the ways hinted at by Mr Condorcet. He
frequently talks of giving the prolifick powers of nature room to exert
themselves. Yet with these ideas, that his understanding could escape
from the obvious and necessary inference that an unchecked population
would increase, beyond comparison, faster than the earth, by the best
directed exertions of man, could produce food for its support, appears
to me as astonishing as if he had resisted the conclusion of one of the
plainest propositions of Euclid.

Dr Price, speaking of the different stages of the civilized state,
says, 'The first, or simple stages of civilization, are those which
favour most the increase and the happiness of mankind. ' He then
instances the American colonies, as being at that time in the first and
happiest of the states that he had described, and as affording a very
striking proof of the effects of the different stages of civilization
on population. But he does not seem to be aware that the happiness of
the Americans depended much less upon their peculiar degree of
civilization than upon the peculiarity of their situation, as new
colonies, upon their having a great plenty of fertile uncultivated
land. In parts of Norway, Denmark, or Sweden, or in this country, two
or three hundred years ago, he might have found perhaps nearly the same
degree of civilization, but by no means the same happiness or the same
increase of population. He quotes himself a statute of Henry the
Eighth, complaining of the decay of tillage, and the enhanced price of
provisions, 'whereby a marvellous number of people were rendered
incapable of maintaining themselves and families. ' The superior degree
of civil liberty which prevailed in America contributed, without doubt,
its share to promote the industry, happiness, and population of these
states, but even civil liberty, all powerful as it is, will not create
fresh land. The Americans may be said, perhaps, to enjoy a greater
degree of civil liberty, now they are an independent people, than while
they were in subjection in England, but we may be perfectly sure that
population will not long continue to increase with the same rapidity as
it did then.

A person who contemplated the happy state of the lower classes of
people in America twenty years ago would naturally wish to retain them
for ever in that state, and might think, perhaps, that by preventing
the introduction of manufactures and luxury he might effect his
purpose, but he might as reasonably expect to prevent a wife or
mistress from growing old by never exposing her to the sun or air. The
situation of new colonies, well governed, is a bloom of youth that no
efforts can arrest. There are, indeed, many modes of treatment in the
political, as well as animal, body, that contribute to accelerate or
retard the approaches of age, but there can be no chance of success, in
any mode that could be devised, for keeping either of them in perpetual
youth. By encouraging the industry of the towns more than the industry
of the country, Europe may be said, perhaps, to have brought on a
premature old age. A different policy in this respect would infuse
fresh life and vigour into every state. While from the law of
primogeniture, and other European customs, land bears a monopoly price,
a capital can never be employed in it with much advantage to the
individual; and, therefore, it is not probable that the soil should be
properly cultivated. And, though in every civilized state a class of
proprietors and a class of labourers must exist, yet one permanent
advantage would always result from a nearer equalization of property.
The greater the number of proprietors, the smaller must be the number
of labourers: a greater part of society would be in the happy state of
possessing property: and a smaller part in the unhappy state of
possessing no other property than their labour. But the best directed
exertions, though they may alleviate, can never remove the pressure of
want, and it will be difficult for any person who contemplates the
genuine situation of man on earth, and the general laws of nature, to
suppose it possible that any, the most enlightened, efforts could place
mankind in a state where 'few would die without measuring out the whole
period of present existence allotted to them; where pain and distemper
would be unknown among them; and death would come upon them like a
sleep, in consequence of no other cause than gradual and unavoidable
decay. '

It is, undoubtedly, a most disheartening reflection that the great
obstacle in the way to any extraordinary improvement in society is of a
nature that we can never hope to overcome. The perpetual tendency in
the race of man to increase beyond the means of subsistence is one of
the general laws of animated nature which we can have no reason to
expect will change. Yet, discouraging as the contemplation of this
difficulty must be to those whose exertions are laudably directed to
the improvement of the human species, it is evident that no possible
good can arise from any endeavours to slur it over or keep it in the
background. On the contrary, the most baleful mischiefs may be expected
from the unmanly conduct of not daring to face truth because it is
unpleasing. Independently of what relates to this great obstacle,
sufficient yet remains to be done for mankind to animate us to the most
unremitted exertion. But if we proceed without a thorough knowledge and
accurate comprehension of the nature, extent, and magnitude of the
difficulties we have to encounter, or if we unwisely direct our efforts
towards an object in which we cannot hope for success, we shall not
only exhaust our strength in fruitless exertions and remain at as great
a distance as ever from the summit of our wishes, but we shall be
perpetually crushed by the recoil of this rock of Sisyphus.




CHAPTER 18

The constant pressure of distress on man, from the principle of
population, seems to direct our hopes to the future--State of trial
inconsistent with our ideas of the foreknowledge of God--The world,
probably, a mighty process for awakening matter into mind--Theory of
the formation of mind--Excitements from the wants of the
body--Excitements from the operation of general laws--Excitements from
the difficulties of life arising from the principle of population.


The view of human life which results from the contemplation of the
constant pressure of distress on man from the difficulty of
subsistence, by shewing the little expectation that he can reasonably
entertain of perfectibility on earth, seems strongly to point his hopes
to the future. And the temptations to which he must necessarily be
exposed, from the operation of those laws of nature which we have been
examining, would seem to represent the world in the light in which it
has been frequently considered, as a state of trial and school of
virtue preparatory to a superior state of happiness. But I hope I shall
be pardoned if I attempt to give a view in some degree different of the
situation of man on earth, which appears to me to be more consistent
with the various phenomena of nature which we observe around us and
more consonant to our ideas of the power, goodness, and foreknowledge
of the Deity.

It cannot be considered as an unimproving exercise of the human mind to
endeavour to 'vindicate the ways of God to man' if we proceed with a
proper distrust of our own understandings and a just sense of our
insufficiency to comprehend the reason of all we see, if we hail every
ray of light with gratitude, and, when no light appears, think that the
darkness is from within and not from without, and bow with humble
deference to the supreme wisdom of him whose 'thoughts are above our
thoughts' 'as the heavens are high above the earth. '

In all our feeble attempts, however, to 'find out the Almighty to
perfection', it seems absolutely necessary that we should reason from
nature up to nature's God and not presume to reason from God to nature.
The moment we allow ourselves to ask why some things are not otherwise,
instead of endeavouring to account for them as they are, we shall never
know where to stop, we shall be led into the grossest and most childish
absurdities, all progress in the knowledge of the ways of Providence
must necessarily be at an end, and the study will even cease to be an
improving exercise of the human mind. Infinite power is so vast and
incomprehensible an idea that the mind of man must necessarily be
bewildered in the contemplation of it. With the crude and puerile
conceptions which we sometimes form of this attribute of the Deity, we
might imagine that God could call into being myriads and myriads of
existences, all free from pain and imperfection, all eminent in
goodness and wisdom, all capable of the highest enjoyments, and
unnumbered as the points throughout infinite space. But when from these
vain and extravagant dreams of fancy, we turn our eyes to the book of
nature, where alone we can read God as he is, we see a constant
succession of sentient beings, rising apparently from so many specks of
matter, going through a long and sometimes painful process in this
world, but many of them attaining, ere the termination of it, such high
qualities and powers as seem to indicate their fitness for some
superior state. Ought we not then to correct our crude and puerile
ideas of infinite Power from the contemplation of what we actually see
existing? Can we judge of the Creator but from his creation? And,
unless we wish to exalt the power of God at the expense of his
goodness, ought we not to conclude that even to the great Creator,
almighty as he is, a certain process may be necessary, a certain time
(or at least what appears to us as time) may be requisite, in order to
form beings with those exalted qualities of mind which will fit them
for his high purposes?

A state of trial seems to imply a previously formed existence that does
not agree with the appearance of man in infancy and indicates something
like suspicion and want of foreknowledge, inconsistent with those ideas
which we wish to cherish of the Supreme Being. I should be inclined,
therefore, as I have hinted before, to consider the world and this life
as the mighty process of God, not for the trial, but for the creation
and formation of mind, a process necessary to awaken inert, chaotic
matter into spirit, to sublimate the dust of the earth into soul, to
elicit an ethereal spark from the clod of clay. And in this view of the
subject, the various impressions and excitements which man receives
through life may be considered as the forming hand of his Creator,
acting by general laws, and awakening his sluggish existence, by the
animating touches of the Divinity, into a capacity of superior
enjoyment. The original sin of man is the torpor and corruption of the
chaotic matter in which he may be said to be born.

It could answer no good purpose to enter into the question whether mind
be a distinct substance from matter, or only a finer form of it. The
question is, perhaps, after all, a question merely of words. Mind is as
essentially mind, whether formed from matter or any other substance. We
know from experience that soul and body are most intimately united, and
every appearance seems to indicate that they grow from infancy
together. It would be a supposition attended with very little
probability to believe that a complete and full formed spirit existed
in every infant, but that it was clogged and impeded in its operations
during the first twenty years of life by the weakness, or hebetude, of
the organs in which it was enclosed. As we shall all be disposed to
agree that God is the creator of mind as well as of body, and as they
both seem to be forming and unfolding themselves at the same time, it
cannot appear inconsistent either with reason or revelation, if it
appear to be consistent with phenomena of nature, to suppose that God
is constantly occupied in forming mind out of matter and that the
various impressions that man receives through life is the process for
that purpose. The employment is surely worthy of the highest attributes
of the Deity.

This view of the state of man on earth will not seem to be unattended
with probability, if, judging from the little experience we have of the
nature of mind, it shall appear upon investigation that the phenomena
around us, and the various events of human life, seem peculiarly
calculated to promote this great end, and especially if, upon this
supposition, we can account, even to our own narrow understandings, for
many of those roughnesses and inequalities in life which querulous man
too frequently makes the subject of his complaint against the God of
nature.

The first great awakeners of the mind seem to be the wants of the body.
(It was my intention to have entered at some length into this subject
as a kind of second part to the Essay. A long interruption, from
particular business, has obliged me to lay aside this intention, at
least for the present. I shall now, therefore, only give a sketch of a
few of the leading circumstances that appear to me to favour the
general supposition that I have advanced. ) They are the first
stimulants that rouse the brain of infant man into sentient activity,
and such seems to be the sluggishness of original matter that unless by
a peculiar course of excitements other wants, equally powerful, are
generated, these stimulants seem, even afterwards, to be necessary to
continue that activity which they first awakened. The savage would
slumber for ever under his tree unless he were roused from his torpor
by the cravings of hunger or the pinchings of cold, and the exertions
that he makes to avoid these evils, by procuring food, and building
himself a covering, are the exercises which form and keep in motion his
faculties, which otherwise would sink into listless inactivity. From
all that experience has taught us concerning the structure of the human
mind, if those stimulants to exertion which arise from the wants of the
body were removed from the mass of mankind, we have much more reason to
think that they would be sunk to the level of brutes, from a deficiency
of excitements, than that they would be raised to the rank of
philosophers by the possession of leisure. In those countries where
nature is the most redundant in spontaneous produce the inhabitants
will not be found the most remarkable for acuteness of intellect.
Necessity has been with great truth called the mother of invention.
Some of the noblest exertions of the human mind have been set in motion
by the necessity of satisfying the wants of the body. Want has not
unfrequently given wings to the imagination of the poet, pointed the
flowing periods of the historian, and added acuteness to the researches
of the philosopher, and though there are undoubtedly many minds at
present so far improved by the various excitements of knowledge, or of
social sympathy, that they would not relapse into listlessness if their
bodily stimulants were removed, yet it can scarcely be doubted that
these stimulants could not be withdrawn from the mass of mankind
without producing a general and fatal torpor, destructive of all the
germs of future improvement.

Locke, if I recollect, says that the endeavour to avoid pain rather
than the pursuit of pleasure is the great stimulus to action in life:
and that in looking to any particular pleasure, we shall not be roused
into action in order to obtain it, till the contemplation of it has
continued so long as to amount to a sensation of pain or uneasiness
under the absence of it. To avoid evil and to pursue good seem to be
the great duty and business of man, and this world appears to be
peculiarly calculated to afford opportunity of the most unremitted
exertion of this kind, and it is by this exertion, by these stimulants,
that mind is formed. If Locke's idea be just, and there is great reason
to think that it is, evil seems to be necessary to create exertion, and
exertion seems evidently necessary to create mind.

The necessity of food for the support of life gives rise, probably, to
a greater quantity of exertion than any other want, bodily or mental.
The Supreme Being has ordained that the earth shall not produce good in
great quantities till much preparatory labour and ingenuity has been
exercised upon its surface. There is no conceivable connection to our
comprehensions, between the seed and the plant or tree that rises from
it. The Supreme Creator might, undoubtedly, raise up plants of all
kinds, for the use of his creatures, without the assistance of those
little bits of matter, which we call seed, or even without the
assisting labour and attention of man. The processes of ploughing and
clearing the ground, of collecting and sowing seeds, are not surely for
the assistance of God in his creation, but are made previously
necessary to the enjoyment of the blessings of life, in order to rouse
man into action, and form his mind to reason.

To furnish the most unremitted excitements of this kind, and to urge
man to further the gracious designs of Providence by the full
cultivation of the earth, it has been ordained that population should
increase much faster than food. This general law (as it has appeared in
the former parts of this Essay) undoubtedly produces much partial evil,
but a little reflection may, perhaps, satisfy us, that it produces a
great overbalance of good. Strong excitements seem necessary to create
exertion, and to direct this exertion, and form the reasoning faculty,
it seems absolutely necessary, that the Supreme Being should act always
according to general laws. The constancy of the laws of nature, or the
certainty with which we may expect the same effects from the same
causes, is the foundation of the faculty of reason. If in the ordinary
course of things, the finger of God were frequently visible, or to
speak more correctly, if God were frequently to change his purpose (for
the finger of God is, indeed, visible in every blade of grass that we
see), a general and fatal torpor of the human faculties would probably
ensue; even the bodily wants of mankind would cease to stimulate them
to exertion, could they not reasonably expect that if their efforts
were well directed they would be crowned with success. The constancy of
the laws of nature is the foundation of the industry and foresight of
the husbandman, the indefatigable ingenuity of the artificer, the
skilful researches of the physician and anatomist, and the watchful
observation and patient investigation of the natural philosopher. To
this constancy we owe all the greatest and noblest efforts of
intellect. To this constancy we owe the immortal mind of a Newton.

As the reasons, therefore, for the constancy of the laws of nature
seem, even to our understandings, obvious and striking; if we return to
the principle of population and consider man as he really is, inert,
sluggish, and averse from labour, unless compelled by necessity (and it
is surely the height of folly to talk of man, according to our crude
fancies of what he might be), we may pronounce with certainty that the
world would not have been peopled, but for the superiority of the power
of population to the means of subsistence. Strong and constantly
operative as this stimulus is on man to urge him to the cultivation of
the earth, if we still see that cultivation proceeds very slowly, we
may fairly conclude that a less stimulus would have been insufficient.
Even under the operation of this constant excitement, savages will
inhabit countries of the greatest natural fertility for a long period
before they betake themselves to pasturage or agriculture. Had
population and food increased in the same ratio, it is probable that
man might never have emerged from the savage state. But supposing the
earth once well peopled, an Alexander, a Julius Caesar, a Tamberlane,
or a bloody revolution might irrecoverably thin the human race, and
defeat the great designs of the Creator. The ravages of a contagious
disorder would be felt for ages; and an earthquake might unpeople a
region for ever. The principle, according to which population
increases, prevents the vices of mankind, or the accidents of nature,
the partial evils arising from general laws, from obstructing the high
purpose of the creation. It keeps the inhabitants of the earth always
fully up to the level of the means of subsistence; and is constantly
acting upon man as a powerful stimulus, urging him to the further
cultivation of the earth, and to enable it, consequently, to support a
more extended population. But it is impossible that this law can
operate, and produce the effects apparently intended by the Supreme
Being, without occasioning partial evil. Unless the principle of
population were to be altered according to the circumstances of each
separate country (which would not only be contrary to our universal
experience, with regard to the laws of nature, but would contradict
even our own reason, which sees the absolute necessity of general laws
for the formation of intellect), it is evident that the same principle
which, seconded by industry, will people a fertile region in a few
years must produce distress in countries that have been long inhabited.

It seems, however, every way probable that even the acknowledged
difficulties occasioned by the law of population tend rather to promote
than impede the general purpose of Providence. They excite universal
exertion and contribute to that infinite variety of situations, and
consequently of impressions, which seems upon the whole favourable to
the growth of mind. It is probable, that too great or too little
excitement, extreme poverty, or too great riches may be alike
unfavourable in this respect. The middle regions of society seem to be
best suited to intellectual improvement, but it is contrary to the
analogy of all nature to expect that the whole of society can be a
middle region. The temperate zones of the earth seem to be the most
favourable to the mental and corporal energies of man, but all cannot
be temperate zones. A world, warmed and enlightened but by one sun,
must from the laws of matter have some parts chilled by perpetual
frosts and others scorched by perpetual heats. Every piece of matter
lying on a surface must have an upper and an under side, all the
particles cannot be in the middle. The most valuable parts of an oak,
to a timber merchant, are not either the roots or the branches, but
these are absolutely necessary to the existence of the middle part, or
stem, which is the object in request. The timber merchant could not
possibly expect to make an oak grow without roots or branches, but if
he could find out a mode of cultivation which would cause more of the
substance to go to stem, and less to root and branch, he would be right
to exert himself in bringing such a system into general use.

In the same manner, though we cannot possibly expect to exclude riches
and poverty from society, yet if we could find out a mode of government
by which the numbers in the extreme regions would be lessened and the
numbers in the middle regions increased, it would be undoubtedly our
duty to adopt it. It is not, however, improbable that as in the oak,
the roots and branches could not be diminished very greatly without
weakening the vigorous circulation of the sap in the stem, so in
society the extreme parts could not be diminished beyond a certain
degree without lessening that animated exertion throughout the middle
parts, which is the very cause that they are the most favourable to the
growth of intellect. If no man could hope to rise or fear to fall, in
society, if industry did not bring with it its reward and idleness its
punishment, the middle parts would not certainly be what they now are.
In reasoning upon this subject, it is evident that we ought to consider
chiefly the mass of mankind and not individual instances. There are
undoubtedly many minds, and there ought to be many, according to the
chances out of so great a mass, that, having been vivified early by a
peculiar course of excitements, would not need the constant action of
narrow motives to continue them in activity. But if we were to review
the various useful discoveries, the valuable writings, and other
laudable exertions of mankind, I believe we should find that more were
to be attributed to the narrow motives that operate upon the many than
to the apparently more enlarged motives that operate upon the few.

Leisure is, without doubt, highly valuable to man, but taking man as he
is, the probability seems to be that in the greater number of instances
it will produce evil rather than good. It has been not infrequently
remarked that talents are more common among younger brothers than among
elder brothers, but it can scarcely be imagined that younger brothers
are, upon an average, born with a greater original susceptibility of
parts. The difference, if there really is any observable difference,
can only arise from their different situations. Exertion and activity
are in general absolutely necessary in one case and are only optional
in the other.

That the difficulties of life contribute to generate talents, every
day's experience must convince us. The exertions that men find it
necessary to make, in order to support themselves or families,
frequently awaken faculties that might otherwise have lain for ever
dormant, and it has been commonly remarked that new and extraordinary
situations generally create minds adequate to grapple with the
difficulties in which they are involved.




CHAPTER 19

The sorrows of life necessary to soften and humanize the heart--The
excitement of social sympathy often produce characters of a higher
order than the mere possessors of talents--Moral evil probably
necessary to the production of moral excellence--Excitements from
intellectual wants continually kept up by the infinite variety of
nature, and the obscurity that involves metaphysical subjects--The
difficulties in revelation to be accounted for upon this principle--The
degree of evidence which the scriptures contain, probably, best suited
to the improvements of the human faculties, and the moral amelioration
of mankind--The idea that mind is created by excitements seems to
account for the existence of natural and moral evil.


The sorrows and distresses of life form another class of excitements,
which seem to be necessary, by a peculiar train of impressions, to
soften and humanize the heart, to awaken social sympathy, to generate
all the Christian virtues, and to afford scope for the ample exertion
of benevolence. The general tendency of an uniform course of prosperity
is rather to degrade than exalt the character. The heart that has never
known sorrow itself will seldom be feelingly alive to the pains and
pleasures, the wants and wishes, of its fellow beings. It will seldom
be overflowing with that warmth of brotherly love, those kind and
amiable affections, which dignify the human character even more than
the possession of the highest talents. Talents, indeed, though
undoubtedly a very prominent and fine feature of mind, can by no means
be considered as constituting the whole of it. There are many minds
which have not been exposed to those excitements that usually form
talents, that have yet been vivified to a high degree by the
excitements of social sympathy. In every rank of life, in the lowest as
frequently as in the highest, characters are to be found overflowing
with the milk of human kindness, breathing love towards God and man,
and, though without those peculiar powers of mind called talents,
evidently holding a higher rank in the scale of beings than many who
possess them. Evangelical charity, meekness, piety, and all that class
of virtues distinguished particularly by the name of Christian virtues
do not seem necessarily to include abilities; yet a soul possessed of
these amiable qualities, a soul awakened and vivified by these
delightful sympathies, seems to hold a nearer commerce with the skies
than mere acuteness of intellect.

The greatest talents have been frequently misapplied and have produced
evil proportionate to the extent of their powers. Both reason and
revelation seem to assure us that such minds will be condemned to
eternal death, but while on earth, these vicious instruments performed
their part in the great mass of impressions, by the disgust and
abhorrence which they excited. It seems highly probable that moral evil
is absolutely necessary to the production of moral excellence. A being
with only good placed in view may be justly said to be impelled by a
blind necessity. The pursuit of good in this case can be no indication
of virtuous propensities. It might be said, perhaps, that infinite
Wisdom cannot want such an indication as outward action, but would
foreknow with certainly whether the being would choose good or evil.
This might be a plausible argument against a state of trial, but will
not hold against the supposition that mind in this world is in a state
of formation. Upon this idea, the being that has seen moral evil and
has felt disapprobation and disgust at it is essentially different from
the being that has seen only good. They are pieces of clay that have
received distinct impressions: they must, therefore, necessarily be in
different shapes; or, even if we allow them both to have the same
lovely form of virtue, it must be acknowledged that one has undergone
the further process, necessary to give firmness and durability to its
substance, while the other is still exposed to injury, and liable to be
broken by every accidental impulse. An ardent love and admiration of
virtue seems to imply the existence of something opposite to it, and it
seems highly probable that the same beauty of form and substance, the
same perfection of character, could not be generated without the
impressions of disapprobation which arise from the spectacle of moral
evil.

When the mind has been awakened into activity by the passions, and the
wants of the body, intellectual wants arise; and the desire of
knowledge, and the impatience under ignorance, form a new and important
class of excitements. Every part of nature seems peculiarly calculated
to furnish stimulants to mental exertion of this kind, and to offer
inexhaustible food for the most unremitted inquiry. Our mortal Bard
says of Cleopatra:

Custom cannot stale
Her infinite variety.

The expression, when applied to any one object, may be considered as a
poetical amplification, but it is accurately true when applied to
nature. Infinite variety seems, indeed, eminently her characteristic
feature. The shades that are here and there blended in the picture give
spirit, life, and prominence to her exuberant beauties, and those
roughnesses and inequalities, those inferior parts that support the
superior, though they sometimes offend the fastidious microscopic eye
of short-sighted man, contribute to the symmetry, grace, and fair
proportion of the whole.

The infinite variety of the forms and operations of nature, besides
tending immediately to awaken and improve the mind by the variety of
impressions that it creates, opens other fertile sources of improvement
by offering so wide and extensive a field for investigation and
research. Uniform, undiversified perfection could not possess the same
awakening powers. When we endeavour then to contemplate the system of
the universe, when we think of the stars as the suns of other systems
scattered throughout infinite space, when we reflect that we do not
probably see a millionth part of those bright orbs that are beaming
light and life to unnumbered worlds, when our minds, unable to grasp
the immeasurable conception, sink, lost and confounded, in admiration
at the mighty incomprehensible power of the Creator, let us not
querulously complain that all climates are not equally genial, that
perpetual spring does not reign throughout the year, that God's
creatures do not possess the same advantages, that clouds and tempests
sometimes darken the natural world and vice and misery the moral world,
and that all the works of the creation are not formed with equal
perfection. Both reason and experience seem to indicate to us that the
infinite variety of nature (and variety cannot exist without inferior
parts, or apparent blemishes) is admirably adapted to further the high
purpose of the creation and to produce the greatest possible quantity
of good.

The obscurity that involves all metaphysical subjects appears to me, in
the same manner, peculiarly calculated to add to that class of
excitements which arise from the thirst of knowledge. It is probable
that man, while on earth, will never be able to attain complete
satisfaction on these subjects; but this is by no means a reason that
he should not engage in them. The darkness that surrounds these
interesting topics of human curiosity may be intended to furnish
endless motives to intellectual activity and exertion. The constant
effort to dispel this darkness, even if it fail of success, invigorates
and improves the thinking faculty. If the subjects of human inquiry
were once exhausted, mind would probably stagnate; but the infinitely
diversified forms and operations of nature, together with the endless
food for speculation which metaphysical subjects offer, prevent the
possibility that such a period should ever arrive.

It is by no means one of the wisest sayings of Solomon that 'there is
no new thing under the sun. ' On the contrary, it is probable that were
the present system to continue for millions of years, continual
additions would be making to the mass of human knowledge, and yet,
perhaps, it may be a matter of doubt whether what may be called the
capacity of mind be in any marked and decided manner increasing. A
Socrates, a Plato, or an Aristotle, however confessedly inferior in
knowledge to the philosophers of the present day, do not appear to have
been much below them in intellectual capacity. Intellect rises from a
speck, continues in vigour only for a certain period, and will not
perhaps admit while on earth of above a certain number of impressions.
These impressions may, indeed, be infinitely modified, and from these
various modifications, added probably to a difference in the
susceptibility of the original germs, arise the endless diversity of
character that we see in the world; but reason and experience seem both
to assure us that the capacity of individual minds does not increase in
proportion to the mass of existing knowledge. (It is probable that no
two grains of wheat are exactly alike. Soil undoubtedly makes the
principal difference in the blades that spring up, but probably not
all. It seems natural to suppose some sort of difference in the
original germs that are afterwards awakened into thought, and the
extraordinary difference of susceptibility in very young children seems
to confirm the supposition. )

The finest minds seem to be formed rather by efforts at original
thinking, by endeavours to form new combinations, and to discover new
truths, than by passively receiving the impressions of other men's
ideas.
Could we suppose the period arrived, when there was not further
hope of future discoveries, and the only employment of mind was to
acquire pre-existing knowledge, without any efforts to form new and
original combinations, though the mass of human knowledge were a
thousand times greater than it is at present, yet it is evident that
one of the noblest stimulants to mental exertion would have ceased; the
finest feature of intellect would be lost; everything allied to genius
would be at an end; and it appears to be impossible, that, under such
circumstances, any individuals could possess the same intellectual
energies as were possessed by a Locke, a Newton, or a Shakespeare, or
even by a Socrates, a Plato, an Aristotle or a Homer.

If a revelation from heaven of which no person could feel the smallest
doubt were to dispel the mists that now hang over metaphysical
subjects, were to explain the nature and structure of mind, the
affections and essences of all substances, the mode in which the
Supreme Being operates in the works of the creation, and the whole plan
and scheme of the Universe, such an accession of knowledge so obtained,
instead of giving additional vigour and activity to the human mind,
would in all probability tend to repress future exertion and to damp
the soaring wings of intellect.

For this reason I have never considered the doubts and difficulties
that involve some parts of the sacred writings as any ardent against
their divine original. The Supreme Being might, undoubtedly, have
accompanied his revelations to man by such a succession of miracles,
and of such a nature, as would have produced universal overpowering
conviction and have put an end at once to all hesitation and
discussion. But weak as our reason is to comprehend the plans of the
great Creator, it is yet sufficiently strong to see the most striking
objections to such a revelation. From the little we know of the
structure of the human understanding, we must be convinced that an
overpowering conviction of this kind, instead of tending to the
improvement and moral amelioration of man, would act like the touch of
a torpedo on all intellectual exertion and would almost put an end to
the existence of virtue. If the scriptural denunciations of eternal
punishment were brought home with the same certainty to every man's
mind as that the night will follow the day, this one vast and gloomy
idea would take such full possession of the human faculties as to leave
no room for any other conceptions, the external actions of men would be
all nearly alike, virtuous conduct would be no indication of virtuous
disposition, vice and virtue would be blended together in one common
mass, and though the all-seeing eye of God might distinguish them they
must necessarily make the same impressions on man, who can judge only
from external appearances. Under such a dispensation, it is difficult
to conceive how human beings could be formed to a detestation of moral
evil, and a love and admiration of God, and of moral excellence.

Our ideas of virtue and vice are not, perhaps, very accurate and
well-defined; but few, I think, would call an action really virtuous
which was performed simply and solely from the dread of a very great
punishment or the expectation of a very great reward. The fear of the
Lord is very justly said to be the beginning of wisdom, but the end of
wisdom is the love of the Lord and the admiration of moral good. The
denunciations of future punishment contained in the scriptures seem to
be well calculated to arrest the progress of the vicious and awaken the
attention of the careless, but we see from repeated experience that
they are not accompanied with evidence of such a nature as to overpower
the human will and to make men lead virtuous lives with vicious
dispositions, merely from a dread of hereafter. A genuine faith, by
which I mean a faith that shews itself in it the virtues of a truly
Christian life, may generally be considered as an indication of an
amiable and virtuous disposition, operated upon more by love than by
pure unmixed fear.

When we reflect on the temptations to which man must necessarily be
exposed in this world, from the structure of his frame, and the
operation of the laws of nature, and the consequent moral certainty
that many vessels will come out of this mighty creative furnace in
wrong shapes, it is perfectly impossible to conceive that any of these
creatures of God's hand can be condemned to eternal suffering. Could we
once admit such an idea, it our natural conceptions of goodness and
justice would be completely overthrown, and we could no longer look up
to God as a merciful and righteous Being. But the doctrine of life and
Mortality which was brought to light by the gospel, the doctrine that
the end of righteousness is everlasting life, but that the wages of sin
are death, is in every respect just and merciful, and worthy of the
great Creator. Nothing can appear more consonant to our reason than
that those beings which come out of the creative process of the world
in lovely and beautiful forms should be crowned with immortality, while
those which come out misshapen, those whose minds are not suited to a
purer and happier state of existence, should perish and be condemned to
mix again with their original clay. Eternal condemnation of this kind
may be considered as a species of eternal punishment, and it is not
wonderful that it should be represented, sometimes, under images of
suffering. But life and death, salvation and destruction, are more
frequently opposed to each other in the New Testament than happiness
and misery. The Supreme Being would appear to us in a very different
view if we were to consider him as pursuing the creatures that had
offended him with eternal hate and torture, instead of merely
condemning to their original insensibility those beings that, by the
operation of general laws, had not been formed with qualities suited to
a purer state of happiness.

Life is, generally speaking, a blessing independent of a future state.
It is a gift which the vicious would not always be ready to throw away,
even if they had no fear of death. The partial pain, therefore, that is
inflicted by the supreme Creator, while he is forming numberless beings
to a capacity of the highest enjoyments, is but as the dust of the
balance in comparison of the happiness that is communicated, and we
have every reason to think that there is no more evil in the world than
what is absolutely necessary as one of the ingredients in the mighty
process.

The striking necessity of general laws for the formation of intellect
will not in any respect be contradicted by one or two exceptions, and
these evidently not intended for partial purposes, but calculated to
operate upon a great part of mankind, and through many ages. Upon the
idea that I have given of the formation of mind, the infringement of
the general law of nature, by a divine revelation, will appear in the
light of the immediate hand of God mixing new ingredients in the mighty
mass, suited to the particular state of the process, and calculated to
give rise to a new and powerful train of impressions, tending to
purify, exalt, and improve the human mind. The miracles that
accompanied these revelations when they had once excited the attention
of mankind, and rendered it a matter of most interesting discussion,
whether the doctrine was from God or man, had performed their part, had
answered the purpose of the Creator, and these communications of the
divine will were afterwards left to make their way by their own
intrinsic excellence; and, by operating as moral motives, gradually to
influence and improve, and not to overpower and stagnate the faculties
of man.

It would be, undoubtedly, presumptuous to say that the Supreme Being
could not possibly have effected his purpose in any other way than that
which he has chosen, but as the revelation of the divine will which we
possess is attended with some doubts and difficulties, and as our
reason points out to us the strongest objections to a revelation which
would force immediate, implicit, universal belief, we have surely just
cause to think that these doubts and difficulties are no argument
against the divine origin of the scriptures, and that the species of
evidence which they possess is best suited to the improvement of the
human faculties and the moral amelioration of mankind.

The idea that the impressions and excitements of this world are the
instruments with which the Supreme Being forms matter into mind, and
that the necessity of constant exertion to avoid evil and to pursue
good is the principal spring of these impressions and excitements,
seems to smooth many of the difficulties that occur in a contemplation
of human life, and appears to me to give a satisfactory reason for the
existence of natural and moral evil, and, consequently, for that part
of both, and it certainly is not a very small part, which arises from
the principle of population. But, though, upon this supposition, it
seems highly improbable that evil should ever be removed from the
world; yet it is evident that this impression would not answer the
apparent purpose of the Creator; it would not act so powerfully as an
excitement to exertion, if the quantity of it did not diminish or
increase with the activity or the indolence of man. The continual
variations in the weight and in the distribution of this pressure keep
alive a constant expectation of throwing it off.

"Hope springs eternal in the Human breast,
Man never is, but always to be blest. "

Evil exists in the world not to create despair but activity. We are not
patiently to submit to it, but to exert ourselves to avoid it. It is
not only the interest but the duty of every individual to use his
utmost efforts to remove evil from himself and from as large a circle
as he can influence, and the more he exercises himself in this duty,
the more wisely he directs his efforts, and the more successful these
efforts are; the more he will probably improve and exalt his own mind,
and the more completely does he appear to fulfil the will of his
Creator.









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