LECTURE XXII. ON THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. OF THE AGREEABLE AND BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS, AND THEIR ORIGIN. IN my last Lecture, I treated on such of the active powers as had the evil of others for their object; or were characterized by the pain which they inflicted on him, in whose mind they were observed. I come now to an opposite set of agents,-those which have the good of others for their object, or are characterized by the pleasure which they impart to that person, in whom they are observable. I am aware this division of the principles of our nature, which lead us to action, is not perfectly accurate; but it is accurate enough for that very general view which I propose to take of them, and which I believe is all that could be tolerated in a Lecture of this nature. The origin of these benevolent affections, I should explain exactly after the same manner as their opposite, the malevolent feelings: the one proceed from pain, guided by association; the other, from pleasure, guided by association. To trace them up to this orgin, would be merely to repeat my last Lecture over again, with the alteration of a single word-pleasure for pain; and therefore I shall pass it over, presuming that I have sufficiently explained myself on that subject. The pleasing and benevolent affections of our nature, may be divided into the memory of past good; the enjoyment of present good; the anticipation of future good; and benevolence, or a desire to do good to others. The memory of past good, and the memory of past evil, are both without a specific name in our language; though it should seem, that they require one, as much as hope or fear,-to which, in point of time, they are contrasted. We all know that present happiness is very materially affected by happiness in prospect: but, perhaps, it is not enough urged as a motive for benevolence. Mankind are always happier for having been happy; so that if you make them happy now, you make them happy twenty years hence by the memory of it. A childhood passed with a due mixture of rational indulgence, under fond and wise parents, diffuses over the whole of life, a feeling of calm pleasure; and, in extreme old age, is the very last remembrance which time can erase from the mind of man. No enjoyment, however inconsiderable, is confined to the present moment. A man is the happier for life, from having made once an agreeable tour, or lived for any length of time with pleasant people, or enjoyed any considerable interval of innocent pleasure: and it is most probably the recollection of their past pleasures, which contributes to render old men so inattentive to the scenes before them; and carries them back to a world that is past, and to scenes never to be renewed again. The recollection of pleasures that are past, is tinged with a certain degree of melancholy,-as every survey we take of distant periods of time always is. This gives it its peculiar characteristic, and distinguishes it from the animated sensations of present enjoyment: but still, such recollections is always one of the favorite occupations of the human mind; and, to many dispositions, the most fruitful source of happiness. In the passion of fear there is always a mixed expectation of good and evil; but the evil preponderates. When all expectation of good ceases, the feeling which takes place is that of despair. In hope, the expectation of good preponderates. But there is no name for that feeling, when all expectation of evil ceases, and the good appears certain;-this is the opposite of despair. Upon this tendency to look forward to future happiness, or back upon happiness past, is founded a very obvious distinction in human character:-contemplative men, of a poetical cast, who are always looking with a kind of fond enthusiasm upon the past, and contrasting it with the prospect which lies open before them; and bustling active men of the world, whose face is always turned the way they are going, in whose mind the memory of the past has very little share, but who look keenly forward in the game of life, with all the eagerness of the most sanguine hope. For my part, I must confess myself rather an admirer of the active school, and no great friend to that pleasant but disqualifying melancholy, which makes a man believe he has extracted all the pleasure and enjoyment from human life, before he has passed half through it,-that no grass is green, except the grass where he played when he was a boy,-and that all the pleasures of which a man of genuine feeling and taste partakes, ought, like the wine he drinks, to be fif teen or twenty years old. So far as the contemplation of the past does not go to put us out of conceit with the future, it is wise: when it does, it is the idleness of genius and feeling; but it is idleness, and is a corruption which comes from those imperfect moralists, the poets, who are ever disposed to chant mankind out of the vigorous cheerfulness of hope, and to infuse, in its stead, a feeling of past happiness; which, however calm and beautiful it may appear, is injurious when it softens and unstrings the mind, and renders it useless for the struggles of life. The different degrees of present enjoyment are signified by a vast variety of expressions; from complacency and satisfaction, to the most exalted rapture. The general term for the desire to do good to others, is— benevolence. The most common causes of benevolence are love, gratitude, and compassion: these are very ancient subjects, and it is not very easy to say any thing new upon them; but there is another source of benevolence, which is not so commonly adverted to, nor so frequently discussed,-I mean the benevolence excited by power, and by wealth; not proceeding from any idea of profiting by the power or wealth of others, but a dis interested, impartial admiration of power and wealth, and a high degree of benevolence excited toward the rich, the great, and the fortunate. The operations of envy are very limited; we merely envy those immediately above us,-whose advantages might possibly have been ours: but the splendor placed entirely out of our reach, we admire with the fondest enthusiasm. 66 When," says Adam Smith, "we consider the condition of the great, in those delusive colors in which the imagination is apt to paint it, it seems to be almost the abstract idea of a perfect and happy state. It is the very state which, in all our waking dreams, and idle reveries, we had sketched out to ourselves, as the final object of all our desires. We feel, therefore, a peculiar sympathy with the satisfaction of those that are in it: we favor all their inclinations, and forward all their wishes. What pity, we think, that any thing should spoil and corrupt so agreeable a situation! We could even wish them immortal and it seems hard to us, that death should, at last, put an end to such perfect enjoyment. It is cruel, we think, in Nature to compel them, from their exalted station, to that humble, but hospitable home which she has provided for all her children. Great King, live forever! is the compliment, which, after the manner of Eastern adulation, we should readily make them, if experience did not teach us its absurdity. Every calamity that befalls them, every injury that is done them, excites in the breast of the spectator, ten times more compassion and resentment than he would have felt, had the same things happened to other men. It is the misfortunes of kings only, which afford the proper subject for tragedy. They resemble, in this respect, the misfortunes of lovers. Those two situations are the chief that interest us upon the theater; because, in spite of all that reason and experience can tell us to the contrary, the prejudices of the imagination attach to these two states, a happiness superior to any other. To disturb, or put an end to, such perfect enjoyment, seems to be the most atrocious of all injuries." Every man's experience, I should think, must have furnished him with sufficient examples of this kind of feeling;-of the examples of men who have nothing to wish, or to want; who are utterly incapable of forming a base or ungenerous sentiment; but who, with the most honest and disinterested views, are quite enslaved by the admiration of greatness. Their benefits can extend to a few; but their fortunes interest almost every body. We are eager to assist them in completing a system of happiness, that approaches so near to perfection; and we desire to serve them, for their own sake, without any recompense, but the honor or the vanity of obliging them. Upon this disposition, however, to go along with the passions of the rich and powerful, is founded the distinction of ranks, and the order of society. Watched over, and kept within due bounds, it is a sentiment which leads to the most valuable and important consequences. But I hope I shall be pardoned for observing, it is a terrible corrupter of moral sentiments, when it destroys that feeling of modest independence, which is quite as necessary to the real welfare of society, as a wise subordination, and difference of rank. As every thing which excites pain, is apt to excite resentment, so, every thing which excites pleasure, is apt to excite benevolence. A good countenance, or a good figure, always conciliates a considerable degree of favor; -certainly, very unjustly; because, no man makes his own figure, or his own face; and the distresses of others, or their merits, are the only legitimate objects of benevolence. The messenger of good news, is always an object of benevolence. Every one knows, that an officer who brings home the news of á victory, receives a donation in money, and is commonly knighted, or promoted. Strictly speaking, it would be just as equitable to mulct him of half a year's pay, for bringing home the news of a defeat, as it would be to present him with £500, for bringing home the news of a victory: but, if they be not too great, all men sympathize with the excesses of the generous and benevolent passions; while they restrain the malevolent principles within the most rigid bounds of justice. That the messenger of disastrous news should be punished, would appear to the impartial spectator, the most horrible injustice; but no one envies his reward to |