resolutely giving to every man his due, and, agree- ably to the apostle's direction, " instant in season, and out of season." The individual who answers to this description will often be deemed trouble- some, often annoying; he will produce a consider- able sensation in the circle of those who know him; and it will depend upon various collateral circum- stances, whether he shall ultimately be judged a rash and intemperate disturber of the contemplations of his neighbours, or a disinterested and heroic sug- gester of new veins of thinking, by which his con- temporaries and their posterity shall be essentially the gainers.
I have no desire to pass myself upon those who may have any curiosity respecting me for better than I am; and I will therefore here put down a few particulars, which may tend to enable them to form an equitable judgment.
One of the earliest passions of my mind was the love of truth and sound opinion. " Why should I,** such was the language of my solitary meditations, ^* because I was born in a certain degree of latitude, in a certain century, in a country where certain in- stitutions prevail, and of parents professing a certain faith, take it for granted that all this is right? — This is matter of accident. "Time and chance hap- peneth to all:" and I, the thinking principle within me, might, if such had been the order of events, have been born under circumstances the very reverse of those under which I was bom. I will not, if I 334 OF DIFFIDENCE. [esSAY can help it, be the creature of accident; I will not, like a shuttle-cock, be at the disposal of every im- pulse that is given me/' I felt a certain disdain for the being thus directed; I could not endure the idea of being made a fool of, and of taking every ignis fatuus for a guide, and every stray notion, the meteor of the day, for everlasting truth. I am the person, spoken of in a preceding Essay % who early said to Truth, " Go on: whithersoever thou leadest, I am prepared to follow."
During my college-life therefore, I read all sorts of books, on every side of any important question, or that were thrown in my way, that I could hear of. But the very passion that determined me to this mode of proceedings made me wary and circumspect in coming to a conclusion. I knew that it would, if any thing, be a more censurable and contemptible act, to yield to every seducing novelty, than to ad- here obstinately to a prejudice because it had been instilled into me in youth. I was therefore slow of conviction, and by no means ^^ given to change.** I never willingly parted with a suggestion that was unexpectedly furnished to me; but I examined it again and again, before I consented that it should ^nter into the set of my principles.
In proportion however as I became acquainted with truth, or what appeared to me to be truth, I wajs like what I have read of Melancthon, who, when he was first converted to the tenets of Luther, be- XVIII.] OF DIFFIDENCE. 335 came eager to go into all companies, that he might make them partakers of the same inestimahle trea- sures, and set before them evidence that was to him irresistible. It is needless to say, that he often en- countered the most mortifying disappointment.
Young and eager as I was in my mission, I re- ceived in this way many a bitter lesson. But the peculiarity of my temper rendered this doubly im- pressive to me. I could not pass over a hint, let it come from what quarter it would, without taking it into some consideration, and endeavouring to ascer- tain the precise weight that was to be attributed to it. It would however often happen, particularly in the question of the claims of a given individual to honour and respect,, that I could see nothing but the most glaring injustice in the opposition I expe- rienced. In canvassing the character of an indivi- dual, it is not for the most part general, abstract or moral, principles that are called into question: I am left in possession of the premises which taught me to admire the man whose character is contested; and conformably to those premises I see that his claiin to the honour I have paid him is fully made out.
In my communications with others, in the en- deavour to impart what I deemed to be truth, I be- gan with boldness: but I often found that the evi- dence that was to me irresistible, was made small account of by others; and it not seldom happened, as candour was my principle, and a determination to receive what could be shewn to be truth, let it 336 OF DIFFIDENCE. [eSSAY come from what quarter it would, that suggestions were presented to me, materially calculated to stag- ger the confidence with which I had set out. If I had been divinely inspired, if I had been secured by an omniscient spirit against the danger of error, my case would have been different. But I was not in- spired. I often encountered an opposition I had not anticipated, and was often presented with objections^ or had pointed out to me flaws and deficiencies in my re^isonings, which, till they were so pointedout, I had not apprehended. I had not lungs enabling me to drown all contradiction; and, which was still more material, I had not a frame of mind, which should determine me to regard whatever could be urged against me as of no value. I therefore became cautious. As a human creature, I did not relish the being held up to others, or to myself, as rash, in- considerate and headlong, unaware of difficulties the most obvious, embracing propositions the most un- tenable, and "against hope believing in hope." And, as an apostle of truth, I distinctly perceived that a reputation for perspicacity and sound judgment was essential to my mission. I therefore often became less a speaker, than a listener, and by no means made it a law with myself to defend principles and characters I honoured, on every occasion on which I might hear them attacked.
A new epoch occurred in my character, when I published, and at the time I was writing, my En-; quiry concerning Political Justice. My mind was *x XVIII.] OF DIFFIDENCE. 337 wrought up to a certain elevation of tone; the spe- culations in which I was engaged, tending to em- hrace all that was most important to man in society, and the frame to which I had assiduously bent my- self, of giving quarter to nothing because it was old, and shrinking from nothing because it was startling and astounding, gave a new bias to my character. The habit which I thus formed put me more on the alert even in the scenes of ordinary life, and gave me a boldness and an eloquence more than was natural to me. I then reverted to the principle which I stated in the beginning, of being ready. to tell my neighbour whatever it might be of advantage to him to know, to shew myself the sin- cere and zealous advocate of absent merit and worth, and to contribute by every means in my power to the improvement of others and to the diffusion of salutary truths through the world. I desired that every hour that I lived should be turned to the best account, and was bent each day to examine whether I had conformed myself to this rule. I held on this course with tolerable constancy for five or six years: and, even when that constancy abated, it failed not to leave a beneficial effect on my subsequent con- duct.
But, in pursuing this scheme of practice, I was acting a part somewhat foreign to my constitution. I was by nature more of a speculative than an active character, more inclined to reason within myself upon what I heard and saw, than to declaim conz 338 OF DIFFIDENCE. [ESSAY cerning it. I loved to sit by unobserved, and to meditate upon the panorama before me. At first I associated chiefly with those who were more or less admirers of my worW; and, as I had riseh (to speak in the slang phrase) like "a star ' upon my con- temporaries without being expected, I was treated generally with a certain degree of deference, or, where not with deference and submission, yet as a person whose opinions and view of things were td be taken into the account. The individuals who most strenuously opposed me, acted with t con- sciousness that, if they affected to despise me, they must not expect that all the bystanders would par- ticipate in that feeling.
But this was to a considerable degree the effect of novelty. My lungs, as I have already said, werfe not of iron; my manner was not overbearing and despotic; there was nothing in it to deter him who differed from me from entering the field in turn, and telling the tale of his views and judgments in contradiction to mine. I descended into the arena, and stood on a level with the rest. Beyond this, it occasionally happened that, if I had not the sten- torian lungs, and the petty artifice^ of rhetoric and conciliation, that should carry a cause independently of its merits, my antagonists were not deficient in these respects. I had nothing in my favour to ba- lance this, but a sort of constitutional equanimity and imperturbableness of temper, which, if I was at any time silenced, mad6 me not look like a cap-^ XVIII.] OF DIFFIDENCE. 339 tive to be dragged at the chariot-wheels of my ad- versary.
All this however had a tendency to subtract from my vocation as a missionary. I was no longer a knight-errant, prepared on all occasions by dint of arms to vindicate the cause of every principle that was unjustly handled, a^d every character that was wrongfully assailed. Meanwhile I returned to the field, occasionally and uncertainly. It required some provocation and incitement to call me out: but there was the lion, or whatever combative ani- mal may more justly prefigure me, sleeping, and that might be awakened.
There is another feature necessary to be men^ tioned, in order to make this a faithful representa- tion. There are persons, it should se^m, of whom it may he predicated, that they are semper paratL This has by no means been my case. My genius often deserted me. I was far fropi having the thought, the argiiment, ort the illustration at ^ time's ready, when it was required. I reaiembled to a certain degree the persons we. read of, who are said to be struck as if with a. divine judgment. J was for a moment changed into one of the mere herd, de grege porcus. My powers therefore were precarious; and I could not always be the intrepid and qualified advocate of truth, if I vehemently de- sired it. I have often, a few minutes afterwards^ or on my return to my chambers, recollected the train of thinking, which wotdd: have shewn me off to adz2 340 OF DIFFIDENCE. [esSAY vantage, and memorably done me honour, if I could have had it at my command the moment it was wanted.
And so much for confession. I am by no means vindicating myself. I honour much more the man who is at all times ready to tell his neighbour what- ever it may be of advantage to him to know, to shew himself the sincere and untemporising advo- cate of absent merit and worth, and to contribute by every means in his power to the improvement of others, and to the diffusion of salutary truths through the world.
This is what every man ought to be, and what the best devised scheme of republican institutions would have a tendency to make us all.
But, though the man here described is to a cer- tain degree a deserter of his true place in society, and cannot be admitted to have played his part in all things well, we are by no means to pronounce upon him a more unfavourable judgment than he merits. Diffidence, though, where it disqualifies us in any way from doing justice to truth, either as it respects general principle or individual character, a defect, yet is on no account to be confounded in demerit with that suppression of truth, or misre- presentation, which grows out of actual craft and design.
The diffident man, in some cases seldomer, and in some oftener and in a more glaring manner, de- serts the cause of truth, and by that means is the XVIII.] OF DIFFIDENCE. 341 cause of misrepresentation, and indirectly the pro- pagator of falshood. But he is constant and sincere as far as he goes; he never lends his voice to fals- hood, or intentionally to sophistry; he never for an instant goes over to the enemy's standard, or dis- graces his honest front by shewing it in the ranks of tyranny or imposture. He may undoubtedly be accused, to a certain degree, of dissimulation, or throwing into shade the thing that is, but never of simulation, or the pretending the thing to be that is not. He is plain and uniform in every thing that he professes, or to which he gives utterance; but, from timidity or irresolution, he keeps back in part the offering which he owes at the shrine where it is most honourable and glorious for man to worship.
And this brings, me back again to the subject of the immediately preceding Essay, the propriety of voting by ballot.
The very essence of this scheme is silence. And this silence is not merely like that which is prompted by a diffident temper, which by fits is practised by the modest and irresolute man, and by fits disap- pears before the sun of truth and through the ener- gies of a temporary fortitude. It is uniform. It is not brought into act only, when the individual un- happily does not find in himself the firmness to play the adventurer. It becomes matter of system, and is felt as being recommended to us for a duty.
Nor does the evil stop there. In the course of my ordinary communications with my fellow-men.
342 OF DIFFIDENCE. [essaY I speak when I please, and I am silent when I please, and there is nothing specially to be remarked either way. If I speak, I am perhaps listened to; and, if I am silent, it is likely enough concluded that it is because I have nothing of importance to say. But in the question of ballot the case is far otherwise. There it is known that the voter has his secret. When I am silent upon a matter occur- ring in the usual intercourses of life where I might speak, nay, where we will suppose I ought to speak, I am at least guilty of dissimulation only. But the voter by ballot is strongly impelled to the practice of the more enormous sin of simulation. It is known, as I have said, that he has his secret. And he will often be driven to have recourse to various stratagems, that he may elude the enquirer, or that he may set at fault the sagacity of the silent ob- server. He has something that he might tell if he would, and he distorts himself in a thousand ways, that he may not betray the hoard which he is known to have in his custody. The institution of ballot is the fruitful parent of ambiguities, equivocations and lies without number.
XIX.] OF SELF-COMPLACENCY. 343 ESSAY XIX.
OF SELF-COMPLACENCY, The subject of this Essay is intimately connected with those of Essays XI and XII, perhaps the most important of the series.
It has been established in the latter, that human creatures are constantly accompanied in their volun- tary actions with the delusive sense of liberty, and that our character, our energies, and our conscience of moral right and wrong, are mainly dependent upon this feature in our constitution. . The subject of my present disquisition relates to the feeling of self-approbation or self-complacency, which will be found inseparable from the most ho- nourable efforts and exertions in which mortal men can be e.ngaged.
One of the most striking of the precepts con- tained in what are called the Golden Verses of Pythagoras, is couched in the words, "Reverence thyself."
^ The duties which are incumbent on man are of two sorts, negative and positive. We are bound to set right our mistakes, and to correct the evil habits to which we are prone; and w? are bound also to be generously ambitious, to aspire after excellence.
344 OF SELF-COMPLACENCY. [esSAY and to undertake such things as may reflect honour on ourselves, and be useful to others.
To the practice of the former of these classes of duties we may be instigated by prohibitions, me- naces and fear, the fear of mischiefs that may fall upon us conformably to the known series of ante- cedents and consequents in the course of nature, or of mischiefs that may be inflicted on us by the laws of the country in which we live, or as results of the ill will and disapprobation felt towards us by iadi- viduals. There is nothing that is necessarily gene- rous or invigorating in the practice of our negative duties. They amount merely to a scheme for keep- ing us within bounds, and restraining us from those sallies and escapes, which human nature, undiscir plined and left to itself, might betray us into. But positive enterprise, and great actual improvement cannot be expected by us in this way. All this is what the apostle refers to, when he speaks of " the law as a schoolmaster to bring us to liberty,'* after which he advises us "not to be again entangled with the yoke of bondage."
On the other hand, if we would enter ourselves in the race of positive improvement, if we would become familiar with generous sentiments, and the train of conduct which such sentiments inspire, we must provide ourselves with the soil in which such things grow, and engage in the species of husbandry by which they are matured; in other words, we XIX.] OF SELF-COMPLACENCY, 345 must be no strangers to self-esteem and self-com- placency.
The truth of this statement may perhaps be most strikingly illustrated, if we take for our example the progress of schoolboys under a preceptor. A con- siderable proportion of these are apt, diligent, and desirous to perform the tasks in which they are engaged, so as to satisfy the demands of their mas- ters and parents, and to advance honourably in the path that is recommended to them. And a consi- derable proportion put themselves on the defensive, and propose to their own minds to perform exactly as much as shall exempt them from censure and punishment, and no more.
Now I say of the former, that they cannot ac- complish the purpose they have conceived, unless so far as they are aided by a sentiment of self- reverence.
The difference of the two parties is, that the latter proceed, so far as their studies are concerned, as feel- ing themselves under the law of necessity, and as if they were machines merely, and the former as if they were under what the apostle calls "the law of liberty."
We cannot perform our tasks to the best of our power, unless we think well of our own capacity.
But this is the smallest part of what is necessary. We must also be in good humour with ourselves. We must say, I can do that which I shall have just occasion to look back upon with satisfaction. It is 346 or SELF-COMPLACENCY. [ESSAY the anticipation of this result, that stimulatea> our efforts, and carries us forward. Perseverance is an active principle, and cannot continue to operate but under the influence of desire.. It is incompatible with languor and neutrality. It impHes the love of glory, perhaps of that glory which shall be attri- buted to us by others, or perhaps only of that glory which shsdl be reaped by us in the silent chambers of <the mind. The diligent sch^r is he that loves himself, and desires to have reason to applaud aaskA love himself. He sits down to his task with reso- lation, he approves of what he does in each step of the process, and in each enquires. Is this the thing I purposed to eflfect??.
And, as it is^withthe unfledged schoolboy, after the same manner it is with the man mature. He must have to a certain extent a good opinion of himself, he must feel a kind of internal haranony, giving to the circulations, of his frame animation and cheerfulness^ or he can never undertake and execute considerable things*.
The execution of any thing considerable implies in the first place previous persevering meditation. He that undertakes any great achievement will, ac- cording to the vulgar phrase, "think twice,'* before he. buckles up his resolution,, and plunges into the ocean, which he has already surveyed with anxious glance while he remained on shore. Let our illus- tration be the case of Columbus, who, from the figure of the earth, inferred that there must be a XIX.] OF SKLF-COMPLACJENCy- 34?
way of arriving at the Indies by a voyage direcriy west, in distinction from the very complicated way hitherto practised, by sailing up the Mediterranean, crossing the isthmus of Suez, and so falling down the Red Sea into the Indian Ocean. He weighed all the circumstances attendant on such an under- taking in his mind. He enquired into his own powers and resources, imaged to himself the various ohstacles that might thwart his undertaking, and finally resolved to engage in it. If Columbus had not entertained a very good opinion of himself, it is impossible that he should have announced such a project, or should have achieved it.
Again. Let our illustration be, of Hdmer under- taking to compose the Iliad. If he had not believed himself to be a man of very superior powers to the majority of the persons around him, he would most assuredly never have attempted it. What an enter- prise! To describe in twenty-four books, and six- teen thousand verses, the perpetual warfare and contention of two great nations, all Greece being armed for the attack, and all the western division of Asia Minor for the defence: the war carried on by two vast confederacies, under numerous chiefs, all sovereign and essentially independent of each other. To conceive the various characters of the different leaders, and their mutual rivalship. To engage all heaven, such as it was then understood, as well as what was most respectable on earth, in the struggle. To form the idea, through twenty- 348 OF SELF-COMPLACENC\. [ESSAY four books, of varying the incidents perpetually, and keeping alive the attention of the reader or hearer without satiety or weariness. For this pur- pose, and to answer to his conception of a great poem. Homer appears to have thought it necessary that the action should be one; and he therefore took the incidental quarrel of Achilles and the commander in chief, the resentment of Achilles, and his consequent defection from the cause, till, by the death of Patroclus, and then of Hector, all traces of the misunderstanding first, and then of its consequences, should be fully obliterated.
There is further an essential difference between the undertaking of Columbus and that of Homer. Once fairly engaged, there was for Columbus no drawing back. Being already at sea on the great Atlantic Ocean, he could not^retrace his steps. Even when he had presented his project to the sovereigns of Spain, and they had accepted it, and still more when the ships were engaged, and the crews mus- tered, he must go forward, or submit to indelible disgrace.
It is not so in writing a poem. The author of the latter may stop whenever he pleases. Of con- sequence, during every day of its execution, he requires a fresh stimulus. He must look back on the past, and forward on what is to come, and feel that he has considerable reason to be satisfied. The great naval discoverer may have his intervals of misgiving and discouragement, and may, as Pope XIX.] OF SELF-COMPLACENCY. 849 expresses it, "wish that any one would hang him." He goes forward; for he has no longer the liberty to choose. But the author of a mighty poem is not in the same manner entangled^ and therefore to a great degree returns to his work each day, " screw- ing his courage to the sticking-place." He must feel the same fortitude and elasticity, and be as en- tirely the same man of heroic energy, as when he first arrived at the resolution to engage. How much then of self-complacency and self-confidence do his undertaking and performance imply!
I have taken two of the most memorable ex- amples in the catalogue of human achievements: the discovery of a New World, and the production of the Iliad. But all those voluntary actions, or rather series and chains of actions, which comprise energy in the first determination, and honour in the execution, each in its degree rests upon self-com- placency as the pillar upon which its weight is sus- tained, and without which it must sink into nothing.
Self-complacency then beingthe indispensible con- dition of all that is honourable in human achieve- ments, hence we may derive a multitude of duties, and those of the most delicate nature, incumbent on the preceptor, as well as a peculiar discipline to be observed by the candidate, both while he is " under a schoolmaster," and afterwards when he is emancipated, and his plan of conduct is to be regu- lated by his own discretion.
The first duty of the preceptor is encouragement.
350 OF SELF-COMPLACENCY. [ESSAY Not that his face is to be for ever dressed in smiles, and that his tone is to be at all times that of invitation and courtship. The great theatre of the world is of a mingled constitution, made up of advantages and suflferings; and it is perhaps best that so should be t^e different scenes of the drama as they pass. The young adventurer is not to ex- pect to have every difficulty smoothed for liim by the hand of another. This were to teach him a lesson of effeminacy and cowardice. On the con- trary it is necess£^ry that he should learn that hu- man life is a state of hardship, that the adversary we have to encounter does not always, present him- self with his fangs sheathed in the woolly softness which occasionally renders them harmless, and that nothing great or eminently honourable was ever achieved but through the dint of resolution, energy and sjtruggle. It is good that the winds of heaven should blow upQu him, that he should encounter the tempest of the elements, and occasionally sus- tain the inclemency of the summer s heat and win- ter s cold, both literally and metaphorically.
But the preceptor, however he conducts himself in other respects, ought never to allow his pupil to despise himself, or to hold himself as of no account Self-contempt can never be a discipline favourable to energy or to virtue. The pupil ought at all times to judge himself in some degree worthy, worthy and competent now to attempt, and hereafter to ac- complish, things deserving of commendation. The preceptor must never degrade his pupil in his own eyes^ but on the contrary: must teach him that bo<^ thing hut resolution and perseverance are necessary, to enable him to effect all that the judicious director can expect from him. He should be encouraged through every step of his progress, and specially encouraged when he has gained a certain pointy a&d arrived at an important resting-place.* It is>thus we are taught. the whoieicirclcof what are caikd tecomplishments,'daticing, musrc^ fencing, and the rest; and it is surely a strange anomaly, if those things^ which are most essential in raising the mind €0 its true standard, cannot. be communicated <with equal suavity and kindness, be/ surrounded »with allurenrents, and regarded as sources of pleasure and genuine hilarityj. i « In the mean tiaxe it is to be admitted that every human creature, especially in the season of youth^ and not being the victim of some depressing dis- ease either of body or mind, has in him a good obstinate sort of self-complacency, which cannot without much difficulty be eradicated. '^Though hd fidleth seven tunes, yet will he rise again/' And> when we have encountered various mortifications, Imd have been many times rebuked tanid inveighed against, we nevertheless recover- oup own ^ good dpitiion,and are ready to^^nttr into a fresh, con- tention for the prize, if not in one kind, then in another.
It is in allusion to this feature in the human chad&2 OF SELF-COMPLACENCY. [ESSAY racter, that we have an expressive phrase in the English language, — " to break the spirit.*' The pre- ceptor may occasionally perhaps prescribe to the pupil a severe task; and the young adventurer may say, Can I be expected to accomplish this? But all must be done in kindness. The generous atterapter must be reminded of the powers he has within him, perhaps yet unexercised; with cheering sounds his progress must be encouraged; and, above all^ the director of the course must take care not to tax him beyond his strength. And, be it observed, that the strength of a human creature is to be ascertain- ed by two things; first, the abstract capacity, that the thing required is not beyond the power of a being so constituted to perform; and, secondly, we must take into the account his past achievements, the things he has already accomplished, and not ex- pect that he is at once to overleap a thousand ob- stacles.
For there is such a thing as a broken spirit. I remember a boy who was my schoolfellow, that, llaving been treated with uncalled for severity, never appeared afterwards in the scene of instruction, but with a neglected appearance, and the articles of his dress scarcely half put on. I was very young at the time, and viewed only the outside of things. I can- not tell whether he had any true ambition previously to his disgrace, but I am sure he never had after- wards.
How melancholy an object is the man, who, "for XIX.] OF SELF-COMPLACENCY. 353 the privilege to breathe, bears up and down the city A discontented and repining spirit Burthensome to itself,*' incapable of enterprise, listless, with no courage to undertake, and no anticipation of the practicability of success and honour! And this spectacle is still more affecting, when the subject shall be a human creature in the dawn of youth, when nature opens to him a vista of beauty and fruition on every side> and all is encouraging, redolent of energy and en^ terprise!
, To break the spirit of a man, bears a considerable resemblance to the breaking the main spring, or principal movement, of a complicated and ingeni^ busly constructed machine. We cannot tell when it is to happen; and it comes at last perhaps at the time that it is least expected. A judicious superin- tendent therefore will be far from trying conse- quences in his office, and will, like a man walking on a cliff whose extremes are ever and anon crum- bling away and falling into the ocean, keep much within the edge, and at a safe distance from the* line of danger.
But this consideration has led me much beyond the true subject of this Essay. The instructor of youth, as I have already said, is called upon to use all his skill, to animate the courage, and maintain the cheerfulness and self-complacency of his pupiL And, as such is the discipline to be observed to the candidate, while he is *^ under a schoolmaster," iso> 2 a 354 OF SSLF-COMPLACBNCY« [bssAY when he is emancipated, and his plan of condact is to be regulated by his own discretion, it is necessary that he should carry forward the same scheme, and cultivate that tone of feeling, which should best re- concile him to himself, and, by teaching him to esteem himself and bear in mind his own value, enable him to achieve things honourable to his character, and memorably useful to others. Melan-* choly, and a disposition anticipating evil are care* fully to be guarded against, by him who is desirous to perform his part well on the theatre of society. He should habitually meditate all cheerful things, and sing the song of battle which has a thousand times spurred on his predecessors to victory. He should contemplate the crown that awaits him, and say to himself, I also will do my part, and endeavour to enrol myself in the select number of those cham- pions, of whom it has been predicated that they were men, of whom, compared with the herd of ordinary mortals, ^the world," the species among whom they were rated, " was not worthy/* Another consideration is to be recollected here. Without self-complacency in the agent no generous enterprise is to be expected, and no train of volun- tary actions, such as may purchase honour to the person engaged in them.