that, although his theory may account for the desire which all men, both good and bad, have to assume the appearance of virtue, it never can explain the origin of our notions of duty and of moral obligation. One striking proof of this is, that the love of fame can only be completely gratified by the actual possession of those qualities for which we wish to be esteemed; and that, when we receive praises which we know we do not deserve, we are conscious of a sort of fraud or imposition on the world. "All fame is foreign but of true desert, Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart." In further confirmation of the same doctrine it may be observed, that, although the desire of esteem is often an useful auxiliary to our sense of duty, and although, in most of our good actions, the two principles are perhaps more or less blended together, yet the merit of virtuous conduct is always enhanced, in the opinion of mankind, when it is discovered in the more private situations of life, where the individual cannot be suspected of any views to the applauses of the world. Even Cicero, in whose mind vanity had at least its due sway, has borne testimony to this truth. "Mihi quidem laudabiliora videntur omnia, quæ sine venditatione et sine populo teste fiunt: non quo fugiendus sit (omnia enim benefacta in luce se collocari volunt) sed tamen nullum theatrum virtuti conscientiâ majus est."* far, therefore, are the desire of esteem and the sense of duty from being radically the same principle of action, that the former is only an auxiliary to the latter, and is always understood to diminish the merit of the agent in proportion to the influence it had over his determinations. So An additional proof of this may be derived from the miserable effects produced on the conduct by the desire of fame, when it is the sole, or even the governing, principle of our actions. In this case, indeed, it seldom Tusc. Disp. Lib. xi. Cap. 26. The same remark is made by Pliny in one of his epistles, where it is illustrated by one of the most beautiful anecdotes recorded in the annals of our species. See note (B.) at the end of this volume. fails to disappoint its own purposes, for a lasting fame is scarcely to be acquired without a steady and consistent conduct, and such a conduct can only arise from a conscientious regard to the suggestions of our own breasts. The pleasure, therefore, which a being capable of reflection derives from the possession of fame, so far from being the original motive to worthy actions, presupposes the existence of other and of nobler motives in the mind.* Nor is this all; when a competition happens between the desire of fame, and a regard to duty, if we sacrifice the latter to the former we are filled with remorse and self-condemnation, and the applauses of the world afford us but an empty and unsatisfactory recompense; whereas a steady adherence to the right, even although it should accidentally expose us to calumny, never fails to be its own reward. Whether, therefore, we regard our lasting happiness, or our lasting fame, the precept of Cicero is equally deserving of our attention. "Neither make it your study to secure the applauses of the vulgar, nor rest your hopes of happiness on rewards which men can bestow. Let virtue, by her own native attractions, allure you in the paths of honor. What others may say of you is their concern, not yours; nor is it worth your while to be out of humor for the topics which your conduct may supply for their conversation."-" Neque sermonibus vulgi dederis te, nec in præmiis humanis spem posueris rerum tuarum; suis te oportet illecebris ipsa virtus trahat ad verum decus. Quid de te alii loquantur ipsi videant, sed loquentur tamen." + What the Roman poet has so finely said of the regulated influence which the love of literary applause had on his own mind ought to be the language of every man, into whatever walk of ambition his fortune may have thrown him. "Non ego, cum scribo, si forte quid aptius exit, PERSIUS, Sat. I. 1. 45. I need scarcely remind my readers that these are the words of the same writer, who has in other parts of his works (and I think in perfect consistency with the sentiment expressed in the foregoing lines) inculcated the severest precepts of the stoical school. "Non, si quid turbida Roma Elevet, accedas, examenve improbum in illâ † Somn. Scip. Cap. vii. SECTION IV. The Desire of Power. The manner in which the idea of Power is at first introduced into the mind has been long a perplexing subject of speculation to metaphysicians, and has given rise to some of the most subtile disquisitions of the human understanding. But although it be difficult to explain its origin, the idea itself is familiar to the most illiterate, even at the earliest period of life; and the desire of possessing the corresponding object seems to be one of the strongest principles of human conduct. In general, it may be observed, that, wherever we are led to consider ourselves as the authors of any effect, we feel a sensible pride or exultation in the consciousness of power, and the pleasure is in general proportioned to the greatness of the effect, compared with the smallness of our exertion. What is commonly called the pleasure of activity is in truth the pleasure of power. Mere exercise, which produces no sensible effect, is attended with no enjoyment, or a very slight one. The enjoyment, such as it is, is only corporeal. The infant, while still on the breast, delights in exerting its little strength on every object it meets with, and is mortified when any accident convinces it of its own imbecility. The pastimes of the boy are almost, without exception, such as suggest to him the idea of his power. When he throws a stone, or shoots an arrow, he is pleased with being able to produce an effect at a distance from himself; and, while he measures with his eye the amplitude or range of his missile weapon, contemplates with satisfaction the extent to which his power has reached. It is on a similar principle that he loves to bring his strength into comparison with that of his fellows, and to enjoy the consciousness of superior prowess. Nor need we search in the malevolent dispositions of our nature for any other motive to the apparent acts of cruelty which he sometimes exercises over the inferior animals,—the sufferings of the animal, in such cases, either entirely escaping his notice, or being overlooked in that state of pleasurable triumph which the wanton abuse of power communicates to a weak and unreflecting judgment. The active sports of the youth captivate his fancy by suggesting similar ideas,-of strength of body, or force of mind, of contempt of hardship and of danger. And accordingly such are the occupations in which Virgil, with a characteristical propriety, employs his young Ascanius. "At puer Ascanius mediis in vallibus acri Gaudet equo; jamque hos cursu, jam præterit illos; Optat aprum, aut fulvum descendere monte leonem." As we advance in years, and as our animal powers lose their activity and vigor, we gradually aim at extending our influence over others by the superiority of fortune and station, or by the still more flattering superiority of intellectual endowments, by the force of our understanding, by the extent of our information, by the arts of persuasion, or the accomplishments of address. What but the idea of power pleases the orator in managing the reins of an assembled multitude, when he silences the reason of others by superior ingenuity, bends to his purposes their desires and passions, and, without the aid of force, or the splendor of rank, becomes the arbiter of the fate of nations! To the same principle we may trace, in part, the pleasure arising from the discovery of general theorems in the sciences. Every such discovery puts us in possession of innumerable particular truths or particular facts, and gives us a ready command of a great stock of knowledge, of which we could not, with equal ease, avail ourselves before. It increases, in a word, our intellectual power in a way very analogous to that in which a machine or engine increases the mechanical power of the human body. The discoveries we make in natural philosophy have, beside this effect, a tendency to enlarge the sphere of our power over the material universe; first, by enabling us to accommodate our conduct to the established course of physical events; and secondly, by enabling us to call to our aid many natural powers or agents as instruments for the accomplishment of our purposes. In general every discovery we make with respect to the laws of nature, either in the material or moral worlds, is an accession of power to the human mind, inasmuch as it lays the foundation of prudent and effectual conduct in circumstances where, without the same means of information, the success of our proceedings must have depended on chance alone. The desire of power, therefore, comes in the progress of reason and experience, to act as an auxiliary to our instinctive desire of knowledge; and it is with a view to strengthen and confirm this alliance that Bacon so often repeats his favorite maxim, that knowledge and power are synonymous or identical terms. The idea of power is, partly at least, the foundation of our attachment to property. It is not enough for us to have the use of an object. We desire to have it completely at our own disposal, without being responsible to any person whatsoever for the purposes to which we may choose to turn it. "There is an unspeakable pleasure," says Addison, "in calling any thing one's own. A freehold, though it be but in ice and snow, will make the owner pleased in the possession, and stout in the defence of it." Avarice is a particular modification of the desire of power, arising from the various functions of money in a commercial country. Its influence as an active principle is greatly strengthened by habit and association, insomuch that the original desire of power is frequently lost in the acquired propensities to which it gives birth; the possession of money becoming, in process of time, an ultimate object of pursuit, and continuing to stimulate the activity of the mind after it has lost a relish for every other species of exertion.* The love of liberty proceeds in part, if not wholly, Berkeley in his Querist has started the same idea. "Whether the real end and aim of men be not power? and whether he who could have every thing else at his wish or will would value money?” To this query the good bishop has subjoined another, which one would hardly |