"The other shape, If shape it might be call'd that shape had none And shook a dreadful dart: what seem'd his head,' The undaunted fiend what this might be admired; As despair and security, though contrary, produce the same effects; so, absence is observed to have contrary effects, and, in different circumstances, either increases or diminishes our affections. Rochefoucault has remarked, that "absence destroys weak passions, "but increases strong; as the wind extinguishes a "candle, and blows up a fire." Long absence, naturally weakens our idea, and diminishes the passion; but where the affection is so strong and lively as to support itself, the uneasiness arising from absence, increases the passion, and gives it fresh force and influence. The imagination and affections have together a close union; the vivacity of the former gives force to the latter: hence, the prospect of any pleasure with which we are acquainted, affects us more than any other pleasure which we may own to be superior, but of the nature of which we are wholly ignorant of the one we can form a particular and determinate idea, the other we conceive under the general notion of pleasure. When we apply ourselves to the performance of any action, or the conception of any object, to which we are not accustomed, there is a certain unpliableness in the faculties, and a difficulty in the spirits, to move in the new direction; hence, every thing that is new is most affecting, and gives us either more pleasure, or pain, than what, strictly speaking, should naturally follow from it. When it often returns upon us, the novelty wears off; the passion subsides, the hurry of the spirits is over, and we survey the object with tranquillity and ease. Any satisfaction we have recently enjoyed, and of which the memory is fresh and perfect, operates on the will with more violence than another, of which the traces are decayed and obliterated. Contiguity in time and place, has an amazing effect upon the passions. An enormous globe of fire, which fell at Pekin, would not excite half the interest which the most trifling phenomenon could give birth to nearer home. I am persuaded many men might be picked out of the streets, who, for 1000 guineas paid down, would consent to submit to a very cruel death, in fifteen years from the time of receiving the money. This, for the main, is a wise provision of nature; for the progress of life, generally speaking, and the order of the world, depend upon an attention to present objects: but this, like every other moral provision, is given without any limit or adjustment; and it becomes the great object of wisdom and of virtue to restrain it within proper limits. By all that we can look upon an object of sense, and (admitting its capacity of affording present pleasure,) steadily reckon up its influence upon future happiness; by all that, are we advanced in power of thought, and rectitude of action. The great labour is, to subdue the tyranny of present impression; to hold down desire and aversion, with a firm grasp, till we have time to see where they would drive us. The men who can do this, are the men who do all the praiseworthy actions that are done in the world ;-who write lasting books, make treaties, lead armies, and govern kingdoms; or, if their life be private, live pleasantly and safely. Those men, on the contrary, who can acquire no knowledge, enjoy no praise, and feel no peaceful happiness, seem only to have lived to destroy the moral order of the world, and dishonour the works of God. LECTURE XXIII. ON THE PASSIONS. EFFECTS OF PASSIONS ON THE BODY, AND OF SURPRISE ON THE PASSIONS, AND PARTICULARLY OF THE PASSIONS IN THEIR LOW DEGREES. HOW FAR A STATE OF PASSION IS AGREEABLE TO THE MIND. THE EFFECTS OF PASSIONS AND TALENTS ON EACH OTHER. THE powerful part which the passions were intended to act in our constitution, is clearly evinced by those rapid and dreadful effects which they frequently commit upon the body. Instances are very numerous of who have been driven mad by joy, — who persons have dropt down dead from anger or grief. Great numbers of people die every year, pining away from deranged circumstances, or from disgrace, or disappointed affection, in a state which we call brokenhearted. The passions kill like acute diseases, and like chronic ones too. Every physician who knows anything of the science, has seen innumerable cases of all the disorders of the body, originating from disturbed emotion, and totally inaccessible to all the remedies by which mere animal infirmities are removed. Dr. Gregory, of Edinburgh, in his "Lectures on the Practice of Medicine," mentions so singular an instance of the effects of joy, that, but for such highly respectable authority, I should hardly think it credible. He was sent for in the course of his medical practice, to a family in the country, consisting of a mother and two daughters. They had recently come to a very large, and a very sudden - accession of fortune. Upon his arrival at the house, he was met by the eldest daughter, who, with a great appearance of agitation, cautioned him against her mother and sister; and informed him they were both mad. He very soon perceived that this lady was so herself; and upon visiting the other two, perceived they were not a jot better. The truth turned out to be, that their astonishment and joy was so great, upon being raised from poverty to extreme opulence, — they had had so many plans of equipage, and so many disputes whether they should go to Bath before they went to London, or London before they visited Bath, that the small share of reason they ever could have possessed, fell a sacrifice to the agitation. Independent of the mere magnitude of the passion, a distinct effect is produced by the suddenness of it; or rather, perhaps, it would be clearer to say, that all the passions are considerably increased by surprise, and diminished by expectation. To be thoroughly informed of the nature and extent of any danger, to which we are about to be exposed, to have leisure to summon up resolution, and invent resources, diminishes very materially the feeling of that danger: a sudden exposure to it, might completely overset the mind. In the same manner with grief. A long struggle with death, and a finely-graduated decay, familiarise us to the loss of our friends: the countenance which grows paler day by day, and the form which every hour emaciates, inure us so to the pang of separation, that we meet with calm resignation a misfortune, which, suddenly communicated, would bear down all authority of reason, and leave, perhaps, the mind itself a mere ruin beneath its pressure. In this respect, there is a great analogy between body and mind. It is not difficult, by gradations, to accustom the body to anything; while it receives the most violent injuries from changes that are sudden. This dread of sudden vicissitude, admits of no explanation; it is one of the means by which the powers of man are limited, and Ꮓ he is controlled within the sphere in which he at present moves. It is curious to observe the very little time necessary to the mind for its changes; and how short a preparation obviates the worst and most dangerous effects of the passions. To come into a room suddenly, and say such a person is dead, might very likely kill the person to whom it was addressed: but "he is not quite so well as could be wished; there is some little danger; he was getting worse," and so on; - by the presentation of a mournful idea, which the mind can bear, and by the gradual increase of it up to the point which you wish to establish, though you can never prevent the feelings of nature, you blunt them, and deter their excesses from acting so tremendously upon the infirmities of the body. 66 Any one passion may act upon the mind, when it is in one of these three states: :- - first, when it is under the influence of a similar passion; next, when it is under the influence of an opposite passion; next, when it is in a state of rest, and under the influence of no passion at all. For instance, I may receive such news as would overwhelm me with grief, and, at the moment previous to my receiving it, I may be in a state of joy, or sorrow, or in a state of indifference; the question is, in which of these three states will the new passion produce its greatest effects? Is the grief greater for being added to grief, or being contrasted to previous joy? or from its falling on the mind when it was in a passionless state? If the two states of grief and joy cannot coexist, so that they neutralise each other, then the grief is always more intense from the contrast. If a father were to learn that his son had distinguished himself very much in battle, and were then to be told, in the midst of his joy, that his son had died of his wounds, the joy and the grief stand so opposed to each other, that the one would go rather to inflame, than to diminish, the other. "Dead at the very moment that I expected to see him return with "the highest reputation! in the midst of all the con"gratulations I was making to myself for his safety!" |