There has been some dispute respecting the term Self-love, both as to its general propriety, and as to the mental feelings which ought to be referred to it. There can be no doubt that there is, in our constitution, a principle or propensity which leads us to study our own interest, gratification, and comfort; and that, in many instances, it becomes the ruling principle of the character. It is in this sense that I use the term self-love, without entering into any discussion regarding the strict logical propriety of it. Like the other mental feelings, it is to be considered as part of our moral constitution, and calculated to answer important purposes, provided it be kept in its proper place, and do not encroach upon the duties and affections which we owe to other men. When thus regulated, it constitutes prudence, or a just regard to our own interest, safety, and happiness; when it becomes morbid in its exercise, it degenerates into selfishness.

A sound and rational self-love ought to lead us to seek our own true happiness, and should prove a check upon those appetites and passions which interfere with this; for many of them, it must be allowed, may be not less adverse to our own real interest and comfort, than they are to our duty to other men. It should lead us, therefore, to avoid every thing, not only that is opposed to our interest, but that is calculated to impair our peace of mind, and that harmony of the moral feelings without which there can be no real happiness. This includes a due regulation of the desires, and a due exercise of the affections, as a moral condition which promotes our own welfare and comfort. Self-love, viewed in this manner, appears to be placed as a regulating principle among the other powers,—much inferior indeed to the great principle of conscience, so far as regards the moral condition of the individual,—but calculated to answer important purposes in promoting the harmonies of society. The impression, on which its influence rests, appears to be simply the comfort and satisfaction which arise to ourselves from a certain regulation of the desires, and a certain exercise of the affections, while feelings of an opposite kind follow a different conduct. These sources of satisfaction are manifold. We may reckon among them the pleasure attached to the exercise of the affections themselves, a feature of our moral constitution of the most interesting kind,—the true mental peace and enjoyment which spring from benevolence, friendship, meekness, forgiveness, and the whole train of the kindly feelings,—the gratitude of those who have experienced the effects of our kindness,—the respect and approbation of those whose esteem we feel to be valuable,—and the return of similar affections and good offices from other men. On the other hand, we have to keep in mind the mental agony and distraction which arise from jealousy, envy, hatred, and resentment,—the sense of shame and disgrace which follow a certain line of conduct,—and the distress which often arises purely from the contempt and disapprobation of our fellow-men. "Disgrace," says Butler, "is as much avoided as bodily pain;" we may safely say that it is much more avoided, and that it inflicts a suffering of a much more severe and permanent nature. It must likewise accord with the observation of every one, that among the circumstances, which most frequently injure our peace and impair our comfort, are those which ruffle the mind by mortifying our self-love. There is also a feeling of dissatisfaction and self-reproach which follows any neglect of a due exercise of the affections, and which, in a well regulated mind, disturbs the mental tranquillity fully as much as the disapprobation of other men. It is farther evident, that the man of ungoverned passions, and ill-regulated affections, impairs his own peace and happiness as much as he violates his duties to others,—for his course of life is productive, not only of degradation in the eyes of his fellow-men, but often of mental anguish, misery, disease, and premature death. There is not, perhaps, a state of more intense suffering, than when the depraved heart, disappointed of those gratifications to which it is enslaved, and shut up from the excitements by which it seeks to escape from the horrors of reflection, is thrown back upon itself to be its own tormentor. To run the risk of such consequences, for the gratification of a present appetite or passion, is clearly opposed to the dictates of a sound self-love, as has been distinctly shewn by Bishop Butler; and when in such a case, self-love prevails over an appetite or passion, we perceive it operating as a regulating principle in the moral system. It does so, indeed, merely by the impression, that a certain regulation of the moral feelings is conducive to our own true and present happiness; and thus shews a wonderful power of compensation among these feelings, referable entirely to this source. But it is quite distinct from the great principle of conscience, which directs us to a certain line of conduct on the pure and high principle of moral duty, apart from all considerations of a personal nature,—which leads a man to act upon nobler motives than those which result from the most refined self-love, and calls for the mortification of all personal feelings, when these interfere, in the smallest degree, with the requirements of duty. This distinction I conceive to be of the utmost practical importance; as it shews a principle of regulation among the moral feelings themselves, by which a certain exercise of the affections is carried on in a manner which contributes in a high degree to the harmonies of society, but which does not convey any impression of moral approbation or merit that can be applied to the agent.

Self-love, then, leads us to consult our own feelings, and to seek directly our own interest and happiness. The affections lead us to allow for the feelings, and consider the advantage and comfort of other men; and a certain balance between these principles is essential to the healthy state of the moral being. It is seldom that the affections are likely to acquire an undue influence, but there is great danger of self-love degenerating into selfishness, which interferes with the duties we owe to others. We have formerly alluded to the means, referable to the due exercise of the affections, and even to a sound and rational self-love, by which this should be in part prevented. When these are not sufficient, the appeal is to conscience; or a distinct reference of individual cases is made to the great principle of moral rectitude. We find, accordingly, this principle called into action, when a man has become sensible of important defects in his moral habits. Thus, we may see a man, who has long given way to a peevish or irascible disposition, that is, to selfish acting upon his own feelings, without due regard to the feelings of others, setting himself to contend with this propensity upon the score of moral duty; while another, of a placid disposition, has no need of bringing the principle into action for such a purpose. In the same manner, a person who has indulged a cold contracted selfishness may, under the influence of the same great principle, perform deeds of benevolence and kindness. Thus we perceive that the moral principle or sense of duty, when it is made the regulating motive of action, is calculated to control self-love, and preserve the proper harmony between it and the exercise of the affections.

When the principle of self-love becomes deranged in its exercise and objects, it leads to those habits by which a man seeks his own gratification, in a way which interferes with his duties to other men. This he may do by an undue pursuit of any of the desires,—whether avarice, ambition, love of eminence, or love of fame;—and the desire of knowledge itself may be so indulged as to assume the same character. Even deeds of benevolence and kindness may be performed on this principle,—as when a man, by such actions, seeks only the applause of the public, or the approbation of certain individuals from whom, it may be, he expects to derive advantage.—Hence the value we attach, in the exercise of all the affections, to what we call disinterested conduct,—to him who does good by stealth, or who performs acts of exalted justice, generosity, or forbearance, under circumstances which exclude every idea of a selfish motive,—or when self-interest and personal feeling are strongly and obviously opposed to them. Such conduct commands the cordial approbation of all classes of men; and it is striking to remark how, in the highest conception of such a character that fancy can delineate, we are met by the sublime morality of the sacred writings, impressed upon us by the purest of all motives, the imitation of Him who is the giver of all good;—"love your enemies,—bless them that curse you;—do good to them that hate you,—and pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you;—that ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust."—"If any man will be my disciple," says the same great author of Christianity,—"let him deny himself."