The feelings of jealousy, anger, and resentment, are, not less than the other affections, to be considered as part of our moral constitution; and they are calculated to answer important purposes, provided they are kept under the strict control of reason and the moral principle. Their proper object is primarily a sense of blameable conduct in others; and they lead us to use proper measures for protecting ourselves against such conduct. While we thus disapprove of the character and conduct of men in certain circumstances, we are led, by our feelings of justice and benevolence, to take part with the injured and oppressed against the oppressors,—or to protect those who are threatened with injuries, by measures for defeating the schemes of their enemies. A still more refined exercise of this class of feelings leads us to seek the reformation of the offender, and to convert him from an enemy into a friend.

Resentment, in cases which concern the public peace, naturally leads to the infliction of punishment; the object of which is to prevent similar conduct in others, not to gratify personal vengeance. Hence it is required to be done in a public manner,—with proper deliberation and coolness,—and with an exact adaptation of the penalty to the offence, and to the object to be attained. The person injured is not likely to do this with the requisite impartiality and candour; for we are apt to feel too deeply injuries offered to ourselves, and not to make the propel allowance for the feelings of others, and the circumstances which led to the offence. The higher degrees, indeed, of these tendencies usually go together,—they, who are most susceptible of offences, and most irritable under them, being generally least inclined to make allowances for others. Hence, in all cases, our disapprobation of personal vengeance, or of a man taking the law into his own hands; and our perfect sympathy with the protectors of the public peace, when they dispassionately investigate a case of injury, and calmly adapt their measures to the real object to be attained by them,—the protection of the community.

The defensive affections are exercised in an unwarranted manner, when they are allowed to be excited by trifling causes; when they are, in degree, disproportioned to the offence, or prolonged in a manner which it did not require; and when they lead, in any measure, to retaliation or revenge. The sound exercise of them, therefore, is opposed to that irascibility which takes fire on trivial occasions, or without due consideration of the intentions of the agent, or the circumstances in which he was placed,—to a disposition to resentment on occasions which do not warrant it,—and, on all occasions, to harbouring the feeling after the offence and all its consequences have passed over.

Before concluding the subject of the affections, there are three points respecting them which remain to be mentioned as briefly as possible,—the influence of Attention, combined with a certain act of Imagination,—the influence of Habit,—and the estimate of the feeling of Moral Approbation which the exercise of the affections is calculated to produce.

I. In every exercise of the affections, a most important influence is produced by Attention, aided by a certain act of imagination. This consists of directing the mind intensely and habitually to all the considerations which ought to guide us in the particular relation to which the affection refers. It leads us to place ourselves in the situation of others, and, with a kind of personal, or almost selfish interest, to enter into their wants, their anxieties, and their feelings; and thus, in their place, to judge of the emotions and the conduct which are due from us to them. Such is the exercise of one who wishes to follow the great rule of doing to others as he would that they should do to him. He is not satisfied with the merely decent discharge of the duties which arise from the affections, but studies intensely the requirements which attach to his particular situation,—searches out the individuals, towards whom they ought to be exercised, and enters into their condition and their feelings with minute and tender interest. Many who shew no want of friendly and benevolent affection, when an individual case is strongly brought before them, are deficient in the kind of exercise which would lead them, in this manner, to find their way to that correct exercise of the affections which really belongs to a scene of moral discipline. Such an exercise is adapted to every situation in life, and tends to guard a man, in his various relations, against the hindrances which indolence, self-love, and pure inattention are apt to bring in the way of his peculiar duties,—and of his discharging them with due regard to the feelings of others.

This mental exercise, of extensive application to the benevolent affections, constitutes what is usually called Sympathy. It is composed of an act of Imagination and Self-love, by which we transfer ourselves, as it were, into the situation of other men, and thereby regulate our conduct towards them. It is however to be kept in mind, that the principle of self-love, thus brought into action, is the test, not the rule of our conduct. This is a point on which there has been much vague and useless speculation; and from not attending to the distinction, some have referred our ideas of benevolence entirely to the principle of selfishness. Such discussions are equally unsound and unprofitable, and are to be placed on a footing with the speculations of the scholastic philosophy, which we now look back upon merely as matters of historical curiosity. The application of self-love, in the manner which has been referred to, is chiefly useful in enabling us fully to appreciate the facts of the individual case, as we would do if we were personally interested. The rule of our conduct is quite distinct from this, and rests on those fundamental principles of justice and compassion which form a part of our moral constitution. In the practical application of them, they are very much aided by the moral principle or conscience.

The man, who acts habitually under the influence of these rules, learns to question himself rigidly respecting the claims and duties which result from his moral relations; and the feelings and circumstances of those with whom they bring him into contact. What, (he asks himself) is the line of action which belongs to me in regard to that individual,—what are his feelings in his present situation,—what are the feelings and conduct which he expects from me,—and what are those which I would expect from him were I in his circumstances and he in mine? It is not a due regulation of the affections alone that arises from this wholesome state of mental discipline. It is a moral culture to the mind itself, which may often be fraught with the most important results. For the man who exercises it realizes to himself the feelings of poverty,—the agonies of bereavement, the impressions of the bed of death;—and thus, without the pain of suffering, he may reap a portion of those important moral benefits which suffering is calculated to yield.

There is another view still to be taken of the advantages derived from that mental discipline which consists in attention to all the relations included under the affections. When habitually exercised, it may often bring before the mind important circumstances in our moral relations, which are apt to make an inadequate impression amid the distractions of present things. When the parent, for example, looks around the objects of his tender affection, what a new impulse is communicated by the thought, that the present life is but the infancy of their being; and that his chief and highest concern is to train them for immortality. A similar impulse must be given to the philanthropist, when he considers that the individuals, who share his benevolent attentions, are, like himself, passing through a scene of discipline to a higher state of existence, where they will assume a place corresponding to their rank in the scale of moral beings. The refined philanthropy thus arising, while it neglects no proper attention to the distresses of the present life, will seek chiefly to contend with those greater evils which degrade the moral nature, and sever the immortal spirit from its God. He, who judges upon this extended principle, will learn to form a new estimate of the condition of man. Amid the pride of wealth and the splendour of power, he may mourn over a being lost to every feeling of his high destiny; and, by the death-bed of the peasant, amid discomfort and suffering, he may contemplate with interest a purified spirit rising to immortality.

II. Next to the power of attention, we have to notice the influence produced upon the affections by Habit. This is founded upon a principle of our nature, by which a remarkable relation exists between the affections and the actions which arise out of them. The tendency of all emotions is to become weaker by repetition, or to be less acutely felt the oftener they are experienced. The tendency of actions, again, as we have seen when treating of the Intellectual Powers, is to become easier by repetition,—so that those, which at first require close and continued attention, come to be performed without effort, and almost without consciousness. Now an affection properly consists of an emotion leading to an action; and the natural progress of the mind, in the proper exercise of the affection, is, that the emotion becomes less acutely felt, as the action becomes easier and more familiar.—Thus, a scene of wretchedness, or a tale of sorrow, will produce in the inexperienced an intensity of emotion not felt by him whose life has been devoted to deeds of mercy; and a superficial observer is apt to consider the condition of the latter as one of insensibility, produced by familiarity with scenes of distress. It is, on the contrary, that healthy and natural progress of the mind, in which the emotion is gradually diminished in force as it is followed by its proper actions,—that is, as the mere intensity of feeling is exchanged for the habit of active benevolence. But that this may take place in the sound and healthy manner, the emotion must be steadily followed by the action which belongs to it. If this be neglected, the harmony of the moral process is destroyed, and, as the emotion becomes weakened, it is succeeded by cold insensibility or barren selfishness.

This is a subject of much importance,—and there are two conclusions which arise out of it respecting the cultivation of the benevolent affections. The one relates to the bad effects of fictitious scenes of sorrow, as represented on the stage, or in works of fancy. The evil arising from these appears to be that which has now been referred to;—the emotion is produced without the corresponding action, and the consequence is likely to be a cold and useless sentimentalism, instead of a sound cultivation of the benevolent affections.—The second is,—that, in cultivating the benevolent affections in the young, we should be careful to observe the process so clearly pointed out by the philosophy of the moral feelings. They should be familiarized with actual scenes of suffering, but this ought to be accompanied by deeds of minute and active kindness, so as to produce a full and lively impression of the wants and feelings of the sufferer. On this ground, also, I think we should at first even abstain, in a great measure, from giving young persons the cautions they will afterwards find so requisite, respecting the character of the objects of their benevolence, and the impositions so frequently practised by the poor. Suspicions of this kind might tend to interfere with the important moral process which ought to be our first object,—the necessary cautions will afterwards be learned with little difficulty.

The best mode of contending with the evils of pauperism, on the principles of political economy, is a problem on which I presume not to enter. But, on the principles of moral science, a consideration of the utmost importance should never be forgotten,—the great end to be answered by the varieties of human condition in the cultivation of the benevolent affections. Political science passes its proper boundary when it is permitted in any degree to interfere with this high principle;—and, on the other hand, it is not to be denied, that this important purpose is in a great measure frustrated by many of those institutions, which cut off the direct intercourse of the prosperous and the wealthy with those whom providence has committed to them, in this scene of moral discipline, as the objects of their benevolent care.

III. The third point, which remains to be briefly mentioned, is the feeling of moral approbation, or rather the impression of merit, which is frequently attached to the exercise of the affections. This important subject has been already referred to. When the mother, with total disregard to her health and comfort, devotes herself to watching over her child, she is not influenced by any sense of duty, nor do we attach to her conduct the feeling of moral approbation. She acts simply upon an impulse within, which she perceives to be a part of her constitution, and which carries her forward with unshrinking firmness in a particular course of laborious and anxious service. She may, indeed, be sensible that the violation of these feelings would expose her to the reprobation of her kind; but she does not imagine that the zealous fulfilment of them entitles her to any special praise. The same principle applies to all the affections. They are a part of our moral constitution, intended to bind men together by certain offices of justice, friendship, and compassion; and have been well named by a distinguished writer, "the voice of God within us." They serve a purpose in our moral economy, analogous to that which the appetites answer in our physical system. The appetite of hunger, for example, ensures a regular supply of nourishment, in a manner which could never have been provided for by any process of reasoning; though an exercise of reason is still applicable to preserving over it a certain regulation and control. In the same manner, the various feelings of our moral nature have each a defined purpose to answer, both in respect to our own mental economy and our relations to our fellow-men; and in the due exercise of them they ought to be controlled and regulated by the moral principle. The violation of these feelings, therefore, places man below the level of a moral being; but the performance of them does not entitle him to assume the claim of merit. He is merely bearing his part in a certain arrangement, from which he is himself to derive benefit, as a being holding a place in that system of things which these feelings are intended to keep together in harmony and order. In regard to the great principles of veracity and justice, every one perceives this to be true. In all mercantile transactions, for example, a character for high honour and integrity leads not only to respect, but to that confidence which is closely connected with prosperity.—These qualities, indeed, are as essential to a man's own interest as they are to his duty to other men; and if he does gain an advantage by fraud and deceit, it is only when he escapes detection;—that is, while he preserves the reputation of the very qualities which he has violated. But this truth applies equally to the affections more strictly benevolent. The man who lives in the habitual exercise of a cold and barren selfishness, and seeks only his own gratification or interest, has indeed, in some sense, his punishment in the contempt and aversion with which he is viewed by his fellow-men. Much more than this, however, attaches to such a character;—he has violated the principles given him for his guidance in the social system;—he has fallen from his sound condition as a moral being; and incurs actual guilt in the eye of a righteous Governor, whose will the order of this lower world is intended to obey. But it by no means follows, that the man, who performs in a certain manner the relations of justice, friendship, and compassion, is thereby entitled to claim merit in the view of the Almighty Governor of the universe. He merely acts his part in the present system of moral economy, for which he has been adapted. He is so constituted as to derive satisfaction from the exercise of these affections; and, on the other hand, he receives an appropriate reward in the reciprocal exercise of similar affections by other men, and in the general harmony of society which results from them. An extensive culture of the affections, therefore, may go on without the recognition of the moral principle, or that state of mind which habitually feels the presence of the Deity, and desires to have the whole character in subjection to his will. We are not entitled to acknowledge the operation of that great principle, unless when the affections are exercised in circumstances which imply a strong and decided sacrifice of self-love to the authority of God. This appears to correspond with the distinction so strikingly stated in the sacred writings—"If ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not even the publicans the same?"—"I say unto you, love your enemies,—bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you."

On this branch of the subject it is also to be observed, that there is a kind of compensating power among the affections themselves, by which, in the intercourse of men, they act as checks upon each other. Thus resentment acts as a check upon injustice; and the dread of exciting anger in others has probably an influence, in preserving the peace and harmonies of society, which we often ascribe to a higher principle. In regard to the affections more strictly benevolent, these are also influenced, in a similar manner, by the feeling of disapprobation which attends any remarkable departure from their requirements. When we keep in mind, along with this consideration, the manner in which all men are influenced, in one degree or another, by the love of approbation or regard to character, we perceive in the moral system a beautiful principle of compensation, tending to promote in it a certain degree of harmony. This is remarkably illustrated, for example, in the general feeling of disapprobation which is attached to ingratitude, and to violation of filial affection or parental duty, and even to any marked neglect of the common calls of humanity. Along with this we are also to keep in mind, that a man is universally considered as in the lowest state of human nature, who, in these respects, has become regardless of character,—that is, of the estimation with which his conduct is viewed by his fellow-men.

In regard to both the affections and the desires, we are farther to remember that deep and extensive influence, upon the happiness of the individual himself, which results from a due regulation of these feelings;—the pure mental enjoyment of him whose affections are under sound regulation, and whose desires are habitually directed to those objects which are in the highest degree worthy of being sought after. This mental tranquillity is also represented to us, in a very striking manner, by the influence of those dispositions which we usually refer to the head of Temper. What a constant source of pure enjoyment is a meek and placid spirit, the desires of which are moderate and under due regulation,—which puts upon every thing the best construction it will admit of,—is slow to take offence,—seeks no distinction,—but views itself with humility, and others with candour, benevolence, and indulgence. Such a disposition makes the man happy in himself, and a source of happiness and peace to all around him. On the other hand, what an unceasing source of mental disquiet and turbulence is the opposite disposition,—jealous, envious, and censorious,—ready to take offence at trifles, and often to construe incidental occurrences into intended and premeditated insults,—prone to put unfavourable constructions upon the conduct of others, and thus continually to surround itself with imaginary enemies, and imaginary neglects and injuries. Such a temper is a continual torment to the individual himself, and the cause of disputes and jealousies among those with whom he is connected. We cannot fail, also, to perceive that the man of ill-regulated passions injures his own true interest and happiness, as much as he violates his duty to others, and that his course of life is often productive of degradation, disease, and wretchedness. In all this we see a beautiful example of the wise arrangements of the Creator, who, in the structure of our moral nature, has connected our own peace and happiness with a state of feeling calculated to promote the happiness and peace of all around us. We cannot be at a loss to conclude what a different scene the world would present, if such feelings were universally cultivated; and, on the other hand, we must observe how much of the actual misery that exists in the world arises from derangement of moral feeling, and the various consequences which result from it both to individuals and communities. We find also, by innumerable examples, the remarkable influence produced, by a due cultivation of these feelings, in alleviating, both in ourselves and others, the physical evils which are inseparable from the present state. It is farther to be remarked, as a fact worthy of the deepest attention, that the only distinct information conveyed to us in Scripture, respecting the happiness of the righteous in a future state, is,—that it will consist chiefly in a perfect knowledge of the divine character, and a conformity of the soul to the moral perfections of the Deity. "It doth not yet appear," says the sacred writer, "what we shall be; but we know that when he shall appear, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is."

In concluding the whole subject of the affections, I have only farther to remark,—that the regulated state of the moral feelings, which has been the subject of the preceding observations, seems to correspond with the quality so emphatically described in the sacred writings under the name of Charity. It is there uniformly represented as the great test of the moral condition; and we find exposed, in the most striking manner, the worthlessness of all endowments which are not accompanied by this regulation of the whole character. We cannot, therefore, conclude this subject in a more appropriate manner, than by a passage in which, by a few most powerful expressions, a code of ethical science is laid before us with a clearness and a force, which put to nought all human composition:—"Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth; but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophecy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face; now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three,—but the greatest of these is charity."