But this happiness passes away as a dream; the charm disappears, disgust ensues, and a horrid vacuity of sentiment succeeds. Hardly, on rousing from this lethargy, is the soul capable of distinguishing itself; by slavery it has lost its strength, and the habit of commanding; of that slavery it even regrets the privation, and longs for another master, a new object of passion, which presently disappears in its turn, and is followed by another passion more transitory still. Thus excess and disgust succeed each other; pleasure flies, the organs decay, and the material sense, instead of commanding, has no longer strength to obey. After a youth like this, what is there left for a man? A body enervated, a mind enfeebled, and the inability to make use of either.
It is remarked, that at the middle period of life men are chiefly subjected to those languors, or vapours. At this period we still run after the pleasures of youth, not from an absolute propensity but from habit. In proportion as we advance in years, our ability for the enjoyment of pleasure decreases, and so often are we humiliated by our own weakness, that we cannot help condemning our actions and desires.
Besides, it is at this age that the cares and solicitudes of life begin; we then, whether by accident or by choice, assume a certain character which it is alway disgraceful to abandon, and dangerous to support. Full of pain, we tread between contempt and hatred, two rocks alike formidable; by the efforts we make to avoid them we weaken our powers, and sink into despondency, for after having experienced the injustice of mankind, we contract a habit of accounting it a necessary evil; when we have accustomed ourselves to have less regard for the opinions of the world than for our own repose, and when the heart, hardened by the wounds it has received, has become insensible, we easily attain that state of indifference, that indolent tranquillity, of which, a few years before, we should have been ashamed. Glory, that powerful motive of great souls, which seen at a distance appears as the most desirable object, and excites us to perform great and useful actions, loses its attractions upon a near approach. Sloth assumes the place of ambition, and seems to present to us paths less rugged, and advantages more substantial; but it is preceded by disgust, and followed by discontent, that gloomy tyrant of every thinking mind, against which wisdom has less influence than folly.
It is, therefore, from being composed of two opposite principles, that man has so much trouble to be reconciled with himself; and hence proceeds his inconstancy, irresolution, and languor. Brute animals, on the contrary, whose nature is simple, and altogether material, experience no interior combats, no compunctions, no hopes, nor any fears.
If we were divested of memory, understanding, and every faculty belonging to the soul, the material part alone would remain, which constitutes us animals, and we should still have wants, sensations, appetites, pain, pleasure, and even passion; for what is passion but a strong sensation, which may be renewed at every instant?
But the great difficulty is to distinguish the passions which belong solely to man, from those which he possesses in common with the brutes. Is it certain, or probable, that the latter have passions? Is it not, on the contrary, allowed, that every passion is an emotion of the soul? Ought we, therefore, to search any where else, but in this spiritual principle, for the seeds of pride, envy, ambition, avarice, and of every other passion by which we are governed?
To me it appears, that nothing which governs the mind forms any part of it; that the principle of knowledge is not the principle of sentiment; that the seeds of the passions is in our appetites; that illusions proceed from our senses, and reside in our internal material sense; that the mind is at first passive with respect to them; that when it countenances them, it is subdued, and when it assents to them, it is perverted.
Let us then distinguish in the human passions, the physical from the moral; that is, the cause from the effect. The first emotion is in the internal material sense; this the mind may receive but cannot produce. Let us likewise distinguish momentary from durable emotions, and we shall immediately perceive, that fear, horror, rage, love, or rather the desire of enjoyment, are sensations which, though durable, depend solely on the impressions of objects upon our senses, combined with the remaining impressions of our preceding sensations; and that, of consequence, those passions we enjoy in common with the brutes. I mention the actual impressions of objects, as being combined with the impressions that remain of our former sensations, for neither to man nor beast nothing is horrible, nor attractive, when seen for the first time. Of this we have proof in young animals, who will run into the fire the first time it is presented to them. By reiterated acts, of which the impressions subsist in their internal sense, do they alone acquire experience; and though this experience is not natural, it is not less sure, and is even on that account more circumspect. A violent motion, a great noise, an extraordinary figure, which is seen or heard suddenly, and for the first time, produces in the animal a shock of which the effect is similar to the first movements of fear. But this sentiment is only instantaneous; for as it cannot be combined with any preceding sensation, so it must communicate to the animal a transitory vibration, and not a durable emotion, such as the passion of fear supposes.
A young and peaceful tenant of the forests, who suddenly hears the sound of the huntsman’s horn, or the report of a gun, leaps, bounds, and flies off, by the sole violence of the shock which it has experienced. Yet if this noise is without effect and ceases, the animal distinguishing the wonted silence of Nature, composes itself, halts, and returns to its tranquil retreat. But age and experience render it circumspect and timid, and having been wounded after a particular noise, the sensation of pain is retained in its internal sense, and when the same noise shall be again heard, it is renewed, combines itself with the actual agitation, and produces a permanent passion, a real fear; the animal flies with all its might, and frequently never returns to its usual abode.
Fear, then, is a passion of which brute animals are susceptible, though they have not, like us, rational or foreseen apprehensions. Of horror, rage, and love, they are also susceptible; but they have not our aversions, founded on reflection, our durable hatreds, or our constant friendships. These passions in brutes imply no knowledge, no ideas, and are founded solely on the experience of sentiment, or repetitions of pain and pleasure, and renovation of preceding sensations of the same kind. Fury, or natural courage, is remarkable in animals which have experienced and ascertained their strength, and found it superior to ours; fear is the portion of the weak, but love belongs to all. Love! thou innate desire! thou soul of nature! thou inexhaustible principle of existence! thou sovereign power, by which every thing breathes, and every thing is renewed! thou divine shame! thou seed of perpetuity infused by the Almighty into all which has the breath of life! thou precious sentiment, by which alone the most savage and frozen hearts are softened! thou first cause of all happiness, of all society! thou fertile source of every pleasure, of every delight! Love! why dost thou constitute the felicity of every other being, and bring misery alone to man?