Continued from frst page.
relation to their first cause; for in doing this, they
are seen to partake somewhat of the natuie of
that Being on whom they depend. We make no
approaches to a conception of it? by heaping da\
upon day or vaar upon year. 1 his is meielv an
accumulation of time ; and we might as well at
tempt to convey an idea of mental greatness by
that [factual space, as to communicate a concep
tion ot eternity by years or thousands ol \ecirs-.
Mind and matter are not more distinct from each
other than their properties; and by an attempt
to embrace all time, we are actually farther from
an approach to eternity than w hen we coniine our
selves to a single instant; because we merely col
lect the largest possible amount ot natural changes,
whereas that which is eternal approaches that
which This resembles the attempt
to ascend to heaven by means ot the tower oh
Babel, in which they were removed by their
pride from that which they woud ha\e ap
proached, precisely in proportion to their appa
rent progress. It is impossible to conceive ol
either time or space without matter. Ihe reason
is, they are the effect ot matter; and as it is bv
creating matter that they are produced, so it is by
thinking of it that they are conceived 01. It need
not be said how exceedingly improper it is to ap
ply the usual ideas of time and space to the Di
vine Being ; making him subject to mat which
he creates.
Still our conceptions ot time, of hours, days
or years, are among the most vivid we possess,
and w r e neither wish nor find it easy to call them
in question. We are satisfied with the fact, that
time is indicated on the face of the watch, with
out seeking for it among the wheels and machi
nery. But what is the idea of a year ? Every
natural change that comes under our observation
leaves a corresponding impression on the mind ;
and the sum of the changes which come under
a single revolution of the earth round the sun,
conveys the impression of a year. Accordingly,
we find that our idea ot a year is continually
changing, as the mind becomes conversant witn
different objects, and is susceptible of different
impressions ; and the days of the old man, as
they draw near their close seem to gather rapidity
from their approach to the other world. We
have all experienced the effect ot pleasure and
pain in accelerating and retarding the passing
moments; and since our feelings are constantly
changing, we have no reason to doubt that they
constantly produce a similar effect, though it may
not be often noticed. The divisions’ ot time,
then, however real they may seem to be, and
however well they may serve the common pur
poses of conversation, cannot be supposed to
convey the same impression to any two minds,
nor to any one mind in different periods of its ex
istence. Indeed, unless this w T ere the fact, all
artificial modes of keeping it, w T onld be unneces
sary. Time, then, is nothing real so far as it ex
ists in our own minds.
Nor do we find a nearer approach to reality
by any analysis of nature. Everything, as was
said, is subject to change, and one change pre
pares the way for another ; by which there is
growth and decay. There are also motions of
the bodies, both in nature and art, which in their
operation observe fixed laws ; and here we end.
The more we enter into an analysis of things, the
farther are we from finding anything that an
swers to the distinctness and reality which are
usually attached to a conception of time, and
there is reason to believe that when this distinct
ness and reality are most deeply rooted, (what
ever may be the theory,) they are uniformly
attended with a practical belief of the actual
motion of the sun, and are indeed the effect
of it. Let us then continue to talk of time,
as we talk of the rising and setting of the sun ;
but let us think rather of those changes in their
origin and effect, from which a sense of time is
produced. This will carry us one degree nearer
the actual condition of ihings ; it will admit us
one step further into the temple of creation —
no longer a temple created six thousand years
ago, and deserted by him who formed it ; but a
temple with the hand of the builder resting upon
it; perpetually renewing, perpetually creating—
and as w r e bow ourselves to worship the “I AM,”
“Him who liveth forever and ever, who created
heaven and the things that are therein, and the
earth and the things that are therein, and the sea
and the things that are therein,” we mav hear
m accents of divine love the voice that proclaims
“ that their shall be time no longer.”
It is not the living productions of nature, by
which the strongest impression of time is pro
duced. The oak, over which may have passed
a hundred years, seems to drive from our minds
the impression of time, by the same pow er by
which it supports its own life, and resists every
tendency to decay. It is that which is decayed,
though it may have been the offspring of an
hour ; it is the ruined castle mouldering into dust,
still more, it the contrast be strengthened by its
being covered w r ith the living productions of na
ture ; it is the half-consumed remains of some
animal once strong and vigorous, the discoveries
.of the undertaker, or the filthy relics of the cata
comb, by which the strongest impression of time
is conveyed. So it is with the possessions of the
mind. It is that which is not used, w hich seems
farthest in the memory, and which is held by the
most doubtful tenure ; that which is suffered to
waste and decay because it w ants the life of our
ow n affections; that which we are about to lo>e,
because it does not properly belong to us ; where
as that truth, which is applied to the use and ser
vice of mankind, acquires a higher polish the
more it is thus employed, like the angels of heav
en, who forever approximate to a state ot perfect
I youth, beauty, and innocence. It is not a useless
task, then, to remove from our minds the usual
ideas ot time, and cultivate a memory of things.
It is to leave the mind in the healthy, vigorous and
active possession of all its attainments, and ex
ercise of all its powers; it is to remove from it?
that only which contains the seeds of decay and
putrifaction ; to separate the living from the dead ;
to take from it the veil by which it would avoid
the direct presence of Jehovah, and preserve its
own possessions without using them.
Truth, all truth, is practical. It is impossible,
from its nature and origin, that it should be other
wise. Whether its effect be directly to change
the conduct, or it simply leave an impression on
the heart, it is in the strictest sense, practical.
It should rather be our desire to use what we
learn, than to remember it. If we desire to use
it, we shall remember it of course; if we wish
merely to remember, it is possible we may never
use it. It is the tendency of all truth to effect
some object. If we look at tins object, it w ill
form a distinct and permanent image on the mind;
if we look merely at the truth, it will vanish away,
like rays of light falling into vacancy.
Keeping in view what has been said on the sub
ject of time, then, the mind is presented to us, as
not merely active in the acquirement ot truth but
active in its possession. The memory is the fire
of the vestal virgins, sending forth perpetual
lioht; not the grave which preserves simply
because annihilation is impossible. The reser
voir of knowledge should be seated in the af
fections, sending forth its influence throughout the
mind, and terminating in word and deed, if I may
be allowed the expression, merely because its
channels and outlets are situated below the water
mark. There prevails a most erroneous senti
ment, that the mind is originally vacant, and re
quires only to be filled up ; and there is reason
to believe, that this opinion is most intimately
connected with false conceptions of time. The
mind is originally a most delicate germ, whose
husk is the body : planted in this world, that the
light and beat of heaven may fall upon it with a
gentle radiance, and call forth its energies. The
process of learning is not by synthesis, or analy
sis. It is the most perfect illustration of both.—
As subjects are presented to the operation of the
mind, they are decomposed and reorganized in a
manner peculiar to itself, and not easily explained.
Another object of the preceding remarks upon
time, is that we may be impressed with the imme
diate presence and agency of God, without which
a correct understanding of mind or matter can
never be attained ; that we mav be able to read on
every power of the mind, and on every particle of
matter, the language of our Lord, “My Father
worketh hitherto, and I work.” We usually put
the Divine Being to an immense distance, by sup
posing that the world was created many years ago,
and subject to certain laws, by which it has since
been governed. We find ourselves capable of con
structing machines, which move on without our
assistance, and imagine that the world was con
structed in the same way. We forget that the
motions of our machines depend on the uniform
operation of what we call the laws of nature ;
and that there can be nothing beyond, on which
these depend, unless it be the agency of that Be
ing from whom they exist. The pendulum of
the clock continues to move from the uniform ope
ration of gravitation. It is no explanation, to say
that it is a law of our machinery that the pendu
lum should move. We simply place things in a
situation to be acted upon by an all-pervading
power ; but what all-pervading power is there by
which gravitation is itself produced, unless it be
the power of God ?
The tendency of bodies to the earth, is some
thing with which from our childhood we have
been so familiar; something which we have re
garded so much as a cause, since, in a certain
sense, it is the cause of all the motions with
which we are acquainted ; that it is not agreeable
to our habits of thinking, to look at it as an
effect. Even the motions of the heavenly bodies
seem completely accounted for, by simply ex
tending to these phenomena, the feelings with
which we have been accustomed to regard the
tendency of bodies to the earth ; whereas, if the
two things were communicated at the same pe
riod of life, they would appear equally wonder
ful. An event appears to be explained, when it
is brought within the pale of those youthful feel
ings and associations, which in their simplicity do
not ask the reason of things. There i-s formed
in the mind of the child, from his most familiar
observations, however imperfect they ma} T be, as
it were a little nucleus, which serves as the ba
sis of his future progress. This usually com
prises a large proportion of those natural appear
ances, which the philosopher in later periods of
life finds it most difficult to explain. The child
grows up in his Father’s house, and collects and
arranges the most familiar operations and events.
Into this collection he afterwards receives what
ever history or science may communicate, and
still feels at home; a feeling with which wonder
is never associated.
This is not altogether as it should be. It is
natural for the mature mind to ask the cause of
things. It is unsatisfied when it does not find
one, and can hardly exclude the thought of that
Being, from whom all things exists. When there
fore we have gone beyond the circle of youthful
knowledge, and found a phenomenon in nature
which in its insulated state fills us with the ad
miration of God ; let us beware how we quench
this feeling. Let us rather transfer something
of this admiration to those phenomena ol the
same class, which have not hitherto directed our
minds beyond the fact of their actual existence.
As the mind extends the boundaries ol its know
ledge, let a holy reference to God descend into
its youthful treasures. That light which in the
distance seemed to be a miraculous blaze, .as it
falls on our own native hills may still seem divine,
but will not surprise us ; and a sense ol the con
stant presence of God will be happily blended
with the most perfect freedom.
Till the time of Newton, the motion of the
heavenly bodies was indeed a miracle. It was
an event which stood alone, and w r as probably
regarded with peculiar reference to the Divine
Being. The feeling of worship with which they
had previously been regarded, had subsided into
a feeling of wonder ; till at length they were re
ceived into the family of our most familiar asso
ciations. There is one step further. It is to re
gard gravitation, wherever it may be found, as
an effect of the constant agency of the Divine
Being, and from a consciousness of his presence
and co-operation in every step we take, literally,
“to walk humbly with our God.” It is agreeable
to the laws of moral and intellectual progression,
that all phenomena, whether of matter or mind,
should become gradually classified ; till at length
all things, wherever they are found ; all events,
whether of history or experience, of mind or
matter ; shall at once conspire to form one stu
pendous miracle, and cease to be such. They
will form a miracle, in that they are seen to de
pend constantly and equally on the power of the
Lord; and they will cease to be a miracle, in that
the power which pervades them, is so constant,
so uniform, and so mild in its operation, that it
produces nothing of fear, nothing ot surprise.
From whatever point we contemplate the scene,
we feel that we are still in our Father’s house ;
go where we will, the paternal roof, the broad
canopy of heaven, is extended over us.
It is agreeable to our nature, that the mind
should be particularly determined to one object.
The eye appears to be the point at which the
united rays of the sun within and the sun with
out, converge to an expression of unity ; and ac
cordingly the understanding can be conscious of
but one idea or image at a time. Still there is
another and a different kind of consciousness
which pervades the mind, which is co-extensive
with every thing it actually possesses. There is
but one object in nature on which the eye looks
directly, but the whole body is pervaded with
nerves which convey perpetual information of
the existence and condition of every part. So it
is with the possessions of the mind ; and when
an object ceases to be the subject of this kind of
consciousness, it ceases to be remembered. The
memory therefore, as was said, is not a dormant,
/ 4k,
but an active power. It is rather the possession
than the retention of truth. It is a consciousness
of the will; a consciousness of character; a con
sciousness which is produced by the mind’s pre
serving in effort, whatever it actually possesses.
It is the power which the mind has of preserving
truth, without actually making it the subject ol
thought ; bearing a relation to thought, analo
gous to what this bears to the actual perception
of the senses, or to language. Thus we remem
ber a distant object without actually thinking of
it, in the same way that we think of it, without
actually seeing it.
The memory is not limited, because to the af
fections, viewed simply as such, number is not
applicable. They become distinct and are classi
fied, when connected with truth, or, from being
developed, are applied to their proper objects.—
Love may be increased, but not multiplied. A
man may feel intensely, and the quantity and
quality of his feeling may affect the character ol
his thought, but still it preserves its unity. The
most ardent love is not attended with more than
one idea, but on the contrary has a tendency to
confine the mind to a single object. Every one
must have remarked, that a peculiar state of feel
ing belongs to every exercise of the understand
ing ; unless somewhat of this feeling remained
after the thought had passed away, there would
be nothing whereby the latter could be recalled.
The impression thus left, exists continually in the
mind ; though, as different objects engage the at
tention, it may become less vivid. These im
pressions go to comprise the character of an in
dividual ; especially when they have acquired a
reality and fixedness, in consequence of the feel
ings in which they originated, having resulted in
the actions to which they tend. They enter into
every subject about which we are thinking, and
the particular modification they receive from that
subject gives them the appearance of individu
ality ; while they leave on the subject itself, the
image of that character which they constitute.—
\\ hen a man has become acquainted with any
science, that stale of the affections which proper
ly belongs to this science, (whatever direction his
mind may take afterwards,) still maintains a cer
tain influence ; and this influence is the creative
power by which his knowledge on the subject is
re-produced. Such impressions are to the mind,
what logarithms are in numbers ; preserving our
knowledge in its fulness indeed, but before it has
expanded into an infinite variety of thoughts.-
Brown remarks, “we will the existence ol cer
tain ideas, it is said, and they arise in conse
quence of our volition ; though assuredly to will
any idea is to know that we will, and therefore to
be conscious of that very idea, which we surely
need not desire to know, when we already know
it so well as to will its actual existence.” The
author does not discriminate between looking at
an object and thence desiring it, and simply that
condition of feeling between which and certain
thoughts there is an established relation, so that
the former cannot exist to any considerable de
gree without producing the latter. Ol this exer
tion of the will, every one must have been con
jscious in his efforts of recollection. Os this ex
ertion of the will, the priest must be conscious,
when, (if he be sincere,) by the simple prostra
tion of his heart before his maker, his mind is
crowded with the thoughts and language of
prayer. Os this exertion of the will, the poet
must be conscious, when he makes bare his bo
som for the reception of nature, and presents her
breathing with his own life and soul: But it is
needless to illustrate that ol which every one
must be sensible.
It follows from these views of the subject, that
the true w r ay to store the memory is to develop
the affections. The mind must grow, not from
external accretion, but from an internal principle.
Much may be done by others in aid ot its devel
opment ; but in all that is done, it should not be
forgotten, that even from its earliest infancy, it
possesses a character and a principle of freedom,
which should be lespected, and cannot be destroyed.
Its peculiar propensities may be discerned, and
proper nutriment and culture supplied ; but the
infant plant, not less than the aged tree, must be
permitted, with its own organs ol absorption, to
separate that which is peculiarly adapted to itself;
otherwise it will be castoff as a foreign substance,
or produce nothing but rottenness and deformity.
ff’he science of the mind itself will be the effect
of its own development. This is merely an at
tendant consciousness, which the mind possesses,
of the growth of its own powers; and therefore,
it wotild seem, need not be made a distinct object
of study.. Thus the power of reason may be im
perceptibly developed by the study ot the demon
strative sciences. As it is developed, the pupil
becomes conscious of its existence and its use.
This is enough. He can in fact learn nothing
more on the subject. If he learns to use his reason,
what more is desired? Surely it were useless, and
worse than useless, to shut up the door of the
senses, and live in indolent and laborious con
templation of one’s own powers; when, if any
thing is learned truly, it must be what these pow
ers are, and therefore that they ought not to be
thus employed. The best affections we posses?
will find their home in the objects around us,
and, as it were, enter into and animate the whole
rational, animal, and vegetable world. If the
eve were turned inward to a direct contempla
tion of these affections, it would find them be
reft of all their loveliness; for when they are
active, it is not of them we are thinking, but ot
the objects on which they rest. The science of
the mind, then, will be the effect of all the other
sciences. Can the child grow up in active use
fulness, and not be conscious of the possession
and use of his own limbs? The body and the
mind should grow together, and form the sound
and perfect man, whose understanding may be
almost measured by his stature. The mind will
see itself'in what it loves and is able to accom
plish. Its own works will be its mirror ; and
when it is present in the natural world, feeling
the same spirit which gives life to every object
by which it is surrounded, in its very union with
nature it will catch a glimpse of itself, like that
ol pristine beauty united with innocence, at her
own native fountain.
What then is that development which the na
ture of the human mind requires? What is that
education which has heaven for its object, and
such a heaven as will be the effect of the orderly
growth ol the spiritual man ?
As all minds possess that in common which
makes them human, they require to a certain ex
tent the same general development, by which
will be brougot to view the same powers, how
ever distinct and varied they may be found in
different individuals; and as every mind possesses
something peculiar, to which it owes its character
and its effect, it requires a particular develop
ment by which may be produced a full, sincere,
and humble expression of its natural features, and
the most vigorous and efficient exertion of its
natural powers. These make one, so far as re
gards the individual.
Those sciences which exist embodied in the
natural world, appear to have been designed to
occupy the first place in the development of all
minds, or in that which might be called the gen
eral development of the mind. These comprise
the laws ot the animal, vegetable and mineral
kingdoms. The human mind, being as it were
planted in nature by its heavenly Father, was
designed to enter into matter, and detect know
ledge, for its own purposes of growth and nutri
tion. This gives us a true idea of memory, or
rather of what memory should be. We no longer
think of a truth as being laid up in a mind for
which it has no affinity, and by which it is per-
To be Continued in our next .
