78 
THE CULTIVATOR. 
tuous will, have a dignity of quite another kind and far 
higher than accumulations of brick, and granite, and 
plaster, and stucco, however cunningly put together, or 
though stretching far beyond our sight. Nor is this all. 
If we pass over this grandeur of our common nature, 
and turn pur thoughts to that comparative greatness, 
which draws chief attention, and which consists in the 
decided superiority of the individual to the general stan- 
dard of power and character, we shall find this as free and 
frequent a growth among the obscure and unnoticed as in 
more conspicuous walks of life. The truly great are to 
be found every where, nor is it easy to say, in what con¬ 
dition they spring up most plentifully. Real greatness 
lias nothing to do with a man’s sphere. It does not lie 
iii the magnitude of his outward agency, in the extent 
of the effects which he produces. The greatest men 
may do comparatively little abroad. Perhaps the great¬ 
est in our city at this moment are buried in obscurity.^ 
Grandeur of character lies wholly in force of soul, that 
is, in the force of thought, moral principle and love, and 
this may be found in the humblest condition of life. A 
man brought up to an obscure trade, and hemmed in by 
the wants of a growing family, may, in his narrow 
sphere, perceive more clearly, discriminate more keenly, 
weigh evidence more wisely, seize on the right means 
more decisively, and have more presence of mind in dif¬ 
ficulty, than another who has accumulated vast stores 
of knowledge by laborious study; and he has more of 
intellectual greatness. Many a man, who has gone but 
a few miles from home, understands human nature bet¬ 
ter, detects motives and weighs character more saga¬ 
ciously, than another, who has travelled over the known 
world, and made a name by his reports of different 
countries. It is the force of thought which measures 
intellectual, and so it is force of principle which measures 
moral greatness, that highest of human endowments, 
that brightest manifestation of the Divinity. The great¬ 
est man is he who chooses the right with invincible re¬ 
solution, who resists the sorest temptations from within 
and without, who bears the heaviest burdens cheerfully, 
who is calmest in storms and most fearless under me¬ 
nace and frowns, whose reliance on truth, on virtue, on 
God isgpost unfaltering; and is this a greatness, which 
is apt to make a show, or which is most likely to abound 
in conspicuous station? The solemn conflicts of reason 
with passion—the victories of moral and religious prin¬ 
ciple over urgent and almost irresistible solicitations to 
sdlf-indulgence—the hardest sacrifices of duty, those of 
deep-seated affection and of the heart’s fondest hopes— 
the consolations, hopes, joys, and peace of disappointed, 
persecuted, scorned, deserted virtue; these are of course 
ifnseen; so that the true greatness of human life is al¬ 
most wholly out of sight. Perhaps in our presence, the 
most heroic deed on earth is done in some silent spirit, 
the loftiest purpose cherished, the most generous sacri¬ 
fice made, and we do not suspect it. I believe this 
greatness to be most common among the multitude, 
whose names are never heard. Among common penple 
will be found more of hardship borne manfully, more of 
unvarnished truth, more of religious trust, more of that 
generosity which gives what the giver needs himself, 
and more of a wise estimate of life and death, than 
among the more prosperous.—And even in regard to in¬ 
fluence over other beings, which is thought the peculiar 
prerogative of distinguished station. I believe, that the 
difference between the conspicuous and the obscure does 
not amount to much. Influence is to be measured, not 
by the extent of surface it covers, but by its kind. A 
man may spread his mind, his feelings and opinions 
through a great extent; but if his mind be a low one, 
he manifests no greatness. A wretched artist may fill a 
city with daubs, and by a false showy style achieve a 
reputation; but the man of genius, who leaves behind 
him one grand picture, in which immortal beauty is 
embodied, and which is silently to spread a true taste 
in his art, exerts an incomparably higher influence.— 
Now the noblest influence on earth is that exerted on 
character; and he, who puts forth this, does a great 
work, no matter how narrow or obscure his sphere. 
The father and mother of an unnoticed family, who, in 
their seclusion, awaken the mind of one child to the idea 
aid love of perfect goodness, who awaken in him a 
strength of will to repel all temptation, and who send 
him out prepared to profit by the conflicts of life, surpass 
in influence a Napoleon breaking the world to hissway. 
And not only is their work higher in kind ; who knows 
but that they are doing a greater work even as to ex¬ 
tent or surface than the conqueror? Who knows, but 
that the being, whom they inspire with holy and disinte¬ 
rested principles, may communicate himself toothers; 
and that by a spreading agency, of which they were the 
silent origin, improvements may spread through a na¬ 
tion, through the world ? In these remarks you will see 
why I feel and express a deep interest in the obscure, in 
the mass of men. The distinctions of society vanish 
before the light of these truths. I attach myself to the 
multitude, not because they are voters and have politi¬ 
cal power, but because they are men, and have within 
their reach the most glorious prizes of humanity. 
In this country, the mass of the people are distin¬ 
guished by possessing means of improvement, of self¬ 
culture, possessed no where else. To incite them to 
the use of these, is to render them the best service they 
can receive. Accordingly I have chosen for the subject 
of this lecture, Self-culture , or the care which every man 
owes to himself, to the unfolding and perfecting of his 
nature. I consider this topic as particularly appropri¬ 
ate to the introduction of a course of lectures, in conse¬ 
quence of a common disposition to regard these and 
other like means of instruction, as able of themselves to 
carry forward the hearer. Lectures have their use.— 
They stir up many, who, but for such outward appeals, 
might have slumbered to the end of life. But let it be 
remembered, that little is to be gained simply by com¬ 
ing to this place once a week, and giving up the mind 
for an hour to be wrought uppn by a teacher. Unless 
we are roused to act upon ourselves, unless We engage 
in the work of self-improvement, unless we purpose 
strenuously to form and elevate our own minds, unless 
what we hear is made a part of ourselves by conscien¬ 
tious reflection, very little permanent good is received. 
Self-culture, I am aware, is a topic too extensive for 
a single discourse, and I shall be able to present but a 
few views which seem to me most important. My aim 
will be, to give first the idea of self-culture, next its 
means, and then to consider some objections to the lead¬ 
ing views which l am now to lay before you. 
Before entering on the discussion, let me offer one re¬ 
mark. Self-culture is something possible. It is not a 
dream. It has foundations in our nature. Without this 
conviction, the speaker will but declaim, and the hearer 
listen without profit. There are two powers of the hu¬ 
man soul which make self-culttye possible, the self- 
searching and the self-forming power. We have first 
the faculty of turning the mind on itself; of recalling its 
past, and watching its present operations; of learning 
its various capacities and susceptibilities, what it can 
do and bear, what it can enjoy and suffer; and of thus 
learning in general what our nature is, and what it was 
made for. It is worthy of observation, that we are able 
to discern not only what we already are, but what we 
may become, to see in ourselves germs and promises of a 
growth to which no bounds can be set, to dart beyond 
what we have actually gained to the idea of perfection 
as the end of our being. It is by this self-comprehend¬ 
ing power that we are distinguished from the brutes, 
which give no signs of looking into themselves. With¬ 
out this there could be no self-culture, for we should not 
know the work to be done; and one reason why self¬ 
culture is so little proposed is, that so few penetrate 
into their own nature. To most men, their own spirits 
are shadowy, unreal, compared with what is outward. 
When they happen to cast a glance inward, they see 
there only a dark, vague chaos. They distinguish, per¬ 
haps, some violent passion, which had driven them to in¬ 
jurious excess, but their highest powers hardly attract a 
thought; and thus multitudes live and die as truly 
strangers to themselves, as to countries, of which they 
have heard the name, but which human foot has never 
trodden. 
But self culture is possible, not only because we can 
enter into and search ourselves. We have a still nobler 
power, that of acting on, determining and forming our¬ 
selves. This is a fearful as well as glorious endow¬ 
ment, for it is the ground of human responsibility.— 
We have the power not only of tracing our powers, but 
of guiding and impelling them, not only of watching 
our passions, but of controlling them, not only of see¬ 
ing our faculties grow, but of applying to them means 
and influences to aid their growth. We can stay or 
change the current of thought. We can concentrate the 
intellect on objects which we wish to comprehend.— 
We can fix our eyes on perfection and make almost 
everything speed us towards it. This is indeed a noble 
prerogative of our nature. Possessing this, it matters 
little what or where we are now, for we can conquer a 
better lot, and even be happier for starting from the 
lowest point. Of all the discoveries which men need to 
make, the most important at the present moment, is that 
of the self-forming power treasured up in themselves. 
They little suspect its extent, aslittle as the savage appre¬ 
hends the energy which the mind is created to exert on 
the material world. It transcends in importance all our 
power over outward nature. There is more of divinity 
in it, than in the force which impels the outward uni¬ 
verse; and yet how little we comprehend it! How it 
slumbers in most men unsuspected, unused! This 
makes self-culture possible, and binds it on us as a so¬ 
lemn duty. 
I. I am first to unfold the idea of self-culture; and 
this, in its most general form, may easily be seized. 
To cultivate any thing, be it a plant, an animal, a mind, 
is to make grow. Growth, expansion is the end. No¬ 
thing admits culture, but that which has a principle of 
life, capable of being expanded. He, therefore, who 
does what he can to unfold all his powers and capaci¬ 
ties, especially his nobler ones, so as to become a well 
proportioned, vigorous, excellent, happy being, practi¬ 
ses self-culture. 
This culture of course has various branches corres¬ 
ponding to the different capacities of human nature; 
but though various, they are intimately united and make 
progress together. The soul, which our philosophy 
divides into various capacities, is still one essence, one 
life; and it exerts at the same moment, and blends in 
the same act its various energies of thought, feeling and 
volition. Accordingly, in a wise self-culture, all the 
principles of our nature grow at once by joint harmoni¬ 
ous action, just as all parts of the plant are unfolded to¬ 
gether. When therefore you hear of different branches 
of sell-improvement, you will not think of them as dis¬ 
tinct processes going on independently on each other, 
and requiring each its own separate means: Still a dis¬ 
tinct consideration of these is needed to a full compre¬ 
hension of the subject, and these I shall proceed to un¬ 
fold. „ . , . 
First, self-culture is Moral, a branch of singular im¬ 
portance. When a man looks into himself he discovers 
two distinct orders or kinds of principles, which it be¬ 
hooves him especially to comprehend. He discovers 
desires, appetites, passions which terminate in himself, 
which crave and seek his own interest, gratification, 
distinction; and he discovers another principle, an anta¬ 
gonist to these, which is impartial, disinterested, uni¬ 
versal, enjoining on him a regard to the rights and hap¬ 
piness of other beings, and laying on him obligations 
which must be discharged, cost what they may, or how¬ 
ever they may clash with his particular pleasure or gain. 
No man, however narrowed to his own interest, howe- 
ver hardened by selfishness, can deny, that there springs 
up within him a great idea in opposition to interest, the 
idea of duty, that an inward voice calls him more or 
less distinctly to revere and exercise impartial justice, 
and universal good will, This disinterested principle in 
human nature we call sometimes reason, sometimes 
conscience, sometimes the moral sense or faculty. But, 
be its name what it may, it is a real principle in each of 
us, and it is the supreme power within us, to be culti¬ 
vated above all others, for on its culture the right deve¬ 
lopment of all others depends. The passions indeed 
may be stronger than the conscience, may lift up a 
louder voice; but their clamour differs wholly from the 
tone of command in which the conscience speaks.— 
They are not clothed with its authority, its binding 
power. In their very triumphs they are rebuked by the 
moral principle, and often cower before its still, deep, 
menacing voice. No part of self-knowledge is more im¬ 
portant, than to discern clearly these two great princi¬ 
ples, the self-seeking and the disinterested; and the 
most important part of selficulture is .to depress the 
former, and to exalt the latter, or to enthrone the sense 
of duty within lis, There are no limits to thfe growth 
of this moral force in man, if he will cherish it faith¬ 
fully. There have been men, whom no power in the 
universe could turn from the right, by whom death in 
its most dreadful forms has been less dreaded, than 
transgression of the inward law of universal justice and 
love. , 
In the next place, self-culture is Religious. When 
we look into ourselves we discover powers, which link 
us with this outward, visible, finite, ever changing world. 
We have sight and other senses to discern, and limbs 
and various faculties to secure and appropriate the ma¬ 
terial creation. And we have too a power, which can¬ 
not stop at what we see and handle, at what exists with¬ 
in the bounds of space and time, which seeks for the 
infinite, uncreated cause, which cannot rest till it as¬ 
cend to the eternal, all-comprehending mind. This we 
call the religious principle, and its grandeur cannot be 
exaggerated by human language; for it marks out a 
being destined for higher communion than with the vi¬ 
sible universe. To develop this, is eminently to educate 
ourselves. The true idea of God, unfolded clearly and 
livingly within us, and moving us to adore and obey 
him, and to aspire after likeness to him, is the noblest 
growth in human, and I may add, in celestial natures. 
The religious principle, and the moral, are intimately 
connected, and grow together. Theformer is indeed the 
perfection and highest manifestation of the latter. They 
are both disinterested. It is the essence of true religion 
to recognise and adore in God the attributes of impar¬ 
tial justice and universal love, and to hear him com¬ 
manding us is the conscience to become what we adore. 
Again. Self-culture is Intellectual. We cannot look 
into ourselves without discovering the intellectual prin¬ 
ciple, the power which thinks, reasons, and judges, the 
power of seeking and acquiring truth This indeed we 
are in no danger of overlooking. The intellect being 
the great instrument by which men compass theirwiriies, 
it draws more attention than any of our other powers. 
When we speak to men of improving themselves, the 
first thought which occurs to them is, that they must 
cultivate the understanding, and get knowledge and skill,. 
By education, men mean almost exclusively intellectual 
training. For this, schools and Colleges are instituted, 
and to this the moral and religious discipline of the young 
is sacrificed. Now 1 reverence, as much as any man, the 
intellect; but let us never exalt it above the moral prin¬ 
ciple. With this it is most intimately connected. In 
this its cultureis founded, and to exalt this is its highest 
aim. Whoever desires that his intellect may grow up 
to soundness, to healthy vigour, must begin with moral 
discipline, Reading and study are not enough to perfect 
the power of thought. One thing above all is needful, 
and that is, the disinterestedness which is the very soul 
of virtue. To gain truth, which is the great object of 
the understanding, I must seek ^disinterestedly. Here 
is the first and grand condition of intellectual pro¬ 
gress. I must choose to receive the truth, nomatter how 
it bears on mysglf. I must follow it, no matter where 
it leads, what interests it opposes, to what persecution 
or loss it lays me open, from whatparty it severs me, or 
to what party it allies. Without this fairness of mind, 
which is only another phrase for disinterested love of 
truth, great native powers of understanding are pervert¬ 
ed and lead astray; genius runs wild; “thelight within 
us becomes darkness.” The subtlest reasoners, for want 
of this, cheat themselves as well as others, and become 
entangled in the web of their own sophistry. It is a fact 
well known in the history ofscience and philosophy, that 
men, gifted by nature with singular intelligence, have 
broached the grossest errors, and even sought to under' 
mine the grand primitive truths on which human virtue, 
dignity and hope depend. And on the other hand, I have 
known instances of men of naturally moderate powers 
of mind, who by a disinterested love of truth and their 
fellow creatures, have gradually risen to no small force 
and enlargement of thought. Some of the most useful 
teachers in the pulpit and in schools, have owed their 
power of enlightening others not so much to any natural 
