LETTER VI.

CULTIVATION OF THE MIND.

DEAR CHILDREN:--That every human being is bound to cultivate, in the best manner, the intellectual powers which God has given him, I hope you will take for granted, anterior to all argument; and, although the moral aspects of education are the most vitally important, yet as no one can be a moral agent without some degree of intellect; so it may be said, that the wisest and best culture even of our moral powers, depends more on the discipline, the enlargement, and the furniture of the intellect, than is commonly supposed.

The cultivation of the mind comprises two things, and two only, viz: giving it proper habits of exercise, and filling it with useful knowledge. The case is precisely similar with regard to the _body_. The sum total of all that we are called to do for the benefit of the body, is to secure its strength by constant and wholesome action or exercise, and to furnish it with appropriate nourishment. On the one hand, were its _exercise_ ever so abundant, if left without aliment, it would speedily sink into weakness and death; and, on the other, if its aliment be ever so plentiful and rich, yet if it be left wholly without _exercise_, it will soon become a mass of disease and corruption. Precisely so is it in the cultivation of the mind. Exercise and aliment are equally indispensable, and must go together. If the mind be not taught to think, and to feel an appetite for intellectual provision, all the knowledge in the world, if introduced into it, would be of little use. But, if it be taught only to think and feel, and be furnished with none of the appropriate aliment of knowledge, it cannot grow either in strength, or in a capacity to act its part in the world with dignity or usefulness.

As these principles lie at the foundation of all intellectual culture, so they are also adapted to instruct us with regard to the wisest and best means of conducting that culture, with regard to the departments of knowledge most worthy of being studied, and the relative stress which ought to be laid on different pursuits. If you would be trained up merely to be splendid butterflies, to shine and to please the superficial and the empty, for a day, and, having done this, to die like senseless insects; why, then, a corresponding plan of culture must be adopted. But, if you wish to be regarded as rational creatures; to be prepared for sober thought and action; to "serve your generation by the will of God;" to die in peace, and to be remembered with love and veneration when you are gone, then it is perfectly manifest a very different method of training is indispensable.

I trust you will not hesitate a moment in deciding which of these courses you ought to choose. I trust the way of practical wisdom, of piety, and of usefulness, will be the object of your prompt and decisive choice. If so, the course of mental culture which you ought to adopt, cannot possibly be mistaken by a mind of the least reflection. If you are to feel and act as moral accountable agents, and to consider human life as a serious, momentous thing; then, doubtless, you will feel that you are bound, first of all, and above all, to exercise your minds in such a manner, and to store them with such branches of knowledge, as will tend most effectually to enlarge them, to strengthen them, to inspire them with practical wisdom, and to furnish them with the means of the most solid and extensive usefulness.

Upon this principle, I would say, let your first and chief attention be directed to those branches of knowledge which lie at the foundation of all that is enlarged, liberal, and elevated in human pursuits; such as Grammar, Rhetoric, Geography, the Latin, Greek, and French languages, Natural and Moral Philosophy, the elements of Mathematical science, Chemistry, and as many of the branches of Natural History as may be within your reach, especially Botany and Mineralogy. These are all proper for both sexes; and the more you gain of all of them, the better fitted will you be both for enjoying life, and for fulfilling its various and momentous duties. I grant, indeed, my dear grandson, that with regard to what is denominated Classic literature, and Mathematics, I wish _you_ to go more thoroughly to work, than would be desirable, or perhaps proper, for your sisters. But I hope that neither of these will be entirely neglected by _them_. For I have an impression, that the careful study, to a certain extent, of the best of the dead languages, and an intelligent acquaintance with the elementary principles of Mathematics, ought to be omitted by none who can possibly attain them. In my opinion, they are adapted to produce an effect on the mind, and to diffuse an influence over all its other acquisitions, more happy and more important than is commonly recognised, even by many of the educated themselves.

Besides the popular sciences just mentioned, with which every human being who can afford it, ought to seek some good acquaintance, there is an extensive and important field of knowledge, which is defined by the general term of _literature_, and, in our case, of _English Literature_. There is a large class of writers, with whose works every one who claims to be intelligent and well informed, must be familiar. To this department belongs the whole subject of _History_, which, I trust, will receive the serious attention of all of you; and about which I hope you will take enlightened advice, as a number of the most attractive and popular writers in this department, are unfit to be perused without much reserve and caution. To these, of course, ought to be added, those great writers, both in prose and poetry, which deserve to be ranked as _English Classics_; and, with which, I feel confident, you will seize the earliest opportunity of becoming acquainted. I refer to such writers as Milton, Shakspeare, Dryden, Addison, Steele, Pope, Thompson, Gray, Young, Goldsmith, Johnson, Cowper, Beattie, and a number of others, whom I cannot pause to specify, but with whom it would be highly discreditable not to have some intimate knowledge. Without an acquaintance with these writers, you cannot appreciate the riches, the beauties, or the purity of your vernacular tongue, or form for yourselves a good style of writing. In these writers, too, you will find a great store-house of fine sentiment, as well as diction, adapted greatly to enlarge and elevate the mind, to impart to it its highest polish, and to prepare it for its best efforts.

There are certain accomplishments commonly called _ornamental_, deemed by many desirable for females, and by some considered as of much consequence. Among these are dancing, music, painting, drawing, embroidery, &c. With regard to _dancing_, your beloved grandmother and myself never thought proper to permit any of our own children to be instructed in this art; not because we thought the _act_ of dancing itself criminal, but because we considered it as inseparably and almost necessarily connected with the whole system of balls, dancing assemblies, midnight parties, &c., all of which we deemed criminal, and in a great variety of ways, hostile to the principles and the claims of true religion. We do, indeed, find dancing spoken of in the Old Testament Scriptures, as having been employed, even on occasions of religious joy; but never on such occasions do we read of the midnight dance, nor of promiscuous dancing, that is, of the sexes together. And with respect to the New Testament, we read there of only one actual dance, and that was performed by a profligate woman, and connected with crime of the most atrocious and revolting character.

As to _music_, I am persuaded it is the duty of every one who is able to do it, to acquire the power of uniting in the social praise of God with excellence and efficiency. The cultivation of vocal music, and the attainment of such a degree of skill in it as is essential to imparting an interest in the exercise, are conducive to health and favourable to moral and spiritual improvement. So far, I am confident you ought all to go. And if my granddaughters should have a special taste and love for instrumental music, I am by no means prepared to advise that they deny themselves the pleasure. It is an elegant accomplishment, and when wisely employed, may be connected with innocent pleasure, and sometimes with benefit. But I should deeply regret to find them aiming at that _exquisite skill_ in instrumental music, which cannot be attained without great expense, much loss of time, and that intense and long continued attention which cannot fail to engross the mind and stand in the way of more worthy objects of pursuit, if it do not wholly exclude them. This is so unworthy of a rational accountable creature, that I would infinitely rather my dear grandchildren should know nothing of music, than that they should carry their zeal for it, and their devotion to it, to such an injurious length. And as to my dear grandson, while I hope always to hear him unite in singing the praises of God in the sanctuary with taste and skill, it would give me unspeakable pain to hear that he was regarded as a highly acceptable and admired singer at convivial meetings, and that his company was courted on that account. I concur in opinion with the old Grecian sage, who, when a young gentleman of his acquaintance, of respectable station and employment in society, had performed on an instrument of music with consummate skill and effect, said to him, "Are you not ashamed, my young friend, to play so well?"

In conducting the intellectual culture of the young, there is one question which I presume you will not fail to ask, and which I wish to anticipate and answer in this little system of affectionate advices. The question is, whether _Novels_ ought to have any place in the course of reading prescribed for young people? This is a question of exceeding great importance. When I was a youth it was far less interesting and momentous, as a practical matter, than it has now become. Three quarters of a century, and more especially a century ago, the number of this class of writings was so small, and their popular circulation so inconsiderable, that their influence was scarcely worthy of notice, compared with that which they have more recently exerted, and which they are daily going on to extend. Bear with me then, dear children, while I dwell a little on this subject, and call your attention to some thoughts which I pray God may be deeply impressed upon your minds.

That fictitious history is not in its own nature and necessarily criminal, will probably be acknowledged by all. It _may_ be so construed as to awaken curiosity, to excite sympathy, and to impress the understanding and the heart in a salutary manner. Of course, to condemn every thing of the kind _as such_, and however constructed or employed, would be to pronounce an unjust judgment. Hence we find examples of this mode of instruction in the holy Scriptures; and on the same principle, some of the wisest and best human teachers in all ages, have used the vehicle of lively and interesting fiction, known to be such at the time, for insinuating into the mind moral and religious lessons, which in a different form, might not so readily have gained admittance.

But the great error of modern times is two-fold; _First_, in multiplying publications of this kind, until they bear an inordinate and injurious proportion in the current literature of the day; and, _Secondly_, in constructing them upon a plan adapted to degrade virtue and piety, to recommend vice, and of course to prove seductive and immoral in their whole influence.

Even when such works are perfectly unexceptionable in their character; when they are wholly free from any thing improper, either in language or sentiment, they may be productive of incalculable mischief, if, as now, they are issued in excessive _numbers_ and _quantity_. Leaving the _character_ of modern novels entirely out of the question, the enormous number which for the last half century has been every day increasing, has become a grievous intellectual and moral nuisance. As long as they were _few_ in number, and were regarded not as the _substance_, but only as the _seasoning_ of the literary feast, they occupied but a small share of public attention. The chief time and attention of the reading portion of the community were mainly devoted to works of substantial value, fitted to strengthen, enlarge, and enrich the mind. But, within the last twenty or thirty years, the number of novels has increased so rapidly; they have become so prominent and alluring a part of the current literature of the day; and by their stimulating and inexhaustible variety, have so drawn away the minds of the aged as well as the young from solid reading, that they have formed the principal reading of a large portion of the community, and, of course, have become a snare and an injury to an extent not easily calculated. As long as exhilarating gases, or other stimulating substances, are administered sparingly, and as medicines, they may be altogether harmless, and even essentially useful. But, when those who have taken them for some time in this manner, become so enamoured with them as to be no longer satisfied with their moderate and salutary use, but make them their daily and principal aliment, they become inevitably mischievous. They destroy the tone of the stomach, and, in the end, radically undermine the health.

So it is with the insidious excitement of novels. Were the reader of them to take none into his hands but those which might be safely pronounced perfectly pure and innocent; and were he certain that he would never be tempted to go beyond the most moderate bounds in seeking and perusing even such, there would, perhaps, be little danger to be apprehended. But no one can be thus certain of either. The general stimulus of fictitious narrative is morbid and disorderly. It excites the mind, but cannot fill or enrich it. The probability is, that he who allows himself to enter on this course, will be led on, like the miserable tippler, from one stage of indulgence to another, until his appetite is perverted; his power of self-denial and restraint lost; and his ruin finally sealed; or, at least, his mind so completely indisposed and unfitted for the sober realities of practical wisdom, for the pursuits of solid science and literature, as to be consigned to the class of superficial drivellers as long as he lives.

The truth is, novels--even the purest and best of them--are adapted, not to _instruct_, but only to _amuse_; not to _nourish_ and _strengthen_, but only to _exhilarate_. They even enervate the mind; they generate a sickliness of fancy; and they render the ordinary affairs and duties of life altogether uninteresting and insipid. After wading through hundreds of the most unexceptionable volumes belonging to this class--what has been gained? What has been laid up for future use? Nothing. Not a trace of any thing useful has been left behind. The days and nights devoted to their perusal have been absolutely lost. What infatuation is it for a rational creature who is sent into the world for serious and important purposes, and who is hastening to the judgment seat, thus to waste precious time; and, what is worse, thus to pervert his mind, and disqualify himself for sober employments! The celebrated Dr. Goldsmith, in writing to his brother, respecting the education of his son, expresses himself in the following strong terms, which are the more remarkable, as he himself had written a novel:--"Above all things, never let your son touch a romance or novel. These paint beauty in colours more charming than nature, and describe happiness that man never tastes. How delusive, how destructive are those pictures of consummate bliss! They teach the youthful mind to sigh after beauty and happiness which never existed; to despise the little good which fortune has mixed in our cup, by expecting more than she ever gave; and, in general, take the word of a man who has seen the world, and has studied human nature more by experience than precepts--take my word for it, I say, that such books teach us very little of the world."[10] He might have gone farther, and said--They teach us little of _any thing_; and so pervert the taste, as to take away all relish for applying the mind to any thing sober or useful. Often have I known young men and women so bewitched by novels, that they could read nothing else. They sought for new works of this class in every direction; devoured them with insatiable avidity; and became less and less disposed for pursuing any study either prescribed by their preceptors, or adapted to promote their ultimate enjoyment; until their prospects for both worlds were irrecoverably overcast with clouds and darkness.

[10] Life of Goldsmith, prefixed to his Miscellaneous Works.

Imagine not, dear children, that _you_ will exercise more resolution than others, and thus avoid the snare of which I have spoken. You cannot answer for yourselves in this matter, any more than the man who is constantly exposed to the temptation of stimulating drinks can be sure of escaping the danger. Rely upon it, the more confident you are of your own wisdom and firmness in avoiding the evil in question, the greater your peril. In this, as in many other things, the only complete safety is to be found in wholly avoiding the dangerous territory.

But there is another source of evil in this department of literature, still more serious and formidable. A very large proportion of modern novels, are far from being innocent. They are positively seductive and corrupting in their tendency. They make virtue to appear contemptible, and vice attractive, honourable, and triumphant. Folly and crime have palliative and even commendatory names bestowed upon them. The omnipotence of _love_ over all obligations and all duties, is continually maintained; and the extravagance of sinful passion represented as the effect of amiable sensibility. Surely these representations can have no other tendency than to pervert the moral sentiments, and to corrupt the hearts of those who habitually dwell upon them. And even though they be, at first, contemplated with abhorrence, no one can tell how soon the mind may be gradually and insidiously reconciled to them, by familiarity with the infectious influence.

For example; the novels of _Sir Walter Scott_ have been read with eager delight by millions of the young and the old; and many pronounce them at least innocent. But those who read them with intelligence, and with a proper estimate of the times and the characters which he undertakes to portray, will perceive that the writer arrays himself against the patriotism and the piety of some of the best men that ever adorned the history of his country; that he exhibits orthodoxy and zeal under the guise of enthusiasm and fanaticism; that he strives to cover with dishonour, men "of whom the world was not worthy;" and to elevate and canonize their persecutors. In short, that his general influence is wholly unfriendly to religion. These characteristics pervade the most popular of his novels. Of course few of his readers, especially of his youthful readers, are aware of his misrepresentation, and, therefore, are not armed against the mischievous influence.

But there is a poison lurking in this field, still more virulent and fatal. A large portion of novels may be charged with being seductive and immoral, upon a more refined and deep laid plan. They are systematic, and, in some instances, ingenious and plausible apologies for the most atrocious crimes. In many modern productions of this kind, the intelligent reader will recognise the following process of representation: Corrupt opinions are put into the mouth of some favourite hero, the splendour of whose character, in other respects, is made to embellish the principles which he holds, and the force of whose eloquence is employed to recommend the most unreasonable and mischievous dogmas. When this hero commits a crime, and when, by this crime, according to the fixed laws of the divine government, he is involved in serious difficulty, if not lasting and fatal misery, the fashionable novelist endeavours to throw the blame on the religious and moral institutions of society, as narrow, illiberal, and unjust. When a splendid but corrupt woman, has forsaken the paths of virtue, and when she suffers in her reputation and her comfort, by such conduct, all this is ascribed to "the wretched state of civilization"--to "the deplorable condition of society." Every opportunity is taken to attack some essential principle of morality, under the tide of a "prejudice;" to ridicule the duties of conjugal and domestic life, as flowing from "contracted" and "slavish" views; to stigmatize the sober pursuits of honest industry, as "dull" and "spiritless;" and, in a word, to frame an apology for robbery, murder, suicide, and the indulgence of every propensity, for which a corrupt heart can plead an inclination.

Now, my dear children, when novels of this kind are placed on the shelves of every circulating library, and strewed over every part of our land, what security have youthful novel-readers that many of this class will not fall into their hands, and that they may not imbibe the fatal poison before they are aware? Is it any wonder that wise parents and guardians are painfully apprehensive of such danger? Many amiable and well-intentioned young people, who fancied they were gaining amusement only, have been unwarily betrayed into opinions, and prepared for practices which they would once have regarded with abhorrence, and which ultimately led them into error, crime, and ruin. Since, then, there are so many novels of this insidious and baneful character; and since it is by no means easy for the young and inexperienced to distinguish between the innocent and the vile, you will not wonder that I advise, nay, entreat you to avoid the reading of novels altogether; never to allow yourselves to take a volume of this kind into your hands at all. The most innocent of them, as you have seen, are worthless, and the perusal even of _them_, a waste of time; and if you allow yourselves to touch any of them, you will be in danger of being led astray to an extent which you can hardly be made to anticipate. I beseech you, dear children, trust one who sincerely loves you; who understands the subject of which he is speaking; and who would not deprive you of a single safe or solid pleasure--trust him when he earnestly exhorts you, NEVER TO READ A NOVEL.

You will, perhaps, ask, what is my opinion of what are called "religious novels," that is, of fictitious narrative, designed to illustrate and recommend religion? I am compelled to say, that my deliberate judgment is unfavourable to _these_ also. They are neither edifying nor safe as instructors in the great department of religion. I do not deny that _some_ of this class may be adapted to do good, and may have been actually useful. But this is not the question. The question is, whether, as a system, it is better to instruct in religion through the medium of fictitious narrative, and by means of thrilling incidents, or by plain, sober, didactic, and exhortatory address. In general, I cannot help deciding in favour of the latter. The reason why the large majority of mankind prefer fictitious narrative is, that they love _excitement_; and most youthful readers will be more likely to take interest in the "story," than in the moral lessons which it conveys. Condiments and stimulants are useful in our food; but to make our daily food consist wholly or mainly of condiments and stimulants, would not, surely, be wise or salutary.

But this is not the worst. Among the novels called _religious_, there are various classes. Almost all the different religious denominations have issued novels appropriate to their respective sectarian characters. We not only have those which have been put forth by the friends of truth and piety; but, also, many by the advocates of error. Socinianism is now strenuously inculcated through the medium of fictitious narrative. Cold Pelagianism on the one hand, and Antinomianism on the other, have been presented in the same manner. Amidst these alternate pleadings of orthodoxy and heresy, how shall the youthful learner discriminate? Were he to take up a didactic treatise in favour of Socinian or Pelagian opinions, he would see the error in a moment, and be on his guard against it. But when he is borne away by the excitement of a stirring narrative, and a spirited, eloquent dialogue, he may imbibe the poison of error, before he is aware.

You must not, dear children, consider me as fanciful, if I express an opinion, that the present prevailing state of mind of the religious public has some connexion with that class of novels of which I am now speaking. The most striking characteristic of the present time is _a love of excitement_. The old and sober mode of proceeding in any thing has become unpopular and intolerable. Our children can scarcely be prevailed upon to read any thing unless it comes in the shape of a striking story. If any one wishes a pious _tract_ to be read, he must construct it in the form of a thrilling fictitious narrative. Every dish must be highly seasoned; every draught must be a dram. Is it any wonder that, in such a condition of the public taste, all old methods of doing good should be despised, and the Church as well as the world filled with new opinions, new estimates of things, and "new measures?"

Be assured, when your mind is brought, by any means, whether by an insatiable love of fictitious narrative, or by any other form of exciting composition, to relish nothing conveyed in the old form of solid, didactic, direct instruction, it is high time to examine whether you are not acquiring habits unfriendly to sober thought, to the best mental culture, and to the acquirement of the most valuable knowledge. How often have I met with young people, of both sexes, who could talk fluently, and with apparent intelligence, of the volumes of Miss Burney, Mrs. Radcliffe, Madame De Stael, Miss Edgeworth, and Scott, and Cooper, and Bulwer, and even of the depraved and infamous Byron;--but, who were struck dumb if you spoke to them of Shakspeare; of Bacon; of Milton; of Addison; of Thompson; of Young; of Dryden; of Pope, and Johnson, and Robertson, and Junius, and Cowper, and other English classics, of whom, if they had ever heard, they seemed to know nothing! Is this the way to cultivate the mind? Does this speak for or against the devourer of novels?

The sum of my counsel, then, under this head, is, that if you wish really to cultivate your minds, and to prepare them for healthful and useful action, let your studies be solid, diligent, and persevering. Let your reading be such as will fill your minds with the knowledge of facts, principles, and sentiments of the enriching and elevating kind. Let your first and most intimate acquaintance be with those authors whose works will tend to fit you for answering the great purpose for which you were sent into the world. Carefully avoid every species of reading which tends to turn away your minds from sober, practical views of life and duty. And remember that, for every book you read, and for every mental influence which you invite, you have to render a solemn account.

There is one more counsel, dear children, with which I will close this letter. It is, that whatever subject you study--whatever book you read, you do it _faithfully_ and _thoroughly_. Leave nothing until you understand it well;--until you have, as far as possible, gone to the bottom of it. You may rely upon it that no solid knowledge is to be gained without patient, unwearied labour. Be not in haste, then, to pass on to another subject or lesson, until you have completely mastered that in which you may be engaged. Be not contented with merely enabling yourselves to recite a lesson with plausible fluency. Be sure that you thoroughly comprehend, not only its obvious meaning, but also its elementary principles. Despise the indolence of those, who, in learning languages, are constantly using the miserable crutches of _translations_, instead of walking with the use of their own limbs; and who, whenever a difficulty occurs in mathematics, or any other subject, instead of delving it out themselves, ignobly ask help from some wiser and better scholar. This is cheating yourselves. That which is gained by your own efforts, and with considerable labour, will be better understood, and more firmly lodged in the mind, than that which is imparted gratuitously by others, without any vigorous mental exercise on your part.

The fact is, the pursuit of knowledge may be compared to the task of one who is called to cross a high and craggy mountain. If he is willing to forego his own best interests, both as to bodily and mental health, he may employ some sturdy, athletic assistant to take him up in his arms, and bear him over the steep ascent, and deposit him in safety on the other side, without the use of a muscle of his own. But what would he be the better for it, at the end of his journey? His limbs would not be braced. His chest would not be expanded. He would miss a thousand interesting objects of attention which the use of his own feet would have brought to his view. After a thousand such boasted expeditions, he might live and die the same feeble, nervous dyspeptic, that he was when he set out. Whereas, he who resolves to climb the same mountain by his own efforts; who addresses himself to the task with patient persevering labour; who takes step after step, slowly, but wisely and firmly; may not gain the ascent quite as speedily as his weaker contemporary; but he will gain it much more to his own profit and comfort, and, in the end, find every power invigorated by the enterprise. O, if children and young people could feel how foolish it is to procure themselves to be borne up the mountain of knowledge by others, instead of climbing it themselves, they would despise all the "labour-saving machinery" to which many of them are so fond of resorting; and would remember that what is gained by their own intellectual efforts, is more solid, wears better, digests better, and is productive of richer fruit, both to themselves and others.

It is a law impressed by our Maker on the intellectual, as well as the physical man, that "if any will not work, neither shall he eat." It is a real blessing, if we did but know it, to have labour connected with all our attainments. Thus do we best answer the great end of our being; thus do we invigorate every power, and become prepared most effectually to "serve our generation by the will of God."