HUMAN nature has been a theme of much dis­cussion. Among the ancients, some railed at man, and some ridiculed his imperfections. Certain modern philosophers make depravity ^* a part of their creed; and assign the most elevated seat in Paradise to those, who feel the most perfect contempt for human nature. The catechisms of these sages inform us, that man is malevolent; that his passions hurry him into wretchedness; and that his understanding is only another name for imperfection. Should individuals offer this for a description of their own minds, per­haps justice might read the character with silent ap­probation. When 'tis produced as the picture of man, the same justice commands to wipe the aspersion from the portrait of our common nature.

If exalted actions flow from elevated sentiments, then, to establish human dignity, and reason man into approbation of himself, must be among the first ad­vancements towards virtue.

Be it, therefore, our task, to plead the cause of man.

Let us examine his disposition; consider the utility of his passions; survey the perfection of his under­standing, and observe how far surrounding creation stands as monumental testimony of human greatness.

[Page 4]From the situation of man, we may argue the ne­cessity of benevolence in his disposition. He was, doubtless, formed for happiness. His desire of bliss, and his powers of fruition, evince the truth of this assertion. His felicity depends, almost entirely, on social intercourse. Solitary, man is in want, in fear, in disconsolation. A reciprocation of beneficence alone can make him happy. This he must be disposed to perform, or he cannot fulfil the final cause of his nature. Man's destination for happiness, and his mu­tual dependence, therefore, clearly originate the ne­cessity of human benevolence.

Feeling and experience evince the benevolent dis­position of man. A sight of distress wounds the heart. A view of joy warms the soul with gladness. We are pleased to remove pain. We rejoice to communicate delight. These things we could not perform without a disposition to diffuse felicity. This disposition is all we mean by benevolence.

Suppose the heart of man malevolent, he must then lose every social satisfaction. For who could receive those mutual favours, which none were disposed to bestow? Man must be condemned to solitary misery. Never would he wipe a tear from the eye of sorrow; never would he pour the balm of consolation into the bosom of grief. Nay, he would grieve at the ap­pearance of joy. He would eagerly disseminate wretchedness. Every benefaction of Providence would swell the tide of human misery; and man could never smile undisturbed, while one joyous emotion existed, even in the bosom of Deity. Must we be­lieve man endowed with such a disposition? Yes, if we believe him malevolent. But can our rea­son, our feelings, our experience, subscribe to such a creed? No. For necessity and sympathy both evince man benevolent. Nor could he be otherwise, unless his soul were blacker than the dunnest fiend that fear-distempered fancy ever generated in the dark regions of mythology.

[Page 5]Though man stands vindicated from the charge of malevolence, yet has calumny blackened his character with other accusations.

Human passions have often been a mark for the ar­row of contumely. Austerity condemns them, because they are sometimes irregular. As well might the same austerity curse the elements of nature, because the thunder, the earthquake, or the hurricane, sometimes rend an oak, split a mountain, or sweep a kingdom into the ocean.

If we impartially look on our own nature, the utility of our passions must appear.

Man is, at times, in danger. Danger originates the necessity of caution, and caution is secured by the passion of fear.

Unresisting innocence invites the hand of oppression. To prevent a repetition of injury, omniscient Deity planted the seed of anger in the bosom of man.

Self love, to some the most odious of all the passions, is still an emanation of benevolence. Like that, it has for its object the diffusion of felicity. It first se­cures our own enjoyment. It then offers our bosom to a parent, to a friend, to our country, to the indiscri­minate citizens of the world. Thus on self love are grafted philanthropy, patriotism, friendship, and all the tender growths of domestic charity.

A love of glory is the most violent, extensive and durable, of all the passions. For glory, men encoun­ter toil, danger, and death itself. No pain, no labour, no toilsome virtue, no arduous heroism, can be a price too dear to purchase immortal renown. A passion which thus disposes men to sacrifice ease, safety, and life itself, to gain the applause of their fellow men, must inviolably unite mankind, and lodge in every breast a pledge for the social exertions of each indi­vidual.

Let the votaries of apathy decry the passions. What can be the felicity, what the virtue, of their passionless philosopher? If man were void of self love, would [Page 6] the voice of native want rouze him from the sleep of indolence? What would shield his bosom from dan­ger, what would arm his hand with power, if fear did not teach him caution, and anger learn him to resist the aggressions of violence? Who would toil for man? who, with a smile, would bleed on the altar of eman­cipation, if the God of nature had not with love of glory warmed the bosom of man? Destitute of pas­sions, man had stood, like the marble statue, without a motion; and eternally worn the same smile or frown which the last touch of nature's hand left impressed on his countenance.

Understanding claims our next attention. This forms a splendid part of human nature. By this man perceives, remembers, reasons and imagines. Per­ception and memory principally subserve the opera­tions of reason and imagination.

Guided by reason, man has travelled through the abstruse regions of the philosophic world. He has originated rules by which he can direct the ship through the pathless ocean, and measure the comet's flight over the fields of unlimited space. He has established so­ciety and government. He can aggregate the profu­sions of every climate, and every season. He can me­liorate the severity, and remedy the imperfections, of nature herself. All these things he can perform by the assistance of reason.

By imagination, man seems to verge towards crea­tive power. Aided by this, he can perform all the wonders of sculpture and painting. He can almost make the marble speak. He can almost make the brook murmur down the painted landscape. Often, on the pinions of imagination, he soars aloft where the eye has never travelled; where other stars glitter on the mantle of night, and a more effulgent sun lights up the blushes of morning. Flying from world to world, he gazes on all the glories of creation: or, lighting on the distant margin of the universe, darts the eye of fancy over the mighty void, where power [Page 7] creative never yet has energized, where existence still sleeps in the wide abyss of possibility. By imagination he can travel back to the source of time; converse with the successive generations of men, and kindle into emulation while he surveys the monumental tro­phies of ancient art and glory. He can sail down the stream of time until he loses ‘sight of stars and sun, by wandering into those retired parts of eternity, when the heavens and the earth shall be no more.*’

To these unequivocal characteristics of greatness in man, let us adduce the testimony of nature herself. Surrounding creation subserves the wants and pro­claims the dignity of man. For him day and night visit the world. For him the seasons walk their splen­did round. For him the earth teems with riches, and the heavens smile with beneficence.

All creation is accurately adjusted to his capacity for bliss. He tastes the dainties of festivity, breathes the perfumes of morning, revels on the charms of melody, and regales his eye with all the painted beau­ties of vision. Whatever can please, whatever can charm, whatever can expand the soul with extacy of bliss, allures and solicits his attention. All things beautiful, all things grand, all things sublime, appear in native loveliness, and proffer man the richest plea­sures of fruition.

Can he then raise his feelings too high in the scale of self approbation? Can he sufficiently abhor that con­tumely which perpetually babbles of human depravity? In man, is it not calumny against heaven? Is it not pointing the arrow of ingratitude against the munifi­cent bosom of a God?

If man can rejoice in diffusion of felicity, is he not, like his Creator, benevolent? If his passions urge him to embrace the common interest of man, are they not useful? If his understanding guides him down the ca­reer of existence, is it not perfect? If surrounding creation waits on his wants, does it not, in the lan­guage [Page 8] of its Creator, talk aloud of human greatness? Do not all these shining tints brighten on the portrait of man? Yes. He rejoices in munificence; he toils for universal felicity; he developes the mysteries of nature; he aggregates the goods of space, of dura­tion, and even arrests the attention of earth and heaven.

This thought elevates man high on the theatre of existence, and places him full in view of a surround­ing universe. It gives him an important part in the great drama of being. It tells him all intelligence are interested in the success of his performance.

Yes, my countrymen, you arrest the attention of shining millions. On you are fixed the eyes of all that bright throng of departed patriots, philosophers and philanthropists, who measured their atchievements by the dignity of their nature; and whose beatified spirits, now leaning from the azure battlements of heaven, allure their followers up the shining road to glory. You they hail as their genuine descendents; as the patrons of science; as the votaries of virtue; as the candidates of immortal beatitude.