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DUGALD STEWART

[Dugald Stewart, son of Dr. Matthew Stewart, the mathematician, was born at Edinburgh 1753, and educated at Edinburgh High School and Glasgow University. In 1775 he became Professor of Mathematics at Edinburgh, and in 1785 Professor of Moral Philosophy, resigning through ill health in 1810. He died at Edinburgh in 1828.

He published in 1792 Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind, vol. i.; in 1793 vol. ii.; in 1814 vol. iii.; in 1827 Outlines of Moral Philosophy; in 1810 Philosophical Essays; in 1816 and 1821 "Dissertation on the Progress of Metaphysical, etc., Philosophy," in the Supplement to the 6th edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica; in 1828 Philosophy of the Active and Moral Powers of Man. His Political Economy and minor works were published in the complete edition of his works carefully and learnedly edited (1854-6) by Sir William Hamilton, his friend and pupil. Stewart published also (1795, etc.) biographies of Adam Smith, Robertson, and Reid. Stewart's own biography has been written by Professor Veitch (for Hamilton's edition of his works).]

TOWARDS Dugald Stewart his friends and hearers felt something of the reverence of Plato's Socrates for Parmenides. "He breathed the love of virtue into whole generations of pupils." The fragrance of his character impressed such different men as Francis Horner, Henry Cockburn, Sir James Mackintosh, Robert Burns, Thomas Carlyle, and Sir William Hamilton. He was at once saint and philosopher. His fame went far beyond Scotland. "Without derogation from his writings it may be said that his disciples were among his best works " (Mackintosh). No professor ever aroused more interest in his subject or more truly formed the minds of his students. He had eloquence too, that fascinated hearers who cared nothing for his or any other philosophy. "He was the greatest of didactic orators" (Cockburn).

Such powers must be taken on testimony; but every one who is inclined may make proof of the wide reach of Stewart's learning, especially in philosophical and economical subjects, and gather by reading his books a notion of the fineness of

that "fine writing," which showed him a son of the eighteenth century.

As a philosopher, he stands or falls with Thomas Reid. He bettered Reid's terminology. Nothing could be worse than Reid's expression "common sense," to indicate the knowledge of first principles; and Stewart more wisely made use of the phrase "fundamental laws of belief" in describing the leading philosophical view of the Scottish school (Outlines of Mor. Phil., pt. i. sect. ix). If earlier adopted, this cautious phraseology might have saved the school from much ridicule. But otherwise Stewart leaves the "Scottish Philosophy " where he found it.

The effect of devotion to "fundamental laws," was, at least in Stewart's case, to give undue prominence to mere classifications, and to leave details almost ostentatiously unsystematic. This applies both to his metaphysics and to his moral philosophy. Stewart's imperfect knowledge of German speculations may have saved his style, at the cost of his philosophy.

Out of the classroom he enjoyed conversation of a “rambling light literary kind." He shunned the least approach to a discussion. Such is Horner's account; and Horner was his typical pupil, thoughtful, calm, studious, interested in philosophy, and still more interested in the problems of government and in the condition of the people.

J. BONAR.

THE DESIRE OF ESTEEM

THIS principle, as well as those we have now been considering, discovers itself at a very early period in infants, who, long before they are able to reflect on the advantages resulting from the good opinion of others, and even before they acquire the use of speech, are sensibly mortified by any expression of neglect or contempt. It seems, therefore, to be an original principle of our nature, that is, it does not appear to be resolvable into reason and experience, or into any other principle more general than itself. An additional proof of this is the very powerful influence it has over the mind,—an influence more striking than that of any other active principle whatsoever. Even the love of life daily gives way to the desire of esteem, and of an esteem which, as it is only to affect our memories, cannot be supposed to interest our self-love. In what manner the association of ideas should manufacture, out of the other principles of our constitution, a new principle stronger than them all, it is difficult to conceive.

In these observations I have had an eye to the theories of those modern philosophers who represent self-love, or the desire of happiness, as the only original principle of action in man, and who attempt to account for the origin of all our other active principles from habit or the association of ideas.

That this theory is just in some instances cannot be disputed. Thus, in the case of avarice it is manifest that it is from habit alone it derives its influence over the mind; for no man surely was ever brought into the world with an innate love of money. Money is at first desired, merely as the means of obtaining other objects; but, in consequence of being long and constantly accustomed to direct our efforts to its attainment on account of its apprehended utility, we come at last to pursue it as an ultimate end, and frequently retain our attachment to it long after we have lost all relish for the enjoyments it enables us to

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command. In like manner it has been supposed that the esteem of our fellow-creatures is at first desired on account of its apprehended utility, and that it comes in time to be pursued as an ultimate end, without any reference on our part to the advantages it bestows. In opposition to this doctrine it seems to me to be clear, that as the object of hunger is not happiness but food; as the object of curiosity is not happiness but knowledge; so the object of this principle of action is not happiness, but the esteem and respect of other men. That this is not inconsistent with the analogy of our nature appears from the observations already made on our appetites and desires; and that it really is the fact may be proved by various arguments. Before touching, however, on these, I must remark that I consider this as merely a question of speculative curiosity; for, upon either supposition, the desire of esteem is equally the work of nature, and, consequently, upon either supposition, it is equally unphilosophical to attempt, by metaphysical subtleties, to counteract her wise and beneficent purposes.

Among the different arguments which concur to prove that the desire of esteem is not wholly resolvable into the association of ideas, one of the strongest has been already hinted at; the early period of life at which this principle of life discovers itself— long before we are able to form the idea of happiness, far less to judge of the circumstances which have a tendency to promote it. The difference in this respect between avarice and the desire of esteem is remarkable. The former is the vice of old age, and is, comparatively speaking, confined to a few. The latter is one of the most powerful engines in the education of children, and is not less universal in its influence than the principle of curiosity.

The desire, too, of posthumous fame, of which no man can entirely divest himself, furnishes an insurmountable objection to the theories already mentioned. It is indeed an objection so obvious to the common sense of mankind, that all the philosophers who have leaned to these theories have employed their ingenuity in attempting to resolve this desire into an illusion of the imagination produced by habit.

But why have recourse to an illusion of the imagination to account for a principle which the wisest of men find it impossible to extinguish in themselves, or even sensibly to weaken; and none more remarkably than some of those who have employed their ingenuity in attempting to turn it into

ridicule ? Is it possible that men should imagine themselves present and enjoying their fame at the reading of their story after death, without being conscious of this operation of the imagination themselves? Is not this to depart from the plain and obvious appearance of the fact, and to adopt refinements similar to those by which the selfish philosophers explain away all our disinterested affections? We might as well suppose that a man's regard for the welfare of his posterity and friends after his death does not arise from natural affection, but from an illusion of the imagination, leading him to suppose himself still present with them, and a witness of their prosperity. If we have confessedly various other propensities directed to specific objects as ultimate ends, where is the difficulty of conceiving that a desire directed to the good opinion of our fellow-creatures, without any reference to the advantages it is to yield us either now or hereafter may be among the number?

It would not indeed (as I have already hinted) materially affect the argument, although we should suppose with Wollaston, that the desire of posthumous fame was resolvable into an illusion of the imagination. For, whatever be its origin, it was plainly the intention of nature that all men should be in some measure under its influence; and it is perhaps of little consequence whether we regard it as a principle originally implanted by nature, or suppose that she has laid a foundation for it in other principles which belong universally to the species.

How very powerfully it operates, appears not only from the heroical sacrifices to which it has led in every age of the world, but from the conduct of the meanest and most worthless of mankind, who, when they are brought to the scaffold in consequence of the clearest and most decisive evidence of their guilt, frequently persevere to the last, with the terrors of futurity full in their view, in the most solemn protestations of their innocence; and that merely in the hope of leaving behind them not a fair but an equivocal or problematical reputation.

With respect to the other parts of Wollaston's reasoning, that it is only the letters which compose our names that we can transmit to posterity, it is worthy of observation, that, if the argument be good for anything, it applies equally against the desire of esteem from our contemporaries, excepting in those cases in which we ourselves are personally known by those whose praise we covet, and of whose applause we happen ourselves to

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