"has ever been esteemed the best improving the manners of a people." "I school my master!"

school for polishing and The auditor may boast,

Now, I ask, Is there the shadow of this flattering and pernicious suppleness in Christianity? Are not its fallible ministers, whatever be their differing opinions on other points, or, indeed, whatever be the private character of individuals of their body, unanimous in publishing the purest morality? Whoever knew of a minister preaching revenge, and pride, and lasciviousness? Such is the dignity of sacred truth. Itself thus immaculate, and unbending as the pillars of the earth, it must stamp with its own authoritative reprobation a system which, as in the case before us, can plead self-convicted of lowering that lofty standard of moral purity which the Eternal has planted by his own right hand; and can still, to please and live, (O more, much more than dishonourable baseness!) repeat and defend the desperate presumption !

And while the audience hold themselves in possession of this sovereignty, we may judge of the nature of the tasks to be imposed on the performers. And from this action and re-action of the parties we might further predict what would be the alarming consequence as to the state itself, did not some counteracting elements mix in the composition of civil society. Hence, though a certain policy has led to the legal toleration of theatres, governments have still considered them as evils to be carefully watched and restricted. At the Restoration, even our dissipated Charles found it prudent to limit them to two for the metropolis. Had they been schools of virtue and good manners, it would have been excellent policy to multiply them by hundreds.

In the fourth place, we observe, that the imposing circumstances of the theatre, the oratory, the decorations, the music, &c. give prodigious effect to the characters and manners represented, and, by consequence, to the moral evil exhibited. The critical Rapin concedes, that "in the theatre the heart yields itself over to all the objects proposed to it; that all images affect it; that it espouses the sentiments of all who speak; and becomes susceptible of all the passions presented to it, because it is moved." Now, is not this sufficient to throw the mind from its balance? "Amid this general dance and minstrelsy "

See his "Reflections on the Poetics."

will the heart, perhaps already greatly corrupted, regulate the general effect, so as to resist the undue impression of what is evil, and carefully select that small portion of moral good which comes floating like a straw upon the general tide? If persons of rank or education, accustomed to splendour or reflection, should, from their intellectual strength, maintain some superiority and fixture of mind, will this be the case with the inferior parts of the audience? Indeed, the swollen grandeur of the whole is calculated to operate on the romantic and aspiring notions of multitudes in every rank of society, in awakening morbid sensibilities and wishes, and in returning them to the low vale of ordinary life, dissatisfied, if not disgusted, with its plain and unadorned realities.

Again: The great influence of strong and gratifying impressions, frequently repeated on the mind of youth, in forming the character by slow and almost unconscious degrees, must be obvious to every thinking person. By the dramatic representation, for instance, of a brave but revengeful personage, admiration is excited, an admiration greatly heightened by the pleasurable emotions of the evening. Thus the seed of similar revenge is sown in the unguarded heart, which may neither be of immediate nor of rapid growth, but which, when injury is felt, will show itself in the same loftiness of honourable resentment, so called, and give, perhaps, a determination of this kind to the character through life. The same might be said of other passions, which need not here be specified. That the mind takes its tincture from the subjects with which it is particularly conversant and delighted, is no new discovery: Demosthenes remarks, "In my opinion it is altogether impossible, that those who are occupied, for example, in matters of trifling import and unworthy of their attention, should ever possess an elevated and vigorous turn of mind; for it must necessarily follow, that of whatever nature be the pursuits of men, such will be their sentiments and inclinations." *

It is, therefore, incorrect to suppose, that the theatre has no pernicious tendency, because the whole audience do not, on their dismissal from the play, immediately, unanimously, and violently proceed to the full degree of delinquency of which man is capable; as if moral causes produced their effects with the same

* 2 Olynth. 4.

certainty and promptitude which are observed to attend the operation of causes in the physical world. Temptations the most gross and powerful do not always take effect. Shall we, therefore, say that they have no tendency to mischief? Is there no danger in the field of battle, because some are merely wounded, and some escape unhurt? Nothing could be more vile and demoralizing than the religious rites sometimes observed in several of the Grecian temples; yet numbers, it is well known, maintained, notwithstanding their attendance there, a conduct such as we sometimes describe as a life of common decency. Some have led the life of a drunkard for nearly fourscore years; but what physician will aver, that drunkenness has no tendency to destroy the constitution of the frame? "Those deceive themselves extremely," observes the prince of Conti, "who think that plays make no ill impression on the mind, because they do not find them excite any formed evil desire. There are many degrees before one comes to an entire corruption of the heart; and it is always very hurtful to the soul to destroy the ramparts which secured it from temptation. One does not begin to fall when the fall becomes sensible: The fallings of the soul are slow, they have their preparations and progressions, and it often happens, that we are overcome by temptations, only by our having weakened ourselves in things which seemed of no importance; it being certain, that he who despises little things shall fall by little and little."

The immoral consequences of the theatre will not, probably, be so immediate and notorious in persons of repute and decency, who have fixed upon their minds the conviction of its innocence, and have accustomed themselves to enjoy its impressions, as in the case of those who secretly suspect or admit its evil tendency, and yield to the tempter. In this last instance, the energies of the soul, in her endeavour to shake off a troublesome suspense, are roused by a sort of desperate struggle which, if it be determined on the wrong side, may speedily be followed by overt acts of crime; because those energies continue, impelling the mind to action after its choice has been decided; as he who attempts to reach a certain point may, from his vigour and impetuosity, run considerably beyond it. Some farther illustration of this principle may be seen in the frequent fact of young men of innocent, but undecided, character, coming up from the country to reside in London, and after the determined purpose has been

formed to indulge in wicked pleasures, becoming even more fierce in the pursuit of folly than the native idlers of the capital.

But the former case, mentioned above, involves no opposition. All is peaceful, harmonious, and uniform. The heart and its allowed amusements move consentaneously in the same direction. The mischief, however, is not the less effectual and diffusive. It makes a silent but certain way to the inmost soul of the man, and feeds and strengthens the more corrupt elements of his character; a character, perhaps, of common, not of Christian, morality; the character, indeed, of those whom St. Paul describes as "lovers of pleasure more than lovers of God." This idolatrous excess of pleasure will be cherished by the theatre. The most that can be said is, that this fashionable sort of morality is not materially affected by it. Still the theatre serves to rivet the dreadful chain of sinfulness and curse which is unconsciously sustained. There may be a hidden process of iniquity where these is no monstrous burst of passion, or of actual disobedience to the authority of God. For instance, the calm and constant grasp with which pride or envy holds the human spirit is, in some respects, more mischievous than paroxysms of anger, and always more deceptive.

Perhaps some friends of the theatre will admit the existence, to some extent, of the tendency in question, but will rest the cause on certain principles of moral effect interwoven with the drama, which are presumed to give the whole a virtuous turn; as the law of gravitation acts upon the planets, and attracts them from their projectile inclination into orbits of surprising regularity and usefulness. The testing of these principles will be the subject of another section.

III. OF THE PRINCIPLES OF MORAL OPERATION
ATTRIBUTED TO THE DRAMA.

Ir was observed, that certain principles of effect, interwoven with the drama, are professedly the means of rendering the system, especially acted specimens of bad character, highly advantageous to the morals of society. It remains to offer some remarks on the inefficiency of these principles.

In the first place, much imposing disquisition has been written. to show, that the tragic excitement of terror and pity tends to purify the passions. Here the effect is thought to be accom

plished by a sort of moral vaccination; the natural complaint, as fierce and destructive, being prevented by the artificial introduction of the same disease, to operate in a milder form. This process was originally asserted by the celebrated author of the "Poetics,” but was not by him very fully illustrated. Hence, his commentators and disciples have widely differed on the subject; some thinking the purgation referred to pity and terror only, and others that it reached through these two passions to all the rest; one party contending that it involved the simple tempering of both, and another that it went to dispossess the soul of their very existence. Certain critics deem it nothing more than the result of the moral lesson of the tragic scene. And some eminent expounders of the stage have denied the fact of this purgation altogether.*

What great use would arise from being freed from pity, it would be difficult to point out. Nor is the moderating of these passions of the first importance in the moral process. If the great bearing of the theatre went, with some success, to curb the selfish passions of pride, sensuality, and covetousness,—and to strengthen and expand the whole train of the benevolent ones,there would then be some colour for these lofty pretensions of the stage. We deny not, that, for the time, a certain soothing, softening, pleasurable melancholy may be diffused through the soul, by the feeling of pity artificially excited; but that this will improve, in real life, the pity of the man whose general principles are bad, we cannot understand. It is neither explained nor proved. Nor does the fact confirm it; for it is commonly remarked, that those who are most attached to works of fiction, and can weep most plentifully at scenes of imaginary woe, are frequently, of all others, the most insensible to the practical effect of scenes of genuine distress. Accustomed to the high seasoning and excitement of the theatre, the common food of pity, furnished in the afflictions of real life, loses much of its stimulating property, or, perhaps, becomes distasteful. It may here be added, that a moderate excitement improves the habit of the feeling, while excess commonly terminates in morbidness and apathy.

The pleasure of this tragic emotion, it is probable, is the

* See Manwaring on the Classics; Twining's "Notes on the Poetics;" "Essay on the Theatre;" Pye's "Commentary on the Poetics," &c.