# Moral Pieces, in Prose and Verse/On the Government of the Passions

ON THE GOVERNMENT OF THE PASSIONS.
THERE are certain propensities and emotions implanted in our nature, which are discernible in the early stages of infancy, and often survive the decay and debility of age. Their language is so universal as to be scarcely modified by the different customs of distant nations or remote ages; so unequivocal as to be understood equally by the learned and ignorant; and so strong as frequently to imprint indelible lines upon the countenance. These are the passions. By their due regulation they promote enjoyment, or by improper latitude embitter the cup of human life. And as in the vegetable kingdom, nature is said to have distributed no poison without its correspondent remedy, so in the moral world there exist powers to counteract, to restrain, or to conquer these latent principles ​of action. The rules that are friendly to the government of one may apply with trifling variation to all; and the following remarks shall be confined simply to the passion of anger. This is a mingled emotion, and is said to combine a "sense of injury with a purpose of revenge," yet is secondary to none in the suddenness of its growth, the firmness of its root, and the violence of its operations. It has been known to rouse all the powers of the soul to sudden combat; to rend the firmest bands of amity and affection; to destroy in a moment what the labour of years had scarcely effected, and the united efforts of ages could never reinstate. To conquer this passion requires a vigorous and habitual exertion; for if some are less constitutionally inclined to it, or less exposed to the causes that excite it than others; yet none ever obtained a habit of constant sweetness and self command, without many internal conflicts, because none are exempt from vexations, or insensible to the risings of resentment. It is not blameable to feel quickly or deeply; but it is both blameable and weak, to suffer such feelings to disarm our reason, and raise a mutiny in the soul.
To meet, not only the peculiar vexations of our lot, but those more trifling provocations which are often the greatest trials of the temper, to meet these not with insensibility, but with ​calmness and cheerfulness, is both important and laudable; important, because our duty and interest require it; and laudable, because it is obtained by a victory over ourselves. As the power of this passion lies in the suddenness of its impulse, overpowering reason, and prompting to rash words, or hasty deeds, so its most obvious and natural antidote is a habit of deliberation. If the heart, when its first risings are felt, would stay to enquire, why is this tumult? From whence proceeds this agitation? If it would then indulge but a moment of reflection, the danger would be past; for there are very few instances in the whole circuit of human life that require the aid of this passion, and none that justify its excess. Are we offended at those vexatious incidents that we cannot control? Then we are offended at Him who does control them, and in such anger there is wickedness. Are we opposed in a favourite argument? Let us not sacrifice that composure which might enable us to retrieve lost ground, or defend what remains, nor cast away the advantages of dispassionate investigation. Are we provoked or injured? Let us not add a more formidable injury of our own, the waste of spirits, the disturbance of present enjoyment, the destruction of the calm temperament of the soul.
Shall we, for any vexation, provocation, or in jury, tolerate within ourselves that baleful agent ​which has so often wrought misery, sown discord and disunion, arrayed brother against brother, and friend against friend, sundered the bonds of man's fellowship to man, desolated kingdoms, and covered the face of the earth with blood? It is terrible in its combinations and effects, and even its lowest degrees are subversive of social and individual happiness. It is peculiarly reprehensible in our sex, whose most necessary ornament is a spirit of meekness, gentleness, and forbearance; and so boisterous and turbulent is this in its exercise, that it is distinctively termed by some critics, "an unfeminine passion." It is supposed by some that its lineaments give spirit and dignity to the character upon particular occasions. But covet not such a spirit, or such a dignity as this. It is an unamiable spirit, a dignity that inspires no true respect; and in cases where energy is requisite, firmness and determination will accomplish more than all the violence of passion.
In us who are young, an irritable, contentious temper is deeply inexcusable; for if there ever exist seasons, situations, or causes that palliate it, those palliations do not belong to us; to whom the cares of maturity, and infirmities of age, are unknown; whose spirits are unbroken by disappointment; whose path is illumined by hope: to whose eyes the imagery of nature is ​beautiful and new; and into whose hearts the whole creation seems to breathe a spirit of peace, harmony, and benevolence. This is the season to be amiable, grateful, and happy; and an ascendency is most easily acquired over those latent passions which by indulgence will "grow with your growth, and strengthen with your strength." Strive therefore, to acquire that habitual self command, which in future life, if future life be yours, will be often called for, and powerfully exercised. Let no contest be declined because it is difficult; no point conceded because it is trivial; for this is a warfare where victory ensures victory, and defeat produces defeat.
Habits are confirmed by exercise, and strengthened by reflection; therefore meditate frequently on the advantages of that calm repose, which arises from a settled and peaceful state of the mind, and endeavour to transplant that peace to your own bosoms. Consider the complicated evils of disordered passions, and resolve to range the warring subjects under the banners of reason. Think with that forcible and pathetic poet:
"A soul immortal, wasting all its fires,
 "Thrown into tumult, raptur'd or disturb'd  "At ought this world can threaten or indulge,
 "Resembles Ocean into tempest rous'd
 "To waft a feather, or to drown a fly."
With such views accustom yourselves to reason and to deliberate, until you have established, upon a solid basis, the peace and serenity of a well regulated mind. Let the influence of living and recorded examples lead you to reflection, resolution, and correspondent exertions. Your own observation has doubtless selected many examples from the pages of history, and I will notice merely the distinguished Mrs. Rowe, who throughout her whole life was supposed never to have uttered an illnatured expression; and the accomplished Miss Elizabeth Smith, who moved under the pressure of adversity with invariable calmness, sweetness, and humility. It is scarcely necessary to remind you, that in the scriptures many of the "prophets and apostles were examples of suffering affliction and of patience." But I particularly recommend to your study that most perfect model, the life of Him who suffered more deeply than any man, yet "spake as never man spake;" who, when he was reviled, reviled not again, and when he suffered, threatened not." Yet because the most powerful examples sometimes fail to influence the conduct, because the strongest habits of reflection and self control have been known to yield to the momentary impulse of passion, let us follow, as the safest guide, that religion which regulates, purifies, and renovates the evil principles of our natures, and in as much as it "is pure, peaceable, gentle, easy ​to be entreated, full of mercy and good fruits," is most justly styled "the wisdom that cometh from above."