Chapter XIII: Part III: Of the Moral Principle, or Conscience (1)

There has been much dispute respecting the nature and even the existence of the Moral Principle, as a distinct element of our mental constitution; but this controversy may probably be considered as allied to other speculations of a metaphysical nature, in regard to which a kind of evidence was sought of which the subjects are not susceptible. Without arguing respecting the propriety of speaking of a separate power or principle, we simply contend for the fact, that there is a mental exercise, by which we _feel_ certain actions to be right and certain others wrong. It is an element or a movement of our moral nature which admits of no analysis, and no explanation; and is referable to no other principle than a simple recognition of the fact, which forces itself upon the conviction of every man who looks into the processes of his own mind. Of the existence and the nature of this most important principle, therefore, the evidence is entirely within. We appeal to the consciousness of every man, that he perceives a power which, in particular cases, warns him of the conduct which he ought to pursue, and administers a solemn admonition when he has departed from it. For, while his judgment conveys to him an impression, both of the tendencies and certain of the qualities of actions, he has, besides this, a feeling by which he views the actions with approbation or disapprobation, in reference purely to their moral aspect, and without any regard to their consequences. When we refer to the sacred writings, we find the principle of conscience represented as a power of such importance,--that, without any acquired knowledge, or any actual precepts, it is sufficient to establish, in every man, such an impression of his duty as leaves him without excuse in the neglect of it:--"For when the Gentiles, which have not the law, do by nature the things contained in the law, these, having not the law, are a law unto themselves; which shew the work of the law written in their hearts, then conscience also bearing witness, and their thoughts the meanwhile accusing or else excusing one another." We even find a power assigned to the decisions of conscience, differing in extent only, but not in kind, from the judgment of the Almighty;--"If our heart condemn us, God is greater than our heart, and knoweth all things."

The province of conscience then appears to be, to convey to man a certain conviction of what is morally right and wrong, in regard to conduct in individual cases,--and to the general exercise of the desires or affections. This it does independently of any acquired knowledge, and without reference to any other standard of duty. It does, so, by a rule of right which it carries within itself,--and by applying this to the primary moral feelings, that is, the desires and affections, so as to indicate among them a just and healthy balance towards each other. The desires direct us to certain gratifications which we feel to be worthy of acquirement, and the affections lead us to a certain course of conduct which we feel to be agreeable to ourselves, or useful to others. But, to act under the influence of conscience is to perform actions, simply because we feel them to be right, and to abstain from others, simply because we feel them to be wrong,--without regard to any other impression, or to the consequences of the actions either to ourselves or others. He, who on this principle performs an action, though it may be highly disagreeable to him, or abstains from another though it may be highly desirable, is a conscientious man. Such a man, under the influence of habit, comes to act more and more easily under the suggestions of conscience, and to be more and more set free from every feeling and propensity that is opposed to it. Conscience seems therefore to hold a place among the moral powers, analogous to that which reason holds among the intellectual;--and, when we view it in this relation, there appears a beautiful harmony pervading the whole economy of the mind.

By certain intellectual operations, man acquires the knowledge of a series of facts,--he remembers them,--he separates and classifies them,--and forms them into new combinations. But, with the most active exercise of all these operations, his mind might present an accumulation of facts, without order, harmony, or utility;--without any principle of combination, or combined only in those fantastic and extravagant forms which appear in the conceptions of the maniac. It is Reason that reduces the whole into order and harmony,--by comparing, distinguishing, and tracing their true analogies and relations,--and then by deducing truths as conclusions from the whole. It is in this manner particularly, that a man acquires a knowledge of the uniform actions of bodies on each other,--and, confiding in the uniformity of these actions, learns to direct his means to the ends which he has in view. He knows also his own relations to other sentient beings,--and adapts his conduct to them, according to the circumstances in which he is placed,--the persons with whom he is connected,--and the objects which he wishes to accomplish. He learns to accommodate his measures to new circumstances as they arise,--and thus is guided and directed through his physical relations. When reason is suspended, all this harmony is destroyed. The visions of the mind are acted upon as facts; things are combined into fantastic forms, entirely apart from their true relations;--conduct is widely at variance with what circumstances require;--ends are attempted by means which have no relation to them;--and the ends themselves are equally at variance with those which are suitable to the circumstances of the individual. Such is the maniac, whom accordingly we shut up, to prevent him from being dangerous to the public;--for he has been known to mistake so remarkably the relation of things, and the conduct adapted to his circumstances, as to murder his most valuable friend, or his own helpless infant.

In all this process there is a striking analogy to certain conditions of the moral feelings, and to the control which is exercised over them by the principle of Conscience. By self-love, a man is led to seek his own gratification or advantage;--and the desires direct him to certain objects by which these propensities may be gratified. But the affections carry forth his views to other men with whom he is connected by various relations, and to the offices of justice, veracity, and benevolence, which arise out of them. Conscience is the regulating power, which, acting upon the desires and affections, as reason does upon a series of facts, preserves among them harmony and order. It does so by repressing the propensity of selfishness, and reminding the man of the true relation between regard to his own interest and the duties he owes to other men. It regulates his senses and pursuits, by carrying his views beyond present feelings and present gratifications, to future times and future consequences,--and by raising his attention to his relation to the great moral Governor of the universe. He thus learns to adapt his conduct and pursuits, not to present and transient feelings, but to an extended view of his great and true interests as a moral being. Such is conscience,--still, like reason, pointing out the moral ends a man ought to pursue, and guiding him in the means by which he ought to pursue them;--and the man does not act in conformity with the constitution of his nature, who does not yield to conscience the supremacy and direction over all his other feelings and principles of action. But the analogy does not stop here;--for we can also trace a condition in which this controlling influence of conscience is suspended or lost. I formerly endeavoured to trace the manner in which this derangement arises, and have now only to allude to its influence on the harmony of the moral feelings. Self-love degenerates into low selfish gratification: the desires are indulged without any other restraint than that which arises from a mere selfish principle,--as a regard to health, perhaps in some degree to reputation; the affections are exercised only in so far as similar principles impose a certain degree of attention to them: present and momentary impulses are acted upon, without any regard to future results: conduct is adapted to present gratification, without the perception either of its moral aspect, or its consequences to the man himself as a responsible being; and without regard to the means by which these feelings are gratified. In all this violation of moral harmony, there is no derangement of the ordinary exercise of judgment. In the most remarkable example that can be furnished by the history of human depravity, the man may be as acute as ever in the details of business or the pursuits of science. There is no diminution of his sound estimate of physical relations,--for this is the province of reason. But there is a total derangement of his sense and approbation of moral relations,--for this is conscience. Such a condition of mind, then, appears to be, in reference to the moral feelings, what insanity is in regard to the intellectual. The intellectual maniac fancies himself a king, surrounded by every form of earthly splendour,--and this hallucination is not corrected even by the sight of his bed of straw and all the horrors of his cell. The moral maniac pursues his way, and thinks himself a wise and a happy man:--- but feels not that he is treading a downward course, and is lost as a moral being.

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In the preceding observations respecting the moral principle or conscience, I have alluded chiefly to its influence in preserving a certain harmony among the other feelings,--in regulating the desires by the indications of moral purity,--and presenting self-love from interfering with the duties and affections which we owe to other men. But there is another and a most important purpose which is answered by this faculty, and that is to make us acquainted with the moral attributes of the Deity. In strict philosophical language we ought perhaps to say, that this high purpose is accomplished by a combined operation of conscience and reason; but, however this may be, the process appeals clear and intelligible in its nature, and fully adapted to the end now assigned to it. From a simple exercise of mind, directed to the great phenomena of nature, we acquire the knowledge of a First Cause,--a being of infinite power and infinite wisdom; and this conclusion is impressed upon us in a peculiar manner, when, from our own bodily and mental endowments, we infer the attributes of him who framed us:--"he that planted the ear," says a sacred writer, "shall he not hear;--he that formed the eye, shall he not see;--he that teacheth man knowledge, shall not he know?" When we trace backwards a series of finite yet intelligent beings, we must arrive at one of two conclusions:--We must either trace the series through an infinite and eternal succession of finite beings, each the cause of the one which succeeded it;--or we must refer the commencement of the series to one great intelligent being, himself uncaused, infinite, and eternal. To trace the series to one being, finite, yet uncaused, is totally inadmissible; and not less so is the conception of finite beings in an infinite and eternal series. The belief of one infinite being, self-existent and eternal, is, therefore, the only conclusion at which we can arrive, as presenting any characters of credibility or truth. The superintending care, the goodness, and benevolence of the Deity, we learn, with a feeling of equal certainty, from the ample provision he has made for supplying the wants and ministering to the comfort of all the creatures whom he has made. This part of the argument, also, is in the clearest manner insisted upon in the sacred writings; when the apostle Paul, in calling upon the people of Lystra to worship the true God, who made heaven and earth, adds, as a source of knowledge from which they ought to learn his character;--"he left not himself without a witness, in that he did good, and gave us rain from heaven and fruitful seasons, filling our hearts with food and gladness."

A being, thus endowed with infinite power, wisdom, and goodness, we cannot conceive to exist without moral feelings; and, by a process equally obvious, we arrive at a distinct knowledge of these, when, from the moral perceptions of our own minds, we infer the moral attributes of him who thus formed us. We have certain impressions of justice, veracity, compassion, and moral purity, in regard to our own conduct,--we have a distinct approbation of these qualities in others,--and we attach a feeling of disapprobation to the infringement of them. By a simple step of reasoning, which conveys an impression of absolute conviction, we conclude, that he, who formed us with these feelings, possesses, in his own character, corresponding moral attributes, which, while they resemble in kind, must infinitely exceed in degree, those qualities in the wisest and the best of men. In our actual observation of mankind, we perceive these attributes impaired in their exercise by human weakness, distorted by human passion,--and impeded in their operation by personal wants, personal feelings, and selfish interests. But, apart from such deteriorating causes, we have a certain abstract idea of the full and perfect exercise of those qualities; and it is in this pure and perfect form that we ascribe them to the Almighty. In him, they can be impeded by no weakness,--distorted by no passion, and impaired in their operation by no personal interest. We therefore conclude him to be perfect in the exercise of all these moral attributes, and to take the most rigid estimate of any infringement of them by man:--this is what we call the holiness of God. Even the man, who has himself departed from moral rectitude, still feels a power within, which points with irresistible force to what is purity, and fixes upon him a conviction that God is pure.

When we view such a Being, apart from any inferior creature, all seems harmony and consistency;--we have only to contemplate him as high and holy, and enjoying perfect happiness in his own spotless attributes. But, when we view him in relation to man in a state of moral discipline, and, in that state, tainted deeply with moral evil, a difficulty arises of an appalling magnitude. There is ample scope now, we perceive, for the exercise of his holiness, veracity, and justice; and he appeals in sublime and terrible majesty, in his exalted character as a moral governor. But, amid such a display, there is an obvious interruption to the exercise of compassion,--especially in that essential department of it,--mercy or forgiveness. This attribute may be exercised without restraint by an individual, where his own interests alone are concerned, because in him it involves only a sacrifice of self-love. But forgiveness in a moral governor either implies an actual change of purpose, or supposes a former decision to have been made without sufficient knowledge of, or due attention to, all the facts by which he ought to have been influenced;--it denotes either undue rigour in the law, or ignorance or inattention in him who administers it, and it may very often interfere with the essential requisites of justice. But, in a moral governor of infinite perfection, there can be neither ignorance of facts nor change of purpose;--the requirements of his justice must stand unshaken; and his law, written on the hearts of all his rational creatures, must be upheld, in the face of the universe, as holy, and just, and good. Is, then, the exercise of mercy to be excluded from our conception of the divine character,--and is there no forgiveness with God.--The soundest inductions of philosophy, applied to the actual state of man, bring us to this momentous question; but the highest efforts of human science fail to answer it. It is in this our utmost need, that we are met by the dictates of revelation, and are called to humble the pride of our reason before that display of the harmony and integrity of the divine character. We there learn the truths, far beyond the inductions of human science, and the utmost conceptions of human thought,--that an atonement is made, a sacrifice offered;--and that the exercise of forgiveness is consistent with the perfections of the Deity. Thus, by a process of the mind itself, which seems to present every element of fair and logical reasoning, we arrive at a full conviction of the necessity, and the moral probability, of that truth which forms the great peculiarity of the Christian revelation. More than any other in the whole circle of religious belief it rises above the inductions of science, while reason, in its soundest conclusions, recognises its probability, and receives its truth; and it stands forth alone, simply proposed to our belief, and offered to our acceptance, on that high but peculiar evidence by which is supported the testimony of God.

The truth of these considerations is impressed upon us in the strangest manner, when we turn our attention to the actual moral condition of mankind. When we contemplate man, as he is displayed to us by the soundest inductions of philosophy,--his capacity for distinguishing truth from falsehood, and evil from good; the feelings and affections which bind him to his fellow men, and the powers which enable him to rise to intercourse with God:--when we consider the power, which sits among his other principles and feelings, as a faithful monitor and guide, carrying in itself a rule of rectitude without any other knowledge, and a right to govern without reference to any other authority; we behold a fabric complete and harmonious in all its parts, and eminently worthy of its Almighty Maker;--we behold an ample provision for peace, and order, and harmony, in the whole moral world. But, when we compare with these inductions the actual state of man, as displayed to us in the page of history, and in our own daily observation, the conviction is forced upon us, that some mighty change has taken place in this beauteous system, some marvellous disruption of its moral harmony. The manner in which this condition arose,--or the origin of moral evil under the government of God, is a question entirely beyond the reach of the human faculties.--It is one of those, however, on which it is simply our duty to keep in mind, that our business is, not with the explanation, but with the facts;--for, even by the conclusions of philosophy, we are compelled to believe, that man has fallen from his high estate,--and that a pestilence has gone abroad over the face of the moral creation.

In arriving at this conclusion, it is not with the inductions of moral science alone, that we compare or contrast the actual state of man. For one bright example has appeared in our world, in whom was exhibited human nature in its highest state of order and harmony. In regard to the mighty purposes which he came to accomplish, indeed, philosophy fails us, and we are called to submit the inductions of our reason to the testimony of God. But, when we contemplate his whole character purely as a matter of historical truth,--the conviction is forced upon us, that this was the highest state of man;--and the inductions of true science harmonize with the impression of the Roman Centurion, when, on witnessing the conclusion of the earthly sufferings of the Messiah, he exclaimed--"truly this was the Son of God."

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When we endeavour to trace the manner, in which mankind have departed so widely from this high pattern, we arrive at moral phenomena of which we can offer no explanation. But an inquiry of much greater importance is to mark the process by which, in individual instances, conscience ceases to be the regulating principle of the character; and this is a simple and legitimate object of philosophical observation. There cannot, indeed, be an inquiry of more intense and solemn interest, than to trace the chain of sequences which has been established in the mind of man as a moral being. We can view it only as a matter of fact, without being able to refer it to any other principle than the will of Him who framed us;--but the facts which are before us claim the serious attention of every man, who would cultivate that most important of all pursuits,--the knowledge of his own moral condition. The fact to which I chiefly allude is a certain relation, formerly referred to, between the truths which are calculated to act upon us as moral causes, and the mental emotions which ought to result from them;--and between these emotions and a certain conduct which they tend to produce. If the due harmony between these be carefully cultivated, the result is a sound moral condition; but by every instance in which this harmony is violated, a morbid influence is introduced, which gains strength in each succeeding volition, and carries disorder through the moral economy. We have formerly illustrated this important moral process, by the relation between the emotion of compassion, and the conduct which ought to arise from it. If this tendency of the emotion be diligently cultivated, the result is the habit of active benevolence;--but, if the emotion be violated, its influence is progressively diminished, and a character is produced of cold and barren selfishness.

A similar chain of sequences is to be observed respecting the operation of those great truths, which, under the regulating power of conscience, are calculated to act as moral causes in our mental economy;--we may take, for example, the truths relating to the character and perfections of the Deity, and the influence which these ought to produce upon every rational being. We have seen the knowledge which we derive from the light of nature respecting the attributes of God, when, from his works around us, we discover him as a being of infinite power, wisdom, and goodness; and when, from the moral impressions of our own minds, we infer his perfections as a moral Governor of infinite holiness, justice, and truth. By a proper direction of the mind to the truths which are thus conveyed to us respecting the Deity, there would naturally arise a corresponding chain of emotions of which he is the object. These are a sense of veneration towards him, as infinitely great, wise, and powerful,--of love and thankfulness, as infinitely good,--and of habitual regard to his authority and will, as a moral governor of purity and justice, and as requiring a corresponding character in all his creatures. A close and constant relation ought to be preserved between these truths and these emotions, and on this depends the moral harmony of the mind. The preservation of this harmony, again, is intimately connected with a mental process which every man feels to be voluntary,--or in his power to perform, if he wills. It consists in a careful direction of the mind to such truths, so as to enable them to act as moral causes in the mental economy:--by the established order of moral sequences, the emotions naturally follow:--these are then to be cherished with satisfaction and reverence; and a corresponding influence upon the character and conduct is the farther consequence. But the first step in this important process may be neglected;--the mind may not be directed with due care to the truths which thus claim its highest regard,--and the natural result is a corresponding deficiency in the emotions and conduct which ought to flow from them. This will be the case in a still higher degree, if there has been formed any actual derangement of the moral condition,--if deeds have been committed, or even desires cherished, and mental habits acquired, by which the indications of conscience have been violated. The moral harmony of the mind is then lost, and, however slight may be the first impression, a morbid influence has begun to operate in the mental economy, which tends gradually to gain strength, until it becomes a ruling principle in the whole character. The truths connected with the divine perfections are now neither invited nor cherished, but are felt to be intruders which disturb the mental tranquillity. The attention ceases to be directed to them, and the corresponding emotions vanish from the mind. Such appears to be the moral history of those, who, in the striking language of the sacred writings, "do not like to retain God in their knowledge."

When the harmony of the mind has been impaired to this extent, another mental condition arises, according to the wondrous system of moral sequences. This consists in a distortion of the understanding itself, regarding the first great principles of moral truth. For, a fearless contemplation of the truth, respecting the divine perfections, having become inconsistent with the moral condition of the mind, there next arises a desire to discover a view of them more in accordance with its own feelings. This is followed, in due course, by a corresponding train of its own speculations; and these, by a mind so prepared, are received as truth. The inventions of the mind itself thus become the regulating principles of its emotions, and this mental process, advancing from step to step, terminates in moral degradation and anarchy.

Nothing can be more striking than the manner in which these great principles of ethical science are laid down in the sacred writings;--"the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse: Because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened. Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools; and changed the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and four-footed beasts, and creeping things."--"And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient." The various steps, in this course of moral degradation, are here represented as a judicial infliction by the Deity. But this solemn view of the subject is in no degree inconsistent with the principle, that it takes place according to a chain of sequences existing in the mind itself. For the Almighty One, who is said to inflict as a judgment this state of moral ruin, is the same who established it as the uniform result of a process in the mental economy, to be traced in the history of every man who has followed the downward course which led him astray from virtue.

To the principles which have now been stated, we are also to refer a point in the philosophy of human nature which presents a subject of most interesting reflection. I allude to the fact, that the great truths of religious belief are so often rejected, by men who have acquired a reputation for exalted powers of understanding in other departments of intellectual inquiry. The fact is one of intense interest; and we can scarcely wonder that superficial observers should have deduced from it an impression, that it implies something defective in the evidence by which these truths are proposed to our reception. But the conclusion is entirely unwarranted, and the important principle cannot be too often repeated, that the attainment of truth in moral inquiries is essentially connected with the moral condition of the inquirer. On this depends the anxious care with which he has directed his mind to the high pursuit, under a deep and solemn feeling of its supreme importance. On this depends the sincere and humble and candid love of truth with which he has conducted it, apart alike from prejudice and frivolity. For without these essential elements of character, the most exalted intellect may fail of reaching the truth,--the most acute understanding may only wander into delusion and falsehood.

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Before concluding this subject, there is another point which deserves to be alluded to;--namely, the influence produced upon all our moral judgments and decisions by Attention. This important process of the mind we have had occasion to mention in various parts of our inquiry. It consists, as we have seen, in directing the thoughts, calmly and deliberately, to all the facts and considerations by which we ought to be influenced in the particular case which is under our view; and it should be accompanied by an anxious and sincere desire to be guided, both in our opinions and conduct, by the true and relative tendency of each of them. It is a voluntary process of the mind which every man has the power to perform; and on the degree in which it is habitually exercised, depend some of the great differences between one man and another in their moral condition. We have repeatedly had occasion to mention that morbid state of the mind, in which moral causes seem to have lost their proper influence, both on the volitions of the will, and even on the conclusions of the judgment:--But it is a truth which cannot be too often referred to, how much this condition is influenced by the mental process which we are now considering. It originates, indeed, in some degree of that distortion of moral feeling, in consequence of which the inclinations wander from the strict path of rectitude;--but the primary effect of this loss of mental harmony, and that by which it is perpetuated, appears to be chiefly a habitual misdirection of the attention,--or a total want of consideration of the truths and motives, by which the moral judgments and decisions ought to be influenced. Apart from this condition of the mind, indeed, there is reason to believe, that the actual differences in moral judgment are in different men less than we are apt to imagine. "Let any honest man," says Butler, "before he engages in any course of action, ask himself,--is this I am going to do right, or is it wrong,--is it good, or is it evil:--I do not in the least doubt but that these questions would be answered agreeably to truth and virtue, by almost any fair man in almost any circumstances." It is in a great measure from the want of this simple exercise of attention, or of what in common language we call calm reflection, that men are led away, by passion, prejudice, and distorted moral habits, into courses of action which their own sober judgment would condemn;--and when a man, who has thus departed from rectitude, begins to retrace his way, the first great point is that where he pauses in his downward career, and seriously proposes to himself the question, whether the course he has followed be worthy of a moral being. I allude not here to the means by which a man is led to take this momentous step in his moral history, but only to the mental process of which it consists. It is primarily nothing more than an exercise of attention, calmly and deliberately directed to the truths and considerations by which his moral decisions ought to be influenced; but, when a man has once been brought into this attitude of deep and serious thought, conscience comes to bear its part in the solemn process; and the inquirer is likely to arrive at just conclusions on those great questions of which he feels the importance to his moral condition.

It is on the principles now referred to, that, according to a doctrine which has been often and keenly controverted, we hold a man to be responsible for his belief. The state of mind which constitutes belief is, indeed, one over which the will has no direct power. But belief depends upon evidence;--the result of even the best evidence is entirely dependant on attention;--and attention is a voluntary intellectual state over which we have a direct and absolute control. As it is, therefore, by prolonged and continued attention that evidence produces belief, a man may incur the deepest guilt by his disbelief of truths which he has failed to examine with the care which is due to them. This exercise is entirely under the control of the will; but the will to exercise it respecting moral truth is closely connected with the love of that truth; and this is intimately dependent on the state of moral feeling of the mind. It is thus that a man's moral condition influences the conclusions of his judgment;--and it is thus, that on the great questions of moral truth, there may be guilt attached to a process of the understanding, while there is both guilt and moral degradation in that mental condition from which it springs.

A similar relation exists, as was formerly stated, between all our moral emotions, and processes which are felt to be entirely voluntary. These emotions are, properly speaking, not the objects of volition, nor do they arise directly at our bidding; but, according to the constitution of the mind, they are the natural or established result of certain intellectual processes, and, in some sense, even of bodily action, both of which are entirely voluntary. The emotions of compassion and benevolence, for example, are the natural result of the sight or even the description of scenes of distress; and the primary steps in this process are entirely within our power to perform, if we will. We can visit the afflicted family, listen to their tale of distress, and consider their circumstances,--that is, give our attention to them in such a manner that the natural and proper effect may be produced upon our moral feelings. We can give the same kind of attention, and with a similar result, to a case which is only described to us by another; or we may neglect all this mental process. Engrossed with the business or the frivolities of life, we may keep ourselves at a distance from the persons and the scenes that might operate in this manner on our moral feelings;--we may refuse to listen to the tale of sorrow, or, if compelled to hear it, we may give it little attention and no consideration. The moral feeling does not follow, and this course, after a certain repetition, terminates in confirmed and barren selfishness. We see many instances in which we distinctly recognise this course of mental or moral sequence. If, in regard to a particular case of distress, for example, we have come to a deliberate conviction of the worthlessness of the individual, and have determined to withhold our aid, we refuse to see him, and we decline hearing from another any thing more of his history;--we say, we have made up our mind not to allow our compassion to be any more worked upon in his favour. We thus recognise the natural relation between the sight or even the description of distress, and the production of certain feelings in ourselves:--and we recognise also the legitimate means for preventing this influence in certain cases, in which, by a deliberate act of judgment, we have determined against having these feelings excited. If, notwithstanding this determination, we happen to be brought within the influence of the distress which we wished to avoid, we consider this as a sufficient ground for acting, in the instance, against our sober judgment. We had determined against it, we say, but what can you do when you see people starving. We thus recognise as legitimate that process by which, in certain cases, we keep ourselves beyond this influence; but we attach no feeling of approbation to the moral condition of him who, being subjected to the influence, can resist it; that is, who can really come into contact with distress, and shut his heart against it. And even with regard to the course which we here recognise as legitimate, much caution is required, before we allow a process of the judgment to interfere with the natural and healthy course of the moral feelings. If the interference arises, not from a sound process of the understanding, but from a course in which selfishness bears a considerable part, an injurious influence upon the moral condition of the mind is the necessary consequence. We thus perceive that, in the chain of sequences relating to the benevolent feelings, there are three distinct steps,--two of which are entirely under the control of the will. A man has it entirely in his power to place himself in contact with objects of distress, and to follow out the call of duty in considering their circumstances, and entering into their feelings. The natural result is a train of emotions which arise in his own mind, prompting him to a particular line of conduct. To act upon these emotions is again under the power of his will; and if the whole of this chain of sequences be duly followed, the result is a sound condition of this part of the moral economy. If either of the voluntary steps be neglected or violated, the mental harmony is lost, and a habit is formed of unfeeling selfishness.

The principle, which has thus been illustrated by the benevolent affections, is equally true of our other moral emotions. These emotions are closely connected with certain truths, which are calculated to give use to them, according to the constitution of our moral economy. Now, the careful acquisition of the knowledge of these truths, and a serious direction of the attention to their tendencies, are intellectual processes which are as much under the power of our will, as are the acts of visiting and giving attention to scenes of distress; and the due cultivation of them involves an equal degree of moral responsibility. This again is connected with the remarkable power which we possess over the succession of our thoughts. We can direct the mind into a particular train; we can continue it and dwell upon it with calm and deliberate attention, so that the truths, which it brings before us, may produce their natural and proper effect on our moral feelings. The emotions thus excited lead to a certain line of conduct, which also is voluntary; and on the due cultivation of this chain of sequences depends a healthy moral condition. But we may neglect those parts of the sequence which are under the control of our will. We may abstain from directing our attention to such truths; we may view them in a slight, frivolous, or distorted manner, or we may dismiss them altogether; and if any degree of the emotions should be excited, we may make no effort towards the cultivation of the conduct to which they would lead us. The due cultivation of this power over the succession of our thoughts, is that which constitutes one of the great differences between one man and another, both as intellectual and moral beings;--and, though correct moral emotions are not properly the objects of volition, it is thus that a man may incur the deepest moral guilt in the want of them.

The subject also leads to conclusions of the greatest importance respecting the principles on which we ought to conduct religious instruction, particularly in regard to the cultivation of religious emotions. It reminds us of the important law of our nature, that all true cultivation of religious emotion must be founded upon a sound culture of the understanding in the knowledge of religious truth, and a careful direction of the powers of reasoning and judging, both to its evidences and its tendencies. All impulse that does not arise in this manner can be nothing more than an artificial excitement of feeling, widely different from the emotion of a regulated mind. Such a system generates wild enthusiasm;--and the principle is of peculiar and essential importance in the education of the young. In then susceptible minds religious emotion is easily produced, and, by a particular management, may be fostered for a time. But those who have been trained in this manner are little qualified to meet the collisions of active life, and we need not wonder if they should make shipwreck of a faith which has not been founded in knowledge.

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Before leaving the subject of the Moral Principle, there are two points closely connected with it which remain to be noticed. The one relates to the origin and immutability of moral distinctions, and, in connexion with this, a class of speculations which hold a conspicuous place in the history of Ethical science, under the name of Theories of Morals. The other refers to a certain harmony or principle of arrangement, which the different moral feelings ought to preserve towards each other in a well-regulated mind.

Sec. I.--OF THE ORIGIN AND IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS AND THEORIES OF MORALS.

In treating of the moral powers, I have considered various feelings as distinct parts of our constitution, each intended to answer a specific purpose in the present scene of moral discipline. I am aware of an objection that may be urged against this mode of viewing the subject,--namely, that it is an unnecessary multiplication of original principles. I am not inclined to dispute respecting the term, _original principles_. I only contend for the fact, that there are certain feelings or propensities which are found to operate in the whole of mankind; and, with regard to these, I consider our object to be, simply to view man as he is. In his physical relations, we find him endowed with a variety of senses, and a great variety of bodily functions,--each adapted to its proper purpose, and all distinct from each other; and the physiologist is content to view them simply as they are. Were he to exercise his ingenuity upon them, he might contend with much plausibility, that it is highly incorrect to speak of five distinct and separate senses;--for that they are all merely modifications of sensation, differing only in the various kinds of the external impression. Thus, what is vulgarly called sight is the simple sensation of light,--and hearing is merely the sensation of sound. This would be all very true,--but it does not appear to elucidate the subject; nor, by any ingenuity of such speculation, could we be enabled to know more concerning these senses than when we called them sight and hearing. In the same manner it would appear, that the course of inquiry, respecting our moral feelings, is simply to observe what these feelings really are, and what are their obvious tendencies. When we have done so on adequate foundation, I conceive we have every reason for considering them as principles implanted in us by the Creator, for guidance in our present relations; and, like the functions of our bodies, so the powers and feelings of our minds shew a wonderful adaptation and design, worthy of their Omnipotent Cause. But we can know nothing of them beyond the facts,--and nothing is to be gained by any attempt, however ingenious, to simplify or explain them. We have formerly had occasion to allude to various speculations of a similar character, respecting the powers of perception and simple intellect,--all of which have now given way before the general admission of the truth, that, on the questions to which they refer, no human sagacity can carry us one step beyond the simple knowledge of the facts.

It will probably be admitted, that there have been many similar unprofitable speculations in the philosophy of the moral feelings; and that these speculations, instead of throwing any light upon the subject, have tended rather to withdraw the attention of inquirers from the questions of deep and serious importance connected with the investigation. Among these, perhaps, we may reckon some of the doctrines which hold a prominent place in the history of this branch of science,--under the name of _Theories of Morals_. These doctrines agree in admitting the fact, that there are among mankind certain notions respecting right and wrong,--moral and immoral actions; and they then profess to account for these impressions,--or to explain how men come to think one action right and another wrong. A brief view of these theories may properly belong to an outline of this department of science.

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In contemplating the conduct of men as placed in certain relations towards each other, we perceive some actions which we pronounce to be right, and others which we pronounce to be wrong. In forming our opinion of them in this manner, we refer to the intentions of the actor, and, if we are satisfied that he really intended what we see to be the effect or the tendency of his conduct, or even that he purposed something which he was prevented from accomplishing, we view him with feelings of moral approbation or disapprobation,--or, in other words, apply to him the award of praise or blame. Such is our simple idea of virtue or vice, as applied either to the act or the agent. We have a conviction that there is a line of conduct to which ourselves and others are bound by a certain kind of obligation;--a departure from this constitutes moral demerit or vice;--a correct observance of it constitutes virtue.

This appears to be our primary impression of vice and virtue. The next question is, what is the origin of the impression, or on what ground is it that we conclude certain actions to be right and others wrong. Is it merely from a view of their consequences to ourselves or others; or do we proceed upon an absolute conviction of certain conduct being right, and certain other wrong, without carrying the mind farther than the simple act, or the simple intention of the actor,--without any consideration of the effects or the tendencies of the action. This is the question which has been so keenly agitated in the speculations of Ethical science, namely, respecting the origin and nature of moral distinctions. On the one hand, it is contended, that these moral impressions are in themselves immutable, and that an absolute conviction of their immutability is fixed upon us in that part of our constitution which we call Conscience, in other words, there is a certain conduct to which we are bound by a feeling of obligation, apart from all other considerations whatever, and we have an impression that a departure from this in ourselves or others constitutes vice. On the other hand, it is maintained, that these distinctions are entirely arbitrary, or arise out of circumstances, so that what is vice in one case may be virtue in another. Those who have adopted the latter hypothesis have next to explain, what the circumstances are which give rise, in this manner, to our impressions of vice and virtue, moral approbation or disapprobation. The various modes of explaining this impression have led to the _Theories of Morals_.

The system of Mandeville ascribes our impressions of moral rectitude entirely to the enactments of legislators. Man, he says, naturally seeks only his own gratification, without any regard to the happiness of other men. But legislators found that it would be necessary to induce him, in some way, to surrender a position of his personal gratification for the good of others, and so to promote the peace and harmony of society. To accomplish this with such a selfish being, it was necessary to give him some equivalent for the sacrifice he thus made; and the principle of his nature which they fixed upon, for this purpose, was his love of praise. They made certain laws for the general good, and then flattered mankind into the belief that it was praiseworthy to observe them, and noble to sacrifice a certain degree of their own gratification for the good of others. What we call virtue thus resolves itself into the love of praise. In regard to such a system as this, it has been thought sufficient to point out the distinction between the immutable principles of morality and those arrangements which are dependent upon mere enactment. Such are many of the regulations and restrictions of commerce. They are intended for the public good, and, while they are in force, it is the duty of every good citizen to obey them. A change of the law, however, changes their character, for they possess in themselves none of the qualities of merit or demerit. But no laws can alter, and no statutes modify, those great principles of moral conduct which are graved indelibly on the conscience of all classes of men. Kings, it has been said, may make laws, but cannot create a virtue.

By another modification of this system, our impressions of virtue and vice are said to be derived entirely from mutual compact. Men, finding that there was a certain course of action which would contribute to their mutual advantage, and _vice versa_, entered into an agreement to observe certain conduct, and abstain from certain other. The violation of this compact constituted vice, the observance of it virtue.

By a theory, supported by some eminent men, as Clark and Wollaston, virtue was considered to depend on a conformity of the conduct to a certain sense of the fitness of things,--or the truth of things. The meaning of this, it must be confessed, is rather obscure. It however evidently refers the essence of virtue to a relation perceived by a process of reason; and therefore may be held as at variance with the belief of the impression being universal.

According to the _Theory of Utility_, as warmly supported by Mr. Hume, we estimate the virtue of an action and an agent entirely by their usefulness. He seems to refer all our mental impressions to two principles, reason and taste. Reason gives us simply the knowledge of truth or falsehood, and is no motive of action. Taste gives an impression of pleasure or pain,--so constitutes happiness or misery, and becomes a motive of action. To this he refers our impressions of beauty and deformity, vice and virtue. He has, accordingly, distinctly asserted that the words right and wrong signify nothing more than sweet or sour, pleasant or painful, being only effects upon the mind of the spectator produced by the contemplation of certain conduct,--and this, as we have already seen, resolves itself into the impression of its usefulness. An obvious objection to the system of utility was, that it might be applied to the effects of inanimate matter as correctly as to the deeds of a voluntary agent. A printing-press or a steam-engine might be as meritorious as a man of extensive virtue. To obviate this, Mr. Hume was driven to a distinction, which in fact amounted to giving up the doctrine, namely, that the sense of utility must be combined with a feeling of approbation. This leads us back to the previous question, on what this feeling of approbation is founded, and at once recognises a principle, distinct from the mere perception of utility. Virtuous conduct may indeed always contribute to general utility, or general happiness, but this is an effect only, not the cause or the principle which constitutes it virtuous. This important distinction has been well stated by Professor Mills of Oxford. He defines morality to be,--"an obedience to the law and constitution of man's nature, assigned him by the Deity in conformity to his own essential and unchangeable attributes, the effect of which is the general happiness of his creatures."[2]--We may safely assert, that whatever is right is also expedient for man; but the converse by no means follows,--that what is expedient, that is what mankind think would be expedient, comes to be right.

[Footnote 2: Lecture on the Theory of Moral Obligation. Oxford, 1830.]

We now come to the _Selfish System_ of morals, according to which the fundamental principle of the conduct of mankind is a desire to promote their own gratification or interest. This theory has appeared in various forms, from a very early period in the history of Ethical science; but the most remarkable promoter of it in more modern times was Mr. Hobbes. According to him, man is influenced entirely by what seems calculated, more immediately, or more remotely, to promote his own interest; whatever does so, he considers as right,--the opposite as wrong. He is driven to society by necessity, and then, whatever promotes the general good, he considers as ultimately calculated to promote his own. This system is founded upon a fallacy, similar to that referred to under the former head. Virtuous conduct does impart gratification, and that of the highest kind; and, in the strictest sense of the word, it promotes the true interest of the agent, but this tendency is the effect, not the cause; and never can be considered as the principle which imparts to conduct its character of virtue; nor do we perform it merely because it affords us gratification, or promotes our interest. The hypothesis, indeed, may be considered as distinctly contradicted by facts,--for, even in our own experience, it is clear, that the pleasure attending an act of generosity or virtue in ourselves, as well as our approbation of it in others, is diminished or destroyed by the impression that there was a selfish purpose to answer by it.