Chapter XIV: Part III: Of the Moral Principle, or Conscience (2)

There is a modification of the selfish system which attempts to get rid of its more offensive aspect by a singular and circuitous chain of moral emotions. We have experienced, it is said, that a certain attention to the comfort or advantage of others contributes to our own. A kind of habit is thus formed, by which we come at last to seek the happiness of others for their own sake;--so that, by this process, actions, which at first were considered only as inexpedient, from being opposed to self-love, at length and insensibly come to be considered as immoral. This can be considered as nothing more than an ingenious play upon words, and deserves only to be mentioned as a historical fact, in a view of those speculations by which this important subject has been obscured and bewildered.

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Another modification of the theories of morals remains to be mentioned;--namely, that of the distinguished Paley. This eminent writer is decidedly opposed to the doctrine of a moral sense or moral principle; but the system which he proposes to substitute in its place must be acknowledged to be liable to considerable objections. He commences with the proposition that virtue is doing good to mankind, in obedience to the will of God, and for the sake of everlasting happiness. The good of mankind, therefore, is the subject,--the will of God, the rule,--and everlasting happiness, the motive of human virtue. The will of God, he subsequently goes on to shew, is made known to us, partly by revelation, and partly by what we discover of his designs and dispositions from his works, or, as we usually call it, the light of nature. From this last source he thinks it is clearly to be inferred, that God wills and wishes the happiness of his creatures; consequently, actions which promote that will and wish must be agreeable to him, and the contrary. The method of ascertaining the will of God concerning any action, by the light of nature, therefore, is to inquire into the tendency of the action to promote or diminish general happiness. Proceeding on those grounds, he then arrives at the conclusion, that whatever is expedient is right; and that it is the utility of any moral rule alone, which constitutes the obligation of it. In his further elucidation of this theory, Dr. Paley admits, that an action may be useful, in an individual case, which is not right. To constitute it right, it is necessary that it shall be "expedient upon the whole,--at the long run, in all its effects, collateral and remote, as well as those which are immediate and direct."

In presuming to offer a criticism upon Paley, I readily concede to the defenders of his system, that it is not to be classed with the utilitarianism of Hume and Godwin; and that it is not, correctly speaking, chargeable with selfishness, in holding out the happiness of a future state as a motive to virtue. The latter part of his system is clearly countenanced by the sacred writings; and it does appear to be a stretch of language, to apply the term selfishness to the longing which the sincere Christian feels for the full enjoyment of God. In regard to the former part of his doctrine, again, it appears that Paley meant to propose the will of God as the rule or obligation of morals, and utility only as a criterion or guide; though it must be confessed that his language is liable to much misconstruction, and is somewhat at variance with itself. The real objection to the doctrine of Paley, I apprehend, lies in his unqualified rejection of the supreme authority of conscience, and in the mental operation which he substitutes in its place, namely, a circuitous process of reasoning, in each individual, respecting the entire and ultimate expediency of actions. There are two considerations which appear to present serious objections to this part of the system as a doctrine to be applied to practical purposes. (1.) If we suppose a man deliberating respecting an action, which he perceives would be eminently expedient and useful in an individual case, and which he feels to be highly desirable in its immediate reference to that case,--we may naturally ask, whether he is in a likely condition to find his way to a sound conclusion respecting the consequences of the action "upon the whole, at the long run, in all its consequences, remote and collateral."--It may certainly be doubted whether, in any case, there is not great danger of differences of opinion arising, respecting this extended and ultimate expediency:--and it must be admitted that, in the man now referred to, the very circumstances of his perception of great and immediate utility, and the state of desire connected with it, would constitute a moral condition which might interfere, in a very material degree, with his calculation as to its ultimate expediency. Upon whatever system we proceed, I fear it must be conceded as a fact, that there is a singular propensity in the mass of mankind to consider their own pains and pleasures before those of other men; and that this propensity must interfere with the cool course of moral calculation which the system of utility must consider as indispensable. (2.) Independently of this consideration, we may be allowed to doubt, whether any human being can arrive at such an extensive knowledge, as this theory seems to render necessary, of all the consequences of an action, remote and collateral. This would appear to constitute a kind and degree of knowledge to be found only in the Omniscience of the Deity. It is, in fact, by giving its full weight to this difficulty, that the doctrine of utility has been employed by some foreign writers, in their attempts to undermine the whole foundation of morals. "The goodness of actions," says Beausobre, in his Pyrrhonisme Raisonable, "depends upon their consequences, which man cannot foresee, nor accurately ascertain." What harmony, indeed, or what consistency of moral sentiment can we expect from a system, by which man himself is made the judge of the code of morals to which he is to be subject, and by which his decisions, on a question so momentous, are made to lest on those remote consequences of actions which he must feel to be beyond the reach of his limited faculties.

If these observations be well-founded, I think we cannot hesitate to maintain, that, on such a nice calculation of consequences, it is impossible to found a rule of morals in any degree adapted to the necessities of man. The same objection applies to every doctrine, which does not recognise the supreme authority of conscience as an original part of our moral constitution, warning us of certain conduct as immutably right, and certain other conduct as immutably wrong, without any regard either to our own advantage, or to our judgment of the tendency of the deeds. Whenever we depart from this great principle, we reduce every moral decision to what must primarily be a process of reasoning, and in which, from the intricate calculation of consequences which necessarily arises, there can scarcely fail to be differences of opinion respecting the tendency of actions, instead of that absolute conviction which the deep importance of the subject renders indispensable. It may, farther, be confidently stated, as a matter of fact, that a conscientious man, in considering an action which involves a point of moral duty, does not enter upon any such calculation of its consequences. He simply asks himself,--is it right?--and so decides, according to an impulse within, which he feels to be a part of his moral constitution, susceptible of no explanation, and not admitting of being referred to any other principle. I confess, indeed, that I cannot perceive, how the doctrine of utility, in any of its forms, can be reconciled with the principle of moral responsibility. For what we commonly call vice and virtue, must resolve themselves merely into differences of opinion respecting what is most expedient in all its consequences, remote and collateral. We have already alluded to the considerations which must make this decision one of extreme difficulty;--and how can we ascribe moral guilt to that, which, though in vulgar language we may call it vice, must very often be nothing more than an error in judgment respecting this ultimate good.

In regard to the whole of this important subject, I cannot see the necessity for the circuitous mental operations which have been made to apply to it; nor can I enter into the repugnance, shewn by various classes of moralists, against the belief of a process or a principle in our constitution, given us for a guide in our moral relations. It is unnecessary to dispute about its name, or even about its origin;--for the former is of no importance, and of the latter we know nothing. The question relates simply to its existence as a mental exercise distinct from any process of reasoning, and the only criterion, to which the question can be referred, is an appeal to the moral feelings of every individual. Is there not a mental movement or feeling, call it what we may, by which we have a perception of actions as just or unjust, right or wrong; and by which we experience shame or remorse respecting our own conduct in particular instances, and indignation against the conduct of others. Every one is conscious of such a mental exercise, and there are two considerations which, I think, may be referred to as moral facts, shewing a clear and decided difference between it and any simple process of reasoning. (1.) I would ask whether, in deciding on his conduct, every man is not conscious of two classes of actions, in regard to which the processes of his mind differ widely from each other. In deciding respecting actions of the one class, he carefully and anxiously deliberates on their tendencies,--that is, their utility towards himself, or to others whose welfare he has in view; and he reflects on what was the result of his conduct in similar cases, on former occasions. In deciding respecting actions of the other class, he enters into no such calculations;--he feels an immediate impression, that a certain course is right, and a certain other wrong, without looking a single step into their tendencies. Every one is conscious of this difference, between acting from a perception of utility and from a feeling of obligation or a sense of duty; and it would be difficult to prove that any perception of utility alone ever amounts to a sense of obligation. (2.) In that class of actions to which is properly applied a calculation of utility, we see the most remarkable differences in judgment manifested by men, whom we regard as holding a high place in respect both of integrity and talent. Let us take for example the measures of political economy. A conscientious statesman feels that he is bound to pursue measures calculated to promote the good of his country; but the individual measures are often questions of expediency or utility. And what an endless diversity of judgment do we observe respecting them; and how often do we find measures proposed by able men, as calculated to produce important public benefit, which others, of no inferior name, with equal confidence, condemn as frivolous, or even dangerous. If there can be such a difference of opinion respecting one class of actions, we cannot avoid the impression that there may be similar differences respecting others, whenever the decision is left to a simple process of reason; and we cannot but feel some misgivings, as to what the state of human society would be, if men, in their moral decisions were kept together by no other ties than the speculations of each individual respecting general utility. In any such process, we can see no provision for that uniformity of feeling required for the class of actions in which are concerned our moral decisions;--and I can see nothing unphilosophical in the belief, that the Creator has provided, in reference to these, a part or a process in our moral constitution, which is incapable of analysis,--but which proves, as Butler has termed it, "a rule of right within, to every man who honestly attends to it."

To this view of the subject I would add only one consideration, which alone appears to present an insurmountable objection to the doctrine of utility in all its modifications; namely, that any correct ideas of the utility of an action can be derived only from experience. The study of the principles of morality, therefore, would consist of a series of observations or experiments, by which valid conclusions might be ascertained; and an individual, entering upon the momentous question, would require either to trust to the conclusions of others, or to make the observations and experiments for himself. In the former case, he could not fail to perceive the precarious nature of the basis on which he was receiving principles of such weighty importance. He could not fail to remark, that, in other sciences, unsound and premature deductions had been brought forward, even on high authority, and allowed to usurp the place of truth. How is he to be satisfied, that, in this highest of all inquiries, similar errors had not been committed. To avoid such uncertainty, he may resolve to make the observations or experiments for himself, and to trust only to his own conclusions. But here he is met by another difficulty of appalling magnitude. For a lifetime may not suffice to bring the experiments to a close; and, during this, he must remain in the same uncertainty on the great principles of morals, as respecting the periods of a comet, which, having been seen for a day, darts off into its eccentric orbit, and may not return for a century. How can it accord with our convictions of the wisdom of Him who made us, that he should have made us thus.

The foundation of all these _Theories of Morals_, then, seems to be the impression, that there is nothing right or wrong, just or unjust in itself; but that our ideas of right and wrong, justice and injustice, arise either from actual law or mutual compact, or from our view of the tendencies of actions. Another modification of these theories, liable, as it is sometimes stated, to similar objection, ascribes the origin of right and wrong directly to the will of the Deity, and holds that there is nothing wrong which might not have been right, if he had so ordained it.

By the immutability of moral distinctions, as opposed to these theories, we mean,--that there are certain actions which are immutably right, and which we are bound in duty to perform, and certain actions which are immutably wrong, apart from any other consideration whatever;--and that an absolute conviction of this is fixed upon us, in the moral principle or conscience, independently of knowledge derived from any other source respecting the will or laws of the Almighty. This important distinction has been sometimes not unaptly expressed by saying of such actions,--not that they are right because the Deity has commanded them,--but that he has commanded them because they are right. By this system, therefore, which refers our moral impressions to the supreme authority of conscience, a principle is disclosed, which, independently even of revelation, not only establishes an absolute conviction of the laws of moral rectitude, but leads us to the impression of moral responsibility and a moral Governor; and as immediately flowing from this, a state of future retribution. We have already shewn this to accord with the declarations of the sacred writings, and it is evidently the only system on which we can account for that uniformity of moral sentiment which is absolutely required for the harmonies of society. For it is, in fact, on a conviction of this feeling in ourselves, and of the existence of a similar and universal principle in others, that is founded all the mutual confidence which keeps mankind together. It is this reciprocity of moral feeling that proves a constant check upon the conduct of men in the daily transactions of life; but, to answer this purpose, there is evidently required an impression of its uniformity,--or a conviction that the actions, which we disapprove in others will be condemned in us by the unanimous decision of other men. It is equally clear that we have no such impression of a uniformity of sentiment on any other subject, except on those referable to the class of first truths; and this immediately indicates a marked distinction between our moral impressions, and any of those conclusions at which we arrive by a process of the understanding. It is clear, also, that this uniformity can arise from no system, which either refers us directly to the will of God, or is liable to be affected by the differences which may exist in the judgment, the moral taste, the personal feelings, or the interests of different individuals. It must be, in itself, fixed and immutable, conveying an absolute conviction which admits of no doubt and no difference of opinion. Such is the great principle of conscience. However its warnings may be neglected, and its influence obscured by passion and moral degradation, it still asserts its claim to govern the whole man. "Had it strength," says Butler, "as it had right; had it power, as it had manifest authority, it would absolutely govern the world."

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In opposition to this belief of a uniformity of moral feeling, much importance has been attached to the practices of certain ancient and some barbarous nations, as the encouragement of theft in Sparta, and the exposure of the aged among certain tribes in India. Such instances prove no diversity of moral feeling; but a difference of practice, arising from certain specialities, real or supposed, by which, in the particular cases, the influence of the primary moral feeling is, for the time, set aside. It is of no importance to the argument, whether the disturbing principle thus operating be the result of an absurd local policy or a barbarous superstition. It is enough that we see a principle, which, in point of fact, does thus operate, suspending, in the particular instances, the primary moral impression. It was not that, in Sparta, there was any absence of the usual moral feeling in regard to theft in the abstract,--but that the cultivation of habits of activity and enterprise, which arose from the practice, was considered as a national object of the highest importance, in a small and warlike state, surrounded by powerful enemies. It is precisely in the same manner, that, in individual conduct, a man may be misled by passion or by interest to do things which his sober judgment condemns. In doing so, there is no want of the ordinary moral feeling which influences other men; but he has brought himself to violate this feeling, for certain purposes which he finds to be highly desirable; and then, probably, seeks to defend his conduct to the satisfaction of his own mind, and of the minds of others. He has a distinct perception of what is right, while he does what is wrong. There are numerous facts which illustrate the same principle, and shew the recognition of correct moral feelings, even in those who habitually and daringly violate them;--as the laws of honour and honesty which robbers observe towards each other,--and the remarkable fidelity of smugglers towards their associates. In some of the tribes in the South Seas, also, most remarkable for their dishonesty, it was found, that while they encouraged each other in pillaging strangers, theft was most severely punished among themselves. Need I farther refer, on this subject, to the line of argument adopted in the great question of slavery. It is directed to the palliating circumstances in the actual state of slavery, not to a broad defence of slavery itself. Its object is to shew, that slavery, under all its present circumstances, may be reconciled with the principles of humanity and justice:--no attempt is ever made to prove, that it is consistent with these principles to tear a human being from his country and his kindred, and make him a slave.[3]

[Footnote 3: See this subject eloquently argued in Dr. Chalmers' Bridgewater Treatise.]

On this subject we are sometimes triumphantly asked, where is the conscience of the Inquisitor,--as if the moral condition of such an individual incontestably proved, that there can be no such power as we consider conscience to be. But I think it cannot be doubted, that, as in the more common cases which have been mentioned, the conscience of the Inquisitor comes gradually to be accommodated to the circumstances in which he has voluntarily placed himself. This remarkable moral process has been repeatedly referred to. It may originate in various causes. It may arise from passion, or an ill-regulated state of the desires or affections of the mind; it may arise from motives of interest, leading a man by small and gradual steps into actions which his sober judgment condemns; or false opinions, however received, may be allowed to fasten on the mind, until, from want of candid examination, they come to be invested with the authority of truth. In the moral process which follows, each single step is slight, and its influence almost imperceptible; but this influence is perpetuated, and gains strength in each succeeding step, until the result is a total derangement of the moral harmony of the mind.

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It remains only that we briefly notice the system of Dr. Adam Smith, commonly called the theory of Sympathy. According to this ingenious writer, it is required for our moral sentiments respecting an action, that we enter into the feelings both of the agent, and of him to whom the action relates. If we sympathize with the feelings and intentions of the agent, we approve of his conduct as right,--if not, we consider it as wrong. If, in the individual to whom the action refers, we sympathize with a feeling of gratitude, we regard the agent as worthy of praise,--if with a feeling of resentment, the contrary. We thus observe our feelings respecting the conduct of others, in cases in which we are not personally concerned,--then apply these rules to ourselves, and thus judge of our own conduct. This very obvious statement, however, of what every man feels, does not supply the place of a fundamental rule of right and wrong; and indeed Dr. Smith does not appear to contend that it does so. It applies only to the application of a principle, not to the origin of it. Our sympathy can never be supposed to constitute an action right or wrong; but it enables us to apply to individual cases a principle of right and wrong derived from another source;--and to clear our judgment in doing so, from the blinding influence of those selfish feelings by which we are so apt to be misled when we apply it directly to ourselves. In estimating our own conduct, we then apply to it those conclusions which we have made with regard to the conduct of others,--or we imagine others applying the same process in regard to us, and consider how our conduct would appeal to an impartial observer.

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This, however, is a most important principle in regard to our moral decisions,--namely, the process by which we view an action, or a course of conduct, in another, and then apply the decision to ourselves. When the power of moral judgment is obscured or deadened in regard to our own conduct, by self-love or deranged moral habits, all the correctness of judgment is often preserved respecting the actions of others. It is thus that men are led on by interest or passion into courses of action, which, if viewed calmly and dispassionately, they would not deliberately defend even in themselves, and which, when viewed in others, they promptly condemn. This principle is beautifully illustrated in the sacred writings, when the prophet went to the king of Israel, and laid before him the hypothetical case of a rich man, who had committed an act of gross and unfeeling injustice against a poor neighbour. The monarch was instantly roused to indignation, and pronounced a sentence of severe but righteous vengeance against the oppressor,--when the prophet turned upon him with the solemn denunciation, "Thou art the man." His moral feeling in regard to his own conduct was dead; but his power of correct moral decision when applied to another was undiminished.

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In regard to the whole of this subject, an important distinction is to be made between the fundamental principle, from which actions derive their character of right and wrong,--and the application of reason in judging of their tendencies. Before concluding this part of the subject, therefore, we have to add a very few observations on the influence exerted on our moral decisions by reason,--always however in subserviency to the great principle of conscience. The office of reason appears to be, in the first place, to judge of the expediency, propriety, and consequences of actions, which do not involve any feeling of moral duty. In regard to the affections, again, a process of reason is often necessary, not only respecting the best mode of exercising them, but also, in many cases, in deciding whether we shall exercise them at all. Thus, we may feel compassion in a particular instance, but perceive the individual to be so unworthy, that what we could do would be of no benefit to him. In such a case we may feel it to be a matter not only of prudence, but of duty, to resist the affection, and to reserve the aid we have to bestow for persons more deserving.

In cases in which an impression of moral duty is concerned, an exercise of reason is still in many instances, necessary, for enabling us to adapt our means to the end which we desire to accomplish. We may feel an anxious wish to promote the interest or relieve the distress of another, or to perform some high and important duty,--but call reason to our aid respecting the most effectual and the most judicious means of doing so. Conscience, in such cases, produces the intention,--reason suggests the means;--and it is familiar to every one that these do not always harmonize. Thus a man may be sound in his intentions, who errs in judgment respecting the means for carrying them into effect. In such cases, we attach our feeling of moral approbation to the intention only,--we say the man meant well, but erred in judgment;--and to this error we affix no feeling of moral disapprobation,--unless, perhaps, in some cases, we may blame him for acting precipitately on his own judgment, instead of taking the advice of those qualified to direct him. We expect such a man to acquire wisdom from experience, by observing the deficiency of his judgment in reference to his intentions; and, in future instances, to learn to take advice. There are other circumstances in which an exercise of reason is frequently brought into action in regard to moral decisions;--as in some cases in which one duty appears to interfere with another;--likewise in judging whether, in particular instances, any rule of duty is concerned, or whether we are at liberty to take up the case simply as one of expediency or utility. In making their decisions in doubtful cases of this description, we observe great differences in the habits of judging in different individuals. One shews the most minute and scrupulous anxiety, to discover whether the case involves any principle of duty,--and a similar anxiety in acting suitably when he has discovered it. This is what we call a strictly conscientious man. Another, who shews no want of a proper sense of duty when the line is clearly drawn, has less anxiety in such cases as these, and may sacrifice minute or doubtful points to some other feeling,--as self-interest or even friendship,--where the former individual might have discovered a principle of duty.

Reason is also concerned in judging of a description of cases, in which a modification of moral feeling arises from the complexity of actions,--or, in other words, from the circumstances in which the individual is placed. This may be illustrated by the difference of moral sentiment which we attach to the act of taking away the life of another,--when this is done by an individual under the impulse of revenge,--by the same individual in self-defence,--or by a judge in the discharge of his public duty.

There is still another office frequently assigned to Reason in moral decisions,--as when we speak of a man acting upon Reason as opposed to passion. This however is, correctly speaking, only a different use of the term; and it means that he acts upon a calm consideration of the motives by which he ought to be influenced, instead of being hurried away by a desire or an affection which has been allowed to usurp undue influence.

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The important distinction, therefore, which these observations have been intended to illustrate, may be briefly recapitulated in the following manner. Our impression of the aspect of actions, as right or wrong, is conveyed by a principle in the human mind entirely distinct from a simple exercise of reason,--and the standard of moral rectitude derived from this source is, in its own nature, fixed and immutable. But there are many cases in which an exercise of reason may be employed, in referring particular actions to this standard, or trying them, as it were, by means of it. Any such mental process, however, is only to be considered as a kind of test applied to individual instances, and must not be confounded with the standard to which it is the office of this test to refer them. Right or virtuous conduct does, in point of fact, contribute to general utility, as well as to the advantage of the individual, in the true and extended sense of that term, and these tendencies are perceived by Reason. But it is neither of these that constitutes it right. This is founded entirely on a different principle,--the immutable rule of moral rectitude; it is perceived by a different part of our constitution,--the moral principle, or conscience; and, by the operation of this principle, we pronounce it right, without any reference to its consequences either to ourselves or others.

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The preceding observations, on Conscience, I leave nearly as they stood in the second edition of this volume. Since the publication of that edition, I have seen various discussions of this important question, but have found nothing to alter the opinion I have expressed, respecting the nature and the authority of conscience as an original principle in our moral constitution; and I see no system by which we can escape from the numerous difficulties surrounding every other view of the subject. In particular, I cannot perceive what is gained by those who refer our moral decisions to a process of reason or judgment alone. For by judgment, in the ordinary and recognised acceptation of the term, I can understand nothing more than a power of comparing two or more facts or impressions together, and tracing their relations. When we apply such a mental process to a question of morals, it can amount to nothing more than a comparison of our conduct with some standard. If those who hold the doctrine referred to, mean any thing more than this,--if they allow the mind a power of moral decision independently of any such standard, then this is precisely what we mean by conscience, and the controversy resolves itself, like not a few that have gone before it, into a dispute about a name. If they do not allow the mind such a power, it then becomes them to say, what is the standard by which its moral judgments are to be formed, and whence it is derived. It appears, I think, distinctly, that it can be derived only from one of two sources. It must either be received through divine revelation; or it must be the result of our speculations respecting utility, in one or other of the forms in which that doctrine is presented to us. There does not appear to be any middle course; and accordingly some late writers, who reject the latter system, while they do not admit the authority of conscience, seem to refer our moral impressions entirely to the will of the Deity as made known to us by revelation. I have formerly stated what seem to me to be insuperable objections to this doctrine. It appears, indeed, to be distinctly opposed by the very words of Scripture, which clearly recognise a power, or a process in the mind by which "those who are without law," that is, without a revelation, "are a law unto themselves, their consciences bearing witness, and their thoughts accusing or else excusing one another."

It does, I confess, appear to me, that some late excellent and respectable writers, in their apprehension of not giving sufficient prominence to the doctrine of human depravity, have greatly under-rated the actual power of conscience, and have thus injured in a most essential manner the important argument which is derived from the moral impressions of the mind. True it is, indeed, that the nature of man is degenerate, and that the effect of this appears in his disregarding and disobeying that monitor within. I am not disposed to differ from the writers referred to, respecting the existence and the extent of this degeneracy, but rather as to the manner in which it operates in the actual moral condition of mankind. I do not say that there is in human nature more good than they assign to it, but that there is more knowledge of what is good; not that men do better than these writers allege, but that they have a greater sense of what they ought to do. Those who maintain the absolute and unusual corruption of conscience may also be reminded of the remarkable differences which are admitted to exist in different men, and the manner in which moral feeling is gradually obscured or overpowered by a course of personal depravity. The facts are universally admitted respecting the contest with moral principle which attends the first stages of vice, and the remorse which follows. But after each departure from virtue, this opposing influence is progressively weakened, and at length destroyed. In this progress, then, we must admit two distinct conditions of the moral feelings,--one in which conscience distinctly points at what is right, however its warnings may be disregarded,--and another in which its warning influence is weakened or lost. In the former condition, I think we may affirm that it asserts its right and its authority, though its strength and its power are departed; and it does not appear to be saying too much, if we say in the striking language of Butler, "had it strength as it had right,--had it power as it had manifest authority, it would absolutely govern the world."

Sec. II.--OF THE HARMONY OF THE MORAL FEELINGS.

On whatever system we may consider the moral feelings, we perceive that there are various classes of them,--each answering a special purpose in our relations as accountable beings. Some of them, we have seen, refer to objects of desire, the attainment of which appears likely to bring satisfaction. Others lead us to those relations which we bear to our fellow-men. A third class, which remains to be considered, calls our attention to the relation in which we stand to the moral Governor of the universe, and to a certain regulation of the moral feelings arising out of this relation. But this is still another inquiry of the deepest interest, connected with this subject, namely, regarding the harmony or principle of arrangement, which these various classes of moral emotions ought to bear towards each other. They all form parts of our constitution, and deserve a certain degree of attention, which must be carefully adapted to the relative importance of each; and the correct adjustment of this harmony is one of the objects to be answered by the moral principle, combined with a sound exercise of judgment. The rules which apply to it may be stated in the following manner.

When we consider man as an immortal being, passing through a course of discipline to another state of existence, it is obvious that his highest consideration is his own moral condition, and the aspect in which he stands towards the Deity. In immediate connexion with this first of all concerns are the great and general principles of justice and veracity, as referring to our connexion with all mankind, and a class of private responsibilities which peculiarly regard each individual in his domestic relations; such as the duties of children to then parents, and parents to their children;--the latter, particularly, presenting a class of the most solemn kind, as it embraces the concerns of the present life, and of that which is to come. Then follow the duties of benevolence, friendship, and patriotism; after these, the ordinary avocations of life, as the acquisition of knowledge and the pursuits of business; and finally, those personal recreations and enjoyments, which, when kept in their proper place, are legitimate and necessary to every human being. These are all proper and laudable, provided they are kept in a proper subserviency to each other. But the important consideration is, that a man maybe acting unworthily of his moral nature, when he devotes himself to any one of them in a manner which encroaches upon the harmony of the whole.

To begin with the lowest of them, it is unnecessary to state how this remark applies to the man whose life is devoted to pursuits which rank no higher than recreation or amusement. It must be obvious to every one of the smallest degree of reflection, that such a man is living only for the present life. What cannot be denied of mere amusement, must also be admitted respecting a life of business, however important in themselves the concerns may be which engross the mind. They still refer only to present things, and carry not the thoughts beyond the moment which bounds the period of moral discipline. Even the engagements of benevolence and public usefulness, estimable as they are, may be allowed to usurp an improper place; and they do so, if they withdraw the attention from responsibilities and duties which belong more particularly to ourselves as individuals,--such as the duties of parents and of children,--and the other claims which arise out of the relations of domestic life. Finally, it is ever to be kept in mind, that no engagements of any description must be allowed to interfere with obligations, of the highest interest to every man,--those which relate to his own moral condition, in the sight of Him who is now his witness, and will soon be his Judge. From want of due attention to this consideration, year after year glides over us, and life hastens to its close, amid cares and toils and anxieties which relate only to the present world. Thus, fame may be acquired, or wealth accumulated; or, after a laborious ascent, a man may have gained the height of ambition,--when the truth bursts upon him that life is nearly over, while its great business is yet to begin,--the preparation of the moral being for an eternal existence.

It is scarcely necessary to add, on the other hand, that attention to this first of all concerns must not be allowed to estrange the mind from the various duties and responsibilities of active life. It is only, indeed, when the conduct is regulated by partial and unsound motives, that some of these objects of attention are allowed to usurp the place of others. He who acts, not from the high principles of moral duty, but from a desire of notoriety, or the applause of men, may devote himself to much benevolence and usefulness of a public and ostensible kind; while he neglects duties of a higher, though more private nature,--and overlooks entirely, it may be, his own moral condition. The ascetic, on the contrary, shuts himself up in his cell, and imagines that he pleases God by meditation and voluntary austerities. But this is not the part of him who truly feels his varied relations, and correctly estimates his true responsibilities.--It is striking, also, to remark, how the highest principles lead to a character of harmony and consistency, which all inferior motives fail entirely in producing. The man, who estimates most deeply and correctly his own moral relations to an ever-present and presiding Deity, will also feel his way through the various duties of life, with a degree of attention adapted to each of them. In the retirements of domestic life, he is found in the anxious discharge of the high responsibilities which arise out of its relations. He is found in the path of private benevolence and public usefulness, manifesting the kind and brotherly interest of one who acts on the purest of all motives,--the love of God, and a principle of devotedness to his service. Whether exposed to the view of his fellow-men, or seen only by Him who seeth in secret, his conduct is the same,--for the principles on which he acts have, in both situations, equal influence. In the ordinary concerns of life, the power of these principles is equally obvious. Whether he engage in its business, or partake of its enjoyments;--whether he encounter its difficulties, or meet its pains, disappointments, and sorrows,--he walks through the whole with the calm dignity of one who views all the events of the present life, in then immediate reference to a life which is to come.

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The high consistency of character, which results from this regulated condition of the moral feelings, tends thus to promote a due attention to the various responsibilities connected with the situation in which the individual is placed. It does so, by leading him, with anxious consideration, to feel his way through these requirements, and to recognise the supreme authority of conscience over his whole moral system. It does so, especially, by habitually raising his views to the eternal One, who is the witness of all his conduct, and to whom he is responsible for his actions in each relation of life. It thus tends to preserve him from all those partial and inconsistent courses, into which men are led by the mere desire of approbation, or love of distinction, or by any other of those inferior motives which are really resolvable into self-love.

Such uniformity of moral feeling is equally opposed to another distortion of character, not less at variance with a sound condition of the mind. This is what may be called religious pretension, showing itself by much zeal for particular opinions and certain external observances, while there is no corresponding influence upon the moral feelings and the character. The truths, which form the great object of religious belief, are of so momentous a kind, that, when they are really believed, they cannot fail to produce effects of the most decided and most extensive nature;--and, where this influence is not steadily exhibited, there is a fatal error in the moral economy,--there is either self-deception, or an intention to deceive others. From such inconsistency of character arises an evil, which has a most injurious influence upon two descriptions of persons. Those of one class are led to assign an undue importance to the profession of a peculiar creed and the mere externals of religion,--to certain observations which are considered as characteristic of a particular party, and to abstinence from certain indulgences or pursuits which that party disapprove. Those of the other class, finding, in many instances, much zeal for these peculiarities, without a state of moral feeling adapted to the truths which are professed, are apt to consider the whole as either pretence or delusion.

In their mutual error there is to both matter of important warning. It becomes the latter to beware, lest, misled by the failings of weak or inconsistent men, they withdraw their attention from truths of solemn import to themselves as moral beings. There may be much pretension where there is no real feeling; but are they from this entitled to infer, there is not a reality in that which these pretenders counterfeit. By a slight gilding, articles of trifling value are made to assume the appearance of gold; but would it be reasonable to contend, that there are no articles of intrinsic worth which these are made to imitate. The fair induction is, in both instances, the opposite. Were there no such articles of pure gold, this ingenuity would not be employed in fabricating base imitations; and the hypocrite would not assume qualities he does not possess, where there not real virtues, from a resemblance to which he hopes to procure for his character that ostensible value which may enable it to deceive. But let those who have detected this deception beware of founding upon it conclusions which it does not warrant. They have not found the reality here, but there is not the less a pure and high standard which claims their utmost regard. If they search for it either among inconsistent or among designing men, they seek the living among the dead. Let them contemplate it especially as it is displayed in the character of the Messiah: in him it was exhibited in a manner which demands the imitation of every rational man, while it challenges the cordial assent of the most acute understanding, that this is the perfection of a moral being.

On the other hand, let those, who profess to be influenced by the highest of all motives, study to exhibit their habitual influence in a consistent uniformity of the whole character. It is easy to acquire a peculiar phraseology, to show much zeal for peculiar opinions, and rigid attention to peculiar observances; and, among a party, it is not difficult to procure a name, by condemning certain other compliances which by them are technically styled the manners of the world. But all this, it is evident, may be assumed; it may be, and probably often is, no better than a name; it often amounts to nothing more than substituting one kind of excitement for another, while the moral being continues unchanged. True religion is seated in the heart, and sends out from thence a purifying influence over the whole character. In its essential nature it is a contest within, open only to the eye of Him who seeth in secret. It seeks not, therefore, the applause of men; and it shrinks from that spurious religionism whose prominent characters are talk, and pretension, and external observance, often accompanied by uncharitable censure. Like its divine pattern, it is meek and lowly,--"it is pure and peaceable, gentle and easy to be intreated, full of mercy and of good fruits, without partiality and without hypocrisy." It aims not at an ostentatious display of principles, but at a steady exhibition of fruits. Qualities, which it cultivates with especial care, are humility, and charity, and mercy,--the mortification of every selfish passion, and the denial of every selfish indulgence. When thus exhibited in its true and genuine characters, it commands the respect of every sound understanding, and challenges the assent of all to its reality and its truth, as the highest principle that can regulate the conduct of a moral being.