OF THE WILL.
Will or Simple Volition is that state of mind which immediately precedes
action;--We will a certain act; and the act follows, unless it be
prevented either by external restraint, or by physical inability to
perform it.
The actions thus produced arise out of the mental emotions formerly
treated of,--the desires, and the affections.--We desire an object, or
we experience one of the affections;--the next mental act, according to
the regular course of a reflecting mind, is proposing to ourselves the
question,--shall we gratify the desire,--shall we exercise the
affection. Then follows the process of considering or deliberating.--We
perceive, perhaps, a variety of considerations or inducements,--some of
which are in favour of gratifying the desire or exercising the
affection, others opposed to it. We therefore proceed to weigh the
relative force of these opposing motives, with the view of determining
which of them we shall allow to regulate our decision. We, at length,
make up our mind on this, and resolve, we shall suppose, to do the
act;--this is followed by the mental condition of willing or simple
volition.
In the chain of mental operations which, in such a case, intervene
between the desire and the volition, a class of agents is brought into
view which act upon the mind as moral causes of its volitions;--these
are usually called motives,--or principles of action. When treating of
this subject as a branch of the philosophy of the intellectual powers, I
endeavoured to shew the grounds on which we believe, that there are
facts, truths, motives, or moral causes, which have a tendency thus to
influence the determinations of the mind, with a uniformity similar to
that which we observe in the operation of physical causes. For the due
operation of moral causes, indeed, certain circumstances are required in
the individual on whom they are expected to operate, and, without these,
they may fail in their operation. It is necessary that he should be
fully informed in regard to them as truths addressed to his
understanding,--that he direct his attention to them with suitable
intensity, and exercise his reasoning powers upon their tendencies,--and
that he be himself in a certain healthy state of moral feeling. In all
our intercourse with mankind, accordingly, we proceed upon an absolute
confidence in the uniformity of the operation of these causes, provided
we are acquainted with the moral condition of the individual. We can
foretel, for example, the respective effects which a tale of distress
will have upon a cold-hearted miser, and a man of active benevolence,
with the same confidence with which we can predict the different actions
of an acid upon an alkali and upon a metal;--and there are individuals
in regard to whose integrity and veracity, in any situation in which
they can be placed, we have a confidence similar to that with which we
rely on the course of nature. In this manner we gradually acquire, by
experience, a knowledge of mankind; precisely as, by observation or
experiment, we acquire a knowledge of the operation of physical agents.
Thus we come to know that one man is absolutely to be relied on, in
regard to a particular line of conduct in given circumstances;--and that
another is not to be relied on, if any thing should come in the way,
affecting his own pleasure or interest. In endeavouring to excite
various individuals to the same conduct in a particular case, we learn,
that in one, we have to appeal only to his sense of duty,--in another,
to his love of approbation;--while, on a third, nothing will make any
impression except what bears upon his interest or his pleasure. Again,
when we find that, in a particular individual, certain motives or truths
fail of the effects which we have observed them to produce in others, we
endeavour to impress them upon his mind, and to rouse his attention to
their bearings and tendencies;--and this we do from the conviction, that
these truths have a certain uniform tendency to influence the volitions
of a moral being, provided he can be induced seriously to attend to
them, and provided he is in that moral condition which is required for
their efficiency.
In all such cases, which are familiar to every one, we recognise,
therefore, a uniform relation between certain moral causes or motives,
and the determinations of the human mind in willing certain acts. It is
no objection to this, that men act in very different ways with the same
motives before them;--for this depends upon their own moral condition.
When treating of the intellectual powers, I alluded to the metaphysical
controversies connected with this subject, and I do not mean to recur to
them here. Our present object is entirely of a practical
nature,--namely, to investigate the circumstances which are required for
the due operation of motives or moral causes, and the manner in which
the moral feelings may be so deranged, that these fail of producing
their natural or proper effects.
* * * * *
Let us, then, suppose an individual deliberating in regard to the line
of conduct he shall pursue in a particular case;--the circumstances or
impressions which are calculated to act upon him as moral causes in
determining his volition,--that is, in deciding his conduct, are
chiefly the following: (1.) Self-love, which prompts him to seek his own
ease, interest, or gratification. (2.) Certain affections which lead him
to take into view duties which he owes to other men; such as, justice,
benevolence, &c. (3.) The impression of moral rectitude or moral
responsibility. This is derived from the great principle of conscience,
aided by the truths of religious belief. (4.) We ought to add reason of
judgment, which leads him to perceive certain tendencies of actions,
apart from their moral aspect. Now, in deciding on his conduct in any
particular instance, one man makes every thing bend to his own interest
or pleasure,--with little regard to the interests of others;--unless in
so far as the absolute requirements of justice are concerned, the
infringement of which might expose him to loss of reputation, or even to
punishment.--Another surrenders a certain portion of his personal
gratification to the advantage or comfort of others, purely as an
exercise of feeling from which he experiences satisfaction;--influenced,
also, probably, in some measure, by a regard to character, or the love
of approbation. In such a man, it becomes, in individual instances, a
matter of calculation, what degree of the sacrifice of personal ease,
interest, of feeling, is to be made to this principle of action. A third
contemplates the case purely as one of duty of moral responsibility, and
acts upon this principle, though it may involve a degree of personal
exertion, or a sacrifice of personal feeling, in itself disagreeable or
even injurious to him; that is, though the strongest personal motives
would lead to a different conduct. Let the case, again, refer to one of
the desires, bearing no immediate relation to the interests of other
men. One man goes directly into the gratification of it, without any
consideration. Another, who feels the same desire, considers the
influence which the indulgence would be likely to have on his health,
interest, or reputation.--This may be considered as simply an exercise
of judgment, combined with a certain operation of self-love. A third
views the aspect of the deed purely as a question of moral
responsibility,--and, if he sees cause, decides against it on this
ground alone;--though he should perceive that it might be gratified
without any danger to his health, interest, or reputation, or even that
it might contribute to his advantage.
We have thus presented to us three characters;--one who acts upon the
high and pure ground of moral principle;--one who acts from motives of a
more contracted and personal nature, though, in certain instances, his
conduct may be the same;--and one who goes straight forward to the
gratification of a ruling desire or governing propensity, without
attending to motives of either class. The first is a uniform character,
on whose conduct we depend in any given circumstances, with a confidence
similar to that with which we rely on the operation of physical agents.
For we know the uniform tendencies of the motives or moral causes by
which he is habitually influenced, and we know his moral temperament. We
have nearly the same kind of knowledge respecting him, which we have of
the tendencies of chemical agents towards each other, and which enables
us with perfect confidence to foretel their actions. The third has also
a uniformity of conduct, though of a very different kind. We know,
likewise, his moral condition, and, to predict his conduct, we require
only to learn the particular inducements or temptations to which he is
exposed in a given instance. The second we cannot rely or calculate
upon; for we have not the means of tracing the conflicting views by
which he may be influenced in a particular case, or the principle on
which he may ultimately decide between them. They involve the strength
of the inclination,--and the degree of power exerted over it by the
class of personal or selfish motives by which he is influenced.--In
regard to various instances of ill-regulated desire, we must add his
hope of evading detection,--as on this depends, in a great measure, the
kind of evils dreaded by him in reference to the indulgence. These taken
together imply a complicated moral calculation, of which it is
impossible for another man to trace the result.
There cannot be an inquiry of more intense interest than to investigate
the causes in which originate the differences among these three
characters; or, in other words, the principles on which we can explain
the fact, that the will of individuals may be influenced so differently
with the same motives before them. These appear to be referable to
three heads,--Knowledge,--Attention,--and Moral Habits.
I. A primary and essential element, in the due regulation of the will,
is a correct knowledge of the truths and motives which tend to influence
its determinations. The highest class of these comprehends the truths of
religious belief,--a series of moral causes, the tendencies of which are
of the most important kind, and calculated to exert a uniform power over
every man who surrenders himself to their guidance. For this purpose, a
correct knowledge of them is required, and, to all who have this
knowledge within their reach, the careful acquisition involves a point
of the deepest moral responsibility. The sacred writers speak in the
strongest terms of the guilt attached to voluntary ignorance: and this
must be obvious to every one who considers the clearness with which the
highest truths are disclosed, and the incontrovertible evidence by which
they are supported. This applies equally to the principles both of
natural and of revealed religion. The important truths of natural
religion are partly matters of the most simple induction from the
phenomena of nature which are continually before us; and partly
impressed upon our own moral constitution in the clearest and most
forcible manner. From the planet revolving in its appointed orbit, to
the economy of the insect on which we tread, all nature demonstrates,
with a power which we cannot put away from us, the great
incomprehensible One, a being of boundless perfections and infinite
wisdom. In regard to his moral attributes, also, he has not left himself
without a witness; for a sense of these he has impressed upon us in the
clearest manner in that wondrous part of our constitution,--the moral
principle or conscience. From these two sources may be derived a
knowledge of the character of the Deity, and of our relation to him as
moral beings;--and the man is left entirely without excuse who fails to
direct to them his most earnest attention, and to make the impressions
derived from them the habitual rule of his volitions, and the guide of
his whole character. "He hath the rule of right within," says Butler,
"all that is wanting is,--that he honestly attend to it."
Similar observations apply with equal or greater force to the truths of
revealed religion. These are supported by a weight of miraculous
evidence, and are transmitted to us by a chain of testimony, carrying
absolute conviction to the mind of every candid inquirer. They are
farther confirmed by a probability, and a force of internal evidence,
which fix themselves upon the moral feelings of every sound
understanding with a power which is irresistible. The whole is addressed
to us as rational beings; it is pressed upon our attention as creatures
destined for another state of existence; and the duty is imposed upon
every individual seriously to examine and to consider. Every man is in
the highest degree responsible for the care with which he has informed
himself of these evidences, and for the attention with which he has
given to every part of them its due weight in the solemn inquiry. He is
farther responsible for the influence of previously formed prejudice, or
that vitiated state of his moral feelings, which prevents him from
approaching the subject with the simplicity of a mind which is seriously
desirous of the truth. From the want of these essential elements of
character, it may very often happen, that a man may fancy he has formed
his opinions after much examination, while the result of his prejudiced
or frivolous inquiry has been only to fix him in delusion and falsehood.
Among the singular sophistries, indeed, by which some men shut their
minds against inquiries of the highest import, is a kind of impression,
not perhaps distinctly avowed in words, but clearly recognised in
practice, that these subjects of belief are in great measure matters of
opinion,--instead of being felt to rest upon the basis of immutable and
eternal truth. Can any thing be more striking than the manner in which a
late distinguished poet expresses himself on the subject of a future
life,--as if this truth were a mere opinion which could be taken up or
laid down at pleasure, to suit the taste of the individual
inquirer;--"Of the two, I should think the long sleep better than the
agonized vigil. But men, miserable as they are, cling so to any thing
like life, that they probably would prefer damnation to quiet. Besides,
they think themselves so important in the creation, that nothing less
can satisfy then pride,--the insects!"[1] Such is the frivolous
sophistry by which one, who holds a high rank in the literature of his
country, could put away from him the most momentous inquiry that can
engage the attention of a rational being.
[Footnote 1: Byron's Letters, Moore's Life, Vol. II, p. 581.]
II. Next to the acquisition of knowledge, and the formation of opinions,
calculated to act upon us as moral beings, is the important rule of
habitually attending to them, so as to bring their influence to bear
upon our volitions. He, who honestly attends to what is passing within,
will perceive that this is a voluntary exercise of his thinking and
reasoning faculties. When a particular desire is present to his mind, he
has the power to act upon the first impulse, or upon a very partial and
limited, perhaps a distorted, view of the considerations and motives by
which he ought to be influenced;--and he has the power to suspend
acting, and direct his attention deliberately and fully to the facts and
principles which are calculated to guide his determination. This is the
first great step in that remarkable chain of sequences which belong to
the regulation of the will. It is what every one is conscious of; and,
putting aside all those metaphysical subtleties in which the subject has
been involved, this constitutes man a free and responsible agent. In
this important process, the first mental state is a certain movement of
one of the desires or one of the affections;--we may use the term
Inclination as including both. The second is a reference of the
inclination to the moral causes or motives which more peculiarly apply
to it,--especially the indications of conscience, and the principles of
moral rectitude.--If these be found to harmonize with the inclination,
volition and action follow, with the full concurrence of every moral
feeling. If the inclination be condemned by these, it is, in a
well-regulated mind, instantly dismissed, and the healthy condition of
the moral being is preserved. But this voluntary and most important
mental process may be neglected;--the inclination may be suffered to
engross the mind and occupy fully the attention:--the power may not be
exercised of directing it to moral causes and motives, and of comparing
with them the inclination which is present. The consequence may be, that
the man runs heedlessly into volition and action, from which the due
exercise of this process of the mind might have preserved him.
But a third condition may take place which presents a subject of the
highest interest. The moral causes may be so far attended to, as to
prevent the inclination from being followed by action; while the
inclination is still cherished, and the mind is allowed to dwell, with a
certain feeling of regret, on the object which it had been obliged to
deny itself. Though the actual deed be thus prevented, the harmony of
the moral feelings is destroyed;--and that mental condition is lost
which is strictly to be called purity of heart. For this consists in the
desires and affections, as well as the conduct, being in strict
subjection to the indications of conscience and the principles of moral
rectitude. The inclination, thus cherished, gradually acquires greater
ascendency over the moral feelings;--at each succeeding contest, it more
and more occupies the mind; the attention is less and less directed to
the moral truths and motives which are opposed to it; the inclination at
length acquires the predominance, and is followed by volition. This is
what we mean by a man being carried away by passion, in opposition to
his moral conviction; for passion consists in a desire or an affection
which has been allowed to engross the mind, until it gradually
overpowers the moral causes which are calculated to counteract its
influence. Now in the whole of this course each single movement of the
mind is felt to be entirely voluntary. From that step, which constitutes
the first departure from moral purity, the process consists in a desire
being cherished which the moral feelings condemn; while, at each
succeeding step, the influence of these feelings is gradually weakened,
and finally destroyed. Such is the economy of the human heart, and such
the chain of sequences to be traced in the moral history of every man,
who, with a conviction upon his mind of what is right, has followed the
downward course which gradually led him astray from virtue. When we
trace such a process backwards in a philosophical point of view, the
question still recurs,--what was the first step, or that by which the
mind was led into the course which thus terminated in favour of vice. In
the wonderful chain of sequences, which has been established in the
mental constitution, it would appear that a very slight movement only is
required for deranging the delicate harmony which ought to exist among
the moral feelings; but this each individual feels to be entirely
voluntary. It may consist in a desire being cherished which the moral
feelings disapprove;--and, though the effect at first may be small, a
morbid influence has arisen, which gains strength by continuance, and at
last acquires the power of a moral habit. The more the desire is
cherished, the less is the attention directed to the considerations or
moral causes by which it might be counteracted. In this manner,
according to the mental economy, these causes gradually lose their power
over the volitions or determinations of the mind, and, at a certain
period of this progress, the judgment itself comes to be changed
respecting the moral aspect of the deed.
There is still another mental condition to be mentioned in connexion
with this subject; in which the harmony of the moral feelings may be
destroyed, without the action following. This takes places when the
inclination is cherished, as in the former case, in opposition to the
indications of conscience; while the action is opposed by some inferior
motives,--as a regard to reputation or interest. The deed may thus be
prevented, and the interests of society may benefit by the difference;
but, so far as regards the individual himself, the disruption of moral
harmony is the same; and his moral aspect must be similar in the eye of
the Almighty One, who regards not the outward appearance alone, but who
looketh into the heart. In this manner it may very often happen, that
strong inducements to vice are resisted from motives referring merely to
health, or to character. But this is not to overcome temptation,--it is
only to balance one selfish feeling against another.
III. From the state of mind which has now been referred to, there
gradually results a _Moral Habit_. This is a mental condition, in which
a desire or an affection, repeatedly acted upon, is, after each
repetition, acted upon with less and less effort,--and, on the other
hand, a truth or moral principle, which has been repeatedly passed over
without adequate attention, after every such act makes less and less
impression, until at length it ceases to exert any influence over the
moral feelings or the conduct. I had occasion to illustrate this
remarkable principle in another point of view, when treating of the
connexion between the emotions of sympathy and benevolence, and the
conduct which naturally arises out of them. This conduct at first may
require a certain effort, and is accompanied by a strong feeling of the
emotion which leads to it. But, after each repetition, the acts go on
with less feeling of the emotion, and less reference to the principle
from which they spring, while there is progressively forming the habit
of active benevolence. It is precisely the same with habits of vice. At
first a deed requires an effort,--and a powerful contest with moral
principles, and it is speedily followed by that feeling of regret, to
which superficial observers give the name of repentance. This is the
voice of conscience, but its power is more and more diminished after
each repetition of the deed;--even the judgment becomes perverted
respecting the first great principles of moral rectitude; and acts,
which at first occasioned a violent conflict, are gone into without
remorse, or almost without perception of their moral aspect. A man in
this situation may still retain the knowledge of truths and principles
which at one time exerted an influence over his conduct; but they are
now matters of memory alone. Their power as moral causes is gone, and
even the judgment is altered respecting their moral tendencies. He views
them now perhaps as the superstitions of the vulgar, or the prejudices
of a contracted education; and rejoices, it may be, in his emancipation
from their authority. He knows not,--for he has not the moral perception
now to know, that he has been pursuing a downward course, and that the
issue, on which he congratulates himself, consists in his last
degradation as a moral being. Even in this state of moral destitution,
indeed, the same warning principle may still raise its voice,--unheeded
but not subdued,--repelled as an enemy, not admitted as a friendly
monitor and guide. "I have not the smallest influence over Lord Byron,
in this particular," writes one of the chosen friends of that
distinguished individual,--"if I had, I certainly should employ it to
eradicate from his great mind the delusions of Christianity, which, in
spite of his reason, seem perpetually to recur, and to lay in ambush for
the hours of sickness and distress." It would be interesting to know
what the particular impressions were, from which this sympathizing
friend was anxious to rescue the poet. They were probably the
suggestions of a power within, which, in certain seasons of reflection,
compelled his attention in spite of his attempts to reason against
it,--pleading with authority for a present Deity, and a life to come.
The principle of Habit, therefore, holds a most important place in the
moral condition of every man; and it applies equally to any species of
conduct, or any train of mental operations, which, by frequent
repetition, have become so familiar, as not to be accompanied by a
recognition of the principles in which they originated. In this manner
good habits are continued without any immediate sense of the right
principles by which they were formed; but they arose from a frequent
and uniform acting upon these principles, and on this is founded the
moral approbation which we attach to habits of this description. In the
same manner, habits of vice, and habits of inattention to any class of
duties, are perpetuated without a sense of the principles and affections
which they violate; but this arose from a frequent violation of these
principles, and a frequent repulsion of these affections, until they
gradually lost their power over the conduct; and in this consists the
guilt of habits. Thus, one person acquires habits of benevolence,
veracity, and kindness,--of minute attention to his various duties,--of
correct mental discipline,--and active direction of his thoughts to all
those objects of attention which ought to engage a well regulated
mind:--Another sinks into habits of listless vacuity or frivolity of
mind,--of vicious indulgence and contracted selfishness,--of neglect of
important duties, disregard to the feelings of others, and total
indifference to all those considerations and pursuits which claim the
highest regard of every responsible being; and the striking fact is,
that, after a certain period, all this may go on without a feeling that
aught is wrong either in the moral condition, or the state of mental
discipline; such is the power of a moral habit.
The important truth, therefore, is deserving of the deepest and most
habitual attention, that character consists in a great measure in
habits, and that habits arise out of individual actions and individual
operations of the mind. Hence the importance of carefully weighing every
action of our lives, and every train of thought that we encourage in our
minds; for we never can determine the effect of a single act, or a
single mental process, in giving that influence to the character, or to
the moral condition, the result of which shall be decisive and
permanent. In the whole history of habits, indeed, we see a wondrous
display of that remarkable order of sequences which has been established
in our mental constitution, and by which every man becomes, in an
important sense, the master of his own moral destiny. For each act of
virtue tends to make him more virtuous; and each act of vice gives new
strength to an influence within, which will certainly render him more
more vicious.
These considerations have a practical tendency of the utmost interest.
In subduing habits of an injurious character, the laws of mental
sequences, which have now been referred to, must be carefully acted
upon. When the judgment, influenced by the indications of conscience, is
convinced of the injurious nature of the habit, the attention must be
steadily and habitually directed to the truths which produced this
impression. There will thus arise desire to be delivered from the
habit,--or, in other words, to cultivate the course of action that is
opposed to it. This desire, being cherished in the mind, is then made to
bear upon every individual case in which a propensity is felt towards
particular actions, or particular mental processes, referable to the
habit. The new inclination is at first acted upon with an effort, but,
after every instance of success, less effort is required, until at
length the new course of action is confirmed, and overpowers the habit
to which it was opposed. But that this result may take place, it is
necessary that the mental process be followed, in the manner distinctly
indicated by the philosophy of the moral feelings; for if this is not
attended to, the expected effect may not follow, even under
circumstances which appear, at first sight, most likely to produce it.
On this principle we are to explain the fact, that bad habits may be
long suspended by some powerful extrinsic influence, while they are in
no degree broken. Thus, a person addicted to intemperance will bind
himself by an oath to abstain, for a certain time, from intoxicating
liquors. In an instance which has been related to me, an individual
under this process observed the most rigid sobriety for five years, but
was found in a state of intoxication the very day after the period of
abstinence expired. In such a case, the habit is suspended by the mere
influence of the oath; but the desire continues unsubdued, and resumes
all its former power whenever this artificial restraint is withdrawn.
The effect is the same as if the man had been in confinement during the
period, or had been kept from his favourite indulgence by some other
restraint entirely of an external kind; the gratification was prevented,
but his moral nature continued unchanged.
These principles may be confidently stated as facts in the moral
constitution of man, challenging the assent of every candid observer of
human nature. Several conclusions seem to arise out of them, of the
utmost practical importance. We perceive, in the first place, a state
which the mind may attain, in which there is such a disruption of its
moral harmony, that no power appeals in the mind itself capable of
restoring it to a healthy condition. This important fact in the
philosophy of human nature has been clearly recognised, from the
earliest ages, on the mere principles of human science. It is distinctly
stated by Aristotle in his Nicomachean Ethics, where he draws a striking
comparison between a man who, being first misled by sophistical
reasonings, has gone into a life of voluptuousness, under an impression
that he was doing no wrong,--and one who has followed the same course in
opposition to his own moral convictions. The former he contends might be
reclaimed by argument; but the latter he considers as incurable. In such
a state of mind, therefore, it follows, by an induction which cannot be
controverted, either that the evil is irremediable and hopeless, or
that we must look for a power from without the mind which may afford an
adequate remedy. We are thus led to perceive the adaptation and the
probability of the provisions of Christianity, where an influence is
indeed disclosed to us, capable of restoring the harmony which has been
lost, and raising man anew to his place as a moral being. We cannot
hesitate to believe that the Power, who framed the wondrous fabric, may
thus hold intercourse with it, and redeem it from disorder and ruin. On
the contrary, it accords with the highest conceptions we can form of the
benevolence of the Deity, that he should thus look upon his creatures in
their hour of need; and the system disclosing such communication
appears, upon every principle of sound philosophy, to be one of harmony,
consistency, and truth. The subject, therefore, leads our attention to
that inward change, so often the scoff of the profane, but to which so
prominent a place is assigned in the sacred writings, in which a man is
said to be created anew by a power from Heaven, and elevated in his
whole views and feelings as a moral being. Sound philosophy teaches us,
that there is a state in which nothing less than such a complete
transformation can restore the man to a healthy moral condition, and
that, for producing it, nothing will avail but an influence from without
the mind,--a might and a power from the same Almighty One who originally
framed it. Philosophy teaches, in the clearest manner, that a portion of
mankind require such a transformation; Christianity informs us that it
is required by all. When the inductions of science and the dictates of
revelation harmonize to this extent, who shall dare to assert that the
latter are not truth. Who, that places himself in the presence of a
being of infinite purity, will say, he requires not such a change; or
that, for the production of it, he needs no agency, beyond the resources
of his own mind. If none be found who is entitled to believe he forms
the exception, we are forced into the acknowledgement of the truth, so
powerfully impressed upon us in the sacred writings, that, in the eye of
the Almighty One, no man in himself is righteous; and that his own power
avails not for restoring him to a state of moral purity.
From the whole of this inquiry, we see the deep influence of habits, and
the fearful power which they may acquire over the whole moral system;
considerations of the highest practical interest to those who would
prevent the formation of habits of an injurious nature, or who, feeling
their influence, strive to be delivered from them. There is indeed a
point in this downward course, where the habit has acquired undisputed
power, and the whole moral feelings yield to it unresisting submission.
Peace may then be within, but that peace is the stillness of death; and,
unless a voice from heaven shall wake the dead, the moral being is lost.
But, in the progress towards this fearful issue, there maybe a tumult,
and a contest, and a strife, and the voice of conscience may still
command a certain attention to its warnings. While there are these
indications of life, there is yet hope of the man; but on each moment is
now suspended his moral existence. Let him retire from the influence of
external things; and listen to that voice within, which, though often
unheeded, still pleads for God. Let him call to aid those high truths
which relate to the presence and inspection of this being of infinite
purity, and the solemnities of a life which is to come. Above all, let
him look up in humble supplication to that pure and holy One, who is the
witness of this warfare,--who will regard it with compassion, and impart
his powerful aid. But let him not presumptuously rely on this aid, as if
the victory were already secured. The contest is but begun; and there
must be a continued effort, and unceasing watchfulness,--a habitual
direction of the attention to those truths which, as moral causes, are
calculated to act upon the mind,--and a constant reliance upon the power
from on high which is felt to be real and indispensable. With all this
provision, his progress may be slow; for the opposing principle, and the
influence of established moral habits, may be felt contending for their
former dominion; but by each advantage that is achieved over them, their
power will be broken, and finally destroyed. Now in all this contest
towards the purity of the moral being, each step is no less a process of
the mind itself than the downward course by which it was preceded. It
consists in a surrender of the will to the suggestions of conscience,
and a habitual direction of the attention to those truths which are
calculated to act upon the moral volitions. In this course, the man
feels that he is authorized to look for a might and an influence not his
own. This is no imaginary or mysterious impression, which one may fancy
that he feels, and then pass on contented with the vision; but a power
which acts through the healthy operations of his own mind; it is in his
own earnest exertions, as a rational being, to regulate these
operations, that he is encouraged to expect its communication; and it is
in feeling these assuming the characters of moral health, that he has
the proof of its actual presence.
And where is the improbability that the pure and holy One, who framed
the wondrous moral being, may thus hold intercourse with it, and impart
an influence in its hour of deepest need. According to the utmost of our
conceptions, it is the highest of his works,--for he has endowed it with
the power of rising to the contemplation of himself, and with the
capacity of aspiring to the imitation of his own moral perfections. We
cannot, for a moment, doubt, that his eye must reach its inmost
movements, and that all its emotions, and desires, and volitions, are
exposed to his view. We must believe that he looks with displeasure when
he perceives them wandering from himself; and contemplates with
approbation the contest, when the spirit strives to throw off its moral
bondage, and to fight its way upwards to a conformity to his will. Upon
every principle of sound philosophy, all this must be open to his
inspection; and we can perceive nothing opposed to the soundest
inductions of reason in the belief, that he should impart an influence
to the feeble being in this high design, and conduct him to its
accomplishment. In all this, in fact, there is so little improbability,
that we find it impossible to suppose it could be otherwise. We find it
impossible to believe, that such a mental process could go on without
the knowledge of him whose presence is in every place,--or that, looking
upon it, he should want either the power or the willingness to impart
his effectual aid.
But, independently of our conviction of an actual communication from the
Deity, there is a power in the mind itself, which is calculated to draw
down upon it an influence of the most efficient kind. This is produced
by the mental process which we call Faith: and it may be illustrated by
an impression which many must have experienced. Let us suppose that we
have a friend of exalted intelligence and virtue, who has often
exercised over us a commanding influence,--restraining us from pursuits
to which we felt an inclination,--exciting us to virtuous conduct,--and
elevating, by his intercourse with us, our impressions of a character on
which we wished to form our own. Let us suppose that we are removed to a
distance from this friend, and that circumstances of difficulty or
danger occur, in which we feel the want of a guide and counsellor. In
the reflections which the situation naturally gives rise to, the image
of our friend is brought before us; an influence is conveyed analogous
to that which was often produced by his presence and his counsel;--and
we feel as if he were actually present, to tender his advice and watch
our conduct. How much would this impression be increased, could we
farther entertain the thought, that this absent friend was able, in some
way, to communicate with us, so far as to be aware of our present
circumstances, and to perceive our efforts to recall the influence of
his character upon our own.--Such is the intercourse of the soul with
God.--Every movement of the mind is known to him; his eye is present
with it, when, in any situation of duty, distress, or mental discipline,
the man, under this exercise of faith, realizes the presence and
character of the Deity, and solemnly inquires how, in the particular
instance, his moral feelings and his conduct will appear in the eye of
him who seeth in secret. This is no vision of the imagination, but a
fact supported by every principle of sound reason,--the influence which
a man brings down upon himself, when, by an effort of his own mind, he
thus places himself in the immediate presence of the Almighty. The man
who does so in every decision of life is he who lives by faith;--and,
whether we regard the inductions of reason, or the dictates of sacred
truth, such a man is taught to expect an influence greater and more
effectual still. This is a power immediately from God, which shall be to
him direction in every doubt,--light in every darkness,--strength in his
utmost weakness,--and comfort in all distress;--a power which shall bear
upon all the principles of his moral nature, when he carries on the
mighty conflict of bringing every desire and every volition under a
conformity to the divine will. We again hazard with confidence the
assertion, that in all this there is no improbability;--but that, on the
contrary, the improbability is entirely on the other side,--in supposing
that any such mental process could take place, without the knowledge and
the interposition of that incomprehensible One, whose eye is upon all
his works.