PART III.

OF THE MORAL PRINCIPLE, OR CONSCIENCE.

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.

* * * * *

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."

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

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.

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.

* * * * *

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."

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

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.