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  THE

  PHILOSOPHY

  OF THE

  MORAL FEELINGS.

  BY

  JOHN ABERCROMBIE, M.D. OXON. & EDIN.

  V. P. R. S. E.

  FELLOW OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS OF EDINBURGH;
  MEMBER OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY OF MEDICINE OF FRANCE;
  AND FIRST PHYSICIAN TO HER MAJESTY IN SCOTLAND.

  FIFTH EDITION.

  LONDON:
  JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
  MDCCCXXXIX.

  EDINBURGH:

  Printed by Balfour and Jack, Niddry Street.




PREFACE.


In a former work, the Author endeavoured to delineate, in a simple and
popular form, the leading facts relating to the Intellectual Powers, and
to trace the principles which ought to guide us in the Investigation of
Truth. The volume which he now offers to the public attention, is
intended as a sequel to these Inquiries; and his object in it is to
investigate, in the same unpretending manner, the Moral Feelings of the
Human Mind, and the principles which ought to regulate our volitions and
our conduct as moral and responsible beings. The two branches of
investigation are, in many respects, closely connected; and, on this
account, it may often happen, that, in the present work, principles are
assumed as admitted or proved, which, in the former, were stated at
length, with the evidence by which they are supported.

In presenting a fifth edition of this volume, the Author feels most
deeply the favourable manner in which it has been received, and the
notice which has been bestowed upon it by those whose approbation he
regards as a distinction of the most gratifying kind. He had two objects
chiefly in view when he ventured upon this investigation. The one was to
divest his inquiry of all unprofitable speculation, and to shew that the
philosophy of the moral feelings bears directly upon a practical purpose
of the highest moment,--the mental and moral culture of every rational
being. The other was to shew the close and important relation which
exists between this science and the doctrines of revealed religion, and
the powerful evidence which is derived, for the truth of both, from the
manner in which they confirm and illustrate each other. These two
sources of knowledge cannot be separated, in the estimation of any one
who feels the deep interest of the inquiry, and seriously prosecutes the
important question,--what is truth. If we attempt to erect the
philosophy of morals into an independent science, we shall soon find
that its highest inductions only lead us to a point beyond which we are
condemned to wander in doubt and in darkness. But, on the other hand, by
depreciating philosophy, or the light which is derived from the moral
impressions of the mind, we deprive ourselves of a most important source
of evidence in support of revelation. For it is from these impressions,
viewed in connexion with the actual state of man, that we learn the
necessity, and the moral probability, of a revelation; and it is by
principles existing in the mind that we are enabled to feel the power of
that varied and incontrovertible evidence, by which revelation comes to
the candid inquirer with all the authority of truth.

  EDINBURGH, _November 1838._


       *       *       *       *       *


  CONTENTS.


  PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS.

  SECTION I.

  NATURE AND IMPORTANCE OF THE SCIENCE OF THE
  MORAL FEELINGS.


  Division of the Mental Powers into Intellectual and Moral              1

  Harmony which ought to exist between these classes                     3

  Causes by which this harmony is interrupted,--and means
  of counteracting them                                                  3

  Interest of the science of the Moral Feelings                          5

  Peculiar sources of Knowledge bearing upon it, from the
  light of Conscience, and of Divine Revelation                          7


  SECTION II.

  FIRST TRUTHS IN THE SCIENCE OF THE MORAL
  FEELINGS.


  Analogy between First Truths, or Intuitive Principles
  of Belief, in Intellectual, and in Moral Science                      11

  Classification of First Truths in Moral Science, as impressions
  arising out of each other, by an obvious chain
  of relations                                                          16

  1. Perception of the nature and quality of actions,
  as just or unjust,--right or wrong;--and a
  conviction of duties which a man owes to
  other men.

  2. Conviction of the existence and attributes of a
  Great First Cause, and Moral Governor.

  3. Conviction of Moral Responsibility.

  4. Impression of Future Existence.

  Importance of these convictions, as intuitive articles of
  belief                                                                18


       *       *       *       *       *


  THE PHILOSOPHY
  OF THE MORAL FEELINGS.

  Analysis of Man as a Moral Being                                      27


  I. THE DESIRES--THE AFFECTIONS--and SELF-LOVE.

  II. THE WILL.

  III.  THE MORAL PRINCIPLE, or CONSCIENCE.

  IV.  THE MORAL RELATION OF MAN TOWARDS THE DEITY.


       *       *       *       *       *


  PART I.

  THE DESIRES--THE AFFECTIONS--AND SELF-LOVE.


  SECTION I.


      THE DESIRES                                                       36

  1.  Desire of the Animal Propensities                                 37

  2.  Desire of Wealth--Avarice                                         38

  3.  Desire of Power--Ambition                                         39

  4.  Desire of Superiority--Emulation                                  40

  5. Desire of Society                                                  41

  6.  Desire of Esteem or Approbation                                   42

  7.  Desire of Knowledge                                               46

  8.   Desire of Moral Improvement                                      47

  -- Desire of Action                                                   49

  Importance of a Due Regulation of the Desires                         50


  SECTION II.


     THE AFFECTIONS                                                     53

  I. JUSTICE                                                            55

  1.  Justice to the Interests of others--Integrity                     59

  2.  Justice to the Freedom of Action of others                        59

  3.  Justice to the Reputation of others                               60

  4.  Justice in estimating the Conduct and Character of others         61

  5. Justice to the Opinions of others--Candour                         62

  6. Justice to the Feelings of others                                  63

  7. Justice to the Moral Condition of others                           64


  II. COMPASSION AND BENEVOLENCE                                        66

  1. Benevolence towards the Distresses of others                       69

  2. Benevolence towards the Reputation of others                       70

  3. Benevolence towards the Character and Conduct of
  others,--including Forgiveness of Injuries                            71

  4. Benevolence towards the Feelings of others                         71

  5. Benevolence towards improving the Moral Condition
  of others                                                             73


  III.  VERACITY                                                        74

  1.   The Love of Truth, in the Reception of it                        76

  2.  Veracity in delivering statements,--including Sincerity           78

  3.   Truth of Purpose, or Correct fulfilment of Promises              82


  IV. FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, AND GRATITUDE                                   83


  V. PATRIOTISM                                                         84

  THE DOMESTIC AFFECTIONS                                               85

  THE DEFENSIVE AFFECTIONS, ANGER, JEALOUSY,
  RESENTMENT                                                            89

  Important Influence produced upon the Exercise of the
  Affections,

  By Attention                                                          92

  By Habit                                                              97

  Feeling of Moral Approbation attached to the Exercise
  of the Affections                                                    100

  Happiness arising from a due Exercise of the Affections;--Influence
  of Temper                                                            106


  SECTION III.

  SELF-LOVE                                                            110

  Sense in which the term is employed                                  111

  Tendency of a true and Rational Self-love                            111

  Morbid Exercise of it,--Selfishness                                  116

  Disinterested Conduct and Self-denial                                117


       *       *       *       *       *


  PART   II.

  OF THE WILL                                                          119

  Simple Volition, its Origin from one of the Desires or
  Affections                                                           119

  Operation of Moral Causes on the Will                                120

  Nature of these Causes, and Source of the Diversity of
  their operation in different individuals                             123

  Circumstances required for the Uniformity of their Operation:--

  1. Knowledge                                                         128

  Truths of Natural and Revealed Religion.

  2. Attention                                                         132

  Its influence on Moral Decisions.

  3. Moral Habits                                                      137

  Origin and Progress of Derangement of Moral Harmony.

  Influence of Habits upon Character                                   142

  Means of Correcting Injurious Moral Habits                           143

  Practical Conclusions from these Principles. Important
  Influence of Moral Habits                                            145

  Necessity and Probability of Divine Aid in correcting
  Moral Derangement                                                    149

  Influence of the Mental operation called Faith                       152


       *       *       *       *       *


  PART III.

  OF THE MORAL PRINCIPLE, OR CONSCIENCE                                155

  Proofs of the Existence of Conscience as a Distinct Principle
  of the mind                                                          156

  Nature of its Operation as the Regulating Principle                  157

  Analogy between it and Reason                                        158

  Its Influence in conveying an Impression of the Moral
  Attributes of the Deity                                              163

  Knowledge derived from this Source                                   164

  Comparison of the Divine Attributes with the Actual
  State of Man                                                         167

  Difficulties arising from this Comparison removed only
  by the Christian Revelation                                          169

  Mental Process by which the Regulating Power of Conscience
  is Impaired or Lost                                                  172

  Influence of this Condition upon the Judgment in regard
  to Moral Truth                                                       176

  Influence of Attention in Moral Decisions                            179

  Man's responsibility for his belief                                  182
  Important relation between Moral Emotions and
  voluntary Intellectual Processes                                     183


  APPENDIX TO PART III.

  § 1.--OF THE ORIGIN AND IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL
  DISTINCTIONS AND THEORIES OF MORALS                                  190

  Origin of Our Idea of Virtue and Vice                                193

  System of Mandeville                                                 195

  System of Clarke and Wollaston                                       197

  System of Utility                                                    198

  Selfish System                                                       199

  System of Paley                                                      201

  Defect of these Systems in not acknowledging the
  Supreme Authority of Conscience                                      206

  Objections to the belief of a uniformity of Moral
  Feeling which have been founded on the practices
  of barbarous nations                                                 216

  System of Dr. Smith, or Theory of Sympathy                           219

  Province of Reason in Moral Decisions                                222

  Remarks on the Observations of some late
  Writers respecting the Corruption of Conscience                      227


  § 2.--OF THE HARMONY OF THE MORAL FEELINGS                           231

  Consistency of Character arising from this Harmony,--and
  Defects of Character to which it is
  opposed                                                              237


       *       *       *       *       *


  PART IV.


  OF THE MORAL RELATION OF MAN
  TOWARDS THE DEITY                                                    243

  View of the Divine Character in reference to this Regulation         244

  Regulation of the Moral Feelings which ought to arise out
  of it                                                                245

  1.   Habitual effort to cultivate a Sense of the Divine
  Presence, and to regulate the Moral
  Feelings and Character by it                                         245

  2.   Submission to the appointments of Providence                    252

  3.   Sense of Moral Imperfection and Guilt, and
  Supplication for Mercy, with Reliance on
  Divine Aid                                                           254

  4.   Sense of Gratitude, Affection, and Love                         255

  Conduct and Character arising out of this Condition of
  the Moral Feelings                                                   256

  Means of Cultivating it                                              262

  Nature and Operation of Faith                                        264

  Province of Faith in the Philosophy of the Moral Feelings            269

  Truths which are its more Immediate Object                           273

  Its Influence on the Moral Condition                                 276

  Province of Faith in the Scheme of Christianity                      282

  Certain Errors regarding Faith                                       287

  Harmony of Christian Truth with the Philosophy of the
  Moral Feelings                                                       290




PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS.




SECT. I.

NATURE AND IMPORTANCE OF THE SCIENCE OF THE MORAL FEELINGS.


Man is to be contemplated as an intellectual, and as a moral being. By
his intellectual powers, he acquires the knowledge of facts, observes
their connexions, and traces the conclusions which arise out of them.
These mental operations, however, even in a high state of cultivation,
may be directed entirely to truths of an extrinsic kind,--that is, to
such as do not exert any influence either on the moral condition of the
individual, or on his relations to other sentient beings. They may exist
in an eminent degree in the man who lives only for himself, and feels
little beyond the personal wants, or the selfish enjoyments of the hour
that is passing over him.

But, when we contemplate man as a moral being, new relations open on our
view, and these are of mightier import. We find him occupying a place in
a great system of moral government, in which he has an important station
to fill and high duties to perform. We find him placed in certain
relations to a great moral Governor, who presides over this system of
things, and to a future state of being for which the present scene is
intended to prepare him. We find him possessed of powers which qualify
him to feel these relations, and of principles calculated to guide him
through the solemn responsibilities which attend his state of moral
discipline.

These two parts of his mental constitution we perceive to be remarkably
distinct from each other. The former may be in vigorous exercise in him
who has little feeling of his moral condition,--and the latter may be in
a high state of culture in the man, who, in point of intellectual
acquirement, knows little beyond the truths which it most concerns him
to know,--those great but simple principles which guide his conduct as
a responsible being.

In a well-regulated mind, there is an intimate harmony and co-operation
between these two departments of the mental economy. Knowledge, received
through the powers of sensation and simple intellect, whether relating
to external things, or to mental phenomena,--and conclusions derived
from these through the powers of reasoning, ought all to contribute to
that which is the highest state of man,--his purity as a moral being.
They ought all to lend their aid towards the cultivation of those
principles of his nature which bind him to his fellow-men;--and those
higher principles still, which raise his feeble powers to the Eternal
Incomprehensible One, the first great cause of all things, and the moral
Governor of the universe.

A slight degree of observation is sufficient to convince us, that such a
regulated condition of the mental constitution does not exist in the
generality of mankind. It is not my present purpose to inquire into the
causes by which this is primarily deranged; but it may be interesting to
trace some of the circumstances which bear a part in producing the
derangement. In our present state of being, we are surrounded with
objects of sense; and the mind is kept, in a great degree, under the
influence of external things. In this manner it often happens, that
facts and considerations elude our attention, and deeds escape from our
memory, in a manner which would not occur, were the mind left at liberty
to recall its own associations, and to feel the influence of principles
which are really part of the mental constitution. It is thus that, amid
the bustle of life, the attention is apt to be engrossed by
considerations of a local and an inferior character;--while facts and
motives of the highest moment are overlooked, and deeds of our own, long
gone by, escape from our remembrance. We thus lose a correct sense of
our moral condition, and yield to the agency of present and external
things, in a manner disproportioned to their real value. For our highest
concern as moral beings is with things future, and things unseen, and
often with circumstances in our own moral history, long past, and
perhaps forgotten. Hence the benefit of retirement and calm reflection,
and of every thing that tends to withdraw us from the impression of
sensible objects, and lends us to feel the superiority of things which
are not seen. Under such influence, the mind displays an astonishing
power of recalling the past and grasping the future,--and of viewing
objects in their true relations, to itself and to each other. The first
of these, indeed, we see exemplified in many affections, in which the
mind is cut off, in a greater or less degree, from its intercourse with
the external world, by causes acting upon the bodily organization. In
another work I have described many remarkable examples of the mind, in
this condition, recalling its old impressions respecting things long
past and entirely forgotten; and the facts there stated call our
attention in a very striking manner to its inherent powers and its
independent existence.

This subject is one of intense interest, and suggests reflections of the
most important kind, respecting the powers and properties of the
thinking principle. In particular, it leads us to a period, which we are
taught to anticipate even by the inductions of intellectual science,
when, the bodily frame being dissolved, the thinking and reasoning
essence shall exercise its peculiar faculties in a higher state of
being. There are facts in the mental phenomena which give a high degree
of probability to the conjecture, that the whole transactions of life,
with the motives and moral history of each individual, may then be
recalled by a process of the mind itself, and placed, as at a single
glance, distinctly before him. Were we to realize such a mental
condition, we should not fail to contemplate the impressions so
recalled, with feelings very different from those by which we are apt to
be misled amid the influence of present and external things.--The tumult
of life is over;--pursuits, principles, and motives, which once bore an
aspect of importance, are viewed with feelings more adapted to their
true value.--The moral principle recovers that authority, which, amid
the contests of passion, had been obscured or lost;--each act and each
emotion is seen in its relations to the great dictates of truth, and
each pursuit of life in its real bearing on the great concerns of a
moral being;--and the whole assumes a character of new and wondrous
import, when viewed in relation to that Incomprehensible One, who is
then disclosed in all his attributes as a moral governor.--Time past is
contracted into a point, and that the infancy of being;--time to come is
seen expanding into eternal existence.

       *       *       *       *       *

Such are the views which open on him who would inquire into the essence
by which man is distinguished as a rational and moral being. Compared
with it, what are all the phenomena of nature,--what is all the history
of the world,--the rise and fall of empires,--or the fate of those who
rule them. These derive their interest from local and transient
relations,--but this is to exist for ever. That science, therefore, must
be considered as the highest of all human pursuits, which contemplates
man in his relation to eternal things. With its importance we must feel
its difficulties; and, did we confine the investigation to the mere
principles of natural science, we should feel these difficulties to be
insurmountable. But, in this great inquiry, we have two sources of
knowledge, to which nothing analogous is to be found in the history of
physical science, and which will prove infallible guides, if we resign
ourselves to their direction with sincere desire to discover the truth.
These are,--the light of conscience,--and the light of divine
revelation. In making this statement, I am aware that I tread on
delicate ground,--and that some will consider an appeal to the sacred
writings as a departure from the strict course of philosophical inquiry.
This opinion, I am satisfied, is entirely at variance with truth,--and,
in every moral investigation, if we take the inductions of sound
philosophy, along with the dictates of conscience, and the light of
revealed truth, we shall find them to constitute one uniform and
harmonious whole, the various parts of which tend, in a remarkable
manner, to establish and illustrate each other. If, indeed, in any
investigation of moral science, we disregard the light which is
furnished by the sacred writings, we resemble an astronomer who should
rely entirely on his unaided sight, and reject those optical inventions
which extend so remarkably the field of his vision, as to be to him the
revelation of things not seen. Could we suppose a person thus
entertaining doubts respecting the knowledge supplied by the telescope,
yet proceeding in a candid manner to investigate its truth, he would
perceive, in the telescopic observations themselves, principles
developed which are calculated to remove his suspicions. For, in the
limited knowledge which is furnished by vision alone, he finds
difficulties which he cannot explain, apparent inconsistencies which he
cannot reconcile, and insulated facts which he cannot refer to any known
principle. But, in the more extended knowledge which the telescope
yields, these difficulties disappear, facts are brought together which
seemed unconnected or discordant, and the universe appears one beautiful
system of order and consistency. It is the same in the experience of the
moral inquirer, when he extends his views beyond the inductions of
reason, and corrects his conclusions by the testimony of God. Discordant
principles are brought together, doubts and difficulties disappear, and
beauty, order, and harmony are seen to pervade the government of the
Deity. In this manner there also arises a species of evidence for the
doctrines of revelation, which is entirely independent of the external
proofs of its divine origin; and which, to the candid mind, invests it
with all the characters of authenticity and truth.

From these combined sources of knowledge, thus illustrating and
confirming each other, we are enabled to attain, in moral inquiries, a
degree of certainty adapted to their high importance. We do so when,
with sincere desire to discover the truth, we resign ourselves to the
guidance of the light which is within, aided as it is by that light from
heaven which shines upon the path of the humble inquirer. Cultivated on
these principles, the science is fitted to engage the most powerful
mind; while it will impart strength to the most common understanding. It
terminates in no barren speculations, but tends directly to promote
peace on earth, and good-will among men. It is calculated both to
enlarge the understanding, and to elevate and purify the feelings, and
thus to cultivate the moral being for the life which is to come. It
spreads forth to the view, becoming smoother and brighter the farther it
is pursued; and the rays which illuminate the path converge in the
throne of Him who is Eternal.




SECT. II.

OF FIRST TRUTHS IN THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE MORAL FEELINGS.


The knowledge which we receive through our intellectual powers is
referable to two classes. These may be distinguished by the names of
acquired knowledge, and intuitive or fundamental articles of belief. The
former is procured by the active use of our mental powers, in collecting
facts, tracing their relations, and observing the deductions which arise
out of particular combinations of them. These constitute the operations
which I have referred to in another work, under the heads of processes
of investigation, and processes of reasoning. The full exercise of them
requires a certain culture of the mental faculties, and consequently is
confined to a comparatively small number of men. We perceive, however,
that such culture is not essential to every individual,--for many are
very deficient in it who yet are considered as persons of sound mind,
and capable of discharging their duties in various situations of life in
a creditable and useful manner.

But the knowledge which we derive from the other source is of immediate
and essential importance to men of every degree; and, without it, no
individual could engage, with confidence, in any of the common
transactions of life, or make any provision for his protection or
comfort, or even for the continuance of his existence. These are the
principles also treated of, in a former work, under the name of First
Truths. They are not, like our knowledge of the other kind, the result
of any process either of investigation or of reasoning, and, for the
possession of them, no man either depends upon his own observation, or
has recourse to that of other men. They are a part of his mental
constitution, arising, with a feeling of absolute certainty, in every
sound mind; and, while they admit of no proof by processes of reasoning,
sophistical objections brought against them can be combated only by an
appeal to the consciousness of every man, and to the absolute conviction
which forces itself upon the whole mass of mankind.

If the Creator has thus implanted in the mind of man principles to guide
him in his intellectual and physical relations, independently of any
acquired knowledge, we might naturally expect to find him endowed, in
the same manner, with principles adapted to his more important relations
as a moral being. We might naturally expect, that, in these high
concerns, he would not be left to the knowledge which he might casually
acquire, either through his own powers of investigation or reasoning, or
through instruction received from other men. Impressions adapted to this
important end we accordingly find developed in a remarkable manner,--and
they are referable to that part of our constitution, which holds so
important a place in the philosophy of the mind, by which we perceive
differences in the moral aspect of actions, and approve or disapprove of
them as right or wrong. The convictions derived from this source seem to
occupy the same place in the moral system, that first truths, or
intuitive articles of belief, do in the intellectual. Like them, also,
they admit of no direct proofs by processes of reasoning; and, when
sophistical arguments are brought against them, the only true answer
consists in an appeal to the conscience of every uncontaminated
mind;--by which we mean chiefly the consciousness of its own moral
impressions, in a mind which has not been degraded in its moral
perceptions by a course of personal depravity. This is a consideration
of the utmost practical importance; and it will probably appear that
many well-intended arguments, respecting the first principles of moral
truth, have been inconclusive, in the same manner as were attempts to
establish first truths by processes of reasoning,--because the line of
argument adopted in regard to them was one of which they are not
susceptible. The force of this analogy is in no degree weakened by the
fact, that there is, in many cases, an apparent difference between that
part of our mental constitution, on which is founded our conviction of
first truths, and that principle from which is derived our impression of
moral truth:--For the former continues the same in every mind which is
neither obscured by idiocy nor distorted by insanity; but the moral
feelings become vitiated by a process of the mind itself, by which it
has gradually gone astray from rectitude. Hence the difference we find
in the decisions of different men, respecting moral truth, arising from
peculiarities in their own mental condition;--and hence that remarkable
obscuration of mind, at which some men at length arrive, by which the
judgment is entirely perverted respecting the first great principles of
moral purity. When, therefore, we appeal to certain principles in the
mental constitution, as the source of our first impressions of moral
truth, our appeal is made chiefly to a mind which is neither obscured by
depravity, nor bewildered by the refinements of a false philosophy:--it
is made to a mind in which conscience still holds some degree of its
rightful authority, and in which there is a sincere and honest desire to
discover the truth. These two elements of character must go together in
every correct inquiry in moral science; and, to a man in an opposite
condition, we should no more appeal, in regard to the principles of
moral truth, than we should take from the fatuous person or the maniac
our test of those first principles of intellectual truth, which are
allowed to be original elements of belief in every sound mind.

To remedy the evils arising from this diversity and distortion of moral
perception, is one of the objects of divine revelation. By means of it
there is introduced a fixed and uniform standard of moral truth; but, it
is of importance to remark, that, for the authority of this, an appeal
is made to principles in the mind itself, and that every part of it
challenges the assent of the man in whom conscience has not lost its
power in the mental economy.

       *       *       *       *       *

Keeping in view the distinction which has now been referred to, it would
appear, that there are certain first principles of moral truth, which
arise in the mind by the most simple process of reflection,--either as
constituting its own primary moral convictions, or as following from its
consciousness of these convictions by a plain and obvious chain of
relations. These are chiefly the following.

I. A perception of the nature and quality of actions, as just or
unjust,--right or wrong;--and a conviction of certain duties, as of
justice, veracity, and benevolence, which every man owes to his
fellow-men. Every man, in his own case, again, expects the same offices
from others; and, on this reciprocity of feeling, is founded the
precept, which is felt to be one of universal obligation, to do to
others as we would that they should do to us.

II. From this primary moral impression, there arises, by a most natural
sequence, a conviction of the existence and superintendence of a great
moral Governor of the universe,--a being of infinite perfection and
infinite purity. A belief in this Being, as the first great cause, is
derived, as we have formerly seen, by a simple step of reasoning, from a
survey of the works of nature, taken in connexion with the First Truth,
that every event must have an adequate cause. Our sense of his moral
attributes arises, with a feeling of equal certainty, when, from the
moral impressions of our own minds, we infer the moral attributes of him
who thus formed us.

III. From these combined impressions, there naturally springs a sense of
moral responsibility;--or a conviction, that, for the due performance of
the duties which are indicated by the conscience, or moral
consciousness, man is responsible to the Governor of the universe;--and
farther, that to this Being he owes, more immediately, a certain homage
of the moral feelings, entirely distinct from the duties which he owes
to his fellow-men.

IV. From this chain of moral convictions, it is impossible to separate a
deep impression of continued existence, or of a state of being beyond
the present life,--and of that as a state of moral retribution.

       *       *       *       *       *

The consideration of these important objects of belief will afterwards
occur to us in various parts of our inquiry. They are briefly stated
here, in reference to the place which they hold as First Truths, or
primary articles of moral belief, which arise by a natural and obvious
chain of sequence, in the moral conviction of every sound understanding.
For the truth of them we appeal not to any process of reasoning,
properly so called, but to the conviction which forces itself upon every
regulated mind. Neither do we go abroad among savage nations, to inquire
whether the impression of them be universal; for this may be obscured in
communities, as it is in individuals, by a course of moral degradation.
We appeal to the casuist himself, whether, in the calm moment of
reflection, he can divest himself of their power. We appeal to the
feelings of the man who, under the consciousness of guilt, shrinks from
the dread of a present Deity and the anticipation of a future reckoning.
But chiefly we appeal to the conviction of him, in whom conscience
retains its rightful supremacy, and who habitually cherishes these
momentous truths, as his guides in this life in its relation to the life
that is to come.

In applying to these important articles of belief the name of First
Truths, or primary principles of moral conviction, I do not mean to
ascribe to them any thing of the nature of innate ideas. I mean only
that they arise, with a rapid or instantaneous conviction entirely
distinct from what we call a process of reasoning, in every regulated
mind, when it is directed, by the most simple course of reflection, to
the phenomena of nature without, and to the moral feelings of which it
is conscious within. It appears to be a point of the utmost practical
importance, that we should consider them as thus arising out of
principles which form a part of our moral constitution; as it is in
this way only that we can consider them as calculated to influence the
mass of mankind. For, if we do not believe them to arise, in this
manner, by the spontaneous exercise of every uncorrupted mind, there are
only two methods by which we can suppose them to originate;--the one is
a direct revelation from the Deity,--the other is a process of reasoning
or of investigation, properly so called, analogous to that by which we
acquire the knowledge of any principle in natural science. We cannot
believe that they are derived entirely from revelation, because we find
the belief existing where no revelation is known, and because we find
the sacred writers appealing to them as sources of conviction existing
in the mental constitution of every man. There is an obvious absurdity,
again, in supposing that principles, which are to regulate the conduct
of responsible beings, should be left to the chance of being unfolded by
processes of reasoning, in which different minds may arrive at different
conclusions, and in regard to which many are incapable of following out
any argument at all. What is called the argument _a priori_ for the
existence and attributes of the Deity, for instance, conveys little
that is conclusive to most minds, and to many is entirely
incomprehensible. The same observation may be applied to those
well-intended and able arguments, by which the probability of a future
state is shewn from analogy and from the constitution of the mind. These
are founded chiefly on three considerations,--the tendency of virtue to
produce happiness, and of vice to be followed by misery,--the unequal
distribution of good and evil in the present life,--and the adaptation
of our moral faculties to a state of being very different from that in
which we are at present placed. There is much in these arguments
calculated to elevate our conceptions of our condition as moral beings,
and of that future state of existence for which we are destined; and
there is much scope for the highest powers of reasoning, in shewing the
accordance of these truths with the soundest inductions of true
philosophy. But, notwithstanding all their truth and all their utility,
it may be doubted whether they are to any one the foundation of his
faith in another state of being. It must be admitted, at least, that
their force is felt by those only whose minds have been in some degree
trained to habits of reasoning, and that they are therefore not adapted
to the mass of mankind. But the truths which they are intended to
establish are of eternal importance to men of every degree, and we
should therefore expect them to rest upon evidence which finds its way
with unerring aim to the hearts of the unlearned. The unanswerable
reasonings of Butler never reached the ear of the gray-haired pious
peasant, but he needs not their powerful aid to establish his sure and
certain hope of a blessed immortality. It is no induction of logic that
has transfixed the heart of the victim of deep remorse, when he withers
beneath an influence unseen by human eye, and shrinks from the
anticipation of a reckoning to come. In both, the evidence is within,--a
part of the original constitution of every rational mind, planted there
by him who framed the wondrous fabric. This is the power of
conscience;--with an authority, which no man can put away from him, it
pleads at once for his own future existence, and for the moral
attributes of an omnipotent and ever-present Deity. In a healthy state
of the moral feelings, the man recognises its claim to supreme
dominion. Amid the degradation of guilt, it still raises its voice and
asserts its right to govern the whole man; and, though its warnings are
disregarded, and its claims disallowed, it proves within his inmost soul
an accuser that cannot be stilled, and an avenging spirit that never is
quenched.

Similar observations apply to the uniformity of moral distinctions, or
the conviction of a certain line of conduct which man owes to his
fellow-men. There have been many controversies and various contending
systems in reference to this subject, but I submit that the question may
be disposed of in the same manner as the one now mentioned. Certain
fixed and defined principles of relative duty appear to be recognised by
the consent of mankind, as an essential part of their moral
constitution, by as absolute a conviction as that by which are
recognised our bodily qualities. The hardened criminal, whose life has
been a course of injustice and fraud, when at length brought into
circumstances which expose him to the knowledge or the retribution of
his fellow-men, expects from them veracity and justice, or perhaps even
throws himself upon their mercy. He thus recognises such principles as a
part of the moral constitution, just as the blind man, when he has
missed his way, asks direction of the first person he meets,--presuming
upon the latter possessing a sense which, though lost to him, he still
considers as belonging to every sound man. In defending himself, also,
the criminal shews the same recognition. For, his object is to disprove
the alleged facts, or to frame excuses for his conduct;--he never
attempts to question those universal principles by which he feels that
his actions must be condemned, if the facts are proved against him.
Without such principles, indeed, thus universally recognised, it is
evident that the whole system of human things would go into confusion
and ruin. Human laws may restrain or punish gross acts of violence and
injustice; but they can never provide for numberless methods by which a
man may injure his neighbour, or promote his own interest at the expense
of others. There are, in fact, but a very few cases which can be
provided for by any human institution; it is a principle within that
regulates the whole moral economy. In its extent and importance, when
compared with all the devices of man, it may be likened to those great
principles which guide the movements of the universe, contrasted with
the contrivances by which men produce particular results for their own
convenience; and one might as well expect to move a planet by machinery,
or propel a comet by the power of steam, as to preserve the semblance of
order in the moral world, without those fundamental principles of
rectitude which form a part of the original constitution of every
rational being.

Farther, as each man has the consciousness of these principles in
himself, he has the conviction that similar principles exist in others.
Hence arises the impression, that, as he judges of their conduct by his
own moral feelings, so will they judge of him by corresponding feelings
in themselves. In this manner is produced that reciprocity of moral
impression, by which a man feels the opinion of his fellow-men to be
either a reward or a punishment; and hence also springs that great rule
of relative duty, which teaches us to do to others as we would that they
should do to us. This uniformity of moral feeling and affection even
proves a check upon those who have subdued the influence of these
feelings in themselves. Thus, a man who has thrown off all sense of
justice, compassion, or benevolence, is still kept under a certain
degree of control by the conviction of these impressions existing in
those by whom he is surrounded. There are indeed men in the world, as
has been remarked by Butler, in whom this appears to be the only
restraint to which their conduct is subjected.

Upon the whole, therefore, there seems to be ground for assuming, that
the articles of belief, which have been the subject of the preceding
observations, are primary principles arising with an immediate feeling
of conviction in our moral constitution; and that they correspond with
those elements in our intellectual economy, which are commonly called
First Truths,--principles which are now universally admitted to require
no other evidence than the conviction which forces itself upon every
sound understanding.




PHILOSOPHY

OF

THE MORAL FEELINGS.


When we analyze the principles which distinguish man as a moral being,
our attention is first directed to his actions, as the external
phenomena by which we judge of his internal principles. It is familiar
to every one, however, that the same action may proceed from very
different motives, and that, when we have the means of estimating
motives or principles, it is from these that we form our judgment
respecting the moral condition of the individual, and not from his
actions alone. When we consider separately the elements which enter into
the economy of an intelligent and responsible agent, they seem to
resolve themselves into the following:--

I. His actual conduct, or actions.

II. In determining his conduct, the immediate principle is his will, or
simple volition. He wills some act,--and the act follows of course,
unless it be prevented by restraint from without, or by physical
inability to perform it. These alone can interfere with a man following
the determination of his will, or simple volition.

III. The objects of will or simple volition are referable to two
classes,--objects to be obtained,--and actions to be performed to
others;--and these are connected with two distinct mental conditions,
which exist previously to the act of volition. In regard to objects to
be obtained, this mental condition is _Desire_;--in regard to actions
towards others, it is _Affection_. The Desires and Affections,
therefore, hold a place in the mind previous to volition. From one of
them originates the mental state which, under certain regulations,
leads to volition, or to our willing a certain act. The act, which is
then the result of the volition, consists either in certain efforts
towards attaining the object desired,--or in certain conduct towards
other men, amusing out of our affections or mental feelings towards
them. The Desires and Affections, therefore, may be considered as the
primary or moving powers, from which our actions proceed. In connection
with them we have to keep in view another principle, which has an
extensive influence on our conduct in regard to both these classes of
emotions. This is _Self-love_;--which leads us to seek our own
protection, comfort, and advantage. It is a sound and legitimate
principle of action when kept in its proper place;--when allowed to
usurp an undue influence, it degenerates into selfishness; and it then
interferes in a material degree with the exercise of the affections, or,
in other words, with our duty to other men.

IV. We have next to attend to the fact, that every desire is not
followed by actual volition towards obtaining the object;--and that
every affection does not lead to the conduct which might flow from it.
Thus a man may feel a desire which, after consideration, he determines
not to gratify. Another may experience an affection, and not act upon
it;--he may feel benevolence or friendship, and yet act, in the
particular case, with cold selfishness;--or he may feel the impulse of
anger, and yet conduct himself with forbearance. When, therefore, we go
another step backwards in the chain of moral sequences, our attention is
directed to certain principles by which the determination is actually
decided,--either according to the desire or affection which is present
to the mind, or in opposition to it. This brings us to a subject of the
utmost practical importance:--and the principles, which thus decide the
determination of the mind, are referable to two heads.

(1.) The determination or decision may arise out of a certain state of
arrangement of the moving powers themselves, in consequence of which
some one of them has acquired a predominating influence in the moral
system. This usually results from habit, or frequent indulgence, as we
shall see in a subsequent part of our inquiry. A man, for example, may
desire an object, but perceive that the attainment would require a
degree of exertion greater than he is disposed to devote to it. This is
the preponderating love of ease, a branch of self-love. Another may
perceive that the gratification would impair his good name, or the
estimation in which he is anxious to stand in the eyes of other
men;--this is the predominating love of approbation, or regard to
character. In the same manner, a third may feel that it would interfere
with his schemes of avarice or ambition,--and so in regard to the other
desires. On a similar principle, a man may experience a strong impulse
of anger, but perceive that there would be danger in gratifying it, or
that he would promote his reputation or his interest by not acting upon
it;--he may experience a benevolent affection, but feel that the
exercise would interfere too much with his personal interest or comfort.

(2.) The determination may arise from a sense of duty, or an impression
of moral rectitude, apart from every consideration of a personal nature.
This is the _Moral Principle_ or _Conscience_;--in every mind in a state
of moral health, it is the supreme and regulating principle, preserving
among the moving powers a certain harmony to each other, and to the
principles of moral rectitude. It often excites to conduct which
requires a sacrifice of self-love, and so prevents this principle from
interfering with the sound exercise of the affections. It regulates the
desires, and restrains them by the simple rule of purity;--it directs
and regulates the affections in the same manner by the high sense of
moral responsibility; and it thus maintains order and harmony in the
whole moral system.

One of the chief diversities of human character, indeed, arises from the
circumstance of one man being habitually influenced by the simple and
straight-forward principle of duty, and another merely by a kind of
contest between desires and motives of a very inferior or selfish
nature. Thus also we acquire a knowledge of the moral temperament of
different men, and learn to adapt our measures accordingly in our
transactions with them. In endeavouring, for example, to excite three
individuals to some act of usefulness, we come to know, that in one we
have only to appeal to his sense of duty; in another to his vanity or
love of approbation; while we have no hope of making any impression on
the third, unless we can make it appear to bear upon his interest.

V. The principles referred to under the preceding heads are chiefly
those which regulate the connexion of man with his fellow-men. But there
is another class of emotions, in their nature distinct from these;
though, in a practical point of view, they are much connected. These are
the emotions which arise out of his relation to the Deity. The
regulation of the moral feelings, in reference to this relation, will
therefore come to be considered in a department of the inquiry devoted
to themselves, in connexion with the views of the character and
attributes of God, which we obtain from the light of reason and
conscience.

       *       *       *       *       *

This analysis of the principles which constitute the moral feelings
indicates the farther division of our inquiry in the following manner:--

I. The Desires,--the Affections,--and Self-love.

II. The Will.

III. The Moral Principle, or Conscience.

IV. The moral relation of man towards the
Deity.

These constitute what may be called the active principles of man, or
those which are calculated to decide his conduct as a moral and
responsible being. In connexion with them, there is another class of
feelings, which may be called passive or connecting emotions. They exert
a considerable influence of a secondary kind; but, in an Essay which is
meant to be essentially practical, it perhaps will not be necessary to
do more than enumerate them in such a manner as to point out their
relation to the active principles.

When an object presents qualities on account of which we wish to obtain
it, we feel _desire_. If we have reason to think that it is within our
reach, we experience _hope_; and the effect of this is to encourage us
in our exertions. If we arrive at such a conviction as leaves no doubt
of the attainment, this is _confidence_, one of the forms of that state
of mind which we call _faith_. If we see no prospect of attaining it,
we give way to _despair_,--and this leads us to abandon all exertion for
the attainment. When we obtain the object we experience _pleasure_ or
_joy_; if we are disappointed, we feel _regret_. If, again, we have the
prospect of some evil which threatens us, we experience _fear_, and are
thereby excited to exertions for averting it. If we succeed in doing so,
we experience _joy_; if not, we feel _sorrow_. If the evil seem
unavoidable, we again give way to _despair_, and are thus led to
relinquish all attempts to avert it.--Similar emotions attend on the
affections. When we experience an affection, we _desire_ to be able to
act upon it. When we see a prospect of doing so, we _hope_; if there
seem to be none, we _despair_ of accomplishing our object. When we have
acted upon a benevolent affection, or according to the dictates of the
moral principle, we experience _self-approbation_; when the contrary, we
feel _remorse_. When either a desire or an affection has acquired an
undue influence, so as to carry us forward in a manner disproportioned
to its real and proper tendencies, it becomes a _passion_.




PART I.

OF THE DESIRES, THE AFFECTIONS, AND SELF-LOVE.




SECT. I.

THE DESIRES.

Desire is the immediate movement or act of the mind towards an object
which presents some quality on account of which we wish to obtain it.
The objects of desire, therefore, embrace all those attainments and
gratifications, which mankind consider worthy of being sought after. The
object pursued in each particular case, is determined by the views,
habits, and moral dispositions of the individual. In this manner, one
person may regard an object, as above every other worthy of being sought
after, which to another appears insignificant or worthless. The
principles which regulate these diversities, and consequently form one
of the great differences in human character, belong to a subsequent part
of our inquiry.

In forming a classification of the desires, we must be guided simply by
the nature of the various objects which are desired. Those which may be
specified as the most prevalent, and the most clearly to be
distinguished as separate, may be referred to the following heads.

I. The gratification of the animal propensities,--commonly called the
appetites. These, which we possess in common with the lower animals, are
implanted in us for important purposes; but they require to be kept
under the most rigid control, both of reason and of the moral principle.
When they are allowed to break through these restraints, and become
leading principles of action, they form a character the lowest in the
scale, whether intellectual or moral; and it is impossible to
contemplate a more degraded condition of a rational and moral being.
The consequences to society are also of the most baneful nature.
Without alluding to the glutton or to the drunkard, what accumulated
guilt, degradation, and wretchedness follow the course of the
libertine,--blasting whatever comes within the reach of his influence,
and extending a demoralizing power alike to him who inflicts and to
those who suffer the wrong. Thus is constituted a class of evils, of
which no human law can take any adequate cognizance, and which therefore
raise our views, in a special and peculiar manner, to a supreme Moral
Governor.

II. The Desire of Wealth, commonly called Avarice;--though avarice is
perhaps justly to be regarded as the morbid excess or abuse of the
propensity. This is properly to be considered as originating in the
desire to possess the means of procuring other gratifications. But, by
the influence of habit, the desire is transferred to the thing itself,
and it often becomes a kind of mania, in which there is the pure love of
gain, without the application of it to any other kind of enjoyment. It
is a propensity which may, in a remarkable manner, engross the whole
character, acquiring strength by continuance, and it is then generally
accompanied by a contracted selfishness, which considers nothing as
mean or unworthy that can be made to contribute to the ruling passion.
This may be the case even when the propensity is regulated by the rules
of justice;--if it break through this restraint, it leads to fraud,
extortion, deceit, and injustice,--and, under another form, to theft or
robbery. It is therefore always in danger of being opposed to the
exercise of the benevolent affections, leading a man to live for
himself, and to study only the means calculated to promote his own
interest.

III. The Desire of Power, or Ambition. This is the love of ruling,--or
giving the law to a circle whether more or less extensive. When it
becomes the governing propensity, the strongest principles of human
nature give way before it,--even those of personal comfort and safety.
This we see in the conqueror, who braves every danger, difficulty, and
privation, for the attainment of power; and in the statesman, who
sacrifices for it every personal advantage, perhaps health and peace.
The principle, however, assumes another form, which, according to its
direction, may aim at a higher object. Such is the desire of exercising
power over the minds of men; of persuading a multitude, by arguments or
eloquence, to deeds of usefulness; of pleading the cause of the
oppressed;--a power of influencing the opinions of others, and of
guiding them into sound sentiments and virtuous conduct. This is a
species of power, the most gratifying by far to an exalted and virtuous
mind, and one calculated to carry benefit to others wherever it is
exerted.

IV. The Desire of Superiority, or Emulation. This is allied to the
former, except that it does not include any direct wish to rule, but
aims simply at the acquirement of pre-eminence. It is a propensity of
extensive influence, and not easily confined within the bounds of
correct principle. It is apt to lead to undue means for the
accomplishment of its object; and every real or imagined failure tends
to excite hatred and envy. Hence it requires the most careful regulation
and, when much encouraged in the young, is not free from the danger of
generating malignant passions. Its influence and tendency, as in other
desires, depend in a great measure on the objects to which it is
directed. It may be seen in the man who seeks to excel his associates in
the gaiety of his apparel, the splendour of his equipage, or the luxury
of his table. It is found in him whose proud distinction is to be the
most fearless rider at a steeple-chase or a fox-hunt,--or to perform
some other exploit, the only claim of which to admiration consists in
its never having been performed before. The same principle, directed to
more worthy objects, may influence him who seeks to be distinguished in
some high pursuit, calculated to confer a lasting benefit upon his
country or on human kind.

V. The Desire of Society. This has been considered by most writers on
the subject as a prominent principle of human nature, shewing itself at
all periods of life, and in all conditions of civilization. In persons
shut up from intercourse with their fellow-men, it has manifested itself
in the closest attachment to animals; as if the human mind could not
exist without some object on which to exercise the feelings intended to
bind man to his fellows. It is found in the union of men in civil
society and social intercourse,--in the ties of friendship, and the
still closer union of the domestic circle. It is necessary for the
exercise of all the affections; and even our weaknesses require the
presence of other men. There would be no enjoyment of rank or wealth, if
there were none to admire;--and even the misanthrope requires the
presence of another to whom his spleen may be uttered. The abuse of this
principle leads to the contracted spirit of party.

VI. The Desire of Esteem and Approbation. This is a principle of most
extensive influence, and is in many instances the source of worthy and
useful displays of human character. Though inferior to the high sense of
moral obligation, it may yet be considered a laudable principle,--as
when a man seeks the approbation of others by deeds of benevolence,
public spirit, or patriotism,--by actions calculated to promote the
advantage or the comfort either of communities or individuals. In the
healthy exercise of it, a man desires the approbation of the good;--in
the distorted use of it, he seeks merely the praise of a party, or
perhaps, by deeds of a frivolous or even vicious character, aims at the
applause of associates whose praise is worthless. According to the
object to which it is directed, therefore, the desire of approbation may
be the attribute either of a virtuous or a perverted mind. But it is a
principle, which, in general, we expect to find operating in every
well-regulated mind, under certain restrictions. Thus a man who is
totally regardless of character,--that is, of the opinion of all others
respecting his conduct, we commonly consider as a person lost to correct
virtuous feeling. On the other hand, however, there may be instances in
which it is the quality of a man of the greatest mind to pursue some
course to which from adequate motives, he has devoted himself,
regardless alike of the praise or the disapprobation of other men. The
character in which the love of approbation is a ruling principle is
therefore modified by the direction of it. To desire the approbation of
the virtuous, leads to conduct of a corresponding kind, and to
steadiness and consistency in such conduct. To seek the approbation of
the vicious, leads, of course, to an opposite character. But there is a
third modification, presenting a subject of some interest, in which the
prevailing principle of the man is a general love of approbation,
without any discrimination of the characters of those whose praise is
sought, or of the value of the qualities on account of which he seeks
it. This is vanity; and it produces a conduct wavering and
inconsistent,--perpetually changing with the circumstances in which the
individual is placed. It often leads him to aim at admiration for
distinctions of a very trivial character,--or even for qualities which
he does not really possess. It thus includes the love of flattery.
Pride, on the other hand, as opposed to vanity, seems to consist in a
man entertaining a high opinion of himself, while he is indifferent to
the opinion of others;--thus we speak of a man who is too proud to be
vain.

Our regard to the opinion of others is the origin of our respect to
character, in matters which do not come under the higher principle of
morals; and is of extensive influence in promoting the harmonies,
proprieties, and decencies of society. It is thus the foundation of good
breeding, and leads to kindness and accommodation in little matters
which do not belong to the class of duties. It is also the source of
what we usually call decorum and propriety, which lead a man to conduct
himself in a manner becoming his character and circumstances, in regard
to things which do not involve any higher principle. For, apart entirely
from any consideration either of morality or benevolence, there is a
certain line of conduct which is unbecoming in all men; and there is
conduct which is becoming in some, though it might not in other
men,--and in some circumstances, though it might not be so in others. It
is unnecessary to add, how much of a man's respectability in life often
depends upon finding his way, with proper discrimination, through the
relations of society which are amenable to this principle; or, by how
many actions, which are not really wrong, a man may render himself
despised and ridiculous. The love of esteem and approbation is also of
extensive influence in the young,--both in the conduct of education and
the cultivation of general character; and it is not liable to the
objections, formerly referred to, which apply to the principle of
Emulation. It leads also to those numerous expedients by which persons
of various character seek for themselves notoriety or a name: or desire
to leave a reputation behind them, when they are no more. This is the
love of posthumous fame, a subject which has afforded an extensive theme
both for the philosopher and the humorist.

VII. The Desire of Knowledge, or of Intellectual Improvement,--including
the principle of Curiosity. The tendency of this high principle must
depend, as in the former cases, on its regulation, and the objects to
which it is directed. These may vary from the idle tattle of the day, to
the highest attainments in literature or science. The principle may be
applied to pursuits of a frivolous or useless kind, and to such
acquirements as lead only to pedantry or sophism;--or it may be directed
to a desultory application, which leads to a superficial acquaintance
with a variety of subjects, without a correct knowledge of any of them.
On the other hand, the pursuit of knowledge may be allowed to interfere
with important duties which we owe to others, in the particular
situation in which we are placed. A well-regulated judgment conducts
the propensity to worthy objects; and directs it in such a manner as to
make it most useful to others. With such due regulation, the principle
ought to be carefully cultivated in the young. It is closely connected
with that activity of mind which seeks for knowledge on every subject
that comes within its reach, and which is ever on the watch to make its
knowledge more correct and more extensive.

VIII. The Desire of Moral Improvement. This leads to the highest state
of man: and it bears this peculiar character, that it is adapted to men
in every scale of society, and tends to diffuse a beneficial influence
around the circle with which the individual is connected. The desire of
power may exist in many, but its gratification is limited to a few:--he
who fails may become a discontented misanthrope; and he who succeeds may
be a scourge to his species. The desire of superiority or of praise may
be misdirected in the same manner, leading to insolent triumph on the
one hand, and envy on the other. Even the thirst for knowledge may be
abused, and many are placed in circumstances in which it cannot be
gratified. But the desire of moral improvement commends itself to every
class of society, and its object is attainable by all. In proportion to
its intensity and its steadiness, it tends to make the possessor both a
happier and a better man, and to render him the instrument of diffusing
happiness and usefulness to all who come within the reach of his
influence. If he be in a superior station, these results will be felt
more extensively; if he be in a humble sphere, they may be more limited;
but their nature is the same, and their tendency is equally to elevate
the character of man. This mental condition consists, as we shall
afterwards have occasion to shew more particularly, in a habitual
recognition of the supreme authority of conscience over the whole
intellectual and moral system, and in a habitual effort to have every
desire and every affection regulated by the moral principle, and by a
sense of the divine will. It leads to a uniformity of character which
can never flow from any lower source, and to a conduct distinguished by
the anxious discharge of every duty, and the practice of the most active
benevolence.

The Emotions which have been now briefly mentioned seem to include the
more important of those which pertain to the class of Desires. There is,
however, another principle which ought to be mentioned as a leading
peculiarity of human nature, though it may be somewhat difficult to
determine the class to which it belongs. This is the Desire of
Action,--the restless activity of mind, which leads it to require some
object on which its powers must be exercised, and without which it preys
upon itself and becomes miserable. On this principle we are to explain
several facts which are of frequent observation. A person accustomed to
a life of activity longs for ease and retirement, and, when he has
accomplished his purpose, finds himself wretched. The frivolous
engagements of the unoccupied are referable to the same principle. They
arise, not from any interest which such occupations really possess, but
simply from the desire of mental excitement,--the felicity of having
something to do. The pleasure of relaxation, indeed, is known to those
only who have regular and interesting employment. Continued relaxation
soon becomes a weariness; and, on this ground, we may safely assert,
that the greatest degree of real enjoyment belongs, not to the luxurious
man of wealth, or the listless votary of fashion, but to the middle
classes of society, who, along with the comforts of life, have constant
and important occupation. Apart, indeed, from actual suffering, I
believe there is nothing in the external circumstances of individuals,
of greater or more habitual importance for promoting personal happiness,
than stated, rational, and interesting employment.

       *       *       *       *       *

The mental condition which we call Desire appears to lie in a great
measure at the foundation of character;--and, for a sound moral
condition, it is required that the desires be directed to worthy
objects,--and that the degree or strength of them be accommodated to the
true and relative value of each of these objects. If the desires are
thus directed, worthy conduct will be likely to follow in a steady and
uniform manner. If they are allowed to break from the restraints of
reason, and the moral principle, the man is left at the mercy of
unhallowed passion, and is liable to those irregularities which
naturally result from such a derangement of the moral feelings. If,
indeed, we would see the evils produced by desire, when not thus
controlled, we have only to look at the whole history of human kind.
What accumulated miseries arise from the want of due regulation of the
animal propensities, in the various forms in which it degrades the
character of rational and moral beings.--What evils spring from the love
of money, and from the desire of power;--from the contests of rivals,
and the tumults of party,--what envy, hatred, malignity, and
revenge.--What complicated wretchedness follows the train of
ambition,--contempt of human suffering, countries depopulated, and
fields deluged with blood. Such are the results of desire, when not
directed to objects worthy of a moral being, and not kept under the
rigid control of conscience, and the immutable laws of moral rectitude.
When, in any of these forms, a sensual or selfish propensity is allowed
to pass the due boundary which is fixed for it by reason and the moral
principle, the mental harmony is destroyed, and even the judgment itself
comes to be impaired and distorted in that highest of all inquiries, the
search after moral truth.

The desires, indeed, may exist in an ill-regulated state, while the
conduct is yet restrained by various principles, such as submission to
human laws, a regard to character, or even a certain feeling of what is
morally right, contending with the vitiated principle within. But this
cannot be considered as the healthy condition of a moral being. It is
only when the desire itself is sound, that we can say the man is in
moral health. "He who grieves at his abstinence," says Aristotle, "is a
voluptuary;"--and this also is the great principle so often and so
strikingly enforced in the sacred writings; "Keep thy heart with all
diligence, because out of it are the issues of life." "Blessed are the
pure in heart, for they shall see God." Thus, there are desires which
are folly, and there are desires which are vice, even though they should
not be followed by indulgence; and there are desires which tend to
purify and elevate the moral nature, though their objects should be
beyond the reach of our full attainment in the present state of being.
Perfect moral purity is not the lot of man in this transient state, and
is not to be attained by his own unaided efforts. But, subservient to
it is that warfare within, that earnest and habitual desire after the
perfection of a moral being, which is felt to be the great object of
life, when it is viewed in relation to the life which is to come. For
this attainment, however, man must feel his total inadequacy,--and the
utmost efforts of human reason have failed in unfolding the requisite
aid. The conviction is thus forced upon us, that a higher influence is
necessary, and this influence is fully disclosed by the light of
revealed truth. We are there taught to look for a power from on high,
capable of effecting what human efforts cannot accomplish,--the
purification of the heart.




Sect. II.

The Affections.


As the desires are calculated to bring some gratification to ourselves,
the Affections lead us to our relations to other men, and to a certain
line of conduct which arises out of these relations. They are to be
viewed as original principles of our nature, planted in us for wise
purposes, and the operation of them is to be considered as distinct,
both from that of the moral principle and of reason,--that is, from any
sense of duty or the moral rectitude of the conduct to which they lead,
and from any calculation of its propriety and utility. Thus, when the
mother devotes her attention by day and night to her infant, if from
sickness or helplessness in want of her special care, and perseveres in
doing so, with total disregard to her own ease, health, or comfort, she
is not influenced either by a sense of duty, or by any feeling of the
utility of her conduct: she acts upon an impulse within, which she feels
to be a part of her constitution, and which carries her forward in a
particular course of anxious and protracted exertion by the power of
itself alone. This distinction appears to be of the utmost practical
importance, and we shall have occasion to refer to it more particularly
in the sequel.

An Affection, therefore, maybe considered as an original feeling or
emotion existing in ourselves, which leads us to a particular conduct
towards other men, without reference to any principle except the
intuitive impulse of the emotion itself. The Affections have been
divided into the Benevolent and Malevolent; but these titles appear to
be incorrect, especially the latter,--as the due exercise of the
emotions to which it refers does not properly include what is called
malevolence. They only tend to guard us against certain conduct in other
men; and, when they are allowed to go beyond this, that is, to actual
malevolence or revenge, the application is morbid. It will therefore
accord better with the nature of these emotions, to give them the names
of Uniting, and Defensive Affections;--the former including justice,
benevolence, veracity, friendship, love, gratitude, patriotism, and the
domestic affections;--the latter, jealousy, disapprobation, and anger.


I. JUSTICE.

There may be some difference of opinion in regard to the propriety of
including justice among the affections; but it seems to be more nearly
allied to them than to any of the other classes of moral emotions which
have been mentioned, and it may, therefore, as a mere matter of
arrangement, be conveniently introduced here. Strictly speaking, it
might perhaps be considered as a combined operation of an affection and
the moral principle; but this is matter of speculation alone. The
important consideration relating to it is,--that, in whatever manner it
arises, the sense of Justice is a primary and essential part of our
moral constitution, conveying the distinct impression of certain conduct
which a man owes to his fellow-men, without regard to any considerations
of a personal nature, and apart from all positive enactments or laws,
either divine or human. The requirements of Justice embrace certain
points in which every man has an absolute right, and in regard to which
it is the absolute duty of every other man not to interfere with him.
These rights have usually been divided into three classes;--what I have
a right to possess, and no man has any right to take from me,--what I
have a right to do, and no man has any title to prevent me from
doing,--what I have a right to expect from other men, and it is their
absolute duty to perform. These principles form the basis of what is
called Natural Jurisprudence, a code of relative duty deriving its
authority from impressions which are found in the moral feelings of all
mankind, without regard to the enactments of any particular civil
society. In the actual arrangements of civil communities, these great
principles of justice are combined with others which are derived merely
from utility or expediency, as calculated to promote the peace or the
advantage of the community. These may differ in different countries, and
they cease to be binding when the enactments on which they rest are
abrogated or changed. But no difference of place can alter, and no laws
can destroy, the essential requirements of justice.

In these observations, it will be remarked, the word Justice is used as
expressing a principle of individual character; and it is in this sense
that it is to be properly classed with the affections. The term is
employed in another sense, namely, that of distributive and corrective
justice, which regulates the claims of individuals in a community,
requires restitution or compensation for any deviation from such claims,
or punishes those who have violated them. It is in the former sense that
justice is properly to be considered as a branch of the philosophy of
the moral feelings; but the same general principles apply to both.

The sense of Justice, therefore, consists in a feeling experienced by
every man, of a certain line of conduct which he owes to other men in
given circumstances; and this seems to be referable to the following
heads,--attending to their interest,--not interfering with their freedom
of action,--preserving their reputation,--estimating their character and
motives,--judging of their opinions,--consulting their feelings,--and
preserving or improving their moral condition. As a guide for his
conduct in particular instances, a man has usually a distinct impression
of what he thinks due by other men towards himself; justice requires
that he rigidly extend to others the same feelings and conduct which, in
similar circumstances, he expects from them.


(1.) Justice is due to the persons, property, and interest of others.
This constitutes Integrity or Honesty. It, of course, implies abstaining
from every kind of injury, and preserving a conscientious regard to
their rights. In this last respect, it allows us to exercise a prudent
attention to our own interest, provided the means be fair and
honourable, and that we carefully abstain from injuring others by the
measures we employ for this purpose. The great rule for our guidance, in
all such cases, is found in the immutable principles of moral rectitude;
the test of our conduct in regard to individual instances is, that it be
such as, were our own interest concerned, we should think fair and
honourable in other men.


(2.) Justice requires us not to interfere with the freedom of action of
others. This constitutes personal liberty;--but in all civil communities
the right is liable to certain restrictions;--as when a man uses his
freedom of action to the danger or injury of other men. The principles
of justice may also recognise a man's surrendering, to a certain extent,
his personal liberty, by mutual and voluntary compact, as in the case of
servants, apprentices, soldiers, &c.; but they are opposed to slavery,
in which the individual concerned is not a party to the arrangement.


(3.) Justice enjoins a regard to the reputation of others. This consists
in avoiding every thing that could be injurious to their good name,
either by direct evil speaking, or such insinuations as might give rise
to suspicion or prejudice against them. It must extend also to the
counteracting of such insinuations, when we hear them made by others,
especially in circumstances in which the individual injured has no
opportunity of defending himself. It includes, farther, that we do not
deny to others, even to rivals, any praise or credit which is justly due
to them. There is, however, one modification, equally consistent with
justice, to which the former of these rules is liable; namely, that, in
certain cases, we may be required to make a statement prejudicial to an
individual, when duty to a third party or to the public makes it
incumbent on us to do so. In such a case, a person guided by the rules
of justice will go no farther than is actually required by the
circumstances; and will at all times beware of propagating a report
injurious to another, though he should know it to be strictly true,
unless he is called upon by special duty to communicate it.


(4.) Justice requires us not only to avoid injuring an individual in the
estimation of other men, but to exercise the same fairness in forming
our own opinion of his character, without being misled or biased by
passion or prejudice. This consists in estimating his conduct and
motives with calmness and impartiality; in regard to particular
instances, making full allowance for the circumstances in which he was
placed, and the feelings by which he was, or might be, at the time,
naturally influenced. When an action admits of being referred to
different motives, justice consists in taking the more favourable view,
if we can do so with strict regard to truth, instead of harshly and
hastily assigning a motive which is unworthy. Such justice in regard to
character and motives we require to exercise with peculiar care, when
the conduct referred to has been in any way opposed to our own
self-love. In these cases we must be especially on our guard against
the influence of the selfish principle, which might lead to partial and
distorted views of actions and motives, less favourable to others, and
more favourable to ourselves, than justice warrants. When viewed in this
manner, we may often perceive, that conduct, which gave rise to emotions
of displeasure as injurious to us, was fully warranted by some conduct
on our own part, or was required by some higher duty which the
individual owed to another.


(5.) Justice is to be exercised in judging of the opinions and
statements of others. This constitutes Candour. It consists in giving a
fair and deliberate hearing to opinions, statements, and arguments, and
weighing fairly and honestly their tendency. It is, therefore, opposed
to prejudice, blind attachment to preconceived opinions, and that narrow
disputatious spirit which delights in captious criticism, and will hear
nothing with calmness that is opposed to its own views; which distorts
or misrepresents the sentiments of its opponents, ascribing them to
unworthy motives, or deducing from them conclusions which they do not
warrant. Candour, accordingly, may be considered as a compound of
justice and the love of truth. It leads us to give due attention to the
opinions and statements of others,--in all cases to be chiefly
solicitous to discover truth, and, in statements of a mixed character,
containing perhaps much error and fallacy, anxiously to discover and
separate what is true. It has accordingly been remarked, that a turn for
acute disputation, and minute and rigid criticism, is often the
characteristic of a contracted and prejudiced mind; and that the most
enlarged understandings are always the most indulgent to the statements
of others,--their leading object being to discover truth.


(6.) Justice is due to the feelings of others; and this applies to many
circumstances which do not affect either their interest or their
reputation. Without injuring them in any of these respects, or in our
own good opinion, we may behave to them in such a manner as to wound
their feelings. There are minds of an extreme delicacy, which, in this
respect, are peculiarly sensitive;--towards these a person of correct
feelings strives to conduct himself with suitable tenderness. We may
find, however, persons of honest and upright minds, who would shrink
from the least approach to real injury, but yet neglect the necessary
attention to the feelings; and may even confer a real benefit in such a
manner as to wound the individual to whom they intended kindness. The
lower degrees of this principle pertain to what is called mere good
breeding, which has been defined "benevolence in trifles;" but the
higher degrees may restrain from conduct which, without any real injury,
inflicts permanent pain. To this head we may perhaps also refer a due
regard to the estimate which we lead a man to form of himself. This is
opposed to flattery on the one hand, and on the other to any unnecessary
depreciation of his character. Flattery indeed is also to be considered
as a violation of veracity.


(7.) While, upon the principles which have been referred to, we abstain
from injuring the interests, the reputation, or the feelings of others,
there is another class of injuries, of still higher magnitude, which
the conscientious mind will avoid with peculiar anxiety, namely,
injuries done to the moral principles of other men. These form a class
of offences of which no human law takes any adequate cognizance, but we
know that they possess a character of the deepest malignity. Deep guilt
attaches to the man who, by persuasion or ridicule, has unhinged the
moral feelings of another, or has been the means of leading him astray
from the paths of virtue. Of equal, or even greater malignity, is the
aspect of the writer, whose works have contributed to violate the
principles of truth and rectitude,--to pollute the imagination, or
corrupt the heart. Inferior offenders are promptly seized by public
authority, and suffer the award of public justice; but the destroyer of
the moral being often walks securely through his own scene of moral
discipline, as if no power could reach the measure of his guilt but the
hand of the Eternal.

To the same head we are to assign the extensive and important influence
of example. There are few men who have not in this respect some power,
but it belongs more particularly to persons in situations of rank and
public eminence. It is matter of deep regret, both to the friend of
virtue and the friend of his country, when any of these are found
manifesting disregard to sacred things, or giving an air of fashion to
what is calculated to corrupt the moral principles of the unthinking
classes of society. If they are restrained by no higher motive, the
feelings of patriotism, and even of personal safety, ought to produce a
solemn caution; and it becomes them seriously to consider, whether they
may not thus be sowing among the ignorant multitude the seeds of tumult,
revolution, and anarchy.


II. COMPASSION AND BENEVOLENCE.

Great diversity exists in the condition of different individuals in the
present state,--some being in circumstances of ease, wealth, and
comfort,--others of pain, deprivation, and sorrow. Such diversities we
must consider as an arrangement established by the great Disposer of all
things, and calculated to promote important purposes in his moral
government. Many of these purposes are entirely beyond the reach of our
faculties; but, as holding a prominent place among them, we may safely
reckon the cultivation of our moral feelings, especially the affections
of compassion and benevolence. The due exercise of these is, therefore,
calculated to promote a double object, namely, the alleviation of
distress in others,--and the cultivation in ourselves of a mental
condition peculiarly adapted to a state of moral discipline. By bringing
us into contact with individuals in various forms and degrees of
suffering, they tend continually to remind us, that the present scene is
but the infancy of our existence,--that the beings whom we thus
contemplate are the children of the same Almighty Father with ourselves,
inheriting the same nature, possessed of the same feelings, and soon to
enter upon another state of existence, when all the distinctions which
are to be found in this world shall cease for ever. They tend thus to
withdraw us from the power of self-love, and the deluding influence of
present things; and habitually to raise our views to that future life,
for which the present is intended to prepare us. The due cultivation of
the benevolent affections, therefore, is not properly to be considered
as the object of moral approbation, but rather as a process of moral
culture. They may enable us in some degree to benefit others, but their
chief benefit is to ourselves. By neglecting them, we both incur much
guilt, and deprive ourselves of an important mean of improvement. The
diligent exercise of them, besides being a source of moral advantage, is
accompanied with a degree of mental enjoyment which carries with it its
own reward. Such appears to be the correct view which we ought to take
of the arrangement established by the Creator in this part of our
constitution. It is calculated to correct a misconception of an
important kind, which considers the exercise of the benevolent
affections as possessing a character of merit. To this subject we shall
have occasion to refer more particularly in the sequel.

The exercise of the benevolent affections may be briefly treated of,
under nearly the same heads as those referred to when considering the
principle of Justice;--keeping in mind that they lead to greater
exertion for the benefit of others, and thus often demand a greater
sacrifice of self love, than is included under the mere requirements of
justice. On the other hand, benevolence is not to be exercised at the
expense of Justice; as would be the case, if a man were found relieving
distress by such expedients as involve the necessity of withholding the
payment of just debts, or imply the neglect or infringement of some duty
which he owes to another.


(1.) Compassion and benevolent exertion are due towards alleviating the
distresses of others. This exercise of them, in many instances, calls
for a decided sacrifice of personal interest, and, in others, for
considerable personal exertion. We feel our way to the proper measure of
these sacrifices, by the high principle of moral duty, along with that
mental exercise which places us in the situation of others, and, by a
kind of reflected self-love, judges of the conduct due by us to them in
our respective circumstances.--The details of this subject would lead us
into a field too extensive for our present purpose. Pecuniary aid, by
those who have the means, is the most easy form in which benevolence
can be gratified, and that which often requires the least, if any,
sacrifice of personal comfort or self-love. The same affection maybe
exercised in a degree much higher in itself, and often much more useful
to others, by personal exertion and personal kindness. The former,
compared with the means of the individual, may present a mere mockery of
mercy; while the latter, even in the lowest walks of life, often exhibit
the brightest displays of active usefulness that can adorn the human
character. This high and pure benevolence not only is dispensed with
willingness, when occasions present themselves; but seeks out
opportunities for itself, and feels in want of its natural and healthy
exercise when deprived of an object on which it may be bestowed.


(2.) Benevolence is to be exercised towards the reputation of others.
This consists not only in avoiding any injury to their characters, but
in exertions to protect them against the injustice of others,--to
correct misrepresentations,--to check the course of slander, and to
obviate the efforts of those who would poison the confidence of friends,
or disturb the harmony of society.


(3.) Benevolence is to be exercised towards the character and conduct of
others; especially when these have been in opposition to our personal
interest or self-love. This consists in viewing their conduct with
indulgence and forbearance, assigning the most favourable motives,--and
making every allowance for their feelings, and the circumstances in
which they were placed. It leads us also to avoid all suspicions and
jealousies which are not clearly justified by fact; and to abstain to
the utmost from taking offence,--by putting upon the conduct of others
the best construction of which it will possibly admit. It extends still
farther to the actual forgiveness of injuries, and the repaying of evil
with good,--a conduct represented in the sacred writings as one of the
highest attainments the human character can reach, in so far as regards
its relation to other men.


(4.) Benevolence is to be exercised towards the feelings of others; and
this applies to many situations in which neither their interest nor
their character is concerned. It includes those exercises of the kindly
affections which produce so powerful an influence in all the relations
of life, but which it is impossible for any description to delineate. It
comprehends all our social and civil connexions, but seems peculiarly to
belong to our intercourse with inferiors and dependents. Its most
anxious exercise may often relate merely to trifles, but it extends to
innumerable circumstances in which we may surrender our own feelings to
those of others, and our own convenience or gratification to theirs. It
implies solicitude to avoid wounding the feelings by pride, selfishness,
or fretfulness,--by suspicions, imputations, and jealousies,--or by
allowing insignificant things to ruffle the temper and derange the
social comfort. Many, who are not deficient in what we usually call
deeds of benevolence, are too apt to forget, that a most important
exercise of true benevolence consists in the habitual cultivation of
courtesy, gentleness, and kindness; and that on these dispositions often
depends our influence upon the comfort and happiness of others, in a
greater degree than on any deeds of actual beneficence.--To this
department, also, we may refer the high character of the peace-maker,
whose delight it is to allay angry feelings, even when he is in no
degree personally interested, and to bring together as friends and
brethren, those who have assumed the attitude of hatred and revenge.


(5.) Benevolence is to be exercised in regard to the moral degradation
of others, including their ignorance and vice. This prevents us from
deriving satisfaction from moral evil, even though it should contribute
to our advantage, as might often happen from the misconduct of rivals or
enemies. It implies also that highest species of usefulness which aims
at raising the moral condition of man,--by instructing the ignorant,
rescuing the unwary, and reclaiming the vicious. This exalted
benevolence will therefore also seek to extend the light of divine truth
to nations that sit in moral darkness; and looks anxiously for the
period when the knowledge of Christianity shall dispel every false
faith, and put an end to the horrors of superstition.




III. Veracity.


In our mental impressions relating to veracity, we have a striking
illustration of the manner in which we rely on this class of moral
feelings, as instinctive in the constitution of the mind. On a certain
confidence in the veracity of mankind is founded so much of the
knowledge on which we constantly depend, that, without it, the whole
system of human things would go into confusion. It relates to all the
intelligence which we derive from any other source than our own personal
observation:--for example, to all that we receive through the historian,
the traveller, the naturalist, or the astronomer. Even in regard to the
most common events of a single day, we often proceed on a confidence in
the veracity of a great variety of individuals. There is, indeed, a
natural tendency to truth in all men, unless where this principle is
overcome by some strong selfish purpose to be answered by departing
from it:--and there is an equally strong tendency to rely on the
veracity of others, until we have learnt certain cautions by our actual
experience of mankind. Hence children and inexperienced persons are
easily imposed upon by unfounded statements:--and the most practised
liar confides in the credulity of those whom he attempts to deceive.
Deception, indeed, would never accomplish its purpose, if it were not
from the impression that men generally speak truth. It is obvious also,
that the mutual confidence which men have in each other, both in regard
to veracity of statement, and to sincerity of intention respecting
engagements, is that which keeps together the whole of civil society. In
the transactions of commerce it is indispensable, and without it all the
relations of civil life would go into disorder. When treating of the
intellectual powers in another work, I considered the principles which
regulate our confidence in human testimony; and it is unnecessary to
recur to them in this place. Our present object is briefly to analyze
the elements which are essential to veracity, when we view it as a moral
emotion, or a branch of individual character. These appear to be
three,--correctness in ascertaining facts,--accuracy in relating
them,--and truth of purpose, or fidelity in the fulfilment of promises.

(1.) An important element of veracity is correctness in ascertaining
facts. This is essential to the _Love of Truth_. It requires us to
exercise the most anxious care respecting every statement which we
receive as true; and not to receive it as such, until we are satisfied
that the authority on which it is asserted is of a nature on which we
can fully rely, and that the statement contains all the facts to which
our attention ought to be directed. It consequently guards us against
those limited views, by which party spirit or a love of favourite dogmas
leads a man to receive the facts which favour a particular opinion, and
neglect those which are opposed to it. The sound exercise of judgment,
which is connected with this love of truth, differs therefore from the
art of ingenious disputation, and is often found directly at variance
with it. The same principle is applicable to the truths which are
derived as deductions from processes of reasoning. It is thus opposed
to all sophistical arguments, and partial or distorted reasonings, by
which disputants strive to establish particular systems, instead of
engaging in an honest and simple inquiry after truth. The love of truth,
therefore, is of equal importance in the reception of facts, and in the
formation of opinions; and it includes also a readiness to relinquish
our own opinions, when new facts or arguments are presented to us which
are calculated to overturn them. The practice of this sincere and candid
search after truth, on every subject to which the mind may be directed,
ought to be cultivated in early life with the most assiduous care. It is
a habit of the mind which must exercise a most important influence in
the culture both of moral and intellectual character.

In the reception of truth, especially on the evidence of testimony, we
acquire by experience a degree of caution, arising from having been
sometimes deceived. In minds of a certain description, this may be
allowed to produce a suspicion with regard to all evidence,--in other
words, _Scepticism_. The want of the necessary and proper caution,
again, leads to _Credulity_. It is the part of a well-regulated mind to
avoid both these extremes, by attentively weighing the evidence and the
character of the witnesses, and giving to each circumstance its due
influence in the conclusion.

(2.) Closely connected with the love of truth in receiving, is the
exercise of veracity in the statement of facts, whether derived from our
personal observation or received by testimony from others. It consists
not only in the most scrupulous accuracy of relation, but also in giving
it in such a manner as to convey a correct impression to the hearer. It
is consequently opposed to all those methods by which either a false
statement may be made to assume the appearance of truth, or one
essentially true may be so related as to convey a false impression.

Direct fallacy may consist in the alleged facts being absolutely false,
or in some of them being so,--in facts being wanting or kept out of view
which would give a different import to the whole statement,--or in some
of the facts being disguised, distorted, or coloured, so as to alter
materially the impression conveyed by them. But, besides such actual
fallacy, there are various methods by which a statement literally true
may be so related as to convey an erroneous impression. Facts may be
connected together in such a manner as to give the appearance of a
relation of cause and effect, when they are in truth entirely
unconnected;--or an event may be represented as common which has
occurred only in one or two instances. The character of an individual
may be assumed from a single act, which, if the truth were known, might
be seen to be opposed to his real disposition, and accounted for by the
circumstances in which he happened at the time to be placed. Events may
be connected together, which were entirely disjoined, and conclusions
deduced from this fictitious connexion, which are of course unfounded.
Several of these sources of fallacy may be illustrated by a ludicrous
example. A traveller from the continent has represented the venality of
the British House of Commons to be such, that, whenever the minister of
the Crown enters the house, there is a general cry for "places." It may
be true that a cry of "places" has gone round the house at certain
times, when business was about to commence, or to be resumed after an
interval,--meaning, of course, that members were to take their seats. It
is very probable, that, on some occasion, this may have occurred at the
moment when the minister entered,--so that the statement of the
traveller might, in point of fact, be strictly true. The erroneous
impression which he endeavours to convey by it, arises from three
sources of fallacy, which the anecdote will serve to illustrate,
namely,--the false meaning he gives to the word employed,--connecting it
with the entrance of the minister as cause and effect,--and representing
the connexion as uniform which happened to occur in that particular
instance. In the same manner it will appear, that a false impression may
be conveyed respecting the conduct of an individual,--by assigning
motives which are entirely imaginary,--by connecting things together
which have no relation,--by keeping out of view circumstances which
would afford an explanation or palliation of his conduct,--or by
attaching to his words a different meaning from that which he intended
to convey by them. The common saying, that there are two ways of telling
a story, does not therefore refer to what is strictly to be called
fabrication or falsehood; but to those distortions or colourings of
circumstances, which, however slight in themselves, have the effect of
essentially changing the impression made by the whole.

To veracity, under this department, we are also to refer the rule,--of
giving to others an honest and fair impression of our views, motives,
and intentions. This is _Sincerity_. It is opposed to hypocrisy, that
unworthy display of human character, in which a man disguises his real
sentiments, and, on the contrary, professes principles which he neither
feels nor values, merely for the purpose of promoting his selfish
interests. Such a character exhibits a singular combination of moral
delinquencies. It is founded on the lowest selfishness, and includes a
departure from veracity and honesty. But besides, it implies a knowledge
of virtuous principles, and of their proper tendencies, while there is a
practical denial of their influence. Sincerity is also opposed to
flattery, which tends to give a man a false impression of our opinion,
and of our feelings towards him, and likewise leads him to form a false
estimate of his own character. It is opposed also to simulation or
double dealing, by which a man, for certain purposes professes
sentiments towards another which he does not feel, or intentions which
he does not entertain.

(3.) The third element of veracity is Truth of Purpose, or fidelity in
the fulfilment of promises. This is opposed to actual departure from
what was distinctly promised; likewise to all those evasions by which
one may convey an impression, or excite the hope of an intention which
he does not mean to fulfil,--or avoid the performance of a real or
implied engagement on any other ground than inability to perform it. By
this straight-forward integrity of purpose, an individual gives a clear
impression of what he honestly intends to perform; and performs it,
though circumstances may have occurred to make the fulfilment
disagreeable or even injurious to himself:--"he sweareth to his own
hurt," says a sacred writer, "and changeth not."




IV. FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, AND GRATITUDE.


These affections are so nearly allied, that, in this slight analysis,
they may be taken together. They consist in a personal and peculiar
attachment to an individual, founded either upon some qualities in
himself, or some benefits he has conferred on us, or on some one in whom
we are interested. The feelings and conduct to which they give rise
correspond with those referred to under the preceding affections, with
this difference, that, in many instances, they lead to a much greater
sacrifice of personal interest and comfort, than usually proceeds either
from justice or simple benevolence. The exertions arising out of them
are directed, according to the division formerly given, to promoting the
interest or comfort of the object of our regard,--preserving, defending,
or advancing his reputation,--treating his feelings with peculiar
tenderness,--and his failings with peculiar indulgence,--receiving his
opinions with peculiar favour,--and anxiously endeavouring to improve
his intellectual and moral condition. This last consideration is justly
reckoned the highest office of friendship;--it is to be regretted that
its operation is sometimes impeded by another feeling, which leads us to
be blind to the failings and deficiencies of those whom we love.--In
exercising simple love and friendship, we rejoice in the advantage and
happiness of the object, though they should be accomplished by
others,--but, in exercising gratitude, we are not satisfied unless they
be effected in some measure by ourselves.




V. PATRIOTISM.


Patriotism is, perhaps, not properly to be considered as a distinct
principle of our nature; but rather as a result of a combination of the
other affections. It leads us, by every means in our power, to promote
the peace and the prosperity of our country,--and to discourage, to the
utmost of our ability, whatever tends to the contrary. Every member of
the community has something in his power in this respect. He may set an
example, in his own person, of dutiful and loyal respect to the first
authority, of strict obedience to the laws, and respectful submission to
the institutions of his country. He may oppose the attempts of factious
individuals to sow among the ignorant the seeds of discontent, tumult,
or discord. He may oppose and repress attempts to injure the revenue of
the state; may aid in the preservation of public tranquillity, and in
the execution of public justice. Finally, he may zealously exert himself
in increasing the knowledge and improving the moral habits of the
people,--two of the most important means by which the conscientious man,
in any rank of life, may aid in conferring a high and permanent benefit
on his country.




VI. THE DOMESTIC AFFECTIONS.


In this extensive and interesting class are included, conjugal
affection,--the parental feelings,--filial reverence,--and the ties of
brothers and sisters.--These call forth, in a still higher degree, the
feelings and exertions already referred to, and a still greater
sacrifice of personal ease, advantage, and comfort, in the anxious and
diligent discharge of the duties resulting from them. In the conjugal
relation, they lead us to the tenderness, the confidence, the mutual
forbearance, the united exertions of those, who have one hope, one
interest, and one course of duty. The parental relation implies the
highest possible degree of that feeling which studies the advantage of
the object of our care,--the promotion of his happiness,--the
improvement of his mind,--the culture of his affections,--the formation
of his habits; the anxious watching over the development of his
character, both as an intellectual and a moral being. The filial
relation requires, in an equal degree, respect, affection, submission,
and confidence,--a deference to parental opinion and control; and an
impression that those parts of parental management, which may often be
disagreeable, are guided by a sincere desire to promote the highest
interests of the object of this affectionate regard.

Among the feelings of our nature "which have less of earth in them than
heaven," are those which bind together the domestic circle in the
various sympathies, affections, and duties, which belong to this class
of tender relations. It is beautiful also to observe, how these
affections arise out of each other, and how the right exercise of them
tends to their mutual cultivation.--The father ought to consider the son
as, of all earthly concerns, the highest object of his anxious
care;--and should watch over the development of his intellectual
character, and the culture of his moral feelings. In the zealous
prosecution of this great purpose, he should study to convey a clear
impression, that he is influenced purely by a feeling of solemn
responsibility, and an anxious desire to promote the highest interests.
When parental watchfulness is thus mingled with confidence and kindness,
the son will naturally learn to estimate alike the conduct itself, and
the principles from which it sprung, and will look to the faithful
parent as his safest guide and counsellor, and most valued earthly
friend. If we extend the same principles to the relation between the
mother and the daughter, they apply with equal or even greater force.
In the arrangements of society, these are thrown more constantly into
each other's company; and that watchful superintendence may be still
more habitually exercised, which, along with the great concern of
cultivating the intellectual and moral being, neglects not those graces
and delicacies which belong peculiarly to the female character. It is
not by direct instruction alone, that, in such a domestic circle, the
highest principles and best feelings of our nature are cultivated in the
minds of the young. It is by the actual exhibition of the principles
themselves, and a uniform recognition of their supreme importance;--it
is by a parental conduct, steadily manifesting the conviction, that,
with every proper attention to the acquirements, the accomplishments,
and the comforts of life, the chief concern of moral beings relates to
the life which is to come. A domestic society, bound together by these
principles, can retire, as it were, from the haunts of men, and retreat
within a sanctuary where the storms of the world cannot enter.--When
thus met together in the interchange of mutual affection and mutual
confidence, they present the anticipation of that period, when, after
the tumults of life are over, they shall meet again, "no wanderer lost,
a family in heaven".


THE DEFENSIVE AFFECTIONS.

The feelings of jealousy, anger, and resentment, are, not less than the
other affections, to be considered as part of our moral constitution;
and they are calculated to answer important purposes, provided they are
kept under the strict control of reason and the moral principle. Their
proper object is primarily a sense of blameable conduct in others; and
they lead us to use proper measures for protecting ourselves against
such conduct. While we thus disapprove of the character and conduct of
men in certain circumstances, we are led, by our feelings of justice and
benevolence, to take part with the injured and oppressed against the
oppressors,--or to protect those who are threatened with injuries, by
measures for defeating the schemes of their enemies. A still more
refined exercise of this class of feelings leads us to seek the
reformation of the offender, and to convert him from an enemy into a
friend.

Resentment, in cases which concern the public peace, naturally leads to
the infliction of punishment; the object of which is to prevent similar
conduct in others, not to gratify personal vengeance. Hence it is
required to be done in a public manner,--with proper deliberation and
coolness,--and with an exact adaptation of the penalty to the offence,
and to the object to be attained. The person injured is not likely to do
this with the requisite impartiality and candour; for we are apt to feel
too deeply injuries offered to ourselves, and not to make the propel
allowance for the feelings of others, and the circumstances which led to
the offence. The higher degrees, indeed, of these tendencies usually go
together,--they, who are most susceptible of offences, and most
irritable under them, being generally least inclined to make allowances
for others. Hence, in all cases, our disapprobation of personal
vengeance, or of a man taking the law into his own hands; and our
perfect sympathy with the protectors of the public peace, when they
dispassionately investigate a case of injury, and calmly adapt their
measures to the real object to be attained by them,--the protection of
the community.

The defensive affections are exercised in an unwarranted manner, when
they are allowed to be excited by trifling causes; when they are, in
degree, disproportioned to the offence, or prolonged in a manner which
it did not require; and when they lead, in any measure, to retaliation
or revenge. The sound exercise of them, therefore, is opposed to that
irascibility which takes fire on trivial occasions, or without due
consideration of the intentions of the agent, or the circumstances in
which he was placed,--to a disposition to resentment on occasions which
do not warrant it,--and, on all occasions, to harbouring the feeling
after the offence and all its consequences have passed over.

       *       *       *       *       *

Before concluding the subject of the affections, there are three points
respecting them which remain to be mentioned as briefly as
possible,--the influence of Attention, combined with a certain act of
Imagination,--the influence of Habit,--and the estimate of the feeling
of Moral Approbation which the exercise of the affections is calculated
to produce.


I. In every exercise of the affections, a most important influence is
produced by Attention, aided by a certain act of imagination. This
consists of directing the mind intensely and habitually to all the
considerations which ought to guide us in the particular relation to
which the affection refers. It leads us to place ourselves in the
situation of others, and, with a kind of personal, or almost selfish
interest, to enter into their wants, their anxieties, and their
feelings; and thus, in their place, to judge of the emotions and the
conduct which are due from us to them. Such is the exercise of one who
wishes to follow the great rule of doing to others as he would that they
should do to him. He is not satisfied with the merely decent discharge
of the duties which arise from the affections, but studies intensely the
requirements which attach to his particular situation,--searches out
the individuals, towards whom they ought to be exercised, and enters
into their condition and their feelings with minute and tender interest.
Many who shew no want of friendly and benevolent affection, when an
individual case is strongly brought before them, are deficient in the
kind of exercise which would lead them, in this manner, to find their
way to that correct exercise of the affections which really belongs to a
scene of moral discipline. Such an exercise is adapted to every
situation in life, and tends to guard a man, in his various relations,
against the hindrances which indolence, self-love, and pure inattention
are apt to bring in the way of his peculiar duties,--and of his
discharging them with due regard to the feelings of others.

This mental exercise, of extensive application to the benevolent
affections, constitutes what is usually called _Sympathy_. It is
composed of an act of Imagination and Self-love, by which we transfer
ourselves, as it were, into the situation of other men, and thereby
regulate our conduct towards them. It is however to be kept in mind,
that the principle of self-love, thus brought into action, is the test,
not the rule of our conduct. This is a point on which there has been
much vague and useless speculation; and from not attending to the
distinction, some have referred our ideas of benevolence entirely to the
principle of selfishness. Such discussions are equally unsound and
unprofitable, and are to be placed on a footing with the speculations of
the scholastic philosophy, which we now look back upon merely as matters
of historical curiosity. The application of self-love, in the manner
which has been referred to, is chiefly useful in enabling us fully to
appreciate the facts of the individual case, as we would do if we were
personally interested. The rule of our conduct is quite distinct from
this, and rests on those fundamental principles of justice and
compassion which form a part of our moral constitution. In the practical
application of them, they are very much aided by the moral principle or
conscience.

The man, who acts habitually under the influence of these rules, learns
to question himself rigidly respecting the claims and duties which
result from his moral relations; and the feelings and circumstances of
those with whom they bring him into contact. What, (he asks himself) is
the line of action which belongs to me in regard to that
individual,--what are his feelings in his present situation,--what are
the feelings and conduct which he expects from me,--and what are those
which I would expect from him were I in his circumstances and he in
mine? It is not a due regulation of the affections alone that arises
from this wholesome state of mental discipline. It is a moral culture to
the mind itself, which may often be fraught with the most important
results. For the man who exercises it realizes to himself the feelings
of poverty,--the agonies of bereavement, the impressions of the bed of
death;--and thus, without the pain of suffering, he may reap a portion
of those important moral benefits which suffering is calculated to
yield.

There is another view still to be taken of the advantages derived from
that mental discipline which consists in attention to all the relations
included under the affections. When habitually exercised, it may often
bring before the mind important circumstances in our moral relations,
which are apt to make an inadequate impression amid the distractions of
present things. When the parent, for example, looks around the objects
of his tender affection, what a new impulse is communicated by the
thought, that the present life is but the infancy of their being; and
that his chief and highest concern is to train them for immortality. A
similar impulse must be given to the philanthropist, when he considers
that the individuals, who share his benevolent attentions, are, like
himself, passing through a scene of discipline to a higher state of
existence, where they will assume a place corresponding to their rank in
the scale of moral beings. The refined philanthropy thus arising, while
it neglects no proper attention to the distresses of the present life,
will seek chiefly to contend with those greater evils which degrade the
moral nature, and sever the immortal spirit from its God. He, who judges
upon this extended principle, will learn to form a new estimate of the
condition of man. Amid the pride of wealth and the splendour of power,
he may mourn over a being lost to every feeling of his high destiny;
and, by the death-bed of the peasant, amid discomfort and suffering, he
may contemplate with interest a purified spirit rising to immortality.


II. Next to the power of attention, we have to notice the influence
produced upon the affections by Habit. This is founded upon a principle
of our nature, by which a remarkable relation exists between the
affections and the actions which arise out of them. The tendency of all
emotions is to become weaker by repetition, or to be less acutely felt
the oftener they are experienced. The tendency of actions, again, as we
have seen when treating of the Intellectual Powers, is to become easier
by repetition,--so that those, which at first require close and
continued attention, come to be performed without effort, and almost
without consciousness. Now an affection properly consists of an emotion
leading to an action; and the natural progress of the mind, in the
proper exercise of the affection, is, that the emotion becomes less
acutely felt, as the action becomes easier and more familiar.--Thus, a
scene of wretchedness, or a tale of sorrow, will produce in the
inexperienced an intensity of emotion not felt by him whose life has
been devoted to deeds of mercy; and a superficial observer is apt to
consider the condition of the latter as one of insensibility, produced
by familiarity with scenes of distress. It is, on the contrary, that
healthy and natural progress of the mind, in which the emotion is
gradually diminished in force as it is followed by its proper
actions,--that is, as the mere intensity of feeling is exchanged for the
habit of active benevolence. But that this may take place in the sound
and healthy manner, the emotion must be steadily followed by the action
which belongs to it. If this be neglected, the harmony of the moral
process is destroyed, and, as the emotion becomes weakened, it is
succeeded by cold insensibility or barren selfishness.

This is a subject of much importance,--and there are two conclusions
which arise out of it respecting the cultivation of the benevolent
affections. The one relates to the bad effects of fictitious scenes of
sorrow, as represented on the stage, or in works of fancy. The evil
arising from these appears to be that which has now been referred
to;--the emotion is produced without the corresponding action, and the
consequence is likely to be a cold and useless sentimentalism, instead
of a sound cultivation of the benevolent affections.--The second
is,--that, in cultivating the benevolent affections in the young, we
should be careful to observe the process so clearly pointed out by the
philosophy of the moral feelings. They should be familiarized with
actual scenes of suffering, but this ought to be accompanied by deeds of
minute and active kindness, so as to produce a full and lively
impression of the wants and feelings of the sufferer. On this ground,
also, I think we should at first even abstain, in a great measure, from
giving young persons the cautions they will afterwards find so
requisite, respecting the character of the objects of their benevolence,
and the impositions so frequently practised by the poor. Suspicions of
this kind might tend to interfere with the important moral process which
ought to be our first object,--the necessary cautions will afterwards be
learned with little difficulty.

The best mode of contending with the evils of pauperism, on the
principles of political economy, is a problem on which I presume not to
enter. But, on the principles of moral science, a consideration of the
utmost importance should never be forgotten,--the great end to be
answered by the varieties of human condition in the cultivation of the
benevolent affections. Political science passes its proper boundary when
it is permitted in any degree to interfere with this high
principle;--and, on the other hand, it is not to be denied, that this
important purpose is in a great measure frustrated by many of those
institutions, which cut off the direct intercourse of the prosperous and
the wealthy with those whom providence has committed to them, in this
scene of moral discipline, as the objects of their benevolent care.


III. The third point, which remains to be briefly mentioned, is the
feeling of moral approbation, or rather the impression of merit, which
is frequently attached to the exercise of the affections. This important
subject has been already referred to. When the mother, with total
disregard to her health and comfort, devotes herself to watching over
her child, she is not influenced by any sense of duty, nor do we attach
to her conduct the feeling of moral approbation. She acts simply upon
an impulse within, which she perceives to be a part of her constitution,
and which carries her forward with unshrinking firmness in a particular
course of laborious and anxious service. She may, indeed, be sensible
that the violation of these feelings would expose her to the reprobation
of her kind; but she does not imagine that the zealous fulfilment of
them entitles her to any special praise. The same principle applies to
all the affections. They are a part of our moral constitution, intended
to bind men together by certain offices of justice, friendship, and
compassion; and have been well named by a distinguished writer, "the
voice of God within us." They serve a purpose in our moral economy,
analogous to that which the appetites answer in our physical system. The
appetite of hunger, for example, ensures a regular supply of
nourishment, in a manner which could never have been provided for by any
process of reasoning; though an exercise of reason is still applicable
to preserving over it a certain regulation and control. In the same
manner, the various feelings of our moral nature have each a defined
purpose to answer, both in respect to our own mental economy and our
relations to our fellow-men; and in the due exercise of them they ought
to be controlled and regulated by the moral principle. The violation of
these feelings, therefore, places man below the level of a moral being;
but the performance of them does not entitle him to assume the claim of
merit. He is merely bearing his part in a certain arrangement, from
which he is himself to derive benefit, as a being holding a place in
that system of things which these feelings are intended to keep together
in harmony and order. In regard to the great principles of veracity and
justice, every one perceives this to be true. In all mercantile
transactions, for example, a character for high honour and integrity
leads not only to respect, but to that confidence which is closely
connected with prosperity.--These qualities, indeed, are as essential to
a man's own interest as they are to his duty to other men; and if he
does gain an advantage by fraud and deceit, it is only when he escapes
detection;--that is, while he preserves the reputation of the very
qualities which he has violated. But this truth applies equally to the
affections more strictly benevolent. The man who lives in the habitual
exercise of a cold and barren selfishness, and seeks only his own
gratification or interest, has indeed, in some sense, his punishment in
the contempt and aversion with which he is viewed by his fellow-men.
Much more than this, however, attaches to such a character;--he has
violated the principles given him for his guidance in the social
system;--he has fallen from his sound condition as a moral being; and
incurs actual guilt in the eye of a righteous Governor, whose will the
order of this lower world is intended to obey. But it by no means
follows, that the man, who performs in a certain manner the relations of
justice, friendship, and compassion, is thereby entitled to claim merit
in the view of the Almighty Governor of the universe. He merely acts his
part in the present system of moral economy, for which he has been
adapted. He is so constituted as to derive satisfaction from the
exercise of these affections; and, on the other hand, he receives an
appropriate reward in the reciprocal exercise of similar affections by
other men, and in the general harmony of society which results from
them. An extensive culture of the affections, therefore, may go on
without the recognition of the moral principle, or that state of mind
which habitually feels the presence of the Deity, and desires to have
the whole character in subjection to his will. We are not entitled to
acknowledge the operation of that great principle, unless when the
affections are exercised in circumstances which imply a strong and
decided sacrifice of self-love to the authority of God. This appears to
correspond with the distinction so strikingly stated in the sacred
writings--"If ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not
even the publicans the same?"--"I say unto you, love your
enemies,--bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, pray
for them which despitefully use you and persecute you."

On this branch of the subject it is also to be observed, that there is a
kind of compensating power among the affections themselves, by which, in
the intercourse of men, they act as checks upon each other. Thus
resentment acts as a check upon injustice; and the dread of exciting
anger in others has probably an influence, in preserving the peace and
harmonies of society, which we often ascribe to a higher principle. In
regard to the affections more strictly benevolent, these are also
influenced, in a similar manner, by the feeling of disapprobation which
attends any remarkable departure from their requirements. When we keep
in mind, along with this consideration, the manner in which all men are
influenced, in one degree or another, by the love of approbation or
regard to character, we perceive in the moral system a beautiful
principle of compensation, tending to promote in it a certain degree of
harmony. This is remarkably illustrated, for example, in the general
feeling of disapprobation which is attached to ingratitude, and to
violation of filial affection or parental duty, and even to any marked
neglect of the common calls of humanity. Along with this we are also to
keep in mind, that a man is universally considered as in the lowest
state of human nature, who, in these respects, has become regardless of
character,--that is, of the estimation with which his conduct is viewed
by his fellow-men.

In regard to both the affections and the desires, we are farther to
remember that deep and extensive influence, upon the happiness of the
individual himself, which results from a due regulation of these
feelings;--the pure mental enjoyment of him whose affections are under
sound regulation, and whose desires are habitually directed to those
objects which are in the highest degree worthy of being sought after.
This mental tranquillity is also represented to us, in a very striking
manner, by the influence of those dispositions which we usually refer to
the head of Temper. What a constant source of pure enjoyment is a meek
and placid spirit, the desires of which are moderate and under due
regulation,--which puts upon every thing the best construction it will
admit of,--is slow to take offence,--seeks no distinction,--but views
itself with humility, and others with candour, benevolence, and
indulgence. Such a disposition makes the man happy in himself, and a
source of happiness and peace to all around him. On the other hand, what
an unceasing source of mental disquiet and turbulence is the opposite
disposition,--jealous, envious, and censorious,--ready to take offence
at trifles, and often to construe incidental occurrences into intended
and premeditated insults,--prone to put unfavourable constructions upon
the conduct of others, and thus continually to surround itself with
imaginary enemies, and imaginary neglects and injuries. Such a temper is
a continual torment to the individual himself, and the cause of disputes
and jealousies among those with whom he is connected. We cannot fail,
also, to perceive that the man of ill-regulated passions injures his own
true interest and happiness, as much as he violates his duty to others,
and that his course of life is often productive of degradation, disease,
and wretchedness. In all this we see a beautiful example of the wise
arrangements of the Creator, who, in the structure of our moral nature,
has connected our own peace and happiness with a state of feeling
calculated to promote the happiness and peace of all around us. We
cannot be at a loss to conclude what a different scene the world would
present, if such feelings were universally cultivated; and, on the other
hand, we must observe how much of the actual misery that exists in the
world arises from derangement of moral feeling, and the various
consequences which result from it both to individuals and communities.
We find also, by innumerable examples, the remarkable influence
produced, by a due cultivation of these feelings, in alleviating, both
in ourselves and others, the physical evils which are inseparable from
the present state. It is farther to be remarked, as a fact worthy of the
deepest attention, that the only distinct information conveyed to us in
Scripture, respecting the happiness of the righteous in a future state,
is,--that it will consist chiefly in a perfect knowledge of the divine
character, and a conformity of the soul to the moral perfections of the
Deity. "It doth not yet appear," says the sacred writer, "what we shall
be; but we know that when he shall appear, we shall be like him, for we
shall see him as he is."

In concluding the whole subject of the affections, I have only farther
to remark,--that the regulated state of the moral feelings, which has
been the subject of the preceding observations, seems to correspond with
the quality so emphatically described in the sacred writings under the
name of Charity. It is there uniformly represented as the great test of
the moral condition; and we find exposed, in the most striking manner,
the worthlessness of all endowments which are not accompanied by this
regulation of the whole character. We cannot, therefore, conclude this
subject in a more appropriate manner, than by a passage in which, by a
few most powerful expressions, a code of ethical science is laid before
us with a clearness and a force, which put to nought all human
composition:--"Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and
have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries,
and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove
mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow all
my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and
have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. Charity suffereth long, and
is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed
up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily
provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in
the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things,
endureth all things. Charity never faileth; but whether there be
prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease;
whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part,
and we prophecy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then
that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as
a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I
became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a
glass, darkly; but then face to face; now I know in part; but then shall
I know even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, charity,
these three,--but the greatest of these is charity."




SECT. III.

SELF-LOVE.


There has been some dispute respecting the term Self-love, both as to
its general propriety, and as to the mental feelings which ought to be
referred to it. There can be no doubt that there is, in our
constitution, a principle or propensity which leads us to study our own
interest, gratification, and comfort; and that, in many instances, it
becomes the ruling principle of the character. It is in this sense that
I use the term self-love, without entering into any discussion regarding
the strict logical propriety of it. Like the other mental feelings, it
is to be considered as part of our moral constitution, and calculated to
answer important purposes, provided it be kept in its proper place, and
do not encroach upon the duties and affections which we owe to other
men. When thus regulated, it constitutes prudence, or a just regard to
our own interest, safety, and happiness; when it becomes morbid in its
exercise, it degenerates into selfishness.

A sound and rational self-love ought to lead us to seek our own true
happiness, and should prove a check upon those appetites and passions
which interfere with this; for many of them, it must be allowed, may be
not less adverse to our own real interest and comfort, than they are to
our duty to other men. It should lead us, therefore, to avoid every
thing, not only that is opposed to our interest, but that is calculated
to impair our peace of mind, and that harmony of the moral feelings
without which there can be no real happiness. This includes a due
regulation of the desires, and a due exercise of the affections, as a
moral condition which promotes our own welfare and comfort. Self-love,
viewed in this manner, appears to be placed as a regulating principle
among the other powers,--much inferior indeed to the great principle of
conscience, so far as regards the moral condition of the
individual,--but calculated to answer important purposes in promoting
the harmonies of society. The impression, on which its influence rests,
appears to be simply the comfort and satisfaction which arise to
ourselves from a certain regulation of the desires, and a certain
exercise of the affections, while feelings of an opposite kind follow a
different conduct. These sources of satisfaction are manifold. We may
reckon among them the pleasure attached to the exercise of the
affections themselves, a feature of our moral constitution of the most
interesting kind,--the true mental peace and enjoyment which spring
from benevolence, friendship, meekness, forgiveness, and the whole
train of the kindly feelings,--the gratitude of those who have
experienced the effects of our kindness,--the respect and approbation of
those whose esteem we feel to be valuable,--and the return of similar
affections and good offices from other men. On the other hand, we have
to keep in mind the mental agony and distraction which arise from
jealousy, envy, hatred, and resentment,--the sense of shame and disgrace
which follow a certain line of conduct,--and the distress which often
arises purely from the contempt and disapprobation of our fellow-men.
"Disgrace," says Butler, "is as much avoided as bodily pain;" we may
safely say that it is much more avoided, and that it inflicts a
suffering of a much more severe and permanent nature. It must likewise
accord with the observation of every one, that among the circumstances,
which most frequently injure our peace and impair our comfort, are those
which ruffle the mind by mortifying our self-love. There is also a
feeling of dissatisfaction and self-reproach which follows any neglect
of a due exercise of the affections, and which, in a well regulated
mind, disturbs the mental tranquillity fully as much as the
disapprobation of other men. It is farther evident, that the man of
ungoverned passions, and ill-regulated affections, impairs his own peace
and happiness as much as he violates his duties to others,--for his
course of life is productive, not only of degradation in the eyes of his
fellow-men, but often of mental anguish, misery, disease, and premature
death. There is not, perhaps, a state of more intense suffering, than
when the depraved heart, disappointed of those gratifications to which
it is enslaved, and shut up from the excitements by which it seeks to
escape from the horrors of reflection, is thrown back upon itself to be
its own tormentor. To run the risk of such consequences, for the
gratification of a present appetite or passion, is clearly opposed to
the dictates of a sound self-love, as has been distinctly shewn by
Bishop Butler; and when in such a case, self-love prevails over an
appetite or passion, we perceive it operating as a regulating principle
in the moral system. It does so, indeed, merely by the impression, that
a certain regulation of the moral feelings is conducive to our own true
and present happiness; and thus shews a wonderful power of compensation
among these feelings, referable entirely to this source. But it is quite
distinct from the great principle of conscience, which directs us to a
certain line of conduct on the pure and high principle of moral duty,
apart from all considerations of a personal nature,--which leads a man
to act upon nobler motives than those which result from the most refined
self-love, and calls for the mortification of all personal feelings,
when these interfere, in the smallest degree, with the requirements of
duty. This distinction I conceive to be of the utmost practical
importance; as it shews a principle of regulation among the moral
feelings themselves, by which a certain exercise of the affections is
carried on in a manner which contributes in a high degree to the
harmonies of society, but which does not convey any impression of moral
approbation or merit that can be applied to the agent.

Self-love, then, leads us to consult our own feelings, and to seek
directly our own interest and happiness. The affections lead us to allow
for the feelings, and consider the advantage and comfort of other men;
and a certain balance between these principles is essential to the
healthy state of the moral being. It is seldom that the affections are
likely to acquire an undue influence, but there is great danger of
self-love degenerating into selfishness, which interferes with the
duties we owe to others. We have formerly alluded to the means,
referable to the due exercise of the affections, and even to a sound and
rational self-love, by which this should be in part prevented. When
these are not sufficient, the appeal is to conscience; or a distinct
reference of individual cases is made to the great principle of moral
rectitude. We find, accordingly, this principle called into action, when
a man has become sensible of important defects in his moral habits.
Thus, we may see a man, who has long given way to a peevish or irascible
disposition, that is, to selfish acting upon his own feelings, without
due regard to the feelings of others, setting himself to contend with
this propensity upon the score of moral duty; while another, of a placid
disposition, has no need of bringing the principle into action for such
a purpose. In the same manner, a person who has indulged a cold
contracted selfishness may, under the influence of the same great
principle, perform deeds of benevolence and kindness. Thus we perceive
that the moral principle or sense of duty, when it is made the
regulating motive of action, is calculated to control self-love, and
preserve the proper harmony between it and the exercise of the
affections.

When the principle of self-love becomes deranged in its exercise and
objects, it leads to those habits by which a man seeks his own
gratification, in a way which interferes with his duties to other men.
This he may do by an undue pursuit of any of the desires,--whether
avarice, ambition, love of eminence, or love of fame;--and the desire of
knowledge itself may be so indulged as to assume the same character.
Even deeds of benevolence and kindness may be performed on this
principle,--as when a man, by such actions, seeks only the applause of
the public, or the approbation of certain individuals from whom, it may
be, he expects to derive advantage.--Hence the value we attach, in the
exercise of all the affections, to what we call disinterested
conduct,--to him who does good by stealth, or who performs acts of
exalted justice, generosity, or forbearance, under circumstances which
exclude every idea of a selfish motive,--or when self-interest and
personal feeling are strongly and obviously opposed to them. Such
conduct commands the cordial approbation of all classes of men; and it
is striking to remark how, in the highest conception of such a character
that fancy can delineate, we are met by the sublime morality of the
sacred writings, impressed upon us by the purest of all motives, the
imitation of Him who is the giver of all good;--"love your
enemies,--bless them that curse you;--do good to them that hate
you,--and pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute
you;--that ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for
he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain
on the just and on the unjust."--"If any man will be my disciple," says
the same great author of Christianity,--"let him deny himself."




PART II.

OF THE WILL.


Will or Simple Volition is that state of mind which immediately precedes
action;--We will a certain act; and the act follows, unless it be
prevented either by external restraint, or by physical inability to
perform it.

The actions thus produced arise out of the mental emotions formerly
treated of,--the desires, and the affections.--We desire an object, or
we experience one of the affections;--the next mental act, according to
the regular course of a reflecting mind, is proposing to ourselves the
question,--shall we gratify the desire,--shall we exercise the
affection. Then follows the process of considering or deliberating.--We
perceive, perhaps, a variety of considerations or inducements,--some of
which are in favour of gratifying the desire or exercising the
affection, others opposed to it. We therefore proceed to weigh the
relative force of these opposing motives, with the view of determining
which of them we shall allow to regulate our decision. We, at length,
make up our mind on this, and resolve, we shall suppose, to do the
act;--this is followed by the mental condition of willing or simple
volition.

In the chain of mental operations which, in such a case, intervene
between the desire and the volition, a class of agents is brought into
view which act upon the mind as moral causes of its volitions;--these
are usually called motives,--or principles of action. When treating of
this subject as a branch of the philosophy of the intellectual powers, I
endeavoured to shew the grounds on which we believe, that there are
facts, truths, motives, or moral causes, which have a tendency thus to
influence the determinations of the mind, with a uniformity similar to
that which we observe in the operation of physical causes. For the due
operation of moral causes, indeed, certain circumstances are required in
the individual on whom they are expected to operate, and, without these,
they may fail in their operation. It is necessary that he should be
fully informed in regard to them as truths addressed to his
understanding,--that he direct his attention to them with suitable
intensity, and exercise his reasoning powers upon their tendencies,--and
that he be himself in a certain healthy state of moral feeling. In all
our intercourse with mankind, accordingly, we proceed upon an absolute
confidence in the uniformity of the operation of these causes, provided
we are acquainted with the moral condition of the individual. We can
foretel, for example, the respective effects which a tale of distress
will have upon a cold-hearted miser, and a man of active benevolence,
with the same confidence with which we can predict the different actions
of an acid upon an alkali and upon a metal;--and there are individuals
in regard to whose integrity and veracity, in any situation in which
they can be placed, we have a confidence similar to that with which we
rely on the course of nature. In this manner we gradually acquire, by
experience, a knowledge of mankind; precisely as, by observation or
experiment, we acquire a knowledge of the operation of physical agents.
Thus we come to know that one man is absolutely to be relied on, in
regard to a particular line of conduct in given circumstances;--and that
another is not to be relied on, if any thing should come in the way,
affecting his own pleasure or interest. In endeavouring to excite
various individuals to the same conduct in a particular case, we learn,
that in one, we have to appeal only to his sense of duty,--in another,
to his love of approbation;--while, on a third, nothing will make any
impression except what bears upon his interest or his pleasure. Again,
when we find that, in a particular individual, certain motives or truths
fail of the effects which we have observed them to produce in others, we
endeavour to impress them upon his mind, and to rouse his attention to
their bearings and tendencies;--and this we do from the conviction, that
these truths have a certain uniform tendency to influence the volitions
of a moral being, provided he can be induced seriously to attend to
them, and provided he is in that moral condition which is required for
their efficiency.

In all such cases, which are familiar to every one, we recognise,
therefore, a uniform relation between certain moral causes or motives,
and the determinations of the human mind in willing certain acts. It is
no objection to this, that men act in very different ways with the same
motives before them;--for this depends upon their own moral condition.
When treating of the intellectual powers, I alluded to the metaphysical
controversies connected with this subject, and I do not mean to recur to
them here. Our present object is entirely of a practical
nature,--namely, to investigate the circumstances which are required for
the due operation of motives or moral causes, and the manner in which
the moral feelings may be so deranged, that these fail of producing
their natural or proper effects.

       *       *       *       *       *

Let us, then, suppose an individual deliberating in regard to the line
of conduct he shall pursue in a particular case;--the circumstances or
impressions which are calculated to act upon him as moral causes in
determining his volition,--that is, in deciding his conduct, are
chiefly the following: (1.) Self-love, which prompts him to seek his own
ease, interest, or gratification. (2.) Certain affections which lead him
to take into view duties which he owes to other men; such as, justice,
benevolence, &c. (3.) The impression of moral rectitude or moral
responsibility. This is derived from the great principle of conscience,
aided by the truths of religious belief. (4.) We ought to add reason of
judgment, which leads him to perceive certain tendencies of actions,
apart from their moral aspect. Now, in deciding on his conduct in any
particular instance, one man makes every thing bend to his own interest
or pleasure,--with little regard to the interests of others;--unless in
so far as the absolute requirements of justice are concerned, the
infringement of which might expose him to loss of reputation, or even to
punishment.--Another surrenders a certain portion of his personal
gratification to the advantage or comfort of others, purely as an
exercise of feeling from which he experiences satisfaction;--influenced,
also, probably, in some measure, by a regard to character, or the love
of approbation. In such a man, it becomes, in individual instances, a
matter of calculation, what degree of the sacrifice of personal ease,
interest, of feeling, is to be made to this principle of action. A third
contemplates the case purely as one of duty of moral responsibility, and
acts upon this principle, though it may involve a degree of personal
exertion, or a sacrifice of personal feeling, in itself disagreeable or
even injurious to him; that is, though the strongest personal motives
would lead to a different conduct. Let the case, again, refer to one of
the desires, bearing no immediate relation to the interests of other
men. One man goes directly into the gratification of it, without any
consideration. Another, who feels the same desire, considers the
influence which the indulgence would be likely to have on his health,
interest, or reputation.--This may be considered as simply an exercise
of judgment, combined with a certain operation of self-love. A third
views the aspect of the deed purely as a question of moral
responsibility,--and, if he sees cause, decides against it on this
ground alone;--though he should perceive that it might be gratified
without any danger to his health, interest, or reputation, or even that
it might contribute to his advantage.

We have thus presented to us three characters;--one who acts upon the
high and pure ground of moral principle;--one who acts from motives of a
more contracted and personal nature, though, in certain instances, his
conduct may be the same;--and one who goes straight forward to the
gratification of a ruling desire or governing propensity, without
attending to motives of either class. The first is a uniform character,
on whose conduct we depend in any given circumstances, with a confidence
similar to that with which we rely on the operation of physical agents.
For we know the uniform tendencies of the motives or moral causes by
which he is habitually influenced, and we know his moral temperament. We
have nearly the same kind of knowledge respecting him, which we have of
the tendencies of chemical agents towards each other, and which enables
us with perfect confidence to foretel their actions. The third has also
a uniformity of conduct, though of a very different kind. We know,
likewise, his moral condition, and, to predict his conduct, we require
only to learn the particular inducements or temptations to which he is
exposed in a given instance. The second we cannot rely or calculate
upon; for we have not the means of tracing the conflicting views by
which he may be influenced in a particular case, or the principle on
which he may ultimately decide between them. They involve the strength
of the inclination,--and the degree of power exerted over it by the
class of personal or selfish motives by which he is influenced.--In
regard to various instances of ill-regulated desire, we must add his
hope of evading detection,--as on this depends, in a great measure, the
kind of evils dreaded by him in reference to the indulgence. These taken
together imply a complicated moral calculation, of which it is
impossible for another man to trace the result.

There cannot be an inquiry of more intense interest than to investigate
the causes in which originate the differences among these three
characters; or, in other words, the principles on which we can explain
the fact, that the will of individuals may be influenced so differently
with the same motives before them. These appear to be referable to
three heads,--Knowledge,--Attention,--and Moral Habits.


I. A primary and essential element, in the due regulation of the will,
is a correct knowledge of the truths and motives which tend to influence
its determinations. The highest class of these comprehends the truths of
religious belief,--a series of moral causes, the tendencies of which are
of the most important kind, and calculated to exert a uniform power over
every man who surrenders himself to their guidance. For this purpose, a
correct knowledge of them is required, and, to all who have this
knowledge within their reach, the careful acquisition involves a point
of the deepest moral responsibility. The sacred writers speak in the
strongest terms of the guilt attached to voluntary ignorance: and this
must be obvious to every one who considers the clearness with which the
highest truths are disclosed, and the incontrovertible evidence by which
they are supported. This applies equally to the principles both of
natural and of revealed religion. The important truths of natural
religion are partly matters of the most simple induction from the
phenomena of nature which are continually before us; and partly
impressed upon our own moral constitution in the clearest and most
forcible manner. From the planet revolving in its appointed orbit, to
the economy of the insect on which we tread, all nature demonstrates,
with a power which we cannot put away from us, the great
incomprehensible One, a being of boundless perfections and infinite
wisdom. In regard to his moral attributes, also, he has not left himself
without a witness; for a sense of these he has impressed upon us in the
clearest manner in that wondrous part of our constitution,--the moral
principle or conscience. From these two sources may be derived a
knowledge of the character of the Deity, and of our relation to him as
moral beings;--and the man is left entirely without excuse who fails to
direct to them his most earnest attention, and to make the impressions
derived from them the habitual rule of his volitions, and the guide of
his whole character. "He hath the rule of right within," says Butler,
"all that is wanting is,--that he honestly attend to it."

Similar observations apply with equal or greater force to the truths of
revealed religion. These are supported by a weight of miraculous
evidence, and are transmitted to us by a chain of testimony, carrying
absolute conviction to the mind of every candid inquirer. They are
farther confirmed by a probability, and a force of internal evidence,
which fix themselves upon the moral feelings of every sound
understanding with a power which is irresistible. The whole is addressed
to us as rational beings; it is pressed upon our attention as creatures
destined for another state of existence; and the duty is imposed upon
every individual seriously to examine and to consider. Every man is in
the highest degree responsible for the care with which he has informed
himself of these evidences, and for the attention with which he has
given to every part of them its due weight in the solemn inquiry. He is
farther responsible for the influence of previously formed prejudice, or
that vitiated state of his moral feelings, which prevents him from
approaching the subject with the simplicity of a mind which is seriously
desirous of the truth. From the want of these essential elements of
character, it may very often happen, that a man may fancy he has formed
his opinions after much examination, while the result of his prejudiced
or frivolous inquiry has been only to fix him in delusion and falsehood.
Among the singular sophistries, indeed, by which some men shut their
minds against inquiries of the highest import, is a kind of impression,
not perhaps distinctly avowed in words, but clearly recognised in
practice, that these subjects of belief are in great measure matters of
opinion,--instead of being felt to rest upon the basis of immutable and
eternal truth. Can any thing be more striking than the manner in which a
late distinguished poet expresses himself on the subject of a future
life,--as if this truth were a mere opinion which could be taken up or
laid down at pleasure, to suit the taste of the individual
inquirer;--"Of the two, I should think the long sleep better than the
agonized vigil. But men, miserable as they are, cling so to any thing
like life, that they probably would prefer damnation to quiet. Besides,
they think themselves so important in the creation, that nothing less
can satisfy then pride,--the insects!"[1] Such is the frivolous
sophistry by which one, who holds a high rank in the literature of his
country, could put away from him the most momentous inquiry that can
engage the attention of a rational being.

[Footnote 1: Byron's Letters, Moore's Life, Vol. II, p. 581.]


II. Next to the acquisition of knowledge, and the formation of opinions,
calculated to act upon us as moral beings, is the important rule of
habitually attending to them, so as to bring their influence to bear
upon our volitions. He, who honestly attends to what is passing within,
will perceive that this is a voluntary exercise of his thinking and
reasoning faculties. When a particular desire is present to his mind, he
has the power to act upon the first impulse, or upon a very partial and
limited, perhaps a distorted, view of the considerations and motives by
which he ought to be influenced;--and he has the power to suspend
acting, and direct his attention deliberately and fully to the facts and
principles which are calculated to guide his determination. This is the
first great step in that remarkable chain of sequences which belong to
the regulation of the will. It is what every one is conscious of; and,
putting aside all those metaphysical subtleties in which the subject has
been involved, this constitutes man a free and responsible agent. In
this important process, the first mental state is a certain movement of
one of the desires or one of the affections;--we may use the term
Inclination as including both. The second is a reference of the
inclination to the moral causes or motives which more peculiarly apply
to it,--especially the indications of conscience, and the principles of
moral rectitude.--If these be found to harmonize with the inclination,
volition and action follow, with the full concurrence of every moral
feeling. If the inclination be condemned by these, it is, in a
well-regulated mind, instantly dismissed, and the healthy condition of
the moral being is preserved. But this voluntary and most important
mental process may be neglected;--the inclination may be suffered to
engross the mind and occupy fully the attention:--the power may not be
exercised of directing it to moral causes and motives, and of comparing
with them the inclination which is present. The consequence may be, that
the man runs heedlessly into volition and action, from which the due
exercise of this process of the mind might have preserved him.

But a third condition may take place which presents a subject of the
highest interest. The moral causes may be so far attended to, as to
prevent the inclination from being followed by action; while the
inclination is still cherished, and the mind is allowed to dwell, with a
certain feeling of regret, on the object which it had been obliged to
deny itself. Though the actual deed be thus prevented, the harmony of
the moral feelings is destroyed;--and that mental condition is lost
which is strictly to be called purity of heart. For this consists in the
desires and affections, as well as the conduct, being in strict
subjection to the indications of conscience and the principles of moral
rectitude. The inclination, thus cherished, gradually acquires greater
ascendency over the moral feelings;--at each succeeding contest, it more
and more occupies the mind; the attention is less and less directed to
the moral truths and motives which are opposed to it; the inclination at
length acquires the predominance, and is followed by volition. This is
what we mean by a man being carried away by passion, in opposition to
his moral conviction; for passion consists in a desire or an affection
which has been allowed to engross the mind, until it gradually
overpowers the moral causes which are calculated to counteract its
influence. Now in the whole of this course each single movement of the
mind is felt to be entirely voluntary. From that step, which constitutes
the first departure from moral purity, the process consists in a desire
being cherished which the moral feelings condemn; while, at each
succeeding step, the influence of these feelings is gradually weakened,
and finally destroyed. Such is the economy of the human heart, and such
the chain of sequences to be traced in the moral history of every man,
who, with a conviction upon his mind of what is right, has followed the
downward course which gradually led him astray from virtue. When we
trace such a process backwards in a philosophical point of view, the
question still recurs,--what was the first step, or that by which the
mind was led into the course which thus terminated in favour of vice. In
the wonderful chain of sequences, which has been established in the
mental constitution, it would appear that a very slight movement only is
required for deranging the delicate harmony which ought to exist among
the moral feelings; but this each individual feels to be entirely
voluntary. It may consist in a desire being cherished which the moral
feelings disapprove;--and, though the effect at first may be small, a
morbid influence has arisen, which gains strength by continuance, and at
last acquires the power of a moral habit. The more the desire is
cherished, the less is the attention directed to the considerations or
moral causes by which it might be counteracted. In this manner,
according to the mental economy, these causes gradually lose their power
over the volitions or determinations of the mind, and, at a certain
period of this progress, the judgment itself comes to be changed
respecting the moral aspect of the deed.

There is still another mental condition to be mentioned in connexion
with this subject; in which the harmony of the moral feelings may be
destroyed, without the action following. This takes places when the
inclination is cherished, as in the former case, in opposition to the
indications of conscience; while the action is opposed by some inferior
motives,--as a regard to reputation or interest. The deed may thus be
prevented, and the interests of society may benefit by the difference;
but, so far as regards the individual himself, the disruption of moral
harmony is the same; and his moral aspect must be similar in the eye of
the Almighty One, who regards not the outward appearance alone, but who
looketh into the heart. In this manner it may very often happen, that
strong inducements to vice are resisted from motives referring merely to
health, or to character. But this is not to overcome temptation,--it is
only to balance one selfish feeling against another.


III. From the state of mind which has now been referred to, there
gradually results a _Moral Habit_. This is a mental condition, in which
a desire or an affection, repeatedly acted upon, is, after each
repetition, acted upon with less and less effort,--and, on the other
hand, a truth or moral principle, which has been repeatedly passed over
without adequate attention, after every such act makes less and less
impression, until at length it ceases to exert any influence over the
moral feelings or the conduct. I had occasion to illustrate this
remarkable principle in another point of view, when treating of the
connexion between the emotions of sympathy and benevolence, and the
conduct which naturally arises out of them. This conduct at first may
require a certain effort, and is accompanied by a strong feeling of the
emotion which leads to it. But, after each repetition, the acts go on
with less feeling of the emotion, and less reference to the principle
from which they spring, while there is progressively forming the habit
of active benevolence. It is precisely the same with habits of vice. At
first a deed requires an effort,--and a powerful contest with moral
principles, and it is speedily followed by that feeling of regret, to
which superficial observers give the name of repentance. This is the
voice of conscience, but its power is more and more diminished after
each repetition of the deed;--even the judgment becomes perverted
respecting the first great principles of moral rectitude; and acts,
which at first occasioned a violent conflict, are gone into without
remorse, or almost without perception of their moral aspect. A man in
this situation may still retain the knowledge of truths and principles
which at one time exerted an influence over his conduct; but they are
now matters of memory alone. Their power as moral causes is gone, and
even the judgment is altered respecting their moral tendencies. He views
them now perhaps as the superstitions of the vulgar, or the prejudices
of a contracted education; and rejoices, it may be, in his emancipation
from their authority. He knows not,--for he has not the moral perception
now to know, that he has been pursuing a downward course, and that the
issue, on which he congratulates himself, consists in his last
degradation as a moral being. Even in this state of moral destitution,
indeed, the same warning principle may still raise its voice,--unheeded
but not subdued,--repelled as an enemy, not admitted as a friendly
monitor and guide. "I have not the smallest influence over Lord Byron,
in this particular," writes one of the chosen friends of that
distinguished individual,--"if I had, I certainly should employ it to
eradicate from his great mind the delusions of Christianity, which, in
spite of his reason, seem perpetually to recur, and to lay in ambush for
the hours of sickness and distress." It would be interesting to know
what the particular impressions were, from which this sympathizing
friend was anxious to rescue the poet. They were probably the
suggestions of a power within, which, in certain seasons of reflection,
compelled his attention in spite of his attempts to reason against
it,--pleading with authority for a present Deity, and a life to come.

The principle of Habit, therefore, holds a most important place in the
moral condition of every man; and it applies equally to any species of
conduct, or any train of mental operations, which, by frequent
repetition, have become so familiar, as not to be accompanied by a
recognition of the principles in which they originated. In this manner
good habits are continued without any immediate sense of the right
principles by which they were formed; but they arose from a frequent
and uniform acting upon these principles, and on this is founded the
moral approbation which we attach to habits of this description. In the
same manner, habits of vice, and habits of inattention to any class of
duties, are perpetuated without a sense of the principles and affections
which they violate; but this arose from a frequent violation of these
principles, and a frequent repulsion of these affections, until they
gradually lost their power over the conduct; and in this consists the
guilt of habits. Thus, one person acquires habits of benevolence,
veracity, and kindness,--of minute attention to his various duties,--of
correct mental discipline,--and active direction of his thoughts to all
those objects of attention which ought to engage a well regulated
mind:--Another sinks into habits of listless vacuity or frivolity of
mind,--of vicious indulgence and contracted selfishness,--of neglect of
important duties, disregard to the feelings of others, and total
indifference to all those considerations and pursuits which claim the
highest regard of every responsible being; and the striking fact is,
that, after a certain period, all this may go on without a feeling that
aught is wrong either in the moral condition, or the state of mental
discipline; such is the power of a moral habit.

The important truth, therefore, is deserving of the deepest and most
habitual attention, that character consists in a great measure in
habits, and that habits arise out of individual actions and individual
operations of the mind. Hence the importance of carefully weighing every
action of our lives, and every train of thought that we encourage in our
minds; for we never can determine the effect of a single act, or a
single mental process, in giving that influence to the character, or to
the moral condition, the result of which shall be decisive and
permanent. In the whole history of habits, indeed, we see a wondrous
display of that remarkable order of sequences which has been established
in our mental constitution, and by which every man becomes, in an
important sense, the master of his own moral destiny. For each act of
virtue tends to make him more virtuous; and each act of vice gives new
strength to an influence within, which will certainly render him more
more vicious.

These considerations have a practical tendency of the utmost interest.
In subduing habits of an injurious character, the laws of mental
sequences, which have now been referred to, must be carefully acted
upon. When the judgment, influenced by the indications of conscience, is
convinced of the injurious nature of the habit, the attention must be
steadily and habitually directed to the truths which produced this
impression. There will thus arise desire to be delivered from the
habit,--or, in other words, to cultivate the course of action that is
opposed to it. This desire, being cherished in the mind, is then made to
bear upon every individual case in which a propensity is felt towards
particular actions, or particular mental processes, referable to the
habit. The new inclination is at first acted upon with an effort, but,
after every instance of success, less effort is required, until at
length the new course of action is confirmed, and overpowers the habit
to which it was opposed. But that this result may take place, it is
necessary that the mental process be followed, in the manner distinctly
indicated by the philosophy of the moral feelings; for if this is not
attended to, the expected effect may not follow, even under
circumstances which appear, at first sight, most likely to produce it.
On this principle we are to explain the fact, that bad habits may be
long suspended by some powerful extrinsic influence, while they are in
no degree broken. Thus, a person addicted to intemperance will bind
himself by an oath to abstain, for a certain time, from intoxicating
liquors. In an instance which has been related to me, an individual
under this process observed the most rigid sobriety for five years, but
was found in a state of intoxication the very day after the period of
abstinence expired. In such a case, the habit is suspended by the mere
influence of the oath; but the desire continues unsubdued, and resumes
all its former power whenever this artificial restraint is withdrawn.
The effect is the same as if the man had been in confinement during the
period, or had been kept from his favourite indulgence by some other
restraint entirely of an external kind; the gratification was prevented,
but his moral nature continued unchanged.

These principles may be confidently stated as facts in the moral
constitution of man, challenging the assent of every candid observer of
human nature. Several conclusions seem to arise out of them, of the
utmost practical importance. We perceive, in the first place, a state
which the mind may attain, in which there is such a disruption of its
moral harmony, that no power appeals in the mind itself capable of
restoring it to a healthy condition. This important fact in the
philosophy of human nature has been clearly recognised, from the
earliest ages, on the mere principles of human science. It is distinctly
stated by Aristotle in his Nicomachean Ethics, where he draws a striking
comparison between a man who, being first misled by sophistical
reasonings, has gone into a life of voluptuousness, under an impression
that he was doing no wrong,--and one who has followed the same course in
opposition to his own moral convictions. The former he contends might be
reclaimed by argument; but the latter he considers as incurable. In such
a state of mind, therefore, it follows, by an induction which cannot be
controverted, either that the evil is irremediable and hopeless, or
that we must look for a power from without the mind which may afford an
adequate remedy. We are thus led to perceive the adaptation and the
probability of the provisions of Christianity, where an influence is
indeed disclosed to us, capable of restoring the harmony which has been
lost, and raising man anew to his place as a moral being. We cannot
hesitate to believe that the Power, who framed the wondrous fabric, may
thus hold intercourse with it, and redeem it from disorder and ruin. On
the contrary, it accords with the highest conceptions we can form of the
benevolence of the Deity, that he should thus look upon his creatures in
their hour of need; and the system disclosing such communication
appears, upon every principle of sound philosophy, to be one of harmony,
consistency, and truth. The subject, therefore, leads our attention to
that inward change, so often the scoff of the profane, but to which so
prominent a place is assigned in the sacred writings, in which a man is
said to be created anew by a power from Heaven, and elevated in his
whole views and feelings as a moral being. Sound philosophy teaches us,
that there is a state in which nothing less than such a complete
transformation can restore the man to a healthy moral condition, and
that, for producing it, nothing will avail but an influence from without
the mind,--a might and a power from the same Almighty One who originally
framed it. Philosophy teaches, in the clearest manner, that a portion of
mankind require such a transformation; Christianity informs us that it
is required by all. When the inductions of science and the dictates of
revelation harmonize to this extent, who shall dare to assert that the
latter are not truth. Who, that places himself in the presence of a
being of infinite purity, will say, he requires not such a change; or
that, for the production of it, he needs no agency, beyond the resources
of his own mind. If none be found who is entitled to believe he forms
the exception, we are forced into the acknowledgement of the truth, so
powerfully impressed upon us in the sacred writings, that, in the eye of
the Almighty One, no man in himself is righteous; and that his own power
avails not for restoring him to a state of moral purity.

From the whole of this inquiry, we see the deep influence of habits, and
the fearful power which they may acquire over the whole moral system;
considerations of the highest practical interest to those who would
prevent the formation of habits of an injurious nature, or who, feeling
their influence, strive to be delivered from them. There is indeed a
point in this downward course, where the habit has acquired undisputed
power, and the whole moral feelings yield to it unresisting submission.
Peace may then be within, but that peace is the stillness of death; and,
unless a voice from heaven shall wake the dead, the moral being is lost.
But, in the progress towards this fearful issue, there maybe a tumult,
and a contest, and a strife, and the voice of conscience may still
command a certain attention to its warnings. While there are these
indications of life, there is yet hope of the man; but on each moment is
now suspended his moral existence. Let him retire from the influence of
external things; and listen to that voice within, which, though often
unheeded, still pleads for God. Let him call to aid those high truths
which relate to the presence and inspection of this being of infinite
purity, and the solemnities of a life which is to come. Above all, let
him look up in humble supplication to that pure and holy One, who is the
witness of this warfare,--who will regard it with compassion, and impart
his powerful aid. But let him not presumptuously rely on this aid, as if
the victory were already secured. The contest is but begun; and there
must be a continued effort, and unceasing watchfulness,--a habitual
direction of the attention to those truths which, as moral causes, are
calculated to act upon the mind,--and a constant reliance upon the power
from on high which is felt to be real and indispensable. With all this
provision, his progress may be slow; for the opposing principle, and the
influence of established moral habits, may be felt contending for their
former dominion; but by each advantage that is achieved over them, their
power will be broken, and finally destroyed. Now in all this contest
towards the purity of the moral being, each step is no less a process of
the mind itself than the downward course by which it was preceded. It
consists in a surrender of the will to the suggestions of conscience,
and a habitual direction of the attention to those truths which are
calculated to act upon the moral volitions. In this course, the man
feels that he is authorized to look for a might and an influence not his
own. This is no imaginary or mysterious impression, which one may fancy
that he feels, and then pass on contented with the vision; but a power
which acts through the healthy operations of his own mind; it is in his
own earnest exertions, as a rational being, to regulate these
operations, that he is encouraged to expect its communication; and it is
in feeling these assuming the characters of moral health, that he has
the proof of its actual presence.

And where is the improbability that the pure and holy One, who framed
the wondrous moral being, may thus hold intercourse with it, and impart
an influence in its hour of deepest need. According to the utmost of our
conceptions, it is the highest of his works,--for he has endowed it with
the power of rising to the contemplation of himself, and with the
capacity of aspiring to the imitation of his own moral perfections. We
cannot, for a moment, doubt, that his eye must reach its inmost
movements, and that all its emotions, and desires, and volitions, are
exposed to his view. We must believe that he looks with displeasure when
he perceives them wandering from himself; and contemplates with
approbation the contest, when the spirit strives to throw off its moral
bondage, and to fight its way upwards to a conformity to his will. Upon
every principle of sound philosophy, all this must be open to his
inspection; and we can perceive nothing opposed to the soundest
inductions of reason in the belief, that he should impart an influence
to the feeble being in this high design, and conduct him to its
accomplishment. In all this, in fact, there is so little improbability,
that we find it impossible to suppose it could be otherwise. We find it
impossible to believe, that such a mental process could go on without
the knowledge of him whose presence is in every place,--or that, looking
upon it, he should want either the power or the willingness to impart
his effectual aid.

But, independently of our conviction of an actual communication from the
Deity, there is a power in the mind itself, which is calculated to draw
down upon it an influence of the most efficient kind. This is produced
by the mental process which we call Faith: and it may be illustrated by
an impression which many must have experienced. Let us suppose that we
have a friend of exalted intelligence and virtue, who has often
exercised over us a commanding influence,--restraining us from pursuits
to which we felt an inclination,--exciting us to virtuous conduct,--and
elevating, by his intercourse with us, our impressions of a character on
which we wished to form our own. Let us suppose that we are removed to a
distance from this friend, and that circumstances of difficulty or
danger occur, in which we feel the want of a guide and counsellor. In
the reflections which the situation naturally gives rise to, the image
of our friend is brought before us; an influence is conveyed analogous
to that which was often produced by his presence and his counsel;--and
we feel as if he were actually present, to tender his advice and watch
our conduct. How much would this impression be increased, could we
farther entertain the thought, that this absent friend was able, in some
way, to communicate with us, so far as to be aware of our present
circumstances, and to perceive our efforts to recall the influence of
his character upon our own.--Such is the intercourse of the soul with
God.--Every movement of the mind is known to him; his eye is present
with it, when, in any situation of duty, distress, or mental discipline,
the man, under this exercise of faith, realizes the presence and
character of the Deity, and solemnly inquires how, in the particular
instance, his moral feelings and his conduct will appear in the eye of
him who seeth in secret. This is no vision of the imagination, but a
fact supported by every principle of sound reason,--the influence which
a man brings down upon himself, when, by an effort of his own mind, he
thus places himself in the immediate presence of the Almighty. The man
who does so in every decision of life is he who lives by faith;--and,
whether we regard the inductions of reason, or the dictates of sacred
truth, such a man is taught to expect an influence greater and more
effectual still. This is a power immediately from God, which shall be to
him direction in every doubt,--light in every darkness,--strength in his
utmost weakness,--and comfort in all distress;--a power which shall bear
upon all the principles of his moral nature, when he carries on the
mighty conflict of bringing every desire and every volition under a
conformity to the divine will. We again hazard with confidence the
assertion, that in all this there is no improbability;--but that, on the
contrary, the improbability is entirely on the other side,--in supposing
that any such mental process could take place, without the knowledge and
the interposition of that incomprehensible One, whose eye is upon all
his works.




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.




§ 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."




§ 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.




PART IV.

OF THE MORAL RELATION OF MAN TOWARDS THE DEITY.


The healthy state of a moral being is strikingly referred, in the sacred
writings, to three great heads,--justice,--benevolence,--and a
conformity of the moral feelings to a reverential sense of the presence
and perfections of the Deity;--"to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk
humbly with thy God." The two former of these considerations lead us to
the duties which a man owes to his fellow-men;--the latter calls our
attention to that homage of the mind and of the heart which he owes
peculiarly to God. For the duties of the former class we are equally
responsible to him, as the moral Governor of the universe, but their
immediate reference is to our connexions with other men;--those of the
latter class respect our relation to the Deity himself, and consequently
consist, in a great measure, in the purity and devotedness of the mind.
In human systems of ethics, attention has been chiefly directed to the
obligations of social and relative morality;--but the two classes are
closely associated in the sacred writings; and the sound condition of
the moral feelings is pointed out as that acquirement which, along with
a corresponding integrity of character, qualifies man, in an especial
manner, for intercourse with the Deity. "Who shall ascend unto the hill
of the Lord, or who shall stand in his holy place. He that hath clean
hands and a pure heart, who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor
sworn, deceitfully."--"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see
God."

Such declarations challenge the assent and absolute conviction of every
sound understanding. Are we, as responsible creatures, placed in
immediate relation to a great moral Governor, a being of infinite purity
and boundless perfections:--Is the structure of our bodies, and the
still more wonderful fabric of our minds, alike the work of his
hand:--Then it is impossible to put away from us the impression,--that
each movement of these minds must be fully exposed to his inspection. It
is equally impossible to repel from us the solemn truth,--that it is by
the desires, the feelings, and the motives of action which exist there,
that our condition is to be estimated in his sight,--and that a man,
whose conduct to his fellow-men does not violate propriety and justice,
may be in a state of moral degradation in the eyes of him who seeth in
secret;--"for," says the sacred writer, "man looketh on the outward
appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart."

There cannot, therefore, be an inquiry of more intense interest, than
what is that condition of the heart and of the mind which every man
ought to seek after, when he considers himself as exposed to the
continual inspection of the Almighty. It may, perhaps, be briefly
referred to the following heads.


I. A habitual effort to cultivate a sense of the divine presence,--and
a habitual desire to have the whole moral condition regulated by this
impression. It implies, therefore, sacred respect to the character of
the Deity, and is opposed to every kind of profaneness, or aught by
which one might weaken, in himself or others, the reverential feeling
due towards the character, and even the name of the Almighty. This must
be extended, not to the outward conduct alone, but to the desires and
affections of the heart. There is a state of mind formerly referred to,
in which a desire, which the moral feelings disapprove, may not be
followed by volition; while the desire is still indulged, and the mind
is allowed to cherish it with some feeling of regret, or even to
luxuriate with a sense of pleasure in the imaginary gratification. In
the same manner, a malevolent affection to our fellow-men may be checked
from producing injurious conduct, while the feeling still rankles in the
heart, in the form of envy or hatred. These mental conditions, while
they are widely at variance with the healthy state of a rational and
responsible being, must be regarded by the Deity as constituting moral
guilt and moral degradation. Nor is it only on the mind, which
cherishes malevolent passions and impure desires and imaginations, that
the Holy One must look with a feeling of condemnation. There may be
another mental condition, in which the thoughts and desires are directed
to transient and frivolous objects, and thus run to waste amid the
trifles of the passing hour, without any feeling of the truths and
motives which demand the attention of moral beings. The pursuits of such
a man may have nothing in them that is referable either to impure desire
or malevolent affection. They may be the acquisition of wealth,--the
grasp after power,--the love of distinction,--or a devotedness to merely
trivial occupations;--while there is a total neglect of those great
concerns which really demand our chief and highest regard. Amid the
legitimate and even the laudable pursuits of ordinary life, we are too
apt to lose sight of those duties and responsibilities which attend a
state of moral discipline,--and that culture of the soul required as a
preparation for the future state of existence to which we are hastening.
But we cannot doubt that these considerations bear an important aspect
in the eye of the Deity; and that the mind in which they hold not a
habitual influence is contemplated by him as in a state of moral
destitution.

There are, accordingly, two classes of characters clearly pointed out in
the sacred writings,--namely, one in whom the conduct indicates the
depravity within,--and another, in whom the external character preserves
a respectable aspect in the estimation of men, while the moral feelings
are in a corrupted condition in the sight of God. We have formerly
endeavoured to trace the laws to which this fact is to be referred, on
the principles of the philosophy of the human mind:--they are chiefly
two: (1.) We have seen that there are original principles in our nature
which lead to a certain exercise of justice, veracity, and benevolence,
independently of any recognition of divine authority. They are a part of
our moral constitution, and calculated to promote important purposes in
the harmony of human society; and they carry along with them a certain
principle of reciprocal compensation, which is entirely distinct from
any impression of their moral aspect. The man who is deficient in them,
indeed, incurs guilt; but a certain discharge of them may arise from
mere natural, or even selfish feeling, unconnected with any sense of
responsibility; and this consequently conveys no impression of moral
approbation. In the very exercise of them a man receives his reward,
partly by a feeling of satisfaction, which from the constitution of his
nature, they are calculated to yield, and partly as a member of that
community where they promote peace, and order, and harmony; and he is
not entitled to look farther, or to claim from them any feeling of merit
in the sight of the Deity. (2.) A second principle, which bears an
important relation to this subject, is the manner in which a man's
character is influenced by the particular motive or pursuit to which he
has resigned the guidance of his conduct. One surrenders himself to the
animal propensities, and becomes a selfish profligate, insensible to
every right principle of action, while his depraved condition is obvious
to all around him. A second devotes himself to ambition;--and a third to
avarice:--These ruling passions, it may be, are found to be adverse to
the selfish indulgence and open profligacy of the former; and a
character may arise out of them distinguished by much that is decent,
and respectable, and worthy of approbation in the eye of man. In a
fourth, the ruling motive may be the desire of esteem and approbation;
and this may, and often does, become a principle of such influence, as
to overpower, in a great measure, the selfish propensities, and to
produce a character estimable not only for justice and veracity, but a
high degree of active benevolence. Such a man sacrifices to his ruling
passion much that might be turned to the purposes of ambition, avarice,
or selfish indulgence, by those who are guided by these propensities;
and, in doing so, he has his reward. He finds it in the gratification of
that principle which in him has become predominant; and, rather than
forfeit the esteem of those whose approbation he values, he will submit
to much personal exertion, and sacrifice much selfish advantage, which
others might deem highly worthy of attainment. But all this may go on
without any recognition of divine authority; and may all exist in a man
in whom there is much impurity of desire, and much deficiency of moral
feeling. It is all referable to a motive of a personal nature, and, in
the gratification of this, his ruling principle is satisfied.

The state of mind which is under the influence of a habitual sense of
the divine presence may, therefore, be considered under two
relations,--the one referring more immediately to the Deity,--the other
to our fellow-men. The former seems chiefly to include an effort to have
every desire, thought, and imagination of the heart, regulated by a
sense of the presence and the purity of God, and in conformity to his
will. Amid much feeling of deficiency in these respects, it leads our
attention to that interesting mental condition, in which there is a
contest and a warfare within,--and a prevailing opposition to every
thing that is at variance with the purity of a moral being. The second
division includes the cultivation of feelings of kindness and
benevolence towards all men;--the love of justice,--the love of
truth,--the love of peace,--the forgiveness of injuries,--the
mortification of selfishness;--in a word, the earnest and habitual
desire to promote the comfort and alleviate the distresses of others.
From these two mental conditions must spring a character, distinguished
alike by piety towards God, and by high integrity, benevolence, and
active usefulness towards man. He who earnestly cultivates this purity
within, feels that he requires continual watchfulness, and a constant
direction of the mind to those truths and moral causes which are
calculated to influence his volitions. He feels farther that he is in
need of a might not his own in this high design; but for this he knows
also he can look, with humble confidence and hope, when, under a sense
of moral weakness, he asks its powerful aid.


II. A humble and dutiful submission to the appointments of
Providence,--as part of a great system which is regulated by infinite
wisdom. The man, who bears upon his mind this sublime impression, has
learnt to contemplate the Almighty One as disposing of the events of the
lower world, and assigning to each of his rational creatures the place
which he occupies. That place, whatever it may be, he perceives has
attached to it special duties and responsibilities,--and calls for the
cultivation of moral qualities peculiarly adapted to it. Is it one of
comfort, wealth, or influence,--solemn obligations arise out of the
means of usefulness which these command. Is it one of humble life,
privation, or actual suffering,--each of these also has its peculiar
duties, and each is to be contemplated as belonging to a great system of
moral discipline, in which no part can be wanting in consistency with
the harmony of the whole. Such a submission of the soul to the
appointments of God does not preclude the use of all legitimate means
for bettering our condition, or for preventing or removing sources of
distress. But when, under the proper use of such means, these are not
removed, it leads us habitually to that higher power, to whose will all
such attempts must be subservient;--and, while it elevates our thoughts
above present events and second causes, it reminds us of that great
scheme of discipline through which we are passing, and the purposes
which these events are calculated to promote in our own moral
improvement. Viewed under such feelings, the ills of life lose that
aspect in which we are too apt to contemplate them; and will be
considered with new and peculiar interest, as essential to that system,
the great object of which is to prepare and purify us for a higher state
of being.


III. A sense of moral imperfection and guilt,--and that humility and
devout self-abasement which arise out of it. This must be a prominent
feeling in every one who views his own conduct, and his mental emotions,
in reference to the purity of God. It naturally leads to supplication
for his mercy and forgiveness; and, in the wondrous display of his
character, given in the sacred writings, a provision is disclosed, in
virtue of which the exercise of mercy is made consistent with the truth
and justice of a moral governor. This dispensation of peace we find
habitually represented as adapted to man in a state of spiritual
destitution: and no mental condition is more frequently referred to, as
acceptable with the Deity, than that which consists of contrition and
lowliness of mind.--"Thus sayeth the high and lofty One that inhabiteth
eternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place, with
him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit,--to revive the spirit
of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones." With this
state of mind is very naturally associated a sense of moral
weakness,--and a constant reliance on divine aid, both for direction
through life, and for the culture of the moral being.


IV. It is only necessary to add,--a profound sense of gratitude and love
towards the Deity as the giver of all good,--as our daily preserver and
benefactor. These feelings will have a special reference to the display
which he has given of his character, as merciful, gracious, and slow to
anger; and to the provision which he has made for the recovery and
restoration of his fallen creatures, through "God manifest in the
flesh." Of this divine person, and the work which he came to accomplish,
philosophy presumes not to speculate;--but we have seen the light
afforded, by the inductions of moral science, respecting the probability
of this revelation,--and its adaptation to the actual state of man in
his relation to the Deity. We have seen the impression conveyed by the
character of the Messiah, considered merely as matter of historical
truth,--exhibiting such a pattern, as never appeared in our world,
except in him, of a pure and perfect moral being. We have seen, farther,
the incontrovertible nature of that evidence, transmitted by testimony,
and confirmed, as it is, in a very peculiar manner, by periodical
observances, on which the whole revelation is supported;--and the
inductions of sound philosophy harmonize with the impressions of the
man, who, feeling his own moral necessities, yields his cordial assent
to this mystery of God, and seeks in its provisions his peace in the
life that now is, and his hope for the life that is to come.

       *       *       *       *       *

From the whole mental condition, thus slightly delineated, there will
naturally arise a character and conduct adapted to the feelings and
principles which rule within. This implies, as we have seen, a due
regulation of the desires, and a habitual direction of them to objects
of real and adequate importance,--a diligent cultivation and exercise of
all the affections,--and a conduct distinguished, in the highest degree,
by purity, integrity, veracity, and active benevolence. It implies a
profound submission to the will of the Almighty, which puts to silence
every murmuring or repining thought under any dispensation of his
providence. It comprehends the habitual suppression of every selfish
principle, and the constant aspiration after a state of moral feeling,
which proposes to itself no lower standard than that which will bear the
inspection of a being of infinite purity. This character seems to
correspond with that high tone of morals enjoined in the sacred
writings. Its elements are defined and clear;--would we seek to estimate
its sublimity and its truth, we have only to compare it with those
distorted and temporizing systems which have resulted from the
inventions of men. A feeling of dissatisfaction, the same in kind,
though it may differ in degree, will attach to them all; and there is
none in which we can confidently rest, until we rise to the sublime
morality of the gospel. That great system of ethical purity comes to us
under the sanction of divine revelation, and established by the
miraculous evidence by which the proof of this is conveyed; but it is
independent of any other support than that which it carries in
itself,--consistency with the character of God,--and harmony with the
best feelings of man. In yielding an absolute consent to its supreme
authority, we require no external evidence. We have only to look at the
record in its own majestic simplicity, tried by the highest inductions
of the philosophy of the moral feelings, to enable us to point to the
morality of the gospel, and to say with unshrinking confidence,--this is
truth.

If we would seek for that, which must be of all conceivable things of
the highest moment both for the peace and the improvement of the moral
being, it is to be found in the habit of mind, in which there is the
uniform contemplation of the divine character, with a constant reliance
on the guidance of the Almighty in every action of life. "One thing,"
says an inspired writer, "have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek
after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my
life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his
temple."--The man, who thus cultivates the habitual impression of the
divine presence, lives in an atmosphere peculiarly his own. The storms
which agitate the lower world may blow around or beneath, but they
touch not him;--as the traveller has seen from the mountain's top the
war of elements below, while he stood in unclouded sunshine. In the
works, and ways, and perfections of the Eternal One, he finds a subject
of exalted contemplation, in comparison with which the highest inquiries
of human science sink into insignificance. It is an exercise, also,
which tends at once to elevate and to purify the mind. It raises us from
the minor concerns and transient interests which are so apt to occupy
us,--to that wondrous field in which "worlds on worlds compose one
universe,"--and to that mind which bade them move in their appointed
orbits, and maintains them all in undeviating harmony. While it thus
teaches us to bend in humble adoration before a wisdom which we cannot
fathom, and a power which we cannot comprehend, it directs our attention
to a display of moral attributes which at once challenge our reverence
and demand our imitation. By thus leading us to compare ourselves with
the supreme excellence, it tends to produce true humility, and, at the
same time, that habitual aspiration after moral improvement which
constitutes the highest state of man. "The proud," says an eloquent
writer, "look down upon the earth, and see nothing that creeps upon its
surface more noble than themselves;--the humble look upwards to their
God." This disposition of mind, so far from being opposed to the
acquirements of philosophy, sits with peculiar grace upon the man who,
through the most zealous cultivation of human science, ascends to the
Eternal Cause. The farther he advances in the wonders of nature, the
higher he rises in his adoration of the power and the wisdom which guide
the whole;--"Where others see a sun, he sees a Deity." And then, in
every step of life, whether of danger, distress, or difficulty, the man
who cultivates this intercourse with the incomprehensible One "inquires
in his temple." He inquires for the guidance of divine wisdom, and the
strength of divine aid, in his progress through the state of moral
discipline;--he inquires, in a peculiar manner, for this aid in the
culture of his moral being, when he views this mighty undertaking in its
important reference to the life which is to come;--he inquires for a
discernment of the ways of Divine Providence, as he either feels it in
his own concerns, or views it in the chain of events which are going on
in the world around him. He learns to trace the whole to the same
unerring hand which guides the planet in its course; and thus rests in
the absolute conviction that the economy of Providence is one great and
magnificent system of design and order and harmony. These, we repeat
with confidence, are no visions of the imagination, but the sound
inductions of a calm and rational philosophy. They are conclusions which
compel the assent of every candid inquirer, when he follows out that
investigation of mighty import,--what is God,--and what is that essence
in man which he has endowed with the power of rising to himself.

To enlarge upon these important subjects would lead us away from the
proper design of a work, which is intended chiefly to investigate the
light we derive from the phenomena of the mind itself. The points which
have been stated, as arising out of the impressions of every sound
understanding, challenge the assent of all who believe in a present and
presiding Deity,--a being of infinite power and wisdom, and of perfect
purity. With him who calls in question this sublime truth, we have no
common feeling, and no mutual premises on which an argument can be
founded. We must therefore leave him to sit in solitary pride, while he
views the chaos which his fancy has framed, and strives to reconcile the
discordant elements of a system, in which there are effects without a
cause, and harmony without a regulating power; and in which the mind can
perceive no element of credibility, consistency, or truth.

With this slight outline, therefore, we must quit a subject of the
deepest interest, but which belongs rather to the theologian than to the
inquirer in mental science;--and proceed briefly to investigate the
means by which the condition of the moral feelings, which has been the
subject of the preceding observations, may be promoted and cultivated as
the regulating principle of the whole character. Two views may be taken
of this point, which, though they harmonize with each other in practice,
are to be considered in their philosophical aspect as distinct.

The restoration of man from a state of estrangement, anarchy, or moral
death, we are taught in the sacred writings to refer to a power from
without the mind,--an influence directly from God. We have seen the
various considerations derived from the phenomena of the mind, and our
impressions of the divine character, giving to this great doctrine a
probability which claims the assent of every correct understanding. But,
without in any degree losing sight of the truth and the importance of
this principle, the immediate object of our attention, as a branch of
mental science, is rather the process of the mind itself, by means of
which a habitual influence is produced upon the whole character. This is
a compound operation which may probably be analysed in the following
manner. It seems to be composed of reason,--attention,--and a
modification of conception. The province of Reason is to examine the
truth of the statements or doctrines, which are proposed to the mind, as
calculated to act upon its moral feelings;--and, upon this being done in
a correct manner, must depend the validity of the subsequent parts of
the mental process. This being premised, it is the office of Attention,
aided by reason, to direct the mind assiduously to the truths, so as
fully to perceive their relations and tendencies. By the farther
process, analogous to Conception, they are then placed before us, in
such a manner as to give them the effect of real and present existence.
By these means, truths relating to things for which we have not the
evidence of our senses, or referring to events which are future, but
fully expected to happen, are kept before the mind, and influence the
moral feelings and the character, in the same manner as if the facts
believed were actually seen, or the events expected were taking place in
our view. This mental operation is _Faith_;--and, for the sound exercise
of it, the constituent elements now mentioned are essentially necessary.
The truth must be received by the judgment upon adequate evidence; and,
by the other parts of the process, it must be so kept before the mind,
that it may exercise such a moral influence as might arise from the
actual vision or present existence, of the things believed.

Attention to these considerations will probably enable us to discover
some of the fallacies which have obscured and bewildered this important
subject. When the impression, which is thus allowed to influence the
mind, is one which has not been received by the judgment, upon due
examination, and adequate evidence of its truth,--this is enthusiasm,
not faith.--Our present course of inquiry does not lead us to treat of
the notions which have, in various individuals, been thus allowed to
usurp the place of truth. To those who would preserve themselves from
the influence of such, the first great inquiry, respecting their own
mental impressions, ought to be,--are they facts,--and on what evidence
do they rest which can satisfy a sound understanding that they are so.
On the other hand is to be avoided an error, not less dangerous than the
wildest fancies of the enthusiast, and not less unworthy of a regulated
mind. This consists in treating real and important truths as if they
were visions of the imagination, and thus dismissing them, without
examination, from the influence which they ought to produce upon the
moral feelings. It is singular also to remark, how these two
modifications of character may be traced to a condition of the reasoning
powers, essentially the same. The former receives a fiction of the
imagination, and rests upon it as truth. The latter, acting upon some
prejudice or mental impression, which has probably no better foundation,
puts away real and important truths without any examination of the
evidence on which they are founded. The misapplication of the reasoning
powers is the same in both. It consists in proceeding upon mere
impression, without exercising the judgment on the question of its
evidence,--or on the facts and considerations which are opposed to it.
Two characters of a very opposite description thus meet in that mental
condition, which draws them equally, though in different directions,
astray from the truth.

When a truth has fully received the sanction of the judgment, the second
office of faith is, by attention and conception, to keep it habitually
before the mind, so that it may produce its proper influence upon the
character. This is to live by faith;--and in this consists that
operation of the great principle, which effectually distinguishes it
from all pretended feelings and impressions assuming its name. We speak,
in common language, of a head-knowledge which does not affect the
heart;--and of a man who is sound in his creed, while he shews little of
its influence upon his conduct. The mental condition of such a man
presents a subject of intense interest. His alleged belief, it is
probable, consists merely in words, or in arguing ingeniously on points
to which he attaches no real value. These may have been impressed upon
him by education;--they may constitute the creed of a party to which he
has devoted himself; and he may argue in support of them with all the
energy of party zeal. In the same manner, a man may contend warmly in
favour of compassion, whose conduct shows a cold and barren
selfishness;--but this is not benevolence;--and the other is not faith.
Both are empty professions of a belief in certain truths, which have
never fixed themselves in the mind, so as to become regulating
principles or moral causes in the mental constitution. We may indeed
suppose another character, slightly removed from this, in which the
truths have really received the approbation of the judgment, and yet
fail to produce their proper influence. This arises from distorted moral
habits, and a vitiated state of the moral faculties, which have
destroyed the healthy balance of the whole economy of the mind. The
consequence is, that the man perceives and approves of truths, without
feeling their tendencies, and without manifesting their power.

Intimately connected with this subject, also, is a remarkable principle
in our mental constitution, formerly referred to,--the relation between
certain facts or truths, and certain moral emotions, which naturally
arise from them, according to the chain of sequences which has been
established in the economy of the mind. A close connexion thus exists
between our intellectual habits and our moral feelings, which leads to
consequences of the utmost practical moment. Though we have little
immediate voluntary power over our moral emotions, we have a power over
the intellectual processes with which these are associated. We can
direct the mind to truths, and we can cherish trains of thought, which
are calculated to produce correct moral feelings;--and we can avoid or
banish mental images or trains of thought, which have an opposite
tendency. This is the power over the succession of our thoughts, the due
exercise of which forms so important a feature of a well-regulated mind,
in regard to intellectual culture;--its influence upon us as moral
beings is of still higher and more vital importance.

The sound exercise of that mental condition which we call Faith
consists, therefore, in the reception of certain truths by the
judgment,--the proper direction of the attention to their moral
tendencies,--and the habitual influence of them upon the feelings and
the conduct. When the sacred writers tell us that, without faith, it is
impossible to please God,--and when they speak of a man being saved by
faith,--it is not to a mere admission of certain truths as part of his
creed, that they ascribe consequences so important; but to a state in
which these truths are uniformly followed out to certain results, which
they are calculated to produce, according to the usual course of
sequences in every sound mind. This principle is strikingly illustrated
by one of these writers, by reference to a simple narrative. During the
invasion of Canaan by the armies of Israel, two men were sent forward as
spies to bring a report concerning the city of Jericho. The persons
engaged in this mission were received in a friendly manner, by a woman
whose house was upon the wall of the city;--when their presence was
discovered, she hid them from their pursuers; and finally enabled them
to escape, by letting them down by a cord from a window. Before taking
leave of them, she expressed her firm conviction, that the army to which
they belonged was soon to take possession of Jericho, and of the whole
country, and she made them swear to her that, when this should take
place, they would shew mercy to her father's house. The engagement was
strictly fulfilled. When the city was taken, and the other inhabitants
destroyed, the woman was preserved, with all her kindred. In this very
simple occurrence, the woman is represented, by the sacred writer, as
having been saved by faith. The object of her faith was the event which
she confidently expected,--that the city of Jericho was to be destroyed.
The ground of her faith was the rapid manner in which the most powerful
nations had already fallen before the armies of Israel,--led, as she
believed, by a divine power. Acting upon this conviction, in the manner
in which a belief so deeply affecting her personal safety was likely to
influence any sound mind, she took means for her preservation, by making
friends of the spies. Her faith saved her, because without it she would
not have made this provision; but, unless she had followed out her
belief to the measure which was calculated to effect this object, the
mere belief of the event would have availed her nothing. When we
therefore ascribe important results to faith, or to any other mental
operation, we ascribe them not to the operation itself, but to this
followed out to the consequences which it naturally produces, according
to the constitution of the human mind. In the same manner, we may speak
of one man, in a certain state of danger or difficulty, being saved by
his wisdom, and another by his strength. In doing so, we ascribe such
results, not to the mere possession of these qualities, but to the
efforts which naturally arose from them, in the circumstances in which
the individual was placed. And, when the inspired writer says, that
without faith it is impossible to please God,--he certainly refers to no
mere mental impression, and to no barren system of opinions; but to the
reception of certain truths, which in our present state of being are
entirely the objects of faith, and to all that influence, upon the moral
feelings and the character, which these must produce upon every mind
that really believes them.

       *       *       *       *       *

On this great subject, much misconception appears to have arisen from
not sufficiently attending to the condition in which, as moral beings,
we are placed in the present state of existence, and the important part
which must be performed by the mental exercise called faith. As physical
and intellectual beings, we have certain relations to the objects by
which we are surrounded, and with these we communicate by means of our
bodily senses. But, as moral beings, our relations are entirely of a
different nature; and the facts and motives, which are calculated to act
upon us in these relations, are chiefly the objects of faith: that is,
they are not cognizable by any of our senses, but are to be received by
a different part of our constitution, and upon a separate kind of
evidence. This, accordingly, is the simple but important distinction,
referred to by the sacred writer, when, in allusion to our condition as
moral beings, he says,--"we walk by faith, not by sight." The objects of
sight, here intended to express all the objects of sense, exercise over
us a habitual and powerful influence. They constantly obtrude themselves
upon our notice without any exertion of our own; and it requires a
peculiar exercise of mind to withdraw our attention from them, and to
feel the power of events which are future, and of things which are not
seen. This mental exercise is Faith. Its special province, as we have
seen, is to receive truths which are presented directly to the mind,--to
place them before us with all the vividness of actual and present
existence,--and to make them exert upon us an agency analogous to that
which is produced by objects of sight. The next great point in our
inquiry, therefore, is, what are the truths which are calculated thus to
operate upon us as moral beings, and which it is the object of faith to
bring habitually before us.

       *       *       *       *       *

When we withdraw our minds from the influence of sensible things, and
send forth our attention to those truths which are the province of
faith, the first great object which meets our view is the eternal
incomprehensible One, the moral governor of the universe,--a being of
infinite perfections and infinite purity. From the stupendous works of
nature, we trace his operation as the great First Cause,--and infer,
with absolute certainty, his boundless power and wisdom, and his
independent existence. The impress of his moral attributes he has fixed
with indelible certainty, upon our moral perceptions,--where, in the
light of conscience, co-operating with a simple process of reason, we
perceive him to be a being of infinite holiness, and of unerring truth
and justice. Our knowledge of these attributes is not the result of any
process of reasoning which can admit of deliberation or doubt. They
force themselves upon our conviction by the most simple principles of
induction, when, from our own mental and moral endowments, we infer the
perfections of him who formed us.

From every conception we can form of such a being, we have an equally
insuperable conviction of his universal presence,--that he is the
witness not only of our conduct, but of the thoughts and imaginations
of the heart;--and that from these, as indicating our real condition,
and not from our conduct alone, our moral aspect is estimated by
him,--the pure and holy One who seeth in secret. Each moment, as it
passes rapidly over us, we know is bringing us nearer to that period,
when all our hopes and fears for this world shall lie with us in the
grave. But we feel also that this is the entrance to another state of
being,--a state of moral retribution, where the eternal One is to be
disclosed in all his attributes as a moral governor. These
considerations fix themselves upon the mind, with a feeling of yet new
and more tremendous interest, when we farther take into view that this
future existence stretches out before us into endless duration. This is
the truth so powerfully expressed by the sacred writer, in terms which
by their brevity convey, in the most adequate manner, their overwhelming
import,--"The things which are seen are temporal, but the things which
are not seen are eternal."

These truths are not the visions of enthusiasm; neither are they the
result of any process of reasoning, by which different men may arrive
at different conclusions. They force themselves upon our conviction with
a power which we cannot put away from us, when we turn our attention to
the solemn inquiry, what we are, and what is God. In the sacred writings
they are detailed and illustrated, in a connected and harmonious manner;
and are impressed upon us with the force of a revelation from the Deity
himself. But the principles there disclosed meet with an impression, in
our moral constitution, which pleads with authority for their truth. It
is the province of faith to keep these habitually before the mind, and
to cause them to influence the feelings and the conduct, as if they were
objects of sense,--as if the Deity, in all the purity of his character
were actually disclosed to our view,--or as if we were present at that
dread hour which shall witness his righteous retribution. The man who
thus feels their power, and exhibits their influence upon his character,
is he who lives by faith.

When, under this mental exercise, a man brings himself into the
immediate presence of the eternal One;--when he arraigns himself, as it
were, before the bar of the omniscient Judge;--when he places before
him that future state which stretches forth into endless existence,--a
train of feelings must arise in his mind, to which he was a stranger, so
long as he placidly resigned himself to the influence of sensible
things. He views this being of infinite purity, as one who has been all
his life the daily witness of his conduct; and feels that even the
secrets of the heart have been at all times open to divine inspection.
Each day, as it passed unheeded over him, was a portion gone by of his
period of moral discipline; and each, as it glided amid the frivolities
of life, or the active pursuit of temporal good, had its moral aspect
assigned to it in the judgment of the eternal mind. Along with these
impressions, which no reflecting man can put away from him, a voice
within forces upon him the conviction, that, were his whole history
disclosed to his fellow-men, he would, even in their estimation, be
found wanting. How much more deeply must this be fixed upon his inmost
soul, when he feels that the whole is, at one glance, exposed to the eye
of omniscience; and that an hour is rapidly approaching, when a strict
account must be rendered, and a righteous sentence pronounced, the
result of which will extend into eternal existence. With these truths
upon his mind, what reflecting man can view, without awe, the moment
which is to close his state of moral discipline,--when, disencumbered
from his earthly tenement, he shall find himself alone with God,--and
there shall burst upon his astonished faculties the blaze of an endless
day. These are not speculations of fancy, but eternal truth. The man who
habitually acts under their influence, knows that his faith rests upon a
conviction which cannot be shaken, when he recognises in all his ways
the presence and the inspection of the Deity,--when he feels the
obligation to have even the desires and affections under subjection to
his will,--and when he resigns himself to his guidance and asks his
powerful aid, both for the conduct of this life, and the preparation for
the life which is to come.

       *       *       *       *       *

Solemn is the hour when a man thus retires from the tumult of life, and
seriously proposes to himself the question,--what is his condition as a
moral being; what have been his leading pursuits in this life which is
hastening to a close; what is his aspect in the view of that
incomprehensible One, who perceives at a single glance the whole details
of his moral history. Is he safe to meet the full splendour of that
eye;--has he no apprehension, that, when called to account in the
immediate presence of unerring purity, he may not be able to answer. The
man lives not, who can appeal to his own heart and say, after serious
inquiry, that he can thus meet the penetrating search of him, whose
knowledge is perfect, as his purity is infinite: The man lives not, who
can look back upon his whole life, without feeling, that, in the sight
of this unspotted One, he is polluted with guilt: And, if his heart
condemn him, with all its partiality for his own views and feelings, and
all its forgetfulness of many points in his moral history, he must feel
that God is greater than his heart, and knoweth all things. Under such
an impression, to what refuge shall he betake himself. Does he appeal to
an indefinite idea of the mercy of the Deity;--it must be evident that
this conveys no distinct principle, and will not bear the confidence
which is essential to hope and peace. For we cannot go to the extent of
supposing a mercy so indiscriminate, that the Deity will depart from all
the laws which he has made, and which he has impressed upon us as a part
of our moral constitution. This would be ascribing, to infinite wisdom,
an indecision and a change of purpose, unworthy of the weakest human
lawgiver. If, then, we do not boldly assume this position, how are we to
draw the line where such mercy is to terminate;--and where the Almighty
is to appear in his character of justice, as a righteous moral governor.
If we find that each individual fixes a different standard, and that
each extends it so as to favour his own condition, it is clear that the
system presents no character of truth, and that it is incapable of
ministering to the consolation of him who feels his own necessities, and
seriously contemplates the character of God. He must perceive that to
apply such reasoning to human enactments, would be to represent them as
a mockery of justice; and that it is impossible thus to argue,
respecting the laws of him who is infinite in holiness and boundless in
wisdom. He cannot but acknowledge that a universe governed in such a
manner would run into irremediable confusion and anarchy; and will find
it impossible, on any principle which human reasoning can furnish, to
arrive at any other decision than this,--that the Judge of all the earth
must be unchanging in his purposes, and impartial in his justice.

To this conclusion we are led by the clearest inductions of moral
science;--but, at this momentous point, philosophy fails us. No human
power can find a refuge, to which the mind can betake itself under a
sense of guilt;--no human wisdom can answer the inquiry of mighty
import, can God be just and yet justify the ungodly. But here we are met
by a light from heaven, which has burst upon the scene of doubt and of
darkness; and are called to bring down the pride of our reason, in
humble submission to the testimony of God. It comes supported by a
weight of evidence, which challenges the cordial assent of the most
acute understanding, and the power of which will be best appreciated by
those, who, with sincere desire for truth, have made the highest
attainments in the laws of rigid inquiry. It discloses an atonement made
for sin,--and an influence from heaven, calculated to restore the moral
being to the purity in which it was formed. It thus meets alike the
necessities of man, as in a state of actual guilt, and a state of moral
degradation. For the one, it displays a scheme of mercy in which the
integrity of the divine character is vindicated, while pardon is
extended to transgressors. To the other, it offers power from heaven,
which will correct the disorders of the moral constitution, and raise
the man anew to the likeness of God. It thus forms a harmonious whole,
uniform and consistent in itself,--worthy of the character of God,--and
adapted to the condition of man; and, to every one who feels his own
moral necessities, and estimates the purity of the Deity, it brings an
absolute conviction of its truth.

A participation in the benefits of this revelation of divine mercy is
said, in the sacred writings, to be received by Faith; and this
expression has given rise to controversies and contending systems, which
have involved the subject in much perplexity. While some have restricted
the operation of Faith to the mere belief of a certain system of
opinions, others have referred to it a series of mysterious impressions,
and enthusiastic feelings, at variance with every dictate of sound
reasoning. The principle of faith, however, holds so prominent a place
in the scheme of Christian truth, that some clear notions respecting its
nature must be felt to be of the highest interest. It holds also, as we
have formerly seen, a most important position in the philosophy of the
moral feelings,--being that mental operation, by which we receive a
certain class of truths, of the utmost consequence to us as responsible
beings. It is a process which every one feels, but which cannot be
defined;--and it can be illustrated only by tracing its influence, in
regard to those objects to which it is more particularly directed.

The objects of faith are twofold,--truths addressed to the
understanding,--and benefits offered or promised. We have formerly had
occasion to trace the action of faith in regard to truth,--especially a
class of truths which are calculated, when really believed, to exert a
powerful effect upon our moral feelings and conduct. Its operation, we
have seen, is to bring these truths before us in such a manner, that
they exert the same kind of influence as if the facts or events were
objects of sense. The man who believes these truths, so as thus
habitually to feel then power, is he who receives them in faith. This is
the province of faith in regard to truth;--we have next to analyze its
operation in regard to offered or promised benefits,--and this we can
best do by means of an example.

Let us take the illustration of a man affected with a disease supposed
to be mortal;--he is told that a remedy has been discovered of
infallible efficacy; and that a person is at hand who is ready to
administer it. Does he perceive his danger;--does he believe the virtue
of the remedy;--does he confide in the sincerity of the individual who
offers it;--this is faith. The immediate and natural result of his faith
is, that he asks for the remedy which is offered;--and this result is
inseparable from such belief, according to the uniform sequence of
volitions in every sound mind. The man who professes to admit the facts,
and does not shew such a result of belief, professes what he does not
actually feel. If he perceives not the extent of his danger, he asks not
the remedy, because he values it not;--and the same effect may follow,
if he doubts either its efficacy, or the sincerity of him who offers it.
In this case, it is also to be observed, that a reflection is thrown
upon the character of this individual, by imputing to him an offer of
what he has either not the power or the intention to perform. But if the
man really believes the truths, he applies for the remedy; and he
receives it. Thus his faith saves him, because by means of it he bought
the offered aid. Could we suppose him merely to admit the facts, without
asking the remedy, his belief would avail him nothing.

Such appeals to be the simple view we are to take of Faith, when we
apply it to the great benefits which are presented to us in the
Christian revelation. This is addressed to us as beings in a state both
of guilt and of depravity; and as having no means of our own, by which
we can rescue ourselves from condemnation and impurity. It unfolds a
dispensation of peace, by which, in perfect consistency with the harmony
of his character, the Deity offers mercy and forgiveness,--and an
influence from himself which has power to purify the moral being. These
benefits are conferred on every one who believes; and who is he that
believes:--the man who is convinced of his guilt, and perceives his
impurity;--who feels his inability to rescue himself;--who admits the
efficacy of the remedy, and confides in the sincerity with which it is
offered;--this is he who believes. His faith saves him; because, acting
on his conviction, according to the uniform sequence of volitions in
every sound mind, he asks the promised aid, and asking receives it. Much
of the confusion, in which the subject has been involved, appears to
have arisen from metaphysical refinements, by which the various parts of
this mental process are separated from each other. They form one
harmonious whole, which cannot be broken. The man will not seek the
remedy, who believes not its efficacy, and perceives not his moral
necessities; but, however he may profess to admit these facts, if he
follows not out his belief to its natural result, by applying for the
remedy, his mere belief will not profit him. The grounds, on which
these truths are addressed to us, are contained in that chain of
evidence on which is founded the whole system of Christianity,--taken
along with the conviction, which every man receives of his actual moral
condition, from the voice of conscience within. A sense of the sincerity
of the offer we derive from our impression of the unchangeable
attributes of the Deity. Accordingly, he who believes is said to give
glory to God,--that is, to receive his statements with absolute
confidence, and to form an honourable conception of the sincerity of his
intentions. He who believes not, rejects the statements of the Almighty
as false,--and treats him with the contempt which we apply to one whom
we suppose to promise what he has no intention to bestow. The man who
comes to God, with the hope of acceptance, is therefore required to come
in the assurance of faith, or an implicit conviction that he is sincere
in his intentions of bestowing the blessings which he offers; and
whosoever has not this assurance does dishonour to the divine
character,--or "maketh God a liar."

It were vain to enter upon the various systems and opinions, in which
this important doctrine has been misrepresented by its enemies, and
often perverted by those who profess to be its friends. Two of these may
be briefly noticed. Some have maintained that the doctrine of an
unconditional pardon sets aside the obligations of morality,--because it
has no regard to the personal character of the individual,--or holds out
the offer of acceptance to faith, without obedience. Others contend that
an essential part of faith is an immediate and absolute assurance of a
man's own acceptance in the sight of the Deity; and that he who has not
this is in a state of unbelief. These two opinions, so different from
each other, are equally founded upon misconception of the nature and
provisions of the Christian economy.

In regard to the former, it is only necessary to remark, that the
revelation of Christian truth is not confined to an offer of pardon to
the guilty;--its great object is the recovery and purification of the
moral being; and there is an essential and inviolable union between
these two parts of the great scheme of redemption. It provides in the
most effectual manner for the interests of morality, by the
purification of the desires and affections, the springs of action;--it
is the morality of the heart. It proclaims a system of morals, more pure
and more exalted far than ever was contemplated by the wisest of
men;--it exhibits an example of the perfect state of a moral being, in
the character of the Messiah;--and it enforces the imitation of this
example as indispensable in every one who professes to be his disciple.
These different parts of the scheme can never be separated, and there
cannot be a greater perversion of reasoning, or a greater misconception
of the prominent features of the gospel of peace, than to allege that it
does not provide, in the most effectual manner, for the highest
interests of morality.

The other opinion is equally founded upon error,--namely, that which
considers it essential to faith, that a man be assured of his personal
acceptance in the sight of the Deity. It is obvious that this is a
sophism clearly opposed to sound reasoning, and to the first principles
of the philosophy of the moral feelings. For faith, viewed as a mental
process, must always have for its object facts; and these facts must
rest upon such evidence, as is sufficient to convince the understanding
of their truth. To talk of faith, without such facts and such evidence,
is a mere logical fallacy, or an absurdity in terms. But there is no
disclosure of the personal acceptance of any individual, and
consequently, on no principle of sound reasoning can this ever be
considered as the object of faith. This doctrine, therefore, applies a
most important principle of the mind, not to facts, which alone can
warrant the exercise of faith, but to a vision of the imagination, which
admits of no evidence, and cannot be subjected to any test of its truth.

Widely different from all such flimsy and imaginary hypotheses is the
great system of Christian truth,--harmonious and consistent in itself,
and challenging the approbation of the soundest understanding. It
reveals, as we have seen, a dispensation of mercy, in accordance with
the highest ideas we can form of the divine perfections. It is supported
by a chain of evidence, which carries conviction to the mind of the most
rigid inquirer; and thus it is a sound and legitimate object of faith.
It reveals also a provision for purifying the moral nature; and this in
every case accompanies the dispensation of mercy to those who receive
it. The effects of this powerful agency, therefore, become the test and
the evidence of the reality of faith. Does a man seek a proof of his
acceptance,--the reference is to facts in his own moral condition. He is
to look for it in a change which is taking place in his character,--a
new direction of his desires,--a new regulation of his affections,--a
habitual impression, to which he was a stranger before, of the presence
and the perfections of the Deity--and a new light which has burst upon
his view, respecting his relations to this life and to that which is to
come. He is to seek this evidence in a mind, which aims at no lower
standard than that which will bear the constant inspection of infinite
purity;--he is to seek it, and to manifest it to others, in a spirit
which takes no lower pattern than that model of perfection,--the
character of the Messiah. These acquirements, indeed, are looked upon,
not as a ground of acceptance, but a test of moral condition; not as, in
any degree, usurping the place of the great principle of faith, but as
its fruits and evidences. As these, then, are the only proofs of the
reality of this principle, so they are the only basis on which a man can
rest any sound conviction of his moral aspect in the sight of the
Deity;--and that system is founded on delusion and falsehood, which, in
this respect, holds out any other ground of confidence than the
purification of the heart, and a corresponding harmony of the whole
character. Such attainment, indeed, is not made at once, nor is it ever
made in a full and perfect manner in the present state of being; but,
where the great principle has been fixed within, there is a persevering
effort, and a uniform contest, and a continual aspiration after
conformity to the great model of perfection. Each step that a man gains
in this progress serves to extend his view of the high pattern to which
his eye is steadily directed; and, as his knowledge of it is thus
enlarged, he is led by comparison to feel more and more deeply his own
deficiency. It thus produces increasing humility, and an increasing
sense of his own imperfection, and causes him continually to feel, that,
in this warfare, he requires a power which is not in man. But he knows
also that this is provided, as an essential part of the great system on
which his hope is established. Amid much weakness, therefore, and many
infirmities, his moral improvement goes forward. Faint and feeble at
first, as the earliest dawn of the morning, it becomes brighter and
steadier as it proceeds in its course, and, "as the shining light,
shineth more and more unto the perfect day."


THE END.

EDINBURGH: Printed by Balfour and Jack, Niddry Street.