{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_22364/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_22364","id":"gutenberg_22364","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22364","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Ethics","Philosophy"],"text":"Produced by Thierry Alberto, Janet Blenkinship and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n THE\n\n PHILOSOPHY\n\n OF THE\n\n MORAL FEELINGS.\n\n BY\n\n JOHN ABERCROMBIE, M.D. OXON. & EDIN.\n\n V. P. R. S. E.\n\n FELLOW OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS OF EDINBURGH;\n MEMBER OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY OF MEDICINE OF FRANCE;\n AND FIRST PHYSICIAN TO HER MAJESTY IN SCOTLAND.\n\n FIFTH EDITION.\n\n LONDON:\n JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.\n MDCCCXXXIX.\n\n EDINBURGH:\n\n Printed by Balfour and Jack, Niddry Street.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nIn a former work, the Author endeavoured to delineate, in a simple and\npopular form, the leading facts relating to the Intellectual Powers, and\nto trace the principles which ought to guide us in the Investigation of\nTruth. The volume which he now offers to the public attention, is\nintended as a sequel to these Inquiries; and his object in it is to\ninvestigate, in the same unpretending manner, the Moral Feelings of the\nHuman Mind, and the principles which ought to regulate our volitions and\nour conduct as moral and responsible beings. The two branches of\ninvestigation are, in many respects, closely connected; and, on this\naccount, it may often happen, that, in the present work, principles are\nassumed as admitted or proved, which, in the former, were stated at\nlength, with the evidence by which they are supported.\n\nIn presenting a fifth edition of this volume, the Author feels most\ndeeply the favourable manner in which it has been received, and the\nnotice which has been bestowed upon it by those whose approbation he\nregards as a distinction of the most gratifying kind. He had two objects\nchiefly in view when he ventured upon this investigation. The one was to\ndivest his inquiry of all unprofitable speculation, and to shew that the\nphilosophy of the moral feelings bears directly upon a practical purpose\nof the highest moment,--the mental and moral culture of every rational\nbeing. The other was to shew the close and important relation which\nexists between this science and the doctrines of revealed religion, and\nthe powerful evidence which is derived, for the truth of both, from the\nmanner in which they confirm and illustrate each other. These two\nsources of knowledge cannot be separated, in the estimation of any one\nwho feels the deep interest of the inquiry, and seriously prosecutes the\nimportant question,--what is truth. If we attempt to erect the\nphilosophy of morals into an independent science, we shall soon find\nthat its highest inductions only lead us to a point beyond which we are\ncondemned to wander in doubt and in darkness. But, on the other hand, by\ndepreciating philosophy, or the light which is derived from the moral\nimpressions of the mind, we deprive ourselves of a most important source\nof evidence in support of revelation. For it is from these impressions,\nviewed in connexion with the actual state of man, that we learn the\nnecessity, and the moral probability, of a revelation; and it is by\nprinciples existing in the mind that we are enabled to feel the power of\nthat varied and incontrovertible evidence, by which revelation comes to\nthe candid inquirer with all the authority of truth.\n\n EDINBURGH, _November 1838._\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n CONTENTS.\n\n\n PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS.\n\n SECTION I.\n\n NATURE AND IMPORTANCE OF THE SCIENCE OF THE\n MORAL FEELINGS.\n\n\n Division of the Mental Powers into Intellectual and Moral 1\n\n Harmony which ought to exist between these classes 3\n\n Causes by which this harmony is interrupted,--and means\n of counteracting them 3\n\n Interest of the science of the Moral Feelings 5\n\n Peculiar sources of Knowledge bearing upon it, from the\n light of Conscience, and of Divine Revelation 7\n\n\n SECTION II.\n\n FIRST TRUTHS IN THE SCIENCE OF THE MORAL\n FEELINGS.\n\n\n Analogy between First Truths, or Intuitive Principles\n of Belief, in Intellectual, and in Moral Science 11\n\n Classification of First Truths in Moral Science, as impressions\n arising out of each other, by an obvious chain\n of relations 16\n\n 1. Perception of the nature and quality of actions,\n as just or unjust,--right or wrong;--and a\n conviction of duties which a man owes to\n other men.\n\n 2. Conviction of the existence and attributes of a\n Great First Cause, and Moral Governor.\n\n 3. Conviction of Moral Responsibility.\n\n 4. Impression of Future Existence.\n\n Importance of these convictions, as intuitive articles of\n belief 18\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n THE PHILOSOPHY\n OF THE MORAL FEELINGS.\n\n Analysis of Man as a Moral Being 27\n\n\n I. THE DESIRES--THE AFFECTIONS--and SELF-LOVE.\n\n II. THE WILL.\n\n III. THE MORAL PRINCIPLE, or CONSCIENCE.\n\n IV. THE MORAL RELATION OF MAN TOWARDS THE DEITY.\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n PART I.\n\n THE DESIRES--THE AFFECTIONS--AND SELF-LOVE.\n\n\n SECTION I.\n\n\n THE DESIRES 36\n\n 1. Desire of the Animal Propensities 37\n\n 2. Desire of Wealth--Avarice 38\n\n 3. Desire of Power--Ambition 39\n\n 4. Desire of Superiority--Emulation 40\n\n 5. Desire of Society 41\n\n 6. Desire of Esteem or Approbation 42\n\n 7. Desire of Knowledge 46\n\n 8. Desire of Moral Improvement 47\n\n -- Desire of Action 49\n\n Importance of a Due Regulation of the Desires 50\n\n\n SECTION II.\n\n\n THE AFFECTIONS 53\n\n I. JUSTICE 55\n\n 1. Justice to the Interests of others--Integrity 59\n\n 2. Justice to the Freedom of Action of others 59\n\n 3. Justice to the Reputation of others 60\n\n 4. Justice in estimating the Conduct and Character of others 61\n\n 5. Justice to the Opinions of others--Candour 62\n\n 6. Justice to the Feelings of others 63\n\n 7. Justice to the Moral Condition of others 64\n\n\n II. COMPASSION AND BENEVOLENCE 66\n\n 1. Benevolence towards the Distresses of others 69\n\n 2. Benevolence towards the Reputation of others 70\n\n 3. Benevolence towards the Character and Conduct of\n others,--including Forgiveness of Injuries 71\n\n 4. Benevolence towards the Feelings of others 71\n\n 5. Benevolence towards improving the Moral Condition\n of others 73\n\n\n III. VERACITY 74\n\n 1. The Love of Truth, in the Reception of it 76\n\n 2. Veracity in delivering statements,--including Sincerity 78\n\n 3. Truth of Purpose, or Correct fulfilment of Promises 82\n\n\n IV. FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, AND GRATITUDE 83\n\n\n V. PATRIOTISM 84\n\n THE DOMESTIC AFFECTIONS 85\n\n THE DEFENSIVE AFFECTIONS, ANGER, JEALOUSY,\n RESENTMENT 89\n\n Important Influence produced upon the Exercise of the\n Affections,\n\n By Attention 92\n\n By Habit 97\n\n Feeling of Moral Approbation attached to the Exercise\n of the Affections 100\n\n Happiness arising from a due Exercise of the Affections;--Influence\n of Temper 106\n\n\n SECTION III.\n\n SELF-LOVE 110\n\n Sense in which the term is employed 111\n\n Tendency of a true and Rational Self-love 111\n\n Morbid Exercise of it,--Selfishness 116\n\n Disinterested Conduct and Self-denial 117\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n PART II.\n\n OF THE WILL 119\n\n Simple Volition, its Origin from one of the Desires or\n Affections 119\n\n Operation of Moral Causes on the Will 120\n\n Nature of these Causes, and Source of the Diversity of\n their operation in different individuals 123\n\n Circumstances required for the Uniformity of their Operation:--\n\n 1. Knowledge 128\n\n Truths of Natural and Revealed Religion.\n\n 2. Attention 132\n\n Its influence on Moral Decisions.\n\n 3. Moral Habits 137\n\n Origin and Progress of Derangement of Moral Harmony.\n\n Influence of Habits upon Character 142\n\n Means of Correcting Injurious Moral Habits 143\n\n Practical Conclusions from these Principles. Important\n Influence of Moral Habits 145\n\n Necessity and Probability of Divine Aid in correcting\n Moral Derangement 149\n\n Influence of the Mental operation called Faith 152\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n PART III.\n\n OF THE MORAL PRINCIPLE, OR CONSCIENCE 155\n\n Proofs of the Existence of Conscience as a Distinct Principle\n of the mind 156\n\n Nature of its Operation as the Regulating Principle 157\n\n Analogy between it and Reason 158\n\n Its Influence in conveying an Impression of the Moral\n Attributes of the Deity 163\n\n Knowledge derived from this Source 164\n\n Comparison of the Divine Attributes with the Actual\n State of Man 167\n\n Difficulties arising from this Comparison removed only\n by the Christian Revelation 169\n\n Mental Process by which the Regulating Power of Conscience\n is Impaired or Lost 172\n\n Influence of this Condition upon the Judgment in regard\n to Moral Truth 176\n\n Influence of Attention in Moral Decisions 179\n\n Man's responsibility for his belief 182\n Important relation between Moral Emotions and\n voluntary Intellectual Processes 183\n\n\n APPENDIX TO PART III.\n\n Sec. 1.--OF THE ORIGIN AND IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL\n DISTINCTIONS AND THEORIES OF MORALS 190\n\n Origin of Our Idea of Virtue and Vice 193\n\n System of Mandeville 195\n\n System of Clarke and Wollaston 197\n\n System of Utility 198\n\n Selfish System 199\n\n System of Paley 201\n\n Defect of these Systems in not acknowledging the\n Supreme Authority of Conscience 206\n\n Objections to the belief of a uniformity of Moral\n Feeling which have been founded on the practices\n of barbarous nations 216\n\n System of Dr. Smith, or Theory of Sympathy 219\n\n Province of Reason in Moral Decisions 222\n\n Remarks on the Observations of some late\n Writers respecting the Corruption of Conscience 227\n\n\n Sec. 2.--OF THE HARMONY OF THE MORAL FEELINGS 231\n\n Consistency of Character arising from this Harmony,--and\n Defects of Character to which it is\n opposed 237\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n PART IV.\n\n\n OF THE MORAL RELATION OF MAN\n TOWARDS THE DEITY 243\n\n View of the Divine Character in reference to this Regulation 244\n\n Regulation of the Moral Feelings which ought to arise out\n of it 245\n\n 1. Habitual effort to cultivate a Sense of the Divine\n Presence, and to regulate the Moral\n Feelings and Character by it 245\n\n 2. Submission to the appointments of Providence 252\n\n 3. Sense of Moral Imperfection and Guilt, and\n Supplication for Mercy, with Reliance on\n Divine Aid 254\n\n 4. Sense of Gratitude, Affection, and Love 255\n\n Conduct and Character arising out of this Condition of\n the Moral Feelings 256\n\n Means of Cultivating it 262\n\n Nature and Operation of Faith 264\n\n Province of Faith in the Philosophy of the Moral Feelings 269\n\n Truths which are its more Immediate Object 273\n\n Its Influence on the Moral Condition 276\n\n Province of Faith in the Scheme of Christianity 282\n\n Certain Errors regarding Faith 287\n\n Harmony of Christian Truth with the Philosophy of the\n Moral Feelings 290\n\n\n\n\nPRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. I.\n\nNATURE AND IMPORTANCE OF THE SCIENCE OF THE MORAL FEELINGS.\n\n\nMan is to be contemplated as an intellectual, and as a moral being. By\nhis intellectual powers, he acquires the knowledge of facts, observes\ntheir connexions, and traces the conclusions which arise out of them.\nThese mental operations, however, even in a high state of cultivation,\nmay be directed entirely to truths of an extrinsic kind,--that is, to\nsuch as do not exert any influence either on the moral condition of the\nindividual, or on his relations to other sentient beings. They may exist\nin an eminent degree in the man who lives only for himself, and feels\nlittle beyond the personal wants, or the selfish enjoyments of the hour\nthat is passing over him.\n\nBut, when we contemplate man as a moral being, new relations open on our\nview, and these are of mightier import. We find him occupying a place in\na great system of moral government, in which he has an important station\nto fill and high duties to perform. We find him placed in certain\nrelations to a great moral Governor, who presides over this system of\nthings, and to a future state of being for which the present scene is\nintended to prepare him. We find him possessed of powers which qualify\nhim to feel these relations, and of principles calculated to guide him\nthrough the solemn responsibilities which attend his state of moral\ndiscipline.\n\nThese two parts of his mental constitution we perceive to be remarkably\ndistinct from each other. The former may be in vigorous exercise in him\nwho has little feeling of his moral condition,--and the latter may be in\na high state of culture in the man, who, in point of intellectual\nacquirement, knows little beyond the truths which it most concerns him\nto know,--those great but simple principles which guide his conduct as\na responsible being.\n\nIn a well-regulated mind, there is an intimate harmony and co-operation\nbetween these two departments of the mental economy. Knowledge, received\nthrough the powers of sensation and simple intellect, whether relating\nto external things, or to mental phenomena,--and conclusions derived\nfrom these through the powers of reasoning, ought all to contribute to\nthat which is the highest state of man,--his purity as a moral being.\nThey ought all to lend their aid towards the cultivation of those\nprinciples of his nature which bind him to his fellow-men;--and those\nhigher principles still, which raise his feeble powers to the Eternal\nIncomprehensible One, the first great cause of all things, and the moral\nGovernor of the universe.\n\nA slight degree of observation is sufficient to convince us, that such a\nregulated condition of the mental constitution does not exist in the\ngenerality of mankind. It is not my present purpose to inquire into the\ncauses by which this is primarily deranged; but it may be interesting to\ntrace some of the circumstances which bear a part in producing the\nderangement. In our present state of being, we are surrounded with\nobjects of sense; and the mind is kept, in a great degree, under the\ninfluence of external things. In this manner it often happens, that\nfacts and considerations elude our attention, and deeds escape from our\nmemory, in a manner which would not occur, were the mind left at liberty\nto recall its own associations, and to feel the influence of principles\nwhich are really part of the mental constitution. It is thus that, amid\nthe bustle of life, the attention is apt to be engrossed by\nconsiderations of a local and an inferior character;--while facts and\nmotives of the highest moment are overlooked, and deeds of our own, long\ngone by, escape from our remembrance. We thus lose a correct sense of\nour moral condition, and yield to the agency of present and external\nthings, in a manner disproportioned to their real value. For our highest\nconcern as moral beings is with things future, and things unseen, and\noften with circumstances in our own moral history, long past, and\nperhaps forgotten. Hence the benefit of retirement and calm reflection,\nand of every thing that tends to withdraw us from the impression of\nsensible objects, and lends us to feel the superiority of things which\nare not seen. Under such influence, the mind displays an astonishing\npower of recalling the past and grasping the future,--and of viewing\nobjects in their true relations, to itself and to each other. The first\nof these, indeed, we see exemplified in many affections, in which the\nmind is cut off, in a greater or less degree, from its intercourse with\nthe external world, by causes acting upon the bodily organization. In\nanother work I have described many remarkable examples of the mind, in\nthis condition, recalling its old impressions respecting things long\npast and entirely forgotten; and the facts there stated call our\nattention in a very striking manner to its inherent powers and its\nindependent existence.\n\nThis subject is one of intense interest, and suggests reflections of the\nmost important kind, respecting the powers and properties of the\nthinking principle. In particular, it leads us to a period, which we are\ntaught to anticipate even by the inductions of intellectual science,\nwhen, the bodily frame being dissolved, the thinking and reasoning\nessence shall exercise its peculiar faculties in a higher state of\nbeing. There are facts in the mental phenomena which give a high degree\nof probability to the conjecture, that the whole transactions of life,\nwith the motives and moral history of each individual, may then be\nrecalled by a process of the mind itself, and placed, as at a single\nglance, distinctly before him. Were we to realize such a mental\ncondition, we should not fail to contemplate the impressions so\nrecalled, with feelings very different from those by which we are apt to\nbe misled amid the influence of present and external things.--The tumult\nof life is over;--pursuits, principles, and motives, which once bore an\naspect of importance, are viewed with feelings more adapted to their\ntrue value.--The moral principle recovers that authority, which, amid\nthe contests of passion, had been obscured or lost;--each act and each\nemotion is seen in its relations to the great dictates of truth, and\neach pursuit of life in its real bearing on the great concerns of a\nmoral being;--and the whole assumes a character of new and wondrous\nimport, when viewed in relation to that Incomprehensible One, who is\nthen disclosed in all his attributes as a moral governor.--Time past is\ncontracted into a point, and that the infancy of being;--time to come is\nseen expanding into eternal existence.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSuch are the views which open on him who would inquire into the essence\nby which man is distinguished as a rational and moral being. Compared\nwith it, what are all the phenomena of nature,--what is all the history\nof the world,--the rise and fall of empires,--or the fate of those who\nrule them. These derive their interest from local and transient\nrelations,--but this is to exist for ever. That science, therefore, must\nbe considered as the highest of all human pursuits, which contemplates\nman in his relation to eternal things. With its importance we must feel\nits difficulties; and, did we confine the investigation to the mere\nprinciples of natural science, we should feel these difficulties to be\ninsurmountable. But, in this great inquiry, we have two sources of\nknowledge, to which nothing analogous is to be found in the history of\nphysical science, and which will prove infallible guides, if we resign\nourselves to their direction with sincere desire to discover the truth.\nThese are,--the light of conscience,--and the light of divine\nrevelation. In making this statement, I am aware that I tread on\ndelicate ground,--and that some will consider an appeal to the sacred\nwritings as a departure from the strict course of philosophical inquiry.\nThis opinion, I am satisfied, is entirely at variance with truth,--and,\nin every moral investigation, if we take the inductions of sound\nphilosophy, along with the dictates of conscience, and the light of\nrevealed truth, we shall find them to constitute one uniform and\nharmonious whole, the various parts of which tend, in a remarkable\nmanner, to establish and illustrate each other. If, indeed, in any\ninvestigation of moral science, we disregard the light which is\nfurnished by the sacred writings, we resemble an astronomer who should\nrely entirely on his unaided sight, and reject those optical inventions\nwhich extend so remarkably the field of his vision, as to be to him the\nrevelation of things not seen. Could we suppose a person thus\nentertaining doubts respecting the knowledge supplied by the telescope,\nyet proceeding in a candid manner to investigate its truth, he would\nperceive, in the telescopic observations themselves, principles\ndeveloped which are calculated to remove his suspicions. For, in the\nlimited knowledge which is furnished by vision alone, he finds\ndifficulties which he cannot explain, apparent inconsistencies which he\ncannot reconcile, and insulated facts which he cannot refer to any known\nprinciple. But, in the more extended knowledge which the telescope\nyields, these difficulties disappear, facts are brought together which\nseemed unconnected or discordant, and the universe appears one beautiful\nsystem of order and consistency. It is the same in the experience of the\nmoral inquirer, when he extends his views beyond the inductions of\nreason, and corrects his conclusions by the testimony of God. Discordant\nprinciples are brought together, doubts and difficulties disappear, and\nbeauty, order, and harmony are seen to pervade the government of the\nDeity. In this manner there also arises a species of evidence for the\ndoctrines of revelation, which is entirely independent of the external\nproofs of its divine origin; and which, to the candid mind, invests it\nwith all the characters of authenticity and truth.\n\nFrom these combined sources of knowledge, thus illustrating and\nconfirming each other, we are enabled to attain, in moral inquiries, a\ndegree of certainty adapted to their high importance. We do so when,\nwith sincere desire to discover the truth, we resign ourselves to the\nguidance of the light which is within, aided as it is by that light from\nheaven which shines upon the path of the humble inquirer. Cultivated on\nthese principles, the science is fitted to engage the most powerful\nmind; while it will impart strength to the most common understanding. It\nterminates in no barren speculations, but tends directly to promote\npeace on earth, and good-will among men. It is calculated both to\nenlarge the understanding, and to elevate and purify the feelings, and\nthus to cultivate the moral being for the life which is to come. It\nspreads forth to the view, becoming smoother and brighter the farther it\nis pursued; and the rays which illuminate the path converge in the\nthrone of Him who is Eternal.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. II.\n\nOF FIRST TRUTHS IN THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE MORAL FEELINGS.\n\n\nThe knowledge which we receive through our intellectual powers is\nreferable to two classes. These may be distinguished by the names of\nacquired knowledge, and intuitive or fundamental articles of belief. The\nformer is procured by the active use of our mental powers, in collecting\nfacts, tracing their relations, and observing the deductions which arise\nout of particular combinations of them. These constitute the operations\nwhich I have referred to in another work, under the heads of processes\nof investigation, and processes of reasoning. The full exercise of them\nrequires a certain culture of the mental faculties, and consequently is\nconfined to a comparatively small number of men. We perceive, however,\nthat such culture is not essential to every individual,--for many are\nvery deficient in it who yet are considered as persons of sound mind,\nand capable of discharging their duties in various situations of life in\na creditable and useful manner.\n\nBut the knowledge which we derive from the other source is of immediate\nand essential importance to men of every degree; and, without it, no\nindividual could engage, with confidence, in any of the common\ntransactions of life, or make any provision for his protection or\ncomfort, or even for the continuance of his existence. These are the\nprinciples also treated of, in a former work, under the name of First\nTruths. They are not, like our knowledge of the other kind, the result\nof any process either of investigation or of reasoning, and, for the\npossession of them, no man either depends upon his own observation, or\nhas recourse to that of other men. They are a part of his mental\nconstitution, arising, with a feeling of absolute certainty, in every\nsound mind; and, while they admit of no proof by processes of reasoning,\nsophistical objections brought against them can be combated only by an\nappeal to the consciousness of every man, and to the absolute conviction\nwhich forces itself upon the whole mass of mankind.\n\nIf the Creator has thus implanted in the mind of man principles to guide\nhim in his intellectual and physical relations, independently of any\nacquired knowledge, we might naturally expect to find him endowed, in\nthe same manner, with principles adapted to his more important relations\nas a moral being. We might naturally expect, that, in these high\nconcerns, he would not be left to the knowledge which he might casually\nacquire, either through his own powers of investigation or reasoning, or\nthrough instruction received from other men. Impressions adapted to this\nimportant end we accordingly find developed in a remarkable manner,--and\nthey are referable to that part of our constitution, which holds so\nimportant a place in the philosophy of the mind, by which we perceive\ndifferences in the moral aspect of actions, and approve or disapprove of\nthem as right or wrong. The convictions derived from this source seem to\noccupy the same place in the moral system, that first truths, or\nintuitive articles of belief, do in the intellectual. Like them, also,\nthey admit of no direct proofs by processes of reasoning; and, when\nsophistical arguments are brought against them, the only true answer\nconsists in an appeal to the conscience of every uncontaminated\nmind;--by which we mean chiefly the consciousness of its own moral\nimpressions, in a mind which has not been degraded in its moral\nperceptions by a course of personal depravity. This is a consideration\nof the utmost practical importance; and it will probably appear that\nmany well-intended arguments, respecting the first principles of moral\ntruth, have been inconclusive, in the same manner as were attempts to\nestablish first truths by processes of reasoning,--because the line of\nargument adopted in regard to them was one of which they are not\nsusceptible. The force of this analogy is in no degree weakened by the\nfact, that there is, in many cases, an apparent difference between that\npart of our mental constitution, on which is founded our conviction of\nfirst truths, and that principle from which is derived our impression of\nmoral truth:--For the former continues the same in every mind which is\nneither obscured by idiocy nor distorted by insanity; but the moral\nfeelings become vitiated by a process of the mind itself, by which it\nhas gradually gone astray from rectitude. Hence the difference we find\nin the decisions of different men, respecting moral truth, arising from\npeculiarities in their own mental condition;--and hence that remarkable\nobscuration of mind, at which some men at length arrive, by which the\njudgment is entirely perverted respecting the first great principles of\nmoral purity. When, therefore, we appeal to certain principles in the\nmental constitution, as the source of our first impressions of moral\ntruth, our appeal is made chiefly to a mind which is neither obscured by\ndepravity, nor bewildered by the refinements of a false philosophy:--it\nis made to a mind in which conscience still holds some degree of its\nrightful authority, and in which there is a sincere and honest desire to\ndiscover the truth. These two elements of character must go together in\nevery correct inquiry in moral science; and, to a man in an opposite\ncondition, we should no more appeal, in regard to the principles of\nmoral truth, than we should take from the fatuous person or the maniac\nour test of those first principles of intellectual truth, which are\nallowed to be original elements of belief in every sound mind.\n\nTo remedy the evils arising from this diversity and distortion of moral\nperception, is one of the objects of divine revelation. By means of it\nthere is introduced a fixed and uniform standard of moral truth; but, it\nis of importance to remark, that, for the authority of this, an appeal\nis made to principles in the mind itself, and that every part of it\nchallenges the assent of the man in whom conscience has not lost its\npower in the mental economy.\n\n * * * * *\n\nKeeping in view the distinction which has now been referred to, it would\nappear, that there are certain first principles of moral truth, which\narise in the mind by the most simple process of reflection,--either as\nconstituting its own primary moral convictions, or as following from its\nconsciousness of these convictions by a plain and obvious chain of\nrelations. These are chiefly the following.\n\nI. A perception of the nature and quality of actions, as just or\nunjust,--right or wrong;--and a conviction of certain duties, as of\njustice, veracity, and benevolence, which every man owes to his\nfellow-men. Every man, in his own case, again, expects the same offices\nfrom others; and, on this reciprocity of feeling, is founded the\nprecept, which is felt to be one of universal obligation, to do to\nothers as we would that they should do to us.\n\nII. From this primary moral impression, there arises, by a most natural\nsequence, a conviction of the existence and superintendence of a great\nmoral Governor of the universe,--a being of infinite perfection and\ninfinite purity. A belief in this Being, as the first great cause, is\nderived, as we have formerly seen, by a simple step of reasoning, from a\nsurvey of the works of nature, taken in connexion with the First Truth,\nthat every event must have an adequate cause. Our sense of his moral\nattributes arises, with a feeling of equal certainty, when, from the\nmoral impressions of our own minds, we infer the moral attributes of him\nwho thus formed us.\n\nIII. From these combined impressions, there naturally springs a sense of\nmoral responsibility;--or a conviction, that, for the due performance of\nthe duties which are indicated by the conscience, or moral\nconsciousness, man is responsible to the Governor of the universe;--and\nfarther, that to this Being he owes, more immediately, a certain homage\nof the moral feelings, entirely distinct from the duties which he owes\nto his fellow-men.\n\nIV. From this chain of moral convictions, it is impossible to separate a\ndeep impression of continued existence, or of a state of being beyond\nthe present life,--and of that as a state of moral retribution.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe consideration of these important objects of belief will afterwards\noccur to us in various parts of our inquiry. They are briefly stated\nhere, in reference to the place which they hold as First Truths, or\nprimary articles of moral belief, which arise by a natural and obvious\nchain of sequence, in the moral conviction of every sound understanding.\nFor the truth of them we appeal not to any process of reasoning,\nproperly so called, but to the conviction which forces itself upon every\nregulated mind. Neither do we go abroad among savage nations, to inquire\nwhether the impression of them be universal; for this may be obscured in\ncommunities, as it is in individuals, by a course of moral degradation.\nWe appeal to the casuist himself, whether, in the calm moment of\nreflection, he can divest himself of their power. We appeal to the\nfeelings of the man who, under the consciousness of guilt, shrinks from\nthe dread of a present Deity and the anticipation of a future reckoning.\nBut chiefly we appeal to the conviction of him, in whom conscience\nretains its rightful supremacy, and who habitually cherishes these\nmomentous truths, as his guides in this life in its relation to the life\nthat is to come.\n\nIn applying to these important articles of belief the name of First\nTruths, or primary principles of moral conviction, I do not mean to\nascribe to them any thing of the nature of innate ideas. I mean only\nthat they arise, with a rapid or instantaneous conviction entirely\ndistinct from what we call a process of reasoning, in every regulated\nmind, when it is directed, by the most simple course of reflection, to\nthe phenomena of nature without, and to the moral feelings of which it\nis conscious within. It appears to be a point of the utmost practical\nimportance, that we should consider them as thus arising out of\nprinciples which form a part of our moral constitution; as it is in\nthis way only that we can consider them as calculated to influence the\nmass of mankind. For, if we do not believe them to arise, in this\nmanner, by the spontaneous exercise of every uncorrupted mind, there are\nonly two methods by which we can suppose them to originate;--the one is\na direct revelation from the Deity,--the other is a process of reasoning\nor of investigation, properly so called, analogous to that by which we\nacquire the knowledge of any principle in natural science. We cannot\nbelieve that they are derived entirely from revelation, because we find\nthe belief existing where no revelation is known, and because we find\nthe sacred writers appealing to them as sources of conviction existing\nin the mental constitution of every man. There is an obvious absurdity,\nagain, in supposing that principles, which are to regulate the conduct\nof responsible beings, should be left to the chance of being unfolded by\nprocesses of reasoning, in which different minds may arrive at different\nconclusions, and in regard to which many are incapable of following out\nany argument at all. What is called the argument _a priori_ for the\nexistence and attributes of the Deity, for instance, conveys little\nthat is conclusive to most minds, and to many is entirely\nincomprehensible. The same observation may be applied to those\nwell-intended and able arguments, by which the probability of a future\nstate is shewn from analogy and from the constitution of the mind. These\nare founded chiefly on three considerations,--the tendency of virtue to\nproduce happiness, and of vice to be followed by misery,--the unequal\ndistribution of good and evil in the present life,--and the adaptation\nof our moral faculties to a state of being very different from that in\nwhich we are at present placed. There is much in these arguments\ncalculated to elevate our conceptions of our condition as moral beings,\nand of that future state of existence for which we are destined; and\nthere is much scope for the highest powers of reasoning, in shewing the\naccordance of these truths with the soundest inductions of true\nphilosophy. But, notwithstanding all their truth and all their utility,\nit may be doubted whether they are to any one the foundation of his\nfaith in another state of being. It must be admitted, at least, that\ntheir force is felt by those only whose minds have been in some degree\ntrained to habits of reasoning, and that they are therefore not adapted\nto the mass of mankind. But the truths which they are intended to\nestablish are of eternal importance to men of every degree, and we\nshould therefore expect them to rest upon evidence which finds its way\nwith unerring aim to the hearts of the unlearned. The unanswerable\nreasonings of Butler never reached the ear of the gray-haired pious\npeasant, but he needs not their powerful aid to establish his sure and\ncertain hope of a blessed immortality. It is no induction of logic that\nhas transfixed the heart of the victim of deep remorse, when he withers\nbeneath an influence unseen by human eye, and shrinks from the\nanticipation of a reckoning to come. In both, the evidence is within,--a\npart of the original constitution of every rational mind, planted there\nby him who framed the wondrous fabric. This is the power of\nconscience;--with an authority, which no man can put away from him, it\npleads at once for his own future existence, and for the moral\nattributes of an omnipotent and ever-present Deity. In a healthy state\nof the moral feelings, the man recognises its claim to supreme\ndominion. Amid the degradation of guilt, it still raises its voice and\nasserts its right to govern the whole man; and, though its warnings are\ndisregarded, and its claims disallowed, it proves within his inmost soul\nan accuser that cannot be stilled, and an avenging spirit that never is\nquenched.\n\nSimilar observations apply to the uniformity of moral distinctions, or\nthe conviction of a certain line of conduct which man owes to his\nfellow-men. There have been many controversies and various contending\nsystems in reference to this subject, but I submit that the question may\nbe disposed of in the same manner as the one now mentioned. Certain\nfixed and defined principles of relative duty appear to be recognised by\nthe consent of mankind, as an essential part of their moral\nconstitution, by as absolute a conviction as that by which are\nrecognised our bodily qualities. The hardened criminal, whose life has\nbeen a course of injustice and fraud, when at length brought into\ncircumstances which expose him to the knowledge or the retribution of\nhis fellow-men, expects from them veracity and justice, or perhaps even\nthrows himself upon their mercy. He thus recognises such principles as a\npart of the moral constitution, just as the blind man, when he has\nmissed his way, asks direction of the first person he meets,--presuming\nupon the latter possessing a sense which, though lost to him, he still\nconsiders as belonging to every sound man. In defending himself, also,\nthe criminal shews the same recognition. For, his object is to disprove\nthe alleged facts, or to frame excuses for his conduct;--he never\nattempts to question those universal principles by which he feels that\nhis actions must be condemned, if the facts are proved against him.\nWithout such principles, indeed, thus universally recognised, it is\nevident that the whole system of human things would go into confusion\nand ruin. Human laws may restrain or punish gross acts of violence and\ninjustice; but they can never provide for numberless methods by which a\nman may injure his neighbour, or promote his own interest at the expense\nof others. There are, in fact, but a very few cases which can be\nprovided for by any human institution; it is a principle within that\nregulates the whole moral economy. In its extent and importance, when\ncompared with all the devices of man, it may be likened to those great\nprinciples which guide the movements of the universe, contrasted with\nthe contrivances by which men produce particular results for their own\nconvenience; and one might as well expect to move a planet by machinery,\nor propel a comet by the power of steam, as to preserve the semblance of\norder in the moral world, without those fundamental principles of\nrectitude which form a part of the original constitution of every\nrational being.\n\nFarther, as each man has the consciousness of these principles in\nhimself, he has the conviction that similar principles exist in others.\nHence arises the impression, that, as he judges of their conduct by his\nown moral feelings, so will they judge of him by corresponding feelings\nin themselves. In this manner is produced that reciprocity of moral\nimpression, by which a man feels the opinion of his fellow-men to be\neither a reward or a punishment; and hence also springs that great rule\nof relative duty, which teaches us to do to others as we would that they\nshould do to us. This uniformity of moral feeling and affection even\nproves a check upon those who have subdued the influence of these\nfeelings in themselves. Thus, a man who has thrown off all sense of\njustice, compassion, or benevolence, is still kept under a certain\ndegree of control by the conviction of these impressions existing in\nthose by whom he is surrounded. There are indeed men in the world, as\nhas been remarked by Butler, in whom this appears to be the only\nrestraint to which their conduct is subjected.\n\nUpon the whole, therefore, there seems to be ground for assuming, that\nthe articles of belief, which have been the subject of the preceding\nobservations, are primary principles arising with an immediate feeling\nof conviction in our moral constitution; and that they correspond with\nthose elements in our intellectual economy, which are commonly called\nFirst Truths,--principles which are now universally admitted to require\nno other evidence than the conviction which forces itself upon every\nsound understanding.\n\n\n\n\nPHILOSOPHY\n\nOF\n\nTHE MORAL FEELINGS.\n\n\nWhen we analyze the principles which distinguish man as a moral being,\nour attention is first directed to his actions, as the external\nphenomena by which we judge of his internal principles. It is familiar\nto every one, however, that the same action may proceed from very\ndifferent motives, and that, when we have the means of estimating\nmotives or principles, it is from these that we form our judgment\nrespecting the moral condition of the individual, and not from his\nactions alone. When we consider separately the elements which enter into\nthe economy of an intelligent and responsible agent, they seem to\nresolve themselves into the following:--\n\nI. His actual conduct, or actions.\n\nII. In determining his conduct, the immediate principle is his will, or\nsimple volition. He wills some act,--and the act follows of course,\nunless it be prevented by restraint from without, or by physical\ninability to perform it. These alone can interfere with a man following\nthe determination of his will, or simple volition.\n\nIII. The objects of will or simple volition are referable to two\nclasses,--objects to be obtained,--and actions to be performed to\nothers;--and these are connected with two distinct mental conditions,\nwhich exist previously to the act of volition. In regard to objects to\nbe obtained, this mental condition is _Desire_;--in regard to actions\ntowards others, it is _Affection_. The Desires and Affections,\ntherefore, hold a place in the mind previous to volition. From one of\nthem originates the mental state which, under certain regulations,\nleads to volition, or to our willing a certain act. The act, which is\nthen the result of the volition, consists either in certain efforts\ntowards attaining the object desired,--or in certain conduct towards\nother men, amusing out of our affections or mental feelings towards\nthem. The Desires and Affections, therefore, may be considered as the\nprimary or moving powers, from which our actions proceed. In connection\nwith them we have to keep in view another principle, which has an\nextensive influence on our conduct in regard to both these classes of\nemotions. This is _Self-love_;--which leads us to seek our own\nprotection, comfort, and advantage. It is a sound and legitimate\nprinciple of action when kept in its proper place;--when allowed to\nusurp an undue influence, it degenerates into selfishness; and it then\ninterferes in a material degree with the exercise of the affections, or,\nin other words, with our duty to other men.\n\nIV. We have next to attend to the fact, that every desire is not\nfollowed by actual volition towards obtaining the object;--and that\nevery affection does not lead to the conduct which might flow from it.\nThus a man may feel a desire which, after consideration, he determines\nnot to gratify. Another may experience an affection, and not act upon\nit;--he may feel benevolence or friendship, and yet act, in the\nparticular case, with cold selfishness;--or he may feel the impulse of\nanger, and yet conduct himself with forbearance. When, therefore, we go\nanother step backwards in the chain of moral sequences, our attention is\ndirected to certain principles by which the determination is actually\ndecided,--either according to the desire or affection which is present\nto the mind, or in opposition to it. This brings us to a subject of the\nutmost practical importance:--and the principles, which thus decide the\ndetermination of the mind, are referable to two heads.\n\n(1.) The determination or decision may arise out of a certain state of\narrangement of the moving powers themselves, in consequence of which\nsome one of them has acquired a predominating influence in the moral\nsystem. This usually results from habit, or frequent indulgence, as we\nshall see in a subsequent part of our inquiry. A man, for example, may\ndesire an object, but perceive that the attainment would require a\ndegree of exertion greater than he is disposed to devote to it. This is\nthe preponderating love of ease, a branch of self-love. Another may\nperceive that the gratification would impair his good name, or the\nestimation in which he is anxious to stand in the eyes of other\nmen;--this is the predominating love of approbation, or regard to\ncharacter. In the same manner, a third may feel that it would interfere\nwith his schemes of avarice or ambition,--and so in regard to the other\ndesires. On a similar principle, a man may experience a strong impulse\nof anger, but perceive that there would be danger in gratifying it, or\nthat he would promote his reputation or his interest by not acting upon\nit;--he may experience a benevolent affection, but feel that the\nexercise would interfere too much with his personal interest or comfort.\n\n(2.) The determination may arise from a sense of duty, or an impression\nof moral rectitude, apart from every consideration of a personal nature.\nThis is the _Moral Principle_ or _Conscience_;--in every mind in a state\nof moral health, it is the supreme and regulating principle, preserving\namong the moving powers a certain harmony to each other, and to the\nprinciples of moral rectitude. It often excites to conduct which\nrequires a sacrifice of self-love, and so prevents this principle from\ninterfering with the sound exercise of the affections. It regulates the\ndesires, and restrains them by the simple rule of purity;--it directs\nand regulates the affections in the same manner by the high sense of\nmoral responsibility; and it thus maintains order and harmony in the\nwhole moral system.\n\nOne of the chief diversities of human character, indeed, arises from the\ncircumstance of one man being habitually influenced by the simple and\nstraight-forward principle of duty, and another merely by a kind of\ncontest between desires and motives of a very inferior or selfish\nnature. Thus also we acquire a knowledge of the moral temperament of\ndifferent men, and learn to adapt our measures accordingly in our\ntransactions with them. In endeavouring, for example, to excite three\nindividuals to some act of usefulness, we come to know, that in one we\nhave only to appeal to his sense of duty; in another to his vanity or\nlove of approbation; while we have no hope of making any impression on\nthe third, unless we can make it appear to bear upon his interest.\n\nV. The principles referred to under the preceding heads are chiefly\nthose which regulate the connexion of man with his fellow-men. But there\nis another class of emotions, in their nature distinct from these;\nthough, in a practical point of view, they are much connected. These are\nthe emotions which arise out of his relation to the Deity. The\nregulation of the moral feelings, in reference to this relation, will\ntherefore come to be considered in a department of the inquiry devoted\nto themselves, in connexion with the views of the character and\nattributes of God, which we obtain from the light of reason and\nconscience.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThis analysis of the principles which constitute the moral feelings\nindicates the farther division of our inquiry in the following manner:--\n\nI. The Desires,--the Affections,--and Self-love.\n\nII. The Will.\n\nIII. The Moral Principle, or Conscience.\n\nIV. The moral relation of man towards the\nDeity.\n\nThese constitute what may be called the active principles of man, or\nthose which are calculated to decide his conduct as a moral and\nresponsible being. In connexion with them, there is another class of\nfeelings, which may be called passive or connecting emotions. They exert\na considerable influence of a secondary kind; but, in an Essay which is\nmeant to be essentially practical, it perhaps will not be necessary to\ndo more than enumerate them in such a manner as to point out their\nrelation to the active principles.\n\nWhen an object presents qualities on account of which we wish to obtain\nit, we feel _desire_. If we have reason to think that it is within our\nreach, we experience _hope_; and the effect of this is to encourage us\nin our exertions. If we arrive at such a conviction as leaves no doubt\nof the attainment, this is _confidence_, one of the forms of that state\nof mind which we call _faith_. If we see no prospect of attaining it,\nwe give way to _despair_,--and this leads us to abandon all exertion for\nthe attainment. When we obtain the object we experience _pleasure_ or\n_joy_; if we are disappointed, we feel _regret_. If, again, we have the\nprospect of some evil which threatens us, we experience _fear_, and are\nthereby excited to exertions for averting it. If we succeed in doing so,\nwe experience _joy_; if not, we feel _sorrow_. If the evil seem\nunavoidable, we again give way to _despair_, and are thus led to\nrelinquish all attempts to avert it.--Similar emotions attend on the\naffections. When we experience an affection, we _desire_ to be able to\nact upon it. When we see a prospect of doing so, we _hope_; if there\nseem to be none, we _despair_ of accomplishing our object. When we have\nacted upon a benevolent affection, or according to the dictates of the\nmoral principle, we experience _self-approbation_; when the contrary, we\nfeel _remorse_. When either a desire or an affection has acquired an\nundue influence, so as to carry us forward in a manner disproportioned\nto its real and proper tendencies, it becomes a _passion_.\n\n\n\n\nPART I.\n\nOF THE DESIRES, THE AFFECTIONS, AND SELF-LOVE.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. I.\n\nTHE DESIRES.\n\nDesire is the immediate movement or act of the mind towards an object\nwhich presents some quality on account of which we wish to obtain it.\nThe objects of desire, therefore, embrace all those attainments and\ngratifications, which mankind consider worthy of being sought after. The\nobject pursued in each particular case, is determined by the views,\nhabits, and moral dispositions of the individual. In this manner, one\nperson may regard an object, as above every other worthy of being sought\nafter, which to another appears insignificant or worthless. The\nprinciples which regulate these diversities, and consequently form one\nof the great differences in human character, belong to a subsequent part\nof our inquiry.\n\nIn forming a classification of the desires, we must be guided simply by\nthe nature of the various objects which are desired. Those which may be\nspecified as the most prevalent, and the most clearly to be\ndistinguished as separate, may be referred to the following heads.\n\nI. The gratification of the animal propensities,--commonly called the\nappetites. These, which we possess in common with the lower animals, are\nimplanted in us for important purposes; but they require to be kept\nunder the most rigid control, both of reason and of the moral principle.\nWhen they are allowed to break through these restraints, and become\nleading principles of action, they form a character the lowest in the\nscale, whether intellectual or moral; and it is impossible to\ncontemplate a more degraded condition of a rational and moral being.\nThe consequences to society are also of the most baneful nature.\nWithout alluding to the glutton or to the drunkard, what accumulated\nguilt, degradation, and wretchedness follow the course of the\nlibertine,--blasting whatever comes within the reach of his influence,\nand extending a demoralizing power alike to him who inflicts and to\nthose who suffer the wrong. Thus is constituted a class of evils, of\nwhich no human law can take any adequate cognizance, and which therefore\nraise our views, in a special and peculiar manner, to a supreme Moral\nGovernor.\n\nII. The Desire of Wealth, commonly called Avarice;--though avarice is\nperhaps justly to be regarded as the morbid excess or abuse of the\npropensity. This is properly to be considered as originating in the\ndesire to possess the means of procuring other gratifications. But, by\nthe influence of habit, the desire is transferred to the thing itself,\nand it often becomes a kind of mania, in which there is the pure love of\ngain, without the application of it to any other kind of enjoyment. It\nis a propensity which may, in a remarkable manner, engross the whole\ncharacter, acquiring strength by continuance, and it is then generally\naccompanied by a contracted selfishness, which considers nothing as\nmean or unworthy that can be made to contribute to the ruling passion.\nThis may be the case even when the propensity is regulated by the rules\nof justice;--if it break through this restraint, it leads to fraud,\nextortion, deceit, and injustice,--and, under another form, to theft or\nrobbery. It is therefore always in danger of being opposed to the\nexercise of the benevolent affections, leading a man to live for\nhimself, and to study only the means calculated to promote his own\ninterest.\n\nIII. The Desire of Power, or Ambition. This is the love of ruling,--or\ngiving the law to a circle whether more or less extensive. When it\nbecomes the governing propensity, the strongest principles of human\nnature give way before it,--even those of personal comfort and safety.\nThis we see in the conqueror, who braves every danger, difficulty, and\nprivation, for the attainment of power; and in the statesman, who\nsacrifices for it every personal advantage, perhaps health and peace.\nThe principle, however, assumes another form, which, according to its\ndirection, may aim at a higher object. Such is the desire of exercising\npower over the minds of men; of persuading a multitude, by arguments or\neloquence, to deeds of usefulness; of pleading the cause of the\noppressed;--a power of influencing the opinions of others, and of\nguiding them into sound sentiments and virtuous conduct. This is a\nspecies of power, the most gratifying by far to an exalted and virtuous\nmind, and one calculated to carry benefit to others wherever it is\nexerted.\n\nIV. The Desire of Superiority, or Emulation. This is allied to the\nformer, except that it does not include any direct wish to rule, but\naims simply at the acquirement of pre-eminence. It is a propensity of\nextensive influence, and not easily confined within the bounds of\ncorrect principle. It is apt to lead to undue means for the\naccomplishment of its object; and every real or imagined failure tends\nto excite hatred and envy. Hence it requires the most careful regulation\nand, when much encouraged in the young, is not free from the danger of\ngenerating malignant passions. Its influence and tendency, as in other\ndesires, depend in a great measure on the objects to which it is\ndirected. It may be seen in the man who seeks to excel his associates in\nthe gaiety of his apparel, the splendour of his equipage, or the luxury\nof his table. It is found in him whose proud distinction is to be the\nmost fearless rider at a steeple-chase or a fox-hunt,--or to perform\nsome other exploit, the only claim of which to admiration consists in\nits never having been performed before. The same principle, directed to\nmore worthy objects, may influence him who seeks to be distinguished in\nsome high pursuit, calculated to confer a lasting benefit upon his\ncountry or on human kind.\n\nV. The Desire of Society. This has been considered by most writers on\nthe subject as a prominent principle of human nature, shewing itself at\nall periods of life, and in all conditions of civilization. In persons\nshut up from intercourse with their fellow-men, it has manifested itself\nin the closest attachment to animals; as if the human mind could not\nexist without some object on which to exercise the feelings intended to\nbind man to his fellows. It is found in the union of men in civil\nsociety and social intercourse,--in the ties of friendship, and the\nstill closer union of the domestic circle. It is necessary for the\nexercise of all the affections; and even our weaknesses require the\npresence of other men. There would be no enjoyment of rank or wealth, if\nthere were none to admire;--and even the misanthrope requires the\npresence of another to whom his spleen may be uttered. The abuse of this\nprinciple leads to the contracted spirit of party.\n\nVI. The Desire of Esteem and Approbation. This is a principle of most\nextensive influence, and is in many instances the source of worthy and\nuseful displays of human character. Though inferior to the high sense of\nmoral obligation, it may yet be considered a laudable principle,--as\nwhen a man seeks the approbation of others by deeds of benevolence,\npublic spirit, or patriotism,--by actions calculated to promote the\nadvantage or the comfort either of communities or individuals. In the\nhealthy exercise of it, a man desires the approbation of the good;--in\nthe distorted use of it, he seeks merely the praise of a party, or\nperhaps, by deeds of a frivolous or even vicious character, aims at the\napplause of associates whose praise is worthless. According to the\nobject to which it is directed, therefore, the desire of approbation may\nbe the attribute either of a virtuous or a perverted mind. But it is a\nprinciple, which, in general, we expect to find operating in every\nwell-regulated mind, under certain restrictions. Thus a man who is\ntotally regardless of character,--that is, of the opinion of all others\nrespecting his conduct, we commonly consider as a person lost to correct\nvirtuous feeling. On the other hand, however, there may be instances in\nwhich it is the quality of a man of the greatest mind to pursue some\ncourse to which from adequate motives, he has devoted himself,\nregardless alike of the praise or the disapprobation of other men. The\ncharacter in which the love of approbation is a ruling principle is\ntherefore modified by the direction of it. To desire the approbation of\nthe virtuous, leads to conduct of a corresponding kind, and to\nsteadiness and consistency in such conduct. To seek the approbation of\nthe vicious, leads, of course, to an opposite character. But there is a\nthird modification, presenting a subject of some interest, in which the\nprevailing principle of the man is a general love of approbation,\nwithout any discrimination of the characters of those whose praise is\nsought, or of the value of the qualities on account of which he seeks\nit. This is vanity; and it produces a conduct wavering and\ninconsistent,--perpetually changing with the circumstances in which the\nindividual is placed. It often leads him to aim at admiration for\ndistinctions of a very trivial character,--or even for qualities which\nhe does not really possess. It thus includes the love of flattery.\nPride, on the other hand, as opposed to vanity, seems to consist in a\nman entertaining a high opinion of himself, while he is indifferent to\nthe opinion of others;--thus we speak of a man who is too proud to be\nvain.\n\nOur regard to the opinion of others is the origin of our respect to\ncharacter, in matters which do not come under the higher principle of\nmorals; and is of extensive influence in promoting the harmonies,\nproprieties, and decencies of society. It is thus the foundation of good\nbreeding, and leads to kindness and accommodation in little matters\nwhich do not belong to the class of duties. It is also the source of\nwhat we usually call decorum and propriety, which lead a man to conduct\nhimself in a manner becoming his character and circumstances, in regard\nto things which do not involve any higher principle. For, apart entirely\nfrom any consideration either of morality or benevolence, there is a\ncertain line of conduct which is unbecoming in all men; and there is\nconduct which is becoming in some, though it might not in other\nmen,--and in some circumstances, though it might not be so in others. It\nis unnecessary to add, how much of a man's respectability in life often\ndepends upon finding his way, with proper discrimination, through the\nrelations of society which are amenable to this principle; or, by how\nmany actions, which are not really wrong, a man may render himself\ndespised and ridiculous. The love of esteem and approbation is also of\nextensive influence in the young,--both in the conduct of education and\nthe cultivation of general character; and it is not liable to the\nobjections, formerly referred to, which apply to the principle of\nEmulation. It leads also to those numerous expedients by which persons\nof various character seek for themselves notoriety or a name: or desire\nto leave a reputation behind them, when they are no more. This is the\nlove of posthumous fame, a subject which has afforded an extensive theme\nboth for the philosopher and the humorist.\n\nVII. The Desire of Knowledge, or of Intellectual Improvement,--including\nthe principle of Curiosity. The tendency of this high principle must\ndepend, as in the former cases, on its regulation, and the objects to\nwhich it is directed. These may vary from the idle tattle of the day, to\nthe highest attainments in literature or science. The principle may be\napplied to pursuits of a frivolous or useless kind, and to such\nacquirements as lead only to pedantry or sophism;--or it may be directed\nto a desultory application, which leads to a superficial acquaintance\nwith a variety of subjects, without a correct knowledge of any of them.\nOn the other hand, the pursuit of knowledge may be allowed to interfere\nwith important duties which we owe to others, in the particular\nsituation in which we are placed. A well-regulated judgment conducts\nthe propensity to worthy objects; and directs it in such a manner as to\nmake it most useful to others. With such due regulation, the principle\nought to be carefully cultivated in the young. It is closely connected\nwith that activity of mind which seeks for knowledge on every subject\nthat comes within its reach, and which is ever on the watch to make its\nknowledge more correct and more extensive.\n\nVIII. The Desire of Moral Improvement. This leads to the highest state\nof man: and it bears this peculiar character, that it is adapted to men\nin every scale of society, and tends to diffuse a beneficial influence\naround the circle with which the individual is connected. The desire of\npower may exist in many, but its gratification is limited to a few:--he\nwho fails may become a discontented misanthrope; and he who succeeds may\nbe a scourge to his species. The desire of superiority or of praise may\nbe misdirected in the same manner, leading to insolent triumph on the\none hand, and envy on the other. Even the thirst for knowledge may be\nabused, and many are placed in circumstances in which it cannot be\ngratified. But the desire of moral improvement commends itself to every\nclass of society, and its object is attainable by all. In proportion to\nits intensity and its steadiness, it tends to make the possessor both a\nhappier and a better man, and to render him the instrument of diffusing\nhappiness and usefulness to all who come within the reach of his\ninfluence. If he be in a superior station, these results will be felt\nmore extensively; if he be in a humble sphere, they may be more limited;\nbut their nature is the same, and their tendency is equally to elevate\nthe character of man. This mental condition consists, as we shall\nafterwards have occasion to shew more particularly, in a habitual\nrecognition of the supreme authority of conscience over the whole\nintellectual and moral system, and in a habitual effort to have every\ndesire and every affection regulated by the moral principle, and by a\nsense of the divine will. It leads to a uniformity of character which\ncan never flow from any lower source, and to a conduct distinguished by\nthe anxious discharge of every duty, and the practice of the most active\nbenevolence.\n\nThe Emotions which have been now briefly mentioned seem to include the\nmore important of those which pertain to the class of Desires. There is,\nhowever, another principle which ought to be mentioned as a leading\npeculiarity of human nature, though it may be somewhat difficult to\ndetermine the class to which it belongs. This is the Desire of\nAction,--the restless activity of mind, which leads it to require some\nobject on which its powers must be exercised, and without which it preys\nupon itself and becomes miserable. On this principle we are to explain\nseveral facts which are of frequent observation. A person accustomed to\na life of activity longs for ease and retirement, and, when he has\naccomplished his purpose, finds himself wretched. The frivolous\nengagements of the unoccupied are referable to the same principle. They\narise, not from any interest which such occupations really possess, but\nsimply from the desire of mental excitement,--the felicity of having\nsomething to do. The pleasure of relaxation, indeed, is known to those\nonly who have regular and interesting employment. Continued relaxation\nsoon becomes a weariness; and, on this ground, we may safely assert,\nthat the greatest degree of real enjoyment belongs, not to the luxurious\nman of wealth, or the listless votary of fashion, but to the middle\nclasses of society, who, along with the comforts of life, have constant\nand important occupation. Apart, indeed, from actual suffering, I\nbelieve there is nothing in the external circumstances of individuals,\nof greater or more habitual importance for promoting personal happiness,\nthan stated, rational, and interesting employment.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe mental condition which we call Desire appears to lie in a great\nmeasure at the foundation of character;--and, for a sound moral\ncondition, it is required that the desires be directed to worthy\nobjects,--and that the degree or strength of them be accommodated to the\ntrue and relative value of each of these objects. If the desires are\nthus directed, worthy conduct will be likely to follow in a steady and\nuniform manner. If they are allowed to break from the restraints of\nreason, and the moral principle, the man is left at the mercy of\nunhallowed passion, and is liable to those irregularities which\nnaturally result from such a derangement of the moral feelings. If,\nindeed, we would see the evils produced by desire, when not thus\ncontrolled, we have only to look at the whole history of human kind.\nWhat accumulated miseries arise from the want of due regulation of the\nanimal propensities, in the various forms in which it degrades the\ncharacter of rational and moral beings.--What evils spring from the love\nof money, and from the desire of power;--from the contests of rivals,\nand the tumults of party,--what envy, hatred, malignity, and\nrevenge.--What complicated wretchedness follows the train of\nambition,--contempt of human suffering, countries depopulated, and\nfields deluged with blood. Such are the results of desire, when not\ndirected to objects worthy of a moral being, and not kept under the\nrigid control of conscience, and the immutable laws of moral rectitude.\nWhen, in any of these forms, a sensual or selfish propensity is allowed\nto pass the due boundary which is fixed for it by reason and the moral\nprinciple, the mental harmony is destroyed, and even the judgment itself\ncomes to be impaired and distorted in that highest of all inquiries, the\nsearch after moral truth.\n\nThe desires, indeed, may exist in an ill-regulated state, while the\nconduct is yet restrained by various principles, such as submission to\nhuman laws, a regard to character, or even a certain feeling of what is\nmorally right, contending with the vitiated principle within. But this\ncannot be considered as the healthy condition of a moral being. It is\nonly when the desire itself is sound, that we can say the man is in\nmoral health. \"He who grieves at his abstinence,\" says Aristotle, \"is a\nvoluptuary;\"--and this also is the great principle so often and so\nstrikingly enforced in the sacred writings; \"Keep thy heart with all\ndiligence, because out of it are the issues of life.\" \"Blessed are the\npure in heart, for they shall see God.\" Thus, there are desires which\nare folly, and there are desires which are vice, even though they should\nnot be followed by indulgence; and there are desires which tend to\npurify and elevate the moral nature, though their objects should be\nbeyond the reach of our full attainment in the present state of being.\nPerfect moral purity is not the lot of man in this transient state, and\nis not to be attained by his own unaided efforts. But, subservient to\nit is that warfare within, that earnest and habitual desire after the\nperfection of a moral being, which is felt to be the great object of\nlife, when it is viewed in relation to the life which is to come. For\nthis attainment, however, man must feel his total inadequacy,--and the\nutmost efforts of human reason have failed in unfolding the requisite\naid. The conviction is thus forced upon us, that a higher influence is\nnecessary, and this influence is fully disclosed by the light of\nrevealed truth. We are there taught to look for a power from on high,\ncapable of effecting what human efforts cannot accomplish,--the\npurification of the heart.\n\n\n\n\nSect. II.\n\nThe Affections.\n\n\nAs the desires are calculated to bring some gratification to ourselves,\nthe Affections lead us to our relations to other men, and to a certain\nline of conduct which arises out of these relations. They are to be\nviewed as original principles of our nature, planted in us for wise\npurposes, and the operation of them is to be considered as distinct,\nboth from that of the moral principle and of reason,--that is, from any\nsense of duty or the moral rectitude of the conduct to which they lead,\nand from any calculation of its propriety and utility. Thus, when the\nmother devotes her attention by day and night to her infant, if from\nsickness or helplessness in want of her special care, and perseveres in\ndoing so, with total disregard to her own ease, health, or comfort, she\nis not influenced either by a sense of duty, or by any feeling of the\nutility of her conduct: she acts upon an impulse within, which she feels\nto be a part of her constitution, and which carries her forward in a\nparticular course of anxious and protracted exertion by the power of\nitself alone. This distinction appears to be of the utmost practical\nimportance, and we shall have occasion to refer to it more particularly\nin the sequel.\n\nAn Affection, therefore, maybe considered as an original feeling or\nemotion existing in ourselves, which leads us to a particular conduct\ntowards other men, without reference to any principle except the\nintuitive impulse of the emotion itself. The Affections have been\ndivided into the Benevolent and Malevolent; but these titles appear to\nbe incorrect, especially the latter,--as the due exercise of the\nemotions to which it refers does not properly include what is called\nmalevolence. They only tend to guard us against certain conduct in other\nmen; and, when they are allowed to go beyond this, that is, to actual\nmalevolence or revenge, the application is morbid. It will therefore\naccord better with the nature of these emotions, to give them the names\nof Uniting, and Defensive Affections;--the former including justice,\nbenevolence, veracity, friendship, love, gratitude, patriotism, and the\ndomestic affections;--the latter, jealousy, disapprobation, and anger.\n\n\nI. JUSTICE.\n\nThere may be some difference of opinion in regard to the propriety of\nincluding justice among the affections; but it seems to be more nearly\nallied to them than to any of the other classes of moral emotions which\nhave been mentioned, and it may, therefore, as a mere matter of\narrangement, be conveniently introduced here. Strictly speaking, it\nmight perhaps be considered as a combined operation of an affection and\nthe moral principle; but this is matter of speculation alone. The\nimportant consideration relating to it is,--that, in whatever manner it\narises, the sense of Justice is a primary and essential part of our\nmoral constitution, conveying the distinct impression of certain conduct\nwhich a man owes to his fellow-men, without regard to any considerations\nof a personal nature, and apart from all positive enactments or laws,\neither divine or human. The requirements of Justice embrace certain\npoints in which every man has an absolute right, and in regard to which\nit is the absolute duty of every other man not to interfere with him.\nThese rights have usually been divided into three classes;--what I have\na right to possess, and no man has any right to take from me,--what I\nhave a right to do, and no man has any title to prevent me from\ndoing,--what I have a right to expect from other men, and it is their\nabsolute duty to perform. These principles form the basis of what is\ncalled Natural Jurisprudence, a code of relative duty deriving its\nauthority from impressions which are found in the moral feelings of all\nmankind, without regard to the enactments of any particular civil\nsociety. In the actual arrangements of civil communities, these great\nprinciples of justice are combined with others which are derived merely\nfrom utility or expediency, as calculated to promote the peace or the\nadvantage of the community. These may differ in different countries, and\nthey cease to be binding when the enactments on which they rest are\nabrogated or changed. But no difference of place can alter, and no laws\ncan destroy, the essential requirements of justice.\n\nIn these observations, it will be remarked, the word Justice is used as\nexpressing a principle of individual character; and it is in this sense\nthat it is to be properly classed with the affections. The term is\nemployed in another sense, namely, that of distributive and corrective\njustice, which regulates the claims of individuals in a community,\nrequires restitution or compensation for any deviation from such claims,\nor punishes those who have violated them. It is in the former sense that\njustice is properly to be considered as a branch of the philosophy of\nthe moral feelings; but the same general principles apply to both.\n\nThe sense of Justice, therefore, consists in a feeling experienced by\nevery man, of a certain line of conduct which he owes to other men in\ngiven circumstances; and this seems to be referable to the following\nheads,--attending to their interest,--not interfering with their freedom\nof action,--preserving their reputation,--estimating their character and\nmotives,--judging of their opinions,--consulting their feelings,--and\npreserving or improving their moral condition. As a guide for his\nconduct in particular instances, a man has usually a distinct impression\nof what he thinks due by other men towards himself; justice requires\nthat he rigidly extend to others the same feelings and conduct which, in\nsimilar circumstances, he expects from them.\n\n\n(1.) Justice is due to the persons, property, and interest of others.\nThis constitutes Integrity or Honesty. It, of course, implies abstaining\nfrom every kind of injury, and preserving a conscientious regard to\ntheir rights. In this last respect, it allows us to exercise a prudent\nattention to our own interest, provided the means be fair and\nhonourable, and that we carefully abstain from injuring others by the\nmeasures we employ for this purpose. The great rule for our guidance, in\nall such cases, is found in the immutable principles of moral rectitude;\nthe test of our conduct in regard to individual instances is, that it be\nsuch as, were our own interest concerned, we should think fair and\nhonourable in other men.\n\n\n(2.) Justice requires us not to interfere with the freedom of action of\nothers. This constitutes personal liberty;--but in all civil communities\nthe right is liable to certain restrictions;--as when a man uses his\nfreedom of action to the danger or injury of other men. The principles\nof justice may also recognise a man's surrendering, to a certain extent,\nhis personal liberty, by mutual and voluntary compact, as in the case of\nservants, apprentices, soldiers, &c.; but they are opposed to slavery,\nin which the individual concerned is not a party to the arrangement.\n\n\n(3.) Justice enjoins a regard to the reputation of others. This consists\nin avoiding every thing that could be injurious to their good name,\neither by direct evil speaking, or such insinuations as might give rise\nto suspicion or prejudice against them. It must extend also to the\ncounteracting of such insinuations, when we hear them made by others,\nespecially in circumstances in which the individual injured has no\nopportunity of defending himself. It includes, farther, that we do not\ndeny to others, even to rivals, any praise or credit which is justly due\nto them. There is, however, one modification, equally consistent with\njustice, to which the former of these rules is liable; namely, that, in\ncertain cases, we may be required to make a statement prejudicial to an\nindividual, when duty to a third party or to the public makes it\nincumbent on us to do so. In such a case, a person guided by the rules\nof justice will go no farther than is actually required by the\ncircumstances; and will at all times beware of propagating a report\ninjurious to another, though he should know it to be strictly true,\nunless he is called upon by special duty to communicate it.\n\n\n(4.) Justice requires us not only to avoid injuring an individual in the\nestimation of other men, but to exercise the same fairness in forming\nour own opinion of his character, without being misled or biased by\npassion or prejudice. This consists in estimating his conduct and\nmotives with calmness and impartiality; in regard to particular\ninstances, making full allowance for the circumstances in which he was\nplaced, and the feelings by which he was, or might be, at the time,\nnaturally influenced. When an action admits of being referred to\ndifferent motives, justice consists in taking the more favourable view,\nif we can do so with strict regard to truth, instead of harshly and\nhastily assigning a motive which is unworthy. Such justice in regard to\ncharacter and motives we require to exercise with peculiar care, when\nthe conduct referred to has been in any way opposed to our own\nself-love. In these cases we must be especially on our guard against\nthe influence of the selfish principle, which might lead to partial and\ndistorted views of actions and motives, less favourable to others, and\nmore favourable to ourselves, than justice warrants. When viewed in this\nmanner, we may often perceive, that conduct, which gave rise to emotions\nof displeasure as injurious to us, was fully warranted by some conduct\non our own part, or was required by some higher duty which the\nindividual owed to another.\n\n\n(5.) Justice is to be exercised in judging of the opinions and\nstatements of others. This constitutes Candour. It consists in giving a\nfair and deliberate hearing to opinions, statements, and arguments, and\nweighing fairly and honestly their tendency. It is, therefore, opposed\nto prejudice, blind attachment to preconceived opinions, and that narrow\ndisputatious spirit which delights in captious criticism, and will hear\nnothing with calmness that is opposed to its own views; which distorts\nor misrepresents the sentiments of its opponents, ascribing them to\nunworthy motives, or deducing from them conclusions which they do not\nwarrant. Candour, accordingly, may be considered as a compound of\njustice and the love of truth. It leads us to give due attention to the\nopinions and statements of others,--in all cases to be chiefly\nsolicitous to discover truth, and, in statements of a mixed character,\ncontaining perhaps much error and fallacy, anxiously to discover and\nseparate what is true. It has accordingly been remarked, that a turn for\nacute disputation, and minute and rigid criticism, is often the\ncharacteristic of a contracted and prejudiced mind; and that the most\nenlarged understandings are always the most indulgent to the statements\nof others,--their leading object being to discover truth.\n\n\n(6.) Justice is due to the feelings of others; and this applies to many\ncircumstances which do not affect either their interest or their\nreputation. Without injuring them in any of these respects, or in our\nown good opinion, we may behave to them in such a manner as to wound\ntheir feelings. There are minds of an extreme delicacy, which, in this\nrespect, are peculiarly sensitive;--towards these a person of correct\nfeelings strives to conduct himself with suitable tenderness. We may\nfind, however, persons of honest and upright minds, who would shrink\nfrom the least approach to real injury, but yet neglect the necessary\nattention to the feelings; and may even confer a real benefit in such a\nmanner as to wound the individual to whom they intended kindness. The\nlower degrees of this principle pertain to what is called mere good\nbreeding, which has been defined \"benevolence in trifles;\" but the\nhigher degrees may restrain from conduct which, without any real injury,\ninflicts permanent pain. To this head we may perhaps also refer a due\nregard to the estimate which we lead a man to form of himself. This is\nopposed to flattery on the one hand, and on the other to any unnecessary\ndepreciation of his character. Flattery indeed is also to be considered\nas a violation of veracity.\n\n\n(7.) While, upon the principles which have been referred to, we abstain\nfrom injuring the interests, the reputation, or the feelings of others,\nthere is another class of injuries, of still higher magnitude, which\nthe conscientious mind will avoid with peculiar anxiety, namely,\ninjuries done to the moral principles of other men. These form a class\nof offences of which no human law takes any adequate cognizance, but we\nknow that they possess a character of the deepest malignity. Deep guilt\nattaches to the man who, by persuasion or ridicule, has unhinged the\nmoral feelings of another, or has been the means of leading him astray\nfrom the paths of virtue. Of equal, or even greater malignity, is the\naspect of the writer, whose works have contributed to violate the\nprinciples of truth and rectitude,--to pollute the imagination, or\ncorrupt the heart. Inferior offenders are promptly seized by public\nauthority, and suffer the award of public justice; but the destroyer of\nthe moral being often walks securely through his own scene of moral\ndiscipline, as if no power could reach the measure of his guilt but the\nhand of the Eternal.\n\nTo the same head we are to assign the extensive and important influence\nof example. There are few men who have not in this respect some power,\nbut it belongs more particularly to persons in situations of rank and\npublic eminence. It is matter of deep regret, both to the friend of\nvirtue and the friend of his country, when any of these are found\nmanifesting disregard to sacred things, or giving an air of fashion to\nwhat is calculated to corrupt the moral principles of the unthinking\nclasses of society. If they are restrained by no higher motive, the\nfeelings of patriotism, and even of personal safety, ought to produce a\nsolemn caution; and it becomes them seriously to consider, whether they\nmay not thus be sowing among the ignorant multitude the seeds of tumult,\nrevolution, and anarchy.\n\n\nII. COMPASSION AND BENEVOLENCE.\n\nGreat diversity exists in the condition of different individuals in the\npresent state,--some being in circumstances of ease, wealth, and\ncomfort,--others of pain, deprivation, and sorrow. Such diversities we\nmust consider as an arrangement established by the great Disposer of all\nthings, and calculated to promote important purposes in his moral\ngovernment. Many of these purposes are entirely beyond the reach of our\nfaculties; but, as holding a prominent place among them, we may safely\nreckon the cultivation of our moral feelings, especially the affections\nof compassion and benevolence. The due exercise of these is, therefore,\ncalculated to promote a double object, namely, the alleviation of\ndistress in others,--and the cultivation in ourselves of a mental\ncondition peculiarly adapted to a state of moral discipline. By bringing\nus into contact with individuals in various forms and degrees of\nsuffering, they tend continually to remind us, that the present scene is\nbut the infancy of our existence,--that the beings whom we thus\ncontemplate are the children of the same Almighty Father with ourselves,\ninheriting the same nature, possessed of the same feelings, and soon to\nenter upon another state of existence, when all the distinctions which\nare to be found in this world shall cease for ever. They tend thus to\nwithdraw us from the power of self-love, and the deluding influence of\npresent things; and habitually to raise our views to that future life,\nfor which the present is intended to prepare us. The due cultivation of\nthe benevolent affections, therefore, is not properly to be considered\nas the object of moral approbation, but rather as a process of moral\nculture. They may enable us in some degree to benefit others, but their\nchief benefit is to ourselves. By neglecting them, we both incur much\nguilt, and deprive ourselves of an important mean of improvement. The\ndiligent exercise of them, besides being a source of moral advantage, is\naccompanied with a degree of mental enjoyment which carries with it its\nown reward. Such appears to be the correct view which we ought to take\nof the arrangement established by the Creator in this part of our\nconstitution. It is calculated to correct a misconception of an\nimportant kind, which considers the exercise of the benevolent\naffections as possessing a character of merit. To this subject we shall\nhave occasion to refer more particularly in the sequel.\n\nThe exercise of the benevolent affections may be briefly treated of,\nunder nearly the same heads as those referred to when considering the\nprinciple of Justice;--keeping in mind that they lead to greater\nexertion for the benefit of others, and thus often demand a greater\nsacrifice of self love, than is included under the mere requirements of\njustice. On the other hand, benevolence is not to be exercised at the\nexpense of Justice; as would be the case, if a man were found relieving\ndistress by such expedients as involve the necessity of withholding the\npayment of just debts, or imply the neglect or infringement of some duty\nwhich he owes to another.\n\n\n(1.) Compassion and benevolent exertion are due towards alleviating the\ndistresses of others. This exercise of them, in many instances, calls\nfor a decided sacrifice of personal interest, and, in others, for\nconsiderable personal exertion. We feel our way to the proper measure of\nthese sacrifices, by the high principle of moral duty, along with that\nmental exercise which places us in the situation of others, and, by a\nkind of reflected self-love, judges of the conduct due by us to them in\nour respective circumstances.--The details of this subject would lead us\ninto a field too extensive for our present purpose. Pecuniary aid, by\nthose who have the means, is the most easy form in which benevolence\ncan be gratified, and that which often requires the least, if any,\nsacrifice of personal comfort or self-love. The same affection maybe\nexercised in a degree much higher in itself, and often much more useful\nto others, by personal exertion and personal kindness. The former,\ncompared with the means of the individual, may present a mere mockery of\nmercy; while the latter, even in the lowest walks of life, often exhibit\nthe brightest displays of active usefulness that can adorn the human\ncharacter. This high and pure benevolence not only is dispensed with\nwillingness, when occasions present themselves; but seeks out\nopportunities for itself, and feels in want of its natural and healthy\nexercise when deprived of an object on which it may be bestowed.\n\n\n(2.) Benevolence is to be exercised towards the reputation of others.\nThis consists not only in avoiding any injury to their characters, but\nin exertions to protect them against the injustice of others,--to\ncorrect misrepresentations,--to check the course of slander, and to\nobviate the efforts of those who would poison the confidence of friends,\nor disturb the harmony of society.\n\n\n(3.) Benevolence is to be exercised towards the character and conduct of\nothers; especially when these have been in opposition to our personal\ninterest or self-love. This consists in viewing their conduct with\nindulgence and forbearance, assigning the most favourable motives,--and\nmaking every allowance for their feelings, and the circumstances in\nwhich they were placed. It leads us also to avoid all suspicions and\njealousies which are not clearly justified by fact; and to abstain to\nthe utmost from taking offence,--by putting upon the conduct of others\nthe best construction of which it will possibly admit. It extends still\nfarther to the actual forgiveness of injuries, and the repaying of evil\nwith good,--a conduct represented in the sacred writings as one of the\nhighest attainments the human character can reach, in so far as regards\nits relation to other men.\n\n\n(4.) Benevolence is to be exercised towards the feelings of others; and\nthis applies to many situations in which neither their interest nor\ntheir character is concerned. It includes those exercises of the kindly\naffections which produce so powerful an influence in all the relations\nof life, but which it is impossible for any description to delineate. It\ncomprehends all our social and civil connexions, but seems peculiarly to\nbelong to our intercourse with inferiors and dependents. Its most\nanxious exercise may often relate merely to trifles, but it extends to\ninnumerable circumstances in which we may surrender our own feelings to\nthose of others, and our own convenience or gratification to theirs. It\nimplies solicitude to avoid wounding the feelings by pride, selfishness,\nor fretfulness,--by suspicions, imputations, and jealousies,--or by\nallowing insignificant things to ruffle the temper and derange the\nsocial comfort. Many, who are not deficient in what we usually call\ndeeds of benevolence, are too apt to forget, that a most important\nexercise of true benevolence consists in the habitual cultivation of\ncourtesy, gentleness, and kindness; and that on these dispositions often\ndepends our influence upon the comfort and happiness of others, in a\ngreater degree than on any deeds of actual beneficence.--To this\ndepartment, also, we may refer the high character of the peace-maker,\nwhose delight it is to allay angry feelings, even when he is in no\ndegree personally interested, and to bring together as friends and\nbrethren, those who have assumed the attitude of hatred and revenge.\n\n\n(5.) Benevolence is to be exercised in regard to the moral degradation\nof others, including their ignorance and vice. This prevents us from\nderiving satisfaction from moral evil, even though it should contribute\nto our advantage, as might often happen from the misconduct of rivals or\nenemies. It implies also that highest species of usefulness which aims\nat raising the moral condition of man,--by instructing the ignorant,\nrescuing the unwary, and reclaiming the vicious. This exalted\nbenevolence will therefore also seek to extend the light of divine truth\nto nations that sit in moral darkness; and looks anxiously for the\nperiod when the knowledge of Christianity shall dispel every false\nfaith, and put an end to the horrors of superstition.\n\n\n\n\nIII. Veracity.\n\n\nIn our mental impressions relating to veracity, we have a striking\nillustration of the manner in which we rely on this class of moral\nfeelings, as instinctive in the constitution of the mind. On a certain\nconfidence in the veracity of mankind is founded so much of the\nknowledge on which we constantly depend, that, without it, the whole\nsystem of human things would go into confusion. It relates to all the\nintelligence which we derive from any other source than our own personal\nobservation:--for example, to all that we receive through the historian,\nthe traveller, the naturalist, or the astronomer. Even in regard to the\nmost common events of a single day, we often proceed on a confidence in\nthe veracity of a great variety of individuals. There is, indeed, a\nnatural tendency to truth in all men, unless where this principle is\novercome by some strong selfish purpose to be answered by departing\nfrom it:--and there is an equally strong tendency to rely on the\nveracity of others, until we have learnt certain cautions by our actual\nexperience of mankind. Hence children and inexperienced persons are\neasily imposed upon by unfounded statements:--and the most practised\nliar confides in the credulity of those whom he attempts to deceive.\nDeception, indeed, would never accomplish its purpose, if it were not\nfrom the impression that men generally speak truth. It is obvious also,\nthat the mutual confidence which men have in each other, both in regard\nto veracity of statement, and to sincerity of intention respecting\nengagements, is that which keeps together the whole of civil society. In\nthe transactions of commerce it is indispensable, and without it all the\nrelations of civil life would go into disorder. When treating of the\nintellectual powers in another work, I considered the principles which\nregulate our confidence in human testimony; and it is unnecessary to\nrecur to them in this place. Our present object is briefly to analyze\nthe elements which are essential to veracity, when we view it as a moral\nemotion, or a branch of individual character. These appear to be\nthree,--correctness in ascertaining facts,--accuracy in relating\nthem,--and truth of purpose, or fidelity in the fulfilment of promises.\n\n(1.) An important element of veracity is correctness in ascertaining\nfacts. This is essential to the _Love of Truth_. It requires us to\nexercise the most anxious care respecting every statement which we\nreceive as true; and not to receive it as such, until we are satisfied\nthat the authority on which it is asserted is of a nature on which we\ncan fully rely, and that the statement contains all the facts to which\nour attention ought to be directed. It consequently guards us against\nthose limited views, by which party spirit or a love of favourite dogmas\nleads a man to receive the facts which favour a particular opinion, and\nneglect those which are opposed to it. The sound exercise of judgment,\nwhich is connected with this love of truth, differs therefore from the\nart of ingenious disputation, and is often found directly at variance\nwith it. The same principle is applicable to the truths which are\nderived as deductions from processes of reasoning. It is thus opposed\nto all sophistical arguments, and partial or distorted reasonings, by\nwhich disputants strive to establish particular systems, instead of\nengaging in an honest and simple inquiry after truth. The love of truth,\ntherefore, is of equal importance in the reception of facts, and in the\nformation of opinions; and it includes also a readiness to relinquish\nour own opinions, when new facts or arguments are presented to us which\nare calculated to overturn them. The practice of this sincere and candid\nsearch after truth, on every subject to which the mind may be directed,\nought to be cultivated in early life with the most assiduous care. It is\na habit of the mind which must exercise a most important influence in\nthe culture both of moral and intellectual character.\n\nIn the reception of truth, especially on the evidence of testimony, we\nacquire by experience a degree of caution, arising from having been\nsometimes deceived. In minds of a certain description, this may be\nallowed to produce a suspicion with regard to all evidence,--in other\nwords, _Scepticism_. The want of the necessary and proper caution,\nagain, leads to _Credulity_. It is the part of a well-regulated mind to\navoid both these extremes, by attentively weighing the evidence and the\ncharacter of the witnesses, and giving to each circumstance its due\ninfluence in the conclusion.\n\n(2.) Closely connected with the love of truth in receiving, is the\nexercise of veracity in the statement of facts, whether derived from our\npersonal observation or received by testimony from others. It consists\nnot only in the most scrupulous accuracy of relation, but also in giving\nit in such a manner as to convey a correct impression to the hearer. It\nis consequently opposed to all those methods by which either a false\nstatement may be made to assume the appearance of truth, or one\nessentially true may be so related as to convey a false impression.\n\nDirect fallacy may consist in the alleged facts being absolutely false,\nor in some of them being so,--in facts being wanting or kept out of view\nwhich would give a different import to the whole statement,--or in some\nof the facts being disguised, distorted, or coloured, so as to alter\nmaterially the impression conveyed by them. But, besides such actual\nfallacy, there are various methods by which a statement literally true\nmay be so related as to convey an erroneous impression. Facts may be\nconnected together in such a manner as to give the appearance of a\nrelation of cause and effect, when they are in truth entirely\nunconnected;--or an event may be represented as common which has\noccurred only in one or two instances. The character of an individual\nmay be assumed from a single act, which, if the truth were known, might\nbe seen to be opposed to his real disposition, and accounted for by the\ncircumstances in which he happened at the time to be placed. Events may\nbe connected together, which were entirely disjoined, and conclusions\ndeduced from this fictitious connexion, which are of course unfounded.\nSeveral of these sources of fallacy may be illustrated by a ludicrous\nexample. A traveller from the continent has represented the venality of\nthe British House of Commons to be such, that, whenever the minister of\nthe Crown enters the house, there is a general cry for \"places.\" It may\nbe true that a cry of \"places\" has gone round the house at certain\ntimes, when business was about to commence, or to be resumed after an\ninterval,--meaning, of course, that members were to take their seats. It\nis very probable, that, on some occasion, this may have occurred at the\nmoment when the minister entered,--so that the statement of the\ntraveller might, in point of fact, be strictly true. The erroneous\nimpression which he endeavours to convey by it, arises from three\nsources of fallacy, which the anecdote will serve to illustrate,\nnamely,--the false meaning he gives to the word employed,--connecting it\nwith the entrance of the minister as cause and effect,--and representing\nthe connexion as uniform which happened to occur in that particular\ninstance. In the same manner it will appear, that a false impression may\nbe conveyed respecting the conduct of an individual,--by assigning\nmotives which are entirely imaginary,--by connecting things together\nwhich have no relation,--by keeping out of view circumstances which\nwould afford an explanation or palliation of his conduct,--or by\nattaching to his words a different meaning from that which he intended\nto convey by them. The common saying, that there are two ways of telling\na story, does not therefore refer to what is strictly to be called\nfabrication or falsehood; but to those distortions or colourings of\ncircumstances, which, however slight in themselves, have the effect of\nessentially changing the impression made by the whole.\n\nTo veracity, under this department, we are also to refer the rule,--of\ngiving to others an honest and fair impression of our views, motives,\nand intentions. This is _Sincerity_. It is opposed to hypocrisy, that\nunworthy display of human character, in which a man disguises his real\nsentiments, and, on the contrary, professes principles which he neither\nfeels nor values, merely for the purpose of promoting his selfish\ninterests. Such a character exhibits a singular combination of moral\ndelinquencies. It is founded on the lowest selfishness, and includes a\ndeparture from veracity and honesty. But besides, it implies a knowledge\nof virtuous principles, and of their proper tendencies, while there is a\npractical denial of their influence. Sincerity is also opposed to\nflattery, which tends to give a man a false impression of our opinion,\nand of our feelings towards him, and likewise leads him to form a false\nestimate of his own character. It is opposed also to simulation or\ndouble dealing, by which a man, for certain purposes professes\nsentiments towards another which he does not feel, or intentions which\nhe does not entertain.\n\n(3.) The third element of veracity is Truth of Purpose, or fidelity in\nthe fulfilment of promises. This is opposed to actual departure from\nwhat was distinctly promised; likewise to all those evasions by which\none may convey an impression, or excite the hope of an intention which\nhe does not mean to fulfil,--or avoid the performance of a real or\nimplied engagement on any other ground than inability to perform it. By\nthis straight-forward integrity of purpose, an individual gives a clear\nimpression of what he honestly intends to perform; and performs it,\nthough circumstances may have occurred to make the fulfilment\ndisagreeable or even injurious to himself:--\"he sweareth to his own\nhurt,\" says a sacred writer, \"and changeth not.\"\n\n\n\n\nIV. FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, AND GRATITUDE.\n\n\nThese affections are so nearly allied, that, in this slight analysis,\nthey may be taken together. They consist in a personal and peculiar\nattachment to an individual, founded either upon some qualities in\nhimself, or some benefits he has conferred on us, or on some one in whom\nwe are interested. The feelings and conduct to which they give rise\ncorrespond with those referred to under the preceding affections, with\nthis difference, that, in many instances, they lead to a much greater\nsacrifice of personal interest and comfort, than usually proceeds either\nfrom justice or simple benevolence. The exertions arising out of them\nare directed, according to the division formerly given, to promoting the\ninterest or comfort of the object of our regard,--preserving, defending,\nor advancing his reputation,--treating his feelings with peculiar\ntenderness,--and his failings with peculiar indulgence,--receiving his\nopinions with peculiar favour,--and anxiously endeavouring to improve\nhis intellectual and moral condition. This last consideration is justly\nreckoned the highest office of friendship;--it is to be regretted that\nits operation is sometimes impeded by another feeling, which leads us to\nbe blind to the failings and deficiencies of those whom we love.--In\nexercising simple love and friendship, we rejoice in the advantage and\nhappiness of the object, though they should be accomplished by\nothers,--but, in exercising gratitude, we are not satisfied unless they\nbe effected in some measure by ourselves.\n\n\n\n\nV. PATRIOTISM.\n\n\nPatriotism is, perhaps, not properly to be considered as a distinct\nprinciple of our nature; but rather as a result of a combination of the\nother affections. It leads us, by every means in our power, to promote\nthe peace and the prosperity of our country,--and to discourage, to the\nutmost of our ability, whatever tends to the contrary. Every member of\nthe community has something in his power in this respect. He may set an\nexample, in his own person, of dutiful and loyal respect to the first\nauthority, of strict obedience to the laws, and respectful submission to\nthe institutions of his country. He may oppose the attempts of factious\nindividuals to sow among the ignorant the seeds of discontent, tumult,\nor discord. He may oppose and repress attempts to injure the revenue of\nthe state; may aid in the preservation of public tranquillity, and in\nthe execution of public justice. Finally, he may zealously exert himself\nin increasing the knowledge and improving the moral habits of the\npeople,--two of the most important means by which the conscientious man,\nin any rank of life, may aid in conferring a high and permanent benefit\non his country.\n\n\n\n\nVI. THE DOMESTIC AFFECTIONS.\n\n\nIn this extensive and interesting class are included, conjugal\naffection,--the parental feelings,--filial reverence,--and the ties of\nbrothers and sisters.--These call forth, in a still higher degree, the\nfeelings and exertions already referred to, and a still greater\nsacrifice of personal ease, advantage, and comfort, in the anxious and\ndiligent discharge of the duties resulting from them. In the conjugal\nrelation, they lead us to the tenderness, the confidence, the mutual\nforbearance, the united exertions of those, who have one hope, one\ninterest, and one course of duty. The parental relation implies the\nhighest possible degree of that feeling which studies the advantage of\nthe object of our care,--the promotion of his happiness,--the\nimprovement of his mind,--the culture of his affections,--the formation\nof his habits; the anxious watching over the development of his\ncharacter, both as an intellectual and a moral being. The filial\nrelation requires, in an equal degree, respect, affection, submission,\nand confidence,--a deference to parental opinion and control; and an\nimpression that those parts of parental management, which may often be\ndisagreeable, are guided by a sincere desire to promote the highest\ninterests of the object of this affectionate regard.\n\nAmong the feelings of our nature \"which have less of earth in them than\nheaven,\" are those which bind together the domestic circle in the\nvarious sympathies, affections, and duties, which belong to this class\nof tender relations. It is beautiful also to observe, how these\naffections arise out of each other, and how the right exercise of them\ntends to their mutual cultivation.--The father ought to consider the son\nas, of all earthly concerns, the highest object of his anxious\ncare;--and should watch over the development of his intellectual\ncharacter, and the culture of his moral feelings. In the zealous\nprosecution of this great purpose, he should study to convey a clear\nimpression, that he is influenced purely by a feeling of solemn\nresponsibility, and an anxious desire to promote the highest interests.\nWhen parental watchfulness is thus mingled with confidence and kindness,\nthe son will naturally learn to estimate alike the conduct itself, and\nthe principles from which it sprung, and will look to the faithful\nparent as his safest guide and counsellor, and most valued earthly\nfriend. If we extend the same principles to the relation between the\nmother and the daughter, they apply with equal or even greater force.\nIn the arrangements of society, these are thrown more constantly into\neach other's company; and that watchful superintendence may be still\nmore habitually exercised, which, along with the great concern of\ncultivating the intellectual and moral being, neglects not those graces\nand delicacies which belong peculiarly to the female character. It is\nnot by direct instruction alone, that, in such a domestic circle, the\nhighest principles and best feelings of our nature are cultivated in the\nminds of the young. It is by the actual exhibition of the principles\nthemselves, and a uniform recognition of their supreme importance;--it\nis by a parental conduct, steadily manifesting the conviction, that,\nwith every proper attention to the acquirements, the accomplishments,\nand the comforts of life, the chief concern of moral beings relates to\nthe life which is to come. A domestic society, bound together by these\nprinciples, can retire, as it were, from the haunts of men, and retreat\nwithin a sanctuary where the storms of the world cannot enter.--When\nthus met together in the interchange of mutual affection and mutual\nconfidence, they present the anticipation of that period, when, after\nthe tumults of life are over, they shall meet again, \"no wanderer lost,\na family in heaven\".\n\n\nTHE DEFENSIVE AFFECTIONS.\n\nThe feelings of jealousy, anger, and resentment, are, not less than the\nother affections, to be considered as part of our moral constitution;\nand they are calculated to answer important purposes, provided they are\nkept under the strict control of reason and the moral principle. Their\nproper object is primarily a sense of blameable conduct in others; and\nthey lead us to use proper measures for protecting ourselves against\nsuch conduct. While we thus disapprove of the character and conduct of\nmen in certain circumstances, we are led, by our feelings of justice and\nbenevolence, to take part with the injured and oppressed against the\noppressors,--or to protect those who are threatened with injuries, by\nmeasures for defeating the schemes of their enemies. A still more\nrefined exercise of this class of feelings leads us to seek the\nreformation of the offender, and to convert him from an enemy into a\nfriend.\n\nResentment, in cases which concern the public peace, naturally leads to\nthe infliction of punishment; the object of which is to prevent similar\nconduct in others, not to gratify personal vengeance. Hence it is\nrequired to be done in a public manner,--with proper deliberation and\ncoolness,--and with an exact adaptation of the penalty to the offence,\nand to the object to be attained. The person injured is not likely to do\nthis with the requisite impartiality and candour; for we are apt to feel\ntoo deeply injuries offered to ourselves, and not to make the propel\nallowance for the feelings of others, and the circumstances which led to\nthe offence. The higher degrees, indeed, of these tendencies usually go\ntogether,--they, who are most susceptible of offences, and most\nirritable under them, being generally least inclined to make allowances\nfor others. Hence, in all cases, our disapprobation of personal\nvengeance, or of a man taking the law into his own hands; and our\nperfect sympathy with the protectors of the public peace, when they\ndispassionately investigate a case of injury, and calmly adapt their\nmeasures to the real object to be attained by them,--the protection of\nthe community.\n\nThe defensive affections are exercised in an unwarranted manner, when\nthey are allowed to be excited by trifling causes; when they are, in\ndegree, disproportioned to the offence, or prolonged in a manner which\nit did not require; and when they lead, in any measure, to retaliation\nor revenge. The sound exercise of them, therefore, is opposed to that\nirascibility which takes fire on trivial occasions, or without due\nconsideration of the intentions of the agent, or the circumstances in\nwhich he was placed,--to a disposition to resentment on occasions which\ndo not warrant it,--and, on all occasions, to harbouring the feeling\nafter the offence and all its consequences have passed over.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBefore concluding the subject of the affections, there are three points\nrespecting them which remain to be mentioned as briefly as\npossible,--the influence of Attention, combined with a certain act of\nImagination,--the influence of Habit,--and the estimate of the feeling\nof Moral Approbation which the exercise of the affections is calculated\nto produce.\n\n\nI. In every exercise of the affections, a most important influence is\nproduced by Attention, aided by a certain act of imagination. This\nconsists of directing the mind intensely and habitually to all the\nconsiderations which ought to guide us in the particular relation to\nwhich the affection refers. It leads us to place ourselves in the\nsituation of others, and, with a kind of personal, or almost selfish\ninterest, to enter into their wants, their anxieties, and their\nfeelings; and thus, in their place, to judge of the emotions and the\nconduct which are due from us to them. Such is the exercise of one who\nwishes to follow the great rule of doing to others as he would that they\nshould do to him. He is not satisfied with the merely decent discharge\nof the duties which arise from the affections, but studies intensely the\nrequirements which attach to his particular situation,--searches out\nthe individuals, towards whom they ought to be exercised, and enters\ninto their condition and their feelings with minute and tender interest.\nMany who shew no want of friendly and benevolent affection, when an\nindividual case is strongly brought before them, are deficient in the\nkind of exercise which would lead them, in this manner, to find their\nway to that correct exercise of the affections which really belongs to a\nscene of moral discipline. Such an exercise is adapted to every\nsituation in life, and tends to guard a man, in his various relations,\nagainst the hindrances which indolence, self-love, and pure inattention\nare apt to bring in the way of his peculiar duties,--and of his\ndischarging them with due regard to the feelings of others.\n\nThis mental exercise, of extensive application to the benevolent\naffections, constitutes what is usually called _Sympathy_. It is\ncomposed of an act of Imagination and Self-love, by which we transfer\nourselves, as it were, into the situation of other men, and thereby\nregulate our conduct towards them. It is however to be kept in mind,\nthat the principle of self-love, thus brought into action, is the test,\nnot the rule of our conduct. This is a point on which there has been\nmuch vague and useless speculation; and from not attending to the\ndistinction, some have referred our ideas of benevolence entirely to the\nprinciple of selfishness. Such discussions are equally unsound and\nunprofitable, and are to be placed on a footing with the speculations of\nthe scholastic philosophy, which we now look back upon merely as matters\nof historical curiosity. The application of self-love, in the manner\nwhich has been referred to, is chiefly useful in enabling us fully to\nappreciate the facts of the individual case, as we would do if we were\npersonally interested. The rule of our conduct is quite distinct from\nthis, and rests on those fundamental principles of justice and\ncompassion which form a part of our moral constitution. In the practical\napplication of them, they are very much aided by the moral principle or\nconscience.\n\nThe man, who acts habitually under the influence of these rules, learns\nto question himself rigidly respecting the claims and duties which\nresult from his moral relations; and the feelings and circumstances of\nthose with whom they bring him into contact. What, (he asks himself) is\nthe line of action which belongs to me in regard to that\nindividual,--what are his feelings in his present situation,--what are\nthe feelings and conduct which he expects from me,--and what are those\nwhich I would expect from him were I in his circumstances and he in\nmine? It is not a due regulation of the affections alone that arises\nfrom this wholesome state of mental discipline. It is a moral culture to\nthe mind itself, which may often be fraught with the most important\nresults. For the man who exercises it realizes to himself the feelings\nof poverty,--the agonies of bereavement, the impressions of the bed of\ndeath;--and thus, without the pain of suffering, he may reap a portion\nof those important moral benefits which suffering is calculated to\nyield.\n\nThere is another view still to be taken of the advantages derived from\nthat mental discipline which consists in attention to all the relations\nincluded under the affections. When habitually exercised, it may often\nbring before the mind important circumstances in our moral relations,\nwhich are apt to make an inadequate impression amid the distractions of\npresent things. When the parent, for example, looks around the objects\nof his tender affection, what a new impulse is communicated by the\nthought, that the present life is but the infancy of their being; and\nthat his chief and highest concern is to train them for immortality. A\nsimilar impulse must be given to the philanthropist, when he considers\nthat the individuals, who share his benevolent attentions, are, like\nhimself, passing through a scene of discipline to a higher state of\nexistence, where they will assume a place corresponding to their rank in\nthe scale of moral beings. The refined philanthropy thus arising, while\nit neglects no proper attention to the distresses of the present life,\nwill seek chiefly to contend with those greater evils which degrade the\nmoral nature, and sever the immortal spirit from its God. He, who judges\nupon this extended principle, will learn to form a new estimate of the\ncondition of man. Amid the pride of wealth and the splendour of power,\nhe may mourn over a being lost to every feeling of his high destiny;\nand, by the death-bed of the peasant, amid discomfort and suffering, he\nmay contemplate with interest a purified spirit rising to immortality.\n\n\nII. Next to the power of attention, we have to notice the influence\nproduced upon the affections by Habit. This is founded upon a principle\nof our nature, by which a remarkable relation exists between the\naffections and the actions which arise out of them. The tendency of all\nemotions is to become weaker by repetition, or to be less acutely felt\nthe oftener they are experienced. The tendency of actions, again, as we\nhave seen when treating of the Intellectual Powers, is to become easier\nby repetition,--so that those, which at first require close and\ncontinued attention, come to be performed without effort, and almost\nwithout consciousness. Now an affection properly consists of an emotion\nleading to an action; and the natural progress of the mind, in the\nproper exercise of the affection, is, that the emotion becomes less\nacutely felt, as the action becomes easier and more familiar.--Thus, a\nscene of wretchedness, or a tale of sorrow, will produce in the\ninexperienced an intensity of emotion not felt by him whose life has\nbeen devoted to deeds of mercy; and a superficial observer is apt to\nconsider the condition of the latter as one of insensibility, produced\nby familiarity with scenes of distress. It is, on the contrary, that\nhealthy and natural progress of the mind, in which the emotion is\ngradually diminished in force as it is followed by its proper\nactions,--that is, as the mere intensity of feeling is exchanged for the\nhabit of active benevolence. But that this may take place in the sound\nand healthy manner, the emotion must be steadily followed by the action\nwhich belongs to it. If this be neglected, the harmony of the moral\nprocess is destroyed, and, as the emotion becomes weakened, it is\nsucceeded by cold insensibility or barren selfishness.\n\nThis is a subject of much importance,--and there are two conclusions\nwhich arise out of it respecting the cultivation of the benevolent\naffections. The one relates to the bad effects of fictitious scenes of\nsorrow, as represented on the stage, or in works of fancy. The evil\narising from these appears to be that which has now been referred\nto;--the emotion is produced without the corresponding action, and the\nconsequence is likely to be a cold and useless sentimentalism, instead\nof a sound cultivation of the benevolent affections.--The second\nis,--that, in cultivating the benevolent affections in the young, we\nshould be careful to observe the process so clearly pointed out by the\nphilosophy of the moral feelings. They should be familiarized with\nactual scenes of suffering, but this ought to be accompanied by deeds of\nminute and active kindness, so as to produce a full and lively\nimpression of the wants and feelings of the sufferer. On this ground,\nalso, I think we should at first even abstain, in a great measure, from\ngiving young persons the cautions they will afterwards find so\nrequisite, respecting the character of the objects of their benevolence,\nand the impositions so frequently practised by the poor. Suspicions of\nthis kind might tend to interfere with the important moral process which\nought to be our first object,--the necessary cautions will afterwards be\nlearned with little difficulty.\n\nThe best mode of contending with the evils of pauperism, on the\nprinciples of political economy, is a problem on which I presume not to\nenter. But, on the principles of moral science, a consideration of the\nutmost importance should never be forgotten,--the great end to be\nanswered by the varieties of human condition in the cultivation of the\nbenevolent affections. Political science passes its proper boundary when\nit is permitted in any degree to interfere with this high\nprinciple;--and, on the other hand, it is not to be denied, that this\nimportant purpose is in a great measure frustrated by many of those\ninstitutions, which cut off the direct intercourse of the prosperous and\nthe wealthy with those whom providence has committed to them, in this\nscene of moral discipline, as the objects of their benevolent care.\n\n\nIII. The third point, which remains to be briefly mentioned, is the\nfeeling of moral approbation, or rather the impression of merit, which\nis frequently attached to the exercise of the affections. This important\nsubject has been already referred to. When the mother, with total\ndisregard to her health and comfort, devotes herself to watching over\nher child, she is not influenced by any sense of duty, nor do we attach\nto her conduct the feeling of moral approbation. She acts simply upon\nan impulse within, which she perceives to be a part of her constitution,\nand which carries her forward with unshrinking firmness in a particular\ncourse of laborious and anxious service. She may, indeed, be sensible\nthat the violation of these feelings would expose her to the reprobation\nof her kind; but she does not imagine that the zealous fulfilment of\nthem entitles her to any special praise. The same principle applies to\nall the affections. They are a part of our moral constitution, intended\nto bind men together by certain offices of justice, friendship, and\ncompassion; and have been well named by a distinguished writer, \"the\nvoice of God within us.\" They serve a purpose in our moral economy,\nanalogous to that which the appetites answer in our physical system. The\nappetite of hunger, for example, ensures a regular supply of\nnourishment, in a manner which could never have been provided for by any\nprocess of reasoning; though an exercise of reason is still applicable\nto preserving over it a certain regulation and control. In the same\nmanner, the various feelings of our moral nature have each a defined\npurpose to answer, both in respect to our own mental economy and our\nrelations to our fellow-men; and in the due exercise of them they ought\nto be controlled and regulated by the moral principle. The violation of\nthese feelings, therefore, places man below the level of a moral being;\nbut the performance of them does not entitle him to assume the claim of\nmerit. He is merely bearing his part in a certain arrangement, from\nwhich he is himself to derive benefit, as a being holding a place in\nthat system of things which these feelings are intended to keep together\nin harmony and order. In regard to the great principles of veracity and\njustice, every one perceives this to be true. In all mercantile\ntransactions, for example, a character for high honour and integrity\nleads not only to respect, but to that confidence which is closely\nconnected with prosperity.--These qualities, indeed, are as essential to\na man's own interest as they are to his duty to other men; and if he\ndoes gain an advantage by fraud and deceit, it is only when he escapes\ndetection;--that is, while he preserves the reputation of the very\nqualities which he has violated. But this truth applies equally to the\naffections more strictly benevolent. The man who lives in the habitual\nexercise of a cold and barren selfishness, and seeks only his own\ngratification or interest, has indeed, in some sense, his punishment in\nthe contempt and aversion with which he is viewed by his fellow-men.\nMuch more than this, however, attaches to such a character;--he has\nviolated the principles given him for his guidance in the social\nsystem;--he has fallen from his sound condition as a moral being; and\nincurs actual guilt in the eye of a righteous Governor, whose will the\norder of this lower world is intended to obey. But it by no means\nfollows, that the man, who performs in a certain manner the relations of\njustice, friendship, and compassion, is thereby entitled to claim merit\nin the view of the Almighty Governor of the universe. He merely acts his\npart in the present system of moral economy, for which he has been\nadapted. He is so constituted as to derive satisfaction from the\nexercise of these affections; and, on the other hand, he receives an\nappropriate reward in the reciprocal exercise of similar affections by\nother men, and in the general harmony of society which results from\nthem. An extensive culture of the affections, therefore, may go on\nwithout the recognition of the moral principle, or that state of mind\nwhich habitually feels the presence of the Deity, and desires to have\nthe whole character in subjection to his will. We are not entitled to\nacknowledge the operation of that great principle, unless when the\naffections are exercised in circumstances which imply a strong and\ndecided sacrifice of self-love to the authority of God. This appears to\ncorrespond with the distinction so strikingly stated in the sacred\nwritings--\"If ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not\neven the publicans the same?\"--\"I say unto you, love your\nenemies,--bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, pray\nfor them which despitefully use you and persecute you.\"\n\nOn this branch of the subject it is also to be observed, that there is a\nkind of compensating power among the affections themselves, by which, in\nthe intercourse of men, they act as checks upon each other. Thus\nresentment acts as a check upon injustice; and the dread of exciting\nanger in others has probably an influence, in preserving the peace and\nharmonies of society, which we often ascribe to a higher principle. In\nregard to the affections more strictly benevolent, these are also\ninfluenced, in a similar manner, by the feeling of disapprobation which\nattends any remarkable departure from their requirements. When we keep\nin mind, along with this consideration, the manner in which all men are\ninfluenced, in one degree or another, by the love of approbation or\nregard to character, we perceive in the moral system a beautiful\nprinciple of compensation, tending to promote in it a certain degree of\nharmony. This is remarkably illustrated, for example, in the general\nfeeling of disapprobation which is attached to ingratitude, and to\nviolation of filial affection or parental duty, and even to any marked\nneglect of the common calls of humanity. Along with this we are also to\nkeep in mind, that a man is universally considered as in the lowest\nstate of human nature, who, in these respects, has become regardless of\ncharacter,--that is, of the estimation with which his conduct is viewed\nby his fellow-men.\n\nIn regard to both the affections and the desires, we are farther to\nremember that deep and extensive influence, upon the happiness of the\nindividual himself, which results from a due regulation of these\nfeelings;--the pure mental enjoyment of him whose affections are under\nsound regulation, and whose desires are habitually directed to those\nobjects which are in the highest degree worthy of being sought after.\nThis mental tranquillity is also represented to us, in a very striking\nmanner, by the influence of those dispositions which we usually refer to\nthe head of Temper. What a constant source of pure enjoyment is a meek\nand placid spirit, the desires of which are moderate and under due\nregulation,--which puts upon every thing the best construction it will\nadmit of,--is slow to take offence,--seeks no distinction,--but views\nitself with humility, and others with candour, benevolence, and\nindulgence. Such a disposition makes the man happy in himself, and a\nsource of happiness and peace to all around him. On the other hand, what\nan unceasing source of mental disquiet and turbulence is the opposite\ndisposition,--jealous, envious, and censorious,--ready to take offence\nat trifles, and often to construe incidental occurrences into intended\nand premeditated insults,--prone to put unfavourable constructions upon\nthe conduct of others, and thus continually to surround itself with\nimaginary enemies, and imaginary neglects and injuries. Such a temper is\na continual torment to the individual himself, and the cause of disputes\nand jealousies among those with whom he is connected. We cannot fail,\nalso, to perceive that the man of ill-regulated passions injures his own\ntrue interest and happiness, as much as he violates his duty to others,\nand that his course of life is often productive of degradation, disease,\nand wretchedness. In all this we see a beautiful example of the wise\narrangements of the Creator, who, in the structure of our moral nature,\nhas connected our own peace and happiness with a state of feeling\ncalculated to promote the happiness and peace of all around us. We\ncannot be at a loss to conclude what a different scene the world would\npresent, if such feelings were universally cultivated; and, on the other\nhand, we must observe how much of the actual misery that exists in the\nworld arises from derangement of moral feeling, and the various\nconsequences which result from it both to individuals and communities.\nWe find also, by innumerable examples, the remarkable influence\nproduced, by a due cultivation of these feelings, in alleviating, both\nin ourselves and others, the physical evils which are inseparable from\nthe present state. It is farther to be remarked, as a fact worthy of the\ndeepest attention, that the only distinct information conveyed to us in\nScripture, respecting the happiness of the righteous in a future state,\nis,--that it will consist chiefly in a perfect knowledge of the divine\ncharacter, and a conformity of the soul to the moral perfections of the\nDeity. \"It doth not yet appear,\" says the sacred writer, \"what we shall\nbe; but we know that when he shall appear, we shall be like him, for we\nshall see him as he is.\"\n\nIn concluding the whole subject of the affections, I have only farther\nto remark,--that the regulated state of the moral feelings, which has\nbeen the subject of the preceding observations, seems to correspond with\nthe quality so emphatically described in the sacred writings under the\nname of Charity. It is there uniformly represented as the great test of\nthe moral condition; and we find exposed, in the most striking manner,\nthe worthlessness of all endowments which are not accompanied by this\nregulation of the whole character. We cannot, therefore, conclude this\nsubject in a more appropriate manner, than by a passage in which, by a\nfew most powerful expressions, a code of ethical science is laid before\nus with a clearness and a force, which put to nought all human\ncomposition:--\"Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and\nhave not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.\nAnd though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries,\nand all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove\nmountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow all\nmy goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and\nhave not charity, it profiteth me nothing. Charity suffereth long, and\nis kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed\nup, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily\nprovoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in\nthe truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things,\nendureth all things. Charity never faileth; but whether there be\nprophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease;\nwhether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part,\nand we prophecy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then\nthat which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as\na child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I\nbecame a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a\nglass, darkly; but then face to face; now I know in part; but then shall\nI know even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, charity,\nthese three,--but the greatest of these is charity.\"\n\n\n\n\nSECT. III.\n\nSELF-LOVE.\n\n\nThere has been some dispute respecting the term Self-love, both as to\nits general propriety, and as to the mental feelings which ought to be\nreferred to it. There can be no doubt that there is, in our\nconstitution, a principle or propensity which leads us to study our own\ninterest, gratification, and comfort; and that, in many instances, it\nbecomes the ruling principle of the character. It is in this sense that\nI use the term self-love, without entering into any discussion regarding\nthe strict logical propriety of it. Like the other mental feelings, it\nis to be considered as part of our moral constitution, and calculated to\nanswer important purposes, provided it be kept in its proper place, and\ndo not encroach upon the duties and affections which we owe to other\nmen. When thus regulated, it constitutes prudence, or a just regard to\nour own interest, safety, and happiness; when it becomes morbid in its\nexercise, it degenerates into selfishness.\n\nA sound and rational self-love ought to lead us to seek our own true\nhappiness, and should prove a check upon those appetites and passions\nwhich interfere with this; for many of them, it must be allowed, may be\nnot less adverse to our own real interest and comfort, than they are to\nour duty to other men. It should lead us, therefore, to avoid every\nthing, not only that is opposed to our interest, but that is calculated\nto impair our peace of mind, and that harmony of the moral feelings\nwithout which there can be no real happiness. This includes a due\nregulation of the desires, and a due exercise of the affections, as a\nmoral condition which promotes our own welfare and comfort. Self-love,\nviewed in this manner, appears to be placed as a regulating principle\namong the other powers,--much inferior indeed to the great principle of\nconscience, so far as regards the moral condition of the\nindividual,--but calculated to answer important purposes in promoting\nthe harmonies of society. The impression, on which its influence rests,\nappears to be simply the comfort and satisfaction which arise to\nourselves from a certain regulation of the desires, and a certain\nexercise of the affections, while feelings of an opposite kind follow a\ndifferent conduct. These sources of satisfaction are manifold. We may\nreckon among them the pleasure attached to the exercise of the\naffections themselves, a feature of our moral constitution of the most\ninteresting kind,--the true mental peace and enjoyment which spring\nfrom benevolence, friendship, meekness, forgiveness, and the whole\ntrain of the kindly feelings,--the gratitude of those who have\nexperienced the effects of our kindness,--the respect and approbation of\nthose whose esteem we feel to be valuable,--and the return of similar\naffections and good offices from other men. On the other hand, we have\nto keep in mind the mental agony and distraction which arise from\njealousy, envy, hatred, and resentment,--the sense of shame and disgrace\nwhich follow a certain line of conduct,--and the distress which often\narises purely from the contempt and disapprobation of our fellow-men.\n\"Disgrace,\" says Butler, \"is as much avoided as bodily pain;\" we may\nsafely say that it is much more avoided, and that it inflicts a\nsuffering of a much more severe and permanent nature. It must likewise\naccord with the observation of every one, that among the circumstances,\nwhich most frequently injure our peace and impair our comfort, are those\nwhich ruffle the mind by mortifying our self-love. There is also a\nfeeling of dissatisfaction and self-reproach which follows any neglect\nof a due exercise of the affections, and which, in a well regulated\nmind, disturbs the mental tranquillity fully as much as the\ndisapprobation of other men. It is farther evident, that the man of\nungoverned passions, and ill-regulated affections, impairs his own peace\nand happiness as much as he violates his duties to others,--for his\ncourse of life is productive, not only of degradation in the eyes of his\nfellow-men, but often of mental anguish, misery, disease, and premature\ndeath. There is not, perhaps, a state of more intense suffering, than\nwhen the depraved heart, disappointed of those gratifications to which\nit is enslaved, and shut up from the excitements by which it seeks to\nescape from the horrors of reflection, is thrown back upon itself to be\nits own tormentor. To run the risk of such consequences, for the\ngratification of a present appetite or passion, is clearly opposed to\nthe dictates of a sound self-love, as has been distinctly shewn by\nBishop Butler; and when in such a case, self-love prevails over an\nappetite or passion, we perceive it operating as a regulating principle\nin the moral system. It does so, indeed, merely by the impression, that\na certain regulation of the moral feelings is conducive to our own true\nand present happiness; and thus shews a wonderful power of compensation\namong these feelings, referable entirely to this source. But it is quite\ndistinct from the great principle of conscience, which directs us to a\ncertain line of conduct on the pure and high principle of moral duty,\napart from all considerations of a personal nature,--which leads a man\nto act upon nobler motives than those which result from the most refined\nself-love, and calls for the mortification of all personal feelings,\nwhen these interfere, in the smallest degree, with the requirements of\nduty. This distinction I conceive to be of the utmost practical\nimportance; as it shews a principle of regulation among the moral\nfeelings themselves, by which a certain exercise of the affections is\ncarried on in a manner which contributes in a high degree to the\nharmonies of society, but which does not convey any impression of moral\napprobation or merit that can be applied to the agent.\n\nSelf-love, then, leads us to consult our own feelings, and to seek\ndirectly our own interest and happiness. The affections lead us to allow\nfor the feelings, and consider the advantage and comfort of other men;\nand a certain balance between these principles is essential to the\nhealthy state of the moral being. It is seldom that the affections are\nlikely to acquire an undue influence, but there is great danger of\nself-love degenerating into selfishness, which interferes with the\nduties we owe to others. We have formerly alluded to the means,\nreferable to the due exercise of the affections, and even to a sound and\nrational self-love, by which this should be in part prevented. When\nthese are not sufficient, the appeal is to conscience; or a distinct\nreference of individual cases is made to the great principle of moral\nrectitude. We find, accordingly, this principle called into action, when\na man has become sensible of important defects in his moral habits.\nThus, we may see a man, who has long given way to a peevish or irascible\ndisposition, that is, to selfish acting upon his own feelings, without\ndue regard to the feelings of others, setting himself to contend with\nthis propensity upon the score of moral duty; while another, of a placid\ndisposition, has no need of bringing the principle into action for such\na purpose. In the same manner, a person who has indulged a cold\ncontracted selfishness may, under the influence of the same great\nprinciple, perform deeds of benevolence and kindness. Thus we perceive\nthat the moral principle or sense of duty, when it is made the\nregulating motive of action, is calculated to control self-love, and\npreserve the proper harmony between it and the exercise of the\naffections.\n\nWhen the principle of self-love becomes deranged in its exercise and\nobjects, it leads to those habits by which a man seeks his own\ngratification, in a way which interferes with his duties to other men.\nThis he may do by an undue pursuit of any of the desires,--whether\navarice, ambition, love of eminence, or love of fame;--and the desire of\nknowledge itself may be so indulged as to assume the same character.\nEven deeds of benevolence and kindness may be performed on this\nprinciple,--as when a man, by such actions, seeks only the applause of\nthe public, or the approbation of certain individuals from whom, it may\nbe, he expects to derive advantage.--Hence the value we attach, in the\nexercise of all the affections, to what we call disinterested\nconduct,--to him who does good by stealth, or who performs acts of\nexalted justice, generosity, or forbearance, under circumstances which\nexclude every idea of a selfish motive,--or when self-interest and\npersonal feeling are strongly and obviously opposed to them. Such\nconduct commands the cordial approbation of all classes of men; and it\nis striking to remark how, in the highest conception of such a character\nthat fancy can delineate, we are met by the sublime morality of the\nsacred writings, impressed upon us by the purest of all motives, the\nimitation of Him who is the giver of all good;--\"love your\nenemies,--bless them that curse you;--do good to them that hate\nyou,--and pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute\nyou;--that ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for\nhe maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain\non the just and on the unjust.\"--\"If any man will be my disciple,\" says\nthe same great author of Christianity,--\"let him deny himself.\"\n\n\n\n\nPART II.\n\nOF THE WILL.\n\n\nWill or Simple Volition is that state of mind which immediately precedes\naction;--We will a certain act; and the act follows, unless it be\nprevented either by external restraint, or by physical inability to\nperform it.\n\nThe actions thus produced arise out of the mental emotions formerly\ntreated of,--the desires, and the affections.--We desire an object, or\nwe experience one of the affections;--the next mental act, according to\nthe regular course of a reflecting mind, is proposing to ourselves the\nquestion,--shall we gratify the desire,--shall we exercise the\naffection. Then follows the process of considering or deliberating.--We\nperceive, perhaps, a variety of considerations or inducements,--some of\nwhich are in favour of gratifying the desire or exercising the\naffection, others opposed to it. We therefore proceed to weigh the\nrelative force of these opposing motives, with the view of determining\nwhich of them we shall allow to regulate our decision. We, at length,\nmake up our mind on this, and resolve, we shall suppose, to do the\nact;--this is followed by the mental condition of willing or simple\nvolition.\n\nIn the chain of mental operations which, in such a case, intervene\nbetween the desire and the volition, a class of agents is brought into\nview which act upon the mind as moral causes of its volitions;--these\nare usually called motives,--or principles of action. When treating of\nthis subject as a branch of the philosophy of the intellectual powers, I\nendeavoured to shew the grounds on which we believe, that there are\nfacts, truths, motives, or moral causes, which have a tendency thus to\ninfluence the determinations of the mind, with a uniformity similar to\nthat which we observe in the operation of physical causes. For the due\noperation of moral causes, indeed, certain circumstances are required in\nthe individual on whom they are expected to operate, and, without these,\nthey may fail in their operation. It is necessary that he should be\nfully informed in regard to them as truths addressed to his\nunderstanding,--that he direct his attention to them with suitable\nintensity, and exercise his reasoning powers upon their tendencies,--and\nthat he be himself in a certain healthy state of moral feeling. In all\nour intercourse with mankind, accordingly, we proceed upon an absolute\nconfidence in the uniformity of the operation of these causes, provided\nwe are acquainted with the moral condition of the individual. We can\nforetel, for example, the respective effects which a tale of distress\nwill have upon a cold-hearted miser, and a man of active benevolence,\nwith the same confidence with which we can predict the different actions\nof an acid upon an alkali and upon a metal;--and there are individuals\nin regard to whose integrity and veracity, in any situation in which\nthey can be placed, we have a confidence similar to that with which we\nrely on the course of nature. In this manner we gradually acquire, by\nexperience, a knowledge of mankind; precisely as, by observation or\nexperiment, we acquire a knowledge of the operation of physical agents.\nThus we come to know that one man is absolutely to be relied on, in\nregard to a particular line of conduct in given circumstances;--and that\nanother is not to be relied on, if any thing should come in the way,\naffecting his own pleasure or interest. In endeavouring to excite\nvarious individuals to the same conduct in a particular case, we learn,\nthat in one, we have to appeal only to his sense of duty,--in another,\nto his love of approbation;--while, on a third, nothing will make any\nimpression except what bears upon his interest or his pleasure. Again,\nwhen we find that, in a particular individual, certain motives or truths\nfail of the effects which we have observed them to produce in others, we\nendeavour to impress them upon his mind, and to rouse his attention to\ntheir bearings and tendencies;--and this we do from the conviction, that\nthese truths have a certain uniform tendency to influence the volitions\nof a moral being, provided he can be induced seriously to attend to\nthem, and provided he is in that moral condition which is required for\ntheir efficiency.\n\nIn all such cases, which are familiar to every one, we recognise,\ntherefore, a uniform relation between certain moral causes or motives,\nand the determinations of the human mind in willing certain acts. It is\nno objection to this, that men act in very different ways with the same\nmotives before them;--for this depends upon their own moral condition.\nWhen treating of the intellectual powers, I alluded to the metaphysical\ncontroversies connected with this subject, and I do not mean to recur to\nthem here. Our present object is entirely of a practical\nnature,--namely, to investigate the circumstances which are required for\nthe due operation of motives or moral causes, and the manner in which\nthe moral feelings may be so deranged, that these fail of producing\ntheir natural or proper effects.\n\n * * * * *\n\nLet us, then, suppose an individual deliberating in regard to the line\nof conduct he shall pursue in a particular case;--the circumstances or\nimpressions which are calculated to act upon him as moral causes in\ndetermining his volition,--that is, in deciding his conduct, are\nchiefly the following: (1.) Self-love, which prompts him to seek his own\nease, interest, or gratification. (2.) Certain affections which lead him\nto take into view duties which he owes to other men; such as, justice,\nbenevolence, &c. (3.) The impression of moral rectitude or moral\nresponsibility. This is derived from the great principle of conscience,\naided by the truths of religious belief. (4.) We ought to add reason of\njudgment, which leads him to perceive certain tendencies of actions,\napart from their moral aspect. Now, in deciding on his conduct in any\nparticular instance, one man makes every thing bend to his own interest\nor pleasure,--with little regard to the interests of others;--unless in\nso far as the absolute requirements of justice are concerned, the\ninfringement of which might expose him to loss of reputation, or even to\npunishment.--Another surrenders a certain portion of his personal\ngratification to the advantage or comfort of others, purely as an\nexercise of feeling from which he experiences satisfaction;--influenced,\nalso, probably, in some measure, by a regard to character, or the love\nof approbation. In such a man, it becomes, in individual instances, a\nmatter of calculation, what degree of the sacrifice of personal ease,\ninterest, of feeling, is to be made to this principle of action. A third\ncontemplates the case purely as one of duty of moral responsibility, and\nacts upon this principle, though it may involve a degree of personal\nexertion, or a sacrifice of personal feeling, in itself disagreeable or\neven injurious to him; that is, though the strongest personal motives\nwould lead to a different conduct. Let the case, again, refer to one of\nthe desires, bearing no immediate relation to the interests of other\nmen. One man goes directly into the gratification of it, without any\nconsideration. Another, who feels the same desire, considers the\ninfluence which the indulgence would be likely to have on his health,\ninterest, or reputation.--This may be considered as simply an exercise\nof judgment, combined with a certain operation of self-love. A third\nviews the aspect of the deed purely as a question of moral\nresponsibility,--and, if he sees cause, decides against it on this\nground alone;--though he should perceive that it might be gratified\nwithout any danger to his health, interest, or reputation, or even that\nit might contribute to his advantage.\n\nWe have thus presented to us three characters;--one who acts upon the\nhigh and pure ground of moral principle;--one who acts from motives of a\nmore contracted and personal nature, though, in certain instances, his\nconduct may be the same;--and one who goes straight forward to the\ngratification of a ruling desire or governing propensity, without\nattending to motives of either class. The first is a uniform character,\non whose conduct we depend in any given circumstances, with a confidence\nsimilar to that with which we rely on the operation of physical agents.\nFor we know the uniform tendencies of the motives or moral causes by\nwhich he is habitually influenced, and we know his moral temperament. We\nhave nearly the same kind of knowledge respecting him, which we have of\nthe tendencies of chemical agents towards each other, and which enables\nus with perfect confidence to foretel their actions. The third has also\na uniformity of conduct, though of a very different kind. We know,\nlikewise, his moral condition, and, to predict his conduct, we require\nonly to learn the particular inducements or temptations to which he is\nexposed in a given instance. The second we cannot rely or calculate\nupon; for we have not the means of tracing the conflicting views by\nwhich he may be influenced in a particular case, or the principle on\nwhich he may ultimately decide between them. They involve the strength\nof the inclination,--and the degree of power exerted over it by the\nclass of personal or selfish motives by which he is influenced.--In\nregard to various instances of ill-regulated desire, we must add his\nhope of evading detection,--as on this depends, in a great measure, the\nkind of evils dreaded by him in reference to the indulgence. These taken\ntogether imply a complicated moral calculation, of which it is\nimpossible for another man to trace the result.\n\nThere cannot be an inquiry of more intense interest than to investigate\nthe causes in which originate the differences among these three\ncharacters; or, in other words, the principles on which we can explain\nthe fact, that the will of individuals may be influenced so differently\nwith the same motives before them. These appear to be referable to\nthree heads,--Knowledge,--Attention,--and Moral Habits.\n\n\nI. A primary and essential element, in the due regulation of the will,\nis a correct knowledge of the truths and motives which tend to influence\nits determinations. The highest class of these comprehends the truths of\nreligious belief,--a series of moral causes, the tendencies of which are\nof the most important kind, and calculated to exert a uniform power over\nevery man who surrenders himself to their guidance. For this purpose, a\ncorrect knowledge of them is required, and, to all who have this\nknowledge within their reach, the careful acquisition involves a point\nof the deepest moral responsibility. The sacred writers speak in the\nstrongest terms of the guilt attached to voluntary ignorance: and this\nmust be obvious to every one who considers the clearness with which the\nhighest truths are disclosed, and the incontrovertible evidence by which\nthey are supported. This applies equally to the principles both of\nnatural and of revealed religion. The important truths of natural\nreligion are partly matters of the most simple induction from the\nphenomena of nature which are continually before us; and partly\nimpressed upon our own moral constitution in the clearest and most\nforcible manner. From the planet revolving in its appointed orbit, to\nthe economy of the insect on which we tread, all nature demonstrates,\nwith a power which we cannot put away from us, the great\nincomprehensible One, a being of boundless perfections and infinite\nwisdom. In regard to his moral attributes, also, he has not left himself\nwithout a witness; for a sense of these he has impressed upon us in the\nclearest manner in that wondrous part of our constitution,--the moral\nprinciple or conscience. From these two sources may be derived a\nknowledge of the character of the Deity, and of our relation to him as\nmoral beings;--and the man is left entirely without excuse who fails to\ndirect to them his most earnest attention, and to make the impressions\nderived from them the habitual rule of his volitions, and the guide of\nhis whole character. \"He hath the rule of right within,\" says Butler,\n\"all that is wanting is,--that he honestly attend to it.\"\n\nSimilar observations apply with equal or greater force to the truths of\nrevealed religion. These are supported by a weight of miraculous\nevidence, and are transmitted to us by a chain of testimony, carrying\nabsolute conviction to the mind of every candid inquirer. They are\nfarther confirmed by a probability, and a force of internal evidence,\nwhich fix themselves upon the moral feelings of every sound\nunderstanding with a power which is irresistible. The whole is addressed\nto us as rational beings; it is pressed upon our attention as creatures\ndestined for another state of existence; and the duty is imposed upon\nevery individual seriously to examine and to consider. Every man is in\nthe highest degree responsible for the care with which he has informed\nhimself of these evidences, and for the attention with which he has\ngiven to every part of them its due weight in the solemn inquiry. He is\nfarther responsible for the influence of previously formed prejudice, or\nthat vitiated state of his moral feelings, which prevents him from\napproaching the subject with the simplicity of a mind which is seriously\ndesirous of the truth. From the want of these essential elements of\ncharacter, it may very often happen, that a man may fancy he has formed\nhis opinions after much examination, while the result of his prejudiced\nor frivolous inquiry has been only to fix him in delusion and falsehood.\nAmong the singular sophistries, indeed, by which some men shut their\nminds against inquiries of the highest import, is a kind of impression,\nnot perhaps distinctly avowed in words, but clearly recognised in\npractice, that these subjects of belief are in great measure matters of\nopinion,--instead of being felt to rest upon the basis of immutable and\neternal truth. Can any thing be more striking than the manner in which a\nlate distinguished poet expresses himself on the subject of a future\nlife,--as if this truth were a mere opinion which could be taken up or\nlaid down at pleasure, to suit the taste of the individual\ninquirer;--\"Of the two, I should think the long sleep better than the\nagonized vigil. But men, miserable as they are, cling so to any thing\nlike life, that they probably would prefer damnation to quiet. Besides,\nthey think themselves so important in the creation, that nothing less\ncan satisfy then pride,--the insects!\"[1] Such is the frivolous\nsophistry by which one, who holds a high rank in the literature of his\ncountry, could put away from him the most momentous inquiry that can\nengage the attention of a rational being.\n\n[Footnote 1: Byron's Letters, Moore's Life, Vol. II, p. 581.]\n\n\nII. Next to the acquisition of knowledge, and the formation of opinions,\ncalculated to act upon us as moral beings, is the important rule of\nhabitually attending to them, so as to bring their influence to bear\nupon our volitions. He, who honestly attends to what is passing within,\nwill perceive that this is a voluntary exercise of his thinking and\nreasoning faculties. When a particular desire is present to his mind, he\nhas the power to act upon the first impulse, or upon a very partial and\nlimited, perhaps a distorted, view of the considerations and motives by\nwhich he ought to be influenced;--and he has the power to suspend\nacting, and direct his attention deliberately and fully to the facts and\nprinciples which are calculated to guide his determination. This is the\nfirst great step in that remarkable chain of sequences which belong to\nthe regulation of the will. It is what every one is conscious of; and,\nputting aside all those metaphysical subtleties in which the subject has\nbeen involved, this constitutes man a free and responsible agent. In\nthis important process, the first mental state is a certain movement of\none of the desires or one of the affections;--we may use the term\nInclination as including both. The second is a reference of the\ninclination to the moral causes or motives which more peculiarly apply\nto it,--especially the indications of conscience, and the principles of\nmoral rectitude.--If these be found to harmonize with the inclination,\nvolition and action follow, with the full concurrence of every moral\nfeeling. If the inclination be condemned by these, it is, in a\nwell-regulated mind, instantly dismissed, and the healthy condition of\nthe moral being is preserved. But this voluntary and most important\nmental process may be neglected;--the inclination may be suffered to\nengross the mind and occupy fully the attention:--the power may not be\nexercised of directing it to moral causes and motives, and of comparing\nwith them the inclination which is present. The consequence may be, that\nthe man runs heedlessly into volition and action, from which the due\nexercise of this process of the mind might have preserved him.\n\nBut a third condition may take place which presents a subject of the\nhighest interest. The moral causes may be so far attended to, as to\nprevent the inclination from being followed by action; while the\ninclination is still cherished, and the mind is allowed to dwell, with a\ncertain feeling of regret, on the object which it had been obliged to\ndeny itself. Though the actual deed be thus prevented, the harmony of\nthe moral feelings is destroyed;--and that mental condition is lost\nwhich is strictly to be called purity of heart. For this consists in the\ndesires and affections, as well as the conduct, being in strict\nsubjection to the indications of conscience and the principles of moral\nrectitude. The inclination, thus cherished, gradually acquires greater\nascendency over the moral feelings;--at each succeeding contest, it more\nand more occupies the mind; the attention is less and less directed to\nthe moral truths and motives which are opposed to it; the inclination at\nlength acquires the predominance, and is followed by volition. This is\nwhat we mean by a man being carried away by passion, in opposition to\nhis moral conviction; for passion consists in a desire or an affection\nwhich has been allowed to engross the mind, until it gradually\noverpowers the moral causes which are calculated to counteract its\ninfluence. Now in the whole of this course each single movement of the\nmind is felt to be entirely voluntary. From that step, which constitutes\nthe first departure from moral purity, the process consists in a desire\nbeing cherished which the moral feelings condemn; while, at each\nsucceeding step, the influence of these feelings is gradually weakened,\nand finally destroyed. Such is the economy of the human heart, and such\nthe chain of sequences to be traced in the moral history of every man,\nwho, with a conviction upon his mind of what is right, has followed the\ndownward course which gradually led him astray from virtue. When we\ntrace such a process backwards in a philosophical point of view, the\nquestion still recurs,--what was the first step, or that by which the\nmind was led into the course which thus terminated in favour of vice. In\nthe wonderful chain of sequences, which has been established in the\nmental constitution, it would appear that a very slight movement only is\nrequired for deranging the delicate harmony which ought to exist among\nthe moral feelings; but this each individual feels to be entirely\nvoluntary. It may consist in a desire being cherished which the moral\nfeelings disapprove;--and, though the effect at first may be small, a\nmorbid influence has arisen, which gains strength by continuance, and at\nlast acquires the power of a moral habit. The more the desire is\ncherished, the less is the attention directed to the considerations or\nmoral causes by which it might be counteracted. In this manner,\naccording to the mental economy, these causes gradually lose their power\nover the volitions or determinations of the mind, and, at a certain\nperiod of this progress, the judgment itself comes to be changed\nrespecting the moral aspect of the deed.\n\nThere is still another mental condition to be mentioned in connexion\nwith this subject; in which the harmony of the moral feelings may be\ndestroyed, without the action following. This takes places when the\ninclination is cherished, as in the former case, in opposition to the\nindications of conscience; while the action is opposed by some inferior\nmotives,--as a regard to reputation or interest. The deed may thus be\nprevented, and the interests of society may benefit by the difference;\nbut, so far as regards the individual himself, the disruption of moral\nharmony is the same; and his moral aspect must be similar in the eye of\nthe Almighty One, who regards not the outward appearance alone, but who\nlooketh into the heart. In this manner it may very often happen, that\nstrong inducements to vice are resisted from motives referring merely to\nhealth, or to character. But this is not to overcome temptation,--it is\nonly to balance one selfish feeling against another.\n\n\nIII. From the state of mind which has now been referred to, there\ngradually results a _Moral Habit_. This is a mental condition, in which\na desire or an affection, repeatedly acted upon, is, after each\nrepetition, acted upon with less and less effort,--and, on the other\nhand, a truth or moral principle, which has been repeatedly passed over\nwithout adequate attention, after every such act makes less and less\nimpression, until at length it ceases to exert any influence over the\nmoral feelings or the conduct. I had occasion to illustrate this\nremarkable principle in another point of view, when treating of the\nconnexion between the emotions of sympathy and benevolence, and the\nconduct which naturally arises out of them. This conduct at first may\nrequire a certain effort, and is accompanied by a strong feeling of the\nemotion which leads to it. But, after each repetition, the acts go on\nwith less feeling of the emotion, and less reference to the principle\nfrom which they spring, while there is progressively forming the habit\nof active benevolence. It is precisely the same with habits of vice. At\nfirst a deed requires an effort,--and a powerful contest with moral\nprinciples, and it is speedily followed by that feeling of regret, to\nwhich superficial observers give the name of repentance. This is the\nvoice of conscience, but its power is more and more diminished after\neach repetition of the deed;--even the judgment becomes perverted\nrespecting the first great principles of moral rectitude; and acts,\nwhich at first occasioned a violent conflict, are gone into without\nremorse, or almost without perception of their moral aspect. A man in\nthis situation may still retain the knowledge of truths and principles\nwhich at one time exerted an influence over his conduct; but they are\nnow matters of memory alone. Their power as moral causes is gone, and\neven the judgment is altered respecting their moral tendencies. He views\nthem now perhaps as the superstitions of the vulgar, or the prejudices\nof a contracted education; and rejoices, it may be, in his emancipation\nfrom their authority. He knows not,--for he has not the moral perception\nnow to know, that he has been pursuing a downward course, and that the\nissue, on which he congratulates himself, consists in his last\ndegradation as a moral being. Even in this state of moral destitution,\nindeed, the same warning principle may still raise its voice,--unheeded\nbut not subdued,--repelled as an enemy, not admitted as a friendly\nmonitor and guide. \"I have not the smallest influence over Lord Byron,\nin this particular,\" writes one of the chosen friends of that\ndistinguished individual,--\"if I had, I certainly should employ it to\neradicate from his great mind the delusions of Christianity, which, in\nspite of his reason, seem perpetually to recur, and to lay in ambush for\nthe hours of sickness and distress.\" It would be interesting to know\nwhat the particular impressions were, from which this sympathizing\nfriend was anxious to rescue the poet. They were probably the\nsuggestions of a power within, which, in certain seasons of reflection,\ncompelled his attention in spite of his attempts to reason against\nit,--pleading with authority for a present Deity, and a life to come.\n\nThe principle of Habit, therefore, holds a most important place in the\nmoral condition of every man; and it applies equally to any species of\nconduct, or any train of mental operations, which, by frequent\nrepetition, have become so familiar, as not to be accompanied by a\nrecognition of the principles in which they originated. In this manner\ngood habits are continued without any immediate sense of the right\nprinciples by which they were formed; but they arose from a frequent\nand uniform acting upon these principles, and on this is founded the\nmoral approbation which we attach to habits of this description. In the\nsame manner, habits of vice, and habits of inattention to any class of\nduties, are perpetuated without a sense of the principles and affections\nwhich they violate; but this arose from a frequent violation of these\nprinciples, and a frequent repulsion of these affections, until they\ngradually lost their power over the conduct; and in this consists the\nguilt of habits. Thus, one person acquires habits of benevolence,\nveracity, and kindness,--of minute attention to his various duties,--of\ncorrect mental discipline,--and active direction of his thoughts to all\nthose objects of attention which ought to engage a well regulated\nmind:--Another sinks into habits of listless vacuity or frivolity of\nmind,--of vicious indulgence and contracted selfishness,--of neglect of\nimportant duties, disregard to the feelings of others, and total\nindifference to all those considerations and pursuits which claim the\nhighest regard of every responsible being; and the striking fact is,\nthat, after a certain period, all this may go on without a feeling that\naught is wrong either in the moral condition, or the state of mental\ndiscipline; such is the power of a moral habit.\n\nThe important truth, therefore, is deserving of the deepest and most\nhabitual attention, that character consists in a great measure in\nhabits, and that habits arise out of individual actions and individual\noperations of the mind. Hence the importance of carefully weighing every\naction of our lives, and every train of thought that we encourage in our\nminds; for we never can determine the effect of a single act, or a\nsingle mental process, in giving that influence to the character, or to\nthe moral condition, the result of which shall be decisive and\npermanent. In the whole history of habits, indeed, we see a wondrous\ndisplay of that remarkable order of sequences which has been established\nin our mental constitution, and by which every man becomes, in an\nimportant sense, the master of his own moral destiny. For each act of\nvirtue tends to make him more virtuous; and each act of vice gives new\nstrength to an influence within, which will certainly render him more\nmore vicious.\n\nThese considerations have a practical tendency of the utmost interest.\nIn subduing habits of an injurious character, the laws of mental\nsequences, which have now been referred to, must be carefully acted\nupon. When the judgment, influenced by the indications of conscience, is\nconvinced of the injurious nature of the habit, the attention must be\nsteadily and habitually directed to the truths which produced this\nimpression. There will thus arise desire to be delivered from the\nhabit,--or, in other words, to cultivate the course of action that is\nopposed to it. This desire, being cherished in the mind, is then made to\nbear upon every individual case in which a propensity is felt towards\nparticular actions, or particular mental processes, referable to the\nhabit. The new inclination is at first acted upon with an effort, but,\nafter every instance of success, less effort is required, until at\nlength the new course of action is confirmed, and overpowers the habit\nto which it was opposed. But that this result may take place, it is\nnecessary that the mental process be followed, in the manner distinctly\nindicated by the philosophy of the moral feelings; for if this is not\nattended to, the expected effect may not follow, even under\ncircumstances which appear, at first sight, most likely to produce it.\nOn this principle we are to explain the fact, that bad habits may be\nlong suspended by some powerful extrinsic influence, while they are in\nno degree broken. Thus, a person addicted to intemperance will bind\nhimself by an oath to abstain, for a certain time, from intoxicating\nliquors. In an instance which has been related to me, an individual\nunder this process observed the most rigid sobriety for five years, but\nwas found in a state of intoxication the very day after the period of\nabstinence expired. In such a case, the habit is suspended by the mere\ninfluence of the oath; but the desire continues unsubdued, and resumes\nall its former power whenever this artificial restraint is withdrawn.\nThe effect is the same as if the man had been in confinement during the\nperiod, or had been kept from his favourite indulgence by some other\nrestraint entirely of an external kind; the gratification was prevented,\nbut his moral nature continued unchanged.\n\nThese principles may be confidently stated as facts in the moral\nconstitution of man, challenging the assent of every candid observer of\nhuman nature. Several conclusions seem to arise out of them, of the\nutmost practical importance. We perceive, in the first place, a state\nwhich the mind may attain, in which there is such a disruption of its\nmoral harmony, that no power appeals in the mind itself capable of\nrestoring it to a healthy condition. This important fact in the\nphilosophy of human nature has been clearly recognised, from the\nearliest ages, on the mere principles of human science. It is distinctly\nstated by Aristotle in his Nicomachean Ethics, where he draws a striking\ncomparison between a man who, being first misled by sophistical\nreasonings, has gone into a life of voluptuousness, under an impression\nthat he was doing no wrong,--and one who has followed the same course in\nopposition to his own moral convictions. The former he contends might be\nreclaimed by argument; but the latter he considers as incurable. In such\na state of mind, therefore, it follows, by an induction which cannot be\ncontroverted, either that the evil is irremediable and hopeless, or\nthat we must look for a power from without the mind which may afford an\nadequate remedy. We are thus led to perceive the adaptation and the\nprobability of the provisions of Christianity, where an influence is\nindeed disclosed to us, capable of restoring the harmony which has been\nlost, and raising man anew to his place as a moral being. We cannot\nhesitate to believe that the Power, who framed the wondrous fabric, may\nthus hold intercourse with it, and redeem it from disorder and ruin. On\nthe contrary, it accords with the highest conceptions we can form of the\nbenevolence of the Deity, that he should thus look upon his creatures in\ntheir hour of need; and the system disclosing such communication\nappears, upon every principle of sound philosophy, to be one of harmony,\nconsistency, and truth. The subject, therefore, leads our attention to\nthat inward change, so often the scoff of the profane, but to which so\nprominent a place is assigned in the sacred writings, in which a man is\nsaid to be created anew by a power from Heaven, and elevated in his\nwhole views and feelings as a moral being. Sound philosophy teaches us,\nthat there is a state in which nothing less than such a complete\ntransformation can restore the man to a healthy moral condition, and\nthat, for producing it, nothing will avail but an influence from without\nthe mind,--a might and a power from the same Almighty One who originally\nframed it. Philosophy teaches, in the clearest manner, that a portion of\nmankind require such a transformation; Christianity informs us that it\nis required by all. When the inductions of science and the dictates of\nrevelation harmonize to this extent, who shall dare to assert that the\nlatter are not truth. Who, that places himself in the presence of a\nbeing of infinite purity, will say, he requires not such a change; or\nthat, for the production of it, he needs no agency, beyond the resources\nof his own mind. If none be found who is entitled to believe he forms\nthe exception, we are forced into the acknowledgement of the truth, so\npowerfully impressed upon us in the sacred writings, that, in the eye of\nthe Almighty One, no man in himself is righteous; and that his own power\navails not for restoring him to a state of moral purity.\n\nFrom the whole of this inquiry, we see the deep influence of habits, and\nthe fearful power which they may acquire over the whole moral system;\nconsiderations of the highest practical interest to those who would\nprevent the formation of habits of an injurious nature, or who, feeling\ntheir influence, strive to be delivered from them. There is indeed a\npoint in this downward course, where the habit has acquired undisputed\npower, and the whole moral feelings yield to it unresisting submission.\nPeace may then be within, but that peace is the stillness of death; and,\nunless a voice from heaven shall wake the dead, the moral being is lost.\nBut, in the progress towards this fearful issue, there maybe a tumult,\nand a contest, and a strife, and the voice of conscience may still\ncommand a certain attention to its warnings. While there are these\nindications of life, there is yet hope of the man; but on each moment is\nnow suspended his moral existence. Let him retire from the influence of\nexternal things; and listen to that voice within, which, though often\nunheeded, still pleads for God. Let him call to aid those high truths\nwhich relate to the presence and inspection of this being of infinite\npurity, and the solemnities of a life which is to come. Above all, let\nhim look up in humble supplication to that pure and holy One, who is the\nwitness of this warfare,--who will regard it with compassion, and impart\nhis powerful aid. But let him not presumptuously rely on this aid, as if\nthe victory were already secured. The contest is but begun; and there\nmust be a continued effort, and unceasing watchfulness,--a habitual\ndirection of the attention to those truths which, as moral causes, are\ncalculated to act upon the mind,--and a constant reliance upon the power\nfrom on high which is felt to be real and indispensable. With all this\nprovision, his progress may be slow; for the opposing principle, and the\ninfluence of established moral habits, may be felt contending for their\nformer dominion; but by each advantage that is achieved over them, their\npower will be broken, and finally destroyed. Now in all this contest\ntowards the purity of the moral being, each step is no less a process of\nthe mind itself than the downward course by which it was preceded. It\nconsists in a surrender of the will to the suggestions of conscience,\nand a habitual direction of the attention to those truths which are\ncalculated to act upon the moral volitions. In this course, the man\nfeels that he is authorized to look for a might and an influence not his\nown. This is no imaginary or mysterious impression, which one may fancy\nthat he feels, and then pass on contented with the vision; but a power\nwhich acts through the healthy operations of his own mind; it is in his\nown earnest exertions, as a rational being, to regulate these\noperations, that he is encouraged to expect its communication; and it is\nin feeling these assuming the characters of moral health, that he has\nthe proof of its actual presence.\n\nAnd where is the improbability that the pure and holy One, who framed\nthe wondrous moral being, may thus hold intercourse with it, and impart\nan influence in its hour of deepest need. According to the utmost of our\nconceptions, it is the highest of his works,--for he has endowed it with\nthe power of rising to the contemplation of himself, and with the\ncapacity of aspiring to the imitation of his own moral perfections. We\ncannot, for a moment, doubt, that his eye must reach its inmost\nmovements, and that all its emotions, and desires, and volitions, are\nexposed to his view. We must believe that he looks with displeasure when\nhe perceives them wandering from himself; and contemplates with\napprobation the contest, when the spirit strives to throw off its moral\nbondage, and to fight its way upwards to a conformity to his will. Upon\nevery principle of sound philosophy, all this must be open to his\ninspection; and we can perceive nothing opposed to the soundest\ninductions of reason in the belief, that he should impart an influence\nto the feeble being in this high design, and conduct him to its\naccomplishment. In all this, in fact, there is so little improbability,\nthat we find it impossible to suppose it could be otherwise. We find it\nimpossible to believe, that such a mental process could go on without\nthe knowledge of him whose presence is in every place,--or that, looking\nupon it, he should want either the power or the willingness to impart\nhis effectual aid.\n\nBut, independently of our conviction of an actual communication from the\nDeity, there is a power in the mind itself, which is calculated to draw\ndown upon it an influence of the most efficient kind. This is produced\nby the mental process which we call Faith: and it may be illustrated by\nan impression which many must have experienced. Let us suppose that we\nhave a friend of exalted intelligence and virtue, who has often\nexercised over us a commanding influence,--restraining us from pursuits\nto which we felt an inclination,--exciting us to virtuous conduct,--and\nelevating, by his intercourse with us, our impressions of a character on\nwhich we wished to form our own. Let us suppose that we are removed to a\ndistance from this friend, and that circumstances of difficulty or\ndanger occur, in which we feel the want of a guide and counsellor. In\nthe reflections which the situation naturally gives rise to, the image\nof our friend is brought before us; an influence is conveyed analogous\nto that which was often produced by his presence and his counsel;--and\nwe feel as if he were actually present, to tender his advice and watch\nour conduct. How much would this impression be increased, could we\nfarther entertain the thought, that this absent friend was able, in some\nway, to communicate with us, so far as to be aware of our present\ncircumstances, and to perceive our efforts to recall the influence of\nhis character upon our own.--Such is the intercourse of the soul with\nGod.--Every movement of the mind is known to him; his eye is present\nwith it, when, in any situation of duty, distress, or mental discipline,\nthe man, under this exercise of faith, realizes the presence and\ncharacter of the Deity, and solemnly inquires how, in the particular\ninstance, his moral feelings and his conduct will appear in the eye of\nhim who seeth in secret. This is no vision of the imagination, but a\nfact supported by every principle of sound reason,--the influence which\na man brings down upon himself, when, by an effort of his own mind, he\nthus places himself in the immediate presence of the Almighty. The man\nwho does so in every decision of life is he who lives by faith;--and,\nwhether we regard the inductions of reason, or the dictates of sacred\ntruth, such a man is taught to expect an influence greater and more\neffectual still. This is a power immediately from God, which shall be to\nhim direction in every doubt,--light in every darkness,--strength in his\nutmost weakness,--and comfort in all distress;--a power which shall bear\nupon all the principles of his moral nature, when he carries on the\nmighty conflict of bringing every desire and every volition under a\nconformity to the divine will. We again hazard with confidence the\nassertion, that in all this there is no improbability;--but that, on the\ncontrary, the improbability is entirely on the other side,--in supposing\nthat any such mental process could take place, without the knowledge and\nthe interposition of that incomprehensible One, whose eye is upon all\nhis works.\n\n\n\n\nPART III.\n\nOF THE MORAL PRINCIPLE, OR CONSCIENCE.\n\n\nThere has been much dispute respecting the nature and even the existence\nof the Moral Principle, as a distinct element of our mental\nconstitution; but this controversy may probably be considered as allied\nto other speculations of a metaphysical nature, in regard to which a\nkind of evidence was sought of which the subjects are not susceptible.\nWithout arguing respecting the propriety of speaking of a separate power\nor principle, we simply contend for the fact, that there is a mental\nexercise, by which we _feel_ certain actions to be right and certain\nothers wrong. It is an element or a movement of our moral nature which\nadmits of no analysis, and no explanation; and is referable to no other\nprinciple than a simple recognition of the fact, which forces itself\nupon the conviction of every man who looks into the processes of his own\nmind. Of the existence and the nature of this most important principle,\ntherefore, the evidence is entirely within. We appeal to the\nconsciousness of every man, that he perceives a power which, in\nparticular cases, warns him of the conduct which he ought to pursue, and\nadministers a solemn admonition when he has departed from it. For, while\nhis judgment conveys to him an impression, both of the tendencies and\ncertain of the qualities of actions, he has, besides this, a feeling\nby which he views the actions with approbation or disapprobation,\nin reference purely to their moral aspect, and without any regard\nto their consequences. When we refer to the sacred writings, we\nfind the principle of conscience represented as a power of such\nimportance,--that, without any acquired knowledge, or any actual\nprecepts, it is sufficient to establish, in every man, such an\nimpression of his duty as leaves him without excuse in the neglect of\nit:--\"For when the Gentiles, which have not the law, do by nature the\nthings contained in the law, these, having not the law, are a law unto\nthemselves; which shew the work of the law written in their hearts, then\nconscience also bearing witness, and their thoughts the meanwhile\naccusing or else excusing one another.\" We even find a power assigned to\nthe decisions of conscience, differing in extent only, but not in kind,\nfrom the judgment of the Almighty;--\"If our heart condemn us, God is\ngreater than our heart, and knoweth all things.\"\n\nThe province of conscience then appears to be, to convey to man a\ncertain conviction of what is morally right and wrong, in regard to\nconduct in individual cases,--and to the general exercise of the desires\nor affections. This it does independently of any acquired knowledge, and\nwithout reference to any other standard of duty. It does, so, by a rule\nof right which it carries within itself,--and by applying this to the\nprimary moral feelings, that is, the desires and affections, so as to\nindicate among them a just and healthy balance towards each other. The\ndesires direct us to certain gratifications which we feel to be worthy\nof acquirement, and the affections lead us to a certain course of\nconduct which we feel to be agreeable to ourselves, or useful to others.\nBut, to act under the influence of conscience is to perform actions,\nsimply because we feel them to be right, and to abstain from others,\nsimply because we feel them to be wrong,--without regard to any other\nimpression, or to the consequences of the actions either to ourselves or\nothers. He, who on this principle performs an action, though it may be\nhighly disagreeable to him, or abstains from another though it may be\nhighly desirable, is a conscientious man. Such a man, under the\ninfluence of habit, comes to act more and more easily under the\nsuggestions of conscience, and to be more and more set free from every\nfeeling and propensity that is opposed to it. Conscience seems therefore\nto hold a place among the moral powers, analogous to that which reason\nholds among the intellectual;--and, when we view it in this relation,\nthere appears a beautiful harmony pervading the whole economy of the\nmind.\n\nBy certain intellectual operations, man acquires the knowledge of a\nseries of facts,--he remembers them,--he separates and classifies\nthem,--and forms them into new combinations. But, with the most active\nexercise of all these operations, his mind might present an accumulation\nof facts, without order, harmony, or utility;--without any principle of\ncombination, or combined only in those fantastic and extravagant forms\nwhich appear in the conceptions of the maniac. It is Reason that reduces\nthe whole into order and harmony,--by comparing, distinguishing, and\ntracing their true analogies and relations,--and then by deducing truths\nas conclusions from the whole. It is in this manner particularly, that a\nman acquires a knowledge of the uniform actions of bodies on each\nother,--and, confiding in the uniformity of these actions, learns to\ndirect his means to the ends which he has in view. He knows also his own\nrelations to other sentient beings,--and adapts his conduct to them,\naccording to the circumstances in which he is placed,--the persons with\nwhom he is connected,--and the objects which he wishes to accomplish. He\nlearns to accommodate his measures to new circumstances as they\narise,--and thus is guided and directed through his physical relations.\nWhen reason is suspended, all this harmony is destroyed. The visions of\nthe mind are acted upon as facts; things are combined into fantastic\nforms, entirely apart from their true relations;--conduct is widely at\nvariance with what circumstances require;--ends are attempted by means\nwhich have no relation to them;--and the ends themselves are equally at\nvariance with those which are suitable to the circumstances of the\nindividual. Such is the maniac, whom accordingly we shut up, to prevent\nhim from being dangerous to the public;--for he has been known to\nmistake so remarkably the relation of things, and the conduct adapted to\nhis circumstances, as to murder his most valuable friend, or his own\nhelpless infant.\n\nIn all this process there is a striking analogy to certain conditions of\nthe moral feelings, and to the control which is exercised over them by\nthe principle of Conscience. By self-love, a man is led to seek his own\ngratification or advantage;--and the desires direct him to certain\nobjects by which these propensities may be gratified. But the affections\ncarry forth his views to other men with whom he is connected by various\nrelations, and to the offices of justice, veracity, and benevolence,\nwhich arise out of them. Conscience is the regulating power, which,\nacting upon the desires and affections, as reason does upon a series of\nfacts, preserves among them harmony and order. It does so by repressing\nthe propensity of selfishness, and reminding the man of the true\nrelation between regard to his own interest and the duties he owes to\nother men. It regulates his senses and pursuits, by carrying his views\nbeyond present feelings and present gratifications, to future times and\nfuture consequences,--and by raising his attention to his relation to\nthe great moral Governor of the universe. He thus learns to adapt his\nconduct and pursuits, not to present and transient feelings, but to an\nextended view of his great and true interests as a moral being. Such is\nconscience,--still, like reason, pointing out the moral ends a man ought\nto pursue, and guiding him in the means by which he ought to pursue\nthem;--and the man does not act in conformity with the constitution of\nhis nature, who does not yield to conscience the supremacy and direction\nover all his other feelings and principles of action. But the analogy\ndoes not stop here;--for we can also trace a condition in which this\ncontrolling influence of conscience is suspended or lost. I formerly\nendeavoured to trace the manner in which this derangement arises, and\nhave now only to allude to its influence on the harmony of the moral\nfeelings. Self-love degenerates into low selfish gratification: the\ndesires are indulged without any other restraint than that which arises\nfrom a mere selfish principle,--as a regard to health, perhaps in some\ndegree to reputation; the affections are exercised only in so far as\nsimilar principles impose a certain degree of attention to them: present\nand momentary impulses are acted upon, without any regard to future\nresults: conduct is adapted to present gratification, without the\nperception either of its moral aspect, or its consequences to the man\nhimself as a responsible being; and without regard to the means by which\nthese feelings are gratified. In all this violation of moral harmony,\nthere is no derangement of the ordinary exercise of judgment. In the\nmost remarkable example that can be furnished by the history of human\ndepravity, the man may be as acute as ever in the details of business or\nthe pursuits of science. There is no diminution of his sound estimate\nof physical relations,--for this is the province of reason. But there is\na total derangement of his sense and approbation of moral\nrelations,--for this is conscience. Such a condition of mind, then,\nappears to be, in reference to the moral feelings, what insanity is in\nregard to the intellectual. The intellectual maniac fancies himself a\nking, surrounded by every form of earthly splendour,--and this\nhallucination is not corrected even by the sight of his bed of straw and\nall the horrors of his cell. The moral maniac pursues his way, and\nthinks himself a wise and a happy man:--- but feels not that he is\ntreading a downward course, and is lost as a moral being.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIn the preceding observations respecting the moral principle or\nconscience, I have alluded chiefly to its influence in preserving a\ncertain harmony among the other feelings,--in regulating the desires by\nthe indications of moral purity,--and presenting self-love from\ninterfering with the duties and affections which we owe to other men.\nBut there is another and a most important purpose which is answered by\nthis faculty, and that is to make us acquainted with the moral\nattributes of the Deity. In strict philosophical language we ought\nperhaps to say, that this high purpose is accomplished by a combined\noperation of conscience and reason; but, however this may be, the\nprocess appeals clear and intelligible in its nature, and fully adapted\nto the end now assigned to it. From a simple exercise of mind, directed\nto the great phenomena of nature, we acquire the knowledge of a First\nCause,--a being of infinite power and infinite wisdom; and this\nconclusion is impressed upon us in a peculiar manner, when, from our own\nbodily and mental endowments, we infer the attributes of him who framed\nus:--\"he that planted the ear,\" says a sacred writer, \"shall he not\nhear;--he that formed the eye, shall he not see;--he that teacheth man\nknowledge, shall not he know?\" When we trace backwards a series of\nfinite yet intelligent beings, we must arrive at one of two\nconclusions:--We must either trace the series through an infinite and\neternal succession of finite beings, each the cause of the one which\nsucceeded it;--or we must refer the commencement of the series to one\ngreat intelligent being, himself uncaused, infinite, and eternal. To\ntrace the series to one being, finite, yet uncaused, is totally\ninadmissible; and not less so is the conception of finite beings in an\ninfinite and eternal series. The belief of one infinite being,\nself-existent and eternal, is, therefore, the only conclusion at which\nwe can arrive, as presenting any characters of credibility or truth. The\nsuperintending care, the goodness, and benevolence of the Deity, we\nlearn, with a feeling of equal certainty, from the ample provision he\nhas made for supplying the wants and ministering to the comfort of all\nthe creatures whom he has made. This part of the argument, also, is in\nthe clearest manner insisted upon in the sacred writings; when the\napostle Paul, in calling upon the people of Lystra to worship the true\nGod, who made heaven and earth, adds, as a source of knowledge from\nwhich they ought to learn his character;--\"he left not himself without a\nwitness, in that he did good, and gave us rain from heaven and fruitful\nseasons, filling our hearts with food and gladness.\"\n\nA being, thus endowed with infinite power, wisdom, and goodness, we\ncannot conceive to exist without moral feelings; and, by a process\nequally obvious, we arrive at a distinct knowledge of these, when, from\nthe moral perceptions of our own minds, we infer the moral attributes of\nhim who thus formed us. We have certain impressions of justice,\nveracity, compassion, and moral purity, in regard to our own\nconduct,--we have a distinct approbation of these qualities in\nothers,--and we attach a feeling of disapprobation to the infringement\nof them. By a simple step of reasoning, which conveys an impression of\nabsolute conviction, we conclude, that he, who formed us with these\nfeelings, possesses, in his own character, corresponding moral\nattributes, which, while they resemble in kind, must infinitely exceed\nin degree, those qualities in the wisest and the best of men. In our\nactual observation of mankind, we perceive these attributes impaired in\ntheir exercise by human weakness, distorted by human passion,--and\nimpeded in their operation by personal wants, personal feelings, and\nselfish interests. But, apart from such deteriorating causes, we have a\ncertain abstract idea of the full and perfect exercise of those\nqualities; and it is in this pure and perfect form that we ascribe them\nto the Almighty. In him, they can be impeded by no weakness,--distorted\nby no passion, and impaired in their operation by no personal interest.\nWe therefore conclude him to be perfect in the exercise of all these\nmoral attributes, and to take the most rigid estimate of any\ninfringement of them by man:--this is what we call the holiness of God.\nEven the man, who has himself departed from moral rectitude, still feels\na power within, which points with irresistible force to what is purity,\nand fixes upon him a conviction that God is pure.\n\nWhen we view such a Being, apart from any inferior creature, all seems\nharmony and consistency;--we have only to contemplate him as high and\nholy, and enjoying perfect happiness in his own spotless attributes.\nBut, when we view him in relation to man in a state of moral discipline,\nand, in that state, tainted deeply with moral evil, a difficulty arises\nof an appalling magnitude. There is ample scope now, we perceive, for\nthe exercise of his holiness, veracity, and justice; and he appeals in\nsublime and terrible majesty, in his exalted character as a moral\ngovernor. But, amid such a display, there is an obvious interruption to\nthe exercise of compassion,--especially in that essential department of\nit,--mercy or forgiveness. This attribute may be exercised without\nrestraint by an individual, where his own interests alone are concerned,\nbecause in him it involves only a sacrifice of self-love. But\nforgiveness in a moral governor either implies an actual change of\npurpose, or supposes a former decision to have been made without\nsufficient knowledge of, or due attention to, all the facts by which he\nought to have been influenced;--it denotes either undue rigour in the\nlaw, or ignorance or inattention in him who administers it, and it may\nvery often interfere with the essential requisites of justice. But, in a\nmoral governor of infinite perfection, there can be neither ignorance of\nfacts nor change of purpose;--the requirements of his justice must stand\nunshaken; and his law, written on the hearts of all his rational\ncreatures, must be upheld, in the face of the universe, as holy, and\njust, and good. Is, then, the exercise of mercy to be excluded from our\nconception of the divine character,--and is there no forgiveness with\nGod.--The soundest inductions of philosophy, applied to the actual state\nof man, bring us to this momentous question; but the highest efforts of\nhuman science fail to answer it. It is in this our utmost need, that we\nare met by the dictates of revelation, and are called to humble the\npride of our reason before that display of the harmony and integrity of\nthe divine character. We there learn the truths, far beyond the\ninductions of human science, and the utmost conceptions of human\nthought,--that an atonement is made, a sacrifice offered;--and that the\nexercise of forgiveness is consistent with the perfections of the Deity.\nThus, by a process of the mind itself, which seems to present every\nelement of fair and logical reasoning, we arrive at a full conviction of\nthe necessity, and the moral probability, of that truth which forms the\ngreat peculiarity of the Christian revelation. More than any other in\nthe whole circle of religious belief it rises above the inductions of\nscience, while reason, in its soundest conclusions, recognises its\nprobability, and receives its truth; and it stands forth alone, simply\nproposed to our belief, and offered to our acceptance, on that high but\npeculiar evidence by which is supported the testimony of God.\n\nThe truth of these considerations is impressed upon us in the strangest\nmanner, when we turn our attention to the actual moral condition of\nmankind. When we contemplate man, as he is displayed to us by the\nsoundest inductions of philosophy,--his capacity for distinguishing\ntruth from falsehood, and evil from good; the feelings and affections\nwhich bind him to his fellow men, and the powers which enable him to\nrise to intercourse with God:--when we consider the power, which sits\namong his other principles and feelings, as a faithful monitor and\nguide, carrying in itself a rule of rectitude without any other\nknowledge, and a right to govern without reference to any other\nauthority; we behold a fabric complete and harmonious in all its parts,\nand eminently worthy of its Almighty Maker;--we behold an ample\nprovision for peace, and order, and harmony, in the whole moral world.\nBut, when we compare with these inductions the actual state of man, as\ndisplayed to us in the page of history, and in our own daily\nobservation, the conviction is forced upon us, that some mighty change\nhas taken place in this beauteous system, some marvellous disruption of\nits moral harmony. The manner in which this condition arose,--or the\norigin of moral evil under the government of God, is a question entirely\nbeyond the reach of the human faculties.--It is one of those, however,\non which it is simply our duty to keep in mind, that our business is,\nnot with the explanation, but with the facts;--for, even by the\nconclusions of philosophy, we are compelled to believe, that man has\nfallen from his high estate,--and that a pestilence has gone abroad over\nthe face of the moral creation.\n\nIn arriving at this conclusion, it is not with the inductions of moral\nscience alone, that we compare or contrast the actual state of man. For\none bright example has appeared in our world, in whom was exhibited\nhuman nature in its highest state of order and harmony. In regard to the\nmighty purposes which he came to accomplish, indeed, philosophy fails\nus, and we are called to submit the inductions of our reason to the\ntestimony of God. But, when we contemplate his whole character purely as\na matter of historical truth,--the conviction is forced upon us, that\nthis was the highest state of man;--and the inductions of true science\nharmonize with the impression of the Roman Centurion, when, on\nwitnessing the conclusion of the earthly sufferings of the Messiah, he\nexclaimed--\"truly this was the Son of God.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen we endeavour to trace the manner, in which mankind have departed so\nwidely from this high pattern, we arrive at moral phenomena of which we\ncan offer no explanation. But an inquiry of much greater importance is\nto mark the process by which, in individual instances, conscience ceases\nto be the regulating principle of the character; and this is a simple\nand legitimate object of philosophical observation. There cannot,\nindeed, be an inquiry of more intense and solemn interest, than to trace\nthe chain of sequences which has been established in the mind of man as\na moral being. We can view it only as a matter of fact, without being\nable to refer it to any other principle than the will of Him who framed\nus;--but the facts which are before us claim the serious attention of\nevery man, who would cultivate that most important of all pursuits,--the\nknowledge of his own moral condition. The fact to which I chiefly allude\nis a certain relation, formerly referred to, between the truths which\nare calculated to act upon us as moral causes, and the mental emotions\nwhich ought to result from them;--and between these emotions and a\ncertain conduct which they tend to produce. If the due harmony between\nthese be carefully cultivated, the result is a sound moral condition;\nbut by every instance in which this harmony is violated, a morbid\ninfluence is introduced, which gains strength in each succeeding\nvolition, and carries disorder through the moral economy. We have\nformerly illustrated this important moral process, by the relation\nbetween the emotion of compassion, and the conduct which ought to arise\nfrom it. If this tendency of the emotion be diligently cultivated, the\nresult is the habit of active benevolence;--but, if the emotion be\nviolated, its influence is progressively diminished, and a character is\nproduced of cold and barren selfishness.\n\nA similar chain of sequences is to be observed respecting the operation\nof those great truths, which, under the regulating power of conscience,\nare calculated to act as moral causes in our mental economy;--we may\ntake, for example, the truths relating to the character and perfections\nof the Deity, and the influence which these ought to produce upon every\nrational being. We have seen the knowledge which we derive from the\nlight of nature respecting the attributes of God, when, from his works\naround us, we discover him as a being of infinite power, wisdom, and\ngoodness; and when, from the moral impressions of our own minds, we\ninfer his perfections as a moral Governor of infinite holiness, justice,\nand truth. By a proper direction of the mind to the truths which are\nthus conveyed to us respecting the Deity, there would naturally arise a\ncorresponding chain of emotions of which he is the object. These are a\nsense of veneration towards him, as infinitely great, wise, and\npowerful,--of love and thankfulness, as infinitely good,--and of\nhabitual regard to his authority and will, as a moral governor of purity\nand justice, and as requiring a corresponding character in all his\ncreatures. A close and constant relation ought to be preserved between\nthese truths and these emotions, and on this depends the moral harmony\nof the mind. The preservation of this harmony, again, is intimately\nconnected with a mental process which every man feels to be\nvoluntary,--or in his power to perform, if he wills. It consists in a\ncareful direction of the mind to such truths, so as to enable them to\nact as moral causes in the mental economy:--by the established order of\nmoral sequences, the emotions naturally follow:--these are then to be\ncherished with satisfaction and reverence; and a corresponding influence\nupon the character and conduct is the farther consequence. But the first\nstep in this important process may be neglected;--the mind may not be\ndirected with due care to the truths which thus claim its highest\nregard,--and the natural result is a corresponding deficiency in the\nemotions and conduct which ought to flow from them. This will be the\ncase in a still higher degree, if there has been formed any actual\nderangement of the moral condition,--if deeds have been committed, or\neven desires cherished, and mental habits acquired, by which the\nindications of conscience have been violated. The moral harmony of the\nmind is then lost, and, however slight may be the first impression, a\nmorbid influence has begun to operate in the mental economy, which tends\ngradually to gain strength, until it becomes a ruling principle in the\nwhole character. The truths connected with the divine perfections are\nnow neither invited nor cherished, but are felt to be intruders which\ndisturb the mental tranquillity. The attention ceases to be directed to\nthem, and the corresponding emotions vanish from the mind. Such appears\nto be the moral history of those, who, in the striking language of the\nsacred writings, \"do not like to retain God in their knowledge.\"\n\nWhen the harmony of the mind has been impaired to this extent, another\nmental condition arises, according to the wondrous system of moral\nsequences. This consists in a distortion of the understanding itself,\nregarding the first great principles of moral truth. For, a fearless\ncontemplation of the truth, respecting the divine perfections, having\nbecome inconsistent with the moral condition of the mind, there next\narises a desire to discover a view of them more in accordance with its\nown feelings. This is followed, in due course, by a corresponding train\nof its own speculations; and these, by a mind so prepared, are received\nas truth. The inventions of the mind itself thus become the regulating\nprinciples of its emotions, and this mental process, advancing from step\nto step, terminates in moral degradation and anarchy.\n\nNothing can be more striking than the manner in which these great\nprinciples of ethical science are laid down in the sacred\nwritings;--\"the invisible things of him from the creation of the world\nare clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his\neternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse: Because\nthat, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were\nthankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart\nwas darkened. Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools; and\nchanged the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to\ncorruptible man, and to birds, and four-footed beasts, and creeping\nthings.\"--\"And even as they did not like to retain God in their\nknowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things\nwhich are not convenient.\" The various steps, in this course of moral\ndegradation, are here represented as a judicial infliction by the Deity.\nBut this solemn view of the subject is in no degree inconsistent with\nthe principle, that it takes place according to a chain of sequences\nexisting in the mind itself. For the Almighty One, who is said to\ninflict as a judgment this state of moral ruin, is the same who\nestablished it as the uniform result of a process in the mental economy,\nto be traced in the history of every man who has followed the downward\ncourse which led him astray from virtue.\n\nTo the principles which have now been stated, we are also to refer a\npoint in the philosophy of human nature which presents a subject of most\ninteresting reflection. I allude to the fact, that the great truths of\nreligious belief are so often rejected, by men who have acquired a\nreputation for exalted powers of understanding in other departments of\nintellectual inquiry. The fact is one of intense interest; and we can\nscarcely wonder that superficial observers should have deduced from it\nan impression, that it implies something defective in the evidence by\nwhich these truths are proposed to our reception. But the conclusion is\nentirely unwarranted, and the important principle cannot be too often\nrepeated, that the attainment of truth in moral inquiries is essentially\nconnected with the moral condition of the inquirer. On this depends the\nanxious care with which he has directed his mind to the high pursuit,\nunder a deep and solemn feeling of its supreme importance. On this\ndepends the sincere and humble and candid love of truth with which he\nhas conducted it, apart alike from prejudice and frivolity. For without\nthese essential elements of character, the most exalted intellect may\nfail of reaching the truth,--the most acute understanding may only\nwander into delusion and falsehood.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBefore concluding this subject, there is another point which deserves to\nbe alluded to;--namely, the influence produced upon all our moral\njudgments and decisions by Attention. This important process of the mind\nwe have had occasion to mention in various parts of our inquiry. It\nconsists, as we have seen, in directing the thoughts, calmly and\ndeliberately, to all the facts and considerations by which we ought to\nbe influenced in the particular case which is under our view; and it\nshould be accompanied by an anxious and sincere desire to be guided,\nboth in our opinions and conduct, by the true and relative tendency of\neach of them. It is a voluntary process of the mind which every man has\nthe power to perform; and on the degree in which it is habitually\nexercised, depend some of the great differences between one man and\nanother in their moral condition. We have repeatedly had occasion to\nmention that morbid state of the mind, in which moral causes seem to\nhave lost their proper influence, both on the volitions of the will, and\neven on the conclusions of the judgment:--But it is a truth which cannot\nbe too often referred to, how much this condition is influenced by the\nmental process which we are now considering. It originates, indeed, in\nsome degree of that distortion of moral feeling, in consequence of which\nthe inclinations wander from the strict path of rectitude;--but the\nprimary effect of this loss of mental harmony, and that by which it is\nperpetuated, appears to be chiefly a habitual misdirection of the\nattention,--or a total want of consideration of the truths and motives,\nby which the moral judgments and decisions ought to be influenced.\nApart from this condition of the mind, indeed, there is reason to\nbelieve, that the actual differences in moral judgment are in different\nmen less than we are apt to imagine. \"Let any honest man,\" says Butler,\n\"before he engages in any course of action, ask himself,--is this I am\ngoing to do right, or is it wrong,--is it good, or is it evil:--I do not\nin the least doubt but that these questions would be answered agreeably\nto truth and virtue, by almost any fair man in almost any\ncircumstances.\" It is in a great measure from the want of this simple\nexercise of attention, or of what in common language we call calm\nreflection, that men are led away, by passion, prejudice, and distorted\nmoral habits, into courses of action which their own sober judgment\nwould condemn;--and when a man, who has thus departed from rectitude,\nbegins to retrace his way, the first great point is that where he pauses\nin his downward career, and seriously proposes to himself the question,\nwhether the course he has followed be worthy of a moral being. I allude\nnot here to the means by which a man is led to take this momentous step\nin his moral history, but only to the mental process of which it\nconsists. It is primarily nothing more than an exercise of attention,\ncalmly and deliberately directed to the truths and considerations by\nwhich his moral decisions ought to be influenced; but, when a man has\nonce been brought into this attitude of deep and serious thought,\nconscience comes to bear its part in the solemn process; and the\ninquirer is likely to arrive at just conclusions on those great\nquestions of which he feels the importance to his moral condition.\n\nIt is on the principles now referred to, that, according to a doctrine\nwhich has been often and keenly controverted, we hold a man to be\nresponsible for his belief. The state of mind which constitutes belief\nis, indeed, one over which the will has no direct power. But belief\ndepends upon evidence;--the result of even the best evidence is entirely\ndependant on attention;--and attention is a voluntary intellectual state\nover which we have a direct and absolute control. As it is, therefore,\nby prolonged and continued attention that evidence produces belief, a\nman may incur the deepest guilt by his disbelief of truths which he has\nfailed to examine with the care which is due to them. This exercise is\nentirely under the control of the will; but the will to exercise it\nrespecting moral truth is closely connected with the love of that truth;\nand this is intimately dependent on the state of moral feeling of the\nmind. It is thus that a man's moral condition influences the conclusions\nof his judgment;--and it is thus, that on the great questions of moral\ntruth, there may be guilt attached to a process of the understanding,\nwhile there is both guilt and moral degradation in that mental condition\nfrom which it springs.\n\nA similar relation exists, as was formerly stated, between all our moral\nemotions, and processes which are felt to be entirely voluntary. These\nemotions are, properly speaking, not the objects of volition, nor do\nthey arise directly at our bidding; but, according to the constitution\nof the mind, they are the natural or established result of certain\nintellectual processes, and, in some sense, even of bodily action, both\nof which are entirely voluntary. The emotions of compassion and\nbenevolence, for example, are the natural result of the sight or even\nthe description of scenes of distress; and the primary steps in this\nprocess are entirely within our power to perform, if we will. We can\nvisit the afflicted family, listen to their tale of distress, and\nconsider their circumstances,--that is, give our attention to them in\nsuch a manner that the natural and proper effect may be produced upon\nour moral feelings. We can give the same kind of attention, and with a\nsimilar result, to a case which is only described to us by another; or\nwe may neglect all this mental process. Engrossed with the business or\nthe frivolities of life, we may keep ourselves at a distance from the\npersons and the scenes that might operate in this manner on our moral\nfeelings;--we may refuse to listen to the tale of sorrow, or, if\ncompelled to hear it, we may give it little attention and no\nconsideration. The moral feeling does not follow, and this course, after\na certain repetition, terminates in confirmed and barren selfishness. We\nsee many instances in which we distinctly recognise this course of\nmental or moral sequence. If, in regard to a particular case of\ndistress, for example, we have come to a deliberate conviction of the\nworthlessness of the individual, and have determined to withhold our\naid, we refuse to see him, and we decline hearing from another any\nthing more of his history;--we say, we have made up our mind not to\nallow our compassion to be any more worked upon in his favour. We thus\nrecognise the natural relation between the sight or even the description\nof distress, and the production of certain feelings in ourselves:--and\nwe recognise also the legitimate means for preventing this influence in\ncertain cases, in which, by a deliberate act of judgment, we have\ndetermined against having these feelings excited. If, notwithstanding\nthis determination, we happen to be brought within the influence of the\ndistress which we wished to avoid, we consider this as a sufficient\nground for acting, in the instance, against our sober judgment. We had\ndetermined against it, we say, but what can you do when you see people\nstarving. We thus recognise as legitimate that process by which, in\ncertain cases, we keep ourselves beyond this influence; but we attach no\nfeeling of approbation to the moral condition of him who, being\nsubjected to the influence, can resist it; that is, who can really come\ninto contact with distress, and shut his heart against it. And even\nwith regard to the course which we here recognise as legitimate, much\ncaution is required, before we allow a process of the judgment to\ninterfere with the natural and healthy course of the moral feelings. If\nthe interference arises, not from a sound process of the understanding,\nbut from a course in which selfishness bears a considerable part, an\ninjurious influence upon the moral condition of the mind is the\nnecessary consequence. We thus perceive that, in the chain of sequences\nrelating to the benevolent feelings, there are three distinct\nsteps,--two of which are entirely under the control of the will. A man\nhas it entirely in his power to place himself in contact with objects of\ndistress, and to follow out the call of duty in considering their\ncircumstances, and entering into their feelings. The natural result is a\ntrain of emotions which arise in his own mind, prompting him to a\nparticular line of conduct. To act upon these emotions is again under\nthe power of his will; and if the whole of this chain of sequences be\nduly followed, the result is a sound condition of this part of the moral\neconomy. If either of the voluntary steps be neglected or violated, the\nmental harmony is lost, and a habit is formed of unfeeling selfishness.\n\nThe principle, which has thus been illustrated by the benevolent\naffections, is equally true of our other moral emotions. These emotions\nare closely connected with certain truths, which are calculated to give\nuse to them, according to the constitution of our moral economy. Now,\nthe careful acquisition of the knowledge of these truths, and a serious\ndirection of the attention to their tendencies, are intellectual\nprocesses which are as much under the power of our will, as are the acts\nof visiting and giving attention to scenes of distress; and the due\ncultivation of them involves an equal degree of moral responsibility.\nThis again is connected with the remarkable power which we possess over\nthe succession of our thoughts. We can direct the mind into a particular\ntrain; we can continue it and dwell upon it with calm and deliberate\nattention, so that the truths, which it brings before us, may produce\ntheir natural and proper effect on our moral feelings. The emotions thus\nexcited lead to a certain line of conduct, which also is voluntary; and\non the due cultivation of this chain of sequences depends a healthy\nmoral condition. But we may neglect those parts of the sequence which\nare under the control of our will. We may abstain from directing our\nattention to such truths; we may view them in a slight, frivolous, or\ndistorted manner, or we may dismiss them altogether; and if any degree\nof the emotions should be excited, we may make no effort towards the\ncultivation of the conduct to which they would lead us. The due\ncultivation of this power over the succession of our thoughts, is that\nwhich constitutes one of the great differences between one man and\nanother, both as intellectual and moral beings;--and, though correct\nmoral emotions are not properly the objects of volition, it is thus that\na man may incur the deepest moral guilt in the want of them.\n\nThe subject also leads to conclusions of the greatest importance\nrespecting the principles on which we ought to conduct religious\ninstruction, particularly in regard to the cultivation of religious\nemotions. It reminds us of the important law of our nature, that all\ntrue cultivation of religious emotion must be founded upon a sound\nculture of the understanding in the knowledge of religious truth, and a\ncareful direction of the powers of reasoning and judging, both to its\nevidences and its tendencies. All impulse that does not arise in this\nmanner can be nothing more than an artificial excitement of feeling,\nwidely different from the emotion of a regulated mind. Such a system\ngenerates wild enthusiasm;--and the principle is of peculiar and\nessential importance in the education of the young. In then susceptible\nminds religious emotion is easily produced, and, by a particular\nmanagement, may be fostered for a time. But those who have been trained\nin this manner are little qualified to meet the collisions of active\nlife, and we need not wonder if they should make shipwreck of a faith\nwhich has not been founded in knowledge.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBefore leaving the subject of the Moral Principle, there are two points\nclosely connected with it which remain to be noticed. The one relates\nto the origin and immutability of moral distinctions, and, in connexion\nwith this, a class of speculations which hold a conspicuous place in the\nhistory of Ethical science, under the name of Theories of Morals. The\nother refers to a certain harmony or principle of arrangement, which the\ndifferent moral feelings ought to preserve towards each other in a\nwell-regulated mind.\n\n\n\n\nSec. I.--OF THE ORIGIN AND IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS AND THEORIES\nOF MORALS.\n\n\nIn treating of the moral powers, I have considered various feelings as\ndistinct parts of our constitution, each intended to answer a specific\npurpose in the present scene of moral discipline. I am aware of an\nobjection that may be urged against this mode of viewing the\nsubject,--namely, that it is an unnecessary multiplication of original\nprinciples. I am not inclined to dispute respecting the term, _original\nprinciples_. I only contend for the fact, that there are certain\nfeelings or propensities which are found to operate in the whole of\nmankind; and, with regard to these, I consider our object to be, simply\nto view man as he is. In his physical relations, we find him endowed\nwith a variety of senses, and a great variety of bodily functions,--each\nadapted to its proper purpose, and all distinct from each other; and the\nphysiologist is content to view them simply as they are. Were he to\nexercise his ingenuity upon them, he might contend with much\nplausibility, that it is highly incorrect to speak of five distinct and\nseparate senses;--for that they are all merely modifications of\nsensation, differing only in the various kinds of the external\nimpression. Thus, what is vulgarly called sight is the simple sensation\nof light,--and hearing is merely the sensation of sound. This would be\nall very true,--but it does not appear to elucidate the subject; nor, by\nany ingenuity of such speculation, could we be enabled to know more\nconcerning these senses than when we called them sight and hearing. In\nthe same manner it would appear, that the course of inquiry, respecting\nour moral feelings, is simply to observe what these feelings really are,\nand what are their obvious tendencies. When we have done so on adequate\nfoundation, I conceive we have every reason for considering them as\nprinciples implanted in us by the Creator, for guidance in our present\nrelations; and, like the functions of our bodies, so the powers and\nfeelings of our minds shew a wonderful adaptation and design, worthy of\ntheir Omnipotent Cause. But we can know nothing of them beyond the\nfacts,--and nothing is to be gained by any attempt, however ingenious,\nto simplify or explain them. We have formerly had occasion to allude to\nvarious speculations of a similar character, respecting the powers of\nperception and simple intellect,--all of which have now given way before\nthe general admission of the truth, that, on the questions to which they\nrefer, no human sagacity can carry us one step beyond the simple\nknowledge of the facts.\n\nIt will probably be admitted, that there have been many similar\nunprofitable speculations in the philosophy of the moral feelings; and\nthat these speculations, instead of throwing any light upon the subject,\nhave tended rather to withdraw the attention of inquirers from the\nquestions of deep and serious importance connected with the\ninvestigation. Among these, perhaps, we may reckon some of the doctrines\nwhich hold a prominent place in the history of this branch of\nscience,--under the name of _Theories of Morals_. These doctrines agree\nin admitting the fact, that there are among mankind certain notions\nrespecting right and wrong,--moral and immoral actions; and they then\nprofess to account for these impressions,--or to explain how men come to\nthink one action right and another wrong. A brief view of these theories\nmay properly belong to an outline of this department of science.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIn contemplating the conduct of men as placed in certain relations\ntowards each other, we perceive some actions which we pronounce to be\nright, and others which we pronounce to be wrong. In forming our opinion\nof them in this manner, we refer to the intentions of the actor, and, if\nwe are satisfied that he really intended what we see to be the effect or\nthe tendency of his conduct, or even that he purposed something which he\nwas prevented from accomplishing, we view him with feelings of moral\napprobation or disapprobation,--or, in other words, apply to him the\naward of praise or blame. Such is our simple idea of virtue or vice, as\napplied either to the act or the agent. We have a conviction that there\nis a line of conduct to which ourselves and others are bound by a\ncertain kind of obligation;--a departure from this constitutes moral\ndemerit or vice;--a correct observance of it constitutes virtue.\n\nThis appears to be our primary impression of vice and virtue. The next\nquestion is, what is the origin of the impression, or on what ground is\nit that we conclude certain actions to be right and others wrong. Is it\nmerely from a view of their consequences to ourselves or others; or do\nwe proceed upon an absolute conviction of certain conduct being right,\nand certain other wrong, without carrying the mind farther than the\nsimple act, or the simple intention of the actor,--without any\nconsideration of the effects or the tendencies of the action. This is\nthe question which has been so keenly agitated in the speculations of\nEthical science, namely, respecting the origin and nature of moral\ndistinctions. On the one hand, it is contended, that these moral\nimpressions are in themselves immutable, and that an absolute conviction\nof their immutability is fixed upon us in that part of our constitution\nwhich we call Conscience, in other words, there is a certain conduct to\nwhich we are bound by a feeling of obligation, apart from all other\nconsiderations whatever, and we have an impression that a departure from\nthis in ourselves or others constitutes vice. On the other hand, it is\nmaintained, that these distinctions are entirely arbitrary, or arise out\nof circumstances, so that what is vice in one case may be virtue in\nanother. Those who have adopted the latter hypothesis have next to\nexplain, what the circumstances are which give rise, in this manner, to\nour impressions of vice and virtue, moral approbation or disapprobation.\nThe various modes of explaining this impression have led to the\n_Theories of Morals_.\n\nThe system of Mandeville ascribes our impressions of moral rectitude\nentirely to the enactments of legislators. Man, he says, naturally seeks\nonly his own gratification, without any regard to the happiness of other\nmen. But legislators found that it would be necessary to induce him, in\nsome way, to surrender a position of his personal gratification for the\ngood of others, and so to promote the peace and harmony of society. To\naccomplish this with such a selfish being, it was necessary to give him\nsome equivalent for the sacrifice he thus made; and the principle of his\nnature which they fixed upon, for this purpose, was his love of praise.\nThey made certain laws for the general good, and then flattered mankind\ninto the belief that it was praiseworthy to observe them, and noble to\nsacrifice a certain degree of their own gratification for the good of\nothers. What we call virtue thus resolves itself into the love of\npraise. In regard to such a system as this, it has been thought\nsufficient to point out the distinction between the immutable principles\nof morality and those arrangements which are dependent upon mere\nenactment. Such are many of the regulations and restrictions of\ncommerce. They are intended for the public good, and, while they are in\nforce, it is the duty of every good citizen to obey them. A change of\nthe law, however, changes their character, for they possess in\nthemselves none of the qualities of merit or demerit. But no laws can\nalter, and no statutes modify, those great principles of moral conduct\nwhich are graved indelibly on the conscience of all classes of men.\nKings, it has been said, may make laws, but cannot create a virtue.\n\nBy another modification of this system, our impressions of virtue and\nvice are said to be derived entirely from mutual compact. Men, finding\nthat there was a certain course of action which would contribute to\ntheir mutual advantage, and _vice versa_, entered into an agreement to\nobserve certain conduct, and abstain from certain other. The violation\nof this compact constituted vice, the observance of it virtue.\n\nBy a theory, supported by some eminent men, as Clark and Wollaston,\nvirtue was considered to depend on a conformity of the conduct to a\ncertain sense of the fitness of things,--or the truth of things. The\nmeaning of this, it must be confessed, is rather obscure. It however\nevidently refers the essence of virtue to a relation perceived by a\nprocess of reason; and therefore may be held as at variance with the\nbelief of the impression being universal.\n\nAccording to the _Theory of Utility_, as warmly supported by Mr. Hume,\nwe estimate the virtue of an action and an agent entirely by their\nusefulness. He seems to refer all our mental impressions to two\nprinciples, reason and taste. Reason gives us simply the knowledge of\ntruth or falsehood, and is no motive of action. Taste gives an\nimpression of pleasure or pain,--so constitutes happiness or misery, and\nbecomes a motive of action. To this he refers our impressions of beauty\nand deformity, vice and virtue. He has, accordingly, distinctly asserted\nthat the words right and wrong signify nothing more than sweet or sour,\npleasant or painful, being only effects upon the mind of the spectator\nproduced by the contemplation of certain conduct,--and this, as we have\nalready seen, resolves itself into the impression of its usefulness. An\nobvious objection to the system of utility was, that it might be applied\nto the effects of inanimate matter as correctly as to the deeds of a\nvoluntary agent. A printing-press or a steam-engine might be as\nmeritorious as a man of extensive virtue. To obviate this, Mr. Hume was\ndriven to a distinction, which in fact amounted to giving up the\ndoctrine, namely, that the sense of utility must be combined with a\nfeeling of approbation. This leads us back to the previous question, on\nwhat this feeling of approbation is founded, and at once recognises a\nprinciple, distinct from the mere perception of utility. Virtuous\nconduct may indeed always contribute to general utility, or general\nhappiness, but this is an effect only, not the cause or the principle\nwhich constitutes it virtuous. This important distinction has been well\nstated by Professor Mills of Oxford. He defines morality to be,--\"an\nobedience to the law and constitution of man's nature, assigned him by\nthe Deity in conformity to his own essential and unchangeable\nattributes, the effect of which is the general happiness of his\ncreatures.\"[2]--We may safely assert, that whatever is right is also\nexpedient for man; but the converse by no means follows,--that what is\nexpedient, that is what mankind think would be expedient, comes to be\nright.\n\n[Footnote 2: Lecture on the Theory of Moral Obligation. Oxford, 1830.]\n\nWe now come to the _Selfish System_ of morals, according to which the\nfundamental principle of the conduct of mankind is a desire to promote\ntheir own gratification or interest. This theory has appeared in\nvarious forms, from a very early period in the history of Ethical\nscience; but the most remarkable promoter of it in more modern times was\nMr. Hobbes. According to him, man is influenced entirely by what seems\ncalculated, more immediately, or more remotely, to promote his own\ninterest; whatever does so, he considers as right,--the opposite as\nwrong. He is driven to society by necessity, and then, whatever promotes\nthe general good, he considers as ultimately calculated to promote his\nown. This system is founded upon a fallacy, similar to that referred to\nunder the former head. Virtuous conduct does impart gratification, and\nthat of the highest kind; and, in the strictest sense of the word, it\npromotes the true interest of the agent, but this tendency is the\neffect, not the cause; and never can be considered as the principle\nwhich imparts to conduct its character of virtue; nor do we perform it\nmerely because it affords us gratification, or promotes our interest.\nThe hypothesis, indeed, may be considered as distinctly contradicted by\nfacts,--for, even in our own experience, it is clear, that the pleasure\nattending an act of generosity or virtue in ourselves, as well as our\napprobation of it in others, is diminished or destroyed by the\nimpression that there was a selfish purpose to answer by it.\n\nThere is a modification of the selfish system which attempts to get rid\nof its more offensive aspect by a singular and circuitous chain of moral\nemotions. We have experienced, it is said, that a certain attention to\nthe comfort or advantage of others contributes to our own. A kind of\nhabit is thus formed, by which we come at last to seek the happiness of\nothers for their own sake;--so that, by this process, actions, which at\nfirst were considered only as inexpedient, from being opposed to\nself-love, at length and insensibly come to be considered as immoral.\nThis can be considered as nothing more than an ingenious play upon\nwords, and deserves only to be mentioned as a historical fact, in a view\nof those speculations by which this important subject has been obscured\nand bewildered.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAnother modification of the theories of morals remains to be\nmentioned;--namely, that of the distinguished Paley. This eminent writer\nis decidedly opposed to the doctrine of a moral sense or moral\nprinciple; but the system which he proposes to substitute in its place\nmust be acknowledged to be liable to considerable objections. He\ncommences with the proposition that virtue is doing good to mankind, in\nobedience to the will of God, and for the sake of everlasting happiness.\nThe good of mankind, therefore, is the subject,--the will of God, the\nrule,--and everlasting happiness, the motive of human virtue. The will\nof God, he subsequently goes on to shew, is made known to us, partly by\nrevelation, and partly by what we discover of his designs and\ndispositions from his works, or, as we usually call it, the light of\nnature. From this last source he thinks it is clearly to be inferred,\nthat God wills and wishes the happiness of his creatures; consequently,\nactions which promote that will and wish must be agreeable to him, and\nthe contrary. The method of ascertaining the will of God concerning any\naction, by the light of nature, therefore, is to inquire into the\ntendency of the action to promote or diminish general happiness.\nProceeding on those grounds, he then arrives at the conclusion, that\nwhatever is expedient is right; and that it is the utility of any moral\nrule alone, which constitutes the obligation of it. In his further\nelucidation of this theory, Dr. Paley admits, that an action may be\nuseful, in an individual case, which is not right. To constitute it\nright, it is necessary that it shall be \"expedient upon the whole,--at\nthe long run, in all its effects, collateral and remote, as well as\nthose which are immediate and direct.\"\n\nIn presuming to offer a criticism upon Paley, I readily concede to the\ndefenders of his system, that it is not to be classed with the\nutilitarianism of Hume and Godwin; and that it is not, correctly\nspeaking, chargeable with selfishness, in holding out the happiness of a\nfuture state as a motive to virtue. The latter part of his system is\nclearly countenanced by the sacred writings; and it does appear to be a\nstretch of language, to apply the term selfishness to the longing which\nthe sincere Christian feels for the full enjoyment of God. In regard to\nthe former part of his doctrine, again, it appears that Paley meant to\npropose the will of God as the rule or obligation of morals, and utility\nonly as a criterion or guide; though it must be confessed that his\nlanguage is liable to much misconstruction, and is somewhat at variance\nwith itself. The real objection to the doctrine of Paley, I apprehend,\nlies in his unqualified rejection of the supreme authority of\nconscience, and in the mental operation which he substitutes in its\nplace, namely, a circuitous process of reasoning, in each individual,\nrespecting the entire and ultimate expediency of actions. There are two\nconsiderations which appear to present serious objections to this part\nof the system as a doctrine to be applied to practical purposes. (1.) If\nwe suppose a man deliberating respecting an action, which he perceives\nwould be eminently expedient and useful in an individual case, and which\nhe feels to be highly desirable in its immediate reference to that\ncase,--we may naturally ask, whether he is in a likely condition to find\nhis way to a sound conclusion respecting the consequences of the action\n\"upon the whole, at the long run, in all its consequences, remote and\ncollateral.\"--It may certainly be doubted whether, in any case, there\nis not great danger of differences of opinion arising, respecting this\nextended and ultimate expediency:--and it must be admitted that, in the\nman now referred to, the very circumstances of his perception of great\nand immediate utility, and the state of desire connected with it, would\nconstitute a moral condition which might interfere, in a very material\ndegree, with his calculation as to its ultimate expediency. Upon\nwhatever system we proceed, I fear it must be conceded as a fact, that\nthere is a singular propensity in the mass of mankind to consider their\nown pains and pleasures before those of other men; and that this\npropensity must interfere with the cool course of moral calculation\nwhich the system of utility must consider as indispensable. (2.)\nIndependently of this consideration, we may be allowed to doubt, whether\nany human being can arrive at such an extensive knowledge, as this\ntheory seems to render necessary, of all the consequences of an action,\nremote and collateral. This would appear to constitute a kind and degree\nof knowledge to be found only in the Omniscience of the Deity. It is, in\nfact, by giving its full weight to this difficulty, that the doctrine\nof utility has been employed by some foreign writers, in their attempts\nto undermine the whole foundation of morals. \"The goodness of actions,\"\nsays Beausobre, in his Pyrrhonisme Raisonable, \"depends upon their\nconsequences, which man cannot foresee, nor accurately ascertain.\" What\nharmony, indeed, or what consistency of moral sentiment can we expect\nfrom a system, by which man himself is made the judge of the code of\nmorals to which he is to be subject, and by which his decisions, on a\nquestion so momentous, are made to lest on those remote consequences of\nactions which he must feel to be beyond the reach of his limited\nfaculties.\n\nIf these observations be well-founded, I think we cannot hesitate to\nmaintain, that, on such a nice calculation of consequences, it is\nimpossible to found a rule of morals in any degree adapted to the\nnecessities of man. The same objection applies to every doctrine, which\ndoes not recognise the supreme authority of conscience as an original\npart of our moral constitution, warning us of certain conduct as\nimmutably right, and certain other conduct as immutably wrong, without\nany regard either to our own advantage, or to our judgment of the\ntendency of the deeds. Whenever we depart from this great principle, we\nreduce every moral decision to what must primarily be a process of\nreasoning, and in which, from the intricate calculation of consequences\nwhich necessarily arises, there can scarcely fail to be differences of\nopinion respecting the tendency of actions, instead of that absolute\nconviction which the deep importance of the subject renders\nindispensable. It may, farther, be confidently stated, as a matter of\nfact, that a conscientious man, in considering an action which involves\na point of moral duty, does not enter upon any such calculation of its\nconsequences. He simply asks himself,--is it right?--and so decides,\naccording to an impulse within, which he feels to be a part of his moral\nconstitution, susceptible of no explanation, and not admitting of being\nreferred to any other principle. I confess, indeed, that I cannot\nperceive, how the doctrine of utility, in any of its forms, can be\nreconciled with the principle of moral responsibility. For what we\ncommonly call vice and virtue, must resolve themselves merely into\ndifferences of opinion respecting what is most expedient in all its\nconsequences, remote and collateral. We have already alluded to the\nconsiderations which must make this decision one of extreme\ndifficulty;--and how can we ascribe moral guilt to that, which, though\nin vulgar language we may call it vice, must very often be nothing more\nthan an error in judgment respecting this ultimate good.\n\nIn regard to the whole of this important subject, I cannot see the\nnecessity for the circuitous mental operations which have been made to\napply to it; nor can I enter into the repugnance, shewn by various\nclasses of moralists, against the belief of a process or a principle in\nour constitution, given us for a guide in our moral relations. It is\nunnecessary to dispute about its name, or even about its origin;--for\nthe former is of no importance, and of the latter we know nothing. The\nquestion relates simply to its existence as a mental exercise distinct\nfrom any process of reasoning, and the only criterion, to which the\nquestion can be referred, is an appeal to the moral feelings of every\nindividual. Is there not a mental movement or feeling, call it what we\nmay, by which we have a perception of actions as just or unjust, right\nor wrong; and by which we experience shame or remorse respecting our own\nconduct in particular instances, and indignation against the conduct of\nothers. Every one is conscious of such a mental exercise, and there are\ntwo considerations which, I think, may be referred to as moral facts,\nshewing a clear and decided difference between it and any simple process\nof reasoning. (1.) I would ask whether, in deciding on his conduct,\nevery man is not conscious of two classes of actions, in regard to which\nthe processes of his mind differ widely from each other. In deciding\nrespecting actions of the one class, he carefully and anxiously\ndeliberates on their tendencies,--that is, their utility towards\nhimself, or to others whose welfare he has in view; and he reflects on\nwhat was the result of his conduct in similar cases, on former\noccasions. In deciding respecting actions of the other class, he enters\ninto no such calculations;--he feels an immediate impression, that a\ncertain course is right, and a certain other wrong, without looking a\nsingle step into their tendencies. Every one is conscious of this\ndifference, between acting from a perception of utility and from a\nfeeling of obligation or a sense of duty; and it would be difficult to\nprove that any perception of utility alone ever amounts to a sense of\nobligation. (2.) In that class of actions to which is properly applied a\ncalculation of utility, we see the most remarkable differences in\njudgment manifested by men, whom we regard as holding a high place in\nrespect both of integrity and talent. Let us take for example the\nmeasures of political economy. A conscientious statesman feels that he\nis bound to pursue measures calculated to promote the good of his\ncountry; but the individual measures are often questions of expediency\nor utility. And what an endless diversity of judgment do we observe\nrespecting them; and how often do we find measures proposed by able men,\nas calculated to produce important public benefit, which others, of no\ninferior name, with equal confidence, condemn as frivolous, or even\ndangerous. If there can be such a difference of opinion respecting one\nclass of actions, we cannot avoid the impression that there may be\nsimilar differences respecting others, whenever the decision is left to\na simple process of reason; and we cannot but feel some misgivings, as\nto what the state of human society would be, if men, in their moral\ndecisions were kept together by no other ties than the speculations of\neach individual respecting general utility. In any such process, we can\nsee no provision for that uniformity of feeling required for the class\nof actions in which are concerned our moral decisions;--and I can see\nnothing unphilosophical in the belief, that the Creator has provided, in\nreference to these, a part or a process in our moral constitution, which\nis incapable of analysis,--but which proves, as Butler has termed it, \"a\nrule of right within, to every man who honestly attends to it.\"\n\nTo this view of the subject I would add only one consideration, which\nalone appears to present an insurmountable objection to the doctrine of\nutility in all its modifications; namely, that any correct ideas of the\nutility of an action can be derived only from experience. The study of\nthe principles of morality, therefore, would consist of a series of\nobservations or experiments, by which valid conclusions might be\nascertained; and an individual, entering upon the momentous question,\nwould require either to trust to the conclusions of others, or to make\nthe observations and experiments for himself. In the former case, he\ncould not fail to perceive the precarious nature of the basis on which\nhe was receiving principles of such weighty importance. He could not\nfail to remark, that, in other sciences, unsound and premature\ndeductions had been brought forward, even on high authority, and allowed\nto usurp the place of truth. How is he to be satisfied, that, in this\nhighest of all inquiries, similar errors had not been committed. To\navoid such uncertainty, he may resolve to make the observations or\nexperiments for himself, and to trust only to his own conclusions. But\nhere he is met by another difficulty of appalling magnitude. For a\nlifetime may not suffice to bring the experiments to a close; and,\nduring this, he must remain in the same uncertainty on the great\nprinciples of morals, as respecting the periods of a comet, which,\nhaving been seen for a day, darts off into its eccentric orbit, and may\nnot return for a century. How can it accord with our convictions of the\nwisdom of Him who made us, that he should have made us thus.\n\nThe foundation of all these _Theories of Morals_, then, seems to be the\nimpression, that there is nothing right or wrong, just or unjust in\nitself; but that our ideas of right and wrong, justice and injustice,\narise either from actual law or mutual compact, or from our view of the\ntendencies of actions. Another modification of these theories, liable,\nas it is sometimes stated, to similar objection, ascribes the origin of\nright and wrong directly to the will of the Deity, and holds that there\nis nothing wrong which might not have been right, if he had so ordained\nit.\n\nBy the immutability of moral distinctions, as opposed to these theories,\nwe mean,--that there are certain actions which are immutably right, and\nwhich we are bound in duty to perform, and certain actions which are\nimmutably wrong, apart from any other consideration whatever;--and that\nan absolute conviction of this is fixed upon us, in the moral principle\nor conscience, independently of knowledge derived from any other source\nrespecting the will or laws of the Almighty. This important distinction\nhas been sometimes not unaptly expressed by saying of such\nactions,--not that they are right because the Deity has commanded\nthem,--but that he has commanded them because they are right. By this\nsystem, therefore, which refers our moral impressions to the supreme\nauthority of conscience, a principle is disclosed, which, independently\neven of revelation, not only establishes an absolute conviction of the\nlaws of moral rectitude, but leads us to the impression of moral\nresponsibility and a moral Governor; and as immediately flowing from\nthis, a state of future retribution. We have already shewn this to\naccord with the declarations of the sacred writings, and it is evidently\nthe only system on which we can account for that uniformity of moral\nsentiment which is absolutely required for the harmonies of society. For\nit is, in fact, on a conviction of this feeling in ourselves, and of the\nexistence of a similar and universal principle in others, that is\nfounded all the mutual confidence which keeps mankind together. It is\nthis reciprocity of moral feeling that proves a constant check upon the\nconduct of men in the daily transactions of life; but, to answer this\npurpose, there is evidently required an impression of its\nuniformity,--or a conviction that the actions, which we disapprove in\nothers will be condemned in us by the unanimous decision of other men.\nIt is equally clear that we have no such impression of a uniformity of\nsentiment on any other subject, except on those referable to the class\nof first truths; and this immediately indicates a marked distinction\nbetween our moral impressions, and any of those conclusions at which we\narrive by a process of the understanding. It is clear, also, that this\nuniformity can arise from no system, which either refers us directly to\nthe will of God, or is liable to be affected by the differences which\nmay exist in the judgment, the moral taste, the personal feelings, or\nthe interests of different individuals. It must be, in itself, fixed and\nimmutable, conveying an absolute conviction which admits of no doubt and\nno difference of opinion. Such is the great principle of conscience.\nHowever its warnings may be neglected, and its influence obscured by\npassion and moral degradation, it still asserts its claim to govern the\nwhole man. \"Had it strength,\" says Butler, \"as it had right; had it\npower, as it had manifest authority, it would absolutely govern the\nworld.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nIn opposition to this belief of a uniformity of moral feeling, much\nimportance has been attached to the practices of certain ancient and\nsome barbarous nations, as the encouragement of theft in Sparta, and the\nexposure of the aged among certain tribes in India. Such instances prove\nno diversity of moral feeling; but a difference of practice, arising\nfrom certain specialities, real or supposed, by which, in the particular\ncases, the influence of the primary moral feeling is, for the time, set\naside. It is of no importance to the argument, whether the disturbing\nprinciple thus operating be the result of an absurd local policy or a\nbarbarous superstition. It is enough that we see a principle, which, in\npoint of fact, does thus operate, suspending, in the particular\ninstances, the primary moral impression. It was not that, in Sparta,\nthere was any absence of the usual moral feeling in regard to theft in\nthe abstract,--but that the cultivation of habits of activity and\nenterprise, which arose from the practice, was considered as a national\nobject of the highest importance, in a small and warlike state,\nsurrounded by powerful enemies. It is precisely in the same manner,\nthat, in individual conduct, a man may be misled by passion or by\ninterest to do things which his sober judgment condemns. In doing so,\nthere is no want of the ordinary moral feeling which influences other\nmen; but he has brought himself to violate this feeling, for certain\npurposes which he finds to be highly desirable; and then, probably,\nseeks to defend his conduct to the satisfaction of his own mind, and of\nthe minds of others. He has a distinct perception of what is right,\nwhile he does what is wrong. There are numerous facts which illustrate\nthe same principle, and shew the recognition of correct moral feelings,\neven in those who habitually and daringly violate them;--as the laws of\nhonour and honesty which robbers observe towards each other,--and the\nremarkable fidelity of smugglers towards their associates. In some of\nthe tribes in the South Seas, also, most remarkable for their\ndishonesty, it was found, that while they encouraged each other in\npillaging strangers, theft was most severely punished among themselves.\nNeed I farther refer, on this subject, to the line of argument adopted\nin the great question of slavery. It is directed to the palliating\ncircumstances in the actual state of slavery, not to a broad defence of\nslavery itself. Its object is to shew, that slavery, under all its\npresent circumstances, may be reconciled with the principles of humanity\nand justice:--no attempt is ever made to prove, that it is consistent\nwith these principles to tear a human being from his country and his\nkindred, and make him a slave.[3]\n\n[Footnote 3: See this subject eloquently argued in Dr. Chalmers'\nBridgewater Treatise.]\n\nOn this subject we are sometimes triumphantly asked, where is the\nconscience of the Inquisitor,--as if the moral condition of such an\nindividual incontestably proved, that there can be no such power as we\nconsider conscience to be. But I think it cannot be doubted, that, as in\nthe more common cases which have been mentioned, the conscience of the\nInquisitor comes gradually to be accommodated to the circumstances in\nwhich he has voluntarily placed himself. This remarkable moral process\nhas been repeatedly referred to. It may originate in various causes. It\nmay arise from passion, or an ill-regulated state of the desires or\naffections of the mind; it may arise from motives of interest, leading a\nman by small and gradual steps into actions which his sober judgment\ncondemns; or false opinions, however received, may be allowed to fasten\non the mind, until, from want of candid examination, they come to be\ninvested with the authority of truth. In the moral process which\nfollows, each single step is slight, and its influence almost\nimperceptible; but this influence is perpetuated, and gains strength in\neach succeeding step, until the result is a total derangement of the\nmoral harmony of the mind.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt remains only that we briefly notice the system of Dr. Adam Smith,\ncommonly called the theory of Sympathy. According to this ingenious\nwriter, it is required for our moral sentiments respecting an action,\nthat we enter into the feelings both of the agent, and of him to whom\nthe action relates. If we sympathize with the feelings and intentions of\nthe agent, we approve of his conduct as right,--if not, we consider it\nas wrong. If, in the individual to whom the action refers, we sympathize\nwith a feeling of gratitude, we regard the agent as worthy of\npraise,--if with a feeling of resentment, the contrary. We thus observe\nour feelings respecting the conduct of others, in cases in which we are\nnot personally concerned,--then apply these rules to ourselves, and thus\njudge of our own conduct. This very obvious statement, however, of what\nevery man feels, does not supply the place of a fundamental rule of\nright and wrong; and indeed Dr. Smith does not appear to contend that it\ndoes so. It applies only to the application of a principle, not to the\norigin of it. Our sympathy can never be supposed to constitute an action\nright or wrong; but it enables us to apply to individual cases a\nprinciple of right and wrong derived from another source;--and to clear\nour judgment in doing so, from the blinding influence of those selfish\nfeelings by which we are so apt to be misled when we apply it directly\nto ourselves. In estimating our own conduct, we then apply to it those\nconclusions which we have made with regard to the conduct of others,--or\nwe imagine others applying the same process in regard to us, and\nconsider how our conduct would appeal to an impartial observer.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThis, however, is a most important principle in regard to our moral\ndecisions,--namely, the process by which we view an action, or a course\nof conduct, in another, and then apply the decision to ourselves. When\nthe power of moral judgment is obscured or deadened in regard to our own\nconduct, by self-love or deranged moral habits, all the correctness of\njudgment is often preserved respecting the actions of others. It is thus\nthat men are led on by interest or passion into courses of action,\nwhich, if viewed calmly and dispassionately, they would not deliberately\ndefend even in themselves, and which, when viewed in others, they\npromptly condemn. This principle is beautifully illustrated in the\nsacred writings, when the prophet went to the king of Israel, and laid\nbefore him the hypothetical case of a rich man, who had committed an act\nof gross and unfeeling injustice against a poor neighbour. The monarch\nwas instantly roused to indignation, and pronounced a sentence of\nsevere but righteous vengeance against the oppressor,--when the prophet\nturned upon him with the solemn denunciation, \"Thou art the man.\" His\nmoral feeling in regard to his own conduct was dead; but his power of\ncorrect moral decision when applied to another was undiminished.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIn regard to the whole of this subject, an important distinction is to\nbe made between the fundamental principle, from which actions derive\ntheir character of right and wrong,--and the application of reason in\njudging of their tendencies. Before concluding this part of the subject,\ntherefore, we have to add a very few observations on the influence\nexerted on our moral decisions by reason,--always however in\nsubserviency to the great principle of conscience. The office of reason\nappears to be, in the first place, to judge of the expediency,\npropriety, and consequences of actions, which do not involve any feeling\nof moral duty. In regard to the affections, again, a process of reason\nis often necessary, not only respecting the best mode of exercising\nthem, but also, in many cases, in deciding whether we shall exercise\nthem at all. Thus, we may feel compassion in a particular instance, but\nperceive the individual to be so unworthy, that what we could do would\nbe of no benefit to him. In such a case we may feel it to be a matter\nnot only of prudence, but of duty, to resist the affection, and to\nreserve the aid we have to bestow for persons more deserving.\n\nIn cases in which an impression of moral duty is concerned, an exercise\nof reason is still in many instances, necessary, for enabling us to\nadapt our means to the end which we desire to accomplish. We may feel an\nanxious wish to promote the interest or relieve the distress of another,\nor to perform some high and important duty,--but call reason to our aid\nrespecting the most effectual and the most judicious means of doing so.\nConscience, in such cases, produces the intention,--reason suggests the\nmeans;--and it is familiar to every one that these do not always\nharmonize. Thus a man may be sound in his intentions, who errs in\njudgment respecting the means for carrying them into effect. In such\ncases, we attach our feeling of moral approbation to the intention\nonly,--we say the man meant well, but erred in judgment;--and to this\nerror we affix no feeling of moral disapprobation,--unless, perhaps, in\nsome cases, we may blame him for acting precipitately on his own\njudgment, instead of taking the advice of those qualified to direct him.\nWe expect such a man to acquire wisdom from experience, by observing the\ndeficiency of his judgment in reference to his intentions; and, in\nfuture instances, to learn to take advice. There are other circumstances\nin which an exercise of reason is frequently brought into action in\nregard to moral decisions;--as in some cases in which one duty appears\nto interfere with another;--likewise in judging whether, in particular\ninstances, any rule of duty is concerned, or whether we are at liberty\nto take up the case simply as one of expediency or utility. In making\ntheir decisions in doubtful cases of this description, we observe great\ndifferences in the habits of judging in different individuals. One shews\nthe most minute and scrupulous anxiety, to discover whether the case\ninvolves any principle of duty,--and a similar anxiety in acting\nsuitably when he has discovered it. This is what we call a strictly\nconscientious man. Another, who shews no want of a proper sense of duty\nwhen the line is clearly drawn, has less anxiety in such cases as these,\nand may sacrifice minute or doubtful points to some other feeling,--as\nself-interest or even friendship,--where the former individual might\nhave discovered a principle of duty.\n\nReason is also concerned in judging of a description of cases, in which\na modification of moral feeling arises from the complexity of\nactions,--or, in other words, from the circumstances in which the\nindividual is placed. This may be illustrated by the difference of moral\nsentiment which we attach to the act of taking away the life of\nanother,--when this is done by an individual under the impulse of\nrevenge,--by the same individual in self-defence,--or by a judge in the\ndischarge of his public duty.\n\nThere is still another office frequently assigned to Reason in moral\ndecisions,--as when we speak of a man acting upon Reason as opposed to\npassion. This however is, correctly speaking, only a different use of\nthe term; and it means that he acts upon a calm consideration of the\nmotives by which he ought to be influenced, instead of being hurried\naway by a desire or an affection which has been allowed to usurp undue\ninfluence.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe important distinction, therefore, which these observations have been\nintended to illustrate, may be briefly recapitulated in the following\nmanner. Our impression of the aspect of actions, as right or wrong, is\nconveyed by a principle in the human mind entirely distinct from a\nsimple exercise of reason,--and the standard of moral rectitude derived\nfrom this source is, in its own nature, fixed and immutable. But there\nare many cases in which an exercise of reason may be employed, in\nreferring particular actions to this standard, or trying them, as it\nwere, by means of it. Any such mental process, however, is only to be\nconsidered as a kind of test applied to individual instances, and must\nnot be confounded with the standard to which it is the office of this\ntest to refer them. Right or virtuous conduct does, in point of fact,\ncontribute to general utility, as well as to the advantage of the\nindividual, in the true and extended sense of that term, and these\ntendencies are perceived by Reason. But it is neither of these that\nconstitutes it right. This is founded entirely on a different\nprinciple,--the immutable rule of moral rectitude; it is perceived by a\ndifferent part of our constitution,--the moral principle, or conscience;\nand, by the operation of this principle, we pronounce it right, without\nany reference to its consequences either to ourselves or others.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe preceding observations, on Conscience, I leave nearly as they stood\nin the second edition of this volume. Since the publication of that\nedition, I have seen various discussions of this important question, but\nhave found nothing to alter the opinion I have expressed, respecting the\nnature and the authority of conscience as an original principle in our\nmoral constitution; and I see no system by which we can escape from the\nnumerous difficulties surrounding every other view of the subject. In\nparticular, I cannot perceive what is gained by those who refer our\nmoral decisions to a process of reason or judgment alone. For by\njudgment, in the ordinary and recognised acceptation of the term, I can\nunderstand nothing more than a power of comparing two or more facts or\nimpressions together, and tracing their relations. When we apply such a\nmental process to a question of morals, it can amount to nothing more\nthan a comparison of our conduct with some standard. If those who hold\nthe doctrine referred to, mean any thing more than this,--if they allow\nthe mind a power of moral decision independently of any such standard,\nthen this is precisely what we mean by conscience, and the controversy\nresolves itself, like not a few that have gone before it, into a dispute\nabout a name. If they do not allow the mind such a power, it then\nbecomes them to say, what is the standard by which its moral judgments\nare to be formed, and whence it is derived. It appears, I think,\ndistinctly, that it can be derived only from one of two sources. It must\neither be received through divine revelation; or it must be the result\nof our speculations respecting utility, in one or other of the forms in\nwhich that doctrine is presented to us. There does not appear to be any\nmiddle course; and accordingly some late writers, who reject the latter\nsystem, while they do not admit the authority of conscience, seem to\nrefer our moral impressions entirely to the will of the Deity as made\nknown to us by revelation. I have formerly stated what seem to me to be\ninsuperable objections to this doctrine. It appears, indeed, to be\ndistinctly opposed by the very words of Scripture, which clearly\nrecognise a power, or a process in the mind by which \"those who are\nwithout law,\" that is, without a revelation, \"are a law unto themselves,\ntheir consciences bearing witness, and their thoughts accusing or else\nexcusing one another.\"\n\nIt does, I confess, appear to me, that some late excellent and\nrespectable writers, in their apprehension of not giving sufficient\nprominence to the doctrine of human depravity, have greatly under-rated\nthe actual power of conscience, and have thus injured in a most\nessential manner the important argument which is derived from the moral\nimpressions of the mind. True it is, indeed, that the nature of man is\ndegenerate, and that the effect of this appears in his disregarding and\ndisobeying that monitor within. I am not disposed to differ from the\nwriters referred to, respecting the existence and the extent of this\ndegeneracy, but rather as to the manner in which it operates in the\nactual moral condition of mankind. I do not say that there is in human\nnature more good than they assign to it, but that there is more\nknowledge of what is good; not that men do better than these writers\nallege, but that they have a greater sense of what they ought to do.\nThose who maintain the absolute and unusual corruption of conscience may\nalso be reminded of the remarkable differences which are admitted to\nexist in different men, and the manner in which moral feeling is\ngradually obscured or overpowered by a course of personal depravity. The\nfacts are universally admitted respecting the contest with moral\nprinciple which attends the first stages of vice, and the remorse which\nfollows. But after each departure from virtue, this opposing influence\nis progressively weakened, and at length destroyed. In this progress,\nthen, we must admit two distinct conditions of the moral feelings,--one\nin which conscience distinctly points at what is right, however its\nwarnings may be disregarded,--and another in which its warning influence\nis weakened or lost. In the former condition, I think we may affirm that\nit asserts its right and its authority, though its strength and its\npower are departed; and it does not appear to be saying too much, if we\nsay in the striking language of Butler, \"had it strength as it had\nright,--had it power as it had manifest authority, it would absolutely\ngovern the world.\"\n\n\n\n\nSec. II.--OF THE HARMONY OF THE MORAL FEELINGS.\n\n\nOn whatever system we may consider the moral feelings, we perceive that\nthere are various classes of them,--each answering a special purpose in\nour relations as accountable beings. Some of them, we have seen, refer\nto objects of desire, the attainment of which appears likely to bring\nsatisfaction. Others lead us to those relations which we bear to our\nfellow-men. A third class, which remains to be considered, calls our\nattention to the relation in which we stand to the moral Governor of the\nuniverse, and to a certain regulation of the moral feelings arising out\nof this relation. But this is still another inquiry of the deepest\ninterest, connected with this subject, namely, regarding the harmony or\nprinciple of arrangement, which these various classes of moral emotions\nought to bear towards each other. They all form parts of our\nconstitution, and deserve a certain degree of attention, which must be\ncarefully adapted to the relative importance of each; and the correct\nadjustment of this harmony is one of the objects to be answered by the\nmoral principle, combined with a sound exercise of judgment. The rules\nwhich apply to it may be stated in the following manner.\n\nWhen we consider man as an immortal being, passing through a course of\ndiscipline to another state of existence, it is obvious that his highest\nconsideration is his own moral condition, and the aspect in which he\nstands towards the Deity. In immediate connexion with this first of all\nconcerns are the great and general principles of justice and veracity,\nas referring to our connexion with all mankind, and a class of private\nresponsibilities which peculiarly regard each individual in his domestic\nrelations; such as the duties of children to then parents, and parents\nto their children;--the latter, particularly, presenting a class of the\nmost solemn kind, as it embraces the concerns of the present life, and\nof that which is to come. Then follow the duties of benevolence,\nfriendship, and patriotism; after these, the ordinary avocations of\nlife, as the acquisition of knowledge and the pursuits of business; and\nfinally, those personal recreations and enjoyments, which, when kept in\ntheir proper place, are legitimate and necessary to every human being.\nThese are all proper and laudable, provided they are kept in a proper\nsubserviency to each other. But the important consideration is, that a\nman maybe acting unworthily of his moral nature, when he devotes himself\nto any one of them in a manner which encroaches upon the harmony of the\nwhole.\n\nTo begin with the lowest of them, it is unnecessary to state how this\nremark applies to the man whose life is devoted to pursuits which rank\nno higher than recreation or amusement. It must be obvious to every one\nof the smallest degree of reflection, that such a man is living only for\nthe present life. What cannot be denied of mere amusement, must also be\nadmitted respecting a life of business, however important in themselves\nthe concerns may be which engross the mind. They still refer only to\npresent things, and carry not the thoughts beyond the moment which\nbounds the period of moral discipline. Even the engagements of\nbenevolence and public usefulness, estimable as they are, may be allowed\nto usurp an improper place; and they do so, if they withdraw the\nattention from responsibilities and duties which belong more\nparticularly to ourselves as individuals,--such as the duties of parents\nand of children,--and the other claims which arise out of the relations\nof domestic life. Finally, it is ever to be kept in mind, that no\nengagements of any description must be allowed to interfere with\nobligations, of the highest interest to every man,--those which relate\nto his own moral condition, in the sight of Him who is now his witness,\nand will soon be his Judge. From want of due attention to this\nconsideration, year after year glides over us, and life hastens to its\nclose, amid cares and toils and anxieties which relate only to the\npresent world. Thus, fame may be acquired, or wealth accumulated; or,\nafter a laborious ascent, a man may have gained the height of\nambition,--when the truth bursts upon him that life is nearly over,\nwhile its great business is yet to begin,--the preparation of the moral\nbeing for an eternal existence.\n\nIt is scarcely necessary to add, on the other hand, that attention to\nthis first of all concerns must not be allowed to estrange the mind from\nthe various duties and responsibilities of active life. It is only,\nindeed, when the conduct is regulated by partial and unsound motives,\nthat some of these objects of attention are allowed to usurp the place\nof others. He who acts, not from the high principles of moral duty, but\nfrom a desire of notoriety, or the applause of men, may devote himself\nto much benevolence and usefulness of a public and ostensible kind;\nwhile he neglects duties of a higher, though more private nature,--and\noverlooks entirely, it may be, his own moral condition. The ascetic, on\nthe contrary, shuts himself up in his cell, and imagines that he\npleases God by meditation and voluntary austerities. But this is not the\npart of him who truly feels his varied relations, and correctly\nestimates his true responsibilities.--It is striking, also, to remark,\nhow the highest principles lead to a character of harmony and\nconsistency, which all inferior motives fail entirely in producing. The\nman, who estimates most deeply and correctly his own moral relations to\nan ever-present and presiding Deity, will also feel his way through the\nvarious duties of life, with a degree of attention adapted to each of\nthem. In the retirements of domestic life, he is found in the anxious\ndischarge of the high responsibilities which arise out of its relations.\nHe is found in the path of private benevolence and public usefulness,\nmanifesting the kind and brotherly interest of one who acts on the\npurest of all motives,--the love of God, and a principle of devotedness\nto his service. Whether exposed to the view of his fellow-men, or seen\nonly by Him who seeth in secret, his conduct is the same,--for the\nprinciples on which he acts have, in both situations, equal influence.\nIn the ordinary concerns of life, the power of these principles is\nequally obvious. Whether he engage in its business, or partake of its\nenjoyments;--whether he encounter its difficulties, or meet its pains,\ndisappointments, and sorrows,--he walks through the whole with the calm\ndignity of one who views all the events of the present life, in then\nimmediate reference to a life which is to come.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe high consistency of character, which results from this regulated\ncondition of the moral feelings, tends thus to promote a due attention\nto the various responsibilities connected with the situation in which\nthe individual is placed. It does so, by leading him, with anxious\nconsideration, to feel his way through these requirements, and to\nrecognise the supreme authority of conscience over his whole moral\nsystem. It does so, especially, by habitually raising his views to the\neternal One, who is the witness of all his conduct, and to whom he is\nresponsible for his actions in each relation of life. It thus tends to\npreserve him from all those partial and inconsistent courses, into which\nmen are led by the mere desire of approbation, or love of distinction,\nor by any other of those inferior motives which are really resolvable\ninto self-love.\n\nSuch uniformity of moral feeling is equally opposed to another\ndistortion of character, not less at variance with a sound condition of\nthe mind. This is what may be called religious pretension, showing\nitself by much zeal for particular opinions and certain external\nobservances, while there is no corresponding influence upon the moral\nfeelings and the character. The truths, which form the great object of\nreligious belief, are of so momentous a kind, that, when they are really\nbelieved, they cannot fail to produce effects of the most decided and\nmost extensive nature;--and, where this influence is not steadily\nexhibited, there is a fatal error in the moral economy,--there is either\nself-deception, or an intention to deceive others. From such\ninconsistency of character arises an evil, which has a most injurious\ninfluence upon two descriptions of persons. Those of one class are led\nto assign an undue importance to the profession of a peculiar creed and\nthe mere externals of religion,--to certain observations which are\nconsidered as characteristic of a particular party, and to abstinence\nfrom certain indulgences or pursuits which that party disapprove. Those\nof the other class, finding, in many instances, much zeal for these\npeculiarities, without a state of moral feeling adapted to the truths\nwhich are professed, are apt to consider the whole as either pretence or\ndelusion.\n\nIn their mutual error there is to both matter of important warning. It\nbecomes the latter to beware, lest, misled by the failings of weak or\ninconsistent men, they withdraw their attention from truths of solemn\nimport to themselves as moral beings. There may be much pretension where\nthere is no real feeling; but are they from this entitled to infer,\nthere is not a reality in that which these pretenders counterfeit. By a\nslight gilding, articles of trifling value are made to assume the\nappearance of gold; but would it be reasonable to contend, that there\nare no articles of intrinsic worth which these are made to imitate. The\nfair induction is, in both instances, the opposite. Were there no such\narticles of pure gold, this ingenuity would not be employed in\nfabricating base imitations; and the hypocrite would not assume\nqualities he does not possess, where there not real virtues, from a\nresemblance to which he hopes to procure for his character that\nostensible value which may enable it to deceive. But let those who have\ndetected this deception beware of founding upon it conclusions which it\ndoes not warrant. They have not found the reality here, but there is not\nthe less a pure and high standard which claims their utmost regard. If\nthey search for it either among inconsistent or among designing men,\nthey seek the living among the dead. Let them contemplate it especially\nas it is displayed in the character of the Messiah: in him it was\nexhibited in a manner which demands the imitation of every rational man,\nwhile it challenges the cordial assent of the most acute understanding,\nthat this is the perfection of a moral being.\n\nOn the other hand, let those, who profess to be influenced by the\nhighest of all motives, study to exhibit their habitual influence in a\nconsistent uniformity of the whole character. It is easy to acquire a\npeculiar phraseology, to show much zeal for peculiar opinions, and rigid\nattention to peculiar observances; and, among a party, it is not\ndifficult to procure a name, by condemning certain other compliances\nwhich by them are technically styled the manners of the world. But all\nthis, it is evident, may be assumed; it may be, and probably often is,\nno better than a name; it often amounts to nothing more than\nsubstituting one kind of excitement for another, while the moral being\ncontinues unchanged. True religion is seated in the heart, and sends out\nfrom thence a purifying influence over the whole character. In its\nessential nature it is a contest within, open only to the eye of Him who\nseeth in secret. It seeks not, therefore, the applause of men; and it\nshrinks from that spurious religionism whose prominent characters are\ntalk, and pretension, and external observance, often accompanied by\nuncharitable censure. Like its divine pattern, it is meek and\nlowly,--\"it is pure and peaceable, gentle and easy to be intreated, full\nof mercy and of good fruits, without partiality and without hypocrisy.\"\nIt aims not at an ostentatious display of principles, but at a steady\nexhibition of fruits. Qualities, which it cultivates with especial care,\nare humility, and charity, and mercy,--the mortification of every\nselfish passion, and the denial of every selfish indulgence. When thus\nexhibited in its true and genuine characters, it commands the respect of\nevery sound understanding, and challenges the assent of all to its\nreality and its truth, as the highest principle that can regulate the\nconduct of a moral being.\n\n\n\n\nPART IV.\n\nOF THE MORAL RELATION OF MAN TOWARDS THE DEITY.\n\n\nThe healthy state of a moral being is strikingly referred, in the sacred\nwritings, to three great heads,--justice,--benevolence,--and a\nconformity of the moral feelings to a reverential sense of the presence\nand perfections of the Deity;--\"to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk\nhumbly with thy God.\" The two former of these considerations lead us to\nthe duties which a man owes to his fellow-men;--the latter calls our\nattention to that homage of the mind and of the heart which he owes\npeculiarly to God. For the duties of the former class we are equally\nresponsible to him, as the moral Governor of the universe, but their\nimmediate reference is to our connexions with other men;--those of the\nlatter class respect our relation to the Deity himself, and consequently\nconsist, in a great measure, in the purity and devotedness of the mind.\nIn human systems of ethics, attention has been chiefly directed to the\nobligations of social and relative morality;--but the two classes are\nclosely associated in the sacred writings; and the sound condition of\nthe moral feelings is pointed out as that acquirement which, along with\na corresponding integrity of character, qualifies man, in an especial\nmanner, for intercourse with the Deity. \"Who shall ascend unto the hill\nof the Lord, or who shall stand in his holy place. He that hath clean\nhands and a pure heart, who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor\nsworn, deceitfully.\"--\"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see\nGod.\"\n\nSuch declarations challenge the assent and absolute conviction of every\nsound understanding. Are we, as responsible creatures, placed in\nimmediate relation to a great moral Governor, a being of infinite purity\nand boundless perfections:--Is the structure of our bodies, and the\nstill more wonderful fabric of our minds, alike the work of his\nhand:--Then it is impossible to put away from us the impression,--that\neach movement of these minds must be fully exposed to his inspection. It\nis equally impossible to repel from us the solemn truth,--that it is by\nthe desires, the feelings, and the motives of action which exist there,\nthat our condition is to be estimated in his sight,--and that a man,\nwhose conduct to his fellow-men does not violate propriety and justice,\nmay be in a state of moral degradation in the eyes of him who seeth in\nsecret;--\"for,\" says the sacred writer, \"man looketh on the outward\nappearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.\"\n\nThere cannot, therefore, be an inquiry of more intense interest, than\nwhat is that condition of the heart and of the mind which every man\nought to seek after, when he considers himself as exposed to the\ncontinual inspection of the Almighty. It may, perhaps, be briefly\nreferred to the following heads.\n\n\nI. A habitual effort to cultivate a sense of the divine presence,--and\na habitual desire to have the whole moral condition regulated by this\nimpression. It implies, therefore, sacred respect to the character of\nthe Deity, and is opposed to every kind of profaneness, or aught by\nwhich one might weaken, in himself or others, the reverential feeling\ndue towards the character, and even the name of the Almighty. This must\nbe extended, not to the outward conduct alone, but to the desires and\naffections of the heart. There is a state of mind formerly referred to,\nin which a desire, which the moral feelings disapprove, may not be\nfollowed by volition; while the desire is still indulged, and the mind\nis allowed to cherish it with some feeling of regret, or even to\nluxuriate with a sense of pleasure in the imaginary gratification. In\nthe same manner, a malevolent affection to our fellow-men may be checked\nfrom producing injurious conduct, while the feeling still rankles in the\nheart, in the form of envy or hatred. These mental conditions, while\nthey are widely at variance with the healthy state of a rational and\nresponsible being, must be regarded by the Deity as constituting moral\nguilt and moral degradation. Nor is it only on the mind, which\ncherishes malevolent passions and impure desires and imaginations, that\nthe Holy One must look with a feeling of condemnation. There may be\nanother mental condition, in which the thoughts and desires are directed\nto transient and frivolous objects, and thus run to waste amid the\ntrifles of the passing hour, without any feeling of the truths and\nmotives which demand the attention of moral beings. The pursuits of such\na man may have nothing in them that is referable either to impure desire\nor malevolent affection. They may be the acquisition of wealth,--the\ngrasp after power,--the love of distinction,--or a devotedness to merely\ntrivial occupations;--while there is a total neglect of those great\nconcerns which really demand our chief and highest regard. Amid the\nlegitimate and even the laudable pursuits of ordinary life, we are too\napt to lose sight of those duties and responsibilities which attend a\nstate of moral discipline,--and that culture of the soul required as a\npreparation for the future state of existence to which we are hastening.\nBut we cannot doubt that these considerations bear an important aspect\nin the eye of the Deity; and that the mind in which they hold not a\nhabitual influence is contemplated by him as in a state of moral\ndestitution.\n\nThere are, accordingly, two classes of characters clearly pointed out in\nthe sacred writings,--namely, one in whom the conduct indicates the\ndepravity within,--and another, in whom the external character preserves\na respectable aspect in the estimation of men, while the moral feelings\nare in a corrupted condition in the sight of God. We have formerly\nendeavoured to trace the laws to which this fact is to be referred, on\nthe principles of the philosophy of the human mind:--they are chiefly\ntwo: (1.) We have seen that there are original principles in our nature\nwhich lead to a certain exercise of justice, veracity, and benevolence,\nindependently of any recognition of divine authority. They are a part of\nour moral constitution, and calculated to promote important purposes in\nthe harmony of human society; and they carry along with them a certain\nprinciple of reciprocal compensation, which is entirely distinct from\nany impression of their moral aspect. The man who is deficient in them,\nindeed, incurs guilt; but a certain discharge of them may arise from\nmere natural, or even selfish feeling, unconnected with any sense of\nresponsibility; and this consequently conveys no impression of moral\napprobation. In the very exercise of them a man receives his reward,\npartly by a feeling of satisfaction, which from the constitution of his\nnature, they are calculated to yield, and partly as a member of that\ncommunity where they promote peace, and order, and harmony; and he is\nnot entitled to look farther, or to claim from them any feeling of merit\nin the sight of the Deity. (2.) A second principle, which bears an\nimportant relation to this subject, is the manner in which a man's\ncharacter is influenced by the particular motive or pursuit to which he\nhas resigned the guidance of his conduct. One surrenders himself to the\nanimal propensities, and becomes a selfish profligate, insensible to\nevery right principle of action, while his depraved condition is obvious\nto all around him. A second devotes himself to ambition;--and a third to\navarice:--These ruling passions, it may be, are found to be adverse to\nthe selfish indulgence and open profligacy of the former; and a\ncharacter may arise out of them distinguished by much that is decent,\nand respectable, and worthy of approbation in the eye of man. In a\nfourth, the ruling motive may be the desire of esteem and approbation;\nand this may, and often does, become a principle of such influence, as\nto overpower, in a great measure, the selfish propensities, and to\nproduce a character estimable not only for justice and veracity, but a\nhigh degree of active benevolence. Such a man sacrifices to his ruling\npassion much that might be turned to the purposes of ambition, avarice,\nor selfish indulgence, by those who are guided by these propensities;\nand, in doing so, he has his reward. He finds it in the gratification of\nthat principle which in him has become predominant; and, rather than\nforfeit the esteem of those whose approbation he values, he will submit\nto much personal exertion, and sacrifice much selfish advantage, which\nothers might deem highly worthy of attainment. But all this may go on\nwithout any recognition of divine authority; and may all exist in a man\nin whom there is much impurity of desire, and much deficiency of moral\nfeeling. It is all referable to a motive of a personal nature, and, in\nthe gratification of this, his ruling principle is satisfied.\n\nThe state of mind which is under the influence of a habitual sense of\nthe divine presence may, therefore, be considered under two\nrelations,--the one referring more immediately to the Deity,--the other\nto our fellow-men. The former seems chiefly to include an effort to have\nevery desire, thought, and imagination of the heart, regulated by a\nsense of the presence and the purity of God, and in conformity to his\nwill. Amid much feeling of deficiency in these respects, it leads our\nattention to that interesting mental condition, in which there is a\ncontest and a warfare within,--and a prevailing opposition to every\nthing that is at variance with the purity of a moral being. The second\ndivision includes the cultivation of feelings of kindness and\nbenevolence towards all men;--the love of justice,--the love of\ntruth,--the love of peace,--the forgiveness of injuries,--the\nmortification of selfishness;--in a word, the earnest and habitual\ndesire to promote the comfort and alleviate the distresses of others.\nFrom these two mental conditions must spring a character, distinguished\nalike by piety towards God, and by high integrity, benevolence, and\nactive usefulness towards man. He who earnestly cultivates this purity\nwithin, feels that he requires continual watchfulness, and a constant\ndirection of the mind to those truths and moral causes which are\ncalculated to influence his volitions. He feels farther that he is in\nneed of a might not his own in this high design; but for this he knows\nalso he can look, with humble confidence and hope, when, under a sense\nof moral weakness, he asks its powerful aid.\n\n\nII. A humble and dutiful submission to the appointments of\nProvidence,--as part of a great system which is regulated by infinite\nwisdom. The man, who bears upon his mind this sublime impression, has\nlearnt to contemplate the Almighty One as disposing of the events of the\nlower world, and assigning to each of his rational creatures the place\nwhich he occupies. That place, whatever it may be, he perceives has\nattached to it special duties and responsibilities,--and calls for the\ncultivation of moral qualities peculiarly adapted to it. Is it one of\ncomfort, wealth, or influence,--solemn obligations arise out of the\nmeans of usefulness which these command. Is it one of humble life,\nprivation, or actual suffering,--each of these also has its peculiar\nduties, and each is to be contemplated as belonging to a great system of\nmoral discipline, in which no part can be wanting in consistency with\nthe harmony of the whole. Such a submission of the soul to the\nappointments of God does not preclude the use of all legitimate means\nfor bettering our condition, or for preventing or removing sources of\ndistress. But when, under the proper use of such means, these are not\nremoved, it leads us habitually to that higher power, to whose will all\nsuch attempts must be subservient;--and, while it elevates our thoughts\nabove present events and second causes, it reminds us of that great\nscheme of discipline through which we are passing, and the purposes\nwhich these events are calculated to promote in our own moral\nimprovement. Viewed under such feelings, the ills of life lose that\naspect in which we are too apt to contemplate them; and will be\nconsidered with new and peculiar interest, as essential to that system,\nthe great object of which is to prepare and purify us for a higher state\nof being.\n\n\nIII. A sense of moral imperfection and guilt,--and that humility and\ndevout self-abasement which arise out of it. This must be a prominent\nfeeling in every one who views his own conduct, and his mental emotions,\nin reference to the purity of God. It naturally leads to supplication\nfor his mercy and forgiveness; and, in the wondrous display of his\ncharacter, given in the sacred writings, a provision is disclosed, in\nvirtue of which the exercise of mercy is made consistent with the truth\nand justice of a moral governor. This dispensation of peace we find\nhabitually represented as adapted to man in a state of spiritual\ndestitution: and no mental condition is more frequently referred to, as\nacceptable with the Deity, than that which consists of contrition and\nlowliness of mind.--\"Thus sayeth the high and lofty One that inhabiteth\neternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place, with\nhim also that is of a contrite and humble spirit,--to revive the spirit\nof the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones.\" With this\nstate of mind is very naturally associated a sense of moral\nweakness,--and a constant reliance on divine aid, both for direction\nthrough life, and for the culture of the moral being.\n\n\nIV. It is only necessary to add,--a profound sense of gratitude and love\ntowards the Deity as the giver of all good,--as our daily preserver and\nbenefactor. These feelings will have a special reference to the display\nwhich he has given of his character, as merciful, gracious, and slow to\nanger; and to the provision which he has made for the recovery and\nrestoration of his fallen creatures, through \"God manifest in the\nflesh.\" Of this divine person, and the work which he came to accomplish,\nphilosophy presumes not to speculate;--but we have seen the light\nafforded, by the inductions of moral science, respecting the probability\nof this revelation,--and its adaptation to the actual state of man in\nhis relation to the Deity. We have seen the impression conveyed by the\ncharacter of the Messiah, considered merely as matter of historical\ntruth,--exhibiting such a pattern, as never appeared in our world,\nexcept in him, of a pure and perfect moral being. We have seen, farther,\nthe incontrovertible nature of that evidence, transmitted by testimony,\nand confirmed, as it is, in a very peculiar manner, by periodical\nobservances, on which the whole revelation is supported;--and the\ninductions of sound philosophy harmonize with the impressions of the\nman, who, feeling his own moral necessities, yields his cordial assent\nto this mystery of God, and seeks in its provisions his peace in the\nlife that now is, and his hope for the life that is to come.\n\n * * * * *\n\nFrom the whole mental condition, thus slightly delineated, there will\nnaturally arise a character and conduct adapted to the feelings and\nprinciples which rule within. This implies, as we have seen, a due\nregulation of the desires, and a habitual direction of them to objects\nof real and adequate importance,--a diligent cultivation and exercise of\nall the affections,--and a conduct distinguished, in the highest degree,\nby purity, integrity, veracity, and active benevolence. It implies a\nprofound submission to the will of the Almighty, which puts to silence\nevery murmuring or repining thought under any dispensation of his\nprovidence. It comprehends the habitual suppression of every selfish\nprinciple, and the constant aspiration after a state of moral feeling,\nwhich proposes to itself no lower standard than that which will bear the\ninspection of a being of infinite purity. This character seems to\ncorrespond with that high tone of morals enjoined in the sacred\nwritings. Its elements are defined and clear;--would we seek to estimate\nits sublimity and its truth, we have only to compare it with those\ndistorted and temporizing systems which have resulted from the\ninventions of men. A feeling of dissatisfaction, the same in kind,\nthough it may differ in degree, will attach to them all; and there is\nnone in which we can confidently rest, until we rise to the sublime\nmorality of the gospel. That great system of ethical purity comes to us\nunder the sanction of divine revelation, and established by the\nmiraculous evidence by which the proof of this is conveyed; but it is\nindependent of any other support than that which it carries in\nitself,--consistency with the character of God,--and harmony with the\nbest feelings of man. In yielding an absolute consent to its supreme\nauthority, we require no external evidence. We have only to look at the\nrecord in its own majestic simplicity, tried by the highest inductions\nof the philosophy of the moral feelings, to enable us to point to the\nmorality of the gospel, and to say with unshrinking confidence,--this is\ntruth.\n\nIf we would seek for that, which must be of all conceivable things of\nthe highest moment both for the peace and the improvement of the moral\nbeing, it is to be found in the habit of mind, in which there is the\nuniform contemplation of the divine character, with a constant reliance\non the guidance of the Almighty in every action of life. \"One thing,\"\nsays an inspired writer, \"have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek\nafter; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my\nlife, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his\ntemple.\"--The man, who thus cultivates the habitual impression of the\ndivine presence, lives in an atmosphere peculiarly his own. The storms\nwhich agitate the lower world may blow around or beneath, but they\ntouch not him;--as the traveller has seen from the mountain's top the\nwar of elements below, while he stood in unclouded sunshine. In the\nworks, and ways, and perfections of the Eternal One, he finds a subject\nof exalted contemplation, in comparison with which the highest inquiries\nof human science sink into insignificance. It is an exercise, also,\nwhich tends at once to elevate and to purify the mind. It raises us from\nthe minor concerns and transient interests which are so apt to occupy\nus,--to that wondrous field in which \"worlds on worlds compose one\nuniverse,\"--and to that mind which bade them move in their appointed\norbits, and maintains them all in undeviating harmony. While it thus\nteaches us to bend in humble adoration before a wisdom which we cannot\nfathom, and a power which we cannot comprehend, it directs our attention\nto a display of moral attributes which at once challenge our reverence\nand demand our imitation. By thus leading us to compare ourselves with\nthe supreme excellence, it tends to produce true humility, and, at the\nsame time, that habitual aspiration after moral improvement which\nconstitutes the highest state of man. \"The proud,\" says an eloquent\nwriter, \"look down upon the earth, and see nothing that creeps upon its\nsurface more noble than themselves;--the humble look upwards to their\nGod.\" This disposition of mind, so far from being opposed to the\nacquirements of philosophy, sits with peculiar grace upon the man who,\nthrough the most zealous cultivation of human science, ascends to the\nEternal Cause. The farther he advances in the wonders of nature, the\nhigher he rises in his adoration of the power and the wisdom which guide\nthe whole;--\"Where others see a sun, he sees a Deity.\" And then, in\nevery step of life, whether of danger, distress, or difficulty, the man\nwho cultivates this intercourse with the incomprehensible One \"inquires\nin his temple.\" He inquires for the guidance of divine wisdom, and the\nstrength of divine aid, in his progress through the state of moral\ndiscipline;--he inquires, in a peculiar manner, for this aid in the\nculture of his moral being, when he views this mighty undertaking in its\nimportant reference to the life which is to come;--he inquires for a\ndiscernment of the ways of Divine Providence, as he either feels it in\nhis own concerns, or views it in the chain of events which are going on\nin the world around him. He learns to trace the whole to the same\nunerring hand which guides the planet in its course; and thus rests in\nthe absolute conviction that the economy of Providence is one great and\nmagnificent system of design and order and harmony. These, we repeat\nwith confidence, are no visions of the imagination, but the sound\ninductions of a calm and rational philosophy. They are conclusions which\ncompel the assent of every candid inquirer, when he follows out that\ninvestigation of mighty import,--what is God,--and what is that essence\nin man which he has endowed with the power of rising to himself.\n\nTo enlarge upon these important subjects would lead us away from the\nproper design of a work, which is intended chiefly to investigate the\nlight we derive from the phenomena of the mind itself. The points which\nhave been stated, as arising out of the impressions of every sound\nunderstanding, challenge the assent of all who believe in a present and\npresiding Deity,--a being of infinite power and wisdom, and of perfect\npurity. With him who calls in question this sublime truth, we have no\ncommon feeling, and no mutual premises on which an argument can be\nfounded. We must therefore leave him to sit in solitary pride, while he\nviews the chaos which his fancy has framed, and strives to reconcile the\ndiscordant elements of a system, in which there are effects without a\ncause, and harmony without a regulating power; and in which the mind can\nperceive no element of credibility, consistency, or truth.\n\nWith this slight outline, therefore, we must quit a subject of the\ndeepest interest, but which belongs rather to the theologian than to the\ninquirer in mental science;--and proceed briefly to investigate the\nmeans by which the condition of the moral feelings, which has been the\nsubject of the preceding observations, may be promoted and cultivated as\nthe regulating principle of the whole character. Two views may be taken\nof this point, which, though they harmonize with each other in practice,\nare to be considered in their philosophical aspect as distinct.\n\nThe restoration of man from a state of estrangement, anarchy, or moral\ndeath, we are taught in the sacred writings to refer to a power from\nwithout the mind,--an influence directly from God. We have seen the\nvarious considerations derived from the phenomena of the mind, and our\nimpressions of the divine character, giving to this great doctrine a\nprobability which claims the assent of every correct understanding. But,\nwithout in any degree losing sight of the truth and the importance of\nthis principle, the immediate object of our attention, as a branch of\nmental science, is rather the process of the mind itself, by means of\nwhich a habitual influence is produced upon the whole character. This is\na compound operation which may probably be analysed in the following\nmanner. It seems to be composed of reason,--attention,--and a\nmodification of conception. The province of Reason is to examine the\ntruth of the statements or doctrines, which are proposed to the mind, as\ncalculated to act upon its moral feelings;--and, upon this being done in\na correct manner, must depend the validity of the subsequent parts of\nthe mental process. This being premised, it is the office of Attention,\naided by reason, to direct the mind assiduously to the truths, so as\nfully to perceive their relations and tendencies. By the farther\nprocess, analogous to Conception, they are then placed before us, in\nsuch a manner as to give them the effect of real and present existence.\nBy these means, truths relating to things for which we have not the\nevidence of our senses, or referring to events which are future, but\nfully expected to happen, are kept before the mind, and influence the\nmoral feelings and the character, in the same manner as if the facts\nbelieved were actually seen, or the events expected were taking place in\nour view. This mental operation is _Faith_;--and, for the sound exercise\nof it, the constituent elements now mentioned are essentially necessary.\nThe truth must be received by the judgment upon adequate evidence; and,\nby the other parts of the process, it must be so kept before the mind,\nthat it may exercise such a moral influence as might arise from the\nactual vision or present existence, of the things believed.\n\nAttention to these considerations will probably enable us to discover\nsome of the fallacies which have obscured and bewildered this important\nsubject. When the impression, which is thus allowed to influence the\nmind, is one which has not been received by the judgment, upon due\nexamination, and adequate evidence of its truth,--this is enthusiasm,\nnot faith.--Our present course of inquiry does not lead us to treat of\nthe notions which have, in various individuals, been thus allowed to\nusurp the place of truth. To those who would preserve themselves from\nthe influence of such, the first great inquiry, respecting their own\nmental impressions, ought to be,--are they facts,--and on what evidence\ndo they rest which can satisfy a sound understanding that they are so.\nOn the other hand is to be avoided an error, not less dangerous than the\nwildest fancies of the enthusiast, and not less unworthy of a regulated\nmind. This consists in treating real and important truths as if they\nwere visions of the imagination, and thus dismissing them, without\nexamination, from the influence which they ought to produce upon the\nmoral feelings. It is singular also to remark, how these two\nmodifications of character may be traced to a condition of the reasoning\npowers, essentially the same. The former receives a fiction of the\nimagination, and rests upon it as truth. The latter, acting upon some\nprejudice or mental impression, which has probably no better foundation,\nputs away real and important truths without any examination of the\nevidence on which they are founded. The misapplication of the reasoning\npowers is the same in both. It consists in proceeding upon mere\nimpression, without exercising the judgment on the question of its\nevidence,--or on the facts and considerations which are opposed to it.\nTwo characters of a very opposite description thus meet in that mental\ncondition, which draws them equally, though in different directions,\nastray from the truth.\n\nWhen a truth has fully received the sanction of the judgment, the second\noffice of faith is, by attention and conception, to keep it habitually\nbefore the mind, so that it may produce its proper influence upon the\ncharacter. This is to live by faith;--and in this consists that\noperation of the great principle, which effectually distinguishes it\nfrom all pretended feelings and impressions assuming its name. We speak,\nin common language, of a head-knowledge which does not affect the\nheart;--and of a man who is sound in his creed, while he shews little of\nits influence upon his conduct. The mental condition of such a man\npresents a subject of intense interest. His alleged belief, it is\nprobable, consists merely in words, or in arguing ingeniously on points\nto which he attaches no real value. These may have been impressed upon\nhim by education;--they may constitute the creed of a party to which he\nhas devoted himself; and he may argue in support of them with all the\nenergy of party zeal. In the same manner, a man may contend warmly in\nfavour of compassion, whose conduct shows a cold and barren\nselfishness;--but this is not benevolence;--and the other is not faith.\nBoth are empty professions of a belief in certain truths, which have\nnever fixed themselves in the mind, so as to become regulating\nprinciples or moral causes in the mental constitution. We may indeed\nsuppose another character, slightly removed from this, in which the\ntruths have really received the approbation of the judgment, and yet\nfail to produce their proper influence. This arises from distorted moral\nhabits, and a vitiated state of the moral faculties, which have\ndestroyed the healthy balance of the whole economy of the mind. The\nconsequence is, that the man perceives and approves of truths, without\nfeeling their tendencies, and without manifesting their power.\n\nIntimately connected with this subject, also, is a remarkable principle\nin our mental constitution, formerly referred to,--the relation between\ncertain facts or truths, and certain moral emotions, which naturally\narise from them, according to the chain of sequences which has been\nestablished in the economy of the mind. A close connexion thus exists\nbetween our intellectual habits and our moral feelings, which leads to\nconsequences of the utmost practical moment. Though we have little\nimmediate voluntary power over our moral emotions, we have a power over\nthe intellectual processes with which these are associated. We can\ndirect the mind to truths, and we can cherish trains of thought, which\nare calculated to produce correct moral feelings;--and we can avoid or\nbanish mental images or trains of thought, which have an opposite\ntendency. This is the power over the succession of our thoughts, the due\nexercise of which forms so important a feature of a well-regulated mind,\nin regard to intellectual culture;--its influence upon us as moral\nbeings is of still higher and more vital importance.\n\nThe sound exercise of that mental condition which we call Faith\nconsists, therefore, in the reception of certain truths by the\njudgment,--the proper direction of the attention to their moral\ntendencies,--and the habitual influence of them upon the feelings and\nthe conduct. When the sacred writers tell us that, without faith, it is\nimpossible to please God,--and when they speak of a man being saved by\nfaith,--it is not to a mere admission of certain truths as part of his\ncreed, that they ascribe consequences so important; but to a state in\nwhich these truths are uniformly followed out to certain results, which\nthey are calculated to produce, according to the usual course of\nsequences in every sound mind. This principle is strikingly illustrated\nby one of these writers, by reference to a simple narrative. During the\ninvasion of Canaan by the armies of Israel, two men were sent forward as\nspies to bring a report concerning the city of Jericho. The persons\nengaged in this mission were received in a friendly manner, by a woman\nwhose house was upon the wall of the city;--when their presence was\ndiscovered, she hid them from their pursuers; and finally enabled them\nto escape, by letting them down by a cord from a window. Before taking\nleave of them, she expressed her firm conviction, that the army to which\nthey belonged was soon to take possession of Jericho, and of the whole\ncountry, and she made them swear to her that, when this should take\nplace, they would shew mercy to her father's house. The engagement was\nstrictly fulfilled. When the city was taken, and the other inhabitants\ndestroyed, the woman was preserved, with all her kindred. In this very\nsimple occurrence, the woman is represented, by the sacred writer, as\nhaving been saved by faith. The object of her faith was the event which\nshe confidently expected,--that the city of Jericho was to be destroyed.\nThe ground of her faith was the rapid manner in which the most powerful\nnations had already fallen before the armies of Israel,--led, as she\nbelieved, by a divine power. Acting upon this conviction, in the manner\nin which a belief so deeply affecting her personal safety was likely to\ninfluence any sound mind, she took means for her preservation, by making\nfriends of the spies. Her faith saved her, because without it she would\nnot have made this provision; but, unless she had followed out her\nbelief to the measure which was calculated to effect this object, the\nmere belief of the event would have availed her nothing. When we\ntherefore ascribe important results to faith, or to any other mental\noperation, we ascribe them not to the operation itself, but to this\nfollowed out to the consequences which it naturally produces, according\nto the constitution of the human mind. In the same manner, we may speak\nof one man, in a certain state of danger or difficulty, being saved by\nhis wisdom, and another by his strength. In doing so, we ascribe such\nresults, not to the mere possession of these qualities, but to the\nefforts which naturally arose from them, in the circumstances in which\nthe individual was placed. And, when the inspired writer says, that\nwithout faith it is impossible to please God,--he certainly refers to no\nmere mental impression, and to no barren system of opinions; but to the\nreception of certain truths, which in our present state of being are\nentirely the objects of faith, and to all that influence, upon the moral\nfeelings and the character, which these must produce upon every mind\nthat really believes them.\n\n * * * * *\n\nOn this great subject, much misconception appears to have arisen from\nnot sufficiently attending to the condition in which, as moral beings,\nwe are placed in the present state of existence, and the important part\nwhich must be performed by the mental exercise called faith. As physical\nand intellectual beings, we have certain relations to the objects by\nwhich we are surrounded, and with these we communicate by means of our\nbodily senses. But, as moral beings, our relations are entirely of a\ndifferent nature; and the facts and motives, which are calculated to act\nupon us in these relations, are chiefly the objects of faith: that is,\nthey are not cognizable by any of our senses, but are to be received by\na different part of our constitution, and upon a separate kind of\nevidence. This, accordingly, is the simple but important distinction,\nreferred to by the sacred writer, when, in allusion to our condition as\nmoral beings, he says,--\"we walk by faith, not by sight.\" The objects of\nsight, here intended to express all the objects of sense, exercise over\nus a habitual and powerful influence. They constantly obtrude themselves\nupon our notice without any exertion of our own; and it requires a\npeculiar exercise of mind to withdraw our attention from them, and to\nfeel the power of events which are future, and of things which are not\nseen. This mental exercise is Faith. Its special province, as we have\nseen, is to receive truths which are presented directly to the mind,--to\nplace them before us with all the vividness of actual and present\nexistence,--and to make them exert upon us an agency analogous to that\nwhich is produced by objects of sight. The next great point in our\ninquiry, therefore, is, what are the truths which are calculated thus to\noperate upon us as moral beings, and which it is the object of faith to\nbring habitually before us.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen we withdraw our minds from the influence of sensible things, and\nsend forth our attention to those truths which are the province of\nfaith, the first great object which meets our view is the eternal\nincomprehensible One, the moral governor of the universe,--a being of\ninfinite perfections and infinite purity. From the stupendous works of\nnature, we trace his operation as the great First Cause,--and infer,\nwith absolute certainty, his boundless power and wisdom, and his\nindependent existence. The impress of his moral attributes he has fixed\nwith indelible certainty, upon our moral perceptions,--where, in the\nlight of conscience, co-operating with a simple process of reason, we\nperceive him to be a being of infinite holiness, and of unerring truth\nand justice. Our knowledge of these attributes is not the result of any\nprocess of reasoning which can admit of deliberation or doubt. They\nforce themselves upon our conviction by the most simple principles of\ninduction, when, from our own mental and moral endowments, we infer the\nperfections of him who formed us.\n\nFrom every conception we can form of such a being, we have an equally\ninsuperable conviction of his universal presence,--that he is the\nwitness not only of our conduct, but of the thoughts and imaginations\nof the heart;--and that from these, as indicating our real condition,\nand not from our conduct alone, our moral aspect is estimated by\nhim,--the pure and holy One who seeth in secret. Each moment, as it\npasses rapidly over us, we know is bringing us nearer to that period,\nwhen all our hopes and fears for this world shall lie with us in the\ngrave. But we feel also that this is the entrance to another state of\nbeing,--a state of moral retribution, where the eternal One is to be\ndisclosed in all his attributes as a moral governor. These\nconsiderations fix themselves upon the mind, with a feeling of yet new\nand more tremendous interest, when we farther take into view that this\nfuture existence stretches out before us into endless duration. This is\nthe truth so powerfully expressed by the sacred writer, in terms which\nby their brevity convey, in the most adequate manner, their overwhelming\nimport,--\"The things which are seen are temporal, but the things which\nare not seen are eternal.\"\n\nThese truths are not the visions of enthusiasm; neither are they the\nresult of any process of reasoning, by which different men may arrive\nat different conclusions. They force themselves upon our conviction with\na power which we cannot put away from us, when we turn our attention to\nthe solemn inquiry, what we are, and what is God. In the sacred writings\nthey are detailed and illustrated, in a connected and harmonious manner;\nand are impressed upon us with the force of a revelation from the Deity\nhimself. But the principles there disclosed meet with an impression, in\nour moral constitution, which pleads with authority for their truth. It\nis the province of faith to keep these habitually before the mind, and\nto cause them to influence the feelings and the conduct, as if they were\nobjects of sense,--as if the Deity, in all the purity of his character\nwere actually disclosed to our view,--or as if we were present at that\ndread hour which shall witness his righteous retribution. The man who\nthus feels their power, and exhibits their influence upon his character,\nis he who lives by faith.\n\nWhen, under this mental exercise, a man brings himself into the\nimmediate presence of the eternal One;--when he arraigns himself, as it\nwere, before the bar of the omniscient Judge;--when he places before\nhim that future state which stretches forth into endless existence,--a\ntrain of feelings must arise in his mind, to which he was a stranger, so\nlong as he placidly resigned himself to the influence of sensible\nthings. He views this being of infinite purity, as one who has been all\nhis life the daily witness of his conduct; and feels that even the\nsecrets of the heart have been at all times open to divine inspection.\nEach day, as it passed unheeded over him, was a portion gone by of his\nperiod of moral discipline; and each, as it glided amid the frivolities\nof life, or the active pursuit of temporal good, had its moral aspect\nassigned to it in the judgment of the eternal mind. Along with these\nimpressions, which no reflecting man can put away from him, a voice\nwithin forces upon him the conviction, that, were his whole history\ndisclosed to his fellow-men, he would, even in their estimation, be\nfound wanting. How much more deeply must this be fixed upon his inmost\nsoul, when he feels that the whole is, at one glance, exposed to the eye\nof omniscience; and that an hour is rapidly approaching, when a strict\naccount must be rendered, and a righteous sentence pronounced, the\nresult of which will extend into eternal existence. With these truths\nupon his mind, what reflecting man can view, without awe, the moment\nwhich is to close his state of moral discipline,--when, disencumbered\nfrom his earthly tenement, he shall find himself alone with God,--and\nthere shall burst upon his astonished faculties the blaze of an endless\nday. These are not speculations of fancy, but eternal truth. The man who\nhabitually acts under their influence, knows that his faith rests upon a\nconviction which cannot be shaken, when he recognises in all his ways\nthe presence and the inspection of the Deity,--when he feels the\nobligation to have even the desires and affections under subjection to\nhis will,--and when he resigns himself to his guidance and asks his\npowerful aid, both for the conduct of this life, and the preparation for\nthe life which is to come.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSolemn is the hour when a man thus retires from the tumult of life, and\nseriously proposes to himself the question,--what is his condition as a\nmoral being; what have been his leading pursuits in this life which is\nhastening to a close; what is his aspect in the view of that\nincomprehensible One, who perceives at a single glance the whole details\nof his moral history. Is he safe to meet the full splendour of that\neye;--has he no apprehension, that, when called to account in the\nimmediate presence of unerring purity, he may not be able to answer. The\nman lives not, who can appeal to his own heart and say, after serious\ninquiry, that he can thus meet the penetrating search of him, whose\nknowledge is perfect, as his purity is infinite: The man lives not, who\ncan look back upon his whole life, without feeling, that, in the sight\nof this unspotted One, he is polluted with guilt: And, if his heart\ncondemn him, with all its partiality for his own views and feelings, and\nall its forgetfulness of many points in his moral history, he must feel\nthat God is greater than his heart, and knoweth all things. Under such\nan impression, to what refuge shall he betake himself. Does he appeal to\nan indefinite idea of the mercy of the Deity;--it must be evident that\nthis conveys no distinct principle, and will not bear the confidence\nwhich is essential to hope and peace. For we cannot go to the extent of\nsupposing a mercy so indiscriminate, that the Deity will depart from all\nthe laws which he has made, and which he has impressed upon us as a part\nof our moral constitution. This would be ascribing, to infinite wisdom,\nan indecision and a change of purpose, unworthy of the weakest human\nlawgiver. If, then, we do not boldly assume this position, how are we to\ndraw the line where such mercy is to terminate;--and where the Almighty\nis to appear in his character of justice, as a righteous moral governor.\nIf we find that each individual fixes a different standard, and that\neach extends it so as to favour his own condition, it is clear that the\nsystem presents no character of truth, and that it is incapable of\nministering to the consolation of him who feels his own necessities, and\nseriously contemplates the character of God. He must perceive that to\napply such reasoning to human enactments, would be to represent them as\na mockery of justice; and that it is impossible thus to argue,\nrespecting the laws of him who is infinite in holiness and boundless in\nwisdom. He cannot but acknowledge that a universe governed in such a\nmanner would run into irremediable confusion and anarchy; and will find\nit impossible, on any principle which human reasoning can furnish, to\narrive at any other decision than this,--that the Judge of all the earth\nmust be unchanging in his purposes, and impartial in his justice.\n\nTo this conclusion we are led by the clearest inductions of moral\nscience;--but, at this momentous point, philosophy fails us. No human\npower can find a refuge, to which the mind can betake itself under a\nsense of guilt;--no human wisdom can answer the inquiry of mighty\nimport, can God be just and yet justify the ungodly. But here we are met\nby a light from heaven, which has burst upon the scene of doubt and of\ndarkness; and are called to bring down the pride of our reason, in\nhumble submission to the testimony of God. It comes supported by a\nweight of evidence, which challenges the cordial assent of the most\nacute understanding, and the power of which will be best appreciated by\nthose, who, with sincere desire for truth, have made the highest\nattainments in the laws of rigid inquiry. It discloses an atonement made\nfor sin,--and an influence from heaven, calculated to restore the moral\nbeing to the purity in which it was formed. It thus meets alike the\nnecessities of man, as in a state of actual guilt, and a state of moral\ndegradation. For the one, it displays a scheme of mercy in which the\nintegrity of the divine character is vindicated, while pardon is\nextended to transgressors. To the other, it offers power from heaven,\nwhich will correct the disorders of the moral constitution, and raise\nthe man anew to the likeness of God. It thus forms a harmonious whole,\nuniform and consistent in itself,--worthy of the character of God,--and\nadapted to the condition of man; and, to every one who feels his own\nmoral necessities, and estimates the purity of the Deity, it brings an\nabsolute conviction of its truth.\n\nA participation in the benefits of this revelation of divine mercy is\nsaid, in the sacred writings, to be received by Faith; and this\nexpression has given rise to controversies and contending systems, which\nhave involved the subject in much perplexity. While some have restricted\nthe operation of Faith to the mere belief of a certain system of\nopinions, others have referred to it a series of mysterious impressions,\nand enthusiastic feelings, at variance with every dictate of sound\nreasoning. The principle of faith, however, holds so prominent a place\nin the scheme of Christian truth, that some clear notions respecting its\nnature must be felt to be of the highest interest. It holds also, as we\nhave formerly seen, a most important position in the philosophy of the\nmoral feelings,--being that mental operation, by which we receive a\ncertain class of truths, of the utmost consequence to us as responsible\nbeings. It is a process which every one feels, but which cannot be\ndefined;--and it can be illustrated only by tracing its influence, in\nregard to those objects to which it is more particularly directed.\n\nThe objects of faith are twofold,--truths addressed to the\nunderstanding,--and benefits offered or promised. We have formerly had\noccasion to trace the action of faith in regard to truth,--especially a\nclass of truths which are calculated, when really believed, to exert a\npowerful effect upon our moral feelings and conduct. Its operation, we\nhave seen, is to bring these truths before us in such a manner, that\nthey exert the same kind of influence as if the facts or events were\nobjects of sense. The man who believes these truths, so as thus\nhabitually to feel then power, is he who receives them in faith. This is\nthe province of faith in regard to truth;--we have next to analyze its\noperation in regard to offered or promised benefits,--and this we can\nbest do by means of an example.\n\nLet us take the illustration of a man affected with a disease supposed\nto be mortal;--he is told that a remedy has been discovered of\ninfallible efficacy; and that a person is at hand who is ready to\nadminister it. Does he perceive his danger;--does he believe the virtue\nof the remedy;--does he confide in the sincerity of the individual who\noffers it;--this is faith. The immediate and natural result of his faith\nis, that he asks for the remedy which is offered;--and this result is\ninseparable from such belief, according to the uniform sequence of\nvolitions in every sound mind. The man who professes to admit the facts,\nand does not shew such a result of belief, professes what he does not\nactually feel. If he perceives not the extent of his danger, he asks not\nthe remedy, because he values it not;--and the same effect may follow,\nif he doubts either its efficacy, or the sincerity of him who offers it.\nIn this case, it is also to be observed, that a reflection is thrown\nupon the character of this individual, by imputing to him an offer of\nwhat he has either not the power or the intention to perform. But if the\nman really believes the truths, he applies for the remedy; and he\nreceives it. Thus his faith saves him, because by means of it he bought\nthe offered aid. Could we suppose him merely to admit the facts, without\nasking the remedy, his belief would avail him nothing.\n\nSuch appeals to be the simple view we are to take of Faith, when we\napply it to the great benefits which are presented to us in the\nChristian revelation. This is addressed to us as beings in a state both\nof guilt and of depravity; and as having no means of our own, by which\nwe can rescue ourselves from condemnation and impurity. It unfolds a\ndispensation of peace, by which, in perfect consistency with the harmony\nof his character, the Deity offers mercy and forgiveness,--and an\ninfluence from himself which has power to purify the moral being. These\nbenefits are conferred on every one who believes; and who is he that\nbelieves:--the man who is convinced of his guilt, and perceives his\nimpurity;--who feels his inability to rescue himself;--who admits the\nefficacy of the remedy, and confides in the sincerity with which it is\noffered;--this is he who believes. His faith saves him; because, acting\non his conviction, according to the uniform sequence of volitions in\nevery sound mind, he asks the promised aid, and asking receives it. Much\nof the confusion, in which the subject has been involved, appears to\nhave arisen from metaphysical refinements, by which the various parts of\nthis mental process are separated from each other. They form one\nharmonious whole, which cannot be broken. The man will not seek the\nremedy, who believes not its efficacy, and perceives not his moral\nnecessities; but, however he may profess to admit these facts, if he\nfollows not out his belief to its natural result, by applying for the\nremedy, his mere belief will not profit him. The grounds, on which\nthese truths are addressed to us, are contained in that chain of\nevidence on which is founded the whole system of Christianity,--taken\nalong with the conviction, which every man receives of his actual moral\ncondition, from the voice of conscience within. A sense of the sincerity\nof the offer we derive from our impression of the unchangeable\nattributes of the Deity. Accordingly, he who believes is said to give\nglory to God,--that is, to receive his statements with absolute\nconfidence, and to form an honourable conception of the sincerity of his\nintentions. He who believes not, rejects the statements of the Almighty\nas false,--and treats him with the contempt which we apply to one whom\nwe suppose to promise what he has no intention to bestow. The man who\ncomes to God, with the hope of acceptance, is therefore required to come\nin the assurance of faith, or an implicit conviction that he is sincere\nin his intentions of bestowing the blessings which he offers; and\nwhosoever has not this assurance does dishonour to the divine\ncharacter,--or \"maketh God a liar.\"\n\nIt were vain to enter upon the various systems and opinions, in which\nthis important doctrine has been misrepresented by its enemies, and\noften perverted by those who profess to be its friends. Two of these may\nbe briefly noticed. Some have maintained that the doctrine of an\nunconditional pardon sets aside the obligations of morality,--because it\nhas no regard to the personal character of the individual,--or holds out\nthe offer of acceptance to faith, without obedience. Others contend that\nan essential part of faith is an immediate and absolute assurance of a\nman's own acceptance in the sight of the Deity; and that he who has not\nthis is in a state of unbelief. These two opinions, so different from\neach other, are equally founded upon misconception of the nature and\nprovisions of the Christian economy.\n\nIn regard to the former, it is only necessary to remark, that the\nrevelation of Christian truth is not confined to an offer of pardon to\nthe guilty;--its great object is the recovery and purification of the\nmoral being; and there is an essential and inviolable union between\nthese two parts of the great scheme of redemption. It provides in the\nmost effectual manner for the interests of morality, by the\npurification of the desires and affections, the springs of action;--it\nis the morality of the heart. It proclaims a system of morals, more pure\nand more exalted far than ever was contemplated by the wisest of\nmen;--it exhibits an example of the perfect state of a moral being, in\nthe character of the Messiah;--and it enforces the imitation of this\nexample as indispensable in every one who professes to be his disciple.\nThese different parts of the scheme can never be separated, and there\ncannot be a greater perversion of reasoning, or a greater misconception\nof the prominent features of the gospel of peace, than to allege that it\ndoes not provide, in the most effectual manner, for the highest\ninterests of morality.\n\nThe other opinion is equally founded upon error,--namely, that which\nconsiders it essential to faith, that a man be assured of his personal\nacceptance in the sight of the Deity. It is obvious that this is a\nsophism clearly opposed to sound reasoning, and to the first principles\nof the philosophy of the moral feelings. For faith, viewed as a mental\nprocess, must always have for its object facts; and these facts must\nrest upon such evidence, as is sufficient to convince the understanding\nof their truth. To talk of faith, without such facts and such evidence,\nis a mere logical fallacy, or an absurdity in terms. But there is no\ndisclosure of the personal acceptance of any individual, and\nconsequently, on no principle of sound reasoning can this ever be\nconsidered as the object of faith. This doctrine, therefore, applies a\nmost important principle of the mind, not to facts, which alone can\nwarrant the exercise of faith, but to a vision of the imagination, which\nadmits of no evidence, and cannot be subjected to any test of its truth.\n\nWidely different from all such flimsy and imaginary hypotheses is the\ngreat system of Christian truth,--harmonious and consistent in itself,\nand challenging the approbation of the soundest understanding. It\nreveals, as we have seen, a dispensation of mercy, in accordance with\nthe highest ideas we can form of the divine perfections. It is supported\nby a chain of evidence, which carries conviction to the mind of the most\nrigid inquirer; and thus it is a sound and legitimate object of faith.\nIt reveals also a provision for purifying the moral nature; and this in\nevery case accompanies the dispensation of mercy to those who receive\nit. The effects of this powerful agency, therefore, become the test and\nthe evidence of the reality of faith. Does a man seek a proof of his\nacceptance,--the reference is to facts in his own moral condition. He is\nto look for it in a change which is taking place in his character,--a\nnew direction of his desires,--a new regulation of his affections,--a\nhabitual impression, to which he was a stranger before, of the presence\nand the perfections of the Deity--and a new light which has burst upon\nhis view, respecting his relations to this life and to that which is to\ncome. He is to seek this evidence in a mind, which aims at no lower\nstandard than that which will bear the constant inspection of infinite\npurity;--he is to seek it, and to manifest it to others, in a spirit\nwhich takes no lower pattern than that model of perfection,--the\ncharacter of the Messiah. These acquirements, indeed, are looked upon,\nnot as a ground of acceptance, but a test of moral condition; not as, in\nany degree, usurping the place of the great principle of faith, but as\nits fruits and evidences. As these, then, are the only proofs of the\nreality of this principle, so they are the only basis on which a man can\nrest any sound conviction of his moral aspect in the sight of the\nDeity;--and that system is founded on delusion and falsehood, which, in\nthis respect, holds out any other ground of confidence than the\npurification of the heart, and a corresponding harmony of the whole\ncharacter. Such attainment, indeed, is not made at once, nor is it ever\nmade in a full and perfect manner in the present state of being; but,\nwhere the great principle has been fixed within, there is a persevering\neffort, and a uniform contest, and a continual aspiration after\nconformity to the great model of perfection. Each step that a man gains\nin this progress serves to extend his view of the high pattern to which\nhis eye is steadily directed; and, as his knowledge of it is thus\nenlarged, he is led by comparison to feel more and more deeply his own\ndeficiency. It thus produces increasing humility, and an increasing\nsense of his own imperfection, and causes him continually to feel, that,\nin this warfare, he requires a power which is not in man. But he knows\nalso that this is provided, as an essential part of the great system on\nwhich his hope is established. Amid much weakness, therefore, and many\ninfirmities, his moral improvement goes forward. Faint and feeble at\nfirst, as the earliest dawn of the morning, it becomes brighter and\nsteadier as it proceeds in its course, and, \"as the shining light,\nshineth more and more unto the perfect day.\"\n\n\nTHE END.\n\nEDINBURGH: Printed by Balfour and Jack, Niddry Street.","title":"The Philosophy of the Moral Feelings","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":56889}