Body

LECTURES

MORAL SCIENCE.

[UNEDITED]

DELIVERED BEFORE THE

LOWELL INSTITUTE, BOSTON.

MARK HIOPKINS, D.D.LL.D.

PRESIDENT OF WILLIAMS COLLEGE; AUTHOR OF "LECTURES

ON THE EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY," ETC.

BO S TON:

G O U L D A N D L I N C O L N,

59 WAS IN GTON STREET.

NEW YORK: SHELDON AND COMPANY.

CINCINNATI: GEORGE S. BLANCHARD.

1 8 6 3.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by

GOULD AND LINCOLN,

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts.

SINCE 1830.

Permit me, my friends, a word of explanation with those of you who may read the following Lectures. It seems called for by the difference between them now, and when they were heard by the most of you.

In 1830 I was elected to the Professorship of Rhetoric and Moral Philosophy in this college, and during the first year prepared and delivered twelve Lectures on Moral Philosophy. Of these, omitting the introductory one, the first paragraph was the following: "If the human constitution

was made by a wise and good being, it must have been made for certain ends; and in those ends, whatever they may be, and nowhere else, can its perfection and happiness be found. To discover these ends and the means of attaining them, is the object of Moral Philosophy." Then followed such an examination of the constitution of man as I was able to make. This shows that the present lectures are but the carrying out of my original thought; but that those lectures should have been delivered for more than twenty-five years without essential alteration is what requires explanation, if not apology.

The explanation is, chiefly, from the pressure of other duties. During the remaining years of my professorship, my leisure was occupied with lectures on Rhetoric and Natural Theology, in connection with extra duties imposed by the declining health of Dr. Griffin. Subsequently, and till 1855.

AUTHOR'S ADDRESS.

those of you then here will remember our studies together in Anatomy, and Mental Philosophy, and Moral Philosophy, and Natural Theology, and Butler's Analogy, and Vincent. Add to these, preaching; the administrative labor incident to my position; the publication of between forty and fifty pamphlets, and of a volume on the Evidences of Christianity, and it may not seem strange that when the years came round, as they seemed to, with increasing rapidity, I was only able to give the lectures as they were.

Always feeling that my first duty was in the class-room, my strength simply sufficed for the demands of the passing day. In 1855 the Rhetoric of the class passed into other hands, but so much of work still remained that a revision of the Lectures was not undertaken till 1858. In the winter of 1861, the course, with the exception of the last lecture, for which there was not time, was delivered before the Lowell Institute.

When the Lectures were first written, the text-book here, and generally

in our colleges, was Paley. Not agreeing with him, and failing to carry out

fully the doctrine of ends, I adopted that of an ultimate right, as taught by

Kant and Coleridge, making that the end. If, therefore, any of you still

hold that view,-as doubtless many do,-it is not for me to say that you

have not good authority for it, or to complain if you object to that now

taken.

But whatever may be said of this central point, the Lectures have been

much changed in other respects, and, as I hope, improved. Such as they

are, with thankfulness that I am permitted to address so many of you, and

with many pleasant recollections of our former discussions on this subject,

they are now committed to your candid and indulgent consideration.

Your sincere Friend,

MARK HOPKINS.

WILLIAMS COLLEGE, OCTOBER 1, 1862.

P R E FACE.

PHILOSOPHY investigates causes, unities, and ends.

Of these it is the last two that are chiefly considered in

the following lectures. " Happy," it has been said, "is

he who knows the causes of things." But in a world

where there are so many apparent discrepancies both

natural and moral, he must be more happy who knows

the arrangement of things into systems, and sees how

all these systems go to make up one greater system and

to promote a common end. An investigation of causes

respects the past; of unities and ends, the present and

the future. Of these the latter are more intimate to

us, and he who can trace the principle of unity by which

nature is harmonized with herself, and man with nature,

and man with himself, and the individual with society,

PREFACE.

and man with God, -who can see in all these a com

plex unity and can apprehend their end, -will have an

element of satisfaction far greater than he who should

know the causes of all things without being able to

unravel their perplexities.

From the place assigned to Moral Philosophy in the

classification adopted in these lectures, an incidental

consideration of the above harmonies seemed to be

required. Hence it is hoped that the book may con

tain suggestions that will be valuable to some who may

not agree with its doctrines on the particular subject

of morals. It is particularly hoped that it may do

something towards introducing more of unity into the

courses of study, or some of them, in our higher semi

naries. If the works of God, regarded as an expression

of his thought, are built up after a certain method, it

deserves to be considered whether that thought will not

be best reached by following in their study the order

that has been followed in their construction, and which

is involved in that method. Something of this I have

PREFACE.

long aimed to do in my instructions, and with very

perceptible advantage. With suitable text-books and a

right arrangement of studies, much more might doubt

less be done.

In treating of any natural system, as each part

implies all the others, wherever we begin, and what

ever method we follow, we are compelled to use terms

whose full meaning can be reached only in the progress

of the investigation. This is particularly true when, as

in the present instance, instead of beginning with defi

nitions, we seek for them. For this it is hoped that

due allowance may be made.

It will be seen that important, and even cardinal

points, are often but briefly touched in these discus

sions. I can only say that the work is, of necessity,

suggestive rather than exhaustive, and that if these

points are so treated as to show their place in the sys

tem, the outline may be readily filled up.

For remarks upon the present condition of the sci

ence, and for the general course of thought pursued,

PREFACE.

the reader is referred to the opening lecture, and to the

summary at the close.

English literature is rich in ethical speculation. Sev

eral valuable treatises have recently been published in

this country; but the ground of classification, and the

general aspects an(d connections of the subject, as pre

sented in the following lectures, are so far different

from others, that it is hoped something may be gained

to the science by their publication. To the authors of

the treatises above referred to, and also to the friends

who have aided me by their suggestions, I desire to

express my indebtedness.

I will only add, that the work is written in the interest

of truth, and not controversially.

XII

C O N T E N T S.

LECTURE I.

MORAL SCIENCE AND ASTRONOMY.- REASONS FOR THE SLOWER PROGRESS OF

THE FORMER. — PROGRESS MUST BE SLOW. - TWO CLASSES OF SCIENCES.

-USE OF STUDYING THE SCIENCE,......................... o.. 17

LECTURE II.

THREE QUESTIONS. -THE CONSIDERATION OF ENDS.-AN END ATTAINED

IN THREE WAYS. -ENDS SUBORDINATE, ULTIMATE, AND SUPREME. -AN

END INVOLVES A GOOD. -THE NATURE OF GOOD AS FROM ACTIVITY. -

TIIE GREATEST GOOD.....................................39

LECTURE III.

KINDS OF GOOD. - SUSCEPTIBILITIES- AND POV.ERS. - GOOD AS HIGIIER

AND LOWER. - FORCES AND FACULTIES - THEIR SUBORDINATION. - THE

LAW OF LIMITATION.- METHODS OF ADDITION AND OF DEVELOPMENT. NATURAL AND CHRISTIAN LAW OF SELF-DENIAL............. 59

2 XIII

CONTENTS.

LECTURE IV.

RELATION OF INTELLECTUAL AND MORAL PHILOSOPHY. - SPONTANEOUS

AND VOLUNTARY ACTIVITY. - FACULTIES INSTRUMENTAL AND ULTI MATE. - INSTINCT.- THE APPETITES. - NATURAL - ARTIFICIAL. - THE

DESIRES. - CLASSIFICATION OF THEM. - DESIRE OF CONTINUED EXIST ENCE,........,................................. 79

LECTURE V.

DESIRE OF PROPERTY.- AVARICE.- DESIRE OF KNOWLEDGE.- DESIRE OF

POWER. - INFLUENCE. - EMULATION. - DESIRE OF ESTEEM. - DESIRE OF

GLORY...............................................102

LECTURE VI.

THE AFFECTIONS. - NATURAL AND MORAL. - BENEVOLENT. - DEFENSIVE

AND PUNITIVE. - ORIGIN OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS.- FORGIVENESS.

- HOW SUBJECT TO WILL. - THE INTELLECT.- LOVE OF TRUTH,.. 129

LECTURE VII.

THE MORAL NATURE. - REASON. - IDEAS OF DIFFERENT ORDERS. - HAVE

AN ORDER OF DEVELOPlIENT. - FREE-WILL. - PERSONALITY. - ACTION

TO WHICH RE;SPONSIBILITY ATTACHES. -ALL MORAL PHENOMENA IN

xiv

CONTENTS.

CONNECTION WITH TIlE CHOICE OF A SUPREME END.-CONSCIENCE.THE MORAL NATURE DOUBLE.-TIHE HIGHEST GOOD.-COINCIDENCE OF

NATURAL AND REVEALED LAW........................ 157

LECTURE VIII.

RELATION OF VIRTUE TO HAPPINESS. -QUANTITY AND QUALITY OF GOOD

-MORAL AND NATURAL GOOD. - REGARD FOR OUR OWN GOOD. - CON NECTION WITH BENEVOLENCE. - ENJOYMENT FROM APPROBATION.

THE TRUE END OF MAN.-'CONNECTION BETWEEN MORAL AND NATURAL

GOOD,............................................181

LECTURE IX.'

THE SPHERE OF MORAL SCIENCE. - RIGHT AND WRONG. - DEFINITION OF

TERMS.- PROVINCE OF CONSCIENCE. - HOW FAR INFALLIBLE. -TWO

SPHERES. -DIVERSITY OF MORAL JUDGMENTS.- CRISES OF LIFE. - RE LATION OF CONSCIENCE TO OTHER PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. - COMPLEX ITY OF MOTIVES.- MUST A VIRTUOUS ACT BE FROM A SENSE OF

DUTY?............................................205

LECTURE X.

RECTITUDE AND VIRTUE.- RELATIONS. - EXPEDIENCY, PRUDENCE, AND

VIRTUE. -ORIGIN OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS AS RELATED TO THE DIVINE

NATURE. - COINCIDENCE OF INSTINCT AND REASON- OF FAITHII AND

REASON-OF PHIILOSOPHY AND) IELIGION.............. 228

-CONTENTS.

LECTURE XI.

RIGHTS. - THEIR ORIGIN AND KINDS. - ALIENABLE - INALIENABLE. SLAVERY. - RIGHTS OF PERSONS AND OF THINGS. - GIVING AND RE CEIVING. -RIGHTS OF GOVERNMENT. -LIBERTY AS RELATED TO RIGHTS.

- DIFFERENT KINDS OF LIBERTY - NATURAL, CIVIL, POLITICAL,..253

LECTURE XII.

A FUTURE LIFE. - ITS RELATION TO MORALITY. - THE PHYSICAL ARGU MENT. - MORAL ARGUMENTS............................... 277

SUMMARY................................ 296

XvI

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

LECTURE I.

MORAL SCIENCE AND ASTRONOMY.- REASONS FOR THE SLOWER PROGRESS OF

THE FORMER. - PROGRESS MUST BE SLOW. - TWO CLASSES OF SCIENCES.

-USE OF STUDYING TIHE SCIENCE.

AMONG the sciences which earliest drew the attention

of man were those of Astronomy and Morals. Of these,

one respects the sources of that light which is from without, the other of that which is within. Of the one, the

objects and phenomena are not only without us, but are

separated from us by inconceivable distances; of the other,

the phenomena are not only within us, but belong to that

part of our nature which is special to us, and whose circle

lies nearest to its central point.

Connected with each are practical judgments common

to all. Both the heavens and the moral nature of man

yielded him guidance before there was a thought of the

science of either. The unscientific man rejoices in the

light that comes from Arcturus no less than if he could

analyze its beams, and is guided by the polar star no less

surely than if he could measure its magnitude and distance. The day and the night, the changing moons and

2* 17

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

the revolving seasons, are alike to all. In the same way

men agree in their practical judgments on the great subjects of morals. By their original nature there is within

them a guiding light by which the learned and unlearned

alike may walk. But in either case, when science began

its work, and asked for causes, and reasons, and classifications, there were conjectures and diversities of opinion

without end. Of the apparent movement of the heavens,

and of a virtuous or heroic act, men judged alike; of the

cause of that movement, or of the nature of virtue itself,

they did not judge alike. Practically, men could agree in

both; but in everything pertaining to the science of either,

nothing could be more discrepant than their opinions, or,

for ages, more discouraging and apparently hopeless than

the attempt to establish any one doctrine that should be

generally accepted.

If, now, the inquiry had been made in the early period

of these sciences which of them would soonest reach

perfection, the unhesitating answer would doubtless have

been,- that of which the phenomena are within us, which

are immediately testified to by our consciousness, and are

always subject to our notice. Whether man would ever

be able to perfect a science of the heavens, might well have

been doubted; but that he should do this sooner than perfect the science of that which pertained to his own most

intimate being, and which stood in the closest relation to

his highest interests, could not have been believed. But

so it has been. After ages of observation and conjecture,

during which the phenomena seemed in hopeless confusion; after exhausting the efforts of some of the best minds

in every age, the central truth of astronomy at length

dawned, and the chaos of conjecture became the order of

science. From a science of observation, astronomy has

MORAL SCIENCE AND ASTRONOMY.

now become one of deduction, and if not altogether complete, is more nearly so than any other.

The success thus achieved in the field of astronomy was

a great stimulus and encouragement to effort in other departments. From the vastness of its distances, the magnitude of its objects, the complexity of its phenomena, and

from its inconceivable forces and velocities, there was connected with success here an excitement and sublimity

which greatly heightened the purely scientific pleasure,

and which inspired a confidence of future triumphs in

whatever should be attempted. Nor was this confidence

without a basis. In the advance of every form of physical

science then known, no period of the world can be compared with that since the time of Kepler and of Newton.

Meantime, forms of science then unknown, as chemistry

and geology, have sprung into giant proportions; while

the application of science to the arts, employing every

substance, and harnessing every force in nature for the

service of man, is revolutionizing not only society, but the

face of nature herself.

In mental and moral science there has, too, been greater

activity than ever before; but we are not, perhaps, in a

position as yet to say how much there has been of progress. There are still discordant voices, and different

schools, and those that say "Lo, here," and "Lo, there;"

and perhaps the variety of systems proposed, especially in

morals, was never greater.

Thus situated, it is an encouragement to think of the

seas of doubt through which astronomy has waded. We

remember that the perplexities of its votaries were once

as great as ours can be now, and hope for a similar deliverance. The end of investigation is attained when we either

comprehend all that is brought before us, or can draw the

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

line which shall fix the natural limits set by God to our

knowledge; and we are not of that desponding, or rather

indolent class, who distrust the powers of the human mind

to do, in all cases, one or the other of these.

So far as our present subject is concerned, it may aid us

in doing this if we inquire for a little how it has happened

that physical science, and especially astronomy, has so far

outstripped moral science. What are the causes of a result so impossible to have been anticipated?

And first, we may mention a difficulty much insisted on

by Chalmers, as pertaining to the observation of all mental phenomena. This arises from the fact that the mind is

both the observer and the thing observed, and that some

of its states at least (they say all) are of such a character as to preclude examination at the moment they exist.

Thus, when a man is thoroughly angry his whole thought

is directed to the object of his anger, and nothing can be

conceived more incompatible with the state of an angry

man than that he should be engaged in taking psychological observations on himself. The moment he turns his

attention from the object of his anger to himself for the

purpose of observing it, the anger is gone. It cannot,

therefore, be studied directly, as we study the objects of

our senses, but only as it is remembered.

This holds in all cases of violent emotion and should

have its just weight, but not in the ordinary states of

thought and feeling. If the view of Chalmers and of

Brown before him were adopted in its strictness, no man

would ever know his own present state, but only the

states he had been in, and so could never deal with his

present, but only with his past self. The moment his

attention should be so far called to himself as to inquire

whether he was angry, his anger must cease; and the

REASONS FOR ITS SLOWER PROGRESS.

prophet of old who thought he was angry, and said he did

well to be, was mistaken. In thinking, we know not only

the object of our thought, but ourselves as thinking. The

consciousness is so far complex as to embrace both. So in

the feelings. There is no more difficulty in supposing such

a complexity of the consciousness as to embrace both an

act and a feeling caused by an act, than there is in supposing that the same consciousness can embrace the remei -

brance of an act and the feeling caused by that remembrance.

There is doubtless at this point a real difficulty, but we

think it less formidable than it is made by Chalmers and

others.

To a successful investigation the first requisite is a clear

apprehension of the subject to be investigated as distinguished from everything with which it may be confounded,

or to which it is related. This discrimination in regard to

morals has often failed to be made. This is the second

reason.

Language accommodates itself, after a time, to the exigencies of thought; and when clear discriminations are generally or persistently made, there will be terms to express

them. In the Latin language, the word for conscience and

for consciousness was the same; it is so still in the French,

Italian, and Spanish, and this was formerly true of the

English. But if the moral consciousness were not now

partitioned off, and its phenomena grouped by a word of

its own, we may easily see how difficult it would be to disentangle those phenomena from the mass of other things

covered by the same word; and while the language remained in that state it was scarcely possible that much

progress should be made in the science. But as thought

was concentrated and analysis progressed, that which was

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

consciousness par eminence, the moral consciousness, appropriated the term conscience; and yet no one can now

read even the scientific writers on the subject and not perceive that they still use the term with a wide diversity of

signification.

It was this state of the language, or more properly of

the public mind represented by it, that rendered possible

in the Scotch universities such a state of things as is come

plained of by Chalmers. Hie says: "In the hands of

some of our most celebrated professors, it" (i. e. moral

philosophy) "has been made to -usurp the whole domain

of humanity, insomuch that every emotion which the

heart can feel, and every deed which the hand can perform, have, in every one aspect, whether relating to moral

character or not, come under the cognizance of moral philosophy." He calls the science as there treated "a strange

concretion," "a vast and varied miscellany," which he

wished "to marshal aright into proper and distinct groups."

How this subject has been regarded in England we

may learn from an introductory lecture to a course on

Moral Philosophy delivered in London by Sidney Smith.

"Moral philosophy," he says, "properly speaking, is contrasted to natural philosophy; comprehending everything

spiritual, as that comprehends everything corporeal, and

constituting the most difficult and the most sublime of

those two divisions under which all human knowledge

must be arranged." "In this sense," he proceeds, "Moral

Philosophy is used by Berkley, by Hartley, by Hutcheson,

by Adam Smith, by Howe, by Reid, and by Stewart.

In this sense it is taught in the Scotch universities,

where alone it is taught in this island; and in this sense

it comprehends all the intellectual, active and moral faculties of man; the laws by which they are governed; the

REASONS FOR ITS SLOWER PROGRESS.

limits by which they are controlled, and the means by

which they may be improved." In accordance with this,

we find in his course, lectures on external perception, on

taste, and on wit and humor, while in his whole twentyseven lectures he did not treat of the conscience, or of

right and wrong, at all.

Such a blending of departments, all covered by one

name, in a single professorship, could not be favorable to

accurate analysis. There were reasons for it. Mental and

moral science are nearly related; but all knowledge is

related to all other knowledge at some points, and it would

be scarcely more incongruous to assign geography to the

astronomer because the earth is one of the planets, than

to group external perception and the knowledge of duty

under the same science because they both belong to the

mind.

A third cause of the slower progress of moral science

is its greater complexity.

All science supposes uniformity in the phenomena, and

so, in their cause or law, which is what science seeks. If

there be no cause acting uniformly, and tending to entire

uniformity of results, there is no basis for science. But

with such a cause, the complexity will be in proportion to

the number of disturbing forces that may come in between

it and the phenomena as seen by us. In astronomy these

disturbing causes are comparatively few. Gravitation

towards the sun only, would cause the planets to move

in a perfect ellipse. But none of them do thus move, and

it is obvious that disturbing forces might be multiplied so

as to render a science of the stars, or at least any other

than a hypothetical one, impossible. Here lies the obstacle

to a science of the winds. There is doubtless uniformity

of causation, but the phenomena, as known to us, are so

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

modified that we cannot trace each one back to its cause,

or predict the future. So of human conduct. Men are

themselves unlike, and in endless variety. Motives are

complex. The effects of education, of social position, of

political institutions and of climate, are to be estimated;

and even though all the actions of men might be referred

to one principle, it would be impossible to trace them to

it, or to predict with certainty the course of any one individual under its guidance.

When we look, then, at this greater complexity and

remember that the study of processes within us, mental

and moral, is connected with no such pleasure as observation by the senses, and can have no such aid from others,

we find a reason of no little weight for the slower progress

of this science.

A fourth reason is to be found in the fact, which we

should not have anticipated, that the nearer we come to

that in our being which is most intimate and central,

which is our very self, the more difficult observation

and analysis become.

As early, certainly, as the time of Cicero, the mind was

compared to the eye, because that sees other things but

not itself. The power of making itself an object to itself

belongs to the mind of man as he is distinguished from

the brutes; it is the last power that is developed, and in

most men is scarcely developed at all. But where this

power is developed it begins with those phenomena which

are most outward and least essential. Hence, not only in

matter, but in mind, completed science will probably travel

from that which is more remote, or more outward, to that

which is nearer, or more inward.

It is now generally conceded that there are two kinds

of knowledge, or cognitions, - one which we gain of,

REASONS FOR ITS SLOWER PROGRESS.

and from, the external world through the senses; and the

other that which springs from the mind itself after its

powers have been waked into consciousness. It is not

supposed that there are innate ideas, but that the mind

has fixed capacities by which, in connection with the exercise of consciousness, it necessarily and universally forms

certain ideas and affirms certain truths. These ideas and

truths, if such there are, must be more intimate to us than

any other part of our mental furniture; but it is precisely

respecting these, and the field which they claim, that the

most subtle and difficult of all the problems in philosophy

have arisen. That we have ideas through the senses no

one has ever doubted, and they are readily classified and

their characteristics given; but nothing could more strikingly illustrate my present point than the fact that the

very existence of any such truths and ideas as those just

mentioned has been doubted, and still is. The reception

or rejection of these cognitions as elements of philosophy

has been the dividing line between its different schools

from Plato down. Probably the preponderance in numbers has been against them, and even now they are rejected by such men as Comte and Mill.

As we should anticipate firom the fact just stated, the

advocates of these cognitions have failed to give their

characteristics, and thus to bring them out into distinct

consciousness. Before Leibnitz, no one had ever mentioned their two great characteristics, - necessity and Universality, -and it was not till the time of Kant that

these were at all signalized and properly applied. Meantime, there was no uniform and accepted designation

either for the cognitions, or the faculty in which they originated. The faculty was called "intuition," and the "dry

light of the mind," and "common sense," and "the

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

reason," and by Hamilton it is called "the regulative faculty," while the names for the cognitions themselves were

still more numerous.

But remarkable as all this is, it is still more so that no

one has even claimed to explore all the recesses and sound

the depths of this faculty. Some ideas, as those of existence, identity, and space, are recognized by all of this

general school as given by it, but no one has claimed to

make an accurate and full statement of these native, necessary, and universal cognitions. They have lain, and still

lie, like a nebula in the depths of the heavens, which no

instrument has as yet been able fully to resolve.

Among and concerning these it has been that the great

battle with skepticism - that is, philosophical skepticismhas been fought. Hume denied their validity. Their

legitimacy and place was not recognized in formal logic,

then the test of truth, and the mass of philosophers were

in the unfortunate position of holding to principles clearly

involving consequences which they could not accept.

Skepticism had thus an apparent triumph. Meantime,

Reid began groping about in this region, and found the

means, as he and others thought, of bridging the chasm of

inconsistency dug by the skeptics; but so great was the

want of precise terms, and so subtle the elements he dealt

with, that even the acute Brown not only did not comprehend him, but imputed to him opinions the very reverse

of those he held. In such a state of terms and ideas, men

are like Indians fighting in a thicket. It is not easy to

find and dislodge your adversary; and when you do, he

can easily gain another place of concealment, and deny

that he has been dislodged at all. If a clearexposition of

these truths of reason, or native cognitions, or first truths,

or maxims of common sense, or fundamental laws of be

REASONS FOR ITS SLOWER PROGRESS.

lief, or whatever we may choose to call them, could have

been made before the time of Hume, he would probably

never have been heard of as a philosophical skeptic. The

mind of Hume had in perfection the acuteness of the

skeptic, which enabled him to see defects, and so to

destroy, but had not the comprehensiveness needed for

construction.

But to take a plainer case. What can be more intimate

to a man, or more perfectly known, than that of which he

is conscious? If a man cannot know what he is conscious

of, it would seem that he cannot know anything; and yet

the whole question, between Reid and Hamilton on the one

side, and the great mass of philosophers on the other, respects simply the fact whether there is or is not given in an

act of consciousness, both a subject and an object that are

not, in the last analysis, identical. What consciousness testifies to must be accepted. This all allow. Not to do it

would be suicidal even to the skeptic; for he would have

no ground for affirming that he doubted. The only ques- ~

tion is, what it is that consciousness gives. If we say that

it does thus give both the subject and the object, that sim

ple affirmation sweeps away in a moment the whole basis

of the ideal and skeptical philosophy. It becomes as the

spear of Ithuriel, and its simple touch will change what

seemed whole continents of solid speculation into mere

banks of German fog. If we say that the subject and

object are not both given, we are then left to find as we

may a solid basis for our belief in the existence of an

external world. But however we may decide it, the fact

that thie great philosophical dispute of the day would be

settled at once by a precise statement of what is given in

the consciousness of every man, shows clearly that our

investigations become more difficult as we approach the

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

centre of our being. It shows, too, how far apart, on

subjects like these, men may be in their statements, whose

belief is really the same; for the consciousness is really the

same in all, and is accepted by all.

What has now been said relates indeed to the intellect;

but the moral nature is not less central, and presents, to

say the least, equal difficulties on this ground.

In connection with the above, it may be well to notice

a peculiarity of all advances and discoveries made in this

direction, as they are related to the mass of men who are

not philosophers. It is, that the more profound and difficult the discoveries are, the more they will seem, when

clearly announced, to be a matter of course, and no discoveries at all. Though few men are able to state what is

really contained and implied in their own consciousness,

yet, when it is stated by another, there can be in it nothing

strange to them; they recognize it and say, "Yes," "Certainly," and it seems to them they could have made the

same statement. The continent is discovered, the egg is

set on end, and nothing could have been easier.

A fourth reason, which has been implied already, and

which has operated both as cause and effect, has been

the want of definite terms. Science requires that terms

should be used uniformly in the same sense, and that they

should convey the same impression to all who use them.

This can be done perfectly only in mathematics, may be

approximated in dealing with objects of sense, but is most

difficult in all that pertains to mental and moral science.

In these the terms are borrowed from material objects, and

so can be applied only figuratively; and then in applying

them there is a difficulty that does not belong to physics.

When I point a child to a particular star and say, "That is

Jupiter," I am sure that we both see the same object; and

REASONS FOR ITS SLOWER PROGRESS.

when speaking of it thereafter, we cannot fail of understanding each other. But when I speak to him of "the

reason," as distinguished from "the understanding," or of

"first truths of reason," as distinguished from "empirical

knowledge," or of conscience, I speak to him of what is in

my own mind, and he must respond respecting what is in

his mind. But differing as we do in age, constitution, and

education, we can never be sure that our impressions are

alike. "What," said a master to his mail who had refused

to do his bidding on the ground of conscience, -" what do

you mean by conscience?" "It is," said he, "something

in here that says, I won't." In the opinion of Paley, if

conscience be anything original and native to the mind, it

cannot be distinguished from prejudices and habits. Some

think it simply the power of moral discrimination; others

add an emotive element to reward and punish, and others

still an impulsive power. Some regard it as the voice of

God, and nearly or quite infallible; others as simply a form

of judgment, like any other, and equally liable to error.

Hlere the same word is used; and so it is, only with a difference of meaning somewhat wider, when we speak of a

sign of a tavern, and of a sign of the zodiac; and till there

is agreement in the meaning of the term, no progress can

be made in discussion.

Hiow, then, shall we be freed from this difficulty? Who

shall have the right to say what the term conscience shall

include? No one. But as thought is concentrated, as it

will be, more and more upon man himself, the facts of his

moral nature will come into more distinct consciousness,

and the discriminations thus made will demand the narrowing down of old terms, or the invention of new ones,

and these will gradually become definite and generally accepted. When terms are thus gained, they will react upon

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

thought, as instruments invented react upon the inventive

power; for language is not only a product, but an instrument of thought.

This process is going on, slowly but satisfactorily, in

moral, and particularly in mental science. In the latter,

the old classification of the faculties was into those of the

understanding and the will. This sufficed till further examination showed that all the facts could not be ranged

under these. We not only think and will, we also feel;

and accordingly, after long discussion and some aid from

abroad, the threefold division of the faculties into those

of Thought, of Feeling, and of Action, is almost universally

accepted. Under each of these a distinct science, or, if

you please, department, is formed, in which a similar process must go on. In that of thought, or, as he terms it,

of cognition, Sir William Hamilton has introduced new

terms and classifications, some of which will doubtless be

adopted. The same will be done in the other departments, till the whole shall assume all the definiteness and

completeness of which the science, from its nature, is

capable.

This difficulty from a want of terms, and of uniformity

in their usage, has been felt from the first, and will be

appreciated the more as the subject is more studied. It is

one concerning which it is easy to give precepts, but difficult to follow them. Of this difficulty no one has been

more fully aware than Locke. iHe wrote largely upon it,

and gave wise precepts; and yet used the word idea so

loosely that on the great subject of the origin of knowledge it is still uncertain what he really believed. On the

Continent he was so interpreted as to be made the father

of materialism. Many of the English admitted of no such

interpretation, and both parties sustained themselves by

REASONS FOR ITS SLOWER PROGRESS.

adequate quotations. On this subject I make no promises.

The next, and the last consideration I shall adduce to

account for the slower progress of moral science, is the

failure of men in practical virtue.

That there has.been such failure no one will deny; and

it has operated in various ways. When a science, as formerly that of war, is regarded as at the basis of the great

business of life, it will be studied. Attention will be concentrated upon it, and it will be carried to the greatest

possible perfection. But let the subject be one for which,

while every one acknowledges its importance, few have

any practical regard; let it be thought of as something

which will do for the closet and the schools, but not for

practical life; let there be a general impression that its

maxims are repeated in a perfunctory way, as a cover to

the real principles of action, and any earnest or general

study of the science is impossible. Theories there may be.

They are needed for conversation and the Reviews; but

only as there is a real, heartfelt, practical interest in virtue,

can there be a genuine struggle for the truth as vital. The

general failure of men in practical virtue has created an

atmosphere unfavorable to an earnest search after the

truth in morals. The set of the current in society has

been against it.

Again, under this head, in proportion as men are vicious,

not only will they lack interest in the science, but they

become disqualified for its pursuit.

This is in accordance with the laws of all the faculties.

The faculties are strengthened by exercise; they can be

strengthened in no other way; and they are exercised rightly only by doing just the work which God intended they

should do. The moral powers, as a whole, can be so exer

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

cised as to improve them only as duty is accepteed and practically performed. Therefore we say that the man whose

moral faculties have been dwarfed by disuse, or perverted

by abuse, would not be well qualified to investigate the

science of morals. The phenomena, it is to be remembered, are those of mind. While there is, therefore, in all

a common basis for the science, yet both the seeing eye

and the thing seen may be modified by custom and habits.

If there be little moral culture, the moral phenomena will

either be obscure, or will consist in a decided wickedness

which is blinding and hardening, while, at the same time,

the power of moral discrimination will be diminished. It

may be said that it is the intellect that constructs science.

But it must construct it out of the materials given, which

will be different in a vicious mind; and it must also have

clearness and power in the particular field in which it

works. But no fact can be better established than that

wickedness, in every form and degree, not only blunts the

moral feelings, but weakens the power of moral discrimination. A perfect mental science would require, first, the

normal action of the faculties to give the phenomena, and

then an accurate observation of those phenomena. A perfect moral science would require the normal action of the

moral powers, either in ourselves or another, and an accurate observation of the results; but by the prevalence of

vice the facts are both distorted and obscured.

What has now been said of morals is equally applicable

to taste. A man whose sense of beauty should be either

uncultivated or perverted would be the less capable of

apprehending and presenting perfectly the science of esthetics. But there is in morals a special difficulty. A

vicious man is strongly tempted either to deceive or to

bribe his conscience, and can hardly be expected to judge

PROGRESS MUST BE SLOW.

fairly of any system that would either justify or condemn

himself. In all moral and religious truth there is this difficulty. It is not that we have lost the power to judge, but

that we will not use it. It is the old difficulty of the influence of the desires and affections and of our supposed

interest on our judgment. We all know how passion and

interest pervert the judgment, and what discordant opinions there are wherever men are under their influence.

If; therefore, there had been no incapacity from vice,

and no wrong bias, or passion, or want of candor, we cannot but suppose that moral science would have been much

more advanced than it now is.

In thus answering the natural inquiry respecting the

relative progress of these sciences, I have desired also to

do something in the way of caution and guidance for ourselves. What has been is now, and will continue to be.

The same obstacles that have been encountered by others

we shall encounter; and sown of them are such that if we

are forewarned we may be forearmed against them.

Against the first difficulty mentioned we can do nothing

directly; but it is a satisfaction, and may be of some aid,

to know the precise'mode in which our observations are

to be made. But we may gain definite views of the

sphere and objects of the science; we may seek to simplify it; we may make independent search into the depths

of our own consciousness; we may be careful in the use

of words, conforming at least to our own definitions; and,

above all, we may either enter upon, or become more earnest in, a course of practical virtue, and so both prevent

the imbecility of vice, and disperse the blinding mists that

always arise from a corrupt heart.

The difficulties just considered are such as to preclude

the hope of any great and sudden advance in this science

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

-of any, at least, which shall be at once recognized and

incorporated into the public mind. Even if completed in

thought and expression by one man,-if it should have

its Newton, -yet its full acceptance by the public mind

and assimilation with it would necessarily be slow. In

astronomy, the true system was opposed to the popular

conceptions and forms of speech, and more than one generation was required for it to permeate the masses and

thoroughly control the habits of thought. But in that

the proofs were open to popular apprehension, and, for

the most part, there were no desires and passions to obstruct conviction. But of all the changes in society, none

are so slow as those which are conditioned upon changes

in language and character. Even Christianity itself, with

its wonderful evidence and its divine power, is far from

having taken full possession of the public mind in any

community, and simply because it had these obstacles to

encounter. But, as we h-aveaseen, perfection in moral science, to say nothing of other obstacles, can be reached

only through changes both in language and in character.

If terms absolutely new would not be demanded, yet some,

like the heathen words for God, would require to be expanded and ennobled, while others would require to have

their elasticity and capacity reduced; and then, the delicacy of moral feeling and accuracy of perception to be

attained only through virtuous habits, would be indispensable.

It follows firom this that, in our cultivation of this field,

we are not to be disappointed if we see no immediate or

startling results. The clianges to be anticipated are like

those of geology ill the formation of strata, - sometimes

more and sometimes less rapid, but always relatively slow.

But since the progress of the science is so slow, and its

TWO CLASSES OF SCIENCES.

completion has been so long delayed it may be asked

whether it is of any use. Are there not, it may be inquired, in our nature practical principles, which do and

will control the course of human affairs with something

like the certainty of instinct, and quite independent of

scientific speculation? Within the memory of many this

question has been put respecting various branches of physical science. It would not be put now. But respecting

metaphysical and moral science there are those who put it

with sincerity and earnestness.

On this point, and as they are related to practical arts,

there are two classes of sciences. In the one the science

is wholly at the basis of the art, and is requisite to its

results in any degree. The art of photography could not

have been without chemistry, nor surgery without anatomy, nor the art of protecting buildings from lightning

without the science of electricity. In such cases, and they

are numerous, the science is first, and the practical results

follow. The processes start fiom the sciences. In these

cases no one questions the utility of science. In the other

class the practical results are first and the sciences follow.

The sciences start from the processes, which they simply

recapitulate. Here science consists in the statement of

the properties, the relations in space, and the successions

in time of those things which our will cannot reach, or, if

it can, cannot improve. Science may predict the place of

a star; but the color of its light or the rapidity of its

motion it cannot affect. God gives light and the eye, and

we see; but we see no better after knowing the structure

of the eye and the science of optics than before. Here

the result is first, as perfect as it can be made, and the

science- is just a statement of the process by which the

result was reached. It is in this class that the science of

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the mind belongs. Like the eye, its faculties are given,

and act by their own law without reference to science,

which can merely trace back and state such results as are

common to all minds. It is solely with reference to these

sciences that the question arises.

To this question, What is the use? there are two replies. The first is, that, even in the sense of the word as

used by the objector, these sciences are of use. The processes may be perfect; we may not be able to affect the

results, and yet the sciences may be of use indirectly.

We cannot change the number or movements of Jupiter's

satellites; but by means of their eclipses we can calculate

the longitude. Entomology will not enable us to change

the structure or habits of an insect; but it may suggest

a mode of saving our trees. The laws of the winds are

not subject to our control; but by a knowledge of them

we may shorten our voyage.

Again, this class of sciences becomes greatly useful

when the structures and processes of nature become deranged. When the eyes become flattened by age, science

can remedy the defect, and when

"A drop serene hath quenched their orb,

Or dim suffusion veiled,"

it is by science alone that it can be removed. And so it is

in most cases of displacement and derangement in the

physical system. The science of anatomy, which is almost

wholly at the basis of the art of surgery, would be of no

practical use if nothing ever went wrong in the body.

A second reply to the objection urged is, that while we

do not repudiate the conception of utility involved in

what has just been said, we yet do not need it for the

vindication of these sciences. We are capable of an inter

USE OF STUDYING THE SCIENCE.

est in science for its own sake, which shows that we have

an affinity with higher natures, and that the whole domain

of the universe will finally be ours. The pleasure felt by

the great discoverers of scientific truths is among the purest and most unselfish that can belong to man. It gives

them a thought of God which they utter to the race, and

it becomes a fountain of joy to millions. So it has been in

astronomy. Every time the thought of God, as uttered by

Newton, has been apprehended for the first time by any

mind, there has been a commencement anew of.the revolutions of the heavens, and the morning stars have sung

together. And so would it be if the mighty forces and

bright order that are without and afar could be seen to be,

as they are, but a type and reflection of the forces and

order within. Then would the great thought of God, not

merely of a physical order in one department, but in all

departments; and not of a physical order merely, but of

one which should correspond in his one universe to a

spiritual and moral order still more glorious, stand fully

revealed, and should be a light and a joy forever.

I have only to add, that our opinions of the laws and

processes of our being may be so held as to affect those

processes scarcely at all, and hence that the practical

results of man's opinions on these points are often less

beneficent and less mischievous than would naturally be

supposed. In our minds, no less than in external nature,

the forces are what they are, irrespective of any opinion of

ours, and will act, and no theory has any direct tendency

to eradicate or diminish them. In the man who believes

in disinterested benevolence, the desires and passions and

selfish forces may still have the ascendency, while he who

holds to the selfish theory may be often moved by the natural impulses of benevolence and sympathy. So it is that

. 37

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

the selfish theory of morals, so long inculcated, has not

wholly corrupted society; so it is that men are often better

and worse than their theories; so it is that God holds

in check the evils that would naturally flow from the errors

of men.

LECTURE II.

THREE QUESTIONS.-THE CONSIDERATION OF ANDS.-AN END ATTAINED

IN THREE WAYS.-ENDS SUBORDINATE, ULTIMATE, AND SUPREME.-AN

END INVOLVES A GOOD.- THE NATURE OF GOOD AS FROM ACTIVITY. THE GREATEST GOOD.

THE difficulties mentioned in the last lecture as obstructing the progress of moral science would also render it less

desirable as a subject for a course of popular lectures.

But with those difficulties it has two decided advantages.

The first is, that it appeals directly to the consciousness

of the hearer. - No learning is needed; no science, no apparatus, no information from distant countries. "It is

nigh thee, even in thy heart." Some familiarity with

terms may be required; but there is that in every man

which may, and ought to make him a competent judge of

all questions pertaining to this science. Let a lecturer but

state the facts simply and truly, thus interpreting every

man's consciousness to himself, and he may hope to carry

his audience with him. Thus to state the facts will be my

endeavor.

The second advantage is, that the questions involved are

among the deepest and most vital that belong to our

nature.

We proceed, then, to our subject, and begin with facts.

That men regard some actions with approbation, and

others with disapprobation, is a fact, just as it is a fact that

they regard some portions of matter as hard, and others as

soft. Of those actions which they approve, they say that

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

they ought to be done; of those which they disapprove,

they say that they ought not to be done.

In these facts we have our subject. Moral philosophy

respects the character and conduct of men only as there

are acts which they ought, or ought not to do. Wherever

the word ought, indicating duty, can go, there is its domain; and the point beyond which that cannot go fixes

its limit. Whoever can answer, in all cases, these three

questions, 1st. WVhat ought to be done? 2d. WhFy ought

it to be done? and, 3d. Iow ought it to be done? has

mastered the science of morals.

In answering these questions we may seek aid in various

directions. I propose to inquire, at present, what aid we

may derive from a consideration of ends as they stand

related to all rational and moral action.

In acting morally, man also acts rationally; but it is the

characteristic of rational action that it involves the conception of an end. Except in the apprehension of an end,

there is nothing that a rational being can do, or that a

moral being ought to do.

This relation of an end to all rational action may be

seen if we observe what occurs in the production, study,

and use of works produced by design.

In these the designer first conceives of the end, and then

of the thing designed with reference to that. It is, therefore, the end in view that controls the structure.

In studying a work produced by design, we may first

gain a conception of the structure, and pass from that to

the end; but our interest in the study of the structure is

from its apprehended relation to an end; and we are

never satisfied with a knowledge of structure without that

of the end.

The perfection of a work of design must consist in its

THE CONSIDERATION OF ENDS.

adaptation to attain its proposed end; and all use of it

except for this end must be either inappropriate or wrong.

Hlence, a conception of the end must control not only the

structure, but the use.

If the relation between the structure and the end be at

once perceived, there will be no need of rules. If not,

rules may be needed. These must grow out of the relation of the structure to its end, and will always express

some mode in which the structure must be used to attain

the end.

What is true of rules is true also of laws. These have

often been confounded, but are essentially different. A

law is imperative; a rule is not. A law has sanctions; a

rule has not. A law tells us what to do; a rule, how to do

it. A command to put forth continuous action directly, and

without the use of means, as to love God, would be a law,

but not a rule, and no rule could be given by which we

could do it. But though there are laws which cannot become rules, yet rules may become laws when the observance of them is commanded, and enforced by a penalty.

While, therefore, a rule prescribes a course of action that

would lead to an end, a law may prescribe one that is itself

an end. But even then, as a rule derives its value from its

relation to an end, so must a law derive its value from

what it is regarded as an end.

Again, regarding man as a moral being, if no end valuable in itself be supposed, it will be found impossible to

conceive of him as under obligation to act in any particular way. For the very conception of obligation that of an

end is a condition.

We see, therefore, that in all rational action the central

c6nceptio is that of an end. In works of design it controls the sructure in the mind of the designer; it is essen 4#

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

tial to a right understanding of the structure by him who

would study it; it is in its relation to this that the structure

has its perfection and appropriate use; and from this that

the value of all rules and laws for, and in its use arises.

Of whatever can be comprehended and used, even of man

himself, all this may be affirmed.

Let us, then, apply these principles to man.

As man was made by a wise and good being, he must

have been made for some end, and the conception of this

end must have controlled the formation and adjustment of

every part of his complex structure.

From the study of this structure we may gain some

knowledge of its end. Aside from revelation, this is our

only knowledge on this point. Nor is the amount of

knowledge to be thus gained small. Of some parts of the

body, as the hands, the feet, the eyes, the teeth, the end is

revealed at once in the structure. It is this knowledge

of structure as related to use that gives comprehension.

Only in the light of it can we have complacency in the

structure when right, or the power to correct it when

wrong. In the same way the faculties of the mind, in

their relation to each other, reveal their end, and thus the

law of their use. An intelligent being whose end should

not be revealed in itself would be an absurdity. If the

end were not revealed to itself, it would be lost. It is the

possibility and measure of such knowledge that determines

the possibility and measure of any philosophy of man.

The perfection of man, viewed merely as a product of

divine power, must consist in his adaptation and capacity

to attain the end for which he was made.

That, and that only, is the right use of the faculties of

man, - of all his susceptibilities and powers of agency,by which they attain the end for which they mere made.

AN END ATTAINED IN THIREE WAYS.

If man could see the end for which he was made as God

sees it, and dispose himself perfectly for its attainment, he

would be in harmony with God; his faculties would work

in harmony with each other, and he would do all that he

ought to do.

Laws and rules for the conduct of man, whether confessedly human, or claiming to be divine, are valid only

as they are based on a true perception of the relation

between the human constitution and its proper end. If

a course of conduct, prescribed by what claims to be law,

could be shown to be opposed to the attainment of the

end for which man was made, it would not be right to

pursue it. The will of God is revealed in the end, and he

cannot contradict himself.

In the following discussions the word end, as applied to

man, will be of frequent use, and, to avoid ambiguity, it

may be well to say that the idea it involves is complex.

As intelligent and responsible, the end of man is to choose

something; as an agent, it is to do something; as capable

of enjoyment, it is to enjoy something; and as a creature

made by God, his end is to be that which will enable him

to do and to enjoy all that God intended he should. He

is to be something, to choose and do something, and to

enjoy something; and his whole end will be, to be what

God intended he should be, to choose and do what He

intended he should choose and do, and to enjoy what He

intended he should enjoy. He who should fail in any of

these would fail of attaining his whole end; and if the

word should at any time seem to refer particularly to one

of these elements, it will not be to the intentional exclusion of the others.

An end may be attained in three ways. And,1st. It may be attained by instinct. Here the agent

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

has no knowledge or rational comprehension of the end,

but is guided by a blind impulse.

2d. An end may be attained by obeying a rule implicitly. Here there may, or there may not be a conception

of the specific end, but the connection between the means

and the end is never seen. In this way children are governed. Here the principle is not instinct, but faith. They

follow the rule, that is, they do as they would if they understood the connection between the means and the end,

and so receive the same benefit. To a finite being faith is

a necessary principle of action, and becomes practical wisdom when there is a rational ground of confidence in the

word of another because it is his word,-or of implicit obedience to his commands.

3d. An end may be attained understandingly and rationally. The structure may be known, now regarded simply

as a means; the end may be known; and there may also be

a clear perception of the mode in which the structure must

be used to attain the end. In this mode of action man

would not act from law, but from a knowledge of the

reasons of the law. He would be wholly a philosopher.

Viewing the end as God views it; voluntarily choosing

this end; applying all his powers as they were intended

for its attainment, he would do all that he ought to do,

would have the approbation of God, the approbation of

his own conscience, and the sanction of reason.

But if, in thus attaining the end for which he was made,

man would, as has just been said, do all that he ought to

do, then have we answered, in a general way, one of the

questions mentioned above. Would he thus do all that he

ought to do? If we say yes, then Moral Philosophy will

be the science which teaches man the end for which he was

made, why he should attain that end, and how to attain it.

44,

MORAL SCIENCE AND CHRISTIANITY.

To the above definition it may be objected, that it includes theology and religion. It does so only so far as to

justify a consideration of our duties towards God, and

that is found in all treatises on morals. Moral philosophy

differs from theology in taking for granted the being and

attributes of God; and religion differs from morality because it includes all our duties towards men as commanded

by God; and also because it implies an order of faculties,

and a class of duties, as those of worship, of which mere

morality could know nothing. Still, the science of duty,

of obligation, must be one. No satisfactory account of the

moral nature of man and of its full sphere can be given

on any other supposition. We may, if we choose, divide

our duties into those towards God, and those towards

man; but moral science must go wherever the word ought

can be applied.

But if not faulty on this ground, the definition has an

advantage in regard to Christianity. We are able, in the

light of it, to state precisely, which has not always been

done, the relation between Christianity, as a remedial

system, and moral philosophy. This is entirely different

from that of natural religion. It is that of medicine to

physiology. Physiology can know nothing of medicine

except as it would restore the system to health; and

moral philosophy, if we accept the above definition, can

recognize as obligatory no precept peculiar to Christianity, except as it can be shown to be necessary, in our

present state, to the attainment of the end for which man

was made. Let this be shown of any such precept, and its

obligation will not only be recognized, but it will be an evidence that the religion is from God; and a demonstrated

capacity in the religion to bring man fully to his end

would be a demonstration of its truth. From the consti

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

tution of man moral philosophy would find his end. In

the end it would find revealed the will of God, and in the

relation between the constitution in its various parts and

its end would find revealed the law of God, and those

rules in accordance with which his faculties must act for

the attainment of the end. Christianity, on the other

hand, is wholly remedial. It supposes man to have broken

law, and it harmonizes with moral philosophy and can be

accepted by it only as it can attain for man his original

end, -or, it may be, something better, though of that

moral philosophy could know nothing.

Shall we, then, accept the above definitions? Let us do

so, so far, at least, as to make further explorations in this

direction. The definition speaks of an end; but ends are

of different kinds, and these we shall need to consider.

An end may be subordinate, ultimate, or supreme.

A subordinate end is one chosen for the sake of some

end beyond itself Thus books are chosen for the sake of

knowledge, and the implements of husbandry for the sake

of a crop. A subordinate end, regarded by itself, is not

necessarily-a good. It may be the reverse.

An ultimate end is one that is chosen for its own sake,

and without reference to anything beyond. It must be

some form of good. The enjoyment there is in viewing a

beautiful prospect is valuable for its own sake, and is the

ultimate end in making the ascent whence the prospect

may be seen.

An ultimate end, it is to be noticed, is always the result

of action, and never the action itself. It never lies proximate to the volition, and so cannot be the immediate

object in any act of volition, and is never commanded.

The formula Is —" do this and live." It is the thing to be

done that is commanded, and that is to be willed; the

VOLITION AND AN ULTIMATE END.

living is the result, and the ultimate end. So it is in everything. Eat the peach, -and enjoy it; take the remedy,and get well; ascend the mountain, turn your eyes upon

the prospect, - and enjoy it. The ascent and the turning

of the eyes are the immediate result of volition the enjoyment is not willed, but comes of its own accord as a result

of the constitution of the perceptive powers and the landscape in their relation to each other. It is here as in the

machinery which man constructs. He may build a mill,

supply it with wheat, set it in motion, and to all these

volition is in immediate relation. But the ultimate end

of the mill is the flour, and that is ground by the mill.

To that the will, as an executive act, is not proximate.

Hence, ultimate ends, those ultimate for man, have no

exchangeable value. They cannot be bought and sold,

and in this sense are worth nothing. As the brain has no

sensibility itself, but is the condition and fountain of sensibility for all other parts, so these, having no exchangeable

value, are the condition and ground of all such value.

Hence, after having chosen an ultimate end, an act, not of

volition, but of choice, we are always to understand what

it is that lies proximate tothat, and to attain that must be

the object of all immediate volitions and efforts. And

hence, again, in accordance with our present scheme of

thought, virtue will consist in the choice of the right end,

followed, of course, if the choice be thoroughgoing, by the

willing of that state or mode of activity which is believed

to be proximate to that. That state is always proximate

to the will; no means are required, and so a failure to be

virtuous admits of no excuse.

This relation of volition to an ultimate end has not generally been stated with sufficient distinctness, and the

result has been a constant puzzle. It is generally said that

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

all men seek happiness, and yet no man ever made it the

direct object of volition. No man can. That God holds

in his own power. It is his immediate gift through that

constitution and relation of things which he has established. We will that which he has made the antecedent

and condition of happiness, and he gives the happiness.

We say "open sesame," and the gate opens of its own

accord. This is what men mean when they say they will

do their duty and leave the event with God.

But besides an ultimate, there is also a supreme or chief

end. A supreme end is also ultimate; but is that to which,

in any possible conflict of ultimate ends, all others must be

subordinated. Ultimate ends often, and necessarily, conflict with each other. The pleasure firom each sense is

ultimate; but it may be necessary to choose between that

of music through the ear and that of beauty through the

eye. In such cases we may indulge our preference; but no

end may be chosen as ultimate when it would conflict with

that which is supreme.

Any ultimate end may be adopted as supreme; but the

wisdom of man consists in choosing that intended by God,

which can be but one, and in giving to each of those

thus made secondary its proper place.

The choice of this supreme end is the highest act of a

rational being, and involves the activity of all his rational

and moral powers. It is the characteristic of a rational

action that it involves the conception of an end, and of a

moral action that it involves the preference of an end.

And as we regard a moral being as virtuous or vicious

according to' the end chosen, so do we regard a rational

being as wise or foolish on the same ground. Wisdom and

folly chiefly respect the ends which men pursue, rather than

the means by which they pursue them. Here, then, we

A GOOD.

find a point at which the rational and moral natures coa lesce.

But to be more particular. What the supreme end of

man, as fixed by God, must be, will be determined by what

he is in himself, and as related to other beings. The con ception and choice of such an end will therefore imply a

knowledge, implicit or formal, of himself, and of those

beings and relations through which alone the end can be

realized. This is the highest of all knowledge. There is

in it the rFOt aeav6p * of the ancients, and something

more.

In the conception of an end there is also involved that

of some good. This cannot come from the intellect alone.

There must be the activity of the emotive nature, - of that

through which we enjoy, as well as of that through which

we apprehend. But the recognition of a good through the

intellectual and emotive nature acting conjointly, does not

make it an end, much less a supreme end. To become

such it must be chosen. This involves the moral nature,

since the character of every man is determined by the end

he chooses. But, further, that a good should become a

supreme end implies that the will shall at once put forth

determinate acts for its attainment. Thus the conception

of a supreme end involves that of the action of the intellectual, the emotional, the moral, and the executive powers,

that is, of the whole personality,- of the man in his unity.

An end, as has been said, involves some form of good.

We next inquire, then, what is a good?

A good must be either some form of enjoyment, satisfaction, blessedness; or that which is the occasion, cause, or

ground of such enjoyment.

There are many objects without us so related to our

organs and faculties that enjoyment is the result of their

5 * Know thyself.

LECTURES ON I MORAL SCIENCE.

reciprocal action. Thus light acts upon the eye, and is

the condition of seeing. HIere we have the eye, the light,

and the product of their joint action, that is, seeing. A

peach eaten acts upon the palate, and is the condition

of a pleasant taste. IHere we have the palate, the peach,

and the result. Are, then, the light and the peach a good?

As conditional for these results, they are good, but not a

good. When we apply the term good, we mean either to

indicate that which is good in itself, or we have reference

to an end, so that the question may be asked, Good for

what? and if that question can be answered by indicating

any use of the thing for an end beyond itself, then it cannot be, so far forth, a good, nor can it be any part of a

supreme good. But all outward objects, and all possessions, sometimes called goods, have a use beyond themselves. If they were never to contribute to comfort,

enjoyment, or utility in any way, they would be goodfor nothing. It would seem self-evident that light never

seen, the sapid quality of the peach never tasted, would

not be a good.

We seem, then, driven, in our search for a good, to living, sensitive, conscious beings, whose faculties are in

action. If there were no consciousness in the universe,

there would be no good. But if found here, good must

be either in some state of the being that is back of the

activity; or in the activity itself; or in the results of the

activity.

Let us illustrate this. Health is commonly regarded as

a good. Doubtless, there is a state of the materials composing the body that is conditional for health, and is back

of their activity. Bat of that we know, and can know,

nothing. As known by us, health is that state of the

body in which each part accomplishes perfectly its end.

GOOD ONLY IN CONSCIOUSNESS.

When the teeth masticate, and the stomach digests, and

the liver secretes, and the blood circulates perfectly, and

every other organ and portion of the body performs perfectly its part, there is health. This state, however, is

itself a form of activity, since a cessation of activity would

be death. As a result of this perfect performance of its

office by each part there is power, and a state of conscious

well-being, in which a person is said to enjoy himself.

Here it must be conceded that the whole worth both of

the state and of the activity, if we choose to distinguish

them, is from their results. If there were from them no

power and no enjoyment, they would be good for nothing. Hiere, what we have to do, and all we have to do, is

to secure that form of activity which we call health. The

results follow by the constitution of God. All that was

said respecting an ultimate end as not lying approximate

to volition applies perfectly here.

And so it is in mind. There may be a state of mind

back of activity, and so back of consciousness, that is good

as related to results; but without those results appearing

in consciousness it cannot be a good. If conceivable at

all in such a state, which I think it is not, mind could

never be known as mind, and, never emerging from it,

would not rise above the dignity of matter.

As there is, then, no good without consciousness, which

involves activity, it would seem that the good must be

found either in the activity itself, or in its results.

But activity in itself cannot be a good. If it had no

results it would be good for nothing, and those results may

be evil and wretchedness, as well as blessing.

We turn, then, in this search, to the results in consciousness, of activity. We are so constituted that any form of

normal activity, physical or mental, produces satisfaction,

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

enjoyment, blessedness, according to the faculties that act.

Of these the conception is simple and undefinable except

by synonymous terms. They are that in which we rest, in

which we are so satisfied that, within a given sphere, we

look for nothing beyond. From our activity as excited in

taste, by odors, by music, in admiration of beauty, in love,

there may be a satisfaction which shall be the measure of

our capacity in that direction. This all concede to be a

good. We say, then, that in the satisfaction attached by

God to the normal activity of our powers, we find a good,

an end that is wholly for its own sake. We say, too, that

it is only in, and from such activity that we can have the

notion of any satisfaction, enjoyment, blessedness, either

for ourselves or others; and that that form and proportion

of activity which would result in our perfect blessedness

would be right.

Such a form of activity will be to the mind what health

is to the body, and in the maintenance of that will be

found the highest duty and the highest good of man,

his wisdom and his virtue. From it must result to others

all the good he is capable of doing; and to himself all he is

capable of enjoying. Here, as in health, what man has to

do, is to maintain the activity, and God gives the result.

It will appear, from what has been said, that there may

be as many forms of good as there are faculties or forms of

activity; and these forms of good may differ not only in

degree, but in kind. Has man a sensitive nature? There

is, from the activity of that, and from each modification of

that activity, as in the different senses, a sensitive good.

It is multiform, but one. Has he an intellectual nature?

There is from the activity of that an intellectual good.

We may, indeed, conceive of the intellect simply as a

capacity for knowing, and as acting without the slightest

THE HIGHEST GOOD.

enjoyment, -as light without heat. But this is not its

actual constitution. Call it what you please, derive it

whence you will, there is enjoyment in the very process

and activity of the mind in the driest mathematical demonstration. Ilas man, again, an Aesthetic, a rational, a

moral, a religious nature? There is, from the activity of

each of these, a corresponding good. It is clear, then, that

the whole good of man would arise from a combination in

the highest possible degree of all these forms of good;

also, that the highest good would be from the activity of

the highest powers in a right relation to their highest

object. Nor is this highest good any mere happening, as

is sometimes said of happiness; nor is it the mere satisfying of any craving; it is that result in God's creatures

that was intended by him, and is an image of his own

rational and holy blessedness in the activity of those

powers in which we are made in his image.

Of the conditions of good the above statement is the

most general that can be made, and admits of no exception. It implies nothing in relation to the direction of

the activity as designed to produce our own good, or that

of others. If there are in man no faculties except for promoting the well-being of the agent himself, then the wellbeing of the agent will be found in the highest activity of

those faculties. But if there are also faculties capable of

working disinterestedly, and that were designed to promote the good of others, then, whatever good can come to

the individual through those faculties, will come from their

highest activity for the very end for which they were

made. - That man, as social, has such faculties, there can

be no doubt; and it may be that it is only in the activity

of these for the good of the whole that the end and highest good of the individual can be found.

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

In the view just given, we have the basis of a conception of the spiritual universe analogous to that given in

astronomy of the physical universe, but far higher. In

astronomy, no less than in mind, activity, movement, is at

the basis of all order, and beauty, and beneficence. But

there the motion is impressed from without; here it is

firom within; there it is unintelligent; here it comprehends

itself; there it is necessitated; here it is free; there there

is no consciousness and no emotion; here the movement

is reflected in the consciousness, and every faculty sings.

Think, then, of creatures, intelligent, moral, free, with susceptibilities high and keen, in numbers far outnumbering

the starry hosts. See in each a central personality-a

mysterious selfhood, with its attendant faculties revolving,

like satellites, harmoniously about it. See these planetary

intelligences in their myriad heavens, each moving in his

own bright orbit, at once of duty and of freedom, mutually

giving and receiving, and singing together that song which

was typified when the morning stars sang together of old,

-and you have a spectacle which He who sits upon the

central throne may well look upon with complacency, and

pronounce "very good."

That the account now given is correct, appears from this.

If we suppose enjoyment, satisfaction, blessedness, to be

wholly withdrawn from the universe, we should feel, whatever state or form of activity there might be, that its

value was gone. It would be a vast machine producing

nothing. But if we suppose the highest possible blessedness of God and of his universe secured, we are satisfied.

It must surely be difficult to satisfy those who cannot find

an adequate end and good in their own highest blessedness, and in the highest blessedness of God and his universe.

THE GROUND OF OBLIGATION.

If the statements now made be correct, we are prepared

to answer the second question mentioned above. The

first was, What ought to be done? and the general answer

w-as, To ascertain the end for which we were made, and to

seek to accomplish that. The second question was, Why

ought it to be done? and the answer is, Because of the

intrinsic excellency and worth of that end. Man, and all

moral beings, are capable, as such, of a high and holy blessedness which can be compared with nothing else, which is

the fruit and crown of all virtuous and holy activity, which

has no exchangeable value, but has, in itself, an infinite

worth.

If it be still asked why a man ought to seek an end

which has this intrinsic worth, the reply is that this idea

of obligation or oughtness is a simple idea, and therefore

that we can only state the occasion on which it arises. Of

its presence in connection with our choice of this end we

can give no account, except that such is our constitution.

This, however, does not compel us to say that we ought

to seek a thing simply because we ought. The sense

of obligation or oughtness may or may not precede the

choice, but could have no place if there were not a ground

of action besides itself. It does not come up out of

vacancy. A man ought to choose that which is congruous

to his nature. It would seem that an act of choice must

be from something in the thing chosen thus congruous.

Hie ought to choose his own well-being rather than the

contrary; but he ought to choose it not simply because he

ought, but because it is well-being. If there were nothing valuable in itself, there would be nothing that ought to

be either chosen or done.

For those who adopt the general line of thought we are

now pursuing, this question concerning good is funda

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mental, because there is involved in it the rule for right

action. According to this, any course of action which will

secure the whole good for which man was made must be

right.

But among those who believe that the rule has its basis

in the highest good, there is a difference of opinion as to

what that good is. On this subject I cannot enter at large,

but will refer briefly to two different views. These make

the good consist in that which is conditional for the results,;

and not in the results themselves.

The first is that of Jouffroy. His view is that good

consists in universal order. "When," says he, "reason

first perceives that, as there is a good for us, so is there for

all creatures whatsoever, and that thus the particular good

of each creature is but an element of universal order, of

absolute good, then does the idea of good, so disengaged

and elevated to the sphere of absolute being, appear to

our reason as obligatory."* Hiere two questions may be

asked. The first is, whether the reason does necessarily

form this idea of universal order. Since the reason has

been so much spoken of, nothing has been more common

than to mistake the results of abstraction and generalization for its immediate and necessary ideas. That this is

not one of those ideas, may be inferred from the fact that

men are not agreed in what the order consists. Universal

order may be either that form and extent of activity

which would secure universal blessedness; or that perfect

distribution of good and evil which would constitute moral

order, but would involve punishment and suffering.

But if this idea of universal order be an idea of reason,

it would not follow that the highest good was in that. It

would be only conditional for blessedness. This it doubt

* Introduction to Ethics.

THE HIGHEST GOOD.

less is; but if no blessedness were at any time or in any

degree to result from it, it would be in vain. No position

or movement of matter, no activity of mind, however controlled and subordinated, that should have no results beyond itself, would be a good.

These remarks are made on the supposition that the

blessedness is not considered a part of the order. If it be,

then there is simply a confusion of terms. Order would

be made to include not only, according to its usual acceptation, the constitution and movements of the universe,

but its results.

The other view is that of a very able and distinguished

cotemporary. This has its basis in the perfection of the

individual as a moral being, as the other has in that of the

universe as a constituted whole. "The highest good,"

says Dr. Hickok, "the summum bonum, is worthiness of

spiritual approbation." *

From so able a thinker I differ with regret. But what is

that in which a man's worthiness of spiritual approbation

consists? It is in his choice of an ultimate end. The

character is according to that. Does, then, the highest

good of man consist in his choosing as an ultimate end

his own choice of an ultimate end? This cannot be, and

yet would seem to follow firom the definition.

Again, if this be the highest good, it consists of something which can enter into the consciousness but a small

portion of the time, and then only by special effort. Man

can make himself and his state the object of his own

thoughts; but introspection was not intended to be the

business Of his life, nor the form of his activity in which

he should be either most useful or most happy. He was

made to apprehend God and his works, and his fellow-crea

* Moral Science, p. 43.

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tures, and to love and admire these, and not to look withiu,

except to correct what may be wrong, and to admire there,

as elsewhere, indications of the divine wisdom and goodness. How, then, can that be the highest good of man

which, if he really had it, he would think of only as the

man who has healthy lungs thinks of his breathing? No

doubt worthiness is conditional, and in a moral being necessarily so, for blessedness. But the word, though it may

be used absolutely, naturally carries with it an indication

of something beyond itself. A worthiness of what? Of

approbation? And why not of the blessedness there is

in and through that worthiness and that approbation?

In this and similar cases the ultimate appeal must be to

consciousness. To that I appeal, only wishing the statements to be so made that the consciousness may apprehend

distinctly the elements with which it is dealing.

In speaking hitherto of activities and their results, language has been used in its ordinary sense, as applied to

outward things. It will be observed, however, that in the

region of mind and of consciousness the results are themselves activities. There is, therefore, a sense in which it

may be said that the activity is the blessedness. The difference is, that what we call activities here are those which

are inaugurated and controlled by the will, while what we

call results are those emotions and feelings which follow

from the other, by the appointment of God. We do not,

therefore, in this connection, regard ends as anything outward, but identify ends and activities.

LECTURE III.

KINDS OF GOOD. - SUSCEPTIBILITIES AND POWERS. - GOOD AS HIGHER

AND LOWER. - FORCES AND FACULTIES - THEIR SUBORDINATION. - THE

LAW OF LIMITATION.-METHODS OF ADDITION AND OF DEVELOPMENT. NATURAL AND CHRISTIAN LAW OF SELF-DENIAL.

IN the last lecture two questions were answered. The

first was, What ought man to do? and the second, Why

ought he to do it? Man ought to attain the end for

which he was made; and he ought to do it because of the

intrinsic worth of that end. In answering these questions

we considered the nature of an end as related to rational

activity, and also the nature of good as necessarily included

in an ultimate end.

We now proceed to answer the third question proposed,

which is, How ought man to attain the end for which he

was made? There is a sense in which this question may

be resolved into the first; for, if we know, in the fullest

sense, what to do, we also know how to do it. But convenience and the common use of language justify the

division now made.

In answering the above question we shall naturally examine the different forms of activity of which man is capable, and their resulting forms of good, that we may thus

find for each faculty the law and measure of its activity.

But this may be done with more advantage if we first discriminate between different kinds of good; and if we also

find a criterion by which we may distinguish that which

is higher from that which is lower.

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

As has been said already, there are as many kinds of

good as there are forms of normal activity; but these

forms of activity may be divided into two great classes

broadly distinguished.

Man has powers, and he has susceptibilities. By his

powers he acts upon external nature; by his susceptibilities external nature acts upon him.

Once awakened, the powers act, not simply because they

are acted upon, but of their own proper activity. The susceptibilities have no activity of their own except as they

are acted upon. In the activity of the susceptibilities the

movement is from without inward; in that of the powers

it is from within outward. In the one we receive; in the

other we give.

When the susceptibilities are acted upon by their appropriate stimuli, the result is pleasure. So far as this term is

employed distinctively, this is the form of enjoyment indicated by it, and is that-which is sought by those who are

called "lovers of pleasure." It has an inlet through each

of the senses. It is the product of warmth, and food, and

of the various kinds of nervous stimulation. That the

production of this is an object in nature, is obvious from

the number and variety of those arrangements by which

sensitive beings receive pleasure from the objects around

them. In this respect the works of God call for our grateful study. Particularly is the human organism admirable

for this in its complex and wonderful adjustment to exter

nal nature.

But in this enjoyment there is no necessary activity of

any rational or moral power. The right relation being es.

tablished, man is no further active than as he has the vital

ity and susceptibility which must be the condition of any

pleasure.

SUSCEPTIBILITIES AND POWERS.

Between this form of enjoyment and that from the activity of the powers the differences are radical. And, -

1st. The law of habit, mentioned by Butler, by which

passive impressions become weaker as they are longer continued, applies only to the susceptibilities and the resulting

pleasure. "It is," says Paley, "a law of the machine for

which we know no remedy, that the organs by which we

receive pleasure are blunted and benumbed by being frequently exercised in the same way. There is hardly any

one who has not found the difference between a gratification when new and when familiar, nor any pleasure which

does not become indifferent as it grows habitual." It is,

on the other hand, the law of the powers that they gain

strength by activity, become more masterly, and more

and more capable of being the source of a high joy and

blessedness.

Hlere, then, is a radical contrast between the good from

the susceptibilities and from the powers. The one is like

a vessel flll and sparkling at first, but graduallywasting

away and becoming vapid; the other is like a fountain

whose waters well up the more freely the more they overflow.

A second difference is to be found in the rank of these

two forms of good.

Pleasure is a good in itself, and so an ultimate end; but

for the most part it is also a means to something beyond

itself. This is especially true of legitimate pleasure. It

seems to have been intended as an inducement to the performance of acts which are to have remote consequences

of which the agents themselves are often either ignorant

or regardless. The pleasure of the child, and of the man

too, in eating, and in muscular movement, is the inducement to do that which is necessary for the upbuilding of

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the body, but for which they generally have no care. On

the other hand, the good from the activity of the powers,

as in loving and in worshipping, is an end in itself, and has

no reference to anything beyond itself.

There is a third difference. We always feel ourselves at

liberty to forego the enjoyment of pleasure, and respect

ourselves when we do this for the sake of the good which

comes from the activity of the powers, but never the reverse. These two are often, and to some extent naturally,

opposed, and it is a part of the conflict of life to keep

pleasure within its proper limits.

We have thus, from our susceptibilities, a good which

we may call pleasure. From the activity of our powers,

voluntary and moral, we have a good higher and different

in kind, for which we need a distinctive name, but which

we will here call happiness. This will differ with the

powers, intellectual, esthetic, moral, spiritual, which are in

exercise. By these, taking cognizance practically, csthetically, scientifically of the works of God, apprehending the

character and wants of man, being brought into relation

to the attributes and character of God, man is capable

not only of the appropriate enjoyment from such cognitions, but also of putting forth in love all the activity of

his nature for the good of the whole. What of good

there may be from these can be known only by experience, but clearly it need be limited only by our capacity.

My own belief is that that part of our nature through

which we have the highest good lies open to the direct

action of the Spirit of God, as the susceptibilities do to

that of the objects around us; that thus we may apprehend

him directly; and that in his response to this, in love, man

is capable of a good that is ineffable, and may be called

"fulness of joy," or blessedness. The capacity for this I

FORCES AND FACULTIES.

suppose as much belonged to man originally as his capa

city for perceiving beauty.

The above distinctions are practical, and, from the tendency there is in men to seek pleasure in opposition to

their higher good, are worthy of careful attention.

We now turn from this broad classification of good to

inquire for the basis of one that is more exact. We speak

of good as higher and lower, and we have an instinctive

feeling that some forms of good are higher than others.

Is there a criterion by which we may determine what is

higher and what is lower?

In answering this question, I hope for indulgence if I

enter upon a range somewhat wide. Moral science has

usually been studied as isolated. My wish is to connect it

with the laws of that physical system which not only supports man, but has its culmination in him. I wish to show

that there runs through both one principle of gradation,

and one law for the limitation of forces and activities,

and so of the forms of good resulting from them. If this

can be done, it will add to both physical and moral science

the beauty of a higher unity than has commonly been

noticed, and will show that there could have been but one

author for both.

All good, and all arrangements conditional for good, are

the result of some activity. They are in or from it. Arrangements conditional for good are the product of forces,

good itself of faculties. A faculty is a force united to personality and subject to the control of the will. What we

need to find, then, is a common law for the subordination

and limitation of both forces and faculties.

This we find in their relation to each other as conditional and conditioned. The forces that are at work

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

around us and the faculties within us, from the lowest to

the highest, may be ranked as higher and lower as they

are or are not a condition one for another. That which is

a condition for another is always the lower.

In anything we may choose to examine, -a house, or

a portion of matter, -we shall find some conceptions or

properties that may be spared, and yet the thing continue

to be that thing. But we may continue our analysis till

we reach certain properties or conceptions which are indispensable, which underlie all others, and are conditional for

that thing. So it is with solidity, or the occupation of

space, in matter; so with the foundation of a house.

These may be of no importance in themselves, but allimportant as conditions for something above them.

It is this relation of the forces of the universe and of

their products to each other, as conditional and conditioned, that gives to it its unity. If its forces were

diverse, it would not be a universe, -that is, if they were

so diverse as to be free from this relation. Any being or

thing conditioned upon nothing in the present system, and

the condition of nothing, would be so utterly out of relation as to be alien from every conception of unity.

In seeking, then, for the law of subordination and limitation of the forces of the universe, we must begin at the

lowest, and to find that, we must continue to drop from our

conceptions of the universe every force and product that

can be spared till we reach that which being taken away

the universe would be dissipated, would become utter

chaos, and so, having no unity, would cease to be a universe. What is that force? Plainly it is the law of gravitation. By this, particles of matter that would otherwise

be chaotic, are aggregated, and its masses move in harmony. This is a universal force. It is conditional for the

HIGHER AND LOWER FORCES.

activity of every other,.and is the lowest of all. The product of this would be mere unsorted matter aggregated

and moving in systems, and would be the lowest conception we could form of a physical universe. It would be

the first approximation towards a good, - the first step

conditional for all others; for that which we find last in

thus going back must have been first in the order of nature,

if not of time.

Gravitation being thus given, what, in going down, is

the last force we should have been obliged to drop before

reaching this? What, in going up, would be the next

step to fit matter for any use to which we can suppose it

might be put? It would be to bring matter, chiefly of

the same kind, into solid masses by what we call the

attraction of cohesion. For this gravitation is plainly conditional, since matter must be aggregated before it can

cohere. This gives us the next higher force.

The next force needed, for we will now pass up, is chemical affinity. By this, particles of matter having different

properties are united, and form compounds. In the present state of our knowledge it cannot, perhaps, be proved

that cohesion is always conditional for chemical affinity.

If not, these two forces must be ranked with those groups

to be spoken of hereafter. The compounds, however,

formed bythis force are conditional for the action of that

power which we call life. The power of life assimilates

nothing which has not previously entered into combination

by this affinity.

Through the action of the three forces now mentioned

we may have the conception of a world, inorganic, destitute of life, and having its unity solely firom the fact that

its forces are thus conditional and conditioned.

But the inorganic world is conditional for that which

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

is organic, and is under the control of that principle or

force called life. And here, again, we have three great

forces with their products. These are the vegetable, the

animal, and the rational life.

Of these, vegetable life is the lowest. Its products are

as strictly conditional for animal life as chemical affinity

is for vegetable life, for the animal is nourished by nothing

that has not been previously elaborated by the vegetable.

"The profit of the earth is for all; the king himself is

served by the field."

Again, we have the animal and sensitive life, capable of

enjoyment and suffering, and having the instincts necessary to its preservation. This, as man is now constituted,

is conditional for his rational life. The rational life has its

roots in that, and manifests itself only through the organization which that builds up.

We have, then, finally, and highest of all, this rational

and moral life, by which man is made in the image of God.

In man, as thus constituted, we first find a being who is

capable of choosing his own end; or, rather, of choosing

or rejecting the end indicated by his whole nature. This

is moral freedom, and in this is the precise point of transition from all that is below to that which is highest. For

everything below man the end is necessitated. Whatever

choice there may be in the agency of animals of means for

the attainment of their end, - and they have one somewhat wide,- they have none in respect to the end itself.

This, for our purpose, and for all purposes, is the characteristic distinction, so long sought, between man and the brute.

Man determines his own end; the end of the brute is

necessitated. Up to man everything is driven to its end

by a force working from without, or from behind; but for

SUCCESSIVE PLATFORMS.

him the pillar of cloud and of fire puts itself in front, and

he follows it or not, as he chooses.

In the above cases it will be seen that the process is one

of the addition of new forces, with a constant limitation

of the field within which the forces act. The sphere of

gravitation is wider than that of cohesion. Cohesion rests

upon it as upon a base. The sphere of cohesion is wider

than that of chemical affinity; that of chemical affinity

wider than that of life; that of vegetable life wider than

that of animal life; and that of animal life wider than

that of rational life. Hence, the plan of the creation may

be compared to a pyramid, growing narrower by successive platforms. It is to be noticed, however, that while

the field of each added and superior force is narrowed, yet

nothing is dropped. Each lower force shoots through, and

combines itself with all that is higher. Because he is

rational, man is not the less subject to gravitation, and

cohesion, and chemical affinity. HIe has also the organic

life that belongs to the plant, and the sensitive and instinctive life that belongs to the animal. In him none of these

are dropped; but the rational life is united with and superinduced upon all these, so that man is not only a microcosm, but is the natural head and ruler of the world. IHe

partakes of all that is below him, and becomes man by the

addition of something higher.

If now we pass to the physical system of man, we shall

find that it is composed of various systems and groups of

systems which are conditional and conditioned in the

same way.

Here again there are three divisions. In the lowest

group we have those systems which are for building and

repairing; in the next higher, those which are for support

and locomotion; and in the third those which are for sensea

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

tion and direction; and each lower group is conditional for

the higher.

In the several groups, also, the same general order holds.

Among the builders or repairers the nutritive or digestive

system is the lowest. This is conditional for the circulatory, this for the respiratory, and this again for the secretory and assimilative. In the systems for support and

locomotion, the osseous system is conditional for the muscular; and that system of nerves which is for sensation is

conditional for that which is for motion and direction.

Whether these subordinate systems can all be placed

in a right line is not important. It is now conceded that

in the classification of animals and of plants there are

groups within which no precise order can yet be traced.

But in all cases, - and here is the principle contended

for, -if the end accomplished by any system or group be

conditional for any other end beyond itself, it will be lower

than that end. Thus, building and repairing are lower

than support and movement; and these are lower than

sensation and direction.

Nor does this law stop here. It applies to the mind.

In this, too, according to the latest and best classification,

there are three groups, and each lower is conditional for

the higher. There is first the intellect, including what are

sometimes called the cognitive faculties,- all our faculties of knowing. These are conditional for the emotive

or pathematic nature, including all the feelings and emotions consequent upon knowledge. These again are conditional f6r what Sir William Hamilton calls our conative

powers, those of desire and of will.

In each of these we have a group, which we need not

now examine; but we shall find running through each the

same principle of order and arrangement already noticed.

METHOD OF DEVELOPMENT.

We have thus a beautiful gradation from those "foundations of the earth" laid by God, and "the corner-stone

thereof," up to the point at which "the morning stars sang

together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy."

But in attaining and preserving the unity and order of

the universe, God's methods are two. Besides this of addition, there is another applicable only to organic beings,

that of development. In all organic beings there is something central and enveloped, and the being reaches his perfection by being developed.

In some respects this is the reverse of the other method.

In that, in making our analysis, and seeing what we can

spare, we reach that which is lowest; but in this, by the

same process, we reach that which is highest. If we ask

what the last thing is in the universe that can be spared,

and unitv remain, it is gravitation, the lowest force; but if

we ask what the last thing in man is that can be spared

and he remain a man, it will be that in him by which he

is highest. In the method of additions that which is most

fundamental, which is first in the order of our conceptions,

is lower than that which is later, and serves it. But in the

method of development that which is the most fundamental and first is the highest, and all else is lower as it

is less or more essential to this. Here the lower are a

condition for the development of the higher, but still are

conceived of as coming in later. Here, therefore, when

anything is spoken of as a condition, it is not to be regarded as a condition of being, but of development. In

both methods the principle of arrangement already stated

will hold; that is, if the end accomplished be a condition

for any other end beyond itself, then it will be lower than

that end, and all the means and apparatus for producing

it will be lower than those for producing the higher end.

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

In the range of conditioned forces and systems above

spoken of we find no good till we come to the gratification

there is in the lowest sensitive being from the assimilation

of food, and in the performance of those functions which

are at once the condition for life, and by which life manifests itself. From that point the rank of the good rises

precisely as the systems do through their whole gradation

till we reach the highest of all.

We thus find the law of subordination both of forces

and their products, and of susceptibilities and faculties,

and of the good resulting firom their activity. This we

needed here because there is involved in it, or results

immediately from it, what I shall venture to call the law of

limitation. By this I mean the law which fixes the proper

limit of every form of activity, and so of every kind of

good except the highest; and so will enable us to live in

the best sense of that much-abused expression, "according

to nature."

This is a point of great importance in morals. According to an ancient theory, that of Aristotle, virtue and good

consist in proportion, or the golden mean. It is readily

seen that many things, that most things which men use

and enjoy, are good up to a certain point, but that, carried

beyond that point, they become, if not in themselves, yet

relatively, evil. The pleasures of the senses and of the

appetites are good, but may be readily carried to excess. -

Where is the limit? Amiusement is good, the pursuit of

money is good. Where is the limit? There is a wide

range of questions which arise at this point in respect to

the use of things lawful. How far may we go in dress?

in expense? in conformity to fashion, and the usages of

those around us? To determine these questions we need

some plain criterion. Besides, there are those who think

THE LAW OF LIMITATION.

all pleasure and good alike except in intensity and duration. Paley thought so. The sensualist makes an irruption upon us and says that his joys are as high as any

others, -that is, in his opinion, and that, on such a subject, the opinion of one man is as good as that of another.

It is a mere question of taste and feeling, and there is no

standard. We are also asked by another class, as by

Whewell, "How are we to measure happiness, and thus

to proceed to ascertain by what acts it may be increased?

If we can do this, then indeed we may extract rules and

results from the maxim that we are to increase our own

and others' happiness; but without this step," which he

plainly supposes cannot be taken, we "can draw no consequences from the maxim."* For such cases and inquiries

we need a law of subordination and of limitation, a test

and measure both of activity and of good.

If man would enjoy his whole good, it is obvious that

his life must be a unity as the universe is, so that all the

forces that conspire to make it up may act in harmony.

This would give all possible good. But the method of

attaining this is clearly set before us in the method pursued by God in making the universe one. As the forces

in man, that is, his faculties, bear the same relation to each

other that the forces in nature do, we shall find their

proper limit by finding the limit which God fixes in proportioning the conditional and conditioned forces of nature. His method of doing this is to give to each lower

force precisely the relative strength that shall make it

most perfect as a condition for the activity of those above

it, and which are conditioned by it. It is to carry that

which is an end in one sphere no further than will fit it

to become a means for the one next above. Gravitation

* Vol. I., B. III.

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

is a necessary means and condition of cohesion; these two

of chemical affinity; these three of organic life, and so on;

but no lower end is pursued one jot beyond the point

where it may become the means of a higher end. Each

force is limited at the point where it may best subserve

the force above it. If gravitation were stronger than it

is it would prevent the ascent of the sap altogether, or

would cause a dwarfed vegetation. Man could not lift his

foot, or only as he now pulls it from a clay-bed. The bird

could fly but a short distance, and with weary wing. If

its force were less, we should be liable to be blown away,

the equilibrium of all bodies would be less stable, and the

earth would be constantly sending off meteoric stones to

astonish the inhabitants and puzzle the philosophers of

other planets. As it is, gravitation will be found to have

precisely that force which is best for the stable equilibrium

of bodies, for the ascent of sap to its proper height, and in

animals for agility and firmness combined. If chemical

affinities were stronger than they are, the power of life

would be unable to disengage the materials with which

to build up the plant and the body; if they were weaker,

that power could not prevent vegetable and animal decomposition and corruption even before death. Thus shall

we find it throughout the whole range of forces in nature

and in man. Hence the law of limitation will be, that

every activity may be put forth, and so every good be

enjoyed, up to the point where it is most perfectly conditional for a higher good. Anything beyond that will be

excess and evil. It is a peculiarity of the works of nature

as distinguished from those of men that her ends are also

means, but she never pursues such an end beyond the

point at which it would cease to be a means.

Here, then, is our model and law. Have we a lower

72'

THE LAW OF LIITATION.

sensitive and animal nature? Let that nature be cherished and expanded by all its innocent and legitimate enjoyments, for it is an end. But, - and here we find the

limit,-let it be cherished only as subservient to the higher

intellectual life, for it is also a means. $Let the intellectual

nature have its full growth; let it scale every height, and

sound every depth, for it is an end; but let it do this only

in subservience to the higher emotive, moral and spiritual

nature, for this, too, is a means. Thus let each of these,

while it fulfils its own ends, so fulfil them as to minister

to the sphere above, until we come to that which is not

a means, but is of itself an end, and an absolute good.

Men may enjoy pleasure, may use intoxicating drinks and

narcotics to any extent they please, provided it shall interfere with no higher good. They may indulge in expense,

amusements, fashion, as they will, if there is nothing higher

and better that they can do. Certainly if there is nothing

better they can do, they had better do that. The law applies universally so long as there is a good that is conditional for one above it, - so long as there is an end that

is also a means. But when we reach the highest and supreme good, as that is conditional for nothing beyond

itself, there can then be no excess. That is infinite; it

is the ocean without a bottom or a shore.

Up to this point this system has fully met the wants of

that part of our nature whose activities have a natural

limit which cannot be passed without degradation and

loss on the whole. At this point it meets those indefinite yearnings which testify to the connection of man with

the Infinite, and are the presage of his immortality.

We may now readily see how far Aristotle was right.

His system had a basis, and not a narrow one. Much of

our good is the result of proportion and limitation, and

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

of finding the golden mean. He was right so far as he

went, but he needed the law of limitation, and he did not

see the ocean.

It will be observed that none but a good man can adopt

the model above proposed, for no bad act can be at once

an end and a means. Lying, cheating, stealing, are means

only, and can never become ends; but every good act is

not only an end in itself, but is also a means of confirming

him who does it in habits of goodness; and thus he who

adopts this model will find provision in it that his path

shall be as that of the just, "shining more and more unto

the perfect day."

The law of limitation, above given, implies the natural

law of self-denial.

This requires us to reject no good cynically because it is

a good. It respects every part of the human constitution

as made by God, and gives free play to every activity

within its own limits. It says, with an apostle, that

"every creature of God is good, and nothing is to be

refused if it be received with thanksgiving." Any supposable strength in the appetites will only give force to the

character, provided the governing powers keep them wholly

under control. No matter how strong and spirited the

horses if they are trained to perfect subjection. So with

the desires. The desire of knowledge and of power and

of esteem cannot be too great if they do not conflict with

the affections and the moral nature. As they are stronger,

they will but afford a richer soil in which these can strike

their roots, and thus furnish the sap for a more abundant

fiuitage. And so it is with every lower form of activity.

The stronger it is, the better for those above it, if it does

not conflict with them. The stronger and more healthy

the body, if a man be not at all animalized through it, the

LAW OF SELF-DENIAL.

better for every mental faculty, and for every high and

healthful form of affection and emotion. The law requires

the restriction or denial of every appetite, desire, propensity, passion, at the point where it would interfere with

something higher, and only at that point. This is the natural and original law. But if moral disorder has come

in and become habitual, if great interests are at stake in

circumstances of temptation and struggle, it may be wise,

and even a duty, to ignore and reject many pleasures that

might otherwise be indulged in, as the soldier who hastens

to defend his country may not stop to enjoy fine scenery

by the way.

This gives us the difference between the natural law of

self-denial and the Christian law. The first would be the

law for a man in health, simply requiring that nothing

should be done to injure that. But Christianity is wholly

a remedial system. "They that are whole need not a physician, but they that are sick;" and the law of self-denial as

a remedy, or as a condition for the working of other remedies, may be as different from its natural law as the regimen of a sick man should be from that of one who is well.

It has been from a consciousness of disorder that difficulties and obscurity have arisen at this point. There has

been a feeling that self-denial, as well as self-torture, was

compensatory; and then, when the lower powers had gone

to excess, it is not strange that there should be a tendency

to their undue repression, and even eradication. This

has given rise to asceticism, and penances, and to a vast

brood of superstitious observances. But precisely what

the natural law is in its place, that the Christian law is in

its place. Under Christianity self-denial is not a remedy,

but the condition for the working of remedies, and its law

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

is that it shall be carried just so far as is necessary for the

best working of those great remedies which God has provided for the moral disorders of this world. This may

often make self-denial very severe, but only as it is salutary.

It may require the cutting off of a right hand, or the plucking out of a right eye, but only on the condition that they

"offend," that is, cause you to stumble in your course

towards heaven.

In what has been said hitherto, the dependence of the

higher upon the lower forces and powers has been prominent. So long as these powers remain within the limits of

unconsciousness, the right proportion is always preserved;

but when they come under the direction of a finite, and

especially of a perverted will, that proportion is not preserved. The danger is that the dependence of the higher

upon the lower will be ignored, that the lower will in

consequence be neglected and deteriorate, and then that

the higher itself, the fountain of its sap being dried, will

dwindle and wither. So is it always when a short-sighted

selfishness would snatch too soon and grasp too much; so

always when men would reach their ends by circumventing or evading those laws by which God has appointed

that they should be gained.

The law - and this is especially true in organic life - is,

that that which is highest can increase only through the

ministration of the parts that are lower, and hence that the

perfection of the highest in its sphere can be reached only

as the lower are made perfect in their sphere. In training

a child, would any one secure the highest, the best balanced,

and the longest continued action of the mind, he can do it

only by so attending to the body as to secure the priceless

but subordinate blessings of health and a sound physical

METHOD APPLIED.

constitution. Would you have healthy feeling? Cultivate

the intellect, else feeling will be fanatical. So has God

constituted every organic being that "if one member suffer all the members suffer with it." Yea, and so that

upon "those members of the body which we think to be

less honorable we should bestow more abundant honor;"

since the perfection of the more honorable members that

are ministered unto can be attained only through the perfection of the less honorable that minister. Our end may

be the perfection of the higher; our method must be to

secure it through the perfection of the lower.

This method is one of wide application. It teaches us,

while we aim at the highest, to care for the lowest; while

we aim at the mind, to care for the body; while we aim at

a perfect government, to care for the people and to seek

to educate and elevate them; while we aim at perfect

social organizations, to give woman her true place, not as

inferior, but as different. No element of reaction upon

progress can be swifter or more fatal than that of degraded

mothers. It teaches us to care for children, and servants, and slaves, and criminals. Nature herself seems to

cry out to us to do this. All history shows how men

have disregarded this method and law, and it shows, too,

how the law has avenged itself by bringing down the high

and the low together. This is indeed the one great lesson

of history. It needs to be pondered, more especially by

republics, where the barriers of form and of force are so

feeble; but whatever the form of government may be, the

law is as pervading and resistless as that of gravitation,

and the result is only a question of time. That result no

form of heathen civilization has been able to prevent. It

can be but one so long as successful men and successful

LECTURES ON MIORAL SCIENCE.

classes seek with a blind selfishness to elevate themselves

at the expense of others, -so long as men refuse to adopt

the models of method which God has set before them, and

thus to bind society together in an organic and a perfect

whole.

LEOTURE IV.

RELATION OF INTELLECTUAL AND MORAL PHILOSOPHY. - SPONTANEOUS

AND VOLUNTARY ACTIVITY. - FACULTIES INSTRUMENTAL AND ULTI MATE. - INSTINCT. - TIHE APPETITES. - NATURAL - ARTIFICIAL. - THE

DESIRES. - CLASSIFICATION OF THEI.- DESIRE OF CONlTINUED EXIST ENCE.

THEp nature and limitations of good having been already

discussed, we now proceed to consider those powers from

the activity of which good results.

This brings us to that point both of union and of cleavage between mental and moral science, at which, as we

have seen, no little confusion has arisen. Theoretically

the line between them is, or may be made, distinct; but

practically the treatment of the one will include, in some

measure, that of the other. What man ought to do will

depend on what he is, and the circumstances in which he

is placed. Mental science, or psychology, will, therefore,

be conditional for moral science, whic h will make use of

the first, and is the higher of the two. The province of

psychology will then be to show what the faculties are;

that of moral philosophy to show how they are to be used

for the attainment of their end. Both have to do with the

faculuties of the mind, but in different aspects; as both the

botanist and the agriculturist have to do with wheat, and

the astronomer and navigator with the heavenly bodies.

The botanist classifies wheat; the agriculturist raises it,

and cares for a knowledge of its class only as it will ena

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

ble him to do that. The astronomer investigates the nature of the heavenly bodies and their relations to each

other; the navigator regards them solely as the means by

which his course may be guided. And so the moral philosopher does not care for the nature and classification

of the mental faculties except as a knowledge of these

will guide him to their right use and proper end. So far,

however, as this knowledge will thus guide him, as to a

great extent it will, he is bound to have it.

The moral philosopher is, therefore, not excluded from

the domain of the psychologist. It is his domain. It is

the soil into which his science strikes its roots; it is indispensable for him that certain portions of it, at least, should

be rightly cultivated; and if the psychologist does not

do his work in those portions as he thinks it ought to be

done, he has a right to revise it, and do it for himself. It

is not to be allowed that the mere psychologist may lay

down such doctrines as he pleases respecting the moral

nature, and thus virtually determine the character of the

science. It will, moreover, always be necessary to consider the faculty itself in determining its use, and to

make our classifications with reference to the objects of

moral science.

In accordance with this we shall, -

I. Distinguish the two great forms of mental activity.

These are, -1st. The Spontaneous. 2d. The Volhntary.

And, II. We shall class the mental faculties as they are re

lated to ends. And,

1st. Of the mental activities, as they are either, 1st,

spontaneous; or, 2d, voluntary.

As the inorganic world underlies and is conditional for

the vegetable world; as the vegetable is conditional for

LIFE AUTOMATIC.

the animal world; as the automatic or organic life of the

body is conditional for its animal life, so is there an automatic and involuntary life of the mind that is conditional

for its voluntary and responsible movements.

All life is inscrutable, and to our view automatic. Hiow it

begins it is impossible for us to conceive, since it manifests

itself only through organization, while there is no organization that is not its product. In vegetables its results are

seen in organizations entirely destitute of sensation and of

will; and in the animals and in man, the conditions being

complied with, it works with the same independence. The

circulation of the blood in man, digestion, secretion, assimilation, have organs appropriated to them which the will

does not reach, and they go on by laws as independent

of the will as the circulation of the sap in vegetables.

Through these organs and processes there are built up

and-presented to us the organs of sensation and of voluntary motion, but we cannot say what they shall be.

We cannot cause this power of life to build up such a

structure as we should like; we cannot add one cubit to

our stature, or make one hair white or black.

But precisely as we find the heart beating, and accept

the limbs already built up, so do we find the mind thinking, and the faculties acting, and accept them as they are

given. Those cravings which we call appetite are upon

man from no contrivance of his. He knows and can know

them only as he finds them acting. HIe finds a succession

of thoughts bubbling up, like water from a fountain, of

which he knows not tie source, and the flow of which he

can no more stop than he can the flow of a river. No man

ever thought at first by willing to think. Adam did not.

He was created a thinking being, and thought as naturally

and as necessarily as he breathed. Nor can any man stop

LE CTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

thinking by willing it. Hie must think. HIe may control

the current of his thoughts, but think he must; and if

his thoughts had flowed on forever, as they do in dreams,

without the intervention of a personal power, he would

have been a thinking thing. Man, also, feels desires

springing up. These he may or may not gratify, but there

they are, a part of his nature. The natural affections, too,

put forth their tendrils like the vine, and quite as independently of any will of man.

With these faculties the self-conscious, rational, personal

being, with powers of supervision and comprehension, is

endowed; into this nature is put, or rather we may say is

so incorporated with it that it becomes a part of himself.

This nature is an epitome of all that is below him, and he

was put into it not only that he might govern himself, but

govern it, as we saw in the last lecture, after the model of

that government which God exercises over nature itself.

This is the garden into which man is put that he may

dress it and keep it.

Am I, then, distinctly understood at this point? Is it

seen that there are activities going on within, not only our

bodies, but our minds, with which our wills have as little

to do as with the springing up of the grass? These faculties and activities are one thing, and we are another. We

are responsible for the activities only as we can control

them directly or indirectly.

In this original and spontaneous nature there are char-l

acteristics common to all men, and also diversities apparently as great as in natural scenery. Some natures are

richer and grander than others; they tower up like the

great mountains. Some are more easy of control, and

some more difficult.

We now proceed, as was proposed, to the consideration

CLASSIFICATION.

and classification of our various faculties and powers as

they are related to ends.

In this aspect the faculties or powers may be divided

into two great classes: -

I. Those which are instrumental for the attainment of

ends beyond themselves. This is the first class. Here we

find, -

1st. Those which indicate ends. These are the Instincts, the Appetites, the Desires, and the Natural Affections. And, -

2d. The Intellect, in the light of which we pursue ends.

These are the Instrumental Powers, and do not necessarily

imply a moral nature. They require to be governed.

II. The second great class of powers are those in whose

activity we find ends beyond which there are no others.

These are our Moral Nature. By them we elect and sanction ends. They govern, or, at least, ought to govern.

These are the powers that belong to man as a person.

They are Reason, Moral Affections, and Free-will.

The Instrumental Powers are neither good nor bad in

themselves, but as they are used. Generically we share

them with the animals, but they are much modified by

being taken into connection with a higher nature.

Let us, then, first consider those powers which indicate

ends.

In the conception of an end the primary element is not

intellectual. If there were no original, no rational apprehension of good involving desirableness, congruity, automatic tendency, impulse, appetency or craving, revealing

some want to be satisfied, or capacity of enjoyment to be

met, we could have no conception of an end. In our analysis-in this direction this is the last thing that we reach,

and so is conditional for all the rest. The intellect is im

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

plied. There must be consciousness. Every mental operation, whether perceptive or impulsive, must take place in

the light of that. But consciousness being given, the impulse towards an end or the apprehension of it as having

in it a good, is the primary element in our conception of an

active, as distinguished from a contemplative being. Without such impulse or apprehension, the objects we now seek

might be known as they are in themselves, but not as ends

for us. There would be no motive for the voluntary exertion of the intellect even. As a part of our nature, these

impulses are generically the same in all men, but reveal

themselves in different proportions, and in them we find

what have been called the active powers of man. By

this it is not meant that the contemplative powers are not

active, but that they do not, and these do, lead to action.

The powers which indicate ends are commonly, and, as

it seems to me, correctly divided into the Instincts, the

Appetites, the Desires, and the Affections. Of these there

is no question respecting any except instinct, the existence

of which in man has sometimes been doubted.

Instinct, which we shall first consider, is defined by

Paley to be "a propensity prior to experience, and independent of instruction." It leads animals obviously destitute of either understanding or reason to perform the

same acts as if possessed of those powers in the highest

degree. In building her cells the bee proceeds on the

principles of mechanics and of the abstruser mathematics.

In incubation the hen seems to have a knowledge of the

doctrine of different specific gravities, and turns her eggs

over regularly because the yolk is slightly heavier than

the white. Animals with migratory, and those with acqutisitive instincts, proceed on an apparent knowledge of

the movements of the heavenly bodies for months in the

future.

INSTINCT.

In all animals of the same species instinct is mostly uniform, and, as we descend in the scale of creation, becomes,

in the inverse ratio of understanding and reason, more

uniform, more blind, and more perfect. A pure and unperverted instinct may always be trusted implicitly. A

marvellous and a beautiful thing it is to see "the stork in

the heaven knowing her appointed times; and the turtle,

and the crane, and the swallow, observe the time of their

coming." Surely, here "lie leadeth the blind in a way

that they know not." hIere extremes meet -the perfection of reason and the perfection of ignorance.

But as the light of understanding and reason increases,

the glimmerings of instinct seem lost. Accordingly, most

writers on morals have not noticed this as one of the active

powers, or, if they hlave, have spoken of it as confined

almnost wholly to animals. But if instinct is needed by

rational creatures we shall be sure to find it, for God does

not care less for them than for the ant and the bee. It

would be in accordance with all we have hitherto seen of

the order of the universe, and of the mode in which its

unity is secured, if we should find this, like gravitation,

passing up and blending itself with the activity of the

very highest power of its own order. Or, if any should

suppose that this, the lowest form of intelligent action,

cannot blend with those intuitions of reason which it so

much resembles, it is yet pleasing to see in its certain

guidance the best analogon and symbol of perfect reason,

just as gravitation, which is the lowest motive power, is

the best symbol of love, which is the highest of all.

I suppose, however, that something of instinct does

blend with the activity of our highest powers. For this,

it is not necessary that we should be under the guidance

of ainy specific instinct, for wherever there is a tendency

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

in our nature that is automatic, there we find the instinctive element. Hence we may, and do, speak of rational

instincts. In every created nature, however high, there

must be tendencies and yearnings by which the true end

of the being shall be revealed to itself, and in which the

first movements towards that end shall originate. That a

good of any kind should begin to be sought in any other

way, is not conceivable. And so the Scriptures represent

it. They speak of thirsting for God; and the Saviour said,

"If any man thirst, let him come to me and drink."

Our associations with instinct may be low; but it is

really a high and sacred thing. In it we see the Highest

stooping to the lowest, and illustrating that care and guidance of which they may feel secure who follow the promptings of any nature that is unperverted, and as it came

from his hand.

We now proceed to the Appetites. These are those

cravings of the animal nature which have for their object

the well-being of the body and the continuance of the race.

These are to be distinguished from a desire for those

pleasures of the palate, for example, with which they

become so intimately associated that they are seldom

thought of separately. The craving is purely instinctive,

and, as such, has in a healthy state the infallibility of instinct, both in indicating and measuring the wants of the

system; but the pleasure of eating and drinking will be

according to the quality and condiments of the material

taken. This pleasure may be perpetuated far beyond the

point at which the craving is satisfied; and the modes

of causing it may be reduced to a system and a science.

The science of cookery will be useful as it fits substances to

satisfy the craving, and so for assimilation; it will be inju. rious as it merely stimulates the palate. If the substance

THE APPETITES.

stimulate the palate slightly, or not at all, as water, the

craving is simply satisfied, and there is no danger of excess; but the more stimulating the substance, either to the

specific sense connected with the appetite, or to the nervous

system generally, the more danger there is of excess from

confounding the excitement of the sense, or the nerves,

with the demand of the system.

According to Stewart, the appetites are distinguished

by three circumstances. 1st. They take their rise from the

body. 2d. They are periodical. 3d. They originally imply an uneasy sensation, afterwards, upon experience, a

desire for their appropriate objects.

The appetites are usually said to be three,- hunger,

thirst, and the appetite of sex. But there are tendencies

and cravings that may more properly be classed with the

appetites than elsewhere. These are the craving for air,

for exercise, for rest, and for sleep. These all take their

rise from the body, are periodical, and originally imply an

uneasy sensation; afterwards, upon experience, a desire of

their appropriate objects. They also require to be regulated on precisely the same principles as those commonly

ranked as appetites; and it may be well to place them

here, as bringing them nearer the conscience, since all concede that the regulation of the appetites is a duty.

The necessity of the appetites for the accomplishment

of their immediate ends is well stated by Reid. "Though

a man knew," says he, "that his life must be supported by

eating, reason could not direct him when to eat, or what,

how much, or how often. In all these things appetite is a

much better guide than reason. Were reason only to

direct us in this matter, its calm voice would often be

drowned in the hurry of business or the charms of amusement. But the voice of appetite rises gradually, and at

LECTURES ON MDIORAL SCIENCE.

last becomes loud enough to call off our attention from

any other employment."

As they are means of sustaining the body and continu ing the race, the appetites are the condition for all that is

above them. But besides the direct objects thus immedi ately secured, they are also closely related to industry and

the social affections. The craving, which is the radical

and constant element in the appetite, is related to industry,

and the pleasure, the incidental and variable element, is

related to the social affections.

When we observe how busy a scene this world is, and

what human labor has accomplished, -the forests it has

cleared, the fields it has cultivated, the cities it has built,

the ships it has constructed, the oceans it has navigated,we are little apt to think how much of all this is owing to

so simple a cause as the appetite of hurger. "All the labor

of man," says Solomon, "is for the mouth, yet the appetite

is not satisfied." Food is our first, and is a constantly recurring want; and probably the amount of labor for obtaining and preparing it is greater than for all other purposes.

When the savage has plenty of food he does little but eat

and sleep, and only the stimulus of hunger can goad him

on to the labors of the chase. In civilized commnunities,

those who turn the soil, and hew the wood, and lay the

brick and mortar, are generally those who labor for their

bread; nor is it probable that a less imperious motive

would induce the effort. Nor is it bodily activity alone

that is excited by this stimulus. Hunger, rather than any

of the nine, has been the muse of some of the best poets.

This connection of the appetites with industry, which is

so indispensable to force of character and to all good habits, shows that they were intended by God to be ministers

of human virtue, and not the occasions of vice.

THE APPETITES.

But the appetites are also connected with the affections.

So naturally do our kind feelings rest upon those who

share the same table with us that "to eat bread" with one,

that is, to receive or furnish hospitality, has been regarded

in many countries as a pledge of kindness and good faith.

"He," says the Scripture, as if it aggravated the treachery,

-"he that did eat bread with me hath lifted up his heel

against me." It was from the connection of the appetites

with the social feelings that the drinking customs of society derived much of their power and also of their danger.

It was the social glass that led young men of generous

affections to occasional excess, and the appetite was then

cherished and justified on the ground of indulging the

social nature, till the capacity for social enjoyment was

diminished, and the man sunk into degrading habits of selfish, solitary, animal gratification.

It is from this natural and intended connection of the

affections and virtues with the appetites that we are not

degraded by them. We share them, indeed, in common

with the brutes; but they so underlie our higher nature

and maypo blend with it as to become the occasions of

some of its most beautiful manifestations, and when confined within the bounds of reason and religion are the

occasion only of good. The man who eats that he may

live and improve his higher faculties, and do good, is a

man. But the. man who lives that he may eat is a brute.

A course of indulgence of the appetites has been called

a life of pleasure. But retribution reaches to the body,

and there could be no greater misnomer. Every excess is

sure to be punished. Besides the penalties of immediate

reaction and specific disease, by the law of habit already

noticed, the capacity for enjoyment becomes gradually

LECTURES ON MIORAL SCIENCE.

less, and no object is more pitiable than a man who is beginning to taste the dregs of such a life.

At no point do the dictates of virtue and of an enlightened self-love more clearly coincide than in the regulation

of the appetites. The proper notion of temperance with

reference to them is not an abstinence from any particular

thing, but such a control of all the appetites as will result

in the greatest power and activity both of body and of

mind, and as shall subject them most fully to our control.

Anything short of this is criminal, and infallibly pernicious;

and any use or enjoyment of the appetites compatible with

this may be allowed.

From the above account it is most plain that the law of

the appetites is to be found in their encl. That end we

have the capacity to see. We can also see the fitness of

the appetites for its accomplishment, so that when we

yield ourselves to the guidance of an unperverted appetite we are still governed by reason. It is reason committinig the accomplishment of an end to a trustworthy servant, that can do it better than she. Let that end -the

end indicated by the constitution of the appetites in their

relative positions - be accomplished, - no more, no less,and both reason and conscience are satisfied.

But besides the natural appetites, there are those termed

artificial, or, more properly, unnatural, as that for intoxicatimg drinks, for tobacco, and for opium. In all these the

principle is the same. An unnatural stimulus is given to

the nerves, followed by a corresponding depression, and an

uneasiness which causes a desire of repetition, and which

often becomes a craving so importunate as to overmaster

and control every other principle of action.

Between these artificial appetites and those that are natural there are four important differences.

ARTIFICIAL APPETITES.

The first is, that in the natural appetite the craving is an

original part of the constitution, created by God with reference to an end intended by him. In the artificial appetite, the craving is wholly superinduced by man, and with

reference to an end which God no more intended than he

did murder.

The second difference is, that the objects of the artificial

appetites are all violent poisons. They are incapable of

assimilation with the system. Except as medicines they

can contribute nothing to its health or well-being, and

taken in any considerable quantity they cause death.

The third difference is, that the pleasure connected with

the artificial appetites is purely and utterly selfish. It has

no relation to the ulterior good of the man himself, or any

other being. On the contrary, it lowers the tone of the

system and the capacity for good; whereas the pleasure

connected with the natural appetites has relation to the

vigor which wields the axe and guides the plough, and

even to the highest intellectual exertion.

The fourth difference is, that the artificial appetites have

a tendency to increase. As the stimulus is continued, the

quantity necessary to produce the desired effect becomes

greater. It is this insidious tendency, this "facilis descensus averni," that has brought many gifted men to the

verge of destruction before they were aware of it, and has

prevented their return. The natural appetites have no

such tendency.

Let no one, therefore, suppose that God has not given

as many appetites as are for his best good, or that he shall

be a gainer on the whole by attempting to reap where

nature did not sow.

The wretchedness there is in the world from the abuse

of the natural appetites, and from the expense and tyranny

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

of the artificial ones, is so great that the purpose of God

with reference to this part of the constitution is worthy of

careful study.

We now pass to the Desires.

Of these the appetites are not only the condition, but

they foreshadow and symbolize them. The desires are to

the mind what the appetites are to the body.

Their negative characteristics are that they do not take

their rise from the body; that they are not periodical, and

that they do not cease after attaining a particular object.

Positively, they are cravings which have for their object the

well-being of the mind, as the appetites have for theirs the

well-being of the body. They act in the first place impulsively and specifically with reference to particular objects;

subsequently they are adopted by the reason, and through

the operation of that and the generalizing faculty, their

objects come to be designated by general terms, as knowledge and power.

What the original desires are, and how many, philosophers have not been agreed. This we may ascertain as

we may what the appetites are. The ultimate appeal must

be to consciousness; but if we can determine beforehand

or by observation what is requisite for the well-being of

the body, we can tell what the appetites will be. So with

the desires. If we can ascertain what is needed for the

well-being of the mind, we may know what they are.

Towards those things we may be sure there will be instinctive tendencies or impulses which reason is to accept,

direct, and limit, but which will not wait for the discovery

by her of their necessities before they act.

The desires, like the appetites, imply appropriation, a

gathering in, a use and assimilation of materials by ourselves. They are related to the affections, and are for the

THE DESIRES.

affections which are above them, and which imply bestowment, and giving out. As the appropriations by the appetites were not intended to be selfish or for their own sake,

but for the giving forth of every form of physical and

mental activity, so the appropriations by the desires were

intended to furnish the material and groundwork for the

activity of the affections and the will.

What, then, would be needed for the perfection of the

mind itself, and that man might act most effectively through

his affections for the good of others? He would need, -

1st. HIis own continued and secure existence. He would

need property, that is, the possession of those things by

which life may be sustained. He would need it both as

a provision for himself, and as a condition of generosity to

others. HIe would then need knowledge for his guidance;

he would need power to reach thie ends suggested by a

regard for his own good and the suggestions of the affections for others; and he would need the good-will and

esteem of others that he might cooperate with them, and

they with him, and stand in such a relation to them as to

be able to do them good. These he would need; they

would be indispensable to his completeness in himself, and

in his relations to others; and for each of these he has a

iiatural and original desire.

The desires, then, which we shall consider, are, 1. The Desire of Continued Existence.

2. Of Knowledge.

3. Of Property.

4. Of Power.

5. Of Affection, Good-will, Esteem.

Besides these, it has been said of late, and almost universally, that we have the desire of happiness, and the

desire of society.

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

That the desire of happiness cannot be placed on the

same footing with the other desires, is plain,'

1st. Because happiness is the result of the normal activity of each of the faculties. We know it only as such.

But a desire, whose office it should be to receive the product of all the other faculties, would differ much from a

simple desire that produces happiness. In other cases the

desire is for a specific thing, and when that is met happiness is the result; but if we suppose an original desire of

happiness, there can be no happiness back of the happiness

desired, to be its result, and so its whole constitution must

be different from that of the other desires.

2d. It does not seem either simple or philosophical to

make a desire for knowledge, and a desire for the happiness resulting from that, each an original and simple desire. It would be more plausible to suppose, as some do,

that the desire for happiness is the only original desire,

and that the desire of knowledge, like that for books, is

wholly secondary. But this will not do, because, if we

had had no original desire for knowledge, we could never

have begun to seek it, and should have found no happiness

in its pursuit.

3d. In all other cases the desire goes directly to its own

object. It finds that, and happiness is the result. But no

man ever sought, or can seek, directly for happiness; he

must have something else as his direct object, and find

that indirectly.

4th. As each desire impels directly to its own end, and

knows of nothing else, it may, in a measure, be its own

guide; but, as happiness may result firom different and

often incompatible desires and faculties, there is far more

need of a higher power than any blind impulsion to guide

in its pursuit.

THE DESIRE OF HAPPINESS.

What, then, is the relation of this to the other desires?

To me it seems to be the same as that of consciousness to

the several specific faculties of cognition. Consciousness

is not a separate faculty, but accompanies and pervades all

the acts of each faculty. In the same way the desire of

happiness is not a separate and specific desire, but accompanies and pervades each act of such desire. As good is

the immediate product of the activity of our faculties, it

must be given in the original act of consciousness. Every

such act involves the conception, first, of being; second,

of activity, since consciousness is activity; and, third, if

the act be normal, of good as the result. But good thus

known must be desired, otherwise it could not be conceived of as good. In this way it is that a desire of good

enters into every specific form of desire, and that, as consciousness is the generic form of cognition, so the desire of

good or of happiness is the generic form of all the desires.

For the existence of a specific desire of society the

authority is high. That society is the natural sphere of

man there can be no doubt, and it is surprising that the

hypothesis of HIobbes, that the state of nature is a state of

warfare, should have been deemed worthy of a labored

refutation. "Man," it has been well said, "is born in society, and there he remains." The state of nature is a

state of society.

But, while it cannot be doubted that man was formed

for society, I yet esteem it rather a condition of his being

than the object of a specific desire. Hie has desires and

affections the exercise of which implies society, and it is,

as it seems to me, the direct exercise of these, and not

society itself apart from - this exercise, that he desires.

Take from him the desire of esteem, of power, of loving

and being beloved, all those specific desires, and affections,

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

and sympathies, which are mentioned by the philosophers

separately, and which imply society for their exercise, and

the residuum that would be left of a desire of society,

as such, would be little or nothing. Observing a certain

effect, the combined effect of all our faculties, they seem

to have contrived a new faculty to account for it, extracting and compounding it from all the others. Ceitain it is that our delight in society arises chiefly from the

exercise of other desires and affections which there find

their sphere, and if any shall choose to say that there is,

besides the effect resulting from the combined influence of

these, an instinct or desire for society, I am content.

Though happiness and society are not inaugurated ana

guarded by a particular desire, yet the design of God in

regard to them is even more clearly and strongly indicated

than if they were. To me these seem to be, the one like

warmth, and the other like the atmosphere, pervasive and

enfolding conditions of our activity, and hence more intimately associated with it, and more fully cared for than

any single principle of action. They are like the axioms

in mathematics that are essential at every step in the reasonings, as compared with the definitions and hypotheses

on which particular demonstrations depend.

I shall close this lecture with some remarks on the first

of the desires mentioned,- that of Continued Existence.

This is often mentioned as the strongest of the desires.

We say, "as dear as life itself." Yet it yields to that of

reputation, and revenge, and sometimes gives way before

mere weariness and ennui. Nor is the fact that there are

so few suicides certain evidence of the power of this desire, since men often fear death greatly who desire life

feebly, or not at Ill.

It is the object of this desire to guard life in sudden

TRUE COURAGE.

emergencies, and to ensure for it our deliberate and

rational care; and our present business is to inquire how

far we should be governed by it.

This involves the question respecting a true courage,

since a man is to brave danger and to die when required

by that, and only then. Under no circumstances is a man

to be a coward.

It is the grandest characteristic of man that he can deliberately look death in the face, and accept it rather than the

alternative of spiritual degradation. On the earth there

has been no nobler spectacle than that of those to whom

this alternative has been presented, and who have chosen

to die, to die in torture and in the midst of reproach.

Required to renounce their integrity, or do violence to

their affections, they have chosen to become martyrs.

To die thus implies the conviction of an inner life far

higher and dearer than that of the body, which no weapon

can reach, and no flame scorch; of a liberty which no

manacles can restrain; and of a will which all the might

of nature cannot subdue; and the moment in which malice lifts its cry of seeming triumph over the destruction

of the body of one dying thus, is the moment of the

greatest possible triumph of fortitude and principle, and

of liberty in its highest form. That man is capable of

such persecution, is the greatest disgrace of our nature;

that he is capable of enduring and triumphing over it, is

its greatest honor. One such death, transcendent and

perfect, the world has witnessed; it can never witness

another. If we are called on to lay down our lives thus,

we are to do it as best we may. To do this is true courag,e; not to do it is cowardice. In doing this we become

martyrs; and no man has a right to do it, except as a

martyr to truth, to righteousness, to liberty, or to humanity.

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

In imitation of this, but in striking contrast with it, is

that common-place exposure to danger and death which

comes from recklessness, and vanity, and a regard to the

opinion of others. There can be no nobleness in blindfolding the eyes, or in suffocating the natural emotions.

Rightly viewed, it is an awful thing to die. It becomes

us to acknowledge this; but if required to testify to any

great truth, or to sustain any great principle, it becomes us

to have such a conscience, and such a trust in God, that we

may die without fear, or even with welcome. This is true

courage, and anything else in the guise of this is either

stupidity, or cowardice and hypocrisy.

But the obligation to meet death with firmness, when

called to it by truth or by duty, does not rest solely upon

our individual interests and character; the interests of

mankind are involved. Abstract truths and general principles often lie dormant till they are awakened into life

by some powerful attestation. The attestation which the

death of a wise and good man gives to the value of the

principles for which he dies, has a voice that is startling to

humanity, and will arouse it if anything can. If the existing generation do not hear it, as through interest or

prejudice they may not, it will not be lost; it will be

heard in after times. It is for this reason that the blood

o-f the martyrs has been the seed of the church, and that

the names of IHampden and Sidney have been the watchwords of liberty wherever the English tongue has been

known. When such men die, death, in whatever form,

does not come to them as to common men, whispering of

terror or of hope for them alone, but -

" In its hollow tones are heard

The thanks of millions yet to be."

However strong, therefore, the desire of life may be, it

DESIRE OF CONTINUED EXISTENCE.

must yield when this is required by higher principles of

action, by the affections, and the conscience. Mankindc

justify and applaud him who dies for his kindred, his country, his race, or to sustain his integrity. They disregard

and despise him who dies, or exposes himself to death,

from a desire of applause, or from the fear of a corrupt

public opinion.

It only remains to notice the modes in which the intentions of God, as indicated by this part of our constitution,

are plainly set at nought. These are chiefly four.

The first is, by any vicious indulgence which shortens

life. The guilt and waste of life from this cause cannot be

measured.

The second is from war. We need not inquire here

whether men may expose their lives in war according to

the principles already stated. That they may not on lower

principles, is certain; and in the light of this truth, how

dreadfully have the purposes of God in regard to human

life been disregarded in war! So has it been in all wars

of ambition, of passion, and of mere interest. The fact

that mercenaries have been so readily found, who would

espouse any cause, expose themselves to any danger, and

do any amount of slaughter for the poor pittance of a soldier's pay, is among the saddest indications of the moral

state of the race.

A third mode in which the purpose of God, as indicated

by this desire, is set aside, is by suicide.

As this is a crime which cannot be punished, little can

be done to prevent it except to point out and remove its

causes. These are, -1st. Insanity. With this we have

nothing to do. 2d. The commission of crime and apprehended exposure and disgrace. 3d. Disappointment in the

attainment of any object which has been regarded as the

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

chief good. 4th. Infidelity when carried to the denial of

a hereafter or of human accountability. Not that infidelity has a direct tendency to induce suicide, but that,

when men are tempted to it, it removes all obstacles. A

thoroughgoing and unflinching infidel would feel himself

at perfect liberty to choose nonentity rather than life if he

should prefer it. lIence the levity with which this crime

is spoken of by infidels, as Hume, who said that it was

but the turning a little blood out of one channel into

another. It is only by the removal of the causes now

mentioned that we may expect that the frequency of this

crime will be diminished.

A fourth mode in which life is wantonly shortened is by

duelling.

In this we have a striking instance of the power of

custom after the opinion in which the particular custom

originated is entirely changed. Originally regarded as a

species of judicial trial in which there was an appeal to

God, a refusal to fight came in time to be considered a

confession not simply of cowardice, but of cowardice on

account of guilt. Then it was that the tyranny of custom

and of public opinion commenced; and now, though the

idea of an appeal to God, or of any adjudication according

to merit, is utterly exploded, though the laws are against

it, and it is known to be morally wrong, though the force

of public opinion is in some regions entirely removed, and

everywhere very much lightened, yet the custom still retains its hold, and the law of God is made void by the

"traditions" of men in high places. This, too, is done

when all the circumstances which once gave the combat

eclat and dignity are entirely reversed. It was once sanctioned by law, and witnessed by multitudes who applauded

the knightly bearing of the combatants. Now, those who

100

DUELLING -MORAL COWARDICE.

fight shrink away to some place where the law may be

evaded, the combat is witnessed only by the seconds and

the surgeon, and there is no display of manly vigor, or of

any other skill than that of a highwayman. The parties

simply take pistols and shoot at each other. It was once

an evidence of courage, and compatible with a sense of

duty; now, whatever may be said of mere animal courage,

it shows a pitiable want of moral courage, and is opposed

to all the dictates of morality, of humanity, and of reli gion. Though founded in mistaken notions, it yet had, at

its commencement, something noble about it, but like the

Scylla of Virgil, whose head was human, it tapers off, as it

comes down to us, into hideous and unmitigated deform' ity. In its present position, it is difficult to say whether

this custom is more wicked or ridiculous.

101

LECTURE V.

DESIRE OF PROPERTY. - AVARICE. - DESIRE OF NOWLEDGE. - DESIRE OF

POWER. - INFLUENCE. - EMULATION. - DESIRE OF ESTEEM. - DESIRE OF

GLORY.

AFTER the desire of life, which we have already considered, that of property was mentioned.

As life is the condition of all the desires, so also is the

possession of that which is necessary to sustain life. In

common with the others, this desire has its root in the

tendency of all life to appropriate to itself whatever is

necessary to its own perfection and manifestation. So it

is with the appetites as they are related to the perfection

and power of the body. There is a point where they are

identical, and whence they branch off in search of different objects necessary for such perfection and power, and

so become different specific appetites. So, also, it is with

the desires. There is a point where they, too, seem identical in their relation to the perfection and manifestation

of mind, and whence they branch off in the directions

mentioned as constituting the several specific desires. If,

therefore, the ownership of something, possession, property, be essential to such perfection and manifestation,

then this general tendency will be in that direction, and

will become a specific desire.

But ownership, or property, is thus necessary. It is

through this that we have security for ourselves, and a

chief means of manifesting our individuality to others.

102

THE DESIRE OF PROPERTY.

What is not our own we have no right to use. We have

a right to use the fruit that grows wild only because, when

we pluck it, it becomes ours. And, as this sense of property is the condition of our using anything for ourselves,

so is it for our giving anything to others.

We may, it is true, conceive of a state in which the

whole enjoyment of man, and perhaps an adequate one,

should arise from what could not, or need not be appropriated, as the air and the sunlight; but, in his present

state, if he had no material thing which he could use as

his own, and none which he could give to others, he not

only could have no security, but would lack scope for the

activity of some of those essential faculties by which he is

made in the image of God. If God had no ownership, he

would not be God, and if man had none, involving dominion, he would not be in his image.

That the desire of property in the sense and to the

extent above indicated is a natural desire, we can scarcely

doubt, if, in addition to the considerations just adduced,

we notice how early and distinctly it is manifested by children; how it stimulates industry; and how essential property is to the very existence of society. Doubtless, the

natural desires often interpenetrate, support, and modify

each other, but there seems to be no more reason for referring this desire, as some have done, to that of power, than

for referring the desire of knowledge in the same way,

since knowledge has often been said to be power. Holding

such relations as property does, we might expect that God

would indicate his will by giving a specific desire, and that

he would make that desire, as he has all the others, the

basis of a right. If God has given us a desire for property, then, within limits to be fixed by other considerations, we have a right to property, and when we look at

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the extent and validity of the right of property, we can

hardly suppose it to be founded on anything but a natural

desire.

This desire, then, being, in the true and original sense of

that word, natural, cannot be wrong. Nor is it too strong

in itself, for there is not too much honest industry or selfdenying frugality. The doctrine holds here, that has already been stated in regard to those principles of action

which relate to the material interests of the individual and

of society, that the stronger they are, provided they be kept

properly subordinated, the richer and better substratum of

individual character and of society do they form. Those

who have done the most for our public institutions, and

done it most nobly, have been men with a strong desire of

property, who knew the worth of what they gave; generally men who had accumulated it by their own industry,

but who gave, nevertheless, cheerfully and gladly, in view

of great interests to be promoted, and of the subordinate

place which this desire holds as the purveyor of God, and

the appointed servant of principles higher than itself. If

an alabaster-box of precious ointment is to be opened, the

perfume of which is to fill society, the box must first be

filled. Only as we recognize the legitimacy of this principle can giving have its true merit and dignity, or indeed

any merit or dignity at all. As men now are, it is far better that they should be employed in accumulating property honestly, to be spent reasonably, if not nobly, than

that there should be encouraged any sentimentalism about

the worthlessness of property, or any tendency to a merely

contemplative and quietistic life, which has so often been

either the result or the cause of inefficiency and idleness.

But while the legitimacy of this desire is not to be ques

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tioned, it is not to be forgotten that it is specially liable to

excess and perversion.

The appetites have a material limit, but, like all the desires, this has none, and, unchecked, it grows, and becomes

insatiate by its own activity. It is like an elastic receiver

which could not be stretched beyond its capacity, but

which would grasp the more tightly its contents the fuller

it should be made. To the strength of natural desire

there is added the power of habit; and then, in our state

of society especially, there is everything to foster it.

With no law of entail, with a form of government that

stimulates every faculty, with unprecedented openings for

enterprise from the newness of the country, with no order

of nobility, and, with the exception of high talent and

transient office, with nothing but wealth to give position

and distinction, it is not strange that it should be sought

with peculiar eagerness and unscrupulousness. More than

any other it is the national passion, and, what with dishonest and injurious modes in the getting, and folly and

luxury in the using, there is danger through it of national

ruin. It is not merely on the protection of the right of

property, essential as that is, that the material prosperity

of a nation depends, but also on the prevalent modes of

getting and using it. Gambling, lotteries, theft, fraud, are

modes of gaining wealth, but are mere depredations on

society; pandering to hurtful and vicious appetites is still

worse, and when these are prevalent, implying as they do

modes of spending money corresponding with the modes

of getting, there can be no prosperity.

The perversions of this desire appear in covetousness

and avarice. These have in fact the same elements; but

covetousness, even to unscrupulousness, in getting property, is not incompatible with profusion in spending it;

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while avarice refers more particularly to the grasp with

which it is held. This grasp may be so strong as not only

not to be relaxed at the call of public spirit and natural

affection, but even for the supply of the most pressing personal wants.

It is here that we find, and are called upon to account

for, that strange phenomenon in our nature, - a miser. A

miser is one in whom this desire is so strong as to defeat

all the ends for which it was given, one who suffers the

very wretchedness which the desire was given to prevent,

through an excess of the desire given to prevent it.

As it is money that is especially sought by the miser, it

has been usual to say that as that is the representative of

value, and stands for everything which it can command, we

transfer, through the association of ideas, the regard we

have for those things to that which represents and can command them, and so come to attach a high intrinsic value to

that which has little value in itself, and none at all so long

as it is hoarded. That something of this occurs almost

universally, cannot be doubted, and if we combine it with

unusual outward temptations, or with peculiar constitutional tendencies, or both, it may be sufficient to account

for many cases of miserliness. Doubtless there are those

to whom this is naturally a besetting sin. But there are

cases for which it does not account; especially those in

which persons who have been prodigals in youth have subsequently become misers. This has often been the case.

It was so with the noted miser mentioned by Foster in his

Essay on Decision of Character. But of all men we should

suppose a prodigal would be the last to associate money

with value. Brown, therefore, founds avarice, not so

much on feelings of pleasure at seeing constant additions

to a heap that is never to be used, as on the permanence of

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money compared with the transient pleasures of the prodigal, and on feelings of regret at having spent that which

can never return. If a man purchase a house, though his

money be gone, yet the house remains, and being constantly useful to him, he looks back upon the parting with

his money without regret. But if he had expended the

same sum for a palace of ice, though he might be pleased

for a time with its glitter, yet, when it had melted away,

he could not fail to reflect how much that was valuable he

might purchase with his money if he then had it, and look

back upon his parting with it with regret.

Let, then, a young man spend his money foolishly till

he becomes embarrassed, or perhaps in utter want; let

him be stung at the same time by what is, or what he conceives to be ingratitude, and every instance of such expenditure will haunt him, and a permanent and deep feelingof regret will be the consequence. If he again acquire

money, he will regard it not so much as the representative

of any particular value, as a guard against the perplexity

and trouble into which he had previously fallen. As he

formerly reflected afterwards how many things he might

have purchased, so now his money seems to him, not the

representative of the value of that particular thing which

he may wish to purchase, but of all those things collectively which might be obtained by it. As it was from

parting with his money that his regret formerly arose, so

now, when he would part with any, whether the sum be

great or small, and quite as much if small if it was by

small sums that he lost his money, the same feeling presents itself and debars him, till at length penurious and

miserly habits are formed.

This theory I deem correct, and bring it forward for the

practical moral consequencs which it involves. It is often

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thought an indication of spirit in young men to have a certain profusion and recklessness in their way of spending

money. They think it essential to their position to spend

upon trifles of fashion, and the demands of what is called

good-fellowship, but what is too often fellowship in folly

and vice, sums which neither they nor their friends can

well afford. If, then, instead of being considered a mark

of spirit, this profusion were regarded by the young man

and his friends, as it truly is, as a mark of want of judgment and of genuine independence, and if in the prodigality of to-day they could behold the parsimony of future

years, much evil would be averted.

In our cities and public institutions there are many

young men who depend on a hard-working father, or a

poor and widowed mother, or on self-denying sisters, who

are liable to be drawn into associations with those whose

means of expense are above their own, to incur obligations

of what they call honor, and to engulf, if not in vice, yet

in what is purely conventional and useless, the scanty earnings of their home. It is pitiable to see those who do

thus, greedy of money whenever they can get it, evading

small bills, and those of poor people; disappointing, alienating, perhaps ruining those who love them; losing their

own self-respect, and incurring the contempt of those who

care little or nothing for them. From such the public has

nothing to hope.- But from one who will deny himself,

and rely for his position upon industry, integrity, and

transparency of character, and who can respect himself in

honest poverty, and look down upon meanness anywhere,

if he shall succeed, the public may expect much. He will

have an open hand for somebody.

In general, if we have been accustomed from our youth

to spend money so that we have not regretted its loss, if

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we have given it for the necessaries and the conveniences

of life, and especially for the gratification of the benevolent affections, we may expect to continue to part with

money,- that is, if we have it,- if not nobly, yet usefully, and without regret. But if we have spent our

money aimlessly, or with that mixture of meanness and

profusion which those often exhibit who spend money only

for selfish pleasures, we must beware lest the reckless

expenditure of twenty become the avarice of sixty; lest

the young man, flattered and praised by sycophants for his

generosity, become in age a niggard and contemptible

miser.

From the desire of property we pass to that of knowl

edge.

By the first we appropriate to ourselves whatever may

be useful to us that is material; by the second, so far as

that is possible, whatever may be useful that pertains to

the spiritual world.

That this is a natural desire need not be proved, because it is not disputed. This was known to Solomon.

"Through desire," says he, "a man having separated himself, seeketh and intermeddleth with all wisdom." Like

him we give our hearts "to seek and search out by wisdom concerning all things that are done under heaven."

It may be "a sore travail," but "this," in giving this desire, "hath God given to the sons of men to be exercised

therewith." The desire has for its object the only element

in which man can walk without stumbling. It is as the

light by which we see, and so is indispensable to the intelligent exercise of any of the faculties.

It is not to be supposed, however, that all knowledge is

gained under the stimulus of this desire. The desire is

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found existing in the light of consciousness and of the

primitive ideas and truths of reason. These, which have

been said to be

"The light of all our seeing,"

are essentially the same in all. They are involved in the

exercise of all our faculties, while this desire of knowledge,

or the principle of curiosity as it has been called, may

exist in different degrees, and with reference to different

objects.

So far as the desire of knowledge is impulsive and involuntary it has no moral character. In this respect it is on

the same footing with all the impulsive powers. They

respect objects which are indifferent in themselves, that

may be used for either good or evil, and moral character is

manifested as we reject or adopt and control these impulsions. An angel and a fiend may have equal knowledge.

Their character is shown by its use.

Of this desire the direct and proper stimulus is knowledge itself, and for itself. To the mind that can feel it

there is in knowledge a power to charm as there is in

music. It is a high attribute of man through which he

can find in the works of God, and in the relations which

he has established, an excellence so attractive as to be in

itself a sufficient motive to their contemplation and study.

In this is the root of the true enthusiasm for science. It

is among those who have this that we find the mathematicians, who, like Archimedes, can spend days and nights

in the contemplation of abstract theorems; the sages, who,

like Socrates, can remain absorbed in thought four-andtwenty hours without changing their position; and without much of this no man can be expected to distinguish

himself greatly in the walks of science.

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THE DESIRE OF KNOWLEDGE.

But besides this primary motive, the desire of knowledge finds a natural and legitimate support in the esteem

in which those are generally held who are distinguished by

their attainments; in the direct and obvious utility of

many branches of knowledge, and, from the wonderful and

often unsuspected connection of its different branches, in

the incidental and possible utility of all knowledge.

But even with such support, the desire of knowledge

has often too little relative strength in the contest with

indolence. In order to induce study, the best of men

have therefo)re thought it necessary to admit and to sanction in our public institutions the far inferior and sometimes pernicious motive of emulation, but they have done

it reluctantly, and only as polygamy was allowed to the

Israelites, "because of the hardness of their hearts." It is

to be hoped that the time may come when the adjustment

of forces shall be different, and there shall be found in

knowledge and in its necessary and legitimate results sufficient motive for its pursuit.

Like the appetites, the desire for knowledge may become

artificial, and take directions that are capricious. It may

also be in excess. It is always relatively so when the

acquisition of knowledge has no respect to the attainment

of mental power, and the use to be made of it. Knowledge is the food of the mind. And as food may overload

and enfeeble the body, and is to be received only as there

is a capacity of digestion and assimilation, and with ultimate reference to action, so knowledge may overload and

enfeeble the mind, and should be received only as it can

be reflected on and arranged, and so incorporaterimto our

mental being as to give us power for action. Here, as

elsewhere, the receiving is to have reference to a giving,

but not wholly. If the thing received were not valuable

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

in itself, there would be neither worth in the gift nor

merit in the giving.

We now proceed to the desire of power. The idea of

power is inseparable from that of will. The very act of

willing, or, as Hamilton calls it, conation, gives the conception; but this is fully realized only in the passing of the

conation into its results. Personal power is in the idea of

a will; but the idea of power is implied, and would be

given also in the spontaneous exercises of any of the faculties. A faculty and a power are the same thing. It

may even be said that in all receptivity there is power.

There is the power of receiving; but in the sense now

contemplated this would not be a power. In all power

exerted there is an origination of activity.

The idea of power, then, enters into our very conception of ourselves. We cannot exist except as powers.

The consciousness of being, and of power, can hardly be

said to be two things. We can neither know nor rejoice

in our being nor its enlargement except through a consciousness of power, and of the enlargement of power.

Doubtless there is a high pleasure as we make experiments

upon our faculties corporeal and mental, and ascertain the

effects we can originate through them, and the more striking the effects the greater the pleasure; but in that we are

merely finding ourselves out, and the desire of power no

more respects, as has commonly been supposed, that power

which enters into the conception of ourselves, than the

desire of knowledge includes the light of consciousness

and the intuitions of reason. The very desire of power is

itself a power, and it is absurd to say that a desire desires

itself. In examining man we must take him as possessed

of all that makes him man. We find him to be a power,

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DESIRE OF POWER AND OF LIBERTY.

and also to possess the desire of power; but, as the desire

of knowledge implies a primitive knowledge which the

desire does not respect, so the desire of power implies a

primitive power which that desire does not respect. We

must either adopt this mode of viewing the subject, or

resolve all our desires into that of power, since there is in

all of them an exertion of power and an enjoyment proportioned to the power exerted.

But all this is very different from that control over nature and men which we may gain by our own skill and

exertion, which may be put forth in different directions, or

not at all, and the desire of which may exist in different

degrees. It is this, and chiefly the desire of controlling

our fellow-creatures, that we mean by the desire of power.

Having made this distinction, it may be well to indicate,

at this point, the difference between the desire of power

and that of liberty, as the latter is often made a part of

the former. Liberty has no particular connection with the

desire of power as just defined, but has respect to the putting forth, within their legitimate sphere, of any of those

faculties by which we are men. It is the condition of the

manifestation of our being in any direction we may choose;

but I did not class it with the specific desires for the same

reason that I omitted the desire of society and of happiness.

A free bird does not desire freedom. It was hatched firee.

Freedom is the general condition of all its activity. So

men are born free, and God has given no natural desire to

meet a condition of things induced by wrong. It is, therefore, no specific desire, but the whole nature, that rebels

against unjust restraint; and freedom can be crushed out

only by the degradation of the whole man.

Hence liberty, society, and happiness, the first two being

general conditions of our activity, and the last a general

10*

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result of it, are more intimate to us, more essential and

sacred, than the object of any specific desire.

But to return. The power of man is from his will, and

the extent of it he learns wholly by experience. If the

movement of mountains had followed his volition from

the first as uniformly as the movement of his limbs, it

would have seemed to him, and would have been, no more

strange. But experience shows him that his direct power

extends only to the voluntary muscles of the body and to

the voluntary faculties of the mind, and that even here his

power is not absolute. Probably no man ever gained the

full control either over his muscles or over the faculties of

his mind. To give such control is one great object of education. In this is discipline. IHere is the first sphere of

power, the only one that is direct. Here lies the greatness

of him who ruleth his own spirit.

But between this power, which, though direct, is so narrow in its range, and that indirect power which man may

exert over the elements and over nations, the contrast is

marvellous. It is this latter power that men chiefly seek,

and all mechanism, all practical sciences, all forms of government, are but means for its exercise. They are means,

more or less facile, for connecting the will of man with

remote results; and nothing more indicates the superiority

of man's nature than the extent to which this may be

done. An animal can do nothing at a distance from itself

in space, and nothing worthy of mention, except in the

present, in time; but the will of a single man may find

expression in a few words that shall set in motion armies

and navies, and the echo of what was at first but a few

feeble vibrations of the atmosphere shall come back from

distant continents in the roar of cannon and the groans of

the dying. The thought and feeling of one man may find

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expression in words that shall be repeated through all

time, and work like leaven in transforming society.

The control of man over nature can never be arbitrary.

"Nature is conquered only by obeying her laws." But

while nature cannot be broken down by force, the will of

man may be. Hience, in governing his fellows, instead of

making, as he should, the method he is compelled to follow in nature his model, and governing men in accordance

with the laws of their rational and responsible nature, man

has employed arbitrary power. It is in the tendency to

this that the danger from this desire is found. To a corrupted will the taste of it is like that of blood to the tiger.

Under its influence man sets himself up as independent

of authority, rejects moral restraint, and in passing to his

selfish ends disregards the rights and the miseries of men.

The larger part of history is but a record of the deeds of

men under the influence of this desire thus perverted.

But whatever the perversions and abuses of this desire

may be, there can be no more doubt of its legitimacy than

of that of knowledge, since the great use of knowledge is

to be a condition for the right exercise of power. If the

results of its perversion are terrific, it only shows the uses

to which it may be put when rightly directed. The element that rages in the conflagration is the same that

enables man to mould to his will the most refractory substances in nature, and which may be made so much the

more energetic in its usefulness, as, when uncontrolled, it

had been destructive and awful. It is the same atmosphere that, in its condensed energies, forms the tornado,

that wafts the ship, and kisses the leaf of the violet.

Every creature of God is good; but it is to be used not

only "with thanksgiving," but in accordance with his

laws.

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It is this arbitrary power that kings, and especially

tyrants, have sought and possessed. In the early stages

of society it was natural that such a power should be

attained, and, once attained, that it should seek to perpetu ate itself. But men have found the trust too great. They

are, therefore, seeking to divide the power, and, by putting

it into the hands of the people themselves, to bring inter est in to the aid of principle. It is creditable to man

that he can maintain a republic, but it would be more

so if monarchy could be well administered. If democracy

trusts the people to a certain extent, it yet proceeds upon

a distrust of man. By adopting as its maxim that "eternal

vigilance is the price of liberty," it declares that man has

no moderation in the desire, and is not to be trusted in

the use of power.

But besides arbitrary power backed by force, there is

another which we call influence, not less effectual, and

often not less extensive, which is exercised, not by coercion, but in compatibility with the laws of mind and the

freedom of others. This is the power of the wise, of the

eloquent, of the good man; and as it always implies the

possession of qualities respectable in themselves, and generally beneficial, it is to be sought by every honorable

means.

Power and influence are not incompatible, but, as contrasted, they differ in several respects. Power interferes

with freedom; influence does not. Power stands above

those whom it controls, and issues its commands; influence elicits and directs the individual energies of those

upon whom it bears, and thus enlarges the sphere of their

agency. Power keeps itself aloof as an object of fear and

admiration; influence mingles in with the agencies which

itself has set in motion, and is often so lost in them as to

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be forgotten, as the kindling spark is forgotten when the

flames begin to spread. Power, especially if it be hereditary, depends upon accident; influence upon personal

qualities. Power is maintained by pageantry, by chicanery,

by brute force; influence by the cultivation of those commanding qualities from which it first arose.

While, therefore, we reject, as the object of desire, all

arbitrary power, we cannot too earnestly desire those

means of influence by which we may lead others freely to

their own good.

Emulation, or the desire of superiority, is classed by

Stewart and others among the original desires. By others

it is regarded as a modification of the desire of power.

So I regard it. At least I hardly know where else to

place it, though the desire of esteem often seems to be

involved in it, quite as much as that of power. If the

contests in which emulation is excited were not public, and

the results were never to be known, probably the emulation would be but slight. My reason for not classing it

with the original desires will be found in the principle

already stated. I do not see that it would be necessary to

the perfection of the mind.

Of this as a principle of action much has been said, and

moralists are not agreed respecting it. This may be, in

part, from some ambiguity in the term. There can be no

emulation unless a man pursues an object in common with

others. Here other principles are brought in, and we

need to discriminate.

There is in many animals an instinctive feeling that produces in them the effects of emulation. It may be seen in

two horses drawing together, or attempting to pass each

other. This feeling has in it nothing malignant. It is

probably a modification of their social instincts.

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

In man there may be something of the same instinct,

joined with the higher influence of sympathy. Of sympathy the influence is so great that Adam Smith made it the

foundation of his moral system. If we see others laugh,

we are disposed to laugh also; if they are in grief, our

feelings and countenance conform in some degree to their

emotions; and whatever feeling may be vividly expressed,

if it does not shock our sense of propriety, we have a tendency to enter into and sympathize with. This is natural

and right. If, now, in a class of young men studying together, and doing as little as possible, we suppose that one

of them should wake up to a love of knowledge, and to a

sense of his responsibility, and enter independently upon

a course of work, it would be strange, since we sympathize

with almost every other feeling, if something of his spirit

should not be transferred to others. So far from being

wrong in them to feel it, it would imply a baseness if they

did not, and if this feeling should pervade the class, it

would be a blessing to all. It would be simply a manifestation of our social nature in one of its higher and better

forms. That there is in it nothing of malignity or personal feeling is clear, because the same feeling may be

excited by reading the lives of those who are dead. What

was it that brought tears into the eyes of Julius Cesar,

when, at the age of thirty-two, he saw the picture of Alexander the Great? What is it that causes the bosom of the

young missionary to burn when he reads the lives of Brainerd and of Martyn? And if we may be thus stimulated

by those who have gone before uis, how much more by

those who walk with us. It is in this effect and propriety

of sympathy that we find not only the benefit of social

study and work, but the obligation of setting a good example. If any deny the propriety of being stimulated, not

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EMULATION.

merely in view of the thing to be done, but also in view

of what others have done, they destroy the obligation to

set a good example. This principle is recognized in the

Bible "Consider," says the apostle, not simply the excel lence of the end, but "one another, to provoke - yes provoke -unto love and good works." "I speak not this,"

says he, "by commandment, but by occasion of the forwardness of others." He says, too, by way of commendation, and as what he rejoiced in, "And your zeal hath

provoked very many " not to do more than others, but

what they could.

Thus, when we pursue an object in common with others, our motives are mixed. We have some love of the

thing itself, we have some sympathy, some desire of the

esteem connected with distinguished success, and we may

also have a desire of superiority for its own sake. It is

this last only that is properly emulation. So it is defined

by Butler, and Reid, and Stewart, and Whewell; but in

supposing this to be an original part of our nature, and in

their discussions upon it, I cannot believe that they wholly

separated it from the elements above mentioned.

That this love of superiority, taken by itself, is either

a natural or a justifiable principle, I cannot suppose. It

does not contemplate our doing what we can, which is all

that is required of us, but more than another, and involves

our unhappiness if we do not. It is nowhere commanded

in the Bible that we should be above others. To desire

to be above him simply for the love of it, is incompatible

with loving our neighbor as ourselves. It is a pleasure

gained at his expense; but there is no legitimate pleasure

that is necessarily at the expense of another. God has

not so constituted his creatures. It is closely, though perhaps not necessarily, associated with pride on the one hand

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

and envy on the other. It cannot blend with that love

which is the fulfilling of the law. To suppose one person

to be endeavoring to love God more than another is preposterous.

It is supposed by some that emulation is forbidden in the

Scriptures, because "emulations" are classed by the apostle Paul with " wrath, strife, envyings, murder," etc. But

in the Scriptures language is employed with the same latitude as in common life. The term is found in them but

twice, and in the other instance is used by the same apostle as that which he was desirous of producing. "If," says

he, "by any means I might provoke to'emulation' them

which are my flesh, and might save some of them." There

is, therefore, an emulation to be comnmended as well as one

to be condemned; and, doubtless, men often dispute on

this subject, who, if they would be careful to understand

each other, would find themselves perfectly agreed.

We have now considered, in its various forms, the desire

of power. The vanity of those pursuits to which men are

impelled by it, when in excess, is a common topic with

moralists. Doubtless, the objects of it are less valuable

when attained than they appear in the distance. The elevation is apparently smooth and inviting, but the way to it

is hazardous, and when reached it is often found barren

and comfortless. That those who enter upon this pursuit

should be deceived is almost a necessity. By men who are

in power, and have wealth, while they seem to have everything at command, their care, their weakness, their misery,

are carefully concealed. They often spend more thought

and labor to appear to be happy than to be so. Than our

judgments respecting the happiness of others nothing can

be more uncertain. The evils that we do not see we readily suppose not to exist, and often envy those who are far

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more wretched than ourselves. The impression of pain is

much more vivid than that of pleasure, and a man apparently happy may have his life embittered in a thousand

ways which we do not suspect.

But, laying aside the evils common to all men, power

and wealth have cares and troubles peculiar to themselves.

"The needy traveller, serene and gay,

Walks the wild heath and sings his toil away;

Does envy bid thee crush the upbraiding joy?

Increase his riches, and his peace destroy.

Now fears in dire vicissitude invade,

The rustling brake alarms, and quivering shade,

Nor light nor darkness brings his pain relief, -

One shows the plunder, and one hides the thief."

"For heaven's sake let us sit upon the ground

And tell sad stories of the death of kings;

How some have been deposed, some slain in war,

Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed -

All murdered, -for within the hollow crown

That rounds the mortal temples of a king

Keeps Death his court, and there the Antic sits,

Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp,

Allowing him a breath, a little scene

To monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks,

Infusing him with self and vain conceit,

As if this flesh which walls about our life

Were brass impregnable; and honored thus,

Comes at the last, and with a little pin

Bores through his castle-wall- and - farewell king.

Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood

With solemn reverence."

If these and similar evils of wealth and power are more

than compensated by peculiar advantages, the balance in

their favor is but slight. What is most to be desired and

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most to be dreaded in life is common to all men. The

light of heaven, the air, the earth, the heritage of the

senses, the play of the affections, the treasures of a good

conscience, may be possessed by all. From the loss of

friends, the encroachments of disease, the disorder of the

passions, the forebodings caused by sin of an awful future,

and from death, none are exempt. Where, then, there is

so much in common, the difference of enjoyment that mere

wealth or power can give is so small that if it must cost

much struggle it will generally be found that the "play is

not worth the candle," that we have sacrificed ease and

independence to imaginary advantages.

It only remains to speak of the desire of esteem.

For this the other desires are, in a measure, the condition, since esteem is most fully reached through the use

we make of property, knowledge, and power. It has reference not only to our own happiness, but to our cobperation with others, and is an indispensable condition of the

social results intended by God. It is less stirring than the

desire of power, and often requires us to forbear action as

well as to act. With the desire of arbitrary power it is

incompatible. He who would employ the means requisite

to gain that, and would use it when gained, must forfeit

esteem. Napoleon is reported to have said of his brother

Joseph that he was too good a man to be a great man.

That this is a natural desire, is not now questioned. It

appears in children before they are able to speak, and with

many is stronger than any other, even than that of life

itself or of a good conscience. Men will sacrifice life for

the good opinion of others, and will lie that they may not

be thought liars. Its opposite, scorn, contempt, ridicule,

are among the things we most dread, and it requires the

sternest principle and the greatest independence of judg

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THE DESIRE OP ESTEEM.

ment to stand before them. To do this is a higher form of

heroism than to stand before the cannon's mouth. Few

will not remember the impressions from first reading Milton's description of the faithful angel with whom

" Nor number nor example wrought

To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind,

Though single. From amidst them forth he passed

Long way through hostile scort, which he sustained

Superior, nor of violence feared aught;

And with retorted scorn his back he turned

On those proud towers to swift destruction doomed."

From the legitimate influence of this desire the benefits

are equal to its strength. The danger also is in the same

proportion. This arises from the want of coincidence between the desire and the conscience in others and in ourselves, and will be in two directions.

In the first place, we may be desirous of doing right, but

be tempted to violate our conscience in order to please

others. This we are never to do, either by evasion or

compliance. Those who do this are a kind of inverted

hypocrites, seeming worse than they are. In matters of

indifference we are to be ready to comply with the inclinations, and even the prejudices of others, but if we violate

our conscience we not only incur guilt, but are generally

despised by the very persons whose good opinion we seek.

Besides, it is not to the good opinion of men only that

we should have respect. Many things that are highly esteemed among men are abomination in the sight of God.

This often causes a fearful conflict, but there must be no

faltering.

In the second place, we may suppose others to be pleased

with good qualities, and be tempted to make a pretence of

those we do not possess, thus violating our conscience by

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acting a lie. This takes two forms. If admiration be

sought, it will be affectation; if confidence and friendship,

hypocrisy. In both we act a lie, but the one is a ridiculous lie chiefly hurtful to ourselves, while the other is a lie

of the darkest hue. Affectation and hypocrisy! To how

much light satire and spleen, to how much deep distrust

and dark misanthropy, have they given rise! How have

they given to human life, i-which such momentous interests are involved, the appearance of a masquerade and a

farce!

Has any one, then, principle? Let him abide by it.

Would any one seem to be anything? Let him be that

thing. This is the freest and safest way, and quite as

easy as to preserve a state of forced and dangerous concealment. Regarding these two cautions, we need not

fear being too much influenced by a regard to the good

opinion of those around us.

The esteem spoken of hitherto is that of those whom

we know, and with whom we have intercourse. But we

also desire the good opinion of those who are remote from

us in space and in time, whom we never expect to see or

to have intercourse with. We desire fame, and, what is

the highest form of it, glory.

By some this form of the desire of esteem has been

ranked as a separate desire, but without reason. By others

it has been greatly ridiculed, also without reason, since it

is a natural form of the desire, and one justified by the

Scriptures. "The righteous," they say, "shall be had in

everlasting remembrance;" and Christians are those who

seek for "glory and honor," as well as for "immortality."

Of glory as it is commonly conceived, Cousin has given

the best account I have seen. That I propose to give in

substance, and then make some remarks upon it.

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GLORY AND REPUTATION.

And first, we are to separate glory from notoriety. The

passions and feelings of one man are common to all, and

mankind are always aroused by any vivid and startling

exhibitions of their common nature in any of its elements

or forms. If this exhibition be of the darker and fiendlike passions, they will utter a cry of execration which is

at once notoriety and infamy.

We must also distinguish glory from reputation. This

implies something praiseworthy to a certain extent, but

may be gained by almost any one who pleases. Mankind,

from education, taste, prejudice, are divided into parties,

sects, coteries, the members of which are valued, not for

their common humanity, but for the elements of difference by which that party or sect may happen to be distinguished. This is their common point of sympathy, and

the man who embodies most fully, and expresses most

strongly, the peculiarities of the party, will have reputation, will be the great man of the party. But the very

cause of his reputation cuts him off from sympathy with

the race, and he must pass into oblivion. Such are the

party men of the day, who flourish because they are party

men, and for that reason, so far as they are party men,

must fade. Such are the zealots and sectarians, whether

in politics or religion, who are distinguished by anything

which is not connected with the great interests of truth

and of duty. The possession, in an uncommon degree, of

any quality, as wit, humor, memory, will confer reputation.

It may be gained by contrivance and trick, by collusion

and bargaining.

But with glory it is not so. It has been said already

that the elements of humanity are common to all, and that

it always recognizes and responds to any vivid portrayal of

itself. We are all conscious of indefinite workings of our

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minds, of undefined and shapeless feelings, and when these

are brought out into perfect expression by the touch of

genius we are delighted. We admire, and are grateful to

the man who can give us new aspects either of nature or

of ourselves. It is the glory of all great poets and philosophers, of those who represent, and of those who analyze

nature and man, that in whatever age or country their

works may be found by man sufficiently cultivated to

understand them, they meet with a recognition and a response. This master minds alone can accomplish. Chance

has nothing to do with it. Artifice and pretence are futile

here.

In the same way military glory arises from the relation

of those who gain it to the permanent interests and universal feelings of man. What gives interest to a battle is

not that it is a theatre where brute force contends, but one

where different interests and principles are arrayed against

each other. It has often seemed to depend upon the fate

of a single battle whether liberty or despotism, civilization

or barbarism, should be prevalent in the world. When

the rights and destinies of men are thus at stake, he who

is most perfectly under the control of the master idea that

animates all, and most fuly represents it, naturally becomes the leader. It is not in him as an individual that

we are interested, it is in the principles of which he is the

representative, and of which his acts are the manifestations. If by exertion and sacrifice he cause those principles to prevail, we feel that he is the benefactor of mankind, that he is our benefactor, and the cry of admiration

and gratitude which mankind utter towards such a man is

glory.

It is, therefore, only by producing some great result that

glory can be obtained. To receive glory from mankind

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THE DESIRE OF GLORY.

we must put ourselves in relation to them, must affect

their destinies, must make some striking exhibition of talent, or of those emotions and passions that are had in adniration among men. The man who can do this may be a

fortunate man, but he must be a great man.

Of this account of glory, in which we find the rationale

of modern hero-worship, I remark,- 1st. That as a motive

of action it can apply to but few. Few, comparatively,

can, by any possible exaggeration of self-esteem, suppose

they can produce results that shall put them in relation

with the mass of mankind. 2d. That if this glory could

be a motive to many, it would be attainable by only a

few, and so must lead to disappointment. Mankind are

so much engrossed in their own concerns that there can

exist but a certain moderate amount of admiration at the

same time. The young aspirant for fame, when he has

written or done something which he thinks extraordinary,

is surprised and vexed on looking around and finding

every man minding his own business. 3d. The opportunity for acquiring this glory often depends on causes that

are beyond the control of man. At this day Washington

could not reproduce himself. 4th. This glory depends on

success, which is not proportioned to desert. Mankind

judge by success. In the race for fame misfortune is a

crime which they never forgive. 5th. The admiration of

mankind is often given to qualities that do not deserve

it, and withheld from those that do. It is not, therefore,

always a safe guide to our conduct, or a certain criterion

of goodness, without which there can be no true glory.

Can, then, this be the glory spoken of in the Scriptures?

Or is it all an illusion? Neither. Our constitution does

not deceive us. Its tendencies need guidance, but not

eradication. This part of it is a striking indication of the

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greatness of our nature, and of its capacity of being put

into relation with vast numbers, and with great interests.

The approbation of God, and of those who judge in accordance with him, is no unsuitable motive for any. It is

such an one as an apostle thought worthy of being presented. After enumerating a long list of the worthies of

former times, he represents them as resting from their own

conflict, and watching the progress of those who have succeeded them. "Seeing, therefore," says he, "we are compassed about by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us run

with patience the race set before us." What we need,

then, is to illuminate the desire of glory by the revelations

of Christianity. Regarding ourselves, not merely as citizens of this world, but of the universe, and knowing that

God is over all, and that there is somewhere a vast assembly of the good to whom our conduct either now is or

shall be known, we may give to this principle of action

free scope.

Such is the theatre on which we are to contend for the

true glory and honor, and we are to do it in the only way

in which success is possible, "by a patient continuance in

well-doing." In this race the success of one does not prevent that of another. All may enter the lists, and all may

gain the prize.

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LEOTURE VI.

THE AFFECTIONS. - NATURAL AND MORAL. -BENEVOLENT. - DEFENSIVE

AND PUNITIVE. - ORIGIN OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. -FORGIVENESS.

- HOW SUBJECT TO WILL.- THE INTELLECT. - LOVE OF TRUTH.

IN the last lecture we finished the consideration of

what are usually termed the desires. These have no

moral character. But desire is not excluded from the

sphere of morals. It will go with us not only as an element of the affections, but in its own proper form; for

there are really both natural and moral desires, as well as

natural and moral affections.

The desires we have considered imply no previous exercise of the moral nature, and have for their object things

without us; the moral desires imply a previous exercise

of the moral nature, and have for their object our own

moral states. A paramount desire for virtue is a virtuous

desire, and a similar desire for holiness is a holy desire.

The object of the one class of desires is that we may have

something, of the other, that we may be something. In

either case, however, the desires respect not merely the

well-being of the individual, but his capacity to minister to

others through the affections; and it is to the consideration of these that we now pass.

As the appetites have for their end a perfect body, and

the desires a perfect mind,- perfect up to that point, and

as a condition for something higher,-so the affections,

though ultimate to the individual, have, as a further end,

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a perfect society. They are that part of the constitution

of man by which he is so put in relation with his fellows

that society becomes possible.

And here we find the first difference between the affections and the desires. The object of the desires is things;

the object of the affections is sentient beings, chiefly those

that are rational and moral.

The affections differ from the desires, also, because they

are disinterested. The desires receive and appropriate

their objects to themselves. Their whole business is

appropriation, whereas the affections flow from us. We

bestow them and they appropriate nothing. There can

be no interested affection.

A third difference is, that the affections are more complex. Affection is desire, and something more. It is

impossible to have an affection for any one without having

involved in it, and a part of it, a desire for his well-being.

The affection itself, as distinguished from this desire, cannot be defined, and can be conceived only by being felt.

It is among the ultimate and highest forms in which our

humanity expresses itself.

But in analyzing the affections we are not to destroy

them. This Brown has done. He makes no such class

as the affections. The specific feeling of love, for instance,

he classes with immediate emotions, and our wish for the

happiness of those we love, with the desires. But this is

like treating of oxygen and hydrogen separately, and then

denying that there is such a thing as water. Water, which

is one thing, is neither oxygen nor hydrogen, but the two

united; and pity, which is also one thing, is neither a vivid

emotion in view of distress, nor a desire to relieve it, but

the two united; and neither can be regarded practically

in any other way.

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THE AFFECTIONS.

But we must notice here a peculiarity of that desire

which is an element in love. As it is our own desire, its

gratification must be a source of happiness to us. As it

is a desire for the happiness of others, it must lead us to

promote that, and it is impossible that we should thus promote the happiness of others without promoting our own.

Hence, some question the possibility of disinterested benevolence. We desire, they say, the happiness of others for the

sake of our own. It is true that we are made happy in

making them so, and an admirable provision for mutual and

extended happiness it is; it is also true that we may exercise and cultivate this desire, or rather the affection of

which it is a part, as we may any other, with the knowledge that it will thus make us happy; still the desire is for

the happiness of others, and the moment it ceases to be

that, - that disinterestedly, - the affection itself is gone,

and with it the very source of our happiness. A desire

for our own happiness cannot be an element of affection,

and when, for the sake of that, we pursue towards others

such a course as affection would prompt, the whole source

and character of our happiness, if we gain any, is gone.

It may be from self-love and selfishness, but the pure happiness of affection it cannot be. The gold is become dim,

or rather dross, and the most fine gold is changed.

The affections, regarded as a whole, further differ from

the desires in being, as has been said, ultimate for man

himrnself. They refer to society; but there is nothing

within the man that is higher than they to which they

minister. So far they are ends and not means. We rest

in them. They react, indeed, on the inferior parts of the

constitution, but do not serve them in the same sense in

which they are served. Love, as involving not merely

constitutional affection, but rational choice, is the highest

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form in which our nature can manifest itself. There is in

it a synthesis of affection and of will.

From these differences it is plain that in passing to the

affections, taken as a whole, we enter another region and

group, where we find elements that are wholly new. We

come to that in the intelligent world which answers to

heat and electricity and magnetism in the physical world,

or rather to the one agent of which these may be but

the varied manifestations. Heretofore, all has been appropriation, and has looked towards self. Here self is not

forgotten in the arrangements of God, but must be by us.

The desire that enters into love retains its power of good

to us as a desire, but by thus entering loses its capability

of being abused into selfishness. As an appropriating

desire it is wholly lost. In becoming a desire for the good

of others, it becomes disinterested. Of this, the possibility, as I have said, has been doubted by some. They do

not believe that a son, knowing that he should inherit a

large estate on the death of his father, dependent on his

assiduity, could attend upon and cheer him through his

final sickness purely from affection. They are in the same

position as the heathen, who cdnot conceive that the

missionaries should come with the simple object of doing

them good, whereas the whole glory of the missionary

work is in its unselfishness. When that departs, it is shorn

of the locks of its strength, and becomes like any other

cause. But in this structure and action of affection we

simply find the paradox of our Saviour that he who would

find his life must lose it. That is not peculiar to his religion. It has its basis in our nature. It is the condition on

which any higher life of the affections is to be found. It

is by losing all thought of himself that a man finds his

own higher self. The ultimate happiness and good for

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THE AFFECTIONS.

man is something more than the happiness from desire, as

found in affection. That is there the inferior and weaker

element. It is from a union in sympathy, of which desire

knows nothing, from a mutual love; it is in a glow, and

ardor, and exultation ineffable in view of the high powers

and qualities of other beings to whom we are united by

an unalterable affection, - an affection springing from the

very depths of our rational and voluntary nature, and

through which we find relationship and kindred dearer

than any other. Here again the Saviour understood our

nature, and hence condensed all the natural relationships

into one to express that of moral affinity. "For whosoever," said he, "shall do the will of God, the same is my

brother, and sister, and mother." The blessedness from a

sympathy and love where there is perfect moral complacenlcy, who can estimate? Who can estimate the repercussion and multiplication of joy when each one shall not

only have joy in himself, but shall also rejoice with all

that do rejoice? Hiow shall the whole principle and

method of selfishness be reversed, when, instead of looking

on his own things, every man shall look also on the things

of others, not with envy or jealousy, but with the greater

delight as the gifts and endowments are greater, and shall

feel that he owns them all in a far higher sense than he

who can enjoy it owns the landscape!

In affection it is the union in sympathy that is the electric element, and this may pervade society as if it were a

living organism, and so that whatever is felt by one shall

be felt by all. From what we see of the power of sympathy in large bodies of men, in nations engaged in a common cause, where there is yet much selfishness, and the

means of communication are imperfect, we may imagine

what it would be if there were no selfishness and the

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means of communication were complete. With these conditions, the "joy in the presence of the angels of God

over one sinner that repenteth" would follow, of course.

Not only do the affections, as has been said, point

towards society, but they are the only social element. The

appetites and the desires both appropriate. They are not,

in their own nature, and of necessity, selfish; but they

have a primary reference to self, and become selfish when

they so act as to encroach upon the sphere of the faculties

above them. If a man so indulge his appetites as to

encroach upon his desires, -if the love of eating overmaster and dwarf the desire for knowledge, -there is selfishness as well as sensuality in the act, because the man

dwarfs his higher nature, and so unfits himself for the good

he might do to others. So, too, though the desires, acting

within their own sphere, are merely manifestations of our

nature having reference to self, but not selfish; yet if they

encroach upon the sphere of the affections, they immediately become selfish, and it is one of the common and

prominent forms of selfishness for them to do this. With

only appetite and desire, the whole object of man would

be appropriation to himself, and he would use his fellowmen as things, simply for his own convenience. Men would

care no more for each other than the player does for his

nine-pins. Association there might be, but no society; and

the association would have about it no charm, no beauty,

no warmth, nothing disinterested or noble. But let now

the affections come in; let friendship, and gratitude, and

pity; let sympathy and love in its various forms, as conjugal, filial, and fraternal affection, appear, and they make a

new world. They are like the angels from heaven descending among men. They come, and mere forms, and conventionalisms, and hypocrisies and overreachings, give

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THE AFFECTIONS DISINTERESTED.

place, and disappear like birds of night before the light

of day.

That the affections are the only social element, it is

desirable to notice, because it shows us precisely what we

are to cultivate to make society perfect; and also how it is

chiefly liable to be corrupted, or rather perverted. This is

by the coming in of the desires where the affections ought

to rule. The affections, as I have said, cannot be interested.

A true friendship cannot be so, and hence its beauty, - a

beauty scarcely paralleled on earth. But if we suppose

those acts which seemed to be prompted by friendship, to

be really prompted, not by affection going out towards the

person, but by the desire of some benefit from him, the

beauty will vanish in a moment, and contempt and detestation will take the place of complacency and admiration In married life, and in all preliminaries to it, there

is beauty as the affection is pure, not only from sensuality,

but from all desire of property, or of any incidental advantage. There is an expression employed by somne, - that

of using one's fiiends,- that was always offensive to me.

The displacement in society of affection by desire is bad

enough, but the shameless avowal of it is worse. Here is

a chief ground of the hypocrisy noticed in connection with

the desire of esteem. Nothing can be more annoying or

chilling than to be in a community where there is a universal tendency to gratify some form of desire under the

profession and appearance of affection, and especially to

boast of success in this as an evidence of smartness and

of a knowledge of human nature. This it is that gives to

fashionable lifb, when the people who are in it understand

each other, as they generally do, its heartlessness, and lays

it open to the shafts of satire. Let its polished but meag,re

conventionalisms be filled out with a hearty affection, and

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it would be like the resurrection and free motion of a

corpse that had simply been galvanized. The same is true

in all the relations of life. The corruption is, that appetite

and desire, and so sensuality and selfishness, have usurped

the place of the affections; and the great thing needed in

society is that these should assume their due prominence,

and rule in their own sphere.

In what has been said hitherto no distinction has been

made between the natural and the moral affections. That

distinction we must now draw, for in strictness it is only

the natural affections that should be spoken of here.

The character of an affection is determined by its origin

and its object. The natural affections are those that spring

up impulsively as do the appetites and the desires, and are

such as we share in kind with the animals. They do not

spring from the moral nature, and have no regard to the

moral character of their object. They have, therefore, no

moral character in themselves, but, like the appetites and

the desires, are purely instrumental, and are good and

evil solely as they are controlled. They are good in their

place, and for the purpose for which they were intended,

but are not morally good, and do not become so by being

brought under moral control. The moral affections spring

from the moral nature; and it is upon moral beings, as

such, that they rest.

This distinction seems plain, but may, perhaps, be made

more so by a reference to the language of the Scriptures.

In them the term "Heart" is used to signify the affections, but not the natural affections. In the expression,

"My son, give me thy heart," we feel at once that, while

the affections are meant, there is yet an entire exclusion of

anything like the natural affections. That expression carries us at once into a region that is wholly moral and free,

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THE HIGHEST FORM OF ACTIVITY.

and when God is the object of affection there is in it the

highest possible form of activity. A supreme love, as that

of God must be, if it be at all, involves the choice of a supreme end, and that was shown in the second lecture to be

the highest act of a rational being- the outgrowth of his

whole personal activity. From what was said at one point

it might be supposed that the will, as distinguished from

the affections, would be the highest, but in this love there

is a coalescence of will and affection such that the love

may be said to be the two united. There is in it a rational

preference which belongs to the will as free; there is in

it benevolence and the highest complacency and delight.

These are not there as separate elements, more than the

ultimate elements of the flower, the oxygen and hydrogen and carbon, are separate in that. They tend to make

up the one love, which, as the joint product of the highest faculties of man, thus becomes the one "consummate

flower" of his existence. Not unlike is it to the flower of

those plants which put forth but a single one at the top,

and which is the product and highest expression of their

whole life.

But while the line between the natural and the moral

affections is thus theoretically distinct, it is many times

both difficult and important to distinguish them practically.

It is difficult, because they so conspire together, and

seem to permeate each other. They are often, we may

say generally, in exercise at the same time, and with the

same person for their object, and the whole result becomes

so blended into one as to be inseparable. When the two

conspire there is a perfect complacency and satisfaction,

but we cannot tell how much to attribute to each; when

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

they conflict it is often difficult to say how far each should

prevail.

It may also be important to separate the natural from

the moral affections. It may not. What nature gives us

together we may receive together. We may eat the pudding with no attempt, even in thought, to separate the

sugar that pervades every particle of it from that which

forms its basis; and that is the pleasantest way. Still, if

we would judge accurately or even fairly of men, the line

which separates the two forms of the affections must be

drawn. The reason is that the natural affections are liable

to be mistaken for moral character. In all that pertains

to the natural affections the differences of endowment by

nature, and with no reference to moral character, are as

great as they are with reference to the intellect, or strength

and beauty of body. In some these natural endowments

are rich and free and beautiful in their spontaneous action.

Such are said to be, and they are, amiable. Others are the

reverse of this. It is no fault of theirs; it is an infelicity. One is the rose, and the other the nettle; one is the

smooth, and the other the rough-barked tree; and nature

has made the difference. Still, it is not uncommon to find

the richest gifts of the natural affections as well as of the

intellect associated with the deepest moral corruption.

To this there seem to be even some special tendencies. It

is the smooth-barked hickory that bears bitter nuts. Nor,

on the other hand, is it uncommon to find from those less

happy in natural endowments moral manifestations that

surprise and delight us the more on that very account.

They are as the good nuts from the shag-bark hickory;

they are as the beautiful flowers from the prickly and angular cactus.

While, therefore, we recognize all there is in this part

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THE AFFECTIONS CLASSIFIED.

of our nature of beauty, and of desirableness for social

life, we are not to confound gifts with virtues, nor natural

kindness of heart and amenity of manners with moral

principle. We admire the natural affections, we regard

any great lack of them as a deformity, we are apt to censure it as if it must have had a moral origin; still, if the

moral nature be withdrawn, there remains in them but the

foreshadowing and prophecy of something yet higher.

The distinction now made is indispensable; but, in treating of what are called the natural affections in man, we are

not to suppose we are treating of them alone. The light

of the moral affections constantly shines through them,

and gives them a radiance not their own. In what shall

be said further of the affections, this distinction, therefore,

need not be particularly regarded.

By most writers the affections are divided into the benevolent and the malevolent. But the term malevolent

is unfortunate. Perhaps it would be better to designate

them with reference to their end rather than their origin, and divide them into those intended to make others

happy, and those for self-defence and punishment. We

should then have for one class what we must still call the

benevolent affections, and for the other the defensive and

punitive. Affections strictly malevolent are not to be

presumed, but self-defence and punishment are each necessary and proper, and we might expect there would be

affections that should indicate these and support us in

them.

In inquiring after the number of the original benevolent

affections, for these come first in order, we are to be guided

in the same way as when we were inquiring respecting the

desires. Consciousness must be the ultimate test; but if

we can ascertain what affections would be necessary to the

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upbuilding of a perfect society, we may be sure we shall

find just those, and no more. The provisions of God are

always adequate for their end, with nothing superfluous.

The first will, of course, be those that belong to the

family as a divine institution into which man is born. He

does not originate it, but is born into it. Here we have

the conjugal, parental, filial, and maternal affections, and

where these exist in their purity and proper power, a family is as the garden of God. It is worthy of being his

institution. It is the centre of the affections, the home,

the sphere of the purest and best earthly happiness, and

the germ and source of all civil institutions. But besides

these we have "the special and distinguishing affection of

man towards woman, and of woman towards man, which

tends to the conjugal union. This is expressed by the

word'love, without any epithet." We have also sympathy, pity, gratitude, friendship, patriotism, and general benevolence, or philanthropy. These may all be included

under the word love, as their opposites may be under the

word resentment.

Of the benevolent affections generally it may be said

that the pleasure already noticed as connected with them

may be regarded as an expression of the approbation of

God, and as an invitation to us to cherish them. It expresses the wish of Him who made us that these affections

should prevail, and evinces his benevolence, since they

are at once happiness in those who exercise them, and

productive of happiness in those towards whom they are

exercised.

We are also fond of seeing excess in these affections

rather than deficiency; and if duty be called upon to

control them, we choose it should be for restraint and

repression, rather than excitement. It is the excess of

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SHADES OF AFFECTION.

these affections, the preponderance of the natural element

over that which is moral, which gives rise to what are

called amiable weaknesses. Through these our respect for

a man is diminished more than our love. The tenderness

of a father for his child may be a little laughable, yet we

easily forgive it, and prefer it to the least want of affection.

i We have thus a double provision for the encouragement

of these affections, - their effect upon our own happiness,

and the sympathy of others.

The terms above given may indicate sufficiently the

various forms of affection to enable us to speak of them

intelligibly, but those affections are constantly differing

from each other and from themselves as their objects

differ. What it is to love can be known only by loving,

and to appreciate the different shades of affection we must

ourselves have felt its nice and varying adjustment to its

varying objects. A feeling of responsibility, of anxiety,

which is a mixture of hope and fear, of protection and

of peculiar tenderness, is blended with parental affection.

Filial affection is modified by gratitude, confidence, respect, and reverence. If the graver and sterner virtues

enter largely into the character of our friend, we feel for

him more of respect; if he be of the softer mood our

affection partakes of that character.

Of the particular benevolent affections mentioned it

would be pleasant to treat particularly and at large, but

they are so far of one general character and object that

that will not be requisite. Like the appetites and the

desires, they are to be controlled with reference to their

end, and will be most for the happiness of the individual

when they are so controlled as to build up the most perfect home, and the most perfect civil society.

I will only add, that as society originates, and finds its

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beauty and blessedness in these affections, so it will react

upon them. That form of society and those habits of life

are, therefore, to be preferred which give to these the best

theatre and widest scope. Especially is it to be said that

the breaking up of the home for any system of communism or socialism must be equally opposed to the intentions of God and to the highest happiness of man.

But besides the benevolent affections there are, as has

been said, those that have been called malevolent. Concerning the origin and character of these there has been

great diversity of view. There still is. But the part they

have played in the history of the race is so conspicuous,

and they are so difficult of control, that they ought to be

well understood.

Concerning these, two remarks may be made, the opposite of those made concerning the benevolent affections.

The first is, that this class of affections, at least so far as

they are malevolent, are painful to those who exercise

them, thus indicating the will of God that they should not

be indulged in.

The second remark is, that mankind are pleased to see

these passions repressed and moderated below their natural standard rather than suffered to rise above it.

As, then, we found a double provision for the encouragement of the benevolent affections,- our own satisfaction

and the sympathy of others, - so now we find a double

provision to repress these opposite affections, - our own

pain and the disapprobation of others.

Since the time of Butler a distinction has been made

between "sudden," as he called it, or, as it has since been

called, instinctive resentment, and that which is deliberate.

The first is the guard appointed by nature against any

sudden attack. It is the assertion by whatever is, of its

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right to be, and confers a promptness and energy whichreason could never bestow. This is purely the work of

nature, and cannot be wrong. It is only concerning deliberate resentment that there can be a question.

And here my wish is, by tracing its origin, to vindicate

this part of our constitution from the charge of anything

malevolent, properly so called, and to show its propriety.

This will give us the key to its proper use.

Let us then suppose two moral beings, one perfectly

good, the other perfectly bad, to meet together. It is

clear that they could have no coincident wishes, but would

naturally array themselves against each other. "What

communion hath light with darkness?" If now the evil

being should exert a particular act of injury towards the

good, what would be the feeling of the latter? It could

not be the same that he would have towards a being perfectly good. What will you call that necessary opposition,

that sense of repugnance, of dislike, of condemnation, of

abhorrence even, which the good being could not but feel?

It is this opposition of virtue to vice, of holiness to sin,

that is the proper foundation of resentment, and that becomes the only resentment that is justifiable when vice

exerts itself towards us in a definite act. In this view of

it, resentment is nothing more than a sense of ill-desert

where it really exists, and a desire to punish it so far as is

necessary; and so far from being opposed to goodness, in

the wide and proper sense of that word, it is a necessary

part of it. The hatred of vice is the opposite pole to the

love of virtue, and the positive cannot be evolved without

the negative side. Of necessity, the strength of the one

is the measure of that of the other. Moral purity, virtue,

holiness, whatever we may choose to call it, is not a mere

passive, undiscriminating quality. Nothing can be more

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positive, active, and uncompromising. Against whatever

is opposed to it, it arrays itself in a conflict that can know

of no cessation and of no compromise till one or the other

is completely triumphant; and this opposition cannot be

malevolent, since precisely as it prevails happiness is extended, precisely as it fails misery bears sway. If this

were not so, there could be nothing venerable or awful

about goodness. It would not command our respect, or

be worthy of the throne of the universe. This is what is

termed in the Scriptures the anger of God, without malice,

without revenge, without respect of persons except as

good or evil; and it will be the misery of those who shall

be finally opposed to God, that they will be opposed to

Infinite Goodness, and that Infinite Goodness will be

opposed to them, not because it is malevolent, but because it is Infinite Goodness. Here we find the source of

all penal law. Without this, there could be no security,

punishment, or redress. It is this feeling, which, on the

perception of wickedness and ill-desert, if the injury be

ours, we term resentnent; if it be upon others, indignation; but the principle is the same, and is entirely different

from malevolence. This was no part of the human constitution as made by God.

When we speak of the opposition of virtue and vice, it

will be remembered that these are mere abstractions.

Strictly speaking, there are only virtuous and vicious persons, and hence the punishment of vice must involve the

infliction of personal misery, though without malevolence.

But it will be asked, If there be in man no other malevolent principle than this, how shall we account for the

jealousy, the envy, the hatred, the malice and revenge that

fill and disfigure the earth? They may, I think, all be

traced to the perverting influence of selfishness on the

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JEALOUSY AND ENVY.

original and natural principle of resentment. To be satisfied of this, a brief reference to each will suffice.

Jealousy is an affection which has direct and sole reference to self. We are jealous of no one who is not or may

not be a rival. It is when interests are likely to conflict

that selfishness, without provocation, stirs up that form of

ill-will which we call jealousy. The same may be said of

envy. Indeed, envy and jealousy are the same affection

towards persons differently situated. That which is jealousy towards those who we fear may surpass us, becomes

envy when once we are fairly distanced in the competition. In witnessing a contest, we feel no envy. Envy is

the dislike of those who are above us because they are

above us, and a desire to pull them down to our own level.

It is, therefore, directly to selfishness that these two evil

affections may be traced.

But jealousy and envy are apt to become settled hatred.

Hear those who are, or have been competitors, speak of

each other, and you will find the reason. You will find

that they impute the success of their opponent to unfairness in him or others, -to some cause which will justify

them in showing resentment. Their self-estimation will

not permit them to think otherwise. With her jaundiced

eye selfishness can convert even the excellences of others

into faults, and then, having something that she supposes

she can fairly blame, she usurps the place of conscience,

and calls upon resentment, which in this unholy alliance

becomes malice, to pursue them. Hatred does not spring

up naturally from the relations in which we find ourselves

in society, as do the natural affections, but requires as its

condition some injury real or supposed. So with revenge.

By its very nature and definition it implies previous injury,

and it is nothing more than the natural feeling of resent 13

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ment exaggerated by selfishness, and abused into a settled

and inveterate passion.

The extent of these passions, and the slight occasions

on which they are permitted, are indeed wonderful, but

they may all be traced to the combination of selfishness

with the natural and necessary principle of resentment.

If we distinguish between actions that are simply injurious

but not malevolent, as when a robber plunders another,

not from any hatred of him, but from a love of his money;

and if we make due allowance for the operation of a perverted and perverting selfishness on the natural feeling of

resentment, we may see how far man may be said to have

originally affections that should be called malevolent.

Here, as elsewhere, evil is from the perversion of that

which was good. That part of our constitution from the

perversion of which these affections arise, we vindicate.

It is essential to goodness itself. It guards our highest

interests; it is the basis of penal law, keeping crime and

tyranny lurking in their lair; and no character which cannot, and, if need be, will not reveal itself as opposed with

the force of the whole being to moral evil, can command

our respect.

But while we thus vindicate this part of our constitution

as it was originally given, we utterly condemn all jealousy

and envy, all hatred, malice and revenge. They are not a

part of our original constitution, and were never made by

God. Jealousy and envy are not only among the basest,

but are the meanest, of the passions. They are indulged

in only by those who are conscious of inferiority, and are

not only malignant, but are a confession of that degrading

consciousness. These, as well as malice and envy, bring

their own punishment with them. They bring it in the

disquiet which they necessarily cause to their possessor

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FORGIVENESS.

and in the detestation with which they are viewed by

mankind. We cannot, therefore, too sedulously stifle these

double curses, curses upon ourselves and others, and

which have so filled the earth with discord and misery.

In opposition to these, I cannot forbear to mention that

beautiful trait of Christian morals, the forgiveness of injuries. How infinitely superior is this to all recrimination!

Revenge places us, at best, upon a level with those who

have injured us,- forgiveness elevates us far above them.

And then how fitted is it to the condition of man! If,

as all experience shows, there must be mutual forbearance

in the end, why not exercise it before suffering the miseries of mutual recrimination? If we all need forgiveness

firom God, how suitable that we should forgive each other!

To make an offence unpardonable simply because it is

against ourselves, is the arrogance and-blindness of selfishness, and involves a principle that would preclude all forgiveness. Forgiveness and placability are not meanness

or pusillanimity,- they are that attitude of humanity in

which it most resembles God.

In considering the affections in connect'n with morals,

we next inquire how far they are subject to the will.

There are those who suppose that the affections and

passions are enkindled and drawn from us by a fixed law,

as electricity flashes from one cloud to another, and that

we are therefore not responsible for them. But the voice

of mankind is that men are responsible for ftheir feelings

through the whole range of the emotive nature, as well as

for their actions. They judge that men can govern their

passions, not only by restraining those external acts to

which passion would excite them, but also by moderating

and subduing the feeling itself. This is correct. Men are

responsible not only for the feeling they have, but also for

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not having the feelings they lack; and yet no man can, by

any direct act of the will, cause any one feeling, affection,

or passion, to exist. Throughout its whole range the ermotive part of our nature is excited by an object adapted to

excite it, and not by a direct act of the will. No man can

feel pity simply by willing to feel it. I-Ie must have a view

of poverty, sickness, distress, in some form, and it will arise

in view of these. No man can feel gratitude except in

view of a benefactor. No man can feel love or respect

for one of whose character he is ignorant. These must

arise in view of excellence real or supposed. Not on a

direct act of the will, nor on the object as it is in itself,

but on the object as viewed by the mind, will the feeling

depend. A lover may suppose that he sees perfection

where another would not see it, and where possibly it does

not exist, but the feeling will be the same. Here the feelings and affections called moral are governed by the same

laws as those that are not. Were a person commanded to

feel the emotion of beauty, as he may be, and is, to feel

the affection of love, he might shut his eyes and say that

he had no control over his emotions, but not thus could he

escape the obligation. Before he could do that, he would

be required to seek out some fair face, or beautiful form,

or exquisite work of art, or to find his way to some commanding eminence whence he might cast his eye over

mountain and valley, the cultivated field and the winding

stream, and then if he should not feel the emotion of

beauty he might be absolved from the obligation.

But as men have different degrees of feeling on viewing

the same object, it may be asked, What should be thought

of one who should give his best attention to an object

adapted to produce a given feeling, and not have it?

What should we think of a man who could thus see dis

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HARDNESS OF HEART.

tress but feel no compassion? That would depend on his

previous history. If he had gone through no hardening

process, I do not see that he would be worthy of censure.

Such a case we should regard as unnatural, as monstrous,

as we should a natural deformity, but it would simply indicate the want of an original capacity. To most persons

the feeling of pity on meeting suddenly with a scene of

distress is as unavoidable as the feeling of surprise on

meeting with one that was unexpected; but as the spontaneous presence of a feeling without the intervention of

the will is not a virtue, so its absence, where the susceptibility is wanting, is not a fault. This, however, is not the

hardness of heart which mankind condemn. That comes

from the over-mastering power of some cherished and

selfish passion. A man who has given himself up to the

love of gold, when he pays his visits to his poor tenants on

thevery day their rents become due, can see nothing, and

hear nothing, and think of nothing but money. His mind

is so absorbed by that, that there is no room for any other

feeling. It is not that he has no susceptibility, but that an

absorbing selfishness has closed up the avenues to his

heart. Seeing, he sees not. His finer susceptibilities fall

into desuetude; a current gets its set in his soul which

undermines and washes away everything beautiful, and

then, indeed, by wrong action long indulged, comes that

hardness of heart which the world justly condemns. It is

by a process like this that the priests and the Levites are

formed who pass by on the other side. They know there

is misery in the world, but they not only do not seek it

out, they avoid it, lest it should disturb their selfish quiet.

In what I have said hitherto, the object which was to

awaken feeling has been supposed present to the senses,

but this is not necessary. Mental representation and

13*

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thought will do as well. It is thought that is the condition of feeling, and governs it. As we think of a man

so do we feel towards him. But that the mind has a control over the thoughts, can dismiss some, and dwell upon

such as it prefers, can study one subject and not another,

none will deny. If, then, any choose to let vain thoughts

lodge within them, they must not complain that their affections are disordered; and if any choose to regulate their

thoughts, they will thus indirectly regulate their affections

also. Our control over the affections is, therefore, though

indirect, yet efficient, and such as to render us fully accountable for them. A man can determine the kind of

affections he shall have in the same way that he can the

kind of knowledge he shall have, or the kind of feelings

that shall be produced by the food which he eats. After

he has taken food the will has no power to modify the

effects, but by his power over the taking of that the man

has indirectly a power over his bodily feelings and general

health. A man may disorder his affections as he may his

body, and be as responsible for the one as for the other,

and that not by directly willing it, but by doing that

which he either knows, or might know, would produce

that effect.

But feeling, it may be said, reacts upon thought, and in

turn governs it. True, but this is not the natural order.

If we have become subject to a wrong governing passion

everything will be seen in the light of that, and no person

who shall stand in the way of the gratification of that

passion can be viewed as he really is. Here we find the

difference in their effects between a governing principle

that is legitimate and one that is not. A legitimate principle can create no interest in the mind to prevent it firom

viewing everything as it is. It originates in light, and

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AFFECTIONS CAN BE CONTROLLED.

seeks the light. But no man can adopt a supreme end that

is wrong, and be willing to come to the light. Iaving

adopted his end, whatever shall be opposed to the attainment of that will be viewed with prejudice and regarded

with hostility. This would be required by the demand of

every rational nature for consistency with itself, and in this

we find the origin of all criminal prejudices, and of much

of the malignity there is in the world.

The affections, then, and the feelings generally, being

thus controlled through the power of attention, how intimate must be the connection between the character and

happiness of a man and the objects to which he habitually

turns his thoughts! It is not only habits and associations

of thought that are thus formed, but also of feeling; and

thus the whole character is reached. He whose course of

reading and meditation presents only what is pure, and

generous, and noble, lives in a world wholly different from

that of him who pursues an opposite course.

It is to be observed, too, that that system, aside from

any consideration of its truth, which presents the noblest

objects to the intellect, must also be most favorable to

high and noble feeling. Hence atheism, which takes away

the conception of an infinite and perfect God, or rather

renders it inoperative, must wither the feelings and debase

the character, and any system which shall present the

Godhead as shorn of any possible perfection must have

proportionately the same effect. Hence the vices and

degradations of heathenism are naturally associated with

idolatries. It was when men "changed the glory of the

uncorruptible God into an image made like corruptible

man" that "God gave them up unto vile affections."

This doctrine that we are responsible for the affections,

and particularly for the natural affections, has special need

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of enforcement at the present time. Always there have

been those'who have justified lawlessness here on the pretence that the feelings were irresistible. They have even

gloried in it as indicating the warmth and richness of a

nature of superior endowments. It was not for them to

be cramped by the rigidity of rules. How could feeling

be brought under law? What had they to do with the

sternness of principle? That they left to colder natures.

They have had no conception of desire sanctified by affection, and strengthened and regulated by principle; but

under the pretence of affection, in the sacred name of the

heart, they have cherished selfish and licentious desires;

and, as wolves in sheep's clothing, have crept into and

desolated the fold of domestic peace. But never, perhaps,

has this been so common as now. Now, on the ground of

affinity, or the want of it, the most solemn vows are violated. Husbands desert their wives, and wives their husbands, and even their children, and doctrines are openly

taught, claiming sanction from the spiritual world, that

would subvert the most sacred institutions of society, corrupting it at its fountain-head, and that would obscure

and defile those pure relationships in which its beauty and

strength now abide. As constituted by God, with its origin in the family, society is a soil congenial to the natural

affections, and, unless checked by the selfish passions, they

will spring up. These selfish passions men can repress.

They can have some degree of consideration in forming

the conjugal union; they can substitute principle for passion as a controlling power, and can dwell on those aspects

of character that would excite affection. They can coiltrol many circumstances and conditions that bear on the

affections, and will be sure to foster them; they can perform the external acts which the affections require, and

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THE INTELLECT.

form habits of them, and these will react on the feelings;

they can regard the higher interests of those with whom

they are associated, and cause the LAW OF LOVE to take

the place of those capricious emotions which have nothing

in common with it but the name. They can thus vindicate the supremacy of the moral nature, and, instead of a

sweltering and chaotic mass of moral corruption, tending

to a corruption still deeper, can cause society to present

the order and beauty of the planetary spheres.

In our division of what were called the instrumental

powers, the powers that are to be governed, that are for

an end beyond themselves, we made one class of those

that indicate ends, and another of those in the light of

which ends are pursued. The first class we have now

considered, and a few words will suffice for the second.

These may all be comprised under the one term Intellect; but will include only those faculties and operations

of intellect that may be modified by the will. It will

include all those faculties by which we arrive at truth by a

process, and will exclude those that are intuitive.

In a system of psychology it would behove us to consider these powers before those of emotion, since something

must be known before anything could be felt. But we

are now considering ends, and the initiatory step towards

an end is not, as has been said, in the intellect, but in

some tendency or craving, some feeling of want or appreliension of excellence. For this the intellect is indeed a

condition; but it seemed more accurate to begin with our

fundamental conception, and the powers which give us

that, and then to regard the intellect as simply instrumental. This, however, is a mere question of arrangemnent, and is not particularly important. What is important is that we should apprehend fully the connection of

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truth with the rational pursuit of ends, and our responsibility for a knowledge of the truth.

That the intellect, as now defined, is simply an instrument, there can be no doubt. It is difficult for us to separate wholly the operation of knowing from ulterior results;

but when this is done we see that it cannot be an end in

itself. Knowing is in order to feeling and action, and

without these would be wholly barren. The law of the

intellect, therefore, like that of the powers already considered, will be from its end. That end, as we now contemplate it, is not knowledge to be acquired promiscuously under the stimulus of curiosity, but practical truth,

as the first condition of wisdom. For this the intellect

was given. It was intended for this, as the eye for seeing,

and the true dispositions required in the conduct of it are

earnestness and candor.

Of these, earnestness will secure that self-denying labor,

that careflul analysis, and patient induction, and comprehensive research, which the Scriptures imply when they

say, "buy the truth and sell it not;" and candor will

secure us against all biases fiom interest, and, as was said

under the affections, from our having already chosen a

wrong supreme end. This is the same as that singleness

of eye spoken of by our Saviour, through which, if a man

has it, "his whole body shall be full of light." It is a disposition -and this shows the philosophy of what was said

by our Saviour, and cannot be too strongly enforced -a

disposition which is impossible to any man who has (chosen

a supreme end that is wrong. On some points hlie may be

candid, but not il reference to those persons and things

which would thwart him in the attainment of that end.

No man can be wholly candid who has not chosen the

right supreme end, and so has no interest that he conceives

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RESPONSIBILITY FOR OPINIONS.

to be supreme, to be otherwise. It is not that candor cannot exist where it is opposed to interest, but only to that

which is regarded as supreme. In this case a man cannot

consistently come to the light. To do so would be death

to him in that which he counts his dearest interest, and so

his very life. But he who has chosen the true supreme

end and pursues it in simplicity, mtvt see all things truly.

There can be no refraction in his mental vision, and his

whole body will be full of light. This is the only position

we can take in which the light that God sends will not be

refracted. Without this we shall see some things falsely;

more or less we shall "walk in a vain show."

On this subject we concede that there are laws of evidence. Nay, this is the very thing we assert, and it is just

because there are such laws that we hold men responsible

for their opinions. Without them they could not be. If

there were no certain road by which a man could reach a

given place, he would not be responsible for not getting

there. But if there were such a road, and he should be

too careless and self-confident to inquire for it, or should

think it too difficult or disagreeable for him to travel, he

would be responsible. So here. Truth is one. It corresponds to the mind as light to the eye. It was intended to

be seen, and if the laws of evidence, the fixed condition

of our receiving it, be fully complied with, it will be seen

as in a pure white light, and, so seen, "will make men

free." If not, the mind is wrongly constituted in its relation to the objects of knowledge, and the constitution of

man is hopeless. What should we think of a man who

should hold a prism before his eyes, or shut himself in a

room with windows of colored glass, and then complain

that he could not see objects in their true color, because

there were fixed laws and conditions of vision? Let there

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but be earnestness and candor, and nothing can prevent the

truth from being both seen and received. But for earnestness and candor we are responsible. This none will deny

who admit of responsibility at all.

The truth is, we are so endowed and so placed as to be

capable, not of all knowledge, nor of freedom from mistakes, but of knowing the truth so far as it bears practically upon our highest interests. This we cannot do by

any direct act of will, but through fixed conditions, which

will ensure it, and to comply with these conditions is

among our very highest and most sacred duties. To love

the truth is here the first and great commandment; to tell

the truth, which is like it, and a corollary from it, is only

the second. It is, however, a duty that has been too much

overlooked. In our current treatises on morals, truthfulness has had a large place, while this primal and higher

duty of knowing the truth has been scarcely noticed. To

this the time permits me simply to give, as I have now

done, what seems to me its true place, and in doing so I

bring to a close the consideration of those powers which

require to be governed, and whose chief end is out of and

beyond themselves.

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LECTURE VII.

THE MORAL NATURE. - REASON. - IDEAS OF DIFFERENT ORDERS. - HAVE

AN ORDER OF DEVELOPMENT. - FREE-WILL. - PERSONALITY.- ACTION

TO WHICH RESPONSIBILITY ATTACHES. -ALL MORAL PHENOMENA IN

CONNECTION WITH THE CHOICE OF A SUPREME END.-CONSCIENCE. THE MORAL NATURE DOUBLE. - THE HIGHEST GOOD. - COINCIDENCE OF

NATURAL AND REVEALED LAW.

INSTINCTS, appetites, desires, natural affections, intellect,

-mere intellect, or understanding, -these are all subordinate and instrumental. They are not, for man, governing powers; and however they may be, in whole or in

part, a condition for the moral nature, they are no part of

it, and may be conceived of as acting wholly without it.

In passing upward in the scale of being we reach, as I

have said, points of transition where there is no longer

merely gradation, but a leap, and the introduction of

something wholly new. We come to a difference, not in

degree, but in kind. So we find organization in a variety

of forms, and in great perfection, before a nervous system

is introduced. That, as endowed with sensation, is wholly

new. It supposes antecedent and auxiliary organization

into which it may be put, of which it may take possession,

and which may minister to its ends. There is much in

every vegetable that simulates, and seems to anticipate a

nervous system, but it is not there, and when, with its

filaments and centres, it first pervaded an organization

adapted to it, and responded consciously to the stimulus

of the external world, it was as if there had been a new

14 157

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

star set in the heavens. There was a new order begun;

there was an animal. From that point all was gradation till a moral nature was introduced. Then there was

another leap. Then man was made, and, if a little lower

than the angels, yet in the image of God. Then organization became the abode and instrument of a spiritual and

responsible being. It is concerning this moral nature that

we are now to inquire.

And here I observe that whoever can tell what that is

that is put into the animal nature and uses it, as a nervous

system might be put into a vegetable organization and use

it, so that there shall be a person of which the animal

nature shall become the subordinate constituent, can tell

what the moral nature is, for man is no further a person

than as he is moral. Here it is that we find the ground

and necessity of that threefold division of man into body,

soul, and spirit, which the Scriptures seem to recognize,

and which philosophy will be compelled to adopt. To

this division our use of terms conforms but imperfectly;

but as thus used the soul will include those powers of intelligence which we share in common with the brutes, and

the spirit those higher powers which we now seek, and in

which personality is found.

It was said in the third lecture that the special difference between man and all that is below him is, that he

chooses his own end, or rather that he may either choose

or reject the end for which God made him. If this be so,

the powers to be added must be those in virtue of which

he does this. According to distinctions already made, they

must be directive and not instrumental. The nature thus

added must be ultimate, that is, it must minister to nothing within the constitution above itself.

Nor will the addition of such powers be a slight step

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REASON.

upward. The transition from dead to vitalized matter

cannot be greater. It is as a new morn risen upon the

high noon of animal existence. In the powers thus given

must be those for comprehension, for control, for wisdom,

in distinction from mere devices and cunning. A brute

has not merely instinct, but some degree of understanding, by which it may vary means, and adapt devices often

showing much cunning, for the attainment of ends; but

the end itself of an animal is the outgrowth of its organization, and admits of no alternative. But man is capable

of knowing the difference between good and evil, and of

choosing between ends that he may adopt as ultimate and

supreme. He can either adopt as supreme the end proposed by reason and sanctioned by conscience, or follow

his propensities. Hle can either serve "the flesh" or " the

spirit," and one of these he must do. It is in his manifoldness, for which the capacity is thus given, that his greatness is seen. It is in the choice of the right end that there

is the supreme wisdom, even though the best means may

not be chosen; while, if the wrong end be chosen, though

there be the utmost skill in the use of means, there is yet

supreme folly. So is it that we have singleness of eye; so

that the open and straight path of wisdom differs from the

tortuous course of the serpent; so that " the children of

this world are wiser in their generation than the children

of lig,ht."

What, then, are the powers needed that man may choose

his own ends? How can there be, not only impulses from

behind that may impel, but also an end before that may

be yielded to and adopted? What are the elements of

personality, and the a priori conditions of a moral act?

Of the powers thus sought the first is Reason. In com mon language man is distinguished from the animals by

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saying that he has reason. Of this the correctness is not

to be questioned if we mean by it that which gives origin

to the word rational, rather than to the word reasoning.

No one supposes animals to be rational, while many con tend that they have some power of reasoning. By reason

in this sense, we indicate that in every man by which he is

necessitated by his constitution, and as the condition of

his being a man, to have certain ideas and beliefs, so that

there is in every man a certain amount of mental furniture

that is common to all. These products of reason have received different names. They have been called "first

truths," "elements of human reason," "laws of belief,"

"principles of common sense," but in all the same thing is

meant. Perhaps a better name than either, as applicable

both to ideas and beliefs, would be rational intuitions.

These ideas and beliefs are not innate, but the capacity

for them is, and in such a way that they will infallibly

appear in every human being when the occasion for them

shall be given. The ideas are given at once, but the beliefs and judgments are not at first given in their general

form, but immediately assume that form through a particular instance, and not from a process of generalization.

They have a history and an order partly natural, and

partly in accordance with the history of the individual and

the process of his development. To say nothing of comparison, and of the ego and non-ego given in contrast, as

stated by Hamilton, the first act of consciousness must

involve, first, the idea of being; second, of action, since

consciousness is an activity; and, third, of the results of

the activity as of a thought or a feeling. Each of these

must, in the order of nature, be given before the idea of

personal identity, and this must be before that of causation. In regard to these we judge others by ourselves,

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GRADATION OF INTUITIONS.

and have a right to. We believe that every event must

have a cause; we know that others believe it also, and

have a right to treat them as if they did, even if they

should deny it.

The ideas and beliefs which come to us thus may

be divided into first, mathematical ideas and axioms.

These are at the foundation of the abstract sciences, having for their subject quantity. In the second division

are those which pertain to mere being and its relations.

Upon these rest all sciences pertaining to actual being and

its relations. The third division comprises those which

pertain to beauty. These are at the foundation of asthetical science. In the fourth division are those which pertain

to morals and religion. Of these the pervading element is

the sense of obligation or duty. Of this the idea necessarily arises in connection with the choice by a rational

being of a supreme end, and with the performance of

actions supposed to bear upon that.

Here, again, as formerly, we find gradation. According

to the principles then laid down, abstract science is lower

than that of being; that of being, considered simply, is

lower than that of being in its beauty; and this is lower

than that of being self-directed and seeking its end under

a sense of duty. In the science of being abstract science

is implied; in the science of beauty that of being, and the

highest beauty is possible only in connection with duty

done. Here each higher implies the lower, but not the

reverse.

Of ideas and beliefs thus given, those that are moral are

so peculiar that philosophers have properly attributed their

origin to what they have called the moral or spiritual reason. This is reason, and something more, else it would

not be moral. This something more comes from its com 14*

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

plexity as higher than mere primitive cognition or rational

intuition. In the first two classes of intellectual products

above mentioned, the intellectual element is almost sole.

In the third there is the synthesis of a rational product

with that of sensibility. But here, not only intellect and

feeling are involved, as in the mere contemplation of the

beautiful, the will is also reached. The idea of obligation

is nothing except as there is in it not only feeling, but a

requisition upon the will. As a product of the moral

reason is an idea, there is in it intellect; as it is an idea of

obligation, there is in it feeling; and as this feeling is that

of an imperative upon the will, it is clear that in a normal

state the activity of the moral reason would involve that

of the whole man. It is as nearly a synthesis of intellect,

feeling, and will, as is possible, and leave the will free.

Between ideas of the moral reason and others there is the

same difference as between a cannon-ball that is heated

and one that is not. They do not lie still and cold, but

respect action, and are of such a nature that we cannot be

indifferent to them.

This coalescence of ideas and affections, this fusion and

blending of them so that it is possible to give them but a

single name, together with their immediate proximity to

the will, is a characteristic of the moral nature that has not

been sufficiently noticed. In it we have moral ideas and

moral affections interpenetrating and moulding each other,

and thus a combination, as of light and heat, that is the

highest possible. As the product of the moral reason,

these ideas and the accompanying feelings arise necessarily

in all men; if they did not, we should not have a moral

nature; and because the moral reason is reason and something more, it raises us, according to our principle of classi

fication, to the highest grade of earthly, and, indeed, of

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WILL.

conceivable existence. It will thus be seen, too, that moral

science must find its basis, not in any considerations of

outward utility, or perception of external relations, but in

the deepest and most fundamental intuitions of our nature.

The power by which moral ideas are thus originated,

originated by necessity, so that they spring up from the

depths of our being, together with the emotion that ac companies and forms a part of them, is an essential ele ment of personality. It is not something which the person

may use, but which being withdrawn, personality would

remain; it enters into its very framework. This is that

by which we are especially made in the image of God.

It is the organ of rational and spiritual intuitions. It is

not exhausted by those ideas which all men must have that

they may be men, but being held in right relations, it is

capable of receiving, and in the progress of the man is

necessitated to receive, new and higher ideas, still having

the same characteristics of universality and necessity for

all who reach the same point.

We saw in the third lecture how man is connected with

all that is below him, through the laws that govern all

below, and extend up to him. We now reach the point at

which he is, or has the capacity to be, connected with that

* which is above him. As rational and in the image of God

he must have, in kind, the capacities of the very highest

creature, and be subject to every fundamental law of the

spiritual world. The laws of that world reach down to

/ him, as those of the world below reach up.

After reason the next element of personality and con dition of moral action is a Rational Will, - a Will in Free dom.

Without freedom of some kind, connected with an act

at some point, all are agreed that there can be no obliga

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

tion or responsibility. A man is not responsible for the

movement of the earth in its orbit, because it has no connection of any kind with his will. To awaken a sense of

obligation in regard to anything which has thus no connection with the will, direct or indirect, proximate or

remote, is impossible. When, therefore, we see a man perform an act that we call moral, the element of will and of

choice is presupposed.

By some, by most indeed, this element of will is sup posed to be the chief one in personality, and there are

those who regard it as the only one. Others again think

of it as the executive of a person already constituted. To

me it seems that the moral ideas that are given by reason,

in the light of which we choose and act, through which,

indeed, the will is a rational instead of a brute will, are

quite as necessary to personality as the power of choosing

and acting, and that both are indispensable.

But with these two, - reason and free will, including

moral ideas and affections, and so conscience, - whatever

we may think of the part that belongs to each, we have

the apriori elements of personality, and so the power of

doing a moral act.

I have spoken of personality as composed of elements.

It seemed necessary to speak thus; and yet I am inclined

to think that our idea of a person is simple. A person is

something more than reason and will. We get misty and

lose ourselves by always using abstract terms and the

names of attributes. A person is a substance, a being that

has reason and will. Here we reach an agent, and the

true point of responsibility,- the man himself. It is the

man himself, the person, the self, the ego, the me, whatever

you please to term it, that we hold responsible and praise

or blame. It is this mysterious -- mysterious as all things

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CONDITIONS OF A MORAL ACT.

are that are simple - this mysterious and inscrutable per son, this self-conscious, thinking, comprehending, electing

being,- it is the man himself that we approve or disap prove. Aside from their origin in him, actions have no

moral quality. Constitutional tendencies, desires, affec tions, have no moral character till he adopts them, and

' consents, or elects that they shall move in a particular

direction.

Of a person thus constituted the three characteristics

are that he is rational, free, and moral. Such a being may

perform acts merely instinctive; but as the moral reason,

with its necessary products of moral ideas and affections,

enters as an element into the conception of personality, it

can never be optional with him whether he will have a

moral character. He must have one involving the very

essence of his being, and his only option is whether it shall

be good or bad.

We have now the powers prerequisite to a moral act.

But there is another condition. A moral act must be

also rational, and as such must have reference to an end.

This necessity which a rational being is under of acting

with reference to an end, so that his doing this is a test of

his rationality, would seem to imply that his conception of

an end is the fundamental one for man as an active being.

As has been said, the ideas of reason have a history and an

order. For man, as speculative, the idea of existence is

first. It is implied in all assertions respecting identity

and causation. In the same way, the idea of an end in volving a good is implied in all acts of rational choice.

As a will, rational and free, is essential to morality, so must

everything be that is a prerequisite of the action of such

a will. But to a free and rational act of willing, the con- S

ception of an end is necessary. The moral sentiment, or

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

conscience, is evolved only in connection with the action

of free will with reference to an end. This may, therefore,

be considered as the fundamental and primitive conception

of man as active and moral.

But if reason would act reasonably it must not only

know an end, but its own end. Would, then, a rational

being naturally know his own end, or what he ought to

choose? If not, he would be lost. Without a capacity

for this, such a being would be an absurdity. The gropings of a baffled instinct would be nothing in comparison with his blindness and helplessness. This end may be

known, either from the insight of reason, or firom revelation; but however known, there must be a capacity in

reason to recognize its own end; and the test of such an

end as adequate must be that it shall always suffice to

call forth the highest normal activity of the highest powers.

In anything short of this a want would be felt. In such an

end, if we consider the capacities, the worth and grandeur

of spiritual being, there may be an infinite good. There

may and must be that which should cause it to be adopted

by the whole energy of the will.

We have now the prerequisites for a moral act. We

have a person knowing his end. But a rational being

knowing his end cannot but know his law, since the law is

revealed in the end. Thus, and thus only, can he become

"a law to himself." It is in the apprehension by a person

of his end that the moral nature manifests itself in the

immediate and necessary affirmation of obligation to

choose that end. This is the moral law, and the whole of

it. It is wholly spiritual, simply requiring choice. Lying

in immediate proximity to the will, it cannot become a

rule; no means can be used; and nothing but a want of

will can prevent its being obeyed. Obligation to choose

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HOLINESS.

the end is affirmed in view of it as good; and such a choice

is approved as right.

It is here that we find the point of coalescence between

intuitional or a priori systems of morality, and those that

are inductive. At some point these must come together,

for it is impossible that the great thinkers in either line

should be wholly wrong. The intuitional element here

finds its sphere in the immediate recognition by reason of

its own end, and in the necessary affirmation of obligation

to choose that end. The practical nature, asking, "Who

will show me any good?" is also satisfied, because the end

thus chosen is a good, and the good; and because there is

in all questions of right a constant call for the activity of

the inductive powers.

By some beings it may be that their true end alone is

seen and embraced. They may know no other as possible,

and so never be tempted. But for others there is an

alternative so presented that there must be a choice between this end and its opposite. Let now the true end be

chosen, and the star finds its orbit; there is moral order,

there is peace, there is "joy in heaven."

Choosing thus his end, with an apprehension of the worth

of spiritual being, with a consciousness of worthiness in

having thus chosen, such a being would move on in peace,

-not the peace of quiescence, but of a tranquil and deep

joy, -till there should arise from within or from without

some disturbing influence that might come between him

and his end. Then, in proportion to his sense of the

worth of the end, and of the obligation to choose and

seek it, must be his abhorrence and condemnation of an

opposite choice, and his opposition to anything that would

divorce him from his end. HIence virtue is necessarily

bi-polar. As such, it becomes holiness. This is reason

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vindicating its right to attain its end. It is personality

expressing its sense of the value of its end, now in complacency with it, and with all that would promote it, and

now in indignation and opposition towards all that would

oppose it. From the evolution on the one side comes

all that is mild and winning in virtue; from that on the

other all that is stern and awful. It is by the term holiness - that is, wholeness- that this double aspect, and so

the completeness of virtue, is best expressed.

That the above may not seem opposed to our consciousness, it may be well to state that in choosing a supreme

end it is not necessary that we should know or choose it

abstractly and formally, but simply that our individual

and specific choices should involve it, and be instances

under it. So it is that we know and act under the idea or

principle of causation, and so under mathematical axioms.

The act of a child may involve the axiom that the whole

is equal to the sum of all its parts, and yet the child may

never have heard of the axiom, and in that form could not

comprehend it.

In thus choosing a supreme end, if that end be the good

of others, we reach the highest significance of the word

love. This is an act both of the affections and the will,

and carries every faculty and choice of the soul along with

it. In it the man disposes of himself. It lies back of

specific choices and volitions, and determines character.

Springing from a synthesis of the rational sensibility and

the will, it is the highest product of our highest powers,

-the consummate flower of our existence.

From what has been said above, we shall readily see

what that form of activity is to which responsibility ultimately attaches. It is not volition regarded simply as an

executive act; it is preference. It is that immanent act of

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THE POINT OF RESPONSIBILITY.

preference in which we dispose of ourselves, and on which

character depends. It is this that gives its set to the current of the soul, and determines the character of subsequent specific acts of preference and volition under it. It

is an act of will, as distinguished from the feelings. It is

either that impartial love which is commanded by the

moral law; or a giving up of the soul to be governed by

the propensities. It is at this point that we find moral

freedom. That the ultimate point of responsibility must

rest here, appears from the effect of such a preference in

controlling the thoughts and modifying the feelings, and,

as thought and feeling act and react upon each other, in

changing the very principles of association. Nothing is so

cunning of fence as such an underlying preference when

anything would interfere with it. As already intimated,

it may so control the laws of evidence as perceived by

us, that a man shall really believe and act upon a lie, and

mistake the reality of such belief for that genuine sincerity and coming to the light of which our Saviour speaks.

Hence it is that a man may verily think that he is doing

God service while he is persecuting his people, and doing

his utmost to overthrow his cause in the earth.

The word "intention" is often used by moralists to indicate what is ultimate when they would reach the source

of morality; but it does not do this. Intention refers to

specific volition, and implies an opportunity, real or supposed, to carry out the intention. Hatred of a person

whom we were sure we never could reach would not be an

intention, nor would it give rise to any intention of injuring him. All intentions that indicate character spring

from some form of settled preference, which may multiply

itself in such intentions without number or exhaustion.

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

Hence this preference, which in the Scriptures is called

the heart, is compared to a fountain.

At this point there seems to be a general agreement

among writers on morals on three things: The first is, that man is responsible for his preferences,

his choices, the acts of his will generally, -for these and

their results, - and for nothing else. It will be found that

those writers, as Edwards, who speak of man as responsible for the affections or heart, either regard these as

synonymous with will, or as a part of it. Says Edwards,

"The will and the affections of the soul are not two faculties; the affections are not essentially distinct from the

will." There are, indeed, some whose language might lead

us to suppose that they hold to an inherent moral quality

in affections that are purely spontaneous; but on reflection

it will be found impossible to attach responsibility to a

being incapable of rational preference, and so of the choice

of an end.

It is agreed, in the second place, that there is a broad

distinction between what is called, sometimes an immanent preference, sometimes a governing purpose, sometimes an ultimate intention, and those volitions which are

merely executive, and precede specific acts under such a

purpose.

In the third place, it is agreed that character is as the

governing preference or purpose - that it consists in an

original and thorough determination by a man of himself

with reference to some end chosen by him as supreme.

In connection with the choice of a supreme end all the

phenomena of a moral life are evolved. In view of the

end there arises, as has been said, a sense of obligation to

choose it. From these two arise the idea of moral law;

for moral law is the affirmation by reason of the obliga

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MERIT AND DEMERIT.

tion to act rationally. A divine law is the same law proclaimed by the authority of the Infinite Reason, and acconpanied by sanctions. So is it that while the man is a law

to himself, the divine law is recognized at once as the law

of the inner life; and so will its full revelation, if the inner

law has become obscured, be but as the clear light of day

after the dim twilight. It will not be a thing wholly new

and strange, but homogeneous, and but the increase and

fulness of "that light that lighteth every man that comethli

into the world." It is into this light that men may dome

more fully and walk in purity, or they may withdraw from

it, and walk in darkness.

After the ideas of obligation and of law, must arise those

of merit or demerit, of self-approbation or of self-condeinnation, as the true end, or its alternative, has been chosen.

Merit and demerit are supposed to arise chiefly in connection with something done outwardly, but if the end be

chosen with a paramount affection, as a supreme end must

be, outward acts according with the choice will follow of

course. These simply indicate the strength of the inward

principle, and in that is the only merit.

Again, in a sense of merit or demerit there is not only

a present satisfaction or dissatisfaction, but a promise or a

threat for the future, and these may become elements of

great power. We thus get the notion of reward and punishment, and through these of responsibility, for, if there

were no reward and no punishment, there could be no responsibility. It is at this point that the moral nature of

man is connected with the government of God as outwardly revealed. If there were no consequences of acts

in the way of rewards and punishments through the will

of another we could not be under the government of that

other, or responsible to him; and if those consequences

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

should have no reference to merit or demerit, the govern

ment could not be moral.

Thus do we find, in immediate connection with the

choice of a supreme end, the ideas of obligation and of

moral law, of merit and demerit, of reward and punishment, and of responsibility. We find also the ideas of

right and wrong. Properly these are always relative, expressing either fitness or unfitness, and having reference to

an end. As such they are secondary; but they imply a

moraI quality when they indicate the fitness or unfitness

of specific moral acts, or of the fundamental position of

the heart with reference to the true and supreme end.

As the ideas and feelings just mentioned arise in our

minds, a tribunal will be erected within us by which we

shall be compelled to judge ourselves, and by which we

shall also judge others in accordance with what we suppose to be the character of their radical choices. Without

such a tribunal, and power and necessity of judgment, our

moral nature would not be complete. There would be no

answering of face to face, and we should not be linked in

sympathy with the one great community of moral beings.

As illustrating the gradation and classification of ideas

heretofore referred to, it may be well to say, at this point,

that the highest forms and ideas of beauty and sublimity

are also evolved as subsidiary, in connection with the

choice of a supreme end and its results. In all working of

unconscious and involuntary powers towards their end, and

the facile mastery by them of the material to be used and

the obstacles to be overcome, there is beauty. Virtue is

the same thing when the powers are conscious and voluntary. Hence their deep affinity. There is no beauty of a

ship with every sail set, speeding its way over the subject

element to its haven, that can be compared with that of

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CONSCIENCE.

the organized powers of man acting in harmony, - those

ruling that ought to rule, and those serving that ought to

serve, and all conspiring to their destined end; nor is any

storm in nature so sublime as the conflicts that may arise

when temptation and opposition come between a truehearted man and the attainment of his end.

It is somewhere in connection with the central act of

choice now spoken of that conscience must be found.

Of the discrepancy there is in the views respecting conscience, I spoke in the first lecture. This discrepancy cannot be removed at once, if at all. It arises from the

intimate blending there is in this higher nature of the

powers of knowing and of feeling, so that we may and

do call the product indifferently an idea or a feeling.

Thus we say, the idea of obligation, and the feeling of

obligation. Hience some have regarded, and probably will

continue to regard, conscience as comprising the whole

moral nature. "The moral nature of man," says Dr. Alexander; of Edinburgh, in a learned article recently published in the Encyclopedia Britannica, -" the moral nature of man is summed up in the word conscience. Moral

nature and conscience are two names of the same thing.

The analysis of conscience, therefore, will unfold man's

moral nature." I prefer a view which makes the operation of our moral nature more analogous to those of the

other departments of our complex being. In all of them

there was original provision for the right performance of

their work; for a recognition of the character of that performance as normal or otherwise; and in that recognition

for a sense of satisfaction or the reverse, which may be

regarded as reward or punishment. So with the moral

nature. It was intended that it, or rather the person,

should work in accordance with his law. If he does so,

15*

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

there is in it a testifying state that is not only recognition,

but approbation and reward. If he does not, there is also

a testifying state that is disapprobation and punishment.

Conscience, then, will involve a recognition by the person

of the moral quality of his own acts or states, and the

feelings consequent upon such recognition. It may be

defined as that function of the moral reason by which it

affirms obligation before the act, by which it approves or

disapproves after the act, and by which it indicates future

reward or punishment. Here, high as it is, we still see in

it an analogy to appetite. In that, as in hunger, there is

both impulse and discrimination, and there is subsequent

pleasure or the reverse. To the prophetic power of conscience, however, appetite has nothing analogous. Conscience will then reveal itself as, 1st. Obligatory. 2d.

Judicial. 3d. Prophetic. There will be, first, the affirmation of obligation before the act; second, the excusing or

accusing by one another of the thoughts after the act; and,

third, a promise or threat that becomes, on the one hand,

a hope of eternal life, or, on the other, "a certain fearful

looking for of judgment."

By many, by most, conscience is regarded as a separate

faculty, and, as has been said, the whole of the moral nature. I prefer to say, as above, that it is a function of the

moral reason. Besides affirming obligation to choose the

true supreme end, the moral reason is that in the light of

which it is chosen. It is that by which that end is recognized as supreme. The affirmation of obligation, as above

stated, is what many mean by the apprehension of an ultimate right.

On this subject writers generally begin by assuming that

there are actions having a moral quality, and regard the

conscience or moral nature as that by which we perceive

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DOUBLE FUNCTION OF MORAL NATURE.

and become affected by that quality. But whence came the

moral act? From a moral being certainly; and we should

naturally suppose that those capacities by which a being

could originate an act having a moral quality would be

the leading part of his moral nature, rather than that by

which he should perceive and become affected by the

moral quality after it was originated. Is our moral nature

that only by which we approve and condemn? Or is it

that also by which we originate and do the things that we

approve and condemn? We love God. By an act of our

moral nature we approve ourselves in so doing. Is it by

an act of our moral nature that we love him? I suppose

it is. We do not love God because we are under obligation to, except as his worth and worthiness impose the obligation. We love him impartially because of his worth,

and complacently because of his worthiness; and such love

is from our moral nature, but not from conscience. If the

states or forms of activity judged did not have a moral

quality they could not be approved or condemned, and

they belong to our moral nature in virtue of their having

a moral quality. That also by which we judge belongs to

our moral nature because it judges of moral quality.

In the order of nature there must be a moral being before there can be a moral act. But, as we have seen, a

moral being is a person having moral reason and the moral

ideas and affections necessarily originated by that, together

with firee will, which is implied as a condition for the formation of those ideas. In these is personality and a moral

nature -the capacity of doing a moral act. But these are

not conscience. That becomes possible only when there is

a question respecting the conformity, future or past, of a

being, already moral, to what either is, or is supposed to

be his law.

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

A moral act is one that respects the supreme end. Any

act which a man may either do or leave undone, and still

stand in precisely the same relation to his supreme end, is

not a moral act; and the moral nature will comprise, as

I have said, all that is ultimately directive - the moral

reason, the will, the personality, the man himself, that

which does the moral act, as well as that which judges

of it.

We may, then, regard the whole moral nature as consisting of those powers whose activity gives the moral

quality, and also of those which judge of the moral quality and are affected by it; and it would conduce to perspicuity if the term conscience could be confined to the

latter.

Of the moral quality itself which conscience presupposes, our notion is simple, as of color or extension. We

perceive it immediately as belonging to certain states of

mind, as selfishness, envy, malignity, on the one hand,

and benevolence, generosity, and kindness, on the other.

Relations may be needed to evolve the acts, but it is from

no perception of them. It is from no sense, but is an immediate knowledge, by the spirit, of the quality of its own

states and acts. We know a moral act as moral precisely

as we know an intellectual act as intellectual. We know

an intellectual act to be intellectual because it is an act of

the intellect; and what an act of the intellect is, and that

it is intellectual, every being having an intellect must

know intuitively on the exercise of his intellect, and he

could know it in no other way. Here is primitive knowledge, without which no definition could give the first elements of the knowledge of anything. It is in the same

way that a moral act presupposes a moral constitution, and

is known to have a moral quality.

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CONSCIENCE PROPHETIC.

In the definition of conscience the prophetic element

requires special attention. It is important not only practically, but as proving the being of a personal God, and as

connecting us with his government. Not only would it

require a God with will and freedom, and an apprehension

of moral distinctions, to originate a creature endowed with

these, but without such a being as a rewarder and punisher, the idea of reward and punishment other than that

which is natural and immediately inflicted, is nugatory.

Without such a being it would be a practical absurdity -

an eye without light, a part in nature without its counterpart, a falsehood in the very sanctuary of the moral nature

of man.

In strictness I suppose the office of conscience to be to

take cognizance of our own moral acts, and that a decision

respecting those of others should be referred to the judgment. That this is its proper sphere appears from the fact

that conscience was not originally, in our own language,

and is not now in some others, distinguished from consciousness. It was consciousness par eminence; but on a

subject like this, whatever may be thought of Hamilton's

view of it, consciousness can respect only what passes

within ourselves. In the common definitions and descriptions of conscience, powers are assigned it, as that of impulsion, and of rewarding and punishing, which must have

reference solely to our own acts. This, too, would seem to

be the scriptural idea. Paul says of the Gentiles, " Which

show the work of the law written in their hearts," - that

is, in their moral nature, - "their conscience also bearing

witness, and their thoughts meanwhile accusing or else

excusing one another." In all this there must have been

reference solely to their own acts.

In thus finding a moral nature, and so a person, with the

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power both of doing moral acts and of judging of them,

we reach the highest form of created being. It is, doubtless, the highest possible, since there is in it the image of

God, who is himself a person. We reach that for which

all else is a condition, and which has, therefore, over all

else, as below it, a natural supremacy. By a natural law

"all sheep and oxen, yea, and the beasts of the field, and

the fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea," are put " under

the feet" of such a being. In the same way everything in

his own system that is physical, or animal, or merely intellectual, must either be in subjection, or in disorder and

rebellion. We now reach a form of activity that is a condition for nothing within the system, above itself, which

has in itself and in its results not only a good, but the

good, and the supreme good for man, and which can,

therefore, be subject to no law of limitation.

In the exigencies of the present life it may happen that

there shall be not only limitations, but exceptions to the

laws of every subordinate portion of the system. The

laws on which the welfare of the body depends may be

disregarded, because the welfare of the body is not the

highest good. There may be virtue, and even heroism, in

disregarding them. But the laws of the moral nature cannot be thus disregarded. Than the end and good which

these laws would secure, there can be nothing higher;

there can therefore be no law to which these can give

place; they can be subordinate to nothing, are always

binding, have no exceptions, and the activity under them

can never be in excess.

Having thus reached what is highest in man, we must, in

accordance with our previous discussions, here find his true

end and good. And here we do find it in the activity of

the personality according to its law. What then is that

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NATURAL AND REVEALED LAW IDENTICAL.

law? The law of the subordinate faculties is, an activity

for each upon its appropriate object up to the point aJ

which it would interfere with some higher form of activity

and good. Now, however, there can be no interference

with anything higher. The law, therefore, of the highest

faculties will be their highest possible form and degree of

i activity upon their appropriate objects. What, then, is the

highest form of activity of which we are capable? By a

fair analysis this has been shown to be love. What are the

appropriate objects of love? They are God and our neigh bor. What is the highest possible degree of this love? It

is the love of God with all the heart, and of our neigh bor as ourselves.

Here, then, do we have, after as full and fair an examin ation as I could give it, the human constitution itself utter ing the substance of that law which was spoken in thunder

four thousand years ago, and uttering, because it is impos sible to find those more appropriate, the very words of

Him who spoke as never man spoke, when he gave a sum mary of that law. Wonderful is it that his words should

be the exact formula for the expression of the highest pos sible activity of the highest powers.

Thus, as in a former lecture we found that the teachings

inwrought into the whole frame-work of nature were in

perfect harmony with the constitution of man, so do we

now find that the teachings of that constitution are them selves in perfect harmony with those of the revealed word

of God. So is it that "deep calleth unto deep." So is

man the connecting link between that which is lowest and

that which is highest.

We have now answered the three questions put in the

second lecture. The first was, What ought man to do?

The answer was, To choose and seek the end for which

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LECTURES ON MORAL, SCIENCE.

God made him. The second was, Why ought he to do it?

The answer was, Because of the intrinsic good there is in

the end. The third was, tIow ought he to do it? The

answer is, By the highest activity of his lower powers

according to the law of limitation; and by the full activity

of his highest powers upon their appropriate objects.

Does any one inquire more especially what this activity is?

The answer is, Since we have shown the moral affections

to be higher than the intellect, and since God is the highest and only adequate object of the affections, that it can

consist only in the supreme love of God, and the impartial

love of man.

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LECTURE VIII.

RELATION OF VIRTUE TO HAPPINESS.- QUANTITY AND QUALITY OF GOOD.

- MORAL AND NATURAL GOOD.- REGARD FOR OUR OWN GOOD. - CON NECTION WITH BENEVOLENCE.- ENJOYMENT FROM APPROBATION. THE TRUE END OF MAN.-CONNECTION BETWEEN MORAL AND NATURAL

GOOD.

THE identity which we found in the last lecture between

the teaching of the constitution of man and the law of

God was not sought. The result was reached because the

analysis would go there. I was myself surprised at the

exactness of the coincidence. The formula we reached

for the end and good of man was the highest possible

activity of the highest powers upon their appropriate

objects. Love has been shown to be the highest form of

activity; and how readily and perfectly the law of God

takes the form of the above expression will be seen if we

observe that no love of him can be greater than that with

all the heart, and no love of our neighbor can be greater

than that we should love him as ourselves.

It is a grand and beautiful thing thus to begin, as we

have done, at the foundation of this lower creation, and to

follow it upward as its stories rise one upon another till

they culminate in man, and then to hear from his constitution an articulate utterance identical with an utterance

from heaven that comes down to meet it. So is man fitted

to be a being, as Milton says, -

"Commercing with the skies."

The teachings of the constitution, or of natural law, being

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

thus identified with those of the revealed law, it would now

be in order to go on and evolve the specific duties that

would flow from this law as applied in the various relations of life. This might be done, as it generally has been,

in the light of that disposition which would lead us to do

good to all men; or, more properly, as more in accordance

with the preceding course of thought, in the light of

ends. The duties of man to himself and to God would

then be determined ill the light of his end as a creature of

God; his duties in the family in its various relations would

be determined by the end of the family, and his duties to

society by the end of society. And this it was my purpose at one time to do; but that would be beaten ground;

the time would not be adequate, and there are still speculative questions of interest, that are also practical, that

require our attention. We need particularly just now to

analyze this love with reference to certain general conceptions that have been formed, and their harmony with each

other. We need to inquire after the relations to each

other of holiness or virtue, and happiness.

The revealed law is practical. It applies its precepts

directly to a person; it says thou; and it requires duties

to be performed towards persons. The objects are God

and our neighbor. But the mind forms necessarily certain

general conceptions. These are represented by general

terms having no reality or one thing in nature corresponding to them, but simply the notion as it is formed in different minds, and which may vary much, both in its content and in its distinctness. The general notion of property may be in some minds clear, in others indistinct; in

some it may be represented by land, in others by stocks.

These general terms, formed by abstraction, and thus varying in their significance in different minds, have been

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HOLINESS AND HAPPINESS.

thrown into the arena of discussion, and bandied about

endlessly. So will they continue to be; the terms, as we

may hope and believe, becoming in the mean time more

definite, the conceptions of men in connection with them

more distinct, and their relations with each other better

established.

Such conceptions, those too which have been the subject

of much discussion, we shall find involved in the general

formula already reached. Those to which I refer are the

conceptions of holiness and of happiness. What is needed

is that these should be uniform and distinct in the minds

of men, and that their relations to each other should be

clearly seen. There is a natural feeling that virtue, or

holiness, and happiness ought to be united. Moral order

seems to require this. In this world they appear to be

often separated, and hence the strangeness of that state in

which this world is.

That holiness and happiness can be identified as objects

of pursuit is denied by Kant, and it is in their separation

that he finds what he calls the "antinomy" of the practical reason. According to him "the connection between

them is not causal." "Man is bound to pursue virtue;

man cannot but pursue happiness; and yet neither are

these identical, nor does the one lead to the other." Of

old the doctrine of the Epicureans was that "to be consciously influenced by maxims that lead to happiness, is

virtue." The doctrine of the Stoics, and the opposite of

this, was, that "to be conscious of virtue is happiness."

"The identification of happiness with duty," says Whewell, "on merely philosophical grounds, is a question of

great difficulty." Possibly our past discussions may throw

some light on this point.

In estimating enjoyment or good, regard must be had to

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

both quantity and quality. The quantity from any given

susceptibility or power will be as its normal activity. The

quality will be as the rank, according to the gradation heretofore indicated, of the susceptibility or power. There are,

I know, those who say that the only difference in respect

to enjoyment is in degree. So Paley thought. They say

that the enjoyment of the glutton is just as excellent and

valuable as that of the saint or angel. Do you believe

this? Do you think that any amount of swinish enjoyment could be weighed against one hour of the clear comprehension of God and his works, and of sinless and fervent love? I greatly mistake if there be not in the common consciousness of men, as there is expressed in their

language, a feeling of gradation in respect to enjoyments

that corresponds substantially with the order of the faculties as heretofore explained. When, however, we come to

the moral nature, as we there make a leap in respect to

the order of the faculties, so do we in respect to the kind

of enjoyment. As we now come to have faculties like

those of the angels, and are made in the image of God, so

do we become capable of enjoyments like those of the

angels and of God. Between such enjoyment and that of

an animal, or of our own animal nature, there is as much

difference in dignity and worth as there is between an

angel and an animal. Here only do we find moral and

spiritual enjoyments; here approbation and disapprobation; here the consciousness of worth.

The above being premised, we say that the natural law

and formula for the highest enjoymnent is the highest possible activity of the highest powers upon their appropriate

objects. We say, also, that the formula for virtue is the

highest normal activity of the moral powers. But thte

moral powers are also the highest powers, and hence the

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MORAL AND NATURAL GOOD.

highest enjoyment must be in and firom the same activity

in which virtue consists. If, then, they mnay not be said to

be identical, they are inseparably connected by a Tatural

law, as much so as the light is with the sun. It is one of

the properties and characteristics of the sun by which we

define it, and as God made it, that it gives forth light; and

it is one of the properties and characteristics of virtue as

we always conceive of it, and as God intended it should

be, that it gives forth its own natural, inseparable, peculiar

enjoyment. It is an enjoyment that belongs to it, and

inheres in it, as the property in its substance; so that the

Stoics were right in saying that "the consciousness of

virtue is happiness."

This brings us to the distinction between what may

be called moral good and that which is merely natural.

Moral good is that which is immediately, and by a natural

law, connected with the normal activity of the moral powers; natural good is that which comes from the activity of

any of the susceptibilities or powers below those that are

moral. They are alike in being instances under the general law that there is from the activity of each faculty its

own enjoyment; and in that sense both are natural; but

what I have called moral good is not only the product

of the moral powers, - it has peculiarities well worthy of

notice, and such as to fit it to be the good of the race.

One of these is its independence. By this I mean that

it is wholly within the control of the man himself. This

arises from the fact that moral good is from the direct

activity of the will itself, and not fron the activity of

those faculties that depend on the will. Tyranny may fetter the limbs; want of discipline may render the faculties

indocile; but virtue consists in the voluntary acts themselves, and in those voluntary dispositions which lead to

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the acts, that is, in the activity of the will. This is central

to the man. It is the man himself acting, and nothing can

come between him and it, together with its natural results.

It is not these results that are meant when we say we will

do right and leave the result with God. These we conceive of as included in doing right. It may even be

doubted whether, moral beings existing, the results could

have been otherwise. The dispositions and volitions are

one thing, the command of the faculties through which

these express themselves is another. In the one is character; in the other ability. Any object of our desires we

may be prevented by external circumstances from obtaining; but no will of another, no violence or imprisonment,

no external circumstance can come between a man and his

voluntary dispositions, together with the blessedness there

may be from their activity.

This puts the highest interest of every man into his

own power. If he have confidence in God, it gives him

a rational ground on which he can stand and be a martyr.

Here is a citadel that can never be forced; if it surrender,

the man himself must open the gates. In respect to this,

the exhortation may be fairly given as against any external

influence, " Hold that fast which thou hast, that no man

take thy crown." It is in this power of man thus to resist,

in his allegiance to virtue and to God, all solicitation and

all violence, that his true greatness is found.

It is at this point, as the will is differently related to the

grounds of its action, that moral beauty and moral sublimity arise. When the propensities and faculties yield themselves in ready and glad coincidence with the virtuous

will, when other moral agents conspire with it, and nature

is accordant, there is moral beauty. There is no temptation then, and the current of the soul flows on without a

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MORAL GOOD.

ripple. But when the propensities and faculties are refractory, when they solicit to evil, and would fain rebel; when

example and authority are against us so that integrity

would require resistance unto death, then, if the will remain firm, there is moral sublimity. In the one case the

element is spontaneity, consent, and harmony of action;

in the other it is force, struggle, victory. In both there is

a sense of dignity, of freedom, and self-direction. There

is the joy of the young eagle when he poises himself on

his own pinions, and that something more which the eagle

cannot feel that is involved in self-approbation and a consciousness of merit.

This leads us to a second peculiarity of moral good. It

is that it is necessarily accompanied by a sense of approbation. This is an element wholly unknown till we reach

the action of the moral powers. Up to this point we have

a pleasure in all excellence; we admire it; but when we

reach moral excellence, admiration becomes approbation.

This gives a pleasure entirely distinct from that naturally

connected with moral goodness. In the love of God or of

man there is an enjoyment wholly distinct from the approbation. That is in view of the love, and subsequent to it.

Love and hatred have in them respectively the elements

of happiness and of misery, aside from any subsequent act

of approbation or disapprobation. It is in these subsequent acts that we find a consciousness by the spirit of its

own state as it is, or is not conformed to the law of its

being, involving a feeling of self-approbation and hope, or

of self-condemnation and of an indefinite dread. As virtue is in the states and acts of the will, so, if there be

candor, the eye of conscience is directly fixed upon these

states and acts; and so distinct at times do these sentiments of approval and condemnation become that they

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

seem like the product of a second personality within us,

recording our deeds, passing sentence upon them, and giving dim forebodings of a coming and more perfect judgment. This is, indeed, the great, and almost the only evidence from nature of a future retribution; at least, it is

that without which no other would have any weight.

liere, then, in connection with moral good, we have a

new and striking element, and one which we should suppose could hardly fail to direct men to that as their chief

good. This approbation is not, as is sometimes supposed,

the good itself, but comes in as the accompaniment, the

sanction and heightener of that good.

A third peculiarity of moral good is that in seeking it

for ourselves we necessarily promote the good of others.

We thus find a coalescence of what is called self-love with

benevolence, and of interest with duty. In this perfect

coalescence and harmony is the point of reconciliation between what have been called the selfish and the benevolent

systems of morals. By some it has been held that all virtue has its origin in a regard for our own good; by some

that it consists in a regard to the good of others. The

true system is found in the coincidence of the two; and

that becomes possible only from the peculiarity of moral

good now mentioned.

This point requires attention, not only because different

and seemingly opposite systems have sprung from it, but

also because there has been in the public mind, to some extent, a wrong estimate of what has been called self-love, or

rather of the right and the duty of every man to seek his

own highest good. As indicating this right and duty, selflove has not been a fortunate term. It has not always

been clearly distinguished from selfishness, and, if not positively wrong, has been supposed to be less noble and

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INDIVIDUAL GOOD.

worthy than benevolence. Both the element of duty that

is in it, which ennobles all things, and that of beneficence,

which is also in it, have been overlooked. To exhort men

to love themselves has been supposed to be a work of

supererogation, if not positively wrong. We need, therefore, to say a word on this point, and then to show how

the two coalesce.

If the terms are rightly understood, we need not hesitate in saying that a man cannot love himself too much.

Does this startle any one who has been accustomed to a

particular form of phraseology? I would ask him whether

he thinks we can love others too much? If not, neither

can we ourselves, since the love of ourselves is made in

Scripture, as it must be by reason, the measure of our love

to others. "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself."

Let a man then love himself as much as he will, only let

himlove his neighbor as much. Let him love his neighbor as much as he will, only let him love himself as much.

This is the Bible doctrine, and in this equal and impartial

love the good of the whole will be provided for, since both

the individual and his neighbor are equal factors in making up the great sum of good.

Again, that it is the duty of the individual to seek his

own highest good is involved in his structure. He would

be a reproach to his Maker if it were not. It has already

been seen to be the characteristic of a rational being to

act with reference to an end. But an end can be sought

rationally only as there is in it an apprehended good. It

would seem, therefore, that the idea of good must be among

our primitive and elementary ideas, as much so at least as

that of an end. It will probably be found to result at once,

immediately, and always, from any normal activity of the

powers. Without a supreme good, man would be a coin

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

tradiction and an absurdity. If there were no good for

man he could do nothing for himself, and nothing could

be done for him. Without a rational conception of good

there could be no rational activity; and that which is thus

at the basis of all action of the rational powers we may

well suppose to be primitive. In the analysis by Cousin

of our moral ideas, he says that those of merit and demerit,

of justice and injustice, of right and wrong, must precede

those of reward and punishment. This is true, but it does

not follow that they must precede the idea of good in

general. The idea of good certainly underlies those of

reward and punishment; but since justice must consist in

bestowing good and inflicting evil, it would seem that it

must underlie that also, and that there can no more be a

conception of justice and injustice in general without that

of some end or good, than there can be one of commercial

justice and injustice without that of an exchangeable

value. But that the ideas of justice and injustice are natural and necessary, no one doubts.

In connection with this idea of good there must be

some tendency towards it, or there could be no harmony

in the being himself, and we could have no conception of

him as acting morally. Towards the supreme good there

must have been some constitutional impulse, as well as

towards those that are lower, since it must have been

intended for a motive, and for that mere comprehension

would not suffice. It may indeed be doubted whether

good could be conceived of as good, without such a tendency. This tendency may have become enfeebled, obscured, confused; but no philosophy of ends could be

conceived of without it, and unless the nature be hopelessly ruined something of it must remain. For a nature

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TENDENCY TO INDIVIDUAL GOOD.

thus ruined, all attempts at a philosophy of itself would

be simple bewilderment.

This tendency is always implied both in speculation and

in action. By many it has been called a rational instinct.

Archbishop Leighton went so far as to use for it the term

"appetite." "Actual or formal felicity," says he, "is the

full possession and enjoyment of that complete and chief

good (that, namely, which most perfectly supplies all the

wants and satisfies all the cravings of our rational appetites)." Of this tendency McLaurin says, "God has implanted in us that thirst after complete happiness which is

the spring of men's actions; and since the above-mentioned

faculty of reason shows where that thirst may be satisfied,

the direct tendency of both, if duly approved, would be

to lead the soul to the eternal fountain of all good." It

was of this that the schoolmen we?e wont to say, "In

beatitudinem fertur voluntas, non ut voluntas, sedl ut

natura" -"The will is borne towards happiness, not as

will, but as nature." This is what was meant by the

psalmist king, in whom this tendency worked in the light,

when he said, "My soul thirsteth for God, for the living

God." "My heart and my flesh crieth out for the living

God." This it is which creates the restlessness of many,a deep and underlying dissatisfaction, often cropping out

at the surface, with every form of inferior good, and which

imakes the knowledge of God, in and from whom is the

supreme good, like cold water to the thirsty soul. This it

is the inspiration of which all feel at times lifting them

mysteriously, like a mighty ground swell, and intimating a

connection with that which is spiritual, infinite, and eternal.

There is in this a commitment of each to himself, that each

may work out in himself the great end of all.

If to this inherent tendency and native correlation to

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

good we add the provision made by God for it; if we remember that he wishes our good, and how strongly he has

expressed that wish in giving us the capacity and making

such provision for its gratification; if we reflect, too, that

the very end of God in the whole will be defeated if his

creatures decline the good for which they were made, we

shall see how sacred is the duty laid upon every man to

accept of all the good that God gives, and to seek for all

that he provides. Has he indeed given us capacities for

good, great capacities? Has he provided for their gratification? Has he made our acceptance and attainment of

that good a condition of our benefiting others? Has he

ever offered himself as the correlate of those faculties, so

that we may love him, and find our good in that love, -

what obligation can be more sacred than to acknowledge

our sense of his goodness by accepting all that he gives,

just as he gives it, and rejoicing in it?

Having thus seen that it is our duty to secure our own

highest good, let us see how, in so doing, we shall promote

the good of others, as we have already seen how, in promoting the good of others, that is, in loving them, we promote our own. When the laws of God are observed there

is no clashing of interests, but the reverse. It is a great

principle, and the gain would be immense if it could be

thoroughly incorporated into the minds of the people, that

the highest good of each man or nation is more conducive

than anything else could be to the highest good of all.

This results firom the nature of the highest good, which

is such that the enjoyment of it by one heightens instead

of diminishing that of others. It is not like a feast, of

which he who eats consumes that which might have been

enjoyed by another; but rather like a musical concert,

where each new performer, with voice and instrument ac

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INDIVIDUAL AND GENERAL GOOD.

cordant, adds something to the harmony, and to the joy

of all. This it does, first, because, as the highest good consists in loving, and as "love works no ill to his neighbor,"

but all good, and good only, it will follow that there must

be an identity of the two. The direct tendency and result

of a virtuous love is the happiness both of the person loving and of those beloved. No one can truly love without

doing good to those beloved; and no one can truly love

without being made happy in so doing.

But, second, moral good can be sought only in and

through moral goodness. But the more moral goodness

there is in any individual, the more will others feel complacency in him, the more approve him, and the more will

he be a source of light and a ground of joy. He who

seeks his own good in moral goodness, not only lays a

foundation for his own increasing good as his goodness

increases, but also for the higher good of the whole system

with which he is connected. There is no way of doing

good so effectual as to increase our own moral goodness.

We thus increase the material of happiness, and lay the

foundation of that subtle and most efficient of all influences, an unconscious influence.

A distinction has been drawn between the enjoyment

there is from a moral act, as love, and that from the suLbsequent approbation. This is here worthy of special notice.

The enjoyment of the agent who does a good moral act is

heightened by the approbation which follows it; but such

an act is not approved by the agent alone. Whenever and

wherever a rational and moral being may become cognizant

of the act, he also will approve it, and in approval there is

joy. Approbation - moral complacency - there are few

higherjoys than from these. In them is the foundation for

the highest sympathy, and esteem, and friendship. Perhaps

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we do not sufficiently reflect on the immense change that

is wrought in the character of our happiness, and in all our

relations, by the addition to the natural good of good moral

acts, of this of approbation. It is that by which moral

beings have an interest in each other as such, and become

a community, a society, instead of a herd. The addition

of this element is like that of light to the heavenly bodies.

We may suppose them hanging or floating in space without light. There could then be no recogniition or watchfulness of sympathy. But let light be added, let an interchange of rays be passing throughout all space, giving to

the heavens their beauty, and proclaiming momently how

well each observes the law of its movement, and we shall

have some illustration of the change wrought by the coming in of this element of approbation and moral complacency. If we suppose a new star to be lighted up in space

we see at once that it will be in sympathy with the rest,

and that the brighter it is the more light the rest must

receive, and the more will they rejoice in it. And so it

must be with moral goodness. The more there is of it,

and so of moral good, in any one, the more material and

ground must there be for the happiness of others. "They

that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament; and they that turn many to righteousness, as the

stars forever and ever."

So do we, in adopting moral good as an end, harmonize

and identify what has been called self-love with benevolence; interest with duty; the highest possible regard for

our own good with the highest possible regard for the good

of others.

From the above discussion it appears that moral good is

broadly distinguished from all other, and that its peculiarities are such that it is fitted to be the highest good. It is,

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THE TRUE END FOR MAN.

first, independent. It is wholly within the power of the

individual. The world cannot give or take it away. It

is beyond the reach of violence or fraud. In this it is

strongly contradistinguished from all other good. Second,

't is accompanied with approbation. This may be regarded as the voice of God expressing his wish that this

good should be sought, and is in itself an entirely new

element of good. And, third, the activity required for its

attainment is identical with that which is required for the

general good. In the pursuit of it the interests of the

individual and of the community become one. To such

moral good we say, in opposition to Kant, that goodness,

or virtue, or holiness, does stand in a causal relation; and

that it is the only possible cause, since it can be only in

and from that specific form of activity.

Do we say, then, to close this discussion in the terms

with which we started,-do we say that the end for man is

happiness? No. The good here, the highest good, is fiom

the normal activity of the moral powers. As such, that

activity is obedience to the law of God, however revealed.

It is all that can be commanded or directly willed, or that

can be approved and honored. It is virtue; it is holiness.

Do we, then, say that virtue or holiness is the end for man?

No; for in this holiness there is a blessedness wholly distinctive and peculiar, higher, purer, nobler than any other;

a blessedness like that of God himself, and as inseparable from the holiness as its light is from the sun. Not,

then, in happiness without holiness do we say is the true

end for man, for without that the happiness could not be;

not in holiness without happiness, for without that the

holiness could not be and be holiness, any more than the

sun could be the sun without its light. But we do say

that the true end for man is HOLY HAPPINESS, that is,

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BLESSEDNESS. Not the oxygen alone do we need, not

the hydrogen alone, but the water,- that living water of

which if a man drink he shall never thirst.

Since, then, blessedness, as now defined, is the true good

for man as man, and so for all rational and moral beings, it

will be the end of man to increase the sum of blessedness;

and virtue will consist in a supreme purpose to promote

this impartially and in the highest degree.

The true end of man is not to be found wholly in his

subserviency to others; and it is no more to be found in

himself than the end of a stone, with its faces hewn and

fitted to be joined with others in a building, is to be found

in itself. The end of such a stone would be to be fitted in

with others as a part of the building, and if the stone were

rational it would seek as its end its own place, and would

rest there. So man, being capable of comprehending and

choosing the good of the whole as an end, is capable of

choosing his individual happiness and end in harmony with

that, as a part of that, and as being possible of attainment

only in connection with that.

But it is only through love that man is so adjusted as to

fill his place in harmony with others in a perfect society;

for, in loving, that is, in choosing the good of the whole,

man chooses his own good, and in choosing his own good

as consisting in loving, he chooses the good of the whole.

The difficulty here has resulted from a false conception

of interest. If this had always been conceived of as the

highest activity of the highest powers, there would have

been no supposed opposition between interest and duty.

The difficulty in indicating the full end for man by any

single form of expression arises from its complexity. That

he was designed to promote intentionally the blessedness

of others there can be no doubt. This he is capable of

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THREE ELEMENTS IN THE END.

doing from a rational estimate of it, and from love. As

little doubt can there be that he was designed to be himself blessed; and he is capable of promoting his own blessedness for its own sake. Further, there can be no doubt

that in doing these he was designed to glorify God. This,

also, he is capable of doing intentionally, and this he will

do just in proportion as he promotes the blessedness of

others and is himself blessed, because the blessedness of

the creature arises from that manifestation of the perfections of God which is his declarative glory. In aiming

at either of these most would agree that man would act

rightly, and that in promoting the three to the highest

possible extent his whole end would be found. Are these

then three ends? Perhaps we may say that; still the tendency and effort has always been to find a single form of

expression that should include the three. This has been

encouraged by the peculiar manner in which these are involved in each other, since no one can promote his own

blessedness without promoting that of others, or can promote either except by glorifying God.

In the Bible form of statement the three elements are

involved. The love of God and our neighbor is made

most prominent, but when it is said, "Thou shalt love thy

neighbor as thyself," there is implied the regard for self in

just the right proportion.

In the form adopted by the Westminster divines we

have also the three elements. "To glorify God, and enjoy

him," are combined as one end. This is substantially right,

since we can glorify God only by loving and obeying hinm,

and since, in thus loving and obeying, we shall do what we

may to secure the blessedness of all other creatures.

The form adopted by Edwards is, that virtue consists in

17*

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the love of being. This includes the three elements, and,

if taken literally, much more.

In the same way we include the three elements when

we say, as above,

1st. That the end of man is to increase the sum of

blessedness, and,

2d. That virtue consists in a supreme purpose to promote blessedness impartially, and in the highest possible

degree.

3d. This being the end for which God made man, he is

glorified just in proportion as man seeks that end.

Having thus placed moral good in its rightful supremacy

as the highest good, and having found in it the point of

coalescence for individual and general good, to complete

the subject we need to see its relations to natural good.

The two are not immediately and necessarily connected.

As we have seen, moral goodness is the choosing by a free

being of his true end, together with all subordinate acts

and choices involved in that. Moral good is the enjoyment inseparably connected with such choice. It holds the

same relation to the activity of the moral powers that natural good does to that of the other powers, and is in no

proper sense a reward of moral goodness. There is in it

that which is meant when it is said that virtue is its own

reward. But, properly speaking, reward is natural good

conferred by the will of another on account of moral

goodness, On the other hand, moral badness, or wickedness, is the choice by a free being of any other than his

true end, and the acts under such choice. Moral evil,

or suffering (for it is here used for that), is the suffering

inseparably connected with such choice; and punishment

is natural evil inflicted on account of such badness or

wickedness. These, that is, moral good and evil, follow

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MORAL AND NATURAL GOOD.

moral goodness and wickedness as the shadow the substance. Between moral goodness and a certain joy and

approbation and hope the connection is as immediate and

inseparable as any under the laws of nature, and more so;

between wickedness, the lie, the fraud, and a moral deterioration, a stain, a foreboding of evil, the connection is as

immediate and close as between putting the finger in the

fire and being burned, and more so. This effect of wickedness upon his innermost being no man can escape, and

therefore no wicked man can be, in the highest sense, prosperous. But this effect is invisible, and in this life incomplete. It is possible for a man to conceal it in a measure

from himself, and wholly from others; especially if there

be in the mind, as there commonly is, such a perversion

that moral good is comparatively disregarded, and the

possession of natural good is made the standard of happi

ness.

There is here then no antinomy, to adopt the phraseology of Kant, between virtue and happiness. If that exist

anywhere, it is between moral goodness and natural good.

Here there is, if not an opposition, yet a want of harmony

that has always given to this world the aspect of a moral

enigma. External advantages, natural good, are often

possessed by the wicked and not by the good, and the distribution of them is so far promiscuous as to jar upon our

moral sentiments, and perhaps to lead us to question the

existence of any moral government. In the oldest book

extant the inquiry is made, "Wherefore do the wicked

prosper, become old, yea, mighty in power?" More than

a thousand years afterwards the complaint was, "They

overpass the deeds of the wicked; they judge not the

cause,-the cause of the fatherless; yet they prosper."

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And the same is the complaint of to-day. Says Coleridge, -

" How seldom, friend, a good great man inherits

Honor and wealth with all his worth and pains.

It seems a story from the world of spirits,

When any man obtains that which he merits,

Or any merits that which he obtains."

Such passages show what the mind naturally regards as

moral order. It is that natural good should follow in the

train of moral goodness and wait upon it everywhere as

the satellite upon its primary. But this it does not. It is

often the reverse. Often natural good becomes the

tempter of man to lure him from virtue, and often he is

compelled, if he would be virtuous, not only to renounce

natural good, but to suffer the extremest natural evils, even

the loss of life itself. Not only does moral goodness fail

to produce natural good, -it often becomes incompatible

with it.

To relieve the jar thus made upon our moral sentiments

philosophy points us to the fact that each natural as well

as moral law is independent, and that obedience to each

gives its own separate and specific good. Be benevolent,

it is said, and you shall have the rewards of benevolence;

but if you violate the laws of temperance, your benevolence

will not and ought not to prevent your paying the penalty. The view is that men get what they earn, and that

if they do not choose to pay for a good, they should not

complain if they do not get it. Says Mrs. Barbauld, in an

essay upon Inconsistency in our Expectations, "We should

consider this world as a great mart of commerce, where

fortune exposes to our view various commodities, - riches,

ease, tranquillity, fame, integrity, knowledge. Everything

is marked at a settled price. Our time, our labor, our in

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INCONSISTENT EXPECTATIONS.

genuity, are so much ready money, which we are to lay

out to the best advantage. Examine, compare, choose,

reject; but stand to your own judgment; and do not, like

children, when you have purchased one thing, repine that

you do not possess another which you did not purchase.

Such is the force of well-regulated industry that a steady

and vigorous exertion of our faculties, directed to one

end, will generally insure success. Would you, for in stance, be rich? Do you think that single point worth

the sacrificing everything else to? You may then be rich.

Thousands have become so from the lowest beginnings, by

toil and patient diligence, and attention to the minutest

article of expense and profit. But you must give up the

pleasures of leisure, of a vacant mind, of a free, unsuspicious temper. If you preserve your integrity, it must be

a coarse-spun and vulgar honesty. Those high and lofty

notions of morals which you brought with you from the

schools must be considerably lowered, and mixed with the

baser alloy of a jealous and- worldly-minded prudence.

You must learn to do hard, if not unjust things; and for

the nice embarrassments of a delicate and ingenuous

spirit, it is necessary for you to get rid of them as fast as

possible. You must shut your heart against the muses,

and be content to feed your understanding with plain

household truths. In short, you must not attempt to

enlarge your ideas, or polish your taste, or refine your sen timents; but must keep on in one beaten track, without

turning aside either to the right hand or to the left.'But

I cannot submit to drudgery like this; I feel a spirit above

it.''Tis well; be above it, then; only do not repine that

you are not rich."

"The man whose tender sensibility of conscience and

strict regard to the rules of morality make him scrupulous

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and fearful of offending, is often heard to complain of the

disadvantages he lies under in every path of honor and

profit.'Could I but get over some nice points, and conform to the practice and opinion of those about me, I

might stand as fair a chance as others for dignities and

preferment.' And why can you not? What hinders you

from discarding this troublesome scrupulosity of yours

which stands so grievously in your way? If it be a small

thing to enjoy a healthful mind sound at the very core,

that does not shrink from the keenest inspection; inward

freedom from remorse and perturbation; unsullied whiteness and simplicity of manners; a genuine integrity

Pure in the last recesses of the mind; -

if you think these advantages an inadequate recompense

for what you resign, dismiss your scruples this instant, and

be a slave-merchant, a parasite, or what you please."

There is good sense in this. Perhaps it is the best view

that philosophy can take; it is substantially the view of

Combe, in his Constitution of Man. But then there is in

it no vindication of a state of things in which vice so often

and so greatly gains outward advantage, and in which virtue and piety are not merely left destitute of what they

may not choose to bargain for, -to which there would not

be so much objection,- but are compelled, if they would

remain virtue and piety, to submit to the loss of all things,

and to suffer whatever the physical nature may be capable

of suffering. Of such cases the world has been full, and

for these philosophy has no solution. They point to the

future. The constitution and course of nature, with the

moral phenomena which it envelops and enshrines, does

not furnish data for its own explanation. As the solution

is not from itself, it can neither know of it, nor have organs

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MORAL GOODNESS AND NATURAL GOOD.

to utter it. If the course of things were to go on forever

as it does now, this world, in its relation to the moral constitution of man, would forever remain an inexplicable

enigma. So far as I can judge, neither a moral government, nor a moral governor, nor the existence of any being

worthy to be called God, could be proved. No; the solution can come only from the future. This Coleridge felt;

for, while he recognizes the incompatibility just spoken of,

and so assigns to the good great man only the natural rewards of goodness and greatness, yet the friends he gives

him are such as to show that he did not suppose the solution of the problem to be here.

"What woulds't thou have a good, great man obtain?

Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain,

Or heaps of corses which the sword hath slain.?

Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends.

Hath he not always treasure, always friends,

The good great man? Three treasures,- love, and light,

And calm thoughts, equable as infant's breath;

And three fast friends more sure than day or night, -

Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death?"

This relation of moral goodness to natural good may

doubtless be justified in a temporary dispensation. It

brings new elements into the divine administration; it

trains virtue as it could not be otherwise. It is at the

basis of moral sublimity and heroism. The object is

the enthronement of the moral nature. Let that be fully

done, and there comes the subjection, and subordination,

and right action of all the other parts of our nature, and

consequently all possible natural good from that. Here, so

far as natural good can arise from the harmony and right

action of all the powers of the individual, do we find

the natural, and, indirectly, causal relation between moral

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

goodness and natural good. With the rule of the moral

nature must come all temperance, all kindness, all harmonies of the individual system, and so all the good it can

give. Here is no antinomy between moral goodness and

natural good. Naturally there is none. The present relation and arrangement is clearly a derangement, and such

an one that the moral nature can never be satisfied till the

adverse influence of evil shall be eliminated ant separated

from the good, and till external nature shall be so re-adjusted that all her substances, agencies, laws, forces, influences, shall come into accord with the laws of a higher

sphere, and shall offer themselves always and everywhere

as the servants of goodness. This, and this only, is the

natural relation between moral goodness and natural good,

and thus do we harmonize the two.

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LECTURE IX.

THE SPHERE OF MORAL SCIENCE. - RIGHT AND WRONG. -DEFINITION OF

TERMS. - PROVINCE OF CONSCIENCE. - HOW FAR INFALLIBLE. - TWO

SPHERES. - DIVERSITY OF MORAL JUDGMENTS.- CRISES OF LIFE. - RE LATION OF CONSCIENCE TO OTHER PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. - COMPLEX ITY OF MOTIVES.-AFFECTIONS HAVE A MORAL CHARACTER IN THEM SELVES.

HAVING now examined the moral constitution, we are

in a position to discriminate more perfectly the true sphere

of moral science.

In examining an outward act of a moral being and

seeking to determine its character, we may either go backward to its source, or forward to its consequences. In

one or the other of these we must find the sphere of the

science; for though actions are often spoken of as if they

had a moral quality in themselves, yet aside from their

origin or their consequences this is not conceivable.

If we go back to the source of the act we find that

moral constitution which we have considered. We find a

person capable of doing moral acts, and of judging of

them, and it is in some mode of his activity that we find

the moral quality. In connection with this we find the

terms virtuous, vicious, goodness, wickedness, morally

good, morally evil. In connection with these there are

invisible consequences upon the spirit itself which affect

the character, and which we think of as necessary.

If we go forward to the outward consequences of the

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act, we find a conformity or want of conformity to fixed

relations, together with the terms utility, injuriousness,

general consequences, and more generally, though they are,

as we have seen, applied in the other direction, the terms

right and wrong. An action is good because its source is

good. "Make the tree good, and his fruit will be good."

It is right because it is conformed to a rule or law based

on a recognition of relations, and so, adapted to attain its

end. But the terms right and wrong have often been-so

applied, now to indicate moral quality as belonging to a

person, and now to indicate a conformity or want of conformity to fixed outward relations, as to produce much

confusion.

Thus it is said in the most popular work on morals published in this country,* that "Moral philosophy takes it for

granted that there is in human action a moral quality;

that is, that a human action may be right or wrong."

Here, for an action to be right or wrong, and to have a

moral quality, is the same thing. Again, in another part

of the work: "From these facts we are easily led to the

distinction between right and wrong, and innocence and

guilt. Right and wrong depend upon the relations under

which beings are created, and hence the obligations resulting from these relations are, in their nature, fixed and

unchangeable. Guilt and innocence depend upon a knowledge of these relations.".. "An action may be wrong;

but if the actor have no means of knowing it to be wrong

he is held morally guiltless in the doing of it. Or, again, a

man may have a consciousness of obligation, and a sincere

desire to act in conformity to it, and may, from ignorance

of the way in which that obligation is to be discharged,

perform an act in its nature wrong, yet, if he have acted

* Wayland's Moral Science.

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RIGIIT AND WRONG.

according to the best of his possible knowledge, he may

not only be held guiltless, but even virtuous."

Here, then, is an act that is virtuous and also wrong.

Which, now, of these words expresses the moral quality

of the act? Virtuous, certainly. All usage would show

this; and we are also told by the same author that the

moral quality of an act resides in the intention. Here we

have the words right and wrong used to indicate moral

quality, and we have also a formal statement that they

depend upon abstract relations which have no necessary

connection with moral quality; so that an action may be

right and vicious, wrong and virtuous, at the same time.

But an investigation of "intention," on which moral quality is said to depend, is one thing; and an investigation of

"the relations under which beings are created," on which

right and wrong are said to depend, is an entirely different thing.

Which, then, of these is it, or is it both, that moral philosophy investigates? It has sometimes been one, sometimes the other; but I suppose that moral philosophy

properly stops where there is no longer any moral quality;

that moral quality is found only in mind, and that the

study of relations, and so of right and wrong as depending

on them, can be useful only as furnishing guidance for the

action of principles already formed. He who studies these

relations that he may act in accordance with them, does it

because he is already virtuous.

In a philosophy making the idea of choice and that of

an end central, the term good becomes prominent, rather

than the term right. "The True," "The Beautiful," and

"The Good," says Cousin; not, as his own philosophy

would require, The Right. Both words are indispensable,

and both are liable to analogous ambiguities, so that it is

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difficult to use either in one uniform sense. Used as adjectives, and where no moral quality is implied, the general

rule is that the term good is applied to things, and expresses that quality of the thing by which it is adapted to

the use for which it was designed; while the term right is

applied to acts, and expresses such a mode of using the

thing as will accomplish the particular end designed. Thus,

we say a good pen, meaning a pen adapted to write well;

a good axe, meaning an axe adapted to cut. But of any

use of the pen in writing, or of the axe in cutting, by

which they fail to accomplish their end, we say that it is

not right. Of any action not having moral quality, and

adapted to accomplish its end, we say, that was right.

This is the general rule, and those exceptions in which

the word right is applied to things prove the rule. Thus

a right line is that which is the most direct between

two points; the right road is that which will take a man

to the proposed end of his journey, though it may be as

far as possible from being a good one. The right man

in the right place is the man that will do the work of

that place.

When moral quality is involved, and these terms are

used as adjectives, good is applied to both persons and

actions; right to actions only. We say, a good man, and a

good act. But when we say a right act, having sole reference to moral quality, we mean the same as when we say a

good act. More generally, however, even here, the word

right, instead of looking backward to the source of the

act, looks forward to its outward consequences, and often

it is doubtful which way it was intended to look. Here is

the ambiguity.

Used as nouns, good expresses some form of enjoyment;

right is defined to mean "conformity to the perfect stand

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CONSCIENCE.

ard, rectitude, straightness;" that is, conduct adapted to

attain the true end. With the article, as, "the Right," the

term is hardly naturalized with us yet. Generally, when

used as a noun in morals, the word right is employed in a

connection wholly different, as when we speak of rights,

and say that a man has a right to his estate, or speak of

the doctrine of rights.

Having considered the source of moral actions, and

thus the province of moral science, we next inquire after

that of conscience.

And, first, the primary activity of conscience is not

directly from the will, or what the will makes it to be. It

is not, therefore, of the nature of virtue or vice, but from

the constitution, as made by God. The fact, therefore,

that man possesses a conscience has nothing to do with

his character as good or bad. That he should have a conscience as a part of his moral nature is simply a condition

of moral character of any kind. Plain as this may appear,

the possession of conscience has often been supposed to be

a proof of moral goodness.

We inquire, secondly, how far conscience is infallible,

and so a reliable guide.

And here I observe that conscience is infallible so far as

it is uniform in its decisions. This follows from its being a

part of the constitution, or a separate faculty. That would

not be the same faculty in all men, which, under similar circumstances, should give different results. Place two men

with perfect eyes under similar circumstances and they will

see alike, and see accurately. There must, therefore, be circumstances in which there will be a uniform and infallible

action of the conscience. What are these? This will be

when the conscience is unperverted, and the subject on

which it judges is seen just as it is.

18*

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

Under such circumstances all men would, all men now

do, immediately discriminate between benevolence and

malignity, as in themselves morally good and morally evil.

Inseparable from this idea and feeling, all would have the

blended idea and feeling of obligation, -that is, that

benevolence ought to be manifested and malignity restrained. It is by the term ought that this idea and feeling of obligation is expressed, and when our own conduct

is in question, there is in it an impulse towards the doing

of that which we feel that we ought to do. This is sometimes called the impulsive power of conscience, and it differs from others as having authority. This is the characteristic of conscience so much insisted on by Butler. It is

the proclamation within us of the moral law, carrying with

it its own authority, which no man can deny without

denying his nature. Let, now, this authority be obeyed in

carrying out the principle of benevolence, and all men

would feel approbation; let it be disobeyed, and all would

feel disapprobation. In our own case these would become

self-approbation or remorse. They would be the sense of

merit or demerit heretofore spoken of, involving an indefinite promise and threat under the divine government.

So far, and under the above circumstances, the action of

conscience would be uniform. To deny this would be to

deny that man has a moral nature, and the possibility of

moral science.

But if there be under any circumstances this uniformity, how do we account for the diversity of moral judgments there is among men, - a diversity so great that

eminent moralists, as Paley, have even denied the existence of conscience as an original part of the constitution?

To do this we must look first at the different spheres in

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CONSCIENCE.

which conscience acts; and, second, at its liability to be

disregarded or misled.

And, first, we notice the two spheres in which conscience affirms obligation, and the different circumstances

under which it is affirmed.

Hlere it is to be observed that conscience affirms obligationII solely in view of the choice of ends, especially of the

supreme end, and not of means, except as they are conducive to the end. Conscience responds to the moral

law, and is satisfied when that is fulfilled; but the law

respects only the choice of ends. "Love," says the Scripture, "worketh no ill to his neighbor, therefore love is the

fulfilling of the law." In the exercise of supreme love to

God and impartial love to man, the law is fulfilled, and

the conscience satisfied. The means of expressing that

love must be left to positive command, or to the judgment.

What is done, then, in connection with the choice of a

supreme end is wholly in the spiritual sphere. It is in the

immediate presence of moral law. There can be no action

of a fallible understanding in estimating probabilities, and

the affirmation of obligation is immediate and uniform.

As between the good and the evil seen in themselves, it is

impossible that the moral reason should not make the distinction, and that conscience should not affirm obligation

to choose the good. To suppose otherwise would be to

deny reason to be reason. It would be to deny the possibility of conscience.

But conscience not only affirms obligation as pertaining

to the choice of a supreme end as good, but also to the

performance of acts as right, that is, as conducing to the

supreme end.

Hiere there is liability to mistake. We may, first, sup

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pose that to be conducive to the end which is not, but the

reverse, and so approve of it as right. In this case the act

would be said to be subjectively right, but objectively

wrong. Such an act is one respecting which conscience

affirms obligation under an unavoidable mistake of the

judgment. A man may do it and be innocent. IHe may

also do such an act and be blameworthy, because he had

previously failed to inform himself as he ought. But, second, an act may, on the other hand, be subjectively wrong

and objectively right. A man may give poison with intent

to kill, that may cure an inveterate disease. According to

this, and as the word right is here used, a man may, first,

intend to do right, and do it; or, second, he may intend

to do right, and do wrong; or, third, he may intend to do

wrong, and do it; or, fourth, he may intend to do wrong,

and do right.

In the first of the above spheres, that of ends, so far at

least as the supreme end is involved, the decisions of conscience are uniform. In the second, that of means, there

is great diversity. Is this in the decisions of the conscience or of the judgment? If we suppose the decision

honestly come to that a given means is indispensable to

the attainment of the supreme end, the affirmation of obligation to choose the means will be as uniform as in the

former case. The judgment may be at fault, but there

will be no guilt. In such a case a diversity of judgment

would seem to involve a diversity in the decisions of conscience, but it would not. One man would say the thing

ought to be done, and would verily think so; another, that

it ought not; but if the decisions of the judgment were

alike, those of the conscience would be also.

It remains, then, to find the source of the diversity, and

the guilt, in some dishonesty ill forming the judgment

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FALSE STANDARDS IN MORALS.

in some failure to come perfectly to the light, that light

which is presupposed in our being moral beings, and even

in the remorse of the wicked.

How such dishonesty may and must mix itself with

every activity of the man when once he has chosen a

wrong supreme end, we saw in the sixth lecture. That

this should ever be done is the mystery of sin. But

being done, the end becomes, of necessity, the standard

of action. To that, as supreme, everything must give

place. Now there begins a moral twilight tending to thick

darkness. In proportion as the conscience shall act, the

man must be at war with himself, and henceforth, if he

would have peace, conscience must be either evaded or

quieted. Hence the infinite subtleties of self-deception;

hence the agitations and conflicts when the conscience

will speak. Under such circumstances it is not difficult

to account for any perversion or delusion. The man is in

a position wholly false either for action or comprehension.

Hle acts in twilight, and studies astronomy from the planet

Neptune.

Thus situated, men fail to form habits of moral reflection, neither considering nor regarding what is right. They

are governed by sense, by desire, by passion, and conscience:

is held in abeyance. It is ignored. The tribunal is there,

but the cases are not brought before it.

Individuals and communities have also the power to set

up false standards which are in morals what the shrines of

idolatry are in religion. By these everything is tested, and

what they call conscience, and its vocabulary, are prostituted to the service of evil. The law is read falsely, and

-the sentence is according to the law as read. Let a man

believe that the law of God forbids his eating meat during

Lent, and if he eat it his conscience will reproach him as

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if he had committed a real crime; while the same man

may, as the inquisitors did, torture and kill heretics, not

only without remorse, but with self-complacency. There

is no fanaticism, or bigotry, or folly, that does not become

more cruel, or intense, or absurd, under the guidance of a

perverted conscience. It is this element that has given

their peculiar ferocity to religious wars, and that is apt to

make religious disputes so acrid and virulent. Certainly

men fail to come to the light, and they "put evil for good,

and good for evil."

It is plain, from the above, that to do right will be a

very different thing, as we mean by it the choice of a right

supreme end, and the determination through that of all

subordinate choices; or as we have reference to some subordinate standard, as of fashion or popularity, which we

may have adopted. According to one meaning, to do

right would be to fulfil all righteousness; according to the

other, most men can say, as they do, that they "mean to

do what is about right." This they may do in particular

instances, and often, and yet their radical character be

wholly wrong.

Of the diversity of moral judgments, then, great as it

seems, we may say, first, that there are, according to what

has been stated above, many supposed cases of such diversity that are not really such. From the complexity of the

cases presented, and the limitation of the human faculties,

men apprehend imperfectly, and so differently, facts and

their relations. Of this difference in intellectual judgment

a differing moral judgment is the result, but this implies

no want of uniformity in the action of the moral nature.

Nor, second, do the apparent vagaries of conscience when

men are dishonest with themselves, imply any want of uniformity in its action. If men will put on spectacles with

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DIVERSITY OF JUDGMENT.

differently colored glasses, it is not the fault of their eyes

if the confusion and disputes are endless. Let them take

off their glasses and they will see alike. But, third, the

law of use and of improvement by exercise applies to the

moral powers, and under this there may be a real diversity

to a certain extent. A conscience well trained will utter

itself with greater promptness, and energy, and precision,

than one that is not.

This diversity of judgment under one guiding principle

we find in taste as well as in morals. Men are born with

some natural power of apprehending beauty. Of this they

judge; this they wish to produce. But when the question

comes to be what is beautiful in any particular case, there

are great differences of opinion. At this point it is that

the practical questions arise. Will you build a square

house or a gothic cottage? Will you paint it white or

brown? Will you lay out your grounds regularly, or irregularly, or with a regular irregularity? To such questions no original faculty necessitating the idea and the

emotion of beauty can furnish an answer. Taste must be

cultivated in accordance with principles and standards; and

such cultivation will make all the difference in decoration

and in art between the tawdriness and finery of the savage

and the perfection of taste. In connection with the study

of these principles and the application of these standards,

there will arise, as in morals, different schools of art, each

having its own merits, and gaining a supremacy more or

less wide and permanent.

We have thus, both in aesthetics and in morals, original

capacities which act uniformly to a certain extent. In

both there is an original intuition, but this was never intended to supersede the necessity for careful training.

Especially was it intended that there should be in the

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highest department of conduct, that of morality and of

duty, the highest possible combination of the intuitional

element with the results of induction, thus giving the

broadest practical wisdom. The intuitive element must

be obeyed, but what does it say? In the one case it says,

produce the highest beauty; in the other, do all the good

you can. For these no consultation is needed with any

one, and no advice. But when the practical question

comes whether a young man engaged in mercantile business shall give it up to prepare for the gospel ministry,

something more is needed. Here the inductive element

comes in. It will depend upon his age, his talents, his

means, upon those dependent upon him, or likely to be;

and upon this he may properly ask advice. Of this kind

are most practical questions. Nothing can be more trying than the suspense and nice balancings these often require; and when the decisions are made, they will be

those of beings limited and imperfect, liable to mistake

even where there is no sin. Respecting decisions of this

kind men need much mutual forbearance in judging of

each other. It is seldom that we can put ourselves fully

in the place of another, and no general rule can be laid

down. We can only say, with the wise man, that "wisdom is profitable to direct."

In connection with these two spheres of judgment, the

intuitional and the inductive, I would call your attention

to the two great crises in the life of every young man,of most persons, indeed, who come to maturity,- and to

the very different character of the elements and questions

they involve.

The first and great crisis is that which involves the

whole of duty and of destiny under the government of

God. In the life of every one much instructed a point is

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CRISES OF LIFE.

reached when the question consciously arises respecting a

supreme end. It is found that a wrong one has been

chosen, -shall there be a change? The question here is

between two things different in kind and utterly incompatible. It is one of giving and receiving. Shall the person give himself up in love to the service of God and

man? or shall he regard God and men as means through

which he may receive what he desires? The question

may not be thus stated, but it involves this; and there are

no balancings, and agitations, and suspense, like those often

connected with its decision. Here the intuitional element

and the will are alone concerned. The question is not one

of means, but of ends. It is aloof from the relations of

time. There is no place for induction or call for advice.

Neither is there room for doubt. Intuitively, peremptorily, persistently, the conscience affirms obligation. It is

now proximate to the will, and these are like two vessels

grappled in conflict. They are the Monitor and the Merrimac. The question is one of simple obedience. Will

the will yield, or will it not? Will the man come into

harmony with himself and with God, or will he not?

This question no one can decide for another, and the act

required is so simple and elementary that no one can tell

another how to do it. To attempt this, as is often done, is

like attempting to define an elementary notion. This, if

the question is to be decided once for all, is the crisis not

only for this life, but for the whole of existence.

The second great crisis in the life of a young man comes

when he is to decide on his profession, that is, on the particular form and direction of his activity under the general

choice previously made. On this will depend not merely

the amount, but the kind of good he will do, the books

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he will read, his professional friendships, the line of his

thoughts, and the principles of their association.

The question here, it is often supposed, is to be determined by conscience; but if the previous question has

been fully settled, conscience has, in strictness, nothing to

do with it. The simple question will be, in one case, how

we can do the greatest amount of good; and in the other,

how we can best subserve our own private ends. These

are questions of comparison and judgment involving many

particulars. Men equally conscientious might decide them

differently, and with them conscience has nothing to do,

unless it be to secure for them a careful and candid attention. The process is like that by which we find the minor

proposition of a syllogism. We inquire whether a particular proposition comes under another that is more general.

The distinctions above made will enable us to account

in part for the confusion there has been in our moral philosophy, and particularly for the prominence given to right,

and the right, as distinguished from the good.

The choice of a supreme end is generic. It is made

once, in a sense only once. In a sense, too, it is made

always, constantly repeated, since it is only under this that

other choices are made. It is like the light of consciousness, and would naturally be the last thing investigated.

Indeed, as consciousness is the generic form of intelligence, and the desire of happiness that of the desires, and

love that of the affections, so the choice of a supreme end

is the generic form of volition. It enters into all the

others; they are made in its light and partake of its character. In respect to this the affirmation of obligation is

not constantly repeated in any specific form, and may be

scarcely thought of for years. But the affirmation of obligation as connected with right, or what is supposed to be

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CONSCIENCE AS A MOTIVE.

so, is constantly made, as it is concerning that that practical questions and discussions constantly arise. Hence it

has attracted the chief attention. The immediate question, and that on which the obligation would turn, has

been one of right, and hence the idea of right in its relation to obligation has been supposed to be ultimate. It is

ultimate only as the seaport is ultimate where everything

is stopped, examined, exchanged, but which would be no

seaport at all but for the ocean beyond. If there were

nothing good, no end to be chosen, there would be nothing right. The only question is whether the right is the

good.

WVe next inquire after the relation of conscience to the

other active principles. How far should it be merely regnlative, and how far a positive principle of action?

A philosophy of ends requires for the person that which

we find in all nature below it, a good which shall result

from the congruity of itself with that in which its good is

found, and which shall come immediately from the activity

of the one in its relation to the other. Everywhere there

is duality. In vegetable life there is the living seed, there

is moisture, air, and warmth, and there is growth. In sensitive life there is the eye, and there is light, and from

these, vision. Not from the eye alone, or from light alone,

does seeing come, -but from the two in right relations.

Seeing is not a thing, a being, but a product and result of

vitality acting according to its laws. Of that inward constitution and congruity by which the eye and light are

adapted to each other we know nothing. We only know

the facts, and the conditions, or laws of the facts. So

again in the appetites. There is hunger, and there is

food. The enjoyment is not from the appetite alone, or

from the food alone, but from both in the right relation.

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

In the mental world there is the knowing mind and the

object known. Knowledge is not from the mind without

the object, nor from the object without the mind, but is

the result of the two in the relations intended by God.

The same holds in the affections and the will. There

is the love and the object loved, the will and the thing

willed, the choice and the thing chosen, and the blessedness is not the result of the mind alone or of the object

alone, but of the right relations of the two.

And here, as we reach enjoyment from love, I wish to

notice a peculiarity, which, according to our previous principle of classification, must place that higher than any

other, at least when it is in its fulness. It is higher, not

merely as the product of our highest powers, but as more

complex. It has the element of reciprocity. It is not

simply because personal beings are higher and intrinsically

more excellent than others, or that we can have affections

for them specific and peculiar, that the activity of our

faculties when they are the object can give us a higher

joy, but because they are capable of the conscious recognition and reciprocation of that affection. Hardly less than

the joy of loving is that of being beloved. Here we find

the necessity of each for all, and of all for each, and the

foundation for the highest good of all and of each. The

highest conceivable good must be from a conscious and

perfect accordance of the will and moral affections with

those of a being of infinite excellence who should recognize and reciprocate the affection.

In all this it will be observed that the relation of the

faculties and their objects is immediate and direct.

But with such a constitution in perfect adjustment it is

plain that the office of conscience, if required at all, would

be simply regulative. We have provision here for activity

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OFFICE OF CONSCIENCE.

throughout its whole range, without the conscience. We

are not to eat from conscience, else why the appetite?

The affections are not to act from conscience, else they

would not be original parts of our nature. It is not the

office of conscience to supersede any of the natural prinples of action, nor can it ever lead to action except as

there are grounds for that action furnished by principles

other than itself. In this respect it is analogous to selflove. Its office is to affirm obligation to clioose in a particular way. The grounds of choice are presupposed.

Hlence the double function of our moral nature. As a

condition for the action of conscience man has the power,

in virtue of his moral reason and of the affections growing out of it, to apprehend the end which he ought to

choose, and he is drawn towards the beings whom he ought

to love. This end he apprehends and chooses, these beings

he appreciates and loves, as a moral being, not merely from

a sense of obligation, but from their inherent worth or

excellency. Acting in the light of moral reason, from the

play of the moral affections, and in the exercise of freedom, man is a moral being; but as there is an alternative,

and he is liable to choose wrongly, the moral nature would

not be complete if there were not an affirmation of obligation to choose the good apprehended by the moral reason,

and towards which the affections were drawn. But conscience is that function of the moral reason by which it

affirms obligation to choose primarily tile good, and secondarily the right, from its apprehended relation to that.

This is its function before the act. Subsequently there are

evolved its rewarding and punishing, and its prophetic

power.

We have, then, as a condition for the action of conscience in affirming obligation, not the mere perception by

19*

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

the intellect of external relations, but those prim,l acts of

affection and choice which are involved in our very conception of ourselves as acting, and which spring from that

which is deepest and most sacred in our nature. As

means of fulfilling the obligations thus affirmed when actions other than the mere choice are required, we have the

perception of actions as right, sometimes apparently intuitive, but often clearly the reverse, and in which we are

liable to great mistakes.

We may now see when the action of conscience is

requiied; when it is merely regulative, and when it becomes a direct impulse to action. Let a man, as has been

said, eat from appetite. This is a sufficient reason for his

eating. His appetite was given that he might eat. There

will be no need of conscience here, except as assenting,

or as there may be room for doubt respecting the quantity or quality of what is to be eaten. On both these

points a man isoound to use his best knowledge, and if

there be reason to suspect anything injurious, conscience

will say no. It will become the veto power of the mind.

Self-love may forbid it as opposed to individual interest,

but conscience will pronounce it wrong as opposed to the

great law of love.

If we might suppose the appetite so constituted as to

crave nothing injurious, there would be no need of supervision by either self-love or conscience, and such need

must be in proportion to the want of autonomy in the

appetite. The above is the law for all natural appetites

and principles of action that are sufficiently strong to

induce all the action in their line that is required by their

ends. The office of conscience will, then, be simply to say

no, if there be a tendency to excessive or perverted action.

But if any faculty or impulse, as the desire of knowledge,

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CONSCIENCE- RESTRAINING AND IMPELLING. 223

be not strong enough, then it may and should be put at

work under the imperative of duty. Then conscience

not merely says no, - it impels; it becomes a task-master.

In such cases, however, we feel it to be unfortunate and

undesirable that the action of conscience should be needed.

The faculties do not work cheerfully, but as under a yoke.

We prefer that a sense of duty should be required to

restrain a boy from study, rather than to impel him to it.

This holds true of all the instrumental powers. They

have no moral character, except as the man accepts and

directs them, and we prefer to see them full and redundant,

rather than meagre. But when we reach the directive,

and especially the moral powers, the relation is different.

Here conscience does not come in as a power from without, standing above the faculty, but as part of a circle of

activity that is necessary for the completeness of the whole.

In all life there is a circle, every part of which implies

every other. We may treat of respiration separately, but

it involves circulation and digestion, and there is no life

without each. So in the moral life. We may treat of the

apprehension of good and the power of choice apart from

conscience, but all are necessary to life. Hience, in a natural, that is in a right state, a sense of obligation will so

coalesce with moral affection as not to produce constraint,

but rather to heighten joy. It will be as the seal of a bond

to which we set our names with an unwavering confidence

and an ineffable delight. Between the affections and the

conscience there will be full consent, and there is not a note

in the harmony that goes up from the full action of the

moral powers that is more pervading and would be more

missed than that from an approving conscience. It is in a

spring of affection, coordinate with the affirmation of obli

LECTURE$ ON MORAL SCIENCE.

gation, that we have a marriage of strength and beauty,

whose fruit is blessedness.

That the moral nature does not, like the other powers,

work under a yoke in the presence of obligation, but

simply finds its own completeness, it is important to see,

because there is a prevalent impression that there is in all

obligation something of constraint. It is an objection to

the system that makes the right ultimate, that, as based on

a mere abstraction, it furnishes no object for the affections,

and moves us through its imperative by constraining and

driving, rather than by attracting us. In our conception

of a perfect being the law is not known as an outward

and constraining force, but there is a coincidence with it

of inclination and of will by which perfect obedience

becomes perfect freedom. Love is free and directly from

a view of its object; but "love is the fulfilling of the

law."

Seeing thus the relation of conscience as a motive to

the other active powers, let us look at the gradation and

possible complexity of motives in human action. The

gradation of motives will follow from that of the powers,

and will be in accordance with it. Motives will be higher

or lower as the powers are from which they spring, and

both virtues and vices will be designated from the sphere

of activity that is rightly directed, or abused. A man

abusing the sensitive part of his nature is sensual; rightly

using it, he is temperate. Abusing the desire for power,

he is selfishly ambitious; rightly using it, he is beneficent.

Thlroughout, both virtues and vices are designated by the

activities employed. If there are not high vices, there are

those that are low, and some virtues are higher than

others.

Of the possible complexity of motives we may gain a

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COMPLEXITY OF MOTIVES.

correct view if we suppose a father to command his child

to get a lesson. IHere there is, first, between the mind of

the child and knowledge a natural congruity, and he may

get the lesson from a simple love of the knowledge. It

may be just what he would have done without any command. But the parent says further,- If you get the lesson it will aid you in getting a living; you shall have my

approbation, and I will express that by a reward. If you

do not get it you shall have my disapprobation, and I will

express that by punishment.

Now, between the mind of the child and the approbation of the parent there is a congruity. It is right for him

to desire that approbation. The reward itself may be one

that would appeal to the legitimate desires and which it

would be right to seek, and the reverse may be said of the

disapprobation and the punishment.

We have, then, as motives, 1st. Love of knowledge for

its own sake. 2d. A desire for it as useful in gaining a

living. 3d. A desire of the reward. 4th. Fear of punishment. 5th. Regard for the authority of the parent. 6th.

A love of his approbation. 7th. Dread of his disapprobation. 8th. The affirmation by conscience of obligation.

Of these each is legitimate, -is appropriate to a rational

being, - is right. Each may take its turn, or they may

conspire together; and if from any one or all of them the

lesson should be learned the parent might be satisfied.

Still, it must be remembered that the ultimate character of

the mind in every movement relative to these motives will

be determined by that generic act of choice under which

they all take place. The motives may be objectively right,

but the man not subjectively right in being governed by

them.

If the preceding remarks, or indeed the general doctrine

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

of these lectures, be correct, they will go far to determine

the question whether in order to be virtuous an act must

be done from a sense of duty. On this point distinguished

thinkers differ. Chalmers says this is essential, and, as is

usual with him, reiterates and enforces the point in a variety of ways. "It is not," says he, "volition alone which

makes a thing virtuous, but volition under a sense of duty;

and that only is a moral performance to which a man is

urged by a sense or feeling of moral obligation." Again

he says, "Whatever cometh not of a sense of duty hath

no moral character of itself, and no moral approbation due

to it." This opinion of Chalmers is quoted with approbation by MeCosh. On the other hand, Dr. Woods says, "It

would be very easy to show that moral affection may exist

in one who has at the time no distinct apprehension of its

nature, and no present feeling of approbation or disapprobation." "I say, then," he continues, "it is not essential

to our moral agency, or to the existence of moral good

and evil in us, that we should at the time have a distinct

consideration or conception of a moral law, or a sensible

approbation or disapprobation of our feelings and actions."

This inquiry runs back to the constitution of the moral

nature as involving any other element than that of right

and of conscience, and to the question whether there is

anything virtuous in the moral affections and the will

when they act according to their own law, and directly

with reference to their objects.

That there is something thus virtuous, McCosh, in opposition to his direct assertion, seems everywhere to imply.

Thus he says, "Much of human wickedness is displayed in

the ingenious schemes which are contrived to deceive the

moral faculty and avoid its humbling judgments." This

implies something having wickedness, and yet acting inde

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INHERENT VIRTUE.

pendently of the moral faculty. Again, he says, "Moral

excellence is truly the whole powers and affections of the

soul in healthy exercise, and in order to guard it there is a

faculty with a train of corresponding feelings, presiding

over all the other faculties and seated in the very heart."

This implies excellence before it can be guarded. Again,

he says expressly that "the moral quality is not given to

the action by the mind contemplating it." "It is not our

perception and approbation that renders a benevolent action good, but we perceive its excellence and approve it

because it is good."

It is not to be supposed that moral actions are done

except under moral law and some generic choice of good

or evil. But as a vicious man does not do evil actions because of their viciousness, so neither would it seem necessary that a good man should do good actions because of

their virtuousness; at least it cannot be implied, as it

seems to be in the statement of Chalmers, that a sense of

obligation is the only virtuous motive. It is the law of

the affections that they are drawn out in view of their

object. An interested love is impossible. Only from an

apprehension of some quality in the being loved can love

come. The love of God may imply virtue. It does so.

But the love cannot be in view of its own virtuousness, or

with the thought of that, but must be in view of either

the worth or the worthiness of God.

227

2.#

LECTURE X.

RECTITUDE AND VIRTUE. - RELATIONS.- EXPEDIENCY, PRUDENCE, AND

VIRTUE.-ORIGIN OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS AS RELATED TO THE DIVINE

NATURE. - COINCIDENCE OF INSTINCT AND REASON - OF FAITH AND

REASON - OF PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION.

IT will be remembered that in observing a moral act

we went backward to its source. In so doing we found a

moral constitution. That constitution we have examined,

and have found its end and law. In doing this we considered those voluntary states of mind which are in themselves good or evil, virtuous or vicious.

We know immediately and intuitively that love is good,

and malignity evil; and it is inconceivable that their nature should be changed by any will. They are opposites,

as are light and darkness, hardness and softness; one may

give place to the other, but can never become the other.

This, I suppose, is what is meant by the eternal and immutable distinctions of morals.

It was then said that in passing outwards from a moral

action we found right and wrong, utility, expediency, general consequences. It will be next in order to examine

these, and to inquire how far their claims may be reconciled with those of virtue without confounding the two.

As has been said, right is often used as synonymous with

virtuous, and wrong with vicious. The right, also, seems

to be used as synonymous with moral goodness; at least

if that be not its meaning I am unable to say what it is.

But by right is also meant conformity to a rule or law,

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NATURAL GOVERNMENT.

tendency to an end, accordance with fixed relations, and

by wrong, the reverse. "Right and wrong," says Dr.

Wayland, "depend upon the relations under which beings

are created, and are invariable." In this sense actions

may be right or wrong without reference to the character

or intention of the agent. In the first sense they cannot,

and the trouble has been that these terms have been used,

now to indicate virtue as originating in will, and now to

indicate a quality, sometimes called moral, that has no reference to intention. So far as they are used in the first

sense we have already considered them, or rather that

which they indicate; it is in the second sense that they

now claim our attention.

Plainly the results of human conduct in this life are not

determined solely by the dispositions and intentions from

which they spring. We live under a natural as well as

under a moral government, and the first is the instrument,

frame-work, and prophecy of the second. We are surrounded by other beings, and by an external nature that is

complicated, involving numerous substances, and forces,

and laws. These beings, this nature, these substances, and

forces, and laws, have a determinate constitution in accordance with which we may act upon them and they upon

us,.ii( this action, at least so far as nature is concerned,

will not )c affected by our state of mind as good or evil,

orby any intention that may spring from that. Between

us and external nature there are fixed relations, and the

result will depend upon our acting or not acting in accordance with those relations.

A being wholly virtuous may act in entire accordance

with the nature of the beings and substances around him,

and then the whole result will be right and good. Again,

with character unchanged, but ignorant of the relations in

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which he is placed, the same being may so act as to produce suffering to himself, or others, or both. He may

intend to preserve his health, but be ignorant, and unavoidably so, of the effect of a want of ventilation, and in

consequence may live for years in debility and suffering.

Such a person would not act in accordance with "the

nature of things;" or, as it has sometimes been expressed,

with "the fitness of things;" or, as it has been expressed

again, with "the truth of things;" or, once again, with

"the relations in which he was placed."

From the very nature of man it is impossible he should

act except in some relation. Hence the consideration of

relations -not merely of things as they are in themselves,

but in their relations- must always enter into our estimate both of propriety and of duty.

So numerous, indeed, and complex are these relations,

and so intimately is their right adjustment connected with

human well-being, that not a few moralists have supposed

moral obligation, and so the whole science of morals, to

be founded on them. "It is fit," says Dr. Samuel Clarke,

"that man should obey God, and therefore he ought to

obey him." It is true, according to Wollaston, that fresh

air is needed for health, and he who acts as if it were not,

acts a lie, and therefore does wrong. "The relation of parent and child," says Dr. Wayland, "is constituted by God,

therefore men are bound to act in accordance with that

relation." He asserts, moreover, that the sense of obligation arises immediately on the perception of the relation.

But it does not seem to be true, it may be observed

here, that a child is bound to obey his parent simply because he is his parent. A parent may be an idiot, or

insane, or intoxicated, or wholly abandoned to vice, and

then the law makes provision for the guardianship of the

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RELATIONS.

child, that is, for placing him where he need not obey the

parent. The sole reason why the child is to obey the

parent is the presumption that the end for which God

made him will be thus best secured. If it could be certainly known that that end would thus be defeated, the

child would not be under obligation to obey, but the reverse. Relations cannot indicate what is good. They

may, and do, what is right, but so far as they do this they

may all be reduced to one, that is, the relation of any act

which a moral being may be required to do, to his end.

So absolutely is the will of God revealed in that, that it is

inconceivable he should lay a being under obligation to do

anything not in accordance with his highest end.

But while we do not find the foundation of morals in

the nature, or fitness, or truth of things, or in any mere

relations, we may not overlook the important part which

a perception of these was intended to play in the regulation of human conduct. Not only, as has been said, may

a virtuous man fail to conform to the nature of things, or

to the relations in which he is placed, and thus suffer; but

a man not virtuous may conform to them, and be rewarded.

Beneficial effects will follow without respect to the motive.

There is a sense in which an action thus conformed to the

nature of things is right although the motive may not be

good. It is, as we say, right in itself; it is conformed to

the nature of things; it is fit, and suitable, and proper, and

what ought to be done. Let a man be outwardly honest;

let him pay his debts, and tell the truth, and though he

may do it simply because he thinks honesty the best policy,

and so not be virtuous, yet the acts are right in themselves,

and the confidence of men in each other and the prosperity of the community will be promoted by them. On the

other hand, from an imperfect apprehension of relations, a

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person may take the redress of his private wrongs into his

own hands, or may buy and sell lottery tickets, or intoxicating drinks, or perhaps be a polygamist, and while the

motive may be good, that will not prevent the disastrous

effects of these acts as wrong in themselves. Sooner or

later such acts will work out their own retribution.

It cannot, indeed, be too clearly seen that into the whole

system of nature as related to us, into the human constitution in its very texture, into the constitution of society,

there are not only inwrought laws of reward for conformity to relations and fixed laws, but also laws of retribution

that seem to execute themselves. Violate a law of nature

by stepping from a precipice, and you fall; violate a law

of your organization by intemperance, and your punishment will be in proportion to the offence. And so of

society. Violate the law of its organization as one whole

so that portions of that whole are neglected and degraded,

and that very violation will work out a sure retribution.

In all this we see only the working of fixed law without

regard to motives or character. A mistake is punished

just as severely as a wilful violation of the law.

There is that in the working of these laws that is precisely as if there were a moral instinct in all these departments. As with instinct, let everything else be as it

should, and these laws will work right, and produce only

good; but let there be perversion and derangement, and

then, like instinct again, they will work blindly and disastrously. They may not overturn, but will utterly disregard all moral distinctions.

If, now, we carry the working of these laws into the

mind, we shall have the whole of what many believe to be

the moral system of the universe. They believe there is

no reward or punishment except from the operation of

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RESULTS OF GUILT INCALCULABLE.

fixed laws, and know nothing of a personal being working

within or through those laws. Especially do they know

nothing of one working above them.

The difference between those who do, and those who do

not recognize a personal being at this point is radical, and

forms a dividing line, not only between schools, but between individuals in their habits of thought who know

nothing of schools. To me the indications of a moral system in these laws are like the indications of reason in

instinct, or rather lying back of it, and needed to account

for it. Taken by themselves, they are a mute, imperfect,

often baffled expression, not so much of the thing itself

as of a yearning after it. They are the harbinger of the

thing, a beautiful frame-work into which a perfect virtue

may be fitted. But a system thus regardless of character,

and as cold and remorseless as that of fate, can never meet

the demands of either the conscience or the affections.

Of acts under such a system, whether right or wrong, the

good and evil results may be calculated, because they are

wrought out within and by the system, and will be the

same, whether intended or not. But the results of virtue

and vice cannot be calculated, because they depend immediately upon will, and involve the principles of a moral

government that has an extent and bearings wholly beyond our comprehension. Here, as well as in the absence

of approbation and disapprobation, is a great difference

between this system and one truly moral. When a rational being wilfully goes against the laws of that being;

when the child refuses to obey his father; when the creature knzowingly disregards the will of the Creator, it is

impossible to say what may be the results. Hlere we find,

not merely a mistake, which is an intellectual crime,not merely ar want of acting in conformity with fixed and

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impersonal law, but guilt, -the most dreadful word and

thing, and the only thing to be really dreaded, in the universe of God.

But while we cannot identify what is right with what

is good, they are yet closely allied. Goodness is good in

itself. Regarded as a fundamental choice conformed to

moral law, it is also right, and must involve a disposition

that would lead to the doing of all right acts. As tending, then, to produce right acts, goodness is righteousness; and if there be adequate knowledge, there will be

in all its acts rightness,-that is, an entire conformity to

all fixed relations, and so to all divine law. Nothing but

sufficient knowledge can be wanting to effect a perfect

coincidence of all virtuous and of all right action. An

action will not be right because it is virtuous, nor virtuous

because it is right. For the one we look backwards to its

source; for the other, forwards to its relations and consequences; but virtue cannot be virtue except as there is in

it a disposition to do right.

If, then, any contend for an absolute and ultimate right

that is identical with goodness, we are content; but if not,

it will devolve on them to show what they mean by it that

is different from the above statement.

Having thus treated of right in its relation to virtue, we

next inquire after the relation to it of utility and expediency. This has been a difficult point in morals; but those

who accept the above statements will readily see what that

relation must be. Whatever is useful or expedient must

be so with reference to some end. Hence, utility and

expediency always imply an end previously chosen. Here

nothing will be chosen for its own sake, and all questions

must respect the choice, not of ends, but of conditions and

means. We have thus two classes of questions closely

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MEANS AND ENDS.

connected, but of an entirely different order. An ultimate

end, so far as it is regarded as ultimate, - and a supreme

end must be wholly so, - can have neither utility nor

expediency. It is chosen for its own sake. In the choice

of such an end character alone is involved. In that of

means and conditions, character is always implied; but it

is capacity that is chiefly involved.

And here it is to be observed that conditions and means

can be rationally chosen only on the ground that they are

adapted to the attainment of the end; and that, having

chosen an end, it would be an inconsistency and folly

not to choose those conditions and means that would be

the best adapted to attain it. What else can a rational

man do?

It is to be observed, again, that if the end chosen be the

true supreme end of man, then any means in themselves

adapted to attain that end will be right. This is not the

doctrine that the end sanctifies the means, but implies the

fact that this is such an end as can be obtained only by

sanctified means. An inadequate and false end, chosen

selfishly, may be attained by vicious means. If money be

the supreme end, it may be attained by fraud. Power

miuay be attained by violence and injustice. When a man

has chosen a supreme end, if he be consistent, he will use

whatever means may be necessary to attain it. The very

fact that the end is supreme to him will render it impossible that anything should come between him and it.

But no man can seek to promote blessedness by sin,- by

any interference with the rights of others. It would be

a contradiction.

In treating of the intellect, it was noticed how the

wrong choice of a supreme end will pervert that. We

now see how it is that it will pervert the heart; and how

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

it is that no man can consistently stop at any wickedness

necessary to the attainment of such an end. If the love

of power be absolutely supreme, then the esteem of men

and the favor of God must be relatively of less account,

and must be disregarded. And as we saw how the choice

of the true end would lead to candor and a coming to the

light, so we may now see how it involves unselfishness in

the choice of means. We here find deep and pervading

laws of our constitution.

We may now see what the true doctrine of expediency

and utility is, and how largely the consideration of these

must enter into human life. In all secondary choices and

executive volition they must govern every rational man.

Does a man pursue his own ends by what he deems to be

the best means? If not, he is blameworthy. But if he

does, it ill becomes him to rail at expediency.

But may not expediency be opposed to right? A false

expediency may; and hence the prejudice. The objections to expediency seem to have arisen, first, from the

general choice of wrong ends, and measuring expediency

by them. Two men have a quarrel. The object of each

is to humble the other. One can do it by fraud. He says

this would be expedient, but not right. Expedient for

what? Not for the promotion of blessedness - on the

whole. And, second, objections have arisen because, even

when the true end has been chosen, men have sometimes

failed to see that they might not and never could promote

it by interfering with the rights of others, - that means,

to be means at all, must here partake of the character of

the end.

This true doctrine of expediency some have failed to

see; and in seeking, in opposition to that, for an abstract

right, have fallen into a fanaticism not the less mischievous

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PRUDENCE AND VIRTUE.

for its high pretensions, and the fair garb in which it has

clothed itself.

We now pass to another distinction which belongs here,

- that between prudence and virtue. Prudence does not

furnish positive motives. It presupposes the choice and

pursuit of an end, and its office is to guard against danger

under the operation of fixed laws. "The prudent man

foreseeth the evil, and hideth himself." Prudence has sole

reference to our interest as under fixed laws, and not as

under the rule of a personal being. In its perfection it is

an acquired sagacity in regard to the laws, whether of

matter or of mind, and a habit of shaping the conduct in

accordance with them; and as such, it becomes to man in

his sphere what instinct is to the animals in theirs.

As prudence regards only consequences from fixed laws,

the moment we come to faith, and to suffering and martyrdom for adherence to principle at all hazards, its sphere is

transcended. A man may purposely so act in opposition

to fixed laws as to jeopardize or destroy his whole interest

under those laws; and this he may do rationally, but in no

proper sense of the word can he be said to do it prudently.

The hero is not prudent. The martyr is not prudent. He

is brought into a position where the rules of prudence are

out of place, and where it becomes necessary to vindicate

ihe supremacy of the spiritual nature and the majesty of

virtue by an unconditional trust in goodness and in God.

Prudence may then be regarded as the appointed guardian of the interests of man in the present life, and under

those fixed laws that are made known by experience. As

such, it is, as Butler says, "of the nature of virtue." To

study those laws, to heed them when we may, and to

secure the good there is under them, is our wisdom and

duty. Wantonly or heedlessly to disregard them is wrong;

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

but the highest life of man is not in them, or from thenm,

or under them; and when the demands of that life require

us to give up every interest under those laws, or even to

lay ourselves down in their track to be crushed by them,

it is to be done.

Right, expediency, prudence, are all found by tracing

actions outwards, and have their basis in a nature of

things, and in which some have placed the foundation of

morals. Of this nature of things, there are some who so

think as if it were something back of the will of God, and

controlled it. So Dr. Dwight. HIe says, "It is, I apprehend, evident that the foundation of virtue is not in the

will of God, but in the nature of things." And to this

nature of things he supposed the will of God to be conformed. He says further, confounding, as it would seem,

the nature of things with their tendency, that "virtue is

termed good only as being the cause of happiness," so

making the foundation of obligation to be in the tendency

of things, and the will of God to be governed by that,

as if there could be either a nature or a tendency of things

that did not have its origin in the will of God.

Others, again, supposing the nature of things, and so

their tendencies to be originated by God, go back to the

nature of God himself for the origin of these distinctions

and the foundation of moral obligation. Here they seem

to find the limit of all analysis, and of all thought, since

nothing can be more ultimate than the nature of God.

"Instead of any abstract fitnesses being the standard of

the divine nature, the divine nature must itself,' it is said,

"be the origin and standard of all fitnesses."

On a subject like this it becomes us to speak cautiously

and reverently. It may be doubted, however, whether

this mode of speaking either originates in, or conveys a

2 OD 8

PURE PERSONALITY OF GOD.

true conception of the nature of God. It supposes a

nature in him that lies back of reason and of will, and,

from which impulsions come by which his will is necessarily determined. Because we have a nature that is distinct from our personality, and underlies it, it is imagined

that God has. It may be, however, that the nature

of God is nothing distinct from his personality, and that

so he is wholly supernatural. It may be that the terms

nature and natural, used as they commonly are to indicate something fixed, stated, uniform, and not made so by

will, are without meaning when applied to God. So far

as we can apply the term to God, it may be that it is his

nature to be simply a Person determining his own will

in the light of an all-comprehending reason, and in view,

not of any intrinsic differences in a nature of things, but

of the different character and results of different possible

forms of his own activity. It may be that what we must

reach in our ultimate analysis is a free personality, -a

Person, with no nature, or fate, or fitnesses of things back

of him, or above him; who is himself, by his own firee

choice, the originator of everything that may properly be

called nature, and of all fitnesses of things. That this is

not so, who shall say? Who shall say that this is not our

only way to avoid that conception of God, so very general,

that is equivalent to fate?

The confusion at this point may be largely due to the

inadequacy of language for such a subject. Two extremes

were to be avoided: one, the founding of obligation on

mere will; the other, the virtual exclusion of will.

The difficulty arises from the eternity, and so the necessity, of the divine existence. But if it be said that God is

a necessary being, it is also to be said that he is necessarily

rational and free, and that what he is now he has always

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

been. Go back as we may, we find simply a personal God,

rational and free. As such, he is a law unto himself, subject to no necessity, except the necessity there is that

reason should act rationally. Obligation is affirmed in

him, as in us, we being made in his image, only with no

danger of mistake, and with no possibility that he should

be responsible to any one. This gives us, as the origin of

all things that had an origin, character and will; and

instead of a blind fate it gives us that moral certainty

which accompanies the highest freedom. Something must

be given. What we need is simply a person; and it is a

mere abuse of language to convert that constitution of the

Divine Being, by which he is a person, and capable of a

rational freedom, into a nature the very idea of which

excludes freedom.

But if this be so, then, as in our search backwards for

the origin of being, the ultimate fact is the being of God;

so, in our search backwards for the origin of moral distinctions, we shall find, not any nature of things, not any

nature of God, not any necessary and eternal principles,

but simply the character of God. It would be a grand

consummation thus to find, standing at the termination of

all our investigations physical and moral, as that beyond

which nothing could be more ultimate, simply the being of

God, and the character of God.

If this be so, then virtue or goodness, and rectitude,

will, in God, be the same thing seen in different aspects.

Ilis goodness will be seen in his choice of ends, and his

rectitude in the mode of attaining them; and there can

be for man, and indeed for any creature however exalted,

nothing higher, or better, or more ultimate than conformity

to the character of God. It may be that, as all the natural

teachings of the works of God are but indications and

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THE WILL OF GOD A STANDARD.

expressions of his natural attributes, so all their moral

teachings, together with those of revelation, are but the

expressions of his moral character; and that the end of all

teaching, and of all influences, will be the formation by

creatures made in his image of a character similar to his.

If we accept what has now been said, it will follow,

as moral distinctions have their origin in God as a person,

as his character is the standard of goodness, and his will

is the expression of his character, that his will, however

made known, must be the ultimate rule of moral action;

it must be that to which the conscience will respond, not

simply as will, but as the will of God. It was made to

respond to his will because that is the expression of his

character; and his character, as combining benevolence and

rectitude, is the perfection and standard of moral excellence.

As we, then, find in the being of God the origin of all

other being, so that without him there could be no other;

so do we find in the character of God, and in his will as

expressing that character, all that is ultimate in moral distinctions, and without that will and character those distinctions could not be. Thus do all our speculations lead

us to God, not merely as the fountain of being, but of

excellence, and as the Head and Governor of the moral

universe.

We have now examined the human constitution as related to ends rationally apprehended and pursued. In so

doing we have necessarily assumed that that constitution

is, for our purposes, in a normal state. A true physiology

is not morbid anatomy. We have assumed that from a

study of the structure of man, physical and mental, some

knowledge may be gained not only of his separate organs

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

and faculties, but also of man himself as a system, and of

his end. If he cannot know his own end there can be

no philosophy of man, no comprehension, no satisfactory

knowledge.

That man could, in his present state, know his end without revelation, does not appear. There is no philosophy

in a ruin; and facts are against it. Where the Bible has

not been it does not appear that man has either attained

or retained a knowledge of his true end.

But if it were otherwise, so that the best minds of the

race could reach such knowledge, or even if there were no

moral ruin, yet for a race coming up to moral agency from

the blankness of infancy, and through the long twilight

of youth, it would seem that such knowledge could never

be sufficient as a practical guide. Something more immediate and direct would be needed; and that we find in

those two other principles, Instinct and Faith, in accordance with which it was said in the second lecture that

ends might be pursued.

Having, then, found the harmony there is between the

constitution of man and nature on the one hand, and that

same constitution and revelation on the other; having

shown the relation between virtue and moral good; between individual and general good; between moral and

natural good; between right, utility, prudence, and virtue,

it remains to find the harmony there may be between the

pursuit of ends through these principles of Instinct and

Faith, and by the method already considered.

In comprehending ends man is wholly a philosopher; in

pursuing them he is a practical philosopher. His knowledge becomes power in the highest form, - the power of

attaining his supreme end. But as an end may be attained

242

INSTINCT.

by instinct and by faith, we need to see the relation of a

rational philosophy to the attainment of an end by these.

If we mean by instinct that principle which directs

animals without any comprehension or election of theirs,

which seems, indeed, to be but a higher form of the same

principle that causes the plumule in a plant to tend upwards and the radicle to tend downwards, with no relation to anything higher, then it does not belong to our

subject. But if we mean by instinct that tendency of a

rational nature towards its supreme end which must, as it

seems to us, belong to it if rightly constituted, without

something of which we could not conceive of an end, and

which we may elect to accept or reject as our guide, then

it does come within our range. Then does it become us to

examine both it as a part of our frame-work, and the end

it proposes, and to accept or reject both the end and the

guide. If we accept both, and give ourselves up to the

guidance of the instinct, or the impulse, or the nature, or

whatever we may please to call it, then are we, in an important sense, governed both by instinct and by reason;

and it is obvious that there will be a harmony of the two.

It is the instinct that guides us, but we are not blind in

following it. We trust ourselves to it willingly, as the

muleteer who traverses mountain-passes knows that his

wisdom lies in letting the mule plant his feet where he

pleases. It would, perhaps, be possible for a person to eat

by philosophy. Taking it for his end, an excellent end, to

keep his body of the same weight, he might ascertain by

experiment that there was precisely so much waste of the

system in a given time, and of just such proximate ele.

ments, and he might gather and compound the materials

chemically, and supply them by weight with no regard to

appetite, as he would put so much meal into a bag; but if

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

he were to do that repeatedly and find the result no better

than when he left the whole business to appetite, and perhaps not as good, it would be rational in him to trust that.

In everything relating to the body, to the preservation of

health, and to its restoration, there is a wisdom of nature

which the wisest regard most, and to which men constantly return after long vagaries of theory, and of what

they call rational methods. Now it may be that what we

call instinct here has not been sufficiently investigated.

We hear men speak of the higher instincts, and of rational

instincts. Are these, then, for the higher nature what the

lower instincts are for the lower? As many view it, what

is conscience but a rational instinct, a guide without comprehension, but rational because it reveals itself as the

voice of God, which all instinct is without thus revealing itself? But if these instincts are the product of the

higher nature, how do they differ from those intuitions

which have been called the product of reason, and so of

the highest form of intelligence? However we may answer these questions, there can be no doubt respecting the

main point of our inquiry.. Whatever there may be of

instinct higher or lower to guide us in the pursuit of a

supreme end, must be perfectly coincident with the impulse to be derived from a rational comprehension of that

end, and in accepting such guidance we may be wholly

rational.

Having thus seen that instinctive morality, if such there

may be, would be in harmony with a rational morality, we

turn to the third mode in which an end may be obtained, that is, by faith, and inquire for the relation of

that to a rational morality. Can a man be rationally governed by faith in precisely the same way as by instinct?

Of the term faith there are different shades of meaning,

244

FAITH DISTINGUISHED FROM KNOWLEDGE.

but its general import is so well fixed that they will give

us no trouble. It is distinguished firom knowledge certain

or uncertain. And, first, fromrn certain knowledge. This

must come directly from the action of some of the senses

or faculties. If we have not faculties that find their evidence in their own activity, we can be sure of nothing, not

even of the being of a God. Our intuitions, those first

truths of reason which are implied in all our other knowing, the legitimate results of the operation of any of the

faculties,- tested as legitimate, the constitution being

given, by their uniformity and necessity, must be received as certainly known. When through these faculties

we have once reached the being of a God, faith in him

would assure us that faculties given by him could not be

mendacious; still, in the last analysis, the evidence of their

trustworthiness must be given in their own activity.

Faith is also distinguished from those beliefs which we

gain from our own processes of reasoning. It is not by

faith that we believe in the result of a mathematical

demonstration, or, if we had never heard of the case, yet

should understand the conditions, that we should believe

the mercury in a barometer would sink if carried to the

top of a high mountain. It is not by faith that we believe

anything that we are required to believe by our constitution or by the laws of evidence, except as confidence in

personal character enters into those laws.

Faith is also to be distinguished from uncertain knowledge.

It is mischievous, as opposing faith to reason, and as

bringing religion into contempt, to make faith something

mystical and obscure, and to which a man may resort

when he is pushed in argument. Says Hamilton, "Faith

belief- is the organ by which we apprehend what is

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

beyond our knowledge." "In this," he adds, "all divines

and philosophers worthy of the name are found to coincide." Faith an organ! Belief an organ! As if, making

them, as is here done, synonymous, belief were anything

but an opinion not substantiated beyond all doubt. He

might as well make opinion an organ instead of a product.

If all divines and philosophers worthy of the name have

believed this "the more's the pity."

It is also said that faith is that principle of our nature

by which we apprehend the invisible. But what is an apprehension of the invisible but a form of knowledge or

belief based on evidence? If there are principles of our

nature through which we believe in the invisible, they

must be common to all men; but "all men have not faith."

Faith does, indeed, often imply a belief, or, if you please,

an apprehension of the invisible, but that is not its distinctive element. Faith has always a personal element.

It is confidence in a person with reference to anything for

which he offers himself to us. If we believe what a man

says solely because he says it, that is faith. If we believe

it in the face of strong improbabilities from other sources,

the faith is more signal. It is more signal still, if, on the

mere ground of character, and when that stands in conflict

with other sources of belief, we commit to another great

interests. When Alexander the Great drank the cup presented to him by his physician, though he had been warned

by a note that the physician intended to poison him, he

did it by faith. A traveller who should himself know the

way through a forest would walk securely and independently on the ground of his knowledge; but one who

should know nothing of the way, and should commit

himself wholly to a guide, would walk by faith; and if

246

FAITH A NATURAL PRINCIPLE.

his faith were perfect, he would step just as firmly and

securely as the other.

Now, from the condition and circumstances of man it is

plain that faith was intended by God to be a great natural

principle and guide of life. In the absence of instruction

and comprehension, it is to creatures with reason what

instinct is to those without it, and something more. It

was intended to be to them not merely a guide, but a

formative, an assimilative, and an elevating principle. It

is to mere belief what the moral reason is to reason. It

is belief and something more, and is therefore higher. By

the element of belief that is in it, it guides its subject;

and by that which is specifically the confidence, it assimilates and elevates him. It is the one great link, the magnetic link, between parent and child, by which the parent

is enabled to raise the child to his own level. Take this

wholly away, and not only would the improvement of

the race be checked, but improvability could scarcely be

affirmed of it.

That it is a natural principle, is obvious, not only from

its being thus necessary, but because life is full of conditions and relations in which men act from it naturally,

necessarily, and with no feeling of degradation. It is

true universally of children, in their relation to their

parents, and of men generally in their relations to each

other as proficients in specific branches of knowledge, and

that without regard to general superiority. An admiral

may rationally entrust his ship to a common pilot, and a

Newton entrusts his health and life to his physician.

But what is thus natural and necessary in the common relations of life, we might expect, if God be indeed a father, would be carried up into our relations with

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hlim, only with such modifications as would be demanded

by his character and those relations. Here, obviously,

reason would demand that the faith should be unwavering

and absolute, stopping at nothing except that which would

make God deny himself. This the very conception of

God as possessed of infinite excellence would require.

From what was said formerly of the identity of a moral

and of the divine law, it will follow that man must be able

to judge to some extent of anything claiming to be a divine

revelation by its intrinsic qualities; and it may be conceded to the advocates of reason that if anything can be

shown to be opposed to the final or highest end of man, it

cannot be from God. HIe cannot require essential wickedness. So much seems to be conceded by the apostle in

the case of Abraham; for he says that Abraham acted on

the supposition that God could reconcile two revelations

which seemed to himt contradictory. "He counted," says

the apostle, "that God was able to raise him up even from

the dead." It is not that, the ultimate end being known,

the insight of reason in regard to that as good can be

shaken, for then would God contradict himself, but that,

in respect to any prescribed means, or to anything short

of the relinquishment of that, faith in God should be

unlimited. At this point it must stop, because the denial

of essential goodness and the denial of God would be the

same thing. If God could command malignity and the

hatred of goodness as such, he would not be God. -

If, then, within this limit, it can be shown that God has

mnade any communication to man respecting his end, - if

he has either told him what that end is, or directed him

how to attain it, - it will be wholly reasonable for him to

receive implicitly what is thus communicated, and to rest

his whole being upon it. Doing thus he is acting upon a

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CHRISTIANITY AND FAITH.

natural and necessary, as well as an ennobling principle,

and his tread may be as firm, and his assurance in regard

to ultimate results as absolute, as if he comprehended the

whole system of the universe from beginning to end and

from centre to circumference. It would not indeed be

philosophy by which he would be guided; but it would

be reason rejecting as inadequate such philosophy as itself

might be able to form, and trusting, instead, to the guidance of Him who is the author and source of all philosophy. It would be the mariner trusting his compass; it

would be the child taking exercise or medicine by the

direction of a father, without knowing the laws of his system. It would, in short, be man understandingly and

rationally taking that place as a child in which is his dignity and his happiness. With sufficient ground of confidence in his father, a child holding his hand -which is

faith- might rationally close his eyes and step where his

father should direct; or, with his eyes open, he might step

in opposition to what would be his individual judgment;

and in these two cases, with the limit above given, we have

the whole relation of reason and faith.

As connected with religion, faith has been the subject of

much discussion, but as a great natural principle of action

it is an illustration of the principle noticed in the first lecture, that what is the most intimate to us, and from the

beginning wholly a matter of course, is the last to attract

attention. When the term was first used in Christianity,

nothing could have been more strange. It was unknown in

philosophy, and it is a strong evidence for Christianity that

it should have thus seized upon a principle which must act

from the first moment of conscious existence, which is in

society what gravitation is among the stars, and without

changing its nature, but only modifying it according to the

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relations involved, should have transferred it from its allpervading tlhough unrecognized earthly uses to the higher

uses of religion.

From what has been said it would appear that in pursuing an end from instinct, by faith, or with a full comprehension of both means and ends, we may be acting rationally, while it is only in the last case that we should be

acting philosophically, because a system of philosophical

action can be based only on a conception of ends and of

means. But these three systems or grounds of action,

the instinctive, the religious, and the philosophical, can

have the common characteristic of being rational only on

the condition that they conspire to a common end. That

most clearly they must do. A system not based on the

true end would be erroneous and not philosop)hical; an

instinct or tendency in a being rightly constituted must

prompt to the true end; and faith in God could lead only

to that.

Thus does this philosophy of ends, in connection with

the law of limitation, make provision for the harmonious

operation of every active power in man. In whatever

proportions instinct and faith and philosophy may be

combined, there is yet full provision for the high prerogatives of man as personal and rational, and every power

may conspire to lift him up and bear him on to his true

end.

Having thus brought moral philosophy to a perceived

harmony with those original impulses of the constitution

which are of the nature of instinct, and with faith, which

is distinctively and naturally the religious principle, it will

need but a few words to show its harmony with religion

itself.

It will, first, be a test of any system that may claim to

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MORAL SCIENCE AND CHRISTIANITY.

come from God, whether it be one of revealed law, or of

a mode of restoration when law has been violated; and,

second, of any such system that should really come from

God it would be the adjuvant.

Moral philosophy analyzes the powers of man, and thus

discovers the true end of each, and so of man himself. If,

then, there be a revealed law, or what claims to be such,

which would require the pursuit of the same end, moral

philosophy must accept that law. It cannot do otherwise.

Then the law is right and binding, whether revealed or

not. If any law claiming to be from God could be shown

to be thus wholly in harmony with the moral constitution

of man, it would be conclusive evidence that it was from

God. It would be a revelation in words of the same will

that had been previously revealed in ends. And this is

precisely what we claim for the Bible as a revelation of

law. What we say is, that no fair and correct analysis of

our faculties can be made that will not necessitate for

them the same end and law that are revealed in the Bible.

So of anything that should claim to be revealed as a

method of restoration. If it could be shown to be not

only in harmony with the law as revealed in the end, but

also to have in it an efficacy so to restore the man that he

shall attain that end, it would be conclusive evidence that

that too was from God. Here the problem would be

double, and the difficulty increased. But as it is the object

or end of the foot that we may walk, and as a rational

physiology would accept whatever would restore a broken

bone so that it should be as good as if it had not been

broken, so, if the moral powers have been injured, a

rational philosophy would accept and welcome any remedial system which it could be shown would enable them to

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

attain their original end. Here is the test of any system

claiming to be remedial, -harmony with law on the one

hand, and the power of restoration on the other, -and,

tried by this test, we have no hesitation in saying that

Christianity must be received.

252

LECTURE XI.

RIGHTS. - THEIR ORIGIN AND KINDS. - ALIENABLE. - INALIENABLE. -

SLAVERY. - RIGHTS OF PERSONS AND OF THINGS. - GIVING AND RE CEIVING. - RIGHTS OF GOVERNMENT.- LIBERTY AS RELATED TO RIGHTS.

-DIFFERENT KINDS OF LIBERTY-NATURAL, CIVIL, POLITICAL.

OF any correct system of moral philosophy one characteristic must be that the active powers will, in their movements, harmonize with each other. That they do this

in connection with the system of ends, we have seen.

Through the law of limitation each higher power is harmonized with the lower, while the highest is left to act

fireely and to expand in its connection with those infinities

to which it is naturally related. This gives us a philosophical system for the individual which we may comprehend.

But not only may we comprehend both means and

ends, and so seek them intelligently; we may also seek

ends from a native tendency involving in it, if it be not

instinct, the instinctive principle; and we may seek ends

by faith. These principles may be combined in very diffierent proportions. They must be, as persons are younger or

more advanced, as they are ignorant or instructed; but it

was one object of the last lecture to show that whatever

the proportions might be, these principles might be so

accepted and permeated by the rational nature that we

should be rational in acting from them, and that they

would be in perfect harmony.

But God does not regard the individual only. He has

22 253

LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

instituted families, communities, nations. Of these he designed the well-being, and has provided for it in the organization of man. Would, then, this doctrine of ends, with

its law of limitation, be an adequate basis for social order?

As an individual, man is to do right; as a member of a

community he has rights. What it is on this system to

do right, we have seen. Would there also grow from it a

perfect system of rights? If so, there would be in it an

adequate basis of social order, because of that it is the

one condition that every man shall have his rights. If so,

we may well accept a doctrine thus providing for the right

ordering not only of the individual, but Of the community.

On this system, we have seen that that is right which a

man must do that he may attain the end for which God

made him. Rights must, therefore, be based on the relation of those things to which we have a right to the attainment of our own end or that of others. A man will have

a right to everything that is essential to the attainment of

the end for which he was made. So a parent will have a

right to everything which is essential to the attainment of

the end for which God made him a parent; and society

and government will have a right to everything necessary

for the accomplishment of the ends for which they were

instituted -just that, and no more.

An exclusive capacity, inherent or given in the order of

nature, together with a disposition to confer upon others

what is essential to their end, is the ground of rights over

them. Hence the rights of God, of parents, and of governments. A necessity for anything essential to his end is

the ground of a claim by the individual upon any who, in

the order of nature or of providence, may have the exclusive power to meet that necessity. Hlence the claims of

children, of citizens, of the poor, of humanity.

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ORIGIN OF RIGHTS.

We have here the general principle; and if it be correct, then will the basis of right and of rights be the

same, only it will be viewed in different relations. We

shall have, moreover, what is not a little desirable, in the

distinction drawn between the higher and lower powers, a

measure of rights as more or less important and sacred.

Thus we shall have rights from the instincts,-that is, those

which would respect the attainment by instinct of its end;

and rights of the appetites, or those which would respect

the attainment by them of their end; and so of the desires, and of the intellect, and of the natural affections,

and of the moral and spiritual nature. Certainly we may

say that he who should be in no way so encroached upon

or obstructed that he should be unable to attain in the

best way all the ends indicated by these different active

principles might be said to have all his rights; and if he

welre so encroached upon that he could not reach perfectly

any one of these ends, he would not have all his rights.

The truth seems to be that in the tendency of every active

principle towards its end there is the voice of God; and

that when, through the intervention of others, there is an

obstruction to the attainment of its ends, that voice utters

itself through the moral nature in the assertion of rights.

That this is the history of the idea and sentiment of

rights -for it is not merely a sentiment -seems probable,

because it is foreshadowed by what occurs among animals.

That they have the perception of relations and the sentiment that we have, cannot be supposed, but practically

they assert what seem to be rights, and what is analogous

to them, on the same principle. Let an animal have an

instinct, or an appetite, or a natural affection, as that of

the parent for its.offspring, and it will be found that it will

be ready to resist and beat off all intrusion that would,pre

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

vent it from accomplishing the end thus indicated, and the

strength of endeavor will be proportioned to the importance of the end. So is it with man. He is prompted

by some original impulse to the attainment of an end.

This would imply struggle against obstacles, and the resistance of any interference that would prevent the attainment of the end. It is in connection with such promptings

and resistance that the moral reason necessarily forms the

notion of rights, and that the sentiment is felt; and thus

that which with the brute is defended simply by force,

comes with man to be guarded by the most sacred sentiments, and to be fortified by laws, and customs, and institutions.

From this view of the origin of rights it will appear

that the idea of right is the primary, and that of rights

the subordinate and secondary idea. A man has rights in

order that he may do right. If there were no end, and

so nothing right, there could be no such thing as rights.

Hence rights, however real and important, may never be

defended at the expense of right. A man may be deprived of all his rights, but he may not cease to adhere to

that which is right.

At this point it is that we may see how it is that the

destiny of a man, that is, his highest and ultimate destiny,

can never be taken out of his hands. Men may deprive

him of every right, but they can bring about no combination of circumstances under which it will be impossible for

a man in those circumstances to do right. It may be a

fearful alternative, and there may be unspeakable wickedness in presenting it, when a man mqt be deprived of his

rights, even of that to life, or cease to do right, but it is

the glory of man's nature that there is in it the capacity

of adhering to what is right under all deprivation and

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RIGHTS - ALIENABLE AND INALIENABLE.

all suffering. If it were not for this - the higher estimation of right than of rights - no man could be a martyr.

Right belongs to man in his individual capacity, rights

from his relation to others.

Of rights as thus originating and thus distinguished

from right, some are alienable, and some inalienable; and

we find in the distinctions already laid down the ground of

this difference. An inalienable right is one which arises

in connection with the pursuit of our highest end. With

that nothing may interfere; and a right thus based is called

inalienable because it cannot be parted with freely without

crime, and cannot be rightly taken away unless forfeited

by crime.

As has been seen, the moral, no less than the physical

nature, has its end; in the use of means for the attainment

by that nature of its end, the idea of rights the most

sacred would arise; and to whatever is an essential condition for the attainment of that end man has an inalienable

right. With that he may not consent to part, and no one

may rightfully wrest it from him; but any right which is

not thus necessary he may alienate.

After the moral nature, the natural affections and the

intellect are next in dignity. That the rights which originate in connection with the exercise of the affections are

alienable, appears, since a parent may transfer to another

all the rights and responsibilities vested in him as a parent.

A child may be wholly given away,.its name changed, and

the rights of the parents over it vacated according to law.

Than this, perhaps a stronger case could not be put under

the rights of the affections. Of the intellect it is to be

said that its operations are so essential to the full attainment of the ends of the moral nature that it can hardly

stand on its own ground; but that a man may employ his

22*

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

intellect for gain at the will of another, and, so far as that

is possible, wholly give it up to his control, provided that

control does not interfere with the attainment by the

moral nature of its end, will, I suppose, be conceded.

Why not? The intellect is simply instrumental, and may

be employed by the executive power in any way that shall

not contravene a moral end. Of the rights that originate

from the desires, as that of property, I need not speak, as

it is conceded that they are alienable.

All inalienable rights may be included in those of life

and liberty. A right to the pursuit of happiness, mentioned in the Declaration of Independence, would be

included in that to liberty, since no man can have liberty

who is debarred from the pursuit of that. And yet liberty is not wholly inalienable. In some respects, and to

some extent, a man may part with his liberty, and it has

not always been easy to say how far he may go in this,

According to the principles already stated he may part

with his liberty in any respect, and up to any point, that

shall not interfere with the attainment of his highest

end. Beyond this he can make no contract that would

not be unlawful, and so not binding; for man has a paramount duty to God respecting himself, which is as fully

binding as any other duty. He may never lawfully do

anything with himself which shall prevent the great purpose that God had in view in giving him being from being

accomplished. Except as an indispensable condition for

a higher end, there is nothing sacred about liberty; it

is capable of being wholly abused, and if it may be conceived that a higher end may be promoted by giving it

up, then may it be given up. According to this those Moravian missionaries who sold themselves into slavery that

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SLAVERY.

they might preach the gospel to the slaves, may have been

justifiable. They sacrificed liberty for a higher end.

Inalienable rights are those of which a man cannot

divest himself by contract; which he may not, under any

circumstances, lawfully demit; but he may forfeit them by

crime, and be wrongfully deprived of them by others. It

is in this last case, in the violation of an inalienable right,

that the greatest wrong is committed, and of this we see

the reason in what has been said respecting the ground of

inalienable rights. To deprive a man of life is everywhere

regarded as the highest crime; and next to that, in some

circumstances perhaps even greater, is the crime of depriving him of his liberty. When this is so done as to

degrade a human being, and to come between him and his

highest end, we have a crime that involves in it the essence

of all crimes.

Of slavery, so far as it interferes with inalienable rights,

our abhorrence cannot be too strong. It interferes with

other rights, as those of the desires. It takes property, or

the labor that makes property, without an adequate compensation. It violates the rights of the affections. It sep arates husbands and wives, and parents and children;

putting, in the eyes of the law, and often practically, and

by the necessities of the system, the natural affections of

the slave on the same level with a brute instinct. It inter feres with the rights of the intellect. It keeps men in

ignorance, and prohibits them from learning to read the

word of God. It gives the slave no security for anything.

Everything must depend upon the will of the master; and

if that will be reasonable, then upon his life. Now, while

it is true, as has been said, that no man can be so placed

that he cannot adhere to the right, yet such a system,

applied to masses of human beings, must degrade them,

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

must come between them and their highest good, and so

touch inalienable rights. The highest right of a man is his

right to himself, and any right of property that would so

contravene this that man shall be treated in any way as a

brute, or degraded, and that would come between him and

his end as designed by God, is impossible. No man can

give it; the man himself cannot; no state can give it, and

any attempt to hold such property is sin per se.

That there may be a temporary and modified system of

involuntary servitude without infringing upon inalienable

rights, and with ultimate benefit to those so held; that

under a system of perpetual servitude the actual guilt

will depend much on the light of the master, and the

spirit in which it is administered; and that, under peculiar circumstances, the legal relation of master may be

sustained for the good of the slave, not only without

guilt, but meritoriously, may be conceded. And it is

because this partial alienation of liberty without degradation is possible; and because guilt is so modified by

acquiescence in established customs to which men have

been used from their infancy, and which they have been

taught are right; and because, from obstacles to emancipation through wicked laws and the disabilities they lay

upon the freed-man, or from the helplessness of infancy

or of old age, the legal relation of master may sometimes

be rightly held while yet the system itself is one of utter

oppression and wrong, often and generally infringing upon

inalienable rights; and because of the immense pecuniary

interests at stake, that it is possible for men to hold such

discordant views on this subject, and that their views

are held in connection with feelings so intense.

Having thus seen what is the origin of rights, and the

distinction between those that are alienable and those that

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RIGHTS OF THINGS AND OF PERSONS.

are inalienable, we turn to another distinction. There are

rights which have it for their object to guard the individual

against the encroachments of others. As thus used, the

sole correlative of rights is obligation, and it is in this aspect that rights are more generally treated. If I have a

right to a piece of property, all others are under obligation

to abstain from its use. The object of such rights is so to

protect the individual in his freedom, that he may accomplish the ends indicated by his active powers. Such rights

respect things, and not persons; or, if they respect persons,

it is only as they are so related to us that we may by them

accomplish our own ends.

But there are also rights over persons. The object of

these is to enable those in whom they are vested to aid

others in the accomplishment of their ends. Here the

correlative of rights is still obligation. If the parent has

a right over the child, the child is under obligation to

respect that right. But here the right involves by necessity not only an obligation on the part of others, but also

a duty on the part of him in whom the right is vested,

and this duty thus necessarily involved in the right, and

measured by it, may also properly be called its correlative.

The foundation of the right here and in the other case is

radically the same, as they both have reference to the

attainment of an end; and yet there is an essential difference. In the first case the ground of the right is the necessity of that to which the individual has a right in order

to the attainment by himself of his own ends, that is, of

those indicated by his various active powers. But in the

relations of society human beings are not always capable

of attaining these ends without aid from others. In that

case others may have rights over them, natural or acquired; but the ground and measure of those rights will

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

be found in the necessity there is for aid in the accomplishment of those ends, and in the power and duty of

those who possess the rights to render that aid.

In what has now been said we have a clear distinction

between rights over things and those over persons. This

distinction was indicated by Blackstone, under the heads

"Rights of Things" and "Rights of Persons," but his statement of any ground for it is so indistinct that in a note to

Chitty's edition of his work it is said that "the distinction

of rights of persons and rights of things in the first two

books of the Commentaries seems to have no other difference than the antithesis of the expression." As the most

he could make of it, the annotator adds, "The distinction

intended by the learned judge in the first two books appears to be in a great degree that of the rights of persons

in public stations, and the rights of persons in private stations." This is wholly aside from the real ground of the

distinction. As has been said, rights over persons have

respect to the accomplishment of ends by those persons,

and involve duties; while rights over things respect the

accomplishment of ends by ourselves, and do not in the

same way involve duties.

This distinction is needed because the rights over persons are numerous and important, and without it we have

no way of fixing precisely the ground and limits of those

rights. These are the rights of parents, of guardians, of

teachers, so far as they have also guidance and control;

they are, in general, the rights of those that govern; and

have, standing over against them, not only corresponding obligations, but also corresponding rights. Wherever

there is a right to govern, there is a corresponding right to

be governed rightly. What it is to be governed rightly is

implied in what has already been said. A man ought to

'"' 6 2

NATURAL LIMIT OF RIGHTS.

govern another on the same principle on which he ought

to govern each of his separate faculties, and his whole

self. He governs those faculties rightly when he causes

each to accomplish its end. He governs himself rightly

when he accomplishes his own end; and he governs another

rightly when his government is wisely directed to enable

that other to accomplish his end. This is the law of limitation here. Hence the parent has a right, so far as the

destiny of the child is committed to him, to all the control

necessary to secure for the child its true end. Whatever

power he may use for any other end is not properly that

of a parent, since it would not grow out of the parental

relation as instituted by God. That relation is one of

guardianship of the child with reference to the ends for

which he was made, and especially to his highest end;

and if the child could certainly know that he could secure

his highest end only by disobeying his parent, he would

be bound to disobey him. This shows the natural limit to

the rights, and so to the authority of the parent. And

what is thus true of a parent is equally true of a guardian,

a teacher, a magistrate, a government. So God governs.

This is the model he sets before us, and he has given no

rights to any of his creatures that will justify them in

governing upon any other principle.

Very beautiful is the relation thus established between

the governing and the governed, and quite in accordance

with what has been previously said. We have seen how

beautiful is that relation of all things as conditioning and

conditioned by which there is a continual subserviency of

that which is lower to a higher end, till this universe, as

more immediately known to us, is built up from its base to

its apex, and culminates in man. In this process the lower

force is independent of that which is higher and unmodi

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LECTURES ON MORAL SCIENCE.

fled by it till we reach organization. In all arganization,

while the higher is built up by the lower, and constantly

sustained by it, yet the higher reacts upon the lower, and

becomes in its turn essential to that. The stomach and

digestive system are for the brain. They build it up; but

the brain reacts upon them, and unless it be healthy they

will fail. Where organization begins, the movement within

each organism becomes circular, and not merely one of upbuilding from a base. And now, when we pass into the

region of intelligence, we find provision not merely for a

system of forces acting from below to build up that which

is above, but that there shall be forces from above intelligently acting to benefit if not to elevate that which is

below. At first, and in mere organizations, the lower

builds up the higher, and sustains it, and is wholly for

that. Any action from the higher to the lower is simply

to sustain the lower in its own place and function as tributary, but never to elevate it out of that sphere. But when

we reach the sphere of intelligence the object of the action

from above is to elevate the lower. When the summit is

reached, then, through this arrangement of rights and of

duties, a circle is formed by which the system works from

the top, so that that which is spiritual is drawn up from

above, since there could have been no force from below

adequate to push it up. Certainly the parent, as a parent,

is for the sake of the child, and his end in that relation is

accomplished when he has brought the child up to his

own elevation, or, rather, to what that elevation ought to

be. In doing this there may be, there ought to be ties

formed that shall be permanent, that, as spiritual, shall be

eternal, and so the highest here minister to that which is

still higher; but the parental office, and the merely natural

affections connected with it, have exhausted themselves

264

RECEIVING AND GIVING.

when the parent who is what he should be has raised the

child to his own elevation. So all analogy teaches. So

is it with every animal that has natural affection; and

where provision is made for the young independently of

the parent, the affection is not given.

Up to the point where giving from above begins to elevate that which is below, if there may be said to be blessedness at all, it had been more blessed to receive than to

give. The giving was always by the lower to the higher,

and for the sake of the higher. But we now reach a point

where the giving is by that which is above, for the sake of

that which is below, and God has connected with it, in

the end which it accomplishes, in the affections which it

gratifies, and in the improvement, and growth, and dignity

of the giver, a blessedness that could not come from receiving. It is here, indeed, that we have the element of

the noblest giving. It is not simply that which addresses

itself to the animal nature and satisfies want. It is that,

when it is needed, always that; but enwrapping and bearing with it a giving of affection and self-sacrifice that

would lift up that which is below it; and if this element

be wanting, no giving can avail much, and the highest

blessedness of it cannot be known.

In speaking of the rights that involve duties, I have

referred almost wholly to those of parents; but the principle applies equally to the rights and duties of society

and of government. These, scarcely less than the parental

relation, are essential for the perfection of the individual.

Without them he cannot find his sphere, and scope for the

expression of his whole nature. It is, indeed, that constitution by which society is thus necessary, that makes a

number of individuals a community, that makes the state

an institution of God, and the race a unity. An exclusive

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capacity to confer such aid, given in the order of nature,

confers rights. A necessity that such aid should be conferred is the ground of a claim. Hlence the reciprocal rights

and duties of the famnily, of the state, and of humanity.

It is to governments as founded upon this principle that

attention is especially needed. Practically, they have too

often been instruments of oppression. They have kept

down and degraded the governed. It is among the saddest features of the history of our world that the very

conception and ground of this beautiful and beneficent

function of government should have been so wholly lost

sight of, and government so perverted to purposes directly opposite to those for which it was intended. A vast

abstraction, or, if you please, a general conception called

the state, has been idolized. It has been supposed that

the individual was wholly for that; and so, partly through

a blind and perverted instinct of patriotism in the people,

the very institution which ought to have been the most

efficient for their elevation has often been the most potent

engine for their oppression and degradation. So it has

been; so it is still.

But in the light of our discussion, government has no

right to be, except as it is necessary to secure the ends of

the individual in his social capacity; and it must, therefore,

be bound so to be as to secure these ends in the best manner. This is the whole principle, and only the full application of it is needed to make governmental and social

movements on the earth correspond in their order and

beauty to the movements of the heavens. On this principle there could be no conflicting rights as between the

individual and the government. The government could

require -from the very ground of its rights as already

stated, it could have a right to require - nothing that

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would not be in harmony with the ends of the individual,

and whatever the government might need to accomplish

its ends that should be thus in harmony, the individual

would be bound to concede.

This is the general statement. To obviate practical difficulties, however, it must be observed that when it is

said that government is for the individual, it is not meant

that it is for any one individual especially, but for all the

individuals of whom the society is composed. If, therefore, a case should occur in which the good of the society

would require that the alienable rights of the individual

should be, not, as is generally said, given up, but alienated

for an equitable consideration, the government, as the agent

of society, has the right to enforce such alienation. This

paramount right government has, and must have, firom the

end for which it was instituted. Is it for the good of society that it should take the land of a man for a road? It

has a paramount right, and takes it; but it gives him an

equivalent. It would be thought monstrous to take it

otherwise. Is it again for the good of society that it

should take the time, more valuable it may be than land,

of an innocent but accused man, that he may be tried? It

has a paramount right, and takes it, but it makes no compensation. But that society.is bound in equity to make it,

there can be no doubt.

The right of society is to take, for its own good, the

alienable rights of the individual, on condition that those

rights shall be surrendered only for a fair equivalent. This

the ends of society, and so of government, require. What

society says to the individual is, "We will give you as

amrnple means as you now have to accomplish your ends; we

interfere therefore with none of your fundamental rights;

but we cannot suffer mere will or caprice to stand in the

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way of the good of the whole." The right to say this I

do not suppose society gets from any consent of the individual, or any agreement on his part to surrender certain

lights; but because it is of divine origin, and has, therefore, an inherent right to accomplish its ends. This it

must do for the sake of the individual, since his perfection

can be reached only through society, and hence, according

to the doctrine stated, the individual can have no rights not

compatible with the ends of society. All alienable rights

must be held by him subject to the condition that when

they interfere with the good of the whole, they shall so far

cease to be rights that they may be alienated by the will

of society regularly expressed through its government, and

for a fair compensation. According to this view, the rights

of the individual and of society would be perfectly harmonized. At least, there could be no conflict in regard to

alienable rights. Nor could there be any respecting those

that are inalienable, since those are sacred. Those society

may not touch. It is impossible that any legitimate end of

society should be gained by trenching in any degree upon

any inalienable right, and therefore society can have no

right to do so. Injustice, tyranny, may do anything. A

triumph of wrong there may be, but there can be no conflict of rights. 1

From the consideration of rights we pass to that of liberty, of which the conception of rights is both the basis

and the natural limit. Rights and liberty! These are

among the most exciting and stimulating words of the

English language, and unless our view of their grounds

and limitations be distinct they may become words of delusion and mischief, - cabalistic words for the popular

declaimer and demagogue to conjure with. It is a slow

process by which the conceptions connected with such

''6 8

LIBERTY AND LAW.

words in the popular mind become clear and steady; but

nothing is more needed, especially in a government like

ours; and whoever contributes to it in any degree is doing

the public good service.

It has just been said that rights are the basis and natural limit of liberty. If there were no rights there could be

no law. God would have no right to give or to enforce

one, and there would be nothing for law to guard. Law

is the guardian of rights and the condition of liberty, since

without law there would be anarchy, which is the opposite

of liberty. It is, I know, usually thought that the idea

of liberty is the primary one, and that of law secondary,

as coming in to restrain liberty; but if we take law in its

widest sense as that which gives stability and regularity,

and a rational ground of expectation, we shall see that

without the conception of that there could be no ground

of choice or of action, and so none for liberty; so that it

may well be doubted whether the conception of law does

not underlie that of liberty of any kind, as it certainly

does that of all desirable and rational liberty. We may,

indeed, conceive of what is called absolute liberty, by

which is meant a liberty of doing, without question or

control, whatever the individual pleases. For a single isolated individual this is conceivable, but not in a community of individuals, each having free will and independent choices. Such a liberty would be an element of utter

confusion, like that which would ensue in the physical elements if their affinities were unloosed and wholly capricious, so that there were nothing of regularity in their

movements. We may well conclude, then, that the first

liberty among created beings was born and cradled and

trained amidst the sanctities of law, and that any exercise

23*

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of it except under the control and guidance of law must

be a curse.

Taking liberty, then, as known by us, and desirable for

us, we inquire after its different kinds.

And, first, there is natural liberty. This is not absolute

liberty. That is not natural. The law of any being is

indicated in its nature, and no liberty can be natural that

would overstep that natural law. Than this nothing could

be more unnatural. But natural liberty is simply that

which is commensurate with natural rights. Every man

has originally a natural right to use all the means furnished him by God for the attainment of the legitimate

end indicated by each of the active principles of his nature; and his natural liberty would be such a freedom

from restraint that he could avail himself of all such

means for the attainment of those ends. If God has not

furnished the means of doing this without encroaching

on the rights of others, then his liberty and his rights find

their limit together. Let a man have a liberty by which

he may attain every end of his being which God has given

him the means of attaining; let no man come wrongfully

between him and those means, and he has all the liberty

that any being ought to have or that can be natural to

any. This, then, is natural liberty- a liberty to use all

the means that God gives a man for the attainment of the

ends indicated through his nature.

A man has natural liberty to use the means above indicated. Has he also a natural right to defend himself in

such use? This is commonly said, and that the right of

society to defend the individual in the use and enjoyment

of these means is from a voluntary transference of such

right by the individual to society. But society is natural,

and as such has rights and duties; and looking at its end,

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CIVIL LIBERTY.

we shall find it to be its natural right and duty to protect

the individual in the use of these means. If, in an unnatural state of isolation, the individual has a right to defend

himself in the enjoyment of these means, it may be quite as

correct to say that he gets that right by a transference of

it from society, as to say that, in ordinary circumstances

and in a natural state, society gets the right by a transference of it from the individual. Saying this we avoid all

conflict of rights; we avoid the unnatural and violent supposition that man is necessitated to give up any of his

natural rights in order to secure the remainder.

We next inquire what civil liberty is. Of this it is

thought by some that the notion is so complex that it cannot be defined, but only described, and the circumstances

stated in which it is enjoyed. But having seen what natural liberty is, we say that civil liberty is natural liberty

under the guardianship and guarantee of an organized

society. It is the liberty which a man enjoys when his

rights are protected and guarantied by society instead of

himself. Hence the only abridgment, if such it may be

called, of natural liberty needed that it may become civil

liberty will respect the means of attaining the end, and

not the end itself. Man has a natural right both to defend

and to use and enjoy the property produced by his own

labor; but the right of defence vests in society, and by

suffering it to remain there he enjoys greater freedom and

security in the use of his property. This freedom and

security are civil liberty. It consists in a liberty and security in enjoying the end which can be attained only by

leaving with society the responsibility, and so the right of

protecting ourselves in that enjoyment. But protection is

not in itself an end; it is only a means; and therefore we

are always to remember that in requiring us to leave with

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society a portion of our rights civil liberty only requires

us thus to leave the right to employ means, but never to

abandon the right to enjoy ends.

The perfection of civil liberty will be measured by the

degree of freedom and security that can be attained in the

enjoyment of every right which can be left to the guardianship of society. Every right cannot be thus left, and

the liberty to defend such right must remain with the

individual; but perfect civil liberty will be the greatest

possible freedom and security under the guardianship of

society for every right that naturally belongs to its care.

It may be added that, under civil society, such liberty, as

essential to the end of the individual as a social being, is

a natural right.

In the view of it above taken civil liberty is for the perfection of the individual. It may also be regarded as it

stands related to the ends of society as a whole. The

object is not only to find the point where the action of the

whole shall either be for the good of the individual, or not

militate against it; but also where the action of the individual shall either be for the good of the whole, or not

militate against that. That these points may be found,

and that they would coincide, cannot be doubted by any

who know the balancings, and adjustments, and harmonies

there are in the works of God, and for which we might

expect the most perfect provision in the highest department of those works. This would bring the interests of

the individual as an individual and his interests as a member of the community into perfect harmony. In this point

of view civil liberty would be conditioned on such a restraint of individual action as should guard the interests

of the whole from injury.

Civil liberty, as has been said, is a natural right. Hence,

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THE RIGHT TO VOTE.

under a free government, it is accorded to all, whether they

are citizens or not. But the right to take a part in the

government, to say who shall administer it, and what provisions shall be made for the maintenance of civil liberty,

is not a natural right. It belongs to society as a whole,

but not to every individual in that society. It is not generally supposed to belong to minors, to women, to foreigners, except on specified conditions, and in the most of our

States it is not granted to the free blacks. What the principles are on which this right should be conceded, and

what should be their application in particular cases, it is

not always easy to say. Here an end is to be secured.

Society is bound to secure it in the best way it can, but

the means and materials for doing this may be very different at different times and in different nations.

On this point it may be said, first, that a reasonable presumption of hostility to the welfare of the society would

be a sufficient ground for excluding any one from having

a voice in the government. Hence criminals are excluded;

and there may be factions, or races, known to be hostile to

the government, who may be justly excluded while that

hostility remains.

Secondly. Incompetency to understand and promote the

ends of society would be a sufficient ground for exclusion

from political rights. It is on this ground that minors are

excluded, and foreigners who are presumed to be ignorant

of the nature and working of institutions under which

they have but recently come. It is true that many minors,

and many foreigners not naturalized, are better qualified

to exercise political rights, and so for what is sometimes

called political liberty, than many who do exercise those

rights; but where there is no absolute right society may,

and must, fix the best average limit it can. According to

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this, under institutions like ours, society would have a right

to say, as has been proposed, that no man should vote who

could not read. It may be expedient in given circumstances that such persons should vote, but they have no right.

It may be wrong that they should be permitted to do it.

Society cannot be bound to entrust its interests and destinies to ignorance, or chance, or passion.

Once more; if there be such relations established by God

that one portion of the community cannot take part in administering the government without injury to the ends of

society, then that portion may be excluded. It must be on

this ground, if upon any, that women are to be excluded

from the right of voting and holding office under our government. They cannot be excluded on the ground that

they are not interested in the welfare of the government,

or that they are incompetent. But it is never safe to violate any true instinct of humanity. There are some things

that depend not so much upon reasoning as upon sentiment and a felt propriety. When a country is invaded

and civil liberty is to be defended, it is not so much from

any laying down of principles and formal reasoning as from

a felt propriety that the women remain at home, while the

men go to the battle. In the same way, when civil liberty

is to be instituted and sustained, it may be from the same

felt propriety that men alone should be concerned in the

conflicts of public debate, and at the polls. It may be

that in her relations to man, when she is elevated to her

true position, God has made provision that her influence

shall as effectually reach a free government for good as if

she were immediately concerned in it; or if not, there

may be obstacles which would render it inexpedient that

she should have that power at present; and in either case

society would have the right to withhold it. Certainly, if

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DUTIES INVOLVED IN RIGHTS.

there be such relations established by God that one portion of the community cannot take part in the government without injury to society, then that portion may be

excluded. How far this may be the case in any particular

instance, each society must judge for itself, as it does upon