the God who dethroned his father, and died without a murmur by the hand of his own. The most contemptible divinities were served by the greatest men. The holy voice of nature, stronger than that of the gods, made itself heard and respected and obeyed on earth, and seemed to banish to the confines of heaven, guilt and the guilty." Quoted by Dr. Brown, Lecture 75.

2. Again, the objection has been made in another form. It is said, that savages violate, without remorse or compunction, the plainest principles of right. Such is the case when they are guilty of revenge and licentiousness.

This objection has been partly considered before. It may, however, be added,

First. No men nor any class of men violate every moral precept without compunction; without the feeling of guilt, and the consciousness of desert of punishment.

Second. Hence the objection will rather prove the existence of a defective or imperfect conscience, than that no such faculty exists. The same objection would prove us destitute of taste or of understanding; because these faculties exist, in an imperfect state, among savages and uncultivated men.

3. It has been objected again, that if we suppose this faculty to exist, it is after all useless; for if a man please to violate it, and to suffer the pain, then this is the end of the question, and, as Dr. Paley says, "the moral instinct man has nothing more to offer."

To this it may be answered:

The objection proceeds upon a mistake respecting the function of Conscience. Its use is, to teach us to discern our moral obligations, and to impel us towards the corresponding

action. It is not pretended, by the believers in a moral sense, that man may not, after all, do as he chooses. All that is contended for is, that he is constituted with such a faculty, and that the possession of it is necessary to his moral accountability. It is in his power to obey it or to disobey it, just as he pleases. The fact that a man may obey or disobey conscience, no more proves that it does not exist, than the fact, that he sometimes does, and sometimes does not obey passion, proves that he is destitute of passion.

SECTION II.

OF THE MANNER IN WHICH THE DECISION OF CONSCIENCE IS EXPRESSED.

Whoever will attentively observe the operations of his own mind, when deciding upon a moral question, and when carrying that decision into effect, will, I think, be conscious of several distinct forms of moral feeling. These I suppose to be the following:

I. Suppose we are deliberating, respecting an action, before performing it.

1. If we pause, and candidly consider the nature of an action, which involves, in any respect, our relations with others; amidst the various qualities which characterize the action, we shall not fail to perceive its moral quality. We may perceive it to be gratifying or self-denying, courteous or uncivil, in favor of or against our interest; but, distinct from all these, and differing from them all, we may always perceive, that it seems to us to be either right or wrong. Let a man recollect any of the cases in his own history, in which he has been called to act under important responsi

and he will easily remember, both the fact, and the

distress produced by the conflict of these opposite

impulsions. It is scarcely necessary to remark, that we easily, or, at least, with much greater ease, perceive this quality in the actions of others. We discern the mote in our brother's eye, much sooner than the beam in our own eye.

2. Besides this discriminating power, I think we may readily observe a distinct impulse to do that which we conceive to be right, and to leave undone that which we conceive to be wrong. This impulse we express by the words, ought, and ought not. Thus, we say it is right to tell the truth; and I ought to tell it. It is wrong to tell a lie; and I ought not to tell it. Ought, and ought not, seem to convey the abstract idea of right and wrong, together with the other notion of impulsion to do, or not to do, a particular action. Thus, we use it always to designate a motive to action, as we do passion, or self-love, or any other motive power. If we are asked, why we performed any action, we reply, we acted thus, because it gratified our desires, or because it was for our interest upon the whole, or because we felt that we ought to act thus. Either of them is considered sufficient to account for the fact; that is, either of them explains the motive or impulse, in obedience to which we acted. It is, also, manifest, that we use the term, not merely to designate an impulse, but, also, an obligation to act in conformity with it. Thus, we say we ought to do a thing, meaning, that we are not only impelled towards the action, but that we are under an imperative obligation to act thus. This is still more distinctly seen, when we speak of another. When we say, of a friend, that he ought to do any thing, as we cannot judge of the impulses which move him, we refer, principally, to this conviction of obligation, which, above every other, should govern him.

The power of this impulse of conscience, is most distinctly seen, when it comes into collision with the impulse. of strong and vehement passion. It is then, that the human soul is agitated to the full extent of its capacity for

emotion. And this contest generally continues, specially if we have decided in opposition to conscience, until the action is commenced. The voice of conscience is then lost amid the whirlwind of passion; and it is not heard until after the deed is done. It is on this account, that this state of mind is frequently selected by the poets, as a subject for delineation. Shakspeare frequently alludes to all these offices of conscience with the happiest effect.

The constant monitory power of conscience is thus illustrated, by one of the murderers about to assassinate the Duke of Clarence: "I'll not meddle with it, (conscience,) it is a dangerous thing; it makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a man cannot, swear, but it checks him. "Tis a blushing, shame-faced spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom: it fills one full of obstacles. It made me once restore a purse of gold, that, by chance, I found. It beggars any man that keeps it." Richard III., Act i. Sc. 4. The whole scene is a striking exemplification of the workings of conscience, even in the bosoms of the most abandoned of men. The wicked Clarence appeals to the consciences of his murderers; and they strengthen themselves against his appeals, by referring to his own. atrocities, and thus awakening in their own bosoms the conviction that he ought to die.

The state of mind of a man meditating a wicked act, and the temporary victory of conscience, is seen in the following extract from Macbeth. He recalls the relations in which Duncan stood to him, and these produce so strong a conviction of the wickedness of the murder, that he decides not to commit it.

"If the assassination

Could trammel up the consequence, and catch,
With his surcease, success; that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here,
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,-

We'd jump the life to come.-But, in these cases,
We still have judgment here; that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague the inventor. This even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice
To our own lips. He's here in double trust:
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,
Strong both against the dead; then, as his host,
Who should against his murderer shut the door,
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear in his great office, that his virtues
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against
The deep damnation of his taking off.

*

I have no spur

To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself."

Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 7.

The anguish which attends upon an action not yet commenced, but only resolved upon, while we still doubt of its lawfulness, is finely illustrated by the same author, in the case of Brutus, who, though a man of great fortitude, was by the anguish of contending emotions deprived of sleep, and so changed in behaviour, as to give his wife reason to suspect the cause of his disquietude:

"Since Cassius first did whet me against Cæsar,

I have not slept.

Between the acting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream:
The genius, and the mortal instruments,
Are then in council; and the state of man,
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection."

J. Cæsar, Act ii. Sc. 1.

The same contest between conscience and the lower propensities, is, as I suppose, graphically described by the Apostle Paul, in the seventh chapter of his Epistle to the Romans.