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main-spring is too powerful; but we would never say that a regulator is too powerful.' Just as a watch cannot move too regularly, man cannot walk too conscientiously.' . . . ' Conscience is the rightful sovereign in man; and if any other, in the character of a ruling passion, be the actual sovereign, it is an usurper. In the former case, the mind is felt to be in its proper and well-conditioned state; in the latter case, it is felt to be in a state of anarchy. Yet even in that anarchy, conscience, though despoiled of its authority, still lifts its remonstrating claims. Though deprived of its rights, it continues to assert them.'1

The great importance of these observations to a right understanding of the moral nature of man, will force itself on the conviction of every reflecting mind. We are not to regard conscience as one among our faculties, undistinguished from the rest, but as the chief of them all—as a faculty to which the rest must bow down and pay the homage of obedience-as formed not to submit, but to govern-not to follow where the impulse of passion, or of selfishness, or of interest, may lead the way, but to hold all these in chains, and to make them attend her footsteps and obey her will. If this supremacy be not maintained, the whole

1 Works, vol. i. p. 311. Quotations corroborating the views of the distinguished writers above referred to, might be multiplied from the pages of Reid, Stewart, Whewell, Sedgwick, Abercrombie, and others, but it is needless. The reader who wishes to enter more largely into the question will scarcely need to be informed, that he must diligently consult the ethical treatises of these authors.

D

moral mechanism is in disorder.

No man can act

rightly, who in any thing acts against his conscience; not because conscience is itself incapable of going wrong, for this is not the case; but because conscience has a right to rule, and to resist her authority, is to transgress the first law of our moral nature.

A question of some difficulty naturally arises out of this remark, which will require attention: Whether, if conscience enjoins what is wrong, we are still under obligation to yield to its authority?' The discussion of this question is reserved for a future chapter; in which we shall endeavour to shew, that though the plea of conscience forms no justification of an act in itself culpable, yet no man is at liberty to decline acting according to the dictates of his conscience. He may do wrong in obeying his inward monitor; he cannot but do wrong in rejecting its authority.

The practical conclusion to be drawn from what has been stated is; first, that we attend diligently to the cultivation of our moral faculty, and then that we yield implicit obedience to all its dictates. Whatever other powers or propensities of our nature may strive to gain our ear, we must refer all their pleadings to the superior bar of conscience. Appetite may urge its claims, but they are not to be conceded, till our inward monitor has pronounced them just. Passion may stimulate us to revenge for some imagined wrong; but her storm must be hushed by the "still small voice"

within, which is the echo of the voice of God himself. Ambition may impel to adventurous deeds, but the impulse must be unheeded, till the free, honest, and unbought suffrage of conscience has been obtained. Self-love may suggest some course of conduct which shall be of apparent advantage; but before the question is asked, whether the proposed conduct be profitable? there is a prior question which self-love cannot answer, but which must be left to conscience; Is it right?'

Should we in any degree neglect the precaution here suggested, we shall lay the foundation for future regret, sorrow and remorse; we gain, perhaps, the gratification of a moment, by sacrificing the peace of a whole life; but the transient pleasures of sense, will prove a poor compensation for the loss of that equanimity which a well regulated state of the affections produces; the unholy indulgence, and the questionable satisfaction of a revengeful spirit, are dearly bought by the sacrifice of that true magnanimity which glories in passing by a transgression, and in exercising the godlike power of overcoming injuries by forgiveness; ambition may be feasted, while conscience is wounded; wealth and influence may be acquired, but all the happiness they promise will be lost, if a good conscience be sacrificed in the eager chase of "uncertain riches." If we depress conscience by opposing her just claims, or by trampling on her paramount authority, we subject ourselves unwittingly to tyrants who have neither skill, nor

honesty, nor right to govern; we become the slaves of masters who never ought to have been raised above the condition of servants, and who are capable of no other employment of authority than its abuse. And what other result can be expected, than that we should prove like "the troubled sea, when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt?" The truth of these observations will perhaps be generally admitted; they will however, receive ample confirmation in the progress of our inquiry into the remaining offices of conscience, as well as in that part of our treatise which will be devoted to a consideration, not so much of the right which conscience claims to govern the mind, as of the power it actually possesses,-in every possible variety of circumstances, and over every class of human beings,— to check where it cannot guide, and punish where it cannot correct.1

'See chapters viii. and x.

CHAPTER VI.

ON THE APPROVING AND DISAPPROVING POWER, AND ON THE JUDICIAL OFFICE OF CONSCIENCE.

The place which the emotions hold in the exercises of conscience.They always accompany our moral judgments.-Reid.-Hodge.Brown.-Judicial character of conscience.-Taylor.-Charnocke.Past conduct regarded in reference to its moral character.-Memory revived.-Remorse awakened.-Future judgment anticipated.Divine appeals all made to conscience.-Teachers of morals have neglected this mode. And teachers of religion have too little attended to it.

THE offices already assigned to our moral faculty are those which might chiefly be reduced to exercises of reason and of judgment. But it is plain that the emotions also enter deeply into the essence of this faculty; so deeply in truth, that some writers have excluded from the notion of conscience, the power of judging between right and wrong, and have confined it to the mere susceptibility of the emotions of approbation and disapprobation, on a review of the moral demerit or excellence of our conduct. The true method, however, of explaining this faculty is to combine the judgment of the understanding with the emo