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around us, it is no time to look aloft. Goethe gives good advice: If perplexed by the many calls that are made upon us, and by conflicting rules of life, let us always do first the nearest duty; when this is finished, the others will already have become clearer.

The affections, like the desires, create a feeling of uneasiness and discontent in the absence of their respective objects, and prompt to exertion for the supply of the deficiency. The love of friends is a craving which makes itself more or less distinctly known according to the experience which we have had of companionship. "As the lamb," says an able writer, "when it strikes with the forehead while yet unarmed, proves that it is not its weapons which determine its instincts, but that it has preëxistent instincts suited to its weapons, so, when we see an animal deprived of the sight of its fellows cling to a stranger, or disarm by its caresses the rage of an enemy, we perceive the workings of a social instinct, not only not superinduced by external circumstances, but manifesting itself in spite of circumstances which are adverse to its operation. The same remark may be extended to man; when in solitude he languishes, and, by making companions of the lower animals, or by attaching himself to inanimate objects, strives to fill up the void of which he is conscious." The feeling is blind, indeed; instinct in animals, and reason in man, alone can supply the means of satisfying the want; but we know that there is a want, and that the uneasiness will remain till it is gratified.

A still more striking instance of this truth may be found in the religious sentiment, to which I have already often alluded. Man is created with a capacity and inclination for worship, with a deep feeling of veneration, which finds no appropriate object on which to expend itself among the persons and things with whom he is associated on earth, but constantly seeks for such an object, and usually finds it, in the conception of some spiritual existence higher and holier than any created being. From this fact alone can we explain the endless variety of religious systems which have obtained in the world, no nation or race having ever been

discovered which had no form of religious worship. The savage makes his idol of a block or stone. The half-enlightened barbarian finds a Divinity all around him, and peoples the mountains, the streams, and the forests with their attendant deities. When more cultivated, his thirst for knowledge leads him to study the heavens, and the sun, moon, and stars become his gods. Finally, whether as the last triumph of the unaided intellect or by special revelation, the sublime doctrine of monotheism is preached to the world, and calls forth the purest form and highest degree of reverence of which the human heart is capable.

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LECTURE IV.

THE NATURE AND FUNCTIONS OF CONSCIENCE.

I ENDEAVOURED to show, in my last Lecture, from a comparison of the human faculties with those of the brutes, that discipline or self-development is the great end of our existence upon earth; mere enjoyment, or the conscious gratification of desire, being only a secondary aim. The prevalence of law, or the uniformity of causation, in the material universe is not intended merely to uphold and continue this universe, an object which might be accomplished far more easily and directly, — but to operate as a means for this education of man; that is, to guide the conduct of a being who is not, like the brutes, conducted blindfold and unconsciously to the performance of every work that is necessary for the continuation and welfare of his species, but is rendered capable, through free-will, judgment, and forethought, of acting for himself. An examination of the lower motive powers of the human mind-the appetites, affections, and desires was intended to prove that they are mere blind impulses, or springs of activity, differing from each other in strength, but having regard only to their own immediate gratification; the objects of them being sought invariably as ends, not as So far as man is under their guidance, he has no superiority over the other orders of the animal creation. Prudence, or self-love, is the first element of his intellectual being; the office of this faculty is to restrain the primitive impulses and desires, to ascertain the relative importance of the ends towards

means.

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which they are directed, and thus to subject the lower to the higher, and to make all of them conduce to the working out of that scheme of happiness, or general well-being, which has been devised by the intellect.

Here, then, man first appears in his distinctive character as a rational being. He is not yet a moral one. His own happiness is the highest end that is yet in view, and all things are judged or estimated by their relative fitness to promote this single object. They are compared with each other, not as good or evil, but as expedient or injurious. The desires and affections are not considered in themselves, or with reference to their inherent character, but are viewed only indirectly, through the outward consequences which will result from their indulgence. There is room enough for the exercise of free-will, even if we look only to these external results. The immediate impulse, or passion of the moment, which always determines the action of the brute, is checked or restrained by man till he can see the probable effect of giving way to it. At least, this is what he is capable of doing, and what he must do, if he would exercise those prerogatives of his nature through which alone he is placed at the head of the animal creation.

But is this all? Have we completed the description of human nature, when man is made to appear as a being endowed with reason and foresight, free to act, and able to learn through experience what actions will most effectually promote his present and future happiness? The consciousness of every individual will answer, that it is not all; that there is an element of our nature which excels prudence more than prudence excels animal instinct or passion. This principle extends its jurisdiction over our whole being, claiming authority to control and subdue the promptings of self-love as absolutely as it overrules the appetites and desires. By the side of prudence, or above it, it introduces the novel conception of duty, or moral obligation; over personal happiness, as an object of effort and a guide to action, it places the idea of absolute right. Putting aside the consideration of external things, it erects its throne in the soul of man, and judges,

not the outward act, but the motives and intentions which lead to it and constitute its moral character. Dealing thus exclusively with conceptions of the intellect, or pure ideas, all contingency or uncertainty disappears from its decisions, and the sentence. which it pronounces is as unchangeable as the purposes of the Almighty. It supplies the medium and the standard of judgment through which we regard our own conduct and that of our fellowbeings, and form our notions of the attributes of God. Here, then, is the proper foundation of Natural Religion. Natural Theology, which is the product of the intellect, makes us acquainted with the being and the natural attributes of the Deity, such as his infinite duration, power, and wisdom, merely as facts of science, or truths for contemplation. Natural Religion, proceeding from conscience, makes known to us his moral nature, his purposes and will, and so terminates, not in knowledge, but in

action.

It is difficult to explain the nature and functions of conscience without seeming to dwell on mere truisms, or to adopt an abstruse and technical phraseology, which will tend rather to confuse than to rectify our notions of the subject. The terms expressive of moral distinctions, and of our feelings in regard to them, have so passed into common use as an integral part of all languages, and we have so frequent occasion for them both in writing and conversation, that it is not an easy task to call attention to the fundamental facts in our constitution which they signify, or to imagine what the nature of man would be, or how it would appear, if it were suddenly deprived of the moral faculty altogether, so that these words and phrases should no longer convey any intelligible meaning. Yet this is what is necessary to be done before we can gain a clear conception of the office of conscience, or of the nature of the addition which it makes to the merely animal and the merely intellectual part of our being. To analyze or otherwise describe the ideas of right and wrong is quite as difficult as to furnish correct and lucid definitions of the particles, or connecting links of speech, which we learn to apply, through long experience, with great precision, though their very common

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