Sect. II. of First Truths in the Philosophy of the Moral Feelings
The knowledge which we receive through our intellectual powers is referable to two classes. These may be distinguished by the names of acquired knowledge, and intuitive or fundamental articles of belief. The former is procured by the active use of our mental powers, in collecting facts, tracing their relations, and observing the deductions which arise out of particular combinations of them. These constitute the operations which I have referred to in another work, under the heads of processes of investigation, and processes of reasoning. The full exercise of them requires a certain culture of the mental faculties, and consequently is confined to a comparatively small number of men. We perceive, however, that such culture is not essential to every individual,—for many are very deficient in it who yet are considered as persons of sound mind, and capable of discharging their duties in various situations of life in a creditable and useful manner.
But the knowledge which we derive from the other source is of immediate and essential importance to men of every degree; and, without it, no individual could engage, with confidence, in any of the common transactions of life, or make any provision for his protection or comfort, or even for the continuance of his existence. These are the principles also treated of, in a former work, under the name of First Truths. They are not, like our knowledge of the other kind, the result of any process either of investigation or of reasoning, and, for the possession of them, no man either depends upon his own observation, or has recourse to that of other men. They are a part of his mental constitution, arising, with a feeling of absolute certainty, in every sound mind; and, while they admit of no proof by processes of reasoning, sophistical objections brought against them can be combated only by an appeal to the consciousness of every man, and to the absolute conviction which forces itself upon the whole mass of mankind.
If the Creator has thus implanted in the mind of man principles to guide him in his intellectual and physical relations, independently of any acquired knowledge, we might naturally expect to find him endowed, in the same manner, with principles adapted to his more important relations as a moral being. We might naturally expect, that, in these high concerns, he would not be left to the knowledge which he might casually acquire, either through his own powers of investigation or reasoning, or through instruction received from other men. Impressions adapted to this important end we accordingly find developed in a remarkable manner,—and they are referable to that part of our constitution, which holds so important a place in the philosophy of the mind, by which we perceive differences in the moral aspect of actions, and approve or disapprove of them as right or wrong. The convictions derived from this source seem to occupy the same place in the moral system, that first truths, or intuitive articles of belief, do in the intellectual. Like them, also, they admit of no direct proofs by processes of reasoning; and, when sophistical arguments are brought against them, the only true answer consists in an appeal to the conscience of every uncontaminated mind;—by which we mean chiefly the consciousness of its own moral impressions, in a mind which has not been degraded in its moral perceptions by a course of personal depravity. This is a consideration of the utmost practical importance; and it will probably appear that many well-intended arguments, respecting the first principles of moral truth, have been inconclusive, in the same manner as were attempts to establish first truths by processes of reasoning,—because the line of argument adopted in regard to them was one of which they are not susceptible. The force of this analogy is in no degree weakened by the fact, that there is, in many cases, an apparent difference between that part of our mental constitution, on which is founded our conviction of first truths, and that principle from which is derived our impression of moral truth:—For the former continues the same in every mind which is neither obscured by idiocy nor distorted by insanity; but the moral feelings become vitiated by a process of the mind itself, by which it has gradually gone astray from rectitude. Hence the difference we find in the decisions of different men, respecting moral truth, arising from peculiarities in their own mental condition;—and hence that remarkable obscuration of mind, at which some men at length arrive, by which the judgment is entirely perverted respecting the first great principles of moral purity. When, therefore, we appeal to certain principles in the mental constitution, as the source of our first impressions of moral truth, our appeal is made chiefly to a mind which is neither obscured by depravity, nor bewildered by the refinements of a false philosophy:—it is made to a mind in which conscience still holds some degree of its rightful authority, and in which there is a sincere and honest desire to discover the truth. These two elements of character must go together in every correct inquiry in moral science; and, to a man in an opposite condition, we should no more appeal, in regard to the principles of moral truth, than we should take from the fatuous person or the maniac our test of those first principles of intellectual truth, which are allowed to be original elements of belief in every sound mind.
To remedy the evils arising from this diversity and distortion of moral perception, is one of the objects of divine revelation. By means of it there is introduced a fixed and uniform standard of moral truth; but, it is of importance to remark, that, for the authority of this, an appeal is made to principles in the mind itself, and that every part of it challenges the assent of the man in whom conscience has not lost its power in the mental economy.
Keeping in view the distinction which has now been referred to, it would appear, that there are certain first principles of moral truth, which arise in the mind by the most simple process of reflection,—either as constituting its own primary moral convictions, or as following from its consciousness of these convictions by a plain and obvious chain of relations. These are chiefly the following.
I. A perception of the nature and quality of actions, as just or unjust,—right or wrong;—and a conviction of certain duties, as of justice, veracity, and benevolence, which every man owes to his fellow-men. Every man, in his own case, again, expects the same offices from others; and, on this reciprocity of feeling, is founded the precept, which is felt to be one of universal obligation, to do to others as we would that they should do to us.
II. From this primary moral impression, there arises, by a most natural sequence, a conviction of the existence and superintendence of a great moral Governor of the universe,—a being of infinite perfection and infinite purity. A belief in this Being, as the first great cause, is derived, as we have formerly seen, by a simple step of reasoning, from a survey of the works of nature, taken in connexion with the First Truth, that every event must have an adequate cause. Our sense of his moral attributes arises, with a feeling of equal certainty, when, from the moral impressions of our own minds, we infer the moral attributes of him who thus formed us.
III. From these combined impressions, there naturally springs a sense of moral responsibility;—or a conviction, that, for the due performance of the duties which are indicated by the conscience, or moral consciousness, man is responsible to the Governor of the universe;—and farther, that to this Being he owes, more immediately, a certain homage of the moral feelings, entirely distinct from the duties which he owes to his fellow-men.
IV. From this chain of moral convictions, it is impossible to separate a deep impression of continued existence, or of a state of being beyond the present life,—and of that as a state of moral retribution.
The consideration of these important objects of belief will afterwards occur to us in various parts of our inquiry. They are briefly stated here, in reference to the place which they hold as First Truths, or primary articles of moral belief, which arise by a natural and obvious chain of sequence, in the moral conviction of every sound understanding. For the truth of them we appeal not to any process of reasoning, properly so called, but to the conviction which forces itself upon every regulated mind. Neither do we go abroad among savage nations, to inquire whether the impression of them be universal; for this may be obscured in communities, as it is in individuals, by a course of moral degradation. We appeal to the casuist himself, whether, in the calm moment of reflection, he can divest himself of their power. We appeal to the feelings of the man who, under the consciousness of guilt, shrinks from the dread of a present Deity and the anticipation of a future reckoning. But chiefly we appeal to the conviction of him, in whom conscience retains its rightful supremacy, and who habitually cherishes these momentous truths, as his guides in this life in its relation to the life that is to come.
In applying to these important articles of belief the name of First Truths, or primary principles of moral conviction, I do not mean to ascribe to them any thing of the nature of innate ideas. I mean only that they arise, with a rapid or instantaneous conviction entirely distinct from what we call a process of reasoning, in every regulated mind, when it is directed, by the most simple course of reflection, to the phenomena of nature without, and to the moral feelings of which it is conscious within. It appears to be a point of the utmost practical importance, that we should consider them as thus arising out of principles which form a part of our moral constitution; as it is in this way only that we can consider them as calculated to influence the mass of mankind. For, if we do not believe them to arise, in this manner, by the spontaneous exercise of every uncorrupted mind, there are only two methods by which we can suppose them to originate;—the one is a direct revelation from the Deity,—the other is a process of reasoning or of investigation, properly so called, analogous to that by which we acquire the knowledge of any principle in natural science. We cannot believe that they are derived entirely from revelation, because we find the belief existing where no revelation is known, and because we find the sacred writers appealing to them as sources of conviction existing in the mental constitution of every man. There is an obvious absurdity, again, in supposing that principles, which are to regulate the conduct of responsible beings, should be left to the chance of being unfolded by processes of reasoning, in which different minds may arrive at different conclusions, and in regard to which many are incapable of following out any argument at all. What is called the argument a priori for the existence and attributes of the Deity, for instance, conveys little that is conclusive to most minds, and to many is entirely incomprehensible. The same observation may be applied to those well-intended and able arguments, by which the probability of a future state is shewn from analogy and from the constitution of the mind. These are founded chiefly on three considerations,—the tendency of virtue to produce happiness, and of vice to be followed by misery,—the unequal distribution of good and evil in the present life,—and the adaptation of our moral faculties to a state of being very different from that in which we are at present placed. There is much in these arguments calculated to elevate our conceptions of our condition as moral beings, and of that future state of existence for which we are destined; and there is much scope for the highest powers of reasoning, in shewing the accordance of these truths with the soundest inductions of true philosophy. But, notwithstanding all their truth and all their utility, it may be doubted whether they are to any one the foundation of his faith in another state of being. It must be admitted, at least, that their force is felt by those only whose minds have been in some degree trained to habits of reasoning, and that they are therefore not adapted to the mass of mankind. But the truths which they are intended to establish are of eternal importance to men of every degree, and we should therefore expect them to rest upon evidence which finds its way with unerring aim to the hearts of the unlearned. The unanswerable reasonings of Butler never reached the ear of the gray-haired pious peasant, but he needs not their powerful aid to establish his sure and certain hope of a blessed immortality. It is no induction of logic that has transfixed the heart of the victim of deep remorse, when he withers beneath an influence unseen by human eye, and shrinks from the anticipation of a reckoning to come. In both, the evidence is within,—a part of the original constitution of every rational mind, planted there by him who framed the wondrous fabric. This is the power of conscience;—with an authority, which no man can put away from him, it pleads at once for his own future existence, and for the moral attributes of an omnipotent and ever-present Deity. In a healthy state of the moral feelings, the man recognises its claim to supreme dominion. Amid the degradation of guilt, it still raises its voice and asserts its right to govern the whole man; and, though its warnings are disregarded, and its claims disallowed, it proves within his inmost soul an accuser that cannot be stilled, and an avenging spirit that never is quenched.
Similar observations apply to the uniformity of moral distinctions, or the conviction of a certain line of conduct which man owes to his fellow-men. There have been many controversies and various contending systems in reference to this subject, but I submit that the question may be disposed of in the same manner as the one now mentioned. Certain fixed and defined principles of relative duty appear to be recognised by the consent of mankind, as an essential part of their moral constitution, by as absolute a conviction as that by which are recognised our bodily qualities. The hardened criminal, whose life has been a course of injustice and fraud, when at length brought into circumstances which expose him to the knowledge or the retribution of his fellow-men, expects from them veracity and justice, or perhaps even throws himself upon their mercy. He thus recognises such principles as a part of the moral constitution, just as the blind man, when he has missed his way, asks direction of the first person he meets,—presuming upon the latter possessing a sense which, though lost to him, he still considers as belonging to every sound man. In defending himself, also, the criminal shews the same recognition. For, his object is to disprove the alleged facts, or to frame excuses for his conduct;—he never attempts to question those universal principles by which he feels that his actions must be condemned, if the facts are proved against him. Without such principles, indeed, thus universally recognised, it is evident that the whole system of human things would go into confusion and ruin. Human laws may restrain or punish gross acts of violence and injustice; but they can never provide for numberless methods by which a man may injure his neighbour, or promote his own interest at the expense of others. There are, in fact, but a very few cases which can be provided for by any human institution; it is a principle within that regulates the whole moral economy. In its extent and importance, when compared with all the devices of man, it may be likened to those great principles which guide the movements of the universe, contrasted with the contrivances by which men produce particular results for their own convenience; and one might as well expect to move a planet by machinery, or propel a comet by the power of steam, as to preserve the semblance of order in the moral world, without those fundamental principles of rectitude which form a part of the original constitution of every rational being.
Farther, as each man has the consciousness of these principles in himself, he has the conviction that similar principles exist in others. Hence arises the impression, that, as he judges of their conduct by his own moral feelings, so will they judge of him by corresponding feelings in themselves. In this manner is produced that reciprocity of moral impression, by which a man feels the opinion of his fellow-men to be either a reward or a punishment; and hence also springs that great rule of relative duty, which teaches us to do to others as we would that they should do to us. This uniformity of moral feeling and affection even proves a check upon those who have subdued the influence of these feelings in themselves. Thus, a man who has thrown off all sense of justice, compassion, or benevolence, is still kept under a certain degree of control by the conviction of these impressions existing in those by whom he is surrounded. There are indeed men in the world, as has been remarked by Butler, in whom this appears to be the only restraint to which their conduct is subjected.
Upon the whole, therefore, there seems to be ground for assuming, that the articles of belief, which have been the subject of the preceding observations, are primary principles arising with an immediate feeling of conviction in our moral constitution; and that they correspond with those elements in our intellectual economy, which are commonly called First Truths,—principles which are now universally admitted to require no other evidence than the conviction which forces itself upon every sound understanding.