A similar chain of sequences is to be observed respecting the operation of those great truths, which, under the regulating power of conscience, are calculated to act as moral causes in our mental economy;—we may take, for example, the truths relating to the character and perfections of the Deity, and the influence which these ought to produce upon every rational being. We have seen the knowledge which we derive from the light of nature respecting the attributes of God, when, from his works around us, we discover him as a being of infinite power, wisdom, and goodness; and when, from the moral impressions of our own minds, we infer his perfections as a moral Governor of infinite holiness, justice, and truth. By a proper direction of the mind to the truths which are thus conveyed to us respecting the Deity, there would naturally arise a corresponding chain of emotions of which he is the object. These are a sense of veneration towards him, as infinitely great, wise, and powerful,—of love and thankfulness, as infinitely good,—and of habitual regard to his authority and will, as a moral governor of purity and justice, and as requiring a corresponding character in all his creatures. A close and constant relation ought to be preserved between these truths and these emotions, and on this depends the moral harmony of the mind. The preservation of this harmony, again, is intimately connected with a mental process which every man feels to be voluntary,—or in his power to perform, if he wills. It consists in a careful direction of the mind to such truths, so as to enable them to act as moral causes in the mental economy:—by the established order of moral sequences, the emotions naturally follow:—these are then to be cherished with satisfaction and reverence; and a corresponding influence upon the character and conduct is the farther consequence. But the first step in this important process may be neglected;—the mind may not be directed with due care to the truths which thus claim its highest regard,—and the natural result is a corresponding deficiency in the emotions and conduct which ought to flow from them. This will be the case in a still higher degree, if there has been formed any actual derangement of the moral condition,—if deeds have been committed, or even desires cherished, and mental habits acquired, by which the indications of conscience have been violated. The moral harmony of the mind is then lost, and, however slight may be the first impression, a morbid influence has begun to operate in the mental economy, which tends gradually to gain strength, until it becomes a ruling principle in the whole character. The truths connected with the divine perfections are now neither invited nor cherished, but are felt to be intruders which disturb the mental tranquillity. The attention ceases to be directed to them, and the corresponding emotions vanish from the mind. Such appears to be the moral history of those, who, in the striking language of the sacred writings, "do not like to retain God in their knowledge."
When the harmony of the mind has been impaired to this extent, another mental condition arises, according to the wondrous system of moral sequences. This consists in a distortion of the understanding itself, regarding the first great principles of moral truth. For, a fearless contemplation of the truth, respecting the divine perfections, having become inconsistent with the moral condition of the mind, there next arises a desire to discover a view of them more in accordance with its own feelings. This is followed, in due course, by a corresponding train of its own speculations; and these, by a mind so prepared, are received as truth. The inventions of the mind itself thus become the regulating principles of its emotions, and this mental process, advancing from step to step, terminates in moral degradation and anarchy.
Nothing can be more striking than the manner in which these great principles of ethical science are laid down in the sacred writings;—"the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse: Because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened. Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools; and changed the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and four-footed beasts, and creeping things."—"And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient." The various steps, in this course of moral degradation, are here represented as a judicial infliction by the Deity. But this solemn view of the subject is in no degree inconsistent with the principle, that it takes place according to a chain of sequences existing in the mind itself. For the Almighty One, who is said to inflict as a judgment this state of moral ruin, is the same who established it as the uniform result of a process in the mental economy, to be traced in the history of every man who has followed the downward course which led him astray from virtue.
To the principles which have now been stated, we are also to refer a point in the philosophy of human nature which presents a subject of most interesting reflection. I allude to the fact, that the great truths of religious belief are so often rejected, by men who have acquired a reputation for exalted powers of understanding in other departments of intellectual inquiry. The fact is one of intense interest; and we can scarcely wonder that superficial observers should have deduced from it an impression, that it implies something defective in the evidence by which these truths are proposed to our reception. But the conclusion is entirely unwarranted, and the important principle cannot be too often repeated, that the attainment of truth in moral inquiries is essentially connected with the moral condition of the inquirer. On this depends the anxious care with which he has directed his mind to the high pursuit, under a deep and solemn feeling of its supreme importance. On this depends the sincere and humble and candid love of truth with which he has conducted it, apart alike from prejudice and frivolity. For without these essential elements of character, the most exalted intellect may fail of reaching the truth,—the most acute understanding may only wander into delusion and falsehood.
Before concluding this subject, there is another point which deserves to be alluded to;—namely, the influence produced upon all our moral judgments and decisions by Attention. This important process of the mind we have had occasion to mention in various parts of our inquiry. It consists, as we have seen, in directing the thoughts, calmly and deliberately, to all the facts and considerations by which we ought to be influenced in the particular case which is under our view; and it should be accompanied by an anxious and sincere desire to be guided, both in our opinions and conduct, by the true and relative tendency of each of them. It is a voluntary process of the mind which every man has the power to perform; and on the degree in which it is habitually exercised, depend some of the great differences between one man and another in their moral condition. We have repeatedly had occasion to mention that morbid state of the mind, in which moral causes seem to have lost their proper influence, both on the volitions of the will, and even on the conclusions of the judgment:—But it is a truth which cannot be too often referred to, how much this condition is influenced by the mental process which we are now considering. It originates, indeed, in some degree of that distortion of moral feeling, in consequence of which the inclinations wander from the strict path of rectitude;—but the primary effect of this loss of mental harmony, and that by which it is perpetuated, appears to be chiefly a habitual misdirection of the attention,—or a total want of consideration of the truths and motives, by which the moral judgments and decisions ought to be influenced. Apart from this condition of the mind, indeed, there is reason to believe, that the actual differences in moral judgment are in different men less than we are apt to imagine. "Let any honest man," says Butler, "before he engages in any course of action, ask himself,—is this I am going to do right, or is it wrong,—is it good, or is it evil:—I do not in the least doubt but that these questions would be answered agreeably to truth and virtue, by almost any fair man in almost any circumstances." It is in a great measure from the want of this simple exercise of attention, or of what in common language we call calm reflection, that men are led away, by passion, prejudice, and distorted moral habits, into courses of action which their own sober judgment would condemn;—and when a man, who has thus departed from rectitude, begins to retrace his way, the first great point is that where he pauses in his downward career, and seriously proposes to himself the question, whether the course he has followed be worthy of a moral being. I allude not here to the means by which a man is led to take this momentous step in his moral history, but only to the mental process of which it consists. It is primarily nothing more than an exercise of attention, calmly and deliberately directed to the truths and considerations by which his moral decisions ought to be influenced; but, when a man has once been brought into this attitude of deep and serious thought, conscience comes to bear its part in the solemn process; and the inquirer is likely to arrive at just conclusions on those great questions of which he feels the importance to his moral condition.
It is on the principles now referred to, that, according to a doctrine which has been often and keenly controverted, we hold a man to be responsible for his belief. The state of mind which constitutes belief is, indeed, one over which the will has no direct power. But belief depends upon evidence;—the result of even the best evidence is entirely dependant on attention;—and attention is a voluntary intellectual state over which we have a direct and absolute control. As it is, therefore, by prolonged and continued attention that evidence produces belief, a man may incur the deepest guilt by his disbelief of truths which he has failed to examine with the care which is due to them. This exercise is entirely under the control of the will; but the will to exercise it respecting moral truth is closely connected with the love of that truth; and this is intimately dependent on the state of moral feeling of the mind. It is thus that a man's moral condition influences the conclusions of his judgment;—and it is thus, that on the great questions of moral truth, there may be guilt attached to a process of the understanding, while there is both guilt and moral degradation in that mental condition from which it springs.
A similar relation exists, as was formerly stated, between all our moral emotions, and processes which are felt to be entirely voluntary. These emotions are, properly speaking, not the objects of volition, nor do they arise directly at our bidding; but, according to the constitution of the mind, they are the natural or established result of certain intellectual processes, and, in some sense, even of bodily action, both of which are entirely voluntary. The emotions of compassion and benevolence, for example, are the natural result of the sight or even the description of scenes of distress; and the primary steps in this process are entirely within our power to perform, if we will. We can visit the afflicted family, listen to their tale of distress, and consider their circumstances,—that is, give our attention to them in such a manner that the natural and proper effect may be produced upon our moral feelings. We can give the same kind of attention, and with a similar result, to a case which is only described to us by another; or we may neglect all this mental process. Engrossed with the business or the frivolities of life, we may keep ourselves at a distance from the persons and the scenes that might operate in this manner on our moral feelings;—we may refuse to listen to the tale of sorrow, or, if compelled to hear it, we may give it little attention and no consideration. The moral feeling does not follow, and this course, after a certain repetition, terminates in confirmed and barren selfishness. We see many instances in which we distinctly recognise this course of mental or moral sequence. If, in regard to a particular case of distress, for example, we have come to a deliberate conviction of the worthlessness of the individual, and have determined to withhold our aid, we refuse to see him, and we decline hearing from another any thing more of his history;—we say, we have made up our mind not to allow our compassion to be any more worked upon in his favour. We thus recognise the natural relation between the sight or even the description of distress, and the production of certain feelings in ourselves:—and we recognise also the legitimate means for preventing this influence in certain cases, in which, by a deliberate act of judgment, we have determined against having these feelings excited. If, notwithstanding this determination, we happen to be brought within the influence of the distress which we wished to avoid, we consider this as a sufficient ground for acting, in the instance, against our sober judgment. We had determined against it, we say, but what can you do when you see people starving. We thus recognise as legitimate that process by which, in certain cases, we keep ourselves beyond this influence; but we attach no feeling of approbation to the moral condition of him who, being subjected to the influence, can resist it; that is, who can really come into contact with distress, and shut his heart against it. And even with regard to the course which we here recognise as legitimate, much caution is required, before we allow a process of the judgment to interfere with the natural and healthy course of the moral feelings. If the interference arises, not from a sound process of the understanding, but from a course in which selfishness bears a considerable part, an injurious influence upon the moral condition of the mind is the necessary consequence. We thus perceive that, in the chain of sequences relating to the benevolent feelings, there are three distinct steps,—two of which are entirely under the control of the will. A man has it entirely in his power to place himself in contact with objects of distress, and to follow out the call of duty in considering their circumstances, and entering into their feelings. The natural result is a train of emotions which arise in his own mind, prompting him to a particular line of conduct. To act upon these emotions is again under the power of his will; and if the whole of this chain of sequences be duly followed, the result is a sound condition of this part of the moral economy. If either of the voluntary steps be neglected or violated, the mental harmony is lost, and a habit is formed of unfeeling selfishness.
The principle, which has thus been illustrated by the benevolent affections, is equally true of our other moral emotions. These emotions are closely connected with certain truths, which are calculated to give use to them, according to the constitution of our moral economy. Now, the careful acquisition of the knowledge of these truths, and a serious direction of the attention to their tendencies, are intellectual processes which are as much under the power of our will, as are the acts of visiting and giving attention to scenes of distress; and the due cultivation of them involves an equal degree of moral responsibility. This again is connected with the remarkable power which we possess over the succession of our thoughts. We can direct the mind into a particular train; we can continue it and dwell upon it with calm and deliberate attention, so that the truths, which it brings before us, may produce their natural and proper effect on our moral feelings. The emotions thus excited lead to a certain line of conduct, which also is voluntary; and on the due cultivation of this chain of sequences depends a healthy moral condition. But we may neglect those parts of the sequence which are under the control of our will. We may abstain from directing our attention to such truths; we may view them in a slight, frivolous, or distorted manner, or we may dismiss them altogether; and if any degree of the emotions should be excited, we may make no effort towards the cultivation of the conduct to which they would lead us. The due cultivation of this power over the succession of our thoughts, is that which constitutes one of the great differences between one man and another, both as intellectual and moral beings;—and, though correct moral emotions are not properly the objects of volition, it is thus that a man may incur the deepest moral guilt in the want of them.
The subject also leads to conclusions of the greatest importance respecting the principles on which we ought to conduct religious instruction, particularly in regard to the cultivation of religious emotions. It reminds us of the important law of our nature, that all true cultivation of religious emotion must be founded upon a sound culture of the understanding in the knowledge of religious truth, and a careful direction of the powers of reasoning and judging, both to its evidences and its tendencies. All impulse that does not arise in this manner can be nothing more than an artificial excitement of feeling, widely different from the emotion of a regulated mind. Such a system generates wild enthusiasm;—and the principle is of peculiar and essential importance in the education of the young. In then susceptible minds religious emotion is easily produced, and, by a particular management, may be fostered for a time. But those who have been trained in this manner are little qualified to meet the collisions of active life, and we need not wonder if they should make shipwreck of a faith which has not been founded in knowledge.