posted 3 Mar 2014, 14:58 by Stephen Chaffer


THE following definition of Conscience seems to be sanctioned by an eminent writer[1]:—A native tendency in the mind of man to contemplate the actions of himself and others, united to a susceptibility of deriving pleasure or dissatisfaction from the perception of them as moral or immoral.

This definition, although so framed as to include everything which seems to be known with certainty on the subject, is nevertheless considered by many as liable to controversy. Some would object to conscience being called a native tendency of the mind, and maintain that it should be considered as an acquired capability. Others allow, that man really possesses such an original capability, but contend that it approves or condemns actions, not according as they are right or wrong in themselves, but according as mankind are taught by education so to consider them. It is evident that each of these several opinions cannot be correct, and no less so, that it is highly desirable to ascertain which of them is so; not only upon the general principle that correct ideas on all topics are to be preferred, [[iv]] but also because of the difference in the practical consequences which attend each of these theories.

If the theory stated in the definition be admitted, our views of the moral nature of man will be greatly elevated. We must thenceforward regard him as showing from his construction, that he was intended by his Creator for the highest species of moral agency; that he was designed to act not merely according to the supposed effect of his conduct upon society, but agreeably to the intrinsic and immutable nature of truth. His responsibility would at the same time seem to be greatly enhanced by the possession of a susceptibility, which enables him to discern whether an action be right or wrong with as much precision as the palate of his mouth enables him to distinguish sweetness from bitterness. It would also follow, that moral instruction should be greatly conducted with a view to it; and that instead of the modern mode of estimating the qualities of an action by forming an estimate of its expediency, we should with ancient moralists make our appeal to the preference or dislike of our inward emotions.

They who adopt the opinion that conscience is an acquired capability, must admit the conclusion, that the moral part of our constitution is comparatively destitute of guidance.

The reception of the third theory, that the susceptibility is original, but depends for its application on accidental circumstances, will conduct to consequences nearly similar, since the difference is but little between not possessing an instinct and possessing an instinct not determined to its object.

It may be allowed to examine and reply to the [[v]] objections brought to show that the principle called conscience is an acquired property of the mind, to offer some considerations which would render the opposite opinion the most probable, and then to urge the direct arguments by which it seems to be supported. This endeavour may the more readily be admitted, since the ensuing treatise contains no information upon the nature of conscience, but simply describes its emotions when distressed, and the method of assuaging them by applying the truths of the gospel.

1. The objections urged to show that conscience is not an original faculty of the human mind communicated to it by the Creator, but acquired by our circumstances, are of the following nature:—

That if it were so, its effects would be uniform; that we should consequently observe all mankind entertaining the same feelings towards the same actions, and therefore pursuing the same conduct. Instead however of this similarity, we may learn from histories and travels that there is not a single crime, which has not been publicly countenanced in some age or country. Theft, which is considered as dishonourable and worthy of punishment by most nations, was not only tolerated but even encouraged at Sparta. In this country it is deemed meritorious to maintain aged and indigent parents, and no less so in North America to kill them out of the way. Suicide itself, which is usually thought in Christian countries to be so hopeless and atrocious a crime, has had its advocates among the ancient philosophers. Humane treatment of captives is regarded as honourable and virtuous in this quarter of the globe, and not less so by a wild [[vi]] American to destroy them by the slowest and most inhuman tortures.

That even among ourselves we may hear the same act applauded or censured, tolerated or disallowed, according to the circle of the society in which we may move.

That this variety and even opposition observable in the sentiments of mankind, seem little to favour the supposition that we possess a native perception of the difference of actions.[2]

The validity of these instances is acknowledged, and also that they might be indefinitely multiplied. Upon a more minute investigation, however, they will be found less applicable to the purpose for which they are adduced than might at first be expected. It is replied, that these contrarieties are to be ascribed not to the absence of a moral instinct in the mind of man, but to some peculiar advantage supposed to attend them, which attracts the mind aside from its natural action. Thus when a Spartan considered theft in the abstract, as the possession of another's property against his will, and as attended with no other consequence than the production of so much evil, it might suggest exactly the same emotions in his mind as it would do in the mind of a respectable Englishman. Let the Spartans, however, be induced to believe, that, owing to the character and power of their oppressors, to secrete and carry off property with agility would be a useful qualification, and we can understand haw theft itself for the sake of this supposed advantage might [[vii]] seem allowable, and even become a branch of education among the Lacedemonians. The same distinction will reconcile the conduct of the American savages consistently with the existence of a moral sense. The general accounts given of this custom represent it as a religious ceremony. The power of superstition is well known to be in proportion to the ignorance of the human mind. In the mind of these savages adherence to ancient customs or the imitation of their deities might possibly operate so strongly as to overcome the suggestion of natural conscience. Suicide also may fallaciously seem to be palliated or even rendered allowable by the peculiarity of circumstances. The impulse of revenge may overcome the suggestions of conscience so far as to permit the horrible treatment of their enemies by the New Zealanders, who nevertheless would feel as we should in reference to killing and devouring a friend or fellow-countryman. In these, and perhaps all similar instances, it is easy to discover some advantage which is supposed to attend the action, and for the sake of which the mind becomes (improperly) reconciled to it, whereas it would have instantly rejected it if contemplated without it. If instances could be adduced in which mankind have acted in opposition to the obvious dictates of morality uninfluenced by some such consideration, then the existence of conscience as an original sense would be opposed by an unanswerable objection. But where was it ever known that nations or individuals allowed or abetted theft as an act unconnected with the supposed advantage of themselves or others? Where is the tribe who destroy their aged parents as an action indifferent in its consequence upon their own happiness? Where is the [[viii]] writer that ever advocated suicide as allowable, when considered in itself?

These, then, and similar cases fail, when urged as objections against the doctrine, that conscience is an original principle, because they do not result from the simple action of our emotions, but from them when perturbed and biased by adequate causes.

The consideration of these perturbing causes has given rise however to another objection, urged by no less an authority than Mr. Locke. The substance of it is, that it is highly unreasonable to suppose that any law of nature, for such this representation of conscience would render it, should thus become liable to interruption.

It is replied, that this objection does not include sufficient regard to the nature of man as a moral agent. The laws which relate to the moral part of man's nature are different from those by which the material world is governed. The latter are probably no less efficient now than at the creation, but the character of man as a free agent renders it likely that his powers both of body and of mind should be liable to be affected by his own voluntary conduct. It is further urged, that the objection overlooks the fact, that other unquestionable instincts of our nature may be similarly affected. Self-preservation will surely be ranked among them; and yet it is evident that it is liable to become altogether counteracted. “Whatever cheapens life abates the fear of death[3].” Unhappy persons under the consciousness of sin, and ignorant of the character of God as a Father, Redeemer, and Sanctifier, [[ix]] evidently balance between the agonies of remorse, the dread of punishment, the pains of death, and the possibility of future anguish; and as the least of evils, desperately lift their hands against themselves, and violate the tabernacle of their own life. If one susceptibility so powerful as that of self-love may thus become obviated, why may not another?

The just idea of conscience admits this possibility. It has regard to the acknowledged law of the human mind, that the suggestions of one set of feelings may be affected and even overcome by the greater force of those of another. Thus the murderer, who has long cherished his revenge, and ultimately sees his victim within his grasp, may probably destroy him without repugnance. He may draw the poniard from his quivering breast with no other feelings than the satisfaction arising from the achievement of a long-intended project. It is afterwards, when this revenge has been gratified, and the natural action of his feelings is restored, that he awakens to the witherings of remorse. He was at the time of the deed insusceptible of them, for the same reason that he was also incapable of telling at that moment the cube of nine or the square of sixteen. The return of the degree of quiescence necessary for the performance of an arithmetical process, would witness the returning action of the moral sense.

It has been beautifully said, that “the heart of man may be allegorically represented by an island level with the water which bathes it. On the pure white marble of the island are engraved the precepts of the law of nature. Near them is one who bends his eyes upon the inscription, and reads it aloud. This is the genius [[x]] of the island, the lover of virtue. The water is in perpetual agitation. The slightest zephyr wafts it into billows. It then covers the inscription: we no longer see the characters: we no longer hear conscience read them. But the calm soon rises from the bosom of the ocean. The island reappears as before, and conscience resumes its employment[4].” It seems therefore no valid objection against the existence of the moral instinct to urge that it is liable to counteraction.

A further objection is derived from the fact, that it scarcely operates at all in infancy, and from its gradually becoming stronger with advancing age, a circumstance which would seem to favour the idea of its being an acquired rather than an original principle.

It may however be replied, that this is nothing more than is true respecting other of our susceptibilities, which have ever been deemed to be instinctive. The instinct of self-preservation, for instance, which causes the eye to close upon the near approach to it of a dangerous object, and the hands to be raised when we are in danger of falling, scarcely operates at all in infancy. It begins to operate when it is needed, when the augmented strength of the child renders it less dependent upon the parents, and when therefore it is more exposed to personal danger. So the moral instinct may be imagined to remain dormant, without inducing any doubt as to its existence, till the maturity of our powers generally may have prepared us to enter upon the period of our responsibility.

It has been further objected, that if there had been [[xi]] such an original power in the mind, there must also have been implanted within us an idea of the object to which it was to be directed. The possession of the instinct supposes the possession of ideas of the actions to be approved or disapproved by it: but we possess no such ideas, and therefore have no such instinct[5].

The same objection, however, would lie against the existence of every power of the human mind, as original. It is acknowledged upon all hands that we possess a capacity of intuitively perceiving the relation of numbers, as soon as we understand the terms in which the proposition is stated. There is no nation in which it could not be true, and perceived to be so by the inhabitants, that four are to twenty as twenty to a hundred. Yet though all mankind perceive this truth intuitively, no one contends as necessary to intuition that we should also possess an idea of all the possible propositions in numbers to which it is to be directed. In this respect the human eye and the natural conscience are similar. The human eye is adapted to the perception of objects. It is so equally whether these objects may or may not have been presented to it: it would perceive and distinguish them if they were. So the susceptibility of conscience to derive pleasure or pain from good or evil actions may exist independently of being exercised. It is however ready to operate, true to its office, whenever they may be presented by experience or observation.

It has also been objected against the doctrine that conscience is a native and original faculty, that our perceptions of right and wrong, upon this supposition, [[xii]] are mere impressions: that our minds are adapted to be affected by them in the same involuntary manner as our bodily senses are by the qualities of the different objects presented to them: that in consequence, we are no more culpable or praiseworthy for our good or evil conduct, than we are for our ideas of sweet and bitter, pleasure and pain: that, in a word, the existence of natural conscience militates against the perfect responsibility of man.

To this it is replied, that the suggestions of conscience are neither so powerful as to constrain the voluntary powers of man, nor so weak or transient as to allow of any excuse derived from want of sufficient direction.

2. There are several considerations derived from the nature of circumstances, which would seem to render it probable that such an original faculty as conscience would have been imparted to mankind.

It is conceded, that owing to the limitation of our powers we should be exceedingly cautious bow far we speculate concerning what might or might not be expected in the intricate, multiform, immense government of God. That which might seem likely at one stage of our attainments, may seem to be much less so at another. Still it is submitted, that the circumstances of man as a moral agent admit of one presumption, which seems as much as any other to be well founded: it is, that man would be endowed by the Creator with the faculty of natural conscience. The mind of man is the source of all his actions, and consequently of all their immediate and remote effects upon himself and others, not only throughout the limits of time, but throughout eternity itself. It would hence seem likely in the highest degree, that it should be furnished with [[xiii]] some presiding principle. This expectation is confirmed by observing the universal provision made, in the laws which regulate material worlds, for the attainment of the purposes they were intended to answer. This is no less true respecting the intellectual powers of man; for though the operations of the laws which regulate mind are exceedingly complex in their operation, and traced with much difficulty, yet there is reason to believe that the minutest modifications of our perceptions are the consequences of the operation of fixed laws, equally as the form of a crystal. It would seem therefore most unlikely, that the precision of purpose provided for in every other portion of the Creator's works, should be wanting in reference to the conduct of the highest race of beings inhabiting the earth.

If we reflect, that God intended the happiness of his creatures when he formed them, and that he has indissolubly connected their happiness with their conduct, we shall gain an additional probability that some principle would have been communicated to his mind, calculated to direct his conduct. The extreme desirableness of such a constitution would seem to render it very likely that it would obtain in the government of a being of perfect wisdom and perfect benevolence.

An additional probability that man would be endued with natural conscience is derived from the fact, that in its absence he would be thrown for his guidance upon the resources of his mere reasoning powers. But the obvious disadvantages of such a state of things render it unlikely that it should exist. The life of man is exceedingly brief. Some questions in morals are so intricate, that even supposing man to be earnestly [[xiv]] addicted to the investigation, his whole life would be nearly consumed in adjusting his principles. As soon almost as he began to act, he would be summoned out of the world. These disadvantages would be unavoidable, supposing that all mankind were devoted to the study of morals, and anxiously bent upon discovering their duty. But in the state of things which actually exists, wherein mankind are compelled from the very nature of their circumstances to devote so much attention to the cares of subsistence, and so few even of those who are exempt from them seem inclined to habits of serious thought of any kind, it is clear, that, upon this supposition, acting right would be the privilege only of the contemplative few.

The doctrine which we are now labouring to establish is attended with all the advantages which mankind so eminently need. It supposes man to be furnished with a faculty that enables him to discriminate the nature of actions, attended with a susceptibility so vivid and acute as to render regard to its dictates essential to his happiness: that to obey it converts existence into a pleasure and a blessing, and to have violated it entails upon him the severest wretchedness he can endure. At the same time the operation of this faculty is directed to almost every duty upon which the social happiness of mankind depends. It reaches a multitude of cases which the wisest human laws cannot include in their enactments. Human laws may prevent the grosser forms of fraud and violence, by setting against them penalties so severe as to render them no longer desirable to the depraved. But there are ten thousand acts of cruelty, unkindness, and dishonesty, which they cannot check.

[[xv]] Much unkindness and neglect and insolence may be shown to servants, tenants, and to helpless dependents, and yet the individual remain exempt from the punishment of the laws. The base arts with which the seducer steals the assent of confiding innocence, as literally as if he abstracted property from a dwelling house, cannot be checked by human law. There are unnumbered devices by which the villain may entangle and circumvent and withhold the property of the widow and the orphan, which evade the cognizance of human laws. Against these and ten thousand other acts of oppression, the great Father of all has interposed by transfusing into our nature a few simple feelings. A horror lowers upon the heart of the unprincipled man, when he contemplates an act of cruelty or of injury, which preserves him so far guiltless, and his intended victim safe. He feels within him a preparation for his punishment before he becomes guilty: he hears a voice, heard by none but himself, but which will be heard by him, telling him that his own soul shall become his accuser; assuring him also, that there is a voice in every other human bosom ready to join its reproaches with his own, and to render his life one continued scene of agony from within and of execration from without. The immense utility of such a principle renders it highly probable that it would be bestowed.

3. It may now be permitted to state the direct proofs which establish the opinion that conscience is an original faculty.

An eminent writer[6] asserts, that in all languages there are words which signify duty and interest: that although these terms coincide in their application, [[xvi]] since whatever is our duty is also our interest, yet that we never confound them, either in the use we make of them, or in the feelings which they severally excite within our minds. By duty we mean something that ought to be done: by interest something which it would conduce to our well-being to perform. The perception of duty is prompt and unreasoning, and excites a degree of mental uneasiness till it be complied with. Interest, on the other hand, is always discerned by us as the result of a calculation to some intent or other. It is however as vain and useless to attempt to distinguish between these terms by words, as it would he by the same method to distinguish between the odour of a violet and of a rose. The names themselves of duty and interest are sufficient to suggest the distinction. It has been attempted by some philosophers to resolve the one into the other, hut our consciousness rejects the amalgamation. When we act spontaneously, and therefore naturally, we never even think of the connection between them. The mind acknowledges it upon reflection, but it requires a train of reasoning to make it plain. It may indeed be useful often to trace the connection, because the principle of virtue thus becomes stronger, and its exercise more delightful. But the emotions with which we contemplate actions do not result from perceiving it. It is not the suggestions of interest which render us happy in the unexpected welfare of a neighbour or a friend. It is not interest which originates the feelings which thrill our hearts when innocence and honesty have escaped an intended oppression. It is not the principle of interest which fills us with such satisfaction when we behold a village through which we may pass, busy and happy in securing the fruits of harvest. It is not [[xvii]] interest which ministers the gratification which we feel upon having fulfilled an engagement, or upon being enabled to gratify the reasonable expectations which we had excited. It is not self-interest which fills the heart of the traveller with such indescribable emotions upon the plain of Marathon or in the pass of Thermopylæ. If we imagine ourselves threading that avenue to Greece where Leonidas and his three hundred held at bay for five days the invader of their country and his five millions, we may form some idea of the surprise we should experience were some advocate of the selfish system to disturb our emotions by the question, whether we did not think they originated in the perception, that acts of fortitude and patriotism in general were connected, though remotely, with our own well-being?

The emotion comes first: the possible connection of the action with our welfare comes afterwards. It strikes the heart as an object strikes the eye: we approve it because it is lovely, and we are so constructed as to approve it. In a similar manner the loathing and abhorrence with which we contemplate cruelty or fraud is instantaneous, and is excited by a view of the object as it is in itself, and not by a perception of what it may become to us. This quality of our moral emotions, their independence upon our own interest, seems to intimate that they originate in the action of an original and different faculty of the soul.

Another argument to the same effect is, that our moral emotions are the same, whether the action, good or evil, be known only to ourselves, or disclosed to others: they are even independent of the consideration that they are known to the Deity himself.

“The first and greatest punishment of guilt,” says

[[xviii]] Seneca[7], “is to have been guilty. Nor can any crime, though fortune should adorn it with her most lavish bounty, as if protecting and consecrating it, pass by unpunished; because the punishment of the base and atrocious deed lies in the baseness or atrocity of the deed itself.”

“Think not,” says Cicero[8], “that anyone needs the burning torches of the furies to agitate and torment him: their own hands, their own crimes, their own remembrance of the past, and their terrors for the future, these are the domestic furies which are ever present to the mind of the impious.” It is superfluous to state, yet useful to remember, that these are quotations from the works of persons who lived before the Christian era, and who, from their being uninfluenced by the truths of revelation, may be justly regarded as describing the natural emotions of the human mind. The numerous passages in which they delineate the pangs of a wounded conscience, and the unmixed satisfactions attending virtue, are among the most celebrated specimens of their eloquence. So much indeed do the ancients refer the character of our actions to our internal emotions, that their usual definitions of virtue and of vice make them to consist in deviation from nature or conformity to it. They also represent the emotions derived from a good or evil action as arising simply from the nature of the action in itself, and independently of any other cause. Our own observation demonstrates the accuracy of their statements. Instances have been very numerous, in which crimes would probably for ever have remained unknown to mankind, but the perpetrators of them, unable to bear the solitary reproaches [[xix]] of their own hearts, have even many years afterwards sought the melancholy relief to be derived from confession and submission to justice.

“Fortune,” says Seneca[9], “may free men from vengeance, but it cannot free them from fear: it cannot free them from the knowledge of that general scorn and disgust which nature has so deeply fixed in all mankind against the crimes which they have perpetrated. Amid the security of a thousand concealments, they cannot think themselves secure from that hatred which seems ever ready to burst upon them; for conscience is still with them, like a treacherous informer, pointing them out to themselves.”

To these may be added the testimony of a modern writer[10], who was scarcely less under the influence of Christianity.

“The wicked man fears and flies himself. He endeavours to be gay by wandering out of himself. He turns around his unquiet eyes in search of some object of amusement, that may make him forget what he really is. Even then his pleasure is only a bitter raillery; without some sneer or contemptuous sarcasm he would for ever be sad. On the contrary, the serenity of a good man is internal. His smile is not a smile of malignity but of joy. He bears the source of it within himself. He is as gay when in the midst of the gay as when alone. He does not derive his contentment from those who approach him, he communicates it to them.”

But these emotions, so prompt, so vivid, so independent, seem to render it probable that they arise, not from any acquired, but from an original [[xx]] susceptibility of the mind; not from its habits, but from its construction.

Another argument on the same side is derived from the circumstance, that the same actions have been regarded as virtuous or vicious in all ages. The details of history are but little more than an account of mutations. Perpetual mutations have taken place in governments and literature. Similar alterations are observable in the history of the various systems of religion that have prevailed at different periods: the objects of worship, and the modes by which they have been adored, have all in their turn disappeared, and given place to new deities and new rites. Amid this perpetual alteration by which almost everything has been attended, it is remarkable that the general principles of morality have been permanently acknowledged. The same actions which were deemed vicious or virtuous thousands of years ago, continue in the same estimation. Generosity, gratitude, fidelity, integrity, justice, and kindness, have had a universal and perpetual empire over the veneration of mankind. Their opposite vices have never ascended from their degradation. They have been recommended or condemned, not as the result of the adjudicature of their tendencies on the social happiness of man, but as exciting emotions of pleasure or disgust. This identity of the virtues and vices in all ages, can only be ascribed to the fixed laws, by which they are recognized as such, implanted in the human heart.

“Cast your eyes,” says Rousseau, “over all the nations of the world, and all the histories of the nations. Amid so many inhuman and absurd superstitions, amid that prodigious diversity of opinions and characters, [[xxi]] you will find everywhere the same principles and distinctions of moral good and evil. The paganism of the ancient world produced indeed abominable gods, who on earth would have been shunned or punished as monsters; and who offered, as a picture of supreme happiness, only vices to commit and passions to satiate. But vice armed with this sacred authority, descended in vain from the eternal abode: she found in the heart of man a moral sentiment to repel her. The continence of Xenocrates was admired by those who celebrated the amours of Jupiter. The chaste Lucretia adored the unchaste Venus. The intrepid warrior sacrificed to Fear. The most contemptible divinities were served by the greatest men. The holy voice of nature, however, stronger than that of the gods, made itself heard and respected and obeyed on earth, and seemed to banish as it were to the confinement of heaven both guilt and the guilty.”

A final argument may be drawn from the nature of those emotions which we denominate a gratified or wounded conscience.

It has been justly said, that the happiness derived from the contemplation and especially from the consciousness of virtue, is not capable, either in respect of its nature or permanency, of being compared with any other of our pleasures. Even the contemplation of virtuous actions is peculiarly satisfactory and refreshing: the mind feels conscious that its attention is worthily bestowed; that it is gaining additional ability for the purest enjoyments. Of this nature also are the feelings with which we contemplate the scenes of great actions, or the persons of those who are eminent for excellence. Of the same nature, only raised in some [[xxii]] proportion to the incomparable superiority of the object, are the emotions with which we contemplate Him, whose being and character comprehend the union of all possible excellence. The consciousness that we have been enabled to perform a virtuous action, or to persevere in the imitation of excellence without an allowed deviation, administers a feeling of the same delightful nature. The feelings produced by a long perseverance in such a course, fill us with a pleasure, to which the exulting consciousness of perfect health in early youth perhaps affords the nearest, though still an imperfect similitude. It is, in that expressive language of Solomon, health to the bones. While, on the other hand, the horror of remembered guilt afflicts us like the recollection of some intolerably loathsome object. In the sacred scriptures it is described by every comparison which can express detestation, faintness, and horror. The most expressive metaphor of all, perhaps, is that of a wounded spirit. The hopeless, sickening agony produced by a wound in some vital organ, approaches in some degree, but can never adequately represent the pangs of an accusing conscience. The mind cankers with what it deems an immedicable wound. Unlike a bodily infirmity, the anguish of the spirit does not grow more tolerable the longer it is endured; but, like the vitals of the fabled Prometheus, the mind presents an everlasting material to the lacerations of remorse. All other painful topics which are contemplated by the mind gradually lose their impression; but the tale told by an angry conscience is ever new. The mind becomes day by day even more sensible to the pangs of its scorpion scourge. Other causes of mental distress are alleviated by change of scene: [[xxiii]] but this follows the wretched creature everywhere. Nature's loveliness appears scathed and tasteless to his parched and agonizing heart. The wilderness offers no solitude. Conscience pursues him through wilds never trod by the camel: its hand is upon him though he hide him in the lair of the crocodile amid the reeds of Nilus. Now this incurable anguish, this acute sense of degradation, this withering consciousness of ill desert, admitting of no alleviation even from the softening hand of time, would seem to demonstrate that it consists in a mischief far greater than the violation of an acquired principle, however strong, but would seem to be more like an offence committed against an original law of human nature.

It is the design of the following treatise to describe these emotions, and to explain the only method by which they can be allayed. It will be found upon perusal to justify the sentiment of Dr. Doddridge[11] respecting it, that “it exhibits the traces of a soul most intimately acquainted with God.” The excellency of the work consists in the use of language throughout which most plainly and most accurately conveys the author's meaning, in the communication of abundant knowledge and experience, and in the natural employment of the most vivid and powerful descriptions.

The ensuing volume is a faithful transcript of the original edition, with the exception of a few words, which have been altered or omitted in order to render it more intelligible and suitable to modern taste.

[1] Dr. Thomas Brown.

[2] Paley's Moral Philosophy, chapter v.

[3] Dr. Young.

[4] Rousseau.

[5] Locke's Essay on the Human Understanding, book i, ch. iv, § 19.

[6] Dugald Stewart.

[7] Epistle 97.

[8] Orat. pro Sex, Roscio Amerino, sec. 24.

[9] Epistle 97.

[10] Rousseau.

[11] Lectures on Preaching.