can they impart to an action a character which they in no wise possess? "Either make the tree good and the fruit good, or the tree corrupt and the fruit corrupt. A good man out of the good treasure of his heart bringeth forth good things, and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart bringeth forth evil things." As is the heart or the affections, such will be the volition, the deliberate volition, which proceeds from it; the motive and the volition always possessing the same character, so far as character is attributable to the latter; and this not in one world, but in all worlds. Were it possible that I could be induced to act, by a mere thought or intellection, without its ever touching my heart, the action would possess no moral character of any kind; or if I were moved by self-love to any deliberative act of will, that act could be regarded as no better than the motive which inspired it; and if I contravened no law by this act, it would be no worse.

We come then to the same conclusion as before, that there can be neither virtue nor vice in the world, if it be not found in the moral affections or immanent acts of the will.

The mere exercise of conscience, we have seen, has no moral character, and can of itself directly impart none. This, we think, must be evident to all who attend to the constitution of the mind, and consider the relation which the several powers bear to each other. Unless we give up the principle which is natural to every man's creed, that the nature of the motive decides the nature of the action, we shall be compelled to believe that there is neither vice nor virtue, but in those primary feelings which we denominate affections or immanent acts of the will, or at most in those habits and tendencies which these involve.

We might here close the argument, but there are two or three other points which demand a more distinct

consideration. lecture.

These we shall reserve for the next

[NOTE A.] A mistake has often arisen on this subject, from not distinctly apprehending what is involved in acting conscientiously. To act conscientiously, in the highest and best sense of the expression, is not only to do the thing which conscience dictates, but to do it in the manner and form, and with the motives which conscience requires. Thus to do is always to act virtuously, if conscience be properly informed. But in a lower sense, a man is sometimes said to act conscientiously, when he merely does the thing which conscience demands, though not with the high and holy motives which it requires; as when he keeps the Sabbath, or pays his debts, merely or chiefly because he is afraid of disturbing his own peace, or incurring the Divine displeasure. In this case, we should all admit that there was no true virtue in his conduct, though he has, to a certain extent, acted according to the biddings of his conscience. That conscience prevails with a man, (therefore,) is no proof that he has done right, and that God accepts him, unless you know on what grounds, or for what reasons, it has prevailed; and that these were such as the Divine law makes essential to right action. Overlooking this important circumstance has been a fruitful source of mistake, in arguing from conscience as a principle of action. Because to act conscientiously is, in some cases, to act virtuously, some have incautiously inferred that conscience was itself a principle of virtue, and that wherever it prevailed, the motive, of course, must be right, and the action consequently virtuous. But if we carefully consider what is implied in acting conscientiously, and the different senses in which the phrase is often employed, we shall clearly perceive that no such inference can be drawn. Conscience, when truly enlightened, is a rule of action, and to act in conformity to it, is doubtless to act virtuously; but then we act from motives which conscience recommends, but which conscience, as a power or principle of the mind, can never supply.

LECTURE III.

ON THE

THE WILL.

THE doctrine of our opponents is, that we are made responsible for our affections, when of a moral character, because we have the power, directly or indirectly, to modify them. We can bring before the mind those objects which will awaken and invigorate the right affections, and exclude those which would excite and maintain the wrong ones. This power, say they, is lodged in the will: the will controls the objects, and the objects the affections. And hence we are bound to have such affections, and of such strength, as the law of God requires, and to repress and exclude those which the law of God forbids. In this voluntary effort thus to regulate our affections, and not in any previous state of mind, consists the essence of virtue; and in the neglect of this, and in efforts opposed to it, lies the essence of vice. Herein man's moral agency begins, if it does not end.

But we have shown already that this voluntary effort, by which is intended a deliberative act of the will, cannot arise without a correspondent motive; and that this motive cannot be found but in the affections or immanent acts of the will, which lie back of the deliberative acts, and which give them all the character they possess.

We now ask, Why should these affections be cherished when right, and discouraged when wrong, if not right

and wrong in themselves—at least at the time, and in the circumstances, in which they are cherished? It would seem as if they were so regarded by the mind, when it sets itself to the labor of cherishing or repressing them. Nor can we well doubt that this is the unbiased voice of the moral faculty within us. But it may be replied, that anger is not wrong per se, yet may become so if it rises to excess: natural affection is not right or wrong per se, but may become wrong, both by excess and defect. Consequently, though these affections are neither right nor wrong in themselves, yet the law requires us to regulate them, and it is a part of virtue to do this. Suppose it were so-what follows? Not that we have no moral affections, nor that these affections are not the source or spring of every moral act. Say, for example, I determine to restrain the passion of anger, which I apprehend is rising to excess, and that I endeavor to call to mind those facts and considerations which I judge suitable to abate the fervor of my spirit. Has this voluntary effort any moral character? If it has, it must arise from the motive or feeling which dictated and governed it. [Suppose I repress anger from cowardice, and not from a sense of its sinfulness.] So that in this case also we are carried back to the heart, or the moral affections, as the spring-head of our deliberate action, and the proper source of all the moral character it possesses. But have we in fact any moral affections? affections which are moral in their own nature, independent of the fact of their being regulated or not? affections which are right or wrong in themselves, whether they exist in one degree (of strength) or another? What is love to God, and love to man? What is love to being in general-a love which is disinterested, impartial and universal? What is love of complacency in virtuous and holy beings? Does not conscience perceive in these affections something morally excellent, let their amount

or degree be what they may? And does it not perceive in their contraries something intrinsically base and immoral? What is envy, malignity, hatred, revenge? A man praises my rival, and I feel a painful emotion, not because I believe the praise to be unjust, but because I fear it is too sure an indication of my competitor's success. Is this feeling wrong per se? No matter how it originates, nor whether it is a simple or compound feeling; is it morally wrong in every degree of it? or does its immoral character depend on its strength or modification? Common sense will be at no loss here. Again: The character of God is exhibited, and I am displeased with it: to me it is unlovely, not to say hateful. Is this feeling wrong, and in every measure of it, let its source be what it may? Every unsophisticated mind, we should think, would answer in the affirmative. But it may and must be replied by my opponents: It is wrong because I cherish it, and do nothing to remove it. But what if I do cherish it? How does this make it wrong, if not wrong before? Why should I not cherish it? Does it break any law? and does conscience pronounce it wrong on this account? Then wrong it is, antecedent to my cherishing or opposing it, because, in the very fact of its being wrong, the reason is found why I should not cherish but oppose it. Do you say it is wrong, because it is a state of mind not in conformity with my relations to God and his government? You say truly; but then you give it a character founded upon a reason which is prior to my judgment concerning it, and necessarily prior to any measures I may take to foster or oppose it. The truth is, it is simply seen to be wrong, as contradicting what my moral judgment pronounces to be fit and proper in the case. Nor does it make any difference whether this judgment is founded upon what is supposed to be the tendency of the wrong feeling, as it respects God or his creatures, or whether it is founded upon the intrinsic