tion. And whatever is communicated to man in this way is accepted as right until he sees satisfactory reasons for rejecting it. And, finally, it is derived by Christian nations, in the main, from Revelation.

Now, in all these cases, what is the nature of the object received, and what is the precise activity of the soul which is concerned in receiving? Surely that which is received is not feelings, emotions, sentiments, for these are not directly communicable from without; they are generated by the soul itself under the influence of ideas or truths. For what is the uniform procedure when we would work a change in the feelings of our fellow? Is it not to convince the understanding, to present things to him under a new or specific aspect? Is it not to show him the reasonableness or desirableness of a change in his thinking or acting? But in all this, the receiver, that to which we address ourselves, is the understanding, and it is only through this that we hope to reach the feelings. The divine procedure in the scriptures is of the same kind. Our learning the moral law, therefore, from any or all of the above sources, consists simply in receiving truths, facts, ideas, by the understanding. And this is a purely intellectual process, wholly devoid of moral character. For the essential sphere of morality and religion is not the understanding, but the heart, the emotions. A man's understanding may be excellently furnished with all attainable knowledge of the moral law, and yet he may remain utterly destitute of morality and religion. This, we say, is possible; and how often do we see it approximated in real life! How numerous the cases of men reared by Christian parents, in the midst of Christian associations and furnished with the highest intellectual culture, who live in utter disregard of their intellectual convictions and indulge in all kinds of immorality and sin! To receive moral instruction, to perfect one's views of duty, is in itself, therefore, no more a moral or religious activity of the soul than to analyze ores or to calculate eclipses. Consequently, the faculty by which we are able to do this—the understanding, the judgment—cannot be the conscience.

Having failed to find the conscience in the reason or the understanding, we now inquire whether it is an element or activity

of the will. The truth is doubtless in the negative. For a volition is in itself absolutely destitute of moral or religious character. To walk, to eat, to praise, to curse, to perform charities, to plot treason, are all and equally acts of volition, and yet they have no moral trait in common. To choose evil rather than good is as really a volition as to prefer good to evil. Since, therefore, some volitions are regarded as good, and some as evil, and some as indifferent, and since the moral quality is not in the naked volition, we are forced to suppose some associated element, and to look for the good or evil in it. But what is this associated element, and how is it related to the conscience? Let us look for it in a particular case. Suppose that, starting on a journey, a gentleman hands his servant a sum of money, ordering him to cast it, that evening, into a certain charity box. Now what are, or may be, the workings of the servant's mind during the day? First and chiefly there is in his soul a something, an instinct, a feeling, a sentiment, prompting him to perform the act in the letter and spirit of his orders. But suppose him to be personally interested in another and equally charitable association. In thinking of this he is prompted, by a different feeling, to violate the letter of his instructions, and to give the money to this cause. But now, reflecting on his impoverished family and the needed clothing which, with this money, he might purchase for his sick children, he falls under the influence of another feeling,-paternal affection,-and is again tempted to prove false to his trust. Furthermore the mere love of money, or the thought of the pleasures of the cup which he might therewith procure, brings him under the momentary sway of still lower impulses. And a great variety of other feelings might be supposed. The consequence is that he finds himself in perplexity, and a prey to conflicting inpulses, each, in turn, clamoring for the ascendency. When he thinks of the simple right of the case every other motive shrinks to impotency. When his attention is turned to the possible tippling within his reach, his low appetite springs up and, for the moment, casts his higher impulses into the background. And so of the others.

Now what is the nature of this inner struggle? What are

central spring of all the active powers of the soul, det self to a specific act? Though absolutely free, it neve but in view of some reason or motive. And this reas ways a something, a feeling, a sentiment, which, at the of the choice, seems to the soul more pleasing than else. In the most prosaic, thankless, painful action th freely undertaken, there is always a feeling that to do i pleasing than to leave it undone. The stern Roman p pleased rather to sacrifice his own son than to counten itary insubordination. The Christian will suffer his sin torn from the bones rather than endure the remorse of To retain the enjoyment of the love of God is more than to escape the horrors of the rack. Before every ation of itself, therefore, the will chooses between impulses between acting and not acting, or acting in rather than in that. And this impulse or motive in which the will decides, constitutes that uniformly assoc ment of every act for which we were seeking, and in moral quality must reside. The impulses, motives, wh on the will constitute an ascending series, beginning low instincts of animal gratification and terminatin serene atmosphere of our innate love of right. Not t any inferior impulse, but always to choose the act whic lieve to be right, and which consequently correspond highest impulse, feeling, taste of the soul, is to act mo ligiously. So that it is not mere volition but volition ance with the highest motive that is moral. Whoever purposes to act, is immediately conscious of a peculiar

peace and satisfaction, whereas a contrary determination occasions contrary feelings.

This, all will admit, is the experience of the healthy mind. But that it is likewise the case with the unhealthy, the bigoted, the superstitious, is almost too evident to need illustration. Suppose, however, a single case among thousands of possible ones—that of a sincere but ignorant Catholic, reared under priestly influences, and honestly believing that the Bible is a difficult book, easily misinterpreted to the detriment of the soul, and consequently only safely used by a learned clergy. To this man a stranger offers a Bible. Now what shall he do? What are the motions of his conscience? Surely there can be no question but that, so long as his convictions remain as they are, his conscience must refuse, and he must reject the book. That he should receive it was right in the absolute, though relatively to his own judgment it was wrong. The key to this is found in the fact that conscience relates, not to the absolute standard of right as it exists in the mind of God, but to the more or less imperfect standard as it exists in the convictions of the individual. The conclusion, then, to which we are brought is, that there is implanted in the soul by the Creator a peculiar emotional capability which is gratified or shocked according as we obey or disregard our convictions of right. And it is this alone that fully corresponds to the idea of conscience. Our formal definition of conscience, therefore, is, that it is that emotional susceptibility of man which is gratified and confers peace, or is shocked and occasions remorse, according as he conforms to or violates his personal convictions of right.

The difference between this view and that most generally taken consists in the fact of the exclusion of the intellectual and critical function. And in its favor we are able to cite the authority of some eminent names. That it is substantially the view of Dr. Rothe appears from the following strictures of Prof. Wuttke, [Sittenlehre, Vol. I. p. 384]: "That the conscience has a subjective nature is only so far true as it constitutes an element of rational personality, but it is entirely erroneous in Rothe to reduce it to an individual, subjective something, and entirely deny to it an objective character." That kindred views

were entertained by Dr. Auberlin is evident from the following passage [Herzogs Real-Encyk. Vol. IV., p. 733,]; from which it might also be inferred that he regarded the term conscience as applicable more strictly to non-Christians than to the regenerate. He says: "That which in the ante-Christian state was the conscience, is now the spirit, namely, the element of intercommunion between man and God, or worship; for that which by Christians is attributed to the voice of God within them, is attributed by conscientious worldly people to the voice of conscience. The chastening of the Spirit corresponds to a reproving conscience; the comforting of the Spirit to a good conscience; grieving the Spirit to violating the conscience, etc." Dr. Ulrici, of Halle, affirms substantially [Herzogs Real-Encyk. Arts. Sittengesetz and Vernunft] the following principles: Conscience is simply the feeling of obligation as an object of consciousness, that is, a conscious feeling of obligation. Man is a conditioned, finite being. His will chooses outwardly between a number of possible actions, and inwardly between a like number of specific impulses and ends. The impulse chosen becomes the motive of the act. His choosing is an act of self-determination. In the motive chosen lies the good or evil. It is no more undeniably a fact of consciousness that we choose between motives than that we choose between them as good and evil, right and wrong. The distinction of good and evil must, therefore, in some way be given to the soul. But where? Deep within us we possess an original, though gentle and delicate, feeling of obligation which, when we are meditating on proposed actions, designates some one of them as the right and binding one. Now whence this feeling of obligation? It comes not to us from without, but springs up in the depths of the soul itself. It is not an allswaying, necessitating feeling, but is an appeal rather to our freedom. According as yielded to, or resisted, it becomes a feeling of pleasure and peace, or of discomfort and unrest. And herein is suggested its origin. It arises out of the promoted or disturbed, divinely ordered harmony of the powers of the soul. It is the soul as affected by its own destination, constitution. It is a revelation of the purpose of life so far as discoverable by our own powers, and a guide instructing us how