CHAPTER III

ANALYSIS AND EXPLANATION OF CONSCIENCE 1

Now that we have

We can

1. The Psychological Facts. examined the historical attempts which have been made to account for the moral consciousness, let us try to come to some conclusion ourselves. not, however, it seems to me, accomplish anything without a thorough understanding of what the fact we are considering is. We must first analyze the psychical processes concerned in this discussion, and then seek to interpret them. The false explanations which have been advanced by so many of the writers whom we have passed in review, are, in my opinion, largely due to their neglect of psychology. assert that we must study our phenomena psychologically, means simply that we must know what we are talking about. If the science of ethics is

To

1 See, besides the works mentioned in the course of the last chapter: Spencer, Principles of Psychology, Vol. II, Part VIII, chaps. vii f.; Wundt, Physiological Psychology, Vol. II, chap. xviii, 3; Höffding, Psychology, VI, C, § 8; Baldwin, Feeling and Will, pp. 205 ff.; Sully, The Human Mind, Vol. II, pp. 155 ff.; Ladd, Psychology, Descriptive and Explanatory, pp. 579 ff.; Jodl, Lehrbuch der Psychologie, pp. 715 ff.; Sutherland, The Origin and Growth of the Moral Instinct, especially Vol. II, chaps. xv ff. - Parts of this chapter appeared in the January number of the Philosophical Review, 1900.

to achieve any results, it must do what all other sciences are doing it must analyze the facts which it is desirous of explaining. Metaphysical speculations on ethics will have to follow in the wake of psychology.1

As was said before, we pronounce moral judgments upon ourselves as well as upon others; we approve and disapprove of motives and acts, we call them right and wrong. Certain modes of conduct, we say, ought to be performed, others ought to be avoided. A bankrupt conveys a piece of property to a friend in order to avoid the payment of a just debt, with the understanding that it is to be returned to him. later; but when the time comes, the receiver of the property fails to make restitution. I disapprove of the conduct of both parties; I say that they did wrong, that they ought not to have acted as they did. Jean Valjean, the released galley-slave in Hugo's Les Misérables, finds a refuge in the home of the good curé after every one else had refused him shelter, and repays his benefactor by robbing him. The priest forgives him, and even tells a falsehood to save him from punishment. We say the convict Jean Valjean, over

did wrong, the priest did right. come by the sweet charity of the good old man, leads a useful and honorable life from that time on. But one day he hears of the apprehension of a supposed Jean Valjean. Now what shall he do? One

1 See Simmel, Einleitung in die Moralwissenschaft, Vol. I, Preface.

voice within him tells him to let things take their natural course, and not to forsake the position achieved after so much suffering and transgression. The happiness of thousands depends upon his remaining where he is. But another voice, which we call his conscience, blames him for these thoughts, and urges him authoritatively to do what is right and give himself up. After terrible inner struggles, the conscience finally triumphs, and Jean Valjean goes back to the galleys. The conflict is at an end, the moral craving is satisfied, and peace reigns in his heart. Had he allowed the supposed Jean Valjean to be punished in his stead, he would have suffered remorse, stings or pangs of conscience, as we say. He would have looked back upon his conduct and still have recognized the authority of the right over the wrong. We contemplate the misfortune of the real Jean Valjean with the deepest pity, but with all our sorrowing we cannot wish that he had acted differently. Our moral approval rises to moral enthusiasm, in which our respect and love for the moral law reach their height; we bow down. humbly before the rule of right as before a higher power, and say, Thy will, not mine, be done.

2. Analysis of Conscience. We have here examples of the phenomenon which we desire to investigate. The idea of a motive or an act arises in my consciousness. At once or after some reflection, peculiar feelings and impulses group themselves around this idea feelings of approval which are pleasura

ble, or (as the case may be), feelings of disapproval, which are painful; feelings urging me toward the performance of the act, commanding me, forcing me, as it were, to keep it before my mind and to recognize its authority over me, crying out, yes, yes, you must: or feelings deterring me from the act; a kind of shame takes possession of me, I feel ill at ease, in spite of the fact that the forbidden thing may have a certain charm about it. Or, I may have the ideas of several acts or springs of conduct before me, one surrounded by feelings of approval and obligation, the other by feelings of disapproval and deterrence, the one carrying with it a sense of authority over the other. These ideas may rise and fall in consciousness, and with them their concomitant feelings. I may flit from one set to the other, until at last one may persist and lead to an act of volition, and drive out the other. These inner processes express themselves in judgments: This act is right or good; This act is wrong or bad; I ought to do this act; I ought not to do that. In popular language we say, My conscience approves of this, condemns that, commands this, prohibits that; my conscience warns me against or urges me toward a certain line of action; I must obey the voice of my conscience. In case the right act is willed and done, or even willed without being done, I feel satisfied for having willed it, and perhaps a certain sorrow for the vanquished possibility with which I was in love. Indeed, my moral satisfaction and

self-approval may become so strong as to fill me with Pharisaic vanity, and I may gloat over my moral triumph. If the wrong act wins the victory, and the thought of the right one lingers on in consciousness, I feel sad, troubled, ashamed, contemptible. I look upon the conquered past and read a silent sorrow in its face, which goes to my heart and causes my soul to resound with self-reproaches.1 I sit in judgment upon myself and pronounce myself guilty. These painful feelings we call feelings of remorse, repentance, pangs of conscience. They may become so intense as to throw the sufferer into the depths of despair, and make him willing and even anxious to undergo the severest punishments.

We see, then, that conscience functions both before and after the performance of the act. When the act perceived or thought of is not my own, but another's, or only an imagined one, the process which takes place is much the same. The feelings and impulses of approval or disapproval, already mentioned, spring up in me even more readily than before; I judge that the act is right or wrong, and ought or ought not to be done.

Certain feelings and impulses, then, surround the idea of a deed and lead us to make a judgment. The act arouses certain feelings and impulses in us,

1 See Euripides's Orestes, Eschylus's Agamemnon. See also the Gospel of St. Matthew: "And Peter remembered the word of Jesus, which said unto him: Before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice. And he went out and wept bitterly."