Chapter 41: Of the Conscience — Its Offices and Its Disordered Forms
There remains yet one higher and diviner act of the Practical Understanding, of most absolute power in man, and that is Conscience. Which is not any distinct faculty of the Soul, but only a compounded act of reason, consisting in argumentation: or a practical Syllogism, inferring always some applicative and personal conclusion, accusing or excusing.
The dignities of which are to be gathered from the offices of it, and from the properties of it.
The main offices are three: Direction, Conviction, Consolation, whereof the two last always presuppose the first with a contrary qualification of breach and observance.
The direction of conscience consists in a simple discourse: or (as I may so speak) in a direct ray of Understanding, gathering Moral or Divine conclusions from a presupposed habit of principles, either from the relics of our original knowledge naturally impressed, or by concurrence of Religion and Theological precepts spiritually inspired into the Practical Judgment or hearts of men. The observance of which conclusions it imposes upon all those executive powers, which each particular conclusion does most immediately concern, upon pain of hazarding our own inward peace, with that sweet repose and security of mind which follows it; and also (as the Heathen themselves have observed) upon fear of [reconstructed: incurring] the displeasure of that God, concerning whom the very light of nature has revealed thus much, that as his penetrating and [reconstructed: Searching] Eye is able to read our most retired thoughts: so his impartial and unpreventable Justice has thunder and fire in store for the rebellions against this faculty, which he has made to be, as it were, his Officer and Herald in all men's hearts.
The two latter of those offices consist in a reflection of that former discourse upon men's actions, and according as is discovered in them, either an observance or neglect of those imposed duties: the heat of that reflection is either comfortable or scorching. Now of these two; that of Conviction is nothing else but a performance of that equivocal killing promise made by the Serpent to our seduced parents; I mean an opening of their eyes, to know with desperate sorrow the good they had irrecoverably foregone; and with fear, shame and horror, the evil which they plunged themselves and their whole posterity into. This one act it is which has so often confuted that opinion of Aristotle touching Death, that it is of all things most terrible; in that it has pursued many so far, as that it has forced them to leap out of themselves, and to prefer the terror of Death and darkness of the grave, before the grisly face of a convicting Conscience.
The chief dignity hereof consists in Consolation, whereby it diffuses into the whole man, from a secret assurance of divine favour (for nothing can thoroughly calm the Conscience, but [illegible]) a sweet tranquility, silent peace, settled steadiness, and (which is highest of all) a ravishing contemplation, and (as it were) pre-fruition of bliss and immortality.
The [reconstructed: properties] of the conscience (whereby I understand the ministries, which it never fails to execute in man) are, as I conceive, principally three: watchfulness, memory, impartiality. It keeps always [reconstructed: sentinel] in a man's Soul, and like a register, records all our good and ill actions. Though the darkness of the night may hide us from others, and the darkness of the mind seem to hide us from ourselves; yet still has Conscience an eye to look in secret on whatever we do, whether in regard of ignorance or hardness. Though in many men it sleeps in regard of motion; yet it never sleeps in regard of observation and notice: it may be hard and seared, it can never be blind. That writing in it which seems invisible and illegible, like letters written with the juice of lemon, when it is brought to the fire of God's Judgment, will be most clear. And for the next (if we observe it) there is nothing so much fastened in the memory, as that which Conscience writes: all her censures are written with indelible [reconstructed: characters], never to be blotted out. All or most of our knowledge forsakes us in our deaths; wit, acuteness, variety of language, habits of sciences; our arts, policies, inventions, all have their period and fate: only those things which Conscience imprints, shall be so far from finding anything in death to obliterate and raze them out, that they shall be thereby much more manifest; whether they be impressions of peace or horror. The [reconstructed: Testimonies] of comfort (if true) are fastened in the heart with such a hand as will never suffer them finally to be taken out: and if they be accusatory and condemning, the heart is so hard, and they so deep, that there is no way to get them out, but by breaking or [reconstructed: melting] the table they are written in; that only course can be taken to make Conscience forget.
Then thirdly it is a most bribeless worker, it never knows how to make a false report of any of our [reconstructed: ways]. It is (if I may so speak) God's historian, that writes not annals, but journals; the words, deeds, cogitations of hours and moments — never was there so absolute a compiler of lives, as Conscience. It never comes with any prejudice or partiality of persons, but dares speak truth as well of a monarch, as of a slave. Nero the Emperor shall feel as great a fire burning in his breast, as he dare wrap the poor Christians in to light him to his lust. There is scarce one part in man, but may be seduced, save his Conscience. Sense oftentimes conceives things which are not; Appetite and Imagination can transport the Will, and themselves both may be drawn by persuasion contrary to their own propensities; this only deals faithfully with him, whose witness it is, though it be to the confusion of itself and him, in whom it lodges. It may I know err sometimes and mistake; but it can never by any insinuation be bribed to contradict its own Judgment, and register white for black.
The corruption of conscience arises principally from two extremes; the one occasioned by ignorance; the other by sin (for I oppose these two here, as concurring to the corruption of conscience after a different manner). The [reconstructed: one] is when the want of due knowledge draws the conscience to sinister determinations, either in practice or forbearance. The other when evil habits and actions defile the conscience. Now both these contain under them sundry degrees of corruption.
From ignorance — First, comes a [reconstructed: fettered] and restrained conscience, fearfully binding itself to some particular acts, without sufficient grounds. Next a licentious and indulging conscience, giving freedom to itself in such course, as to which it has no warrant upon unacquainting itself from either.
Then from the other root there comes: First, a dead, secure and sleeping conscience by common and customary sins. A pale, sweating, and affrighted conscience by atheistic and unnatural sins:
—Tum frigida mens est Criminibus; [reconstructed: tacita sudant praecordia] culpa.
The guilt which from unseen pollution springs, cold-sweating horror on their bosom brings.
A desperate, tempestuous and ravening conscience from blasphemous and open sins. Not but that any of these may come from any sin; but that the quality of some sins does for the most part carry with it some particular dispositions and kinds of a distempered conscience. But because all these, as also this whole discourse pertains to a [reconstructed: higher] science, I shall here forbear to speak more of it.
