In it, fact and duty,[1] or that which is, and that which ought to be, are blended into one identity. But the practical character of philosophy—the active part which it plays throughout human concerns has yet to be more fully and distinctly elucidated.
The great principle which we have all along been labouring to bring out—namely, that human consciousness is, in every instance, an act of antagonism against some one or other of the given modifications of our natural existence—finds its strongest confirmation when we turn to the contemplation of the moral character of man.—We have hitherto been considering consciousness chiefly in its relation to those modifications of our nature which are impressed upon us from without. We here found, that consciousness, when deeply scrutinised, is an act of opposition put forth against our sensations; that our sensations are invaded and impaired by an act of resistance which breaks up their monopolising dominion, and in the room of the sensation thus partially displaced, realizes man's personality—a new centre of activity known to each individual by the name "I," a word which, when rightly construed, stands as the exponent of our violation of the causal nexus of nature, and of our consequent emancipation therefrom. The complex antithetical phenomenon in which this opposition manifests itself, we found to be the fact of perception. We have now to consider consciousness in its relation to those modifications of our nature which assail us from within; and here it will be found, that just as all perception originates in the antagonism between consciousness and our sensations, so all morality originates in the antagonism between consciousness and the passions, desires, or inclinations of the natural man.
We shall see that, precisely as we become percipient beings, in consequence of the strife between consciousness and sensation, so do we become moral beings in consequence of the same act of consciousness exercised against our passions, and the other imperious wishes or tendencies of our nature. There is no difference in the mode of antagonism, as it operates in these two cases; only, in the one case, it is directed against what we may call our external, and, in the other, against what we may call our internal, modifications. In virtue of the displacement or sacrifice of our sensations by consciousness, each of us becomes "I,"—the ego is to a certain extent evolved—and even here, something of a nascent morality is displayed—for every counteraction of the causality of nature is more or less the development of a free and moral force. In virtue of the sacrifice of our passions by the same act, morality is more fully unfolded—this "I," that is, our personality, is more clearly and powerfully realised, is advanced to a higher potence—is exhibited in a brighter phase and more expanded condition.
Thus we shall follow out a clue which has been too often, if not
- ↑ Sir Jas. Mackintosh, and others, have attempted to establish a distinction between "mental" and "moral" science, founded on an alleged difference between fact and duty. They state, that it is the office of the former science to teach us what is (quid est), and that it is the office of the latter to teach us what ought to be (quid oportet). But this discrimination vanishes into nought upon the slightest reflection; it either incessantly confounds and obliterates itself, or else it renders moral science an unreal and nugatory pursuit. For, let us ask, does the quid oportet ever become the quid est? does what ought to be ever pass into what is—or in other words, is duty ever realised as fact? If it is, then the distinction is at an end. The oportet has taken upon itself the character of the est. Duty, in becoming practical, has become a fact. It no longer merely points out something which ought to be, it also embodies something which is. And thus it is transformed into the very other member of the discrimination from which it was originally contradistinguished; and thus the distinction is rendered utterly void; while "mental" and "moral" science—if we must affix these epithets to philosophy—lapse into one. On the other hand, does the quid oportet never, in any degree, become the quid est—does duty never pass into fact? Then is the science of morals a visionary, a baseless, and an aimless science—a mere querulous hankering after what can never be. In this case, there is plainly no real or substantial science, except the science of facts—the Science which teaches us the quid est. To talk now of a science of the quid oportet, would be to make use of unmeaning words.
