CONSCIENCE.
By J.M. McCaleb
“Herein do I also exercise myself to have a conscience void of offense toward God and men alway.” (Acts 24:16, R. V.) CONSCIENCE approves or condemns that which the mind thinks to be right or wrong; it causes pain when violated, and pleasure when obeyed. “Herein do I also exercise myself,” says the apostle, “to have a conscience void of offense toward God and men alway.” Paul never violated his conscience. He was careful to have regard for its rights always. The conscience of some never goes right; you cannot depend upon it.
In one of the provinces of Japan is a town called Narita. In it is a famous temple known all over the country. I was standing in this temple a few days ago. The way leading up to it is past great and frightful images; ponds of the historic turtle lazily floating around; up flights of stairs; between curiously laid out little gardens, with their bronze images; artistically laid stones, between which grow fancy-shaped cedar shrubs; and amid shrines, gods, heroes, and flying banners in abundance. The simple- hearted were there. One old man in particular attracted my attention. On a mat in the audience room of the temple, amid long and waving signs written in letters of gold, and surrounded with carved work of beauty, with the great image of Fudo fronting him, he sat. His head was bowed; his hands were clasped in front of him, across which slowly rolled a string of beads as the thumb counted them off one by one and he repeated his prayer. By and by this part of the ceremony was finished. Then he got up, and, walking over to the left a little, sat down before two other images and said his prayer. Having finished here, he went to the right, and, sitting down before two other idols of like character, he repeated his prayer. All being ended, he got up and looked about him. He seemed perfectly satisfied with what he had done. Walking carelessly about a little, just as men do when they feel they have completed some task of the day, he turned and went contentedly away. This man had done exactly what his conscience had directed.
Yesterday morning two young women, aged twenty-one and seventeen, respectively, came and knocked on their little bells beneath our window. They had on large hats shaped like a sieve, and the garments of traveling priests. Of course, they wanted alms.
I asked them to work and I would pay them what was right. At six o’clock, when they had finished their task, I inquired into their history. They lived far to the southwest, several hundred miles away. The mother of one had had a severe case of sore eyes, but had gotten well. To express their gratitude to the gods, the girls had gone on a pilgrimage to the most famous temples throughout Japan; had been absent from home almost three years, and would not return till the end of the year, when the three years would be completed. I tried to persuade them it was foolish, vain, and the improper thing for young women to do. Their only reply was that it was the desire of their hearts, and they turned away with a laugh of contempt. They could lie down and sleep sweetly at night, feeling that they were doing the part of faithful daughters. They will probably never investigate to see that they have been deceived. Their conscience will never be disturbed till new light is thrown upon it.
When men get false religions, the proper thing to do is to get rid of them, go to the Lord and purchase gold that has been tried in the fire. Conscience alone can never set us right. It must be directed by the word of God. So long as Saul was led by the Pharisees and doctors of the law, conscience was continually leading him astray; and not till he heard the word of the Lord was he guided aright. It will not do to conclude that we are entirely safe and are emphatically right because our conscience says so. It can only follow the light it has, whether true or false. The examples of the old man at Narita and the two young women that came to our home yesterday clearly illustrate this. Now, many of you have had an easy conscience for years. You were sprinkled when you were babes; you have had your little ones sprinkled in like manner, and the dear little ones did look so sweet, and the church did look so nice, and the choir sung so well, and the minister had such a nice service! How could it have been wrong? You have not had a doubt about it, and are almost angry with me for raising a question about it; but please take this question seriously: Whose light did you follow? Did the Lord say for you to have your babies sprinkled? Just take his word, now, and ask him if he did.
A steamship once left the dock at Liverpool for New York. According to the compass, they were two hundred miles from the Nantucket Shoals. Presently the watchman cried out: “Land, ho!” The engines were reversed and the ship quickly brought to a standstill, when it was found that they were not more than two lengths from the shoals. It was afterward found that the needle of the compass had been deflected just the smallest fraction by a nail which the carpenter had driven in putting up a stove. So, the conscience must not be disturbed by covetousness, worldly ambition, pride, denominational environment, or ecclesiastical authority, if we expect from it true and faithful service.
Every Christian must have regard for those who have weak consciences, and be willing to deny himself some things for their sake. “Wherefore lift up the hands that hang down, and the palsied knees; and make straight paths for your feet, that that which is lame be not turned out of the way, but rather be healed.” “For if a man see thee which hast knowledge sitting at meat in an idol’s temple, will not his conscience, if he is weak, be emboldened to eat things sacrificed to idols? For through thy knowledge, he that is weak perisheth, the brother for whose sake Christ died. And thus, sinning against the brethren, and wounding their conscience when it is weak, ye sin against Christ.” Maybe you will say a brother has no business to have such a weak conscience. Quite true; but what business have any of us with sin at all? Yet, though we became sinners, Christ pitied us and died for the ungodly. The son who acts imprudently and receives a wound that makes him a cripple for life is not cast off by his parents, but is cared for all the more tenderly.
He has no business with a weak and crooked limb from which he must go on crutches; but by misfortune he has it, nevertheless. It is the father’s duty to adapt himself to the circumstances and care for his son. He would be a brutal father if he did not. He has regard for his lameness and still cares for him as a son. In crossing a hilly country, the father does not take the road of his own preference, but the one his son is best able to travel. In this he makes straight paths for his feet, lest that which is lame be turned out of the way. Now, many are lame spiritually; they halt and hobble along. The fact that they are trying to go at all under the circumstances should elicit our sympathy. We must have a tender care for them. There is one thing in connection with this matter that possibly you have not thought of. The lame man is apt to select the safest road. He knows his own weakness, and will choose the path along which there is least danger. Those who feel strong will be inclined to venture on dangerous ground; but in keeping back in company with the weak, while it may appear to be an inconvenience, their safety is secured. In the case Paul gives about eating meat, it actually so turned out that the weak brother was correct, while he who felt at liberty to sit at meat in an idol’s temple was on forbidden soil. Do you ask for the proof of this? Just turn two chapters ahead— I mean 1 Cor. 10— and, beginning with the twentieth verse, we will read it together: “But I say, that the things which the Gentiles sacrifice, they sacrifice to devils, and not to God: and I would not that ye should have fellowship with devils.
Ye cannot drink the cup of the Lord, and the cup of devils: ye cannot be partakers of the Lord’s table, and of the table of devils.” The weak conscience consists not in erroneous views or weakness of intellect, but a moral weakness that makes one cautious not to venture too far. Such may sometimes put us to some inconvenience, but they are the safest men in the church to follow.
Conscience is guided by the light which it receives. When guided by wrong teaching, it says: “I verily thought with myself, that I ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth.” (Acts 26:9.) Conscience is dependent on training and outside influences. A man can be educated to think right wrong and wrong right; and the conscience will give its consent to the wrong and make the heart just as easy as though it were right. Until Paul turned himself about and let a new light shine in upon his heart he could “in all good conscience” take the life of the very saints of God.
“’Conscience’ is a Latin word, though with an English termination, and, according to the very notation of it, imports a double or joint knowledge— to wit, one of a divine law or rule, and the other of a man’s own action— and is properly the application of a general law to a particular instance of practice. The law of God, the example, says, ‘Thou shalt not steal;’ and the mind of man tells him that the taking of such a thing from a person lawfully possessed of it is stealing. Whereupon the conscience, joining the knowledge of both these together, pronounces in the name of God that such a particular action ought not to be done.
And this is the true procedure of conscience, always supposing a law from God before it pretends to lay any obligation upon man.
Conscience neither is nor ought to be its own rule.” (South.) Conscience has no power of judging of that which is beyond the range of its own experience. The five senses are the avenues through which it comes into communication with the outer world.
If an event take place or a truth exist at the next door or across the sea, it is equally ignorant of both till some one of the five senses receives the message and conveys the intelligence. My wife and children might be murdered in the next room and I be entirely unconscious of it till next morning, when, walking into the room, I see their corpses lying on the floor. My eyes have conveyed the intelligence. A friend may die in a distant country, and I go on for months without the slightest pang of sorrow, till one day a friend comes and tells me. On hearing of the event, I am sad. There is also a certain sense in which feeling may be made to cooperate with the conscience within to establish certain facts in our own hearts. The blind girl runs her fingers over the raised letters; certain forms and combinations convey thoughts that cause pain or pleasure. It is only in this sense, however, that the feelings can be made to serve as a witness with our conscience. It is impossible for the feelings, in the ordinary use of the term, to give us any assurance of being correct. The feelings and emotions, as commonly experienced, are nothing more than the struggling of an aroused conscience for the light. Jacob was conscious that he saw the bloody coat of Joseph and that he heard the story of his sons, indicating that a wild beast had torn him to pieces; but his conscience could not go beyond the bounds of his own personal experience and tell him that, according to the facts that took place at Dothan, the boys were lying. For thirteen long, gloomy years conscience could not convey the slightest ray of light to the sorrowing father, that all his sorrow was caused by a story without foundation. Not till the facts to the contrary came within his own experience was he undeceived. But if the impressions made upon the mind come from a true source, this, with the certainty of our own conscience of what we experience, establishes truth beyond a question. As to the soul’s salvation and freedom from sin, the only infallible source from which to receive the truth is the word of God. This, together with our own conscious experience of having accepted it and conformed our lives to it, makes it certain, by the mouth of two sure witnesses, that we are his children. (Rom. 8:16.) The power of conscience is something wonderful. It is the fulcrum by which the lever of God’s truth lifts the world out of sin.
It is a strong tower against every attack of the hosts of Satan. It has faced church trials, ecclesiastical courts, and the authority of civil magistrates. Under the severest persecution it is calm and unshaken; in the very face of death, it unhesitatingly says: “None of these things move me.” In the year A. D. 311, a Christian by the name of Balsam was apprehended in the persecution by Maximus.
When brought before the governor, Severus, he was asked his name. He replied: “’Balsam’ is the name of my family, but I received that of ‘Peter’ in baptism. “” Of what family and of what country are you?” “I am a Christian.” “What is your employ?” “What employ can I have more honorable, or what better thing can I do in the world, than to live a Christian?” “Do you know the imperial edicts?” “I know the laws of God, the sovereign of the universe.” “You shall quickly know that there is an edict of the most clement emperors commanding all to sacrifice to the gods or be put to death.” “You will also know one day that there is a law of the eternal King proclaiming that everyone shall perish who offers sacrifice to devils. Which do you counsel me to obey, and which do you think should be my option— to die by your sword, or to be condemned to everlasting misery by the sentence of the great King and true God?” “Seeing you ask my advice,” said Severus, “it is, then, that you obey the edict and sacrifice to the gods.” “I can never be prevailed upon to sacrifice to gods of wood and stone, as those are which you adore.” “I would have you know that it is in my power to avenge those affronts by your death.” “I had no intention to affront you; I only expressed what is written in the divine law.” “Have compassion on yourself, and sacrifice.” “If I am truly compassionate to myself, I ought not to sacrifice.” “My desire is to use lenity; therefore, still do allow you time to consider with yourself, that you may save your life.” “This delay will be of no purpose, for I shall not alter my mind. Do now what you will be obliged to do soon, and complete the work which the devil, your father, has begun; for I will never do what Jesus Christ forbids me.” Severus then ordered Peter Balsam to be tortured upon the rack. “What say ye now, Peter? Do you begin to know what the rack is? Are you yet willing to sacrifice?” “Tear me with iron hooks, and talk not of sacrificing to your devils. I have already told you that I will sacrifice to that God alone for whom I suffer.” His tortures were then redoubled, and the man of God sung with great joy: “’One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life.’” His tormentors growing weary, others took their places, and his blood ran down in streams, while the pitying crowd cried out: “Obey the emperors; sacrifice, and rescue yourself from these torments!” “Do you call these torments?” replied the martyr. “I, for my part, feel no pain; but this I know: that if I am not faithful to my God, I must expect real pains, such as cannot be conceived.” The cruel Severus again insisted: “Sacrifice, Peter Balsam, or you will repent it.” “Neither will I sacrifice nor shall I repent it.” “I am just ready to pronounce sentence.” “It is what I most earnestly desire.” “It is our order that Peter Balsam, for having refused to obey the edicts of the invincible emperors, and having contemned our commands, after obstinately defending the law of a man crucified, be himself nailed to the cross.” It makes our heart sick to even pen this story of suffering, which is only one among thousands where men and delicate, tender women have borne untold cruelties rather than violate the voice of conscience.
The way to reform men is to arouse their conscience. Rules, pledges, and promises avail but little; but if one’s conscience be in it, he will do right without a promise. When people are continually pledging themselves to do this, promising to do that, and are agreeing to quit something else because persuaded by others, it is a sure sign that their conscience is not at work. Though the man is alive in a sense, his conscience is bound about in its graveclothes, and needs to be loosed and let go. The story is told of two neighbor infidels who lived in New England. From attending a revival, the conscience of one had been aroused, and he determined to reform.
He went to his neighbor, who ridiculed him. He replied: “Well, I have a duty to do, and I want you to stop talking and hear me. I have not slept much for two nights for thinking of it. I have four sheep in my flock that belong to you. They came into my field six years ago, and I knew they had your mark on them, and I took them and marked them with my mark; and you inquired all around, and could not hear anything of them; but they are in my field, with the increase of them, and now I want to settle this matter. I have lain awake nights and groaned over it, and I have come to get rid of it, and now I am at your option. I will do just what you say. If it is a few years in the State prison, I will suffer that; if it is money or property you want, say the word. I have a good farm, and money at interest, and you can have all you ask. I want to settle this matter up and get rid of it.” The infidel neighbor began to tremble. “If you have those sheep, you are welcome to them. I don’t want anything of you, if you will only go away. A man who will come to me as you have— something must have got hold of you that I don’t understand. You may keep the sheep, if you will only go away.” “No,” the man insisted, “I must settle this matter up and pay for the sheep; I shall not be satisfied without; and you must tell me how much.” “”Well,” said the other, “if you must pay for them, you may give me what the sheep were worth when they got into your field, and pay me six per cent interest on the amount, and go off and let me alone.” Tell me that such a man as this needs pledges to make him do right! The greatest surety for honesty and upright living is an active, living conscience. If this once arouses one to holiness, you had as well try to stop the avalanche as to prevent his going forward.
When clouds cover the sky, one may travel for miles without his shadow; but let the sun burst forth, and there lies his shadow at his feet. Conscience is like the ever-present shadow. We may try to flee from it, but in vain. It may, by the clouds of drunkenness, covetousness, and a dissolute life, seem to disappear; but along the path of life the sun of nobler sentiments will burst forth upon the soul, and the conscience will point to a misspent life and deeds of crime. Her voice may be silent for years and her presence be forgotten; but, when least suspected, some incident in life will cause her to again rise up before us with her solemn tones of warning: “Repent, repent! Break off from your iniquities, and, so far as able, make restitution for the wrongs committed against others.” The sons of Jacob, for example, sold their brother and went on about their business as usual. Thirteen eventful years had passed, when one day they were brought before the young ruler of Egypt. He was a stranger and dealt rather hard with them. The incident was of such a nature as to bring up earlier days. The distress of soul and the pleading look of Joseph as he was being given over into the hands of strangers made their hearts ache as they remembered it, and they, turning one to another, said: “We are verily guilty concerning our brother, in that we saw the distress of his soul, when he besought us, and we would not hear; therefore is this distress come upon us.” Seventeen years more pass by. They are now men considerably advanced in years. Jacob, their father, dies, and is carried back and buried in the old family graveyard. A new problem arises. The brothers begin to solve it after the manner of a guilty conscience: The old man is dead now. It may be that our brother has just been waiting, out of respect to his father, that he has not punished our crime. “It may be that Joseph will hate us, and will fully requite us all the evil which we did unto him.” Thirty years had passed; they were no longer young boys of the field together, but were now men of mature age; they were in a different country among a different people and new surroundings; but one thing they could not leave behind, and that was conscience. Her unchangeable voice was still heard: “Go and ask your brother’s forgiveness.” If conscience is thus to be a life companion, is to abide with us in death’s dark hour and face us in eternity, what is our duty in regard to it? We have seen that it may be led astray, perverted, and abused; that it may be weak and its voice of warning low. One thing, however, can be said of conscience: It is not a hypocrite. It was never known to natter or be insincere. If educated and given a chance, it leads from darkness to light. Its power to endure and to arouse men to action is wonderful. It tosses strong hearts on their pillows, drives sleep from the eyes, and forces them to the performance of long-neglected duty. It does not seek the public to make a display, but in the silent solitude of the midnight hour, when there is not an eye to see or an ear to hear, save Him who watcheth over all, it turns like a true friend and whispers in a low, soft tone: “Go and ask forgiveness; make restitution, for I am ill at ease and cannot rest” We may do many things to appease it; we may neglect it; we may attempt to flee from it; we may try to drown it with the cares of this world and a corrupt life; but one thing only will satisfy its demands: “Do as I bid you.” Rest assured, kind reader, that conscience will never make a compromise. You may pervert it, abuse it, and for the time crush it; but to make conscience yield, you cannot. Like the wasp you have crushed with your heel, it still has power to sting, and in an unsuspected hour will yet startle you as a madman. Some men and their conscience are like some men and their wives: they are unhappily matched. Life becomes one continual round of discord, because the one is constantly trampling upon the rights of the other, who, in turn, never ceases to make known her grievances.
Make peace, therefore, with your eternal companion. You can never be divorced; you should not seek to be. Conscience is your truest friend. She will never forsake you or be unfaithful.
Conscience is not infallible, but it is sincere. It pleads for the light; let us heed its voice. In the evening of life, it will give comfort and peace; when we reach the shadows of the grave it will brighten the dark path; in eternity’s morn it will rise up and call us blessed. J. M. M’CALEB.