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104 pages, Paperback
First published January 17, 1997
I would bear you back upon your own conscience, and bid you listen to its voice.
We must have a common starting ground.
Man is more than a consciousness, he is a conscience.
He is not only aware of himself, he is critical of himself.
There is in the soul a bar, a tribunal; our thoughts and actions are ranged before it; judgment is passed there upon what we have been and done. Everyone who believes in morality believes in the conscience as the power we have of passing moral judgment upon ourselves.
Talk of public opinion! What is it in severity and power to private opinion - a man's most private opinion of himself?
And we treat him - our judicial self - with much respect.
His praise will carry us a long way; his censure cast us down.
It will divide and set us against ourselves, and destroy the joy in every other part of us.
We fear this judge, this critic, in our own heart; we go as far, at times, as to hate him.
If we could get at him we would put him out of the way.
We would bribe him. And we even try that, but always with incomplete success.
We would blind him, throw dust in his eyes, sophisticate him; and that is partially successful at times.
We would kill him, and that we think sometimes we do.
But we wake up to find it is a delusion, and he has been fooling us.
Some have even tried, having failed in every other way, to kill this voice by killing themselves; but there has never been any certainty that this was a success.
And we have an uneasy surmise that the dream beyond may be worse than the waking here, that the persecuting voice only reappears after the silence in another quarter, like the subterranean ghost of Hamlet's father, who made a conscience for him.
We cannot get rid of this judge.
He is not in our power.
We cannot unmake him, though he be against ourselves.
Then we did not make him.
What a strange thing we are - two, yet one!
Two that cannot agree - one that cannot be severed.
Our enemy is of our essence, taken from under our very heart.
We are one by being two.
We are unhappy both because we are two and quarrel, and because we are one and cannot part.
Neither of us can go out of the other's hearing.
We may cease to attend much to each other, but we are always within call.
And every now and then we are called, and we quail.
And it is then that some men curse the voice they thought gone, and do desperate things so inexplicable.
Ah! people did not know what went on inside the spirit's house.
They saw us walk out together, the two of us, us and our conscience, and we seemed on good terms with each other, seemed quite one.
They heard nothing of the bitter quarrels indoors.
But one day there is a crisis and a great to do.
The man is gone, and his partner is not to be found. When they went they went together.
We cannot get out of this critic's hearing, or leave our moral partner's presence.
We are wedded under laws which allow of no divorce, for any incompatibility, cruelty or infidelity.