difficulty in the way of accepting conscience as an ethical basis; for
he finds the voice of conscience varying with civilisation, education,
race, religion, traditions, customs, and if it be, indeed, the voice
of God in man, he cannot but see--in a sense quite different from that
intended by the writer--that God "in divers manners spoke in past
times". Moreover he observes, as an historical fact, that some of the
worst crimes which have disgraced humanity have been done in obedience
to the voice of conscience. It is quite clear that Cromwell at Drogheda
was obeying conscience, was doing that which he conscientiously believed
to be the Will of God; and there is no reason to doubt that a man like
Torquemada was also carrying out what he conscientiously believed to be
the Divine Will in the war which he waged against heresy through the
Inquisition.

In this moral chaos, with such a clash of discordant "Divine Voices,"
where shall sure guidance be found? One recalls the bitter gibe of Laud
to the Puritan, who urged that he must follow his conscience: "Yea,
verily; but take heed that thy conscience be not the conscience of a
fool."

Conscience speaks with authority, whenever it speaks at all. Its voice
is imperial, strong and clear. None the less is it often uninformed,
mistaken, in its dictate. There _is_ an Intuition which is verily
the voice of the Spirit in man, in the God-illuminated man, which is
dealt with in the fifth chapter. But the Intuition recognised in the
West, and identified with conscience, is something far other.

For the sake of clarity, we must define what conscience is since we have
said what it is not: that it is not the voice of the Spirit in man, that
it is not the voice of God.