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In God We Trust: The Authority of Butlerian Conscience

In his Fifteen Sermons

, Bishop Joseph Butler defends the legitimacy of conscience as a

moral principle. Against egoist writers such as Hobbes, Butler argues that self-love and
benevolence are not in conflict, that the principle of conscience ultimately determines moral
action, and that moral conduct is in some way in accordance with human nature. His philosophy,
however, includes a number of unclear points. The exact relation between self-love and
conscience, the role of conscience in establishing moral obligations, and the grounds for the
legitimacy of conscience are all open to multiple interpretations. In this paper, I argue that Butler
cannot defend the harmony of self-love and conscience but should still be committed to the
supremacy of conscience in cases of conflict. In the process, I consider Sturgeons argument that
conscience is superfluous, but side with Darwall in finding that conscience does real work in
Butlers theory. Finally, I consider the ground for conscience and argue against an autonomist
interpretation in favor of a moral realist reading that gives a satisfying resolution to the conflict
between conscience and self-love.
Butlers simplest solution to the problem of conflict between self-interest and virtue, the
assertion that no such conflict is possible, is not tenable. In Sermon III, Butler gives a set of
exaggerated cases in which vices such as intemperance or greed lead to unhappiness which could
have been avoided by virtuous moderation (III.141). Armed also with his description of
principles and passions in human nature which in general contribute and lead us to public good
as really as to private (I.14), Butler concludes that conscience and self-love, if we understand
our true happiness, always lead us the same way (III.16). This argument is facile. Few doubt

I follow the citation convention wherein the roman numerals give the sermon number and the arabic number gives
the paragraph within that sermon

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that there are obvious ways in which forms of vice cause suffering. But virtue for Butler is more
than the mere absence of jealousy and lust: all of Sermon XII is devoted to the duty to love ones
neighbor as oneself. Wedgwood points out that this love may be painful, as when we heed
Romans 12:15 and weep with them that weep (38). Indeed, this is possible because Butler
takes the command to love ones neighbor to be a command to assimilate the neighbors
happiness: for in the degree we love another, his interest, his joys and sorrows, are our own. It is
from self-love that we form the notion of private good, and consider it as our own. Love of our
neighbor would teach us thus to appropriate to ourselves his good and welfare (XII.12). But
when a fellow is suffering, it would certainly be more pleasant for us in the moment if we did not
feel his pain as our own. And when we consider the indigent downtrodden, whose lives consist
of systematic suffering, we must conclude that it would be more pleasant for us to simply ignore
them.
In arguing such, I am not confound[ing] the concepts of self-love and the various
passions (I.14). I recognize that for a person who does love their neighbors, caring for the
neighbors will serve self-love. The command to love the neighbor, however, is not a command to
satisfy existing other-directed passions. It is a second-order command to cultivate first-order
passions. And this we may legitimately doubt to accord with self-love. Wedgwood makes the
point well: regarding an attitude of callous indifference to sufferers whom we can ignore, it is
hard to see how this sort of vice deprives us of many pleasures, but easy to see how it will spare
us the anxiety that more virtuous people will feel (39). A virtuous disposition may very well be
contrary to self-interest over a life.

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Moreover, it is certainly false that self-love and conscience never conflict in particular
cases. Consider an example from Kants second Critique in which a man will be executed unless
he bears false witness against an innocent man (5:30)2. Under Kants framework, the man
apprehends the moral law which commands against false witness; under Butlers framework, the
man will surely feel his conscience condemn the act. Presumably the mans self-love will
condemn the other option. For Kant, the very crux of the example is the obvious conflict of
self-love and moralitythe possibility for morality to trump even love of life is what reveals the
existence of human freedom.
Butler is not committed to so robust a thesis. Indeed, in his famous cool hour passage,
he concedes the exact opposite:
Let it be allowed, though virtue or moral rectitude does indeed consist in affection to and
pursuit of what is right and good, as such: yet that, when we sit down in a cool hour, we
can neither justify to ourselves this or any other pursuit, till we are convinced that it will
be for our happiness, or, at least, not contrary to it (XI.40).
It is tempting to dismiss this passage as a mere hypothetical concession for the sake of argument.
Yet the line, so far as the interests of virtue depend upon the theory of it being secured from
open scorn, so far its very being in the world depends upon its appearing to have no contrariety
to private interest and self-love, suggests otherwise (XI.42). Butler remains confident the moral
action is the one which is right and good, yet he grants that as a matter of psychological fact
we will not choose the right action if it is contrary to our happiness. The rightness of an action is
justified by conscience, but this is not sufficient for us to justify it to ourselves; conscience is
naturally supreme, but this does not ensure that it will be the most powerful principle. This is

I will refer to this scenario as the Kantian martyr

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why Butler must show that his theory is not contrary to private interest: not because the truth
hinges on the harmony, but because the publics acceptance does.
The above discussion shows that the authority of conscience is of a somewhat tenuous
nature. Butler finds himself committed to the authority of conscience while affirming its lack of
power. Admittedly, this is not inconsistent in itself. In Sermon II, Butler distinguishes between
three senses in which a faculty may be superior by nature. The latter two are relevant here. In one
sense, nature consist[s] in those passions which are strongest, and most influence the actions
(II.10); in another, nature is what makes people a law unto [themselves] (II.16). In this
conception, superiority has nothing to do with strength; rather, it is like the superior authority of
a government under a constitution (P.42). It will be no surprise that Butler believes conscience is
superior only in the latter sense. Indeed, he is willing to concede that people are vicious by
nature in the former sense; conscience is often weaker in power than various wicked passion
(II.10). If the point about acting contrary to happiness is true, conscience does not just have
limited powerit is totally powerless against self-interest. Even if the judgments of self-interest
and conscience come apart only rarely, self-interest must win whenever they do. Thus, our
behavior will functionally be the behavior of egoists. Insofar as conscience tempers self-interest,
it will do so only with restraints of guilt. These restraints will be binding only when violating
them would bring us more uneasiness and inconvenience than satisfaction (III.14). Under this
picture of human action, how could we be blamed for injustice? Will not injustice be
unavoidable, given that the most powerful principles in people are contrary to conscience? Is not
the psyche arranged so as to be perpetually disordered, constituted to forever go against its
legitimate constitution?

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The situation is further complicated by Butlers discussion of superior principles at the

end of Sermon III. Butler summarizes his view: human nature consists in a legitimate hierarchy
of psychological principles. When principles yield different judgments on an action, we must act
in accordance with the highest principle, regardless of which principle is momentarily strongest.
Butler goes on to assert, Reasonable self-love and conscience are the chief or superior
principles in this nature of man: because an action may be suitable to this nature, though all other
principles be violated; but becomes unsuitable, if either of those are [emphasis added] (III.16).
This must commit Butler to belief in the absolute agreement of self-love and conscience, or there
will be circumstances in which an agent is unable to legitimately take any action. Consider again
the case of the Kantian martyr, and suppose as before that conscience speaks against bearing
false witness while self-love speaks against certain death. The agent has only two options
available: lie or die. Lying would be contrary to the superior principle of conscience and thus
unnatural; yet refusing to lie would also be unnaturalit would be contrary to the superior
principle of self-love. As a matter of fact, the agent will simply choose according to the
momentarily stronger principle, which the cool hour passage guarantees will be self-love. As a
matter of principle, though, the agent will have no good reason to decide either waylegitimate
practical reasoning will be paralyzed. This is unacceptable.
There are two plausible remedies to this paralysis. The first is to simply discount Butlers
statement here on the authority of self-love. This is not so unreasonable: Butler nowhere else
speaks of self-love as natural in his distinctive third sense, and indeed he frequently speaks of
conscience as unique authoritative principle3. If reconciliation is possible, however, it should be

the one superior principle of reflection or conscience; [conscience] itself alone is an obligation (III.2);

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preferred. The other option, that self-love and conscience really never come apart, deserves a fair
hearing then.
First, let me explain the model of human constitution I take Butler to work under: Butler
holds (though he would be unlikely to use these terms) the practical reasoning structure of any
agent to be described by a set of various principles and passions which are arranged to form the
mathematical structure of a partial order4, with the order relation recording data on the relative
authority of the principles. This corresponds with Butlers exposition in the preface. The lines
mankind has various instincts and principles of action, as brute creatures have...Man has several
which brutes have not describe the underlying set of principles which vary across types of
agents (P.30). These principles activate with varying strength positively or negatively to certain
action and may in general disagree. Yet more data are needed; the notion of a whole is
incomplete until you include the relations and respects which those parts have to each other
(P.24). This is the ordering of the principles by authority; to behave according to ones nature is
to act in agreement with the highest activated principle (III.16). In this framework, there is no
inherent problem with having multiple maximal5 principles, even if the principles activate in
general differently from one another. Contradiction arises only if there could be some
circumstance in which every one of an agents possible actions is rejected by at least one
maximal principle. This is exactly what goes wrong in the case of the Kantian martyr.
The paralysis can be resolved only if self-love accepts the choice to die, or if conscience
accepts the choice to lie. It is certainly counterintuitive that self-love could tolerate death, but

A partial order is a binary relation on a set P which is reflexive (p p), transitive (a b & b c => a c), and
antisymmetric (a b & b a => a = b)
5
An element m is maximal if there is no element greater than it, i.e. no distinct x with m
x. This does not require
that m be greater than any other elements in particular.

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Butler gives an argument that it might. In the preface, Butler claims that when self-love
commands one way and conscience another, we may adjudicate between them by noting that the
commands of self-love can at the utmost appear no more than probable; since no man can be
certain, in any circumstances, that vice is his interest in the present world; the commands of
conscience are conversely the most certain and known (P.47). We should obey the certain
command and act in accord with conscience. Note, first of all, how weak the claim of uncertainty
is. For the Kantian martyr, the claim of uncertainty amounts to little more than the possibility of
a miracle occurring. More problematically, Butler considers conscience and self-love differently.
He treats conscience as a principle which cannot be pursued unsuccessfullyto act according to
the demand of conscience is to have obeyed it fully. Butler makes self-love, however, essentially
dependent on consequences. In actuality, self-love is a principle which demands that we pursue
our happiness as best as we reasonably can. When I examine a set of options with uncertain
consequences and prudently choose the safest one, I have acted with self-love, even if the worst
consequence is what is realized. Conversely, if I choose an option that, barring a miracle, leads to
certain death, I act against self-love. Butlers argument fails, and self-love still objects.
The other option, that conscience would approve of condemning the innocent man, is
hardly more plausible on an intuitive understanding of conscience, yet Sturgeon argues that
Butlerian conscience is radically unlike what we might expect. Sturgeon makes the bold claim
that Butler is committed to the Full Naturalistic Thesis (FNT), the thesis that conscience only
makes judgements on the grounds of naturalness. The FNT would imply that conscience is
superfluous. Briefly if conscience only judges on the grounds of naturalness, and if naturalness
consists in accordance with the maximal activated principles, then conscience simply reports the

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consensus of other principles and never gives new information. If this is so, conscience really
can never disagree with self-interest, for conscience will activate whenever self-interest does
(Sturgeon 341).
Of course, Butler does not think of conscience this way: conscience pronounces
determinately some actions to be in themselves just...without being consulted, without being
advised with, magisterially exerts itself, and approves or condemns him, the doer of them,
accordingly (II.16). Here at least conscience is portrayed as an active force which generates its
own judgments. Even if it merely processes existing information, conscience certainly plays a
role in converting data from other principles into a judgment.
The real trouble for Sturgeon is that his argument for the FNT is flawed. Sturgeon takes
Butlers reductio on parricide to show that Butlerian conscience must base its judgments on
naturalnessotherwise, we could still condemn parricide even if it violated no natural principle
of conscience. Yet as Darwall points out, Butler only claims we could not condemn the action
considered as the actions of such a creature (Darwall 257, quoting Butler II.17). Conscience is
perfectly free to reject parricide as a kind of action, but it cannot condemn a particular agent
for committing parricide unless the act was unnatural (Darwall 257). This introduces some
subtleties about accountability which will be addressed later, but for now note that it frees
conscience to give its own judgments. And if conscience is truly authoritative, my conscience
may give me reasons to act which are distinct from the judgments of other principles. Freed to
judge independently, it is inconceivable that conscience should approve condemning the
innocent man. There is no good way to salvage Butlers claim on the authority of self-love;
self-love must submit to conscience.

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Having determined that conscience truly is authoritative for Butler, we turn to question
the ground of this authority. The most obvious line of argument is from teleology, but Darwall
identifies a Kantian sort of argument from autonomy. Taking Butler to treat the natural
supremacy of conscience and the existence of any relations of natural superiority as equivalent,
Darwall deduces that a being who lacked conscience could have no genuine reasons for acting
(256; 270). To illustrate the point, he considers a being somewhere between a brute and a human.
This being has a desire for his greatest overall happiness, but does not see this desire as giving a
reason to act against his various first-order desires (274). Such a being could be baited into a
snare just like Butlers brute, so long as its first-order desire for the bait were stronger than its
desire for overall happiness. Crucially (indeed, even human conscience can be overwhelmed by
strong first-order desires), the being is not clearly behaving contrary to reason (275). While I
object to the phrasing (I would say the being lacks access to reason but is behaving contrary to
what reason would dictate 6), I do accept the conclusion that having a principle of
reflection[is] necessary for the existence of practical reasons (275).
That conscience is sufficient for the existence of practical reasons is much less clear.
Darwall takes Butlerian conscience to be essentially formal. That is to say, it is defined not by
any connection to an independent order, but only by such features as coolness and impartiality
(279). As such, its authority must derive from its formal features. The most relevant feature for
this purpose is the consciences unique ability to address the fundamental question of agency,
What should I do? (280). Other principles can only report from their own perspective but
cannot give reason to actthe fact that an action accords with the principle of self-love has no

This point is developed below

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more intrinsic normative power than the fact that another accords with the rules of Victorian
etiquette. Conscience must step in to endorse behaving in accordance with self-love, but nothing
can endorse behaving according to conscience. Conscience gives the verdict of finality. Are
these formal features enough to grant conscience legitimacy? Darwall worries, and I will argue,
that they are not. Darwall identifies only two paths to grounding conscience. We must either
stipulate further formal properties to develop a more fully Kantian account, or reject that
normativity is purely procedural (282). Despite the issues Darwall raises, I will argue that
Butlers ethical theory most plausibly takes the second option.
Pursuing the autonomist reading leads to unpalatable results that Butler would almost
certainly not accept. Though Butler does at times ascribe formal features to conscience, the final
picture of conscience is formally very thin. Darwall identifies only the formal features of
universality, impartiality, dispassionateness, and informedness, and this list does appear to
exhaust any description of conscience at least in the Sermons (282). Of these, the only uniquely
practical feature is impartiality, but this must be understood in the relevant sense. Butler explains
in Sermon XII that impartiality does not require us to weight everybodys interests evenly in a
moral calculus, but only to consider others in due proportion...which can be judged of only from
our nature and condition in this world (108). This is not a formal feature. The formal notion of
impartiality is found in Sermon X, where Butler asks us to judge our actions and then to imagine
another in our place and consider if our judgment would change (X.28). Impartiality forbids us
from treating ourselves differently than we would treat any other agent in our circumstances.
Even this sets little constraint on the particular judgments of our conscience. Indeed, Butlerian
conscience is strongly conditioned, and it generally behaves more like a sense than pure Kantian

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reason. Notably, fidelity, honor, strict justice, are themselves approved [by conscience] in the
highest degree, abstracted from the consideration of their tendency, which is to say that
conscience simply approves them as such (XII.58).
Is it not then conceivable that there could be a man whose conscience does not respond to
actions with these characteristics? Or worse, a woman whose conscience responds in reverse,
approving treachery and recoiling at justice? So long as she is fully informed and approves
treachery even upon cool reflection, her conscience meets Butlers formal standards. It seems she
would then have reason to do evil; worse, refraining from evil (perhaps self-love holds her back
out of fear of punishment) would be a violation of her nature. This is even more absurd than the
reductio on parricide; and Butler cannot allow it.
Even for an agent who is not so totally wicked, the autonomist account does not ground
morality. If the essential normative feature of conscience is its ability to give practical
commands, there is no guarantee that these will align with moral action. We may imagine an
agent who understands that an action, say petty theft, would be wrong, and yet even on reflection
decides to do it anyway. The agent considers the crime, feels conscience report that it would be
wrong, and doubts that this gives him a reason not to do it. He reflects on the contingency of his
moral judgments and decides they cannot be legitimate; he, like the egoist before, finds them
binding only to the extent they would be unpleasant to contradict. Is such an agent making a
procedural error? He does not seem to be. He reflects cooly, with the full facts of the case, and
his judgment survives. He imagines another agent A in the same situation, and though he finds
As imagined actions slightly distasteful, he thinks that A would indeed be justified. The decision
to steal satisfies all of the procedural constraints, so it must be legitimate. In grounding the

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authority of conscience on its power to make normative judgments, we have given it too much
freedom, and normativity has been untethered from morality.
Butler himself sees only two possible ways people can fail to be moral. The first is the
obvious case where some momentarily dominant passion usurps power from conscience (II.26).
The more insidious case is the subject of Sermon X, self-deceit. People, Butler notices, have a
tendency to think too highly of themselves, to believe their conduct more honorable than it is. In
short, people neglect to exercis[e] their judgment upon themselves (X.4). This is Butler at his
most Kantianor perhaps his most Korsgaardian; indeed, the failure to self-judge is a failure to
pursue reflective endorsement. As Butler writes, shutting off reflection when we find its verdicts
unpleasant is like finding ourselves in some disagreeable scene and resolving the discomfort by
closing our eyes (X.20). We immediately see that the latter case is absurdwe could never
endorse it as a general strategyand thus, so too is self-deceit. Could Butlerian conscience, with
its newly-identified commitment to reflexive endorsement, ground a richer set of moral
obligations after all? It cannot. Note where reflection bottoms out for Butler: in the feeling that
certain actions, habits, dispositions are not as they should be (X.20). Even the analogy above
suggests that conscience is like a sense. The suspicion is confirmed as Butler informs us that our
understanding, and sense of good and evil, is the light and guide of life, and therefore the
scripture sets a simple single eye in opposition to an evil eye (X.20). Moral corruption is likened
to corruption of the sight: as the corrupted eye cannot perceive physical objects, the corrupt
conscience cannot perceive morality. The discussion of self-deceit, then, is less a call to total
reflective endorsement than a call to heed a moral sense and guard it from corruption.

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With such difficulty for the autonomist view, the more plausible account focuses on
Butlers teleological arguments. On my reading, Butler accepts an external moral order, toward
which God has directed human nature. The project of the Sermons is to demonstrate the
goodness and authority of our natures. Butler lays this out explicitly in the preface, where he
speaks of two modes of moral inquiry: we may inquire into the abstract relations of things or
into the particular nature of man (P.20). He is convinced both approaches lead us to the same
thing, our obligation to the practice of virtue, and indeed that the first may be the most direct
and indisputable. Butler chooses the second because it is adapted to satisfy a fair mind, that is,
for rhetorical reasons given his medium (P.20). Thus, in the first sermon, Butler examines human
passions and principles to conclude that we were made for society (I.8).
Butlers claims are deeper than the empirical fact that our psychology promotes social
harmony: he thinks human nature has a purpose out of and beyond itself (P.24). As the purpose
of a watch give its parts an order, an order that if violated too greatly will destroy the watch, so
too does human psychology have an order (P.24). In Sermon II, Butler goes so far as to compare
the order of human nature to a constitutional order, in which conscience is superior...without
regard to strength, and any action caused by another principle mere usurpation (II.26).
Darwall worries that Butler mixes metaphors to illegitimately grant conscience authority, since
given only facts about functional design...no normative facts can follow from them (267). In
order to make this work, Darwall thinks, conscience would have to have its authority ultimately
in both independent normative facts and the knowledge that as God has designed us, conscience
is our best access to these (269). I think that this is entirely correct, but I disagree that it presents
a problem.

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Darwall argues that Butlers methodological commitments and claims about obligation
make such a reading untenable. The methodological commitments, I believe, may be addressed
fairly quickly. Butler does indeed claim to avoid intuitionistic metaphysics (269)but
remember why: he is speaking to an audience of laypeople who he believes will be less receptive
to argument on the abstract relation of things. It is highly unlikely he thought the laypeople
would be more receptive to a proto-Kantian inquiry into the nature of autonomy and practical
reason. Recall also that Butler believes his project will yield the exact same results as the abstract
inquiry approach. If the authority of conscience is really to be grounded in autonomy or other
formal properties, the harmony between judgments of conscience and the external moral order
becomes somewhat miraculous. Butlers methodological comments thus work in favor of my
reading. Conscience corresponds to the moral order precisely because it is the means by which
we perceive the order.
The reading finds further support in Butlers comments on reason and passion in Sermon
V. Here Butler engages in the sort of critical reflection on moral feelings that thwarted the
autonomist above. Why, an imagined interlocutor asks, should we not act always from reason?
Does not passion and affection of every kind perpetually mislead us? (V.10). Butler concedes
that a perfect being like God surely is not moved by passion; for Him, reason is sufficient (V.10).
We humans, however, are flawed, and reason alone does not move us to virtue. We need the
affections which God has impressed upon [our] heart[s]. And when these are allowed scope to
exercise themselves, but under strict government and direction of reason then we act suitably
to our nature and morally (V.10). This is as clear a statement as possible: morality is a matter of
the abstract order of things; we trust our affections as imperfect guides toward this order; we

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rationally interrogate affection to root out error. We are obligated to follow our nature because
we recognize it is our best access to goodness.
I now ensure that this reading is compatible with the previous discussion on
accountability. For if the moral order is external, surely facts about how [an agent] should act
will be independent of her conscience (Darwall 269). Doesnt this conflict with the conclusion
that a brute without conscience has no reason not to be baited into a trap? Consideration of the
phrase has reason to will show it does not. We may read A has reason to to mean that
according to the abstract order of things, A should do . We may also read it as meaning, A
can understand herself to have a reason to do . It seems plausible that these two meanings may
come apart. There is some intuitive sense in which the brute really shouldnt take the bait. At the
same time, we recognize that there is nothing we could say to the brute which would convince
itsuch an image is even absurd, since the brute lacks speech and reason. As such, we concede
that the brutes actions are not unnatural; it is simply not in the brutes nature to access reason.
The case of a person without conscience is similar. Such a person should still be virtuous in
accord with the moral order. Again, though, we recognize that such a person cannot be held
deeply responsible if he behaves immorallywe can hardly expect more of him, given the
weakness of human reason. This way of thinking is perfectly common: it is why today we acquit
the mentally ill while still still thinking they have done something wrong. Moral responsibility in
general requires an agent to have had reason in the second sense, and Butler may consistently
ascribe it only to beings with a conscience. The realist reading is not threatened by Butlers
statements on responsibility.

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With the authority of conscience grounded, we may finally pursue a more satisfying
resolution of the conflict between conscience and self-love. That conscience should trump
self-love is immediately clear: conscience gives us information about a moral order, and, lacking
further information about this order, we should respect conscience as our guide. What about
Butlers statement about reasonable self-love (II.22)? Admittedly, this still presents a problem,
but one that might be solved by focusing on the modifier reasonable. If this is correct,
reasonable self-love provides a check on what conscience may legitimately ask of us. For
example, Butler believes that we are obligated to benevolence but recognizes that we may still
care for ourselves. The discussion of self-deceit suggests a reasonable standard: if upon
imagining another in our situation we think that an action would require unreasonable sacrifice
on her part, we are free not to do it. Self-love and our sense of morality thus temper one another
in conscience: as conscience strikes down selfishness, so too may it strike down moral
fanaticism.
The only enemy left for conscience are the passions. Here the solution is ancient: we
must vigilantly cultivate good habits. Being a higher-order faculty, conscience can render its
judgment even when it is momentarily usurped. Careful attention to the shame felt upon
wrongdoing can, over time, make wrongdoing seem unpleasant. Similarly, attention to the
goodness of virtue can, over time, create first-order desires to virtue, as what was before
confinement ceases to be so, by becoming choice and delight (III.14). We see conscience can
change the very structure of our desires so that, though the tension is unlikely ever totally
eliminated, the verdicts of conscience and self-interest align ever closer.

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I believe that the reading I have given most plausibly resolves the tensions in Butlers
thought. Setting human nature as our best access to an independent order makes it normative to
us and allays worries about its contingency. Our dependence on conscience also explains the
sense in which a being without conscience lacks practical reasons. Finally, we see how the
higher-order power of conscience gives us hope of taming the imperfect passions of our nature.
Of course, this delightful picture hinges on the assumption that God has arranged our natures to
virtueas Darwall puts it, on a literal Deus ex macchina (283). It is Butlers theology that lets
him blend arguments from teleology, intuitionist moral laws, and practical autonomy. Whether
his position could be tenable without God is a fascinating question: a secular modification of
Butler may have to collapse to either intuitionism or Kantian constructivism. Butlers work
indicates the significant difficulties that either side must face.
Works Cited
Bishop Joseph Butler, Sermons, ed. Darwall, Hackett, ISBN 9780915145614
Immanuel Kant, The Critique of Practical Reason, ed. Gregor, Cambridge, ISBN
9780521599627
Sturgeon, N. L. (1976). Nature and Conscience in Butler's Ethics. The Philosophical Review,
85(3), 316. doi:10.2307/2184046
Wedgwood, Ralph Butler on Virtue, Self-Interest, and Human Nature. Morality and Self
Interest. New York: Oxford, 2007. Oxford Scholarship Online. 15 December 2016