Thought only gets us so far. Eventually, thought has to be translated into action. It’s good to be thoughtful, but it’s better yet to be bold. Prudence is the virtue responsible for translating thought into action, and the prudent person is a man or woman of action. Unfortunately, though, this aspect of prudence tends to be diminished by many Christians, and instead of a healthy emphasis on acting or doing, there arises an unhealthy emphasis on pondering or discerning.

Part of the reason for this is that, in both theory and practice, prudence is often edged out by conscience. Instead of stressing prudence, we stress conscience. Conscience, though, is not nearly so bold as prudence. Prudence is immediately and directly practical. Conscience is not. How then do we address the current imbalance? First, we’ll study conscience to determine its rightful place in the moral life. Then, we’ll turn to prudence to see how it differs from conscience. Finally, we’ll conclude with a comparison of the two. As we’ll see, conscience evaluates, whereas prudence both evaluates and acts. By reaffirming the rightful place of prudence, perhaps we can recover something of the boldness of the moral life that is often lost from view.

Whether we are making decisions or evaluating their morality, we often speak in terms of conscience. How do I form my conscience? How do I know what my conscience is telling me? Can I really be confident in following my conscience? In practical matters, conscience helps to facilitate our moral reasoning. It gets some principles on the table, applies them to particular situations, and works toward resolutions. All of that, though, sounds a lot like how we have described prudence. What, then, is conscience, and how does it differ from prudence?

St. Thomas Aquinas teaches that conscience is neither a power of the soul (like the intellect, will, or passions) nor a virtue (like faith, wisdom, prudence, or justice). Rather, conscience is an act of the intellect. It’s part of how we think about our human lives and choices. In general, it concerns the same types of things that prudence concerns — human acts and their morality. Conscience differs from prudence, though, in how it treats those things. Prudence directly concerns action. It performs the act under consideration. Conscience, by contrast, indirectly concerns action. It assesses the act under consideration. The dictate of conscience may be carried out eventually, but it is primarily and principally about evaluation.

Effectively, conscience is a tool for appropriating the moral law — for making the moral law one’s own. The moral law exists, whether one acknowledges it or not. If one seeks to live well within its bounds, though, he or she has to appropriate it by acquiring moral knowledge. What exactly does this look like? As man comes of age, he fashions a rough and ready reserve of moral knowledge — his current sense of the moral law. Over the course of a lifetime, he refines this moral knowledge so that it accounts better for his experience. Conscience facilitates this growth by sizing up particular acts against what he currently knows and giving feedback.

In this task, conscience evaluates the goodness of both past and future moral actions. If it’s a future deed that one is contemplating, then conscience may instigate, encourage, caution, or bind. “You really ought to consider this,” conscience might advocate. If it’s a past deed that one is revisiting, then conscience defends, excuses, accuses, or nags. “You really ought to apologize,” conscience might suggest. Ultimately, judgments of conscience help one to come into more perfect possession of moral knowledge. Within its domain, conscience is an invaluable tool for appropriating the moral law.

Conscience makes its judgments based upon two sources of practical truth. The first source is the moral knowledge that one acquires throughout the course of his or her life. The second and more basic source is the natural law. In the last chapter we described how the natural law works through human inclinations, prompting and guiding the pursuit of different goods. In addition to working through inclinations, though, the natural law also works through thought. The natural law can be known, and human beings can reason on the basis of it.

All human beings recognize the natural law to a certain extent, and there is pretty significant agreement on the fundamentals of what’s good and what’s evil. Respect for elders, good. Murder of innocent, evil. There may be some dispute over the details, but that shouldn’t distract from the considerable consensus. From a Christian perspective, we know that this consensus isn’t accidental or random, nor is it likely to change. It’s part of who we are. We are capable of genuine insight into moral realities because that insight flows from our very nature given by God. The light of the intellect, our sharing in the divine light, reveals to us a vast and intelligible moral universe. By our intellectual capacity to access the very natures of things, we are empowered to know who we are and how we ought to engage with our environment. The natural law gives us an habitual “sense” for the law of God inscribed in us at creation. Since it is part of our nature, the natural law cannot be blotted out. It is a permanent feature of human life. It may be obscured and our sensitivity to it deadened, but it always remains. It is an ineradicable consequence of our being made in the image of God.

This habit of the natural law illustrates how our life ought to look in its most basic contours. When stated in such terms, though, it may seem a bit abstract. How, then, is the natural law brought to bear on human life in real time? From the light of the mind, the natural law gives rise to certain principles by which to live. The most foundational of these is “Do good and avoid evil.” From this starting point, we can tease out further principles like “Honor your father and mother” or “Thou shalt not kill.” These principles, and those that flow from them, begin to give concrete shape to our life of practical reason.

These basic principles don’t give us enough detail to evaluate particular acts though, so we need more refinement. The natural law has to be further determined and applied. With the principles at work in the background, we fashion more specific arrangements and laws concerning worship, politics, family life, human sexuality, properties and contracts, courtesy and social discourse, and so on. What do these determinations and applications look like? Take one example: In the state of Pennsylvania, car theft is punishable by up to seven years in prison and up to $15,000 in fines. At first blush, that law may seem somewhat arbitrary and far removed from the natural law, but on closer inspection there are good reasons for it.

We begin with the principle “Do good and avoid evil.” Whatever policy is decided, it should promote integral human flourishing. Next, we have to acknowledge the place of private property. Man has the right to procure and dispense of private property within a responsible and peaceable society. If property rights are not safeguarded and theft condoned, we run the risk of lawless chaos. Further, when someone transgresses the law, justice has to be meted out in proportionate punishment which a) reflects the gravity of the crime, b) deters other would-be criminals, and c) reforms the criminal himself. Thus, given the value of security and civil order, the cost and importance of a car in modern life, and the relative weight of similar infractions, the legislature of Pennsylvania settled upon this law. It’s not immediately obvious that it’s the best possible arrangement, but the legislature was certainly reasonable in making it, for at root the determination arises from the natural law and applies it well. From the natural law, we eventually make our way to the nitty-gritty details of life, like car theft. It’s on these grounds that Saint Thomas refers to the principles of the natural law as a kind of seed plot from which grows all of our subsequent practical reasoning. The natural law empowers us to seek what is good and to turn against what is evil in every dimension of our individual and social lives.

From its grounding in natural law, the judgment of conscience makes concrete determinations and applications of moral knowledge. Judgments of conscience are formulated like arguments with premises and conclusions. In a judgment of conscience: 1) the natural law supplies one premise; 2) moral knowledge concerning a particular action supplies the other premise; and 3) the act of conscience draws the conclusion from the premises. The conclusion is an application of moral knowledge concerning a particular action. It concretizes what is implicit in the premises by teasing out the implications of the natural law and moral knowledge.

Let’s say that you have been working for three months in one of your company’s foreign offices, and you have to get a driver’s license in your new country of residence before the year is out. To get the license, you need to pass a theory exam. Now, you could study the 119-page manual written in a foreign language or you could just bring your phone to the licensing center and look up the answers discreetly and efficiently. The rules of the road don’t differ much, and you probably wouldn’t be endangering anyone. What does it matter if you don’t know precisely how many centimeters you have to leave between your tire and the curb? In the judgment of conscience informing your decision, the argument plays out as follows:

1. The one premise is supplied by the natural law: “Evil is to be avoided.” This is a basic intellectual inclination — the first principle of practical reason — to which everyone everywhere has access.
2. The other premise is supplied by one’s moral knowledge of the particular act: “Cheating on this driver’s exam would be evil.” Here you recognize that, even though it may seem harmless, it is still an instance of cheating and, thus, an act of injustice.
3. From these two premises, then, you judge: “One should avoid cheating on this driver’s exam.” The conclusion is the judgment of conscience — an application of moral knowledge.

In this particular judgment, you begin with a basic principle of the natural law: Evil is to be avoided. You don’t reason to it. You just recognize it. It registers deep in your person, deeper than any stated rule or regulation. At the level of the natural law, everyone knows that evil diminishes our humanity, that it makes us less of a person and undermines human flourishing. Regardless of time, place, or person involved, evil is to be avoided because it is dehumanizing. That being said, though, the principle is not especially concrete, nor is it immediately evident how it applies in the current circumstances. Thus, you need another premise to facilitate that application. You move then to the level of the particular by considering the nature of the act under consideration. Throughout the course of your life, you have acquired moral knowledge, gaining better appreciation for what is good and evil, and for what is permissible and forbidden. Against the backdrop of your moral knowledge, you examine the particular act. In your country, culture, church, and home, cheating is frowned upon and discouraged. It merits punishment. It causes you to feel uneasy beforehand and guilty afterwards. From this vantage, animated by the natural law and motivated by your particular knowledge regarding this act, you then render a judgment as to whether or not it should be done.

And that’s it. This should be done, or this should not be done. That’s all that conscience offers. Conscience doesn’t necessitate action of any sort. One can judge well what is right or wrong and still act against that judgment. You may subsequently choose to cheat on the theory exam. That wouldn’t be a failing of conscience, though, because it’s not conscience’s responsibility. The work of conscience is effectively complete once it has refined or applied moral knowledge. It renders a judgment on a particular act and doesn’t go further.

For instance, a man’s conscience might judge correctly that he is engaged in a habitually sinful act, but that doesn’t always mean — often doesn’t mean — that he will change his behavior. The novelist Graham Greene knew quite well that his carryings-on were sinful and that they prevented him from receiving the sacraments. It’s just that he preferred his carryings-on. Once, when visiting Italy with his mistress, Greene had the opportunity to meet Padre Pio, but turned it down. When asked why, he said, “I didn’t want to change my life by meeting a saint, and I felt there was a good chance that he was one.” Greene’s choice illustrates that conscience may indicate, but it needn’t motivate.

The point, here, isn’t to criticize conscience for not acting. It is simply to highlight conscience’s limited scope. Conscience is not a virtue. It doesn’t make you good. It doesn’t make you act well. It evaluates the morality of an act in light of the natural law and applies moral knowledge to particular actions, but it consists in thought alone. There’s no guarantee of action with conscience. For action, we need prudence.

The judgment of prudence goes beyond thought alone. It applies thought to appetite, which is to say, it translates thought into the movement of the will and passions. Whereas the judgment of conscience has no immediate bearing on the practical order, the judgment of prudence does. It is always and everywhere ordered to action.

In a judgment of prudence, one employs a similar form of reasoning as in a judgment of conscience: The one premise is supplied by the natural law and the other premise is supplied by moral knowledge concerning a particular action. Take again the example of cheating, now as a judgment of prudence.

1. The one premise reads the same: “Evil is to be avoided.”
2. The other premise reads the same as well: “Cheating on this driver’s exam would be evil.”
3. In the judgment of prudence, the conclusion is the actual act, the embodied choice of both intellect and will not to do as tempted: “I will not cheat.”

Recall that, in the judgment of conscience, the conclusion was “One should avoid cheating on this driver’s exam.” However, the judgment of prudence draws a different conclusion. But if the premises are the same, how do we account for that? Here is where prudence’s relationship to appetite comes into play. At every step of the judgment of prudence, the intellect is in conversation with the will and the passions. As prudence carries out its judgment, it sees to it that right thinking is applied to right desiring. In this, it goes beyond the territory of mere “should” and “should not” and into the territory of “am doing” and “am not doing.” For prudence to be truly prudence, it is not enough to know what is good; it must also do what is good. Thus, we can observe a twofold activity in the judgment of prudence. First, prudence applies general principles to particular situations, an application that it shares with conscience. Second, prudence applies those general principles to concrete works, an application that goes beyond conscience. The first application determines that cheating is to be avoided. The second application determines that you won’t cheat.

The key is the coordination of intellect and appetite. Left to itself, the intellect lacks the wherewithal to perform an embodied act. It can only give indication as to what should and shouldn’t be done. But, in association with the appetites, the intellect (guided by prudence) motivates a fuller response. This is not to say that the judgment of prudence is an act of the will. It’s an act of the intellect, but one that immediately and directly informs the activity of the will and the passions and reflects their activity in turn. In the judgment of prudence, the intellect imbues the appetites with its reasons for acting, and the appetites move spontaneously to the good reasoned on by the intellect.

This is ultimately what distinguishes the judgment of prudence from the judgment of conscience. In terms of premises and conclusions, the two look almost identical, but the connection with appetite sets prudence apart from conscience as more immediately and directly practical. Conscience is like an armchair philosopher. It may have good ideas, but it will need some motivation to see those plans through. Prudence, by comparison, is like a politician who has the backing of financial resources and a competent staff. It has both good ideas and the means (or appetites) to bring them about. Prudence always reasons with an eye toward action. At every moment it holds in mind the successful realization of its intended purpose — the application of thought to appetite.

Conscience is like an armchair philosopher. It may have good ideas, but it will require some motivation to see those plans through.

The connection between thought and appetite recalls prudence’s distinctive excellence among the virtues. It is one thing to recognize the difference between good and evil; conscience does so, and man is better for it. Mere recognition isn’t enough, though, if one aims to live coherently or consistently for a single, meaningful purpose. Genuine human flourishing requires one to choose for good and against evil and to persevere in that choice. This is another thing entirely. Prudence is poised for action of this sort. Prudence applies knowing to doing and engages one more fully in action. It takes one from mere recognition of what is good and what is evil to actually choosing good and avoiding evil. Prudence is a virtue. It makes one good, makes one act well. It forms good character.

Think again of the image of human life as a pilgrimage. Man lives his life on the way. He is en route to the eternal enjoyment of God, and he must grow in holiness to fit him for that end. In order to arrive, he has to take many steps in the life of grace. Of course, many of those steps are of a mental sort. Self-examination and contemplation, for instance, are both important dimensions of human growth. Still, though, they are not the whole of it. If the pilgrimage could all unfold within the borders of the mind, why did God bother to give man a body? Man is, by creation, a rational animal. To be human, then, means to embody thought — to translate thought to action. Thus, if man is to successfully wend his way to happiness by a journey of many steps, it will require him to apply thought to appetite. It will require him to act. It will require him to be prudent.

If man is to complete this pilgrimage, he can’t set out in aimless or disorderly fashion. A “just do it” mentality only works if the “it” is the right “it.” He has to engage with the best of human goods, from God on down. Over the course of his life, he aims to get better at engaging these goods — to choose them ever more easily, promptly, and joyfully. In short, he aims to grow in virtue. The whole trajectory, though, is contingent upon a willingness to act, which willingness is the true face of prudence.

The hyper-cautious type isn’t necessarily prudent. While there may be times to avoid risks, there are just as many times to take them. Is this grounds for thoughtless impetuousness, then? No. The point is not to act for acting’s sake, but to act in response to a good, a good that may even require sacrifice. The prudent soldier isn’t the one who flees from every fight so he can die another day. Were he to do so, he might lose his home, his country, and even his soul — a fate worse than death. The prudent soldier is the one who risks his life precisely when he must. Because he is willing to lose his life, he stands a chance of saving it and saving others. So, too, the prudent person is one who can identify opportunities for the good and seize them. If one envisions choice in this way, if one embodies the primacy of action, then life is filled with drama and excitement. Every deed matters, because every deed is part of shaping character and shaping destiny.

Every deed matters, because every deed is part of shaping character and shaping destiny.

In the day-to-day, it is easy to overlook action and fixate on evaluation instead. When that happens, though, we end up missing out. If our moral imaginations are limited to what is permitted and forbidden, or we are less concerned with pursuing greatness and more concerned with remaining blameless, then we’ve got a problem. The point of the moral life isn’t just to avoid sin. Were that so, the goal might as well be to die shortly after baptism. No, the point is to do good — to know, love, and serve the Lord, to undertake big, bold, and magnanimous things. Prudence sees to it that we respond to God’s call and aim for genuine greatness.

If you take an action-centered approach, one informed by prudence, it’s inevitable that you will make mistakes and commit sins. If you strive for the good, you will suffer misadventure. Fortunately, though, these day-to-day failures don’t spell disaster. There is only one genuine tragedy in life, and that’s not to become a saint. Truth be told, life isn’t about never falling down; it’s about pushing on and growing in virtue. Admittedly, that’s hard, but God gives us the strength for it. At times, the emotional, psychological, and spiritual toll of falling feels heavy. In those moments, it is tempting to retreat into yourself and settle for sinlessness over saintliness. That temptation has to be resisted. You are made for bold action, not analysis paralysis. There’s no salvation to be had in spinning your wheels thinking about sins and vices. Salvation is only to be had in living your life.

This is especially important in your preparation for and practice of the Sacrament of Confession. Obviously, moral evaluation is a big part of the Sacrament of Confession. An integral confession requires that you recount the sins you have committed — number and kind. Certainly, there is sin accounting to be done, but the sacrament isn’t just about sin accounting. If it were, then every visit to the confessional would amount to an admission of failure, a clean slate, and not much more.

In addition to the pardon of sins, the sacrament also gives growth in holiness. When you confess your sins with contrition and receive absolution, you are empowered to be better and live better. It’s more than a reset button. This should shape how you prepare for the sacrament. Of course, it’s good to review the precepts of the Church, the Ten Commandments, and the seven deadly sins in one’s examination. In addition, though, it’s also good to revisit the virtues, gifts of the Holy Spirit, and the Beatitudes. How is God prompting you to grow? Where do you see his grace giving indication? How have you failed to respond to that, and how can you respond better? An examination like this better disposes you to receive the healing and elevating grace of the sacrament, to be a real actor in the sacrament, and to look toward the goal of God and salvation.

It can be easy to think of the priest (acting in the person of Christ) as the real actor in the sacrament, as if confession were just something done to the penitent. This isn’t true, though. The priest is part of the sacrament, but not all of it. Granted, the priest confers absolution. That’s huge. He may also have good insights and counsel. That’s also helpful, but it’s secondary. What’s primary is that the penitent meets God in the sacrament, the God who gives grace to both heal from sin and grow in holiness. God acts to meet the penitent. The penitent acts in response to meet God. The priest acts to facilitate that encounter.

In the Sacrament of Penance, you aren’t just getting done unto, you’re doing as well. You contribute more than just attendance and regularity. You contribute yourself to the act. If done devoutly and perseveringly, it will make you good; it will make you act well. Admittedly, it’s an especially punishing act at times. With each confession, you recognize candidly that you will be back before too long. Life is difficult, human nature is weak, and sin is seemingly unavoidable. Despite all that, though, virtue can be sought throughout. That’s the goal. Through your use of the Sacrament of Confession, you can grow in virtue. Don’t lose sight of that vision.

If we lose sight of this vision, it’s easy to grow anxious about our moral footing. You can envision how the lack of confidence takes hold in a person. Failing to rely upon the dynamism of prudence to secure growth and boldness, instead she frets over always having the “right” answer. Soon, she starts referring everything to the priest. She might seek his input just for clarification, at first. Then, she needs his counsel for reassurance. Finally, she is unable to act without it. In the process, emphasis shifts away from action in her virtuous life toward the evaluation of her moral standing. Whereas she may have formerly envisioned her moral life in terms of beatitude, grace, and virtue, soon she comes to speak only of conscience, obligation, and sin.

With this change, you can see how easy it becomes to live at a distance from the excitement of the moral life. For one thing, all moral evaluation now becomes the field of the expert. A focus on resolving moral problems gives the impression that the average believer is not competent to choose for herself in most cases. Practically every moral issue now seems too complicated to manage. Thus, they must always be brought to the priest. With this, though, one loses the boldness necessary to act, and the dynamism of a prudent life is all but lost.

This kind of approach simply doesn’t equip one to live in the real world. In life, there are no invariable moral strategies. There is no life hack for flourishing. Action, in practical matters, must constantly be adapted to the unpredictability of changing circumstances. For that, rules are helpful, but they’re not enough. One needs prudence. One must become a virtuoso of the moral life — prepared to improvise at a moment’s notice. Past experience, helpful counsel, and keen insight give the prudent person what he needs to succeed in whatever challenge lies in store. You may make the right decision; you may make the wrong decision. Either way, you can learn and grow, with your action playing an instrumental role in your lifelong pursuit of the good. The person who thinks exclusively in terms of conscience, obligation, and sin is terrified at the prospect of failure, struggling to see her choices in terms of the big picture. Instead, she sees each crisis as an isolated instance for which she is ill-suited. What is needed in this setting isn’t a technique, but a boldness suited to the complexity of life. What is needed is prudence.

Prudence is not an academic science reserved to the expert, nor is it an art to be wielded only by the skilled or advanced. Prudence is for everyone, forming each to engage an intricate world of moral realities and to do so well. This should mark our attitude toward the virtuous life. We are not primarily meant to memorize the finest of moral distinctions or master the rule book of life. Rather, we are meant to learn what is good and to grow each day in pursuit of it. Prudence makes this possible.

In the end, we want to stay close to the reality of our embodied human lives, for only the real bears beatitude, grace, and virtue. There is little growth to be had in constantly revisiting our own psychological states. Salvation is not likely to be found in further sensitivity to our thoughts. Rather, we need our thoughts to be saved by having them acted out and put in contact with God and his creation. Sure, there are plenty of ways to fail, but there are far more ways to flourish. With beatitude on our horizon, the grace of God to fill our sails, and the virtue of prudence to steer the course, there are great adventures to be had. To pilot well the ship of our lives, we need only be a little bold. The rest takes care of itself.

Recall a few recent questions of conscience you tried to sort out. In trying to resolve them, how did you go about informing your conscience? How did knowing the facts help you in your choice?

Sticking with those same questions, how did you go about motivating your actions? How did virtue help you in your choice?

How would you characterize your current approach to regular confession? What role does prudence play in your preparation and practice? How might a prudence-centered mentality help you to draw more from the sacrament?