means of these, he acquires a knowledge of similitudes and dissimilitudes, contrasts and analogies, and also of some portion of the chain of cause and effect, whose first link is in the hand of the Deity, and its last in the consummation of all things.

Is any one prepared to allege that it is not in his physical or intellectual, but his moral attributes that man is deranged, and constitutes a blot on the escutcheon of nature? Will it be contended that positive evil, unaccompanied by any advantage, is thus introduced into the world, to brood like a canker-spot, insulated and alone, on the otherwise unsullied face of creation?

I am aware that this is the opinion of many, I might say of a majority of the inhabitants of Christendom, and that those, who oppose or even question it, incur censure, as if they were enemies of morality and religion. But I also know and feel that the imputation is unfounded. Morality and religion are matters of feeling, not of abstract opinion. Their true province is to regulate sentiment and conduct, not philosophical belief; nor can sound philosophy affect them otherwise than favorably. He, therefore, who honestly endeavors to promote truth, is their advocate and friend in design, although he may fail to benefit them in their interests, by falling into error. It is time that the world were disabused of the belief, that man cannot be strictly moral and religious, without professing certain opinions, and adhering to certain dogmas, against which his reason and conscience rebel, merely because they are upheld by authority. That such a sentiment prevailed during the dark ages, when superstition sat like an incubus on Christendom, does not surprise us. It was worthy of that period of gloom and barbarism. But it is as groundless as it is uncharitable, and as unsuitable and disgraceful to the present day, as a belief in sorcery. Under these impressions, united to a belief that the times will tolerate liberal discussion, I shall proceed in my inqniry, free from all apprehension other than that of committing mistakes. And under even that misfortune, a consciousness of correct intention, and of having, with some care, examined my subject, will shield me from self-reproach.

My views of the entire perfection of the scheme of creation are such, that I do not, and cannot believe in the existence of positive evil, either moral or physical. i am even least inclined to a belief in the former, because it would testify to the deeper defect. In this position I wish to be distinctly understood. In common with every other rational being, I am a disbeliever in accident or chance. All events are the issue of established principles and laws. Principles and laws (I mean those of creation) come only from the Deity. To contend that they come from any other source, would be to assert the existence of more Creators and Supremes than one. For to establish original laws and principles, and render them operative, is as truly a creative work, as to produce matter. But no one will allege that the Deity has ever founded a law or principle of abstract evil. I shall be understood to mean a law or principle productive of evil alone. But if he did not found it, no other being could.. It does not therefore exist. All natural laws and principles, then, tend to good; nor is it possible that they can produce both good and evil. That would imply a contradiction. In direct opposition to every known principle and fact, it would show that the same cause can produce not only different but opposite effects; positive good and positive evil being the reverse of each other. But this is an absurdity, which no person of intelligence will venture to advocate. Thus, then, the matter seems to stand. Good necessarily arises out of what we misname evil. In other words-in obedience to existing laws, which the Deity himself established, every event tends to the production of ultimate benefit; nor is any special interference of Heaven necessary to give it that tendency. The result is as much in conformity to the order of the universe, as it is for the earth to revolve on its axis, or a ponderous body to gravitate toward its centre. What we call evil then produces good. But this could not be the case, were good and evil the opposites of each other. Opposites cannot stand related as cause and effect. Light cannot produce darkness, nor cold heat. This is no paradox. It is a plain statement, sanctioned by every principle of causation, as well as by common sense. Let the subject be analyzed and contemplated in another point of light. Every event, whether physical or moral, must occur by chance, or in conformity to a law established by the Deity, or by some other law-giver-a malign one if the event be positively evil. But chance, as a productive cause, is denied by every one, and is in itself an absurdity. Nor is it compatible with just conceptions of the creator, to believe that he permitted any other being, especially a hostile one, to usurp his right of imposing laws on his own creation. Such permission would be a resignation of his supremacy to a spirit

of evil. But no view so derogatory to the Deity can be for a moment entertained. The inference is palpable. No event can possibly occur but in strict conformity to his own laws. But it is requisite that l'endeavor to prove my positions by a few examples.

Every attribute of human nature is strengthened and brought to perfection only by exercise. Let any one of our powers, whether corporeal or mental, be consigned to a state of entire inaction, and it will be debilitated and rendered useless, if not entirely extinguished. To this not a single exception exists; nor can one exist, because the result is in obedience to a law of our constitution. Is a muscle rendered inactive? It becomes in time powerless. Our senses of vision and hearing? The same is true of them; they lose their strength and accuracy, and become at length extinct. Our faculties of number, music, or causality?"They also degenerate, and become unfit for their functions. Nor does this law apply less certainly or less forcibly to our moral faculties than to those of our intellects, or to our muscular powers. They likewise grow weak by inaction, and strong by exercise. This, I repeat, is as true of benevolence, veneration, conscientiousness, and firmness, as it is of the muscles of the blacksmith's arm, or of the opera-dancer's leg. The philanthropist becomes more enthusiastic in philanthropy, by pursuing it, and the judge more inflexible in his love of justice, by daily practice in his high Vocation. Nor will any one doubt that a sentiment of piety is greatly strengthened, by daily acts of solemn worship, united to a habitual contemplation of the perfections of the Deity, as displayed in creation.

But our moral powers cannot be exercised, except on suitable objects. What are those objects? I answer, Our vices, our propensities to vice, or our misfortunes. No other object calculated to produce high moral excitement can be specified. The reason is plain. No other exists. The sole end of our moral faculties is to check vice or vicious propensities; or to counteract, in some way, what we denominate evil. To particularize :

Were it not for misfortune or want, of some sort, on what would our benevolence be fully exercised? Palpably on nothing-because no one would need it. The faculty would therefore languish and fade, under the influence of inaction. Indeed, without something to exercise it on, it would be a superfluous attribute-an endowment without an end to render it useful. Extinguish misfortune and want, then, and you sap the foundation of one of our brightest virtues; you lop from human nature the beauty and amiableness of the virtue of benevolence. Could the feeling even exist under an entire deprivation of objects to act on, it would become a painful want, like hunger without food to satisfy it, or thirst without water to allay it. To be endowed with it in such a case would be a serious misfortune. A strong feeling ungratified, is itself an evil.

Again. Were there no propensity in man to do wrong, what would become of the faculty of conscientiousness, or a sense of justice? on what would it be exercised, that it might gain strength and do good? The answer is plain. It could not be exercised at all, for want of a suitable object. Its only end is, to prevent or punish wrong-doing, or repair mischief, or to dispense due rewards to those who have done so. Even its name, as well as every action too, has an exclusive relation to something that is or may be wrong. The very existence of a sense and active principle of justice supposes the existence of a contrary principle, which it is intended to counteract. Without something thus opposed to it, to give it action, it would be an unmeaning and supernumerary endowment; as much so as an eye would be without light, or an ear without sound. Suppose a race of beings perfectly innocent called into existence. Would they need a sense of justice as one of their attributes? Or, would they understand the meaning and object of it, admitting them to have it? Unquestionably they would not. It would be to them a feeling undefined and inoperative, and therefore useless. Stronger still-it would be an incumbrance to them. It would resemble a sixth external sense, without any quality of matter for it to act on.

Of firmness or fortitude, the same may be said. Misfortune alone can give it exercise. Remove all kinds of affliction and trial, arising from what we call evil, and its sphere of action will be effaced. It will be an attribute as superfluous and useless, as the sense of smell would be in a world without odors. The school of misfortune is the only place where it can be exercised, improved, and rendered useful. It is and can be manifested only under suffering, difficulty, or privation of some kind. Bodily pain, the loss of friends or fortune, the disgrace or calamity of friends, or distress or embarrassment, in some other shape, can alone draw it forth. At least, it can never be powerfully called forth in any other way. Har

mony and fitness required, then, either that it should not be conferred on man, or that it should have something on which to act.

To cautiousness or prudence the saine remarks are applicable. It presupposes the existence of difficulty and danger. Without these, it would be but a name; at least, it would be an unmeaning faculty. Did no evil, so called, prevail, why should we be cautious and prudent? No necessity to "take care" would exist. Hence the instinct prompting to it would be given to us in vain.

The sentiment of hope speaks a similar language. It is suited only to a state of trial. Its end and use are to sustain and encourage us under difficulty and suffering, or some sort of privation; and these result much more frequently from moral than from physical causes. Were we steeped only in felicity, hope would be swallowed up in enjoyment. In a world of unalloyed happiness, we should not want it; but in one like that where our lot is cast, in which the cup of life is mixed, we could not do without it. It would be given to us, then, without either object or meaning, did not evil make an essential ingredient in the dispensation under which we live.

Of a sentiment of piety, the same is true. That calamity heightens it, is known to every one observant of the course of human events. Hence uninterrupted prosperity is universally declared to be unfriendly to religion, by rendering man unmindful of his dependence on Heaven. Even profligates, moreover, have been often reclaimed by sickness and other distressing occurrences. I once witnessed, during a tempest at sea, when it was confidently believed that the vessel would be lost, ample proof of the position I am maintaining. Many were earnestly engaged in prayer, who never bent a knee in times of safety. To be sure, I neither adimire nor commend the religion of fear. Still, difficulty and danger strengthen moral feelings generally; and, among the rest, that of piety.

Thus might I analyze the whole moral character of man, and show that every element of it has a positive and necessary relation to vice, misfortune, or some form of suffering. His moral powers are intended to put the requisite restraint on his animal, and from the exercise and practice alone of doing so do they derive strength and habits of vigorous action. To speak more definitely; it seems plain, from the preceding remarks, that our practical virtues depend on our vices for their very existence. Extinguish the latter, and the former will dwindle and perish for want of food. A viceless world would be a virtueless one; and what we call "perfect innocence" would be wedded to weakness. Man's entire nature clearly proves that he was not formed for a world of innocence. A faculty of resentment is as essentially a part of his constitution as that of vision or hearing. But were every thing innocent and unoffending, where would be the use of it? There would be nothing on which to exercise it-nothing to resent; and hence the faculty would be superfluous. The faculty of hearing, bestowed on the inhabitants of a world destitute of vibrating bodies, would not be more so. Let what is called evil, then, be extinguished, and the present harmonious condition of things will be rendered incongruous.

In further confirmation of this truth, let us examine the most distinguished acts of virtue that man has exhibited, and we shall find that they arose out of an opposition to vice. Let us again inquire into the lives of individuals the most illustrious for habits and deeds of virtue, and we shall be convinced that it was a struggle with vice which rendered them so. Indeed, the very term, virtue, implies a struggle. It is the performance of duty, in defiance of difficulty, danger, and death. Had there been no Tarquin, there would have been no Lucretia; no vice or misfortune in Rome, no Curtius; no Cæsar, no Brutus or Cato; no tyrant of Switzerland, no Tell; no oppressors in England, no Alfred; no lawless attempt to enslave America, no Washington or Bolivar. This catalogue might be extended indefinitely, and would still terminate in the same truth, that vice alone gives existence and immortality to virtue. Of patriotism, high heroism, distinguished firmness and fortitude, splendid benevolence, and all that gives lustre and value to human morals, this is true.

Nor is it less obviously so, that evil is also the cause of all great intellectual strength and its products; in simpler terms, that it is the parent of knowledge. It awakens the faculties of the intellect to action, and urges them to examine nature, in quest of means to prevent or remedy itself. But for disease and death, where would be the knowledge of the physician, his acquaintance with the structure and functions of the human body, their relation to deleterious and salutary agents, and with the properties and character of every thing that bears on them? As respects all these points, the world would be in darkness. Without strong

inducements, man would not submit to the immense labor he sustains in cultivating so extensive a field of science; and did universal health prevail, the inducement would be withheld.

Had injustice never had being, in the various shapes that moral wrong has assumed, where would have been the displays of wisdom and eloquence, and every other form of intellectual excellence, which the world has witnessed in politics and law? The disasters of nations arising from crime have contributed much to the richness and splendor of history; and wars, resulting from a similar cause, have been a prolific source of human glory. Look into the history of every branch of philosophy, and you can trace both its origin and progress to some sort of misfortune or want. This is equally true of astronomy, meteorology, mechanics, chemistry, mineralogy, geology, and every thing entitled to the name of science. That which we denominate evil is, in some shape, the parent of them all. Of all the most resplendent efforts of genius, in the form of poetry, the same may be affirmed. Without perhaps a single exception, they owe their origin to what is called moral evil. Such is the source of that splendid production, the song of Moses, and of all the finest effusions of the poetic muse in the book of Job, the Psalms of David, the writings of Isaiah, and every other portion of the Old Testament. When he composed the Iliad, Homer sang the wrath of Achilles, and its terrible consequences. The destruction of Troy, and the effects resulting from it, many of them highly immoral and blameworthy, constitute the foundation of the Eneid, and give it much of its grandeur. Dante immortalized himself by denouncing the vices of his times, in strains as intense as the infernal fires to which he doomed them. Tasso sang of evil and crime, in his Jerusalem Delivered. Shakspeare did the same, when he gave us the highest wonders of his muse. And, but for the influence of a similar cause, even Milton would have continued "mute" and "inglorious." He would not have represented, in thoughts so worthy of them, either the glories of the Celestial or the horrors of the Tartarean regions. Nor would he, after describing "such wars" as the "immortals wage," have restored to his race a "Paradise" of fiction more fascinating than the real one whose "loss" he commemorated. Pope's finest effusions were elicited by vice and imperfection; and Byron would seem to have invoked the spirit of wickedness as his Muse. His Manfred, one of the most stupendous productions of human genius, testifies to this. In fine, without evil and necessity to stir them to action, the human race would be drones and ignoramuses. The constant warfare, which exists between vice and virtue, want and intellect, elevates their moral character, and gives them knowledge. So true is the declaration of the poet, that

"All things subsist by elemental strife."

I shall only add, that, did time permit, it would be easy to demonstrate, that the propensities of man, which, when indulged to excess and under false impressions, lead to vice, are, when duly regulated, as essential to practical virtue, as any other attributes of his nature.

Finally, and to speak with reverence. Were there not something, on which to exercise it-something I mean to be forgiven-where would be the meaning or the use of the most delightful and lovely, and what is usually deemed the most glorious attribute of the Deity—his MERCY? Clearly there would be neither usefulness nor significancy attached to it. It would be a dormant possession, unemployed and fruitless in creation, and, therefore, as far as we can judge, unsuitable to the character of the POSSESSOR, not to say unworthy of him. Universal and perfect aptitude requires an appropriate object for the exercise of each of the divine perfections. In relation to the attribute of mercy, therefore, in common with all the others, things are now precisely as they ought to be, as they were originally intended to be, and as they were accordingly settled at the beginning, under the governance of positive laws.

Such, in brief, are my views of Optimism. Is any one inclined to ask me, What will become of virtue, on the arrival of the millenium, when crime shall have ceased, and universal innocence begun its reign? I reply, that that period is far distant, and many unforeseen and great changes must take place in the condition of our race before its arrival. It is to be so radically different from any thing we have seen, that we cannot bring it fully within the action of judgement, nor draw any rational inferences respecting it. But, at whatever period of time it may occur, we have reason to believe that man will still be man-greatly improved in his character, but not revolutionized. He will still possess animal, intellectual, and moral powers; and the inferior, as at present, must be governed by the supe

rior. His moral faculties, therefore will find exercise then as well as now, although not perhaps so intense. The animal faculties of the many will not then have to be governed, as at present, by the moral ones of the few. Human nature will be so improved, that each member of it, when mature, will be competent to govern himself. But with children and youth the case will be different. During their immaturity their animal propensities will necessarily preponderate and tend to lead them into excessive and irregular indulgences. They will therefore require moral training and restraint, to retain them within the paths of virtue. Thus will the moral faculties of the whole community find employment.

But the millenial condition of man will occur only as the result of natural causes. Miracle or direct heavenly agency will have no share in its production, any more than in that of other improvements. In plain terms, it will be the product of education made perfect; completely adapted to the human constitution, and ably administered. As nothing, therefore, but natural exercise will have given to the moral a due ascendency over the animal powers, nothing but a certain amount of the same exercise, habitually performed, will enable them to retain it. Because they have gained the victory, they must not slumber, or become inactive, else the animal propensities, which are and must be always on the alert, will resume the supremacy. Hence practical virtue will of necessity continue. The aggregate of moral feeling will be much greater than it is now; because, as already stated, each adult will possess enough of it for his own government. I shall only add, on this subject, that the chief difference between the condition of human nature, under the millenium and at the present time, will be, that men are governed now by laws enacted and sanctioned by the authority of states; but then, such will be the degree of intellectual and moral improvement, that every man will be a law to himself. His own cultivated nature will serve him as a rule of correct action. Exempt from all human authority, and above the need of it, he will profess fealty to God alone. These are my views respecting a millenium, should it ever occur; an event "devoutly to be wished," to which hope looks forward with fond desire, and the anticipation of which sober reason does not reject. Will any one assert that the tenor of the doctrine I advocate is to encourage vice in opposition to the precepts of morality and religion? The charge is unfounded. The doctrine does not encourage vice. Every tenet of it proves that it does not. It only denies the propriety of making such changes in the constitution of human nature as would unfit it for its present sphere, or indeed for any sphere, and render it useless. I repeat, that the propensities of man, which, when improperly indulged, lead to vice, are, under suitable discipline, as essential to his usefulness, as his moral feelings, or the faculties of his intellect. Without them, he would be as inert and inoperative as a vegetable. The doctrine I maintain, therefore, only forbids the entire eradication of them. It contends that they make primitive and necessary elements of the human constitution. Instead of being extinguished, therefore, as positive evils, it recommends that they be cultivated as indispensable springs of action, and placed under the control of the moral and reflecting faculties. It further maintains, that this is the correct order of things; that the lower faculties should submit to the higher; and that the discipline here recommended tends directly to the promotion of virtue; that, in fact, practical virtue consists in the proper regulation of the propensities, under temptation and difficulty, directing them to their true uses, and rendering them subservient to itself; and virtuous feeling is a disposition to do so. Hence the doctrine is friendly to education, well devised and skillfully administered, as the only mode of improving our race. It contends, moreover, that, by the wisdom and beneficence of the dispensation under which he lives, man has the control of all the means requisite for his earthly perfection and felicity.

Am I again asked, What are the advantages of Optimism? I answer, that they are numerous and great. It is the only doctrine that does justice and due homage to the SUPREME BEING, by ascribing to him perfection in all things-in his glorious works, no less than in his nature. It truly and effectually "indicates the ways of God to man"-which no other scheme of philosophy does. It alone recognizes, in a sense worthy of the subject, the mighty truth, that not a sparrow, nor even less than a sparrow, can fall to the ground without his permission, through the laws he has established. And that fall, small as it is, it regards as an event essentially connected with the scheme of his universe, and contributing its part to the consummation he meditates, no less directly than the revolution of a world. Impressions like these produce a moral effect above all price, and not easily conceived of by those who have not felt them. They give to the optimist serene content with