of thought, that have thence been termed inventive, or creative, or deliberative.

In like manner, when I formed one great comprehensive class of our emotions, to supersede. what appeared to me to have been misnamed, by a very obvious abuse of nomenclature, the active powers of the mind, as if the mind were more active in these than in its intellectual functions, I may have seemed to you at the time, to make too bold a deviation from established arrangement. But I venture to hope, that the deviation now does not seem to you without reason. It is only now, indeed, after our comprehensive survey of the whole phenomena themselves has been completed, that you can truly judge of the principles which have directed our arrangement of them in their different classes. I know well the nature and the force of that universal self-illusion, by which analyses and classifications that have been made by ourselves, seem always to us the most accurate classifications and analyses which could be made; but, if all the various phenomena of the mind admit of being readily reduced to the classes under which I would arrange them, the arrangement itself, I cannot but think, is at least more simple and definite than any other previous arrangement which I could have borrowed and adopted.

In treating of the extensive order of our emotions, which comprehends all our moral feelings, you must have remarked that I did not confine myself to the mere physiology of these feelings as a part of our mental constitution, but intermixed many discussions as to moral duty, and the relations of the obvious contrivances of our moral frame, to the wisdom and goodness of its Author, discussions which you might conceive to be an encroachment on other parts of the Course, more strictly devoted to the inquiries of ethics and natural theology. These apparent anticipations, however, were not made without intention ;though, in treating of phenomena, so admirably illustrative of the gracious purposes of our Creator, it would not have been very wonderful, if the manifest display of these had of itself, without any farther view, led to those very observations which I intentionally introduced. It was my wish, on a subject so important to the noblest feelings and opinions which you are capable of forming, to impress you with sentiments, which seem to me far more necessary for your happiness, than even for your instruction, and to present these to you at the time, when the particular phenomena, which we were considering, led most directly to these very sentiments. It was my wish, too, I will confess, to accustom your minds, as much as possible, to this species of reflection-a species of reflection which renders philosophy not valuable in itself only,-admirable as it is even when considered in itself alone-but still more valuable, for the feelings

to which it may be made subservient. I wished the great conceptions of the moral society in which you are placed, of the duties which you have to perform in it, and of that Eternal Being, who placed you in it,-to arise frequently to your mind, in cases in which other minds might think only that one phenomenon was very like another phenomenon, or very different from it-that the same name might or might not, be given to both-and that one philosopher, who lived on a certain part of the earth at a certain time, and was followed by eight or ten commentators, affirmed the phenomena to be different, while another philosopher, with almost as many commentators, affirmed them to be the same. Of this at least I am sure, that your observation of the phenomena themselves will not be less quick, nor your analysis of them less nearly accurate, because you discover in them something more than a mere observer or analyst, who inquires into the moral affinities with no higher interest than he inquires into the affinity of a salt or a metal, is inclined to seek; and even though your observation and analysis of the mere phenomenon were to be, as only the ignorant could suppose, less just on that account, there can be no question, that if you had learned to think with more kindness of man, and with more gratitude and veneration of God, you would have profited more by this simple amelioration of sentiment, than by the profoundest discovery that was to terminate in the accession which it gave to mere speculative science. I now, however, proceed to that part of my Course, which is more strictly ethical.

The Science of Ethics, as you know, has relation to our affections of mind, not simply as phenomena, but as virtuous or vi cious, right or wrong.

"Quid sumus et quidnam victuri gignimur-Ordo
Quis datus, aut metæ quam mollis flexus, et unde
Quis modus argento-quid fas optare-quid asper
Utile nummus habet-patriæ charisque propinquis
Quantum elargiri deceat,-quem te Deus esse

Jussit, et humana qua parte locatus es in re."*

In the consideration of questions such as these, we feel, indeed, that philosophy, as I have already said, is something more than knowledge that it at once instructs and amends us,-blending, as a living and active principle, in our moral constitution, and purifying our affections and desires, not merely after they have arisen, but in their very source. It is thus, in its relation to our conduct, truly worthy, and worthy, in a peculiar sense, of that noble etymology, which a Roman philosopher has assigned to it as the most liberal of studies. "Quare liberalia studia dicta sint vides,—quia homini libero digna sunt. Ceterum unum

VOL. III.-0

Persius. Sat. III. v. 66-72.

studium vere liberale est, quod liberum facit,-sive sapientiæ, sublime, forte, magnanimum, cætera pusilla et puerilla sunt." The knowledge of virtue is, indeed, that only knowledge, which makes man free; and the philosophy which has this for its object, does not merely teach us what we are to do, but affords us the highest aids and incitements when the toil of virtue might seem difficult, by pointing out to us not the glory only, but the charms and tranquil delight of that excellence which is before us, and the horrors of that internal shame which we avoid by continuing steadily our career. Its office is thus, in a great measure, to be the guardian of our happiness, by guarding that without which there is no happiness,

"Whether, on the rosy mead,

When Summer smiles, to warn the melting heart
Of Luxury's allurement,-whether, firm

Against the torrent, and the stubborn hill

To urge free Virtue's steps, and to her side

Summon that strong divinity of soul

Which conquers Chance and fate ;-or on the height,

The goal assign'd her, haply to proclaim

Her triumph,-on her brow to place the crown

Of uncorrupted praise,—through future worlds

To follow her interminated way,

And bless Heaven's image in the heart of man."

What, then, is the virtue, which it is the practical object of this science to recommend?

That the natural state of man is a state of society, I proved in a former Lecture, when, in treating of our desires in general, in their order as emotions, I considered the desire of society as one of these.

That man, so existing in society, is capable of receiving from others benefit or injury, and, in his turn, of benefiting or injuring them by his actions, is a mere physical fact, as to which there cannot be any dispute.

But, though the physical fact of benefit or injury is all which we consider, in the action of inanimate things, it is far from be ing all of which we think in the case of voluntary agents, when there is not merely benefit or injury produced, but a previous intention of producing it. In every case of this kind, in which we regard the agent, as willing that particular good or evil which he may have produced, there arise certain distinctive emotions of moral approbation or disapprobation-those immediate emotions, of which, as mere states or affections of the mind, I before treated, when I considered the order of our emotions in general. We regard the action, in every such case, when the benefit or injury is believed by us to have entered into the intention of him

Pleasures of Imagination, 2d Form of the Poem, v. 504-515.

who performed the action, not as advantageous or hurtful only, but as right or wrong,-or, in other words, the person, who performed the particular action, seems to us to have moral merit or demerit in that particular action.

To say that any action, which we are considering, is right or wrong, and to say, that the person who performed it has moral merit or demerit, are to say precisely the same thing,-though writers on the theory of morals have endeavoured to make these different questions, and have even multiplied the question still more by other divisions, which seem to me to be only varieties of tautological expression, or at least to be, as we shall find, only the reference to different objects of one simple feeling of the mind.

When certain actions are witnessed by us, or 'described to us, they excite instantly certain vivid feelings, distinctive to us of the agent, as virtuous or vicious, worthy or unworthy of esteem, His action, we say, is right,-himself meritorious. But are these moral estimates of the action and of the agent founded on different feelings, or do we not mean simply, that he, performing this action, excites in us a feeling of moral approbation or disapprobation, and that all others, in similar circumstances, performing the same action, that is to say, willing, in relations exactly similar, a similar amount of benefit or injury, for the sake of that very benefit or injury, will excite in us a similar feeling of approbation in the one case, and of disapprobation in the other case? The action cannot truly have any quality which the agent has not, because the action is truly nothing, unless as significant of the agent whom we know, or of some other agent whom we imagine. Virtue, as distinct from the virtuous person, is a mere name; as is vice, distinct from the vicious. The action, if it be anything more than a mere insignificant word, is a certain agent in certain circumstances, willing and producing a certain effect; and the emotion, whatever it may be, excited by the action, is, in truth, and must always be, the emotion excited by an agent real or supposed. We may speak of the fulfilment of duty, virtue, propriety, merit, and we may ascribe these, variously, to the action, and to him who performed it; but, whether we speak of the action or of the agent, we mean nothing more, than that a certain feeling of moral approbation has been excited in our mind, by the contemplation of a certain intentional production in certain circumstances, of a certain amount of benefit or injury. When we think within ourselves,-Is this what we ought to do? we do not make two inquiries,-first, whether the action be right? and then, whether we should not have merit in doing what is wrong, or demerit in doing what it is right for us to do? we only consider, whether, doing it, we shall excite in others approbation or disap. probation, and in ourselves a corresponding emotion of compla

cency or remorse. According to the answer which we give to our own heart, in this respect, an answer which relates to the single feeling of moral approbation or disapprobation,-we shall conceive that we are doing what we ought to do, or what we ought not to do,-and knowing this, we can have no further moral inquiry to make as to the merit or demerit of doing what is previously felt by us to be right or wrong..

Much of the perplexity which has attended inquiries into the theory of morals, has arisen, I have little doubt, from distinctions, which seem to those who made them to be the result of nice and accurate analysis, but in which the analysis was verbal only, not real, or at least related to the varying circumstances of the action, not to the moral sentiment which the particular action, in certain particular circumstances, excited. What is it that constitutes an action virtuous? What is it which constitutes the moral obligation to perform certain actions? What is it which constitutes the merit of him who performs certain actions? These have been considered as questions essentially distinct; and, because philosophers have been perplexed in attempting to give different answers to all these questions, and have still thought that different answers were necessary, they have wondered at difficulties which themselves created, and, struggling to discover what could not be discovered, have often, from this very circumstance, been led into a scepticism which otherwise they might have avoided,-or have stated so many unmeaning distinctions, as to furnish occa> sion of ridicule and scepticism to others. One simple prosposition has been converted into an endless circle of propositions, each proving and proved by that which precedes or follows it. Why has any one merit in a particular action? Because he has done an action that was virtuous. And why was it virtuous? Because it was an action which it was his duty, in such circumstances, to do. And why was it his duty to do it in such circumstances? Because there was a moral obligation to perform it. And why do we say, that there was a moral obligation to perform it? Because if he had not performed it, he would have violated his duty, and been unworthy of our approbation-In this circle we might proceed for ever, with the semblance of reasoning, indeed, but only with the semblance; our answers, though verbally different, being merely the same proposition repeated in different forms, and requiring, therefore, in all its forms to be proved, or not requiring proof in any. To have merit, to be virtuous, to have done our duty, to have acted in conformity with obligation, -all have reference to one feeling of the mind,-that feeling of approbation, which attends the consideration of virtuous actions. They are merely, as I have said, different modes of stating one simple truth, that the contemplation of any one, acting as we have done in a particular case, excites a feeling of moral approval.