of moral from sentiinents. We rarely advert to abstract conceptions of right and wrong, but we apprehend very frequently that of two modes of action, one is higher, nobler, and superior morally to the other. We appreciate the good, bad, or indifferent character of actions taking place under given circumstances. We do not say, however, that men always coincide in their views as to the moral character of any given action, or that the same man will estimate its ethical value in the same way at different periods of his life. What is here contended for is the absolutely distinct nature and character of that quality which we attribute to any action when we call it "good." Varieties of view as to the ethical character of different particular acts will come under our notice in our nineteenth chapter,* which will be devoted to a consideration of mankind, and, amongst other matters, to their Distinctness ethical judgments. There is one fact which it is most perceptions desirable to recognize clearly-that is, the distinctness which exists between our ethical judgments and any sentiments we may feel respecting our own actions or those of other people. Feelings, emotions, and sentiments, pleasurable or painful, frequently do and always should accompany our perceptions of, or judgments about, good or bad actions. That such feelings, however, are very different from the perceptions or judgments themselves, a very little consideration will suffice to show. Thus our own consciousness and the observation of other men, will suffice to assure us that some pleasurable or painful sentiments of the kind may be felt about matters which we see clearly have nothing to do with right or wrong. Some trifling breach of etiquette or some innocent violation of social usage may call up a blush and feeling of shame far more vivid and distressing than what may attend some considerable moral delinquency. Keen remorse also may be felt for the neglect of some happy occasion for augmenting, by a polite attention, the goodwill of an influential acquaintance. Indeed, it is only too possible that such remorse may be felt for having neglected the opportunity of committing a very pleasurable but very wicked act. A French writer has said that no regret is so keen as the regret which may be * See below, p. 282. felt for the non-commission of pleasant sins which might have been enjoyed. It has been said that "conscience" is that feeling of regretful dissatisfaction which is induced in a man who looks back and judges a past action with disapproval. Now, "conscience" certainly "looks back and judges," but not all that "looks back and judges" is "conscience." A judgment of conscience is one of a particular kind, namely, a judgment according to the standard of moral worth. But for this, a gourmand suffering after dinner from dyspepsia, might exercise his conscience in looking back and judging with "regretful dissatisfaction" that he had eaten the wrong sauce! A regretful sentiment of dissatisfaction thus can clearly exist when we make no moral judgment. Such a sentiment may exist in the mind. of a vegetarian who has broken his rule, and who may reasonably feel vexation at his own infirmity of purpose; but such a feeling is quite different from the perception. that he has done an act morally wrong, as in the case of a man who felt bound in conscience by the religion he followed to abstain from animal food. The painful feeling of having incurred the dislike or disapprobation of our fellow-men, may also exist apart from a belief that we have committed any wrong. If this were not the case, how could we ask, as we may and sometimes do ask, whether society in certain cases is "right" or "wrong"? How could we ask, as we do, why we should obey society at all? We demand, and rightly demand, a rational basis for social claims. Those claims, then, or a feeling of deference to public opinion, cannot be the basis of morality. If it were that basis, then courage must have come to be regarded as supremely good, and cowardice as deserving of the deepest moral condemnation. And yet what is the fact? A coward probably feels self-contempt, and also that he has incurred the contempt of his associates, but he does not judge that he is "wicked." We despise, avoid, or hate a coward; but we know that his cowardice may be due to defective organization, and we can clearly understand that it is possible for a coward to be more. virtuous than some other man who is conspicuous for courage. Feelings induced by recollections or anticipations The moral sense a higher instinct. of punishment are also very different from moral judgments, as is abundantly evident from the many men, of very different views, who have nevertheless agreed in willingness to undergo suffering for conscience' sake. Many men also see clearly the moral turpitude of their habitual acts without any dislike of, or disposition to punish, the companions of their vices; rather the contrary. Pleasurable or painful feelings having a certain resemblance to moral sentiments, may accompany perceptions which plainly have nothing to do with "right" and "wrong;" while distinct ethical perceptions may not be accompanied by appropriate feelings. The case is stronger even than this: the apprehension, through ear or eye, of very evil actions, may give rise to keenly pleasurable feelings, while moral truths may be both clearly seen and hated. To a trifling degree this is by no means rare. It is unfortunately common enough to feel that some duty is irksome. and distasteful. Nevertheless, the idea of goodness is generally accompanied by a feeling of complacency.* In a perfect nature, what is virtuous is pleasurable; but in an imperfect nature it may be more or less painful. "Moral feeling"-the "moral sense "-is a sort of rational instinct. It is an instinct of our higher nature, parallel with, but entirely distinct from, the instinct of our lower mental powers before noticed. Its existence is necessary to form a perfect man. To be ethically complete, our sympathies and aversions, our pleasurable satisfaction and our regretful dissatisfation, should respectively accompany our ethical perceptions of right and wrong-our judgments of moral approbation and the reverse. The reader can judge by this, on examining his own feelings, how far he approximates to or departs from this standard of moral perfection. Our reason judging as to right and wrong is "conscience," which often plainly tells which of two alternative actions is the higher, and which we ought therefore to follow. But introspection does not show us that we possess any other ethical faculties than those of (1) reason so judging, and (2) that moral sentiment which may or may not accompany such judgments. The subject will be further adverted to in the *See above, p. 222. † See above, p. 184. final chapter of this section, when we come to speak of the moral phenomena which are common to mankind. The third and last perception we have now to consider Feeling for is that of beauty. and perception of beauty. We have already seen, when considering our lower mental powers,* that we possess feelings of liking for certain sights, sounds, etc.-feelings of "taste," which vary greatly in different individuals. We also, in addition to these feelings, make distinct judgments about the beauty of objects which are to our taste or the reverse. That tastes differ is a proverbial truth, as also that it is useless to dispute about them. What we have a liking for, we do like, however much we may be blamed, despised, or envied for liking it. If a man really prefers Etty to Raphael, or Rigoletto to Lohengrin, no amount of reasoning or animadversion can do more than make him feign the contrary. Tastes also not only differ from individual to individual, but our own taste in early life is often not the same as that of later years. May it not be said, then, that beauty is but a matter of individual fancy and purely subjective, and the existence of any positive, absolute, objective beauty, a mere dream of more or less poetical minds? Whatever may be the true answer to this question, we must at least concede that we have somehow or other got the idea of beauty. However obtained, we have come to possess that abstract idea which, like all ideas, is profoundly distinct from any corresponding feeling. To feel attracted towards objects is one thing; to have a conception of their beauty is another and very different thing, and is an act of our higher or intellectual mental power. The faculty of apprehending beauty is also a power which may be greatly increased by culture. For the beauty of a Nocturne by Chopin, or of a landscape by Turner, the average boor has, as we say, no ears or eyes." If the reader has, by chance, studied architecture, he can recognize that the knowledge so obtained has opened up to him perceptions of beauty which would otherwise have escaped him. Similarly, if he has studied zoology, he may have become awakened to the beauty of animals serpents or what not -to the charms of which he was previously insensible. * See above, p. 197. Beauty is perfection. If we recall to mind the conclusions at which we arrived with respect to our ideas of "truth" and "goodness," we shall thereby be greatly helped in arriving at a conclusion. with respect to the objective nature of "beauty." As just said, we do actually possess the ideas "beauty" and "the beautiful," whatever may be the mode in which we have come by them. Let us, then, briefly consider some of those objects which are generally regarded as possessing some beauty and charm. Taking visible beauty as a startingpoint, the objects which manifest it to us are sea, land, and sky, as viewed by night and by day, the animal and vegetable products of the earth, man and his works. The aspects of these objects change for us according to circumstances, amongst which must be reckoned the emotions or ideas which may happen to be the most vivid at different times. Nevertheless, whatever strikes us as pre-eminently beautiful is generally regarded by us as approaching perfection of its kind. No object which conveys to our minds a conception of discord, deficiency, or redundance amongst its parts or attributes, is considered by us to be supremely beautiful. Beauty, as apprehended by our ear, is eminently a harmony, and is the more beautiful according as that harmony approaches perfection. The beauty of even single musical notes is, we now know, due to timbre, which is a special and, as it were, minute kind of harmony. The same thing may be said of the charm of certain human voices, though they may possess the additional charm of perfectly expressing some shade of character or some dominant emotion. The senses of taste and smell may give us very pleasant impressions, which so far may be said to possess a certain kind of beauty; but it is only when objects convey to us the notion of a more or less harmonious and perfect blending of savours and odours, or of these combined, that they can ordinarily give rise to any idea of the kind. The sense of touch, combined with feelings of muscular effort and tension, may inform us of various beauties which are ordinarily apprehended by the eye; and this is emphatically the case with the blind. Feelings such as those of a most excellently polished surface, or of a perfection of delicate softness like that |