everything because he is quite sure it will be for his best happiness, and he is quite in harmony with the wise majority, the feeling of obligation oppresses him no more. There is no more question of duty: it is all pleasure.

But is this the feeling a man has, when he recognizes the paramount claim of truth and purity of life upon him? Is not obligation to him rather a simple feeling that such a life must be chosen because of its inherent excellence,- because, knowing what is right and what is wrong, he is impelled by a power moving within him, disregard of which brings compunction to him to choose always the right? When duty becomes a delight and the good is chosen from pure love of it, obligation is no longer felt in the same way as when there was a struggle with lower motives, and its prompting was not at once followed. There is the difference between a love that passionately struggles for its object, not being yet sure of gaining it, and a love assured in its possession after victory. But, still, obligation is not at an end it is still there, the guardian of the authority of the moral law. The man knows he is doing what he ought, though it cost him no effort, and that he may choose no other course, not because he prefers this, but because it is in harmony with the law of righteousness.

Like our sense of the moral worth of various motives, the feeling of obligation cannot be resolved into any simpler elements. It, too, is unique in our nature. It is due to the fact that our life is not our own to make or mar as we please. It is not merely a matter of private preference, for there is One over all, who has given us our life and has ordered our lot in the midst of this universe, in the laws of which as well as in the inward laws of our own being he reveals to us something of his will. It cannot be said, of course, that all men are aware of the presence of God in this way. But it is acknowledged by all who have become conscious of any moral relations in their life at all that there is an authority in moral injunctions, which is something altogether different from the compulsion that might be brought to bear on a community by the majority who

had agreed that certain customs should be observed. It is not of themselves. They did not make the right, and they cannot alter it. Neither can they escape from its claim on their obedience. And these facts are inexplicable on any other theory than that there is in the very constitution of our nature a law of righteousness, which we recognize with ever-growing clearness as of Him who gave us life and to whom our obedience is due. The intrinsic excellence of the law of righteousness is made known to us immediately: no considerations from outside can establish it. Merely to say that it is the will of God does not make it righteous, but the fact that we see it is righteous convinces us that it is divine. For such a law, which relates only to the personal life of free agents, can only be the expression of a personal being. And it is a law which man has not made. and could not make: therefore, it is of God. That man could not make it is clear, when we consider the character of the law. All great moral injunctions are found inwoven with the very texture of our life, which we did not make and cannot alter. All that men can do is to recognize the law that is already there, to proclaim it and enforce it to the best of their ability. If it were not so, men might make and unmake moral laws at pleasure, by a mere consensus of opinion and persistence in making the will of the majority felt. But this we know is impossible. If a whole nation assembled in solemn conclave were to agree that henceforth meanness and cruelty should be virtues and generosity and compassion vices, and were to inflict severe penalties on all who indulged in the latter, they could no more alter the fact that generosity and compassion are virtues than they could command the sun to stand still. It rests with a higher will than ours what things are right and what wrong, even the will of Him who, in the beginning, ordered heaven and earth and all that they contain in harmony with his own righteousness and love. And the part of man is to trust in him, and order his own personal life in accordance with that holy law.

No other theory than this accounts in the least for the

phenomena of self-sacrifice and the genuine passion of allegiance to truth and righteous principle which we meet with constantly in the history of our race. Men have gone to the stake, they have lain long years in loathsome dungeons, rather than make a false confession of faith. Others have given up all the joy of cherished friendships, all the advantages of social regard, and have devoted themselves to the search for truth and the preaching of it, fearless of any consequence. And who shall number the glorious host of those who have laid down their lives that others might live or be sheltered from some grievous harm, whether on the battle-field, on the foundering ship, in the plague-stricken city, or through long and patient watching in the sickroom. In all these and in many other ways, men and women have sacrificed all hope of happiness and even life itself out of simple allegiance to what they saw to be right and good, asking no question, but acting according to the prompting of the voice within.

It is false to say that such people have never acted in this way without an assured sense that they would not lose their reward, that this would certainly secure for them the greater felicity of heaven. If there is any truth in human nature, these things have been done over and over again just for their own sake, with no thought of any reward at all, often by those who had no faith in any life to come. Call it impulse or passion or what you will, they have acted out of the abundant love and devotion of their own. nature, knowing that such sacrifice was in itself nobler than the pursuit of any other object which might promise to lead them to much more happiness. There is the law, which says in their hearts compassion is better than selfishness, generous self-sacrifice is better than mean self-seeking, allegiance to truth is better than cowardly conformity to conventional opinion for the sake of the favor of the world and a prosperous career. And obedience to this law they know to be their duty, whatever be the cost.

Now, if our life is a development out of altogether unmoral elements, and our only aim is the securing of as

much happiness as possible, what is called morality being only the latest discovery of the best means thereto, if there is no law of holiness claiming our obedience from above, what do these things mean? What is the meaning of the answering emotion in the heart at the record of these things, the spontaneous confession that here humanity has reached its highest level, that those who have thus borne the cross and endured the shame are the true leaders of men, the brightest light of the world? Such enthusiasm is surely rather a mistake. It is a question whether there is need of such self-sacrifice, whether it is not asking too much of any individual, and in fact what no cool-headed, reasonable man, thoroughly aware of the real end of life, would think of rendering! And, even if this sacrifice of some is regarded as an unfortunate necessity in upholding principles which are profitable to the whole, the most we can do is to pity these people whom a luckless chance singled out as victims to the public good, and perhaps be grateful to those who willingly offered themselves, having at the same time a strong feeling of thankfulness that we were not in their place. Any loftier feeling would be out of place in reference to what is only an unfortunate contingency in the imperfect adaptation of means to end.

The more rational view, however, according to the premises, would seem to be that there was no need for such ultraconscientiousness. If every human animal has as much right to the chance of a healthy life and the attendant pleasurable feeling as any other, and that is all it need care about, why should one lay down its life for another?

Why should Winkelried at Sempach rush upon the Austrian lances, and by his death open a way for the freedom of his country? What advantage was it to him, who could have no share in the happy consequence? Might he not have waited and hoped for victory in some less disastrous way to himself, or would not life, even under Austrian rule, have been preferable to no life at all? There surely would have been some pleasure to be got out of it. Why should Sergeant Brett, in the days of the Fenian disturbances in

Manchester, refuse to give up the keys of the prison-van and rather be shot at his post, when in any case there was no chance of keeping his prisoners from escape? Why should a daughter sacrifice a bright future of love and the music of her children's voices yet to be, for the sake of staying with an aged parent who needs her help? Why may she not take her pleasure and leave the other, who perhaps has had her full share, to shift now as best she may? Why would the voice of remorse and shame make it impossible for her to be truly happy in her new home, and poison every promised joy at the memory of duty left undone? Why should Thomas More be imprisoned in the Tower and die on the scaffold for the sake of a few words he would not utter, when he might be in favor with the king, and go back to his delightful home at Chelsea and the wide circle of his friends? What is truth? Could he not dissemble and appear to be a good Protestant according to the king's mind, and would he not thus reap a far larger harvest in many years of life and happiness? If only the shame of faithlessness would not have poisoned every joy and have made him unworthy of the love that was so lavished on him! When Regulus returned from Carthage and the Romans could not accept the terms of peace he brought, why should he go back to a certain cruel death? What compulsion was there? Could a mere promise to an enemy weigh against the advantage of deliverance from torture, a new lease of life, the joy of all his friends, and perhaps great profit to his country? If only he could silence the solemn voice within, which warned him of the sacredness of the promise he had made and of honor which is more precious than life itself!

On the theory that one's own happiness must be the first consideration, and that by this all other duties (!) are ultimately determined, there is no reason for such conduct as this. Surely, it is a strange infatuation, a most undoubted error of judgment. It is not safe to indulge in too much admiration of such heroism, lest we be led into a like mistake.