to subtly steal its meaning out of long-suffering and self-denial, and, above all, to argue that in sinning ‘we shall not surely die,’ a work which was supposed to belong especially to the devil, has been supposed to have been accomplished by him with a success continually irresistible.  What, then, is likely to be the case now, with men who are still beset with the same temptations, when not only they have no hell to frighten, no heaven to allure, and no God to help them; but when all the arguments that they once felt belonged to the father of lies, are pressed on them from every side as the most solemn and universal truths?  Thus far the result has been a singular one.  With an astonishing vigour the moral impetus still survives the cessation of the forces that originated and sustained it; and in many cases there is no diminution of it traceable, so far as action goes.  This, however, is only true, for the most part, of men advanced in years, in whom habits of virtue have grown strong, and whose age, position, and circumstances secure them from strong temptation.  To see the real work of positive thought we must go to younger men, whose characters are less formed, whose careers are still before them, and on whom temptation of all kinds has stronger hold.  We shall find such men with the sense of virtue equally vivid in them, and the desire to practise it probably far more passionate; but the effect of positive thought on them we shall see to be very different.

Now, the positive school itself will say that such men have all they need.  They confessedly have conscience left to them—­the supernatural moral judgment, that is, as applied to themselves—­which has been analysed, but not destroyed; and the position of which, we are told, has been changed only by its being set on a foundation of fact, instead of a foundation of superstition.  Mill said that having learnt what the sunset clouds were made of, he still found that he admired them as much as ever; ‘therefore,’ he said, ’I saw at once that there was nothing to be feared from analysis.’  And this is exactly what the positive school say of conscience.  A shallower falsehood, however, it is not easy to conceive.  It is true that conscience in one way may, for a time at least, survive any kind of analysis.  It may continue, with undiminished distinctness, its old approvals and menaces.  But that alone is nothing at all to the point.  Conscience is of practical value, not only because it says certain things, but because it says them, as we think, with authority.  If its authority goes, and its advice continues, it may indeed molest, but it will no longer direct us.  Now, though the voice of conscience may, as the positive school say, survive their analysis of it, its authority will not.  That authority has always taken the form of a menace, as well as of an approval; and the menace at any rate, upon all positive principles, is nothing but big words that can break no bones.