same action often is both right and wrong, even if he admits what our argument does prove; namely, that, when a man thinks an action to be right or wrong, he is not merely thinking that he has some feeling towards it. The only importance of our argument, in this connection, is merely that it destroys one of the main reasons for holding that this is true, as a matter of fact. If we once clearly see that to say that an action is right is not the same thing as to say that we have any feeling towards it, what reason is there left for holding that the presence of a certain feeling is, in fact, always a sign that it is right? No one, I think, would be very much tempted to assert that the mere presence (or absence) of a certain feeling is invariably a sign of rightness, but for the supposition that, in some way or other, the only possible meaning of the word “right,” as applied to actions, is that somebody has a certain feeling towards them. And it is this supposition, in one of its forms, that our argument does disprove.
But even if it be admitted that, in this precise form, the view is quite untenable, it may still be urged that nevertheless it is true in
