Iiiiil)lllliii|!|ll|!lii|il!iiliniiiii irpiMn iiilil!liliiiiiiH!iiyiiiiMiiiiiiiiiniiinihi 
 ||iiiiiifi|i{iiiaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!iiiiiiiii!iiHiiiii Hiiii nil III ihiiyl li iih III II n niiiinii 1 1 mil m ii i h 
 
 111 '\ I. 
 
 hiilllili'ilil'illil Ij 
 
 
 'lull I 
 
 1 1 1 1, 
 
 nillilliliiili!liiilJlilill!iii!liil!iWl 
 
 lU'iini "itii! iiiiiiiii! iiiiiiiiHiiiiiii iiihiiiiii] liiLi i[i 
 
 lLutUiULuUiJ.iiuuuU4ini4.tiiiiu]m-iiin.iuiuMn,i<umiJtrji,LiiJiii, 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BEQUEST 
 
 OF 
 
 STEWART HENRY BURNHAM 
 1943 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924029080047 
 
THE 
 
 PHILOSOPHY 
 
 ACTIVE AND MOEAL POWERS OE MAN. 
 
 DUGALD STEWAET, F. R. SS. Lond. and Ed. 
 
 REVISED, WITH OMISSIONS AND ADDITIONS, 
 
 By JAMES WALKER, D.D., 
 
 PI10FE6S0B OP INTELLECTUAL AND UORAL PHILOSOPHY IN HARVARD COIXEGB. 
 
 JTourtji ISlrttfon. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY. 
 
 NEW YORK: J. C. DERBY. 
 1856. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the jext 1S49, by 
 
 John BabtiiEIT, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. ' 
 
PREFACE 
 
 BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 SiE James Mackintosh has said of Mr. Stewart, — " Per- 
 haps few men ever lived, who poured into the breasts of 
 youth a more fervid, and yet reasonable, love of liberty, of 
 truth, and of virtue. How many are still alive, in different 
 countries, and in every rank to which education reaches, 
 who, if they accurately examined their own minds and lives, 
 would ascribe much of whatever goodness and happiness they 
 possess to the early impressions of his gentle and persuasive 
 eloquence ! " 
 
 The Philosophy of the Active and Moral Powers of Man 
 was the last of his publications ; it came from the press in 
 the spring of 1828, a few weeks before the author's death. 
 An unfriendly and severe critic in the Penny Cyclopttdia ad- 
 mits, in respect to this treatise, that it is " by far the least 
 exceptionable of his works. It is more systematic, and con- 
 tains more new truths, than any of his metaphysical writ- 
 ings ; and his long acquaintance with the world and with let- 
 ters enabled him to suggest many obvious but overlooked 
 analyses." Only two editions of it have appeared in this 
 country, — one separately in 1828, the other in a collection 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 of his works in the following year ; the former has long heen 
 out of print. 
 
 The author begins his Preface by apologizing for " the 
 large and perhaps disproportionate space " allotted by him to 
 the evidence and doctrines of natural religion. This part, 
 making nearly one third of the whole, has been omitted in 
 the present edition, as being out of place here, however ex- 
 cellent in itself. Other retrenchments have also been made 
 in respect to unimportant details, in order to find room, with- 
 out transgressing the prescribed limits, for some additional 
 notes and illustrations. The latter, which are indicated by 
 brackets, or otherwise, as they occur, consist almost exclusive- 
 ly of extracts from living or late writers, or references to 
 them, and are inserted with a view to mark whatever prog- 
 ress has been made or attempted in ethical speculation since 
 Mr. Stewart's day. 
 
 Some changes have been made in the distribution and num- 
 bering of the chapters and sections, and sub-sections have 
 been introduced for the first time. The use of the latter in 
 giving a more distinct impression of the successive steps in 
 the argument or exposition, no practised teacher will fail to 
 appreciate. The Latin and Greek citations in the text are 
 translated in the present edition, where this had not been done 
 by the author. The translations are taken, for the most part, 
 from common sources, without particular acknowledgment, 
 the only object being to fit the work for more general and 
 convenient use as a text-book. 
 
 Cambridge, August 16, 1849. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 _ PAOt 
 
 Intkoduotion, 1 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 OF OUK INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OP ACTION. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF OUR APPETITES, .... 11 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 OF OUK DESIRES, 16 
 
 Sect. I. The Desire of Knowledge 16 
 
 II. The Desire of Society, 20 
 
 III. The Desire of Esteem 28 
 
 IV. The Desire of Power, 44 
 
 V. Emulation, or the Desire of Superiority, ... 49 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OF OUR AFFECTIONS. 
 
 Sect. I. General Observations, 56 
 
 11. Of the Affections of Kindred, 61 
 
 III. Of Friendship, 66 
 
 IV. Of Patriotism, 70 
 
 V. OfPity to the Distressed, 80 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 VI. Of Resentment, and the various other Angry Affections 
 grafted upon it, commonly considered by Ethical Writ- 
 ers as Malevolent Affections, ... .91 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 OP OUR RATIONAL AND GOVERNING PRINCIPLES OF 
 ACTION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF A PRUDENTIAL REGARD TO OUR OWN HAPPINESS, OR 
 WHAT IS COMMONLY CALLED BY MORALISTS THE 
 PRINCIPLE OF SELF-LOVE, 102 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 Sect. I. The Moral Faculty not resolvable into Sclf-Love, . . 115 
 II. Examination of Hartley's Theoiy of the Formation of the 
 
 Moral Sense by Association alone, . . . . 125 
 HI. The Moral Constitution of Unman Nature not disproved by 
 
 the Diversity in Men's Moral Judgments, . . . .131 
 IV. Licentious Systems of Morals 154 
 
 Appendix to Chapieb II. 
 Bentham and his Followers, . iTi 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ANALYSIS OF OUR MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS, 188 
 
 Sect. I. Of the Perception of Ripht and Wronp:, . . . . 193 
 II. Of the Agreeable and Disagreeable Emotions arising from 
 
 the Perception of what is Eight and Wrong in Conduct, . 217 
 ni. Of the Perceptfon of Merit and Demerit, . . . 228 
 
CONTENTS. VU 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OF MORAL OBLIGATION, . . 233 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OF CERTAIN PRINCIPLES WHICH COOPERATE WITH OUR 
 MORAL POWERS IN THEIR INFLUENCE ON THE CON- 
 DUCT, 213 
 
 Sect- I. Of Decency, or a Regard to Character, .... 244 
 
 II. Of Sympathy, 245 
 
 m. Of the Sense of the Ridiculous, 261 
 
 IV". Of Taste, considered in its Relation to Morals, . . 264 
 
 CHAPTER TI. 
 
 OF man's FREE AGENCY. 
 
 Sect.'I. Preliminary Observations, 268 
 
 II. Review of the Argument for Necessity, .... 274 
 HI. Is the Eridence of Consciousness in Favor of the Scheme of 
 
 Free Will, or of that of Necessity? 300 
 
 IV. Of the Schemes of Free Will, and of Necessity, considered as 
 
 influencing Practice, 309 
 
 V. On the Argument for Necessity drawn from the Prescience 
 
 of the Deity 316 
 
 BOOK III. 
 OF THE VARIOUS BRANCIIES OF OUR DUTY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 OF THE DUTIES WHICH RESPECT THE DEITY, . 325 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 OF THE DUTIES WHICH RESPECT OUR FELLOW- 
 CREATURES, 335 
 
 Sect. I. Of Benevolence 335 
 
YIU CONTENTS. 
 
 n. Of Justice 352 
 
 III. Of the Right of Property, 363 
 
 IV. Of Veracity, 376 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OF THE DUTIES WHICH RESPECT OURSELVES, . 383 
 
 Sect. I. Of the Duty of employing the Means we possess to secure 
 
 our own Happiness, 385 
 
 n. Of the Different Theories of Happiness, .... 387 
 
 HI. Means of promoting and securing Happiness, . . . 399 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 OF THE NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 OP THE GENERAL DEFINITION OF VIRTUE, ... 424 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ON AN AMBIGUITY IN THE WORDS RIGHT AND WRONG, 
 VIRTUE AND VICE, 428 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OF THE OFFICE AND USE OF REASON IN THE PRACTICE 
 OF MORALITY, 43I 
 
 APPENDIX TO BOOK IV. 
 
 •Sect. I. Sir James Mackintosh',^ Theory of Morals, . . . 436 
 n. Jouffroy's Theory of Morals, . , . , . . 449 
 
THE 
 
 PHILOSOPHY 
 
 ACTIVE AND MORAL POWERS OF MAN. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 I. Connection between the Intellectual and the Active 
 Powers.] In my former work on the Human Mind I 
 confined my attention almost exclusively to man con- 
 sidered as an intellectual being- ; and attampted an anal- 
 ysis of those faculties and powers which compose that 
 part of his nature commonly called his intellect or his 
 undeistanding-. It is by these faculties that he acquires 
 his knowledge of external objects ; that he investigates 
 truth in the sciences ; that he combines means in order 
 to attain the ends he has in view; and that he imparts 
 to his fellow-creatures the acquisitions he has made. 
 A being might, I think, be conceived, possessed of 
 these principles, without any of the active propensities 
 belonging to our species, at least without any of them 
 but the- principle of curiosity ; — a being formed only 
 for speculation, without any determination to the pur- 
 suit of particular external objects, and whose whole 
 happiness consisted in intellectual gratifications. 
 
 But, although such a being might perhaps be con- 
 ceived to exist, and although, in studying our internal 
 frame, it be convenient to treat of our intellectual pow- 
 ers apart from our active propensities, yet, in fact, the 
 two are very intimately, and indeed inseparably, con- 
 1 
 
3 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 nected in all our mental operations. I have already 
 hinted, that, even in our speculative inquiries, the prin- 
 ciple of curiosity is necessary to account for the exer- 
 tion we make ; and it is still more obvious, that a com- 
 bination of means to aceomphsh particular ends pre- 
 supposes some determination of our nature which 
 makes the attainment of these ends desirable. Our 
 active propensities, therefore, are the motives which in- 
 duce us to exert our intellectual powers; and our intel- 
 lectual powers are the instruments by which we attain 
 the ends recommended to us by our active propen- 
 sities : — 
 
 "Reason the card, but passion is the gale." 
 
 It will afterwards appear, that our active propensities 
 are not only necessary to produce our intellectual exer- 
 tions, but that the state of the intellectual powers, in 
 the case of individuals, depends, in a great measure, on 
 the strength of their propensities, and on the particular 
 propensities which are predominant in the temper of 
 theil- minds. A man of strong philosophical curiosity 
 is likely to possess a much more, cultivated and inven- 
 tive understanding than another of equal natural capa- 
 city, destitute of the same stimulus. In like manner, 
 the love of fame, or a strong sense of duty, may com- 
 pensate for original defects, or may lay the foundation 
 of uncommon attainments. The intellectual powers, 
 too, may be variously modified by the habits arising 
 from avarice, from the animal appetites, from ambition, 
 or from the benevolent affections ; insomuch that the 
 moral principles of the miser, of the elegant voluptua- 
 ry, of the political intriguer, and of the philanthropist 
 are not, perhaps, more dissimilar than the acquired ca- 
 pacities of their understandings, and the species of in- 
 formation with which their memories are stored. Among 
 the various external indications of character, few cir- 
 cumstances will be found to throw more hght on the 
 ruling passions of individuals than the habitual direc- 
 tion of their studies, and the nature of those accom- 
 pli^;hments which they have been ambitious to attain. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 When Montaigne complains of " the difficulty he ex- 
 perienced in remembering the names of his servants ; 
 of his ignorance of the value of the French coins 
 which he was daily handling; and of his inability to 
 distinguish the different kinds of grain from each other, 
 both in the earth and in the granary " ; * his observa- 
 tions, instead of. proving the point which he supposed 
 them to establish (an original and incurable defect in 
 his faculty of memory), only afford an illustration of 
 the little interest he took in things external, and of 
 the preternatural and distempered engrossment of his 
 thoughts with the phenomena of the internal world. 
 To this peculiarity in his turn of mind he had himself 
 alluded, when he says, " I study myself more than any 
 other subject This is my metaphysic ; this my natu- 
 ral philosophy." A person well acquainted with the 
 peculiarities of Montaigne's memory might, 1 think, on 
 comparing them with the general superiority of his 
 mental powers, have anticipated him in this specifica- 
 tion of the study which almost exclusively occupied his 
 attention.! 
 
 Helvetius in his book De VEsprit (a work which, 
 among many paradoxical and some very pernicious 
 opinions, contains a number of acute and lively obser- 
 vations) has prosecuted, with considerable success, this 
 last view of human nature, and has collected a variety 
 of amusing facts to illustrate the influence of the pas- 
 sions on the intellectual powers. " It is the passions," 
 he observes, " that rouse the soul from its natural ten- 
 
 * Montaigne's Essays, Book II. Chap. xvii. 
 
 t The following remarks of the learned and ingenious Dr. Jortin are 
 not unworthy of the attention of those whose taste leads them to the ob- 
 servation and study of character. 
 
 "From the complexion of tliose anecdotes which a man collects from 
 others, or which he foi-rns by his own pen, may, without much difficulty, 
 be conjectured what manner of man he was. 
 
 "The human being is mightily given to assimilation, and, from the sto-- 
 ries which any one relates with spirit, from the general tenor of Iris conver- 
 §atioB, and from the books or associates to which he most addicts his at- 
 tention, the inference cannot be far distant as to the texture of his mind, 
 the vein of his wit, or, we may add, the ruling passion of his heart." — 
 Jortin's Trasts, Vol I. p. 44.5. 
 
4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 dency to rest, and surmount the vis inertia to which it 
 is always inclined to yield ; and it is the strong pas- 
 sions alone that prompt men to the execution of those 
 heroic actions, and give birth to those sublime ideas, 
 which command the admiration of ages. 
 
 " It is the strength of passion alone that can enable 
 men to defy dangers, pain, and death. 
 
 " It is the passions, too, which, by keeping up a per- 
 petual fermentation in our minds, fertilize the same 
 ideas, which, in more phlegmatic temperaments, are 
 barren, and resemble seed scattered on a rock. 
 
 " It is the passions which, having strongly fixed our 
 attention on the object of our desire, lead us to view it 
 under aspects unknown to other men; and which, con- 
 sequently, prompt heroes to plan and execute those 
 hardy enterprises which must always appear ridiculous 
 to the multitude till the sagacity of their authors has 
 been evinced by success." * 
 
 To this passage, which is, I think, just in the main, I 
 have only to object, that, in consequence of the ambi- 
 guity of the word passion, it is apt to suggest an errone- 
 ous idea of the author's meaning. It is plain that he 
 uses it to denote our active principles in general ; and, 
 in this sense, there can be no doubt that his doctrine is 
 well founded ; inasmuch as, without such principles 
 as curiosity, the love of fame, ambition,- avarice, or the 
 love of mankind, our intellectual capacities would for 
 ever remain sterile and useless. But it is not in this 
 sense ' that the word passion is most commonly em- 
 ployed. ■ In its ordinary acceptation it denotes those 
 animal impulses which, although they may sometimes 
 prompt to intellectual exertion, are certainly on the 
 whole unfavorable to intellectual improvement. Helve- 
 tius himself has not always attended to this ambiguity 
 of language ; and hence may be traced many of the 
 paradoxes and errors of his philosophy. 
 
 To these slight remarks it may not be useless to 
 subjoin an observation of La Rochefoucauld, which is 
 
 * De VEnprit, Discours III. Chap. vi. 
 
rNTRODUCTION. 5 
 
 equally refined and just; and which, in its practical 
 tendency, calls the attention to a source of danger in a 
 quarter where it is too seldom apprehended. « It is a 
 mistake to believe that none but the violent passions, 
 such as ambition and love, are able to triumph over the 
 other active principles. Laziness, as languid as it is, 
 often gets the mastery of them all ; overrules all the 
 designs and actions of life, and insensibly consumes 
 and destroys both passions and virtues," * 
 
 From the foregoing observations it appears, that, in 
 accounting for the diversities of genius and of intellect- 
 ual character among men, important lights may be de- 
 rived from an examination of their active propensities. 
 It is of more consequence for me, however, to remark 
 at present the intimate relation which an analysis of 
 these propensities bears to the theory of morals, and its 
 practical connection with our opinions on the duties 
 and the happiness of human life. Indeed, it is in this 
 way alone that the light of nature enables us to form 
 any reasonable conclusions concerning the ends and 
 destination of our being, and the purposes for which 
 we were sent into the world ; Quid sumus, et quidnam 
 victuri gignimur.f It forms, therefore, a necessary in- 
 troduction to the science of ethics, or rather is the foun- 
 dation on which that science may rest 
 
 -IL Object and Plan of the Work.] In prosecuting 
 our inquiries into the Active and the Moral Powers of 
 Man, I propose, first, to attempt a classification and 
 analysis of the most important principles belonging to 
 this part of our constitution ; and, secondly, to treat of 
 the various branches of our duty. Under the former of 
 these heads, my principal aim will be to illustrate the 
 essential distinction between those active principles 
 which originate in man's rational nature, and those 
 which urge him, by a blind and instinctive impulse, to 
 their respective objects. 
 
 In general, it may be here remarked, that the word 
 
 * Sentences et Maximes, cclxvi t Persius, Sat. HI. 1. 67. 
 
 1* 
 
•6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 action is properly applied to those exertions which are 
 consequent on volition, whether the exertion be made 
 on external objects, or be confined to our mental opera- 
 tions. Thus, we say the mind is active when engaged 
 in study. In ordinary discourse, indeed, we are apt to 
 confound together action and motion. As the opera- 
 tions in the minds of other men escape our notice, we 
 can judge of their activity only from the sensible ef- 
 fects it produces ; and hence we are led to apply the 
 character of activity to those whose bodily activity 
 is the most remarkable, and to distinguish mankind 
 into two classes, the active and the speculative. In the 
 present instance, the word active is used in its most ex- 
 tensive signification, as applicable to every voluntary 
 exertion. 
 
 According to the definition now given of the word ac- 
 tion, the primary sources of our activity are the circu^m- 
 stances in which the acts of the will originate. Of 
 these there are some which make a part of our consti- 
 tution, and which, on that account, are called active 
 principles. Such are hunger, thirst, the appetite which 
 unites the sexes, curiosity, ambition, pity, resentment. 
 These active principles are also called powers of the 
 will, because, by stimulating us in various ways to ac- 
 tion, they afford exercise to our sense of duty and our 
 other rational principles of action, and give occasion to 
 our voluntary determinations as free agents. 
 
 III. Difficulty of the Study.] The study of this part 
 of our constitution, although it may at first view seera 
 to lie more open to our examination than the powers of 
 the understanding, is attended with some difficulties 
 peculiar to itself. For this various reasons may be 
 assigned; among which there are two that seem princi- 
 pally to claim our attention. 
 
 1. When we wish to examine the nature of any of 
 our intellectual principles, we can at all times subject 
 the faculty in question to the scrutiny of reflection; and 
 can institute whatever experiments with respect to it 
 may be necessary for ascertaining its general laws. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 It is characteristic of all our operations purely intellect- 
 ual to leave the mind cool and undisturbed, so that the 
 exercise of the faculties concerned in them does not 
 prevent us from an analytical investigation of their the- 
 ory. The case is very different with our active powers, 
 particularly with those which, from their violence and 
 impetuosity, have the greatest influence on human hap- 
 piness. When we are under the dominion of the pow- 
 er, or, in plainer language, when we are hurried by pas- 
 sion to the pursuit of a particular end, we feel no incli- 
 nation to speculate concerning the mental phenomena. 
 "When the tumult subsides, and our curiosity is awa- 
 kened concerning the past, the moment for observation 
 and experiment is lost, and we are obliged to search for 
 our facts in an imperfect recollection of what was 
 viewed, even in the first instance, thiough the most 
 troubled and deceitful of all media. 
 
 Something connected with this is the following re- 
 mark of Mr. Hume : — " Moral philosophy has this pe- 
 culiar disadvantage, which is not to be found in natu- 
 ral, that, in collecting its experiments, it cannot make 
 them purposely, with premeditation, and after such a 
 manner as to satisfy itself concerning every particular 
 difficulty that may arise. When I am at a loss to 
 know the effects of one body upon another in any sit- 
 uation, I need only put them in that situation, and ob- 
 serve what results from it. But should I endeavour to 
 clear up, after the same manner, any doubts in moral 
 philosophy, by placing myself in the same case with 
 that which I consider, it is evident that this reflection 
 and premeditation would so disturb the operation of 
 my natural principles, as must render it impossible to 
 form any just conclusion from the phenomenon. We 
 must therefore glean up our experiments in this science 
 from a cautious observation of human life, and take 
 them as they appear in the common course of the 
 world, by men's behaviour in company, in affairs, and 
 in their pleasures." * 
 
 * Treatise of Human Nature, Vol. I., Introduction. 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 2. Another circumistance which adds much to the 
 difficulty of this branch of study is the great variety of 
 our active principles, and the endless diversity of their 
 combinations in the characters of men. The same ac- 
 tion may proceed from very different, and even oppo- 
 site, motives in the case of two individuals, and even 
 in the same individual on different occasions; — or an 
 action which in one man proceeds from a single motive 
 may, in another, proceed from a number of motives 
 conspiring together and modifying each other's effects. 
 The philosophers who have speculated on this subject 
 have in general been misled by an excessive love of 
 simplicity, and have attempted to explain the phenom- 
 ena from the smallest possible number of data. Over- 
 looking the real complication of our active principles, 
 they have sometimes fixed on a single one, (good or 
 bad, according as they were disposed to think well or 
 ill of human nature,) and have deduced from it a 
 plausible explanation of all the varieties of human 
 character and conduct. 
 
 Our inquiries on this subject must be conducted in one 
 of two ways, either by studying the characters of other 
 men, or by studying our own. In the former way, we 
 may undoubtedly collect many useful hints, and many 
 facts to confirm or to limit our conclusions; but the 
 conjectures we form concerning the motives of others 
 are liable to so much uncertainty, that it is chiefly by 
 attending to what passes in our own minds that we can 
 reasonably hope to ascertain the general laws of our 
 constitution as active and moral beings. 
 
 Even this plan of study, however, as I have already 
 hinted, requires uncommon perseverance, and still more 
 uncommon candor. The difficulty is great of attend- 
 ing to any of the operations of the mind ; but this 
 difficulty is much increased in those cases' in which we 
 are led by vanity or timidity to fancy that we have an 
 interest in concealing the truth from our own knowl- 
 edge. 
 
 Most men, perhaps, are disposed, in consequence of 
 these and some other causes, to believe themselves bet- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 ter than they really are ; and a few, there is reason to 
 suspect, go into the opposite extreme, from the influ- 
 ence of false systems of philosophy or religion, or from 
 the gloomy views inspired by a morbid melancholy. 
 
 When to these considerations we add the endless 
 metaphysical disputes on the subject of the will, and 
 of man's free agency, it may easily be conceived that 
 the field of inquiry upon which we are now to enter 
 abounds with questions not less curious and intricate 
 than any of those which have been hitherto under our 
 review. In point of practical importance some of them 
 will be found in a still higher degree entitled to our at- 
 tention. 
 
 IV. Division of the Active Principles.] In the further 
 prosecution of this subject, I shall avoid, as much as 
 possible, all technical divisions and classifications, and 
 shall content myself with the following enumeration 
 of our Active Principles, which I hope wiU be found 
 sufficiently distinct and comprehensive for our pur- 
 poses. 
 
 1. Appetites. 
 
 2. Desires. 
 
 3. Affections. 
 
 4. Self-IjOve. 
 
 5. The Moral Faculty. 
 
 The first three may be distinguished (for a reason 
 which wiJl afterwards appear) by the title of Ixstinc- 
 TivB OR Implanted Propexsities ; the last two by 
 the title of Rational and Governing Principles of 
 Action.* 
 
 * In t'le above enumeration I have departed widely from Dr. Eeid's 
 language. See his Essays on the Active Powers, Essay III., Parts I , II., 
 and III. Tliis great philosopher, with whom I am always unwilling to 
 differ, refers our active principles to three classes, the mechanical, llio 
 animal, and the rational; using all these three words witli what I think a 
 very exceptional latitude. On this occasion I shall only observe, that the 
 word mechanical {under which he comprehends our ihslintts and hahils) 
 cannot, in my opinion, be properly applied to any of our active principles. 
 It is indeed used, in this instance, merely as a term of distinction ; but it 
 seems to imply some theory concerning the nature of the principles com- 
 prehended tinder it, and is apt to suggest incorrect notions on the subject- 
 
10 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 If I had been disposed to examine this part of our constitution with all 
 the minute accuracy of which it is susceptible, I should have preferred the 
 following arrangement to that whiih 1 have adopted, as well as to that 
 proposed bv Dr Rcid: — 1. Of our original principles of action. 2. Of 
 GUI' (wquired principles of action. 
 
 The original principles of action may be subdivided into the animal and 
 the rutionid ; to the former of which classes our instincts ought undoubtedly 
 to be referred, as well as our aj-pelites. In ]>r. Reid's arrangement, noth- 
 ing appears more unaccountable, if not capricious, than to call our appe- 
 tites animal principles, because they are common to man and to the brutes ; 
 and, at the same time, to distinguish our institicts by the title o( mechanical ; 
 — when, of all our active propensities, there are none in which the nature 
 of man bears .so strong an analogy to that of the lower animals as in these 
 instinctive impulses. Indeed, it is from the condition of the brutes that 
 the word instinct is transferred to that of man by a sort of figure or met- 
 aphor. 
 
 Our acquired principles of action comprehend all those propensities to 
 act which we acquire from habit. Such are our artificial appetites and 
 artificial desires, and the various factitious motives of human conduct 
 generated by association and fashion. 
 
 At present, it being useless for any of the purposes which I have in view 
 to attempt so comprehensive and detailed an examination of the subject, 
 I shall confine myself to the general enumeration already mentioned, 
 As our appetites, our desires, and our affections, whether original or ac- 
 quired, stand in the same common relation to the Moral Paculty (the 
 illustration of which is the chief object of this volume), I purposely avoid 
 those slighter and less important subdivisions which might be thought to 
 savour unnecessarily of scholastic subtilty. 
 
 [For later classifications of our Active Principles, . see Upham's Ele- 
 ments of Mental Philosophy, Vol. II., Introduction, Chap, ii., and Whewell'a 
 Elements of Morality, Book I. Chap, ii.] 
 
BOOK I. 
 
 OF OUR INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF OUE APPETITES. 
 
 I. Their Nature, Use, and Abuse.] This class of our 
 Active Principles is distinguished by the following cir- 
 cumstances : — 
 
 1. They take their rise from the body, and are com- 
 mod to us with the brutes. 
 
 2. They are not constant, but occasional. 
 
 3. They are accompanied with an uneasy sensation, 
 which is strong or weak in proportion to the strength 
 or weakness of the appetite. 
 
 Our appetites are three in number, hunger, thirst, and 
 the appetite of sex. Of these, two were intended for 
 the preservation of the individual; the third for the 
 continuation of the species ; and without them reason 
 would have been insufficient for these important pur- 
 poses. Suppose, for example, that the appetite of 
 hunger had been no part of our constitution, reason 
 and experience might have satisfied us of the necessity 
 of food to our preservation ; but how should we have 
 been able, without an implanted princi ,le, to ascertain, 
 according to the varying state of our animal economy, 
 the proper seasons for eating, or the quantity of food 
 that is salutary to the body? The lower animals not 
 only receive this information from nature, but are, 
 moreover, directed by instinct to the particular sort of 
 food that is proper for them to use in health and in 
 sickness. The senses of taste an-d smell, in the savage 
 
12 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 state of. our species, are subservient, at least in some 
 degree, to the same purpose. 
 
 Our appetites can, with no propriety, be called selfish, 
 for they are directed to their respective objects as ulti- 
 mate ends, and they must all have operated, in the first 
 instance, prior to any experience of the pleasure arising 
 from their gratification. After this experience, indeed, 
 the desire of enjoyment will naturally come to be com- 
 bined with the appetite ; and it may sometimes lead us 
 to stimulate or provoke the appetite Avith a view to the 
 pleasure which is to result from indulging it. Imagina- 
 tion, too, and the association of ideas, together with 
 the social affections, and sometimes the moral faculty, 
 lend their aid, and all conspire together in forming a 
 complex passion, in which the animal appetite is only 
 one ingredient. In proportion as this passion is grati- 
 fied, its influence over the conduct becomes the more 
 irresistible, (for all the active determinations of our na- 
 ture are strengthened by habit,) till at last we struggle 
 in vain against its tyranny. A man so enslaved by his 
 animal appetites exhibits humanity in one of its most 
 miserable and contemptible forms. 
 
 As an additional proof of the misery of such a state, 
 it is of great importance to remark, that, while habit 
 strengthens all our active determinations, it diminishes 
 the liveliness of our passive impressions ; — a remarka- 
 ble instance of which occurs in the effects produced by 
 an immoderate use of strong liquors, which, at the 
 same time that it confirms the active habit of intem- 
 perance, deadens and destroys the sensibility of the pal- 
 ate. In consequence of this law of our nature, the 
 evils of excessive indulgence are doubled, inasmuch 
 as our sensibility to pleasure decays in proportion as 
 the cravings of appetite increase. 
 
 In general, it will be found, that, wherever we at- 
 tempt to enlarge the sphere of enjoyment beyond the 
 limits prescribed by nature, we frustrate our own pur- 
 pose. 
 
 A man so enslaved by his appetites may undoubted- 
 ly, in one sense, be called selfish; for, as he must ne- 
 
APPETITES. 13 
 
 cessarily neglect the duties he owes to others, he may 
 be presumed to be deficient in the benevolent affec- 
 tions. But it cannot be said of him that he is actuated 
 by an inordinate self-love, (meaning by that word an 
 excessive regard for his own happiness,) for he sacrifices 
 to the meanest gratifications all the noblest pleasures 
 of which he is susceptible, and sacrifices to the pleas- 
 ure of the moment the permanent enjoyments of 
 health, reputation, and conscience. This is true even 
 when the desire of gratification is combined with the 
 original appetite; for no two principles can be more 
 widely at variance than the desire of gratification and 
 the desire of happiness. 
 
 Of the errors introduced into morals, in consequence 
 of the vague use of the words selfishness and self-love, 
 I shall afterwards take notice. What 1 wish chiefly to 
 remark at present is, that in no sense of these words 
 can we refer to them the origin of our animal appetites ; 
 and that the active propensities comprehended under 
 this title are ultimate facts in the human constitution. 
 
 II. Acquired Appetites.] Besides our natural appe- 
 tites we have many acquired ones. Such are our ap- 
 petites for tobacco, for opium, and for other intoxicating 
 drugs. In general, every thing that stimulates the ner- 
 vous system produces a subsequent languor, which gives 
 rise to a desire of repetition. 
 
 The universality of this appetite for intoxicating 
 drugs is a curious fact in the history of our species. 
 " It seems," says Dr. Robertson, " to have been one of 
 the first exertions of human ingenuity to discover some 
 composition of an intoxicating quality; and there is 
 hardly any nation so rude, or so destitute of invention, 
 as not to have succeeded in this fatal research. The 
 most barbarous of the American tribes have been so 
 unfortunate as to attain this art ; and even those who 
 are so deficient in knowledge as to be unacquainted 
 with the method of giving an inebriating strength to 
 liquors by fermentation can accomplish the same end 
 by other means. The people of the islands of North 
 2 
 
1 I INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 America and of California used for this purpose the 
 smoke of tobacco, drawn up with a certain instrument 
 into the nostrils, the fumes of which ascending to the 
 brain, they felt all the transports and frenzy of intoxi- 
 cation. In almost every part of the New World the 
 natives possessed the art of extracting an intoxicating 
 liquor from maize, or the manioc root, the same sub- 
 stances which they convert into bread. The operation 
 by which they effect this nearly resembles the common 
 one of brewing, but with this difference, that, instead 
 of yeast, they use a nauseous infusion of maize or 
 manioc chewed by their women. The saliva excites 
 a vigorous fermentation, and in a few days the liquor 
 becomes fit for drinking. It is not disagreeable to the 
 taste, and, when swallowed in large quantities, is of an 
 inebriating quality. This is the general beverage of the 
 Americans, which they distinguish by different names, 
 and for which they feel such a violent and insatiable 
 desire, as it is not easy either to conceive or describe." * 
 Many striking confirmations of this remark occur in 
 the voyages of Cook and of later navigators. 
 
 III. Other analogous Propensities.] Our occasional 
 propensities to action and to repose are, in many re- 
 spects, analogous to our appetites. They have, indeed, 
 all the three characteristics of our appetites already 
 mentioned. They are common, too, to man and to the 
 lower animals, and they operate, in our own species, 
 in the most infant state of the individual. In general, 
 every animal we know is prompted by an instinctive 
 impulse to take that degree of exercise which is salu- 
 tary to the body, and is prevented from passing the 
 bounds of moderation by that languor and desire of 
 repose which are the consequences of continued ex- 
 ertion. 
 
 There is something, also, very similar to this with 
 respect to the mind. We are impelled by nature to 
 the exercise of its different faculties, and we are warned 
 
 * History of America, Book IV. \ 100. 
 
APPETITES. 15 
 
 when we are in danger of overstraining them, by a 
 consciousness of fatigue. After we are exhausted by 
 a long course of application to business, how delight- 
 ful are the first moments of indolence and repose I 
 O die bella cosa difar niente I We are apt to imagine 
 that no inducement shall again lead us to engage in 
 the bustle of the world : but, after a short respite from 
 our labors, our intellectual vigor returns ; the mind 
 rouses from its lethargy " like a giant from his sleep," 
 and we feel ourselves urged by an irresistible impulse 
 to return to our duties as members of society. 
 
 The active principles already mentioned are common 
 to man and to the brutes. But besides these, the latter 
 have some instinctive impulses, of which I do not know 
 that there are any traces to be found in the human race. 
 Such are those antipathies which tiney discover against 
 the natural enemies of their respective tribes. It is prob- 
 able, 1 think, that their existence is guarded entirely by 
 their appetites and antipathies ; for the desire of self- 
 preservation implies a degree of reason and reflection 
 which they do not appear to possess. Even in the case 
 of man, this desire is probably the result of his experi- 
 ence of the pleasures which life affords ; and, accord- 
 ingly, as Dr. Beattie very finely remarks, Milton has, with 
 exquisite judgment, represented Adam, in the first mo- 
 ments of his being, as contemplating, without anxiety 
 or regret, the idea of immediate annihilation: — 
 
 " WTiile thus I callecl and strayed I knew not whither 
 From where I first drew air, and first belield 
 This happy light, when answer none returned, 
 On a green, shady bank profuse of flowers 
 Pensive I sat medown. There gentle sleep 
 First found me, and with soft oppression seized 
 My drowzied sense ; untkoubi-ed, though I thought 
 I then was passing to my former state 
 Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve." * 
 
 * Paradise Lost, Book Vm. 283. 
 
16 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF OUR DESIRES. 
 
 Our desires are distinguished from our appetites by 
 the following circumstances : — 
 
 1. They do not take their rise from the body. 
 
 2. They do not operate periodically after certain in- 
 tervals, nor do they cease after the attainment of a 
 particular object. 
 
 The most remarkable active principles belonging to 
 this class are, — 
 
 1. The Desire of Knowledge, or the principle of Cu- 
 riosity. 
 
 2. The Desire of Society. 
 8. The Desire of Esteem. 
 
 4. The Desire of Power, or the principle of Ambition. 
 
 5. The Desire of Superiority, or the principle of Em- 
 ulation. 
 
 ">> 
 
 Section I. 
 
 THE DESIRE OF KNOVTLBDGE. 
 
 I. Early and various Manifestations.] The principle 
 of curiosity appears in children at a very early period, 
 and is commonly proportioned to the degree of intellect- 
 ual capacity they possess. The direction, too, which it , 
 takes, is regulated by nature according to the order of 
 our wants and necessities ; being confined, in the first 
 instance, exclusively to those properties of material ob- 
 jects, and those laws of the material world, an ac- 
 quaintance with which is essential to the preservation of 
 our animal existence. Hence the instinctive eagerness 
 with which children handle and examine every thing 
 which is presented to them ; an employment which we 
 are commonly apt to consider as a mere exercise of their 
 animal powers, but which, if we reflect on the limited 
 
DESIRE OF KNOWLEDGE. 17 
 
 province of sight prior to experience, and on the early 
 period of Hfe at which we are able to judge by the eye 
 of the distances and of the tangible quaUties of bodies, 
 will appear plainly to be the most useful occupation in 
 which they could be engaged, if it were in the power 
 of a philosopher to have the regulation of their atten- 
 tion from the hour of their birth. In more advanced 
 years curiosity displays itself in one way or another in 
 every individual, and gives rise to an infinite diversity in 
 their pursuits, — engrossing the attention of one man 
 about physical causes, of another about mathematical 
 truths, of a third about historical facts, of a fourth about 
 the objects of natural history, of a fifth about the trans- 
 actions of private families, or about the politics and 
 news of the day. 
 
 Whether this diversity be owing to natural predis- 
 position, or to early education, it is of little consequence 
 to determine, as, upon either supposition, a preparation 
 is made for it in the original constitution of the mind, 
 combined with the circumstances of our external situa- 
 tion. Its final cause is also sufficiently obvious, as it is 
 this which gives rise in the case of individuals to a lim- 
 itation of attention and study, and lays the foundation 
 of all the advantages which society derives from the di- 
 vision and subdivision of intellectual labor. 
 
 II. Neither Selfish nor Moral in itself.] These ad- 
 vantages are so great, that some philosophers have at- 
 tempted to resolve the desire of knowledge into self- 
 love. But to this theory the same objection may be 
 stated which has already beeij made to the attempts of 
 some philosophers to account, in a similar way, for the 
 origin of our appetites; — that all of these are active 
 principles, manifestly directed by nature to particular 
 specific objects, as their ultimate ends; — that as the 
 object of hunger is not happiness, but food, so the ob- 
 ject of curiosity is not happiness, but knowledge. To 
 this analogy Cicero has very beautifully alluded, when 
 he calls knowledge the natural food of the understand- 
 ing. " Est animorum ingeniorumque nostrorum na- 
 2* 
 
18 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OP ACTION. 
 
 turale quoddam quasi pabulum consideratio contem- 
 platioque natursB." We can indeed conceive a being 
 prompted merely by the cool desire of happiness to 
 accumulate information; but in a creature like man, 
 endowed with a variety of other active principles, the 
 stock of his knowledge would probably have been 
 scanty, unless self-love had been aided in this particular 
 by the principle of curiosity. 
 
 Although, however, the desire of knowledge is not 
 resolvable into self-love, it is not in itself an object of 
 moral approbation. A person may indeed employ his 
 intellectual powers with a view to his own moral im- 
 provement, or to the happiness of society, and so feir he 
 acts from a laudable principle. But to prosecute study 
 merely from the desire of knowledge is neither virtuous 
 nor vicious. When not suifered to interfere with our 
 duties it is morally innocent. The virtue or vice does 
 not lie in the desire, but in the proper or improper reg- 
 ulation of it. The ancient astronomer, who, when ac- 
 cused of indifference with respect to public transactions, 
 answered that his country was in the heavens, acted 
 criminally, inasmuch as he suffered his desire of knowl- 
 edge to interfere with the duties which he owed to 
 mankind. 
 
 III. But superior in Dignity and Use to the Appetites.] 
 At the same time, it must be admitted that the desire 
 of knowledge (and the same observation is applicable 
 to our other desires) is of a more dignified nature than 
 those appetites which are common to us with the brutes. 
 A thirst for science has been always considered as a 
 mark of a liberal and elevated mind ; and it generally 
 cooperates with the moral faculty in forming us to those 
 habits of self-government which enable us to keep our 
 animal appetites in due subjection. 
 
 There is another circumstance which renders this 
 desire peculiarly estimable, that it is always accom- 
 panied with a strong desire to communicate our knowl- 
 edge to others ; insomuch, that it has been doubted if 
 the principle of curiosity would be sufficiently power- 
 
DESIRE OF KNOWLEDGE. 19 
 
 ful to animate the intellectual exertions of any man in 
 a long course of persevering study, if he had no pros- 
 pect of being ever able to impart his acquisitions to his 
 friends or the public. " Si quis in coelum ascendisset," 
 says Cicero, " naturamque mundi et pulchritudinem 
 siderum perspexisset, ipsuavem illam admirationem ei 
 fore, quse jucundissima fuisset, si aliquem, cui narraret, 
 habuisset. Sic natura solitarium nihil amat, semperque 
 ad aliquod tamquam adrainiculum annititur, quod in 
 amicissimo quoque dulcissimum est." * And to the same 
 purpose Seneca : — " Nee me uUa res delectabit, licet 
 sit eximia et salutaris, quam mihi uni sciturus sum. 
 Si cum hac exceptione detur sapientia, ut illam inclusara 
 teneam, nee enuntiem, rejiciam : nullius boni, sine socio, 
 jucunda possessio est." f 
 
 A strong curiosity, properly directed, may be justly 
 considered as one of the most important elements in 
 philosophical genius ; and, accordingly, there is no cir- 
 cumstance of greater consequence in education than to 
 keep the curiosity always awake, and to tarn it to use- 
 ful pursuits. I cannot help, therefore, disapproving 
 greatly of a very common practice in this country, that 
 of communicating to children general and superficial 
 views of science and history by means of popular in- 
 troductions. In this way we rob their future studies 
 of all that interest which can render study agreeable, 
 and reduce the mind, in the pursuits of science, to the 
 same state of listlessness and languor as when we toil 
 through the pages of a tedious novel after being made 
 acquainted with the final catastrophe. 
 
 * De Amicitia, 23. Thus translated, or rather paraphrased, by 5Iol- 
 moth: — ■' Were a man to be carried up to Iicaven, and the' beauties of 
 universal nature displayed to his view, he would receive but little pleasure 
 fi-om the wonderful scone, if there were none to -whom he might relate the 
 glories he had beheld. Human nature, indeed, is so constituted as to be in- 
 capable of lonely satisfaction : man, like those plants which arc formed to 
 embrace others, is led by an instinctive impulse to recline on his species ; 
 and ho finds his Iiappiest and most secure support in the arms of a faithful 
 friend." 
 
 t Seneca, Epist. Mor , Lib. I. Ep. 6. '■ Nor, indeed, would any thing give 
 me pleasure; however excellent and salutary it might be, were I to licep tlie 
 knowledge of it to myself. Were wisdom oifered me under such restriciion 
 as to be obliged to conceal it, I would reject it. No enjoyment whatever 
 can be agreeable without participation." 
 
20 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 It would contribute greatly to the culture and the 
 guidance of this principle of curiosity, if the ditferent 
 sciences were taught as much as possible in the order 
 of the anabjtic rather than in that of the synthetic 
 method ;* a plan, however, which I readily admit it is 
 not so practicable to carry into effect in a course of 
 public as of private instruction. Such a mode of edu- 
 cation, too, would be attended with the additional 
 advantage of accustoming the student to the proper 
 method of investigation ; and thereby preparing him in 
 due time to enter on the career of invention and dis- 
 covery. Nor is this all. It would impress the knowl- 
 edge he thus acquired, in some measure by his own 
 ingenuity, much more deeply on his memory than if it 
 were passively imbibed from books or teachers ; — in the 
 same manner as the windings of a road make a more 
 lasting impression on the mind when we have once trav- 
 elled it alone, and inquired out the way at every turn, 
 than if we had travelled along it a hundred times trust- 
 ing ourselves implicitly to the guidance of a companion. 
 
 I am happy to be confirmed in this opinion by its 
 coincidence with what has been excellently remarked 
 on the same subject by Miss Edgeworth, in her treatise 
 on Practical Education; a work equally distinguished 
 by good sense and by originality of thought. The pas- 
 sage I allude to more particularly at present is the short 
 dialogue about the steam-engine, as improved by Mr. 
 Watt.t 
 
 Section II. 
 
 THE DESIRE of SOCIETY. 
 
 I. An Instinctive Principle.] Abstracted from those 
 affections which interest us in the happiness of others, 
 
 * AnalytimUy we discover, by a sort of decomposition, the simple laws 
 wliich are concerned in the phenomenon under consideration ; sjjntheticalli/, 
 taking the laws for granted, we determine a jiriori what the result will be 
 of any hypothetical combination of tliein — Ed. 
 
 t Essays on Practical Educalion, Chap. XXI. 
 
DESIRE OF SOCIETY. -. 21 
 
 and from "all the advantages which we ourselves derive 
 from the social union, we are led by a natural and in- 
 stinctive desire to associate with our species. This 
 principle is easily discernible in the minds of children 
 long before the dawn of reason. " Attend only," says 
 an intelligent and accurate observer, " to the eyes, the 
 features, and the gestures of a child on the breast when 
 another child is presented to it ; — both 'instantly, pre- 
 vious to the possibility of instructiork or habit, exhibit 
 the most evident expressions of joy. Their eyes sparkle, 
 and their features and gestures demonstrate, in the most 
 unequivocal manner, a mutual attachment. When 
 further advanced, children who are strangers to each 
 other, though their social appetite be equally strong, 
 discover a mutual shyness of approach, which, however, 
 is soon conquered by the more powerful instinct of as- 
 sociation." * 
 
 In the lower animals, too, very evident traces of the 
 same instinct appear. In some of these we observe a 
 species of union strikingly analogous to political asso- 
 ciations among men : in others we observe occasional 
 unions among individuals to accomplish a particular 
 purpose, — to repel, for example, a hostile assault ; — 
 but there are also various tribes which discover a de- 
 sire of society, and a pleasure in the company of their 
 own species, without an apparent reference to any 
 further end. Thus we frequently see horses, when con- 
 fined alone in an inclosure, neglect their food and break 
 the fences to join their companions in the contiguous 
 field. Every person must have remarked the spirit and 
 , alacrity with which this animal exerts himself on the 
 road, when accompanied by another animal of his own 
 species, in comparison of what he discovers when trav- 
 elling alone ; and, with respect to oxen and cows, it 
 has been asserted, that even in the finest pasture they 
 d3 not fatten so rapidly in a solitary state as when th&y 
 feed together in a herd.f 
 
 * Smellie's Philosophy of Natural History, Chap. XI. 
 t One of the best accounts of the social principle in animals is found in 
 Swainson's Sabits and Inslincts of Animals, Chapters IX. and X. — Ed. 
 
22 ' INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 What, is the final cause of the associating instinct in 
 such animals as have now been mentioned it is not 
 easy to conjecture, unless we suppose that it was in- 
 tended merely to augment the sum of their enjoyments. 
 But whatever opinion we may form on this point, it is 
 indisputable that the instinctive determination is a 
 strong one, and that it produces striking effects on the 
 habits of the animal, even when external circumstances 
 are the most unfavorable to its operation. Horses and 
 oxen, for example, when deprived of companions of 
 their own species, associate and become attached to 
 each other. The same thing sometimes happens be- 
 tween individuals that belong to tribes naturaJly hos- 
 tile ; as between dogs and cats, or between a cat and 
 a bird. 
 
 If these facts be candidly considered, there will ap- 
 pear but little reason to doubt the existence of the so- 
 cial instinct ia our own species, when it is so agree- 
 able to the general analogy of nature, as displayed 
 through the rest of the animal creation. As this point, 
 however, has been controverted warmly by authors of 
 eminence, it will be necessary to consider it with some 
 attention. ' 
 
 II. The Theory of Hobbes stated and refuted.] The 
 question with respect to the social or the solitary nature 
 of man seems to me to amount to this ; whether man 
 has any disinterested principles which lead him to unite 
 with his fellow-creatures, or whether the social union 
 be the result of prudential views of self-iaterest, sug- 
 gested by the experience of his own insufficiency to 
 procure the objec s of his natural desires. Of these 
 two opinions, Hobbes has maintained the latter, and 
 has endeavoured to establish it by proving, that, in what 
 he calls the state of nature, every man is an enemy to 
 his brother, and that it was the experience of the evils 
 arising from these hostile dispositions that induced men 
 to unite in a political society. In proof of this he in- 
 sists on the terror which children feel at the sight of a 
 stranger ; on the apprehension which, he says, a person 
 
DESIRE OF SOCIETY. 23 
 
 naturally feels when he hears the tread of a foot in the 
 dark ; on the universal invention of locks and keys ; 
 and on various other circumstances of a similar na- 
 ture.* 
 
 That this theory of Hobbes is contrary to the univer- 
 sal history of mankind cannot be disputed. Man has 
 always been found in a social state ; and there fs reason 
 even for thinking, that the principles of union which 
 nature has implanted in his heart operate with the 
 greatest force in those situations in which the advan- 
 tages of the social union are the smallest. As society 
 advances, the relations among individuals are continu- 
 ally multiplied, and man is rendered the more neces- 
 sary to man : but it may be doubted, if, in a period of 
 great refinement, the social affections be as warm and 
 powerful as when the species were wandering in the 
 forest. 
 
 Besides, it does not seem to be easy to conceive in 
 what manner Hobbes's supposition could be realized. 
 Surely, if there be a foundation for any thing laid in 
 the constitution of man's nature, it is for family union. 
 The infant of our species continues longer in a help- 
 less state, and requires longer the protecting care of 
 both parents, than the young of any other animal. Be- 
 fore the first child isable to provide for itself, a second 
 and a third are produced, and thus the union of the 
 sexes, supposing it at first to have been merely casual, 
 is insensibly confirmed by habit, and cemented by the 
 common interest which both parents take in their off- 
 spring. So just is the simple and beautiful statement 
 of the fact given by Montesquieu, that " man is born 
 in society, and there he remains." 
 
 From these considerations, it appears that the social 
 union does not take its rise from views of self-interest, 
 but that it forms a necessary part of the condition of 
 man from the constitution of his nature. It is true, in- 
 deed, that before he begins to reflect he finds himself 
 connected with society by a thousand ties ; so that, in- 
 
 * Leviathan, Part I. Chap. xiii. De Corpore Politico, Part I. Chap. i. 
 
24 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 dependently of any social instinct, prudence would un- 
 doubtedly prevent him from abandoning his fellow-crea- 
 tures. But still it is evident that the social instinct 
 forms a part of human nature, and has a tendency to 
 unite men even when they stand in no need of each 
 other's assistance. Were the case otherwise, prudence 
 and the social disposition would be only different 
 names for the same principle, whereas it is matter of 
 common remark, that although the two principles be 
 by no means inconsistent when kept within reasonable 
 bounds, yet that the former, when it rises to any excess, 
 is in a great measure exclusive of the latter. I have 
 hinted, too, already, that it is in societies where individ- 
 uals are most independent of each other as to their an- 
 imal wants, that the social principles operate with the 
 greatest force. 
 
 III. The Wants and Necessities of Man help to de- 
 velop, but do not create, his Social Principles.] Accord- 
 ing to the view of the subject now given, the multi- 
 plied wants and necessities of man in his infant state, 
 hj laying the foundation of the family union, impose 
 upon our species, as a necessary part of their condition, 
 those social connections which are so essential to our 
 improvement and happiness. And therefore nothing 
 could be more unphilosophical than the complaints 
 which the ancient Epicureans founded upon this cir- 
 cumstance, and which Lucretius has so pathetically ex- 
 pressed in the following verses : — 
 
 " Turn porro puev, ut sievis projectas ab undis 
 Navitii, nudus hnmi jacet, infans, indigus omni 
 Vitali auxilio, cum primum in luminis oras 
 Nixibus ex alvo matris natura profudit: 
 -Vagituquo locum lugubri complet, ut nequum est, 
 Cui tantum in vitA restat transire maloiiim." * 
 
 * Lib. V. 223. 
 
 " As when wild, wrecking tempests sweep the skies 
 Ca-t on the shore the naked sailor lies : 
 So the weak infant, when he springs to lio-ht. 
 Thrown on the strand of life in helpless plight, 
 With mournful cries the joyful mansion fills, 
 The unheeded omens of a life of ills." 
 
DESIRE OF SOCIETY. 25 
 
 The philosophy of Pope is in this respect much 
 more pleasing and much more solid : — 
 
 " Heaven, forming each on other to depend, 
 A master, or a servant, or a friend, 
 Bids each on other for assistance call, 
 Till one man's weakness grows the strength of all. 
 Wants, frailties, passions, closer still ally 
 The common interest, or endear the tie. 
 To these we owe true friendship, love sincere, 
 Each home-felt joy that life inherits here." * 
 
 The considerations now stated afford a beautiful il- 
 lustration of the beneficent design with which the phys- 
 ical condition of man is adapted to the principles of 
 his moral constitution ; an adaptation so striking, that 
 it is not surprising those philosophers who are fond of 
 simplifying the theory of human nature should have 
 , attempted to account for the origin of these principles 
 from the habits which our external circumstances im- 
 pose. In this, as in many other instances, their atten- 
 tion has been misled by the spirit of system from those 
 wonderful combinations of means to particular ends, 
 which are everywhere conspicuous in the universe. It 
 is not by the physical condition of man that the essen- 
 tial principles of his mind are formed ; but the one is 
 fitted to the other by the same superintending wisdom 
 which adapts the fin of the fish to the water, and the 
 wing of the bird to the air, and which scatters the 
 seeds of the vegetable tribes in those soils and expos- 
 ures where they are fitted to vegetate. It is not the 
 wants and necessities of his animal being which create 
 his 'social principles, and which produce an artificial 
 and interested league among individuals who are natu- 
 rally solitary and hostile ; but, determined by instinct 
 to society, endowed with innumerable principles which 
 have a reference to his fellow-creatures, he is placed by 
 the condition of his birth in that element where alone 
 the perfection and happiness of his nature are to be 
 found. 
 
 * Essay on Man, Ep. 11. 249. See on this subject The Moralists of 
 Lord Shaftesbury. 
 
 3 
 
26 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 IV. Man's Nature adjusted beforehand to the Condi- 
 tion in lohich he is placed.] In speaking of the lower 
 animals, I before observed, that such of them as are in- 
 stinctively social discover the secret workings of nature 
 even when removed from the society of their kind. 
 This fact amounts in their case to a demonstration of 
 that mutual adaptation of the different parts of nature 
 to each other which I have just remarked. It demon- 
 strates that the structure of their internal frame is pur- 
 posely adjusted to that external scene in which they 
 are destined to be placed. As the Iamb, when it strikes 
 with its forehead while y^ unarmed, proves that it is 
 not its weapons which determine its instincts, but that 
 ' it has preexistent instincts suited to its weapons, so 
 when we see an animal deprived of the sight of his 
 fellows cling to a stranger, or disarm, by his caresses, 
 the rage of an enemy, we perceive the workings of a 
 social instinct, not only not superinduced by external 
 circumstances, but manifesting itself in spite of cir- 
 cumstances which are adverse to its operation. The 
 same remark may be extended, to man. When in 
 solitude, he languishes, and, by making companions 
 of the lower animals, or by attaching himself to 
 inanimate objects, strives to fill up the void of which 
 he is conscious. " Were I in a desert," says an author, 
 who, amidst all his extravagances and absurdities, 
 sometimes writes like a wise man, and, where the 
 moral feelings are at all concerned, never fails to write 
 like a ffood man, — "were I in a desert, I would find 
 out wherewith in it to call forth my affections. If I 
 could not do better, I would fasten them upon some 
 sweet myrtle, or seek some melancholy cypress to con- 
 nect myself to ; I would court their shade, and greet 
 them kindly for their protection. I would cut my 
 name upon them, and swear they were the loveliest 
 trees throughout the desert. If their leaves withered 
 I would teach myself to mourn, and when they re- 
 joiced, I would rejoice along with them." 
 
 The Count de Lauzun was confined by Louis XIV. 
 for nine years in the castle of Pignerol, in a small 
 
DESIRE OF SOCIETY. 27 
 
 room where no light could enter but from a chink in 
 the roof. In this solitude he attached himself to a 
 spider, and contrived for some time to amuse himself 
 with attempting to tame it, with catching flies lor its 
 support, and with superintending the progress of its 
 web. The jailer discovered his amusement, and killed 
 the spider ; and the Count used afterwards to declare, 
 that the pang he felt on the occasion could be com- 
 pared only to that of a mother for the loss of a child. 
 
 This anecdote is quoted by Lord Kames in his 
 Sketches, and by the late Lord Auckland in his Princi- 
 ples of Penal Law. It is remarkable that both these 
 learned and respectable writers should have introduced 
 it into their works on account of the shocking incident 
 of the jailer, and as a proof of the pure and unprovok- 
 ed malice of which some minds are capable, without 
 taking any notice of it as a beautiful picture of the 
 feelings of a man of sensibility in a state of solitude, and 
 of his disposition to create to himself some object upon 
 which he may rest#hose affections which have a ref- 
 erence to society. 
 
 It will be said that these are the feelings of one who 
 has experienced the pleasures of social life, and that 
 no inference can be drawn from such facts in opposi- 
 tion to Hobbes. But if they do not prove in man an 
 instinctive impulse towards society prior to experienci^, 
 they at least prove that he feels a delight in the society 
 of his fellow-creatures, which no view of self-interest is 
 suffici^it to explain. 
 
 It does not belong to our present speculation to illus- 
 trate the importance of the social union to our im- 
 provement and our happiness. Its subserviency to 
 both (abstracted entirely from its necessity for the 
 complete gratification of our ])hysical wants) is much 
 greater than we should be disposed at first to appre- 
 hend. In proof of this, it is sufficient to mention hero 
 its connection with the culture of our intellectual facul- 
 ties, and with the development of our moral princijiles. 
 Illustrations of this may be drawn from the low state 
 in which both these parts of our nature are generally 
 
28 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 found in the deaf and dumb, and from the efFects 
 which a few months' education sometimes has in un- 
 folding their mental powers. The pleasing change 
 which in the mean time takes place in their once 
 vacant countenances, when animated and lighted up 
 by an active and inquisitive mind, cannot escape the 
 notice of the most careless observer.* 
 
 Section III. 
 
 THE desire of ESTEEM. 
 
 I. An Original Principle of our Nature.]_ This prin- 
 ciple, as well as those we have now been considering, 
 discovers itself at a very early period in infants, who, 
 long before they are able to reflect on the advantages 
 resulting from the good opinion of others, and even 
 before they acquire the use of speech, are sensibly 
 mortified by any expression of neglect or contempt. 
 It seems, therefore, to be an ori^^al principle of our 
 
 * For an additional illustration of the same thing, see a remarkable 
 case of recovery from deafness and dumbness in the history of the Royal 
 Academy of Sciences at Paris for the year 1703. 
 
 \ doctrine similar to that which I have now been controverting, con- 
 cerning the origin of society, was maintained by some of the nncient 
 sophists, and has found advocates in every age among those writers who 
 wished to depreciate human natni-e. as well as among many who wore 
 anxious to represent man as entirely the creature of education and Govern- 
 ment, with the view of inculcating implicit and passive obedience to the 
 civil magistrate. In Buchanan's elegant and philosophical Dialogue De 
 Jan Ret/ni apud Scotos, the question is particularly discussed between the 
 two interlocutors, one of whom ascribes the origin of society to views of 
 utility, meaning by utility the private interest or advantage of the indi- 
 vidual. On the contrary, Buchanan himself, who is the other speaker 
 contends with great warmth for the existence of social principles in the 
 nature of man, which, independently of any views of interest, lay~a foun- 
 dation for the social union. ^ 
 
 Part of this Dialogue is curious, as it shows how completely Buchanan 
 had not only anticipated, but refuted, the veiy far-fetched argument which 
 Hobbes was soon after to draw from his supposed state of nature in sun- 
 port of Ills slavish maxims of government. 
 
 [See the subject of man's natural sociality still further illustrated in 
 connection with experiments in prison discipline, in De Beaumont andDe 
 Tocqueville's Pmitmtiary System of the United States ; and in I'. C. Gray's 
 Frison Discipline of America.] ' ■' 
 
DESIRE OF ESTEEM. 29 
 
 nature ; that is, it does not appear to be resolvable into 
 reason and experience, or into any other principle; 
 more genefal than itself. An- additional proof of this 
 is the very powerful influence it has over the mind, — 
 an influence more striking than that of any other active 
 principle whatsoever. Even the love of life daily gives 
 way to the desire of esteem, and of an esteem which, as 
 it is only to aflect our memories, cannot be supposed to 
 interest our self-love. In what manner the association 
 of ideas should manufacture, out of the other principles 
 of our constitution, a new principle stronger than them 
 all, it is difficult to conceive. 
 
 In these observation* I have had an eye to the 
 theories of those modern philosophers who represent 
 self-love, or the desire of happiness, as the only original 
 principle of action in man, and who attempt to ac- 
 count for the origin of all our other active principles 
 from habit or the association of ideas. That this 
 theory is just in some iijatances cannot be disputed. 
 Thus, in the case of avarice, it is manifest that it is 
 from habit alone it derives its influence over the mind ; 
 for no man surely was ever brought into the world 
 with an innate love of money. Money is at first de- 
 sired, merely as the means of obtaining other objects; 
 but in consequence of being long and constantly ac- 
 customed to direct our efforts to its attainment on 
 account of its apprehended utility, we come at last to 
 pursue it as an ultimate end, and frequently retain our 
 attachment to it long after we have lost all relish for 
 the enjoyments it enables us to command. In like 
 manner, it has been supposed that the esteem of our 
 fellow-creatures is at first desired on account of its 
 apprehended utility, and that it comes in time to be 
 pursued as an ultimate end, without any reference on 
 our part to the advantages it bestows. In opposition 
 to this doctrine it seems to me to be clear, that as the 
 object of hunger is not happiness, but food; as ^he 
 object of curiosity is not happiness, but knowledge; 
 so the object of this principle of action is not happi- 
 ness, but the esteem and respect of other men. That 
 3* 
 
30 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 this is not inconsistent with the analogy of our na- 
 ture appears from the observations already made on 
 our appetites and desires ; and that it reall^ is the fact 
 may be proved by various arguments. Before touch- 
 ing, however, on these, I must remark, that I consider 
 this ■ as merely a question of speculative curiosity ; 
 for, upon either supposition, the desire of esteem is 
 equally the work of nature; and consequently, upon 
 either supposition, it is equally unphilosophical to 
 attempt, by metaphysical subtilties, to counteract her 
 wise and beneficent purposes. 
 
 Among the different arguments which concur to 
 prove that the desire of i^teem is not wholly resolvable 
 into the association of laeas, one of the strongest has 
 already been hinted at, — the early period of life at 
 which this principle discovers itself, — long before we 
 are able to form the idea of happiness, far less to judge 
 of the circumstances which have a tendency to pro- 
 mote it. The difference in this respect between avarice 
 and the desire of esteem is remarkable. The former 
 is the vice of old age, and is, comparatively speaking, 
 confined to a few. The latter is one of the most pow- 
 erful engines in the education of children, and is not 
 less universal in its influence than the principle of 
 curiosity. 
 
 II. The Desire of Posthumous Fame represented by 
 WoUaston as Illusory.] The desire, too, of posthumous 
 fame, of which no man can entirely divest himself, 
 furnishes an insurmountable objection to the theories 
 already mentioned. It is, indeed, an objection so 
 obvious to the common sense of mankind, that all the 
 philosophers who have leaned to these theories have 
 employed their ingenuity in attempting to resolve this 
 desire into an illusion of the imagination produced by 
 habit. This, too, was the opinion of an excellent 
 writer, and still more excellent man, Mr. WoUaston 
 wh"o, from a well-meant, but very mistaken, zeal to 
 weaken the influence of this principle of action on 
 human conduct, has been at pains to give as ludicrous 
 
DESIRE OF ESTEEM. 31 
 
 an account as possible of its origin. As I differ widely 
 from Wollaston on this point, both in his theoretical 
 speculations and in the practical inferences he deduces 
 from them, I shall quote the passage at length, and then 
 subjoin a few remarks on it. 
 
 " Men please themselves with notions of immortality, 
 and fancy a perpetuity of fame secured to themselves 
 by books and testimonies of historians ; but alas ! it is 
 a stupid delusion when they imagine themselves joresert^ 
 and enjoying that fame at the reading of their story after 
 their death. And beside, in reality, the man is not 
 known ever the more to posterity, because his name is 
 transmitted to them. He doth not live, because his 
 name does. "When it is said, 'Julius Caesar subdued 
 Gaul, beat Pompey, and changed the Roman common- 
 wealth into a monarchy,' it is the same thing as to say, 
 ' The conqueror of Pompey was Caesar' ; that is, Caesar 
 and the conqueror of Pompey are the same thing, and 
 Cassar is as much known by the one designation as by 
 the other. The amount, then, is only this, that the con- 
 queror of Pompey conquered Pompey, or somebody con- 
 quered Pompey ; or rather, since Pompey is now as little 
 known as Cassar, somebody conquered somebody. Such 
 a poor business is this boasted immortality ; and such 
 as has been described is the thing called glory among 
 us ! The notion of it may serve to excite them who, 
 having abilities to serve their country in time of real 
 danger or want, or to do some other good, have yet not 
 philosophy enough to do this upon principles of virtue, 
 or to see through the glories of the world (just as we 
 excite children by praising them, and as we see many 
 good inventions and improvements proceed from emu- 
 lation and vanity) ; but to discerning rnen this fame is 
 mere air, and the next remove from nothing, which they 
 despise, if not shun. I think there are two considera- 
 tions which may justify a desire of some glory or honor, 
 and scarce more. When men have performed any vir- 
 tuous actions, or sjach as sit easy on their memories, it 
 is a reasonable pleasure to have the testimony of the 
 world added to that of their own consciences, that they 
 
32 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 li;iv(.i done well. And more than that, if the reputation 
 ; I quired by any qualification or action may produce 
 !; man any real comfort or advantage (if it be only 
 protection from the insolence and injustice of mankind, 
 or if it enables him, by his authority, to do more good 
 to others), to have this privilege must be a great satis- 
 faction, and what a wise and good man may be al- 
 lowed, as he" has opportunity, to propose to himself. 
 But then he proposes it no further than it may be use- 
 ful, and it can be no further useful than he wants it. 
 So that, upon the whole, glory, praise, and the like, are 
 either mere vanity, or only valuable in proportion to 
 defects and wants." * 
 
 It appears from this passage, that WoUaston does 
 not consider the desire of posthumous fame as an ul- 
 timate fact in our nature, for he proposes a theory to 
 account for it. " It is," says he, " a stupid delusion, 
 when men imagine themselves present and enjoying 
 that fame at the reading of their story after death." 
 Mr. Smith, too, in his Theory of Moral Senliments, 
 
 * Wollaston's Religion of Nature Delineated, Sect. V. § xix. A thought 
 substantially the same with that of WoUaston occurs in Cowley's ode en- 
 titled Lije and Fame. 
 
 " Great Csesar's self a higher place does claim 
 In the seraphic entity of fame. 
 He, since that toy, his death, 
 Doth fill each mouth and breath. 
 'T is true, the two immortal syllables remain ; 
 But, O ye learned men, explain, 
 What essence, what existence this, 
 What substance, what subsistence, what hypostasis 
 
 In six poor letters is t 
 In tliose alone docs the great Cffisar live. 
 'T is all the conquered world could give." 
 Notwithstanding the merit of these lines, I should hardly have thouo-ht 
 it worth while to quote them, if Dr. Hurd (a critic of no common ingenuity 
 as well as learning) had not shown, by his comment upon them, how com- 
 pletely he had misapprehended the reasoning both of the poet and of the 
 philosopher. He remarks : — 
 
 " This lively ridicjdc 'on posthumous fame is well enough placed in a 
 poem or declamation ; but we are a little surprised to find so grave a 
 writer as WoUaston diverting himself with it. 'In reality,' says he ' the 
 man is not known ever the more to posterity because his 'name is trans- 
 mitted to them. He does not live, because his name does.' When it is 
 said, 'Julius Ca^sar subdued Gaul,'&c, &c., the sophistry is apparent 
 
DESIRE OF ESTEEM. 33 
 
 seems to think that the desire of a posthumous fame 
 is to be resolvable into an illusion of the imagination. 
 " Men," says he, " have often voluntarily thrown away 
 life to acquire after death a renown which they could 
 no longer enjoy. Their imagination, in the mean time, 
 anticipated that fame ►which was thereafter to be be- 
 stowed upon them. Those applauses which they were 
 never to hear rung in their ears, the thoughts of that 
 admiration whose effects they were never to feel play- 
 ed about their hearts, banished from their breasts the 
 strongest of all natural fears, and transported them to 
 perform actions which seem almost beyond the reach 
 of human natru-e."* But why have recourse to an il- 
 lusion of the imagination to account for a principle 
 which the wisest of men find it impossible to extin- 
 guish in themselves, or even sensibly to weaken ; and 
 none more remarkably than some of those who have 
 employed their ingenuity in attempting to turiT it into 
 ridicule ? Is it possible that men should imagine them- 
 selves present and enjoying their fame at the reading of 
 
 Put Cato in the place of Csesar, and then see whether that great man do 
 not live in his name substantially, that is, to good purpose, if the impression 
 which these two immortal syllables make on the mind be of U30 in exciting 
 posterity, or any one man, to the love and imitation of Cato's virtue." — 
 Kurd's Cowley, Vol. I. p. 1 79. 
 
 In this remark, Hurd plainly proceeds on" the supposition, that Wollas 
 ton's sophistry is directed against the utility of the love of posthumous 
 glory, whereas the only point in dispute relates to the origin of this prin- 
 ciple, which WoUaston seems to have thought, if it could not be resolved 
 in to the rational motive of self-love, must be the illegitimate and contemp- 
 tible offsprings of our oivn stupidity and folly. ' 
 
 How veiy different must Cowley's feelings have been when he wrote 
 the metaphysical ode referred- to by Hurd, from those which inspired that 
 first burst of juvenile emotion which forms the exordium to his Poetical 
 Works ! 
 
 " What shall I do to be for ever known, 
 
 And make the age to come my own 'i 
 
 I shall, like beasts or common people, die, 
 
 Unless you write my elegy. 
 
 What sound is 't strikes mine ear ? 
 Sure I fame's trumpet hear. 
 It sounds like the last trumpet, for it can 
 Baise np the buried man." 
 
 * Part ni. Chap. ii. 
 
34 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 their story after death, without being conscious of this 
 operation of the imagination themselves? Is not this 
 to depart from the plain and obvious appearance of the 
 fact, and to adopt refinements similar to those by which 
 the selfish philosophers explain away all our disinter- 
 ested affections? We might as well suppose that a 
 man's regard for the welfare of his posterity and friends 
 after his death does not arise from natural affection, 
 but from an illusion of the imagination, leading him 
 to suppose himself still present with them, and a fitness 
 of their prosperity.* If we have confessedly various 
 other propensities directed to specific objects as ulti- 
 mate ends, where is the difficulty of conceiving that a 
 desire, directed to the good opinion of our fellow-crea- 
 tures (without any reference to the advantages it is to 
 yield us either now or hereafter), may be among the 
 number ? 
 
 III. Vindication of this Principle.] It would not, in- 
 deed, (as I have already hinted,) materially affect the 
 argument, although we should suppose, with WoUaston, 
 that the desire of posthumous fame is resolvable into 
 an illusion of the imagination. For, whatever be its 
 origin, it was plainly the intention of nature that all 
 men should be in some measure under its influence; 
 and it is perhaps of little consequence whether we re- 
 gard it as a principle originally implanted by nature, or 
 suppose that she has laid a foundation for it in other 
 principles which belong universally to the species. 
 
 * The two cases seem to be so exactly parallel, that it is somewhat sur- 
 prising that no attempt should have been made to extend to the latter prin- 
 ciple of action the same ridicule which has been so lavishly bestowed on 
 the former. So far, ho\vever, from this being the case, I believe it will be 
 universally granted, that, where the latter principle fails in producing its 
 natural and ordinary effect on the conduct, there must exist some defect 
 in the rational or moral character, for which no other good qualities can 
 sufficiently atone- " He that careth not for his own house is worse than 
 an infidel."' But if this be acknowledged with respect to the interest we 
 take in the concerns of our connections after our own disappearance from 
 the present scene, why judge so harshly of the desire of posthumous fame ? 
 Do not the two principles often cooperate in stimulating our active exer- 
 tions to the very same ends, more especially in those cases (alas ! too com- 
 mon) where the inheritance of a respectable name is all that a good man 
 has it in his power to bequeathe to his family? 
 
DESIRE OF ESTEEM. 35 
 
 How very powerfully it operates appears, not only 
 from the heroical sacritices to which it has led in every 
 age of the world, but from the conduct of the meanest 
 and most worthless of mankind, who, when they are 
 brought to the scaffold in consequence of the clearest 
 and most decisive evidence of their guilt, frequently 
 persevere to the last, with the terrors of futurity full in 
 their view, in the most solemn protestations of their 
 innocence ; and that merely in the hope of leaving be- 
 hind them, not a fair, but an equivocal or problematical 
 reputation. 
 
 With respect to the other parts of Wollaston's rea- 
 soning, that it is only the letters which compose our 
 names that we can transmit to posterity, it is worthy 
 of observation, that, if the argument- be good for any 
 thing, it, applies equally against the desire of esteem 
 from our contemporaries, excepting in those cases in 
 which we ourselves are personally known by those 
 whose praise we covet, and of whose applause we hap- 
 pen ourselves to be ear-witnesses. And yet, undoubt- 
 edly, according to the common judgment of mankind, 
 the love of praise is more peculiarly the mark of a lib- 
 eral and elevated spirit in cases where the gratification 
 it seeks has nothing to recommend it to those whose 
 ruling passions are interest or the love of flattery.* It 
 is precisely for the same reason that the love of posthu- 
 mous fame is strongest in the noblest and most exalted 
 characters. If self-love were really the sole motive in 
 all our actions, Wollaston's reasoning would prove 
 
 * That the desire of esteem, if a fantastic principle of action in the one 
 of these cases, is equally so in the other, is remarlicd by Pope ; liut, in- 
 stead of availing himself of this consideration to justify the desire of pos- 
 thumous renown, he employs it as an argument to expose the nothingness 
 of fame in all cases whatsoever. 
 
 " What 's fame ? a fancied life in others' breath, 
 A thing beyond us e'en before our death. 
 All that we feel of it liegins and ends 
 In the small circle of our foes or friends ; 
 To all beside, as much an empty shade 
 An Eugene living as a Ca;sar dead." 
 
 Essay on Man, Epistle IV. 237. 
 
36 INSTINCTIVE PKINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 clearly the absurdity of any concern about our mem- 
 ory. Such a concern, as Dr. Hutcheson observes, " no 
 selfish being, who had the modelling of his own nature, 
 would choose to implant in himself. But, since we 
 have not this power, we must be contented to be thus 
 nvtivitted by nature into a public interest against our 
 will." * 
 
 As to the fact on which Wollaston's argument pro- 
 ceeds, is it not more philosophical to consider it as af- 
 fording an additional stimulus to the instinctive love of 
 posthumous fame, by holding it up to the imagination 
 as the noblest and proudest boast of human ambition, 
 to be able to entail on the casual combination of letters 
 which composes our name the respect of distant ages, 
 and the blessings of generations yet unborn ? Nor is 
 it an unworthy object of the most rational benevolence 
 to render these letters a sort of magical spell for kin- 
 dling the emulation of the wise and good wherever 
 they shall reach the human ear. 
 
 Nor is it only in this instance that nature has " thus 
 outwitted us " for her own wise and salutary purposes. 
 By a mode of reasoning analogous to that of Wollas- 
 ton, it would be easy to turn most, if not all, our ac- 
 tive principles into ridicule. But what should we gain 
 by the attempt, but a ludicrous exposition of that mor- 
 al constitution which it has pleased our Maker to give 
 us, and which, the more we study it, will be found to 
 abound the more with marks of wise and beneficent 
 design ? 
 
 It is fortunate, in such cases, that, although the rea- 
 sonings of the metaphysician may puzzle the under- 
 standing, they produce very little effect on the conduct. 
 He may tell us, for example, that the admiration of fe- 
 male beauty i.s absurd, because beauty, as well as color, 
 U a quality not existing in the object, but in the mind 
 of the spectator; or (which brings the case still nearer 
 to that under our consideration) he may allege that 
 the whole charm of the finest countenance would van- 
 
 * Nature and Conduct of the Passions, Sect. I. Art. IV. 
 
DESIRE OF ESTEEM. 37 
 
 ish it' it wore examirjed with the aid of a microscope. 
 In all such cases, as well as in the instance referred to 
 by WolUistoo, we are determined very powerfully by 
 Ditiiic : ill a way, indeed, that our reason cannot ex- 
 plain, l)nt which we never fail to find subservient to 
 valuabk' ends. For I am far from thinking that it 
 would be of advantage to mankind if WoUaston's 
 views were generally adopted. That the love of glory 
 has sometimes covered the earth with desolation and 
 bloodshed I am ready to grant ; but the actions to 
 which it generally prompts are highly serviceable to 
 the world. Indeed, it is only by such actions that an 
 enviable fame is to be acquired. 
 
 A strong conviction of this truth has led Dr. Aken- 
 side to express himself in one of his odes with a 
 warmth wliich passes, perhaps, the bounds of strict 
 propriety, but for which a sufficient apology may be 
 found in the poetical enthusiasm by which it was in- 
 spired. The ode is said to have been occasioned by a 
 sermon against the love of glory. 
 
 " Come, then, tell me, sage divine, 
 
 Is it an offence to own 
 
 That our bosoms e'er incline 
 
 Towards immortal glory's throne ? 
 
 For witli me nor pomp nor pleasure, 
 
 Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure. 
 
 So can fitncy's dream rejoice, 
 
 So conciliate reason's choice, 
 As one approving word of her impartial voice. 
 
 "If to spurn at noble praise 
 Be the passport to thy heaven, 
 Follow thou these gloomy ways ; 
 No such law to me was given : 
 Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me 
 Faring like my friends before me, 
 Nora holier heaven desire 
 Thnn Timolcon's arms acquire. 
 And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre." 
 
 Having mentioned the name of Wilton, I cannot for- 
 bear to add, that he too has called the love of fame an 
 i/i//;-m%, although he has qualified this implied censure 
 by calling it the " infirmUy of a noble mind." He has 
 distinctly acknowledged, at the same time, the heroic 
 4 
 
3S INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 sacrifices of ease and pleasure to which it has prompt- 
 ed the most distinguished benefactors of the human 
 race. 
 
 " Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 
 (The last infirmity of noble minds) 
 To scorn delights and live laborions days." 
 
 IV. Hume's Theory respecting its Origin.] I must 
 not dismiss this subject without taking some notice of 
 a theory started by Mr. Hume with respect to the ori- 
 gin of the love of praise ; a theory which applies to 
 this passion even when it has for its object the praise 
 of our contemporaries. " Of all opinions," he ob- 
 servei5, " those which we form in our own favor, how- 
 ever lofty and presuming, are at bottom the frailest, and 
 the most easily shaken by the contradiction and oppo- 
 sition of others. Our great concern in this case makes 
 us soon alarmed, and keeps our passions upon the 
 watch ; our consciousness of partiality still makes us 
 dread a mistake; and the very difficulty of judging 
 concerning an object which is never set at a due dis- 
 tance from us, nor seejii in a proper point of view, 
 makes us hearken anxiously to the opinion of others 
 who are better qualified to form opinions concerning 
 us. Hence that strong love of fame with which all 
 mankind are possessed. It is in order to fix and con- 
 firm their favorable opinion of themselves, not from any 
 original passion, that they seek the applause of others." * 
 
 I think it cannot be doubted that the circumstance 
 here mentioned by Mr. Hume adds greatly to the pleas- 
 ure we derive from the possession of esteem; but it 
 sufficiently appears from the facts already stated, partic- 
 ularly from the early period of life at which this princi- 
 ple makes its appearance, that there is a satisfaction 
 arising from the possession of esteem perfectly uncon- 
 nected with the cause referred to by this author. Mr. 
 Hume has therefore mistaken a concomitant effect for 
 iliR cause of the phenomenon in question. 
 
 * Disseri.atlon on the Paasions^ Soot. JT. v^ 10. 
 
DESIRE OF ESTEEM. 39 
 
 III remarking, however, this . concomitant effect, he 
 muvst be allowed to have called our attention to a I'act 
 of some importance in the philosophy of the human 
 mind, and which ought not to be overlooked in analyz- 
 ing the compounded sentiment of satisfaction we de- 
 rive from the good opinion of others. Nor is this the 
 only accessory circumstance that enhances the pleasure 
 resulting from the gratification of the original principle. 
 If in those cases where w& are somewhat doubtful of 
 the propriety of our own conduct we are anxious to 
 have in our favor the sanction of public opinion, so, 
 on the other hand, when we are satisfied in our own 
 minds that our conduct has been right, part of the 
 pleasure we receive from esteem arises from observing 
 the just views and candid dispositions of others. Nor 
 is it less indisputable, on the contrary supposition, that 
 when, in consequence of calumny and misrepresenta- 
 tion, we fail in obtaining that esteem to which we 
 know ourselves to be entitled, our disappointment at 
 missing our just reward is aggravated, to a wonderful 
 degree, by our sorrow for the injustice and ingratitude 
 of mankind. Still, however, it must be remembered 
 that these are only accessory circumstances, and that 
 there is a pleasure resulting from the possession of es- 
 teem which is not resolvable into either of them, and 
 which appears to be an ujtimate fact in the constitu- 
 tion of our nature. 
 
 V. Incidental Benefits resulting from the Love of 
 Fame.] From the passage formerly quoted from Wol- 
 laston it appears that he apprehended the love of fame 
 to be justifiable only in two cases. The one is, when 
 we desire it as a confirmation of the rectitude of our 
 own judgments ; the other, when the possession of it 
 can be attended with some real and solid good. But 
 why, I must again repeat, offer any apology for our 
 obeying a natural principle of our constitution, so long 
 as we preserve it under due regulation ? 
 
 It is not unworthy of remark, that this principle is 
 one of those with which our fellow-creatures are most 
 
40 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 disposed to sympathize. With what indignation do \v« 
 hear the slightest reflection cast on the memory of one 
 wlio was dear to us, and how sacred do we feel the duty 
 of coming forward in his defence ! Nor is this sympathy 
 confined to the circle of our acquaintance. It embraces 
 the wise and good of the most remote ages, and 
 prompts us irresistibly to protect their fame from the 
 assaults of envy and. detraction. Whatever theory phi- 
 losophers may adopt as to the origin of this sympathy, 
 its utility in preserving immaculate the reputation of 
 those ornaments of humanity whom mankind look up 
 to as models for imitation is equally indisputable. 
 
 I have already said that the desire of esteem is, on 
 the whole, a useful principle of action ; for, although 
 there are many cases in which the public opinion is 
 erroneous and corrupted, there are many more in which 
 it is agreeable to reason, and favorable to the interests 
 of virtue and of mankind. The habits, therefore, 
 which this principle of action has a tendency to form 
 are likely, in most instances, to coincide with those 
 which are recommended by a sense of duty. In many 
 men, accordingly, who are very little influenced by 
 higher principles, a regard to the opinion of the world 
 (or, as we commonly express it, a regard to character) 
 produces a conduct honorable to themselves and bene- 
 ficial to society. 
 
 To this observation it may be added, that the habits 
 to which we are trained by the desire of esteem render 
 the acquisition of virtuous habits more easy. The de- 
 sire of esteem operates in cliildren before they have a 
 capacity to distinguish right from wrong ; or at least 
 the former principle of action is much more powerfpl 
 in their case than the latter. Hence it furnishes a most 
 useful and effectual engine in the business of education, 
 more particularly by training us early to exertions of 
 self-command and self-denial. It teaches us, for exam- 
 ple, to restrain our appetites within those bounds which 
 decency prescribes, and thus forms us to habits of mod- 
 eration and temperance. And although our conduct 
 cannot be denominated virtuous so long as a reo-ard to 
 
BESIRr OF F.STEEM. 41 
 
 the opinion of others is our only motive, yet the habitis 
 we thus acquire in infancy and childhood render it more 
 easy for us to subject our passions to the authority of 
 reason and conscience as we advance to maturity. " In 
 that young man," said Sylla, speaking of Caesar, " who 
 walks the streets with so little regard to modesty, I fore- 
 see many Mariuses." His idea probably was, that on 
 a temper so completely divested of sympathy with the 
 feelings of others society could lay little hold, and that 
 whatever principle of action should happen to gain 
 the ascendant in his mind was likely to sacrifice to its 
 own gratification the restraints both of honor and of 
 duty. 
 
 VI. Adam Smith confounds Desire of Esteem with the 
 Moral Motive.] These, and some other considerations 
 of the same kind, have struck Mr. Smith so forcibly, 
 that he has been led t« resolve our sense of duty into a 
 regard to the good opinion, and a desire to obtain the 
 sympathy, of our fellow-creatures. I shall afterwards have 
 occasion to examine the principal arguments he alleges 
 in support of his conclusions. At present I shall only 
 remark, that, although his theory may account for the 
 desire which all men, both good and bad, have to assume 
 the appearance of virtue, it never can explain the origin 
 of our notions of duty and 'of moral obligation. One 
 striking proof of this is, that the love of fame can only 
 be completely gratified by the actual possession of those 
 qualities for which we ^wish to be esteemed ; and that, 
 when we receive praises which we know we do not de- 
 serve, we are conscious of a sort of fraud or imposition 
 on the world. 
 
 " All fame is foreign but of true desert, — 
 Plays round the head, but comes not to fte heart." 
 
 In further confirmation of the same doctrine it may 
 be observed, that, although the desire of esteem is often 
 a useful auxiliary to our sense of duty, and although, 
 in most of our good actions, the two principles are per- 
 haps more or less blended together, yet the merit of vir- 
 4* 
 
42 INSTINCTIVE PEINCIFI.ES OF ACTION. 
 
 tuous conduct is always enhanced, in the opinion of 
 mankind, when it is discovered in the move private sit- 
 uations of life, where the individual cannot be suspected 
 of any views to the applauses of the world. Even 
 Cicero, in whose mind vanity had at least its due sway, 
 has borne testimony to this truth: — " Mihi quidem- 
 laudabiliora videntur omnia, quae sine venditatione et 
 sine populo teste fiunt: non quo fugiendus sit (omnia 
 enim benefacta in luce se coUocari volunt) sed tamen 
 nullum theatrum virtuti conscientia majus est."* So 
 
 • Tusc. Disp., Lib. II. 26. " Besides, to me, indeed, every thing seems 
 the more commendable, the less the people are courted, and the fewef eyes 
 there are to see it. |Not that observation is to be avoided, for every gener- 
 ous action loves the public view ; still, there is no theatre for virtue like 
 the witness of a good conscience." The same remark is made by Pliny 
 in one of his epistles. Lib. III. Epist. XVI., where it is illustrated by one 
 of the most beautiful anecdotes recorded in tlie annals. of our species. 
 Although no English version can possibly do justice to the conciseness and 
 spirit of Pliny's own language, I shall, for the sake of my unlearned read- 
 ers, quote the anecdote referred to above, in the admirable translation of 
 Mr. Mel moth. 
 
 "I have frequently observed, that, amongst the noble actions and re- 
 markable sayings of distinguished persons in either sex, those which have 
 been most celebrated have not always been the most illustrious ; and I am 
 confirmed in this opinion by a conversation I had yesterday with Fannia. 
 This lady is gi-anddaughter to that celebrated Arria who animated her 
 husband to meet death by her own glorious example. She informed me 
 of several particulars relating to Arria, not less heroical than this famous 
 action of hers, though less taken notice of, which, I am persuaded, will 
 raise your admiration as much as they did mine. Her husband, Ceecinna 
 PsEtus, and his son, were both at the same time attacked.with a dangerous 
 illness, of which the son died. This youth, who had a most beautiful per- 
 son and amiable behaviour, was not less endeared to bis parents by his 
 virtues than by the ties of affection. His mother managed his funeral so 
 privately, that Paitus did not know of his death. Whenever she came W 
 his bed-chamber she pretended her son was better ; and, as often as he in- 
 quired after his health, would answer that he had rested well or had c-at 
 with an appetite. AVlicn she found she could no longer restrain her grief 
 hut her tears were gushing out, she would leave the room, and, having 
 given vent to her passion, return again with dry eyes, as if she had dis- 
 missed every sentiment of sorrow at her entrance. ■ The action was no 
 doubt truly noble, when, di awing the dagger, she plunged it in her breast 
 and then presented it to her husband, with that ever memorable I had 
 atmost said divine expression, — ' Pmlns. it is not painful.' It must how- 
 ever, be considered that, when she si)oke and acted thus, she had the' pros- 
 pect of immortal glory before her eyes to encourage and support her 
 But was it not something much greater, without the view of such power- 
 ful motives, to hide her tears, to conceal her grief, and cheerfully seem the 
 mother when she was so no more 1" 
 
BESIRE OF ESTEEM. 43 
 
 far, therefore, are the desire of esteem and the sense of 
 duty from being radically the same principle of action, 
 that the former is only an auxiliary to the latter, and is 
 always understood to diminish the meri! of the agent 
 in proportion to the influence it had over his determi- 
 nations. 
 
 An additional proof of this may be derived from the 
 miserable effects produced on the conduct by the desire 
 of fame, when it is the sole, or even the governing, prin- 
 ciple of our actions. In this case, indeed, it seldom fails 
 to disappoint its own purposes, for a lasting fame is 
 scarcely to be acquired without a steady and consistent 
 conduct, and such a conduct can only arise from a con- 
 scientious regard to the suggestions of our own breasts. 
 The pleasure, therefore, which a being capable of reflec- 
 tion derives from the possession of fame, so far from be- 
 ing the original motive to worthy actions, presupposes 
 the existence of other and of nobler motives in the mind. 
 
 Nor is this all ; when a competition happens between 
 the desire of fame and a regard to duty, if Tve sacrifice 
 the latter to the former we are filled with remorse and 
 self-condemnation, and the applauses of the world afford 
 us but an empty and unsatisfactory recompense ; where- 
 as a steady adherence to the right, even although it 
 should accidentally expose us to calumny, never fails 
 to be its own reward. Whether, therefore, we regard 
 our lasting happiness or our lasting fame, the precept 
 of Cicero is equally deserving of our attention. 
 
 " Neither make it your study to secure the applauses 
 of the vulgar, nor rest your hopes of happiness on re- 
 wards which men can bestow. Let virtue, by her own 
 native attractions, allure you in the paths of honor. 
 What others may say of you is their concern, not yours; 
 nor is it worth your while to be out of humor for the 
 topics which your conduct may supply to their conver- 
 sation." — " Neque sermonibus vulgi dederis te, nee in 
 prsBmiis humanis spem posueris rerum tuarum ; suis te 
 oportet illecebris ipsa viiius trahat ad verum decus. Quid 
 de te alii loquantur, ipsi videant: sed loquentur tameii." * 
 
 * Somn. Scipionis. 
 
44 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 Section IV. 
 
 THE DESIRE OF POWER. 
 
 I. Early Manifestations of this Principle.] The man- 
 ner in which the idea of power is at first introduced into 
 the mind has been long a perplexing subject of specu- 
 lation to metaphysicians, and has given rise to some of 
 the most subtile disquisitions of the human understand- 
 ing. But, although it be difficult to explain its origin, 
 the idea itself is familiar to the most illiterate, even at 
 the earliest period of life ; and the desire of possessing 
 the corresponding object seems to be one of the strong- 
 est principles of human conduct. 
 
 In general, it may be observed, that, whenever we are 
 led to consider ourselves as the authors of any effect, 
 we feel a sensible pride or exultation in the conscious- 
 ness of power, and the pleasure is in general propor- 
 tioned to the greatness of the effect, compared with the 
 smallness of our exertion. 
 
 "What is commonly called the pleasure of activity is 
 in truth the pleasure of power. Mere exercise, which 
 produces no sensible effect, is attended with no enjoy- 
 ment, or a very slight one. The enjoyment, such as it 
 is, is only corporeal. 
 
 The infant, while still on the breast, delights in exert- 
 ing its little strength on every object it meets with, and 
 is mortified when any accident convinces it of its own 
 imbecility. The pastimes of the boy are, almost with- 
 out exception, such as suggest to him the idea of his 
 poioer. When he throws a stone, or shoots an arrow, 
 he is pleased with being able to produce an effect at a 
 distance from himself; and, while he measures with his 
 ey« the amplitude or range of his missile weapon, con- 
 templates With satisfaction the extent to which his power 
 has reached. It is on a similar principle that he loves 
 to bring his strength into comparison with that of his 
 fellows, and to enjoy the consciousness of superior 
 prowess. Nor need we search in the malevolent dispo- 
 
DESIRE OF POWER. 45 
 
 sitions of oxir nature for any other motive to the appar- 
 ent acts of cruelty which he sometimes exercises over 
 the inferior animals, — the sufferings of the animal, in 
 such cases, either entirely escaping his notice, or being 
 overlooked in that state of pleasurable triumph which 
 the wanton abuse of power communicates to a weak 
 and unreflecting judgment. The active sports of the 
 youth captivate his fancy by suggesting similar ideas, 
 — of strength of body, of force of mind, of contempt 
 of hardship and of danger. And accordingly such are 
 the occupations in which Virgil, with a characteristical 
 propriety, employs his yoiing Ascanius. 
 
 " At puer Ascanius mediis in vallibus acri 
 Gaudet eqao ; jamque Iios ciiisu, jam praeterit illos ; 
 Spumantemque dari pecora inter inertia votis 
 Optat aprum, aut fulvuin descendere monte leonem." * 
 
 II. Increases our Desire of Knowledge in after Life.] 
 As we advance in years, and as our animal powers lose 
 their activity and vigor, we gradually aim at extending 
 OUT influence over others by the superiority of fortune 
 and statign, or by the still more flattering superiority 
 of intellectual endowment, by the force of our under- 
 standing, by the extent of our information, by the arts 
 of persuasion, or the accomplishments of address. What 
 but the idea of power pleases the orator in managing 
 the rehis of an assembled multitude, when he silences 
 the reason of others by superior ingenuity, bends to his 
 purposes their desires and jjassions, and, without the 
 aid of force or the splendor of rank, becomes the arbiter 
 of the fate of nations ! 
 
 To the same principle we may trace, in part, the 
 pleasure arising from the discovery of general theorems 
 
 * ^neid.. Lib. IV. 156. 
 
 " "While there, exulting, to his utmost speed 
 The young Ascanius spurs his fiery steed, 
 Outstrips by turns the flying social train. 
 And scorns the meaner triumphs of the plain: 
 The hopes of glory all his soul inflame ; 
 Eager he longs to run at nobler game, 
 And drench his youthful javelin in the gore 
 Of the fierce lion, or the mountain boar." 
 
46 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OP ACTION. 
 
 in the sciences. Every such discovery puts us in pos- 
 session of innumerable particular truths or particular 
 facts, and gives us a ready command of a great stock 
 of knowledge, of which we could not, with equal ease, 
 avail ourselves before. It increases, in a word, our in- 
 tellectual power in a way very ansjilogous to that in 
 which a machine or engine increases the mechanical 
 power of the human body. 
 
 The discoveries we make in natural philosophy Jiave, 
 beside this effect, a tendency to enlarge the sphere of 
 our power over the material universe ; first, by enabling 
 us to accommodate our conduct to the established 
 course of physical events ; and secondly, by enabling 
 us to call to our aid many natural powers or agents as 
 instruments for the accomplishment of our purposes. 
 
 In general, every discovery we make with respect to 
 the laws of nature, either in the material or moral 
 worlds, is an accession of power to the human mind, ' 
 inasmuch as it lays the foundation of prudent and ef- 
 fectual conduct in circumstances where, without the 
 same means of information, the success of our pro- 
 ceedings must have depended on chance alone. The 
 desire of power, therefore, comes, in the progress of 
 reason and experience, to act as an auxiliary to our in- 
 stinctive desire of knowledge ; and it is with a view to 
 strengthen and confirm this alliance that Bacon so 
 often repeats his favorite maxim, that knowledge and 
 power are synonymous or identical terms. 
 
 III. Other Passions resolvable, in part at least, into 
 the Desire of Power.] The idea of power is, partly at 
 least, the foundation of our attachment to properly. It 
 is not enough for us to have the use of an object. We 
 desire to have it completely at our own disposal, with- 
 out being responsible to any person whatsoever for the 
 purposes to which we may choose to turn it. " There 
 is an unspeakable pleasure," says Addison, " in calling 
 any thing one's own. A freehold, though it be but in 
 ice and snow, will make the owner pleased in the pos- 
 session and stout in the defence of it." 
 
DESIRE OF POWER. 47 
 
 Avarice is a particular modification of the desire of 
 power, arising from the various functions of money in a 
 commercial country. Its influence as an active princi- 
 ple is greatly strengthened by habit and association, in- 
 somuch that the original desire of power is frequently 
 lost in the acquired propensities to which it gives birth; 
 the possession of money becoming, in process of time, 
 an ultimate object of pursuit, and continuing to stimu- 
 late the activity of the mind after it has lost a relish 
 for every other species of exertion.* 
 
 The love of liberty proceeds in part, if not wholly, 
 from the same source ; from a desire of being able to 
 do whatever is agreeable to our own inclination. Slav- 
 ery mortifies us, because it limits our power. 
 
 ■ Even the love of tranquillity and retirement has been 
 resolved by Cicero into the desire of power. " Malti 
 autem et sunt et fuerunt, qui earn, quam dico, tranquil- 
 litatem expetentes, a negotiis publicis se removeririt, ad 
 
 otiumque perfugerint His idem propositum 
 
 fuit quod regibus, ut ne qua re egerent, ne cui parerent, 
 libertate uterentur ; cujus proprium est sic vivere ut 
 velis. Quare, cum hoc commune sit potentiae cupido- 
 rum cum iis quos dixi otiosis ; alteri se adipisci id pos- 
 se arbitrantur, si opes magnas habeaflt, alteri, si con-' 
 tenti sint et suo, et parvo. " f 
 
 * Berkeley in his Querist has started the same idea. 
 
 "Whether the real end and aim of men be not power? and whether he 
 who could have every thinpj else at his wish or will would value moneij ? " 
 
 To this query the good Bishop has subjoined another, which one would 
 hardly have expected from a writer so zealously attached to Tory and 
 High-Church principles. 
 
 " Whether the public aim in eveiy well-governed state be not, that each 
 member, according to his just pretensions and industiy, should have 
 POWER t " 
 
 Naturam expeVas fared, tamen usque recWTct. 
 
 t De Off., Lib. i. 20, 21 . "Now there have been and are many who 
 have withdrawn from public business, and sought in retirement the tran- 
 quillity of which I am speaking. The.'ic men have proposed to themselves 
 tlie same end with kings; namely, that they may need nothing, be subject 
 to no one, and enjoy freedom, the leading privilege of which is to live as 
 you please. They, therefore, who aspire after power have this in common 
 with those who court retirement, that the former think they are able to at- 
 tain the same object by the possession of a vast fortune which the other 
 look for in contentment with their present means, however humble." 
 
48 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 The idea of power is also, in some degree, the foun- 
 dation of the pleasure of virtue. We love to be at lib- 
 erty to follow our own inclinations, without being sub- 
 ject to the control of a superior ; but even this is not 
 sufficient to our happiness. When we are led by vi- 
 cious habits, or by the force of passion, to do what rea- 
 son disapproves, we are sensible of a mortifying sub- 
 jection to the inferior principles of our nature, and feel 
 our own littleness and weakness. On the other hand, 
 he that rulethhis spirit feels himself greater than he that 
 taketh a city. " It is pleasant," says Dr. Tillotson, " to 
 be virtuous and good, because that is to excel many 
 others. It is pleasant to grow^ better, because that is to 
 excel ourselves. It is pleasant to mortify and subdue 
 our appetites, because that is victory. It is pleasant to 
 command our passions, and keep them within the 
 bounds of reason, because this is empire." 
 
 From the observations now made, it appears that 
 the desire of power is subservient to important purposes 
 in our constitution, and is one of the principal sources 
 both of our intellectual and moral improvements. An 
 examination of the effects which it produces on so- 
 ciety would open views very strikingly illustrative of 
 benevolent intention in the Author of our frame. I 
 shall content myself, however, with remarking, that the 
 general aspect of the fact affords a very favorable view 
 of human nature. When we consider how much more 
 every man has it in his power to injure others than to 
 promote their interests, it must appear manifest that 
 society could not possibly subsist unlesss the benevolent 
 affections had a very decided predominance over those 
 principles which give rise to competition and enmity. 
 Whoever reflects duly on this consideration will, if I 
 do not deceive myself, be inclined to form conclusions 
 concerning the dispositions of his fellow-creatures very 
 different from the representations of them to be found 
 in the writings of some gloomy and misanthropical 
 moralists.* 
 
 * On ambition see Licber, Political Ethics, Book III. Chap, iv Ed. 
 
DESIRE OF SUPERIORITY. 49 
 
 Section V. 
 
 EMULATION, OR THE DESIRE OF SUPERIORITY. 
 
 I. Not a Malevolent Affection.] This principle of 
 action is classed by Dr. E.eid with the affections, and is 
 considered by him as a nMlevolent affection* He tells 
 us, however, that he does not mean by this epithet to 
 insinuate that there is any thing criminal in emulation, 
 any more than in resentment when excited by an inju- 
 ry ; but he thinks that it involves a sentiment of ill-will 
 to our rival, and makes use of the word malevolent to 
 express this sentiment, as the language affords no soft- 
 er epithet to convey the idea. 
 
 I own it appears to me that emulation, considered as 
 a principle of action, ought to be classed with the de- 
 sires, and not with the affections. It is, indeed, fre- 
 quently accompanied with a malevolent affection ; but 
 it is the desire of superiority which is the active princi- 
 ple, and the affection is only a concomitant circum- 
 stance. 
 
 I do not even think that this malevolent affection is 
 a necessary concomitant of the desire of superiority. 
 It is possible,, surely, to conceive (although the case 
 may happen but rarely) that emulation may take place 
 between men who are united by the most cordial friend- 
 ship, and without a single sentiment of ill-will disturb- 
 ing their harmony. 
 
 II. Distinction betioeen Emulation and Envy.] When 
 emulation is accompanied with malevolent affection, it 
 assumes the name of envy. The distinction between 
 these two principles of action is accurately stated by 
 Dr. Butler. " Emulation is merely the desire of superi- 
 ority over others, with whom we compare ourselves. 
 To desire the attainment of this superiority by the par- 
 ticular means of others beina: brouijht down below our 
 
 ' * Essays on the Active Powers, Essay III. Part II. Chap. y. 
 
 5 
 
OO INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 own level is the distinct notion of envy. From whence 
 it is easy to see, that the real end which the natural 
 passion, emulation, and which the unlawful one, envy, 
 aims at is exactly the same ; and, consequently, that to 
 do mischief is not the end of envy, but merely the 
 means it makes use of to attain its end." * Dr. Rei.l 
 himself seems to have clearly perceived the distinction, 
 although in other parts of the same section he has lost 
 sight of it again. " He who runs a race," says he, 
 « feels uneasiness at seeing another outstrip him. This 
 is uncorrupted nature, and the work of God within him. 
 But this uneasiness may produce either of two very 
 different effects. It may incite him to make more 
 vigorous exertions, and to strain every nerve to get 
 before his rival. This is fair and honest emulation. 
 This is the effect it is intended to produce. But if he 
 has not fairness and candor of heart, he will look with 
 an evil eye on his competitor, and will endeavour to 
 trip him, or to throw a stumbling-block in his way. 
 This is pure envy, the most msilignant passion that 
 can lodge in the human breast, which devours, as 
 its natural food, the fame and the happiness of those 
 who are most deserving of our esteem." f 
 
 In quoting these passages, I would not be under- 
 stood to represent this distinction between emulation 
 
 * Sermon I., On Human Nature. 
 
 t Eeid, On the Active Powers, Essay III. Part 11. Chap. v. Dr. Beattie, 
 in his Elements of Moral Science, after stating very correctly the speculative 
 distinction between emulation and envy, observes with great truth, that it 
 is extremely difficult to preserve the former wholly unmixed with the 
 latter, and that emulation, though entirely different from envy, is very apt, 
 through the weakness of our nature, to degenerate into it. To this re- 
 mark he subjoins the following veiy striking practical reflection. " Let 
 the man," says he, "who thinks he is actuated by generous emulation only, 
 and wishes to know whether there be any thing of envy in the ca.ic, 
 examine his own heart, and ask himself whether his friends, on becomi-.i;,;, 
 though in an honorable way, his competitors, have less of his alfeciiou 
 than they had before ; whether he be gratified by hearing them depreciat- 
 ed ; whether he would wish their merit less, that he might the more easily 
 w]iial or excel them : and whether he would liave a more sincere regard 
 t'ui- tlicm if the woi'ld were to acknowledge liim their superior. If his 
 lieavt answer all or any of these questions in the affirmative, it is time to 
 look f.ut for a cure, for the symptoms of envy are but too apparent." 
 Part 1. Chap. ii. § 5. 
 
DESIRE OF SUPERIORITY. 51 
 
 and envy as a novelty in the science of ethics ; for the 
 very same distinction was long ago stated with admira- 
 ble conciseness and justness by Aristotle ; whose deji- 
 nilions, (I shall take this opportunity of remarking by 
 the way,) however censurable they may frequently be 
 when they relate to physical subjects, are, in most in- 
 stances, peculiarly happy when they relate to moral 
 ideas, "^mulatio bonum quiddam est, et bonis viris 
 convenit; at invidere improbum est, et hominum 
 improborum; nam semulans talem efficere se studet, ut 
 ipsa bona quoque nanciscatur: at invidens studet 
 efficere, ut ne alter boni quid habeat." * 
 
 Before leaving the subject, I think it of consequence 
 again to repeat, that, notwithstanding the speculative 
 distinction I have been endeavouring to make between 
 emulation and envy, the former disposition is so 
 seldom altogether unmixed with the latter, that men 
 who are conscious of possessing original powers of 
 thinking can scarcely be at too much pains to draw a 
 veil over their claims to originality, if they wish to 
 employ their talents to the best advantage in the 
 service of mankind. 
 
 " Men must be taaght as if you taught them not, 
 And things unknown proposed as things forgot." f 
 
 In the observations which I have hitherto made 
 upon emulation, I have proceeded on the supposition, 
 that the subject of competition is the personal qualities 
 of the individual. These, however, are not the great 
 objects of ambition with the bulk of mankind, nor 
 perhaps do they occasion jealousies and enmities so 
 fatal to our morals and our happiness, as those which 
 are occasioned by the seemingly partial and unjust 
 distribution of the goods of fortune. To see the 
 natural rewards of industry and genius fall to the 
 
 * Aristot., /J/irfor., Lib. II. Cap. xi. The whole chapter is excellent. I 
 have adopted in the text the Latin version of Buhle. " Emulation is a 
 good thing, and belongs to good men; envy is bad, and belongs to bad 
 men. What a man is emulous of he strives to attain, that he may really 
 possess the desired object ; the envious are satisfied if nobody has it." 
 
 t Pope's Essay on Criticism, 1. 574. 
 
52 INSTINCTIVE PBINOIPIiES OF ACTION. 
 
 share of the weak and the profligate can scarcely fail 
 to excite a regret in the best regulated tempers ; and 
 to those who are disposed (as every man perhaps is in 
 some degree) to overrate their own pretensions, and to 
 undervalue those of their neighbours, this regret is a 
 source of discontent and misery, which no measure of 
 external prosperity is sufficient to remove. The feel- 
 ing, when it does not lead to any act of injustice or 
 dishonor, is so intimately connected with our sense of 
 merit and demerit, that many allowances for it will be 
 made by those who reflect candidly on the common 
 infirmities of humanity; and much indulgence is due 
 from the prosperous to their less fortunate rivals. So 
 much, indeed, is this indulgence recommended to us by 
 all the best principles of our nature, and so painful is. 
 the reflection that we are even the innocent cause of 
 disquiet to others, that it may be doubted whether the 
 constraint and embarrassment produced by great and 
 sudden accessions of prosperity be not more than 
 sufficient to counterbalance any solid addition they are 
 likely to bring to our own happiness.* 
 
 * The following admirable passage is from Smith's Theory of the Moral 
 Sentiments., Part I. Sect II. Chap, v.: — ■■The man -ivho, by some sndden 
 revolution of fortune, is lifted up all at once into a condition of life greatly 
 above what he had formerly lived in, may be assured tliat the congratula- 
 tions of his best friends are not all of tlie'm perfectly sincere. An upsturf, 
 though of the gi-eatest merit, is gcnci^ally disagrecalile, and a sentiment of 
 envy commonly prevents us from heartily sympathizing with liis joy. If 
 he has any judgment, he is sensible of this," and, instead of appearing to 
 be elated with his good fortune, lie endeavours, as mucli as he can', to 
 smother his joy, and keep down that elevation of mind witli which his new 
 circumstances naturally inspire liim. Ho affects the same plainness of 
 dross, and the same modesty of behaviour, which became him in his. 
 former station. He redouble.? his attentions to his old friends, and endeav- 
 ours more than ever to be humble, assiduous, and complaisant. And this' 
 is the behaviour wliich in his situation we most approve of; because wc 
 expect, it seems, that he should have more sympathy with our envy and- 
 aversion to his happiness than we have to his happiness. It is seldom that, 
 with all this, ho succeeds. We suspect the sincerity of his Immility, and' 
 ■he grows weary of this constraint. In a little time, therefore, he "■etierallv 
 leaves all his old friends behind him, some of the meanest of them except- 
 ed, who may, perhaps, condescend to'bccome his dependents: nor does he 
 always acquire .any now ones ; thepride of his new connections is as much 
 affronted at finding him their equal, as thnt of his old ones had been hv his 
 I.econiing'thcivsnperior; and it requires the most obstinate and persevering, 
 modesty to atone for this mortification to cither. Hegenerally grows weary 
 
DESIRE OF SUPERIORITY. 53 
 
 III. The Desire to excel a universal Passion.] 
 Among the lower animals we see many symptoms of 
 emulation, but in thevi its effects are perfectly insignifi- 
 cant when compared with those it produces on human 
 conduct. Their emulation is chiefly confined to swift- 
 ness,* strength, or favor with their females. I think, 
 too, among dog's we may perceive something like 
 jealousy or rivalship in courting the favor of man. In 
 our own race emulation operates in an infinite variety 
 of directions, and is one of the principal sources of 
 human improvement. 
 
 Human life has been often likened to a race, and the 
 parallel holds, not only in the general resemblance, but 
 in many of the minuter circumstances. When the 
 horses first start from the barrier, how easy and 
 sportive are their sallies, — sometimes one taking the 
 lead, sometimes another! If they happen to run 
 abreast, their contiguity seems only the effect of the 
 social instinct. In proportion, however, as they advance 
 in their career, the spirit of emulation becomes grad- 
 ually more apparent, till at length, as they draw near 
 to the goal, every sinew and every nerve is strained to 
 the utmost, and it is well if the competition closes 
 without some suspicion of jostling and foul play on 
 the part of. the winner. 
 
 too soon, and is provoked, by the sullen and suspicions pride of the one, and 
 by the saucy contempt of the other, to treat the first with neglect and the sec- 
 ond with petulancef, till at last he gi-ows habitually insolent, and forfeits the 
 esteem of all. If the chief part of human happiness arises from the con- 
 sciousness of being beloved, as I believe it does, these sudden changes of 
 fortune seldom contribute much to happiness. He is happiest who advan- 
 ces more gradually to greatness, whom the public destines to every step of 
 his preferment long before he arrives at it, in whom, upon that account, 
 when it comes, it can excite no extravagant joy, and with regard to whom 
 it cannot reasonably create either any jealousy in those he overtakes, or 
 any envy in those he leaves behind." 
 
 in Bacon's Essays there is an article on Envy, abounding with original, 
 and, in the main, just reflections. Even those which are somewhat ques- 
 tionable may be useful in suggesting materials of thought to others. 
 
 * One of the most remarkable instances of this that I have read of is 
 the emulation of the race-horses at Rome when run without riders. This 
 emulation is even said to be inspirited by the concourse of spectators. — 
 See Observations made in a Tour to Italy, by the celebrated M. de la Coa- 
 damlne. 
 
 5* 
 
04 INSTINCTIVE PRIXCiP-LIJS OF- 'ACTIOIV. 
 
 Ho\\r exact and melancholy a picture of the ra!ce of 
 ambition, of the insensible and almost inevitable effect 
 of political rivalship in extinguishing early friendships, 
 and of the increasing eagerness with which men contin- 
 ue to grasp at the palm of victory till the fatal moment 
 arrives when it is to drop from their hands for ever ! 
 
 Artificial Desires.] As we have artificial appetites, so 
 we have also artificial desires. Whatever conduces to 
 the attainment of any object of natural desire is itself 
 desired on account of its subservience to this end, and 
 frequently comes in process of time to be regarded as 
 valuable in itself, independent of this subservience. It 
 is thus (as was formerly observed) that wealth becomes 
 with many an ultimate object of desire, although it is 
 undoubtedly valued at first merely on account of its 
 subservience to the attainment of other objects. In 
 like manner we are led to desire dress, equipage, 
 retinue, furniture, on account of the estimation in 
 which they are supposed to be held by the public. I)r. 
 Hutcheson calls such desires secondary desires, and ac- 
 counts for their origin in the way Ihave now mention- 
 ed. "Since we are capable," says he, "of reflection, 
 memory, observation, and reasoning about the distant 
 tendencies of objects and actions, and not confined to 
 things present, there must arise, in consequence of our 
 original desires, secondan/ desires of every thing imag- 
 ined to be useful to gratify any of the primary desires, 
 and that with strength proportioned to the several 
 original desires, and the imagined usefulness or neces- 
 sity of the advantageous object." — " Thus," he contin- 
 ues, "as soon as we come to apprehend the use of 
 wealth or power to gratify any of our original desires, 
 we must also desire them. Hence arises tbe universal- 
 ity of the desires of wealth and poioer, since they are the 
 means of gratifying all other desires."* The only 
 
 * Nature and Conduct of the Passions, Sect. I. Art. II. 
 
AKTIPICTAL DESTRES. 55 
 
 fhing exceptionable in the foregoing passage is, that 
 the author classes the desire of ptjwer with that of 
 wealth; whereas I apprehend it to be clear, according 
 to Hutcheson's own definition, that the former is a pri- 
 mary desire, and the latter a secondary one. Avarice, 
 indeed, (as I have already remarked,) is but a particular 
 modification of the desire of power generated by the 
 conventional value which attaches to money in the 
 progress of society, in consequence of which it becomes 
 the immediate and the habitual object of pursuit in all 
 the various departments of professional industry. 
 
 The author, also, of the Preliminary Dissertation pre- 
 fixed to King's Origin of Evil attempts to explain, by 
 means of the association of ideas, the origin, not only 
 of avarice, but of the desire of knowledge and of the 
 desire of fame, both of which I have endeavoured to 
 ■ show, in th-e preceding pages, are justly entitled -to 
 rank with the primary and most simple elements of our 
 active constitution. That they, as well as all the other 
 original principles of our nature, are very powerfully in- 
 fluenced by association and habit, is a point about 
 which there can be no dispute ; and hence arises the 
 plausibility of those theories which would represent 
 them as wholly factitious.* 
 
 * Dr. Hartley's once celebrated worif, entitled Obseniations on Man, in 
 which he has pushed the theory of association to so extravagant a length, 
 and which, not many years ago, found so many enthusiastic admirers iu 
 England, seems to have owed its existence to the dissertation here referred to. 
 
 " Tlie work here offered to the public," he tells us himself in his preface, 
 " consists of papers written at different times, but taking their rise from 
 the following occasion. ' 
 
 " About eighteen years ago I was informed that the Rev. Mr. Gay, then 
 living, asserted the possibility of deducing all our intellectual pleasures 
 and pains from association. This put me upon considering the power of 
 association. Mr. Gay published his sentiments on this matter, about the 
 same time, in a Dissertation on the Fundamental Principle of Virtue, prefixed 
 to Mr. Archdeacon Law's translation of Archbishop King's Origin of Evil." 
 
 [Mr. Stewart speaks with too much confidence of the waning influence 
 of the " once celebrated work " of Hartley. Since he wrote this note, one 
 of the ablest defences of the Hartleian view has appeared in the Analysis 
 of the Hitman Mind, by James Mill. 
 
 Most writers, holding with Stewart to a plurality of elementary desires, 
 differ from him in making the desire of property and the desire of -iolf- 
 preservatiou to be of this number. See Upham's Mental Philosophi/, Vol. 
 
56 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OF OUB AFFECTIONS. 
 
 Seqtion I. 
 
 GENERAL OBSERVATIONS. 
 
 I. What Principles included under this Head.] Under 
 this title are comprehended all those active principles 
 whose direct and ultimate object is the communication 
 either of enjoyment or of suffering to any of our fel- 
 low-creatures. According to this definition, which has 
 been adopted by some eminent writers, and among oth- 
 ers by Dr. Reid, resentment, revenge, hatred, belong to 
 the class of our affections, as well as gratitude or pity. 
 Hence a distinction of the affections into benevolent 
 and malevolent. I shall afterwards mention some con- 
 siderations which lead me to think that the distinction 
 requires some limitations in the statement. 
 
 Our benevolent affections are various, and it would 
 not perhaps be easy to enumerate them completely. 
 
 II. Part. I. Chap iv., and Wliewell's Elements of Morality, Book I. Chap, 
 ii. On the desire of property, consult Lieber's Political Ethics, Book II. 
 Chap, ii., and Illustrations of the Passions, Vol. I. Chap. v. Also the phre- 
 nologists, and particularly Gall. 
 
 On the other hand, the author of the article Di^sir in the Dicfionnaire dei 
 Sciences Philosophiques reduces them to three, curiosity, ambition, and sym- 
 pathy. This writer observes : — " The mind always knows, more or less, 
 that which it desires ; reason illuminates what sensibility pui-sues. Male- 
 branche gave the saying of the poet. Tgnoti nulla cupido, under a philosoph- 
 ical form of expression, when he defined desire to be ' the idea of a good 
 which a man possesses not, but hopes to possess.' Desire is distinguished 
 by this from the blind tendency which urges every being towards its end, 
 whether it knows it or not. It is a spontaneous movement of nature 
 transformed by intelligence, and constitutes, therefore, a phenomenon which 
 cannot take place except among intelligent beings. A stone has its affini- 
 ties ; a brute has its instincts ; man alone has his desires, because he alone 
 has received the gift of thought." 
 
 Consult, also, on the subjects treated of in this chapter and the follow- 
 ing, Gibon, Cours de Philosophic, Tom. I. p. 226 et seq. ; Bantain, Philoso- 
 phic Morale. Tom. I. Chap. iv. ; Dr. Whewell's edition of Butler's Thret 
 Sermons on Buman Nature; with a Preface and Notes.] 
 
BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 57 
 
 The parental and the filial affections, the affections of 
 kindred, love, friendship, patriotism, universal beneva- 
 lence, g-ratitiide, pili/ to the distressed, are some of the 
 most important. Besides these there are peculiar be- 
 nevolent affections excited by those moral qualities in 
 other men which render them either amiable or respect- 
 able, or objects of admiration. 
 
 In the foregoing enumeration, it is not to be under- 
 stood that all the benevolent affections particularly- 
 specified are stated as original principles, or ultimate 
 fa(its in our constitution. On the contrary, there can 
 be little doubt that several of them may be analyzed 
 into the same general principle, differently modified ac- 
 cording to the circumstances in which it operates. 
 This, however, (notwithstanding the stress which has 
 been sometinies laid upon it,) is chiefly a question of 
 arrangement. Whether we suppose these principles to 
 be all ultimate facts, or some of them to be resolvable 
 into other facts more general, they are equally to be re- 
 garded as constituent parts of human, nature, and, upon 
 either supposition, we have equal reason to admire the 
 wisdom with which that nature is adapted to the situ- 
 ation in which it is placed. The laws which regulate 
 the acquired perceptions of sight are surely as much a 
 part of onr frame as those which regulate any of our 
 original perceptions ; and although they 'require for 
 their development a certain degree of experience and 
 observation in the individual, the uniformity of the re- 
 sult shows that there is nothing arbitrary or accidental 
 in their origin. 
 
 The question, indeed, concerning the origin of our 
 different affections, leads to some curious disquisitions, 
 but is of very subordinate importance to those inquiries 
 which relate to their nature and laws and uses. In 
 many philosophical systems, however, it seems to have 
 been considered as the most interesting subject of dis- 
 cussion connected with this part of the human consti- 
 tution. 
 
 il. Tivo Circumstances in which all the Benevolent 
 
58 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 Afections agree.] Before we proceed io consider any 
 of our benevolent affections in detail, I shall make a 
 few observations on two circumstances in which they 
 all agree. In the first place, they are all accompanied 
 with an agreeable feeling; and, secondly, they imply 
 a desire of happiness or of good to their respective 
 objects.* 
 
 1. That the exercise of all our kind affections is ac- 
 companied with an agreeable feeling will not be ques- 
 tioned. Next to a good conscience it constitutes the 
 principal part of human happiness. With what satis- 
 faction do we submit to fatigue and danger in the ser- 
 vice of those we love, and how many cares do even the 
 most selfish voluntarily bring on themselves by their 
 attachment to others! So much, indeed, of our happi- 
 ness is derived from this source, that those authors 
 whose object is to furnish amusement to the mind avail 
 themselves of these affections as one of the chief vehi- 
 cles of pleasure. Hence the principal charm of trage- 
 dij., and of every other species of pathetic composition. 
 How far it is of use to separate in this manner "the 
 luxurij of pity " from the opportunities of active exer- 
 tion may perhaps be doubted. My own opinion on 
 this question I have stated at some length in the Phi- 
 losophy of the Human Mind.f 
 
 Without entering, however, in this place into the ar- 
 gument I have there endeavoured to support, I shall 
 only remark at present, that the pleasures of kind affec- 
 tion are by no means confined to the virtuous part of 
 our species. They mingle also with our criminal indul- 
 gences, and often mislead the young and thoughtless by 
 the charms they impart to vice and folly. It is, indeed, 
 from this very quarter that the chief dangers to morals 
 are to be apprehended in early life ; and it is a melan- 
 choly consideration to add, that these dangers are not 
 a little increased by the amiable and attractive qualities 
 by which nature often distinguishes those unfortunate 
 
 * See Reitl On tlie Active Powers, Essay III. Part II. Chap. lii. 
 t Part I. Chap. vii. Sect. v. 
 
BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 59 
 
 men who would seem, on a superficial view, to be her 
 peculiar favorites. 
 
 Nor is it only when the kind affections meet with 
 circumstances favorable to their operation that the ex- 
 ercise of them is a source of enjoyment. Contrary to 
 the analogy of most, if not all, of our other active 
 principles, there is a degree of pleasure mixed with the 
 pain even in those cas^s in which thi-y are disappointed 
 in the attainment of their object. Nay, in such cases 
 it often happens that the pleasure predominates so far 
 over the pain as to produce a mixed emotion, on which 
 a wounded heart loves to dwell. When' death, for ex- 
 ample, has deprived us of the society of a friend, we 
 derive some consolation for our loss from the recollec- 
 tion of his virtues, which awakens in our mind all 
 those kind affections which the sight of him used to in- 
 spire ; and in such a situation the indulgence of these 
 affections is preferred, not only to every lighter amuse- 
 ment, but to every other social pleasure. Heu quanto 
 minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui vieminisse I The 
 final cause of the agreeable emotion connected with 
 the exercise of benevolence in all its various modes 
 was evidently to induce us to cultivate with peculiar 
 care a class of our active principles so immediately 
 subservient to the happiness of society.* 
 
 2. All our benevolent affections imply a desire of 
 happiness to their respective objects. Indeed, it is 
 from this circumstance they derive their name. 
 
 ni. Our Benevolent Affections not resolvable into 
 Self-love.] The philosophers who have endeavoured 
 to resolve our appetites and desires into self-love have 
 given a similar account of our benevolent affections. 
 
 * See Lucan's picturesque and pathetic description of tlie behaviour 
 of Conielia, when she retired to the liold of the ship, to indulge her grief 
 in solitude and darkness, after the murder of Pompey. 
 " Caput ferali obduxit amit'tu, 
 Decrevitgue pati tenebias, puppisque cavemis 
 Delituit ; scevumque arcti complexa dolorem 
 Perfruitur lacrymis, et amat pro conjuge luctum," &c., &c. 
 
 Pharsalia, Lib. IX. 109. 
 
60 INSTINCTIVE PKINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 It is evident that this amounts to a denial of their ex- 
 istence as a separate class of active principles; for 
 >vhen a thing is desired, not on its own account, but as 
 instrumental to the attainment of something else, it is 
 not the desire of the vieans, but that of the end, which 
 is in this case the principle of action. 
 
 In the course of my observations on the different af- 
 fections, when I come to consider them particularly, I 
 shall endeavour to show that this account of their ori- 
 gin is extremely wide of the truth. In the mean time, 
 it may be worth while to remark, in general, how 
 strongly it is "opposed by the analogy of the other ac- 
 tive powers already examined. We have found that 
 the preservation of the individual and the continuation 
 of the species are not intrusted to self-love and reason 
 alone, but that we are endowed with various appetites, 
 which, without any reflection on our part, impel us to 
 their respective objects. We have also found, with re- 
 spect to the acquisition of knowledge, (on which the 
 perfection of the individual and the improvement of 
 the species essentially depend,) that it is not intrusted 
 solely to self-love and benevolence, but that we are 
 prompted to it by the implanted principle of curiosity. 
 It further appeared, that, in addition to our sense of 
 duty, another incentive to worthy conduct is provided 
 in the desire of esteem, which is not only one of our 
 most powerful principles of action, but continues to op- 
 erate in full force to the last moment of our being. 
 Now, as men were plainly intended to live in society, 
 and as the social union could not subsist without a 
 mutual interchange of good .offices, would it not be 
 reasonable to expect, agreeably to the analogy of our 
 nature, that so important an end would not be intrust- 
 ed solely to the slow deductions of reason, or to the 
 metaphysical refinements of self-love, but that some 
 provision would be made for it, in a particular class of 
 active principles, which might operate, like our appe- 
 tites and desires, independently of our reflection ? To 
 say this of parental affection or of pity is saying nothing 
 more in their favor than what was affirmed of hunger 
 
AFFECTIONS OP KINDRED. 61 
 
 and thirst, that they prompt us to particular objects 
 without any reference to our own enjoyment. 
 
 I have not offered these objections to the selfish the- 
 ory with any view of exalting our natural affections 
 into virtues ; for, in so far as they arise from original 
 constitution, they confer no merit whatever on the in- 
 dividual, any more than his appetites or desires. At 
 the same time, (as Dr. Reid has observed,) there is .a 
 manifest gradation in the sentiments of respect with 
 which we regard these different constituents of char- 
 acter. 
 
 Our desires, (it was formerly observed,) although not 
 virtuous in themselves, are manly and respectable, and 
 plainly of greater dignity than our animal appetites. 
 In like manner it may be remarked that our benevolent 
 affections, although not meritorious, are highly amiable. 
 A want of attention to the essential difference between 
 the ideas expressed by these two words has given rise 
 to much confusion in different systems of moral philos- 
 ophy, more particularly in the systems of Shaftesbury 
 and Hutcheson. 
 
 As it would lead me into too minute a detail to con- 
 sider our different benevolent affections separately, I 
 shall confine myself to a few detached remarks on 
 some of the most important. 
 
 The first place is undoubtedly due to what we com- 
 monly call natural affection, including under the term 
 the affections of parents and children, and those of 
 other near relations. 
 
 Section II. 
 
 OF THE affections OF KINDRED. 
 
 I. The Parental Affection common to Animals and 
 Men.] The parental affection is common to us with 
 most of the brutes, although with them it is variously 
 modified according to their respective natures, and ac- 
 cording as the care of the parent is more or less neces- 
 sary for the preservation and nurture of the young. 
 6 
 
62 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 Cicero remarks that this is no more thao might have 
 been expected from that beneficent providence every- 
 where conspicuous in nature. " Hsec inter se congru- 
 ere non possunt, ut natura et procreari vellet et diligi 
 procreatos non curaret." * — " Commune animantium 
 omnium est conjunction is appetitus, et cura quaedam 
 eorum quae procreata sunt."f 
 
 . When I ascribe parental affection to our own spe- 
 cies, I do not mean to insinuate that there is any foun- 
 dation for those stories which poets have feigned, of 
 particular discriminating feelings which have enabled 
 parents and children, after a long absence, or when 
 they have never met before, mutually to recognize each 
 other. The parental affection takes its rise from a 
 knowledge of the relation in which the parties stand, 
 and it is very powerfully confirmed by habit. All that 
 I assert is, that it results naturally from that knowledge, 
 and from the habits superinduced by the relation which 
 the parties bear to each other; in which sense it may 
 be justly said, (to adopt a beautiful and philosophical 
 expression of Dr. Ferguspn's,) that " natural affection 
 springs up in the soul as the milk springs in the breast 
 of the mother." % Accordingly, it operates, in a great 
 measure, independently of reflection and of a sense of 
 duty. Reason, indeed, might satisfy a man that his 
 children are particularly intrusted to his care, and that 
 it is his duty to rear and educate them, — as reason 
 might have induced him to eat and drink without the 
 appetites of hunger and thirst ; but reason cannot cre- 
 ate an affection any more than an appetite. And, con- 
 sidering how little the conduct of mankind is in gen- 
 eral influenced by a sense of duty, there are good 
 grounds for thinking, that, were not reason in this case 
 aided by a very powerful iipplanted principle, a very 
 
 * De Finihiis, III. 19. "Nature would have been inconsistent if she 
 had intended men to procreate, without providing at the same time that 
 they should love their offspring." 
 
 t De Offic , I. 4 " The passion which unites the sexes, and a certain 
 affection for their voung, are common to all animals." 
 
 X Principles of Moral and Political Science, Vol. I. p. 31. 
 
AFFECTIONS OF KINDRED. 63 
 
 Ismail proportion out of the whole number of children 
 brought into the world would arrive at maturity. 
 
 How much this affection depends upon habil appears 
 from this, that, when the care of a child is devolved 
 upon one who is not its parent, the parental affection 
 is, in a great measure, transferred along with it. This 
 (as Dr. Reid observes) is plainly " the work of nature," 
 and is an additional provision made by her for the con- 
 tinuation and preservation of the species. 
 
 The parental affection, as we have hitherto consid- 
 ered it, is common to both sexes ; but it cannot, I think, 
 be denied, that it is in the heart of the mother that it 
 exists in the most perfect strength and beauty. In- 
 deed, I do not think that those have gone too far who 
 have pronounced " the heart of a good mother to be the 
 masterpiece of nature's works." * There is no form, cer- 
 tainly, in which humanity appears so lovely, or pre- 
 sents so fair a copy of the Divine image after which it 
 was made. 
 
 11. Affections of Kindred the Foundation of our So- 
 cial and Political Virtues.] Nor are these affections of 
 parent and child useful solely for the preservation of 
 the race. They form the heart in infancy for its more 
 extensive social duties, and gradually prepare it ibr 
 those affections which constitute the character of the 
 good citizen ; not to mention that, in every period of 
 life, it is our private attachments which furnish the 
 most powerful of all incerltives to patriotism and hero- 
 ic virtue. Nothing, therefore, could be more unphilo- 
 sophical than the opinion of Plato, that the iudulgence 
 of the domestic charities unfitted men for the discharge 
 of their political duties ; an opinion which he carried so 
 far as to propose, that, as soon as a child was born, it 
 should be separated from its parents, and educated ever 
 after at the expense of the public. It has been oft^n 
 observed that persons brought up in foundling hospitals 
 have seldom turned out well in the world ; and al- 
 
 * See Marmontel, Leqons sw la Morale, p. 132, et seq. 
 
64 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 though I doubt not that various splendid exceptions to 
 this proposition maybe quoted, I am inclined to think, 
 that, if the special accidents connected with these ex- 
 ceptions were fully known, they would be found, instead 
 of invalidating, to confirm the general rule. One thing, 
 at least, is obvious, that, in that best of all education.s 
 which nature has provided for us in the ordinary cir- 
 cumstances of our condition, it formed an important 
 part of her plan to soften the heart betimes amid the 
 scenes of domestic life; and, accordingly, it is under 
 the shelter of these scenes that all the social virtues 
 may be seen to shoot up with the greatest vigor and 
 luxuriancy. Even the sterner qualities of fortitude and 
 bravery, so far from being inconsistent with a warm 
 and susceptible heart, are almost its inseparable attend- 
 ants, insomuch that we always expect to 6.nd them unit- 
 ed. How true, in this respect, io all the best feelings 
 of our nature, is the beautiful story recorded of Epani- 
 inondas, that, after the battle of Leuctra, he thanked 
 the gods that his parents still survived to enjoy his 
 fame ! 
 
 It is remarked by Dr. Beattie that Homer and Virgil, 
 the most accurate of all observers, and the most faith- 
 ful of all painters of human character, always unite 
 the domestic attachments with the more splendid vir- 
 tues of their heroes. The scene between Hector and 
 Andromache, and the interview between Ulysses and 
 his father after an absence of twenty years, are pro- 
 nounced by the same excellent critic to be the finest 
 passages in the Iliad and Odyssey. He observes fur- 
 ther, that, in the portrait of Achilles, his love to his par- 
 ents forms one of the most prominent and distinguish- 
 ing features, smd that " this single circumstance throws 
 an amiable softness into the most terrific human per- 
 sonage that was ever described in poetry." How pow- 
 erful a charm the iEneid derives from the same source 
 it is needless to mention, as it is the chief -groundwork 
 of the interest inspired by the whole texture of the fa- 
 ble. In no instance is it more affecting than in the ad- 
 dress of Euryalus to Nisus before they set out on their 
 
AFFECTIONS OF KINDRED. 
 
 65 
 
 desperate expedition by night ; and I believe few will 
 deny that the pious concern which he expresses for his 
 aged parent in that moment of approaching peril ac- 
 cords perfectly with the gallantry of his spirit, and in- 
 terests us more than any thing else in his fortunes. 
 
 " Contra quera talia fatur 
 Euryalus : me nulla dies tam fortibus ausis 
 Dissimilem arguerit ; tant^m fortuna secunda, 
 Hand adversa cadat : sod te super omnia dona, 
 TJnum ore : genetrix Priami de gente vetusta 
 Est mihi, qnam miseram tenuit non Ilia tellus, 
 Mecutn excedentem, non mcenia regis Acestse : 
 Hanc ego nunc ignaram hujas quodc.umque pericli est 
 Inque salutatam linquo nox, et tua testis 
 Dextera, quJd nequeam lacrymas perferre parentis. 
 At tu, oro, solare inopem, et succurre relictse. 
 Hanc sine me spem ferre tui : au4entior ibo 
 In casus omnes. Percussa mente dederunt 
 Dardanidae lacrymas: ante omnes pulcher lulns, 
 Atque animum patrisE strinxit pietatis imago." * 
 
 I shall conclude this section in the words of Lord 
 Bacon : — " Unmarried men are best friends, best rnas- 
 
 * JSneid., Lib. IX. 280. 
 
 " ' All of my life,' replies the youth, ' shall aim, 
 Like this one hour, at everlasting fame. 
 Though fortune only our attempt can bless, 
 Yet still my courage shall deserve success. 
 But one reward I ask, before I go, — 
 The greatest I can ask, or you bestow. * 
 
 My mother, — tender, pious, fond, smd good. 
 Sprung, like thy own, from Priam's royal blood, — 
 Such was her love, she left her native Troy, , 
 
 And fair Trinacria, for.her darling boy ; 
 Anil such is mine, Uiat I must keep unknown 
 Prom her the danger of so dear a son; 
 To spare her anguish, lo ! I quit the place 
 Without one parting kiss, one last embrace ! 
 By night, and that respected hand, I swear, 
 Her melting tears are more than I can bear ! 
 For her, good prince, your pity I implore ; 
 Support her, childless, and relieve her, poor; 
 0, let her, let her find, (when I am gone,) 
 In you, a friend, a guardian, and a son ! 
 With that dear hope, emboldened shall I go, 
 Brave every danger, and defy the foe.' 
 
 " Charrned with his virtue all the Trojan peers, 
 But, more than all, Ascanius melts in tears. 
 To see the sorrows of a duteous son 
 And filial love, a love so like his own." 
 
 6* 
 
66 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 ters, best servants, but not always best subjects, for 
 they are light to run away, and almost all fugitives are 
 of that condition. For soldiers, I find that the gener- 
 als in their hortatives commonly put men in mind of 
 their wives and children ; and I think the despising of 
 marriage among the Turks maketh the vulgar soldier 
 the more base. Certainly, wife and children are a kind 
 of discipline of humanity; and single men, though 
 they be many times more charitable, because their 
 means are less exhaust, yet, on the other side, they are 
 more cruel and hard-hearted, because their tenderness is 
 not so often called upon." * 
 
 Section III. 
 
 OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 I. Pleasures of Friendship.] Friendship, like all the 
 other benevolent affections, includes two things, an 
 agreeable feeling, and a desire of happiness to its object. 
 
 Besides, however, the agreeable feeling common to 
 all the exertions of benevolence, there are some pecu- 
 liar to friendship. I before took notice of the pleasure 
 we derive from communicating our thoughts and our 
 feelings to others; but this communication prudence 
 and propriety restrain us from making to strangers ; 
 and hence the satisfaction we enjoy in the society of 
 one to whom we can communicate every circumstance 
 in our sitjiation, and can trust every secret of our heart. 
 
 There is also a wonderful pleasure arising from the 
 sympathy of our fellow-creatures with our joys and 
 with our sorrows, nay, even with our tastes and our 
 humors ; but, in the ordinary commerce of the world, 
 we are often disappointed in our expectations of this 
 enjoyment, — a disappointment which is peculiarly in- 
 cident to men of genius and sensibility superior to the 
 common, who frequently feel themselves " alpne in the 
 midst of a crowd," and reduced to the necessity of ac- 
 
 * Bacon's Essays. Of Marriage and Single Life. 
 
FRIENDSHIP. 67 
 
 commodating their own temper, and their own feeling:^, 
 to a standard borrowed from those whom they caniiot 
 help thinking undeserving of such a sacrifice. 
 
 It is only in the society of a friend that this sym- 
 pathy is at all times to be found ; and the pleasing re- 
 flection, that we have it in our power to command so 
 exquisite a gratification, constitutes, perhaps, the prin- 
 cipal charm of this connection. " What we call affec- 
 tion," says Mr. Smith, "is nothing but an habitual 
 sympathy." I will not go quite so far as to adopt this 
 proposition in all its latitude, but I perfectly agree with 
 this profound and amiable moralist in thinking, that the 
 experience of this sympathy is the chief foundation 
 of friendship, and one of the principal sources of the 
 pleasures which it yields. Nor is it at all inconsistent 
 with this observation to remark, that, where the ground- 
 work of two characters in point of moral worth is the 
 same, there is sometimes a contrast in the secondary 
 qualities, of taste, of intellectual accomplishments, and 
 even of animal spirits, which, instead of presenting 
 obstacles to friendship, has a tendency to bind more 
 strongly the knot of mutual attachment between the 
 parties. Two very interesting and memorable exam- 
 ples of this may be found in Cuvier's account of the 
 friendship between Buffbn and Daubenton,* and in 
 Playfair's account of the friendship between Black and 
 Hutton.f 
 
 I do not mean here to enter into the consideration 
 of the various topics relating to frierfdship which are 
 commonly discussed by writers on that subject. Most 
 of these, indeed I may say all of them, are beautifully 
 illustrated by Cicero in the treatise De Aniicitia, in 
 which he has presented us with a summary of all that 
 w^s most valuable on this article of ethics in the 
 writings of preceding philosophers ; and so compre- 
 hensive is the view of it which he has taken, that the 
 modern authors who have treated of it have done little 
 more than to repeat his observations. 
 
 * jRecueil des Eloges Historiques. M. Daubenton. 
 
 t Biographical Account of tlie late Dr. James Button.' Worries, Vol. IV. 
 
68 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 II. Can Friendship subsist between more than Tivo 
 Persons?] One question concerning friendship much 
 cigitated in the ancient schools was, whether this con- 
 nection can subsist in its full perfection between more 
 than two persons; — and I believe it was the common 
 decision of antiquity that it cannot. For my own part, 
 I can see no foundation for this limitation, and I own 
 it seems to me to have been suggested more by the 
 dreams of romance, or the fables of ancient mjrthology, 
 than by good sense or an accurate knowledge of man- 
 kind. The passion of love between the sexes is indeed 
 of an exclusive nature; and the jealousy of the one 
 party is roused the moment a suspicion arises that the 
 attachment of the other is in any degree divided ; (and, 
 by the way, this circumstance, which I think is strongly 
 characteristical of that connection, deserves to be add- 
 ed to the various other considerations which show that 
 monogamy has a fcMndation in human nature.) But 
 the feelings of frienaship are of a perfectly different 
 sort. If our friend is a man of discernment, we rejoice 
 at every new acquisition he makes, as it affords us an 
 opportunity of adding to our own list of worthy and 
 amiable individuals, and we eagerly concur with him 
 in promoting the interests of those who are dear to 
 his heart. Wh^n we ourselves, on the other hand, 
 have made a new discovery of worth and gejiius, how 
 do we long to impart the same satisfaction to a friend, 
 and to be instrumental in bringing together the various 
 respectable and 'worthy men whom the accidents of 
 life have thrown in our way! 
 
 I acknowledge, at the same time, that the number of 
 our attached and confidential friends cannot be great, 
 otherwise our attention would be too much distracted 
 by the multiplicity of its objects, and the views for which 
 this affection of the mind was probably implanted 
 would be frustrated by its engaging us in exertions 
 beyond the extent of our limited abilities ; and, accord- 
 ingly, nature has made a provision for preventing this 
 inconvenience, by rendering friendship the fruit only of 
 long and intimate acquaintance. It is strengthened 
 
FRIENDSHIP. 69 
 
 by the acquaintance which the parties have, not only 
 with each other's personal qualities, but with their 
 histories, situations, and connections from infancy, and 
 every particular of this sort which falls under their 
 mutual knowledge forms to the fancy an additional re- 
 lation by which they are united. Men who have a 
 very wide circle of friends, without much discrimination 
 or preference, are justly suspected of being incapable 
 of genuine friendship, and indeed are generally men of 
 cold and selfish characters, who are influenced chiefly 
 by a cool and systematical regard to their own comfort, 
 and who value the social intercourse of life only as it is 
 subservient to their accommodation and amusement. 
 
 III. How we are affected by the Distresses of our 
 Friends.] That the aflection of friendship includes a 
 desire of happiness to the beloved object, it is unne- 
 cessary to observe. There is, however, a certain limita- 
 tion of the remark, which occurs among the Maxims of 
 La Rochefoucauld, and which has been often repeated 
 since by misanthropical moralists, "That, in the dis- 
 tresses of our best friends, there is always something 
 which does not displease us." It may be proper to 
 consider inwhat sense this is to be understood, and how 
 far it has a foundation in truth. It is expressed in 
 somewhat equivocal terms ; and, I suspect, owes much 
 of its plausibility to this very circumstance. 
 
 From the triumphant air with which the maxim in 
 question has been generally quoted by the calumniators 
 of human nature, it has evidently been supposed by 
 them to imply that the misfortunes of our best friends 
 give us more pleasure than pain.* But this La Roche- 
 foucauld has not said, nor, indeed, could a proposition 
 ,so obviously false and extravagant have escaped the pen 
 
 * It was plainly in this sense that Swift understood it when he prefixed 
 it as a motto to the verses on his own death. 
 
 "As Rochefoucauld his maxims drew 
 From nature, I believe them true. 
 If what he says be not a joke, 
 We mortals are strange kind of folk." 
 
70 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 of SO acute a writer. What La Rochefoucauld has 
 said amounts only to this, that, in the distresses of our 
 best friends, the pain we' feel is not altogether unmix- 
 ed ; — a proposition unquestionably true, wherever we 
 have an opportunity of soothing their sorrows by the 
 consolations of sympathy, or of evincing, by more sub- 
 stantial services, the sincerity and strength of our at- 
 tachment. But the pleasure we experience in such 
 cases, so far from indicating any thing selfish or 
 malevolent in the heart, originates in principles of a 
 directly opposite description, and will be always most 
 pure and exquisite in the most disinterested and gen- 
 erous characters. The maxim, indeed, when thus in- 
 terpreted, is not less true when applied to our own 
 distresses than to those of our friends. In the bitterest 
 cup that may fall to the lot of either, there are always 
 mingled some cordial drops, — in the misfortunes of 
 others, the consolation of administering- relief, — in our 
 own, that of receiving' it from the sympathy of those 
 we love. 
 
 Whether La Rochefoucauld, in the satirical humor 
 which dictated the greater part of his maxims, did not 
 wish, in the present instance, to convey by his words a 
 little more than meets the ear, I do not presume to de- 
 termine. 
 
 Section IV. 
 
 OF patriotism. 
 
 I. Provision made for a Division of Mankind into 
 distinct Communities.] Notwithstanding the principles 
 of union implanted by nature in the human breast, it 
 was plainly not her intention that society should always 
 go on increasing in numbers. A foundation is laid for 
 a division of mankind into distinct communities, in 
 those natural divisions on the surface of the globe that 
 are formed by chains of mountains, impassable rivers, 
 and the oceans which separate the larger continents ; and 
 the same end is further answered by those principles of 
 
PATRIOTISM. 71 
 
 enmity which, in the earlier stages of society, never 
 fail to estrange neighbouring tribes from each other, 
 and which continue to operate with a very ' powerful 
 effect even in periods of knowledge and refinement. 
 
 I shall not at present attempt to analyze particularly 
 the origin of these principles of disunion among man- 
 kind. I shall only remark, that they do not imply any 
 original malignity in the human heart; on the contrary, 
 they seem to have their source in the social nature of 
 man, — in those affections which attach him to the 
 tribe he belongs to, and to the country which gave him 
 birth. This remark has been so excellently illui|trated 
 by Lord Shaftesbury and by Dr. Ferguson, that it 
 would be quite superfluous to enlarge upon it here. 
 Contenting myself, therefore, with a reference to their 
 works,* I ahall proceed to some other views of the sub- 
 ject, where the field of observation does not seem to be 
 so completely exhausted. 
 
 * See Shaftesbury's Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Humor, Part III. 
 Sect. 2, and Ferguson's Essai/ on the Flislorij of Civil Soa'eti/, Part I. Sect. 
 4. The former observes : — ''It is strange to im.agine that war, which of 
 ail tilings appears the most savage, should be the passion of the most he- 
 roic spirits. But it is in war that the knot of fellowship is closest drawn. 
 It is in war that mutual succor is most given, mutual danger run, and 
 coTumon affection most exerted and employed. For heroism and philan- 
 thropy are almost one and the same. Yet, by a small misguidance of 
 the affection, a lover of mankind becomes a ravager; a hero and deliverer 
 becomes an oppressor and destroyer." " Vast empires are in' many re- 
 spects unnatural ; but particularly in this, that, he they ever so well consti- 
 tuted, the affairs of many must in such governments turn upon a very few; 
 and the rel_alion be less sensible, and in a manner lost, between the magis- 
 trate and people, in a body so unwieldy in its limbs, and whose members 
 lie so remote from one another, and distant from the head. It is in such 
 bodies as these that strong factions are aptest to engender. The associat- 
 ing spirits, for want of exercise, form new movements, and seek a nar- 
 rower sphere of activity, when they want action in a greater. Thus we 
 have wheels within wheels. And in some national constitutions, (notwith- 
 standing the absurdity in polities,) we have one empire within .another. 
 Nothing is so delightful as to incorporate." In the same strain Ferguson: 
 — " The titles of fellow-citizen and countri/man, unopposed by those of alien 
 smii foreigner, to which they refer, would fall into disuse, and lose their 
 meaning. We love individuals on account of persdnal qualities ; but we 
 love our country, as it is a party in the divisions, of mankind ; and our 
 zeal for its interests is a predilection in behalf of the side we maintain." 
 '■ ' Mv father,' said a Spanish peasant, ' wonld rise fiom his grave, if he 
 could foresee a war with France.' What interest had he, or the bones of 
 his father, in the quarrels of princes ? " 
 
72 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 The foundation which nature has laid for a diversity 
 of languages, of customs, of manners, and of institu- 
 tions among mankind, adds force to the principles of 
 division and repulsion already mentioned. These cir- 
 cumstances derive their effect, indeed, from the igno- 
 rance of men, which is apt to mistake a diversity of 
 arbitrary signs and arbitrary ceremonies for a diversity 
 of opinions and of moral sentiments ; and accordingly, 
 as society advances, and reason improves, the effect be- 
 comes gradually less and less sensible. As the effect, 
 however, is universal among rude nations, and as it is 
 the unavoidable result of the general laws of our con- 
 stitution when placed in certain circumstances, we may 
 consider it as a part of the plan of Providence with re- 
 spect to our species ; and we may presume that here, 
 as in other instances, that plan tends ultimately, to 
 some wise and beneficent purpose, though by means 
 which appear to us, at first view, to have a very unfa- 
 vorable aspect. What these purposes are it is impossi- 
 ble for our limited faculties to trace completely ; but 
 even we, narrow and partial as our views at present 
 are, may perceive some salutary consequences resulting 
 from these apparent disorders of the moral world. I 
 shall only mention the tendency which a constant state 
 of hostility and alarm must have among barbarous 
 tribes to bind and consolidate in each of them apart 
 the political union ; and, by strengthening the hands 
 of government, to prepare the way for the progress of 
 society. We may add, the exercise which it gives to 
 many of our most important moral principles, and the 
 powerful stimulus it applies to our intellectual capaci- 
 ties. The discipline is indeed rough, but it is perhaps 
 the only one of which the mind of man, in a certain 
 state of his progress, is susceptible. 
 
 II. Tendency of Civilization to diminish the Causes of 
 Disunion.] If these observations are well founded, may 
 we not presume to offer a conjecture, that, as this final 
 cause ceases to exist in proportion as government ad- 
 vances to maturity, and as the moral causes of hostili- 
 
PATRIOTISM. 73 
 
 ty among nations (arising from diversity of language 
 and of manners) cease to operate upon men of enlight- 
 ened and liberal minds, the tendency of civilized socie- 
 ty is to diminish the dissensions among different com- 
 munities, and to unite the human race in the bonds of 
 ninity? The just views of political economy which 
 Mr. Smith and some other authors have lately opened, 
 and which demonstrate the absurdity of commercial 
 jealousies, all contribute to encourage the same pleas- 
 ing prospect ; but, alas ! it is a prospect which the 
 vices and prejudices of men allow us to indulge only 
 in those moments of enthusiasm when our benevolent 
 wishes for mankind, and our confidence in the wisdom 
 and goodness of Providence, transport us from the ca- 
 lamities and atrocities of our own times, to anticipate 
 the triumphs of reason and humanity in a more fortu- 
 nate age. 
 
 In my Philosophy of the Human Mind I have remark- 
 ed, that " there anre many prejudices which are found to 
 prevail universally among our species in certain periods 
 of society, and which seem to be essentially necessary 
 for maintaining its order in ages when men are unable 
 to comprehend the purposes for which governments are 
 instituted. As society advances, these prejudices grad- 
 ually lose their influence on the higher classes, and 
 would probably soon disappear altogether, if it were 
 not supposed to be expedient to prolong their existence 
 as a source of authority over the multitude. In an age, 
 however, of universal and unrestrained discussion, it is 
 impossible that they can long maintain their empire ; 
 nor ought we to regret their decline, if the important 
 ends to which they have been subservient in the past 
 experience of mankind are found to be accomplished 
 by the growing light of philosophy. On this supposi- 
 tion, a history of human prejudices, in so far as they 
 have supplied the place of more enlarged political 
 views, may, at some future period, furnish to the phi- 
 losopher a subject of speculation no less pleasing and 
 instructive than that beneficent wi.sdom of nature 
 which guides t!ie operations of the lower animals, and 
 
74 INSTINCTIVE PBINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 which, even in our own species, takes upon itself the 
 care of the individual in the infancy of human reason." * 
 
 The remarks which have been now made on the 
 sources of disunion and hostility among mankind in 
 the earlier periods of society, and on the final causes to 
 which this constitution of things is subservient, afford 
 one remarkable illustration of the conjecture which I 
 have hazarded in the foregoing passage. 
 
 Before proceeding to consider the affection of patri- 
 otism, it was necessary to turn our attention for a mo- 
 ment to the principles of disunion in our species, as the 
 idea of patriotism proceeds on the supposition, that 
 mankind are divided into distinct communities, with 
 separate, if not with rival and hostile interests. 
 
 III. Exciting Causes of Patfiotism.] The exciting 
 causes of patriotism (abstracted from all considera- 
 tions of reason and duty) are many. We are formed 
 with so strong a disposition to associate with and to 
 love our own species, that the imagination lays hold 
 with eagerness of every circumstance, how slight so- 
 ever, that can form a bond of union ; a common lan- 
 guage, a common religion, common laws, even a com- 
 mon appellation, — not to mention the prudential con- 
 siderations of common enemies and a common interest. 
 The feelings which these uniting circumstances inspire 
 attach us even to the territory which our_ fellow-citizens 
 inhabit, by the same law of association that endears to 
 us the spot where a friend was born, or the scene 
 where we have enjoyed any social pleasure ; and thus 
 the imagination forms to itself a complex idea of coun- 
 trymen and country, which impresses every susceptible 
 heart with irresistible force. In perusing the history of 
 either, how remote soever the period it describes may 
 be, we feel an interest which no other narrative inspires. 
 We sympathize with the fortunes of those who trod the 
 :i^me ground that we now tread, and we appropriate to 
 Oiirrtclves a share of the glory they acquired by their 
 
 * Part T. Chap. iv. Sot. viii. 
 
PATRIOTISM. 75 
 
 bravery and virtue. "When the late Mr. Anson (Lord 
 Anson's brother) was on his travels in the East, he 
 hired a vessel to visit the Isle of Tenedos. His piloi, 
 an old Greelf, as they were sailing along, said with 
 some satisfaction, ''Twas there our fleet lay.' Mr. 
 Anson demanded, ^ What fleet?' ^Wliat fleet." replied 
 the old man, a little piqued at the question, 'why,- our 
 Grecian fleet at the siege of Troy.' " This anecdote, 
 (which I borrow from the Philological Inquiries of Mr. 
 Harris,*) naturally excites a smile; but it is, at the same 
 time, so congenial to feelings inseparable from our con- 
 stitution, that its effect seems to me to border on the 
 pathetic, and I presume there are few who have read it 
 without some emotion. 
 
 It is not a little remarkable, with respect to this nat- 
 ural attachment to the scenes of our infancy and youth, 
 that it is commonly strongest among the inhabitants 
 of bkrren and mountainous countries. This would ap- 
 pear to indicate that it is produced less by the recollec- 
 tion of agreeable physical impressions than of moral 
 pleasures, — pleasures which probably derive an ad- 
 ditional zest from the absence of those interesting or 
 amusing objects which dissipate the attention by invit- 
 ing the thoughts abroad. Where nature has been spar- 
 ing in her external bounty, men become the more de- 
 pendent for their happiness on internal enjoyment ; it 
 is thus that the storms and gloom of winter give a high- 
 er relish to the pleasijres of society. Perhaps, too, the 
 thin and scattered population of such countries may 
 contribute something to the romantic enthusiasm of the 
 domestic and private attachments, as it is certain that 
 the opposite extreme of a crovsrded and busy population 
 seldom fails to extinguish all the more ardent social af- 
 fections.. Among the inhabitants of Europe this attach- 
 ment to home is said to be the most remarkable in the 
 Swiss and the Laplanders, who, when removed to a dis- 
 tance from their native scenes, are subject to a particu- 
 lar species of despondency, to which medical writers 
 
 * Part III. Chap. .. 
 
76 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 have given the name of nostalgia. It is thus described 
 by Haller, who was himself a native of Switzerland, 
 and who, in some of his poetical pieces, composed dur- 
 ing the period of his academical studies in Holland, 
 has sufficiently shown that his own heart was not prooi' 
 against its influence. 
 
 " Nostalgia genus est raceroris subditis reipublicas mesB 
 familiaris, etiam civibus, a desiderio nati suorum. Is 
 sensim consumit segros et destruit, nonnunquam in 
 rigorem et maniam abit, alias in febres lentas. Eum 
 spes sanat. Etiam animalia consueta societate privata, 
 nonnunquam depereunt, et ex pullis amissis etiam lutrse 
 maris Kamtschadalensis. Sic ex amore frustrate lenta 
 et insanabilis consumptio sequitur, quod Angli cor rup- 
 lum vocant." * 
 
 We are informed by another medical writer, (Sauva- 
 ges,) that he has known this disorder in the son of a 
 common beggar, who could scarcely be said to have^any 
 home but the streets and public roads.f 
 
 " Thus every good his native wilds impart 
 Imprints the patriot passion on his heart. 
 And even the ills that round his mansion rise 
 Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. 
 Dear is that shed to which his sonl conforms, 
 And dear that hill that lifts him to the storais. * 
 
 And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, 
 Clings close and closer to its mother's breast, 
 So the loud tempest and the whirlwind's roar 
 But bind hira to his native mountains more." % 
 
 The sources of patriotism hitherto mentioned arise 
 chiefly from the imagination and from the association of 
 ideas, and have little or no connection with our rational 
 and moral powers. They presuppose, indeed, sensibility, 
 social attachment, and force of mind, but they do not 
 
 * Elem. Physiol,., Lib. XVII. Sect. 2, § 5. " Nostalgia is a malady com- 
 mon among my conntiymen, originating in a longing for home. It grad- 
 ually consumes ' and wears out the patient, sometimes going off in chills 
 and mania, sometimes in a slow fever. Hope cures it. jiven animals 
 when deprived of their accustomed companions, will sometimes die ; as is 
 the case with the .sea-otter of Kamtschatka when bereft of her young. So, 
 likewise, a lingering and incurable consumption follows disappointed love, 
 which The English call a hrohp.n h ffj-f.'' 
 
 t yavjir/ia Miithvli'-a. J Goldsmith's TraviMtr. 
 
PATRIOTISM. 77 
 
 necessarily imply reflection or a sense of duty. They 
 are the natural result of our constitution when placed 
 in certain, circumstances ; and hence, though not coeval 
 with our birth, nor after their appearance unsusceptible 
 of analysis, the affection they produce, in so far as it 
 arises from them without the cooperation of any other 
 motive, may be considered as a blind impulse, analogous 
 in its operation to those desires and appetites which 
 have been already mentioned. This affection may be 
 called, for the sake of ^distinction, instinctive patriotism. 
 
 IV. Patriotism in Small and in Large Countries.] 
 The circumstances which have been enumerated as the 
 sources of instinctive patriotism operate with peculiar 
 force in small communities, where the extent of the ter- 
 ritory and the body of the people, falling under the 
 habitual observation of every citizen, present more defi- 
 nite objects to the imagination, and affect the heart 
 more deeply, than what is only conceived from descrip- 
 tion. Here, too, the individual feels his importance as 
 an active member of the state, and the consciousness 
 of what he is able to do for its prosperity contributes 
 powerfully to promote his patriotic exertions. 
 
 In an extensive and populous country, the instinctive 
 affection of patriotism is apt to grow languid among 
 the mass of the people, and therefore it becomes the 
 more necessary to impress on their minds those consid- 
 erations of reason and duty which recommend public 
 spirit as one of the principal branches of morality. 
 What these considerations are, I shall afterwards en- 
 deavour to point out in treating of the duties we owe 
 to our fellow-creatures. At present I shall only remark, 
 that, as instinctive patriotism decays, so rational patriot- 
 ism acquires force, in proportion to the extent of terri- 
 tory and to the multitude of fellow-citizens it embraces ; 
 in other words, in proportion to the magnitude of that 
 sum of happiness which it aspires to secure and to 
 augment. ■ 
 
 Such considerations, however, can have weight only 
 with men whose sense of duty is strong ; and as, un- 
 7* 
 
78 ].\o'TiKCTivK FRis€n'i.::s OF Acnoy. 
 
 Ibrtanately, this is not the case with a great proportioH 
 of mankind, it is of the utmost consequence, in every 
 state of society, to cherish as much as possible the in- 
 stinctive affection of patriotism, and to counteract those 
 causes that tend to extinguish it. For this purpose, 
 nothing is more likely to be effectual than to dijfuse a 
 general taste for historical and geographical reading. 
 A peasant who has never extended his thoughts beyond 
 his own province, and who sees every thing flourishing 
 and happy around him, is apt to consider the enjoy- 
 ments he possesses as inseparable from the human race, 
 and no more connected with any particular system of 
 laws than the advantages he derives from the immedi' 
 ate bounty of nature. It is the study of history and 
 geography alone that can remove this prejudice, by show- 
 ing us, on the one hand, the narrow limits within which 
 the political happiness of our species has hitherto been 
 confined, and, on the other, the singular combination of 
 accidental circumstances to which we are indebted for 
 the blessings we enjoy. This effect of history, indeed, 
 tends rather to cherish rational than instinctive patriot- 
 ism; but it operates also wonderfully on the latter affec- 
 tion, by leading us to contrast our own country and coun- 
 trymen with other lands and other nations, and thereby 
 presenting a more definite and interesting object to the 
 imagination and to the heart. When, from the trans- 
 actions of past ages and of foreign lands, we return to 
 what is near and familiar, we are affected somewhat in 
 the same manner as if we met with a fellow-citizen in 
 a distant country. Absence from home never fails to en- 
 dear it to a mind possessed of any sensibility. The extent 
 of our country, too, seems to diminish to our intellectual 
 eye in proportion as the object recedes from us, and we 
 feel a sensible relation to what we before regarded with 
 complete indifference. The natives of the same coun- 
 try in Scotland feel towards each other a partial pre- 
 dilection when they meet in the meti-opolis of Great 
 Britain ; and the circumstancg of being born in this 
 island forms a tie of friendship between individuals in 
 the other quarters of the gjobe. The study of history 
 
PATRIOTISM. 79 
 
 operates somewhat in the same manner, though net 
 perhaps in the same degree. By transporting us in im- 
 agination over the surface of this planet, and by as- 
 sembling before our view the myriads who have occu- 
 pied it before us, it serves to define to our thoughts 
 more distinctly the particular community to which we 
 belong, and strengthens the bond of relationship that 
 unites us to all its members. 
 
 I shall only add further on this subject, that, when 
 the extent and population of a country are so very 
 great as to give it a decided preeminence among neigh- 
 bouring nations, it has a tendency to produce (partly 
 by interesting the vanity, and partly by dazzling the 
 imagination) an attachment to national glory, which 
 operates both on the vulgar and on men of better edu- 
 cation in a way extremely analogous to the instinctive 
 patriotism felt by the member of a small community. 
 A remarkable instance of this occurred in the national 
 character of the French prior to the late revolution ; nor 
 does it seem to have altered in this respect since that 
 event, if we may judge from the indignation with which 
 the idea of a confederate republic has always been re- 
 ceived. A feeling of the same kind may be traced in 
 various expressions employed by Livy in the preface 
 to his Roman History. " Utcunque erit, juvabit tamen 
 rerum gestarum memoriae principis terrarum populi, pro 
 virili parte, et ipsum consuluisse ; et si in tanta scrip- 
 torum turba mea fama in obscuro sit, nobilitate ac 
 magnitudine eorum qui nomini efficient meo me con- 
 soler. Res est prsterea et immensi operis, ut quae supra 
 septingentesimum annum repetatur, et quae ab exiguis 
 profecta initiis eo creverit, ut jam magnitudine laboret 
 sua: et legentium plerisque haud dubito, quin primse 
 origines proximaque originibus, minus praebitura vo- 
 luptatis sint, festinantibus ad hsec nova, quibus jam- 
 pridem prsevalentis populi vires se ipsae conficiunt." * 
 
 * " However that may be, I shall at all events derive no small snti^fiu- 
 tion from the reflection that ray best endeavom-s have been exerted in f "i-- 
 mitting to posterity the achievements of the greatest peo|ile in the v •■■ I ; 
 and if, amidst such a multitude of writers, my name should not e:HLi„e 
 
80 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 The very danger which such an empire was exposed to 
 from its enormous magnitude, and from the seeds of 
 destruction which it carried in its bosom, seems to 
 heighten the patriotic affection of the historian, by- 
 awakening an anxious solicitude for its impending fate. 
 The contrast between this feeling of national pride, and 
 a melancholy anticipation of those calamities to which 
 national greatness leads, gives the principal charm to 
 this exquisite composition. 
 
 Section V. 
 
 of pity to the distressed. 
 
 I. Office and important Uses of Compassion.] As the 
 unfortunate chiefly stand in need of our assistance, so 
 there is provided in every breast a most powerful advo- 
 cate in their favor; an advocate, to whose solicitations 
 it is impossible even for the most obdurate to turn always 
 a deaf ear. The appropriation of the word humanity to 
 this part of our constitution affords sufficient evidence 
 of the common sentiments of mankind upon the subject. 
 
 " Mollissima corda 
 Humano generi dare se natura fatetur, 
 Quae lacrymas dedit. HiEC nostii pars optima sensfts. 
 
 Separat hoc nos 
 
 A grege mutonim." * 
 
 from obscurity, I shall console myself by considering the distinguished 
 reputation and eminent merit of those who stand in my way in the pursuit 
 of fame. It may be further observed, that such a subject must require a 
 work of immense extent, as our researches must be carried back through 
 a space of more than seven hundred years ; that the state has, from very 
 small beginnings, gradually increased to such a magnitude that it is now 
 distressed by its own bulk ; and, besides, that there is every reason to ap- 
 prehend that the generality of readers will receive but little pleasure from 
 the accounts of its first origin, or of the times immediately succeeding, but 
 will be impatient to arrive at these modern times, in which the powers of 
 this overgrown state have been long employed in working their own de- 
 struction." 
 
 * Jut., So*. XV. 131, 142. 
 
 " Nature, who gave us tears, by that alone 
 
 Proclaims she made the feeling heart our own ; 
 
 And 't is our noblest sense 
 
 . . . . This marks our birth ; 
 
 Oar great distinction from the beasts of earth.'' 
 
PITY TO THE DISTRESSED. 81 
 
 The general (Ifticiple of benevolence, or of gooii- 
 will to our fellow-creatures, (of which I shall treat after- 
 wards, when I come to consider our moral duties,) as it 
 disposes us to promote the happiness of others, so it 
 restrains us from doing them evil, and prompts us to 
 relieve their distresses. The office of compassion or 
 pity is more limited. It impels us to relieve distress ; 
 it serves as a check on resentment and selfishness, and 
 the other principles which lead us to injure the interests 
 of others ; but it does not prompt us to the communi- 
 cation of positive happiness. Its object is to relieve, 
 and sometimes to prevent, suffering; but not to aug.- 
 ment the enjoyment of those who are already easy and 
 comfortable. We are disposed to do this by the gen- 
 eral spirit of benevolence, but not by the particular af- 
 fection of pity. 
 
 The final cause of this constitution of our nature is 
 very ingeniously and happily pointed out by Dr. Butler 
 in his second sermon On Compassion. This profound 
 philosopher observes, that, " supposing men to be capa- 
 ble of happiness and of misery in degrees equally in- 
 tense, yet they are liable to the latter during longer peri- 
 ods of time than they are susceptible of the former. 
 We frequently see men suffering the agonies of pain 
 for days, weeks, and months together, without any in- 
 termission, except the short suspensions of sleep, — a 
 stretch of misery to which no state of high enjoyment 
 can approach in point of duration. Such, too, is our 
 constitution, and that of the world around us, that the 
 sources of our sufferings are placed much more within 
 the power of other men than the sources of our pleas- 
 ures, so that there is no individual (however incapable 
 he may be to add to the happiness of his fellow-crea- 
 tures) who has it not in his power to do them great and 
 extensive mischief. To prevent the abuse of this power 
 when we are under the influence of any of the angry 
 passions, by means of a particular affection tending to 
 check the excess of resentment, was, therefore, of more 
 consequence to the comfort of human life than it would 
 have been to superadd to the general principle of good- 
 
82 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 will a particular affection promptingtfto the communi- 
 cation of positive enjoyment. The power we have over 
 the misery of our fellow-creatures being a more impor- 
 tant trust than our power of promoting the happiness 
 of those already comfortable, the former stood more in 
 need of a guard to check its excesses than the latter of 
 a stimulus to animate its exertions. But, further, as it 
 is more in our power to communicate misery than hap- 
 piness, so it is more in our power to relieve misery than 
 to superadd enjoyment. Hence an additional reason 
 for implanting in our constitution the affection of com- 
 passion, while there is none analogous to it urging us by 
 an instinctive impulse to acts of general benevolence." 
 
 The final causes of compassion, then, are to prevent 
 and to relieve misery, — to prevent misery by checking 
 the violence of our own angry passions, and to relieve 
 misery by calling our attention, and engaging aur good 
 offices, to every object of distress within our reach. 
 The latter is the more common and the more impor- 
 tant of its offices, at least in the present state of society. 
 And it is this which I have chiefly in view in the fol- 
 lowing observations. 
 
 I have said that compassion calls or arrests our atten- 
 tion to the distressed objects within our reach. When 
 we are immersed in the business of the world, or intox- 
 icated with its pleasures, we are apt to overlook, and 
 sometimes to withdraw from, scenes of misery. It is 
 the office of compassion to plead the cause of the 
 wretched, or rather to solicit us to take their case under 
 our consideration ; for so strong is the sense which all 
 men have of the duty of beneficence, that, if they could 
 only be brought to exercise their powers of reflection 
 on the facts before them, they could scarcely ever fail 
 to relieve distress, when, in consistency with other ob- 
 ligations, it was in their power to do so. One striking 
 proof of this is, that the active zeal of humanity is 
 \cceteris paribus) strongest in those men whose warm 
 imaginations present to them lively pictures of the s\if- 
 ferings of others ; and that there is scarcely any man, 
 however callous and selfish, whose beneficence may not 
 
PITY TO THE DISTRESSED. 83 
 
 be called forth by a skilful and eloquent description of 
 any scene of misery. General considerations with re- 
 gard to our social duties will often have little weight ; 
 but if the attention can only be fixed to facts, nature, 
 iji most instances, accomplishes the rest. " Hence the 
 importance in our constitution of the affection of com- 
 passion, which, amidst the tumult of business or of 
 pleasure, stops us suddenly in our career, and reminds 
 us that we have social duties to fulfil ; calls upon us to 
 examine the claims of the helpless, and aggravates our 
 guilt if we disregard its admonition. 
 
 II. An Instinctive., and not, in itself, a Moral Princi- 
 ple.'] Compassion, according to the view now given 
 of it, is an instinctive impulse prompting to a particular 
 object, analogous in many respects to the animal appe- 
 tites already considered. It is, indeed, one of the most 
 . amiable, and one of the most important parts of our 
 constitution ; but it is not an object of moral approba- 
 tion.' Our duty lies in the proper regulation of it, — in 
 considering with attention the facts it recommends to 
 our notice, and in acting with respect to them as reason 
 and conscience prescribe. It is hardly necessary for me 
 to add, that there are cases in which these inform us 
 that we ought not to follow the impulse of compassion, 
 and in which it is no less meritorious in us to resist its 
 solicitations than to deny ourselves the unlawful grati- 
 fication of a sensual appetite ; and even in those in- 
 stances in which our duty calls us to obey its impulse, 
 our merit does not arise from the affection we feel, but 
 from doing what our conscience approves of as rig-ht, 
 on a deliberate consideration of the action we are to 
 perform, when examined in all its bearings and con- 
 sequences. 
 
 Notwithstanding, however, the unquestionable truth 
 of this theoretical conclusion, it is nevertheless certain, 
 that a strong and habitual tendency to indulge this af- 
 fection affords no slight presumption in favor of the 
 worth and benevolence of a character. Whoever re- 
 flects, on the one hand, upon its general coincidence 
 
84 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 with what a sense of duty prescribes, and, upon the 
 other, on the nature of those circumstances by which 
 its indulgence is checked and discouraged among men 
 of the world, will, I apprehend, readily assent to the 
 truth of this observation. The poet, perhaps, went a 
 little too far when he stated, as a general and unquali- 
 fied maxim, 'Ayafiol SipiSdKpvis &vdpes ; * but, upon the whole, 
 I am inclined to think that this maxim, with all the ex- 
 ceptions which may contradict it, will be found much 
 nearer to the fact than they who have been trained in 
 the schools of fashionably persiflag-e ^-will be disposed to 
 acknowledge. 
 
 III. The Affection of Pity not a Modification of Self- 
 love.] The philosophers who attempt to resolve the 
 whole of human conduct into self-love have adopted 
 various theories to explain the affection of pity. With- 
 out stopping to examine these, I shall confine myself 
 to a simple statement of the fact, which statement will 
 at once show how far all of these are erroneous, and 
 will point out the oversight in which they have origi- 
 nated. Whoever reflects carefully on the effect pro- 
 duced on his own mind by objects which excite his 
 pity must be sensible that it is a compounded one ; and 
 therefore, unless we are at pains to analyze it carefully, 
 we may be apt to mistake some one of the ingredients 
 for the whole combination. 
 
 * " Gooil men are prone to shed tears." — " The poets," says Mr. Wol- 
 laston, " who of all writers undertake to imitate nature most, oft introduce 
 even their heroes weeping. (See how Homer represents Ulysses, Od., E 
 l.'il et seq.) The tears of men are in tnath very different from the cries 
 and ejulations of children. They are silent streams, and flow from other 
 causes, commonly some tender, or perhaps philosophical reflection. It is 
 easy to see how hard hearts and dry eyes come to be fashionable. But for 
 all that, it is certain the gkmdulce lacnjmales are not made for notliing." 
 Religion of Nature Delineated, Sect. VI. § xvii. 
 
 It is also remarked by Descartes, that the tears of children and of old 
 men (in which both are apt to indulge) flow from different sources. " Senes 
 
 sa?pe lacrymantur ex amore et gaudio Infantes raro ex laetilia 
 
 lacrymantur, sa^pius ex trisiitia, etiam quam amor non comitatur." (De 
 Passionibus, Secunda Pars, Art. cxxxiii ) The important facts here de- 
 scribed have seldom been remarked ; and the statement of them does honor 
 .to Descartes, a<: an attentive and accurate observer of human nature in the 
 beginning and towards tKe close of its history. 
 
PITY TO THE DISTRESSED. 80 
 
 On the sight of distress we are distinctly conscious, 
 I think, of three things: — 1st. A painful emotion in 
 consequence of the distress we see. 2d. A selfish 
 desire to remove the cause of this uneasiness. 3d. A 
 disposition to relieve the distress from a benevolent and 
 disinterested concern about the sufferer. If we had 
 not this last disposition, and if it were not stronger 
 than the former, the sight of a distressed object would 
 invariably prompt us to fly from it, as we frequently 
 see those men do in whom the second ingredient pre- 
 vails over the third. In ordinary cases, the impulse of 
 pity attaches us to the cause of our sufferings ; and we 
 cling to it, even although we are conscious that we can 
 afford no relief but the consolation of sympathy; — a 
 demonstrative proof that one at least of the ingredients 
 of pity (and in most men the prevailing ingredient) is 
 purely disinterested in its nature and origin.* 
 
 * There is a passage in Hazlitt's Essays on the Principles of Hainan 
 Action, 2d ed., pp. 131 et seq., which exposes a common fallacy on this 
 subject. "It is absurd to say, that, in compassionatin<f the distress of 
 others, we are only affected by our own pain and uneasiness, since this 
 very pain arises from our compassion. It is putting the effect before the 
 cause. Before I can be affected by my own pain, I must be put in pain. 
 If I am affected by, or feel pain and sorrow at, an idea existing in my 
 mind, which idea is neither pain itself nor an idea of my own pain, in 
 what sense can this be called the looe of myself? Again, I am equally nt 
 a loss to conceive how, if the pain which this idea gives me does not impel 
 me to set rid of it as it gives me pain, or as it actually affects myself a-; 
 a distinct, momentary impression, but as it is connected with other ideas, 
 that is, is supposed to affect another, — how, I say, this can be considered 
 as the effect of self-love. The object, effort, or struggle of the mind is not 
 to remove the idea or immediate feeling of pain from the [sympathizing] 
 individual, or to put a stop to that feeling as it affects his temporary 
 interest, but to produce a disconnection (whatever it may cost him) be- 
 tween certain ideas of other things existing in his mind, namely, the idea 
 of pain and the idea of another person. Self, mere physical self, is 
 entirely forgotten, both practically and consciously. • 
 
 " ' 0, but,' it will be said, ' I cannot help feeling pain when I see another 
 in actual pain, or get rid of the idea by any other means than by relieving 
 the person, and knowing that it exists no longer.' But will this pi-ove 
 that my love of others is regulated by my love of myself, or that my self- 
 love is subservient to my love of others ? What hinders me fi*om im- 
 mediately removing the painful idea from my mind but that sympathy 
 with others which stands in the ivay of it? That this independent attach- 
 ment to the good of others is a natural, unavoidable feeling of the human 
 mind is what I do not wish to deny. It is also, if you will, a mechanical 
 feeling ; but then it is neither a physical nor a selfish mechanism. I see 
 8 
 
86 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 Although, however, this observation seems to me 
 decisive against the theory in question, in whatever 
 form it may be proposed, I cannot omit this opportu- 
 nity of examining a new modification of the same 
 hypothesis, which occurs in Mr. Smith's Theory of 
 Moral Sentiments. The view of the subject which he 
 has taken has^the merit of entire originality, and, like 
 all his other speculations and opinions, derives a strong 
 recommendation from the splendid abilities and ex- 
 emplary worth of the author. I hope, therefore, that 
 the critical strictures upon it which I am now to offer 
 will not be considered as a useless or unreasonable 
 interruption of the discussions in which we are at 
 present engaged. 
 
 Before entering on this argument, I shall just men- 
 tion another hypothesis concerning the origin of com- 
 passion, which seems to me to approach more nearly 
 to that of Mr Smith than any thing else I have met 
 with in the works of his predecessors. I allude to the 
 account of pity given by Hobbes, who defines it to be 
 " the imagination or fiction of future calamity to our- 
 
 colors, hear sounds, feel heat and cold, and believe that two and two make 
 four, by a certain mechanism, or from the necessary structure of the 
 human mind ; but it does not follow that all this has any thing to do with 
 self love. One half of the process, namely, the connecting the sense of 
 pain with the idea of it, is evidently contrary to self-love ; nor do I sec 
 any more reason for ascribing to that principle the uneasiness, or active 
 iwpidse which follows, since my own good is neither thought of in it. nor 
 follows from it except indirectly, slowly, and conditionally. The mechan- 
 ical tendency to my own ea.se or gratification is so far from being the real 
 spring or natural motive of compassion, that it is constantly overruled and 
 defeated by it. 
 
 " Lastly, should any desperate metaphysician persist in affirming that 
 my "love of others is still the love of myself, because the impression 
 exciting m/sympathy must exist in my mind and so be a part of myself, 
 1 should answer that this is using words without affixing any distinct 
 meaning to them.. The love or affection excited by any general idea 
 existing in my mind can no more be said to be the love of myself, than 
 the idea of another person is the idea of myself because it is I who per- 
 ceive it. This method of reasoning, however, will not go a great way 
 to prove the doctrine of an abstract principle of self-interest, for bv 
 ilic same rule it would follow that I hate myself in hating any other 
 person " 
 
 From the preceding extract it will be wen that Hazlitt does not concede 
 so much ns Stewart to self-love. — Ed. 
 
PITY TO THE DISTRESSED. 87 
 
 selves proceeding from the sense of another man's ca- 
 lamity." * In what respect this theory coincides with 
 Mr. Smith's will appear from the remarks I am about 
 to make. In the mean time, I shall only bbserve how 
 completely the futility of Hobbes's definition is exposed 
 by a single remark of Butler, that, if it were just, it 
 would follow that the most fearful temper would be 
 the most compassionate.f We may add, too, that our 
 pity is more strongly excited by the distresses of an 
 infant than by those of the aged, although the former 
 are such as we cannot possibly be exposed to suffer a 
 second time, and the latter such as we must expect to 
 endure sooner or later, if the period of life should be 
 prolonged to that term which the weakness of most in- 
 dividuals disposes them to wish for. 
 
 IV. Adam Smith's Theory of Pity.] The leading 
 principles of Mr. Smith's theory, in as far as it applies 
 to pity or compassion, are comprehended in the three 
 following propositions : — 
 
 1st. That it is from our own experience alone we 
 can form any idea of the sufferings of another person 
 on any particular occasion. 
 
 2d. That the only manner in which we can form 
 this idea is by supposing ourselves in the same circum- 
 stances with him, and then conceiving how we should 
 be affected if we were so situated. 
 
 3d. That the uneasiness which we feel in conse- 
 quence of the sufferings of another arises from our 
 conceiving those sufferings to be our own. 
 
 The first of these propositions is unquestionable. 
 Our notions of pain and of suffering are undoubt- 
 edly derived, in the first instance, from our own experi- 
 ence. 
 
 The second proposition is perhaps expressed with too 
 gi-eat a" degree of latitude. That, in order to under- 
 
 * Human Nature, Chap ix. § 10. 
 
 t See an excellent note on Sermon V. It contains an important 
 hint about sympathy, which Mr. Smith has prosecuted with great iu- 
 gonuity. 
 
OO INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 stand completely the sufferings of our neighbours in 
 any particular instance, it is necessary for us to have 
 been once placed in circumstances somewhat similar to 
 his, I believe to be true, and there can be no doubt that 
 it is frequently useful to us to direct our attention to 
 the distresses of others, by conceiving their situation to 
 be ours ; but it does not appear to me that this process 
 of the mind takes place in every case in which we are 
 affected by the sight of misery. Whfn we are once 
 satisfied that a particular situation is a natural source 
 of misery to the person placed in it, the bare percep- 
 tion of the situation is sufficient to excite an unpleas- 
 ant emotion in the spectator, without any reference 
 whatever to himself This is easily explicable on the 
 common doctrine of the association of ideas. 
 
 Nor is this all. The looks, the gestures, the tones 
 of distress, speak in a moment from heart to heart, and 
 affect us with an anguish more exquisitely piercing 
 than any we are able to produce by all the various 
 expedients we can employ to assist the imagination in 
 conceiving the situation of the sufferer. 
 
 But, not to insist on these considerations, and 
 granting the second proposition in all its extent, (he 
 third proposition is by no means a necessary conse- 
 quence of it; for even in those cases in which we 
 endeavour to awaken our compassion for the sufferings 
 of our neighbour by conceiving ourselves placed in bis 
 situation, our compassion is not founded on a belief 
 that the .sufferings are ours. So long as we conceive 
 ourselves in distress, we feel a certain degree of unea- 
 siness ; but this is not the uneasiness of compassion. 
 In order to excite this, we must apply to our neighbour 
 the result of what we have experienced in ourselves ; 
 or, in other words, having formed an idea of what he 
 saffers by bringing his case home to ourselves, we 
 must carry our attention back to him before he be- 
 comes the object of our pity. Nor is there any thin» 
 mysterious or wonderful in this process of the mind. 
 That we are so formed as to expect that the operation 
 of the same cause, in similar circumstances, will be 
 
PITY TO THE DISTRESSED. 89 
 
 attended with the same result, might be shown from 
 a thousand instances.' It is thus, that, having tried a 
 physical experiment on certain substances, I take lor 
 granted that the result of a similar experiment oa 
 similar substances will be the same. It is thus that 
 I conclude, with the most perfect confidence, that a 
 wound given to ray body in a particular organ would 
 be instantly fatal; although it is worthy of remark, 
 that ih this case I have no direct evidence from experi- 
 ence that the internal structure of my body is similar 
 to those of the bodies which anatomists have hitherto 
 examined. Now, I apprehend, it is in the same man- 
 ner, that, having once experienced the pain produced 
 by an instrument of torture applied to myself, I take 
 for granted that the effect will be the same when it is 
 applied to another. In consequence of this application, 
 the sentiment of compassion arises in my mind, during 
 the continuance of which my attention is completely 
 engrossed, not about myself, but about the real sufferer. 
 And, indeed, if the case were otherwise, compassion 
 would be ultimately resolvable into a selfish principle, 
 and those men would be most ready to feel the dis- 
 tresses of others who are most impatient of their own. 
 A remark similar to this, as I have already observed, is 
 nade by Dr. Butler, with respect to a theory of 
 Hobbes, who defines pity to be the fiction of future 
 calamity to ourselves from the sight of the present 
 calamity of another. " Were this the case," says Butler, 
 " the most fearful tempers would be the most compas- 
 sionate." According to Mr. Smith, pity arises from the 
 fiction, not of future,- but of present, calamity to our- 
 selves. The two theories approach very nearly to each 
 other, and the same answer is applicable to both.* 
 
 * So far, indeed, is it from being true that those who are most impatient 
 under their personal distresses are the most prone to commiserate the 
 soiTows of others, that I apprehend the reverse of this supposition will be 
 fbund agreeable to universal experience. The most unfeeling characters 
 I have ever known have been men. not only tremblingly aliie to the slight- 
 est evil which affected themselves, but whose wliole attention scemud 
 manifestly to be engrossed with their 'own comforts and luxuries. On the 
 other hand, the nearest approaches I have happened to witness to stoical 
 
 8* 
 
90 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES Of A(5TI0N. 
 
 In further proof that the distress produced by the suf- 
 ferings of others arises from a conception that these dis- 
 tresses are our own, Mr. Smith mentions a variety of 
 facts which he thinks establish his doctrine with de- 
 monstrative evidence. " When we see a stroke aimed 
 and just ready to fall upon the leg or arm of another 
 person, we naturally shrink and draw back our own 
 leg, or our own arm, and when it does fall we feel it in 
 some measure, and are hurt by it as well as the sufferer. 
 The mob, when they are gazing at a dancer on the 
 slack rope, naturally writhe and twist and balance their 
 own bodies as they see him do, and as they feel that 
 they must themselves do, if in his situation." In gen- 
 eral, he observes, that, " as to be in pain or distress of 
 any kind excites the most excessive sorrow, so to con- 
 ceive or to imagine that we are in it excites some de- 
 gree of the same emotion, in proportion to the vivacity 
 or dulness of the conception." * 
 
 The facts here appealed to by Mr. Smith are indeed 
 extremely curious, and I da not pretend to explain 
 them. They are not, however, singular facts in our 
 constitution, but belong to that class of phenomena 
 which medical writers refer to what they call the piHn- 
 ciple of imitation.^ Of this kind are the contagious 
 effects of hysterics, of yawning, of laughter, of crying, 
 &c. In these last cases Mr. Smith would suppose, if 
 he we're to apply the same reasoning he uses in analo- 
 gous instances, that the effect arises from our conceiv- 
 ing ludicrous or sorrowful ideas similar to those by 
 which these emotions are produced. But the primary 
 
 patience and fortitude under severe suffering have been invariably accom- 
 panied with a peculiarly strong disposition to social tenderness and sym- 
 pathy. Gray alludes to this contrast in his Ode cm a Distant Prospect of 
 Eton College: — 
 
 " To ea«h his sufferings ; all are men 
 Condemned alike to groan ; 
 The feeling, for another's pain, 
 The unfeeling, for his own." 
 * Theory of Moral Sentiments. Part I. Sect. I. Chap i. 
 t In my Philosophi/ of the Human Mind, Vol. III., I have distinguished 
 this law of our nature Iiy the more precise and unequivocal title of the 
 Principle of Sympathetic imitation. 
 
MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 91 
 
 effect seems to be produced on the body, and the secon- 
 dary effect on the mind ; somewhat in the same man 
 ner in which we can excite a sensible degree of the pas- 
 sion of anger in our own breasSt by imitating the looks 
 and gestures which are expressive of rage. It does not 
 appear to me that this bodily contagion of the expres- 
 sion of passion has any immediate connection with our 
 fellow-feeling with distress. If it had, those would be 
 most liable to it who felt the most deeply for the sor- 
 rows of others, — a conclusion which is certainly not 
 agreeable to fact. During the madness of Belvidera, 
 those who are the most powerfully affected by the rep- 
 resentation are not the nervous ladies who catch from 
 the actress something similar to a hysteric paroxysm ; 
 but they who, retaining their own reason, reflect on the 
 train of misfortunes which have unhinged her mind, 
 and who weep for her madness, not so much as a mis- 
 fortune in itself, as an indication of that conflict of 
 passions by which it was produced. The effect in the 
 former case depends on a peculiar irritability and 
 mobility of the bodily frame altogether unconnected 
 with any of the moral sympathies or sensibilities of 
 our nature. 
 
 Section VI. 
 
 OF RESENTMENT, AND THE VARIOUS OTHER ANGRY AF 
 FECTIONS GRAFTED UPON IT, COMMONLY CONSIDERED 
 BY ETHICAL WRITERS AS MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
 
 I. Enumeration of the Malevolent Affections original- 
 inff in Resentment.]- The names which are given to 
 these affections in common discourse are various, Ha- 
 tred, Jealousy, Envy, Revenge, Misanthropy ; but i ! 
 may be doubted if there be any principle of this kind 
 implanted by nature in the mind, excepting the Princi- 
 ple of Resentment, the others being grafted on this 
 stock by our erroneous opinions and criminal habits. 
 
 Emulation, indeed, (which is unquestionably an orig' 
 inal principle of action,) is treated of by Dr. Reid un- 
 
92 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OP ACTION. 
 
 der the title of the Malevolent Affections. But I for- 
 merly gave my reasons for classing this principle with 
 the desires, and not with the affections. I acknowl- 
 edged, indeed, that emulation is often accompanied 
 with ill-will to our rival ; but the malevolent affection 
 is only a concomitant circumstance ; and it is not the 
 affection, but the desire of superiority, which can be 
 justly regarded as the active principle. 
 
 Nor is this sentiment of ill-will a necessary concomi- 
 tant of the desire of superiority; for there is unques- 
 tionably a solid distinction between emulation and en- 
 vy, the latter of which is a corruption of the former, 
 disgraceful to the character and ruinous to the happi- 
 ness of whoever indulges it. In the case of envy, the 
 malevolent affection arises, I believe, generally from 
 some error of the judgment or some illusion of the 
 imagination, leading us to refer the cause of our own 
 want of success either to some injustice on the part of 
 our rival, or to an unjust partiality in the world, which 
 overrates his merits and undervalues ours. In both of 
 these cases, the desire of superiority generates malevo- 
 lent affections, by first leading us to apprehend injus- 
 tice, and thus exciting the natural passion of resentment. 
 
 Before proceeding to consider this principle of ac- 
 tion, it may be proper again to remark, that, when the 
 epithet malevolent is applied to it, that word must not 
 be understood to imply any thing criminal, at least so 
 long as resentment is restrained within proper bounds, 
 after having been originally excited by real injustice. 
 The epithet malevolent is used only to express that tem- 
 porary ill-will towards the author of the apprehended in- 
 justice with which resentment is necessarily accompa- 
 nied till it begins to subside. 
 
 One of the first authors who examined with success 
 this part of our constitution, and illustrated the impor- 
 tant purposes to which it is subservient, was Bishop 
 Butler, in an excellent discourse printed among his Ser- 
 mons. The hints he has thrown out have evidenlly 
 been of great use both to Lord Kames and Mr. Smith 
 in their speculations concerning the principles of morals. 
 
MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 93 
 
 II. Instinctive and Deliberate Resentment.] To But- 
 ler we are indebted for the illustration of a very impor- 
 tant distinction (which had been formerly hinted at by 
 Hobbes) betw^een instinctive and deliberate resentment. 
 Instinctive resentment operates in men exactly as in 
 the lower animals, arising necessarily from any feeling 
 of pain excited by external objects, and prompting us 
 to a retaliation upon the cause of our suffering, without 
 any exercise whatever of reflection and reason. It is 
 thus that a child beats the ground after it has hurt it- 
 self by a fall, and that we sometimes see a passionate 
 man wreak his vengeance on inanimate objects by dash- 
 ing them to pieces. This species of resentment, how- 
 ever, subsides instantly, and we are ready next moment 
 to smile at the absurdity of our conduct. 
 
 Deliberate resentment is excited only by intentional 
 Injury, and therefore implies a sense of justice, or of 
 moral good or evil. It is plainly peculiar to a rational 
 nature, though perhaps it is not very distinguishable 
 from instinctive or animal resentment in the ruder state 
 of our own species. It is observed by Dr. Robertson, 
 that " the desire of vengeance which takes possession 
 of the heart of savages resembles the instinctive fage 
 of an animal rather than the passion of a man, and 
 that it turns with undiscerning fury even against inani- 
 mate objects." He adds, " that, if struck with an ar- 
 row in battle, they will tear it from the wound, .break 
 and bite it with their teeth, and dash it on the ground."* 
 
 This distinction, too, is much insisted on by Lord 
 Karaes in various parts of his writings ; and it is from 
 him that I have borrowed the phrase of instinctive re- 
 sentment, which he has substituted instead of sudden 
 resentment, employed by Butler. 
 
 III. Tlie Final Cause of Instinctive Resentment.'] The 
 final cause of instinctive resentment was plainly to de- 
 fend us against sudden violence, (where reason would 
 come too late to our assistance,) by rousing the powers 
 
 * History of America, Book IV. ^ 73. 
 
94 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 both of mind and body to instant and vigorous exer- 
 tion. A number of our other instincts are perfectly >■ 
 analogous to this. Such, for example, is the instinctive 
 effort we make to recover ourselves when we are in 
 danger of losing our balance,* and the instinctive de- 
 
 * Although I have followed Dr. Reid's language in calling this an in- 
 stinctive effort, I am abundantly aware that the expression is not unexcep- 
 tionable. On this head I perfectly agree (excepting in one single point) 
 with the following remarks of Gravesande : — 
 
 " II y a quelque chose d'admirable dans le moyen ordinaire dont les 
 hommes se servent, pour s'empecher de tomber : car dans le tems que, 
 par quelque mouvement, le poids du corps s'augmente d'une cotfe, un 
 autre mouvement retahlit I'equilibre dans I'instant. On attribue commune- 
 ment la chose a un instinct naturel quoiqu'il faille necessairement I'attriba- 
 er 4 un art perfectionni par I'exercise. 
 
 " Les enfans ignorent absolument cat art dans les preraiires ann6es de 
 Icur vie ; ils I'apprennent peu a peu, et s'y perfectionnent, parce qu'ils ont 
 continuellement oitcasion de s"y exercer ; exercise qui, dans la suite, n'exi- 
 ge preaque plus aucune attention de leur part ; tout comrae un musicien 
 remue les doigts, suivant les regies de I'art, pendant qu'il apper<;oit li peine 
 qu'il y fasse le moindre attention." — (Eiwres P/dlosophiques de M. S'Gnive- 
 sande, p. 121, 2de Partie, Amsterdam, 1774. 
 
 The only thing I am disposed to object to in the foregoing passage is 
 that clause where the author ascribes the effort in question to an art. Is it 
 not manifestly as wide of the truth to refer it to this source as to >■ pure 
 in.stinct ? 
 
 The word art implies intelligence, — the perception of an end, and tlie 
 choice of means. But where is there any appearance of either in an oper- 
 ation common to the whole species, (not excepting the idiot and the in- 
 sane,) and which is practised as successfully by the brutes as by rational 
 creatures ? 
 
 Elephants (It is well known) were taught by the ancients to walk on the 
 tight rope, on which occasions their trunk probably performed the office of 
 a pole. Whoever has seen a peacock walk in a windy day along the 
 branch of a tree must have observed the address with which he avails 
 himself of his tail for the same purpose. 
 
 Nothing, however, can place in a stronger light the capacity of the 
 brutes to acquire the nice management of the centre of gravity, than the 
 mathematical exactness with which we may daily see horses in the ciirus 
 adjusting the inclination of their bodies to the velocity of their circular 
 speed. Here, indeed, a good deal is to bo ascribed to the effects of human 
 dijicipline, but by far the greater part of the groundwork is laid by nature 
 in the instinctive dispositions of the animal. The acquisition seems to be 
 almost as easy as that of the habits which constitute the acquired percep- 
 tions of sight. 
 
 In one of the last volumes of Dr. Clarke's Travels there is a figure of 
 a goat, whom the author saw standing with its four feet collected together 
 on the top of a cylindrical piece of wood of a few inches diametci- No- 
 body can doubt that the effects of disci|iline were greatly facilitated in this 
 instance by the natural instincts of the goat, which probably accommo- 
 dated themselves witli very little instruction to the artificial circumstances 
 in which they were forced to operate. 
 
MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 95 
 
 spatch with which we shut the eyelids when an object 
 is made to pass rapidly before the face. In general it 
 will be found, that, as nature has taken upon herself 
 the care of our preservation daring the infancy of our 
 reason, so in every case in which our existence is threat- 
 ened by dangers, against which reason is unable to 
 supply a remedy loilh sufficient proviptilude, she contin- 
 ues this guardian care through the whole of life. 
 
 The disposition which we sometimes feel, when un- 
 der the influence of instinctive resentment, to wreak 
 our vengeance upon inanimate objects, has suggested 
 to Dr. Reid a very curious query. Whether, upon such 
 an occasion, we may have a momentary belief that the 
 object is alive ? For my own part, I confess my incli- 
 nation to answer this question in the affirmative. I 
 agree with Dr. Reid in thinking, that, unless we had 
 such a belief, our conduct could not possibly be what 
 it frequently is, and that it is not till this momentary 
 belief is at an end that our conduct appears to our- 
 selves to be absurd and ludicrous. With respect to in- 
 fants, there are many facts besides that now under con- 
 sideration which render it probable that their first ap- 
 prehensions lead them to believe all the objects around 
 them to be animated, and that it is only in consequence 
 of experience and reason that they come to form the 
 notion of insentient substances. If this be the case, 
 the illusion of imagination which leads us to ascribe 
 life to things inanimate, when we are under the influ- 
 ence of instinctive resentment, may perhaps be owing 
 to a momentary relapse into those apprehensions which 
 were habitually familiar to us in the first years of our 
 existence. 
 
 Bat whatever theory we adopt on the subject, there 
 can be no doubt about the fact, that the final cause of 
 this law of our jiature was to secure and guard us 
 against the sudden effects of external injuries in cases 
 where there is not time for deliberation and judgment. 
 With respect to the injuries we are liable to from our 
 fellow-creatures, it secures us further by its effect in re- 
 straining tliein from acts of violence. " It is a kind of 
 
96 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF a'CTION. 
 
 penal statute promulgated by nature, the execution of 
 which is committed to the sufferer." * - 
 
 IV. Final Cause of Deliberate Resentment] In man 
 the instinctive resentment subsides as soon as he is sat- 
 isfied that no injury was intended ; and it is only inten- 
 tional injury that is the object of settled and deliberate 
 resentment. The final cause of this species of resent- 
 ment is analogous to that of the other, — to serve as a 
 check on those men whose^ violent or malignant pas- 
 sions might lead them to disturb the happiness of their 
 fellow-creatures. 
 
 In order to secure still more eifectually so very im- 
 portant an end, we are so formed that the injustice of- 
 fered to others, as well as to ourselves, awakens our re- 
 sentment against the aggressor, and prompts us to take 
 part in the redress of their grievances. In this case the 
 emotion we feel is more properly denoted in out lan- 
 guage by the word indigTiation ; but (as Butler has re- 
 marked) our principle of action is in both cases funda- 
 mentally the same, — an aversion or displeasure at in- 
 justice and cruelty, which interests us in the punishment 
 of those by whom they have been exhibited. Resent- 
 ment, therefore, when restrained within due bounds, 
 seems to be rather a sentiment of hatred against vice 
 than an affection of ill'-will against any of our fellow- 
 creatures ; and, on this account, I am somewhat doubt- 
 ful (notwithstanding the apology I have already made 
 for the title of this section) whether I have not followed 
 Dr. Reid too closely in characterizing resentment, con- 
 sidered as an original part of the constitution of man, 
 by the epithet of malevolent. 
 
 An additional confirmation of this doctrine arises 
 from the following consideration : — that, in candid and 
 generous minds, the whole object of resentment is to 
 convince the person who has injured them that he has 
 treated them unjustly, — to show him that he has 
 formed an unfair estimate of their characters and of 
 
 * Reid, On the Active Powers, Essiiy III. Part II. Cha 
 
MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 97 
 
 their lalent?, and to obtain snch a superiority over him 
 in point of power as to be able, by a generous forgive- 
 ness of his aggressions, to convert liis malice into 
 g-rafitude. In other words, in such minds the great 
 object of resentment is to correct the faults of the 
 delinquent, and to make a friend of an enemy. 
 
 This last observation points out, by the way, the 
 final cause of a very remarkable circumstance accom- 
 panying the affection of resentment when excited by 
 an injury offered to ourselves. We desire not o^nly the 
 punishment of the offender, but that we should have 
 the power of inflicting the punishment with our own 
 hand. It is probable that this originates partly in our 
 love of power ; but I believe it is chiefly owing to a 
 secret wish of convincing our enemy, by the magna- 
 nimity of our conduct, how much he had mistaken the 
 object of his hatred. In the mean and the malicious, 
 the passion of revenge is gratified by any suffering in- 
 flicted on an enemy, whether by an indifferent person 
 or by the hand of Heaven. 
 
 After all, however, that I have advanced in justifica- 
 tion of this part of the human constitution, I must ac- 
 knowledge that there is no principle of action which 
 requires more pains, even in the best minds, to restrain 
 it within the bounds of moderation. The imagination 
 exaggerates the injuries that we ourselves have re- 
 ceived; and mistaken views of human nature, concur- 
 ring with low spirits or disappointed ambition, lead us 
 to ascribe to our opponents worse motives than those 
 from which they really have acted. We seldom, too, 
 are sufficiently attentive to the situations and feelings 
 of other men, and even where we do make an effort to 
 place ourselves in their circumstances, it is not every 
 nmn who is possessed of the degree of imagination 
 requisite for that purpose. Our own sufferings, at the 
 same time, are always present to our view, and force 
 themselves on the notice of the most thoughtless with- 
 out any effort on their part. • And hence it is that an 
 irritability to personal injury is often accompanied with 
 a callousness to the feelings of others, and even with a 
 9 
 
98 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. , 
 
 disposition to put unfavorable constructions on their 
 
 actions. ^ 
 
 V. How checked and restrained by Indignation in 
 Others.] In order to check the excesses to which this 
 ungovernable passion is apt to lead us, nature has 
 made a beautiful provision in that sentiment of indig- 
 nation which the sight of injustice excites in the breast 
 of the unconcerned spectator. This sentiment inter- 
 ests society in general in the cause of the oppressed, 
 and serves to protect the weak against the wrongs of the 
 powerful. As it is not, however, liable to the same ex- 
 cesses with the passion of resentment excited by a per- 
 sonal injury, it sympathizes only with the injured while 
 his retaliations are restrained within the bounds of mod- 
 eration. When resentment rises to cruel and relent- 
 less revenge, unconcerned spectators become disposed 
 to abandon the cause they had espoused, and to trans- 
 fer their protection to the original aggressor. 
 
 It does not follow from this observation that resent- 
 ment and indignation are two distinct principles ; for 
 the whole difference between them may be accounted 
 for from the different views we naturally take of our 
 own wrongs and those of others. They are both found- 
 ed in a sentiment of aversion and ill-will excited by 
 injustice ; but the one is more apt to pass the bounds 
 of moderation than the other, in consequence of the 
 facts being more strongly obtruded on our notice, and 
 often exaggerated by the heightenings of imagination. 
 
 Mr. Smith has endeavoured, on the principles now 
 stated, to account for the origin of our sense of justice. 
 The passion of resentment, he thinks, when excited by 
 a personal injury, would set no bounds to its gratifica- 
 tion, but would lead us to sacrifice every thing to re- 
 venge. But, as we finA that other men would not go 
 along with us when our revenge ceases to bear any 
 proportion to the original injury, we learn to adjust our 
 retaliations, not to our o^i\ feelings,' but to those of 
 the impartial spectator. Hence the origin of our sense 
 of justice, our regard for which arises from our desire 
 of obtaining the sympathy and the support of society. 
 
^ MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 99 
 
 I shall afterwards state some objections to this theo- 
 ry, which appear to me unanswerable. In particular, I 
 shall attempt to show, that, so far is our idea of justice 
 from being posterior to the affections of resentment and 
 indignation, and to a comparison between our own 
 feelings and those of other men, that the very emotion 
 of deliberate resentment presupposes the idea of jus- 
 tice, and of what is morally right and wrong. The 
 fact, however, on which the theory proceeds is a most 
 important one, and Mr. Smith has had great merit in 
 illustrating it so fully. Lord Kames, in his Historical 
 Law Tracts, has made a happy application of it to ex- 
 plain the origin and progress of criminal law. Which 
 of these two authors first conceived the idea of apply- 
 ing it to jurisprudence does not appear to me to be per- 
 fectly certain. Both of them have evidently been 
 much indebted, in their speculations concerning this 
 part of human nature, to the Sermons of Bishop Butler. 
 
 VI. All the Malevolent Affections attended by a Sense 
 of Pain.\ I shall conclude this subject at present by 
 remarking, that, as all the benevolent affections are ac- 
 companied with pleasant emotions, so all the malevo- 
 lent^ affections are sources of. pain and disquiet. This 
 is true even of resentment, how justly soever it may be 
 roused by the injurious conduct of others. Here, too, 
 we may perceive a final cause perfectly analogous to 
 that of which I formerly took notice in treating of the 
 benevolent affections. As the pleasant emotion accom- 
 panying these seems evidently to have been intended 
 as an incitement to us to cultivate and cherish them, so 
 the painful feeling accompanying resentment, and every 
 other aflfection which is hostile to our fellow-creatures, 
 serves as a check on the habitual indulgence of them, 
 and induces us, as soon as the first impulse of passion 
 is over, and reason begins to reassume her empire, t^ 
 obliterate every trace of them from the memory. Dr. 
 Reid has expressed this last observation with great 
 beauty, and has enforced it with uncommon felicity of 
 illustration. " When we consider that, on the one 
 
100 INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 hand, every benevolent affection is pleasant in its na- 
 ture, is health to the soul and a cordial to the spirits ; 
 that nature has made even the outward expression of 
 benevolent affections in the countenance pleasant to 
 every beholder, and the chief ingredient of beauty in 
 'the human face divine'; that, on the other hand, every 
 malevolent affection, not only in its faulty excesses, but 
 in its moderate degrees, is vexation and disquiet to the 
 mind, and even gives deformity to the countenance, it 
 is evident that by these signals nature loudly admon- 
 ishes us to use the former as our daily bread, both for 
 health and pleasure, but to consider the latter as a nau- 
 seous medicine, which is never to be taken without ne- 
 cessity, and even then in no greater quantity than the 
 necessity requires." * 
 
 After the clear, and, at the same time, cautious terms 
 in which Butler, Kames, and Smith have expressed 
 themselves concerning resentment, it is surprising to 
 find some late writers of considerable name speaking 
 of the pleasure of revenp;e as a natural gratification, of 
 which every man is entitled to look forward to the en- 
 joyment; and which, after the establishment of the po- 
 litical union, every man has a right to insist upon at 
 the hands of the civil magistrate. Such, in particular, 
 seems to be the opinion of Mr. Bentham, and of his 
 very ingenious and eloquent commentator, M. Du- 
 mont: — 
 
 " Every species of satisfaction naturally brings in its 
 train a punishment to the defendant, a pleasure of ven- 
 geance for the party injured. This pleasure is a gain : 
 it recalls the riddle of Salmson ; it is the sweet which 
 comes out of the strong; it is the honey gathered from 
 the carcass of the lion. Produced without expense, 
 net result of an operation necessary on other accounts, 
 it is an enjoyment to be cultivated as well as any oth- 
 er ; for the pleasure of vengeance, considered abstract- 
 ly, is, like every other pleasure, only good in itself. 
 It is innocent so long as it is confined within the limits 
 
 * On the Active Powers, Essay III. Part II. Chap. vi. 
 
MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 101 
 
 of the laws; it becomes criminal at the moment it 
 breaks them Useful to the individual, this mo- 
 tive is also useful to the public, or, to speak more cor- 
 rectly, necessary. It is this vindictive satisfaction 
 which often unties the tongue of the \^ntness ; it is 
 this which generally animates the breast of the accuser, 
 and engages him in the service of justice, notwith- 
 standing the trouble, the expenses, the enmities, to 
 which it exposes him ; it is this which overcomes the 
 public pity in the punishment of the guilty 
 
 " Some commonplace moralists, always the dupes of 
 words, cannot understand this truth. ' The desire of 
 vengeance is odious ; all satisfaction drawn from this 
 source is vicious ; forgiveness of injuries is the noblest 
 of virtues.' Doubtless, implacable characters, whom 
 no satisfaction can soften, are hateful and ought to be 
 so. The forgiveness of injuries,is a virtue necessary to 
 humanity; but it is only a virtue when justice has 
 done its work, when it has furnished or refused a sat- 
 isfaction. Before this, to forgive injuries is to invite 
 their perpetration, — is to be, not the friend, but the 
 enemy of society. What could wickedness desire more 
 than an arrangement by which oifences should be al- 
 ways followed by pardon ? " * 
 
 The observations above quoted from Butler, Reid, 
 and Smith will at once point out the limitations with 
 which this passage must be understood, and will fur- 
 nish a triumphant reply to it where it departs from the 
 truth.f 
 
 * Bentliam's Principles of Penal Law, Part I. Chap. xvi. The French 
 translation by M. Dumont was published before the original, and was quot- 
 ed by Mr. Stewait. I have taken the liberty to substitute the original, 
 which has since ajipearcd — Ed. 
 
 1 To the works already cited or referred to in this and the preceding 
 chapters as illustrating what Mr. Stewart calls the Instinctive Principles 
 of Action should he added Brown's Philmopliy of the Human ifind, Leet. 
 liXV.- LXXII. ; Cogim's Philosophical Treatise on the Passions; lianch's 
 Psycholofji/, Part U. Sect. 11.; Damiron, Psychologies Sect. IL Chap. 
 u. — Ed. 
 
BOOK II. 
 
 OF OUR RATIONAL* AND GOVERNING PRINCI- 
 PLES OF ACTION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF A PRUDENTIAL REGARD TO OUR OWN HAPPINESS, 
 OR WHAT IS COMMONLY CALLED BY MORALISTS THE 
 PRINCIPLE OE SELF-LOVE. 
 
 I. Difference between the Animal and Rational Na- 
 tures.] The constitution of man, if it were composed 
 merely of the active principles hitherto mentioned, 
 would, in some important respects, be analogous to 
 that of the brutes. ^ His reason, however, renders his 
 nature and condition, on the whole, essentially differ- 
 ent from theirs ; and, by elevating him to the rank of 
 a moral agent, distinguishes him from the lower animals 
 still more remarkably than by the superiority it imparts 
 to his intellectual endowments. 
 
 Of this want of reason in the brutes, it is an obvious 
 result, that they are incapable of looking forward to 
 consequences, or of comparing together the different 
 gratifications of which they are susceptible; and, ac- 
 cordingly, as far as we can perceive, they yield to every 
 present impulse. Among the inhabitants of this globe 
 
 * To various active principles which have been already under our con- 
 sideration, such, for instance, as the desire of knowledge, the desire of es- 
 teem, pity to the distressed, &c., &e., the epithet rational may undoubtedly 
 be applied in one sense with propriety, as they exclusively belong to ration- 
 al beings ; but they are yet of a nature essentially different from tho>.e ac- 
 tive principles of which we are now to treat, and which I have distin- 
 guished by the title of Rational and Gooerning. My reasons for using this 
 language will appear in tlie sequel. 
 
SELF-LOVE. 
 
 103 
 
 it is the exclusive prerogative of man, as an intelligent 
 being, to take a comprehensive survey of his various 
 principles of action, and to form plans of conduct for 
 the attainment of his favorite objects. He is possessed, 
 therefore, of the power of self-government; for how 
 could a plan of conduct be conceived and carried into 
 execution, without a power of refusing occasionally to 
 particular active principles the gratification which they 
 demand? This difference between the awmaZ and the 
 rational natures is well and concisely described by 
 S-neca in the following words: — ^^ Animalibus pro 
 ratione impetus; homini pro impetu ratio."* 
 
 According to the particular active principle which 
 influences habitually a man's conduct, his character re- 
 ceives its denomination of covetous, ambitious, studious, 
 or voluptuous; and his conduct is more or less syste- 
 matical as he adheres to his general plan with steadiness 
 or inconstancy. 
 
 II. Importance of Self-control and of systematic and 
 concentrated Action.] It is hardly necessary for me to 
 remark how much a man's success in his favorite 
 pursuit depends on the systematical steadiness with 
 which he keeps his object in view. That an un- 
 common measure of this quality often supplies, to a 
 great degree, the place of genius, and that, where it is 
 wanting, the most splendid endowments are of little 
 value, are facts which have been often insisted on by 
 philosophers, and which are confirmed to us by daily 
 experience. The effects of this concentration of the 
 attention to one particular end on the development 
 and improvement of the intellectual powers in general 
 have not been equally taken notice of. They are, 
 however, extremely remarkable, as every person will 
 readily acknowledge, who compares the sagacity and 
 penetration of those individuals who have enjoyed its 
 advantages with the weakness and incapacity and 
 
 * Seneca, De Ira, II. 16. "Animals have impulse for reason; n\uii, 
 reason for impulse." 
 
104 , SELF-LOVE. 
 
 dissipation of thought produced by an undecided 
 choice among the various pursuits which human life 
 presents to us. Even the systematical voluptuary, 
 while he commands a much greater variety of sensual 
 indulgences, and continues them to a much more 
 advanced age, than the thoughtless profligate, seldom 
 fails to give a certain degree of cultivation to his 
 understanding, by employing his faculties habitually in 
 one direction. 
 
 The only exception, perhaps, which can be men- 
 tioned to this last remark, occurs in the case of those 
 men whose leading principle of action is vanity, and 
 who, as their rule of conduct is borrowed from with- 
 out, must, in consequence of this very circumstance, 
 be perpetually wavering and inconsistent in their 
 pursuits. Accordingly, it will be found that such men, 
 although they have frequently performed splendid 
 actions, have seldom risen to eminence in any one 
 particular career, unless when, by a rare concurrence of 
 accidental circumstances, this career has been steadily 
 pointed out to them, through the whole of their lives, 
 by public opinion. 
 
 " Alcibiades," says a French writer, " was a man not 
 of" ambition, but of vanity, — a man whose ruling 
 passion was to rnaite a noise, and to furnish matter 
 of conversation to the Athenians. He possessed the 
 genius of a great man, but his soul, the springs of 
 which were too much slackened to urge him to con- 
 stant application, could not elevate him, but by starts, 
 to' pursuits worthy of his powers. I can scarcely bring 
 myself to believe that a man, whose versatility was 
 such as to enable him when in Sparta to assume the 
 severe manners of a Spartan, and when in Ionia to 
 indulge in the refined voluptuousness of an Ionian, 
 had received from nature the stamina of a great char- 
 acter." • 
 
 To what has been now observed in favor of syste- 
 
 * Quoted by Warburton in his note on Pope's character of the Duke of 
 Wharton, Morgl Essays, Ep. I. 190. 
 
SELF-LOVE. 105 
 
 matical views in the cqnduct of life, it may be added, 
 that they are incomparably more conducive to hap- 
 piripss than a course of action influenced merely by oc- 
 casional inclination and appetite. Lord Shaftesbury 
 goes so far as to assert, that even the man who is uni- 
 formly and systematically bad enjoys more happiness 
 (perhaps he would have been nearer the truth if he had 
 contented himself with saying that he suffers less misery) 
 than one of a more mixed and more inconsistent char- 
 acter. " It is the thorough profligate knave alone, the 
 complete unnatural villain, who can any way bid for 
 happiness with the honest man. True interest is whol- 
 ly on one side or on the other. All between is incon- 
 sistency, irresolution, remorse, vexation, and an ague 
 fit, — from hot to cold, — from one passion to another 
 quite contrary, — a perpetual discord of life, and an al- 
 ternate disquiet and self-dislike. The only rest or re- 
 pose must be through one determined considerate reso- 
 lution, which, when once taken, must be courageously 
 kept, and the passions and afl'ections brought under 
 obedience to it, — the temper steeled and hardened to 
 the mind, — the disposition to the judgment. Both 
 must agree, else all must be .disturbance and confu- 
 sion." * 
 
 To the same purpose Horace : — 
 
 " Qimnto constantior idem 
 In vitiis, tanto levior miser, ac prior illo 
 Qui jam contento, jam laxo fune Jaboret." t 
 
 III. Examples of the Evils of Inconstancy.] Of the 
 state of a mind originally possessed of the most splen- 
 did endowments, but where every thing- has been suf- 
 fered to run into anarchy from the want of some con- 
 trolling and steady principle of action, a masterly pic- 
 ture is drawn by Cicero in the following account of 
 Catiline. 
 
 * Essny on the Freedom of Wit and Humor. Part IV. Sect. 1. 
 
 t Hor., Sermo., Lib. II., Sat. VII. 18. 
 
 " So constant was ha to his darling vice, 
 Yet less a wretch than he who now maintains 
 A steady course, now drives with looser reins." 
 
106 SELF-LOVE. 
 
 " Utebatur hominibus improbis multis, et quidem op- 
 timis se viris deditum esse simulabat>; erant apud il- 
 ium illecebrse libidinum multse ; erant etiam industriae 
 quidam stimuli ac laboris: flagrabant libidinis vitia 
 apud ilium ; vigebant etiam studia rei militaris : neque 
 ego unquam fuisse tale monstrum in terris ullura puto, 
 tam ex contrariis diversisque inter se pugnantibus natu- 
 rEB studiis cupiditatibusque eonflatum. Quis clariori- 
 bus viris quodam tempore jucundior? quis turpioribus 
 conjunctior? quis civis meliorum partium aliquando? 
 quis tetrior hostis liuic civitati? quis in voluptatibus 
 inquinatior? quis in laboribus patientior? quis in rapa- 
 citate avarior ? quis in largitione effusior ? " * 
 
 In a person of this description, whatever indications 
 of genius and ability he may discover, and whatever 
 may be the great qualities he possesses, there is un- 
 doubtedly some tendency to insanity, which, if it were 
 not the radical source of the evil, could hardly fail, 
 sooner or later, to be the effect of a perpetual conflict 
 between different and discordant passions. And, ac- 
 cordingly, this is the idea which Sallust seems to have 
 formed of, this extraordinary man. " His eyes," he ob- 
 serves, " had a disagreeable glare ; his complexion was 
 pale; his walk sometimes quick, sometimes slow; and 
 his general appearance indicated a discomposure of 
 mind approaching to madness." 
 
 I would not be understood to insinuate by this last 
 observation, that, in every case in which we observe a 
 conduct apparently inconsistent and irregular, we are 
 entitled to conclude, all at once, that it proceeds from 
 accidental humor, or from a disordered understanding. 
 
 * Oralio pro M. Ccelio, Sect. V. and VI "He was acqu.ainted with a 
 great number of wicked men, yet a pretended admirer of the virtuous, 
 ilis house wiis furnished with a variety of temptations to lust and lewd- 
 ness, yet with several incitements also to industry and labor: it was a 
 scene of vicious pleasures, yet a school of martial exorcises. There nev- 
 er was such a monster on earth, compounded of passions so contrary and 
 opposite. Wlio was ever more. aureeaHle at one time to the best citizens ? 
 who more intimate at another with tlie worst? who a man of better pro- 
 fessions f who a fouler enemy to tliis city 1 who more intemperate in 
 pleasure ? who more patient in labor ? who more rapacious in plundering t 
 who more profuse in squandering i " 
 
SELF-LOVE. 107 
 
 The knowledge of a man's ruling passion is often a 
 key to what appeared, on a superficial view, to be per- 
 fectly inexplicable. Some excellent reflections on this 
 subject are to be found in the first of Pope's Moral 
 Essays, where they are most happily and forcibly illus- 
 trated by the character of the Duke of Wharton. 
 
 " Search, then, the ruling passion : there alone 
 The wild are constant, and the cunning known ; 
 The fool consistent, and the false sincere ; 
 Priests, princes, women, no dissemhiers here. 
 This clew, once found, unravels all the rest, 
 The prospect clears, and Wharton stands confessed,— 
 Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days. 
 Whose rilling passion was the lust of praise. 
 Born with whate'er could win it from the wise. 
 Women and fools must like him, or he dies. 
 
 Ask you why Wharton broke through every rule ? 
 'T was all for fear the knaves should call him fool. 
 Nature well known, no prodigies remain, 
 Comets are regular and Whai-ton plain." 
 
 I have only to add to these observations of Pope, 
 that I believe the inconsistencies he describes are chiefly 
 to be found in the conduct of men whose ruling prin- 
 ciple of action is vanily. I have already remarked, 
 that while every other principle which gains an ascen- 
 dant over the rest has a tendency to systematize our 
 course of action, vanity has, on the contrary, a tenden- 
 cy to disorganize it, leading us always to look abroad 
 for our rule of conduct, and thereby rendering it as wa- 
 vering and inconsistent as the opinions and fashions of 
 mankind. Where vanity, therefore, is the ruling pas- 
 sion of any individual, a want of system may be re- 
 garded as a necessary consequence of his general char- 
 acter. 
 
 IV. Why the Desire of Happiness should be account- 
 ed a Rational, and not an Instinctive, Principle of Ac- 
 tion.] From the foregoing considerations it sufficiently 
 appears how much the nature of man is discriminated 
 from that of the brutes, in, consequence of the compre- 
 hensive view which his reason enables him to take of 
 his different principles of action, and of the deliberate 
 
108 SELF-LOVE. 
 
 choice he has it in his power to make of fhe general 
 plan of conduct he is to pursue. There is another, 
 however, and a very important respect, in which the ra- 
 tional nature differs from the animal, — that it is able 
 to i'orm the notion of happiness, or loliat is g-ood for it 
 vpon the tvhole, and to deliberate about the most effec- 
 tual means of attaining it. It is owing to this distin- 
 guishing prerogative of our species that we can avail 
 ourselves of our past experience in avoiding those en- 
 joyments which we know will be vsucceeded by suffering, 
 and in submitting to lesser evils which we know are to 
 be instrumental in procuring us a greater accession of 
 good. " Sed inter hominem et belluam," says Cicero, 
 " hoc raaxime interest, quod haec tantum quantum sensu 
 movetur, ad id solum quod adest, quodque prEesens est, 
 se accommodat, paullulum admodum sentiens prseteri- 
 tum aut futurum. Homo autem, quoniam rationis est 
 particeps, per quam consequentia cernit, causas rerum 
 videt, earuraque prasgressus et antecessiones non igno- 
 rat; similitudines comparat, et rebus prsesentibus ad- 
 jungit atque annectit futuras ; facile totius vitee cursum 
 videt, ad eamque degendam praeparat res necessarias." * 
 It is implied in the very idea of happiness that it is 
 a desirable object, and therefore sell-love is an active 
 principle very different from those which have been 
 hitherto considered. These, for aught we know, may 
 be the effect of arbitrary appointment, and they have 
 accordingly been called implanted principles, or princi- 
 ples resulting from a positive accommodation of the 
 constitution of man to the objects with which he is 
 surrounded. The desire of happiness may be called a 
 rational principle of action, being peculiar to a rational 
 nature, and inseparably connected with it. It is im- 
 
 * De Off, Lib. I. 4. "But between man and the lower animals there' 
 is in other respects tlie greatest difference. The latter, fjuitled by tlio im- 
 pulse of their senses alone, are confined to what is present, (pr near, with a 
 very sliKhi knowledge of the past or the future. Man, however, who par- 
 takes of rciison, distinguishes the causes and the consequences of events 
 observes their progress, compares similar circumstances, connects the past 
 with the future, surveys the whole course of life, and makes the necessary 
 provision for its well-being." 
 
SELF-LOVE. 109 
 
 possible to conceive a being capable of forming the 
 notions of happiness and misery, to whom the one 
 shall not be an object of desire, and the other of 
 aversion.* 
 
 V. Objections to the Term Self-love.] In prefixing 
 to this chapter the title of Self-love, the ordinary 
 language of modern philosophy has been followed, as 
 I am always anxious to avoid unnecessary innovations 
 in the use of words. The expression, however, is ex- 
 ceptionable, for it suggests an analogy (where there Is 
 none in fact) between that regard which every rational 
 being must necessarily have to his own happiness, and 
 those benevolent affections which attach us* to our 
 fellow-creatures. There is surely nothing in the former 
 of these principles analogous to the affection of love; 
 and, therefore, to call it by the appellation of self-lave 
 is to suggest a theory with respect to its nature, and 
 a theory which has no foundation in tiaith. 
 
 The word (^CKam-ia was used among the Greeks 
 nearly in the same sense, and introduced similar inac- 
 curacies into their reasonings concerning the principle 
 of morals. In our language, however, the impropriety 
 does not stop here ; for not only is the phrase self-love 
 used as synonymous with the desire of happiness, but 
 it is often confounded (in consequence of an unfor- 
 tunate connection in their etymology) with the word 
 selfishness, which certainly, in strict propriety, denotes 
 a very different disposition of mind. In proof of this 
 
 * From this constitution of the human mind, as at once sensitive and 
 rational, arise necessarily the emotions of hope and fear, joy and sorrow. 
 The pleasurable emotion arising from pjood in expectation is called hope, 
 the painful emotion arising from apprehended evil is called fear. The 
 words ;oy and sorrow are more general, applicaliie alike to the emotions 
 arising from the experience and from the apprehension of good and of cvii. 
 The interest which our benevolent affections give us in the concerns of 
 othfrs inspires us (more particularly in the case of those to whom we are 
 fondly attached) with emotions analogous to those which have a reference 
 to onr own condition. 
 
 The laws which regulate thee emotions connected with the sensitive 
 nature of man deserve a careful examination; but the subject does not 
 fall under the present part of my plan. 
 
 10 
 
110 SELF-LOVE. 
 
 it is sufficient to observe, that the word selfishness is 
 always used in an unfavorable sense, whereas self-love, 
 or the desire of happiness, is inseparable from our 
 nature as rational and sensitive beings. 
 
 The mistaken notion that vice consists in an exces- 
 sive self-love naturally arose from the application of the 
 terra self-love, or ^CKavria, to express the desire of hap- 
 piness. As benevolence, or the love of mankind, con- 
 stitutes, in the opinion of many moralists, the whole 
 of virtue, so it was not unnatural to conclude that the 
 love of ourselves (which this mode of speaking seems 
 to contrast with benevolence) was the radical source 
 of all the vices. And, accordingly, this conclusion has 
 been adopted by many writers, both ancient and 
 modern. " If we scan," says Dr. Barrow, " the partic- 
 ular nature, and search into the original causes of the 
 several kinds of naughty dispositions in our souls, and 
 of miscarriages in our lives, we shall find inordinate 
 self-love to be a main ingi-edient, and a common 
 source of them all, so that a divine of great name had 
 some reason to affirm that original sin (or that innate 
 distemper from which men generally become so very 
 prone to evil and averse to good) doth consist in self- 
 love disposing us to all kinds of irregularity and 
 excess." * In this passage, Dr. Barrow refers to the 
 opinion of Zuinglius, who has expressly called self-love 
 the original or radical sin in our nature. "Est prgo 
 ista ad peccandum amore sui propensio, peccatum 
 originale." 
 
 It is chiefly, however, from some of our English 
 moralists that this notion concerning the nature of 
 vice has derived its authority; and the plausibility of 
 their reasonings on the subject has been much aided 
 by that indiscriminate use of the words self-love and 
 selfsliness of which I have already taken notice. 
 
 I shall afterwards have occasion to show that vice 
 does not consist in an excessive regard to our own 
 happiness. At present I shall only remark, in addition 
 
 * Sermon, On Self-Love in general. 
 
SELF-LOVE. Ill 
 
 to what was said above with respect to the distinction 
 between the meanings of the words self-love and self- 
 ishness, that the former is so far from expressing any- 
 thing blamable, that it denotes a principle of action 
 which we never sacrifice to any of our implanted 
 appetites, desires, or affections without incurring re- 
 morse and self-condemnation. When we see, for 
 example, a man enslaved by his animal appetites, so 
 far from considering him as under the influence of an 
 excessive self-love, we pity and despise him for neglect- 
 ing the higher enjoyments which are placed within 
 his reach. Accordingly, those very authors who tell us 
 that vice ccfnsists in an inordinate self-love are forced 
 to confess that there are some senses of the word in 
 which it expresses a worthy and commendable princi- 
 ple of action. " Reason," says Dr. Barrow, " dictateth 
 and prescribeth to us, that we should have a sober 
 regard to our true good and welfare ; to our best inter- 
 est and solid content; to that which (all things being 
 rightly stated, considered, and computed) will in the 
 end prove most beneficial and satisfactory to us; a 
 self-love working in prosecution of such things, com- 
 mon sense cannot but allow and approve."* — "tw /xeV 
 dyadov," says Aristotle, " S« ^CKavTov elvai." And in another 
 passage of the same chapter, " Ao^eie S av 6 toioHtos /iaXXow 
 
 As a further proof that selfishness is not synonymous 
 with the desire of happiness, it may be observed, that, 
 although we apply the epithet selfish to avarice and to 
 low private sensuality, we never apply it to the desire 
 of knowledge or to the pursuits of virtue, which are 
 certainly sources of more exquisite pleasure than riches 
 or seaisuality can bestow. 
 
 " Yet at the darkened eye, the withered face, 
 Tlie lioaiy head, I never will rct)ine : 
 But spare, O time ! whatc'cr of mental grace, 
 Of candor, love, or sympathy divine, 
 Wliate'cr of fancy's ray, or friendship's flame, was mine." 
 
 " Sermon. On Si-lf-Love in ijeneral. 
 
 t Ethic. lYi'c , Lib. IX. Cap. viii. "A good man mnst bo a lover of 
 himself." " Such a man would seem to be the greatest of self-lovers." 
 
112 SELF-LOVE. 
 
 Such a"wish is surely dictated by the most rational 
 view of our real interest; and yet no man will pretend 
 that it contains any thing inconsistent with a generous 
 and heroic mind. Had it been directed to wealth, to 
 long life, or to the preservation of youthful beauty and 
 vigor, it would have been universally condemned as 
 selfish and contemptible. 
 
 VI. Wliy some Pursuits are called Selfish, while oth- 
 ers, though contributing still more to our own Good, are 
 not.] This restriction of the term selfishness to a par- 
 ticular class of human pursuits is taken notice of by 
 Dr. Ferguson in his Essay on Civil Society, and seems 
 to be considered by him as originating in a capricious, 
 or rather in an inconsistent, use of language. ' " It is 
 somewhat remarkable, that, notwithstanding men value 
 themselves so much on qualities of the mind, on parts, 
 learning, and wit, on courage, generosity, and honor, 
 those men are still supposed to be in the highest degree 
 selfish, or attentive to themselves, who are most careful 
 about animal life, and who are least mindful of render- 
 ing that life an object worthy of care, It will be diffi- 
 cult, however, to tell why a good understanding, a 
 resolute and generous mind, should not, by every man 
 in his senses, be reckoned as much parts of himself as 
 either his stomach or his palate, and much more than 
 his estate or his dress. The epicure who consults his 
 physician how he may restore his relish for food, and, 
 by creating an appetite, renew his enjoyment, might 
 at least, with an equal regard to himself, consult how 
 he might strengthen his affection to a parent or a child, 
 to hi« country or to mankind; and it is probable that 
 an appetite of this sort would prove a source of enjoy- 
 ment no less than the former." * 
 
 Of the difficulty here remarked by Dr. Ferguson, the 
 solution appears to me to be this, that the word selfish- 
 ness, when applied to a pursuit, has no reference to the 
 viotive from which the pursuit proceeds, but to the effect 
 
 * Part I. Sect. II. 
 
SELF-LOVE. 
 
 113 
 
 it has on the conduct. Neither our animal appetites, 
 nor avarice, nor curiosity, nor the desire of moral mi- 
 provement, arise from self-love, but some of these 
 active principles disconnect us with society more than 
 others; and consequently, though they do not nidicate 
 a greater regard for our own happiness, they betray a 
 greater unconcern about the happiness of our neigh- 
 bours. The pursuits of the miser have no mixture 
 whatever of the social affections ; on the contrary, they 
 continually lead him to state his own interest in op- 
 position to that of other men. The enjoyments of the 
 sensualist all expire within his own person ; and, there- 
 fore, whoever is habitually occupied in the search of 
 them must of necessity neglect the duties which he 
 owes to manidnd. It is otherwise with the desire of 
 knowledge, which is always accompanied with a strong 
 desire of social communication, and with the love ot 
 moral excellence, which, in its practical tendency, co- 
 incides so remarkably with benevolence, that many au- 
 thors have attempted to resolve the one principle into 
 the other. How far their conclusion, in this instance, 
 is a necessary consequence of the premises from which 
 it is deduced, will appear hereafter. 
 
 The foregoing observations coincide so remarkably 
 with a passage in Aristotle's Ethics, that I am tempted 
 to quote it at length ia the excellent English transla- 
 tion of Dr. Gillies. After stating the same inconsisten- 
 cies in our language about self-love which Dr. Ferguson 
 has pointed out, Aristotle proceeds thus: — 
 
 " These contradictions cannot be reconciled* but by 
 distinguishing the different senses in which man is said 
 to love himself. Those who reproach self-love as a vice 
 consider it only as it appears in worldlings and volup- 
 tuaries, who arrogate to themselves more than their due 
 share of wealth, power, or pleasure. Such things are 
 to the multitude the objects of earnest concern and ea- 
 gor contention, because the multitude regards them as 
 jirizes of the highest value, and, in endeavouring to at- 
 tain them, strives to gratify its passion at the expense 
 of its reason. This kind of self-love, which belongs to 
 10* 
 
114 SELF-LOVE. 
 
 the contemptible multitude, is doubtless obnoxious to 
 blame, and in this acceptation the word is generally- 
 taken. But should a man assume a preeminence in 
 exercising justice, temperance, and other virtues, though 
 such a man has really more true self-love than the mvil- 
 titude, yet nobody 'S'^ould impute this affection to him 
 as a crime. Yet he takes to himself the fairest and 
 greatest of all goods, and those the most acceptable to 
 the ruling principle in his nature, which is properly him- 
 self, in the same manner as" the sovereignty in every 
 community is that which most properly constitutes the 
 state. He is said, also, to have, or not to have, the 
 command of himself, just as this principle bears sway, 
 or as it is subject to control ; and those acts are consid- 
 ered as most voluntary which proceed from this legisla- 
 tive or sovereign power. Whoever cherishes and grati- 
 fies this ruling part of his nature is strictly and pecu- 
 liarly a lover of himself, but in a quite different sense 
 from that in which self-love is regarded as a matter of 
 reproach ; for all men approve and praise an affection 
 calculated to produce the greatest private and the great- 
 est public happiness ; whereas they disapprove and 
 blame the vulgar kind of self-love, as often hurtful to 
 others, and always ruinous to those who indulge it." * 
 
 * Aristotle's Ethics, Book IX. Chap. viii. 
 
 Jonffroy accounts thus for the appearance of self-love (dgotsme) in human 
 nature : — " Tlie faculties, as long as they are abandoned to the impulse of 
 the passions, obey that passion which happens to be the strongest at the 
 time, from which a twofold inconvenience ensues. In the first place, the 
 passions are of all tilings the most unstable, the dominion of one being 
 almost immediately supplanted by that of another, so that the faculties 
 wliile under their exclusive control arc incapable of continuous and con- 
 nected effort, and consequently nothing of importance is effected. And, 
 again, the good found in the satisfaction of the dominant passion at the 
 moment often leads to serious evil, wliile, on the other hand, the evil of its 
 not being satisfied often results in great and permanent good ; from which 
 it appe.ivs that nothing" is less favorable to the attainment of our highest 
 good than this exclusive dominion of the passions. Eeason is not slow to 
 discover this, or to conclude from it that, in order to obtain the highest 
 possible good, our effective force must no longer be the prey of the me- 
 chanical impulse of the passions. It sees, on the contrary, how much bet- 
 ter it would be, if, instead of being hurried away each instant by such im- 
 pulse to the gratification of some new passion, it were freed from this con- 
 straint, and directed exclusively to the realization of the interest of all the 
 
THE MORAL FACriiTY. 115 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF THE MOEAL FACULTY. 
 
 Section L 
 the mokal faculty not resolvable into self-love. 
 
 I. Duty and Interest not the same.] As some authors 
 have supposed that vice consists in an excessive regard 
 
 passions taken together, — that is to say, the greatest good of our -whole 
 nature. Moreover, with the same degree of clearness that our reason con- 
 ceives this course to he wise, it also conceives it to be practicable. We are 
 certainly capable of judging what the highest good of our nature is ; our 
 reason enables us to do it. Equally certain is it that we can, if we please, 
 take possession of our own faculties, and employ them to carry out this 
 idea of our reason. That we have this power lias been revealed even un- 
 der the exclusive empire of passion ; we have felt it in the spontaneous 
 effort by which, in order to satisfy the dominant passion for the time being, 
 we have concentrated all our forces on a single point. It is only necessary 
 that we should do voluntarily what before we have (}one spontaneously, 
 SLndyree will appears. No sooner is this great revolution conceived, than 
 it is accomplished. A new principle of action springs up within us, inter- 
 est iccll widersfood, — a principle which- is not a passion, but an idea; not a 
 blind and instinctive prompting of our nature, but an intelligible, deliber- 
 ate, and rational purpose ; not an impulse^ but a viotive. Finding a point of 
 support in this motive, the natural power we have over our faculties takes 
 these faculties under its control, and in its effort to direct them according 
 to this motive shakes off the bondage of the passions, and becomes itself 
 more and more developed and free. From this time our active powers 
 are delivered from the irregular, vacillating, and turbulent empire of the 
 passions, and become submissive to the law of reason, which considers what 
 will be for the greatest possible satisfaction of our tendencies, that is to 
 say. the highest good of the individual, or self-interest well understood.'' — 
 Coiirs de Droit Nnturel, LeQon II. See the whole of this Lecture and the 
 following one in the original, or in Mr. Channing's translation. 
 
 No writer has treated the subject of self-love with so much care and 
 minuteness of discrimination as Jeremy Bentham, in the first volume of 
 his Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation. Here we have 
 what has been called his Moral Arithmetic, by which he thinks to deter- 
 mine the relative value of different "lots of pleasure or pain" ; and also 
 what has been called his Moral Dynamics, or the doctrine of forces, mo- 
 tives, or sanctions, by which self-love, and through that the human will, is 
 influenced and determined in all cases. » 
 
 Paley, not content with making pleasure, considered as constituting hu- 
 man happiness, the only ultimate object of human pursuit, denies that the 
 rational and moral pleasures, as such, are entitled to more regard than the 
 rest. " In this inquiry," says he, " I will omit much usual declamation on 
 
116 THE MORAL FACULTY 
 
 to our own happiness, so others have gone into the op« 
 posite extreme, by representing virtue as merely a matter 
 of prudence, and a sense of duty but another name for 
 a rational selj-hve. This view of the subject is far from 
 being unnatural ; for we find that these two principles 
 lead in genera] to the same course of action; and we 
 have every reason to believe, that, if our knowledge of 
 the universe were more extensive, they would be found 
 to do so in all instances whatever. Accordingly, by 
 many of the best of the ancient moralists, our sense of 
 duty was considered as resolvable into self-love, and 
 the whole of ethics was reduced to this question, What 
 is the supreme good ? or, in other words. What is most 
 conducive, on the whole, to our happiness ? The same 
 opinion, as will soon appear, has been adopted by vari- 
 ous philosophers of the first eminence in England, and 
 was long the prevailing system on the Continent. 
 
 That we have, however, a sense of duty, which is not 
 resolvable into a regard to our happiness, appears from 
 various considerations. 
 
 II. First Argument. Expressed by distinct Terms in 
 all Languages.] There are, in all languages, words 
 equivalent to duty and to interest, which men have con- 
 stantly distinguished in their signification. They coin- 
 cide in general in their applications, but they convey 
 very different ideas. When I w^ish to persuade a man 
 to a particular action, I address some of my arguments 
 
 the dignity and rapacity of our nature ; the superiority of the sonl to the 
 bofly, of the rational to the animal part of our constitufon ; upon tlio 
 wortliincss, reflncmert, and delicacy of some satisfactions, or the mcnn- 
 ncss, jjrossness, and sensuality of others ; because I hold that pleasures 
 differ in nothing but in continuance and intensity." — Moral P/iilosophi/, 
 Book I. Cliap. vi. Dr. Whewell, in the Preface to his edition of Sir James 
 Mackintosh's Dissertation on the Progress of Ethical Philosopkt/, says of tliis 
 passajie, ■ — " If we could use such a term without an unbecoming disre- 
 spect towards a virtuous and useful writer, this opinion might properly he 
 called brutish, since it recognizes no difference between the pleasures of 
 man and those of the loj^est animals." 
 
 For a very original and ingenious speculation respecting the nature of 
 self-love and the natni-al disinterestedness of the human mind, see Hazlitt's 
 Essays on the Principles of Human Action. Also his Literary Remains, Es- 
 say X., On Self-love. 
 
NOT RESOLVABLE INTO SELF-LOVE. 117 
 
 to a sense of duty, and others to the regard he has to 
 his own interest. I endeavour to show him that it is 
 not only his duty, but his interest, to act in the way 
 that I recommend to him. 
 
 This distinction was expressed among the Roman 
 moralists by the words honestum and utile. Of the 
 former Cicero says, " Quod vere dicimus, etiamsi a nullo 
 laudetur, natura esse laudabile." * 
 
 The TO /coXoV among the Greeks corresponds, when ap- 
 plied to the conduct, to the honestum of the Romans. 
 Dr. Reid remarks that the word Ka6TjKov {pfficium) ex- 
 tended both to the honestum and the utile, and compre- 
 hended every action performed either from a sense of 
 duty, or from art enlightened regard to our true inter- 
 est.! In English we use the word reasonable with the 
 same latitude, and indeed almost exactly in the same 
 sense in which Cicero defines ojpcium : — " Id quod cnr 
 factum sit ratio probabilis reddi potest." $ In treating 
 of such offices, Cicero, and Pancetius before him, first 
 point out those that are recommended to us by oui 
 love of the honestum, and next those that are recom.- 
 mended by our regard to the utile. 
 
 This distinction between a sense of duty and a re- 
 gard to interest is acknowledged even by men whose 
 moral principles are not the purest, nor the most con- 
 sistent, what unlimited confidence do we repose in 
 the conduct of one whom we know to be a man of honor, 
 even in those cases in which he acts out of the view 
 of the world, and where the strongest temptations of 
 worldly interest concur to lead him astray ! We know 
 that his heart would revolt at the idea of any thing 
 base or unworthy. Dr. Reid observes that what we 
 call honor, considered as a principle of conduct, " is 
 
 * De Offic. Lib. I, 4. " Which, though none shonld praise it, we main- 
 tain with truth to be of ifself praiseworthy." 
 
 t Essaijs on the Active, Powers, Essay lit. Part III. Chap. v. 
 
 } De Offic, Lib. I. 3. " That, for the doing of which a reasonable mo- 
 tive can be assigned." But, as Sir W. Hamilton says in a note to tlie pas- 
 sage in Eeid, ■' this definition does not apply to KaSrjKov or officium in gen- 
 eral, bat only to KaBrJKov fiicrov, officium commune." — Ed. 
 
118 THE MOEAL FACULTY 
 
 only another name for a regard to duty, to rectitude, 
 to propriety of conduct." This, I think, is going rather 
 too far; for, although the two principles coincide in 
 general in the direction they give to our conduct, they 
 do not coincide always ; the principle of honor being 
 liable, from its nature and origin, to be most unhappily 
 perverted in its applications by a^bad education and the 
 influence of fashion. At the same time, Dr. Reid's re- 
 mark is perfectly in point, for the principle of honor is 
 plainly grafted on a sense of duty, and necessarily pre- 
 supposes its existence. 
 
 Dr. Paley, one of the most zealous advocates for the 
 selfish system of morals, admits the fact on which the 
 foregoing argument proceeds, but endeavours to evade 
 the conclusion by means of a theory so extraordinary, 
 that I .shall state it in his own words. " There is al- 
 ways understood to be a difference between an act of 
 prudence and an act of duty. Thus, if I distrusted a man 
 who owed me a sum of money, 1 should reckon it an 
 act of prudence to get another person bound with him ; 
 but I should hardly call it an act of duty. On the 
 other hand, it would be thought a very unusual and 
 loose kind of language to say, that, as I had made such 
 a promise, it was prudent to perform it; or that, as my 
 friend, when he went abroad, placed, a box of jewels 
 in my hands, it would be prudent in me to preserve it 
 for him till he returned. 
 
 " Now, in what, you will ask, does the difference con- 
 sist, inasmuch as, according to our account of the mat- 
 ter, both in the one case and the other, in acts of duty 
 as well as acts of prudence, we consider solely what we 
 ourselves shall gain or lose by the act. 
 
 " The difference, and the only difference, is this ; that 
 in the one case we consider what we shall gain or lose 
 in the present world; in the other case, we consider 
 also what we shall lose or gain in the world to come." * 
 
 * Moral Phihsophi/, Book II. Chap. iii. It is in view of pa-^isages liko 
 tTie.se that Dr. Brown expresses himself with indignant severity- " This 
 form of the selfisli system, which has been cmhracecl by many theological 
 writers of undoubted piety and purity, is notwithstanding, I cannot but 
 
NOT RESOLVABLE INTO SELF-LOVE. 119 
 
 On this curious passage I have no comment to offer. 
 A sufficient an&wer to it may, I trusty be derived from 
 the following reasonings. In the mean time, it will be 
 allowed to be at least one presumption of an essential 
 distinction between the notions of duty and of interest, 
 that there are different words to express these notions 
 in all languages, and that the most illiterate of man- 
 kind are in no danger of confounding them together. 
 
 III. Second Argument. Moral Emotions differ from 
 all others in Kind.] But, secondly, the emotions arising 
 from the contemplation of what is right and wrong in 
 conduct are different both in degree and in kind from 
 those which are produced by a calm regard to our own 
 happiness. Of this, I think, nobody can doubt, who 
 considers with attention the operation of our moral 
 principles in cases where their effects are not counter- 
 acted or modified by a combination with some other 
 principles of our nature^ In judging, for example, of our 
 own conduct, our moral powers are warped by the influ- 
 ence of self-partiality and self-deceit ; and, accordingly, 
 
 think, as degrading to the human character as any other form of the doc- 
 trine of absolute selfishness ; or rather, it is in itself the most degrading 
 of all rhe forms which the selfish system can assume : hecause, while tiie 
 selfishness which it maintains is as absolute and unremitting as if the ob- 
 jects of personal gain were to be found in the wealth, or honors, or sen- 
 sual pleasures of this earth, this very selfishness is rendered more ofl^cnsive 
 by the noble image of the Deity which is continually presented to our 
 mind, and presented in all his benevolence, — not to be Joved, but to be 
 courted with a mockery of affection. The sensualist of the common sys- 
 tem of selfishness, who never thinks of any higher object in the pursuit of 
 the little pleasures which he is miserable enough to regard as happiness, 
 seems to me, even in the brutal stupidity in which he is sunk, a being more 
 worthy of esteem than the selfish of another life ; to whose view God is evcy 
 present, but who view him always only to feel constantly in their heart 
 that in loving him who has been the dispenser of all these blessings which 
 tliey have enjoyed, and who has revealed himself in the glorious character 
 of the dilfuser of an immortality of happiness, they love not the Giver him- 
 self, but only the gifts which they have received, or the gifts that are prom- 
 ised." — Phihsnjihji of the Human Mind, Lect, LXXIX Wainewright en- 
 deavours to defend Palcy a^•ainst these and other charges. Vindication of 
 Dr. Puh'ifs Theorij of ^lom/s. Chap, iv., et passim. 
 
 The strict followers of Palcy generally hold that we are indebted to the 
 Christian revelation for our belief in a future retribution. If so, it would 
 «eem to follow from the passage in the text that none but Christians, or 
 those who might be Christians, liave any thing to do with "duties." — Ed. 
 
120 THE MORAL FACULTY 
 
 wq daily see men commit, without any remorse, actions, 
 which, if performed by another person, they would 
 have rea;arded with the liveliest sentiments of indigna- 
 tion and abhorrence. Even in this last case the experi- 
 ment is not always perfectly fair; for where the actor 
 has been previously known to us, our judgment is gen- 
 erally affected, in a gi-eater or less degi-ee, by our pre- 
 possessions or by our prejudices. In contemplating the 
 characters exhibited in histories and in novels, the emo- 
 tions we feel are the immediate and the genuine result 
 of our moral constitution ; and although they may be 
 stronger in some men than in others, yet they are in all 
 distinctly perceivable, even in those whose want of tem- 
 per and of candor render them scarcely conscious of the 
 distinction of right and wrong in the conduct of their 
 neighbours and acquaintance. And hence, probably, 
 (we may observe by the way,) the chief origin of the 
 pleasure we experience in this sort of reading. The 
 representations of the stage, however, afford the most 
 favorable of all opportunities for studying the moral 
 constitution of man. As the mind is here perfectly in- 
 different to the parties whose character and conduct are 
 the subject of the fable, the judgments it forms can 
 hardly fail to be impartial, and the feelings arising from 
 these judgments are much more conspicuous in their 
 external effects than if the play were perused in the 
 closet; for every species of enthusiasm operates more 
 forcibly when men are collected in a crowd. On such 
 an occasion the slightest hint suggested by the poet 
 raises to transport the passions of the audience, and 
 forces involuntary tears from men of the greatest re- 
 serve and the most correct sense of propriety. The 
 crowd does not create the feeling, nor even aUer its va- 
 hire ; it only enables us to remark its operation 071 a 
 greater scale. In these cases we have surely no time 
 for reflection; and, indeed, the emotions of which we 
 are conscious are such as no speculations about our 
 o-wn interest could possibly excite. It is in situations 
 of this kind that we most completely forget ourselves 
 as individuals, and feel the most sensibly the existence 
 
NOT RESOLVABLE INTO SELF-LOVE. 121 
 
 o( those moral ties Jjy which Heaven has been pleased 
 to bind manliiiid together. 
 
 IV. T'lird Ar^iniirnt. T!ie ExpnUnirif of Virtue not 
 ohvioiis to rominoa ExperUnce.] All hough philosophers 
 h;ive shown that a sense of duty and an enlightened 
 regard to our own happiness conspire in most instances 
 to give tiie same direction to our conduct, so as to put 
 it beyond a doubt that, even in this world, a virtuous 
 life is true wisdom, yet this is a truth by no means ob- 
 vious to the common sense of mankind, but deduced 
 from an extensive view of human atlUirs, and an accu- 
 rate investigation of the remote coiisrtji/riices of our 
 different actions. Ir, is from experience and reflection, 
 therefore, we learn the connection between virtue and 
 happiness; and, consequently, the great lessons of mo- 
 rality which are obvious to the capacity of all mankind 
 could never have been suggested to them merely by a 
 regard to their own interest. Indeed, this discovery 
 which experience makes to us of the connection be- 
 tween virtue and happiness, both in the case of indi- 
 viduals and of political societies, furnishes one of the 
 most pleasing subjects of speculation to the philosopher, 
 as it places in a striking point of view the unity of de- 
 sign which takes place in our constitution, and opens 
 encouraging and deliglitful prospects with respect to 
 the moral government of the Deity. 
 
 It is a just and beautiful observation of Dr. Reid, 
 that " although wise men have concluded that virtue is 
 the only road to happiness, this conclusion is founded 
 chiefly upon the natural respect men have for virtue, 
 and the good and happiness that is intrinsic to it, and 
 arises from the love of it. If we suppose a man al- 
 together destitute of this principle, who considered 
 virtue as onlv th« means to another end, there is no 
 reason to think that he would ever take it to be the 
 road to happiness, but would wander for ever seeking 
 this object where it is not to be found." * 
 
 * Essai/s on the Active Powers, Essay III. Part III. Chap. it. 
 11 
 
122 - THE MORAL FACULTY 
 
 This observation leads me to remark further, that 
 the man who is most successful in the pursuit of hap- 
 piness is not he who proposes it to himself as the 
 great object of his pursuit. To do so, and to be con- 
 tinually occupied with schemes on the subject, would 
 fill the mind with anxious conjectures about futurity, 
 and with perplexing calculations of the various chan- 
 ces of good and evil. Whereas the man whose ruling 
 principle of action is a sense of duty conducts himself 
 in the business of life with boldness, consistency, and 
 dignity, and finds himself rewarded with that happiness 
 which so often eludes the pursuit of those who exert 
 every faculty of the mind in order to attain it. 
 
 Something very similar to this takes place with re- 
 gard to nations. From the earliest accounts of man- 
 kind, politicians have been employed in devising schemes 
 of national aggrandizement, and have proceeded on the 
 supposition that the prosperity of their own country 
 could only be advanced by depressing all others around 
 them. It has now been shown, with irresistible evi- 
 dence, that those views were founded on mistake, and 
 that the prosperity of a country is intimately connected 
 with that of its neighbours, insomuch that the enlight- 
 ened statesman, instead of embarrassing himself with 
 the care of a machine whose parts have become too 
 complicated for any human comprehension, finds his la- 
 bor reduced to the simple business of observing the rules 
 of justice and humanity. It is remarkable, that, long 
 before the date of these profound speculations in poli- 
 tics, for which we are indebted to INIr. Smith and to the 
 French economists, Fenelon was led merely by the 
 goodness of his heart, and by his speculative conviction 
 of the intimate connection between virtue and happi- 
 ness under the moral government of God, to recom- 
 mend a free trade as an expedient measure in policy 
 and to reprobate the mean ideas of national jealousy, 
 as calculated to frustrate the very ends to which thev 
 are supposed to be subservient. Indeed, I am inclined 
 to think that, as in conducting the affairs of private life, 
 " the integrity of the upright man " is his surest guide, 
 
NOT RESOLVABLE INTO SELF-LOVE. 123 
 
 SO, in managing the affairs of a great empire, a strong 
 sense of justice, and an ardent zeal for the rights and 
 for the happiness of mankind, will go further to form a 
 great and suceet*sful statesman than the most perfect 
 acquaintance with political details, unassisted by the 
 direction of these inward monitors. 
 
 An author, too, in our own country, of sound judg- 
 ment, and of very accurate commercial information, 
 and who was one of the first in England who turned 
 the attention of the public to those liberal notions con- 
 cerning trade which are now become so prevalent, ac- 
 'knowledges that it was by a train of reasoning a priori 
 that he was led to his conclusions. " Can we suppose," 
 says he, " that Divine Providence has really constituted 
 the order of things in such a sort, as to make the rule 
 of natural self-preservation inconsistent with the funda- 
 mental principle of universal benevolence, and the do- 
 ing as we would be done by ? For my own part, I 
 must confess, I never could conceive that an all-wise, 
 just, and benevolent Being would contrive one part of 
 his plan to be so contradictorj^ to the other as here sup- 
 posed, — that is, would lay us under one obligation as 
 to morals, and another as to trade; or, in short, to 
 make that to be our duty which is not, upon the whole, 
 and generally speaking, (even without the considera- 
 tion of a future state,) our interest likewise. 
 
 " Therefore I concluded a priori that there ^ must be 
 some flaw or other in the preceding arguments, plausi- 
 ble as they seem, and great as they are on the foot 
 of human authority. For though the appearance of 
 things at first sight makes for this conclusion, 'that 
 poor countries must inevitably carry away the trade 
 from rich ones, and consequently impoverish them,' the 
 fact itself cannot be so." * 
 
 V. Fourth Argument. Moral Judgments in Children 
 precede the Calculations of Prudence.] The same con- 
 
 * Tucker's Four Tracts on Political and Commercial Subjects, Tract I. 
 p. 20. 
 
124 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 elusion is strongly confirmed by the early period of life 
 at which our moral judgments make their appearance, 
 long before children are able to form the general notion 
 of happiness, and, indeed, in the very infancy of their 
 reason. It is astonishing how powerfully a child of 
 sensibility may be affected by any simple narration cal- 
 culated to rouse the feelings of pity, of generosity, or 
 of indignation, and how very early some minds formed 
 in a happy mould are inspired with a consciousness of 
 the dignity of their nature, and glow with the enthusi- 
 asm of virtue. Dr. Beattie has beautifully painted 
 these openings of the moral character in the description 
 he gives of the effect produced on his young Edwin by 
 the fine old ballad of The Babes in the Wood. 
 
 " But when to horror his amazement rose, 
 A gentler strain the beldame woulJ rehearse, — 
 A tale of rural life, a tale of woes, 
 The orphan babes and guardian uncle fierce. 
 O, cruel ! will no pang of pity ]iierce 
 That heart by lu.st of lucre seared to stone? 
 For sure, if aught of virtue last, or verse, 
 To latest times shall tender souls bemoan 
 Those helpless orphan babe^by thy fell arts undone. 
 
 " See where, with ben-ies smeared, with brambles torn, 
 The babes now famished lay tliem down to die ; 
 'Midst the wild howl of darksome woods forlorn, 
 Folded in one another's arms they lie, 
 Nor friend, nor stranger, hears their dying cry. 
 Tor from the town the man returns no more.' 
 But thou who Heaven's just vengeance dar'st defy, 
 This deed with fruitless tears shall soon deplore," 
 When death lays waste thy house, and flames consume thy store. 
 
 " A stifled smile of stern, vindictive jo;/ 
 Brii/hlened one moment Edwin's siurting tear ; — 
 ' But why sliould gold man's feeble mind decoy, 
 And innocence thus die by doom severe? ' 
 O Edwin ! while thy heart is yet sincere. 
 The assaults of discontent and doubt repel; 
 Diirk even at noontide is our mortal sphere, 
 But let us hope. — to doubt is to rebel, — 
 Let us exult in hope that all shall yet bk well."* 
 
 • The Mnstrel, Book I Tor a more extended statement of the proofs 
 of man's moral nature, see Upham's Dfental Philosophj, Vol. II. § 207' ei 
 seq. Also, Lieher's Political Ethics, Book I. Chap. II. — Ed. 
 
HARTLEY. 125 
 
 Section IL 
 examination of hartley's theory of the forma- 
 
 t 
 TION OF THE MORAL SENSE BY ASSOCIATION ALONE. 
 
 I. This Theory eludes but in Part the foregoing Argu- 
 ments.] The reasonings already stated seem to me to 
 furnish a sufficient refutation of the selfish theory of 
 morals, as it is explained by the greater number of the 
 philosophers who have adopted it ; but, before kaving 
 the subject, it is necessary for me to take notice of a 
 doctrine fundamentally the same, though modified in 
 such a manner as to elude some of the foregoing argu 
 ments, — a doctrine which has been maintained of late 
 by various English writers of note, and which I suspect 
 is at present the prevailing system in that part of the 
 island. According to this doctrine, we do, indeed, in 
 many cases, approve or disapprove of particular actions, 
 •without any reference to our own interest at the time ; 
 but it is asserted that it was views of self-interest 
 which originally created these moral sentiments, and 
 led us to associate agreeable or disagreeable emotions 
 with human conduct. The origin of the moral faculty, 
 in the opinion of these theorists, is precisely analogous 
 to that of aoarice, or of any of our other factitious 
 principles of action. Money, it will not be disputed, 
 is at first desired merely on account of its subservience 
 to the gratification of our natural desires ; but, in pro- 
 cess of time, the association of ideas leads us to regard 
 it as a desirable thing in itself, without any reference to 
 this subservience or utility, and in many cases it con- 
 tinues to be coveted with an increasing passion, long 
 after we have lost all relish for the enjoyments it ena- 
 bles us to purchase. In the same manner, a particular 
 action which was at first approved or disapproved of, 
 merely on account of its supposed tendency with re- 
 spect to our own interest, comes, in process of time, to 
 be approved or disapproved of the moment it is men- 
 tioned, and without any reflection on our part that we 
 11* 
 
126 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 are able to recollect. Thus, without abandoning the 
 old selfish principles, they contrive to evade the force of 
 the arguments founded by Hutcheson and others on 
 the instantaneousriess with which our moral judgments 
 are commonly pronomiced. This, if I am not mista- 
 ken, is the theory of Dr. Law, of Dr. Hartley, of Dr. 
 Priestley, of Dr. Paley, and of Dr. Paley's great oracle 
 in philosophy, the author of Tlie Light of Nature Pur- 
 sued* 
 
 I am ready to acknowledge that this refinement on 
 the old selfish system gives it a degree of plausibility 
 which it did not originally possess, and obviates one of 
 the objections to it formerly stated. But it must be re- 
 membered that this was not the onljj objection, and 
 that there are several others which apply both to the 
 old and new hypothesis with equal force. 
 
 Among these arguments, what I would lay the 
 principal stress on is the degree of experience and 
 reflection necessary for discovering the tendency of 
 virtue to promote our happiness, compared with the 
 very early period of life when the moral sentiments 
 display themselves in their full vigor. 
 
 II. Palei/s Doctrine, that Moral Sentiments are gen- 
 erated by Imitation, unsatisfactory.] In answer to this, 
 it may perhaps be alleged, that, when once moral ideas 
 have been formed by the process already described, 
 they are caught by infants from their parents or pre- 
 ceptors, by a sort of imitation, and without any reflec- 
 tion on their part. " There is nothing," says Dr. Paley, 
 " which children imitate, or apply more readily, than 
 expressions of affection or aversion, of approbation, 
 hatred, resentment, and the like ; and when these pas- 
 sions and expressions are once connected, (which they 
 
 * Hartley, though he horrawed the hint and general idea from others, 
 was chiefly instrumental in giving form and currency to tliis tlicory, anij 
 hence it commonly g-oes under his name. Ohsewiiliuns on Miin, Chap. IV. 
 Sect. vi. It has found, perijaps, its ablest advocate in James Mill, Analysis 
 of the Human Mind, Chap. XXIII. With both it is only part of a more 
 general theory. — Ed. 
 
PALEY. 127 
 
 will soon be by the same association which unites 
 words with their ideas,) the passion will follow the 
 expression, and attach upon the object to which the 
 child has been accustomed to apply the epithet. In a 
 word, when almost every thing else is learned by imila- 
 tion, can we wonder to find the same cause concerned 
 in the generation of our moral sentiments ? " * 
 
 The plausibility of this reasoning arises entirely 
 from the address with which the author introduces 
 indirecili/ a most important fact with respect to the 
 human mind; a fact which, by engrossing the attention 
 of the reader, is apt to prevent his perceiving, on a 
 superficial view, its inapplicability to the point in dis- 
 pute, or at least its insufficiency to establish in its full 
 extent the conclusion which is deduced from it. That 
 imitation and the association of ideas have a great in- 
 fluence on our moral judgments and emotions, more 
 particularly in our early years, every man must be 
 sensible who has reflected at all on the subject; and it 
 is a fact which deserves the serious consideration of 
 all who have any concern in the education of youth. 
 Bat does It therefore follow, that imitation and the 
 association of ideas are sufficient to account for the 
 origin of the power of moral perception, and for the 
 origin of our notions of right and wrong ?f On the 
 contrary, the tendency we hg,ve in the infancy of our 
 reason to follow in our moral judgments the example 
 of those whom we love and reverence, and the influ- 
 ence of association, sometimes in guiding and some- 
 times in misleading us in what we praise or blame, 
 presuppose the existence of the power of moral judg- 
 
 * Moral Philosophy, Book I. Chap. V. 
 
 t Mr. Stewart has said in another connection, Philosophy of the Human 
 Mind. First Part, Chap. V. Part ii. Sect. ii. : — " The association of ideas can 
 never account for the origin of a new notion, or of a pleasure essentially 
 different from all the others which we know. It may, indeed, enable us 
 to conceive how a thing indifferent in itself may become a source of 
 pleasure, by being connected in the inind with something else wliiih is 
 naturally agreeable; but it presupposes., in every instance, the existence of 
 those notions and those feelings which it is its province to combiuc." 
 — Ed. 
 
128 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 merit, and of the general notions of right and wrong. 
 The power of these adventitious causes over the mind 
 is so great, that there is perhaps no particular practice 
 which we may not be trained to approve of or to con- 
 demn ; but wherever this happens, the operation of 
 these causes supposes us to be ahready in possession 
 of some faculty by which we are capable of bestowing 
 approbation or blame. It is worthy, too, of remark, 
 that it is only with respect to particular practices that 
 education is capable of misleading us ; for even when 
 education perverts the judgment, it produces its effect 
 by employing the instrumentality of our moral princi- 
 ples. In many cases it will be found that it operates 
 by combining a number of principles against one; by 
 associating, for example, a number of worthy dispo- 
 sitions and amiable affections 'with habits which, if 
 divested of . such an alliance, would be regarded as 
 mean and contemptible. 
 
 To all ihis we may add, that our speculative judg- 
 ments concerning truth and falsehood, as well as our 
 judgments concerning right and loi'ong; are liable to 
 be influenced by imitation and the association of ideas. 
 Even in mathematics, when a pupil of a tender age 
 enters first on the study of the elements, his judgment 
 leans not a little on that of his teacher, and he feels 
 his confidence in the truth of his conclusions sensibly 
 confirmed by his faith in the superior understanding of 
 those whom he looks up to with respect. It is only 
 by degrees that he emancipates himself from this de- 
 pendence, and comes at last to perceive thje irresistible 
 force of demonstrative evidence; and yet it will not 
 be inferred from this that the power of reasoning' is the 
 result of imitation or of habit. The conclusion men- 
 tioned above with respect to the power of moral judg- 
 ment is equally erroneous. 
 
 III. Paleifs Statement of the Question as to the Ex- 
 istence of a Moral Sense.'] The looseness and sophis- 
 try of Paley's reasonings on the subject of the moral 
 faculty may be traced to the vague and indistinct con- 
 
PALEY. 129 
 
 ception he had formed of the point in question. In 
 proof of this I shall transcribe his own words from his 
 Principles of Moral ami Polilical Philosophy. It is 
 neces.-^ary to premise, that he introduces his argument 
 against ihe existence of a moral sense by quoting a 
 story from Valerius Maximus, which I shall present 
 to my readers in Dr. Paley's version. 
 
 " The father of Caius Toranius had been proscribed 
 by the Triumvirate. Caius Toranius,^coming over to 
 the interests of that party, discovered to the oificers 
 who were in pursuit of his father's life the place where 
 he concealed himself, and gave them withal a descrip- 
 tion by which they might distinguish his person when 
 they found him. The old man, more anxious for the 
 safety and fortunes of his son than about the little that 
 might remain of his own life, began immediately to 
 inquire of the officers who seized him, whether his son 
 was well, — whether he had done his duty to the satis- 
 faction of his generals. ' That son,' replied one of the 
 officers, ' so dear to thy affections, betrayed thee to us ; 
 by his information thou art apprehended and diest.' 
 The officer with this struck a poniard to his heart, and 
 the unhappy parent fell, not so much affected by his 
 fate as by the means to which he owed it." 
 
 " Now," says Dr. Paley, " the question is, whether, 
 if this story were related to the wild boy caught some 
 years ago in the woods of Hanover, or to a savage 
 without experience and without instruction, cut off" in 
 his infancy from all intercourse with his species, and 
 consequently under no possible influence of example, 
 authority, education, sympathy, or habit, — whether, I 
 say, such a one would feel, upon the relation, any de- 
 gree, of that sentiment of disapprobation of Toranius's 
 conduct which we feel, or not. 
 
 " They who maintain the existence of a moral sense, 
 of innate maxims, of a natural conscience, that the love 
 of virtue and hatred of vice are instinctive, or the per- 
 ception of right and wrong intuitive, (all of which are 
 only different ways of expressing the same opinion,) 
 affirm that he would. 
 
130 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 " They who deny the existence of a moral sense, 
 &c., affirm that he would not. 
 
 " And upon this issue is joined."* 
 
 To those who are at all acquainted with the history 
 of this dispute, it must appear evident that the question 
 is here completely misstated; and that, in the whole 
 of Dr. Paley's subsequent argument on the subject, 
 he combats a phantom of his own imagination. The 
 opinion which lie ascribes to his antagonists has been 
 loudly and repeatedly disavowed by all the most emi- 
 nent moralists who have disputed Locke's reasonings 
 against innate practical principles; and is, indeed, so 
 very obviously absurd, that it never could have been 
 for a moment entertained by any person in his senses. 
 
 Did it ever enter into the mind of the wildest the- 
 orist to imagine that the sense of seeing would enable 
 a man, brought up from the moment of his birth in 
 utter darkness, to form a conception of light and col- 
 ors .' But would it not be equally rash to conclude, 
 from the extravagance of such a supposition, that the 
 sense of seeing is, not an original part of the human 
 frame ? 
 
 The above quotation from Paley forces me to re- 
 mark further, that, in combating the supposition of a 
 moral sense, he has confounded together, as oiilj/ differ- 
 ent ivaijs of expressing the same opinion, a variety of 
 systems, which are regarded by all our best philoso- 
 phers, not only as essentially distinct, but as in some 
 measure opposed to each other. The system of Hutch- 
 eson, for example, is identified with that of Cudworth, 
 to which (as will afterwards appear) it stands in direct 
 opposition. But although, in this instance, the author's 
 logical discrimination does not appear to much advan- 
 tage, the sweeping censure thus bestowed on so many 
 of our most celebrated ethical theories has the merit of 
 throwing a very strong light on that particular view of 
 the subject which it is the aim of his reasonings to es- 
 tablish in contradiction to them all.f 
 
 * Moral Philosophy Book I. Cliap- V. 
 
 t On tlio subject of Paleyj| illustration cited in the text, Dr. Whewcll 
 
DIVERSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS. 131 
 
 Section III. 
 
 THE MORAL CONSTITUTION OF HUMAN NATURE NOT DIS- 
 PROVED BY THE DIVERSITY IN MEn's MORAL JUDG- 
 MENTS. 
 
 I. How far and in ivhat Way our Moral Nature may 
 be affected by Education.] In the preceding observa- 
 tions I have endeavoured to prove that the moral facul- 
 ty is an original principle of our constitution, which is 
 
 remarks : — " To expect to obtain moral axioms by referring the question 
 to a, jury of savages, or of men nearly approaching to savages in preju- 
 dice, ignorance, or passion, would certainly be a very wild expectation; 
 and I hope it ^vill not be considered a defect in any moral system to which 
 we may be led, that it does not satisfy such an expectation as this. The 
 notion, that an ap|)eal to such a jury is the way to test moral axioms, is 
 something like Paley's proposal of bringing the narration of an atrocious 
 crime before Peter, the wild boy, who was bred up, or rather grew up, lilce 
 a wild beast ; and of doing tliis, in order to discern whether man has a nat- 
 ural abhoiTcnce of crime. Paley himself points out the diiHcnlty which 
 makes such an experiment impossible : — 'If,' he says, ' he could be made 
 to understand the story.' But it is evident that he could not be made to 
 understand the story, except by growing u]i as a man among men, and 
 ceasim/ to be a loild boy. And. in like manner, we must say of a su]jposed 
 promiseuous jui'v of men, by whom you would test our moral axioms. 
 If tliese men are so savage, and ignorant, and passionate, as to have in 
 them the attributes of men imfierfectly vnfolded, they cannot tell you what 
 moral truths are evident to man as mart" 
 
 And again : — " Trutiis maybe self-evident when we have made a cer- 
 tain progress in thinking, which are not self-evident when we begin to think. 
 And this may be, not because the truths tlms later discerned are depend- 
 ent on the prerequisite trutlis by any logical tie, or can be inferred from 
 them by argument; but because, by the train of tho%!rht by which we 
 come to sec those earlier gleams of truth, the mind is unfolded and instruct- 
 ed, so as to perceive the later and fuller light. Thi-; may he so, because 
 in the process of thouglit thus previously gone through we have learnt to 
 classify and distinguish the actions of men around us, or our own feelings 
 and impulses within us. It may be that to groups and classes and rela- 
 tions.of emotions and sentiments we have given names ; and that through 
 these names language has exercised its power of aiding thought, and has 
 enabled us to see wliat, without such aid, we could not see. In these wnys, 
 and in others, moral truths may become evident to n-i. when we have made 
 some little advance in the development of our moral nature, and in the 
 )iowor of apprehending such truth : although, so long as we were half im- 
 bruted by the absence of any calm and continued thought on such sub- 
 jects, and by the scantiness of our acquaintance with those relations 
 among men which are the materials for such thought, we were insensible to 
 
132 
 
 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 not resolvable into any other principle or principles 
 more general than itself; in particular, that it is not 
 resolvable into self-love, or a prudential regard to our , 
 own interest- In order, however, completely to estab- 
 lish the existence of the moral faculty as an essential 
 and universal part of human nature, it is necessary to 
 examine with attention the objections which have been 
 stated to this conclusion by some writers, who were 
 either anxious to display -their ingenuity by accounting 
 in a different manner for the origin of our moral ideas, 
 or who wished to favor the cause of skepticismi by ex- 
 
 the evidence which now seems so glaring. It requires a culture of the hu- 
 mnn mind to make that evident which, nevertheless, is evident by the na- 
 ture of the human mind. 
 
 "And, in truth, we cannot help asking why we should go to savages 
 for the genuine voice of human nature. Why should it be supposed tliat 
 men are more properly men, because in them some of the most important 
 attributes of humanity remain latent and undeveloped ? If cultured men 
 see, as evident in morals, what savages do not see as evident, are not cul- 
 tured men still men ? And all that they know and think, in addition to 
 wliat savages know ahd think, did they not come to know it by the use of 
 their human faculties ■? The early Romans called every slranyer an enemy ; 
 every pererjriniis was hostis. The later Eomans filled the theatre with 
 thunders of applause, when the })00t made the actor say,' 
 
 ' Homo sum, liumani nihil a me alienum puto.^ 
 
 Which of these two was the genuine voice of humanity ■? Was not the 
 latter evidently the assent to the irresistible evidence of a moral truth 1 
 Was that earlier practical denial of this moral truth really the utteranec of 
 a moral conviction 1 Was it not an utterance which came from man, not 
 as the utterance of conviction, hut of uncontrolled fear and anger? not an 
 articulate utterance in the name of humanity, but an inarticulate cry, bor- 
 rowing part of its import from the ferine nature' of the nation ? It was a 
 trace of the wolf 'g milk." — Lectures on Systematic ]\Joralitt/, Lect. II. pp. 
 34, 38. See also Lieber's Political Ethics, Book II. Chap. Ill , and Sedg- 
 wick's Discourse on the Studies of the University^ pp. 57 et seq., and Aj>pen- 
 di.K (E). 
 
 "Peter the Wild Boy" made a great noise among scientific men in the 
 early part of the last century. "Swift has immortalized him in his hu- 
 morous production, It cannot rain, but it pours; or, London stmced with Bay- 
 ilies. Linnojus gave him a niche in the Sijstema Naturw,. under*lhe de- 
 nomination of .hivenis IJanoveranus ; Buffbn, De Paauw, and J. J. Rous- 
 seau have extolled him as the true child of nataro, the genuine unsophisticated 
 man Monboddo is still more cnthufiistic, declaring his appearance to be 
 a much more important occurrence than the discovery of the planet Ura- 
 nus." — Lawrence's Natural History of Man, Chap. II. He turned out to 
 be an idiotic boy, who had been lost in the woods, or driven into them and 
 abandoned, about a year before he was brought into such notice. - Ed. 
 
DIVERSITY IN ITS JtTDGMENTS. 133 
 
 plaining away the reality and immutability of moral 
 distinctions. 
 
 Among these objections, that which merits the most 
 careful consideration, from the characters of those by 
 whom it is maintained, is founded on the possibility of 
 explaining the fact without increasing the number of 
 original principles in our constitution. The rules of 
 morality, it has been supposed, were, in the first in- 
 stance, brought to light by the sagacity of philosophers 
 and politicians ; and it is only in consequence of the 
 influence of education that they appear to form an 
 original part of the human frame. The diversity of 
 opinions among different nations witb respect to the 
 morality of particular actions has beei; jonsidered as a 
 strong confirmation of this doctrine. 
 
 But the power of education, although great, is con- 
 fined within certain limits. It is, indeed, much more 
 extensive than philosophers once believed, as sufficient- 
 ly appears from those modern discoveries, with respect 
 to the distant parts of the globe, which have so won- 
 derfully enlarged our knowledge of human nature, and 
 which show clearly that many sentiments and opinions, 
 which had been formerly regarded as inseparable from 
 the nature of man, are the results of accidental situa- 
 tion. If our forefathers, however, went into one ex- 
 treme on this point, we seem to be at present in no 
 small danger of going into the opposite one, by con- 
 sidering man as entirely a factitious being, that maybe 
 moulded into any form by education and fashion. 
 
 I have said that the power of education is confined 
 within certain limits. The reason is obvious, for it is 
 by cooperating with the natural principles of the mind 
 that education produces its effects. Nay, this very 
 susceptibility of education, which is acknowledged to 
 belong universally to the race, presupposes the ex- 
 istence of certain principles which are common to all 
 mankind. 
 
 The influence of education in diversifying the ap- 
 pearances which the moral constitution of man exhib- 
 its in different instances depends chiefly on that law of 
 12 - 
 
13-1: THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 our constitution which was formerly called the associa- 
 tion of ideas ; and this law supposes, in every case, 
 that there are opinions and feelings essential to the hu- 
 man frame, by a combination with which external cir- 
 cumstances lay hold of the mind, and adapt it to its 
 accidental situation. What we daily see happen in 
 the trifling article of dress may help us to conceive 
 how the association of ideas operates in matters of 
 more serious consequence. Fashion, it is well known, 
 can reconcile us, in the course of a few weeks, to the 
 most absurd and fantastical ornament ; but does it fol- 
 low from this that fashion could create our ideas of 
 beauty and elegance ? During the time we have seen 
 this ornament worn, it has been confined, in. a great 
 measure, to those whom we consider as models of 
 taste, and has been gradually associated "with the im- 
 pressions produced by the real elegance, of their appear- 
 ance and manner. When it pleases by itself, the ef- 
 fect is not to be ascribed to the thing considered ab- 
 stractedly, nor to any change which our general notions 
 of beauty have undergone, but to the impressions with 
 which it has been generally connected, and which it 
 naturally recalls to the mind. The case is nearly the 
 same with our moral sentiments. A man of splendid 
 virtues attracts some esteem also to his imperfections, 
 and, if placed in a conspicuous situation, may corrupt 
 the moral sentiments of the multitude in the same 
 manner in which he may introduce an absurd or fantas- 
 tical ornament by his whimsical taste in the articles of 
 dress. The commanding influence of Cato's virtues 
 seems to have produced somewhat of this effect on the 
 minds of some of his admirers. He was accused, we 
 are told, of intemperance in wine ; nor do his apolo- 
 gists pretend altogether to deny the charge. " But," 
 says one of them, " it would be much easier to prove 
 that intemperance is a decent and respectable quality, 
 than that Cato could be guilty of any vice." " Catoni 
 ebrietas objecta est; et facilius efiiciet, quisquis obje- 
 cerit, hoc crimen honestum, quam turpem Catonem." 
 In general it may be remarked, that as education 
 
DIVERSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS. 135 
 
 may vary in particular cases the opinions of individu- 
 als with respect to the objects of taste, without being 
 able to create our notions of beauty or deformity, of 
 grandeur or meanness, so education may vary our 
 sentiments with respect to particular actions, but could 
 not create our notions of right and wrong, of merit 
 and demerit.* 
 
 II. Diversity in, Men^s Moral Judgments.] With re- 
 
 * It is observed by Condorcet in his Eloge on Euler, " That, if v-e except 
 the coiiLinon mdxi.ms of morality, there is no one truth which can boast of 
 liaving been so generally adopted, or tlirough such a succession of ai^es, as 
 certain ridiculous and pernicious errors." The assertion, altbouyli not 
 without some foundation in fait, is manifestly expressed by this author in 
 terms too strong and unqualitied. I quote it here chiefly on account of 
 the remarkable concession which it involves in favor of the fitndiniiental 
 principles of rnorollty ; — a subject on which it has been generally alleged, 
 by skeptical writers, that our opinions are more liable than on most others 
 to be warped by the influence of education and fashion. 
 
 [iSir James Mackintosh is a strenuous asserter of the general uniformity 
 of men's moral judgments. " I do not speak of the theory of morals, 
 but of the rule of life. First examine the fact, and see whether, from the 
 earliest times, any improvement, or even any change, has been made in 
 the practical rules of human conduct. Look at the code of Moses. 
 I speak of it now as a mere human composition, without considering its 
 sacred origin. Considering it merely in that light, it is the most ancient 
 and the most curious memorial of the early history of mankind. More 
 than three thousand years have elapsed since the composition of the I'en- 
 tateucb ; and let any man, if he is able, tell me in what important res]->ccts 
 the rule of life has varied since that distant period. Let the Institutes of 
 Menu he explored with the same view ; we snail arrive at the same conclu- 
 sion. Lot the books of false religion be opened ; it will he found that 
 their moral system is, in all its grand features, the same. The impostors 
 who composed them were compelled to pay this homage to tlie uniform 
 moral sentiments of the world. Examine the codes of nations, tliose 
 authentic depositories of the moral judgments of men ; you everywhere 
 find the same rules prescribed, the same duties imposed : even the boldest 
 of those ingenious skeptics who have attacked every other opinion has 
 spared the sacred and immutable simplicity of the rules of life. In our 
 common duties, Bayle and Hume agree with Bossuet and Barrow. 
 Such as the rule wsis at the first dawn of history, such it continues till the 
 present day. Ages roll over mankind ; mighty nations pass aivay like a 
 shadow; virtue alone remains the same, immortal and unchangeable." — 
 Memoirs, hy his Son, Vol. I. Chap. Ill p 120. 
 
 Even should we think that the statement, as here made, needs further 
 qualification, there can be no doubt that the common opinion errs still 
 more on the other side. One reason why the points of difference in morals 
 are thought to be more numerous than they really are is, tliat these alone 
 are made the subject of frequent discussion ; and properly so, because it is 
 only in this way that they can bo cleared up, and reconciled. — Ed.] 
 
136 THE MORAL. FACULTY. 
 
 spect to the historical facts which have been quoted 
 as proofs that the moral judgments of mankind are 
 entirely factitious, we may venture to assert in general, 
 that none of them justify so very extravagant a con- 
 clasion ; that a great part of them are the effects of 
 misrepresentation ; and that others lead to a conclu- 
 sion directly the reverse of what has been drawn from 
 them. It would hardly be necessary, in the present 
 times, to examine them seriously, were it not for the 
 authority which, in the opiiuon of many, they still con- 
 tinue to derive from the sanction of Mr. Locke. 
 
 " Have there not been whole nations," says this 
 eminent philosopher, " and those of the most civilized 
 people, among whom the exposing their children, 
 and leaving them in the fields to perish by want or 
 "wild beasts, has been the practice, as little condemned 
 or scrupled as the begetting them ? Do they not still, 
 in some countries, put them into the same graves with 
 their mothers, if they die in child-birth, or despatch 
 them, if a pretended astrologer declares them to have 
 unhappy stars ? And are there not places where, at 
 a certain age, they kill or expose their parents without 
 any remorse at all? Where, then, are our innate ideas 
 of justice, piety, gratitude ; or where is that universal 
 consent that assures us there are such inbred rules ? " * 
 
 To this question of Locke's so satisfactory an 
 answer has been given by various writers, that it 
 would be superfluous to enlarge on the subject here. 
 It is sufficient to refer, on the origin of infanticide, to 
 Mr. Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments;^ and on the 
 alleged impiety among some rude tribes of children 
 towards their parents, to Charron Sur la Sagesse, :^ and 
 to an excellent note of Dr. Seattle's in his Essay on 
 Fable and Romance. The reasonings of the last two 
 
 * Book I. Chap. HI. § 9. 
 
 t Piu-t V. Chap. II. 
 
 X liiv. II. Chap. VIII. ChaiTon's avgument is evidently pointed at cer- 
 tain passages in Montaigne's Essays, in which that ingenious writer ha.s 
 fallen into a train of thought very similar to that which is tlio groundwork 
 of Locke's reasonings against innate practlml pr'mciides. 
 
DIVERSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS. 137 
 
 writers are strongly confirmed by Mr. Ellis, in his 
 Voyaffe for the Discovery of a Northwest Passa<^e, and 
 by Mr. Curtis (afterwards Sir Roger Curtis), in a 
 paper containing Some Particulars vnth Respect to the 
 Country of Labradore, published ia the Philosophical 
 Transactions for the year 1773. 
 
 In order to form a competent judgment on facts of 
 this nature, it is necessary to attend to a variety of 
 considerations which have been too frequently over- 
 looked by philosophers; and, in particular, to make 
 proper allowances for the three following: — 
 
 1. For the different situations in which mankind are 
 placed, partly by the diversity in their physical circum- 
 stances, and partly by the unequal degrees of civiliza- 
 tion which they have attained. 
 
 2. For the diversity of their speculative opinions, 
 arising from their unequal measures of knowledge or 
 of capacity ; and, 
 
 3. For the different moral import of the same action 
 under different systems of external behaviour. 
 
 III. First Cause of Diversity in Men's Moral Juds;-- 
 ments. Difference of Condition. (1.) As regards Prop- 
 erty.] In a part of the globe where the soil and cli- 
 mate are so favorable as to yield all the necessaries 
 and many of the luxuries of life with little or no labor 
 on the part of man, it may reasonably be expected 
 that the ideas of men will be more loose concerning 
 the rights of property than where nature has been less 
 liberal in her gifts. As the right of property is found- 
 ed, in the first instance, on the natural sentiment, that 
 the laborer is entitled to the fruits of his own labor, it 
 is not surprising that, where little or no labor is re- 
 quired for the gratification of our desires, theft should 
 be regarded as a very venial offence. There is here 
 no contradiction in the moral judgments of mankind. 
 Men feel there, with respect to those articles which we 
 appropriate with the most anxious care, as we, in this 
 part of the world, feel with respect to air, light, and 
 7valer. If a country could be found in which no in- 
 12* 
 
138 THE MORAL FACULTY, 
 
 justice was apprehended in depriving an individual of 
 an enjoyment which he had provided for himself by a 
 long course of persevering industry, the fact would be 
 something to the purpose. But this, we may venture 
 to say, has not yet been found to be the case in any 
 quarter of the globe. That the circumstance I have 
 mentioned is the true explanation of the prevalence of 
 theft in the South Sea Islands, and of the venial light 
 in which it is there regarded, appears plainly from the 
 accounts of our most intelligent navigators. 
 
 " There was another circumstance," says Captain 
 Cook, speaking of the inhabitants of the Sandwich 
 Islands, "in which the people perfectly resembled the 
 other islanders we had visited. At first, on their enter- 
 ing the ship, they endeavoured to steal every thing 
 they came near, or rather to take it openly, as what 
 we either should not resent, or not hinder." (January, 
 1778.) 
 
 In another place, talking of the same people: — 
 " These islanders," says he, " merited our best com- 
 mendations in their commercial intercourse, never 
 once attempting to cheat us, either ashore or alongside 
 the ships. Some of them, indeed, as already mention- 
 ed, at first betrayed a thievish disposition ; or rather, 
 they thought that they had a right to every thing they 
 could lay their hands on; but they soon laid aside a 
 conduct which we convinced them they could not 
 persevere in with impunity." 
 
 In another part of the voyage, (April, 1778.) in 
 which he gives an account of the American Indians 
 near King George's Sound, he contrasts their notions 
 on the subject of theft with those of the South Sea 
 Islanders. " The inhabitants of the South Sea Islands, 
 rather than be idle, would steal any thing they could 
 lay their hands on, without ever considering whether it 
 could be of use to them or no. The novelty of the 
 object was with them a sufficient motive for endeav- 
 ouring, by any indirect means, to get possession of it; 
 which marked, that in such cases they were rather 
 actuated by a childish curiosity than by a dishonest 
 
DIVERSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS. 139 
 
 disposition, regardless of the modes of supplying real 
 wants. The inhabitants of Nootka, who invaded our 
 property, have not such an apology. They were 
 thieves in the strictest sense of the word ; for they pil- 
 fered nothing from us but what they knew could be 
 converted to the purposes of private utility, and had 
 a real value, according to their estimation of things." 
 He adds, that he had " abundant proof that stealing is 
 much practised among themselves " ; — but it is evi- 
 dent, from the manner in which he expresses himself, 
 that theft was not here considered in the same venial or 
 indifferent light as in those parts of the globe where 
 the bounty of nature deprives exclusive property of al- 
 most all its value.* 
 
 In general it will be found, that the ideas of rude 
 nations on the subject of properly are precise and de- 
 cided, in proportion to the degree of labor to which they 
 have been habituated in procuring the means of sub- 
 sistence. Of one barbarous people, (the Greenlanders,) 
 we are expressly told by a very authentic writer, 
 (Crantz,) that their regard to property acquired by labor 
 is not only strict, but approaches to superstition. " Not 
 one of them," says he, " will appropriate to himself a 
 sea-dog in which he finds one or more harpoons with 
 untorn thongs ; nor even carry away drift wood, or 
 other things thrown up by the sea, if they are covered 
 loith a stone, because they consider this as an indication 
 that they have already been appropriated by some other 
 person." f 
 
 * See, also, Anderson's B/nnarlcs, February, 1777, and December, 1777. 
 
 t Hislorji of Greenland,, Vol I. p. 1 8 1 . The following passage of Voltaire 
 is perhaps liable to the charge of over-refinement ; but it suftiiiently shows 
 that he saw clearly the general principle on which the lax opinions of 
 some nations on the subject of theft are to be explained. 
 
 " On a beau nons dire, qu'.V Lacedimone, le larcin fetoit ordonne ; ce 
 n'est la qu'un abus des mots. La mime chose que nous appellons larcin, 
 n'etoit point commandoe a Lacedemone; mais dans une ville, oli tout 
 ctoit en commim, la permission qu'on donnoii de prendre habilement ce 
 que des particuliers s'approprioient eontrc la loi, etoit une manii're de 
 punir I'esprit de propriete defendu chez ces peuples. Le lien ct le mien 
 etoit un crime, dont ce que nous appcUons larcin etoit la punition." — 
 Voltaire's Account of Newton's Discoveries. Some of his other remarks on 
 Locke are very curious. 
 
140 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 IV. (2.) As regards the Uses of Money.] Another 
 very remarkable instance of an apparent diversity in 
 the moral judgments of mankind occurs in the contra- 
 dictory opinions entertained by different age,s and na- 
 tions on the moral lawfulness of exacting interest for 
 the use of money. Aristotle, in the first book of his 
 Politics (6th chap.), speaking of the various ways of 
 getting money, considers agriculture and the rearing of 
 cattle as honorable and natural, because the earth itself, 
 and all animals, are by nature fruitful ; " but to make 
 money from money, which is barren and unfruitful," he 
 pronounces " to be the worst of all modes of accumu- 
 lation, and the utmost corruption of artificial degen- 
 eracy. By commerce," he observes, " money is perverted 
 from the purpose of exchange to that of gain. Still, 
 however, this gain is obtained by the mutual transfer 
 of different objects ; but usury, by transferring merely 
 the same object from one hand to another, generates 
 money from money ; and the interest thus generated is 
 therefore called ' offspring,' as being precisely of the 
 same nature, and of the same specific substance, with 
 that from which it proceeds." * — Similar sentiments 
 with respect to usury (under which title was compre- 
 
 * Gillies's Translation. - The argument of Aristotle is so extremely ab- 
 surd and puerile, that it could never have led this most acute and profound 
 philosopher to the conclusion it is employed to support, but may he justly 
 numbered among the instances in which speculative men iiavc exei-ted 
 their ingenuity to defend, by sophistical reasonings, the established preju- 
 dices of the times in which they lived, and in which the supposed evidenre of 
 the inference has served, in their estimation, to comjjensate for the weakness 
 of tlie premises. It is, however, worthy of remark, that the argument, 
 such as it is, was manifestly suggested by the etymology of the word tukos 
 (interest), from the verb TiKTa, pario, to breed or brm(j forth ; an etymology 
 wliieh seems to imply that the principal generates the interest. The -nme 
 idea, too, occurs in the scene between Antonio and Shylock, in th» Mer- 
 c/iaiit of Venice : — 
 
 " If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
 As to thy friends ; (for when did friendship take 
 A breed of ban-en meted from his friend?) 
 But lend it rather to thine enciiiy, 
 "Who, if he break, thou mayst with better face 
 Exact the penalty.'' 
 
 Act I. Scene III. 
 
DIVERSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS. 141 
 
 hended every premium, great or small, which was re- 
 ceived by way of interest) occur in the Roman writers. 
 " Concerning the arts," says Cicero, in his first book 
 De Ojfidis, " and the means of acquiring wealth which 
 are to be accounted liberal, and which mean, the fol- 
 lowing are the sentiments usually entertained. In the 
 first place, those means of gain are in the least credit 
 which incur the hatred of mankind, as those of tax- 
 gatherers and usurers." The same author (in the sec- 
 ond book of the same work) mentions an anecdote of 
 old Cato, who, being asked what he thought of lending 
 money upon interest, answered, " What do you think 
 of the crime of murder ? " 
 
 In the code of the Jewish legislator, the regulations 
 concerning loans imply manifestly, that to exact a pre- 
 mium for the thing lent was an act of unkindness unsuit- 
 able to the fraternal relation in which the Israelites stood 
 to one "another. " Thou shalt not lend," it is said, " upon 
 usury to thy brother : usury of money, usury of victuals, 
 usury of any thing that is lent upon usury. Unto a' 
 stranger thou mayest lend upon usury; but unto thy 
 brother thou shalt not lend upon usury ; that the --Lord 
 thy God may bless thee in all that thou settest thine 
 hand to, in the land whither thou goest to possess it." * 
 
 In consequence of this prohibition in the Mosaic law, 
 the primitive Christians, conceiving that they ought to 
 look on all men, both Jews and Gentiles, as brethren, 
 inferred, (partly, perhaps, from the prohibition given by 
 Moses, and partly from the general prejudices then prev- 
 alent against usury,) that it was agailist the Christian 
 law to take interest from any man. And, accordingly, 
 there is no crime against which the Fathers in their 
 homilies declaim with more vehemence. The same ab- 
 horrence of usury of every kind appears in the canon 
 law, insomuch that the penalty by that law is excom- 
 munication ; nor is the usurer allowed burial until he 
 has made restitution of what he got by usury, or secu- 
 rity is given that restitution shall be made after his 
 
 * Deut. xxiii. 19, 20. 
 
142 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 death. About the middle of the seventeenth century, 
 we find the divines" of the Church of England very 
 often preaching against all interest for the use of money, 
 even that which the law allowed, as a gross immorality. 
 And not much earlier it was the general opinion, both 
 of divines and lawyer^, that, although law permitted a 
 certain rate of interest to prevent greater evils, and in 
 compliance with the general corruption of men, (as the 
 law of Moses permitted polygamy, and authorized di- 
 vorce for slight causes, among the Jews,) yet that the 
 irules of morality did not sanction the taking any inter- 
 est for money ; at least, that it was a very doubtful point 
 whether they did. The same opinion was maintained 
 in the English House of Comilions by some of the 
 members who were lawyers, in the debate upon a bill 
 brought in not much more than a hundred years ago. 
 
 I need not remark how completely the sentiments of 
 mankind are now changed upon the subject; insomuch 
 that a moralist or divine would expose himself to ridi- 
 cule if he should seriously think it worth his while to 
 use arguments to prove the lawfulness of a practice 
 which was formerly held in universal abhorrence. The 
 consistency of this practice (in cases where the debtor 
 is able to pay the interest) with the strictest morality 
 appears to us so manifest and indisputable, that it would 
 be thought equally absurd to argue for it as against it.* 
 
 The diversity of judgments, however, on this particu- 
 lar question, instead of proving a diversity in the moral 
 
 * "A learned gentleman, indeed, of the Middle Temple, Mr. Plowdcn, 
 (a lawyer, I believe, of the Roman Catholic persuasion,) who published, 
 about thirty years ago, a Treatise upon the^Law of Usury and Annuities^ has 
 employed no less than fifty-nine pages of his work in considering the law 
 of usury in a spiritual view, in order to establish the following conclusion : 
 — " That it is not sinful, but lawful, for a British subject to receive le^'al 
 interest for the money he may lend, whether he receive it in annnal divi- 
 dends from the public, or in interest from private individuals who may 
 have borrowed it upon mortgage, bond, or otherwise." M. Necker, too, in 
 the notes annexed to his E/of/e on Colbert, thought it necessary for him to 
 offer an apology to the Church of Rome for the freedom with which ho 
 ventured to write upon this critical subject. " Ce que je dis dc interct est 
 sous un point de vue politique, et n'a point de rapport avec les respectables 
 rnaximes de la religion sar ce point." 
 
DIVERSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS. 143 
 
 judgments of mankind, affords an illustration of the 
 uniformity of their opinions concerning the fundamen- 
 tal rules of moral duty. 
 
 In a state where there is little or no commerce, the 
 great motive for borrowing being necessity, the value 
 of a loan cannot be ascertained by calculation, as it 
 may be where money is borrowed for the purposes of 
 trade. In such circumstances, therefore, every money- 
 lender who accepts of interest will be regarded in the 
 same odious light in which pawnbrokers are considered 
 among ns; and the man "who putteth out his money 
 to usury" will naturally be classed (as he is in the 
 words of Scripture) with him who " taketh reward 
 against the innocent." f 
 
 These considerations, while they account for the 
 origin of the opinions concerning- the practice of tak- 
 ing interest for money among those nations of an- 
 tiquity whose commercial transactions were few and 
 Insignificant, will be sufficient, at the same time, to 
 establish its reasonableness and equity in countries 
 where money is most commonly borrowed for the pur- 
 poses of commercial profit, and where, of consequence, 
 the use of it has a fixed and determinate value, de- 
 pending (like that of any commodity in general re- 
 quest) on the circumstances of the market at the time. 
 In such countries 6oZA parties are benefited by the trans- 
 action, and even the state is a gainer in the end. The 
 lenders of money are frequently widows and orphans, 
 who subsist on the interest of their slender funds, 
 while the borrowers as frequently belong to the most 
 opulent class of the community, who wish to enlarge 
 their capital and extend their trade ; and who, by doing 
 so, are enabled to give further encouragement to in- 
 dustry, and to supply labor and bread to the in- 
 digent. 
 
 The prejudices, therefore, against usury among the 
 ancient philosophers were the natural result of the 
 state of society which fell under their observation. 
 
 t Ps. XV. 5. 
 
144 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 The prohibition of usury among the Jews in their own 
 mutual transactions, while they were permitted to take 
 a premium for the money which they lent to strangers, 
 was in perfect consistency with the other principles of 
 their political code ; commerce being interdicted, as 
 tending to an intercourse with idolaters, and ^mortga- 
 ges prevented by the indefeasible right which every 
 man had to his lands. 
 
 V. (3.) Want of an Efficient Police.] I shall only 
 mention one instance more to illustrate the effects of 
 different states of society in modifying the moral judg- 
 ments of mankind. It relates to the crime of assassina- 
 tion, which we now justly consider as the most dreadful 
 of any ; but which must necessarily have been viewed 
 in a very different light when laws and magistrates 
 were unknown, and when the only check, on injustice 
 was the principle of resentment. As it is the nature 
 "of this principle, not only to seek the punishment of 
 the delinquent, but to prompt the injured person to 
 inflict the punishment with his own hand, so in every 
 country the criminal jurisdiction of the magistrate has 
 been the last branch of his authority that was estab- 
 lished. Where the police, therefore, is weak, murders 
 must not only be more frequent, but are really less 
 criminal, than in a society like ours, where the private 
 rights of individuals are completely protected by law, 
 and where there hardly occurs an instance, excepting 
 in a case of self-defence, in which 'one man can be 
 justified for shedding the blood of another. And even 
 when, in a rude age, a murder is committed from un- 
 justifiable motives of self-interest or jealousy, yet the 
 frequency of the occurrence prevents the minds of 
 men from revolting so strongly at the sight of blood 
 as we do at present. It is on this very principle that 
 Mr. Mitford accounts for the manners and ideas that 
 prevailed in the heroic ages of Greece. 
 
 But it is unnecessary, on this head, to appeal to the 
 history -of early times, or of distant nations. In our 
 own country of Scotland, about two centuries ago, 
 
DIVERSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS. 145 
 
 yvhat shocking murders were perpetrated, and seem- 
 ingly without remorse, by men who were by no means 
 wholly destitute of a sense of religion and morality ! 
 Dr. Robertson remarks, that "Buchanan relates the 
 murder of Cardinal Beatoun and of Rizzio without 
 expressing those feelings which are natural to a man, 
 or that indignation which became an historian. Knox, 
 whose mind was fiercer and more unpolished, talks of 
 the death of Beatoun and of the Duke of Guise, not 
 only without censure, but with the utmost exultation. 
 On the other hand, the Bishop of Ross mentions the 
 assassination of the Earl of Murray with some degree 
 of applause. Blackwood dwells on it with the most 
 indecent triumph; and ascribes it directly to the hand 
 of God. Lord Ruthven, the principal actor in the 
 conspiracy against Rizzio, wrote an account of it some 
 time before his own death ; and in all his long narra- 
 tive there is not one expression of regret, or one symp- 
 tom of compunction, for a crime no less dishonorable 
 than barbarous. Morton, equally guilty of the same 
 crime, entertained the same sentiments concerning it ; 
 and in his last moments, neither he himself, nor the 
 ministers who attended him, seem to have considered 
 it as an action which called for repentance. Even then 
 he talks of ' David's slaughter ' as coolly as if it had 
 been an innocent or commendable deed." * 
 
 The reflections of Dr. Robertson on these assassina- 
 tions, which were formerly so common in this country, 
 are candid and judicious. " In consequence of the limit- 
 
 * History of Scotland, Book IV. The following lines, in which Sir 
 David Lindsay reprobates the murder of his contemporary and enemy, 
 Cardinal Beatoun. deserve to be added to the instances quoted by Dr. 
 Robertson, as an illustration of the moral sentiments of our ancestors. 
 Tliey are expressed with a miXreti which places in a strong light both the 
 moral and religious principles of that age. 
 
 " As for this Cardinal, I grant, 
 He was a man we well might want; 
 
 God will forgive it soon: 
 But of a sooth, the truth to say, 
 Altho' the loun be well away, 
 The aet was foully done." 
 13 
 
146 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 ed power of our princes, the administration of justice 
 was extremely feeble and dilatory. An attempt to 
 punish the crimes of a chieftainrpr even of his vassals, 
 often excited rebellions and civil wars. To nobles 
 haughty and independent, among whom the causes of 
 discord were many and unavoidable ; who were quick 
 in discerning an injury, and impatient to revenge it; 
 who esteemed it infamous to submit to an enemy, and 
 cowardly to forgive him ; who considered the right of 
 punishing those who had injured them as a privilege 
 of their order, and a mark of independency ; such slow 
 proceedings were extremely unsatisfactory. The blood 
 of their adversary was, in their opinion, the only thing 
 that could wash away an affront. Where that was 
 not shed, their revenge was disappointed ; their courage 
 became suspected, and a stain was left on their honor. 
 That vengeance which the impotent hand of the magis- 
 trate could not inflict, their own could easily execute. 
 Under a government so feeble, men assumed, as in a 
 state of nature, the right of judging and redressing their 
 own wrongs. And thus assassination, a crime of all 
 others the most destructive to society, came not only 
 to be allowed, but to be deemed honorable." In 
 another passage he observes, that " mankind became 
 thus habituated to blood,_not only in times of war, but 
 of peace ; and from this, as well as other causes, con- 
 tracted an amazing ferocity of temper and of manners." 
 
 VI. Second Cause of Diversity in Men^s Moral Judg- 
 ments. Difference in Speculative Opinions.] The second 
 cause I mentioned of the apparent diversity among 
 mankind in their moral judgments is the diversity in 
 their speculative opinions. 
 
 The manner in which this cause operates will appear 
 obvious, if it be considered that nature, by the sugges- 
 tions of our moral principles, only recommends to us 
 particular ends, but leaves it to our reason to ascertain 
 the most effectual means by which these ends are to be. 
 attained. Thus nature, points out to us our own hap- 
 piness, and also the happiness of our fellow-creatures, 
 
DIVERSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS. 147 
 
 as objects towards the attainment of which our best 
 exertions ought to be directed ; but she has left us to 
 exercise our reason, both in ascertaining what the con- 
 stituents of happiness are, and how they may be 
 most completely secured. Hence, according to the 
 different points of view in which these subjects of con- 
 sideration may appear to different understandings, 
 there must of necessity be a diversity of judgments 
 with respect to the morality of the same actions. One 
 man, for example, believes that the happiness of soci- 
 ety is most effectually consulted by an implicit obedi- 
 ence in all ctLses to the will of the civil magistrate. 
 Another, that the mischiefs to be apprehended from 
 resistance and insurrection in cases of urgent necessity 
 are ti-ifling when compared with those which may 
 result to ourselves and our posterity from an establish- 
 ed despotism. The former will of course be an advo- 
 cate for the duty of passive obedience ; the latter for 
 the rights and, in certain supposable cases, for the 
 obligation of resistance. Both of these men, however, 
 agree in the general principle, that it is our duty to 
 promote to the utmost of our power the happiness 
 of society; and they differ from each other only on a 
 speculative question of expediency. 
 
 Li like manner, there is a wide diversity between 
 the moral systems of ancient and modern times on 
 the subject of suicide. Both, however, agree in Ihis, 
 that it is the duty of man to obey the will of his 
 Creator, and to consult every intimation of it that his 
 reason can discover, as the supi-eme law of his conduct. 
 They differed only in their speculative doctrines concern- 
 ing the interpretation of the will of God, as manifest- 
 ed by the dispensations of his providence in the events 
 of human life. The prejudices of the ancients on this 
 subject were indeed founded in a very partial and 
 erroneous view of circumstances (arising, however, not 
 unnaturally, from the unsettled state of society in the 
 ancient republics) ; but they only afford an additional 
 instance of the numerous mistakes to which human 
 reason is liable; not of a fluctuation in the judgments 
 
148 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 of mankind concerning the fundamental rules of mor- 
 al duty* 
 
 VII. Tiiird Cause, of DiversUij in Meti^s Moral Tudg- 
 vients. Different SijsLems of Behaoiour.] The differ- 
 ent moral import, too, of the same material actio^i, un- 
 der ditferent systems of external behaviour, deserves par- 
 ticular attention, in forming an estimate of the moral 
 sentiments of different ages and nations. 
 
 This difference is chiefly owing to two causes : — 
 First, to the different conceptions of happiness and mis- 
 ery, — of what is to be desired and shunned, — which 
 men are led to form in different states of society. Sec- 
 ondly, to the effect of accident, which, as it leadsmen 
 to speak different languages in different countries, so it 
 leads them to express the same dispositions of the 
 heart by different external observances. 
 
 1. Where the opinions of mankind vary concern- 
 ing the external circumstances that constitute happi- 
 ness, the external expressions of benevolence must vary 
 of course. Thus, in the fact referred to by Locke con- 
 cerning the Indians in the neighbourhood of Hudson's 
 Bay, the wishes of the aged parent being different from 
 what we are accustomed to observe in this part of the 
 world, the marks of filial affection on the part of the 
 child must vary also. " In some countries honor is 
 associated with suffering, and it is reckoned a favor to 
 be killed with circumstances of torture. Instances of 
 this occur in the manners of some American nations, 
 and in the pride which an Indian matron feels when 
 placed on the funeral pile of her deceased husband." f 
 In such cases an action may have to us all the external 
 marks of extreme cruelty, while it proceeds' from a 
 disposition generous and affectionate. 
 
 * See Lieber's Political Ethics, Book I. Sect, xviii., where the conduct of 
 the Thugs of India — a fanatical sect pursuing murder as a trade, and un- 
 der the supposed sanction of religion — is reconciled with the moral con- 
 stitution of human nature. — Ed. 
 
 t Ferguson's Moral and Political Science, Part II. Chap. II. Sect iv. 
 [For facts in confirmation of this doctrine, see Historical Jllustrations of 
 tlie Passions, particularly Vol. I. Chap. lU. and IV.] 
 
DIVERSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS. 149 
 
 2. A difference in the moral import of the same ac- 
 tion often arises from the same accidental causes which 
 lead men, in different parts of the globe, to express the 
 same ideas by different arbitrary signs. 
 
 What happens in the trifling forms and ceremonies 
 of behaviour may serve to illustrate the operation of 
 the same causes on more important occasions. " In 
 the general principles of urbanity, politeness, or civility, 
 we may venture to assert that the opinions of all na- 
 tions are agreed ; but in the expression of this disposi- 
 tion, we meet with endless varieties. In Europe, it is 
 the form of respect to uncover the head; in Japan, the 
 corresponding form is said to be to uncover i\\e foot by 
 dropping the slipper.* Persons unacquainted with any 
 language but their own are apt to think the words they 
 use natural and fixed expressions of things ; while the 
 words of a different language they consider as mere 
 jargon, or the result of caprice. In the same manner, 
 forms of behaviour different from their own appear of- 
 fensive and irrational, or a perverse substitution of ab- 
 surd for reasonable manners. 
 
 " Among the varieties of this sort, we find actions, 
 gestures, and forms of expression, in their own nature 
 indifferent, entered into the code of civil or religious 
 duties, and enforced under the strongest sanctions of 
 public censure or esteem; or under the strongest de- 
 nunciations of the Divine indignation or favor. 
 
 " Numberless ceremomes and observances in the ritu- 
 al of different sects are to be accounted for on the same 
 principles which produce the diversity of names or 
 signs for the same thing in the vocabulary of different 
 languages. Thus, the generality of Christians when 
 they pray take off their hats; the Jews when they pray 
 put them on. Such acts, how strongly soever they 
 may affect the imaginations of the multitude, may just- 
 
 * "Even here," Sir Josbua Reynolds ingeniously remarks, "we may 
 perhaps observe a general idea running through all the varieties; to wit, 
 the general idea of making the body less in token of respect, whether by 
 bowing the body, kneeling, prostration, pulling off the upper part of the 
 dress, or throwing aside the lower." 
 13' 
 
150 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 ly be considered as part of the arbitrary language of 
 particular countries ; implying no diversity whatever in 
 the ideas or feelings of those among whom they are 
 established." * 
 
 As a further proof of the impossibility of judging of 
 the general character of a people from their opinions' 
 concerning the morality of particular actions, we may 
 observe, that, in some of the writings of the ancient 
 moralists, we meet with the most refined and sublime 
 precepts blended promiscuously with dissuasives from 
 the most shocking and detestable crimes ; in one sen- 
 tence, perhaps, a precept which may be read with ad- 
 vantage by the most enlightened of the present times ; 
 and in the next, a dissuasive from some crime which 
 no one now could be supposed to perpetrate who had 
 not arrived at the last stage of depravity. 
 
 I have dwelt very long on this subject, because, if it 
 be painful to be staggered in our belief of the immuta- 
 bility of moral distinctions by the first aspect of the 
 history of mankind, it affords a tenfold pleasure to 
 those who feel themselves interested in the cause of 
 morality, when they find, on an accurate examination, 
 that those facts on which skeptics have laid the great- 
 est stress are not only consistent with the moral consti- 
 tution of man, but result necessarily from this constitu- 
 tion, diversified in its effects according to the different 
 circumstances in which the individual is situated. To 
 trace in this manner the essential principles of the hu- 
 man frame, amidst the various disguises it borrows 
 from accidental causes, is one of the most interesting 
 employments of philosophical curiosity ; nor is there, 
 perhaps, a more satisfactory gratification to a liberal 
 mind, than when it recognizes, under the superstition, 
 the ignorance, and the loathsome sensualities of sav- 
 age life, the kindred features of humanity, and the in- 
 delible vestiges of that Divine image after which man 
 was originally formed. 
 
 VIII. Locke's Connection with this Controversy.] The 
 * See Tergusoa's Moral and Political Science, Part II. Chap. II. Seot. iv. 
 
DIVERSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS. 151 
 
 doctrines on this subject which I have hitherto been en- 
 deavouring to refute, (how erroneous soever in their 
 principles, and dangerous in their consequences,) have 
 been maintained by some writers who certainly were 
 not unfriendly in their views to the interests of virtue 
 and of mankind. In proof of this, I need only men- 
 tion the name of Mr. Locke, who, in the course of a 
 long and honorable life, distinguished himself no less 
 by the exemplary worth of his private character, and 
 by his ardent zeal for civil and religious liberty, than 
 by the depth and originality of his pliilosophical specu- 
 lations. His errors, however, ought not, on these ac- 
 counts, to be treated with reverence; but, on the con- 
 trary, they require a more careful and severe examination, 
 in consequence of the high authority they derive from 
 his geniu^^ and his virtues. And accordingly, I have 
 enlarged on such of his opinions as seemed to me fa- 
 vorable to skeptical views concerning the foundation 
 of morals, at much greater length than the ingenuity or 
 plausibility of his reasonings in support of them may 
 ajjpear to some to have merited. 
 
 To these opinions of Locke Lord Shaftesbury has 
 alluded, in various parts of his works, with a good deal 
 of indignation; and particularly in the following pas- 
 sage of [lis Advice to an Author. " One would imag- 
 ine that our philosophical writers, who pretend to treat 
 of morals, should far outdo our poets ill recommending 
 virtue, and representing what is fair and amiable in hu- 
 man actions. One would imagine, that, if they turned 
 their eyes towards remote countries, (of Arhich they af- 
 fect so much to speak,) they should search for that sim- 
 plicity of manners, and innocence of behaviour, which 
 has been often known among mere savages, ere they 
 were corrupted' by our commerce, and, by sad example, 
 instructed in all kinds of treachery and inhumanity. It 
 would be of advantage to us to hear the cause of this 
 strange corruption in ourselves, and be made to consid- 
 er of our deviation from nature, and from that just 
 purity of manners which might be expected, especially 
 from a people so assisted and enlightened by religion. 
 
153 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 For who would not naturally expect more justice, fidel- 
 ity, temperance,~and honesty from Christians than from 
 Mahometans or mere Pagans ? But so far are our mod- 
 ern moralists from condemning any unnatural vices or 
 corrupt manners, whether in our own or foreign climates, 
 that they would have vice itself appear as natural as 
 virtue ; and, from the worst examples, would represent 
 to us, ' that all actions are naturally indifferent ; that 
 they have no note or character of good or ill in them- 
 selves, but are distinguished by mere fashion, law, or 
 arbitrary decree.' Wonderful philosophy! raised from 
 the dregs of an illiterate, mean kind, which was ever 
 despised among the great ancients, and rejected by all 
 men of action or sound erudition ; but, in these ages, 
 imperfectly copied from the original, and, with much 
 disadvantage, imitated and assumed in common, both 
 by devout andindevout attempters in the moral kind. "* 
 
 Besides these incidental remarks on Locke, which 
 occur in different parts of Shaftesbury's writings, there 
 is a letter of his addressed to a student at the universi- 
 ty, which relates almost entirely to the opinion we have 
 been considering, and contains some excellent observa- 
 tions on the subject. 
 
 In this letter Lord Shaftesbury observes, that " all 
 those called free writers now-a-days have espoused 
 those principles which Mr. Hobbes set afoot in this last 
 age." " Mr. LOcke," he continues, " as much as I 
 honor him on account of other writings (viz. on gov- 
 ernment, policy, trade, coin, education, toleration, &c.), 
 and as well as I knew him, and can answer for his sin- 
 cerity, as a most zealous Christian and believer, did 
 however go in the selfsame track, and is followed by 
 the Tindals, and all the other ingenious free authors of 
 our time. 
 
 " It was Mr. Locke that struck the home blow ; for 
 Mr. Hobbes's character and base, slavish principles of 
 government took off the poison of his philosophy. It 
 was Mr. Locke that struck at all fundamentals, threw 
 
 * Part ni. Sect. iii. 
 
DIVERSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS. 153 
 
 all order and virtue out of the world, and made the 
 very ideas of these (which are the same with those of 
 God) unnatural, and without foundation in our minds. 
 Iiinule is a word he poorly plays upon ; the right word, 
 though less used, is connatural. For what has birth, 
 or progress of the foetus out of the womb, to do in this 
 case? The question is not atjout the time the ideas 
 entered, or the moment that one body came out of the 
 other, but whether the constitution of man be such, 
 that, being adult and gi-own up, at such or such a time, 
 sooner or later, (no matter when,) the idea and sense 
 of order, administration, and a God will not infallibly, 
 inevitably, necessarily, sprin": vp in him ? " * 
 
 In this last remark. Lord Shaftesbury appears to me 
 to place the question concerning innate ideas upon the 
 right and only philosophical footing, and to afford a 
 key to all the confusion which runs through Locke's 
 argument on the subject. The observations which fol- 
 low are not less just and valuable ; but I must not in- 
 dulge myself in any further extracts at present.f 
 
 These passages of Shaftesbury, in some of which 
 the warmth of his temper has betrayed him into ex- 
 pressions disrespectful to Locke, have drawn on him a 
 number of very severe animadversions, particularly 
 from Warburton, in the preface to his Divine Legation 
 
 * Letters to a Student at the University^ Let. YIII. 
 
 t Notwithstanding, however, the countenance which Xocke's reasonings 
 ap:;unst innate practical principles have the appearance of giving to the 
 pliilo^ophy of Hobbes, I have not a doubt that the difference of opinion 
 Ijetween hira and Lord Shaftesbury on this point was almost entirely ver- 
 bal. Of this I have elsewhere produced ample proofs ; but the following 
 passage will snflBce for my present purpose. " I would not be mistaken, as 
 if, because I deny an innate law, I thought there were none but positive 
 laws. There is a great deal of difference between an innate law and a lam 
 of nature, between something imprinted on our minds in their very orisinal, 
 and something that we, being ignorant of, may attain to the knowledge of, 
 by the use and due application of our natural faculties. And I think they 
 equally forsake the truth, who, running into the contrai-y extremes, either 
 affirfn an innate law, or deny that there is a law knowahle by the liglit of 
 nature, without the help of a positive revelation." — Locke's Essay concern- 
 in(j Human IJ/ifh^rstandiini, Book I. Chap. III. § 13. 
 
 [See, however, Cousin, Ilistoire de la Philosophiedu XVIII' Sifcle, Tom. 
 II. Lei;on XX«. Or Professor Henry's translation of the same, Elements of 
 -Psychology, Chap. V.] 
 
154 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 of Moses. But although Shaftesbury's personal allu- 
 sions to Locke cannot be justified, some allowance 
 ought to be made for the indignation of a generous 
 mind at a doctrine which (however well meant by the 
 proposer) striltes at the very root of morality. In this 
 instance, too, it is not improbable that the discussion of 
 the general argument may have added to the asperity 
 of his style, by reviving the memory of the private con- 
 troversies which, it is presumable, had formerly been 
 carried on between Locke and him on this important 
 subject. It is well known that Shaftesbury was Locke's 
 pupil, and also that their tempers and literary tastes 
 were not suitable to each other. In this it is common- 
 ly supposed that the former was to blame ; but, I pre- 
 sume, not wholly. Dr. Warton tells us, that Mr. Locke 
 affected to despise poetry, and that he depreciated the 
 ancients ; " which circumstance," he adds, " as I am in- 
 formed from undoubted authority, was the subject of 
 perpetual discontent and dispute between him and his 
 pupil. Lord Shaftesbury." * That Shaftesbury was not 
 insensible to Locke's real merits appears sufficiently 
 from a passage in the first of his Letters to a Student 
 at the University. " However, I am not sorry that I 
 lent you Locke's Essay, a book that may as well quali- 
 fy men for business and the world as for the sciences 
 and the university. No one has done more towards 
 the recalling of philosophy from barbarity into use and 
 practice of the world, and into the company of tlic 
 better and politer sort, who might well be ashamed 
 of it in its other dress. No one has opened a better 
 and clearer way to reasoning." 
 
 Section IV. 
 
 LICENTIOUS SYSTEMS OP MOEALS. 
 
 I. Character of the Systems so named.] The theo- 
 ries concerning the origin of our moral ideas whi(ih we 
 
 * Essay on the Genius and Writings of Pope, Sect. XII. 
 
LICENTIOUS' SYSTEMS. 155 
 
 are now to consider, although they agree in many re- 
 spects with that of Locke and his followers, have yet 
 proceeded from very different views and intentions. 
 They also involve some principles that are peculiar to 
 themselves, and which, therefore, render a separate ex- 
 amination of them necessary for the complete illustra- 
 tion of this fundamental article of ethics. They have 
 been distinguished by Mr. Smith by the name of the 
 Licentious Systems of Morals, — a name which certain- 
 ly cannot be censured as too harsh, when applied to 
 those which maintain that the motives of all men are 
 fundamentally the same, and that what we commonly 
 call virtue is mere hypocrisy. 
 
 Among the licentious moralists of modern times, the 
 most celebrated are the Due de la Rochefoucauld, au- 
 thor of the Maxims and Moral Reflections, and Dr. 
 jNIandeville, author of the Fable of the Bees. By the 
 generality of our English philosophers, these two writ- 
 ers are commonly coupled together as advocates for 
 the same system, although their views and their char- 
 acters were certainly extremely different. In the first 
 editions of Mr. Smith's Theory of Moral SeiUimenls, 
 he speaks of a licentious doctrine concerning morality, 
 which, he says, " was first sketched by the delicate pen- 
 cil of the Due de la Rochefoucauld, and was after- 
 wards enforced by the coarse but powerful eloquence 
 of Dr. Mandeville." In the last edition of that work 
 the name of La Rochefoucauld is omitted, from IMr. 
 Smith's deliberate conviction that it was unjust to his 
 memory to class him with an author whose writings 
 tend directly to confound all our ideas of moral distinc- 
 tions. On this point I speak from personal knowledge, 
 having been requested by Mr. Smith, when I happened 
 to be at Paris some years before his death, to express 
 to the late excellent and unfortunate Due de la Roche- 
 foucauld his sincere regret for having introduced the 
 name of his ancestor and that of Dr. Mandeville in the 
 same sentence. 
 
 II. La Rochefoucauld's Life and Personal Charac- 
 
156 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 ter.] The Due de la Rochefoucauld, author of the 
 Maxims, was born in 1613, and died in 1680. The 
 early part of his education was neglected ; but the dis- 
 advantages he labored under in consequence of this 
 circumstance he in a great measure overcame by the 
 force of his own talents. According to Madame de 
 Maintenon, who knew him well, " he was possessed of 
 a countenance prepossessing and interesting ; of man- 
 ners graceful and dignified ; of ipuch genius, and little 
 acquired knowledge." The same excellent judge adds 
 of him, that " he was intriguing, accommodating, and 
 cautious ; but that she had never known a friend more 
 firm, more open, or whose counsels were of greater val- 
 ue. He loved raillery ; and used to say, that personal 
 bravery appeared to him nothing better than folly; and 
 yet he himself was brave to an extreme. He preserved 
 to the last the vivacity of his mind, which was always 
 agreeable, though naturally serious." 
 
 In the share which he took in the political transac- 
 tions of his times, he discovered a facility to engage in 
 intrigues, without much steadiness in the pursuit of his 
 object. This, at least, is a remark made on him by the 
 Cardinal de E.etz, who, in a portrait of him drawn with 
 a masterly, though somewhat prejudiced hand, ascribes 
 the apparent inconsistencies of his conduct to a nat- 
 ural want of resolution. A later writer,* more favorable 
 to his memory, has attempted to account for them, 
 with much plausibility, by that superiority of penetra- 
 tion, and that rigid integrity, which all his contempora- 
 ries allow to have been distinguishing features in his 
 character; and which, though not sufficient to keep 
 him wholly disengaged from intrigues in a court where 
 every thing was put in motion by the spirit of party, 
 rendered him soon disgusted with the pretended patri- 
 otism and the selfish politics of those with whom he 
 acted. Accordingly, although he was induced by the 
 force of early connections, and a natural facility of 
 temper, to involve himself during a part of his life in 
 
 * M. Suard, in his edition of the Maximes, which appeared in 1778. 
 
LA ROCHEFOUCAULD. 157 
 
 public affairs, and more particularly, to become a tool 
 of the Duchess of Longueville in the cabals of the 
 Fronde, his own taste seems to have attached him to a 
 more private scene, where he could enjoy in freedom 
 lhe society and friendship of a few chosen companions. 
 Towards the end of his life he spent much of his time 
 at the house of Madame de la Fayette, which appears, 
 Irom. the letters of her friend, Madame de Sevigne, to 
 have been, at that period, the resort of all persons dis- 
 tinguished for wit and refinement. It was in the midst 
 of this chosen society that he composed his Memoirs 
 of the Regency of Anne of Austria, and also his Moral 
 ileflections and Maxims. 
 
 III. Influence of his Writings.] Of these two works, 
 the former is written with much elegance, and with a 
 great appearance of sincerity ; but the events which it 
 records are uninteresting in the present age. Bayle, in 
 his Dictionary, gives it the preference to the Commenta- 
 ries of Caesar; but the judgment of the public has 
 not been equally favorable. " The Memoirs of the Due 
 de la Rochefoucauld," says Voltaire, in his account of 
 the writers of the age of Louis XIV., "are read; but 
 every one knows his Maxims by heart." In fact, it is 
 almost entirely by these maxims (which, as Montesquieu 
 observes, "have become the proverbs of men of wit") 
 that the name of La Rochefoucauld is known ; and it 
 must be confessed that few performances have acquired 
 to their authors a higher or more general reputation. 
 " One of the works," says Voltaire, " which contributed 
 most to form the taste of the nation to a justness and 
 precision of thought and expression, was the small col- 
 lection of maxims by Francis, Due de la Rochefou- 
 cauld. Although there is but one idea in the book, 
 that self-love is the spring of all our actions, yet this 
 idea is presented in so great a variety of forms as to 
 be always amusing. When it fir.st appeared, it was 
 read with avidity; and it contribtited, more than any 
 other performance since the revival of letters, to accus- 
 tom wi-iters to indulge themselves in an originality of 
 14 
 
158 
 
 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 thought, and to improve the vivacity, precision, and 
 -delicacy of French composition." * 
 
 That the tendency of these maxims is, upon the 
 whole, unfavorable to morality, and that they always 
 leave a disagreeable impression on the mind, must, I 
 think, be granted.! At the same time, it may be fairly 
 questioned if the motives of the author have in gen- 
 eral been well understood, either by his admirers or by 
 his opponents. In affirming that self-love is the spring 
 of all our actions, there is no good reason for suppos- 
 ing that he meant to deny the reality of moral distinc- 
 tions as a philosophical truth, — a supposition quite 
 inconsistent with his own fine and deep remark, that 
 hypocrisy is itself a hotnag-e which vice renders to virtue. 
 He states it merely as a proposition, which, in the 
 course of his experience as a man of the world, be had 
 found very generally verified in the higher classes of 
 society, and which he was induced to announce, with- 
 out any qualification or restriction, in order to give 
 more force and poignancy to his satire. In adopting 
 this mode of writing, he has unconsciously conformed 
 himself, like many other PVench authors, who have 
 since followed his example, J to a suggestion which 
 
 • Si&de de Louis XIV., Chap. XXXII. 
 
 t Mr. Spence, in his Anecdotes of Men and Books, ascribes to Pope 8 
 remark on La Rochefoucauld which does no small honor to the poet's 
 shrewdness and knowledge of human nature. I quote it in Spence's 
 words. " As L'Esprit, La Rochefoucauld, and that sort of people, prove 
 that all virtues are disguised vices, I would engage to prove alt vices to 
 be disguised virtues. Neither, indeed, is true ; but this would he a more 
 agreeable subject, and would overturn their whole scheme." — p. 11. 
 
 J Thus it has often been said by French writers, that " no man is a hero 
 to his valet de chambre "; and the maxim, when properly understood, has 
 some foundation in truth. It probably was meant by its original author lo 
 refer only to those petty circumstances of temper and behaviour which, 
 without affecting the essentials of character, have a tendency to diminish, 
 on a near approach, the theatrical effect of great men. It" has, however, 
 been frequently quoted as implying that there are none whose virtues will 
 bear a close exjimination ; in which acceptation, it is not more injurious to 
 human nature than it is contrary to fact. How much more profound, as 
 well as more pleasing, is the remark of Plutarch ! " Real virtue is inost 
 loved where it is most nearly seen, and no j-espect which it commands 
 from strangers can equal the never-ceasing admiration it excites in the 
 daily iatetcourse of domestic life." — Vit. Periclis. It is indeed true, that 
 
LA ROCHEFOUCAULD. 159 
 
 Aristotle has stated with admirable depth and acute- 
 ness in his Rhetoric. " Sentences or apothegms lend 
 much aid to eloquence. One reason of this is, that 
 they flatter the pride of the hearers, who are de- 
 lighted when the speaker, making use of geheral lan- 
 guage, touches upon opinions which they had before 
 known to be true in part. Thus, a person who had 
 the misfortune to live in a bad neighbourhood, or to 
 have worthless children, would easily assent to the 
 speaker who should affirm that notkinff is more vexa- 
 tious than to have any neighbours ; nothing more irra- 
 tional than to bring children into the world."* This 
 observation of Aristotle, while it goes far -to account 
 for the imposing and dazzling effect of these rhetorical 
 exaggerations, ought to guard us against the common 
 and popular error of mistaking them for the serious 
 and profound generalizations of science. As- for La 
 Rochefoucauld, we know, from the best authorities, 
 that in private life he was a conspicuous example of 
 all those moral qualities of which he seemed to deny 
 the existence ; and that he exhibited, in this respect, a 
 striking contrast to the Cardinal de Retz, who has pre- 
 sumed to censure him for his want of faith in the real- 
 ity of virtue. 
 
 In reading La Rochefoucauld, it should never be for- 
 gotten that it was within the vortex of a court he en- 
 joyed his chief opportunities of studying the world, 
 and that the narrow and exclusive circle in which he 
 moved was not likely to afford him the most favorable 
 specimens of human nature in general. Of the court 
 of Louis XIV. in particular, we are told by a very nice 
 and reflecting observer (Madame de la Fayette), that 
 
 some men, who are admired by the world, appear to most advantage when 
 viewed at a distance ; but, on the other liand, may it not be contended 
 that many who are obiects of general odium would be found, if examined 
 raore nearly, not to ho destitute of estimable and amiable qualities ? May 
 we not even go further, and assert that the very worst of men have a mix- 
 ture of good in their romposition, .and express a doubt whether human 
 nature would gain or lose upon a thorough acquaintance with the conduct 
 and motives of individuals ? . 
 
 « Lib. II. Cap. XXTI. 
 
160 THE MORAL. FACULTY. 
 
 " ambition and gallantry were the soTtl, actuating alike 
 both men and women. So many contending interests, 
 so many different cabals, were constantly at work, 
 and in all of those women bore so important a- part, 
 that love was always mingled with business, and 
 business with love. Nobody was tranquil or indif- 
 ferent. Every one studied to advance himself by 
 pleasing, serving, or raining others. Idleness and 
 languor were unknown, and nothing was thought of 
 but intrigues or pleasures." 
 
 In the passage already quoted from Voltaire, he 
 takes notice of the effect of La Rochefoucauld's max- 
 ims in improving the style of French composition. 
 We may add to this remark, that their effect has not 
 been less sensible in vitiating the tone and character of 
 French philosophy, by bringing into vogue those false 
 and degrading representations of human nature and 
 of human life which have prevailed in that country 
 more or less for a century past. Mr. Addison, in one 
 of the papers of the Taller, expresses his indignation 
 , at this general bias among the French writers of his 
 age. " It is impossible," he observes, " to read a 
 passage in Plato, or Tdly, or a thousand other ancient 
 moralists, without being a greater and better man for 
 it. On the contrary, I could never read any of our 
 modish French authors, or those of our own country 
 who are the imitators and admirers of that nation, 
 without being for some time out of humor with my- 
 self, and at every thing about me. Their business is to 
 depreciate human nature, and to consider it under the 
 worst appearances ; they give mean interpretations and 
 base motives to the worthiest of actions.. In short, 
 they endeavour to make no distinction between man 
 and man, or between the species of man and that of 
 the brutes." 
 
 IV. Mandeville's Wrilings and Moral System.] From 
 the form in which La Rochefoucauld's maxims are pub- 
 lished, it is impossible to attempt a particular examina- 
 tion of them ; nor, indeed, do I apprehend that such 
 
MANDEVILLE. 161 
 
 an examination is necessary for any of the purposes 
 •which I have at present in view. So far as their ten- 
 dency is unfavorable to the reality of moral distinctions, 
 it is the same with that of Mandeville's system ; and 
 therefore the strictures I am now to offer on the latter 
 writer may be applied with equal truth to the general 
 conclusions which some have chosen to draw from the 
 satirical observations of the former. 
 
 Dr. Mandeville was born in Holland, where he re- 
 ceived his education both in medicine and in philosophy. 
 He made his first appearance in England about the be- 
 ginning of the last century, and soon attracted very 
 general attention by the vivacity and licentiousness of 
 his publications. 
 
 The work by which he is best known is a poem, 
 first printed in 1714, with the title of The Grumbling 
 Hive, or Knaves turned Honest; upon which he after- 
 wards wrote Remarks, and published the whole at 
 London in 1723, having for its title The Fable of the 
 Bees : or Private Vices, Public Benefits. This book 
 was presented by the grand jury of Middlesex the 
 same year, and was severely animadverted on soon 
 after by some very eminent writers, particularly by Dr. 
 Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne, and by Dr. Hutcheson of 
 Glasgow in his various treatises on ethical subjects. 
 
 To the Remarks on the Fable of the Bees, the au- 
 thor has prefixed An Inquiry into the Origin of Moral 
 Virtue; and it is to this inquiry that I propose to con- 
 fine myself chiefly in the following strictures, as it 
 exhibits his peculiar opinions concerning the principles 
 of morals in a more systematical form than any of 
 his other writings. In the course of the observations 
 which I have to offer with respect to it, I shall perhaps 
 be led to repeat one or two remarks which have been 
 already suggested by the doctrines of Locke. But, for 
 this repetition, I hope that the importance of the sub- 
 ject will be a sufficient apology. 
 
 The great object of Mandeville's inquiry into the 
 origin of moral virtue is to show that all our moral 
 sentiments are derived from education, and are the 
 14* 
 
162 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 \ 
 
 workmanship of politicians and lawgivers. " These," 
 says he, " observing how selfish an animal man is, and 
 how impossible, in consequence, it would be to retain 
 numbers together in the same society without govern- 
 ment, endeavoured to give his selfish principles a direc- 
 tion useful to the public. For this purpose they have 
 labored in all ages to convince him that it is better to 
 restrain than to indulge his appetites, and to consult 
 the public interest than his own. The engine they 
 employed in' working upon him was flattery, which 
 they addressed to vanity, one of the strongest principles 
 of our nature. They contrasted man, with the lower 
 animals, and magnified the advantages he possesses 
 ov«r them. The human race they divided into two 
 classes; the mean and contemptible, who, after the 
 example of the brutes, gratify every animal propensity; 
 and the generous and high-spirited, who, disdaining 
 these low gratifications, bend their study to cultivate 
 the nobler principles of our nature, and wage a con- 
 tinual war with themselves to promote the happiness 
 of others. In the case of men possessed of an extraor- 
 dinary degree of pride and resolution, these representa- 
 tions of politicians and moralists were able to effec- 
 tuate a complete conquest of their natural appetites, 
 and a complete contempt of their own visible interests; 
 and even the feeble-minded and abject would be un- 
 willing to rank themselves in the class to which they 
 really belonged, and would strive to conceal their im- 
 perfections from the world, by their forwardness to 
 swell the cry in praise of self-denial and of public 
 spirit. Such," says Mandeville, "was, or at least 
 might have been, the manner after which savage man 
 was broke; and what we call the moral virtues are 
 merely the political offspring- which flattery begot vpon 
 pride." 
 
 I shall not insist on the absurdity of supposing that 
 govermne7it is an invention of political wisdom, and 
 not the natural result of man's constitution, and of the 
 circumstances in which he is placed. This, however 
 improbable, is one of the least absurdities of Man- 
 
MANDEVILLE. 163 
 
 deville's system. Its capital defect consists in supposing 
 that the origin of our moral virtues may be accounted 
 for from the power of education ; a fundamental error, 
 which is common to the system of Mandeville and that 
 -of Locive as commonly understood by his followers, 
 and which I had formerly occasion to notice and refute. 
 I shall not, therefore, enlarge upon it at present, but 
 shall confine myself to those parts of Mandeville's 
 philosophy which are peculiar to himself. 
 
 V. His Erroneous Notions respecting' Vanity and 
 Pride. \ It appears from the passage just quoted, that 
 the engine which Mandeville supposes politicians to 
 employ for the purpose of creating the artificial distinc- 
 tion between virtue and vice is vanity or pride, which 
 two words he uses as synonymous. He employs them, 
 likewise, in a much more extensive sense than their 
 common acceptatio"fi authorizes; to denote, not only an 
 overweening conceit of our own character and attain- 
 ments, or a weak and childish passion for the admira- 
 tion of others, but that reasonable desire for the esteem 
 of our fellow-creatures, which, so far from being a 
 weakness, is a laudable and respectable principle. 
 
 The desire of esteem and the dread of contempt are 
 undoubtedly among the strongest principles of our 
 nature ; tout in good minds they are only subsidiary to 
 the desire of excellence, nay, they cannot be effectually 
 gratified if they are the first springs of our actions. To 
 be pleased with the applause of others, it is not suf- 
 ficient to possess the appearance of good qualities; we 
 rfiust possess the reality. A man of sense and delicacy 
 is nevfcr more mortified than when he receives praise 
 for qualities which he knows do not belong to him; 
 and he is comforted, under the mistaken censures of 
 the world, by the consciousness he does not deserve 
 them. A desire of applause may, without detracting 
 from our merit, mingle itself with the more worthy 
 motives of our conduct; but if it is the sole motive, 
 the attainment of the object will never communicate 
 a lasting satisfaction. 
 
164 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 " Falsus honor juvat, et mendax infamia terret, 
 Quern, nisi mcndooum et mendaccm'? " * 
 
 Vanity, in propriety of speech, denotes a weakness 
 arising from a perversion of the desire of esleem. A. 
 man is vain, who values himself on what is unworthy 
 of regard, as the external distinctions of equipage or 
 dress. He, too, is vain who wishes to pass in the 
 world for what he really is not, and' boasts of qualities 
 which he does not possess. We also give the name 
 of vaniLy to that weakness which disposes a man to 
 be pleased with flattery, and which leads him, not only 
 to desire the esteem of others, but to place his happi- 
 ness in public expressions of it. In every case, vanity 
 denotes a weakness which is carefully to be distin- 
 guished from the love of true glory. 
 
 Mandeville uses the word to express every sentiment 
 of regard that we feel for the good opinion of others ; 
 and, wherever this regard can be suj^osed to have had 
 any inflaence on our conduct, he concludes that vanity 
 was our principle of action. 
 
 From these observations, added to those formerly 
 made on Locke, it follows, in the first place, that the 
 whole of our moral sentiments cannot be accounted for 
 from education. Secondly, that, by confounding to- 
 gether vanity, and a reasonable regard to the esteem of 
 our fellow-creatures, Mandeville has expressed the fun- 
 damental proposition of his system in terms so vague 
 and ambiguous as renders it impossible to form a 
 distinct conception of his meaning. And, thirdly, that 
 even this reasonable and laudable desire of esteem 
 cannot be effectually gratified, if it be the sole prin- 
 ciple of our conduct; and therefore cannot be the only 
 source of our moral virtues. 
 
 From the principle of vanity, Mandeville endeavours 
 to account for all the instances of self-denial that have 
 occurred in the world. But he is not satisfied with ex- 
 
 * Hor., Ep. XVI. 39. 
 
 "False praise can charm, unreal shame control. 
 Whom, but a vicious or a sickly soul ? " 
 
MANDEVILLB. 165 
 
 plaining away in this manner the reality of moral 
 distinctions. He endeavours to show that human life 
 is nothing but a scene of hypocrisy, and that there is 
 really little or none of that self-denial to be found that 
 somernen lay claim to. In his theory of moral virtue 
 he seems to allow that education may not only teach 
 a man to check his appetites in order to procure the 
 esteem of others, but that it may teach him to con- 
 sider such a conquest over the lower principles of his 
 nature as noble in itself, and as elevating him still 
 farther than nature had done above the level of the 
 brutes. " Those men," says he, " who have labored to 
 establish societies endeavoured, in the first place, to 
 insinuate themselves into the hearts of men by flattery, 
 extolling the excellences of our nature above other ani- 
 mals. They next began to instruct them in the notions 
 of honor and shame, representing the one as the worst 
 of all evils, and the other as the highest good to which 
 mortals could aspire; — which being done, they laid 
 before them how unbecoming it was the dignity of 
 such sublime creatures to be solicitous about gratifying 
 those appetites which they had in common with the 
 brutes, and at the same time unmindful of those higher 
 qualities that gave them the preeminence over all 
 visible beings. They, indeed, confessed that these 
 impalses of nature were very pressing; that it was 
 troublesome to resist, and very ditficult wholly to subdue 
 them. But this they only used as an argument to de- 
 monstrate how glorious the conquest of them was on 
 the one hand, and how scandalous on the other not to 
 attempt it." 
 
 These arguments, it is evident, are addressed to 
 pride rather than to vanity ; and it is worthy of remark, 
 that, though Mandeville never states the distinction 
 between these two words, but, on the contrary, afli'cts 
 to consider them as synonymous, he plainly was 
 aware of the import of both, and sometimes uses the 
 one, and sometimes the other, as best suits his purpose. 
 Thus, in the following passage, if -the word vanity were 
 substituted instead of pride, the impropriety could not 
 
166 THE MORAl. FACULTY. 
 
 escape the most careless reader. " Such men as, f'roiT 
 no other motive but their love of goodness, perform f 
 worthy action in silence, have, I confess, acquired mors 
 refined notions of virtue than those I have hithurtc 
 spoke of, yet even in these (with whom the world has 
 never yet swarmed) we may discover no small symp 
 toins of pride ; and the humblest man alive must con 
 fess that the reward of a virtuous action, which is thf 
 satisfaction that ensues upon it, consists in a certaii 
 pleasure he procures to himself, by contemplating or 
 his own worth ; which pleasure, together with th( 
 occasion of it, are as certain signs of pride as looldnj 
 pale and trembling at any imminent danger are th( 
 symptoms of fear." 
 
 From these passages, however, it is abundantly 
 clear, that, in his theory of virtue, Mandeville admiti 
 the possibility of self-denial being exercised merely fo: 
 the private gratification of the pride of the individual 
 without any regard to the opinions of other men. Bu 
 in his commentary on the Fable of lite Bees, he goes 
 much farther, and attempts to show that there is reallj 
 no self-denial in the world, and that what we call e 
 conquest is only a concealed indulgence of our passions 
 To establish this point, he avails himself of the am^ 
 biguity of language. The passion of sex he, in everj 
 case, calls lust ; every thing which exceeds what is 
 necessary for the support of life he calls luxury ; ant 
 thus confounding the innocent and reasonable gratifi- 
 cations of our passions with their vicious excesses, he 
 pretends to show that there is really no virtue amons 
 men. « There are some of our passions," says Mr 
 Smith, "which have no other names. except those 
 which mark the disagreeable and offensive degree 
 The spectator is more apt to take notice of them in 
 this degree than in any other. When they shock his 
 own sentiments, when they give him some sort ol 
 antipathy and uneasiness, he is necessarily obliged tc 
 attend to them, and is from thence naturally "led tc 
 give them a name. When they fall in with the nat- 
 ural state of his own mind, he is very apt to overlook 
 
MANDEVILLE. 167 
 
 them altogether, and either gives them no name at all, or, 
 jf he gives them any, it is one which marks rather the 
 subjection and restraint of the passion than the degree 
 which it is still allowed to subsist in after it is so sub- 
 jected and restrained. Thus, the common names of 
 the love of plea.svre and of the love of sex denote a 
 vicious and offensive degree of those passions. The 
 words temperance and chastity, on the other hand, seem 
 to mark rather the restraint and subjection in which 
 they are kept under, than the degree which they are 
 still allowed to subsist in. When he can show, there- 
 fore, that they still subsist in some degree, he imagines 
 he has entirely demolished the reality of the virtues of 
 temperance and chastity, and shown them to be mere 
 impositions upon the inattention and simplicity of 
 mankind. Those virtues, however, do not require an 
 entire insensibility to the objects of the passions which 
 they mean to govern. They only aim at restraining the 
 violence of those passions so far as not to hurt the in- 
 dividual, and neither to disturb nor offend society. 
 
 " It is the great fallacy of Dr. Mandeville's book to 
 represent every passion as wholltj vicious, which is so 
 in any degree, and in any direction. It is thus that he 
 treats every thing as vanity which has any reference 
 either to what are, or what ought to be, the sentiments 
 of others; and it is by means of this sophistry that he 
 establishes his favorite conchision, that private vices are 
 public benefits. If the love of magnificence, a taste 
 for the elegant arts and improvements of human life, for 
 whatever is agreeable in dress, furniture, or equipage, 
 for architecture, statuary, painting, and music, is to be 
 regarded as luxury, sensuality, and ostentation, even in 
 those whose situation allows, without any inconven- 
 iency, the indulgence of those passions, it is certain that 
 luxury, sensuality, and ostentation are public benefits, 
 since, without the qualities upon which he thinks proper 
 to bestow such opprobrious names, the arts of refine- 
 ment could never find employment, and must languish 
 for want of encouragement. Some popular ascetic 
 doctrines which had been current before his time, and 
 
168 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 which placed virtue in the entire extirpation and an- 
 nihilation of all our passions, were the real foundation 
 of this licentious system. It was easy for Dr. Mande- 
 ville to prove, first, that this entire conquest never ac- 
 tually took place among men ; and, secondly, that, if it 
 was to take place universally, it would be pernicious to 
 society, by putting an end to all commerce and indus- 
 ti-y, and, in a manner, to the whole business of human 
 life. By the first of these propositions he seemed to 
 prove that there was no real virtue, and that what pre- 
 tended to be such was a mere cheat and imposition 
 upon mankind ; and by the second, that private vices 
 were public benefits, since without them no society 
 could prosper or flourish." * 
 
 VI. On the General Impression and Practical Ten- 
 dency of such Speculations.] I shall not enter into a 
 more particular examination. of Mandeville's doctrines. 
 I cannot, however, leave the subject without observing, 
 that the impression which the author's writings produce 
 on the mind affords a sufficient refutation of his princi- 
 ples. It was considered by Cicero as a strong pre- 
 sumption against the system of Epicurus, that "it 
 breathed nothing generous or noble," nihil nioffnificum, 
 nihil generosum sapil ; and the same presumption will 
 be found to apply, with tenfold force, to that theory 
 which has been now under our discussion. If there be 
 no real distinction between virtue and vice, — if the 
 account given by Mandeville of the constitution of our 
 nature be a just one, — why do his reasonings render 
 us dissatisfied with our own characters, or inspire us 
 with a detestation and contempt for mankind ? Why 
 do we turn with pleasure from the dark and uncomfort- 
 able prospects which he presents to us, to the delight- 
 ful and elevating views of human nature which are ex- 
 hibited in those philosophical systems which he attempts 
 to explode ? It will be said, perhaps, that all this arises 
 from pride or vanity. When we read Mandeville, we 
 
 " Tlmry of Moral Sentiments, Part VII. Sect. U. Chap. IV. 
 
MANDBVILLE. 169 
 
 are ashamed of the species to which we belong ; while, 
 on the contrary, our pride is gratified by those sublime 
 but fallacious descriptions of disinterested virtue, with 
 which Ihc v.'cakness or hypocrisy of some popular writ- 
 ers has llatlered the moral enthusiasm of the multi- 
 tude. But if Mandevillc's account of our natnre be just, 
 whence is it that we come to have an idea of one class 
 of qualities as more excellent and meritorious than an- 
 other ? Why do we consider pride or vanity as a less 
 worthy motive for our conduct than disinterested pa- 
 triotism or friendship, or a determined adherence to 
 what we believe to be our duty ? Why does human 
 nature appear to us less amiable in his writings than in 
 the writings of Addison? or whence the origin of those 
 opposite sentiments which the very names of Addison 
 tvnd of Mandeville inspire? We shall admit the fact 
 with respect to the actual depravity of man to be as he 
 states it; but does not the impression his system leaves 
 on the mind demonstrate that we are at least formed 
 with the love and admiration of moral excellence, and 
 that virtue was intended to be the law of our conduct? 
 The question concerning the actual attainments of man 
 must not be confounded with the question concerning 
 the reality of rnoral distinctions. If Mandeville is suc- 
 cessful in establishing his doctrine on the first of these 
 points, tiic^ dissatisfaction his conclusions leave on the 
 mind is sufficient to overturn his doctrine witli respect 
 to the latter. The remarlc of La Rochefoucauld, that 
 " hypocrisy itself is a homage which vice renders to vir- 
 tue," involves a satisfactory reply to all the arguments 
 that have ever been drawn from the prevailing corrup- 
 tioji of manliind against the moral constitution of hu- 
 man jiature. 
 
 It is the capital defect of this system to confound to- 
 gether the two c[mstions I have just stated, and to sub- 
 stitute a satire on vice and folly instead of a philosoph- 
 ical account of those moral principles which form an 
 essential part of our frame. That there is a great deal 
 of truth mixed with the sophistry it contains, 1 am ready 
 to acknowledge ; and if the author's remarks had been 
 15 
 
170 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 thrown into the form of satires, many of them might 
 have been useful to the world, by the light they throw 
 on human character, and by the assistance which indi- 
 viduals may derive from them in examining their own 
 motives of action. Some apology might have been 
 made, in this case, for the colorings which the author's 
 facts have borrowed from his imagination. The object 
 of the satirist is to reform ; and for this purpose it may 
 sometimes be of use to exaggerate the prevailing vices 
 and follies of the time, in order to contrast more strong- 
 ly what mankind are with what they mig-ht and ovght 
 to be. But the satirist who wishes well to his species, 
 while he indulges his indignation against prevailing cor- 
 ruptions, will recollect, that, if his censures are just, they 
 presuppose the reality of moral distinctions ; and while 
 he laments the depravity of the race, and chastises the 
 follies and vices of individuals, he- will reverence moral- 
 ity as the Divine law, and those essential principles of 
 the human frame which bear the manifest signature of 
 the Divine workmanship. To attempt to depreciate 
 these can never' answer a good purpose. On the con- 
 trary, it has a tendency to fill the minds of good men 
 with a desponding skepticism, and to stifle every gener- 
 ous and active exertion ; ,and if it does not actually in- 
 crease the depravity of the world, it tends at least to 
 strengthen the effrontery of vice, and to expose the wiser 
 and better part of mankind to the impertinent raillery 
 of fools and profligates.* 
 
 * As the direct influence of the writings of La Roehefoneauld and Man- 
 deville has passed away for the most part, I liave taken the lilierty slightly 
 to abridge what was said of them in the text, in order to make room for 
 some acconnt of a more distinguished moralist of the selfish school, Jeremy 
 Bentham. What relates to Bentham himself is taken from Morell's Ifcio 
 of Speculative PkUosophj in the Nineteenth Century, Chap. IV. ; what relates 
 to his followers is taken from Mackintosh's Progress of Ethical Philosoplii/, 
 Sect. VI. — Ed. 
 
BENTHAM. 171 
 
 Appendix to Chapter IL 
 bentham and his followers. 
 
 I. Bent/lam's Ethical Writings and Doctrines.] Jeremy 
 Bentham was born in London, in the year 1748, and at 
 a very early age became a graduate of the University 
 of Oxford. Whilst there, he directed his attention to 
 the study of law and the cognate branch of ethics, and 
 during the last year of his stay in that city became an 
 ardent admirer and investigator of the principle of utili- 
 ty, chiefly from reading Dr. Priestley's Essay vpon Gov- 
 ernment. In 1776 he published a Fragment on Govern- 
 ment^ and in 1789 appeared his grand work, entitled 
 Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation. 
 The moral system which Bentham advocated in this 
 latter work, and which he expanded more and more 
 during a long and laborious life, at length came fort^j, 
 in the year 1834, in its most complete, and at the same 
 time most popular form, as a posthumous production, 
 edited by Dr. Bowring, under the title of Deontology ; 
 or the Science of Morality. 
 
 The principles advocated under the name of deontol- 
 ogy nxay be easily explained. The whole system takes 
 its rise from the consideration that man is capable of 
 pleasures and pains, and that, from the calculation of 
 these, all moral action proceeds. On this theory, good 
 is a word synonymous with pleasure, evil synonymous 
 with pain, and all happiness consists in the possession 
 of the one, and the absence of the other. Give me, 
 says the utilitarian teacher, give me the human sensi- 
 bilities, — joy and grief, pain and pleasure, and I will 
 create a moral world. Pleasure and pain, then, the 
 basis of our moral nature, are to be estimated accord- 
 ing to their magnitude and extent y magnitude, refen-ing 
 to their intensity and duration ; extent, depending on 
 the number of persons who are affected by them. It 
 is in the proper balancing of these, asserts Bentham, 
 that all morality consists, and beyond this the words 
 virtue and vice are emptiness and folly. 
 
172 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 Pleasure or pain, however, may arise from two 
 sources ; it may arise from considerations affecting 
 oiirsclves, or it may arise from the contemplation of 
 others, the former being purely of a selfish nature, the 
 latter being sympathetic. Hence originates a twofold 
 division of virtue into prudence and effective benevo- 
 lence, — both of them, however, alike having their 
 ground in the pleasure we personally derive from their 
 exercise. Prudence, again, is of two kinds, that which 
 respects ourselves, which our author terms self-rea^ard- 
 ing prudence ; and that which respects others, ■which 
 he terms exlra-regarding prudence. Effective benevo- 
 lence, also, is twofold, ;>osi^jVe and negative; the busi- 
 ness of the former bemg to augment pleasure by volun- 
 tary exertion, that of the latter being to do the same 
 by abstaining from action. Virtue, says Bentham, when 
 separated from the pursuit of happiness, is absolutely 
 nothing ; and, accordingly, it is termed by him a ficti- 
 tious entity. Inasmuch, also, as no one is supposed to 
 have any motive for action different from the pursuit of 
 pleasure or the avoidance of pain, we have the deonto- 
 logical doctrine educed, that every motive is abstractedly 
 good, and that evil has to do with nothing but our ac- 
 tions or dispositions. In a word, Ave are to imagine,, 
 that 'man has originally no moral sentiment w^hatever, 
 that he has no idea of one thing being right and another 
 wrong, that all actions are to him in this respect abso-. 
 lutely alike, and that the conception of virtue, as well 
 as the rules of morality, are all the product of experi- 
 ence, teaching us what actions produce happiness, and 
 what suffering. Such is the moral system which is 
 aptly enough termed the greatest-happiness principle, 
 and such the virtue which is correctly expressed as the 
 art of maximizing ovr enjoijment. 
 
 The style of the work from wliich I have made the 
 above analysis is popular, witty, and somewhat amus- 
 ing, but becomes at length tedious from repetition and 
 tautology. It abounds in biting sarcasm against what 
 is termed the dogmatism and '■'■ ipse-dixilism" of most 
 other moralists ; but, what is remarkable, is itself at the 
 same time one of the most striking instances of reiter- 
 
BENTHAM. - 173 
 
 ated assertion that is to be found among all the ethical 
 writings of the present century.* 
 
 * A few selections will best illustrate Bentham's light and irreverent 
 tone. Thus in Part I. Cliap. II. : — " Tlie talisman of arrogance, indo- 
 lenee, and ignorance is to be found in a single word, an autlioritalive im- 
 postuie, which in these pages it will be frequently necessai-y to unveil. It 
 is tlie word ought, — oiig/it or ought not, as circumstances maybe. In de- 
 ciding ' You ought to do this, — You ought not to do it,' is not every ques- 
 tion of morals set at rest? If the word he admissible at all, it 'ought' to be 
 banished from the vocabulary of morals. There is anotlier \#rd which 
 has a talismanic virtue, too, and which might be wielded to destroy many 
 fatal and fallacious positions. ' You ought,' — ' You ought not,' says the 
 dogmatist. ' Whg 1 ' retorts the inquirer, — ' Why % ' To say ' You ought ' 
 is easy in the extreme. To stand the searching peneti-ation of a Why ? is 
 not so easy. ' W}i]j ought W ' Because you ought,' is the not unfre- 
 quent reply ; on which the Why ? comes back again with the added ad- 
 vantage of having obtained a victory." A morality fj'om the vocabulary 
 of which the word " ought" is to be banished ! It is hardly necessary to 
 observe that the whole force of Bentham's " Why ■? " depends on his de- 
 termination to accept no answer which is not satisfactory according to his 
 theory of utilitarianism, — of course palpably illogical, as it begs the whole 
 question. 
 
 Again in Chapter III. : — " The summam bonum, — the sovereign good, — 
 what \a it ? The philosopher's stone that converts all metals into gold, — 
 the balm Hygeian that cures all manner of diseases. It is this thing, and 
 that thing, and the other thing ; it is any thing but pleasure ; it is the Irish- 
 man's apple-pie made of nothing but quinces." He then amuses himself 
 by going a little more into detail with the various answers which philoso- 
 phers and divines have made to the question proposed above. A single 
 spe<:imen will suffice. " But we are still at sea, and another set cry out, 
 ' The habit of virtue ' ; the habit of virtue is the summum bonnm : either 
 this is the jewel itself, or the casket in which it is^found. Lie all your life 
 long in your bed with the rheumatism in your loins, the stone in your blad- 
 der, and the gout in your feet: have hut the habit of virtue, and you have 
 the summum bonuin. Much good maij it do yoii." 
 
 Once more, in Chapter IV. : — " The moral sense, say some, prompts 
 to generosity; but does it determine what is generous? It prompts to 
 justice ; but does it determine what is just ? It can decide no controversy ; 
 it can reconcile no diifercnce. Introduce a modern partisan of the moral 
 sense, and an ancient Greek, and ask each of them whether actions deemed 
 blameless in ancient days, but respecting which opinions have now Under- 
 gone great change, ought to be tolerated in a community. ' By no means,' 
 says the modern ; 'as my moral sense abhors them, therefore they ought 
 not.' ' But mine,' says the ancient, ' approves of them ; therefore they 
 ought.' And there, if the modern keep his principles and his temper, the 
 matter must end between them. Upon the ground of moral sense there is 
 no going one jot further ; and the result is, that the actions in question are 
 at once laudable and detestable. The modem, then, as probably he will 
 keep neither his principles nor his temper, says to the ancient, ' Your 
 moral sense is nothing to the purpose ; yours is corrupt, abominable, de- 
 testable ; all nations cry out against you.' ' No such thing,' replies the 
 ancient ; ' and if they did, it would be nothing to the purpose ; our business 
 
 15* 
 
174 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 II. Objections to Bentliam's Si/stem.] In offering 
 some remarks upon Bentbam's philosophy, we must 
 state distinctly, that we leave entirely out of the ques- 
 tion his valuable labors in the department of jurispru- 
 dence, and rei'er simply to the principles of his moral 
 theory. And here we would caution every ethical stu- 
 dent against imagining, that he will find all the origi- 
 nality which is claimed for the deontologist by himself 
 and hisjfiore ardent admirers. To speak of Bentham's 
 "having found out the true psychological law of om- 
 nature, as Newton discovered that of the material uni- 
 verse," is not only metaphysically false, but, even allow- 
 ing its philosophical accuracy, is historicallij untrue. 
 To say nothing of the Epicureans of ancient times, 
 and more recently of Hobbes, we might ' point out 
 many writers who have given far more than passing al- 
 lusions to the very same doctrine as that for which 
 Bentham is so highly extolled, although they may not 
 have expanded it so fully, or applied it so extensively, 
 as was done in the case before us.* The professed 
 supporters of utility, again, such as Hume and Paley, 
 proceeded virtually upon the very same principle; and 
 even if we pass over these, yet still we might refer to 
 
 was to inquire, not what people Ihiiilc, but what they ovght to Ihinlc.' There- 
 upon the modern kicks the ancient, or spits in his face i or. if he is strong 
 enough, throws him behind the fire. One can think of no other method, 
 tliat is at once natural and consistent, of continuini; the debate." 
 
 It was Mr. Bentham's pleasure to ]jcrsist in supposing that aJl his op- 
 ponents, a few asi'eiics excepted, could be classed under the liead of be- 
 lievers in a moral smse. A large proportion of them, as we shall soon see, 
 hold that the moral faculty pertains to the rational, and tiot to the siiisillve, 
 element in human nature That the moral fa<-ulty should make mistakes, 
 and aftei-wards correct them, does not disprove its existence as a natural 
 endowment of ninn, or its legitimate authority. If it did, we might dis- 
 prove the existence and authority of the knowing or cognitive faculty in 
 the same way; for that also makes mistakes, and afterwards corrects them. 
 Because we say that children and savages have a conscience, we do not 
 mean that they have one in the same stage of development, and conse- 
 quently we do not mean that its decisions are as clear, or as coirect, as in 
 the case of the properly educated. — Ed. 
 
 * The only ditference between Epicurus or Hobbes on the one side, and 
 Bentham on the other, is, that the former drew their principles at once 
 from human nature metaphysically considered, — while the latter, gave no 
 theory of man generally, but laid down his moral axioms as ultimate 
 facts. '^ 
 
BEXTHAM. 175 
 
 Gay's Preface to Archbishop King On the Origin of 
 Ei'il, to the writings of Priestley, to the Political Justice 
 of Godwin, and to many of the French moralists, for il- 
 lustrations of the very same theory, which Bentham only 
 somewhat more perseveringly elaborated. The great- 
 est-happiness principle is, in fact, utilitarianism in one 
 of its many different phases ; and accordingly the ob- 
 jections which we have already urged against that doc- 
 trine apply with equal force to the one now before us. 
 As the question, however, is of some importance, -we 
 shrill specify a few other objections, which apply more 
 directly to the utilitarian system, as held by the advo- 
 cates of deontology ; and, 
 
 1. There is in these writers a perpetual habit of con- 
 founding the cause of virtuous action with the effect. 
 We have it reiterated again and again, as an unan- 
 swerable argument, that there must be a selfish pleas- 
 ure experienced whenever we act on virtuous principles: 
 for, if our action terminates in ourselves, it must arise 
 from the prospect of our own happiness and advantage; 
 if, on the other hand, we act for the welfare of others, 
 still, we are told, it is only for the satisfaction of our 
 own impulses that wfe seek to benefit them. No\v, 
 that there is pleasure attached to moral action, whether 
 it be self-'seeidng or extra-seeking, we readily admit ; 
 but this is far from giving us a proof that such action 
 springs from any anticipation of the pleasure ive hope 
 to obtain. It is a pleasure to a strong man to exercise 
 his limbs; but this is no evidence that he cannot have 
 any other motive than this for exercising them. To a 
 man devoted to business, it is a pleasure to be perpetu- 
 ally absorbed in it; but still his activity may have 
 many other grounds of excitement besides that one. 
 Prove as you may, that pleasure actually accompanies, 
 and'even that we expect it to accompany, the practice 
 of every virtue, the point is still far from being settled 
 that there is no other spring of virtuous action in exist- 
 ence. The Deity, assuredly, may have given us a 
 moral law, may have engraved it on our own minds, 
 and placed it far beyond all the chances of human cai- 
 
176 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 culation ; and yet may have attached pleasure to the 
 obedience of it as a mark of his approval, and as a re- 
 ward for our fidelity. The mere fact, therefore, that we 
 always look for happiness to accompany virtuous ac- 
 tion, does not at all prove that happiness is the ground 
 of its moral excellence. This is confirmed when we 
 consider, 
 
 2. That, upon investigating the moral phenonena of 
 our minds, we find a class of affections which rise in 
 their real wortli just in proportion to their disinterested- 
 ness. If personal pleasure were the ground of virtue, 
 then every affection ought to be esteemed higher in the 
 scale of morality in proportion as it tends more direct- 
 ly to self as its object. Just the contrary is the case. 
 The more our own individual interests are sacrificed in 
 the pursuit of another's welfare, the higher rises the 
 scale of virtue from which such conduct proceeds. If 
 it be said that we sacrifice our own interests, because 
 the pleasure of satisfying our benevolent feelings more 
 than counterbalances the loss we sustain, we reply, 
 that this only exhibits the vast strength of our purely 
 disinterested affections, and affords no proof that, be- 
 cause they give us pleasure in their exercise, therefore 
 they must be selfish in their origin. Only show in one 
 single instance that the direct end of an action is for 
 the sake of another to the sacrifice of ourselves, and 
 the fact that we have a moral satisfaction in its per- 
 formance does not in the slightest degree shake its pure- 
 ly unselfish character. 
 
 3. That there are certain fixed relations between 
 man's moral sensibilities and outward actions is a fact 
 resting upon the evidence of our consciousness; and it 
 is to these eternal relations that we direct our inquiries, 
 when we seek to lay the groundwork of a moral phi- 
 losophy. Very different, however, is our employment 
 when we are merely engaged in calculating for our fu- 
 ture happiness, with pleasures and pains as our ciphers. 
 What is a pleasure to one man is often a pain to 
 another ; that which offers to me satisfaction presents, 
 perhaps, a prospect of naught but misery to you ; so 
 
BENTHAM. 177 
 
 that moral relations, on this principle, must be as un- 
 certain and variable as are the temperaments or idiosyn- 
 crasies of individual minds. There needs to be, on the 
 deontological system, a separate moral scale lor every 
 man ; nay, we ought all to revise our own moral prin- 
 ciples every year or two, to see whether that which was 
 a pleasure to us some time ago may not now have be- 
 come an object of dissatisfaction : whether, therefore, 
 that which was virtue has not now become vice. Our 
 reason, we contend, in opposition to this, forces us to 
 form certain primary and fundamental moral judgments, 
 just as much as it necessitates the existence of our pri- 
 mary beliefs with regard to the external world, or to tbe 
 fact of an exertion of power in the production of every 
 effect, or to the axioms which lie at the foundation of 
 all mathematical reasoning. It is just as' impossible 
 for me practically to deny the obligation of justice, as 
 it is to deny that the world exists, or that a whole is 
 greater than a part. The one as well as the other rests 
 upon the primary and undeniable facts of our own un- 
 changeable consciousness, — facts which, though they 
 may be disputed in theory, can never be denied in prac- 
 tice. That a philosophical dreamer may run his head 
 against the wall on the score of his idealism, we do not 
 dispute ; nor do we doubt but that, in the case of mor- 
 al obliquity, where the consequences of the folly are 
 not so immediate, men may be iound to reject the fun- 
 damental " axioms of moral obligation; but in the 
 healthy understandings of the mass of mankind, the 
 one judgment is just as plainly developed as the other. 
 4. There is a secret peLitio principii at the very foun- 
 dation of all utilitarian reasoning like that of Bentham. 
 Every man, it is affirmed, oiigliL to seek the greatest 
 happiness of the greatest number, as the fundamental 
 princi|)le of his actions in the world., But why ovglit 
 he to do so? On what ground can it be shown, that 
 I am bound to seek the welfare of myself or my fel- 
 low-creatures, if there is no such thing as moral obli- 
 gation ? If it pleases me more to inflict misery upon 
 mankind, why am I not just as virtuous an agent in 
 
178 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 doing so, as if I please myself by producing their hap- 
 piness ? The greatest-happiness principle itself must, 
 in fact, rest upon the pedestal of moral obligation, oth- 
 erwise there is no means of enforcing it as the true 
 principle of action, either in our social or our political 
 relations. Take away that firm resting-place which is 
 afforded by the notion of duty, and expressed in the 
 word ought, and we may sink from one position down 
 to another, without ever reaching a solid basis on which 
 we may plant our feet, and lay the first stone of a mor- 
 al superstructure. That this is really the case is half 
 acknowledged by the followers of Bentham, who are 
 now visibly shrinking from the extreme view he has ta- 
 ken of utilitarianism, and seeking to include the idea 
 of moral approbation, in order to give their doctrine 
 some degree of strength and consistency. 
 
 5. Into the political conagriuences of this system we 
 shall not allow ourselves I'c enter at any length. One 
 thing, however, there is, of which we would remind 
 those who hold up the excellence ^of Bentham's politi- 
 cal writings as a proof of the soundness of his ethical 
 system ; we mean the fact that Hobbes, with a logic 
 equally, if not more severe, deduced from the very 
 same fundamental principles the propriety of all gov- 
 ernment being grounded on absolute despotism, as the 
 form best suited to the wants of human nature. That 
 Bentham was so successful on the subject of jurispru- 
 dence arose, we consider, from his giving up the strict 
 view of the selfish system with which he started, and 
 following the dictates of common sense and of a be- 
 nevolence which were more consonant with his own 
 disposition than they were with his moral theory.* 
 
 Moreover, there is a fundamental distinction between 
 the principles of legislation and those of private moral- 
 ity, which should never be lost sight of. The former 
 principles suppose the existence of the latter, and must 
 
 " Or rather, from his confounding the rule of general interest with that 
 of personal- interest; bat this, as .Jouffroy has sliown, Introdaciion to Ethics^ 
 Lecture XIV., involves the abandonment of the principle on which his 
 system is founded. — Ed. 
 
BENTHAM. 179 
 
 proceed in strict accordance with them, whether it ap- 
 pear a matter of policy to do so or not. The object of 
 the jurist is, simply to take men with their moral feel- 
 ings as they are, already fixed and determined, and so 
 to direct their actions as to bring about the greatest 
 welfare of the community. Morality says. Fiat justi- 
 tia mat. cwluvi; jurisprudence points out in what loay 
 justice is to be done, so as to tend to the happiness of 
 the whole nation. The one gives the absolute rule of 
 action, the other only directs the details for social pur- 
 poses. Moral law is immediately from God ; political 
 law, though springing from moral principles, is an 
 adaptation of man; — the one is a code written upon 
 the tablet of the human heart; the other, a code writ- 
 ten in the statute-book of the empire, conformable, in- 
 deed, to moral law, but compiled for social utility. To 
 morality, as a science, the utilitarian ground is entirely 
 destructive, altering its universal and necessary aspect; 
 in politics, utility, directed by moral precept, must be a 
 chief element in every enactment. Bentham, looking 
 at the subject with the eye of a jurist, by degrees be- 
 came blind to every thing but the utilitarian element, — 
 an error which, while only partially dangerous in legis- 
 lation, is to the moralist fatal and deceptive from the 
 very first step. 
 
 That Bentham was a great man, a courageous man, 
 and in many respects a benevolent man, we believe all 
 must be ready to admit; still, we cannot but think that 
 he neither read enough to disabuse his mind of many 
 a cherished notion, which a wider range of invesHga- 
 tion would have exploded, nor ever cultivated enough 
 that steady, reflective habit of mind which evolves 
 truth from the observation of our inward consciousness, 
 and reduces, by a close analysis, the admitted facts of 
 human nature to their primary origin. With unexam- 
 pled patience, he developed the influence of pleasure 
 and pain upon human actions ; but a deeper philosophy 
 would have pointed out, that these are but the accom- 
 paniments of virtue, while the law and the imperative 
 to its obedience come from a surer and a far more ex- 
 alted source. 
 
. 180 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 III. General Objection to the Followers of Bentham.'] 
 The followers of Mr. Bentham have carried to an un- 
 usual extent the prevalent fault of the more modern 
 advocates of utility, who have dwelt so exclusively oa 
 the outward advantages of virtue as to have lost sight 
 of the delight which is a part of virtuous feeling, and 
 of the beneficial influence of good actions upon the 
 frame of the mind. 
 
 " Benevolence towards others," says Mr. Mill, " pro- 
 duces a return of benevolence from them." * The fact 
 is true, and ought to be stated. But how unimportant 
 is it in comparison with that which is passed over in 
 silence, — the pleasure of the afl'ection itself, which, if it 
 could become lasting and intense, would convert the 
 heart into a heaven ! No one who has ever felt kind- 
 ness, if he could accurately recall his feelings, could 
 hesitate about their infinite superiority. The cause of 
 the general neglect of this consideration is, that it as 
 only when a gratification is something distinct from a 
 state of mind, that we can easily learn to consider it as 
 a pleasure. Hence the great error respecting the affec- 
 tions, where the inherent delight is not duly estimated, 
 on account of that very peculiarity of being a part of 
 a state of mind, which renders it unspeakably more 
 valuable as independent of every thing without. The 
 social affections are the only principles of human na- 
 ture which have no direct pains. To have any of these 
 desires is to be in a state of happiness. The malevo- 
 lent passions have properly no pleasures ; for that at- 
 tainment of their purpose which is improperly so called 
 consists only in healing or assuaging the torture which 
 
 * Analysis of the Human Mind, Chap. XXIIT. 
 
 The .author of this work, James Mill, was born at Montrose, in Scotland, 
 in 1773. and educated at Edinburgh, being destined for the church. He 
 afterwards ch.mged his \ievvs, established himself in London in 1800, and 
 soon became acquainted with Bentham. He published his Hhtory of Brit- 
 ■ isli India in ISIS, which procured for him a place in the home establish- 
 ment of the East India Compuny. He was also a large contributor to the 
 ^iijtjiiriiient to the Enrijvlopu^dia liritaiinica, (aftenvards incorporated into the 
 seventh edition of that work,) on subjects connected with politics and mor- 
 als. Ho died at Kensington in 1836. John Stuart Mill, a living writer of 
 eminence, is his sou. — Ei>. 
 
JAMES MILL. ISl 
 
 envy, jealousy, and malice inflict on the malignant 
 mind. It might with as much propriety be said that 
 the toothache and the stone have pleasures, because 
 their removal is followed by an agreeable feeling. 
 These bodily disorders, indeed, are often cured by the 
 process which removes the suffering; but the mental 
 distempers of envy and revenge are nourished by every 
 act of odious indulgence which for a moment suspends 
 their pain. 
 
 The same observation is appKcable to every virtuous 
 disposition, though not so obviously as to the benevo- 
 lent affections. That a brave man is, on the whole, 
 far less exposed to danger than a coward, is not the . 
 chief advantage of a courageous temper. Great dan- 
 gers are rare; but the constant absence' of such pain- 
 ful and mortifying sensations as those of fear, and the 
 steady consciousness of superiority to what subdues 
 ordinary men, are a perpetual source of inward enjoy- 
 ment. No man who has ever been visited by a gleam 
 of magnanimity can place any outward advantage of 
 fortitude in comparison with the feeling of being al- 
 ways able fearlessly to defend a righteous cause.* 
 Even huniilily, in spite of first appearances, is a re- 
 markable example. It has of late been unwarrantably 
 used to signify that painful consciousness of inferiority 
 which is the first stage of envy.f It is a term conse- 
 crated in Christian ethics to dei\ote that disposition 
 which, by inclining towards a modest estimate of our 
 qualities, corrects the prevalent tendency of human na- 
 ture to overvalue out merits and to overrate our claims. 
 What can be a less doubtful or a much more consider- 
 able blessing than this constant sedative, which soothes 
 and composes the irritable passions of vanity and pride? 
 
 • According to Cicero's definition of fortitude, " Virtus puc/nans p'o 
 amiitute." The remains of the original sense of virtus, manhood, give a 
 beauty and force to tliese expressions, wliicl! cannot be preserved in our 
 lari'iuve. The G)ecli li/jerij and the German Tugend originally denoted 
 streli(ith afterwards couraye, and at last virtue. But the hapj.y derivation of 
 virtus from vir gives an energy to the phrase of Cicero, \Yliich illustrates 
 the use of etymology in the hands of a skilful writer. 
 
 t Ml-. Mill's Anali/sis of the Human Mmd, Chap. XXU. Sect. II. 
 
 16 
 
182 THE MORAU, FACULTY. 
 
 What is more conducive to lasting peace of mind 
 than the consciousness of proficiency in that most deli- 
 cate species of equity which, in the secret tribunal of 
 conscience, labors to be impartial in the comparison 
 of ourselves with others ? What can so perfectly as- 
 sure us of the purity of our moral sense, as the habit 
 of contemplating, not that excellence which we have 
 reached, but that which is still to be pursued, — of not 
 considering how far we may outrun others, but how far 
 we are from the goal ? 
 
 Those who have most inculcated the doctrine of 
 utility have given another notable example of the very 
 vulgar prejudice which treats the unseen as insignifi- 
 cant. Tucker is the only one of them who occasion- 
 ally considers that most important effect of human 
 conduct which consists in its action on the frame of 
 the mind, by fitting its faculties and sensibilities for 
 their appointed purpose. A razor or a penknife would 
 well enough cut cloth or meat; but if they were often 
 so used, they would be entirely spoiled. The same 
 sort of observation is much more strongly applicable to 
 habitual dispositions, which, if they be spoiled, we have 
 no certain means of replacing or mending. Whatever 
 act, therefore, discomposes the moral machinery of 
 mind, is more injurious to the welfare of the agent 
 than most disasfers from without can be ; for the latter 
 are commonly limited and temporary ; the evil of the 
 former spreads through the whole of life. Health of 
 mind, as well as of body, is not only productive in 
 itself of a greater sum of enjoyment than arises from 
 other sources, but is the only condition of our frame 
 in which we are capable of receiving pleasure from 
 without. Hence it appears how incredibly absurd it 
 is to prefer, on grounds of calculation, a present in- 
 terest to the preservation of those mental habits on 
 which our well-being depends. When they are most 
 moral, they may often prevent us from obtaining ad- 
 vantages. It would be as absurd to desire to lower them 
 for that reason, as it would be to weaken the body lest its 
 strength should render it more liable to contagious dis- 
 orders of rare occurrence. 
 
JAMES MILL. 183 
 
 It IS, on the other hand, impossible to combine the 
 beneht of the general habit with the advantages of oc- 
 casional deviation; for every such deviation either pro- 
 duces remorse, or weakens the habit, and prepares the 
 way for its gradual destruction. He who obtains a for- 
 tune by the undetected forgery of a will, may indeed be 
 honest in his other acts; but if he had such a scorn of 
 fraud before as he must himself allow to be generally 
 useful, he must sutler a severe punishment from con- 
 trition ; and he will be haunted with the fears of one 
 who has lost his own security for his good conduct. In 
 all cases, if they be well examined, his loss by the dis- 
 temper of his mental frame will outweigh the profits of 
 his vice. 
 
 By repeating the like observation on similar occa- 
 sions, it will be manifest that the infirmity of recollec- 
 tion, aggravated by the defects of language, gives an 
 appearance of more selfishness to man than truly be- 
 longs to his nature ; and that the effect of active agents 
 upon the habitual state of mind, — one of the consid- 
 erations to which the epithet " sentimental " has of late 
 been applied in derision, — is really among the most 
 serious and reasonable objects of moral philosophy. 
 When the internal pleasures and pains w^hich accom- 
 pany good and bad feelings, or rather form a part of 
 them, and the internal advantages and disadvantages 
 which folloiv good and bad actions, are sufficiently 
 ■fconsidered, the comparative importance oi outward con- 
 sequences will be more and more narrowed; so that the 
 Stoical philosopher may be thought almost excusable 
 for rejecting it altogether, were it not an indispensably 
 necessEiry consideration for those in whom right habits 
 of feeling are not sufficiently strong. They alone are 
 happy, or even truly virtuous, who have little need of it. 
 
 The later moralists who adopt the principle of utility 
 have so misplaced it, that in their hands it has as gi-eat 
 a tendency as any theoretical error can have to lessen 
 the intrinsic pleasure of virtue, and to unfit our habit- 
 ual feelings for being the most effectual inducements 
 to good conduct. This is the natural tendency of a 
 
18-J- THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 discipline which brings utility too closely and frequent- 
 ly into contact with action. By this habit, in its best 
 state, an essentially weaker motive is gradually sub- 
 stituted for others which must always be of more force. 
 The frequent appeal to utility as the standard of action 
 tends to introduce an uncertainty with respect to the 
 conduct of other men, which would render all inter- 
 course insupportable. It affords, also, so fair a disguise 
 for seifish and malignant passions, as often to hide their 
 nature from him who is their prey. Some taint of these 
 mean and evil principles will at least creep in, and by 
 their venom give an animation not its own to the cold 
 desire of utility. The moralists who take an active 
 part in those aHairs which often call out unamiable pas- 
 sions, ought to guard with peculiar watchfulness against 
 sdf-delusions. The sin that must most easily beset 
 them is that of sliding from general to particular con- 
 sequences, — that of trying single actions, instead of 
 dispositions, habits, and rules, by the standard of utility, 
 — that of authorizing too great a latitude for discretion 
 and policy in moral conduct, — that of readily allowing 
 excepti-ons to the most important rules, — that of too 
 lenient a censure of the use of doubtful means when 
 the end seems to them good, — and that of believing 
 unphilosophically, as well as dangerously, that there 
 can be any measure or scheme so useful to the world 
 as the existence of men who would not do a base thing 
 for any public advantage. It was said of Andrev/ ' 
 Fletcher, " He would lose his life to serve his country, 
 but would not do a base thing to save it." Let' those 
 preachers of utility who suppose that such a man sac- 
 rifices ends to means consider whether the scorn of base- 
 ness be not akin to the contempt of danger, and whether 
 a nation composed of such men would not be invinci- 
 ble. But theoretical principles are counteracted by a 
 thousand causes, which confine their mischief as well 
 as circumscribe their benefits. Men are never so good 
 or so bad as their opinions. All that can be with rea- 
 son apprehended is, that they may always produce some 
 part of their natural evil, and that the mischief will be 
 
ja.mes mill. 185 
 
 greatest among the many who seek excuses for these 
 passions Anstippus found in the Socratic represenla- 
 tion ot the union of virtue and happiness a pretext for 
 sensuality ; and many Epicureans became voluptuaries 
 in spite o( the example of their master, easily dropping 
 by degrees the limitations by which he guarded his 
 doctrines. In proportion as a man accustoms himself 
 to be influenced by the utility of particular acts, with- 
 out regard to rules, he approaches to the casuistry of 
 the Jesuits and to the practical maxims of Ceesar Borgia. 
 
 IV. Mr. MilVs Errors respecting' Government and 
 Education.] Mr. Mill derives the whole theory of gov- 
 ernment* from the single fact, that every man pursues 
 his interest when he knows it ; which he assumes to be 
 a sort of self-evident practical principle, if such a phrase 
 be not contradictory. That a man's pursuing the in- 
 terest of anotlier, or indeed any other object in nature,- 
 is just as conceivable as that he should pursue his own 
 interest, is a proposition which seems never to have oc- 
 curred to this acute and ingenious writer. Nothing, 
 however, can be more certain than its truth, if the term 
 " interest " be employed in its proper sense of general 
 well-being, which is the only acceptation in which it 
 can serve the purpose of his arguments. If, indeed, 
 the term be employed to denote the gratification of a 
 predominant desire, his proposition is self-evident, but 
 w^holly unserviceable in his argument ; for it is clear 
 that individuals and multitudes often desire what they 
 know to be most inconsistent with their general welfare. 
 A nation, as much as an individual, and sometimes 
 more, may not only mistake its interest, but, perceiving 
 it clearly, may prefer the gratification of a strong pas- 
 sion to it. 'The whole fabric of his political reasoning 
 seems to be overthrown by this single observation ; and 
 instead of attempting to explain the immense variety 
 
 * Essay on Governwerit, in the Encyclbpcedta Bn'tnnnica, seventh edition. 
 His contributions to that work have also been collected in an octavo vol- 
 ume, and published separately. — Ed, 
 
 16* 
 
1S6 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 of political facts by the simple principle of a contest of 
 interests, we are reduced to the necessity of once more 
 referring them to that variety of passions, habits, opin- 
 ions, and prejudices, which we discover only by ex- 
 perience. 
 
 Mr. Mill's Essay on Education* affords another ex- 
 ample of the inconvenience of leaping at once from 
 the most general laws to a multiplicity of minute ap- 
 pearances. Having assumed, or at least inferred from 
 insufficient premises, that the intellectual and moral 
 character is entirely formed by circumstances, he pro- 
 ceeds, in the latter part of the essay, as if it were a 
 necessary consequence of that doctrine, that we might 
 easily afcquire the power of combining and directing 
 circumstances in such a manner as to produce the best 
 possible character. Without disputing for the present 
 the theoretical proposition, let us consider what would 
 be the reasonableness of similar expectations in a more 
 easily intelligible case. The general theory of the winds 
 is pretty well understood ; we know that they proceed 
 from the rushing of air from those portions of the at- 
 mosphere which are more condensed into those which 
 are more rarefied ; but how great a chasm is there be- 
 tween that simple law and the great variety of facts 
 which experience teaches us respecting winds! The 
 constant winds between the tropics are large and regu- 
 lar enough to be in some measure capable of explana- 
 tion ; but who can tell why, in variable climates, the 
 wind blows to-day from the east, to-morrow from the 
 west? Who can foretell what its shiftings and varia- 
 tions are to be ? Who can account for a tempest on 
 one day, and a .calm on another ? Even if we could 
 foretell the irregular and infinite variations, how far 
 might we not still be from the power of combining and 
 guiding their causes? No man but the lunatic in the 
 story of Rasselas ever dreamt that he could command 
 the weather. The difficulty plainly consists in the 
 multiplicity and minuteness of the circumstances which 
 
 * In the Encyclopasdia Britannica, seventh edition. 
 
JAMES MILL. 187 
 
 act on the atmosphere. Are those which influence the 
 formation of the human character likely to be less mi- 
 nute and multiplied ? * 
 
 * In reply to this criticism, and to other parts of the rolume from which 
 it is taken, Mr. Mill puhlished anonymously, in 1835, an octavo volume, 
 nnder the title of A Frarjmcnl on Mnrkintosh. On some points the defence 
 is able and saccessful; but the effect of the whole is greatly impaired by 
 t!ie vituperation, not to say scurrility, in which it abounds. 
 
 After what has been said in the text, it is but justice to add, that the later 
 followers or admirers of Benthain are not unable to see, or unwilling to 
 ai-knowledge, his defects. A writer in the Wcslmin'ili'r Review, for July, 
 13.38, who begins by making the great hierophant of utilitariani.sm to be 
 one of " the two great seminal minds of England in their age," expresses 
 himself thus: — " Bentham's contem|it of all other schools of tliinkcrs, 
 and his determination to create a philosophy wholly out of the m.aterials 
 furnished by his own mind, and by minds like his own, were his first dis- 
 qualifications as a philosopher. His second was the incompleteness of his 
 own mind as a representative of universal human nature. In many of the 
 most natural and strongest feelings of human nature he had no sympathy ; 
 from many of its gravest experiences he was altogether cut off; and the 
 faculty by which one mind understands a mind different from itself and 
 thro'.vs itself into the feelings of that other mind, was denied him by his 
 deficiency of imagination. . . , , , 
 
 '• Bentham's knowledge of human nature is wholly empn-ical; and the 
 empiricism of one who has had little experience He had neither in- 
 ternal experience nor external ; the quiet, even tenor of his life and his 
 healthiness of mind conspired to exclude him from both. He never knew 
 prosperitv nor advcr-ity, passion nor satiety ; he never had even the ex- 
 perience 'which sickness gives, -he lived from cluldhood to the n-e of 
 ei-htv-flve in bovish health. He knew no dejection, no heaviness of heart. 
 He never felt liife a sore and a weary burden He was a boy to tlie la.^u 
 Self-consciousness, that demon of the men of gem us of our time, from 
 AVordsworth to Byron, from Goethe to Chateaubriand, and to which t,„s 
 ale owes most both of its cheerful and its mournful wisdon,, never wis 
 awakened in him. How much of human nature slumbered in li.m he 
 knpw not neither can we know. -, ■, p i 
 
 'tMs 'then, is our idea of Bentham. He wa. a'nan bo h of remarka- 
 ble endowments for philosophy and of remarkable defieieneics for it , lit d 
 bvond almost an v man f,5r dra.ving f;rom his fr';^^! ™",f ^^^'^^l , 'j 
 
 S^rc^u^^iT!^— "nd^ii: hf -r^i^^^^ 
 h'^;!:^ :^f:!n^rXta^^:^T:S^^^^ 
 
 S-?^^|k«r^^^^r^ 
 
 scale both of greatness and """"te'^^f^ nrobabh™"ien to Bentham." - 
 this is the character which posterity will probablj assigu lu 
 
 Ed. 
 
188 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ANALYSIS OF OUR MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND 
 EMOTIONS. 
 
 I. Butler's Proofs of MarCs Moral Nature.] Before 
 proceeding to this extensive and difficult subject, I shall 
 quote a passage from Dr. Butler, in which he has com- 
 bined together, and compressed into the compass of a 
 few paragraphs, all the most important arguments in 
 proof of the existence of the moral faculty which have 
 been hitherto under our review. While this quotation 
 serves as a summary of what has already been stated, 
 it will, I hope, prepare us for entering on the following 
 discussions with greater interest and a more enlightened 
 curiosity. 
 
 ~ " That which renders beings capable of moral gov- 
 ernment is their having a moral nature, and moral fac- 
 ulties of perception and of action. Brute creatures are 
 impressed and actuated by various instincts and pro- 
 pensities : so also are w^e. But, additional to this, we 
 have a capacity for reflecting upon actions and charac- 
 ters, and making them an object to our thought; and 
 on doing this we naturally and unavoidably approve 
 some actions, under the peculiar view of their being 
 virtuous and of good desert, and disapprove others as 
 vicious and of ill desert. That we have this moral ap- 
 proving and disapproving faculty is certain from our ex- 
 periencing it in ourselves, and recognizing it in each 
 other. It appears from our exercising it unavoidably in 
 the approbation and disapprobation even of feigned 
 characters ; from the words right and wrong; odious and 
 amiable, base and worthy, with many others of like sig- 
 nification in all languages, applied to actions and char- 
 acters ; from the many written systems of morals which 
 suppose it, since it cannot be imagined that all these 
 authors, throughout all these treatises, had absolutely no 
 meaning at all to their words, or a meaning merely 
 
MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 189 
 
 chimerical ; from our natural sense of gratitude, which 
 miphes a d.stmction between merely bHng the'inst u- 
 mentof good and intending it ; from the like distinc- 
 
 xXh wIk""" '"'''■'' '''*'"'^" injury and mere harm, 
 x^ Inch Hobbes says is peculiar to mankind, and between 
 injury and just punishment, a distinction plainly natural, 
 prior to the consideration of human laws. It is mani- 
 est great part of common language and of common be- 
 haviour over the world is formed upon supposition of 
 such a moral faculty, whether called conscience, moral 
 reason, moral sense, or Divine reason, — whether con- 
 sidered as a perception of the understanding, or as a 
 sentiment of the heart, or, which seems the truth, as in- 
 cluding both. Nor is it at all doubtful, in the general, 
 what course of action this faculty, or practical discerning 
 power within us, approves, and what it disapproves. 
 For, as much as it has been disputed wherein virtue con- 
 sists, or whatever ground for doubt there may be about 
 particulars, yet in general there is in reality a univer- 
 sally acknowledged standard of it. It is that which all 
 ages and all countries have made profession of in pub- 
 lic, — it is that which every man you meet puts on the 
 show of, — it is that which the primary and funda- 
 mental laws of all civil constitutions over the face of 
 the earth make it their business and endeavour to en- 
 force the practice of upon mankind, namely, justice, 
 veracity, and regard to common good." * 
 
 Upon the various topics here suggested, a copious 
 and instructive commentary might be written, but I 
 think it better to leave them in the concise and impres- 
 sive form in which they are proposed by the author. 
 
 II. Theoretical and Practical Morals.] The science 
 of ethics has been divided by modern writers into two 
 parts ; the one comprehending the theory of morals, and 
 the other its practical doctrines. 
 
 The questions about which the former is employed 
 are chiefly the two following. First, by what principle 
 
 * Dissertation on the Nature of Virtue. 
 
190 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 3f our constitution are we led to form the notion of 
 Tioral distinctions, — whether by that faculty which 
 oerceives the distinction between truth and falsehood 
 n the other branches of human knowledge, or by a 
 peculiar power of perception (called by some the moral 
 sense) which is pleased with one set of qualities and 
 iispleased with another ? Secondly, what is the proper 
 object of moral approbation ? or, in other words, what is 
 ;he common quality or qualities belonging to all the 
 lifFerent modes of virtue ? Is it benevolence, or a ra- 
 jonal self-love, or a disposition (resulting from the as- 
 cendant of reason over passion) to act suitably to the 
 lifferent relations in which we are placed? These two 
 piestions seem to exhaust the whole theory of morals. 
 The scope of the one- is to ascertain the origin of our 
 noral ideas ; that of the other to refer the pljenoraena 
 )f moral perception to their most simple and, general 
 aws. 
 
 The practical doctrines of morality comprehend all 
 hose rules of conduct which profess to point out the 
 )roper ends of human pursuit, and the most effectual 
 neans of attaining them ; to which we may add, under 
 he general title of adminicles, (if I may be allowed to 
 )orrow a technical word of Lord Bacon's,) all those 
 iterary compositions, whatever be their particular form, 
 vhich have for their aim to fortify and animate our 
 food dispositions by delineations of the beauty, of the 
 iignity, or of the utility of virtue. 
 
 I shall not inquire at present into the justness of this 
 livision. I shall only observe that the words theory and 
 ractice are not in this instance employed in their usual 
 .cceptations. The theory of morals does not bear, for 
 xample, the same relation to the practice of morals that 
 he theory of geometry bears to practical geometry. In 
 his last science all the practical rules are founded on 
 heoretical principles previously established. But in the 
 ormer science the practical rules are obvious to the 
 apacities of all mankind, while the theoretical princi- 
 iles form one of the most difficult subjects of discussion 
 hat has ever exercised the ingenuity of metaphysicians. 
 
MORAL PERCEPTIOXS AND EMOTIONS. 191 
 
 vr^ntrf' ^°T^"' a complete acquaintance with the 
 prauice of our duty does not presuppose any knowl- 
 
 ^ lof t. /?*? '^T^ °^ "'°^^^^' ^'^^'* "°t therefore fol- 
 owthat ialse theoretical notions upon this subject may 
 not be attended with very pernicious consequences. 
 <Jn the contrary, nothing is more evident than this, that 
 every system which calls in question the immutability 
 ot moral distmctions has a tendency to undermine the 
 tonndations of all the virtues, both private and public, 
 and to dry up the best and purest sources of human 
 happmess. When skeptical doubts hav once been ex"- 
 cited in the mind by the perusal of such systems, no 
 exhortation to the practice of our duties can have any 
 effect ; and it is necessary for us, before we think of 
 addressing the heart, or inHuenoing the will, to begin 
 with undeceiving and enlightening the understanding. 
 It is for this reason, that, in such an age as the present, 
 when skeptical doctrines have been so anxiously dis- 
 seminated 'by writers of genius, it appears to me to be 
 a still more essential object in academical instruction 
 to vindicate the theory of morals against the cavils of 
 licentious metaphysicians, than to indulge in the more 
 interesting and popular disquisitions of practical ethics. 
 On the former subject, much yet remains to be done. 
 On the latter, although the field of inquiry is by no 
 means as yet completely exhausted, the student may be 
 safely trusted to his own serious reflections, guided by 
 the precepts of those illustrious men who, in different 
 ages and countries, have devoted their talents to the 
 improvement and happiness of the human race. 
 
 In this department of literature, no country whatever 
 has surpassed our own ; whether we consider the labors 
 of the great lights of the English Church, or the fugitive 
 essays of those later writers who (after the example of 
 Addison) have attempted to enlist in the cause of virtue 
 and religion whatever aid fancy and wit and elegance 
 could lend to the support of truth. It is scarcely neces- 
 sary for me to mention the advantage which may be 
 derived in the same study from the philosophical re- 
 mains of ancient Greece and Rome, — due allowances 
 
192 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 being made for some unfortunate prejudices produced 
 or encouraged by violent and oppressive systems of 
 policy. Indeed, with the exception of a few such preju- 
 dices, it may with great truth be asserted, that they 
 who have been most successful, in modern times, in 
 inculcating the duties of life, have been the moralists 
 who have trod the most closely in the footsteps of the 
 Greek and Roman philosophers. The case is different 
 with respect to the theory of morals, which, among the 
 ancients, attracted comparatively but a small degree of 
 attention, although one-of the questions formerly men- 
 tioned (that concerning the object of moral approbation) 
 was a favorite subject of discussion in their schools. 
 The other question, however, (that concerning the prin- 
 ciple of moral approbation,) with the excej^tion of a 
 few hints in the writings of Plato, may be considered 
 as in a great measure peculiar to modern Europe, hav- 
 ing been chiefly agitated since the writings of Cud- 
 worth in opposition to those of Hobbes ; and it is this 
 question, accordingly, (recommended at once by its nov- 
 elty and difficulty to the curiosity of speculative men,) 
 that has produced most of the theories which charac- 
 terize and distinguish from each other the later systems 
 of moral philosophy. 
 
 III. Analysis of Moral Perceptions and Emotions.] 
 It appears to me that the diversity of these systems has 
 arisen, in a great measure, from the partial views which 
 different writers have taken of the same complicated 
 subject; that these systems are by no means so exclu- 
 sive of each other as has commonly been imagined ; 
 and that, in order to arrive at the truth, it is necessary 
 for us, instead of attaching ourselves to any one, to 
 avail ourselves of the lights which all of them have 
 furnished. Our moral perceptions and emotions are, 
 in fact, the result of- different principles combined to- 
 gether. They involve a judgment of the understanding, 
 and they involve also a feeling of the heart; and it is 
 only by attending to both that we can form a just no- 
 tion of our moral constitution. In confirmation of this 
 
HOBBES. 193 
 
 remark, it will be necessary for us to analyze particu- 
 larly the state of our minds, when we are spectators of 
 any good or bad action performed by another person, 
 or when we reflect on the actions performed by our- 
 selves. On such occasions we are conscious of three 
 diilereiit things: — 
 
 1. The perception of an action as right or wrong. 
 
 2. An emotion of pleasure or of pain, varying in its 
 degree according to the acuteness of our moral sen- 
 sibility. 
 
 3. A perception of the merit or demerit of the agent. 
 
 Section L 
 of the perception of right and wrong. 
 
 I. Views entertained bi) Subbes.] The controversy 
 concerning the origin of our moral ideas took its rise in 
 modern times, in consequence of the writings of Mr. 
 Hobbes. According to him, we approve of virtuous 
 actions, or of actions benehcial to society, from self- 
 love, as we know that whatever promotes the interest 
 of society has on that very account an indirect tendency 
 to promote our own. He further taught, that, as it is 
 to the institution of government we are indebted for 
 all the comforts and the confidence of social life, the 
 (aws which the civil magistrate enjoins are the ultimate 
 standards of morality. 
 
 Dangerous as these doctrines are, some apology may 
 oe made for the author from the unfortunate circum- 
 stances of the times in which he lived. He had been a 
 tt'itness of the disorders which took place in England 
 at the time of the dissolution of the monarchy by the 
 death of Charles the First"; and, in consequence of his 
 mistaken speculations on the politics of that period, he 
 contracted a bias in favor of dcspotical government, 
 and was led to consider it as the duty of a good citizen 
 to strengthen, as much as possible, the hands of the 
 civil magistrate, by inculcating the doctrines of passive 
 obedience and non-resistance. It was with this view 
 ]7 
 
194 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 that he was led to maintain the philosophical principles 
 which have been already mentioned. He seems like- 
 wise to have formed a very unfavorable idea of the 
 clerical order, from the instances which his own experi- 
 ence afforded of their turbulence and ambition ; and on 
 that account he wished to subject the consciences of 
 men immediately to the secular powers. In consequence 
 of this, his system, although offensive in a very high de- 
 gree to all sound moralists, provoked in a more peculiar 
 manner the resentment of the clergy, and drew on the 
 author a great deal of personal obloquy, which neither 
 his character in private life, nor his intentions as a 
 writer, appear to have merited. 
 
 11. Reply of his Antagonists.] Among the antago- 
 nists of Hobbes, the most eminent by far was Dr. Cud- 
 worth ; and indeed modern times have not produced 
 an author who is better qualified to do justice to the 
 very important argument he undertook, by his ardent 
 zeal for the best interests of mankind, by his singular 
 vigor and comprehensiveness of thought, and by the 
 astonishing treasures he had collected of ancient liter- 
 ature. 
 
 That our ideas of right a"nd wrong are not derived 
 from positive law, Cudworth concluded from the fol- 
 lowing argument : — " Suppose such a law to be estab- 
 lished, it must either be right to obey it, and wrong to 
 disobey -it, or indifferent whether we obey or disobey it. 
 But a law which it is indifferent whether we obey or 
 not cannot, it is evident, be the source of moral dis- 
 tinctions ; and, on the contrary supposition, if it is 
 right to obey the law, and wrong to disobey it, these 
 distinctions must have had an existence antecedent to 
 the law." * In a word, it ii? from natural law that pos- 
 itive law derives all its force. 
 
 The same argument against Hobbes is thus stated 
 by Lord Shaftesbury. 
 
 " It is ridiculous to say there is any obligation on 
 
 ' Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part VII. Sect. III. Cliap. n. 
 
H0BBE3. 195 
 
 man to act sociably or honestly in a formed govern- 
 ment, and not in that which is commonly called the 
 state of nature. For, to speak in the fashionable lan- 
 guage of our modern philosophy, society being founded 
 on a compact, the surrender made of every man's pri- 
 vate unlimited right into the hands of the majority, or 
 such as the majority should appoint, was of free choice, 
 and by a promise. Now the promise itself was made 
 in a slate of nature, and that which could make a. prom- 
 ise obligatory in the state of nature must make all 
 other acts of humanity as much our real duty and nat- 
 ural part. Thus faith, justice, honesty, and virtue must 
 have been as early as the state of nature, or they could 
 never have been at all. The civil union or confederacy 
 could never make right or wrong if they subsisted not 
 before. He who was free to any villany before his 
 contract, will and ought to make as free with his con- 
 tract when he sees fit. The natural knave has the same 
 reason to be a civil one, and may dispense with his 
 politic capacity as oft as he sees occasion ; it is only 
 his word stands in the way. A man is obliged to 
 keep, his word. Why? Because he has given his 
 word to keep it. Is not this a notable account of the 
 original of moral justice, and the rise of civil govern- 
 ment and allegiance ? " * 
 
 To these observations it may be added, that our no- 
 tions of right and wrong are so far from owing their 
 origin to positive institutions, that they afford us the 
 chief standard to which we appeal, in comparing differ- 
 ent positive institutions with each other. Were it not 
 for this test, how could we pronounce one code to be 
 more humane, more liberal, or more equitable than 
 another ? or how could we feel that, in our own mu- 
 nicipal regulations, some are consonant and others re- 
 pugnant to the principles of justice. " Let any one," 
 says a learned and judicious civilian, " acquaint hinl- 
 self with the sanguinary system of Draco, and then 
 view it as tempered with the philosophy of Solon, and 
 
 • Freedom of Wit, Part III. Sect. L 
 
196 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 the softer refinements of a better age; let him loolc 
 with the eye of speculation upon an establishment that 
 directs 'not to seethe a kid in its mother's milk'; nor 
 to ' muzzle the ox when he treadeth out the corn ' ; 
 when our brother's cattle go astray or fall down by the 
 way, not to ' hide ourselves from them ' ; that acquits 
 the betrothed damsel who was violated at a distance, 
 and out of hearing, upon this compassionate 'sugges- 
 tion, — ' For he found her in the field, and the betrothed 
 damsel cried, and there was none to save her' ; let him 
 reflect, I say, on his own feelings when he considers 
 these different enactments, and then judge how far 
 they agree with the philosophy of Hobbes." * 
 
 Agreeably to this view of positive institutions, De- 
 mosthenes remarks, — " The laws of a country may be 
 regarded as a criterion for estimating the morals of the 
 state, and the prevailing character of the people." f 
 
 III. Origin and History of Hohhes's Doctrine.] It is 
 justly observed by Cudworth, that the doctrines now 
 under consideration are not peculiar to the system of 
 Hobbes ; and that similar opinions have been enter- 
 tained in all ages by those writere who were either 
 anxious to flatter the passions of tyrannical rulers, or 
 who had a secret bias to atheistic and Epicurean prin- 
 ciples. 
 
 In confirmation of this remark, he takes a review" of 
 
 * Taylor On the Civil Law, p. 159. 
 
 t Adv. Timoa-at. Taylor gives the passage from which this is' taken in 
 the version of the Latin translator: — " lUud igitur vobis est etiam eonsi- 
 derandum, maltos Grsecorum ssepc decrevisse, vestris utendum esse logibus: 
 id quod vohis laudi hand injuri.i duritis. Nam xerum illud mihi videtur, 
 quod qucndam a|md vos dixisse ferunt : omnes cordalos in ea esse sente.nlia, 
 ut leges nihil aliud esse putent qnam mures civitates. Dauda igitur est opera, 
 lit eaj qnam optimas esse videantur." 
 
 [A new interest has been awakened of late in Hobbes and his writino-s. 
 See Cousin, Cows d'llisloire de hi Philosophie Mirale an XVIJI'- Sli'ch 
 Premi.'re Partie ■.£'cofe Sensualiste, Lemons VII.-IX. Jouffrov, T'4mihrJion 
 to Ethics, Lectures XIII. and XIV". Damiron, L'Hisloire de la Philosophie 
 au XVfF Sifu-le, Liv. III. Hazlitt's Lilerarij lif.miins. Essay VI. Bla- 
 key's History of Moral Science, Cliap. IV. Mackintosh's Progress of Ethical 
 Phlhsophy, Sect. IV. Frnqment on Mackintosh, Sect. II. Hallatn's Intro, 
 duction to the Literature of Europe, Vol. lU. Chap. III. Sect. IV.l 
 
HOBBES. 197 
 
 the principal attempts that have been made to under- 
 mine the foundations of morals, both in ancient and 
 modern tirnes, and interweaves with this history many- 
 profound reflections of his own. Tlie following para- 
 graphs contain the substance of this part of his work, 
 and I hope will furnish an interesting, as well as useful, 
 introduction to the reasonings I am afterwards to of- 
 fer in vmdication of the reality and immutability of 
 moral distinctions. 
 
 " As the vulgar generally look no higher for the origi- 
 nal of moral good and ev'il, just and unjust, than the 
 codes and pandects, the tables and laws, of their coun- 
 try and religion, so there have not wanted pretended 
 philosophers in all ages, who have asserted nothing to 
 be good and evil, just and unjust, naturally and immu- 
 tably, <{>v<T€i Koi aKivTjTas; but that all these things were 
 positive, arbitrary, and factitious only. Such Plato 
 mentions, in his Tenth Book, De Legibus, who main- 
 tained, * that nothing at all was naturally just, but men, 
 changing their opinions concerning them perpetually, 
 sometimes made one thing just, sometimes another; 
 but whatever is decreed and constituted, that for the 
 time is valid, being made so by acts and laws, but not 
 by any nature of its own.' And Aristotle more than 
 once takes notice of this opinion in his Ethics. ' Things 
 honest and just, which politics are conversant about, 
 have so great a variety and uncertainty in them, that 
 they seem to be only by law and not by nature.' * And 
 afterwards f — having divided to bUawv ■koKitikov, ' that 
 which is politically just,' into (pvcriKov, i. e. ' natural,' 
 ' which has everywhere the same force,' and po/ukoi/, i. e. 
 'legal,' ' which, before there be a law made, is indiffer- 
 ent, but, when once the law is made, is determined to 
 be just or unjust', — he adds, 'Some there are that 
 think there is no other just or unjust but what is made 
 by law and men, because that which is natural is im- 
 mutable, and hath everywhere the same force, whereas 
 Jura and justa, "rights" and "just things," are every- 
 
 * Ethic. Nic, Lib. I. cap. I. t Lib. V- cap. X. 
 
 17* 
 
198 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 where different.' The latter, therefore, they conceive 
 to be analogous to wine and wheat measures, whch va- 
 ry from place to place, according to local customs; the 
 former they compare to the properties of ^re, which 
 produce the same eH'ects in Persia and Greece. 
 
 " After these succeeded Epicurus, the reviver of the 
 Democritical philosophy, the frame of whose principles 
 must needs lead him to deny justice and injustice to be 
 natural things ; and therefore he determines that they 
 arise wholly from mutual pacts and covenants of men, 
 made for their own convenience and utility. ' These 
 living creatures that could not make mutual covenancs 
 together not to hurt, nor to be hurt by, one another, 
 could not, for this cause, have any such thing as jiiist or 
 unjust among them. And there is the same reason for 
 those nations that either will not or cannot make such 
 compacts : for there is no such thing as justif-e bi/Use/f, 
 but only in the mutual congresses of meii.' Or, (as 
 the late compiler of the Epicurean system expresses 
 the same meaning,) 'there are some wiio think that 
 those things which are just are just aco-ording to their 
 proper, unvaried nature, and that the laws do not maUe 
 them just, but only prescribe according to that ^ature^ 
 which they have : but the thing- is not so.' * 
 
 " And since in this latter age the physiological hy- 
 potheses of Democritus and Epicurus have been re- 
 vived, and successfully applied to the solving of somo 
 of the phenomena of the visible world, there have not 
 wanted some that have endeavoured to vent also those 
 other paradoxes of the same philosophers, viz. that 
 there is no incorporeal substance, nor any natural dif- 
 ference between good and evil, just and unjust, and to 
 recommend the same under a show of wisdom, as the 
 
 * It may be proper to mention that Cu(^worth alludes here to Gassendi, 
 who was at much pains to revive the philosophy of Epicurus, both in phys- 
 ics and morals, rojectini;, however, or palliatini;, those parts of it which are 
 most exceptionable. With this philosopher, (who appears to have hcen a 
 most amiable and exemplary man in private life, and who in leariiinji; was 
 not surpassed by any of his contemporaries.) Hobbcs lived in lialiits of 
 very intimate friendship during his long residence in France. Sec Gassen- 
 di Opera, Tom. V. pp. 129 et seq. 
 
HOBBES. 199 
 
 deep and profound mysteries of the atoraical and cor- 
 puscular philosophy, as if senseless matter and atoms 
 were the original of all things, according to the song 
 of old Silenus in Virgil. Of this sort is that late writ- 
 er ot ethics and politics, who asserts ' that there are no 
 authentic doctrines concerning just and unjust, good 
 and evil, except the laws which are established in every 
 city ; and that it concerns none to inquire whether an 
 action be reputed just or unjust, good or evil, except 
 such only whom the community have appointed to be 
 the interpreters of their laws.'* 'In the state of na- 
 ture,' according to him, ' nothing can be unjust, and the 
 notions of right and wrong, justice and injustice, have 
 there no place. Where there is no common power 
 there is no law; where no law, no injustice.'! '■^o 
 law can be unjust.':}: Nay, temperance is no more 
 naturally right, according to this philosopher, than 
 justice. ' Sensuality, in the sense in which it is con- 
 demned, hath no place till there be laws.' § 
 
 " But whatsoever was the true meaning of these 
 philosophers that affirm justice and injustice to be on- 
 ly by law, and not by nature, certain it is that diverse 
 modern theologers do not only seriously, but zealously, 
 contend, in like manner, that there is nothing absolute- 
 ly, intrinsically, and naturally good and evil, just and 
 unjust, antecedently to any positive command or ■prohi- 
 bition of God, but that the arbitrary will and pleasure 
 of God, (that is an Omnipotent Being, devoid of all 
 essential and natural justice,) by its commands and 
 prohibitions, is the first and only rule and measure 
 thereof. Whence it follows unavoidably, that nothing 
 can be imagined so grossly wicked, or so foully unjust 
 or dishonest, but, if it were supposed to be commanded 
 by this omnipotent Deity, must needs, upon that hy- 
 pothesis, forthwith become holy, just, and righteous. 
 For, though the ancient fathers of the Christian Church 
 were very abhorrent from this doctrine, yet it crept up 
 
 ♦ llobbes, De Cioe, Praefafio. t Lauathan, Part I. Chap. XIIL 
 
 t Ibid., Part n. Chap. XXX. § Ibid., Part I. Chap. VI. 
 
200 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 afterward in the scholastic age, Ockham being among 
 the first that maintained ' that there is no act evil, but 
 as it is prohibited by God, and which cannot be made 
 good if it be commanded by him.' And herein Petrus 
 Alliacus and Andreas de Novo Castro, with others, 
 quickly followed him. 
 
 " Now the necessary and unavoidable consequences 
 of this opinion are such as these : — ' That to love God 
 is by nature an indifferent thing, and is morally good 
 only because it is enjoined by his command' ; ' that ho- 
 liness is not a conformity with the Divine nature and 
 attributes ' ; ' that God hath no natural inclination to 
 the good of the creatures, and might justly doom an 
 Innocent creature to eternal torment ' ; — all which prop- 
 ositions, with others of the kind, are word for word as- 
 serted by some late authors. Though I think not fit 
 to mention the names of any of them in this place, ex- 
 cepting only one, Joannes Szydlovius, who, in a book 
 published at Franeker, hath professedly avowed and 
 maintained the grossest of them. And yet neither he, 
 nor the rest, are to be thought any more blameworthy 
 herein than many others, that, holding the same premi- 
 ses, have either dissembled or disowned those conclu- 
 sions which unavoidably follow therefrom, but rather to 
 be commended for their openness, simplicity, and inge- 
 nuity in representing their opinion naked to the world 
 such as indeed it is, without any veil or mask. 
 
 " Wherefore, since there are so many, both philoso- 
 phers and theologians, that seemingly and verbally ac- 
 knowledge such things as moral good and evil, just and 
 unjust, yet contend, notwithstanding, that these are not 
 by nature but institution, and that there is nothing nat- 
 urally or immutably just or unjust, I shall from hence 
 fetch the rise of this ethical discourse or inquiry con- 
 cerning things good and evil, just and unjust, laudable 
 and shameful, demonstrating, in the first place, that, if 
 there be any thing at all good or evil, just or unjust, 
 there must of necessity be something naturally and im- 
 mutably good and just. And from thence I shall pro- 
 ceed afterward to show what this natural, immutable, 
 
ctmwoRTH. 201 
 
 and eternal justice is, with the branches and species 
 of it." * 
 
 IV. CudwortKs Theory of Morals.] The foregoing 
 very long quotation, while it contains much valuable 
 information with respect to the history of moral science^ 
 will be suificient to convey a general idea of the scope 
 of Cudworth's ethical inquiries, and of the prevailing 
 opinions among philosophers upon this subject, at the 
 time when he wrote. For the details of his argument 
 I must refer to his work. It is sufficient for my present 
 purpose to observe, that he seems plainly to have con- 
 sidered our notions of right and wrong as incapable of 
 analysis, that is, (to use the language of mora- modern 
 writers,) he considered them as simple ideas or notions, 
 of which the names do not admit of definition. In this 
 respect, also, his philosophy differs from that of Hobbes, 
 who, as we have already remarked, ascribes our moral 
 judgments, not to an immediate perception of the 
 qualities of actions, but to a view of their tendencies, 
 which we approve or disapprove according as they ap- 
 pear to be conducive or not to our own interest, or to 
 that of society. Indeed, according to Hobbes, these 
 two tendencies coincide, or rather are the same, for he 
 appreiiended that all our zeal for the public good origi- 
 nates in a selfish principle. " Man," he said, "is driv- 
 en to society by necessity, and whatever promotes its 
 interest is judged to have a remote tendency to pro- 
 mote his own." Thus he attempts to account for our 
 approbation of virtue by resolving it into self-love, and, 
 of consequence, to resolve the notions expressed by the 
 words rig-ht and wrong into other notions more simple 
 and general. This theory I have already endeavoured 
 to refute at some length, and I have only now to add 
 to what was formerly remarked with respect to it, that, 
 if it were agreeable to fact, the words right and ■wro)ig 
 
 * Eternal and Immutaltle Morality, Book I. Chap I. Here, as in some 
 other cases, Mr. Stewart does not cite the whole of the passage contina- 
 ously, as it stands in the original, hut those parts only which are to his 
 purpose, sometimes giving merely the substance. — Ed. 
 
202 
 
 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 would be synonymous with advantageous and disaduan- 
 tagenvs ; and to say that those actions are right which 
 are cah'.ulated to promote our own happiness would be 
 an identical proposition. 
 
 Cudworth's opinion, on the contrary, led him to con- 
 sider our perception of right and wrong as an ultimate 
 fact in our nature. Indeed, to those whose judgments 
 are not warped by preconceived theories, no fact with 
 respect to the human mind can well appear more incon- 
 testable. We can define the words right and lorong 
 only by synonymous words and phrases, or by the prop- 
 erties and necessary concomitants of what they denote. 
 Thus, " we may say of the word right, that it express- 
 es what we ought to do, what is fair and honest, what 
 is approvable, what every man professes to be the rule of 
 his conduct, what all men praise, and what is in itself 
 laudable, though no manpraise it." * In such definitions 
 and explanations it is evident we only substitute a sy- 
 nonymous expression instead of the word defined, or 
 we characterize the quality which the word denotes by 
 some circumstance connected with-it or resulting from 
 it as a consequence ; and therefore we may, with con- 
 fidence, conclude that the word in question expresses a 
 simple idea. 
 
 The two most important conclusions, then, which 
 result from Cudworth's reasonings in opposition to 
 Hobbes are these: — First, that the mind is able to 
 form antecedently to positive institution the ideas of right 
 and wrong ; and secondly, that these words express 
 simple ideas, or ideas incapable of analysis. 
 
 From these conclusions of Cudworth a further ques- 
 tion naturally arose, — how the ideas of right and 
 wrong were formed, and to what principle of our consti- 
 tution they ought to be referred. This very interesting 
 question did not escape the attention of Cudworth. 
 And, in answer to it, he endeavoured to show that our 
 notions of moral distinctions are formed by reason, or, 
 in other words, by the power which distinguishes truth 
 
 * Eeid, On the Active Powers, Essay III. Part III. Chap. V. 
 
LOCKE. 
 
 203 
 
 from falsehood. And accordingly it became, for some 
 lime, the fashionable language among moralists, to say 
 that virtue consisted, not in obedience to the law of a 
 superior, but in a conduct conformable to reason. 
 
 At the time when Cudworth wrote, no accurate clas- 
 sification had been attempted of the principles of the 
 human mind. His account of the olFice of reason, ac- 
 cordingly, in enabling us to perceive the distinction be- 
 tween right and wrong, passed without censure, and 
 was understood merely to imply, that there is an eternal 
 <md immutable distinction between right and wrong, no 
 less than between truth and falsehood ; and that both 
 these distinctions are perceived hij our rational powers, 
 or by those powers which raise us above the brutes.* 
 
 V. Connection of Lockers Theory of the Origin of 
 Ideas with this Inquirij.] The -publication of Locke's 
 i^s.sa^ introduced into this part of science a precision 
 of expression unknown before, and taught philosophers 
 to distinguish a variety of powers which had formerly 
 been very generally confounded. With these great mer- 
 its, however, his work has capital defects, and perhaps 
 in no part of it are these defects more important than 
 in the attempt he has made to deduce the origin of our 
 knowledge entirely from sensation and reflection. To 
 the former of these sources he refers the ideas we re- 
 ceive by our external senses, — of colors, sounds, hard- 
 ness, &c. To the latter, the ideas we derive from con- 
 sciousness of our own mental operations, — of memory, 
 imagination, volition, pleasure, pain, &c. These, ac- 
 cording to him, are the sources of all our simple ideas; 
 and the only power that the mind possesses is to per- 
 form certain operations of analysis, combination, com- 
 parison, &c., on the materials with which it is thus 
 supplied. 
 
 It was this system of Locke's which led him to those 
 dangerous opinions that were formerly mentioned con- 
 
 ' For some curious notices of Cudworth and the fate of his writings, 
 see D'Israeli's Amenities of Literature, under the head of The True Intel- 
 lectual System of the Universe. — Ed. 
 
204 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 corning the nature of moral distinctions, which he seems 
 to have considered as entirely the offspring of educiUion 
 and fas/lion. lodeed, if the words right and wrong 
 neither express simple ideas, nor relations discoverable 
 by reason, it will not be found easy to avoid adopting 
 this conclusion. 
 
 In order to reconcile Locke's account of the origin of 
 our ideas with the immutability of moral distinctions, 
 different theories were proposed concerning the nature 
 of virtue. According to one,* for example, it was said 
 to consist in a conduct conformable to truth ; accord- 
 ing to another,! in a conduct conformable to the fdness 
 of things. The great object of all these theories may 
 be considered as the same, to remove right and wrong 
 from the class of simple ideas, and to resolve moral 
 rectitude into a conformity with some relation perceived 
 by reason or by the understanding. 
 
 VI. Hutcheson's Theory of a Moral Sense.] Dr. 
 Hutcheson saw clearly the vanity 6f these attempts, 
 and hence he was led, in compliance with the lan- 
 guage of Locke's philosophy, to refer the origin of 
 our moral ideas to a particular power of perception, to 
 which he gave the name of the moral sense. " All the 
 ideas," says he, " or the materials of our reasoning or 
 judging, are received by some immediate powers of 
 perception, internal or external, which we may call 
 senses." " Reasoning or intellect seems to raise no new 
 species of ideas, but to discover or discern the relations 
 of those received." J 
 
 According to this system, as it has been commonly 
 explained, our perceptions of right and wrong are iiii- 
 pressiuns which our minds are made to receive from 
 particular actions, similar to the relishes and aversions 
 
 * Mr. WoUaston, in his Reli(/wn of Nature Delhwafcd. 
 
 t Dr. CImUc, ill his JJisivurm' concerning tlie [/ncliarifimhle Ohlirjations oj 
 Natural Udiyion, and in other worlis. [For tlie conncotion hctwocn Loclie 
 and the subsequent English ethieal theories, see JouttVoy, Lectures XXI. 
 and XXIL] 
 
 X Nature and Conduct of the Passions, Treatise II. Sect. I. 
 
HUTCHESON. 205 
 
 given us for particular objects of the external and in- 
 ternal senses. 
 
 That this was Dr. Hutcheson's own idea appears 
 from the following passage, in which he endeavours to 
 obviate some dangerous notions which were supposed 
 to follow from this doctrine. " Let none imagine that 
 calling the ideas of virtue and vice perceptions of sense, 
 upon apprehending the actions and affections of an- 
 other, does diminish their reality more than the like as- 
 sertions concerning all pleasure and pain, happiness or 
 misery. Our reason often corrects the report of our 
 senses about the natural tendency of the external action, 
 and corrects rash conclusions about the affections of 
 the agent. But whether our moral sense be subject to 
 such a disorder as to have different perceptions, from 
 the same apprehended affections in an agent, at differ- 
 ent times, as the eye may have of the colors of an un- 
 altered object, it is not easy to determine ; perhaps it 
 will be hard to find any instance of such a change. 
 What reason could correct if it fell into such a dis- 
 order, I know not, except suggesting to its remembrance 
 its former approbations, and representing the general 
 sense of mankind. But this does not prove ideas of 
 virtue and vice to be previous to a sense, more than a 
 like correction of the ideas of color in a person under 
 the jaundice proves that colors are perceived by reason 
 previously to sense." * 
 
 Air. Hume, whose philosophy coincides in this respect 
 with Dr. Hutcheson's, has expressed himself on this sub- 
 ject still more explicitly. " As virtue is an end, and is 
 desirable on its own account, without fee or reward, 
 merely for the immediate satisfaction which it conveys, 
 it is requisite that there should be some sentiment which 
 it touches, some internal taste or feeling, or whatever 
 you please to call it, which distinguishes moral good 
 and evil, and which embraces the one and rejects the 
 other. 
 
 " Thus the distinct boundaries and offices of reason 
 
 * Nature and Conduct of the Passions, Treatise II. Sect. IV. 
 
 18 
 
206 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 and of taste are easily ascertained. The former conveys 
 the knowledge of truth and fa,lsehood ; the latter gives 
 the sentiment of beauty and deformity, vice and virtue. 
 The one discovers objects as they really stand in nature, 
 without addition or diminution ; the other has a pro- 
 ductive faculty, and, gilding or staining all natural ob- 
 jects with the colors borrowed from internal sentiment, 
 raises, in a manner, a new creation. Reason, being 
 cool and disengaged, is no motive to action, and directs 
 only the impulse received from appetite or inclination, 
 by showing us the means of attaining happiness or 
 avoiding misery. Taste, as it gives pleasure or pain, 
 and thereby constitutes happiness or misery, becomes 
 a motive to action, and is the first spring or impulse to 
 desire and volition. From circumstances and relations, 
 known or supposed, the former leads us to the discovery 
 of the concealed and unknown. After all circumstances 
 and relations are laid before us, the latter makes us feel 
 from the whole a new sentiment of blame or approba- 
 tion. The standard of the one, being founded on the 
 nature of things, is eternal and inflexible, even by the 
 will of the Supreme Being. The standard of the other, 
 arising from the internal frame and constitution of ani- 
 mals, is ultimately derived from that Supreme Will 
 which bestowed on each being its peculiar nature, and 
 arranged the several classes and orders of existence." * 
 
 In the passage now quoted from Mr. Hume, a slight 
 hint is given of his skepticism with respect to the im- 
 mutability of moral distinctions ; but, in some other 
 parts of his writings, he has openly and avowedly ex- 
 pressed his opinions upon this important question. 
 The words rig-ht and wrong (according to him) signify 
 nothing in the objects themselves to which they are 
 applied, any more than the words sweet and bitter, 
 pleasant and painful, but only certain effects in the mind 
 of the spectator. As it is improper, therefore, (according 
 to the doctrines of some modern philosophers,) to say 
 of an object of taste that it is sweet, or of heat that it 
 
 Principles of Morals, Appendix I. 
 
HUTCHESON. 207 
 
 is in the fire, so it is equally improper to say of aclions 
 that they are right or wrong. It is absurd to speak ol" 
 morality as a thing independent and unchangeable, in- 
 asmuch as it arises from an arbitrary relation, between 
 ovr constitution and particular objects. The distinction 
 of moral good and evil is founded on ilie plea^re or 
 pain which results from the view of any sentiment or 
 character ; and, as that pleasure or pain cannot be un- 
 known to the person who feels it, it follows that there 
 is just so much vice or virtue in any character as every 
 one places in it; and that it is impossible in this par- 
 ticular we can ever be mistaken/ 
 
 Before we proceed to an examination of these con- 
 clusions, it may be worth while to remark, that they 
 have not even the merit of originality ; for we find from 
 the Thealetus of Plato, as well as from other remains 
 of antiquity, that the same skepticism prevailed among 
 the Grecian sophists, and was supported by nearly ihe 
 same arguments. Protagoras and his followers extend- 
 ed it to all truth, physical as well as moral, and main- 
 tained that every thing was relative to perception. The 
 following maxims in particular have a wonderful coin- 
 cidence with Hume's philosophy. " Nothing is true or 
 false, any more than sweet or sour, in itself, but relative- 
 ly to the perceiving mind." " Man is the measure of 
 all things, and every thing is that, and no other, which 
 to every one it seems to be, so that there can be nothing 
 true, nothing existent, distinct from the mind's own 
 perceptions." 
 
 With respect to this skeptical philosophy, as it is 
 taught in the writings of Hume, it appears evidently, 
 from what has been already said, to be founded en- 
 t\\e\j on the supposition, that our perception of the 
 moral qualities of actions has some analogy to our per- 
 ception of the sensible qualities of matter ; and there- 
 
 * " Were I not afraid of appearing too philosophical, I should reminil 
 iny reader of that famous doctrine, supposed to be fully proved in modern 
 times, that tastes anJ colors, and all other sensible qualities, lie, not in tlie 
 bodies, but merely m the senses. The case is the same with beauty and 
 deformity. viHue and vice." — Hume's Essays, Moral, Political, and Literari/, 
 Part X. Essay XVIU. 
 
208 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 fore, it becomes a very interesting inquiry for us to ex- 
 amine how far this supposition is agreeable to fact. 
 Indeed, this is the most important question that can be 
 stated with respect to 1 he theory of morals ; and yet I 
 confess it appears to me that the obscurity in wliieh it 
 is invc^yed arises chiefly, if not wholly, frem the use of 
 indefinite and ambiguous terms. 
 
 That moral distinctions are perceived by a sense is 
 implied in the definition of a sense already quoted 
 from Dr. Hutcheson. " All the ideas, or the materials 
 of our reasoning or judging, are received by some im- 
 mediate powers of perception, internal or external, 
 which we may call senses. Reasoning or intellect 
 seems to raise no new species of ideas, but to discover 
 or discern the relations of those received." If this def- 
 inition be admitted, there cannot be a doubt that the 
 origin of our moral ideas must be referred to a sense; 
 at feast there can be no doubt upon this point among 
 those who hold, with Cudworth and with Price, that 
 the words riff/it and wrong express simple ideas. The 
 latter of these authors, a most zealous opposer of a 
 moral sense, (and although one of the driest and least 
 engaging of our English moralists, yet certainly one of 
 the most sound and judicious,) grants that the words 
 right and ivrong are incapable of a definition, and con- 
 siders a want of attention to this circumstance as a 
 principal source of the errors which have misled philos- 
 ophers in treating of this part of moral science. " It 
 is a very necessary previous observation," says he, "that 
 rigid and wrong denote simple ideas, and are therefore 
 to be ascribed to some power of immediate perception in 
 the human mind. He that doubts need only try to 
 enumerate the simple ideas they signify, or to give def- 
 initions of them when applied (suppose to beneficence 
 or cnielt.ij), which shall amount to more than synony- 
 mous expressions. From not attending to ttiis, from 
 giving definitions of these ideas, and attempting to de- 
 rive them from deduction or reasoning, has proceedc^d 
 most of that confusion in which the qufttion concern- 
 ing the foundation of morals has been involved. There 
 
HUTCHESON. 209 
 
 are, undoubtedly, some actions that are uUimatehj ap- 
 proved, and for justifying which no reason can be as- 
 signed, as there are some ends which are uLlimalelij de- 
 sired, and for choosing which no reason can be givt;n. 
 Were not this true, there would be an infinite series or 
 progression of reasons and ends subordinate to one 
 another. There wejuld be nothing at which to stop, 
 and therefore nothing that could at all be approved or 
 desired." * 
 
 It appears from the foregoing passage that Dr. Price, 
 as well as Dr. Hutcheson, ascribes our ideas of moral 
 distinctions to a power of immediate perception in the 
 mind, and therefore the difference between them turns 
 entirely on the propriety of the definition of a sense 
 which Dr. Hutcheson has given. 
 
 It may be further observed, in justification of Dr. 
 Hutcheson, that the skeptical consequences deduced 
 from his supposition of a moral sense do not necessari- 
 ly result from it. Unfortunately, most of his illustra- 
 tions were taken from the secondary qualities of mat-, 
 ter, which, since the time of Descartes, philosophers 
 have been in general accustomed to refer to the mind, 
 and not to the external object. But if we suppose our 
 perception of right and wrong to be analogous to the 
 perception of extension and figure, and other primar/j 
 qualities, the reality and immutability of moral distinc- 
 tions seem to be placed on a foundation sufficiently 
 satisfactory to a candid inquirer. That our notions of 
 primary qualities are necessarily accompanied with a 
 conviction of their separate and independent existence 
 was formerly shown; and, therefore, to compare our 
 perception of right and wrong to our perception of 
 extension and of figure, although it may not, perhaps, 
 be very accurate or philosophical, does nof imply any 
 skepticism with respect to the immutability of moral 
 distinctions ; at least does not justify those skeptical 
 inferences which Mr. Hume has endeavoured to deduce 
 from Dr. Hutcheson's language. 
 
 * Review of the Principal Qjnestions in Morals, Chap. I. Sect. IlL 
 
 18* 
 
210 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 The definition, however, of a sense which Dr. IIu(ch- 
 eson has given is by far too general, and was plainly 
 suggested to him by Locke's account of the origin of 
 our ideas. The words cause and effect, duration, num- 
 ber, equality, identity, and many others, express simple 
 ideas, as well as the words right and irrong ; and yet 
 it would surely be absurd to ascribe each of them to a 
 particular power of perception, meaning thereby a 
 sense. Notwithstanding this circumstance, as the ex- 
 pression moral sense has now the sanction of use, and 
 as, when properly explained, it cannot lead to any bad 
 consequences, it may be still retained without incon- 
 venience in ethical disquisitions. It has been much in 
 fashion among moralists since the time of Shaftesbury 
 and Hutcheson, nor was it an innovation introduced by 
 them ; for the ancients often speak of a sensus recti et 
 honesti; and, in our own language, a sense of duty is a 
 phrase not only employed by philosophers, but habitu- 
 ally used in common discourse.* 
 
 VII. Price's Theory of Intuitive Perception.] To 
 what part of our constitution, then, shall we ascribe 
 the origin of the ideas of right and wrong ? Dr. Price 
 (returning to the antiquated phraseology of Cudworth) 
 says, to the understanding; and endeavoiirs to sliow, in 
 opposition to Locke and his followers, that " the power 
 which understands, or the faculty that discerns truth, is 
 itself a source of new ideas." 
 
 This controversy turns solely on the meaning of 
 words. Th(! origin of our ideas of right and wrong is 
 manifestly the same with that of the other simple ideas 
 already mentioned ; and, whether it be referred to the 
 understanding or not, seems to me a matter of mere ar- 
 rangement, provided it be granted that the words right 
 and v}rong express qualities of actions, and not merely 
 
 • T"or further notices of Ilutchcson and the sentimental moralists (rfn- 
 erally, see Cousin, Cours ri'IIistoire de la Philosoplde jl/mo/c mi XVI IP 
 Siicle, Seronilo rartio: Ecole Erossaise; — JmitTi'oy, Intmhirtion to Etlilrs, 
 Lectures XVI. -XX.; — and Alexander Smith's PIdlasoplw of Morals, Prn-t 
 I. Chap. UI. — Ed. 
 
PRICE. 211 
 
 a power of exciting certain agreeable or disagreeable 
 emotions in our minds. 
 
 It may perhaps obviate some objections against the 
 language of Cudworth and Price to remark, that the 
 word reason is used in senses which are extremely dif- 
 ferent: sometimes to express the whole of those pow- 
 ers which elevate man above the brutes, and constitute 
 his rational nature, — more especially, perhaps, his in- 
 tellectual powers ; sometimes to express the power of 
 deduction or argumentation. The former is the sense 
 in which the word is used in common discourse ; and 
 it is in this sense that it seems to be employed by those 
 writers who refer to it the origin of our moral ideas. 
 Their antagonists, on the other hand, understand in 
 general, by reason, the power of deduction or argumen- 
 tation ; a use of the word which is not unnatural, from 
 the similarity between the words reason and reasoniiiq; 
 but which is not agreeable to its ordinary meaning. 
 " No hypothesis," says Dr. Campbell, " hitherto invent- 
 ed has shown that, by means of the discursive facul- 
 ty, without the aid of any other mental power, we 
 could ever obtain a notion either of the beautiful or the 
 good." * The remark is undoubtedly true ; and it may 
 be a|5plied to all those systems which ascribe to reason 
 the origin of our moral ideas, if the expressions ' rea- 
 son ' and ' discursive facuUij ' he used as sijnoni/mous. 
 But if the word reason be used in a more general sense, 
 to denote merely our rational and intellectual nature, 
 there does not seem to be much impropriety in ascrib- 
 ing to it the origin of those simple notions Avhich are 
 not excited in the mind by the immediate operation of 
 the senses, but which arise in consequence of the exer- 
 cise of the intellectual powers upon their various objects. 
 
 A variety of intuitive judgments might be mentioned 
 involving simple ideas, which, it is impossible to trace 
 to any origin but to the power which enables us to 
 form these judgments. Thus it is surely an intuitive 
 truth, that the sensations of which I am conscious, and 
 
 * Philosophy of Rhetoric, Book I. Chap. YII. Sect. IV. 
 
212 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 all those I remember, belong to one and the sanie be- 
 ing, which I call myself. Here is an intuitive judgment 
 involving the simple idea of idenlUy. In like maimer, 
 the changes which I- perceive in the universe impress 
 me with a conviction, that some cause must have oper- 
 ated to produce them. Here is an intuitive judgment 
 involving the simple idea of causation. When we con- 
 sider the adjacent angles made by a straight line stand- 
 ing upon another, and perceive that their sum is equal 
 to two right angles, the judgment we form involves the 
 simple idea of equalili/. To say, therefore, that reason, 
 or the understanding, is a source of new ideas, is not 
 so exceptionable a mode of speaking as has sometimes 
 been supposed. According to Locke, sense furnishes 
 our ideas, and reason perceives their agreements or dis- 
 agreements ; whereas, in point of fact, these agreements 
 or disagreements are in many instances simple ideas, 
 of which no analysis can be given, and of which the 
 origin must therefore be referred to reason, according to 
 Locke's own doctrine. 
 
 In speaking of the hypothesis of a moral sense, I for- 
 merly observed that the expression was sanctioned by 
 the example of the ancients. The same authority may 
 be appealed to in justification of the language used by 
 Cudworth and Price, whose ideas on the subject seem 
 indeed to be still more conformable to the spirit of the 
 Greek philosophy. The leacUnff- prinrip/.e of action, t6 
 ijyf/iowKoi', for example, so much insisted on by Plato 
 and others, was plainly considered by them as the fac- 
 
 uUjJ of reason ; to t^vtm hetrrtoTiKov TOVTt(m t6 XoytcTTiKov, says 
 
 Alcinoiis, De Doctrina PkUonis.* In Plato's Thcccletus, 
 too, iSocrates observes, " that it caimot be any of the 
 powers of sense that compares the perceptions of all 
 the senses, and apprehends the general afl'ections of 
 things, and particularly identity, number, similitude, dis- 
 similitiute, equality, inequality, to which he adds koXov Ka\ 
 ala-xpov, virtue and vice; asserting that this power is 
 
 * Cap. XXVIII. " Sovereignty belongs by nature to the reasoning fac- 
 ulty." 
 
PRICE. 213 
 
 reason, or the soul acting by itself separately from mat- 
 ter, and independently of any corporeal impressions 
 and passions ; and that, consequently, in opposition to 
 Protagoras, knowledge is not to be sought for in sense, 
 but in this superior part of the soul. It seems to me, 
 that, for the perception of these things, a different or- 
 gan or faculty is not appointed, but that the soul itself, 
 and in virtue of its own power, observes these general 
 affections of all things. So far we have adyanced as 
 to find that knowledge is by no means to be sought 
 in sense, hut in the power of the soul which it employs, 
 when within itself it contemplates and searches out 
 truth." * 
 
 * Plato could hardly have expressed himself with greater precision, had 
 he been arguing against Hutcheson's doctrine of a moral sense. Sec on 
 this suliject Cudworth's Inuimtable Morulili/, Book III., and Price's Heview 
 of l/ie Princi/ial Questions and DIJficulties in Morals. Chap. I. Sect. II. 
 
 [For the argument in the text, it is only necessary to mark the points of 
 ditt'erence which distinguish the truths of the pure or intuitive reason from 
 tho;5C of the discursive reason, or reusoniny. 
 
 1. The former are simple and elementary judgments. They constitute 
 a portion of what may bo called the data of intelligence, resembling, in 
 this respect, the data of sensation and consciousness. They result imme- 
 diuiebi from a law of our cognitive faculties, from our original constitution 
 as rational beings, and therefore may be regarded, in this sense, as primi- 
 tive or innate. 
 
 2. They are also recognized, assumed, or assented to, as soon as we have 
 occa'-ion to apply them, or as soon as the propositions containing thcin 
 arc understood. They are not derived truths, either by induction or deduc- 
 tion ; they do not depend on testimony, or memory, or experience of any 
 kind. All that experience does for them is to bring about the occasions, 
 and the measure of development, on condition of which they spring up in 
 the mind itself. They neither require nor admit of proof; reason asserts 
 them as being self-evident ; and, as such, they are acted on and assented to, 
 in proportion as reason is unfolded, by all men. In this sense, therefoie, 
 they may be pronounced universal. 
 
 3. Again, reason not only affirms that these primitive and universal 
 judgments are true, but, taking for granted the veracity of our cognitive 
 faculties, that they cannot not be true. They relate to realities which can- 
 not be made the objects of sense or consciousness, and consequently ive 
 cannot imuyine what they are ; nevertheless, the objects of sense and con- 
 sciousness, as apprehended by the reason, neressarifj presupjiose these re- 
 alities. These objects do not contain them, but reason sees that they }ire- 
 s'l/ipose them. In words we may deny that qualities presuppose a sub- 
 stance or substratum, in which they inhere, or that body presupposes space, 
 which it measures and fills; but we are so far from being able actually to 
 believe in the negative of these propositions, that we cannot bring our- 
 selves by any effort to conceive of it as being possible. Hence, we conclude 
 
214 MORAL PEKOEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 VIII. The Theory which we adopt must maintain the 
 RealUjj and Immutability of Moral Distinctions.] The 
 opinion we form, however, on tiiis point, is of little 
 moment, provided it be granted that the words rig-ht 
 and wrong express qualities of actions. When I say of 
 an act of justice that it is right, do I mean merely that 
 the act excites pleasure in my mind, as a particular 
 color pleases my eye, in consequence of a relation which 
 it bears to my organ ? or do I mean to assert a truth 
 which is as independent of my constitution as the 
 equality of the three angles of a triangle to two right 
 angles ? Skepticism may be indulged in both cases, 
 about mathematical and about moral truth, but in 
 neither case does it admit of a refutation by argument. 
 
 For my own part, I can as easily conceive a rational 
 being so formed as to believe the three angles of a tri- 
 angle to be equal to one right angle, as to believe that, if 
 he had it in his power, it would be right to sacrifice the • 
 happiness of other men to the gratification of his own 
 animal appetites, or that there would be no injustice in 
 depriving an industrious old man of the fruits of his , 
 own laborious acquisitions. The exercise of our reason 
 in the two cases is very different; but in both cases we 
 have a perception of truth, and are impressed with an 
 irresistible conviction that the truth is immutable, and 
 independent of the will of any being whatever. 
 
 In the passage which was formerly quoted from Dr. 
 Cudworth, mention is made of various authors, par- 
 
 that the traths of the pure or intuitive reason are not only primitive and 
 universal, but uecessarij. 
 
 Now the Rational School of moralists, represented hy such writers as 
 Cudworth and Price, maintain that morality has its foundation in truths of 
 this description, and not, as is held by the Sentimental School, represented 
 by such writers as Hutcheson and Hume, in facts of sensibility, or in purely 
 instinctive phenomena. 
 
 For more recent authorities on this suhject, see Cousin, Siir U Fondammt 
 des Idi'ns Absolues du Vrai, da Bmu, et dii Bien. Bouillier, Tlu'orie de la Rai- 
 soii ImpprsonntUe. Coleridge's Aids to Rcflerilon ,■ particularly his comment 
 on the eighth of the Aphorisms on that which is indeed Spiritual Religion. 
 Whewell's Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences^ Book I. 
 
 Jouffroyhas given, Introduction to Ethics, 'LecWnns XXI. -XXIII., an 
 admirable criticism on Price, and other rational moralists of the same 
 school, including Cudworth and Stewart. — Ed.] 
 
IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 215 
 
 ticularly among the theologians of the scholastic ages, 
 who were led to call in question the immutability of 
 moral distinctions by the pious design of magnifying 
 the perfections of the Deity. I am sorry to observe that 
 these notions are not as yet completely exploded ; and 
 that, in our own age, they have misled the speculations 
 of some writers of considerable genius, particularly 
 tho!~e of Dr. Johnson, Soame Jenyns, and Dr. Paley. 
 Such authors certainly do not recollect, that what they 
 add to the Divine power and majesty they take away 
 from his moral attributes ; for if moral distinctions be 
 not immutable and eternal, it is absurd to speak of the 
 goodness or of the justice of God. " Whoever thinks," 
 says Shaftesbury, " that there is a God, and pretends 
 formally to believe that he is just and good, must sup- 
 pose that there is independently such a thing as justice 
 and injustice, truth and falsehood, right and wrong, ac- 
 cording to which eternal and immutable standards he 
 pronounces that God is just, righteous, and true. If the 
 mere will, decree, or law of God be said absolutely to 
 constitute right and wrong, then are these latter words 
 of no signification at all [when applied to him]."* 
 
 In justice, indeed, to one of the writers above men 
 tioned, Dr. Paley, it is proper for me to observe, that the 
 objection just now stated has not escaped his attention, 
 and that he has even attempted an answer to it ; but 
 it is an answer in which he admits the justness of the 
 inference which we have drawn from his premises ; or, 
 in other words, in which he admits, that, to speak of 
 the moral attributes of God, or to say that he is just, 
 righteous, and true, is to employ words which are al- 
 together nugatory and unmeaning. That I may not 
 be accused of misinterpreting the doctrine of this in- 
 genious writer, who on many accounts deserves the 
 popularity he enjoys, I shall quote his own statement 
 of his opinion on this subject. " Since moral obligation 
 depends, as we have seen, upon the will of God, right, 
 which is correlative to it, must depend upon the same. 
 
 * Inquiry concerning Virtue, Part. III. Sect. II. 
 
216 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 Right therefore signifies consistency with the will of God. 
 But if the Divine will determine the distinction of 
 right and wrong, what else is it but an identical propo- 
 sition to say of God that he acts riffht ? or how is it 
 possible even to conceive that he should act wrong ? 
 Yet these assertions are intelligible and significant. 
 The case is this: by virtue of the two principles, that 
 God wills the happiness of his creatures, and that the 
 will of God is the measure of right and wrong, we 
 arrive at certain conclusions, which conclusions become 
 rules ; and we soon learn to pronounce actions right and 
 wrong according as they agree or disagree with our rules, 
 without looking further; and when the habit is once 
 established of stopping at the rules, we can go back 
 and compare with these rules even the Divine conduct 
 itself; and yet it may be true, (only not observed by 
 us at the time,) that the rules themselves are deduced 
 from the Divine will." * 
 
 To this very extraordinary passage, (some parts of 
 which I confess I do not completely comprehend, but 
 which plainly gives up the moral attributes of God as a 
 form of words that convey no meaning,) I have no par- 
 ticular answer to offer. That it was written with the 
 purest intentions, and from the complete conviction of 
 the author's own mind, I am perfectly satisfied from the 
 general scope of his book, as well as from the strong 
 testimony of the first names in England in favor of the 
 worth of the writer ; but it leads to consequences of the 
 
 • Moral Philosophy, Book II. Chap. IX. When Dr. Palry first iippcarcd 
 ns an auflior, hi.s vcudinf,' on ethical subjects seems to me to have hecn ex- 
 tremely limited, and to have extended little lurther thnn to the works of 
 tliat ini^enious and well-meaning, but fanciful and supei'ficial writer, Aiu*a- 
 ham Tucker, anthor, under the fictitious niinic of Edward Search, i;s(|., 
 of The Lifiht of Niiliirc J^iirsiird. See the iircface to the Mornl Philnso/ihi/. 
 'J'he political part ofPaley's hook, although by no nican.s iiur:;ceptinnalile, 
 displays tidents so fir superior to the moral, that one would scarcclv sup- 
 pose them to have proceeded from the same |icn. |.Tolin Law, to whose 
 father the hook is dedicated, and wlio was himself a I'licnd and fellow-tutor 
 of Palcy and afterwards Bishop of Elphin in Ireland, is said to have as- 
 sisted ill the composition of the work, and to have written the whole of tho 
 admirable chapter, Of Bevermcing the Deiltj. Dyer's Privilajes of Cam- 
 h-idge, Vol. U. p- 59-] ' 
 
THE BEAUTY OF VIRTUE, 217 
 
 most alarming nature, coinciding in every material 
 i-espect with the systems of those scholastic theologians 
 whom Dr. Cudworth classes with the Epicurean phi- 
 losophers of old, and whose errors that great and ex- 
 cellent writer has refuted with so splendid a display of 
 learning, and such irresistible force of argument." * 
 
 Section II. 
 
 OF THE AGREEABLE AND DISAGREEABLE EMOTIONS ARIS- 
 ING FROM THE PERCEPTION OF WHAT IS RIGHT AND 
 WRONG IN CONDUCT. 
 
 I. Moral Beauty and Deformitij.] It is impossible to 
 behold a good action without being conscious of a be- 
 nevolent affection, either of love or of respect, towards 
 the agent ; and consequently, as all our benevolent af- 
 fections include an agreeable feeling, every good action 
 must be a source of pleasure to the spectator. Besides 
 this, other agreeable feelings, of order, of utility, of 
 peace of mind, &p., come, in process of time, to be asso- 
 ciated with the general idea of virtuous conduct. 
 
 Those qualities in good actions which excite agree- 
 able feelings in the mind of the spectator form what 
 some moralists have called the beautij of virtue. 
 
 All this may be applied, mutatis mutandis, to explain 
 what is meant by the deformitij of vice. 
 
 This view of the moral faculty, which represents it 
 as a species of taste, by which we are determined to 
 the love of moral excellence, occurs very frequently in 
 the works of the ancients. But I shall confine myself 
 at present to one short quotation from Ciceren " Nee 
 vero ilia parva vis naturae est rationisque, quod unura 
 hoc animal sentit quid sit ordo ; quid sit, quod deceat ; 
 in factis dictisque qui modus. Itaque eorum ipsorum 
 
 * Even Wardlaw, though he rejects Butler's doctrine respecting a natu- 
 ral conscience in man, strenuously opposes those who make moral distinc- 
 tions depend on the will of God. Christian Ethics, Lecture VI. See also 
 XJpham's Mental Philosophy, Vol. 11. § 292 et seg. — Ed. 
 
218 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. - 
 
 qu(B adspectu sentiuntur, nullum aliud animal pulchritu- 
 diiiem, venustatem, oonvenientiam partium sentit ; quam 
 similitudinem natura ratioque ab ocvlis ad animum 
 transferens, multo etiam magis pulchritudinem, con- 
 stantiam, ordinem in consiliis factisque coiiservandum 
 putat ; cavetque ne quid indeeore, effemiuateve faciat ; 
 turn in omnibus et opinionibus et factis, ne quid libi- 
 dinose aut faciat aut cogitet : quibus ex rebus conflatur 
 et efficitur id, quod quEerimus Iwnestum; quod, etiam si 
 nobilitatum non sit, tamen honestum sit ; quodque vere 
 dicimus, etiam, si k nullo laudetur, natura esse laudabile. 
 Formam quidem ipsara, Marce fili, et tamquam faciem 
 lionesti vldes ; quae si ocuKs cerneretur, mirabiles amores, 
 ut ait Plato, excitaret sapientias." * 
 
 The same moralists who have applied to virtue and 
 to vice the epithets I have now been endeavouring to 
 define, have remarked, that, as in natural objects, so also 
 in the conduct and characters of mankind, there are 
 two different species of beauty, — the one what is 
 properly called beauty^, in the more limited and precise 
 acceptation of the term ; the other what is properly 
 called grandeur or sublimily. The former naturally ex- 
 cites love toward the agent, the latter renders him an 
 object of our admiration. To the former class belong 
 the qualities of gentleness, candor, condescension, and 
 humanity. To the latter, magnanimity, fortitude, in- 
 flexible justice, self-command, contempt of danger and 
 contempt of death ; those qualities which, as exhibited 
 in the character of Cato, formed in the judgment of Sen- 
 
 * De Off,, Lib. I. 4, 5. "Nor is that power of nature and reason small 
 ■\\"hicli has given to man alone a perception of order and propriety, and a 
 standard by which to regulate his speech and his actions. Of the objects of 
 sense, no other animal is qualified to perceive the beauty, the grace, and 
 the symmetry of parts. But reason enables man to make the same appli- 
 cation of this perception of external nature to the mind, and to observe that 
 a much higher beauty, harmony, and order ought to be preserved in de- 
 signs and in actions, and that unbecoming opinions and dissolute conduct 
 should be wholly avoided. From this constitution of nature arises that 
 virtue we seek for, which, however little distinguished by the world, is still 
 virtue, and which, though none approved, we justly affirm to be of itself 
 praiseworthy. Such, my son Marcus, is the form and character of virtue, 
 which, according to the opinion of Plato, ' if it could be distinguished by the 
 ei/e, would excite a wonderful love of wisdom.' " 
 
THE BEAUTY OF VIRTUE. 219 
 
 eca a spectacle which Heaven itself might behold with 
 pleasure. " Ecce spectaculum Deo dignum, ad quod 
 respiciat Jupiter, sue operi intentus, vir fortis cum mala 
 fortuna compositus." Illustrations of this kind abound 
 in those writers who have adopted Shaftesbury's scheme 
 of morals. 
 
 II. Distinguishable from our Perceptions of Rig-Iit and 
 Wrong-.] Without deciding at present on the propriety 
 of the expressions moral beauty and moral deformitij, it 
 is of consequence for us to remark, that our perception 
 of the qualities which these words are employed to de- 
 note is plainly distinguishable from our perception of 
 actions as rig-ht or wrong. The latter involves a judg- 
 ment with respect to cert.ain attributes of actions, 
 which no more depend on our perception than the pri- 
 mary qualities of body depend on the informations we 
 receive of them by our external senses, or than the dis- 
 tinction between mathematical truth and falsehood* de- 
 pends on the conclusions of our understanding. The 
 words beauty and deformity, on the other hand, have al- 
 ways a reference to the feelings of the spectator, — to 
 the delight or uneasiness which particular actions pro- 
 duce on the mind. 
 
 Nor are these perceptions distinguishable from each 
 other merely in theory. The distinct operation of each 
 in producing the moral sentiments of mankind is easily 
 discernible by the most superficial observer ; fot, al- 
 though they are always in some degree combined to- 
 gether, yet they are not always combined in the same 
 relative proportions. There are some men who, with 
 Marcus in the play, at the bare mention of successful 
 iniquity, are "tortured even to madness"; while (ithers, 
 whose judgments with respect to morality are equally 
 sound, possess that steady and dispassionate temper 
 which 
 
 " Can look on fraud, rebellion, guilt, and Csesar, 
 In the calm light of mild philosophy." * 
 
 " Addison's Caio, Act I. Scene I. 
 
220 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 The rectitude, therefore, of our moral judgments is by 
 no means to be estimated by the liveliness of the im- 
 pressions which good or bad actions produce on the 
 mind. Indeed, the same circumstances which contrib- 
 ute to the accuracy of the former have in some resj)t'c,ts 
 a tendency to weaken the latter. These, like all oilier 
 passive impressions, are rendered more languid by cus- 
 tom;* whereas constant exercise and a proper appli- 
 cation of our intellectual powers in general are abso- 
 lutely necessary to guard us against the various errors 
 by which the power of moral judgment is liable to be 
 perverted. The liveliness, too, of our moral feelings 
 depends much on accidental circumstances ; — on con- 
 stitutional temper, on education, on early associations, 
 and, above all, on the culture which the power of im- 
 agination has received. 
 
 Notwithstanding, however, the reality and impor- 
 tance of this distinction, it has been but little attended 
 to by the greater part of philosophers. The ancients 
 had it in view when they spoke of the honestum and 
 the pulc/irum, the to SUawv and the to koXov] but the 
 moderns seem in general to have overlooked it almost 
 entirely, some of them confining their attention ex- 
 clusively to the one perception, and some to the other. 
 Clarke, for example, and his followers, neglecting the 
 consideration of our moral feelings, have treated of this 
 part of our constitution as if it consisted wholly of a 
 power of distinguishing between right and wrong ; and 
 hence their works, how satisfactory soever to the un- 
 derstanding, seldom engage the imagination, or interest 
 the heart. Shaftesbury, on the other hand, and his 
 numerous admirers, by dwelling exclusively on our per- 
 ception of moral beauty and deformity, have been led 
 into enthusiasm and declamation, and have furnished 
 licentious moralists with a pretence for questioning the 
 immutability of moral distinctions. Even Dr. Hutche- 
 
 * On further reflection, this proposition seems to me somewhat doubtfni. 
 Perhaps it may be found that our moral impressions form a singular ex- 
 ception to this general law of our constitution. 
 
THE BEAUTY OF VIRTUE, 221 
 
 son, one of the ablest and most judicious of his disci- 
 ples, has contented himself with this partial view of our 
 moral constitution. He everywhere describes virtue 
 and vice by the effects accompanying the perception of 
 them, and makes no distinction between the rectitude 
 of an action, as approved by our reason, and its grate- 
 fulness to the taste of the observer, or its aptitude to 
 excite his moral emotions. 
 
 III. Errors resulting- from an exclusive Regard to the 
 Moral Emotions.] Another erroneous conclusion of a 
 •very dangerous tendency has been suggested by the 
 doctrines of Lord Shaftesbury's school. Accustomed 
 to define virtue and vice by their agreeable or disagree- 
 able effects on the mind of the spectator, his followers 
 have been led to extend the meaning of these words far 
 beyond their proper signification ; and, as virtue forms 
 always an agreeable and vice a disagreeable object of 
 contemplation, they have concluded that the converse 
 of the proposition is equally true, and that every thing 
 that is agreeable or disagreeable in human character 
 or conduct might be properly expressed by the words 
 virtue and vice. Accordingly, Hume, proceeding on the 
 same general principles with Hntcheson, has been led 
 to adopt this very conclusion as a fundamental truth 
 in ethics, and even to introduce it into the definition 
 which he gives of virtue, — "virtue," according to his 
 theory, " consisting in the possession of qualities which 
 are useful or agreeable to ourselves or to others." * 
 That this definition is erroneous is sufficiently evident; 
 for nothing can be plainer than that the words virtve 
 and vice are applicable only to those parts of our char- 
 acter and conduct which depend on our own voluntary 
 exertions. Sensibility, gayety, liveliness, good-humor, 
 natural affection, are a source of pleasure to every be- 
 holder, and wherever they are to be found entitle the 
 possessor to the appellation of amiable ; but in so far as 
 they re'sult from original constitution, or from external 
 
 * Hume's Principles of Morals, Sect. IX. Part I. 
 
 19* 
 
222 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 circumstances over which he had no control, they cer- 
 tainly do not vender him an object of moral approba- 
 tion. 
 
 A further inaccuracy in the philosophy of Shaftes- 
 bury and Hutcheson has arisen from the same source, 
 the application of the epithets virtuovs and vicious \o 
 the affections of the mind. In order to think with pre- 
 cision on this subject, it is necessary for us always to 
 remember that the object of moral approbation is not 
 affections, but actions. The efforts, indeed^ we make to 
 cultivate our amiable affections are in a high degree 
 meritorious, because the object of the effort is to add to ' 
 the happiness of those with whom we associate, and 
 because the effort depends upon ourselves ; but the 
 merit in such cases does not consist in the affection, 
 but in the efforts by which it has been cultivated. 
 
 Theresult of the remarks now made on the systems 
 of Shaftesbury and Hutcheson amounts to this, that 
 they do not draw the line sufficiently between con- 
 stitutional good qualities, and those which are volun- 
 tary and meritorious. In common discourse, indeed, we 
 frequently apply the word virtue to both, but it is the 
 last alone which in strict propriety deserves the name : 
 and, in our own case, it is of great consequence for us 
 to attend to the distinction. In the case of others, as 
 it is impossible for us to draw the line, and as the ten- 
 dency of our nature is rather to think too unfavorably 
 of our neighbours, it may be the safest rule to consider 
 every action as meritorious which can be supposed, by 
 any reasonable or plausible interpretation, to have prob- 
 ably, or even possibly, proceeded from a virtuous motive. 
 The author of The Man of Feeling, among the many 
 beautiful features in the character of Harley, has not 
 failed to remark this candid and amiable disposition, 
 " Her benevolence" — he is speaking of his heroine. Miss 
 Walton — " was unbounded. Indeed, the natural ten- 
 derness of her heart might have been argued by the fri- 
 gidity of a casuist as detracting from her virtue in this 
 respect, for her humanity was & feeling, not a principle. 
 But mind^ like Harley's are not very apt to make this 
 
THE BEArTY OF VIRTfE. 223 
 
 distinction, and generally give our virtue credit for all 
 that benevolence which is instinctive in our nature." 
 
 In offering these criticisms on the writings of Shaftes- 
 bury and Hutcheson, I would not be understood as 
 detracting from their merits. I am fully sensible of the 
 infinite service they have rendered to this branch of sci- 
 ence, by rescuing it from the hands of monks and casu- 
 ists, and restoring it to its ancient honors. The enthusi- 
 asm with which both of them have painted the charms 
 of moral excellence, while it delights the imagination 
 and exalts the taste, is admirably calculated to lay hold 
 of the generous affections of youth, and to kindle in 
 their breasts the glow of virtue. The PJiapsody ot 
 Shaftesbury in particular, whatever the blemishes in 
 point of taste (and they are many) which a critical 
 reader may find in it, will remain for ever a monument 
 to the powers of his genius, as well as to the purity and 
 elevation of his mind. It is in general free from the 
 reprehensible sentiments which have given so much just 
 offence in some of his earlier publications, and well 
 merits the encomium which Thomson has bestowed on 
 it in his enumeration of the illustrious names which 
 have adorned the literary history of England. 
 
 " Tlie generous Ashley thine ! the friend of man, 
 "\Vlio scanned bis natnre with a brother's eye, 
 His weakness prompt to shade, — • to raise his aim, 
 To tonch the finer movements of the mind. 
 And with the moral beaaty charm the heart." 
 
 Still, however, I must again repeat, that it is chiefly 
 on account of their practical tendency that I would rec- 
 ommend these two eminent writers ; and that, in order 
 to guard ourselves against the cavils of skeptics, it is 
 necessary to look out for a more solid foundation to 
 morality than their philosophy supplies. 
 
 IV. Whether all Beauty depends on its being Signifi- 
 cant or Suggestive of Mental Qualities.'] I must not 
 leave this subject of moral beauty, without taking some 
 notice of a speculation with respect to it, which formed 
 one of the favorite doctrines of the Socratic school, and 
 
224 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 which Shaftesbury and some other modern writers havp 
 attempted to revive. In the observations I have hither- 
 to made, I have procefeded on the supposition, that the 
 words beauty and sublimity are applied to actions and 
 characters metaphorically, or from an analogy between 
 the emotions which certain moral qualities and certain 
 material objects produce in the mind. This, which is 
 certainly the more obvious and the more common doc- 
 trine, seems to have been adopted by Cicero in the pas- 
 sage which I have already quoted. And as the opinion 
 we form concerning it has no connection with any of 
 the inquiries in which we have just been engaged, I 
 was unwilling to distract the attention by mentioning 
 any other. The philosophers now referred to have 
 adopted a conclusion directly opposite to this, and have 
 maintained that the words beauty and sublimity express, 
 in their literal signification, qualities of mind; and that 
 material objects affect us in this way only by means of 
 the moral ideas they suggest. For my own part, I am 
 not prepared to say any thing very decided either on 
 the one side or on the other ; but I must confess that 
 my present views rather incline to the last of these 
 doctrines. The following considerations, in particular, 
 seem to me to have great weight. 
 
 It is only in the case of our own minds that we have 
 any direct or immediate knowledge either of intellectual 
 or moral qualities. In the case of other men we know 
 them only by their external effects ; that is, either by 
 the natural signs of intelligence and sentiment which 
 we read in the countenance, or by the information we 
 derive from artificial language, or by the inferences we 
 draw from their conduct and behaviour. To all these 
 external effects, but more particularly to the features 
 of the countenance, we apply the epithet of beautiful. 
 But I believe it will be found that this epithet is appli- 
 cable to them only, or at least chiefly, in so far as they 
 are significant. Into this question, however, when pro- 
 posed in general, terms, I shall not enter ; nor shall I 
 take upon me positively to say that there is no beauty 
 in certain combinations of complexion and features, ab- 
 
THE BEAUTY OF VIRTUE. 220 
 
 straeted from any particular meaning. It is sufficient 
 for my purpose, if it be granted that the beauty of the 
 human face consists chiejiy in its expression ; and about 
 this it is impossible there can be any controversy. The 
 human face, therefore, it would appear, is beautiful 
 chiejiij as it presents to our conceptions the qualities of 
 mind. 
 
 The same observation is applicable very nearly to 
 the material universe in general. The pleasurable emo- 
 tion it excites in the mind of the peasant or mechanic 
 is extremely trifling; but to those whose understand- 
 ings have received such a degree of cultivation as to be 
 enabled to read in it the characters of power, wisdom, 
 and goodness, how sublime, how beautiful, does it ap- 
 pear! Even in the case of particular objects, it may 
 be doubted whether the beauty of order and uniformity 
 does not arise partly from some obscure suggestion of 
 design and intelligence. I say partly, because, inde- 
 pendent of any such considerations, order and uniform- 
 ity please from the aids they afford to our powers of 
 comprehension and memory. If these observations are 
 well founded, it will follow that it is mind alone that 
 possesses original and underived beauty ; and that what 
 we call the beauty of the material world is chiefly, if 
 not wholly, reflected from intellectual and moral quali- 
 ties ; as the light we admire on the disk of the moon 
 and planets is, when traced to its original source, tlie 
 light of the sun. The exclamation, therefore, of the 
 poet in the following lines would appear, notwithstand- 
 ing the enthusiasm which animates it, to be strictly and 
 philosophically just. 
 
 " Mind, mind alone, — bear witness earth and Heaven ! — 
 The living fountains in itself contains 
 Of beauteous and sublime. Here hand in hand 
 Sit paramount the graces. Here entlironed, 
 Celestial Venus, with divinest airs, 
 Invites the soul to never-fading joy." ' 
 
 If with these doctrines of the Socratic school we 
 combine the fine and philosophical speculations of Mr. 
 
 * Akenside, Pleasures of Imagination, Book I. 
 
226 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 Alison with respect to the effect of association., they 
 will be found to add greatly to the evidence of the gen- 
 eral conclusion. Perhaps it may appear to some that 
 the former speculations are resolvable iijto the latter. 
 This, however, is not the case ; for the former relate to 
 natural signs ; the latter to a/rbitrary connections estab- 
 lished in the mind by habit. In the mind of the philos- 
 opher, for example, who traces in the universe the .sig- 
 natures of the Divine perfections, the beauties he con- 
 templates cannot, with propriety, be referred to associa- 
 tion, any more than the charms of a beautiful face the 
 first time it is seen. But in a mind conversant with 
 poetry, to which every object in nature recalls a thou- 
 sand agreeable images, a great part of the pfeasing 
 effect must be referred to this source. Even here, how- 
 ever, association operates in a manner which illustrates 
 and confirms the general theory, inasmuch as it pro- 
 duces its effect by making objects more significant than 
 they were before; or, in other words, by rendering them 
 the occasions of our conceiving intellectual and moral 
 beauties, of which they are not naturally expressive.* 
 
 Whatever opinion we adopt on this speculative ques- 
 tion, there can be no dispute about the fact, that good 
 actions and virtuous characters form the most de- 
 lightful of all objects to the human nlind; and that 
 there are no charms in the external universe so power- 
 ful as those which recommend to us the cultivation of 
 the qualities that constitute the perfection and the hap- 
 piness of our nature. 
 
 " Look, then, abroad through nature, to the range 
 Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres, 
 Wheeling unsliakcn through the void immense, 
 And speak, O man ! does this capacious scene, . 
 With half that kindling majesty dilate 
 Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose, 
 Refulgent from tlie stroke of Ca;sar's fate. 
 Amid the crowd of patriots ; and, his arm 
 Aloft extending, like eternal Jove 
 When guilt brings down the thunder, called aloud 
 
 * See the profound atid eloquent reflections with which Mr. Alison con- 
 cludes the first chapter of his admirable Essays on the Nature and Princi- 
 ples of Taste. 
 
THE BEAUTY OF VIRTUE. 227 
 
 On Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel, 
 And badi^the father of his country, Hail ! 
 l'"or, lo ! ttie tyrant prostrate in the dust, 
 And Rome ajjain is free ? Is au<;lit so fair, 
 In all the dewy landscapes of tlie spring. 
 In the bright eye of Hespcr or the mom. 
 In nature's fairest forms, is aught so fair 
 As virtuous friendship ? as the candid blush 
 Of him who strives with fortune to be just? 
 The graceful tear that streams for others' woes 1 
 Or the mild majesty of private life. 
 Where peace with ever-blooming olives crowns 
 The gate, where honor's liberal hands effuse 
 TJnenvied treasures, and the snowy wings 
 Of innocence and love protect the scene 'i'" 
 
 V. Use to be made of this Connection betv)een Natu- 
 ral and Moral Beavli/.] It is no less evident thit these 
 two kinds of taste (that for natural and that for moral 
 beauty), if not ultimately resolvable into the same prin- 
 ciple, are at least very nearly allied, or very closely 
 connected; insomuch that every author who has treat- 
 ed professedly of the one has been insensibly led to 
 illustrate his subject by frequent references to the other. 
 Her.ce in poetry the natural and pleasing union of 
 those pictures which recall to us the charms of exter- 
 nal nature, and that moral painting which affects and 
 delights the heart. The intentions of Nature, in thus 
 associating the ideas of the beautifid and the good, can- 
 not be mistaken. Much, I am persuaded, might be 
 done by a judicious system of education, in following 
 out the plan which Nature has herself, in this instance, 
 so manifestly traced ; as we find, indeed, was done to a 
 very great degree in those ancient schools, who consid- 
 ered it as the most important of all objects to establish 
 such a union between philosophy and the fine arts as 
 might add to the natural beauty of Virtue every attrac- 
 tion which the imagination could give her. 
 
 It would be improper to bring this subject to a con- 
 clusion without mentioning the attempt which Mr. 
 Humo has made to show that what we call the beauty 
 of virtue is the beauty of utility. For a particular ex- 
 
 * Akenside, Book I. 
 
228 
 
 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 amination and refutation of -this opinion, I refer the 
 reader to Mr. Smith's Theory of Moral Sni/iwcii/s. 
 Although, however, Mr. Smith differs from ftlr. Hume 
 ill thinking that virtue pleases because we consider it 
 to be useful, he agrees wilh him that all those qualities 
 which we consider as amiable or agreeable are really 
 useful either to ourselves or to others. In this res])ect 
 their conclusions coincide with the doch-ines of 1lie So- 
 cratic school, and atl'ord additional evidence of the be- 
 neficent solicitude with which Nature allures us to the 
 practice of our duty. " Do you imagine," says Socra- 
 tes to Aristippus, "that what is good is not beuulil'ul? 
 Have you not observed that these appearances always 
 coincide? Virtue, for inslance, in the same respect as 
 to which we call it good, is ever acknowledged lo be 
 bea,utiful also. In the character we always join the 
 two denominations together.* The beauty of human 
 bodies corresponds, in like manner, with that economy 
 of parts which constitutes them good; and in every 
 circumstance of life the same object is constantly ac- 
 counted both beautiful and good, inasmuch as it an- 
 swers the purposes for which it is designed." f 
 
 Section III. 
 
 OF THE PERCEPTION OF IMERIT AND DEMERIT. 
 
 I. Origin and Use of Ideas of 3TrrU and Dcwcril.] 
 The various actions performed by other men not only 
 excite in our minds a benevolent nH'ocfion towards 
 them, or a disposition to promote Iheir happiness, but 
 impress us with a sense of the mrril of the agents. 
 We perceive them to be the pro])or olijects of love and 
 esteem, -and that it is morally right that they should ic- 
 celve their reward. We feel ourselves called on to 
 make their worth known to the world, in order to pro- 
 cure them the favor and respect they deserve ; and if 
 
 " By the words KaKoKa.ya66i and KoXoKayaflia. 
 
 t Xenoph. Afemoroft., Lib. in. c. 8. The translation is Akensido's. 
 
MERIT AND DEMERIT. 229 
 
 we allow it to remain secret, we are conscious of injus- 
 tice in suppressing the naturai language of the heart. 
 
 On the other hand, when we are witnesses of an act 
 of sollishness, of cruelty, or of oppression, whether we 
 oiirsclces are sufferers or not, we are not only inspired 
 with aversion and hatred towards the delinquent, but 
 find it diilicult to restrain our indignation from, break- 
 ing loose against him. By this natural impulse of the 
 mind a check is imposed on the bad passions of indi- 
 viduals, and a provision is made even before the estab- 
 lishment of positive laws for the good order of society. 
 
 In our own case, how delightful are our feelings 
 Avhen we are conscious of doing well? By a species 
 of instinct we know ourselves to be the object of the 
 f;steem and attachment of our fellow-creatures, and we 
 icel, with the evidence of a perception, that Heaven 
 smiles on our labors, and that we enjoy the approba- 
 tion and favor of the Invisible Witness of our conduct. 
 Hence it is that we not only have a sense of merit, but 
 an anticipation of reward, and look forward to the fu- 
 ture with increased confidence and hope. Nor is this 
 confidence weakened, provided we retain our integrity 
 unshaken, by the strokes of adverse fortune, but, on the 
 contrary, we feel it increase in proportion to the efforts 
 that we have occasion to make; and even in the mo- 
 ment of danger and of death it exhorts us to persevere, 
 and assures us that ail will be finally well with us. 
 J-Ience the additional heroism of the brave when they 
 draw the sword in a worthy cause. They feel them- 
 selves animated with tenfold strength, relying on the 
 succour of an invisible arm, and seeming to trust, while 
 employed in promoting the beneficent purposes of 
 Providence, "that guardian angels combat on their 
 side." Although, however, this sense of merit which 
 accompanies the performance of good actions convin- 
 oi's the philosopher of the connection which the Deity 
 has established between virtue and happiness, he does 
 not proceed on the supposition, that on particular oc- 
 casions miraculous interpositions are to be made in his 
 favor. That virtue is the most direct road to happiness 
 20 
 
230 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 he sees to be the case even in this world ; but he knows 
 that the Deity governs by general laws ; and when he 
 feels himself disappointed in the attainment of his 
 wishes, he acquiesces in his lot, and looks forward with 
 hope to futurity. It is an error of the vulgar to expect 
 that good or bad fortune is, even in this warld, to be the 
 Immediate consequence of good or bad actions, — a 
 prejudice of which we may trace the influence in all 
 ages and nations, but more particularly in times of su- 
 perstition and ignorance. From this error arose the 
 practices of judicial combat, and of trial by ordeal, both 
 of which formerly prevailed in this part of the world, 
 and of which the latter (as appears from the Asiatic 
 Researches) kept its ground in Hindostan as late as 
 1784,* and probably keeps its ground at this day. Ab- 
 surd as these ideas are, they show strongly how natu- 
 ral to the human mind are the sentiments now under 
 consideration ; for this belief of the connection between 
 virtue and good fortune has plainly taken its rise from 
 the natural connection between the ideas of virtue and 
 merit, a connection which, we may rest assured, is 
 agreeable to the general laws by which the universe is 
 governed, but which the slightest reflection may satisfy 
 us cannot always correspond with the order of events 
 in such a world as we inhabit at present. 
 
 I am not cevtain but we may trace something of the 
 same kind in the sports of children, who have all a no- 
 tion that good fortune in their games of chance de- 
 pends upon perfect fairness towards their adversaries, 
 and that those are certain to lose who attempt to take 
 secretly any undue advantage. 
 
 * " In the code of the Gentoo laws mention is made of the ti-ial by or- 
 deal, which was one of the first laws instituted by Mosc? among the Jews. 
 See Numbers, Chap. V. Fire or water is usually employed ; but in In- 
 dia the mode varies, and is often determined by the choice of the parties. 
 I remember a letter from a man of rank, who was accused of correspond- 
 ing in time of war with the enemy, in which ho says, ' Let my accuser be 
 produced ; let me see him face to face ; let the most venomous snakes bo 
 put into a pot ; lot us put our hands into it together ; lot it bo covered for 
 a certain time ; and he who rcmaineth unhurt shall be innocent.' 
 
 " This trial is always accompanied with the solemnities of a religious 
 ceremony." — Crawford's Sketches of the Hindoos, p. 298. 
 
MERIT AND DEMERIT. 231 
 
 " Pueri ludentes, Rex eris, aiunt, 
 Si rectfe fades." * 
 
 Indeed, the moral perceptions (although frequently mis- 
 ipplied in cons5equence of the weakness of reason and 
 the want of experience) may be as distinctly traced in 
 the mind at that time of life as ever afterwards, when 
 surely it cannot be supposed that they are the result, as 
 some authors have held, of a conviction, founded on 
 actual observation, of the uiilily of virtue, f 
 
 • Horat. Efist., Lib. I. Ep. 1. 59. 
 
 " Let cWldren .sing 
 Amid their sportSj ' Bo riglit and be a king.' " 
 
 t Coasin expresses clearly and forcibly his views of the connection be- 
 tween merit and demerit and the rewards and punishments rightfully inflicted 
 by society. Hisloire de la Phitosophie du XVIIV Siicle, Vingtierne LcQon. 
 We copy a single paragraph from Professor Henry's excellent translation, 
 Elements of Psychology^ Chap. V. : — ''Without any doubt, it is useftil to 
 society to inflict contempt upon the violator of moral order ; without 
 doubt, it is useful to society to punish effectually the individual who attacks 
 the foundations of social order. This consideration of utility is real ; it is 
 wei;^hty ; but I say that it is not the first, that it is only accessory, and that 
 the immediate basis of all penalty is the idea of the essential merit and 
 dema-it of actions, — the general idea of order, which imperiously demands 
 that the merit and demerit of actions, which is a law of reason and of or- 
 der, should be realized in a society that pretends to be rational and well 
 ordered. On this ground, and on this ground alone, nf realizing this law 
 of reason and of order, the two powers of society, opinio! and government, 
 appear faithful to their primaiy law. Then comes up u- lity, — the imme- 
 diate utility of repressing evil, and the indirect utility of preventing it by 
 example, that is, by fear. But this consideration has need of a basis su- 
 perior to itself, in order to render it legitimate. Suppose, in fact, that fher-e 
 is nothing good or evil in itself and consequently neither essential merit 
 nor demerit, and consequently, again, no absolute right of blaming or 
 punishing ; by what right, then, I ask, do you blame or disgrace a man, or 
 make him ascend the scaffold, or put him in irons for life,.^' the advantage 
 of others, when the action of the man is neither good nor bad in itself, and 
 merits in itself neither blame nor punishment ? Suppose that it is not ab- 
 solutely right, just in itself, to blame this man or to punish him, and the 
 legitimacy and propriety of infamy and of glory, and of evei-y species of 
 reward and punisliment,' are at an end. Still further, I maintain if punish- 
 ment has no other ground than utility, then even its utility is destroyed; 
 for in order that a punishment may be useful, it is requisite, — 1st, that he 
 upon whom it is inflicted, endowed as he is with the principle of merit and 
 demerit, should regard himself as justly punished, and should accept his 
 punishment with a suitable disposition ; 2d, that the spectators, equally en- 
 dowed with the principle of merit and demerit, should regard the culprit as 
 justly punished according to the measure of his crime, and should appiy 
 to themselves by anticipation the same justice in case of crime, and should 
 
232 
 
 MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 II. Hoiv to guard against Self-deceit.] I shall con- 
 clude this subject by again recalling to the attention 
 of the reader a very remarkable fact formerly stated, 
 that our moral emotions seem to be stronger with re- 
 spect to the conduct of others than our own. A man 
 ■who can be guilty, apparently without remorse, of the 
 most flagrant injustice, will yet feel the warmest indig- 
 nation against a similar act of injustice in another ; and 
 the best of men know it to be in many cases a useful 
 rule, before they determine on any particular conduct, 
 to consider how they would judge of the conduct oi 
 another in the same circumstances. " Do to others as 
 ye would that they should do unto you." This is ow- 
 ing to the influence of self-partiality and self-deceit. 
 Mr. Smith has been so much struck with the difference 
 of our moral judgments in our own case and in that of 
 another, ihat he has concluded conscience to be only an 
 application to ourselves of those rules which we have 
 collected from observing our feelings in cases in which 
 we are not personally concerned. I shall afterwards 
 state some objections to which this opinion is liable. 
 
 Were it not for the influence of self-deceit, it could 
 hardly happen that a man should habitually act in di- 
 rect opposition to his moral principles.' We know, 
 however, that this is but too frequently the case. The 
 most perfect conviction of the obligation of virtue, and 
 the strongest moral feelings, will be of little use in reg- 
 
 be kept in harmony with the social order by the view of its legitimate pen- 
 alties. Hence arises the utility of examples of punishments, whether jnor- 
 al or physical. But take away its foundation in justice, and you destroy 
 the utility of punishment; you excite indignation and abhorrence, instead 
 of awakening penitence in the victim, or teaching a salutary lesson to the 
 puhlie. You array courage, sympathy, cyG>Yy thing noble and elevated in 
 human nature, on the side of the victim You excite all energetic sjjiriis 
 against society and its artilicial laws. Thus the utility of punishment is 
 itself grounded in its justice, instead of justice being grounded in its utili- 
 ty. Punishment is the sanction of the law, and not its foundation. Mor- 
 al order has its foundation not in punishment, hut punishment has its foun- 
 dation in moral order. The idea of right and wrong is grounded only on 
 itself, on reason which reveals it. It is the condition of the idea of merit 
 and demerit which is the condition of the idea of reward and punishifient; 
 and this latter is to the two former, but especially to the idea of right anti 
 wrong, in the relation of the consequence to the principle." — Ed. 
 
MORAL OBLIGATION. 233 
 
 ulating our conduct, unless we are at pains to attend 
 constaatly to the stafe of our own character, and to 
 scrutinize with the most suspicions care the motives of 
 our actions. Hence the importance of the precept so 
 much recommended by the moralists of all ages, — 
 " Know thyself." 
 
 These observations may convince us still more of 
 the truth of what I have elsewhere remarked with re- 
 spect to sentimental reading, and of its total insufficien- 
 cy for forming a virtuous character without many other 
 precautions.* Where its effects are corrected by habits 
 of business, and every instance of conduct is brovght 
 home by the reader to himself, it may be a source of 
 solid improvement; for although strong moral feelings 
 do by no means alone constitute virtue, yet they add 
 to the satisfaction we derive from the discharge of our 
 duty, and they increase the interest we take in the 
 prosperity of virtue in the world 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OF MORAL OBLIGATION. 
 
 I. Ground of Obligation.] According to some sys- 
 tems, moral obligation is founded entirely on our belief 
 that virtue is enjoined by the command of God. But 
 how, it may be asked, does this belief impose an obli- 
 gation ? Only one of two answers can be given. 
 Either that there is a moral fitness that we should con- 
 form our will to that of the Author and the Governor 
 of the universe ; or that a rational self-love should in- 
 duce us, from motives of prudence, to study every 
 means of rendering ourselves acceptable to the Al- 
 mighty Arbiter of happiness and misery. 
 
 On the first supposition, we reason in a circle. We 
 
 • PlUlosophy of the Human Mind, Part I. Chap. VIH. Sect. V. 
 20* 
 
234 MORAL OBLIGATION. 
 
 resolve our sense of moral obligation into our sense of 
 religion, and the sense of religion into that of moral 
 obligation. 
 
 The other system, which makes virtue a mere matter 
 of prudence, although not so obviously unsatisfactory, 
 leads to consequences which sufficiently invalidate every 
 argument in its favor. Among others, it leads us to 
 conclude, — 1. That the disbelief of a future state ab- 
 solves from all moral obligation, excepting in so far as 
 we find virtue to be conducive to our present interest ; 
 2. That a being independently and completely happy 
 cannot have any moral perceptions or any moral at- 
 tributes. 
 
 But, further, the notions of reward and punishment 
 presuppose the notions of right and wrong. They are 
 sanctions of virtue, or additional motives to the practice 
 of it, but they suppose the existence of some previous 
 obligation. 
 
 In the last place, if moral obligation be constituted 
 by a regard to our situation in another life, how shall 
 the existence of a future state be proved, or even ren- 
 dered probable," by the light of nature? or how shall 
 we discover what conduct is acceptable to the Deity? 
 The truth is, that the strongest presumption for such a 
 state is deduced from our natural notions of right and 
 wrong, of merit and demerit, and from a comparison 
 between these and the general course of human affairs. 
 
 It is absurd, therefore, to ask -loluj we are bound to 
 practise virtue. The very notion of virtue implies the 
 notion of obligation. Every being who is conscious 
 of the distinction between right and wrong carries 
 about with him a law which he is bound to observe, 
 notwithstanding he may be in total ignorance of a 
 future state. " What renders obnoxious to punish- 
 rpent," as Dr. Butler has well remarked, " is not the 
 foreknowledge of it, but merely the viojating a known 
 obligation." Or (as Plato has expressed the same idea), 
 
 TO }i£V op&bv vonQS eo'Ti ^aa-ikiKos* 
 
 * Minos. " Bight itself is a royal law." 
 
MORAL OBLIGATION. 233 
 
 From what has been stated, it follows that the moral 
 faculty, considered as an active power of the mind, 
 differs essentially from all the others hitherto enumer- 
 ated. The least violation of its authority fills us with 
 remorse. On the contrary, the greater the sacrifices 
 we make in obedience to its suggestions, the greater 
 are our satisfaction and triumph. 
 
 II. Butler on the Supremacy of Conscience.] The 
 supreme authority of conscience, although beautifully 
 described by many of the ancient moralists, was not 
 sufficiently attended to by modern writers as a funda- 
 mental principle in the science of ethics till the time 
 of Dr. Butler. Too little stress is laid on it by Lord 
 Shaftesbury ; and the omission is the chief defect in 
 his system of morals. Shaftesbury's opinion, however, 
 although he does not state it explicitly in his Inquiry, 
 seems to have been precisely the same at bottom with 
 that of Butler.* 
 
 With respect to Dr. Buti^, I shall take this oppor- 
 tunity of remarking, that in his sermons On Human 
 Nature, in the Preface to his Sermons, and in a short 
 Dissertation on Virtue annexed to his Analogy, he has, 
 in my humble opinion, gone farther towards a just ex- 
 planation of our moral constitution than any other mod- 
 ern philosopher. Without aiming at the praise of nov- 
 elty or of refinement, he has displayed singular penetra- 
 tion and sagacity in availing himself of what was sound 
 in former systems, and in supplying their defects. He 
 is commonly considered as an uninteresting and obscure 
 writer : but, for my own part, I never could perceive 
 the slightest foundation for such a charge; though I 
 am ready to grant that he pays little attention to the 
 graces of composition, and that the construction of his 
 sentences is frequently unskilful and unharraonious. 
 As to the charge of obscurity, which he himself antici- 
 pated from the nature of his subject, he has replied to 
 it in the most satisfactory manner in the Preface al- 
 
 * See his Advice to an Author, Part I. Sect. 11. 
 
236 MORAL OBLIGATION. 
 
 ready referred to. I think it proper to add, that I 
 would by no means propose these sermons (which were 
 originally preached before the learned Society of Lin- 
 coln's Inn) as models for the pulpit. I consider them 
 merely in the light of philosophical essays. In the 
 same volume with them, however, are to be found some 
 practical and characteristical discourses, which are pe- 
 culiarly interesting and impressive, particularly the ser- 
 mons On, Self-deceit, and On the Character of Balaam ; 
 both of which evince an intimate acquaintance with 
 the springs of human action, rarely found in union with 
 speculative and philosophical powers of so high an 
 order. The chief merit, at the same time, of JButler as 
 an ethical writer, undoubtedly lies in what he has writ- 
 ten on the supreme authority of conscience as the gov- 
 erning principle of human conduct, — a doctrine which 
 he has placed ih the strongest and happiest lights, and 
 which, before his time, had been very little attended to 
 by the moderns. It is sometimes alluded to by Lord 
 Shaftesbury, but so very sjightly as almost to justify 
 the censure which Butler bestows on this part of his 
 writings. 
 
 The scope of Butler's own reasonings may be easily 
 conceived from the passage of Scripture which he has 
 chosen as the groundwork of his argument: — "For 
 when the Gentiles, which have not the law, do by na- 
 ture the things contained in the law, these, having not 
 the law, are a law unto themselves." * 
 
 " " Butler's writings," says Dr. Whewcll, " have been of the greatest 
 value in preserving and restoring among us true views of morality ; but 
 there are some expressions used by him, which, if not duly limited, may 
 load his followers into mistakes. Thus, he sometimes speaks, not only of 
 the anlhority, but of the supremaqj, of conscience. Now if by calling con- 
 science supreme, it were meant that the principle so described is some- 
 thing possessing sovereign and original authority over men's other springs 
 of action, this principle would necessarily be the proper ground of rules of 
 action; and all such rules must be derived ultimately from this principle. 
 We should then, in order to frame rules of morality, or to decide any moral 
 question, have to inquire how we con learn the decisions of conscience on 
 such subiects. Conscience is our guide ; whore are we to learn what she 
 says ^ Conscience, the law on the heart, is supreme over all laws ; how 
 are we to read this law % Conscience is the test of right and wrong; but 
 whose conscience'? for conscience belongs to a person. Butler's opponents 
 
MORAL OBLIGATION. 237 
 
 III. Other Authorities for the same Doctrine.] One 
 of the clearest and most concise statements . of this 
 doctrine that I have met with is in a sermon On the 
 Nature and Obligation of Virtue, by Dr. Adams of Ox- 
 ford; the justness of whose ideas on this subject make 
 
 have constantly said, — ' You tell ns that conscience is the proper guide 
 of action ; but whose conscience ? ours, or yours ? Our consciences point 
 different ways ; — can both be right t And if not both, how are we to 
 know which '! ' 
 
 " These are familiar and popular arguments ; hut they appear to me to 
 be decisive against all who ascribe to conscience a supremacy, in the proper 
 scii-ic of the term ; — namely, a sovereign and ultimate auihority over all 
 other principles of action, so that, when a decision is pronounced by con- 
 science, there is no furllier reason to be rendered for it, nor any higher de- 
 cision to be sought But I think it is very plain that this was not 
 
 Butler's view, — that he did not thus* hold an original and independent 
 faculty of conscience, whose decisions would form a permanent body of 
 moral rules. I think that, with him, conscience was not a body of truths, 
 but a process by which truth is to be obtained ; — a faculty, if you choose, 
 but a faculty which must be trained and exercised in order to be used, — ■ 
 which may be improved, instructed, and enlightened, — which may be 
 blinded and perverted in individual men. Conscience is a faculty of man, 
 as reason is a faculty; — a power l)y exercising which he may come to 
 discern truths, not a repository of truths already collected in a vi^ible 
 shape. -Conscience, indeed, is the reason^ employed about questions of 
 right and wrong, and accompanied with the scvtiwents of a]>probation and 
 condemnation which, by the nature of man, cling inextricably to bis ap- 
 prehension of right and "wrong, 'ibis is the view that wc have been led 
 to take of conscience. This is, as I conceive, Butler's view also. That 
 hv con-.cicnce he does not mean any special indejiend^'nt faculty, distinct 
 from the reason with its accompanying moral sentiments, is, I think, evident 
 from the whole current of his language. He does not confine himself to 
 the single term conscience, in his Jccount of the superior principle of our 
 nature : on the contrary, he perpetually uses, for this term or with it, other 
 terms, which give the same view of it which we have taken. He calls it 
 'reflection on conscience, an approbation of some principles or actions, 
 and a disapprobation of others ' ; — and again, ' reflex approbation or dis- 
 approbation.' All the phrases which he employs manifestly point at a 
 principle or faculty, not by which we necessarily have, but by which we 
 may (/(■/, a true knowledge of the course which we ought to take under any 
 given circumstances. We are, to use another of his phrases, ' to act suit- 
 ably to our whole nature, and especially to the higher and better part of 
 our nature'; the constitntion of human nature being such that there is in 
 it a higher and better part. This higher and better part tells us that in- 
 justice is worse than pain ; but it does not tell us what acts are unju-t, 
 except through the process of reflection. The notion of injustice is ncics- 
 sai-ily the object of disapprobation to the conscience ; but to unfold this 
 notion of injustice into detail, so as to see what special acts are included 
 in it, — this is the office of the reflection, that is, of the reason." Lectures 
 on Si/stematic Morality, Lecture VI. 
 
 On the whole subject of conscience, see President Wayland's Elements 
 of Moral Science, Book I. Chap. II. — Ed. 
 
238 
 
 MORAL OBLIGATION. 
 
 it the more surprising that his pupil and friend, Dr. 
 Samuel. Johnson, should have erred So very widely from 
 the truth. « Right" says he, " implies duty in its idea. 
 To perceive an action to be right is to see a reason for 
 doing it. in the action itself, abstracted from all othei 
 considerations whatever; and this perception, this ac- 
 knowledged rectitude in the action, is the very essence 
 of obligation, that which commands the approbation 
 and choice, and binds the conscience, of every rational 
 human being." — « Nothing can bring us under an ob- 
 ligation to do what appears to our moral judgment 
 wrong. It may be supposed our interest to do this, but 
 it cannot be supposed our duty. For, I ask, if some 
 power, which we are unable to resist, should assume 
 the command over us, and give us laws which are un- 
 rigliteous and unjust, should we be under an obligation 
 to obey him ? Should we not rather be obliged to 
 shake off the yoke, and to resist such usurpation, if it 
 were in our power ? However, then, we might be 
 swayed by hope or fear, it is plain that we are under 
 an obligation to right, which is antecedent, and in order 
 and nature superior, to all other. Power may compel, 
 interest may bribe, pleasure may persuade, but reason 
 only can oblige. This is the only authority which ra- 
 tional beings can own, and to which they owe obedi- 
 ence." 
 
 Dr. Clarke has expressed himself nearly to the same 
 purpose. " The judgment and conscience of a man's 
 own mind concerning the reasonableness and fitness of 
 the thing is the truest and formallest obligation ; for 
 whoever acts contrary to this sense and conscience of 
 his own mind is ilecessarily self-condemned; and the 
 greatest and strongest of all obligations is that which 
 a man cannot break through without condemning him- 
 self So far, therefore, as men are conscious of what 
 is right and wrong, so far they are under an obligation 
 to act accordingly." * 
 
 * Discourse concerning the Unalterable OUigcuions of Natural Sdigion, 
 Proposition I. 3. 
 
MORAL OBLIGATION. 239 
 
 I would not have quoted so many passages in illus- 
 tration of a point which appears to myself so very 
 obvious, if I had not been anxious to counteract the 
 authority of some eminent writers who have lately 
 espoused a very different system, by showing ho\v 
 widely they have departed from the sound and phil- 
 osophical views of their predecessors. I confess, too, 
 I should have distrusted my own judgment, if, on a 
 question so interesting to human h'appiness, and so 
 open to examination, I had been led, by any theoretical 
 refinements, to a conclusion which was not sanctioned 
 by the concurrent sentiments of other impartial in- 
 quirers. The fact, however, is, that, as this view of 
 human nature is the most simple, so it is the most 
 ancient, w^hich occurs in the history of moral science. 
 It was the doctrine of the Pythagorean school, as ap- 
 pears from a fragment of Theages, a Pythagorean 
 writer, published in Gale's Opuscula Mythologica. It 
 is also explained by Plato in some of his Dialogues, 
 in v.rhich he compared the soul to a commonwealth, 
 and reason to the council of state, which governs and 
 directs the whole.* 
 
 * " In Plato's Dialogues the question is repeatedly discussed, whether 
 the rule of action for man be the pursuit of pleasure and gain, or the inter- 
 nal hiirmonv of his nature. You will, many of you, recollect the lively 
 and dramatic dialogue at the beginning of The Bepuhlic, in which the 
 former of these opinions is asserted by one of the interlocutors, and the 
 acute and decisive Scratic refutation wliich it encounters. Tou will 
 recollect, too, the doctrine announced at the close of the fourth hook, as 
 the result of the previous discussion. ' Virtue, then, as we are thus led to 
 see, is a health and beauty and well-being of the soul. Vi<-e is a disease, 
 and foulness, and infirmity.' And when the original question is, at this 
 point of the argument, ag.ain asked, — whether it is better to be just or to 
 be unjust, even if the injustice is to remain utiknoum by all and to meet no 
 punishment, — the person to whom the argument is aildre,ssed, and who is, 
 by this time, brought to a conviction of the truth of the doctrine which it 
 is the object of the dialogue to fhculcate, says, ' Nay, Socrates, this question 
 is now ridiculously superfluous.' And in the ninth book, the discu.ssion 
 being really concluded, the speakers, playfully mimicking the practice of 
 pronouncing, by the voice of a public crier, a solemn judgment upon the 
 merit of a theatrical spectacle, agree to proclaim, — ' The son of Ari.-to 
 gives his judgment that the most virtuous and just is also the most happy, 
 and the wicked and unjust the most unhappy ' ; and further, ' that this is 
 go, even if their deeds are hidden from all, men and gods. ' " — Whewell's Sys- 
 tematic Morality, Lecture VI. 
 
240 
 
 MORAL OBLIGATION. 
 
 In the following passage from Cicero the same doc- 
 trine is enforced in a manner peculiarly sublime and 
 f-xprossive, or, as Lactantius says, pane divina voce. 
 " Est quidem vera iex, recta ratio, naturas congrucns, 
 diffusa in omnes, constans, sempiterna, quas vocet ad 
 officium jubendo, vetando a fraude deterreat, quae 
 tamen neque probos frustra jubet aut vetat, nee impro- 
 bos jubendo aut vetando movet. Huic legi nee obro- 
 gari fas est, neque derogari ex hac aliquid licet, neque 
 tota abrogari potest. Nee vero aut per senatum aut 
 per populum solvi hac lege possumus : neque est quEe- 
 rendas explanator aut interpres ejus alius: nee erit alia 
 Lex Romee, alia Athenis, alia nunc, alia posthac ; sed 
 et omnes gentes, et omni tempore una lex et sempi- 
 terna et immutabilis continebit ; unusque erit com- 
 munis quasi magister et imperator omnium Deus. Ille 
 legis hujus inventor, disceptator, lator. Cui qui non 
 parebit, ipse se fugiet, ac, naturam hominis aspernatus, 
 hoc ipso luet maximas pcenas, etiamsi csetera supplicia, 
 quae pntantur, effugerit." * 
 
 It is very justly observed by Mr. Smith (and I con- 
 sider the remark as of the highest importance), that, 
 " if the distinction pointed out in the foregoing quota- 
 tions between the moral faculty and our other active 
 powers be acknowledged, it is of the less consequence 
 what particular theory we adopt concerning the origin of 
 our moral ideas." And accordingly, though he resolves 
 moral approbation ultimately into a. feeling of the mind, 
 he nevertheless represents the supremacy of conscience 
 
 * De Repvb:, Lib. III. 22. " There is a true law, a right reason, con- 
 gruous to nature, pervading all minds, cojistant, eternal ; which calls to 
 duty by its commands, and repels from wrong-doing by its prohibitions : 
 and to the good does not command or forbid in vain, while the wicked are 
 unmoved by its exhortations or its warnings. This law cannot be an- 
 nulled, superseded, or ovenuled. No senate, no people, can loose us from 
 it ; no jurist, no interpreter, can explain it away. It is not one law at 
 Rome, another at Athens; one at pre-^ent, another at some future time; 
 but one law, perpetual a:nd immutable, it extends to all nations and all 
 times, the universal sovereign. Of this law the author and giver is God. 
 Whoever disobeys it flies from himself, and by the wrong thus done to his 
 own nature, even though he should escape every other form of punish- 
 ment, incurs the heaviest penalty." 
 
MORAL OBLIGATION. ' 21 i 
 
 as a principle which is equally essential to all the di:- 
 ferent systems that have been proposed on the subjec',. 
 '• Upon whatever we suppose our moral faculties to b-- 
 founded," (I quote his own words,) "whether upon a 
 certain moclilication of reason, upon an original instinct 
 called a moral sense, or upon some other principle el 
 our nature, it cannot be doubted that they are given ui 
 for the direction of our conduct in .this life. They 
 carry along with them the most evident badges of their 
 authority, which denote that they were set up within 
 us to be the supreme arbiters of all our actions ; to 
 superintend all our senses, passions, and appetites; 
 and to judge how far each of them was to be either 
 indulg&d or restrained. Our moral faculties are by no 
 means, as some have pretended, upon a level in this 
 respect with the other faculties and appetites of our 
 nature, endowed with no more right to restrain these 
 last than these last are to restrain them. No other 
 faculty or principle of action judges of any other. 
 Love does not judge of resentment, nor resentment 
 of love. Those two passions may be opposite to one 
 another, but cannot, with any propriety, be said to 
 approve or disapprove of one another. But it is the 
 peculiar office of those faculties now under considera- 
 tion to judge, to bestow censure or applause upon all 
 the olher principles of our nature." 
 
 " Since these, therefore," continues Mr. Smith, " were 
 plainly intended to be the governing' principles of hu- 
 man nature, the rules which they prescribe are to be 
 regarded as the commands and laws of the Deity pro- 
 mulgated by those vicegerents which he has thus set 
 up within us. By acting according to their dictates 
 we may be said, in some sense, to cooperate with the 
 Deity, and to advance, as far as in our power, the plan 
 of Providence. By acting otherwise, on the contrary, 
 \ve seem to obstruct in some measure the scheme which 
 the Author of Nature has established for the happiness 
 and perfection of the world, and to declare ourselves 
 in some measure the enemies df God. Hence we are 
 naturally encouraged to hope for his extraordinary favor 
 21 
 
242 MORAL, OBLIGATION. 
 
 and reward in the one case, and to dread his vengeance 
 and punishment in the other." * 
 
 I have only to add further on this subject, at present, 
 that the supreme authority of conscience is felt and 
 tacitly acknowledged by the worst no less than by the 
 best of men ; for even they who have thrown off all 
 hypocrisy with the world are at pains to conceal their 
 real character from their own eyes. No man ever, in a 
 soliloquy or private meditation, avowed to himself that 
 he was a villain ; nor do I believe that such a character 
 as Joseph, in The School for Scandal, (who is introduced 
 as reflecting coolly on his own knavery and baseness, 
 without any uneasiness but what arises from the dread 
 of detection,) ever existed in the world. Such men 
 probably impose on themselves fully as much as they 
 do upon others. Hence the various artifices of self- 
 deceit which Butler has so well described in his dis- 
 courses on that subject. 
 
 It is said by St. Augustine, that at the delivery of 
 that famous line of Terence, — 
 
 " Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum pnto," — 
 " I am a m^in, and feel an interest in all mankind," — 
 the whole Roman theatre resounded with applause.-f 
 We may venture to say that a similar sentiment, well 
 pronounced by an actor, would at this day, in the most 
 corrupt capital in Europe, be followed by a similar burst 
 of sympathetic emotion. 
 
 " Voyez h nos spectacles 
 Quand on peint quclque trait de candeur, de bont6, 
 Oil brille en tout son jour la tendre hQmanit6, 
 Tous les ccEurs sont remplis d'unc volapt6 pure, 
 Et c'cst la qu'on ontend le cri de la nature" t ' 
 
 " On such occasions," as a late writer remarks, 
 " though we may think meanly of the genius of the 
 poet, it is impossible not to think, and to be happy 
 in thinking, highly of the people; — the people whose 
 
 * Th&iry of Moral Sentiments, Part III. Chap. V. 
 t See a note on tlois liae in Coleman's translation Of Terence's S^f- 
 Tonnentor. 
 X Giesset, Le Michant. 
 
AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES. 243 
 
 opinions may often be folly, whose conduct may some- 
 times be madness, but whose sentiments are almost 
 always honorable and just ; — the people whom an 
 author may delight with bombast, may amuse with 
 tinsel, may divert with indecency, but whom he cannot 
 mislead in principle, nor harden into inhumanity. It is 
 only the mob in the side boxes, who, in the coldness of 
 sell-interest, or the languor of outworn dissipation, can 
 hear unmoved the sentiments of compassion, of gen- 
 erosity, or of virtue." * 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OF CERTAIN PRINCIPLES WHICH COciPERATE WITH 
 OUR MORAX POWERS IN THEIR INFLUENCE ON THE 
 CONDUCT. 
 
 In order to secure still more completely the good 
 order of society, and to facilitate the acquisition of 
 virtuous habits, nature has superadded to our moral 
 constitution a variety of auxiliary principles, which 
 sometimes give rise to a conduct agreeable to the rules 
 of morality and highly useful to mankind, where the 
 merit of the individual, considered as a moral agent, 
 is inconsiderable. Hence some of them have been con- 
 founded with our moral powers, or even supposed to 
 be of themselves sufficient to account for the phe- 
 nomena of moral perception, by authors whose views 
 of human nature have not been sufficiently compre- 
 hensive. The most important principles of this de- 
 scription are, — 1st. A Regard to Character. 2d. Sym- 
 pathy. 3d. The Sense of the Ridiculous. And 4th. 
 Taste. The principle of Self-Love (which was treated 
 of in a former section) cooperates very powerfully to 
 the same purposes. 
 
 * Mackenzie's Account of tJie German Theatre. Transactions of tho 
 Koyal Society of Edinburgh, Vol. II. Part 11. p. 174. 
 
244 AUXILIARY PEINCIPLES. 
 
 Section I. 
 
 OF DECENCY, OR A REGARD TO CHARACTER. 
 
 Upon this subject I had formerly occasion to offer 
 various remarks, in treating of the desire of esteem. 
 But the view of it which I then took was extremely 
 general, as I did not think it necessary for me to attend 
 to the distinction between intellectual and moral quali- 
 ties. There can be no doubt that a regard to the good 
 opinion of our fellow-creatures has great influence in 
 promoting our exertions to cultivate both the one and 
 the other ; but what we are more particularly concerned 
 to remark at present is the effept which this principle 
 has in strengthening our virtuous habits, and in restrain- 
 ing those passions which a sense of duty alone would 
 not be sufficient to regulate. 
 
 I have before observed, that the desire of esteem op- 
 erates in children before they have a capacity of distin- 
 guishing right from wrong; and that the former prin- 
 ciple of action continues for a long time to be much 
 more powerful than the latter. Hence it furnishes a 
 most useful and effectual engine in the business of ed- 
 ucation, more particularly by training us early to exer- 
 tions of self-command and self-denial. It teaches us, 
 for example, to restrain our appetites within those 
 bounds which delicacy prescribes, and thus forms us to 
 habits of moderation and temperance. And although 
 our conduct, cannot be denominated virtuous so long as 
 a regard to the opinion of others is our sole motive, 
 yet the habits we thus acquire in infancy and childhood 
 render it more easy for us to subject our passions to 
 reason and conscience as we advance to maturity. 
 The subject well deserves a more ample illustration; 
 but at present it is sufficient to recall tnese remarks t?- 
 the recollection of the reader. 
 
SYMPATHY. ADAM SMITH. 245 
 
 Section II. 
 
 OF SYMPATHY. 
 
 I. Nature and Functions of Sympathy.] That there 
 is an exquisite pleasure annexed by the constitution of 
 our nature to the sympathy or fellow-feeling of other 
 men with our^oys and sorrows, and even with our 
 opinions, tastes, and humors, is a fact obvious to vulgar 
 observation. It is no less evident that we feel a dispo- 
 sition to accommodate the state of our own minds to 
 that of our companions, wherever we feel a benevolent 
 affection towards them, and that this accommodating 
 temper is in proportion to the strength of our affection. 
 In such cases sympathy would appear to be grafted 
 on benevolence ; and perhaps it might be found, on an 
 accurate examination, that the greater part of the pleas- 
 ure which sympathy yields is resolvable into that which 
 arises from the exercise of kindness, and from the con- 
 sciousness of being beloved. 
 
 II. Adam SmilKs Theory.] The phenomena gener- 
 ally referred to sympathy have appeared to Mr. Smith 
 so important, and so curiously connected, that he has 
 been led to attempt an explanation from this single 
 principle of all the phenomena of moral perception. 
 In this attempt, however, (not to mention the vague 
 use which he occasionally makes of the term,) he has 
 plainly been misled, like many eminent philosophers 
 before him, by an excessive love of simplicity ; and 
 has mistaken a very subordinate principle in our moral 
 constitution (or rather a principle superadded to our 
 moral constitution as an auxiliary to the sense of duty) 
 lor that faculty which distinguishes right from wrong, 
 and which (by what name soever we may choose to 
 call it) recurs to us constantly in all our ethical disqui- 
 sitions, as an ultimate fact in the nature of man. 
 
 I shall take this opportunity of offering a few remarks 
 on this most ingenious and beautiful theory, in the 
 21* 
 
246 AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES. 
 
 course of which I shall have occasion to state all that 
 I think necessary to observe concerning the place which 
 sympathy seems to me really to occupy in our moral 
 constitution. In stating these remarks, I would be un- 
 derstood to express myself with all the respect and ven- 
 eration due to the talents and virtues of a writer, whose 
 friendship I regard as one of the most fortunate inci- 
 dents of my life, but, at the same time, with that en- 
 tiro freedom which the importance of the subject de- 
 mands, and which I know that his candid and liberal 
 mind would have approved. 
 
 In addition to the incidental strictures which I have 
 already hazarded on Mr. Smith's theory, I have yet to 
 state two objections of a more general nature, to which 
 it appears to me to be obviously liable. But before I 
 proceed to these objections, it is necessary for me to 
 premise (which I shall- do in Mr. Smith's words) a re- 
 mark which I have not hitherto had occasion to men- 
 tion, and which may be justly regarded as one of the 
 most characteristical principles of his system. 
 
 " Wpre it possible," says he, "that a human creature 
 could grow up to manhood in some solitary place, with- 
 out any communication with his own species, he could 
 no more think of his own character, of the propriety or 
 demerit of his own sentiments and conduct, of the 
 beauty or deformity of his own mind, than of the beau- 
 ty or deformity of his own face. All these are objects 
 which he cannot easily see, which naturally he does not 
 look at, and with regard to which he is provided with 
 no mirror which can present them to his view. Bring 
 him into society, and he is immediately provided with 
 the min-or which he wanted before. It is placed in the 
 countenance and behaviour of those he lives with, which 
 always mark when they enter into and when they dis- 
 approve of his sentiments, and it is here that he first 
 views the propriety and impropriety of his own passions, 
 the beauty and deformity of his own mind." * 
 
 * Than% <ff Moral Sentiments, Part III. Chuj). I. 
 
SYMPATHY. ADAM SMITH. 247 
 
 III. Tloo Objections to the Theory in general.] To 
 this account of the origin of our moral sentiments it 
 may be objected, — 1st. That, granting the proposition 
 to be true, " that a human creature, who should grow 
 up to manhood without any communication with his 
 own species, could no more think of the propriety or 
 demerit of his own sentiments than of the beauty or de- 
 formity of his own face," it would by no means author- 
 ize the conclusion which is here deduced from it. The 
 necessity of social intercourse, as an indispensable con- 
 dition implied in the generation and growth of our mor- 
 al sentiments, does not arise merely from its effect in 
 holding up a mirror for the examination of our own 
 character; but from the impossibility of finding, in a 
 solitary state, any field for the exercise of our most im- 
 portant moral duties. In such a state the moral faculty 
 would inevitably remain dormant and useless, for the 
 same reason that the organ of sight would remain use- 
 less and unknown to a person who should pass his 
 whole life in the darkness of a dungeon. 
 
 2d. It may be objected to Mr. Smith's theory, that it 
 confounds the means or expedients by which nature en- 
 ables us to correct our moral judgments, with the prin- 
 ciples in our constitution to which our moral judgments 
 owe their origin. These means or expedients he has 
 indeed described with singular penetration and sagaci- 
 ty, and by doing so has thrown new and most impor- 
 tant lights on /(racft'ca/ morality ; but, after all his rea- 
 sonings on the subject, the metaphysical problem con- 
 cerning the primary sources of our moral ideas and 
 emotions will be found involved in the same obscurity 
 as before. The intention of such expedients, it is per- 
 fectly obvious, is merely to obtain a just and fair view 
 of circumstances ; and after this view has been ob- 
 tained, the question still remains, what constitutes the 
 obligation upon me to act in a particular manner ? Iij 
 answer to this question it is said, that, from recollecting 
 rriy own judgments in similar cases in which I have been 
 concerned, I infer in what light my conduct will apjjear 
 to society ; that there is an exnuisite satisfaction atnnexed 
 
248 AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES. 
 
 to mutual sympathy ; and that, in order to obtain this 
 satisfaction, I accommodate my conduct, not to my 
 own feelings, but to those of my fellow-creatures. Now 
 I acknowledge that this may account for a man's as- 
 suming the appearance of virtue, and I believe that 
 something of this sort is the real foundation of the 
 rules of good breeding in polished society ; * but in the 
 important concerns of life I apprehend there is some- 
 thing more ; for when I have once satisfied myself 
 with respect to the conduct which an impartial judge 
 would approve of, I feel that this conduct is rigid for 
 me, and that I am under a moral obligation- to put it 
 in practice. If I had had recourse to no expedient for 
 correcting my first judgment, I should nevertheless 
 have formed some judgment or other of a particular 
 conduct, as right, wrong, or indifferent, and the only 
 difference would have been, that I should probably have 
 decided improperly, from an erroneous or a partial view 
 of the case. 
 
 From these observations I conclude that the words 
 right and wrons:;, ought and o^ight not,^ express simple 
 ideas or notions, of which no explanation can be given. 
 They are to be found in all languages, and it is impos- 
 sible to carry on any ethical speculation without them. 
 Of this Mj. Smith himself furnishes a remarkable 
 proof in the statement of his theory, not only by the 
 occasional use which he makes of these and other sy- 
 nonymous expressions, but by his explicit and repeated 
 acknowledgments, that the propriety of actions cannot 
 
 * This remark I borrow from Dr. Beattie, wlio. in his Essay on Truth, 
 observes, that the foundation of good l)reeding is " that kind of sensibility 
 or sympathy by which we suppose ourselves \n the situation of others, 
 adopt their .sentiments, and in a manner perceive their very thoughts." 
 Part I Cliap. I. The observation well deserves to be prosecuted. 
 
 t Dr. Huteheson, in his Illustrations upon the Moral Sense, calls oufjht a 
 confused word : — " As to that confused word ow7A(," &c. Sect. I. ad Jin. 
 But for this he seems to have had no better reason than the impossibility 
 of defining it logically. And may not the same remark be applied to the 
 words time, space, motion? Was there ever a language in which these 
 words, together'with those of ouglit and ougia net, were not to be found 1 
 Ought corresponds with the 6« of the Greeks, and the oportet and decet of 
 the Latins. 
 
SYMPATHY. ADAM SMITH. 249 
 
 be always determined by the actual judgments of soci- 
 ety, and that, in such cases, we must act according to 
 the judgments which other men ovglit to have formed 
 of our conduct. Is not this to admit that we have a 
 standard of right and wrong in our own minds, of su- 
 perior authority to any instinctive propensity we may 
 feel to obtain the sympathy of our fellow-creatures ? 
 
 It was in order to reconcile this acknowledgment 
 with the general language of his system that Mr. Smith 
 was forced to have recourse to the supposition of " an 
 abstract man within the breast, the representative of 
 mankind and substitute of the Deity, whom nature has 
 constituted the supreme judge of all our actions." * 
 Of this very ingenious fiction he has availed himself in 
 various passages of the first editions of his book ; but 
 he has laid much greater stress upon it in the last edi- 
 tion, the sixth, published a short time before his death 
 An idea somewhat similar occurs in Lord Shaftesbury's 
 Advice to an Author, where he observes, with that 
 quaintness of phraseology which so often deforms his 
 otherwise beautiful style, that " when the wise ancients 
 spoke of a demon, genius, or angel, to whom we are 
 committed from the moment of our birth, they meant 
 no more than enigmatically to declare, 'that we have 
 each of us a patient in ourselves; that we are properly 
 our own subjects of practice ; and that we then become 
 due practitioners, when, by virtue of an intimate rece.-s, 
 we can discover a certain duplicity of soul, and divide 
 ourselves into two parties.'" He afterwards tells us, 
 that, " according as this recess was deep and intimate, 
 and the dual number practically formed in us, we were 
 supposed by the ancients to advance in morals and true 
 wisdom." f 
 
 By means of this fiction Mr. Smith has rendered his 
 theory (contrary to what might have been expected 
 from its first aspect) perfectly coincident in its practical 
 tendency with that cardinal principle of the Stoical 
 philosophy which exhorts us to search for the rules of 
 
 * Page 208, 5th edition. 1 Part I. Sect. 11. 
 
250 
 
 AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES. 
 
 life, not without ourselves, but vnthin: — " Nee te qua?- 
 sivpi-is extra." Indeed, Butler himself has not asserted 
 the authority and supremacy of conscience in stronger 
 terms than Mr. Smith, who represents this as a mani- 
 fest and unquestionable principle, whatever particular 
 theory we may adopt concSrning the origin of our 
 moral ideas. It is only to be regretted, that, instead of 
 the metaphorical expression of " the man. within the 
 breast, to whose opinions and feelings we find it of 
 more consequence to conform our conduct than to those 
 of the whole world," he had not made use of the 
 simpler and more familiar words reason and conscience. 
 This mode of speaking was indeed suggested to him, 
 or rather obtruded on him, by the theory of sympathy, 
 and nothing can exceed the skill and taste with which 
 he has availed himself of its assistance in perfecting 
 his system ; but it has the effect, with many readers, of 
 keeping out of view the real state of the question, and 
 (like Plato's commonwealth of the soul and council of 
 state) to encourage among inferior writers a figurative 
 or allegorical style in treating of subjects which, more 
 than any other, require all the simplicity, precision, and 
 logical consistency of which language is susceptible. 
 
 IV. Particular Instances in tohich Smith lays too much 
 Stress on Sympathy.] A few slight observations on de- 
 tached passages of Mr. Smith's theory will be useful in 
 illustrating more fully certain phenomena referred by 
 him, rather too exclusively, to the principle of .sympa- 
 thy or fellow-feeling. 
 
 In proof of the pleasure annexed to mutual sympa- 
 thy, Mr. Smith remarks, that " a man is mortified when, 
 after having endeavoured to divert the company, he 
 looks around and sees that nobody laughs at his jest 
 but himself. " * It may be doubted, however, if in this 
 case a disappointed sympathy be the chief cause of 
 his uneasiness. Various other .circumstances undoubt- 
 edly conspire, particularly the censure which the silence 
 
 Part L^ect. I. Chap. II. 
 
SYMPATHY. ADAM SMITH., 251 
 
 of the company conveys of his taste and judgment, to- 
 gether with the proof it exhibits of their suUenness and 
 want of good-humor. 
 
 The pleasure, too, which, according to Mr. Smith, 
 we receive from reading to a stranger a poem whose 
 effect on ourselves has been destroyed by repetition, 
 may be explained, without any refinement about sym- 
 pathy, by the satisfaction we always feel in communi- 
 cating pleasure to another, combined with the flatter- 
 ing though indirect testimony paid to the justness of 
 our taste by its coincidence with that of an individual 
 ■whose judgment we respect. The sympathy of an ac- 
 knowledged fool would certainly be in the same cir- 
 cumstances a source of mortification. 
 
 In mentioning these considerations, I do not mean to 
 dispute that there is an exquisite pleasure arising from 
 mutual sympathy ; but only to suggest, that Mr. Smith 
 has ascribed to this principle solely various phenomena, 
 in accounting for which other causes appear to be no 
 less deserving of attention. 
 
 The versatile and accommodating manners which 
 Mr. Smith has so beautifully described in various pas- 
 sages of his Theory may be assumed from different 
 motives, — ^in some men from a desire to promote the 
 happiness of those around them ; and where this is the 
 case, it is unquestionably one of the most amiable and 
 meritorious forms in which benevolence can appear, 
 and contributes more by its daily and constant oper- 
 ation to increase the comfort of human life than those 
 splendid exertions of virtue which we are so seldom 
 called upon to make. In other men, in whom the be- 
 nevolent affections are not so strong, it may proceed 
 chiefly from a view to their own tranquillity and amuse- 
 ment, and may render them agreeable and harmless 
 companions, without giving them any claim to the ap- 
 pellation of virtuous. In many it arises from views of 
 self-interest and ambition ; and in such men, whatever 
 pleasure we may have derived from their society, these 
 qualities never fail to inspire universal distrust and dis- 
 like, as soon as they are known to be the real motives 
 
252 AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES. 
 
 of that pliancy and versatility with which we were at 
 first captivated. It would appear, therefore, that the ac- 
 commodating temper, where it is approved as morally 
 riff/it, is not approved on its own account, but as an 
 expression of a benevolent disposition. 
 
 From the combined efforts of the actor and of the 
 spectator towards a mutual sympathy, Mr. Smith en- 
 deavours to trace the origin of " two different sets of 
 virtues." Upon the effort of the spectator to enter into 
 the situation of the person principally concerned, and 
 to raise his sympathetic emotions to a level with the 
 emotions of the actor, are founded "the gentle, the 
 amiable virtues, the virtues of candid condescension 
 and indulgent humanity." Upon the effort of the pep 
 son principally concerned to lower his jwn emotions, 
 so as to correspond as nearly as possible with those of 
 the spectator, are founded " the great, the awful, and 
 respectable virtues, the virtues of seL'-denial, of self- 
 government, of that command of the. passions which 
 subjects all movements of our nature to what our own 
 dignity and honor, and the propriety of our own con- 
 duct, require." * If the word qualities were substituted 
 for virtues, I agree in general with this doctrine. The 
 mode of expression, however, certainly requires correc- 
 tion. " Candid condescension" and " indulgent human- 
 ity " are always amiable ; and when they really proceed 
 from a disposition habitually benevolent, are with great 
 propriety called virtues. " Self-denial and self-govern- 
 ment" are always respectable, and sometimes awful 
 qualities, because they indicate a force of mind which 
 few men possess ; but it depends on the motives from 
 which they are exercised, whether they indicate a vir- 
 tuous or a vicious character. 
 
 As a further illustration of the foregoing doctrine, 
 Mr. Smith considers particularly the degrees of the dif- 
 ferent passions which are consistent with propriety, 
 and endeavours to show, that in every case it is de- 
 cent or indecent to express a passion strongly, accord- 
 
 * Ibid., a 7.p V. 
 
SYMPATHY. ADAM SMITH. 253 
 
 ing as mankind are disposed or not disposed to sym- 
 pathize with it. It is unbecoming, for example, to ex- 
 press strongly any of those passions which arise from 
 a certain condition of the body ; because other men 
 who are not in the same condition cannot be expected 
 to sympathize with them. It is unbecoming to cry out 
 with bodily pain, because the sympathy felt by the 
 spectator bears no proportion to the acutenesS of what 
 is felt by the sufferer. The case is somewhat similar 
 with those passions which take their origin from a par- 
 ticular turn or habit of the imagination.* 
 
 All violent expressions of such passions are undoubt- 
 edly offensive, and good breeding dictates that they 
 should be restrained ; but not because the spectator 
 finds it difficult to enter into the situation of the person 
 principally concerned ; perhaps the opposite reason 
 would be nearer the truth. To eat voraciously in the 
 presence of a company who have already dined would 
 be obviously indecent ; but I apprehend, not so much 
 so as to eat even moderately in presence of one whom 
 we knew to be hungry, and who was not permitted to 
 share in the repast. With respect to bodily pain, it ap- 
 pears to me that there is no calamity whatever which 
 so completely interests the spectator, or with which his 
 sympathy is so acute and lively.- It is on this account 
 that a steady composure under it, while it indicates 
 the manly quality of self-command, has something in 
 it peculiarly amiable, when we suppose that it proceeds 
 in any degree from a tenderness for the feelings of oth- 
 ers. In many surgical operations it is probable that 
 the imagination of the pain exceeds the reality ; and 
 there cannot be a doubt, that, where the patient is the 
 object of our love, the sufferings which he feels require 
 less fortitude than ours. 
 
 Again, in the case of the unsocial passions of " ha- 
 tred and resentment," the sympathy of the spectator 
 "is divided" between the person who feels the passion 
 and the person who is the object of it. " We are con- 
 
 * Ibid., Sect. II. Chap. I. 
 22 
 
254 
 
 AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES. 
 
 cerned for both, and our fear for what the one may suf- 
 fer damps our resentment for what the other has suf- 
 fered." * Hence the imperfect degree in which we sym- 
 pathize with such passions, and the propriety, when 
 under their influence, of moderating their expression 
 to a much greater degree than in the case of any other 
 emotions. 
 
 Abstraction made of all considerations of this kind, 
 satisfactory reasons may be given for our listening 
 with caution to the dictates of resentment when we 
 ourselves are the sufferers. Experience must soon sat- 
 isfy us how apt this passion is to bhnd the judgment, 
 and to exaggerate in our estimation the injury we have 
 received ; and how certainly we lay in matter for future 
 remorse for our cooler hours, if we obey its first sugges- 
 tions. A wise man, therefore, learns to delay forming 
 his resolutions till his passion has in some degree sub- 
 sided ; — 'not in order to obtain the sympathy of other 
 men, but in order to secure the approbation of his own 
 conscience. If he conceives to himself what conduct 
 the impartial spectator will approve of, it is merely 
 as an expedient to divest himself of the partialities of 
 self-love; and when he acts agreeably to what he sup- 
 poses to be, on this occasion, the unbiased judgment 
 of spectators, his satisfaction arises, not from the posses- 
 sion of their sympathy, but from a consciousness that 
 he lias done his best to ascertain what was right, and 
 has regulated his conduct accordingly. 
 
 " Where there is no envy in the case, our propensity 
 to sympathize with joy is much stronger than our pro- 
 pensity to sympathize with sorrow." 
 
 " It is on account of this dull sensibility to the af- 
 flictions of others, that magnanimity amidst great dis- 
 tress always appears so divinely graceful."! 
 
 If this were true, would it not follow that the admi- 
 ration of heroic magnanimity would be in proportion 
 to the insensibility of the spectator? 
 
 " Finally, it is because mankind are more disposed 
 
 • Ibid., Chap. III. t Ibid., Sect. III. Chap. I. 
 
SYMPATHY. ADAM SMITH. 255 
 
 to court the favor, to comply with the humors, and to 
 judge with indulgence the actions, of the prosperous 
 than of the unfortunate, that we make parade of our 
 riches, and conceal our poverty." — "It is the mitsfor- 
 tunes of kings alone," Mr. Smith adds, "which atford 
 the proper subjects for tragedy." * 
 
 Of this last proposition I confess I have some doubts, 
 at least to the extent in which it is here stated; and I 
 am inclined to think that, in those cases where it holds, 
 it may be easily accounted for on more obvious princi- 
 ples. By far the greater number of tragedies are found- 
 ed on historical facts; and history records only the 
 transactions of men in elevated stations. But even in 
 these tragedies the most interesting personages are fre- 
 quently domestics or captives. The old shepherd in 
 Dovg'las is surely a more interesting character than 
 Lord Randolph. And for my own part I am not 
 ashamed to confess that I have shed more tears at 
 some tragedies bourgeoises and comedies larmoyantes 
 of very inferior merit, than were ever extorted from me 
 by the exquisite poetry of CorneiUe, Racine, or Vol- 
 taire. 
 
 The fortunes of the great, indeed, interest us more 
 than those of men in inferior stations. But for this . 
 there are various causes, independent of that assigned 
 by Mr. Smith. 1. Their destiny involves the fortunes 
 of many, and frequently affects the public interest. 
 2. Their situation points them out to public atten- 
 tion, and renders them subjects of general and daily 
 conversation ; and, accordingly, we may remark a cu- 
 riosity perfectly analogous to that which the history of 
 the great excites with respect to the biography of all 
 men who have been long and constantly in the view of 
 the world. The trifling anecdotes in the life of Quin 
 or Garrick find as many readers as the important events 
 connected with the history of Frederic the Great. 
 
 V. Historical Notices of the Doctrine.] In my -4c- 
 
 * Ibid., Chap. 11. 
 
256 
 
 AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES. 
 
 count of the Life and Writings of Mr Smith, I observed, 
 that, according to the learned translator of Aristotle's 
 Ethics and Politics, " the general idea which runs 
 through Mr. Smith's Theorij of Moral Sentiments was 
 obviously borrowed from the following passage of Po- 
 lybius. ' From the union of the two sexes, to whicli all 
 are naturally inclined, children are born. When any of 
 these, therefore, being arrived at perfect age, instead of 
 yielding suitable returns of gratitude and assistance to 
 those by whom they have been bred, on the contrary 
 attempt to injure them by words or actions, it is mani- 
 fest that those who behold the wrong, after having also 
 seen the sufferings and the anxious cares that were sus- 
 tained by the parents in the nourishment and education 
 of their children, must be greatly offended and dis- 
 pleased at such proceeding. For man, who, among all 
 the various kinds of animals, is a,lone endowed with 
 the faculty of reason, cannot, like the j-est, pass over 
 such actions, but will make reflection on what he sees ; 
 and, comparing likewise the future with the present, 
 will not fail to express his indignation at this injurious 
 treatment; to which, as he foresees, he may also at 
 some time be exposed. Thus again, when any one 
 who has been succoured by another in the time of dan- 
 ger, instead of showing the like kindness to his benefac- 
 tor, endeavours at any time to destroy or hurt him, it 
 is certain that all men must be shocked by such ingrat- 
 itude, through sympathy with the resentment of their 
 neighbour, and from an apprehension also that the case 
 may be their own. And from hence arises in the mind 
 of every man a certain notion of the nature and force 
 of duty, in which consists both the beginning and the 
 end of justice. In like manner, the man who, in de- 
 fence of others, is seen to throw himself the foremost 
 into every danger, and even to sustain the fury of the 
 fiercest animals, never fails to obtain the loudest accla- 
 mations of applause and veneration from all the multi- 
 tude, while he who shows a different conduct is pursued 
 with censure and reproach. And thus it is that the 
 people begin to discern the nature of things honorable 
 
SYMPATHY. ADAM SMITH. 257 
 
 and base, and in what consists the difference between 
 them; and to perceive that the former, on account of 
 the advantage that attends them, are fit to be admired 
 and imitated, and the latter to be detested and avoid- 
 ed.' " * 
 
 " The doctrine," says Dr. Gillies, " contained in this 
 passage is expanded by Mr. Smith into a theory of mor- 
 al sentiments. But he departs from At> author in pla- 
 cing the perception of right and wrong in sentiment or 
 feeling, ultimately and simply. Polybius, on the con- 
 trary, maintains, with Aristotle, that these notions arise 
 from reason or intellect operating on affection or appe- 
 tite ; or, in other words, that the moral faculty is a 
 compound, and may be resolved into two simpler prin- 
 ciples of the mind." f 
 
 Thrf only expression I object to in the preceding 
 sentences is the phrase his author, which has the appear- 
 ance of insinuating a charge of plagiarism against Mr. 
 Smith ; — a charge which, I am confident, he did not 
 deserve, and to which the above extract does not, in my 
 opinion, afford any plausible color. It exhibits, indeed, 
 an instance of a curious coincidence between two phi- 
 losophers in their views of the same subjpct, and as 
 such I have no doubt that Mr. Smith himself would 
 have remarked it, had it occurred to his memory when 
 he was writing his booif. Of such accidental coinci- 
 dences between different minds, examples present them- 
 selves every day to those who, after having drawn 
 from their internal resources all the lights they could 
 supply on a particular question, have the curiosity to 
 compare their own conclusions with those of their pre- 
 decessors. And it is extremely worthy of observation, 
 that, in proportion as any conclusion approaches to the 
 truth, the number of previous approximations to it may 
 be reasonably expected to be multiplied. 
 
 In the instance before us, however, the question 
 about originality is of little or no moment, for the pe- 
 
 • Lib. VI. Cap. VI., Hampton's translation. 
 t Gillies's Aristot. Ethics, Book IlL Chap. IV., note. 
 22* 
 
258 
 
 AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES. 
 
 culiar merit, of Mr. Smith's work does not lie in his 
 general principle, but in the skilful use he has made of 
 it to give a systematical arrangement to the most im- 
 portant discussions and doctrines of ethics. In this 
 point of view, the Theory of Moral Sentiments may be 
 justly regarded; as one of the most original efforts of 
 the human mind in that branch of science to which it 
 relates; and e^en if we were to suppose that it was 
 first suggested to the author by a remark of which the 
 world had been in possession for two thousand years 
 before, this very circumstance would only reflect a 
 stronger lustre on the novelty of his design, and on the 
 invention and taste displayed in its execution. 
 
 In the same work I have observed, that, " in studying 
 the connection and filiation of successive theories, 
 when we are at a loss in any instance for a Iftik to 
 complete the continuity of philosophical speculation, it 
 seems much more reasonable to search for it in the sys- 
 tems of the immediately preceding period, and in the 
 inquiries which then occupied the public attention, than 
 in detached sentences, or accidental expressions glea ned 
 from the relics of distant ages. It is thus only that we 
 can hope to seize the precise point of view in which an 
 author's subject first presented itself to his attention, 
 and to account to our own satisfaction, from the par- 
 ticular aspect under which he saw it, for the subsequent 
 direction which was given to his curiosity. In follow- 
 ing such a plan, our object is not to detect plagiarisms, 
 which we suppose men of genius to have intenlionally 
 concealed, but to fill up an apparent chasm in the his- 
 tory of science, by laying hold of the thread which in- 
 sensibly guided the mind from one station to another." 
 Upon these principles, our attention is naturally direct- 
 ed, on the present occasion, to the inquiries of Dr. But- 
 ler, in preference to those of any other author, ancient 
 or modern. At the time when Mr. Srnith began his 
 literary career, Butler unquestionably stood highest 
 among the ethical writers of England ; and his works 
 appear to have produced a still deeper and more last- 
 ing impression in Scotland than in the other part of the . 
 
SYMPATHY. ADAM SMITH. 259 
 
 island. Of the esteem in which tJiey were held by 
 Lord Kames and Mr. Hume, satisiactory documents 
 remain in their published letters; nor were his writings 
 less likely to attract the notice of Mr. Smith, in conse- 
 quence of the pointed and unanswerable objections 
 which they contain to some of the favorite opinions o£ 
 his predecessor. Dr. Hutcheson. 
 
 VI. Butler's Views on this Subject.] The probability 
 of this conjecture is confirmed by the obvious and easy 
 transition which connects the theory of sympathy with 
 Butler's train of thinking in his Sermon On Self-deceit. 
 In order to free the mind from the influence of its arti- 
 fices, experience gradually teaches us (as Butler has 
 excellently shown), either to recollect the judgments we 
 have formerly passed in similar circumstances on the 
 conduct of others, or to state cases to ourselves, in 
 which we and all our personal concerns are left entirely 
 out of the question. Hence it was not an unnatural 
 inference, on the first aspect of the fact^ that our only 
 ideas of right and wrong, with respect to our own con- 
 duct, are derived from our sentiments with respect to 
 the conduct of others. This, accordingly (as we have 
 already seen), is the distinguishing principle of Mr. 
 Smith's theory. 
 
 I have formerly referred to a note in Butler's fifth 
 Sermon, in which he has exposed the futility of 
 Hobbes's definition of pity. In the same note, it is re- 
 marked further by the very acute and profound author, 
 that Hobbes's premises, if admitted to be sound, so far 
 from establishing his favorite doctrine concerning the 
 selfish nature of man, would afford an additional illus- 
 tration of the provision made in his constitution for 
 the establishment and maintenance of the social' un- 
 ion. " If there be really any such thing as the fiction 
 or imagination of danger to ourselves from sight of the 
 miseries of others, which Hobbes speaks of, and which 
 he has absurdly mistaken for the whole of compassion. 
 — if there be any thing of this sort common to man- 
 kind distinct from the reflection of reason, it would be 
 
260 AUXILIAEY PRINCIPLES. 
 
 a most remarkable instance of what was farthest from 
 his thoughts, namely, of a mutual sympathy between 
 each particular of the species, — a fellow-feeling com- 
 mon to mankind. It would not, indeed, be an instance 
 of our substituting others for ourselves, but it would 
 be an example of our substituting ourselves for others." 
 To those who are at all acquainted with Mr. Smith's 
 book, it is unnecessary for rae to observe how very pre- 
 cisely Butler has here touched on the general fact which 
 is assumed as the basis of the Theory of Moral Sen- 
 timents. 
 
 In various other parts of Butler's writings there are 
 manifest anticipations of Mr. Smith's ethical specula- 
 tions. In his Sermon, for example. On, Forgiveness of 
 Injuries, he expresses himself thus : — " Without know- 
 ing particulars, I take upon me to assure all persons 
 who think they have received indignities or injurious 
 treatment, that they may depend upon it, as in a man- 
 ner certain, that the offence is not so great as they 
 themselves imagine. "We are in such a peculiar situa- 
 tion, with respect to injuries done to ourselves, that we 
 can scarce any more see them as they really are than 
 our eye can see itself If we could place ourselves at 
 a due distance (that is, be really unprejudiced), we 
 should frequently discern that to be in reality inadver- 
 tence and mistake in our enemy, which we now fancy 
 we see to be malice or scorn. From this proper point 
 of view we should likewise, in all probability, see some- 
 thing of these latter in ourselves, and most certainly a 
 great deal of the former. Thus the indignity or inju- 
 ry would almost infinitely lessen, and perhaps at last 
 come out to be nothing at all. Self-lgve is a medium 
 of a peculiar kind ; in these cases it magnifies every 
 thing which is amiss in others, at the same time that 
 it lessens every thing amiss in ourselves." 
 
 The following passage in Butler's Sermon On Self- 
 deceit is still more explicit. " It would very much pre- 
 vent our being misled by this self-partiality, to reduce 
 that practical rule of our Saviour — Whatsoever ye 
 would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them 
 
RIDICULE. 261 
 
 — to our judgment or way of thinking. This rale, you 
 see, consists of two parts. One is to substitute anoth- 
 er for yourself when you take a survey of any part of 
 your behaviour, or consider what is proper and fit and 
 reasonable for you to do upon any occasion ; the other 
 part is, that you substitute yourself in the room of 
 another, — consider yourself as the person affected by 
 such a behaviour, or towards whom such an action is 
 done, and then you would not only see, but likewise 
 feel, the reasonableness or unreasonableness of such an 
 action or behaviour." * 
 
 Section III. 
 
 OF THE SENSE OF THE RIDICULOUS. 
 
 I. Objects of Ridicule.] Another auxiliary principle 
 to the moral faculty yet remains to be considered, — 
 the sense of ridicule, and the anxiety which all men feel 
 to avoid whatever is likely to render them the objects, 
 of it. The subject is extremely curious and interest- 
 ing ; but the time I have bestowed on the former article 
 obliges me to confine myself to a very short explanation 
 of the meaning of the word, and of the relation which 
 the principle denoted by it hearts to our nobler motives 
 of action. 
 
 The natural and proper object of ridicule is those 
 
 * The same idea is stated witli great clearness and conciseness by 
 Hobhes. " There is an ea.sy rule to know upon a sudden, whether the 
 action I be to do be against the law of nature or not. And it is but this, 
 — That a man imaffine himself in the place of the parly with whom he hath to 
 do, and reciprocallij him in his. AVhich is no more> but changing (as it were) 
 of the scales ; for every man's passion weigheth heavy in his own scale, 
 but not in the scale of his neighbour. And this rule is veiy well known 
 and expressed in the old dictate, (luod tibi fieri non vis, alteri ne feceris." — 
 De Corjxyre Politico., Chap. IV. 
 
 It is oi)served by Gibbon that this golden rule of doing as we would be 
 done by is to he found in a moral treatise of Isocrates. — Decline and Fall 
 of tli£ Roman Empire, Chap. LIV., note. 
 
 [For other critical notices of Adam Smith's theory, see Brown's Fhilos- 
 optiy of the Human Mind, Lect. LXXX. and LXXXI. Cousin, Philosophic 
 Morale, Seconde Partie : Ecole Ecossaise, Lemons IV. - VI. Jouffroy's In- 
 Iroduclion to Ethics, Lectures XVI. - XVIII.] 
 
262 AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES. 
 
 smaller improprieties in character and manners which 
 do not rouse our feelings of moral indignation, or im- 
 press us with a melancholy sense of human depravity. 
 In the words of Aristotle, t6 yeXoiov, or the ridiculous, 
 may be defined to be to ala-xos d'Mwov, the deformed ivith- 
 out hurt or mischief, or (as he has explained his own 
 meaning) " those smaller faults which are neither pain- 
 ful nor pernicious, but unbesee?ning- " ; and " of which," 
 he adds, " the proper correctioii is not reproach, but 
 laughter." 
 
 In stating this as a general principle with respect to 
 the ridiculous, I would not be understood to assert that 
 every thing which is ridiculous implies immorality, in 
 the strict acceptation of that word. Ignorance, absurd- 
 ity in reasoning, even a want of acquaintance with the 
 established ceremonial of behaviour, often provoke our 
 laughter with irresistible force. What is ridiculous, 
 however, always implies some imperfection, and ex- 
 poses the individual to whom it attaches to a species 
 of contempt, of which (how good-humored soever) no 
 man would choose to be the object. 
 
 Perhaps, indeed, it might be found, on a more accu- 
 rate analysis of this part of our constitution, that it is 
 not, in such cases, merely the intellectual or physical de- 
 fect which excites our ridicule, but the contrast between 
 this and some moral impropriety or imperfection, which 
 either conceals the defect from the individual himself, 
 or induces him to attempt concealing it from others; 
 and consequently, that the sentiment of ridicule always 
 involves, more or less, a sentiment of moral disapproba- 
 tion. One thing is certain, that intellectual and physi- 
 cal imperfections never appear so ridiculous as when 
 accompanied with affectation, hypocrisy, vanity, pride, 
 or an obvious incongruity between the pretensions of 
 an individual and the education he has received, or the 
 station in which he was originally placed. ^ 
 
 Upon this question, however, I shall not at present 
 presume to decide. It is sufficient for my purpose, if 
 it be granted that nothing is ridiculous but what falls 
 short, some way or other, of our ideas of excellence ; 
 
RIDICULE. 263 
 
 or (as Cicero expresses it), " Locus et regio quasi ridi- 
 culi, turpitudine et deformitate quadam continetur." * 
 
 II. Final Cause of this Principle.] Hence, I think, 
 may be traced a beautiful ^waZ cause in this part of our 
 frame. For while it enlarges the fund of our enjoy- 
 ment, by rendering the more trifling imperfections of 
 our fellow-creatures a source of amusement to us, it ex- 
 cites the exertions of every individual to correct those 
 imperfections by w^hich the ridicule of others is lil^ely 
 to be provoked. As our eagerness, too, to correct these 
 imperfections may be presumed to be weak in propor- 
 tion as we apprehend them to be, in a moral view, of 
 trifling moment, we are so formed, that the painful feel- 
 ings produced by ridicule are often more poignant than 
 those arising from the consciousness of having rendered 
 ourselves the objects of strong moral disapprobation. 
 Even the consciousness of being hated by mankind is 
 to the generality of men less intolerable than what the 
 poet calls 
 
 " The world's dread laugh, 
 Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn." 
 
 It furnishes no objection to these observations, that 
 the sense of ridicule is not always favorable to virtu- 
 ous conduct ; and that it frequently tends very power- 
 fully to mislead us from our duty. The same remark 
 may be extended to the desire of esteem, and even to 
 the moral faculty, — that they are liable to be perverted 
 by education and fashion. But the great ends of our 
 being are to be collected from the general scope of the 
 principles of our constitution; not from the particular 
 instances in which this scope is thwarted by adventi- 
 tious circumstances ; and nothing surely can be more 
 evident than this, that the three principles just men- 
 tioned were all intended to cooperate together, and to 
 lead to a conduct favorable to the improvement of the 
 individual, and to the general interests of society. 
 
 * De Oratore, Lib. II. 58. " The place and, as it were, province of ridi- 
 cule are confined to baseness and deformity.'' 
 
264 
 
 AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES. 
 
 The sense of ridicule, in particular, although it has a 
 manifest reference to such a scene of imperfection as 
 we are placed in at present, is, on the whole, a most 
 important auxiliary to our sense of duty, and well de- 
 serves a careful examination in an analysis of the mor- 
 al constitution of man. >It is one of the most striking 
 characteristics of the human constitution, as distin- 
 guished from that of the lower animals, and has an in- 
 timate connection with the highest and noblest princi- 
 ples' of our nature. As Milton has observed, — 
 
 " Smiles from reason flow, 
 To brutes denied " ; 
 
 and it may be added, that they not only imply the 
 power of reason, in the more limited acceptation of that 
 word, as applicable to the perception of truth and false- 
 hood, but the moral faculty, or that power by which we 
 distinguish right from wrong. Indeed, they imply the 
 power of reason (in both acceptations of the term) in 
 a high state of cultivation. 
 
 In the education of youth, there is nothing which re- 
 quires more serious attention than the proper regulation 
 of the sense of ridicule ; nor is there any instance in 
 which the legislator has it more in his power to influ- 
 ence national manners, than by watching over those 
 public exhibitions which avail themselves of this prin- 
 ciple of human nature, as a vehicle of entertainment to 
 the multitude. 
 
 Section IV." 
 
 OF TASTE, considered IN ITS RELATION TO MORALS. 
 
 I. Taste applicable to Morals.] From the explanation 
 formerly given of the import of the phrases moral beau- 
 ty and inoral deformity, it may be easily conceived in 
 what manner the character and the conduct of our fel- 
 low-creatures may become subservient to the gratifica- 
 tion of taste. The use which the poet makes of this 
 class of our intellectual pleasures is entirely analogous 
 to the resources which he borrows from the charms of 
 
MORAL TASTE. 265 
 
 external nature. By skilful selections and combina- 
 tions, characters more exalted and more pleasing may 
 be drawn than have ever fallen under our observation; 
 and a series of events may be exhibited in perfect con- 
 sonance to our moral feelings. Rewards and punish- 
 ments may be distributed by the poet with an exact 
 regard to the merits of individuals ; and those irregu- 
 larities in the distribution of happiness and misery, 
 which furnish the subject of so many complaints in 
 real life, may be corrected in the world created by his 
 genius. Here, too, the poet borrows from nature the 
 model after which he copies, not only as he accommo- 
 dates his imaginary arrangements to his unperverted 
 sense of justice, but as he accommodates them to the 
 general lavjs by which the world is governed ; for" 
 whatever exceptions* may occur in particular cases, 
 there can be no more doubt about the fact, that virtue 
 is the direct road to happiness, and vice to misery, than 
 that, in the material world, blemishes and defects are 
 lost amid prevailing beauty and order. 
 
 The power of moral taste, like that which has for its 
 object the beauty of material forms and the various 
 productions of the fine arts, requires much exercise for 
 its development and culture. The one species of taste, 
 also, as well as the other, is susceptible of q. false re- 
 finement, injurious to our own happiness, and to cur 
 usefulness ,as members of society. 
 
 II. Dangers incident to a false B,efinement of Moral 
 Taste.] With this false refinement of taste is some- 
 times connected the peculiar species of misanthropy 
 which is grafted on a worthy and benevolent heart. 
 When the standard of moral excellence we have been 
 accustomed to dwell upon in imagination is greatly 
 elevated above the common attainments of humanity, 
 we are apt to become too difficult and fastidious (if I 
 may use the expression) in our mural tu.<le ; or. in plain- 
 er language, to become unreasonably censorious of the 
 follies and vices of our contemporaries. In such cases, 
 it may happen that the native benevolence of the mind, 
 23 
 
206 AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES. 
 
 by being habitually directed towards ideal characters, 
 may prove a source of real dissatisfaction and dislike 
 towards those with whom we associate. Such a dis- 
 position, when carried to an extreme, not only sours 
 the temper, and dries up all the springs of innocent 
 comfort which nature has so liberally provided for us 
 in the common incidents of life, but, by withdrawing ii- 
 man from active pursuits, renders all his talents and 
 virtues useless to society. A character of this descrip- 
 tion has furnished to Moliere the subject of the most 
 finished of all his dramatic pieces, and to Marmontel, 
 that of one of his most agreeable and useful tales. The 
 former of these is universally known as the masterpiece 
 of French comedy ; but the latter possesses also an un- 
 common degree of merit by the hints it suggests for 
 curing the weakness in which the character originates, 
 and by the interesting contrast it exhibits between the 
 misanthrope of Moliere, and a man who unites inflexi- 
 bility of principle with that accommodation of temper 
 which is necessary for the practical exercise of virtue. 
 The great nurse and cherisher of this species of mis- 
 anthropy is solitary contemplation ; and the only effect- 
 ual remedy is society and business, together with a 
 habit of directing the attention rather to the correction 
 of our own faults than to a jealous and suspicious ex- 
 amination of the motives which influence the conduct 
 of our neighbours. 
 
 Considered as a principle of action, a cultivated 
 moral taste, while it provides an effectual security 
 against the grossness necessarily connected with many 
 vices, cherishes a temper of mind friendly to all that 
 is amiable, or generous, or elevated in our nature. 
 "When separated, however, as it sometimes is, from a 
 strong sense of duty, it can scarcely fail to prove a 
 fallacious guide ; the influence of fashion, and of other 
 casual associations, tending perpetually to lead it astray. 
 This is more particularly remarkable in men to whom 
 the gratifications of taste in general form the principal 
 object of pursuit, and whose habits of life encourage 
 them to look no higher for their rule of conduct than 
 the way of the world. 
 
MOEAL TASTE. 267 
 
 The language employed by some of the Greek phi- 
 losophers in their speculations concerning the nature of 
 virtue seems, on a superficial view, to imply that they 
 supposed the moral faculty to be wholly resolvable into 
 a sense of the beautiful ; and hence Lord Shaftesbury, 
 Dr. Hutcheson, and others, have been led to adopt a 
 .phraseology which has the appearance of substituting 
 taste, in contradistinction to reason and conscience, 
 as the ultimate standard of right and wrong. 
 
 While on this subject, I cannot help taking notice of 
 a highly exceptionable passage which occurs in one of 
 Mr. Burke's later publications, — a passage in which, 
 after contrasting the polished and courtly manners of 
 the higher orders with the coarseness and vulgarity of 
 the multitude, he remarks, that among the former "vice 
 itself lost half its evil by losing all its grossness." * 
 The fact, according to my view of things, is precisely 
 the reverse ; that the malignant contagiousness of vice 
 is increased tenfold by every circumstance which draws 
 a veil over or disguises its native deformity. On this 
 argument volumes might be written, and I sincerely 
 wish that a hand could be found equal to the task. 
 At present, I must content myself with recommending 
 it to the serious attention of moralists, as one of the 
 most important topics of practical ethics which the 
 actual circumstances of this part of the world point 
 out as an object of philosophical discussion. 
 
 * At the close of the eloqaent description of the queen, in his Beflectiota 
 on the Bevolution in France. 
 
268 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OF MAN'S TREE AGENCY. 
 ' Section I. 
 
 PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 
 
 I. MarHs Free Agencij has been called in gveslion by 
 Speculative Minds.'] All the foregoing inquiries con- 
 cerning tlie moral constitution of man proceed on the 
 supposition, that he has a freedom of choice between 
 good and evil, and that, when he deliberately performs 
 an action which he knows to be wrong, be renders him- 
 self justly obnoxious to punishment. That this sup- 
 position is agreeable to the common apprehensions of 
 mankind will not be disputed. 
 
 From very early times,, indeed, the truth of the sup- 
 position has been called in question by a few specula- 
 tive men, who have contended that the actions we 
 perform are the necessary result of the constitution of 
 our minds, operated on by the circumstances of our ex- 
 ternal situation; and that what we call moral delin- 
 quencies are as much a part of our destiny as the cor- 
 poreal or intellectual qualities we have received from 
 nature. The argument in support of this doctrine has 
 been proposed in various forms, and has been frequent- 
 ly urged with the confidence of demonstration.* 
 
 This question about predestination and free-will has 
 furnished, in all ages and countries, inexhaustible mat- 
 ter of contention, both to philosophers and divines. 
 In the ancient schools of Greece it is well known how 
 generally and how keenly it was agitated. Among 
 the Mahometans it constitutes one of the principal 
 
 * The rest of this chapter was thrown hy the author into an appendix. 
 In this edition it is inserted in its place, as l>eing nccessai*y to the discus- 
 sion. Some retrenchments have been made in order to find room for the 
 notes, which are intended to give some slight intimations of the present 
 state of the controversy. — Ed. 
 
PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 269 
 
 points of division between the followers of Omar and 
 those of All ; and among the ancient Jews it was the 
 subject of endless dispute between the Pharisees and 
 the Sadducees. It is scarcely necessary for me to add, 
 what violent controversies it has produced, and still 
 continues to produce, in the Christian world. 
 
 II. Explanation of Terms used in this Controversy.] 
 As this controversy, like most others in metaphysics, 
 has been involved in much unnecessary perplexity by 
 the ambiguity of language, a few brief remarks on 
 some equivocal terms connected with the question at 
 issue may perhaps add something to the perspicuity 
 and precision of the following reasonings. 
 
 1. The word volition is defined by Locke to be " an 
 act of the mind, knowingly exerting that dominion it 
 takes itself to have over any part of the man, by em- 
 ploying it in, or withholding it from, any particular ac- 
 tion." * Dr. Reid defines it, more briefly, to be " the ) 
 determination of the mind to do or not to do something 
 which we conceive to be in our power." He remarks, 
 at the same time, that " this definition is not strictly 
 logical, inasmuch as the determination of the mind is 
 only another term for volition. But it ought to be ob- 
 served, that the most simple acts of the mind do not 
 admit of being logically defined. The only way to 
 form a precise notion of them is to reflect attentively 
 upon them as we feel them in ourselves. Without 
 this reflection, no definition can enable us to reason 
 about them with correctness." f 
 
 2. It is necessary to form a distinct notion of what 
 is meant by the word volition, in order to understand 
 the import of the word will; for this last word properly 
 expresses that power of the mind of which volition is the 
 act, and it is only by attending to what we experience, 
 while we are conscious of the act, that we can under- 
 stand any thing concerning the nature of the power. 
 
 * Essay concerning Human Understanding, Book II. Chap. XXI. § 15. 
 t Essays on the Active Poioert, Essay II. Chap. I. 
 
 23* * 
 
270 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 The word vnll, however, is not always used in this 
 its proper acceptation, but is frequently substituted for 
 volilion; as when I say that my hand moves in obedi- 
 ence to my will. This, indeed, happens to the names 
 of most of the powers of the mind, — that the same 
 word is employed to express the power and the act. 
 Thus imagination signifies both the power and the act 
 of imagining ; abstraction signifies both the power and 
 the act of abstracting ; and so in other instances. But 
 although the word will may, without departing from 
 the. usual forms of speech, be used indiscriminately for 
 the power and the act, the word volition applies only 
 to tlie latter ; and it would undoubtedly contribute to 
 the distinctness of our reasonings to restrict the sig- 
 nification of the word will entirely to the former. 
 
 It is not necessary, I apprehend, to enlarge any more 
 on the meaning of these terms. It is to be learned 
 only from careful reflection on what passes in our own 
 minds, and to multiply words upon the subject would 
 only involve it in obscurity. 
 
 3. There is, however, a state of the mind perfectly dis- 
 tinct both from the power and the act of willing, with 
 which they have been frequently confounded, and of 
 which it may therefore be proper to mention the char- 
 acteristical marks. The state I refer to is properly 
 called desire, the distinction between which and vnll 
 was first clearly pointed out by Mr. Locke. "I find 
 the will" says he, " often confounded with several of 
 the affections, especially desire, and that by men who 
 would not willingly be thought not to have had very 
 distinct notions of things, and not to have writ very 
 clearly about them." — "This," he justly adds, "has 
 been no small occasion of obscurity and mistake in 
 this matter, and therefore is, as much as may be, to be 
 avoided." The substance of his remarks on the ap- 
 propriate meaning of these two terms amounts to the 
 two following propositions : — 1. That at the same 
 moment a man may desire one thing and will another. 
 2. That at the same moment a man may have contrary 
 desires, but cannot have contrary wills. The notions, 
 
PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 271 
 
 therefore, which ought to be annexed to the words will 
 and desire are essentially different. 
 
 It will be proper, however, to state Mr. Locke's ob- 
 servations in his own words,: — " He that shall turn his 
 thoughts inwards upon what passes in his own mind 
 when he wills, shall see that the will or power-of vo- 
 lition is conversant about nothing but that particular 
 determination of the mind whereby, barely by a thought, 
 the mind endeavours to give rise, continuation, or stop 
 to any action which it takes to be in its power. This, 
 well considered, plainly shows, that the will is perfectly 
 distinguished from desire, which, in the very same ac- 
 tion, may have a quite contrary tendency from that 
 which our wills set us upon. A man whom I cannot 
 deny may oblige me to use persuasions to another, 
 which, at the same time I am speaking, I may wish 
 not to prevail on him. In this case, it is plain the will 
 and desire run counter. I will the action that tends 
 one way, whilst my desire tends another, and that the 
 direct contrary. A man who, by a violent fit of gout 
 in his limbs, finds a doziness in his head or a want 
 of appetite in his stomach removed, desires to be eased 
 too of the pain of his feet or hands (for wherever there 
 is pain there is a desire to be rid of it) ; though yet, 
 while he apprehends that the removal of the pain may 
 translate the noxious humors to a more vital part, his 
 loill is never determined to any one action that may 
 serve to remove this pain. Whence it is evident that 
 desiring and willing are two distinct acts of the mind; 
 and, consequently, that the will, which is but the 
 power of volition, is much more distinct from de- 
 sire." * 
 
 It is surprising how little this important passage has 
 been attended to by Locke's successors. 
 
 Dr. Johnson on this, as on every other occasion where 
 logical precision of ideas is called for in a definition, is 
 strangely indistinct and inconsistent. Will he defines 
 to be " that power by which we desire and purpose " ; 
 
 * Essay concerning Human Understanding, Book II. Chap. XXI. J 30. 
 
272 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 and he gives as its synonyme the scholastic word vellei- 
 ty. Oh turning to the article velleity, we are told that 
 " it is the school term used to signify the lowest degree 
 of desire " ; in illustration of which Dr. South is quoted, 
 according to whom "the wishing of a thing is not 
 properly the willing it, but it is that which is called by 
 the schools an imperfect velleily, and imports no more 
 than an idle, inoperative complacency in and desire of 
 the end, without any consideration of the means." 
 
 4. Instead of speaking (according to common phrase- 
 ology) of the influence of motives on the will, it would 
 be much more correct to speak of the influence of mo- 
 tives on the agent. We are apt to forget what the will 
 is, and to consider it as something inanimate and pas- 
 sive, the state of which can be altered only by the ac- 
 tion of some external cause. The habitual use of the 
 metaphorical word motives, to denote the intentions or 
 purposes which accompany our voluntary actions, or, 
 in other words, the ends which we have in view in the 
 exercise of the power intrusted to 'Us, has a strong ten- 
 dency to confirm us in this error, by leading us to as- 
 similate in fancy the volition of a mind to the motion 
 of ,a body, and the circumstances which give rise to 
 this volition to the vis motrix by which the motion is 
 produced. 
 
 It was probably in order to facilitate the reception of 
 his favorite scheme of necessity that Hobbes was led 
 to substitute, instead of the old division of our faculties 
 into the powers of the understanding and those of the 
 will, a new division of his own, in which the name 
 of cognitive powers was given to the former, and that 
 of motive powers to the latter. To familiarize the ears 
 of superficial readers to this phraseology was of itself 
 one great step towards securing their suffrages again^ 
 the supposition of man's free agency. To say that the 
 will is determined by motive powers, is to employ a 
 language which virtually implies a recognition of the 
 very point in dispute. Accordingly, Mr. Belshara is 
 at pains to keep the metajjhorical origin of the word 
 motive in the view of his readers, by prefixing to his 
 
PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 273 
 
 argument in favor of the scheme of necessity the fol- 
 lowing definition: — "Motive, in this discussion, is to 
 be understood in its most extensive sense. It ex- 
 presses whatever moves or influences the mind in its 
 choice." * 
 
 5. According to Mr. Locke, the ideas of liberty and 
 of power are very nearly the same. " Every one," he 
 observes, " finds in himself a power to begin or forbear, 
 continue or put an end to, several actions in himself. 
 From the consideration of the extent of this power'of 
 the mind over the actions of the man, which every one 
 finds in himself, arise the ideas of liberty and necessi- 
 ty." And a few sentences afterwards : — " The idea of 
 liberty is the idea of a power in any agent to do or 
 forbear any particular action, according to the deter- 
 mination or thought of the mind, whereby either of 
 them is preferred to the other. Where either of them 
 is not in the power of the agent, to be produced by 
 him according to his volition, there he is not at liberty, 
 but under necessity." f That these definitions are not 
 perfectly correct will appear hereafter. They approach, 
 indeed, very nearly to the definitions of liberty and 
 necessity given by Hobbes, Collins, and Edwards ; 
 whereas Locke, in order to do justice to his own de- 
 cided opinion on the subject, ought to have included 
 also in his idea of liberty a power over the determi- 
 nations ©f his will. 
 
 It is owing in a great measure to this close connec- 
 tion between the ideas of free will and of poioer, and 
 to the pleasure with which the consciousness of -power 
 is always accompanied, that we feel so painful a mor- 
 tification in perusing those systems in which our free 
 agency is called in question. Dr. Priestley himself, as 
 well as his great oracle, Dr. Hartley, has acknowledged, 
 that " he was not a ready convert to the doctrine of 
 necessity, and that he gave up his liberty with great 
 reluctance." \ But whence this reluctance to embrace 
 
 * Elements of the Philosophy of the Mind, Cliap. IX. Sect. I. 
 
 t Essay concerning Human Understandim/, Book II. Chap. XXI. §^ 7, 8. 
 
 J Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity lUuslraled, Preface. 
 
274 
 
 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 a doctrine so " great and glorious," but from its repug- 
 nance to the natural feelings and natural wishes of the 
 human mind? 
 
 Section II. . 
 
 REVIEW OF THE ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY. 
 
 I. Concessions by the Advocates for Free Will] Be- 
 fore proceeding to an examination of this question, I 
 shall premise a few principles in which both parties are 
 agreed, or which at least appear to me to be conces- 
 sions which the advocates for free will may safely make 
 to their antagonists without any injury to their general 
 argument. 
 
 1. Every action is performed with some view, or, in 
 other words, is performed from some motive. Dr. Reid, 
 indeed, denies this with zeal, but I am doubtful if he 
 has strengthened his cause by doing so;* for he con- 
 fesses that the actions which are performed without 
 motives are perfectly trifling and insignificant, and not 
 such as lead to any general conclusion concerning the 
 merit or demerit of moral agents. I should therefore 
 rather be disposed to yield this point than to dispute 
 a proposition not materially connected with the ques- 
 tion at issue. One thing is clear and indisputable, that 
 it is only in so far as a man acts from motives or in- 
 tentions, that he is entitled to the character of a ra- 
 tional being. 
 
 2. The merit of an action depends entirely on the 
 motive from which it was performed. Dr. Reid re- 
 marks, that some necessitarians have triumphed in 
 this principle as the very hinge of the controversy, 
 whereas the truth is, that no reasonable advocate for 
 free will ever called it in question. 
 
 II. General Statement of the Argument for Necessity.] 
 So far, I think, we are justified in going. The great 
 
 • Essays on the yictive Powers, Essay IVj Chap. IV. 
 
ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY. 275 
 
 question is, Hoio do motives influence or determine the 
 ■will ? In answer to this question the necessitarians 
 reason as follows : — 
 
 Every change in our nature, we are told, implies the 
 operation of a cause ; and this maxim, it is pretended, 
 holds not only with respect to inanimate matter, but 
 with respect to the changes which take place in the 
 state of a mind. Every volition, therefore, must have 
 bee^i produced by a motive with which it is as necessa- 
 rily connected as any other effect with its cause; and 
 when different motives are presented to the mind at the 
 same time, the will yields to the strongest, as necessa- 
 rily as a body urged by two contrary forces moves in 
 the direction of that which is most powerful. 
 
 The foregoing argument goes to prove, that all hu- 
 man actions are as necessarily produced by rnotives as 
 the going of a clock is necessarily produced by the 
 weights, and that no human action could have been 
 otherwise than it really was. Nay, it applies also in 
 full force to the Deity, and indeed to all intelligent be- 
 ings whatever; for it is not founded on any thing pe- 
 culiar to the human mind, but on the impossibiliiy of 
 free agency ; and, of consequence, it leads to this gen- 
 eral conclusion, that no event in the universe could 
 have happened otherwise than it did. 
 
 Accordingly, Dr. Clarke has been at much pains to 
 prove that the Deity must be a free agent, and therefore 
 that free agency is .not impossible ; from which he in- 
 fers that there must be some flaw in the reasonings 
 just stated to prove that man is a necessary agent* 
 If this reasoning of Clarke's be admitted as conclusive, 
 where is the absurdity, I would ask, of supposing that 
 God may have been pleased to place man in a state of 
 moral discipline, by imparting to him a freedom of 
 choice between good and evil, in like manner as he 
 has imparted to him various other faculties and powers 
 essentially different from any thing we observe in the 
 lower animals ? Is not the contrary assertion a pre- 
 
 * Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God, Prop. XII. 
 
276 
 
 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 sumptuous attempt to set limits to the Divine Omnip- 
 otence ? 
 
 Among the various forms which religious enthusiasm 
 assumes, there is a certain prostration of the mind, 
 which, under the specious disguise of a deep humility, 
 aims at exalting the Divine perfections by annihilat- 
 ing all the powers which belong to human nature. 
 " Nothing is more usual for fervent devotion," says Sir 
 James Mackintosh, in speaking of some theories cur- 
 rent among the Hindoos, " than to dwell so long and 
 so warmly on the meanness and worthlessness of 
 created things, and on the all-sufficiency of the Su- 
 preme Being, that it slides insensibly from comparative 
 to absolute language, and, in the eagerness of its zeal 
 to magnify the Deity, seems to annihilate every thing 
 else." 
 
 This excellent observation may serve to account for 
 the zeal displayed by many devout men in favor of the 
 scheme of necessity. " We have nothing," they fre- 
 quently and justly remind us, " but what we have re- 
 ceived." But the question here is simply a matter of 
 fact, whether we have or have not received from God 
 the gift of free will ; and the only argument, it must 
 be remembered, which they have yet been able to ad- 
 vance for the negative proposition is, that this gift was 
 impossible even for the power of God ; — an argument, 
 we may remark, which not only annihilates the power 
 of man, but annihilates that of God also, and subjects 
 him, as well as all his creatures, to the control of causes 
 which he is unable to resist. So completely does this 
 scheme defeat the pious views in which it has some- 
 times originated. 
 . I say sometimes ; for this very argument against the 
 liberty of the will is employed by Spinoza, according to 
 whom the free agency of man involves the absurd sup- 
 position of an imjierium in imperio in the universe.* 
 Voltaire, too, — who in his latter days, abandoning 
 those principles for which he had before, when in the 
 
 • rracioi.PoKt., Cap. n. Sect. yi. 
 
ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY. 277 
 
 full vigor of his faculties, so zealously and 'eloquently 
 contended, seems to have become a convert to the 
 scheme of fatalism, — has on one occasion had re- 
 course to an argument against man's free agency simi- 
 lar in substance to what is advanced by Spinoza in the 
 passage now referred to. " En etf'et, il seroit bien sin- 
 g-ulier que toute la nature, tous les astres obeissent a 
 des loix eternelles, et qu'il y eut un petit animal haut 
 de cinq pieds, qui en mepris de ces lois put agir ton- 
 jours comme il lui plairoit au seul gre de son caprice." * 
 "Singular!" exclaims Dr. Beattie, after quoting the 
 preceding sentence ; " ay, singular indeed, — but not a 
 whit more singular than that this same animal of five 
 feet should perceive, and think, and read, and write, 
 and speak ; attributes which no astronomer of my ac- 
 quaintance has ever supposed to belong to the planets, 
 notwithstanding their brilliant appearance and stupen- 
 dous magnitude." f The reply is quite as good as the 
 argument is entitled to.^ 
 
 * Le PhUosophe Ignorant, XIII. " Indeed, it would be very singular 
 that all nature, all tlie planets, should obey eternal laws, and that there 
 should be a little animal, five feet high, who, in contempt of these laws, 
 could act as he pleased, solely according to his caprice." 
 
 t Essay on Truth, Part II. Chap. II. Sect. III. 
 
 i In reply to the general argument for necessity founded on the theory 
 of causation, I copy a few paragraphs from Tappan's Review of EdwanU^s 
 Inqairij into the Freedom of the Will. — " Let us look at the connection of 
 cause and phenomena a little more particularly. What is causr. ? It is 
 that which is the ground of the possible and actual existence of phenom- 
 ena. How is cause known ? By the phenomena. Is cause visible ? Is'o ; 
 whatever is seen is phenomenal. We observe phenomena, and by the li\:v 
 of our intelligence we assign them to cause. But how do we conceive of 
 cati5c as producing phenomena? By a nisits, an effort, or energy. Is 
 this nisus itself a phenomenon ? It is when it is observed. Is it always ob- 
 served ? It is not The nisiis of gravitation we do not observe ; we ob- 
 serve merely the facts of gravitation. The nisus of heat to consume we 
 do not observe ; we observe merely the facts of combustion. Wliero, 
 then, do we observe this nisus ? Only in will. Rrally, volition is the ui-ius 
 or effort of that cause which we call will. When I wish to do any tiling, 
 I make an effort, a nisus, to do it ; I make an effort to raise mv arm. and I 
 raise it. This effort is simply the volition. I make an effort to- lift a 
 wciirht with my hand ; this effort is siinplv the volition to lift it, and im- 
 mediately antecedent to this effort I recognize only my will, or really only 
 myself. This effort, this nisas, this volition, — whatever we call it, — is in 
 the will itself, and it becomes a phenomenon to us because we are causes 
 that know ourselves. Every nisus, or effort, or volition, which we may make, 
 
 24 
 
278 
 
 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 IIL Hobbes's Scheme of Necessity.] According to 
 the view of the subject that has now been taken, we 
 are led to conclude that man possesses a power over 
 the determinations of his will; — and this is precisely 
 the scheme of what is com morily called /ree will, in op- 
 position to that of necessity. 
 
 But this power over the determinations of the will 
 has been represented by some philosophers as an absurd- 
 ity and impossibility. Liberty, we are told, consists 
 only in a power to act as we will; and it is impossible 
 to conceive in any being a greater liberty than this. 
 Hence it follows, that liberty does not extend to the 
 delerminations of the will, but only to the actions conse- 
 quent upon its determinations. To say that we have 
 
 is ia oar conscionsness : causes which are Tiot self-conscious, of course, do 
 not reveal this nisas to themselves ; and they cannot reveal it to us be- 
 cause it is in the very bosom of the cause itself. What we observe in re- 
 lation to all causes not ourselves, whether they be self-conscious or not, is 
 not the nisus, but the sequents of the nisus. Thus in men we do not ob- 
 serve the volition or nisus in ttieir wills, but the phenomena which form the 
 sequents of the nisus. And in physical causes, we do not observe the ni- 
 sus of these causes, but only the phenomena which form the sequents of 
 this TOsus. But when each one comes to himself, it is different. He pen- 
 etrates himself, — knows himself. He is himself the cause; he himself 
 makes the nisus, and is conscious of it; and this nisus to him becomes an 
 effect, a. phenomenon, — the first phenomenon by which he reveals himself, 
 but a phenomenon by which he reveals himself only to himself. It is by 
 the sequents of this nisus, the efiFects produced in the external visible world, 
 that he reveals himself to others." — pp. 190- 192. 
 
 That our particular volitions are the effects of the general power of 
 willing, and not of external motives, is plain enough. But the determina- 
 tion of the general power of willing to put forth this or that particnlai- vo- 
 lition, — is not this the effect of some cause ? and if so, of what cause ? 
 Lei us hear Mr. Tappan again : — " Does the objector allege, as a palpa- 
 ble absurdity, that there is, after all, nothing to account for the particular 
 determination? I answer, that the particular determination is accounted 
 for in the very quality or attribute of the cause. In the case of a physiral 
 cause, the particular determination is accounted for in the quality of the 
 cause, which quality is to be necessarily correlated to the object. In the 
 case of will, the particular determination is acceunted for in the quality of 
 the cause, which quality is to have the power to make the particular deter- 
 mination without being necessarily correlated to the object. A physical 
 cause is a cause fixed, determined, and necessitated. Tlie will is a cause 
 contingent and free. A physical cause is a cause insti'umental of a first 
 cause; — the will is first cause itself The Infinite Will is the first cause 
 inhabiting eternity; filling immensity, and unlimited in its energy. The 
 human will is first cause appearing in time, confined to place, and finite in 
 its energy ; biil it is the same in kind, because made in the likeness of the 
 
ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY. 279 
 
 ower to will such an action, is to say that we may- 
 ill it if we will. This supposes the will to be deter- 
 lined by a prior will; and for the same reason, that 
 ^ill must be determined by a will prior to it, and so on 
 1 an infinite series of wills, which is absurd. To act 
 •eely, therefore, can mean nothing more than to act 
 oluntarily ; and this is all the liberty that can be con- 
 eived in man or in any other being. 
 
 Agreeably to this reasoning, Hobbes defines a free 
 gent to be " he that can do if he will and forbear if he 
 inll." The same definition has been adopted by Leib- 
 litz, by Collins, by Gravesande, by Edwards, by Bori- 
 let, and by all later necessitarians. 
 
 Dr. Priestley ascribes this peculiar notion of free will 
 
 Hobbes as its author;* but it is in fact of much 
 
 ifinile Will. As first cause it is self-mmed ; it makes its nisus of-itself, 
 nd of itself it forbears to make it ; and within the sphere of its activity, 
 [id in relation to its objects, it has the power of selecting, by a mere arbi- 
 ary act, any particular object. It is a cause all whose acts, as well as 
 ny particular act, considered as phenomenun demanding a cause, are ac- 
 Duntcd for in itself alone." — pp. 222, 22.'!. 
 
 " Acts of the will may be conceived of as analogous to intuitive or 
 rst truths. First trut/is require no demonstration; they admit of none; 
 icy form the basis of all demonstration. Acts of the will are frst move- 
 'enis of primary causes, and as such neither require nor admit of ajiUad^-nt 
 luses, to explain their action. Will is the source and basis of all other 
 luse. It explains all other cause, but in itself admits of no explanation. 
 t presents the primaiy and all-comprehending fact of power. In God, 
 'ill is infinite, primary cause, and uncreated : in man it is finite, primary 
 luse, constituted by God's creative act, but not necessitated ; for if neces- 
 tated it would not be will, — it would not be power after the likeness of 
 le Divine power ; it would be mere physical or secondary cause, and com- 
 rchended in the chain of natural antecedents and sequents." — p. 228. 
 
 Joofl'roy says in reference to this point : — " The law, that every motive 
 
 1 material bodies is proportioned to the moving force which produced it, 
 ipposes a fact; namely, the inertia of matter. To apply this law to the 
 ilation which subsists between the resolutions of my will, and the mo- 
 ves which act upon it, is to suppose that my being, — that I, myself, 
 n not a cause ; for a cause is something which produces an act by its own 
 •oper power. That which is inert is not a cause ; it may receive and 
 an'smit an impulse, but it cannot originate it. Are we, or are we not, a 
 '.use ? Have we, or have we not, a power in ourselves of producing certain 
 •ts ? It would seem necessaiy for us to decide this question, before we 
 m rightly apply the law of external phenomena to internal operations."— 
 itrodiu^ion to Ethics, I/CCturc IV. — Ed. 
 
 • ■' The doctrine of philosophical necessity is in reality a modem thins- ; 
 It older, I believe, than Mr. Hobbes. Of the Calvinists, I believe Mr. 
 jnathan Edwards to be the first. Others have followed his steps, espe- 
 
280 
 
 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 older date, even among modern metaphysicians, coin- 
 ciding exactly with the doctrine of those scholastic 
 divines who contended for the liberty of spontaneity, in 
 opposition to the liberty of indifference. It is, howev- 
 er, to Hobbes that the partisans of this opinion are 
 indebted for the happiest and most popular illustration 
 of it that has yet been given. " I conceive," says he, 
 " liberty to be rightly defined, the absence 'of all the im- 
 pediments to action that are not contained in the nature 
 and intrinsical quality of ilie agent. As, for example, 
 the water is said to descend freely, or to have liberty 
 to descend by the channel of the river, because .there is 
 no impediment that way ; but not across, because the 
 banks are impediments. And though water cannot as- 
 cend, yet men never say it wants the liberty to ascend, 
 but the faculty or power, because the impediment is in 
 the nature of the water, and intrinsical. So also we 
 say, he that is tied wants the liberty to go, because the 
 impediment is not in him, but in his bands ; whereas we 
 say not so of him who is sick or lame, because the im- 
 pediment is in himself." | 
 
 in order to judge how far the reasoning of Hobbes is 
 in this instance satisfactory, it is necessary to attend to 
 the various significations of the word liberty ; for the 
 sense in which Hobbes has defined it is only one of its 
 acceptations, and by no means the sense in which it 
 ought to be employed in this controversy. 
 
 1. Liberty is opposed to confinement of the body by 
 superior force, as when a person is shut up in a prison. 
 It is in this sense that Hobbes uses the word ; for he 
 tells us that liberty consists only in a power to act as 
 
 cially Mr. Toplady. But the inconsistency of his scheme with what is 
 properly Calvinism appears hy his dropping several of the essential parts 
 of that system, and his silence with respect "to others. And when the doc- 
 trine of necessity shall he tlioroufihly understood and well considered by 
 Calvlnist*!, it will be found to militate against almost all thoir peculiar ten- 
 ets." — Philosophical AWassify [lluslrnted, Sect XIII. 
 
 t See his treatise Of Liberti/ and Necessity under this head, My Opinion 
 about Liberty and Necessity. Also, Questions concerning Liberty, Necessity, 
 and Cliance clearly stated' and debated between Dr. Bramltall and Thomas 
 Hobbes. 
 
ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY. 281 
 
 ve will. And if the word had no other acceptation, 
 he objection now stated would be a valid one ; for as 
 he will cannot be confined by any external force, neither 
 ;an w^e with propriety ascribe to the will that species of 
 iberty which is opposed to such confinement.* 
 
 2. Liberty is opposed to the restraints on human 
 ;onduct arising from law and government: as when 
 ve say, that, by entering into a political society, a man 
 jives up part of his natural liberty. In this sense lib- 
 !rty undoubtedly extends to the determinations of the 
 vill; and the very obligations which are opposed to it 
 jroceed on the supposition that the will is free. The 
 ;stablishment of law does not abridge this freedom, 
 )u.t, on the contrary, it takes for granted that we have 
 
 * " This is called the liberty from co-action or viol-enr^, the liberty of spon- 
 ineity, — spontaneity, to cKOvtriov. In the present question, this species of 
 iberry ought to be thrown altogether out of account : it is admitted by all 
 larties ; is common erjnally to brutes and men ; is not a peculiar quality 
 f the rail ; and is, ia fact, essential to it, for the will cannot possibly be 
 orced. The greatest spontaneity is, in fact, the greatest necessity. 'J'hus, a 
 lungry horse, who turns of necessity to food, is said, on this definition of 
 iberty, to do so with freedom, because he does so spontaneously; and, in 
 general, the desire of happiness, wliich is the most necessary tendency, 
 rill, on this application of the term, be the most free. 
 
 " I may observe, that, among others, the definition of liberty given by 
 he celebrated advocate of moral freedom, Dr. Samuel Clarke, is in reality 
 inly that of the liberty of spontaneity, inz. : — ' The power of self-motion 
 ir action, which, in all animate agents, is spontaneity, is, in moral or ra- 
 ional agents, what we properly call liberty.' f'ifth Rqily to Zjeibnitz, 
 4 1 - 20, and First Answer to the Gentleman of CamJjriiige. This self-motion, 
 
 .bsolutely considered, is itself necessary To live is to act, and as 
 
 nan is not free to live or not to live, so neither, absolutely speaking, is he 
 ree to act or not to act. As he lives, he is necessarily determined to act 
 r energize, — to think and will; and all the liberty to which he can prc- 
 end is to choose between this mode of action and that. In scholastic 
 inguage, man cannot have the liberty of exercise, though he may have the 
 berty of specification. The root of his freedom is thus necessity. Nay, we 
 annot concefve otherwise even of the Deity. As we must think him as 
 ecessarily existent, and necessarily living, so we must think hira as neces- 
 iirily active. Such are the conditions of human thought. It is thus suf- 
 ciently manifest that Dr. Clarke's inference of the fact of moral liberty, 
 •om the conditions of self-activity, is incompetent. And when he says. 
 The true definition of liberty is the power to act' he should have recollected 
 lat this power is, on his own hypothesis, absolutely yataZ, if it cannot but 
 ct. See his Rernarls on Collins, pp. 15, 20, 27." 
 
 I copy the above from two notes of Sir W. Hamilton, in his edition of 
 teid's iVin-ks. On the Active Powers, Essay IV. Chap. I. and II. — Ed. 
 
 24* 
 
2S2 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 it in our power to obey or to transgress ; proposing to 
 us, on the one hand, the motives of duty and of interest, 
 and setting before us, on the other, the consequences 
 of wilfurtransgression. 
 
 3. Liberty is opposed to necessity ; and it is in this 
 sense the word is employed, when we say that man is 
 a free and accountable being, and that the connection 
 between motives and actions is not a necessary con- 
 nection, like that between cause and effect. This 
 species of liberty has been called by some moral lib- 
 erty. 
 
 That there is nothing inconceivable in this idea ap- 
 pears, I hope, sufKciently from what has been already 
 said. And indeed it is so far from being a metaphysi- 
 cal refinement or subtilty, that the common sense of 
 mankind pronounces men to be accountable for their 
 conduct only in so far as they are understood to be 
 morally free. Whence is it that we consider the pain 
 of the rack as an alleviation of the falsehoods extorted 
 from the criminal? Plainly because the motives pre- 
 sented to him are supposed to be such as no ordinary 
 degree of self-command is able to resist. And if we 
 were only satisfied that these motives were perfectly 
 irresistible, we would not ascribe to him any guilt at 
 all. 
 
 As an additional confirmation of Hobbes's doctrine, 
 it has been urged that human laws require no more to 
 constitute a crime but that it be voluntary ; and hence 
 it has been inferred, that the criminality consists in the 
 determination of the wUl, whether that determination 
 be free or necessary. 
 
 The case just referred to affords a sufficient refutation 
 of this argument. The confession of the criminal is 
 surely voluntary, in the strict acceptation of that term ; 
 and yet we consider his guilt as alleviated in the same 
 proportion in which we suppose his moral liberty to be 
 abridged. 
 
 It is true that in most cases human laws require no 
 more to constitute a crime than that it be voluntary ; 
 because, in general, motives are placed beyond the cog- 
 
ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY. 283 
 
 nizance of earthly tribunals. But, in a morale view, 
 merit and demerit suppose not only actions to be vol- 
 untary, but the agent to be possessed of moral liberty; 
 And even earthly tribunals judge on the same princi- 
 ple, wherever it can be made to appear that the person 
 accused vi'as deprived of the power of self-government 
 by insanity, or by some accidental paroxysm of passion. 
 
 I shall mention, in this connection, only one other 
 argument in favor of the scheme of necessity ; and I 
 have reserved for it the last place, as it has been pro- 
 posed with all the confidence of mathematical demon- 
 stration by a writer of no less note than Mr. Belsham. 
 It is in the form of a reductio ad absurduni ; and its 
 more immediate object is to expose to ridicule the con- 
 sequences which necessarily flow from the doctrine of 
 free will. 
 
 The argument is this : — " According to the hypothe- 
 sis of free will, the essence of virtue and vice consists 
 in liberty ; for example, benevolence without liberty is 
 no virtue : malignity without liberty is no vice. Both 
 are equally in a neutral state. Add a portion of lib- 
 erty to both, benevolence instantly becomes an eminent 
 virtue, and malignity an odious vice. That is, if to 
 
 EQUALS YOU ADD EQUALS, THE WHOLES WILL BE UN- 
 EQUAL ; than which nothing can be more absurd." * 
 
 On this reasoning, to which it would be unjust to 
 deny the merit of complete originality, I have no com- 
 ment to offer. I have quoted it chiefly as a specimen 
 of the logical and mathematical skill of the present 
 advocates for the doctrine of philosophical necessity. 
 In this point of view, it forms an amusing contrast to 
 the lofty pretensions of a sect which prides itself, not 
 only on its superiority to vulgar prejudices, but on its 
 sagacity in detecting a fraud so successfully practised 
 on the rest of mankind by the Author of their moral 
 constiiution. * 
 
 IV. Argument of Leibnitz for Necessity.] It is well 
 
 * Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind, Chap. IX. Sect. V. 
 
284 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 known to all who have any acquaintance with the 
 history of modern philosophy, that one of the funda- 
 mental principles of the Leibnitzian system is, that 
 " nothing exists without a svfficient reason why it should 
 be so, and not otherwise." Of this principle the fol- 
 lowing succinct account is given by Leibnitz himself, 
 in his controversial correspondence with Dr. Clarke: — 
 " Th^ great foundation of mathematics is the principle 
 of contradiction or identity ; that is, that a proposition 
 cannot be true and false at the same time. But in 
 order to proceed from mathematics to natural philoso- 
 phy, another principle is requisite (as I have observed 
 in my Theodicy), I mean the principle of the svfficient 
 reason; or, in other words, that nothing happens with- 
 out a reason why it should be so rather than otherwise. 
 And accordingly, Archimedes was obliged, in his book 
 De jEquilibrio, to take for granted, that, if there be a 
 balance in which every thing is alike on both sides, and 
 if equal weights are hung on the two ends of that bal- 
 ance, the w^hole will be at rest. It is because no reason 
 can be given why one side should weigh down rather 
 than the other. Now by this single principle of the 
 sufficient reason may be demonstrated the being of a 
 God, and all the other parts of metaphysics or natural 
 theology; and even in some measure those physical 
 truths that are independent upon mathematics, such as 
 the dynamical principles, or the principles of force." * 
 
 Some of the inferences deduced by Leibnitz from 
 this almost gratuitous assumption are so paradoxical, 
 that one cannot help wondering he was not staggered 
 about its certainty. Not only was he led to conclude 
 that the mind is necessarily determined in all its elec- 
 tions by the greatest apparent good, insomuch that it 
 would be impossible for it to make a choice between 
 two things perfectly alike ; but he had the boldness to 
 extend this 'conclusion to the Deity, and to assert, that 
 
 * Collection of Papers which passed between Mr. Leibnitz and Dr. Clarke, 
 Leibnitz's 8ccond Paper. For ii full statement of Leibnitz's views oa this 
 and Idndred questions, see his Essais de Thiodicie. 
 
ARGUMENT FOH NECESSITY. 285 
 
 two things perfectly alike could not have been pvo- 
 duced even by Divine power. It was upon this grourfd 
 that he rejected a vacuum, because all the parts of it 
 would be perfectly like to each other ; and that he also 
 rejected the supposition of atoms, or similar particles 
 of matter, and ascribed to each particle a monad, or 
 active principle, by which it is discriminated from every 
 other particle. The application of his principle, how- 
 ever, on which he evidently valued himself the most, 
 was that to which I have already alluded, — the de- 
 monstrative evidence with which he conceived it to 
 establish the impossibility of free agency, not only in 
 man, but in any other intelligent being. 
 
 Let us examine, therefore, Leibnitz's principle as ap- 
 plicable to the determinations of the will, and consider 
 what it implies, and how far it is agreeable to fact. And 
 for this purpose it is necessary to attend to the various 
 senses in which it may be understood. 
 
 1. When it is said, that for every voluntary action 
 thfre must have been a sufficient reason, the proposi- 
 tion may be understood merely to imply, that every 
 such action must have had a cause. And we may re- 
 mark by the way, that this is the only interpretation of 
 which the proposition admits, if the word reason be 
 used in the same sense in which alone Leibnitz's max- 
 im is applicable to inanimate matter. But in this sense 
 of the proposition it does not at all affect the question 
 about liberty and necessity ; for it only implies that the 
 action is an effect, which either proceeded from the 
 free will of the agent (in which case he may justly be 
 said to be the cause of the effect), or which did not 
 proceed from his free will (in which case it must ulti- 
 mately be referred to some other cause). 
 
 2. The principle of the sufficient reason, when ap- 
 plied to our voluntary actions, may be understood to 
 imply, that the will is necessarily determined by the 
 greatest apparent good. As this proposition is not pe- 
 culiar to the system of Leibnitz, it may be proper to 
 state it more fully. 
 
 The circumstances of our external situation, it has 
 
286 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 been said, and the state of our appetites, desires, &e., 
 at any particular time, evidently do not depend on us. 
 Suppose, then, that I am under the influence of" any 
 two active principles which urge me in different direc- 
 tions, and that I deliberate which of them I am to obey. 
 The conclusion my understanding forms on this subject 
 does not depend on me, and this conclusion necessarily 
 determines my will ; for it is impossible for a man not 
 to do what appears to him to be, on the whole, the best 
 and most eligible thing at the moment.. My will, there- 
 fore, in every case, depends as little on myself as the 
 conclusion of my understanding when I give my assent 
 to a mathematical demonstration. 
 
 The flaw of this reasoning, I apprehend, lies in that 
 step in which it is affirmed that the will is necessarily 
 determined by what appears to us to be best and most 
 eligible at the moment; — and the only circumstance 
 which gives the proposition the smallest degree of plau- 
 sibility is the ambiguity of the language in which it is 
 stated. For it may either imply that our volitions are 
 necessarily agreeable to what we will at the time ; in 
 which case we only assert an identical proposition : or 
 that the will is necessarily determined by what appears 
 to us to be morally best and really most eligible at the 
 time ; in which case we assert what is contrary to fact. 
 
 3. The meaning of the proposition now under con- 
 sideration may be understood to be this, — that for 
 every action there must be a motive. 
 
 I have already said that in this sense I am disposed 
 to admit the maxim. Dr. Beid, indeed, has very con- 
 fidently maintained the negative ; but I do not think 
 (as I formerly observed), that by doing so h* has 
 strengthened his cause ; for he confesses that the ac- 
 tions which are performed without motives are per- 
 fectly trifling and insignificant : nay, he acknowledges 
 that the merit of an action depends entirely on the mo- 
 tive from which it is performed. 
 
 Bat although we grant this general proposition, it 
 certainly does not follow from it that man is a neces- 
 sary agent. The question is not concerning the injla' 
 
ARGTJMENT FOR NECESSITY. 2S7 
 
 ence of motives, but concerning the nature of that in- 
 fluence. The advocates for necessity represent it as 
 the influence of a cause in producing its effect. Tlie 
 advocates for liberty acknowledge that the motive is 
 the occasion of acting, or the reason for acting ; but 
 contend that it is so far from being the efficient cause 
 of it, that it supposes the elliciency to exist elsewhere, 
 namely, in the mind of the agent. Between these two 
 opinions there is an essential distinction. The one 
 represents man merely as a passive instrument. Ac- 
 cording to the other, he is really an agent, and the sole 
 author of his own actions. He acts, indeed, from mo- 
 tives, but he has the power of choice among different 
 ones. When he acts from a particular motive, it is not 
 because this motive is stronger than others, but because 
 he loilled to act in this way. Indeed, it may be ques- 
 tioned if the word strength conveys any idea when ap- 
 plied to motives. It is obviously an analogical or met- 
 aphorical expression, borrowed from a class of phe- 
 nomena essentially different.* ' 
 
 * " It is the strongest motive, say they, which determines the will. 
 What is this strongest motive, I ask, and how do you measure the com- 
 parative force of motives t Is that the strongest motive, according to your 
 idea, which determines the volition? If this is so, you" are arguing in a 
 circle; and instead of showing that it is the strongest motive which de- 
 cides the will, yon are merely saying that, as the determination of the 
 will is in conformity with such or such a motive, therefore this motive is 
 strongest. 
 
 " But, if we cannot judge from effect, we most iind some common measure 
 by which to decide. Lot us inquire, then, what this measure can 1)C. 
 
 " Of two impulses, manifestly unequal, it would be easy to determine 
 the stronger ; a vehement desire is distinguishable in our consciousness 
 from one not so. And thus, merely from their vivacity and fervor, we 
 may often recognize the stronger from the weaker passion. There i.s, 
 theii, if you choose to say so, a common measure between different im- 
 pulses of our sensitive nature, which are peculiarly distinguished, as eniv- 
 iions. On the other hand, of different courses of conduct which reason 
 and self-interest bring into contrast, I may see that one is much more ad- 
 vantageous than another. There is, then, if you please, a means of conr- 
 paring together different suggestions of self-interest : tlie suggestion which 
 promises the most for my interest should have the most power over me. 
 In the same way, among different duties which may present themselves to 
 my judgment, there may be one which appears more obligatory than an- 
 other ; fbr there are duties of different degrees of importance, and in many 
 cases I most sacrifice the less to the greater. I perceive, then, that, strictly 
 
288 FRKE AGENCY. 
 
 V. Scheme of Necessity advocated by Collins and Ed- 
 wards.] The ablest defenders of free will have con- 
 tended that the doctrine of necessity, when pushed to 
 its logical consequences, must ultimately terminate in 
 Spinozism. It seems to have been the great aim of 
 Collins to vindicate his favorite scheme from this re- 
 proach, and to retaliate upon the partisans of free will 
 the charge of favoring atheism and immorality. In 
 proof of this, I have only to quote the account given 
 by the author himself, of the plan of his work. 
 
 " Too much care cannot be taken to prevent being 
 misunderstood and prejudged in handling questions of 
 such nice speculation as those of liberty and necessity ; 
 and therefore, though I might in justice expect to be 
 read before any judgment be passed on me, I think it 
 proper to premise the following observations : — 
 
 speaking, there is a possibility of comparing togetlier tlie relative force of 
 different motives originating from duty, and of different motives suggested 
 by self-interest, or, finally, of different desires striving within me at a given 
 moment, But between a desire on the one hand, and a conception of in- 
 terest or of duty on the other, where. I ask, can you find a standard of com- 
 parison 1 If 1 assume passion as the measure, then, evidently, passion will 
 appear the stronger motive ; but if, on the other hand, I assume interest or 
 dntij as the measure, then desire becomes nothing, and duty or interest all 
 in all. It depends, then, wlioUy upon the measure of comparison which 
 I adopt, whether this or the other motive is strongest ; which proves that 
 there is no common measure of comparison to be applied at all times to these 
 different kinds of motives, when we would estimate their relative foi-ce. 
 
 " Thus, in trath, in almost every case, to say that we yield to the strong- 
 est motive is to say what has no meaning ; for in most cases it is impossi- 
 ble to determine the strongest motive. If I wilt to be pnident, I follow 
 the motive of self-interest; if I will to be virtuous, I follow the motive of 
 duty J if I will to be neither prudent nor virtuous, I follow passion; and 
 in proportion as I yield to passion, to enlightened interest, or to duty, does 
 the merit of my conduct vary. And here is a marvel for the advocate of 
 necessity, and something whicJi, in the sincerity of his conviction, he should 
 ponder well. I, who am not free, — who, whatever resolution I have taken, 
 have yet been fatally determined to take it by tlie strongest motive, — I 
 feel that I am responsible for this resolution; and others, too, icpunl me 
 as responsible; so that, according as I have been impelled to thi.; or that 
 act, (h) I believe myself to have merit or dfanerit, and pass untence on 
 mvself as reasonable or unreasonable, pnident or foolish ; and, in a word, 
 ajjplv to myself, though I have yielded necessarily to the 6tronf;cst motive, 
 certain expressions and names, all implying most decisively and i'oreibly 
 that I was free to yield or resist, to take at my option tliis or that course, 
 and, consequently, that this so-called strongest motive did not, after all, de- 
 termine the act." — Jouffroy's Introduction to Ethics, Leet. IV. 
 
ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY. 289 
 
 " First, though I deny liberty in a certain meaning 
 of that word, yet I contend for liberty, as it signifies a 
 power in man to do as he wills or pleases. 
 
 " Secondly, when I affirm necessity, I contend only 
 for moral necessity, meaning thereby that man, who is 
 an intelligent and sensible being, is determined by his 
 reason and his senses ; and I deny man to be subject 
 to such necessity as is in clocks, watches, and such oth- 
 er beings, which, for want of sensation and intelligence, 
 are subject to an absolute, physical, or mechanical neces- 
 sity. 
 
 " Thirdly, I have undertaken to show that the notions 
 I advance are so far from being inconsistent with, that 
 they are the sole foundations of, morality and laws, 
 and of rewards and punishments in society; and that 
 the notions I explode are subversive of them." * 
 
 In the prosecution of his argument on this question, 
 Collins endeavours to show that man is a necessary 
 agent: — 1. From experience. By ea:;/»er«e«ce he means 
 our own consciousness that we are necessary agents. 
 2. From the impossibility of liberty. 3. From the 
 consideration of the Divine prescience. 4. From the 
 nature and use of rewards and punishments. And, 5. 
 From the nature of morality. 
 
 In this view of the subject, and indeed in the very 
 selection of his premises, it is remarkable how com- 
 pletely Collins has anticipated Dr. Jonathan Edwards, 
 the most celebrated and indisputably the ablest cham- 
 pion, in later times, of the sclieme of necessity. The 
 coincidence is so perfect, that the outline given by the 
 former of the plan of his work might have served with 
 equal propriety as a preface to that of the latter. From 
 the above-mentioned summary of the argument, and 
 still more from the whole tenor of the Philosophical In- 
 quiry, it is evident that Collins (one of the most obnox- 
 ious writers of his day to divines of all denominations) 
 was not less solicitous than his successor, Edwards, to 
 reconcile his metaphysical notions with man's account- 
 
 * Philosophical Inquiry concerning Human Liberty^ Preface. 
 
 2-5 
 
290 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 ableness and moral agency. The remarks, according- 
 ly, of Clarke upon Colli ns's work are equally applicable 
 to that of Edwards. It is to be regretted that they 
 seem never to have fallen into the hands of this very 
 acute and candid reasoner.* As for Collins, it is a re- 
 
 * Remarks upon a Book entitled A Philosophical Inquiry concerning Human 
 Liberty. Voltsiire, who in all probability never read either Clarke or Col- 
 lins, has said that the former replied \o the latter only by theological rea- 
 sonings ; — " Clarke n'a rcpondu :\ Collins qu'en th6ologien." (Quest snr 
 fEncyc, Art. Liberti.) Nothing can be more remote from the truth. The 
 argument of Clarke is wholly metaphysical., whereas his antagonist in vari- 
 ous instances has attempted, though an avowed deist, to wrest to his own 
 purposes the words of Scripture. 
 
 []?or a full and elaborate answer to Edwards, see Mr. . Tappan's Review, 
 from which a long quotation has already been given, directed against one 
 of his leading positions. We give another, on tlie distinction, so much in- 
 sisted on by Edwards, and essential, indeed, to his scheme, between worul 
 and natural inability. 
 
 "Man, they say. is morally unable to do good, and naturally able lo 
 do good, and therefore he can justly be made the subject of command, ap- 
 peal, rebuke, and exhortation. Natural inability, as defined by this system, 
 lies in the connection between the volition, considered as an antecedent, 
 and the effect required . Thus I am naturally unable to walk, when, al- 
 though I make the volition, my limbs, through weakness or disease, do not 
 obey. Any defect in the powers or instrumentalities dependent for activity 
 upon volition, or any impediment which volition cannot surmount, consti- 
 tutes natural inability. According to this system, I am not held responsi- 
 ble for any thing which, through natural inability, cannot be accomplished, 
 although the volition is made. But let us suppose that there is no defect 
 in the powers or instrumentalities dependent for activity upon volition, 
 and no imi)ediment which volition cannot surmount, so that there need be 
 only a volition in order to have the etfeot, and then the natural ability is 
 complete : — I will to walk, and I walk. Now it is affirmed that a man 
 is fairly responsible for the doing of any thing, and can be fairly urged to 
 do it, when, as in this case, all that is necessary for the doing of it is a vo- 
 lition, although there may be a moral inability to the volition itself -^ 
 
 " Nothing, it seems to me, can bo more absurd than this distinction. If 
 it be granted to be absurd to urge men to do right when they are conceived 
 to be totally unable to do right, it is equally so when they are conceived to 
 have only a natural ability to do right ; because this natural ability is of no 
 avail without a corresponding moral ability. If the volition take place, 
 there is, indeed, nothing to prevent the action ; nay, ' the very willing is the 
 doing of it' : but then the volition, as an effect, cannot take place without 
 a cause j and to acknowledge a moral inability is nothing less than to ac- 
 knowledge that there is no cause to produce the required volition. The 
 inability, under both representations, is & total inability. In the utter im- 
 possibility of a right volition is the utter impossibility of any good deed. 
 \yhen we have denied liberty in denying y, self-determining power, these 
 definitions, in order to make out a guasi liberty and ability, are nothing but 
 ingenious folly and plausible deception. 
 
 '■ Yon tell the man, indeed, that he can if he mil ; and when ho replies, 
 
ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY. 291 
 
 markable circumstance, that he attempted no reply to 
 this tract of Clarke's, although he lived twelve years af- 
 ter its publication. The reasonings contained in it, to- 
 gether with those on the same subject in his correspon- 
 dence with Leibnitz, and in his Demonstration of the 
 Being- and Attributes of God, form, in my humble opin- 
 
 that on your principles the required volition is impossible, you refer him to 
 the common notions of manlvind. According to these, yon say, a man is 
 i:>;uilty when he forbears to do right, since nothing is wanting to right-doing 
 but a volition, and guilty when he does wrong, because he wills to do 
 wroni;. According to these common notions, too, a man may fairly be 
 persuaded to do right, when nothing is wanting but a will to do right. 
 But do we find this distinction of natural and moral ahiliti/ in the common 
 notions of men 1 When nothing is required to the performance of a deed 
 but a volition, do men conceive of any inability whatever ? Do they not feel 
 tliat the volition has a metaphysical possibility, as well as that the sequent: 
 of the volition has a physical possibility'? " — pp. 161 - 165. 
 
 We copy the foUoiving passage from Blakey's History of the Philosophy 
 of Mind, Vol. IV. p. 515, as giving one of the latest European estimates 
 of Dr. Edwards's merits as a philosopher : — "Dr. Edwards had a peculiar- 
 ly constituted mind; — a mind capable of jjursuing, with incomparable 
 steadiness and clearness, the longest and most intricate chain of reasoning; 
 but a mind, withal, by no means endowed with the loftiest powers of logi- 
 cal comprehension. He saw every link in a chain of reasoning with a mi- 
 croscopic eve, which, when its focal power was chaffged, made every tiling 
 at a distance appear hazy, clouded, and ill-defined. He could do one thing 
 as no other man has ever been able to do it ;-he could reason from given 
 or assumed premises with perspicuity, neatness, and power, and with an al- 
 most superhuman ease and correctness ; but he could not embrace a phil- 
 osophical system as a whole, and show its manifold bearings and rela- 
 tions to other branches of knowledge. He was an acute, but not a great, 
 philosopher. His was a vivid and piercing li^^ht, hut its illuminating rays, 
 at a certain distance, became limited and scattered, and gave to all sur- 
 rounding objects a disturbed and confused appearance. His ratiocination 
 is so perfect of its kind, that it assumes the appearance of mechanism ; 
 and wo feel a sort of secret dislike to have all the pegs and wires of an 
 argument so minutely and obtrusively placed before us. Edwards has, in 
 fact, been denominated a 'reasoning machine'; and the epithet is by no 
 means misapplied or extravagant. But as a machine can only do its work 
 one way, and we cannot humor it, or make its power more pliable, so in 
 like manner do we find the intellectual mechanism of Edwards unyielding 
 and unmanageable, except in its own peculiar fashion." 
 
 With an inconsistency by no means uncommon, Blakey, in his notice 
 of Collins, quotes with approbation what Stewart says above of Collins as 
 anticipating Edwards in every thing, and afterwards, in his notice of Ed- 
 wards, s.ays of the latter, that " he has stated and illustrated the principle 
 of necessary connection in a manner altogether different from the way in 
 which Collins, Priestley, Hume, and others have argued it." 
 
 See, also, an Essay on the Genius and Writings of Edwards, prefixed to 
 the London edition of his works, 1834. by H. Rogers ; and I. Taylor's In- 
 troduction to his edition of Edwards On the. Will] 
 
292 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 ion, the most important, as well as powerful, of all his 
 nnetaphysical arguments. The adversaries with whom 
 he had to contend were botli of them eminently distin- 
 guished by ingenuity and subtilty, and he seems to 
 have put forth to the utmost his logical strength, in con- 
 tending with such antagonists. "The liberty or moral 
 agency of man," says his friend, Dr. Hoadly, " was a 
 darling point to him. He excelled always, and showed 
 a superiority to all, whenever it came into private dis- 
 course or public debate. But he never more excelled 
 than when he was pressed -with the strength Leib- 
 nitz was master of; which made him exert all his tal- 
 ents to set it once again in a clear light, to guard it 
 against the evil of metaphysical obscurities, and to 
 give the finishing stroke to a sulDJect which must ever 
 be the foundation of morality in man, and is the 
 ground of the accountableness of intelligent creatures 
 for all their actions." 
 
 To the arguments of Collins against man's free agen- 
 cy some of his followers have added the inconsistency 
 of this doctrine *vith the known effects of education 
 (under which phrase they comprehend also the moral 
 efl'ects of all the external circumstances in which men 
 are involuntarily placed) in forming the characters of 
 individuals. 
 
 The plausibility of this argument (on which so 
 much stress has been laid by Priestley and others), aris- 
 es entirely from the mixture of truth which it involves; 
 or, to ex^press myself more correctly, from the evidence 
 and importance of the fact on which it proceeds, when 
 that fact is stated with due limitations. 
 
 That the influence of education, in this comprehen- 
 sive sense of the word, was greatly underrated by our 
 ancestors is now universally acknowledged, and it is to 
 Locke's writings, more than to any other single cause, 
 that the change in public opinion on this head is to be 
 ascribed. On various occasions he has expressed him- 
 self very strongly with respect to the extent of this in- 
 fluence, and has more than once intimated his belief, 
 that the great majority of men continue through life 
 
ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY. 293 
 
 what early education has made them. In making use, 
 however, of this strong language, his object (as is evi- 
 dent from the opinions which he has avowed in other 
 parts of his works) was only to arrest the attention of 
 his readers to the practical "lessons he was anxious to 
 inculcate ; and not to state a metaphysical fact, which 
 was to be literally and rigorously interpreted in the 
 controversy about liberty and necessity. The only 
 sound and useful moral to be drawn from the spirit of 
 his observation is the duty of gratitude to Heaven for 
 all the blessings, in respect of education and of exter- 
 nal situation, which have fallen to our own lot; the im- 
 possibility of ascertaining the involuntary misfortunes 
 by which the seeming demerits of others may have 
 been in part occasioned, and in the same proportion di- 
 minished ; and the consequent obligation upon our- 
 selves to think as charitably as possible of their con- 
 duct under the most unfavorable appearances. The 
 truth of all this I conceive to be implied in these words 
 of Scripture, — "To whom much is given, of them 
 much will be required " ; and, if possible, still more ex- 
 plicitly and impressively in the Parable of the Talents. 
 Is not the use which has been made by necessitari- 
 ans of Locke's Treatise on Education, and other books 
 of a similar tendency, only one instance more of that 
 disposition, so common among metaphysical sciolists, 
 to conceal from the world their incapacity to add to the 
 stock of useful knowledge, by appropriating to them- 
 iselves the conclusions of their wiser and more sober 
 predecessors, under the startling and imposing disguise 
 of universal maxims, admitting neither of exception 
 uor restriction ? It is thus that Locke's judicious and 
 refined remarks on the association of ideas have been 
 exaggerated to such an extreme by Hartley and Priest- 
 ley, as to bring among cautious inquirers some degree 
 of discredit on one of the most important doctrines of 
 modern philosophy. Or, to take another case still more 
 in point, it is thus that Locke's reflections on the effects 
 of education in modifying the intellectual faculties, and 
 (where skilfully conducted) in supplying their original 
 25* 
 
294 
 
 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 defects, have been distorted into the puerile paradox of 
 Helvetius, that the mental capacities of the whole hu- 
 man race are the same at the moment of birth. It is 
 sufficient for me here to throw out these hints, which 
 will be found to apply equally to a large proportion of 
 other theories started by modern metaphysicians. 
 
 VI. Ground taken by later Advocates of Necessity.] 
 It is needless to say, that neither Leibnitz nor Collins 
 admitted the fairness of the inferences which Clarke 
 conceived to follow from the scheme of necessity. But 
 almost every page in the subsequent history of this con- 
 troversy may be regarded as an additional illustration 
 of the soundness of Clarke's reasonings, and of the sa- 
 gacity with which he anticipated the fatal errors likely 
 to ensue from trfe system which he opposed. 
 
 A very learned and pious disciple of Leibnitz, who 
 made his first appearance as an author about thirty 
 years after the death of his master, exclaims, — " Thus 
 the same chain embraces the physical and moral worlds, 
 binds the past to the present, the present to the future, 
 the future to eternity. 
 
 " That wisdom which has ordained the existence of 
 this chain has doubtless willed that of every link of 
 which it is composed. A Caligula is one of those 
 links, and this link is of iron. A Marcus Aurelius is 
 another link, and this link is of gold. Botli are neces- 
 sary parts of one whole, which could not but exist. 
 Shall God, then, be angry at tlie sight of the iron link ? 
 What absurdity ! God esteems this link at its proper 
 value: he sees it in its cause, and he approves this 
 cause, for it is good. God beholds moral monsters as 
 he beholds physical monsters. Happy is the link of 
 gold ! Still more happy if be know that he is only for- 
 tunate. [Heureux le chainon d'or ! Plus AewrewaJ en- 
 core, s'il salt qu'il n'est qp! heureux.] He has attained 
 the highest degree of moral perfection, and is neverthe- 
 less without pride, knowing that what he is is the ne- 
 cessary result of the place which he must occupy in the 
 chain. 
 
ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY. 295 
 
 " The Gospel is the allegorical exposition of this sys- 
 tem ; the simile of the potter is its summary^' * 
 
 111 what essential respect does this system differ from 
 that of Spinoza ? Is it not even more dangerous in its 
 practical tendency, in consequence oi the high strain of 
 mystical devotion by which it is exalted ? 
 
 This objection, however, does not apply to the quo- 
 tations which follow. They exhibit, without any col- 
 oring of imagination or of enthusiasm, the scheme of 
 necessity pushed to the remotest and most alarming 
 conclusions which it appeared to Clarke to involve ; 
 and, as they express the serious and avowed creed of 
 two of our contemporaries (both of them men of dis- 
 tinguished talents), may be regarded as a proof that 
 the zeal displayed by Clarke against the metaphysical 
 principles which led ultimately to such results was not 
 so unfounded as some worthy and able inquirers have 
 supposed. 
 
 " All that is must be," says the Baron de Grimm, ad- 
 dressing himself to the Duke of Saxe Gotha, — "%11 
 that is must be, even because it is ; this is the only 
 sound philosophy ; as long as we do not know this uni- 
 verse a priori (as they say in the schools), all is ne- 
 cessity. Liberty is a word without meaning, as you 
 will see in the letter of M. Diderot." 
 
 The following passage is extracted from Diderot's 
 letter here referred to. 
 
 " I am nc«v, my dear friend, going to quit the tone of 
 a preacher, to take, if I can, that of a philosopher. Ex- 
 amine it narrowly, and you will see that the word lib- 
 crlji is a word devoid of meaning; that there are not, 
 and that there cannot be, free beings; that we are only 
 what accords with the general order, with our organi- 
 zation, our education, and the chain of events. These 
 dispose of us invincibly. We can no more conceive of 
 a being acting without a motive, than we can of one of 
 the arms of a balance acting without a weight. The 
 motive is always exterior and foreign, fastened upon us 
 
 * Bonnet, Principes Phihsophiques, Part VIII. Chap. VII. 
 
296 .FREE AGENCY. 
 
 by some cause distinct from ourselves. What deceives 
 us is the prodigious variety of our actions, joined to 
 thte habit, which we catch at our birth, of confounding 
 the voluntary and the free. We have been so often 
 praised and blam^, and have so often praised and 
 blamed others, that we contract an inveterate prejudice 
 of believing that we and they will and acl freely. But 
 'if there is no liberty, there is no action that merits either 
 praise or blame ; neither vice nor virtue ; nothing that 
 ought either to be rewarded or punished. What, then, 
 is the distinction among men ? The doing of good 
 and the doing of ill ! The doer of ill is one who must 
 be destroyed or punished. The doer of good is lucky, 
 not virtuous. But though neither the doer of good nor 
 of ill be free, man is nevertheless a being to be modi- 
 fied ; it is for this reason the doer of ill should be de- 
 stroyed upon the scaffold. From thence the good effects 
 of education, of pleasure, of grief, of grandeur, of pov- 
 erty, &c. ; from thence a philosophy full of pity, strong- 
 ly attached to the good, nor more angry with the wicked 
 than with the whirlwind which fills one's eyes with dust. 
 Strictly speaking, there is but one sort of causes, that 
 is, physical causes. There is but one sort of necessity, 
 which is the same for all beings. This is what recon- 
 ciles me to human kind ; it is for this reason I exhort 
 you to philanthropy. Adopt these principles if you 
 think them good, or show me that they are bad. If 
 you adopt them they will reconcile you, iocr, with oth- 
 ers and with yourself; you wiU neither be pleased nor 
 angry with youi'self for being what you are. Reproach 
 others for nothing, and repent of nothing; this is the 
 first step to wisdom.- Besides this, all is prejudice and 
 false philosophy." * 
 
 Substantially the same doctrines have been recently 
 introduced into this country, and I have no doubt with 
 good intentions, by a very different class of philoso- 
 phers, the greater part of whom have labored hard to 
 
 * Qnrespondance Litteraire, PhSosophique et Critique, Tom. 11. pp. 56, 
 60, et seq. 
 
ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY. 297 
 
 dispute the connection between the premises and some 
 of the conclusions. Not so Mr. Belsham. " Remorse," 
 says he, " is the exquisitely painful feeling which arises 
 from the belief, that, in circumstances precisely the 
 same, we might have chosen and acted diflt'rentjy. 
 This /o//a6'iow4' feeling is superseded by the doctrine of 
 necessity." And again, — " The doctrine of philosoph- 
 ical necessity supersedes remorse, so far as remorse is 
 founded upon the belief, that, in the same previous cir- 
 cumstances, it was possible to have acted otherwise." 
 
 In another part of Mr. Belsham's work the following 
 observation occurs : — " Remorse supposes free will. It 
 arises from forgetfulness of the precise state of mind 
 when the action was performed. It is of little or no 
 use in moral discipline. In a degree it is even penii-, 
 cious." As to our moral sentiments concerning the 
 conduct and character of our fellow-creatures, Mr. Bel- 
 sham is of opinion that the doctrine of necessity con- 
 ciliates good-will to men. " By teaching us to look up 
 to God as the prime agent, and the proper cavse of every 
 tJiing that happens, and to regard men as nothing more 
 than instruments which he employs for accomplishing 
 his good pleasure, it tends to suppress all resentment, 
 malice, and revenge ; while it induces us to regard our 
 worst enemies with compassion rather than with hatred, 
 and to return good for evil." * 
 
 From these extracts it appears that Mr. Belshara is 
 not only himself convinced of the truth of the doctrine 
 of necessity, considered as a philosophical dogma, but 
 that he conceives it would b^ for the advantage of the 
 world if all mankind were to become converts to his 
 way of thinking. In this respect his system is certain- 
 ly much more of a piece than that of Lord Kames, 
 who, although he adopts zealously the doctrine of ne- 
 cessity, and represents the argument in support of it as 
 
 • Elements of tlie Pliilosoph/ of tlie Mind, pp. 284, 307. 316, 406. " The 
 doctrine of necessity," says l3r. Hartley, "has a tendency to abate all re- 
 sentment aj^ainst men. Since all they do a^^ainst us is by the appointment 
 of God, it is rcbullion against him to be oiTcndcd with them." Observa- 
 tions on Man, Part I., Conclusion. 
 
298 
 
 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 demonstrative, yet candidly acknowledges that our nat- 
 ural feelings are adverse to that doctrine; and even 
 goes so lar as to say, that, without such a feeling, the 
 business of society could not be carried on. In this 
 dilemma he attempts to reconcile the two opinions, by 
 the supposition of a deceitful sense of liberty. We are 
 so formed as to believe that we are free agents, when 
 in truth we are mere machines, acting only so far as we 
 are acted upon. 
 
 Perhaps no opinion on the subject of necessity was 
 ever offered to the public which excited more general 
 opposition than this hypothesis of a deceitful sense; 
 and yet, if the argument for necessity be admitted, I 
 do not see any other supposition which can possibly 
 reconcile the conclusions of our reason with the feel- 
 ings of which every man is conscious.- Not that I 
 would insinuate any apology for a doctrine, the ab- 
 surdity of which is not only obvious, but ludicrous, in- 
 asmuch as it involves the supposition that the Deity 
 intended that his creatures should believe themselves 
 to be free agents ; and that, while the great mass of 
 mankind were thus deceived to their own advantage, a 
 few minds of a superior order had the metaphysical 
 sagacity to detect the imposition. Nor is this all. If the 
 doctrine of necessity be just, it must one day or an- 
 other become the universal and popular creed of man- 
 kind, as every doctrine which is true, and more espe- 
 cially every doctrine which is supported by demonstra- 
 tive evidence, may be expected to become in the prog- 
 ress of human reason. What will then become of the 
 great concerns of human life ? Will man, as he im- 
 proves in knowledge, be unfitted for the ends of his 
 being, and exhibit an inconsistency between his reason- 
 ing faculties and his active principles, contrary to the 
 invariable analogy of that systematical and harmonious 
 design which is everywhere else so conspicuous in the 
 works of nature ? * 
 
 * Tliis argument is voiy ably and forcibly stated in a small pamphlet 
 on liberty and necessity, by the late learned and ingenious Mr. Dawson, 
 of Scdborgh. 
 
ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY. 299 
 
 Lord Kames, who was a most sincere inquirer after 
 truth, abandoned, in the last edition of his Essays on 
 MoralUij and Natural Religion, the doctrine of a de- 
 ceitful sense of liberty ; and in so doing gave a rare ex- 
 ample of candor and fairness as a reasoner. But I am 
 very doubtful if the alterations which he made in his 
 scheme did not impair the merits which in its original 
 concoction it possessed in point of consistency. The 
 first edition of this work appeared when the author was 
 in the full vigor of his faculties ; the last, when he was 
 approaching to fourscore.* 
 
 • One of the ablest of the living asserters of necessity, John Stuart 
 Mill, ai'knowledges, and endeavours to correct, the fatalistic implications 
 and tendencies of that doctrine, as generally received. We will give his 
 own words : — 
 
 " Though the doctrine of necessity, as stated by most who hold it. is 
 very remote from fatalism, it is probable that most necessarians are fatal- 
 ists, more or less, in their feelings. A fatalist believes, or half believes 
 (for nobody is a consistent fatalist), not only that whatever is about to 
 happen will be the infallible result of the causes which produce it (which 
 is the true necessarian doctrine), but moreover that there is no use in 
 struggling against it; that it will happen, however we may strive to pre- 
 vent it. Now, a necessarian, believing that our actions follow from our 
 characters, and that our characters follow from our organization, our edu- 
 cation, and our circumstances, is apt to be, with more or less of conscious- 
 ness on his part, a fatalist as to his own actions, and to believe that his 
 nature is such, or that his education and circumstances have so moulded 
 his character, that nothing can now prevent him from feeling and acting 
 in a particular way, or at least that no effort of his own can hinder it. In 
 the words of the sect [Robert Owen and his followers] which in our own 
 day has so perseveringly inculcated, and so perversely misunderstood, 
 this great doctrine, his character is formed for him, and not % him ; there- 
 fore his wishing that it had been formed differently is of no use, — he has 
 no power to alter it. But this is a grand error. He ha.s, to a certain ex- 
 tent, a power to alter his character. Its being, in the ultimate resort, 
 formed for him, is not inconsistent with its being, in part, formed iy him 
 as one of the inlermediate agents His character is formed by his circum- 
 stances (including among the.se his particular organization); but his own 
 desire to mould it in a particular way is one of those circumstances, and 
 bv no means one of the least influential We cannot, indeed, directly will 
 to be different from what we are. But did those who are supposed to have 
 formed our characters directly will that we should be what we are ■? Their 
 will had no direct power except over their own actions. They made us 
 what they did make us. by willing, not the end, but the requisite means; 
 and we, when our habits 'are not too inveterate, can, by similarly willing 
 the requLsite means, make ourselves different. If they could place us un- 
 der the influence of certain circumstances, we, in like manner, can place 
 otuselves under the influence of other circumstances. We are exactly 
 
300 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 Section III. 
 
 IS THE EVIDENCE OF CONSCIOUSNESS IN FAVOR Or THE 
 SCHEME OF FREEWILL, OR OF THAT OF NECESSITY? 
 
 I. The Appeal to Consciousness.] It has been lately 
 said, by a very ingenious and acute writer, that, '' in the 
 
 as capable of making our own character, if we will, as others are of mak- 
 ing it for us. 
 
 " ' Yes,' answers the Owenite, ' but these words, " if we will," surrender 
 the whole point: since the will to alter our own character is given us, not 
 by any efforts of ours, but by circumstances which we cannot help ; it 
 comes to us either from external causes, or not at all.' Most true; if tlie 
 Owenite stops here, he is in a position from which nothing can expel him. 
 Our character is formed by us, as well as for us ; hut the wish which in- 
 duces us to attempt to form it is formed for us. And how? Not in gen- 
 eral, by our organization or education, but by our experience, — experi- 
 ence of the painful consequences of the character we previously had ; 
 or by some strong feeling of admiration or aspiration, accidentally aroused. 
 But to think that we have no power, and to think tliat we shall not vse our 
 power unless we have a motive, are very different things, and have a very 
 diiferent effect upon the mind. A person who docs not wish to alter his 
 character cannot be the person who is supposed to feel discouraged or par- 
 alyzed by thinking himself unable to do it. The depressing eifect of the 
 fatalist doctrine can only be felt where there is a wish to do what that 
 doctrine represents as impossible. It is of no consequence what we think 
 forms our character when wc have no desire of our own about forming it ; 
 but it is of great consequence that we should not be prevented from form- 
 ing such a desire Ijy thinking the attainment impracticable, and that, if we 
 have the desire, we should know that the work is not so irrevocably done 
 as to lie incapable of being altered 
 
 '•The sulijeet will never be generally understood, until that objectionable 
 term [necessity] is dropped. 'J'he free-will doctrine, by keeping in viev 
 ])rcciscly that portion oi^ the trutli which the word necessity puts out of 
 sight, — namely, the power of the mind to cooperate in (he formation of 
 its own character, — has given to its adhei'ents a jiractical feeling much 
 nearer to the truth than has generally, 1 believe, existed in the minds of 
 necessarians. 'J'he latter may have had a stronger sense of the impor- 
 tance of what human beings ean^lo to shape the characicrs of one another ; 
 but the free-will doctrine has, I believe, fostered, especially in the _\oungcr 
 of its supporters, a much stronger spirit of self-eulturc." — Si/slem of Logic, 
 Book VI. Chap. II. § 3. 
 
 The concessions contained in the last paragraph, considered as'coniing 
 from a thorough-going necessitarian, are imporlant. The modification in 
 the understanding of the doctrine here proposed removes sinne of the 
 purely psycbologii-al objections to it, but does not touch the moral objec- 
 tions. The doctrine is still as irreconcilable as ev^r with any intelligiblo 
 acceptation of human accountability, or the moral government of -God. 
 And besides, when Mr. Mill asserts that " the feeling of moral freedom 
 
EVIDENCE OF CONSCIOUSNESS. 301 
 
 controversy concerning liberty and necessity, the oyili/ 
 question at issue between the disputants related to a 
 matter of fact, on which they both appealed to the evi- 
 dence of consciousness; namely, whether, all previous 
 circumstances being the same, the choice of man be 
 not also at all -times the same." * 
 
 If the author of this observation had contented him- 
 self with saying that this question concerning the mat- 
 ter of fact, as ascertained by the evidence of conscious- 
 ness, ovg-ht to have been considered as the on/i/ point at 
 issue between the contending parties, I should most 
 readily have subscribed to his proposition. Indeed, I 
 have expressed myself very nearly to the same purpose 
 in a former work.f But if it is to be understood as an 
 historical statement of the manner in which the con- 
 troversy has always, or even most frequently, been car- 
 ried on, I must beg leave to dissent from it very ^videly. 
 How many arguments against the freedom of the will 
 have been in all ages drawn from the prescience of the 
 Deity ! How many still continue to be drawn by very 
 eminent divines from the doctrines of predestination 
 and of eternal decrees ! Has not Mr. Locke himself 
 acknowledged the impression which the former of these 
 considerations made on his mind? " I own," says he, 
 " freely to you the weakness of my understanding ; that 
 though it be unquestionable that there is omnipotence 
 and omniscience in God our Maker, and though I can- 
 not have a clearer perception of anij thing than that I am 
 free, yet I cannot make freedom in man consistent with 
 omnipotence and omniscience in God, though I am as 
 fully persuaded of both as of any truth I most firmly 
 assent to ; and therefore I have long since given olTthe 
 consideration of that question, resolving all into this 
 
 which we are conscious of" is nothing but a "feeling of our being able 
 to modify onr o^vn character if we wish^'' he asserts what the advocates of 
 free will will not admit to be true If what we do depends on our wisliin,' 
 to do it, and our wishing to do it does not depend on ourselves, then noth- 
 ing ilc|)onds on ourselves, — except to be the willing and active instruments 
 of destiny. — Ed. 
 
 * Ediiiburrjh Review, Vol. XXVII. p. 226. [By Sir James Mackintosh.] 
 t Philosophy of the Human Mind, Part 11. Chap. I. Sect. IL 
 
 26 
 
302 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 short conclusion, that if it be possible for God to make 
 a free agent, then man is free, though I see not the 
 way of it." 
 
 A still more recent exception to the general assertion, 
 which has given occasion to this section, occurs in Lord 
 Kames's hypothesis of a deceitful sensQ of liberty, no- 
 ticed above, as maintained in the first edition of his 
 Essays on Morality and Natural Religion. Here, upon 
 the faith of some subtile metaphysical reasonings, the 
 very ingenious author adopts the scheme of necessity 
 in direct opposition to the evidence which he candidly 
 confesses that consciousness aftbrds of our free agency. 
 Even the latest advocates for necessity, Priestley and 
 Belsham, as well as their predecessor, Collins himself, 
 while they appealed (in the very words of the learned 
 critic) to the evidence of consciousness in proof of the 
 fact, that, all previous circumstances being the same., the 
 choice of man is also at all times the same, yet thought 
 it worth their while to strengthen this conclusion by 
 calling to their aid the theological doctrines already 
 mentioned. I cannot, therefore, see with what color of 
 plausibility it can be said that " this matter of fact has 
 been the only question at issue between the disputants." 
 
 It may, however, be regarded as one great step gained 
 in this controversy, if it may henceforth be assumed as 
 a principle agreed on by both parties, that this is the 
 only question which can be philosophically stated on 
 the subject, and that all arguments drawn from the at- 
 tributes of the Deity are entirely foreign to the discus- 
 sion. I shall accordingly devote this section to an ex- 
 amination of the fact, agreeably to the representation 
 of it given by our modern necessitarians. 
 
 In what I h^ve hitherto said upon the subject, I have 
 proceeded on the supposition, that the doctrine of free 
 will is consistent with the common feelings and belief 
 of mankind. That '' all our actions do now, in expe- 
 rience, seem to us to be//-ee, exactly in the same man- 
 ner as they would do upon the supposition of our being 
 really free agents," is remarked by Clarke in his reply 
 to Collins. " And consequently," he adds, " though 
 
EVIDENCE OF CONSCIOUSNESS. 803 
 
 this alone does not amount to a strict demonstration of 
 our being free, yet it leaves on the other side of the 
 question nothing but a bare jwssibilUij of our being so 
 framed by the Author of nature, as to be unavoidably 
 deceived in this matter by every experience and every 
 action we perform. The case is exactly the same," 
 continues Dr. Clarke, " as in that notable question, 
 whether the world exists or no. There is no demonstra- 
 tion of it from experience. There always remains a 
 hare possibility that the Supreme Being may have so 
 framed my mind as that I shall always necessarily be 
 deceived in every one of my perceptions, as in a dream, 
 though possibly there be no material ivorld, nor any 
 other creature whatsoever existing besides myself. Of 
 this, I say, there always remains a bare possibiliti/, and 
 yet no man in his senses argues from thence that expe- 
 rience is no proof to us of the existence of thing's."* 
 
 * Remarks, p. 19. 
 
 Cousin maintains liberty on the authority of consciousness. A free 
 action is defined by him to be one " performed with the consciousness 
 of power not to do it." He then proceeds to analyze a free action in 
 order to ascertain precisely in what part it is free. According to him, the 
 total action is resolvable into three elements, perfectly distinct: — '• 1 . The 
 intellectual- element, which is composed of the knowledge of the motives 
 for and against, of deliberation, of preference, of choice. 2. The volmitary 
 clement, which consists in. an internal act, namely, the resolution, the deter- 
 mination to do it. 3. The physical clement, or external action. 
 
 ■' The question now to be decided is. precisely in which of these three 
 elements liberty is to be found, — that is, the power of doing with the con- 
 sciousness of being able not to do. Does this power of doing, while con- 
 scious of the power not to do, belong to the first element, the infellcitual 
 element of the free action? It does not; for it is not at the will of a man 
 to judge that such or such a motive is preferable to another; we are not 
 master of our preferences ; we judge in this respect according to our in- 
 tellectual nature, which has its necessary laws, without having the con- 
 sciousness of being able to judge otherwise, and even with the conscious- 
 ness of not bciflg able to judge otherwise, than we do. It is not, then, in 
 this element that we are to look for liberty. Still less is h in the third 
 element, in the physical action ; for this action supposes an external world, 
 an organization corresponding to it, and, in this organization, a muscular 
 svstem sound and suitable, without which the physical action would he im- 
 possible. When we accomplish it. we are conscious of acting, but under the 
 condition of a theatre of which we have not the disposal, and of instruments 
 of which we have bnt an imperfect disposal, which we can neither replace if 
 thcv escape us, — and they may doso every moment, — nor repair if they 
 areout of order or unfaithful, as is often the case, and which are subject to 
 laws peculiar to themselves, over which we have no power, and which we 
 
304 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 II. Consciousness vainly denied to be in Favor of Lib- 
 erty.] But this appeal to consciousness in proof of free 
 agency proceeds altogether (according to some late 
 writers) on a partial and superficial view of the sub- 
 ject; the evidence of consciousness, when all circum- 
 stances are taken into the account and duly weighed, 
 being decidedly in favor of the scheme of necessity. 
 
 Dr. Hartley was, I believe, one of the first (if not the 
 first) who denied that our consciousness is in favor of 
 our free agency. " It is true," he observes, " that a 
 man by internal feeling may prove his own free will, 
 if by free will be meant the power of doing what a 
 man wills or desires ; or of resisting the motives of 
 sensuality, ambition, &c., that is, free will in the popu' 
 lar and practical sense. Every person may easily rec' 
 oll'ect instances where he has done these several things 
 but these are entirely foreign to the present question 
 To prove that a man has free will in the sense oppo 
 site to mechanism, he ought to feel that he can do dif- 
 ferent things while the motives remain precisely the 
 same. And here, I apprehend, the internal feelings are 
 entirely against free will, where the motives are of a 
 
 scarcely even know. Whence it follows, that we do not act here with the ■ 
 consciousness of being able to do the contrary of what we do. Liberty, 
 then, is no more to be found in the third than in the ,first element. It cun 
 then only be in the second ; and there in fact we find it. 
 
 " Nejjliwt the first and third elements, the judgment and the physical 
 action, and let the second element, the wiUing, subsist by itself; analysis 
 discovers in this single element two terms, namely, a special act of willing, 
 and the power of willing, which is within us, and to which we refer the spe- 
 cial act. That act is an effect in relation to the power of willing, which is 
 its cause ; and this cause, in order to produce its effect, has need of no other 
 theatre, and no other instrument, than itself. It produces it directly, with- 
 out any thing intermediate, and without condition ; continues and consum- 
 mates, or suspends and modifies ; creates it, or annihilates it entirely ; and 
 at the moment it exerts itself in any special act, we are conscious that it 
 might exert itself in a special act totally contrary, without any obstacle, 
 without being thereby exhausted : so that, after having changed its arts a 
 hundred times, the faculty remains integi-ally the same, inexhaustible and 
 identical, amidst the perpetual variety of its applications, being always 
 able to do what it does not do, and able not to do what it does. Hero, 
 then, in all its plentitudo, is the characteristic of liberty." — Professor 
 Henry's translation. Elements of Psychology, Chap. X. p. 319. See, also, 
 Tappan's Doctrine of lite Will determined by an Appeal to Consciousness. — 
 Eb. 
 
EVIDENCE OF CONSCIOUSNESS. 305 
 
 sufficient magnitude to be evident : where they are not, 
 nothing can be proved." * 
 
 Mr. Belsham has enlarged still more fully on this 
 subject. " When men," says he, " who have been 
 guilty of a crime review the action in calmer moments, 
 when the strength of passion has subsided, and the 
 contrary motives appear in all their force, and perhaps 
 magnified by the evil consequences of their vice and 
 folly, they are ready to think that they might at the 
 time have thought and acted as they now think and 
 act ; but this is a fallacious feeling, and arises from 
 their not placing themselves in circumstances exactly 
 similar." We are elsewhere told by Mr. Belsham, " that 
 the popular opinion, that in many cases it was in the 
 power of the agent to have chosen differently, the pre- 
 vious circumstances remaining exactly the same, arises 
 cither from a mistake of the question, from ^fargelful- 
 ness of the motives by which our choice was determined, 
 or from the extreme difficulty of placing ourselves iu 
 imagination in circumstances exactly similar to those 
 in which the election was made." And still more ex- 
 plicitly and concisely in the following aphorism : — 
 '• The pretended consciousness of free will amounts to 
 nothing more than forgetfulness of the motive." f To 
 the same purpose Dr. Priestley has expressed himself. 
 " A man, when he reproaches himself for ^.nj particular 
 action in his past conduct, may fancy that, if he was 
 in the same situation again, he would have acted dif- 
 ferently. But this is a mere deception; and if he ex- 
 amines himself strictlij, and takes in all circumstances, 
 hd may be satisfied that, with the sa7rie inward dispo- 
 sition of mind, and with precisely the same views of 
 things that he had then, and exclusive of all others that 
 he has acquired by reflection since, he could not have 
 acted otherwise than he did." J 
 
 * Observations on Man, Part I., Conclusion. 
 t ICinnenls, pp. 278, 279, 306. 
 t Illustrations of Philosophical Necessity, p. 99. 
 
 The very same view of the subject has been lately taken bv Laplace, 
 in his Essai Phihsophiiiue sur Us Probabilitis. " L'axiome connu sous le 
 
 26* 
 
306 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 If these statements be accurately examined, they will 
 be found to resolve entirely into this identical propo- 
 sition, that the will of the criminal, being supposed to 
 remain in the same state as when the crime was com- 
 mitted, he could not have willed and acted otherwise. 
 This proposition, it is obvious, does not at all touch 
 the cardinal point in question, which is simply this : 
 whether, all other circumstances remaining the same, 
 the criminal had it not in his power to abstain from 
 willing the commission of the crime. The vagueness 
 of Priestley's language upon this occasion must not be 
 pverlooked ; the words inward disposition of mind ad- 
 mitting of a variety of different meanings, and in this 
 instance being plainly intended to include the act of 
 the will, as well as every thing else connected with the 
 criminal action. 
 
 In the {Receding strictures, I have been partly antici- 
 pated by the following very acute remarks of Dr. Magee 
 on the definitions of volition and o{ philosophical liberty, 
 prefixed to Mr. Belsham's discussion of the doctrines 
 now under our consideration. According to Mr. Bel- 
 sham, " Volition is that state of mind which is imme- 
 diately previous to actions which are called voluntary." 
 " Natural liberty, or, as it is more properly called, phil- 
 osophical liberty, or liberty of choice, is the power of 
 doing an action or its contrary, all the previous circum- 
 stances remaining the same." * — "Nowhere," says Dr. 
 Magee, " is the point of free will at once decided ; for 
 volition itself being included among the previous cir- 
 cumstances, it is a manifest contradiction to suppose 
 1 he ' power of doing an action or its contrary, all the 
 
 nom de prindpe de la raison suffisante s'6tend aux actions ra&ma que Ton 
 jufce indifferentes. La volonte la plus libre ne pent sans un motif diter- 
 minant lour donner naissance ; car si, toutes les circonStances de deux po- 
 sitions etant exactement semblables, elle agissait dans I'une et s'abstennit 
 d'ajrir dans I'autre, son choix scrait un effet sans cause ; oUe serait alora, 
 dit'iLeil)nitz, le hasard aveugle des epicuricns. L'opinion contrairo est uno 
 illusion de I'espvit qui perdant de vue les raisons fugitives du choix de la 
 volonte dans les choses indifFferentes, se persuade quelle s'est deteiminee 
 d'elle-ra^mo et sans motifs." — Under the head, l)e la Prdbahiliti. 
 * Ekments, p. 227. 
 
EVIDENCE OP CONSCIOUSNESS. 307 
 
 previous circumstances remaining the same ' ; since 
 that supposes the power to act voluntarily against a 
 volition. After this," Dr. Magee justly and pertinently 
 adds, " Mr. Belsham might surely have spared himself 
 the trouble of the ninety-two pages which follow." * 
 
 And why have recourse, with Belsham and Priestley, 
 in this argument, to the indistinct and imperfect recol- 
 lection of the criminal at a subsequent period, with re- 
 spect to the state of his feelings while he was perpe- 
 trating the crime ? "Why not maife a direct appeal to 
 his consciousness at the very moment when he was 
 doing the deed? Will any person of candor deny^^ 
 that, in the very act of transgressing an acknowledged 
 duty, he is impressed with a conviction, as complete 
 as that of his own existence, that his will is free, and 
 that he is abusing, contrary to the suggestions of rea- 
 son and conscience, his moral liberty ?f 
 
 Sometimes, indeed, when we are under the influence 
 of a violent appetite or passion, our judgment is apt 
 to see things in a false light; and hence a wise man 
 learns to distrust his own opinion when he is thus cir- 
 cumstanced, and to act, not according to his present 
 judgment, but according to those general maxims of 
 propriety of which his reason had previously approved 
 in his cooler hours. All this, however, evidently .pro- 
 ceeds on the supposition of his free agency ; and, so 
 far from implying any belief on his part of fatalism or 
 of moral necessity, evinces in a manner peculiarly strik- 
 ing and satisfactory, the power which he feels himself 
 to possess, not only over the present, but over the fiitiire 
 determinations of his will. In some other instances, it 
 happens that I believe bond fide an action to be right, 
 at the moment I perform it, and afterwards discover 
 that I judged improperly ; — perhaps from want of suf- 
 ficient information, or from a careless and partial view 
 
 * Discourses and Dissertations on the Scriptural Doctrines of Atonement and 
 Sacrijice, Appendix, Vol. II p. 180, note. 
 
 t " The free will of man," says Bolingbroke, " which no one can deny- 
 that he has, without lying, or renouncing his intuitive knowledge." — Frag- 
 ments, No. XLII. ' 
 
308 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 of the subject. In such a case, I may undoubtedly 
 regret as a misfortune what has happened. 1 may 
 blame myself for my carelessness in not having ac- 
 quired the proper information before I acted ; but I 
 cannot consider myself as criminal in acting at that 
 moment according to the views which I then enter- 
 tained. On the contrary, if I had acted in opposition 
 to these views, although my conduct might have been 
 agreeable to the dictates of a more enlightened under- 
 standing than my own, yet, with respect to myself, the 
 action would have been wrongj 
 
 , If the doctrine of necessity were just, what possible 
 foundation could there be for the distinction we always 
 make between an accidental hurt and an intended in- 
 jury, when received from another ? or for the different 
 sentiments of regret and of remorse that we experience, 
 according as the misfortunes we suffer are the conse- 
 quences of our own misconduct or not 1 What an al- 
 leviation of our sufferings when we are satisfied that 
 we cannot consider ourselves as the authors of them! 
 and what a cruel aggravation of our miseries, when 
 we can trace them to something in which we have 
 been obviously to blame ! * 
 
 * Sir W. Ilamilton accepts the fact of'moral liberty on the evidence of 
 consciousness ; still he finds insuperable difficulties in conceiving of its pos- 
 sibility. In a note on Dr. Rcid's definition of the liberty of a moral agent, 
 he says : — " Moral liberty does not merely consist in the power of doing 
 what we will, but in the power of willing what we will. For a power over 
 the determinations of our will supposes an act of will that our will should 
 determine so and so ; for we can only freely exert power through a rational 
 determination or volition. But then question upon question remains, and 
 this ad infinitum. Have we a power (a will) over such anterior will ? and 
 until this question be definitively answered, which it never can be, we must 
 be unalile to conceive the po.isibiliti/ of the fact of liberty. But, though incon- 
 ceivable, this fact is not therefore /a/se. For there are many contradic- 
 tories (and of contradictories, one must, and one only can, be truel, of which 
 we are equally unable to conceive the possibility of either. The philoso- 
 phy, therefore, which I profess, annihilates the theoretical problem, — How 
 is the scheme of liberty, or the scheme of necessity, to be rendered com- 
 prehensible ^ — by showing that both schemes are equally inconceivable ; 
 but it establishes liberty practically as a fact, by showing that it is either 
 itself an inimediate datum, or is involved in an immediate datum of con- 
 sciousness. . 
 
 Again he says : — "To conceive a free act is to conceive an act whien, 
 buing a cause, is not in itself an effect; in other words, to conceive an ab- 
 
THE THEORY AS INFLUENCING PRACTICE. 309 
 
 Section IV. 
 
 OF THE SCHEMES OF FREE WILL, AND OF NECESSITY, 
 CONSIDERED AS IiNFLUEXCIXG PRACTICE. 
 
 I. Tendency of the Scheme of Necessity to Pantheism 
 and Atheism.] Collins, in his inquiry concerning hu- 
 
 solute commencement. But is such liy ns conceivable'?" According to 
 lijm, in 6rdcr to be a free agent it is not enough that a person is the cause 
 of the determination of his own will : lie must not be " determined to tliat 
 determination." " But is the person," be asks, " an original undetermined 
 cau.ie of the determination of his will ? If he be not, then he is not a free 
 :i;_'-ent, and the scheme of necessity is admitted. If he be, in the first place, 
 it is impossible to conceive the possibility of this ; and, in the second, if the 
 fii't. though inconceivable, be allowed, it is impossible to see how a cavse 
 vndilf^-niined by any motive can be a rational, moral, and accountable cause. 
 There is no conceivable medium between ya/a//sni and casuism; and the 
 contradictory schemes of libeity and necessity themselves arc inconceiva- 
 ble. For as we cannot compass in thought an undetermined cause, — an abso- 
 lute commencement, — the fundamental hypothesis of the one j so we can as 
 little think an injinite series of determined causes, • — of relative commencenn^its, 
 ■ — the fundamental hypothesis of the other. The champions of the oppo- 
 site doctrines are thus at once resistless in assault, and impotent in defence. 
 Each is hewn down, and appears to die under the home-thrusts of his ad- 
 versary ; but each again recovers life from tlie very death of his antago- 
 nist, and, to borrow a simile, both are like the heroes in Valhalla, rc.idy 
 in a moment to amuse themselves anew in the bloodless and interminable 
 conflict. 
 
 '• The doctrine of moral liberty cannot be made conceivable, for we can 
 only conceive the determined and the relative. As already stated, all that 
 can be done is to show, — 1st. That, for \\ie fact of liberty, we have, im- 
 mediately or mediately, the evidence of consciousness ; and, 2d. That there 
 are, among the phenomena of mind, many facts which we must admit as 
 actual, but of whose possibility we are wholly unable to form a notion. I 
 may merely observe, that tlie fact of motion can be shown to be impossible, 
 on grounds not less strong than those on which it is attempted to disprove 
 the fact of liberty ; to say nothing of many contradictories, neither of which 
 can he tliought, but one of which must, on the laws of contradiction and 
 excluded middle, necessarily be. This philosophy — the Philosophy oj the 
 Conditioned — has not, however, either in itself, or in relation to its con>.c- 
 qiiences, as yet been developed." — Hamilton's edition of Eeid's AVorks, 
 Essays on the Active Powers, Essay IV. Chap. I. 
 
 Kant comes to substantially the same conclusions. In his CnVi'c of 
 Pure Reo'on, under the headof ''the antinomy of pure reason" in his 
 '■ Transcendental Dialectic,' he treats of liberty and necessity as consti- 
 tuting one of the " contradictions of transcendental ideas," both the " thesis " 
 and the " antithesis " being demonstrable. Aftenvards, in his Critic of 
 Practical Reason, he maintains the fact of liberty as a corollary of the /act 
 of moral obligation. — Ed. 
 
310 ' FREE AGENCY. 
 
 man liberty, after endeavouring to show that ^^ liberty 
 can only be grounded on the ' absurd principles of Ep- 
 icurean atheism,' " observes, that " the Epicurean athe- 
 ists, who were the most popular and most numerous 
 sect of the atheists of antiquity, were the great assert- 
 ers of liberty ; * as, on the other side, the Stoics, who 
 were the most popular and numerous sect among the 
 religionists of antiquity, were the great asserters oi fate 
 and necessity. The case was also the same among the 
 Jews as among the heathens.f The Sadducees, who 
 were esteemed an irreligious and atheistical sect, main- 
 tained the liberty of man. But the Pharisees, who 
 were a religious sect, ascribed all things to fate or to 
 God's appointment ; and it was the first article of their 
 creed, that Fate and God do all,; and consequently, 
 they could not assert a true liberty, when they asserted 
 a liberty together with this fatality and necessity of all 
 things." J 
 
 • In proof of this assertion, that the ancient Epicureans were arlvo- 
 cates for man's free agency, Collins refers to Lucretius, Lib. II v. 251; e( 
 seq. But it is to be observed that the liberty here ascribed to the will is 
 nothing more than the liberty of spontaneit)/, which is conceded to it by 
 Collins, and indeed by all necessitarians, without exception, since the time 
 of Hobbes. Lucretius, indeed, speaks of this liberty as an exception to 
 universal fatalism ; but he nevertheless considers it as a necessary effect of 
 some cause, to which he gives the name of cUnamen, so as to render man as 
 completely a piece of passive mechanism as he was supposed to be by 
 Collins and Hobbes. The reason, too, which he gives for this is, that, if 
 the case were otherwise, there would be an effect witliout a cause. — Ibid., v. 
 284. 
 
 t With respect to the opinions of the Sa<lducoes and the Pharisees on 
 man's free agency, see Cudworth's Intellectual System, with Moshcim's 
 Notes and Dissertations, translated by Harrison, Book I. Chap. I. ^ 4. Ac- 
 cording to Josephus, the Pharisees held " that some things, and not all, 
 were the effects of fate, but some things were left in man's own power and 
 liberW -"—Antiq. Jud., Lib. XIIL Cap. V. Sect. 9. 
 
 t in this passage, as in others, Collins plainly proceeds on the supposi- 
 ticn, that all fatalists are of course necessitarians ; and I agree with him 
 in thinking, that this would be the case if they reasoned consequentially. 
 It is certain, however, that a groat proportion of those who have belonged 
 to the first sect have disclaimed all connection with the second. The Sto- 
 ics themselves, notwithstanding what is said above, furnish one very re- 
 markable instance. I do not know Kny author by whom the liberty of the 
 will is stated in stronger and more explicit terms than it is by Epictetus, 
 in the first sentence of the Enchiridion. Indeed, the Stoics seem, with 
 their usual passion for exaggeration, to have carried their ideas about tho 
 freedom of the will to an unphilosophlcal extreme. 
 
THE THEORY AS INFLUENCING PRACTICE. 311 
 
 To the same purpose Edwards attempts to show 
 (and it is one of the weakest parts of his book) that 
 the scheme of free will (by affording an exception to 
 that dictate of common sense which leads us to refer 
 every event to a cause) would destroy the proof a pos- 
 teriori for the being of God. One thing is certain, 
 that the two schemes of atheism and of necessity have 
 been hitherto always connected together in the history 
 of modern philosophy: not that I would, by any means, 
 be understood to say, that, every necessitarian must ipso 
 facto be an atheist, or even that any presumption is af- 
 forded, by a man's attachment to the former sect, of 
 his having the slightest bias m favor of the latter, but 
 only that every modern atheist I have ever heard of has 
 been a necessitarian. I cannot help adding, that by far 
 the ablest necessitarians who have yet appeared have 
 been those who followed out their principles till they 
 ended in Spinozism ; a doctrine which differs from 
 atheism more in words than in reality. * 
 
 * " The following is Cousin's view of Spinoza's system. It apparently 
 differs from what is said above, but really tends to the same conclusions. 
 ' Instead of accusing Spinoza of atheism, he ought to be reproached for 
 an en-or in the other direction. Spinoza starts from the perfect and itijinite 
 beiny of Descartes's system, and easily demonstr;UBS that such a being is 
 alone being in itself, but that a being finite, imperfect, and relative only 
 participates of being, without possessing it in itself; — that being in itself 
 is necessarily one ; — that there is but one substance ; — and that all that 
 remains has only a phenomenal e.\istence ; — that to call phenomena finite 
 substances is affirming and denying at the same time ; for as there is but 
 one substance which possesses being in itself, and the finite is that which 
 participates of existence without possessing it in itself, a substance finite 
 implies two contradictory notions. Thus, in the philosophy of Spinoza, 
 man and nature are pure />/ieno7nena, simple attributes of that one and absolute 
 substance, but attributes which are coeternal with their substance : for as 
 phenomena cannot e.xist without a subject, the imperfect without the per- 
 fect, the finite without the infinite, and man and nature suppose God ; so, 
 likewise, the substance cannot exist without phenomena, the perfect with- 
 out the imperfect, the infinite without the finite, and God on his part sup- 
 poses man and nature. The error of his system lies in the predominance 
 of the relation of phenomenon to being, of attribute to substance, over the 
 relation of effect to cause. When man has been represented, not as a 
 cause voluntary and free, but as necessary and uncontrollable desire, and 
 as an imperfect and finite thought, God, or the supreme pattern of human- 
 ity, can be only a substance, and not a cause, — a being perfect, infinite, 
 necessary, — the immutable suistance of the universe, and not its producing 
 and creating cause. In Cartesianism, the notion of substance figures more 
 
312 
 
 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 II. Moral and Political Tendencies of the Scheme oj 
 Necessity.] In Bernier's Ab'rigi de la Philosophie de 
 Gassendi, there are some very judicious observations 
 on the practical tendency of the scheme of necessity ; 
 — a subject on which his opinion is entitled to great 
 weight, not only from his long residence among the fol- 
 lowers of Mahomet, but from those prepossessions in 
 favor of this scheme which he may be presumed to 
 have imbibed from his education under Gassendi. I 
 shall quote a few of his concluding reflections. 
 
 conspicuously than that of cause ; and this notion of substance, become 
 altogether predominant, constilutos Spinozism.' — Histoire de la Philoso- 
 phie du XVIIl" Slide, Tome, I. p. 465. 
 
 " The preponderance of tlic notion of substance and atdibute over that 
 of cause and effect, wliicli Cousin here pronounces the vice of Spinoza's 
 system, is indeed the vice of every system wliich contains the do;;ma of 
 tlie necessary determination of will. The fii'st consequence i.s panthei.'im ; 
 the second, atheism. I will endeavour to explain. When self dctermimi- 
 tion is denied to will, and it is resolved into mere desire, necessitated in all 
 its acts from its preconstitutcd correlation with objects, then will really ceas- 
 es to be a cause. It becomes an instrument of antecedent ]iowcr. hut is no 
 power in itself, creative or productive. The reasoning employed in refer- 
 ence to the human will applies in all its force to the Divine will, as has 
 been already abundantly sliown. The Divine will therefore ceases to be a 
 cause, and becomes a mere instrument of antecedent power. This antece- 
 dent power is the infinite and necessary wisdom : but infinite and necessary 
 wisdom is eternal and unchangeable ; what it is now, it always was ; what 
 tendencies or energies it has now, it always had ; and therefore, whatever 
 volitions it now necessarily produces, it always necessarily produced. If 
 we conceive a volition to have been, in one direction, the immediate and 
 necessary antecedent of creation ; and, in another, the immediate and ne- 
 cessary sequent of infinite and eternal wisdom ; then this volition mvst have 
 always existed, and consequently creation, as the necessary, effect of this vo- 
 lition, mvst have always existed. The eternal and infinite wisdom thus he- 
 comes the substance, becau.sc this is existence in itself, no antecedent being 
 conceivable; and creation, that is to say, wan and witnre. imperfect and 
 finite, participating only of existence, and not being existence in them- 
 selves, are not substances, huX phenomena. But what is the relation of the 
 phenomena to the substance'! Not that of effect to cause ; — this relation 
 slides entirely out of view, the moment will ceases to be a cause. It is the 
 relation simply of phenomena to being, con.sidered as the neecssiiiy and 
 inseparable manifestations of being; the relation of attributes to substaiiie, 
 considered as the necessary and inseparable properties of substance. Wo 
 cannot conceive of substance without attributes or phenomena, nor of at- 
 tributes or phenomena without substance: they are, therefore, eoeternal 
 in this relation. 117iO, then, is God 1 Substance and its attributes ; being 
 and its phenomena. In other words, the universe, as made up of substance 
 anil attributes, is God. This is pantheism ; and it is the first and legiti- 
 mate consequence of a necessitated will. 
 
THE THEORY AS INFLUENCING PRACTICE. 313 
 
 " De tout ceci jugez si j'ai sujet de croire cette doc- 
 trine si pernicieuse a la societe humaine. Certaine- 
 tnent u. cousiderer que ce soiit principalement les Ma- 
 hometans qui s'en trouvent infectees, et que c'est prin- 
 cipalement encore parmi elles presentement qu'elle est 
 fomentee et entretenue, je douterois presque que ce fut 
 I'invention de quelques uns de ces tyrans d'Asie, comme 
 auroit peut-etre un Mahomet, un Tamerlane, un Baja- 
 zet, ou quelqu'un de ces autres fieaux du monde qui 
 pour assouvir leur ambition demandoit des soldats qui 
 
 " The second consequence is atheism. In the denial of will as a cause 
 per se, — in resolving all its volitions into the necessary phenomena of the 
 eternal substance, — we destroy personality : we have nothing remaining hiit 
 the universe. Now we may call the universe God: but with equal proprie- 
 ty we call God tfie universe. This distinction of personality, this merging 
 of God into necessary substance and attributes, is all that we mean by 
 atheism. The conception is really the same, whether we name it fate, pan- 
 theism, or atheism. 
 
 " The arguments of many atheists might be refen-ed to, to illustrate the 
 connection between necessity and atheism. I shall here refer, however, to 
 only one individual, remarkable both for his poetic genius and metaphysi- 
 cal acumen. I mean the late Percy Bysshe Shelley. He openly and uu- 
 blushingly professed atheism. In his Queen Mab we find this line : ' There 
 is no God.' In a note upon this line, he remarks. — ' This negation must 
 be understood solely to affect a creative Deity. The hypothesis of a per- 
 vading spirit, coetemal with the universe, remains unshaken.' This last hy- 
 pothesis is pantheism. Pantheism is really the negation of a creative De- 
 ity, — the identity, or at least necessary and eternal coexistence, of God 
 and the universe. Shelley has expressed this clearly in another passage : — 
 
 ' Spirit of nature ! all-sufficing power. 
 Necessity I thou motlier of the world I ' 
 
 " In a note upon this passage, Shelley has argued the doctrine of the 
 necessary determination of will by motive with an acuteness and power 
 scarcely inferior to Collins or Edwards. He makes, indeed, a different 
 application of the doctrine, but a perfectly legitimate one. Collins and 
 Edwards, and the whole race of necessitarian theologians, evidently toil 
 under insurmountable difficulties, while attempting to base "religion upon 
 this doctrine, and effect their escape only under a fog of subtilties. But 
 Shelley, in d-iring to be perfectly consistent, is perfectly clear. He fear- 
 lessly proceeds from necessity to pantheism, and thence to atheism and the 
 destruction of all moral distinctions. ' We are taught,' he remarks, ' by 
 the doi'trine of necessity, that there is neither good nor evil in the universe, 
 othci-wisc than as the^events to which we apply these epithets have relation 
 to our own peculiar mode of being. Still less than with the hypothesis of 
 a God, will the doctrine of necessity accord with the belief of a future 
 state of punishment.'" — Tstppan's Review of Edwards, pp. 139, 145. For 
 an exposition of Spinoza's theory, see Jouffroy's Introduction to Ethics, Tiect 
 VI. and VII. — Ed. 
 
 27 
 
314 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 6tant entetes de predestination, s'abandonassent brutale- 
 ment k tout, et se precipitassent meme volontiers, aux 
 occasions, la tete la premiere dans le foss6 d'une ville 
 assiegee pour servir du pont au reste de I'arnii'e. Je 
 s^ais bien qu'on pourroit peut-etre dire que cette opin- 
 ion est mal prise et mal entendue par les Mahometans ; 
 mais quoi qu'il en soit, que doit on raisonablement pen- 
 ser d'une doctrine qui pent si aisement etre mal-prise et 
 qui pent, soit par erreur ou autrement, avoir si etranges 
 suites ? " * 
 
 The scheme of free will is not liable to any such ob- 
 jection, inasmuch as it seems quite impossible for the 
 most ingenious sophistry to pervert it to any pernicious 
 purpose. Indeed, its great object is to reconcile with 
 the conclusions of our reason those moral feelings 
 which are so essential, both to our own happiness and 
 to the interests of society, that they have been regarded 
 by some of the most acute as well as candid partisans 
 of necessity as merciful illusions of the imagination, 
 by which man is blinded to the melancholy fact of his 
 real condition : " Nervis alienis mobile lignum ! " 
 
 There is good reason to believe that the practical 
 consequences produced by the scheme of necessity at 
 the time of the Reformation alarmed the minds of 
 some very able men by whom it was at first adopted. 
 
 * Tome VIII. p. 536 et seq. " Judge from what has been said whether 
 I have not reason to think tliis doctrine pernicious to society. Indeed, 
 when I consider that it is principally the Mahometans who are infected 
 with it, that it is principally by them that it is still fomented and kept up, 
 I almost suspect it to have been the invention of one of tho-ie Asiatic 
 despots, of a Mahomet, a Tamerlane, a Bajazet, or some other scoiirge 
 of the world, who, in order to glut his ambition, required soldiers besot- 
 ted by a belief in predestination, and therefore ready to abandon them- 
 selves brutally to every thing, — to precipitate themselves headlong, if ne- 
 cessary, into the trenches of a besieged city to serve as a bridge for the 
 rest oiF the army. Many will say, I am aware, that this doctrine is mis- 
 taken and misunderstood by the Mahometans ; but, however this may be, 
 what opinion can we reasonably entertain of a tenet which is so liable to 
 be misapprehended, and is followed, either through mistake or otherwise, 
 by such strange consequences 1 " 
 
 For a less unfavorable view of the practical tendency of a belief in ne- 
 cessitv, see an article by Sir James Mackintosh, in the Edinburgh Review. 
 Vol. XXVII. p. 180. — Ed. 
 
THE THEORY AS INFLUENCING PRACTICE. 315 
 
 " The Germans," says Dr. Burnet, " saw the ill effects 
 of the doctrine of decrees. Luther changed his mind 
 about it, and Melancthon wrote openly against it ; and 
 since that time the whole stream of the Lutheran 
 churches has run the other way. But still Calvin and 
 Bucer w^ere both for maintaining the doctrine ; only they 
 warned the people not to think much about them, since 
 they were secrets that men could not penetrate into. 
 Hooper and many other good writers did often exhort 
 the people from entering into these curiosities ; and a 
 caveat to the same purpose was put into the article 
 about predestination." * 
 
 " Concerning the disputants themselves," says Dr. 
 Jortin, " we may safely affirm, that the defenders of the 
 liberty of man, and of the conditional decrees of God, 
 have been, beyond all comparison, the more learned, ju- 
 dicious, and moderate men; and that severity and op- 
 pression have appeared most on the other side." f 
 
 Priestley has somewhere very justly remarked, that 
 there are some men so happily born that no speculative 
 theories are likely to mislead them from their duty; 
 and of the truth of his observation I sincerely believe 
 that his own private life afforded a very striking exam- 
 ple. Little stress, therefore, is to be laid on individual 
 cases as arguments for or against the practical tenden- 
 cy of any philosophical dogma. The case, however, is 
 very different with respect to observations made on so 
 great a scale as those above quoted from Bernier and 
 Burnet Let me add, that the practical influence of 
 the scheme of necessity ought not to be judged of 
 from the lives of its speculative partisans, but from 
 those of persons who have been educated from their 
 early years in the belief of it. In this point of view, 
 it might be interesting to trace the history of the im- 
 mediate descendants of some of the most zealous ad- 
 vocates for necessity. If the principles which they 
 have advanced be just, particularly those they have laid 
 
 * Burnet on the Reformation, Part II. p. 113- 
 f Six Dissertations, Diss. I. p. 4. 
 
316 . FREE AGENCY. 
 
 down on the influence of education, the moral charac- 
 ters of their pupils should, or rather must, be exemplary 
 in no common degree. 
 
 Section V. 
 
 ON THE ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY DRAWN FROM THE 
 PRESCIENCE OF THE DEITY. 
 
 I. The Argument stated and answered.] In reviewing 
 the arguments that have been advanced on the oppo- 
 site sides of this question, I have hitherto taken no no- 
 tice of those which the necessitarians have founded on 
 the prescience of the Deity, because I do not think 
 them fairly applicable to the subject ; inasmuch as 1 hey 
 draw an •inference from what is altogether placed be- 
 yond the reach of our faculties, against a fact for which 
 every man has the evidence of his own consciousness. 
 Some of the advocates, however, for liberty have ven- 
 tured to meet their adversaries even on this ground; in 
 particular, Dr. Clarke, in his Demonstration of the Be- 
 ing and Attributes of God, and Dr. Reid, in his Essays 
 on the Active Poioers of Man. Both of these writers 
 have attempted to show, with much ingenuity and sub- 
 tilty of reasoning, that, even although we should admit 
 the prescience of God in the fullest extent in which it 
 has ever been ascribed to him, it does not lead to any 
 conclusion inconsistent with man's free agency. On 
 their speculations on this point I have no commentary 
 to offer. 
 
 The argument for necessity, drawn from the Divine 
 prescience, is much insisted on both by Collins and Ed- 
 wards ; more especially by the latter, who, after insist- 
 ing at great length on " God's certain foreknowledge 
 of the volitions of moral agents," undertakes to show 
 that "this /ore/(;«0M;/e6^e infers a necessity of volition 
 as much as an absolute decree." 
 
 Mr. Belsham, on this as on other occasions, rises 
 above his predecessors in the boldness of his assertions. 
 "The principal argument in, favor of moral necessity, 
 
PRESCIENCE OF THE DEITY. 317 
 
 and the insurmountable objection against the existence 
 of philosophical liberty in any degree, or under any re- 
 strictions whatever, arises fnom the prescience of God. 
 Liberty and prescience stand in direct hostility to each 
 other. A philosopher, to be consistent, must give up 
 one or the other." " Upon the whole, the advocates 
 for philosophical liberty are reduced to the dilemma, 
 either of denying the foreknowledge of God, and thus 
 robbing- the Deity of one of his most glorious attributes, 
 or of admitting that God is the author of evil, in the 
 same sense, and in the same degrees, in which this doc- 
 trine is charged upon the necessarians."* 
 
 On this argument I shall make but one remark, that, 
 if it be conclusive, it only serves to identify still more 
 the creed of the necessitarians with that of Spinoza. 
 For if God certainly foresees all the future volitions of 
 his creatures, he must, for the same reason, foresee all 
 his own future volitions ; and if this foreknowledge in- 
 fers a necessity of volition in the one case, how is it 
 possible to avoid the same inference in the other ? Mr. 
 Belsham seems to have been not unaware of this infer- 
 ence ; but shows no disposition, on account of it, to 
 shrink from his principles. " It is always to be remem- 
 bered that the prescience of an agent necessarily in- 
 cludes predestination, though that of a spectator may 
 not. It is nonsense to say that a being does not mean 
 to bring an event to pass which he foresees to be the 
 certain and inevitable consequence of his own previ- 
 ous voluntary action." f 
 
 I have already mentioned the attempt of Clarke and 
 others to show that no valid argument against the 
 scheme of free will can be deduced from the prescience 
 of God, even supposing that prescience to extend to all 
 the actions of voluntary beings. On this point I must 
 decUne offering any opinion of my own, because I con- 
 ceive it as placed far beyond the reach of our faculties. 
 It is sufficient for my purpose to observe, that, if it 
 could be demonstrated (which, in my opinion, has not 
 
 * Elements, pp. 293, 302. t Elements, p. 307. 
 
 27* 
 
318 
 
 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 yet been done) that th,e prescience of the volitions of 
 moral agents is incompatible with the free agency of 
 man, the logical inference would be, not in favor of the 
 scheme of necessity, but that there are some events the 
 foreknowledge of which implies an impossibility. Shall 
 we venture to affirm that it exceeds the power of God 
 to permit such a train of contingent events to take 
 place, as his own foreknowledge shall not extend to ? 
 Does not such a proposition detract from the omnipo- 
 tence of God, in the same proportion in which it aims 
 to exalt his omniscience ? * 
 
 * The strength of Edwards's argutnGnt to prove that " no future event 
 can be certainly foreknown, whose existence is contingent, and without all 
 necessity," may be summed up in the fallowing syllogism : — 
 
 It is impossible for a thing to be certainly known to any intellect with- 
 out evidence. 
 
 A contingent future event is withont evidence. 
 
 Therefore, a contingent future event is a thing impossible to be certainly 
 known. 
 
 Mr. Tappan says : — "I dispute both premises. That which is known 
 hy evidence or proof \s mediate knowledge; — that is, we know it through 
 something which is immediate, standing between the faculty of knowledge 
 and the object of knowledge in question. That which is known intuitive- 
 ly is known witl^ut proof; and this is immediate knowledge. In this way 
 all axioms or first truths, and aU facts of the senses, are known. Indeed, 
 evidence itself implies immediate knowledge, for the evidence by which 
 any thing is known is itself immediate knowledge. To a Being, therefore, 
 whose knowledge fills duration, future and past events may be as immedi- 
 ately known as present events. Indeed, can we conceive of God otherwise 
 than as immediatclij knowint] all things ? An Infinite and Eternal Intelli- 
 gence cannot he thought of under relations of time and space, or as arriv- 
 ing at knowledge through media of proof or demonstration. So much for 
 the first premise. The second is efpially untenable: — 'A contingent fu- 
 ture event i.s without evidence.' We grant with Edwards that it is not 
 self-evident, implying by that the evidence arising from ^the necessity of its 
 nature,^ as, for example, 2X2^4. What is self-evident [from being im- 
 mediately perceived^ does not require any [other] evidence or proof, but is 
 known immediately ; and a future contingent event may be self-evident [in 
 this sense] as a fact lying before the Divine mind reaching into futurity, 
 although it cannot be self-evident from ' the necessity of its nature.' " — 
 Review of Edirards, p. 256. 
 
 The following remarks on the same subject are from Dr. Copleston's 
 Incfainj into the Doctrines of Necessity and Predestination, p. 45, note. " Ed- 
 wards, in his work on the Freedom of the Will, dwells much upon the dis- 
 tinction between making the event necessary, and provim) it to be necessary. 
 'Whether prescience,' he Bays, ' be the thing that mate the event necessary 
 or no, it alters not the case. Infallible foreknowledge may p-ove the ne- 
 cessity of the event foreknown, and yet not be the thing that causes the ne- 
 
PRESCIENCE OF THE DEITY. 319 
 
 11. Source of the General Prevalence of Fatalism 
 amonff Unenlightened Nations.] It is a circumstance 
 not a little curious in the history of the human mind, 
 that, while men have been in all ages impressed with 
 this irresistible conviction of their own free agency, 
 they have nevertheless had a proneness, not only to ad- 
 mit the prescience of God in its fullest extent, but to 
 suppose that there is a fatal and irresistible destiny 
 attending every individual. Traces of this opinion 
 occur in every country of the world of whiclj we have 
 received any account. We meet with it among the 
 sages of Greece, and among the ignorant and unenlight- 
 ened natives of St. Kilda. The following Arabian tale, 
 which I quote from the late Mr. Harris, will place the 
 import of the doctrine I now allude to in a more strik- 
 ing light than I could possibly do by any philosophical 
 comment. 
 
 " The Arabians tell us," says this author, " that as 
 Solomon (whom they supposed a magician from his su- 
 perior wisdom) was one day walking with a person in 
 Palestine, his companion said to him with horror, 
 ' What hideous spectre is that which approaches us? 
 I don't like his visage. Send me, I pray thee, to the 
 remotest mountain of India.' Solomon complied, 
 
 cessity.' Part IT. Sect. XII. But infallible foreknowledge, while it re- 
 mains foreknowledge, proves nothing. When the being which possesses 
 this foreknowledge declnres that a thing will come to pass, that declaration 
 indeed proves, or is a certain ground of- assurance to us, that it wilt come 
 to pass. Even then it does not p^ove the event to be necessary. 
 
 " If, however, the question be regarded as merely logical, namely, wheth- 
 er the very term foreknowledge does not imply a necessity in the thing fore- 
 known, it must be decided by the established use of words. That such is 
 not the received definition of the term may, I believe, be with confidence 
 asserted ; and the confusion, whenever it does prevail, seems to arise from 
 the following cause. We may be unable to conceive how a thing not 
 necessary in its nature can be foreknown ; for our foreknowledge is in gen- 
 eral limited by that circumstance, and is more or less perfect in proportion 
 to the fixed or necessary nature of the things we contemplate, with which 
 nature we become acquainted by experience, and are thus able to antici- 
 pate a gi'cat variety of events ; but to subject the knowledge of God to 
 any such limitation is surely absurd and unphilosophical, as well as impi- 
 ous ; and, therefore, to mix up the idea of God's foreknowledge with any 
 quality in the nature of the things foreknown is even less excusable thaa 
 to be guilty of that confusion when speaking of ourselves." — Ed. 
 
320 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 and the very moment he was sent off the spectre ar- 
 rived, ' Solomon,' said the spectre, ' how came that 
 fellow here ? I was to have fetched him from the re- 
 motest mountain of India.' Solomon answered, ' An- 
 gel of Death, thou wilt find him there.' " * 
 
 The general prevalence of fatalism among unenlight- 
 ened nations is the obvious effect of the insidious les- 
 sons inculcated by their religions instructors. The 
 chief expedient employed by the pHesthood in all rude 
 countries for subjecting the minds of the people is to 
 impress them with a belief that it is possible, by the 
 study of auguries, of omens, or of judicial astrology, to 
 gratify that misguided curiosity which disposes blind 
 mortals anxiously to tear asunder the merciful veil 
 drawn by Providence over futurity. " "Wherever super- 
 stition," says Dr. Rqbertson, " is so established as to 
 form a regular system, this desire of penetrating into 
 the secrets of futurity is connected with it. Divination 
 becomes a religious act ; and priests, as the ministers 
 of Heaven, pretend to deliver its oracles to man> They 
 are the only soothsayers, augurs, and magicians who 
 possess the sacred and important art of disclosing what 
 is hid from other eyes." f 
 
 III. No Dogma sufficient to efface the Consciousness 
 of Moral Liberty.] Between this creed and that of an 
 inevitable fate or destiny the connection is necessary 
 
 " Philosophical Inquiries, Part III. Chap. VII. The following remark 
 of M. Ancillon upon the difference between the Mahometan doctrine of 
 destiny, and that which prevailed upon tlie same subject among the ancient 
 Greek.?, appears to me just and important. " II y a unc grande diffiircnco 
 entre le destin des Oriontaux, surtout depuis que Mahomet a fait, d'uno 
 doctrine g6ncralemont repandue avant Ini, un article de foi, ct le I'olytho- 
 isme Grec. Le Grec lutte contro Ic destin, et tout en succombant sous sa 
 force, il fait prouvo de libortfi : le Maliomctan se rcsigno en aveugic nvant 
 rivonemcnt; lors mCme qu'il agit, il agit en homme ii qui Taction no ser- 
 vira de ricn. Le premier murmure contre ce pouvoir, et le supporto avcc 
 impatience; le second s'on fclicito parce qu'il di.spense do I'activite. Los 
 Grecs plai;oicnt la force avcugle dans le destin ; et la pensee qui lui resistc, 
 ct qui le combat, dans I'homme ; chez les Mahometans la force avcugle est 
 dans riiommc ; cette force n'est qu'une force passive, ct la pensee est dans 
 le destin." — Essais Philoso]ihiqmi, Tome I. pp. 150, 151. 
 
 t History of America, Book IV. 
 
PRESCIENCE OF THE DEITY. 321 
 
 and obvious ; and hence in every false religion the 
 scheme of fatalism may be expected to form, not only 
 an essential, but the fundamental article. The inconsid- 
 erable influence which this theological dogma (a dog- 
 ma, too, peculiarly calculated to atfect and even to over- 
 whelm the imagination) has always had in stifling the 
 sentiment of remorse on the commission of a crime, 
 aflbrds a demonstrative proof of the impotence of such 
 scholastic reSnements, when opposed to the feelings of 
 nature, on a question concerning which these feelings 
 form the only tribunal to which a legitimate appeal can 
 be made. That a criminal, in order to alleviate the 
 pang of remorse, may have sometimes sought for relief 
 in this doctrine, is far from being improbable ; but no 
 man ever acted on this belief in the common concerns 
 of human life; and, indeed, some of its most zealous 
 partisans have acknow^ledged (particularly Lord Karnes), 
 that, were it to prevail universally as a practical princi- 
 ple, the business of the world could not possibly go on. 
 In the ancient Stoical system (as I have already ob- 
 served), the doctrine of fatalism and that of man's free 
 agency were both admitted as fundamental articles of 
 belief. " By fate," says Mrs. Carter, " the Stoics seem 
 to have understood a series of events appointed by the 
 immutable councils of God, or that law of his provi- 
 dence by which he governs the world. It is evident 
 by their writings that they meant it in no sense which 
 interferes with the liberty of human actions." Of the 
 truth of this remark the most satisfactory evidence is 
 afforded by the very first sentence of the Enchiridion of 
 Epictetus, in which it is explicitly stated, that " opinion, 
 pursuit, desire, and aversion, and, in one word, what- 
 ever are our own actions, are in our own power." * 
 
 * That the doctrine of fatah'sm, however, led some of the Stoics to very 
 impious and alarming consequences, appears from the following words, 
 which liUcan puts into the mouth of Cato, 
 
 " Summum Brute nefas civilia bella fatcmnr, 
 Sed quo fata trahunt, virtus secura sequetur; 
 Crimen erit superis et mefeclsse nocentem." 
 
 Phar. XL 254. 
 
 See, also, Lib. VII. 657. — Copleston, Prcelect. Acad., p. 277. 
 
322 
 
 FREE AGENOY. 
 
 Such, too, is the philosophy of Virgil: — 
 
 " Stat sua cuique dies, breve et irreparabile tompuB 
 0niriil)us eit vitaj ; sod famani extendere factis 
 Hoc virtutis opus." * 
 
 The doctrine, however, of fatalism, and of an inevi- 
 table destiny, must not be confounded with that of the 
 Divine prescience, between which and the freedom of 
 human actions some of our profoundest philosophers, 
 as I have already observed (particularly Clarke and 
 Reid), have labored to show that there is no inconsis- 
 tency ; while other writers of no less eminence have ap- 
 prehended that there is no absurdity in supposing that 
 the Deity may, for wise purposes, have chosen to open 
 a source of contingency in the voluntary actions of his 
 creatures, to which no prescience can possibly extend. 
 
 Whatever opinion we may adopt on this point, the 
 conclusions formerly stated concerning man's free agen- 
 cy remain unshaken. Our own free will we know by 
 our consciousness ; and we can have no evidence for 
 any other truth so irresistible as this. On the other 
 hand, it would unquestionably be rash and impious in 
 us, from the fact of our own free will, to deny that our 
 actions may be foreseen by the Deity, or to measure the 
 Divine attributes by a standard borrowed from our im- 
 perfect faculties. The conclusion of St. Augustine on 
 this subject is equally pious and philosophical. " Where- 
 fore we are nowise reduced to the necessity, either by 
 admitting the prescience of God, to deny the freedom 
 of the human will, or by admitting the freedom of the 
 will to hazard the impious assertion, that the prescience 
 
 * jEneid., Lib. X. 467. 
 
 " To all that breathe is fixed the appointed date ; 
 Life is but short, and cireumscribed by fate : 
 'T is virtue's work by fame to stretch the span, 
 Whose scanty limit bounds the days of man." 
 
 The notions of Virgil, however, on this point, as is well observed by 
 Servius, do not seem to have been quite consistent. How are the follow- 
 ing lines, which he applies to Dido, to be reconciled with the above pas- 
 sage 1 
 
 " Kam quia nee fato, meritH nee morte peribat ; 
 Sed misera ante diem." — Idem, Lib. IV. 695. 
 
PRESCIENCE OF THE DEITY. 323 
 
 of God does not extend to all future contingencies : 
 but, on the contrary, we are disposed to embrace both 
 doctrines, and with sincerity to bear testimony to their 
 truth, — the one that our faith may be sound, the other 
 that our lives may be good." * 
 
 * The following passage in one of Cray's letters has a sufficient connec- 
 tion with what is said above to justify me in jfiving it a place here. In- 
 deed, were the connection much sli{j;liter and less obvious than it is, little 
 apology would be necessary for relieving the attention of the reader by 
 quoting any thing relating to so important a subject from such a pen. 
 
 '• I am as sorry as you seem to be, that our acquaintance harped so much 
 on the subject of materialism when I saw him with you in town, becau.se 
 it was plain to which side of the long-debated question he inclined. That 
 we are, indeed, mechanical and dependent beings. 1 need no other proof 
 than my own feelings ; and from the same feelings I Icarn with equal con- 
 viction, that we arc not merely such. That there is a power within which 
 struggles against the force and bias of that mechanism, commands its mo- 
 tion, and by frequent practice reduces it to that ready obedience we call 
 habit; and all this in conformity to a preconceived opinion (no mattir 
 whether right or wrong), — to that least material of all agents, a tliovylit. 
 I have known many in his case, who, while they thought they were con- 
 quering an old prejudice, did not perceive that they were under the influ- 
 ence of one far more dangerous, — - one that furnishes us with a ready 
 apolotry for all our worst actions, and opens to us a full license fur doing 
 whatever we plea.se ; and yet these very people were not at all the more 
 indulgent to other men (as they naturally should have been) ; their indig- 
 nation at such as oflFended them, their desire of revenge on any body that 
 hurt them, was nothing mitigated. In short, they wished to be persuaded 
 of that opinion for the sake of its convenience, but were not so in their 
 hearts ; and they would have been glad (as they ought in common pru- 
 dence) that nobody else should think the same, for fear of the mischief 
 that might ensue to themselves. His French author I never saw, but have 
 read fifty in the same strain, and shall read no more. / can be wretched 
 enoiic/h willumt tliein." — Works, by Mason, Letter XXXI. 
 
 I shall avail myself of this note to remark, that, on the subject of free 
 will, though Locke has thrown out many iniportant observations, he is on 
 the whole more indistinct, undecided, and inconsistent than might have 
 been expected from his powerful mind, when directed to bo important a 
 question. This was probably owing to his own strong feelings in favor of 
 man's moral liberty, combined with the deep impression left on his philo- 
 sophical creed by the writings of Hobbes, and by the habits of intimacy 
 and friendship in which he lived with the acutest and ablest of all neces 
 sitarians, Anthony Collins. That Locke conceived him.self to be an ad\'o- 
 cate for free will appears indisputably from many expressions in his chap- 
 ter On Power ; and yet in that very chapter he has made various conces- 
 sions to his adversaries, in which he seems to yield all that was contended 
 for by Hobbes and Collins ; and accordingly, he is ranked, with some ap- 
 pearance of truth, by Priestley, with those who, while they opposed verbal- 
 ly the scheme of necessity, have adopted it substantially, without being 
 aware of their mistake. 
 
 [To the multitude of works cited or referred to in this chapter may be 
 
324 FREE AGENCY. 
 
 added the following : — Crombie's Essay on Philosophical Necessity ; Bray's 
 Philosophy of Necessity ; Coga.n's Ethical Questions, Question IV.; Sir T. 
 C. Morgan's Sketclies of the Philosophy of Morals, Chap. II. ; Bailey's Es- 
 says on the Pursuit of Truth, ^c, Essay III. ] Gregory's Essay in Defence 
 of Philosophical Liberty ; Bockshammer On the Freedom of the Hainan 
 Will; Charma, Essai sur les Bases et les Developpements de la Moraliti, 
 Part. I. Sect. I., II.; Damiron, Psychologic, Liv. 1. Sect. II Cliap. Ill ; 
 Ballantyne's Examiiiation of the Human Mind, Chap. Ill ; Gibon, Covrs de 
 Philosophie, Part. I. Chap. XIII. ; Blakey's Essay showing tlte Intimate Con- 
 nection between our Notions of Moral Good and Evil and our Conceptions of 
 the Freedom of the Divine and Human Wills ; Harvey's Eramination of l/ie 
 Pelagian and Arminian Theory of Moral Agency ; Day's Inquiry respecting 
 the Self-determining Power of tlie Will ; Day's ExamiruUion of President 
 Edwards's Inquiry on tile Freedom of the WiU.] 
 
BOOK III. 
 
 OF THE VARIOUS BRANCHES OF OUR BVTY. 
 
 The different theories which have been proposed con- 
 cerning the nature and essence of virtue have arisen 
 chiefly from attempts to trace all the branches of our 
 duty to one principle of action; — such as a rational 
 self-love, benevolence, justice, or a disposition to obey 
 the will of God. 
 
 In order to avoid those partial views of the subject 
 which naturally take their rise from an undue love of 
 system, the following inquiries proceed on an arrange- 
 ment which has, in all ages, recommended itself to the 
 good sense of mankind. This arrangement is founded 
 on the different objects to which our duties relate. 1st. 
 The Deity. 2d. Our Fellow- Creatures. And, 3d. 
 Ourselves. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF THE. DUTIES WHICH RESPECT THE DEITY. 
 
 I. The Duty of Religious Consideration.] It is 
 scarcely possible to conceive a man capable of reflec- 
 tion, who has not, at times, proposed to himself the 
 following questions: — Whence am I? and whence 
 the innumerable tribes of plants and of animals which 
 I see, in constant succession, rising into existence? 
 Wlience the beautiful fabric of this universe ? and by 
 what wise and powerful Being were the principles of 
 my constitution so wonderfully adapted to the various 
 objects around me ? To whom am I indebted for the 
 23 
 
326 DUTIES TO GOD. 
 
 distinguished rank which I hold in the creation, and 
 for the numberless blessings which have fallen to my 
 lot? And what return shall I make for this profusion 
 of goodness ? The only return I can make is by ac- 
 com.modating my conduct to the will of my Creator, 
 and by fulfilling, as far as I am able, the purposes of 
 my being. 
 
 But how are these purposes to be discovered? The 
 analogy of the lower animals gives me here no infor- 
 mation. They, too, as well as I, are endowed with va- 
 rious instincts and appetites; but their nature, on the 
 whole, exhibits a striking contrast to mine. They are 
 impelled. by a blind determination towards their proper 
 objects, and seem to obey the law of their nature in 
 yielding to every principle which excites them to ac- 
 tion. In my own species alone the case is different. 
 Every individual chooses for himself the ends of his 
 pursuit, and chooses the means which he is to employ 
 for attaining them. Are all these elections equally 
 good? and is there no law prescribed to man? I feel 
 the reverse. I am able to distinguish what is right 
 from what is wrong; what is honorable and becoming 
 from what is unworthy and base ; what is laudable and 
 meritorious from what is shameful and criminal. Here, 
 then, are plain indications of the conduct I oiig-ht to 
 pursue. There is a law prescribed to man as well as 
 to the brutes. The only difference is, that it depends 
 on my own will whethej I obey or disobey it. And 
 shall I alone counteract the intentions of. my Maker, 
 by abusing that freedom of choice which he has been 
 pleased to bestow on me, by raising me to the rank of 
 a rational and moral being ? 
 
 This is surely the language of nature; and which 
 could not fail to occur to every man capable of serious 
 thought, were not the understanding and the moral 
 feelings in some instances miserably perverted by relig- 
 ious and political prejudices, and in others by the false 
 refinements of metaphysical theories. How callous must 
 be that heart which does not echo back the reflections 
 which Milton puts into the mouth of our first parent ? 
 
DUTIES TO GOD. 327 
 
 " Thou sun, said I, fair light. 
 And thou, enlightened earth, so fresh and gay, 
 Ye hills and dales, ye rivet's, woods, and plains, 
 And ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell. 
 Tell, if you saw, how came I thus, liow here ; 
 Not of myself; by some great maker then, 
 In goodness, as in power, preeminent ; 
 Tell me how I may know him, how adore. 
 From wliom I have, that thus I move and live, 
 And feel that I am happier than I know." 
 
 II. The Duty of Piety.] If the Deity be possessed 
 of infinite moral excellence, we must feel towards him, 
 in an infinite degree, all those affections of love, grati- 
 tude, and confidence, which are excited by the imper- 
 fect worth ■we observe among our fellow-creatures. 
 Now it is only by conceiving all that is benevolent and 
 amiable in man raised to the highest perfection, that 
 we can form some faint notion of the Divine nature. 
 To cultivate, therefore, an h^itual love and reverence 
 of the Supreme Being may be justly considered as the 
 first great branch of morality ; nor is the virtue of that 
 roan complete, or even consistent with itself, in whose 
 mind those sentiments of piety are wanting. 
 
 Piety seems to be considered by Mr. Smith as found- 
 ed in some degree on those principles of our nature 
 which connect us with our fellow-creatures. The de- 
 jection of mind which accompanies a state of complete 
 solitude; the disposition we have to impart to others 
 our thoughts and feelings ; the desire we have of other 
 intelligent and moral natures to sympathize with our 
 own, — all lead us, in the progress of reason and of 
 moral perception, to establish gradually a mental inter- 
 course wth the Invisible Witness and Judge of our 
 conduct. An habitual sense of the Divine presence 
 comes at last to be formed. In every object or event 
 that we see, we trace the hand of the Almighty, and in 
 the suggestions of reason and conscience we listen to 
 his inspirations. In this intercourse of the heart with 
 God, (an intercourse which enlivens and gladdens the 
 most desolate scenes, and which dignifies the duties of 
 the meanest station,) the supreme felicity of our jia- 
 ture is to be found ; and till it is firmly established, 
 
328 DUTIES TO GOD. 
 
 there remains a void in every breast which nothing 
 earthly can supply ; — a consideration which proves 
 that religion has a foundation in the original principles 
 of our constitution, while it affords us a presage of 
 that immortal happiness which Providence has destined 
 to be the reward of virtue.* 
 
 III. Religion necessary as a Support to Public and 
 Private Virtue.] Although religion can with no pro- 
 priety be considered as the sole foundation of morality, 
 yet, when we are convinced that God is infinitely good, 
 and that he is the friend and protector of virtue, this 
 belief affords the most powerful inducements to the 
 practice of every branch of our duty. It leads us to 
 consider conscience as the vicegerent of God, and to 
 attend to its suggestions as to the commands of that 
 Being from whom we ha^w-eceived our existence, and 
 the great object of whose government is to promote 
 the happiness and the perfection of his whole creation. 
 
 These considerations not only are addressed to our 
 gratitude, but awaken in the mind a sentiment of uni- 
 versal benevolence, and make us feel a relation to every 
 part of the universe. In doing our duty, we conceive 
 ourselves as fellow-workers with the Deity, and as will- 
 ing instruments in his hands for promoting the benev- 
 olent purposes of his administration. This is that sub- 
 lime sentiment of piety and benevolence which we 
 meet with so often in the writings of the ancient Stoics. 
 " Shall any one say," observes Antoninus, " ' O be- 
 loved city of Cecrops! ' and wilt not thou say, ' O be- 
 loved city of God ' ? » 
 
 In this manner it appears that a sense 6f religion is 
 favorable to the practice of virtue in two respects ; first, 
 by leading us to consider every act of duty as an ex- 
 pression of gratitude to God ; and, secondly, as leading 
 us to regard ourselves as parts of that universal system 
 
 * For a farther consideration o^ this important subject, see Butler's two 
 Sermens Upon Piety, or the Love of God. Also, his Analogy, Part II. 
 Chap. I. — Ed. 
 
DUTIES TO GOD. 329 
 
 of which he is the Author and Governor. There is 
 another respect in which it is calculated to influence 
 our conduct very powerfully, as it is addressed to our 
 hopes and/ears. In this 'view religion is a species of 
 authoritative Imo, enforced by the most awful sanctions, 
 and of which it is impossible for us, by any art, to 
 elude the penalties. In the case of the lower orders of 
 men, who are incapable of abstract speculation, and 
 whose moral feelings cannot be supposed to have re- 
 ceived much cultivation, it is chiefly this view of re- 
 ligion, as addressed to their hopes and fears, that se- 
 cures a faithful discharge of their duties as members of 
 society. In vain would the civil rnagistrate attempt to 
 preserve the order of society by annexing the penalty 
 of death to heinous offences, if men in general appre- 
 hended that there was nothing to be feared beyond the 
 grave. And it is of importance to remark, that this ob- 
 servation applies with peculiar force to the lower orders, 
 who have commonly much less attachment to life than 
 their superiors. Of this truth, all wise legislators, both 
 ancient and modern, have been aware, and have seen 
 the necessity of maintaining a sense of religion among 
 their fellow-citizens, as the most powerful of all sup- 
 ports to the political order. " Ut aliqua in vita formido 
 improbis esset posita, apud inferose jusmodi quaedam 
 illi antiqui supplicia impiis constituta esse voluerunt; 
 quod videlicet intelligebant his remotis, non esse mor- 
 tem ipsam pertimescendam." * They, on the other 
 
 * Cic. Catil. IV. " For it was on this account that the ancients invented 
 those infernal punishments of the dead, to keep the wicked under some 
 awe in this life, who, without them, would have no dread of death itself." 
 
 With these views, it is not surprising that some of the wisest of the 
 heathen writers should have expressed themselves so very stronp:ly con- 
 cerning the guilt incurred by those who, by exposing to ridicule the fabu- 
 lous mythology which formed the popular creed among their contempora- 
 ries, endangered the authority of those moral principles which were iden- 
 tified with it in the vulgar belief. There is good reason for thinking that 
 the secret communicated to the initiated in the Eleusinian mysteries was 
 the uniti) of God; a truth too sublime to be disclosed at once to the unin- 
 formed niultitudo, as it struck at the root of all those fables which were 
 incorporated with their habits of thinking and feeling on tlie most impor- 
 tant subjects. On this supposition we have a satisfaotoiy explanation of a 
 
 28* 
 
330 DUTIES TO GOD. 
 
 hand, who have labored to loosen the bands of society, 
 have found it necessary to begin with perverting or de- 
 stroying the natural sentiments of the mind with respect 
 to a future retribution. In ages when the religious 
 prinr-iples of the multitude were too firmly riveted to be 
 entirely eradicated, they have inculcated theological 
 dogmas subversive of moral distinctions, as in the case 
 of the antinomian teachers during our own civil wars. 
 Jn other and more recent instances, they have avow- 
 edly attempted to establish a system of atheism. So 
 true is the old observation, that the extremes of super- 
 stition and of infidelity unite in their tendency, and so 
 completely verified are now the apprehensions which 
 were expressed eighty years ago by Bishop Butler, that 
 the spirit of irreligion (which, in his time, was begin- 
 ning to grow fashionable among the higher ranks.) 
 might produce some time or other political disorders 
 similar to those which arose from religious fanaticism 
 in the preceding century. " Is there no danger that all 
 this may raise somewhat like the levelling spirit upon 
 atheistical principles, which, in the last age, prevailed 
 upon enthusiastic ones, — not to speak of the possi- 
 bility that different sorts of people may unite in it upon 
 these contrary principles?" * 
 
 A prediction by a later writer of genius and discern- 
 ment, and one well acquainted with the principles and 
 manners of the world, is not unworthy of attention in 
 the present times, in which we have seen it very re- 
 markably verified in numberless instances. " I shall 
 say nothing at present of the lower ranks of mankind. 
 Though they have not yet got into the fashion of 
 
 noted passage in Horace, between which and the preceding lines it seems 
 not easy at first to trace any connection. 
 
 Est et fideli tuta silenfio 
 Merces. Vetabo, qui Cereris sacrum 
 Vulgarit arcana;, sub isdem 
 Sit trabibus, fragilemve mecum 
 Solvat phaselum. 
 
 Carm. Lib. III. Ode n. 
 
 * Sermon preached before the Souse of Lords, January 30, 1740. 
 
DUTIES TO GOD. 331 
 
 laughing at religion, and treating it with scorn and 
 contempt, and I believe are too serious a set of crea- 
 tures ever to come into it, yet we are not to imagine 
 but that the contempt it is held in by those whose ex- 
 amples they are too apt to imitate will in time utterly 
 shake their principles, and render them, if not as pro- 
 fane, at least as corrupt, as their betters. When this 
 event happens, and we begin to feel the effects of it in 
 our dealingst with them, those .who have done the mis- 
 chief will find the necessity at last of turning religious 
 in their own defence, and (for want of a better princi- 
 ple) to set an example of piety and good morals for 
 their own interest and convenience." * 
 
 Nor is it merely in restraining men from grosser out- 
 rages, that a sense of religion operates as a compulsory 
 law. Without a secret impression (of which it is im- 
 possible that the human mind can divest itself), that 
 there is at all times an invisible witness of our thoughts, 
 it is probable that the virtue of the best men would of- 
 ten yield to temptation. Even amidst the darkness of 
 the heathen world, Xenophon had recourse to this im- 
 pression to account for the inflexible integrity of Soc- 
 rates, when he sat as one of the judges in the celebrat- 
 ed trial of the naval commanders. " Having taken," 
 says Xenophon, " as was customary, the senatorial oath, 
 by which he bound himself to act in all things conform- 
 ably to the laws, and arriving in his turn to be presi- 
 dent of the assembly of the people, he boldly refused to 
 give his suffrage to the iniquitous sentence which con- 
 demned the nine captains, being neither intimidated by 
 the menaces of the great, nor the fury of the people, 
 but steadily preferring the sanctity of an oath to the 
 safety of his person. For he was persuaded the gods 
 watched over the affairs of men, in a way altogether 
 different from what the vulgar imagined ; for while 
 these limited their knowledge to some particulars only, 
 Socrates, on the contrary, extended it to all, firmly 
 persuaded that they are everywhere present, and that 
 
 * Sterne's Sermons. 
 
332 DUTIES TO GOD. 
 
 every word, every action, nay, even our most retired de- ■ 
 liberations, were open to their view."* 
 
 In the last place, a sense of religion, where it is sin- 
 cere, will necessarily be attended with a complete res- 
 ignation of our own will to that of the Deity, as it 
 teaches us to regard every event, even the most af- 
 flicting, as calculated to promote beneficent purposes, 
 which we are unable to comprehend, and to promote, 
 finally, the perfection and happiness of our own nature. 
 This is the best, and, indeed, the only rational founda- 
 tion of fortitude. Nay, it may be safely affirmed (as 
 Socrates long ago observed in the Phcedo of Plato), 
 that whoever founds his fortitude on any thing else is 
 only valiant through fear. In other words, he exposes 
 himself to danger, merely from a regard to the opinion 
 of others, and, of consequence, wants that internal prin- 
 ciple of heroism which can alone arm the mind with 
 patience under those misfortunes which it is condemned 
 to bear in solitude, or under sorrows which prudence 
 conceals from the public eye. But to the man who be- 
 lieves that every thing is ordered for the best, and that 
 his existence and happiness are in the hands of a Being 
 who watches over him with the care of a parent, the 
 difficulties and dangers of life only serve to call forth 
 the latent powers of the soul, by reminding him of the 
 prize for which he combats, and of that beneficent 
 Providence by which the conflict was appointed. 
 
 Safe in the hands of one disposing Power, 
 Or in the natal or the mortal hour. 
 
 IV. Religion the First and Chief Branch of Moral 
 Duti/.] The view which I have given of religion, as 
 forming the first and chief branch of moral duty, and 
 as contributing in its turn most powerfully to promote 
 the practice of every virtue, is equally consonant to the 
 spirit of the Sacred Writings, and to the most obvious 
 dictates of reason and conscience ; and accordingly it 
 is sanctioned by the authority of all those philosophers 
 
 * Memm: Lib. I. Cap. I. 
 
DUTIES TO GOD. 333 
 
 of antiquity who devoted their talents to the improve- 
 ment and happiness of mankind. " It should never be 
 thought," says Plato in one of his Dialogues, " that 
 there is any branch of human virtue of greater impor- 
 tance than piety towards the Deity." The chief article 
 of the unwritten laiv mentioned by Socrates is, " th-at 
 the gods ought to be worshipped." " This," he says, 
 " is acl?nowledged everywhere, and received by all men 
 as the first command." * And to the same purpose 
 Cicero, in the first book of his Offices, places in the first 
 rank of duties those we owe to the immortal gods. 
 " In ipsa communitate sunt gradus officiorum ex qui- 
 bus, quid cuique prsestet, intelligi possit : ut prima Diis 
 immortalibus ; secunda, patriae; tertia, parentibus, de- 
 inceps gradatim reliquis debeantur." f 
 
 The elevation of mind which some of the most illus- 
 trious characters of antiquity derived from their relig- 
 ious principles, however imperfect and erroneous, and 
 the weight which these principles gave them in their 
 public and political capacity, are remarked by many 
 ancient writers ; and such, I apprehend, will always be 
 found to be the case when the personal importance of 
 the individual rests on the basis of public opinion. 
 " But he," says Plutarch, " who was most conversant 
 with Pericles, and most contributed to give him a gi-and- 
 eur of mind, and to make his high spirit for governing 
 the popular assemblies more weighty and authorita- 
 tive, — in a word, who exalted his ideas, and raised, 
 at the same time, the dignity of his demeanour, — the 
 person who did this was Anaxagoras the Clazomenian, 
 whom the people of that age reverenced as the first 
 who made mind or intellect (in opposition to chance) a 
 principle in the formation and government of the uni- 
 verse." J 
 
 * Xen. Mentor. Lib. IV. Cap. IV. 
 
 t Lib. I. Cap. ult. " In society itself our duties are of different degrees, 
 in which the proper order of preference is readily understood : — first of 
 all, our duties to the immortal gods; secondly, to our country; thirdly, 
 to our parents, and, after them, to other men in their several gradations." 
 
 I Vit. Peric. 
 
334 DUTIES TO GOD. 
 
 The extraordinary respect which the Romans, during 
 their period of greatest glory, entertained for religion, 
 (false as their own system was in its mythological 
 foundations, and erroneous in many of its practical 
 tendencies,) has been often taken notice of as one of 
 the principal sources of their private and public virtues. 
 " The Spaniards," says Cicero, " exceed us in numbers ; 
 the Gauls in the glory of war ; but we surpass all na- 
 tions in that wisdom by which we have learned that 
 all things are governed and directed by the immortal 
 gods." * 
 
 In the latter periods of their history, this reverence 
 for religion, together with the other virtues which gave 
 them the empire of the world, was in a great measure 
 lost; and we continually find their orators and histo- 
 rians drawing a melancholy contrast between the de- 
 generacy of their manners and those of their ancestors. 
 In the account which Livy has given of the consulate 
 of Q,. Cincinnatus, he mentions an attempt which the 
 tribunes made to persuade the people that they were 
 not bound by their military oath to follow the consul 
 to the field, because they had taken that oath when he 
 •was a private man. But, however agreeable this doc- 
 trine might be to their inclinations, and however strong- 
 ly recommended to them by the sanction of their own 
 popular magistrates, we find that their reverence for 
 the religion of an oath led them to treat the doctrine 
 as nothing better than a cavil. Livy's reflection on this 
 occasion is remarkable." " Nondum heec, quae nunc tenet 
 seculum, negligentia Deum venerat: nee interpretando 
 sibi quisque jusjurandum leges aptas faciebat, sed suos 
 potius mores ad ea accommodabat." f 
 
 * Orat de ffarusp. Respon , Cap. IX. 
 
 t Lib. III. Cap. XX. " Bat that di.'sregard of the gods, which prevails in 
 the present age, had not then taken place ; nor did every one, by his own 
 interpretations, acoonimodate oaths and .the laws to his particular views, 
 but rather adapted his practice to them." 
 
DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 335 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF THE DUTIES WHICH RESPECT OUR FELLOW- 
 CREATURES. 
 
 Under this title it is not proposed to give a complete 
 enumeration of our social duties, but only to point out 
 some of the most important, chiefly with a view to 
 show the imperfections of those systems of morals 
 which attempt to resolve the whole of virtue into one 
 particular principle. Among these, that which resolves 
 virtue into benevolence is undoubtedly the most amia- 
 ble ; but even this system will appear, from the follow- 
 ing remarks, not only to be inconsistent with truth, but 
 to lead to dangerous consequences. 
 
 Section I. 
 OF benevolence. 
 
 I. Hutcheson resolves all Virtue into Benevolence.'] 
 Benevolence is so important a branch of virtue, that it 
 has been supposed by some moralists to constitute the 
 whole of it. According to these writers, good-will to 
 mankind is the only immediate object of moral appro- 
 bation ; and the obligation of all our other moral duties 
 arises entirely from their apprehended tendency to pro- 
 mote the happiness of society. 
 
 Among the most eminent partisans of this system 
 in modern times, Mr. Smith mentions particularly Dr. 
 Ralph Cudworth, Dr. Henry More, and Mr. John Smith 
 of Cambridge ; " but of all its patrons," he observes, 
 " ancient or modern. Dr. Francis Hutcheson was un- 
 doubtedly beyond all comparison the most acute, the 
 most distinct, the most philosophical, and, what is of 
 the greatest consequence of all, the soberest and most 
 judicious." * 
 
 * Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part VII. Sect. II. Chap. III. 
 
336 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 In favor of this system, Mr. Smith acknowledges that 
 there are many appearances in human nature which at 
 first sight seem strongly to support it ; and of some of 
 these appearances Dr. Hutcheson avails himself with 
 much aeuteness and plausibility. First, whenever, in 
 any action supposed to proceed from benevolent affec- 
 tions, some other motive^is discovered, our sense of the 
 merit of this action is just so far diminished as this 
 motive is believed to have influenced it. Secondly, 
 when those actions, on the contrary, which are com- 
 monly supposed to proceed from a selfish motive are 
 discovered to have arisen from a benevolent one, it 
 generally enhances our sense of their merit. Lastly, 
 it was urged by Dr. Hutcheson, that, in all casuistical 
 disputes concerning the rectitude of conduct, the ulti- 
 mate appeal is uniformly made to utility. In the later 
 debates, for example, about passive obedience and the 
 right of resistance, the sole point in controversy among 
 men of sense was, whether universal submission would 
 probably be attended with greater evils than temporary 
 insurrection when privileges were invaded. "Whether 
 what, upon the whole, tended most to the happiness of 
 mankind was not also morally good, was never once 
 made a question. 
 
 Since benevolence, therefore, was the only motive 
 which could bestow upon any action the character of 
 virtue, the greater the benevolence which was evidenced 
 by any action, the greater the praise which must be- 
 long to it. 
 
 In directing all our actions to promote the greatest 
 possible good, — in submitting alUnferior affections to 
 the desire of the general happiness of mankind, — in 
 regarding one's self as but one of the many, whose 
 prosperity was to be pursued no further than it was 
 consistent with, or conducive to, that of the whole, — 
 consisted the perfection of virtue. 
 
 Dr. Hutcheson held, further, that self-love was a prin- 
 ciple which could never be virtuous in any degree or 
 in anj direction. This maxim he carried so far as 
 to assert, that even a regard to the pleasure of self- 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 337 
 
 approbation, to the comfortable applauses of our own 
 consciences, diminishes the merit of a benevolent ac- 
 tion. " In the common judgments of mankind, how- 
 ever," says Mr. Smith, "this regard to the approbation 
 of our own minds is so far from being considered as 
 what can in any respect diminish the virtue of any ac- 
 tion, that it is rather looked tipon as tlie sole motive 
 which deserves the appellation of virtuous." 
 
 Of the truth and correctness of these principles Dr. 
 Hutcheson was so fully convinced, that, in conformity 
 to them, he has offered some algebraical formulas for 
 computing mathematically the morality of actions. Of 
 this very extraordinary attempt, the following axioms, 
 which he premises to his formulas, may serve as a 
 sufficient specimen. 
 
 1. The moral importance of any agent, or the quan- 
 tity of public good produced by him, is in a compound 
 ratio of his benevolence and abilities, or M (moment of 
 good) = B X A. 
 
 2. In like manner, the moment of private good or 
 interest produced by any person to himself is in a 
 compound ratio of his self-love and ability, or I=S 
 X A. 
 
 3. When, in comparing the virtue of two agents, the 
 abilities are equal, the moment of public good pro- 
 duced by them in like circumstances is as the benevo- 
 lence, or M=B X 1. 
 
 4. When benevolence in two agents is equal, and 
 other circumstances ahke, the moment of public good 
 is as the abilities, or M= A x 1- 
 
 5. The virtue, then, of agents, or their benevolence, 
 is always directly as the moment of good produced in 
 like circumstances, and inversely as their abilities, or 
 B = ^.* 
 
 II. Objections to this Theory.] As Dr. Hutcheson's 
 example in the use of these formulas has not been Ibl- 
 
 * Hutcheson's Inquiry into the Original of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue, 
 Treatise II. Sect. III. 
 
 29 
 
338 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 lowed by any of his successors, it is unnecessary to 
 employ any arguments to expose the absurdity of 
 this unsuccessful innovation in the usual language 
 of ethics* It is of more consequence to direct our 
 attention to the substance of the doctrine which it 
 was the great object of the ingenious author to es- 
 tablish. 
 
 And, in the first place, the necessary and obvious 
 consequences to which this account of virtue leads 
 seem to furnish a satisfactory proof of its unsoundness. 
 For if the merit of an action depends on no other cir- 
 cumstance than the quantity of good intended by the 
 agent, then the rectitude of an action can in no case 
 be influenced by the mutual relations of the parties ; 
 — a conclusion contradicted by the universal judgment 
 of mankind in favor of the paramount obligation of 
 various other duties. It is sufficient to mention the 
 obligations of gratitude, of veracity, and of justice.f 
 Unless we admit these duties to be immediate 1 1/ obliga- 
 tory, we must admit the maxim, that a good end may 
 sanctify any means necessary for its attainment; or, 
 in other words, that it would be lawful for us to dis- 
 pense with the obligations of veracity and justice when- 
 ever, by doing so, we had a prospect of promoting any 
 of the essential-interests of society. 
 
 With respect to this maxim, I would only ask. Is it 
 probable, a priori, that the wise and beneficent Author 
 of the universe should have left the conduct of such a 
 fallible and short-sighted creature as man to be regu-. 
 lated by no other principle than the private opinion of 
 each individual with respect to the expediency of his 
 actions ? Or, in other words, by the conjectures which 
 the individual might form on the good or evil resulting, 
 on the whole, from an endless train of future contin- 
 
 • Dr. Hntcheson's attempt to introduce the language of mathematica 
 into morals gave occasion to a valmilile Essni) on Quaniiti/. by the late Dr. 
 ■Rciil. This essay may be found in the Philosophical Transactions of th.e- 
 Royal Society of London for the year 1748. [It is reprinted in Sir W. 
 Hamilton's edition of Dr. Reid's Works.l 
 
 t See Butler's Essai/ on the Nature of \ irtue, at the end of his Analogy. 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 339 
 
 geiicies ? Were this the case, the opinions of mankind 
 concerning the rules of morality would be as various 
 as their judgments concerning the probable issue of the 
 most doubtful and difficult determination in politics. 
 Numberless cases might be fancied, in which a person 
 would not only claim merit to himself, but actually pos- 
 sess it, in consequence of actions which are generally 
 regarded with indignation and abhorrence. Even men 
 of the soundest judgment and most penetrating sagaci- 
 ty might frequently be led to the perpetration of enor- 
 mities, if they had no other standard of right and 
 wrong but what they derived from their own uncertain 
 aaiieipations of futurity. And when we consider how 
 small the number of such men is, ill comparison with 
 those Avhose understandings are perverted by the prej- 
 udices of education, and by their own selfish passions, 
 it is easy to see what a scene of anarchy the world 
 would become. Surely, if the Deity intended the hap- 
 piness of his creatures, he would not build the order 
 (I may say the existence) of society on so precarious a 
 foundation. And here it deserves particularly to be 
 mentioned, tli;it one of the arguments commonly pro- 
 duced in support of the scheme is drawn from the 
 benevolence of God. Benevolence, we are told, in- 
 duced the Deity to call the universe into existence, and 
 benevolence is the great law of his government; and 
 as virtue in man must consist in conformity to the will 
 of God, in imitating his moral perfections to the utmost 
 cri' our power, it is concluded that virtue and benevo- 
 lence are the same. But the premises here lead to a 
 conclusion directly opposite ; for if the happiness of 
 mankind be the great end for which they are brought 
 into being, it is presumable that the rules of their con- 
 duct are of such a nature as to be obvious to the 
 capacities of all men of sincere and well-disposed 
 minds. Accordingly, we find, (and the fact is in a 
 peculiar degree worthy of attention,) that, while the 
 theory of ethics involves some of the most abstruse 
 questions which have ever employed the human facul- 
 ties, the moral judgments and moral feelings of the 
 
340 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 most distant ages and nations, with respect to all 
 the most essential duties of life, are one and the 
 same.* 
 
 The reasonableness of the foregoing conclusion will 
 be much confirmed, if we consider how much the hap- 
 'piness of mankind is often left to depend on the will 
 of one or of a few individuals. The best men, in such 
 circumstances, when invested ^vith absolute power, 
 might be rendered curses to the world by sanguine 
 plans of beneficence ; and the ambitious and designing 
 would be supplied with specious pretences to justify the 
 most cruel and tyrannical measures. In truth, it is this 
 very plea of benevolent intention which has been em- 
 ployed to palliate, or rather to sanctify, the conduct of 
 the greatest scourges of the human race. It is this 
 very plea which, in former times, lighted up the fires 
 of the Inquisition, and which, in our own age, has fur- 
 nished a pretence for outrages against all the principles 
 of justice and all the feelings of humanity .f 
 
 It may perhaps be urged, that the principle of be- 
 nevolence, or a regard to utility, would lead to an in- 
 variable adherence to the rules of veracity, gratitude, 
 and justice, because in this way more good is produced 
 on the whole than could be obtained by any occasional 
 deviations from them ; that it is this idea of utility 
 which first leads us to approve of these virtues ; and 
 that afterwards habit, or the association of ideas, 
 makes us observe their rules without thinking of con- 
 sequences. But is not this to adopt that mode of rea- 
 soning which Hutcheson censures so severely in the 
 selfish philosophers ? According to them, we labor to 
 promote the public prosperity, because we believe our 
 own to be intimately connected with it. They ac- 
 knowledge, at the same time, that we often make a 
 
 * " Si quid roctissimum sit quajrimns, perspicuum est. Si quid maxiine 
 expediat, obscurum ." — Cic. Ep. ad Fam., I V. 2. 
 
 t See the remarks on Paley's sclieme of morals in Gisborne's Prinri/iles 
 of Moral Phihsophi/, wliere these arguments are urged with great force. 
 fThey are replied to by Wainewright, in his Vindication of Dr Paleii's 
 Theorij of Morals, Chap. II.] •' 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 341 
 
 real sacrifice of private to public advantage, and that 
 we often exert ourselves in the public service without 
 once thinking of our own interest. But all this they 
 explain by habits and asso.ciations, which operate in 
 this case as they do in the case of the miser, who, 
 although his attachment to money was originally 
 founded on the consideration of its uses, yet contin- 
 ues to accumulate wealth without once thinking of 
 the ends to which it is subservient, and indeed long 
 after he is able to enjoy those comforts which it can 
 purchase. 
 
 Now, as I have said, the fallaciousness of this mode 
 of reasoning has been pointed out by Dr. Hutcheson 
 with great clearness and force; and the arguments he 
 employs against it may with great justice be turned 
 against himself. In general, the safest rule we can 
 follow in our inquiries concerning the principles of 
 human conduct is to acquiesce, in the first instance, 
 in the plain and obvious appearance of facts ; and if 
 these conclusions are inaccurate, to correct them grad- 
 ually, in proportion as a more attentive examination 
 of our subject discovers to us the prejudices which 
 education and accidental associations have blended 
 with the truth. It is at least a presumption in favor 
 of any system concerning the mind, that it falls in with 
 the natural apprehensions of mankind in all countries 
 and ages; — and I believe it will commonly be found 
 that these are the systems which, in the progress of 
 human reason, are justified by the most profound and 
 enlightened philosophy. I state this observation with 
 the greater confidence, as it coincides with the follow- 
 ing admirable remark of Mr. Hume, ^ — an author who 
 had certainly no interest in inculcating such a doctrine, 
 as he seems to have paid very little attention to it in 
 the course of his own speculations. 
 
 " The case is not the same in moral philosophy as in 
 physics. Many an hypothesis in nature, contrary to 
 first appearances, has been found, on more accurate 
 scrutiny, solid and satisfactory. Instances of this kind 
 are so frequent, that a judicious as well as witty phi 
 29* 
 
342 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 losopher * has ventured to afBrm, if there be more than 
 one way in which a phenomenon may be produced^ 
 that there is a general presumption for its arising from 
 the causes which are the least obvious and familiar. 
 But the presumption always lies on the other side in 
 all inquiries concerning the origin of our passions, and 
 of the internal operations df the human mind. The 
 simplest and most obvious cause which can there be 
 assigned for any phenomenon is probably the true one. 
 When a philosopher, in the explication of his system, 
 is obliged to have recourse to some very intricate and 
 refined reflections, and to suppose them essential to the 
 production of any passion or emotion, we have reason 
 to be extremely on our guard against so fallacious an 
 hypothesis. The affections are not susceptible of any 
 impression from the refinements of reason or imagina- 
 tion ; and it is always found, that a vigofous exertion 
 of the latter faculty necessarily, from the limited ca- 
 pacity of the human mind, destroys all activity in the 
 former. Our predominant motive or interest is indeed 
 frequently concealed from ourselyes when it is mingled 
 and confounded with other motives, which the mind, 
 from vanity and self-conceit, is desirous of supposing 
 more prevalent ; but there is no instance that a con- 
 cealment of this nature has ever arisen from the ab- 
 struseness and intricacy of the motive. A man that 
 has lost a friend and patron may flatter himself that 
 all his grief arises from generous sentiments, without 
 any mixture of narrow or interested considerations ; 
 but a man that grieves for a valuable friend who needed 
 his patronage and protection, how can we suppose that 
 his passionate tenderness arises from some metaphysi- 
 cal regards to a self-interest which has no foundation 
 in reality ? We may as well imagine that minute 
 wheels and springs, like those of a watch, give motiou 
 to a wagon, as account for the origin of passion from 
 such abstruse reflections." f 
 
 • Fontenelle. 
 
 t Inquiry concerning the Principles o/Mirals, Appendix II. 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 3i3 
 
 III. The same Objections applicable to the Doctrine of 
 TJlillty, as held bij Hume, Godwin, and Palei/.] The re- 
 marks which I have now made with respect to Dr. 
 Hatcheson's philosophy are applicable, with some slight 
 alterations, to a considerable variety of moral systems 
 which have been offered to the world under very diffin- 
 ent forms, but which agree with him and with each oth- 
 er in deriving the practical rules of virtuous conduct 
 from considerations of utility. All of these systems 
 are but modifications of the old doctrine which resolves 
 the whole of virtue into benevolence. 
 
 This theory of utility (which is of a very ancient 
 date, and which in modern times has derived much ce- 
 lebrity from the genius of Mr. Hame) has been revived 
 more recently by Mr. Godwin, and by the late Dr. Pa- 
 ley. Widely as these two writers differ in the source 
 whence they derive their rule of conduct, and the sanc- 
 tions by which they enforce its observance, they are per- 
 fectly agreed about its paramount authority over every 
 other principle of action. " Whatever is expedient," 
 says Dr. Paley, " is rig-ht. It is the utility of any mor- 
 al rule alone which constitutes the obligation of it." * 
 " But then it must be expedient on the luhole, at the 
 long run, in all its effects, collateral and remote, as well 
 as those which are immediate and direct, as it is obvi- 
 ous that, in computing consequences, it makes no dif- 
 ference in what way or at what distance they ensue." f 
 
 * Principles of floral and Political PliilosojAij. Book II. Chap. VI. 
 
 t Iliid. Chap. VIII. In anotlier part of this work, Book VI. Chap. 
 XII., Dr Paley explicitly asserts that eitenj moral rule is liable to be su- 
 pi;i-eded in partiealar cases on the ground of expediency. "Moral Phi- 
 lo-ophy cannot pronounce that any rule of morality is so rigid as to bend 
 to no exceptions ; nor, on the other hand, can she comprise these excep- 
 tions within any previous description. She confesses that the obli;^atioia 
 of every law depends upon its ultimate utility; that, this utility having a 
 finite and determinate value, situations may be feigned, and consequently 
 m:iv possibly arise, in which the general tendency is outweighed by the 
 enormity of the particular mischief." In such an event, ultimate utility 
 would render it as much an act of duty to break the rule as it is on other 
 occasions to observe it. * 
 
 [.Some have contended that Paley's critertljn of right is not liable to the 
 same objections with that of other selfish systems, because he does not 
 make it turn on a calculation of the probable consequences of the particu' 
 lar action in hand, bat on what is called " the doctrine of general consa- 
 
344 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 Mr. Godwin has nowhere expressed himself on this 
 fundamental question of practical ethics in terms more 
 decided and unqualified. 
 
 Ot this theory of utility, so strongly recommended 
 to some by the powerful talents of Hume, and toothers 
 by the well-merited popularity of Paley, the niost satis- 
 factory of all refutations is to be found in the work of 
 Mr. Godwin. It is unnecessary to inquire how far the 
 practical lessons he has inculcated are logically inferred 
 from his fundamental principle ; for although I appre- 
 
 quences." " The general consequence of any action may be estimated," 
 he says, " by asking, what woijJd be the consequence if the same sort of ac- 
 tions were generaUif permitted." — Moral Philosophy. Boolt II. Chap. VIII. 
 But to this Coleridge, in The Friend, Vol 11. Essay XI., replies: — 
 
 1. " Here, as in all other calculations, the result depends on that faculty 
 of the soul in the degrees of wliii'h men most vary from each other, and 
 which is itself most affected by accidental advantages or disadvantages of 
 education, natural talent, and acquired knowledge, — the faculty, I mean, 
 of foresight and systematic comprehension. But surely morality, which is 
 of equal importance to all men, ouj(ht to be grounded, if possible, in that 
 part of our nature which in all men may and ought to be the same : in the 
 conscience and the common sense." ■" 
 
 2. " This criterion confounds morality with law ; and when the author 
 adds, that in all probability the Divine justice will be regulated in the 
 final judgment by a similar rule, he draws away the attention from the 
 will, that is, from the inward motives and impulses which constitute the es- 
 sence of moralitij, to the outward act, and thus changes the virtue command- 
 ed by the Gospel into the mere legality which was to be enlivened by it. 
 One of the most persuasive, if not one of the strongest, arguments for a 
 future state rests on the belief, that, although by the necessity of things our 
 outward and temporal welfare must be regulated by our outward actions, 
 which alone can be the pbjects and guides of human law, there mujt yet 
 needs come a juster and more a|)propriate sentence hereafter, in which our 
 intentions will be considered, and our happiness and misery made to accord 
 with the grounds of our artions. Our fellow.creatures can only judge 
 what we are by what we do ; but in the eye of our Maker what we do is 
 of no worth, except as it flows from whiit we orp." 
 
 3. " The criterion is also nugatory. The individual is to imagine what 
 the general consequences wuuM be. all other things remaining the same, if 
 all men were to act as he is about to act. I scarcely need remind the read- 
 er what a source of self-delu.-^ion and sophistry is here opened to a mind 
 in a state of temptation. Will it not say toi, itself, 'I know that all men 
 will not act so; and the immediate good consequences, which I shall ob- 
 tain, are real, while the had consequences are imaginary and improbable' ? 
 When the foundations of morality have once been laid in the outward con- 
 sequences, it will be in vain to recall to the mind what the consequences 
 would he wore all men to reason in the same way ; for the very excuse of 
 this mind to itself is, that neither its action nor its reasoning Is likely to 
 have any consequences at all, its immediate object excepted." 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 345 
 
 hend much might be objected to these, even on his own 
 hypothesis, yet if such be the conclusions to which, in 
 the judgment of so acute a reasoner, it appeared to 
 lead with demonstrative evidence, nothing further is 
 requisite to illustrate the practical tendency of a sys- 
 tem which, absolving meniVomthe obligations imposed 
 on them with so commanding an authority by the mor- 
 al constitution of human nature, abandons every indi- 
 vidual to the guidance of his own narrow views con- 
 cerning the complicated interests of political society. 
 
 4. " But suppose the minij in its sanest state. How can it possibly form 
 a notion of tlie nature of an action considered as indetinitely multiplied, 
 unless it has previously a distinct notion of the nature of the single action 
 itself which is the multiplicand ? If I conceive a crown multiplied a hun- 
 dredfold, the simple crown enables me to understand what a hundred 
 crowns are ; but how can the notion handnd teach me what a crown is I " 
 
 5. "I confess myself unable to divine any possible use, or even meaning, 
 in this doctrine of general consequences, unless it lie that in all our ac- 
 tions we are bound to consider the effect of our example, and to guard as 
 much as possible against the hazard of their being misunderstood. 1 will 
 not slaughter a lamb, or drown a litter of kittens, in the presence of my 
 child of four years old, because the child cannot understand my action, 
 but will understand that Ms father has inflicted pain, and taken away life 
 from beings that had never offended him. AH this is true, and no man in 
 Ills senses ever thought otherwise. But methiuks it is strange to state 
 that a5 a criterion of morality which is no more than an accessory aggra- 
 vation of an action bad in its own nature, or a ground of caution as to the 
 mode and time in which we are to do or suspend what is in itself good 
 and innocent." 
 
 6. " 'IMie duty of setting a good example is no doubt a most important 
 dutv ; but the example is good or bad, necessar}' or iinneces>ary, accord- 
 ing a,s the action may be which has a chance of being imitated. I once 
 knew a small, but (in outward circumstances at least) respectable congre- 
 gation, four fifths of whom professed that they went to church eniirelij for 
 the example's sake ; in other words, to cheat each other and act a common 
 lie ! These rational Christians had not considered that example may in- 
 crease the good or evil of an action, but can never consliiiite either." 
 
 7. "To the objection, that the doctrine of general consequences was 
 stated as the criterion of the action, not of the agent, I miglit answer, that 
 the author himself had in some measure justified me in not noticing this 
 di>tinction, by holding forth the probability, that the Supreme Judjic will 
 proceed by the same rule. The agent may then safely be included in the 
 action, if both here and hereafter the action only and its general conse- 
 quences will be attended to. But my main ground of justificalion is, that 
 the distinction itself is merely logical, — not real and vital. The cliaracier 
 of the agent is determined by his view of the action ; and that system of 
 morality is alone true and suited to human nature, which unites the inten- 
 tion and the motive, the warmth and the light, in one and the same act of 
 miud."] 
 
346 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 Among the practical consequences which Dr. Paley 
 deduces i'rom the same principle, there are some which 
 to my mind are not less revolting than those of Mr. 
 Godwin. Such, for example, is the- argument by 
 which he controverts the received maxim of criminal 
 jurisprudence, that it is belter for ten guitty persons to 
 escape than for one innocent man to svffer. But on this 
 subject I need not enlarge. The sophistry, and, I am 
 sorry to add, the reckless inhumanity displayed in this 
 part of Paley's work, have been triumphantly exposed 
 by that great and good man. Sir Samuel RomilJy ; — 
 a man whom, long before his talents and worth were 
 known to the public, I admired and loved, and whose 
 memory I shall never cease to revere.* 
 
 * Observations on tfie Criminal Law of England. See, in particular, 
 Note I). 
 
 [For some account of the writings and influence of Godwin, see tlie 
 tliirty-sixtli Lecture of Professor Smyth, On the French Revolution, He bo- 
 piiis his notice hy observing, with reference to the time of the first French 
 Revolution, — "I would wish to afford you some general notion of the 
 sort of mental intoxication which then prevailed among those who should 
 have been the guides and instructors of mankind. And looking round for 
 this purpose, I shall select from the rest, as a memorable specimen of the 
 whole, the once celebrated work of Mr. Godwin. The influence of the 
 work I can mvself remember. In any ordinary state of the world, it must 
 have fallen lifeless from the press: highly metaphysical, continually run- 
 ninj into general abstractions, into disquisitions never ending, still begin- 
 ning, -nothing was ever less fitted to attract a reader than the repulsive 
 lii'j'iiri/ conrernini] Political Justice : and if the state had not been out of 
 joint, moit assuredly scarce a reader would have been found. Some years 
 af cr. when the success of the work had been established. Mr. Burke was 
 asked whether he had seen it. ' Wliy, yes, I have seen it,' was the answer, 
 'and a mighty stupid-looking hook it is.' No two words could better have 
 descTiberl it. The late cxrclleni Sir Samuel liomilly, who hail then leisure 
 to read eveiy thing, told a friend who had never heard of it. that tlicre had 
 jii~t ap]icarcd a book by far the mo-;t absnrd that had ever come within 
 his knoivledgc ; this was the work of Godwin. Mrs. Barbauld, also, who 
 at length by the progress of its doctrines was compelled to look at if, de- 
 clared that what was good in the hook was chiefly taken fi'oni Hume ; that 
 it was • borrowed sense and original nonsense.' The vvork, however, pros- 
 pered ; this ' original nonsense' was then in great request, and at a high 
 preTiiium. Mr. Godwin had his admirers, ha<l his school ; there were God- 
 winians in those days, as well as Whigs and Tories, more i)articulai-ly in 
 the Inns of Court, and among the young lawyers; and this borrower of 
 sense and retailer of nonsense, this dreamer of (h'eams and seer of visions, 
 was sudilenly transformed from a Dissenting clergyman, dissatisfied with 
 his profession, and unknowing and unknown, into a person pointed at, as 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 347 
 
 That the practice of veracity and justice, and of all 
 our other duties, is useful to mankind, is acknowledged 
 
 he walked in the metropolis of England, as a disturber of empires and a re- 
 former of the world." 
 
 Aci-ording to Mr. Godwin, every thing is to bo referred to justice. Gen- 
 eral utility i^ the criterion of justiec, and one of his extravagances consists 
 in niiiintaining-that all private affections and personal obligations are to be 
 sacriliccd to it. Professor Smyth goes on : — 
 
 " ' But justice,' says Mr. Godwin, ' is no respecter of persons' ; — very 
 well. The illustrious Bishop of Cantbray, for instance, was of more worth 
 tlian his valet, and there are few of us, says Mr. Godwin, that would hesi- 
 tate to pronounce, if the Bishop's palace were in flames, which of the two 
 should he preserved. But again : — 
 
 '• ' Suppose I had been myself the valet,' says Mr- Godwin ; ' I ought 
 to have cliosen to die. rather than Fenelon should have died. To have 
 done otherwise would have been a breach of justice.' Somewhat alarm- 
 ing this, bat let it pass; — very well. Again: — 'Suppose,' says Mr. 
 Godwin, ' the valet had been my brother, or my father, or my benefactor ; — 
 this would not alter the truth of tlie proposition : the life of I'enelon 
 would still be more valuable than that of the valet; and justice, pure, ima- 
 dtdteratcd justice, would still have preferred that which was mo.-t valua- 
 ble; justice would have taught me to save the life of F nelon at the ex- 
 pense of tlie other. What magic is there in the pronoun mj/ to overturn 
 the decision of impartial truth 1 My brother, or my father, may be a fool 
 or a profligate, malicious, lying, or dishonest. If they be, of what conse- 
 quence is it that they are 7nine 9 ' 
 
 " Thi^, then, was the residt that was wanted. — filial duty at an end. 
 The poor father was to see his son helping another person out of the 
 flames, and lip left himself to perish ; — all upon the principle of justice, 
 the foundation of all morality. Mathematicians, when their rcasotdngs 
 conduct them to some unnatural po-^ition, — that the greater is equal to 
 the less, or the less to the greater, — immediately stop short, produce their 
 phrase qnod est aLsurdum, and think it high time to begin again " 
 
 The logic by which Godwin reasons away the obligation that exists be- 
 tween parent and child reminds Professor Smyth of the following passage 
 in Tristram Skavdi/ : — 
 
 " In that most entertaining performance, the lawyers are supposed dis- 
 cussing a law question before Yorick and my Uncle Toby. ' In the rei.in 
 of Edward VI ,' says one of them, ' in the famous case, commonly known 
 by the name of the Duke of Suffolk's case, as it was a great cau.^e, and 
 much depending upon its issue, and as many causes of great property 
 were likely to be decided in times to come by the precedent to be tlicn 
 made, the most learned, as well in the laws of this realm as in the civil 
 law, were consulted together ; and not only the temporal lawyers, but the 
 church lawyers, the jurisconsulti, the jurisprudentes, the civilians, the ad- 
 vocates, the commissaries, the judges of the consistory and prerogative 
 courts of Canterbury and York, with the Master of the Fai-ulties, were all 
 unanimously of opinion, that the mother, the Duchess of Suffolk, was not 
 of kin to her child ' 
 
 " '.And what said the Duchess of Suflblk to it 7 ' said my Uncle Toby. 
 This was an unexpected qnestion, it seems ; and as nothing could ba 
 made of it, the lawyers voted the order of the day, and went on with 
 
348 DUTIES TO OUE FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 by moralists of all descriptions ; and there is good rea- 
 son for believing, that, if a person saw all the conse- 
 quences of his actions, he would perceive that an ad- 
 herence to their rules is useful and advantageous on 
 the whole, even in those cases in which his limited 
 views incline him to think otherwise. The same ob- 
 servation may be applied to self-interest, that the most 
 effectual way of promoting it is to observe religiously 
 the obligations of morality ; and these are both very 
 striking instances of that unity of design which is con- 
 spicuous alike in the moral and natural world. This 
 makes it an easy matter for a philosopher to give a 
 plausible explanation of all our duties from one prin- 
 ciple, because the general tendency of all of them is to 
 determine us to the same course of life. That benevo- 
 lence may be the sole principle of action in the Deity 
 is possible (although when we affirm that it is so we 
 go beyond our depth) ; but the case is obviously very 
 different with mankind. If the hypothesis be just with 
 respect to the Deity, we must suppose that he enjoined 
 the duties of veracity and justice, not on account of 
 their intrinsic rectitude, but of their utility. But still, 
 with respect to man they are indispensable laws, for he 
 has an immediate perception of their rectitude. And 
 indeed, if he had not, but were left to deduce their 
 rectitude from the consequences which they have a 
 tendency to produce, we may venture to affirm that 
 there would not be enough of virtue left in the world 
 to hold society together. ' 
 
 It is remarked by Mr. Smith, in a passage which 
 
 their law argument: this, when they had finished it, loft the Duchess, as 
 before, not of kin to her own child. 
 
 " ' Let the learned say what they will, there must certainly,' quoth my 
 TJncle Toby, 'be some manner of consanguinity between the Duchess of 
 Suffolk and her son.' 
 " ' The vulgar are of the same opinion to this hour,' quoth Yorick " 
 There is a rcmarkabh coincidence in some of the definitions and specu' 
 lations of Edwards and the Hopkinsian divines in this country, and those of 
 Godwin. For references, see Ely's Contrast between Cidvinism and Hop- 
 kinsianism, Chap. XI. See likewise Robert Hall's celebrated sermon, 
 Modern Infidelity considered with respect to its Influence on Society ; and Dr. 
 Parr's Spitai Sermon, especially the Notes. — Ed.] 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 349 
 
 cannot be too frequently recalled to the reader's atten- 
 tion, that " although, in accounting for the operations 
 of bodies, we never fail to distinguish the efficient from 
 the final cause, in accounting for those of the mind we 
 are very apt to confound these two different things with 
 one another. When by natural principles we are led to 
 advance those ends which a refined and enlightened 
 reason would recommend to us, we are very aj)t to im- 
 pute to that reason, as to their efficient cause, Ihe sen- 
 timents and actions by which we advance those ends, 
 and to imagine that to be the wisdom of man which 
 in reality is the wisdom of God. Upon a superfi(^l 
 view, this cause seems sufficient to produce the effects 
 which are ascribed to it, and the system of human na- 
 ture seems to be more simple and agreeable when all 
 its difierent operations are in this manner deduced from 
 a single principle." 
 
 IV. Reasons which have induced some Writers to re- 
 solve all Virtue into Benevolence.] To the strictures 
 already offered on Hatcheson's writings I have only to 
 add, that he seems to consider virtue a^ a quality of 
 our affections, whereas it is really a quality of our ac- 
 tions ; or (perhaps in strict propriety) of those disposi- 
 tions from which our actions immediately proceed. 
 Our benevolent affections are always amiable, but, in 
 so far as they are constitutional, they are certainly in 
 no respect meritorious. Indeed, some of them are com- 
 mon to us with the brutes. When they are possessed 
 in an eminent degree, we may perhaps consider them 
 as a ground of moral esteem, because they indicate the 
 pains which has been bestowed on their cultivation, and 
 a course of active virtue in which they have been ex- 
 ercised and strengthened. On the contrary, a person 
 who wants them is always an object of horror; chiefly 
 because we know they are only to be eradicated by 
 long habits of profligacy, and partly in consequence of 
 the uneasiness we feel when we see the ordinary course 
 of nature violated, as in a monstrous animal produc- 
 tion. It is from these two facts that the plausibility of 
 30 
 
350 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 Dr. Hutcheson's language on this subject in a great 
 measure arises; but if the facts be accurately examined, 
 they will be found perfectly consistent with the doctrine 
 already laid down, that nothing is an object of moral 
 praise or blame, but what depends on our own volun- 
 tary exertions ; and of consequence, that these terms 
 are not applicable to our benevolent or malevolent af- 
 fections^so far as we suppose them to result necessarily 
 from our constitutional frame. 
 
 In order to think with accuracy on this yery impor- 
 toit point of morals, it is also necessary to- distinguish 
 mose benevolent affections which urge us to their re- 
 spective objects by a blind impulse, from that rational 
 and enlightened benevolence which interests us in the 
 happiness of all mankind, and indeed of all the orders 
 of sensitive being. This divine principle of action 
 appears but little in the bulk of our species; for, al- 
 though the seeds of it are sown in every breast, it 
 requires long and careful cultivation to rear them to 
 maturity, choked as they are by envy, by jealousy, by 
 selfishness, and by those contracted view^s which origi- 
 nate in unenlightened schemes of human policy. Clear 
 away these noxious weeds, and the genuine benevo- 
 lence of the human heart will appear in all its beauty. 
 No wonder, then, that we should regard with such 
 peculiar sentiments of veneration the character of one 
 whom we consider as the sincere and unwearied friend 
 of humanity ; for such a character implies the existence 
 of all the other virtues; more particularly, candid and 
 just dispositions towards our fellow-creatures, and a 
 long course of persevering exertion in combating preju- 
 dice, and in eradicating narrow and malignant pas- 
 sions. The gratitude, besides, which all men must feel 
 towards one in whose benevolent wishes they know 
 themselves to be comprehended, contributes to enliven 
 the former sentiment of moral esteem ; and both to- 
 gether throw so peculiar a lustre on this branch of 
 duty, as goes far to account for the origin of those sys- 
 tems which represent it as the only direct object of 
 moral approbation. 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 351 
 
 It may be worth while to add, before leaving the 
 subject, that, when a rational and habitual benevolence 
 forms part of a character, it will render the conduct per- 
 fectli/ vniform, and will exclude the possibility of those 
 inconsistencies that are frequently observable in indi- 
 viduals who give themselves up to the guidance of par- 
 ticular affections, either private or public. How often, 
 for example, do we meet with individuals, who have 
 great pretensions to public spirit, and even to humani- 
 ty, on important occasions, who affect an habitual rude- 
 ness in the common intercourse of society! The pub- 
 lic spirit of such men cannot possibly arise from genu- 
 ine benevolence, otherwise the same principle of action 
 would extend to every different part of the conduct by 
 w^hich the comfort of other men is affected ; and in the 
 case of most individuals, the addition they are able to 
 make to human happiness, by the constant exercise of 
 courtesy and gentleness to all who are within the sphere 
 of their inHuence, is of far greater amount than all that 
 can result from the more splendid and heroic exertions 
 of their beneficence. A similar remarlv may be applied 
 to such as are possessed of strong private attachments 
 and of humanity to objects in distress, while they have 
 no idea of public spirit; and also to those who lay 
 claim to a more than common portion of patriotic zeal, 
 while they avow a contempt for the general interests of 
 humanity. In truth, all those offices, whether appar- 
 ently trifling or important, which contribute to aug- 
 ment the happiness of our fellow-creatures, — civility, 
 gentleness, kindness, humanity, patriotism, universal 
 benevolence, — are only diversified expressions of the 
 same disposition, according to the circumstances in 
 which it operates, and the relation which the agent 
 bears to others. 
 
352 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 Section II. 
 
 OF JUSTICE. 
 
 I. Definition and Origin of the Sense of Justice.] 
 The word justice, in its most extensive signification, 
 denotes that disposition which leads us, in cases where 
 our own temper, or passions, or interests are concerned, 
 to determine and to act without being biased by partial 
 considerations. 
 
 I had occasion formerly to observe, that a desire of 
 our own happiness is inseparable from our nature as 
 sensitive and rational beings; or, in other words, that 
 it is impossible to conceive of a being capable of form- 
 ing the ideas of happiness and misery, to whom the 
 one shall not be an object of desire and the other of 
 aversion. On the other hand, it is no less evident that 
 this desire is a principle belonging to such beings ex- 
 clusively ; inasmuch as the very idea of happiness, or of 
 lohat is good for man on the whole, presupposes the ex- 
 ercise of reason in the mind which is able to perform 
 it, and as it is only a being possessed of the power of 
 self-government which can pursue steadily this abstract 
 conception, in opposition to the solicitations of present 
 appetite and passion. This rational self-love (or, in 
 other words, this regard to what is good for us on the 
 whole) is analogous, in some important respects, to 
 that calm benevolence which has been already illus- 
 trated. They are both characteristical endowments of 
 a rational nature, and they both exert an influence 
 over the conduct, in proportion as reason gains an as- 
 cendant over prejudice and error, and over those appe- 
 tites which are common to us and to the brutes. 
 
 The inferior principles of action in our nature have 
 all a manifest reference to one or other of these rational 
 principles; for, although they operate without any re- 
 flection on our part, they all lead to ends beneficial to 
 the individual or to society. Of this kind are hunger, 
 thirst, the desire of knowledge, the desire of esteem, 
 
' JUSTICE. , 353 
 
 pity to the distressed, natural affection, and a variety 
 of others. Upon the whole, these two great principles 
 of action, self-love and benevolence, coincide wonder- 
 fully in recommending one and the same course of con- 
 duct ; and we have great reason to believe, that, if we 
 were acquainted with all the remote consequences of 
 our actions, they would be found to coincide entirely. 
 There are, however, cases in which there seems to be 
 an interference between them ; and, in such cases, the 
 generality of mankind are apt to be influenced more 
 than they ought to be by self-love, and the principles 
 which are subsidiary to it. These sometimes lead them 
 to act in direct opposition to their sense of duty ; but 
 much more frequently they influence the conduct by 
 suggesting to the judgment partial and erroneous views 
 of circumstances, and by persuading men that the line 
 of their duty coincides with that which is prescribed 
 by interest and inclination. Of aU this every man 
 capable of reflection must soon be convinced from ex- 
 perience, and he will study to correct his judgment in 
 cases in which he himself is a party, either by recollect- 
 ing the judgments he has formerly passed in similar 
 circumstances on the conduct of others, or by stating 
 cases to himself, in which his own interest and pre- 
 dilections are perfectly left out of the question. Now 
 I use the word justice to express that disposition of 
 mind which leads a man, where his own interest or 
 passions are concerned, to determine and to act accord- 
 ing to those judgments which he would have formed 
 of the conduct of another placed in a similar situation. 
 But although I believe that expedients of this sort are 
 necessary to the best of men for correcting' their moral 
 judgments in cases in which they themselves are par- 
 ties, it will not therefore follow, (as I have before ob- 
 served,*) that our ideas of right and wrong with respect 
 to our own conduct are originally derived from our 
 sentiments with respect to the conduct of others. If I 
 had had recourse to no such expedient for correcting 
 
 * Seep. 248. 
 
 30* 
 
354 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 my first judgment, I should still have formed some 
 judgment or other of a particular conduct, as right, 
 wrong, or indifl'erent, and the only difference would 
 have been, that I should probably have decided improp- 
 erly, from a false or a partial view of the case. 
 
 It is observed by Mr. Smith, as an argument against 
 the existence of a moral sense or moral faculty, that 
 these words are of very recent origin, and that it must 
 appear very strange that a principle, which Providence 
 undoubtedly intended to be the governing one of hu- 
 man nature, should hitherto have been so little taken 
 notice of, as not to have got a name in any language. 
 If this observation is levelled merely at these two 
 expressions, I do not take upon me to defend their 
 propriety. I use them because they are commonly 
 employed by ethical writers of late, and because I do 
 not think them liable to misinterpretation after the 
 explanation of them I formerly gave. I certainly do 
 not consider them as expressing an implanted relish for 
 certain qualities of action analogous to our relish for 
 certain tastes and smells. All I contend for is, that the 
 words right and wrong, ovght and otight not, express 
 simple ideas; that our perception of these qualities in 
 certain actions is an ultimate fact of our nature ; and 
 that this perception always implies the idea of moral 
 obligation. When I speak of a moral sense or a moral 
 faculty, I mean merely to express the power we have of 
 forming these ideas; but I do not suppose that this 
 bears any more analogy to our external senses than the 
 power we have of forming the simple ideas of number, 
 of time, or of causation, all which arise in the mind, we 
 cannot tell how, when certain objects or certain events 
 are perceived by the understanding. If those ideas 
 were as important as those of right and wrong, or had 
 been as much under the review of philosophers, we 
 might perhaps have had a sense of time, a sense of 
 number, and a sense of causation. And, in fact, some- 
 thing very like this language occurs in the writings of 
 Lord Kames. 
 
 But if Mr. Smith meant to be understood as imply- 
 
JUSTICE. 355 
 
 ing that the words rig'ht and wrong, ought and ovglit 
 not, do not express simple ideas, I must take the liberty 
 of remarking, in opposition to it, that, although the 
 words moral sense and moral facuUy, considered as 
 indicating their source, are of late origin, this is by no 
 means the case with the word conscience. It is indeed 
 said, that conscience " does not immediately denote 
 any moral faculty, by which we approve or disapprove, 
 — that it supposes, indeed, the existence of some such 
 faculty, but that it properly signifies our consciousness 
 of having acted agreeably or contrary to its directions." * 
 But- the truth I take to be this, that the word conscience 
 coincides exactly with the moral faculty, with this 
 difference only, that the former refers to our own con- 
 duct alone, whereas the latter is meant to express also 
 the power by which we approve or disapprove of the 
 conduct of others. Now if this be granted, and if it be 
 allowed that the former word is to be found in all 
 languages, and that the latter is only a modern inven- 
 tion, is it not a natural inference, that our judgments, 
 with respect tp our own conduct, are not merely ap- 
 plications to ourselves of those we have previously 
 formed with respect to the conduct of our fellow-crea- 
 tures ? 
 
 II. The Duty of Candor ; or Justice in vur Apprecia- 
 tion of other Men.] It would be endless to attempt to 
 point out all the various forms in which the disposition 
 formerly defined will display itself in life. I must con- 
 tent myself with mentioning one or two of its more 
 remarkable effects, merely as examples of the influence 
 it is likely to have on the conduct. One of the more 
 important of these is that temper of mind we express 
 by the word candor, which prevents our judgments 
 with respect to other men from being improperly biased 
 by our passions and prejudices. This, although at 
 bottom the disposition is the same, may be considered 
 in three lights : — 1st. As it is displayed in appreciating 
 
 * Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part VH. Sect. ni. Chap. HI. 
 
356 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 the talents of others. 2d. In judging of their intentions. 
 3d. In controversy. 
 
 1. There is no principle more deeply implanted in 
 the mind than the love of fame and of distinction, and 
 there is none which, when properly regulated, is sub- 
 servient to more valuable purposes. It is, at the same 
 time, a principle which it is perhaps as difficult to 
 restrain within the bounds of moderation as any other. 
 In some ungoverned minds, it seems to get the better 
 of every other principle of action, and must be a source 
 to the possessor of perpetual mortification and disgust, 
 by leading him to aspire at eminence in every different 
 line of ambition, and to repine if in any one of them he 
 is surpassed by others. In the midst of the astonishing 
 projects which employed the sublime genius of Riche- 
 lieu, his peace of mind was completely ruined by the 
 success of the Cid of Corneille. The first appearance 
 of this tragedy (according to Fontenelle) alarmed the 
 Cardinal as much as if he had seen the Spaniards at 
 the gates of Paris ; and the most acceptable flattery 
 which his minions could offer was to advise him to 
 eclipse the fame of Corneille by a tragedy of his own. 
 Nor did he aim merely at adding the fame of a poet to 
 that of a statesman. Mortified to think that any one 
 path of ambition was shut against him, he is said, 
 when on his death-bed, to have held some conversation? 
 with his confessor about the possibility of his being 
 canonized as a saint. 
 
 In order to restrain this violent and insatiable desire 
 wilhiii certain bounds, there are many checks appointed 
 in our constitution. In the first place, it can be com- 
 plelelij gratified only by the actual possession of those 
 qualities for which we wish to be esteemed, and oi 
 those advantages which are the proper grounds of dis- 
 tinction. A good man is never more mortified than 
 when he is praised for qualities he does not possess, or 
 for advantages in which he is conscious he has no 
 merit. Secondly, although the gratification of this 
 principle consists in a certain superiority over othei 
 men, we feel that we are not entitled to take undue 
 
jjrsTiCE.. 857 
 
 advantages of them. "We may exert ourselves to the 
 utmost in the race of glory, but we are not entitled to 
 obstruct the progress of others, or to detract from their 
 reputation in order to advance our own. All this will 
 be readily granted in general ; and yet in practice there 
 is surely nothing more difficult than to draw the line 
 between emulation and envy, or to check that self- 
 partiality which, while it leads us to dwell on our own 
 advantages, and to magnify them in our own estima- 
 tion, prevents us either from attending sufficiently to 
 the merits of others, or from viewing them in the most 
 favorable light. Of this difficulty a wise and good 
 man will soon be satisfied from his own experience, 
 and he will endeavour to guard against it as far as he is 
 able, by judging of the merits of a rival, or even of an 
 enemy, as he would have done if there had been no 
 interference between them. He will endeavour, in short, 
 to do justice to their merits, not merely in words, but 
 in sincerity, and bring himself, if possible, to love and 
 to honor'that genius and ability which have eclipsed 
 his own. Nor will he retire in disgust from the race 
 because he has been outstripped by others, but will 
 redouble all his exertions in the service of mankind; 
 recollecting, that, if Nature has been more partial to 
 others in her intellectual gifts than to him, she has left 
 open to all the theatre of virtue, where the merits of 
 individuals are determined, not by their actual attain- 
 ments, but by the use and improvement they make of 
 those advantages which' their situation has aflbrded 
 them. 
 
 2. Candor in judging of the intentions of others. I 
 have before mentioned several considerations which 
 render it highly probable that there is much less vice or 
 criminal intention in the world than is commonly im- 
 agined, and that the gi-eater part of the disputes among 
 mankind arise from mutual mistake and misapprehen- 
 sion. Every man must recollect many instances in 
 which his own motives have been grossly misapprehend- 
 ed by the world ; and it is but reasonable for him to 
 conclude, that the case may have been the same with 
 
358 DUTIES TO OUR :^LLOW-MEN. 
 
 other men. It is but an instance, then, of that justice 
 we owe to others, to make the most candid allowances 
 for their apparent deviations, and to give every action 
 the most favorable construction it can possibly admit 
 of. Such a temper, while it renders a man respect- 
 able and amiable in society, contributes perhaps more 
 than any other circumstance to his private happiness. 
 " When you would cheer your heart," says Marcus 
 Antoninus, " consider the excellences and abilities of 
 your several acquaintance ; the activity of one, the high 
 sense of honor and modesty of another, the liberality of 
 a third, and in other persons some other virtue. There 
 is nothing so delightful as virtue appearing in the con- 
 duct of your contemporaries as frequently as possible. 
 Such thoughts we should still retain with us." * 
 
 3. Perhaps there is no temper which so completely 
 disqualifies us for the search of truth, as that which we 
 experience when provolied by controversy or dispute. 
 Some men undoubtedly are more misled by it than 
 others ; but I apprehend there is no one, however 
 modest and unassuming, who will not own that, upon 
 such occasions, he has almost always felt his judgment 
 warped, and a desire of victory mingle itself, in spite 
 of all his efforts, with his love of truth. Hence the 
 aversion which all such men fi'el for controversy, — 
 convinced from experience- how likely it would be to 
 betray themselves into error, and unwilling to afford an 
 opportunity for displaying the envious and malignant 
 passions of others. This amiable disposition has been 
 often mentioned by the friends of Sir Isaac Newton as 
 one of the most marked features in his character ; and 
 we are even told that it led him to suppress, for a 
 course of years, some of his most important discoveries, 
 which he knew from their nature were likely to provoke 
 opposition. " He was indeed," says one of his biogra- 
 phers, " of so meek and gentle a disposition, and so 
 great a lover of peace, that he would have rather chosen 
 to remain in obscurity than to have the calm of life 
 
 * Book VI. c. 48. 
 
JUSTICE. 359 
 
 ruffled by those storms and disputes which genius and 
 learning always draw upon those who are most emi- 
 nent for them. From his love of peace arose, no doubt, 
 that unusual kind of horror which he felt for all dis- 
 putes. Steady, unbroken attention, free from those 
 iVequent recoilings incident to others, was his peculiar 
 felicity. He knew it, and he knew the value of it. 
 When some objections, hastily made to his discoveries 
 concerning light and colors, induced him to lay aside 
 the design he had taken of publishing his Opticral 
 Lectures, we find him reflecting on that dispute, into 
 which he had unavoidably been drawn, in these terras : 
 — ' I blamed my own imprudence for parting with so 
 real a blessing as my quiet, to run after a shadow.' In 
 the same temper, after he had sent the manuscript to 
 the Royal Society, with his consent to the printing of 
 it, upon Hooke's injuriously insisting that he had himself 
 solved Kepler's problem before our author, he deter- 
 mined, rather than be involved again in a controversy, 
 to suppress the third book ; and he was very hardly 
 prevailed on to alter that resolution." ^ 
 
 I shall only add further on this head, that a love of 
 controversy indicates, not only an overweening vanity 
 and a disregard for truth, but in general, perhaps al- 
 ways, it indicates a mediocriljj of geiiivs; for it arises 
 from those feelings of envy artd jealousy which provoke 
 little minds to depreciate the merit of useful discoveries. 
 He who is conscious of his own inventive powers, and 
 whose great object is to add to the stock of human 
 knowledge, -will reject unwillingly any plausible doc- 
 trine till after the most severe examination, and will 
 separate, with patience and temper, the truths it con- 
 tains from the errors that are blended with theni. No 
 opinion can be more groundless than that a captious 
 and disputatious temper is a mark of acuteness. On 
 the contrary, a sound and manly understanding is in no 
 instance more strongly displayed than in a quick per- 
 ception of important truth, when imperfectly stated and 
 
 * Hutton's Mathematical Dictionary, Art. Newton {Sir Isaac). 
 
360 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 blended with error; — a perception which may not be 
 sufficient to satisfy the judgment completely at the 
 time, or at least to obviate the difficulties of others, but 
 which is sufficient to prevent it from a hasty rejection 
 of the whole, from the obvious defects of some of the 
 parts. Hence the important hints which an author of 
 genius collects among the rubbish of his predecessors ; 
 and which, so far from detracting from his own origi- 
 nality, place it in the strongest possible light, by show- 
 ing that an idea which was already current in the 
 world, and which had hitherto remained barren and 
 useless, may, in the mind of a philosopher, become the 
 germ of an extensive system. 
 
 I cannot help taking this opportunity of remarking 
 (although the observation is not much connected with 
 the subject in which we are engaged), that something 
 similar to this may be applied to our critical judgments 
 in the fine arts. It is easy to perceive blemishes, but 
 it is the province of genius alone to have a quick per- 
 ception of beauties, and to be eager to applaud them. 
 And it is owing to this, that, of all critics, a dunce is 
 the severest, and a man of genuine taste the most in- 
 dulgent. 
 
 III. The Duty of Honesty ; or Justice in respect to 
 the Interests and Rights of other MenJ] The foregoing 
 illustrations are stated at some length, in order to cor- 
 rect those partial definitions of justice which restrict its 
 province to a rigorous observance of the rules of integ- 
 rity or honesty in our dealings with our fellow-creatures. 
 So far as this last disposition proceeds from a sense of 
 duty, uninfluenced by human laws, it coincides exact- 
 ly with that branch of virtue which has been now de- 
 scribed under the title of candor. 
 
 In the instances hitherto mentioned, the disposition 
 of justice has been supposed to operate iu restraining 
 the partialities of the temper and passions. There are, 
 however, no instances in which its influence is more 
 necessary than where our interest is concerned ; or, to 
 express myself more explicitly, where there is an appar- 
 
JUSTICE. 361 
 
 ent interference between our rig-hts and those of other 
 men. In such cases, a disposition to observe the rules 
 of justice is called inleg-rUij or honefti/, — which is so 
 impovtant a branch of justice that it has, in a great 
 measure, appropriated the name to itself. The obser- 
 vations made by Mr. Hume and Mr. Smith, on the dif- 
 ferences between justice and the other virtues, apply 
 only to this last branch of it ; and it is this branch 
 which properly forms the subject of that part of ethics 
 which is called natural jurisprudence * In what remains 
 of this chapter, when the word justice occurs, it is to 
 be understood in the limited sense now mentioned. 
 
 The circumstances which distinguish this kind of 
 justice from the other virtues are chiefly two. In the 
 first place, its rules may be laid down with a degree of 
 accuracy of which moral precepts do not in any other 
 instance admit. Secondly, its rules may be enforced, 
 inasmuch as every breach of them violates the rights of 
 some other person, and entitles him to employ force for 
 his defence or security. 
 
 Another distinction between justice and the other vir- 
 tues is much insisted on by Mr. Hume. It is, accord- 
 ing to him, an artificial and not a natural virtue, and 
 derives all its obligations from the political union, and 
 from considerations of utility. The principal argument 
 alleged in support of this proposition is, that there is 
 no implanted principle, prompting us by a blind im- 
 pulse to the exercise of justice, similar to those affec- 
 tions which conspire with and strengthen our benevo- 
 lent dispositions. But, granting the fact upon which 
 this argument proceeds, nothing can be inferred from it 
 that makes an essential distinction between the obliga- 
 tions of justice and of beneficence; for, %o far as we 
 act merely from the blind impulse of an affection, on 
 condnct cannot be considered as virtuous. Our affec- 
 tions were given us to an-est our attention to particular 
 objects, whose happiness is connected with our exer- 
 tions, and to excite and support the activity of the 
 
 * Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part VII. Sect. VI. 
 
 31 
 
362 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 mind, when a sense ot duty might be insufficient for 
 the purpose ; but the propriety or impropriety of our 
 conduct depends, in no instance, on the strength or 
 weakness of the affection, but on our obeying or dis- 
 obeying the dictates of reason and of conscience. Tiiese 
 inform us, in language which it is impossible to mis- 
 take, that it is sometimes a duty to check the most 
 amiable and pleasing emotions of the heart; — to with- 
 draw, for example, from the sight of those distresses 
 which stronger claims forbid us to relieve, and to deny 
 ourselves that exquisite luxury which arises from the 
 exercise of humanity. So far, therefore, as benevolence 
 is a virtue, it is precisely on the same footing with jus- 
 tice ; that is, we approve of it, not because it is agi'ee- 
 able to us, but because we feel it to be a duty. 
 
 It may be further remarked, that there are very strong 
 implanted principles which serve as checks on injustice ; 
 the principles, to wit, of resentment and of indignation, 
 which are surely as much a part of the human consti- 
 tution as pity or parental affection. These principles 
 imply a sense of injustice, and consequently of justice. 
 
 In the case of justice, also, there is always a rig/il on 
 one hand corresponding to an obligation on the other. 
 If I am under an obligation, for example, to abstain 
 from violating the property of my neighbour, he has a 
 right to defend by force his property when invaded. It 
 therefore appears that the rules of justice may be laid 
 down in. two different forms, either as a system of duties 
 or as a system of rights. The former view of the sub- 
 ject belongs properly to the moralist, the latter to the 
 lawyer. It is in this last form, accordingly, that the 
 principles of justice have been stated by the writers on 
 natural jurisprudence. 
 
 So far, there is nothing to be reprehended in the plan 
 they have followed. On the contrary, a considerable 
 advantage was gained in point of method by adopting 
 that very comprehensive and accurate division of our 
 rights whidi the civilians had introduced. As the 
 whole object of law is to protect men in all that they 
 may lawfully do, or possess, or demand, civilians have 
 
EIGHT OF PROPEBTY. 363 
 
 defined the word jus, or riffht, to be facultas aliqvid 
 offendi, vel possidendi, vel ab alio consequendi, — a law- 
 ful claim to do any thing, to possess any thing, or to 
 demand something from some other person. The first 
 of these may be called the right of liberty, or the right 
 of employing the powers we have received from na- 
 ture in every case in which we do not injure the rights 
 of others ; the second, the right of property ; the third, 
 the rights arising from contract. The last two were 
 further distinguished from each other by calling the 
 former (to wit, the right of property) a real right, and 
 the latter (to wit, the rights arising from contract) per- 
 sonal rights, because they respect some particular per- 
 son or persons from whom the fulfilment of the con- 
 tract may be required. 
 
 This division of our rights appears to be comprehen- 
 sive and philosophical, and it affords a convenient ar- 
 rangement for exhibiting an indirect view of the differ- 
 ent duties which justice prescribes. " What I have a 
 right to do it is the duty of my fellow-creatures to al- 
 low me to do, without molestation. What is my prop- 
 erty no man ought to take from me, or to disturb me 
 in the enjoyment of it. And what I have a right to 
 demand of any man it is his duty to perform."* Such 
 a system, therefore, with respect to our rights, exhibits 
 (though in a manner somewhat indirect and artificial) 
 a system of the rules of justice. 
 
 Section III. 
 
 OF THE RIGHT OF PROPERTY. 
 
 I. The Right of Property.'] The following observa- 
 tions on the right of property are introduced here chief- 
 ly with a view to show that men possess rights antece- 
 dent to the establisliment of the political union. 
 
 It cannot, I apprehend, be doubted, that, according 
 to the notions to which we, in the present state of so- 
 
 " Beid, On Vie Active Powers, Essay V. Chap. UX 
 
364 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 ciety, are habituated from our infancy, the three follow- 
 ing things are included in the idea of property, 
 
 1. A right of exclusive enjoyment. 
 
 2. A right of inquiry after our property, when taken 
 away without our consent, and of reclaiming it wher- 
 ever found. 
 
 3. A right of transference. 
 
 We do not consider our property in any object to be 
 complete, unless we can exercise all these three rights 
 with respect to it. 
 
 Lord Kames endeavours to show that these ideas are 
 not agreeable to the apprehensions of the human mind 
 in the ruder periods of society, but imply a refinement 
 and abstraction of thought which are the result of im- 
 provement in law and government. The relation (in 
 particular) of property, independent of possession, he 
 thinks of too metaphysical a nature for the mind of a 
 savage. " It appears to me," says he, " to be highly 
 probable, that among savages, involved in objects of 
 sense, and strangers to abstract speculation, property, 
 and the rights or moral powers arising from it, never 
 are with accuracy distinguished from the natural pow- 
 ers that must be exerted upon the subject to make it 
 profitable to the possessor. The man who kills and 
 eats, who sows and reaps, at his own -pleasure, inde- 
 pendent of another's will, is naturally deemed proprie- 
 tor. The grossest savages understand power without 
 right, of which they are made sensible by daily acts of 
 violence ; but property without possession is a concep- 
 tion too abstract for a savage, or for any person who 
 has not studied the principles of law." * 
 
 With this remark I cannot agi-ee; because I think 
 the right of property is founded on a natural sentiment, 
 which must be felt in full force in the lowest state of 
 society. The sentiment I allude' to is that of a moral 
 connection between labor and a right of exclusive en- 
 joyment to the fruits of it. This connection it will be 
 proper to illustrate more particularly. 
 
 • Historical Law Tracts. Tract III. 
 
RIGHT OF PROPERTY. 365 
 
 Let us suppose, then, a country so fertile as to pro- 
 duce all the necessaries and accommodations of life 
 without any exertions of human industry; it is mani- 
 fest, that, in such a state of things, no man would think 
 of appropriating to himself any of these necessaries or 
 accommodations, any more than we in this part of the 
 globe think of appropriating air or water. As this, 
 however, is not, in any part of the earth, the condition 
 of man, doomed as he is, by the circumstances of his 
 birth, to eat his bread in the sweat of his brow, it 
 would be reasonable to expect, a priori, that Nature 
 would make some provision for securing to individuals 
 the fruits of their industry. In fact, she has made such 
 a provision in the natural sentiments of mankind, 
 which lead them to consider industry as entitled to 
 reward, and, in particular, the laborer as entitled to 
 the fruit of his own labor. These, I think, may be 
 fairly stated as moral axioms, to which the mind yields 
 its assent as inamedlately and necessarily as it does to 
 any axiom in mathematics or metaphysics. 
 
 How cruel is, the mortification we feel when we see 
 an industrious man reduced by some unforeseen misfor- 
 tune to beggary in old age ! We can scarcely help com- 
 plaining of the precarious condition of humanity, and 
 that man should be thus doomed to be the sport of ac- 
 cident; and we feel ourselves called on, as far as we are 
 able, to repair, by our own liberality, this unjust distri- 
 bution of the goods of fortune. On the other hand, it 
 is difficult to avoid some degree of dissatisfaction when 
 we see the natural and deserved reward of industry ac- 
 quired all at once by a prize in the lottery or by gam- 
 ing, although in this instance the uneasiness (as might 
 be expected from the natural benevolence to the human 
 mind) is trifling in comparison to what it is in the oth- 
 er case. Our dissatisfaction in particular instances is 
 much greater when we see the laborer deprived by ac- 
 cident of the immediate fruit of his own labor ; — when, 
 for example, he has nearly completed a complicated 
 machine, and some delicate part of it gives way, and 
 renders all his toil useless. 
 31 • 
 
866 
 
 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-JIEW. 
 
 If another person interferes wiih the fruit of his in- 
 dustry, our dissatisfaction and indignation are still more 
 increased. We feel here a variety of sentiments. 1. A 
 dissatisfaction that the laborer does not enjoy that 
 reward to which his industry entitled him. 2. A dis- 
 satisfaction that another person, who did not labor, 
 should acquire the possession of an object of value. 
 And 3. An indignation against the man who deprived 
 the laborer of his just reward. 
 
 This sentiment, that " the laborer deserves the fruit 
 of his ownr labor," is the chief, or rather (abstracting 
 positive institution) the only, foundation of the sense 
 of property. An attempt to deprive him of it is a 
 species of injustice which rouses the indignation of 
 every impartial spectator ; and so deeply are these prin- 
 ciples implanted in our nature, that we cannot heJp 
 feeling some degree of remorse when we deprive even 
 a hive of bees of that provision which they had in- 
 dustriously collected for their own use. 
 
 The writers, indeed, on natural law ascribe in gen- 
 eral the origin of property to priority of occvpancy, and 
 have puzzled themselves in attempting to explain how 
 this act should appropriate to an individual what was 
 formerly in common. Grotius andPuffendorf insist 
 that this right of occupancy is founded upon a tacit 
 but understood assent of all mankind, that the first 
 occupant should become the owner. And Barbeyrac, 
 Loclie, and others, that the yery act of occupancy 
 alone, being a degree of bodily labor, is, from a prin- 
 ciple of natural justice, without any compact, a suf- 
 ficient foundation of property. Blackstone, although 
 he thinks that the dispute about the manner in which 
 occupancy conveys a right of property savors too 
 much of scholastic refinement, expresses no doubt 
 about its having this effect independent of positive 
 institutions.* 
 
 Some later philosophers have founded the right of 
 property on the general sympathy of mankind with 
 
 * See his Commentaries, Book II. Chap. I. 
 
RIGHT OP PROPERTY. 367 
 
 the reasonable expectation which the occupant has 
 formed of enjoying unmolested the object he has got 
 possession of, or of which he was the first discoverer ; 
 and on the indignation felt by the impartial spectator 
 when he sees this reasonable expectation disappointed. 
 This theory (which I have been assured from the best 
 authority was adopted by Mr. Smith in his lectures on 
 jurisprudence) seems to have been suggested by a pas- 
 sage in Dr. Hutcheson's Moral Pliilosopliij, in which he 
 says, that " it is immoral, when we can support our- 
 selves otherwise, to defeat any innocent design of an- 
 other ; and that on this immorality is founded the re- 
 gard we owe to the claims of the first occupant." In 
 this theory, too, it is taken for gi-anted that priority of 
 occupancy founds a right of property, and that such a 
 right may even be acquired by having accidentally seen 
 a valuable object before it was observed by any other 
 person. 
 
 In order to think with accuracy on this subject, it is 
 necessary to distinguish carefully the complete right of 
 property which is founded on labor, from the transient 
 right of possession which is acquired by mere priority 
 of occupancy. Thus, before the appropriation of land, 
 if any individual had occupied a particular spot for 
 repose or shade, it would have been unjust to deprive 
 him of the possession of it. This, however, was only 
 a transient right. The spot of ground would again 
 become common the moment the occupiet had left it ; 
 that is, the right of possession would remain no longer 
 than the act of possession. Cicero illustrates this hap- 
 pily by the similitude of a theatre. " Quemadmodum 
 theatrum, cum commune sit, recte tamen dici potest 
 ejus esse eum locum quem quisque occuparit." * 
 
 The general conclusions which I deduce from the 
 foregoing observations are these : — 
 
 1. That, in every state of society, labor, wherever it 
 is exerted, is understood to found a right of property. 
 
 * De Finibus, Lib. III. 20. " As in a theatre the seats are all for commoa 
 use, yet every man's place is his own when he has taken it." 
 
368 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 2. That, according to natural law, (in the sense at 
 least in which that phrase is commonly employed by 
 writers on jurisprudence,) labor is the onhj original way 
 of acquiring property. 
 
 3. That, according to natural law, mere occupancy 
 founds only a right of possession ; and that, wherever 
 it founds a complete right of property, it owes its force 
 to positive institutions. 
 
 II. Origin and History of Property.'] An attention 
 to these conclusions, in particular to tiie distinction be- 
 tween the transient right of possession founded on oc- 
 cupancy, and the permanent right of , property founded 
 on labor, will, if I mistake not, clear up some of the 
 difficulties which involve the first steps in the history 
 of property, according to the view of the subject given 
 by Lord Karnes ; and it was with this view I was led 
 to premise these general principles to the slight histori- 
 cal sketch I am now to offer. 
 
 With respect to that system which refers the origin 
 of property to the political union and to considerations 
 of utility, it seems sufficient to observe, that, so far is 
 government from creating this right, its necessary effect 
 is to subject it to certain limitations. Abstraction made 
 of political confederation, every man's property is sole- 
 ly at his own disposal. He is supreme judge in his, 
 own cause, and may defend what he conceives to be 
 his right as far as his power reaches. In the state ol 
 civil society his property is regulated by positive laws, 
 and he must acquiesce in the judgment of his superiors 
 with respect to his rights, even in those cases where he 
 feels it to be unjust. 
 
 From the passage already quote'd from Kames, it 
 appears that he conceived the idea of property without 
 possession to be of too abstract and metaphysical a 
 nature to be apprehended by a savage ; and he has 
 collected a variety of facts to prove, that, according to 
 the common notions of mankind, in the infancy of 
 jurisprudence, the right of property is understood to 
 cease the moment that possession is at an end. But 
 
EIGHT OF PROPERTY. 369 
 
 on a more attentive examination of ttie subject, I ap- 
 prehend it will be found that the ideas of savages, with 
 respect to property, are the same with ours ; that mere 
 occupancy without labor founds only a right of pos- 
 session ; and that labor, wherever it is employed, ftfunds 
 an exclusive and permanent right to the fruits of it. 
 Lord Karnes's theory has obviously been suggested by 
 the common doctrine with respect to the right of prop- 
 erty being founded in priority of occupancy, compared 
 with the acknowledged fact, that among rude nations 
 occupancy does not establish a permanent right. The 
 other arguments which he has alleged in support of 
 his opinion will be found to be equally inconclusive. 
 
 Before I proceed to the consideration of these, it 
 may be proper to observe, that we must not always 
 form an idea of the sentiments of men from the defects 
 of their laws. The existence, indeed, of a law is a 
 proof of the sentiments which men felt when the law 
 was made ; but the defects of a law are not always 
 proofs that men did not feel that there were disorders 
 in the state of society which required correction. The 
 laws of a country may not make provision for repara- 
 tion to the original proprietor in the case of theft ; but 
 it will not follow from this that men do not apprehend 
 the original proprietor to have any right when his 
 property has been stolen from him. The application 
 of this general remark to some of the arguments I am 
 now to consider will, I hope, be sq obvious, as to render 
 it unnecessary for me to point it out particularly. 
 
 Among these arguments, one of the most plausible is 
 founded on a general principle, which appears, from a 
 variety of facts quoted by Kames, to run through most 
 rude systems of jurisprudence, that, in the case of stolen 
 goods, the claim of 'the bona fide purchaser is preferable 
 to that of the original proprietor. This he accounts for 
 from the imperfect notions they have of the metaphysi- 
 cal nature of property when separated from possession. 
 But if this were j;he case, the same laws should support 
 the claim of the thief against the original proprietor: 
 or rather, indeed, neither the original proprietor, nor 
 
370 DUTIES TO OUP FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 any one else, could conceive that he had any connection 
 with the object stolen the moment after it was out of 
 his possession. The fact is, that this respect paid to the 
 bona fide purchaser is a proof, not of any misapprehen- 
 sion with respect to the idea of property, but of a weak 
 government and an imperfect police. Where thefts are 
 easily committed, and where no public fairs or markets 
 are established, it would put a complete end to all 
 transferences of property, if the buna fide purchaser 
 ivere left exposed to the claims of former proprietors. 
 Such a practice would be attended with still greater 
 inconveniences .than arise from the casual violations 
 of property by theft ; not to mention that the regard 
 shown to the bona fide purchaser must have a tendency 
 to repress theft, by redoubling the attention of indi- 
 viduals to preserve the actual possession of their prop- 
 erty. That these or some other views of utility were 
 the real foundation of the laws quoted by Karnes is 
 confirmed by' an old regulation in our own country, 
 prohibiting buying and selling, except in open market, 
 — a regulation which had obviously been suggested by 
 the experience of the inconveniences arising from the 
 latent claims of former proprietors against bona fide 
 purchasers. 
 
 Another argument mentioned by Kames in support 
 of his iheory is founded on the shortness of the term 
 which completes prescription among rude nations ; a 
 single year, for example, in the case of movables, by 
 the oldest law of the Romans. This law, he says, 
 testifies that property, independent of possession, was 
 considered to be a ri^ht of the slenderest kind. It is 
 evident, that, upon his own principles, it should not in 
 that state of society have been considered as a right at 
 all. If it was conceived to subsist a single day after 
 the possession was at an end, the metaphysical dilli- 
 culty which he magnifies so much was obviously sur- 
 mounted. In every society, it will be found expedient 
 to fix some term for prescription, and the particular 
 length of it must be determined by the circumstances 
 of the society at the time. In general, as law im- 
 
RIGHT OF PROPERTY. 371 
 
 proves, and government becomes more effectual, a 
 greater attention to the stability of property, and con- 
 sequently a longer term for prescription, may be ex- 
 pected. 
 
 The community of goods, which is said to take place 
 among some rude nations, will be found, on examina- 
 tion, to be perfetitly consistejpt with the account I have 
 given of their ideas on the subject of property. Where 
 the game is taken by a common effort, the natural 
 sense of justice dictates that it should be enjoyed in 
 common. And indeed, abstracting all considerations 
 of justice, the experience of the precarious fortune of 
 the chase would soon suggest to the common sense 
 of mankind the expediency of such an arrangement. 
 This, however, does not indicate any imperfection in 
 their idea of property; for even in this state of society 
 there are always some articles which are understood to 
 be the exclusive property of the individual, such as his 
 bow and arrows, and the instruments he employs in 
 fishing. 
 
 I am confirmed in these conclusions by the account 
 given by Dr. Robertson of the American Indians ; and 
 the more so, as the facts he mentions, and even his 
 reasonings, stand in opposition to his own preconceived 
 opinion. " Nations," he says expressly, " whicli depend 
 ypon hunting- are strangers to the idea of propertij "'; 
 and yet, when he comes to explain himself, it appears 
 that, even in the present age of metaphysical refine- 
 ment, if our physical circumstances were the same, we 
 should feel and judge exactly as they do. " As the 
 animals," he continues, in the passage immediately 
 following the last sentence I have quoted, " on which 
 the hunter feeds are not bred under his inspection, nor 
 nourished by his care, he can claim no right to them 
 while they run wild in the forest. Where game is so 
 plentiful that it can be caught with little trouble, men 
 never dream of appropriating what is of small value, 
 or of easy acquisition. Where it is so rare that the labor 
 or danger of the chase requires the united efforts of a 
 tribe or village, what is killed is a common stock, be 
 
372 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 longing equally to all who, by their skill or their cour- 
 age, have contributed to the success of the excursion. 
 The forest or hunting-grounds are deemed the property 
 of the tribe, from which it has a title to exclude every 
 rival nation. Biit no individual arrogates a right to 
 any district of these in preference to his fellow-citizens. 
 They belong equally to aU, and thither, as to a general 
 and undivided store, all repair in quest of sustenance. 
 The same principles by which they regulate their chief 
 occupation extend to that which is subordinate. Even 
 agriculture has not introduced among them a complete 
 idea of property. As the men hunt, the women labor 
 together, and after they have shared the toils of the 
 seed-time, they enjoy the harves't in common." * 
 
 In the notes and illustrations at the end of his Histo- 
 ry, Dr. Robertson seems to have been aware that he 
 had expressed himself somewhat too strongly on this 
 subject, and he has even gone so far as to intimate his 
 suspicions that the common facts are not very accu- 
 rately stated. " I strongly suspect that a community 
 of goods, and an undivided store, are known only 
 among the rudest tribes of hunters, and that, as soon 
 as any species of agriculture or regular industry is 
 known, the idea of an exclusive right of property to 
 the fruits of them is introduced." 
 
 In support of this opinion. Dr. Robertson refers to 
 accounts which he had received concerning the state of 
 property among the Indians in very different regions of 
 America. " The idea of the natives of Brazil," says 
 the Chevalier de Pinto, who writes on this subject from 
 personal observation, "concerning property is, that, if 
 any person cultivate a field, he alone ought to enjoy 
 the produce of it, and no other has a title to pretend to 
 it. If an individual or a family go a hunting or fish- 
 ing, what is caught belongs to the individual or family, 
 and they communicate no part of it but to their Ca- 
 zique, and such of their kindred as happen to be in- 
 disposed. 
 
 * History ofAmerica^ Book IV. § 66. 
 
RIGHT OF PROPERTY. 373 
 
 " If any person in the village come to their hut, he 
 may sit down freely and eat without asking liberty. 
 But this is the consequence of their general principle 
 of hospitality ; for I never observed any partition of 
 the increase of their fields, or the produce of the chase, 
 which I could consider as the result of any idea con- 
 cerning the community of goods. On the contrary, 
 they are so much attached to what they deem to , be 
 their property, that it would be extremely dangerous to 
 encroach on it. As far as I have seen or can learn, 
 there is not one tribe of Indians in South America 
 among whom that community of goods, which has 
 been so highly extolled, is known. The circumstance 
 in the government of the Jesuits most irksome to the 
 Indians of Paraguay was the community of goods 
 which those fathers introduced. This was repugnant 
 J;o the original ideas of the Indians. They were ac- . 
 quainted with the rights of private exclusive property, 
 and they submitted with impatience to the regulations 
 which destroyed them." 
 
 " Actual possession," says a missionary who resided 
 several years among the Indians of the Five Nations, 
 "gives a right to the soil; but, whenever a possessor 
 sees fit to quit it, another has as good a right to take 
 it as he who left it. This law or custom respects not 
 only the particular spot on which he erects his house, 
 but also his planting ground. If a man has prepared 
 a particular spot of ground, on which he proposes in 
 future to build or plant, no man^has a right to incom- 
 mode him, much less to the frait of his labors, until it 
 appears that he voluntarily gives up his views. But I 
 never heard of any formal conveyance from one Indian 
 to another in their natural state. The limits of every 
 canton are circumscribed, that is, they are allowed to 
 hunt as far as such a river on this hand, and such a 
 mountain on the other. This area is occupied and im- 
 proved by individuals and their families. Individuals, 
 not the community, have the use and profit of their 
 own labors, or success in hunting." 
 32 
 
374 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 III. Property when rightfvlly created or recognized 
 by Positive Laws not less Sacred.] It must not, how- 
 ever, be inferred from what has been said, that in a 
 civilized society there is any thing in that species of 
 property which is acquired by labor to which individu- 
 als owe a more sacred regard thaa they do to every 
 other species of property created or recognized by posi- 
 tive laws. Among these last there are many which 
 have derived their origin from a principle no less, ob- 
 ligatory than our natural sense of justice, a clear per- 
 ception in the mind of the legislator (sanctioned per- 
 haps by the concurrent experience of different ages 
 and nations) of general utility; and to all of them, 
 while they exist, the reverence of the subject is due, 
 on the same principle which binds him to respect and 
 to maintain the social order. Nature has provided for 
 • human happiness, in this instance, in a manner pre- 
 cisely analogous to her general economy. Those sim- 
 ple and indispensable rules of right and wrong, oi just 
 and unjust, without which the fruits of the earth could 
 not be converted to the use of man, nor his existence 
 maintained even in the rudest form of the social union, 
 she has engraved on the heart as an essential part of 
 the human constitution, — leaving men, as society ad- 
 vances, to employ their gradually improving reason in 
 fixing, according to their own ideas of expediency, 
 the various regulations concerning the acquisition, the 
 alienation and transmission of property, which the 
 more complicated interests of the community may 
 require. 
 
 It is also beautifully ordered, that, while a regard for 
 legal property is thus secured, among men capable of 
 reflection, by a sense of general utility, the same effect is 
 accomplished, in the minds of the multitude; by habit 
 and the association of ideas ; in consequence of which, 
 all the inequalities of fortune are sanctioned by mere 
 prescription, and long possession is conceived to found 
 a right of property as complete as that which, by the 
 law of nature, an individual has in the fruits of hia 
 own industry. 
 
RIGHT OF PROPERTY. 375 
 
 In such a state of things, therefore, as that with 
 which we are connected, the right of property must 
 be understood to derive its origin from two distinct 
 sources : the one is that natural sentiment of the mine' 
 which establishes a moral connection between laboi 
 and an exclusive enjoyment of the fruits of it ; the 
 other is the municipal institutions of the country where 
 we live. These institutions everywhere take rise partly 
 from ideas of natural justice, and partly (perhaps chief- 
 ly) from ideas of supposed utility, — two principles 
 which, when properly understood, are, I believe, always 
 in harmony with each other, and which it ought to be 
 the great aim of every legislator to reconcile to the ut- 
 most of his power. Among those questions, however, 
 which fall under the cognizance of positive laws, there 
 are many on which natural justice is entirely silent, 
 and which, of consequence, may be discussed on prin- 
 ciples of utility solely. Such are most of the questions 
 concerning the regulation of the succession to a man's 
 property after his death ; of some of which it may per- 
 haps be found that the determination ought to vary 
 with the circumstances of the society, and which have 
 certainly, in fact, been frequently determined by the 
 caprice of the legislator, or by some principle ultimate- 
 ly resolvable into an accidental association of ideas. 
 Indeed, various cases may be supposed, in which it is 
 not only useful, but necessary, that a rule should be 
 fixed ; while, at the same time, neither justice nor 
 utility seems to be much interested in the particular 
 decision. 
 
 In examining the questions which turn on consider- 
 ations of utility, some will immediately occur, of which 
 the determination is so obvious, and which, at the same 
 time, are so universal in their application, that the laws 
 of all enlightened nations on the subject may be ex- 
 pected to be the same. Of this description are many of 
 the questions which may be stated with respect to the 
 effects of priority of occupancy in establishing perma- 
 nent rights. These questions are of course frequently 
 confounded with questions of natural law ; and in owe 
 
376 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 sense of that phrase they may not improperly be com- 
 prehended under the title, but the distinction between 
 them and the other class of questions is essential ; for 
 wherever considerations of utility are involved, the po- 
 litical union is supposed, whereas the principle oi jus- 
 tice, properly so called (of that justice, for example, 
 which respects the right of the laborer to enjoy the fruit 
 of his own industry), is inseparable from the human 
 frame.* 
 
 Section IV. 
 OF veracity. 
 
 I. Importance and Foundation of Veracity.] The im- 
 portant rank which veracity holds among our social du- 
 ties appears from the obvious consequences that would 
 result if no-foundation were laid for it in the constitu- 
 tion of our nature. The purposes of speech would be 
 frustrated, and every man's opportunities of knowledge 
 would be limited to his own personal experience. 
 
 Considerations of utility, however, do not seem to 
 be the only ground of the approbation we bestow on 
 this disposition. Abstraction made of all regard to 
 consequences, there is something pleasing and amiable 
 in sincerity, openness, and truth, — something disagree- 
 able and disgusting in duplicity, equivocation, and false- 
 hood. Dr. Hutcheson himself, the great patron of that 
 theory which resolves all moral qualities into benevo- 
 lence, confesses this ; for he speaks of asewse which leads 
 us to approve of veracity, distinct from the sense which 
 approves of qualities useful to mankind.f As this, how- 
 ever, is at best but a vague way of speaking, it may be 
 proper to analyze more particularly that part of our 
 
 * On the right of property and its limitations, see Mill's Principles of 
 Political Economy, Part II. Chap. I., II. — Ed 
 
 t Philosophies Moralis Institutio Compendiaria, Lib. II. Capp. IX. X. 
 
 Aristotle expresses himself nearly to the same purpose. Ethic. Nico- 
 mach., Lib. IV. Cap. VII. Various passages of a similar import occur in 
 Cicero. 
 
VERACITY. 377 
 
 constitution from which our approbation of veracity 
 arises. 
 
 That there is in the human mind a natural or instinc- 
 tive principle of veracity has been remarked by many 
 authors, the same part of our constituMon which 
 prompts to social intercourse prompting also to sin- 
 cerity in our mutual communications. Truth is always 
 the spontaneous and native expression of our senti- 
 ments ; whereas falsehood implies a certain violence 
 done to our nature, in consequence of the influence of 
 some motive which we are anxious to conceal. 
 
 II. Truth and the Love of Truth.'] With respect to 
 the nature of truth various metaphysical speculations 
 have been offered to the world, a;id various definitions 
 have been attempted, both by the ancients and moderns. 
 These, however, have thrown but little light on the sub- 
 ject, which is not suprising, when we consider that the 
 word truth expresses a simple idea or notion, of which 
 no analysis or explication is possible. The same obser- 
 vation may be made with respect to the words knowl- 
 edg'e and belief. All of them express notions which 
 are implied in every judgment of the understanding, 
 and which no being can form who is not possessed 
 of a rational nature. And, by the way, these notions 
 deserve to be added to the list formerly mentioned, as 
 exemplifications of the imperfection of the account 
 commonly given of the origin of our ideas. They are 
 obviously not derived from any particular sense ; and 
 they do not seem to be referable to any part of oar 
 constitution, but to the understanding; or, in other 
 words, to those rational powers which distinguish man 
 from the brutes. This language, I know, will appear 
 to be very loose and inaccurate to those who have fa- 
 miliarized their minds to the common doctrine ; but it 
 is a plain and indisputable statement of the fact. 
 
 To acquire knowledge or to discover truth is the 
 
 proper object of curiosity ; — a principle of action which 
 
 is coeval with the first operations of the intellect, and 
 
 which in most minds continues through life to have a 
 
 32* 
 
878 DUTIES TO OUR FEl.LOW-MEN. 
 
 powerful influence, in one way or^another, on the char- 
 acter and the conduct. It is this principle which puts 
 the intellectual faculties in motion, and gives them 
 that exercise which is necessary for their development 
 and improvement ; and which, according to the direc- 
 tion it takes, and the particular set of faculties it exer- 
 cises, is the principal foundation of the dive-rsities of 
 genius among men. And as the diversities of genius 
 proceed from the different directions in which curiosity 
 engages the attention, so the inequalities of genius 
 among individuals may be traced in a great measure to 
 the different degrees of ardor and perseverance with 
 which the curiosity operates. When I say this, I would 
 not be understood to insinuate that the different capa- 
 cities of individuals are the same ; a supposition contra- 
 dicted by obvious facts, and contrary to what we should 
 be led to conclude from the analogy of the body. I 
 only wish to impress on all those who have any con- 
 nection with the education of youth the great impor- 
 tance of stimulating the curiosity, and of directing it 
 to proper objects, as the most effectual of all means 
 for securing the improvement of the mind : I may add, 
 as one of the most effectual provisions that can be 
 made for the happiness of the individual, in conse- 
 quence of the resources it furnishes when we are left 
 to depend on ourselves for enjoyment ; and in conse- 
 quence, also, of the progressive vigor with which it 
 operates to the very close of life, in proportion to the 
 enlargement of our experience and the extent of our 
 information. 
 
 In order, however, to prevent misapprehensions of 
 my meaning, it is necessary for me again to remark, 
 that the curiosity on which I lay so great a stress is 
 that curiosity alone which has truth for its object. 
 " There are many men," says Butler, " who have a 
 strong curiosity to know what is said, who have no 
 curiosity to know what is true"; — men who value 
 knowledge only as furnishing an employment to their 
 memory, or as supplying a gratification to their van- 
 ity in their intercourse with others. It is a weakness 
 
VERACITY. 379 
 
 which we may presume has prevailed more or less in 
 all ages, but which has been much encouraged in mod- 
 ern Europe by that superstitious admiration of antiq- 
 uity which has withdrawn so much genius and indus- 
 try from the pursuits of science to those of erudition. 
 No prejudice can be conceived more adverse to the 
 progress of usefu-! knowledge, not only as it occasions 
 an idle waste of time and labor which might have been 
 more profitably employed, but as it contributes power- 
 fully to destroy that simplicity and modesty of temper 
 which are the genuine characteristics of the true phi- 
 losopher. 
 
 I think it of importance to add, that the love of 
 truth, where it is the great motive of our intellectual 
 pursuits, gains daily an accession of strength as our 
 knowledge advances. I have already said, that it is an 
 ultimate fact in our nature, and is not resolvable into 
 views of utility. Its extensive effects on human hap- 
 piness are discovered only in the progress of our ex- 
 perience ; but when this discovery is once made, it 
 superadds to our instinctive curiosity every stimulus 
 which self-love and benevolence can furnish. The con- 
 nection between en-or and misery, between truth and 
 happiness, becomes gradually more apparent as our 
 inquiries proceed, and produces at last a complete con- 
 viction, that, even in those cases where we are unable 
 to trace it, the connection subsists. He who feels this 
 as he ought will consider a steadfast adherence to the 
 truth as an expression of benevolence to man, and of 
 confidence in the righteous administration of the uni- 
 verse, and will suspect the purity of those motives 
 which would lead him to advance the good of his 
 species, or the glory of his Maker, by deceit and hy- 
 pocrisy. 
 
 III. Means of inculcating and enforcing the Duty of 
 Veracity.] In offering these remarks, I shall no doubt 
 be thought to have taken a very wide circuit in order 
 to illustrate the nature of that veracity which is incum- 
 bent on us in our intercourse with our fellow-creatures. 
 
380 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 But it appears to me that the most solid of all founda- 
 tions for the uniform and the scrupulous exercise of this 
 virtue is to cherish the love of truth in general, and to 
 impress the mind with a conviction of its important 
 effects on our own happiness and on that of society. 
 There is, indeed, a sort of gross and ostensible prac- 
 tice of this duty, which is secured by what we call the 
 point of honor in modern Europe, which brands with 
 infamy every palpable deviation from the truth in mat- 
 ters of fact. The law of honor here operates in the 
 case of veracity, in some measure, as the law of the 
 magistrate operates in the case of justice. But as in 
 the latter case a man may be unjust in the sight of 
 God and of his own conscience without transgressing 
 the letter of any statute, so, in the former, without for- 
 feiting his character as a gentleman, he may often incur 
 all the guilt of a liar and an impostor. Is it, in a moral 
 view, more criminal to misrepresent a fact, than to im- 
 pose on the world by w^hat we know to be an unsound 
 or a fallacious argument? Is it, in a moral view, more 
 criminal to mislead another by a verbal lie, than by 
 actions which convey a false idea of our intentions? 
 Is it, in a moral view, more criminal, or is it more in- 
 consistent with the dignity of a man of true honor, to 
 defraud men in a private transaction by an incorrect 
 or erroneous statement of circumstances, than to mis- 
 lead the public to their own ruin by those wilful devia- 
 tions from truth into which we see men daily led by 
 views of interest or ambition, or by the spirit of politi- 
 cal faction ? Numberless cases, in short, may be fan- 
 cied, in which our only security for truth is the virtuous 
 disposition of the individual, and where the restraint of 
 public opinion has little or no influence. Perhaps I 
 should not go too far were I to affirm, that, as there is 
 no duty of which the gross and ostensible practice is 
 so effectually secured by the manners of modern times, 
 so there is none to the obligation of which mankind 
 seem in general to be so insensible, considered as moral 
 agents, and accountable to God for their thoughts and 
 intentions. 
 
VERACITY. 381 
 
 Among the various causes which have conspired to 
 relax our moral principles on this important article, the 
 facility which the press ati'ords us in modern times of 
 addressing the w^orld by means of anonymous publica- 
 tions is probably one of the most powerful. The sal- 
 utary restraint which a regard to character imposes, in 
 most cases, on our moral deviations, is here withdrawn ; 
 and we have no security for the fidelity of the writer, 
 but his disinterested love of truth and of mankind. 
 The palpable and ludicrous misrepresentations of facts, 
 to which we are accustomed from our infancy in the 
 periodical prints of the day, gradually unhinge our 
 faith in all such communications; and what we are 
 every day accustomed to see, we cease in time to re- 
 gard with due abhorrence. Nor is this the only moral 
 evil resulting from the licentiousness of the press. The 
 intentions of nature in appointing public esteem as 
 the reward of virtue, and infamy as the punishment of 
 vice, are in a great measure thwarted ; and while the 
 fairest characters are left open to the assaults of a 
 calumny ■which it is impossible to trace to its author, 
 the opinions of the public may be so divided by the 
 artifices of hireling flatterers, with respect to men of 
 the most profligate and abandoned lives, as to enable 
 them, not only to brave the censures of the world, but 
 to retaliate with more than an equal advantage on the 
 good name of those who have the rashness to accuse 
 them. 
 
 In a free government like ours, the liberty of the 
 press has been often and justly called the palladium of 
 the constitution ; but it may reasonably be doubted 
 whether this liberty would be at all impaired by a reg- 
 ulation, which, while it left the press perfectly open 
 to every man who was. willing openly to avow his 
 opinions, rendered it impossible for any individual to 
 publish a sentence without the sanction of his name. 
 Upon this question, however, considered in a political 
 point of view, I shall not presume to decide. Con- 
 sidered in a moral light, the advantages of such a regu- 
 lation appear to be obvious and indisputable, and the 
 
382 DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN. 
 
 effect could scarcely fail to have a most extensive in 
 fluence on national manners* 
 
 Besides that love of truth which seems evidently to 
 be an original principle of the mind, there are other 
 laws of our nature which were plainly intended to se- 
 cure the practice of veracity in our intercourse with 
 our fellow-creatures. There are others, too, which, as 
 they suppose the practice of this virtue, may 6e re- 
 garded as intimations of that conduct which is con- 
 formable to the end and destination of our being. 
 Such is that disposition to repose faith in testimony, 
 which is coeval with the use of language. Without 
 such a disposition, the education of children would be 
 impracticable; and accordingly, so far from being the 
 result of experience, it seems to be, in the first instance, 
 unlimited, — nature intrusting its gradual correction to 
 the progress of reason and of observation. This re- 
 mark, which I think was first made by Dr. Reid, has 
 been since repeated and enforced by Mr. Smith, in his 
 Theory of Moral Sentiments. This author observes, 
 further, that, " notwithstanding the lessons of caution 
 communicated to us by experience, there is scarcely ^ 
 man to be found who is not more credulous than he 
 ought to be, and who does not, upon many occasions, 
 give credit to tales which not only turn out to be per- 
 fectly false, but which a very moderate degree of re- 
 flection and attention might have taught him could not 
 well be true. The natural disposition is always to 
 believe. It is acquired wisdom and experience alone 
 that teach incredulity, and they very seldom teach it 
 enough. The wisest and most cautious of us all fre- 
 quently gives credit to stories which he himself is after- 
 wards both ashamed and astonished that he could pos- 
 sibly think of believing." This disposition to repose 
 faith in testimony bears a striking analogy, both in its 
 origin and in its final cause, to our instinctive expecta- 
 tion of the continuance of those laws which regulate 
 the course of physical events. 
 
 " T'or the political aspects of this subject, see Lord Brougham's Politi- 
 cal Philosophy, Part III. Chap. XXI. — Ed. 
 
DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 383 
 
 In infancy the principle of veracity is by no means 
 so conspicuous as that of credulity, and it sometimes 
 happens that a good deal of care is necessary to cherish 
 it. But in such cases it will always be found that 
 there is some indirect motive combined with the desire 
 of social communication, such as fear, or vanity, or 
 mischief, or sensuality. The same principle which 
 prompts to social intercourse and to the use of speech 
 prompts also to veracity. Nor is it probable that there 
 is such a thing as falsehood uttered merely from the 
 love of falsehood. 
 
 If this remark be just, it suggests an important prac- 
 tical rule in the business of education; — not to at- 
 tempt the cure of lying ^nd deceit by general rules 
 concerning the duty of veracity, or by punishments 
 inflicted upon every single violation of it, but by study- 
 ing to discover and remove the radical evil from which 
 it springs, whether it be cowardice, or vanity, or mis- 
 chief, or selfishness, or sensuality. Either of these, if 
 allow^ed to operate, will in time unhinge the natural 
 constitution of the mind, and produce a disregard to 
 truth upon all occasions where a temporary convenience 
 can be gained by the breach of it. 
 
 From these imperfect hints, it would appear that 
 every breach of veracity indicates some latent vice or 
 some criminal intention, whicli an individual is ashamed 
 to avow. And hence the peculiar beauty of openness 
 or sincerity, uniting in some degree in itself the graces 
 of all the other moral qualities of which it attests the 
 existence. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OF THE DUTIES WHICH RESPECT OURSELVES. 
 
 Prudence, temperance, and fortitude are no less req- 
 uisite for enabling us to discharge our social duties, 
 
384 DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 than for securing our own private happiness ; but as 
 they do not necessarily imply any reference to our fel- 
 low-creatures, they seem to belong most properly to 
 this third branch of virtue. 
 
 An illustration of the nature and tendency of these 
 qualities, and of the means by which they are to be 
 improved and confirmed, although a most important 
 article of ethics, does not lead to any discussions of 
 so abstract a kind as to require particular attention 
 in a work of which brevity is a principal object. It is 
 sufficient hereto remark, that, independently of all con- 
 siderations of utility, either to ourselves or to others, 
 these qualities are approved of as right and becoming. 
 Their utility, at the same time, or rather necessity, for 
 securing the discharge of our other duties, adds greatly 
 to the respect they command, and is certainly the chief 
 ground of the obligation we lie under to cultivate the 
 habits by which they are formed. 
 
 A steady regard, in the conduct of life, to the happi- 
 ness and perfection of our own nature, and a diligent 
 study of the means by which these ends may be attained, 
 is another duty belonging to this branch of virtue. It 
 is a duty so important and comprehensive, that it leads 
 to the practice of all the rest, and is therefore entitled 
 to a very full and particular examination in a system 
 of moral philosophy. Such an examination, while it 
 leads our thoughts " to the end and aim of our being," 
 will again bring under our review the various duties 
 already considered ; and, by showing how they all con- 
 spire in recommending the same dispositions, will il- 
 lustrate the unity of design in the human constitution, 
 and the benevolent wisdom displayed in its formation. 
 Other subordinate duties, besides, which it would be 
 tedious to enumerate under separate titles, may thus 
 be placed in a light more interesting and agreeable. 
 
PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS. 385 
 
 Section I. 
 
 OF THE DUTY OF EMPLOYING THE MEANS WE POSSESS 
 TO SECURE OUR OWN HAPPINESS. 
 
 According to Dr. Hutcheson, our conduct, so far as 
 it is influenced by self-love, is never the object of moral 
 approbation. Even, a regard to the pleasures of a good 
 conscience he considered as detracting from the merit 
 of those actions which it encourages us to perform. 
 
 That the principle of self-love (or, in other words, 
 the desire of happiness) is neither an object of appro- 
 bation nor of blame is sufficiently obvious. It is in- 
 separable from the nature of man as a rational and a 
 sensitive being. It is, however, no less obvious, on the 
 other hand, that this desire, considered as a principle of 
 action, has by no means a uniform influence on the 
 conduct. Our animal appetites, our affections, and 
 the other inferior principles of our nature, interfere as 
 often with self-love as with benevolence, and mislead 
 us from our own happiness as much as from the duties 
 we owe to others. 
 
 In these cases, every spectator pronounces that we 
 deserve to suffer for our folly and indiscretion ; and 
 we ourselves, as soon as the tumult of passion is over, 
 feel in the same manner. Nor is this remorse merely 
 a sentiment of regret for having missed that happiness 
 which we might have enjoyed. We are dissatisfied, 
 not only with our condition, but with our conduct, — 
 with our having forfeited by our own imprudence what 
 we might have attained.* 
 
 It is true, that we do not feel so warm an indigna- 
 tion against the neglect of private good as against per- 
 fidy, cruelty, and injustice. The reason probably is, 
 that imprudence commonly carries its own punish- 
 ment along with it, and our resentment is disarmed by 
 pity. Indeed, as that habitual regard to his own hap- 
 
 " See Butler's Dissertation on the Nature of Virtue. 
 
 33 
 
386 DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 piness, which every man feels, except when under the 
 influence of some violent appetite, is a powerful check 
 on imprudence, it was less necessary to provide an ad- 
 ditional punishment for this vice in the indignation of 
 the world. 
 
 From the principles now stated, it follows, that, in a 
 person who believes in a future state, the criminality of 
 every bad action is aggravated by the imprudence with 
 which it is accompanied. 
 
 It follows, also, that the punishments annexed by the 
 civil magistrate to particular actions render the com- 
 mission of them more criminal than it would otherwise 
 be ; insomuch, that, if an action, in itself perfectly in- 
 different, were prohibited by some arbitrary law, under 
 a severe penalty, the commission of that action (unless 
 we were called to it by some urgent consideration of 
 duty) would be criminal, not merely on account of the 
 obedience which a subject owes to established authori- 
 ty, but on account of the regard which every man 
 ought to feel for his life and reputation. ' To forge the 
 handwriting of another with a fraudulent intention is 
 undoubtedly a crime, independently of positive insti- 
 tutions; and it becomes still more criminal in a com- 
 mercial country like ours, on account of the extensive 
 mischiefs which may arise from it. It is a crime, how- 
 ever, not of greater magnitude than many other kinds' 
 of qomra'ercial fraud that might be mentioned. If the 
 king, for example, grants his patent to a subject for a 
 particular invention, and another counterfeits it, and 
 makes use of his name, stamp, and coat of arras, he 
 not only injures an individual, but imposes on the pub- 
 lic. Abstraction made, therefore, of positive law, the 
 criminality of the latter act is fully as great as that of 
 the former. As the law, however, has made the one 
 act capital, and the other not, but only subjected the 
 person who commits it to pecuniary damages to the 
 individual he has injured, the forgery of a deed be- 
 comes incomparably more criminal, in a moral view, 
 than the counterfeit of a patent invention. A good 
 man, indeed, ^11 neither do the one nor the other. 
 
THEORIES OF HAPPINESS. THE EPICUREAN. 387 
 
 Bnt the man who adds to a fraudulent disposition an 
 imprudent disregard to his own life and character is, 
 undoubtedly, the more guilty of the two, and meets 
 his fate with much less sympathy from others than he 
 would receive if he had committed the same act with- 
 out knowing its consequences. 
 
 Section II. 
 
 OF THE different THEORIES OF HAPPINESS. 
 
 I. General Observations.] The most superficial ob- 
 servation of life is sufficient to convince us that happi- 
 ness is not to be attained by giving every appetite and 
 desire the gratification it demands ; and that it is ne- 
 cessary for us to form to ourselves some plan or system 
 of conduct, in subordination to which all other objects 
 are to be pursued. 
 
 To ascertain what this system ought to be is a prob- 
 lem which has, in all ages, employed the speculations 
 of philosophers. Among the ancients, the question 
 concerning the sovereign good was the principal sub- 
 ject of controversy which divided the schools ; and it 
 was treated in such a manner as to involve almost ev- 
 ery other question of ethirs. The opinions maintained 
 with respect to it by some of their sects comprehend 
 many of the most important truths to which the inquiry 
 leads, and leave little to be added but a few corrections 
 and limitations of their conclusions. » 
 
 These opinions may Be all reduced to three : those 
 of the Epicureans, of the Stoics, and of the Peripatetics ; 
 and, indeed, it does not seem possible to form a concep- 
 tion of any scheme of happiness which may not be re- 
 ferred to one or other of these three systems. 
 
 II. (1.) The Epicurean.'] The fundamental princi- 
 ple of the Epicurean system was, that bodily pleasure 
 and pain were the sole ultimate objects of desire and 
 aversion. These were desired and shunned on their 
 own account; every thing else, from its tendency to 
 
388 DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 procure the one of these or to save us from the other, 
 Power, for example, riches, reputation, even the virtues 
 themselves, were not desirable for their own sake, but 
 were valuable merfily as being instrumental to procure 
 us the objects of our natural desires. '' They who 
 place the sovereign, good in virtue alone, and who, daz- 
 zled by words, overlook the intentions of nature, will 
 be delivered from this greatest of all errors, if they will 
 only listen to Epicurus. As to these rare and excellent 
 qualities on which you set so high a value, who is there 
 that would consider them as objects either of praise 
 or of imitation, unless from a belief that they are in- 
 strumental in adding to the sum of our pleasures ? For 
 as we prize the medical art, not on its own account, 
 but as subservient to the preservation of health, and 
 the art of the pilot, not for the skill he displays, but as 
 it diminishes the dangers of navigation, so, also, wis- 
 dom, which is the art of living, would be coveted by 
 none if it were altogether unprofitable, whereas now 
 it is an object of general pursuit, from a persuasion 
 that it both guides us to our best enjoyments, and 
 points out to us the most effectual means for their at- 
 tainment." * 
 
 All the pleasures and pains of the mind (according 
 to Epicurus) are derived from the recollection and an- 
 ticipation of bodily pleasures and pains ; but this recol- 
 lection and anticipation he considered as contributing 
 much more to our happiness or misery on the whole, 
 than the pleasures and pains themselves. His philoso- 
 phy was, indeed, directed chiefly to inculcate this truth, 
 and to withdraw our solicitude from the pleasures and 
 pains themselves, which are not in our power, to the 
 regulation of our recollections and anticipations, which 
 depend upon ourselves. He placed happiness, there- 
 fore, in ease of body and tranqidUUy of mind, but much 
 more in the latter than in the former, insomuch that he 
 affirmed a wise man might be happy in the midst of 
 bodily torments. " Hear," says Cicero, " the language 
 
 • Cicero, Be Fin., Lib. I. 13. 
 
THEORIES OF HAPPINESS. THE EPICUREAN. 389 
 
 of Epicurus on his death-bed. ' Epicurus to Herma 
 eh us, greeting. — While I am passing the last day oi 
 my lite, and that the happiest, I write this epistle, op- 
 pressed, at the same time, with so many and such 
 acute maladies, that it is scarcely possible to conceive 
 that my sufferings are susceptible of augmentation. 
 All these, however, are amply compensated by the 
 mental joy I derive from the recollection of the reason- 
 ings and discoveries of which I am the author.' " The 
 concluding sentence of this letter does more honor to 
 E|)icurus than any other part of it. " But you, as is 
 worthy of your good-will towards me and philosophy, 
 let it be your business to consider your.-self as the guar- 
 dian and protector of the children of . Metrodorus." * 
 
 Epicurus himself is represented as a person of inof- 
 fensive and even amiable manners. He is said to 
 have taught his philosophy in a garden, where he lived 
 a temperate and quiet life, enjoying what Thomson 
 calls " the glad poetic ease of Epicurus, — seldom un- 
 derstood." He died at an advanced age, and was so 
 much beloved and esteemed by his followers, that his 
 birthday was annually celebrated as a festival. His 
 private virtues, however, were probably, in a great 
 measure, the effect of a happy natural constitution ; for 
 his philosophy, besides destroying all those supports of 
 morality that religion affords, lended avowedly _to rec- 
 ommeiid a life of indolent and selfish indulgence, and 
 a total abstraction from the concerns and duties of- the 
 world. Accordingly, we find that many of his disci- 
 ples brought so much discredit on their principles by 
 the dissoluteness of their lives, that the word Epicurean 
 came gradually to be understood as characteristical of 
 a person devoted to sensual gratifications. 
 
 The influence which these principles had on the 
 manners of the later Romans has been remarked by 
 many writers ; and it is not a little curious, that it was 
 cleaxly foreseen, ages before, by their virtuous and en- 
 
 * De Fin., II. 30. The same letter is also found in Diogenes Laertiua, 
 Lib. X 
 
 33* 
 
390 DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 lightened progenitors. This fact, which has not been 
 sufficiently attended to, deserves the serious considera- 
 tioa of those who are disposed to call in question the 
 effect of speculative opinions on national character. 
 
 It was in the year of Rome 471, and during the con- 
 sulate of Fabricius, that the Romans seem to have re- 
 ceived the first notice of the Epicurean doctrines. At 
 that period the Tarentines had the address to instigate 
 the Samnites, and almost all the other Italian states, 
 to take arms against the republic, and also prevailed 
 on Pyrrhus, king of Epirus, to give them his assistance. 
 Iti the course of the war, Fabricius, with two other per- 
 sons of high rank, was sent to Pyrrhus's court, to treat 
 with him about an exchange of prisoners ; and it was 
 at a public entertainment given to them upon that oc- 
 casion that Cineas, his minister and favorite, gave the 
 Roman ambassadors a genera) idea of the philosophi- 
 cal principles which Epicurus had begun to teach at 
 Athens about twenty years before. The effect which 
 this conversation had on the minds of the Roman am- 
 bassadors is an instructive fact in the history of philos- 
 ophy. 
 
 " I have frequently heard from some of my friends, 
 who were much my seniors," says Cato to Scipio and 
 Lselius, " a traditionary anecdote concerning Fabricius. 
 They assured me, that, in the early part of their life, 
 they were told by certain very old men of their ac- 
 quaintance, that, when Fabricius was ambassador at 
 the court of Pyrrhus, he expressed great astonishment 
 at the account given him by Cineas of a philosopher 
 at Athens, who maintained that the love of pleasure 
 was universally the leading motive of all human ac- 
 tions. My informer added, that, when Fabricius relat- 
 ed this fact to M. Curius and Titus Coruncanius, they 
 both joined in wishing that Pyrrhus and the whole 
 Samnite nation might become converts to this extraor-, 
 dinary doctrine, as the people who were infected with 
 such unmanly principles could not fail, they thought, 
 of proving an easy conquest to their enemies. M. Cu- 
 rius had been intimately connected with Pu^lius Decius, 
 
THEORIES OF HAPPINESS. THE STOIC. 391 
 
 who in his fourth consulate (whieh was five years be- 
 fore the former entered upon that ofKce) gloriously sac- 
 rificed his life to, the preservation of his country. This 
 generous patriot was personally known both to Fa- 
 bricius and to Coruncanius ; and they were convinced, 
 by what they experienced in their own breasts, as well 
 as by the illustrious example of Decius, that there is in 
 certain actions an intrinsic rectitude and obligation 
 which, with a noble contempt of what the world calls 
 pleasure, every great and generous mind will steadily 
 keep in view as a sacred rule of conduct, and as the 
 chief concern of life." * 
 
 III. (2.) The Stoic] In opposition to the Epicurean 
 doctrines already stated on the subject of happiness, 
 the Stoics placed the supreme good in rectitude of con- 
 duct, without any regard to the event. They did not, 
 however, as has been often supposed, recommend an 
 indifference to external objects, or a life of inactivity 
 and apathy. On the contrary, they taught that nature 
 pointed out to us certain objects of choice and of re- 
 jection, and amongst these some to be more chosen 
 and avoided than others; and that virtue consisted in 
 choosing and rejecting objects according to their in- 
 trinsic value. They admitted that health was to be 
 preferred to sickness, riches to proverty; the prosperity 
 of our family, of our friends, of our country, to their 
 adversity; and they allowed, nay, they recommended, 
 
 * Cicero, De Senect. The system of morals generally ascribed to Epicu- 
 rus is said to have been borrowed from Aristippus, who also taught that 
 happiness consisted in bodily pleasure ; but it is probable, as Mr. Smith 
 obH'rves,,that his manner of applying his principles was altogether his 
 ow n. Indeed, we have the testimony of Diogenes Laertius that Aristippus 
 taujjlit that happiness consisted in the present pleasures of the body, and 
 not in any mental refinements on these pleasures, according to the system 
 of Epicurus. — Lib. 11. 187. The life of Epicurus has been written in 
 modern times by Gassendi (who also attempted to revive his philosophy, 
 Si/ntagma FItilosophice Epicitri), and by Bayle. Hcineccius also mentions 
 a'booii entitled, Jacob Rondellus, De Vita et de Moribus Epicuri, which has 
 never fallen in my way. [For more modern authorities, see the general 
 histories of philosophy by Tennemann, RitteK and Uegerando. Also, 
 Warnekros, Apologie und Leben Epicurs. Steinhart in Ersch u. Gruher. 
 Mgem. Encydop., Vol. XXXV. p. 459 et seq.] 
 
392 DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 the most strenuous exertions to accomplish Ihese de- 
 sirable ends. They only contended that these objects 
 should be pursued, not as the constituents of our hap- 
 piness, but because we believe it to be agreeable to 
 nature that we should pursue them ; and that, therefore, 
 when we have done our utmost, we should regard the 
 event as indifferent. 
 
 That this is a fair representation of the Stoical doc- 
 trine has been fully proved by Mr. Harris, in the very 
 learned and judicious notes on his Dialogue conr.crn- 
 iiig- Happiness ; a performance which, although not en- 
 tirely free from Mr. Harris's peculiarities of thought 
 and style, does him so much honor, both as a writer 
 and a moralist, that we cannot help regretting, while 
 we peruse it, that he should so often have wasted his 
 ingenuity and learning upon scholastic subtilties, equal- 
 ly inapplicable to the pursuits of science and to the 
 business of life. /,«.,'/:", 
 
 " The word nddos," he observes, " which we usually 
 render a passion, means-, in the Stoic sense, a perturba- 
 tion, and i^, vilways so translated by Cicero ; and the 
 epithet oTra^jyt, when applied to the wise man, does not 
 mean an exemption from passion, but an exemption 
 from that perturbation which is founded on erroneous 
 opinions. The testimony of Epictetus is expressed to 
 this purpose. ' I am not,' says he, 'to be apathetic like 
 a statue, but I am withal to observe relations, both 
 the natural and the adventitious; as the man of relig- 
 ion, as the son, as the brother, as the father, as the 
 citizen.' And immediately before, he tells us, that 'a 
 perturbation in no other way ever arises, but either 
 when a desire is frustrated, or an aversion falls into 
 that which it should avoid.' In which passage," says 
 HaiTis, " it is observable that he does not make either 
 desire or aversion Trddri, or perturbations, but only the 
 cause of perturbations when erroneously conducted." 
 
 From a great variety of passages, which it is unne- 
 cessary for me to transcribe, Harris concludes that " the 
 Stoics, in the character of their virtuous man, included 
 rational desire, aversion, and exultation ; included love 
 
THEORIES OF HAPPINESS. THE STOIC. 393 
 
 and parental affection, friendship, and a general benev- 
 olence to all mankind ; and considered it as a duty 
 arising from our very nature not to neglect the welfare 
 of public society, but to be ever ready, according to our 
 rank, to act either as the magistrate or as the private 
 citizen." 
 
 Kor did they exclude wealth from among the objects 
 of choice. The Stoic Hecato, in his treatise Of Offices, 
 quoted by Cicero, tells us, that " a wise man, while he 
 abstains from doing any thing contrary to the customs, 
 lawsj and institutions of his country, ought to aj^tend 
 to his own fortune. For we do not desire to be rich 
 for ourselves only, but for our children, relations, and 
 friends, and especially for the commonwealth, inas- 
 much as the riches of individuals are the wealth of a 
 state." * " Nay," says Cicero, on another occasion, 
 " if the wi&e man could mend his condition by adding 
 to the amplest possessions the poorest, meanest utensil, 
 he would in no degrefe contemn it." \ 
 
 From these quotations it sufRciently appears that the 
 Stoical system, so far from withdrawing men from the 
 duties of life, was eminently favorable to active virtue. 
 Its peculiar and distinguishing tenet was, that our hap- 
 piness does not depend on the ailainmenl of the objects 
 of our choice, but on the part that we act; but this 
 principle was inculcated, not to damp our exertions, but 
 to lead us to rest our happiness only on circumstances 
 which v;e ourselves conld command. " If I am gomg 
 to sail," says Epictetus, " I choose the best ship and 
 the best pilot, and I wait for the fairest weather that 
 my circumstances and duty will allow. Prudence and 
 propriety, the principles which the gods have given 
 me for the direction of my conduct, require this of me, 
 but they require no more; and if, notwithstanding, a 
 storm arises, which neither the strength of the vessel 
 nor the skill of the pilot is likely to withstand, I give 
 myself no trouble about the consequences. All that I 
 had to do is done already. The dij-ectors of my con- 
 
 * De Off., III. 15. t De. Finilms, IV. 12. 
 
394 DUTIES TO OUBSELVES. 
 
 duct never command me to be miserable, to be anxious, 
 desponding, or afraid. Whettier we are to bo drowned 
 or come to a harbour is the business of Jupiter, not 
 mine. I leave it entirely to his determination, nor ever 
 breaii my rest with considering which way he is likely 
 to decide it, but receive whatever comes with equal in- 
 difference and security." 
 
 We may observe further, in favor of this noble sys- 
 tem, that the scale of desirable objects which it exhib- 
 ited was peculiarly calculated to encourage the social 
 virtues. It represented, indeed (in common with the 
 theory of Epicurus), self-love as the great spring of hu- 
 man actions; but in the application of this erroneous 
 principle to practice, its doctrines were favorable to 
 the most enlarged, nay, to the most disinterested be- 
 nevolence. It taught that the prosperity of two was 
 preferable to that of one ; that of a city to that of a 
 family; and that of our country to all partial consid- 
 erations. It was upon this very principle, added to a 
 sublime sentiment of piety, that it founded its chief 
 argument for an entire resignation to the dispensations 
 of Providence. As all events are ordered by perfect 
 wisdom, and goodness, the Stoics concluded that what- 
 ever happens is calculated to produce the greatest good 
 possible to the universe in general. As it is agreeable 
 to nature, therefore, that we should prefer the happi- 
 ness of many to a few, and of all to that of many, 
 thgy concluded that every event which happens is pre- 
 cisely that which we ourseJves would have desired, if 
 we had been acquainted with the whole scheme of the 
 Divine administration. " In what sense," says Epic- 
 tetus, " are some things said'to be according to our na- 
 ture, atid others contrary to it? It is in that sense in 
 which we consider ourselves as separated and detached 
 from all other things. For thus it may be said to be 
 the nature of the foot to be always clean. But if you 
 consider it as a foot, and not as something detached 
 from the rest of the body, it must behoove it sometimes 
 to trample in the dirt, and sometimes to tread upon 
 thorns, and sometimes, too, to be cut off for the sake 
 
THEORIES OF HAPPINESS. THE STOIC. 895 
 
 of the. whole body; and if it refuses this, it is no longer 
 a foot. Thus, too, ought we to coneeive with respect 
 to ourselves. What are you? A man. If you con- 
 sider yourself as something separated and detached, it 
 is agreeable to your nature to live to old age, to be rich, 
 to be in health. But if you consider yourself as a man, 
 and as a part of the whole, upon account of that whole 
 it will behoove you sometimes to be in sickness, some- 
 times to be exposed to the inconveniency of a sea voy- 
 age, sometimes to be in want, and at last, perhaps, to 
 die before your time. Why, then, do yoa complain? 
 Do you not know that by doing so, as the foot ceases 
 to be a foot, so you cease to be a man." 
 
 In the writings, indeed, of some of the Stoics, we 
 meet with some absurd and violent paradoxes about 
 the perfect felicity of the loise man on the one hand, 
 and the equality of misery among all those who fall 
 short of this ideal character on the other. " As all the 
 actions of the wise man were perfect, so all those of 
 the man who had not arrived at this supreme wisdom 
 were faulty, and equally faulty. As one truth could 
 not be more true, nor one falsehood more false, than 
 another, so an honorable action could not be more hon- 
 orable, nor a shameful one more shameful, than an- 
 other. As, in shooting at a mark, the man who had 
 missed it by an inch had equally missed it with him 
 who had done so by a hundred yards, so the man who, 
 in what appeared to us the most insignificant actiqn, 
 had acted improperly, and without a sufficient reason, 
 was equally faulty with hirn who had done so in what 
 appeared to us the most important; the man who had 
 killed a cock, for example, improperly, and without a 
 sufficient reason, with him who had murdered his 
 father. 
 
 " It is not, however," continues Mr. Smith, '• by any 
 means probable that these paradoxes formed a part of 
 the original principles of Stoicism, as taught by Zeno 
 and Cieanthes. It is much more probable that they 
 were added to it by their disciple, Chrysippus, whose 
 genius seems to have been more fitted for systematiz- 
 
396 DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 ing the doctrines of his preceptors, and adorning them 
 with the imposing appendages of artificial definitions 
 and divisions, than for imbibing the sublime spirit 
 which they breathed." 
 
 This apology, however, it must be confessed, will 
 not extend to all the errors of the Stoical school. In 
 particular, it will not extend to the notions it incul- 
 cated on the subject of suicide, and, in general, on the 
 air of defiance and gayety with which death was to 
 be met. But to account even for these, in some meas- 
 ure, by the peculiar circumstances of the times when 
 this philosophy arose, Mr. Smith observes : — " The 
 different republics of Greece were at home almost 
 always distracted by the most furious factions, and 
 abroad involved in the most sanguinary wars, in which 
 each sought, not merely superiority or dominion, but 
 either completely to extirpate all its enemies, or, what 
 was not less cruel, to reduce them into the vilest of all 
 states, — that of domestic slavery. The smallest of 
 the greater part of those states, too, rendered it to each 
 of them no very improbable eventj that it might itself 
 fall into that very calamity which it had so frequently 
 inflicted or attempted to inflict on its neighbours. In 
 this disorderly state of things, the most perfect inno- 
 cence, joined to the highest rank and the greatest ser- 
 vices to the public, could give no security to any man, 
 that, even at home and among- his fellow-citizens, he 
 was not, at some time or other, from the prevalence of 
 some hostile and furious faction, to be condemned to 
 the most cruel and ignominious punishment. If he 
 was taken prisoner of war, or if the city of which he 
 was a member was conquered, he was exposed, if pos- 
 sible, to still greater injuries. As an American savage, 
 therefore, prepares his dealh-song, and considers how 
 he should act when he has fallen into the hands of his 
 enemies, and is by them put to death in the most lin- 
 gering tortures, and amidst the insults and derision of 
 all the spectators, so a Grecian patriot or hero could 
 not avoid frequently employing his thoughts in onw 
 sidering what he ought both to sufter and to do in ban- 
 
THEORIES OF HAPPINESS. THE STOIC. 397 
 
 ishment, in captivity, when reduced to slavery, when 
 put to the torture, when brought to the scaffold. It 
 was the business of their philosophers to prepare the 
 death-song which the Grecian patriots and heroes 
 might make use of on the proper occasions ; and of 
 all the different sects, the Stoics, I think it must be ac- 
 knowledged, had prepared by far the most animated 
 and spirited song." * 
 
 After all, it is impossible to deny that there is some 
 foundation for a censure which Lord Bacon has some- 
 where passed on this celebrated sect. " Certainly," 
 says he, " the Stoics bestowed too much cost on death, 
 and by their preparations made it more fearful." At 
 least,'! suspect this may be the tendency of some pas- 
 sages in their writings, in such a state of society as 
 that in which we live; but-in perusing them, we ought 
 always to remember the circumstances of those men to 
 whom they were addressed, and which are so eloquent- 
 ly described in the observations just quoted from Mr. 
 Smith. The practical reflection which Bacon adds to 
 this censure is invaluable, and is strictly conformable to 
 the spirit of the Stoical system, although he seems to 
 state it by way of contrast to their principles. " It is 
 as natural," says he, " to die, as to be born ; and to a 
 little infant perhaps the one is as painful as the other. 
 He that dies in an earnest pursuit is like one that is 
 w^ounded in hot blood, who for a time scarce feels the 
 hurt; and therefore a mind fixed and bent upon some- 
 what that is good doth best avert the dolors of death." f 
 
 " Hi mores, hzec duri immota Catonis 
 Secta fuit, servare modnm, finemque tenere, 
 Naturamque sequi, patriteque impendere vitam ; 
 Nee sibi, sed toti geriitum se credere mundo." \ 
 
 * Moral Sentiments, Part "VII. Sect II. Chap. I. 
 
 ■ The preceding extracts from Epictetas are also taken from the same 
 chapter, and given in Mr. Smith's translation. 
 
 t Esiiuys or Counsels, Civil and Moral, Et:say II. 
 
 X Luoaii. Phars., Lib. II. 1. 380. See the fragments of this scliool, pub- 
 lislied in Gale's Opuscula Mythologica, Phijsica, et Ethica. [Also, the gener- 
 al hi.stories of philosophy mentioned above; Ritter and Preller in their 
 Historia Philosopk. GrcEco-Roman. ; the articles on Zeno in Bayle, Diet., and 
 in Biographie Universdle.] 
 
 34 
 
398 DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 IV. (3.) The Peripatetic] The doctrine of the Peri- 
 patetics oil this subject appears to have coincided with 
 that of the Pythagorean school, who defined happiness 
 to be " the exercise of virtue in aprosperous life " (x/'^o"'f 
 apeTTjs iv fliruxta) ; a definition, like several others trans- 
 mitted to us from the same source, which unites in a 
 remarkable degree the merits of conciseness and of 
 philosophical precision. 
 
 In confirmation of this doctrine, the Pythagorean 
 school observed that it was not the mere possession, but 
 the exercise, of virtue that made men happy. And 
 for the proper exercise of virtue, they thought that g-ood 
 fortune was as necessary as light is for the exercise of 
 the faculty of sight. The utmost length, accordingly, 
 which they went, was to say, that the virtuous man in 
 adversity was not miserable; whereas the vicious and 
 foolish were miserable in all situations of fortune. In 
 another passage they say that the difference between 
 God and man is, that God is perfect in himself, and 
 needs nothing from without; whereas the nature of 
 man is imperfect and defective, and dependent on ex- 
 ternal circumstances. AJihough, therefore, we possess 
 virtue, that is but the perfection of one part, namely, 
 the mind; but as we consist' both of body and mind, 
 the body also must be perfect of its kind. Nor is that 
 alone sufficient; but the prosperous exercise of virtue 
 requires certain externals ; such as wealth, reputation, 
 friends, and, above all, a well-constituted state ; for with- 
 out that the rational and social animal is imperfect, 
 and unable to fulfil the purposes of its nature. 
 
 The difference between the Peripatetics and Stoics 
 in these opinions is beautifully stated by Cicero, in a 
 passage strongly expressive of the elevation of his own 
 character, as well as highly honorable to the two sects, 
 whose doctrines, while he contrasts them with each 
 other, he plainly considered as both originating in the 
 same pure and ardent zeal for the interests of morality. 
 " Pugnant Stoici cum Peripateticis: alteri negaut quid- 
 quam bonum esse nisi quod honestum sit ; alteri, plu- 
 rimum se, et longe, longeque plurimum attribuere ho- 
 
MEANS OF HAPPINESS. 399 
 
 nestati, sed tamert et in corpore, et extra esse «|U8Bdani 
 bona. Certamen honestum, et disputatio splendida, 
 omnis est enim de virtutis dignitate contentio." * 
 
 Section III. 
 
 MEANS of promoting AND SECURING HAPPINESS. 
 
 I. Introductory Remarks.] From the slight view now 
 given of the systems of philosophers with respect to 
 the Sovereign Good, it may be assumed as an acknowi- 
 edged and indisputable fact, that happiness arises chief- 
 ly from the mind. The Stoics undoubtedly expressed 
 this too strongly when they said, that to a wise man 
 external circumstances are indifferent. Yet it must be 
 confessed, that happiness depends much less on these 
 than is commonly imagined ; and that, as there is no 
 situation so prosperous as to exclude the torments of 
 malice, cowardice, and remorse, so there is none so ad- 
 verse as to withhold the enjoyments of a benevolent, 
 resolute, and upright heart. 
 
 * De Finibus, Lib. II. 21. ''The Stoics oppose the Peripatetics: one 
 sect denies that any thing can he good unless it is viruious; while the oth- 
 er, after allowing very exalted and distinguished qualities to virtue, still 
 thinks that there are some bodily and external circumstances which are 
 good in some degree. The contest is generous ; the difference is glorious ; 
 ifor all the dispute is who ^hall most ennoble virtue." See Arist., Jithic. 
 IVicotn., Lib. I. 
 
 [Cousin, in his Fragments Phihsophujues, Tome I. p. 279, ohseiTes: — 
 '' Not only do we unceasingly aspire after happiness as sensitive beings, 
 but when we have done well, we judge, as intelligent and moral beings, 
 that we are worthy of happiness. Hence the necessary principle of merit 
 and of demerit, the origin and foundation of all our ideas of reward and 
 punl.shment ; — a principle continually confounded either with the desire 
 of happiness or with the moral law. 
 
 " Behold why it is that the question of the sovereign good has never been 
 resolved. Philosophers have sought a simple solution for a complex 
 question, not having the two principles which, together, are capable of re- 
 solving it completely. 
 
 '• Epicurean solution : — the satisfaction of the desire of happiness. 
 
 '' Stoical solution: — the fulfilment of the moral law. 
 
 " The true solution is found in the harmony existing between virtue, and 
 happiness as merited by it; for the two elements in this duality are not 
 equal. Happiness is the consequent ; virtue is the principle. Virtue, 
 though not the sole element of the sovereign good, is always the chief." 
 — Ed.] 
 
400 ' DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 If, froifl the sublimeiidea of a perfectly wise and vir- 
 tuous man, we descend to such characters as the world 
 presents to us, some important limitations of the Stoi- 
 cal conclusions become necessary. Mr. Hume has just- 
 ly remarked, that, " as in the bodily system a toothache 
 produces more violent convulsions of pain than phthi- 
 sis or a dropsy, so, in the economy of the mind, al- 
 though all vice be pernicious, yet the disturbance or 
 pain is not measured out by nature with exact propor- 
 tion to the degree of vice ; nor is the man of highest 
 virtue, even abstracting from external accidents, always 
 the most happy. A gloomy and melancholy disposi- 
 tion is certainly to our sentiments a vice or imperfec- 
 tion ; but as it may be accompanied with a great sense 
 of honor and great integrity, it may be found in very 
 worthy characters, though it is sufficient alone to em- 
 bitter life, and render the person afflicted with it com- 
 pletely miserable. On the other hand, a selfish villain 
 may possess a spring and alacrity of temper, a certain 
 gayety of heart, which is rewarded much beyond its 
 merit, and, when attended with good fortune, will 
 compensate for the uneasiness and remorse arising from 
 all the other vices." 
 
 However this may be, it is certain that various men- 
 tal qualities, which have no immediate connection with 
 moral desert, are necessary to insure happiness. In 
 proof of this remark, it is sufficient to consider how 
 much our tranquillity is liable to be affected, — 
 
 1. By our temper; 
 
 2. By our imagination ; 
 
 3. By our opinions ; and 
 
 4. By our habits. 
 
 In all these respects the mind may be influenced to a 
 great degree by original constitution or by early educa- 
 tion ; and when this influence happens to be unfavora- 
 ble, it is not to be corrected at once by the precepts of 
 philosophy. Much, however, may be done, undoubt- 
 edly, in such instances, by our own persevering efibrts; 
 and therefore the particulars now enumerated deserve 
 our attention, not only from their connection with the 
 
MEANS OF HAPPINESS. TEMPER. 401 
 
 speculative question concerning the essentials of hap- 
 piness, but on account of the practical conclusions to 
 which the consideration of them may lead. - 
 
 II. (1.) Influence of the Temper on Happiness.^ The 
 word temper is used in different senses. Sometimes we 
 apply to it the epithets gay, lively, melebncholy, gloomy ; 
 on other occasions, the epithets fretfvl, passionate, sul- 
 len, cool, equable, gentle. It is in the last sense we use 
 it at present, to denote the habitual state of a man's 
 mind in point of irascibility; or, in other words, to 
 mark the habitual predominance of the benevolent or 
 malevolent affections in his intercourse with his fellow- 
 creatures. 
 
 The connection between this part of the character 
 of an individual and the habitual state of his mind in 
 point of happiness is obvious from what was formerly 
 observed concerning the pleasures and pains attached 
 respectively to the exercise of our benevolent and ma- 
 levolent affections. As Nature has strengthened the 
 social ties among mankind, by annexing a certain 
 charm to every exercise of good-will and of kindness, 
 so she has provided a check on all the discordant pas- 
 sions, by that agitation and disquiet which are their 
 inseparable concomitant. This is true even with re- 
 spect to resentment, how justly soever it may be pro- 
 voked by the injurious conduct of others. It is always 
 accompanied with an unpleasant feeling, which warns 
 us, as soon as we have taken the necessary rneasures 
 for our own security, to banish every sentiment of 
 malice from the heart. On the due regulation of this 
 part of our constitution, our happiness in life materially 
 depends ; and there is no part of it whatever.where it 
 is in our power, by our persevering efforts, to do more 
 to cure our constitutional or our acquired in&rmities. 
 
 Resentment was formerly distinguished into instinc- 
 tive and deliberate. In some men the animal or in- 
 stinctive impulse is stronger than in others. Where 
 this is the case, or where proper care has not been taken 
 in early education to bring it under restraiat, a quick 
 34* 
 
402 DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 or irascible temper is the consequence. This fault 
 is frequently observable in affectionate and generous 
 characters, and impairs their happiness, not so much 
 by the effects it produces on their minds as by the 
 eventual misfortunes to which it exposes them. The 
 sentiments of ill-will which such men feel are only mo- 
 mentary, and the habitual state of their mind is be- 
 nevolent and happy ; but as their reason is the sport of 
 every accident, the best dispositions of the heart can at 
 no time give them any security that they shall not, be- 
 fore they sleep, experience some paroxysm of insanity, 
 which shall close all their prospects of happiness for 
 ever. A frequent and serious consideration of the 
 fatal consequences which may arise from sudden and 
 ungoverned passion cannot fail to have some tendency 
 to check its excesses. It is an infirmity which is often 
 produced by some fault in early education ; by allow- 
 ing children to exercise authority over their dependents, 
 and not providing for them, in the opposition of their 
 equals, a sufficient discipline and preparation for the 
 conflicts they may expect to struggle with in future 
 life. 
 
 When the animal resentment does not immediately 
 subside, it must be supported by an opinion of bad in- 
 tention in its object; and, consequently, when this 
 happens to an individual so habitually as to be char- 
 acteristic of his temper, it indicates a disposition on 
 his part to put unfavorable constructions on the actions 
 of others, or (as we commonly express it) to take things 
 by the wrong handle-. In some instances this may pro- 
 ceed from a settled conviction of the worthlessness of 
 mankind ; but in general it originates in self-dissatis- 
 faction, occasioned by the consciousness of vice or folly, 
 which leads the person who feels it to withdraw his at- 
 tention from himself by referring the causes of his ill- 
 humor to the imaginary faults of his neighbours. Such 
 men do not wait till provocation is given them, but look 
 out anxiously for occasions of quarrel, creating to them- 
 selves, by the help of imagination, an object suited to 
 that particular humor they wish to indijlge ; and, when 
 
MEANS OF HAPPINESS. TEMPER. 403 
 
 their resentment is once excited, they obstinately re- 
 fuse to listen to any thing that may be offered in the 
 way of extenuation or apology. In feeble minds, this 
 displays itself in peevishness, which vents itself lan- 
 guidly upon any object it meets. In more vigorous and 
 determined minds, it produces violent and boisterous 
 passion. For, as Butler has well remarked, both of 
 these seem to be the operation of the same principle, 
 appearing in different forms, according to the constitu- 
 tion of the individual. " In the one case, the humor 
 discharges itself at once ; in the other, it is continually 
 discharging." 
 
 There is, too, a species of misanthropy, which is 
 sometimes grafted on a worthy and benevolent heart. 
 When the standard of moral excellence we have been 
 accustomed to conceive is greatly elevated above the 
 common attainments of humanity, we are apt to be- 
 come too difficult and fastidious (if I may use the ex- 
 pression) in our moral taste ; or, in plainer language, 
 we become unreasonably censorious of the follies and 
 vices of the age in which we live. In such cases it 
 may happen that the native benevolence of the mind, 
 by being habitually directed towards ideal characters, 
 may prove a source of real disaffection and dislike to 
 those with whom we associate. The only effectual 
 remedy for this evil (as I have had occasion to observe 
 in another connection*) is society or business, together 
 with a habit of directing the attention rather to the 
 improvement of our own characters, than to a jealous 
 and suspicious examination of the motives which in- 
 fluence the conduct of our neighbours. 
 
 This last observation leads me to remark, further, 
 that one great cause of this perversion of our nature is 
 a very common and fatal prejudice, which leads men 
 to believe that the degree of their own virtue is pro- 
 portioned to the justness and the liveliness of their 
 moral feelings ; whereas, in truth, virtue consists neither 
 in liveliness of feeling nor in rectitude of judgment, 
 
 * See page 266 of this volume. 
 
404 DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 but in an habitual regard to our sense of duty in the 
 conduct of life. To enlighten, indeed, our conscience 
 with respect to the part which we ourselves have to 
 act, and to cultivate that quick and delicate sense of 
 propriety which may restrain us from every offence, how 
 trifling soever it may appear, against the laws of mo- 
 rality, is an essential part of our duty ; and what a 
 strong sense of duty, aided by a sound understanding, 
 will naturally lead to. But to exercise our powers of 
 moral judgment and moral feeling on the character and 
 conduct of our neighbours is so far from being neces- 
 sarily connected with our moral improvement, that it 
 has frequently a tendency to withdraw our attention 
 from the real state of our own characters, and to flatter 
 us with a belief, that the degree in which we possess 
 the different virtues is proportioned to the indignation 
 excited in our minds by the want of them in others. 
 That tliis rule of judgment is at least not infallible may 
 be inferred from the common observation (justified by 
 tiie experience of every man who has paid any atten- 
 tion to human life), that the most scrupulous men in 
 their own conduct are generally the most indulgent to 
 the faults of their fellow-creatures. I will not go quite 
 so far as to assert, with Dr. Hutcheson, (although I 
 believe his remark has much foundation in truth,) that 
 " men have commonly the good or the bad qualities 
 vi^hich they ascribe to mankind." I shall content my- 
 self with repeating, after Mr. Addison, that, " among 
 all the monstrous characters in human nature, there 
 is none so -odious, nor, indeed, so exquisitely ridicu- 
 lous,- as that of a rigid, severe temper in a worthless 
 man";* — an observation which, from the manner in 
 which he states it, evidently shows that he did not con- 
 sider this union as a very rare occurrence among the 
 numberless inconsistencies in our moral judgments and 
 habits. 
 
 But what we are chiefly concerned at present to re- 
 mark is the tendency of a censorious disposition with 
 
 * Spectator, No. 169. 
 
MEANS OF HAPPINESS. TEMPER. 405 
 
 respect to our own happiness. That favorable opinions 
 of our species, and those benevolent affections towards 
 thena which such opinions produce, are sources of ex- 
 quisite enjoyment to those who entertain them, no 
 person will dispute. But there are two very different 
 ways in which men set about the attainment of this 
 satisfaction. One set of men aim at modelling the 
 world to their own wish, and repine in proportion to 
 the disappointments they experience in their plans of 
 general reformation. Another, while they do what 
 they can to improve their fellow-creatures, consider it 
 as their chief business to watch over their own char- 
 acters ; and as they cannot succeed to their wish in 
 making mankind what they ought to be, they study to 
 accommodate their views and feelings to the order of 
 Providence. They exert their ingenuity in apologizing 
 for folly and misconduct, and are always more dis- 
 posed to praise than to blame ; and when they see 
 unquestionable and unpardonable delinquencies, they 
 avail themselves of such occurrences, not as occasions 
 for venting indignation and abuse, but as lessons of 
 admonition to themselves, and as calls to attempt the 
 amendment of the delinquent by gentle and friendly 
 remonstrances. Of these two plans, it is easy to see 
 that the one, while it appears flattering to the indolence 
 of the individual (because it requires no efforts of self- 
 denial), must necessarily engage him in impracticable 
 and hopeless efforts. The other, although it requires 
 force of mind to put it in execution, is within the reach 
 of every man to accomplish in a degi-ee highly impor- 
 tant to his own character and to his own comfort. This, 
 indeed, I apprehend, is the great secret of happiness, 
 — to study to accommodate our own minds to things 
 external, rather than to accommodate things external 
 to ourselves; and there are no instances in which the 
 practice of the rule is of more consequence than in our 
 intercourse with our fellow-creatures. Let us do what 
 we can to amend them, but let us trust for our happi- 
 ness to what depends on ourselves. Nor is there any 
 delusion necessary for this purpose ; for the fairest 
 
406 DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 views of human character are in truth the justest ; and 
 tlie more intimately we know mankind, the less we 
 shall be misled by the partialites of pride and self-love, 
 and the more shall we be disposed to acknowledge the 
 merits and to pardon the frailties of others. 
 
 Another expedient of very powerful effect is to sup- 
 press, as far as possible, the external sig'iis of peevish- 
 ness or of violence. So intimate is the connection be- 
 tween mind and body, that the mere imitation of any 
 strong expression lias a tendency to excite the corre- 
 sponding passion ; and, on the other hand, the suppres- 
 sion of the external sign has a tendency to compose the 
 passion which it indicates. It is said of Socrates, that 
 whenever he felt the passion of resentment rising in 
 his mind, he became instantly silent; and I have no 
 doubt, that, by observing this rale, he not only avoided 
 many an occasion of giving offence to others, but add- 
 ed much to the comfort of his own life, by killing the 
 seeds of those malignant affections which are the great 
 bane of human happiness. 
 
 Something of the same kind, though proceeding 
 from a less worthy motive, we may see daily exempli- 
 fied in the case of those men who are peevish and un- 
 happy in their own families, while in th6 company of 
 strangers they are good-humored and cheerful. At 
 home they give vent to all their passions without 
 restraint, and exasperate their original irritability by 
 the reaction of that bodily agitation whi(!h it occa- 
 sions. In promiscuous society the restraints of cere- 
 mony render this impossible. They find themselves 
 obliged to conceal studiously whatever emotions of dis- 
 satisfaction they may feel, and soon come to experi- 
 ence, in fact, that gentle and accommodating temper 
 of which they have been striving to counterfeit the ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 The influence of the temper on happiness is much 
 increased by another circumstance ; that the same 
 causes which alienate our affections from our fellow- 
 creatures are apt to suggest unfavorable views of the 
 course of human affairs, and lead the mind by an eagy 
 
MEANS OF HAPPINESS. IMAGINATION. 407 
 
 transition to gloomy conceptions of the general order 
 of the universe. In this state of mind, when, in the 
 language of Hamlet, " Man delights me not," the senti- 
 ment of misanthropy seldom fails to be accompanied 
 with that dark and hopeless philosophy which Shak- 
 speare has, with such exquisite knowledge of the human 
 heart, described as springing up with it from the same 
 root. " This goodly frame, the earth, appears a sterile 
 promontory; — this majestical roof, fretted with golden 
 fire, a foul and pestilent congregation of vaf)ors ; — 
 and Man himself, — noble in reason, infinite in facul- 
 ties, — this beauty of the world, this paragon of ani- 
 mals, — seems but the qvinlessence of dust." Such a 
 temper and such views are not only to the possessor 
 the completion of wretchedness, but, by the proofs they 
 exhibit of insensibility and ingratitude towards the 
 Great Source of happiness and perfection, they argue 
 some defect in those mural feelings to which many men 
 lay claim, who affect an indifference to all serious im- 
 pressions and sentiments. They argue at least what 
 Milton has finely called a " sullenness against Nature" 
 — a disposition of mind which no man could possibly 
 feel whose temper was rightly constituted towards his 
 fellow-creatures. How congenial to the best emotions 
 of the heart is the following sentiment in his Tractate 
 on Education I " In those vernal seasons of the year, 
 when the air is soft and pleasant, it were an injury 
 and sullenness against Nature not to go out and see 
 her riches, and partake in her rejoicings with heaven 
 and earth." 
 
 III. (2.) Influence uf the Imagination on Happiness.] 
 One of the principal effects of a liberal education is to 
 accustom us to withdraw our attention from the ob- 
 jects of our present perceptions, and to dwell at pleas- 
 ure on the past, the absent, and the future. How much 
 it must enlarge in this way the sphere of our enjoy- 
 ment or suffering is obvious ; for (not to mention the 
 recollection of the past) all that part of our happiness 
 or misery which arises from our hopes or our fears de- 
 
408 DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 rives its existence entirely -from the power of imagi- 
 nation. 
 
 It is not, however, from education alone that the dif- 
 ferences among individuals in respect of this faculty 
 seem to arise. Even among those who have enjoyed 
 the same advantages of mental culture, ^ve find some 
 men in whom it never makes any considerable appear- 
 ance, — men whose thoughts seem to be completely 
 engrossed with the objects and events with which their 
 senses are conversant, and on whose minds the impres- 
 sions produced by what is absent and future are so 
 comparatively la.nguid, that they seldom or never ex- 
 cite their passions or arrest their attention. In others, 
 again, the coloring which imagination throws on the 
 objects they conceive is so brilliant, that even the pres- 
 ent impressions of sense are unable to stand the com- 
 parison ; and the thoughts are perpetually wandering 
 from this world of realities to fairy scenes of their own 
 creation. In such men, the imagination is the princi- 
 pal source of their pleasurable or painful sensations 
 and their. happiness or misery is in a great measure de- 
 terrnined by the gay or melancholy cast which this 
 faculty has derived from original constitution, or from 
 acquired habits. 
 
 When the hopes or the fears which imagination in- 
 spires prevail over the present importunity of our sen- 
 sual appetites, it is a proof of the superiority which the 
 intellectual part of our character has acquired over the 
 animal ; and as the course of life which wisdom and 
 virtue prescribe requires frequently a sacrifice of the 
 present to the future, a warm and vigorous imagination 
 is sometimes of essential use, by exhibiting those lively 
 prospects of solid and permanent happiness which may 
 counteract the allurements of present pleasure. In 
 those who are enslaved completely by their sensual ap- 
 petites, imagination may indeed operate in anticipat- 
 ing future gratification, or it may blend itself with 
 memory in the recollection of past enjoyment; but 
 where this is the case, imagination is so far from an- 
 swering its intended purpose, that it establishes an un- 
 
MEANS OP HAPPINESS. IMAGINATION. 409 
 
 natural alliance between our intellectual powers and 
 our animal desires, and extends the empire of the lat- 
 ter, by filling up the intervals of actual indulgence with 
 habits of thought more degrading and ruinous, if pos- 
 sible, to the rational part of our being, than the time 
 which is employed in criminal gratification. 
 
 In mentioning, however, the influence of imagination 
 on happiness, what I had chiefly in view was the ad- 
 dition which is made to our enjoyments or sufferings, 
 on the whole, by the predominance of hope or oi fear 
 in the habitual state of our minds. One man is con- 
 tinually led, by the complexion of hig temper, to fore- 
 bode evil to himself and to the world ; while another, 
 after a thousand disappointments, looks forward to the 
 future with exultation, and feels his confidence in Prov- 
 idence unshaken. One principal cause of such differ- 
 ences is undoubtedly the natural constitution of the 
 mind in point of fortitude. 
 
 It may be worth while here to remark, that what we 
 properly call coioardice is entirely a disease of the im- 
 agination. It does not always imply an impatience 
 under present suffering. On the contrary, it is fre- 
 quently observed in men who submit quietly to "the 
 evils which they have actually experienced, and of 
 which they have thus learned to measure the extent 
 with accuracy. Nay, there are cases in which patience 
 is the ofi'spring of- cotvardice, the imagination magnify- 
 ing future dangers to such a degree, as to render pres- 
 ent sufferings comparatively insignificant. Men of this 
 description always judge it safer to "bear the ills they 
 know, than fly to others that they know not qf," and, 
 of consequence, when under the pressure of pain and 
 disease, scruple to employ those vigorous remedies, 
 which, while they give them a chance for recovery, 
 threaten them with the possibiRty of a more imminent 
 danger. The brave, on the contrary, are not always 
 patient under distress ; and they sometimes, perhaps, 
 owe their bravery in part to this impatience. We may 
 remark an apt illustration of this observation in the two 
 sexes. The male is more courageous, but more impa- 
 
410 DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 tient of suffering ; the female more timid, but more re- 
 signed and serene under severe pain and affliction. 
 
 Allowance being made for constitutional biases, the 
 two great sources of a desponding imagination are su- 
 perstition and skepticism. ' Of the former, the unhappy- 
 victims are many, and have been so in all ages of the 
 world, although their number may be expected grad- 
 ually to diminish in proportion to the progress and the 
 diffusion of knowledge. All of us, however, have had an 
 opportunity of witnessing enough of its effects in those 
 remains which are still to be found, in many parts of 
 this country, of the old prejudices with respect fo ap- 
 paritions and spectres, to be able to form an idea of 
 what mankind must have suffered in the ages of 
 Gothic ignorance, when these weaknesses of the unin- 
 formed mind were skilfully made use of by an ambi- 
 tious priesthood as an engine of ecclesiastical policy. 
 Skepticism, too, when carried to an extreme, can scarce- 
 ly fail to produce similar effects. As it encourages the 
 notion that all events are regulated by chance, if it-does 
 not alarm the mind with terror, it extinguishes at least 
 every ray of hope ; and such is the restless activity of 
 the mind, that it may be questioned whether the agita- 
 tion of fear be a source of more complete wretched- 
 ness, than that listlessness which deprives us of all in- 
 tercut about futurity, and repi-esents to us the present 
 moment alone as ours. Nor is this all. A complete 
 skepticism is so unnatural a state to the human under- 
 standing, that it was probably never realized in any 
 one instance. Nay, I believe it will generally be found, 
 that, in proportion to the violence of a man's disbelief 
 on those important subjects which are essential to hu- 
 man happiness, the more extravagant is his credulity 
 on other articles, where the fashion of the times does 
 not brand credulity as a weakness ; for the mind must 
 have something distinct from the objects of sense on 
 which to repose itself; and those principles of our na- 
 ture on which religion is founded, if they are prevented 
 from developing themselves under the direction of an 
 enlightened reason, will infallibly disclose themselves, 
 
MEANS OF HAPPINESS IMAGINATION. 411 
 
 in one way or another, in the character and the con- 
 duct. 
 
 Of this no stronger proof can be produced, than that 
 the same period of the eighteenth century, and the same 
 part of Europe, which were most distinguished by the 
 triumphs of a skeptical philosophy, were also distin- 
 guished by a credulity so extraordinary, as to encour- 
 age and support a greater number of visionaries and 
 impostors than had appeared since the time of the re- 
 vival of letters. The pretenders to animal magnetism, 
 and the revivers of the Rosicrucian mysteries, are but 
 two instances out of many that might be mentioned. 
 
 Such, then, are the miseries of ill-regulated imagina- 
 tion, whether arising from constitutional biases or from 
 the acquisition of erroneous opinions ; and they are mis- 
 eries which, when they affect habitually the state of the 
 mind, are sufficient to poison all the enjoyments which 
 fortune can offer. To those, on the contrary, whose 
 education has been fortunately conducted, this faculty 
 opens inexhaustible sources of delight, presenting con- 
 tinually to theii' thoughts the fairest views of mankind 
 and of Providence, and, under the deepest gloom of 
 adverse fortune, gilding the prospects of futurity. 
 
 I have remarked, in the first volume of my Philoso- 
 phy of the Human Mind, that what we call sensibility 
 depends in a great measure on the degree of imagina- 
 tion we possess ; and hence, in such a world as ours, 
 clieckered as it is with good and evil, there must be in 
 evej-y mind a mixture of pleasure and of pain, propor- 
 tioned to the interest which imagination leads it to 
 take in the fortunes of mankind. It is even natural 
 and reasonable for a benevolent disposition, (notwith- 
 standing what Mr. Smith has so ingeniously alleged to 
 the contrary,*) to dvyell more habitually on the gloomy 
 than on the gay aspect of human affairs; for the fortu- 
 nate stand in no need of our assistance; while, amidst 
 the dish-actions of our own personal concerns, the 
 wretched require all the assistance which our imagina- 
 
 • Theorji of Moral Sentiments, Part III. Chap. IIL 
 
412 DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 tion can lend them, to engage our attention to thrir 
 distresses. In this sympathy, however, with the gen- 
 eral sufferings of humanity, the pleasure far overbal- 
 ances the pain ; not only on account of that secret 
 charm which accompanies all the modifications of be- 
 nevolence, but because it is they alone whose prospects 
 of futurity are sangujne, and whose confidence in the 
 final triumph of reason and of justice is linked with all 
 the best principles of the heart, who are likely to make 
 a common cause with the oppressed and the miserable. 
 This, therefore, (although we frequently apply to it the 
 epithet melancholy.,) is, on the whole, a happy state of 
 mind, and has no connection with what we commonly 
 call low spirits, — a disease where the pain is unmixed, 
 and which is always accompanied, either as a cause or 
 an effect, by the most intolerable of all feelings, a senti- 
 ment of self-dissatisfaction ; whereas the temper I have 
 now alluded to is felt only by those who are at peace 
 with themselves and with the whole world. Such is 
 that species of melancholy which Thomson has so 
 pathetically described as exerting a peculiar influence 
 at tliat season of the year (his own favorite and inspir- 
 ing season) when the " dark winds of autumn return," 
 and when the falling leaves and the naked fields fill the 
 heart at once with mournful presages, and with tender 
 recollections. 
 
 " He comes ! he comes ! in every breeze the Power 
 Oi philosophic melancholy comes ! 
 His near approach the sudden starting tear, * 
 
 The glowing cheek, tlie mild, dejected air, 
 The softened feature, and the beating heart, 
 Pierced deep with many a virtuous pang, declare. 
 O'er all the soul his sacred influence breathes ; 
 Inflames imagination ; through the breast 
 Infuses every tenderness ; and iar 
 Beyond dim earth exalts the swelling thought." 
 
 It will not, I think, be denied, that an imagination 
 of the cast here described, while it has an obvious ten- 
 dency to refine the taste and to exalt the charaeter, 
 enlarges very widely, in the man who possesses it, f'.ui 
 sphere of his enjoyment. It is, however, no less indis- 
 putable, that this faculty requires an uncommon sharo 
 
MEANS OF HAPPINESS. IMAGINATION. 413 
 
 of good sense to keep it under proper regulation, and 
 to derive from it the pleasures it was intended to afford, 
 without suffering it either to mislead the judgment in 
 the conduct of life, or to impair our relish for the mod- 
 erate gratifications which are provided for our present 
 condition. - 
 
 The inconveniences of an ill-regulated imagination 
 have appeared to some philosophers to be so alarming, 
 that they have concluded it to be one of the most es- 
 sential objects of education to repress as much as pos- 
 sible this dangerous faculty. But in this, as in other 
 instances, it is in vain to counteract the purposes of 
 Nature ; and all that human wisdom ought to attempt 
 is to study the ends which she has apparently in view, 
 and to cooperate with the means which she has pro- 
 vided for their attainment The very argument on 
 which these philosophers have proceeded justifies the 
 remark I have now made, and encourages us to follow 
 out the plan I have recommended ; for surely the more 
 cruel the effects of a deranged imaginatiouj the happier 
 are the consequeftices to be expected from this part of 
 our constitution, if properly regulated, and if directed 
 to its destined purposes by good sense and philosophy. 
 It is justly remarked by an author in the Taller* as an 
 acknowledged fact, that, " of all writings, licentious 
 poems do soonest corrupt the heart. And why," con- 
 tinues he, " should we not be as universally persuaded 
 that the grave and serious performances of such as 
 w^ite in the most engaging manner, by a kind of Di- 
 vine impulse, must be the most effectual persuasive to 
 goodness ? The most active principle in our mind is 
 the imaginalion. To it a good poet makes his court 
 perpetually, and by this faculty takes care to gain it 
 first. Our passions and inclinations come over next, 
 and our reason surrenders itself with pleasure in the 
 end. Thus the whole soul is insensibly betrayed into 
 morality, by bribing the fancy with beautiful and agree- 
 able images of those very things that, in the books of 
 
 * No. 98. 
 35* 
 
414 DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 the philosophers, appear austere, and have at the best 
 but a kind of forbidding aspect. In a word, the poeta 
 do, as it were, strew the rough paths of virtue so full 
 of flowers, that we are not sensible of the uneasiness 
 of them, and imagine ourselves in the midst of pleas- 
 ures, and the most bewitching allurements, at the time 
 we are making a progress in the severest duties of life." 
 
 Even in those men, however, whose education has 
 not been so systematically conducted, and whose asso- 
 ciations have been formed by accident, notwithstanding 
 the many acute sufferings to which they may be ex- 
 posed, I am persuaded that (except in some very rare 
 combinations of circumstances) this part of our consti- 
 tution is a iriore copious source of pleasure than of 
 pain. After all the complaints that have been made 
 of the peculiar distresses incident to cultivated minds, 
 who would exchange the sensibility of his intellectual 
 and moral being for the apathy of those whose only 
 avenues of pleasure and pain are to be found in their 
 animal nature, — who " move thoughtlessly in the nar- 
 row circle of their existence, and to whom the falling 
 leaves present no idea but that of approaching win- 
 ter " ? 
 
 I shall conclude these very imperfect hints on a mosf 
 important subject with remarking the inefficacy of 
 mere reasoning or argument, in coiTecting the effects of 
 early impressions and prejudices. More is to be ex- 
 pected from the opposite associations, which may be 
 gradually formed by a new course of studies and of 
 occupations, or by a complete change of scenes, of hab- 
 its, and of society. 
 
 IV. (3.) Influence of Opinions on Happiness.] By 
 opinions are here meant, not merely speculative con- 
 clusions to which we give our assent, but convictions 
 which have taken root in the mind, and exert a con- 
 stant and abiding influence on our dispositions and 
 conduct. 
 
 Of these opinions a very great and important part 
 are, in the case of all mankind,, interwoven by educa- 
 
MEANS OF .HAPPINESS. OPINIONS. 415 
 
 tion with their first habits of thinking, or insensibly 
 imbibed from the manners of the times. 
 
 Where such opinions are erroneous, they may often 
 be corrected to a great degree by the persevering ef- 
 forts of a reflecting and vigorous mind; but as the 
 number of minds capable of reflection is comparatively 
 small, it becomes a duty on all who have themselves 
 experienced the happy effects of juster and more elevat- 
 ed views, to impart, as far as they are able, the same 
 blessing to others. The subject is of too great extent 
 to be here prosecuted ; but the reader will find it dis- 
 cussed at great length in a very valuable section of Dr. 
 Ferguson's Principles of Moral and Political Science* 
 
 Of the doctrines contained in this section, the follow- 
 ing abstract is given by the same writer in his Insti- 
 tutes of Moral Philosophy. 
 
 " It is unhappy to lay the pretensions of human na- 
 ture so low as to check its exertions. The despair of 
 virtue is still more unhappy than the despair of knowl- 
 edge. 
 
 " It is unhappy to entertain notions of what men ac- 
 tually are, so high as, upon trial and disappointment, to 
 run into the opposite extreme of distrust. 
 
 " It is unhappy to rest our own choice of good quali- 
 ties on the supposition, that we are to meet with such 
 qualities in other men ; or to apprehend that want of 
 merit in other men will dispense with that justice or 
 liberality of conduct which we ought to maintain. 
 
 " It is unhappy to consider perfection as the standard 
 by which we are to censure others, not as the rule by 
 which we are to conduct ourselves. 
 
 " It is a wretched opinion, that happiness consists in 
 a freedom from trouble, or in having nothing to do. In 
 consequence of this opinion, men complain of what 
 might employ them agreeably. By dechning every du- 
 ty and every active engagement, they render life a bur- 
 den, and then complain that it is so. By declining 
 business to go in search of amusement, they reject 
 
 * Part n. Chap. I. Sect. Vni. 
 
415 DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 what is fitted to occupy tliem, and search in vain for 
 something else to quicken the languor of a vacant mind. 
 
 " It is therefore unhappy to entertain an opinion, that 
 any thing can amuse us better than the duties of our 
 station, or than that which we are in the present mo- 
 ment called upon to do. 
 
 " It is an unhappy opinion, that beneficence is an ef- 
 fort of self-denial, or that we lay our fellow-creatures 
 under great obligations by the kindness we do them. 
 
 " It is an unhappy opinion, that any thing whatever 
 is preferable to happiness." * 
 
 On the other hand, "it is happy," continues the 
 same author, " to value personal qualities above every 
 other consideration, and to state perfection as a guide 
 to ourselves, not as a rule by which to censure others. 
 
 " It is happy to rely on what is in our own power; 
 to value the characters of a worthy, benevolent, and 
 strenuous mind, not as a form merely to be observed in 
 our conduct, but as the completion of what we have to 
 wish for in human life, and to consider the debase- 
 ments of a malicious and cowardly nature as the ex- 
 treme misery to which we are exposed. 
 
 " It is happy to have continually in view, that we are 
 members of society, and of the community of man- 
 kind ; that we are instruments in the hand of God for 
 the good of his creatures; that, if we are ill members 
 of society, or unwilling instruments in the hand of God, 
 we do our utmost to counteract our nature, to quit our 
 station, and to undo ourselves. 
 
 • In illustration of this last remark, Dr. Ferguson quotas in a note the 
 following passage from the Tdtler; — " There is hardly a man to he found, 
 who would not rather be in pain to appear happy, than be really happy to 
 appear miserable." 
 
 The author of the /aife of the Bees (see Beraarfc M) has also said, — 
 " There is nothing so ravishing to the proud," (he should have said to the 
 vain,) " as to be tliouylit happy 
 
 Does not this general anxiety to assnme the appearance of happinesj 
 proceed from the universal conviction of the connection between happiness 
 and virtue 1 By counterfeiting the outward signs of happiness, a vain 
 man, without any offensive violation of modesty, lays claim indirectly to 
 all those moral qualities of which happiness is commonly understood to b» 
 the fruit and the reward. 
 
MEANS OF HAPPINESS. OPINIONS. 417 
 
 " ' I am in the station which God has assigned me' 
 says Epictetus. With this reflection, a man may be 
 happy in every station ; without it, he cannot be hap- 
 py in any. Is not the appointment of God sufficient 
 to outweigh every other consideration ? This rendered 
 the condition of a~ slave agreeable to Epictetus, and 
 that of a monarch to Antoninus. This consideration 
 renders any situation agreeable to a rational nature, 
 which delights not in partial interests, but in universal 
 good." 
 
 This excellent passage contains a summary of the 
 most valuable principles of the Stoical school. One 
 of their doctrines, however, I could have wished that 
 Dr. Ferguson had touched upon with his masterly 
 hand ; I mean that which relates to the inconsistencies 
 which most men fall into in their expectations of hap- 
 piness, as well as in the estimates they form of the 
 prosperity of others. The following quotation from 
 Epictetus will explain sufficiently the doctrine to which 
 I allude. 
 
 " What is more reasonable, than that they who take 
 pains for any thing should get most in that particular 
 for which they take pains ? They have taken pains for 
 power, you for right principles; they for riches, you for 
 a proper use of the appearances of things. See wheth- 
 er they have the advantage of you in that for which 
 you have taken pains, and which they neglect. If they 
 are in power and you not, why will you not speak the 
 truth to yourself, that you do nothing for the sake of 
 power, but that they do every thing? ' No, but since I 
 take care to have right principles, it is more reasonable 
 that I should have power.' Yes, in respect to what you 
 take care about, ^ your principles. But give up to oth- 
 ers the things in which they have taken more care than 
 you. Else it is just as if, because you have right prin- 
 ciples, you should think it fit that, when you shoot an 
 arrow, you should hit the mark better than an archer, 
 or that you should forge better than a smith." 
 
 Upon the foregoing passage a very ingenious and el- 
 egant writer, Mrs. Barbauld, has written a commentary 
 
418 
 
 DUTIES TO OmiSELVES. 
 
 SO full of good sense and of important practical mo- 
 rality, that I am sure I run no iiazard of trespassing on 
 the patience of the reader by the length of the follow- 
 ing extracts. 
 
 " As most of the unhappiness in the world arises 
 rather from disappointed desires than from positive evil, 
 it is of the utmost consequence to attain just notions 
 of the laws and order of the universe, that we may not 
 vex ourselves with fruitless wishes, or give way to 
 
 groundless and unreasonable discontent We 
 
 should consider this world as a great mart of commerce, 
 where fortune exposes to our view various commodi- 
 ties, riches, ease, tranquillity, fame, integrity, knowledge. 
 Exery thing is marked at a settled price. Our time, 
 our labor, our ingenuity, is so much ready money, 
 which we are to lay out to the best advantage. Ex- 
 amine, compare, choose, reject;- but stand to your own 
 judgment, and do not, like children, when you have 
 purchased one thing, repine that you do not possess 
 another which you did not purchase. Such is the force 
 of well-regulated industry, that a steady and vigorous 
 exertion of our faculties, directed to one end, will gen- 
 erally insure success. Would you, for instance, be 
 rich ? Do you think that single point worth the sacri- 
 ficing every thing else to ? ■ You may, then, be rich. 
 Thousands have become so from the lowest beginnings, 
 from toil and patient diligence, and attention to the mi- 
 nutest articles of expense and profit. But you must 
 give up the pleasures of leisure, of a vacant mind, of a 
 free, unsuspicious temper. If you preserve your integ- 
 rity, it must be a coarse-spun and vulgar honesty. 
 Those high and lofty notions of morals which you 
 brought with you from the schools must be considera- 
 bly lowered, and mixed with the baser alloy of a jeal- 
 ous and worldly-minded prudence. You must learn to 
 do hard, if not unjust, things; and as for the nice em- 
 barrassments of a delicate and ingenuous spirit, it is 
 necessary for you to get rid of them as fast as possible. 
 You must shut your heart against the Muses, and be 
 content to feed your understanding with plain house- 
 
MEANS OF HAPPINESS. HABITS. 419 
 
 hold truths. In short, you must not attempt to en- 
 large your ideas, or polish your taste, or refine your 
 sentiments, but must keep on in one beaten track, with- 
 out turning aside either to the right hand or to the 
 left. 'But I cannot submit to drudgery like this; I 
 feel a spirit above it^' 'T is well : be above it then ; 
 
 only do not repine that you are not rich 
 
 " ' But is it not some reproach upon the economy of 
 Providence, that such a one, who is a mean, dirty fel- 
 low, should have amassed wealth enough to buy half 
 a nation ? ' Not in the least. He made himself a mean, 
 dirty fellow for that end." * 
 
 V. (4.) Influence of Habits on Happiness.] The effect 
 of habit in reconciling our minds to the inconveniences 
 of our situation was formerly remarked, and an argu- 
 ment was drawn from it in proof of the goodness of 
 our Creator, who, besides making so rich a provision 
 of objects suited to the principles of our nature, has 
 thus bestowed on us a power of accommodation to 
 external circumstances, which these principles teach 
 us to avoid. 
 
 This tendency of the mind, however, to adapt itself 
 to the objects with which it is familiarly conversant, 
 may, in some instances, not only be a source of occa- 
 sional suffering, but may disqualify us for relishing the 
 best enjoyments which human life affords. The habits 
 contracted during infancy and childhood are so much 
 more inveterate than those of our maturer years, that 
 they have been justly said to constitute a second na- 
 ture ; and if, unfortunately, they have been formed 
 amidst circumstances over which we have no control, 
 thpy leave us, no security for our happiness but the 
 caprice of fortune. To habituate the minds of children 
 to those occupations and enjoyments alone, which it is 
 in the power of an individual at all times to command, 
 is the most solid foundation that can be laid for their 
 future tranquillity. 
 
 * Works, Vol. II. p. 21. 
 
420 DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 Dr. Paley, with that talent for familiar and happy il- 
 lustration for which he is so justly celebrated, has said : 
 — " The art in which the secret of human happiness 
 in a great measure consists is, to set the habits in such 
 a manner that every change may be a change for the 
 better. . The habits themselves are much the same ; for 
 whatever is made habitual becoitles smooth and easy, 
 and nearly indifferent. The return to an old habit is 
 likewise easy, whatever the habit be. Therefore the 
 advantage is with those habits which allow of indul- 
 gence in the deviation from them. The luxurious re- 
 ceive no greater pleasure from their dainties than the 
 peasant does from his bread and cheese ; but the peas- 
 ant, whenever he goes abroad, finds a feast, whereas 
 the epicure must be well entertained to escape disgust. 
 Those who spend every day at cards, and those who 
 go every day to plough, pass their time much alike ; 
 intent upon what they are about, wanting nothing, re- 
 gretting nothing, they are both for the time in a state 
 of ease ; but then whatever suspends the occupation 
 of the card-player distresses him, whereas to the laborer 
 every interruption is refreshment ; and this appears in 
 the different effect that Sunday produces on the two, 
 which proves a day of recreation to the one, but a 
 lamentable burden to the other. The man who has 
 learned to live alone feels his spirit enlivened whenever 
 he enters into company, and takes his leave without 
 regret. Another, who has long been accustomed to a 
 crowd, experiences in company no elevation of spirits, 
 nor any greater satisfaction than what the man of a 
 retired life finds in his chimney-corner. So far their 
 conditions are equal ; but let a change of place, fortune, 
 or situation separate the companion from his circle, his 
 visitors, his club, common room, or coffee-house, and the 
 difference of advantage in the choice and constitution 
 of the two habits will show itself. Solitude comes to 
 the one clothed with melancholy ; to the other it brings 
 liberty and quiet. You will see the one fretful and 
 restless, at a loss how to dispose of his time till the 
 hour come round that he can forget himself in bed; 
 
MEANS OF HAPPINESS. HABITS. 421 
 
 ilie other easy and satisfied, taking up his book or his 
 pipe as soon as he finds himself alone, ready to admit 
 any little amusement that casts up, or to turn his hands 
 and attention to the first business that presents itself, 
 or, content without either, to sit still and let his trains 
 of thought glide indolently through his brain, without 
 much use, perhaps, or pleasure, but without hankering- 
 after any thing better, and without irritation. A reader 
 who has inured himself to books of science and argu- 
 mentation, if a novel, a well-written pamphlet, an ar- 
 ticle of news, a narrative of a curious voyage, or the 
 journal of a traveller, comes in his way, sits down to 
 the repast with relish, enjoys his entertainment while 
 it lasts, and can return when it is over to his graver 
 reading without distaste. Another, with whom noth- 
 ing will go down but works of humor and pleasantry, 
 or whose curiosity must be interested by perpetual 
 novelty, will consume a bookseller's window in half a 
 forenoon, during which time -he is rather in search of 
 diversion than diverted; and as books to his taste are 
 few and short, and rapidly read over, the stock is soon 
 exhausted, when he is left without resource from this 
 principal supply of harmless amusement." * 
 
 As a supplement to the remarks of Paley, I shall 
 quote a short passage from Montaigne, containing an 
 observation relative to the same subject, which, although 
 stated in a form too unqualified, seems to me highly 
 worthy of a.ttention. " We must not rivet ourselves 
 so fast to our humors and complexions. Our chief 
 business is to know how to apply ourselves to various 
 customs. For a man to keep himself tied and bound 
 by necessity to one only course is but bare existence, 
 not living. It was an honorable character of the elder 
 Cato, — 'So versatile was his genius, that, whatever 
 he took in hand, you wo«ld be apt to say that he was 
 formed for that very thing only.' Were I to choose for 
 myself, there is no fashion so good that I should care 
 to be so wedded to it as not to have it in my power to 
 
 * Moral Philosophy, Book I. Chap. VI. 
 
 36 
 
422 DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 
 
 disengage myself from it. Life is a motion, uneven, 
 irregular, and ever varying its direction. A man is not 
 his own friend, much less his own master, but rather a 
 slave to himself, who is eternally pursuing his own 
 humor, and such a bigot to his inclinations that he is 
 not able to abandon or to alter them." * 
 
 The only thing to be censured in this passage is, 
 that the author makes no distinction between good and 
 bad habits ; between those which we are induced to 
 cultivate by reason, and by the original principles of 
 our nature, and those which reason admonishes us to 
 shun, on account of the mischievous consequences with 
 which they are likely to be followed. With respect to 
 these two classes of habits, considered in contrast with 
 each other, it is extremely worthy of observation, that 
 the former are incomparably more easy in the acquisi- 
 tion than the latter; while the latter, when once ac- 
 quired, are (probably in consequence of this very cir- 
 cumstance, the difficulty of overcoming our natural 
 propensities) of at least equal efficacy in subjecting all 
 the powers of the will to their dominion. 
 
 Of the peculiar difficulty of shaking off such inveter- 
 ate habits as were at first the most repugnant to oui 
 taste and inclinations, we have a daily and a melan- 
 choly proof in the case of those individuals who have 
 suffered themselves to become- slaves to tobacco, to 
 opium, and to other intoxicating drugs, which, so far 
 from possessing the attractions of pleasurable sensa- 
 tions, are in a great degree revolting to an unvitiated 
 palate. The same thing is exemplified in many ot 
 those acquired tastes which it is the great object of the 
 art of cookery to create and to gratify ; and still more 
 remarkably in those fatal habits which sometimes steal 
 on the most amiable characters, under the seducing 
 iorm of social enjoyment, and "of a temporary respite 
 from the evils of life. 
 
 I am inclined, however, to think that Montaigne 
 meant to restrict his observations chiefly, if not solely, 
 
 • Esaap, Book III. Chap. IH. 
 
MEANS OF HAPPINESS. HABITS. 423 
 
 to habits which are indifferent, or nearly indifferent, in 
 their moral tendency, and that all he is to be under- 
 stood as asserting amounts to this, — that we ought 
 not, in matters connected with the accommodations of 
 human life, to enslave ourselves to one set 6f habits 
 in preference to another. In this sense his doctrine is 
 just and important.* , 
 
 * On the subject treated of in this section, sec Degcrando, Du Perfec- 
 tionneniertt Moral, et de l^ Education de soi-m^me. It has been translated inro 
 English with this title : Self-Education ; or the Means and Art of Moral 
 Progress. Also, Carpenter's Principles of Education, and Combe's Con- 
 stitution of Man. — Ed. 
 
BOOK IV. 
 
 OF THE NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF THE GENERAL DEFINITION OF VIRTUE. 
 
 Having taken a cursory survey of the chief branches 
 of our duty, we are prepared to enter on the general 
 question concerning the nature and essence of virtue. 
 In fixing on the arrangement of this part of my sub- 
 ject, it appeared to me more agreeable to the estab- 
 lished rules of philosophizing, to consider, first, our 
 duties in detail; and, after having thus laid a solid 
 foundation in the way of analysis, to attempt to rise 
 to the general idea in which all our duties concur, than 
 to circumscribe our inquiries, at our first outset, within 
 the limits of an arbitrary and partial definition. What 
 I have now t£> offer, therefore, will consist of little more 
 than some obvious and necessary consequences from 
 principles which have been already stated. 
 
 The various duties which have been considered all 
 agree with each other in one common quality, that of 
 being obligatory on rational and voluntary agents ; and 
 they are all enjoined by the same authority, — the au- 
 thority of conscience. These duties, therefore, are but 
 different articles of one law, which is properly expressed 
 by the word virtue. 
 
 As all the virtues are enjoined by the same authority, 
 (the authority of conscience,) the man whose ruling 
 principle of action is a sense of duty will observe all 
 the different virtues with the same reverence and the 
 same zeal. He who lives in the habitual neglect of any 
 
DEFINITION OF VIRTUE. 425 
 
 one of them shows plainly, that, where his conduct 
 happens to coincide with what the rules of morality 
 prescribe, it is owing merely to an accidental agreement 
 between his duty and his inclination ; and that he is 
 not actuated by that motive which can alone render 
 our conduct meritorious. It is justly said, therefore, 
 that to live in the habitual practice of any one vice is 
 to throw off our allegiance to conscience and to our 
 Maker, as decidedly as if we had violated all the rules 
 which duty prescribes ; and it is in this sense, I presume, 
 that we ought to interpret that passage of the sacred 
 writings in which it is said, " Whosoever shall keep 
 the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is guilty 
 of all." * 
 
 The word virtue, however, (as I shall have occasion 
 to remark more particularly in the next section,) is ap- 
 plied, not only to express a particular course of exter- 
 nal conduct, but to express a particular species or de- 
 scription of human character. When so applied, it seems 
 properly to denote a habit of mind, as distinguished 
 from occasional acts of duty. It was formerly said, that 
 the characters of men receive their denominations of 
 covetous, voluptuous, ambitious, &c,, from the particu- 
 lar active principle which prevailingly influences the 
 conduct. A man, accordingly, whose ruling or habitual 
 principle of action is a sense of duty, or a regard to 
 what is right, may be properly denominated virtuous. 
 Agreeably to this view of the subject, the ancient Py- 
 thagoreans defined virtue to be "E^cs toC S^ovtos,^ the habit 
 of duty, — the oldest definition of virtue of which we 
 have any account, and one of the most unexceptionable 
 which is yet to be found in any system of philosophy,. 
 
 This account of virtue coincides very nearly with 
 what I conceive to be Dr. Reid's, from some passages 
 in his Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind. 
 Virtue he seems to consider as consisting " in a fixed 
 purpose or resolution to act according to our sense of 
 duty." " We consider the moral virtues as inherent 
 
 " James ii. 10. t Gale's Opmada MySidogka, p. 690. 
 
 36* 
 
426 NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 in the mind of a good man, even where there is no op- 
 portunity of exercising them. And what is it in the 
 mind which we can call the virtue of justice when it is 
 not exercised ? It can be nothing but a fixed purpose 
 or^deterraination to act according to the rules of justice 
 when there is opportunity." 
 
 With all this I perfectly agree. It is. the fixed pur- 
 pose to do what is rig'fit, which evidently constitutes 
 what we call a virtuous disposition. But it appears to 
 me that virtue, considered as an attribute of character, 
 is more properly defined by the habit which, the fixed 
 purpose gradually forms, than by the fixed purpose it- 
 self. It is from the external habit alone that other men 
 can judge of the purpose ; and it is from the uniformi- 
 ty and spontaneity of his habit that the individual him- 
 self must judge how far his purposes are sincere and 
 steady. 
 
 These observations lead to an explanation of what 
 has at first sight the appearance of paradox in the ethical 
 doctrines of Aristotle, that where there is self-denial 
 there is no virtue. That the merit of particular actions 
 is increased by the self-denial with which they are ac- 
 companied cannot be disputed ; but it is only when we 
 are learning' the practice of our duties that this self- 
 denial is exercised (for the practice of morality, as well 
 as of every thing else, is facilitated by repeated acts) ; 
 and therefore, if the word virtue be employed to express 
 that habit of mind which it is the great object of a 
 good man to confirm, it will follow, that, in proportion 
 as he approaches to it, his efforts of self-denial must 
 diminish, and that all occasion for them would cease if 
 his end were completely attained. 
 
 The definition of virtue given by Aristotle, as con- 
 sisting in " right practical habits, voluntary in their ori- 
 gin," is well illustrated by what Plutarch has told us 
 of the means by which he acquired the mastery over 
 his irascible passions. " I have always approved," says 
 he, " of the engagements and vows imposed on them- 
 selves from motives of religion, by certain philosophers, 
 to abstain from wine, or from some other favorite in- 
 
DEFINITION OF VIRTUE. 427 
 
 dulgence, for the space of a year. I have also approved 
 of the determination taken by others not to deviate 
 from the truth, even in the lightest conversation, during 
 a particular period. Comparing ray own mind with 
 theirs, and conscious that I yielded to none of them in 
 reverence for God, I tasked myself, in the first instance, 
 not to give way to anger upon any occasion for several 
 days. I afterwards extended this resolution to a month 
 or longer; and having thus tnade a trial of what I 
 could do, I have learned at length never to speak but 
 with gentleness, and so carefully to watch over my 
 temper as never to purchase the short and unprofitable 
 gratification of venting my resentment at the expense 
 of a lasting and humiliating remorse."* 
 
 I must not dismiss this topic without recommending, 
 not merely to the perusal, but to the diligent study, of 
 all who have a taste for moral inquiries, Aristotle's 
 Nicomachean Ethics, in which he has examined, with 
 far greater accuracy than any other author of antiquity, 
 the nature of habits considered in their relation to our 
 moral constitution. The whole treatise is indeed of 
 great value, and, with the exception of a few passages, 
 almost justifies the warm and unqualified eulogium 
 pronounced upon it by a learned divine (Dr. Rennel) 
 before the University of Cambridge; in which he goes 
 so far as to assert, that " it affords not only the most 
 perfect specimen of scientific morality, but exhibits also 
 the powers of the most compact and best constructed 
 system which the human intellect ever produced upon, 
 any subject; enlivening occasionally great severity of 
 method, and strict precision of terms, by the sublimest, 
 though soberest, splendor of diction." f 
 
 * Be Ira. 
 
 t We have several English translations of this work ; one by Dr. Gillies ; 
 another by Thomas Taylor; another, the best, by E. W. Browne, in 
 Bohn's Classical library. — Ed. 
 
428 NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ON AN AMBIGUITY IN THE WORDS EIGHT AND 
 "WRONG, VIRTUE AND VICE. 
 
 The epithets right and wrong, virtuous and vicious, 
 are applied sometimes to external actions, and some- 
 times to the intentions of the agent. A similar ambi- 
 guity may be remarked in the corresponding words in 
 other languages. 
 
 This ambiguity is owing to various causes, which it 
 is not necessary at present to trace. Among other cir- 
 cumstances, it is owing to the association of ideas, 
 which, as it leads us to connect notions of elegance or 
 of mearuiess with many arbitrary expressions in lan- 
 guage, so it often leads us to connect notions of right 
 and wrong with external actions, considered abstractly 
 from the motives which- produced them. It is owing 
 (at least in part) to this, that a man who has been in- 
 voluntarily the author of any calamity to another can 
 hg.rdly by any reasoning banish his feelings of remorse ; 
 and, on the other hand, however wicked our purposes 
 may have been, if by any accident we have hpen pre- 
 vented from carrying them into execution, we are apt 
 to consider ourselves as far less culpable than if we had 
 perpetrated _the primes that we had intended. It is 
 much in thp same manner that we think it less crimi- 
 nal to mislead others by hints, or looks, or actions, than 
 by a verbal lie; and, in general, that we think our guilt 
 diminished if we can only contrive to accompUsh our 
 ends without employing those external signs, or those 
 external means, with which we have been accustomed 
 to associate the notions of guilt and infamy. Shak- 
 speare has painted with philosophical accuracy this nat- 
 ural subterfuge of a vicious mind, in which the sense 
 of duty still retains some authority, in one of the ex- 
 quisite scenes between King John and Hubert: — 
 
 "Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause, 
 When I spake darkly what I purposed ; 
 
ABSOLUTE AND RELATIVE RIGHT. 429 
 
 As bid me tell my tale in express words ; 
 
 JJeep shame Imil struck me dumb, made mo break off, 
 
 And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me. 
 
 ^ut thou didst understand me by my signs, 
 
 And didst in sig7is ayain parley with sin." 
 
 As this twofold application of the words right and 
 wrong- to the intentions of the mind, and to external 
 actions, has a tendency, in the common business of 
 Jiie, to affect our opinions concerning the merits of in- 
 dividuals, so it has misled the theoretical speculations 
 of some very eminent philosophers in their inquiries 
 concerning the principles of morals. It was to obviate 
 the confusion of ideas arising from this ambiguity of 
 language that the distinction between absolute and rel- 
 ative rectitude was introduced into ethics ; and as the 
 distinction is equally just and important, it. will be 
 proper to explain it particularly, and to point out its 
 application to one or two of the questions which have 
 been perplexed by that vagueness of expression which 
 it is our object at present to correct. 
 
 An action may be said to be absolutely right, when 
 it is in every respect suitable to the circumstances in 
 which the agent is placed ; or,"in other words, when it 
 is such as, with perfectly ^good intentions, under the 
 guidance of an enlightened and well-informed under- 
 standing, he would have performed. 
 
 An action may be said to be relatively right, when 
 the intentions of the agent are sincerely good, whether 
 his conduct be suitable to his circumstances or not. 
 
 According to these definitions, an action may be 
 right in one sense and wrong in another; — an ambi- 
 guity in language, which, how obvious soever, has not 
 always been attended to by the writers on morals. 
 
 It is the relative rectitude of an action which deter- 
 mines the moral desert of the agent; but it is its abso- 
 lute rectitude which determines its utility to his world- 
 ly interests, and to the welfare of society. And it is 
 only so far as aosolute and relative rectitude coincide, 
 that utility can be affirmed to be a quality of virtue. 
 
 A strong sense of duty will indeed induce us to avail 
 
430 NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 ourselves of all the talents we possess, and of all the 
 information within our reach, to act agreeably to the 
 rules of absolute rectitude. And if we fail in doing so, 
 our negligence is criminal. " Crimes committed through 
 ignorance," as Aristotle has very judiciously observed, 
 " are only excusable when the ignorance is involunta- 
 ry; for when the cause of it lies in ourselves, it is then 
 justly punishable. The ignorance of those laws which 
 all may know if they will does not excuse the breach 
 of them; and neglect is not pardonable where atten- 
 tion ought to be bestowed. But perhaps we are inca- 
 pable of attention. This, however, is our own fault, 
 since the incapacity has been contracted by our contin- 
 ual carelessness, as the evils of injustice and intemper- 
 ance are contracted by the daily commission of iniqui- 
 ty and the daily indulgence in voluptuousness. For 
 such as our actions are, such must our habits be- 
 come." * 
 
 Notwithstanding, however, the truth and the impor- 
 tance of this doctrine, the general principle already stat- 
 ed remains incontrovertible, that in every particular in- 
 stance our duty consists in doing what appears to us to 
 be rip^ht at the time ; and if, while we, follow this rule, 
 we should incur any blame, our demerit does not arise 
 from acting according to an erroneous judgment, but 
 from our previous misemployment of the means we 
 possessed for correcting the errors to which our judg- 
 ment is liable.f 
 
 From these principles it follows, that actions, al- 
 though materially right, are not meritorious with re- 
 spect to the agent, unless perfornied from a sense of 
 duty. Aristotle inculcates this doctrine in many parts 
 of his Ethics. \ To the same purpose, also. Lord 
 Shaftesbury : — "In this case alone it is we call any 
 creature worthy or virtuous, when it can attain to the 
 
 * Aristotle's Ethics, by Gillies, p. 305. 
 
 t A distinction similar to that now made between absolute and relative 
 rectitude was expressed among the schoolmen by the phrases material and 
 
 foTTHdt VlVtUS- 
 
 t See Ethic. Nic., Lib. IV. Cap. I. ; Lib. VL Cap. V. 
 
OFFICE OF REASON. 431 
 
 speculation or sense of what is morally good or ill, ad- 
 mirable or blamable, right or wrong. For though we 
 may vulgarly call an ill horse vicious, yet we never say 
 of *a good one, nor of any mere changeling or idiot, 
 though never so good-natured, that he is loorthy or vir- 
 tuous. So that if a creature be generous, kind, con- 
 stant, and compassionate, yet if he cannot reflect on 
 what he himself does or sees others do, so as to take 
 notice of what is worthy and honest, and make that 
 notice or conception of worth and honesty to be an ob- 
 ject of his affection, he has not the character of being 
 virtuous, for thus, and no otherwise, he is capable of 
 having a sense of right or wrong." * 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OF THE OFFICE AND USE OF REASON IN THE PRAC- 
 TICE OF MORALITY. 
 
 I FORMERLY observed, that a strong sense of duty, 
 while it leads us to cultivate with care our good dispo- 
 sitions, will induce us to avail ourselves of all the 
 means in our power for the wise regulation of our ex- 
 ternal conduct. The occasions on which it is neces- 
 sary for us to employ our reason in this way are chiefly 
 the three following : — 
 
 1. When we have ground for suspecting that our 
 moral judgments and feelings may have been warped 
 and perverted by the prejudices of education. 
 
 * Inquiry concerning Virtue, Book I. Part II. Sect. III. Dr. Price, in 
 his Review, Chap. VIII., has made a number of jadicioas ohser\ations on 
 this subject ; and Dr. Reid, in his Essays on the Active Powers, has a par- 
 ticular chapter allotted to the consideration of this very question, " Wheth- 
 er an action deserving moral approbation must he done with the belief of 
 its being morally good ? " in which the doctrine he endeavours to establish 
 is precisely the same with that which has been now stated. Compare 
 Hume's Treatise of Human Nature, Book III. Part II. Sect. I., where this 
 conclusion is disputed. 
 
432 NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 I formerly showed that the moral faculty is an origi- 
 nal principle of the human constitution, and not the 
 result (as Mandeville and others suppose) of habits 
 superinduced by systems of education planned by poli- 
 ticians and divines. The moral faculty, indeed, like the 
 faculty of reason, (which forms the most essential of 
 its elements,) requires care and cultivation for its devel- 
 opment ; and, like reason, it has a gradual progress, 
 both in the case of individuals and of societies. But 
 it does not follow from' this that the former is a ficti- 
 tious principle, any more than the-latter, with respect to 
 the origin of which I do not know that any doubts 
 have been suggested by the greatest skeptics. 
 
 Although, however, the moral faculty is an original 
 part of the human frame, and although the great laws 
 of morality are engraven on every heart, it is not in 
 this way that the greater part of mankind arrive at 
 their first knowledge of them. The infant mind is 
 formed by the care of our early instructors, and for a 
 long time thinks and acts in consequence of the con- 
 fidence it reposes in their superior judgment. All this 
 is undoubtedly agreeable to the design of Nature ; and, 
 indeed, if the case were otherwise, the business of the 
 world could not possibly go on ; for nothing can be 
 plainer than this, that the multitude, (at least as socie- 
 ty is actually constituted,) condemned as they are to 
 laborious employments inconsistent with the cultiva- 
 tion of their mental faculties, are wholly incapable of 
 forming their own opinions on the most important 
 questions which can occupy the human mind. It is 
 evident, at the same time, that, as no system of educa- 
 tion can be perfect, many prejudices must mingle with 
 the most important and best ascertained truths ; and as 
 the truths and the prejudices are both acquired from the 
 same source, the incontrovertible evidence of the one 
 serves, in the progress of human reason, to support and 
 confirm the other. Hence the suspicious and jealous 
 eye with which we ought to regard all those principles 
 which we have at first adopted without due examina- 
 tion, — a duty doubly incumbent on those whose opin- 
 
OFFICE OF REASON. 433 
 
 ions are likely, from their rank and situation in society, 
 to influence those of the multitude, and whose errors 
 may eventually be instrumental in impairing the mor- 
 als and the happiness of generations yet unborn. 
 
 2. A second instance in which the exercise of reason 
 may be requisite for an enlightened discharge of our 
 duty occurs in those cases where there appears to be 
 an interference between different duties, and where of 
 course it seems to be necessary to sacrifice one duty to 
 another. * 
 
 In the course of the foregoing speculations, I have 
 frequently taken notice of the coincidence of all our 
 virtuous principles of action in pointing out to us the 
 same line of conduct ; and of the systematical consist- 
 ency and harmony which they have a tendency to pro- 
 duce in the moral character. Notwithstanding, how- 
 ever, this general -and indisputable fact, it must be 
 owned that cases sometimes occur in which they seem 
 at first view to interfere with each other, and in which, 
 of consequence, the exact path of duty is not altogeth- 
 er so obvious as it commonly is. Thus, every man 
 feels it incumbent on him to have a constant regard to 
 t/ie welfare of society, and also to his own happiness. 
 On the whole, these two interests will be found, by the 
 most superficial inquirer, to be inseparably connected ; 
 but, at the same time, it cannot be denied that cases 
 may be fancied in which it seems necessary to make a 
 sacrifice of the one to the other. 
 
 In such cases, when the public happiness is very 
 great, and the private comparatively inconsiderable, 
 there is no room for hesitation ; but the former may be 
 easily conceived to be diminished, and the latter to be 
 increased, to such an amount as to render the exact 
 projKiety of conduct very doubtful ; more especially 
 when it is considered, that, cceleris paribus, a certain 
 degree of preference to ourselves is not only justifiable, 
 but morally riffht. In like manner, the attachments of 
 nature or of friendship, or the obligations of gratitude, 
 of veracity, or of justice, may interfere with private or 
 public good ; and it may not be easy to say, whether 
 37 
 
434 NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 all of these obligations may not sometimes be super- 
 seded by paramount considerations of utility. At least, 
 these are points on which moralists have been arguing 
 for some thousands of years, without having yet come 
 to a determination in which all parties are agreed. It 
 is much in the same manner that the different founda- 
 tions of property may give rise to different claims ; and 
 it may be exceedingly difficult to determine, among a 
 variety of titles, which of them is entitled to a prefer- 
 ence over the others. " 
 
 The oonsideration of these nice and puzzling ques- 
 tions in the science of ethics has given rise in modern 
 times to a particular department of it, distinguished by 
 the title of casuistry. 
 
 3. When the ends at which our duty prompts us to 
 aim are to be accomplished by means which require 
 choice and deliberation. 
 
 Even if the whole of virtue consisted in following 
 steadily one principle of action, still reason would be 
 necessary to direct us to the means. The truth is, na- 
 ture only recommends certain ends, leaving to ourselves 
 the selection of the most efficient means by which these 
 ends may be obtained. Thus all moralists, whatever 
 may be their particular system, agree in this, that it is 
 one of the chief branches of our duty to promote to 
 the utmost of our power the happiness of that society 
 of which we are members ; but the most ardent zeal 
 for the attainment of this object can be of no avail, 
 unless reason be employed both in ascertaining what 
 are the real constituents of social and political happi- 
 ness, and by what means this liappiness may be most 
 effectually advanced and secured. 
 
 It is owing to the last of these considerations that 
 the study of happiness, both private and public, becomes 
 an important part of the science of ethics. Indeed, 
 without this study, the best, dispositions of the heart, 
 whether relating to ourselves or to others, may be in a 
 great measure useless. 
 
 The subject of happiness, so far as relates to the indi- 
 vidual, has been already considered. The great extent 
 
OFFICE OF REASON. 435 
 
 and difficulty of those inquiries which have for their 
 object to ascertain what constitutes the happiness of a 
 community, and by what means it may be most effect- 
 ually promoted, wiake it necessary to separate them 
 from the other questions of ethics, and to form them 
 into a distinct branch of the science. 
 
 It is not, however, in this respect alone that politics is 
 connected with the other branches of moral philosophy. 
 The provisions which Nature has ma"de for the intellec- 
 tual and moral progress 6f the species all suppose the 
 existence of the political union; and the particular 
 form which this union happens in the case of any com- 
 munity to assume, determines many of the most im- 
 portant circumstances in the character of the ])eople, 
 and many of those opinions and habits which affect the 
 happiness of private life. 
 
 These observations, which represent politics as a 
 branch of moral philosophy, have been sanctioned by 
 the opinions of all those authors, both in ancient and 
 modern times, by whom either the one or the other has 
 been cultivated with much success. Among the for- 
 mer it is sufficient to mention the names of Plato and 
 Aristotle, both of whom, but more especially the latter, 
 have left us works on the general principles of policy 
 and government, which may be read with the highest 
 advantage at the present day. As to Socrates, his 
 studies seem to have been chiefly directed to inculcate 
 the duties of private life ; and yet, in the beautiful enu- 
 meration which Xenophon has given of his favorite 
 pursuits, the science of politics is expressly mentioned 
 as an important branch of the philosophy of human na- 
 ture. " As for himself, man, and what related to man, 
 were the only subjects on which he chose to employ 
 himself. To this purpose, all his inquiries and conver- 
 sations turned on what was pious, what impious ; 
 what honorable, what base ; what just, what unjust ; 
 what wisdom, wliat folly ; what courage, what coward- 
 ice; what a state or political community; what the 
 character of a statesman or a politician ; what a govern- 
 ment of men, what the character of one equal to such 
 
436 NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 a government. It was on these and other matters of 
 the same kind that he used to discourse, in which sub- 
 jects those who were knowing he used to esteem men 
 of honor and goodness, and those who were ignorant, 
 to be no better than the basest of slaves." * 
 
 APPENDIX TO BOOK IV. 
 
 Since the publication of Mr. Stewart's work, two 
 theories on the nature of virtue have appeared and at- 
 tracted considerable notice in England and this coun- 
 try; one by Sir James Mackintosh, and the other by 
 Jouffroy. A succinct account of each will be given in 
 this Appendix.-}- 
 
 Section I. 
 
 SIR fAMES mackintosh's THEORY OF MORALS. 
 
 I. His Distinction between the Theory of Moral Sen- 
 timents and the Criterion of Morality.] Mackintosh 
 has, with great propriety, insisted upon the importance 
 of a distinction of two parts of moral philosophy which 
 
 * Memar., Lib. I. Cap. I. 
 
 [By reason, ia this chapter, we are to understand the discursive reason, or 
 reasoning. We 1iave seen that Mr. Stewart, after Price, is disposed to re- 
 fer the oriyin of moral distinctions to the intuitive reason. — Ed.] 
 
 t The first is taken from Dr. Whewell's Preface to bis edition of Mack- 
 intosh's Dissertation on the Progress of Ethical Philosophy ; the second from 
 Jonffroy himself, mostly from tlie twenty-ninth and thirtieth Lectures of 
 his Cours de Droit Naturd, being pait of the third volume, published since 
 his death, and not yet translated into English. His criticism of other the- 
 ories is taken from the twenty-second Lecture. 
 
 The object of this work does not lead me to notice German speculations 
 on ethics not yet naturalized amongst us. Those who wish to pursue the 
 study in that direction must read Kant, Grundlegimg znr Metaphg^lc der 
 Bitten ; and Critik der jrraktischen Vemunfi. ( Most of Kant's ethical writ- 
 ings have been translated into English by J. W. Semple, under the title 
 of The Metaph/sic of Ethics.) Schleiermacher, Entwurf eines Sj/steins der 
 Sittenlehre. Hegel, Grmdlifiien der Philosophie des Becks. — Ed. 
 
SIR JAMES mackintosh's THEORY. 437 
 
 are often confounded ; — the theory of moral sentiments, 
 and the criterion, of morality. The question of the in- 
 dependent existence and character of the moral faculty- 
 belongs to the former division of the subject; the con- 
 struction of our system of ethics flows from the latter. 
 There is no necessary collision between doctrines on 
 these two points. We may hold that morality is an 
 original quality of actions, and may still form our rules 
 of morality by tracing the consequences of actions. 
 
 This distinction has often been neglected. Those 
 who hold that utility constitutes morality often call up- 
 on the advocates of a moral sense to show how the as- 
 sertion of such a faculty leads us to distinguish right 
 from wrong, or how it can supersede the criterion of 
 general utility. To this it may be replied, that the ex- 
 istence of a moral conscience in man is an important 
 truth, but that this truth alone cannot be expected to 
 replace all the principles and deductions by which a 
 sound system of philosophical ethics is to be produced; 
 that the construction of such a system is undoubtedly 
 a difficult problem, but that we shall inevitably obtain 
 an erroneous solution of the problem, if we do not 
 take into our account the operation of the moral facul- 
 ty. The criterion of utility cannot safely be applied 
 without acknowledging the independent value of mo- 
 rality, any more than the moral faculty can always 
 decide well without the consideration of consequences. 
 For among the most important results of actions, we 
 must include their effect upon the moral habits and 
 feelings of men; and must consider these effects as 
 claiming attention for their own sake. The promotion 
 of human virtue must be our aim, as well as the aug- 
 mentation of human happiness. We cannot by any 
 analvsis exclude the former of these ends ; happiness 
 depends on the exercise of the virtuous affections, far 
 more clearly than virtue depends on the pursuit of 
 happiness. The most wise and moderate of the utili- 
 tarian moralists do, accordingly, apply their method in 
 this manner. Thus Paley, in estimating the guilt of 
 corrupting a person to the commission of one offence, 
 37* 
 
438 NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 states it as one ground of condemnation, that such se- 
 duction is the destruction of the person's moral princi- 
 ple.* And it appears, at present, to be generally al- 
 lowed, that the utilitarian doctrine cannot be applied 
 without considering the effect on the moral feelings of 
 men as among the important consequences of action. 
 " It often happens," it is said, " that an essential part 
 of the morality or immorality of an action, or a rule 
 of action, consists in its influence on the agent's own 
 mind." " Many actions, moreover, produce effects on 
 the characters of other persons besides the agents." 
 The effects here spoken of are, in fact, effects on the 
 moral habits of thought; and thus the existence of the 
 moral attributes of the mind, as original and indepen- 
 dent objects of the attention of the ethical philosopher, 
 is presupposed in this mode of applying the utilitarian 
 scheme. 
 
 If, indeed, we take such good and bad consequences 
 into the account, —if, among the useful effects of ac- 
 tions, we conceive the most useful to be the improve- 
 ment of man's moral character, — if we frame our rules 
 so that they shall conduce as much as possible to virtu- 
 ous feeling as well as to beneficial action, to purity of 
 heart as well as to rectitude of conduct, — if we aim at 
 man's general well-being, and not merely at his gratifica- 
 tion, — I know not what moralist would object to a crite- 
 rion of morality so drawn from consequences, or would 
 deny thai the promotion of human happiness, and that of 
 human virtue, require the same practical rules. Mack- 
 intosh would undoubtedly have assented ta this ; for 
 he not only allows the universal coincidence of virtue 
 with utility in the largest sense, but founds his recom- 
 mendation of the highest forms of virtue on the advan- 
 tage of virtuous habits and feelings, both to the pos- 
 sessor and to the community ; as when he speaks of 
 the trite example of Regulus, of the character of An- 
 drew Fletcher, and of the virtue of courage.f If we 
 
 « Moral Philosophy, Book IH. Part III. Chap. III. 
 
 t See the extract from him on the followers of Bentham in this vol- 
 
SIR JAMES mackintosh's THEORY. 439 
 
 could take into due account the whole value of right 
 principles, and the whole happiness produced by vir- 
 tuous feelings, we could commit no practical error in 
 making the advantageous consequences of actions the 
 measure of their morality. 
 
 Bat this can happen only by considering moral good 
 as a primary object, valuable for its own sake ; not by 
 supposing that virtue is aimed at, as subservient to 
 some other purpose of more genuine utility: and no 
 sagacity or fairness in estimating useful consequences 
 can stand as a substitute for the love of right itself. 
 It is true that honesty is the best policy ; but he who 
 is honest only out of policy does not come up even 
 to the vulgar notion of a virtuous man. If a man 
 were tempted by the opportunity of gaining a large 
 estate through a safe but fraudulent proceeding, the 
 utilitarian doctrine would seem to recommend him to 
 weigh both sides well, though it would direct him 
 in conclusion to decide in favor of probity ; but the 
 common judgment of mankind would hardly deem 
 him honest if he hesitated at all. And in like manner 
 in regard to other temptations, the safety of virtue ap- 
 pears to consist so little in tracing all possible conse- 
 quences, that it has been held that to deliberate is to 
 be lost, and that the only secure protection is that 
 purity of mind which will not look at the prospect of 
 sensual pleasure when it forms one side of the account. 
 We cannot help saying, with Cicero, " Hebc nonne est 
 turpe dubitare philosophos, quae ne rustici quidem 
 dubitent?"* ' 
 
 Indeed, it appears to be acknowledged by the ad- 
 vocates of the rule of utility, that it is not safe to 
 apply the principle separately in each particular case. 
 Mr. Bentham has urged, with great beauty of expres- 
 sion,! the propriety of framing general rules, and con- 
 forming our practice invariably to these, so as to avoid 
 the temptations of our frailty and passion in particular 
 
 • De Off., Lib. III. 19. " Is it not base for philosophers to doubt where 
 even peasants do not hesitate ? " 
 t Deontology, Part II. Chap. I. 
 
440 NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 instances. If a reverence for general maxims of mo- 
 rality, and a constant reference to tiie common precepts 
 of virtue^ talje the place, in the utilitarian's mind, of the 
 direct application of his principle, there will rfemain 
 little difl'erence between him and the believer in origi- 
 nal moral distinctions; for the practical rules of the 
 two will rarely differ, and in both systems the rules 
 will be the moral guides of thought and conduct. 
 
 But though the two schools agree so far, there still 
 will be found a deficiency on the part of the consistent 
 utilitarian. A persuasion that moral good is some- 
 thing different from, and superior to, mere pleasure, is 
 requisite to give to our preference of it that tone of 
 enthusiasm and affection which belongs to virtuous 
 feeling. To approve a rule as right, is different Yrom 
 liking it as profitable; to admire an act of virtuous 
 self-devotion as we are capable of admiring, is a feel- 
 ing so different from the apprehension of any useful- 
 ness the act may have, that the comparison of the two 
 things is altogether incongruous. The moral faculty 
 converts our perception of the quality of actions into 
 an affection of the strongest kind ; nor can we be sat- 
 isfied with any account of our mbral sentiments which 
 excludes this feature in the process. Thus, as we hold 
 the affections to be motives of an order superior to the 
 desires which have reference to ourselves only, we 
 maintain the moral faculty, the conscience, the affec- 
 tion towards duty, to be a principle of action of an 
 order superior both to the desires and to the other affec- 
 tions. Without the acknowledgment of this subor- 
 dination, the language and feelings of men when they 
 compare the claims of personal pleasure, of social af- 
 fection, and of duty, are altogether unintelligible and 
 absurd. 
 
 II. He refers the Fhrmation of our Active Principles 
 to the Association of Ideas.] I proceed to notice an- 
 other principle which enters into Mackintosh's philoso- 
 phy, and, which, in the \yay in which he holds it, con- 
 stitutes one of his leading peculiarities. He assents, 
 
SIR JAMES mackintosh's THEORY. 441 
 
 in a great measure, to the explanation suggested by 
 Hume and Smith, -but more fully developed by Hartley, 
 of the formation of our passions and affections, and even 
 of our sentiments of virtue and Uuty, by means of the 
 association of ideas. 
 
 1. But into this view, as usually understood, he in- 
 troduces several modifications ; and, in particular, he 
 asserts that the effect of such " association " may be 
 something very different from the mere juxtaposition 
 of the component elements. Thus he says that the 
 result may be so entirely a single sentiment, that " the 
 originally separate feelings can no longer be disjoined " ; 
 and, moreover, that " the compound may have proper- 
 ties not to be found in any of its component parts " ; 
 as constantly happens, he observes, in material com- 
 pounds. 
 
 It is clear that this view of the effect of the " asso- 
 ciation of ideas " may give results very different from 
 those often founded upon that doctrine. If we say 
 that gratitude, or compassion, or patriotism, are only 
 certain trains of pleasurable associations, we are gen- 
 erally understood to assert that we can again resolve 
 those feelings into the constituent and associated ele- 
 ments ; and that by so doing we may hope to reason 
 upon them most philosophically and exactly. But 
 Mackintosh's mode of considering these and other emo- 
 tions would allow of neither of these inferences. He 
 supposes " association " to be employed in the educa- 
 tion rather than in the creation of our moral senti- 
 ments ; in awakening affections rather than in con- 
 necting notions. 
 
 2. The ideas or the feelings which are concerned in 
 this process are said to be associated ; but this is, he de- 
 clares, a very inadequate ^0x6 to express the " complete 
 combination and fusion " which occur. This associa- 
 tion presupposes laws and powers of the mind itself, 
 according to which the conjunction produces its results. 
 The celebrated comparison of the mind to a sheet of 
 white paper is not just, except we consider that there 
 may be in the paper itself many circumstances which 
 
442 NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 affect the jiature of the writing. A recent writer, how- 
 ever, appears to me to have supplied us with a mucli 
 more apt and beautiful comparison. Man's soul at 
 first, says Professor Sedgwick, is one unvaried blank, 
 till it has received the impressions of external experi- 
 ence. " Yet has this blank," he adds, " been already- 
 touched by a celestial hand; and, when plunged in the 
 colors which surround it, it takes not its tinge from ac- 
 cident, but design, and comes out covered with a glori- 
 ous pattern." * This modern image of the mind as a 
 prepared blank is well adapted to occupy a permanent 
 place in opposition to the ancient sheet of white paper. 
 
 3. Not only the word association, but also the word 
 ideas, in the Lockian expression, appears to Mackintosh 
 to be unsuited to its purpose, since an association takes 
 place " of thoughts with emotions, as well as with each 
 other." Our author has indeed shown great solicitude 
 to bring into clear view that part of our nature which 
 he here distinguishes from thought; — "that other part 
 of it, hitherto without any adequate name, which feels, 
 and desires, and loves, and hopes, and wills." After 
 balancing the various terms which may be used to ex- 
 press the aggregate of such feelings, he inclines finally 
 to call it the emotive part of man. 
 
 Thus the " association of ideas," according to Mack- 
 intosh, would more properly be termed the composition 
 of ideas and, emotions. In his view of the composite, 
 as losing all trace of apparent composition, the author 
 was, in some measure, following Hartley, though he 
 justly claims the credit of seeing more distinctly than 
 his predecessors the important truth, that the com- 
 pound may have properties not found in any of its 
 component parts. 
 
 4. Mackintosh maintains that this is by no means a 
 modification of the selfish system ; for the " affections 
 and the moral sentiments, though educed by associa- 
 tion, only become what they are when they lose all 
 trace of self-regard." " If the affections be acquired, 
 
 * Discourse on the Studies of the University, p. 54. 
 
SIR JAMES mackintosh's THEORY. 443 
 
 they are justly called natural; and if their origin be 
 personal, their nature may and does become disinter- 
 ested" , 
 /\ 
 
 III. His Theory of Conscience.'] But we must now 
 consider another peculiarity of Mackintosh's system : I 
 speak of what he names his theory of conscience. 
 
 1. The agreeable or painful sentiment, naturally at- 
 tendmg certain emotions, is transferred, by association 
 of ideas, to the volitions and acts which they produce ; 
 and thus, iii the end, these volitions and acts become 
 the immediate objects of our love or repugnance. Ac- 
 cording to Mackintosh's theory, the moral faculty con- 
 sists of this class of secondary desires and affections 
 which have dispositions and volitions for their sole ob- 
 ject. This description of .our moral sentiments will, he 
 conceives, explain their peculiar character and attri- 
 butes. He expresses the relation which he wishes to 
 ascribe, by saying that the moral sentiments are in 
 contact with the will ; or, as he further elucidates this, 
 " they may and do stand between any other practical 
 principle and its object, while it is absolutely impossible 
 that any other shall intercept their connection with the 
 will." The conscience requires virtuous acts and dis- 
 positions to action ; and by such requisition it can 
 check and control any desires of external objects ; but 
 no desire of any outward gratification can prevent the 
 conscience from demanding a virtuous direction of the 
 will; and this mental relation explains and justifies. 
 Mackintosh conceives, that attribution of supremacy 
 and command to the conscience on which moral writers 
 have often insisted.* 
 
 * In his remarks on Butler he says : — " The truth seems to he, that the 
 moral sentiments, in their mature state, are a class of feMiijs which have no 
 other objert hut fhf luentid disjtosltions leadiiu] to voliinliiry action^ and the vol' 
 uutarif iicthns which fiow fi'om thfsc disfionitions. We are pleased with some 
 dispo-iiiions and ai'tions, ami ili^pleaseil with others, in ourselres and our 
 fillows. We desire to cultivate the dispositions, and to perform t!ie ac- 
 tions, which we contemplate with satisfaction. These olijects, like all 
 those of human appetite or desire, are sought for their own sake. The 
 peculiarity of these desires is, that their gratification requires the use of no 
 
444 
 
 NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 2. Thns conscience consists in, or rather results from, 
 the composition of all those sentiments of which the 
 final object is a state of the will, intimately and insep- 
 arably blended, and held in a perfect state of solution ; 
 and the conscience being thus represented as analogous 
 to the desires, it implies, in the same way as other 
 desires, a sense of what is grateful, and a faculty of 
 dwelling, in thought, on the gratification so obtained. 
 
 3. But if, in order further to develop this theory, it 
 be asked what states of the will are thus agreeable to 
 
 means. Nothing (unless it be a volition) is interposed between the desires 
 and the voluntary act. It is impossible, therefore, that these passions 
 should undergo any change by transfer from the end to the means, as is 
 the case with other practical principles. On the other hand, as soon as 
 they are fixed on these ends, they cannot regard any further object. When 
 another passion prevails over them, the end of the moral faculty is con 
 verted into a means of gratification. But volitions and actions are not 
 themselves the end, or last object in view, of any other desire or aver- 
 sion. Nothing stands between the moral sentiments and their object. 
 They are. as it were, in contact with the will. It is this sort of mental 
 position, if the expression may be pardoned, that explains, or seems to 
 explain, those characteristic properties which tnie philosophers ascribe to 
 them, and which all reflecting men feel to belong to them. Being the 
 only desires, aversions, sentiments, or emotions which regard dispositions 
 and actions, they necesaarity extend to the whole character and conduct. 
 Among motives to actfon, they alone are justly considered as universal. 
 They may and do stand between any other practical principle and its ob- 
 ject ; while it is absolutely impossible that another shall intercept theit 
 connection with the will. Be it observed, that, though many passions 
 prevail over them, no other can act beyond its own appointed and limited 
 sphere ; and that the prevalence itself, leaving the natural order undis- 
 turbed in any other part of the mind, is perceived to be a di.sorder. wlien 
 seen in another man, and felt to be so by the mind disordered, when the 
 disorder subsides. Conscience may forbid the will to contribute to the 
 gratification of a desire. No desire ever forbids will to obey conscience. 
 
 " This result of the peculiar relation of conscience to the will justifies 
 those metaphorical expressions which ascribe to it authority and the right 
 of universal command. It is immutable ; for, by the law which regulates all 
 feelings, it must rest on action, which is its object, and beyond which- it 
 cannot look; and as it employs no means, it never can be transferred to 
 nearer objects, in the way in which he who first desires an object, as a means 
 of gratification, may come to seek it as his end Another remarkable pe- 
 culiarity is bestowed on the moral feelings by the nature of their oliject. 
 As the objects of all other desires are outward , the satisfaction of them 
 may be frustrated by outward causes. Thejnoral sentiments may always 
 be gratified, because voluntary actions and moral dispositions spring from 
 within. No external circumstance affects them. Hence their independence. 
 As the moral sentiment needs no means, and the desire is instantaneously 
 followed by the volition, it seems to be cither that which first suggests the 
 
SIR JAMES mackintosh's THEORY. 445 
 
 the conscience, or, in other words, what, according to 
 this system, is the general character of the dispositions 
 and actions which we consider good and right, Mack- 
 intosh's answer would be, that the conscience, being 
 educated and awakened by certain processes of asso- 
 ciation, is thus composed of various elements, and finds 
 good under various forms; — that the beneficial voli- 
 tions are delightful, and that, therefore, they strongly 
 attract those affections which regard the will, and thus 
 give rise to some of the elements of conscience;* — 
 
 relation between command and obedience^ or at least that which affords the 
 simplest instance of it. It is therefore with the most ripjorous precision 
 that authority and universality are ascribed to them. Their only unfor- 
 tunate property is their too frequent weakness ; but it is apparent that it is 
 from that circumstance alone th.it their failure arises. Thus considered, 
 the language of Butler concerning conscience, that, " had it strengtii as it 
 has right, it would govern the world," which may seem to be only an effu- 
 sion of generous feeling, proves to be a just statement-of the nature and 
 action of the highest of human faculties. The union of universality, im- 
 mutability, and independence with direct action on the will, which dis- 
 tinguishes the moral sense from every other part of our practical nature, 
 renders it scarcely metaphorical language to ascribe to it unbounded sov- 
 ereignty and avrfiil authority over the whole of the world within, — shows 
 that attributes, well denoted' by terms significant of command and control, 
 are, in fact, inseparable from it, or rather constitute its very essence, — 
 justifies those ancient moralists who represent it as alone securing, if not 
 forming, the moral liberty of man ; and finally, when I'eligion rises from 
 its roots in virtuous feeling, it clothes conscience witli the sublime charac- 
 ter of representing the Divine purity and majesty in the human soul. Its 
 title is not impaired by any number of defeats ; for every defeat necessarily 
 disposes ^the disinterested and dispassionate by-stander to wish that its 
 force were strengthened : and though it may be doubted whether, consist- 
 ently with the present constitution of human nature, it could be so invigo- 
 rated as to be the only motive to action, yet every such by-stander rejoices 
 at all accessions to its force, and would own that man becomes happier, 
 more excellent, more estimable, more venerable, in proportion as con- 
 science acquires a power of banishing malevolent passions, of strongly 
 curbing all the private appetites, of influencing and guiding the benevo- 
 lent affections themselves." 
 
 * To illustrate this more fully, we cite what he says in his "General 
 Remarks " ; " When the social affections arc thus formed, they are nat- 
 urally followed in every instanro by the will to do whatever can .promote 
 their" objert. Compassion excites a voluntary determination to do what- 
 ever relieves the person pitied. The like process must occur in every ctse 
 of gratitude, conerosity, and affection. Nothing so uniformly follows the 
 kind disposition as the act of will, because it is the only means by which 
 the benevolent desire can be gratified. The result of what Brown justly 
 calls ' a finer analysis ' shows the mental contiguity of the affection to 
 the volition to be much' closer than appears on a coarser examination of 
 38 
 
446 NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 that our anger against those who disappoint our wish 
 for the happiness of others, when in like manner de- 
 tached from persons and transferred to dispositions, 
 becomes a sense of justice, another element of con- 
 science; — that courage, energy, decision, when tamed 
 by the society of the affections, and considered as dis- 
 positions only, become magnanimity, and gratify the 
 moral sense ; — and that even those habits which main- 
 ly affect our own good, as temperance, prudence, when 
 they become disposition and not calculation, are, for 
 like reasons, added to the constituents of conscience. 
 
 4. Thus the view of the nature of conscience here 
 presented explains how it is that the private desires 
 and the social affections alike fall under the authority 
 of the moral faculty. The explanation of this com- 
 munity of rule in sentiments of so widely different 
 nature. Mackintosh considers a strong confirmation of 
 the justice of his opinion. 
 
 IV.' Inferences deduced from this Theory.] Without 
 pronouncing a judgment on the truth of this theory, I 
 
 this part of our nature. No wonder, then, that the strongest association, 
 the most active power of reciprocal snggestion, should subsist between 
 them. As all the aifections are delightful, so the voliiions, voluntary acts 
 whicli are the onl}' means of their gratitication. become agreeable olijccts 
 of contemplation to the mind. The habitual disposition to perform them 
 is felt in ourselves, and observed in others, with satisfaction. As those feel- 
 ings become more lively, the absence of them may be viewed in ourselves 
 with a pain, in others with an alienatioti, capable of indefinite increase. 
 They become entirely independent sentiments; still, however, receiving 
 constant supplies of nourishment from their parent atfections, which, in 
 well-balanced minds, reciprocally strengthen each other; unlike the un- 
 kind passions, which are constantly engaged in the most angry conflicts 
 of civil war. In this state, we desire to experience tiiese benejicent voli- 
 tions^ to cultivate a disposition towards them, and to do every correspond- 
 ent voluntary act. They are for their own sake tlie objects of desire. 
 They thus constitute a large portion of those emotions, desires, and affec- 
 tions, which regard certain dispositions of the mind and determinations of 
 the will as their sole and ultimate end. 'J'hese are what are called the 
 moral sense, the moral sentiments, or best, though most simply, by iho 
 ancient name of Conscience ; which has the merit, in our language, of be- 
 ing applied to no other purpose, which peculiarly marks the strong work- 
 in;!: of these feelings on conduct, and which, from its solemn and sacrej 
 chariicter, is well adapted to denote the venerable authority of the highest 
 principle of human nature." 
 
SIR JAMES mackintosh's THEORY. 447 
 
 hope I have faithfully represented the author's meaning. 
 But he draws from the theory certain infererifces, of 
 which I may say a few words. 
 
 1. Mackintosh, as we have seen, maintains that, 
 though the moral faculty is formed or educed by inter- 
 course with the external world, it is a law of our na- 
 ture ; yet he allows that what this law prescribes agrees 
 with Ihe rule, rightly understood, of bringing forth the 
 greatest happiness. He was, therefore, naturally called 
 upon to account for this coincidence. If moral ap- 
 proval be a different sentiment from the estimation of 
 general happiness, why does the moral sense of man 
 invariably approve that which increases- the happiness 
 of his species ? If this theory account for this phe- 
 nomenon, such a circumstance will, he conceives, be a 
 strong argument in its favor. 
 
 He replies to this inquiry, that all the separate ob- 
 jects which conscience approves, the social affections, 
 the decisions of justice, the maxims of enlightened pru- 
 dence, tend to the happiness of some part of the species, 
 and that thus the general rules of conscience must 
 agree with the rules of the general happiness. All the 
 acts which the moral faculty sanctions promote the 
 welfare of some part of mankind, and all that reason 
 has to do is to add up the items of the account. All 
 the principles of which conscience is composed con- 
 verge towards the happiness of man ; and therefore 
 this may be taken as its central point. And thus the 
 coincidence just noticed is not accidental, but is a ne- 
 cessary consequence of the theory. 
 
 I will add,^as a corollary to what Mackintosh has 
 said, that a system of ethics, rightly constructed on the 
 principle of promoting, in the greatest degree, the hap- 
 piness of mankind, will coincide, in most of its rules 
 of action, with a system founded on the supreme au- 
 thority of conscience ; but that, in order to apply safely 
 and well the eudemonist principle, we must recollect 
 that happiness consists rather in habits of the mind 
 than in outward gratifications," and is to be sought 
 rather by forming moral dispositions than by prescrib- 
 
448 NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 ing acts. In Paley's Moral Philosophy, we have a work 
 framed*on the eudemoiiist basis, which has for some 
 time possessed considerable authority in this coiixitry, 
 and has probably in no small degree influenced men's 
 reasonings on such subjects in recent times. Without 
 examining here how far Paley has always applied his 
 principle under due conditions, and traced his conse- 
 quences with a sufficiently enlarged survey, we may 
 observe that there prevails through the work a tone of 
 practical sagacity, good sensCj and good feeling, which 
 neutralizes most of its theoretical defects. 
 
 2. Some other bearings of Mackintosh's theory may 
 be noticed, and especially the view it offers of the re- 
 lation of religion and morality. This agrees nearly 
 with the doctrine of Butler, and many English divines, 
 that conscience is one of the ways in which the com- 
 mands of God are conveyed to us. " The complete- 
 ness and rigor acquired by conscience, when all its dic- 
 tates are revered as the commands of a perfectly good 
 and wise Being, are so obvious, that they cannot be 
 questioned by any reasonable man, however wide his 
 incredulity may be. It is thus that conscience can add 
 the warmth of an affection to the inflexibility of princi- 
 ple and habit." Not only are we bound to accept all 
 the precepts for the moral government of the will, dis- 
 closed either by revelation or by reason, as undeniable 
 rules for our feelings and actions; but the relations be- 
 tween man and his Makei; which religion teaches us 
 tend to make this a work of love, no less than of duty, 
 and bestow on that improvement of our inward nature 
 to which conscience is constantly urging us an aspect 
 of hope and joy, which human morality, without such 
 aid, can hardly assume, and seldom long retain. 
 
 3. I will only refer to one other consequence of this 
 theory of conscience of Mackintosh ; — the view it ap- 
 pears to him to supply of the celebrated question of 
 free will. Since conscience contemplates those dispo- 
 sitions only which depend on the will, it excludes all 
 consideration of the cause in which the will originated : 
 hence the voluntary dispositions appear as the first link 
 
jouffroy's theory. 449 
 
 of the chain ; and, in the eye of conscience, will is the 
 independent cause of action. Keason, on the other 
 '■and, must consider occurrences as bound together by 
 the connection of cause and effect, and thus sees only 
 the strength of the necessitarian system. Thus, while 
 speculation appears to show that our actions are neces- 
 sary, practice convinces us that they are free. The ad- 
 vocates of necessity and of free will look at the ques- 
 tion from different points of view; — that of the un- 
 derstanding and that of the conscience. But the con- 
 scientious view, being strengthened by the moral sym- 
 pathy of mankind, is by far the most generally and 
 strongly entertained. 
 
 Section II. 
 jouffroy's theory of morals. 
 
 I. His Criticism of other Theories.] Observation at- 
 tests, and reason conceives, that every human action 
 must have a motive and an end. In .seeking to deter- 
 mine what are the distinct ends of human action, we 
 find that they may be reduced to three: first, the pecu- 
 liar object of some one natural desire; secondly, the 
 complete satisfaction of our whole nature, or the pleas- 
 ure which accompanies this satisfaction ; thirdly, that 
 which is good in itjself. We find, also, that all the dis- 
 tinct motives of human action may be reduced to three, 
 which correspond to these three ends: first, some natu- 
 ral instinct; secondly, a desire of secondary formation, 
 which we call self-love, or the desire of happiness; 
 thirdly, obligation. From these arise three simple 
 forms of determination, not to speak of those mixed 
 forms which result from the different possible combina- 
 tions of these three ends and motives. 
 
 This being premised, we apply the name of good to 
 the following things : — 
 
 1. The objects of the different instincts of our na- 
 ture, -= such as food, riches, power, glory, esteem, friend- 
 ship, — each of which we call good. Good, in this first 
 38* 
 
450 NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 acceptation, signifies whatever is fitted to satisfy some 
 desire ; so that there are as many varieties of good as 
 there are desires. 
 
 2. The greatest satisfaction' of our nature ; which is, 
 in other words, either its greatest good or its greatest 
 happiness, according as we consider its satisfaction in 
 itself, or the consequence of this, which is pleasure. 
 Here, the word good represents no longer the object of 
 a desire and its satisfaction, but the greatest satisfac- 
 tion of all our desires. Different persons may under- 
 stand this good in their own way, but each has the 
 idea of such a good. 
 
 3. Good in itself. By g-ooof, in this last acceptation, 
 we mean, not that <vhich is good in reference to our- 
 selves, but that -which is good independently of our- 
 selves and of evei-y human being, — good in "itself, and 
 absolutely. There can be but one such good as this, 
 although thdre may be as many kinds of good of the 
 second class as there are beings, and as many of the 
 fijrst as there are desires in individuals. 
 
 ' 4. The conformity of the voluntary action of a free 
 and intelligent being to absolute good. The word 
 good, in this last acceptation, represents that quality of 
 the conduct of intelligent and free individuals which 
 makes it conformable to absolute good. This is vir- 
 tue, morality, moral good. 
 
 Such are the facts, at least as they appear to me. 
 Ethical systems become false by misconceiving or mu- 
 tilating these facts more or less. The system that 
 mutilates them the most is the selfish system ; for it 
 entirely effaces the distinctions just jwinted out, and 
 xedyces all these facts to one, — a voluntary and deter- 
 mined pursuit of pei-sonal good. The instinctive or 
 sentimental system is less at variance with the truth. 
 It recognizes two ends and two motives, — the end 
 and. motive of instinct, and the end and motive of 
 self-love; — but, in all else, it misconceives the reality. 
 The system maintained by Price and Stewart comes 
 much nearer to the truth. This recognizes three mo- 
 tives and three ends ; but it gives a false descxiptioii 
 
joufproy's theory. 451 
 
 of the third, and alters its nature by overlooking the 
 distinction between absolute good ^nd moral good. It 
 confounds these two facts, which, though united, are 
 distinct, and forms of them a single fact, that retains 
 the qualities of neither the one nor the other exclu- 
 sively, and thus, by blending them, mutilates both. 
 
 According to Price and Stewart, the idea of good is 
 only an idea of a quality in actions recognized by in/m- 
 twe reason; so that, beyond actions, there is nothing 
 that is good, and, if there were no actions, good would 
 cease to be. 
 
 In my opinion, this is true only of vioral good. I 
 grant the idea of moral good is the idea of a certain 
 quality in actions, — a quality which really exists in 
 them, and which my reason discovers. If there were 
 no actions, this quality, and consequently moral good, 
 would have no existence. The idea alone would exist, 
 and this would be the idea of a possible quality of 
 possible actions. But, in ray opinion, moral good, or 
 this particular quality, is not an intrinsic attribute of 
 certain actions, as a round form is of certain bodies. 
 It is, on the contrary, a relation existing between ac- 
 tions and an end, namely, absolute good; these ac- 
 tions may or may not tend to this end, by relation to 
 which they are good when they tend towards it, and 
 bad when they do not. This end is good in itself: it 
 is the only absolute good, and whatever else is good 
 derives this character merely from being related to it. 
 This end is the reality which the word good represents ; 
 the idea of it is perfectly equivalent to the idea of good, 
 and, in fact, these two ideas are identical. 
 
 In what way, according to my view, is good per- 
 ceived? The process is as follows: As good and evil, 
 in conduct and actions, depend upon their conformity 
 or their nonconformity to absolute good, it is evident 
 that, for me, they have no such character, unless I have 
 attained to the idea of this absolute good. It is on 
 the occasion of actions, to be sure, that this idea oL 
 good is conceived, and the conception may be more or 
 less clear in my mind ; but, clear or obscure, this idea; 
 
452 NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 must still precede any judgment as to particular ac- 
 tions. Thus, in my system, moml conceptions must 
 necessarily originate in the idea of good in itself- 
 
 II. His Account of the Origin of our Ideas of Abso- 
 lute Good and of Moral Obligation.] The solution of 
 the moral problem is found in certain self-evident truths, 
 conceived a priori by the reason, the immediate conse- 
 quence of which is a clear definition of good, and this 
 supplies us with a precise method for determining in 
 what it consists for every possible being. What the 
 truths are, and how they lead to this double conse- 
 quence, I am going briefly to indicate. 
 
 The first of these truths is the principle, that ~e2;ery 
 being has an end; it has all the evidence, all the uni- 
 versality, all the necessity, of the principle of causality, 
 and our reason is as unable to conceive of an excep- 
 tion to one as to the other. It has, also, the fecundity ; 
 for, having penetrated into our intelligence, it gives 
 birth to other truths contained impliedly in it, and 
 these cast on the end of things the same light which 
 the truths emanating from the principle of causality 
 cast on their origin. 
 
 , Indeed, if it is true that every being has an end, then 
 it is true that I have one, that you have one, that there 
 is no created being which has not one. Now in cast- 
 ing our eyes over the world, or over that part of it with 
 which we are acquainted, we perceive that, if all beings 
 have an end, this end is not uniform for all; for, as far 
 as our observation extends, each class of beings de- 
 velops itself in its own way, and aspires to an end 
 peculiar to itself. As soon, therefore, as we have con- 
 ceived that every being has an end, we gather from ex- 
 perience another truth, namely, that this end differs in 
 ditferent beings," each being having an end peculiar to 
 itself. 
 
 And this second discovery is not slow to introduce a 
 third, namely, that a relation exists between the end of 
 each being and its nature, the diversity or peculiarity 
 in the end corresponding to the diversity or peculiarity 
 
jouffroy's theory. 453 
 
 in the nature. Clearly, if each being has its appro- 
 priate end, it must have received an organization 
 adapted to this end, and apt to attain it. It would be 
 a contradiction to suppose an end to be imposed on a 
 being whose nature did not contain the means of re- 
 alizing it. Experience teaches us that no such contra- 
 diction exists in creation; it shows us everywhere the 
 nature of beings in harmony with their destination, 
 and a perfect parallelism between diversity of natures 
 and that of ends ; so that this third truth, that tlce end 
 of each being is conformed to its nature, is invested in 
 our intelligence with the same guaranties of universali- 
 ty as the other two. 
 
 By its light you perceive the method for determining 
 what the true end of any being is. Though the end of 
 beings is a pure conception, invisible to the observer, 
 their nature is a reality which we can analyze and in- 
 vestigate ; and, as the nature of every being is adapted 
 to its end, we can iind in the first a revelation of the 
 second. There is, then, a way for discovering the 
 destiny of beings, — namely, by the study of their na- 
 ture ; whenever the latter is possible, the former can be 
 determined. 
 
 To these truths are soon added two others, which 
 equal, in evidence and reach, the first. If each being has 
 its end, then creation itself, which embraces all beings, 
 has one. Creation, it is true, cannot be comprehended 
 by us in its totality ; we can take in only a fragment 
 of it, and this fragment we know in a moment only of 
 its duration. The work of God fills space and dura- 
 tion, while all that we can directly seize pertains to 
 but a point in one, and a moment in the other. Still, 
 though infinite, and to endure for ever, the same prin- 
 ciple applies to it, assuring our reason invincibly that 
 it has an end. 
 
 Moreover, this truth is revealed to us in connection 
 with the preceding truths, and all together generate still 
 another. If creation has an end, if each being has its 
 own end, and if creation is nothing but the assemblage 
 of all beings, it follows that the relation which exists 
 
454 
 
 NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 between the whole and its parts must also exist be- 
 tween the end of the whole and the end of each of the 
 parts of the whole. The end of each being is, there- 
 fore, an element of the end of creation. The end of 
 creation is only the resultant of the particular ends of 
 all the beings that people and compose the universe, 
 while these, in their turn, are only the diverse means 
 which concur in the aecomplishment of the total and 
 supreme end. This last conception is not less evident 
 or less necessary than the rest, flowing, like them, from 
 the absolute principle that-every thing has an end. By 
 an invincible relation, it attributes the enci of all possi- 
 ble beings to a consequence of the creation, and forms 
 out of all these scattered ends "an harmonious whole, 
 the concurrence of which aspires to a single aim, — 
 that, even, which God proposed to himself, when he 
 allowed the universe to escape from his hands. 
 
 This is not all. Other ideas and truths issue from 
 this principle, that all has an end. The next which I 
 shall signalize is the idea of order. The idea of order 
 is, indeed, but an emanation, a natural and inevitable 
 consequence of the idea of an end. If creation has 
 an end, and if this end is nothing but the resultant 
 of the particular ends of the beings which compose it, 
 then the life of creation is nothing else but its move- 
 ment towards this supreme end, and the movement 
 itself, in its turn, may be resolved into the several 
 movements of all created beings towards their respec- 
 tive ends. From the accomplishment of all particular 
 ends, — accomplishment which is effected simultane- 
 ously in all points of space, and successively in all mo- 
 ments of duration, by the harmonious concurrence of all 
 beings, executing, each in its sphere and at its hour, the 
 part with which it has been charged, — results evidently 
 the universal life, or the accomplishment of the total 
 end of creation. Now this universal and eternal move- 
 ment of each thing towards the end which God has as- 
 signed to it, and of all things towards the supreme, sin- 
 gle, and definitive end of creation, — this movement, 
 evidently regular, since it has an aim, is precisely what 
 
jouffroy's theory. 455 
 
 we call order. The only difference between the end of 
 creation and universal order is, that the end is the aim, 
 while the order is the regular movement of all in ac- 
 cordance with this aim. 
 
 Thus far nothing has been said of morality. The 
 conceptions just announced to you are only speculative 
 truths, which reveal to our reason what is, without 
 teaching it what ought to be done. Such, however, is 
 their nature, that, when they have appeared in our in- 
 telligence, the idea of what is good, and consequently 
 of what ought to be done, necessarily follows. It is 
 impossible for our reason not to pass from Ihis idea 
 of an end to the idea of good in itself, and from the 
 idea of order to that of moral good. If there exist in 
 the world intelligent and free beings, these beings re- 
 semble all others in having an end which has been as- 
 signed them, and a nature fitted to that end; in other 
 terms, like all other beings, they are fragments of crea- 
 tion, and their end is an element of the absolute end 
 of things. At the same time, they differ from other 
 creatures, by being endowed with intelligence and lib- 
 erty ; — a difference which produces in them special 
 and peculiar phenomena. Being intelligent, it is given 
 them to comprehend this world of which they make 
 part ; to conceive that it has an end, that all beings 
 have one, and that the end of each being is an element 
 of the end of all. Being free, it is also given them to 
 realize voluntarily this end, of which they have formed 
 a conception, and thus to concur in the accomplish- 
 ment of the absolute end of things, and contribute 
 their part to the absolute order, that is to say, to the 
 universal movement of all things towards an end. 
 Now that which has been given to these privileged 
 beings to do, — to these beings endowed by exception 
 with intelligence and liberty, — is precisely- what they 
 ought, what they are required, what they are obliged, 
 to do. 
 
 To the eye of reason there is a perfect, absolute, ne- 
 cessary equation between the idea of end and the idea 
 of srood. If it is true that the world has an end, it is 
 
456 NATURE AND ESSENCE OP VIRTUE. 
 
 equally so that this end is absolute good. If it is true 
 that each being has a special end, then it is true that 
 the good proper to this being is this end. Again, if it 
 is true that between the end of each being and the end 
 of all there is a correlation, so that the end of each be- 
 ing is only an element of the end of all, then it is true 
 that the good of each being is an element of absolute 
 good, and that thus the end of each being has the same 
 nature and the same value as absolute good itself. 
 Now to what is the idea of obligation invincibly at- 
 tached ? To the idea of that which is good in itself 
 and absolutely. What we were ignorant of we now 
 know ; we have a clear conception of it. Good in 
 itself is no other thing than the end of God in creation, 
 than the absolute end of things. Henceforth, this end 
 appears to us as sacred, and with it all the diverse ends 
 which are the elements of it, and among these our own, 
 which is one of them. The accomplishment of our 
 end, or of our good, with which we are charged by 
 being made free and intelligent, and that of the end 
 or the good of others in so far as we are able to concur 
 in it, — behold our duty, our rule^ our legitimate law. 
 Here, gentlemen, is morality ; we sought it ; behold it 
 found. 
 
 I pretend not to say, that all these conceptions, which 
 constitute logically the foundations of morality, are dis- 
 tinctly unfolded to ail minds. Far from it. All a 
 priori conceptions, though absolute and universal in 
 themselves, reveal themselves and manifest their au- 
 thority and force, in the first instance, in particular ap- 
 plications. Afterwards, what is universal and absolute 
 in these particular applications is disengaged for some 
 minds, and considered and understood by itself in the 
 form of necessary and absolute conceptions ; for others 
 it is not. A majority do but take the first step ; they 
 pronounce a particular course of conduct to be ac- 
 cording to their nature ; that is to say, in conformity 
 with their end ; that is to say, again, what they were 
 made for. What is common to all minds is the habil 
 of thus applying these conceptions in particular cases, 
 
jouffroy's theory. 457 
 
 and this supposes that there is something which they 
 all feel in common. This something is a confused 
 idea, a confused sentiment of order, and of the respect 
 which every reasonable being should pay to it. The 
 properand true name of moral good and evil is order 
 and disorder. When I do evil, I feel myself at war 
 with order. The least developed, the most darkened 
 consciences, have this sentiment, as well as the most 
 enlightened. When I do evil, I feel myself out of 
 order, in hostility with order; when I do good, I feel 
 myself in harmony with order; that is to say, in har- 
 mony with the absolute and common law of creation. 
 I am " in the ways of God," as the Scriptures say ; for 
 the ways of God are his designs, the laws that govern 
 the universe and lead it to its end. 
 
 III. His View of the Desliny of Man.] According to 
 a preceding formula, we are to determine what a man's 
 destiny is by the study of his nature ; what he was made 
 for, by considering how he is made. Now by obser- 
 vation we discover that there are in man instincts, ten- 
 dencies, desires, by which his nature expresses itself 
 and reveals itself primitively, and as long as it lives in 
 this world. He also has faculties, that is, instruments, 
 answering to his desires and tendencies, and evidently 
 intended to be the means of satisfying these desires 
 and tendencies. Again, he possesses a faculty of com- 
 prehension, the function of which is to enlighten him 
 respecting the objects of his desires, and also on the 
 best way of proceeding in order to satisfy these desires. 
 Finally, there is in him a directive force, called the will, 
 or the power of self-control, whose office it is, under 
 the superior authority of reason and intelligence, or the 
 comprehending faculty, to direct his instrumental fac- 
 ulties in the best manner for the attainment of the sat- 
 isfaction of his nature. 
 
 Such being the constitution of human nature, we see 
 
 that every thing looks to the legitimate, harmonious, 
 
 and complete satisfaction of our whole nature ; that is 
 
 to say, of all its primary and fundamental desires and 
 
 ^ 39 
 
458 NATURE AN& KSSENCE OP VIRTUE. 
 
 tendencies. This, therefore, speaking absolutely, is its 
 destiny, its end. 
 
 Here, however, we enconnter a fact of great momenit. 
 Our condition in this world is such, that iiat one of the 
 desires and tendencies of our nature is ever completely 
 satisfied on earth, either in the individmal, or in the race 
 considered collecti'vely. Take curiosity, for example^ 
 or the desire or tendency to know, — its complete satis- 
 faction Would be absolute knowledge ; or sympathy, — 
 its complete siatisfactioo would be the perfect union 
 and harmony of all beings : neither of which is ever 
 realized in this world. Let no one object that a dif- 
 ferent and more perfect organization of society might 
 bring about these results. Undoubtedly a different and 
 more perfect organization of society would" augment 
 the sum of the satisfactions of each and of all the 
 desires and tendencies of our nature ; still, absoimte 
 knowledge and a perfect and harmonious union of aE 
 beings in this world would be impossible. 
 
 From this incontestable fact, two conclusions of the 
 highest importance follow. 
 
 In the first place, it follows that the absolute end of 
 man, as determined by bis nature, is never realized in 
 this world, and consequently, that he is not placed here 
 for the accomplishment of this end. 
 
 The question respecting the end of man comes up, 
 therefore, in another form. What is the end of man 
 in this life ? Why is he placed amidst a constitution 
 of things where the free and spontaneous development 
 of his desires and tendencies is obstructed and hindered, 
 — where nature around him is not in harmony with 
 his own nature, making his existence here a perpetual 
 struggle, a perpetual conflict ? Here, again, we mu&t 
 determine the end by considering the tendency, and 
 accordingly we ask, What is the tendency of this con- 
 stitution of things, as regards man ? Evidently it is 
 to call out, exercise, and strengthen his self-directing, 
 self-controlling power, his personal power, that which 
 makes him to be a person, and not a fhiriff^ — ca,paible 
 of virtue, capable of cooperatiag with God, Suppose 
 
jouffkoy's theory. 459 
 
 "we had been placed in a condition ifl which nothing 
 opposed or obstructed the accomplishment of our true 
 end; we shonrld have gone to that end passively, if I 
 may use such a term in speaking of am active being. 
 We should have been like the main-spring of a watch, 
 which, after having been wound up by the hand of*its 
 owner, goes on gradually unwinding itself, marking the 
 hours until night; but the main-spring has no proper 
 participation in the effect produced. Whence comes 
 it that we elevate ourselves from the humble condition 
 of a being which is only a thing to the sublime con- 
 dition of a person ? It comes from this, that the world 
 is made as it is ; from the rigorous law, under which we 
 are born, that we make not a single step towards the 
 accomplishment of our final destiny but by the sweat 
 of our brow. 
 
 The present life, therefore, with all its difficulties and 
 obstacles, with all its physical and moral evils, is not 
 a mistake or an accident. It has not only been ex- 
 plained, but justified ; but the justification brings into 
 view a second consequence, equally important, from 
 the fact above mentioned. We have seen what the 
 true and absolute end of man is ; we have also seen 
 that this is not and cannot be accomplished in this 
 life: hence we conclude that i/iis life is not all. My 
 nature was made what it is. By virtue of its organi- 
 zation, I feel desires which have an aim and an end ; 
 I have intelligence which comprehends all the reach 
 of these desires, and sensibility to suffer pain and 
 anguish when they die impotent and without satis- 
 faction ; and I also have faculties clothed with po\ver 
 to satisfy these desires, even in the face of difficulties 
 and obstacles. All this I comprehend in respect to 
 my nature. When unhappy in ray present condition, 
 I explain to myself this condition ; I see the necessity 
 and suitableness of it ; — all, however, on an hypothesis 
 which my whole nature cries out for. Is this hypothe- 
 sis to be regarded as a fanciful chimera ? Impossible ! 
 The life to come may be one, or multiple. What we. 
 feel authorized to affirm, under penalty of condemning 
 
460 
 
 NATURE AKD ESSENCE OF "VIRTUE. 
 
 to absurdity tha universe, the' world, the present life, 
 God, every thing, is that this life is not all. Anoiher 
 life will dawn upon us, in which the accomplishment 
 of what we have seen to be man's true and absolute 
 destiny will be possible, — will be complete. 
 
 THE END. 
 
Cornell University Library 
 B1553 .P5 1855 
 
 Philoso 
 
 II 
 
 ihy of the active & moral powers 
 
 olin 
 
 3 1924 029 080 047 
 
a ff j W a W M 'i WwnMwp'i^Sii ^mi 111' til M ( illiii i li'iiniiriMtlill-M-i+y I I Uili'lilitULU4i'U4UIU^UMllM!MU)1IU|MMli|lli||ll!MH<!llHHMU)lltt 
 
 'i! „ ,„„,, 
 
 "I'wW 
 
 i.'l'' ''''iii'!t(iiimiii 
 
 lly,,, llillllllilllllilllllllli.'.Jilllllllllilllillllllllliil.,. 
 
 iiiiiKiiiiui'i Hiii'iiiiM ihriiti'|j]jv;ii(iiiiiiiiiiiHiiii,ii!i!iiiriiji(iiiiiiiiiiiiJt)iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimil 
 
 .jU..ilJL.j.uii.i,.iiJillJJJjllitlfll'>UHti:IUUIiUEWULUkhmliM^^^