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HUME'S 
 
 TREATISE OF MORALS: 
 
 AND SELECTIONS FROM THE 
 
 TREATISE OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 
 JAMES H. HYSLOP, Ph.D., 
 
 Instructor in Logic, Ethics, and Psychology, Columbia College, 
 New York. 
 
 BOSTON, U.S.A.: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY GINN & COMPANY. 
 
 1893. 
 
 © 
 
The Philosophical Review 
 
 EDITOR'S OFFICE 
 l.;;.,i '■-■ iuJt> 
 
 CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 
 Ithaca, IT. 7, 
 
 rf 
 
 
 Copyright, 1893, 
 By GINN & COMPANY. 
 
 All Rights Reserved. 
 
 ©inn & Compang 
 
 Gbe atbcnaeum press 
 
 Boston 
 
EDITOR'S PROSPECTUS. 
 
 The Ethical Series, of which this book on Hume's Ethics, 
 by Dr. J. H. Hyslop, is the initial number, will consist of a 
 number of small volumes, each of which will be devoted to 
 the presentation of a leading system in the History of 
 Modern Ethics, in selections or extracts from the original 
 works. These selections will be accompanied by explana- 
 tory and critical notes. They will also be introduced by a 
 bibliography, a brief biographical sketch of the author of 
 the system, a statement of the relation of the system to 
 preceding ethical thought, and a brief explanation of the 
 main features of the system and its influence on subsequent 
 ethical thought. The volumes will be prepared by experi- 
 enced teachers in the department of Ethics and with special 
 reference to undergraduate instruction and study in colleges. 
 
 The series at present will include six volumes as follows : 
 Hobbes, Professor G. M. Duncan, Yale University ; 
 Clarke, President F. L. Patton, Princeton University ; 
 Locke, the Editor of the Series ; 
 Hume, Dr. J. H. Hyslop, Columbia College ; 
 Kant, Professor John Watson, Queen's University, Canada. 
 Hegel, Professor J. Macbride Sterrett, Columbian University. 
 
 The increasing interest in the study of Ethics and the 
 consequent enlargement of the courses in college curricula, 
 suggest to every teacher the need of better methods of 
 teaching the subject than those which have quite generally 
 
EDITOR'S PROSPECTUS. 
 
 prevailed in the past. Instruction in the History of Ethics, 
 like instruction in the History of Philosophy, has largely 
 been based on text-books or lectures giving expositions of, 
 and information about, the various systems. Such methods, 
 although serviceable, are not as stimulating and helpful as 
 those which put the student in direct contact with the 
 text of the author, enabling him to study the system 
 itself rather than to study about the system. Undoubtedly 
 the best plan would be to have the student read the entire 
 work of the author, but all teachers will probably concede 
 the impracticability of this in undergraduate work, if a num- 
 ber of systems is to be studied, which is usually desirable. 
 Only inferior, in my judgment, to the best, but impracticable 
 plan, is the plan of the "Ethical Series," — to study selec- 
 tions or extracts from the original works, embodying the 
 substance of the system. The " Series " makes provision 
 for such work in a convenient and comparatively inexpen- 
 sive manner. That the plan of instruction on which the 
 " Series " is based is in the interest of better scholarship, 
 I am assured by my own experience, and by that of many 
 other teachers in the leading colleges of the country, with 
 whom I have communicated. It is with the earnest hope of 
 facilitating instruction and study in the History of Ethics 
 that this series is issued. 
 
 E. HERSHEY SNEATH. 
 Yale University, 
 January 25, '93. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Preface . , 3 
 
 Bibliography . . 4 
 
 Biographical Sketch 6 
 
 Introduction 13 
 
 Selections from Treatise of the Passions . 67 
 
 The Treatise of Morals . . . . 100 
 
 Index 273 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The student will observe that the whole of Hume's 
 original treatise on Morals has been included in the pres- 
 ent volume and that the selections are taken only from his 
 work on the " Passions." Portions of the latter have 
 been included because of their importance to a correct 
 understanding of Hume's ethical principles. The main 
 portion of them consists in his discussion of "free will." 
 The whole of the treatise on Morals has been included in 
 order to prevent the volume from being fragmentary, or at 
 least to prevent it from being more so than is necessary for 
 an adequate conception of his system. 
 
 I have chosen the original work rather than the revised 
 form of 1751, because the later contains no essential 
 changes of view. Hume himself, in a letter to Gilbert 
 Elliott, says: "The philosophical principles are the same in 
 both." Even if this confession had not been made, the 
 judgment of T. H. Green would have sufficed to justify the 
 course taken, since he pronounced the difference between 
 them to be too small to create any obligations of a serious 
 kind on the part of one performing the task here under- 
 taken. 
 
 JAMES H. HYSLOP. 
 
 Columbia College. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY. 
 
 Hume's Works. 
 
 A Treatise of Human Nature. Being an attempt to intro- 
 duce the experimental Method of Reasoning into Moral Subjects. 
 3 vols. London, 1739. 
 
 Essays, Moral and Political. Vol. I., 1741; Vol. II., 1742. 
 
 Philosophical Essays, 1748. 
 
 Political Discourses, 1 75 1 . 
 
 Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, 1 751. 
 
 History of England. (The reigns of James I. and Charles I.), 
 1754; (Charles II. and James II.) 1756; (Early period of English 
 History and down to James I.) 1762. 
 
 Four Dissertations: The Natural History of Religion; of the 
 Passions; of Tragedy; of the Standard of Taste, 1757. 
 
 Two Essays: (On Suicide and the Immortality of the Soul), 
 1777- 
 
 Dialogues concerning Natural Religion, 1779. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES. 
 
 My own Life. David Hume. (Preface to Editions of his 
 works). Life and Correspondence of David Hume. By J. H. 
 Burton. 2 vols. 1846. 
 
 An Account of the Life and Writings of David Hume. By 
 Thomas Edward Ritchie, 1807. 
 
 Hume. By Thomas H. Huxley, 1879. 
 
 Letters of David Hume to William Strahan. By G. Birbeck 
 Hill, 1888. 
 
 Hume. By William Knight. Blackwood's Philosophic Clas- 
 sics, 1886. 
 
 CRITICAL AND OTHER REFERENCES. 
 
 Hume's Treatise of Human Nature, with an Introduction. 
 By Thomas H. Green, 1882. 
 
 Introduction to Hume's Philosophical Works. By Thomas H. 
 Green. Philosophical Works, Vol. I. 
 
 Hume's Treatise of Human Nature. By Selby-Bigge, 1888. 
 
 Die Ethik David Hume's in ihrer geschichtlichen Stellung. 
 By Georg von Gizycki, 1878. 
 
 Hume-Studien. A. Meinong, 1877. 
 
 Leben und Philosophie David Hume's. Jodl, 1872. 
 
 Hume. Thomas H. Huxley, 1879. 
 
 Outlines of the History of Ethics, Sidgwick, 1886. 
 
 Geschichte der Ethik. Jodl, Band I, 1882. 
 
 English Thought in the Eighteenth Century. Leslie Stephen, 
 1876. 
 
 Hume. William Knight, Blackwood's Philosophic Classics, 
 1886. 
 
 Grundprobleme in Hume. J. H. W. Stuckenberg, 1887. 
 
 Eine Untersuchung iiber die Principien der Moral. Dr. G. 
 Garrique Masaryk, 1883. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 David Hume was born at Edinburgh on the 26th of 
 April (O. S.) 17 1 1. His family claimed aristocratic con- 
 nections on both sides, and the fact of this connection was 
 regarded very naturally with some pride by Hume himself. 
 His father died when Hume was an infant, and hence the 
 education of the son was left to the mother. Of his early 
 life and education little is known. We might say almost 
 nothing is known except what he himself stated in a very 
 brief autobiography which was written shortly before his 
 death and published in the next edition of his History of 
 England. He appears to have entered the Greek class at 
 the University of Edinburgh in 1723, but did not graduate. 
 He very early acquired a passion for literature, which 
 finally, after some vicissitudes of fortune, determined his 
 choice of a career. It was probably this taste with the 
 want of positive and aggressive elements in his character 
 which led his mother to remark of him: "Our Davie's a 
 fine, good-natured crater, but uncommon wake-minded." 
 The former part of this judgment proved to be just and 
 accurate, but Hume's subsequent fame and influence rather 
 belied the second part of it. This trait was the opposite of 
 the general characteristic in his race which is intellectually 
 pugnacious and active, and it very probably explains his 
 sceptical tendencies by referring them to a constitutional 
 disposition to cautious and deliberate habits. 
 
 In 1727, after leaving Edinburgh, Hume came to Nine- 
 wells, the name of his father's estate, and here he was 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 7 
 
 occupied with general reading and private study in his favor- 
 ite way. The next year he began the study of the law, but 
 soon abandoned it for work more congenial to his tastes. 
 He spent the hours on Cicero and Vergil which others sup- 
 posed were spent on Voet and Vinnius. After giving up 
 the law he remained six years at Ninewells before attempt- 
 ing to fix upon a definite career. In J834 he decided to 
 enter upon a commercial life and went to Bristol for this 
 purpose. But this undertaking proved as distasteful as the 
 law and was in its turn abandoned. His fortune being too 
 small to guarantee his independence in England, Hume 
 resolved after the failure at Bristol to reside in France 
 where he could prosecute his literary studies with the small 
 income at his command. He first settled at Rheims and 
 afterward at La Fleche in Anjou. Here he spent three 
 years, carrying out the plan which he had formed while at 
 the university, and returned to London in 1737 with a per- 
 fect knowledge of the French language and the first two 
 volumes of the Treatise on Hitman Nature, which he pub- 
 lished the following year. The third volume appeared in 
 1740. The work, however, much to Hume's chagrin and 
 disappointment, met with no favor. Of its reception, he 
 himself says in his autobiography: "It fell dead born from 
 the press, without reaching such distinction, as even to 
 excite a murmur among the zealots." This latter part of 
 the remark shows that he was quite conscious of the 
 sceptical character of his work. But his sanguine tempera- 
 ment soon overcame his disappointment, which at first 
 seems to have been very keen, and we find him again at 
 Ninewells carrying on his studies, mainly in the direction 
 of politics and political economy. As a result of this, in 
 1 741 he published the first volume of his Essays, which met 
 with some success and reanimated his hopes. A copy of 
 the volume was sent to Bishop Butler, the famous author of 
 the Analogy, and his high praise of the work made him a 
 
8 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 friend of Hume who entertained a very high respect for the 
 Bishop in spite of the wide differences between them on 
 matters of religious belief. In 1742 the second volume of 
 the Essays was published and met with considerable suc- 
 cess. By this time, both the man and his works were suffi- 
 ciently known and respected to have him brought forward 
 in 1744 as a candidate for the chair of Moral Philosophy in 
 the University of Edinburgh. But "the zealots" seem 
 now to have been apprised of the nature of his philosophy, 
 and brought against him the charge of infidelity. The 
 influence of his friends could avail nothing, and he was 
 defeated by Mr. James Balfour, the man who had severely 
 criticised Hume's Treatise on Human Nature. Perhaps 
 Hume's revenge is found in the superior estimation which 
 history has assigned him over his competitor. The grounds 
 upon which he was rejected created a life-long bitterness in 
 Hume against the Scottish clergy. But he ought to have 
 had the sagacity to know either that the general tenor of 
 his writings was out of sympathy with the religious spirit 
 of his countrymen, or that the fanaticism of that time would 
 not tolerate in an orthodox chair a voice so uncertain as 
 his upon the theological questions then agitating the 
 church. Huxley humorously reproaches him for failing to 
 see the natural impropriety of his becoming " a Presbyterian 
 teacher of Presbyterian youth." 
 
 In 1745 he became guardian to the Marquis of Annan- 
 dale, but this appointment proved unsatisfactory and the 
 next year found him acting as secretary to General St. Clair 
 who was commissioned upon an expedition to Canada and 
 afterward in 1748 as ambassador to the court of Turin, 
 whither Hume followed him in the same capacity as before. 
 It was in this latter year that he published the " Philosophic 
 Essays," or " Inquiry Concerning Human Understanding." 
 He returned to London in 1749 and, soon after, his mother 
 died. Between this time and 175 1 he resided with his 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 9 
 
 brother and sister at Ninewells and occupied himself with 
 the composition of his " Dialogues on Natural Religion," 
 which were not published until after his death, the " In- 
 quiry Concerning the Principles of Morals," and the 
 " Political Discourses." The last two were published in 
 1 75 1, the Principles of Morals being a recast of the volume 
 on that subject in the "Treatise." In the same year he 
 again failed of election to a professor's chair, the chair of 
 Logic at the University of Glasgow. 
 
 At the end of the period of which we have just spoken, 
 Hume returned to Edinburgh and took up his residence in 
 the Townmarket, having acquired a sufficient fortune to 
 give him a modest competence. A year afterward the 
 Faculty of Advocates in that city elected him their libra- 
 rian, but not without considerable opposition from religious 
 zealots. Hume writes with some humor of this and other 
 episodes of the incident, and expresses much satisfaction at 
 the result. The salary was only forty pounds a year, but 
 the resources of a large library compensated him in part for 
 this meagre remuneration and he was delighted with the 
 opportunities which the position offered him for continuing 
 his literary pursuits. The duties of his office allowed him 
 leisure to write the History of England, the first volume of 
 which appeared in 1754, the second in 1756, and the last 
 two in 1759. Hume seems to have entertained rather 
 extravagant expectations of its success, and if we are to 
 accept his disappointment as a measure of the results, we 
 should have to record the work as a failure. But its recep- 
 tion was much better than Hume's wounded vanity would 
 seem to imply. For the sales were much larger than he 
 would have us believe. 
 
 About this time an incident took place which is of inter- 
 est in estimating the influences affecting Hume's attitude 
 towards religion. In 1754 the presentment by the grand 
 jury of Middlesex against the philosophic works of Lord 
 
io BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 Bolinbroke led in the following year to the prosecution of 
 Hume for heresy before the courts of the General Assembly 
 of Scotland. After considerable discussion upon the ques- 
 tions whether Hume was amenable to this court, whether 
 he was a Christian, and whether there was any propriety 
 in proceeding against him, the matter was dropped and 
 came to nothing. The Presbytery dismissed the process 
 and Hume thus fortunately escaped the dangerous conse- 
 quences of a clerical inquisition. 
 
 While the History was in process of publication Hume 
 was active in other lines of literature. In 1757 appeared 
 four dissertations, one on "The Natural History of Re- 
 ligion," one on "Tragedy," one on "The Standard of 
 Taste," and one on "The Passions," the last being a 
 revision and modification of the second book of the 
 "Treatise." In the meanwhile the bitterness which he had 
 felt on account of the imagined failure of his History, 
 assumed a violent form of animosity against the English 
 whom he supposed to be in a conspiracy to hold the Scotch 
 in contempt. As a consequence of these rancorous feelings 
 toward the English, the second portion of his History 
 became a mere party pamphlet in favor of the Tories and 
 against the Whigs, and he even went so far as to purge the 
 first volumes of all statements which might seem to savor of 
 Whig sympathies. The fact is interesting as showing an 
 underlying vein of dogmatism and bias in a man who has 
 generally passed as the Coryphaeus of scepticism, and may 
 explain certain features of his style in his philosophic 
 works when first published. 
 
 In 1763 Hume accepted the post of secretary to Lord 
 Hertford who went as ambassador to France. Here he 
 became acquainted with that brilliant coterie of French 
 philosophers and literati of that time, including Montes- 
 quieu, Helvetius, Diderot, Rousseau, and Turgot, with some 
 of whom he had before exchanged correspondence. On 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. n 
 
 his return from Paris in 1766 he was accompanied by 
 Rousseau whose suspicious and ungrateful temper soon 
 provoked a quarrel which separated them, although only 
 after Hume had acquitted himself of all blame in the mat- 
 ter. For two years after his return he remained in London 
 as under-secretary to General Conway, and finally settled in 
 1769 at Edinburgh with an income increased to £1000 a 
 year and with the determination of spending the remainder 
 of his days in ease. His home in St. David's Street, which 
 was so named because of a humorous and ironical allusion 
 to Hume's religious beliefs by some one who chalked the 
 name upon the wall, " was the centre of the accomplished 
 and refined society which then distinguished Edinburgh." 
 In the spring of 1775 he fell ill with the malady that had 
 carried off his mother, and died on August 26th, 1776. He 
 was buried on the eastern slope of Calton Hill. 
 
 Hume very early showed traces of a predisposition to 
 philosophy. A remarkable letter written at sixteen years of 
 age shows unusual precocity of philosophic taste and ex- 
 pression, although it indicates no more than his brooding 
 over a vague and indistinct ideal which was an aspiration 
 to realize the attainments he admired in the classic models 
 of Greece and Rome. When he was eighteen he passed 
 through an intellectual crisis which Mr. Huxley compares 
 with a similar event in the life of John Stuart Mill. The 
 comparison seems a little strained, but the incident is of 
 interest because it turns upon the question of virtue and 
 moral discipline, qualities which came in to divert Hume's 
 attention from his philosophic dreaming, and to suggest 
 another form of culture than that which at first attracted his 
 imagination. For a while Hume gave himself up to serious 
 reflections after the manner of ancient moralists. He lost 
 during this period some of his native intellectual balance, 
 but soon afterward he regained his natural robust health 
 and with it recovered his former equability of temperament. 
 
12 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 He had all his life a cheerful and complacent disposition 
 and this characteristic fitted him for a literary life and for 
 the sceptical pursuits which he chose to follow. He was 
 equally disqualified by temperament, by circumstances, and 
 by the company with which he associated, for the defence 
 or advocacy of positive convictions upon the more abstruse 
 subjects of philosophic speculation. This may or may not 
 have been a merit. Which of the two it is not necessary to 
 decide. The fact is referred to as indicating a constitu- 
 tional quality which more or less determined the negative 
 nature of his convictions on the more abstract questions of 
 philosophy. To all who have gotten beyond the need of 
 defending the peculiar philosophic and theological theories 
 of that time, this mental poise and sceptical self-control 
 over misdirected enthusiasm has much to admire in it. It 
 must be confessed, however, that Hume did not sustain this 
 attitude in an equal measure toward all subjects. His ex- 
 perience with the clergy and religious problems generally 
 sufficed to make him a sceptic always in this direction, but 
 politics and disappointed vanity soured his temperament 
 only to make him quite positive in his political beliefs after 
 the doubts of his earlier years had been dispelled by 
 maturer reflection and a larger experience. But in his first 
 works we feel the force and example of a very cool and 
 subtle judgment, and the irony of its passionless reflections 
 very naturally annoys those who have a disposition for 
 enthusiasm, and who must accept the first theory at hand, 
 for the peculiar purposes of advocates. This characteristic 
 he retained to the last in spite of his positive views in 
 politics and economics. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Preliminary Observations on Hume's Scepticism. 
 
 The task of correctly estimating the philosophy of Hume 
 is incumbered with unusual difficulties. We have first to 
 determine whether he really had a system or not; whether, 
 in order to expose their contradictions, he was merely 
 developing views for which he himself, claimed no personal 
 responsibility, or whether he meant to present positive doc- 
 trines in the place of the systems of Locke and Berkeley. 
 We generally assume to know that a man is either a realist, 
 an idealist, a sensationalist, a rationalist, a materialist, an 
 empiricist, a transcendentalist, a sceptic, or what not. 
 With this knowledge we have an opportunity to discuss his 
 point of view accordingly, to estimate its agreement or dis- 
 agreement with facts. We may defend it, or we may criticise 
 it. But in all cases our method of treating a man' will be 
 determined solely by the consideration whether we are deal- 
 ing with his doctrine, or with his reasoning, or with both. 
 If he is supposed to occupy a given position in philosophy 
 we may defend or attack it in its relation to facts, or in its 
 relation merely to logical reasoning. But if a man cannot 
 be said to have any positive opinions of his own we are 
 limited to the consideration of his reasoning. For instance, 
 an idealist or a realist may be exposited, defended, or criti- 
 cised. We may test his doctrine by its conformity or non- 
 conformity with admitted truths. We may take him seriously 
 to mean what his language implies. But if a man be a sceptic 
 we have nothing to do with his private opinions, but only 
 
14 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 with his reasoning. A sceptic is a man who presumably 
 has no opinions of his own upon the subject at hand, but 
 assumes certain premises which others furnish him, and then 
 merely deduces conclusions that flow from them. He claims 
 no responsibility for the truth of the premises, nor for the 
 conclusion, but only for the legitimacy of the process by 
 which that conclusion is reached. Were processes of rea- 
 soning infallible there would be no escape from his clutches. 
 The strength of his position, however, lies in the superior 
 security of logical processes as compared with the psycho- 
 logical which are in the first instance, the originators of 
 knowledge. Hence, inasmuch as he is not responsible for 
 the data of his argument, he can be judged only at the bar 
 of logic. He applies his method only in order to develop 
 contradictions, or such disagreeable results as those who 
 admit the premises are not disposed to accept. He is care- 
 ful not to embarass himself with the duties of an advocate. 
 A man of this kind is not subject to criticism for his 
 opinions, but only for the character of his reasoning. It is 
 probable also that he is chargeable with no other fallacy 
 than an equivocation or a non sequitur. He is never 
 exposed to the charge of a petitio principii which is the 
 fallacy of a man who has opinions. But the possibility of 
 an equivocation or a non sequitur is great enough to offer 
 good opportunities for impeachment. Yet fallacies of this 
 kind may be less frequent than errors of assumption, and 
 hence the sceptic, not making any assumptions of his own, 
 is exempt from so many liabilities which affect others that 
 he is less vulnerable to attack, and not at all by the usual 
 weapons of controversy. 
 
 The ideal sceptic may not often be realized. He may 
 alternate between dogmatism and scepticism as convenience 
 requires, or he may be an imperfect master of his method. 
 Again he may merely simulate scepticism on emergency for 
 the sake of the immunity which it affords against criticism, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 15 
 
 or he may push the method to such extremities that it breaks 
 down under its own weight. Such were the ancient sceptics 
 among the Greeks. Their scepticism was so naive and ex- 
 travagant that it was very ineffective against the convictions 
 of common sense. This was mainly because it was directed 
 against perception and not against reasoning. But modern 
 sceptics have been much more secure against ridicule. 
 They have enjoyed the immunity of impeaching doctrines 
 and accepting facts while they appeared to be discrediting 
 both of them. They have been shrewd enough to accept 
 the facts of knowledge, and only to dispute the theories of 
 it and to suggest its limitations. Consequently, wherever 
 they appear they are the signal either for general assault, or 
 for a more profound investigation of philosophical problems. 
 
 Hume has always been regarded as a sceptic, and he him- 
 self would probably not have cared to dispute this verdict. 
 So general has this view of him been that it would be taken 
 as presumption to qualify or to deny it, and it would open 
 new possibilities to most students if they could be made to 
 believe that Hume's reputation in this respect was a mis- 
 taken one. For it would expose him to new methods of 
 attack. It is not my purpose, however, to dispute the gen- 
 eral correctness of the prevalent judgment, because it is not 
 to be denied that Hume was a master of sceptical methods. 
 But nevertheless I am disposed to qualify this opinion in 
 order to explain certain characteristics in his writings and 
 certain inconsistencies in those who regard him as a sceptic 
 and yet speak of his philosophic system. 
 
 Before doing so, however, it is well to remark the radical 
 difference between two states of mind which go under the 
 name of scepticism. They are religious scepticism and 
 philosophic scepticism. ■ They are both alike in the respect 
 that they represent a state of doubt. But the former is a 
 doubt of certain facts and beliefs, and the other is a doubt 
 of the grounds of them, or the theories explaining them. It 
 
1 6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 is true that there are cases where the two forms of doubt 
 coincide, and these are those in which theology and philos- 
 ophy interpenetrate. But usually religious scepticism is a 
 doubt of the validity and certitude of asserted facts which 
 are assumed to attest the truth and authority of something 
 else, while philosophic scepticism does not necessarily im- 
 peach the value of any facts, but only the grounds on which 
 they are assumed to rest; that is, the proof of them. The 
 disbelief of a fact or an assumed truth may be felt without 
 reference to any of its supposed grounds, and merely on the 
 principle that it is opposed to experience, but the disbelief 
 of a philosophic theory is not incompatible with the accept- 
 ance of all that the theory endeavored to support, while it 
 often has the effect of implying a distrust of facts on the 
 frequently accepted but false assumption that unproved 
 truths are inadmissible. Were it not for this advantage 
 dogmatism might more easily triumph over its opponent. 
 
 In regard to Hume there can be no doubt that he was a 
 religious sceptic. His life and works leave this fact 
 indubitable. It is quite as certain that he must be consid- 
 ered a philosophic sceptic, but with a qualification. His 
 reputation for being a sceptic comes from two considera- 
 tions. The first is his emphatic repudiation of the main 
 doctrines which characterized the religious mind of the 
 time, and the second is his cautiousness about admitting 
 anything for which he may be made responsible. The 
 latter means that he had assumed his premises from pred-» 
 ecessors and had drawn conclusions from these premises 
 which were not agreeable to the defenders of the reigning 
 philosophy. But there is a characteristic in the style of 
 Hume which suggests a criticism of the loose habit of call- 
 ing him a sceptic, because, although he is a sceptic quite 
 frequently, he is not always one. This characteristic has 
 two features in it. The first is the discussion of his subject 
 in a manner to make most readers believe that he is enun- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 17 
 
 dating his own doctrines. Not only the air of seriousness, 
 but the mode of expression would induce most persons to 
 interpret him in this light. The second feature is the 
 modification of the fundamental conceptions of Locke and 
 Berkeley in such a way that, instead of seeming to argue 
 from premises which he assumes neither to affirm nor deny, 
 he appears to be stating views of his own. This character- 
 istic is so strong that most readers would have to be told 
 not to take him too seriously in order to realize that he is a 
 sceptic. Undoubtedly we can suppose him assuming the 
 premises of Locke and Berkeley, but the dogmatic style of 
 his statements and his persistent silence about these two 
 philosophers would generally prevent the suspicion of a 
 purely sceptical motive. One writer tells us that there is 
 no reason to suppose that Hume did not accept as true the 
 principles from which he argued, and the same writer im- 
 plies in his remarks that the hesitancy and doubt which 
 gave rise to Hume's reputation for scepticism came from a 
 real perplexity about the problems he was trying to solve, 
 and not from any desire to evade responsibility for his 
 premises. However this may be it is certain that his style 
 is much more that of a dogmatist than of a sceptic. 
 
 When Hume wrote the Treatise of Human Nature he 
 was decidedly more sceptical than he was in his latter days. 
 The age at which he wrote precluded the probability that 
 he would be so assured in his convictions as to be wholly 
 dogmatic and self-dependent, and it also rendered it 
 unlikely that his mastery of philosophic method would be 
 so complete as to prevent the betrayal of a style against 
 which a trained sceptic would be secure. But there was an 
 element in Hume's temperament and mental constitution 
 which conflicted with perfectly sceptical deportment. He 
 was not wholly indifferent about philosophic principles. 
 He had too keen an insight into truth to be wholly the 
 victim of that intellectual paralysis which is the mark of 
 
18 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 certain kinds of scepticism. A true philosophic sceptic is 
 a man who either has no power to perceive truth and 
 always doubts it for that reason, or effectively conceals his 
 perception in order to discredit the arguments by which it 
 is sought to be established. In other words he is a man 
 who only sees, or only affects to see, a weakness in con- 
 structive theories about things. Hume undoubtedly had 
 many qualities of a genius for this task of breaking down 
 theories. He had a well balanced judgment, and above all 
 that freedom from bias which a healthy man always has, 
 who does not allow himself to be frightened by ignorant 
 fears about unlikely consequences, and who knows that 
 truth is too often associated with ideas that have no neces- 
 sary connection with it. His sceptical tendencies were 
 supplemented by a native insight into the possibility or 
 probability of what could not be demonstrated, and this 
 gave him the consciousness of knowledge while he saw as 
 clearly the weakness of the constructive theories which 
 endeavored to import extrinsic and often irrelevant evi- 
 dence into the support of truth. His intuitive insight was 
 as good as his ratiocinative powers, and often led him to 
 betray in his style the existence of opinions which an astute 
 sceptic would effectually conceal. It is only a false em- 
 phasis upon the value of theoretical and ratiocinative 
 knowledge that ever leads to scepticism, and it does this by 
 disparaging a natural trust in one's insight for the less 
 exempted power of reason. Hume's scepticism thus came 
 from a desire to see both capacities in harmony. He had 
 no intellectual difficulties in seeing the truth, but he desired 
 to enjoy the traditional security of seeing it put beyond 
 question by a process of proof, and as he perceived the 
 fallacies in existing arguments directed to that end he 
 could appear only as a man questioning the validity of gen- 
 eral beliefs. Others did not see the distinction which he 
 drew or implied, and which Kant made emphatic, between 
 
INTRODUCTION. 19 
 
 the world of experience and the world of dialectic concep- 
 tions, and hence they mistook the nature and scope of his 
 scepticism, and failed as well to notice the element of dog- 
 matism in his intuitive acceptance of empirical truths. 
 Had Hume not longed too much to give these truths a 
 ratiocinative basis he would have been more constructive in 
 his methods, and would have escaped the imputation of 
 scepticism along with Locke and Berkeley. But failing to 
 distinguish between empirical and " transcendental " knowl- 
 edge, he brought the former under the impeachment which 
 his scepticism produced against the latter. And yet his 
 native insight into truth is so clear and his sympathy with 
 empirical and scientific knowledge is so strong, that he can- 
 not evade the manners of a dogmatist in various emergen- 
 cies of his speculations. He cannot always maintain the 
 scoffing indifference of an ideal sceptic and hence it is 
 almost impossible to avoid thinking that he has simulated 
 this attitude merely to purchase the immunities which such 
 a position confers. 
 
 There are some interesting facts which confirm the view 
 here taken of Hume. In the first place the third volume of 
 the Treatise does not draw so distinctly from the philosophy 
 of Locke and Berkely as does the first book. The same 
 might be said of the second book which treats of the pas- 
 sions, except that portion which treats of the freedom of the 
 will. Unlike these two books also the third did not run 
 counter to the generally accepted theory of ethics, except, 
 perhaps, in the matter of the relation of " reason " to moral 
 distinctions; and even this was in conflict only with a small 
 school of thinkers, whom Mr. Martineau describes as " intel- 
 lectualists," and who did not represent the prevalent theory 
 of the day. Hume drew from other systems for his ethics 
 what Locke and Berkeley did not directly supply for him. 
 The consequence was that there were no reasons for sus- 
 pecting scepticism in this part of his speculations, because 
 
20 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 they were in accord with the prevailing doctrines of the 
 time. His evident sympathy with the position that moral 
 conceptions were the product of a "moral sense," or a 
 "sentiment," advocated by Hutcheson and Shaftesbury, 
 allied him very closely with the schools who opposed the 
 explanations of moral ideas by association, because this 
 view eviscerated those ideas of their moral content. This 
 is the more remarkable because, having made havoc in the 
 first book of speculations about causal connection by means 
 of the doctrine of association, it was open to him as a scep- 
 tic to dissolve the moral systems of the day in the same 
 manner, instead of accepting with them the appeal to a 
 form of intuitive ideas. But his scepticism seems to extend 
 no farther than metaphysics, while his ethics escapes its 
 analysis. The conflict between theology and utilitarianism 
 had not yet begun, and hence Hume could accept the position 
 of Hutcheson and Shaftesbury without fear of controversy. 
 
 A still more striking proof of the claim here made is the 
 dogmatic tone of the "Principles of Morals," published in 
 1752. There is nothing in that edition to suggest a scep- 
 tic. Its style is thoroughly dogmatic, — dogmatic in the 
 sense that it represents positive convictions, and a well 
 defined explanation of the nature and origin of moral dis- 
 tinctions. Scepticism does not propose theories, but dis- 
 putes them; it is occupied with the rcductio ad contradic- 
 tionem and the rednctio ad absurdum of prevailing opinions 
 upon any given subject. But there is not a trace of this 
 method in the later work. Hume here proposes as definite 
 and positive a system of ethics as any predecessor or suc- 
 cessor ever conceived, and he does so without finding it 
 necessary to set aside more than a few special doctrines. 
 His work, too, is in the interest of a view which neither the 
 school of Reid nor that of Benthan has any reason to dis- 
 pute. The earlier work is less positive and assured in its 
 tone, but it advocates the same doctrine. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 2 1 
 
 Hume's political bias as shown in his history and in his 
 treatment of political doctrines is an indication of the dog- 
 matic instinct in his mental constitution. We can readily 
 admit that it may not have existed to the same extent in 
 the earlier period of his literary activity, but it was there 
 nevertheless, as might be inferred from his attempt to 
 explain the idea of causal connection by association. As a 
 sceptic he was under no obligation to explain this idea. 
 He would have done all that a sceptic is called to do if he 
 had thrown sufficient doubt upon the idea to discredit its 
 validity. But so far from stopping with an exposure of the 
 difficulties and contradictions involved in the Lockian and 
 existing theories of that idea, he went out of his way to 
 propose an explanation of the origin of it, which implied 
 the existence of the very thing he had previously dis- 
 credited. This is not the wisdom of a sceptic, but is the 
 characteristic of a man who has too good an insight to be 
 the victim of merely formal reasoning. The only difference 
 between the dogmatism of this procedure and that displayed 
 in his attitude toward political matters was in the amount 
 of unreasoning prejudice which he showed in the latter and 
 not in the philosophic method employed. 
 
 It is not to be denied, however, that Hume had his thor- 
 oughly sceptical moods, nor that the general influence of 
 his philosophy has been sceptical. Only we must insist 
 that this tendency is not exhibited in his system of morals, 
 and hence the system must be treated as his express doc- 
 trine, for the statements and consistency of which he may 
 be held responsible. The sceptical nature of his general 
 influence can be best represented by a comparison with 
 Bishop Butler. 
 
 Butler had a strong and judicious intellect. He was 
 quite as dispassionate as Hume, and probably had a greater 
 confidence than he in the ability and right of reason to 
 solve the problems agitating the age in which he lived. It 
 
22 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 was this, no doubt, that prevented him from being a scep- 
 tic. He was a man whom Hume himself respected however 
 much he chose to differ from him. But he was firmly 
 attached to the side of theology and yet he represented that 
 cool, logical temperament which, while it assumes the need 
 of a philosophy, is keenly sensible of the strength of scep- 
 ticism. The nature of the philosophic and theological con- 
 troversies of the time appears very clearly in the problems 
 of Butler's Analogy. Those problems were the existence of 
 God, miracles, immortality, and revelation. Butler's argu- 
 ment was designed to show that the objections urged 
 against the Christian system, which now passes under -the 
 name of Theism, applied with equal force against the doc- 
 trine of natural religion or Deism, as then accepted by the 
 rationalists. This was only to say that objections which 
 overthrew the Christian scheme overthrew Deism and 
 necessitated the acceptance of Atheism which the deist 
 opposed as heartily as the Christian. Or put in another 
 way, it placed the deist between the alternatives of Atheism 
 and Christianity. Such a statement of the case had its 
 sceptical implications, because it did not prove the alterna- 
 tive which men were to choose. It left every one free to 
 accept the validity of the objections to Christianity or 
 revealed religion and thus to force upon himself the con- 
 clusion of dogmatic scepticism. This consequence was of 
 course counteracted in Butler by his known belief that the 
 Christian system was adequately supported, and he un- 
 doubtedly relied upon the general religious consciousness 
 of the time to adopt his side of the question. The deistic 
 school also would have accepted the same conclusion if it 
 had felt itself reduced to admit the disjunction implied by 
 Butler, and there is no doubt that Butler made out a suffi- 
 ciently strong case for the deists to feel compelled to modify 
 their position, as subsequent developments have shown. 
 Hume, however, had no interests to bind him to the theistic 
 
INTRODUCTION. 23 
 
 point of view, and having started with a doubt of the phil- 
 osophic positions, upon which Theism was founded, he 
 chose the sceptical alternative, which was only to say to 
 Butler that he had been given the liberty of choosing 
 Atheism, if he admitted the force of the argument against 
 revealed religion, and that he did not find the evidence for 
 this alternative to it so overwhelming as Butler had assumed. 
 Butler was hardly prepared for this position. He had 
 assumed the case against Atheism to be so plain that no 
 rational mind would incline in that direction, and would 
 have been at an entire loss to meet a man who admitted 
 the argument against Deism. Hume therefore appears as 
 endeavoring to prove that the sceptical attitude is quite as 
 rational as the one advocated by Butler. He had a twofold 
 ad hominem argument in his support. First, he had only to 
 acftnit what the deist was not expected to admit ; namely, 
 the cogency of the objections asserted by Butler to apply 
 equally against natural and revealed religion. Second, he 
 could assert that miracles, the existence of God, revelation, 
 personal identity, causality, etc., were ideas not found in 
 experience, according to the system of Locke, and hence 
 were fictions, as all "complex ideas" were in that philos- 
 ophy. This reasoning afforded a splendid destructive 
 weapon at the time, at least so far as metaphysical and 
 theological theories were concerned. 
 
 But there was no ground for applying the method to 
 ethics. Neither Locke nor Berkeley had said enough on 
 this subject to involve them in sceptical controversies, nor 
 was the subject connected with the problems of the time in 
 a way to tempt a sceptic with a reductio ad absurdum of it. 
 The same ethical principles were admitted by nearly all 
 schools. Had Hume lived to see the doctrine of Evolution, 
 or had he appreciated and sympathized with the principles 
 of Hobbes, he might have turned scepticism upon moral 
 principles with as much ingenuity and effect as upon the 
 
24 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 problems of metaphysics. But in addition to not being as 
 cynical and pessimistic as Hobbes, there was no influence 
 to lead him into a destructive policy regarding ethics. And 
 more than this, the moral systems of contemporaries and 
 predecessors were so in accord with the philosophy of Locke 
 that the one point which Hume might have been disposed 
 to attack was not present to tempt his antagonism. This 
 was the opposition between the doctrine of an innate moral 
 sense and the doctrine of utilitarianism. Until the time of 
 Hartley, Bentham, and Mill these doctrines remained in 
 perfect harmony. The systems of Hutcheson and Shaftes- 
 bury, while advocating the theory of a " moral sense," did 
 not pretend to advance this view with the object of opposing 
 the theory of happiness or utilitarianism. On the contrary, 
 they distinctly made this end the object of their "moral 
 sense." Cudworth, Clarke, and Wollaston had advocated 
 an intuitive and intellectual morality, but not in a way to 
 oppose the doctrine of happiness. They were opposed only 
 to the doctrines of conventionalism and of sensuous pleasure, 
 or hedonism. Hume criticised the general position of these 
 men when he denied that reason had any function in origi- 
 nating moral distinctions. But the position of the intellect- 
 ualists was never generally accepted, while the prevailing 
 systems, such as they were then, were not more affiliated 
 with theological doctrines than with scientific and political 
 views. Indeed, as Mill astutely observes, in one of his 
 essays, utilitarian principles were staunchly defended by 
 theologians until they discovered that utilitarianism was the 
 favorite theory of sceptics and atheists, when they suddenly 
 changed their attitude. Hence Hume had no motive to 
 apply scepticism to morals, for it was his dislike of theolog- 
 ical doctrines that was the motive to all his scepticism. He 
 could agree with his contemporaries on ethical matters in 
 the main without compromising his free-thinking and without 
 prejudicing his philosophy, or he could disagree with them 
 
INTRODUCTION. 25 
 
 without espousing the cause of the orthodox in any impor- 
 tant respect. The consequence was that he accepted the 
 prevailing tendencies to utilitarianism and adapted his 
 theory to the psychology which had been borrowed with 
 modifications from the philosophy of Locke. On this 
 account, therefore, we feel bound to qualify the charge of 
 strict scepticism against his system at large and to treat his 
 ethics as we should that of any other writer belonging to 
 that age. With this understanding of his position we can 
 enter into an exposition and criticism of his doctrine. # 
 
 Exposition and Criticism. 
 
 Hume's conception of tffe field of moral philosophy was 
 the same as that of his age. It was supposed to comprise 
 the whole area of the sciences occupied with the life and 
 action of men, history, political economy, psychology, 
 aesthetics, metaphysics, and theology. To these were op- 
 posed physics, chemistry, astronomy, etc., which were known 
 as the natural sciences. This looser conception of moral 
 science affected the treatment of the problems now passing 
 under the notice of ethical theories, in that it prevented the 
 present and current radical distinction between psychology 
 and ethics. This fact will be apparent to all who examine 
 the contents of the three parts of the Treatise. The first 
 part, after the example of Locke, was on the Understanding, 
 which concerned perception and reasoning, and the prob- 
 lems of knowledge. The second was on the Passions, or as 
 we should now denominate them, the Emotions, — a division 
 which might be regarded as an anticipation on Hume's part 
 of the threefold division of mental phenomena into intellect, 
 feeling, and will, which is so often accredited to Kant. It 
 of course only implies such a division by separating the 
 treatment of the " passions " from that of moral principles 
 
26 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 generally. But the interesting feature of the system is that 
 a problem which is quite universally regarded as an ethical 
 problem, namely, the freedom of the will, is examined and 
 discussed under the head of the passions instead of under 
 the head of morals. The third part discusses the origin and 
 nature of moral distinctions, both in general and in particu- 
 lar. But why Hume does not consider the freedom of the 
 will in this part of his work is inexplicable, unless we sup- 
 pose either that he regarded it as a psychological question, 
 or # that he very shrewdly excluded it from morals on the 
 ground that a system of ethics could be constructed without 
 reference to it. The latter can hardly be the true supposi- 
 tion, because he himself, although affirming the doctrine of 
 determinism, asserts the existence of free will in one sense 
 of the term, in the only sense in'which, he says, it can be 
 maintained to have a meaning at all, and because he also 
 asserts that this freedom is a necessary condition of moral 
 principles. He therefore probably regarded the question as 
 psychological, and this supposition accords with his treat- 
 ment of the matter under the passions. It is possible to 
 maintain that he considered the problem of ethics to be 
 exclusively occupied with a theory of the nature and 
 origin of moral ideas, and as not concerned with any 
 psychological conditions of their validity, and that the 
 nature and functions of the will were assumed in all prob- 
 lems of theoretical ethics. But in spite of this real or 
 apparent separation of the two parts of the Treatise, the 
 discussion of the passions is very closely connected with 
 the principles of morals, because it deals with the ele- 
 ments which have to be regarded as the motives of conduct, 
 and with the doctrine of freedom which must be regarded 
 as the condition of ethical speculation. On this account 
 the passions must be subject to examination and criti- 
 cism wherever Hume's theory of morals is a matter of 
 consideration. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 27 
 
 Everywhere throughout the system of Hume one funda- 
 mental distinction appears at its basis. It is Locke's dis- 
 tinction between "simple" and "complex ideas," although 
 somewhat modified in the adoption. In Locke there were 
 " simple ideas," both of sensation and reflection, while 
 reflection was also the source of "complex ideas." Reflec- 
 tion thus does duty for perceptional, conceptional, and 
 ratiocinative functions. But with Hume it seems that sen- 
 sation was the proper source of " simple ideas " or " impres- 
 sions," and reflection of "complex ideas." Still Hume is 
 not clear or uniform in this matter, and we shall have to 
 examine his usage a little more fully in order to make it 
 clear. 
 
 Locke uses the term " idea " to denote the objects of both 
 perception and thought. Hume, however, remarking this 
 perversion of its usage, chooses, in one passage at least, to 
 limit it to the conceptions of the understanding, which, in 
 his view, differ only in vivacity or degree from the impres- 
 sions of sense. In consequence of this limitation of the 
 term Hume uses the term "perception " to denote all mental 
 states of the understanding, whether "simple" or "com- 
 plex," and divides these perceptions into impressions and ideas. 
 By " impressions " he means " all our sensations, passions, 
 and emotions, as they make their first appearance in the 
 soul." By " ideas " he means " the faint images of these 
 (impressions) in thinking and reasoning." When he comes 
 to treat of the passions he divides "impressions" into the 
 "original" and the "secondary." The former include all 
 the sensations and the feelings of pleasure and pain ; the 
 latter are the feelings or emotions which " proceed from these 
 original ones, either immediately or by the interposition of 
 its idea," namely, of pleasure or pain. That is, the second- 
 ary passions arise from experiences of pleasure and pain. 
 
 It is to be remarked in this analysis that Hume does not 
 regard pleasure and pain as passions : only those states 
 
28 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 which exercise a prompting influence upon the will are to 
 be regarded as passions. Hume's division places pleasure 
 and pain among the " impressions " of the understanding 
 and not as impulsive feelings, which he considers the 
 passions to be. In other words, in Hume, the passions are 
 equated with the desires and aversions, and so express 
 what later writers have meant by the term when considering 
 them as impulsive emotions, or as the class of feelings 
 which are on the one hand contrasted with the reflex feel- 
 ings of pleasure and pain, these being the effects and con- 
 comitants of action, and which on the other hand constitute 
 the motives to volition, being in this case the causes of 
 action. In this scheme it is apparent that Hume cannot 
 regard pleasure and pain as motives to action, but only as 
 reactions upon stimulus, or as concomitants of sensations 
 which are such reactions. He would be obliged to distin- 
 guish between pleasure and pain and the ideas of them. 
 The consequences of his doctrine will be evident when we 
 come to consider his treatment of freedom and the theory 
 of utilitarianism. 
 
 The divisions of the passions into the "calm" and the 
 "violent," and again into the "direct" and the "indirect," 
 have only a psychological interest. The classification of 
 them under the first division is not carried out or completed. 
 The meaning of the second division is made more clear. 
 But since both divisions represent motives to action the 
 distinction into "calm" and "violent," and "direct" and 
 "indirect" is of no special importance in a theory of moral 
 principles. The direct passions are " desire, aversion, 
 grief, joy, hope, fear, despair, and security ; " the indirect 
 are " pride, humility, ambition, vanity, love, hatred, envy, 
 pity, malice, generosity, with their dependents." Both the 
 direct and indirect passions are said to arise from pleasure 
 and pain, only that the indirect are found " in conjunction 
 with other qualities." " In conjunction with other quali- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 29 
 
 ties," means in Hume's parlance " concurrence with certain 
 dormant principles of the human mind." But the nature 
 and differences between the two classes are not further 
 discussed by him and in fact have no special bearing upon 
 his problem, although it probably became him to explain his 
 mysterious allusion to " certain dormant principles of the 
 human mind." 
 
 It is in connection with the sections on the direct pas- 
 sions that Hume discusses the freedom of the will. On 
 this subject he is a pronounced determinist, although with 
 qualifications. He admits that we are free agents in one 
 sense of the term ; namely, in the sense that we can do as 
 we desire, or that we can act according to our pleasure. 
 But he denies that we can act without a motive. This 
 position is asserted most distinctly in the revised account of 
 the passions, published in the Essays in 1752, when Hume 
 became convinced that some form of liberty must be 
 assumed in order to have the first conditions of any moral 
 principles at all. The doctrine is stated, however, in the 
 first edition of the Treatise, where he draws the distinction 
 between the " liberty of spontaneity " and the " liberty of 
 indifference." He admits the former, but denies the latter. 
 
 It is important always to remember this characteristic of 
 Hume's doctrine before opposing it, because it must not be 
 adjudged out of its relation to the ideas of the time. In 
 fact, no theory of this question, or of any other, should be 
 criticised until we ascertain the contemporary and ante- 
 cedent views in relation to which the particular doctrine 
 under consideration was conceived. Time generally intro- 
 duces a change of relations and conceptions which very 
 greatly modifies the import of a doctrine. In this way, to 
 use an apt phrase of John Stuart Mill, what is true in one 
 age may not be true in another, merely because a change of 
 content may accompany a retention of the same language. 
 It will be apparent to those who do not approach the theory 
 
30 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of Hume from a purely abstract conception of it, as a 
 doctrine of determinism, that it was conceived solely as a 
 refutation of the so-called liberty of indifference, a position 
 which has not been held by any respectable freedomist 
 since that time. The speculation preceding Hume, and to 
 some extent contemporaneous with him, was predominantly 
 in sympathy with this doctrine. This conception implied 
 motiveless volition, and this absence of determining motives 
 was assumed to represent the proper condition of freedom. 
 It was Hume's task to show that no such a state of things 
 ever existed, and there is no reason to dispute his claim on 
 this matter. Unless the freedom of the will can be sustained 
 without assuming that conception of it which is illustrated 
 by the story of the ass between the two bundles of hay, it 
 must be frankly abandoned, and determinism adopted in its 
 place. This Hume asserted in a very positive way by show- 
 ing that there was nothing capricious, casual, or motiveless 
 about human conduct ; that we act according to law ; that 
 we are orderly and rational, and that expectations can be 
 entertained regarding what we are likely to do with much 
 the same certainty as we predict events in the physical 
 world. His arguments on the matter, it should be remarked, 
 were nothing more nor less than those with which disputants 
 were familiar in his own time, and can be found fully stated 
 in such writers as Hobbes and Collins. He was, therefore, 
 not alone in the view he defended. But Hume, it must be 
 remembered, had the advantage, first, of presenting his 
 arguments sceptically, and, second, of defining the terms 
 connected with the question in a way to involve his desired 
 conclusion, while these terms represented by supposition 
 the current notions of them. His own concessions to the 
 freedomists were concealed by the want of emphasis upon 
 them in order that they might not avail themselves of an 
 ambiguity to parade in an apparent triumph over the 
 determinist. Hume was shrewd enough to see and perhaps 
 
INTRODUCTION. 31 
 
 to appreciate, but not to advocate at length any other 
 conception of the terms in the dispute than such as were 
 necessary to refute the prevailing doctrine. He remarked 
 that he would not pretend to argue with any one who 
 assumed different conceptions of freedom to start with. 
 This was his warning that he would confine himself in the 
 argument to current conceptions of the problem and that 
 he would relieve himself, as far as possible, of responsibility 
 for his premises, or, at least, that he would put himself in a 
 position to escape responsibility when necessary. He seems, 
 however, to be accepting in good faith the data from which 
 he argues, and it is this fact which gives his argument so 
 much force. But whether he was serious in accepting his 
 data may be a question, and upon the settlement of this 
 depends the matter of his scepticism, and the method of 
 criticising him. It is to be noticed that the form in which 
 he presented the case for determinism is unusually clear 
 and forcible ; the more so from the fact that Hume 
 evidently does not propose to shrink from the consequences 
 of his doctrine. He faces a paradox or a supposed 
 absurdity with unblanched courage, and makes his reader 
 feel that there is no way to evade the conclusion but to 
 question the premises. That uncritical period was very 
 slow to perceive this resource. Reid, however, did discover 
 a way of escape, and set about a reconstruction of the 
 problem all along the line, in the theory of morals as well 
 as in the theory of knowledge ; and if we are to accept the 
 judgment of Prof. Seth in the matter Reid was not far 
 removed from Kant in his treatment of these questions. 
 
 We have, therefore, an instance, as already intimated, 
 where the treatment of Hume must be determined entirely 
 by the manner in which we regard his position. If we 
 assume that he is a sceptic, we cannot treat his arguments 
 seriously as his own. We should be at liberty only to 
 consider the character of his reasoning and to throw the 
 
32 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 responsibility for unacceptable conclusions upon those of his 
 predecessors who had unwarily furnished him with such 
 dangerous premises. If we regarded him as a dogmatist, we 
 should be able to consider his problem on its merits and to 
 dispute his*assumptions, as well as his reasoning, on the 
 ground that he seriously accepted the data from which he 
 argued. But in regard to the question of freedom we 
 cannot regard him as wholly one or the other. He is 
 sufficiently both to put himself in a position of limited 
 liability. He reserves to himself, on the one hand, the 
 right to throw his premises upon others' shoulders in order 
 to escape an impeachment for a petitio principii , and on 
 the other, he retains enough of positive conceptions in 
 the liberty of spontaneity to protect his theory of morals. 
 Hence his arguments may be considered as sceptical and 
 negative against the liberty of indifference, but as irrelevant 
 to any other conception of the problem. This circumstance 
 makes it unfair to Hume to treat his views as opposed to 
 the doctrine of freedom in general, and so we have to attack 
 him always with a proviso. Again, if he could not take 
 shelter in the privileges of a sceptic, and if he did not 
 admit one form of free agency, we might accuse him of mis- 
 conceiving the nature of the problem. But the perpetual 
 immunity from criticism against his data, which his astute 
 manner gives him, compels the student to throw the respon- 
 sibility for error mainly upon his predecessors, while his one 
 concession of free spontaneity secured moral science against 
 the consequences of unconditional determinism. Hence 
 the only resource left to those who do not like Hume's 
 conclusions, and yet wish to hold him to account while they 
 grant him the privileges of a sceptic, is to reproach the 
 consistency of his reasoning. 
 t\ There are two points, therefore, which can be brought 
 I against him, which are of considerable force and which do 
 ' not make him responsible for his premises. V\\The first is the 
 
INTRODUCTION. 33 
 
 contradiction involved in his treatment of the idea of 
 necessity or necessary connection.^ The second is his 
 ignorance of the manner in which previous philosophy had 
 employed the term "reason" in connection with the 
 doctrine of the will and the motivation of conduct. The 
 latter exposes Hume to the charge of a misconception 
 which leads to an inconsistency in his entire system of 
 morals. 
 
 In regard to the first of these considerations it is to be 
 noted that Hume had disputed the existence of necessary 
 or causal connection, when discussing the doctrine of Locke 
 in the first part of the Treatise. There is a contradiction 
 between this denial of necessity or causation, and the use of 
 such a connection between phenomena to refute the doctrine 
 of freedom. If motives and volitions, according to the 
 empirical and associational theory, are connected only by 
 co-existence or sequence, the former is not a cause of the 
 latter, according to Hume's own conception of the case, 
 because he disputes the very existence of causation. It is 
 impossible to distinguish between uncaused and free volition. 
 Indeed if Hume were to suppose that volition is thus 
 uncaused, on the ground that all connection between 
 phenomena is associative, he would be admittting the free- 
 dom of indifference in a far worse sense than the advocates 
 of that doctrine have ever maintained. He would actually 
 be assuming a beginning of something without a cause, the 
 very contradiction of natural science and of all the principles 
 upon which scepticism is usually dependent. The defenders 
 of the freedom of indifference never went so far as to 
 maintain that a volition could originate without a cause. 
 They assumed or affirmed that the cause was the intelligent 
 ego, and that it was not the motive which caused or causes 
 the volition. They merely claimed that in so far as the 
 motive was related to volition the latter could exist without 
 it, and hence the proper refutation of this position was to 
 
34 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 show that it could not so exist and that the act could not 
 properly be a volition unless it had a motive. But to reduce 
 all events to co-existences and sequences of phenomena and 
 then, while excluding, in this way, all causal connection 
 between them, to suppose that these events have an origin, 
 each one having its beginning in the series, is to assume or 
 assert a creatio ex nihilo. A volition thus originating would 
 be not only motiveless, but causeless. Every event which 
 comes into existence must do so of its own accord, or on 
 account of some cause. If it be the former it is uncaused 
 and spontaneous ; if it be caused, the argument would stand 
 presumptively in favor of the determinists' claim, so far as 
 the general law of causation can be said to do it at all, but it 
 would be against the sceptical doctrine of Hume, discredit- 
 ing, as it did, the existence of causal connection. Hume is 
 reduced to the alternative of choosing between freedom and 
 the existence of causality. There can be no doubt about 
 the dilemma in which he is placed. On the one hand, the 
 denial of necessary connection implies that events, and 
 among them volitions, have no cause, are free spontaneous 
 creations. On the other hand, to regard such events as 
 caused is to grant the existence of more than mere co- 
 existences and sequences and thus to surrender the sceptical 
 conclusion to which his argument in the first book of the 
 Treatise led. The whole force of his argument against 
 freedom depends upon the validity of the idea of causation. 
 This is not to say that freedom is denied, if causation is 
 believed or proved to be true, but that the first condition of 
 disproving freedom exists in the assumption of causal con- 
 nection. But when that idea is impeached there is nothing 
 left to prevent the supposition that volitions among other 
 events are causeless, whether they be motiveless or not. 
 The contradiction then in Hume is clear. 
 
 The reply to this criticism, however, is evident, and it 
 would be that the contradiction is not Hume's own ; that 
 
INTRODUCTION. 35 
 
 he is merely employing the methods of scepticism, and that 
 he is responsible only for the ad hominem character of the 
 argument. His defenders can say that in one place he is 
 ■merely disproving Locke's right to the idea of necessary 
 connections from the premises, and in the other he is 
 showing that the same school cannot hold to the doctrine 
 of liberty if they admit the causality of all events and yet 
 include volitions among them. In this manner the apparent 
 inconsistency of Hume is only his statement of the double 
 inconsistency of the philosophy, of which he is giving a 
 rednctio ad absurdum; namely, the inconsistency, on the one 
 hand between its doctrine of experience and the conception 
 of causality, and on the other between the motiveless and 
 uncaused character of volition, and the causation of all 
 events. 
 
 There is no doubt that to thus regard Hume's position as 
 purely sceptical acquits him of responsibility for the contra- 
 diction we have indicated. But we have two rejoinders to 
 this supposition of its sceptical nature. The first is that, 
 granting Hume's scepticism, our argument applies with full 
 force to all who dispute the existence of necessary connec- 
 tion, and these include all who have taken Hume seriously 
 upon the subject, among them the Positivists. They must 
 choose between causality and freedom. They cannot deny 
 both of them. The second rejoinder is that Hume cannot 
 be properly regarded as wholly a sceptic in this matter. 
 Had he been content merely to point out the inconsistencies 
 of the philosophy of Locke, he might have been exempt 
 from the charge of contradiction. But he did not stop with 
 this criticism of Locke. He went on to propose a theory of 
 his own, a procedure which took him wholly without the 
 pale of scepticism and places him among the dogmatists. 
 As a sceptic he should express no opinions about the idea 
 of causality. He should merely have shown that Locke had 
 no right to it in his system, and should have left the reader 
 
36 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ignorant in regard to his own views. But- instead of this he 
 produces an argument of his own to deny the existence of 
 causality. He admitted that we have, as a fact, the idea of 
 necessary connection other than mere co-existence and. 
 sequence, but in order to show its illusory character he 
 undertakes to explain its origin by the doctrine of associa- 
 tion. He starts with the view of Locke that experience 
 gives us co-existences and sequences, mere facts of con- 
 nected occurrences, and concedes that causal connection is 
 superadded to these. But in order to show that this 
 superadded idea is only a mistaken co-existence or sequence, 
 he shows the influence of long and frequent association in 
 producing an idea of connection which we mistake for a 
 necessary one. This is simply a reduction of the idea of 
 necessary connection to association, and no one ever sup- 
 posed that association contains the causal nexus, which is 
 something in addition to it. Hume's own doctrine, there- 
 fore, is a denial of causation and thus contradicts his 
 attempt to set aside freedom on the ground of the law of 
 c,ause and effect. To secure himself against this accusa- 
 tion, Hume must give up his theory of the origin of our 
 idea regarding necessary connection. If he had been 
 content to show that the Lockians had no right to the idea 
 of causality, as being excluded from the primary data of 
 knowledge, and that with this idea they have no right to the 
 doctrine of freedom, as long as freedom means indifference 
 to motives, he would not have been disturbed in his argu- 
 ment. But the moment he endeavors to prove that the idea 
 of a causal nexus other than association is an illusion, he 
 assumes a position which makes any other doctrine than 
 freedom a most rank absurdity. 
 
 Throwing aside Hume's inconsistency as a sceptic and 
 admitting the law of causatigrj, the defence to which his 
 argument is entitled is that" we must admit the causation of 
 volitions and the invariable concomitancy of motives with 
 
INTRODUCTION. 37 
 
 them. This indisputably refutes the doctrine of indifference, 
 and unless we can reconcile the theory of freedom with the 
 caused character of volitions it must be abandoned. 
 Hume's argument undoubtedly forces this conclusion upon 
 us, because the only alternative to it is the assumption that 
 volitions are not events or have no origin. But it may not 
 be wholly and only to Hume's credit that the case is thus 
 made out ; for the determinists who preceded him make the 
 same conclusion quite as inevitable, although probably not 
 quite so clear. It must also be said for the advocates of 
 freedom that they were not all even apologists for that 
 abused conception of it represented by the liberty of 
 indifference. They were many of them careful to repudiate 
 such a doctrine, and Hume may be suspected of insincerity 
 or misrepresentation for not stating this fact instead of 
 appearing to make us believe that the doctrine he attacked 
 was the only one existing at the time. He can escape the 
 suspicion only by pleading ignorance in regard to the 
 history of philosophy. It is true that many persons have 
 conceived the doctrine of freedom after the manner imputed 
 to them by Hume, but they have not been so numerous as 
 to justify a disregard of those who held a different view. 
 Besides, Hume could not have had in mind a sceptical 
 reduction of Locke's theory of freedom, because when we 
 have eliminated the paradoxes of Locke's discussion of the 
 problem we have a view precisely identical with that 
 which Hume admits to be true ; namely the freedom of 
 spontaneity. Hume could have been thinking only of the 
 dogmatic philosophers and theologians for whom he felt a 
 strong antagonism. He was ever ready to torment these 
 adversaries with the conclusions from their own premises 
 and delighted to see them writhe under the hopeless confu- 
 sion in which their contradictions left them. It would be 
 too charitable to Hume as well as false in fact to suppose 
 that he was morally in earnest about either the truth or the 
 
38 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 value of his conclusions so eagerly demonstrated. He was 
 bent on weakening the convictions of those who were 
 willing to toy with philosophy as long as it did not under- 
 mine their faith or threaten the integrity of their traditional 
 dogmas. There was a disposition to mischief in Hume's 
 nature which greatly qualifies his claim to sincerity and it is 
 attested by his own moods of complete indifference, both 
 moral and intellectual, in regard to the results of his 
 speculations. In spite of some dogmatic feeling there was 
 the malice of a sceptic in him and it was this trait which 
 created distrust in the seriousness of his argument, and 
 forfeited the respect that attached to the more radical but 
 more earnest philosophy of contemporary Frenchmen. 
 Diderot, Helvetius, and Condillac were quite as sceptical 
 as Hume, so far as theology was concerned, but they were 
 terribly in earnest about the doctrines which they wished 
 would supplant those of tradition, and modern humanita- 
 rianism may be said to have received its second birth at 
 their hands. No such movement can trace its lineage to 
 Hume's influence. Yet this fact should not be used too 
 much to his discredit, nor should we because of certain 
 moral defects in his temperament either unduly depreciate 
 the merits of his philosophy or unfairly burden scepticism 
 with the responsibility for the world's intellectual errors and 
 practical ills. For the claim can be very justly made that 
 quite as much good comes to the world from scepticism as 
 from dogmatic and impulsive moral earnestness, because 
 the latter is always in danger of becoming intolerant and 
 overbearing. Both mental attitudes have their place. 
 Scepticism is the antidote of intolerance. It is the mother 
 of deliberative habits and deliberation is essential to all 
 rational life and conduct. It is the only instrument which 
 can enable us to get an adequate conception of the various 
 conditions with which we have to deal in the intellectual 
 and moral problems of the world. Without it we are dis- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 39 
 
 posed to assume a greater uniformity in the nature of men 
 and of life than actually exists. What we require is a 
 knowledge of the diversities of nature and circumstance 
 under which men think and act, and we can expect to attain 
 it only under the impulse of a certain amount of change in 
 the ideas of our earlier periods of belief. On the other 
 hand, moral earnestness is the condition of all noble action. 
 Yet it must be wisely cultivated and applied. But it is 
 necessary to counteract the paralyzing influence of doubt 
 and hesitation, which if left to themselves result in inaction. 
 The two functions require to be judiciously combined, the 
 one to prevent unadjusted life, and the other to prevent 
 inertia. In purely speculative philosophy, however, they 
 may often be separated to a great advantage. Here we are 
 concerned only with the naked truth of things apart from 
 the personal interests with which our feelings, even those 
 of the loftiest nature, may become associated, and in order 
 to assure the judicial calmness necessary to estimate 
 abstract truth rightly, we require often to divest ourselves 
 of every impulse attaching us to preconceived opinions and 
 purposes. Hume possessed this characteristic of intel- 
 lectual self-control and poise to a very marked degree and 
 it was a source of great strength to his philosophy. He 
 undoubtedly had an eye to mischief when any theological 
 doctrines were concerned. But this fact, while it might 
 justify some suspicion of his disinterestedness, must not 
 weigh in estimating the nature and value of his reasoning. 
 Bad motives will not nullify the force of good logic ; and 
 hence we are compelled to test his philosophy by other than 
 moral criteria. 
 
 The second peculiarity of Hume's treatment of the will is 
 his denial that " reason " alone can influence it as a motive 
 power, or that " men are only so far virtuous as they con- 
 form themselves to its dictates." The first temptation of 
 most students of philosophy would be to oppose Hume's 
 
4° INTRODUCTION. 
 
 position, and yet a little examination might show that after 
 all the doctrine is not so far removed from that of Kant and 
 common sense as might be imagined. For both agree that 
 the "good will" is an indispensable factor in virtue, and it 
 may be claimed that Hume's is only a negative statement 
 of this view. 
 
 In the discussion of this question the student must be 
 careful not to misunderstand or to misrepresent the real 
 position of Hume. He is often said, or thought, to have 
 denied all influence of "reason" upon the will, and his 
 argument lends much color to this view, because of his in- 
 complete exposition of the functions of reason, and because 
 of the vast amount of negative argument on his part to show 
 the inability of " reason " to furnish motive power. It is 
 true that the impression left by his general language is that 
 "reason" is excluded from all relation and influence upon 
 volition, and it appears that the occasional use of the term 
 " alone " or its equivalent is the only resource for defence 
 which his apologists can produce. This is important and 
 conclusive, but it would have conduced more to clearness 
 had so important a qualification been more conspicuous in 
 the general discussion. Hume's position is saved by his 
 distinct assertion that " reason alone* can never be a motive 
 to any action of the will," and this is his real point of view 
 in spite of apparent argument to the contrary. The general 
 drift of his discussion undoubtedly favors the separation of 
 " reason " and will, or volition, and justifies a measure of 
 criticism in order to counteract its influence or to correct the 
 very natural misunderstanding occasioned by it. Were he 
 defending the entire independence of volition from the in- 
 fluence of reason there is an ad homincm argument which 
 would be absolutely conclusive against him. It is the fact 
 that he distinctly places pleasure and pain among the " im- 
 pressions," which are not " passions," but data of the under- 
 * Italics are our own. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 41 
 
 standing or reason, although the passions may arise from or 
 upon the occasion of impressions. The passions are the 
 only motives to action which Hume recognizes, and as 
 pleasure and pain, according to his view, are not passions, 
 they cannot be motives. And yet Hume founds his utilita- 
 rianism upon the supposition that pleasure and happiness 
 are the motives of conduct, But since pleasures and pains 
 are "impressions," or data of the understanding, and are 
 not passions, and since the passions are the only motives to 
 volition, Hume must either have given up his utilitarianism 
 and with it the assumed motivation of pleasure and pain, or 
 he must have admitted the motivation of the understanding 
 or reason, as pleasure and pain, in his view, are among its. 
 functions. Again, inasmuch as it is not pleasure and painjb 
 considered as present states, that are assumed to be motives^ 
 but the ideas of them that are the real motives, it might be/ 
 said that " reason " is thus necessarily implicated in volition,/ 
 as a motive power to it, for ideas have no other source thai* 
 reason. This fact is conclusive in the case. But it does 
 not militate against the real position of Hume as qualified 
 by his inconspicuous admission. It in fact illustrates the 
 positive view which it was his duty to have constructed after 
 having implied that reason was in some way related to voli- 
 tion. The criticism, however, has been necessary for 
 several reasons. First, it was necessary to make clear the 
 inconsistency of any system which virtually denied the 
 motive nature of pleasure and pain, and affirmed the theory 
 of utilitarianism while regarding them as products of the 
 understanding, and not as passions. Second, the case 
 offered a good opportunity for explaining the real relation 
 between volition and pleasure and pain, and between reason 
 and volition, which is that ideas are as much motives as pas- 
 sions, — a position, which, although not made clear by Hume, 
 is distinctly anticipated by him in the admission, on the one 
 hand, that reason has some relation to conduct, and in the 
 
42 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 assertion, on the other, that conduct is not virtuous solely 
 on the ground of its conformity to reason. And again it 
 was necessary to exhibit the proper proportions of apology 
 and criticism belonging to his view. These considerations, 
 even if they do not take the shape of a refutation, justify 
 our animadversions, on the ground that every student should 
 be put on guard against misrepresentation of Hume, and 
 against deductions from his doctrine which have ignored the 
 important concessions already mentioned. 
 
 There is a farther consideration of Hume's view, which 
 partakes of the nature of both a criticism and an apology. 
 We may first remark that he is disposed to beg the question 
 of the relation between reason and volition by using the 
 term " reason " in its ratiocinative sense. It is indisputably 
 true that ratiocinative reason can never produce a motive to 
 volition. Logical processes are not motives, and no 
 philosopher was ever careless enough to suppose that they 
 were. The ambiguities of language in the Platonic system 
 and its traditions might have lent some color to such a mis- 
 understanding, but responsible thinkers have not given any 
 ground to suppose that they would defend such a view. 
 Hence it creates some surprise to see Hume insinuating by 
 his treatment of the question that they had taught such a 
 doctrine. In fact there is reason to charge Hume either 
 with ignorance or with disingenuousness in the matter. He 
 either did not know adequately the history of philosophy, or 
 he wished to avail himself of a manifest but ambiguous 
 truth in order to impeach the intellectualists of the day. 
 If he was resorting consciously to an equivocation to support 
 his cause he forfeits all respect for his argument. This 
 view of him, however, is, we are convinced, not the true one. 
 It is an accusation which it would be hard to prove, and can 
 be nothing more than a presumption taken from his known 
 sympathy with the cause of scepticism. Besides his 
 sympathy with the doctrine of a moral sense acquits him of 
 
INTRODUCTION. 43 
 
 disingenuousness, as it indicates a desire on his part not so 
 much to play the sceptic with the school of Cudworth and 
 Clarke as to prepare a way for his doctrine of moral senti- 
 ment. But we have a right to assert that Hume does not 
 seem sufficiently acquainted with the history of the term to 
 understand what the intellectualists meant by the motivation 
 of reason in volition. We shall have occasion to refer to 
 this question again when considering his moral theory in its 
 more special character. It is referred to here for two pur- 
 poses ; first in order to understand the peculiar nature of 
 his doctrine of the will, and second in order to illustrate the 
 difficulties in dealing with him merely as a sceptic, or as one 
 who had not recognized in any form a relation between 
 reason and volition. 
 
 Were we to assume that he denied all relations between 
 the two, we could better understand the feeling which the 
 freedomists of that day would entertain toward him. 
 Accustomed as they were to connect freedom with rational 
 as opposed to instinctive or passionate action, they would 
 very naturally resent in strong language any attempt to 
 widen the distance between reason and will by disregarding 
 the established language and distinctions of philosophy, or 
 to diminish the influence of reason upon conduct by giving 
 morals over to the sentiments ; because turning the will over 
 exclusively to the passions and instincts was, in the well 
 defined conceptions of the day, as in Plato and his school, 
 to make all conduct non-moral by regarding it as the result 
 of mechanical motives or unconscious and irrational impulses. 
 It may be that motive force has other elements than mere 
 perceptive and ratiocinative ideas, but volition can never be 
 truly moral until it is qualified by the rational element ; 
 that is, until ideas of the intellect inform the motives to 
 action. These ideas need not be those of the reflective 
 stage of life. It is sufficient that they represent the 
 consciousness of an end, although the reflective type may 
 
44 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 be the higher of the two. But in the general thought of 
 his own and previous ages "reason " represented a motive 
 opposed to blind instinct, and one which was opposed to 
 the pure emotions. The term was taken in its broad sense 
 of mind, and not of logical processes. It was this fact 
 which Hume seems to have wholly ignored and he is 
 reproachable for some lack of insight in not apprehending 
 the true meaning of his contemporaries and predecessors. 
 It was a strange oversight on his part. For no kind of 
 freedom, not even that of spontaneity, which Hume admits, 
 could be possible under the supposition that reason had no 
 relation to volition, taking that term to denote the general 
 power of consciousness. What he did, without being 
 conscious of it, was to place conduct entirely under the 
 agency of instinct or passion, in so far as his system 
 separated reason and the will. This was effected by his 
 failure to distinguish between " motives " as merely efficient 
 causes of volition, and as final causes of it, or final and 
 efficient causes together. In much of the traditional 
 philosophy instinct and instinctive impulses were considered 
 as efficient causes of conduct in which the agent was not 
 supposed to be intelligent ; and where only efficient causes 
 operated, they being always regarded as external. Because 
 the instinct was an impulse or influence outside of conscious- 
 ness, the action could in no way be taken as the agent's own 
 voluntary effort, and hence was not considered spontaneous 
 or free. Such " motives " are mechanical in their nature, or 
 are analogous to mechanical forces, so far as their relation to 
 Jvolition is concerned. But a true "motive " to action must 
 be a state of consciousness, an idea of an end, in order to 
 imake the action moral at all. It also requires impulsive force, 
 and it is true that this motive efficiency does not come from 
 it as an idea, but from the desire that is coupled with it. 
 But, nevertheless, it will not be a true " motive " unless it 
 contains the element of consciousness, or the consciousness 
 
INTRODUCTION. 45 
 
 of an end, because the act cannot be a volition without 
 this accompaniment. Hence Hume's general tendencies are 
 toward a determinism which contradicts his admission of 
 spontaneity. He interprets " motive " to mean causal 
 efficiency and denies this power to reason, so that volition, 
 not coming from reason, but from the passions, can in no 
 sense be intelligent, or coincide with his conception of free 
 spontaneity. His error is, therefore, either in his mis- 
 conception of the term "motive," which leads to the 
 contradiction just mentioned, or in his denial of reason as 
 a motive power while making pleasure and pain, its products, 
 the motives to conduct. In either case there is a contra- 
 diction involved, both of them involving his theory of 
 determinism, because as long as the assumptions of his 
 own system include at least the concomitant motivation of 
 reason in every volition, this fact and the freedom of 
 spontaneity appear to offset the conclusions based upon a 
 purely mechanical conception of the term " motive." 
 
 There are passages also which show that Hume does not, 
 and cannot escape the influence of traditional usage in his 
 employment of the term "reason." This appears in some 
 of his references where it denotes perceptive as well as ratioc- 
 inative processes, and as he could not question its function 
 to supply ideas of ends involved in every volition this usage, 
 perhaps an unwitting concession on his part, either impli- 
 cates him in the very doctrine which the whole spirit of his 
 discussion has the effect of denying, as usually interpreted 
 by the general reader, or it furnishes data for reproaching 
 him with a surprising failure to apprehend correctly the 
 teaching of the history of philosophy. A man of his insight 
 and knowledge, in order to evade the accusation either of 
 ignorapce or of equivocation, should have seen that " reason " 
 was, in general parlance, a term for all the intellectual 
 energies, whether intuitive or ratiocinative. The possession 
 of the first of these qualifications was sufficient to connect 
 
46 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 it with the will much more closely than the general spirit of 
 his argument would indicate. 
 
 The next subject for consideration is Hume's theory of 
 moral principles . We have already alluH'ed to the separa- 
 tion which he makes between the doctrine of freedom and 
 the theory of morals, and to the fact that he probably 
 regarded that doctrine as a psychological question. We 
 must remark farther that he was probably wiser than he 
 knew at the time. His discussion of the will in connection 
 with the passions made it necessary to abandon all psycho- 
 logical matters when he came to the problem of morals. 
 This was a great gain, and students will hardly fail to 
 perceive how it was, consciously or unconsciously, an 
 anticipation of Kant's method, which aimed to present 
 the deduction not the historical genesis of moral ideas and 
 principles. Hume begins an entirely new system and 
 method with his third book, although in one important 
 respect he is still linked to the past. It is in regard to 
 his doctrine of a " moral sense." 
 
 i With Locke and the contemporaries of Hume the problem 
 was mainly genetic. This is to say that it was concerned 
 with the origin of moral distinctions. But there are two 
 kinds of "origin," quite distinct in their nature, and yet 
 usually complicated with each other in the same questions. 
 They are the psychological and the historical origin of ideas. 
 Both are quite different from the logical deduction of prin- 
 ciples, and all three constitute as many distinct problems 
 for philosophy. The psychological "origin" of ideas 
 properly concerns their mental source and the mental 
 elements constituting them. Their historical "origin" is a 
 question of the time they come into existence and of the 
 circumstances which elicit them into consciousness. . Their 
 deduction is occupied with a determination of the general 
 principles upon which particular moral ideas rest for their 
 meaning and authority, and this investigation can be carried 
 
INTRODUCTION. 47 
 
 on without any reference to the "origin," a priori or em- 
 pirical, of moral ideas. Now Locke's polemic against 
 "innate ideas" committed him to the view that moral con- 
 ceptions were not a part of the original constitution of the 
 mind, or of a simple faculty, but were the product of 
 experience. He treated them as "complex ideas," which, 
 although their elements might have a natural source in the 
 mind, were themselves derived, as subsequent thinkers 
 expressed it, by association. Hence he did not raise or 
 discuss the question in regard to the special mental source 
 of these ideas. He was occupied mainly with their histori- 
 cal genesis. But his system assumed, with the general 
 belief of the age, that moral distinctions were purely 
 intellectual, if it did not directly assert the fact. Scepticism 
 is in a peculiar situation here. It can hardly attack Locke's 
 empiricism without strengthening the doctrine of " innate I 
 ideas," which would make scepticism appear rather un- 
 natural, to say the least. Hence it must appeal to another 
 resource in order to attain its object. Hume's sceptical 
 tendency, therefore, on the one hand, and his sympathy 
 with the doctrine of a "moral sense," on the other, permit 
 him only one resort. He departs from Locke and the 
 intellectualists so far as to consider whether moral distinc- 
 tions are intellectual or " sentimental " in their source. 
 This mode of discussion enables him to avoid implicating 
 his scepticism in an indirect defence of "innate ideas," 
 while he can support the naturalness or nativity of moral 
 principles and avail himself of the difference between reason 
 and passion to refute intellectualism, on the one hand, and 
 to prepare the way for emphasizing the motive element of 
 morality, on the other. Hence Hume's first step is to deny 
 that "reason" is the source of moral distinctions, and to 
 affirm that it is "sentiment." His grounds for this position 
 are the same as those by which he limited the influence of 
 reason upon the will. Morals, he asserts, have to do with 
 
48 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 fthe distribution of praise and blame, and as these cannot 
 apply to ideas, which are the products of reason, he thinks 
 that reason cannot be the source of the distinction we make 
 
 [between vice and virtue. 
 
 It is difficult to criticise Hume's position on this ques- 
 tion. There is so much truth in his point of view when 
 correctly understood, and so much that is worthy in the 
 object at which he aims, that criticism against him may 
 appear to be dictated by a general dislike of his philosophy. 
 It is easy to make his reputation among the orthodox a text 
 for a homily against scepticism. But such a policy directed 
 against his morals would be a grave mistake. Hume is not 
 so sceptical in this part of his work as in the book on the 
 understanding. He is not aiming to destroy certain views 
 out of sheer mischief, nor to merely expose the difficulties 
 of existing beliefs. All this we have previously explained. 
 On the contrary, the only negative criticism he indulges is 
 done in order to prepare the way for a constructive theory 
 of morals on the lines of Hutcheson, Shaftesbury and Reid. 
 We should never lose sight of this fact in estimating his 
 doctrine. He attacks the intellectualists of the day, not in 
 behalf of scepticism, but in the interest of a doctrine of 
 " moral sense," which, although it was founded in the sen- 
 timents rather than in the understanding, preserved all that 
 was valuable in the theory of "innate ideas" and suggested 
 an element in moral principles and conduct not properly 
 recognized by that view. 
 
 Students of the history of ethics will easily remark that 
 Hume, when opposing intellectualism, has in mind the 
 rather erratic doctrines of Clarke and Wollaston, and there 
 is much in their views to justify his criticism of them. In 
 fact it is an apology for Hume to know what the views of 
 the extreme intellectualists were. And yet he did not fully 
 appreciate the basis and the spirit of their doctrine, and in 
 some cases misrepresented it, though perhaps unconsciously. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 49 
 
 The reason for this is his misunderstanding of the term 
 "reason " in the history of morals. He still seems to think 
 that it denotes only a ratiocinative power and that previous 
 writers regarded " morality, like truth, to be discerned 
 merely by ideas and by their juxtaposition and comparison." 
 But this supposition represents an entire misunderstanding 
 of the case. Previous writers had no intention of affirming 
 that moral principles had a ratiocinative origin. What they 
 intended was to assert a derivation independent of blind 
 instincts, in order both to vindicate the freedom of the will 
 and to contrast what we call rational with impulsive conduct. 
 At the risk of some repetition we must refer again to the 
 history of this term. The original antithesis which Plato 
 wished to establish was that between conscious and uncon- 
 scious conduct ; or perhaps better, between intentional and 
 unintentional conduct. He did this by distinguishing 
 between " reason " (voBs) and impulse or passion (l-mdv^ia 
 and #v/x,os). His system assumed that passion acted without 
 reference to a conscious purpose, or idea of an end to be 
 intentionally realized. Although psychology in the course 
 of its development has changed its conception of the 
 passions in this respect, gradually coming to regard them as 
 conscious, but non-deliberative, it still retained the old 
 antithesis between reason and impulse or passion, while the 
 term " reason " was also doing service for both the percep- 
 tive (vovs) and the ratiocinative (Aoyos) function of the mind. 
 There were tendencies at the time of Hume to limit reason 
 to its ratiocinative import, as is evinced by the threefold 
 division of the mind into "sense," "understanding," and 
 "reason." The understanding was the faculty of concep- 
 tions and judgments, and reason the logical faculty. In 
 this view the more comprehensive conception of the term 
 was forgotten. This whole tendency is quite as apparent in 
 Kant as in Hume and others ; and it created a very natural 
 
5° INTRODUCTION. 
 
 resource for those who felt the difference between " specu- 
 lative " and " practical " thought. 
 
 Now when in the later psychology the passions came to 
 be regarded as conscious influences upon the will, they 
 absorbed all that Plato had meant by reason, and hence 
 nothing was left of his antithesis except such as clings by 
 tradition to the forms of language, and the irremovable 
 difference between ratiocinative and impulsive functions. 
 It was clear that the purely contemplative and perceptive 
 exercise of reason could not be a " motive " to volition in 
 the same manner as the passions, and hence upon this 
 transparent fact, while unconscious of the equivocal addition 
 made to the functions of the passions, and assuming the 
 traditional import of the term that they were the motive 
 efficients of the will, an easy argument was constructed 
 both for determinism and against the motivation of reason. 
 vBut here it was that Hume forgot or ignored the synthetic, 
 Ithat is to say, complex character of "motives." They must 
 ponsist of ideas of ends and motive impulses, the former 
 derived from reason, in the comprehensive sense, and the 
 latter from desire, as has already been remarked. In this 
 way he might have seen what current usage meant by the 
 term and have qualified his criticism. By such a course he 
 would have discovered that the motivation of reason was 
 1 not opposed, but really at the basis of his own doctrine of 
 a "moral sense." 
 
 This, we think, can be made out from a statement that 
 represents the doctrine of Hume in a nutshell. "Actions," 
 he says, " may be laudable or blamable, but they cannot be 
 reasonable or unreasonable : laudable or blamable, there- 
 fore, are not the same with reasonable or unreasonable." 
 Nothing can be truer than this if we mean that volitions 
 cannot be like logical or perceptive processes ; and if 
 historical writers had intended that they should be so 
 considered, Hume's position could not be contested. But 
 
INTRODUCTION. 51 
 
 his limitation of the terms "reasonable" and "unreason- 
 able" is a distortion of both their original and their 
 traditional import, and it is amazing to find Hume either 
 unaware of the fact, or resorting to a transparent equivoca- 
 tion for the sake of a temporary logical triumph. His own 
 position gets its cogency only by making the most of an 
 obliquity which is entirely of his own producing. He 
 cannot find it as a concession of the intellectualists. The 
 only excuse he might be entitled to use would be an 
 inference from the logical distinction between understand- 
 ing and reason. But what he would gain by this expedient 
 would be lost by accepting " sense " instead of understand 
 ing as the source of moral principles, because the elimina- 
 tion of intellectual elements with the understanding would 
 result only in either the absurdity of making all moral ideas 
 sensuous and more definite and uniform in conception than 
 their actual relativity and Hume's appeal to this fact would 
 justify, or in using the term " sense " as a real equivalent 
 of understanding and reason, internal perception, which was 
 evidently the import intended by Hutcheson and Shaftes- 
 bury. Looked at in this light his contention seems no 
 better than a logomachy. "Reasonable" and "unreason- 
 able " as applied to morals in Hume's own time were 
 intended to express conformity and non-conformity to the 
 laws determined by consciousness as opposed to blind 
 instinct, and not to denote merely ratiocinative processes. 
 There was nothing, therefore, out of the way in the common 
 view, unless some stickler for logical usage chose to misin- 
 terpret or misrepresent accepted language. 
 
 In spite of this, however, there is a very important truth 
 in Hume's position, which ought, perhaps, to exempt him 
 from unqualified censure. His distinction between the" 
 functions of reason and passion in relation to morality 
 calls attention anew to the fact that there is no necessary , 
 connection between knowledge and virtue ; that morality is/ 
 
52 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 not the perception of right, but the willing of it. Only, 
 Hume should not have used language which implied that 
 moral distinctions arose outside of reason. That which he 
 really emphasized, in spite of his misrepresentation of the 
 matter, was what may be called the moral as compared with 
 the intellectual side of conduct. The distinction he had 
 in mind was the same as that of Aristotle between the 
 "natural" and the "acquired virtues." To urge this was 
 I only to say that the distinctive characteristic of morality is 
 la quality of will, and to recognize this fact was to anticipate 
 the analysis which Kant worked out without involving him- 
 self in the paradox of excluding "reason" from a prominent 
 influence upon morality. Moral action, said Kant, consists 
 first in the "good will," which was not a "speculative," 
 but a "practical" function of "reason." Knowledge 
 (conditioned, but did not constitute moral conduct, accord- 
 ing to him. Hume's real view is not far enough removed 
 from this to criticise it unqualifiedly. As a practical 
 moralist he saw that in dealing with men the problem was 
 to move their wills less than it was to convince their 
 intellects, and hence their characters were to be estimated 
 and their wills moved by other elements than mere 
 knowledge. 
 
 There is a just criticism, nevertheless, which can be pro- 
 duced against Hume at this point. He puts forward as his 
 problem the origin and foundation of moral principles, and 
 in discussing it he confuses two distinct questions. Instead 
 of discussing only the way in which moral rlisrmrriT ms 
 originatedlhe enters into the question of what it is that 
 makes an action mor al. In this way he fails to distinguish 
 between the psycho-gonic question and what may be called 
 the deductive or psycho-derivative question. The former 
 has to do with the genesis of moral distinctions, ideas, or 
 principles, and the other with the coefficients of moral 
 action. Had Hume recognized the difference between the 
 
INTRODUCTION. 53 
 
 two problems he would not have entered the controversy 
 about the relation of reason to the will, and could have 
 sustained his intended position with better success and less 
 difficulty. Moral principles originate in ideas, but they are 
 realized by motive agencies superadded to them and having 
 their efficiency in the passions or emotions. The emphasis 
 of the latter factor was the merit of Hume's position, but 
 unfortunately he made it in language which put the matter 
 at the expense of the relation between reason and the will. 
 
 In the first edition of his Morals Hume does not define 
 his relation to utilitarianism so distinctly as in the edition of 
 1752. After stating the case in favor of a "moral sense" 
 and the import of the terms " natural " and " artificial," by 
 which he expects to describe moral principles in general, he 
 proceeds to discuss the origin of the ideas of justice and 
 injustice. Justice he seems to regard as the fundamental 
 conception out of which all other moral principles arise. 
 Hence he does not begin, as Plato and moralists generally 
 would have done, with an investigation of the summum 
 bonum. This is simply assumed to be pleasure. "Tn the 
 later edition he uses the term utility to define this good, and 
 thereby indicates more clearly the point of view from which 
 his principles of morals are to be judged. 
 
 It is not necessary here to enter into a general discussion 
 of utilitarianism in order to determine either the merits or 
 demerits of Hume's special doctrine. We are interested only 
 in the extent to which Hume could support his doctrine 
 from the premises assumed. In general, we regard the 
 doctrine of utilitarians as possessing sufficient merits to 
 secure it against unqualified criticism. It requires only to 
 be modified, although this modification may be radical, in 
 order to be commended to general acceptance. Like most 
 other one-sided theories it is liable to misapplication and 
 abuse. But in so far as Hume is concerned this liability is 
 not so great, for the simple reason that he did not develop 
 
54 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the doctrine after the manner of Bentham and Mill. He 
 was too much bound by the genetic conception of the moral 
 problem, after Locke's example, to devote himself wholly to 
 the deductive question as it appeared to them. Yet his 
 position on the matter is open to a unique criticism which 
 weakens his utilitarianism, although we may find in his 
 psychological analysis a very interesting conception of the 
 matter which may modify the force of the criticism, or 
 suggest to the utilitarian a very effective defence of his 
 theory ; a defence also which will not antagonize the 
 opposing doctrine. 
 
 We know that utilitarianism requires pleasure to be the 
 ultimate end of conduct. The defenders of the theory 
 assert that pleasure and pain are the motives of all action. 
 It would be unfair to them to say that this expresses exactly 
 what they mean. They intend to say that it is either the 
 idea or the desire of pleasure and aversion to pain, perhaps 
 both the idea and the desire, that form the motive to con- 
 duct. Certainly this is the only defensible meaning that 
 can be advanced. A double difficulty is, therefore, suggested 
 by Hume's position on the matter.(\)In the first place, 
 assuming as he does that all action is for pleasure or to 
 avoid pain, he cannot allow them to be motives to volition, 
 because he excludes them from the passions and places 
 them among the impressions of sense and reflection. Even 
 if pleasure and pain as present states could be regarded as 
 motives in the ordinary theory of utilitarianism they could 
 not be so considered in Hume's conception of the problem, 
 because of the above mentioned psychological analysis. He 
 would, therefore, be compelled either to abandon his utili- 
 tarianism or to modify his view of the relation between 
 pleasure and pain, and the will. But these alternatives are 
 forced upon him only because he had denied or greatly 
 disparaged the common view about the motivation of reason 
 in volition^ In the second place, having maintained that 
 
INTRODUCTION. 55 
 
 ideas and impressions could not be motives to volition, and 
 having classed pleasure and pain among them, Hume 
 virtually excluded the latter from a place among the ends 
 of conduct. But utilitarianism has no right to existence 
 unless it can claim pleasure to be the ultimate end of action, 
 and in so far as Hume makes it impossible so to regard 
 pleasure he cuts away the foundations of his theory. He 
 may be right about the fact that pleasure is such an end, 
 but his classification of it among the impressions and ideas 
 nullifies his claim to that assertion. 
 
 Hume's psychological position, however, suggests a very 
 interesting analysis of the ethical problem. In his discus- 
 sion on the origin of the idea of justice he shows very 
 clearly his peculiar conception of the term " motive," to 
 denote merely an impulse to volition, and an impulse that 
 cannot properly be regarded as representing a preconceived 
 idea. It is merely the efficient cause of volition without the 
 mnal. For instance, he asserts in italics, the summary of a 
 long discussion, "that no action can be virtuous, or morally 
 good, unless there be in human nature some motive to 
 produce it, distinct from the sense of its morality." We do 
 not care at this point of the discussion to dispute this view. 
 But we wish only to call attention to the conception of the 
 term "motive," which, as in his illustration of benevolence 
 being moral without the conscious recognition of its good- 
 ness, must denote a blind instinct, and this conclusion is 
 enforced by his exclusion of " reason " from a determination 
 of morality. The " motive " of action is thus not only a 
 mere efficient cause, but it is also different from the end of 
 conduct, and from the idea of that end. Accepting for the 
 moment this conception of the case we have three distinct 
 elements recognized, at least by implication, in Hume's 
 position. They are the motive, the end, and the " sense of 
 morality." Two interesting facts can be deduced from this 
 view. First, Hume clearly distinguishes between the mor- 
 
56 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ality of conduct and the sense of its morality. This 
 distinction can be reduced to that between instinctive or 
 unreflective, and conscious or reflective morality, which is 
 quite an important one to make in discussing the theory of 
 ethics. Instinctive morality is conduct which we can call 
 good on the ground that the end sought is approvable and 
 the agent has the disposition to seek it without a temptation 
 to do otherwise. In this form, morality has not reached its 
 rational stage. Conscious or reflective morality is the con- 
 duct of a man who knows that what he is doing is right, 
 and so has a sense of its worth and binding character. 
 Here morality is rational. But Hume was shut out of 
 developing his doctrine up to this point by his exclusion of 
 reason from a part in it, and yet his analysis requires that 
 the doctrine be developed in this very way. I In the second 
 place, if the development of the theory of ethics goes so far 
 beyond Hume's restriction of the term " motive " to mere 
 desire, independent of " ideas " or consciousness, as to admit 
 the accompaniment of the "sense of morality," there will be 
 the basis for an interesting reconciliation between utilitari- 
 anism and Kantianism, in which the categorical imperative 
 is the only spring of true morality. For by combining the 
 "motive" and the "sense of morality," as modern moralists 
 do in regarding the "motive " as a synthesis of an idea and 
 1 an impulse, we have only to distinguish between the motive 
 \ and the consequent in order to see that the good sought 
 \may be one thing and the motive to it represent an entirely 
 \distinct element of consciousness. That is, utility or 
 Pleasure might be the summum Ionian, while the pursuit of 
 it would get its moral character, not from the fact that man 
 had an impulse in that direction blindly considered, but 
 from the fact that he sought it rationally or under the sense 
 of duty. In this way we might hold that "the sense of 
 morality" was the formal, and utility the material element 
 of virtue, a position which after all is not only that of Kant 
 
INTRODUCTION. 57 
 
 as reflected in his recognition of "universal happiness' as 
 the end of moral action, but is also quite in keeping with 
 Hume, who makes the virtue of conduct to consist wholly 
 in the motive. 
 
 The strangest thing in the case is, that Hume should 
 have admitted, as he did, that " the sense of morality " 
 should motivate volition and yet not give it moral charac- 
 ter. This was no better than making morality a matter of 
 pure, blind instinct. It might be consistent with the denial 
 of the motivation of the will by reason, but this consistency 
 was purchased at the expense of everything which elevated 
 man's conduct above that of the animal. Hence, the mo- 
 ment that " the sense of morality " was recognized by 
 philosophers as both a motive to volition and a determinant 
 of high merit in it, Hume's doctrine that the " motive " 
 only could moralize conduct, was transformed into Kant's 
 theory of the "good will." 
 
 There are some very paradoxical remarks by Hume in his 
 treatment of justice, and since he is here dealing with the 
 fundamental principles of morals, they require some con- 
 sideration. The first most interesting fa%t to be noticed is 
 his conception of justice. He does not define it clearly, 
 but only indicates the class of phenomena to which it 
 belongs and whose essential nature it shares. In the first 
 part of the book he had discussed the relation of moral 
 principles to "nature," and after recognizing three different 
 meanings for the term decides that moral principles are 
 "artificial." In this latter class he places justice. "There 
 are some virtues," he says, "that produce pleasure and 
 approbation by means of an artifice or contrivance, which 
 arises from the circumstances and necessity of mankind. 
 Of this kind I assert justice to be." 
 
 The first criticism which this observation would instigate, 
 would be, especially if Cudworth had an opportunity to 
 attack it, that it is the old conventionalism of the sophists 
 
58 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and sceptics rejuvenated. The language unmistakably 
 suggests this view, but the criticism nevertheless misrepre- 
 sents the real and true position of Hume. For he is 
 careful to say that although justice is conventional in its 
 origin it is not arbitrary, and he enforces this remark by 
 the farther assertion that the framers of moral rules always 
 had to rely upon some ultimate principles in the constitution 
 of man. " The utmost politicians can perform," he says, 
 " is to extend the natural sentiments beyond their original 
 bounds ; but still nature must furnish the materials, and 
 give us some notion of moral distinctions.'' This effectually 
 sets aside the old doctrine of relativity and of convention- 
 alism, although- it may not make his own view so intelligible 
 as is desired. But previous to his investigation into the 
 nature of this " artifice " by which ideas of justice came 
 into existence, Hume ventures upon a short, and, he thinks, 
 convincing proof of his position. It consists of an analysis 
 of moral action, to some features of which we have already 
 alluded. 
 
 " The external performance," says Hume, " has no merit. 
 We must look witfiirt to find the moral quality." He then 
 affirms that this quality is found in the motive, but as this 
 cannot be directly ascertained in others the actions have to 
 be regarded as the signs of the motives. In this way, he 
 concludes that " all virtuous actions derive their merit 
 only from virtuous motives," and adds farther that "the 
 first virtuous motive, which bestows a merit on any action, 
 can never be a regard to the virtue of that action, but must 
 be some other natural motive or principle." But Hume has 
 to face the question whether " the sense of morality or duty " 
 may not motivate volition without the existence of any 
 other "natural motive or principle," and he answers it by 
 saying : " Though, on some occasions, a person may per- 
 form an action merely out of regard to its moral obligation, 
 yet still this supposes in human nature some distinct 
 
INTRODUCTION. 59 
 
 principles, which are capable of producing the action and 
 whose moral beauty renders the action meritorious." 
 
 Hume's doctrine of morality may possibly be tested by 
 this last remark. He admits that sometimes volition may 
 be motivated by the sense of duty, and we may ask how he 
 can reconcile with this admission the assertion that it " sup- 
 poses in human nature some distinct principles which are 
 capable of producing the action." It may be a fact that 
 there are such " principles," but Hume mistakes a connec- 
 tion of fact for a connection of implication. The existence 
 of other motives to action is not implied by the existence of 
 the sense of duty, although in fact we may find them 
 invariably associated. Again, if "the sense of morality or 
 duty " alone may produce an action, how can it consist with 
 this to suppose other motives as necessarily operative and 
 implied ? But not to urge this contradiction, which may be 
 due to mere carelessness, we may still ask how it is possible 
 for the action to be a sign of the motive if both " the sense 
 of morality " and some " natural motive or principle " may 
 either separately or together motivate volition ? According 
 to Hume the " natural motive " determines the merits of 
 conduct, and if so, to which motive does the act as a sign 
 testify? If it attests only the "natural motive," there is no 
 circumstance in which the existence of " the sense of 
 morality " can be proved. But if it attests " the sense of 
 morality " in any case, according to Hume, the act could 
 not be moral for the lack of the accompanying "natural 
 motive." If it attests the existence of both motives there 
 is no reason for distinguishing their sanctifying power. In 
 fact, Hume has not provided for those cases in which there 
 is a struggle between duty* and interest, although the differ- 
 ence which he assumes between " the sense of morality " 
 and " natural motives " requires him to do so. Where that 
 struggle exists and the motive of duty is obeyed, we have 
 evidence of the sole motivation of "the sense of morality," 
 
60 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 so that the establishment of this fact would bring upon 
 Hume's position all the criticisms we have advanced. 
 
 Again, to make virtue consist in action from a motive 
 other than a regard to its morality is to affiliate his doctrine 
 with that which makes virtue purely a matter of instinct, in 
 the narrower sense of the term. This is consistent enough 
 in Hume after depreciating the influence of reason upon 
 conduct, and although we may not be able to reproach him 
 with an inconsistency here, probably so bold a statement of 
 his position or of what it implies will expose its inherent 
 weakness. But we have this object much less in view than 
 to call attention to an omission on his part which led him 
 into his paradoxical assertions and exposed him to the 
 redudio ad absurdum just mentioned. It was his failure to 
 distinguish between naive or unreflective, and conscious or 
 reflective morality. His view that the virtue of an act con- 
 sisted solely in the character of the motive did not permit 
 him to distinguish between internal and external morality. 
 To him all morality had to be internal ; that is, representa- 
 tive of character, not of a physical order in the world. But 
 he could have distinguished between instinctive or natural 
 and conscious or rational morality. We may say that the 
 differences between them are in kind or in degree, just as 
 we are pleased to state the case, but they are not opposed 
 to each other. Hume's failure, however, to recognize this 
 double character of conduct, which we approve as "moral," 
 involved him in two difficulties : first, in making virtue 
 dependent on impulses which have generally been regarded 
 as non-moral, on the ground that they were purely instinctive, 
 while affirming that the motive was the sole source of virtue, 
 and second, in assuming that "the sense of morality" c;ave 
 no merit to conduct, while he could hardly have denied that 
 the consciousness of obligation greatly increased the indi- 
 vidual's responsibility. The trouble is that Hume had no 
 means of solving the. problem in the comparison between 
 
INTRODUCTION. 61 
 
 those who have no temptations and those who resist them. 
 Only those without temptations could be moral or immoral 
 in his system. 
 
 What Hume was seeking to show, however, in the para- 
 doxical position, that all virtuous conduct must be derived 
 from motives "distinct from the sense of morality," was the 
 fact that "the sense of morality" is an "artificial" product 
 of man's necessity and circumstances. Here we have the 
 true motive to his doctrine, and in it we may trace very 
 clearly the lineage of the theories of Bentham, Mill, Spencer, 
 and evolutionists generally. We know how it has been 
 developed by these writers and do not require more than to 
 recognize its historical relations. Hume takes the matter 
 up in the section on "the Origin of Justice and Property." 
 hat the position amounts to, on general principles, is, that 
 
 1 the ideas passing current among traditional moralists as 
 representative of rational morality are conventional in their 
 
 irigin, but not arbitrary, as Hume would say. This is to 
 
 ay that the sense of duty, or the categorical imperative, is 
 
 ot among the natural endowments of man. 
 We shall enter neither into the statement of his doctrine 
 nor into a criticism of his argument on this particular point. 
 To treat the matter with due exhaustiveness we should be 
 obliged to go into the complicated theories of the associa- 
 tionists and evolutionists. It must suffice for the present 
 merely to indicate this general direction of his speculation. 
 To say that morality is conventional is to reanimate the old 
 controversy of the sophists, except that Hume saves himself 
 from the imputation of their shallowness, by admitting a 
 natural element at the same time as the basis of the con- 
 vention. But in asserting a place and influence for 
 convention at all, he merely stated in more traditional 
 language Bentham's doctrine of "political sanctions," and 
 Herbert Spencer's theory of "political restraint" or "con- 
 trol," and these views are the true descendants of Hume's. 
 
62 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The error in all of them lies less in the assertion that 
 political influences and conventions affect our current moral 
 ideas than in the implication usually understood, perhaps 
 wrongly, that these agencies create morality instead of 
 merely making it effective or eliciting it into consciousness. 
 It may be said that Hume's admission of a natural element 
 at the foundation of convention involves this view of the 
 case, and we grant that it does. Only Hume had not dis- 
 tinguished between the ratio fiendi of moral ideas and the 
 ratio fiendi of morality, a mistake, however, which was very 
 general in that age. What he ought to have remarked was 
 the fact that convention and law can only give motive 
 efficiency to moral conceptions already existent, instead of 
 using language which implies that the quality of conduct 
 was a matter of creation by government. In spite of this 
 criticism, however, it is always possible for a defender of 
 Hume to say that his admission of "natural" principles at 
 the basis of convention was a recognition of this view, and 
 even if we do not accord him the credit of consciously 
 proposing this distinction it is there as a greater or less 
 tribute to his understanding and as a concession to the 
 opponents of pure empiricism. And yet in making this 
 concession Hume may have been a victim of the equivoca- 
 tions which he himself had exposed in the use of the term 
 "natural." But if this be so, it is hardly possible to make 
 anything intelligible out of his system. Besides, we cannot 
 so easily explain the inconsistency between affirming that 
 "moral distinctions are derived from a moral sense," which 
 must be natural if anything, and affirming that they are the 
 creations of convention or "artifice." Hume's only escape 
 from this criticism would be to maintain that the "moral 
 sense" and "the sense of morality or duty" were the same 
 and that both were products of experience. But he seems 
 nowhere to make this claim, while the only rational implica- 
 tions of his statements are that the "moral sense" is a 
 
INTRODUCTION. 63 
 
 natural endowment and that "the sense of morality or 
 duty" is an empirical product, a conclusion which either 
 establishes a contradiction in Hume's system or indicates 
 that the controversy between the apriorist and empiricist 
 represents an entirely false conception of the true ethical 
 problem. 
 
 It is also a pertinent question to ask a sceptic who, like 
 Hume, cherishes considerable animosity toward theology, 
 whether the view that conscience or "the sense of morality" 
 is not a natural endowment of man, does not leave the 
 whole field of ethics open to the theologian ? Certainly a 
 purely negative conclusion like this would do so. But 
 Hume's escape from such an imputation lies in his positive 
 view that "the sense of morality" is a conventional product 
 •of social life and its necessities. This asserts a human as 
 opposed to a divine origin of the moral law. But it is not 
 apparent in this doctrine that human convention and 
 "artifice" are any better sources of morality than the 
 arbitrary enactments of the divine will. Indeed it would 
 puzzle any mind to tell the difference. Hume here lost his 
 opportunity to show that the theologian was the real em- 
 piricist and that his doctrine defining morality as a creation 
 of the divine will was in conflict with its a priori origin in 
 reason. Hume might, in this contingency, have made a 
 strong ad hominem argument in favor of his theory of a 
 moral sense, by using the theologian's prejudice against 
 empiricism to refute the created character of moral dis- 
 tinctions. As it is, however, the assertion that convention 
 can originate morality is a tacit admission of the theologian's 
 point of view ; namely, the created nature of morality. 
 
 Again, it may be a question whether Hume would have 
 a right to appeal to the conception of a conventional origin 
 of moral distinctions as a refutation of theological and 
 intuitive views, because, after his radical distinction between 
 "natural motives" to volition and "the sense of morality," 
 
64 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 asserting that the latter is an "artificial" product and that 
 it cannot confer any merit upon conduct, he is left without 
 a shred of ground upon which to base a theory of empiri- 
 cism. If "the sense of morality" were, in Hume's view, a 
 modification of "natural" impulses, it could confer merit 
 upon conduct ; but since it cannot confer this merit, accord- 
 ing to his statements, it cannot have the moral character- 
 istics of "natural motives," and it is the motive, in Hume's 
 view, that determines the character of the act. Hence it is 
 apparent that the origin of "the sense of morality" by con- 
 vention is in no way the origin of a moral impulse, so that 
 Hume's empiricism can in no respect legitimately antagonize 
 the theories of apriorism in so far as they maintain the 
 naturalness of moral principles. A rather conclusive con- 
 firmation of this, also, is Hume's own statement near the 
 close of Section II., where he is discussing the origin of 
 justice and property. "Any artifice of politicians," he says, 
 " may assist nature in the producing of those sentiments 
 which she suggests to us, and may even, on some occasions, 
 produce alone an approbation or esteem for any particular 
 action ; but 'tis impossible it should be the sole cause of 
 the distinction we make betwixt vice and virtue. For if 
 nature did not aid us in this particular, 't would be in vain 
 for politicians to talk of honorable or dishonorable, praise- 
 worthy or blameable. These words would be perfectly 
 unintelligible, and would no more have any idea annexed to 
 them, than if they were a tongue perfectly unknown to us. 
 The utmost politicians can perform, is, to extend the natural 
 sentiments beyond their original bounds ; but still nature 
 must furnish the materials, and give us some notion of 
 moral distinctions." 
 
 This remarkable concession very greatly limits the area 
 of "artificial" moral conceptions, and it would have been 
 well for the empirical successors of Hume if they could have 
 granted as much. It is not a little interesting to note that, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 65 
 
 while claiming him as the father of modern empiricism, 
 barring the claim of Locke, they systematically ignore the 
 ineradicable limitations he puts upon that doctrine. Hume 
 himself also seems unaware of the fact that his position in 
 this passage practically admits the unique and original nature 
 of "the sense of morality," since the passage limits the 
 function of convention merely to extending moral principles 
 and conceptions already in existence. But in spite of the 
 inconsistency which, in one conception of the terms, can be 
 charged upon Hume for these and other statements, there 
 is so much truth in his position, when we distinguish, as he 
 did not, between the origin of the intension and the origin of 
 the extension of moral ideas, that it is an ungrateful task to 
 criticise him severely. We should rather quote him to show 
 that modern empiricists have departed from their much 
 vaunted master in their efforts to make morality wholly 
 conventional. The proper criticism against Hume is that, 
 in common with the moralists of his age, he treated the 
 subject as if the problem was the origin and not rather the 
 ground and validity of morality. The empiricists of to-day 
 have not fully learned this fact, owing, no doubt, to their 
 failure to appreciate the work of Kant. They simply 
 adopted one half of Hume's principles and shunned Kant 
 as they would Augustine or Aquinas, and as a consequence 
 treat the whole problem of Ethics as if it were natural 
 history. Hume saw better than this, and had he extricated 
 himself from the confusion of treating the question as a 
 controversy between natural and conventional morality ; 
 that is, as a problem of the ratio fiendi rather than the ratio 
 essendi of moral principles, he might have contested with 
 Kant the palm of philosophic honors. As it is he simply 
 comes short of that result and leaves the student in perpet- 
 ual fear of doing him injustice, if the system is criticised 
 without qualification, and of ignoring one half his theory if 
 he is represented as a pure empiricist. In fact, Hume 
 
66 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 simply marks a transition, and his Ethics show all the 
 instability and incompleteness of analysis which character- 
 izes a transitional period. It remained for subsequent 
 schools to cut a better path into the wilderness. Their 
 success is still sub judicc. But they represent two distinct 
 tendencies, the empirical or evolutionistic and the transcen- 
 dental or Kanto-Hegelian, both properly tracing their 
 lineage to Hume. 
 
 JAMES H. HYSLOP. 
 Columbia College. 
 
BOOK II. 
 
 OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 OF PRIDE AND HUMILITY. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 Division of the Subject. 
 
 As all the perceptions of the mind may be divided into 
 impressions and ideas, so the impressions admit of another 
 division into original and secondary. This division of the im- 
 pressions is the same with that which 1 I formerly made use 
 of when I distinguish'd them into impressions of sensation 
 and reflection. Original impressions or impressions of sen- 
 sation are such as without any antecedent perception arise 
 in the soul, from the constitution of the body, from the 
 animal spirits, or from the application of objects to the 
 external organs. Secondary, or reflective impressions are 
 such as proceed from some of these original ones, either 
 immediately or by the interposition of its idea. Of the first 
 kind are all the impressions of the senses, and all bodily 
 pains and pleasures : Of the second are the passions, and 
 other emotions resembling them. 
 
 'Tis certain, that the mind, in its perceptions, must begin 
 somewhere ; and that since the impressions precede their 
 correspondent ideas, there must be some impressions, which 
 without any introduction make their appearance in the soul. 
 As these depend upon natural and physical causes, the 
 examination of them wou'd lead me too far from my present 
 subject, into the sciences of anatomy and natural philosophy. 
 
 1 Book I. Part I. sect. 2. 
 
68 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 For this reason I shall here confine myself to those other 
 impressions, which I have call'd secondary and reflective, 
 as arising either from the original impressions, or from their 
 ideas. Bodily pains and pleasures are the source of many 
 passions, both when felt and consider'd by the mind; but 
 arise originally in the soul, or in the body, whichever you 
 please to call it, without any preceding thought or percep- 
 tion. A fit of the gout produces a long train of passions, 
 as grief, hope, fear; but is not deriv'd immediately from 
 any affection or idea. 
 
 The reflective impressions may be divided into two kinds, 
 viz., the calm and the violent. Of the first kind is the sense 
 of beauty and deformity in action, composition, and exter- 
 nal objects. Of the second are the passions of love and 
 hatred, grief and joy, pride and humility. This division 
 is far from being exact. The raptures of poetry and music 
 frequently rise to the greatest height; while those other 
 impressions, properly called passions, may decay into so 
 soft an emotion, as to become, in a manner, imperceptible. 
 But as in general the passions are more violent than the 
 emotions arising from beauty and deformity, these impres- 
 sions have been commonly distinguished from each other. 
 The subject of the human mind being so copious and vari- 
 ous, I shall here take advantage of this vulgar and specious 
 division, that I may proceed with the greater order; and 
 having said all I thought necessary concerning our ideas, 
 shall now explain those violent emotions or passions, their 
 nature, origin, causes, and effects. 
 
 When we take a survey of the passions, there occurs a 
 division of them into direct and indirect. By direct passions 
 I understand such as arise immediately from good or evil, 
 from pain or pleasure. By indirect such as proceed from 
 the same principles, but by the conjunction of other qual- 
 ities. This distinction I cannot at present justify or explain 
 any farther. I can only observe in general, that under the 
 
Book II. OF THE PASSfONS. 69 
 
 indirect passions I comprehend pride, humility, ambition, 
 vanity, love, hatred, envy, pity, malice, generosity, with their 
 dependants. And under the direct passions, desire, aver- 
 sion, grief, joy, hope, fear, despair and security. I shall 
 begin with the former. 
 
 [Hume then proceeds to give the " objects " and " causes " 
 of pride and humility, both of which conceptions he takes 
 in a very broad sense. "The object," he says, "is self, or 
 that succession of related ideas and impressions, of which 
 we have an intimate memory and consciousness." He does 
 not think it possible, however, that the cause can be the 
 same as their object. Hence he says : "Pride and humility, 
 being once rais'd, immediately turn our attention to ourself, 
 and regard that as their ultimate and final object ; but there 
 is something farther requisite in order to raise them : some- 
 thing which is peculiar to one of the passions, and produces 
 not both in the very same degree. The first idea, that is 
 presented to the mind, is that of the cause or productive 
 principles. This excites the passion connected with it ; and 
 that passion, when excited, turns our view to another idea, 
 which is that of self. Here then is a passion plac'd betwixt 
 two ideas, of which the one produces it, and the other is 
 produced by it. The first idea, therefore, represents the 
 cause, the second the object of the passion." The causes of 
 pride and humility are then enumerated and are made to 
 consist of a great variety of " subjects," as Hume chooses to 
 call them, as distinguished from the " objects " of the pas- 
 sion. They are "every quality of mind, whether of the 
 imagination, judgment, memory, or disposition ; wit, good 
 sense, learning, courage, justice, integrity; all these are the 
 causes of pride ; and their opposites, of humility." Further 
 causes, to go beyond merely mental qualities are, " beauty 
 strength, agility, good mien, address in dancing, riding, 
 fencing, and of his dexterity in any manual business or 
 
7° A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 manufacture." But these are not all. " Country, family, 
 children, relations, riches, houses, gardens, horses, dogs, 
 clothes ; any of these may become a cause of either pride 
 or of humility." In regard to the causes Hume farther dis- 
 tinguishes between the "quality which operates and the 
 subject on which it is plac'd." In the case of a beautiful 
 house considered as the cause of a passion, the beauty is 
 the quality, and the house is the subject. 
 
 The next section takes up the derivation of the causes 
 and objects of the two passions. Hume's purpose is to find 
 what it is that connects them with the passions. He main- 
 tains that their influence " proceeds from an original quality 
 or primary impulse " of the individual who has the passions, 
 and that it is the distinguishing characteristic of these pas- 
 sions to be natural. But in order to explain how it is that 
 such a variety of causes and objects is connected with the 
 same effect ; that is, how such different " causes " as a 
 house and wit may be sources of pride, Hume proceeds to 
 show " that 'tis from natural principles this variety of 
 causes excite pride and humility, and that 'tis not by a 
 different principle each different cause is adapted to its 
 passion," and this is accomplished by referring to the law 
 of association of ideas, as enabling different "subjects" to 
 affect the individual in the same way. It is the manner in 
 which they concur to produce pleasure and pain that links 
 them with the same end, and as " all agreeable objects, 
 related to ourselves, by an association of ideas and of im- 
 pressions, produce pride, and disagreeable ones humility," 
 we may find in this concurrence the unity of the principle 
 affecting the passions concerned. Hume admits five limita- 
 tions to his principle, but they do not affect the main dis- 
 tinctions in question according to his view. His next task 
 is then to show how the various "causes " including "vice 
 and virtue," "beauty and deformity," "external advantages 
 and disadvantages," " property and riches," and "the love 
 of fame " affect pride and humility. 
 
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 71 
 
 Part II. on the Passions gives the same treatment of 
 "love and hatred " as is given to pride and humility. Hume 
 distinguishes in the same manner as before between the 
 "causes" and the "objects" of them. As in pride and 
 humility the "object" is self, so in love and hatred the 
 " object " is others. The " causes '' are diversified as be- 
 fore, but are related to a thinking being, and are such 
 qualities as " virtue, knowledge, wit, good sense, good 
 humour." Physical objects do not awaken them. The 
 remainder of this section is occupied with special cases of 
 influence upon the two passions. 
 
 A separate and peculiar treatment is given to " benevo- 
 lence and anger." They are not regarded as forms, but 
 only as accompaniments, of love and hatred. The last two 
 passions, therefore, entail desire and aversion. " Pride and 
 humility are pure emotions in the soul unattended with any 
 desire, and not immediately exciting us to action. But love 
 and hatred are not completed within themselves, nor rest in- 
 that emotion which they produce, but carry the mind to 
 something further." Love and hatred have not only a cause 
 and object, but also an end, which they reach through desire 
 and aversion. Benevolence and anger are the accompany- 
 ing agents or means to this end. The discussion of com- 
 passion, of malice and envy, and of mixed emotions is only 
 a consideration of modified forms and circumstances of the 
 second general class of emotions and passions which Hume 
 regards as preliminary to his examination of the desires and 
 the will. In them he means to define the mental excite- 
 ments expressing the various manifestations of pleasure and 
 pain, and so to indicate the causes and objects of the states 
 of mind affecting self and others as the conditions of all the 
 movements of the will. It is interesting to remark that his 
 analysis and classification excludes from them all impulsive 
 characteristics. They have "objects," but not ends unless 
 they become complicated with the desires and aversions. 
 
72 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 The matter, however, has mainly a psychological interest, 
 and requires notice only in order to understand Hume's dis- 
 cussion in this connection of the freedom of the will, which, 
 although more properly appearing as a part of the required 
 ethical postulates, is examined as a part of the psychology 
 of the emotions. This is part third of his chapters on the 
 passions.] 
 
 PART III. 
 
 OF THE WILL AND DIRECT PASSIONS. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 Of liberty and necessity. 
 
 We come now to explain the direct passions, or the im- 
 pressions, which arise immediately from good or evil, from 
 pain or pleasure. Of this kind are, desire and aversion, grief 
 and joy, hope and fear. 
 
 Of all the immediate effects of pain and pleasure, there is 
 none more remarkable than the will ; and tho', properly 
 speaking, it be not comprehended among the passions, yet 
 as the full understanding of its nature and properties, is 
 necessary to the explanation of them, we shall here make 
 it the subject of our enquiry. I desire it may be observ'd, 
 that by the will, I mean nothing but the internal impression 
 we feel and are conscious of, when we knowingly give rise to 
 any new motion of our body, or new perception of our mind. 
 This impression, like the preceding ones of pride and humil- 
 ity, love and hatred, ' tis impossible to define, and needless 
 to describe any farther ; for which reason we shall cut off all 
 those definitions and distinctions, with which philosophers 
 are wont to perplex rather than clear up this question ; and 
 entering at first upon the subject, shall examine that long 
 disputed question concerning liberty and necessity ; which 
 occurs so naturally in treating of the will. 
 
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 73 
 
 ' Tis universally acknowledg'd, that the operations of ex- 
 ternal bodies are necessary, and that in the communication 
 of their motion, in their attraction, and mutual cohesion, 
 there are not the least traces of indifference or liberty. 
 Every object is determin'd by an absolute fate to a certain 
 degree and direction of its motion, and can no more depart 
 from that precise line, in which it moves, than it can convert 
 itself into an angel, or spirit, or any superior substance. 
 The actions, therefore, of matter are to be regarded as in- 
 stances of necessary actions ; and whatever is in this respect 
 on the same footing with matter, must be acknowledg'd to 
 be necessary. That we may know whether this be the case 
 with the actions of the mind, we shall begin with examining 
 matter, and considering on what the idea of a necessity in 
 its operations are founded, and why we conclude one body 
 or action to be the infallible cause of another. 
 
 It has been observ'd already, that in no single instance the 
 ultimate connexion of any objects is discoverable, either by 
 our senses or reason, and that we can never penetrate so far 
 into the essence and construction of bodies, as to perceive 
 the principle, on which their mutual influence depends. ' Tis 
 their constant union alone, with which we are acquainted ; 
 and ' tis from the constant union the necessity arises. If 
 objects had not an uniform and regular conjunction with 
 each other, we shou'd never arrive at any idea of cause and 
 effect ; and even after all, the necessity, which enters into 
 that idea, is nothing but a determination of the mind to pass 
 from one object to its usual attendant, and infer the existence 
 of one from that of the other. Here then are two particulars, 
 which we are to consider as essential to necessity, viz. the 
 constant union and the inference of the mind ; and wherever 
 we discover these we must acknowledge a necessity. As the 
 actions of matter have no necessity, but what is deriv'd from 
 these circumstances, and it is not by any insight into the 
 essence of bodies we discover their connexion, the absence of 
 
74 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 this insight, while the union and inference remain, will 
 never in any case, remove the necessity. ' Tis the observa- 
 tion of the union, which produces the inference ; for which 
 reason it might be thought sufficient, if we prove a constant 
 union in the actions of the mind, in order to establish the 
 inference, along with the necessity of these actions. But 
 that I may bestow a greater force on my reasoning, I shall 
 examine these particulars apart, and shall first prove from 
 experience, that our actions have a constant union with our 
 motives, tempers, and circumstances, before I consider the 
 inferences we draw from it. 
 
 To this end a very slight and general view of the com- 
 mon course of human affairs will be sufficient. There is 
 no light, in which we can take them, that does not confirm 
 this principle. Whether we consider mankind according to 
 the difference of sexes, ages, governments, conditions, or 
 methods of education; the same uniformity and regular 
 operation of natural principles are discernible. Like causes 
 still produce like effects; in the same manner as in the 
 mutual action of the elements and powers of nature. 
 
 There are different trees, which regularly produce fruit, 
 whose relish is different from each other; and this regularity 
 will be admitted as an instance of necessity and causes in 
 external bodies. But are the products of Guioinc and of 
 Champagne more regularly different than the- sentiments, 
 actions, and passions of the two sexes, of which the one 
 are distinguish'd by their force and maturity, the other by 
 their delicacy and softness ? 
 
 Are the changes of our body from infancy to old age 
 more regular and certain than those of our mind and con- 
 duct ? And wou'd a man be more ridiculous, who wou'd 
 expect that an infant of four years old will raise a weight of 
 three hundred pound, than one, who from a person of the 
 same age, wou'd look for a philosophical reasoning, or a 
 prudent and well-concerted action ? 
 
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 75 
 
 We must certainly allow, that the cohesion of the parts 
 of matter arises from natural and necessary principles, 
 whatever difficulty we may find in explaining them: And 
 for a like reason we must allow, that human society is 
 founded on like principles; and our reason in the latter 
 case, is better than even that in the former; because we 
 not only observe, that men always seek society, but can 
 also explain the principles, on which this universal propen- 
 sity is founded. For is it more certain, that two flat pieces 
 of marble will unite together, than that two young savages 
 of different sexes will copulate ? Do the children arise 
 from this copulation more uniformly, than does the parents 
 care for their safety and perservation ? And after they have 
 arriv'd at years of discretion by the care of their parents, 
 are the inconveniencies attending their separation more 
 certain than their foresight of these inconveniencies, and 
 their care of avoiding them by a close union and con- 
 federacy ? 
 
 The skin, poras, muscles, and nerves of a day-labourer are 
 different from those of a man of quality : So are his senti- 
 ments, actions a»d manners. The different stations of life 
 influence the whole fabric, external and internal ; and these 
 different stations arise necessarily, because uniformly, from 
 the necessary and uniform principles of human nature. Men 
 cannot live without society, and cannot be associated without 
 government. Government makes a distinction of property, 
 and establishes the different ranks of men. This produces 
 industry, traffic, manufactures, law-suits, war, leagues, 
 alliances, voyages, travels, cities, fleets, ports, and all those 
 other actions and objects, which cause such a diversity, and 
 at the same time maintain such an uniformity in human life. 
 
 Shou'd a traveller, returning from a far country, tell us, 
 that he had seen a climate in the fiftieth degree of northern 
 latitude, where all the fruits ripen and come to perfection in 
 the winter, and decay in the summer, after the same manner 
 
76 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 as in England they are produc'd and decay in the contrary 
 seasons, he wou'd find few so credulous as to believe him. I 
 am apt to think a traveller wou'd meet with as little credit, 
 who shou'd inform us of people exactly of the same character 
 with those in Plata's republic on the one hand, or those in 
 Hobbes's Leviathan on the other. There is a general course 
 of nature in human actions, as well as in the operations of 
 the sun and the climate. There are also characters peculiar 
 to different nations and particular persons, as well as com- 
 mon to mankind. The knowledge of these characters is 
 founded on the observation of an uniformity in the actions, 
 that flow from them ; and this uniformity forms the very 
 essence of necessity. 
 
 I can imagine only one way of eluding this argument, which 
 is by denying that uniformity of human actions, on which it is 
 founded. As long as actions have a constant union and 
 connexion with the situation and temper of the agent, how- 
 ever we may in words refuse to acknowledge the necessity, 
 we really allow the thing. Now some may, perhaps, find a 
 pretext to deny this regular union and connexion. For 
 what is more capricious than human actions ? What more 
 inconstant than the desires of man ? And what creature 
 departs more widely, not only from right reason, but from 
 his own character and disposition ? An hour, a moment is 
 sufficient to make him change from one extreme to another, 
 and overturn what cost the greatest pain and labour to 
 establish. Necessity is regular and certain. Human con- 
 duct is irregular and uncertain. The one, therefore, 
 proceeds not from the other. 
 
 To this I reply, that in judging of the actions of men we 
 must proceed upon the same maxims, as when we reason 
 concerning external objects. When any phenomena are 
 constantly and invariably conjoin'd together, thev acquire 
 such a connexion in the imagination, that it passes from one 
 to the other, without any doubt or hesitation. But below 
 
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 77 
 
 this there are many inferior degrees of evidence and prob- 
 ability, nor does one single contrariety of experiment 
 entirely destroy all our reasoning. The mind ballances the 
 contrary experiments, and deducting the inferior from the 
 superior, proceeds with that degree of assurance or evidence, 
 which remains. Even when these contrary experiments are 
 entirely equal, we remove not the notion of causes and 
 necessity ; but supposing that the usual contrariety proceeds 
 from the operation of contrary and conceal'd causes, we 
 conclude, that the chance or indifference lies only in our 
 judgment on account of our imperfect knowledge, not in the 
 things themselves, which are in every case equally necessary, 
 tho' to appearance not equally constant or certain. No 
 union can be more constant and certain, than that of some 
 actions with some motives and characters ; and if in other 
 cases the union is uncertain, 'tis no more than what happens 
 in the operations of body, nor can we conclude any thing 
 from the one irregularity, which will not follow equally from 
 the other. 
 
 'Tis commonly allow'd that mad-men have no liberty. 
 But were we to judge by their actions, these have less regu- 
 larity and constancy than the actions of wise-men, and 
 consequently are farther remov'd. from necessity. Our way 
 of thinking in this particular is, therefore, absolutely incon- 
 sistent ; but is a natural consequence of these confus'd 
 ideas and undefin'd terms, which we so commonly make use 
 of in our reasonings, especially on the present subject. 
 
 We must now shew, that as the union betwixt motives and 
 actions has the same constancy, as that in any natural 
 operations, so its influence on the understanding is also the 
 same, in determining us to infer the existence of one from 
 that of another. If this shall appear, there is no known 
 circumstance, that enters into the connexion and production 
 of the actions of matter, that is not to be found in all the 
 operations of the mind ; and consequently we cannot, 
 
7& A TREATISE OF HUMAN XATURE. 
 
 without a manifest absurdity, attribute necessity to the one 
 and refuse it to the other. 
 
 There is no philosopher, whose judgment is so riveted to 
 this fantastical system of liberty, as not to acknowledge the 
 force of moral evidence, and both in speculation and practice 
 proceed upon it, as upon a reasonable foundation. Now 
 moral evidence is nothing but a conclusion concerning the 
 actions of men, deriv'd from the consideration of their 
 motives, temper and situation. Thus when we see certain 
 characters or figures describ'd upon paper, we infer that the 
 person, who produe'd them, would affirm such facts, the 
 death of Cesar, the success of Augustus, the cruelty of 
 Nero ; and remembring many other concurrent testimonies 
 we conclude, that those facts were once really existent, and 
 that so many men, without any interest, wou'd never con- 
 spire to deceive us ; especially since they must, in the 
 attempt, expose themselves to the derision of all their 
 contemporaries, when these facts were asserted to be recent 
 and universally known. The same kind of reasoning runs 
 thro' politics, war, commerce, oeconomy, and indeed mixes 
 itself so entirely in human life, that 'tis impossible to act or 
 subsist a moment without having recourse to it. A prince, 
 who imposes a tax upon his subjects, expects their com- 
 pliance. A general, who conducts an army, makes account 
 of a certain degree of courage. A merchant looks for 
 fidelity and skill in his factor or super-cargo. A man, who 
 gives orders for his dinner, doubts not of the obedience of 
 his servants. In short, as nothing more nearly interests us 
 than our own actions and those of others, the greatest part 
 of our reasonings is employ'd in judgments concerning them. 
 Now I assert, that whoever reasons after this manner, does 
 ipso facto believe the actions of the will to arise from 
 necessity, and that he knows not what he means, when he 
 denies it. 
 
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 79 
 
 All those objects, of which we call the one cause and the 
 other effect, consider'd in themselves, are as distinct and 
 separate from each other, as any two things in nature, nor 
 can we ever, by the most accurate survey of them, infer the 
 existence of the one from that of the other. 'Tis only from 
 experience and the observation of their constant union, that 
 we are able to form this inference ; and even after all, the 
 inference is nothing but the effects of custom on the imagina- 
 tion. We must not here be content with saying, that the 
 idea of cause and effect arises from objects constantly 
 united ; but must affirm, that 'tis the very same with the idea 
 of these objects, and that the necessary connexion is not 
 discover'd by a conclusion of the understanding, but is 
 merely a perception of the mind. Wherever, therefore, we 
 observe the same union, and wherever the union operates in 
 the same manner upon the belief and opinion, we have the 
 idea of causes and necessity, tho' perhaps we may avoid 
 those expressions. Motion in one body in all past instances, 
 that have fallen under our observation, is follow'd upon 
 impulse by motion in another. 'Tis impossible for the mind 
 to penetrate farther. From this constant union it forms the 
 idea of cause and effect, and by its influence feels the 
 necessity. As there is the same constancy, and the same 
 influence in what we call moral evidence, I ask no more. 
 What remains can only be a dispute of words. 
 
 And indeed, when we consider how aptly natural and 
 moral evidence cement together, and form only one chain of 
 argument betwixt them, we shall make no scruple to allow, 
 that they are of the same nature, and deriv'd from the same 
 principles. A prisoner, who has neither money nor interest 
 discovers the impossibility of his escape, as well from the 
 obstinacy of the gaoler, as from the walls and bars with 
 which he is surrounded ; and in all attempts for his freedom 
 chuses rather to work upon the stone and iron of the one, 
 than upon the inflexible nature of the other. The same 
 
80 A TREATISE OF HUM A A' NATURE. 
 
 prisoner, when conducted to the scaffold, forsees his death 
 as certainly from the constancy and fidelity of his guards as 
 from the operation of the ax or wheel. His mind runs 
 along a certain train of ideas : The refusal of the soldiers 
 to consent to his escape, the action of the excutioner ; the 
 separation of the head and body ; bleeding, convulsive 
 motions, and death. Here is a connected chain of natural 
 causes and voluntary actions ; but the mind feels no differ- 
 ence betwixt them in passing from one link to another ; nor 
 is less certain of the future event than if it were connected 
 with the present impressions of the memory and senses by a 
 train of causes cemented together by what we are pleas'd to 
 call a physical necessity. The same experiene'd union has 
 the same effect on the mind, whether the united objects be 
 motives, volitions and actions ; or figure and motion. We 
 may change the names of things ; but their nature and their 
 operation on the understanding never change. 
 
 I dare be positive no one will ever endeavour to refute 
 these reasonings otherwise than by altering my definitions, 
 and assigning a different meaning to the terms of cause, and 
 effect, and necessity, and liberty, and chance. According to my 
 definitions, necessity makes an essential part of causation ; 
 and consequently liberty, by removing necessity, removes 
 also causes, and is the very same thing with chance. As 
 chance is commonly thought to imply a contradiction, and 
 is at least directly contrary to experience, there are always 
 the same arguments against liberty or free-will. If any one 
 alters the definitions, I cannot pretend to argue with him, 
 'till I know the meaning he assigns to these terms. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 The same subject continued. 
 
 I believe we may assign the three following reasons for 
 the prevalence of the doctrine of liberty, however absurd it 
 
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 81 
 
 may be in one sense, and unintelligible in any other. First, 
 After we have perform'd any action ; tho' we confess we 
 were influenc'd by particular views and motives; 'tis difficult 
 for us to perswade ourselves we were govern'd by necessity, 
 and that 'twas utterly impossible for us to have acted other- 
 wise ; the idea of necessity seeming to imply something of 
 force, and violence, and constraint, of which we are not 
 sensible. Few are capable of distinguishing betwixt the 
 liberty of spontaniety, as it is call'd in the schools, and the 
 liberty of indifference; betwixt that which is oppos'd to 
 violence, and that which means a negation of necessity and 
 causes. The first is even the most common sense of the 
 word ; and as 'tis only that species of liberty, which it con- 
 cerns us to preserve, our thoughts have been principally 
 turn'd towards it, and have almost universally confounded 
 it with the other. 
 
 Secondly, there is a false sensation or experie?ice even of 
 the liberty of indifference ; which is regarded as an argu- 
 ment for its real existence. The necessity of any action, 
 whether of matter or of the mind, is not properly a quality 
 in the agent, but in any thinking or intelligent being, who 
 may consider the action, and consists in the determination 
 of his thought to infer its existence from some preceding 
 objects • As liberty or chance, on the other hand, is nothing 
 but the want of that determination, and a certain looseness, 
 which we feel in passing or not passing from the idea of one 
 to that of the other. Now we may observe, that tho' in 
 reflecting on human actions we seldom feel such a looseness 
 or indifference, yet it very commonly happens, that in per- 
 forming the actions themselves we are sensible of something 
 like it : And as all related or resembling objects are readily 
 taken for each other, this has been employ'd as a demon- 
 strative or even an intuitive proof of human liberty. We 
 feel that our actions are subject to our will on most occa- 
 sions, and imagine we feel that the will itself is subject to 
 
82 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 nothing ; because when by a denial of it we are provok'd to 
 try, we feel that it moves easily every way, and produces an 
 image of itself even on that side, on which it did not settle. 
 This image or faint motion, we perswade ourselves, cou'd 
 have been compleated into the thing itself ; because, shou'd 
 that be deny'd, we find, upon a second trial, that it can. 
 But these efforts are all in vain ; and whatever capricious 
 and irregular actions we may perform ; as the desire of 
 showing our liberty is the sole motive of our actions ; we 
 can never free ourselves from the bonds of necessity. We 
 may imagine we feel a liberty within ourselves ; but a spec- 
 tator can commonly infer our actions from our motives and 
 character ; /and even where he cannot, he concludes in 
 general, that he might, were he perfectly acquainted with 
 every circumstance of our situation and temper, and the 
 most secret springs of our complexion and disposition. 
 Now this is the very essence of necessity, according to the 
 foregoing doctrine. 
 
 A third reason why the doctrine of liberty has generally 
 been better receiv'd in the world, than its antagonist, pro- 
 ceeds from religion, which has been very unnecessarily 
 interested in this question. There is no method of reason- 
 ing more common, and yet none more blameable, than in 
 philosophical debates to endeavour to refute any hypothesis 
 by a pretext of its dangerous consequences to religion and 
 morality. When any opinion leads us into absurdities, 'tis 
 certainly false ; but 'tis not certain an opinion is false, 
 because 'tis of dangerous consequence. Such topics, there- 
 fore, ought entirely to be foreborn, as serving nothing to 
 the discovery of truth, but only to make the person of an 
 antagonist odious. This I observe in general, without pre- 
 tending to draw any advantage from it. I submit myself 
 frankly to an examination of this kind, and dare venture 
 to affirm, that the doctrine of necessity, according to my 
 
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 83 
 
 explication of it, is not only innocent, but even advantageous 
 to religion and morality. 
 
 I define necessity two ways, conformable to the two defi- 
 nitions of cause, of which it makes an essential part. I 
 place it either in the constant union and conjunction of like 
 objects, or in the inference of the mind from the one to the 
 other. Now necessity, in both these senses, has univers- 
 ally, tho' tacitely, in the schools, in the pulpit, and in 
 common life, been allow'd to belong to the will of man, and 
 no one has ever pretended to deny, that we can draw infer- 
 ences concerning human actions, and that those inferences 
 are founded on the experienc'd union of like actions with 
 like motives and circumstances. The only particular in 
 which any one can differ from me, is either, that perhaps he 
 will refuse to call this necessity. But as long as the mean- 
 ing is understood, I hope the word can do no harm. Or 
 that he will maintain there is something else in the opera- 
 tions of the matter. Now whether it be so or not is of no 
 consequence to religion, whatever it may be to natural 
 philosophy. I may be mistaken in asserting, that we have 
 no idea of any other connexion in the actions of body, and 
 shall be glad to be farther instructed on that head : But 
 sure I am, I ascribe nothing to the actions of the mind, but 
 what must readily be allow'd of. Let no one, therefore, put 
 an invidious construction on my words, by saying simply, 
 that I assert the necessity of human actions, and place them 
 on the same footing with the operations of senseless matter. 
 I do not ascribe to the will that unintelligible necessity, 
 which is suppos'd to lie in matter. But I ascribe to matter, 
 that intelligible quality, call it necessity or not, which the 
 most rigorous orthodoxy does or must allow to belong to 
 the will. I change, therefore, nothing in the receiv'd 
 systems, with regard to the will, but only with regard to 
 material objects. 
 
84 A TREA TISE OF HUMAN NA TURE. 
 
 Nay I shall go farther, and assert, that this kind of 
 necessity is so essential to religion and morality, that with- 
 out it there must ensue an absolute subversion of both, and 
 that every other supposition is entirely destructive to all laws 
 both divine and human. Tis indeed certain, that as all 
 human laws are founded on rewards and punishments, 'tis 
 suppos'd as a fundamental principle, that these motives 
 have an influence on the mind, and both produce the good 
 and prevent the evil actions. We may give to this influence 
 what name we please ; but as 'tis usually conjoin'd with the 
 action, common sense requires it shou'd be esteem'd a 
 cause, and be look'd upon as an instance of that necessity, 
 which I wou'd establish. 
 
 This reasoning is equally solid, when apply'd to divine 
 laws, so far as the deity is consider'd as a legislator, and is 
 suppos'd to inflict punishment and bestow rewards with a 
 design to produce obedience. But I also maintain, that 
 even where he acts not in his magisterial capacity, but is 
 regarded as the avenger of crimes merely on account of 
 their odiousness and deformity, not only 'tis impossible, 
 without the necessary connexion of cause and effect in 
 human actions, that punishments cou'd be inflicted compat- 
 ible with justice and moral equity ; but also that it cou'd 
 ever enter into the thoughts of any reasonable being to 
 inflict them. The constant and universal object of hatred 
 or anger is a person or creature endow'd with thought and 
 consciousness ; and when any criminal or injurious actions 
 excite that passion, 'tis only by their relation to the person 
 or connexion with him. But according to the doctrine of 
 liberty or chance, this connexion is reduc'd to nothing, nor 
 are men more accountable for those actions, which are 
 design'd and premeditated, than for such as are the most 
 casual and accidental. Actions are by their very nature 
 temporary and perishing ; and where they proceed not from 
 some cause in the characters and disposition of the person, 
 
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 85 
 
 who perform'd them, they infix not themselves upon him, 
 and can neither redound to his honour, if good, nor infamy, 
 if evil. The action itself may be blameable ; it may be 
 contrary to all the rules of morality and religion : But the 
 person is not responsible for it ; and as it proceeded from 
 nothing in him, that is durable or constant, and leaves 
 nothing of that nature behind it, 'tis impossible he can, upon 
 its account, become the object of punishment or vengeance. 
 According to the hypothesis of liberty, therefore, a man is 
 as pure and untainted, after having committed the most 
 horrid crimes, as at the first moment of his birth, nor is his 
 character any way concern'd in his actions ; since they are 
 not deriv'd from it, and the wickedness of the one can never 
 be us'd as a proof of the depravity of the other. 'Tis only 
 upon the principles of necessity, that a person acquires any 
 merit or demerit from his actions, however the common 
 opinion may incline to the contrary. 
 
 But so inconsistent are men with themselves, that tho' 
 they often assert, that necessity utterly destroys all merit 
 and demerit either towards mankind or superior powers, yet 
 they continue still to reason upon these very principles of 
 necessity in all their judgments concerning this matter. 
 Men are not blam'd for such evil actions as they perform 
 ignorantly and casually, whatever may be their consequences. 
 Why? but because the causes of these actions are only 
 momentary, and terminate in them alone. Men are less 
 blam'd for such evil actions, as they perform hastily and 
 unpremeditately, than for such as proceed from thought and 
 deliberation. For what reason ? but because a hasty temper, 
 tho' a constant cause in the mind, operates only by intervals, 
 and infects not the whole character. Again, repentance 
 wipes off every crime, especially if attended with an evident 
 reformation of life and manners. How is this to be 
 accounted for? But by asserting that actions render a 
 person criminal, merely as they are proofs of criminal 
 
86 A TREATISE OF HUM AX NATURE. 
 
 passions or principles in the mind ; and when by any 
 alteration of these principles they cease to be just proofs, 
 they likewise cease to be criminal. But according to the 
 doctrine of liberty or chance they never were just proofs, 
 and consequently never were criminal. 
 
 Here then I turn to my adversary, and desire him to free 
 his own system from these odious consequences before he 
 charge them upon others. Or if he rather chuses, that this 
 question shou'd be decided by fair arguments before philoso- 
 phers, than by declamations before the people, let him return 
 to what I have advanc'd to prove that liberty and chance are 
 synonimous ; and concerning the nature of moral evidence 
 and the regularity of human actions. Upon a review of 
 these reasonings, I cannot doubt of an entire victory ; and 
 therefore having prov'd, that all actions of the will have 
 particular causes, I proceed to explain what these causes 
 are, and how they operate. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Of the influencing motives of the will. 
 
 Nothing is more usual in philosophy, and even in common 
 life, than to talk of the combat of passion and reason, to give 
 the preference to reason, and to assert that men are only so 
 far virtuous as they conform themselves to its dictates. 
 Every rational creature, 'tis said, is oblig'd to regulate his 
 actions by reason ; and if any other motive or principle 
 challenge the direction of his conduct, he ought to oppose 
 it, 'till it be entirely subdu'd, or at least brought to a 
 conformity with that superior principle. On this method of 
 thinking the greatest part of moral philosophy, ancient and 
 modern, seems to be founded ; nor is there an ampler field, 
 as well for metaphysical arguments, as popular'declamations, 
 than this suppos'd pre-eminence of reason above passion. 
 The eternity, invariableness, and divine origin of the former 
 
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 87 
 
 have been display'd to the best advantage : The blindness, 
 unconstancy, and deceitfulness of the latter have been as 
 strongly insisted on. In order to shew the fallacy of all 
 this philosophy, I shall endeavour to ■prove first, that reason 
 alone can never be a motive to any action of the will ; and 
 secondly, that it can never oppose passion in the direction of 
 the will. 
 
 The understanding exerts itself after two different ways, 
 as it judges from demonstration or probability ; as it regards 
 the abstract relations of our ideas, or those relations of 
 objects, of which experience only gives us information. I 
 believe it scarce will be asserted, that the first species of 
 reasoning alone is ever the cause of any action. As it's 
 proper province is the world of ideas, and as the will always 
 places us in that of realities, demonstration and volition 
 seem, upon that account, to be totally remov'd, from each 
 other. Mathematics, indeed, are useful in all mechanical 
 operations, and arithmetic in almost every art and profes- 
 sion : But 'tis not of themselves they have any influence. 
 Mechanics are the art of regulating the motions of bodies 
 to some design' d end or purpose ; and the reason why we 
 employ arithmetic in fixing the proportions of numbers, is 
 only that we may discover the proportions of their influence 
 and operation. A merchant is desirous of knowing the sum 
 total of his accounts with any person : Why ? but that he 
 may learn what sum will have the same effects in paying his 
 debt, and going to market, as all the particular articles taken 
 together. Abstract or demonstrative reasoning, therefore, 
 never influences any of our actions, but only as it directs 
 our judgment concerning causes and effects ; which leads 
 us to the second operation of the understanding. 
 
 'Tis obvious, that when we have the prospect of pain or 
 pleasure from any object, we feel a consequent emotion of 
 aversion or propensity, and are carry'd to avoid or embrace 
 what will give us this uneasiness or satisfaction. 'Tis also 
 
88 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 obvious, that this emotion rests not here, but making us cast 
 our view on every side, comprehends whatever objects are 
 connected with its original one by the relation of cause and 
 effect. Here then reasoning takes place to discover this 
 relation ; and according as our reasoning varies, our actions 
 receive a subsequent variation. But 'tis evident in this case, 
 that the impulse arises not from reason, but is only directed 
 by it. 'Tis from the prospect of pain or pleasure that the 
 aversion or propensity arises towards any object : And these 
 emotions extend themselves to the causes and effects of that 
 object, as they are pointed out to us by reason and experi- 
 ence. It can never in the least concern us to know, that 
 such objects are causes, and such others effects, if both the 
 causes and effects be indifferent to us. Where the objects 
 themselves do not affect us, their connexion can never give 
 them any influence ; and 'tis plain, that as reason is noth- 
 ing but the discovery of this connexion, it cannot be by its 
 means that the objects are able to affect us. 
 
 Since reason alone can never produce any action, or give 
 rise to volition, I infer, that the same faculty is as incapable 
 of preventing volition, or of disputing the preference with 
 any passion or emotion. This consequence is necessary. 
 'Tis impossible reason cou'd have the latter effect of pre- 
 venting volition, but by giving an impulse in a contrary 
 direction to our passion ; and that impulse, had it operated 
 alone, wou'd have been able to produce volition. Nothing 
 can oppose or retard the impulse of passion, but a contrary 
 impulse ; and if this contrary impulse ever arises from 
 reason, that latter faculty must have an original influence 
 on the will, and must be able to cause, as well as hinder 
 any act of volition. But if reason has no original influence, 
 'tis impossible it can withstand any principle, which has 
 such an efficacy, or ever keep the mind in suspense a 
 moment. Thus it appears, that the principle, which 
 opposes our passion, cannot be the same with reason and 
 
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 89 
 
 is only call'd so in an improper sense. We speak not 
 strictly and philosophically when we talk of the combat 
 of passion and of reason. Reason is, and ought only to be 
 the slave of the passions, and can never pretend to any 
 other office than to serve and obey them. As this opinion 
 may appear somewhat extraordinary, it may not be improper 
 to confirm it by some other considerations. 
 
 A passion is an original existence, or if you will, modi- 
 fication of existence, and contains not any representative 
 quality, which renders it a copy of any other existence or 
 modification. When I am angry, I am actually possest with 
 the passion, and in that emotion have no more a reference 
 to any other object, than when I am thirsty, or sick, or more 
 than five foot high. ' Tis impossible, therefore, that this 
 passion can be oppos'd by, or be contradictory to truth and 
 reason ; since this contradiction consists in the disagreement 
 of ideas, consider'd as copies, with those objects, which 
 they represent. 
 
 What may at first occur on this head, is, that as nothing 
 can be contrary to truth or reason, except what has a 
 reference to it, and as the judgments of our understanding 
 only have this reference, it must follow, that passions can be 
 contrary to reason only so far as they are accompany' d with 
 some judgment or opinion. According to this principle, 
 which is so obvious and natural, ' tis only in two senses, that 
 any affection can be call'd unreasonable. First, When a 
 passion, such as hope or fear, grief or joy, despair or 
 security, is founded on the supposition of the existence of 
 objects, which really do not exist. Secondly, When in 
 exerting any passion in action, we chuse means insufficient 
 for the design'd end, and deceive ourselves in our judgment 
 of causes and effects. Where a passion is neither founded 
 on false suppositions, nor chuses means insufficient for the 
 end, the understanding can neither justify nor condemn it. 
 ' Tis not contrary to reason to prefer the destruction of the 
 
9° A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 whole world to the scratching of my finger. ' Tis not con- 
 trary to reason for me to chuse my total ruin, to prevent the 
 least uneasiness of an Indian or person wholly unknown to 
 me. ' Tis as little contrary to reason to prefer even my own 
 acknowledg'd lesser good to my greater, and have a more 
 ardent affection for the former than the latter. A trivial good 
 may, from certain circumstances, produce a desire superior 
 to what arises from the greatest and most valuable enjoy- 
 ment ; nor is there anything more extraordinary in this, than 
 in mechanics to see one pound weight raise up a hundred by 
 the advantage of its situation. In short, a passion must be 
 accompany'd with some false judgment, in order to its being 
 unreasonable ; and even then ' tis not the passion, properly 
 speaking, which is unreasonable, but the judgment. 
 
 The consequences are evident. Since a passion can 
 never, in any sense, be call'd unreasonable, but when 
 founded on a false supposition, or when it chuses means 
 insufficient for the design'd end, ' tis impossible, that reason 
 and passion can ever oppose each other, or dispute for the 
 government of the will and actions. The moment we per- 
 ceive the falshood of any supposition, or the insufficiency of 
 any means our passions yield to our reason without any 
 opposition. I may desire any fruit of an excellent relish ; 
 but whenever you convince me of my mistake, my longing 
 ceases. I may will the performance of certain actions as 
 means of obtaining any desir'd good ; but as my willing of 
 these actions is only secondary, and founded on the supposi- 
 tion, that they are causes of the propos'd effect ; as soon as 
 I discover the falshood of that supposition, they must 
 become indifferent to me. 
 
 'Tis natural for one, that does not examine objects with a 
 strict philosophic eye, to imagine, that those actions of the 
 mind are entirely the same, which produce not a different 
 sensation, and are not immediately distinguishable to the 
 feeling and perception. Reason, for instance, exerts itself 
 
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 91 
 
 without producing any sensible emotion ; and except in the 
 more sublime disquisitions of philosophy, or in the frivolous 
 subtilties of the schools, scarce ever conveys any pleasure 
 or uneasiness. Hence it proceeds, that every action of the 
 mind, which operates with the same calmness and tran- 
 quillity, is confounded with reason by all those, who judge 
 of things from the first view and appearance. Now 'tis 
 certain, there are certain calm desires and tendencies, 
 which, tho' they be real passions, produce little emotion in 
 the mind, and are more known by their effects than by the 
 immediate feeling or sensation. These desires are of two 
 kinds ; either certain instincts originally implanted in our 
 natures, such as benevolence and resentment, the love of 
 life, and kindness to children ; or the general appetite to 
 good, and aversion to evil, consider'd merely as such. 
 When any of these passions are calm, and cause no disorder 
 in the soul, they are very readily taken for the determina- 
 tions of reason, and are suppos'd to proceed from the same 
 faculty, with that, which judges of truth and falshood. 
 Their nature and principles have been supposed the same, 
 because their sensations are not evidently different. 
 
 Beside these calm passions, which often determine the 
 will, there are certain violent emotions of the same kind, 
 which have likewise a great influence on that faculty. 
 When I receive any injury from another, I often feel a 
 violent passion of resentment, which makes me desire his 
 evil and punishment, independent of all considerations of 
 pleasure and advantage to myself. When I am immediately 
 threaten'd with any grievous ill, my fears, apprehensions, 
 and aversions rise to a great height, and produce a sensible 
 emotion. 
 
 The common error of metaphysicians has lain in ascribing 
 the direction of the will entirely to one of these principles, 
 and supposing the other to have no influence. Men often 
 act knowingly against their interest : For which reason the 
 
92 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 view of the greatest possible good does not always influence 
 them. Men often counter-act a violent passion in prosecu- 
 tion of their interests and designs: Tis not therefore the 
 present uneasiness alone, which determines them. In 
 general we may observe, that both these principles operate 
 on the will ; and where they are contrary, that either of 
 them prevails, according to the general character or present 
 disposition of the person. What we call strength of mind, 
 implies the prevalence of the calm passions above the 
 violent ; tho' we may easily observe, there is no man so 
 constantly possess'd of this virtue, as never on any occasion 
 to yield to the solicitations of passion and desire. From 
 these variations of temper proceeds the great difficulty of 
 deciding concerning the actions and resolutions of men, 
 where there is any contrariety of motives and passions. 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 Of the causes of the violent passions. 
 
 There is not in philosophy a subject of more nice 
 speculation than this of the different causes and effects of 
 the calm and violent passions. 'Tis evident passions in- 
 fluence not the will in proportion to their violence, or the 
 disorder they occasion in the temper ; but on the contrary, 
 that when a passion has once become a settled principle of 
 action, and is the predominant inclination of the soul, it 
 commonly produces no longer any sensible agitation. As 
 repeated custom and its own force have made every thing 
 yield to it, it directs the actions and conduct without that 
 opposition and emotion, which so naturally attend every 
 momentary gust of passion. We must, therefore, distinguish 
 betwixt a calm and a weak passion ; betwixt a violent and 
 a strong one. But notwithstanding this, 'tis certain, that 
 when we wou'd govern a man, and push him to any action, 
 
Book II. OF THE PASS/ONS. 93 
 
 'twill commonly be better policy to work upon the violent 
 than the calm passions, and rather take him by his inclina- 
 tion, than what is vulgarly call'd his reason. We ought to 
 place the object in such particular situations as are proper 
 to encrease the violence of the passion. For we may 
 observe, that all depends upon the situation of the object, 
 and that a variation in this particular will be able to change 
 the calm and the violent passions into each other. Both 
 these kinds of passions pursue good, and avoid evil ; and 
 both of them are encreas'd or diminish'd by the encrease or 
 diminution of the good or evil. But herein lies the differ- 
 ence betwixt them : The same good, when near, will cause 
 a violent passion, which, when remote, produces only a calm 
 one. As this subject belongs very properly to the present 
 question concerning the will, we shall here examine it to 
 the bottom, and shall consider some of those circumstances 
 and situations of objects, which render a passion either calm 
 or violent. 
 
 'Tis a remarkable property of human nature, that any 
 emotion, which attends a passion, is easily converted into it, 
 tho' in their natures they be originally different from, and 
 even contrary to each other. 'Tis true ; in order to make 
 a perfect union among passions, there is always requir'd 
 a double relation of impressions and ideas ; nor is one 
 relation sufficient for that purpose. But tho' this be con- 
 firm'd by undoubted experience, we must understand it 
 with its proper limitations, and must regard the double 
 relation, as requisite only to make one passion produce 
 another. When two passions are already produc'd by their 
 separate causes, and are both present in the mind, they 
 readily mingle and unite, tho' they have but one relation, 
 and sometimes without any. The predominant passion 
 swallows up the inferior, and converts it into itself. The 
 spirits, when once excited, easily receive a change in their 
 direction ; and 'tis natural to imagine this change will come 
 
94 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 from the prevailing affection. The connextion is in many 
 respects closer betwixt any two passions, than betwixt any 
 passion and indifference. 
 
 When a person is once heartily in love, the little faults 
 and caprice of his mistress, the jealousies and quarrels, to 
 which that commerce is so subject ; however unpleasant and 
 related to anger and hatred ; are yet found to give additional 
 force to the prevailing passion. Tis a common artifice of 
 politicians, when they wou'd affect any person very much by 
 a matter of fact, of which they intend to inform him, first to 
 excite his curiosity ; delay as long as possible the satisfying 
 it ; and by that means raise his anxiety and impatience to 
 the utmost, before they give him a full insight into the busi- 
 ness. They know that his curiosity will precipitate him into 
 the passion they design to raise, and assist the object in its 
 influence on the mind. A soldier advancing to the battle, 
 is naturally inspir'd with courage and confidence, when he 
 thinks on his friends and fellow-soldiers ; and is struck with 
 fear and terror, when he reflects on the enemy. Whatever 
 new emotion, therefore, proceeds from the former naturally 
 encreases the courage ; as the same emotion, proceeding 
 from the latter, augments the fear ; by the relation of ideas, 
 and the conversion of the inferior emotion into the predomi- 
 nant. Hence it is that in martial discipline, the uniformity 
 and lustre of our habit, the regularity of our figures and 
 motions, with all the pomp and majesty of war, encourage 
 ourselves and allies ; while the same objects in the enemy 
 strike terror into us, tho' agreeable and beautiful in them- 
 selves. 
 
 Since passions, however independent, are naturally trans- 
 fus'd into each other, if they are both present at the same 
 time ; it follows, that when good or evil is plac'd in such a 
 situation, as, to cause any particular emotion, beside its 
 direct passion of desire or aversion, that latter passion must 
 acquire new force and violence. 
 
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 95 
 
 This happens, among other cases, whenever any object 
 excites contrary passions. For 'tis observable that an 
 opposition of passions commonly causes a new emotion in 
 the spirits, and produces more disorder, than the concur- 
 rence of any two affections of equal force. This new 
 emotion is easily converted into the predominant passion, 
 and encreases its violence, beyond the pitch it wou'd have 
 ariv'd at had it met with no opposition. Hence we natur- 
 ally desire what is forbid, and take a pleasure in performing 
 actions, merely because they are unlawful. The notion of 
 duty, when opposite to the passions, is seldom able to over- 
 come them ; and when it fails of that effect, is apt rather to 
 encrease them, by producing an opposition in our motives 
 and principles. 
 
 The same effect follows whether the opposition arises 
 from internal motives or external obstacles. The passion 
 commonly acquires new force and violence in both cases. 
 The efforts, which the mind makes to surmount the obsta- 
 cle, excite the spirits and enliven the passion. 
 
 Uncertainty has the same influence as opposition. The 
 agitation of the thought ; the quick turns it makes from one 
 view to another ; the variety of passions, which succeed 
 each other, according to the different views : All these 
 produce an agitation in the mind, and transfuse themselves 
 into the predominant passion. 
 
 There is not in my opinion any other natural cause, why 
 security diminishes the passions, than because it removes 
 that uncertainty, which encreases them. The mind, when 
 left to itself, immediately languishes ; and in order to 
 preserve its ardour, must be every moment supported by a 
 new flow of passion. For the same reason, despair, tho' 
 contrary to security, has a like influence. 
 
 ' Tis certain nothing more powerfully animates any affec- 
 tion, than to conceal some part of its object by throwing it 
 into a kind of shade, which at the same time that it shews 
 
9 6 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 enough to pre-possess us in favour of the object, leaves still 
 some work for the imagination. Besides that obscurity is 
 always attended with a kind of uncertainty ; the effort, 
 which the fancy makes to compleat the idea, rouzes the 
 spirits, and gives an additional force to the passion. 
 
 As despair and security, tho' contrary to each other, 
 produce the same effects ; so absence is observ'd to have 
 contrary effects, and in different circumstances either en- 
 creases or diminishes our affections. The Due de la Roche- 
 foucault has very well observ'd, that absence destroys weak 
 passions, but encreases strong ; as the wind extinguishes a 
 candle, but blows up a fire. Long absence naturally 
 weakens our idea, and diminishes the passion : But where 
 the idea is so strong and lively as to support itself, the 
 uneasiness, arising from absence, encreases the passion, and 
 gives it new force and violence. 
 
 SECTION V. 
 Of the effects of custom. 
 
 But nothing has a greater effect both to encrease and 
 diminish our passions, to convert pleasure into pain, and 
 pain into pleasure, than custom and repetition. Custom 
 has two original effects upon the mind, in bestowing a 
 facility in the performance of any action or the conception 
 of any object ; and afterwards a tendency or inclination 
 towards it ; and from these we may account for all its other 
 effects, however extraordinary. 
 
 When the soul applies itself to the performance of any 
 action, or the conception of any object, to which it is not 
 accustom'd, there is a certain unpliableness in the faculties, 
 and a difficulty of the spirit's moving in their new direction. 
 As this difficulty excites the spirits, ' tis the source of 
 wonder, surprise, and of all the emotions, which arise from 
 
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 97 
 
 novelty ; and is in itself very agreeable, like every thing, 
 which inlivens the mind to a moderate degree. But tho' 
 surprize be agreeable in itself, yet as it puts the spirits in 
 agitation, it not only augments our agreeable affections, but 
 also our painful, according to the foregoing principle, thai 
 every emotion, which precedes or attends a passion, is easily 
 converted into it. Hence every thing, that is new, is most 
 affecting, and gives us either more pleasure or pain, than 
 what, strictly speaking, naturally belongs to it. When it 
 often returns upon us, the novelty wears off ; the passions 
 subside ; the hurry of the spirits is over ; and we survey 
 the objects with greater tranquillity. 
 
 By degrees the repetition produces a facility, which is 
 another very powerful principle of the human mind, and an 
 infallible source of pleasure, where the facility goes not 
 beyond a certain degree. «And here ' tis remarkable that the 
 pleasure, which arises from a moderate facility, has not the 
 same tendency with that which arises from novelty, to 
 augment the painful, as well as the agreeable affections, 
 The pleasure of facility does not so much consist in any 
 ferment of the spirits, as in their orderly motion ; which will 
 sometimes be so powerful as even to convert pain into 
 pleasure, and give us a relish in time for what at first was 
 most harsh and disagreeable. 
 
 But again, as facility converts pain into pleasure, so it 
 often converts pleasure into pain, when it is too great, and 
 renders the actions of the mind so faint and languid, that 
 they are no longer able to interest and support it. And 
 indeed, scarce any other objects become disagreeable thro' 
 custom ; but such as are naturally attended with some 
 emotion or affection, which is destroy'd by the too frequent 
 repetition. One can consider the clouds, and heavens, and 
 trees, and stones, however frequently repeated, without ever 
 feeling any aversion. But when the fair sex, or music, or 
 good cheer, or any thing, that naturally ought to be agree- 
 
98 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 able, becomes indifferent, it easily produces the opposite 
 affection. 
 
 But custom not only gives a facility to perform any action, 
 but likewise an inclination and tendency towards it, where it 
 is not entirely disagreeable, and can never be the object of 
 inclination. And this is the reason why custom encreases 
 all active habits, but diminishes passive, according to the 
 observation of a late eminent philosopher. The facility 
 takes off from the force of the passive habits by rendering 
 the motion of the spirits faint and languid. But as in the 
 active, the spirits are sufficiently supported of themselves, 
 the tendency of the mind gives them new force, and bends 
 them more strongly to the action. 
 
 [Section VI., which is a very short one, examines the in- 
 fluence of the imagination on the passions. The general 
 view advanced is that an idea of particular pleasures exer- 
 cises a stronger influence than a general idea. " Any 
 pleasure, with which we are acquainted, affects us more 
 than any other, which we own to be superior, but of whose 
 nature we are wholly ignorant. Of the one we can form a 
 particular and determinate idea : the other we conceive 
 under the general notion of pleasure ; and 'tis certain, that 
 the more general and universal any of our ideas are, the less 
 influence they have upon the imagination," and hence have 
 less upon the passions and the will. 
 
 " Contiguity and distance in space and time," as charac- 
 teristic of objects of the mind show the same difference of 
 influence as " particular " and " general " ideas. Objects at 
 a distance which if present would move our desires are more 
 or less ineffective, and those remote in time have the same 
 effect, past time being less influential than the present. 
 " Contiguous objects must have an influence much superior 
 to the distant and remote. Accordingly we find -in common 
 life, that men are principally concern'd about those objects, 
 
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 99 
 
 which are not much removed in space or time, enjoying the 
 present and leaving what is afar off to the care of chance 
 and fortune. Talk to a man of his condition thirty years 
 hence, and he will not regard you. Speak of what is to 
 happen to-morrow, and he will lend you attention. The 
 breaking of a mirror gives us more concern when at home, 
 than the burning of a house when abroad, and some hun- 
 dred leagues distant." This difference of attractive and 
 stimulating effect avails to influence the imagination and the 
 passions according to the same law, and hence the will is 
 influenced in a way to show which is the stronger motive to 
 volition. 
 
 The ninth section is a consideration of the direct passions 
 grief and sorrow, fear and hope, desire and aversion, which 
 had been mentioned and discussed briefly when treating of 
 the will. But nothing is remarked of any importance either 
 to the free will controversy or having any bearing upon sub- 
 sequent questions. Hume himself remarks of them : "None 
 of the direct affections seem to merit our particular atten- 
 tion, except hope and fear, which we shall here endeavor to 
 account for." He regards them both as mixtures of joy and 
 grief, their difference being determined by the different pro- 
 portions in which they are combined, or by the degree of 
 probability connected with a prospective event. They affect 
 the will according to their intensity. 
 
 The last section treats of " curiosity or the love of truth " 
 as a passion. The only interest which attaches to his treat- 
 ment of it is his comparison of it to the passion of hunting. 
 It affects the will merely as all other passions.] 
 
BOOK III. 
 
 OF MORALS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 OF VIRTUE AND VICE IN GENERAL. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 Moral Distinctions not deriv'd from Reason. 
 
 There is an inconvenience which attends all abstruse 
 reasoning, that it may silence, without convincing an an- 
 tagonist, and requires the same intense study to make us 
 sensible of its force, that was at first requisite for its inven- 
 tion. When we leave our closet, and engage in the common 
 affairs of life, its conclusions seem to vanish, like the phan- 
 toms of the night on the appearance of the morning ; and 
 'tis difficult for us to retain even that conviction, which we 
 had attain'd with difficulty. This is still more conspicuous 
 in a long chain of reasoning, where we must preserve to the 
 end the evidence of the first propositions, and where we 
 often lose sight of all the most receiv'd maxims, either of 
 philosophy or common life. I am not, however, without 
 hopes, that the present system of philosophy will acquire 
 new force as it advances ; and that our reasonings concerning 
 morals will corroborate whatever has been said concerning 
 the understanding and the passions. Morality is a subject 
 that interests us above all others We fancy the peace 
 of society to be at stake in every decision concerning it ; 
 and 'tis evident, that this concern must make our specula- 
 tions appear more real and solid, than where the subject is, 
 in a great measure, indifferent to us. What affects us, we 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 101 
 
 conclude can never be a chimera ; and as our passion is 
 engag'd on the one side or the other, we naturally think 
 that the question lies within human comprehension ; which, 
 in other cases of this nature, we are apt to entertain some 
 doubt of. Without this advantage I never should have ven- 
 tur'd upon a third volume of such abstruse philosophy, in an 
 age, wherein the greatest part of men seem agreed to con- 
 vert reading into an amusement, and to reject every thing 
 that requires any considerable degree of attention to be 
 comprehended. 
 
 It has been observ'd, that nothing is ever present to the 
 mind but its perceptions ; and that all the actions of seeing, 
 hearing, judging, loving, hating, and thinking, fall under 
 this denomination. The mind can never exert itself in any 
 action, which we may not comprehend under the term of 
 perception; and consequently that term is no less applicable 
 to those judgments, by which we distinguish moral good and 
 evil, than to every other operation of the mind. To approve 
 of one character, to condemn another, are only so many 
 different perceptions. 
 
 Now as perceptions resolve themselves into two kinds, 
 viz., impressions and ideas, this distinction gives rise to a 
 question, with which we shall open up our present enquiry 
 concerning morals, Whether 'tis by means of our ideas or im- 
 pressions we distinguish betwixt vice and virtue, and pronounce 
 an action blameable or praise-worthy 1 This will immediately 
 cut off all loose discourses and declamations, and reduce us 
 to something precise and exact on the present subject. 
 
 Those who affirm that virtue is nothing but a conformity 
 to reason ; that there are eternal fitnesses and unfitnesses 
 of things, which are the same to every rational being that 
 considers them ; that the immutable measures of right and 
 wrong impose an obligation, not only on human creatures, 
 but. also on the Deity himself : All these systems concur in 
 
102 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 the opinion, that morality, like truth, is discern'd merely by 
 ideas, and by their juxta-position and comparison. In order, 
 therefore, to judge of these systems, we need only consider, 
 whether it be possible, from reason alone, to distinguish 
 betwixt moral good and evil, or whether there must concur 
 some other principles to enable us to make that distinc- 
 tion. 
 
 If morality had naturally no influence on human passions 
 and actions, 'twere in vain to take such pains to inculcate it ; 
 and nothing wou'd be more fruitless than that multitude of 
 rules and precepts, with which all moralists abound. Philo- 
 sophy is commonly divided into speculative and practical ; 
 and as morality is always comprehended under the latter 
 division, 'tis supposed to influence our passions and actions, 
 and to go beyond the calm and indolent judgments of the 
 understanding. And this is confirm'd by common experi- 
 ence, which informs us, that men are often govern'd by their 
 duties, and are deter'd from some actions by the opinion of 
 injustice, and impell'd to others by that of obligation. 
 
 Since morals, therefore, have an influence on the actions 
 and affections, it follows, that they cannot be deriv'd from 
 reason ; and that because reason alone, as we have already 
 prov'd, can never have any such influence. Morals excite 
 passions, and produce or prevent actions. Reason of itself 
 is utterly impotent in this particular. The rules of morality, 
 therefore, are not conclusions of our reason. 
 
 No one, I believe, will deny the justness of this inference ; 
 nor is there any other means of evading it, than by denying 
 that principle, on which it is founded. As long as it is 
 allow'd, that reason has no influence on our passions and 
 actions, 'tis in vain to pretend, that morality is discover'd 
 only by a deduction of reason. An active principle can 
 never be founded on an inactive ; and if reason be inactive 
 in itself, it must remain so in all its shapes and appearances, 
 whether it exerts itself in natural or moral subjects, whether 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 103 
 
 it considers the powers of external bodies, or the actions of 
 rational beings. 
 
 It would be tedious to repeat all the arguments, by which 
 I have prov'd 1 , that reason is perfectly inert, and can never 
 either prevent or produce any action or affection. 'Twill be 
 easy to recollect what has been said upon that subject. I 
 shall only recal on this occasion one of these arguments, 
 which I shall endeavour to render still more conclusive, and 
 more applicable to the present subject. 
 
 Reason is the discovery of truth or falsehood. Truth or 
 falsehood consists in an agreement or disagreement either to 
 the real relations of ideas, or to real existence and matter of 
 fact. Whatever, therefore, is not susceptible of this agree- 
 ment or disagreement, is incapable of being true or false, 
 and can never be an object of our reason. Now 'tis evident 
 our passions, volitions, and actions, are not susceptible of 
 any such agreement or disagreement ; being original facts 
 and realities, compleat in themselves, and implying no refer- 
 ence to other passions, volitions, and actions. 'Tis impossible, 
 therefore, they can be pronounced either true or false, and 
 be either contrary or comformable to reason. 
 
 This argument is of double advantage to our present 
 purpose. For it proves directly, that actions do not derive 
 their merit from a conformity to reason, nor their blame 
 from a contrariety to it ; and it proves the same truth more 
 indirectly, by shewing us, that as reason can never imme- 
 diately prevent or produce any action by contradicting or 
 approving of it, it cannot be the source of moral good and 
 evil, which are found to have that influence. Actions may 
 be laudable or blameable ; but they cannot be reasonable or 
 unreasonable : Laudable or blameable, therefore, are not the 
 same with reasonable or unreasonable. The merit and 
 demerit of actions frequently contradict, and sometimes con- 
 
 1 Book II. Part III. sect. 1. 
 
104 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 troul our natural propensities. But reason has no such 
 influence. Moral distinctions, therefore, are not the offspring 
 of reason. Reason is wholly inactive, and can never be the 
 source of so active a principle as conscience, or a sense of 
 morals. 
 
 But perhaps it may be said, that tho' no will or action can 
 be immediately contradictory to reason, yet we may find 
 such a contradiction in some of the attendants of the action, 
 that is, in its causes or effects. The action may cause a 
 judgment, or may be obliquely caus'd by one, when the 
 judgment concurs with a passion ; and by an abusive way of 
 speaking, which philosophy will scarce allow of, the same 
 contrariety may, upon that account, be ascrib'd to the action. 
 How far this truth or falshood may be the source of morals, 
 ' twill now be proper to consider. 
 
 It has been observ'd, that reason, in a strict and philo- 
 sophical sense, can have an influence on our conduct only 
 after two ways : Either when it excites a passion by informing 
 us of the existence of something which is a proper object of 
 it ; or when it discovers the connexion of causes and effects, 
 so as to afford us means of exerting any passion. These 
 are the only kinds of judgment, which can accompany our 
 actions, or can be said to produce them in any manner ; and 
 it must be allow'd, that these judgments may often be false 
 and erroneous. A person may be affected with passion, by 
 supposing a pain or pleasure to lie in an object, which has 
 no tendency to produce either of these sensations, or which 
 produces the contrary to what is imagin'd. A person may 
 also take false measures for the attaining his end, and may 
 retard, by his foolish conduct, instead of forwarding the 
 execution of any project. These false judgments may be 
 thought to affect the passions and actions, which are con- 
 nected with them, and may be said to render them unreason- 
 able, in a figurative and improper way of speaking. But tho' 
 this be acknowledged, ' tis easy to observe, that these errors 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 105 
 
 are so far from being the source of all immorality, that they 
 are commonly very innocent, and draw no manner of guilt 
 upon the person who is so unfortunate as to fall into them. 
 They extend not beyond a mistake of fact, which moralists 
 have not generally suppos'd criminal, as being perfectly 
 involuntary. I am more to be lamented than blam'd if I 
 am mistaken with regard to the influence of objects in pro- 
 ducing pain or pleasure, or if I know not the proper means 
 of satisfying my desires. No one can ever regard such 
 errors as a defect in my moral character. A fruit, for 
 instance, that is really disagreeable, appears to me at a 
 distance, and thro ' mistake I fancy it to be pleasant and 
 delicious. Here is one error. I choose certain means of 
 reaching this fruit, which are not proper for my end. Here 
 is a second error ; nor is there any third one, which can ever 
 possibly enter into our reasonings concerning actions. I 
 ask, therefore, if a man, in this situation, and guilty of these 
 two errors, is to be regarded as vicious and criminal, how- 
 ever unavoidable they might have been ? Or if it be possible to 
 imagine, that such errors are the sources of all immorality? 
 
 And here it may be proper to observe, that if moral distinc- 
 tions be deriv'd from the truth or falshood of those judg- 
 ments, they must take place wherever we form the judg- 
 ments ; nor will there be any difference, whether the question 
 be concerning an apple or a kingdom, or whether the error 
 be avoidable or unavoidable. For as the very essence of 
 morality is suppos'd to consist in an agreement or disagree- 
 ment to reason, the other circumstances are entirely 
 arbitrary, and can never either bestow on any action the 
 character of virtuous or vicious, or deprive it of that char- 
 acter. To which we may add, that this agreement or dis- 
 agreement, not admitting of degrees, all virtues and vices 
 wou'd of course be equal. 
 
 Shou'd it be pretended, that tho' a mistake of fact be not 
 criminal, yet a mistake of right often is ; and that this may 
 
106 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 be the source of immorality : I would answer, that ' tis impos- 
 sible such a mistake can ever be the original source of 
 immorality, since it supposes a real right and wrong ; that is, 
 a real distinction in morals, independent of these judgments. 
 A mistake, therefore, of right may become a species of 
 immorality; but 'tis only a secondary one, and is founded 
 on some other, antecedent to it. 
 
 As to those judgments which are the effects of our actions, 
 and which, when false, give occasion to pronounce the 
 actions contrary to truth and reason ; we may observe, that 
 our actions never cause any judgment, either true or false, 
 in ourselves, and that 'tis only on others they have such an 
 influence. 'Tis certain, that an action, on many occasions, 
 may give rise to false conclusions in others ; and that a per- 
 son, who thro' a window sees any lewd behaviour of mine 
 with my neighbour's wife, may be so simple as to imagine 
 she is certainly my own. In this respect my action resem- 
 bles somewhat a lye or falshood ; only with this difference, 
 which is material, that I perform not the action with any 
 intention of giving rise to a false judgment in another, but 
 merely to satisfy my lust and passion. It causes, however, 
 a mistake and false judgment by accident ; and the falshood 
 of its effects may be ascribed, by some odd figurative way of 
 speaking, to the action itself. But still I can see no pretext 
 of reason for asserting, that the tendency to cause such an 
 error is the first spring or original source of all immorality '. 
 
 1 One might think it were entirely superfluous to prove this, if a late 
 author [Wollaston], who has had the good fortune to obtain some rep- 
 utation, had not seriously affirmed, that such a falshood is the founda- 
 tion of all guilt and moral deformity. That we may discover the fallacy 
 of his hypothesis, we need only consider, that a false conclusion is 
 drawn from an action, only by means of an obscurity of natural princi- 
 ples, which makes a cause be secretly interrupted in its operation, by 
 contrary causes, and renders the connection betwixt two objects uncer- 
 tain and variable. Now, as a like uncertainty and variety of causes take 
 place, even in natural objects, and produce a like error in our judgment, 
 if that tendency to produce error were the very essence of vice and 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 107 
 
 Thus upon the whole, 'tis impossible, that the distinction 
 betwixt moral good and evil, can be made by reason ; since 
 that distinction has an influence upon our actions, of which 
 reason alone is incapable. Reason and judgment may, in- 
 deed, be the mediate cause of an action, by prompting, or 
 by directing a passion : But it is not pretended, that a judg- 
 ment of this kind, either in its truth or falshood, is attended 
 with virtue or vice. And as to the judgments which are 
 caused by our judgments, they can still less bestow those 
 moral qualities on the actions, which are their causes. 
 
 But to be more particular, and to shew, that those eternal 
 immutable fitnesses and unfitnesses of things cannot be 
 defended by sound philosophy, we may weigh the following 
 considerations. 
 
 If the thought and understanding were alone capable of 
 fixing the boundaries of right and wrong, the character of 
 
 immorality, it shou'd follow, that even inanimate objects might be 
 vicious and immoral. 
 
 'Tis in vain to urge, that inanimate objects act without liberty and 
 choice. For as liberty and choice are not necessary to make an action 
 produce in us an erroneous conclusion, they can be, in no respect, 
 essential to morality ; and I do not readily perceive, upon this system, 
 how they can ever come to be regarded by it. If the tendency to cause 
 error be the origin of immorality, that tendency and immorality wou'd 
 in every case be inseparable. 
 
 Add to this, that if I had used the precaution of shutting the windows, 
 while I indulg'd myself in those liberties with my neighbour's wife, I 
 should have been guilty of no immorality ; and that because my action, 
 being perfectly conceal'd, wou'd have had no tendency to produce any 
 false conclusion. 
 
 For the same reason, a thief, who steals in by a ladder at a window, 
 and takes all imaginable care to cause no disturbance, is in no respect 
 criminal. For either he will not be perceiv'd, or if he be, 'tis impossible 
 he can produce any error, nor will anyone, from these circumstances, 
 take him to be other than what he really is. 
 
 'Tis well known, that those who are squint-sighted, do very readily 
 cause mistakes in others, and that we imagine they salute or are talking 
 to one person, while they address themselves to another. Are they 
 therefore, upon that account, immoral ? 
 
 Besides, we may easily observe, that in all those arguments there is 
 an evident reasoning in a circle. A person who takes possession of 
 another's goods, and uses them as his own, in a manner declares them 
 
108 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 virtuous and vicious either must lie in some relations of 
 objects, or must be a matter of fact, which is discovered by 
 our reasoning. This consequence is evident. As the 
 operations of human understanding divide themselves into 
 two kinds, the comparing of ideas, and the inferring of 
 matter of fact ; were virtue discover'd by the understanding ; 
 it must be an object of one of these operations, nor is there 
 any third operation of the understanding, which can discover 
 it. There has been an opinion very industriously propa- 
 gated by certain philosophers, that morality is susceptible of 
 demonstration ; and tho' no one has ever been able to 
 advance a single step in those demonstrations ; yet 'tis 
 taken for granted, that this science may be brought to an 
 equal certainty with geometry or algebra. Upon this 
 supposition, vice and virtue must consist in some relations ; 
 since 'tis allow'd on all hands, that no matter of fact is 
 
 to be his own ; and this falshood is the source of the immorality of in- 
 justice. But is property, or right, or obligation, intelligible, without an 
 antecedent morality ? 
 
 A man that is ungrateful to his benefactor, in a manner affirms, that 
 he never received any favours from him. But in what manner ? Is it 
 because 'tis his duty to be grateful ? But this supposes, that there is 
 some antecedent rule of duty and morals. Is it because human nature 
 is generally grateful, and makes us conclude, that a man who does any 
 harm never received any favour from the person he harm'd ? But 
 human nature is not so generally grateful, as to justify such a conclu- 
 sion. Or if it were, is an exception to a general rule in every case 
 criminal, for no other reason than because it is an exception ? 
 
 But what may suffice entirely to destroy this whimsical system is, that 
 it leaves us under the same difficulty to give a reason why truth is virtu- 
 ous and falshood vicious, as to account for the merit or turpitude of 
 any other action. I shall allow, if you please, that all immorality is 
 derived from this supposed falsehood in action, provided you can give 
 me any plausible reason, why such a falshood is immoral. If you con- 
 sider rightly of the matter, you will find yourself in the same difficulty 
 as at the beginning. 
 
 This last argument is very conclusive ; because, if there be not an 
 evident merit or turpitude annex'd to this species of truth or falshood, 
 it can never have any influence upon our actions. For, who ever 
 thought of forbearing any action, because others might possibly draw 
 false conclusions from it ? Or, who ever perform'd any, that he might 
 give rise to true conclusions ? 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 109 
 
 capable of being demonstrated. Let us, therefore, begin 
 with examining this hypothesis, and endeavour, if possible, 
 to fix those moral qualities, which have been so long the 
 objects of our fruitless researches. Point out distinctly the 
 relations, which ■ constitute morality or obligation, that we 
 may know wherein they consist, and after what manner we 
 must judge of them. 
 
 If you assert that vice and virtue consist in relations 
 susceptible of certainty and demonstration, you must confine 
 yourself to those four relations, which alone admit of that 
 degree of evidence ; and in that case you run into absurdi- 
 ties, from which you will never be able to extricate yourself. 
 For as you make the very essence of morality to lie in the 
 relations, and as there is no one of these relations but what 
 is applicable, not only to an irrational, but also to an 
 inanimate object ; it follows, that even such objects must 
 be susceptible of merit or demerit. Resemblance, contrariety, 
 degrees in quality, and proportions in quantity and number , all 
 these relations belong as properly to matter, as to our 
 actions, passions, and volitions. 'Tis unquestionable, there- 
 fore, that morality lies not in any of these relations, nor the 
 sense of it in their discovery. 1 
 
 1 As a proof, how confus'd our way of thinking on this subject 
 commonly is, we may observe, that those who assert, that morality is 
 demonstrable, do not say, that morality lies in the relations, and that the 
 relations are distinguishable by reason. They only say, that reason can 
 discover such an action, in such relations, to be virtuous, and such 
 another vicious. It seems they thought it sufficient, if they cou'd bring 
 the word, Relation, into the proposition, without troubling themselves 
 whether it was to the purpose or not. But here, I think, is plain 
 argument. Demonstrative reason discovers only relations. But that 
 reason, according to this hypothesis, discovers also vice and virtue. 
 These moral qualities, therefore, must be relations. When we blame 
 any action, in any situation, the whole complicated object, of action and 
 situation, must form certain relations, wherein the essence of vice 
 consists. This hypothesis is not otherwise intelligible. For what does 
 reason discover, when it pronounces any action vicious ? Does it 
 discover a relation or a matter of fact ? These questions are decisive, 
 and must not be eluded. 
 
no A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 Shou'd it be asserted, that the sense of morality consists 
 in the discovery of some relation, distinct from these, and 
 that our enumeration was not compleat, when we compre- 
 hended all demonstrable relations under four general heads : 
 To this I know not what to reply, till some one be so good 
 as to point out to me this new relation. 'Tis impossible to 
 refute a system, which has never yet been explain'd. In 
 such a manner of fighting in the dark, a man loses his 
 blows in the air, and often places them where the enemy is 
 not present. 
 
 - I must, therefore, on this occasion, rest contented with 
 requiring the two following conditions of any one that wou'd 
 undertake to clear up this system. First, As moral good 
 and evil belong only to the actions of the mind, and are 
 deriv'd from our situation with regard to external objects, 
 the relations from which these moral distinctions arise, must 
 lie only betwixt internal actions, and external objects, and 
 must not be applicable either to internal actions, compared 
 among themselves, or to external objects, when placed in 
 opposition to other external objects. For as morality is 
 supposed to attend certain relations, if these relations cou'd 
 belong to internal actions consider'd singly, it wou'd follow, 
 that we might be guilty of crimes in, ourselves, and indepen- 
 dent of our situation, with respect to the universe : And in 
 like manner, if these moral relations cou'd be apply'd to 
 external objects, it would follow, that even inanimate beings 
 wou'd be susceptible of moral beauty and deformity. Now 
 it seems difficult to imagine, that any relation can be 
 discover'd betwixt our passions, volitions and actions, 
 compared to external objects, which relation might not 
 belong either to these passions and volitions, or to these 
 external objects, compar'd among themselves. 
 
 But it will be still more difficult to fulfil the second con- 
 dition, requisite to justify this system. According to the 
 principles of those who maintain an abstract rational differ- 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 1 1 1 
 
 ence betwixt moral good and evil, and a natural fitness and 
 unfitness of things, 'tis not only suppos'd, that these relations, 
 being eternal and immutable, are the same, when consider'd 
 by every rational creature, but their effects are also suppos'd 
 to be necessarily the same ; and 'tis concluded they have no 
 less, or rather a greater, influence in directing the will of the 
 diety, than in governing the rational and virtuous of our own 
 species. These two particulars are evidently distinct. 'Tis 
 one thing to know virtue, and another to conform the will to 
 it. In order, therefore, to prove, that the measures of right 
 and wrong are eternal laws, obligatory on every rational 
 mind, 'tis not sufficient to shew the relations upon which they 
 are founded : We must also point out the connexion betwixt 
 the relation, and the will ; and must prove that this connexion 
 is so necessary, that in every well-disposed mind, it must 
 take place and have its influence ; tho' the difference betwixt 
 these minds be in other respects immense and infinite. Now 
 besides what I have already prov'd, that even in human 
 nature no relation can ever alone produce any action ; 
 besides this, I say, it has been shewn, in treating of the 
 understanding, that there is no connexion of cause and 
 effect, such as this is suppos'd to be, which is discoverable 
 otherwise than by experience, and of which we can pretend 
 to have any security by the simple consideration of the 
 objects. All beings in the universe, consider'd in them- 
 selves, appear entirely loose and independent of each other. 
 'Tis only by experience we learn their influence and 
 connexion ; and this influence we ought never to extend 
 beyond experience. 
 
 Thus it will be impossible to fulfil the first condition 
 required to the system of eternal rational measures of right 
 and wrong ; because it is impossible to shew those relations, 
 upon which such a distinction may be founded : And 'tis 
 as impossible to fulfil the second condition ; because we 
 cannot prove a priori, that these relations, if they really 
 
H2 A TREA TISE OF HUMAN NA TURE. 
 
 existed and were perceiv'd, wou'd be universally forcible 
 and obligatory. 
 
 But to make these general reflections more clear and 
 convincing, we may illustrate them by some particular 
 instances, wherein this character of moral good or evil is the 
 most universally acknowledged. Of all crimes that human 
 creatures are capable of committing, the most horrid and 
 unnatural is ingratitude, especially when it is committed 
 against parents, and appears in the more flagrant instances 
 of wounds and death. This is acknowledg'd by all mankind, 
 philosophers as well as the people ; the question only arises 
 among philosophers, whether the guilt or moral deformity 
 of this action be discover'd by demonstrative reasoning, or 
 be felt by an internal sense, and by means of some sentiment, 
 which the reflecting on such an action naturally occasions. 
 This question will soon be decided against the former 
 opinion, if we can shew the same relations in other objects, 
 without the notion of any guilt or iniquity attending them. 
 Reason or science is nothing but the comparing of ideas, 
 and the discovery of their relations ; and if the same relations 
 have different characters, it must evidently follow, that those 
 characters are not discover'd merely by reason. To put the 
 affair, therefore, to this trial, let us chuse any inanimate 
 object, such as an oak or elm ; and let us suppose, that by 
 the dropping of its seed, it produces a sapling below it, 
 which springing up by degrees, at last overtops and destroys 
 the parent tree : f ask, if in this instance there be wanting 
 any relation, which is discoverable in parricide or ingratitude ? 
 Is not the one tree the cause of the other's existence ; and 
 the latter the cause of the destruction of the former, in the 
 same manner as when a child murders his parents ? 'Tis not 
 sufficient to reply, that a choice or will is wanting. For in 
 the case of parricide, a will does not give rise to any different 
 relations, but is only the cause from which the action is 
 deriv'd ; and consequently produces the same relations, that 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 113 
 
 in the oak or elm arise from some other principles. 'Tis a 
 will or choice, that determines a man to kill his parent ; and 
 they are the laws of matter and motion, that determine a 
 sapling to destroy the oak, from which it sprung. Here then 
 the same relations have different causes ; but still the 
 relations are the same . And as their discovery is not in both 
 cases attended with a notion of immorality, it follows, that 
 that notion does not arise from such a discovery. 
 
 But to chuse an instance, still more resembling ; I would 
 fain ask any one, why incest in the human species is crimi- 
 nal, and why the very same action, and the same relations 
 in animals have not the smallest moral turpitude and 
 deformity? If it be answer'd, that this action is innocent 
 in animals, because they have not reason sufficient to dis- 
 cover its turpitude ; but that man, being endow'd with that 
 faculty, which ought to restrain him to his duty, the same 
 action instantly becomes criminal to him ; should this be 
 said, I would reply, that this is evidently arguing in a circle. 
 For before reason can perceive this turpitude, the turpitude 
 must exist ; and consequently is independent of the de- 
 cisions of our reason, and is their object more properly than 
 their effect. According to this system, then, every animal, 
 that has sense, and appetite, and will ; that is, every animal 
 must be susceptible of all the same virtues and vices, for 
 which we ascribe praise and blame to human creatures. All 
 the difference is, that our superior reason may serve to 
 discover the vice or virtue, and by that means may augment 
 the blame or praise : But still this discovery supposes a 
 separate being in these moral distinctions, and a being, 
 which depends only on the will and appetite, and which, 
 both in thought and reality, may be distinguish'd from the 
 reason. Animals are susceptible of the same relations, with 
 respect to each other, as the human species, and therefore 
 wou'd also be susceptible of the same morality, if the 
 essence of morality consisted in these relations. Their 
 
H4 A TREA TISE OF HUMAN NA TURE. 
 
 want of a sufficient degree of reason may hinder them from 
 perceiving the duties and obligations of morality, but can 
 never hinder these duties from existing ; since they must 
 antecedently exist, in order to their being perceiv'd. Reason 
 must find them, and can never produce them. This argu- 
 ment deserves to be weigh'd, as being, in my opinion, 
 entirely decisive. 
 
 Nor does this reasoning only prove, that morality consists 
 not in any relations, that are the objects of science ; but if 
 examin'd, will prove with equal certainty, that it consists, 
 not in any matter of fact, which can be discover'd by the 
 understanding. This is the second part £>f our argument ; 
 and if it can be made evident, we may conclude, that moral- 
 ity is not an object of reason. But can there be any diffi- 
 culty in proving, that vice and virtue are not matters of fact, 
 whose existence we can infer by reason ? Take any action 
 allowed to be vicious : Wilful murder, for instance. Exam- 
 ine it in all lights, and see if you can find that matter of 
 fact, or real existence, which you call vice. In which-ever 
 way you take it, you find only certain passions, motives, , 
 volitions and thoughts. There is no other matter of fact in 
 the case. The vice entirely escapes you, as long as you 
 consider the object. You never can find it, till you turn 
 your reflection into your own breast, and find a sentiment 
 of disapprobation, which arises in you, towards this action. 
 Here is a matter of fact ; but ' tis the object of feeling, not , 
 r<A reason. It lies in yourself, not in the object. So that 
 [ when you pronounce any action or character to be vicious, 
 ■ you mean nothing, but that from the constitution of your 
 iJiature you have a feeling or sentiment of blame from the 
 .contemplation of it. Vice and virtue, therefore, may be 
 compar'd to sounds, colours, heat and cold, which, according 
 to modern philosophy, are not qualities in objects, but per- 
 ceptions in the mind : And this discovery in morals, like 
 that other in physics, is to be regarded as a considerable 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 115 
 
 advancement of the speculative sciences ; tho', like that 
 too, it has little or no influence on practice. Nothing can 
 be more real, or concern us more, than our own sentiments 
 of pleasure and uneasiness ; and if these be favourable to 
 virtue, and unfavourable to vice, no more can be requisite 
 to the regulation of our conduct and behaviour. 
 
 I cannot forbear adding to these reasonings an observa- 
 tion, which may, perhaps, be found of some importance. 
 In every system of morality, which I have hitherto met with, 
 I have always remark'd, that the author proceeds for some 
 time in the ordinary way of reasoning, and establishes the 
 being of a God, or makes observations concerning human 
 affairs ; when of a sudden I am surpriz'd to find, that 
 instead of the usual copulation of propositions, is, and is not, 
 I meet with no proposition that is not connected with an 
 ought, or an ought not. This change is imperceptible ; but 
 is, however, of the last consequence. For as this ought, or 
 ought not, expresses some new relation or affirmation, 'tis 
 necessary that it shou'd be observ'd and explain'd ; and at 
 the same time that a reason should be given, for what seems 
 altogether inconceivable, how this new relation can be a 
 deduction from others, which are entirely different from it. 
 But as authors do not commonly use this precaution, I shall 
 presume to recommend it to the readers ; and am persuaded, 
 that this small attention wou'd subvert all the vulgar systems 
 of morality, and let us see, that the distinction of vice and 
 virtue is not founded merely on the relations of objects, nor 
 is perceiv'd by reason. 
 
 SECTION II 
 
 Moral distinctions deriv'd from a moral sense. 
 
 Thus the course of the argument leads us to conclude, 
 that since vice and virtue are not discoverable merely by 
 reason, or the comparison of ideas, it must be by means of 
 
Il6 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 some impression or sentiment they occasion, that we are 
 able to mark the difference betwixt them. Our decisions 
 concerning moral rectitude and depravity are evidently 
 perceptions ; and as all perceptions are either impressions 
 or ideas, the exclusion of the one is a convincing argument 
 for the other. Morality, therefore, is more properly felt than 
 judg'd of ; tho' this feeling or sentiment is commonly so 
 soft and gentle, that we are apt to confound it with an idea, 
 according to our common custom of taking all things for the 
 same, which have any near resemblance to each other. 
 
 The next question is, Of what nature are these impres- 
 sions, and after what manner do they operate upon us ? 
 Here we cannot remain long in suspense, but must pro- 
 nounce the impression arising from virtue, to be agreeable, 
 and that proceeding from vice to be uneasy. Every mo- 
 ment's experience must convince us of this. There is no 
 spectacle so fair and beautiful as a noble and generous 
 action ; nor any which gives us more abhorrence than one 
 that is cruel and treacherous. No enjoyment equals the 
 satisfaction we receive from the company of those we love 
 and ■ esteem ; as the greatest of all punishments is to be 
 oblig'd to pass our lives with those we hate or contemn. A 
 very play or romance may afford us instances of this 
 pleasure, which virtue conveys to us ; and pain, which 
 arises from vice. 
 
 Now since the distinguishing impressions, by which moral 
 good or evil is known, are nothing but particular pains or 
 pleasures ; it follows, that in all enquiries concerning these 
 moral distinctions, it will be sufficient to shew the principles, 
 which make us feel a satisfaction or uneasiness from the sur- 
 vey of any character, in order to satisfy us why the character 
 isiaudable or blameable. An action, or sentiment, or char- 
 acter is virtuous or vicious ; why ? because its view causes 
 a pleasure or uneasiness of a particular kind. In giving a 
 reason, therefore, for the pleasure or uneasiness, we sum- 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 117 
 
 ciently explain the vice or virtue. To have the sense of 
 virtue, is nothing but to feel a satisfaction of a particular 
 kind from the contemplation of a character. The very 
 feeling constitutes our praise or admiration. We go no 
 farther ; nor do we enquire into the cause of the satisfac- 
 tion. We do not infer a character to be virtuous, because 
 it pleases : But in feeling that it pleases after such a par- 
 ticular manner, we in effect feel that it is virtuous. The 
 case is the same as in our judgments concerning all kinds 
 of beauty, and tastes, and sensations. Our approbation is 
 imply'd in the immediate pleasure they convey to us. 
 
 I have objected to the system, which establishes eternal 
 rational measures of right and wrong, that 'tis impossible 
 to shew, in the actions of reasonable creatures, any rela- 
 tions, which are not found in external objects ; and there- 
 fore, if morality always attended these relations, ' twere pos- 
 sible for inanimate matter to become virtuous or vicious. 
 Now it may, in like manner, be objected to the present 
 system, that if virtue and vice be determin'd by pleasure 
 and pain, these qualities, must, in every case, arise from the 
 sensations ; and consequently any object, whether animate 
 or inanimate, rational or irrational, might become morally 
 good or evil, provided it can excite a satisfaction or uneasi- 
 ness. But tho' this objection seems to be the very same, 
 it has by no means the same force, in the one case as 
 in the other. For, first, ' tis evident, that under the term 
 pleasure, we comprehend sensations, which are very different 
 from each other, and which have only such a distant resem- 
 blance, as is requisite to make them be express'd by the 
 same abstract term. A good composition of music and a 
 bottle of good wine equally produce pleasure ; and what is 
 more, their goodness is determin'd merely by the pleasure. 
 But shall we say upon that account, that the wine is har- 
 monious, or the music of a good flavour ? In like manner 
 an inanimate object, and the character or sentiments of any 
 
n8 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 person may, both of them, give satisfaction ; but as the satis- 
 faction is different, this keeps our sentiments concerning 
 them from being confounded, and makes us ascribe virtue 
 to the one, and not to the other. Nor is every sentiment of 
 pleasure or pain, which arises from characters and actions, 
 of that peculiar kind, which makes us praise or condemn. 
 The good qualities of an enemy are hurtful to us ; but may 
 still command our esteem and respect. ' Tis only when a 
 character is considered in general, without reference to our 
 particular interest, that it causes such a feeling or sentiment, 
 as denominates it morally good or evil. ' Tis true, those 
 sentiments, from interest and morals, are apt to be con- 
 founded, and naturally run into one another. It seldom 
 happens, that we do not think an enemy vicious, and can 
 distinguish betwixt his opposition to our interest and real 
 villainy or baseness. But this hinders not, but that the sen- 
 timents are, in themselves, distinct ; and a man of temper 
 and judgment may preserve himself from these illusions. 
 In like manner, tho ' ' tis certain a musical voice is nothing 
 but one that naturally gives a particular kind of pleasure ; 
 yet ' tis difficult for a man to be sensible, that the voice of an 
 enemy is agreeable, or to allow it to be musical. But a 
 person of a fine ear, who has the command of himself, can 
 separate these feelings, and give praise to what deserves it. 
 Secondly, We may call to remembrance the preceding 
 system of the passions, in order to remark a still more con- 
 siderable difference among our pains and pleasures. Pride 
 and humility, love and hatred are excited, when there is any 
 thing presented to us, that both bears a relation to the ob- 
 ject of the passion, and produces a separate sensation related 
 to the sensation of the passion. Now virtue and vice are 
 attended with these circumstances. They must necessarily 
 be plac'd either in ourselves or others, and excite either 
 pleasure or uneasiness ; and therefore must give rise to one 
 of these four passions ; which clearly distinguishes them 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 119 
 
 from the pleasure and pain arising from inanimate objects, 
 that often bear no relation to us : And this is, perhaps, the 
 most considerable effect that virtue and vice have upon the 
 human mind. 
 
 It may now be ask'd in general, concerning this pain or 
 pleasure, that distinguishes moral good and evil, From what 
 principles is it derived, and whence does it arise in the human 
 mind? To this I reply, first, that 'tis absurd to imagine, that 
 in every particular instance, these sentiments are produc'd 
 by an original quality and primary constitution. For as the 
 number of our duties is, in a manner, infinite, 'tis impossible 
 that our original instincts should extend to each of them, 
 and from our very first infancy impress on the human mind 
 all that multitude of precepts, which are contain'd in the 
 compleatest system of ethics. Such a method of proceeding 
 is not conformable to the usual maxims, by which nature is 
 conducted, where a few principles produce all that variety 
 we observe in the universe, and every thing is carry'd on in 
 the easiest and most simple manner. 'Tis necessary, there- 
 fore, to abridge these primary impulses, and find some more 
 general principles, upon which all our notions of morals are 
 founded. 
 
 But in the second place, should it be ask'd, Whether we 
 ought to search for these principles in nature, or whether 
 we must look for them in some other origin ? I wou'd 
 reply, that our answer to this question depends upon the 
 definition of the word, Nature, than which there is none more 
 ambiguous and equivocal. If nature be oppos'd to miracles, 
 not only the distinction betwixt vice and virtue is natural, 
 but also every event, which has ever happen'd in the world, 
 excepting those miracles, on which our religion is founded. In 
 saying, then, that the sentiments of vice and virtue are 
 natural in this sense, we make no very extraordinary discovery. 
 
 But nature may also be opposed to rare and unusual ; and 
 in this sense of the word, which is the common one, there 
 
120 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 may often arise disputes concerning what is natural or un- 
 natural ; and one may in general affirm, that we are not 
 possess'd of any very precise standard, by which these dis- 
 putes can be decided. Frequent and rare depend upon the 
 number of examples we have observ'd ; and as this number 
 may gradually encrease or diminish, 'twill be impossible to 
 fix any exact boundaries betwixt them. We may only affirm 
 on this head, that if ever there was any thing, which cou'd 
 be call'd natural in this sense, the sentiments of morality 
 certainly may ; since there never was any nation of the 
 world, nor any single person in any nation, who was 
 utterly depriv'd of them, and who never, in any instance, 
 shew'd the least approbation or dislike of manners. These 
 sentiments are so rooted in our constitution and tem- 
 per, that without entirely confounding the human mind 
 by disease or madness, 'tis impossible to extirpate and 
 destroy them. 
 
 But 7iature may also be opposed to artifice, as well as to 
 what is rare and unusual ; and in this sense it may be dis- 
 puted, whether the notions of virtue be natural or not. We 
 readily forget, that the designs, and projects, and views of 
 men are principles as necessary in their operation as heat 
 and cold, moist and dry : But taking them to be free and 
 entirely our own, 'tis usual for us to set them in opposition 
 to the other principles of nature. Shou'd it, therefore, be 
 demanded, whether the sense of virtue be natural or artificial, 
 I am of opinion, that 'tis impossible for me at present to give 
 any precise answer to this question. Perhaps it will appear 
 afterwards, that our sense of some virtues is artificial, and 
 that of others natural. The discussion of this question will 
 be more proper, when we enter upon an exact detail of each 
 particular vice and virtue. 1 
 
 1 In the following discourse natural is also opposed sometimes to 
 civil, sometimes to moral. The opposition will always discover the 
 sense, in which it is taken. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 121 
 
 Mean while it may not be amiss to observe from these 
 definitions of natural and unnatural, that nothing can be 
 more unphilosophical than those systems, which assert, that 
 virtue is the same with what is natural, and vice with what 
 is unnatural. For in the first sense of the word, Nature, 
 as opposed to miracles, both vice and virtue are equally 
 natural ; and in the second sense, as oppos'd to what is 
 unusual, perhaps virtue will be found to be the most un- 
 natural. At least it must be own'd, that heroic virtue, being 
 as unusual, is as little natural as the most brutal barbarity. 
 As to the third sense of the word, 'tis certain, that both vice 
 and virtue are equally artificial, and out of nature. For 
 however it may be disputed, whether the notion of a merit 
 or demerit in certain actions be natural or artificial, 'tis 
 evident, that the actions themselves are artificial, and are 
 perform'd with a certain design and intention ; otherwise 
 they cou'd never be rank'd under any of these denomina- 
 tions. 'Tis impossible, therefore, that the character of 
 natural and unnatural can ever, in any sense, mark the 
 boundaries of vice and virtue. 
 
 Thus we are still brought back to our first position, that 
 virtue is distinguished by the pleasure, and vice by the pain, 
 that any action, sentiment or character gives us by the mere 
 view and contemplation. This decision is very commodious; 
 because it reduces us to this simple question, Why any action 
 or sentiment upon the general view or survey, gives a certain 
 satisfaction or uneasiness, in order to shew the origin of its 
 moral rectitude or depravity, without looking for any incom- 
 prehensible relations and qualities, which never did exist in 
 nature, nor even in our imagination, by any clear and 
 distinct conception. I flatter myself I have executed a 
 great part of my present design by a state of the question, 
 which appears to me so free from ambiguity and obscurity. 
 
122 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 OF JUSTICE AND INJUSTICE. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 Justice, whether a natural or artificial virtue l 
 
 I have already hinted, that our sense of every kind of 
 virtue is not natural ; but that there are some virtues, that 
 produce pleasure and approbation by means of an artifice or 
 contrivance, which arises from the circumstances and neces- 
 sity of mankind. Of this kind I assert justice to be ; and 
 shall endeavor to defend this opinion by a short, and, I 
 hope, convincing argument, before I examine the nature of 
 the artifice, from which the sense of that virtue is derived. 
 
 ' Tis evident, that when we praise any actions, we regard 
 only the motives that produced them, and consider the 
 actions as signs or indications of certain principles in the 
 mind and temper. The external performance has no merit. 
 We must look within to find the moral quality. This we 
 cannot do directly ; and therefore fix our attention on 
 actions, as on external signs. But these actions are still 
 considered as signs ; and the ultimate object of our praise 
 and approbation is the motive, that produc'd them. 
 
 After the same manner, when we require any action, or 
 blame a person for not performing it, we always suppose, 
 that one in that situation shou'd be influenc'd by the 
 proper motive of that action, and we esteem it vicious in 
 him to be regardless of it. If we find, upon enquiry, that 
 the virtuous motive was still powerful over his breast, 
 tho' check'd in its operation by some circumstances un- 
 known to us, we retract our blame, and have the same 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 123 
 
 esteem for him, as if he had actually perform'd the action, 
 which we require of him. 
 
 It appears, therefore, that all virtuous actions derive their 
 merit only from virtuous motives, and are consider'd merely 
 as signs of those motives. From this principle I conclude, 
 that the first virtuous motive, which bestows a merit on any 
 action, can never be a regard to the virtue of that action, 
 but must be some other natural motive or principle. To 
 suppose, that the mere regard to the virtue of the action, 
 may be the first motive, which produced the action, and 
 render'd it virtuous, is to reason in a circle. Before we can 
 have such a regard, the action must be really virtuous ; and 
 this virtue must be deriv'd from some virtuous motive : 
 And consequently the virtuous motive must be different 
 from the regard to the virtue of the action. A virtuous 
 motive is requisite to render an action virtuous. An action 
 must be virtuous, before we can have a regard to its virtue. 
 Some virtuous motive, therefore, must be antecedent to that 
 regard. 
 
 Nor is this merely a metaphysical subtilty ; but enters 
 into all our reasonings in common life, tho' perhaps we may 
 not be able to place it in such distinct philosophical terms. 
 We blame a father for neglecting his child. Why? because 
 it shews a want of natural affection, which is the duty of 
 every parent. Were not natural affection a duty, the care 
 of children cou'd not be a duty ; and ' twere impossible we 
 cou'd have the duty in our eye in the attention we give to 
 our offspring. In this case, therefore, all men suppose a 
 motive to the action distinct from a sense of duty. 
 
 Here is a man, that does many benevolent actions ; re- 
 lieves the distress'd, comforts the afflicted, and extends his 
 bounty even to the greatest strangers. No character can be 
 more amiable and virtuous. We regard these actions as 
 proofs of the greatest humanity. This humanity bestows a 
 merit on the actions. A regard to this merit is, therefore, 
 
124 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 a secondary consideration, and deriv'd from the antecedent 
 principle of humanity, which is meritorious and laudable. 
 
 In short, it may be establish'd as an undoubted maxim, 
 that no action can be virtuous, or morally good, unless there 'be 
 in human nature some motive to produce it, distinct from the 
 sense of its morality. 
 
 But may not the sense of morality or duty produce an 
 action, without any other motive ? I answer, It may : But 
 this is no objection to the present doctrine. When any 
 virtuous motive or principle is common in human nature, a 
 person, who feels his heart devoid of that motive, may hate 
 himself upon that account, and may perform the action with- 
 out the motive, from a certain sense of duty, in order to 
 acquire by practice, that virtuous principle, or at least, to 
 disguise to himself, as much as possible, his want of it. A 
 man that really feels no gratitude in his temper, is still 
 pleas'd to perform grateful actions, and thinks he- has, by 
 that means, fulfill'd his duty. Actions are at first only 
 consider'd as signs of motives : But 'tis usual, in this case, 
 as in all others, to fix our attention on the signs, and neglect, 
 in some measure, the thing signify'd. But tho', on some 
 occasions, a person may perform an action merely out of 
 regard to its moral obligation, yet still this supposes in 
 human nature some distinct principles, which are capable of 
 producing the action, and whose moral beauty renders the 
 action meritorious. 
 
 Now to apply all this to the present case ; I suppose a 
 person to have lent me a sum of money, on condition that it 
 be restor'd in a few days ; and also suppose, that after the 
 expiration of the term agreed on, he demands the sum ; I 
 ask, What reason or motive have I to restore the money ? It 
 will, perhaps, be said, that my regard to justice, and abhor- 
 rence to villainy and knavery, are sufficient reasons for me, if 
 I have the least grain of honesty, or sense of duty or obli- 
 gation. And this answer, no doubt, is just and satisfactory 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 125 
 
 to man in his civiliz'd state, and when train'd up according 
 to a certain discipline and education. But in his rude and 
 more natural condition, if you are pleas'd to call such a 
 condition natural, this answer wou'd be rejected as perfectly 
 unintelligible and sophistical. For one in that situation 
 wou'd immediately ask you, Wherein consists this honesty and 
 justice, which you find in restoring a loan, and abstaining from 
 the property of others I It does not surely lie in the external 
 action. It must, therefore, be plac'd in the motive, from 
 which the external action is deriv'd. This motive can never 
 be a regard to the honesty of the action. For 'tis a plain 
 fallacy to say, that a virtuous motive is requisite to render an 
 action honest, and at the same time that a regard to the 
 honesty is the motive of the action. We can never have a 
 regard to the virtue of an action, unless the action be ante- 
 cedently virtuous. No action can be virtuous, but so far as 
 it proceeds from a virtuous motive. A virtuous motive, 
 therefore, must precede the regard to the virtue ; and 'tis 
 impossible, that the virtuous motive and the regard to the 
 virtue can be the same. 
 
 Tis requisite, then, to find some motive to acts of justice 
 and honesty, distinct from our regard to the honesty ; and 
 in this lies the great difficulty. For shou'd we say, that a 
 concern for our private interest or reputation is the legitimate 
 motive to all honest actions ; it wou'd follow, that wherever 
 that concern ceases, honesty can no longer have place. But 
 'tis certain, that self-love, when it acts at its liberty, instead 
 of engaging us to honest actions, is the source of all injustice 
 and violence ; nor can a man ever correct those vices, with- 
 out correcting and restraining the natural movements of 
 that appetite. 
 
 But shou'd it be affirm'd, that the reason or motive of 
 such actions is the regard to publick interest, to which noth- 
 ing is <nore contrary than examples of injustice and dis- 
 honesty ; shou'd this be said, I wou'd propose the three 
 
126 A TREATISE OE HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 following considerations, as worthy of our attention. First, 
 public interest is not naturally attach'd to the observation 
 of the rules of justice ; but is only connected with it, after 
 an artificial convention for the establishment of these rules, 
 as shall be shewn more at large hereafter. Secondly, if we 
 suppose, that the loan was secret, and that it is necessary 
 for the interest of the person, that the money be restor'd in 
 the same manner (as when the lender wou'd conceal his 
 riches) in that case the example ceases, and the public is no 
 longer interested in the actions of the borrower ; tho' I 
 suppose there is no moralist, who will affirm, that the duty 
 and obligation ceases. Thirdly, experience sufficiently 
 proves, that men, in the ordinary conduct of life, look not 
 so far as the public interest, when they pay their creditors, 
 perform their promises, and abstain from theft, and robbery, 
 and injustice of every kind. That is a motive too remote 
 and too sublime to affect the generality of mankind, and 
 operate with any force in actions so contrary to private 
 interest as are frequently those of justice and common 
 honesty. 
 
 In general, it may be affirm'd, that there is no such 
 passion in human minds, as the love of mankind, merely a-s 
 such, independent of personal qualities, of services, or of 
 relation to ourself. 'Tis true, there is no human, and indeed 
 no sensible, creature, whose happiness or misery does not, 
 in some measure, affect us, when brought near to us, and 
 represented in lively colours : But this proceeds merely from 
 sympathy, and is no proof of such an universal affection to 
 mankind, since this concern extends itself beyond our own 
 species. An affection betwixt the sexes is a passion evi- 
 dently implanted in human nature ; and this passion not 
 only appears in its peculiar symptoms, but also in inflaming 
 every other principle of affection, and raising a stronger love 
 from beauty, wit, kindness, than what wou'd otherwise flow 
 from them. Were there an universal love among all human 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 127 
 
 creatures, it wou'd appear after the same manner. Any 
 degree of a good quality wou'd cause a stronger affection 
 than the same degree of a bad quality wou'd cause hatred ; 
 contrary to what we find by experience. Men's tempers are 
 different, and some have a propensity to the tender, and 
 others to the rougher, affections : But in the main, we may 
 affirm, that man in general, or human nature, is nothing but 
 the object both of love and hatred, and requires some other 
 cause, which by a double relation of impressions and ideas, 
 may excite these passions. In vain wou'd we endeavour to 
 elude this hypothesis. There are no phenomena that point 
 out any such kind affection to men, independent of their 
 merit, and every other circumstance. We love company in 
 general ; but 'tis as we love any other amusement. An 
 Englishman in Italy is a friend . A European in China ,- 
 and perhaps a man wou'd be belov'd as such, were we to 
 meet him in the moon. But this proceeds only from the 
 relation to ourselves ; which in these cases gathers force by 
 being confined to a few persons. 
 
 If public bene^lence, therefore, or a regard to the inter- 
 ests of mankind, cannot be the original motive to justice, 
 much less can private benevolence, or a regard to the interests 
 of the party concern 'd, be this motive. For what if he be my 
 enemy, and has given me just cause to hate him ? What if 
 he be a vicious man, and deserves the hatred of all man- 
 kind ? What if he be a miser, and can make no use of 
 what I wou'd deprive him of ? What if he be a profligate 
 debauchee, and wou'd rather receive harm than benefit from 
 large possessions ? What if I be in necessity, and have 
 urgent motives to acquire something to my family ? In all 
 these cases, the original motive to justice wou'd fail ; and 
 consequently the justice itself, and along with it all property, 
 right, and obligation. 
 
 A rich man lies under a moral obligation to communicate 
 to those in necessity a share of his superfluities. Were 
 
128 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 private benevolence the original motive to justice, a man 
 wou'd not be oblig'd to leave others in the possession of 
 more than he is oblig'd to give them. At least the difference 
 wou'd be very inconsiderable. Men generally fix their 
 affections more on what they are possess'd of, than on what 
 they never enjoy'd : For this reason, it wou'd be greater 
 cruelty to dispossess a man of anything, than not to give it 
 him. But who will assert, that this is the only foundation 
 of justice ? 
 
 Besides, we must consider, that the chief reason, why men 
 attach themselves so much to their possessions is, that they 
 consider them as their property, and as secur'd to them 
 inviolably by the laws of society. But this is a secondary 
 consideration, and dependent on the preceding notions of 
 justice and property. 
 
 A man's property is suppos'd to be fenc'd against every 
 mortal, in every possible case. But private benevolence is, 
 and ought to be, weaker in some persons, than in others : 
 And in many, or indeed in most persons, must absolutely 
 fail. Private benevolence, therefore, is not the original 
 motive of justice. 
 
 From all this it follows, that we have no real or universal 
 motive for observing the laws of equity, but the very equity 
 and merit of that observance ; and as no action can be equit- 
 able or meritorious, where it cannot arise from some separate 
 motive, there is here an evident sophistry and reasoning in 
 a circle. Unless, therefore, we will allow, that nature has 
 establish'd a sophistry,and render'd it necessary and unavoid- 
 able, we must allow, that the sense of justice and injustice is 
 not deriv'd from nature, but arises artificially, tho' necessarily 
 from education, and human conventions. 
 
 I shall add, as a corollary to this reasoning, that since no 
 action can be laudable or blameable, without some motives 
 or impelling passions, distinct from the sense of morals, these 
 distinct passions must have a great influence on that sense. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 129 
 
 'Tis according to their general force in human nature, that 
 we blame or praise. In judging of the beauty of animal 
 bodies, we always carry in our eye the ceconomy of a certain 
 species ; and where the limbs and features observe that pro- 
 portion, which is common to the species, we pronounce them 
 handsome and beautiful. In like manner we always consider 
 the natural and usual force of the passions, when we deter- 
 mine concerning vice and virtue ; and if the passions depart 
 very much from the common measures on either side, they 
 are always disapprov'd as vicious. A man naturally loves his 
 children better than his nephews, his nephews better than his 
 cousins, his cousins better than strangers, where every thing 
 else is equal. Hence arise our common measures of duty, in 
 preferring the one to the other. Our sense of duty always 
 follows the common and natural course of our passions. 
 
 To avoid giving offence, I must here observe, that when 
 I deny justice to be a natural virtue, I make use of the word, 
 natural, only as oppos'd to artifical. In another sense of the 
 word ; as no principle of the human mind is more natural 
 than a sense of virtue ; so no virtue is more natural than 
 justice. Mankind is an inventive species ; and where an 
 invention is obvious and absolutely necessary, it may as 
 properly be said to be natural as anything that proceeds 
 immediately from original principles, without the intervention 
 of thought or reflection. 'Tho the rules of justice be artificial, 
 they are not arbitrary. Nor is the expression improper to 
 call them Laws of Nature ; if by natural we understand what 
 is common to any species, or even if we confine it to mean 
 what is inseparable from the species. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 Of the origin of justice and property. 
 
 We now proceed to examine two questions, viz. concerning 
 the manner, in which the rules oj justice are established by the 
 
140 A TREATISE 0E HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 This, no doubt, is to be regarded as an idle fiction ; but 
 yet deserves our attention, because nothing can more evi- 
 dently shew the origin of those virtues, which are the sub- 
 jects of our present enquiry. I have already observ'd, that 
 justice takes its rise from human conventions ; and that 
 these are intended as a remedy to some inconveniences, 
 which proceed from the concurrence of certain qualities of 
 the human mind with the situation of external objects. The 
 qualities of the mind are selfishness arfcl limited generosity : 
 And the situation of external objects is their easy change, 
 join'd to their scarcity in comparison of the wants and 
 desires of men. But however philosophers may have been 
 bewilder'd in those speculations, poets have been guided 
 more infallibly, by a certain taste or common instinct, which 
 in most kinds of reasoning goes farther than any of that art 
 and philosophy, with which we have been yet acquainted. 
 They easily perceiv'd, if every man had a tender regard for 
 another, or if nature supplied abundantly all our wants and 
 desires, that the jealousy of interest, which justice supposes, 
 could no longer have place ; nor would there be any 
 occasion for those distinctions and limits of property and 
 possession, which at present are in use among mankind. 
 Encrease to a sufficient degree the benevolence of men, or 
 the bounty of nature, and you render justice useless, by 
 supplying its place with much nobler virtues, and more 
 valuable blessings. The selfishness of men is animated by 
 the few possessions we have, in proportion to our wants ; 
 and 'tis to restrain this selfishness, that men have been 
 oblig'd to separate themselves from the community, and to 
 distinguish betwixt their own goods and those of others. 
 
 Nor need we have recourse to the fictions of poets to learn 
 this ; but beside the reason of the thing, may discover the 
 same truth by common experience and observation. 'Tis 
 easy to remark, that a cordial affection renders all things 
 common among friends ; and that married people in particu- 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 141 
 
 lar mutually lose their property, and are unacquainted with 
 the mine and thine, which ■ are so necessary, and yet cause 
 such disturbance in human society. The same effect arises 
 from any alteration in the circumstances of mankind ; as 
 when there is such a plenty of anything as satisfies all the 
 desires of men : In which case the distinction of property is 
 entirely lost, and every thing remains in common. This we 
 may observe with regard to air and water, tho' the most 
 valuable of all external objects ; and may easily conclude, 
 that if men were supplied with every thing in the same 
 abundance, or if every one had the same affection and tender 
 regard for every one as for himself ; justice and injustice 
 would be equally unknown among mankind. 
 
 Here then is a proposition, which, I think, may be re- 
 garded as certain, that 'tis only from the selfishness and con- 
 fin' d generosity of men, along with the scanty provision ?iature 
 has made for his wants, that jitstice derives its origin. If we 
 look backward we shall find, that this proposition bestows 
 an additional force on some of those observations, which we 
 have already made on this subject. 
 
 First, we may conclude from it, that a regard to public 
 interest, or a strong extensive benevolence, is not our first 
 and original motive for the observation of the rules of jus- 
 tice ; since 'tis allow'd, that if men were endow'd with such 
 a benevolence, these rules would never have been dreamt of. 
 
 Secondly, we may conclude from the same principle, that 
 the sense of justice is not founded on reason, or on the dis- 
 covery of certain connexions and relations of ideas, which 
 are eternal, immutable, and universally obligatory. For 
 since it is contest, that such an alteration as that above- 
 mention'd, in the temper and circumstances of mankind, 
 wou'd entirely alter our duties and obligations, 'tis necessary 
 upon the common system, that the sense of virtue is deriv'd 
 from reason, to shew the change which this must produce in 
 the relations and ideas. But 'tis evident, that the only 
 
142 A TREATISE OF HUM AX NATURE. 
 
 cause, why the extensive generosity of man, and the perfect 
 abundance of every thing, wou'd- destroy the very idea of 
 justice, is because they render it useless ; and that, on the 
 other hand, his confin'd benevolence, and his necessitous 
 condition, give rise to that virtue, only by making it requi- 
 site to the publick interest, and to that of every individual. 
 'Twas therefore a concern for our own, and the publick 
 interest, which made us establish the laws of justice ; and 
 nothing can be more certain, than that it is not any relation 
 of ideas, which gives us this concern, but our impressions 
 and sentiments, without which every thing in nature is per- 
 fectly indifferent to us, and can never in the least affect us. 
 The sense of justice, therefore, is not founded on our ideas, 
 but on our impressions. 
 
 Thirdly, we may farther confirm the foregoing proposition, 
 that those impressions, which give rise to this sense of justice, are 
 not natural to the mind of man, but arise from artifice and 
 human conventions. For since any considerable alteration of 
 temper and circumstances destroys equally justice and injus- 
 tice ; and since such an alteration has an effect only by 
 changing our own and the publick interest ; it follows, that 
 the first establishment of the rules of justice depends on 
 these different interests. But if men pursu'd the publick 
 interest naturally, and with a hearty affection, they wou'd 
 never have dream'd of restraining each other by these rules ; 
 and if they pursu'd their own interest, without any precau- 
 tion, they wou'd run head-long into every kind of injustice 
 and violence. These rules, therefore, are artificial, and seek 
 their end in an oblique and indirect manner; nor is the in- 
 terest, which gives rise to them, of a kind that cou'd be 
 pursu'd by the natural and inartificial passions of men. 
 
 To make this more evident, consider, that tho' the rules of 
 justice are establish'd merely by interest, their connexion 
 with interest- is somewhat singular, and is different from 
 what may be observ'd on other occasions. A single act of 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 143 
 
 justice is frequently contrary to public interest ; and were it 
 to stand alone, without being follow'd by other acts, may, 
 in itself, be very prejudicial to society. When a man of 
 merit, of a beneficent disposition, restores a great fortune 
 to a miser, or a seditious bigot, he has acted justly and laud- 
 ably, but the public is a real sufferer. Nor is every single 
 act of justice, consider'd apart, more conducive to private 
 interest, than to public ; and 'tis easily conceiv'd how a man 
 may impoverish himself by a signal instance of integrity, 
 and have reason to wish, that with regard to that single act, 
 the laws of justice were for a moment suspended in the 
 universe. But however single acts of justice may be con- 
 trary, either to public or private interest, 'tis certain, that 
 the whole plan or scheme is highly conducive, or indeed 
 absolutely requisite, both to the support of society, and the 
 well-being of every individual. 'Tis impossible to separate 
 the good from the ill. Property must be stable, and must be 
 fix'd by general rules. Tho' in one instance the public be a 
 sufferer, this momentary ill is amply compensated by the 
 steady prosecution of the rule, and by the peace and order, 
 which it establishes in society. And even every individual 
 person must find himself a gainer, on ballancing the account ; 
 since, without justice, society must immediately dissolve, and 
 every one must fall into that savage and solitary condition, 
 which is infinitely worse than the worse situation that can 
 possibly be suppos'd in society. When therefore men have 
 had experience enough to observe, that whatever may be the 
 consequence of any single act of justice, perform'd by a 
 single person, yet the whole system of actions, concurr'd in 
 by the whole society, is infinitely advantageous to the whole, 
 and to every part ; it is not long before justice and property 
 take place. Every member of society is sensible of this 
 interest : Every one expresses this sense to his fellows, 
 along with the resolution he has taken of squaring his actions 
 by it, on condition that others will do' the same. No more 
 
144 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 is requisite to induce any one of them to perform an act of 
 justice, who has the first opportunity. This becomes an 
 example to others. And thus justice establishes itself by a 
 kind of convention or agreement ; that is, by a sense of 
 interest, suppos'd to be common to all, and where every 
 single act is perform'd in expectation that others are to 
 perform the like. Without such a convention, no one wou'd 
 ever have dream'd, that there was such a virtue as justice, 
 or have been induced to conform his actions to it. Taking 
 any single act, my justice may be pernicious in every 
 respect ; and 'tis only upon the supposition, that others 
 are to imitate my example, that I can be induc'd to embrace 
 that virtue ; since nothing but this combination can render 
 justice advantageous, or afford me any motives to conform 
 myself to its rules. 
 
 We come now to the second question we propos'd, viz. 
 Why we annex the idea of virtue to justice, and of vice to 
 injustice. This question will not detain us long after the 
 principles, which we have already establish'd. All we can 
 say of it at present will be dispatch'd in a few words : And 
 for farther satisfaction, the reader must wait till we come to 
 the third part of this book. The natural obligation to 
 justice, viz. interest, has been fully explain'd ; but as to the 
 moral obligation, or the sentiment of right and wrong, 'twill 
 first be requisite to examine the natural virtues, before we 
 can give a full and satisfactory account of it. 
 
 After men have found by experience, that their selfishness 
 and confin'd generosity, acting at their liberty, totally inca- 
 pacitate them for society ; and at the same time have observ'd. 
 that society is necessary to the satisfaction of those very 
 passions, they are naturally induc'd to lay themselves under 
 the restraint of such rules, as may render their commerce 
 more safe and commodious. To the imposition then, and 
 observance of these rules, both in general, and in every par- 
 ticular instance, they are at first induc'd only by a regard to 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 145 
 
 interest ; and this motive, on the first formation of society, is 
 sufficiently strong and forcible. But when society has 
 become numerous, and has encreas'd to a tribe or nation, 
 this interest is more remote ; nor do men so readily perceive, 
 that disorder and confusion follow upon every breach of 
 these rules, as in a more narrow and contracted society. But 
 tho ' in our own actions we may frequently lose sight of that 
 interest, which we have in maintaining order, and may follow 
 a lesser and more present interest, we never fail to observe 
 the prejudice we receive, either mediately or immediately, 
 from the injustice of others ; as not being in that case either 
 blinded by passion, or byass'd by any contrary temptation. 
 Nay when the injustice is so distant from us, as no way to 
 affect our interest, it still displeases us ; because we consider 
 it as prejudicial to human society, and pernicious to every 
 one that approaches the person guilty of it. We partake of 
 their uneasiness by sympathy ; and as every thing, which 
 gives uneasiness in human actions, upon the general survey, 
 is call'd Vice, and whatever produces satisfaction, in the same 
 manner, is denominated Virtue ; this is the reason why the 
 sense of moral good and evil follows upon justice and in- 
 justice. And tho ' this sense, in the present case, be deriv'd 
 only from contemplating the actions of others, yet we fail 
 not to extend it even to our own actions. The general rule 
 reaches beyond those instances, from which it arose ; while 
 at the same time we naturally sympathize with others in the 
 sentiments they entertain of us. Thus self-interest is the 
 original motive to the establishment of justice : but a sympathy 
 with public interest is the source of the moral approbation, 
 which attends that virtue. 
 
 Tho ' this progress of the sentiments be natural, and even 
 necessary, 'tis certain, that it is here forwarded by the artifice 
 of politicians, who, in order to govern men more easily, and 
 preserve peace in human society, have endeavour'd to pro- 
 duce an esteem for justice, and an abhorrence of injustice. 
 
146 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 This, no doubt, must have its effect ; but nothing can be more 
 evident, than that the matter has been carry'd too far by 
 certain writers on morals, who seem to have employ'd their 
 utmost efforts to extirpate all sense of virtue from among 
 mankind. Any artifice of politicians may assist nature in the 
 producing of those sentiments, which she suggests to us, and 
 may even on some occasions, produce alone an approbation 
 or esteem for any particular action ; but ' tis impossible it 
 should be the sole cause of the distinction we make betwixt 
 vice and virtue. For if nature did not aid us in this particular, 
 'twou'd be in vain for politicians to talk of honourable or dis- 
 honourable, praiseworthy or blameable. These words wou'd be 
 perfectly unintelligible, and wou'd no more have any idea 
 annex'd to them, than if they were of a tongue perfectly un- 
 known to us. The utmost politicians can perform, is, to 
 extend the natural sentiments beyond their original bounds ; 
 but still nature must furnish the materials, and give us some 
 notion of moral distinctions. 
 
 As publick praise and blame encrease our esteem for 
 justice ; so private education and instruction contribute to 
 the same effect. For as parents easily observe, that a man is 
 the more useful, both to himself and others, the greater de- 
 gree of probity and honour he is endow'd with ; and that those 
 principles have greater force, when custom and education 
 assist interest and reflection : For these reasons they are in- 
 due'd to inculcate on their children, from their earliest in- 
 fancy, the principles of probity, and teach them to regard 
 the observance of those rules, by which society is maintain'd, 
 as worthy and honourable, and their violation as base and 
 infamous. By this means the sentiments of honour may 
 take root in their tender minds, and acquire such firmness 
 and solidity, that they may fall little short of those principles, 
 which are the most essential to our natures, and the most 
 deeply radicated in our internal constitution. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 1 47 
 
 What farther contributes to encrease their solidity, is the 
 interest of our reputation, after the opinion, that a merit or 
 demerit attends justice or injustice, is once firmly establish'd 
 among mankind. There is nothing, which touches us more 
 nearly than our reputation, and nothing on which our 
 reputation more depends than our conduct, with relation to 
 the property of others. For this reason, every one, who has 
 any regard to his character, or intends to live on good terms 
 with mankind, must fix an inviolable law to himself, never, by 
 any temptation, to be induc'd to violate those principles, 
 which are essential to a man of probity and honour. 
 
 I shall make only one observation before I leave this 
 subject, viz. that tho' I assert, that in the state of nature, or 
 that imaginary state, which preceded society, there be 
 neither justice nor injustice, yet I assert not, that it was 
 allowable, in such a state, to violate the property of others. 
 I only maintain, that there was no such thing as property ; 
 and consequently cou'd be no such thing as justice or 
 injustice. I shall have occasion to make a similar reflection 
 with regard to promises, when I come to treat of them ; and 
 I hope this reflection, when duly weigh'd, will suffice to 
 remove all odium from the foregoing opinions, with regard 
 to justice and injustice. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Of the rules, which determine property. 
 
 Tho' the establishment of the rule, concerning the stabil- 
 ity of possession, be not only useful, but even absolutely 
 necessary to human society, it can never serve to any 
 purpose, while it remains in such general terms. Some 
 method must be shewn, by which we may distinguish what 
 particular goods are to be assign'd to each particular person, 
 while the rest of mankind are excluded from their possession 
 and enjoyment. Our next business, then, must be to dis- 
 
148 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 cover the reasons which modify this general rule, and fit it 
 to the common use and practice of the world. 
 
 ' Tis obvious, that those reasons are not deriv'd from any- 
 utility or advantage, which either the particular person or 
 the public may reap from his enjoyment of any particular 
 goods, beyond what wou'd result from the possession of 
 them by any other person. ' Twere better, no doubt, that 
 every one were possess'd of what is most suitable to him, 
 and proper for his use : But besides, that this relation of 
 fitness may be common to several at once, ' tis liable to so 
 many controversies, and men are so partial and passionate 
 in judging of these controversies, that such a loose and 
 uncertain rule would be. absolutely incompatible with the 
 peace of human society. The convention concerning the 
 stability of possession is enter'd into, in order to cut off all 
 occasions of discord and contention ; and this end wou'd 
 never be attain'd, were we allowed to apply this rule differ- 
 ently in every particular case, according to every particular 
 utility, which might be discover'd in such an application. 
 Justice, in her decisions, never regards the fitness or unfit- 
 ness of objects to particular persons, but conducts herself 
 by more extensive views. Whether a man be generous, or a 
 miser, he is equally well receiv'd by her, and obtains with 
 the same facility a decision in his favour, even for what is 
 entirely useless to him. 
 
 It follows, therefore, that the general rule, that possession 
 must be stable, is not apply'd by particular judgments, but 
 by other general rules, which must extend to the whole 
 society, and be inflexible either by spite or favour. To 
 illustrate this, I propose the following instance. I first 
 consider men in their savage and solitary condition ; and 
 suppose, that being sensible of the misery of that state, and 
 foreseeing the advantages that wou'd result from society, 
 they seek each other's company, and make an offer of 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 149 
 
 mutual protection and assistance. I also suppose, that they 
 are endow'd with such sagacity as immediately to perceive, 
 that the chief impediment to this project of society and 
 partnership lies in the avidity and selfishness of their 
 natural temper ; to remedy which, they enter into a conven- 
 tion for the stability of possession, and for mutual restraint 
 and forbearance. I am sensible, that this method of pro- 
 ceeding is not altogether natural ; but besides that I here 
 only suppose those reflections to be form'd at once, which 
 in fact arise insensibly and by degrees ; besides this, I say, 
 'tis very possible, that several persons, being by different 
 accidents separated from the societies, to which they for- 
 merly belong' d, may be oblig'd to form a new society among 
 themselves ; in which case they are entirely in the situation 
 above-mentioned. 
 
 'Tis evident, then, that their first difficulty, in this situation, 
 after the general convention for the establishment of society, 
 and for the constancy of possession, is, how to separate their 
 possessions, and assign to each his particular portion, which 
 he must for the future inalterably enjoy. This difficulty will 
 not detain them long ; but it must immediately occur to 
 them, as the most natural expedient, that every one con- 
 tinue to enjoy what he is at present master of, and that 
 property or constant possession be conjoin'd to the immedi- 
 ate possession. Such is the effect of custom, that it not 
 only reconciles us to any thing we have long enjoy'd, but 
 even gives us an affection for it, and makes us prefer it to 
 other objects, which may be more valuable, but are less 
 known to us. What has long lain under our eye, and has 
 often been employ'd to our advantage, that we are always 
 the most unwilling to part with ; but can easily live without 
 possessions, which we never have enjoy'd, and are not 
 accustom'd to. 'Tis evident, therefore, that men would 
 easily acquiesce in this expedient, that every one contimce to 
 
150 A TREATISE OF BUM AN NATURE. 
 
 enjoy what he is at present possess' d of; and this is the reason, 
 why they wou'd so naturally agree in preferring it. 1 
 
 1 No questions in philosophy are more difficult, than when a number 
 of causes present themselves for the same phenomenon, to determine 
 which is the principal and predominant. There seldom is any very 
 precise argument to fix our choice, and men must be contented to be 
 guided by a kind of taste or fancy, arising from analogy, and a com- 
 parison of similar instances. Thus, in the present case, there are, no 
 doubt, motives of public interest for most of the rules, which determine 
 property ; but still I suspect, that these rules are principally fix'd by the 
 imagination, or the more frivolous properties of our thought and con- 
 ception. I shall continue to explain these causes, leaving it to the 
 reader's choice, whether he will prefer those deriv'd from publick utility, 
 or those deriv'd from the imagination. We shall begin with the right 
 of the present possessor. 
 
 'Tis a quality, which (a) I have already observ'd in human- nature, 
 that when two objects appear in a close relation to each other, the mind 
 is apt to ascribe to them any additional relation in order to compleat 
 the union ; and this inclination is so strong, as often to make us run 
 into errors (such as that of the conjunction of thought and matter) if we 
 find that they can serve to that purpose. Many of our impressions are 
 incapable of place or local position ; and yet those very impressions we 
 suppose to have a local conjuction with the impressions of sight and 
 touch, merely because they are conjoin'd by causation, and are already 
 united in the imagination. Since, therefore, we can feign a new relation, 
 and even an absurd one, in order to compleat any union, 'twill easily be 
 imagin'd that if there be any relations, which depend on the mind, 
 'twill readily conjoin them to any preceding relation, and unite by a 
 new bond such objects as have already an union in the fancy. Thus for 
 instance, we never fail, in our arrangement of bodies, to place those 
 which are resembling in contiguity to each other, or at least in cor- 
 respondent points of view ; because we feel a satisfaction in joining the 
 relation of contiguity to that of resemblance, or the resemblance of 
 situation to that of qualities. And this is easily accounted for from the 
 known properties of human nature. When the mind is determin'd to 
 join certain objects, but undetermin'd in its choice of the particular 
 objects, it naturally turns its eye to such as are related together. They 
 are already united in the mind : They present themselves at the same 
 time to the conception ; and instead of requiring any new reason for 
 their conjunction, it wou'd require a very powerful reason to make us 
 over-look this natural affinity. This we shall have occasion to explain 
 more fully afterwards, when we come to treat of beatify. In the mean 
 time, we may content ourselves with observing, that the same love of 
 order and uniformity, which arranges the books in a library, and the 
 chairs in a parlour, contribute to the formation of society, and to the 
 
 (a) Book I. Part IV. sect. 5. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 151 
 
 But we may observe, that tho' the rule of the assignment 
 of property to the present possessor be natural, and by that 
 means useful, yet its utility extends not beyond the first for- 
 mation of society ; nor wou'd any thing be more pernicious, 
 than the constant observance of it ; by which restitution 
 wou'd be excluded, and every injustice wou'd be authoriz'd 
 and rewarded. We must, therefore, seek for some other 
 circumstance, that may give rise to property after society 
 is once established ; and of this kind, I find four most con- 
 siderable, viz. Occupation, Prescription, Accession, and 
 Succession. We shall briefly examine each of these, begin- 
 ning with Occupation. 
 
 The possession of all external goods is changeable and 
 uncertain ; which is one of the most considerable impedi- 
 ments to the establishment of society, and is the reason why, 
 by universal agreement, express or tacite, men restrain them- 
 selves by what we now call the rules of justice and equity. 
 The misery of the condition, which precedes this restraint, 
 is the cause why we submit to that remedy as quickly as 
 possible ; and this affords us any easy reason, why we annex 
 the idea of property to the first possession, or to occupation. 
 Men are unwilling to leave property in suspence, even for 
 the shortest time, or open the least door to violence and 
 disorder. To which we may add, that the first possession 
 always engages the attention most ; and did we neglect it, 
 there wou'd be no colour of reason for assigning property 
 to any succeeding possession. 1 
 
 well-being of mankind, by modifying the general rule concerning the 
 stability of possession. And as property forms a relation betwixt a 
 person and an object, 'tis natural to found it on some preceding relation ; 
 and as property is nothing but a constant possession, secur'd by the laws 
 of society, 'tis natural to add it to the present possession, which is a 
 relation that resembles it. For this also has its influence. If it be 
 natural to conjoin all sorts of relations, 'tis more so to conjoin such 
 relations as are resembling, and are related together. 
 
 1 Some philosophers account for the right of occupation, by saying, 
 that every one has a property in his own labour; and when he joins that 
 
152 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 There remains nothing, but to determine exactly, what is 
 meant by possession ; and this is not so easy as may at first 
 sight be imagin'd. We are said to be in possession of any 
 thing, not only when we immediately touch it, but also when 
 we are so situated with respect to it, as to have it in our 
 power to use it ; and may move, alter, or destroy it, accord- 
 ing to our present pleasure or advantage. This relation, 
 then, is a species of cause and effect ; and as property is 
 nothing but a stable possession, deriv'd from the rules of 
 justice, or the conventions of men, 'tis to be consider'd as 
 the same species of relation. But here we may observe, 
 that as the power of using any object becomes more or less 
 certain, according as the interruptions we may meet with are 
 more or less probable ; and as this probability may increase 
 by insensible degrees ; 'tis in many cases impossible to de- 
 termine when possession begins or ends ; nor is there any 
 certain standard, by which we can decide such controversies. 
 A wild boar, that falls into our snares, is deem'd to be in our 
 possession, if it be impossible for him to escape. But what 
 do we mean by impossible ? How do we separate this im- 
 possibility from an improbability ? And how distinguish 
 that exactly from a probability ? Mark the precise limits of 
 the one and the other, and show the standard, by which we 
 may decide all disputes that may arise, and, as we find by 
 experience, frequently do arise upon this subject. 1 
 
 labour to any thing, it gives him the property of the whole: But, 1. 
 There are several kinds of occupation, where we cannot be said to join 
 our labour to the object we acquire: As when we possess a meadow by 
 grazing our cattle upon it. 2. This accounts for the matter by means 
 of accession ; which is taking a needless circuit. 3. 'YYe cannot be said 
 to join our labour to any thing but in a figurative sense. Properly 
 speaking, we only make an alteration on it by our labour. This forms 
 a relation betwixt us and the object; and thence arises the property, 
 according to the preceding principles. 
 
 1 If we seek a solution of these difficulties in reason and public 
 interest, we never shall find satisfaction; and if we look for it in the 
 imagination, 'tis evident, that the qualities, which operate upon that 
 faculty, run so insensibly and gradually into each other, that 'tis impos- 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. I S3 
 
 But such disputes may not only arise concerning the real 
 existence of property and possession, but also concerning 
 their extent ; and these disputes are often susceptible of no 
 decision, or can be decided by no other faculty than the 
 imagination. A person who lands on the shore of a small 
 island, that is desart and uncultivated, is deem'd its pos- 
 sessor from the very first moment, and acquires the property 
 of the whole ; because the object is there bounded and 
 circumscrib'd in the fancy, and at the same time is pro- 
 portioned to the new possessor. The same person landing 
 on a desart island, as large as Great Britain, extends his 
 property no farther than his immediate possession ; tho' a 
 
 sible to give them any precise bounds or termination. The difficulties 
 on this head must encrease, when we consider, that our judgment alters 
 very sensibly, according to the subject, and that the same power and 
 proximity will be deem'd possession in one case, which is not esteem'd 
 such in another. A person, who has hunted a hare to the last degree 
 of weariness, wou'd look upon it as an injustice for another to rush in 
 before him, and seize his prey. But the same person, advancing to 
 pluck an apple, that hangs within his reach, has no reason to complain, 
 if another, more alert, passes him, and takes possession. What is the 
 reason of this difference, but that immobility, not being natural to the 
 hare, but the effect of industry, forms in that case a strong relation with 
 the hunter, which is wanting in the other ? 
 
 Here then it appears, that a certain and infallible power of enjoyment, 
 without touch or some other sensible relation, often produces not 
 property: And I farther observe, that a sensible relation, without any 
 present power, is sometimes sufficient to give a title to any object. The 
 sight of a thing is seldom a considerable relation, and is only regarded 
 as such, when the object is hidden, or very obscure; in which case we 
 find, that the view alone conveys a property; according to that maxim, 
 that even a whole contijicnt belongs to the nation, which first discovered it. 
 'Tis however remarkable, that both in the case of discovery and that of 
 possession, the first discoverer and possessor must join to the relation 
 an intention of rendering himself proprietor, otherwise the relation will 
 not have its effect; and that because the connexion in our fancy betwixt 
 the property and the relation is not so great, but that it requires to be 
 help'd by such an intention. 
 
 From all these circumstances, 'tis easy to see how perplex'd many 
 questions may become concerning the acquisition of property by occupa- 
 tion; and the least effort of thought may present us with instances, 
 which are not susceptible of any reasonable decision. If we prefer 
 examples, which are real, to such as are feign'd, we may consider the 
 
154 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 numerous colony are esteem'd the proprietors of the whole 
 from the instant of their debarkment. 
 
 But it often happens, that the title of the first possession 
 becomes obscure thro' time ; and that 'tis impossible to 
 determine many controversies, which may arise concerning 
 it. In that case long possession or prescription naturally 
 takes place, and gives a person a sufficient property in any 
 thing he enjoys. The nature of human society admits not 
 of any great accuracy ; nor can we always remount to the 
 first origin of things, in order to determine their present 
 condition. Any considerable space of time sets objects at 
 such a distance, that they seem, in a manner, to lose their 
 
 following one, which is to be met with in almost every writer, that has 
 treated of the laws of nature. Two Grecian colonies, leaving their 
 native country, in search of new seats, were inform'd that a city near 
 them was deserted by its inhabitants. To know the truth of this report, 
 they dispatch'd at once two messengers, one from each colony; who 
 finding on their approach, that their information was true, begun a race 
 together with an intention to take possession of the city, each of them 
 for his countrymen. One of these messengers, finding that he was not 
 an equal match for the other, launch'd his spear at the gates of the city, 
 and was so fortunate as to fix it there, before the arrival of his com- 
 panion. This produc'd a dispute betwixt the two colonies, which of 
 them was the proprietor of the empty city; and this dispute still subsists 
 among philosophers. For my part I find the dispute impossible to be 
 decided, and that because the whole question hangs upon the fancy, 
 which in this case is not possess'd of any precise or determinate stand- 
 ard, upon which it can give sentence. To make this evident, let us 
 consider, that if these two persons had been simply members of the 
 colonies, and not messengers or deputies, their actions wou'd not have 
 been of any consequence; since in that case their relation to the colonies 
 wou'd have been but feeble and imperfect. Add to this, that nothing 
 determin'd them to run to the gates rather than the walls, or any other 
 part of the city, but that the gates, being the most obvious and remark- 
 able part, satisfy the fancy best in taking them for the whole ; as we find 
 by the poets, who frequently draw their images and metaphors from 
 them. Besides we may consider, that the touch or contact of the one 
 messenger is not properly possession, no more than the piercing the 
 gates with a spear; but only forms a relation ; and there is a relation, 
 in the other case, equally obvious, tho' not, perhaps, of equal force. 
 Which of these relations, then, conveys a right and property, or whether 
 any of them be sufficient for that effect, I leave to the decision of such 
 as are wiser than myself. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 155 
 
 reality, and have as little influence on the mind, as if they 
 never had been in being. A man's title, that is clear and 
 certain at present, will seem obscure and doubtful fifty years 
 hence, even tho' the facts, on which it is founded, shou'd be 
 prov'd with the greatest evidence and certainty. The same 
 facts have not the same influence after so long an interval 
 of time. And this may be received as a convincing argu- 
 ment for our preceding doctrine with regard to property and 
 justice. Possession during a long tract of time conveys a 
 title to any object. But as 'tis certain, that, however every 
 thing be produc'd in time, there is nothing real, that is pro- 
 duc'd by time ; it follows, that property being produc'd by 
 time, is not any thing real in the objects, but is the offspring 
 of the sentiments, on which alone time is found to have any 
 influence. 1 
 
 We acquire the property of objects by accession, when they 
 are connected in an intimate manner with objects that are 
 already our property, and at the same time are inferior to 
 them. Thus the fruits of our garden, the offspring of our 
 cattle, and the work of our slaves, are all of them esteem'd 
 our property, even before possession. Where objects are 
 connected together in the imagination, they are apt to be put 
 on the same footing, and are commonly suppos'd to be en- 
 dow'd with the same qualities. We readily pass from one to 
 the other, and make no difference in our judgments concern- 
 ing them ; especially if the latter be inferior to the former. 2 
 
 1 Present possession is plainly a relation betwixt a person and an 
 object ; but is not sufficient to counter-ballance the relation of first 
 possession, unless the former be long and uninterrupted : In which case 
 the relation is encreas'd on the side of the present possession, by the 
 extent of time, and diminish'd on that of first possession, by the 
 distance. This change in the relation produces a consequent change in 
 the property. 
 
 2 This source of property can never be explain'd but from the ima- 
 ginations ; and one may affirm, that the causes are here unmix'd. We 
 shall proceed to explain them more particularly, and illustrate them by 
 examples from common life and experience. 
 
 It has been observ'd above, that the mind has a natural propensity to 
 join relations, especially resembling ones, and finds a kind of fitness and 
 
156 A TREATISE OF HUMAN MATURE. 
 
 The right of succession is a very natural one, from the pre- 
 sum'd consent of the parent or near relation, and from the 
 general interest of mankind, which requires, that men's 
 
 uniformity in such an union. From this propensity are deriv'd these 
 laws of nature, that upon the first formation of society, property always 
 follows the present possession ; and afterwards, that it arises from first 
 or from long possession. Now we may easily observe, that relation is 
 not confin'd merely to one degree ; but that from an object, that is 
 related to us, we acquire a relation to every other object which is related 
 to it, and so on, till the thought loses the chain by too long a progress. 
 However the relation may weaken by each remove, 'tis not immediately 
 destroy'd ; but frequently connects two objects by means of an inter- 
 mediate one, which is related to both. And this principle is of such 
 force as to give rise to the right of accession, and causes us to acquire 
 the property not only of such objects as we are immediately possess'd 
 of, but also of such as are closely connected with them. 
 
 Suppose a German, a Frenchman, and a Spaniard to come into a 
 room, where there are plac'd upon the table three bottles of wine, 
 Rhenish, Burgundy and Port ; and suppose they shou'd fall a quarrel- 
 ling about the division of them ; a person who was chosen for umpire, 
 wou'd naturally, to shew his impartiality, give every one the product of 
 his own country : And this from a principle, which in some measure, is 
 the source of those laws of nature, that ascribe property to occupation, 
 prescription and accession. 
 
 In all these cases and particularly that of accession, there is first a 
 natural union betwixt the idea of the person and that of the object, and 
 afterwards a new and moral union produc'd by the right or property, 
 which we ascribe to the person. But here there occurs a difficulty, 
 which merits our attention, and may afford us an opportunity of putting 
 to tryal that singular method of reasoning, which has been employ'd on 
 the present subject. I have already observ'd, that the imagination 
 passes with greater facility from little to great, than from great to little, 
 and that the transition of ideas is always easier and smoother in the 
 former case than in the latter. Now as the right of accession arises 
 from the easy transition of ideas, by which related objects are connected 
 together, it shou'd naturally be imagin'd, that the right of accession 
 must encrease in strength, in proportion as the transition of ideas is per- 
 form'd with greater facility. It may, therefore, be thought, that when 
 we have acquir'd the property of any small object, we shall readily 
 consider any great object related to it as an accession, and as belonging 
 to the proprietor of the small one ; hence the transition is in that case 
 very easy from the small object to the great one, and shou'd connect 
 them together in the closest manner. But in fact the case is always 
 found to be otherwise. The empire of Great Britain seems to draw 
 along with it the dominion of the Orkneys, the Hebrides, the isle of Man, 
 and the isle of Wight ; but the authority over those lesser islands does 
 not naturally imply any title to Great Britain. In short, a small object 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 157 
 
 possessions shou'd pass to those, who are dearest to them, 
 in order to render them more industrious and frugal. Per- 
 haps these causes are seconded by the influence of relation, 
 
 naturally follows a great one as its accession ; but a great one is never 
 suppos'd to belong to the proprietor of a small one related to it, merely 
 on account of that property and relation. Yet in this latter case the 
 transition of ideas is smoother from the proprietor to the small object, 
 which is his property, and from the small object to the great one, than 
 in the former case from the proprietor to the great object, and from the 
 great one to the small. It may therefore be thought, that these phe- 
 nomena are objections to the foregoing hypothesis, that the ascribing of 
 property to accession is nothing but an effect of the relations of ideas, 
 and of the sniooth transition of the imagination. 
 
 'Twill be easy to solve this objection, if we consider the agility and 
 unsteadiness of the imagination, wich the different views, in which it is 
 continually placing its objects. When we attribute to a person a 
 property in two objects, we do not always pass from the person to one 
 object, and from that to the other related to it. The objects being here 
 to be consider'd as the property of the person, we are apt to join them 
 together, and place them in the same light. Suppose, therefore, a great 
 and a small object to be related together; if a person be strongly related 
 to the great object, he will likewise be strongly related to both the 
 objects, consider'd together, because he is related to the most consider- 
 able part. On the contrary, if he be only related to the small object, 
 he will not be strongly related to both, consider'd together, since his 
 relation lies only with the most trivial part, which is not apt to strike 
 us in any great degree, when we consider the whole. And this is the 
 reason, why small objects become accessions to great ones, and not 
 great to small. 
 
 'Tis the general opinion of philosophers and civilians, that the sea is 
 incapable of becoming the property of any nation; and that because 'tis 
 impossible to take possession of. it, or form any such distinct relation 
 with it, as may be the foundation of property. Where this reason 
 ceases, property immediately takes place. Thus the most strenuous 
 advocates for the liberty of the seas universally allow, that friths and 
 bays naturally belong as an accession to the proprietors of the sur- 
 rounding continent. These have properly no more bond or union with 
 the land, than the pacific ocean wou'd have; but having an union in the 
 fancy, and being at the same time inferior, they are of course regarded 
 as an accession. 
 
 The property of rivers, by the laws of most nations, and by the 
 natural turn of our thought, is attributed to the proprietors of their 
 banks, excepting such vast rivers as the Rhine or the Damibe, which 
 seem too large to the imagination to follow as an accession the property 
 of the neighboring fields. Yet even these rivers are consider'd as the 
 property of that nation, thro' whose dominions they run; the idea of a 
 
158 A TREATISE OF IIUMAA' NATURE. 
 
 or the association of ideas, by which we are naturally 
 directed to consider the son after the parent's decease, and 
 ascribe to him a title to his father's possessions. Those 
 
 nation being of a suitable bulk to correspond with them, and bear them 
 such a relation in the fancy. 
 
 The accessions, which are made to lands bordering upon rivers, 
 follow the land, say the civilians, provided it be made by what they call 
 alluvion, that is, insensibly and imperceptibly; which are circumstances 
 that mightily assist the imagination in the conjunction. Where there is 
 any considerable portion torn at once from one bank, and join'd to 
 another, it becomes not his property, whose land it falls on, till it unite 
 with the land, and till the trees or plants have spread their roots into 
 both. Before that, the imagination does not sufficiently join them. 
 
 There are other cases, which somewhat resemble this of accession, 
 but which, at the bottom, are considerably different, and merit our 
 attention. Of this kind is the conjunction of the properties of different 
 persons, after such a manner as not to admit of separation. The 
 question is, to whom the united mass must belong. 
 
 Where this conjunction is of such a nature as to admit of division, 
 but not of separation, the decision is natural and easy. The whole mass 
 must be suppos'd to be common betwixt the proprietors of the several 
 parts, and afterwards must be divided according to the proportions of 
 these parts. But hear I cannot forbear taking notice of a remarkable 
 subtility of the Roman law, in distinguishing betwixt eonfusion and 
 com mixtion. Confusion is an union of two bodies, such as different 
 liquors, where the parts become entirely undistinguishable. Commixtion 
 is the blending of two bodies, such as two bushels of corn, where the 
 parts remain separate in an obvious and visible manner. As in the 
 latter case the imagination discovers not so entire an union as in the 
 former, but is able to trace and preserve a distinct idea of the property 
 of each; this is the reason, why the eivil law, tho' it established an entire 
 community in the case of confusion, and after that a proportional 
 division, yet in the case of commixtion, supposes each of the proprietors 
 to maintain a distinct right; however necessity may at last force them 
 to submit to the same division. 
 
 Quod si f rumen turn Titii frumento tuo mistuvi fuerit: siquidem ex 
 voluntate vestra, commune est: quia singula corpora, id est, singula 
 grana, ijiur cujusque propria fiierunt, ex consensu vestro eommunicata 
 sunt. Quod si casu id mistum fuerit, vel Titius id miscuerit sine tua 
 voluntate, no)i videtur id commune esse : quia singula corpora in sua 
 substantia duraiit. Sed nee magis istis casibus commune sit frumentum 
 quam grex iutelligitur esse communis, si pecora Titii tuis pecoribus mista 
 fuerint. Sed si ab alterutro vestrthn totnm id frumentum retineatur, in 
 rem quidem actio pro modo frumeuti cujusque competit. Arbitrio aufem 
 judicis, ut ipse cestimet quale cujusque frumentum fuerit. Inst. Lib. II. 
 Tit. 1. § 28. 
 
 Where the properties of two persons are united after such a manner 
 as neither to admit of division nor separation, as when one builds a 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 159 
 
 goods must become the property of some body • But of 
 whom is the question. Here 'tis evident the person's 
 children naturally present themselves to the mind ; and 
 
 house on another's ground, in that case, the whole must belong to one 
 of the proprietors: And here I assert, that it naturally is conceiv'd to 
 belong to the proprietor of the most considerable part. For however 
 the compound object may have a relation to two different persons, and 
 carry our view at once to both of them, yet as the most considerable 
 part principally engages our attention, and by the strict union draws the 
 inferior along it; for this reason, the whole bears a relation to the pro- 
 prietor of that part, and is regarded as his property. The only difficulty 
 is, what we shall be pleas'd to call the most considerable part, and most 
 attractive to the imagination. 
 
 This quality depends on several different circumstances, which have 
 little connexion with each other. One part of a compound object may 
 become more considerable than another, either because it is more con- 
 stant and durable; because it is of greater value; because it is more 
 obvious and remarkable; because it is of greater extent; or because its 
 existence is more separate and independent. 'Twill be easy to conceive, 
 that, as these circumstances may be conjoin'd and oppos'd in all the 
 different ways, and according to all the different degrees, which can be 
 imagin'd, there will result many cases, where the reasons on both sides 
 are so equally balanc'd, that 'tis impossible for us to give any satis- 
 factory decision. Here then is the proper business of municipal laws, 
 to fix what the principles of human nature have left undetermin'd. 
 
 The superficies yields to the soil, says the civil law : The writing to 
 the paper : The canvas to the picture. These decisions do not well 
 agree together, and are a proof of the contrariety of those principles, 
 from which they are deriv'd. 
 
 But of all the questions of this kind the most curious is that, which 
 for so many ages divided the disciples of Proculus and Sabinus. Sup- 
 pose a person shou'd make a cup from the metal of another, or a ship 
 from his wood, and suppose the proprietor of the metal or wood shou'd 
 demand his goods, the question is, whether he acquires a title to the 
 cup or ship. Sabinus maintain'd the affirmative, and asserted that the 
 substance or matter is the foundation of all the qualities ; that it is in- 
 corruptible and immortal, and therefore superior to the form, which is 
 casual and dependent. On the other hand, Proculus observ'd, that the 
 form is the most obvious and remarkable part, and that from it bodies 
 are denominated of this or that particular species. To which he might 
 have added, that the matter or substance is in most bodies so fluctuat- 
 ing and uncertain, that 'tis utterly impossible to trace it in all its 
 changes. For my part, I know not from what principles such a contro- 
 versy can be certainly determin'd. I shall therefore content my self 
 with observing, that the decision of Trebonian seems to me pretty 
 ingenious; that the cup belongs to the proprietor of the metal, because 
 it can be brought back to its first form: But that the ship belongs to 
 
160 A TREATISE OE HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 being already connected to those possessions by means of 
 their deceas'd parent, we are apt to connect them still 
 farther by the relation of property. Of this there are many 
 parallel instances. 1 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 Of the transference of property by consent. 
 
 However useful, or even necessary, the stability of pos- 
 session may be to human society, 'tis attended with very 
 considerable inconveniences. The relation of fitness or 
 suitableness ought never to enter into consideration, in dis- 
 tributing the properties of mankind ; but we must govern 
 ourselves by rules, which are more general in their applica- 
 tion, and more free from doubt and uncertainty. Of this kind 
 is present possession upon the first establishment of society ; 
 and afterwards occupation, prescription, accession, and succession. 
 As these depend very much on chance, they must frequently 
 
 the author of its form for a contrary reason. But however ingenious 
 this reason may seem, it plainly depends upon the fancy, which by the 
 possibility of such a reduction, finds a closer connexion and relation 
 betwixt a cup and the proprietor of its metal, than betwixt a ship and 
 the proprietor of its wood, where the substance is more fix'd and 
 unalterable. 
 
 1 In examining the different titles to authority in government, we 
 shall meet with many reasons to convince us, that the right of succes- 
 sion depends, in a great measure, on the imagination. Mean while I 
 shall rest contented with observing one example, which belongs to the 
 present subject. Suppose that a person die without children, and that 
 a dispute arises among his relations concerning his inheritance ; 'tis 
 evident, that if his riches be deriv'd partly from his father, partly from 
 his mother, the most natural way of determining such a dispute, is, to 
 divide his possessions, and assign each part to the family, from whence 
 it is deriv'd. Now as the person is suppos'd to have been once the full 
 and entire proprietor of those goods ; I ask, what is it makes us find a 
 certain equity and natural reason in this partition, except it be the im- 
 agination ? His affection to these families does not depend upon his 
 possessions ; for which reason his consent can never be presum'd 
 precisely for such a partition. And as to the public interest, it 
 seems not to be in the least concern'd on the one side or the other. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 161 
 
 prove contradictory both to men's wants and desires ; and 
 persons and possessions must often be very ill adjusted. 
 This is a grand inconvenience, which calls for a remedy. 
 To apply one directly, and allow every man to seize by 
 violence what he judges to be fit for him, wou'd destroy 
 society ; and therefore the rules of justice seek some medium 
 betwixt a rigid stability, and this changeable and uncertain 
 adjustment. But there is no medium better than that obvious 
 one, that possession and property shou'd always be stable, 
 except when the proprietor consents to bestow them on some 
 other person. This rule can have no ill consequence, in 
 occasioning wars and dissentions ; since the proprietor's 
 consent, who alone is concern'd, is taken along in the 
 alienation : And it may serve to many good purposes in 
 adjusting property to persons. Different parts of the earth 
 produce different commodities ; and not only so, but different 
 men both are by nature fitted for different employments, and 
 attain to greater perfection in any one, when they confine 
 themselves to it alone. All this requires a mutual exchange 
 and commerce ; for which reason the translation of property 
 by consent is founded on a law of nature, as well as its 
 stability without such a consent. 
 
 So far is determin'd by a plain utility and interest. But 
 perhaps 'tis from more trivial reasons, that delivery, or a 
 sensible tranference of the object is commonly requir'd by 
 civil laws, and also by the laws of nature, according to most 
 authors, as a requisite circumstance in the translation of 
 property. The property of an object, when taken for some- 
 thing real, without any reference to morality, or the senti- 
 ments of the mind, is a quality perfectly insensible, and even 
 inconceivable ; nor can we form any distinct notion, either of 
 its stability or translation. This imperfection of our ideas 
 is less sensibly felt with regard to its stability, as it engages 
 less our attention, and is -easily past over by the mind, with- 
 out any scrupulous examination. But as the translation of 
 
1 62 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 property from one person to another is a more remarkable 
 event, the defect of our ideas becomes more sensible on that 
 occasion, and obliges us to turn ourselves on every side in 
 search of some remedy. Now as nothing more enlivens any 
 idea than a present impression, arid a relation betwixt that 
 impression and the idea ; 'tis natural for us to seek some 
 false light from this quarter. In order to aid the imagina- 
 tion in conceiving the transference of property, we take the 
 sensible object, and actually transfer its possession to the 
 person, on whom we wou'd bestow the property. The sup- 
 pos'd resemblance of the actions, and the presence of this 
 sensible delivery, deceive the mind, and make it fancy, that 
 it conceives the mysterious transition of the property. And 
 ' that this explication of the matter is just, appears hence, that 
 men have invented a symbolical delivery, to satisfy the fancy, 
 where the real one is impracticable. Thus the giving the 
 keys of a granary is understood to be the delivery of the corn 
 contain'd in it : The giving of stone and earth represents the 
 delivery of a mannor. This is a kind of superstitious prac- 
 tice in civil laws, and in the laws of nature, resembling the 
 Roman catholic superstitions- in religion. As the Roman 
 calholics represent the inconceivable mysteries of the Chris- 
 tian religion, and render them more present to the mind, by 
 a taper, or habit, or grimace, which is suppos'd to resemble 
 them ; so lawyers and moralists have run into like inventions 
 for the same reason, and have endeavour'd by those means 
 to satisfy themselves concerning the transference of property 
 by consent. 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 Of the obligation of promises. 
 
 That the rule of morality, which enjoins the performance 
 of promises, is not natural, will sufficiently appear from 
 these two propositions, which I proceed to prove, viz. that 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 163 
 
 a promise wou'd not be intelligible, before human conventions 
 had establish' d it ; and that even if it were intelligible, it ivou'd 
 not be attended with any moral obligation. 
 
 I say, first, that a promise is not intelligible naturally, nor 
 antecedent to human conventions ; and that a man, unac- 
 quainted with society, could never enter into any engage- 
 ments with another, even tho' they could perceive each 
 other's thoughts by intuition. If promises be natural and 
 intelligible, there must be some act of the mind attending 
 these words, T promise ; and on this act of the mind must 
 the obligation depend. Let us, therefore, run over all the 
 faculties of the soul, and see which of them is exerted in 
 our promises. 
 
 The act of the mind, exprest by a promise, is not a resolu- 
 tion to perform any thing ■ For that alone never imposes any 
 obligation. Nor is it a desire of such a performance : For 
 we may bind ourselves without such a desire, or even with 
 an aversion, declar'd and avow'd. Neither is it the willing 
 of that action, which we promise to perform : For a promise 
 always regards some future time, and the will has an influ- 
 ence only on present actions. It follows, therefore, that since 
 the act of the mind, which enters into a promise, and pro- 
 duces its obligation, is neither the resolving, desiring, nor 
 willing any particular performance, it must necessarily be 
 the willing of that obligation, which arises from the promise. 
 Nor is this only a conclusion of philosophy; but is entirely con- 
 formable to our common ways of thinking and of expressing 
 ourselves, when we say that we are bound by our own consent, 
 and that the obligation arises from our mere will and pleasure. 
 The only question, then, is, whether there be not a manifest 
 absurdity in supposing this act of the mind, and such an 
 absurdity as no man cou'd fall into, whose ideas are not con- 
 founded with prejudice and the fallacious use of language. 
 
 All morality depends upon our sentiments ; and when any 
 action, or quality of the mind, pleases us after a certain 
 
1 64 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 maimer, we say it is virtuous ; and when the neglect, or non- 
 performance of it, displeases us after a like manner, we say 
 that we lie under an obligation to perform it. A change of 
 the obligation supposes a change of the sentiment ; and a 
 creation of a new obligation supposes some new sentiment 
 to arise. But 'tis certain we can naturally no more change 
 our own sentiments, than the motions of the heavens ; nor 
 by a single act of our will, that is, by a promise, render any 
 action agreeable or disagreeable, moral or immoral ; which, 
 without that act, wou'd have produc'd contrary impressions, 
 or have been endow'd with different qualities. It wou'd be 
 absurd, therefore, to will any new obligation, that is, any 
 new sentiment of pain or pleasure ; nor is it possible, that 
 men cou'd naturally fall into so gross an absurdity. A 
 promise, therefore, is naturally something altogether unin- 
 telligible, nor is there any act of the mind belonging to 
 it. 1 
 
 1 Were morality discoverable by reason, and not by sentiment, 
 'twou'd be still more evident, that promises cou'd make no alteration 
 upon it. Morality is suppos'd to consist in relation. Every new im- 
 position of morality, therefore, must arise from some new relation of 
 objects; and consequently the will cou'd not produce immediately any 
 change in morals, but cou'd have that effect only by producing a change 
 upon the objects. But as the moral obligation of a promise is the pure 
 effect of the will, without the least change in any part of the universe; 
 it follows, that promises have no natural obligation. 
 
 Shou'd it be said, that this act of the will being in effect a new object, 
 produces new relations and new duties; I wou'd answer, that this is a 
 pure sophism, which may be detected by a very moderate share of 
 accuracy and exactness. To will a new obligation, is to will a new 
 relation of objects; and therefore, if this new relation of objects were 
 form'd by the volition itself, we shou'd in effect will the volition; which 
 is plainly absurd and impossible. The will has here no object to which 
 it cou'd tend; but must return upon itself in infinitum. The new 
 obligation depends upon new relations. The new relations depend upon 
 a new volition. The new volition has for object a new obligation, and 
 consequently new relations, and consequently a new volition; which 
 volition again has in view a new obligation, relation and volition, with- 
 out any termination. 'Tis impossible, therefore, we cou'd ever will a 
 new obligation; and consequently 'tis impossible the will cou'd ever 
 accompany a promise, or produce a new obligation of morality. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 165 
 
 But, secondly, if there was any act of the mind belonging 
 to it, it could not naturally produce any obligation. This 
 appears evidently from the foregoing reasoning. A promise 
 creates a new obligation. A new obligation supposes new 
 sentiments to arise. The will never creates new sentiments. 
 There could not naturally, therefore, arise any obligation 
 from a promise, even supposing the mind could fall into the 
 absurdity of willing that obligation. 
 
 The same truth may be prov'd still more evidently by that 
 reasoning, which prov'd justice in general to be an artificial 
 virtue. No action can be requir'd of us as our duty, unless 
 there be implanted in human nature some actuating passion 
 or motive, capable of producing the action. This motive 
 cannot be the sense of duty. A sense of duty supposes an 
 antecedent obligation : And where an action is not requir'd 
 by any natural passion, it cannot be requir'd by any natural 
 obligation ; since it may be omitted without proving any 
 defect or imperfection in the mind and temper, and con- 
 sequently without any vice. Now 'tis evident we have no 
 motive leading us to the performance of promises, distinct 
 from a sense of duty. If we thought, that promises had no 
 moral obligation, we never shou'd feel any inclination to 
 observe them. This is not the case with the natural virtues. 
 Tho' there was no obligation to relieve the miserable, our 
 humanity wou'd lead us to it ; and when we omit that duty, 
 the immorality of the omission arises from its being a proof, 
 that we want the natural sentiments of humanity. A father 
 knows it to be his duty to take care of his children : But he 
 has also a natural inclination to it. And if no human 
 creature had that inclination, no one cou'd lie under any 
 such obligation. But as there is naturally no inclination to 
 observe promises, distinct from a sense of their obligation ; 
 it follows, that fidelity is no natural virtue, and that promises 
 have no force, antecedent to human conventions. 
 
1 66 A TREATJSE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 If any one dissent from this, he must give a regular proof 
 of these two propositions, viz. that there is a peculiar act of 
 the mind, an next to promises ; and that consequent to this act 
 of the mind, there arises an inclination to perform, distinct from 
 a sense of duty. I presume, that it is impossible to prove 
 either of these two points ; and therefore I venture to con- 
 clude, that promises are human inventions, founded on the 
 necessities and interests of society. 
 
 In order to discover these necessities and interests, we 
 must consider the same qualities of human nature, which we 
 have already found to give rise to -the preceding laws of 
 society. Men being naturally selfish, or endow'd only with 
 a confin'd generosity, they are not easily induc'd to perform 
 any action for the interest of strangers, except with a view to 
 some reciprocal advantage, which they have no hope of 
 obtaining but by such a performance. Now as it frequently 
 happens, that these mutual performances cannot be finish'd 
 at the same instant, 'tis necessary, that one party be con- 
 tented to remain in uncertainty, and depend upon the grati- 
 tude of the other for a return of kindness. But so much 
 corruption is there among men, that, generally speaking, this 
 becomes but a slender security ; and as the benefactor is 
 here suppos'd to bestow his favours with a view to self- 
 interest, this both takes off from the obligation, and sets an 
 example of selfishness, which is the true mother of ingrati- 
 tude. Were we, therefore, to follow the natural course of our 
 passions and inclinations, we shou'd perform but few actions 
 for the advantage of others, from disinterested views ; 
 because we are naturally very limited in our kindness and 
 affection : And we shou'd perform as few of that kind, out of 
 a regard to interest ; because we cannot depend upon their 
 gratitude. Here then is the mutual commerce of good 
 offices in a manner lost among mankind and every one 
 reduc'd to his own skill and industry for his well-being and 
 subsistence. The invention of the law of nature, concerning 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 167 
 
 the stability of possession; has already render'd men tolerable 
 to each other ; that of the transference of property and pos- 
 session by consent has begun to render them mutually 
 advantageous : But still these laws of nature, however strictly 
 observ'd, are not sufficient to render them so serviceable to 
 each other, as by nature they are fitted to become. Tho' 
 possession be stable, men may often reap but small advantage 
 from it, while they are possess'd of a greater quantity of any 
 species of goods than they have occasion for, and at the same 
 time suffer by the want of others. The transference of 
 property, which is the proper remedy for this inconvenience, 
 cannot remedy it entirely ; because it can only take place 
 with regard to such objects as are present and individual, but 
 not to such as are absent or general. One cannot transfer the 
 property of a particular house, twenty leagues distant ; 
 because the consent cannot be attended with delivery, which 
 is a requisite circumstance. Neither can one transfer the 
 property of ten bushels of corn, or five hogsheads of wine, by 
 the mere expression and consent ; because these are only 
 general terms, and have no direct relation to any particular 
 heap of corn, or barrels of wine. Besides, the commerce of 
 mankind is not confin'd to the barter of commodities, but 
 may extend to services and actions, which we may exchange 
 to our mutual interest and advantage. Your corn is ripe 
 to-day ; mine will be so to-morrow. 'Tis profitable for us 
 both, that I shou'd labour with you to-day, and that you 
 shou'd aid me to-morrow. I have no kindness for you, and 
 know you have as little for me. 1 will not, therefore, take 
 any pains upon your account ; and should I labour with you 
 upon my own account, in expectation of a return, I know I 
 shou'd be disappointed, and that I shou'd in vain depend 
 upon your gratitude. Here then I leave you to labour 
 alone : You treat me in the same manner. The seasons 
 change ; and both of us lose our harvests for want of mutual 
 confidence and security. 
 
1 68 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 All this is the effect of the natural and inherent principles 
 and passions of human nature ; and as these passions and 
 principles are inalterable, it may be thought, that our con- 
 duct, which depends on them, must be so too, and that 
 'twou'd be in vain, either for moralists or politicians, to 
 tamper with us, or attempt to change the usual course of 
 our actions, with a view to public interest. And indeed, did 
 the success of their designs depend upon their success in 
 correcting the selfishness and ingratitude of men, they wou'd 
 never make any progress, unless aided by omnipotence, 
 which is alone able to new-mould the human mind, and 
 change its character in such fundamental articles. All they 
 can pretend to, is, to give a new direction to those natural 
 passions, and teach us that we can better satisfy our appetites 
 in an oblique and artificial manner, than by their headlong 
 and impetuous motion. Hence I learn to do a service to 
 another, without bearing him any real kindness ; because I 
 forsee, that he will return my service, in expectation of 
 another of the same kind, and in order to maintain the same 
 correspondence of good offices with me or with others. And 
 accordingly, after I have serv'd him, and he is in possession 
 of the advantage arising from my action, he is induc'd to 
 perform his part, as forseeing the consequences of his 
 refusal. 
 
 But tho' this self-interested commerce of men begins to 
 take place, and to predominate in society, it does not entirely 
 abolish the more generous and noble intercourse of friendship 
 and good offices. I may still do services to such persons as 
 I love, and am more particularly acquainted with, without any 
 prospect of advantage ; and they make me a return in the 
 same manner, without any view but that of recompensing 
 my past services. In order, therefore, to distinguish those 
 two different sorts of commerce, the interested and the dis- 
 interested, there is a certain form of 7tiords invented for the 
 former, by which we bind ourselves to the performance of 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. i6g 
 
 any action. This form of words constitutes what we call a 
 promise, which is the sanction of the interested commerce of 
 mankind. When a man says he promises any thing, he in 
 effect expresses a resolution of performing it ; and along 
 with that, by making use of this form of words, subjects 
 himself to the penalty of never being trusted again in case of 
 failure. A resolution is the natural act of the mind, which 
 promises express : But were there no more than a resolution 
 in the case, promises wou'd only declare our former motives, 
 and wou'd not create any new motive or obligation. They 
 are the conventions of men, which create a new motive, when 
 experience has taught us, that human affairs wou'd be con- 
 ducted much more for mutual advantage, were there certain 
 symbols or signs instituted, by which we might give each other 
 security of our conduct in any particular incident. After 
 these signs are instituted, whoever uses them is immediately 
 bound by his interest to execute his engagements, and must 
 never expect to be trusted any more, if he refuse to perform 
 what he promis'd. 
 
 Nor is that knowledge, which is requisite to make man- 
 kind sensible of this interest in the institution and observance 
 of promises, to be esteem'd superior to the capacity of human 
 nature, however savage and uncultivated. There needs but 
 a very little practice of the world, to make us perceive all 
 these consequences and advantages. The shortest experience 
 of society discovers them to every mortal ; and when each 
 individual perceives the same sense of interest in all his 
 fellows, he immediately performs his part of any contract, as 
 being assur'd, that they will not be wanting in theirs. All 
 of them, by concert, enter into a scheme of actions, calculated 
 for common benefit, and agree to be true to their word ; nor 
 is there any thing requisite to form this concert or conven- 
 tion, but that every one have a sense of interest in the faith- 
 ful fulfilling of engagements, and express that sense to other 
 members of the society. This immediately causes that 
 
17° A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 interest to operate upon them ; and interest is the first 
 obligation to the performance of promises. 
 
 Afterwards a sentiment of morals concurs with interest, 
 and becomes a new obligation upon mankind. This senti- 
 ment of morality, in the performance of promises, arises 
 from the same principles as that in the abstinence from the 
 property of others. Public interest, education, and the artifices 
 of politicians, have the same effect in both cases. The 
 difficulties, that occur to us, in supposing a moral obligation 
 to attend promises, we either surmount or elude. For in- 
 stance; the expression of a resolution is not commonly sup- 
 pos'd to be obligatory; and we cannot readily conceive how 
 the making use of a certain form of words shou'd be 
 able to cause any material difference. Here, therefore, we 
 feign a new act of the mind, which we call the willing an 
 obligation; and on this we suppose the morality to depend. 
 But we have prov'd already, that there is no such act of the 
 mind, and consequently that promises impose no natural 
 obligation. 
 
 To confirm this, we may subjoin some other reflections 
 concerning that will, which is suppos'd to enter into a 
 promise, and to cause its obligation. 'Tis evident, that the 
 will alone is never suppos'd to cause the obligation, but 
 must be express'd by words or signs, in order to impose a 
 tye upon any man. The expression being once brought in 
 as subservient to the will, soon becomes the principal part of 
 the promise; nor will a man be less bound by his word, tho' 
 he secretly give a different direction to his intention, and 
 with-hold himself both from a resolution, and from willing an 
 obligation. But tho' the expression makes on most occasions 
 the whole of the promise, yet it does not always so; and one, 
 who should make use of any expression, of which he knows 
 not the meaning, and which he uses without any intention of 
 binding himself, wou'd not certainly be bound by it. Nay, 
 tho' he knows its meaning, yet if he uses it in jest only, and 
 
Book III. OF MORALS- 171 
 
 with such signs as shew evidently he has no serious intention 
 of binding himself, he wou'd not lie under any obligation 
 of performance ; but 'tis necessary, that the words be a 
 perfect expression of the will, without any contrary signs. 
 Nay, even this we must not carry so far as to imagine, that 
 one, whom, by our quickness of understanding, we conject- 
 ure, from certain signs, to have an intention of deceiving 
 us, is not bound by his expression or verbal promise, if we 
 accept of it; but must limit this conclusion to those cases, 
 where the signs are of a different kind from those of deceit. 
 All these contradictions are easily accounted for, if the ob- 
 ligation of promises be merely a human invention for the 
 convenience of society; but will never be explain'd, if it be 
 something real and natural, arising from any action of the 
 mind or body. 
 
 I shall farther observe, that since every new promise im- 
 poses a new obligation of morality on the person who 
 promises, and since this new obligation arises from his will; 
 'tis one of the most mysterious and incomprehensible opera- 
 tions that can possibly be imagin'd, and may even be com- 
 par'd to transubstantiation, or holy orders^ where a certain 
 form of words, along with a certain intention, changes en- 
 tirely the nature of an external object, and even of a human 
 creature. But tho' these mysteries be so far alike, 'tis very 
 remarkable, that they differ widely in other particulars, and 
 that this difference may be regarded as a strong proof of the 
 difference of their origins. As the obligation of promises 
 is an invention for the interest of society, 'tis warp'd into 
 as many different forms as that interest requires, and even 
 runs into direct contradictions, rather than lose sight of its 
 object. But as those other monstrous doctrines are merely 
 priestly inventions, and have no public interest in view, 
 they are less disturb'd in their progress by new obstacles; 
 
 1 I mean so far, as holy orders are suppos'd to produce the indelible 
 character. In other respects they are only a legal qualification. 
 
172 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 and it must be own'd, that, after the first absurdity, they 
 follow more directly the current of reason and good sense. 
 Theologians clearly perceiv'd, that the external form of 
 words, being mere sound, require an intention to make them 
 have any efficacy; and that this intention being once con- 
 sider'd as a requisite circumstance, its absence must equally 
 prevent the effect, whether avow'd or conceal'd, whether 
 sincere or deceitful. Accordingly they have commonly de- 
 termin'd, that the intention of the priest makes the sacra- 
 ment, and that when he secretly withdraws his intention, he 
 is highly criminal in himself; but still destroys the baptism, 
 or communion, or holy orders. The terrible consequences 
 of this doctrine were not able to hinder its taking place; 
 as the inconvenience of a similar doctrine, with regard to 
 promises, have prevented that doctrine from establishing 
 itself. Men are always more concern'd about the present 
 life than the future; and are apt to think the smallest evil, 
 which regards the former, more important than the greatest, 
 which regards the latter. 
 
 We may draw the same conclusion, concerning the origin 
 of promises, from the force, which is suppos'd to invalidate 
 all contracts, and to free us from their obligation. Such a 
 principle is a proof, that promises have no natural obligation, 
 and are mere artificial contrivances for the convenience and 
 advantage of society. If we consider aright of the matter, 
 force is not essentially different from any other motive of 
 hope or fear, which may induce us to engage our word, and 
 lay ourselves under any obligation. A man, dangerously 
 wounded, who promises a competent sum to a surgeon to 
 cure him, wou'd certainly be bound to performance ; tho' 
 the case be not so much different from that of one, who 
 promises a sum to a robber, as to produce so great a 
 difference in our sentiments of morality, if these sentiments 
 were not built entirely on public interest and convenience. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 173 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 
 Some farther reflections concerning justice and injustice. 
 
 We have now run over the three fundamental laws of 
 nature, that of the stability of possession, of its transference by 
 consent, and of the performance of promises. 'Tis on the strict 
 observance of those three laws, that the peace and security 
 of human society entirely depend ; nor is there any pos- 
 sibility of establishing a good correspondence among men, 
 where these are neglected. Society is absolutely necessary 
 for the well-being of men ; and these are as necessary to 
 the support of society. Whatever restraint they may impose 
 on the passions of- men, they are the real offspring of those 
 passions, and are only a more artful and more refin'd way 
 of satisfying them. Nothing is more vigilant and inventive 
 than our passions ; and nothing is more obvious, than the 
 convention for the observance of these rules. Nature has, 
 therefore, trusted this affair entirely to the conduct of men, 
 and has not plac'd in the mind any peculiar original prin- 
 ciples, to determine us to a set of actions, into which the 
 other principles of our frame and constitution were sufficient 
 to lead us. And to convince us the more fully of this truth, 
 we may here stop a moment, and from a review of the pre- 
 ceding reasonings may draw some new arguments, to prove 
 that those laws, however necessary, are entirely artificial, 
 and of human invention ; and consequently that justice is 
 an artificial, and not a natural virtue. 
 
 I. The first argument I shall make use of is deriv'd from 
 the vulgar definition of justice. Justice is commonly defin'd 
 to be a constant and perpetual will of giving every one his dice. 
 In this definition 'tis supposed, that there are such things as 
 right and property, independent of justice, and antecedent 
 to it ; and that they wou'd have subsisted, tho' men had 
 
174 A TREATISE OF HUM AX NATURE. 
 
 never dreamt of practicing such a virtue. I have already 
 observ'd, in a cursory manner, the fallacy of this opinion, 
 and shall here continue to open up a little more distinctly 
 my sentiments on that subject. 
 
 I shall begin with observing, that this quality, which we 
 call property, is like many of the imaginary qualities of the 
 peripatetic philosophy, and vanishes upon a more accurate 
 inspection into the subject, when consider'd a-part from our 
 moral sentiments. 'Tis evident property does not consist in 
 any of the sensible qualities of the object. For these may 
 continue invariably the same, while the property changes. 
 Property, therefore, must consist in some relation of the 
 object. But 'tis not in its relation with regard to other 
 external and inanimate objects. For these may also con- 
 tinue invariably the same, while the property changes. This 
 quality, therefore, consists in the relations of objects to 
 intelligent and rational beings. But 'tis not the external 
 and corporeal relation, which forms the essence of property. 
 For that relation may be the same betwixt inanimate 
 objects, or with regard to brute creatures ; tho' in those 
 cases it forms no property. 'Tis, therefore, in some internal 
 relation, that the property consists ; that is, in some influ- 
 ence, which the external relations of the object have on the 
 mind and actions. Thus the external relation, which we 
 call occupation or first possession, is not of itself imagin'd to 
 be the property of the object, but only to cause its property. 
 Now 'tis evident, this external relation causes nothing in 
 external objects, and has only an influence on the mind, by 
 giving us a sense of duty in abstaining from that object, and 
 in restoring it to the first possessor. These actions are 
 properly what we call justice; and consequently 'tis on that 
 virtue that the nature of property depends, and not the 
 virtue on the property. 
 
 If any one, therefore, wou'd assert, that justice is a 
 natural virtue, and injustice a natural vice, he must assert, 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 175 
 
 that abstracting from the notions oi property, and right and 
 obligation, a certain conduct and train of actions, in certain 
 external relations of objects, has naturally a moral beauty or 
 deformity, and causes an original pleasure or uneasiness. 
 Thus the restoring a man's goods to him is consider'd as 
 virtuous, not because nature has annex'd a certain sentiment 
 of pleasure to such a conduct, with regard to the property 
 of others, but because she has annex'd that sentiment to 
 such a conduct, with regard to those external objects, of 
 which others have had the first or long possession, or which 
 they have receiv'd by the consent of those, who have had 
 first or long possession. If nature has given us no such 
 sentiment, there is not, naturally, nor antecedent to human 
 conventions, any such thing as property. Now, tho' it 
 seems sufficiently evident, in this dry and accurate consid- 
 eration of the present subject, that nature has annex'd no 
 pleasure or sentiment of approbation to such a conduct ; 
 yet that I may leave as little room for doubt as possible, I 
 shall subjoin a few more arguments to confirm my opinion. 
 
 First, If nature had given us a pleasure of this kind, it 
 wou'd have been as evident and discernible as on every 
 other occasion ; nor shou'd we have found any difficulty to 
 perceive, that the consideration of such actions, in such a 
 situation, gives a certain pleasure and sentiment of approba- 
 tion. We shou'd not have been oblig'd to have recourse to 
 notions of property in the definition of justice, and at the 
 same time make use of the notions of justice in the defini- 
 tion of property. This deceitful method of reasoning is a 
 plain proof, that there are contain'd in the subject some 
 obscurities and difficulties, which we are not able to sur- 
 mount, and which we desire to evade by this artifice. 
 
 Secondly, Those rules, by which properties, rights, and 
 obligations are determin'd, have in them no marks of a 
 natural origin, but many of artifice and contrivance. They 
 are too numerous to have proceeded from nature : They are 
 
176 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 changeable by human laws : And have all of them a direct 
 and evident tendency to public good, and the support of 
 civil society. This last circumstance is remarkable upon two 
 accounts. First, because, tho' the cause of the establish- 
 ment of these laws had been a regard for the public good, as 
 much as the public good is their natural tendency, they 
 wou'd still have been artificial, as being purposely contriv'd 
 and directed to a certain end. Secondly, because, if men 
 had been endow'd with such a strong regard for public 
 good, they wou'd never have restrain'd themselves by these 
 rules ; so that the laws of justice arise from natural princi- 
 ples in a manner still more oblique and artificial. 'Tis self- 
 love which is their real origin ; and as the self-love of one 
 person is naturally contrary to that of another, these several 
 interested passions are oblig'd to adjust themselves after 
 such a manner as to concur in some system of conduct and 
 behaviour. This system, therefore, comprehending the 
 interest of each individual, is of course advantageous to the 
 public ; tho' it be not intended for that purpose by the 
 inventors. 
 
 II. In the second place we may observe, that all kinds of 
 vice and virtue run insensibly into each other, and may 
 approach by such imperceptible degrees as will make it very 
 difficult, if not absolutely impossible, to determine when the 
 one ends, and the other begins ; and from this observation 
 we may derive a new argument for the foregoing principle. 
 For whatever may be the case, with regard to all kinds of 
 vice and virtue, 'tis certain, that rights, and obligations, and 
 property, admit of no such insensible gradation, but that a 
 man either has a full and perfect property, or none at all ; 
 and is either entirely oblig'd to perform any action, or lies 
 under no manner of obligation. However civil laws may 
 talk of a perfect dominion, and of an imperfect, 'tis easy to 
 observe, that this arises from a fiction, which has no founda- 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 177 
 
 tion in reason, and can never enter into our notions of 
 natural justice and equity. A man that hires a horse, tho' 
 but for a day, has as full a right to make use of it for that 
 time, as he whom we call its proprietor has to make use of it 
 any other day ; and 'tis evident, that however the use may be 
 bounded in time or degree, the right itself is not susceptible 
 of any such gradation, but is absolute and entire, so far as it 
 extends. Accordingly we may observe, that this right both 
 arises and perishes in an instant ; and that a man entirely 
 acquires the property of any object by occupation, or the 
 consent of the proprietor ; and loses it by his own consent ; 
 without any of that insensible gradation, which is remarkable 
 in other qualities and relations. Since, therefore, this is the 
 case with regard to property, and rights, and obligations, I 
 ask, how it stands with regard to justice and injustice ? 
 After whatever manner you answer this question, you run 
 into inextricable difficulties. If you reply, that justice and 
 injustice admit of degree, and run insensibly into each other, 
 you expressly contradict the foregoing position, that obliga- 
 tion and property are not susceptible of such a gradation. 
 These depend entirely upon justice and injustice, and follow 
 them in all their variations. Where the justice is entire, the 
 property is also entire : Where the justice is imperfect, the 
 property must also be imperfect. And vice versa, if the 
 property admit of no such variations, they must also be in- 
 compatible with justice. If you assent, therefore, to this last 
 proposition, and assert that justice and injustice are not 
 susceptible of degrees, you in effect assert, that they are not 
 naturally either vicious or virtuous ; since vice and virtue, 
 moral good and evil, and indeed all natural qualities, run 
 insensibly into each other, and are, on many occasions, 
 undistinguishable. 
 
 And here it may be worth while to observe, that tho' 
 abstract reasoning, and the general maxims of philosophy 
 and law establish this position, that property, ami right, and 
 
178 A TREATISE OE HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 obligation admit not of degrees, yet in our common and negli- 
 gent way of thinking, we find great difficulty to entertain 
 that opinion, and do even secretly embrace the contrary 
 principle. An object must either be in the possession of 
 one person or another. An action must either be perform'd 
 or not. The necessity there is of choosing one side in these 
 dilemmas, and the impossibility there often is of finding any 
 just medium, oblige us, when we reflect on the matter, to 
 acknowledge, that all property and obligations are entire. 
 But on the other hand, when we consider the origin of 
 property and obligation, and find that they depend on public 
 utility, and sometimes on the propensities of the imagination, 
 which are seldom entire on any side ; we are naturally 
 inclin'd to imagine, that these moral relations admit of an 
 insensible gradation. Hence it is, that in references, where 
 the consent of the parties leave the referees entire masters of 
 the subject, they commonly discover so much equity and 
 justice on both sides, as induces them to strike a medium, 
 and divide the difference betwixt the parties. Civil judges, 
 who have not this liberty, but are oblig'd to give a decisive 
 sentence on some one side, are often at a loss how to deter- 
 mine, and are necessitated to proceed on the most frivolous 
 reasons in the world. Half rights and obligations, which 
 seem so natural in common life, are perfect absurdities in 
 their tribunal ; for which reason they are often oblig'd to 
 take half arguments for whole ones, in order to terminate 
 the affair one way or other. 
 
 III. The third argument of this kind I shall make use of 
 may be explain'd thus. If we consider the ordinary course 
 of human actions, we shall find, that the mind restrains 
 not itself by any general and universal rules ; but acts on 
 most occasions as it is determin'd by its present motives 
 and inclination. As each action is a particular individual 
 event, it must proceed from particular principles, and from 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 179 
 
 our immediate situation within ourselves, and with respect 
 to the rest of the universe. If on some occasions we extend 
 our motives beyond those very circumstances, which gave rise 
 to them, and form something like general rules for our con- 
 duct, 'tis easy to observe that these rules are not perfectly 
 inflexible, but allow of many exceptions. Since, therefore, this 
 is the ordinary course of human actions, we may conclude 
 that the laws of justice, being universal and perfectly inflexible, 
 can never be deriv'd from nature, nor be the immediate off- 
 spring of any natural motive or inclination. No action can 
 be either morally good or evil, unless there be some natural 
 passion or motive to impel us to it, or deter us from it ; and 
 'tis evident, that the morality must be susceptible of all 
 the same variations, which are natural to the passion. Here 
 are two persons, who dispute for an estate ; of whom one is 
 rich, a fool, and a batchelor ; the other poor, a man of sense, 
 and has a numerous family • The first is my enemy ; the 
 second my friend. Whether I be actuated in this affair by 
 a view to public or private interest, by friendship or enmity, 
 I must be indue'd to do my utmost to procure the estate to 
 the latter. Nor wou'd any consideration of the right and 
 property of the persons be able to restrain me, were I actu- 
 ated only by natural motives, without any combination or 
 convention with others. For as all property depends on 
 morality ; and as all morality depends on the ordinary course 
 of our passions and actions ; and as these again are only 
 directed by particular motives ; 'tis evident, such a partial 
 conduct must be suitable to the strictest morality, and cou'd 
 never be a violation of property. Were men, therefore, to 
 take the liberty of acting with regard to the laws of society, 
 as they do in every other affair, they wou'd conduct them- 
 selves, on most occasions, by particular judgments, and wou'd 
 take into consideration the characters and circumstances of 
 the persons, as well as the general nature of the question. 
 But 'tis easy to observe, that this wou'd produce an infinite 
 
180 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 confusion in human society, and that the avidity and par- 
 tiality of men wou'd quickly bring disorder into the world, 
 if not restrain'd by some general and inflexible principles. 
 'Twas, therefore, with a view to this inconvenience, that men 
 have establish'd those principles, and have agreed to restrain 
 themselves by general rules which are unchangeable by spite 
 and favour, and by particular views of private or public 
 interest. These rules, then, are artificially invented for a 
 certain purpose, and are contrary to the common principles of 
 human nature, which accommodate themselves to circum- 
 stances, and have no stated invariable method of operation. 
 Nor do 1 perceive how I can easily be mistaken in this 
 matter. 1 see evidently, that when any man imposes on 
 himself general inflexible rules in his conduct with others, he 
 considers certain objects as their property, which he supposes 
 to be sacred and inviolable. But no proposition can be more 
 evident, than that property is perfectly unintelligible without 
 first supposing justice and injustice ; and that these virtues 
 and vices are as unintelligible, unless we have motives, 
 independent of the morality, to impel us to just actions, and 
 deter us from unjust ones. Let those motives therefore, be 
 what they will, they must accommodate themselves to cir- 
 cumstances, and must admit of all the variations, which 
 human affairs, in their incessant revolutions are susceptible 
 of. . They are consequently a very improper foundation for 
 such rigid inflexible rules as the laws of [justice ?] ; and 'tis 
 evident these laws can only be deriv'd from human con- 
 ventions, when men have perceiv'd the disorders that result 
 from following their natural and variable principles. 
 
 Upon the whole, then, we are to consider this distinction 
 betwixt justice and injustice, as having two different 
 foundations, viz. that of interest, when men observe, that 'tis 
 impossible to live in society without restraining themselves 
 by certain rules ; and that of morality, when this interest is 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 181 
 
 once observ'd, and men receive a pleasure from the view of 
 such actions as tend to the peace of society, and an uneasi- 
 ness from such as are contrary to it. 'Tis the voluntary 
 convention and artifice of men, which makes the first in- 
 terest take place ; and therefore those laws of justice are so 
 far to be consider'd as artificial. After that interest is once 
 establish'd and acknowledg'd, the sense of morality in the 
 observance of these rules follows naturally, and of itself ; 
 tho' 'tis certain, that it is also augmented by a new artifice, 
 and that the public instructions of politicians, and the 
 private education of parents, contribute to the giving us a 
 sense of honour and duty in the strict regulation of our 
 actions with regard to the properties of others. 
 
 SECTION VII. 
 
 Of the origin of government. 
 
 Nothing is more certain, than that men are, in a great 
 measure, govern'd by interest, and that even when they 
 extend their concern beyond themselves, 'tis not to any 
 great distance ; nor is it usual for them, in common life, to 
 look farther than their nearest friends and acquaintance. 
 'Tis no less certain, that 'tis impossible for men to consult 
 their interest in so effectual a manner, as by an universal 
 and inflexible observance of the rules of justice, by which 
 alone they can preserve society, and keep themselves from 
 falling into that wretched and savage condition, which is 
 commonly represented as the state of nature. And as this 
 interest, which all men have in the upholding of society, and 
 the observation of the rules of justice, is great, so is it 
 palpable and evident, even to the most rude and uncultivated 
 of the human race ; and 'tis almost impossible for any one, 
 who has had experience of society, to be mistaken in this par- 
 ticular. Since, therefore, men are so sincerely attach'd to 
 
182 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE, 
 
 their interest, and their interest is so much concern'd in the 
 observance of justice, and this interest is so certain and 
 avow'd ; it may be ask'd, how any disorder can ever arise 
 in society, and what principle there is in human nature so 
 powerful as to overcome so strong a passion, or so violent as 
 to obscure so clear a knowledge ? 
 
 It has been observ'd, in treating of the passions, that men 
 are mightily govern'd by the imagination, and proportion 
 their affections more to the light, under which any object 
 appears to them, than to its real and intrinsic value. What 
 strikes upon them with a strong and lively idea commonly 
 prevails above what lies in a more obscure light ; and it 
 must be a great superiority of value, that is able to com- 
 pensate this advantage. Now as every thing, that is con- 
 tiguous to us, either in space or time, strikes upon us with 
 such an idea, it has a proportional effect on the will and 
 passions, and commonly operates with more force than any 
 object, that lies in a more distant and obscure light. Tho' 
 we may be fully convinc'd, that the latter object excels the 
 former, we are not able to regulate our actions by this judg- 
 ment ; but yield to the sollicitations of our passions, which 
 always plead in favour of whatever is near and contiguous. 
 
 This is the reason why men so often act in contradiction 
 to their known interest ; and in particular why they prefer 
 any trivial advantage, that is present, to the maintenance of 
 order in society, which so much depends on the observance 
 of justice. The consequences of every breach of equity 
 seem to lie very remote, and are not able to counterballance 
 any immediate advantage, that may be reap'd from it. They 
 are, however, never the less real for being remote ; and as 
 all men are, in some degree, subject to the same weakness, 
 it necessarily happens, that the violations of equity must 
 become very frequent in society, and the commerce of men, 
 by that means, be render'd very dangerous and uncertain. 
 You have the same propension, that I have, in favour of 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 183 
 
 what is contiguous above what is remote. You are, there- 
 fore, naturally carried to commit acts of injustice as well as 
 me. Your example both pushes me forward in this way by 
 imitation, and also affords me a new reason for any breach 
 of equity, by shewing me, that I should be the cully of my 
 integrity, if I alone shou'd impose on myself a severe 
 restraint amidst the licentiousness of others. 
 
 This quality, therefore, of human nature, not only is very 
 dangerous to society, but also seems, on a cursory view, to 
 be incapable of any remedy. The remedy can only come 
 from the consent of men ; and if men be incapable of them- 
 selves to prefer remote to contiguous, they will never con- 
 sent to any thing, which wou'd oblige them to such a choice, 
 and contradict, in so sensible a manner, their natural prin- 
 ciples and propensities. Whoever chuses the means, chuses 
 also the end ; and if it be impossible for us to prefer what 
 is remote, 'tis equally impossible for us to submit to any 
 necessity, which wou'd oblige us to such a method of acting. 
 
 But here 'tis observable, that this infirmity of human 
 nature becomes a remedy to itself, and that we provide 
 against our negligence about remote objects, merely because 
 we are naturally inclin'd to that negligence. When we con- 
 sider any objects at a distance, all their minute distinctions 
 vanish, and we always give the preference to whatever is in 
 itself preferable, without considering its situation and circum- 
 stances. This gives rise to what in an improper sense we 
 call reason, which is a principle, that is often contradictory 
 to those propensities that display themselves upon the 
 approach of the object. In reflecting on any action, which 
 I am to perform a twelve-month hence, I always resolve to 
 prefer the greater good, whether at that time it will be more 
 contiguous or remote ; nor does any difference in that par- 
 ticular make a difference in my present intentions and 
 resolutions. My distance from the final determination 
 makes all those minute differences vanish, nor am I affected 
 
184 A TREATISE OF HUMAN MATURE. 
 
 by any thing, but the general and more discernable qualities 
 of good and evil. But on my nearer approach, those circum- 
 stances, which I at first over-look'd, begin to appear, and 
 have an influence on my conduct and affections. A new 
 inclination to the present good springs up, and makes it 
 difficult for me to adhere inflexibly to my first purpose and 
 resolution. This natural infirmity I may very much regret, 
 and I may endeavour, by all possible means, to free my self 
 from it. I may have recourse to study and reflection 
 within myself ; to the advice of friends ; to frequent 
 meditation, and repeated resolution : And having expe- 
 rienc'd how ineffectual all these are, I may embrace with 
 pleasure any other expedient, by which I may impose a 
 restraint upon myself, and guard against this weakness. 
 
 The only difficulty, therefore, is to find out this expedient, 
 by which men cure their natural weakness, and lay them- 
 selves under the necessity of observing the laws of justice 
 and equity, notwithstanding their violent propension to prefer 
 contiguous to remote. 'Tis evident such a remedy can never 
 be effectual without correcting this propensity; and as 'tis 
 impossible to change or correct any thing material in our 
 nature, the utmost we can do is to change our circumstances 
 and situation, and render the observance of the laws of jus- 
 tice our nearest interest, and their violation our most remote. 
 But this being impracticable with respect to all mankind, it 
 can only take place with respect to a few, whom we thus 
 immediately interest in the execution of justice. These are 
 the persons, whom we call civil magistrates, kings and their 
 ministers, our governors and rulers, who being indifferent 
 persons to the greatest part of the state, have no interest, or 
 but a remote one, in any act of injustice ; and being satisfied 
 with their present condition, and with their part in society, 
 have an immediate interest in every execution of justice, 
 which is so necessary to the upholding of society. Here 
 then is the origin of civil government and society. Men 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 185 
 
 are not able radically to cure, either in themselves or others, 
 that narrowness of soul, which makes them prefer the pres- 
 ent to the remote. They cannot change their natures. All 
 they can do is to change their situation, and render the ob- 
 servance of justice the immediate interest of some particular 
 persons, and its violation their more remote. These persons, 
 then, are not only induc'd to observe those rules in their own 
 conduct, but also to constrain others to a like regularity, and 
 inforce the dictates of equity thro' the whole society. And 
 if it be necessary, they may also interest others more immedi- 
 ately in the execution of justice, and create a number of offi- 
 cers, civil and military, to assist them in their government. 
 
 But this execution of justice, tho' the principal, is not the 
 only advantage of government. As violent passion hinders 
 men from seeing distinctly the interest they have in an 
 equitable behaviour towards others ; so it hinders them from 
 seeing that equity itself, and gives them a remarkable par- 
 tiality in their own favours. This inconvenience is corrected 
 in the same manner as that above-mention'd. The same 
 persons, who execute the laws of justice, will also decide all 
 controversies concerning them; and being indifferent to the 
 greatest part of the society, will decide them more equitably 
 than every one wou'd in his own case. 
 
 By means of these two advantages, in the execution and 
 decision of justice,, men acquire a security against each others 
 weakness and passion, as well as against their own, and 
 under the shelter of their governors, begin to taste at ease 
 the sweets of society and mutual assistance. But govern- 
 ment extends farther its beneficial influence; and not con- 
 tented to protect men in those conventions they make for 
 their mutual interest, it often obliges them to make such 
 conventions, and forces them to seek their own advantage, 
 by a concurrence in some common end or purpose. There 
 is no quality in human nature, which causes more fatal 
 errors in our conduct, than that which leads us to prefer 
 
1 86 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 whatever ' is present to the distant and remote, and makes 
 us desire objects more according to their situation than 
 their intrinsic value. Two neighbours may agree to drain a 
 meadow, which they possess in common; because 'tis easy 
 for them to know each others mind; and each must per- 
 ceive, that the immediate consequence of his failing in his 
 part, is the abandoning the whole project. But 'tis very 
 difficult, and indeed impossible, that a thousand persons 
 shou'd agree in any such action; it being difficult for them 
 to concert so complicated a design, and still more difficult 
 for them to execute it ; while each seeks a pretext to free 
 himself of the trouble and expence, and wou'd lay the whole 
 burden on others. Political society easily remedies both 
 these inconveniences. Magistrates find an immediate in- 
 terest in the interest of any considerable part of their sub- 
 jects. They need consult no body but themselves to form 
 any scheme for the promoting of that interest. m\d as the 
 failure of any one piece in the execution is connected, tho' 
 not immediately, with the failure of the whole, they prevent 
 that failure, because they find no interest in it, either imme- 
 diate or remote. Thus bridges are built; harbours open'd 
 ramparts rais'd; canals form'd; fleets equip'd; and armies 
 disciplin'd; everywhere, by the care of government, which, 
 tho' compos'd of men subject to all human infirmities, be- 
 comes, by one of the finest and most subtle inventions imagi- 
 nable, a composition, which is, in some measures exempted 
 from all these infirmities. 
 
 SECTION VIII. 
 
 Of the source of allegiance. 
 
 Though government be an invention very advantageous, 
 and even in some circumstances absolutely necessary to 
 mankind ; it is not necessary in all circumstances, nor is it 
 
IiouK III. OF MORALS. 187 
 
 impossible for men to preserve society for some time, with- 
 out having recourse to such an invention. Men, 'tis true, 
 are always much inclin'd to prefer present interest to distant 
 and remote ; nor is it easy for them to resist the tempta- 
 tion of any advantage, that they may immediately enjoy, in 
 apprehension of an evil, that lies at a distance from them: 
 But still this weakness is less conspicuous, where the 
 possessions, and the pleasures of life are few, and of little 
 value, as they always are in the infancy of society. An 
 Indian is but little tempted to dispossess another of his hut, 
 or to steal his bow as being already provided of the same 
 advantages ; and as to any superior fortune, which may 
 attend one above another in hunting and fishing, 'tis only 
 carnal and temporary, and will have but small tendency to 
 disturb society. And so far am I from thinking with some 
 philosophers, that men are utterly incapable of society 
 without government, that I assert the first rudiments of 
 government to arise from quarrels, not among men of the 
 same society, but among those of different societies. A less 
 degree of riches will suffice to this latter effect, than is 
 requisite for the former. Men fear nothing from public 
 war and violence but the resistance they meet with, which, 
 because they share it in common, seems less terrible, and 
 because it comes from strangers, seems less pernicious in 
 its consequences, than when tbey are exposed singly against 
 one whose commerce is advantageous to them, and without 
 whose society 'tis impossible they can subsist. Now foreign 
 war to a society without government necessarily produces 
 civil war. Throw any considerable goods among men, they 
 instantly fall a quarrelling, while each strives to get 
 possession of what pleases him, without regard to the 
 consequences. In a foreign war the most considerable of 
 all goods, life and limbs, are at stake ; and as every one 
 shuns dangerous ports, seizes the best arms, seeks excuse 
 for the slightest wounds, the laws, which may be well 
 
1 88 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 enough observ'd, while men were calm, can now no longer 
 take place, when they are in such commotion. 
 
 This we find verified in the American tribes, where men 
 live in concord and amity among themselves without any 
 establish'd government ; and never pay submission to any 
 of their fellows, except in time of war, when their captain 
 enjoys a shadow of authority, which he loses after their 
 return from the field, and the establishment of peace with 
 the neighboring tribes. This authority, however, instructs 
 them in the advantages of government, and teaches them to 
 have recourse to it, when either by the pillage of war, by 
 commerce, or by any fortuitous inventions, their riches and 
 possessions become so considerable as to make them forget, 
 on every emergence, the interest they have in the preserva- 
 tion of peace and justice. Hence we may give a plausible 
 reason, among others, why all governments are at first 
 monarchial, without any mixture and variety ; and why 
 republics arise only from the abuses of monarchy and 
 despotic power. Camps are the true mothers of cities ; and 
 as war can not be administred, by reason of the suddenness 
 of every exigency, without some authority in a single person, 
 the same kind of authority naturally takes place in that civil 
 government, which succeeds the military. And this reason 
 I take to be more natural, than the common one deriv'd 
 from patriarchal government, or the authority of a father, 
 which is said first to take place in one family, and to 
 accustom the members of it to the government of a single 
 person. The state of society without government is one of 
 the most natural states of men, and must subsist with the 
 conjunction of many families, and long after the first gene- 
 ration. Nothing but an encrease of riches and possessions 
 cou'd oblige men to quit it ; and so barbarous and unin- 
 structed are all societies on their first formation, that many 
 years must elapse before these can encrease to such a 
 degree, as to disturb men in the enjoyment of peace and 
 concord. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 189 
 
 But tho' it be possible for men to maintain a small uncul- 
 tivated society without government, 'tis impossible they 
 shou'd maintain a society of any kind without justice, and 
 the observance of those three fundamental laws concerning 
 the stability of possession, its translation by consent, and 
 the performance of promises. These are, therefore, antece- 
 dent to government, and are suppos'd to impose an obliga- 
 tion before the duty of allegiance to civil magistrates has 
 once been thought of. Nay, I shall go farther, and assert, 
 that government, upon its first establishment, wou'd naturally 
 be supposed to derive its obligation from those laws of 
 nature, and, in particular, from that concerning the perform- 
 ance of promises. When men have once perceiv'd the 
 necessity of government to maintain peace, and execute 
 justice, they wou'd naturally assemble together, wou'd chuse 
 magistrates, determine their power, and promise them obedi- 
 ence. As a promise is suppos'd to be a bond or security 
 already in use, and attended with a moral obligation, 'tis to 
 be consider'd as the original sanction of government, and as 
 the source of the first obligation to obedience. This reason- 
 ing appears so natural, that it has become the foundation of 
 our fashionable system of politics, and is in a manner the 
 creed of a party amongst us, who pride themselves, with 
 reason, on the soundness of their philosophy, and their 
 liberty of thought. All men, say they, are born free and 
 equal: Government and superiority can only be establish' d by 
 consent: The consent of men, in establishing government, imposes 
 on them a new obligation, unknown to the laws of nature. 
 Men, therefore, are bound to obey their magistrates, only because 
 they promise it ; and if they had not given their word, either 
 expressly or tacitly, to preserve allegiance, it would never have 
 become a part of their moral duty. This conclusion, however, 
 when carried so far as to comprehend government in all its 
 ages and situations, is entirely erroneous ; and I maintain, 
 that tho' the duty of allegiance be at first grafted on the 
 
190 A TREATISE OF HUMAN A'ATURE. 
 
 obligation of promises, and be for some time supported by 
 that obligation, yet it quickly takes root of itself, and has 
 an original obligation and authority, independent of all con- 
 tracts. This is a principle of moment, which we must exam- 
 ine with care and attention, before we proceed any farther. 
 
 ' Tis reasonable for those philosophers, who assert justice 
 to be a natural virtue, and antecedent to human conventions, 
 to resolve all civil allegiance into the obligation of a promise, 
 and assert that 'tis our own consent alone, which binds us to 
 any submission to magistracy. For as all government is 
 plainly an invention of men, and the origin of most govern- 
 ments is known in history, 'tis necessary to mount higher, in 
 order to find the source of our political duties, if we wou'd 
 assert them to have any natural obligation of morality. 
 These philosophers, therefore, quickly observe, that society 
 is as antient as the human species, and those three funda- 
 mental laws of nature as antient as society ■ So that taking 
 advantage of the antiquity, and obscure origin of these laws, 
 they first deny them to be artificial and voluntary inventions 
 of men, and then seek to ingraft on them those other duties, 
 which are more plainly artificial. But being once undeceiv'd 
 in this particular, and having found that natural, as well as 
 civil justice, derives its origin from human conventions, we 
 shall quickly perceive, how fruitless it is to resolve the one 
 into the other, and seek, in the laws of nature, a stronger 
 foundation for our political duties than interest, and human 
 conventions ; while these laws themselves are built on the 
 very same foundation. On which ever side we turn this 
 subject, we shall find, that these two kinds of duty are 
 exactly on the same footing, and have the same source both 
 of their first invention and moral obligation. They are con- 
 triv'd to remedy like inconveniences, and acquire their 
 moral sanction in the same manner, from their remedying 
 those inconveniences. These are two points, which we 
 shall endeavour to prove as distinctly as possible. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 191 
 
 We have already shewn, that men invented the three fun- 
 damental laws of nature, when they observ'd the necessity 
 of society to their mutual subsistance, and found, that 'twas 
 impossible to maintain any correspondence together, without 
 some restraint on their natural appetites. The same self- 
 love, therefore, which renders men so incommodious to each 
 other, taking a new and more convenient direction, produces 
 the rules of justice, and is the first motive of their ob- 
 servance. But when men have observ'd, that tho' the rules 
 of justice be sufficient to maintain any society, yet 'tis im- 
 possible for them, of themselves, to observe those rules, in 
 large and polish'd societies ; they establish government, as 
 a new invention to attain their ends, and preserve the old, 
 or procure new advantages, by a more strict execution of 
 justice. So far, therefore, our civil duties are connected 
 with our natural, that the former are invented chiefly for the 
 sake of the latter ; and that the principal object of govern- 
 ment is to constrain men to observe the laws of nature. In 
 this respect, however, that law of nature, concerning the 
 performance of promises, is only compriz'd along with the 
 rest ; and its exact observance is to be consider'd as an 
 effect of the institution of government, and not the obedience 
 to government as an effect of the obligation of a promise. 
 "Tho' the object of our civil duties be the enforcing of our 
 natural, yet the first 1 motive of the invention, as well as 
 performance of both, is nothing but self-interest : And since 
 there is a separate interest in the obedience to government, 
 from that in the performance of promises, we must also 
 allow of a separate obligation. To obey the civil magistrate 
 is requisite to preserve order and concord in society. To 
 perform promises is requisite to beget mutual trust and con- 
 fidence in the common offices of life. The ends, as well as 
 the means, are perfectly distinct ; nor is the one subordinate 
 to the other. 
 
 1 First in time, not in dignity or force. 
 
192 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 To make this more evident, let us consider, that men will 
 often bind themselves by promises to the performance of 
 what it wou'd have been their interest to perform, inde- 
 pendent of these promises ; as when they wou'd give others 
 a fuller security, by super-adding a new obligation of interest 
 to that which they formerly lay under. The interest in the 
 performance of promises, besides its moral obligation, is 
 general, avow'd, and of the last consequence in life. Other 
 interests may be more particular and doubtful ; and we are 
 apt to entertain a greater suspicion, that men may indulge 
 their humour, or passion, in acting contrary to them. Here, 
 therefore, promises come naturally in play, and are often 
 requir'd for fuller satisfaction and security. But supposing 
 those other interests to be as general and avow'd as the 
 interest in the performance of a promise, they will be re- 
 garded as on the same footing, and men will begin to repose 
 the same confidence in them. Now this is exactly the case 
 with regard to our civil duties, or obedience to the magis- 
 trate ; without which no government cou'd subsist, nor any 
 peace or order be maintain'd in large societies, where there 
 are so many possessions on the one hand, and so many 
 wants, real or imaginary, on the other. Our civil duties, 
 therefore, must soon detach themselves from our promises, 
 and acquire a separate force and influence. The interest in 
 both is of the very same kind . 'Tis general, avow'd, and 
 prevails in all times and places. There is, then, no pretext 
 of reason for founding the one upon the other ; while each 
 of them has a foundation peculiar to itself. We might as 
 well resolve the obligation to abstain from the possessions 
 of others, into the obligation of a promise, as that of 
 allegiance. The interests are not more distinct in the one 
 case than the other. A regard to property is not more 
 necessary to natural society, than obedience is to civil 
 society or government ; nor is the former society more 
 necessary to the being of mankind, than the latter to their 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 193 
 
 well-being and happiness. In short, if the performance of 
 promises be advantageous, so is obedience to government : 
 If the former interest be general, so is the latter : If the one 
 interest be obvious and avow'd, so is the other. And as these 
 two rules are founded on like obligations of interest, each of 
 them must have a peculiar authority, independent of the other. 
 But 'tis not only the natural obligations of interest, which 
 are distinct in promises and allegiance ; but also the -moral 
 obligations of honour and conscience : Nor does the merit 
 or demerit of the one depend in the least upon that of the 
 other. And indeed, if we consider the close connexion 
 there is betwixt the natural and moral obligations, we shall 
 find this conclusion to be entirely unavoidable. Our inter- 
 est is always engag'd on the side of obedience to magistracy ; 
 and there is nothing but a great present advantage, that can 
 lead us to rebellion, by making us over-look the remote 
 interest, which we have in the preserving of peace and order 
 in society. But tho' a present interest may thus blind us 
 with regard to our own actions, it takes not place with regard 
 to those of others ; nor hinders them from appearing in 
 in their true colours, as highly prejudicial to public interest, 
 and to our own in particular. This naturally gives us an 
 uneasiness, in considering such seditious and disloyal 
 actions, and makes us attach to them the idea of vice 
 and moral deformity. 'Tis the same principle, which causes 
 us to disapprove of all kinds of private injustice, and in 
 particular of the breach of promises. We blame all treach- 
 ery and breach of faith ; because we consider, that the 
 freedom and extent of human commerce depend entirely on 
 a fidelity with regard to promises. We blame all disloyalty 
 to magistrates ; because we perceive, that the execution of 
 justice, in the stability of possession, its translation by con- 
 sent, and the performance of promises, is impossible, with- 
 out submission to government. As there are here two 
 interests entirely distinct from each other, they must give 
 
194 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 rise to two moral obligations, equally separate and inde- 
 pendant. Tho' there was no such thing as a promise in the 
 world, government wou'd still be necessary in all large and 
 civiliz'd societies ; and if promises had only their own proper 
 obligation, without the separate sanction of government, they 
 wou'd have but little efficacy in such societies. This sepa- 
 rates the boundaries of our public and private duties, and 
 shews that the latter are more dependant on the former, 
 than the former on the latter. Education and the artifice of 
 politicia7ts, concur to bestow a farther morality on loyalty, 
 and to brand all rebellion with a greater degree of guilt and 
 infamy. Nor is it a wonder, that politicians shou'd be very 
 industrious in inculcating such notions, where their interest 
 is so particularly concern'd. 
 
 Lest those arguments shou'd not appear entirely conclu- 
 sive (as I think they are) I shall have recourse to authority, 
 and shall prove, from the universal consent of mankind, that 
 the obligation of submission to government is not deriv'd 
 from any promise of the subjects. Nor need any one 
 wonder, that tho' I have all along endeavour'd to establish 
 my system on pure reason, and have scarce ever cited the 
 judgment even of philosophers or historians on any article, 
 I shou'd now appeal to popular authority, and oppose the 
 sentiments of the rabble to any philosophical reasoning. 
 For it must be observ'd, that the opinions of men, in this 
 case, carry with them a peculiar authority, and are, in a 
 great measure, infallible. The distinction of moral good 
 and evil is founded on the pleasure or pain, which results 
 from the view of any sentiment, or character ; and as that 
 pleasure or pain cannot be unknown to the person who feels 
 it, it follows, 1 that there is just so much vice or virtue in any 
 
 1 This proposition must hold strictly true, with regard to every 
 quality, that is determin'd merely by sentiment. In what sense we can 
 talk either of a right or a wrong taste in morals, eloquence, or beauty, 
 shall be consider'd afterwards. In the mean time, it may be observ'd, 
 that there is such an uniformity in the general sentiments of mankind, as 
 to render such questions of but small importance. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 195 
 
 character, as every one places in it, and that 'tis impossible 
 in this particular we can ever be mistaken. And tho' our 
 judgments concerning the origin of any vice or virtue, be 
 not so certain as those concerning their degrees ; yet, since 
 the question in this case regards not any philosophical origin 
 of an obligation, but a plain matter of fact, 'tis not easily 
 conceiv'd how we can fall into an error. A man, who 
 acknowledges himself to be bound to another, for a certain 
 sum, must certainly know whether it be by his own bond, or 
 that of his father ; whether it be of his mere good-will, or 
 for money lent him ; and under what conditions, and for 
 what purposes he has bound himself. In like manner, it 
 being certain, that there is a moral obligation to submit to 
 government, because every one thinks so ; it must be as 
 certain, that this obligation arises not from a promise; since 
 no one, whose judgment has not been led astray by too 
 strict adherence to a system of philosophy, has ever yet 
 dreamt of ascribing it to that origin. Neither magistrates 
 nor subjects have form'd this idea of our civil duties. 
 
 We find, that magistrates are so far from deriving their 
 authority, and the obligation to obedience in their subjects, 
 from the foundation of a promise or original contract, that 
 they conceal, as far as possible, from their people, especially 
 from the vulgar, that they have their origin from thence. 
 Were this the sanction of government, our rulers wou'd never 
 receive it tacitly, which is the utmost that can be pretended ; 
 since what is given tacitly and insensibly can never have such 
 influence on mankind, as what is perform'd expressly and 
 openly. A tacit promise is, where the will is signified by 
 other more diffuse signs than those of speech ; but a will 
 there must certainly be in the case, and that can never 
 escape the person's notice, who exerted it, however silent or 
 tacit. But were you to ask the far greatest part of the 
 nation, whether they had ever consented to the authority of 
 their rulers, or promis'd to obey them they wou'd be inclin'd 
 
196 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 to think very strangely of you ; and wou'd certainly reply, 
 that the affair depended not on their consent, but that they 
 were born to such an obedience. In consequence of this 
 opinion, we frequently see them imagine such persons to be 
 their natural rulers, as are at that time depriv'd of all power 
 and authority, and whom no man, however foolish, wou'd 
 voluntarily chuse ; and this merely because they are in that 
 line, which rul'd before, and in that degree of it, which 
 us'd to succeed ; tho' perhaps in so distant a period, that 
 scarce any man alive cou'd ever have given any promise of 
 obedience. Has a government, then, no authority over such 
 as these, because they never consented to it, and wou'd 
 esteem the very attempt of such a free choice, a piece of 
 arrogance and impiety ? We find by experience, that it 
 punishes them very freely for what it calls treason and 
 rebellion, which, it seems, according to this system, reduces 
 itself to common injustice. If you say, that by dwelling in 
 its dominions, they in effect consented to -the establish'd 
 government ; I answer, that this can only be, where they 
 think the affair depends on their choice, which few or none, 
 besides those philosophers, have ever yet imagin'd. It 
 never was pleaded as an excuse for a rebel, that the first 
 act he perform'd, after he came to years of discretion, was 
 to levy war against the sovereign of the state ; and that 
 while he was a child he cou'd not bind himself by his own 
 consent, and having become a man, show'd plainly by the 
 first act he perform'd, that he had no design to impose on 
 himself any obligation to obedience. We find, on the con- 
 trary, that civil laws punish this crime at the same age as 
 any other, which is criminal, of itself, without our consent ; 
 that is, when the person is come to the full use of reason . 
 Whereas to this crime they ought in justice to allow some 
 intermediate time, in which a tacit consent at least might be 
 suppos'd. To which we may add, that a man living under 
 an absolute government, wou'd owe it no allegiance ; since, 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 197 
 
 by its very nature, it depends not on consent. But as that 
 is as natural and common a government as any, it must 
 certainly occasion some obligation ; and 'tis plain from 
 experience, that men, who are subjected to it, do always 
 think so. This is a clear proof, that we do not commonly 
 esteem our allegiance to be deriv'd from our consent or 
 promise and a farther proof is, that when our promise is 
 upon any account expressly engag'd, we always distinguish 
 exactly betwixt the two obligations, and believe the one to 
 add more force to the other, than in a repetition of the same 
 promise. Where no promise is given, a man looks not on his 
 faith as broken in private matters, upon account of rebellion ; 
 but keeps those two duties of honour and allegiance perfectly 
 distinct and separate. As the uniting of them was thought 
 by these philosophers a very subtile invention, this is a 
 convincing proof, that 'tis not a true one ; since no man can 
 either give a promise, or be restrain'd by its sanction and 
 obligation unknown. to himself. 
 
 SECTION IX. 
 
 Of the measures of allegiance. 
 
 Those political writers, who have had recourse to a 
 promise, or original contract, as the source of our allegiance 
 to government, intended to establish a principle, which is 
 perfectly just and reasonable ; tho' the reasoning, upon 
 which they endeavour'd to establish it, was fallacious and 
 sophistical. They wou'd prove, that our submission to 
 government admits of exceptions, and that an egregious 
 tyranny in the rulers is sufficient to free the subjects from 
 all ties of allegiance. Since men enter into society, say they, 
 and submit themselves to government, by their free and 
 voluntary consent, they must have in view certain advan- 
 tages, which they propose to reap from it, and for which they 
 are contented to resign their native liberty. There is, there- 
 
198 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 fore, something mutual engag'd on the part of the magistrate, 
 viz. protection and security ; and 'tis only by the hopes he 
 affords of these advantages, that he can ever persuade men 
 to submit to him. But when instead of protection and 
 security, they meet with tyranny and oppression, they are 
 free'd from their promises, (as happens in all conditional 
 contracts) and return to that state of liberty, which preceded 
 the institution of government. Men wou'd never be so 
 foolish as to enter into such engagements as shou'd turn 
 entirely to the advantage of others, without any view of 
 bettering their own condition. Whoever proposes to draw 
 any profit from our submission, must engage himself, either 
 expressly or tacitly, to make us reap some advantage from 
 his authority ; nor ought he to expect, that without the 
 performance of his part we will ever continue in obedience. 
 I repeat it : This conclusion is just, tho' the principles be 
 erroneous ; and I flatter myself, that I can establish the same 
 conclusion on more reasonable principles. I shall not take 
 such a compass, in establishing our political duties, as to 
 assert, that men perceive the advantages of government ; 
 that they institute government with a view to those advan- 
 tages ; that this institution requires a promise of obedience ; 
 which imposes a moral obligation to a certain degree, but 
 being conditional, ceases to be binding, whenever the other 
 contracting party performs not his part of the engagement. 
 I perceive, that a promise itself arises entirely from human 
 conventions, and is invented with a view to a certain interest. 
 I seek, therefore, some such interest more immediately con- 
 nected with government, and which may be at once the 
 original motive to its institution, and the source of our 
 obedience to it. This interest I find to consist in the 
 security and protection, which we enjoy in political society, 
 and which we can never attain, when perfectly free and 
 independent. As interest, therefore, is the immediate 
 sanction of government, the one can have no longer being 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 199 
 
 than the other ; and whenever the civil magistrate carries 
 his oppression so far as to render his authority perfectly 
 intolerable, we are no longer bound to submit to it. The 
 cause ceases ; the effect must cease also. 
 
 So far the conclusion is immediate and direct, concern- 
 ing the natural obligation which we have to allegiance. As 
 to the tnoral obligation, we may observe, that the maxim 
 wou'd here be false, that when the cause ceases, the effect must 
 cease also. For there is a principle of human nature, which 
 we have frequently taken notice of, that men are mightily ad- 
 dicted to general rules, and that we often carry our maxims 
 beyond those reasons, which first indue'd us to establish 
 them. Where cases are similar in many circumstances, we 
 are apt to put them on the same footing, without considering, 
 that they differ in the most material circumstances, and that 
 the resemblance is more apparent than real. It may, there- 
 fore, be thought, that in the case of allegiance our moral ob- 
 ligation of duty will not cease, even tho' the natural obliga- 
 tion of interest, which is its cause, has ceas'd; and that men 
 may be bound by conscience to submit to a tyrannical govern- 
 ment against their own and the public interest. And in- 
 deed, to the force of this argument I so far submit, as to 
 acknowledge, that general rules commonly extend beyond 
 the principles, on which they are founded; and that we sel- 
 dom make any exception to them, unless that exception 
 have the qualities of a general rule, and be founded on very 
 numerous and common instances. Now this I assert to be 
 entirely the present case. When men submit to the author- 
 ity of others, 'tis to procure themselves some security against 
 the wickedness and injustice of men, who are perpetually 
 carried, by their unruly passions, and by their present and 
 , immediate interest, to the violation of all the laws of society. 
 But as this imperfection is inherent in human nature, we 
 know that it must attend men in all their states and condi- 
 tions; and that those, whom we chuse for rulers, do not im- 
 
2 00 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 mediately become of a superior nature to the rest of mankind, . 
 upon account of their superior power and authority. What 
 we expect from them depends not on a change of their nature 
 but of their situation, when they acquire a more immediate 
 interest in the preservation of order and the execution of 
 justice. But besides that this interest is only more immediate 
 in the execution of justice among their subjects; besides 
 this, I say, we may often expect, from the irregularity of 
 human nature, that they will neglect even this immediate 
 interest, and be transported by their passions into all the 
 excesses of cruelty and ambition. Our general knowledge of 
 human nature, our observation of the past history of man- 
 kind, our experience of present times; all these causes must 
 induce us to open the door to exceptions, and must make us 
 conclude, that we may resist the more violent effects of 
 supreme power, without any crime or injustice. 
 
 Accordingly we may observe, that this is both the general 
 practice and principle of mankind, and that no nation, that 
 cou'd find any remedy, ever yet suffer'd the cruel ravages of 
 a tyrant, or were blam'd for their resistance. Those who took 
 up arms against Dionysius or Nero, or Philip the second, have 
 the favour of every reader in the perusal of their history; 
 and nothing but the most violent perversion of common 
 sense can ever lead us to condemn them. 'Tis certain, 
 therefore, that in all our notions of morals we never enter- 
 tain such an absurdity as that of passive obedience, but 
 make allowances for resistance in the more flagrant instances 
 of tyranny and oppression. The general opinion of mankind 
 has some authority in all cases; but in this of morals 'tis 
 perfectly infallible. Nor is it less infallible, because men 
 cannot distinctly explain the principles, on which it is founded. 
 Few persons can carry on this train of reasoning: 'Govern- 
 ment is a mere human invention for the interest of society. 
 Where the tyranny of the governor removes this interest, it 
 also removes the natural obligation to obedience. The 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 201 
 
 moral obligation is founded on the natural, and therefore 
 must cease where that ceases; especially where the subject is 
 such as makes us foresee very many occasions wherein the 
 natural obligation may cease, and causes us to form a kind of 
 general rule for the regulation of our conduct in such occur- 
 rences.' But tho' this train of reasoning be too subtile for 
 the vulgar, 'tis certain, that all men have an implicit notion of 
 it, and are sensible, that they owe obedience to government 
 merely on account of the public interest; and at the same 
 time, that human nature is so subject to frailties and passions, 
 as may easily pervert this institution, and change their 
 governors into tyrants and public enemies. If the sense of 
 common interest were not our original motive to obedience, 
 I wou'd fain ask, what other principle is there in human 
 nature capable of subduing the natural ambition of men, 
 and forcing them to such a submission ? Imitation and 
 custom are not sufficient. For the question still recurs, what 
 motive first produces those instances of submission, which 
 we imitate, and that train of actions, which produces the 
 custom? There evidently is no other principle than com- 
 mon interest ; and if interest first produces obedience to 
 government, the obligation to obedience must cease, when- 
 ever the interest ceases, in any great degree, and in a con- 
 siderable number of instances. 
 
 SECTION X. 
 
 Of the objects of allegiance. 
 
 But tho', on some occasions, it may be justifiable, both 
 in sound politics and morality, to resist supreme power, 'tis 
 certain, that in the ordinary course of human affairs nothing 
 can be more pernicious and criminal; and that besides the 
 convulsions, which always attend revolutions, such a prac- 
 tice tends directly to the subversion of all government, and 
 the causing an universal anarchy and confusion among man- 
 
202 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 kind. As numerous and civiliz'd societies cannot subsist 
 without government, so government is entirely useless with- 
 out an exact obedience. We ought always to weigh the ad- 
 vantages, which we reap from authority, against the dis- 
 advantages; and by this means we shall become more 
 scrupulous of putting in practice the doctrine of resistance. 
 The common rule requires submission; and 'tis only in 
 cases of grievous tyranny and oppression, that the exception 
 can take place. 
 
 Since then such a blind submission is commonly due to 
 magistracy, the next question is, to whom it is due, and whom 
 we are to regard as our lawful magistrates 1 In order to 
 answer this question, let us recollect what we have already 
 establish'd concerning the origin of government and political 
 society. When men have once experienc'd the impossibility 
 of preserving any steady order in society, while every one is 
 his own master, and violates or observes the laws of society, 
 according to his present interest or pleasure, they naturally 
 run into the invention of government, and put it out of their 
 own power, as far as possible, to transgress the laws of 
 society. Government, therefore, arises from the voluntary 
 convention of men; and 'tis evident, that the same conven- 
 tion, which establishes government, will also determine the 
 persons who are to govern, and will remove all doubt and 
 ambiguity in this particular. And the voluntary consent of 
 men must here have the greater efficacy, that the authority 
 of the magistrate does at first stand upon the foundation of 
 a promise of the subjects, by which they bind themselves to 
 obedience ; as in every other contract or engagement. The 
 same promise, then, which binds them to obedience, ties 
 them down to a particular person, and makes him the object 
 of their allegiance. 
 
 But when government has been establish'd on this footing 
 for some considerable time, and the separate interest, which 
 we have in submission, has produc'd a separate sentiment of 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 203 
 
 morality, the case is entirely alter'd, and a promise is no 
 longer able to determine the particular magistrate ; since it 
 is no longer consider'd as the foundation of government. 
 We naturally suppose ourselves born to submission ; and 
 imagine, that such particular persons have a right to com- 
 mand, as we on our part are bound to obey. These notions 
 of right and obligation are deriv'd from nothing but the 
 advantage we reap from government, which gives us a repug- 
 nance to practise resistance ourselves, and makes us dis- 
 pleas'd with any instance of it in others. But here 'tis 
 remarkable, that in this new state of affairs, the original 
 sanction of government, which is interest, is not admitted to 
 determine the persons, whom we are to obey, as the original 
 sanction did at first, when affairs were on the footing of a 
 promise. A promise fixes and determines the persons, without 
 any uncertainty : But 'tis evident, that if men were to regu- 
 late their conduct in this particular, by the view of a peculiar 
 interest, either public or private, they wou'd involve them- 
 selves in endless confusion, and wou'd render all government, 
 in a great measure, ineffectual. The private interest of every 
 one is different ; and tho' the public interest in itself be 
 always one and the same, yet it becomes the source of as 
 great dissentions, by reason of the different opinions of par- 
 ticular persons concerning it. The same interest, therefore, 
 which causes us to submit to magistracy, makes us renounce 
 itself in the choice of our magistrates, and binds us down to 
 a certain form of government, and to particular persons, 
 without allowing us to aspire to the utmost perfection in 
 either. The case is here the same as in that law of nature 
 concerning the stability of possession. 'Tis highly advan- 
 tageous, and even absolutely necessary to society, that 
 possession shou'd be stable ; and this leads us to the estab- 
 lishment of such a rule : But we find, that were we to follow 
 the same advantage, in assigning particular possessions to 
 particular persons, we shou'd disappoint our end, and 
 
204 A TREATISE OF II UMAX NATURE. 
 
 perpetuate the confusion, which that rule is intended to 
 prevent. We must, therefore, proceed by general rules, 
 and regulate ourselves by general interests, in modifying 
 the law of nature concerning the stability of possession. 
 Nor need we fear, that our attachment to this law will 
 diminish upon account of the seeming frivolousness of those 
 interests, by which it is determined. The impulse of the 
 mind is deriv'd from a very strong interest ; and those 
 other more minute interests serve only to direct the motion, 
 without adding any thing to it, or diminishing from it. 
 'Tis the same case with government. Nothing is more 
 advantageous to society than such an invention ; and this 
 interest is sufficient to make us embrace it with ardour and 
 alacrity ; tho' we are oblig'd afterwards to regulate and 
 direct our devotion to government by several considerations, 
 which are not of the same importance, and to chuse our 
 magistrates without having in view any particular advantage 
 from the choice. 
 
 The first of those principles I shall take notice of, as a 
 foundation of the right of magistracy, is that which gives 
 authority to all the most establish'd governments of the 
 world without exception : I mean, long possession in any one 
 form of government, or succession of princes. 'Tis certain, 
 that if we remount to the first origin of every nation, we shall 
 find, that there scarce is any race of kings, or form of a 
 commonwealth, that is not primarily founded on usurpation 
 and rebellion, and whose title is not at first worse than 
 doubtful and uncertain. Time alone gives solidity to their 
 right ; and operating gradually on the minds of men, 
 reconciles them to any authority, and makes it seem just 
 and reasonable. Nothing causes any sentiment to have a 
 greater influence upon us than custom, or turns our imagina- 
 tion more strongly to any object. When we have been long 
 accustom'd to obey any set of men, that general instinct or 
 tendency, which we have to suppose a moral obligation 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 205 
 
 attending loyalty, takes easily this direction, and chuses that 
 set of men for its objects. Tis interest which gives the 
 general instinct ; but 'tis custom which gives the particular 
 direction. 
 
 And here 'tis observable, that the same length of time has 
 a different influence on our sentiments of morality, according 
 to its different influence on the mind. We naturally judge 
 of every thing by comparison ; and since in considering the 
 fate of kingdoms and republics, we embrace a long extent of 
 time, a small duration has not in this case a like influence on 
 our sentiments, as when we consider any other object. One 
 thinks he acquires a right to a horse, or a suit of cloaths, in 
 a very short time ; but a century is scarce sufficient to 
 establish any new government, or remove all scruples in the 
 minds of the subjects concerning it. Add to this, that a 
 shorter period of time will suffice to give a prince a title to 
 any additional power he may usurp, than will serve to fix 
 his right, where the whole is an usurpation. The kings of 
 France have not been possess'd of absolute power for above 
 two reigns ; and yet nothing will appear more extravagant 
 to Frenchmen than to talk of their liberties. If we consider 
 what has been said concerning accession, we shall easily 
 account for this phagnomenon. 
 
 When there is no form of government establish'd by long 
 possession, the present possession is sufficient to supply its 
 place, and may be regarded as the second source of all public 
 authority. Right to authority is nothing but the constant 
 possession of authority, maintain'd by the laws of society and 
 the interests of mankind ; and nothing can be more natural 
 than to join this constant possession to the present one, 
 according to the principles above-mention'd. If the same 
 principles did not take place with regard to the property of 
 private persons, 'twas because these principles were counter- 
 ballanc'd by very strong considerations of interest ; when we 
 observ'd, that all restitution wou'd by that means be pre- 
 
206 a TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 vented, and every violence be authoriz'd and protected. And 
 tho' the same motives may seem to have force, with regard 
 to public authority, yet they are oppos'd by a contrary in- 
 terest; which consists in the preservation of peace, and the 
 avoiding of all changes, which, however they may be easily 
 produc'd in private affairs, are unavoidably attended with 
 bloodshed and confusion, where the public is interested. 
 
 Any one, who finding the impossibility of accounting for 
 the right of the present possessor, by any receiv'd system of 
 ethics, shou'd resolve to deny absolutely that right, and 
 assert, that it is not authoriz'd by morality, wou'd be justly 
 thought to maintain a very extravagant paradox, and to 
 shock the common sense and judgment of mankind. No 
 maxim is more comformable, both to prudence and morals, 
 than to submit quietly to the government, which we find 
 establish'd in the country where we happen to live, without 
 enquiring too curiously into its origin and first establish- 
 ment. Few governments will bear being examin'd so rigor- 
 ously. How many kingdoms are there at present in the 
 world, and how many more do we find in history, whose 
 governors have no better foundation for their authority than 
 that of present possession ? To confine ourselves to the 
 Roman and Grecian empire ; is it not evident, that the long 
 succession of emperors, from the dissolution of the Roman 
 liberty, to the final extinction of that empire by the Turks, 
 cou'd not so much as pretend to any other title to the em- 
 pire ? The election of the senate was a mere form, which 
 always follow'd the choice of the legions; and these were 
 almost always divided in the different provinces, and noth- 
 ing but the sword was able to terminate the difference. 
 'Twas by the sword, therefore, that every emperor acquir'd, 
 as well as defended his right ; and we must either say, that 
 all the known world, for so many ages, had no government, 
 and ow'd no allegiance to any one, or must allow, that the 
 right of the stronger, in public affairs, is to be receiv'd as 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 207 
 
 legitimate, and authoriz'd by morality, when not oppos'd by 
 any other title. 
 
 The right of conquest may be consider'd as a third source 
 of the title of sovereigns. This right resembles very much 
 that of present possession; but has rather a superior force, 
 being seconded by the notions of glory and honour, which 
 we ascribe to conquerors, instead of the sentiments of hatred 
 and detestation, which attend usupers. Men naturally favour 
 those they love ; and therefore are more apt to ascribe a 
 right to successful violence, betwixt one sovereign and an- 
 other, than to the successful rebellion of a subject against 
 his sovereign. 1 
 
 When neither long possession, nor present possession, nor 
 conquest take place, as when the first sovereign, who founded 
 any monarchy, dies ; in that case, the right of succession natu- 
 rally prevails in their stead, and men are commonly induc'd 
 to place the son of their late monarch on the throne, and 
 suppose him to inherit his father's authority. The presum'd 
 consent of the father, the imitation of the succession to 
 private families, the interest, which the state has in chusing 
 the person, who is most powerful, and has the most numerous 
 followers; all these reasons lead men to prefer the son of 
 their late monarch to any other person. 2 
 
 These reasons have some weight; but I am persuaded, 
 that to one, who considers impartially of the matter, 'twill 
 appear, that there concur some principles of the imagination, 
 along with those views of interest. The royal authority 
 
 1 It is not here asserted, that present possession or conquest are suffi- 
 cient to give a title against long possessioiz and positive laws : But only 
 that they have some force, and will be able to cast the balance where 
 the titles are otherwise equal, and will even be sufficient sometimes to 
 sanctify the weaker title. What degree of force they have is difficult to 
 determine. I believe all moderate men will allow, that they have great 
 force in all disputes concerning the rights of princes. 
 
 2 To prevent mistakes I must observe, that this case of succession is 
 not the same with that of hereditary monarchies, where custom has 
 fix'd the right of succession. These depend upon the principle of long 
 possession above explain'd. 
 
208 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 seems to be connected with the young prince even in his 
 father's life-time, by the natural transition of the thought; 
 and still more after his death : So that nothing is more natu- 
 ral than to compleat this union by a new relation, and by 
 putting him actually in possession of what seems so naturally 
 to belong to him. 
 
 To confirm this we may weigh the following phenomena, 
 which are pretty curious in their kind. In elective monarchies 
 the right of succession has no place by the laws and settled 
 custom; and yet its influence is so natural, that 'tis impos- 
 sible entirely to exclude it from the imagination, and render 
 the subjects indifferent to the son of their deceas'd monarch. 
 Hence in some governments of this kind, the choice com- 
 monly falls on one or other of the royal family; and in some 
 governments they are all excluded. Those contrary phe- 
 nomena proceed from the same principle. Where the royal 
 family is excluded, 'tis from a refinement in politics, which 
 makes people sensible of their propensity to chuse a sover- 
 eign in that family, and gives them a jealousy of their liberty, 
 lest their new monarch, aided by this propensity, shou'd 
 establish his family, and destroy the freedom of elections for 
 the future. 
 
 The history of Artaxerxcs, and the younger Cyrus, may 
 furnish us with some reflections to the same purpose. Cyrus 
 pretended a right to the throne above his elder brother, 
 because he was born after his father's accession. I do not 
 pretend, that this reason was valid. I wou'd only infer from 
 it, that he wou'd never have made use of such a pretext, were 
 it not for the qualities of the imagination above-mention'd, 
 by which we are naturally inclin'd to unite by a new relation 
 whatever objects we find already united. Artaxerxcs had an 
 advantage above his brother, as being the eldest son, and 
 the first in succession : But Cyrus was more closely related 
 to the royal authority, as being begot after his father was 
 invested with it. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 209 
 
 Shou'd it here be pretended, that the view .of convenience 
 may be the source of all the right of succession, and that 
 men gladly take advantage of any rule, by which they can 
 fix the successor of their late sovereign, and prevent that 
 anarchy and confusion, which attends all new elections : To 
 this I wou'd answer, that I readily allow, that this motive 
 may contribute something to the effect ; but at the same 
 time I assert, that without another principle, 'tis impossible 
 such a motive shou'd take place. The interest of a nation 
 requires, that the succession to the crown shou'd be fix'd 
 one way or other; but 'tis the same thing to its interest in 
 what way it be fix'd : So that if the relation of blood had 
 not an effect independent of public interest, it wou'd never 
 have been regarded, without a positive law ; and 'twou'd 
 have been impossible, that so many positive laws of different 
 nations cou'd ever have concur'd precisely in the same views 
 and intentions. 
 
 This leads us to consider the fifth source of authority, viz. 
 positive laws ; when the legislature establishes a certain form 
 of government and succession of princes. At first sight it 
 may be thought, that this must resolve into some of the pre- 
 ceding titles of authority. The legislative power, whence 
 the positive law is deriv'd, must either be establish'd by 
 original contract, long possession, present possession, con- 
 quest, or succession ; and consequently the positive law 
 must derive its force from some of those principles. But 
 here 'tis remarkable, that tho' a positive law can only derive 
 its force from these principles, yet it acquires not all the 
 force of the principle from whence it is deriv'd, but loses 
 considerably in the transition ; as it is natural to imagine. 1 
 For instance ; a government is establish'd for many centu- 
 ries on a certain system of laws, forms, and methods of 
 succession. The legislative power, establish'd by this long 
 succession, changes all on a sudden the whole system of 
 government, and introduces a new constitution in its stead. 
 
210 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 I believe few of the subjects will think themselves bound to 
 comply with this alteration, unless it have an evident ten- 
 dency to the public good : But will think themselves still at 
 liberty to return to the antient government. Hence the 
 notion of fundamental laws ; which are suppos'd to be 
 inalterable by the will of the sovereign . And of this nature 
 the Salic law is understood to be in F?-ance. How far these 
 fundamental laws extend is not determin'd in any govern- 
 ment ; nor is it possible it ever shou'd. There is such an 
 insensible gradation from the most material laws to the 
 most trivial, and from the most antient laws to the most 
 modern, that 'twill be impossible to set bounds to the legis- 
 lative power, and determine how far it may innovate in the 
 principles of government. That is the work more of imagi- 
 nation and passion than of reason. 
 
 Whoever considers the history of the several nations of 
 the world ; their revolutions, conquests, increase, and dimi- 
 nution ; the manner in which their particular governments 
 are establish'd, and the successive right transmitted from 
 one person to another, will soon learn to treat very lightly 
 all disputes concerning the rights of princes, and will be 
 convinc'd, that a strict adherence to any general rules, and 
 the rigid loyalty to particular persons and families, on which 
 some people set so high a value, are virtues that hold less 
 of reason, than of bigotry and superstition. In this particu- 
 lar, the study of history confirms the reasonings of true 
 philosophy ; which, shewing us the original qualities of 
 human nature, teaches us to regard the controversies in 
 politics as incapable of any decision in most cases, and as 
 entirely subordinate to the interests of peace and liberty. 
 Where the public good does not evidently demand a change ; 
 'tis certain, that the concurrence of all those titles, original 
 contract, long possession, present possession, succession, and posi- 
 tive laws, forms the strongest title to sovereignty, and is 
 justly regarded as sacred and inviolable. But when these 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 211 
 
 titles are mingled and oppos'd in different degrees, they 
 often occasion perplexity ; and are less capable of solution 
 from the arguments of lawyers and philosophers, than from 
 the swords of the soldiery. Who shall tell me, for instance, 
 whether Gcrmaiiiats, or Dri/sus, ought to have succeeded 
 Tiberius, had he died while they were both alive, without 
 naming any of them for his successor ? Ought the right of 
 adoption to be receiv'd as equivalent to that of blood in a 
 nation, where it had the same effect in private families, and 
 had already, in two instances, taken place in the public ? 
 Ought Germanicus to be esteem'd the eldest son, because he 
 was born before Drusus ; or the younger, because he was 
 adopted after the birth of his brother ? Ought the right of 
 the elder to be regarded in a nation where the eldest brother 
 had no advantage in the succession to private families ? 
 Ought the Roman empire at that time to be esteem'd heredi- 
 tary, because of two examples ; or ought it, even so early, 
 to be regarded as belonging to the stronger, or the present 
 possessor, as being founded on so recent an usurpation ? 
 Upon whatever principles we may pretend to answer these 
 and such like questions, I am afraid we shall never be able 
 to satisfy an impartial enquirer, who adopts no party in 
 political controversies, and will be satisfied with nothing but 
 sound reason and philosophy. 
 
 But here an E?iglish reader will be apt to enquire concern- 
 ing that famous revolution, which has had such a happy 
 influence on our constitution, and has been attended with 
 such mighty consequences. We have already remark'd, that 
 in the case of enormous tyranny and oppression, 'tis lawful 
 to take arms even against supreme power ; and that as gov- 
 ernment is a mere human invention for mutual advantage 
 and security, it no longer imposes any obligation, either 
 natural or moral, when once it ceases to have that tendency. 
 But tho' this general principle be authoriz'd by common 
 
212 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 sense, and the practice of all ages, 'tis certainly impossible 
 for the laws, or even for philosophy, to establish any particular 
 rules, by which we may know when resistance is lawful ; and 
 decide all controversies, which may arise on that subject. 
 This may not only happen with regard to supreme power ; 
 but 'tis possible, even in some constitutions, where the legisla- 
 tive authority is not lodg'd in one person, that there may be 
 a magistrate so eminent and powerful, as to oblige the laws 
 to keep silence in this particular. Nor wou'd this silence be 
 an effect only of their respect, but also of their prudence; 
 since 'tis certain, that in the vast variety of circumstances, 
 which occur in all governments, an exercise of power, in so 
 great a magistrate, may at one time be beneficial to the 
 public, which at another time wou'd be pernicious and 
 tyrannical. But notwithstanding this silence of the laws in 
 limited monarchies, 'tis certain, that the people still retain the 
 right of resistance ; since 'tis impossible, even in the most 
 despotic governments, to deprive them of it. The same 
 necessity of self-preservation, and the same motive of public 
 good, give them the same liberty in the one case as in the 
 other. And we may farther observe, that in such mix'd 
 governments, the cases, wherein resistance is lawful, must 
 occur much oftener, and greater indulgence be given to the 
 subjects to defend themselves by force of arms, than in 
 arbitrary governments. Not only where the chief magistrate 
 enters into measures, in themselves, extremely pernicious to 
 the public, but even when he wou'd encroach on the other 
 parts of the constitution, and extend his power beyond the 
 legal bounds, it is allowable to resist and dethrone him ; tho' 
 such resistance and violence may, in the general tenor of the 
 laws, be deem'd unlawful and rebellious. For besides that 
 nothing is more essential to public interest, than the pres- 
 ervation of public liberty ; 'tis evident, that if such a mix'd 
 government be once suppos'd to be establish'd, every part or 
 member of the constitution must have a right of self-defence, 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 213 
 
 and of maintaining its antient bounds against the encroach- 
 ment of every other authority. As matter would have been 
 created in vain, were it depriv'd of a power of resistance, 
 without which no part of it cou'd preserve a distinct exis- 
 tence, and the whole might be crowded up into a single 
 point : So 'tis a gross absurdity to suppose, in any govern- 
 ment, a right without a remedy, or allow, that the supreme 
 power is shar'd with the people, without allowing, that 'tis 
 lawful for them to defend their share against every invader. 
 Those, therefore, who wou'd seem to respect our free gov- 
 ernment, and yet deny the right of resistance, have renounc'd 
 all pretensions to common sense, and do not merit a serious 
 answer. 
 
 It does not belong to my present purpose to shew, that 
 these general principles are applicable to the late revolution ; 
 and that all the rights and privileges, which ought to be 
 sacred to a free nation, were at that time threaten'd with 
 the utmost danger. I am better pleas'd to leave this contro- 
 verted subject, if it really admits of controversy ; and to 
 indulge myself in some philosophical reflections, which 
 naturally arise from that important event. 
 
 First, We may observe, that shou'd the lords and commons 
 in our constitution, without any reason from public interest, 
 either depose the king in being, or after his death exclude 
 the prince, who, by laws and settled custom ought to succeed, 
 no one wou'd esteem their proceedings legal, or think them- 
 selves bound to comply with them. But shou'd the king, 
 by his unjust practices, or his attempts for a tyrannical and 
 despotic power, justly forfeit his legal, it then not only 
 becomes morally lawful and suitable to the nature of political 
 society to dethrone him ; but what is more, we are apt like- 
 wise to think, that the remaining members of the constitu- 
 tion acquire a right of excluding his next heir, and of chus- 
 ing whom they please for his successor. This is founded on 
 a very singular quality of our thought and imagination. 
 
214 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 When a king forfeits his authority, his heir ought naturally 
 to remain in the same situation, as if the king were remov'd 
 by death; unless by mixing himself in the tyranny, he forfeit 
 it for himself. But tho' this may seem reasonable, we easily 
 comply with the contrary opinion. The deposition of a king, 
 in such a government as ours, is certainly an act beyond all 
 common authority, and an illegal assuming a power for pub- 
 lic good, which, in the ordinary course of government, can 
 belong to no member of the constitution. When the public 
 good is so great and so evident as to justify the action, the 
 commendable use of this licence causes us naturally to 
 attribute to the parliament a right of using farther licences; 
 and the antient bounds of the laws being once transgressed 
 with approbation, we are not apt to be so strict in confining 
 ourselves precisely within their limits. The mind naturally 
 runs on with any train of action, which it has begun; nor 
 do we commonly make any scruple concerning our duty, 
 after the first action of any kind, which we perform. Thus 
 at the revolution, no one who thought the deposition of the 
 father justifiable, esteem'd themselves to be confin'd to his 
 infant son ; tho' had that unhappy monarch died innocent at 
 that time, and had his son, by any accident, been convey'd 
 beyond seas, there is no doubt but a regency wou'd have 
 been appointed till he shou'd come to age, and cou'd be 
 restore'd to his dominions. As the slightest properties of 
 \ the imagination have an effect on the judgments of the 
 people, it shews the wisdom of the laws and of the parlia- 
 ment to take advantage of such properties, and to chuse the 
 magistrates either in or out of a line, according as the vul- 
 gar will most naturally attribute authority and right to them. 
 Secondly, Tho' the accession of the Prince of Orange to 
 the throne might at first give occasion to many disputes, 
 and his title be contested, it ought not now to appear doubt- 
 ful, but must have acquir'd a sufficient authority from those 
 three princes, who have succeeded him upon the same title. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 215 
 
 Nothing is more usual, tho' nothing may, at first sight, appear 
 more unreasonable, than this way of thinking. Princes often 
 seem to acquire a right from their successors, as well as from 
 their ancestors; and a king, who during his life-time might 
 justly be deem'd an usurper, will be regarded by posterity 
 as a lawful prince, because he has had the good fortune to 
 settle his family on the throne, and entirely change the 
 antient form of government. Julius Cccsar is regarded as 
 the first Roman emperor; while Sylla and Marius, whose 
 titles were really the same as his, are treated as tyrants and 
 usurpers. Time and custom give authority to all forms of 
 government, and all successions of princes; and that power, 
 which at first was founded only on injustice and violence, 
 becomes in time legal and obligatory. Nor does the mind 
 rest there; but returning back upon its footsteps, transfers 
 to their predecessors and ancestors that right, which it 
 naturally ascribes to the posterity, as being related together, 
 and united in the imagination. The present king of France 
 makes Hugh Capet a more lawful prince than Cromwell ' ; as 
 the establish'd liberty of the Dutch is no inconsiderable 
 apology for their obstinate resistance to Philip the second. 
 
 SECTION XI. 
 
 Of the laws of nations. 
 
 When civil government has been establish'd over the 
 greatest part of mankind, and different societies have been 
 form'd contiguous to each other, there arises a new set of 
 duties among the neighbouring states, suitable to the nature 
 of that commerce, which they carry on with each other. 
 Political writers tell us, that in every kind of intercourse, a 
 body politic is to be consider'd as one person; and indeed 
 this assertion is so far just, that different nations, as well as 
 private persons, require mutual assistance; at the same time 
 that their selfishness and ambition are perpetual sources of 
 
216 A TREATISE OE HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 war and discord. But tho' nations in this particular resemble 
 individuals, yet as they are very different in other respects, 
 no wonder they regulate themselves by different maxims, and 
 give rise to a new set of rules, which we call the laws of 
 nations. Under this head we may comprize the sacredness 
 of the persons of ambassadors, the declaration of war, the 
 abstaining from poison'd arms, with other duties of that 
 kind, which are evidently calculated for the commerce, that 
 is peculiar to different societies. 
 
 But tho' these rules be super-added to the laws of nature, 
 the former do not entirely abolish the latter; and one may 
 safely affirm, that the three fundamental rules of justice, the 
 stability of possession, its transference by consent, and the 
 performance of promises, are duties of princes, as well as of 
 subjects. The same interest produces the same effect in 
 both cases. Where possession has no stability, there must 
 be perpetual war. Where property is not transferr'd by 
 consent, there can be no commerce. Where promises are 
 not observ'd there can be no leagues nor alliances. The 
 advantages, therefore, of peace, commerce, and mutual 
 succour, make us extend to different kingdoms the same 
 notions of justice which take place among individuals. 
 
 There is a maxim very current in the world, which few 
 politicians are willing to avow, but which has been authoriz'd 
 by the practice of all ages, that there is a system of morals 
 calculated for princes, much more free than that which ought to 
 govern private persons. 'Tis evident this is not to be under- 
 stood of the lesser extent of public duties and obligations; 
 nor will any one be so extravagant as to assert, that the most 
 solemn treaties ought to have no force among princes. For 
 princes do actually form treaties among themselves, they 
 must propose some advantage from the execution of them; 
 and the prospect of such advantage for the future must 
 engage them to perform their part, and must establish that 
 law of nature. The meaning, therefore, of this political 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 217 
 
 maxim is, that tho' the morality of princes has the same 
 extent, yet it has not the same force as that of private persons, 
 and may lawfully be trangress'd from a more trivial motive. 
 However shocking such a proposition may appear to certain 
 philosophers, 'twill be easy to defend it upon those principles, 
 by which we have accounted for the origin of justice and 
 equity. 
 
 When men have found by experience, that 'tis impossible 
 to subsist without society, and that 'tis impossible to maintain 
 society, while they give free course to their appetites ; so 
 urgent an interest quickly restrains their actions, and imposes 
 an obligation to observe those rules, which we call the laws 
 of justice. This obligation of interest rests not here; but by 
 the necessary course of the passions and sentiments, gives 
 rise to the moral obligation of duty; while we approve of 
 such actions as tend to the peace of society, and disapprove 
 of such as tend to its disturbance. The same natural 
 obligation of interest takes place among independent king- 
 doms, and gives rise to the same morality ; so that no one of 
 ever so corrupt morals will approve of a prince, who volun- 
 tarily, and of his own accord, breaks his word, or violates 
 any treaty. But here we may observe, that tho' the inter- 
 course of different states be advantageous, and even some- 
 times necessary, yet it is not so necessary nor advantageous 
 as that among individuals, without which 'tis utterly impos- 
 sible for human nature ever to subsist. Since, therefore, the 
 natural obligation to justice, among different states, is not 
 so strong as among individuals, the moral obligation, which 
 arises from it, must partake of its weakness ; and we must 
 necessarily give a greater indulgence to a prince or minister, 
 who deceives another ; than to a private gentleman, who 
 breaks his word of honour. 
 
 Shou'd it be ask'd, what proportion these two species of 
 morality bear to each other? I wou'd answer, that this is a 
 question, to which we can never give any precise answer ; 
 
218 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 nor is it possible to reduce to numbers the proportion, which 
 we ought to fix betwixt them. One may safely affirm, that 
 this proportion finds itself, without any art or study of men ; 
 as we may observe on many other occasions. The practice 
 of the world goes farther in teaching us the degrees of our 
 duty, than the most subtile philosophy, which was ever yet 
 invented. And this may serve as a convincing proof, that 
 all men have an implicit notion of the foundation of those 
 ■ moral rules concerning natural and civil justice, and are 
 sensible, that they arise merely from human conventions, 
 and from the interest, which we have in the preservation of 
 peace and order. For otherwise the diminution of the inter- 
 est wou'd never produce a relaxation of the morality, and 
 reconcile us more easily to any transgression of justice 
 among princes and republics, than in the private commerce 
 of one subject with another. 
 
 SECTION XII. 
 
 Of chastity and modesty. 
 
 If any difficulty attend this system concerning the laws of 
 nature and nations, 'twill be with regard to the universal 
 approbation or blame, which follows their observance or 
 transgression, and which some may not think sufficiently 
 explain'd from the general interests of society. To remove, 
 as far as possible, all scruples of this kind, I shall here con- 
 sider another set of duties, viz. the modesty and chastity 
 which belong to the fair sex : And I doubt not but these 
 virtues will be found to be still more conspicuous instances 
 of the operation of those principles, which I have insisted 
 on. 
 
 There are some philosophers, who attack the female 
 virtues with great vehemence, and fancy they have gone 
 very far in detecting popular errors, when they can show, 
 that there is no foundation in nature for all that exterior 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 219 
 
 modesty, which we require in the expressions, and dress, and 
 behaviour of the fair sex. I believe I may spare myself the 
 trouble of insisting on so obvious a subject, and may pro- 
 ceed, without farther preparation, to examine after what 
 manner such notions arise from education, from the volun- 
 tary conventions of men, and from the interest of society. 
 
 Whoever considers the length and feebleness of human 
 infancy, with the concern which both sexes naturally have 
 for their offspring, will easily perceive, that there must be 
 an union of male and female for the education of the young, 
 and that this union must be of considerable duration. But 
 in order to induce the men to impose on themselves this 
 restraint, and undergo chearfully all the fatigues and 
 expences, to which it subjects them, they must believe, that 
 the children are their own, and that their natural instinct is 
 not directed to a wrong object, when they give a loose to 
 love and tenderness. Now if we examine the structure of 
 the human body, we shall find, that this security is very 
 difficult to be attain'd on our part ; and that since, in the 
 copulation of the sexes, the principle of generation goes 
 from the man to the woman, an error may easily take place 
 on the side of the former, tho' it be utterly impossible with 
 regard to the latter. From this trivial and anatomical 
 observation is deriv'd that vast difference betwixt the educa- 
 tion and duties of the two sexes. 
 
 Were a philosopher to examine the matter a priori, he 
 wou'd reason after the following manner. Men are indued 
 to labour for the maintenance and education of their children, 
 by the persuasion that they are really their own ; and there- 
 fore 'tis reasonable, and even necessary, to give them some 
 security in this particular. This security cannot consist 
 entirely in the imposing of severe punishments on any trans- 
 gressions of conjugal fidelity on the part of the wife ; since 
 these public punishments cannot be inflicted without legal 
 proof, which 'tis difficult to meet with in this subject. What 
 
2 20 A TREATISE OF HUMAN' NATURE. 
 
 restraint, therefore, shall we impose on women, in order to 
 counter-balance so strong a temptation as they have to 
 infidelity? There seems to be no restraint possible, but in 
 the punishment of bad fame or reputation ; a punishment, 
 which has a mighty influence on the human mind, and at the 
 same time is inflicted by the world upon surmizes, and con- 
 jectures, and proofs, that wou'd never be receiv'd in any 
 court of judicature. In order, therefore, to impose a due 
 restraint on the female sex, we must attach a peculiar degree 
 of shame to their infidelity, above what arises merely from 
 its injustice, and must bestow proportionable praises on 
 their chastity. 
 
 But tho' this be a very strong motive to fidelity, our 
 philosopher wou'd quickly discover, that it wou'd not alone 
 be sufficient to that purpose. All human creatures, espec- 
 ially of the female sex, are apt to over-look remote motives 
 in favour of any present temptation : The temptation is 
 here the strongest imaginable : Its approaches are insensible 
 and seducing : And a woman easily finds, or flatters herself 
 she shall find, certain means of securing her reputation, and 
 preventing all the pernicious consequences of her pleasures. 
 'Tis necessary, therefore, that, beside the infamy attending 
 such licences, there shou'd be some preceding backwardness 
 or dread, which may prevent their first approaches, and may 
 give the female sex a repugnance to all expressions, and 
 postures, and liberties, that have an immediate relation to 
 that enjoyment. 
 
 Such wou'd be the reasonings of our speculative philoso- 
 pher • But I am persuaded, that if he had not a perfect 
 knowledge of human nature, he would be apt to regard them 
 as mere chimerical speculations, and wou'd consider the 
 infamy attending infidelity, and backwardness to all its 
 approaches, as principles that were rather to be wish'd than 
 hop'd for in the world. For what means, wou'd he say, of 
 persuading mankind, that the transgressions of conjugal 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 221 
 
 duty are more infamous than any other kind of injustice, 
 when 'tis evident they are more excusable, upon account of 
 the greatness of the temptation. And what possibility of 
 giving a backwardness to the approaches of a pleasure, to 
 which nature has inspir'd so strong a propensity ; and a 
 propensity that 'tis absolutely necessary in the end to comply 
 with, for the support of the species ? 
 
 But speculative reasonings, which cost so much pains to 
 philosophers, are often formed by the world naturally, and 
 without reflection : As difficulties, which seem unsurmount- 
 able in theory, are easily got over in practice. Those, who 
 have an interest in the fidelity of women, naturally disapprove 
 of their infidelity, and all the approaches to it. Those, who 
 have no interest, are carried along with the stream. Educa- 
 tion takes possession of the ductile minds of the fair sex in 
 their infancy. And when a general rule of this kind is once 
 established, men are apt to extend it beyond those principles, 
 from which it first arose. Thus batchelors, however 
 debauch'd, cannot chuse but be shock'd with any instance 
 of lewdness or impudence in women. And tho' all these 
 maxims have a plain reference to generation, yet women past 
 child-bearing have no more privilege in this respect, than 
 those who are in the flower of their youth and beauty. Men 
 have undoubtedly an implicit notion, that all those ideas of 
 modesty and decency have a regard to generation ; since 
 they impose not the same laws, with the same force, on the 
 male sex, where that reason takes not place. The exception 
 is there obvious and extensive, and founded on a remarkable 
 difference, which produces a clear separation and disjunction 
 of ideas. But as the case is not the same with regard to the 
 different ages of women, for this reason, tho' men know 
 that these notions are founded on the public interest, yet 
 the general rule carries us beyond the original principle, 
 and makes us extend the notions of modesty over the whole 
 sex, from their earliest infancy to their extremest old-age 
 and infirmity. 
 
222 A TREATISE OE HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 Courage, which is the point of honour among men, derives 
 its merit, in a great measure, from artifice, as well as the 
 chastity of women ; tho' it has also some foundation in 
 nature, as we shall see afterwards. 
 
 As to the obligations which the male sex lie under, with 
 regard to chastity, we may observe, that according to the 
 general notions of the world, they bear nearly the same pro- 
 portion to the obligations of women, as the obligations of 
 the law of nations do to those of the law of nature. 'Tis 
 contrary to the interest of civil society, that men shou'd have 
 an entire liberty of indulging their appetites in venereal en- 
 joyment : But as this interest is weaker than in the case of 
 the female sex, the moral obligation arising from it, must be 
 proportionably weaker. And to prove this we need only 
 appeal to the practice and sentiments of all nations and 
 ages. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 OF THE OTHER VIRTUES AND VICES. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 Of the origin of the natural virtues and vices. 
 
 We come now to the examination of such virtues and 
 vices as are entirely natural, and have no dependance on 
 the artifice and contrivance of men. The examination of 
 these will conclude this system of morals. 
 
 The chief spring or actuating principle of the human mind 
 is pleasure or pain ; and when these sensations are remov'd, 
 both from our thought and feeling, we are, in a great meas- 
 ure, incapable of passion or action, of desire or volition. 
 The most immediate effects of pleasure and pain are the 
 propense and averse motions of the mind; which are diver- 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 223 
 
 sified into volition, into desire and aversion, grief and joy, 
 hope and fear, according as the pleasure or pain changes its 
 situation, and becomes probable or improbable, certain or 
 uncertain, or is consider'd as out of our power for the pres- 
 ent moment. But when along with this, the objects, that 
 cause pleasure or pain, acquire a relation to ourselves or 
 others; they still continue to excite desire and aversion, 
 grief and joy: But cause, at the same time, the indirect pas- 
 sions of pride or humility, love or hatred, which in this case 
 have a double relation of impressions and ideas to the pain 
 or pleasure. 
 
 We have already observ'd, that moral distinctions depend 
 entirely on certain peculiar sentiments of pain and pleasure, 
 and that whatever mental quality in ourselves or others gives 
 us a satisfaction, by the survey or reflection, is of course virt- 
 uous ; as every thing of this nature, that gives uneasiness, is 
 vicious. Now since every quality in ourselves or others, 
 which gives pleasure, always causes pride or love ; as every 
 one, that produces uneasiness, excites humility or hatred: 
 It follows, that these two particulars are to be consider'd as 
 equivalent, with regard to our mental qualities, virtue and 
 the power of producing love or pride, vice and the power of 
 producing humility or hatred. In every case, therefore, we 
 must judge of the one by the other ; and may pronounce 
 any quality of the mind virtuous, which causes love or pride ; 
 and any one vicious, which causes hatred or humility. 
 
 If any action be either virtuous or vicious, 'tis only as a 
 sign of some quality or character. It must depend upon 
 durable principles of the mind, which extend over the whole 
 conduct, and enter into the personal character. Actions 
 themselves, not proceeding from any constant principle, 
 have no influence on love or hatred, pride or humility ; and 
 consequently are never consider'd in morality. 
 
 This reflection is self-evident, and deserves to be attended 
 to, as being of the utmost importance in the present subject. 
 
224 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 We are never to consider any single action in our enquiries 
 concerning the origin of morals ; but only the quality or 
 character from which the action proceeded. These alone 
 are durable enough to affect our sentiments concerning the 
 person. Actions are, indeed, better indications of a charac- 
 ter than words, or even wishes and sentiments ; but 'tis only 
 so far as they are such indications, that they are attended 
 with love or hatred, praise or blame. 
 
 To discover the true origin of morals, and of that love or 
 hatred, which arises from mental qualities, we must take the 
 matter pretty deep, and compare some principles, which 
 have been already examin'd and explain'd. 
 
 We may begin with considering a-new the nature and 
 force of sympathy. The minds of all men are similar in 
 their feelings and operations ; nor can any one be actuated 
 by any affection, of which all others are not, in some degree, 
 susceptible. As in strings equally wound up, the motion of 
 one communicates itself to the rest ; so all the affections 
 readily pass from one person to another, and beget cor- 
 respondent movements in every human creature. When I 
 see the effects of passion in the voice and gesture of any 
 person, my mind immediately passes from these effects to 
 their causes, and forms such a lively idea of the passion, 
 as is presently converted into the passion itself. In like 
 manner, when I perceive the causes of any emotion, my mind 
 is convey'd to the effects, and is actuated with a like emo- 
 tion. Were I present at any of the more terrible operations 
 of surgery, 'tis certain, that even before it begun, the prep- 
 aration of the instruments, the laying of the bandages in 
 order, the heating of the irons, with all the signs of anxiety 
 and concern in the patient and assistants, wou'd have a great 
 effect upon my mind, and excite the strongest sentiments of 
 pity and terror. No passion of another discovers itself im- 
 mediately to the mind. We are only sensible of its causes or 
 effects. From these we infer the passion : And consequently 
 these give rise to our sympathy. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 225 
 
 Our sense of beauty depends very much on this principle; 
 and where any object has a tendency to produce pleasure 
 in its possessor, it is always regarded as beautiful; as every 
 object, that has a tendency to produce pain, is disagreeable 
 and deform'd. Thus the conveniency of a house, the fertility 
 of a field, the strength of a horse, the capacity, security, and 
 swift-sailing of a vessel, form the principal beauty of these 
 several objects. Here the object, which is denominated 
 beautiful, pleases only by its tendency to produce a certain 
 effect. That effect is the pleasure or advantage of some 
 other person. Now the pleasure of a stranger, for whom we 
 have no friendship, pleases us only" by sympathy. To this 
 principle, therefore, is owing the beauty, which we find in 
 every thing that is useful. How considerable a part this is 
 of beauty will easily appear upon reflection. Wherever an 
 object has a tendency to produce pleasure in the possessor, 
 or in other words, is the proper cause of pleasure, it is sure 
 to please the spectator, by a delicate sympathy with the 
 possessor. Most of the works of art are esteem'd beautiful, 
 in proportion to their fitness for the use of man, and even 
 many of the productions of nature derive their beauty from 
 that source. Handsome and beautiful, on most occasions, 
 is not an absolute but a relative quality, and pleases us by 
 nothing but its tendency to produce an end that is agree- 
 able. 1 
 
 The same principle produces, in many instances, our 
 sentiments of morals, as well as those of beauty. No virtue 
 is more esteem'd than justice, and no vice more detested 
 than injustice ; nor are there any qualities, which go farther 
 to the fixing the character, either as amiable or odious. Now 
 justice is a moral virtue, merely because it has that tendency 
 
 1 Decentior equus cujus astricta sunt ilia; sedidem velocior. Pulcher 
 aspectu sit athleta, cujus lacertos exercitatio expressit; idem certamini 
 paratior. Nunquam vero species ab utilitate dividitur. Sed hoc quidem 
 discernere, modici judicii est. Quinct. lib. 8. 
 
226 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 to the good of mankind ; and indeed, is nothing but an 
 artificial invention to that purpose. The same may be said 
 of allegiance, of the laws of nations, of modesty, and of 
 good-manners. All these are mere human contrivances for 
 the interest of society. And since there is a very strong 
 sentiment of morals, which in all nations, and all ages, has 
 attended them, we must allow, that the reflecting on the 
 tendency of characters and mental qualities, is sufficient to 
 give us the sentiments of approbation and blame. Now as 
 the means to an end can only be agreeable, where the end is 
 agreeable ; and as the good of society, where our own in- 
 terest is not concern'd, or that of our friends, pleases only 
 by sympathy : It follows, that sympathy is the source of the 
 esteem, which we pay to all the artificial virtues. 
 
 Thus it appears that sympathy is a very powerful principle 
 in human nature, that it has a great influence on our taste of 
 beauty, and that it produces our sentiment of morals in all 
 the artificial virtues. From thence we may presume, that it 
 also gives 'rise to many of the other virtues ; and that quali- 
 ties acquire our approbation, because of their tendency to 
 the good of mankind. This presumption must become a 
 certainty, when we find that most of those qualities which 
 we naturally approve of, have actually that tendency, and 
 render a man a proper member of society : While the quali- 
 ties, which we naturally disapprove of, have a contrary 
 tendency, and render any intercourse with the person 
 dangerous or disagreeable. For having found, that such 
 tendencies have force enough to produce the strongest senti- 
 ment of morals, we can never reasonably, in these cases, 
 look for any other cause of approbation or blame ; it being an 
 inviolable maxim in philosophy, that where any particular 
 cause is sufficient for an effect, we ought to rest satisfied with 
 it, and ought not to multiply causes without necessity. We 
 have happily attain'd experiments in the artificial virtues, 
 where the tendency of qualities to the good of society, is the 
 
Book III. , OF MORALS. 227 
 
 sole cause of our approbation, without any suspicion of the 
 concurrence of another principle. From thence we learn the 
 force of that principle. And where that principle may take 
 place, and the quality approv'd of is really beneficial to 
 society, a true philosopher will never require any other 
 principle to account for the strongest approbation and 
 esteem. 
 
 That many of the natural virtues have this tendency to the 
 good of society, no one can doubt of. Meekness, benefi- 
 cence, charity, generosity, clemency, moderation, equity, 
 bear the greatest figure among the moral qualities, and are 
 commonly denominated the social virtues, to mark their 
 tendency to the good of society. This goes so far, that 
 some philosophers have represented all moral distinctions 
 as the effect of artifice and education, when skilful politi- 
 cians endeavour'd to restrain the turbulent passions of men, 
 and make them operate to the public good, by the notions 
 of honour and shame. This system, however, is not con- 
 sistent with experience. For, first, there are other virtues 
 and vices besides those which have this tendency to the 
 public advantage and loss. Secondly, had not men a natural 
 sentiment of approbation and blame, it cou'd never be 
 excited by politicians ; nor wou'd the words laudable and 
 praise-worthy, blameable and odious, be any more intelligible, 
 than if they were a language perfectly unknown to us, as we 
 have already observ'd. But tho' this system be erroneous, 
 it may teach us, that moral distinctions arise, in a great 
 measure, from the tendency of qualities and characters to 
 the interests of society, and that 'tis our concern for that 
 interest, which makes us approve or disapprove of them. 
 Now we have no such extensive concern for society but 
 from sympathy ; and consequently 'tis that principle, which 
 takes us so far out of ourselves, as to give us the same 
 pleasure or uneasiness in the characters of others, as if they 
 had a tendency to our own advantage or loss. 
 
228 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 The only difference betwixt the natural virtues and justice 
 lies in this, that the good, which results from the former, 
 arises from every single act, and is the object of some natural 
 passion : Whereas a single act of justice, consider'd in itself, 
 may often be contrary to the public good; and 'tis only the 
 concurrence of mankind, in a general scheme or system of 
 action, which is advantageous. When I relieve persons in 
 distress, my natural humanity is my motive ; and so far as 
 my succour extends, so far have I promoted the happiness 
 of my fellow-creatures. But if we examine all the questions, 
 that come before any tribunal of justice, we shall find, that, 
 considering each case apart, it wou'd as often be an instance 
 of humanity to decide contrary to the laws of justice as con- 
 formable to them. Judges take from a poor man to give to 
 a rich; they bestow on the dissolute the labour of the indus- 
 trious; and put into the hands of the vicious the means of 
 harming both themselves and others. The whole scheme, 
 however, of law and justice is advantageous to the society; 
 and t was with a view to this advantage, that men, by their 
 voluntary conventions, establish'd it. After it is once estab- 
 lished by these conventions, it is naturally attended with a 
 strong sentiment of morals; which can proceed from nothing 
 but our sympathy with the interests of society. We need no 
 other explication of that esteem, which attends such of the 
 natural virtues, as have a tendency to the public good. 
 
 I must farther add, that there are several circumstances, 
 which render this hypothesis much more probable with regard 
 to the natural than the artificial virtues. 'Tis certain, that 
 the imagination is more affected by what is particular, than 
 by what is general ; and that the sentiments are always mov'd 
 with difficulty, where their objects are, in any degree, loose 
 and undetermin'd: Now every particular act of justice is not 
 beneficial to society, but the whole scheme or system : And 
 it may not, perhaps, be any individual person, for whom we 
 are concern'd, who receives benefit from justice, but the 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 229 
 
 whole society alike. On the contrary, every particular act of 
 generosity, or relief of the industrious and indigent, is bene- 
 ficial ; and is beneficial to a particular person, who is not 
 undeserving of it. 'Tis more natural, therefore, to think, that 
 the tendencies of the latter virtue will affect our sentiments, 
 and command our approbation, than those of the former; 
 and therefore, since we find, that the approbation of the 
 former arises from their tendencies, we may ascribe, with 
 better reason, the same cause to the approbation of the 
 latter. In any number of similar effects, if a cause can be 
 discover'd for one, we ought to extend that cause to all the 
 other effects, which can be accounted for by it : But much 
 more, if these other effects be attended with peculiar cir- 
 cumstances, which facilitate the operation of that cause. 
 
 Before I proceed farther, I must observe two remarkable 
 circumstances in this affair, which may seem objections to 
 the present system. The first may be thus explain'd. When 
 any quality, or character, has a tendency to the good of 
 mankind, we are pleas'd with it, and approve of it; because 
 it presents the lively idea of pleasure; which idea affects us 
 by sympathy, and is itself a kind of pleasure. But as this 
 sympathy is very variable, it may be thought, that our senti- 
 ments of morals must admit of all the same variations. We 
 sympathize more with persons contiguous to us, than with 
 persons remote from us : With our acquaintance, than with 
 strangers : With our countrymen, than with foreigners. But 
 notwithstanding this variation of our sympathy, we give the 
 same approbation to the same moral qualities in China as 
 in England. They appear equally virtuous, and recommend 
 themselves equally to the esteem of a judicious spectator. 
 The sympathy varies without a variation in our esteem. Our 
 esteem, therefore, proceeds not from sympathy. 
 
 To this I answer: The approbation of moral qualities 
 most certainly is not deriv'd from reason, or any compari- 
 son of ideas; but proceeds entirely from a moral taste, and 
 
23° A TREATISE OF HUMAN' NATURE. 
 
 from certain sentiments of pleasure or disgust, which arise 
 upon the contemplation and view of particular qualities or 
 characters. Now 'tis evident, that those sentiments, whence- 
 ever they are deriv'd, must vary according to the distance 
 or contiguity of the objects; nor can I feel the same lively 
 pleasure from the virtues of a person, who liv'd in Greece 
 two thousand years ago, that I feel from the virtues of a 
 familiar friend and acquaintance. Yet I do not say, that 
 I esteem the one more than the other: And therefore, if 
 the variation of the sentiment, without a variation of the 
 esteem, be an objection, it must have equal force against 
 every other system, as against that of sympathy. But to 
 consider the matter a-right, it has no force at all; and 'tis 
 the easiest matter in the world to account for it. Our situ- 
 ation, with regard both to persons and things, is in con- 
 tinual fluctuation; and a man, that lies at a distance from 
 us, may, in a little time, become a familiar acquaintance. 
 Besides, every particular man has a peculiar position with 
 regard to others; and 'tis impossible we cou'd ever converse 
 together on any reasonable terms, were each of us to con- 
 sider characters and persons, only as they appear from his 
 peculiar point of view. In order, therefore, to prevent those 
 continual contradictions, and arrive at a more stable judgment 
 of things, we fix on some steady and general points of view; 
 and always, in our thoughts, place ourselves in them, what- 
 ever may be our present situation. In like manner, exter- 
 nal beauty is determin'd merely by pleasure; and 'tis 
 evident, a beautiful countenance cannot give so much pleas- 
 ure, when seen at the distance of twenty paces, as when it 
 is brought nearer us. We say not, however, that it appears 
 to us less beautiful: Because we know what effect it will 
 have in such a position, and by that reflection we correct 
 its momentary appearance. 
 
 In general, all sentiments of blame or praise are variable, 
 according to our situation of nearness or remoteness, with 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 231 
 
 regard to the person blam'd or prais'd, and according to the 
 present disposition of our mind. But these variations we 
 regard not in our general decisions, but still apply the terms 
 expressive of our liking or dislike, in the same manner, as 
 if we remain'd in one point of view. Experience soon 
 teaches us this method of correcting our sentiments, or at 
 least, of correcting our language, where the sentiments are 
 more stubborn and inalterable. Our servant, if diligent 
 and faithful, may excite stronger sentiments of love and 
 kindness than Marcus Brutus, as represented in history; 
 but we say not on that account, that the former character 
 is more laudable than the latter. We know, that were we 
 to approach equally near to that renown'd patriot, he wou'd 
 command a much higher degree of affection and admiration. 
 Such corrections are common with regard to all the senses; 
 and indeed 'twere impossible we cou'd ever make use of 
 language, or communicate our sentiments to one another, 
 did we not correct the momentary appearances of things, 
 and overlook our present situation. 
 
 'Tis therefore from the influence of characters and quali- 
 ties, upon those who have an intercourse with any person, 
 that we blame or praise him. We consider not whether the 
 persons, affected by the qualities, be our acquaintance or 
 strangers, countrymen or foreigners. Nay, we over-look 
 our own interest in those general judgments; and blame 
 not a man for opposing us in any of our pretensions, when 
 his own interest is particularly concern'd. We make allow- 
 ance for a certain degree of selfishness in men ; because we 
 know it to be inseparable from human nature, and inherent 
 in our frame and constitution. By this reflection we correct 
 those sentiments of blame, which so naturally arise upon 
 any opposition. 
 
 But however the general principle of our blame or praise 
 may be corrected by those other principles, 'tis certain, 
 they are not altogether emcatious, nor do our passions often 
 
232 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 correspond entirely to the present theory. 'Tis seldom men 
 heartily love what lies at a distance from them, and what no 
 way redounds to their particular benefit ; as 'tis no less rare 
 to meet with persons, who can pardon another any opposi- 
 tion he makes to their interest, however justifiable that 
 opposition may be by the general rules of morality. Here 
 we are contented with saying, that reason requires such an 
 impartial conduct, but that 'tis seldom we can bring ourselves 
 to it, and that our passions do not readily follow the deter- 
 mination of our judgment. This language will be easily 
 understood, if we consider what we formerly said concerning 
 that reason, which is able to oppose our passion ; and which 
 we have found to be nothing but a general calm determina- 
 tion of the passions, founded on some distant view or reflec- 
 tion. When we form our judgments of persons, merely from 
 the tendency of their characters to our own benefit, or to that 
 of our friends, we find so many contradictions to our senti- 
 ments in society and conversation, and such an uncertainty 
 from the incessant changes of our situation, that we seek 
 some other standard of merit and demerit, which may not 
 admit of so great variation. Being thus loosen'd from our 
 first station, we cannot afterwards fix ourselves so commodi- 
 ously by any means as by a sympathy with those, who have 
 any commerce with the person we consider. This is far 
 from being as lively as when our own interest is concern'd, 
 or that of our particular friends ; nor has it such an influence 
 on our love and hatred : But being equally conformable to 
 our calm and general principles, 'tis said to have an equal 
 authority over our reason, and to command our judgment 
 and opinion. We blame equally a bad action, which we 
 read of in history, with one perform'd in our neighbourhood 
 t'other day : The meaning of which is, that we know from 
 reflection, that the former action wou'd excite as strong 
 sentiments of disapprobation as the latter, were it plac'd in 
 the same position. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 133 
 
 I now proceed to the second remarkable circumstance, 
 which I propos'd to take notice of. Where a person is 
 possess'd of a character, that in its natural tendency is 
 beneficial to society, we esteem him virtuous, and are 
 delighted with the view of his character, even tho' particular 
 accidents prevent its operation, and incapacitate him from 
 being serviceable to his friends and country. Virtue in rags 
 is still virtue ; and the love which it procures, attends a man 
 into a dungeon or desart, where the virtue can no longer be 
 exerted in action, and is lost to all the world. Now this may 
 be esteem'd an objection to the present system. Sympathy 
 interests us in the good of mankind ; and if sympathy were 
 the source of our esteem for virtue, that sentiment of appro- 
 bation cou'd only take place, where the virtue actually 
 attain'd its end, and was beneficial to mankind. Where it 
 fails of its end, 'tis only an imperfect means ; and therefore 
 can never acquire any merit from that end. The goodness 
 of an end can bestow a merit on such means alone as are 
 compleat, and actually produce the end. 
 
 To this we may reply, that where any object, in all its 
 parts, is fitted to attain any agreeable end, it naturally gives 
 us pleasure, and is esteem'd beautiful, even tho' some external 
 circumstances be wanting to render it altogether effectual. 
 'Tis sufficient if every thing be compleat in the object itself. 
 A house, that is contriv'd with great judgment for all the 
 commodities of life, pleases us upon that account ; tho' 
 perhaps we are sensible, that no-one will ever dwell in it. 
 A fertile soil, and a happy climate, delight us by a reflection 
 on the happiness which they wou'd afford the inhabitants, 
 tho' at present the country be desart and uninhabited. A 
 man, whose limbs and shape promise strength and activity, 
 is esteem'd handsome, tho' condemn'd to perpetual imprison- 
 ment. The imagination has a set of passions belonging to 
 it, upon which our sentiments of beauty much depend. 
 These passions are mov'd by degrees of liveliness and 
 
234 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 strength, which are inferior to belief, and independent of the 
 real existence of their objects. Where a character is, in 
 every respect, fitted to be beneficial to society, the imagina- 
 tion passes easily from the cause to the effect, without con- 
 sidering that there are still some circumstances wanting to 
 render the cause a compleat one. General rules create a 
 species of probability, which sometimes influences the 
 judgment, and always the imagination. 
 
 'Tis true, when the cause is compleat, and a good disposi- 
 tion is attended with good fortune, which renders it really 
 beneficial to society, it gives a stronger pleasure to the 
 spectator, and is attended with a more lively sympathy. 
 We are more affected by it ; and yet we do not say that it 
 is more virtuous, or that we esteem it more. We know, 
 that an alteration of fortune may render the benevolent 
 disposition entirely impotent ; and therefore we separate, 
 as much as possible, the fortune from the disposition. The 
 case is the same, as when we correct the different senti- 
 ments of virtue, which proceed from its different distances 
 from ourselves. The passions do not always follow our 
 corrections ; but these corrections serve sufficiently to 
 regulate our abstract notions, and are alone regarded, 
 when we pronounce in general concerning the degrees of 
 vice and virtue. 
 
 'Tis observ'd by critics, that all words or sentences, which 
 are difficult to the pronunciation, are disagreeable to the ear. 
 There is no difference, whether a man hear them pronounc'd, 
 or read them silently to himself. When I run over a book 
 with my eye, I imagine I hear it all ; and also, by the force 
 of imagination, enter into the uneasiness, which the delivery 
 of it wou'd give the speaker. The uneasiness is not real ; 
 but as such a composition of words has a natural tendency 
 to produce it, this is sufficient to affect the mind with a 
 painful sentiment, and render the discourse harsh and 
 disagreeable. 'Tis a similar case, where any real quality 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 235 
 
 is, by accidental circumstances, render'd impotent, and is 
 depriv'd of its natural influence on society. 
 
 Upon these principles we may easily remove any contra- 
 diction, which may appear to be betwixt the extensive sym- 
 pathy, on which our sentiments of virtue depend, and that 
 limited generosity which I have frequently observ'd to be 
 natural to men, and which justice and property suppose, 
 according to the precedent reasoning. My sympathy with 
 another may give me the sentiment of pain and disapproba- 
 tion, when any object is presented, that has a tendency to 
 give him uneasiness ; tho' I may not be willing to sacrifice 
 any thing of my own interest, or cross any of my passions, 
 for his satisfaction. A house may displease me by being ill- 
 contriv'd for the convenience of the owner; and yet I may 
 refuse to give a shilling towards the rebuilding of it. Senti- 
 ments must touch the heart, to make them controul our 
 passions : But they need not extend beyond the imagination, 
 to make them influence our taste. When a building seems 
 clumsy and tottering to the eye, it is ugly and disagreeable ; 
 tho' we be fully assur'd of the solidity of the workmanship. 
 'Tis a kind of fear, which causes this sentiment of disappro- 
 bation ; but the passion is not the same with that which we 
 feel, when oblig'd to stand under a wall, that we really think 
 tottering and insecure. The seeming tendencies of objects 
 affect the mind : And the emotions they excite are of a like 
 species with those, which proceed from the real consequences 
 of objects, but their feeling is different. Nay, these emotions 
 are so different in their feeling, that they may often be con- 
 trary, without destroying each other; as when the fortifica- 
 tions of a city belonging to an enemy are esteem'd beautiful 
 upon account of their strength, tho' we cou'd wish that they 
 were entirely destroy'd. The imagination adheres to the 
 general views of things, and distinguishes the feelings they 
 produce, from those which arise from our particular and 
 momentary situation. 
 
236 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 If we examine the panegyrics that are commonly made of 
 great men, we shall find, that most of the qualities, which are 
 attributed to them, may be divided into two kinds, viz. such 
 as make them perform their part in society; and such as 
 render them serviceable to themselves, and enable them to 
 promote their own interest. Their prudence, temperance, fru- 
 gality, industry, assiduity, enterprise, dexterity, are celebrated, 
 as well as their generosity and humanity. If we ever give an 
 indulgence to any quality, that disables a man from making 
 a figure in life, 'tis to that of indolence, which is not suppos'd 
 to deprive one of his parts and capacity, but only suspends 
 their exercise ; and that without any inconvenience to the 
 person himself, since 'tis, in some measure, from his own 
 choice. Yet indolence is always allow'd to be a fault, and a 
 very great one, if extreme: Nor do a man's friends ever ac- 
 knowledge him to be subject to it, but in order to save his 
 character in more material articles. He cou'd make a figure, 
 say they, if he pleas'd to give application: His understanding 
 is sound, his conception quick, and his memory tenacious ; 
 but he hates business, and is indifferent about his fortune. 
 And this a man sometimes may make even a subject of 
 vanity ; tho' with the air of confessing a fault : Because he 
 may think, that this incapacity for business implies much more 
 noble qualities ; such as a philosophical spirit, a fine taste, a 
 delicate wit, or a relish for pleasure and society. But take 
 any other case: Suppose a quality, that without being an in- 
 dication of any other good qualities, incapacitates a man 
 always for business, and is destructive to his interest ; such 
 as a blundering understanding, and a wrong judgment of 
 every thing in life ; inconstancy and irresolution ; or a want 
 of address in the management of men and business : These 
 are all allow'd to be imperfections in a character; and many 
 men wou'd rather acknowledge the greatest crimes, than 
 have it suspected, that they are, in any degree, subject to 
 them. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 237 
 
 Tis very happy, in our philosophical researches, when we 
 find the same phaenomenon diversified by a variety of cir- 
 cumstances ; and by discovering what is common among 
 them, can the better assure ourselves of the truth of any 
 hypothesis we may make use of to explain it. Were nothing 
 esteem'd virtue but what were beneficial to society, I am 
 persuaded, that the foregoing explication of the moral sense 
 ought still to be receiv'd, and that upon sufficient evidence : 
 But this evidence must grow upon us, when we find other 
 kinds of virtue, which will not admit of any explication 
 except from that hypothesis. Here is a man, who is not re- 
 markably defective in his social qualities; but what principally 
 recommends him is his dexterity in business, by which he 
 has extricated himself from the greatest difficulties, and con- 
 ducted the most delicate affairs with a singular address and 
 prudence. I find an esteem for him immediately to arise in 
 me: His company is a satisfaction to me ; and before I have 
 any farther acquaintance with him, I wou'd rather do him a 
 service than another, whose character is in every other respect 
 equal, but is deficient in that particular. In this case, the 
 qualities that please me are all consider'd as useful to the 
 person, and as having a tendency to promote his interest and 
 satisfaction. They are only regarded as means to an end, 
 and please me in proportion to their fitness for that end. The 
 end, therefore, must be agreeable to me. But what makes 
 the end agreeable ? The person is a stranger : I am no way 
 interested in him, nor lie under any obligation to him : His 
 happiness concerns not me, farther than the happiness of 
 every human, and indeed of every sensible creature : That is, 
 it affects me only by sympathy. From that principle, when- 
 ever I discover his happiness and good whether in its causes 
 or effects, I enter so deeply into it, that it gives me a sensible 
 emotion. The appearance of qualities that have a tendency 
 to promote it, have an agreeable effect upon my imagination, 
 and command my love and esteem. 
 
238 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 This theory may serve to explain, why the same qualities, 
 in all cases, produce both pride and love, humility and 
 hatred ; and the same man is always virtuous or vicious, 
 accomplish'd or despicable to others, who is so to himself. 
 A person, in whom we discover any passion or habit, which 
 originally is only incommodious to himself, becomes always 
 disagreeable to us, merely on its account ; as on the other 
 hand, one whose character is only dangerous and disagree- 
 able to others, can never be satisfied with himself, as long 
 as he is sensible of that disadvantage. Nor is this observ- 
 able only with regard to characters and manners, but may 
 be remark'd even in the most minute circumstances. A 
 violent cough in another gives us uneasiness ; tho' in itself 
 it does not in the least affect us. A man will be mortified, 
 if you tell him he has a stinking breath ; tho' 'tis evidently 
 no annoyance to himself. Our fancy easily changes its 
 situation ; and either surveying ourselves as we appear to 
 others, or considering others as they feel themselves, we 
 enter, by that means, into sentiments, which no way belong 
 to us, and in which nothing but sympathy is able to interest 
 us. And this sympathy we sometimes carry so far, as even 
 to be displeas'd with a quality commodious to us, merely 
 because it displeases others, and makes us disagreeable in 
 their eyes ; tho' perhaps we never can have any interest in 
 rendering ourselves agreeable to them. 
 
 There have been many systems of morality advanc'd by 
 philosophers in all ages ; but if they are strictly examin'd, 
 they may be reduc'd to two, which alone merit our attention. 
 Moral good and evil are certainly distinguish'd by our senti- 
 ments, not by reason : But these sentiments may arise either 
 from the mere species or appearance of characters and 
 passions, or from reflections on their tendency to the happi- 
 ness of mankind, and of particular persons. My opinion is, 
 that both these causes are intermix'd in our judgments of 
 morals ; after the same manner as they are in our decisions 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 239 
 
 concerning most kinds of external beauty : Tho' I am also 
 of opinion, that reflections on the tendencies of actions have 
 by far the greatest influence, and determine all the great 
 lines of our duty. There are, however, instances, in cases 
 of less moment, wherein this immediate taste or sentiment 
 produces our approbation. Wit, and a certain easy and 
 disengag'd behaviour, are qualities immediately agreeable to 
 others, and command their love and esteem. Some of these 
 qualities produce satisfaction in others by particular original 
 principles of human nature, which cannot be accounted for: 
 Others may be resolv'd into principles, which are more 
 general. This will best appear upon a particular enquiry. 
 
 As some qualities acquire their merit from their being 
 immediately agreeable to others, without any tendency to 
 public interest ; so some are denominated virtuous from 
 their being immediately agreeable to the person himself, who 
 possesses them. Each of the passions and operations of the 
 mind has a particular feeling, which must be either agreeable 
 or disagreeable. The first is virtuous, the second vicious. 
 This particular feeling constitutes the very nature of the 
 passion ; and therefore needs not be accounted for. 
 
 But however directly the distinction of vice and virtue 
 may seem to flow from the immediate pleasure or uneasiness, 
 which particular qualities cause to ourselves or others ; 'tis 
 easy to observe, that it has also a considerable dependence 
 on the principle of sympathy so often insisted on. We 
 approve of a person, who is possess'd of qualities immediately 
 agreeable to those, with whom he has any commerce ; tho' 
 perhaps we ourselves never reap'd any pleasure from them. 
 We also approve of one, who is possess'd of qualities, that 
 are immediately agreeable to himself ; tho' they be of no 
 service to any mortal. To account for this we must have 
 recourse to the foregoing principles. 
 
 Thus, to take a general review of the present hypothesis : 
 Every quality of the mind is denominated virtuous, which 
 
240 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 gives pleasure by the mere survey ; as every quality, which 
 produces pain, is call'd vicious. This pleasure and this 
 pain may arise from four different sources. For we reap a 
 pleasure from the view of a character, which is naturally 
 fitted to be useful to others, or to the person himself, or 
 which is agreeable to others, or to the person himself. One 
 may, perhaps, be surpriz'd, that amidst all these interests 
 and pleasures, we shou'd forget our own, which touch us so 
 nearly on every other occasion. But we shall easily satisfy 
 ourselves on this head, when we consider, that every par- 
 ticular person's pleasure and interest being different, 'tis 
 impossible men cou'd ever agree in their sentiments and 
 judgments, unless they chose some common point of view, 
 from which they might survey their object, and which might 
 cause it to appear the same to all of them. Now, in judging 
 of characters, the only interest or pleasure, which appears 
 the same to every spectator, is that of the person himself, 
 whose character is examin'd ; or that of persons who have a 
 connexion with him. And tho' such interests and pleasures 
 touch us more faintly than our own, yet being more constant 
 and universal, they counter-ballance the latter even in 
 practice, and are alone admitted in speculation as the 
 standard of virtue and morality. They alone produce that 
 particular feeling or sentiment, on which moral distinctions 
 depend. 
 
 As to the good or ill desert of virtue or vice, 'tis an evident 
 consequence of the sentiments of pleasure or uneasiness. 
 These sentiments produce love or hatred ; and love or 
 hatred, by the original constitution of human passion, is 
 attended with benevolence or anger ; that is, with a desire 
 of making happy the person we love, and miserable the 
 person we hate. We have treated of this more fully on 
 another occasion. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 241 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 Of greatness of mind. 
 
 It may now be proper to illustrate this general system of 
 morals, by applying it to particular instances of virtue and 
 vice, and shewing how their merit or demerit arises from the 
 four sources here explain'd. We shall begin with examining 
 the passions of pride and humility, and shall consider the 
 vice or virtue that lies in their excesses or just proportion. 
 An excessive pride or over-weaning conceit of ourselves is 
 always esteem'd vicious, and is universally hated; as modesty, 
 or a just sense of our weakness, is esteem'd virtuous, and 
 procures the good-will of every-one. Of the four sources of 
 moral distinctions, this is to be ascrib'd to the third; viz. the 
 immediate agreeableness and disagreeableness of a quality 
 to others, without any reflections on the tendency of that 
 quality. 
 
 In order to prove this, we must have recourse to two 
 principles, which are very conspicuous in human nature. 
 The first of these is the sympathy, and communication of 
 sentiments and passions above-mention'd. So close and 
 intimate is the correspondence of human souls, that no 
 sooner any person approaches me, than he diffuses on me all 
 his opinions, and draws along my judgment in a greater or 
 lesser degree. And tho', on many occasions, my sympathy 
 with him goes not so far as entirely to change my sentiments, 
 and way of thinking ; yet it seldom is so weak as not to 
 disturb the easy course of my thought, and give an authority 
 to that opinion, which is recommended to me by his assent 
 and approbation. Nor is it any way material upon what 
 subject he and I employ our thoughts. Whether we judge 
 of an indifferent person, or of, my own character, my 
 sympathy gives equal force to his decision : And even his 
 sentiments of his own merit make me consider him in the 
 same light, in which he regards himself. 
 
242 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 This principle of sympathy is of so powerful and insinuat- 
 ing a nature, that it enters into most of our sentiments and 
 passions, and often takes place under the appearance of its 
 contrary. For 'tis remarkable, that when a person opposes 
 me in any thing, which I am strongly bent upon, and rouzes 
 up my passion by contradiction, I have always a degree of 
 sympathy with him, nor does my commotion proceed from 
 any other origin. We may here observe an evident conflict 
 or rencounter of opposite principles and passions. On the 
 one side there is that passion or sentiment, which is natural 
 to me ; and 'tis observable, that the stronger this passion is, 
 the greater is the commotion. There must also be some 
 passion or sentiment on the other side ; and this passion can 
 proceed from nothing but sympathy. The sentiments of 
 others can never affect us, but by becoming, in some 
 measure, our own ; in which case they operate upon us, by 
 opposing and encreasing our passions, in the very same 
 manner, as if they had been originally deriv'd from our own 
 temper and disposition. While they remain conceal'd in 
 the minds of others, they can never have any influence upon 
 us . And even when they are known, if they went no farther 
 than the imagination, or conception ; that faculty is so 
 accustom'd to objects of every different kind, that a mere 
 idea, tho' contrary to our sentiments and inclinations, wou'd 
 never alone be able to affect us. 
 
 The second principle I shall take notice of is that of com- 
 parison, or the variation of our judgments concerning 
 objects, according to the proportion they bear to those with 
 which we compare them, We judge more of objects by com- 
 parison, than by their intrinsic worth and value ; and regard 
 every thing as mean, when set in opposition to what is 
 superior of the same kind. But no comparison is more 
 obvious than that with ourselves ; and hence it is that on all 
 occasions it takes place, and mixes with most of our passions. 
 This kind of comparison is directly contrary to sympathy in 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 243 
 
 its operation, as we have observ'd in treating of compassion 
 and malice. In all kinds of comparison a?i object makes us 
 always receive from another, to which it is compared, a sensation 
 contrary to what arises from itself in its direct and immediate 
 survey. The direct survey of another 's pleasure naturally gives 
 us pleasure ; and therefore produces pain, when compar'd with 
 our own. His pain, consider 1 d in itself, is painful ; but aug- 
 ments the idea of our own happiness, and gives us pleasure. 1 
 
 Since then those principles of sympathy, and a comparison 
 with ourselves, are directly contrary, it may be worth while 
 to consider, what general rules can be form'd, beside the 
 particular temper of the person, for the prevalence of the one 
 or the other. Suppose I am now in safety at land, and 
 wou'd willingly reap some pleasure from this consideration : 
 I must think on the miserable condition of those who are at 
 sea in a storm, and must endeavour to render this idea as 
 strong and lively as possible, in order to make me more 
 sensible of my own happiness. But whatever pains I may 
 take, the comparison will never have an equal efficacy, as 
 if I were really on the shore, 2 and saw a ship at a distance., 
 tost by a tempest, and*in danger every moment of perishing 
 on a rock or sand-bank. But suppose this idea to become 
 still more lively. Suppose the ship to be driven so near me, 
 that I can perceive distinctly the horror, painted on the 
 countenance of the seamen and passengers, hear their 
 lamentable cries, see the dearest friends give their last adieu, 
 or embrace with a resolution to perish in each others arms : 
 No man has so savage a heart as to reap any pleasure from 
 such a spectacle, or withstand the motions of the tenderest 
 compassion and sympathy. 'Tis evident, therefore, there is 
 
 1 Book II. Part II. sect. 8. 
 
 2 Suave mari magno turbantibus aequora ventis 
 E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem; 
 Non quia vexari quenquam est jucunda voluptas, 
 Sed quibus ipse malis careas quia cernere suav' est. 
 
 Lucret. 
 
2 44 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 a medium in this case ; and that if the idea be too feint, it 
 has no influence by comparison ; and on the other hand, if 
 it be too strong, it operates on us entirely by sympathy, 
 which is the contrary to comparison. Sympathy being the 
 conversion of an idea into an impression, demands a 
 greater force and vivacity in the idea than is requisite to 
 comparison. 
 
 All this is easily applied to the present subject. We sink 
 very much in our own eyes, when in the presence of a great 
 man, or one of a superior genius ; and this humility makes 
 a considerable ingredient in that resfect, which we pay our 
 superiors, according to our foregoing 1 reasonings on that 
 passion. Sometimes even envy and hatred arise from the 
 comparison ; but in the greatest part of men, it rests at re- 
 spect and esteem. As sympathy has such a powerful influ- 
 ence on the human mind, it causes pride to have, in some 
 measure, the same effect as merit; and by making us enter 
 into those elevated sentiments, which the proud man enter- 
 tains of himself, presents that comparison, which is so 
 mortifying and disagreeable. Our judgment does not en- 
 tirely accompany him in the "flattering conceit, in which 
 he pleases himself ; but still is so shaken as to receive the 
 idea it presents, and to give it an influence above the loose 
 conceptions of the imagination. A man, who, in an idle 
 humour, wou'd form a notion of a person of a merit very 
 much superior to his own, wou'd not be mortified by that 
 fiction : But when a man, whom we are really persuaded to 
 be of inferior merit, is presented to us ; if we observe in 
 him any extraordinary degree of pride and self-conceit ; the 
 firm persuasion he has of his own merit, takes hold of the 
 imagination, and diminishes us in our own eyes, in the same 
 manner, as if he were really possess'd of all the good quali- 
 ties which he so liberally attributes to himself. Our idea is 
 here precisely in that medium, which is requisite to make 
 
 1 Book II. Part II. sect. 10. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 245 
 
 it operate on us by comparison. Were it accompanied with 
 belief, and did the person appear to have the same merit, 
 which he assumes to himself, it wou'd have a contrary effect, 
 and wou'd operate on us by sympathy. The influence of 
 that principle wou'd then be superior to that of comparison, 
 contrary to what happens where the person's merit seems 
 below his pretensions. 
 
 The necessary consequence of these principles is, that 
 pride, or an over-weaning conceit of ourselves, must be 
 vicious; since it causes uneasiness in all men, and presents 
 them every moment with a disagreeable comparison. 'Tis 
 a trite observation in philosophy, and even in common life 
 and conversation, that 'tis our own pride, which makes us 
 so much displeas'd with the pride of other people ; and that 
 vanity becomes insupportable to us merely because we are 
 vain. The gay naturally associate themselves with the gay, 
 and the amorous with the amorous : But the proud never 
 can endure the proud, and rather seek the company of those 
 who are of an opposite disposition. As we are, all of us, 
 proud in some degree, pride is universally blam'd and con- 
 demn'd by all mankind ; as having a natural tendency to 
 cause uneasiness in others by means of comparison. And 
 this effect must follow the more naturally, that those, who 
 have an ill-grounded conceit of themselves, are for ever 
 making those comparisons, nor have they any other method 
 of supporting their vanity. A man of sense and merit is 
 pleas'd with himself, independent of all foreign considera- 
 tions : But a fool must always find some person, that is more 
 foolish, in order to keep himself in good humour with his 
 own parts and understanding. 
 
 But tho' an over-weaning conceit of our own merit be 
 vicious and disagreeable, nothing can be more laudable, than 
 to have a value for ourselves, where we really have qualities 
 that are valuable. The utility and advantage of any quality 
 
246 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 to ourselves is a source of virtue, as well as its agree'ableness 
 to others; and 'tis certain, that nothing is more useful to us 
 in the conduct of life, than a due degree of pride, which 
 makes us sensible of our own merit, and gives us a confi- 
 dence and assurance in all our projects and enterprizes. 
 Whatever capacity any one may be endow'd with, 'tis en- 
 tirely useless to him, if he be not acquainted with it, and 
 form not designs suitable to it. Tis requisite on all occa- 
 sions to know our own force; and were it allowable to err 
 on either side, 'twou'd be more advantageous to overrate 
 our merit, than to form ideas of it, below its just standard. 
 Fortune commonly favours the bold and enterprizing ; and 
 nothing inspires us with more boldness than a good opinion 
 of ourselves. 
 
 Add to this, that tho' pride, or self-applause, be sometimes 
 disagreeable to others, 'tis always agreeable to ourselves ; as 
 on the other hand, modesty, tho' it give pleasure to every 
 one, who observes it, produces often uneasiness in the per- 
 son endow'd with it. Now it has been observ'd, that our 
 own sensations determine the vice and virtue of any quality, 
 as well as those sensations, which it may excite in others. 
 
 Thus self-satisfaction and vanity may not only be allow- 
 able, but requisite in a character. 'Tis, however, certain, 
 that good-breeding and decency require that we shou'd 
 avoid all signs and expressions, which tend directly to 
 show that passion. We have, all of us, a wonderful par- 
 tiality for ourselves, and were we always to give vent to our 
 sentiments in this particular, we shou'd mutually cause the 
 greatest indignation in each other, not only by the immedi- 
 ate presence of so disagreeable a subject of comparison, but 
 also by the contrariety of our judgments. In like manner, 
 therefore, as we establish the latcs of nature, in order to 
 secure property in society, and prevent the opposition of 
 self-interest ; we establish the rules pf good b?reding, in order 
 to prevent the opposition of men's pride, and render conver- 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 247 
 
 sation agreeable and inoffensive. Nothing is more disagree- 
 able than a man's over-weaning conceit of himself : Every 
 one almost has a strong propensity to this vice : No one can 
 well distinguish in himself betwixt the vice and virtue, or be 
 certain, that his esteem of his own merit is well-founded 
 For these reasons, all direct expressions of this passion are 
 condemn'd ; nor do we make any exception to this rule in 
 favour of men of sense and merit. They are not allow'd to 
 do themselves justice openly, in words, no more than other 
 people ; and even if they show a reserve and secret doubt 
 in doing themselves justice in their own thoughts, they will 
 be more applauded. That impertinent, and almost univer- 
 sal propensity of men, to over-value themselves, has given 
 us such a prejudice against self-applause, that we are apt to 
 condemn it, by a general rule, wherever we meet with it ; 
 and 'tis with some difficulty we give a privilege to men of 
 sense, even in their most secret thoughts. At least, it must 
 be own'd, that some disguise in this particular is absolutely 
 requisite ; and that if we harbour pride in our breasts, we 
 must carry a fair outside, and have the appearance of 
 modesty and mutual deference in all our conduct and 
 behaviour. We must, on every occasion, be ready to prefer 
 others to ourselves ; to treat them with a kind of deference, 
 even tho' they be our equals ; to seem always the lowest 
 and least in the company, where we are not very much dis- 
 tinguish'd above them : And if we observe these rules in 
 our conduct, men will have more indulgence for our secret 
 sentiments, when we discover them in an oblique manner. 
 
 I believe no one, who has any practice of the world, and 
 can penetrate into the inward sentiments of men, will assert, 
 that the humility, which good-breeding and decency require 
 of us, goes beyond the outside, or that a thorough sincerity 
 in this particular is esteem'd a real part of our duty. On 
 the contrary, we may observe, that a genuine and hearty 
 pride, or self-esteem, if well conceal'd and well founded, is 
 
248 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 essential to the character of a man of honour, and that there 
 is no quality of the mind, which is more indispensibly requi- 
 site to procure the esteem and approbation of mankind. 
 There are certain deferences and mutual submissions, which 
 custom requires of the different ranks of men towards each 
 other ; and whoever exceeds in this particular, if thro' inter- 
 est, is accus'd of meanness ; if thro' ignorance, of simplicity. 
 'Tis necessary, therefore, to know our rank and station in 
 the world, whether it be fix'd by our birth, fortune, employ- 
 ments, talents or reputation. 'Tis necessary to feel the 
 sentiment and passion of pride in conformity to it, and to 
 regulate our actions accordingly. And shou'd it be said, 
 that prudence may suffice to regulate our actions in this 
 particular, without any real pride, f wou'd observe, that here 
 the object of prudence is to conform our actions to the gen- 
 eral usage and custom ; and that 'tis impossible those tacit 
 airs of superiority shou'd ever have been establish'd and 
 authoriz'd by custom, unless men were generally proud, and 
 unless that passion were generally approv'd, when well- 
 grounded. 
 
 If we pass from common life and conversation to history, 
 this reasoning acquires new force, when we observe, that all 
 those great actions and sentiments, which have become the 
 admiration of mankind, are founded on nothing but pride 
 and self-esteem. Go, says Alexander the Great to his 
 soldiers, when they refus'd to follow him to the Indies, go 
 tell your countrymen, that you left Alexa?ider compleating the 
 conquest of the world. This passage was always particularly 
 admir'd by the prince of Conde, as we learn from St. Evre- 
 mond. '■Alexander,'' said that prince, ' abandon'd by his 
 soldiers, among barbarians, not yet fully subdu'd, felt in 
 himself such a dignity and right of empire, that he cou'd 
 not believe it possible any one cou'd refuse to obey him. 
 Whether in Europe or in Asia, among Greeks or Persians, all 
 was indifferent to him . Wherever he found men, he fancied 
 he had found subjects.' 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 249 
 
 In general we may observe, that whatever we call heroic 
 virtue, and admire under the character of greatness and 
 elevation of mind, is either nothing but a steady and well- 
 establish'd pride and self-esteem, or partakes largely of that 
 passion. Courage, intrepidity, ambition, love of glory, mag- 
 nanimity, and all the other shining virtues of that kind, have 
 plainly a strong mixture of self-esteem in them, and derive 
 a great part of their merit from that origin. Accordingly 
 we find, that many religious declaimers decry those virtues 
 as purely pagan and natural, and represent to us the excel- 
 lency of the Christian religion, which places humility in the 
 rank of virtues, and corrects the judgment of the world, and 
 even of philosophers, who so generally admire all the efforts 
 of pride and ambition. Whether this virtue of humility has 
 been rightly understood, I shall not pretend to determine. 
 I am content with the concession, that the world naturally 
 esteems a well-regulated pride, which secretly animates our 
 conduct, without breaking out into such indecent expres- 
 sions of vanity, as may offend the vanity of others. 
 
 The merit of pride or self-esteem is deriv'd from two 
 circumstances, viz. its utility and its agreeableness to our- 
 selves ; by which it capacitates us for business, and, at the 
 same time, gives us an immediate satisfaction. When it 
 goes beyond its just bounds, it loses the first advantage, and 
 even becomes prejudicial ; which is the reason why we con- 
 demn an extravagant pride and ambition, however regulated 
 by the decorums of good-breeding and politeness. But as 
 such a passion is still agreeable, and conveys an elevated 
 and sublime sensation to the person, who is actuated by it, 
 the sympathy with that satisfaction diminishes considerably 
 the blame, which naturally attends its dangerous influence 
 on his conduct and behaviour. Accordingly we may observe, 
 that an excessive courage and magnanimity, especially when 
 it displays itself under the frowns of fortune, contributes, in 
 a great measure, to the character of a hero, and will render 
 
250 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 a person the admiration of posterity ; at the same time, that 
 it ruins his affairs, and leads him into dangers and diffi- 
 culties, with which otherwise he wou'd never have been 
 acquainted. 
 
 Heroism, or military glory, is much admir'd by the gener- 
 ality of mankind. They consider it as the most sublime 
 kind of merit. Men of cool reflection are not so sanguine in 
 their praises of it. The infinite confusions and disorder, 
 which it has caus'd in the world, diminish much of its merit 
 in their eyes. When they wou'd oppose the popular notions 
 on this head, they always paint out the evils, which this sup- 
 pos'd virtue has produc'd in human society ; the subversion 
 of empires, the devastation of provinces, the sack ef cities. 
 As long as these are present to us, we are more inclin'd to 
 hate than admire the ambition of heroes. But when we fix 
 our view on the person himself, who is the author of all this 
 mischief, there is something so dazling in his character, the 
 mere contemplation of it so elevates the mind, that we can- 
 not refuse it our admiration. The pain, which we receive 
 from its tendency to the prejudice of society, is over-power'd 
 by a stronger and more immediate sympathy. 
 
 Thus our explication of the merit or demerit, which 
 attends the degrees of pride or self-esteem, may serve as 
 a strong argument for the preceding hypothesis, by shewing 
 the effects of those principles above explain'd in all the 
 variations of our judgments concerning that passion. Nor 
 will this reasoning be advantageous to us only by shewing, 
 that the distinction of vice and virtue arises from the four 
 principles of the advantage and of the pleasure of the person 
 himself, and of others : But may also afford us a strong proof 
 of some underparts of that hypothesis. 
 
 No one, who duly considers of this matter, will make 
 any scruple of allowing, that any piece of ill-breeding, or 
 any expression of pride and haughtiness, is displeasing to 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 251 
 
 us, merely because it shocks our own pride, and leads us 
 by sympathy into a comparison, which causes the disagree- 
 able passion of humility. Now as an insolence of this 
 kind is blam'd even in a person who has always been civil 
 to ourselves in particular; nay, in one, whose name is only 
 known to us in history; it follows, that our disapprobation 
 proceeds from a sympathy with others, and from the reflec- 
 tion, that such a character is highly displeasing and odious 
 to every one, who converses or has any intercourse with the 
 person possest of it. We sympathize with those people in 
 their uneasiness; and as their uneasiness proceeds in part 
 from a sympathy with the person who insults them, we may 
 here observe a double rebound of the sympathy; which is 
 a principle very similar to what we have observ'd on another 
 occasion. 1 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Of goodness and benevolence. 
 
 Having thus explain'd the origin of that praise and 
 approbation, which attends every thing we call great in 
 human affections; we now proceed to give an account of 
 their goodness, and shew whence its merit is deriv'd. 
 
 When experience has once given us a competent knowl- 
 edge of human affairs, and has taught us the proportion 
 they bear to human passion, we perceive, that the generosity 
 of men is very limited, and that it seldom extends beyond 
 their friends and family, or, at most, beyond their native 
 country. Being thus acquainted with the nature of man, we 
 expect not any impossibilities from him ; but confine our 
 view to that narrow circle, in which any person moves, in 
 order to form a judgment of his moral character. When the 
 natural tendency of his passions leads him to be serviceable 
 and useful within his sphere, we approve of his character, 
 
 1 Book II. Part II. sect. 5. 
 
252 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 and love his person, by a sympathy with the sentiments of 
 those, who have a more particular connexion with him. We 
 are quickly oblig'd to forget our own interest in our judg- 
 ments of this kind, by reason of the perpetual contradictions, 
 we meet with in society and conversation, from persons that 
 are not plac'd in the same situation, and have not the same 
 interest with ourselves. The only point of view, in which 
 our sentiments concur with those of others, is, when we con- 
 sider the tendency of any passion to the advantage or harm 
 of those, who have any immediate connexion or intercourse 
 with the person possess'd of it. And tho' this advantage or 
 harm be often very remote from ourselves, yet sometimes 'tis 
 very near us, and interests us strongly by sympathy. This 
 concern we readily extend to other cases, that are resem- 
 bling ; and when these are very remote, our sympathy is pro- 
 portionably weaker, and our praise or blame fainter and more 
 doubtful. The case is here the same as in our judgments 
 concerning external bodies. All objects seem to diminish 
 by their distance : But tho' the appearance of objects-to our 
 senses be the original standard, by which we judge of them, 
 yet we do not say, that they actually diminish by the dis- 
 tance; but correcting the appearance by reflection, arrive at 
 a more constant and establish'd judgment concerning them. 
 In like manner, tho' sympathy be much fainter than our con- 
 cern for ourselves, and a sympathy with persons remote from 
 us much fainter than that with persons near and contiguous; 
 yet we neglect all these differences in our calm judgments 
 concerning the characters of men. Besides, that we our- 
 selves often change our situation in this particular, we every 
 day meet with persons, who are in a different situation from 
 ourselves, and who cou'd never converse with us on any rea- 
 sonable terms, were we to remain constantly in that situation 
 and point of view, which is peculiar to us. The intercourse 
 of sentiments, therefore, in society and conversation, makes 
 us form some general inalterable standard, bv which we may 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 253 
 
 approve or disapprove of characters and manners. And 
 tho' the heart does not always take part with those general 
 notions, or regulate its love and hatred by them, yet are they 
 sufficient for discourse, and serve all our purposes in com- 
 pany, in the pulpit, on the theatre, and in the schools. 
 
 From these principles we may easily account for that 
 merit, which is commonly ascrib'd to generosity, humanity, 
 compassion, gratitude, friendship, fidelity, zeal, disititerestedncss, 
 liberality, and all those other qualities, which form the 
 character of good and benevolent. A propensity to the 
 tender passions makes a man agreeable and useful in all 
 the parts of life ; and gives a just direction to all his other 
 qualities, which otherwise may become prejudicial to society. 
 Courage and ambition, when not regulated by benevolence, 
 are fit only to make a tyrant and public robber. Tis the 
 same case with judgment and capacity, and all the qualities 
 of that kind. They are indifferent in themselves to the 
 interests of society, and have a tendency to the good or ill 
 of mankind, according as they are directed by these other 
 passions. 
 
 As love is immediately agreeable to the person, who is 
 actuated by it, and hatred immediately disagreeable ; this may 
 also be a considerable reason, why we praise all the passions 
 that partake of the former, and blame all those that have 
 any considerable share of the latter. 'Tis certain we are 
 infinitely touch'd with a tender sentiment, as well as with a 
 great one. The tears naturally start in our eyes at the 
 conception of it ; nor can we forbear giving a loose to the 
 same tenderness towards the person who exerts it. All this 
 seems to me a proof, that our approbation has, in those 
 cases, an origin different from the prospect of utility and 
 advantage, either to ourselves or others. To which we may 
 add, that men naturally, without reflection, approve of that 
 character, which is most like their own. The man of a mild 
 disposition and tender affections, in forming a notion of the 
 
254 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 most perfect virtue, mixes in it more of benevolence and 
 humanity, than the man of courage and enterprize, who 
 naturally looks upon a certain elevation of mind as the most 
 accomplish'd character. This must evidently proceed from 
 an immediate sympathy, which men have with characters 
 similar to their own. They enter with more warmth into 
 such sentiments, and feel more sensibly the pleasure, which 
 arises from them. 
 
 'Tis remarkable, that nothing touches a man of humanity 
 more than any instance of extraordinary delicacy in love or 
 friendship, where a person is attentive to the smallest con- 
 cerns of his friend, and is willing to sacrifice to them the 
 most considerable interest of his own. Such delicacies 
 have little influence on society ; because they make us 
 regard the greatest trifles : But they are the more engaging, 
 the more minute the concern is, and are a proof of the 
 ! highest merit in any one, who is capable of them. The 
 passions are so contagious, that they pass with the greatest 
 facility from one person to another, and produce corres- 
 pondent movements in all human breasts. Where friend- 
 ship appears in very signal instances, my heart catches the 
 same passion, and is warm'd by those warm sentiments, 
 that display themselves before me. Such agreeable move- 
 ments must give me an affection to every one that excites 
 them. This is the case with every thing that is agreeable 
 in any person. The transition from pleasure to love is 
 easy : But the transition must here be still more easy ; 
 since the agreeable sentiment, which is excited by sympathy, 
 is love itself ; and there is nothing requir'd but to change 
 the object. 
 
 Hence the peculiar merit of benevolence in all its shapes 
 and appearances. Hence even its weaknesses are virtuous 
 and amiable ; and a person, whose grief upon the loss of a 
 friend were excessive, wou'd be esteem'd upon that account. 
 His tenderness bestows a merit, as it does a pleasure, on his 
 melancholy. 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 255 
 
 We are not, however, to imagine, that all the angry 
 passions are vicious, tho' they are disagreeable. There is a 
 certain indulgence due to human nature in this respect. 
 Anger and hatred are passions inherent in our very frame 
 and constitution. The want of them, on some occasions, 
 may even be a proof of weakness and imbecillity. And 
 where they appear only in a low degree, we not only excuse 
 them because they are natural ; but even bestow our 
 applauses on them, because they are inferior to what 
 appears in the greatest part of mankind. 
 
 Where these angry passions rise up to cruelty, they form 
 the most detested of all vices. All the pity and concern 
 which we have for the miserable sufferers by this vice, turns 
 against the person guilty of it, and produces a stronger 
 hatred than we are sensible of on any other occasion. 
 
 Even when the vice of inhumanity rises not to this extreme 
 degree, our sentiments concerning it are very much influenc'd 
 by reflections on the harm that results from it. And we may 
 observe in general, that if we can find any quality in a 
 person, which renders him incommodious to those, who live 
 and converse with him, we always allow it to be a fault or 
 blemish, without any farther examination. On the other 
 hand, when we enumerate the good qualities of any person, 
 we always mention those parts of his character, which 
 render him a safe companion, an easy friend, a gentle 
 master, an agreeable husband, or an indulgent father. We 
 consider him with all his relations in society ; and love or 
 hate him, according as he affects those, who have any 
 immediate intercourse with him. And 'tis a most certain 
 rule, that if there be no relation in life, in which I cou'd not 
 wish to stand to a particular person, his character must so 
 far be allow'd to be perfect. If he be as little wanting to 
 himself as to others, his character is entirely perfect. This 
 is the ultimate test of merit and virtue. 
 
256 A TREATISE OE HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 Of natural abilities. 
 
 No distinction is more usual in all systems of ethics, than 
 that betwixt natural abilities and moral virtues ; where the 
 former are plac'd on the same footing with bodily endow- 
 ments, and are suppos'd to have no merit or moral worth 
 annex'd to them. Whoever considers the matter accurately, 
 will find, that a dispute upon this head wou'd be merely a 
 dispute of words, and that tho' these qualities are not 
 altogether of the same kind, yet they agree in the most 
 material circumstances. They are both of them equally 
 mental qualities : And both of them equally produce 
 pleasure ; and have of course an equal tendency to procure 
 the love and esteem of mankind. There are few, who are 
 not as jealous of their character, with regard to sense and 
 knowledge, as to honour and courage ; and much more than 
 with regard to temperance and sobriety. Men are even 
 afraid of passing for good-natur'd ; lest that shou'd be taken 
 for want of understanding : And often boast of more 
 debauches than they have been really engag'd in, to give 
 themselves airs of fire and spirit. In short, the figure a man 
 makes in the world, the reception he meets with in company, 
 the esteem paid him by his acquaintances ; all these advan- 
 tages depend almost as much upon his good sense and 
 judgment, as upon any other part of his character. Let a 
 man have the best intentions in the world, and be the 
 farthest from all injustice and violence, he will never be 
 able to make himself be much regarded, without a moderate 
 share, at least, of parts and understanding. Since then 
 natural abilities, tho', perhaps, inferior, yet are on the same 
 footing, both as to their causes and effects, with those 
 qualities which we call moral virtues, why shou'd we make 
 any distinction betwixt them ? 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 257 
 
 Tho' we refuse to natural abilities the title of virtues, we 
 must allow, that they procure the love and esteem of man- 
 kind ; that they give a new lustre to the other virtues ; and 
 that a man possess'd of them is much more entitled to our 
 good-will and services, than one entirely void of them. It 
 may, indeed, be pretended, that the sentiment of approbation, 
 which those qualities produce, besides its being inferior, is 
 also somewhat different from that, which attends the other 
 virtues. But this, in my opinion, is not a sufficient reason 
 for excluding them from the catalogue of virtues. Each of 
 the virtues, even benevolence, justice, gratitude, integrity, 
 excites a different sentiment or feeling in the spectator. 
 The characters of Ccesar and Cato, as drawn by Sallust, are 
 both of them virtuous, in the strictest sense of the word ; but 
 in a different way : Nor are the sentiments entirely the same, 
 which arise from them. The one produces love ; the other 
 esteem : The one is amiable ; the other awful : We cou'd 
 wish to meet with the one character in a friend ; the other 
 character we wou'd be ambitious of in ourselves. In like 
 manner, the approbation, which attends natural abilities, may 
 be somewhat different to the feeling from that, which arises 
 from the other virtues, without making them entirely of a 
 different species. And indeed we may observe, that the 
 natural abilities, no more than the other virtues, produce 
 not, all of them, the same kind of approbation. Good sense 
 and genius beget esteem : Wit and humour excite love. 1 
 
 Those, who represent the distinction betwixt natural abili- 
 ties and moral virtues as very material, may say, that the 
 former are entirely involuntary, and have therefore no merit 
 
 1 Love and esteem are at the bottom the same passions, and arise 
 from like causes. The qualities, that produce both, are agreeable and 
 give pleasure. But where this pleasure is severe and serious; or where 
 its object is great, and makes a strong impression; or where it produces 
 any degree of humility and awe: In all these cases, the passion, which 
 arises from the pleasure, is more properly denominated esteem than 
 love. Benevolence attends both: But it is connected with love in a 
 more eminent degree. 
 
258 A TREATISE OE HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 attending them, as having no dependance on liberty and 
 free-will. But to this I answer, first, that many of those 
 qualities, which all moralists, especially the antients, com- 
 prehend under the title of moral virtues, are equally invol- 
 untary and necessary, with the qualities of the judgment 
 and imagination. Of this nature are constancy, fortitude, 
 magnanimity ; and, in short, all the qualities which form 
 the great man. I might say the same, in some degree, of 
 the others ; it being almost impossible for the mind to 
 change its character in any considerable article, or cure 
 itself of a passionate or splenetic temper, when they are 
 natural to it. The greater degree there is of these blameable 
 qualities, the more vicious they become, and yet they are 
 the less voluntary. Secondly, I wou'd have any one give me 
 a reason, why virtue and vice may not be involuntary, as well 
 as beauty and deformity. These moral distinctions arise 
 from the natural distinctions of pain and pleasure ; and when 
 we receive those feelings from the general consideration of 
 any quality or character, we denominate it vicious or virtuous. 
 Now I believe no one will assert, that a quality can never 
 produce pleasure or pain to the person who considers it, 
 unless it be perfectly voluntary in the person who possesses 
 it. Thirdly, As to free-will, we have shewn that it has no 
 place with regard to the actions, no more that the qualities 
 of men. It is not a just consequence, that what is voluntary 
 is free. Our actions are more voluntary than our judgments ; 
 but we have not more liberty in the one than in the other. 
 
 But tho' this distinction betwixt voluntary and involuntary 
 be not sufficient to justify the distinction betwixt natural 
 abilities and moral virtues, yet the former distinction will 
 afford us a plausible reason, why moralists have invented 
 the latter. Men have observ'd, that tho' natural abilities 
 and moral qualities be in the main on the same footing, 
 there is, however, this difference betwixt them, that the 
 former are almost invariable by any art or industry ; while 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 259 
 
 the latter, or at least, the actions, that proceed from them, 
 may be chang'd by the motives of rewards and punishments, 
 praise and blame. Hence legislators, and divines, and 
 moralists, have principally applied themselves to the regulat- 
 ing these voluntary actions, and have endeavour'd to pro- 
 duce additional motives for being virtuous in that particular. 
 They knew, that to punish a man for folly, or exhort him to 
 be prudent and sagacious, wou'd have but little effect ; tho' 
 the same punishments and exhortations, with regard to 
 justice and injustice, might have a considerable influence. 
 But as men, in common life and conversation, do not carry 
 those ends in view, but naturally praise or blame whatever 
 pleases or displeases them, they do not seem much to regard 
 this distinction, but consider prudence under the character 
 of virtue as well as benevolence, and penetration as well as 
 justice. Nay, we find, that all moralists, whose judgment is 
 not perverted by a strict adherence to a system, enter into 
 the same way of thinking ; and that the antient moralists in 
 particular made no scruple of placing prudence at the head 
 of the cardinal virtues. There is a sentiment of esteem and 
 approbation, which may be excited, in some degree, by any 
 faculty of the mind, in its perfect state and condition ; and 
 to account for this sentiment is the business of Philosophers. 
 It belongs to Grammarians to examine what qualities are 
 entitled to the denomination of virtue; nor will they find, 
 upon trial, that this is so easy a task, as at first sight they 
 may be apt to imagine. 
 
 The principal reason why natural abilities are esteem'd, is 
 because of their tendency to be useful to the person, who is 
 possess'd of them. 'Tis impossible to execute any design 
 with success, where it is not conducted with prudence and 
 discretion ; nor will the goodness of our intentions alone 
 suffice to procure us a happy issue to our enterprizes. Men 
 are superior to beasts principally by the superiority of their 
 reason ; and they are the degrees of the same faculty, which 
 
2 6o ../ TREATISE OE HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 set such an infinite difference betwixt one man and another. 
 All the advantages of art are owing to human reason ; and 
 where fortune is not very capricious, the most considerable 
 part of these advantages must fall to the share of the 
 prudent and sagacious. 
 
 When it is ask'd, whether a quick or a slow apprehension 
 be most valuable ? whether one, that at first view penetrates 
 into a subject, but can perform nothing upon study ; or a 
 contrary character, which must work out everything by dint 
 of application ? whether a clear head, or a copious invention ? 
 whether a profound genius, or a sure judgment? in short, 
 what character, or peculiar understanding, is more excellent 
 than another ? 'Tis evident we can answer none of these 
 questions, without considering which of those qualities 
 capacitates a man best for the world, and carries him 
 farthest in any of his undertakings. 
 
 There are many other qualities of the mind, whose merit 
 is deriv'd from the same origin. Industry, perseverance, 
 patience, activity, vigilance, application, constancy, with other 
 virtues of that kind, which 'twill be easy to recollect, are 
 esteem'd valuable upon no other account, than their ad- 
 vantage in the conduct of life. 'Tis the same case with 
 temperance, frugality, oeconotny, resolution: As on the other 
 hand, prodigality, luxury, irresolution, uncertainly, are vicious, 
 merely because they draw ruin upon us, and incapacitate us 
 for business and action. 
 
 As wisdom and good-sense are valued, because they are 
 useful to the person possess'd of them ; so wit and eloquence 
 are valued, because they are immediately agreeable to others. 
 On the other hand, good humour is lov'd and esteem'd, 
 because it is immediately agreeable to the person himself. 
 'Tis evident, that the conversation of a man of wit is very 
 satisfactory; as a chearful good-humour'd companion diffuses 
 a joy over the whole company, from a sympathy with his 
 gaiety. These qualities, therefore, being agreeable, they 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 261 
 
 naturally beget love and esteem, and answer to all the 
 characters of virtue. 
 
 'Tis difficult to tell, on many occasions, what it is that 
 renders one man's conversation so agreeable and entertain- 
 ing, and another's so insipid and distasteful. As conversa- 
 tion is a transcript of the mind as well as books, the same 
 qualities, which render the one valuable, must give us an 
 esteem for the other. This we shall consider afterwards. 
 In the mean time it may be affirm'd in general, that all the 
 merit a man may derive from his conversation (which, no 
 doubt, may be very considerable) arises from nothing but 
 the pleasure it conveys to those who are present. 
 
 In this view, cleanliness is also to be regarded as a virtue ; 
 since it naturally renders us agreeable to others, and is a 
 very considerable source of love and affection. No one will 
 deny, that a negligence in this particular is a fault ; and as 
 faults are nothing but smaller vices, and this fault can have 
 no other origin than the uneasy sensation, which it excites 
 in others, we may in this instance, seemingly so trivial, 
 clearly discover the origin of the moral distinction of vice 
 and virtue in other instances. 
 
 Besides all those qualities, which render a person lovely 
 or valuable, there is also a certain je-ne-sfai-quoi of agreeable 
 and handsome, that concurs to the same effect. In this 
 case, as well as in that of wit and eloquence, we must have 
 recourse to a certain sense, which acts without reflection, 
 and regards not the tendencies of qualities and characters. 
 Some moralists account for all the sentiments of virtue by 
 this sense. Their hypothesis is very plausible. Nothing 
 but a particular enquiry can give the preference to any other 
 hypothesis. When we find, that almost all the virtues have 
 such particular tendencies ; and also find, that these ten- 
 dencies are sufficient alone to give a strong sentiment of 
 approbation : We cannot doubt, after this, that qualities 
 are approv'd of, in proportion to the advantage, which 
 results from them. 
 
262 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 The decorum or indecorum of a quality, with regard to the 
 age, or character, or station, contributes also to its praise or 
 blame. This decorum depends, in a great measure, upon 
 experience. 'Tis usual to see men lose their levity, as they 
 advance in years. Such a degree of gravity, therefore, and 
 such years, are connected together in our thoughts. When 
 we observe them separated in any person's character, this 
 imposes a kind of violence on our imagination, and is dis- 
 agreeable. 
 
 That faculty of the soul, which, of all others, is of the 
 least consequence to the character, and has the least virtue 
 or vice in its several degrees, at the same time, that it admits 
 of a great variety of degrees, is the memory. Unless it rise 
 up to that stupendous height as to surprize us, or sink so 
 low as, in some measure, to affect the judgment, we com- 
 monly take no notice of its variations, nor ever mention 
 them to the praise or dispraise of any person. 'Tis so far 
 from being a virtue to have a good memory, that men 
 generally affect to complain of a bad one; and endeavouring 
 to persuade the world, that what they say is entirely of their 
 own invention, sacrifice it to the praise of genius and judg- 
 ment. Yet to consider the matter abstractedly, 'twou'd be 
 difficult to give a reason, why the faculty of recalling past 
 ideas with truth and clearness, shou'd not have as much 
 merit in it, as the faculty of placing our present ideas in 
 such an order, as to form true propositions and opinions. 
 The reason of the difference certainly must be, that the 
 memory is exerted without any sensation of pleasure or 
 pain ; and in all its middling degrees serves almost equally 
 well in business and affairs. But the least variations in the 
 judgment are sensibly felt in their consequences ; while at 
 the same time that faculty is never exerted in any eminent 
 degree, without an extraordinary delight and satisfaction. 
 The sympathy with this utility and pleasure bestows a merit 
 on the understanding ; and the absence of it makes us con- 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 263 
 
 sider the memory as a faculty very indifferent to blame or 
 praise. 
 
 Before I leave this subject of natural abilities, I must 
 observe, that, perhaps, one source of the esteem and affec- 
 tion, which attends them, is deriv'd from the importance and 
 weight, which they bestow on the person possess'd of them. 
 He becomes of greater consequence in life. His resolutions 
 and actions affect a greater number of his fellow-creatures. 
 Both his friendship . and enmity are of moment. And 'tis 
 easy to observe, that whoever is elevated, after this manner, 
 above the rest of mankind, must excite in us the sentiments 
 of esteem and approbation. Whatever is important engages 
 our attention, fixes our thought, and is contemplated with 
 satisfaction. The histories of kingdoms are more interesting 
 than domestic stories : The histories of great empires more 
 than those of small cities and principalities : And the his- 
 tories of wars and revolutions more than those of peace and 
 order. We sympathize with the persons that suffer, in all 
 the various sentiments which belong to their fortunes. The 
 mind is occupied by the multitude of the objects, and by the 
 strong passions, that display themselves. And this occupa- 
 tion or agitation of the mind is commonly agreeable and 
 amusing. The same theory accounts for the esteem and 
 regard we pay to men of extraordinary parts and abilities. 
 The good and ill of multitudes are connected with their 
 actions. Whatever they undertake is important, and chal- 
 lenges our attention. Nothing is to be over-look'd and 
 despis'd, that regards them. And where any person can 
 excite these sentiments, he soon acquires our esteem; unless 
 other circumstances of his character render him odious and 
 disagreeable. 
 
264 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 SECTION V. 
 Some farther reflections concerning the natural virtues. 
 
 It has been observ'd, in treating of the passions, that 
 pride and humility, love and hatred, are excited by any ad- 
 vantages or disadvantages of the mind, body, or fortune; and 
 that these advantages or disadvantages have that effect, by 
 producing a separate impression of pain or pleasure. The 
 pain or pleasure, which arises from the general survey or 
 view of any action or quality of the mind, constitutes its 
 vice or virtue, and gives rise to our approbation or blame, 
 which is nothing but a fainter and more imperceptible love 
 or hatred. We have assign'd four different sources of this 
 pain and pleasure ; and in order to justify more fully that 
 hypothesis, it may here be proper to observe, that the ad- 
 vantages or disadvantages of the body and of fortune, pro- 
 duce a pain or pleasure from the very same principles. The 
 tendency of any object to be useful to the person possess'd 
 of it, or to others ; to convey pleasure to him or to others ; 
 all these circumstances convey an immediate pleasure to the 
 person, who considers the object, and command his love and 
 approbation. 
 
 To begin with the advantages of the body ; we may ob- 
 serve a phsenomenon, which might appear somewhat trivial 
 and ludicrous, if any thing cou'd be trivial, which fortified 
 a conclusion of such importance, or ludicrous, which was 
 employ'd in a philosophical reasoning. 'Tis a general re- 
 mark, that those we call good womctis men, who have either 
 signaliz'd themselves by their amorous exploits, or whose 
 make of body promises any extraordinay vigour of that kind, 
 are well received by the fair sex, and naturally engage the 
 affections even of those, whose virtue prevents any design 
 of ever giving employment to those talents. Here 'tis evi- 
 dent, that the ability of such a person to give enjoyment, is 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 265 
 
 the real source of that love and esteem he meets with among 
 the females ; at the same time that the women, who love and 
 esteem him, have no prospect of receiving that enjoyment 
 themselves, and can only be affected by means of their sym- 
 pathy with one, that has a commerce of love with him. This 
 instance is singular, and merits our attention. 
 
 Another source of the pleasure we receive from consider- 
 ing boldily advantages, is their utility to the person himself, 
 who is possess'd of them. 'Tis certain, that a considerable 
 part of the beauty of men, as well as of other animals, con- 
 sists in such a conformation of members, as we find by 
 experience to be attended with strength and agility, and to 
 capacitate the creature for any action or exercise. Broad 
 shoulders, a lank belly, firm joints, taper legs ; all these are 
 beautiful in our species, because they are signs of force and 
 vigour, which being advantages we naturally sympathize with, 
 they convey to the beholder a share of that satisfaction they 
 produce in the possessor. 
 
 So far as to the utility, which may attend any quality of 
 the body. As to the immediate pleasure, 'tis certain, that an 
 air of health, as well as of strength and agility, makes a con- 
 siderable part of beauty; and that a sickly air in another is 
 always disagreeable, upon account of that idea of pain and 
 uneasiness, which it conveys to us. On the other hand, we 
 are pleas'd with the regularity of our own features, tho' it be 
 neither useful to ourselves nor others ; and 'tis necessary for 
 us, in some measure, to set ourselves at a distance, to make 
 it convey to us any satisfaction. We Commonly consider 
 ourselves as we appear in the eyes of others, and sympathize 
 with the advantageous sentiments they entertain with regard 
 to us. 
 
 How far the advantages of fortune produce esteem and 
 approbation from the same principles, we may satisfy our- 
 selves by reflecting on our precedent reasoning on that sub- 
 ject. We have observ'd, that our approbation of those, who 
 
266 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 are possess'd of the advantages of fortune, may be ascrib'd 
 to three different causes. First, To that immediate pleasure, 
 which a rich man gives us, by the view of the beautiful 
 cloaths, equipage, gardens, or houses, which he possesses. 
 Secondly, To the advantage, which we hope to reap from him 
 by his generosity and liberality. Thirdly, To the pleasure 
 and advantage, which he himself reaps from his possessions, 
 and which produce an agreeable sympathy in us. Whether 
 we ascribe our esteem of the rich and great to one or all of 
 these causes, we may clearly see the traces of those princi- 
 ples, which give rise to the sense of vice and virtue. I 
 believe most people, at first sight, will be inclin'd to ascribe 
 our esteem of the rich to self-interest, and the prospect of 
 advantage. But as 'tis certain, that our esteem or deference 
 extends beyond any prospect of advantage to ourselves, 'tis 
 evident, that that sentiment must proceed from a sympathy 
 with those, who are dependent on the person we esteem and 
 respect, and who have an immediate connexion with him. 
 We consider him as a person capable of contributing to the 
 happiness or enjoyment of his fellow-creatures, whose senti- 
 ments, with regard to him, we naturally embrace. And this 
 consideration will serve to justify my hypothesis in preferring 
 the third principle to the other two, and ascribing our esteem 
 to the rich to a sympathy with the pleasure and advantage, 
 which they themselves receive from their possessions. For 
 as even the other two principles cannot operate to a due 
 extent, or account for all the phaenomena, without having 
 recourse to a sympathy of one kind or other; 'tis much more 
 natural to chuse that sympathy, which is immediate and 
 direct, than that which is remote and indirect. To which 
 we may add, that where the riches or power are very great, 
 and render the person considerable and important in the 
 world, the esteem attending them, may, in part, be ascrib'd 
 to another source, distinct from these three, viz., their inter- 
 esting the mind by a prospect of the multitude, and impor- 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 267 
 
 tance of their consequences Tho', in order to account for 
 the operation of this principle, we must also have recourse 
 to sympathy ; as we have observ'd in the preceding section. 
 
 It may not be amiss, on this occasion, to remark the 
 flexibility of our sentiments, and the several changes they 
 so readily receive from the objects, with which they are 
 conjoin'd. All the sentiments of approbation, which attend 
 any particular species of objects, have a great resemblance 
 to each other, tho' deriv'd from different sources ; and, on 
 the other hand, those sentiments, when directed to different 
 objects, are different to the feeling, tho' deriv'd from the 
 same source. Thus the beauty of all visible objects causes 
 a pleasure pretty much the same, tho' it be sometimes 
 deriv'd from the mere species and appearance of the objects ; 
 sometimes from sympathy, and an idea of their utility. In 
 like manner, whenever we survey the actions and characters 
 of men, without any particular interest in them, the pleasure, 
 or pain, which arises from the survey (with some minute 
 differences) is, in the main, of the same kind, tho' perhaps 
 there be a great diversity in the causes, from which it is 
 deriv'd. On the other hand, a convenient house, and a 
 virtuous character, cause not the same feeling of approba- 
 tion ; even tho' the source of our approbation be the same, 
 and flow from sympathy and an idea of their utility. There 
 is something very inexplicable in this variation of our 
 feelings ; but 'tis what we have experience of with regard 
 to all our passions and sentiments. • 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 
 Conclusion of this book. 
 
 Thus upon the whole I am hopeful, that nothing is 
 wanting to an accurate proof of this system of ethics. We 
 are certain, that sympathy is a very powerful principle in 
 human nature. We are also certain, that it has a great 
 
268 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 influence on our sense of beauty, when we regard external 
 objects, as well as when we judge of morals. We find, 
 that it has force sufficient to give us the strongest senti- 
 ments of approbation, when it operates alone, without the 
 concurrence of any other principle ; as in the cases of 
 justice, allegiance, chastity, and good-manners. We may 
 observe", that all the circumstances requisite for its operation 
 are found in most of the virtues ; which have, for the most 
 part, a tendency to the good of society, or to that of the 
 person possess'd of them. If we compare all these circum- 
 stances, we shall not doubt, that sympathy is the chief 
 source of moral distinctions ; especially when we reflect, 
 that no objection can be rais'd against this hypothesis in 
 one case, which will not extend to all cases. Justice is 
 certainly approv'd of for no other reason, than because it 
 has a tendency to the public good : And the public good is 
 indifferent to us, except so far as sympathy interests us in 
 it. We may presume the like with regard to all the other 
 virtues, which have a like tendency to the public good. 
 They must derive all their merit from our sympathy with 
 those, who reap any advantage from them ; As the virtues, 
 which have a tendency to the good of the person pos- 
 sess'd of them, derive their merit from our sympathy with 
 him. 
 
 Most people will readily allow, that the useful qualities of 
 the mind are virtuous, because of their utility. This way of 
 thinking is so natural, and occurs on so many occasions, 
 that few will make any scruple of admitting it. Now this 
 being once admitted, the force of sympathy must necessarily 
 be acknowledg'd. Virtue is consider'd as means to an end. 
 Means to an end are only valued so far as the end is valued. 
 But the happiness of strangers affects us by sympathy alone. 
 To that principle, therefore, we are to ascribe the sentiment 
 of approbation, which arises from the survey of all those 
 virtues, that are useful to society, or to the person possess'd 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 269 
 
 of them. These form the most considerable part of 
 morality. 
 
 Were it proper in such a subject to bribe the reader's 
 assent, or employ any thing but solid argument, we are here 
 abundantly supplied with topics to engage the affections. 
 All lovers of virtue (and such we all are in speculation, 
 however we may degenerate in practice) must certainly be 
 pleas'd to see moral distinctions deriv'd from so noble a 
 source, which gives us a just notion both of the generosity 
 and capacity of human nature. It requires but very little 
 knowledge of human affairs to perceive, that a sense of 
 morals is a principle inherent in the soul, and one of the 
 most powerful that enters into the composition. But this 
 sense must certainly acquire new force, when reflecting on 
 itself, it approves of those principles, from whence it is 
 deriv'd, and finds nothing but what is great and good in its 
 rise and origin. Those who resolve the sense of morals 
 into original instincts of the human mind, may defend the 
 cause of virtue with sufficient authority ; but want the 
 advantage, which those possess, who account for that sense 
 by an extensive sympathy with mankind. According to 
 their system, not only virtue must be approved of, but also 
 the sense of virtue : And not only that sense, but also the 
 principles, from whence it is deriv'd. So that nothing is 
 presented on any side, but what is laudable and good. 
 
 This observation may be extended to justice, and the 
 other virtues of that kind. Tho' justice be artificial, the 
 sense of its morality is natural. 'Tis the combination of 
 men, in a system of conduct, which renders any act of 
 justice beneficial to society. But when once it has that 
 tendency, we naturally approve of it ; and if we did not so, 
 'tis impossible any combination or convention cou'd ever 
 produce that sentiment. 
 
270 A TREATISE QF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 Most of the inventions of men are subject to change. 
 They depend upon humour and caprice. They have a vogue 
 for a time, and then sink into oblivion. It may, perhaps, be 
 apprehended, that if justice were allow'd to be a human 
 invention, it must be plac'd on the same footing. But the 
 cases are widely different. The interest, on which justice is 
 founded, is the greatest imaginable, and extends to all times 
 and places. It cannot possibly be serv'd by any other 
 invention. It is obvious, and discovers itself on the very 
 first formation of society. All these causes render the rules 
 of justice stedfast and immutable ; at least, immutable as 
 human nature. And if they were founded on original 
 instincts, cou'd they have any greater stability ? 
 
 The same system may help us to form a just notion of the 
 happiness, as well as of the dignity of virtue, and may interest 
 every principle of our nature in the embracing and cherish- 
 ing that noble quality. Who indeed does not feel an acces- 
 sion of alacrity in his pursuits of knowledge and ability of 
 every kind, when he considers, that besides the advantage, 
 which immediately result from these acquisitions, they also 
 give him a new lustre in the eyes of mankind, and are 
 universally attended with esteem and approbation ? And 
 who can think any advantages of fortune a sufficient com- 
 pensation for the least breach of the social virtues, when he 
 considers, that not only his character with regard to others, 
 but also his peace and inward satisfaction entirely depend 
 upon his strict observance of them ; and that a mind will 
 never be able to bear its own survey, that has been wanting 
 in its part to mankind and society ? But I forbear insisting 
 on this subject. Such reflections require a work a-part, 
 very different from the genius of the present. The anato- 
 mist ought never to emulate the painter ; nor in his accurate 
 dissections and portraitures of the smaller parts of the 
 human body, pretend to give his figures any graceful and 
 engaging attitude or expression. There is even something 
 
Book III. OF MORALS. 271 
 
 hideous, or at least minute in the views of things, which he 
 presents ; and 'tis necessary the objects shou'd be set more 
 at a distance, and be more cover'd up from sight, to make 
 them engaging to the eye and imagination. An anatomist, 
 however, is admirably fitted to give advice to a painter ; and 
 'tis even impracticable to excel in the latter art, without the 
 assistance of the former. We must have an exact knowl- 
 edge of the parts, their situation and connexion, before we 
 can design with any elegance or correctness. And thus the 
 most abstract speculations concerning human nature, how- 
 ever cold and un entertaining, become subservient to practical 
 morality ; and may render this latter science more correct in 
 its precepts, and more persuasive in its exhortations. 
 
NDEX. 
 
 Abilities, natural, 256, 258. 
 Accession, and property, 155. 
 Action, internal, no, 121. 
 Actions, and truth, 103, 104. 
 
 and will, 73, 74, 84, 85, 258. 
 
 merit of, 85, 106, 118, 122- 
 
 123, 124. 
 Agent, 81, 106. 
 Allegiance. See Government. 
 
 Measures of, 197 f. Objects 
 
 of, 201 f. 
 Anger, 255. 
 Artifice, 134, 142, 146, 168, 180- 
 
 181, 226-227. 
 Artificial, 61, 121, 128-129, 134, 
 
 142, 173, 176, 226, 269. 
 Association, of ideas, 79, 158. 
 
 Benevolence, 91, 126-127, 141, 
 
 251 f. 
 Bentham, 24. 
 Berkeley, 13, 19, 23. 
 Butler, 21 f. 
 
 Calm passions, 91, 93. 
 
 Cause, 79-80, 83, 104. 
 
 Chance, 81-82. 
 
 Character, 73 f., 85, 118, 223, 231, 
 
 257. 
 Chastity, 218 f. 
 Choice, 113. 
 
 Civil, opposed to natural, 120 n., 
 
 191. 
 Clarke, 24, 43, 48. 
 Collins, 30. 
 Conscience, 104. 
 Convention, 61, 134-135, 136, 163, 
 
 169, 190. 
 Courage, 222. 
 Cudworth, 24, 43, 57, 
 Custom, 96 f., 149. 
 
 Decorum, 262. 
 
 Deliberate actions, 8^ 
 
 Desire, 91. 
 
 Direct passions, 99. 
 
 Duty. See Obligations, Moral. 
 
 Education, 146. 
 
 Fact, matter of, t 14 f. 
 
 Family, 131, 188. 
 
 Feeling (moral), 114, 116-118, 223. 
 
 Free, and Freedom. See Necessity, 
 
 Liberty, Will. 26, 29. 
 Friendship, 168. 
 
 Good, 91 ; three species of, 133. 
 
 Goodness and Benevolence, 251 f. 
 
 Golden Age, 139. 
 
 Government, origin of, 181 f. ; al- 
 legiance to, 186 f. ; ob- 
 jects of allegiance, 201 f. 
 
 2 73 
 
274 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Hartley, 24. 
 Heroism, 250. 
 Hobbes, 23, 30. 
 Humility, 69, 245-250. 
 Hutcheson, 20, 48. 
 
 Ideas, 27, 101, 108. 
 
 Imagination, 150 u., 155 n., 178, 
 
 207, 214. 
 Impressions, 27, 72, 101, 116. 
 Indifference, liberty of, 30, 33, 81. 
 Indirect passions, 68. 
 Instinct, 91. 
 Intention, 85, 106. 
 Interest, 144, 166 f., 180, 184, 222. 
 
 Judgment, 90, 101, 104, 116, 134, 
 
 258. 
 Justice, 122-129; origin of, 129- 
 
 147, 180, 269. 
 
 Kant, 31, 46, 49, 52, 56, 65. 
 
 Labor, 130-131, 151 n. 
 
 Law, 129, 166-167, 189-190, 209, 
 
 215 f. 
 Liberty. See Necessity. 26, 29-39, 
 
 72-86, 107 n., 258. 
 Locke, 19, 23, 25, 27, 33, 35, 36, 
 
 37. 46, 47- 
 Love (self-love), 125, 126, 127, 137; 
 
 (social) 223,238,253, 254, 
 
 257 n., 264. 
 Loyalty, 210. 
 
 Matter, 73, 83. 
 
 Matter of fact, 114 f. 
 
 Memory, 262-263. 
 
 Merit. See Moral. 85, 122 f. 
 
 Miracles, 119. 
 
 Modesty, 218. 
 
 Monarchy, 188. 
 
 Moral approbation, 145, 146. 
 distinguished from natural 
 
 abilities and virtues, 256- 
 
 264. 
 distinctions, not from reason, 
 
 ioo-ii5;from a moral 
 
 sense, 115-121, 46. 
 
 sense, 46-48, 115-121,261. 
 
 sentiments, 225, 233, 238, 
 
 239, 240. 
 obligation, 144, 163 f., 171, 
 
 195, 217. 
 Morality and motives, 122-129, 
 
 165, 223. 
 Motive, 50, 56, 58, 72-86, 122-129, 
 
 145, 165. 
 
 Nations, Laws of, 215-218. 
 
 Natural, opposed to artificial, 120, 
 134, 173, 269 ; opposed to 
 miraculous, 119; opposed 
 to rare and unusual 119, 
 120; opposed to civil, 
 120, 191 n., and civil jus- 
 tice, 190. 
 
 and moral, 120 n. 
 
 obligation, 198-199, 165, 166, 
 
 172, 217-218. 
 
 Nature, state of, 139, 147 ; laws of, 
 129, 166-167, '73' IQ °> 
 216. 
 
 Necessity, and liberty of will, 29- 
 39, 7^-86. 
 
 Obligation, 108 n., m, 163-164, 
 
 170-171. 
 and interest, 144, 163-172, 
 
 19S-199. 
 
 of allegiance, 189 f. 
 
 of promises, 162-172. 
 
 Occupation and property, 151 f. 
 Ought, 115. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 275 
 
 Passions defined, 89. 
 
 indirect, 68 ; of the will and 
 
 . direct passions, 72-99 ; 
 calm, 91, 93 ; direct, 68 ; 
 relations of, 128-129, 133, 
 165, 179. 
 
 Patriarchal government, 188. 
 
 Perception, 27, 101. 
 
 Pity, 137. 
 
 Pleasure, 72, 117, 222-223, 2 4 a 
 
 Political artifice, 1 46-181. 
 
 Possession, 148, 151, 152 ; of gov- 
 ernment, 204-205. 
 
 Prescription and property, 1 54. 
 
 Pride and humility, 69, 118, 223, 
 241, 245-250. 
 
 Private and public duties, 194. 
 
 Promises, 162-172, 189. 
 
 Property, 107 n., 129-147, 147-162. 
 
 Prudence, 259. 
 
 Public and private duties, 194. 
 
 Punishment, 84-85. 
 
 Reason, 39-45, 49, 102, 103, 107- 
 
 115, 232, 238. 
 Reflection, impressions of, 27. 
 
 Reid, 48. 
 Relation, 108 f. 
 Religion, 119. 
 Responsibility, 84-85. 
 Right, 136. 
 
 Scepticism, 13 f. 
 Selfishness, 124, 132 f., 140. 
 Shaftesbury, 20, 24, 48. 
 Society, 130, 131, 189. 
 Spontaneity, liberty of, 81. 
 Succession, of property, 151, 160; 
 
 of government, 1 60, 207 f . 
 Sympathy, 145, 226, 227, 235, 241, 
 
 254, 268. 
 
 Understanding, 139. 
 Usual, 129, 197. 
 
 Virtue. See Moral. 
 Volitions. See Will. 
 
 Will, 72-92 ; relation of to natural 
 
 abilities, 257-258. 
 Wollaston, 48, 106 n. 
 
ADVERTISEMENTS. 
 
PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Empirical Psychology ; 
 
 or, The Human Mind as Given in Consciousness. 
 
 By Laurens P. Hickok, D.D., LL.D. Revised with the eo-operation of 
 Julius H. Seelye, D.D., LL.D., Ex-Prest. of Amherst College. 12mo. 
 300 pages. Mailing Price, 81.25; Introduction, $1.12; Allowance, 40 
 cents. 
 
 rpHE publishers believe that this book will be found to be re- 
 markably comprehensive, and at the same time compact and 
 clear. It gives a complete outline of the science, concisely pre- 
 sented, and in precise and plain terms. 
 
 It has proved of special value to teachers, as is evidenced by its 
 recent adoption for several Reading Circles. 
 
 John Bascom, formerly Pres. Univ. 
 of Wisconsin, Madison : It is an ex- 
 cellent book. It has done much good 
 service, and, as 1 revised by President 
 Seelye, is prepared to do much more. 
 (Feb. 3, 1882.) 
 
 I. W. Andrews, Prof, of Intellec- 
 
 tual Philosophy, Marietta College, 
 0. : This new edition may be confi- 
 dently recommended as presenting i 
 delineation of the mental faculties so 
 clear and accurate that the careful 
 student will hardly fail to recognize 
 its truth in his own experience. 
 (April 6, 1882.) 
 
 Hickok's Moral Science. 
 
 By Laurens P. Hickok, D.D., LL.D. Revised with the co-operation of 
 Julius H. Seelye, D.D., LL.D., Ex-Prest. of Amherst Collego. 12mo. 
 Cloth. 288 pages. Mailing Price, $1.25; Introduction, $1.12; Allowance, 
 40 cents. 
 
 \ S revised by Dr. Seelye, it is believed that this work will be 
 ■^ found unsurpassed in systematic rigor and scientific precision, 
 and at the same time remarkably clear and simple in style. 
 
 G. P. Fisher, Prof, of Church His- 
 tory, Tale College ■■ The style is so 
 perspicuous, and at the same time so 
 concise, that the work is eminently 
 J3S 
 
 adapted to serve as a text-book in 
 colleges and higher schools. In mat- 
 ter and manner it is a capital book, 
 and I wish it God speed. 
 
PHILOSOPHY. 139 
 
 Lotze's Philosophical Outlines. 
 
 T 
 
 Dictated Portions of the Latest Lectures (at Gottingen and Berlin) of 
 Hermann Lotze. Translated and edited by George T. Ladd, Pro- 
 fessor of Philosophy in Yale University. 12mo. Cloth. About 180 
 pages in each volume. Mailing price per volume, $1.00 ; for introduc- 
 tion, 80 cents. 
 
 HE German from which the translations are made consists of 
 the dictated portions of his latest lectures (at Gottingen, and 
 for a few months at Berlin) as formulated by Lotze himself, 
 recorded in the notes of his hearers, and subjected to the most 
 competent and thorough revision of Professor Rehnisch of Got- 
 tingen. The Outlines give, therefore, a mature and trustworthy 
 statement, in language selected by this teacher of philosophy him- 
 self, of what may be considered as his final opinions upon a wide 
 range of subjects. They have met with no little favor in Germany. 
 
 These translations have been undertaken with the kind permis- 
 sion of the German publisher, Herr S. Hirzel, of Leipsic. 
 
 Outlines of Metaphysic. 
 
 This contains the scientific treatment of those assumptions which enter 
 into all our cognition of Reality. It consists of three parts, — Ontology, 
 Cosmology, Phenomenology. The first part contains chapters on the Con- 
 ception of Being, the Content of the Existent, Reality, Change, and Causa- 
 tion ; the second treats of Space, Time, Motion, Matter, and the Coherency 
 of Natural Events ; the third, of the Subjectivity and Objectivity of Cog- 
 nition. The Metaphysic of Lotze gives the key to his entire philosophical 
 system. 
 Outlines of the Philosophy of Religion. 
 
 Lotze here seeks " to ascertain how much of the Content of Religion may 
 be discovered, proved, or at least confirmed, agreeably to reason." He 
 discusses the Proof for the Existence of God, the Attributes and Personality 
 of the Absolute, the Conceptions of the Creation, the Preservation, and the 
 Government, of the World, and of the World-time. The book closes with 
 brief discussions of Religion and Morality, and Dogmas and Confessions. 
 Outlines of Practical Philosophy. 
 
 This contains a discussion of Ethical Principles, Moral Ideals, and the 
 Freedom of the Will, and then an application of the theory to the Indi- 
 vidual, to Marriage, to Society, and to the State. Many interesting 
 remarks on Divorce, Socialism, Representative Government, etc., abound 
 throughout the volume. Its style is more popular than that of the other 
 works of Lotze, and it will doubtless be widely read. 
 Outlines of Psychology. 
 
 The Outlines of Psychology treats of Simple Sensations, the Course of 
 Representative Ideas, of Attention and Inference, of Intuitions, of Objects 
 as in Space, of the Apprehension of the External World by the Senses, of 
 Errors of the Senses, of Feelings, and of Bodily Motions. Its second part 
 is " theoretical," and discusses the nature, position, and changeable states 
 of the Soul, its relations to time, and the reciprocal action of Soul and Body. 
 It closes with a chapter on the "Kingdom of Souls." Lotze is peculiarly 
 rich and suggestive in the discussion of Psychology. 
 
140 
 
 PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Outlines of /Esthetics. 
 
 The Outlines of ^Esthetics treats of the theory of the Beautifu± and of 
 Phantasy, and of the Realization and Different Species of the Beautiful. 
 Then follow brief chapters on Music, Architecture, Plastic Art, Painting, 
 and Poetry. This, like the other volumes, has a full index. 
 
 Outlines of Logic. 
 
 This discusses both pure and applied Logic. The Logic is followed by a 
 brief treatise on the Encyclopedia of Philosophy, in which are set forth 
 the definition and method of Theoretical Philosophy, of Practical Phi- 
 losophy, and of the Philosophy of Religion. This volume is about one-fifth 
 larger than the others, aad makes an admirable brief textbook in Logic. 
 
 Kind, London, Eny. : No words 
 are needed to commend such an en- 
 terprise, now that Lotze's importance 
 
 as a thinker is so well understood. 
 The translation is careful and pains- 
 taking. 
 
 The Philosophical Review. 
 
 A Bi-monthly Journal of General Philosophy. 
 
 Edited by J. G. Schurman, Dean of the Sage School of Philosophy in 
 Cornell University. Subscription price, $3.00. Single copy, 75 cents. 
 Foreign Agents : Great Britain, Edward Arnold, London ; Germany, 
 Mayer & Miiller, Berlin; France, E. Leroux, Paris; Italy, E. Loescher, 
 Rome. Volume I. began with January, 1892. 
 
 rpHE PHILOSOPHICAL REVIEW is intended as an organ for 
 the publication of the results of investigation in every branch 
 of Philosophy. It is made up of original articles, reviews of books, 
 and classified summaries of periodical literature. 
 
 The Review will not enter into competition with those special- 
 ized or technical journals which are already engaged in the minute 
 cultivation of particular branches of Philosophy. Its domain is 
 the still unoccupied field of General Philosophy : that whole which 
 includes, along with the older subjects of Logic, Metaphysics, and 
 Ethics, the newer subjects of Psychology, ^Esthetics, Pedagogy, 
 and Epistemology, both in their systematic form and in their his- 
 torical development. Its field is as broad as mind. And it will 
 be an open forum alike for those who increase the stock of positive 
 data and for those who strive to see new facts in their bearings 
 and relations, and to trace them up to their ultimate speculative 
 implications. 
 
 With the generality of its scope, the Review aims to combine 
 an impartiality and catholicity of tone and spirit. It will not be 
 the organ of any institution, or of any sect, or of any interest. It 
 will maintain the same objectivity of attitude as a journal of Math- 
 ematics or Philology. All articles will be signed, and the writers 
 alone will be responsible for their contents. 
 
PHILOSOPHY. 141 
 
 A Brief History of Greek Philosophy. 
 
 By B. C. Burt, M.A., formerly Docent of Philosophy, Clark University. 
 12mo. Cloth. xiv + 296 pages. Mailing price, $1.25 ; for introd., $1.12. 
 
 rpHIS work attempts to give a concise but comprehensive account 
 of Greek Philosophy on its native soil and in Rome. It is 
 critical and interpretative, as well as purely historical, its para- 
 graphs of criticism and interpretation, however, being, as a rule, 
 distinct from those devoted to biography and exposition. The 
 wants of the reader or student who desires to comprehend, rather 
 than merely to inform himself, have particularly been in the mind 
 of the author, whose aim has been to let the subject unfold itself 
 as far as possible. The volume contains a full topical table of con- 
 ' tents, a brief bibliography of the subject it treats, and numerous 
 foot-notes embracing references to original authorities and assist- 
 ing the student towards a real contact with the Greek thinkers 
 themselves. 
 
 G. Stanley Hall, Pres. Clark Uni- 
 versity : His book is the best of its 
 kind upon the snbject. 
 
 Geo. S. Morris, late Prof, of Phil- 
 osophy in Michigan University ; 
 What Professor Burt has done is to 
 collect in compendious form what 
 is most characteristic and of most 
 essential significance in these results 
 of philosophical investigation, and 
 
 then to re-interpret or re-exhibit 
 them in the light of the more mature 
 fruits of modern inquiry. This is 
 the best and most serviceable kind 
 of originality. 
 
 W. T. Harris, Editor Jour. of Spec- 
 ulative Philosophy : I have found 
 this work in philosophy to possess 
 high merit. His grasp of the history 
 of the subject is rare and trustworthy. 
 
 The ModalJSt ; or. The Laws of national Conviction. 
 
 A Text-Book in Formal or General Logic. By Edward John Hamiij- 
 ton, D.D., Albert Barnes Professor of Intellectual Philosophy, Ham- 
 ilton College, N.Y. 8vo. Cloth. 337 pages. Price, by mail, $1.40; 
 for introduction, $1.25. 
 
 rpHIS book, which the publishers believe a noteworthy one, is 
 called Tlve Modalist, because it restores modal propositions 
 and modal syllogisms to the place of importance which they occu- 
 pied in the Logic of Aristotle. The author thinks that universal 
 and particular categorical propositions cannot be understood, as 
 principles of reasoning, and as employed in " mediate inference," 
 unless the one be regarded as expressing a necessary and the other 
 a contingent sequence. Therefore, also, he explains the pure syl- 
 
142 
 
 PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 logism by the modal. Moreover, there are modes of reasoning 
 which can be formulated only in modal syllogisms. 
 
 Logic is the science, not of thought simply as such, but of 
 thought as the instrument of rational conviction, and therefore of 
 thought in its relation to metaphysics, which is the science of the 
 nature and laws of things. Some radical modifications of logical 
 doctrine have resulted from the thorough-going application of this 
 principle, and these, it is believed, have added greatly to the intel- 
 ligibility of the science. 
 
 Mechanism and Personality. 
 
 By Francis A. Shoup, D.D., Professor of Analytical Physics, Univer- 
 sity of the South. 12mo. Cloth, xvi + 341 pages. Price by mail, $1.30 ; 
 for introduction, $1.20. 
 
 rpHIS book is an outline of Philosophy in the light of the latest 
 scientific research. It deals candidly and simply with the 
 "burning questions" of the day, the object being to help the 
 general reader and students of Philosophy find their way to some- 
 thing like definite standing-ground among the uncertainties of 
 science and metaphysics. It begins with physiological psychology, 
 treats of the development of the several modes of personality, 
 passes on into metaphysic, and ends in ethics, following, in a 
 general way, the thought of Lotze. It is strictly in line with the 
 remark of Professor Huxley, that "the reconciliation of physics 
 and metaphysics lies in the acknowledgment of faults upon both 
 sides; in the confession by physics that all the phenomena of 
 nature are, in their ultimate analysis, known to us only as facts of 
 consciousness ; in the admission by metaphysics that the facts of 
 consciousness are, practically, interpretable only by the methods 
 and the formulas of physics." 
 
 George Trumbull Ladd, Prof, of 
 Philosophy, Yale University : I find 
 Dr. Shoup's " Mechanism and Per- 
 sonality" an interesting and stimu- 
 lating little hook. Written, as it is, 
 by one whose points of view are 
 somewhat outside of those taken by 
 professional students of philosophy, 
 it is the fresher and more suggestive 
 
 on that account. At the same time, 
 the author has kept himself from 
 straying too far away from the con- 
 clusions legitimate to disciplined 
 students of the subject, by a some- 
 what close adherence to Lotze, and 
 by a considerable breadth of philo- 
 sophical reading. 
 
THE B EST HIST ORIES. 
 
 MYERS'S 
 Eastern Nations and Greece. — Introduction price, $1.00. With full 
 
 maps, illustrations, and chronological summaries. 
 
 "Far more interesting and useful than any other epitome of the kind which I 
 have seen." — Professor Beckwith, Trinity College. 
 
 ALLEN'S 
 Short History of the Roman People. — Introduction price, $1.00. With 
 full maps, illustrations, and chronological synopsis. 
 "An admirable piece of work." — Professor Bourne, Adelbert College. 
 MYERS AND ALLEN'S 
 Ancient History for Schools and Colleges. — Introduction price, #1.50. 
 This consists of Myers's Eastern Nations and Greece and Allen's 
 Rome bound together. 
 
 MYERS'S 
 History of Rome. — Introd. price, $1.00. With full maps, illustrations, 
 tables, and chronological summaries. This, bound with Myers's East- 
 ern Nations and Greece, is Myers's Ancient History. Price, $1.50. 
 
 MYERS'S 
 Medieval and Modern History. — Introduction price, $1.50. With a 
 
 full series of colored maps. 
 
 " Sure to be liked by teachers and pupils and by the general reader." — Professor 
 Snow. Washington University. 
 
 MYERS'S 
 
 General History. — Introduction price, #1.50. With full maps, illustra- 
 tions, tables, and summaries. 
 " The best text-book in universal history for beginners that we are acquainted 
 
 with." — Professor Stearns, University of Wisconsin. , 
 
 MONTGOMERY'S 
 Leading Facts of English History. — Introduction price, $1.12. With 
 
 full maps and tables. 
 
 " I have never seen anything at all equal to it for the niche it was intended to 611." 
 — Professor Perry, Williams College. 
 
 MONTGOMERY'S 
 Leading Facts of French History. — Introduction price, $1.12. With 
 full maps and tables. 
 " It is a marked advance on any available work of its scope." — The Nation. 
 
 MONTGOMERY'S 
 Leading Facts of American History. — Introduction price, $1 .00. With 
 full maps, illustrations, summaries of dates, topical analyses, tables, etc. 
 
 "The best school history that has yet appeared." — Principal Rupert, Boys' 
 High School, Pottstown, Pa. 
 
 EMERTON'S 
 Introduction to the Study of the Middle Ages. — Introduction price, 
 
 $1.12. With colored maps, original and adapted. 
 
 " An admirable guide to both teachers and pupils in the tangled period of which it 
 treats." — Professor Fisher, Yale College. 
 
 And many other valuable historical books. 
 GINN & COMPANY, Publishers, Boston. New York, Chicago, and London. 
 
Cornell University Library 
 
 B1493 .T7 1893 
 
 Treatise of morals: and selections from 
 
 olin 
 
 1924 029 078 702