> . ae =, ee cri ny: aad ee Ee Pi ees x — © S) Og He 7 ia = Q THE WORKS OF THOMAS REID, D.D. F.R.S.. EDINBURGH. LATE PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. WITH AN ACCOUNT OF HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS, BY DUGALD STEWART, F.RS. . 9 @eu~ IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. Ii. NEW-YORK : °UBLISHED BY E. DUYCKINCK, COLLINS AND HANNAY, AND R. AND W. A. BARTOW. J. & J. Harper, Printers. —ee 1822. . # . ‘met a ef Sil Rite" 9 ana ATAOD eo -. IcsHT = — > aR wa 7, i in eevenes Bal wasld ; . ke oA Rob MCAD. Ton thew oF - Ra teed ays © ‘° om Le : ove nal. he - “ii ot) To a4 = ihe i me es: ae : . my - eet, a s evee oe ‘pate o,. On 4 1 * wae ‘ Div. Si ‘ i - ig | f md 5 Pa 0 ") " Ms is ‘ = Toc) Ss CONTENTS TO THE THIRD VOLUME. ESSAYS ON THE ACTIVE POWERS OF THE HUMAN MIND. Chap. Page Intropucriaoy « 5s » 2ihd Qo eee se ESSAY I. OF ACTIVE POWER IN GENERAL. raOrithe notion of active power . +. sk =) Rael Sv dquemn alk WA caate Eee SANE SUDIECE )o. kus ptiitteyhGimewalh Bult 5) lsut ohn ee gk zu. Of Mr. Locke’s account of our idea of power - . - . : ... 19 iy. Of Mr. Hume’s opinion of the idea of power PHU Se fhe NT v. Whether beings that have no will nor understanding may have active DOWER ai wubiebiay nah, Wie vied | mun ee iii Sat date) pal yl Riana ROM Re ee vi. Of the efficient causes of the phenomena of nature . . .. . . 80 vu. Of the extent of human power . ..... ... =... 5. 35 ESSAY II. OF THE WILL. i. Observations concerning the will . . i Daa ea Pee ec RANGER yl ew A La 22 i. Of the influence of incitements and motives upon thewill . . . 47 ur. Of operations of mind which may be called voluntary . . . . . 54 Rupee uate: 6 (arc, at Lh Aa wan een SURI RR Sa PRE 68 ~Eny A Oar BS Tey oa OB GO Vi CONTENTS. a ESSAY Il. OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. PART I. OF THE MECHANICAL PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. ne Page x. Of the principles of action in ne cos Bio 9 oe OG u. Of instinct . . RB i sy ual OI my Of habit.) 6k ly ee ey ae ir ae teat nee ESSAY Ill. PART Il. OF ANIMAL PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. TMOF appetites, 9: SS) Pvt) Ft 20 Oe ee ui. Of desires .. MPM Py in. Of benevolent affection in general MPM ss ye rv. Of the particular benevolent affections . . .-..+... -. + 9 v._Of malevolent affection... . «+ «= =) sven wa. Of passion 2 6 5) wes en 0 wir: OF disposition . |)... 0. «vos! + Sos 5) vir. Of/opinion, .)!2 LF 20.2 1 a nme ESSAY Ill. PART Ill. OF THE RATIONAL PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. x. There are rational principles of actioninman , .-.. . . . 186 ir. Of regard to our goodonthe whole ....... +... . 137 ui. The tendency of this principle . - - .. . +... ... . Wi iv. Defects of this principle . at skp maid toe aaa eee v. Of the notion of duty, rectitude, moral obligation vi oe aah aph eeeeD vi. Of the sense of duty . . ee en ee ER vu. Of moral approbation ‘and disapprobation MMi iin de ore a vu. Observations concerning conscience: ).00) ) 2°)" nee ESSAY IV. OF THE LIBERTY OF MORAL AGENTS» x. The notions of moral liberty and necessity stated. . . . . = 178 ul. Of the words cause and effect, action, andactive power .. . « 178 im. Causes of the ambiguity of those words ; . . > . .\—_———nie rv. Of the influence of motives . . PEE fee v. Liberty consistent with government. ok + + | ee eset vi. Pirst argument forliberty ... . . 1) 2%.) «0. Gee wis. Second argument... = «+, «is; -=})) = yee vin. Third argument .". sn +o, ey etiel Bn ee 1x. Of arguments for necessity . . - . «+ + + + + + « + +216 x. The same subject . . egw an eo Np bw) 2k gga irri x. OF the permission of evil oe NN et es CONTENTS. vii ESSAY V. QF MORALS. Chap. Page 1. Of the firstprinciples of morals . . . . ..... 2... 288 iu. Of systems of morals . . a fe et as oh Saker eee tral - 249 in. Of systems of natural jurisprudence F rv. Whether an action deserving moral approbation, must be done with the belief of its being morally good. ot aie oan vy. Whether justice be a natural or an artificial virtue | 1... . 268 vi. Of the nature and obligation of acontract . . . . . . +. . 286 vit, That moral approbation impliesa real judgment . . . +... . 301 ? \ 5S4890 ‘ A ai “ my a a - iat Pay * oy . * ee - Ve. z Tt cS F ven NdUa ml yy af adits ir SA Ws ' ast * ify: Molaon To. ena 3 ae ; rg Si igiin He ‘ns te hiya ae You em 4 a ata) | e * PVE S) ay ee Ver chatieel et €2m pond: wht beta RY ph des aie ter onatepd el uo sel Hee brs yom! ” a ‘ F HAND 8 stabi ded ESSAYS THE ACTIVE POWERS HUMAN MIND. INTRODUCTION. .t) THE division of the faculties of the human mind into indies: standing and Will is very ancient, and has been very generally — * FRX adopted ; the former comprehending all our speculative, the late ‘ ter all our active powers. It is evidently the intention of our Maker, that man should be an active, and not merely a speculative being. For this . purpose, certain active powers have been given him, limited in- | deed in many respects, but suited to his rank and place in the — creation. : re Our business is to manage these powers, by proposing to our- selves the best ends, planning the most proper system of conduct that is in our power, and executing it with industry and zeal. This is true wisdom ; this is the very intention of our being. Every thing virtuous and praiseworthy must lie in the right use of our power; every thing vicious and blameable in the abuse of it. What is not within the sphere of our power can- — not be imputed to us either for blame or praise. These are self-evident truths, to which every unprejudiced mind yields an immediate and invincible assent. Knowledge derives its value from this, that it enlarges our _ power, and directs us in the application of it. For in the right employment of our active power consists all the honour, dignity and worth of a man; and in the abuse and perversion of it, all vice, corruption and depravity. VOL+ Ibe 2 MG 4 . bpd " ; . o iy « ‘ * en, ae mf me, S Mion , INTRODUCTION, ‘ ‘be e ii i. - * ~ We are distinguished from the brute animals, not less by our ‘active than by our speculative powers. 2 othe brutes are stimulated to various actions by their instincts, "by their appetites, by their passions ; but they seem to be ne- _. cessarily determined by the strongest impulse, without any €a- _ pacity of self government. Therefore we do not blame them ~ *» for what they do; nor have we any reason to think that they ~~ blame themselves. They may be trained up by discipline, but ~~. scannot be governed by law. There is no evidence that they ~~ have the conception of a law, or of its obligation. : » © Man is capable of acting from motives of a higher nature. » + He perceives a dignity and worth in one course of conduct, a » demerit and turpitude in another, which brutes have not the ca- pacity to discern. . He perceives it to be his duty to act the worthy and the hon- . ourable part, whether his appetites and passions incite him to ‘ it, or to the contrary. When he sacrifices the gratification of # the strongest appetites or passions to duty, this is-so far from diminishing the merit of his conduct, that it greatly increases it, and affords, upon reflection, an inward satisfaction and triumph, of which brute animals are not susceptible. When he acts a contrary part, he has a consciousness of demerit, to which they are no less strangers. , Since, therefore, the aclive powers of man make so important a part of his constitution, and distinguish him so eminently front his fellow animals, they deserve no less to bé the subject of philosophical disquisition than his intellectual powers. » A just knowledge of our powers, whether intellectual or ac- tive, isso far of real importance to us, as it aids. us in the exer- cise of them. And every man must acknowledge, that to act properly, is mach more valuable than to think justly or reason acutely. ‘ , ESSAY I. ee iad OF ACTIVE POWER IN GENERAL. CHAPTER If. OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. TO consider gravely what is meant by active power, may seem altogether unnecessary, and to be mere trifling. | It is not a term of art, buta common word in our language, used every day in discourse, even by the vulgar. We find words of the same meaning in all other languages ; and there is no rea- son to think that it is not perfectly understood by all men who understand the English language. ’ [believe all this is true, and that an attempt to explain a word so well understood, and to show that it has a meaning, requires an apology. The apology is, that this term so » well understood by the val- , gar, has been darkened by philosophers, who, in this, as in many other instances, have found great difficulties aWout a pre which, to the rest of mankind, seems perfectly clear. This has been the more easily effected, because power is a thing so much of its ownkind, and so simple i in * nature, as not to admit of a logical definition. It is well known, that there are many things pencil under- stood, and of which we have clear and distinct conceptions, which cannot be logically defined. No man_ever attempted to define magnitude ; yet there is no word whose meaning is more distinctly or more generally understood. We cannot give a lo- gical definition of thought, of duration, of number, or of motion. When men attempt to define such things, they give no light. They may give a synonymous word or phrase, but it will pro- bably be a worse for a better. If they will define, the definition will either be grounded upon a hypothesis, or it will darken the subject rather than throw light upon it. ine _ The Aristotelian definition of motion, that itis “ Actus dali in polentia, quatenus in potentia,”” has been justly censured by mo- dern philosophers ; yet I think it is matched by what a celebra- _- ted modern philosopher has given us, as the most accurate defimi- * os a asi ea ith : % Ki >. i ae $ ESSAY T. tion of belief, to wit, “ That it isa lively idea related to, or as-. sociated with a present impression.” Treatise of Human Na- . ture, vol. 1. p. 172. ‘* Memory,” according to the same philo- sopher, “is the faculty by which we repeat our impressions, so as that they retain a considerable degree of their first vivacity, ~ and are somewhat intermediate between an idea and an impres- a ad a a sion.” ' Euclid, if his editors have not done him injustice, has attempt- ed to define a right line, to define unity, ratio, and number. But ‘these definitions are good for nothing. We may indeed suspect them not to be Euclid’s; because they are never once quoted in the Elements, and are of no use. , I shall not therefore attempt to define active power, that I may not be liable to the same censure ; but shall offer some ob- servations that may lead us to attend to the conception we have of it in our own minds. ' Ist, Power is not an object of any of our external senses, nor - evenan object of consciousness. That it is not seen, nor heard, nor touched, nor tasted, nor smelt, needs no proof. That we are not conscious of it, in the proper sense of that word, will be no less evident, if we reflect, that consciousness is that power of the mind by which it has an _ immediate knowledge of its own operations. Power is not an he Th operation of the mind, and therefore no object of consciousness. Indeed every operation of the mind is the exertion of some power of the mind ; but weare conscious of the operation only, _ the power lies behind the scene; and though we may justly in- (a ne _ fer the power from the operation, it must be remembered, that - inferring is not the province of consciousness, but of reason. I acknowledge, therefore, that our having any conception or idea of power is repugnant to Mr. Locke’s theory, that all our simple ideas are got either by the external senses, or by con- sciousness. Both cannot be true. Mr. Hume perceived this re- pugnancy, and consistently maintained, that we have no idea of power. Mr. Locke did not perceive it. If he had, it might have led him to suspect his theory ; for when theory is repug- nant to fact, it is easy to see which ought to yield. Iam con- scious that I have a conception or adea of power, but, strictly speaking, 1 am not conscious that I have power, a aye I shall have occasion to show, that we have very early, from -our constitution, a conviction or belief of some degree of active power inourselves. This belief, however, is not consciousness : for we may be deceived in it; but the testimony of conscious- ness can never deceive. Thus, a man who is struck with a palsy in the night, commonly knows not that he has lost the power of speech till he attempts to speak ; he knows not whether he can move his hands and arms till he makes the trial ; and if, without making trial, he-consults his consciousness ever so atten- OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 9, tively, it will give him no information. whether he has lost these © wers, or still retains them. From this we must conclude, that the powers we have are not an object of consciousness, though it would be foolish to cen- sure this way of speaking in popular discourse, which requires not accurate attention to the different provinces of our various faculties. The testimony of consciousness is always unerring, nor was it ever called in question by the greatest skeptics, ancient or modern. 2dly, A second observation is, that as there are some things of which we have a direct, and others of which we have only a relative conception, power belongs to the latter class, As this distinction is overlooked by most writers in logic, I shali beg to illustrate ita little, and then shall apply it to the stbaige — subject. Of some things, we know what they are in themselves ; oes conception of such things I call direct. Of other things, we know me not what they are in themselves, but only that they have cer- tain properties or attributes, or certain relations to _— things : of these our conception is only relative. To illustrate this by some examples ; in the aniatany library, — » Tcall for the book. press L, shelf 10. No. 10. the library keep- er must have such a conception of the book | want, as to be. able to distinguish it from ten thousand that are under his « But what conception does he form of it from my words ? T inform him neither of the author, nor the subject, nor the lan- guage, nor the size, nor the binding, but only of its mark and place. Hisconception of it is merely relative to these cian stances ; yet this relative notion enables him to distinguish if from every other book in the library. A There are other relative notions that are not taken from acci- at dental relations, as in the example just now mentioned, but Game v ualities or attributes essential to the thing. : Of this kind are our notions both of body and adit: What is body? It is, say philosophers, that which is extended, solid, and divisible. Says the querist, I do not ask what the proper-— ties of body are, but what is the thing itself 2? Let me first know _ directly what body is. and then consider its properties. To this — demand I am afraid the querist will meet with no satisfactory answer ; because our notion of body is not direct but relative to. its qualities. We know that it is something a solid, nity divisible, and we know no more. Again, if it should be asked, What is voiced ? It is that which thinks. [| ask not what it ines, or what its operations are, but what it is ? To this | can find no answer; our notion of ‘mind being not direct, but relative to its operations, as our notion of _ body is relative to its qualities. = There are even many of the qualities of body, of which we : ae 10 ESSAY Le have only a relative conception. Whatis heatina body? Itisa ‘quality which affects the sense of touch ina certain way. If you want to know, not how it affects the sense of touch, but what it is in itself; this I confess | know not. My conception of it is not direct, but relative to the effect it has upon bodies. The notions we have of all those qualities* which Mr. Locke © ealls secondary, and of those he calls powers of bodies, such as the power of the magnet to attract iron, or of fire to burn wood, are relative. Having given examples of things of which our conception is only relative, it may be proper to mention some of which it is direct. Of this kind, are all the primary qualities of body ; figure, extension, solidity, hardness fluidity, and the like. Of these we have a direct and immediate knowledge from our senses. To this class belong also all the operations of mind of which we “are conscious. | know what thought is, what memory, what a purpose, what a promise. : There are some things of which we can have botha direct and a relative conception. I can directly conceive ten thousand men or ten thousand pounds, because both are objects of sense, and may be seen. But whether I see such an object, or di- rectly conceive it, my notion of it is indistinct ; it is only that of a great multitude of men, or of a great heap of money ; and a small addition or diminution makes no perceptible change in the notion I form in this way. But I can form a relative ~notion of the same number of men or of pounds, by attending _ to the relations which this number has to other numbers, greater _orless. Then I perceive that the relative notion is distinet and ‘scientific. For the addition of a single man, or a single pound, or even of a penny, is easily perceived. mae In like manner, I can form a direct notion of a polygon of a thousand equal sides and equa! angles. This direct notion eannot be more distinct, when conceived in the mind, than that which I get by sight, when the object is before me; and I find it so indistinct, that it has the sanie appearance to my eye, or to my direct conception, as a polygon of a thousand and one, or of nine hundred and ninety-nine sides. But when I forma relative conception of it, by attending to the relation it bears to polygons of a greater or less number of sides, my notion of it becomes distinct and scientific, and I can demonstrate the properties by which it is distinguished from all other polygons. From these instances it appears, that our relative conceptions of things are not always less distinct, nor less fit materials for accurate reasoning, than those that are direct; and that the contrary may happen in a remarkable degree. ' _ Our conception of power is relative to its exertions or effects. Power is one thing; its exertion is another thing. It is true, there can be no exertion without power: but there may be ON THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. if . power that is not exerted) Thus a man may have power to speak when he is silent: he may have power to rise and walk when he sits still. But, though it be one thing to speak, and another to have the power of speaking, I apprehend we conceive of the power as something which has a certain relation to the effect. And of every power we form our notion by the effect which it is.able to produce. 3dly, It is evident that power is a quality, and cannot exist without a subject to which it belongs. That power may exist without any being or subject to which that power may be attributed, is an absurdity, shocking to ever man of common understanding. __ It is a quality which may be varied, not only in degree, but also in kind; and we distinguish both the kinds and degrees by the effects which they are able to produce. Thus a power to fly, and a power to reason, are different kinds of power, their effects being different in kind. Buta power to carry one hundred weight, and a power to carry two hundred, are different degrees of the same kind. 4thly, We cannot conclude the want of power from its not being exerted ; nor from the exertion of a less degree of power, can we conclude that there is no greater degree in the subject. Thus, though a man on a particular occasion said nothing, we cannot conclude from that circumstance, that he had not the at power of speech ; nor from a man’s carrying ten pounds weight, — can we conclude that he had not the power to carry twenty. .» 5thly, There are some qualities that have a contrary, others that have not; power is a quality of the latter kind. Vice is contrary to virtue, misery to happiness, hatred to love, negation to affirmation; but there is no contrary to power. Weakness or impotence are defects or privations of power, but not contraries to it. . Jf what has been said, of power be easily understood, and readily assented to, by all who understand our language, as I believe it is, we may from this justly conclude, that we have a distinct notion of poywer, and may reason about it with under- standing, though we can give no logigggmeinition of it. If power were a thing of which we have no ideas, as some philosophers have taken much pains to prove, that is, if power . were a word without any meaning, we could neither affirm nor deny any thing concerning it with understanding. We should have equal reason to say that it isa substance, as that it isa quality; that it does not admit of degrees, as that it does. If the understanding immediately assents to one of these assertions, and revolts from the contrary, we may conclude with certainty, that we put some meaning upon the word power, that is, that we have some idea of it. And it is chiefly for the sake of this - te * 18 WSSAY 1, conclusion, that | have enumerated so many obvious things con- cerning it. The term aetive power is used, 1 conceive, to distinguish it from speculative powers. As all languages distinguish action from speculation, the same distinction is applied to the powers _ by which they are produced. The powers of seeing, hearing, ‘remembering, distinguishing, judging, reasoning, are speculative powers; the power of executing any work of art or labour is active power. . t There are many things related to power, in such a manner, that we can have no notion of them if we have none of power. The exertion of active power we call action ; and as every action produces some change, so every change must be caused by some exertion, or by the cessation of some exertion of power. That which produces a change by the exertion of its power, we call the cause of that change; and the change produced, the effect of that cause. n Die When one being, by its active power, produces any change upon another, the last is said to be passive, or to be acted upon. Thus wesee, that action and passion, cause and effect, exertion and operation, have such a relation to active power, that if it be understood, they are understood of consequence; but if » power be a word without any meaning, all those words which are related to it, must be words without any meaning. They are, however, common words in our language; and equivalent words have always been common in all languages. — ert) It would be very strange indeed, if mankind had always used these words so familiarly, without perceiving that they had no meaning; and that this discovery should have been first made by a philosopher of the present age. . With equal reason it might be maintained, that though there are words in all languages to express sight, and words to signify the various colours which are objects of sight; yet that all mankind from the beginning of the world had been blind, and never had an idea of sight or of colour. But there are no absurdities so gross as those which philosophers have advanced concerning ideas. ‘ 13 CHAPTER Il. THE SAME SUBJECT. a THERE are, I believe, no abstract notions, that are/to be found more early, or more universally, in the minds of men, than those of acting, and being acted upon. Every child that understands the distinction between striking and being struck, must have the conception of action and passion. We find accordingly, that there is no language so imperfect, but that it has active and passive verbs, and participles; the one signifying some kind of action; the other the being acted upon. This distinction enters into the original contexture of all lan- guages. Active verbs have a form and construction proper to them- selves; passive verbs a different form and a different construc- tion. In all languages, the nominative to an active verb is the agent;) the thing acted upon is put,in an oblique case. In pas- \ sive verbs, the thing acted upon is the nominative, and the agent, if expressed, must be in an oblique case ; as in this ex- ample: Raphael drew the Cartoons; the Cartoons were drawn by Raphael. li s Every distinction which we find in the structure of all lan-— guages, must have been familiar to those who framed the lan- guages at first, and to all who speak them with understanding.’ It may be objected to this argument, taken from the structure of language, in the use of active and passive verbs, that active verbs are not always used to denote an action, nor is the nomi- native before an active verb conceived in all cases to be an agent in the strict sense of that word; that there age many pas- sive verbs which have an active signification, and active verbs which have a passive. From these facts, it may be thought a just conclusion, that in contriving the different forms of active and passive verbs, and their different construction, men have not been governed by a regard to any distinction between action and passion, but by chance, or some accidental cause. In answer to this objection, the fact on which it is founded, must be admitted; but I think the conclusion not justly drawn . from it, for the following reasons. ist, Itseems contrary to reason, to attribute to chance or acci- dent, what is subject to rules, even though there may be excep- tions to the rule. The exceptions may, in such a case, be attributed to accident, but the rule cannot. There is perhaps hardly any thing in language so general, as not to admit of ex- ceptions. {t cannot be denied to be a general rule, that verbs and participles have an active and a passive voice; and as this VOL. Wi. 3 VS Aa 14 , ESSAY I. is a general rule, not in one language only, but in all the jangua- “ges we are acquainted with, it shows evidently that men, in the earliest stages, and in all periods of society, have distinguished action from passion. Qdly, It is to be observed, that the forms of lenheane are often applied to purposes different from those for which they were originally intended. ‘The varieties of a language, even the most perfect, can never be made equal to all the variety of human conceptions. The forms and modifications of language must be confined within certain limits, that they may not exceed the capacity of human memory. Therefore, in all languages, there must be a kind of frugality used, to make one form of expres- sion serve many different purposes, like sir Hudibras’s dagger, which, though made te stab or break a head, was put to many other uses. Many examples might be produced of this frugality inlanguage. Thus the Latins and Greeks had five or six cases of nouns, to express all the various relations that one thing could bear to another. The genitive case must have been at first intended to express some one capital relation; such as that of ' possession or of property; but it would be very difficult to enu- merate all the relations which, in the progress of language, it was used to express. The same observation may be applied to other cases of nouns. - The slightest similitude or analogy is thought sufficient to justify the extension of a form of speech beyond its proper meaning, whenever the language does not afford a more proper form. In the moods of verbs, a few of those which occur most frequently are distinguished by different forms, and these are made to supply all the forms that are wanting. The same obsex- vation may be appliéd to what is called the voices of verbs. An active and a passive are the capital ones; some languages have more,but no language so many as to answer to all the va- riations of human thought. We cannot always coin new ones, and therefore must use some one or other of those that are to be found in the language, though at first intended for another urpose. ' 3dly,. A third observation in answer to the. objection is, that we can point out a cause of the frequent misapplication of active verbs, to things which have no proper activity: a cause which extends to the greater part of such misapplications, and, which confirms the account I have givels of the proper intention of active and passive verbs. Barkin ce As there is no principle, that appears to be more universally acknowledged by mankind, from the first dawn of reason, than that every change we observe: in nature must have a cause; so this is no sooner perceived, than there arises in the human mind, a strong desire to know the causes of those changes that fall within our observation. Felina qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas. ii ~ OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 1a is the voice of nature inall men. Nor is there any thing that more early distinguishes the rational from the brute creation, than this avidity to know the causes of things, of which I see no sign in brute animals. - It must surely be admitted, that in those periods wherein lan- guages are formed, men are but poorly furnished for carrying on this investigation with success. We see, that the experience of thousands of years is necessary to bring men into the right track in this investigation, if indeed they can yet be said to be brought into it. What innumerable errors rude ages must fall into, with regard to causes, from impatience to judge, and inability to jadge right, we may conjecture from reason, and may see from experience ; from which I think, it-is evident, that supposing active verbs to have been originally intended to express what ts properly galled action, and their nominatives to express the agent; yet, in the rude and barbarous state wherein languages are formed, there must be innumerable misapplications of such verbs and nominatives, and many things spoken of as active, which have no real activity. To this we may add, that it is a general prejudice of our early years, and of rude’ nations, when we perceive any thing to be changed, and do not perceive any other thing which we can believe to be the cause of that change, to impute it to the thing itself, and conceive it to be active and animated, so far as_ to have the power of producing that change in itself. Hence, toa child, or to a savage, all nature seems to be animated; the sea, the earth, the air, the sun, moon, and stars, rivers, fountains, and groves, are conceived to be active and animated beings. As thisis ‘a sentiment natural to man in his rude state, it has, on that account, even in polished nations, the versimilitude that is required in poetical fiction and fable, and makes personification one of the most agreeable figures in poetry and eloquence. The origin of this prejudice probably is, that we judge of | other things by ourselves, and therefore are disposed to ascribe — to them that life and activity which we know to be in ourselves. A little girl ascribes to her doll, the passions and sentiments: she feels in herself.’ Even brutes seem to have something of this nature. A young cat, when she sees any brisk motion in a feather or a straw, is prompted, by natural instinct, to hunt itas . she would hunt a mouse. Whatever be the origin of this prejudice.in mankind, Fah has a. ; powerful influence upon language, and leads men, in the struc- ture of language, to ascribe action to many things that are mere- dy passive ; because, when such forms of speech were invented, those things were really believed tobe active. Thus nes the wind blows, the sea rages, the sun rises and sets, bodies gra- vitate and move. NaS PES Te When experience ‘discovers that these things are altogether 16 ESSAY 1. inactive, it is easy to correct our opinion about thems but it is not so easy to alter the established forms of language. The most perfect and the most polished languages are like old furni- ture, which is never perfectly suited to the present taste, but retains something of the fashion of the times when it was made. Thus, though all men of knowledge believe, that the succes- sion of day and night is owing to the rotation of the earth round its axis, and not to any diurnal motion of the heavens; yet» we find ourselves under a necessity of speaking in the old style, of the sun’s rising and going down, and coming to the meridian. And this style is used, not only in conversing with the vulgar, but when men of knowledge converse with one another. And if we should suppose the vulgar to be at last so far enlightened as to have the same belief with the learned of the cause of day and night, the same style would still be used. yo Seeeriawce From this instance we may learn, that the language of man- kind may furnish good evidence of opinions which have been early and universally entertained, and that the forms contrived for expressing such opinions, may remain in use after the ‘opi- nions which gave rise to them have been greatly changed. Active verbs appear plainly to have been first contrived to express action. They are still in general applied to this pur- pose. And though we find many instances of the application of active verbs to things which we now believe not to be active, this ought to be ascribed to men’s having once had. the belief that those things are active, and perhaps, in some cases, to this, that forms of expression are commonly extended, in course of time, beyond their original mténtion, either from analogy, or because more proper forms for the purpose are not found in the language. vests Even the misapplication of this notion of action and active - power shows that there is such a notion in the human mind, and shows the necessity there is in philosophy of distinguishing the proper application of these words, from the vague and improper application of them, founded on common language, or on popu- lar prejudice. iWinnasns apigep te Another argument to show that all men havea notion or idea of active power is, that there are many operations of mind com- mon.-to all men who have reason, and necessary in the ordinary conduct of life, which imply a belief of active power in our- selves and in others. oupiiat » All our volitions and efforts to act, all our deliberations, our purposes and promises, imply a belief of active power in our- selves ; our counsels, exhortations, and commands, imply a bes lief of active power in those to whom they are addressed. If a man should make an effort to fly to the moon; if he should even deliberate about it, or resolve to do it, we should conclude him to be lunatic; and even Junacy would not account ty OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 17 for his conduct, unless it made him believe the thing to be in his power. ; If a man promises to pay me asum of money to-morrow, with- | out believing that it will then be in his power, he is not an honest man; and, if I did not believe that it will then be in his power, Ishould have no dependence on his promise. All our power is, without doubt, derived from the Author of our being ; and as he gave it freely, he may take it away when he will. No man can he certain of the continuance of any of his powers of body or mind for a moment; and, therefore, in every promise, there is a condition understood ; to wit, if we live, if we retain that health of body and soundness of mind which is necessary to the performance ; and if nothing happen, in the providence of God, which puts it out of our power. The rudest savages are taught by nature to admit these conditions in all promises, whether they be expressed or not; and no man is charged with breach of promise, when he fails through the fail- ure of these conditions. It is evident, therefore, that without the belief of some active power, no honest man would make a promise, no wise man would trust toa promise ; and itis no less evident, that the be- lief of active power, in ourselves, or in others, implies an idea or notion of active power. ; The same reasoning may be applied to every instance wherein we give counsel to others, wherein we persuade or command. As long, therefore, as mankind are beings who can deliberate, and resolve, and will; as long as they can give counsel, and ex- hort, and command, they must believe the existence of active power in themselves, and in others, and therefore must have a notion or idea of active power. - It might further be observed, that power is the proper and immediate object of ambition, one of the most universal pas- sions of the human mind, and that which makes the greatest figure in the history of all ages. Whether Mr. Hume, in de- fence of his system, would maintain that there is no such pas- sion in mankind as ambition, or that ambition is nota vehement desire of power, or that men may have a vehement desire of power, without having any idea of power, I will not pretend to divine. rai I cannot help repeating my apology for insisting so long in the refutation of so great an absurdity. It is a capital doctrine ina late celebrated system of human nature, that we have no idea of power, not even in the Deity; that we are not able to disco- ver a single instance of it, either in body or spirit, either in su- perior or inferior natures; and that we deceive ourselves when We imagine that we are possessed of any idea of this kind. To support this important doctrine, and the outworks that are raised in its defence, a great part of the first volume of the 18 ESSAY 1. Treatise of Human Nature isemployed. That system abounds with conclusions the most absurd that ever were advanced by any philosopher, deduced with great acuteness and ingenuity from principles commonly received by philosophers. To re- ject such conclusions as unworthy of a hearing, would be disre- spectful to the ingenious author ; and to refute them is difficult, and appears ridiculous. Pap eter OP Re? It is difficult, because we can hardly find principles to reason from, more evident than those we wish to prove ; and it appears ridiculous, because, as this author justly observes, next to the ridicule of denying an evident truth, is that of taking much pains to prove it. god ake bcs ea abd Protestants complain with justice of the hardship put upon them by Roman Catholics, in requiring them to prove that bread and wine is not flesh and blood. They have, however, submit ted to this hardship for the sake of truth. I think it is no less hard to be put to prove that men have an idea of power. ~~ What convinces myself that I have an idea of poweris, that Jam conscious that { know what I mean by that word ; and, while I have this consciousness, | disdain equally to hear arguments for or against my having such an idea. But if we would con- vince those who, being led away by prejudice, or by authority, deny that they have any such idea, we must condescend to use such arguments as the subject will afford, and such as we should use with a man who should deny that mankind have any idea of magnitude or of equality. yh? coe ae “The arguments I have adduced are taken from these five to- pics: Ist, That there are many things that we can affirm or deny concerning power, with understanding. 2dly, That there are, in all languages, words signifying, not only power, but signifying many other things that imply power, such as, action and passion, cause and effect, energy, operation, and others. 3dly, That in the structure of all languages, there is an active and passive form in verbs and participles, and a different construction adapted to these forms, of which diversity no account can be given, but that it has been intended to distinguish action from passion. _4thly, That there are many operations of the human mind familiar to every man come to the use of reason, and necessary in the ordi- nary conduct of life, which imply a conviction of some degree of power in ourselves and in others. 5thly, That the desire of power is one of the strongest passions of human nature. 19 CHAPTER Iii. _ OF MR. LOCKE’S ACCOUNT OF OUR IDEA OF POWER. ' THIS author, having refuted the Cartesian doctrine of innate ideas, took up, perhaps too rashly, an opinion that all our simple ideas are got, either by sensation, or by reflection; thatis, by our external senses, or by consciousness of the operations of our own minds. Through the whole of his Essay, he shows a fatherly affection to this opinion ; and often strains very hard to reduce our simple ideas to one of those sources, or both. Of this, several instances might be given, in his account of our idea of substance, of duration, of personal identity. Omitting these, as foreign to the present subject, I shall only take notice of the account he gives of our idea of power. The sum of it is, that observing, by our senses, various changes in objects, we collect a possibility in one object to be changed, and in another a possibility of making that change, and so come by that idea which we call power. Thus we say the fire has a power to melt gold, and gold has power to be melted; the first he calls active, the second assive power. cya He thinks, however, that we have the most distinct notion of active power, by attending to the power which we ourselves ex- ert, in giving motion to our bodies when at rest, -or in directing our thoughts to this or the other object as we will. And this way of forming the idea of power, he attributes to reflection, as he refers the former to sensation. ; : On this account of the origin of our idea of power, I would beg leave to make two remarks, with the respect that is most justly due to so greata philosopher, and so good a man. Hi _ 1st, Whereas he distinguishes power into active and passive, I conceive passive power is no power atall. He means by it, the possibility of being changed. To call this power, seems to be a misapplication of the word. I do not remember to haye met with the phrase passive power in any other good author. Mr. Locke seems to have been unlucky in inventing it; and it de- serves not to be retained in our language. ¢ Perhaps he was unwarily led into it,as an opposite to active power. But I conceive we call certain powers active, to distin- guish them from other powers that are called speculative. As all _ mankind distinguish action from speculation, it is very proper to distinguish the powers by which those different operations are performed, into active and speculative. Mr. Locke indeed acknowledges, that active power is more properly called power : 1% . 20: ESSAY I. but Isee no propriety at all in passive power; it is a powerless” power, and a contradiction in terms. ; Qdly, I would observe, that Mr. Locke seems to have imposed upon himself, in attempting to reconcile this account of the idea ,of power to his favourite doctrine, that all our simple ideas are ideas of sensation, or of reflection. Penhy? There are two steps, according to his account, which the mind takes, in forming this idea of power; 1st, it observes changes in things; and, 2dly, from these changes, it infers a cause of them, and a power to produce them. Bi) oh ek If both these steps are operations of the external senses, or of consciousness, then the idea of power may be called an idea of sensation, or of reflection. But, if either of those steps require the co-operation of other powers of the mind, it will follow, that the idea of power cannot be got by sensation, nor by reflection, nor by both together. Let us, therefore, consider each of these steps by itself. ist, We observe various changes in things. And Mr. Locke takes it for granted, that changes in external things are observed by our senses, and that changes in our thoughts are observed by consciousness. I grant that it may be said, that changes in things are observed ’_ by our senses, when we do not mean to exclude every other facul- ty fromasharein this operation. And it would be ridiculous to cen- sure the phrase, when it is so used in popular discourse. But itis necessary to Mr. Locke’s purpose, that changes in external things should be observed by the senses alone, excluding every other fa- culty ; because every faculty that is necessary in order to observe the change, will claim a share in the origin of the idea of power. Now it is evident that memory is no less necessary than the senses, in order to our observing changes tn external things ; and therefore, the idea of power, derived from the changes observed, may as justly be ascribed to memory as to the senses. el ae Every change supposes two states of the thing changed. Both these states may be past ; one of them at least must be past ; and one only can be present. By our senses we may observe the pre- sent state of the thing; but memory must supply us with the past ; and, unless we remember the past state, we can perceive no change. Pays The same observation may be applied to consciousness. The truth, therefore, is, that, by the senses alone, without 1 emo- ry, or by consciousness alone, without memory,no change can be observed. Every idea, therefore, that is derived from ob- serving changes in things, must have its origin, partly from memory, and not from the senses alone, nor from consciousness alone, nor from both together. The second step made by the mind in forming this idea of MR. HUME’S OPINION QF POWER. o Dae ait power is this: from the changes observed we collect a cause of those changes and a power to produce them. _ Here one might ask Mr. Locke, whether it is by our senses that we draw this conclusion, or is it by consciousness? Is reasoning the province of the senses, or is it the. province of consciousness? If the senses can draw one conclusion from premisses, they may draw five hundred, and demonstrate the whole elements of Euclid. ; Thus, I think it appears, that the account which Mr. Locke himself gives of the origin of our idea of power, cannot be reconciled to his favourite doctrine, that all our simple ideas have their origin from sensation or reflection; and that, in attempting to derive the idea of power from these two sources only, he unawares brings in our memory, and our reasoning. power, for a share in its origin. CHAPTER IV. OF MR. HUME’S OPINION OF THE IDEA OF POWER. THIS very ingenious author adopts the principle of Mr. Locke before mentioned, that all our simple ideas are derived either from sensation or reflection. This he seems to understand even in a stricter sense than Mr. Locke did. For he will have all our simple ideas to be copies of preceding impressions, either of our external senses or of consciousness. “ After the most accurate examination,”’ says he, “of which! am capable, I venture to affirm, that the rule here holds without any exception, and that every simple idea has a simple impression which resembles it, and every simple impression a correspondent idea. Every one may satisfy himself in this point, by running overas many as he pleases.” I observe here, by the way, that this conclusion is formed by the author rashly and unphilosophicaily. For it is a conclusion that admits of no proof, but by induction ; and it is upon this. ground that he himself founds it. The induction cannot be per- fect tillevery simple idea that can enter into the human mind be examined, and be shown to be copied from a resembling impres- sion of sense or of consciousness. No man can pretend to have made this examination of all our simple ideas without exception ; and, therefore, no man can, consiStently with the rules of philo- sophizing, assure us, that this conclusion holds without any ex- ception. i The author professes, in his title page, to introduce into mo- ral subjects the experimental method of reasoning. This wasa very laudable attempt; but he ought to have known, that it is a rule in the experimental method of reasoning, that conclusions, VOL. III. 4 eee Be ESSAY 1, established by induction ought never to exclude exceptions, if any such should afterward appear from observation or experi- ment. Sir Isaac Newton, speaking of such conclusions, says, “Et si quando in experiundo postea, reperiatur aliquid, quod a parte contraria faciat ; tum demum, non sine istis exceptionibus affirmetur conclusio opportebit.” ‘‘ But,” says our author, “I will venture to affirm, that the rule here holds without any ex- ception.” aie Accordingly, throughout the whole treatise, this general rule is considered as of suflicient authority, in itself, to exclude, even from a hearing, every thing that appears to be an exception to it.. This is contrary to the fundamental principles of the experi- mental method of reasoning, and therefore may be called rash and unphilosophical. 12 Having thus established this general principle, the author does great execution by it among our ideas. He finds, that we have no idea of substance, material or spiritual ; that body and mind are only certain trains of related impressions and ideas ; that we have no idea of space or duration, and no idea of power, active or intellective. é Mr. Locke used his principle of sensation and reflection with greater moderation and mercy. Being unwilling to thrust the ideas we have mentioned into the limbo of non-existence, he stretches sensation and reflection to the very utmost, in order to receive these ideas within the pale ; and draws them into it, as it were by violence. Se But this author, instead of showing them any favour, seems fond to get rid of them. ‘ Of the ideas mentioned, it is only that of power, that concerns our present subject. And with regard to this, the author boldly affirms, ‘‘ That we never have any idea of power ; that we de- ceive ourselves when we imagine we are possessed of any idea of this kind.” . Y He begins with observing, “That the terms efficacy, agency, power, force, energy, are all nearly synonymous ; and therefore it is an absurdity to employ any of them in defining the rest. By this observation,” ‘says he, “‘ we reject at once all the vulgar definitions which philosophers have given of power, and effi- cacy.” Saeely this author was not ignorant, that there are many things of which we have a clear anddistinct conception, which are so simple in their nature, that they cannot be defined any other way than by synonymous words. !tis true that this is nota logical definition, but that there is, as he afliirms, an absurdity in using it, when no better can be had, I cannot perceive. He might here have applied to power, and efficacy what he says, in another place, of pride and humility. “ The passions of pride and humility,” he says, “being simple and uniform im- A MR. HUME’S OPINION OF POWER. Qs pressions, it is impossible we can ever give a just definition of them. As the words are of general use, and the things they represent the most common of any, every one, of himself, will be able to form a just notion of them without danger of mistake.’ He mentions Mr. Locke’s account of the idea of power, that, observing various changes in things, we conclude, that there must be somewhere a power capable of producing them, and so arrive at last, by this reasoning, at the idea of power and efficacy. ‘* But,” says he, “‘ to be satisfied that this explication is more popular than philosophical, we need but reflect on two very obvious principles ; 1st, that reason alone can never give rise to any original idea ; and 2dly, that reason, as distinguished from experience, can never make us conclude, that a cause, or’ productive quality, is absolutely requisite to every beginning of existence.” Before we consider the two principles which our author op- poses to the popular opinion of Mr. Locke, I observe, Ist, That there are some popular opinions, which, on that very account, deserve more regard from philosophers, than this author is willing to bestow. That things cannot begin to exist, nor undergo any change, without a cause that has power to produce that change, is indeed. so popular an opinion, that, I believe, this author is the first of mankind that ever called it in question. _It is so popular, that there is not a man of common prudence who does not act from this opinion, and rely upon it every day of his life. And any man who should conduct himself by the contrary opinion, would soon be confined as insane, and continue in that state, till a suf- ficient cause was found for his enlargement. ; ‘Such a popular opinion as this, stands upon a higher authority than that of philosophy; and philosophy must strike sail to it, if she would not render herself contemptible to every man of common understanding. * |For though, in matters of deep speculation, the multitude — must be guided by philosophers, yet, in things that are within the reach of every man’s understanding, and upon which the whole conduct of human life turns, the philosopher must follow the multitude, or make himself perfectly ridiculous. 2ndly, I observe, that whether this popular opinion be true or false, it follows, from men’s having this opinion, that they have an idea of power. A false opinion about power, no less than a true, implies an idea of power; for how can men have pie eyanan, true or false, about a thing of which they have ne idea ! : The 1st, of the very obvious principles which the author op- poses to Mr. Locke’s account of the idea of power, is, that reason alone can never give rise to any original idea. Qi, ESSAY 1, This appears to me so far from being a very obvious princi- ple, that the contrary is very obvious. bworstes df Is it not our reasoning faculty that gives rise to the idea of reasoning itself? As our idea of sight takes its rise from our being endowed with that faculty, so does our idea of reasoning. Do not the ideas of demonstration, of probability, our ideas of a syllogism, of major, minor, and conclusion, of an enthymeme, dilemma, sorites, and all the various modes of reasoning, take their rise from the faculty of reason? Or is it possible, that a being, not endowed with the faculty of reasoning, should have these ideas? This principle, therefore, is so far from being obviously true, that it appears to be obviously false. ii The 2nd obvious principle is, that reason, as distinguished from experience, can never make us conclude, that a cause, or productive quality, is absolutely requisite to every beginning of existence. Nf Conan 19" In some Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, I had oc- casion to treat of this principle, that every change in nature must have a cause ; and, to prevent repetition, I beg leave to refer the reader to what is said upon this subject, Essay vi. chap. 6. I endeavoured to show, that it is a first principle, evident to all men come to years of understanding. Besides its having been universally received, without the least doubt, from the beginning of the world, it has this sure mark of a first principle, that the belief of it is absolutely necessary in the ordinary affairs of life, and, without it, no man could act with common prudence, or avoid the imputation of insanity. Yet a philosopher, who acted upon the firm belief of it every day of his life, thinks fit, in his closet, to call it in question. He insinuates here, that we may know it from experience. I endeavoured to show, that we do not learn it from experience, for two reasons, RN tit. tst, Because it isa necessary truth, and has always been recei- ved as a necessary truth. Experience gives no mformation of what is necessary, or of what must be. wis We may know from experience, what is, or what was, and from that may probably conclude what shall be in like circumstances ; but, with regard to what must necessarily be, experience is perfectly silent. bs eda Thus we know, by unvaried experience, from the beginning of the world, that the sun, and stars rise in the east and set in the west. Butno man believes, that it could not possibly have been otherwise, or that it did not depend upon the will and power of him who made the world, whether the earth should revolve to the east or to the west. wt In like manner, if we had experience, ever so constant, that every change in nature we have observed, actually had a cause, this might afford ground to believe, that, for the future, it sha}! | : _ MB. HUME’S OPINION OF POWER, 25 be so; but no ground at all to believe that it must be so, and cannot be otherwise. a oe Another reason to show that this principle is not learned from experience, is, that experience does not show us a cause of one in a hundred of those changes which we observe, and therefore can never teach us that there must be a cause ofall. Of all the paradoxes this author has advanced, there is not one more shocking to the human understanding than this, that things may begin to exist without a cause. This would put an end to all speculation, as well as to all the business of life. The em- ployment of speculative men, since the beginning of the world, has been to investigate the causes of things. What pity is it, they never thought of putting the previous question, whether things have a cause or not? This question has at last been started ; and what is there so ridiculous as not to be maintained by some philosopher ? Enough has been said upon it, and more, I think, than it de- serves. But, being about to treat of the active powers of the human mind, ! thought it improper to take no notice of what has been said by so celebrated a philosopher, to show, that there #s not, in the human mind, any idea of power. CHAPTER V. WHETHER BEINGS THAT HAVE NO WILL NOR UNDERSTANDING ' MAY HAVE ACTIVE POWER. THAT active power is an attribute, which cannot exist but in some being possessed of that power, and the subject of that attribute, | take for granted as a self-evident truth. Whether there can be active power in a subject which has no thought, nor understanding, no will, is not so evident. The ambiguity of the words power, cause, ageni, and of all the words related to these, tends to perplex this question. The weakness of human understanding, which gives us only an indi- rect and relative conception of power, contributes to darken our reasoning, and should make us cautious and modest in our determinations. : We can derive little light in this matter from the events which we observe in the course of nature. We perceive chan- ges innumerable in things without us. We know that those changes must be produced by the active power of some agent ; but we neither perceive the agent nor the power, but the change only. Whether the things be active, or merely passive, is not easily discovered. And though it may be an object of curiosity to the speculative few, it does not greatly concern the many. 26 ESSAY I. To know the event and the circumstances that attended it, and to know in what circumstances like events may be expected, may be of consequence in the conduct of life; but to know the real efficient, whether it be matter or mind, whether of a supe- rior or inferior order, concerns us little. Thus it is with regard to all the effects we ascribe to nature. ' Nature is the name we give to the efficient cause of innumera- ble effects which fall daily under our observation. But if it be asked what riature is ? Whether the first universal cause, or a subordinate one, whether one or many, whether intelligent or unintelligent ? Upon these points we find various conjectures and theories, but no solid ground upon which we canrest. And I apprehend the wisest men are they who are sensible that they know nothing of the matter. Wee teh From the course of events in the natural world, we have sufficient reason to conclude the existence of an eternal intelli- gent First Cause. But whether he acts immediately in the pro- duction of those events, or by subordinate intelligent agents, or by instruments that are unintelligent, and what the number, the nature, and the different offices of those agents or instruments may be; these I apprehend to be mysteries placed beyond the limits of human knowledge. We see an established order in the succession of natural events, but we see not the bond that con- nects them together. vit Since we derive so little light, with regard to efficient causes and their active power, from attention to the natural world, let us next attend to the moral, I mean, to human actions and con- duct. . ; Mr. Locke observes very justly, “‘ That, from the observation of the operation of bodies by our senses, we have but a very imperfect obscure idea of active power, since they afford us not any idea in themselves of the power to begin any action, either of motion or thought.” He adds, “ That we find in ourselves a. power to begin or forbear, continue or end several actions of our minds and motions of our bodies, barely by a thought or preference of the mind, ordering, or, as it were, commanding the doing or not doing such a particular action. This power which the mind has thus to order the consideration of any idea, or the forbearing to consider it, or to prefer the motion of any part of the body to its rest, and vice versa, in any particular instance, is that which we call the will. The actual exercise of that power, by directing any particular action, or its forbearance, is that which we call volition, or willing.” ; According to Mr. Locke, therefore, the only clear notion or idea we have of active power, is taken from the power which we find in ourselves to give certain motions to our bodies, or a certain direction to our thoughts ; and this power in ourselves can be brought into action only by willing or volition. MR. HUMB’S OPINION OF POWER. 27 From this, I think, it follows, that, if we had not will,and+that degree of understanding which will necessarily implies, we could exert no active power, and consequently could have none : for power that cannot be exerted is no power. _ It follows also, that the active power, of which only we can have any distinct con- ception, can be only in beings that have understanding and will. Power to produce any effect implies power not to produce it. We can conceive no way in which power may be determined to ene of these rather than the other, in a being that has no will. Whatever is the effect of active power must be something that is contingent. Contingent existence is that which depended upon the power and will of its cause. Opposed to this, is necessary existence, which we ascribe to the Supreme Being, because his existence is not owing to the power of any being. The same distinction there is between contingent and necessary truth. That the planets of our system go round the sun from west to east, isa contingent truth ; because it depended upon the power and will of him who made the planetary system, and gave motion toit. That a circle and a right line can cut one another only in two points, is a truth which depends upon no power nor will, and therefore is called necessary and immutable. Contingency, therefore, has a relation to active power, as all active poweris exerted in contingent events ; and as such events can have no existence, but by the exertion of active power. When I observe a plant growing from its seed to maturity, I know that there must be a cause that has power to produce this effect. But I see neither the cause nor the manner of its opera- tion. But in certain motions of my body, and directions of my thought, I know, not only that there must be a cause that has power to produce these effects, but that I am that cause ; and I am conscious of what I do in order to the production of them. _ From the consciousness of our own activity, seems to be derived, not only the clearest, but the only conception we can form of activity, or the exertion of active power. Aslam unable to form a notion of any intellectual power different in kind from those I possess, the same holds with res- pect to active power. If all men had been blind, we should have had no conception of the power of seeing, nor any name for itin language. Ifman had not the powers of abstraction and reasoning, we could not have had any conception of these operations. In hke manner, if he had not some degree of active power, and if he were not conscious of the exertion of it in his voluntary actions, it is probable he could have no conception of activity, or of active power. A train.of events following one another ever so regularly, could never lead us to the notion of a cause, if we had not, from Phe 28 ESSAY Ie our constitution, a conviction of the necessity of a cause to every event. And of the manner in which a cause may exert its active power, we can have no conception but from consciousness of the manner in which our own active power is exerted. _ With regard to the operations of nature, it is sufficient for us to know, that, whatever the agents may be, whatever the manner of their operation, or the extent of their power, they depend upon the First Cause, and are under his controul; and this indeed is all that we know ; beyond this we are left in darkness. But, in what regards human actions, we have a more immediate concern. ' It is of the highest importance to us as moral and accountable creatures, to know what actions are in our own power, because it is for these only that we can be accountable to our Maker, or to our fellow-men in society ; by these only we can merit praise or blame ; in these only all our prudence, wisdom, and virtue must be employed; and therefore, with regard to them, the wise Author of nature has not left us in the dark. : Every man is led by nature to attribute to himself the free determinations of his own will, and to believe those events to be in his power which depend upon his will. On the other hand, it is self-evident, that nothing is in our power that is not subject to our will. , We grow from childhood to manhood, we digest our food, our blood circulates, our heart and arteries beat, we are sometimes sick and sometimes in health ; all these things must be done by the power of some agent; but they are not done by our power. How do we know this? Because they are not subject to our will. This is the infallible criterion by which we distinguish what is our doing from what is not; what is in our power from what is not. nS Human power, therefore, can only be exerted by will; and we are unable to conceive any active power to be exerted without will. Every man knows infallibly that what is done by his conscious will and intention, is to be imputed to him as the agent or cause; and that whatever is done without his will and , intention cannot be imputed to him with truth. We judge of the actions and conduct of other men by the same rale as we judge of our own. In morals it is self-evident that no man can be the object either of approbation or of blame for what he did not. But how shall we know whether it is his doing or not? If the action depended upon his will, and if he intended and willed it, it is his action in the judgment of all mankind. But if it was done without his knowledge, or without his will and intention, it is as certain that he did it not, and that it ought not to be imputed to him as the agent. When there is any doubt to whom a particular action ought @F BEINGS THAT HAVE NO UNDERSTANDING. 29 to be imputed, the doubt arises only from our ignorance of facts ; when the facts relating to it are known, no man of under- standing has any doubt to whom the action ought to be imputed. _ The general rules of imputation are self-evident. They have been the same in all ages, and among all civilized nations. No man blames another for being black or fair, for having a fever or the falling sickness ; because these things are believed not to be in his power; and they are believed not to be in his power, because they depend not upon his will. We can never conceive that a man’s duty goes beyond his power, or that his power goes beyond what depends upon his will. Reason leads us to ascribe unlimited power to the Supreme Being. But what do we mean by unlimited power? It is power to do whatsoever he wills. ‘To suppose him to do what he does not will to do, is absurd. } The only distinct conception I can form of active power is, that itis an attribute in a being by which he can do certain things if he wills. This, after all, is only a relative conception. It is relative to the effect, and to the will of producing it. Take away these, and the conception vanishes. ‘They are the handles by which the mind takes hold of it. When they are taken away, our hold is gone. The same is the case with regard to other relative conceptions. Thus velocity is a real state of a body, about which philosophers reason with the force of demon- stration; but our conception of it is relative to space and time. What is velocity in a body? It is a state in which it passes through a certain space in a certain time. Space and time are very different from velocity ; but we cannot conceive it but by its relation to them. The effect produced, and the will to produce it, are things different from active power, but we can have no conception of it, but by its relation to them. Whether the conception of an efficient cause, and of real activity, could ever have entered into the mind of man, if we had not had the experience of activity in ourselves, [| am not able to determine with certainty. The origin of many of our conceptions, and even of many of our judgments, is not so easily traced as philosophers have generally conceived. No man can recollect the time when he first got the conception of an efficient cause, or the time when he first got the belief that an efficient cause is necessary to every change in nature. The conception of an efficient cause may very probably be derived from the experience we have had in very early life of our own power to produce certain effects. But the belief, that no event can happen without an eflicient cause, cannot be derived from experience. We may learn from experience what is, or what was, but no experience can teach us what necessarily must be. In like manner, we probably derive the conception of pain VOL. III. 5 ‘ 30 ESSAY I. from the experience we have had of it in ourselves; but our belief that pain can only exist in a being that has life, cannot - be got by experience, because it is a necessary truth; and no necessary truth can have its attestation from experience. If it be so that the conception of an efficient cause enters into the mind, only from the early conviction we have that we are the efficients of our own voluntary actions, which I think is most probable, the notion of efficiency will be reduced to this, ‘that it is a relation between the cause and the effect, similar to that which is between us and our voluntary actions. This is surely the most distinct notion, and, I think, the only notion we ean form of real efficiency. Now it is evident, that, to constitute the relation between me and my action, my conception of the action, and will to do it, are essential. For what | never conceived, nor willed, I never did. If any man, therefore, affirms, that a being may be the efficient eause of an action, and have power to produce it, which that being can neither conceive nor will, he speaks a language which 1 do not understand. If he hasa meaning, his notion of power and efficiency must be essentially different from mine; and, until he conveys his notion of efficiency to my understanding, I can no more assent to his opinion, than if he should affirm, that a being without life may feel pain. ' It seems therefore to me most probable, that such beings only as have some degree of understanding and will, can possess active power: and that inanimate beings must be merely passive and have no real activity. Nothing we perceive without us affords any good ground for ascribing active power to any inani- mate being ; and every thing we can discover in our own con+ stitution, leads us to think, that active power cannot be exerted without will and intelligence. es CHAPTER VI. OF THE EFFICIENT CAUSES OF THE PHENOMENA OF NATURE. IF active power, in its proper meaning, requires a subject endowed with will and intelligence, what shall we say of those active powers which philosophers teach us to ascribe to matter; the powers of corpuscular attraction, magnetism, electricity, gravitation, and others? Is it not universally allowed, that heavy bodies descend to the earth by:the power of gravity ; that, by the same power, the moon, and all the planets and a Z OF THE PHENOMENA OF NATURE. 31 comets, are retained in their orbits? Have the most eminent natural philosophers been imposing upon us, and giving us words instead of real causes? In answer to this, I apprehend, that the principles ef natural philosophy, have, in modern times, been built upon a foundation that cannot be shaken, and that they can be called in question only by those who do not understand the evidence on which they stand. But the ambiguity of the words cause, agency, active power, and the other words related to these, has led many to understand them, when used in natural philosophy, in a wrong sense, and in a sense which is neither necessary for establishing the true principles of natural philosophy, nor was ever meant by the most enlightened in that science. To be convinced of this, we may observe, that those very philosophers who attribute to matter the power of gravitation, and other active powers, teach us, at the same time, that matter is a substance altogether inert, and merely passive ; that gravi- tation, and the other attractive or repulsive powers which they * ascribe to it, are not inherent in its nature, but impressed upon it by some external cause, which they do not pretend to know, or to explain. Now, when we find wise men ascribing action and active power to a substance which they expressly teach us to consider as merely passive and acted upon by some unknown cause, we must conclude, that the action and active power ascribed to it are not to be understood strictly, but in some popular sense. It ought likewise to be observed, that although philosophers, for the sake of being understood, must speak the language of the yulgar, as when they say, the sun rises and sets, and goes through all the signs of the zodiac, yet they often think differently from the vulgar. Let us hear what the greatest of natural philosophers says, in the 8th definition prefixed to his Principia: “‘Voces autem attractionis, impulsus, vel propensionis cujus- cunque in centrum, indifferenter et pro se mutuo promiscue usurpo ; has voces non physice sed mathematicé considerando, Unde caveat lector, ne per hujus modi voces cogitet me speciem vel modum actionis, causamve aut rationem physicam, ali cubi definire ; vel centris, qu sunt puncta mathematica, vires vere et physice tribuere, si forte centra trahere, aut vires centrorum esse, dixero.”’ In all languages, action is attributed to many things which all men of common understanding believe to be merely passive ; thus we say, the wind blows, the rivers flow, the sea rages, the fire burns, bodies move, and impel other bodies. Every object which undergoes any change, must be either active or passive in that change. This is self-evident to al] men from the first dawn of reason; and therefore the change 38 always expressed in language, either by an active or a passive 32 ESSAY I. verb. Nor do I know any verb, expressive of a change, which does not imply either action or passion. The thing either changes, or it is changed. _But it is remarkable in language, that when an external cause of the change is not obvious, the change is always imputed to the thing changed, as if it were animated, and had active power to produce the change in itself. So we say, the moon changes, the suu rises and goes down. Thus active verbs are very often applied, and active power imputed to things, which a little advance in knowledge and experience teaches us to be merely passive. This property, common to all languages, I endeavoured to account for in the second chapter of this Essay, to which the reader is referred. A like irregularity may be observed in the use of the word signifying cause, in all languages, and of the words related to it. Our knowledge of causes is very scanty in the most advanced state of society, much more is it so in that early period in which , language is formed. A strong desire to know the causes of \ things, is common to all men in every state ; but the experience of all ages shows, that this keen appetite, rather than go empty, will feed upon the husks of real knowledge where the fruit cannot be found. While we are very much in the dark with regard to the real ‘ agents or causes which produce the phenomena of nature, and have, at the same time, an avidity, to know them, ingenious men frame conjectures, which those of weaker understanding take for truth. The fare is coarse, but appetite makes it go down. Thus, in a very ancient system, love and strife were made the causes of things. Plato made the causes of things to be matter, ideas, and an efficient architect. . Aristotle, matter, form, and privation. Des Cartes thought matter, and a certain quantity of motion, given it by the Almighty at first, to be all that is necessary to make the material world. Leibnitz con- ceived the whole universe, even the material part of it, to be made up of monades, each of which is active and intelligent, and produces in itself, by its own active power, all the changes it undergoes from the beginning of its, existence to eternity. In common language we give the name of a cause toa reason, a motive, an end, to any circumstance which is connected with the effect, and goes before it. Aristotle, and the schoolmen after him, distinguished four kinds of causes, the efficient, the material, the formal, and the final This, like many of Aristotle’s distinctions, is only a distinction of the various meanings of an ambiguous word; for the efficient, the matter, the form, and the end, have nothing common in their nature, by which they may be accounted species of the same genus; but the Greek word which we translate eause, had these four different meanings in Aristotle’s days, and-we have added other meanings. We do not indeed ‘ @P PHE PHENOMENA GF NATURE. 33 wall the matter or the form ofa thing its cause ; but we have final causes, instrumental causes, occasional causes, and I know not how many others. Thus the word cause has been so hackneyed, and made to have so many different meanings in the writings of philosophers, and in the discourse of the vulgar, that its original and proper meaning is lost in the crowd. With regard to the phenomena of nature, the important end of knowing their causes, besides gratifying our curiosity, is, that we may know when to expect them, or how to bring them about. This is very often of real importance in life ; and this purpose is served, by knowing what, by the course of nature, goes before them and is connected with them; and this, therefore, we call the cause of such a phenomenon. If a magnet be brought near to a mariner’s compass, the needle, which was before at rest, immediately begins to move, and bends its course toward the magnet, or perhaps the contrary way. If an unlearned sailor is asked the cause of this motion of the needle, he is at no loss foran answer. He tells you it is - the magnet; and the proof is clear; for, remove the magnet, and the effect ceases ; bring it near, and the effect is again pro- duced. It is, therefore, evident to sense, that the magnet is ‘the cause of this effect. A Cartesian philosopher enters deeper into the cause of this phenomenon. He observes, that the magnet does not touch the needle, and therefore can give it no impulse. He pities the ignorance of the sailor. The effect is produced, says he, by magnetic effluvia, or subtile matter, which passes from the magnet to the needle, and forces it from its place. He can even show you, in a figure, where these magnetic effluvia issue from the magnet, what round they take, and what way they return home again. And thus he thinks he comprehends perfectly how, and by what cause the motion of the needle is produced. A Newtonian philosopher inquires what proof can be offered for the existence of magnetic effluvia, and can find none. He therefore holds it as a fiction, a hypothesis; and he has learned that hypotheses ought to have no place in the philosophy of nature. He confesses his ignorance of the real cause of this motion, and thinks, that his business, as a philosopher, is only to find from experiment the laws by which it is regulated in all cases. These three persons differ much in their sentiments with regard to the real cause of this phenomenon ; and the man who knows most, is he who is seasible that he knows nothing of the matter. Yet all the three speak the same language, and acknowledge that the cause of this motion is the attractive or repulsive power of the magnet. ; What has been said of this, may be applied to every phenome- 34 ESSAY 1. non that falls within the compass of natural philosophy. We deceive ourselves, if we conceive, that we can point out the real efficient cause of any one of them. The grandest discovery ever made in natural philosophy, was that of the law of gravitation, which opens such a view of our planetary system, that it looks like something divine. But the author of this discovery was perfectly aware, that he disco- vered no real cause, but only the law or rule, according to which the unknown cause operates. Natural philosophers, who think accurately, have a precise meaning to the terms they use in the science; and when they pretend to show the cause of any phenomenon of nature, they mean by the cause, a law of nature of which that phenomenon is a necessary consequence. The whole object of natural philosophy, as Newton expressly teaches, is reducible to these two heads ; first, by just induc- tion from experiment and observation, to discover the laws of na- ture ; and then to apply those laws to the solution of the phe- nomena of nature. ‘This was all that this great philosopher attempted, and all that he thought attainable. And this indeed he attained in a great measure, with regard to the motions of our planetary system, and with regard to the rays of light. But supposing that all the phenomena that fall within the reach of our senses, were accounted for from the general laws of nature, justly'deduced from experience; that is, supposing natural philosophy brought to its utmost perfection, it does not discover the efficient cause of any one phenomenon in nature. The laws of nature are the rules according to which the effects are produced; but there must be a cause which operates ac- cording to these rules. The rules of navigation never naviga- ted aship. The rules of architecture never built a house, Natural philosophers, by great attention to the course of na- ture, have discovered many of her laws, and have very happily applied them to account for many phenomena; but they have never discovered the efficient cause of any one phenomenon ; nor do those who have distinct notions of the principles of the science, make any such pretence. Upon the theatre of nature we see innumerable effects, which require an agent endowed with active power; but the agent is behind the scene. Whether it be the Supreme Cause alone, or a subordinate cause or causes ; and if subordinate causes be employed by the Almighty, what their nature, their number, and their different offices may be are things hid, for wise reasons without doubt, from the human eye. It is only in human actions, that may be imputed for praise or blame, that it is necessary for us to know who is the agent ; and in this, nature has given us all the light that is necessary for eur conduct. 39 CHAPTER VII. OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER: EVERY thing laudable and praiseworthy in man, must con- sist in the proper exercise of that power which is given him by his Maker. This is the talent which he is required to occupy, and of which he must give an account to him who committed it to his trust. To sonie persons more power is given than to others; and to the same person, more at one time, and less at another. Its existence, its extent, and its continuance depend solely upon the pleasure of the Almighty; but every man that is accountable must have more or less of it. For, to call a person to account, to approve, or disapprove of his conduct, who had no power to do good or ill, is absurd. No axiom of Euclid appears more evident than this. As power is a valuable gift, to underrate it is ingratitude to the giver ; to overrate it, begets pride and presumption, and leads to unsuccessful attempts. It is therefore, in every man, a point of wisdom to make a just estimate of his own power. Quid fer- re recusent, quid valeant humeri. ; We can only speak of the power of man in general ; and as our notion of power is relative to its effects, we can estimate its extent only by the effects which it is able to produce. It would be wrong to estimate the extent of human power by the effects which it has actually produced. For every nan had power to do many things which he did not, and not to do many things which he did; otherwise he could not be an object either of approbation, or of disapprobation, to any rational being. The effects of human power are either immediate, or they are more remote. The immediate effects, I think, are reducible to two heads. We can give certain motions to our own bodies; and we can give a certain direction to our own thoughts. Whatever we can do beyond this, must be done by one of these means, or both. We can produce no motion in any body in the universe, but by moving first our own body as an instrument. Nor can we produce thought in any other person, but by thought and motion in ourselves. Qur power to move our own body, is not only limited in its extent, but in its nature is subject to mechanical laws. It may be compared to a spring endowed with the power of contracting or expanding itself, but which cannot contract without drawing 36 ESSAY I. equally at both ends, nor expand without pushing equally at both ends ; so that every action of the spring is always accompanied with an equal reaction in a contrary direction. We can conceive a man to have power to moye his whole body in any direction, without the aid of any other body, or a power to move one part of his body without the aid of any other part. But philosophy teaches us that man has no such power. If he carries his whole body in any direction with a certain quantity of motion, this he can do only by pushing the earth, or some other body, with an equal quantity of motion in the con- trary direction. If he but stretch out his arm in one direction, the rest of his body is pushed with an equal quantity of motion in the contrary direction. This is the case with regard to all animal and voluntary mo- tions, which come within the reach of our senses. ‘They are performed by the contraction of certain muscles ; and a muscle, when it is contracted, draws equally at both ends. As to the motions antecedent to the contraction of the muscle, and conse- quent upon the volition of the animal, we know nothing, and can say nothing about them. We know not even how those immediate effects of our power are produced by our willing them. We perceive not any ne- cessary connexion betwen the volition and exertion on our part, and the motion of our body that follows them. Anatomists inform us, that every voluntary motion of the body is performed by the contraction of certain muscles, and that the muscles are contracted by some influence derived from the nerves. But, without thinking in the least, either of muscles or nerves, we will only the external effect, and the internal ma- chinery, without our call, immediately produces that effect. This is one of the wonders of our frame, which we have rea- son to admire ; but to account for it, is beyond the reach of our understanding. That there is an established harmony between our willing certain motions of our bodies, and the operation of the nerves and muscles which produces those motions, is a fact known by experience. This volition is an act of the mind. But whether this act of the mind have any physical effect upon the nerves ' and muscles, or whether it be only an occasion of their being acted upon by some other efficient, according to the established laws of nature, is hid from us. So dark is our conception of our own power when we trace it to its origin. We have good reason to believe, that matter had its origin from mind, as well asall its motions; but how, or in what man- ner it is moved by mind, we know as little as how it was cre- ated. . Jt is possible therefore, for any thing we know, that what wt 2 OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. Bt we call the immediate effects of our power, may not be so in the strictest sense. Between the will to produce the effect, and the production of it, there may be agents or instruments of which we are ignorant. This may leave some doubt, whether we be, in the strictest sense, the efficient cause of the voluntary motions of our own body. But it can produce no doubt with regard to the moral estimation of our actions. ; The man who knows that such an event depends upon his will, and who deliberately wills to produce it, is, in the strictest moral sense, the cause of the event; and it is justly imputed to him, whatever physical causes may have concurred in its pro- duction. Thus, he who maliciously intends to shoot his neighbour dead, and voluntarily does it, is undoubtedly the cause of his death, though he did no more to occasion it than to draw the trigger of the gun. He neither gave to the ball its velocity, nor to the powder its expansive force, nor to the flint and steel the power to strike fire; but he knew that what he did must be followed by the man’s death, and did it with that intention ; and therefore he is justly chargeable with the murder. Philosophers may therefore dispute innocently, whether we be the proper efficient causes of the voluntary motions of our own body; or whether we be only, as Malebranche thinks, the occasional causes. The determination of this question, if it can be determined, can have no effect on human conduct. The other branch of what is immediately in our power, is to give a certain direction to our own thoughis. This, as well as the first branch, is limited in various ways. Itis greater in some persons than in others, and in the same person is very different, according to the health of his body, and the state of his mind. But that men, when free from disease of body and of mind, have a considerable degree of power of this kind, and that it may be greatly increased by practice and habit, is sufficientiy evident from experience, and from the natural conviction of all mankind. Were we to examine minutely into the connexion between our volitions, and the direction of our thoughts which obeys these volitions; were we to consider how we are able to give attention to an object for a certain time, and turn our attention to another when we choose, we might perhaps find it difficult to determine, whether the mind itself: be the sole efficient cause of the voluntary changes in the direction of our thoughts, or whe- ther it requires the aid of other efficient causes. I see no good reason why the dispute about efficient and oc- casional causes, may not be applied to the power of directing our thoughts, as well as to the power of moving our bodies.» In - VOL. IIT. 6 38 ESSAY Jd. both cases, I apprehend the dispute is endless, and if it could be brought to an issue, would be fruitless. Nothing appears more evident to our reason, than that there must be an efficient cause of every change that happens in na- ture. But when | attempt to comprehend the manner in which an efficient cause operates, either upon body or upon mind, there is a darkness which my faculties are not able to penetrate. However small the immediate effects of human power seem to be, its more remote effects are very considerable. In this respect, the power of man may be compared to the Nile, the Ganges, and other great rivers, which make a figure upon the globe of the earth, and traversing vast regions, bring sometimes great benefit, at other times great mischief, to many nations; yet, when we trace those rivers to their source, we find them to rise from inconsiderable fountains and rills. The command of a mighty prince, what is it, but the sound of his breath, modified by his organs of speech ! ? But it may have great consequences ; it may raise armies, equip fleets, and spread war and desolation over a great part of the earth. The meanest of mankind has considerable power to do good, and more to hurt himself and others. ' From this I think we may conclude, that although the dege- neracy of mankind be great, and justly to be lamented, yet men, in general, are more disposed to employ their power in doing good, than in doing burt to their fellow men. The last is much more in their power than the first; and, if they were as much disposed to it, human society could not subsist, and the species must soon perish from the earth. We may first consider the effects which may be eueecre by human power upon the material system. It is confined indeed to the planet which we inhabit ; we can- not remove to another; nor can we produce any change i in the annual or diurnal motions of our own. But, by human power, great changes may be made upon the face of the earth; and those treasures of metals and minerals that are stored up in its bowels, may be discovered and brought forth. . The Supreme Being, could, no doubt, have made the earth to supply the wants of man, without any cultivation by human Jabour. Many inferior animals, who neither plant, nor sow, nor spin, are provided for by the bounty of Heaven. But this is not the case with man. i He has active powers and ingenuity given him, by which he can do much {for supplying his wants; and his labour is made necessary for that purpose. His wants are more than those of any oni? animal that in- habits this globe ; and his resources are proportioned to them, and put within the sphere of his power. —————- _OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. 39 The earth is left by nature in such a state as to require culti- vation for the accommodation of man. It is capable of cultivation, in most places to such a degree, that, by human labour, it may afford subsistence to an hundred times the number of men it could in its natural state. Every tribe of men, in every climate, must labour for their subsistence and accommodation; and their supply is more or less comfortable, in proportion to the labour properly employed for that purpose. It is evidently the intention of nature, that man should be laborious, and that he should exert his powers of body and mind for his own, and forthe common good. And, by his power properly applied, he may make great improvement upon the fertility of the earth, and a great addition to his own accommo- dation and comfortable state. By clearing, tilling, and manuring the ground, by planting and sowing, by building cities and harbours, draining marshes and lakes, making rivers navigable, and joining them by canals, by manufacturing the rude materials which the earth, duly cultiva- ted, produces in abundance, by the mutual exchange of commo- dities and of labour, he may make the barren wilderness the habitation of rich and populous states. If we compare the city of Venice, the province of Holland, the empire of China, with those places of the earth which never felt the hand of industry, we may form some conception of the extent of human power upon the material system, in changing the face of the earth, and furnishing the accommoda- tions of human life. But, in order to produce those happy changes, man himself must be improved. His an:mal faculties are. sufficient for the preservation of the species ; they grow up of themselves, like the trees of the fo- rest, which require only the force of nature and the influences of heaven. His rational and moral faculties, like the earth itself, are rude and barren by nature, but capable of a high degree of culture: and this culture he must receive from parents, from instruct- ers, from those with whom he lives in society, joined with his own industry. If we consider the changes that may be produced by man up- en his own mind, and upon the minds of others, they appear to be great. Upon his own mind he may make great improvement, in ac- quiring the treasures of useful knowledge, the habits of skill in arts, the habits of wisdom, prudence, self-command, and every other virtue. It is the constitution of nature, that such quali- ties as exalt and dignify human nature are to be acquired by « 40 ESSAY 1. proper exertions ; and, by a contrary conduct, such qualities as debase it below the condition of brutes. Even upon the minds of others, great effects may be produ- eed by means within the compass of human power; by means of good education, of proper instruction, of persuasion, of good example, and by the discipline of laws and government. That these have often had great and good effects on the civilization and improvement of individuals, and of nations, cannot be doubted. But what happy effects they might have, if applied universally with the skill and address that is within the reach of human wisdom and power, is not easily conceived, or to what pitch the happiness of human society, and the improvement of the species, might be carried. What a noble, what a divine employment of human power is here assigned us? How ought it to rouse the ambition of pa- rents, of instructers, of lawgivers, of magistrates, of every man in his station, to contribute his part toward the accomplishment ef so glorious an end? The power of man over his own and other minds, when we trace it to its origin, is involved in darkness, no less than his power to move his own and other bodies. How far we are properly efficient causes, how far occasional causes, | cannot pretend to determine. oF, We know that habit produces great changes in the mind ; oa but how it does so, we know not. We know that example has ae a powerful, and, in the early period of life, almost an irresisti- is ble effect ; but we know not how it produces this effect. . The communication of thought, seatiment and passion, from one J) .». mind to another, has something in it as mysterious as the com- fe APF chubication of motion from one body to another. 4 a ay the laws of nature which he has established. This ought to We perceive one event to follow another, according to es- tablished laws of nature, and we are accustomed to call the first the cause, and the last the effect, without knowing what is the bond that unites them. In order to produce a certain event, we use means which, by laws of nature, are connected with that eyent; and we call ourselves the cause of that event, though other efficient causes may have had the chief hand in its pro- duction. - Upon the whole, human power, in its existence, in its extent, and in its exertions, is entirely dependent upon God, and upon banish pride and arrogance from the most mighty of the sons of men. At the same time, that degree of power which we have received from the bounty of heaven, is one of the noblest gifts of God to man; of which we ought not to be insensible, that we may not be ungrateful, and that we may be excited to make the proper use of it. @F THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. 4 The’extent of human power is perfectly suited to the state of man, as a state of improvement and discipline. It is sufficient to animate us to the noblest exertions. By the proper exercise of this gift of God, human nature, in individuals and in socie- ties, may be exalted toa high degree of dignity and felicity, and the earth become a paradise. On the contrary, its perver- sion and abuse is the cause of most of the evils that afflict human life, : Piet, Ne we ; ESSAY II. OF THE WILL. CHAPTER I. OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING THE WILL. EVERY man is conscious of a power to determine, in things which he conceives to depend upon his determination. To this power we give the name of will ; and, as it is usual, in the operations of the mind, to give the same name to the power and to the act of that power, the term will is often put to signify ihe act of determining, which more properly is called golition. Volition, therefore, signifies the act of willing and determi- ning ; and will is put inditferently to signify either the power of willing or the act. But the term will has very often, especially in the writings of philosophers,a more extensive meaning, which we must carefully distinguish from that which we have now given. In the general division of our faculties into understanding and will, our passions, appetites, and affections, are comprehended under the will; and so it is made to signify, not only our determination to act or not to act, but every motive and incite- ment to action. - _ It is this, probably, that has led some philosophers to represent desire, aversion, hope, fear, joy, sorrow ; all our appetites, pas- sions, and affections, as different modifications of the will; which, I think, tends to confound things which are very different in their nature. The advice given to a man, and his determination consequent to that advice, are things so different in their nature, that it would be improper to call them modifications of one and the same thing. In like manner, the motives to action, and the de- termination to act or not to act, are things that have no common nature, and therefore ought not to be confounded under one name, or represented as different modifications of the same thing, For this reason, in speaking of the will in this Essay, I do not comprehend under that term any of the incitements or motives which may have an influence upon our determinations, but solely the determination itself, and the power to determine. Mr. Locke has considered this operation of the mind more a OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING THE WILL. 43 attentively, and distinguished it more accurately, than some very ingenious authors who wrote after him. He defines volition to be, “‘ An act of the mind, knowingly exerting that dominion it takes itself to have over any part of the man, by employing it in, or withholding it from any particular - action.” ae It may more briefly be defined. The determination of the mind to do, or not to do something which we conceive to be in our power. If this were given asa strictly logical definition, it would be liable to this objection, that the determination of the mind is only another term for volition. But it ought to be observed, that the most simple acts of the mind do not admit of a logical defini- tion. The way to form a clear notion of themis, to reflect at- tentively upon them as we feel them in ourselves. Without this reflection, no definition can give us a distinct conception of them. For this reason, rather than sift any definition of the will, I shall make some observations upon it, which may lead us to re- flect upon it, and to distinguish it from other acts of mind, which, from the ambiguity of words, are apt to be confounded with it. Ist, Every act of will must have an object. He that wills must will something ; and that which he wills is called the object of his volition. As a man cannot think without thinking of something, nor remember without remembering something, so neither can he Will without willing something. Every act of will, therefore, must have an object; and the person who wills must have some conception, more or less distinct, of what he wills. ; By this, things done voluntarily are distinguished from things done merely from instinct, or merely from habit. A healthy child, some hours after its birth, feels the sensation of hunger, and, if applied to the breast, sucks and swallows its food very perfectly. We have no reason to think, that, before it ever sucked, it has any conception of that complex operation, or how it is performed. It cannot, therefore, with propriety, be said, that it wills to suck. Numberless instances might be given of things done by ani- mals, without any previous conception of what they are to do; without the intention of doing it. They act by some inward blind impulse, of which the efficient cause is hid from us; and though there isan end evidently intended by the action, this in- _tention is not in the animal, but in its Maker. Other things are done by habit, which cannot properly be called voluntary. We shut our eyes several times every minute while we are awake ; no man is conscious of willing thissevery time he does if. ; . | ae 44, ESSAY Ii. A second observation is, That the immediate object of will must be some action of our own. By this, will is distinguished from two acts of the mind, which sometimes take its name, and thereby are apt to be confounded with it; these are desire and command. The distinction between will and desire has been well explain- ed by Mr. Locke ; yet many later writers have overlooked it, and have represented desire as a modification of will. Desire and will agree in this, that both must have an object, of which we must have some conception ; and therefore both must be accompanied with some degree of understanding. But they differ in several things. The object of desire may be any thing which appetite, passion, or affection, leads us to pursue ; 1t may be any event which we - think good for us, or for those to whom we are well affected. | may desire meat, or drink, or ease from pain: but to say that I will meat, or will drink, or will ease from pain, is not English. There is therefore a distinction in common language between desire and will. And the distinction is, that what we will must be an action, and our own action; what we desire may not be our own action, it may be no action at all. A man desires that his children may be happy, and that they may behave well. Their being happy is no action at all; their behaving well is not his action but theirs. With regard to our own actions, we may desire What we do not will, and will what we do not desire ; nay, WHat we have a great aversion to. A man athirst has a strong desire to drink, but, for some parti- cular reason, he determines not to gratify his desire. A judge, from a regard to justice, and to the duty of his office, dooms a criminal to die, while, from humanity or particular affection, he desires that he should live. A man for health may take a nause- ous draught, for which he has no desire, but a great aversion. Desire therefore, even when its object is some action of our own, is only an incitement to will, but it is not volition. The deter- mination of the mind may be, not to do what we desire to do. Butas desire is often accompanied by will, we are apt to over- look the distinction between them. The command of a person is sometimes called his will, some- times his desire ; but when these words are used properly, they signify three different acts of the mind. The immediate object of will is some action of our own; the object of a command is some action of another person, over whom we claim authority ; the object of desire may be no ac- tion at all. In giving a command all these acts concur; and as they go together, it is not uncommon in language, to give to one the name which properly belongs to ina, OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING THE WILL. 4a. A command being a voluntary action, there must be a will to _give the command. Some desire is commonly the motive to that act or will, and the command is the effect of it. Perhaps it may be thought that a command is only a desire expressed by language, that the thing commanded should be done. But itis not so. Fora desire may be expressed by language when there is no command ; and there may possibly be a command without any desire that the thing commanded should be done. There have been instances of tyrants who have laid grievous commands upon their subjects, in order to reap the penalty of their disobedience, or to furnish a pretence for their punishment. We might further observe, that a command is a social act of the mind. It can have'no existence but by a communication of thought to some intelligent being ; and therefore implies a belief that there is such a being, and that we can communicate our thoughts to him. Desire and will are solitary acts, which do not imply any such communication or belief. The immediate object of volition therefore, must be some action, and our own action. A third observation is, That the object of our volition must be something which we believe to be in our power, and to depend upon our will. A man may desire to make a visit to the moon, or to the planet Jupiter, but he cannot will or determine to doit ; because he knows it is not in his power. If.an insane person should make an attempt, his insanity must first make him believe it to be in his power. A manin hissleep may be struck witha palsy, which deprives him of the power of speech; when he awakes, he attempts to speak, not knowing that he has lost the power. But when he knows by experience that the power is gone, he ceases to make the effort. The same man, knowing that some persons have recovered the power of speech, after they had Jost it by a paralytical stroke, may now and then make an effort. In this effort, however, there is not properly a will to speak, but a will to try whether he can speak or not. In like manner, aman may exert his strength to raise a weight, which is too heavy for him. But he always does this, either from the belief that he can raise the weight, or fora trial whether he canor not. I[tis evident therefore, that what we will must be believed to be in our power, and to depend upon our will. The nert observation is, That when we will to doa thing im- mediately, the volition is accompanied with an effort to execute - that which we willed. If aman wills to raiseza great weight from the ground by the : VOL. It. r Ab ESSAY Ji. strength of his arm, he makes an effort for that purpose propor- - tioned to the weight he determines to raise. A great weight re- quires a great effort; a small weight a less effort. We say, in- deed, that to raise a very small body requires no effort at all. But this, | apprehend, must be understood either as a figurative way of speaking, by which things very small are accounted as nothing, or it is owing to our giving no attention to very small efforts, and therefore having no name for them. Great efforts, whether of body or mind, are attended with dif- ficulty, and when long continued produce lassitude, which requires that they should be intermitted. This leads us to reflect upon them, and to give them aname. The name effort is commonly appropriated to them; and those that are made with ease, and leave no sensible effect, pass without observation and without a name, though they be of the same kind, and differ only in degree from those to which the name is given. i This effort we are conscious of, if we will but give attention to it ; and there is nothing in which we are in a more strict sense active. . The dast observation is, That in all determinations of the mind that are of any importance, there must be something in the pre- ceding state of the mind that disposes or inclines us to that de- termination. ey If the mind were always ina state of perfect indifference, without any incitement, motive, or reason, to act, or not to-act, to act one way rather than another, our active power, having ne end to pursue, no rule to direct its exertions, would be given in vain. We should either be altogether inactive, and never will to do any thing, or our volitions would be perfectly unmean- ing and futile, being neither wise nor foolish, virtuous nor Vicious. We have reason therefore to think, that to every being to whom God has given any degree of active power, he has also gi- ven some principles of action, for the direction of that power to the end for which it was intended. Itis evident that in the constitution of man, there are various principles of action suited to our state and situatien. A parti- cular consideration of these is the subject of the next Essay ; in this we are only to consider them in general, witha view to exa- mine the relation they bear to volition, and how it is influenced by them, CHAPTER Ii. OF THE INFLUENCE OF INCITEMENTS AND MOTIVES UPON THE WILL. WE come into the world ignorant of every thing, yet we must do many things in order to our subsistence and well being. A new-born child may be carried in arms, and kept warm by his nurse; but he must suck and swallow his food for himself. And this must be done before he has any conception of sucking or swallowing, or of the manner in which they are to be performed. He is led by nature to do these actions without knowing for what end, or what he is about. This we call instinct. | | In many cases there is no time for voluntary determination. The motions must go on so rapidly, that the conception and volition of every movement cannot keep pace with then. In some cases of this kind, instinct, in others habit, comes in to our aid. When a man stumbles and loses his balance, the motion ne- cessary to prevent his fail would come too late, if it were the consequence of thinking what is fit to be done, and making a vo- luntary effort for that purpose. He does this instinctively. When a man beats a drum or plays a tune, he has not time to direct every particular beat or stop, by a voluntary determina- tion; but the habit which may be acquired by exercise, answers the purpose as well. By instinct, therefore, and by habit, we do many things with- out any exercise either of judgment or will. In other actions, the will is exerted, but without judgment. Suppose a man to know that, in order to live, he must eat. What shall he eat? How much? And how often? His reason can answer none of these questions ; and therefore can give no direction how he should determine. Here again nature, as an indulgent parent, supplies the defects of his reason; giving him appetite, which shows him when he is to eat, how often, and how much; and taste, which informs him what he is, and what he is not toeat. And by these principles he is much better directed _ than he could be without them, by all the knowledge he can ac- quire. As the Author of nature has given us some principles of action to supply the defects of our knowledge, he has given others to supply the defects of our wisdom and virtue. The natural desires, affections, and passions, which are com- mon to the wise and to the foolish, to the virtuous and to the vi- cious, and even to the more sagacious brutes, serve very often to ' direct the course of human actions. By these principles men 46 ESSAY Ll. may perform the most laborious duties of life, without any regard to duty ; and do what is proper to be done, without regard to propriety ; like a vessel that is carried on in her proper course by a prosperous gale, without the skill or judgment of those that are aboard. Appetite, affection, or passion, give an impulse to a certain action. In this impulse there is no judgment implied. It may be weak or strong; we can even conceive it irresistible. In the case of madness it isso. Madmen have their appetites and pas- sions ; but they want the power of self-government; and there- fore we do not impute their actions to the man but to the disease. In actions that proceed from appetite or passion, we are pas- sive in part, and only in part active. They are therefore partly imputed tothe passion; and if it is supposed to be irresistible, we do not impute them to the man at all. Evenan American savage judges in this manner: When in a fit of drunkenness he kills his friend: as soon as he comes to himself, he is very sorry for what he has done; but pleads that drink, and not he, was the cause. We conceive brute animals to have no superior principle to control their appetites and passions. On this account, their ac- tions are notsubject to law. Men are in a like state in infancy, in madness, and in the delirium of a fever. They have appe- tites and passions, but they want that which makes them moral agents, accountable for their conduct, and objects of moral ap- probation or of blame. — In some cases, a stronger impulse of appetite or passion may oppose a weaker. Here also there may be determination and action without judgment. Suppose a soldier ordered to mount a breach, and certain of present death if he retreats, this man needs not courage to go on, fear is suficient. The certainty of present death if he re- treats, is an overbalance to the probability of being killed if he goes on. ‘The man is pushed by contrary forces, and it requires neither judgment nor exertion to yield to the strongest. A hungry dog acts by the same principle, if meat is set before him, with a threatening to beat himif he touch it. Hunger pushes him forward, fear pushes him back with more force, and the strongest force prevails. Thus we see, that, in many, even of our voluntary actions, we may act from the impulse of appetite, affection, or passion, with- out any exercise of judgment, and much in the same manner as brute animals seem to act. Sometimes, however, there is a calm in the mind from the gales of passion or appetite, and the man is left to work his way, in the voyage of life, without those impulses which they give. Then he calmly weighs goods and evils, whichare at too great a distance to excite any passion. He judges what is hest upon the INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES UPON THE WILL. 4D whole, without feeling any bias drawing him to one side. He judges for himself as he would do for another in his situation ; and the determination is wholly imputable to the man, and not in any degree to his passion. Every man come to years of understanding, who has given any attention to his own conduct, and to that of others, has, in his mind, a scale or measure of goods and evils, more or less exact. He makes an estimate of the value of health, of repu- tation, of riches, of pleasure, of virtue, of self-approbation, and of the approbation of his Maker. These things, and their contraries, have a comparative importance in his cool and deli- berate judgment. When a man considers whether health ought to be preferred to bodily strength, fame to riches ; whether a good conscience and the approbation of his Maker, to every thing that can come in competition with it; this appears to me to be an exercise of judgment, and not any impulse of passion or appetite. Every thing worthy of pursuit, must be so, either intrinsically, and uponits own account, oras the means of procuring some- thing that is intrinsically valuable. That itis by judgment that we discern the fitness of means for attaining an end is self-evi- dent ; and in this, | think all philosophers agree. But that it is the office of judgment to appreciate the value of an end, or the preference due to one end above another, is not granted by some philosophers. In determining what is good or ill, and, of different goods, which is best, they think we must be guided, not by judgment, but by some natural or acquired taste, which makes us relish one thing and dislike another. Thus, if one man prefers cheese to lobsters, another Icbsters to cheese, it is vain, say they, to apply judgment’ to determine which is right. In like manner, if one man prefers pleasure to virtue, another virtue to pleasure, this is a matter of taste, judg- ment has nothing to do init. This seems to be the opinion of some philosophers. I cannot help being of a contrary opinion. 1 think we may form a judgment both in the question about cheese and lob- sters, and in the more important question about pleasure and virtue. When one man feels a more agreeable relish in cheese, ano- ther in lobsters, this, I grant, requires no judgment ; it depends only upon the constitution of the palate. But, if we would de- termine which of the’ two has the best taste, I think the question must be determined by judgment; and that, with a small share of this faculty, we may give a very certain determination, to wit, that the two tastes are equally good, and that both of the persons do equally well, in preferring what suits their palate and their stomach. a od ESSAY IT. Nay, I apprehend, that the two persons who differ in their taste will, notwithstanding that difference, agree perfectly in their judgment, that both tastes are upon a footing of equality, and that neither has a just claim to preference. Thus it appears, that, in this instance, the office of taste is very different from that of judgment; and that men, who differ most in taste, may agree perfectly in their judgment, even with respect to the tastes wherein they differ. To make the other case parallel with this, it must be supposed, that the man of pleasure and the man of virtue agree in their judgment, and that neither sees any reason to prefer the one course of life to the other. If this be supposed, I shall grant, that neither of these per- sons has reason to condemn the other. Each chooses according to his taste, in matters which his best judgment rane 2 to be perfectly indifferent. But it is to be observed, that this supposition cannot have place, when we speak of men, or indeed of moral agents. The man who is incapable of perceiving the obligation of virtue, when he uses his best judgment, is a man in name, but not in reality. He is incapable either of virtue or vice, and is not a moral agent. Even the man of pleasure, when his judgment is suiihiatd: sees, that there are certain things which a man ought not to do, though he should have a taste for them. Ifa thief breaks into his house and carries off his goods, he is perfectly convinced that he did wrong and deserves punishment, although he had as strong a relish for the goods as he himself has for the pleasures he pursues. It is evident, that mankind, in all ages, have conceived two parts in the human constitution that may have influence upon our voluntary actions. These we call by the general names of passion and reason; and we shall find, in all languages, names that are equivalent. Under the former, we comprehend various principles of ac- tion, similar to those we observe in brute ani , and in men who have not the use of reason. Appetites, aft 5, passions, are the names by which they are denominated ; and these names are not so accurately distinguished in common ‘language: but that. they are used somewhat promiscuously. This, however, is common to them all, that they draw a man toward a certain object, without any further view, by a kind of violence ; a vio- lence which indeed may be resisted if the man is master of himself, but cannot be resisted without a struggle. Cicero’s phrase for expressing their influence is, “‘ Hominem huc et illuc rapiunt. »» Dr. Hutcheson uses a similar phrase, ‘* Quibus agitatur mens et bruto quodam impetu fertur.” There INPLUENCE OP MOTIVES UPON fHE WILL. di is no exercise of reason or judgment necessary in order to feel their influence. With regard to this part of the human constitution, I see no difference between the vulgar and philosophers. As to the other part of our constitution which is common- ly called reason, as opposed to passion, there have been very subtile disputes among modern philosophers, whether it ought to be called reason, or be not rather some internal sense or taste. Aas : Whether it ought to be called reason, or by what other name, I do not here inquire, but what kind of influence it has upon our voluntary actions. As to this point, | think, all men must allow, that this is the manly part of our constitution, the other the brute part. This operates in a calm and dispassionate manner ; a manner so like to judgment or reason, that even those who do not allow it to be called by that name, endeavour to account for its having always had the name; because, in the manner of its operation, it has a similitude to reason. Fae As the similitude between this principle and reason has led mankind to give it that name, so the dissimilitude between it and passion has led them to set the two in opposition. They have considered this cool principle, as having an influence upon our actions so different from passion, that what a man does coolly and deliberately, without passion, is imputed solely to the man, whether it have merit or demerit; whereas, what he does from passion is imputed in part to the passion. _If the passion be conceived to be irresistible, the action is imputed solely to it, and not at all to the man. If he had power to resist, and ought to have resisted, we blame him for not doing his duty ; but, in proportion to the violence of the passion, the fault is al- leviated. By this cool principle, we judge what ends are most worthy to be pursued, how far every appetite and passion may be indul- ged, and when it ought to be resisted. It directs us, not only to resist the impulse of passion when it would lead us wrong, but to avoid the occasions of inflaming it ; like Cyrus, who refused to see the beautiful captive princess. In this he acted the part both of a wise anda good man; firm in the love of virtue, and, at the same time, conscious of the weakness of human nature, and unwilling to put it to too severe a trial. In this case, the youth of Cyrus, the incomparable beauty of his captive, and every circumstance which tended to inflame his desire, exalts the merit of his conduct in resist- ing it. It is in such actions that the superiority of human nature ap- pears, and the specific difference between it and that of brutes. In them we may observe one passion combating another, and ‘ B24 ESSAY Il. the strongest prevailing; but we perceive no calm principle in their constitution that is superior to every passion, and able to give law to it. The difference between these two parts of our constitution may be further illustrated by an instance or two wherein passion prevails. If a man, upon great provocation, strike another when he ought to keep the peace, he blames himself for what he did, and acknowledges that he ought not to have yielded to his passion. Every other person agrees with his sober judgment. They think he did wrong in yielding to his passion, when he might and ought to have resisted its impulse. If they thought it im- possible to bear the provocation, they would not blame him at | all; but believing that it was in his power, and was his duty, they impute to him some degree of blame, acknowledging, at the same time, that it is alleviated in proportion to the provo- cation ; so that the trespass is imputed, partly to the man, and partly to the passion. But, if a man deliberately conceives a design of mischief against his neighbour, contrives the means, and executes it, the action admits of no alleviation, it is perfect- ly voluntary, and he bears the whole guilt of the evil intended and done. If a man, by the agony of the rack, is made to disclose a se- cret of importance, with which he is intrusted, we pity him more than we blame him. We consider, that such is the weak- ness of human nature that the resolution, even of a good man, might be overcome by sucha trial. But if he have strength of mind, which even the agony of the rack could not subdue, we admire his fortitude as truly heroical. Thus, | think, it appears, that the common sense of men, which, in matters of common life, ought to have great authority, has led them to distinguish two parts in the human constitution, which have influence upon our voluntary determinations. There is an irrational part, common to us with brute animals, consist- ing of appetites, affections, and passions; and there is a cool and rational part. The first, in many cases, gives a strong im- pulse, but without judgment and without authority. ‘The second is always accompanied with authority. All wisdom and virtue consist in following its dictates ; all vice and folly in disobeymg them. We may resist the impulses of appetite and passion, not only without regret, but with self-applause and triumph; but the calls of reason and duty can never be resisted, without remorse and self-condemnation. The ancient philosophers agreed with the vulgar, in making this distinction of the principles of action. The irrational part, the Greeks called épun. Cicero calls it appetitus, taking that word in an extensive sense, so as to include every propensity fo action which is not grounded on judgment. tNFLUENCE OF MOTIVES UPON THE WILL. 33) The other principle the Greeks called vous; Plato calls it the u yavesixov, OF leading principle. Duplex enim est vis animorum at- que nature,” says Cicero, “ una pars in appetitu posita est, que est opuy Greece, gue hominem huc et illuc rapit ; altera m ratione, que docet, et explanat, quid faciendum fugiendumve sit ; ita fit ul ratio presit, appetitus obtemperet.” The reason of explaining this distinction here is, that these two principles influence the will in different ways. . Their in- fluence differs, not in degree only, but in kind. This difference we feel, though it may be difficult to find words to express it. We may perhaps more easily form a notion of it by a simili- tude. ; It is one thing to push a man from one part of the room to another ; it is a thing of a very different nature to use arguments to persuade him to leave his place, and go to another. He may yield to the force which pushes him, without any exercise of his rational faculties; nay, he must yield to it, if he'do not Oppose an equal ora greater force. _ His liberty is impaired in some degree ; and, if he has not power sufficient to oppose, his liberty is quite taken away, and the motion cannot be imputed to him at all. The influence of appetite or passion seems to me to be very like to this. If the passion be supposed irresisti- ble, we impute the action to it solely, and not to the man. If he had power to resist, but yields after a struggle, we impute the action, partly to the man, and partly to the passion. If we attend to the other case, when the man is only urged by arguments to leave his place, this resembles the operation of the cool or rational principle. It is evident, that whether he yields to the arguments or not, the determination is wholly his own act, and is entirely to be imputed to him. Arguments, whatever be the degree of their strength, diminish not a man’s liberty ; they may produce a cool conviction of what we ought to do, and they can do nomore. But appetite and passion give an impulse to act and impair liberty in proportion to their strength. With most men, the impulse of passion is more effectual than bare conviction ; and, on this account, orators who would per- suade, find it necessary to address the passions, as well as to convince the understanding ; and, in all systems of rhetoric, these two have been considered as different intentions of the orater, and to be accomplished by different means. VOL. II. 8 fs ex te ESSAY Il. CHAPTER UL. \ j OF OPERATIONS OF MIND WHICH MAY BE CALLED VOLUNTARY. THE faculties of understanding and will are easily distinguish- ed in thought, but very rarely, if ever disjoined in operation. _ In most, perhaps in all the operations of mind for which we have names in language, both faculties are employed, and we are both intellective and active. ate Whether it be possible that-intelligence may exist without some degree of activity, or impossible, is perhaps beyond the reach of our faculties to determine ; but, 1 apprehend, that, in faet, they are always conjoined in the operations of our minds. It is probable, I think, that there is some degree of activity in those operations which we refer to the understanding ; accord- ingly, they have always, and in all languages, been expressed by active verbs ; as, I see, I hear, I remember, I apprehend, I judge, Treason. And it is certain, that every act of will must be ac- companied by some operation of the understanding ; for he that wills, must apprehend what he wills, and apprehension belongs to the understanding. The operations I am to consider in this chapter, I think have commonly been referred to the understanding ; but we shall find that the will has so great a share in them, that they may, with propriety, be called voluntary. They are these three, attention, deliberation, and fixed purpose, or resolution. Attention may be given to any object, either of sense or of in- tellect, in order to form a distinct notion of it, or to discover its nature, its attributes, or its relations, and so great is the effect of attention, that, without it, it is impossible to acquire or retain a distinct notion of any object of thought. If a man hear a discourse without attention, what does he car- ry away with him ? If he see St. Peter’s or the Vatican without attention, what account can he give of it? While two persons are engaged in interesting discourse, the clock strikes within their hearing, to which they give no attention; what is the conse- quence ? The next minute they know not whether the clock struck or not. Yet their ears were not shut. The usual im- pression was made upon the organ of hearing, and upon the auditory nerve and brain ; but from inattention the sound either “was not perceived, or passed in the twinkling of an eye, without leaving the least vestige in the memory. A man sees not whatis before his.eyes when his mind is occu- pled about another object. In the tumult of a battle a man may be shot through the body without knowing any thing of the mat- ter, till he discover it by the loss of blood or of strength. OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 5a The most acute sensation of pain may be deadened, if the at- tention can be vigorously directed to another object. A gen- tleman of my acquaintance, in the agony of a fit of the gout, used to call for a chess-board. As he was fond of that game, he acknowledged that, as the game advanced and drew his at- tention, the sense of pain abated, and the time seemed much shorter. Archimedes, it is said, being intent upon a mathematical pro- position, when Syracuse was taken by the Romans, knew not the calamity of the city, till a Roman soldier broke in upon his retirement, and gave him a deadly wound ; on which he lament- ed only that he had lost a fine demonstration. : - It is needless to multiply instances to show, that when one fa- culty of the mind is intensely engagedabout any object, the other faculties are laid as it were fast asleep. It may be further observed, that if there be any thing that can be called genius in matters of mere judgment and reasoning, it seems to consist chiefly in being able to give that attention to the subject which keeps it steady in the mind, till we can survey it accurately on all sides. There is a talent of imagination, which bounds from earth to heaven, and from heaven to earth ina moment. This may be favourable to wit and imagery ; but the powers of judging and reasoning depend chiefly upon keeping the mind to a clear and. steady view of the subject. Sir Isaac Newton, to one who complimented him upon the force of genius, which had made such improvements in mathe- matics and natural philosophy, is said to have made this reply, which was both modest and judicious, that, if he had made any improvements in those sciences, it was owing more to patient attention than to any other talent. Whatever be the effects which attention may produce, and I apprehend they are far beyond what is commonly believed, it is _ for the most part in our power. Every man knows that he can turn his attention to this sub- ject or to that, for a longer or a shorter time, and with more or less intenseness, as he pleases. It isa voluntary act, and de- pends upon his will. But what was before observed of the will in general, is appli- cable to this particular exertion of it, That the mind is rarely in a state of indifference, left to turn its attention to the object which to reason appears most deserving of it. There is, for the most part, a bias to some particular object, more than to any other ; and this, not from any judgment of its deserving our at- tention more, but from some impulse or propensity, grounded on nature or habit. It is well known that things new and uncommon, things grand, and things that are beautiful, draw our attention, not in propor- th yf 36 ESSAY. Ii. tion to the interest we have, or think we have in them, but in a much greater proportion. Whatever moves our passions or affections, draws our atten- tion, very often, more than we wish. You desire a man not to think of an unfortunate event which torments him. It admits of no remedy. The thought of it an- swers no purpose but to keep the wound bleeding. He is per- fectly convinced of all you say. He knows that he would not feel the affliction, if he could only not think of it ; yet he hard- ly thinks of any thing else. Strange! when happiness and mi- sery stand before him, and depend upon his choice, he chooses misery, and rejects happiness with his eyes open ! Yet he wishes to be happy, as all men do. How shall we reconcile this contradiction between his judgment and his con- duct ? _... The account of it seems to me to be this: the afflicting event draws his attention so strongly, by a natural and blind force, that he either has not the power, or has not the vigour of mind to re- sist its impulse, though he knows that to yield to it is misery, without any good to balance it. Acute bodily pain draws our attention, and makes it very dif- ficult to attend to any thing else, even when attention to the pain serves no other purpose but to aggravate it tenfold. The man who played a game at chess in the agony of the gouf, to engage his attention to another object, acted the reasonable part, and consulted his real happiness ; but it required a great effort to give that attention to his game, which was necessary to produce the effect intended by it. Even when there is no particular object that draws away our attention, there is a desultoriness of thought in man, and in some more than in others, which makes it very difficult togive that fixed attention to important objects which reason requires. It appears, I think, from what has been said, that the attention we give to objects, is for the most part voluntary : that a great part of wisdom and virtue consists in giving a proper direction to our attention; and that however reasonable this appears to the judgment of every man, yet, in some cases, it requires an effort of self-command no less than the most heroic virtues. Another operation that may be called voluntary, is delibera- tion about what we are to do, or to forbear. Every man knows that it is in his power to deliberate or not to deliberate about any part of his conduct ; to deliberate for a shorter, or a longer time, more carelessly, or more seriously: and when he has reason to suspect that his affection may bias his judgment, he may either honestly use the best means in his power to form an impartial judgment, or he may yield to his bias, and only seek arguments to justify what inclination leads him to do. In all these points, he determines, he wills, the right or the wrong. OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 5% ‘The general rules of deliberation are perfectly evident to rea- son when we consider them abstractly: ‘They are axioms in morals. : We ought not to deliberate in cases that are perfectly clear. No man deliberates whether he ought to choose happiness or misery. No honest man deliberates whether he shall steal his neighbour’s property. When the case is not clear, when it is of importance, and when there is time for deliberation, we ought to deliberate with more or less care, in proportion to the impor- tance of the action. In deliberation, we ought to weigh things in an even balance, and to allow to every consideration the weight which, in sober judgment, we think it ought to have, and no more. This is to deliberate impartially. Our deliberation should be brought to an issue in due time, so that we may not lose the opportunity of acting while we deliberate. The axioms of Euclid do not appear to me to have a greater degree of self-evidence, than these rules of deliberation. And as far as a man acts according to them, his heart approves of him, and he has confidence of the approbation of the Searcher of hearts. But though the manner in which we ought to deliberate be evident to reason, it is not always easy to follow it. Our appe- tites, our affections and passions, oppose all deliberation, but that which is employed in finding the means of their gratification. Avarice may lead to deliberate upon the ways of making money, but it does not distinguish between the honest and the dishonest. We ought surely to deliberate how far every appetite and passion may be indulged, and what limits should be set to it. But our appetites and passions push us on to the attainment of their objects, in the shortest road, and without delay. Thus it happens, that if we yield to their impulse, we shall efien transgress those rules of deliberation which reason ap- proves. In this conflict between the dictates of reason, and the blind impulse of passion, we must voluntarily determine. When we take part with our reason, though in opposition to passion, We approve of our own conduct. What we call a fault of ignorance, is always owing to the want of due deliberation. When we-do not take due pains to be rightly informed, there is a fault, not indeed in acting according to the light we have, but in not using the proper means to get light. For if we judge wrong after using the proper means of information, there is no fault in acting according to that wrong judgment; the error is invincible. The natural consequence of deliberation on any part of our conduct, is a determination how we shall act; and if it is not brought to this issue it is lost labour. There are two cases in which a determination may take place ; when the opportunity of putting it in execution is present, and when it is at a distance. A % het Dial as ESSAY Il. When the opportunity is present, the determination to act is immediately followed by the action. Thus, if a man determine to rise and walk, he immediately does it, unless he is hindered by force, or has lost the power of walking. And if he sit still when he has power to walk, we conclude infallibly, that he has not determined or willed to walk immediately. Our determination, or will to act, is not always the result of - deliberation, it may be the effect of some passion or appetite, without any judgmentinterposed. And when judgmentis inter- posed, we may determine and act either according to that judgment or contrary to it. _ When a man sits down hungry to dine, he eats from appetite, very often without exercising his judgment at all ; nature invites and he obeys the call, as the ox, or the horse, oras an infant does. When we converse with persons whom we love or respect, ‘we say and do civi] things merely from affection or from respect. They flow spontaneously from the heart, without requiring any judgment. In such cases we act as brute animals do, or as children before the use of reason. We feel an impulse in our nature, and we yield to il. Whena man eats merely from appetite, he does not consider . the pleasure of eating, or its tendency to health. These consi- derations are not in his thoughts. But we can suppose a man who eats with a view to enjoy the pleasure of eating. Such a man reasons and judges. He will take care to use the proper means of procuring an appetite. He will bea critic in tastes, and make nice discriminations. This man uses his rational faculties even in eating. And however contemptible this appli- cation of them may be, it is an exercise of which, I apprehend, brute animals are not capable. In like manner, a man may say, or do civil things to another, not from affection, but in order to serve some end by it, or because he thinks it his duty. To act with a view to some distant interest, or to act froma sense of duty, seems to be proper to man asa reasonable being ; but to act merely from passion, from appetite, or from affection, is common to him with the brute animals. In the last case there is no judgment required, but in the first there is. To act against what one judges to be for his real good upon the whole, is folly. To act against what he judges to be his duty, is immorality. It cannot be denied, that there are too many instances of bothin human life. Video meliora proboque, deterc- ora sequor, is neither an impossible, nor an unfrequent case. While a man does what he really thinks wisest and best to be done, the more his appetites, his affections and passions draw ~ him the contrary way, the more he approves of his own conduct, and the more he is entitled to the approbation of every rational! being. OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. pi) The third operation of mind I mentioned, which may be called voluntary, is, a fixed purpose or resolution, with regard to our future conduct. This naturally takes place, when any action, or course of action, about which we have deliberated, is not immediately to be executed, the occasion of acting being at some distance. A fixed purpose to do, some time hence, something which we believe shall then be in our power, is strictly and properly a determination of will, no less than a determination to do it instantly. Every definition of volition agrees to it. Whether the opportunity of doing what we have determined to do be present or at some distance, is an accidental circumstance which does not affect the nature of the determination, and no good reason can be assigned why it should not be called volition in the one case as well as in the other. A purpose, or resolution, therefore, is truly and properly an act of will. Our purposes are of ‘two kinds. We may call the one parti- cular, the other general. By a particular purpose, I mean that which has for its object an individual action, limited to one time and place; by a general purpose, that of a course or train of action, intended for some general end, or regulated by some general rule. Thus, | may purpose to go to London, next winter. When the time comes, I execute my purpose, if I continue of the same mind; and the purpose, when executed, is no more. Thus it is with every particular purpose. A general purpose may continue for life; and, after many particular actions have been done in consequence of it, may remain and regulate future actions. Thus, a young man purposes to follow the profession of law, of medicine, or of theology. This general purpose directs the course of his reading and study. It directs him in the choice of his company and companions, and even of his diversions. It determines his travels,and the place of his abode. It has influence upon his dread manners, and a considerable effect in forming his character. There are other fixed purposes which have a still greater effect in forming the character. I mean such as regard our moral conduct. Suppose a man to have exercised his intellectual and mora! faculties, so far as to have distinct notions of justice and injus- tice, and of the consequences of both, and, after due delibera- tion, to have formed a fixed purpose to adhere inflexibly to jus- tice, and never to handle the wages of iniquity. Is not this the man whom we should calla just man? We con- sider the moral virtues as inherent in the mind of a good man, even when there is no opportunity of exercising them. And whats it in the mind which we can call the virtue of justice, - A Ginoe 60 ESSAY {i- when it is not exercised? It can be nothing but a fixed purpose, or determination, to act according to the rules of justice, when there is opportunity. The}Roman law defined justice, 4 steady and perpetual will to give lo every man his due. Wherthe opportunity of doing jus- tice is not present, this can mean nothing else than a steady pur- pose, which is very properly called will. Such a purpose, if it is steady, will infallibly produce just conduct; for every known transgression of justice demonstrates a change of pur- pose, at least for that time. , What has been said of justice, may be so easily applied to every other moral virtue, that it is unnecessary to give instan- ces. They are all fixed purposes of acting according to a cer- tain rule. ri By this, the virtues may be easily distinguished, in thought at least, from natural affections that bear the same name. Thus, benevolence is a capital virtue, which, though not so necessary to the being of society, is entitled to a higher degree of appro- bation than even justice. But there is a natural affection of benevolence common to good and bad men, to the virtuous and to the vicious. How shall these be distinguished ? .. Inpractice, indeed, we cannot distinguish them in other men, ~ and with difficulty in ourselves ; but in theory, nothing is more easy. The virtue of benevolence is a fixed purpose or resolu- tion to do good when we have opportunity, from a conviction that it is right, and is our duty. The affection of benevolence is a propensity to do good, from natural constitution or habit, without regard to rectitude or duty. There are good tempers and bad, which are a part of the constitution of the man, and are really involuntary, though they often lead to voluntary actions. A good natural temper is not virtue, nor is a bad one vice. Hard would it be indeed to think that a man should be born under a decree of reprobation, he- cause he has the misfortune of a bad najprel temper. The physiognomist saw, in the features of Socrates, the signa- tures of many bad dispositions, which that good man acknow- ledged he felt within him ; but the triumph of his virtue was the greater in having conquered them. In men who have no fixed rules of conduct, no self-govern- ment, the natural temper is variable by numberless accidents, The man who is full of affection and benevolence this hour, when a cross accident happens to ruffle him, or perhaps when an easterly wind blows, feels a strange revolution in his temper. The kind and benevolent affections give place to the jealous and malignant, which are as readily indulged in their turn, and for ihe same reason, because he feels a propensity to indulge them. We may observe, that men who have exercised their rational powers, are generally governed in their opinions by fixed prin- i VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS, 61 ciples of belief; and men who have made the greatest advance in self-government, are governed, in their practice, by general ' fixed purposes. Without the former, there would be no steadi- ness and consistence in our belief; nor without the latter, in our conduct. When a man is come to years of understanding; from his education, from his company, or from his study, he forms to him- self aset of general principles, a creed, which governs his judg- ment in particular points that occur. If new evidence be laid before him which tends to overthrow any of his received principles, it requires in hima great degree of candour and love of truth, to give it an impartial examina- tion, and to form a new judgment. Most men, when they are fixed in their principles, upon what they account sufficient evi- dence, can hardly be drawn into a new and serious examination of them | : ; They get a habit of believing them, which is strengthened by repeated acts, and remains immoveable, even when the evi- dence upon which their belief was at first grounded, is forgot. It is this, that makes conversions, either from religious or poli- tical principles, so difficult. A mere prejudice of education sticks fast, as a proposition of Euclid does with a man who has long ago forgot the proof. Both indeed are upon a similar footing. We rest in both, because we have long done so, and think we received them at first upon - good evidence, though that evidence be quite forgot. When we know a man’s principles, we judge by them, rather than by the degree of his understanding, how he will determine in any point which is connected with them. Thus, the judgment of most men who judge for themselves is governed by fixed principles; and, I apprehend, that the con- duct of most men who have any self-government, and any con- ‘sistency of conduct, is governed by fixed purposes. A man of breeding may, in his natura! temper, be proud, pas- sionate, revengeful, and in his morals a very bad man; yet, in good company, he can stifle every passion that is inconsistent with good breeding, and be humane, modest, complaisant, even to those whom in his heart he despises or hates. Why is this man, who can command all his passions before company, aslave to them in private ? The reason is plain: he has a fixed resolu- tion to be a man of breeding, but has no such resolution to be aman of virtue. He has combated his most violent passions a thousand times before he became master of them in company. The same resolution and perseverance would have given him the command of them when alone. A fixed resolution retains its influence upon the conduct, even when the motives to it are not in view, in the same manner as a fixed principle retains its influence upon the belief, when VOL. HI. 9 1 a Ps) “ Rar # 62 ESSAY Il. ithe evidence of it is forgot. The former may be called a habit. of the will, the latter a habit of the understanding. By such habits chiefly, men are governed in their opinions, and in their practice. A man who has no general fixed purposes, may be: said, as Pope says of most women, I hope unjustly, to have no character at all. He will be honest or dishonest, benevolent, or malicious, compassionate or cruel, as the tide of his passions and affections drives him. This however, J believe, is the case of but a few in advanced life, and these, with regard to conduct, the weakest and most contemptible of the species. fad Oe A man of some constancy may change his general purposes once or twice in life, seldom more. From the pursuit of plea- sure in early life, he may change to that of ambition, and from ambition to avarice. But every man who uses his reason in the conduct of life, will have some end, to which he gives a pre- ference above all others. To this he steers his course ; his pro- jects and his actions will be regulated by it. Without this, there would be no consistency in his conduct. He would be like a ship in the ocean, which is bound to no port, under no govern- ment, but Jeft to the mercy of winds and tides. We observed before, that there are moral rules respecting the attention we ought to give to objects, and respecting our deli- berations, which are no less evident than mathematical axioms. The same thing may be observed with respect to our fixed pur- poses, whether particular or general. . Is it not self-evident, that, after due deliberation, we ought to yesolye upon that conduct, or that course of conduct, which, to our sober judgment, appears to be best and most approvable ? That we ought to be firm and steady in adhering to such resolu- tions, while we are persuaded that they are right; but open to conviction, and ready to change our course, when we have good evidence thatit is wrong? Shona}, Fickleness, inconstancy, facility, on the one hand, wilfulness, inflexibility, and obstinacy, on the other, are moral qualities, respecting our purposes, which every one sees to be wrong. A manly firmness, grounded upon rational conviction, is the proper mean which every man approves and reveres. ; 63. CHAPTER IV. COROLLARIES. FROM what has been said conceraing the will, it appears, Ist, that, assome acts of the will are transient and momentary, so others are permanent, and may continue for a Jou ume, or even through the whole course of our rational life. When I will to stretch out my hand, that will is at an end as soon as the action is done. It is anact of the will which begins . and ends ina moment. But when I will to attend to a mathe- matical proposition, to examine the demonstration and the con- sequences that may be drawn from it, this will may continue for hours. It must continue as long as my attention contiaues ; for no man attends to a mathematical proposition longer than he wills. The same thing may be said of deliberation, with regard either to any point of conduct, or with regard to any general course of conduct. We will to deliberate as long as we do de- liberate ; and that may be for days or for weeks. A purpose or resolution, which we have shown to be an act of the will, may continue fora great part of life, or for the whole, after we are of age to form a resolution. Thas, a merchant may resolve, that, after he has made such a fortune by tratiic, he will give it up, and retire to a country life. He may continue this resolution for thirty or forty years, and execute it at last; but he continues it no longer thaa he wills, for he may at any time change his resolution. There are, therefore, acts of the will, which are not transient and momentary, which may continue long and grow into a habit. This deserves the more to be observed, because a very eminent philosopher has advanced a,contrary principle ; to wit, that all the actsof the will are transient and momentary ; and from that principle has drawn very important conclusions, with regard to what constitutes the moral character of man. A second corollary is, that nothing in a man, wherein the will is not concerned, can justly be accounted either virtuous or immoral. Ste That no blame can be imputed toa man for what is altogether involuntary, is so evident in itself, that no arguments can make it more evident. The practice of all criminal courts, in all enlightened nations is founded upon it. If it should be thought an objection to this maxim, that by the laws of all nations, children often suffer for the crimes of parents, in which they had no hand the answer is easy. For, first, Such is the connexion between parents and child- {= = 64 ESSAY Ii. ren, that the pumshment of a parent must hurt his children whether the law will or not. If a man is fined, or imprisoned ; if he loses life, or limb, or estate, or reputation, by the hand of justice, his children suffer by necessary consequence. 2dly, When laws intend to appoint any punishment of innocent child- ren for the father’s crime, such laws are either unjust, or they are to be considered as acts of police, and not of jurisprudence, and are intended as an expedient to deter parents more effect- ually from the commission of the crime. The innocent child- ren, in this case, are sacrificed to the public good, in like manner, as, to prevent the spreading of the plague, the sound are shut up with the infected in a house or ship, that has the infection. By the law of England, if a man is killed by an ox goring him, or a cart running over him, though there be no fault or neglect ing in the owner, the ox or the cart is a deodand, and is confiscated to the church. The legislature surely did not intend to punish ©» the ox as a crminal, far less the cart. The intention evidently aig ® to inspire the people with a sacred regard to the life of p> Age po fd When the Parliament of Paris, witha similar intention, ordain- . ed the house in which Ravilliac was born, to be razed to the ground, and never to be rebuilt, it would be great weakness to conclude, that that wise judicature intended to punish the a house. a a If any judicature should, in any instance, find a man guilty, and an object of punishment, for what they allowed to be alto- gether involuntary, all the world would condemn them as men who knew nothing of the first and most fundamental rules of justice. A I have endeavoured to show, that, in our attention to objects, in order to forma mght judgment of them; in our deliberation about particular actions, or about general rules of conduct; in our purposes and resolutions, as well as in the execution of them, the will has a principal share. If any man could be found, who, _in the whole course of his life, had given due attention to things ~ that concern him, had deliberated duly and impartially about his conduct, had formed his resolutions, and executed them accord- ing to his best judgment and capacity, surely such a man might _ hold up his face before God and man, and plead innocence. He must be acquitted by the impartial Judge, whatever his natural temper was, whatever his passions and affections, as far as they were involuntary. A third corollary is, that all virtuous habits, when we distinguish them from virtuous actions, consist in fixed purposes of acting according to the rules of virtue, as often as we haye oppor- tunity. ; We can conceive in a man a greater ora less degree of steadi- 2 “e COROLLARIES. ig) 65 ess to his purposes or resolutions ; but that the general tenor of his conduct should be contrary, to them is impossible. The man who has a deteru.ined resolution to do his duty in every instance, and who adheres steadily to his resolution, is a perfect man. The man who has a determined purpose of carrying on a course 2 of action which he knows to be wrong, 18 a hardened offender. Between these extremes there are many " intermediate degrees of virtue and vice. 4% mag a ESSAY III. i Oeics OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. = = : - - =o / PART L OF THE MECHANICAL PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. CHAPTER I. OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION IN GENERAL. IN the strict philosophical sense, nothing can be called the action of aman, but what he previously conceived and willed, or determined to do. In morals we commonly employ the word in this sense, and never impute any thing toa man as his doing, in which his will was not interposed. “But when moral imputa- tion is not concerned, we call many things actions of the man, which he neither previously conceived nor willed. Hence the actions of men have been distinguished into three classes, the voluntary, the involuntary, and the mixed. By the last are meant such actions as are under the command of the will, but are commonly performed without any interposition of will. We cannot avoid using the word action in this popular sense, without deviating too much from the common use of language ; and it is in this sense we use it when we inquire into the princi- ples of action in the human mind. wey i By principles of action, I understand every thing that incites us to act. Pn: b ty : Sc ois i DOW 3 CAT (his 1 Seniod ; i ' * Li . e? . ’ . * P Hut Oueh ay - 1D: i) a OF, ey , 5 " : INO Ov , MO Hy i & bas : un $ “uly avy.o ee A TE) OW i ot tas Peery 54 4 - La ‘i % itera Fete AE Westen eouleees °'i ee ESSAY Ill. OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. : PART II. OF THE RATIONAL PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. weer —_ CHAPTER I. THERE ARE RATIONAL PRINCIPLES OF ACTION IN MAN. MECHANICAL principles of action produce their effect without any will or intention on our part. We may, by a voluntary effort, hinder the effect ; but if it be not hindered by will and effort, it is produced without them. Animal principles of action require intention and will in their operation, but not judgment. They are, by ancient moralists, very properly called cece cupidines, blind desires. Having treated of these two classes, I proceed to the third, the rational principles of action in man ; which have that name, because they can have no existence in beings not endowed with i ason, and, in all their exertions, require, not only intention and will, but judgment or reason. That talent which we call reason, by which men that are adult and of a sound mind, are distinguished from brutes, idiots, and infants, has, in all ages, among the learned and unlearned, been conceived to have two offices, to regulate our belief, and to regulate our actions and conduct. Whatever we believe, we think agreeable to reason, and, on that account, yield our assent to it. Whatever we disbelieve, we think contrary to reason, and, on that account, dissent from it. Reason therefore is allowed to be the principle by which our belief and opinions ought to be regulated. But reason has been no less universally conceived to be a principle, by which our actions ought to be regulated. 136 PSSAY Ile To act reasonably, is a phrase no less common in all Jan- guages, than to judge reasonably. We immediately approve of a man’s conduct, when it appears that he had good reason for what he did. And every action we disapprove, we think unreasonable, or contrary to reasons " 418 ved A way of speaking so universal among men, common to the learned and the unlearned in all nations, and in all languages, must have a meaning. To suppose it to be words without meaning, is to treat, with undue contempt, the commom sense of mankind. Supposing this phrase to have a meaning, we may consider in what way reason may serve to regulate human conduct, so that some actions of men are to be denominated reasonable, and others unreasonable. ‘ I take it for granted, that there can be no exercise of reason without judgment, nor, on the other hand, any judgment of things abstract and general, without some degree of reason. If, therefore, there be any principies of action in the human constitution, which, in their nature, necessarily imply such judgment, they are the principles which we may call rational, to distinguish them from animal principles, which imply desire, and will, but not judgment. bj Every deliberate human action must be done either as the means, or as an end; as the means to some end, to which it is subservient, or as an end, for its own sake, and without regard. to any thing beyond it. ; iotyiotl fi That it is a part of the office of reason to determine, what are the proper means to any end which we desire, no man ever denied. But some philosophers, particularly Mr. Hume; think that it is no part of the office of reason to determine the ends we ought to pursue, or the preference due to one end above another. This, he thinks, is not the office of reason, but of taste or feeling. - ; iy hin If this be so, reason cannot, with any propriety, be called a Th, principle of actian. Its office can only be to minister to the principles of action, by discovering the means of their gratifi- cation. Accordingly, Mr. Hume maintains, that reason is no principle of action; but that it is, and ought to be, the servant of the passions. Hy hv r?ysS ee I shall endeavour to show, that, among the various ends/of human actions, there are some, of which, without reason, we could not even form a conception; and that, as soon as they are conceived, a regard to them is, by our constitution; not only a principle of action, but a leading and governing principle, to which all our animal principles are subordinate, and to which they ought to be subject. 1 dee AP Ad Bhi fo Me » These J shall call rational principles ; because they can exist — only in beings endowed with reason, and because, to act from OF BEGARD TO OVE GOOD ON THE WHOLE. 137 these principles, is what has always been meant by acting according to reason. » ‘Phe ends of human actions ‘I have in view, are two, to wit, ‘what is good for us upon the whole, and what appears to be our duty. They are very strictly connected, lead to the same course of conduct, and co-operate with each other; and, on that ac- count, have commonly been comprehended under one name, that of reason. But as they may be disjoined, and are really distinct principles of action, I shall consider them separately. CHAPTER I, OF REGARD TO OUR GOOD ON THE WHOLE. - IT will not be denied, that man, when he comes to years of understanding, is led by his rational nature, to form the concep- tion of what is good for him upon the whole. How early in life this general notion of good enters into the mind, I cannot pretend to determine. It is one of the most general and abstract notions we form. Whatever makes a'‘man more happy, or more perfect, is good, and is an object of desire as soon as we are capable of forming -the conception of it. The contrary is ill, and is an object of aversion. In the first part of life, we have many enjoyments of various kinds, but very similar to those of brute animals. ~ They consist in the exercise of our senses and powers of mo- tion, the gratification of our appetites, and the exertions of our kind affections. These are chequered with many evils of pain, and fear, and disappointment, and sympathy with the sufferings of others. ~ But the goods and evils of this period of life, are of short duration, and soon forgot. The mind being regardless of the past, and unconcerned about the future, we have then no other measure of good but the present desire; no other measure of evil but the present aversion. Every animal desire has some particular and present object, and looks not beyond‘that object to its consequences, or to the connexions it may have with other things. ' The present object, which is most attractive, or excites the strongest desire, determines the choice, whatever be its conse- quences. The present evil that presses most, is avoided, though it should be the road toa greater good to come, or the only way to escape a greater evil.. This is the way in which brutes act. wat 33 29 138 ‘ ESsA¥ 111. and the way in which men must act, till they come to the use of reason. ( LOOP eNSadee to cote As we grow up to understanding, we extend our view. forward and backward. We reflect upon what is past, and, by the lamp of experience, discern what will probably | happen in time to come. We find that many things which we,eagerly desired, were too dearly purchased; and that things grievous for the present, like nauseous medicines, may be salutary in the issue. iW DOM aseoto ’ We learn to observe the connexions of | things, and the conse- quences of our actions ; and, taking an extended | view of our existence, past, present, and ‘future, we correct our first notions _ of good and ill, and form the conception of what is good or ill upon the wholes which must be estimated, not from the present feeling, or from the present animal desire or aversion, but from a due consideration of its consequences, contain ppopeebéhler during the whole of our existence. 1 a 19h91q oT That which, taken with all its dienhencealaia connexions and consequences, brings more good than ill, ib call good upon the whole. ‘ mm adn Hite 3% be That brute animals have any rahainptiel of this good, I see no reason to believe. And it is evident, that man Cannot haye the conception of ‘it, till reason be so fie advanced, that he.can seriously reflect upon the past, and takea prospect of the future part of his existence. ‘tal deol ont apd It appears therefore, that the very conception dif! what is good or ill for us upon the whole, is the offspring of reason, and can be only in beings endowed with reason. | And if) this conception give rise to any principle of action in‘man, which he had ‘not before, that principle may very peopenyy by called a rational principle of action. 26 9 shqip I pretend not in this to say any thing that i is new, but, wl reason suggested to those who first turned their attention to the philosophy of morals.’ I beg leave to quote one passage | from Cicero, in his first book of Offices ; wherein, ith his usual ele- gance, he expresses the substance of what I haye said. And there is good reason to think that Cicero borrowed. it, from Panetius, a Greek philosopher, whose books of Offices. are lost. | JW Of BHO Sak “Sed inter hominem et belluam:hoc anctal ‘interest, quod hae tantum quantum sensu movetur, ad id solum quod adest, quodque praesens est se accommodat, paululum-admodum sen- tiens preteritum aut futurum: ‘Homo autem quoniam. rationis est particeps, per quam consequentia cernit, causasmerum videt, earumque pregressus et quasi antecessiones non jignorat ; 3 Simi- litudines comparat, et rebus przsentibus adjun annectit futuras ; facile totius vite cursum videtnaskas meg; Regsadam preparat res necessarias.’’ Sf hat — OF REGARD TO 6UR GOOD ON THE WHOLE. 139 . bobserve, in the newt place, that as soon as we have the con- ception of what is good or ill for us upon the whole, we are led, by our constitution, to seek the good and avoid the ill; and this becomes, not only a principle of action, but a leading or govern- ing principle, to which’all our animal principles ought to be subordinate. Me Quid yee ted) bad aH | aime 62 1 am very apt to think, with Dr. Price, that) in intelligent beings, the desire of what is good, and aversion to what is ill, is necessarily connected with the intelligent nature ; and that it is a contradiction to suppose such a being to have the notion of good without the desire of it, or the notion of ill without aver- sion to it. Perhaps there may be other necessary connexions between understanding and the best principles of action, which our faculties are too weak to discern. That they are necessa- rily connected in him who is perfect in understanding, we have good reason to believe. ; . To prefera greater good, though distant, to a less that is pre- sent ; to choose a present evil, in order to avoid a greater evil, orto obtain a greater good, is, inthe judgment of all men, wise and reasonable conduct ; and, when a man acts the contrary part, all men will acknowledge, that he acts foolishly and unrea- sonably. Nor will it be denied, that, in innumerable cases in common life, our animal principles draw us one way, while a regard to what is good on the whole, draws us the contrary way. Thus the flesh lusteth against the spirit, and the spirit against the flesh, and these two are contrary. That in every conflict of this kind the rational principle ought to prevail, and the animal to be subordinate, is too evident to need, or to admit of proof. Thus, I think, it appears, that to pursue what is good upon the whole, and to avoid what is ill upon the whole, is a rational principle of action, grounded upon our constitution as reason- able creatures. It appears that it is not without just cause, that this princi- ple of action has in all ages been called reason, in opposition to our animal principles, which in common language are called by the general name of the passions. The first not only operates in a calm and cool manner, like reason, but implies real judgment in all its operations. The second, to wit, the passions, are blind desires, of some particu- lar object, without any judgment or consideration, whether it be good for us upon the whole, orill. Lats It appears also, that the fundamental maxim of prudence and of all good morals, that the passions ought, in all cases, to be under the dominion of reason, is not only self-evident, when rightly understood, but is expressed according to the common use’and propriety of language. - | The contrary maxim, maintained by Mr. Hume, can only be defended by a gross and palpable abuse of words. For, in 140 ESSAY Ill. P important part of it, by which we are able to discer pursue what appears to be good upon the whole. And including the most important part of reason under To judge of what is true or false in speculative points, is the office of speculative reason; and to judge of what is good or ill for us upon the whole, is the-office of practical reason. . Of true and false there are no degrees; but of good and «ill there are many degrees, and many kinds ; and men are very apt, to form erroneous opinions concerning them; misled by their pas- sions, by the authority of the multitude, and by other causes. Wise men, in all ages, have reckoned it achief point of -wis- _ dom, to make a right estimate of the goodsand evils of life. They have laboured to discover the errors of the multitude on this important point, and to warn others against them. The ancient moralists, though divided into sects, all agreed in this, that opinion has a mighty influence upon what wecom- monly account the goods and ills of life, to alleviate or to ag-. gravate them. anne La Kees 4 The Stoics carried this so far, as to conclude that they all de- pended on opinion. Weta ‘Yroanfig was a favourite maxim with them. toa, 2 We see, indeed, that the same station or condition of life, which makes one man happy, makes another miserable, and to a third is perfectly indifferent. _We see men miserable through life, from vain fears, and anxious desires, grounded solely upon wrong opinions. We see men wear themselves out with toil- some days, and sleepless nights, in pursuit of some object which they never attain; or which, when attained, gives little satisfac- tion, perhaps real disgust. - _ The evils of life, which every man must feel, have a,very different effect upon different men. What sinks one into despair and absolute misery, rouses the virtue and magnanimity of another, who bears it as the lot of humanity, and as the discipline of a wise and merciful Father in heaven. He rises superior to adversity, and is made wiser and better by it, and consequently . happier. as iiates! it is therefore of the last importance, in the conduet of life, to, have just opinions with respect to good and evil; andsurely itis the province of reason to correct wrong opinions, and to lead _ us into those that are just and true. 12 Jt is true indeed, that men’s passions and appetites, too offen . YHE TENDENCY OF THIS PRINCIPHR. 14] draw them to act contrary to their cool judgment and opinion of what is best forthem. Video meliora proboque, deteriora, sequor, is the case in every wilful deviation from our true interest, and our duty. When this is the case, the man is self-condemned, he sees that he acted the part of a brute, when he ought to have acted the part of aman. He is convinced that reason ought to have re- strained his passion, and not to have given the rein to it. When he feels the bad effects of his conduct, he imputes them to himself, and would be stung with remorse for his folly, though he had no account to make toasuperior Being. He has sinned against himself, and brought upon his own head the punishment which his folly deserved. From this we may see, that this rational principle of a regard to our good upon the whole, gives us the conception of a right and a wrong in human conduct, at least of a wise and a foolish. It produces a kind of self-approbation, when the passions and appetites are kept in their due subjection to it; and a kind of remorse and compunction, when it yields to them. In these respects, this principle is so similar to the moral principle, or conscience, and so interwoven with it, that both are commonly comprehended under the name of reason. This | similarity led many of the ancient philosophers, and some among the moderns, to resolve conscience, ora sense of duty, entirely into a regard to what is good for us upon the whole. That they are distinct principles of action, though both lead to the same conduct in life, I shall have occasion to show, when I come to treat of conscience. » neues: —— CHAPTER Ill. THE TENDENCY OF THIS PRINCIPLE. IT has been the opinion of the wisest men, in all ages, that this principle, of a regard to our good upon the whole, in a man duly enlightened, leads to the practice of every virtue. This was acknowledged, even by Epicurus ; and the best moralists among the ancients derived all the virtues from this principle. For, among them, the whole of morals was reduced to this question. What is the greatest good ? Or what course of conduct is best for us upon the whole ? In order to resolve this question, they divided goods into three classes, the goods of the body; the goods of fortune, or external goods ; and the goods of the mind ; meaning, by the last, wisdom and virtue. VOL. III. 19 142 = ESSAY Ijfe Comparing these different classes of goods, they showed, with convincing evidence, that the goods of the mind are, in many respects, superior to those of the body and of fortune, not only as they have more dignity, are more durable, and less exposed to the strokes of fortune, but chiefly as they are the only goods in our power, and which depend wholly on our conduct. Epicurus himself maintained, that the wise man may be happy in the tranquillity of his mind, even when racked with pain, and struggling with adversity. They observed very justly, that the goods of fortune, and even those of the body, depend much on opinion; and that, when our opinion of them is duly corrected by reason, we shall find them of small value in themselves. How can he be happy who places his happiness in things which it is not in his power to attain, or in things from which, when attained, a fit of sickness, or a stroke of fortune, may tear him asunder. ie The value we put upon things, and our uneasiness in the want of them, depend upon the strength of our desires ; correét the desire, and the uneasiness ceases. _ The fear of the evils of body and of fortune, is often a greater evil than the things we fear. As the wise man moderates his desires by temperance, so, to real or imaginary dangers, he opposes the shield of fortitude and magnanimity, which raises him above himself, and makes him happy and triumphant in those moments wherein others are most miserable. These oracles of reason led the Stoics so far as to maintain, that all desires and fears, with regard to things not in our power, ought to be totally eradicated ; that virtue is the only good ; that what we call the goods of the body and of fortune, are really things indifferent, which may, according to circumstances, prove good or ill, and therefore have no intrinsic goodness in them- selves ; that’our sole business ought to be, to act our part well, and to do what is right, without the least concern about things not in our power, which we ought, with perfect acquiescence, to leave to the care of him who governs the world. This noble and elevated conception of human wisdom and duty was taught by Socrates, free from the extravagancies which the Stoics afterward joined with it. We see it in the Alcibiades of Plato ;, from which Juvenal has taken it in his tenth satire, and adorned it with the graces of poetry. 54 Omnibus in terris que sunt a Gadibus usque Auroram et Gangen, pauci dignoscere possunt Vera bona, atque illis multum diversa, remota Erroris nebula. Quid enim ratione {imemus ? Aut cupimus ? Quid tam dextra pede concupis utte Conatus non peeniteat, votique peracti ? Nil ergo optabunt homines ? Si consilium vis, Permittes ipsis expendere numinibus, quid 68 eS etn, ho THE TENDENCY OF THIS PRINGIPLE. 143 Conveniat nobis, rebusque sit utile nostris. Nam pro jucundis aptissima queque dabuot Dii. Charior est illis homo quam sibi. Nos animorum Impulsu, et ceca magnaque cupidine ducti, Conjagium petimus, partumque uxoris ; at illis Notum qui pueri, qualisque futura sit uxor. Fortem posce animum, et mortis terrore carentem, Qui spatium vite extremum inter munera ponat Nature ; qui ferre queat quoscunque labores, Nesciat irasci, cupiat nihil, et poticres HeRcuLes 2rumnas credat, savosque labores Et venere, et ccenis, et plumis, SaRpInaPAcr. Monstro quid ipse tibi possis dare. Semita certe Tranquille per virtutem patet unica vite. Nullum numen abest si sit prudentia ; sed te Nos facimus fortuna Deam, ceeloque locamus. Even Horace, in his serious moments, falls into this system. Nil admirari, prope res est una Numici, _ Solaque que possit facere et servare beatum. We cannot but admire the Stoical system of morals, even when we think, that, in some points, it went beyond the pitch of human nature. The virtue, the teinperance, the fortitude, and magnanimity of some who sincerely embraced it, amidst all the flattery of sovereign power and the luxury of a court, will be — everlasting monuments to the honour of that system, aa to the .: honour of human nature. That a due regard to what is best for us upon the whole, in an enlightened mind, leads to the practice of every virtue, may be argued from considering what we think best for those for whom we have the strongest affection, and whose good we tender as ourown. In judging for ourselves, our passions and appetites are apt to bias our judgment ; but when we judge for mek this bias is removed, and we judge impartially. What is it then that a wise man would wish as the creategl coo to a brother, a son, or a friend ? Is it that he may spend his life in a constant round of the pleasures of sense, and fare sumptuously every day? No, surely ; we wish him to be a man of real virtue and worth. We may wish for him an honourable station in life ; but only with this condition, that he acquit himself honourably i in it, and acquire just reputation, by being useful to his country and to mankind. We would a thousand times rather wish him honour- ably to undergo the labours of Hercules, than to dissolve in pleasure with Sardinapalus. Such would be the wish of every man of understanding for ‘the friend whom he loves as his own soul. Such things, there- fore, he judges to be best for him upon the whole ; and if he judges otherwise for himself, it is only because his judgment is perverted by animal passions and desires. Whew ~ yee ~ % ip 144. ESSAY 11. The sum of what has been said in these three chapiers amounts to this: - There is a principle of action in men that are adult and of a sound mind, which, in all ages, has been called reason, and set in opposition to the animal principles which we call the passions. The ultimate object of this principle is what we judge to be good upon the whole. This is not the object of any of our animal principles, they being all directed to particular objects, _ without any comparison with others, or any consideration of their being good or ill upon the whole. What is good upon the whole cannot even be conceived without the exercise of reason, and therefore cannot be an object to beings that have not some degree of reason. As soon as we have the conception of this object, we are led, - by our constitution, to desire and pursue it. It justly claims a preference to all objects of pursuit that can come in competition withit. In preferring it to any gratification that opposes it, or in submitting to any pain or mortification which it requires, we act according to reason; and every such action is accompanied ») with self-approbation, and the approbation of mankind. | The contrary actions are accompanied with shame and self-condem- nation in the agent, and with contempt in the spectator, as foolish and unreasonable. The right application of this principle to our conduct requires an_ extensive prospect of human life, and a correct judgment and estimate of its goods and evils, with respect to their intrinsic worth and dignity, their constancy and duration, and their attainableness. He must be a wise man indeed, if any such man ~ there be, who can perceive, in every instance, or even in every important instance, what is best: for him upon the whole, if he have no other rule to direct his conduct. Anidh od gts However, according to the best judgment which wise men have been able to form, this principie leads to the practice of every virtue. It leads directly to thervirtues of prudence, tem-* perance, and fortitude.» ty And when we consider ourselves as social createres, whose happiness or misery is very much connected with that of our fellow-men ; when we consider, that there are many benevolent affections planted in our constitution, whose exertions make a capital part of our good and enjoyment ; from these considera- tions, this principle leads us also, though more indirectly, tothe practice of justice, humanity, and all the social virtues. It is true, that a regard to our own good cannot, of itself, produce any benevolent affection. But, if such affections be a part of our constitution, and if the exercise of them make a capital part of our happiness, a regard to our own good ought to lead us to cultivate and exercise them, as every benevolent affection makes the good of others to be our own. 14 CHAPTER IV. DEFECTS OF THIS PRINCIPLE. HAVING explained the nature of this principle of action, and shown in general the tenor of conduct to which it leads, I » shall conclude what relates to it, by pointing out some of its defects, if it be supposed, as it has been by some philosophers, to be the only regulating principle of human conduct. Upon that supposition, it would neither bea sufficiently plain rule of conduct, nor would it raise the human character to that degree of perfection of which it is capable, nor would it yield so much real happiness as when it is joined with another rational principle of action, to wit, a disinterested regard to duty. ist, | apprehend the greater part of mankind can neverattain such extensive views of human life, and so correct a judgment of good and ill, as the right application of this principle requires. The authority of the poet before quoted is of weight in this oint ‘Pauci dignoscere possunt vera bona, remota erroris nebula.” The ignorance of the bulk of mankind concurs with the strength of their passions, to lead them into error in this most important point. Every man, in his calm moments, wishes to know what is best — for him on the whole, andto doit. But the difficulty of disco- vering it clearly, amid such variety of opinions, and the impor- tunity of present desires, tempt men to give over the search, and to yield to the present inclination. Though philosophers and moralists have taken much laudable pains to correct the errors of mankind in this great point, their instructions are known to few ; they have little influence upon the greater part of those to whom they are known, and some- times little even upon the philosopher himself. Speculative discoveries gradually spread from the knowing to the ignorant, and diffuse themselves over all; so that, with re- gard to them, the world, it may be hoped, willfstill be growing wiser. But the errors of men, with regard to what is truly good or ill, after being discovered and refuted in every age, are still prevalent. Men stand in need of a sharper monitor to their duty than a dubious view of distant good.%There is reason to believe, that a present sense of duty bas, in many cases, a stronger influ- ence than the apprehension of distant good would have of itself. And it cannot be doubted, that a sense of guilt and demerit is a more pungent reprover than the bare apprehension of haying mistaken our true interest. ° The brave soldier, in exposing himself to danger and death, - they produce moral obligation in those that are subject to them, and disobedience is a crime deserving punishment. But if the ee ae ee ee ee ee y LIBERTY CONSISTENT WITH GOVERNMENY. 197 obedience be impossible ; if the transgression be necessary ; it is self-evident, that there can be no moral obligation to what is impossible, that there can be no crime in yielding to neces- sity, and that there can be no justice in punishing a person for what it was not in his power to avoid. ‘These are first prin- ciples in morals, and to every unprejudiced mind, as self-evident as the axioms of mathematics. ‘The whole science of morals must stand or fall with them. Having thus explained the nature both of mechanical and of moral government, the only kinds of government I am able to conceive, it is easy to see how far liberty or necessity agrees with either. On the one hand, 1 acknowledge, that necessity agrees per- fectly with mechanical government. This kind of government is most perfect when the governor is the sole agent ; every thing done is the doing of the governor only. The praise of every thing well done is his solely ; and his is the blame if there be any thing ill done, because he is the sole agent. It is true that, in common language, praise or dispraise is ofter metaphorically given to the work ; but, in propriety, it belongs solely tothe author. [very workman understands this perfectly, and takes to himself very justly the praise or dispraise of his own work. On the other hand, it is no less evident, that, on the supposi- tion of necessity in the governed, there can be no moral govern- ment. ‘There can be neither wisdom nor equity in prescribing laws that cannot be obeyed. There canbe no moral obligation upon beings thathave no active power. There can be nocrime in not doing what it was impossible to do; nor can there be jus- tice in punishing such omission. If we apply these theoretical principles to the kinds of ge- vernment which do actually exist, whether human or divine, we shall find that, among men, even mechanical government is im- perfect. Men do not make the matter they work upon. Its various kinds, and the qualities belonging to each kind, are the work of God. The laws of nature, to which it is subject, are the work of God. The motions of the atmosphere and of the sea, the heat and_cold of the air, the rain and wind, which are useful in- struments in most human operations, are not in our power. S® that, in all the machanical productions of men, the work is more to be ascribed to God than to man. — ee Civil government among men is a species of moral govern- ment, but imperfect, as its lawgivers and its judges are. Human laws may be unwise or unjust ; human judges may be partial or unskilful. But in all equitable civil governments, the maxims of moral government above mentioned, are acknowledged as rules which ought never to be violated. Indeed, the rules of justice VOLs Il, Miia %6 198 Essa¥ 1V. are so evident to all men, that the most tyrannical governments profess to be guided by them, and endeavour to poste what is contrary to them, by the plea of necessity. That a man cannot be under an obligation to whatsi is impossi- ble ; that he cannot be criminal in yielding to necessity, nor justly punished for what he could not avoid, are maxims admitted, in all criminal courts, as fundamental rules of justice. In opposition to this, it has been said by some of the most able defenders of necessity, that human laws require no more to con- stitute a crime, but that it be voluntary; whence it is inferred, that the criminality consists in the determination of the will, whe-~ ther that determination be free or necessary. This, I think indeed, is the only possible plea by which criminality can be made consistent with necessity ; and therefore it deserves to be considered. I acknowledge that a crime must be voluntary ; ; for if it be not voluntary ; it is no deed of the man, nor can it be justly imputed to him ; but it is no less necessary that the criminal have moral liberty. In men that are adult, and of a sound mind, this li- ‘berty is presumed. But in every case where it cannot be pre- sumed, no criminality is imputed, even to voluntary actions. This is evident from the following instances: ist, The actions of brutes appear to be voluntary; yet they are never conceived to be criminal, though they may be noxious. 2dly, Children in nonage act voluntarily, but they are not chargeable with crimes. 3dly, Madmen have both understanding and will, but they have not moral liberty, and therefore are not chargeable with crimes. 4thly, Even in men that are adult and of a sound mind, a motive that is thought irresistible by any ordinary degree of self-com- mand, such as the rack, or the dread of present death, either exculpates, or very much alleviates a voluntary action, which, in other circumstances, would be highly criminal ; whence it is evident, that if the motive were absolutely irresistible, the exculpation would be complete. So far is it from being true — ea ae) in itself, or agreeable to the common sense of mankind, that — the criminality of an action depends solely upon its Pein vo- luntary. The government of brutes, so far as they are subject to ie is a species of mechanical government, or something very like te it, and has no resemblance to moral government. As inani- ~God has given to the various productions of nature, and our knowledge of the laws of nature which he has established ; so brute animals are governed by our knowledge of the natural i in- stincts, appetites, affections, and passions, which God has given them. By a skilful application of these springs of their actions, they may be trained to many habits useful to man. After all, we find that, from causes unknown to us, not only some species, mate. matter is governed by our knowledge of the qualities which — LIBERTY CONSISTENT WITH GQVERNMENT. 199 but some individuals of the same species, are more tractable than others. Children under age are governed much in the same way as the most sagacious brutes. The opening of their intellectual and moral powers, which may be much aided by proper instruc- tion and example, is that which makes them, by degrees, capa- ble of moral government. Reason teaches us to ascribe to the Supreme Being a govern- ment of the inanimate and inactive part of his creation, analo- gous to that mechanical government which men exercise, but in- finitely more perfect. This, I think, is what we call God’s na- iural government of the universe. In this part of the divine go- vernment, whatever is done is God’s doing. He is the sole cause, and the sole agent, whether he act immediately, or by in- struments subordinate to him ; and his will is always done : for instruments are not causes, they are not agents, though we some- times improperly call them so. It is therefore no less agreeable to reason, than to the language of holy writ, to impute to the Deity whatever is done in the na- tural world. When we say of any thing, that it is the work of nature, this is saying that it is the work of God, and can have no other meaning. The natural world is a grand machine, contrived, made, and ~ governed by the wisdom and power of the Almighty: and if there be in this natural world, beings that have life, intelligence, and will, without any degree of active power, they can only be subject to the same kind of mechanical government. Their de- terminations, whether we call them good or ill, must be the ac- tions of the Supreme Being, as much as the productions of the earth : for life, intelligence, and will, without active power, can do nothing, and therefore nothing can justly be imputed to it. This grand machine of the natural world, displays the power and wisdom of the artificer. But in it, there can be no display of moral attributes, which have a relation to moral conduct in his creatures, such as justice and equity in rewarding or punish- ing, the love of virtue and abhorrence of wickedness : for, as every thing in it is God’s doing, there can be no vice to be punished or abhorred, no virtue in his creatures to be rewarded. According to the system of necessity, the whole universe of creatures is this natural world ; and of every thing done in it, _ God is the sole agent. There can be no moral government, ~ nor moral obligation. Laws, rewards, and punishments, are only mechanical engines, and the will of the lawgiver is obeyed as much when his laws are transgressed, as when they are ob- Served. Such must be our notions of the government of the world, upon the supposition of necessity. It must be purely mechanical, and there can be no moral government upon that hypothesis. a 200 ‘ ESSAY JY. Let us cousider, on te other hand, what notion of the divine) ve a we are naturally led into by the Pepporition of hberty. They who adopt this system conceive, that in ‘that small per- tion of the universe which falls under our view, as a great part. has no active power, but moves, as it is moved, by necessity, and therefore must be subject toa mechanical government, so it has pleased the Almighty to bestow upon some of his creatures, particularly upon man, some degree of active power, and of reason, to direct him to the right use of his power. What connexion there may be, in the nature of things, between reason and active power, we know not. But we see evidently, that, as reason without active power can do nothing, so active power without reason has no guide to direct it to anyend. — These two conjoined make moral liberty, which, in how small a degree soever it is possessed, raises man to a superior rank i in the creation of God. He is not merely a tool in the hand of the master, but a servant, in the proper sense, who has a certain trust, and FIRST ARGUMENT‘. 203 we must be convinced that we have power to choose the most proper. : 3dly, Suppose our deliberation brought to an issue, and that we resolved to do what appeared proper, can we form such a resolution or purpose, without any conviction of power to exe- cute it? No; it is impossible. A man cannot resolve to lay out a sum of money, which he neither has, nor hopes ever to have. 4thly, Again, when I plight my#faith in any promise or con- tract, | must believe that I shall have power to perform what I promise. Without this persuasion, a promise would be down- right fraud. There is a condition implied in every promise, if we lice, and tf God continue with us the power which he has given us. Our conviction, therefore, of this power derogates not in the least from our dependence upon God. The rudest savage is taught by nature to admit this condition in all promises, whether it be expressed or not. For it is adictate of common sense, that we can be under no obligation to do what it is impossible for us to do. If we act upon the system of necessity, there must be ano- iher condition implied in all deliberation, in every resolution, and in every promise ; and that is, of we shall be willing. But the will not being in our power, we cannot engage for it. If this condition be understood. as it must be understood if 4 we act upon the system of necessity, there can be no delibera- tion or resolution, norany obligation ina promise. A man might as well deliberate, resolve, and promise, upon the actions of other men as upon his own. It is no less evident, that we have a conviction of power in other men, when we advise, or persuade, or command, or con- © ceive them to be under obligation by their promises. dthly, Is it impossible for any man to blame himself for yield- ing to necessity ? Then he may blame himself for dying, or for beinga man. Blame supposes a wrong use of power; and when a man does as well as it was possible for him to do, wherein is he to be blamed ? Therefore all conviction of wrong conduct, all remorse and self-condemnation, imply a conviction of our power to have done better. Take away this conviction, and there may be a sense of misery, ora dread of evil to come, but there can be no sense of guilt, or resolution to do better. Many who hold the doctrine of necessity, disown these con- sequences of it, and think toevade them. Tosuch they ought not to be imputed; but their inseparable connexion with that doctrine appears self-evident; and therefore some late patrons of it have had the boldness to avow them. ‘“ They cannot accuse themselves of having done any thing wrong in the ulti- mate sense of the words. Ina strict sense, they have nothing “* Rod ESSAY IV. to do with repentance, confession, and pardon, these being adapts ed to a fallacious view of things.2? Those who can adopt these sentiments, may indeed celebrate, with high encomiums, the great and glorious doctrine of necessity. It restores them, in their own conceit, to the state of ‘innocence. It delivers them from all the pangs of guilt and remorse, — and from all fear about their future conduct, though not about their fate. They may be as secure that they shall do nothing wrong, as those who have finished their Course. A doctrine so — flattering to the mind of a sinner, is very apt to give strength to weak arguments. After all, it is acknowledged by those who boast of this ploricna’ doctrine, “That every man, let him use what efforts he ean, will necessarily feel the sentiments of shame, remorse, and re- pentance, and oppressed with a sense of guilt, will have recourse to that mercy of which he stands in need.” The meaning of this seems to me to be, that although the © doctrine of necessity be supported by invincible arguments, and though it be the most consolotory doctrine in the world; yet no man in his most serious moments, when he sits himself before the throne of his Maker, can possibly believe it, but must then necessarily lay aside this glorious doctrine, and all its flattering consequences, and return to the humiliating conviction of his having made a bad use of the power which God had given him. If the belief of our having active power be ne essarily im-. plied in those rational operations we have mentioned, it must be eoeval with our reason ; it must be as univers among men, — é and as necessary in the conduct of life, as those operations are. We cannot recollect by memory when it began. It canno be a prejudice of education, or of false philosophy. It must be “a part of our constitution, or the necessary resultof our congti~ tution, and therefore the work of God. It resembles, in this respect, our belief of the existence of a material world; our belief that those we converse with are living and intelligent beings; our belief that those ‘things did really happen which we distinctly remember, and our belief that we continue the same identical persons. — We find difficulty in accounting for our belief of these things ; 3, : and some philosophers think, that they have discovered good — reasons for throwing it off. Bat it sticks fast, and the greatest skeptic finds, that he must yield to it in his practice, while he - wages war with it in speculation. F If it be objected to this argument, that the belief of our act- ing freely cannot be implied in the operations we have mention- ed, because those operations are performed by them who believe that we are, in all our actions, governed by necessity ; ; the an- swer to this objection is, that men in their practice may be governed by a belief which in speculation they reject. ‘ FIRST ARGUMENT. 203 However sirange and unaccountable this may appear, there are many well-known instances of it. I knew a man who was as much convinced as any man of the folly of the popular belief of apparitions in the dark, yet he could not sleep in aroom alone, nor go alone intoa room in the dark. Can it be said, that his fear did not imply a belief of danger? This is impossible. Yet his philosophy convinced him, that he was in no more danger in the dark when alone, than with company. Here an unreasonable belief, which was merely a prejudice of the nursery, stuck so fast as to govern his conduct, in opposi- _ tion to his speculative belief as a philosopher, and a man of sense, There are few persons who can look down from the battle- - ment of a very high tower without fear, while their reason con- vinces them that they are in no more danger than when standing upon the ground. ‘There have been persons who professed to believe that there is no distinction between virtue and vice, yet in their practice, they resented injuries, and esteemed noble and virtuous actions. There have been skeptics who professed to disbelieve their senses, and every human faculty; but no skeptic was ever known, who did not, in practice, pay a regard to his senses and to his other faculties. . There are some points of belief so necessary, that without them, a man would not be the being which God made him. These may be opposed in speculation, but it is impossible to root themout. Ina speculative hour they seem to vanish, but in practice they resume their authority. This seems to be the case of those who hold the doctrine of necessity, and yet act as | wi if they were free. This natural conviction of some degree of power in ourselves and in other men, respects voluntary actions only. For as all our power is directed by our will, we can form no conception of power, properly so called, that is not under the direction of will. And therefore our exertions, our deliberations, our pur- poses, our promises, are only in things that depend upon our will. Our advices, exhortations, and commands, are only in things that depend upon the will of those to whom they are ad- dressed. We impute no guilt to ourselves, nor to others, in things where the will is not concerned. But it deserves our notice, that we do not conceive every thing, without exception, to be in a man’s power which depends upon his will. There are many exceptions to this general rule. The most obvious of these I shall mention, because they both serve to illustrate the rule, and are of importance in the ques- tion concerning the liberty of man. eye “In the rage of madness, men are absolutely deprived of the VOL. Itt. 97 aa 206 ESSAY IV. —eo power of self-government. They act voluntarily, but their will — is driven as by a tempest, which, in lucid intervals, they resolve : to oppose with all their might, but are overcome when the fit of madness returns. oT ee ; Idiots are like men walking in the dark, who cannot be said to have the power of choosing their way, because they cannot — distinguish the good road from the bad. Having no light in — their understanding, they must either sit still, or be carri d on | by some blind impulse. fa eee re ‘ Between the darkness of infancy, which is equal to that “of — idiots, and the maturity of reason, there isa long twilight which, ; by insensible degrees, advances to the perfect day. = In this period of life, man has but little of the bones of self- . . RTI [rer 4 7 government. His actions, by nature, as well as the laws of society, are in the power of others more than in his own. His folly and indiscretion, his levity and inconstancy, are consider- ¥ edas the fault of youth, rather than of the man. We consider + him as half a man and half a child, and expect that each by © turns should play its part. He would be thought a severe and — unequitable censor of manners, who required the same cool de- liberation, the same steady conduct, and the same mastery over — himself in a boy of thirteen, asin a manof thirty, = é It is an old adage, that violent anger is a short fit of madness. — If this be literally true in any case, a man in sucha fit of passion, ~ cannot be said to have the command of himself. If real mad- ~ ness could be proved, it must have the effect of madness while — in its progress, was irresistible. The Searcher of hearts alone y , judgment. ok na scak ane It ought likewise to be observed, that hé who has accustomed 4 himself to restrain his passions, enlarges by habit his pov entice i them, and consequently over himself. When we consider that — a Canadian savage can acquire the power of defyin death, in # its most dreadful forms, and of braving the most exquisite tor- — ment for many long hours, without losing the commani | of him- | self; we may learn from this, that, in the constitution of human — nature, there is ample scope for the enlargement of that power st FIRST ARGUMENT. 207 of ‘self-command, without which there can be no virtue nor mag- nanimity.. —. » 2 . . >. . There are cases, however, in which a man’s voluntary actions are thought to be very little, if at all, in his power, on account * of the violence of the motive that impels him. ‘The magnani- mity of a hero, or of a martyr, is not expected in every man, and on all occasions. If a man trusted by the government with a secret, which itis high treason to disclose, be prevailed upon by a bribe, we have no mercy for him, and hardly allow the greatest bribe to be any alleviation of his crime. _ But, on the other hand, if the secret be extorted by the rack, or by the dread of present death, we pity him more than we blame him, and would think it severe and unequitable to con- demn him as a traitor. What is the reason that all men agree in condemning this man as a traitor in the first case, and in the last, either exculpate him, or think his fault greatly alleviated? If he acted necessarily in both cases, compelled by an irresistible motive, I can see no reason why we should not pass the same judgment on both. But the reason of these different judgments is evidently this, that the love of money, and of what is called a man’s interest, is a cool motive, which leaves toa man the entire power over him- self: but the torment of the rack, or the dread of present death, are so violent motives, that men who have not uncommon strength of mind, are not masters of themselves in such a situa- tion, and therefore what they do is not imputed, or is thought Jess criminal, Ifa man resist such motives, we admire his fortitude, and think his conduct heroical rather than human. If he yields, we impute it to human frailty, and think him rather to be pitied than severely censured. . Inveterate habits are acknowledged to diminish very con- siderably the power a man has over himself. “Althqgugh we may think him highly blameable in acquiring them, yet when they are confirmed to a certain degree, we consider him as no longer master of himself, and hardly reclaimable without a miracle. Thus we see, that the power which we are led by common sense to ascribe to man, respects his voluntary actions only, and that it has various limitations even with regard to them. Some actions that depend upon our will are easy, others very difficult, and some, perhaps, beyond our power. In different men, the power of self-government is different, and in the same man at different times. It may be diminished, or perhaps lost, by bad habits; it may be greatly increased by good habits. Hugs _ These are facts attested by experience, and supported by the common judgment of mankind. Upon the system of liberty, they are perfectly intelligible; but, I think, irreconcileable to’ ‘ _ fect moral rectitude is to be ascribed tothe Deity; that man is — a moral and accountable being, capable of acting right and re -> ae 205 ESSAY IY. that of necessity ; for, how can there be an easy and a difficult in actions equally subject to necessity ? or; how can power be greater or less, increased or diminished, in those who have no | ower? ian whi This natural conviction of our acting freely, which is ac- i knowledged by many who hold the doctrine of nee essity, ought to throw the whole burden’ of proof upon” that side = 1 by © this, the side of liberty has what lawyers call a jus g 2, OF ‘a right of ancient possession, which ought to stand good. till it be ; overturned. If it cannot be proved that we always | act from necessity, there is no need of arguments on the ‘other pce % convince us that we are free agents. = PAA OOH i To illustrate this by a similar case: if elpiibabaplaas? would persuade me, that my fellow-men with whom I converse, i not thinking intelligent beings, but mere machines; though might be at a loss to find arguments against this stnnatapieoeetl should think it reasonable to hold the belief which nature gave me before I was capable of weighing geri until “Convincing 3 r¢ proof is brought against it: GaN Hoey Va pee Sop weet ) Oh tel ot Sie CHAPTER Vi0s iit fonnge th) aoe nit rai heap He Sic ad 7 SECOND ARGUMENT: Vtatg eh hi eer ee Ceayet Pe rey Se THAT Wee is a real and pasctifiad distaitiliel between right and wrong conduct; between just and unjust; that the most per-_ wrong, and answerable for his conduct to him who made him, and assigned him a part to act oak the stage of life ; ; are ciples proclaimed by every man’s conscience ; princi he sep which the systems of morality and natural religion, imo the system of revelation, are grounded, and which have been © generally acknowledged by those who hold contrary opinions on the subject of human liberty. I shall therefore here take them & for granted. (Aces eR. Laie These principles afford an obvious, ae I think, an invincible f argument, that man is endowed with moral. liberty aff) brik _'Two things are implied in the notion of a moral and nes ; able being ; understanding and active power. 5 ist, He must understand the law to which he is bou obligation to obey it. Moral obedience must be. ry, must regard the authority of the law. _ 1 may command'my. to eat when he hungers, and drink .when he thirsts. so; but his doing it 1s no moral obedience. | ‘He does not under- stand my command, and therefore can have no will to obey it. — SECOND ARGUMENT. 209 He has not the conception of moral obligation, and therefore cannot act from the conviction of it. In eating and drinking, he is moved by his own appetite only, and not by my authority. Brute animals are incapable of moral obligation, because they have not that degree of understanding which itimplies. They shave not the conception of a rule of conduct, and of obligation to obey it, and therefore, though they may be noxious, they can- not be criminal. ; Man, by his rational nature, is capable both of understanding the law that is prescribed to him, and of perceiving its obliga- tion. He knows what it is to be just and honest, to injure no man, and to obey his Maker. From his constitution, he has an immediate conviction of his obligation to these things. He has the approbation of his conscience when he acts by these rules; ‘and he is conscious of guilt and demerit when he transgresses them. And, without this knowledge of his duty and his obliga- tion, he would not be a moral and accountable being. 2dly, Another thing implied in the notion of a moral and accountable being, is power to do what he is accountable for. That no man can be under a moral obligation to do what it is impossible for him to do, or to forbear what it is impossible for him to forbear, is an axiom as self-evident as any in mathema- tics. It cannot be contradicted, without overturning all notion of mora! obligation ; nor can there be any exception to it, when itis rightly understood. Some moralists have mentioned what they conceive to be an exception to this maxim. The exception isthis. Whena man, by his own fault, has disabled himself from doing his duty, his obligation, they say, remains, though he is now unable to dis- ‘charge it. Thus, if a man by sumptuous living has become ‘bankrupt, his inability to pay his debt does not take away.his obligation. . To judge whether, in this and similar cases, there be any exception to the axiom above mentioned, they must be stated accurately. . No doubt a man is highly criminal in living above his fortune, and his crime is greatly aggravated by the circumstance of his being thereby unable to pay his just debt. Let us suppose, therefore, that he is punished for this crime as much as it de- serves ; that his goods are fairly distributed among his creditors, and that one half remains unpaid ; let us suppose also, that he adds no new crime to what is past, that he becomes a new man, ‘and not only supports himself by honest industry, but does all in his power to pay what he still owes. ~~ Twould now ask, is he further punishable, and really guilty for not paying more than he is able? Let every man consult his conscience, and say whether he can blame this man for not do- ing more than he is able to do. _ His guilt before his bankruptcy Fp 4 ; . 210 ESSAY IV. 4 . ¥ is out of the question, as he has received the punishment dué_ me for it. But that his subsequent conduct is unblameable, « evel ns 4 man must allow; and that, in his present state, he is account- able for no more than he is able todo. His obligat cancelled, it returns with his ability, and can go no the Suppose a sailor, employed in the navy of his” cy longing for the ease of a public hospital as an bike. oe his fingers, so as to disable him from doing the duty of as he is guilty of a great crime; but, after’ Reig bs y punist according to the demerit OF his crime, will his captain’ that he shall still do the duty of a sailor? Will 2 Comiinay hi to go aloft whenit is impossible for him to do i oe as guilty of disobedience? Surely if there be mal justice and injustice, this would be unjust ania Suppose a servant, through negligence an an ae o oie takes the orders given him by his master, and, from 1 does what he was ordered not fo do. It is common ep culpable ignorance does not excuse a fault: this jecision. ‘is in- accurate, because it does not show where the fault ie ie fault was ‘solely in that inattention, or negligence, which was the occasion of his mistake: there was no neater ae This becomes evident, when we vary the case so far as sto suppose, that he was unavoidably led into the mistake wi any fault on his part. His mistake is now invincible, and, in th opinion of all moralists, takes away all blame ; ye ‘this new W Cas supposes no change, but in the cause of his mista e. ists be sequent conduct was the same in both cases. The fa ut Ses fore lay solely in the Behera’ and inattention whick ig Re s the Me cause of his mistake. & Lvspevive Page ay phir axiom, that invincible i ignorance takes away 7 all bla ‘i ly a particular case of the general axiom. iat bs bail no moral obligation to what is impossible ; the for frites ind- — ed upon the latter, and can have no other foundation Pye es. I shall put only one case more. ° Suppose thata | man, by and intemperance, has entirely destroyed his rational f 1 as to have become perfectly mad or idiotical ; 5 su] OSE warned of his danger, and that, though he foresaw t is be the consequence, he went on still in his criminal indu he A greater crime can hardly be supposed, or more. dese severe punishment? Suppose him punished ‘as he déserv res will it be said, that the duty of a man is incumbent | 10 tin now, when he has not the faculties of a man, 0 “inet new guilt when he is not a moral agent? sirelpw ry as We suppose a plant, or a clod of earth, to be a subject of mors duty. ty nga 448: ee i + * eS The decisions I have given of these cases, care grou ; ihe fundamental principles of morals, the most : mn ve tates of conscience. If these principles are ene Mp all moral — a2 cult SECOND ARGUMENT. Qh4 reas ing is at an end, and no distinction is left between what is jus ' nd what is unjust. And it is evident, that none of these cases furnishes any exception to the axiom above mentioned. No moral obligation can be consistent with impossibility in the Perinance. iis eda paieiing kine Active power, therefore, is necessarily implied in the very notion of a moral accountable being. And if man be sucha eing, he must have a degree of active power proportioned to the account he is to make. He may. have a model of perfection set before him which he is unable to reach; but, if he does to the utmost of his power, this is all he can be answerable for. To incur guilt, by not going beyond his power, is impossible. What was said, in the first argument, of the limitation of our power, adds much strength to the present argument. A man’s power, it was observed, extends only to his voluntary ac- tions, and has many limitations, evem with respect to them. His accountableness has the same extent, and the same limi- iations. _ In the rage of madness he has no power over himself, nei- ther is he accountable, or capable of moral obligation. In ripe age, man is accountable in a greater degree than in non- age, because his power over himself is greater... Violent pas- sions, and violent. motives, alleviate what is done through their influence, in the same proportion as they diminish the power of resistance. There is, therefore, a perfect correspondence between pow- er, on the one hand, and moral obligation and. accountableness, on the other. They not only correspond in general, as they respect voluntary actions only, but every limitation of the first roduces a corresponding limitation of the two last... This, in- et ists to nothing more than that maxim of common sense, confirmed by Divine authority, that to whom much is given, of him much will be required. _..The sum of this argument is, that a certain degree of active power is the talent which God has given to every rational ac- countable creature, and of which he will require, an account. If man had no power, he would have nothing to account for. All wise and all foolish conduct, all virtue and vice, consist in the right use or in the abuse of that power which God has given us. If man had no power, he could neither be wise. nor foolish, virtuous nor vicious. If we adopt the system of necessity, the terms moral obliga- tion, and accountableness, praise and blame, merit and demerit, justice and iyjustice, reward and punishment, wisdom and. folly, virtue and vice, ought to be disused, or to have new meanings ‘given to them when they are used in religion, in morals, or in civil government; for upon that system, there can be no such things as they have been always used fo signify. Ss Ee 212 HE : Das ren coe OH i Bir Vill. THIRD ARGUMENT. THAT. man has power over his ih appears, because he is capable of carryit me dently, a system of conduct, which he. ha before his mind, and resolved to prosecute. bah pea pity “ I take it for granted, that, among “the Yi ue men, there have been some, who, after th n understanding, deliberately laid down a pla they resolved to pursue through life ; and have steadily pursued the end they t had in y means. : " “It is of no consequence in this argu shay wh made the best choice of his main end o be riches, or power, or fame, or the a pre 1 suppose only, that he has _prudentl that, in a long course of deliberate acti means that appeared most. conducive, | whatever might cross tte : That such conduct ina man dem of wisdom and understanding, no mane it demonstrates, with equal force, a ce over his voluntary determinations. = ‘This will appear evident, if we “consider, thal - without power may project, butc can execute et ~ plan of conduct, as it cannot be contrive 2 ing, so it cannot be carried into executi on therefore, the execution, as an effect, force, | both power and understanding i in the ¢ ca tion of wisdom, taken from the effect, is equall power to execute. what wisdom planned. : An evidence that the wisdom which forme we have the very same evidence, that the pC iti is in him also. . ‘In this argument, we reason from the demonstrating the being and perfections of t all things, . The effects we observe in the course of nature cause. Effects, wisely adapted to an end, requir 2 Every ‘indication of the wisdom of the Creator i As, dication of his power. His wisdom appears only. i 8 done by his is power ; for wisdom without | t_power 2 but it cannot ae it may plan, but it ‘a plans. THIRD ARGUMENT. 213 The same reasoning we apply to the works of men. In a stately palace we see the wisdom of the architect. His wisdom contrived it, and wisdom could dono more. ‘The execution re- quired, both a distinct conception of the plan, and power to operate according to that plan. 4 Let us apply these principles to the supposition we have made. That a man, ina long course of conduct, has determined and acted prudently in the prosecution of a certain end. If the man had both the wisdom to plan this course of conduct, and that power over his own actions that was necessary to carry it into execution, he is a free agent, and used his liberty, in this instance, with understanding. But if all his particular determinations, which concurred in the execution of this plan, were produced, not by himself, but by some cause acting necessarily upon him, then there is no evidence left that he contrived this plan, or that he ever spent a thought about it. The cause that directed all these determinations so wisely, whatever it was, must be a wise and intelligent cause ; it must have understood the plan, and have intended the execution of it. : If it be said, that all this course of determinations was pro- duced by motives; motives surely have not understanding to conceive a plan, and intend its execution. We must therefore go back beyond motives to some intelligent being who had the power of arranging those motives, and applying them, in their proper order and season, so as to bring about .ie end. This intelligent being must have understood the plan, and intended to execute it. If this be so, as the man had no hand in the execution, we have not any evidence left, that he had any hand in the contrivance, or even that he is a thinking being. If we can believe, that an extensive series of means may conspire to promote an end without a cause that intended the end, and had power to choose and apply those means for the purpose, we may as well believe, that this world was made bya fortuitous concourse of atoms, without an intelligent and pow- erful cause. If a lucky concourse of motives could produce the conduct of an Alexander or a Julius Cesar, no reason can be given why a lucky concourse of atoms might not produce the plane- tary system. If, therefore, wise conduct in a man demonstrates, that he has some degree of wisdom, it demonstrates, with equal force and evidence, that he has some degree of power over his own de- terminations. All the reason we can assign for believing that our fellow- en think and reason, is grounded upon their actions and 9 VOL. Ul. 28 ra 3 as a 214 ESSAY LY. speeches. Jf they are fot the cause of these, there is ne rea- son left to conclude that they think and reason. «te Des Cartes thought that the human body is merely a mecha- nical engine, and that all its motions and actions are produced by mechanism. If such a machine could be made to speak and to act rationally, we might indeed conclude with certainty, that the maker of it had both reason and active power; but if we once knew, that all the motions of the machine were purely me- chanical, we should have no reason to conclude that the man had reason or thought. sae ye tat The conclusion of this argument is, that, if the actions and speeches of other men give us sufficient evidence that they are reasonable beings, they give us the same evidence, and the same degree of evidence, that they are free agents. ier, There is another conclusion that may be drawn from this rea- soning, which it is proper to mention. Ee Suppose a Fatalist, rather than give ap the scheme of neces- sity, should acknowledge that he has no evidence that there is thought and reason in any of his fellow-men, and that they may be mechanical engines for all that he knows; he will be forced to — acknowledge, that there must be active power, as well as under- standing, in the maker of those engines, and that the first cause isafree agent. We have the same reason to believe this, as to believe his existence and hiswisdom. And, if the Deity acts free- ly, every argument brought to prove that freedom of action is impossible, must fall to the ground. : The First Cause gives us evidence of his power by every effect that gives us evidence of his wisdom. And, if he is a _ pleased to communicate to the work of his hands seme degree eo. ; Aes sa __of his wisdom, no reason can be assigned why he may not com- gy S ~ municate some dégree of his power, as the talent which wisdom is to employ. That the first motion, or the first effect, whatever it be, can-_ not be produced necessarily, and consequently, that the first cause must be a free agent, has been demonstrated so clearly ~-and unanswerably by Dr. Clarke, both in his Demonstration of the being and attributes of God, and in the end of his remarks on Collin’s Philosophical Inquiry concerning Human Liberty, ' a ee ee a that I can add nothing to what he has said; nor have I found — any objection made to his reasoning, by any of the defenders of — necessity. 215 _ CHAPTER IX. | F Ha ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. SOME of the arguments that have beep offered for necessity were already considered in this Essay. It has been said, that human liberty respects only the actions that are subsequent to volition ; and that power over the deter- minations of the will is inconceivable, and involves a contradic- tion. This argument was considered in the first chapter. Tt has been said, that liberty is inconsistent with the influence of motives, that it would make human actions capricious, and man ungovernable by God or man. These arguments were considered in the fourth and fifth chapters. IT am now to make some remarks upon other arguments that have been urged in this cause. They may, I think, be reduced to three classes. They are intended to prove, either that liberty of determination is impossible, or that it would be hurt- ful, or that, in fact, man has no such liberty. To prove that liberty of determination is impossible, it has been said, that there must be a sufficient reason for every thing. For every ewistence, for every event, for every truth, there must be @ sufficient reason. ah The famous German philosopher Leibnitz boasted much ef having first applied this principle to philosophy, and of having, by that means, changed metaphysics from being a play of un- meaning words, to be a rational and demonstrative science. On this account it deserves to be considered. A very obvious objection to this principle was, that twe er more means may be equally fit for the same end; and that,in such a case, there may be a sufficient reason for taking one of the number, though there be no reason for preferring one te another, of means equally fit. . To obviate this objection, Leibnitz maintained, that the case supposed could not happen; or, if it did, that none of the means could be used, for want of a sufficient reason to prefer one to @the rest. Therefore he determined, with some of the school- men, that if an ass could be placed between two bundles of hay, ». or two fields of grass, equally inviting, the poor beast would ‘- ae tainly stand still and starve; but the case, he says, could net happen without a miracle. When it was objected to this principle, that there could be no reason but the will of God why the material world was pla- eed in one part of unlimited space rather than another, or cre- ated at one point of unlimited duration rather than another, or why the planets should move from west to east, rather than in 216 ESSAY IV. a contrary direction; these objections Leibnitz obviated by maintaining, that there is no such thing as unoccupied space or duration ; that space is nothing but the orderof things coexist- ing, and duration is nothing but the order of things successive ; that all motion is relative, so that if there were only one body in the universe, it would be immoveable ; that it is inconsistent with the perfection of the Deity, that there should be any part of space unoccupied by body ; and, I suppose, he understood the same of every part of duration. So that, according to this system, the world, like its Author, must be infinite, eternal, and immoveable ; or, ‘at least, as great in extent and ernie as it is possible for it to be. When it was objected to the principle of a fastlapienty reason, that of two particles of matter perfectly similar, there can be no reason but the will of God for placing this here and that there ; this objection Leibnitz obviated by maintaining, that it is impossible that there can be two particles of matter, or any two things perfectly similar. And this seems to have led him to another of his grand principles, which he culls, The emis . of indiscernibles. When the principle of a suflicient reason had pnodtohp so many surprising discoveries in philosophy, it is no wonder that it should determine the long-disputed question about human liberty. This it does ina moment. The determination of the will is an event for which there must be a sufficient reason, that is, something previous, which was necessarily followed by that determination, and could not be followed by any other determi- _ nation; therefore it was necessary. Thus we see, that this principle of the necessity of a sufficient — reason for every thing, is very fruitful of consequences; and by its fruits we may judge of it. Those who will adopt it, must — adopt all the consequences that hang upon it. To fix them all beyond dispute, no more is necessary but to prove the truth of the principle on which they depend. I know of no argument offered by Leibnitz in proof of this principle, but the authority of Archimedes, who, he says, makes use of it to prove, that a balance loaded with equal weaeaty on both ends will continue at rest. I grant it to be good reasoning with regard to a isldudal with regard to any machine, that when there is no external cause of its motion, it must remain at rest, because the machine has “power of moving itself. But to apply this reasoning to a a is to take for granted that the man is a pie which is the very point in question, | 4 Leibnitz, and his followers, would have us to take this prin- ciple of the necessity of a sufficient reason for every existence, for every event, for every truth, as a first principle, without proof, without explanation ; though it be evidently a vague pro- OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 217 position, capable of various meanings, as the word reason is. _ It must have different meanings when applied to things of so dif- ferent a nature as an event and a truth; and it may have differ- ent meanings when applied to the same thing. We cannot therefore form a distinct judgment of it in the gross, but only by taking it to pieces,-and applying it to different things, in a precise and distinct meaning. ' It can have no connexion with the dispute about liberty, except when itis applied to the .determinations of the will. Let us therefore suppose a voluntary action of a man; and that the question is put, Whether was there a sufficient reason for this action or not ? The natural and obvious meaning of this question is, was there a motive to the action sufficient to justify it to be wise and good, or at least innocent? Surely, in this sense, there is ngf a suffi- cient reason for every human action, because there are many that are foolish, unreasonable, and unjustifiable. If the meaning of the question be, was there a cause of the action? Undoubtedly there was: of every event there must be a cause, that had power sufficient to produce it, and that exerted that power forthe purpose. «In the present case, either the man was the cause of the action, and then it was a free action, ‘and is justly imputed to him; or it must have had another cause, and cannot justly be imputed to the man. In this sense, therefore, it is granted that there was sufficient reason for the action ; but the question about liberty is not in the least affected — by this concession. If, again, the meaning of the question be, was there something Sa to the action, which made it to be necessarily produced ? ‘very man, who believes that the action was free, will answer to this question in the negative. I know ne other meaning that can be put upon the principle of a sufficient reason, when applied to the determinations of the human will, besides the three I have mentioned. In the first, it is evidently false ; in the second, it is true, but does not affect the question about liberty ; in the third, it is a mere assertion of necessity without proof. Before we leave this boasted principle, we may see how it applies to events of another kind. When we say that a philo- sopher has assigned a sufficient reason for such a phenomenon, what is the meaning of this? The meaning surely is, that he has accounted for it from the known laws of nature... The sufti- cient reason of a phenomenon of nature must therefore be some law or laws of nature, of which the phenomenon is a hecessary consequence. But are we sure that, in this sense, there is a sufficient reason for every phenomenon of nature? I think we are not. : For not to speak of miraculous events, in which the Jaws of = 7 - 216 ESSAY iy. nature are suspended, or counteracted, we know not but that, in the ordinary course of God’s providence, there may be parti- cular acts of his administration, that do not come under any general law of nature. i. ; Established Jaws of nature are necessary for enabling intelli- gent creatures to conduct their affairs with wisdom and pradence, and prosecute their ends by proper means ; but still it may be fit, that some particular events should not be fixed by general laws, but be directed by particular acts of the Divine govern- ment, that so his reasonable creatures may have sufficient inducement to supplicate his aid, his protection, and direction, and to depend upon him for the success of their honest designs, We see that, in human governments, even those that are most _ legal, it isimpossible that every act of administration should be directedyby established laws. Some things must be left to the direction of the executive power, and particularly acts of cle- mency and bounty to petitioning subjects. ‘That there is nothing _ analogous to this in the Divine government of the world, no man is able to prove. ( We have no authority to pray that God would counteract or suspend the laws of nature in our behalf. Prayer, therefore, supposes that he may lend an ear to our prayers, without trans- gressing the laws of nature. Some have thought, that the only use of prayer and devotion is, to produce a proper temper and disposition in ourselves, and that it has no efficacy with the Deity. But this is a hypothesis without proof. It contradicts our most natural sentiments, as well as the plain doctrine of Scripture, and tends to damp the fervour of every act of devotion. It was indeed an article of the system of Leibnitz, that the Deity, since the creation of the world, never dtd any thing, excepting in the case of miracles; his work being made so perfect at first, as never to need his interposition. But, in this, he was opposed by sir Isaac Newton, and others of the ablest philosophers, nor was he ever able to give any proof of this _ tenet. ; gener There is no evidence, therefore, that there is a sufficient _ ¥eason for every natural event: if, by a sufficient reason, we understand some fixed law or laws of nature, of which that event “ Isa mecessary consequence. . i But what shall we say, is the sufficient reason for a truth? For our belief of a truth, I think, the sufficient reason is our having good evidence ; but what may be meant by a sufficient reason for its being a truth, | am not able to guess, unless the sufficient reason of a contingent truth be, that it 2s true ; and, of a necessary truth, that it must be true. This makes a man hittle wiser. “2 x t From what has been said, I think it appears, that this principle of the necessity of a sufficient reason for every thing, is very * OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 2S indefinite in its signification. _ If it mean, that of every event there must be a cause that had sufficient power to produce it, this is true, and has always been admitted as a first principle in philosophy, and in common life. If it mean that every event must be necessarily consequent upon something, called a sufli- cient reason, that went before it; this is a direct assertion of universal fatality, and has many strange, not to say absurd con- sequences: but, in this sense, it is neither self-evident, nor has any proof of it been offered. And, in general, in every sense in which it has evidence, it gives no new information ; and, in every sense in which it would give new information, it wants evidence. " Another argument that has been used to prove liberty of ac- tion to be impossible is, that itimplies “an effect without a cause.” To this it may be briefly answered, that a free action is ar effect produced by a being who had power and will to produce it ; therefore it is not an effect without a cause. To suppose any other cause necessary to the production of an effect, than a being who had the power and the will to produce it, is a contradiction ; for it is to suppose that being to have power to produce the effect, and not to have power to produce it. But as great stress is laid upon this argument by a late zealous advocate for necessity, we shall consider the light in which he uts it. 7 He introduces this argument with an observation to which 1 P entirely agree: itis, that to establish this doctrine of necessity, , nothing is necessary but that, throughout all nature, the same consequences should invariably result from the same circum- stances. I know nothing more that can be desired to establish universal fatality throughout the universe. When it is proved that, through all nature, the same consequences invariably result from the same circumstances, the doctrine of liberty must be given up. To prevent all ambiguity, | grant, that, in reasoning, the samé» = consequences, throughout all nature, will invariably follow from. ef PE a the same premisses: because good reasouing must be good rea- Pees soning in all times and places. But thishas nothing todo with = the doctrine of necessity. The thing to be proved, therefore. 7: in order to establish that doctrine is, that, through all na- ture, the same events invariably result from the same circum- stances. Of this capital point, the proof offered by that author, is that — an event not preceded by any circumstances that determined it — Ps to be what it was, would be an effect without a cause. Whyso? * Por,”’ says he, “a cause cannot be detined to be any thing but sueh previous etreumstances as are constantly followed by a cer- nil tein effect ; the constancy of the result making us conelude, that : 220 HSSAY 1Ve + there must be a sufficient reason, in the nature of things, why it. should be produced in those circumstances.” I acknowledge that, if this be the only definition that can be given of a cause, it will follow, that an event not preceded by circumstances that determined it to be what it was, would be, notan effect without a cause, which is a contradiction in terms, but an event without a cause, which I hold to be impossible. The matter therefore is brought to this issue, whether this be the only definition that can be given of acaus¢? With regard to this point we may observe, first, that this de- finition of a cause, bating the phraseology of putting a cause under the category of circumstances, which | take to be new, is the same, in other words, with that which Mr. Hume gave, of which he ought to be acknowledged the inventor. For I know of no author before Mr. Hume, who maintained, that we have no other notion of a cause, but that it is something prior to the effect, which has been found by experience to be constantly fol- lowed by the effect. This is a main pillar of his system; and he has drawn very important consequences from this definition, which | am far from thinking this author will adopt. Without repeating what | have before said of causes in the first of these Essays, and in the second and third chapters of this, I shall here mention some of the consequences that may be justly deduced from this definition of a cause, that we may judge of it by its fruits. patel iors Ist, It follows from this definition of a cause, that night is the cause of day, and day the cause of night. For no two things have more constantly followed each other since the beginning of the world. ood Qdly, It follows from this definition of a cause, that, for what we know, any thing may be the cause of any thing, since no- thing 1s essential to a cause but its being constantly followed by the effect. If this be so, what is unintelligent may be the cause of what is intelligent; folly may be the cause of wisdom, and evil of good; all reasoning from the nature of the effect to the nature of the cause, and all reasoning from final causes, ‘must be given up as fallacious. ORE, a Ae 3dly, From this definition of a cause, it follows, that we have no reason to conclude, that every event must have a cause: for innumerable events happen, when it cannot be shown that there were certain previous circumstances that have constantly been followed by such an event. And though it were certain, that every event we have had access to observe had a cause, it would not follow, that every event must have a cause: for it is con- trary to the rules of logic to conclude, that, because a thing has always been, therefore it.must be; to reason from what is con- tingent, to what is necessary. Athly, From this definition of a cause, it would follow, that we OF ARGUMENTS F@R NECESSITY. 221 have no reason to conclude that there was any cause of the creation of this world: for there were no previous circumstan- ces that had been constantly followed by such an effect. And, for the same reason, it would follow from the definition, that whatever was singular in its nature, or the first thing of its kind, could have no cause. Several of these consequences were fondly embraced by Mr. Hume, as necessarily following from his definition of a cause, and as favourable to his system of absolute skepticism. Those who adopt the definition of a cause, from which they follow, may choose whether they will adopt its consequences, or show that they do not follow from the definition. A second observation with regard to this argument is, that a definition of a cause may be given, which is not burdened with such untoward consequences. Why may notan efficient cause be defined to be a being that had powerand will to produce the effect? The production of an effect requires active power, and active power, being a quality, must be in a being endowed with that power. Power without will produces no effect; but, where these are conjoined, the effect must be produced. This, I think, is the proper meaning of the word cause, when it is used in metaphysics ; and particularly when we aifirm, that every thing that begins to exist must have a cause ; and when, by reasoning, we prove, that there must be an eternal First Cause of all things. ‘Was the world produced by previous circumstances which are constantly followed by such an effect? or, was it produced by a Being that had power to produce it, and willed its produc- tion ? In natural philosophy, the word cause is often used in a very different sense. When an event is produced according to a known law of nature, the law of nature is called the cause of that event. But a law of nature is not the efficient cause of any event. It is only the rule, according to which the efficient cause acts. A law is a thing conceived in the mind of a rational being, not a thing that has areal existence; and, therefore, like a motive, it can neither act nor be acted upon, and consequently cannot be an efficient cause. If there be no being that acts according to the law, it produces no effect. This author takes it for granted, that every voluntary action of man was determined to be what it was by the laws of nature, in the same sense as mechanical motions are determined by the laws of motion; and that every choice, not thus determined, “js just as impossible, as that a mechanical motion should depend upon no certain law or rule, or that any other effect should exist without a cause.” {t ought here to. he observed, that there are two kinds of VOL. Uf. 29 eS 292 ESSAY [Ve laws, both very properly called daws of nature, which ought net tobe confounded. There are moral laws of nature, and physi-. cal laws of nature. The first are the rules which God has pre- scribed to his rational creatures for their conduct. They re- spect voluntary and free actions only ; for no other actions be subject to moral rules. These laws of nature ought t always obeyed, but they are often transgressed bymen. T is therefore no impossibility in the violation of the moral laws of nature, nor is sucha violation an effect without a cause. The transgressor is the cause, and is justly accountable for it. = The physical laws of nature are the rules according to which the Deity commonly acts in bis natural government of the world ; and, whatever is done according to them, is not done by man, but by God, either immediately, or by instruments under his direction. These laws of nature neither restrain the power of the Author of nature, nor bring him under any obligation to do nothing beyond their sphere. He has sometimes acted contrary to them, in the case of miracles, and, perhaps, often acts without regard to them, in the ordinary course of his providence. Neither miraculous events, which are contrary to the physical laws of nature, nor such ordinary acts of the Divine administration as are without their sphere, are impossible, nor are they effects without a cause. God is the cause of them, and to him only they are to be imputed. ‘x AQ AiGS That the moral laws of nature are often transgressed ‘by man, isundeniable. If the physical laws of nature make his obedi-_ ence to the moral laws to be impossible, then he is, in the literal sense, born under one law, bound unto another, which contradicts every notion ofa righteous government of theworld. But though this supposition were attended with no such shocking consequence, it is merely a supposition ; and until it be proved that every choice, or voluntary action of man, is determined by the physical laws of nature, this argument for necessity is only the taking for granted the point to be proved. Of the same kind is the argument for the impossibility of liberty, taken from a balance, which cannot move but as a moved by the weights put intoit. This argument, though urge by almost every writer in defence of necessity, is so pitiful, and has been so often answered, that it scarce deserves to be men- tioned. st gg heal Every argument ina dispute, which is not grounded on princi- ples granted by both parties, is that kind of sophism which logi- cians Call pettizo princyu ; and such, inmy apprehension, the arguments offered to prove that liberty of action 1s in ble. ' : eld Itech It may farther be observed, that every argument of this class, if it were really conclusive, must extend to the Deity, as well as to all created beings ; and necessary existence, which has a OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 223 always been considered as the prerogative of the Supreme Be- ing, must belong equally to every creature and to every event, even the most trifling. | ‘This I take to be the system of Spinosa, and of those among the ancients, who carried fatality to the highest pitch. I before referred the reader to Dr. Clarke’s argument, which professes to demonstrate, that the First Cause is a free agent. Until that argument shall be shown to be fallacious, a thing which | have not seen attempted, such weak arguments as have heen brought to prove the contrary, ‘ought to have little weight. CHAPTER X. THE SAME SUBJECT, WITH regard to the second class of arguments for necessity, which are intended to prove, that liberty of action would be hurtful to man, I have only to observe, that it is a fact too evident to be denied, whether we adopt the system of liberty or that of necessity, that men actually receive hurt from their own volun- tary actions, and from the voluntary actions of other men; nor can it be pretended, that this fact is inconsistent with the doctrine of liberty, or that itis more unaccountable upon this system than upen that of necessity. In order, therefore, to draw any solid argument against liberty, from its hurtfulness, it ought to be proved, that, if man were a free agent, he would do more hurt to himself, or to others, than he actually does. To this purpose it has been said, that liberty would make men’s actions capricious ; that it would destroy the influence of motives ; that it would take away the effect of rewards and punishments ; and that it would make man absolutely ungovern- able« These arguments have been already considered in the fourth and fifth chapters of this Essay; and, therefore, | shall now proceed to the third class of arguments for necessity, which are intended to prove, that, in fact, men are not free agents. The most formidable argument of this class, and, 1 think, the only one that has not been considered in some of the preceding chapters, is taken from the prescience of the Deity. God foresees every determination of the human mind. It must therefore be what he foresees it shall be ; and therefore must be necessary. This argument may be understood three different ways, each of which we shall consider, that we may see all its forces. 924 ESSAY IV. The necessity of the event may be thought to be a just conse’ quence, either ‘barely from its being certainly future, or barely from its being foreseen, or from the impossibility of its being foreseen, if it was not necessary. tay Ist, It may be thought, that, as nothing can be known to be future which is not certainly future » ; so if it becort ture, it must be necessary. «1b et Gane di This opinion has no less authority in Pre fevckasatial that of Aristotle, who indeed held the doctrine of liberty, but believing, at the same time, that whatever is certainly future must be necessary ; in order to defend the liberty of human actions,’ maintained, that contingent events have no certain futurity ;. but I know of no modern advocate: for libianeye’ rye has put the defence of it upon that issue. A It must. be granted, that as whatever was, content ‘was, and whatever is, certainly is, so whatever shall be, certainly shall be. These are identical propositions, and cannot be doubt- ed by those who conceive them distinctly. Bi. But I know no rule of reasoning by which it can be inferred, that, because an event certainly shall be, therefore its. produc- tion must be necessary. The manner of its production, whether free or necessary, cannot be concluded from the time of its production, whether it be past, present, or future. That it shall be, no more implies that it shall be necessarily, than that it shall be freely produced; for neither present, pasi, nor. future, have any more connexion with pes ope than they have with freedom. Sag ho rt I grant, therefore, that from events being forbes it may te justly concluded, that they are certainly future ; but from their being certainly future, it does not follow that they are necessary. Qdly, if it be meant by this argument, that an event must be necessary, merely because it is foreseen, neither is this a just consequence : for it has often been observed, that prescience and knowledge of every kind, being an immanent act, has no effect upon the thing known. Its mode of: existence, whether it be free or necessary, is notin the least affected by its being known to be future, any more than by its being known to be past’ or present. The Deity foresees his own future free actions, but neither his foresight nor his purpose makes them necessary. The argument, therefore, taken in this view, as well as in the former, is inconclusive. es Wey pe eet as A third way in which this argument may be understood, is this : it is impossible that an event which is not necessary should be foreseen; therefore every event that is certainly foreseen, must be necessary. Here the conclusion certainly follows from the antecedent proposition, and therefore the ep eves of the argument lies upon the proof of that proposition. | — Let us consider, therefore, whether it can be edict that no OF ARGUMENTS POR NECESSITY. 295 free action can be certainly foreseen. If this can be proved, it will follow, either that all actions are necessary, or that all ac- tions cannot be foreseen. With regard to the general proposition, that it is impossible that any free action can be certainly foreseen, I observe, Ist, That every man who believes the Deity to be a free agent, must believe that this proposition not only is incapable of proof, but that it is certainly false: for the man himself foresees, that the Judge of al! the earth will always do what is right, and that he will fulfil whatever he has promised; and at the same time, believes, that, in doing what is right, and in fulfilling his promises, the Deity acts with the most perfect freedom. 2dly, I observe, that every man who believes that it is an ab- surdity or contradiction, that any free action should be certainly foreseen, must believe, if he will be consistent, either that the Deity is not a free agent, or that he does not foresee his own ac- tions ; nor can we foresee that he will do what is right, and will fulfil his promises. 3dly, Without considering the consequences which this gene- ral proposition carries in its bosom, which give it a very bad aspect, let us attend to the arguments offered to prove it. > Dr. Priestley has laboured more in the proof of this proposi- tion than any other author | am acquainted with, and maintains it to be, not only a difficulty and a mystery, as it has been called, that a contingent event should be the object of knowledge, but that, in reality, there cannot be a greater absurdity or contradic- tion. Let us hear the proof of this. “For,” says he, “as certainly as nothing canbe known to exist, but what does exist; so certainly can nothing be known to arise from what does exist, but what does arise from it, or ,depend upon it. But, according to the definition of the terms, a contingent event does not depend upon any previous known circumstances, since some other event might have arisen in the same circumstsnces.”’ This argument, when stripped of incidental and explanatory elauses, and affected variations of expression, amounts to this: nothing can be known to arise from what does exist, but what does arise from it: but a contingent event does not arise from what does exist. The conclusion, which is left to be drawn by the reader, must, according to the rules of reasoning, be—therefore a contingent event cannot be known to arise from what does exist. ’ It is here very obvious, that a thing may arise from what does exist, two ways, freely or necessarily. A contingent event arises from its cause, not necessarily, but freely, and so, that another event might have arisen from the same cause, in the same circumstances. The second proposition of the argument is. that a contin- 226 ESSAY 1V. gent event does not depend upon any previous known cit cumstances, which I take to be only a variation of the term of not arising from what does exist. Therefore, in order to make the two propositions to correspond, we must understand by arising from what does ewist, arising necessarily from what does exist. When this ambiguity is removed, the argument stands thus: nothing can be known to arise necessarily from what does exist, but what does necessarily arise from it: but a contingent event does not arise necessarily from w exist; therefore a contingent event cannot be known to a necessarily from what does exist. A Re ate I grant the whole; but the conclusion of this argument is not what he undertook to prove, and, therefore, the argument is that kind of sophism which logicians'call ignorantia elenchi. The thing to be proved is not, that a contingent event cannot be known to arise necessarily from what exists; but that a contingent future event cannot be the object of know- ledge. iis ih. vende To draw the argument to this conclusion, it must be put thus : nothing can be known to arise from what does exist, bat what arises necessarily from it: buta contingent event does not arise necessarily from what does exist; therefore a contingent event cannot be known to arise from what does exist. = The conclusion here is what it ought to be; but the first proposition assumes the thing to be proved, and therefore the argument is what logicians call petitio prineipi. To the same purpose he says, “ that nothing can be known at present, except itself or its necessary cause exist at present.” This is affirmed, but I find no proof of it. oil 49h Again he says, “ that knowledge supposes an object, which, in this case, does not exist.” It is true, that knowledge supposes an object, and every thing that is known is an object of know- ledge, whether past, present, or future, whether contingent or necessary. ta hon, Upon the whole, the arguments | can find upon this point, bear no proportion to the confidence of the assertion, that there cannot — be a greater absurdity or contradiction, than that a contingent event should be the object of knowledge. fA RR I To those who, without pretending to show a manifest absur- dity or contradiction in the knowledge of future a events, are still of opinion, that it is impossible that the future free actions of man, a being of imperfect wisdom and virtue, should be certainly foreknown, J would humbly offer the ing considerations. ‘hp ES Re ist, | grant that there is no knowledge of this kind in man ; and this is the cause that we find it so difficult to conceive it in any other being. CaBEA REA All our knowledge of future events is drawn either from their OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 227 necessary connexion with the present course of nature, or from their connexion with the character of the agent that produces them. Our knowledge, even of those future events that neces- sarily result from the established laws of nature, is hypothetical. It supposes the continuance of those laws with which they are connected. And how long those laws may be continued, we have no certain knowledge. God only knows when the present: course of nature shall be changed, and therefore he only has certain knowledge even of events of this kind. roves The character of perfect wisdom and perfect rectitude in the Deity, gives us certain knowledge that. he will always be true-in all his declarations, faithful in all his promises, and just in all his dispensations. But when we reason from the character of men to their future actions, though, in many cases, we have such probability as we rest upon in our most important worldly concerns, yet we have no certainty, because men are imperfect in wisdom and in virtue. If we had even the most perfect knowledge of the character and situation of a man, this would not be sufficient to give certainty to our knowledge of his future actions; because, in some actions, both good and bad men deviate from their general character. The prescience of the Deity, therefore, must be different not only in degree, but in kind, from any knowledge we can attain of futurity. _ Qdly, Though we can have no conception how the future free actions of men may be known by the Deity, this is nota sufii- eient reason to conclude that they cannot be known. Do we know, or can we conceive, how, God knows the secrets of men’s hearts? Can we conceive how God made this world, without any pre-existent matter? All the ancient philosophers believed this to be impossible : and for what reason but this, that they could not conceive how it could be done. Can we give any better reason for believing that the actions of men cannot be certainly foreseen ? 3dly, Can we conceive how we ourselves have certain knowledge by those faculties with which God has endowed us ? If any man thinks that he understands distinctly how he is con- scious of his own thoughts ; how he perceives external objects by his senses ; how he remembers past events, I am afraid that he is not yet so wise as to, understand his own ignorance. A4thly, There seems to me to be a great analogy between the prescience of future contingents, and the memory of past contingents. We possess ‘the last in some degree, and there- fore find no difficulty in believing that it may be perfect in the Deity. But the first we have in no degree, and therefore are apt to think it impossible. . In both, the object of knowledge is neither what presently exists, nor has any necessary connexion with what presently 226 ESSAK LY. exists. Livery argument brought to prove the impossibility of prescience, proves, with equal force, the impossibility of memory. If it be true that nothing can be known to arise — from what does exist, but what necessarily arises from it, it must — be equally true, that nothing can be known to have gone be- fore what does exist, but what must necessarily h ore ‘it. If it be true that nothing future can phd its necessary cause exist at. present, it must be equally true that nothing past can be known unless. something consequent, with which it is necessarily connected, ,exist at present. . "Th the Fatalist should say, that past events are indeed necessarily connected with the, present, he will not surely venture to,say, that it is by tracing this necessary connexion, that we remem- ber the past. - eT 7 Why then should, we think prescience impossible in th Almighty, when he has given us a faculty which bears a strong analogy to it, and which is no less unaccountable to: the human understanding, than prescience is. It is more reasonable as well as more agreeable to the sacred writings, to conclude with a pious father of the church, ‘“‘ Quocirca nullo modo, cogimur, aut retenta praescientia Dei. tollere voluntatis. arbitrium, aut retento voluntatis arbitrio, Deum, quod nefas est, née scium futurorum : Sed utrumque amplectimur, utrumque et veraciter confitemur : Illud ut bene credamus; hoc ut Dies vivamus.”” Aue, , «3 gators Bad hase 1 dente oe Salt rss oo $ - “2 1th eo ie eA ESEP ry eee Lot? av ieige iia CHAPTER, XF-cii jue paella Yarertire se] B Piwte see ANOTHER use has ieee ade or Divine idee the advocates for necessity, which it is proper to. before we leave this subject. oa It has been said, “ that all those consequences “follow ho the Divine prescience which are thought most ap ning | in scheme of necessity; and, particularly God’s bei ing tl he. Dr cause of moral evil. For, to suppose God to foresee wy Hi s ¥ OF THE PERMISSION OF BYIL, — er mgt sa, ate Uy: what it was in his power to have prevented, is the ver thing, as to suppose him to will, and directly to cau se distinctly foresees all the actions of a man’s life, and ai consequences of them: if, therefore, he did ot thi ey particular man and his conduct proper for his. pla ne if and providence, he certainly would not have in itrodaced him into being at all.” . : In this reasoning we may observe, that a a me nis made tyhich seems to contradict itself, _ wrt wyih of —< £27 ee ee a er OF THE PERMISSION OP EVIL. 299 ‘That all the actions of a particular man should be distinctly foreseen, and, at the same.time, that that man should never be brought into existence, seems to me to be a contradiction : and the same contradiction there is, in supposing any action to be distinctly foreseen, and yet prevented. For, if it be foreseen, it shall happen; and if it be prevented, it shall not happen, and therefore could not be foreseen. The knowledge here supposed is neither prescience nor science, but something very different from both. It is a kind of knowledge, which some metaphysical divines, in their con- troversies about the order of the Divine decrees, a subject far beyond the limits of human understanding, attributed to the Deity, and of which other divines denied the possibility, while they firmly maintained the Divine prescience. It was called scientia media, to distinguish it from prescience ; and by this scientta media was meant, not the knowing from eternity all things that shall exist, which is prescience, nor the knowing all the connexions and relations of things that exist or may be conceived, which is science, but a knowledge of things contingent, that never did nor shall exist. For instance, the knowing every action that would be done bya man who is barely conceived, and shall never be brought into existence. Against the possibility of the scentia media arguments may be urged, which cannot be applied to prescience. ‘Thus it may be said, that nothing can be known but whatis true. Itis true that the fature actions of a free agent shall exist, and therefore we see no impossibility in its being known that they shall exist but with regard to the free actions of an agent that never did nor shall exist, there is nothing true, and therefore nothing can be known. To say that the being conceived, would certainly act in such a way, if placed in such a situation, if it have any meaning, is to say, that his acting in that way is the consequence of the conception; but this contradicts the supposition of its being a free action. Things merely conceived have no relations or connexions but such as are implied in the conception, or are consequent from it. Thus I conceive two circles in the same plane. If this be all I conceive, it is not true that these circles are equal or unequal, because neither of these relations is implied in the conception; yet if the two circles really existed, they must be either equal or unequal. Again, I conceive two circles in the same plane, the distance of whose centres is equal to the sum of their semidiameters. It is true of these circles, that they will touch one another, because this follows from the concep- tion ; byt it is not true that they will be equal or unequal, be- cause neither of these relations is implied in the conception, nor is consequent from it. In like manner. I can conceive a being who has power fo do VOL. NI 30 230 ESSAY ‘1V, an indifferent action, or not to do it. It is wot true that he would do it, nor is it true that he would not do it, because nei-+ ther is implied in my conception, nor follows from it; and what is not true cannot be known. ON a aes Though I do not perceive any fallacy in this argument against a scientia media, 1 am sensible how apt we are to err in apply- ing what belongs to our conceptions and our knowledge, to the conceptions and knowledge of the Supreme Being; and, there- fore, without pretending to determine for or against a scientia media, I only observe, that to suppose that the Deity prevents what he foresees by his prescience, is a contradiction; and that to know that a contingent event which he sees fit not to permit would certainly happen if permitted, is not prescience, but the scientia media whose existence or possibility we are under no _ne- cessity of admitting. — bo) AMR hee > Waiving all dispute about scientia media, we acknowledge, that nothing can happen under the administration of the Deity, which he does not see fit to permit. The permissi6n of natural and moral evil, is a phenomenon which cannot be disputed. To account for this phenomenon under the government of a Be- ing of infinite goodness, justice, wisdom, and power, has in all ages, been considered as difficult to human reason, whether we embrace the system of liberty or that of necessity. But, if the difficulty of accounting for this phenomenon upon the system of necessity, be as great as it is upon the system of liberty, it can have no weight when used as an argument against liberty. The defenders of necessity, to reconcile it tothe principles of theism, find themselves obliged to give up all the moral attributes of God, excepting that of goodness, ora desire to produce hap- piness. ‘This they hold to be the sole motive of his making and governing the universe. Justice, veracity, faithfulness, are only modifications of goodness, the means of promoting its pur- poses, and are exercised only so far as they serve that end. Virtue is acceptable to him, and vice displeasing, only as the first tends to produce happiness, and the last misery. Heis the proper cause and agent of all moral evil as well as good ; but it is for a good end, to produce the greater happiness to his creatures.- He does evil that good may come; and this end sanctifies the worst actions that contribute to it. All the wick- edness of men being the work of God, he must, when he sur veys it,/pronounce it, as well as all his other works, to be very ood. . 0 By: This view of the Divine nature, the only one consistent with the scheme of necessity, appears to me much more shocking than the permission of evil upon the scheme of liberty. Itis said, that it requires only strength of mind to embrace it: to me it seems to require much strength of countenance to profess it. ‘Tn this system. as in Cleanthes’s Tablature of the Epicurean - GF THE PERMISSION GF EVIL. 234 system, pleasure or happiness is placed upon the throne as the queen, to whom all the virtues bear the humble office of menial servants. | As the end of the Deity, in all his actions, is not his own good, which can receive no addition, but the good of his creatures, and, as his creatures are capable of this disposition in some de- gree, is he not pleased with this image of himself in his crea- tures, and displeased with the contrary ? Why then should he be the author of malice, envy, revenge, tyranny, and oppres- sion in their hearts? Other vices that have no malevolence in them may please such a Deity, but surely malevolence cannot please him. If we form our notions of the moral attributes of the Deity from what we see of his government of the world, from the dic- tatés of reason and conscience, or from the doctrine of revela- tion ; justice, veracity, faithfulness, the love of virtue and dis- like of vice, appear to be no less essential attributes of his na- ture than goodness. In man, who is made after the image of God, goodness, er benevolence, is indeed an essential part of virtue, but it is net the whole. I am ata loss what arguments can be brought to prove good- ness to be essential to the Deity, which will not, with equal force, prove other moral attributes to be so; or what objections can be brought against the latter, which have not equal strength against the former, unless it be admited to be an objection against other moral attributes, that they do not accord with the doc- trine of necessity. If other moral evils may be attributed to the Deity as the means of promoting general good, why may not false declarations and false promises ? Andthen what ground have we left to be- lieve the truth of what he reveals, or to rely upon what he promises ? Supposing this strange view of the Divine nature were to be adopted in favour of the doctrine of necessity, there is still a great difficulty to be resolved. Since it is supposed, that the Supreme Being had no other end in making and governing the universe, but to produce the greatest degree of happiness to his creatures in general, how comes it to pass, that there is so much misery in a system made and governed by infinite wisdom and power for a contrary purpose ? _ The solution of this difficulty leads us necessarily to another hypothesis, that all the misery and vice that is in the world isa necessary ingredient in that system which produces the greatest sum of happiness. upon the whole. This connexion between the greatest sum of happiness and all the misery that is in the universe. must be fatal and necessary in the nature of things, sa JS2 ESSAY IV. that even Aimighty power cannot break it» for benevolence can never lead to inflict misery without necessity.) This necessary connexion between the greatest sum of bape piness upon the whole, and all the natural and moral evil that is, or has been, orshall be, being once established, it is ible for mortal eyes to discern how far this evil mnpeaticend on whom it may happen to fall; whether this fatal connexionmay be temporary or eternal, or what proportion of the may be balanced by it. 40d vw ol OW beta A world made by perfect wisdom and Almighty power, for'no other end but to make it happy, presents the most pleasing pros- pect that can be imagined. We expect nothing but uninter- - rupted happiness to prevail for ever. But, alas! when we con- sider that in this happiest system, there must be necessarily all the misery and vice we see, and how much more we know not, how is the prospect darkened ! i Pacis: These two hypotheses, the one limiting the moraldhaeneniié of the Deity, the other limiting his power, seem to meito be'the necessary consequences of necessity, when it is joined with ~ theism; and they have accordingly been adopted by the ablest defenders of that doctrine. or If some defenders of liberty, by limiting too rashly- the Di- vine prescience, in order to defend that system, have raised high indignation in their opponents ; have they not equal ground of indignation against those, who, to defend necessity, limit: ne moral perfection of the Deity, and his Almighty power? . Let us consider, on the other hand, what consequences "may be fairly drawn from God’s permitting the abuse of liberty in agents on whom he has bestowed it. a ae If it be asked, why does God permit so much sin in his crea- tion? I confess I cannot answer the question, but must lay my hand upon my mouth. He giveth no account of his conduet to the children of men. Itis our part to obey his Comimyanateg and not to say unto him, why dost thou thus ? Hypotheses might be framed ; but, while we have ground to be satisfied, that he does nothing but what is right, it is more becoming us to acknowledge that the ends and reasons of his universal government are beyond our knowledge, and perhaps beyond the comprehension of human understanding. Wecan- not penetrate so far into the counsel of the Almighty, as to know all the reasons why it became him, of whom are ‘all things, and to whom are all things, to create, not only machines, which are solely. moved by his hand, but servants and children, — who, by obeying his commands, and imitating his moral perfec- tions, might rise to a high degree of glory and happiness in his favour, or, by perverse disobedience, might incur guilt and just punishment. In this he appears to us awful in nee paatin’; as well as amiable in his goodness. : | : OF SHE PERMISSION OF EVIL. 233 _ Bat, as he disdains not to appeal to men for the equity of his proceedings toward them when his character is impeached, we , with humble reverence, plead for God, and vindicate that moral excellence which is the glory of his nature, and of which the image is the glory and the perfection of man. _ Let us observe first of all, that fo permit has two meanings, It signifies not to forbid, and it signifies not to hinder by supe rior power. In the first of these senses, God never permits sin. His law forbids every moral evil. By his laws and by his government, he gives every encouragement to good conduct and every discouragement to bad. But he does not always, by his superior power, hinder it from being committed. This & the ground of the accusation; and this, it is said, is the very same thing as directly to will and to cause it. As this is asserted without proof, and is far from being selé evident, it might be sufficient to deny it until it be proved. Bat, without resting barely on the defensive, we may observe, that the only moral attributes that can be supposed inconsistent with the permission of sin, are either goodness or justice. The defenders of necessity, with whom we have to doin this point, as they maintain that goodness 1s the only essential moral attribute of the Deity, and the motive of all his actions, must, if they will be consistent, maintain, that to will, and directly te eause sin, much more not to hinder it, is consistent with perfect goodness, nay, that goodness is a sufficient motive to justify the willing and directly causing it. With regard to them, therefore, it is surely unnecessary to attempt to reconcile the permission of sin with the goodness of God, since an inconsistency between that attribute and the causing of sin would overturn their whole system. ' If the causing of moral evil, and being the real author of ii, be consistent with perfect goodness, what pretence can there be to say, that not to hinder it is inconsistent with perfect good- ness ? What is incumbent upon them, therefore, to prove is, that the permission of sin is inconsistent with justice; and, upon this point, we are ready to join issue with them. But what pretence can there be to say, that the permission of sin is perfectly consistent with goodness in the Deity, but in- consistent with justice ? Is it not as easy to conceive, that he should permit sin, though virtue be his delight, as that he inflicts misery, when his sole delight is to bestow happiness? Should it appear incredible, that the permission of sin may tend to promote virtue, to them who believe that the infliction of misery is necessary to pro- mote happiness ? "Phe justice, as well as the goodness of God’s moral govern- ment of mankind. appears in this: that his Jaws are not arbi- 334 ESSAY TV. trary nor grievous, as it is only by the obedience of them that ur nature can be perfected and qualified for future happiness; tat he is ready to aid our weakness, to help our infirmities, nd not to suffer us to. be tempted above what. we are able to bear; that he is not strict to mark iniquity, or to execute judg- ment speedily against an evil work, but is long-suffering, and waits to be gracious ; that he is ready to receive the humble enitent to his favour; that he is no respecter of persons, but m every nation he that fears God and works righteousness is accepted of him ; that of every man he will require an account, proportioned to the talents he has received; that he delights in mercy, but has no pleasure in the death of the wicked; and therefore in punishing will never go beyond the demerit of the criminal, nor beyond what the rules of his universal, govern~ ment require. % Tabs at There were, in ancient ages, some who said, the way of the Lord is not equal; to whom the prophet,—in the name of God, makes this reply, which, in all ages, is sufficient to repel this accusation. Hear now, O house of Israel, Is not my way equal, are not your ways unequal? When a righteous man turneth away from his righteousness, and committeth iniquity ; for his iniquity which he has done shall he die.. Again, when a wicked man turneth away from his wickedness that he has committed, and doth that which is lawful and right, he shall save, his soul alivé. O house of Israel, are not my ways equal, are not your ways unequal? Repent, and turn from all your transgressions ; so iniquity shall not be your ruin. Cast away from you all your transgressions whereby you have transgressed, and make you a new heart and a new spirit, for why will ye die, O house of fsrael ? For I have no pleasure in the death.of him that dieth, saith the Lord God. ro atheaaindt Al Another argument for necessity has been lately offered, which we shall very briefly consider. Lhd qatgrsdtad ad It has been maintained, that the power of thinking is the re- sult of a certain modification of matter, and that a certain con- figuration of brain makes a soul; and, if man be wholly a ma- terial being, it is said, that it will not be denied, that he must be a mechanical being; that the doctrine of necessity is a direct inference from that of materialism, and its undoubted conse- quence. caked (eeendial As this argument can have no weight with those who do not see reason to embrace this system of materialism; so, eyen with those who do, it seems to me to be a mere sophism. » Philosophers have been wont to conceive matter to be an inert passive being, and to have certain properties inconsistent with the power of thinking or of acting. But a philosopher arises, who proves, we shall suppose, that we were quite mistaken in our notion of matter: that it has not the properties i ’ ¢ OF THE PERMISSION OF EVIL. 285 We supposed, and, in fact, has no properties but those of at- traction and repulsion; but still he thinks, that, being matter, it will not be denied that it is a mechanical being, and that the doctrine of necessity is a direct inference from that of materi- alism. _ Herein, however, he deceives himself. If matter be what we conceived it to be, it is equally incapable of thinking and of acting freely.. But if the properties, from which we drew this conclusion, have no reality, as he thinks he has proved ; if it have the powers of attraction and repulsion, and require only a certain configuration to make it think rationally, it will be impossible to show any good reason why the same configura- tion may not make it act rationally and freely. If its reproach of solidity, inertness, and sluggishness be wiped off; and if it be raised in our esteem to a nearer approach to the nature of what we call spiritual and immaterial beings, why should it still be nothing but a mechanical being? Is its solidity, inertness, and sluggishness to be first removed to make it capable of thinking, and then restored in order to make it incapable of acting ? Those, therefore, who reason justly from this system of ma- terialism, will easily perceive, that the doctrine of necessity is so far from being a direct inference, that it can receive no sup- port from it. To conclude this Essay: extremes of all kinds ought to be avoided; yet men are prone to run into them; and, to shun one extreme, we often run into the contrary. Of all extremes of opinions, none are more dangerous than those that exalt the powers of man too high, on the one hand, -or sink them too low om the other. _ By raising them too high, we feed pride and vain glory; we lose the sense of our dependence upon God, and engage in attempts beyond our abilities. By depressing them too low, we cut the sinews of action and of obligation, and are tempted to think, that, as we can do nothing, we have nothing to do, but to be carried passively along by the stream of ne- cessity. Some good men, apprehending that, to kill pride and vain glory, our active powers cannot be too much depressed, have been led, by zeal for religion, to deprive us of all active pow- er. Other good men, by a like zeal, have been led to depre- ciate the human understanding, and to put out the light of na- ture and reason, in order to exalt that of revelation. Those weapons which were taken up in support of religion, are how employed to overturn it; and what was, by some, ac- counted the bulwark of orthodoxy, is become the strong hold of atheism and infidelity. 2b ESSAY IV. Atheists join hands with theologians, in depriving man of all active power, that they may destroy all moral obligation, and all sense of right and wrong. They join hands with theolo- gians, in depreciating the human understanding, that they may lead us into absolute skepticism. God, in mercy to the human race, has made us of such a frame, that no speculative opinion whatsoever can root out the sense of guilt and demerit when we do wrong, nor the peace and joy of a good conscience when we do what is right. No speculative opinion can root out a regard to the testimony of our senses, of our memory, and of our rational faculties. But we have reason to be jealous of opinions which run counter to those natural sentiments of the human mind, and tend toshake, though they never can eradicate them. There is little reason to fear, that the conduct of men, with regard to the concerns of the present life, will ever be much affected, either by the doctrine of necessity, or by skepticism. It were to be wished, that men’s conduct, with regard to the concerns of another life, were in as little danger from those opinions. In the present state, we see some who zealously maintain the doctrine of necessity, others who as zealously maintain that of liberty. One would be apt to think, that a practical belief of these contrary systems should produce very different con- duct in them that hold them; yet we see nosuch difference in the affairs of common life. The Fatalist deliberates, and resolves, and plights his faith. He lays down a plan of conduct, and prosecutes it with vigour and industry. He exhorts, and commands, and holds those to be answerable for their conduct to whom he has committed any charge. He blames those that are false or unfaithful to him, as other men do. He perceives dignity and worth in some characters and actions, and in others, demerit and turpitude. He resents injuries, and is grateful for good offices. If any man should plead the doctrine of necessity to excul- pate murder, theft, or robbery, or even wilful negligence in the discharge of his duty, his judge, though a Fatalist, if he had common sense, would laugh at such a plea, and would not allow it even to alleviate the crime. In all such cases, he sees that it would be absurd not to act and to judge as those ought to do who believe themselves and other men to be free agents, just as the skeptic, to avoid absur- dity, must, when he goes into the world, act and judge like other men who are not skeptics. - if the Fatalist be as little influenced by the opinion of ne- cessity in his moral and religious concerns, and in his expecta- fions concerning another world. as he is in the common affairs of OF THE PERMISSION OF EVIL. 237 life, his speculative opinion will probably do him little hurt. But, if he trust so far to the doctrine of necessity, as to indulge sloth and inactivity in his duty, and hope to exculpate himself to his Maker by that doctrine, Jet him consider whether he sus- tains this excuse from his servants and dependants, when they are negligent or unfaithful in whatis committed to their charge. ‘Bishop Butler, in his 4nalogy, has an excellent chapter upon the opinion of necessity, considered as influencing practice, which I think highly deserving the consideration of those who are in-’ clined to that opinion. ran to ry j sia? ols 4 : is U3 *Sifedq x. " INNGS aber: ( : POR OM 9 oft ni et otf og gbhver sari HO 9K 7h ‘ é yevin : : | 3 te ee ey , wd : Jt vite ‘ebbing : : oD > HOP 19 ESSAY. VJ bute iermtings He's “2 yee Pete) rin) “re eee ; vant ) rte ite ties OF MORALS, | /Sitioenaeniaas ’ ns ' a CHAPTER Iyi4 »:?eeerneninyytein ; ihrer OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. td Ld a | MORALS, like all other scientes, must have first principles, on which all moral reasoning is grounded. REISE In every branch of knowledge where disputes have been raised, it is useful to distinguish the first principles from the su- perstructure. They are the foundation on which the whole fabric of the science leans ; and whatever is not supported by this foundation can have no stability. ch Ta In all rational belief, the thing believed is either ‘itself a first - principle, or it is by just reasoning deduced from first principles. When men differ about deductions of reasoning, the appeal must be made to the rules of reasoning, which have been very unanimously fixed from the days of Aristotle. But when they differ abouta first principle, the appeal is made toanother tribu- nal; to that of common sense. Tr OOH GeegBitie How the genuine decisions of common sense may be distin- guished from the counterfeit, has been considered in essay sixth, on the intellectual powers of man, chapter fourth, to which the | reader is referred. What I would here observe is, that’ as first principles differ from deductions of reasoning in the nature of their evidence, and must be tried by a different standard when they are called in question, it is of importance to know to which — of these two classes a truth which we would examine belongs. When they are not-distinguished, men are apt to deman of — for every thing they think fit to deny: and when we attempt to prove by direct argument, what is really self-evident, the reason- — ing will always be inconclusive ; for it will eithertake for grant- — ed the thing to be proved, or something not more evident ; and so, instead of giving strength tothe conclusion, will rather tempt those to doubt of it, who never did so before. OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES QF MORALS. 239 i propose, therefore, in this chapter, to point out some of the first principles of morals, without pretending to a complete enu- meration. ; o:. The principles I am to mention, relate either to virtue in ge- neral, or to the different particular branches of virtue, or to the comiparison of virtues where they seem to interfere. ist, There are some things in human conduct, that merit ap- probation and praise, others that merit-blame and punishment ; and different degrees either ef approbation or of blame, are due to different actions. 2dly, What is in no degree voluntary, can neither deserve moral approbation nor blame. 3dly, What is done from unavoidable necessity may be agree- able or disagreeable, useful or hurtful, but cannot be the object either of blame or of moral approbation. 4thly, Men may be highly culpable in omitting what they ought to have done, as well as in doing what they ought not. 5thly, We ought to use the best means we can to be well in- formed of our duty, by serious attention to moral instruction ; by observing what we approve, and what we disapprove, in other men, whether our acquaintance, or those whose actions are re- corded in history ; by reflecting often, in a calm and dispassion- ate hour, on our own past conduct, that we may discern what was wrong, what was right, and what might have been better; by deliberating coolly and impartially upon our future conduct, as far as we can foresee the opportunities we may have of doing good, or the temptations to do wrong; and by having this prin- ciple deeply xed in our minds, that as moral excellence is the true worth and glory of a man, so the knowledge of our duty is to every man, in every station of life, the most important of all knowledge. 6thly, It ought to be our most serious concern to do our duty as faras we know it, and to fortify our minds against every tempt- ation to deviate from it; by maintaining a lively sense of the beauty of right conduct, and of ‘its present and future reward, of the turpitude of vice, and of its bad consequences here and hereafter; by having always in our eye the noblest examples : by the babit of subjecting our passions to the government of reason ; by firm purposes and resolutions with regard to our conduct ; by avoiding occasions of temptation when we can: and by imploring the aid of him who made us, in every hour of ‘temptation. These principles concerning virtue and vice in general, must appear self-evident to every man who has a conscience, and who has taken pains to exercise this natural power of his mind. I proceed to others that are more particular. ist, We ought to prefer a greater good. though more distant. to a less: and a less evil to a greater. 240 ESSAY V. _ Aregard to our own good, though we had no conscience, dic- tates this principle ; and we cannot help disapproving the man that acts contrary to it, as deserving to lose the good which he wantonly threw away, aed to suffer the evil which he knowingly brought upon his own head. cy iA RG We observed before, that the ancient moralists, and many among the modern, have deduced the whole of morals from this principle, and that when,we make a right estimate of>goods and evils according to their degree, their dignity, their duration, and according as they are more or less in our power, it leads to the practice of every virtue: more directly, indeed, to the virtues of self-government, to prudence, to temperance, and to forti- tude; and, though more indirectly, even to justice, humanity, and all the social virtues, when their influence mponietr happi- ness 1s well understood. Though it be not the noblest principle of conduet, it has this peculiar advantage, that its force is felt by the most 5: pte and even by the most abandoned. ‘mi - Let a man’s moral judgment be ever so little improved by ex- ercise, or ever so much corrupted by bad habits, he cannot be indifferent to his own happiness or misery. When he is become insensible to every nobler motive to right conduct, he cannot be insensible to this. And though to act from this motive sole- ly, may be called prudence rather than virtue, yet this prudence deserves some regard upon its own account, and much more as it is the friend and ally of virtue, and the enemy of all vice ; and as it givesa favourable testimony of virtue to those ae are deat to every other recommendation. If a man can be induced to do his duty even from a esierdde his own happiness, he will soon find reason to love virtue for her own sake, and to act from motives less mercenary. I cannot therefore approve of those moralists, who would banish all persuasives to virtue taken from the consideration of private good. Jn the present state of human nature these are not useless to the best, and they are the only means left a re- claiming the abandoned. 2dly, As far as the intention of nature appears in ve andl tution of man, we ought to comply with that rian hace act agreeably to it. vf The Author of our being has given us not only the power. of acting within a limited sphere, but various principles or springs of action, of different nature and dignity, to direct us in the ex- ercise of our active power. pols tablet From the constitution of every species of the inferior animals, and especially from the active principles which nature has given them, we easily perceive the manner of life for which nature in- tended them; and they uniformly act the part to which they are led by their constitution, without any reflection upon it, or OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. 241 intention of obeyingits dictates. Man only, of the inhabitants of this world, is made capable of observing his own constitution, what kind of life it is made for, and of acting according to that intention, or contrary to it. He only is capable of yielding an intentional obedience to the dictates of his nature, or of rebel- ling against them. In treating of the principles of action in man, it has been shown, that as his natural instincts and bodily appetites, are well adapted to the preservation of his natural life, and to the con- tinuance of the species; so his natural desires, affections, and passions, when uncorrupted by vicious habits, and under the government of the leading principles of reason and conscience, are excellently fitted for the rational and social life. Every vi- cious action shows an excess, or defect, or wrong direction of some natural spring of action, and therefore may, very justly, be said to be unnatural. Every virtuous action agrees with the uncorrupted principles of human nature. The Stoics defined virtue to be a life according to nature. Some of them, more accurately, a life according to the nature of man, in so far as it is superior to that of brutes. The life of a brute is according to the nature of the brute; but it is neither virtuous nor vicious. The life of a moral agent cannot be ac- cording to his nature, unless it be virtuous. That conscience, which is if every man’s breast is the law of God written in his heart, which he cannot disobey without acting unnaturally, and being self-condemned. The intention of nature, in the various active principles of man, in the desires of power, of knowledge, and of esteem, in the affection to children, to near relations, and to the communi- ties te which we belong, in gratitude, in compassion, and even in resentment and emulation, is very obvious, and has been point- ed out in treating of those principles. Nor is it less evident, thatreason and conscience are given us to regulate the infe- - rior principles, so that they may conspire, in a regular and con- sistent plan of life, in pursuit of some worthy end. 3dly, No man is born for himself only. Every man, there- fore, ought to consider himself as a member of the common so- ciety of mankind, and of those subordinate societies to which he belongs, such as family, friends, neighbourhood, country, and to do as much good as he can, and as little hurt to the societies of which he is a part. She ; This axiom leads directly to the practice of every social virtue, and indirectly to the virtues of self-government, by which only we can be qualified for discharging the duty we owe to society. 4thly, In every case, we ought to act that part toward another which we would judge to be right in him to act toward us, if we 242 ESSAY Y. were in his circumstances and he in ours; or, more generally, what we approve in others, that we ought to practise in like circumstances, and what we condemn in others we ought not to do. ate ad fifa: If there be any such thing as right and wrong in the conduct of moral agents, it must be the same to all in the same’ circum- stances. ify ab DearS We stand all in the same relation to Him who made ‘us; and will ¢all us to account for our conduct: for with him there is no respect of persons. We stand in the same relation to one an- other as members of the great community of mankind. The duties consequent upon the different ranks, and offices, and rela- tions of men, are the same to all in the same circumstances. Itis not want of judgment, but want of candourand impar- tiality, that hinders men from discerning what they owe to others. They are quicksighted enough in discerning what is due to themselves. When they are injured, or ill treated, they see it, and feel resentment. It is the want of candour that makes men use one measure for the duty they owe to others, and another measure for the duty that others owe tothem in like cir- cumstances. That men oughi to judge with candour, as im all other cases, so especially in what concerns their moral conduct, is surely self-evident to every intelligent being. The man who takes offence when he is injured in his person, in his property, in his good name, pronounces judgment against himself if he act so toward his neighbour. On popnaripe te ' As the equity and obligation of this rule of conduct is self- evident to every man who has a conscience; soit is of all the rules of morality, the most comprehensive, and truly deserves the encomium given it by the highest authority, that a is the law and the prophets. ed kage a It comprehends every rule of justice without exception. , It comprehends all the relative duties, arising either from the more permanent relations of parent and child, of masterand servant, of magistrate and subject, of husband and wife ; or from the more transient relations of rich and poor, of buyer and seller, of debtor and creditor, of benefactor and beneficiary, of friend — and enemy. It comprehends every duty of charity and huma- nity, and even of courtesy and good manners. pit ee Nay, I think, that, without any force or straining, it extends even to the duties of self-government. For, as every man ap- proves in others the virtues of prudence, temperance, self-com- mand, and fortitude, he must perceive, that what is right in others must be right in himself in like circumstances. ©) ~ To sum up all, he who acts invariably by this rule will never deviate from the path of his duty, but from an error of judg- ment. And, as he feels the obligation that he and all men are OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. 245 ander, to use the best means in his power to have his judgment well informed in matters of duty, his errors will only be such as are invincible. eye It may be observed, that this axiom supposes a faculty in man by which he can distinguish right conduct from wrong. It sup- poses also, that, by this faculty, we easily perceive the right and the wrong in other men that are indifferent to us ; but are very apt to be blinded by the partiality of selfish passions when the case concerns ourselves. Every claim we have against others is apt to be magnified by self-love, when viewed directly. A change of persons removes this prejudice, and brings the claim to appear in its just magnitude. , 5thly, To every man who believes the existence, the perfec- tions, and the providence of God, the veneration and submission we owe to him is self-evident. Right sentiments of the Deity and of his works, not only make the duty we owe to him obvi- ous to every intelligent being, but likewise add the authority of a divine law to every rule of right conduct. There is another class of axioms in morals, by which, when there seems to be an opposition between the actions that differ- ent virtues lead to, we determine to which the preference is due. Between the several virtues, as they are dispositions of mind, or determinations of will to act according to a certain general rule, there can be no opposition. They dwell together most amicably, and give mutual aid and ornament, without the pos- sibility of hostility or opposition, and, taken altogether, make one uniform and consistent rule of conduct. But, between particular external actions, which different virtues would lead to, there may be an opposition. Thus, the same man may be in his heart, generous, grateful, and just. These dispositions strengthen, but never can weaken one another. Yet it may happen, that an external action which generosity or gratitude solicits, justice may forbid. That in all such cases, unmerited generosity should yield to gratitude, and both to justice, is self-evident. Nor is it less so, that unmerited beneficence to those who are at ease should yield to compassion to the miserable, and external acts of piety to works of mercy, because God loves mercy more than sacrifice. At the same time, we perceive, that these acts of virtue which ought to yield in the case of a competition, have most intrinsic worth when there is no competition. Thus, it is evident that there is more worth in pure and unmerited benevolence than in compassion, more in compassion than in gratitude, and. more in gratitude than in justice. Morerscgr mh I call these first principles, because they appear to me to have in themselves an intuitive evidence which I cannot resist. .] find Tcan express them in other words. I can illustrate them by ex- amples and authorities, and perhaps can deduce one of them i = 244 ESSAY V. from another ; but 1 am not able to deduce’ them from other principles that are more evident. And I find ‘the best moral reasonings of authors Iam acquainted with, ancient and mo- dern, heathen and christian, to be grounded upon one or more of them. o> Seat > The evidence of mathematical axioms is not discerned’ till men come to a certain degree of maturity of understanding: A boy must have fermed the general conception ‘of quantity, and ' of more, and less, and equal ; of sum, and difference; and he must have been accustomed to judge of these relations in matters of common life, before he can perceive the evidence of the mathematical axiom, that equal quantities, added to equal quantities, make equal sums. ’ In like manner, our moral judgment, or conscience, grows to maturity from an imperceptible seed, planted by our Creator. When we are capable of contemplating the actions of other men, or of reflecting upon our own calmly and dispassionately, we begin to perceive in them the qualities of honest and dis- honest, of honourable and base, of right and wrong, and to feel the sentiments of moral approbation and disapprobation,» = ~~~ These sentiments are at first feeble, easily warped by passions and prejudices, and apt to yield to authority. By use and time, the judgment, in morals as in other matters, gathers strength, and feels more vigour. We begin to distinguish the dictates of” passion from those of cool reason, and to perceive, that itis not always safe to rely upon the judgment of others.. Byanimpulse” of nature, we venture to judge for ourselves, as we venture to’ walk by ourselves. tad testes aa There isa strong analogy between the progress of ‘the body” from infancy to maturity, and the progress of all the powers of the mind. This progression in both is the work of nature, and in both may be greatly aided or hurt by proper education.” Tt ~ is natural toa man to be able to walk, or run, or leap; but if — his limbs had been kept in fetters from his birth, he would have” none of those powers. It is no less natural toa man trained in society, and accustomed to judge of his own’actions, and those” of other men, to perceive a right and a wrong, an honourable ~ anda base, in human conduct; and to such a man, I think, the principles of morals I have above mentioned, will appear self evident. Yet there may be individuals of the human species — so little accustomed to think or judgé of any thing, but o i tifying their animal appetites, as to have hardly any conception” of right or wrong in conduct, or any moral judgment ; certainly are some whe have not the conceptions and | ment necessary to understand the axioms of geometry " 25 From the principles above mentioned, the whole system me moral conduct follows so easily, and with so little aid ofreasoning, that every man of common understanding, who wishes to know’ ~ I OF SYSTEMS OF MORALS: 245 his duty, may know it. The path of duty isa plain path, which the upright in heart can rarely mistake. Such it must be, since every man is bound to walk init. There are some intricate cases in morals, which admit of disputation; but these seldom occur in practice; and, when they do, the learned disputant has no great advantage ; for the unlearned man, who uses the best means in his power to know his duty, and acts according to _ his -knowledge, is inculpable in the sight of God and man. He may err, but he is not guilty of immorality. CHAPTER II. OF SYSTEMS OF MORALS. IF the knowledge of our duty be so level to the apprehension of all men, as has been represented in the last chapter, it may seem hardly to deserve the name of a science. It may seem that there is no need for instruction in morals. From what cause then has it happened, that we have many large and learned systems of moral philosophy, and systems of natural jurisprudence, or the law of nature and nations ; and that, in modern times, public professions have been instituted in most places of education for instructing youth in these branches of knowledge ? This event, I think, may be accounted for, and the utility of such systems and professions justified, without supposing any difficulty or intricacy in the knowledge of our duty. I am far from thinking instruction in morals unnecessary. Men may, to the end of life, be ignorant of self-evident truths. They may, to the end of life, entertain gross absurdities. Ex- perience shows that this happens often in matters that are indif- ferent. Much more may it happen in matters where interest, passion, prejudice, and fashion, are so apt to pervert the judg- ment. The most obvious truths are not perceived without some _ ripeness of judgment. For we see, that children may be made to believe any thing, though ever so absurd. Our judgment of things is ripened, not by time only, but chiefly by being exercised _ about things of the same, or of a similar kind. Judgment, even in things self-evident, requires a clear, distinct, and steady conception of the things about which we judge. Our conceptions are at first obscure and wavering. The habit of attending to them is necessary to make them distinct and steady ; and this habit requires an exertion of mind to which | many of our animal principles are unfriendly. The love of VOL. IIT. 32 246 ESSAY ¥s truth calls tor it; but its still voice is often drowned by the louder call of some passion, or we are hindered from listening to it by laziness and desultoriness. ‘Thus men often remain through life ignorant of things which they needed but to open their eyes to see, and which they would hewe seen if —_ attention had been turned to them. ri to he eth The most knowing derive’ the pechbat part of their knowledge, even in things obvious, from instruction and information, and from being taught to exercise their notre faceiienyiriian, without instruction, would lie dormant. silt 10 Ab to Hag fam very apt to think, that, if a man aan be reared from infancy, without any society of his fellow-creatures, he would hardly ever show any sign, either of moral judgment, or of the power of reasoning. His own actions would be directed by his animal appetites and passions, without cool reflection, and he would have no access to improve, by observing dheqeandnct: of other beings like himself. Not bive woime The power of vegetation in the seed of a plant, ievithdest eat and moisture, would for ever lie dormant. The rational and moral powers of man would perhaps lie dormant without in- struction and example. Yet these powers area party and the noblest part of his constitution ; as the pera vegetation is of the seed.” é nee sue 1 Our first moral conceptions are peli ‘qutabeadteteions coolly to the conduct of others, and. obser what moves our approbation, what our indignation. | These sentiments spring from our moral faculty as naturally as the sensations of sweet and bitter from the faculty of taste. They have their natural ebjects. But most human actions are of a’ mixed) nature, and bave various colours, according as they are viewed on different sides. Prejudice against, or in favour of the person; isapt to warp our opinion. It requires attention and candour to distin- guish the good from the ill, and, without favour or'prejudice, to form @ clear and impartial judgment. In this we may be greatly aided by instruction. 1 cutee shreds dines He must be very ignorant of human abu who does not per-, ceive that the seed of virtue in the mind of man, like that/of a tender plaut in an unkindly soil, requires ‘care and culture in the first period of life, as well as our own exertion when we “come to maturity. 7? Saale tee Tf the irregularities - passion woe appetite be timely check- ed, and good habits planted; if we be excited by good exam- ples, and bad examples be shown in their. proper colours, ifthe attention be prudently directed to the precepts of wisdom and virtue, as‘the mind is capable of receiving them} a man thus trained will rarely be at a loss to distinguish good frouvall in bis own conduct, without the labour of reasoning. § 1 5) ‘The bulk of mankind have but little of this culture in the pro- OF SYSTEMS OF MORALS. QA? per season; and what they have is often unskilfully applied ; by which means bad habits gather strength, and false notions ef pleasure, of honour, and of interest, occupy the mind. They give little atteation to what is right and honest. Conscience is seldom consulted, and so little exercised, that its decisions are weak and wavering. Although, therefore, to a ripe understand- ing, free from prejudice, and accustomed to judge of the morali- ty of actions, most truths in morals will appear self-evident, it does not follow that moral instruction is unnecessary in the first part of life, or that it may not be very profitable in its more ad- vanced period. The histery of past ages shows, that nations, highly civilized, and greatly enlightened in many arts and sciences, may for ages, not only hold the grossest absurdities with regard to the Deity and his worship, but with regard to the duty we owe to our fel- low-men, particularly to children, to servants, to strangers, to enemies, and to those who differ from us in religious opinions. Such corruptions in religion, and in morals, had spread se wide among mankind, and were so confirmed by custom, as to require a’ light from heaven to correct them. Revelation was not intended to supersede, but to aid the use of our natural fa- culties ; and, I doubt not, but the attention given to moral truths, in such systems as we have mentioned, has contributed much to correct the errors and prejudices of former ages, and may con- tinue to have the same good effect in time to come. It needs not seem strange, that systems of morals may swell to great magnitude, if we consider that, although the general prin- ciples be few and simple, their application extends to every part of human conduct, in every condition, every relation, and every transaction of life. They are the rule of life to the magistrate and to thesubject, to the master and to the servant, to the parent and to the child, to the fellow-citizen and to the alien, to the friend and to the enemy, to the buyer and to the seller, to the borrower and tothe lender. Every human creature is subject to their authority inhis actions and words, and evenin his thoughts. ‘They may in this respect, be compared to the laws of motion in the natural world, which, though few and simple, serve to regulate an infinite variety of operations throughout the universe. And as the beauty of the laws of motion is displayed in the most striking manner, when we trace them through all the variety of their effects ; so the divine beauty and sanctity of the princi- ples of morals, appear most august, when we take a comprehen- Sive view of their application to every condition and relation, and to every transaction of human society... - This is, or ought to be, the design of systems of morals. They may be made more or less extensive, having no limits fixed by nature, but the wide circle of human transactions. When the principles are applied to these in detail. the detail is plea- 248 ESSAY ¥. sant.and profitable, _ It requires no profound reasoning, except- ing, perhaps, in a few disputable points... It admits of the most agreeable illustration from examples and authorities; it serves to exercise, and thereby to strengthen moral judgment. And one who has given much attention to the duty of man, in all the various relations and circumstances of life, will probably. be more enlightened in his own duty, and more able to enlighten others. , +01) evoreiqier Bart The first writers in morals, we are acquainted with, delivered their moral instructions, not in systems, but in shortunconnected sentences, or aphorisms. They saw no need for deductions of reasoning, because the truths they delivered could not but be ad- mitted by the candid and attentive. _ oe hd And oor 5 Subsequent writers, to improve the way of treating this sub- ject, gave method and arrangement to moral truths, by reducing them under certain divisions and subdivisions, as parts of one whole. By this means the whole is more easily comprehended and remembered, and from this arrangement gets the name of a system and of a science. 1 weoiigeghotes again eae A system of morals is not like a system of geometry, where the subsequent parts derive their evidence from the preceding, and one chain of reasoning is carried on from the beginning ; so that, if the arrangement is changed, the chain is broken, and the evidence is lost. It resembles more a system of botany, or mineralogy, where the subsequent parts depend not for their,evi- dence upon the preceding, and the arrangement is made to faci- litate apprehension and memory, and not to give evidence. Morals have been methodized in different ways. The ancients commonly arranged them under the four cardinal virtues of pru- dence, temperance, fortitude, and justice. Christian writers, I think, more properly, under the three heads of the duty we owe to God, to ourselves, and.to our neighbour. One division may be more comprehensive, or more natural, than another; but the truths arranged are the same, and their evidence the same in all. wet? I shall only further observe, with regard to systems of»morals, that they have been made more voluminous, and more intricate, partly by mixing political questions with morals, which J think improper, because they beiong to a_ different science, and are grounded on different principles ; partly by making what is com- monly, but I think improperly, called the Theory of Morals, a _part of the system. 02, aia By the theory of morals is meant, a just account of the struc- ture of our moral powers; that is, of those powers of the mind by which we have our moral conceptions, and distinguish right from wrong in humanactions. This, indeed, is an intricate sub- ject, and there have been various theories, and much controversy about it. in ancient and in modern times.. .But it has little con- t OF SYSTEMS OF MORALS. 249 nexion with the knowledge of our duty ; and those who differ mostin the theory of our moral powers, agree in the practical rules of morals which they dictate. Asa man may be a good judge of colours, and of the other visible qualities of objects, without any knowledge of the anato- my of the eye, and of the theory of vision ; so a man may have a very clear and comprehensive knowledge of what is right and what is wrong in human conduct, who never studied the structure of our moral powers. A good ear in music may be much improved by attention and practice in that art; but very little by studying the anatomy of the ear,and the theory of sound. In order to acquire a good eye or a good ear in the arts that require them, the theory of vision and the theory of sound, are by no means necessary, and indeed of very little use. Of as little necessity or use is what we call the theory of morals, in order to improve our moral judgment. ‘ ‘ I mean not to depreciate this branch of knowledge. Itis a very important part of the philosophy of the human mind, and ought to be considered as such, but not as any part of morals. By the name we give to it, and by the custom of making it a part of every system of morals, men may be led into this gross mistake, which I wish to obviate, that in order to understand his duty, a man must needs be a philosopher and a metapbysician. CHAPTER Iii. OF SYSTEMS OF NATURAL JURISPRUDENCE. SYSTEMS of natural jurisprudence, of the rights of peace and war, or of the law of nature and nations, are a modern invention, which soon acquired such reputation, as gave occasion to many public establishments for teaching it along with the other sciences. It has so close a relation to morals, that it may answer the purpose of a system of morals, andis commonly put in the place of it, as far, at least, as concerns our duty to our fellow-men. They differ in the name and form, but agree in substance. This will appear froma slight attention to the nature of both. . The direct intention of morals is to teach the duty of men: that of natural jurisprudence, to teach the rights of men. Right and duty are things very different, and have evena kind of opposition ; yet they are so related, that the one cannot even be conceived without the other; and he that understands the one must understand the other. 950 ESSAY ¥. “They have the same relation which credit has to debt. As alt credit supposes an equivalent debt ; so all right supposes @ corresponding duty. There can be no~ t in one party without an equivalent debt in another party ; and there can be no right in one party, without a corresponding duty in another party. The sum of credit shows the sum of debt; and the ‘sune of men’s rights shows, in like manner, the sum of their duty to one another. ‘net hee Opti. The word right has a very different meaning, according as it is applied to actions or to persons. A right action is an action agreeable to our duty. But when we speak of the rights of men, the word has a very different and a more artificial meaning. It is a term of art in law, and signifies all that a man may law- fully do, all that he may lawfully possess and ‘use, and all’that he may lawfully claim of any other person. “9° This comprehensive meaning of the word right,and of the Latin word jus, which corresponds to it, though long adopted into common language, is too artificial to be the birth of com- mon language. It isa term of art, contrived by Civilians when the civil law became a profession. © 19 20S eB RII 08 The whole end and object of law is to protect the subjects in all that they may lawfully do, or possess, or demand.” ‘This threefold object of law, Civilians have comprehended under the word jus, or right, which they define, Facultas aliquid agendi, vel possidendi, vel ab alio consequendi: A lawful claim to 6 any thing, to possess any thing, orto demand some prestation fromsome other person. The first of these may be called the right of Liberty, the second that of property, which is also called a real right, the third is called personal right, because it respects some particu- lar person or persons of whom the prestation may be demanded. We can be at no loss to perceive the duties corresponding to the several kinds of rights. What I havea right to do, itis the duty of all men not to hinder me from doing. What is my pro- perty or real right, no man ought to take from me; orto molest me in the use and enjoyment of it. And what [havea right'to — demand of any man, it is his duty to perform. Between the right, on the one hand, and the duty on the other, there is not only a necessary connexion, but, in reality, they are only differ- ent expressions of the same meaning ; just as it is the sa ing | to say, | am your debtor, and to say, you are my creditor; or, as itis the same thing to say, 1 am your father, and to say, you are my son. 1D 10 oa hs Thus we see, that there is such a'correspondence between the rights of men and the duties of men, that the one points other ; and a system of the one may be substituted for a System of the other. | + ah COGN TAN But here an objection occurs. It may be said, pment | every right implies a duty, yet every duty does not imply a right. - . Oy SYSTEMS OF NATUBAL JUBISPBUDENCE, 251 Thus, it may be my duty to doa humane or kind office to aman who has no claim of right to it; and therefore a system of the rights of men, though it teach all the duties of strict justice, yet it leaves out all the duties of charity and humanity, without which the system of morals must be very lame. _ In answer to this objection, it may be observed, that, as there is a strict notion of justice, in which it is distinguished from hu- manity and charity, so there is a more extensive signification of it, in which it includes those virtues. The ancient moralists, both Greek and Roman, under the cardinal virtue of justice, in- cluded beneficence ; and, in this extensive sense, it is often used in common language. The like may be said of right, which, in a sense not uncommon, is extended to every proper claim of humanity and charity, as well as to the claims of strict justice. But, as it is proper to distinguish these two kinds of claims by different names, writers in natural jurisprudence have given the name of perfect rights to the claims of strict justice, and that of imperfect rights to the claims of charity and humanity. Thus, all the duties of humanity have imperfect rights corresponding to them, as those of strict justice have perfect rights. ‘Another objection may be, that there is still a class of duties to which no right, perfect or imperfect, corresponds. Weare bound in duty to pay due respect, not only to whatis truly the right of another, but to what, through ignorance or mistake, we believe to be his right. ‘Thus, if my neighbour is possessed of a horse which he stole, and to which he has no right; while I believe the horse to be really his, and am igno- rant of the theft, it is my duty to pay the same respect to this conceived right as if it were real. Here, then, is a moral obli- gation on one party, without any corresponding right on the other. To supply this defect in the system of rights, so as to make yight and duty correspond in every instance, writers in jurispru- dence have had recourse to something like what is called a fic- tion of law. They give the name of right to the claim which even the thief has to the goods he has stolen, while the theft is unknown, and to all similar claims grounded on the ignorance or mistake of the parties concerned. And to distinguish this kind of right from genuine rights, perfect or imperfect, they call it an external right. Thus it appears, that although a system of the perfect rights of men, or the rights of strict justice, would be a lame substi- tute for a system of human duty; yet when we add toit the im- perfect and the external rights, it comprehends the whole duty we owe to our fellow-men. But it may be asked, why should mea be taught their duty in this indirect way, by reflection, as it were, from the rights of other men £ 252 ESSAY Y. aT) Perhaps it may be thought, that this indirectway may be more agreeable to the pride of man, as we see that men of rank like better to hear of obligations of honour than of obligations of duty, although the dictates of true honour and of duty be the same; for this reason, that honour puts a man in mind of what he owes to himself, whereas duty is a more humiliating idea. For a like reason, men may attend more willingly to their rights, which put them in mind of their dignity, than to their duties, — which suggest their dependence. And we see that men may give great attention to their rights who give but little to their duty. ie bed eh 11) aga Whatever truth there may be in this, I believe better reasons can be given why systems of natural jurisprudence have been contrived and put in the place of systems of morals... Systems of civil law were invented many ages before we had any system of natural jurisprudence; and the former seem to have suggested the idea of the latter. ) a) ‘tke obrae Such is the weakness of human understanding, that no large body of knowledge can be easily apprehended and remembered, unless it be arranged and methodized, that is, reduced intoa sys- tem. When the laws of the Roman people were multiplied to a great degree, and the study of them became an honourable and lucrative profession, it became necessary that they should be ~ methodized into a system. And the most natural and obvious way of methodizing law was found to be according to the divi- sions and subdivisions of men’s rights, which it is the intention of law to protect. > cdeidion adil The study of law produced not only systems of law, but a language proper for expressing them. Every art has its terms of art, for expressing the conceptions that belong to it; and the Civilian must have terms for expressing accurately the divisions and subdivisions of rights, and the various ways whereby they may be acquired, transferred, or extinguished, in the various transactions of civil society. He must have terms accurately defined, for the various crimes by which. men’s rights are vio~ lated, not to speak of the terms which express the different forms of actions at law, and the various steps of the procedure of judicatories. . | verdant Those who have been bred to any profession, are very prone to use the terms of their profession, in speaking or writing on subjects that have any analogy to it. And they may do so with advantage, as terms of art are commonly more precise in their signification, and better defined, than the words of common: language. To such persons it is also, very natural to model and arrange other subjects, as far as their nature admits, into a method similar to that of the system. which fills their minds. It might, therefore, be expected, that a Ciyilian, intending, to give a detailed system of morals, would use many of the sow OF SYSTEMS OF NATURAL JURISPRUDENCE. 253 terms of civil law, and mould it, as far as it can be done, inte the form of a system of law, or of the rights of mankind. The necessary and close relation of right to duty, which we before observed, justified this: and moral duty had long been considered as a law of nature; a law, not wrote on tables of stone or brass, but on the heart of man; a law of greater antiquity and higher authority than the laws of particular states ; a law which is binding upon all men of all nations, and therefore is called by Cicero the law of nature, and of nations. The idea of a system of this law was worthy of the ge- nius of the immortal Hugo Grotius, and he was the first who executed it in such a manner, as to draw the attention of the learned in all the European nations; and to give occa- sion to several princes and states to establish public profes- sions for the teaching of this law. | The multitude of commentators and annotators upon this work of Grotius, and the public establishments to which it gave occasion, are sufficient vouchers of its merit. It is, indeed, a work so well designed, and so skilfully executed ; so free from the scholastic jargon which infected the learned at that time, so much addressed to the common sense and moral judgment of mankind, and so agreeably illustrated by examples from ancient history, and authorities from the sentiments of an- cient authors, heathen and christian, that it must always be esteemed as the capital work of a great genius upona most im- portant subject. The utility of a just system of natural jurisprudence appears, Ist, As it is asystem of the moral duty we owe to men, which, by the aid they have taken from the terms and divisions of the civil law, has been given more in detail and more systematically by writers in natural jurisprudence than it was formerly. 2dly, As it is the best preparation for the study of law, being as it were, cast in the mould, and using and explaining many of the terms of the civil law, on which the law of most of the European nations is grounded. 3dly, It is of use to lawgivers, who ought to make their laws as agreeable as possible to the laws of na- ture. And as laws made by men, like all human works, must be imperfect, it points out the errors and imperfections of human laws. 4thly, ‘To judges and interpreters of the law it is of use, because that interpretation ought to be preferred which is found- ed in the law of nature. Sthly, It is of use in civil controver- sies between states, or between individuals who have no com- mon superior. In such controversies the appeal must be made to the law of nature ; and the standard systems of it, particu- larly that of Grotius, have great authority. And, 6thly, to say no more upon this point, itis of great use to sovereigns and states who are above all human laws, to be solemnly admonished of the conduct they are bound to observe to their own subjects, to VOL. Ml. 33 254 ESSAY ye the subjects of other states, and to one anothers Ap pe: Pace war. The better and the more generally the law,of na understood, the greater dishonour, in Pt blic - mation low every violation of it. ee | Some authors have imagined, that systems of tural jurispru- dence ought to be confined to the perfect rights of men, be beca the duties which correspond to the imperfect rights, the duties charity and humanity, cannot be enforced by human laws, bu must be left to the judgment and. conscience ree from compulsion. But the systems which hay the g est applause of the public, have not followed nite conceive for good reasons. ist, Because as Haye rights could by no means serve the purpose ol rals, which surely is an important purpose. 2dl Beca' many Cases, it is hardly possible to fix the Sali “ - justice and humanity, between perfect and imperfect right. Like the colours in a prismatic image, they run into _each of sO that the best eye cannot fix the precise boundary betwe: n. 3dly, As wise legislators and magistrates ought to haye itas their end to make the citizens good, as well as just, we find in all civi- lized nations, laws that are intended to encourage dutic humanity. Where human laws cannot enforce them ments, they may encourage them by rewards. Of this legislators have given examples; and how far this | legislation may be carried, no mancan foresee. The substance of the feat following chapters. was 2 ago, and read in a literary society, with a view to justify son points of morals from metaphysical objections. ee eat them in the writings of David Hume, Esq. If t nero that end, and, at the same time, serve to illustrate Attn I have given of our moral powers, it is hoped tht he will not think them improperly placed here ; and ieee forgive some repetitions, and perhaps anachronisms, occasion by their being wrote at different times, and on different occasions. img is oom He O98 pee yet pret l_evicormte od “Uotvstss ene CHAPTER IV. o> beter Jota) eel ; igeiéet she WHETHER AN ACTION DESERVING MORAL APPROBATION, MUST BE ae WITH THE BELIEF OF ITS BEING MORALLY GOOD. Mont SOWest THERE is no part of philosophy more. subtile iat that which is called the Theory of Morals. Nor e any more plain and level to the. sipenectlgsialh of man than the practical part of morals. - Meotedorinas In the former, the Epicurean, the Peripatetic, and the Stoic, a OBJECT OF MORAL, APPROBATION. 255 had each his different system of old; and almost every modern author of reputation has a system of his own. At the same ~ time, there is no branch of human knowledge in which there is so general an agreement among ancients and moderns, learned abel unlearned, asin the practical rules of morals. ~ From this discord in the theory, and harmony in the practical part, we may judge, that the rules of morality stand upon an- other and a firmer foundation than the theory. And of this it is easy to perceive the reason. For in order to know what is right and what is wrong in hu- man conduct, we need only listen to the dictates of our con- science, when the mind is calm and unruffled, or attend to the judgment we form of others inlike circumstances. But, to judge of the various theories of morals, we must be able to analyze and dissect, as it were, the active powers of the human mind, and es- pecially to analyze accurately that conscience or moral power, by which we discern right from wrong. The conscience may be compared to the eye in this as in many other respects. The learned and the unlearned see objects with equal distinctness. The former have no title to dictate to the latter, as far as the eye is judge, nor is there any disagreement about such matters. But, to dissect the eye, ‘and to explain the theory of vision, is a difficult point, wherein the most skilful have differed. From this remarkable disparity between our decisions in the theory of morals and in the rules of morality, we may, I think, draw this conclusion, that wherever we find any disagreement between the practical rules of morality, which have been re- ceived in all ages, and the principles of any of the theories ad- vanced upon this subject, the practical rules ought to be the standard by which the theory is to be corrected; and that it is both unsafe and unphilosophical to warp the practical rules, in order to make them tally with a favourite theory. The question to be considered in this chapter belongs to the practical part of morals; and therefore is capable of a more easy and more certain determination. And, if it be determined in the affirmative, I conceive that it may serve as a touchstone to try some celebrated theories which are inconsistent with that deter- mination, and which have led the theorists to oppose it by very subtile metaphysical arguments. - Every question about what is or is not the proper object of moral approbation, belongs to practical morals, and such is the question now under consideration : Whether actions deserving moral approbation must be done with the belief of their being morally good ? Or, Whether an action, done without any regard to duty or to the dictates of conscience, can be entitled to moral approbation ? are "In every action of a moral agent, his conscience is either alto- 256 ESSAY Y. gether silent, or it pronounces the action to be good, or bad, or indifferent. ‘This, I think, is a complete enumeration. If it be perfectly silent, the action must: be very trifling, or appear so. For conscience, in those who have exercised it, isa very prag- matical faculty, and meddles with every part of our conduct, whether we desire its counsel or not. And what a man does in perfect simplicity, without the least suspicion.of its being bad, his heart cannot condemn him for, nor will he that knows the heart condemn him. If there was any previous culpable negli- gence or inattention which led him to a wrong judgment, or hin- dered his forming a right one, that I do not exeulpate. I only consider the action done, and the disposition with which it was done, without its previous circumstances. And in this there ap- pears nothing that merits disapprobation. As little can it merit any degree of moral approbation, because there was neither good nor ill intended. And the same may be said when conscience pronounces the action to be indifferent. AS aside erp If, in the second place, 1 do what my conscience pronounces to be bad, or dubious, | am guilty to myself, and justly deserve the disapprobation of others. Nor am I less guilty in this case, though what | judged to be bad, should happen to be good or in- different. I did it believing it to be bad, and this is an meena rality. Ft If 1 do what my conscience pronounces to hei sisshs snl my duty, either I have some regard to duty, or | have none. The last is not supposable ; for | believe there is no man so abandoned, but that he does what he believes to be his duty, with more assurance and alacrity upon that account. ‘The more weight the rectitude of the action has in determining me fo doit, the more I approve of my ownconduct. And if my worldly in- terest, my appetites, or inclinations, draw me strongly the con- trary way, my following the dictates of my conscience, im oppo sition to these motives, adds to the moral worth of the action. When a man acts from an erroneous judgment, if his error be invincible, all agree that he is inculpable : butif bis error be ow- ing to some previous negligence or inattention, there seems to be some difference among moralists. ‘This difference, however, is only seeming, and not real. For wherein lies the fault in this case? It must be granted by all, that the fault lies in this, and solely in this, that he was not at due pains to have his judgment. well informed. Those moralists, therefore, who-consider t: tion and the previous conduct that led to it as one whole ; find something to blame in the whole ; and they do so most jain But those who take this whole to pieces, and consider what is blameable and what is right in each part, find all thatis blame- able in what preceded this wrong judgment, and: nothing but what is approveable in what followed it. e teal: Let us suppose, for instance, that aman believes that God rat OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 257 indispensably required him to observe a very rigorous fast in Lent ; and that, from a regard to this supposed Divine command, he fasts in such manner as is not only a great mortification to his appetite, but even hurtful to his health. His superstitious opinion may be the effect of a culpable neg- ligence, for which he can by no means be justified. Let him, therefore, bear all the blame upon this account that he deserves. But now, having this opinion fixed in his mind, shal! he act ac- cording to it or against it ? Surely we cannot hesitate a moment in thiscase. It is evident, that in following the light of his judg- ment, heacts the part of a good and pious man, whereas in act- ing contrary to his judgment, he woald be guilty of wilful diso- bedience to his Maker. . If my servant, by, mistaking my orders, does the contrary o what I commanded, believing, at the same time, that he obeys my orders, there may be some fault in his mistake, but to charge him with the crime of disobedience, would be inhuman and un- just. F These determinations appear to me to have intuitive evidence, no less than that of mathematical axioms. A man who is come to years of understanding, and who has exercised his faculties in judging of right and wrong, sees their truth as he sees daylight. Metaphysical arguments brought against them have the same ef- fect as when brought against the evidence of sense: they may puzzle and confound, but they do not convince. It appears evident, therefore, that those actions only can truly be called virtuous, or deserving of moral approbation, which the agent believed to be right, and to which he was influenced, more or less, by that belief. If it should be objected, that this principle makes it to be of no consequence to a man’s morals, what his opinions may be, providing he acts agreeably to them, the answer is easy. Morality requires, not only that a man should act according to his judgment, but that he should use the best means in his power that his judgment be according to truth. If he fail in either of these points, he is worthy of blame ; but, if he fail in neither, I see not wherein he can be blamed. When a man must act, and has no longer time to deliberate, he ought to act according to the light of his conscience, even when he is in an error. But, when he has time to deliberate, he ought surely to use all the means in his power to be rightly in- formed. When he has done so, he may still be in anerror ; but it 2 an invincibie error, and cannot justly be imputed to him as a fault. A second objection is, that we immediately approve of bene- volence, gratitude, and other primary virtues, without inquiring whether they are practised from a persuasion that they are our duty. And the laws of God place the sum of virtue in loving 258 ESSAY Y. God and our neighbour, without any provision that we doit from a persuasion that we ought to do so. 9 Pideiisai. ~The answer to this objection is, that the love of God, the love of our neighbour, justice, gratitude, and other primary virtues, are, by the constitution of human nature, née essarily accompanied with a conviction of their being morally good. We may therefore safely presume, that these things are never dis- joined, and that every man who practises these virtues does it with a good conscience. In judging of men’s conduct, we do not suppose things which cannot happen, nor do the laws of God give decisions upon impossible cases, as they must have done, if they supposed the case of a man who thought it contrary to his duty to love God or to love mankind. rf fo Pe Teed But if we wish to know how the laws of God determine the point in question, we ought to observe their decision with regard to such actions as may appear good to one man and ill to another. And here the decisions of scripture are clear: Let every man be persuaded in his own mind. He that doubteth is condemned if he eat, because he eateth not of faith ; for whatsoever is not of faith ts sin. To him that esteemeth any thing to be unclean, it is un- clean. The scripture often places the sum of virtue in living in all good conscience, in acting so that our hearts condemn us not. The last objection J shall mention is a metaphysical one urged — by Mr. Hume. , Peiea isi Dias oa It isa favourite point in his system of morals, that justice is not a natural but an artificial virtue. To prove this, he has ex- erted the whole’strength of his reason and eloquence. And as the principle we are considering stood in his way, he takes pains to refute it. . FPR Ap “ Suppose,” says he, “a person to have lent me a sum of mo- ney, on condition that it be restored in a few days. After the expiration of the term 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 abhorrence of villany and kna- very, are suflicient reasons for me.” And this, he acknowledges, would be asatisfactory answer to a man ina civilized state, and’ when trained up according to a certain discipline and education. “¢ But in his rude and more natural condition,” says he, “if you are pleased to call such a condition natural, this aneiee woul be rejected as perfectly unintelligible and sophistical.? = “For wherein consists this honesty and justice? Not surély in the external action. It must therefore consist in the motive from which the external action is derived. This motive can ne- ver be a regard to the honesty of the action. For it isa 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 to the action. We can never have a regard to the’ virtue of an action, unless the action be antecedently virtuous.” OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 259 .. And, in another place, “to suppose that the mere regard to the virtue of the action is that which rendered it virtuous, is to reason in a circle. 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 meta- physical subtilty,”” &c. Treatise of Hum. Nature, book 3. part 2. sect. 1. Iam not to consider at this time, how this reasoning is applied to support the author’s opinion, that justice is not a natural, but an artificial virtue. I consider it only as far as it opposes the principle I have been endeavouring to establish, that, to render an action truly virtuous, the agent must have some regard to its rectitude. And I conceive the whole force of the reasoning amounts to this: _ When we judge an action to be good or bad, it must have been so in its own nature antecedent to that judgment, otherwise the judgment is erroneous. If, therefore, the action be good in iis nature, the judgment of the agent cannot make it bad, nor can his judgment make it good, if, in its nature, it be bad. For this would be to ascribe to our judgment a strange magical power to transform the nature of things, and to say, that my judging a thing to be what it is not, makes it really to be what I erroneously judge itto be. This, I think, isthe objection in its full strength. And, in answer to it, Ist, If we could not lose this metaphysical knot, I think we raight fairly and honestly cut it, because it fixes an absurdity upon the clearest and most indisputable principles of morals and of common sense. For! appeal to any man whether there be any principle of morality, or any principle of common sense, more clearand indisputable than that which we just now quoted from the Apostle Paul, that although a thing be not unclean in itself, yet to him that esteemeth it to be unclean, to him it is unclean. But the metaphysical argument makes this absurd. For, says the metaphysician, if the thing was not unclean in itself, you judged wrong in esteeming it to be unclean; and what can be more absurd, than that your esteeming a thing to be what it is not, should make it what you erroneously esteem it to be? Let us try the edge of this argument in another instance. No- thing is more evident, than that an action does not merit the name of benenolent, unless it be done from a belief that it tends to promote the good of our neigbour. But this is absurd, says the metaphysician. For, if itbe not a benevolent action in itself, your belief of its tendency cannot change its nature. It is absurd, that your erroneous belief should make the action to be what you believe itto be. Nothing is more evident, than that aman who tells the truth, believing it to be a_ lie, is guilty of falsehood ; but the metaphysician would make this to be absurd. In a word, if there be apy strength in this argument.it would 260 ESSAY Ve follow, that a man might be in the highest degree virtuous, without the least regard to virtue; that he might be very benevolent, without ever intending to do.a good office ; very malicious, without ever intending any hurt; very revengeful, without ever intending to retaliate an. injury ; al, without ever intending to return a benefit: fe a veracity, with an intention to lie. We might, rife ae oa this reasoning, as repugnant to self-evident. truth we were not able to point out the fallacy Obits: yarn yaad Qdly, But let us try, in the second place, whether the fallacy of this argument may not be discovered. ss ef dete oR We ascribe moral goodness to actions considered abstractly, without any relation to the agent. We likewise ascribe moral goodness to an agent on account of an action he has done ; we call it a good action, though, in this. case, the goodness is properly in the man, and is only by a figure ascribed to the action. Now, itis to be considered, whether moral goodness, when ap- plied to an action considered abstractly, has the same as when we apply it toa manon account of that action; or whether we do not unawares change the meaning of the word, according as we apply it to the one orto the other. . | 9») Suit The action, considered abstractly, has neither und nor will; it is not accountable, nor can it be under any moral obligatio n. But all these things are essential to that moral goodness which belongs to a man; for, if a man had not under- standing and will, he could have no moral goodness. Hence it follows necessarily, that the moral goodness which we ascribe to an action considered abstractly, and that which we ascribe to a person for doing that action, are not the same. . The meaning of the word is changed when it is applied to these different subjects. ) Det stytiabs This will be more evident, when we consider what is meant. by the moral goodness which we ascribe toa man for doing an’ action, and what by the goodness which belongs to the action considered abstractly. A good action in a man is that in which’ he applied his intellectual powers properly, in order to judge’ what he ought to do, and acted according to his best judgment. This is all that can be required of a moral agent ; and in this)his moral goodness, in any good action, consists... But is this the goodness which we ascribe to an action considered abstractly? No, surely. For the action, considered abstractly, is neither endowed with judgment nor with active power; and, therefore, can haye none of that goodness which we ascribe to'the man for. doing it... i+ bonkaiga a me | But what do we mean by goodness 1 in an action consi stractly? To me it appears to lie in this, and in this only, that it i is an action which ought to be done by those who hayethe power and opportunity, and the capacity of perceiving their obligation todo” OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 261 it. Iwould gladly know of any man, what other moral goodness can be in an action considered abstractly. And this goodness is inherent in its nature, and inseparable from it. No opinion or ‘udgment of an agent can in the least alter its nature. Suppose the action to be that of relieving an innocent person out of great distress, This surely has the moral goodness that an action considered abstractly can have. Yet itis evident, that an agent, in relieving a person in distress, may have no moral goodness, may have great merit, or may have great demerit. Supposé, Ist, that mice cut the cords which bound the dis- tressed person, and so bring him relief. Is there moral goodness in this act of the mice ? Suppose, 2dly, thata man maliciously relieves the distressed person, in order to plunge him into greater distress. In this ac- tion there is surely no moral goodness, but much malice and in- humanity. If, in the /ast place, we suppose a person, from real sympathy and humanity, to bring relief to the distressed person, with con- siderable expense or danger to himself; here is an action of real worth, which every heart approves, and every tongue praises. But wherein lies the worth? Notin the action considered by itself, which was common to all the three, but in the man who, on this occasion, acted the part which became agood man. He did what his heart approved, and therefore he is approved by God and man. P Upon the whole, if we distinguish between that goodness which may be ascribed to an action considered by itself, and that good- ness which we ascribe to a man when he puts it in execution, we shall find a key to this metaphysical lock. We admit, that the goodness of an action, considered abstractly, can have no de- pendence upon the opinion or belief of an agent, any more than the truth of a proposition depends upon our believing it to be true. But, when a man exerts his active power well or ill, there is a moral goodness or turpitude, which we figuratively impute to the action, but which is truly and properly imputable to the man only; and this goodness or turpitude depends very much upon the intention of the agent, and the opinion he had of his action. This distinction has been understood in all ages by those who gave any attention to morals, though it has been variously ex- pressed. The Greek moralists gave the name of xa9yx to an action good in itself; such an action might be done by the most worthless. But an action done witha right intention, which im- plies real worth in the agent, they called xer'se9au2. The distinc- tion is explained by Cicero in his offices. He calls the first offi- erum medium, and the second officium perfectum, or rectum. In the scholastic ages, an action good in itself was said to be maite- rially good, and an action done witha right intention was called formally good. This last way of expressing the distinction is ‘84 VOL. WI. 262 ESSAY V. still familiar among theologians: but Mr. Hume seems not to have attended to it, or to have thought it to be words without any meaning. Mr. Hume, in the section already quoted, tells us with great assurance, ‘‘In short, it may be established as un 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.” And upon this maxim he founds many of his reasonings on the subject of morals. Whether it be consistent with Mr. Hume’s own system, that an action may be produced merely from the sense of its morality, without any motive of agreeableness or utility, I shall not now inquire. But, if itbe true, and I think it evident to every man of common understanding, thata judge or an arbiter acts the most virtuous part when his sentence is produced by no other motive but a regard to justice and a good conscience; nay, when all other motives distinct from this are on the other side : if this, I say, be true, then that undoubted maxim of Mr. Hume must be false, and all the conclusions built upon it must fall to the ground. From the principle I have endeavoured to establish, I think some consequences may be drawn with regard to the theory of morals. , am First, If there be no virtue without the belief that what we do is right, it follows, that a moral faculty, that is, a power of discerning moral goodness and turpitude in human conduct, is essential to every being capable of virtue or vice. A being who has no more conception of moral goodness and baseness, of right and wrong, than a blind man has of colours, can have no regard to it in his conduct, and therefore can neither be virtu- us nor Vicious. ° He may have qualities that are agreeable or disagreeable, useful or hurtful ; so may a plant or a machine. And we some- times use the word virtue in such a latitude, as to signify any agreeable or useful quality, as when we speak of the virtues of plants. But we are now speaking of virtue in the strict and proper sense, as it signifies that quality in a man which is the object of moral approbation. This virtue a man could not have, if he had not a power of discerning a right and a wrong in human conduct, and of being influenced by that discernment. For in so far only he is virtu- ous as he is guided in his conduct by that part of his constitution. Brutes do not appear to have any such power, and therefore are not moral or accountable agents. ‘They are capable of culture and discipline, but not of virtuous or criminal conduct. Even human creatures, in infancy and nonage, are not moral agents, because their moral faculty is not yet unfolded. These senti- ments are supported by the common sense of mankind, which OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 263 has always determined, that neither brutes nor infants can be- indicted for crimes. It is of small consequence what name we give to this moral power of the human mind ; but it is so important a part of our constitution, as to deserve an appropriated name. The name of conscience, as it is the most common, seems to me as proper as any that has been givenit. I find no fault with the name moral sense, although I conceive this name has given occasion te some mistakes concerning the nature of our moral power. Modern philosophers have conceived of the external senses as having no other office but to give us certain sensations, or simple conceptions, which we could not have without them. And this notion has been applied to the moralsense. But it seems tome a mistaken notion in both. By the sense of seeing, | not only have the conception of the different colours, but I perceive one hody to be of this colour, another of that. In like manner, by my moral sense, I not only have the conceptions of right and wrong in conduct, but I perceive this conduct to be right, thai io be wrong, and that indifferent. All our senses are judging faculties, so also is conscience. Nor is this power only a judge of our own actions and those of others, it is likewise a princi- ple of action in all good men; and so far only can our conduct be denominated virtuous, as it is influenced by this principle. A second consequence from the principle laid down in this chapter is, that the formal nature and essence of that virtue which is the object ef moral approbation, consists neither in a prudent prosecution of our private interest, nor in benevolent affections toward others, nor in qualities useful or agreeable te ourselves or to others, nor in sympathizing with the passions and affections of others, and in attuning our own conduct to the tone of other men’s passions ; but it consists in living in all good con- science, that is, in using the best means in our power to know our duty, and acting accordingly. Prudence is a virtue, benevolence is a virtue, fortitude is 2 virtue ; but the essence and formal nature of virtue must lie in something that is common to all these, and to every other virtue. And this I conceive can be nothing else but the rectitude of such conduct, and turpitude of the contrary, which is discerned by a.good man. And so far only he is virtuous as he pursues the former. and avoids the latter. 264 ESSAY Y. CHAPTER VY. - WHETHER JUSTICE BE A NATURAL OR AN ARTIFICIAL VIRTUE. ENT sy MR.HUMDP’S philosophy concerning morals was first present- ed to the world in the third volume of his Treatise of Human Nature, in the year 1740; afterward, in his Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, which was published by itself, and then in several editions of his Essays and Treatises. In these two works on morals, the system is the same. A more popular arrangement, great embellishment, and the omis- sion of some metaphysical reasonings, have given a preference in the public esteem to the last; but | find neither any new prin- ciples in it, nor any new arguments in support of the system common to both. In this system, the proper object of moral approbatiea ‘is not actions or any voluntary exertion, but qualities of mind ; that these natural affections or passions, which are involuntary, a part ta of the constitution of the man, and common to us rhs brute animals. When we praise or blame any voluntary action, ‘it is only considered as a sign of the natural affection from which it flows, and from which all its merit or demerit is derived. » ¥ Moral approbation or disapprobation is not an act of the judgment, which, like allacts of judgment, must be true or false, it is only a certain feeling, which, from the constitution of hu- man nature, arises upon contemplating certain characters or » gualities of mind coolly and impartially. » @This feeling, when agreeable, is moral approbation; when disagreeable, disapprobation. The qualities of mind-which pro- duce this agreeable feeling are the moral virtues, and those that ) ” aeteiice the disagreeable, the vices. _ These preliminaries being granted, the question ‘about the Mie _ foundation of morals is reduced to a simple question of fact, ez. What are the qualities of mind which produce, in the dis- alee observer, the feeling of approbation, or the contrary ggfeeling pein answer to this question, is author endeavours to prove, “¢ yg a very copious induction, that all personal merit, all virtue, all that is the object of moral approbation, consists in the quali- ties of mind which are agreeable or useful to the rasa who possesses them, or to others. The dulce and the utile is the whole sum of merit in every character, in every quatity of mind, andin every action of life. There is no room left-for that honestum which Cicero thus de- fines, Honestum igitur id intelligimus, quod tale est, ut detracta ial | OB JUSTICE. 965 omni ulilitate, sine ullis premus fructibusve, per sé ysum possit jure laudari. Among the ancient moralists, the Epicureans were the only sect who denied that there is any such thing as honestum, or mo- ral worth, distinct from pleasure. In this Mr. Hume’s system agrees with theirs. For the addition of utility to pleasure, asa foundation of morals, makes only a verbal, but no real difference. What is useful only has no value in itself, but derives all its merit from the end for which it is useful. That end, in this system, is agreeableness or pleasure. So that, in both systems, pleasure is the only end, the only thing that is good in itself, and desirable for its own sake; and virtue derives all its merit from its tendency to produce pleasure. Agreeableness and utility are not moral conceptions, nor have they any connexion with morality. What a man does, merely because it is agreeable, or useful to procure what is agreeable, is not virtue. Therefore the Epicurean system was justly thought by Cicero, and the best moralists among the ancients, to subvert morality, and to substitute another principle in its room ; and this system is liable to the same censure. _In one thing, however, it differs remarkably from that of Epicarus. It allows, that there are disinterested affections in human nature; that the love of children and relations, friend- ship, gratitude, compassion, and humanity, are not, as Kpicurus maintained, different modifications of self-love, but simple and original parts of the human constitution; that when interest, or envy, or revenge, pervert not our dispositions, we are inclined, from natural philanthropy, to desire, and to be pleased with the happiness of the human kind. All this, in opposition to the Epicurean system, Mr. Hume ‘maintains with great strength of reason and eloquence, and, in es pe this respect, his system is more liberal and disinterested than 7 x that of the Greek philosopher. According to Epicurus, virtue is whatever is agreeable to ourselves. According to Mr. Hume, i every quality of mind that is agreeable or useful to ourselyesor ig to others. we This theory of the nature of virtue, it must be acknowledged, enlarges greatly the catalogue of moral virtues, by bringing into Nor does there appear any good reason why the useful and agreeable qualities of body and of fortune, as well as those of the mind, should not have a place among moral virtues in this system. They have the essence of virtue; that is, agreeable- ness and utility, why then should they not have the name ? But, to compensate this addition to the moral virtues, one class of them seems to be greatly degraded and deprived of all intrinsic merit. The useful virtues, as was above observed, are only ministering servants of the agreeable, and purveyors for ak. that catalogue every quality of mind that is useful oragreeable. _ t % ‘ 266 ESSAY Y. them ; they must, therefore, be so far inferior in dignity, as hardly to deserve the same name. Mr. Hume, however, gives the name of virtue to both ; and, to distinguish them, calls the agreeable qualities, natural virtues, and the useful, artificial. The natural virtues are those natural affections of the human constitution which give immediate pleasure in their exercise. Such are all the benevolent affections. Nature disposes to them, and from their own nature they are agreeable, both when we exercise them ourselves, and when we contemplate their exer- cise in others. The artificial virtues are such as are esteemed solely on account of their utility, either to promote the good of society, as justice, fidelity, honour, veracity, allegiance, chastity; or on account of their utility to the possessor, as industry, discretion, frugality, secresy, order, perseverance, forethought, judgment, and others, of which, he says, many pages could not contain the catalogue. This general view of Mr. Hume’s system concerning the foundation of morals, seemed necessary, in order to understand distinctly themeaning of that principle of his, whichisto be the sub- ject of this chapter, and on which he has bestowed much labour ; to wit, that justice is not a natural, but an artificial virtue. © This system of the foundation of virtue is so contradictory in many of its essential points to the account we have before given of the active powers of human nature, that, if the one be true, the other must be false. he If God has given to man a power which we call conscience, the moral faculty, the sense of duty, by which, when he comes to ears of understanding, he perceives certain things that depend on his will to be his duty, and other things to be base and un- worthy ; if the notion of duty be a simple conception, of its own kind, and of a different nature from the conceptions of utility and agreeableness, of interest or reputation ; if this moral faculty be the prerogative of man, and no vestige of it be found in brute animals ; if it be given us by God to regulate all our ani- mal affections and passions ; if to be governed by it be the glory of man and the image of God in his soul, and to disregard its dictates be his dishonour and depravity : I say, if these things be so, to seek the foundation of morality in the affections which we have in common with the brutes, is to seek the living among the dead, and to change the glory of man, and the image of God in his soul, into the similitude of an ox that eateth grass. If virtue and vice be a matter of choice, they must consist in voluntary actions, or in fixed purposes of acting according to a certain rule when there is opportunity, and not in qualities of mind which are involuntary. " It is true, that every virtue is both agreeable and useful in the OP JUSTICE. 967 highest degree ; and that every quality that is agreeable or useful, has a merit upon that account. But virtue has a merit peculiar to itself, a merit which does not arise from its being useful or agreeable, but from its being virtue. This merit is discerned by the same faculty by which we discern it to be vir- tue, and by no other. We give the name of esteem both to the regard we have for things useful and agreeable, and to the regard we have for virtue ; but these are different kinds of esteem. I esteem a man for his ingenuity and learning. [esteem him for bis moral worth. The sound of esteem in both these speeches is the same, but its mean- ing is very different. Good breeding Is a very amiable quality ; and even if I knew that the man had no motive to it but its pleasure and atility to himself and others, I should like it still, but I would not in that ease call. it a moral virtue. A dog has a tender concern for her puppies ; so has a man for his children. The natural affection is the same in both, and is amiable in both. But why do we impute moral virtue to the man en account of this concern, and not to the dog? The reason surely is, thatin the man, the natural affection is accompanied with a sense of duty, but, in the dog, itisnot. The same thing may be said of all the kind affections common to us with the brutes. They are amiable qualities, but they are not moral virtues. What has been said relates to Mr. Hume’s system in general. We are now to consider his notion of the particular virtue of justice, that its merit consists wholly in its utility to society. That justice is highly useful and necessary in society, and, on that account, ought to be loved and esteemed by all that love mankind, will readily be granted. And as justice isa social vir- tue, it is true also, that there could be no exercise of it, and perhaps we should have no cenception of it, without society. But this is equally true of the natural affections of benevolence, gratitude, friendship, and compassion, which Mr. Hume makes to be the natural virtues. . It may be granted to Mr. Hume, that men have no conception of the virtue of justice till they have lived some time in society. It is purely a moral conception, and our moral conceptions and moral judgments are not born with us. ‘They grow up by de- grees, as our reason does. Nor do! pretend to know how early, orin what order, we acquire the conception of the several vir- tues. The conception of justice supposes some exercise of the moral faculty, which, being the noblest part of the human consti- tution, and that to which all its other parts are subservient, appears latest. It may likewise be granted, that there is no animal affection in human nature that prompts us immediately to acts of justice, as to 268 ESSAY V. such. We have natural affections of the animal kind, which immediately prompt us to acts of kindness ; but none, that I know, that has the same relation to justice, The yery concep- tion of justice supposes a moral faculty ; but our natural kind affections do not; otherwise we must allow that brutes have this faculty. bite What I maintain is, ist, that when men come to the exercise of their morai faculty, they perceive a turpitude in injustice, as they do in other crimes, and consequently an obligation to justice, abstracting from the consideration of its utility. And, 2dly, that as soon as men have any rational conception of a favour, and of an injury, they must have the conception of justice, and perceive its obligation distinct from its utility. The first of these points hardly admits of any other proof, but an appeal to the sentiments of every honest man, and every man of honour, whether his indignation is not immediately inflamed against an atrocious act of villany, without the cool considera- tion of its distant consequences upon the good of society ? We might appeal even to robbers and pirates, whether they have not had great struggles with their conscience, when they first resolved to break through all the rules of justice? And whether, in a solitary and serious hour, they have not frequently felt the pangs of guilt? They have very often confessed this at a time when all disguise is laid aside. cat The common good of society, though a pleasing object to all men, when presented to their view, hardly ever enters into the thoughts of the far greatest part of mankind ; and, if a regard to it were the sole motive to justice, the number of honest men must be smallindeed. It would be confined to the higher ranks, who, by their education, or by their office, are led to make the public good an object ; but that it is so confined, I believe no man will venture to affirm. a4 The temptations to injustice are strongest in the lowest class _ of men ; andif nature had provided no motive to oppose those temptations, but a sense of public good, there would not be _., found an honest man in that class. To all men that are not greatly corrupted, injustice, as well as cruelty and ingratitude, is an object of disapprobation on its. own account. There isa voice within us that proclaims it to be base, unworthy, and deserving of punishment. a jul That there is, in all ingenuous natures, an antipathy to roguery and treachery, a reluctance to the thoughts of villany and base- ness, we have the testimony of Mr. Hume himself; who, as I doubt not but he felt it, has expressed it very strongly in the conclusion to his Inquiry, and acknowledged that, in some cases, without this reluctance and antipathy to dishonesty, a sensible knave would find no sufficient motive from public good to be honest. OF JUSTICE. 269 Yshall'give the passage at large from the Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, sect. 9, near the end. |“ Treating vice with the greatest candour, and making it all sible concessions, we must acknowledge that there is not, in any instance, the smallest pretext for giving it the preference above virtue, with a view to self-interest ; except, perhaps, in the case of justice, where a man, taking things, in a certain light, may often seem to be a loser by his integrity. And though it is allowed that, without a regard to property, no society could ' subsist: yet, according to the imperfect way in which human affairs are conducted, a sensible knave, in particular incidents, may think, that an act of iniquity or infidelity will make a con- siderable addition to his fortune, without causing any considera- ble breach in the social union and confederacy. That honesty ts the best policy, may be a good general rule, but it is liable to many exceptions : and he, it may perhaps be thought, conducts himself with most wisdom, who observes the general rule, and takes advantage of allthe exceptions. \ “7 must confess that, if a man think that this reasoning requires an answer, it will be alittle difficult to find any which willto him appear satisfactory and convincing. If his heart rebel not against such pernicious maxims, if he feel no reluctance to the thoughts of villany and baseness, he has indeed lost a con- siderable motive to virtue, and we may expect that his practice will be answerable to his speculation. But in all ingenuous natures, the antipathy to treachery and roguery is too strong to be counterbalanced by any views of profit or pecuniary advan- tage. Inward peace of mind, consciousness of integrity, a satis- factory review of our own conduct; these are circumstances very requisite to happiness, and will be cherished and cultivated by every honest man who feels the importance of them.” The reasoning of the sensible knave in this passage, seems to me to be justly founded upon the principles of the Inquiry and of the Treatise of Human Nature, arid therefore it is no wonder, that the author should find it a littlé difficult to give any answer which would appear satisfactory and convincing to such a man. To counterbalance this reasoning, he puts in the other scale a reluctance, an antipathy, a rebellion of the heart against such pernicious maxims, whichis felt by ingenuous natures. Let us consider a little the force of Mr. Hume’s answer to this sensible knave, who reasons upon his own principles. I think it is either an acknowledgment, that there is a natural judgment of conscience in ‘man, that injustice and treachery is a base and unworthy practice, which is the point I would. _ establish ; or it has no force to convince either the knave or an honest man. shout er “legs rg TK ‘A clear and intuitive judgment, resulting from the constitution of human nature,: is sufficient to overbalance a train of subtile VOLs. Tl 35 270 ESSAY. V. reasoning on the other side. Thus, the testimony of our, is yificient to overbalance all the vile Ga te 2 against their testimony. And, if there bea ; conscience in favour of honesty, all the:subtile reasor knave against it ought to be rejected without examination, fallacious and sophistical, because it.concludes against a se evident principle ; just as we reject the subtile reasoning ¢ metaphysician against the evidence of sensee 5. If, therefore, the reluctance, the antipathy, the rebellion of the heart against injustice, which Mr. Hume sets against th reasoning of the knave, include in their ‘meaning a matur intuitive judgment of conscience, that injustice is base and unworthy, the reasoning of the knave is convincingly answered ; but the principle, That justice is an artificial virtue, approved solely for tts utility, is given up. ine Yona On If, on the other hand, the antipathy, reluctance, and rebellion of heart, imply no judgment, but barely an uneasy, feeling, a) that not natural, but acquired and artificial, the answer isi very agreeable to the principles of the Jngury, but has no force to convince the knave, or any other mane. . 4.) The knave is here supposed by Mr. Hume to have no feelings, and therefore the answer does not touch his, i least, but leaves him in the full possession of his reaso And ingenuous natures, who have these PPE ete delibe- rate whether they will yield to acquired and artificial feelings, in opposition to rules of conduct, which, to their best judgment, appear wise and prudent. line otieeidthae 4 PThe second thing | proposed to show yon atnt, capone! men have any rational conception of a favour and of an injury, they must have the conception of justice, and perceive its obligation. 4 PAHS She The power with which the Author of nature hi s endowed us, may be employed either to do good to our fellow-men, or to hurt them. When we employ our power to promote good and happiness of others, this is a benefit or favour; when we employ it to hurt them, it is an injury. Justice fillsup the middle between these two. It is such a conduct as does no injury to others; but it does not imply the doing them any favour. oS ait al ene The notions of a favour and of an injury, appear as ea the mind of man as any rational notion whatever. They a discovered, not by language only, but by certain affections mind, of which they are the natural objects. A fayourm rally produces gratitude. An injury done to ourselves prt resentment; and even when done to another, it roduces: indignation. ORT, AQT, Ae I take it for granted that gratitude and resentment areno Jess natural to the human mind than hunger and thirst; and OF JUSTICE. 271 that those affections are no less naturally excited by their re 3 objects and occasions than these appetites. - Tt*is no less evident, that the proper and formal object of gratitude is a person who has done us a favour; that of resent- ment, a person who has done us an injury. ' Before the use of reason, the distinction between a favour and an agreeable office is not perceived. Every action of another person which gives present pleasure produces love and good will toward the agent. Every action that gives pain or uneasiness produces resentment. This is common to man before the use of reason, and to the more sagacious brutes; and it shows no conception of justice in either. - But, as we grow up to the use of reason, the notion, both of a favour and of an injury, grows more distinct and better defined. It is not enough that a good office be done; it must be done from good will, and with a good intention, otherwise itis no favour, nor does it produce gratitude. Thave heard of a physician who gave spiders in a medicine to a dropsical patient, with an intention to poison him, and that this medicine cured the patient contrary to the intention of the physician. Surely no gratitude, but resentment, was due by the patient, when he knew the real state of the case. It is evident to every man, that a benefit arising from the action of another, either without or against his intention, is not a motive to gratitude ; that is, no favour. Another thing implied in the nature of a favour is, that it be not due. A man may save my credit by paying what he owes me. In this case, what he does tends to my benefit, and ~ perhaps is done with that intention; but it is not a favour, it is no more than he was bound to do. Ifa servant do his work, and receive his wages, there is no favour done on either part, nor any object of gratitude ; because, though each party has benefited the other, yet reither has done more than he was bound to do. ~ What I infer from this is, that the conception of a favour in ‘every man come to years of understanding, implies the concep- ‘tion of things not due, and consequently the conception of things that are due. A negative cannot be conceived by one who has no con- ception of the correspondent positive. Not to be due is the negative of being due; and he who conceives one of them must conceive both. The conception of things due and not due must therefore be found in every mind which has any ‘rational conception of a favour, or any rational sentiment of gratitude. _ If'we consider, on the other hand, what an injury is which is the object of the natural passion of resentment, every man Ae ESSAY ¥. capable of reflection, perceives that an‘ imjury: implies’ more than being hurt. If I be hurt by a ut of the wall, or by a flash of lightning, or ‘bya ¢ 1d involun- tary motion of another man’s-arm, no injury is done; no resent- ment raised in a man that has reason.” . In thisyasdmal actions, there must be the will and intention of the age the hurt. eo DiUN {ona tec: RiaeR ig Nor is this sufficient to constitute an injarys Pratcyonan breaks my fences, or treads down my ‘corn,’ when! 0 otherwise preserve himself from destruction, who»has’ no in= jurious intention, and is ‘willing to indemnify me for the hurt which necessity, and not ill will, led him to’ do, is: juriot nor isan object of resentment. §~ 9 =) em ae The executioner who does his duty,’ in cutting off thevhead of a condemned criminal, is not an object of resentment.’ He does nothing unjust, and therefore nothing injuriots!.") © 9) From this it is evident, that an injury, ‘the object»of’ the natural passion of resentment, implies in it ‘the/notion’ of injustice. And it is no less evident, that no man°can*have a notion of injustice without having the notion of justices ©» «9 To sum up what has been said upon this point: a favourjan act of justice, and an injury, are so related to one another, that he who conceives one must conceive the other two ey lie, as it were, in one line, and resemble the’ relati ree less, and equal. If one understands what is meant by one line being greater or less than another, he can be at no loss to under . stand what is meant by its being equal ‘to the-other; forjaf it : y g eq sone “4 be neither greater nor less, it must be equals 9) o> In like manner, of those actions by which'we profit or hart other men, a favour is more than justice, an injury” is ‘less; and that which is neither a favour nor an injury is a acti As soon, therefore, as men come to have any proper notion of a favour and of an injury; assoon as they have iona exercise of gratitude and of resentment; so soon''they ‘must have the conception of justice and of injustice’; and af grati- tudeand resentment be natural to man, which’ Mri*Hume ak lows, the notion of justice must be no less natural’ ©) 199 The notion of justice carries inseparably along with perception of its moral obligation. For’ to say that ‘such’ an action is an act of justice, that it°is due, that itjoughtte be done, that we are under a moral obligation 'to doit, are different ways of expressing the same thing. Itis ‘true; thai we perceive no high degree of moral worth in a yj action, when it is not opposed by interest or passion #/but we perceive a high degree of turpitude and demerit injunj actions or in the omission of what justice requires. © 9 ™ alt apili, Indeed, if there were no other argument to prove, that ‘the obligation of justice is not solely derived from its utility to"pre- = : : ‘ P OP JUSTICE. 273 cure what,is agreeable either to ourselves or to society, this would be:sufficient, that the very conception of justice implies its obligation. . The morality of justice is included in the very idea:of it ; nor is it possible that the conception of justice can en- terinto the human mind, without carrying along with it the con- ception of duty and moral obligation... Its obligation, therefore, is inseparable from its nature, and is not derived solely from its utility, either to ourselves or to society. isa is _ We may further observe, that as inall moral estimation, every action takes its denomination. from the motive that produces it ; sono action can properly be denominated an act of justice, unless it be done from a regard tojustice. If a man pays his debt, only that he may not be cast into prison, he is not a just man, because prudence, and not justice, is his motive...And if a man, from benevolence and charity, gives to another what is really due to him, but what he believes - not to be due, this is not an act of justice in him, but of charity or benevolence, because it is not done from a motive of justice. These are self-evident truths ; nor is it less evident, that whata man does merely to procure something agreeable, either to him- self or to others, is not an act of justice, nor has the merit of justice. Good music and good cookery have the merit of utility, in procuring what is agreeable both to ourselves and to society, but they never obtained among mankind the denomination of moral virtues. Indeed, if this author’s system be well founded, great injustice has been done them on that account. I shall now make some observations upon the reasoning of this author, in proof of his favourite principle, that justice is not a natural, but an artificial virtue; or, as it is expressed in the Inquiry, that public utility is the sole origin of justice, and that reflections on the beneficial consequences of this virtue are the ’ sole foundation of its merit. Ist, lt must be acknowledged, that this principle has a neces- sary connexion with his system concerning the foundation of all virtue ; and therefore it is no wonder that he has taken so.much : — to support it; for the whole system must stand or fall with it. . If the dulce and the utile, that is, pleasure, and what is useful to procure pleasure, be the whole merit of virtue, justice can have no merit beyond its utility to procure pleasure. If, on the other hand, an intrinsic worth in justice, and demerit in injustice, be discerned by every man that hasa conscience ; if there be a natural principle in the constitution of man, by which justice is approved, and injustice disapproved and condemned, then the whole of this laboured system must fall to the ground. 2dly, We may observe, that as justice is directly opposed te injury, and as there are various ways in which a man may he in- 274, ESSAY VY. red, so there must be various branches: of ce oppose ‘to the different kinds of i injury. hice hed - A man may be injured, Ist, in his person, by wou nding, mere ing, or killing him; 2dly, in his family, by robbin ia bis i or any way injuring ges he i is boun rep Dre to tcichty to F hneetints made with hae hh 8a) a right to these things, has- precisely the same meani say, that justice requires that he should’ be permitted to en) them, or that it is unjust to violate them. For injustice is \ violation of right, and justice is, to yield to “every man : his right. . ut These things being understood as the simplest and me st com. mon ways of expressing the various branches o é are to consider how far Mr. Hume’s reasoning proves an 1 of them to be artificial, or grounded solely upon public utilit r last of them, fidelity to engagements, is to be the sub t next chapter, and therefore I shall say nothing of it tint The four first named, to wit, the right of an innoce nt ‘man the safety of his person and family, to his. pe and re reputati are, by the writers on jurisprudence, called ‘natural en man, because they are grounded in the nature of ‘m tional and moral agent, and are, by his Creator, c t Past his care and keeping. By being called natural, or in s they are distinguished from acquired rights, which si uppos é som vious act or deed of man by which they are act cquired, natural rights suppose nothing of this kind. Rea When a man’s natural rights are violated, rte Re “a tuitively, and he feels, that he is injured. The heart arises from the judgment of his understanding did not believe that the hurt was intended, and vii ed, he would not have that feeling. He perceives th done to himself, and that he has a right to redress. b ‘The: principle of resentment is roused by the view of its | ject, and excites him to defend his right. Even the person is conscious of his doing injury ; he dreads a tion ; and if it be in the power of the injured person, hi it as due and 1 deserved? Ob ct A That these Sentiments spring up in the mind of mai as nat rally as his body. grows to its proper stature ; that the the birth of instruction, either of parents, priests, Bhilosopierth OF JUSTICE. 275 or politicians, but the pure growth of nature, cannot, I think, without effrontery, be denied. We find them, equally strong in the most savage and in the most civilized tribes of mankind; and nothing can weaken them but an inveterate habit of rapine and bloodshed, which benumbs the conscience, and turns men into wild beasts. POT TH Tae i The public good is very properly considered by the judge who * punishes a private injury, but seldom enters into the thought of the injured person. | In all criminai law, the redress due to the private sufferer is distinguished from that which is due to the public ; a distinction which could have no foundation, if the de- merit of injustice arose solely from its hurting the public. And every man is conscious of a specific difference between the re- sentment he feels for an injury done to himself, and his indigna- tion against a wrong done to the public. . . 1 think, therefore, it is evident, that, of the six branches of justice we mentioned, four are natural, in the strictest sense, being founded upon the constitution of man, and antecedent to all deeds and conventions of society; so that, if there were but two men upon the earth, one might be unjust and injurious, and the other injured. But does Mr. Hume maintain the contrary ? To this question I answer, that his doctrine seems to imply it, but I hope he meant it not. He affirms in general, that justice is not a natural virtue ;_ that it derives its origin solely from public utility, and that reflections on the beneficial consequences of this virtue are the sole foun- dation of its merit. He mentions no particular branch of justice as an exception to this general rule; yet justice, in common language, and in all the writers on jurisprudence I am acquain- ted with, comprehends the four branches above mentioned. His doctrine, therefore, according to the common construction of words, extends to these four, as well as to the two other branches of justice, On the other hand, if we attend to his long and laboured proof of this doctrine, it appears evident, that he had in his eye only two particular branches of justice. No part of his reasoning applies to the other four. He seems, I know not why, to have taken up a confined notion of justice, and to haye restricted it to a regard to property and fidelity in contracts. As to other branches he is silent. He nowhere says, that it is not naturally criminal to rob an innocent man of his life, of his children, of his liberty, or of his reputation ; and I am apt to think he never meant it. ‘The only philosopher I know who has had the assurance to maintain this, is Mr. Hobbes, who makes the state of nature to be a state of war, of every man against every man; and of such 276 ; ESSAY V. a war in which every man has a right to do and to acquire whatever his power fy by any pin cc »plie § ‘that is, a state wherein neither right nor injury, justice nor injustice, can possibly exist. cos Leu Sralalhip bse _ Mr. Hume mentions this system of Hobbes, but wi adopting it, though he allows it the authority of i favour. 7 “roa! ele ie soc _ He says ina note, “ This fiction of a state of nature as, state of war, was not first started by Mr, Hobbes, asisc imagined. Plato endeavours to refute an hypothesis it, in the 2d, 3d, and 4th books, De Republica. Cicero, contrary, supposes it certain, and universally acknowledged, in the following passage, &c.”? Pro Sextio, h 42.. ..... 4009 The passage which he quotes at large, from one of 73 Orations, seems to me to require some straining to makei a with the system of Mr. Hobbes. Be this as it may, Mr. Hume. might have added, that Cicero, in his Orations, like y other pleaders, sometimes. says, not what he bislaebed etomonane fit to support the cause of his client. That Cicero’s opinion, with regard to the natural obligation of justice, was very differ- ent from that of Mr. Hobbes, and even from Mr, Hume’s, is yery. well known. ak eee) 3dly, As Mr. Hume, therefore, has said nothing to prove the four branches.of justice which relate to the innate rights of men, to be artificial, or to derive their origin solely from public utility, I proceed to the fifth branch, which requires us not to invade. another man’s property. DAA gee alle laa ° The right of property is not innate, but acquired. It is not grounded upon the constitution of man, but upon his actions. Writers on jurisprudence have explained its origin inja man- ner that may satisfy every man of common understanding... The earth is given to men in common for the purposes of life, by the bounty of heaven. But, to divide it, and app iate. one part of its produce to one, another part to another, must be the work of men, who have power and understanding given them, by which every man may accommodate himself without hurt to. any other. rer wore cows ee ‘This common right of every man to what the earth produ before it be occupied and appropriated by others was, by ancient. moralists, very properly compared to. the right which every citi- zen had to the public theatre?where every man that came might, occupy an empty seat, and thereby acquire a right to it whi the entertainment lasted ; but no man had a right to di another. t Ai The earth is a great theatre, furnished by the Almighty, witl perfect wisdom and goodness, for the entertainmentand employ-. ment of all mankind. Here every man has a right M0 Iblve 1Ke > OF JUSTICE. 377 date himself as a spectator, and to perform his part as an actor, but without hurt to others. ' He who does so isa just man, and thereby entitled to some degree of moral approbation ; and he who not only does no hurt, but employs his power to do good, is a good man, and is thereby entitled to a higher degree of moral approbation. But he who justles and molests his neighbour, who deprives him of any accommodation which his industry has provided without hurt to others, is unjust, and a proper object of resentment. It is true, therefore, that property has a beginning from the actions of men, occupying, and perhaps improving, by their industry, what was common by nature. It is true also, that before property exists, that branch of justice and injustice which regards property cannot exist. But it is also true, that where there are men, there will very soon be property of one kind or another, and consequently there will be that branch of justice which attends property as its guardian. ’ There are two kinds of property which we may distinguish. The first is what must presently be consumed to sustain life ; the second, which is more permanent, is what may be laid up and stored for the supply of future wants. Some of the gifts of nature must be used and consumed by individuals for the daily support of life; but they cannot be used till they be occupied and appropriated. If another person may, without injustice, rob me of what I have innocently occu- pied for present subsistence, the necessary consequence must be, that he may, without injustice, take away my life. A right to life implies a right to the necessary means of life. And that justice which forbids the taking away the life of an innocent man, forbids no less the taking from him the necessary means of life. He has the same right to defend the one as the other ; and nature inspires him with the same just resentment of the/one injury as of the other. ~The natural right of liberty implies a right to such innocent labour as a man chooses, ‘and to the fruit of that labour. ‘To hinder ‘another man’s innocent labour, or to deprive him’ of the fruit of it, is an injustice of the same kind, and has the same effect, as to put him in fetters or in prison, and is equally a just object of resentment. Thus it appears, that some kind, or some degree, of property . must exist wherever men exist, and that the right to such pro- perty is the necessary consequence of the natural right of men to life and liberty. It has been further observed, that God has made man a sagacious and provident animal, led by his constitution not only to occupy and use what nature has provided for the supply of his present wants and necessities, but to foresee future wants VOL, Il. 36 278 ESSAY Y. and to provide for them; and that not only for himself, bu his family, his friends, and connexions, Wham er nature when he He therefore acts in perfect conformity 1 stores, of the fruit of his labour, what may afterward to himself or to others; when he invents and fabri utensils or machines by which his labour may be facili its produce increased; and when, by exchanging with hi men commodities or labour, he accommodates both } and them. ‘These are the natural and innocent exerti that understanding wherewith his Maker has endowed him. He has therefore a right to exercise them, and to enjoy the fruit of them. Every man who impedes him in gh e tions, or deprives him of the fruit of them, is injurious < unjust, and an object of just resentment. (Senate wat genet Many brute animals are led by instinct to provide for futurity, and to defend their store, and their storehouse, against invaders. There seems to be in man, before the use of reason, an instinct of the same kind. When reason and conscience grow up, they approve and justify this provident care, and condemn, as unjust, every invasion of others, that may frustrate it. Two instances of this provident sagacity seem to } culiar to man. I mean the invention of utensils and ma ‘lo 7 facilitating labour, and the making exchanges with his fell w- men for mutual benefit. No tribe of men has been found so rude as not to practise these things in some degree. And I know no tribe of brutes that was ever observed to practise them. ‘They neither invent nor use utensils or machines, nor do they traffic by exchanges. bi apa, stay Ned From these observations, I think it evident, that man, eyen in the state of nature, by his powers of body and mind, may acquire permanent property, or what we call riches, by which his own and his family’s wants are more liberally supplied, and his power enlarged to requite his benefactors, to relieve jects of compassion, to make friends, and to defend his proper against unjust invaders. And we know from history, that men, who had no superior on earth, no connexion with any public beyond their own family, have acquired property, and had dis- tinct notions of that justice and injustice, of which itis the object. Every man, as a reasonable creature, has a right to gratify his natural and innocent desires without hurt to others. No desire is more natural, or more reasonable, than that supplying his wants. When this is done without hurt to any man, to hinder or frustrate his innocent Jabour, is an unjust violation of his natural liberty. Private utility leads a man to desire property, and to labour for it; and his right to it is only a right to labour for his own benefit. (i date blo That public utility is the sole origin, even of that branch of OF JUSTICE. 279 justice which regards property, is so far from being true, that when men confederate and constitute a public, under laws and government, the right of each individual to his property is, by | that confederation, abridged and limited. In the state of nature, every man’s property was solely at his own disposal, because he had no superior. In civil society it must be subject to the laws of the society. He gives up to the public part of that right which he had in the state of nature, as the price of that pro- tection and security which he receives from civil society. In the state of nature, he was sole judge in his own cause, and had right to defend his property, his liberty, and life, as far as his power reached. In the state of civil society, he must submit to the judgment of the society, and acquiesce in its sentence, though he should conceive it to be unjust. What was said above, of the natural right every man has to acquire permanent property, and to dispose of it, must be understood with this condition, that no other man be thereby deprived of the necessary means of life. The right of an innocent man to the necessaries of life, is, in its nature, superior to that which the rich man has to his riches, even though they be honestly acquired. The use of riches, or permanent pro- perty, is to supply future and casual wants, which ought to yield to present and certain necessity. As, in a family, justice requires that the children who are unable to labour, and those who, by sickness, are disabled, should have their necessities supplied out of the common stock, so, in the great family of God, of which all mankind are the children, justice, I think, as well as charity, requires, that the necessities of those who, by the providence of God, are disabled from supplying themselves, should be supplied from what might otherwise be stored for future wants. From this it appears, that the right of acquiring and that of disposing of property, may be subject to limitations and restrictions, even in the state of nature, and much more in the state of civil society, in which the public has what writers in jurisprudence call an eminent dominion over the property, as well as over the lives of the subjects, as far as the public good requires. If these principles be well founded, Mr. Hume’s arguments, to prove that justice is an artificial virtue, or that its public utility 1s the sole foundation of its merit, may be easily answered. . He supposes, Ist, a state in which nature has bestowed on the human race, such abundance of external goods, that every man, without care or industry, finds himself provided of whatever he can wish or desire. It is evident, says he, that in such a state, the cautious jealous virtue of justice would never once have been dreamed of. _ It may be observed, Ist, that this argument applies only to — 2380 ESSAY Ve one of the six branches of justice before mentioned. © The other five are not in the least affected by it; and the reader will easily perceive that this observation applies to almost all. his arguments, so that it need not be repeated. 99 Qdly, All that this argument proves is, that a state of the human race may be conceived wherein no property exists, and where, of consequence, there can be no exercise of that branch of justice which respects property. But does it follow from this, that where property exists, and must exist, that no regard ought _ to be had to it? + torment He next supposes that the necessities of the human race continuing the same as at present, the mind is so enlarged with friendship and generosity, that every man feels as much ten- derness and concern for the interest of every man, as for his own. It seems evident, he says, that the use of justice would be suspended by such an extensive benevolence, nor would the divisions and barriers of property and obligation have ever been thought of. Yes'7 thew ceed -T answer, the conduct which this extensive benevolence leads to, is either perfectly consistent with justice, or it is not. Ist, If there be any case where this benevolence would lead us to injustice, the use of justice is not suspended. Its obligation is superior to that of benevolence; and, to show benevolence to one, at the expense of injustice to another, is immoral: 2dly, Supposing no such case could happen, the use of justice would | not be suspended, because by it we must distinguish good offices to which we had a right, from those te which we had no right, and’which therefore require a return of gratitude. 3dly, Supposing the use of justice to be suspended, as it must be in every case where it cannot be exercised, will it follow, that its obligation is suspended, where there is access to exercise it ? A third supposition is the reverse of the first, that a society falls into extreme want of the necessaries of life. The ques- tion is put, whether in such a case, an equal partition of bread, without regard to private property, though effected by power, and even by violence, would be regarded as criminal and in- jurious? And the author conceives that this would be a suspen- sion of the strict laws of justice. ot eer teats I answer, that such an equal partition as Mr. Humementions, is so far from being criminal or injurious, that justice requires it; and surely that cannot be a suspension of the Jaws of justice, which is an act of justice. All that the strictest justice requires in such a case, is, that the man whose life is preserved at the expense of another, and without his consent, should indemnify him when he is able. His case is’ similar to that of a debtor who is insolvent, without any fault on his part. Justice requires that he should be forborn till he is able to pay. It is strange that Mr. Hume should think that an action, neither fy OF JUSTICE. 281 eriminal nor injurious, should be a suspension of the laws of justice. This seems to mea contradiction, for justice and injury are contradictery terms. ti The neat argument is thus expressed : ‘“‘ When any man, even in political society, renders himself, by crimes, obnoxious to the public, he is punished-in his goods.and person ; that is, the ordinary rules of justice are, with regard to him, suspended for a moment, and it becomes equitable to inflict on him, what otherwise he could not suffer without wrong or injury.” This argument, like the former, refutes itself. For that an actionshould be a suspension of the rules of justice, and at the same time equitable, seems to me a contradiction. It is possible that equity may interfere with the letter of human laws, because all the cases that may fall under ihem, cannot be foreseen; but that equity should interfere with justice is im- possible. It is strange that Mr. Hume should think, that justice requires that a criminal should be treated in the same way as an innocent man. Another argument is taken from public war. What is. it, says he, but a suspension of justice among the warring parties ? The laws of war, which then succeed to those of equity and justice, are rules calculated for the advantage and utility of that particular state in which men are now placed. I answer, when war is undertaken for self-defence, or for reparation of intolerable injuries, justice authorizes it. » The Jaws of ‘war, which have been described by many judicious moralists, are all drawn from the fountain of justice and equity); and every thing contrary to justice, is contrary to the laws of war. That justice, which prescribes one rule of conduct toa master, another to a servant; one toa parent, another toachild ; prescribes also one rule of conduct toward a friend, another toward anenemy. Ido not understand what Mr. Hume means by the advantage and utility of a state of war, for which he says the laws of war are calculated, and succeed to those of justice and equity. 1 know no laws of war that are not calculated for justice and equity. The neat argument is this, were there a species of creatures intermingled with men, which, though rational, were possessed of such inferior strength both of body and mind, that they were incapable of all resistance, and could never, upon the highest provocation, make us feel the effects of their resentment; the necessary consequence, | think, is, that we should be bound, by the laws of humanity, to give gentle usage to these creatures, bat should not, properly speaking, lie under any restraint of justice with regard to them, nor could they possess any right or property, exclusive of such arbitrary lords. baad If Me. Hume had not owned this sentiment as a consequenc of his Theory of Morals, I should have thought it very unchari- = ‘a 282 ESSAY V. table to impute it to him. However, we may judge of the theory by its avowed consequence. For there cannot be better evidence, that a theory of morals, or of any particular virtue, is false, than when it subverts the practical ye ta This defenceless species of rational creatures is doomed by Mr. Hume to have no rights. Why? Because they have no power to defend themselves. Is not this to say, that right has its origi from power; which, indeed, was the doctrine of Mr. Hobbes. And to illustrate this doctrine, Mr. Hume adds, that as no inconvenience ever results from the exercise of a power, so firmly established in nature, the restraints of justice and property being totally useless, could never have place in so unequal a confederacy ; and, to the same purpose, he says, that the female” part of our own species, owe the share they have in the ; of society, to the power which their address and their charms give them. If this be sound morals, Mr. Hume’s theory of justice may be true. IT dan) 0s bet We may here observe, that though, in other places, Mr. Hume founds the obligation of justice upon its utility to ourselves, or to others, it is here founded solely upon utility to ourselves.’ For surely to be treated with justice would be highly useful to the defenceless species he here supposes to exist. But as’no inconvenience to ourselves can ever result from our treatmen of them, he concludes that justice would be useless, and there- fore can have no place. Mr. Hobbes could have said no more. He supposes, in the Jast place, a state of human nature, wherein all society and intercourse is cut off between man and man. It is evident, he says, ’that so solitary a being would ‘be as much incapable of justice as of social discourse and conver- sation. ce, And would not so solitary a being be as incapable of friendship, generosity, and compassion, as of justice? If this argument prove justice to be an artificial virtue, it will, with equal force, prove every social virtue to be artificial. dan th These are the arguments which Mr. Hume has advanced in his Jnquiry, in the first part of a long section upon justice. In the second part, the arguments are not so clearly distin- euished, nor can they be easily collected. I shall offer some remarks upon what seems most specious in this second part. > He begins with observing, “ That, if we examine the particul ar laws by which justice is directed and property determined, the present us with the same conclusion. The good of mankind’ the only object of all those laws and regulations.” = # It is not easy to perceive where the stress of this argument lies. The good of mankind is the object of all the laws andregu- lations by which justice is directed and property determined ; therefore justice ts not a natural virtue, but has its origin solely OF JUSTICE. 283 from public utiliiy, and its beneficial consequences are the sole foundation of its merit. bese . Some step seems to be wanting to connect the antecedent propesition with the conclusion, which, I think, must be one or other of these two propositions; Ist, ll the rules of justice tend to public utility ; or, 2dly, Public utility is the only standard of justice, from which alone all its rules must be deduced. If the argument be, that justice must have its origin solely from public utility, because all its rules tend to public utility, I cannot admit the consequence; nor can Mr. Hume admit it without overturning his own system. For the rules of benevo- lence and humanity do all tend to the public utility, and yet, in his system, they have another foundation in human nature ; so likewise may the rules of justice. _I am apt to think, therefore, that the argument is to be taken in the last sense, that public utility is the only standard of justice, from which all its rules must be deduced ; and therefore justice has its origin solely from public utility. This seems to be Mr. Hume’s meaning, because, in what follows, he observes, that, in order to establish laws for the regulation of property, we must be acquainted with the nature and situation of man: must reject appearances which may be false, though specious; and must search for those rules which are, on the whole, most useful and beneficial; and endeavours to show, that the established rules which regard property are more for the public good, than the system either of those reli- gious fanatics of the last age, who held, that saints only should inherit the earth; or of those political fanatics, who claimed an equal division of property. We see here, as before, that though Mr. Hume’s conclusion respects justice in general, his argument is confined to one branch of justice ; to wit, the right of property ; and it is well known, that, to conclude from a part to the whole is not good reasoning. ) Besides, the proposition from which his conclusion is drawn, cannot be granted, either with regard to property, or with regard ‘to the other branches of justice. We endeavoured before to show, that property, though not an innate but an acquired right, may be acquired in the state of nature, and agreeably to the laws of nature; and that this right has not its origin from human laws, made for the public good; _ though, when men enter into political society, it may, and ought to be regulated by those laws. 4 If there were but two men upon the face of the earth, of ripe faculties, each might have his own property, and might know his right to defend it, and his obligation not to invade the property of the other. He would have no need to have recourse to reasoning from public good, in order to know when he was 284 ESSAY V. injured, either in his property, or in any of his natural rights, or to know what rules of justice he ought to observe eal neighbour. . . tela MRA 5 hgh OE _ The simple rule of not doing to his neighbour what he would think wrong to be done to himself, would lead him to the know- ledge of every branch of justice, without the consideration of public good, or of laws and statutes made to promote it. It is not true, therefore, that public utility apt dl ndard of justice, and that the rules of justice can be deduced only om their public utility. AY Ma Aristides, and the people of Athens, had surely another no- tion of justice, when he pronounced the counsel of Themisto- cles, which was communicated to him only, to be highly useful, but unjust; and the assembly, upon this authority, rejected the proposal unheard. These honest citizens, though subject te no laws but of their own making, far from making utility the stand+ ard of justice, made justice to be the standard of utility. hap “« What is a man’s property ? Any thing which itis lawful for him, and for him alone, to use. But what rule have we by which we can distinguish these objects ? Here we must have recourse to statutes, customs, precedents, analogies, &e.” = Does not this imply, that, in the state of nature, there can be no distinction of property? If so, Mr. Hume’sstate of nature is the same with that of Mr. Hobbes. MSIE PA 4 It is true, that, when men become members of a political so- ciety, they subject their property, as well as themselves, to the laws, and must either acquiesce, in what the laws determine, or leave the society. But justice, and even that particular branch of it which our author always supposes to be the whole, is ante: cedent to political societies and to their laws ; and the intention of these laws is, to be the guardians of justice, and to redress in- uries. : Wade é As all the works of men are imperfect, human laws may be unjust ; which could never be, if justice had its origin from law, as the author seems’ here to insinuate. SOF lary be Justice requires, that a member of state should submit to the laws of the state, when they require nothing unjust or impious, There may, therefore, be statutory rights and statutory crimes. A statute may create a right which did not before exist, or make that to be criminal which was not so before. But this could ne- ver be, if there were not an antecedent obligation upon the sub- jects to obey the statutes. In like manner, the command of 4 master may make that to be the servant’s duty, which before was not his duty, and the servant may be chargeable with injustice if he disobeys, because he was under an antecedent obligat obey his masterin lawful things. : $e We grant, therefore, that particular laws may direct justice and determine property,and sometimes even upon yery slight reasons QF JUSTICE. 285 and analogies, or even for no other reason but that it is better that sucha point should be determined by law than that it should be left a dubious subject of contention. But this, far from pre- senting us with the conclusion which the author would establish, resents us with a contrary conclusion. For all these particu- lar laws and statutes derive their whole obligation and force from a general rule of justice antecedent to them, to wit, that subjects ought to obey the laws of their country. The author compares the rules of justice with the most frivo- lous superstitions, and can find no foundation for moral sentiment in the one more than in the other, excepting that justice is re- quisite to the well being and existence of society. , _ It is very true, that, if we examine mie and thine by the sen- ses of sight, smell, or touch ; or scrutinize them by the sciences of medicine, chymistry, or physics, we perceive no difference. Butthe reason is, that none of these senses or sciences are the judges of right or wrong, or can give any conception of them, any more than the ear of colour, or the eye of sound. Every man of com- mon understanding, and every savage, when he applies his moral faculty to those objects, perceives a difference as clearly as he perceives daylight. When that sense or faculty is not consult- ed, in vain do we consult every other, in a question of right and wrong. To perceive that justice tends to the good of mankind, would lay no moral obligation upon us to be just, unless we be conscious of a moral obligation to do what tends to the good of mankind. If sucha moral obligation be admitted, why may we not admit a stronger obligation to do injury to no man? The last obligation is as easily conceived as the first, and there is as clear evidence of its existence in human nature. The last argument is a dilemma, and is thus expressed: ‘The dilemma seems obvious. As justice evidently tends to promote public utility, and to support civil society, the sentiment of jus- tice is either derived from our reflecting on that tendency, or, like hunger, thirst, and other appetites, resentment, love of life, attachment to offspring, and other passions, arises from a simple original instinct in. the human breast, which nature has implanted for like salutary purposes. If the latter be the case, it follows, that property, which is the object of justice, is also distinguished by a simple original instinct, and is not ascertained by any argu- ment or reflection. But who is there that ever heard of such an instinct,’”? &c. I doubt not but Mr. Hume has heard of a principle called conscience, which nature has implanted in the human breast. Whether he will call it a simple original instinct, I know not, as he gives that name to all our appetites, and to all our passions. From this principle, I think, we derive the sentiment of justice. VOL. IL. By Ager 286 ESSAY Y- _ Asthe eyenot only gives us the conception of colours, but makes us ‘perceive one body to have one colo Gali th er body Fin the conce tion of other; and as our reason not only gives us _ true and false ; but makes us perceive one prope and another to be false; so our conscience, or moral faculty, not only gives us the conception of honest and dishon est, but makes us perceive one kind of conduct to be hon est, an- other to be dishonest. By this faculty we perceive a me honest. conduct, and a demerit in dishonest, without reg public utility. OES Ee ae lee ‘That these sentiments are not the effect of education ‘or of acquired habits, we have the same reason to conclude, as that our perception of what is true and what false, is not the effect of education or of acquired habits. There have been men who professed to believe, that there is no ground to asse sk y one proposition rather than its contrary ; but I never yet heard of a man who had the effrontery to profess ere Bet en es bs obligation of honour or honesty, of truth or Justice, in his dea’ ngs with men. “AE ARUP EE Nor does this faculty of conscience require innate i property, and of the various ways of acquiring and trans or innate ideas of kings and senators, of pretors, an and juries, any more than the faculty of seeing requ ideas of colours, or than the faculty of reasoning requi s innate ideas of cones, cylinders, and spheres. ra | lod. t soy. > a7 oO 13TH On min 1 3b lewiied oo-Hao Oe svatl CHAPTER VI. ROO: ere monwoern b ¥aR OF Shae scl OF THE NATURE AND OBLIGATION OF A CONTRACT. — To%t9aq lone 5 cseememendil _— _. Some such speculations, | think, we have in the third hee r pri ? and on two passages of that author on this subject. _ 1am far from saying or thinking, that Mr. Hume mea weaken men’s obligations to honesty and fair ge ‘that he had not a sense of these obligations himself. This: oe a Timpeach, but his writings. Let us think of the first’as charita- OW IHSMISINS wns & tse” Co merle? @F THD NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 287 bly a can, while we freely examine the import and tenden- the last. 7 altho ough the nature of a contract and of a promise is perfectly erstood by all men of common understanding ; yet, by atten- aa to the operations of mind signified by these Warde: we shall be better enabled to judge of the metaphysical subtilties which have been raised about them. A promise and a contract differ so little in what concerns the present disquisition, that the same reasoning, as Mr. Hume justly observes, extends to both. In a promise, one party only comes under the obligation, the other acquires a right to the prestation promised. But we give the name of a contract to a transaction in which each party comes under an obligation to the other, and each reciprocally acquires a right to what is promised by the other. The Latin word pactum seems to extend to both ; and the de- finition given of it in the Civil Law, and borrowed from Ulpian, is, Duorum pluriumve in idem placitum consensus. ‘Titius, a mo- dern Civilian, has endeavoured to make this’ definition more complete, by adding the words Obligationis licité constituende vel tollende causa datus. With this addition, the definition is, that a contract is the consent of two or more persons in the same thing, given with the intention of constituting or dissolving lawfully some obligation. This definition is perhaps as good as any other that can be given ; yet, I believe every man will acknowledge, that it gives him no clearer or more distinct notion of a contract than he had before. If it is considered as a strictiy logical definition, I be- lieve some objections might be made to it ; but I forbear to mention them, because | believe that similar objections might be made to any definition of a contract that can be given. Nor can it be inferred from this, that the notion of a contract is not perfectly clear in every man come to years of understand- ing. For this is common to many operations of the mind, that although we understand them perfectly, and are in no danger of confounding them with any thing else; yet we cannot define them according to the rules of logic, by a genus and a specific differ- ence. And when we attemptit, we rather darken than give light to them. Is there any thing more distinctly understood by all men, than what it is to see, to hear, to remember, to judge? Yet it is the most difficult thing in the world to define these operations ac- cording to the rules of logical definition. But it is not more difficult than it is useless. Sometimes philosophers attempt to define them; but if we examine their definitions, we shall find, that they amount to no more than giving one synonymous word for another, and com- monly a worse fora better. So when we define a contract, by calling it a consent. a convention, an agreement, what is this ‘pat 288 ESSAY V. ‘ oe givinga synonymous word for it, anda word that isneithermore expressive nor better understood ? (WO) Boed cod)! age One boy has a top, another a scourge; says the first to the other, if you will lend me your scourge as long as” “a A up my top with it, you shall next have the topas keep it up. Agreed says the other. This pap ro ermal fectly understood by both parties, though they never heard) of the definition given by Ulpian or by Titius., And each of them knows, that he is injured if the other breaks the bargain, and that, . he does wrong if he breaks it himself. 1) SRR sap hg The operations of the human mind may be divided into two classes, the solitary and the social. As promises and contracts — belong to the last class, it may be proper to explain this division. — I call those operations solitary, which may be performed by a man in solitude, without intercourse with: any other intelligent — being. Deena oo garth Ae Icall those operations social, which noedeomiiin imply social i in- tercourse with some other intelligent beleg who bears a part in. them. ee Le A man may see, and hear, and rdiienibaaalal jud, reason ; he may deliberate and form purposes, and execute them, without the intervention of any other intelligent being.» They are solitary acts. But when he asks a question. for information, — when he testifies a fact, when he gives a command to his ser- ~ vant, when he makes a promise, or enters into a contract, these — are social acts of mind, and can have no existence without the — intervention of some other intelligent being, whovacts a part in » them. Between the operations of the mind, which,for want. of amore proper name, I have called solitary, and those | have — called social, there is this very remarkable distinction, that, in the — solitary, the expression of therm by werds, or any other sensible . sign, is accidental. They may exist, and be complete, without being expressed, without being known to any other person. But, in the social operations, the expression is essential. . They cannot exist without being expressed by words or signs, and known to the other party. it ene oogilay Oo) If nature had not made man capable of such social operations of mind, and furnished bim with a language to express them, he » might think, and reason, and deliberate, and will;/he might. have desires and aversions, joy and sorrow; ina word, he might © exertall those operations of mind, which the writers in logic and © pneumatology have so copiously described ; but, \at the same — time, he would still be a solitary being, even, ‘when in a crowd's it would be impossible for him to pat a question, or give a com- mand, to ask a owen or testify a fart, to make a promise or a bargains Nerere yy tee I take’ it to he the common Sint of » philosophers, that the» social operations of the human mind are not specifically different » a OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 289 from the solitary, and that they are only various modifications or compositions of our solitary operations, and may be resolved into them. . Itisfor this reason, probably, that, in enumerating the opera- tions of the mind, the solitary only are mentioned, and no notice at all taken of the social, though they are familiar to every man, and have names in all languages. l apprehend, however, it will be found extremely difficult, if not impossible, to resolve our social operations into any modifi- cation or composition of the solitary : and that an attempt to do this, would prove as ineffectual, as the attempts that have been made to resolve all our social affections into the selfish. The social operations appear-to be as simple in their nature as the solitary.. They are found in every individual of the species, even before the use of reason. The power which man has of holding social intercourse with his kind, by asking and refusing, threatening and supplicatng, commanding and obeying, testifying and promising, must either be a distinct faculty given by our Maker, and a part of our con- stitution, like the powers of seeing and hearing, or it must be a human invention. If men have invented this art of social inter- course, it must follow, that every individual of the species must have invented it for himself. It cannot be taught, for though, when once carried to a certain pitch, ii may be improved by teaching ; yet it is impossible it can begin in that way, because all teaching supposes a social intercourse and language already established between the teacher and the learner. This inter- course must, from the very first, be carried on by sensible signs ; for the thoughts of other men can be discovered in no other way. I think it is likewise evident, that this intercourse, in its begin- ning at least, must be carried on by natural signs, whose mean- ing is understood by both parties, previous to all compact or agreement. For there can be no compact without signs, nor without social intercourse. : apprehend, therefore, that the social intercourse of man- kind, consisting of those social operations which I have men- tioned, is the exercise of a faculty appropriated to that purpose, whichis the gift of God, no less than the powers of seeing and hearing. And that, in order to carry oa this intercourse, God has given to man a natural language, by which his social opera- tions are expressed, and, without which, the artiticial languages of articuiate sounds, and of writing, could never have been in- vented by human art. The signs in this natural language are looks, changes of the features, modulations of the voice, and gestures of the body. All men understand this language without instruction, and ail men can use it in some degree. But they are most expert in it who use it most. It makes a great part of the language of sava- 290 ae ¥. 1d shears ges, and therefore they are more expert im the use of natural signs than the civilized. toh en apa SiS The language of dumb persons is mostly form yor ig signs ; and they are all great adepts in this nature. _ Allthat we call action and pronunciation, ane orator, and the most admired actor, is nothing else but superad- ding the language of nature to the language of pyres a ae The pantomimes among the Romans carried it to pitch of perfection. For they could act parts of, oui ae tragedies in dumb show, so as to be understood, not only by those who were accustomed to this entertainment, but by all the stran- gers that came to Rome, from all the corners of the earth. For it may be observed of this natural language, and nothing more clearly demunstrates it to be a part of the tution, that although it requires practice and) study, to enable a man to express his sentiments by it in the most perfect mat yet it requires neither study nor practice in the spectator to.un- derstand it. The knowledge of it was before latentin the mind, and we no sooner see it, than we immediately recognize it, as we do an acquaintance whom we had long forgot, and could not have described; but no sooner do we see him, Aonans know for certain that he is the very man. iden 4o .vibin This knowledge, in all mankind, of the natural Hiewatonar thoughts and sentiments, is wadeuik so like to reminisce it seems to have led Plato to conceive all human know be of that kind. ovavad wearer 1 ar It is not by reasoning, that all mankind know, that an open countenance, and a placid eye, is a sign of amity ; that a con- tracted brow, and a fierce look, is the sign of anger. It is not from reason that we learn to know the. signs of con- senting and refusing, of affirming and denying, of threatening and supplicating. ter bight! Selene No man can perceive any necessary connexion between signs of such operations, and the things signified by them. But we are so formed by the Author of our nature, that the opera- tions themselves become visible, as it were, by _ their natural signs. This knowledge resembles reminiscence, in this respect, that it is immediate. We form the conclusion with great, assu- rance, without knowing any. premisses from which it may be drawn by reasoning. dt oF S9:0¥eu Yo It would lead us too far from the intention of the present quiry, to consider more particluarly, in what degree the. 1 intercourse is natural, and a part of our ie 5 it is of human invention. s bas wa fae It is sufficient to observe, that this sib PCOlfae of n mind by which their thoughts and sentiments are, rr their souls mingle together, as it. were, is common to ahewhale species from infancy. OP THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 291 Like our other powers, its first beginnings are weak, and scarcely perceptible. Butit isa certain fact, that’we can per- ceive some communication of sentiments between the nurse and her nursling, before it is a month old. And I doubt not, but that, if both had grown out of the earth, and had never seen another human face, they would be able in a few years to converse together. ; - There appears indeed to be some degree of social intercourse among brute ‘animals, and between some of them and man. A dog exults in the caresses of his master, and is humbled at his displeasure. But there are two operations of the social kind, of which the brute animals seem to be altogether incapable. They can neither plight their veracity by testimony nor their fidelity by any engagement or promise. If nature had made them capable of these operations, they would have’ had a language to express them by, as man has: but of this we see no ap- pearance. " A foxis said to use stratagems, but he cannot lie ; because he cannot give his testimony, or plight his veracity. A dog is said to be faithful 'to his master ; but no more is meant but that he is affectionate, for he never came under any engagement. Isee no evidence that any brute animal is capable of either giving testi- mony, or making a promise. A dumb man cannot speak any more than a fox ora dog; but he can give his testimony by signs as early in life as other men can do by words. He knows whata lie is as early as other men, and hates it as much. He can plight his faith, and is sensible of the obligation of a promise or contract. It is therefore a prerogative of man, that he can communicate his knowledge of facts by testimony, and enter into engagements by promise or contract. God has given him these powers by a part of his constitution, which distinguishes him from all brute animals. And whether they are original powers, or resolvable into other original powers, it is evident that they spring up in the human mind at an early period of life, and are found in every in- dividual of the species, whether savage or civilized. 'These prerogative powers of man, like all his other powers, must be given for some end, and for a good end. And if we consider a little further the economy of nature, in relation to this part of the human constitution, we shall perceive the wisdom of nature in the structure of it, and discover clearly our duty in consequence of it. ha It is evident, in the first place, that if no credit was given to testimony, if there was no reliance upon promises, they would answer no end at all, not even that of deceiving. “2dly, Supposing men disposed by some principle in their na- ture to rely on detlarations and promises, yet if men found in experience, that there was no fidelity on the other part in 292 ESSAY V. making and in keeping them, no man o corm on tele anding would trust to them and so they would becon e useless. Hence it appears, 3dly, that this power 0 iV vo testim On, and of promising, can answer no end in socie y> mn ad ms be a considerable degree, both of fidelit ty, on thee pa of trust on the other. These two must Aaa ‘oget and one of them cannot possibly subsist without t he o Rene ; _ Athly, It may be observed, that fidelity i ec 01 promises, and its counterpart, trust and relia hen form a system of social intercourse, the mee te dace ‘the useful, that can be among men. Without fidelity a an raster can be no human society. There never was i soc cie peat savages, nay, even of robbers or pirates, i in hs there | me a great degree of veracity and of fidelity” fk Without it, man would be the most unsocial ‘soimal ‘ has made. His state would be in reality what | Holts be ed the state of nature to be, a state of war, of every against every man; nor could this war ever terminate ae oe, lt may be observed, in the fifth place, that man is’ evi lently made for living in society. His social affections show as evidently, as that the eye was made for seeing. His ge rations, particularly those of testifying and itil » m no less evident. ‘ te i From these observations it follows, that if no ae s made by nature, to engage men to fidelity in ahaa promises, human nature would bea contradiction to its 2 for an end, yet without the necessary means of attaini if the species had been furnished with good eyes, SP with ut the power of opening their eyelids. There are no pit : Lat this kind in the works of God. Wherever is a sate tended, the means are admirably fitted for the attai Hen fi it; and so we find it to be in the case before us. i . ‘ For we see that children, as soon as they are cap derstanding declarations and promises, are “ee me es ne ees 7 of — effect of theit constitution. ago) 109 eh So that the things essential to human society splnaa Y an goo faith on the one part, and trust on the other, are fora 2 by nature in the minds of children, before they are able yf knowing their utility, or being influenced by coe of duty or interest. Hoh ve When we grow up so far as to have the coh cep enti i a rig and a wrong in conduct, the turpitude of lying, fa Pree @F THE NATURE OF CONTRACT. 2393 dishonesty, is discerned, not by any train of reasoning, but by an immediate perception. For we see that every man disap- proves it in others, even those who are conscious of it in them-~ selves. . _ Every man thinks himself injured and ill used, and feels re- sentment, when he is imposed upon by it. Every man takes it as a reproach when falsehood is imputed to him. These are the clearest evidences, that all men disapprove of falsehood, when their judgment is not biassed. I know of no evidence that has been given of any nation so tude, as not to have these sentiments. Jt is certain that dumb people have them, and discover them about the same period of life, in which they appear in those who speak. And it may rea- sonably be thought, that dumb persons, at that time of life, have had as little advantage, with regard to morals, from their edu- cation, as the greatest savages. Every man come to years of reflection, when he pledges his veracity or fidelity, thinks he has a right to be credited, and is affronted if he is not. But there cannot be a shadow of right to be credited, unless there be an obligation to good faith. For right on one hand, necessarily implies obligation on the other. When we see that in the most savage state, that ever was known of the human race, men have always lived in societies, greater or less, this of itself is a proof from fact, that they have had that sense of their obligation to fidelity, without which ne human society can subsist. ’ From these observations, I think, it appears very evident, that as fidelity on one part, and trust on the other, are essential te that intercourse of men, which we call human society ; so the Author of our nature has made wise provision for perpetuating them among men, in that degree that is necessary to human society, in all the different periods of human life, and in all the stages of human improvement and degeneracy. In early years, we have an innate disposition to them. In riper years, we feel our obligation to fidelity as much as to any moral duty whatsoever. Nor is it necessary to mention the collateral inducements te this virtue, from considerations of prudence, which are obvious to every man thatreflects. Such as, that it creates trust, the most effectual engine of human power ; that it requires no arti- fice or concealment; dreads no detection ; that it inspires cou- rage and magnanimity, and is the natural ally of every virtue ; so that there is no virtue whatsoever, to which our natural obli- gation appears more strong or more apparent. An observation or two, with regard to the nature of a con- tract, will be sufficient for the present purpose. It is obvious that the prestation promised must be understood by both parties. One party engages to do such a thing, another VOL. Ul. 38 294 ESSAY Ve accepts of this engagement. An engagement to do, one'does not’ know what, can neither be made nor accepted. It is noless obyious, that a contract is a voluntary transactior But it ought to be observed, that the will, h is e: to a contract, is only a will to engage, or to become bound. We must beware of confounding this will, with a will ta | rm what we have engaged. The last can signify nothing else than an intention and fixed purpose to do what we have engaged to do. The will to become bound, and to confer ye be other party, is indeed the very essence of a*¢ontract ; but the purpose of fulfilling our engagement, is no part of the contract at all. 7 Rha pap anton, A purpose is a solitary act of mind, which lays no obligation on the person, nor confers any right on another. ~A’ fraudulent person may contract with a fixed purpose of not performing his engagement. But this purpose makes no change with regard to his obligation. He is as much bound as the honest man, who contracts with a fixed purpose of performing. © = 9) As the contract is binding, without any regard to the purpose, so there may be a purpose without any contract. A purpose is no contract, even when it is declared to the person for whose benefit it is intended. JI may say to a man, | intend to do such a thing for your benefit, but I come under no engagement. Every man understands the meaning of this speech, and sees no contradiction in it: whereas, if a purpose declared were the same thing with a contract, such a speech would be a contradic- tion, and would be the same as if one should say, I promise to do such a thing, but Ido not promise. 0 nie anesthe ait All this is so plain to every man of common sense, that it would have been unnecessary to be mentioned, had notso acute a man as Mr. Hume grounded some of the contradictions he finds in a contract, upon confounding a will to engage in acontract with a will or purpose to perform the engagement. =) |” I come now to consider the speculations of that author with regard to contracts. HS poe ye Smale In order to support a favourite notion of his own, dans is not a natural, but an artificial virtue, and that it derives its whole merit from its utility, he has laid down some principles which, I think, have a tendency to subvert all faith and fair dealing among mankind. et }odenihar em _ in the third volume of the Treatise of Human Nature, p. 40. he lays it down 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 its morality. Let us apply this undoubted maxim in an instance or'two. {fama his word, from this sole motive, that he ought to do so, this is no virtuous or morally good action. Ifa man pays his debt, from this motive, that justice requires this of him, this is no virtuous ON THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 295 er morally good action. Ifa judge or an arbiter gives a sen- tence in a cause, from no other motive but regard to justice, this is no virtuous or morally good action. These appear to me to be shocking absurdities, which no metaphysical subtilty can ever justify. » Nothing is more evident than that every human action takes its denomination and its moral nature from the motive from which it is performed. Thatis a benevolent action, which is done from benevolence. Thatis an act of gratitude, which is done froma sentiment of gratitude. That is an act of obedience to God, which is done from a regard to hiscommand. And, in general, that is an act of virtue which is done from a regard to virtue. Virtuous actions are so far from needing other motives, besides their being virtuous, to give them merit, that their merit is then greatest and most conspicuous, when every motive that can be pat in the opposite scale is outweighed by the sole consideration of their being our duty. » This maxim, therefore, of Mr, Hume, that no action can be virtuous or morally good, unless there be some motive to produce it, distinct from its morality, is so far from, being undoubtedly true, that itis undoubtedly false. it was never, so far as I know, maintained by any mioralist, but by the Epicureans; and it savours of the very dregs of that sect. It agrees well with the principles of those who maintained, that virtue is aa empty name, and that it is.entitled to no regard, but in as far as it ministers to pleasure or profit. I believe the author of this maxim acted upon better moral principles than he wrote ; and that what Cicero says of Epicu- rus, may be applied to him: Redarguitur ipse a sese, vincunturque scripta ejus probitate ypsius et moribus, et ut alii existimantur dicere melius quam facere, sic ille mihi videtur facere melius quam dicere. But let as see how he applies this maxim tocontracts. I give you his words from the place formerly cited. ‘1 suppose,” says he, “a person to have lent me a sum of money, on condi- tion that it be restored in a few days; and, 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 perbaps be said, that my regard to justice and abhorrence of villany and knavery, are sufficient reasons for me, if I have the least grain of honesty, or sense of duty and obligation. And this answer no doubt is just and satisfactory to man in his civilized state, and when trained up according to acertain discipline andeducation. Bat, in his rude and more natural condition, if you are pleased to call such a condition natural, this answer would be rejected as perfectly unintelligible and sophistical.”’ | The doctrine we are taught in this passage is this, that though a man, in a civilized state, and when trained up according to a 296 ESSAY Vs certain discipline and education, may havea regard to justicé, and an abhorrence of villany and knavery, and some sense of duty and obligation ; yet to a man, inhis rude.and more natural condition, the considerations of honesty, justice, duty, and. obli- gation, will be perfectly unintelligible and sophistical. And this is brought as an argument to show, that Justice is not a natural, but an artificial virtue. veo dp tertiy kaeeioorti I shall offer some observations on this argument... 4 ¢00 © ist, Although it may be true, that. what is, unintelligible to man in his rude state may be intelligible to him in his civilized state, I cannot conceive, that what is sophistical in the rude state should change its nalune, and become just, reasoning, when man is more improved. _ What is a sophism, will always be so ;_nor can any change in the state of the person who, jada ealan it to be just reasoning which before was. sophistical. . Mr. Hume’s argument requires, that to man in his rude state, the motives to justice and honesty should not only appear to be sophistical, but should really beso. If the motives were just in themselves, then justice would be a natural virtue, although the rude man, by an error of his judgment, thought otherwise. But if justice be not a natural virtue, which is the point Mr. Hume intends to prove, then every argument, by which man. in_his natural state may be urged to it, must be a sophism in reality, and. not, in appearance only ; and the effect of discipline and education in the civilized state can only be to make those motives to justice appear just and satisfactory, which, in their own en sophistical. i j doad Qdly, It were to be wished, that this ingenious ibaa had shown us, why that state of man, in which the obligation to honesty, and an abhorrence of villany, appear perfectly unin- telligible and sophistical, should be his. more natural state. It is the nature of human society to be progressive, as much as itis the nature of the individual. In the indiyidual, the state of infancy leads to that of childhood, childhood to. youth, youth to manhood, and manhood to old age. _ If one should say, that the state of infancy i is a more natural state than that of manhood or of old age, I am apt to think, that this would be words with- out any meaning. In like manner, in human society, there isa natural progress from rudeness to civilization, from ignorance to knowledge. What period of this progress shall we call man’s natural state ? To me they appear all equally natural... Every state of society is equally natural wherein men have access to exert their natural powers about their proper objects, and to improve those powers by the means which their situation Mr. Hume, indeed, shows some timidity in affirming the rude state to be the more masons, state of man; and, therefore, adds this qualifying parenthesis, Jf you are pleased fe) auld seycien con- dition natural. 907 OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT, 297 » But it ought to be observed, that if the premisses of his argu- ment be*weakened by this clause, the same weakness must be communicated to the conclusion; and the conclusion, accord- ing tothe rules of good reasoning, ought to be, that justice is an artificial virtue, if you be pleased to call it artificial. » 8dly, It were likewise to be wished, that Mr. Hume had shown from fact, that there ever did exist such a state of man as that which he calls his more natural state. It isa state wherein a man borrows asum of money, on the condition that he is to re- store it ina few days; yet when the time of payment comes, his obligation to repay what he borrowed is perfectly unintelligible and:sophistical. It would have been proper to have given at least'asingle instance of some tribe of the human race that was found to be in this natural state. If no such instance can be:given, it is probably a state merely imaginary ; like that state, which some have imagined, wherein men were Ourang Outangs, or wherein they were fishes with tails. ; » Indeed; such a state seems impossible. ‘That a man should lend without any conception of his having a right to be repaid ; or that a man should borrow on the condition of paying ina few days, and yet have no conception of his obligation, seems to me to involve a contradiction. I grant, that a humane man may lend without any expectation of being repaid ; but that he should lend without any concep- tion of a right to be repaid, isa contradiction. Jn like manner, a fraudulent man may borrow without an intention of paying back ; but that he should borrow, while an obligation to repay is perfectly unintelligible to him, this 1s a contradiction. The same author, in his Inquiry into the Principles of Morals, sect. 3. treating of the same subject, has the following note : “ Tis evident, that the will or consent alone never transfers property, nor causes the obligation of a promise, (for the same reasoning extends to both) but the will must be expressed by words or signs, in order to impose a tie 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, though he secretly give a different direc- tion to his intention, and withhold the assent of his mind. But though 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 mean- ing, and which he ‘uses without any sense of the consequences, would not certainly be bound by it. Nay, though he know its meaning; yet if he uses it in jest only, and with such signs as show evidently he has no serious intention of binding himself, he)would not be under'any obligation of performance ; butitis . Recessary that the words be a perfect expression of the will, without any contrary signs. Nay, even this we must not carry 298 ESSAY Y- so far as toimagine, that one whom, from, our quickness of un- derstanding, we conjecture to have an intention of deceiving us, is not bound by his expression or verbal promises if we acceptof it, but must limit this conclusion to those ate Aulaeates signs are of a different nature from those of deceit. dictions are easily accounted for, if justice Bipepe its usefulness to society, but will never. be pa li other hypothesis.”’ n> icnimeedesilalos Here we have the opinion of this grave moralist. metaphysician, that the principles of honesty and. fidelity are at bottom a bundle of contradictions. This is one part of his moral system which, | cannot help thinking, hordorenpaniane tiousness. It surely tends to give a very unfavourable noti that cardinal virtue, without which no man has a title to be ed an honest man. What regard can a. man pay to the vir- tue of fidelity, who believes that its essential rules contradict each other? Can a man be bound by contradictory rules of conduct? No more, surely, than he can be bound to believe contradictory principles. Uy Kaen He tells us, “* That all these contradictions are easily ac- counted for, if justice arises entirely from. its eng na ciety, but will never be explained upon any thesis.”’ Ki ag aD I know not indeed what is meant by accounting for contra- dictions, or explaining them. | apprehend, that. no hypothesis can make that which is a contradiction to be no contradiction. However, without attempting to account for these contradictions upon his own hypothesis, he pronounces, ima decisive tone, that they will never be explained upon any. other hypothesis. What if it shall appear, that the contradictions mentioned in this paragraph, do all take their rise from two capital mistakes the author has made with regard to the nature of promises and contracts ; and if, when these are corrected, there shall not ap pear a shadow of contradiction in the cases put by him?» > The first mistake is, that a promise is some kind of will, con= sent, or intention, which may be expressed, or may not be ex« pressed. This is to mistake the nature of a promise; for no will, no consent or intention that is not expressed, is a promises A promise, being a social transaction between two saletihe out being expressed, can have no existence. 24 aE eo Another capital mistake that runs through the passage cited is, that this will, consent, or intention, which makes a promise, is a will intention to perform what we promise. Every.man knows that there may be a fraudulent promise, made without in- tention of performing. Butthe intention to perform a or not to perform it, whether-the mtention be known to the ather party or not, makes no part of the promise, it is 2 solitary: act of the mind, and can neither constitute nor dissolve arm OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 299 obligation. What makes a promise is, that it be expressed to the other party with understanding, and with an intention to become bound, and that it be accepted by him. » @arrying these remarks along with us, let us review the pas- sage cited. ' 1st, He observes, that the will or consent alone does not cause the obligation of a promise, but it must be expressed. I answer: the will not expressed is not a promise ; and is it a contradiction, that that which is not a promise should not cause the obligation of a promise? He goes on: the expression being once brought in as subservient to the will, soon becomes a prin- eipal part of the promise. Here it is supposed, that the expres- sion was not originally a constituent part of the promise, but it soon becomes such. It is brought in to aid and be subservient to the promise which was made before by the will. If Mr. Hume had considered, that it is the expression accompanied with understanding and will to become bound, that constitutes a promise, he would never have said, that the expression soon be- comes a part, and is brought in as subservient. ‘He adds, nor will a man be less bound by his word, though he secretly gives a different direction to his intention, and withholds the assent of his minds The case here put, needs some explication. Either it means that the man knowingly and voluntarily gives his word, without any intention of giving his word, or that he gives it without the intention of keeping it, and performing what he promises. The last of these is indeed a possible case, and is, lapprehend, what Mr. Hume means. But the intention of keeping his promise is no part of the promise, nor does it in the least affect the obli- ation of it, as we have often observed. If the author meant that the man may knowingly and volun- tatily give his word, without the intention of giving his word, this is impossible; for such is the nature of all social acts of the mind, that, as they cannot be, without being expressed, so they cannot be expressed knowingly and willingly, but they must be. If a man puts a question knowingly and willingly, it is impossible that he should at the same time will noi to put it. If he gives a command knowingly and willingly, it is impossible that he should at the same time will not to give it. We cannot have contrary wills at the same time. And, in like manner, if a man knowingly and willingly becomes bound by a promise, it is impossible that he should at the same time will not to be bound. To suppose, therefore, that when a man knowingly and will- ingly gives his word, he withholds that will and intention which makes a promise, is indeed a contradiction ; but the contradic- tion isnot in the nature of the promise, but in the case supposed by Mr. Hume. 30Q ; ESSAY V. He adds, though the expression, for the most part, makes the whole of the promise, it does not always so. I answer, that the expression, if it is not accompanied with understanding, and will to engage, never makes a promise. The author here assumes a postulate, which nobody ever granted, and which can only be grounded on the impossible supposition made in the former sentence. And as there can be no promise without knowledge, and will to engage, is it marvellous that words which are not understood, or words spoken in jest, and without any intention to become bound, should not have the effect of a promise ? eUtiee The last case put by Mr. Hume, is that of a man who promises fraudulently with an intention not to perform, and whose fraudu- lent intention is discovered by the other party, who, notwith- standing, accepts the promise. He is bound, says Mr. Hume, by his verbal promise. Undoubtedly he is bound, because an intention not to perform the promise, whether known to the other party or not, makes no part of the promise, nor affects its’ obligation, as has been repeatedly observed. j dey From what has been said, J think it evident, that to one who attends to the nature of a promise or contract, there is not the least appearance of contradiction in the principles of morality: relating to contracts. me ee Se It would indeed appear wonderful, that such a man as Mrv Hume should have imposed upon himself in so plain a matter,’ if we did not see frequent instances of ingeniousmen, whose zeal in supporting a favourite hypothesis, darkens their under-’ standing, and hinders them from seeing what is before their eyes» a7 5 Yes Oe ele : DP Bid AvhQ : tee ae 1fhMids stir wen tS AT CHAPTER VII. gibt: » THAT MORAL APPROBATION IMPLIES A REAL JUDGMENT. THE approbation of good actions, and disapprobation of bad, are so familiar to every man come to years of understanding, that it seems strange there should be any dispute about their nature. Whether we reflect, upon our own conduct, or attend to the conduct of others with whom we live, or of whom we hear,or > read, we cannot help approving of some things, dissapproving of others, and regarding many with perfect indifference. These operations of our minds, we are conscious of every day, and almost every hour we live. Men of ripe understand- ing are capable of, reflecting upon them, and, of attending to what passes in their own thoughts on such occasions ; yet, for half.a century, it has been a serious dispute among philosophers, what this approbation and disapprobation is, whether there be a, real judgment included in it, which, like all other judgments, must be true or false; or, whether it include no more but some agreeable or uneasy feeling, in the person who approves or disapproves. Mr. Hume. observes very justly, that this is a controversy started of late. Before the modern system of ideas and impres- sions was introduced, nothing would have appeared more absurd than to say, that when I condemn a man for what he has done, I pass no judgment at all about the man, but only express some uneasy feeling in myself. Nor did the new system produce this discovery at once, but gradually, by several steps, according as its consequences were more accurately traced, and its spirit mere thoroughly imbibed by successive philosophers. Des Cartes and Mr. Locke went no further than to mainiain, that the secondary qualities of body, heat and cold, sound, colour, taste, and smell, which we perceive and judge to be in the ex- ternal object, are mere feelings or sensations in our minds, there being nothing in bodies themselves to which these names can be applied ; and that the office of the external senses is not to judge of external things, but only to give us ideas or sensations, from which we are by reasoning to deduce the existence of a material world without us, as well as we can. Arthur Collier and bishop Berkeley discovered, from the same principles, that the primary, as well as the secondary qualities of bodies, such as extension, figure, solidity, motion, are only VOL. IIt. 39 302 ESSAY V> sensations in our minds; and therefore, that there is no material world without us at all. The same philosophy, when it came to be applied matters of taste, discovered that beauty and deformity are ve thing in the objects, to which men, from the beginning of the world, ascribed them, but certain feelings i in the mind of thes re The next step was an easy consequence from all | the preceding, that moral approbation and disapprobation are not judgments, which must be true or false, but barely, nereenhie and eat feelings or sensations. a Mr. Hume made the last step in this progress, and crowned the system by what he calls his hypothesis; to wit, ‘that belief is more properly an act of the sensitive, than of. ‘the RPDENARE part of our nature. Beyond this, I think no man can go in this trek § sensation or feeling is all, and what is left to the cogitative Perye of our nature, Fam not able to comprehend. aa I have had occasion to consider each of these paradoxes, excepting that which relates to morals, in Essays on the Intellec- tual Powers of Man; and, though they be strictly connected with each other, and with the system which has produced them, / have attempted to show, that,they are inconsistent. with just notions of our intellectual powers, no less than they are with the common sense and common language of mankind. And t 1 think, will likewise appear with regard to the conclusion | re- lating to morals ; ; viz. That moral approbation is one an agree- able feeling, and not a real judgment. To prevent ambiguity as much as possible, let us attend tothe meaning of feeling and of judgment. ‘These operations. of the mind, perbaps, cannot be logically defined; but they are well understood, and easily distinguished, by. their ei pate ib adjuncts. Feeling, or sensation, seems to be the lowest degree of. anima- tion we can conceive. We give the name of anunal to every being that feels pain or pleasure ; and this seems to be the bound- ary between the inanimate and animal creation. sai We know no being of so low a rank in the creation of God, as to possess this animal power only without any other. ve We commonly distinguish feeling from thinking, because it hardly deserves the name; and though it be ina more general sense, a species of thought, is least removed from the PAINS: and inert state of things inanimate. A feeling must be agreeable, or uneasy, or indifferent. it may be weak or strong. [It is expressed in language either by a single word, or by such a contexture of words as may be the subject or predicate of a proposition, but such as cannot by themselves make a proposition. For it implies neither affir- APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 303 mation nor negation; and therefore cannot have the qualities of true or false, which distinguish propositions from all other forms of speech, and judgments from all other acts of the mind. That I have such a feeling, is indeed an affirmative proposition and expresses testimony grounded upon an intuitive judgment. Bui the feeling is only one term of this proposition ; and it can only make a proposition when joined with another term, by a yerb affirming or denying. As feeling distinguishes the animal nature from the inanimate ; so judging seems to distinguish the rational nature from the merely animal. Though judgment in general is expressed by one word in lan- guage, as the most complex operations of the mind may be ; yet a particular judgment can only be expressed by a sentence, and by that kind of sentence which logicians call a proposition, in which there must necessarily be a verb in the indicative mode, either expressed or understood. Every judgment must necessarily be true or false, and the same may be said of the proposition which expresses it. It is a de- termination of the understanding with regard to what is true, or false, or dubious. In judgment, we can distinguish the object about which we judge, from the act of the mind in judging of that object. In mere feeling there is no such distinction. ‘The object of judgment must be expressed by a proposition; and belief, disbelief, or doubt, always accompanies the judgment we form. If we judge the proposition to be true, we must believe it; if we judge it to be false. we must disbelieve it ; and if we be uncertain whether it be true or false, we must doubt. The toothach, the headach, are words which express uneasy feelings; but to say that they express a judgment would be ridiculous. That the sun is greater than the earth, is a proposition, and therefore the object of judgment ; and when affirmed or denied, - believed or disbelieved, or doubted, it expresses judgment, but to say that it expresses only a feeling in the mind of him that believes it, would be ridiculous. " These two operations of mind, when we consider them sepa- rately, are very different, and easily distinguished. When we feel without judging or judge without feeling, it is impossible, without very gross inattention, to mistake the one for the other. But in many operations of the mind, both are inseparably con- joined under one name; and when we are not aware that the Operation is complex, we may take one ingredient to be the whole, and overlook the other. In former ages, that moral power, by which human actions ought to be regulated, was called reason. and considered both by 304 ESSAY V» philosophers, and by the vulgar, as the power of judging what. we ought, and what we ought not todo. 4 4) This is very fully expressed by Mr. Hume, in his Treatise of Human Nature, Book ii. part 3. sect. 3... Nothing ismore usual in philosophy, and even in common life, than to talk ¢ »com- bat of passion and reason, to give the preference to reason, and. assert that.men are only so far virtuous as they conform’ them- selyes toits dictates. Every rational creature, it is said, is obli- ged 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 subdued, or, at least, brought to a conformity to that superior principle. On this method of think- ing, the greatest part of moral philosophy, ancient and modern, seems to be founded.” otep ty od et That those philosophers attended chiefly to the judging pow- er of our moral faculty, appears from the names they gave teits- operations, and from the whole of their language concerning it. The modern philosophy has led men to attend chiefly to their sensations and feelings, and thereby to resolve into mere feeling; complex acts of the mind, of which feeling is only one in- gredient. HPA deg th, afY I had occasion, in the preceding Essays, to observe, that seve- ral operations of the mind, to which we give one name, and consider as one act, are compounded of more simple acts, inse- parably united in our constitution, and that in these, sensation or feeling often makes one ingredient. h tiy AE VAN Th Thus the appetites of hunger and thirst are compounded of an uneasy sensation, and the desire of food or drink. In our bene- yolent affections, there is both an agreeable feeling, anda desire of happiness to the object of our affection ; and malevolent af- fections have ingredients of a contrary nature. © | In these instances, sensation or feeling is inseparably conjomed with desire. In other instances, we find sensation inseparably conjoined with judgment or belief, and that in two different ways. In some instances, the judgment or belief seems to be the consequence of the sensation, and to be regulated by it. In’ other instances, the sensation is the consequence of the judg-. ment. : AS Fin yt When we perceiye an external object by our senses, we have a sensation conjoined with a firm: belief of the existence and) sensible qualities of the external object. ‘Nor has all the subtiz) lity of metaphysics been able to disjoin what nature has conjoitied” in our constitution. Des Cartes and Locke endeavour reasoning, to deduce the existence of external objects from our sensations, but in vain. Subsequent philosophers, finding no reason for this connexion, endeavoured to throw off the belief of externa! objects as being unreasonable ; but. this attempt is APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 305 no less vain. Nature has doomed us to believe the testimony of our senses, whether we can give a good reason for doing so or note °°" ’ : 1 wei : Tt a a " In'this instance, the belief or judgment is the consequence of the sensation, as the sensation is the consequence of the impres- sion made on the organ of sense. : But in most of the operations of mind in which judgment or belief is combined with feeling, the feeling is the consequence of the judgment, and is regulated by it. ‘Thus, an account of the good conduct of a friend at a distance gives me a very agreeable feeling, and a contrary account would give mea very uneasy feeling; but these feelings depend en- tirely upon my belief of the report. In hope, there is an agreeable feeling, depending upon the be- lief or expectation of good to come: fear is made up of contrary ingredients ; in’ both, the feeling is regulated by the degree of belief. In the respect we bear to the worthy, and in our contempt of the worthless, there is both judgment and feeling, and the last depends entirely upon the first. . The same may be «aid of gratitude for good offices, and re- sentment of injuries. ; Let meow consider how I am affected when I see a man ex- erting himself nobly ina good cause. Iam conscious that the effect of his conduct on my mind iscomplex, though it may be called by one name. I look upto his virtue, ] approve, f admire it. Indoing so, I have pleasure indeed, or an agreeable feeling ; this is granted. But | find myself interested in his success and inhis fame. This is affection ; it is love and esteem, which is more than mere feeling. The man is the object of this esteem ; butin mere feeling there is no object. thea Tam likewise conscious, that this agreeable feeling in me, and this esteem of him, depend entirely upon the judgment I form of his conduct. I judge that this conduct merits esteem; and, while I thus judge, I cannot but esteem him, and contemplate his conduct with pleasure. Persuade me that he was bribed, or that he acted from some mercenary or bad motive, immediate- ly my esteem and my agreeable feeling vanish. . In the approbation of a good action, therefore, there is feeling indeed, but there is also esteem of the agent; and beth the feeling and the esteem depend upon the judgment we form of his conduct. . When I exercise my moral faculty about my own actions or those of other men, I am conscious that I judge as well as feel. T accuse and excuse, I acquit and condemn, I assent and dissent, I believe, and disbelieve, and doubt. “These are acts of judg- ment. and not feelings. ' 506 ESSAY Y. _ Every determination of the understanding,’ with regard to what is true or false, is judgment. That | ought not to steal, or to kill, or to bear false witness, are propositions, of the truth of which | am as well convinced as of ‘any proposition in Euclid. | am conscious that I judge them to be true proposi- tions; and my consciousness makes all other) arguments unnecessary. with regard to the operations of my own mind. ~ _ That ether men judge, as well as feel, in such cases, Tam convinced, because they understand me when I express my moral judgment, and express theirs by the same terms and phrases. : . OFM ibojshy, Per ibe dL # Suppose that, in a case well known to both, my friend says, Such a man did well and worthily ; his conduct ts highly prior le. This speech, according to all rules of interpretation, expresses my friend’s judgment of the man’s conduct. This judgment may be true or false, and I may agree in opinion with him, or 1 may dissent from him without offence, as we may differ in other matters of judgment. , to Suppose, again, that, in relation to the same case, my friend says, The man’s conduct gave me a very agreeable feeling. This speech, if approbation be nothing but an agreeable feeling, must have the very same meaning with the first, and express neither more nor less. But this cannot be, for two reasons. Lee le PO epee ist, Because there is no rule in grammar or rhetoric, nor any usage in language, by which these two speeches ean be con- strued, so as to have the same meaning. The first expresses plainly an opinion or judgment of the conduct of the man, ‘but says nothing of the speaker. The second onily testifies a fact concerning the speaker ; to wit, that he had such a feeling. —~ Another reason why these two speeches cannot mean the same thing is, that the first may be contradicted without any ground of offence, such contradiction being only a difference of opinion, which, to a reasonable man, gives no offence. But the second speech cannot be contradicted without an affront; for, as‘every man must know his own feelings, to deny that a man had a feel- ing which he affirms he had, is to charge him with falsehood. If moral approbation be a real judgment, which produces an ~ agreeable feeling in the mind of him who judges, both speeches are perfectly intelligible, in the most obvious and literal senses Their meaning is different, but they are related, so that the one may be inferred from the other, as we infer the rete cause, or the cause from the effect. I know, that what a m judges to be a very worthy action, he contemplates with pleasure; and what he contemplates with pleasure, must, in his judgment, have worth. But the judgment and the feeling are different acts of his mind, though connected as cause and wii? APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 307 effect. He can express either the one or the other with perfect propriety ; but the speech which expresses his feeling is altogether improper and inept to express his judgment, for this evident reason, that judgment and feeling, though in some eases connected, are things in their nature different. _ If we suppose, on the other hand, that moral approbation is nothing more than an agreeable feeling, occasioned by the con- templation of an action, the second speech above mentioned has a distinct meaning, and expresses all that is meant by moral approbation. But the first speech either means the very same thing, which cannot be, for the reasons already mentioned, or it has no meaning. Now, we may appeal to the reader, whether, in conversation upon human characters, such speeches as the first are not as frequent, as familiar, and as well understood, as any thing in language ; and whether they have not been common in all ages that we can trace, and in al] languages ? This doctrine, therefore, that moral approbation is merely a feeling without judgment, necessarily carries along with it this consequence, that.a form of speech, upon one of the most com- mon topics of discourse, which either has no meaning, or a meaning irreconcileable to all rules of grammar or rhetoric, is found to be common and familiar in all languages, and in all ages of the world, while every man knows how to express the meaning, if it have any, in plain and proper language. Such a consequence | think sufficient to sink any philosophi- cal opinion on which it-hangs. A particular language may have some oddity, or even ab- surdity, introduced by some man of eminence, from caprice or wrong judgment, and followed, by servile imitators, fora time, till it be detected, and, of consequence, discountenanced and dropt; but that the same absurdity should pervade all languages, through all ages, and that, after being detected and exposed, it should still keep its countenance and its place in language as much as before, this can never be while men have understanding. It may be observed, by the way, that the same argument may be applied, with equal force. against those other paradoxical opinions of modern philosophy, which we before mentioned as connected with this, such as, that beauty and deformity are not at all in the objects to which language universally ascribes them, but are merely feelings in the mind of the spectator ; that the secondary qualities are not in external objects, but are merely feelings or sensations in him that perceives them; and, in general, that our external and internal senses are faculties. by which we have sensations or feelings only, but by which we do not judge. . 308 ESSAY V. That every torm of speech, which language ;atlords, to express our judgments, should, in all ages, and i languages, be used to express what is no judgment; and feeling which are easily expressed in proper language, should as universally be expressed by language altogether improper and ‘absurd, I cannot believe; and therefore must conclude, that if language be the expression of thought, menjudge of the prima- ry and secondary qualities of body by their external senses, of beauty and deformity, by their taste, and of virtue and vice, by their moral faculty, 3a U8 saith Daakd,. ond Aomnee li peamdue A truth so evident as this is, can hardly be obscured and brought into doubt, but by the abuse of words... And much abuse of words there has been upon this subject. .To avoid this, as much as possible, I have used the word judgment, on one side, and sensation, or feeling, upon the other; because these words have been least liable to abuse jor ambiguity. But it may be proper to make some observations ae words that have been used in this controversy... _Mr. Hume, in his Treatise of Human Nature, has employed two sections upon it, the titles of which are, Moral Distinctions not derived from Reason, and. Moral. Distinctions derived from a Moral Sense. i: tnadedh ome enene _ When he is not, by custom, led unawares to speak of reason like other men, he limits that word to signify only the power of judging in matters merely. speculative. . Hence he concludes, ‘‘ That reason of itself is inactive and perfectly inert.” . That “actions may be laudable or blameable, but cannot be reasona- ble or unreasonable.”” That ‘‘it is not contrary to reason, to prefer the destruction of the whole world to the scratching of my finger.’? That “it is not contrary to reason, for me to choose my total ruin to prevent the least uneasiness of an Indian, or of a person wholly unknown to me.” That “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.”? If we take the word reason to mean what common use, both of philosophers, and of the vulgar, has made it to mean, these maxims are not only false, but licentious._Itis only his abuse of the words reason and passion, that can justify them from this censure. . eens The. meaning of a common word is not to be ascertained by philosophical theory, but by common usage ; and if a man will take the liberty of limiting or extending the meaning of comt words at his pleasure, he may, like Mandeviile,, Se puaintie most licentious paradoxes with the appearance of, plausibility. I have before made some observations upon the meaning of this word, Essay Il. chap. 2. and Essay JII. part 3..chap. 1. to which the reader is referred. asdtutcpenen sigaile fas APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 50S When Mr. Hume derives moral distinctions from a moral sense; I agree with him in words, but we differ about the meaning of the word sense. _ Every power to which the name of a sense has been given, is a power of judging of the objects of that sense, and has been accounted such in all ages; the moral sense therefore is the power of judging in morals. But Mr. Hume will have the moral sense to be only a power of feeling, without judging : this I take to be an abuse of a word. Authors who place moral approbation in feeling only, very often use the word sentiment, to express feeling without judg- ment. This I take likewise to be an abuse of a word. Our moral determinations may, with propriety, be called mora sentiments. For the word sentiment, in the English language, never, as | conceive, signifies mere feeling, but judgment accompained with feeling. It was wont to signify opinion or judgment of any kind, but, of late, is appropriated to signify an opinion or judgment, that strikes, and produces some agreeable or uneasy emotion. So we speak of sentiments of respect, of esteem, of gratitude. But I never heard the pain of the gout, or any other mere feeling, called a sentiment. Even the word judgment has been used by Mr. Hume to express what he maintains to be only a feeling. | Treatise of Human Nature, part 3. page 3. ‘The term perception is no less applicable to those judgments by which we distinguish moral ood and evil, than to every other operation of the mind,?? Perhaps he used this word inadvertently; for I think there cannot be a greater abuse of words, than to put judgment for what he held to be mere feeling. . All the words most commonly used, both by philosophers and by the vulgar, to express the operations of our moral faculty, such as decision, determination, sentence, approbation, disapproba- tion, applause, censure, praise; blame, necessarily imply judgment in their meaning. When, therefore, they are used by Mr. Hume, and others who hold his opinion, to signify feelings only, this is an abuse of words. If these philosophers wish to speak plainly and properly, they must, in discoursing of morals, discard these words altogether, because their established signification in the language, is contrary to what they would express by them. . They must likewise discard from morals the words oughi and ought not, which very properly express judgment, but cannot be applied to mere feelings. Upon these words Mr. Hume has made a particular observation in the conclusion of his first section above mentioned. | shall give it in his own words, and make some remarks upon it. “ Tcannot forbear adding to these reasonings, an observation which may, perhaps, be found of some importance. In every VOb. II. 40 310, ESSAY V, system of. morality which I have hitherto met with, I have always remarked, that the author proceeds for some time in the erdinary way of reasoning, and establishes the being of a God, er makes observations concerning human affairs; when, of a sudden, I am surprised to find, that, instead of the usual copula- tions of propositions, ¢s, and is not. | meet with no proposition that is not connected with an oughé, 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, it is necessary that it should be observed and explained; 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 I am persuaded that this small attention would subvert all the vulgar systems of morality, and let us see, that the distinc- tion of vice and virtue is not founded merely on the relations of objects, nor is perceived by reason.” no hiaawy We may here observe, that it is acknowledged, that the words eught and ought not express some relation or affirmation; but a relation or affirmation which Mr. Hume thought inexplicable, - or, at least, inconsistent with his system of morals. . He must, therefore, have thought, that they ought hot to be used in treating of that subject. \ SAt on leet eaters He likewise makes two demands, and, taking it for granted that they cannot be satisfied, is persuaded, that an attention to this is sufficient to subvert all the vulgar systems. of morals.. — - The first demand is, that ought and ought not be explained. To aman that understands English, there are surely no words that require explanation less. Are not all men taught, fyom their early years, that they ought not to lie, nor steal, nor swear false- ly ? But Mr. Hume thinks, that men never understood what these precepts mean, or rather that they are unintelligible. » If this be so, I think indeed it will follow, that all the vulgar systems of morals are subverted. SAG Ruan aman 6 _ Dr. Johnson, in his Dictionary, explains the word ‘ought to signify, being obliged by duty; and 1 know no better explica- tion that can be given of it. The reader will see what I thought necessary to say concerning the moral relation expressed by this word, in Essay II]. part 3. chap. 5... _ “ffx astiio tna . The second demand is, that a reason should be given why this relation should be a deduction from others, which are entirely different from it. » ieee This is to demand a reason for what does notexist. The first principles of morals are not deductions... They are self-evident; and their truth, like that of other axioms, is perceived without APPROBATION {MPLIES JUDGMENT. 311 reasoning or deduction. And moral truths, that are not self-evi- dent, are deduced not from relations quite different from them, but from the first principles of morals. ' Jn a matter so interesting to mankind, and so frequently the subject of conversation among the learned and the unlearned, as morals is, it may surely be expected that men will express both their judgments and their feelings with propriety, and con- sistently with the rules of language. An opinion, therefore, which makes the language of all ages and nations, upon this subject, to be improper, contrary to all rules of language, and fit to be discarded, needs no other refutation. ; As mankind have, in all ages, understood reason to mean the power, by which not only our speculative opinions, but our ac- tions ought to be regulated, we may say, with perfect propriety, that all vice is contrary to reason ; that, by reason, we are to judge of what we ought to do, as well as of what we ought to believe. But though all vice be contrary to reason, f conceive that it would not be a proper definition of vice to say, that it is a con- duct contrary to reason, because this definition would apply equally to folly, which all men distinguish from vice. " There are other phrases which have been used on the same side of the question, which | see no reason for adopting, such as, acting contrary to the relations of things, contrary to the rea- sonof things, to the fitness of things, to the truth of things, to ab- solute fitness. These phrases have not the authority of common use, which, in matter of language, is great. They seem to have been invented by some authors, with a view to explain the nature of vice; but I do not think they answer that end. If intended as definitions of vice, they are improper; because, in the most favourable sense they can bear, théy extend to every kind of foolish and absurd conduct, as*well as to that which is vicious. I shall conclude this chapter with some observations upon the five arguments which Mr. Hume has offered upon this point in his Inquiry. PORE: The first is, That it is impossible that the hypothesis he op- oses, can, in any particular instance, be so much as rendered intelligible, whatever specious figure it may make in general discourse. ‘“‘ Examine,” says he, “the crime of imgratitude, anatomize all its circumstances, and examine, by your reason alone, in what consists the demerit or blame, you will never come to any issue or conclusion.” I think it unnecessary to follow him through all the accounts of ingratitude which he conceives. may be given by those whom he opposes, because I agree with him in that which he himself adopts, to wit, “‘ That this crime arises from a complication of aFe ESSAY Vv. circumstances, which, being presentéd to the spectator, excites . the sentiment of blame by the particular structure and fabric of his mind.” 10 SES IS oo ; This he thought a true and intelligible account of the crimi- nality of ingratitude. So dol. And therefore 1 think the hy- pothesis he opposes is intelligible, when applied ‘to a particular instance. 11RD AO (Toke ae Tine _ Mr. Hume, no doubt, thought that the account he gives of ingratitude is inconsistent with the hypothesis he opposes; and could not be adopted hy those who hold that hypothesis. “He could be led to think so, only by taking for granted one of these two things. Hither, Ist, that the sentiment of blame means a feeling only, without judgment; or 2dly, that whatever is ex- cited by the particular fabric and structure of the mind, must be feeling only, and not judgment. But I cannot grant either the one or the other. 6 POit bere For as to the first, it seems evident to me, that both sentiment and blame imply judgment ; and, therefore, that the sentiment of blame means a judgment accompanied with feeling, and not mere feeling without judgment. Sv reihnwes Gis ony £ ~ The second can as little be granted ; for no operation of mind, whether judgment or feeling, can be excited but by that parti- eular structure and fabric of the mind which makes us'capable of that operation. : Poy HO) aly By that part of our fabric, which we call the faculty of séeing, we jadge of visible objects: by taste, another part of our fabric, we judge of beauty and deformity ; by that part of our fabric, which enables us to form abstract conceptions, to compare ‘them, and perceive their relations, we judge of abstract truths; and - by that part of our fabric which we call the moral faculty; we judge of virtue and vice. If we suppose @ being without any moral faculty in his fabric, I grant that he could not have the sentiments of blame and moral approbation, 6) 1 There are, therefore, judgments, as well as feelings, that are excited by the particular structure and fabric of the mind.” But there is this remarkable difference between them, that every judgment is, in its own nature, trae or false; and though it de- en upon the fabric of the mind, whether it have sucha judg- ent or not, it depends not upon that fabric whether the judg- ment be true or not. A true judgment will be true, whatever be the fabric of the mind; but a particular structure and fabric is necessary, in order to our perceiving that truth. Nothing like this can be said of mere feelings, because the attributes of true or false do not belong to them. enh an d eae ‘Thus I think it appears, that the hypothesis which Mr. Hume opposes, is not unintelligible, when applied to the particular in- - stance of ingratitude; because the account of ingratitude which APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 313 he himself thinks true and intelligible, is perfectly agreeable te die) The second argument amounts to this: that in moral delibe- ration, we must be acquainted beforehand with all the objects and all their relations. After these things are known, the un- derstanding bas no further room to operate. Nothing remains but to feel, on our part, soe sentiment of blame or approba- tion. Let us apply this reasoning to the office of a judge. Ina cause that comes before him, he must be made acquainted with all the objects, and all their relations. After this, his understand- ing has no farther room to operate. Nothing remains, on his rt, but to feel the righit or the wrong ; and mankind have very absurdly called hima judge; he ought to be called a feeler. To answer this argument more directly: the man who de-~ liberates, after all the objects and relations mentioned by Mr. Hume, are known to him, has'a point to determine ; and that is, whether the action under his deliberation ought to be done, or ought not. In most cases, this point will appear self-evident to a man who has been accustomed to exercise his moral judg- ment; im some cases it may require reasoning. In like manner, the judge, after all the circumstances of the cause are known, has to judge, whether the plaintiff has a just plea or not. The third argument is taken from the analogy between moral beauty and natural, between moral sentiment and taste. As beauty is not a quality of the object, but a certain feeling of the spectator, so virtue and vice are not qualities in the persons to whom language ascribes them, but feelings of the spectator. But is it certain that beauty is not any quality of the object? This is indeed a paradox of.modern philosophy, built upon a philosophical theory ; but a paradox so contrary to the common Janguage and common sense of mankind, that it ought rather to overturn the theory on which it stands, than receive any support from it. And if beauty be really a quality of the object, and not merely a feeling of the spectator, the whole force of this argument goes over to the other side of the question. “Euclid,” he says, ‘has fully explained all the qualities of the circle, but has not, in any proposition, said a word of its beauty. The reason is evident. The beauty isnot a quality of the circle.” By the qualities of the circle, he must mean its properties ; and there are here two mistakes. ist, Euclid has not fully explained all the properties of the circle. Many have been discovered and demonstrated which he never dreamed of. 614 - , ESSAY VY. 2dly, The reason why Euclid has not said a word of the beauty of the circle, is not, that beauty is not a quality of the ewcele; the reason is, that Euclid never digresses from his subject... His purpose was to demonstrate the mathematical properties of the circle. Beauty is a quality of the cirele, not demonstrable by mathematical reasoning, but. ‘immediately perceived by a good taste. 1lospeak of it would have been a digression from his subject ; and that is a fault he is never guilty 1 nia irpios’ ad biaerte The fourth argument is, that inanimate objects may bear to each other all the same relations which we observe in moral agents. — hid acl? If this were true, it would be very much to the purpose : but it seems to be thrown out rashly, »without any attention to its evidence. Had Mr. Hume reflected but a very little upon this dogmatical assertion, a thousand instances would have occarred’ to him in direct contradiction to it. tettolim bar May not one animal be more tame, or more docile, or more cunning, or more fierce, or more ravenous, than another? Are these relations to be found in inanimate objects?) May not one man be a better painter, or sculptor, or ship-builder, or tailor, or shoemaker, than another ? Are these relations to be found in inanimate objects, or even in brute animals?) May not one moral agent be more just, more pious, more attentive to any. moral duty, or more eminent in any moral virtue, than another ? Are not these relations peculiar to moral agents? » But tocome - to the relations most essential to morality. 9) ©) When I say that I ought to do such an action, that it is my duty, do not these words express a relation between me anda certain action in. my power; a relation which cannot be between inani- mate objects, or between any other objects but a moral agent and his moral actions: a relation which is well understood by all men come to years of understanding, and expressed in all languages ? ‘ bial | Again, when in deliberating about two actions in my power, which cannot both be done, I say this ought to be preferred to the other; that justice, for instance, ought to be preferred to generosity; I express a moral relation between two actions of a — moral agent, which is well understood, and which cannot exist between objects of any other kind. , There are, therefore, moral relations which can have no ex= istence but between moral agents and their voluntary actions. To determine these relations is the object of morals; and to determine relations, is the province of judgment, and not of mere feeling. i) Teeter The last argument is a chain of several propositions which deserve distinct consideration. They may, 1 think, be summed ay oboe APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. . 316 up in these four: ist, There must be ultimate ends of action, beyond which it is absurd to ask a reason of acting. 2dly, The | ultimate ends of human actions can never be accounted for by reason ; 3dly, But recommend themselves entirely to the senti- ments and affections of mankind, without any dependence on the ‘intellectual faculties. 4thly, As virtue is an end, and is desirable on its own account, without fee or reward, merely for the immediate satisfaction it conveys; it is requisite, that there should be some sentiment which it touches, some internal taste or feeling, or whatever you please to call it, which distinguishes moral good and evil, and which embraces the one, and rejects the other. a i To the firstof these propositions I entirely agree. The ultimate ends of action are what I have called the principles of action, which I have endeavoured, in the third Essay, to enu- merate, aud to class under three heads of mechanical, animal, and rational. The second proposition needs some explication. I take its meaning to be, that there cannot be another end for the sake of . which an ultimate end is pursued : for the reason of an action means nothing but the end for which the action is done ; and the reason of an end of action can mean nothing but another end, for the sake of which that end is pursued, and to which it is the means. That this is the author’s meaning is evident from his reason- ing in confirmation of it. “Ask a man, why he uses exercise ? he will answer, because he desires to keep his health. If you then inquire, why he desires healih? he will readily reply, because sickness is painful. If you push your inquiries further, and desire a reason why he hates pain, it is impossible he can ever give any. Thisis an ultimate end, and is never referred to any other object.””. To account by reason for an end, therefore, is to show another end, for the sake of which that end is desired and pursued. And that, in this sense, an ultimate end can never be accounted for by reason, is certain, because that cannot be an ultimate end which is pursued only for the sake of another end. l agree therefore with Mr. Hume in this second proposition, which indeed is implied in the first. The third proposition is, that ultimate ends recommend them- selves entirely to the sentiments and affections of mankind, without any dependence on the intellectual faculties. By sentiments, he must here mean feelings without judgment, and by affections, such affections as imply no judgment. For surely any operation that implies judgment, cannot be inde- pendent of the intellectual faculties. This being understood, I cannot assent to this proposition. The author seems to think it implied in the preceding, or a 316 ESSAY V. necessary consequence from it, that because an ultimate end cannot be accounted for by reason; that is, cannot be pursued merely for the sake of another end; therefore itean have no dependence on the intellectual faculties. I deny this. conse- _ quence, and can see no force in it. ye ee . I think it not only does not follow from the preceding propo- sition, but that it is contrary to truthe 945 ) be gugoy . Aman may act from gratitude as an ultimate end 3 but grati- _ tude implies a judgment and belief of favours, received, and therefore is dependent on the intellectual faculties....A. man may act from respect to a worthy character as an ultimate end; but this respect necessarily implies a judgment of worth — in the person, and therefore is dependent on, the intellectual faculties. . e» bas er doniibabagal I have endeavoured in the third Essay before mentioned to _ show that, beside the animal principles of our nature, which require will and intention, but not judgment, there,are also.in human _ nature rational principles of action, or ultimateends, which have, in all ages, been called rational, and have a just title to that name, not only from the authority of language, but because they can have no existence but in beings endowed with _ reason, and because, in all their exertions, they require not only intention and will, but judgment or reason. Liaise Aaa Therefore, until it can be proved that an ultimate end cannot be dependent on the intellectual faculties, this third proposition, and all that hangs upon it, must fall to the ground.) ... The last proposition assumes, with very good reason, that virtue _ is an ultimate end, and desirable on its, own account. . From which, if the third proposition were true, the conclusion would - undoubtedly follow, that virtue has no dependence on the intel- lectual faculties. But as that proposition is not granted, nor proved, this conclusion is left without any support from the whole of the argument. ‘ieee si-oonel I should not have thought it worth while to insist so longupon this controversy, if 1 did not conceive. that the consequences which the contrary opinions draw after them are important. |. If what we call moral judgment be no real.judgment, but _ merely a feeling, it follows, that the principles of morals, which we have been taught to consider as an immutable law to all in- telligent beings, have no other foundation but an arbitrary struc- ture and fabric in the constitution of the human mind: so that, by a change in our structure, what is immoral might become moral, virtue might be turned into vice, and vice into virtue. And beings of a different structure, according to the variety of their feelings, may have different, nay opposite measures of moral good and evil. , It follows that, from our notions of morals, we can conclude APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMEN’, 317 nothing concerning a moral character in the Deity, which is the foundation of all religion, and the strongest support of virtue. Nay, this opinion seems to conclude strongly against a moral character in the Deity, since nothing arbitrary or mutable can be conceived to enter into the description of a nature eternal, immutable, and necessarily existent. Mr. Hume seems perfectly consistent with himself, in allowing of no evidence for the moral attributes of the Supreme Being, whatever there may be for his natural attributes. On the other hand, if moral judgment be a true and real judgment, the principles of morals stand upon the immutable foundation of truth, and can undergo no change by any difference of fabric, or structure, of those who judge of them. There may be, and there are, beings, who have not the faculty of conceiving moral truths, or perceiving the excellence of moral worth, as there are beings incapable of perceiving mathematical truths ; but no defect, no error of understanding, can make what is true to be false. If it be true that piety, justice, benevolence, wisdom, temper- ance, fortitude, are in their own nature the most excellent and most amiable qualities of a human creature; that vice has an inherent turpitude which merits disapprobation and dislike ; these truths cannot be hid from Him whose understanding is infinite, whose judgment is always according to truth, and who must esteem every thing according to its real value. | The Judge of all the earth, we are sure, will do right. He has given to men the faculty of perceiving the right and the wrong in conduct, as far aseis necessary to our present state, and of perceiving the dignity of the one, and the demerit of the other ; and surely there can be no real knowledge or real excel- lence in man, which is not in his Maker. We may therefore justly conclude, that what we know in part, and see in part of right and wrong, he sees perfectly ; that the moral excellence which we see and admire in some of our fellow-creatures, is a faint but true copy of that moral excel- lence, which is essential to his nature ; and that to tread the path of virtue is the true dignity of our nature, an imitation of God, and the way to obtain his favour. THE END, VAL. fl. Af uy ohh oe es * : tes] > = | © = (2 | Date Due oO =| - Tb RS er + Div.S. 192.5 R358W v.3 594890 180ZZ0€ 10g iii IM