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 Theological Seminary, 
 
 PRINCETON, N. J. 
 
 SCC #11,110 
 
 Smith, Adam, 1723-1790. 
 
 Theory of moral sentiments, or. An essay 
 
 towards an analysis of Ihe principles by vvl 
 
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THE 
 
 THEORY 
 
 O F 
 
 MORAL SENTIMENTS; 
 
 O R, 
 
 AN ESSAY 
 
 TOWARDS 
 
 An Analysis of the Principles by which Men naturally 
 
 judge concerning the Conduct and Character, firft of 
 
 their Neighbours, and afterwards of themselves. 
 
 TO WHICH IS ADDED, 
 
 A DISSERTATION 
 
 ON THE 
 
 ORIGIN of LANGUAGES. 
 
 7 
 
 By ADAM S M I T H, L. L. D. F. R. S. 
 
 Formerly Profeflbr of Philofophy in the Univerfity of Glafgow } and Auther 
 of the Nature and Caufe of the Wealth of Nations. 
 
 THE SIXTH EDITION. 
 
 DUBLIN: 
 
 Printed for J. Beatty and C. Jackson, No. 32, Skinner«Row, 
 M,DCC,LXXVII. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 o 
 
 PART L 
 
 F the Propriety of Action, 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 Of thefenfeof propriety Page i. 
 
 Chap. I. Of Sympathy ibid. 
 
 Chap. II. Of the Pleafure of mutual Sympathy 9 
 
 Chap. III. Of the manner in which we judge of the 
 propriety or impropriety of the affeclions of other 
 men, by their concord or diffonance with our own 14; 
 
 Chap. IV. ^he fame fubj eel continued 19 
 
 Chap. V. Of the amiable and refpeclable virtues 27 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 Of the degrees of the different pafiions which are 
 confiftent with propriety 33 
 
 Chap. I. Of the pajffions which take their origin from 
 ihe body 3 4 
 
 Chap. II. Of thofe pajftons which take their origin 
 from a particular turn or habit of the imagination 4 1 
 
 a 2 C h a p. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Chap. III. Of the unfocial pajfions Page 46 
 
 Chap. IV. Of the f octal pajfwns 54. 
 
 Ch a p . V. Of the felfijh pajfions 5 8 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Of the effects of profperity and adverfity upon the 
 judgment of mankind with regard to the propri- 
 ety of action ; and why it is more eafy to obtain 
 their approbation in the one ftate than in the 
 other 46 
 
 Chap. I. That though our fympathy with forrow 
 is generally a more lively fenfation than our fympathy 
 with joy , it commonly falls much more jhort of the 
 violence of what is naturally felt by the perfon prin- 
 cipally concerned. ibid. 
 
 Chap. II. Of the origin of ambition, and of the dif- 
 tintlion of ranks 74 
 
 Chap. III. Of the ftoical phihfophy 89 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Of Merit and Demerit; or of the objefts 
 of reward and punifhment. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 Of the fenfe of merit and demerit gy 
 
 Chap. I. That whatever appears to be the proper ob- 
 jecl oj gratitude, appears to deferve reward -, and 
 that, in the fame manner, whatever appears to be the 
 -proper objecl of refentment, appears to deferve pu* 
 nijkment 98 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Chap. II. Of the proper objecls of gratitude and re- 
 fentment Page 102 
 
 Chap. III. That where there is no approbation of the 
 tonducl of the per/on who confers the benefit l , there is 
 little fympathy with the gratitude of him who re- 
 ceives it : and that, on the contrary \ where there is 
 no difapprobation of the motives of the per/on who 
 does the mif chief there is no fort of fympathy with 
 the refentment of him who fuffers it 1 06 
 
 Chap. IV. Recapitulation of the foregoing chap- 
 ters 1 09 
 
 Chap. V. The analyfis of the fenfe of merit and 
 demerit 1 1 2 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 Of juftice and beneficence i-^4- 
 
 Chap. I. Comparif on of thofe two virtues ibid. 
 
 Chap. II. Of the fenfe of juftice, of remorfe, mid of 
 the confeioufnefs of merit 1 40 
 
 Chap. III. Of the utility of this conftitution of na- 
 ture 133 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Of the influence of fortune upon the fentiments of 
 mankind, with regard to the merit or demerit of 
 actions 147 
 
 Chap. I. Of the caufes of this influence of for- 
 tune 148 
 
CONTENT SV 
 
 Chap. II. Of the extent of this influence of fortune 
 
 Page 154 
 
 Chap. III. Of the final caufe of this irregularity of 
 fentiments 167 
 
 PART III, 
 
 Of the foundation of our judgments con- 
 cerning our own fentiments and conduct, 
 and of the fen(6 of duty. 
 
 Chap. I. Of the confcioufnefs of merited praife or 
 blame 1 7 3 
 
 Chap. II. In what manner our own judgments refer 
 to what ought to he the judgments of others; and 
 of the origin of general rules 180 
 
 Chap. III. Of the influence and authority of the 
 general rules of morality, and that they are juftly 
 regarded as the laws of the Deity 207 
 
 Chap. IV. /;/ what cafes the fenfe of duty ought to bs 
 the fole principle of our conducl ; and in what cafes 
 it ought to concur with other motives 223 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 Of theeffedtof utility upon the fentiments of 
 approbation , 
 
 Chap. I. Of the beauty which the appearance of 
 Utility beftows upon all the productions of art, and of the 
 ■ '■':ip!/ive influence of this f pedes of beauty %$7 
 
i*< 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Chap. II. Of the beauty which the appearance of 
 utility be/lows upon the char after s and aclions of men \ 
 and how far the perception of this beauty may be re- 
 garded as one of the original principles of approbation 
 
 Page 250 
 
 PART V. 
 
 Of the influence of cuftom and fafhion 
 upon the fentiments of moral approbation 
 and difapprobation. 
 
 Chap. I. Of the influence of cuftom and fafhion upon 
 our notions of beauty and deformity. 261 
 
 Chap. II. Of the influence of cuftom and fafhion 
 upon moral fentiments % 27 1 
 
 PART VI. 
 
 Of Syftems of Moral Philofophy* 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 Of the queftions which ought to be examined in a 
 theory of moral fentiments 29 1 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 Of the different accounts which have been given of 
 the nature of virtue, 294 
 
 Ch a p . I. Of thofe fyftems which make virtue conjifi in 
 propriety v ? t q 7 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Chap. II. Of thofe fyflems which make virtue con- 
 fft in prudence Page 3 1 1 
 
 Chap. III. Of thofe fyflems which make virtue con- 
 Jtji in benevolence 321 
 
 C h a p . I V. Of licentious fyftems 331 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Of the different fyflems which have been formed 
 concerning the principle of approbation 34.5 
 
 Chap. I. Of thofe fyflems which deduce the principle 
 of approbation from felf4ove 346 
 
 Chap. II. Of thofe fyflems which make reafon the 
 
 principle of approbation 351 
 
 Chap. III. Of thofe fyflems which make fentiment 
 
 the principle of approbation 356 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 Of the manner in which different authors have 
 treated of the practical rules of morality 367 
 
 Confiderations concerning the fir ft formation of languages, 
 and the different genius of original and compound 
 languages 389 
 
PART I 
 
 Of the PROPRIETY ef ACTION. 
 
 Confifting of three Sections. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 Of the Sense of Propriety. 
 
 CHAP. 1 
 
 Of S Y M P A T H Y. 
 
 H 
 
 OW felfifti foever man may be fuppofed, 
 there are evidently fome principles in his nature, 
 which intereft him in the fortune of others, and ren- 
 der their happinefs neceiTary to him, though he de- 
 rives nothing from it, except the pleafure of feeing it. 
 Of this kind is pity or companion, the emotion which 
 we feel for the mifery of others, when we either fee 
 it, or are made to conceive it in a very lively manner. 
 That we often derive forrow from the forrow t£ 
 ethers, is a matter of fad too obvious to require any 
 B inftances 
 
2 0/ Propriety. Tart I. 
 
 inftances to prove it ; for this fentiment, like all the 
 other original paflions of human nature, is by no 
 means confined to the virtuous and humane, though 
 they perhaps may feel it with the moil exquifite fen- 
 Ability. The greateft ruffian, the moft hardened 
 violator of the laws of fociety, is not altogether 
 without it. 
 
 As we have no immediate experience of what 
 other men feel, we can form no idea of the manner 
 in which they are afFe&ed, but by conceiving what 
 we ourfelves mould fell in the like fituation. Though 
 our brother is upon the rack, as long as we ourfelves 
 are at our eafe, our fenfes will never inform us of 
 what he furTers. They never did and never can car- 
 ry us beyond our own perfon, and it is by the ima- 
 gination only that we can form any conception of 
 what are his fenfations. Neither can that faculty 
 help us to this any other way, than by reprefenting 
 to us what would be our own, if we were in his cafe. 
 It is the imprerTions of our own fenfes only, not thofe 
 of his, which our imaginations copy. By the ima- 
 gination we place ourfelves in his fituation, we con- 
 ceive ourfelves enduring all the fame torments, we 
 enter as it were into his body and become in fome 
 meafure him, and thence form fome idea of his fenfa- 
 tions and even feel fomething which, though weaker 
 in degree, is not altogether unlike them. His agonies, 
 when they are thus brought home to ourfelves, when 
 we have thus-adopted and made them our own, be- 
 gin at laft to affect us, and we then tremble and 
 fhudder at the thought of what he feels. For as to 
 be in pain or diftrefs of any kind excites the moft 
 exceflive forrow, fo to conceive or to imagine that 
 we are in it, excites fome degree of the fame emo- 
 tion, 
 
Sect, i, 0/ Propriety. 3 
 
 tion, iri proportion to the vivacity of dulnefs of the 
 conception. 
 
 That this is the fource of our fellow-feeling for 
 ~themifery of others, that it is by changing places in 
 fancy with the fufferer, that we come either to con- 
 ceive or to be affected by what he feels, may be de- 
 monflrated by many obvious obfervations, if it 
 thould not be thought fufficiently evident of itfelh 
 When we fee a flroke aimed and j uft ready to fall 
 upon the leg or arm of another perfon, we naturally 
 ihrink and draw back our own leg or our own arm ; 
 and when it does fall, we feel it in forne meafure^ 
 and are hurt by it as well as the fufTerer. The mob 9 
 when they are gazing at a dancer on the flack rope, 
 naturally writhe and twifl and balance their own bo- 
 dies, as they fee him do, and as they feel that they 
 themfelves mud do if in his fituation. Perfons of 
 delicate fibres and a weak conftitution of body, 
 complain that in looking on the fores and ulcers which 
 are expofed by beggars in the ftreets, they are apt 
 to feel an itching or uneafy fenfation in the corre- 
 fpondent part of their own bodies. The horror 
 which they conceive at the mifery of thofe wretches 
 affects that particular part in themfelves more than 
 any other ; becaufe that horror arifes from conceive 
 ing what they themfelves would fuffer, if they really 
 were the wretches whom they are looking upon, and 
 if that particular part in themfelves was actually af- 
 fected in the fame miferable manner. The very 
 force of this conception is fufneient, in their feeble 
 frames, to produce that itching or uneafy fenfation 
 complained of. Men of the moll robuft make, ob- 
 ferve that in looking upon fore eyes they often feel a 
 very fenfible forenefs in their own, which proceeds 
 ^ B2 from 
 
4 Of Propriety. !Part !/ 
 
 from the' fame reafon; that organ being in the 
 ftrongeft man more delicate than any other part or 
 the body is in the weaken:. 
 
 Neither is it thofe circumftances only, which 
 create pain or forrow, that call forth our fellow-feel- 
 ing. Whatever is the palfion which arifes from any 
 object in the perfon principally concerned, an ana- 
 logous emotion fprings up, at the thought of his fi- 
 tuation, in the breaft of every attentive fpedtator. 
 Our joy for the deliverance of thofe heroes of tragedy 
 or romance who intereft us, is asfincere as our grief 
 for their diftrefs, and our fellow-feeling with their 
 mifery is not more real than that with their happinefs. 
 We enter into their gratitude towards thofe faithful 
 friends who did not defert them in their difficulties; 
 and we heartily go along with their refentment againfl 
 thofe perfidious traitors who injured, abandoned, or 
 deceived them. In every pailion of which the mind 
 of man is fufceptible, the emotions of the by-ftander 
 always correfpond to what, by bringing the cafe 
 home to himfelf, he imagines, mould be the fenti-^ 
 ments of the fufferer* 
 
 Pity and companion are words appropriated to 
 fignify our fellow-feeling with the forrow of others. 
 Sympathy, though its meaning was, perhaps, origi- 
 nally the fame, may now, however, without much 
 impropriety, be made ufe of to denote our fellow- 
 feeling with any pailion whatever. 
 
 Upon fome occafions fympathy may feem to 
 arife merely from the view of a certain emotion in 
 another perfon. ^The paflions, upon fome occafions, 
 may feem to be transfufed from one man to another, 
 
 inftantaneoufly, 
 
Sect. i. Of Propriety, 
 
 inftantaneoufly, and anteeedent to any knowledge 
 of what excited them in the perfon principally con- 
 cerned. Grief and joy, for example, ftrongly ex- 
 preflfed in the look and geftures of any one, at once 
 afTed the fpe&ator with fome degree of a like painful 
 or agreeable emotion, A mailing face is, to every 
 body that fees it, a chearful object ; as a forrowful 
 countenance, on the other hand, is a melancholy 
 one. 
 
 This, however, does not hold univerfally, or with 
 regard to every paflion. There are fome paflions of 
 which the expreflions excite no fort of fympathy, 
 but before we are acquainted with what gave occa- 
 fion to them, ferve rather to difguil and provoke us 
 againft them. The furious behaviour of an angry 
 man is more likely to exafperate us againft himfelf 
 than againft his enemies. As we are unacquainted 
 with his provocation, we cannot bring his cafe home 
 to ourfelves, nor conceive any thing like the paiTions 
 which it excites. But we plainly fee what is the fi- 
 tuation of thofe with whom he is angry, and to 
 what violence they may be expofed from fo enraged 
 an adverfary. We readily, therefore, fympathize 
 with their fear or refentment, and are immediately 
 difpofed to take part againft the man from whom 
 they appear to be in fo much danger. 
 
 If the very appearances of grief and joy infpire us 
 with fome degree of the like emotions, it is becaufe 
 they fuggeft to us the general idea of fome good or 
 bad fortune that has befallen the perfon in whom 
 we obferve them : and in thefe paiTions this is fuffi- 
 cient to have fome little influence upon us. The 
 effects of grief and joy terminate in the perfon wh® 
 
 B 3 feet 
 
6 Of P r o p i ; i e t y. Part L 
 
 feels thofe emotions, of which the expreflions do 
 not, like thofe of refentment, fuggell to us the idea 
 of any other perfon for whom we are concerned, 
 and whofe interefls are oppofite to his. The general 
 idea of good or bad fortune, therefore, creates fome 
 concern for the perfon who has met with it, but the 
 general idea of provocation excites no fympathy 
 with the anger of the man who has received it. Na- 
 ture, it feems, teaches us to be more averfe to enter 
 into this paflion, and, till informed of its caufe, to be 
 difpofed rather to take part againfl: it. 
 
 Even our fympathy with the grief or joy of ano- 
 ther, before we are informed of the caufe of either, 
 is always extremely imperfect. General lamentati- 
 ons, which exprefs nothing but the anguifh of the 
 fufferer, create rather a curiofity to inquire into his 
 fituation, along with fome difpofition to fympathize 
 with him, than any actual fympathy that is very fen- 
 fible. The firfl queflion which we alk is, What 
 has befallen you ? Till this be anfwered, tho' we 
 are uneafy both from the vague idea of his misfor- 
 tune, and flill more from torturing ourfelves witlj 
 conjectures about what it may be, yet our fellow- 
 feeling is not very confiderable. 
 
 Sympathy, therefore, does not arife fo much frorr* 
 the view of the paflion, as from that of the fituation, 
 which excites it. We fometimes feel for another, 
 a paflion of which he himfelf feems to be altogether 
 incapable j becaufe when we put ourfelves in his 
 cafe, that paflion arifes in our breaft from the ima- 
 gination, though it does not in his from the reality. 
 We blulh for the impudence and rudenefs of ano- 
 ther, though he himfelf appears to have no fenfe of 
 
 the 
 
Sed. x." O/Propriety, 7 
 
 the impropriety of his own behaviour ; becaufe v/e 
 cannot help feeling with what confufion we ourfelves 
 mould be covered, had we behaved in fo abfurd a 
 manner. 
 
 Of all the calamities to which the condition of 
 mortality expofes mankind, the lofs of reafon ap- 
 pears, to thofe who have the leaft fpark of humanity, 
 by far the moil dreadful, and they behold that laft 
 flage of human wretchednefs with deeper commi- 
 ferationthan any other. But the poor wretch, who 
 is in it, laughs and fings perhaps, and is altogether 
 infenfible of his own mifery. The anguifti which 
 humanity feels, therefore, at the fight of fuch an 
 object, cannot be the refledion of any fentiment of 
 the fufferer. The companion of the fpedtator 
 mufl arife altogether from the confideration of what 
 he himfelf would feel if he was reduced to the fame 
 unhappy fituation, and, what perhaps is impoffible, 
 was at the fame time able to regard it with his pre- 
 fent reafon andjudgment. 
 
 J 
 
 What are the pangs of a mother when (he hears 
 the moaningsof her infant that during the agony of 
 difeafe cannot exprefs what it feels ? In her idea of 
 what it fuffers, ftie joins, to its real helpleffnefs, 
 her own confcioufnefs of that helplefmefs, and her 
 own terrors for the unknown confequences of its 
 diforder j and out of all thefe, forms, for her own 
 forrow, the moll complete image of mifery and 
 diftrefs. The infant, however, feels only the un- 
 eafinefs of the prefent inftant, which can never be 
 great. With regard to the future it is perfedlyfe- 
 cure, and in its^thoughtleffnefs and want of fore- 
 fight poffeffes an antidote againft fear and anxiety, 
 
 b S 4 the 
 
* Of P r a p r i e t y. Part t 
 
 the great tormentors of the human breaft, from 
 which reafon and philofophy will in vain at- 
 tempt to defend it when it grows up to a 
 
 man 
 
 We fympathize even with the dead, and over- 
 looking what is of real importance in their Jltuation, 
 that awful futurity which awaits them, we are 
 chiefly affefted by thofe circumflances. which flrike 
 our fenfes, but can have no influence upon their 
 happinefs. It is miferable, we think, to.be depriv- 
 ed of the light of the fun • to be (hut out from life 
 and converfation ; to be laid in the cold grave, a 
 prey to corruption and the reptiles of the earth ; 
 to be no more thought of in this world, but to b$ 
 obliterated in a little time from the affections and 
 almoft from the memory of their deareft frienda 
 and relations. Surely, we imagine, we can never 
 feel too much for thofe who have fuffered (o dread-, 
 ful a calamity. The tribute of our fellow-feeling 
 ieems doubly due to them now, when they are in, 
 danger of being forgot by every body ; and, by 
 the vain honours which we pay to their me- 
 mory, we endeavour, for our own mifery, ar- 
 tificially to keep alive our melancholy remem- 
 brance of their misfortune. That our fym- 
 pathy can afford them no confolation ieems to be 
 an addition to their calamity ; and to think that all 
 we can do is unavailing, and that, what alleviates, 
 all other diffrefs, the regret, the love, and the la- 
 mentations of their friends, can yield no comfort to 
 them, ferves only to exafperate our fenfe of their 
 mifery. The happinefs of the dead, however, moil 
 afliiredlv, is affeded by none of thefe circumftances ." 
 flor is it the though t x of the fe things which can ever 
 
 djft\{fti 
 
Sed. i. O/Proprietv. $ 
 
 difturb the profound fecurity of their repofe. The 
 idea of that dreary and endlefs melancholy, which 
 the fancy naturally afcribes to their condition, arifes 
 altogether from our joining to the change which 
 has been produced upon them, our own confciouf- 
 nefs of that change, from our putting ourfeives in 
 their fituation, and from our lodging, if I may be 
 allowed to fay fo, our own living fouls in their inani- 
 mated bodies, and thence conceiving what would 
 be our emotions in this cafe. It is from this very 
 illufion of the imagination, that the forefight of our 
 own diffolution is fo terrible to us, and that the idea 
 of thofe circumftances, which undoubtedly can give 
 us no pain when we are dead, makes us miferable 
 while we are alive. And from thence arifes one of 
 the moil important principles in human nature, the 
 dread of death, the great poifon to the happinefs, 
 but the great reftraint upon the injuftice of man- 
 kind, which, while it affli&s and mortifies the indi- 
 vidual, guards and proteds the fociety. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Of the Pleafure of mutual Sympathy. 
 
 .PUT whatever may be the caufe of fympathy, 
 or however it may be excited, nothing pleafes us 
 more than to obferve in other men a fellow-feeling 
 with all the emotions of our own bread • nor are 
 we ever fo much (hocked as by the appearance of 
 the contrary. Thofe who are fond of deducing all 
 pur fentiments from certain refinements of (elf-love, 
 
 think 
 
to ©/Propriety.' \ Part fC 
 
 think themfelves at no lofs to account, according to 
 their own principles, both for this pleafure and this 
 pain. Man, fay they, confcious of his own weak- 
 nefs and of the need which he has for the afliftance 
 of others, rejoices whenever he obferves that they 
 adopt his own pailions, becaufe he is then affured 
 ©f that ailiftance; and grieves whenever he ob- 
 ferves the contrary, becaufe he is then afTiired of 
 their oppofition. But both the pleafure and the pain 
 are always felt fo inftantaneoufly, and often upon 
 fuch frivolous occafions, that it feems evident that 
 neither of them can be derived from any fiich felf- 
 Interefted confideration. A man is mortified when, 
 after having endeavoured to divert the company, he 
 looks round and fees that no body laughs at his jefls 
 Ibuthimfelf. On the contrary, the mirth of the com- 
 pany is highly agreeable to him, and he regards this 
 correfpondence of their fentiments with his own as 
 the greateil applaufe. 
 
 Neither does his pleafure feem to arife altogether 
 from the additional vivacity which his mirth may 
 leceive from fympathy with theirs, nor his pain 
 from the disappointment he meets with when he 
 mines this pleafure ; though both the one and the 
 other, no doubt, do in fome meafure. When we 
 have read a book or poem fo often that we can no 
 longer find any amufement in reading it by our- 
 felves, we can flill take pleafure in reading it to a 
 companion. To him it has all the graces of novel- 
 ty ; we enter into the furprize and admiration which 
 it naturally excites in him, but which it is.no longer 
 capable of exciting in us - y we confider all the ideas 
 which it prefents rather in the light in which they 
 appear to him, than irvthat in which they appear 
 
 to 
 
Seft. i. O/ProHiety, it 
 
 to ourfelves, and we are amufed by fympa- 
 thy with his amufement which thus enlivens our 
 own. On the contrary, we fhould be vexed if he 
 did not feem to be entertained with it, and we could 
 no longer take any pleafure in reading it to him. 
 It is the fame cafe here. The mirth of the company, 
 no doubt, enlivens our own mirth, and their filence, 
 no doubt, difappoints us. But though this may 
 contribute both to the pleafure which we derive 
 from the one, and to the pain which we feel from 
 the other, it is by no means the fole caufe of either ; 
 and this correfpondence of the fentiments of others 
 with our own appears to be a caufe of pleafure, and 
 the want of it a caufe of pain, which cannot be ac- 
 counted for in this manner. The fympathy, which 
 my friends exprefs with my joy, might, indeed, give 
 me pleafure by enlivening that joy • but that which 
 they exprefs with my grief could give me none, if 
 it ferved only to enliven that grief. Sympathy, 
 however, enlivens joy and alleviates grief. It en- 
 livens joy by prefenting another fource of fatisfa&i- 
 on ; and it alleviates grief by infinuating into the 
 heart almoft the only agreeable fenfation which 
 it is at that time capable of receiving. 
 
 It is to be obferved accordingly, that we are 
 ftill more anxious to communicate to our friends 
 our difagreeable than our agreeable pafTions, that 
 we derive dill more fatisfa&ion from their fympa- 
 thy with the former than from that with the latter, 
 and that we are ftill more mocked by the want of it! 
 
 How are the unfortunate relieved when they 
 have found out a perfon to whom they can com- 
 municate the caufe of their forrow? Upon his fym- 
 pathy 
 
iz 0/ Propriet y. Part I\ 
 
 ( 
 pathy they feem to difburthen themfelves of a part 
 
 of their diflrefs:. he is not improperly faid to fhare 
 j it with them. He not only feels a forrow of the 
 fame kind with that which they feel, but as if he 
 had derived a part of it to himfelf, what he feels 
 feems to alleviate the weight of what they feel. 
 Yet by relating their misfortunes, they in fome 
 meafure renew their grief.. They awaken in their 
 memory the remembrance of thofe circumttances, 
 which occanon their affliction. Their tears accord- 
 ingly flow falter than before, and they are apt to 
 abandon themfelves to all the weaknefs of forrow. 
 They take pleafure, however, in all this, and,, it is. 
 evident, are fenfibly relieved by it; becaufe the 
 fweetnefs of his fympathy more than compenfates 
 the bitternefs of that forrow, which, in order to 
 excite that fympathy, they had thus enlivened and 
 jenewed. The cruelleft infult, on the contrary, 
 which can be offered to the unfortunate, is to ap- 
 pear to make light of their calamities. To feem 
 not to be affected with the joy of our companions 
 is but want of politenefs •, but not to wear a ferious 
 countenance when they tell us their afflictions, is real 
 and grofs inhumanity. 
 
 Love is an agreeable, referitment a difagreeablc 
 paflion- and accordingly we are not half fo anxious 
 that our friends fhould adopt our fnendfhips, as 
 that they fhould enter into our refentments. We 
 can forgive them though they feem to be little af- 
 fected with the 'favours which we may have receiv- 
 ed,, but lofe all patience if they feem indifferent 
 about the injuries which may have been done to us: 
 nor are we half fo angry with them for not entering 
 into our gratitude, asibr not fympathizing with our 
 
 refentment. 
 
£ea. i/ Of Prop ri et y; 13 
 
 reientment. They can eafily avoid being friends 
 .to our friends, but can hardly avoid being enemies 
 to thofe with whom we are at variance. We fel- 
 dom rcfent their being at enmity with the firft, 
 though upon that account we may fometimes affect 
 to make an aukward quarrel with them ; but we 
 quarrel with them in good earneft if they live in 
 Friendfhip with the laft. The agreeable paflions of 
 love and joy can fatisfy and fupport the heart with- 
 out any auxiliary pleafure. The bitter and painful 
 emotions of grief and refentment more flrongly re- 
 quire the healing confclation of fympathy. 
 
 As the perfon who is principally interefted in any 
 event is pleafed with our fympathy, and hurt by the 
 want of it, fo we, too, feem to be pleafed when we 
 are able to fympathize with him, and to be hurt 
 when we are unable to do fo. We run not only to 
 congratulate the fuccefsful, but to condole with the 
 affli&ed ; and the pleafure which we find in the 
 convention of one whom in all the pailions of his 
 heart we can entirely fympathize with, feems to do 
 more than compenfate the painfulnefs of that for- 
 row with which the view of his fituation affedts us.. 
 On the contrary, it is always difagreeable to feel 
 ■that we cannot fympathize with him, and inflead of 
 being pleafed with this exemption from fympathetic 
 pain, it hurts us to find that we cannot (hare his 
 uneafmefs. If we hear a perfon loudly lamenting 
 his misfortunes, which, however, upon bringing 
 the cafe home to ourfelves, we feel, can produce no 
 fuch violent effecl: upon us, we are mocked at his 
 grief; and, becaufe we cannot enter into it, call 
 .it pufiilanimity and weaknefs. It gives US/ the 
 fpleen, on the other hand, to fee another too hap- 
 py 
 
14 0/ Propriety. Part t 
 
 py or too much elevated, as we call it, with any 
 little piece of good fortune. We are difobliged 
 even with his joy, and, becaufe we cannot go along 
 with it, call it levity and folly. We are even put 
 out of humour if our companion laughs louder or 
 longer at a joke than we think it deferves ; that 
 is, than we feel that we ourfelves could laugh at 
 it. 
 
 A CHAP. III. 
 
 Of the manner in which we judge of the propriety or hit- 
 propriety of the affeclions of other men, by their concord 
 or diffonance with our own. 
 
 WHEN the original paflions of the perfoii 
 principally concerned are in perfect con- 
 cord with the lympathetic emotions of the fpedta- 
 tor, they necefiarily appear to this lafl jufl and 
 proper, and fuitable to their objects ; and, on the 
 contrary, when, upon bringing the cafe home to 
 himfelf, he finds that they do not coincide with 
 what he feels, they necefiarily appear to him unjufl 
 and improper, and unfuitable to the caufes which 
 excite them. To approve of the paflions of ano- 
 ther, therefore, as fuitable to their objects, is the' 
 fame thing as to obferve that we entirely fympathize 
 with them ; and not to approve of them as fuch, 
 is the fame thing as to obferve that we do not en~ 
 tirely fympathize withvthem. The man who re- 
 fents the injuries that have been done to me, and 
 
 obferves 
 
SeA. i. Of Propriety. 15 
 
 obferves that I refent them precifely as he does, ne- 
 ceifarily approves of my refentment. The man 
 whofe fympathy keeps time to my grief, cannot 
 but admit the reafonablenefs of my forrow. He 
 who admires the fame poem, or the fame picture, 
 and admires them exa&ly as I do, muft furely allow 
 the juftncfs of my admiration. He who laughs at 
 the fame joke, and laughs along with me, cannot 
 well deny the propriety of my laughter. On the 
 •contrary, the perfon who, upon thefe different oc- 
 cafions, either feels no fuch emotion as that which 
 I feel, or feels none that bears any proportion to 
 mine, cannot avoid difapproving my fentiments on 
 account of their diffonance with, his own. If my 
 animofity goes beyond what the indignation of my 
 friend can correfpond to ; if my grief exceeds what 
 his moft tender companion can go along with; if 
 my admiration is either too high or too low to tally 
 with his own ; if I laugh loud and heartily when he 
 only fmiles, or, on the contrary, only fmile when he 
 laughs loud and heartily ; in all thefe cafes, as foon 
 as he comes from confidering the object, to obferve 
 how I am ( affected by it, according as there is more 
 or lefs difproportion between his fentiments and 
 mine, I mull incur a greater or lefs degree of his 
 difapprobation : and upon all occafions his own 
 fentiments are the ilandards and meafures by which 
 he judges of mine. 
 
 To approve of another man's opinions is to adopt 
 thofe opinions, and to adopt them is to approve of 
 them. If the fame arguments which convince you 
 convince me likewife, I neceffarily approve ,of your 
 conviction >, and if they do not, I neceffarily difap- • 
 prove of it : neitiier can I poffibly conceive that I 
 
 fhoujci 
 
i6 O/Propriety. Part h 
 
 fliould do the one without the other. To approve 
 or difapprove, therefore, of the opinions of others 
 is acknowledged, by every body, to mean no more 
 than to obferve their agreement or di (agreement 
 with our own. But this is equally the cafe with 
 regard to our approbation or difapprobation of the 
 fentiments or paiftons of others. 
 
 There are, indeed, fome cafes in which we feerri 
 to approve without any fympathy or correfpondence 
 of fentiments, and in which, confequeritly, the fen- 
 timent of approbation would feerri to be different 
 from the perception of this coincidence. A little 
 attention, however, will convince us that even in 
 thefe cafes our approbation is ultimately founded 
 upon a fympathy or correfpondence of this kind. 
 I fhall give an inftance in things of a very frivolous 
 nature, becaufe in them the ^judgments of mankind 
 are lefs apt to be perverted by wrongTyitems. We 
 may often approve of a jell, and think the laughter 
 of the company quite juft and proper, though we 
 ourfelves do not laugh, becaufe, perhaps, we are in 
 a grave humour, or happen to have our attention 
 engaged with other objects. We have learned, 
 however, from experience, what fort of pleafantry 
 Is upon mofl occafions capable of making us laugh, 
 and we obferve that this is one of that kind. We 
 approve, therefore, of the laughter of the company, 
 and feel that it is natural and fuitable to its object ; 
 becaufe, though in our prefent mood we cannot eafily 
 enter into it, we are fenfible that upon mofl occa- 
 fions we mould very heartily join in it. 
 
 The fame thing often happens with regard to all 
 the other paflions, A ftranger pafles by us in the 
 
 ilreet 
 
Sect, i. Of Propriety. 17 
 
 ilreet with all the marks of the deepeit affliction* 
 and we are immediately told that he has jufl re- 
 ceived the news of the death of his father. It is im- 
 poilible that, in this cafe, we mould not approve of 
 his grief. Yet it may often happen, without any 
 defect of humanity on our part, that, fo far from 
 entering into the violence of his forrow, we ihoutd 
 fcarce conceive the firft movements of concern upon 
 his account. Both he and his father, perhaps, are 
 intirely unknown to us, or we happen to he employed 
 about other things, and do not take time to picture 
 out in our imagination the different circumflances of 
 diftrefs which mufl occur to him. We have learn- 
 ed, however, from experience, that fuch a misfor- 
 tune naturally excites fuch a degree of forrow, and 
 we know that if we took time to confider his fitua- 
 tion, fully and in all its parts, we mould, without 
 doubt, moil fmcerely fympathize with him. It is 
 upon the confcioufnefs of this conditional fympathy, 
 that our approbation of his forrow is founded, even 
 in thole cafes in which that fympathy does not ac- 
 tually take place ; and the general rules derived 
 from our preceding experience of what our fenti- 
 ments would commonly correfpond with, correct 
 upon this, as upon many other occafions, the impro- 
 priety of our prefent emotions. 
 
 The fentiment or affection of the heart from 
 which any action proceeds, and upon which its whole 
 virtue or vice mufl ultimately depend, may be con- 
 fidered under two different afpects, or in two diffe- 
 rent relations; firft, in relation to the caufe which 
 excites it, or the motive which gives occafion to it; 
 and fecondly, in relation to the end which it propofes, 
 or the effect which it tends to produce. 
 
 C In 
 
18 O/Propriety. Part I. 
 
 In the fuitablenefs or unfuitablenefs, in the pro- 
 portion or difproportion which the affection feems 
 to bear to the caufe or object which excites it, con- 
 firms the propriety or impropriety, the decency or 
 ungracefulnefs of the confequent action. 
 
 In the beneficial or hurtful nature of the effects 
 which the affection aims at, or tends to produce, 
 confifts the merit or demerit of the action, the qua- 
 lities by which it is entitled to reward, or is deferv- 
 rag of punifhment. 
 
 Philofo pliers have, of late years, confidered chiefly 
 the tendency of affections, and have given little 
 attention to the relation which they ltand in to the 
 caufe which excites them. In common life, however, 
 when we judge of any perfon's conduct, and of the 
 fentiments which directed it, we conflantly confider 
 them under both thefe afpects. When we blame in 
 another man the exceffes of love, of grief, of refent- 
 ment, we not only confider the ruinous effects 
 which they tend to produce, but the little occafion 
 which was given for them. The merit of his favou- 
 rite, we fay, is not fo great, his misfortune is not fo 
 dreadful, his provocation is not fo extraordinary, as 
 to j uft if y fo violent a paffion. We fhould have in- 
 dulged, we fay; perhaps, have approved of the vio- 
 lence of his emotion, had the caufe been in any re- 
 fpect proportioned to it. 
 
 When we judge in this manner of any affection, 
 as proportioned or difproportioned to the caufe which 
 excites it, it is fcarce poilible. that we mould make 
 life of any other rule or canon but the correspondent 
 affection in ourfelves. If, upon bringing the cafe 
 
S*6t t. O/Propriety, \§ 
 
 home to our own breaft, we find that the fentiments 
 which it gives occafion to, coincide and tally with 
 our own, we neceffarily approve of them as propor- 
 tioned and fuitable to their objects^ if other wife, 
 we neceflarily difapprove of them, as extravagant 
 and out of proportion. 
 
 tvery faculty in one man is the meafure by which 
 he judges of the like faculty in another. I judge of 
 your fight by my fight, of your ear by my ear, of 
 your reafon by my reafon, of your refentment by 
 my refentment, of your love by my love. I neither 
 have nor can have any other way of judging about 
 them. 
 
 CHAP. JV. 
 
 The fame fubjecl- continued 
 
 W E may judge of the propriety or impropriety 
 of the fentiments of another perfon by their corre- 
 fpondence or difagreement with our own, upon two 
 different occafions ; either, fiift, when the objects- 
 which excite them are conlidered without any pe- 
 culiar relation, either to themfelves or to the perfon 
 whofe fentiments we judge of; or A fecondly, when 
 they are confidered as peculiarly affe&ing one or 
 ©ther of us. 
 
 G 2 t . With 
 
£o Of Propriety. Parti. 
 
 i. With regard to thofe objects which are con- 
 fidered without any peculiar relation either to our- 
 felves or to the perfon whofe fentiments we judge 
 of; wherever his fentiments intirely correfpond 
 with our own, we afcribe to him the qualities of tafte 
 and good judgment. The beauty of a plain, the 
 greatnefs of a mountain, the ornaments of a build- 
 ing, the expreffion of a picture, the compofition of 
 a difcourfe, the conducVof a third perfon, the pro- 
 portions of different quantities and numbers, the 
 various appearances which the great machine of the 
 univerfe is perpetually exhibiting, with the fecret 
 wheels and fprings which produce them; all the 
 general fabjects of fcience and tafte, are what we 
 and our companions regard, as having no peculiar 
 relation to either of us. We both look at them 
 from the fame point of view, and we have no oc- 
 cafion for fympathy, or for that imaginary change 
 of fituations from which it arifes, in order to pro- 
 duce, with regard to thefe, the moft perfect harmony 
 of fentiments and affections. If, notwithstanding, 
 we are often differently affected, it arifes either from 
 the different degrees of attention, which our diffe- 
 rent habits of life allow us to give eafily to the feveral 
 parts of thofe complex objects, or from the different 
 degrees of natural acutenefs in the faculty of the 
 mind to which they are addreffed. 
 
 When die fentiments $)f our companion coincide 
 with our own in things of this kind, which are ob- 
 vious and eafy, and in which, perhaps, we never 
 found a fingle perfon who differed from us, though 
 we, no doubt, mufl approve of them, yet he feem's 
 to deferve no praife or admiration on account of 
 them. But when they not only coincide with our 
 
 own- 
 
Sect. I. Of Propriety. 21 
 
 own, but lead and direct our own ; when in forming 
 them he appears to have attended to many things 
 which we had overlooked, and to have adjufted 
 them to all the various circumftances of their objects ; 
 we not only approve of them, but wonder and are 
 furprifed at their uncommon and unexpected ac- 
 cutenefs and comprehenfivenefs, and he appears to 
 deferve a very high degree of admiration and ap- 
 plaufe. For approbation heightened by wonder and 
 furprife, conftitutes the fentiment which is properly 
 called admiration, and of which applaufe is the na- 
 tural expreffion. The decifion of the man who 
 judges that exquifite beauty is preferable to the 
 groffeft deformity, or that twice two are equal to 
 four, mull certainly be approved of by all the world, 
 but will not, furely, be much admired. It is the 
 acute and delicate difcernment of the man of tafte, 
 who diftitjguim.es the minute, and fcarce perceptible., 
 differences of beauty and deformity ; it is the com- 
 prehenfive accuracy of the experienced mathemati- 
 cian, who unravels, with eafe, the molt intricate 
 and perplexed proportions ; it is the great leader in 
 fcience and tafte, the man who directs and conducts 
 our own fentiments, the extent and fuperior juftnefs 
 of whofe talents aftonifti us with wonder and fur- 
 prife, who excites our admiration and feems to de- 
 ferve our applaufe : and upon this foundation is 
 grounded the greater part of the praife which is 
 beftowed upon what are called the intellectual 
 virtues. 
 
 The utility of thofe qualities, it may be thought, 
 is what firft recommends them to us j and, no doubt, 
 the confideration of this, when we come to attend 
 to it, -gives them a new value. Originally, however, 
 
 C q we 
 
22 0/ Propriety. Part I. 
 
 we approve of another man's judgment, not as fome- 
 thing ufeful, but as right, as accurate, as agreeable 
 to truth and reality : and it is evident we attribute 
 thofe qualities to it for no other reafon but becaufe 
 we find that it agrees with our own. Tafte, in the 
 fame manner, is originally approved of, not as ufe- 
 ful, but as juft, as delicate, and as precifely fuited to 
 its object The idea of the utility of all qualities of 
 this kind, is plainly an after-thought, and not what 
 tirft recommended them to our approbation. 
 
 %. With regard to thofe objects, which affect in 
 a particular manner either ourfelves or the perfon 
 whofe fentiments we judge of, it is at once more 
 difficult to preferve this harmony and correfpon- 
 dence, and at the fame time, vaftly more important. 
 My companion does not naturally look upon the 
 misfortune that has befallen me, or the injury that 
 has been done me, from the fame point of view in 
 which I confider them. They affect me much 
 more nearly. We do not view them from the fame 
 ftation, as we do a picture, -or a poem, or a.fyftem 
 cf philofophv, and are, therefore, apt to be verv 
 dirTerently affected by them. But I can much more 
 jeafily overlook the want of this correfpondence of 
 fentiments with regard to fuch indifferent objects 
 as concern neither me nor my companion, than with 
 regard to what interefts me ib much as the misfor- 
 tune that has befallen me, or the injury that lias been 
 done me. Though you defplfe that picture, or 
 that poem, or even that fyftem of philofophv, which 
 I admire, there is little danger of our quarrelling 
 upon that account. Neither of us can reafonahly 
 be much interefted about them. They ought all 
 flf them to be matters of great indifference to us 
 
 "'-;-■ both, 
 
Sedt. i. Of Propriety. 23 
 
 both; fo that, though our opinions may be oppofite, 
 our affections may dill be very nearly the fame. 
 But it is quite other wife with regard to thofe objects 
 by which either you or I are particularly affected. 
 Though your judgment in matters of (peculation, 
 though your fentiments in matters of taite, are 
 quite -oppofite to mine, I can eafily overlook this 
 oppofition.; and if I have any degree of temper, I 
 may ftill find forne entertainment in yom conver- 
 fation, even upon thofe very fubjedts. But if you 
 have either no fellow-feeling for the misfortunes I 
 have met with, or none that bears any proportion 
 to the grief which didradts me -, or if you have either 
 no indignation at the injuries I have futTered, or 
 none that bears any proportion to the refentment 
 which tranfports me, we can no longer converfe 
 upon thefe fubjedts. We become intolerable to or\Q 
 another. I can neither fupport your company, nor 
 you mine. You are confounded at my violence 
 stud pailion, and I am enraged at your cold infenfi- 
 bility and want of feeling. 
 
 In all fuch cafes, that there may be fome corref- 
 pondence of fentiments between the fpedtator and 
 the perfon principally concerned, the fpectator 
 mud, firft of all, endeavour, as much as he can, to 
 put him (elf in the fituation of the other, and to bring 
 Jiome to himfelf every little eircurhftahce of diftfefs 
 which can poilibly occur to the fufferer. He mud 
 adopt the whole cafe of his companion with all its 
 minuted incidents j and drive to render as perfect 
 as poiiible, that imaginary change of fituation upon 
 v/hich his fvmpathy is founded. 
 
 After all this, however, the emotions of the fpec-r 
 tafor will ftill be very apt to fall lTiort of the violence 
 
 C A 
 
24 0/P RopRiETY. . Part I. 
 
 of what is felt by the fufferer. Mankind, though 
 naturally fympathetic, never conceive, for what has 
 befallen another, that degree of paflion which na- 
 turally animates the perfon principally concerned. 
 That imaginary change of fitnation, upon which 
 their fympathy is founded, is but momentary. 
 The thought of their own fafety, the thought that 
 they themfelves are not really the fufferers, contin- 
 ally intrudes itfelf upqn them ; and though it does 
 not hinder them from conceiving a paffion fome- 
 what analogous to what i$ felt by the fufferer, hin- 
 ders them from conceiving any thing that approaches 
 to the fame degree of violence. The perfon princi- 
 pally concerned is fenfible of this, and, at the fame 
 time paffionately defires a more complete fympathy. 
 He longs for that relief which nothing can afford 
 him but the entire concord of the affections of the 
 fpe&ators with his own. To fee the emotions of 
 their hearts, in every refpecl, beat time to his own, 
 in the violent and difagreeable pafiions, conflitutes 
 his fole confolation. But he can only hope to ob- 
 tain this .by lowering his paflion to that pitch, in 
 which the fpectators are capable of going along 
 with him. He mull flatten, if I may be allowed 
 to fay fo, the lliarpnefs of its natural tone, in order 
 to reduce it to harmony and concord with the emo- 
 tions of thofe who are about him. What they 
 feel, will, indeed, always be, in fome refped'ts, dif- 
 ferent from what he feels, and companion can never 
 be exactly the fame with original forrow • becaufe 
 the fecret corifcioufnefs that the change of fituations, 
 from which the fympathetic fentiment arifes, is but 
 imaginary, not only lowers it in degree, but in fome 
 mre, varies it in kind, and gives it a quite diffe- 
 v rent 
 
Sect, i. Of Propriety. 2$ 
 
 rent modification. Thefe two fentiments, how- 
 ever, may, it is evident, have fuch a correfpondence 
 with one another, as is fufncient for the harmony of 
 fociety. Though they will never be unifons, they 
 may be concords, and this is ail that is wanted or 
 required. 
 
 In order to produce this concord, as nature teaches 
 the fpectators to aifume the circumftances of the 
 perfon principally concerned, fo fhe teaches this laft 
 in fome meafure to affume thofe of the fpectators. 
 As they are continually placing themfelves in this 
 fituation, and thence conceiving emotions fimilar to 
 what he feels ; fo he is as conflantly placing himfelf 
 in theirs, and thence conceiving fome degree of that 
 coolnefs about his own fortune, with which he is fen* 
 fible that they will view it. As they are conflantly 
 confidering what they themfelves would feel, if they 
 actually were the fufrerers, fo he is as conftantly led 
 to imagine in what manner he would be affected if 
 he was only one of the fpectators of his own fitu- 
 ation. As their fympathy makes them look at it, 
 in fome meafure, with his eyes, fo his fympathy 
 makes him look at it, in fome meafure, with theirs, 
 efpecialiy when in their prefence and acting under 
 their obfervation: and as the reflected pailion, which 
 he thus conceives, is much weaker than the original 
 one, it necefiarily abates the violence of what he felt 
 before he came into their prefence, before he began 
 to recollect in what manner they would be affected 
 by it, and to view his fituation in this candid and 
 impartial light. 
 
 The 
 
26 Of Propriety. Part I, 
 
 The mind, therefore, h rarely fo difcurbed, but 
 that the company of a friend will reftore it to fome 
 degree of tranquillity and fedatenefs. The breaft 
 is, in fome meafare, calmed and compofed the mo- 
 ment we come into his prefence. We are imme- 
 diately put in mind of the light in which he will 
 view our fituation, and we begin to view it ourfelves 
 in the fame light ; for the effect of fympathy is in- 
 ftantaneous. We expect left fympathy from a com- 
 mon acquaintance than from a friend : we cannot 
 open to the former all thofe Rttle circumftances 
 which we can unfold to the latter : we a flume, 
 therefore, more tranquillity before him, and endea- 
 vour to fix our thoughts upon thofe general out ■ 
 lines of our fituation which he is willing to confider. 
 We expect ftill leis fympathy from an aflfembly of 
 ftran^ers, and we affume, therefore, ftill more tran- 
 quillity before them, and always endeavour to bring 
 down our paflion to that pitch, which the particular 
 company we are in may be expecled to go along 
 with. Nor is this only an a(Tumed appearance : 
 for if we are at all matters of ourfelves, the prefence 
 of a mere acquaintance will really compofe us, ftill 
 more than that of a friend ; and that of an ailernbly 
 of ftrangers ftill more than that of an acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 Society and coverfation, therefore, are the' mof| 
 powerful remedies for reftoring the mind to its 
 tranquillity, if, at any time, it has unfortunately loft 
 it • as well as the belt prefervatives of that equal 
 and happy temper, which is fo neceilary to felf- 
 fatisfa£tion and enjoyment. Men of r / ' remerit and' 
 fpeciilation, who ate apt to fit brooding at borne 
 
 over 
 
Sect, i. cy Propriety. 27 
 
 over either grief or refentment, though they may 
 often have more humanity, more generofity, and a 
 nicer fenfe of honour, yet feldom poiTefs that equality 
 of temper which is fo common among men of the 
 world. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Of the amiable and refpetlable virtues. 
 
 LJ P O N thefe two different efforts, upon that 
 of the fpectator to enter into the fentiments of the 
 peffon principally concerned, and upon that of the 
 perfon principally concerned, to bring down his 
 emotions to what the fpedtator can go along with, 
 are founded two different fets of virtues. The foft, 
 the gentle, the amiable virtues, the virtues of candid 
 condefcenfion and indulgent humanity, are founded 
 upon the one : the great, the awful and refpectable, 
 the virtues of felf-denial, of felf-government, of that 
 command of the paffions which fubjects ail the 
 movements of our nature to what our own dignity 
 and honour, and the propriety of our own conduct 
 require, derive their origin from the other. 
 
 How amiable does he appear to be, whofe fym- 
 pathetic heart feems to re-echo all the fentiments 
 of thofe with whom he converfes, who grieves for 
 their calamities, who relents their injuries, and re- f 
 
 ioices 
 
2B 0/ Propriety, Fart I, 
 
 joices at their good fortune ! When we bring home 
 to ourfelves the fituation of his companions, we 
 Enter into their gratitude, and feel what confoiation 
 they mull derive from the tender fympathy of fo 
 affectionate a friend. And for a contrary reafon, 
 how difagreeable does he appear to be, whofe hard 
 and obdurate heart feels for himfelf only, but is alto- 
 gether infenfible of the happinefsor mifery of others! 
 We enter, in this cafe too, into the pain which his 
 prefence muff give to every mortal with whom he 
 converfes, to thofe efpecially with whom we are 
 mod apt to fympathize, the unfortunate and the in- 
 jured. 
 
 On the other hand, what noble propriety and 
 grace do we feel in the conduct of thofe who, in 
 their own cafe, exert that recollection and fclf- 
 command which conftitute the dignity of every 
 paflion, and which bring it down to what others 
 can enter into? We are difgufted with that clamo- 
 rous grief, which, without any delicacy, calls upon 
 our compailion with fighs and tears and importunate 
 lamentations. But we reverence that referved, that 
 filent and majeflic forrow, which difcovers itfelf 
 only in the fwelling of the eyes, in the quivering of 
 the lips and cheeks, and i-n the diftant, but affecting, 
 coldnefs of the whole behaviour. It impofes tfo$ 
 like filence upon us. We regard it with refpectful 
 attention, and watch with anxious concern over our 
 whole behaviour, left by any impropriety we fhouid 
 difiurb that concerted tranquillity, which it requires 
 fo great an effort to llipport. 
 
 The infolence and brutality of anger, in the fame 
 manner when we indulge its fury wjiheitat check or 
 
 - reftraint, 
 
Sect i. Of Propriety. 2^ 
 
 reftraint, is, of all fubjects, the mofl deteflable. 
 But v/e admire that noble and generous refentment 
 which governs its purfuit of the greater! injuries, 
 not by the rage which they are apt to excite in the 
 bread of the fulTerer, but by the indignation which 
 they naturally call forth in that of the impartial fpec- 
 tator; which allows no word, no gefture, to efcape 
 it beyond what this more equitable fentiment would 
 dictate^ which never, even in thought, attempts any 
 greater vengeance, nor defires to inflict any greater 
 punifhment, than what every indifferent perfon 
 would rejoice to fee executed. 
 
 And hence it is, that to feel much for others and 
 little for ourfeives, that toreflrain our feliifh, and to 
 indulge our benevolent affections, conflitutes the 
 perfection of human nature; and can alone produce 
 among mankind that harmony of fentiments and 
 paiEons in which confiil their whole grace and pro- 
 priety. As to love our neighbour *as we love our- 
 feives is the great law of chfifrianity, fo it is the great 
 precept of nature to love ourfeives only as we love 
 our neighbour, or what comes to the fame thing, as 
 our neighbour is capable of loving us. 
 
 As tafle and good judgmenr, when they are con- 
 fidered as qualities which deferve praife and admi- 
 ration, are fuppofed to imply a delicacy of fentiment 
 and an acutenefs of understanding not commonly 
 to be met with; fo the virtues of fen Ability and felf- 
 comnaand are not apprehended to eonMrl in the or- 
 dinary, but in the uncommon degrees of thofe qua- 
 lities. The amiable virtue of humanity requires, 
 fureiy, a feniibility, much beyond what is porTeiied 
 by the rude vulgar of mankind The great and 
 
 exalte (J 
 
30 Of P r o p r i e t y. Part I. 
 
 exalted virtue of magnanimity undoubtedly de- 
 mands much more than that degree of felf-com- 
 mand, which the weakeft of mortals are capable of 
 exerting. As in the common degree of the intel- 
 lectual qualities, there are no abilities ; fo in the 
 common degree of the moral, there is no virtue. 
 Virtue is excellence, fomething uncommonly great 
 and beautiful, which rifes far above what is vulgar 
 and ordinary. The amiable virtues confift in that 
 degree of fenfibility which furprizes by its exquifite 
 and unexpected delicacy and tendernefs. The aw- 
 ful and refpectable, in that degree of felf-command 
 which aftonifhes by its amazing fuperiority over the 
 moll ungovernable paffions of human nature. 
 
 There is, in this refpect, a confiderable difference 
 between virtue and mere propriety ; between thofe 
 qualities and actions which deferve to be admired 
 and celebrated, and thofe which fimply deferve to 
 be approved of. Upon many occafions, to act 
 with the mod perfect propriety, requires no more 
 than that common and ordinary degree of fenfibility 
 or felf-command which the molt worthlefs of man- 
 kind are polfeffed of, and fometimes even that de- 
 gree is not neceffary. Thus, to give a very low in- 
 ftance, to eat when we are hungry, is certainly, up- 
 on ordinary occafions, perfectly right and proper, 
 and cannot mifs being approved of as fuch by every 
 body. Nothing, however, Could be more abfurd 
 than to fay it is virtuous. 
 
 On the contrary, there may frequently be a con- 
 fiderable degree of virtue in thofe actions, which 
 fall fhort of the moft perfect propriety ; becaufe 
 they may ft ill approach nearer to perfection than 
 
 coul4 
 
8fe<Sc. i. G/Fropriety. 31 
 
 could well be expected upon occafions in which it 
 was fo extremely difficult to attain it : and this is 
 very often the cafe upon thofe occafions which re- 
 quire the greater! exertions of felf-command. There 
 are fame filiations which bear fo hard upon human 
 nature, that die greatefl degree of felf-government, 
 which can belong to fo imperfect a creature as man., 
 is not able to 'iiifle, altogether, the voice of human 
 weaknefs, or reduce the violence of the pallions to 
 that pitch of moderation, in which the impartial, 
 fpeclator can entirely enter into them. Though m 
 thofe cafes, therefore, the behaviour of the fufferci 
 fall lliort of the moil perfect propriety, it may (till 
 deferve Come applaufe, and even in a certain fenfe, 
 may be denominated virtuous. It may ftill rnani- 
 feft an effort of generofity and magnanimity of 
 which the greater part of men are incapable ; and 
 though it fails of abioiute perfection, it may he a 
 much nearer approximation to waives perfection, than 
 s\ hat, upon fiich trying occafions, is commonly ei~ 
 tlier to be found or to be expedited. 
 
 In cafes of this kind, when we are determining 
 The degree of blame or applaufe which feems due to 
 any adiion, we very frequently make ufe of two 
 different frandards. The firft is the idea of com- 
 plete propriety and perfection, which, in thofe dif- 
 ficult Situations, no human conduct ever did, or 
 even can come up to ; and in comparifon with 
 which the adtions of all men mult for ever appear 
 blameable and imperfect. The fecond is the idea of 
 that degree of proximity or diflance from this com- 
 plete perfection, which the actions of the greater 
 part of men commonly arrive at Whatever goes 
 beyond this degree, how far foey«r it may be re- 
 moved 
 
32 O/Propriety, Part I. 
 
 moved from abfolute perfection, feems to deferve 
 applaufe ; and whatever falls fhort of it, to deferve 
 blame. 
 
 It Is in the fame manner that> we judge of the 
 productions of all arts which addrefs themfelves to 
 the imagination. When a critic examines the work 
 of any of the great mafters for poetry or painting, 
 he may fometimes examine it by an idea of perfec- 
 tion, in his own mind, which neither that nor any 
 other human work will ever come up to ; and as 
 long as he compares it with this ftandard, he can 
 fee nothing in it but faults and imperfections. But 
 when he come to confider the rank which it ought 
 to hold among other works of the fame kind, he 
 neceffarily compares it with a very different ftandard, 
 the common degree of excellence which is ufually 
 attained in this particular art ; and when he judges 
 of it by this new meafure, it may often appear to 
 deferve the higheft applaufe, upon account of its 
 approaching much riearer to perfection than the 
 greater part of thofe works which can be brought 
 into competition with it. 
 
 SECTION 
 
 ■ 
 
Seft. 2. 0/ Propriety. 33 
 
 SECTION It 
 
 Of the degrees of the different paflions which are 
 confiftent with propriety, 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 HE propriety of every paflion excited by ob- 
 jects peculiarly related to ourfelves, the pitch 
 which the fpe&ator can go along with, mufi He, it 
 is evident, in certain mediocrity. If the paifion is 
 too high, or if it is too low, he cannot enter into it. 
 Grief and refentment for private misfortunes and in- 
 juries may eafily, for example, be too high, and in 
 the greater part of mankind they are fo. They 
 may likewife^ though this more rarely happens, be 
 too low. We denominate the excefs, weaknels and 
 fury : and we call the defect, ftupidity, infenfibility, 
 and want of fpirit. We can enter into neither of 
 them, but are aftoniihed and confounded to fee 
 them. 
 
 This mediocrity, however, in which the point ot 
 propriety confifts, is different in different paflions. 
 it is high in ibme, and low in others There are 
 Ibriie pallions which it is indecent to exprefs very 
 Rrongly, even upon thofe occafions, in which it is 
 D acknowledged 
 
34 0/ Propriety. Part L 
 
 acknowledged that we cannot avoid feeling them 
 in the higheft degree. And there are others of 
 which the flrongeft expreflions are upon many oc- 
 cafions extremely graceful, even though the paffions 
 themfelves do not y perhaps, arife fo neceffarily. 
 The firft are thofe pafTions with which, for certain 
 reafons, there is little or no fympathy : the fecond 
 are thofe with which, for other reafons^ there is the 
 greatefl. And if we confider all the different paf- 
 fions of human nature, we (hall find that they are 
 regarded as decent, or indecent, juft in proportion 
 as mankind are more or lefs difpofed to iympathize 
 with them. 
 
 CHAP. I 
 
 Of the paffions which take their origin from the body. 
 
 ,i 
 
 T is indecent to exprefs any flrong degree of 
 thofe pafTions which arife from a certain fituation or 
 difpofition of the body ; becaufe the company, not 
 being in the fame difpofition, cannot be expected 
 to fympathize with them. Violent hunger, for ex- 
 ample, though upon many occafions not only na- 
 tural, but unavoidable^ is always indecent, and to 
 eat voracioufly is univerfally regarded as a piece of 
 ill manners. There is, however, fome degree of 
 fympathy, even with hunger. It is agreeable to fee 
 our companions eat with a good appetite, and all 
 
 expi^flions 
 
Sect. 2. Of P R O F R I E t k. 35 
 
 expreffions of loathing are ofFenfive. The difpofi- 
 tion of body which is habitual to a man in health, 
 makes- his flomach eafily keep time, if I may be 
 allowed fo coarfe an expreflion, with the one, and 
 not with the other. We can fympathlze with the 
 diftrefs which exceffive hunger occafions when we 
 read the defcription of it in the journal of a fiege, 
 or of a fea voyage. We imagine ourfelves in the 
 fituation of the fufferers, and thence readily con- 
 ceive the grief, the fear and conflernation, which 
 mufi neceflarily diftract them. We feel, ourfelves, 
 fome degree of thofe pafliohs, and therefore fym- 
 pathize with them : but as we do not grow hungry 
 by reading the defcription, we cannot properly, 
 even ill this cafe, be faid to fympathize with their 
 hunger. 
 
 It- is the fame cafe with the pafllon by which Na- 
 ture unites the two fexes. Though naturally the 
 moil furious of all pafi?ons, all ftrong expreffions of 
 it are upon every occafion indecent, even between 
 perfons in whom its moll complete indulgence is ac- 
 knowledged by all laws, both human and divine, 
 to be perfectly innocent. There feems, however, 
 to be fome degree of fympathy even with this pa f- 
 fion. To talk to a woman as we mould to a man 
 is improper: it is expected that their company 
 fhould infpire us with more gaiety, more pleafantry, 
 and more attention • and an intire infenfibility to 
 the fair fex, renders a man contemptible in fome 
 meafure even to the men. 
 
 Such is our averfion for all the appetites which 
 
 take their origin from the body : all llrong expref- 
 
 fions of them are ioathfome and difagreeable. Ac- 
 
 D 2 ' cording 
 
$6 0/ Propriety. Parti. 
 
 cording to fome antient philoiopners, tnefe are the 
 paflions which we (hare in common with the brutes, 
 and which having no connexion widi the charadter- 
 iflical qualities of human nature, are upon that ac* 
 count beneath its dignity. But there are many 
 other paifions which we fhare in common with the 
 brutes, fuch as refentment, natural affection, even 
 gratitude, which do not, upon that account, ap- 
 pear to be fo brutal. The true caufe of the peculiar 
 difguft which we conceive for the appetites of the 
 body when we fee them in other men, is that we 
 cannot enter into them. To the perfon himfelf 
 who feels them, as foon as they are gratified, the 
 object ihit excited them ceafes to be agreeable i 
 even its prefence often becomes ofFenfive to him ; 
 he looks round to no purpofe for the charm which 
 tranfported him the moment before, and he can 
 now as little enter into his own pafhon as another 
 perfon. When we have dined, we order the co- 
 vers to be removed ; and we mould treat in the 
 fame manner the objects of the mofl ardent and 
 paflionate defires, if they were the objects of no 
 other paflions but thofe which take their origin from 
 the body. 
 
 In the command of fhofe appetites of the body 
 confifls that virtue which is properly called tempe- 
 rance. To reflrain them .within thofe bounds, 
 which regard to" health and fortune prefcribes, is the 
 part of prudence. But to confine them within thofe 
 limits, which grace, which propriety, which de- 
 licacy, and modelly, require, is the office of tem- 
 perance. 
 
 2. It is for the fame reafon that to cry out with 
 bodily pain, how intolerable foever, appears always 
 
 Humanly 
 
Sect. 2, 0/P|Of riety. . 37 
 
 unmanly and unbecoming. There is, however, a 
 good deal of fympathy even with bodily pain. If, 
 as has already been obferved, I fee a flroke aimed, 
 and juft ready to fall upon the leg or arm, of another 
 perfon, I naturally llirink and draw back my own 
 leg, or my own arm ; and when it does fall, I feel 
 it in fome meafure, and am hurt by it as well as the 
 fufferer. My hurt, however, is, no doub^, excef- 
 fively flight, and, upon that account, if he makes 
 any violent out-cry, as I cannot go along with him, 
 I never fail to defpife him. And this is the cafe of 
 all the pailions which take their origin from the body : 
 they excite either no fympathy at all, or fuch a de- 
 gree of it, as is altogether difproportioned to the 
 violence of what is felt by the fufterer. 
 
 It is quite otherwife with thofe pailions which take 
 their origin from the imagination. The frame of 
 my body can be but little arTecled by the alterations 
 which are brought about upon that of my compa- 
 nion : but my imagination is more ductile, and 
 more readily afTumes, if I may fo^. the fhape and 
 configuration of the imaginations of thofe with 
 whom I am familiar. A difappointment in love, 
 or ambition, will, upon this account, call forth more 
 fympathy than the greatefl bodily evil. Thofe paf- 
 fions ariie altogether from the imagination. The 
 perfon who has loll his whole fortune, if he is in 
 health, feels nothing in his body. What he fufrers 
 is from the imagination only, which reprefems to 
 him the lofs of his dignity, neglect from his friends, 
 contempt from his enemies, dependence, want, and 
 mifery, coming faft upon him ; and we fympathize 
 with him more ftrongly upon this account, becaufe 
 our imaginations can more readily mould themieives 
 D 3 upon 
 
58 O/Propriety. Part I. 
 
 upon his imagination, than bur bodies can mould 
 themfelves upon his body. 
 
 The lofs of a leg may generally be regarded as a 
 more real calamity than the lofs of a miftrefs. It 
 would be a ridiculous tragedy, however, of which 
 the cataflrophe was to turn upon a lofs of that kind. 
 A misfortune of the other kind, how frivolous fo- 
 ever it may appear to be, has given occafion to ma- 
 ny a fine one. 
 
 Nothing is fo loon forgot as pain. The moment 
 it is gone the whole agony of it is over, and the 
 thought of it can no longer give us any fort of dis- 
 turbance. We or.rfeives cannot then enter into the 
 anxiety and anguim which we had before conceived. 
 An unguarded word from a friend will occafion a 
 more durable uneafmefs. The agony which this 
 creates is by no means over with the word. What 
 at firft difturbs us is not the objecl; of the fenfes, 
 but the idea of the imagination. As it is an idea, 
 therefore, which occafions our uneafinefs, till time 
 and other accidents have in' fome meafure effaced 
 it from our memory, the imagination continues to 
 fret and rankle within, from the thought of it. 
 
 Pain never calls forth any very lively fympathv 
 unlefs it is accompanied with danger. We fympa- 
 thize with the fear, though not with the agony of 
 the fufferer. Fear, however, is a paflion derived 
 altogether from the imagination, which reprefents, 
 with an uncertainty and flu&uatjon that mcreafes 
 our anxiety, not what we really feel, but what we 
 may hereafter poifibly fuffer. The gout or the 
 toolh-ach, though exqujfitely painful, excite very 
 
 little 
 
gedt. 2. 0/ P r o p $ i e t y. 39 
 
 little fympathy j more dangerous difeafes, though 
 accompanied with very little pain, excite the high- 
 
 Some people faint and grow fick at the fight of 
 a chirurgical operation, and that bodily pain which 
 is occafioned by tearing the item, feems, in them, 
 to excite the moil excefiive fympathy. We con- 
 ceive in a much more lively and 4ifti n <^ manner, 
 the pain which proceeds from an external caufe, that* 
 we do that which arifes from an internal diforder. 
 I can fcarce form an idea of the agonies of my 
 neighbour when he is tortured with the gout, or the 
 ftone ; but I have the cleareft conception of what 
 he muft fuffer from an incifion, a wound, or a frac- 
 ture. The chief caufe, however, why fuch obje&s 
 produce fuch violent effect upon us, is their novelty. 
 One who has been witnefs to a dozen difle&ions, 
 and as many amputations, fees, ever after, all ope- 
 rations of this kind with great indifference, and of- 
 ten with perfect inlenfibility. Though we have 
 read or feen reprefented more than live hundred 
 tragedies, we fnall feldom fefil fo entire an abatement 
 of our fenfibility to the object which they reprefent 
 to us. 
 
 In fome of the Greek tragedies there is an attempt 
 to excite companion, by the reprefentation of the 
 agonies of bodily pain. Phik>c~tetes cries out and 
 faints from the extremity of his fufferings. Hip- 
 polytus and Hercules are both introduced as expir- 
 ing under the fevereft tortures, which, it feerns, 
 even the fortitude of Hercules was incapable of fup- 
 porting. In all theie cafes, however, it is not the 
 pain which interefls us, but fome other circumftance. 
 D 4 It 
 
40 0/ P r o p r i e t Y, Part I. 
 
 It is not the fore foot, but the folitude, of Philoo 
 tetes which affefts us, and diffufes over that charm- 
 ing tragedy, that romantic wildnefs, which is fo 
 agreeable to the imagination. The agonies of Her- 
 cules and Hippolytus are interefled only becaufe we 
 forefee that death is to be the confequence. If thofe 
 heroes were to recover, we fhould think the repre- 
 fentation of their fufFerings perfectly ridiculous. 
 What a tragedy would that be of which the diftrefs 
 confifted in a colic. Yet no pain is more exquifite. 
 Thefe attempts to excite companion by the repre- 
 fentation of bodily pain, may be regarded as among 
 the greateft breaches of decorum of which the Greek 
 theatre has fet the example, 
 
 The little fympathy which we feel with bodily 
 pain is the foundation of the propriety of conflancy 
 and patience in enduring it. The man, who under 
 the feverefl tortures allows no weaknefs to efcape 
 him, vents no groan> gives way to no paflion which 
 we do not entirely enter into, commands our high- 
 eft admiration. His firmnefs enables him to keep 
 time with our indifference and infenfibility. We 
 admire and entirely go along with the magnanimous 
 effort which he makes for this purpofe. We ap- 
 prove of his behaviour, and from our experience of 
 the common weaknefs of human nature, we are fur- 
 prifed, and wonder how he fhould be able to aft fo 
 \as to deferve approbation. Approbation, mixed 
 and animated by wonder and furprife, conflitutes the 
 fentiment which is properly called admiration, of 
 which, applaufe is the natural exprefnon, as has. al- 
 ready been obferved. 
 
 C H A P. 
 
Seel. z. O/Propriety. a\ 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Of thofe pajfions which take their origin from a particular 
 turn or habit of the imagination. 
 
 E 
 
 VEN of the paflions derived from the imagi- 
 nation, thofe which take their origin from a peculiar 
 turn or habit it has acquired, though they may be 
 acknowledged to be perfectly natural, are, however, 
 but little fympathized with. The imaginations of 
 mankind, not having acquired that particular turn, 
 cannot enter into them ; and fuch pailions, though 
 they may be allowed to be almoft unavoidable in 
 fome part of life, are always in fome meafure ridi- 
 culous. This is the cafe with that ftrong attach- 
 ment which naturally grows up between two perfons 
 of different fexes, who have long fixed their thoughts 
 upon one another. Our imagination not having run 
 in the fame channel with that of the lover, we can- 
 not enter into the eagernefs of his emotions. If 
 our friend has been injured, we readily fympathize 
 with his refentment, and grow angry with 'the very 
 perfon with whom he is angry. If he has received 
 a benefit, we readily enter into his gratitude, and 
 have a very high fenfe of the merit of his benefactor. 
 But if he is in love, though we may think his paf- 
 fion juft as reasonable as any of the kind, yet we 
 never think ourfelves bound to conceive a paffion of 
 the fame kind, and for the fame perfon for whom 
 he has conceived it. The -paiiion appears to eve- 
 ry body, but the man who feels it, entirely difpro- 
 
 portioned 
 
££ O/Propriity. Part I. 
 
 portioned to the value of the object; and love, 
 though it is pardoned in a certain age becaufe wc 
 know it is natural, is always laughed at, becaufe we 
 cannot enter into it, All ferious and ftrong ex- 
 preffions of it appear ridiculous to a third perfon ; 
 and though a lover may be good company to his 
 miftrefs, he is fo to nobody elfe. He himfelf is fen- 
 fible of this ; and as long as. he continues in his fober 
 fenfes, endeavours to treat his own paifion with rail- 
 lery and ridicule. It is the only ftyle in which we 
 care to hear of it; becaufe it is the only flyle ir> 
 which we ourfelves are dnpofed to talk of it. We 
 grow weary of the grave, pedantic, and long-fen- 
 tenced love of Cowley and Propertius, who never 
 have done with exaggerating the violence of their 
 attachments; but the gaiety of Ovid, and the gal- 
 lantry of Horace, are always agreeable. 
 
 But though we feel no proper rympathy with an 
 attachment of this kind, though we never approach 
 even in imagination towards conceiving a pafilon 
 for that particular perfqn, yet as we either have 
 conceived, oif may be difpofed to conceive, paflions 
 of the fame kind, we readily enter into thofe high 
 hopes of happinefs which are propofed from its gra- 
 tification, as well as into that exquifite diftrefs which 
 is feared from its 4^ a PP°> ntment - ft interefls us 
 not as a paiVion, but as a fituation that gives occafion 
 to other paffions which intereil us; to hope, to fear, 
 and to diflrefs of every kind : in the fame manner as 
 in a defcription of a fea voyage, it is not the hunger 
 which interefls us, but the diilrefs which that hunger 
 occafions. Though we do not properly enter into 
 the attachment of the lover, we readily go along 
 with thofe expeditions of romantic happinefs which 
 
 he 
 
Seel. 2. O/Propriet y. qg 
 
 he derives from it. We feel how natural it is for 
 the mind, in a certain fituation, relaxed with indo- 
 lence, and fatigued with the violence of defire, to 
 long for ferenity and quiet, to hope to find them in 
 the gratification of that paflion which diftra&s it, 
 and to frame to itfelf the idea of that life of pafto- 
 ral tranquillity and retirement which the elegant, the 
 tender, and the paflionate Tibullus takes fo much 
 pleafure in defcribing; a life like what the poets de- 
 fcribe in the Fortunate Iflands, a life of frrendfhip, 
 liberty, and repofe ; free from labour, and from 
 care, and from all the turbulent paflions which attend 
 them. Even fcenes of this kind intereft us rnoft 
 when they are painted rather as what is hoped, than 
 as what is enjoyed. The groflhefs of that paflion. 
 which mixes with, and is, perhaps, the foundation 
 of love, [difappears when its gratification is far off 
 and at a diftance; but renders the whole offenfiye 
 when defcribed as what is immediately pofiefled. 
 The happy paflion, upon this account, interefls us 
 much lefs than the fearful and the melancholy. 
 We tremble for whatever can difappoint fuch natu- 
 ral and agreeable hopes : and thus enter into all the 
 anxiety, and concern, and diftrefs of the lover, 
 
 Hence it is, that, in fome modern tragedies and 
 romances, this paflion appears fo wonderfully inte- 
 refling. It is not fo much the love of Caftalk) and 
 Monimia which attaches us in the Orphan, as the di- 
 ftrefs which that love occafions. The author who 
 mould introduce two lovers, in a fcene of perfect 
 fecurity, exprefling their mutual fondnefs for one 
 another, would excite laughter, and not fympathy. 
 If a fcene of this kind is ever admitted into a tra- 
 gedy, it is always, in fome meafure, improper, and 
 
 is 
 
44 G/Propruty. Parti. 
 
 is endured, not from any fympathy with the paflion 
 that is expreffed in it, but from concern for the 
 dangers and difficulties with which the audience 
 forefee that its gratification is likely to be attended. 
 
 The referve which the laws of fociety impofe 
 upon the fair fex, with regard to this weaknefs, ren- 
 ders it more peculiarly diftrefsful in them, and, upon 
 that very account, more deeply interelling. We 
 are charmed with the love of Phaedra, as it is ex- 
 preffed in the French tragedy of that name, not- 
 withstanding all the ex L ravagance and guilt which 
 attends it. That very extravagance and guilt 
 may be faid, in fame meafure, to recommend it to 
 us. Her fear, her fhame, her remorie, her horror, 
 her defpair, become thereby more natural and in- 
 terefting. All the fecondary paiTions, if I may be 
 allowed to call them fo, which arife from the fitu- 
 ation of love, become necelfarily more furious and 
 violent : and it is with thefe fecondary pafiions only 
 that we can properly be faid to fympathize. 
 
 Of all the paffions, however, which are fo ex- 
 travagantly difproportioned to the value of their 
 objects, love is the only one that appears, even to 
 the weaken: minds, to have any thing in it that is 
 either graceful or agreeable. In itfelf, firft of all, 
 though it may be ridiculous, it is not naturally 
 odious i and though its confequences are often fatal 
 and dreadful, its intentions are feldom mifchievous. 
 And then, though there is little propriety in the 
 paflion itfeif, there is a good deal in ibme of thofe 
 which always accompany it. There is in love a 
 flrong mixture of humanity, generality, kindnefs, 
 friendfhip, eftecrn> paiTions with which, of all 
 
 others. 
 
Sect. 2. Of P r o £ r i e f y. 45 
 
 others, for reafons which (hall be explained imme- 
 diately., we have the greatefl propenfity to fympa- 
 thize, even notwithstanding we are fenfible that 
 they are* in Tome rrieafure, excefllve. The fympathy 
 which we feel with them, renders the paflion which 
 they accompany lefs difagreeable^ and fupports it 
 in our imagination, notwithstanding all the vices 
 which commonly go along with it; though in the 
 one fex it neceifarily leads to ruin and infamy; and 
 though in the other, where it is apprehended to be 
 leait fatal, it is almoft always attended with an in- 
 capacity for labour, a neglect of duty, a contempt 
 of fame, and even of common reputation. Not- 
 withflanding all this, the degree of fenfibility and 
 generofity with which it is fuppofed to be accom- 
 panied, renders it to many the object of vanity; 
 and they are fond of appearing capable of feeling 
 what would do them no honour if they had really- 
 felt it. 
 
 It is for a reafbn of the fame kind, that a certain 
 referve is neceffary when we talk of our own friends, 
 our own fludies, our own profefTions. All thefe are 
 objects which we cannot expect mould interefl our 
 companions in the fame degree in which they interefl 
 Us. And it is for want of this referve, that the one 
 half of mankind make bad company to the other. 
 A philolbpher is company to a philofopher only ; 1 
 the member of a club, to his own little knot of 
 .companions. 
 
 CHAP, 
 
46 O/Propriety. Part I, 
 
 CHAP. Jit 
 
 Of the Unfocial pajfions. 
 
 HERE is another fet of paflions," which though 
 derived from the imagination* yet before we can 
 enter into them, or regard them as graceful or be- 
 coming, mufl always be brought down to a pitch 
 much lower than that to which undifciplined na- 
 ture would raife them. Thefe are hatred and re- 
 fentment, with all their different modifications. 
 With regard to all fuch paflions, our fympathy is 
 divided between the perfon who feels them and the 
 perfon who is the object of them. The interefls of 
 thefe two are directly oppofite. What our fympa- 
 thy with the perfon who feels them would prompt 
 us to wifh for, our fellow-feeling with the other 
 Would lead us to fear; As they are both men, we 
 are concerned for both, and our fear for what the 
 one may fuffer, damps our refentment for what the 
 other has fuffered. Our fympathy, therefore, with 
 the man who has received the provocation, necefla- 
 rily falls fhort of the paflion which naturally animates 
 him, not only upon account of thofe general caufes 
 which render all fympathetic pailions inferior to the 
 original ones, but^ipon account of that particular 
 caufe which is peculiar to itfelf, our oppofite fympa- 
 thy 
 
Sect. 2. Of P r o p & t e t y. 47 
 
 thy with another perfon. Before refentment, there- 
 fore, can become graceful and agreeable, it mult 
 be more humbled and brought down below that 
 pitch to which it would naturally rife, than almoft 
 any other paflion. 
 
 Mankind, at the fame time, have a very flrong 
 fenfe of the injuries that are done to another. The 
 villain, in a tragedy or romance, is as much the ob- 
 ject of our indignation, as the hero is that of our 
 fympathy and . affection. We deteft Iago as much 
 as we efleem Othello ; and delight as much in the 
 punifhment of the one, as we are grieved at the di- 
 ftrefs of the other. But though mankind have fo 
 ftrong a fellow-feeling with the injuries that are 
 done to their brethren, they do not always re.fent 
 them the more that the fufferer appears] to refent 
 them. Upon moll: occafions, the greater his pa- 
 tience, his mildnefs^ his humanity, provided it does 
 not appear that he wants fpirit, or that fear was the 
 motive of his forbearance, the higher the refentment 
 againfl the perfon who injured him. The amiable- 
 nefs of the character exafperates their fenfe of the 
 atrocity of the injury, 
 
 Thefe pallions, however* are regarded as necefTary 
 parts of the character of human nature. A perfon 1 
 becomes contemptible who tamely fits flill, and fub- , 
 mits to infults, without attempting either to repel or 
 to revenge them. We cannot enter into his indif- 
 ference and mfeniibility : we call his behaviour mean- 
 fpiritednefs, and are as really provoked by it as b v 
 the infolence of his adverfary. Even the mob r^e 
 enraged to fee any man fubmit patiently to affrc cits 
 and ill ufage. They defire to fee this infolence re- 
 fen .ted-. 
 
Of Propriety. Part I. 
 
 faited, and refented by the perfon who fuffers from 
 it. They cry to him with fury, to defend, or to re- 
 venge himfelf. If his indignation rouzes at laft, 
 they heartily applaud, and fympathize with it. It 
 enlivens their own indignation againfl his enemy, 
 ■whom they rejoice to fee him attack in turn, and 
 are as really gratified by his revenge, provided it is 
 Dot immoderate, as if the injury had been done to 
 themfelves. 
 
 But though the utility of thofe paffions to the in^ 
 dividual, by rendering it dangerous to infult or in- 
 jure him, be acknowledged; and though their utility 
 to the public, as the guardians of juftice, and of the 
 equality of its adminiftration, be not lefs confider- 
 able, as mail be fhewn hereafter-, yet there is flill 
 fomething difagreeable in the paffions themfelves, 
 which makes the appearance of them in other men 
 the natural objed of cur avernon. The expreffion 
 of anger towards any body prefent, if it exceeds a 
 bare intimation that we are fenfible of his ill ufage, 
 is regarded not only as an infult to that particular 
 perfon, but as a rudenefs to the whole company. 
 Refpedt for them ought to have retrained us from 
 giving way to fo boifterous and offenfive an emotion. 
 It is the remote effects of thefe paffions which are 
 agreeable; the immediate effe&s are mifchief to 
 the perfon againft whom they are directed. But it 
 \s the immediate, and not the remote effects of ob- 
 jects which render them agreeable or diiagreeable 
 ,to the imagination. A prifon is certainly more 
 ufeful to the public than a palace; and the perfon 
 wiHo founds the one is generally directed by a much 
 jufler fpirit of p&triotifm, than he who builds the 
 other. Eur the immediate effects of a prrfon, the 
 
 confinement 
 
Sect. £. Of F R o p ,r i e t Y. j& 
 
 confinement of the wretches (hut up in it, are dif- 
 agreeable ; and the imagination either does not take 
 time to trace out the remote ones, or fees them at 
 too great a diflance to be much affected by them. 
 A prifon, therefore, will always be a difagreeable 
 object- and the fitter it is for the purpofe for which 
 it was intended, it will be the more fo. A palace, 
 on the contrary, will always be agreeable • yet its 
 remote effects may often be inconvenient to the 
 public. It may ferve to promote luxury, and fet 
 the example of the diffolution of manners. Its im- 
 mediate effects, however, the conveniency, the plea- 
 fure, and the gaiety of the people who live in it, 
 being all agreeable, and fuggefting to the imagi- 
 nation a thoufand agreeable ideas, that faculty ge- 
 nerally refts upon them, and feldom goes further 
 in tracing its more diflant confequences. Trophies 
 of the inftruments of mufic or of agriculture, imi- 
 tated in painting or in flucco, make a common and 
 an agreeable ornament of our halls and dining-rooms. 
 A trophy of the fame kind, compofed of the inftru- 
 ments of furgery, of diiiecting and amputation- 
 knives, of faws for cutting the bones, of trepanning 
 inftruments, &c. would be abfurd and mocking. 
 Inftruments of furgery, however, are always more 
 finely polilhed, and generally more nicely adapted 
 to the purpofes for which they are intended, than 
 inftruments of agriculture. The remote effedts of 
 them too, the health of the patient, is agreeable, 
 yet as the immediate effect of them is pain and fuf- 
 fering, the fight of them always difpleafes us. In- 
 ftruments of war are agreeable, though their imme- 
 diate effect may feeixi to be in the fame manner pain 
 and fullering. But then it is the pain and fuffering 
 of our enemies, with whom we have no fympathy. 
 
 E With 
 
$o O/Propriety.' Part I. 
 
 With regard to us, they are immediately connected 
 with the agreeable ideas of courage, victory, and 
 honour. They are themfelves, therefore, fuppofed 
 to make one of the noblelt parts of drefs, and the 
 imitation of them one of the fineft ornaments of 
 architecture. : It is the fame cafe with the qualities 
 of the mind. The ancient ftoics were of opinion, 
 that as the world was governed by the all-ruling 
 providence of a wife, powerful, and good God, 
 every Jingle event ought to be regarded, as making 
 a necelfary part of the plan of the univerfe, and as 
 tending to promote the general order and happinefs 
 of the whole: that the vices and follies of mankind, 
 therefore, made as neceffary a part of this plan as 
 their wifdom or their virtue; and by that eternal 
 art which educes good from ill, were made to tend 
 equally to the profperity and perfection of the great 
 fyftem of nature. No fpeculation of this kind, 
 however, how deeply foever it might be rooted iti 
 the mind, could diminim our natural abhorrence for 
 vice, whofe immediate effects are fo destructive, and 
 whofe remote ones are too diftant to be traced by 
 the imagination. 
 
 It is the fame cafe with thofe paffions we have 
 been juft now confidering. Their immediate effects 
 are fo difagreeable, that even when they are molt 
 juftly provoked, there is itill fomething about them 
 which, difgufts us. Thefe, therefore, are the only 
 paffions of which the expreflions, as I formerly ob~ 
 ferved, do not difpofe and prepare us to fympathize 
 with them, before we are informed of the caufe 
 which excites them. The plaintive voice of mifery, 
 when heard at a* diflance, will not allow us to be 
 indifferent about the perfon from whom it comes. 
 
 As 
 
Seel. 2. O/Propriet y. g x 
 
 As foon as it ftrikes our ear, it interests us in his for- 
 tune, and, if continued, forces us almoft involun- 
 tarily to fly to his affiftance. The fight of a fmiling 
 countenance, in the fame manner, elevates even the 
 penfive into that gay and airy mood, which difpofes 
 him to fympathize with, and (hare the joy which it 
 exprelfes; and he feels his heart, which with thought 
 and care was before that fhrunk and depreffed, in- 
 ftantly expanded and elated. But it is quite other- 
 wife with the expreffions of hatred and refentment. 
 The hoarfe, boiflerous, and difcordant voice of 
 anger, when heard at a diflance, infpires us either 
 with fear or averfion, We do not fly towards it 
 as to one who cries out with pain and agony. Wo- 
 men, and men of weak nerves, tremble and are. 
 overcome with fear, though fenfible that themfelves 
 are not the -objects of the anger. They conceive 
 fear, however, by putting themfelves in the filia- 
 tion of the perfon who is fo. Even thofe of flouter 
 hearts are diflurbed ; not indeed enough to make 
 them afraid, but enough to make them angry ; for 
 anger is the paffion which they would feel in the fili- 
 ation- of the other perfon. It is the fame cafe with 
 hatred. Mere expreffions of fpite infpire it a^ainfl 
 no body, but the man who ufes them. Both thefe 
 pafiions are by nature the objects of our averfion. 
 Their difagreeable and boiflerous appearance never 
 excites, never prepares, and often diflurbs our fyrri- 
 pathy. Grief does not more powerfully engage 
 and attract us to the perfon in whom we obferve it, 
 than thefe, while we are ignorant of their caufe, 
 difguft and detach us from him. It was, it feems, 
 the intention of Nature, that thofe rougher and more 
 unenviable emotions, which drive men from one 
 another, mould be lefs eafily and mere rarely com- 
 municated. 
 
 E z When 
 
5* Of Pr o r r i e t Y> Part L 
 
 When inufic imitates the modulations of grief or 
 joy, it either actually infpires us with thofe pallions, 
 or at leaft puts us in the mood which difpofes us to 
 conceive them. But when it imitates the notes of 
 anger, it infpires us with fear. Joy, grief, love, 
 admiration, devotion, are all of them pafhons which 
 are naturally mufical. Their natural tones are all 
 foft, clear, and melodious •> and they naturally ex- 
 prefs themfelves in periods which are diftinguilhed 
 by regular paufes, and which upon that account are 
 eafily adapted to the regular returns of the correspon- 
 dent airs of a tune. The voice of anger, on the 
 contrary, and of all the paiTions which are akin to 
 it, is harm and difcordant. It periods too are all 
 irregular, fometimes very long, and fometimes 
 very fliort, and diftinguifhed by no regular paufes. 
 It is with difficulty, therefore, that mufic can imitate 
 any of thofe pafiions; and the mufic ' which does 
 imitate them is not the mofl agreeable. A whole 
 entertainment may confiir, without any impropriety, 
 of the imitation of the focial and agreeable pallions. 
 It would be a flrange entertainment which confuted 
 altogether of the imitations of hatred and refent- 
 menu 
 
 If thofe paiTions are difagreeable to the fpectator, 
 they are not lefs fo to the perfon who feels them. 
 Hatred and anger are the greateft poifon to the 
 happinefs-of a good mind. There is, in the very 
 feeling of thofe pallions, fomething harfh, jarring, 
 and convulfive, fomething that tears and diffracts 
 the breaft, and is altogether defcructive of that com- 
 pofure and tranquillity of mind which is fo neceffary 
 to happinefs, and which is. bed promoted by the 
 
 contrary 
 
Sect. 2. O/Propriety. 53 
 
 contrary paflions of gratitude and love. It is not 
 the value of what they lofe by the perfidy and in- 
 gratitude of thofe they live with, which the gene- 
 rous and humane are moft apt to regret. Whatever 
 they may have loft, they can generally be very 
 happy without it. What moft diilurbs them is the 
 idea of perfidy and ingratitude exercifed towards 
 themfelves; and the difcordant and difagreeable 
 paflions which this excites, conftitutes, in their own 
 opinion, the chief part of the injury which they 
 furler. 
 
 How many things are requifite to render the 
 gratification of refentment compleatly agreeable, 
 and to make the fpectator thoroughly fympathize 
 with our revenge? The provocation mutt firft of 
 all be fuch that we mould become contemptible, and 
 be expofed to perpetual infults, if we did not, in 
 fome meafure, refent it. Smaller offences are al- 
 ways better neglected ; nor is there any thing more 
 defpicable than that froward and captious humour 
 which takes fire upon every flight occafion of quar- 
 rel. We mould refent more from a Cenk of the 
 propriety of refentment, from a fenfe that mankind 
 expect and require it of us, than becaufe we feel 
 in ourfehes the furies of that difagreeable paffion. 
 There is no paiiion, of which the human mind is 
 capable, concerning whofe juftnefs we ought to be 
 fo doubtful, concerning whofe indulgence we ought 
 fo carefully to confult our natural fenfe of propriety, 
 or fo diligently to confider what will be the fenti- 
 ments of the impartial fpectator. Magnanimity, or 
 a regard to maintain our own rank and dignity in 
 fociety,-. is the only motive which can ennoble the 
 expreiiions of this difagreeable pafiion. Tins mo- 
 
 E 3 tiK 
 
54 Of Propriety. Parti. 
 
 live muft characterize our whole ftile and deport- 
 ment. Thefe mull be plain, open, and direct; 
 determined without pofitivenefs, and elevated with- 
 out infolence; not only free from petulance and 
 low fcurrility, but generous, candid, and full of all 
 proper regards, even for the perfon who has offend- 
 ed us. It muft appear, in lhort, from our whole 
 manner, without our labouring affectedly to exprefs 
 it, thatpaflion has not extinguifhed our humanity; 
 and that if we yield to the dictates of revenge, it is 
 with reluctance, from neceiTity, and in confequence 
 of great and repeated provocations. When refent- 
 ment is guarded and qualified in this manner, it may 
 be admitted to be even generous and noble. 
 
 
 CHAP. IV, 
 
 Of the focial pajfiow, 
 
 JLjl S it is a divided fympathy which renders the 
 whole fet of pailions juft now mentioned, upon 
 moft occafions, fo ungraceful and difagreeable ; fo 
 there is another fet oppofite to thefe, which a re- 
 doubled fympathy renders almoft' always peculiarly 
 agreeable and becoming. Generofity, humanity, 
 kindnefs, companion, mutual friend (hip and eiteem, 
 all the focial and benevolent affections, when ex-. 
 prefTed in the countenance or behaviour, even to- 
 wards 
 
Sect. 2. O/Proprie^ty. 55 
 
 wards thofe who are peculiarly connected with our- 
 felves, pleafe the indifferent fpectator upon almoft 
 every occafion. Hisfympathy with the perfon who 
 feels thofe palfions, exactly coincides with his con- 
 cern for the perfon who is the object of them. The 
 intereft, which, as a man, he is obliged to take in 
 the happinefs of this laft, enlivens his fellow-feelino- 
 with the fentiments of the other, whofe emotions are 
 employed about the fame object. We have always, 
 therefore, the ftrongeft difpofition to fympathize 
 with the benevolent affections. They appear in 
 every refpect agreeable to us. We enter into the 
 fatisfaction both of the perfon who feels them and 
 of the perfon who is the object of them. For as to 
 to be the object of hatred and indignation gives more 
 pain than ail the evils which a brave man can fear 
 from his enemies; fo there is a fatisfaction in the 
 c;onfcioufnefs of being beloved, which, to a perfon 
 of dejicacy and .fenfi.bility, is of more importance 
 to happinefs than all the advantage which he can 
 expect to derive from it. What character is fo de- 
 tectable as that of one who takes pleafure to fow 
 diffenfion among friends, and to turn their mod ten- 
 der love into mortal hatred ? Yet wherein does the 
 atrocity of this fo much abhorred injury conilft? 
 Is it in depriving them of the frivolous good offices 
 which had their friendfhip continued, they mio-ht 
 have expected from one another ? It is in depriving 
 them of that friendfhip itfejf, in robbing them of 
 each others affections, from which both derived fo 
 much fatisfaction ; it is in diiturbing the harmony of 
 their hearts, and putting an end to that happy com- 
 merce which had before fubfifted between them. 
 Thefe affections, that harmony, this commerce, are 
 felt, not only by the tender and the delicate, but by 
 
 E 4 the 
 
$6 O/Propristy,. Part I. 
 
 the rudell vulgar of mankind, to be of more impor- 
 tance to happinefs than all the little fervices which 
 could be expected to flow from them. 
 
 The fentiment of love is, in itfelf, agreeable to 
 the perfon who feels it. It fooths and compotes 
 the breaft, teems to favour the vital motions, and 
 to promote the healthful {late of the human confti- 
 tution- and it is rendered ilill more delightful by 
 the ccnfcioufnefs of the gratitude and fati'sf action 
 which it mull excite in him who is the object of it. 
 Their mutual regard renders them happy in one 
 another, and fympathy, with this mutual regard ] 
 makes them agreeable to every other perfon/ With 
 what pleafure do we look upon a family, through 
 the whole of which reign mutual love and efleem r 
 where the parents and children are companions for 
 one another, without any other difference than what 
 is made by refpectful affection on the one fide, and 
 kind indulgence on the other; where freedom and 
 fondnefs, mutual raillery, and mutual kindnefs, 
 fhow that no oppofition of intereil divides the bro- 
 thers, nor any rivalihip of favour fets the fillers at 
 variance, and where every thing prefents us with 
 the idea of peace, chearfulnefs, harmony, and con- 
 tentment ? On the contrary, how uneafy are we 
 made when we go into a houfe in which jarring 
 contention fets one half of thofe who dwt\i in it 
 asainfl the other: where amidft affected fmooth- 
 nefs and complaifance, fufpi clous looks and iudden 
 Harts of paflion betray the mutual jeajoufies which 
 burn within them, and which are every moment 
 ready to burfl out through all the reflraints which 
 the prefence of the company impofes ? 
 
 Thofe 
 
Sedt 2. 0/ Propriety. 57 
 
 Thofe amiable paflions, even when they are ac- 
 knowledged to be exceiTive, are never regarded with 
 averfion. There is fomething agreeable even in the 
 weaknefs of friendfhip and humanity. The too 
 tender mother, the too indulgent father, the too ge- 
 nerous and afTe&ionate friend, may fometimes, per- 
 haps, on account of the foftnefs of their natures, be 
 looked upon with a fpecies of pity, In which, how- 
 ever, there is a mixture of love, but can never be 
 regarded with hatred and averfion, nor even with 
 contempt, unlefs by the moil brutal and worthlefs 
 of mankind: It is always with concern, with fym- 
 pathy and kindnefs, that we blame them for the ex- 
 travagance of their attachment. There is a help- 
 lefTnefs in the character of extreme humanity which 
 more than any thing interefls our pity. There is 
 nothing in itfelf which renders it either ungraceful 
 or difagreeable. We only regret that it is unfit for 
 the world, becaufe the world is unworthy of it, and 
 becaufe it muft expofe the perfon who is endowed 
 with it as a prey to the perfidy and ingratitude of 
 infmuating falfhood, and to a thcufand pains and 
 uneafinenes, which, of all men, he the ieaft de- 
 ferves to feel, and which generally too he is, of all 
 men, the leaft capable of fupporting. It is quite 
 otherwife with hatred and refentment. Too violent 
 a propenfity to thofe deteftable pafiions, renders $ 
 perfon the object of univerfal dread and abhorrence, 
 who, like a wild beaft, ought, we think, to be hunt- 
 ed out of all civil focietv. 
 
 CHA P 
 
58 0/P ropriety. Part I. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Of the felfijb pa/fans. 
 
 B 
 
 ESIDES thofe two oppofite fets of paffions, 
 the focial and unfocial, there is another which holds 
 a fort of middle place between them ; is never either 
 fo graceful as is fometimes the one fet, nor is ever 
 'To odious as is fometimes the other. Grief and 
 joy, when conceived upon account of our own pri- 
 vate good or bad fortune, constitute this third fet of 
 paflions. Even when exceffive, they are never fo 
 difagreeable as exceflive refentment, becaufe no op- 
 pofite f mpathy can ever intereft us againft them : 
 and when mod fuitable to their objects they are ne- 
 ver fo agreeable as impartial humanity and juft be- 
 nevolence; becaufe no double fy mpathy can ever 
 intereft us for them. There is, however, this dif- 
 ference between grief and joy, that we are generally 
 moil: difpofed to fympathize with fmall joys and.great 
 forrows. The man, who, by fome fudden revolu- 
 tion of fortune, is lifted up all at once into a condi- 
 tion of life, greatly above what he had formerly liv- 
 ed in, may be aiTured that the congratulations of his 
 beft friends are not all of them perfectly fincere. 
 An upftart, though of the greateft* merit, is gene- 
 rally difagreeable, and a fentiment of envy com- 
 monly prevents u§ from heartily fympathizing with 
 hisjoy. If he has any judgment he is fenfible of 
 
 this, 
 
Sect. 2, O/Propriety, $$ 
 
 this, and inftead of appearing to be elated with his 
 good fortune, he endeavours, as much as he can, 
 to fmother his joy, and keep down that elevation of 
 mind with which his new circumftances naturally in- 
 fpire him. He affects the fame plainnefs of drefs, 
 and the fame modefty of behaviour, which became 
 him in his former ftation.. He redoubles his atten- 
 tion to his old friends, and endeavours more than 
 ever to be humble, afliduous, and complaifant. And 
 this is the behaviour which in his fituation we moil 
 approve of -, becaufe we expect, it feems, that he 
 mould have more fympathy v/ith our envy and aver- 
 fion to his happinefs, than we have with his happn 
 nefs. It is feldom that with all this he fucceeds. 
 We fufpect the fincerity of his humility, and he 
 grows weary of this conflraint. In a little time, 
 therefore, he generally leaves all his old friends be- 
 hind him, fome of the meaneft of them excepted, 
 who may, perhaps, condefcend to become his de- 
 pendents : nor does he always acquire any new ones; 
 the pride of his new connections is as much affront- 
 ed at rinding him their equal, as that of his old ones 
 had been by his becoming their fuperior : and it re- 
 quires the molt obftinate and perfevering modefty 
 to atone for this mortification to either. He gene- 
 rally grows weary too foon, and is provoked, by 
 the fullen and fufpicious pride of the one, and by 
 the faucy contempt of the other, to treat the firft 
 with neglect, and the fecond with petulance, till at 
 lafl he grows habitually infolent, and forfeits the 
 eiteem of all. If the chief part of human happi- 
 nefs arifes from the confcioufnefs of being beloved, 
 as I believe it does, thofe fudden changes of for- 
 tune feldom contribute much to happinefs. He is 
 happiefi who advances more gradually to greatnefs, 
 
 whom 
 
6o O/Prgpriety, ; Part I. 
 
 whom the public deftines to every flep of his pre- 
 ferment long before he arrives at it, in whom, upon 
 that account, when it comes, it can excite no ex- 
 travagant joy, and with regard to whom it cannot 
 reafonably create either any jealoufy in thofe he over- 
 takes, or any envy in thofe he leaves behind. 
 
 Mankind, however, more readily fympathize 
 with thofe fmallerjoys which flow from lefs impor- 
 tant caufes. It is decent to be humble amidft great 
 profperity ; but we can fcarce exprefs too much fa- 
 tisfaclion in all the little occurrences of common 
 life, in the company with which we fpent the even- 
 ing laft night, in the entertainment that was let be- 
 fore us, in what was faid and what was done, in 
 all the little incidents of the prefent converfation, 
 and in all thofe frivolous nothings which fill up the 
 void of human life. Nothing is more graceful than 
 habitual chearfulnefs, which is always founded up- 
 on a peculiar relilh for all the little pleafures which 
 common occurrences afford. We readily fympa- 
 thize with it : it infpires us with the fame joy, and 
 makes every trifle turn up to us in the fame agree- 
 able afpec\ in which it prefents itfelf to the perfon 
 endowed with this happy difpofition. Hence it is 
 that youth, the feafon of gaiety, io eafily engages 
 our affeclions. That propensity to joy which feems 
 even to animate the bloom, and to fparkle from the 
 eyes of youth and beauty, though in a perfon of 
 the fame fex, exalts, even the aged, to a more 
 joyous mood than ordinary. They forget, for a 
 time, their infirmities, and abandon- themielves to 
 thofe agreeable ideas and emotions to which they 
 have long been flrangers, but which, • ben the pre- 
 
 v 
 
Se&. 2. O/Propriety. fo 
 
 fence of fo much happinefs recalls tHem to their 
 bread, take their place there, like old acquaintance, 
 from whom they are forry to have ever been parted, 
 and whom they embrace more heartily upon ac- 
 count of this long feparation. 
 
 It is quite otherwife with grief. Small vexations 
 excite no Sympathy, but deep affliction calls forth 
 the greater!:. The man who is made uneafy by eve- 
 ry little difagreeable incident, who is hurt if either 
 the cook or the butler have failed in the leail article 
 of their duty, who feels every defect in the higher! 
 ceremonial of poiitenefs, whether it be (hewn to 
 himfeif or to any other perfon, who takes it amifs 
 that his intimate friend did not bid him good-mor- 
 ig.v when they met in the forenoon, and that his 
 brother hummed a tune all the time he himfeif was 
 telling a flory ; who is put out of humour by the 
 badnefs of the weather when in the country, by the 
 badnefs of the roads when upon a journey, and by 
 the want of company, and dullnefs of all public 
 diverfions when in town ; fuch a perfon, I fay, 
 though he fhould have fome reafon, will feldom 
 meet with much fympathy. Joy is a pleafant emo- 
 tion, and we gladly abandon ourfelves to it upon 
 the flighted occafion. We readily, therefore, fym- 
 pathize with it in others, whenever we are not pre- 
 judiced by envy. But grief is painful, and the 
 mind, even when it is our own misfortune, natu- 
 rally refifls and recoils from it. We would endea- 
 vour, either not to conceive it at all, or to fliake it 
 off as foon as we have conceived it. Our averilon 
 to grief will not, indeed, always hinder us from 
 conceiving it in our own cafe upon very trifling oc- 
 casions, 
 
62 Of Pr o p r i e t y. Part I. 
 
 cafions, but it conftantly prevents us from fympa- 
 thizing with it in others when excited by the like 
 frivolous caufes: for our fympathetic paflions are 
 always lefs irrefiftible than our original ones. There 
 is, befides, a malice in mankind, which not only 
 prevents all fympathy with little uneafmeifes, but 
 renders them in fome meafure diverting. Hence 
 the delight which we all take in raillery, and in the 
 fmall vexation which we obferve in our compa- 
 nion, when he is pufhed, and urged, and teafed 
 upon all fides. Men of the moft ordinary good- 
 breeding diiTemble the pain which any little inci- 
 dent may give them ; and thole who are more tho- 
 roughly formed to fociety, turn, of their own ac- 
 cord, all fuch' incidents into raillery, as they know 
 their companions will do for them. The habit 
 which a man, who lives in the world, has acquired 
 of confidering how every thing that concerns him- 
 felf will appear to others, makes thofe frivolous ca- 
 lamities turn up in the fame ridiculous light to him, 
 in which he knows they will certainly be confidered 
 by them. 
 
 Our fympathy, on the contrary, with deep dif- 
 trefs, is very ftrong and very fincere. It is unne- 
 ceffary to give an inftance. We weep even at the 
 feigned reprefentation of a tragedy. If you la- 
 bour, therefore, under any fignal calamity, if by 
 fome extraordinary misfortune you are fallen into 
 poverty, into difeafes, into difgrace and difappoint- 
 ment ; even though your own fault may have been, 
 in part, the occafion, yet you may generally de- 
 pend upon the fincereft fympathy of all your 
 friends, and, as far as interefi and honour will per- 
 
Sea. 2. 0/ Propriety: 6$ 
 
 mit, upon their kindefl affiftance too. But if your 
 misfortune is not of this dreadful kind, if you have 
 only been a little baulked in your ambition, if you 
 have only been jilted by your miftrefs, or are only 
 hen-pecked by your wife, lay your account with 
 the raillery of all your acquaintance. 
 
 SECTION 
 
46 O/PnopRitTY. Parti. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Of the effects of profperity and adverfity upon the 
 judgment of mankind with regard to the propriety 
 of adtion ; and why it is more eafy to obtain their 
 approbation in the one ftate than in the other. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 That though onrfympathy with for row is generally a more 
 lively fenfation than our Sympathy with joy •, it commonly 
 falls much more port of the violence of what is naturally 
 felt by the perfon principally concerned. 
 
 V>IUR fympathy with forrow, though not more 
 real, has been more taken notice of than our fym- 
 pathy with joy. The word fympathy, in its mcil 
 proper and primitive fignification, denotes our fellow- 
 feeling with the fufTerings, not that with the enjoy- 
 ments, of others. A late ingenious and fubtile phi- 
 lofopher thought it necevtary to prove, by arguments, 
 that we had a real fympathy with joy, and that con- 
 gratulation was a principle of human nature. No- 
 body, I believe, ever thought it neceffary to prove 
 that companion was fuch. 
 
 Firtt of all, ourSyrnpathy with forrow is, in fome 
 fenfe, more univerfai than that with joy. Though 
 
 iorrow 
 
Sect. 3. O/Propriety. &g 
 
 forrow is exceiTive, we may ftill have fome fellow- 
 feeling with it. What we feel does not, indeed, in 
 this cafe* amount to that complete fympathy, to 
 that perfect harmony and correfpondence of fenti- 
 ments which conftitutes approbation. We do not 
 weep, and exclaim, and lament, with the fufferer. 
 We are fenfible, on the contrary, of his weaknefs* 
 and of the extravagance of his paiTion, and yet 
 often feel a very fenfible concern upon his account. 
 But if we do not entirely enter into, and go along 
 with, the joy of another, we have no fort of regard 
 or fellow-feeling for it. The man who (kips and 
 dances about with that intemperate and fenfelefs 
 joy which we cannot accompany him in, is the object 
 of our contempt and indignation. 
 
 Pain befides, whether of mind or body, is a more 
 pungent fenfation than pleafure, and our fympathy 
 with .pain, though it falls greatly ftiort of what is 
 naturally felt by the fufferer, is generally a more 
 lively and diftinct perception than our fympathy 
 with pleafure, though this lair often approaches 
 more nearly, as I mail (how immediately, to the 
 natural vivacity of the original paiTion, 
 
 Over and above all this, we often ftruggle to keep 
 down our fympathy with the forrow of others. 
 Whenever we are not under the obfervation of the 
 fufferer, we endeavour, for our own fake, to fupprefs it 
 as much as we can, and we are not always fuccefsfuk 
 The oppofition which we make to it, and the reluc- 
 tance with which we yield to it, necelTarily oblige us 
 to take mere particular notice of it. But we never 
 have occafion to make this oppofition to our fym- 
 pathy with joy, If there is any envy in the cafe, 
 
 F we 
 
66 Of P r o p r i e t y. Fart I, 
 
 we never feel the leaft propenfity towards it •, and 
 if there is none, we give way to it without any re- 
 luctance. On the contrary, as we are always a- 
 fhamed of our own envy, we often pretend, and 
 fometimes really wifh to fympathize with the joy of 
 others, when by that difagreeable fentiment we are 
 difqualified from doing fo. We are glad, we fay, 
 on account of our neighbour's good fortune, when 
 in our hearts, perhaps, we are really forry. We 
 often feel a fympathy with forrow when we wifh to 
 be rid of it j and we often mifs that with joy when 
 we would be glad to have it. The obvious obferva- 
 tion, therefore, which it naturally fails in our way 
 to make, is that our propenfity to fympathize with 
 ibrrow mult be very ftrong, and our inclination to 
 fympathize with joy very weak. 
 
 Notwithftanding this prejudice, however, I will 
 venture to affirm, that, when there is no envy in the 
 cafe, our propenfity to fympathize with joy is much 
 ftronger than our propenfity to fympathize with for- 
 row j and that our fellow-feeling for the agreeable 
 emotion approaches much more nearly to the viva- 
 city of what is naturally felt by the perfons princi- 
 pally concerned, than that which we conceive for the: 
 painful one. 
 
 We have fome indulgence for that exceflive grief 
 which we cannot entirely go along with. We know 
 what a prodigious effort is requifite before the fufferer 
 can bring down his emotions to compleat harmony 
 and concord with thofe of the fpectator. Though 
 he fails, therefore, we eafily pardon him. But we 
 have no fuch indulgence for the intemperance of 
 •oy ; becaufe we are not confcious that any fuch vafl 
 
 effort 
 
Sect. 3. O/Propriety, 67 
 
 effort is requifite to bring it down to what we can 
 entirely enter into. The man who, under the 
 greateft calamities, can command his forrow, feems 
 worthy of the higheft admiration ; but he who, in 
 the fulnefs of profperity, can in the fame manner 
 mailer, his joy, feems hardly to deferve any praife. 
 We are fenfible that there is a much wider interval 
 in the one cafe than in the other, between what is 
 naturally felt by the perfon principally concerned, 
 and what the fpedlator can entirely go along with. 
 
 What can be added to the happinefs of the man who 
 is in health, who is out of debt, and has a clear 
 confcience r To one in this fituation, all acceifions 
 of fortune may properly be laid to be fuperfluous ; 
 and if he is much elevated udou account of them, 
 it muft be the effect of the molt frivolous levity. 
 This fituation, however, may very well be called 
 the natural and ordinary Hate of mankind. Not- 
 withftanding the prefent mifery and depravity of the 
 world, fo juflly lamented, this really is the flate of 
 the greater part of men. The greater part of men., 
 therefore, cannot find any great difficulty in ele- 
 vating themfeives to ail the joy which any accef- 
 fion to this fituation can well excite in their com- 
 panion. 
 
 But though little can be added to this -flate, much 
 maybe taken from it. Though between this condi- 
 tion and the highetf pitch of human profperity, the 
 interval is but a trifle; between it and the lowed 
 depth of mifery the diflance is immenfeand prodigious. 
 Adverfity, on this account, necerfarily depreffes the 
 mind of the fafferer much more below its natural 
 ftate, Mri profperity can elevate him above it, 
 The fpectatcr, therefore, muft - fi ncl it much more 
 difficult to fympathize entirely, and keep perfect 
 F a time-, 
 
68 Of P r o p r i e t V. Part 1. 
 
 tifne, with his forrow, than thoroughly to enter in- 
 to his joy, and muft depart much further from his 
 own natural and ordinary temper of mind in the one 
 cafe than in the other. It is on this account, that, 
 though our fympathy with forrow is often a more 
 pungent fenfation than our fympathy with joy, it al- 
 ways falls much more ihort of the violence of what 
 is naturally felt by the perfon principally concerned. 
 
 It is agreeable to fympathize with joy ; and 
 wherever envy does not oppofe it, our heart aban- 
 dons itfeif with fatisfa&ion to the highefl tranfports 
 of that delightful fentiment. But it is painful to 
 go along with grief, and we always enter into it 
 with reluctance*. When we attend to the repre- 
 fentation of a tragedy, we flruggle againft that fym- 
 pathetic forrow which the entertainment inspires as 
 long as we can, and we give way to it at lafl only 
 when we can no longer avoid it : we even then en- 
 deavour to cover our concern from the company. 
 If we fhed any tears, we carefully conceal them, 
 and are afraid left: the fpeclators, not entering into 
 
 this 
 
 * It has been objected to me that as T founcl the fentiment of 
 approbation, which is always agreeable, upon fympathy, it is in- 
 confiftent with my fyflem to admit any difagreeable fympathy. I 
 anfwer, that in the fentiment of approbation there are two things to 
 be taken notice of; firft the fympathetic paflion of the fpectator ; 
 and, fecondly, the emotion which arifes from his obferving the per- 
 fect coincidence between this fympathetic paffion in himfelf, and the 
 original paflion in the perfon principally concerned. This lafl: emo- 
 tion, in which the fentiment of approbation properly confilts, is al- 
 ways agreeable and delightful. The other may either be agreeable 
 or difagrcc.tble, according to the nature of the original paflion, whofe 
 feature it mud always, in fome meafure, retain. Two founds* I 
 (uppofe, may, each of them, taken firigly, be auftere, and yet, if 
 :!,/ v ire'perfe5l concords, the perception of their harmony and coia- 
 ~e may be agreeable. 
 
Sect. 3. Of P R O P R I E T Y. 69 
 
 this exceflive tendernefs, mould regard it as effemi- 
 nacy and weaknefs. The wretch whofe misfortunes 
 call upon our compallion feels with what reluctance 
 we are likely to enter into his forrow, and therefore 
 propofes his grief to us with fear and hefitation : 
 he even fmothers the half of it, and is amamed, 
 upon account of this hard-hearted nefs of mankind, 
 to give vent to the fulnefs of his affliction. ' It is o- 
 therwife with the man who riots in joy and fuccefs. 
 Wherever envy does not intereft us againfthim, he 
 expects our compleatefl fympathy. He does not fear, 
 therefore, to announce himfelf with fhouts of exul- 
 tation, in full confidence that we are heartily dif- 
 pofed to go along with him. 
 
 Why mould we be more amamed to weep than to 
 laugh before company ? We may often have as real 
 occafion to do the one as to do the other ■ But we al- 
 ways feel that the fpectators are more likely to go 
 along with us in the agreeable, than in the painful 
 emotion. It is always miferable to complain, even 
 when we are oppreffedbythe mofl dreadful calamities. 
 But the triumph of victory is not always ungraceful. 
 Prudence, indeed, would often advife us to bear pro- 
 fperity with more moderation -, becaufe prudence 
 would teach us to avoid that envy which this very 
 triumph is, more than any thing, apt to excite. 
 
 How hearty are the acclamations of the mob, 
 who never bear any envy to their fuperiors, at a 
 triumph or a public entry ? And how fedate and mo- 
 derate is commonly their grief at an execution ? 
 Our forrow at a funeral generally amounts to no 
 more than affected gravity; but our mirth at a 
 chriilening or a marriage, is always from the heart, 
 and without any affectation. Uponthefe, and all 
 fuch joyous occafions, our fatisfaction, though not fo 
 
 F 3 durable. 
 
^o O/Propriety. Part I. 
 
 durable, is often as lively as that of the perfons 
 principally concerned. Whenever we cordially con- 
 gratulate our friends, which, however, to the dip- 
 grace of human nature, we do but feldom, their 
 joy literally becomes our joy; we are for the moment, 
 as happy as they are : our heart fwells and over- 
 flows with real pleafare : joy and complacency 
 fparkle from our eyes, and animate every fea- 
 ture of our countenance, and every gefture of our 
 body. 
 
 But, on the contrary, when we condole with our 
 friends in their afflictions, how little do we feel, in 
 comparifon of what they feel ? We fit down by 
 them, we look at them, and while they relate to us 
 the circumftances of their misfortune, we liften 
 to them with gravity and attention. But while their 
 narration is every moment interrupted by thofe na- 
 tural burfls of paflion which often feem almofl to 
 choak them in the midft of it - how far are the lan- 
 guid emotions of our hearts from keeping time to 
 the tranfports of theirs ?- We may be fenfible, at the 
 fame time, that their paflion is natural, and no 
 greater than what we .ourfelves might feel upon the 
 like occafion. We may even inwardly reproach our- 
 felves with our own want of fcnfibility, and per- 
 haps on that account, work ourfelves up into an ar- 
 tificial fympathy, which, however, when it is raifed, 
 is always the flightexl and moil tranfirory imagin- 
 able i and generally, as foon as we have left the 
 room, vaniihes, and is gone for ever. Nature, it 
 feerns, when flie has loaded us with our own far- 
 rows, thought that they were enough, and there- 
 fore did not command us to take any further (hare 
 in thofe of others, than what was necefiavy to 
 prompt us to relieve them. 
 
 It 
 
Sect. 3. O/Propriety. 71 
 
 It is on account of this dull fenfibility to the af- 
 flictions of others, that magnanimity amidfl great 
 diftrefs appears always fo divinely graceful. His 
 behaviour is genteel and agreeable who can maintain 
 his chearfulnefs amidfl a number of frivolous dif- 
 aflers. . But he appears to be more than mortal who 
 can fupport in the fame manner the mod dreadful 
 calamities. We feel what an immenfe effort is re- 
 quifite to filence thofe violent emotions which natu- 
 rally agitate and diffract thofe in his fituation. 
 We are amazed to rind that he can command him- 
 felf fo intirely. His firmnefs, at the fame time, 
 perfectly coincides with our infenfibility. He makes 
 no demand upon us for that more exquifite de- 
 gree of fenfibility which we find, and which we 
 are mortified to find, that we do not poifefs. There 
 is the mofl perfect correfpondence between his fen- 
 timents and ours, and on that account the mofl per- 
 fect propriety in his behaviour. It is a propriety too, 
 which, from our experience of the ufual weak- 
 nefs of human nature, we could not reafonably have 
 expected he mould be able to maintain. We won- 
 der with furprife and aflonifhment at that flrength 
 of mind which is capable of fo noble and generous 
 an effort. The fentiment of compleat fympathy 
 and approbation, mixed and animated with won- 
 der and furprife, conflitutes what is properly called 
 admiration, as has already been more than once 
 taken notice of. Cato, furrounded on all fides by 
 his enemies, unable to refill them, and difdainingto 
 fubmit to them, and reduced by the proud maxims 
 of that age, to the neceflity of deflroying him- 
 felf ; yet never fhrinking from his misfortunes, ne- 
 ver fupplicating with the lamentable voice of wretch- 
 ednefs, thofe miferable fympathetic tears which we 
 are always fo unwilling to give ; but en the contrary, 
 
 F 4 arming 
 
1% 0/ Propriety. Part I. 
 
 arming himfelf with manly fortitude, and the mo- 
 ment before he executes his fatal refolution, giving, 
 with his ufual tranquillity, all neceffary orders for 
 the fafety of his friends ; appears to Seneca, that 
 great preacher of infenfibility, a fpeclacle which 
 even the gods themfelves might behold with pleafure 
 and admiration. 
 
 Whenever we meet, in common life, with any 
 examples of fuch heroic magnanimity, we are al- 
 ways extremely affe&ed. We are more apt to weep 
 and Hied tears for fuch as, , in this manner, feem 
 to feel nothing for themfelves, than for thofe who 
 give way to all the weaknefs of forrow : and in this 
 particular cafe, the fympathetic grief of the fpedta- 
 tor appears to go beyond the original pafilon in the 
 perfon principally concerned. The friends of So- 
 crates all wept when he drank the laft potion, while 
 he himfelf expreffed the gay ell: and moil chearful 
 tranquillity. Upon ail fuch occafions the fpeclator 
 makes no effort, and has no occafion to make any, 
 in order to conquer his fympathetic forrow. He is 
 under no fear that it will tranfport him to any thing 
 that is extravagant and improper ^ he is rather pleafed 
 with the fenfibility of his own heart, and gives way. 
 to it wit;h complacence and felf-approbation. He 
 gladly indulges, therefore, the moll melancholy 
 views which can naturally occur to him, concerning 
 the calamity of his friend, for whom, perhaps, he 
 never felt fo exquifitely before, the tender and tearful 
 pafTion of love. But it is quite, otherwife with the 
 perfon principally concerned. He is obliged as much 
 as poflible, to turn away his eyes from whatever is 
 either naturally terrible or dlfasrreeable in his fltna- 
 tipn. Too ferious an attention to thofe circum- 
 (tances, he fears, might make fo violent an im- 
 
 preiiion, 
 
Seft. 3. O/Propriety. 73 
 
 preflion upon him, that he could no longer keep 
 within the bounds of moderation, or render him- 
 felf the object of the complete fympathy and ap- 
 probation of the fpedtators. He fixes his thoughts,, 
 therefore, upon thofe only which are agreeable; 
 the applaufe and admiration which he is about to 
 deferve by the heroic magnanimity of his behaviour. 
 To feel that he is capable of fo noble and generous 
 an effort, to feel that in this dreadful fituation he can 
 Hill act. as he would defire to act, animates and tranf- 
 portshim with joy, and enables him to fupport that 
 triumphant gaiety which feems to exult in the vic- 
 tory he thus gains over his misfortunes. 
 
 On the contrary, he always appears, in fome 
 meafure, mean and defpicable, who is funk in 
 forrow and dejection upon account of any calamity 
 of his own. We cannot bring ourfelves to feel for 
 him what he feels for himfelf, and what, perhaps, 
 we mould feel for ourfelves if in his fituation : we, 
 therefore, defpife him ; unjuftly, perhaps, if any 
 fentiment could be regarded as unjuit, to which 
 we are by nature irrefiitibly determined. The weak- 
 nefs of forrow never appears in any refpedt agree- 
 able, except when it arifes from what we feel 
 for others more than from what we feel for 
 ourfelves. A fon, upon the death of an indulgent 
 and refpectable father, may give way to it without 
 much blame. His forrow is chiefly founded upon a 
 fort of fympathy with his departed parent • and we 
 readily enter into this humane emotion. But if he 
 mould indulge the fame weaknefs upon account cf 
 any misfortune which affected himfelf only, he 
 would no longer meet with any fuch indulgence. 
 If he mould be reduced to beggary and ruin, if he 
 
 mould 
 
74. O/Propriety. ■ Part I. 
 
 ftiould be expofed to the moil dreadful dangers, if 
 he mould even be led out to a public execution, ^ 
 and there fried one fmgle tear upon the fcarlold, 
 he would difgrace himfelf for ever in the opinion of 
 all the gallant and generous part of mankind. Their 
 compailion for him, however, would be very ilrong, 
 and very fincere ; but as it would ft ill fall fhort of 
 this exceflive weaknefs, they would have no pardon 
 for the man who could thus expofe himfelf in the 
 £yes of the world. His behaviour would affecl: them 
 with fhame rather than with forrow; andthedif- 
 honour which he had thus brought upon himfelf 
 would appear to them the moil lamentable circum- 
 ilance in his misfortune. How did it dilgrace the 
 memory of the intrepid Duke of Biron, who had 
 fo often braved death in the field, that he wept 
 upon the fcaffoid, when he beheld the ilate to which 
 he was fallen, and remembered the favour and the 
 glory from which his own ralhnefs had fo unfor- 
 tunately thrown him ! 
 
 CHAP. If. 
 
 Of the origin of ambition, and of the diftinRion of 
 
 ranks. 
 
 .1 T is becaafe mankind are difpofed to fympa- 
 thize more entirely with our joy than with our for- 
 row, that we mafe parade of our riches, and con- 
 ceal our poverty. Nothing is fo mortifying as to 
 
 be 
 
Sed. 3- 0/ Propriety. 75 
 
 be obliged to expofe our diftrefs to the view of the 
 public, and to feel, that though our fituation is 
 open to the eyes of all mankind, no mortal con- 
 ceives for us the half of what we fufFer. Nay, it 
 is chiefly from this regard to the fentiments o£ 
 mankind, that we purfue riches and avoid poverty. 
 For to what purpofe is all the toil and buftle of 
 this world ? what is the end of avarice and arnbi^ 
 tion, of the purfuit of wealth, of power, and pre- 
 eminence? Is it to fupply the neceflities of na- 
 ture ? The wages of the meaner! labourer can 
 fupply them. We fee that they afford him food 
 and cloathing, the comfort of a houfe, and of a fa^ 
 mily. If we examine his ceconomy with rigor, we 
 mould find that he fpends a great part of them upon 
 conveniences, which may be regarded as fuperflui- 
 ties, and that, upon extraordinary occafions, he 
 can give fomething even to vanity and dillincYion, 
 What then is the caufe of our averfion to his fitua* 
 tion, and why mould' thofe who have been educated 
 in the higher ranks of life, regard it as worfe than 
 death, to be reduced to live, even without labour, 
 upon the fame fimple fare with him, to dwell un- 
 der the fame lowly roof, and to be cloathed in the 
 fame humble attire? Do they imagine that their 
 ftomach is better, or their fleep founder in a palace 
 than in a cottage ? the contrary has been 10 often 
 obferved, and, indeed, is fo very obvious, though it 
 had never been obferved, that there is no body ig- 
 norant of it. From whence, then, strifes that e- 
 mulation which runs through all the different ranks 
 of men, and what are the advantages which we 
 propofe by that great purpofe of human life which 
 we call bettering our condition ? 1o be obferved, 
 
 to 
 
j6 O/Fropriety. Fart I. 
 
 to be attended to, to be taken notice of with fym- 
 pathy, complacency, and approbation, are all the 
 advantages which we can propofe to derive from 
 it. It is the vanity, not the eafe, or the pleafure, 
 which interefls us. But vanity is always founded 
 upon the belief of our being the object of atten- 
 tion and approbation. The rich man glories in 
 his riches, becaufe he feels that they naturally draw 
 upon him the attention of the world, .and that 
 mankind are diipofed to go along with him in all 
 thofe agreeable emotions with which the advan- 
 tages of his fituation i@ readily inipire him. At 
 the thought of this, his heart feems to fwell 
 and dilate itfelf within him, and he is fonder of 
 his wealth upon this account, than for all the 
 ether advantages it procures him. The poor man, 
 on the contrary, is afhamed of his poverty. He 
 feels that it either places him out of the fight of 
 mankind, or, that, if they take any notice of him, 
 they have, however, fcarce any fellow-feeling with 
 the mifery and diftrefs which he fuffers. He is 
 mortified upon both accounts ; for though to be 
 overlooked, and to be difapproved of, are things 
 entirely different, yet as obfeurity covers us from 
 the daylight of honour and approbation, to feel 
 that we are taken no notice of neceifarily damps 
 the raoft agreeable hope, and difappoints the moil 
 ardent defire, of human nature. The poor man 
 goes out and comes in unheeded, and when in the 
 midft of a croud is in the fame obfeurity as if (hut 
 up in his own hovel. Thofe humble cares and 
 painful attentions which occupy thojfe in his fitua- 
 tion, afford no amufement to the diiTipated and the 
 gay. They turn, away their eyes from him, or tf 
 the extremity cfn's diftrefs forces them to look 
 
 at 
 
Sect. 3. 0/pROPRiETY, 77 
 
 at him, it is only to fpurn fo difagreeable an object 
 from among, them. The Fortunate and the proud 
 wonder at the infolence of human wretched nefs, 
 that it -mould dare to prefent itfelf before them, 
 and with the loathfome afpect of its mifery, pre- 
 fume to diflurb the ferenity of their happinefs. The 
 man of rank and distinction, on the contrary, is 
 obierved by all the world. Every body is eager to 
 look at him, and to conceive, at leaft by fyrrt- 
 pathy, that joy and exultation with which his 
 circumilances naturally infpire him. His actions 
 are the objects of the public care. Scarce a word 
 fcarce a gefture, can fall from him that is altoo-e- 
 ther neglected. In a great alfembly he is the perfon 
 upon whom all direct their eyes ; it is upon him that 
 their paflions feem all to wait with expectation 
 in order to receive that movement and direction 
 which he mall imprefs upon them ; and if his 
 behaviour is not altogether abfurd, he has, eve- 
 ry moment, an opportunity of interefting man- 
 kind, and of rendering himfelf the objett of 
 the obfervation and fellow-feeling of every body 
 about him. It is this, which notwithstanding the 
 reftraint it impofes, notwithftanding the lofs of li- 
 berty with which it is attended, renders greatnefs 
 the object of envy, and compenfates in -the opi- 
 nion of mankind, all that toil, all that anxiety, all 
 thofe mortifications which muft be undergone in 
 the purfuit of it 5 and what is of yet more con- 
 fequence, all that leifare, ail that eafe, all that 
 careiefs fecurity, which are forfeited for ever by the 
 acquifition. 
 
 When we confider the condition of the great, 
 in thofe delufive colours in which the imagination 
 is apt to paint it, it feems to be almofl the ab- 
 
 ilract 
 
^8 0/ Propriety. Part I. 
 
 ftrad idea of a perfect and happy Hate. It is the 
 very ftate which, in all our waking dreams and 
 idle reveries, we had iketched out to ourfelves as 
 the final object of all our defires. We feel, there- 
 fore, a peculiar fympathy with the fatisfa&ion of 
 thofe who are in it. We favour all their incli- 
 nations, and forward all their wifhes. What 
 pity, we think, that any thing mould fpoil and 
 corrupt fo agreeable a fituation ! We could even 
 wifh them immortal ; and it feems hard to us, 
 that death mould at laft put an end to fuch per- 
 fect enjoyment. It is cruel, we think, in Na- 
 ture, to compel them from their exalted ftations 
 to that humble, but hofpitable home, which me 
 has provided for all her children. Great King, 
 live for ever ! is the compliment, which after the 
 manner of eaftern adulation, we mould readily 
 make them, if experience did not teach us its 
 abfurdity. Every calamity that befals them, every 
 injury that is done them, excites in the breaft of 
 the fpectator ten times more companion and re- 
 fentment than he would have felt, had the fame 
 things happened to other men. It is the misfor- 
 tunes of Kings only which afford the proper fub- 
 jects for tragedy. They referable, in this re^ 
 fpect, the misfortunes of lovers. Thofe two iitua- 
 tions are the chief which intereft us upon the 
 theatre ; becaufe, in fpite of all that reafon and 
 experience can tell us to the contrary, the pre- 
 judices of .the imagination attach to thefe two 
 l ftates a happinefs fuperior to any other. To dif- 
 turb, or to put an end to fuch perfect enjoy- 
 ment, feems to be the moil atrocious of all in- 
 juries. The traitor who confpires againit. the life 
 of his monarch, is thought a greater monfter than 
 
 any 
 
Sect. 3. 0/ Propriety. 79 
 
 any other murderer. All the innocent blood that 
 was fried in the civil wars, provoked lefs indig- 
 nation than the death of Charles I. A itranger 
 to human nature, who faw the indifference of 
 men about the mifery of their inferiors, and the 
 regret and indignation which they feel for the 
 misfortunes and fufTerings of thoie above them, 
 would be apt to imagine, that pain muft be more 
 agonizing, and the convulfions of death more ter- 
 rible to perfons of higher rank, than to thofe of 
 meaner Nations. ' 
 
 Upon this difpofition of mankind, to go along 
 with all the pailions of the rich and the powerful, 
 is founded the diftinction of ranks, and the order 
 of fociety. Our obfequioufnefs to our fuperiors 
 more frequently arifes from our admiration for 
 the advantages of their fituation, than from any 
 private expectations of benefit from their good- 
 will. Their benefits can extend but to a 'few ; 
 but their fortunes intereft almoft every body. We 
 are eager to allift them in compleating. a fyftem 
 of happinefs that approaches fo near to perfec- 
 tion ; and we defire to ferve them- for their own 
 fake, without any other recompenfe but the va- 
 nity or the honour of obliging them. Neither is 
 our deference to their inclinations founded chiefly, 
 or altogether, upon a regard to the utility of fuch 
 fubmiilion, and to the order of fociety, which is 
 bell fupported by it. Even when the order of fo- 
 ciety feems to require that we mould cppofe them, 
 we can hardly bring ourfelves to do it. That kings 
 are the fervants of the people, to be obeyed, re- 
 filled, depofed, or pumfhed, as the public con- 
 veniency may require, is the dcchLe of -afon 
 and philofophy- but it is not the 2 cf 
 
 N :ure. 
 
So 0/ PkopRiETf. Part t. 
 
 Nature." Nature would teach, us to fubmit to 
 them, for their own fake, to tremble and bow 
 down before their exalted ftation, to regard their 
 fmile as a reward fufficient to compenfate any 
 fervices, and to dread their difpleafure, though 
 no other evil was to follow from it, as the fe- 
 verelt of all mortifications. To treat them in 
 any refpedt as men, to reafon and difpute with 
 them upon ordinary occafions, requires fuc'h re- 
 folution, that there are few men whofe magna- 
 nimity can fupport them in it, unlefs they are 
 likewife aflilted by familiarity and acquaintance. 
 The Itrongelt motives, the molt furious . paflions, 
 fear, hatred, and refentment, are fcarce fufficient 
 to balance this natural difpofition to refpedt them : 
 and their conduct mult, either jultly or unjuitly, 
 have excited the higheft degree of all thofe paf- 
 lions, before the bulk of the people can be brought 
 to oppofe them With violence, or to defire to fee 
 them either punifhed or depofed. Even when 
 the people have been brought this length, they 
 are apt to relent every moment, and eafiiy re- 
 lapfe into their habitual Itate of deference to thofe 
 whom they have been acciiltomed to look upon 
 as their natural fuperiors. They cannot Hand the 
 mortification of their monarch. Companion foon 
 takes the place of refentment, they forget all paft 
 provocations, their old principles of loyalty re- 
 vive, and they run to re-eitablifh the ruined au- 
 thoritv of -their old mailer, with the fame vio- 
 lence with which they had oppofed it. The death 
 of Charles I. brought about the -Reiteration of the 
 royal family. Companion for James II. when he 
 was feized by thev populace in making his efcape 
 on (hip-board* had slmolt prevented the Re- 
 volution. 
 
Seel. 3. Of Propriety. 81 
 
 volution, and made it go on more heavily than 
 before. 
 
 Do the great feem infenfible of the eafy price 
 at which they may acquire the public admira j 
 tion ; or do they feem to imagine that to them, 
 as to other men, it muft be the purchafe either of 
 fweat or of blood? By what important accom- 
 pliihments is the young nobleman inftrudted to 
 fupport the dignity of his rank, and to render 
 himfelf worthy of that fuperiority over his fellow- 
 citizens, to which the virtue of his anceftors had 
 raifed them? Is it by knowledge, by induftry, 
 by patience, by felf-denial, or by virtue of any 
 kind ? As all his words, as all his motions are 
 attended to, he learns an habitual regard to every 
 circumftance of ordinary behaviour, and fludies to 
 perform al) thofe fmall duties with the raoft ex- 
 act propriety. As he is confeious how much he 
 is obferved, and how much mankind are difpofed 
 to favour all his inclinations, he acts, upon the 
 mod indifferent occafions, with that freedom and 
 elevation which the thought of this naturally 
 infpires. His air, his manner, his deportment, all 
 mark that elegant and graceful fenfe of his own 
 fuperiority, Which thofe who are born to inferior 
 ftations can hardly ever arrive at : thefe are the 
 arts by which he propofes to make mankind more 
 eafily fubmit to his authority, and to govern their 
 inclinations according to his own pleafure : and 
 in this he is feldom difappointed. Thefe arts, 
 fupported by rank and pre-eminence, are, upon 
 ordinary occafions, furncient to govern the world. 
 Lewis XIV. during the greater part of his reign, 
 was regarded, not only in France ? but over all 
 G Europe, 
 
82 0/ Propriety. Parti. 
 
 Europe, as the moil perfect model of a great 
 prince. But what were the talents and virtues by 
 which he acquired this great reputation ? Was it 
 by the fqrupulous and inflexible juftice^ of all his 
 undertakings, by the immenfe dangers and dif- 
 ficulties with which they were attended, or by 
 the unwearied and unrelenting application with 
 which he purfued them ? Was it by his extenfive 
 knowledge, by his exquifite judgment, or by his 
 lieroic valour? It was by none of thefe -qualities. 
 But he was, firfl of all, the moll powerful prince 
 in Europe, and confequently held the higheft rank 
 among kings ; and then, fays his hiftorian, u he 
 " furpaiTed all his courtiers in the gracefulnefs of 
 " his ihape, and the majeftic beauty of his features. 
 V The found of his voice, noble and arTedling, 
 " gained thofe hearts which his prefence intimi- 
 " dated. He had a ftep and deportment which 
 " could fuit only him and his rank, and which 
 " would have been ridiculous in any other per- 
 " fon. The embarraflment which he occafioned 
 " to thofe who fpoke to him, flattered that fecret 
 " fatisfa&ion with which be felt his own fuperi- 
 " ority. The old officer, who was confounded 
 " and faultered in afking him a favour, and not 
 " being able to conclude his difcourfe, faidtchim, 
 <c Sir, your majefty, I hope, will believe that I 
 " do not tremble thus before your enemies : had 
 " no difficulty to obtain what he demanded.'* 
 Thefe frivolous accomplifnments, fupported by his 
 rank, and, no doubt, too, by a degree of other 
 talents and virtues, which feems, however, not 
 to have been much above mediocrity, eftablifhed 
 this prince in the efleem of his own age, and 
 have drawn ? even from pofterity, a good deal of 
 
 refpeft 
 
Sed. 3. O/Propriety, 83 
 
 refpecl: for his memory. Compared with thofe 
 of his own times, and in his own prefence, no 
 other virtue, it feems, appeared to have any me- 
 rit. Knowledge, induftry, valour, and beneficence, 
 trembled, were abafhed, and loft all dignity be- 
 fore them. 
 
 But it is not by accomplishments of this kind, 
 that the man of inferior rank mud hope to di- 
 flinguifh himfelf. Politenefs is fo much the virtue 
 of the great, that it will do little honour to any 
 body but themfelves. The coxcomb, who imi- 
 tates their manner, and affects to be eminent by 
 the fuperior propriety of his ordinary behaviour, 
 is rewarded with a double fhare of contempt for his 
 folly and prefumption. Why mould the man, whom 
 nobody thinks it worth while to look at, be very 
 anxious about the manner in which he holds up his 
 head, or difpofes of his arms while he walks through 
 a room ? He is occupied furely with a very Super- 
 fluous attention, and with an attention too that 
 marks a fenfe of his own importance, which no 
 other mortal can go along with. The moft per- 
 fect modefly and plainnefs, joined to as much ne- 
 gligence as is confident with the refpect due to 
 the company, ought to be the chief charadterif- 
 tics of the behaviour of a private man. If ever 
 he hopes to diftinguifh himfelf, it muft be by 
 more important virtues. He muft acquire de- 
 pendants to balance the dependants of the great, 
 and he has no other fund to pay them from, 
 but the labour of his body, and the activity of 
 his mind. He muft cultivate thefe therefore : he 
 muft acquire fuperior knowledge in his profeflion, 
 and fuperior induftry in the exercife of it. He 
 G 2 muft 
 
84 Qf Propriety,' Part I. 
 
 muft be patient in labour, refolute in danger, and 
 firm in diftrefs. Thefe talents he muft bring into- 
 public view, by the difficulty, importance, and, at 
 the fame time, good judgment of his undertakings, 
 and by the fevere and unrelenting application 
 with which he purfues them. Probity and pru- 
 dence, generofity and franknefs, muft characte- 
 rize his behaviour upon all ordinary occafions ; 
 and he muft, at the fame time, be forward to 
 engage in all thofe fituations in which it requires 
 the greateft talents and virtues to act with pro- 
 priety, but in which the greateft applaufe is to 
 be acquired by thofe who can acquit themfelves 
 with honour. With what impatience does the man 
 of fpirit and ambition, who is deprelfed by his 
 fituation, look round for fome great oppor- 
 tunity to diftinguifh himfelf? No circumftances, 
 which can afford this, appear to him undefirable. 
 He even looks forward with fatisfaclion to the 
 profpect of foreign war, or civil diffenfion • and, 
 with feeret tranfport and delight, fees through 
 all the confufion and bloodfhed which attend them, 
 the probability of thofe wifhed for occafions prefent- 
 ing themfelves, in which he may draw upon him- 
 felf the attention and admiration of mankind. The 
 man of rank and diftinction, on the contrary, 
 whofe whole glory confifts in the propriety of his 
 ordinary behaviour, who is contented with the 
 humble renown which this can afford him, and 
 has no talents to acquire any other, is unwilling 
 to embarrafs himfelf with what can be attended 
 either with difficulty or diftrefs. To figure at a 
 ball is his great triumph, and to fucceed in 
 an intrigue of ^gallantry, his higheft exploit. He 
 has an averfion to all public confufions, not from 
 
 the 
 
Sect. 3. Of P R O P R I E T y. 85 
 
 the love of mankind, for the great never look 
 upon their inferiors as their fellow-creatures ; nor 
 yet from want of courage, for in that he is fel- 
 dom defective ; but from a confcioumefs that he 
 porTefles none of the virtues which are required 
 in fuch fituations, and that the public attention 
 will certainly be drawn away from him by others. 
 He may be willing to expofe himfelf to fome 
 little danger, and to make a campaign when it 
 happens to be the fafhion. But he fh udders with 
 horror at the thought of any fituation which de- 
 mands the continual and long exertion of patience, 
 induftry, fortitude, and application of thought. 
 Thefe virtues are hardly ever to be met with in 
 men who are born to thofe high ftations. In all go- 
 vernments accordingly, even in monarchies, the 
 'higher! offices are generally pofTeifed, and the whole 
 detail of the adminiltration conducted by men who 
 were educated in the middle and inferior ranks of 
 life, who have been carried forward by their own 
 jndurtry and abilities, though loaded with the 
 jealoufy, and oppofed by the refentment of all thofe 
 who were born their fuperiors, and to whom the 
 great, after having regarded them firfh with con- 
 tempt, and afterwards with envy, are at laft con- 
 tented to truckle with the fame abject meannefs 
 with which they defire that the reft of mankind 
 mould behaye to themfelves. 
 
 It is the lofs of this eafy empire over the af - 
 feet ions of mankind which renders the fall from 
 greatnefs fo infupportable. When the family of 
 the King of Macedon was led in triumph by 
 Paulus jEmilius, their misfortunes, it is faid, made 
 them divide with their conqueror the attention 
 
 G 3 of 
 
26 Of Propriety. Parti. 
 
 of the Romon people. The fight of the royal 
 children, whofe tender age rendered them infen- 
 fible of their fituation, ftruck the fpettators, a- 
 midft the public rejoicings and profperity, with 
 the tendered forrow and companion. The King 
 appeared next in the procefTion - and feemed like 
 one confounded and aftonifhed, and bereft of all 
 fentiment, by the greatnefs of his calamities. His 
 friends and minifters followed after him. As they 
 moved along, they often call: their eye upon their 
 fallen fovereign, and always bur It into tears at the 
 fight ; their whole behaviour demonflrating that 
 they thought not of their misfortunes, but were 
 occupied entirely by the fuperior greatnefs of his. 
 The generous Romans, on the contrary, beheld 
 him with difdain and indignation, and legarded 
 as unworthy of all companion the man who could 
 be fo mean-fpirited as to bear to live under fuch 
 calamities. Yet what did thofe calamities amount 
 to ? According to the greater part of hiftorians, 
 he was to fpend the remainder of his days un- 
 der the protection of a powerful and humane 
 people, in a itate which in itfelf fhould feem 
 worthy of envy, a flate of plenty, eafe, leifure, and 
 fecurity, from which it was impoflible for him 
 even by his own folly to fall. But he was no 
 longer to be furrounded by that admiring mob 
 of fools, flatterers, and dependants, who had for- 
 merly been accuflomed to attend upon all his 
 motions. He was no longer to be gazed upon 
 by multitudes, nor to have it in his power to 
 render himfelf the object of their refpect, their 
 gratitude, their love, their admiration. The paf- 
 fions of nations v were no longer to mould them- 
 
 felves 
 
Sett. 3. 0/ Propriety, 87 
 
 felves upon his inclinations. This was that infup- 
 portable calamity which bereaved the King of all 
 fentiment ; which made his friends forget their own 
 misfortunes ; and which the Roman magnanimity 
 could fcarce conceive how any man could be fo 
 mean-fpirited as to bear to furvive. 
 
 " Love, fays my Lord Rochfoucault, is com- 
 * 4 monly fucceeded by ambition • but ambition 
 " is hardly ever fucceeded by love." That paf- 
 fion when once it has got entire pofTeflion of 
 the breail, will admit neither a rival nor a fuc- 
 ceflbr. To thofe wIiq have been accuftomed to 
 the poffeifion, or even to the hope of public ad- 
 miration, all other pleafures ficken and decay. Of 
 all the difcarded ftatefmen who for their own 
 eafe have fludied to get the better of ambition, 
 and to defpife thofe honours which they couhi no 
 longer arrive at, how few have been able to fuc- 
 ceed ? The greater part have fpent their time in 
 the moll lifllefs and infipid indolence, chagrined 
 at the thoughts of their own infignificancy, in- 
 capable of being interefled in the occupations 
 of private life, without enjoyment except when 
 they talked of their former greatnefs, and with- 
 out fatisfadtion except when they were employed 
 in fome vain project to recover it. Are you in 
 earneft refolved never to barter your liberty for 
 the lordly fervitude of a Court, but to live free, 
 fearlefs, and independent ? There feems to be one 
 way to continue in that virtuous refolution ; and 
 perhaps but one. Never enter the place from 
 whence fo few have been able to return j never 
 come within the circle of ambition ; nor even bring 
 yourfelf into comparifon with thofe mailers of the 
 
 G 4 earth 
 
88 0/ Propriety. Part I. 
 
 earth who have already engroiTed the attention of 
 half mankind before you. 
 
 Of fuch mighty importance does it appear to be, 
 in the imaginations of men, to fland in that fituation 
 which fets them moft in the view of general fympa- 
 thy and attention. And thus, place, that great ob- 
 ject which divides the wives of aldermen, is the end 
 of half the labours of life • and is the caufe of all the 
 tumult and buttle, all the rapine and injuftice, which 
 avarice and ambition have introduced into this world. 
 People of fenfe, it is faid, indeed defpife place •, that 
 is, they defpife fitting at the head of the table, and 
 are indifferent who it is that is pointed out to the 
 company by that frivolous circumflance, which the 
 fmalleft advantage is capable of overbalancing. But 
 rank, diflindtion, pre-eminence, no man defpifes, 
 unlefs he is either raifed very much above, or funk 
 very much below, the ordinary itandard of human 
 nature; unlefs he is either fo confirmed in wifdom 
 and real philofophy, as to be fatished that, while the 
 propriety of his conduft renders him the juft object 
 of approbation, it is of little confequence though he 
 be neither attended to, nor approved of; or fo habi- 
 tuated to the idea of his own rheannefs, fo funk in 
 flothful and fottifh indifference, as entirely to have 
 forgot the defire, and almoft the very wifh, for fu- 
 periority. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
Sed. 3. Of Propriety, 89 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Of the fiolcal philofophy. 
 
 w, 
 
 HEN we examine in this manner into the 
 ground of the different degrees of eftimation which 
 mankind are apt to beftow upon the different con- 
 ditions of life, we (hall find, that the exceflive pre- 
 ference, which they generally give to fome of them 
 above others, is in a great meafure without any 
 foundation. If to be able to act with propriety, 
 and to render ourfelves the proper objects of the ap- 
 probation of mankind, be, as we have been endea- 
 vouring to mow, what chiefly recommends to us 
 one condition above another, this may equally be 
 attained in them all. The noblelt propriety of con- 
 duel: may be fupported in adverfity, as well as in 
 profperity ; and though it is fomewhat more difficult 
 in the firft, it is upon that very account more ad- 
 mirable. Perils and misfortunes are not only the 
 proper fchool of heroifm, they are the only proper 
 theatre which can exhibit its virtue to advantage, 
 and draw upon it the full applaufe of the world. 
 The man, whofe whole life has been one even and 
 uninterrupted courfe of profperity, who never braved 
 any danger, who never encountered any difficulty, 
 who never furmounted any diftrefs, can excite but 
 an inferior degree of admiration. When poets and 
 romance-writers endeavour to invent a train of ad- 
 ventures, which fhall give the greater!: luflre to thofe 
 
 characters 
 
90 0/ P r o p r i e t y. Part L 
 
 characters for whom they mean to interefl us, they 
 are all of a different kind. They are rapid and fud- 
 den changes of fortune, fituations the moil: apt to 
 drive thofe who are in them to frenzy and diftraction, 
 or to abject defpair ; but in which their heroes act 
 with fo much propriety, or at leaft with fo much 
 ipirit and undaunted refolution, as ftill to command 
 our efleem. Is not the unfortunate magnanimity of 
 £ato, Brutus, and Leonidas, as much the object of 
 admiration, as that of the fuccefsful Caefar or Alex- 
 ander ? To a generous mind, therefore, ought it not 
 to be as much the object of envy ? If a more daz- 
 zling fplendor feems to attend the fortunes of fuc- 
 cefsful conquerors, it is becaufe they join together 
 the advantages of both fituations, the luflre of prof- 
 perity to the high admiration which is excited by 
 dangers encountered, and difficulties furmounted, 
 with intrepidity and valour. 
 
 It was upon this account that, according to the 
 iloical philofophy, to a wife man all the different 
 conditions of life were equal. Nature, they laid, 
 had recommended fome objects to our choice, and 
 others to our difapprobation. Our primary appe^ 
 tites directed us to the purfuit of health, ftrength, 
 eafe, and perfection, in all the qualities of mind and 
 body; and of whatever could promote or fecure 
 thefe, riches, power, authority : and the fame ori- 
 ginal principle taught us to avoid the contrary. But 
 in chufing or rejecting, in preferring or poftponing, 
 thofe firft objects of original appetite and averfion, 
 Nature had likewife taught us, that there was a cer- 
 tain order, propriety, and grace, to be obferved, of 
 infinitely greater confequence to happinefs and per- 
 fection, 
 
Se&. 3. O/Propriety. 91 
 
 fection, than the attainment of thofe objects them- 
 felves. The objects of our primary appetites or 
 aversions were to be purfued or avoided, chiefly 
 becaufe a regard to this grace and propriety requir- 
 ed fuch conduct. In directing all our actions ac- 
 cording to thefe, confided the happinefs and glory 
 of human nature. In departing from thofe rules 
 which they prefcribed to us, its greater! wretched- 
 nefs and moft complete depravity. The outward 
 appearance of this order and propriety was indeed 
 more eafily maintained in fome circumftances than 
 in others. To a fool, however, to one whofe paf- 
 fions were fubjected to no proper controul, to act 
 with real grace and propriety, was equally impof- 
 fible in every fituation. Though the giddy multi- 
 tude might admire him, though his vanity might 
 fometimes be elevated by their ignorant praifes into 
 fomething that refembled felf-approbation, yet flill 
 when he turned his view to what palled within his 
 own breaft, he was fecretly confcious to himfelf of 
 the abfurdity and meannefs of all his motives, and 
 inv/ardly blufhed and trembled at the thoughts of 
 the contempt which he knew he defer ved, and 
 which mankind would certainly bellow upon him 
 if they faw his conduct in the light in which in his 
 own heart he was obliged to regard it. To a wife 
 man, on the contrary, to one whofe pafTions were 
 all brought under perfect fubjection to the ruling 
 principles of his nature, to reafon and the love of 
 propriety, to act fo as to deferve approbation was 
 equally eafy upon all occafions. Was he in profpe- 
 rity, he returned thanks to Jupiter for having join- 
 ed him with circumftances which were eafily maf- 
 tered, and in which there was little temptation to 
 do wrong. Was he in adverfity, he equally, re- 
 turned 
 
92 Of Propriety. Part I. 
 
 turned thanks to the director of this fpec- 
 tacle of human life, for having oppofed to him a 
 vigorous athlete, over whom, though the 'con tell: 
 was likely to be more violent, the victory was more 
 glorious, and equally certain. Can there be any 
 fhame in that difLefs which is brought upon us with^ 
 out any fault of cur own, and in which we behave 
 with perfect propriety ? There can therefore, be no 
 evil, but, on the contrary, the greateit good and ad- 
 vantage. A brave man exults in thofe dangers, in 
 which, from no rafhnei's of his own, his fortune has 
 involved him. They afford an opportunity of ex- 
 ercifing that heroic intrepidity, whole exertion gives 
 the exalted delight which flows from the coniciouf- 
 nefs of fuperior propriety and deferved admiration. 
 One who is mailer of all his exercifes has no averfion 
 to meafure his flrength and activity with the ftrong- 
 eft. And in the fame manner, one who is mafter 
 of all his pafTions, does not dread any circumfiances 
 in which the fuperintendant of the univerfe may 
 think proper to place him. The bounty of that Di-r 
 vine Being has provided him with virtues which ren-^ 
 der him fuperior to every fituation. If it is pleafure, 
 he has temperance to refrain from it ; if it is pain, 
 he has conflancy to bear it ; if it is danger or death, 
 he has magnanimity and fortitude to defpife it. He 
 never complains of the defliny of providence, nor 
 thinks the univerfe in confufion when he is out of 
 order. He does not look upon himfelf, according 
 to what felf-love would fuggeft, as a whole, fepa- 
 rated and detached from every other part of nature, 
 to be taken care of by itfelf, and for itfelf. He re- 
 gards himfelf in the light in which he imagines the 
 great Genius of human nature, and of the world, 
 regards him. rfe enters, if I may fay fo, into the 
 
 fentiments. 
 
Sed. 3. O/Propriety, 93 
 
 fentiments of that Divine Being, and confiders him- 
 felf as an atom, a particle, of an immenfe and infi- 
 nite fyftem, which muft, and ought to be difpofed 
 of, according to the conveniency of the whole. Af- 
 fured of the wifdom which directs all the events of 
 human life, whatever lot befalls him, he accepts it 
 with joy, fatisfied that, if he had known all the con- 
 nexions and dependencies of the different parts of 
 the univerfe,.it is the very lot which he himfelf would 
 have wilhed for. If it is life, he is contented to 
 live : and if it is death, as Nature muft have no fur- 
 ther occafion for his prefence here, he willingly goes 
 where he is appointed. I accept, laid a floical phi- 
 lolbpher, with equal joy and fa tisf action, whatever 
 fortune can befal me. Riches or poverty, pleafure 
 or pain, health or ficknefs, all is alike : nor would 
 I defire that the gods mould in any refpect change 
 my deflination. If I was to afk of them any thing, 
 beyond what their bounty has already bellowed, it 
 mould be that they would inform me beforehand 
 what it was their pleafure mould be done with me, 
 that I might of my own accord place myfelf in this 
 fituation, and demonflrate the chearfulnefs with 
 which I embraced their allotment. If I am going 
 to fail, fays Epictetus, I chufe the bell fhip, and the 
 befl pilot, and I wait for the faireit weather that my 
 circumftances and duty will allow. Prudence and 
 propriety, the principles which the gods have given 
 me for the direction of my conduct, require this of 
 me i but they require no more : and if, notwith- 
 ftanding, a ftorm arifes, which neither the ftrength 
 of the veflel, nor the fkill of the pilot are likely to 
 withftand, I give myfelf no trouble about the con- 
 fequence. All that I had to do, is done already. 
 The directors of my conduct never command me 
 
 to 
 
SAr O/Proprtety. Part I. 
 
 to be miferable, to be anxious, defponding, or 
 afraid. Whether we are to be drowned, or to come 
 to a harbour, is the bufinefs of Jupiter, not mine. 
 I leave it entirely to his determination, nor ever 
 break my reft with confidering which way he is 
 likely to decide it, but receive whatever comes with 
 equal indifference and fecurity. 
 
 Such was the philofophy of the ftoics ; a philpr- 
 fophy which affords the nobleft leifons of magnani- 
 mity, is the belt fchool of heroes and patriots, and 
 to the greater part of whofe precepts there can be 
 no objection, except that honourable one, that they 
 teach us to aim at a perfection altogether beyond 
 the reach of human nature. I fhall not at prefent 
 ftop to examine it. I fhall only obferve, in confir- 
 mation of what has formerly been faid, that the 
 molt dreadful calamities are not always thofe which 
 it is moll difficult to fupport. It is often more mor- 
 tifying to appear in publick, under fmall difafters, 
 than under great misfortunes. The firft excite no 
 fympathy ; but the fecond, though they may excite 
 none that approaches to the anguifh of the fufferer, 
 callforth, however, a very lively companion. The 
 fentiments of the fpe&ators are, in this laft cafe, 
 therefore, lefs wide of thofe of the fufferer, and 
 their imperfect fellow-feeling lends him fome afiifl- 
 ancein Supporting his mifery. Before a gay aiTem- 
 bly, a gentleman would be more mortified to ap- 
 pear covered with filth and. rags than with blood 
 and wounds. This laft fituation would intereft 
 their pity ; the other would provoke their laughter. 
 The judge who orders a criminal to be fet in the 
 pillory, difhonours him: more than if he had con- 
 demned him to the fcaffold. The great prince, 
 
 who ? 
 
Sect. 3. O/Propriety. 05 
 
 who, fome years ago, caned a general officer at the 
 head of his army, difgraced him irrecoverably. 
 The punifhment would have been much lefs had he 
 fhot him through the body. By the laws of ho- 
 nour, to flrike with a cane difhonours, to ftrike with 
 a fword does not, for aft obvious reafon. Thofe 
 flighter punifhments when inflicted on a gentleman, 
 to whom dishonour is the greater!: of all evils, come 
 to be regarded among a humane and generous peo- 
 ple, as the moll dreadful of any. With regard to 
 perfons of that rank, therefore, they are univerfally 
 laid afide, and the law, while it takes their life up- 
 on many occafions, refpecls their honour upon al- 
 moft all. To fcourge a perfon of quality, or to 
 fet him in the pillory, upon account of any crime 
 whatever, is a brutality of which no European go- 
 vernment, except that of Rullia, is capable. 
 
 A brave man is not rendered contemptible by be- 
 ing brought to the fcaffbld; he is, by being fet in 
 the pillory. His behaviour in the one fituation may 
 gain him univerfal efteem and admiration. No be- 
 haviour in the other can render him agreeable. The 
 fympathy of the fpectators fupports him in the one 
 cafe, and faves him from that fliame, that confciouf- 
 nefs that his mifery is felt by himfelf only, which is 
 of all fentiments the moil unfupportable. There is 
 no fympathy in the other ; or, if there is any, it is 
 not with his pain, which is a trifle, but with his con- 
 icioufnefs of the want of fympathy with which this 
 pain is attended. It is with his fhame, not with 
 his forrow. Thofe who pity him, blufh and hang 
 down their heads for him. He droops in the fame 
 manner, and feels himfelf irrecoverably degraded 
 by the punifhment, though not by the crime. The 
 
 man, 
 
96 O/Propriety. Part L 
 
 man, on the contrary, who dies with resolution, as 
 he is naturally regarded with the erect afpect of ef- 
 teem and approbation, fo he wears himfelf the fame 
 undaunted countenance ; and, if the crime does 
 not deprive him of the refpect of others* the punifh- 
 ment never will. He- has no fufpicion that his fili- 
 ation is the object of contempt or derifion to any 
 body, and he can, with propriety, affume the air, 
 not only of perfect ferenity, but of triumph and 
 exaltation. 
 
 " Great dangers, fays the Cardinal de Retz, have 
 " their charms, becaufe there is fome glory to be 
 " got, even when we mifcarry. But moderate dan- 
 " gers have nothing but what is horrible, becaufe 
 " the lofs of reputation always attends the want of 
 " fuccefs." His maxim has the fame foundation 
 with what we have been juft now obferving with re- 
 gard to punifhments. 
 
 Human virtue is fuperior to pain, to poverty, to 
 danger, and to death ; nor does it even require its 
 utmoft efforts to defpife them. But to have its mi- 
 fery expofed to infult and derifion, to be led in 
 triumph, to be fet up for the hand of fcorn to point 
 at, is a fituation in which its conftancy is much more 
 apt to fail. Compared with the contempt of man- 
 kind, all other evils are eafily fupported. 
 
 PART 
 
PART II. 
 
 Of Merit and Demerit; of, of the Ob- 
 jects of Reward and Punishment. 
 
 Consisting of three Sections. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 Of the fenfc of merit and demerit. 
 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 A HERE is another fet of qualities afcribed to 
 the actions and conduct of mankind, diftinct from 
 their propriety or impropriety, their decency or un- 
 gracefulnefs, and which are the objects of a diftinct 
 fpecies of approbation and disapprobation. Thefe 
 are merit and demerit, the qualities of deferving 
 reward, and of deferving punifhment. 
 
 It has already been obferved, that the fentiment 
 or affection of the heart, from which any action 
 proceeds, and upon which its whole virtue or vice 
 depends, may be confidered under two different af- 
 pects, or in two different relations : firft, in rela- 
 tion to the caufe or object which excites it ; and, 
 fecondly, in relation to the end which it propofes, 
 
 H or 
 
98 Of Merit and Demerit. Part II. 
 
 or to the effect which it tends to produce : that up- 
 on the fuitablenefs or unfuitablenefs, upon the pro- 
 portion or difproportion, which the affection feems 
 to bear to the caufe or object which excites it, de- 
 pends the propriety or impropriety, the decency or 
 ungracefulnefs of the confequent action ; and that 
 upon the beneficial or hurtful effects which the affec- 
 tion propofes or tends to produce, depends the me- 
 rit or demerit, the good or ill defert of the action 
 to which it gives occafion. Wherein confifts our 
 fenfe of the propriety or impropriety of actions, has 
 been explained in the former part of this difcourfe. 
 We come now to confider, wherein confifts that of 
 their good or ill defert. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 That whatever appears to be the proper objetl of gratitude^ 
 appears to deferve reward; and that, in the fame man- 
 ner ', whatever appears to he the proper objeB of re- 
 fentment, appears to deferve punijhment. 
 
 O us, therefore, that action mull appear to de- 
 ferve reward, which appears to be the proper and 
 approved object of that fentiment, which mofl im- 
 mediately and directly prompts us to reward, or to 
 do good to another. And in the fame manner, 
 that action muft appear to deferve punifhment, 
 which appears to be the proper and approved object 
 of that fentiment which mofl: immediately and di- 
 rectly prompts us to publifli, or inflict evil upon 
 another. x 
 
 The 
 
Sect. I. Of Merit W Demerit, gg 
 
 The fentiment which mofl immediately and di- 
 rectly prompts us to reward, is gratitude; that which 
 moft immediately and directly prompts us to punifli, 
 is refentment. 
 
 To us, therefore, that action muft appear to de- 
 ferve reward, which appears to be the proper and ap- 
 proved object of gratitude ; as, on the other hand, 
 that action mufl appear to deferve punifhment, 
 which appears to be the proper and approved object 
 of refentment. 
 
 To reward, is to recompenfe, to remunerate, to 
 return good for good received. To punifh, too, is 
 to recompenfe, to remunerate, though in a different 
 manner ; it is to return evil for evil that has been 
 done. 
 
 There are fome other pafTions, befides gratitude 
 and refentment, which intereft us in the happinefs or 
 mifery of others ; but there are none which fo di- 
 rectly excite us to be the inftruments of either. The 
 love and elteem which grow upon acquaintance and 
 habitual -approbation, neceffarily lead us to be pleafed 
 with the good fortune of the man who is the object 
 of fuch agreeable emotions, and confequently, to be 
 willing to lend a hand to promote it. Our love, 
 however, is fully fatisfied, though his good fortune 
 mould be brought about without our arTiflance. All 
 that this paflion defires is to fee him happy, without 
 regarding who was the author of his prosperity. But 
 gratitude is not to be fatisfied in this manner. If the 
 perfon to whom we owe many obligations, is made 
 happy without our affiftance, though it pleafes Our 
 love, it does not content our gratitude. Till we 
 H 2 have 
 
ioo Of Merit and Demerit. Part II. 
 
 have recompenfed him, till we ourfelves have been 
 inftrumental in promoting his happinefs, we feel our- 
 felves flill loaded with that debt which his paft fer- 
 vices have laid upon us. 
 
 The hatred and diflike, in the fame manner, 
 which grow upon habitual difapprobation, would of- 
 ten lead us to take a malicious pleafure m the misfor- 
 tune of the man whofe conduct and character excite 
 fo painful a paflion. But though diflike and hatred 
 harden us againfl all fympathy, and fometimes dif- 
 pofe us even to rejoice at the diftrefs of another, yet, 
 if there is no refentment in the cafe, if neither we 
 nor our friends have received any great perfonal pro- 
 vocation, thefe paffions would not naturally lead us to 
 wifh to be inftrumental in bringing it about. Tho* 
 we could fear no punifhment in confequence of*our 
 having had fome hand it, we would rather that it 
 fhould happen by other means. To one under the 
 dominion of violent hatred it would be agreeable, 
 perhaps, to hear, that the perfon whom he abhorred 
 and detefted was killed by fome accident. But if he 
 had the leafl fpark of jultice, which, though this paf- 
 fion is not very favourable to virtue, he might flill 
 have, it would hurt him exceflively to have been him- 
 felf, even without defign, the occafion of this misfor- 
 tune. Much more would the very thought of volun- 
 tarily contributing to it fhock him beyond all meafure. 
 He would reject with horror even the imagination of 
 fo execrable a defign ; and if he could imagine him- 
 felf capable of fuch an enormity, . he would begin to 
 regard himfelf in the fame odious light in which he 
 had confidered the perfon who was the object of 
 his diflike. But>it is quite otherwife with refentment: 
 
 if 
 
Sect, i. 0/ Merit and Demerit. ioi 
 
 if the peribn who had done us fome great injury, 
 who had murdered our father or our brother, for ex- 
 ample, mould foon afterwards die of a fever, or even 
 be brought to the fcaffold upon account of fome other 
 crime, though it might footh our hatred, it would not 
 fully gratify our refentment. Refentment would 
 prompt us to defire, not only that he fhould be pu- 
 nifhed, but that he mould be punifhed by our means, 
 and upon account of that particular injury which he 
 had done to us. Refentment cannot be fully grati- 
 fied, unlefs the offender is not only made to grieve in 
 his turn, but to grieve for that particular wrong 
 which we have furfered from him. He muft be 
 made to repent and be forry for this very action, that 
 others, through fear of the like punifhment, may be 
 terrified from being guilty of the like offence. The 
 natural gratification of this paffion tends, of i^s own 
 accord, to produce all the political ends of punifh- 
 ment ; the correction of the criminal, and the exairn 
 pie to the public. 
 
 Gratitude and refentment, therefore, are the fenti- 
 ments which mod immediately and directly prompt 
 to reward and to punifli. To us, therefore, he muft 
 appear to deferve reward, who appears to be the 
 proper and approved object of gratitude ; and he to 
 deferve punifhment, who appears to be that of re- 
 fentment. 
 
 H 3 CHAP. 
 
 T>>. 
 
103 Of Merit and Demerit. Part II, 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Of the proper objefts of gratitude and refentment. 
 
 A be the proper and approved object either of 
 gratitude or refentment, can mean nothing but to 
 be the object of that gratitude, and of that refent- 
 ment, which naturally feems proper, and is ap- 
 proved of. 
 
 Eut thefe, as well as all the other paflions of hu^ 
 man nature, feem proper and are approved of, when 
 the heart of every impartial fpeftator entirely fym- 
 pathizes with them, when every indifferent by- 
 ftander entirely enters into, and goes along with 
 them. 
 
 He, therefore, appears to deferve reward, who, 
 to fome perfon or perfons, is the natural object of 
 a gratitude which every human heart is difpofed to 
 beat time to, and thereby applaud : and he, on the 
 other hand, appears to deferve punishment, who 
 in the fame manner is to fome perfon or perfons the 
 natural object of a refentment which the breaft of 
 every reafonable man is ready to adopt and fym- 
 pathize with. To us, furely, that a&ion mull ap- 
 pear to deferve reward, which every body who 
 knows of it would wifh to reward, and therefore 
 
 delights 
 
Sedt. i. Of Merit WDemerit. 103 
 
 delights to fee rewarded : and that adtion rnuft as 
 furely appear to deferve punifhment, which every- 
 body who hears of it is angry with, and upon that 
 account rejoices to fee punifhed. 
 
 1. As we fympathize with the jay of our compa- 
 nions when in profperity, fo we join with them in the 
 complacency and fatisfadtion with which they natu- 
 rally regard whatever is the caufe of their good for- 
 tune. We enter into the love and affection which 
 they conceive for it, and begin to love it too. We 
 mould be forry for their fakes if it was deftroyed, or 
 even if it was placed at too great a diftance from 
 them, and out of the reach of their care and protecti- 
 on, though they fhouid lofe nothing by its abfence 
 except the pleafure of feeing it. If it is man who 
 has thus been the fortunate inflrument of the happi- 
 nefs of his brethren, this is ftill more peculiarly the 
 cafe. When we fee one man aiiifled, protected, re- 
 lieved by another, our fympathywith the joy of the 
 perfon who receives the benefit ferves only to animate 
 our fellow-feeling with his gratitude towards him 
 who bellows it. When we look upon the perfon 
 who is the caufe of his pleafure with the eyes with 
 which we imagine he muft look upon him, his bene- 
 factor feems to ftand before us in the moil engaging 
 and amiable light. We readiiy therefore fympathize 
 with the grateful affection which he conceives for 
 a perfon to whom he has been fo much obliged ; and 
 confequently applaud the returns which he is difpof- 
 ed to make for the good offices conferred upon him. 
 As we entirely enter into the affection from which 
 thefe returns proceed, they neceffarily feem every 
 way proper and fuitable to their object. 
 
 H 4 2. In 
 
104 Of Merit and Demerit. Part II f 
 
 2. In the fame manner, as we fympathize with 
 the forrow of our fellow -creature whenever we fee 
 his diftrefs, fo we likewife enter into his abhorrence 
 and averfion for whatever has given occafion to it. 
 Our heart, as it adopts and beats time to his grief, fo 
 is it likewife animated with that fpirit by which he 
 endeavours to drive away or deftroy the caufe of it. 
 The indolent and paflive fellow-feeling, by which we 
 accompany him in his fufTerings, readily gives way 
 to that more vigorous and active fentiment by which 
 we go along with him in the effort he makes, either 
 to repel them, or to gratify his averfion to what has 
 given occafion to them. This is (till more peculiarly 
 the cafe, when it is man who has caufed them. 
 When we fee one man oppreffed or injured by an- 
 other, the fympathy which we feel with the diftrefs 
 of the fufferer feems to ferve only to animate our 
 fellow-feeling with his refentment againfl the offend- 
 er. We are rejoiced to fee him attack his adverfary 
 in his turn, and are eager and ready to aflift him 
 whenever he exerts himfelf for defence, or even for 
 vengeance within a certain degree. If the injured 
 mould perifh in the quarrel, we not only fympathize 
 with the real refentment of his friends and relations, 
 but with the imaginary refentment which in fancy 
 we lend to the dead, who is no longer capable of 
 feeling that or any other human fentiment. But as 
 we put ourfelves in his fituation, as we enter, as it 
 were, into his body, and in our imaginations, in fome 
 meafure, animate anew the deformed and mangled 
 carcafs of the flain, when we bring home in this man^ 
 ner his cafe to our own bofoms, we feel upon this, as 
 upon many other occafions, an emotion which the 
 x perfon 
 
Seel:, i. Of Merit ^Demerit. 105 
 
 perfon principally concerned is incapable of feeling, 
 and which yet we feel by anillufive fympathy with 
 him. The fym pathetic tears which we fhed for 
 that immenfe and irretrievable lofs, which in our 
 fancy he appears to have {Villained, feern to be but a 
 fmallpart of the duty which we owe him. The in- 
 jury which he has differed demands, we think, a 
 principal part of our attention. We feel that relent- 
 merit which we imagine he ought to feel, and which 
 he would feel, if in his cold and lifelefs body there 
 remained any conlcioufnefs of what paries upon 
 earth. His blood, we think, calls aloud for ven- 
 geance. The very aihes. of the dead feem to be 
 diflurbed at the thought that his injuries are to pafs 
 unrevenged. The horrors which are fuppoled to 
 haunt the bed of the murderer, the ghofls which, 
 fuperftition imagines, rife from their graves to de- 
 mand vengeance upon thofe who brought them to 
 an untimely end, all take their origin from this na- 
 tural fympathy with the imaginary refentment of 
 the (lain. And with regard, at lead, to this moft 
 dreadful of ail crimes, Nature, antecedent to all re- 
 flections upon the utility of punifhment, has in this 
 manner {tamped upon the human heart, in the 
 ftrongeft and moft indelible characters, an imme- 
 diate and iniVin&ive approbation of the jacted aad 
 peceflary law of retaliation. 
 
 C H A P 
 
 
io6 Of Merit and Demerit. Part II. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 "That where there is no approbation of the conduct of the 
 perfon who confers the benefit, there is little fympa- 
 thy with the gratitude of him who receives it : and 
 that, on the contrary, where there is no difapproba- 
 tion of the motives of the perfon who does the mif chief 
 there is no fort of fympathy with the refentment of him 
 isoho fuffers it. 
 
 i 
 
 T is to be obferved, however, that, how benefi- 
 cial foever on the one hand, or how hurtful 
 foever on the other, the actions or intentions 
 of the perfon who ads may have been to the per- 
 fon who is, if I may fay fo,, aded upon, yet if in 
 the one cafe there appears to have been no propriety 
 in the motives of the agent, if we cannot enter into 
 the affedions which influenced his condud, we 
 have little fympathy with the gratitude of the per- 
 fon who receives the benefit : or if, in the other 
 cafe, there appears to have been no impropriety 
 in the motives of the agent, if, on the contrary, 
 the affections which influenced his condud are fuch 
 as we muft- neceflarily enter into, we can have no 
 fort of fympathy with the refentment of the per- 
 fon who fuffers. Little gratitude feems due in the 
 one cafe, and all fort of refentment feems unjuft in 
 the other. The <*ne adion feems to merit little 
 reward, the other to defer ve no.punifliment. 
 
 I. Firfl, 
 
Sect, i. Of Merit and Demerit. 107 
 
 1 . Firft, I fay, that wherever we cannot fympa- 
 thize with the affections of the agent, wherever there 
 feems to be no propriety in the motives which influ- 
 enced his conduct, we are lefs difpofed to enter into 
 the gratitude of the perfon who received the benefit 
 of his actions. A very fmall return feems due to 
 that fooliih and profufe generofity which confers the 
 greater! benefits from the moft trivial motives, and 
 gives an eflate to a man merely becaufe his name and 
 furname happen to be the fame with thofe of the 
 giver. Such fervices do not feem to demand any 
 proportionable recompenfe. Our contempt for the 
 folly of the agent hinders us from thoroughly enter- 
 ing into the gratitude of the perfon to whom the good 
 office has been done. His benefactor feems un- 
 worthy of it. As when we place ourfelves in the 
 fituation of the perfon obliged, we feel that we could 
 conceive no great reverence for fuch a benefactor, 
 we eafily abfolve him from a great deal of that fub- 
 miflive veneration and efteem which we mould think 
 due to a more refpectable character; and provided 
 he always treats his weak friend with kindnefs and 
 humanity, we are willing to excufe him from many 
 attentions and regards which we mould demand to a 
 worthier patron. Thofe Princes, who have heaped, 
 with the greateft profufion, wealth, power, and 
 honours, upon their favourites, have feldom excited 
 that degree of attachment to their perfons which has 
 often been experienced by thofe who were more fru- 
 gal of their favours. The well-natured, but injudici- 
 ous prodigality of James the Firft of Great Britain 
 feems to have attached no body to his perfon 5 and 
 that Prince, notwithflanding his focial and harmlefs 
 difpofition, appears to have lived and died with- 
 out 
 
io8 0/ Merit and Demerit. Part II. 
 
 out a friend. The whole gentry and nobility of 
 England expofed their lives and fortunes in the 
 caufe of his more frugal and diftinguifhing fon, 
 notwithstanding the coldnefs and diftant feverity of 
 his ordinary deportment., 
 
 2. Secondly, I fay, That wherever the conduct 
 of the agent appears to have been entirely directed 
 by motives and affections which we thoroughly 
 enter into and approve of, we can have no fort of 
 fympathy with the refentment of the fufferer, how 
 great foever the mifchief which may have been done 
 to him. When two people quarrel, if we take 
 part with, and entirely adopt the relent men t of one 
 of them, it is impoflible that we fhould enter 
 into that of the other. Our fympathy with the 
 perfon whofe motives we go along with, and whom 
 therefore we look upon as in the right, cannot but 
 harden us againft all fellow-feeling with the other, 
 whom we neceiTarily regard as in the wrong. 
 Whatever this lair, therefore, may have fuffered, 
 while it is no more than what we ourfelves fhould 
 have wifhed him to fuffer, while it is no more than 
 what our own fympathetic indignation would 
 have prompted us to inflict upon him, it cannot 
 either difpleafe or provoke us. When an inhuman 
 murderer is brought to the fcarTold, though we 
 have fome companion for his mifery, we can have 
 no fort of fellow-feeling with his refentment, if 
 he mould be fo abfurd as to exprefs any againft 
 either his pirofecutor or his judge. The natural 
 tendency of their juft indignation againft fo vile a 
 criminal is indeed the moll fatal and ruinous to 
 him. But it is impoflible that we fhould be dif- 
 
 pleafed 
 
Sect, i. 0/ Merit and Demerit. 109 
 
 pleafed with the tendency of a fentiment, which, 
 when we bring the cafe home to ourfeives, we feel 
 that we cannot avoid adopting. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 Recapitulation of the foregoing Chapters. 
 
 w 
 
 E do not, therefore, thoroughly and heartily 
 fympathize with the gratitude of one man towards 
 another, merely becauie this other has been the 
 caufe of his good fortune, unlefs he has been the 
 caufe of it from motives which we entirely go along 
 with. Our heart muft adopt the principles of the 
 agent, and go along with all the affections which 
 influenced his conduct, before it can entirely fym- 
 pathize with, and beat time to, the gratitude of 
 the perfon who has been benefited by his actions. 
 If in the conduct of the benefactor there appears 
 to have been no propriety, how beneficial foever its 
 effects, it does not feem to demand, or neceflarily 
 to require, any proportionable recompenfe. 
 
 But when to the beneficent tendency of the 
 action is joined the propriety of the affection from 
 which it proceeds, when we entirely fympathize 
 and go along with the motives of the agent, the 
 love which we conceive for him upon his own 
 account, enhances and enlivens our fellow-feeling 
 
 with 
 
no Of Merit and Demerit. Part IL 
 
 with the gratitude of thofe who owe their profperity 
 to his good conduct. His actions feem then to 
 demand, and, if I may fay fo, to call aloud for a 
 proportionable recompenfe. We then entirely en- 
 ter into that gratitude which prompts to beftow it. 
 The benefactor feems then to be the proper object 
 of reward, when we thus entirely fympathize with, 
 and approve of, that fentiment which prompts to 
 reward him. When we approve of, and go along 
 with, the affection from which the action proceeds, 
 we muft neceffarily approve of the action, and re- 
 gard the perfon towards whom it is directed as its 
 proper and fuitable object. 
 
 2. In the fame manner, we cannot at all fympa- 
 thize with the refentment of one man againft ano- 
 ther, merely becaufe this other has been the caufe 
 of his misfortune, unlefs he has been the caufe of it 
 from motives which we cannot enter into. Before 
 we can adopt the refentment of the fufferer, we 
 muft difapprove of the motives of the agent, and 
 feel that our heart renounces all fympathy with the 
 affections which influenced his conduct. If there 
 appears to have been no impropriety in thefe, how 
 fatal foever the tendency of the action which pro- 
 ceeds from them to thofe againft whom it is di- 
 rected, it does not feem to deferve any punifh- 
 ment, or to be the proper object of any refent- 
 ment. 
 
 But when to the hurtfulnefs of the action is join- 
 ed the impropriety of the affection from whence it 
 proceeds, when our heart rejects with abhorrence 
 all fellow-feeling with the motives of the agents 
 
 wc 
 
Sedt. i. Of Merit and Demerit; hi 
 
 we then heartily and entirely fympathize with the 
 refentment of the fufferer. Such actions feem then 
 to defer ve, and, if I may fay fo, to call aloud for, 
 a proportionable punifhment • and we entirely enter 
 into, and thereby approve of, that refentment which 
 prompts to inflict it. The offender neceffarily 
 feems then to be the proper object of punifhment, 
 when we thus entirely fympathize with, and thereby 
 approve of, that fentiment which prompts to punifh. 
 In this cafe too, when we approve, and go along 
 with, the affection from which the action proceeds, 
 we mufl neceffarily approve of the action, and 
 regard the perfon againfl: whom it is directed, as its 
 proper and fuitable object. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
ii2 Of Me r i t and Dem er i f i Part IL 
 
 CHAP. \f. 
 
 Tbe analyjis of the fenfe of merit and demerit, 
 
 ■A 
 
 S our fenfe, therefore, of the propriety of 
 conduct arifes from what I mall call a direct fympa- 
 thy with the affections and motives of the perfon 
 who ads, fo our [enk of its merit arifes from what 
 I (hall call an indirect lympathy with the gratitude 
 of the perfon who is, if I may fay fo, acted upon. 
 
 As we cannot indeed enter thoroughly into the 
 gratitude of the perfon who receives the benefit, 
 unlefs we beforehand approve of the motives of the 
 benefactor, fo, upon this account, the fenfe of merit 
 feems to be a compounded fentiment, and to be 
 made up of two diftinct emotions ; a direct fympa- 
 thy with the fentiments of the agent, and an indi- 
 rect fympathy with the gratitude of thofe who re- 
 ceive the benefit of his actions. 
 
 We may, upon many different occafions, plainly 
 diftinguifh thofe two different emotions combining 
 and uniting together in our fenfe of the good defert 
 of a particular character or action. When we read in 
 hiflory concerning actions of proper and beneficent 
 greatnefs of mind, how eagerly do we enter into 
 fuch defigns ? How much are we animated by that 
 
 high- 
 
Sett. i. O/Merit and Demerit. 113 
 
 high-fpirited generofity which directs them ? How- 
 keen are we for their fuccefs ? How grieved at their 
 difappointment ? In imagination we become the very 
 perfon whofe actions are reprefented to us : we tran- 
 fport ourfelves in fancy to the fcenes of thofe diftant 
 and forgotten adventures, and imagine ourfelves 
 acting the part of a Scipio or a Camillus, a Timole- 
 on or an Ariltides. So far our fentiments are found- 
 ed upon the direct fympathy with the perfon who 
 atts. Nor is the indirect fympathy with thofe who 
 receive the benefit of fuch actions lefs fenfibly felt. 
 Whenever we place ourfelves in the fituation of thefe 
 lait, with what warm and affectionate fellow-feeling do 
 we enter into their gratitude towards thofe who ferved 
 them fo effentially ? We embrace, as it were, their 
 benefactor along with them. Our heart readily fym- 
 pathizeswith the higheft tranfports of their grateful 
 affection. No honours, no rewards, we think, can 
 be too great for them to beftow upon him. When 
 they make this proper return for his fervices, we 
 heartily applaud and go along with them ; but are- 
 mocked beyond all meafure, if by their conduct they 
 appear to have little fenfe of the obligations conferred 
 upon them. Our whole fenfe, in fhort, of the 
 merit and good defert of fuch actions, of the proprie- 
 ty and fitnefs of recompenfing them, and making 
 the perfon who performed them rejoice in his turn, 
 arifes from the fympathetic emotions of gratitude 
 and love, with which, when we bring home to our 
 own breaft the fituation of thofe principally concern- 
 ed, we feel ourfelves naturally tranfported towards 
 the man who could act with fuch pro]£er and noble 
 beneficence. 
 
 I 2. In 
 
ii4 0/ Merit and Demerit. Part II. 
 
 2. In the fame manner as our fenfe of the impro- 
 priety of conduct arifes from a want of fyrnpathy, or 
 from a direct antipathy to the affections and motives 
 of the agent, fo our fenfe of its demerit arifes from 
 what I fhall here too call an indirect fyrnpathy with 
 the refentment of the fufferer. 
 
 As we cannot indeed enter into the refentment of 
 the fufferer, unlefs our heart beforehand difapproves 
 the motives of the agent, and renounces all fellow- 
 feeling with them ; foupon this account the fenfe of 
 demerit, as well as that of merit, feems to be a com- 
 pounded fentiment, and to be made up of two dif- 
 tinct emotions ; a direct antipathy to the fentiments 
 of the agent, and an indirect fyrnpathy with the re- 
 fentment of the fufferer. 
 
 We may here too, upon many different occafions, 
 plainly diftinguifh thofe two different emotions com- 
 bining and uniting together in our fenfe of the ill 
 defert of a particular character or action. 'When 
 we read in hiflory concerning the perfidy and cruelty 
 of a Borgia or a Nero, our heart rifes up againft the 
 deteftable fentiments which influenced their conduct, 
 and renounces with horror and abomination all fel- 
 low-feeling with fuch execrable motives. So far 
 our fentiments are founded upon the direct antipathy 
 to the affections of the agent : and the indirect fyrn- 
 pathy with the refentment of the fufferers is ftill 
 more fenfibly felt. When we bring home to our- 
 felves the fituation of the perfons whom thofe 
 fcourges of mankind infalted, murdered, or betray- 
 ed, what indignation do we not feel againft fuch in- 
 folent and inhuman opprelfors of the earth ? Our 
 
 fyrnpathy 
 
Seel:, i. Of Merit ^Demerit. 115 
 
 fympathy with the unavoidable diilrefs of the innocent 
 fufferers is not more real nor more lively, than our 
 fellow-feeling with their juft and natural refentment. 
 The former fentiment only heightens the latter, and 
 the idea of their diflrefs ferves only to inflame and 
 blow up our animofrty againil thofe who occafioned 
 it. When we think of the anguifh of the fufferers, 
 we take part with them more earneflly againil their 
 oppreflbrs ; we enter with more eagernefs into all 
 their fchemes of vengeance, and feel ourfelves every 
 moment wreaking, in imagination, upon fuch viola- 
 tors of the laws of iociety, that puniihment which 
 Our fympathetic indignation tells us is due to their 
 crimes. Our fenfe of the horror and dreadful atro- 
 city of fuch conduct, the delight which we take in 
 hearing that it was properly punifhed, the indigna- 
 tion which we feel when it efcapes this due retaliati- 
 on, our whole fenfe and feeling, in fhort, of its ill 
 defert, of the propriety and fitnefs of infii&ing evil 
 upon the perfon who is guilty of it, and of making 
 him grieve in his turn, arifes from the fympathetic 
 indignation which naturally boils up in the breaft of 
 the fpectator, whenever he thoroughly brings home 
 to himfelf the cafe of the fufferer *. 
 
 * To afcribe in this manner our natural fenfe of the ill defert 
 of human actions to a fympathy with the refentment of the fufter- 
 er, may feem, to the greater part of people, to be. a degradation 
 of that fentiment. Refentment is commonly regarded as fo odious 
 a paffion, that they will be apt to think it impoffible that fo lau- 
 dable a principle, as the fenfe of the ill defert of vice, fhould in 
 any refpect be founded upon it. They will be more willing, per- 
 haps, to admit that our fenfe of the merit of good actions is found- 
 ed upon a fympathy with the gratitude of the perfons who re- 
 ceive the benefit of them ; becaufe gratitude, as well as all the 
 other benevolent paflions, is regarded as an amiable principle, 
 which can take nothing from the worth of whatever is founded 
 
 I 2 ut>qt\ 
 
n6 O/Merit and Demerit. Part II. 
 
 upon it. Gratitude and refentment, however, are in every refpect, 
 it is evident, counterparts to one another ; and if our fenfe of 
 merit arifes from a fympathy with the one, our fenfe of demerit can 
 fcarce mifs to proceed from a fellow feeling with the other. 
 
 Let it be confidered too that refentment, though, in the degrees 
 in which we too often fee it, the moil: odious, perhaps, of all the 
 paffions, is not difapproved of when properly humbled and entirely 
 brought down to the level of the fympathetic indignation of the 
 fpectator. When we, who are the byftanders, feel that our own 
 animofity entirely correfponus with that of the fufferer, when the 
 refentment of this laft does not in any refpect go beyond our own, 
 when no word, no gefture, efcapes him that denotes an emotion 
 more violent than what we can keep time to, and when he never 
 aims at infliding any punilhment beyond what we mould rejoice to 
 fee. inflicted, or what we ourfelves would upon this account even 
 defne to be the inftruments of infliding, it is impoflible that we 
 mould not entirely approve of his fentiments. Our own emotion 
 in this cafe mud, in our eyes, undoubtedly juftify his. And as 
 experience teaches us how much the greater part of mankind are 
 incapable of this moderation, and how great an effort muft be made 
 in order to bring down the rude and undifciplined impulfe of re- 
 fentment to this faitable temper, we cannot avoid conceiving a 
 confiderable degree of efteem and admiration for one who appears 
 capable of exerting fo much felf command over one of the mod 
 ungovernable paffions of his nature. When indeed the animofity 
 of the fufferer exceeds, as it almoft always does, what we can go 
 along with, as we cannot enter into it, we neceffarily difapprove of 
 it. We even difapprove of it more than we mould of an equal 
 exeefs of almoft any other paffion derived from the imagination. 
 And this too violent refentment, inftead of carrying us along with 
 it, becomes itfelf the object of our refentment and indignation. We 
 enter into the oppofite refentment of the perfon who is the object of 
 this unjuft emotion, and who is in danger of fuffering from it. 
 P.evenge, therefore, the exeefs of refentment, appears to be the 
 moll deteftable of all the paflions, and is the object of the horror 
 and indignation of every body. And as in the way in which this 
 paflion commonly difcovers itfelf among mankind, it is excelltve a 
 hundred times for once that it is moderate, we are very apt to con- 
 fider it as altogether^o-Jious and deteftable, becaufe in its moft or- 
 dinary appearances it is fo. Nature, however, even in the prefent 
 depraved ftate of mankind, does not feem to have dealt fo unkindly 
 
 with 
 
Sedt. i. Of Merit and Demerit. 117 
 
 with us, as to have endowed us with any principle which is 
 wholly in every refpect evil, or which, in no degree and in no direc- 
 tion, can be the proper object of praife and approbation. Upon 
 fome occailons we are fenfible that this pafiion, which is generally 
 too ftrong, may likewife be too weak. We fometimes complain 
 that a particular perfon thews too little ipirit, and has too little 
 fenfe of the injuries that have been done to him; and we are as 
 ready to defpife him for the defect, as to hate him for the excefs of 
 this paffion. 
 
 The infpired writers would not rarely have talked fo frequently 
 or fo ftrongiy of the wrath and anger of God, if they had regarded 
 every degree of thofe paffions as vicious and evil, even in fo weak 
 and imperfect a creature as man. 
 
 Let it be confidered too, that the prefent inquiry is not concern- 
 ing a matter of right, if 1 may fay fo, but concerning a matter of 
 fact. We are not at prefent examining upon what principles a per- 
 fect being would approve of the puniihment of bad actions ; but 
 upon what principles fo weak and imperfect a creature as man 
 actually and in fact approves of it. The principles which I have 
 juft now mentioned, it is evident, have a very great effect upon his 
 fentiments ; and it feems wifely ordered that it ihould be fo. 1 he 
 very exigence of fociety requires that unmerited and unprovoked 
 malice ihould be retrained by proper puniihments j and code- 
 quently, that to inflict thofe puniihments mould be regarded as a 
 proper and laudable action. Though man, therefore, be naturally 
 endowed with a defire of the welfare and prefervation of fociety, 
 yet the Author of nature has not entrufted it to his reafon to find 
 out that a certain application of puniihments is the proper means 
 of attaining this end ; but has endowed him with an immediate 
 and inftinctive approbation of that very application which is moll 
 proper to attain it. The ceconomy of nature is in this refpect ex- 
 actly of a piece with what it is upon many other occafions. ; With 
 regard to all thofe ends which, upon account of their peculiar im- 
 portance, may be regarded, if fuch an exprefiion is allowable, as 
 the favourite ends of nature, fhe has conftantly in this manner not 
 only endowed mankind with an appetite for the end which fhe pro- 
 pofes, but likewife with an appetite for the means by which alone 
 this end can be brought about, for their own fakes, and independent 
 of their tendency to produce it. Thus felf prefervation, and the 
 propagation of the fpecies, are the great ends which Nature feems 
 to have propofed in the formation of all animals. Mankind are 
 
 I , eadowed 
 
1 1 8 Of Merit and Demerit. Part II. 
 
 endowed with a defue of thofe ends, and an averfion to the contra- 
 ry ; with a love of life, and a dread of diiTolution ; with a defire 
 of the continuance and perpetuity of the fpecies, and with an aver- 
 fion to the thought's of its intire extinction. But though we are in 
 this manner endowed with a very ilrong defire of thofe ends, it has 
 not been intruded to the How and uncertain determinations of our 
 reafon, to find out the proper means of bringing them about. Na- 
 ture has directed us to the greater part of thefe by original and 
 immediate inftincts. Hunger, third, the pafiion which unites 
 the two fexes, the love of pleafure, and the dread of pain, prompt 
 us to apply thofe means for their own fakes, and without any con- 
 fideration of their tendency to thofe beneficent ends which the 
 great Director of nature intended to produce by them. 
 
 Before I conclude this note, I mud take notice of a difference 
 between the approbation of propriety and that of merit or benefi- 
 cence. Before we approve of the fentiments of any perfon as pro- 
 per and fuitable to their objects, we mull not only be affected in the 
 fame manner as he is, but we mull perceive this harmony and cor- 
 refpondence of fentiments between him and ourfelves. Thus, 
 though upon hearing of a misfortune that had befallen my friend, 
 I mould conceive precifely that degree of concern which he gives 
 way to j yet till I am informed of the manner in which he behaves, 
 till I perceive the harmony between his emotions and mine, I cannot 
 be faid to approve of the fentiments which influence his behaviour. 
 The approbation of propriety therefore requires, not only that we 
 fhould intirely fympathize with the peifon who acts, but that we 
 mould perceive this perfect concord between his fentiments and our 
 own. On the contrary, when I hear of a benefit that has been be- 
 llowed upon another peifon, let him who has received it be affected 
 in what manner he pleafes, if, by bringing his cafe home to myfelf, 
 I feel gratitude arife in my own bread, 1 necelTarily approve of the 
 conduct of his benefactor, and regard it as meritorious, and the pro- 
 per object of reward. Whether the perfon who has received the 
 benefit conceives gratitude or not, cannot, it is evident, in any degree 
 alter our fentiments with regard to the merit of him who has bellow 
 ed it. No actual correfpondence of fentiments, therefore, is here re- 
 quired. It is fufficient that if he was grateful, they would correi- 
 pond ; and our fenfe of merit is often founded upon one of thofe 
 illufive fympathies, by which, when we bring home to ourfelves the 
 cafe of another, we are often affected in a manner in which the per- 
 fon principally concerned is incapable of being affected. There is a 
 fimilar difference between our difapprobation of dement, and that of 
 impropriety. SEC- 
 
Sect. 2. Of Merit and Demerit. 119 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 Of juftice and beneficence, 
 
 CHAP. 1 
 
 Comparifon of thofe two virtues. 
 
 xxCTIONS of a beneficent tendency, which pro- 
 ceed from proper motives, feem alone to require 
 reward; becaufe fuch alone are the approved ob- 
 jects of gratitude, or excite the fympathetic gratis 
 tude of the fpectator. 
 
 Actions of a hurtful tendency, which proceed from 
 improper motives, feem alone to deferve punifh- 
 ment ; becaufe fuch alone are the approved objects of 
 refentment, or excite the fympathetic refentment of 
 the fpectator. 
 
 Beneficence is always free, it cannot be extorted 
 by force, the mere want of it expofes to no punifh- 
 ment ; becaufe the mere want of beneficence tends 
 to do no real pofitive evil. It may difappoint of the 
 good which might reafonably have been expected, 
 and upon that account it may juftly excite difiike 
 and difapprobation ; it cannot, however, provoke 
 I 4 any 
 
l2o Of Merit and Demerit. Part IL 
 
 any refentment which mankind will go along with. 
 The man who does not recompenfe his benefactor, 
 when he has it in his power, and when his benefactor 
 needs his arnftance, is, no doubt, guilty of the black- 
 eft ingratitude. The heart of every impartial fpec- 
 tator rejects all fellow-feeling with the felfifhnefs of 
 his motives, and he is the proper object of the higheft 
 difapprobation. But flill he does no pofitive hurt 
 to any body. He only does not do that good which 
 in propriety he ought to have done. He is the ob- 
 ject of hatred, a paflion which is naturally excited by 
 impropriety of fentiment and behaviour ; not of refent- 
 ment^ paflion which is never properly called forth but 
 by actions which tend to do real and pofitive hurt 
 to fome particular perfons. His v/ant of gratitude, 
 therefore, cannot be punilhed. To oblige him by 
 force to perform what in gratitude he ought to per- 
 form, and what every impartial fpectator would ap- 
 prove of him for performing, would if poflible, be 
 Itill more improper than his neglecting to perform it. 
 His benefactor would difhonour himfelf if he attempt- 
 ed by violence to conftrain him to gratitude, and it 
 would be impertinent for any third perfon, who was 
 not the fuperior cf either, to intermeddle. But of all 
 the duties of beneficence, thofe which gratitude re- 
 commends to us approach neareit to what is called 
 a perfect and complete obligation. What friend- 
 ship, what generofity, what charity, would prompt 
 us to do with univerfal approbation, is (till more free, 
 and can ftill lefs be extorted by force than the 
 duties of gratitude. We talk of the debt of grati- 
 tude, not of charity, or generofity, nor even of friend - 
 fliip, when friendfhip is mere efteem, and has not 
 been enhanced and complicated with gratitude for 
 
 good offices. 
 
 Refent^- 
 
Sect, a. Of Merit and Demerit. 12,1 
 
 Refentment feems to have been given us bv na- 
 ture for defence, and for defence only. It is the 
 fafeguard of juftice and the fecurity of innocence. 
 It prompts us to beat off the mifchief which is at- 
 tempted to be done to us, and to retaliate that which 
 is already done ; that the offender may be made to 
 repent of his injuftice, and that others, through fear 
 of the like punifhment, may be terrified from being 
 guilty of the like offence. It muft be refer ved 
 therefore for thefe purpofes, nor can the fpedator 
 ever go along with it when it is exerted for any 
 other. But the mere want of the beneficent virtues, 
 though it may difappoint us of the good which 
 might reafonably be expected, neither does, nor at- 
 tempts to do, any mifchief from which we can have 
 occafion to defend ourfelves. 
 
 There is however another virtue, of which the ob- 
 fervance is not left to the freedom of our own wills, 
 which may be extorted by force, and of which the 
 violation expofes to refentment, and confequently to 
 punifhment. This virtue is juftice : the violation of 
 juftice is injury : it does real and pofitive hurt to 
 fome particular perfons, from motives which are na- 
 turally difapproved of. It is, therefore, the proper 
 object of relentment, and of punifhment, which is 
 the natural confequence of refentment. As man- 
 kind go along with, and approve of, the violence 
 employed to avenge the hurt which is done by in- 
 juftice, fo they much more go along with, and ap- 
 prove of, that which is employed to prevent and 
 beat off the injury, and to reftrain the offender 
 from hurting his neighbours. The perfon himfelf 
 who meditates an injuftice is fenfible of this, and 
 feels that force may, with the utmoft propriety, be 
 
 made 
 
122 Of Merit and Demerit. Part II. 
 
 made ufe of, both by the perfon whom he is about 
 to injure, and by others, either to obitruct the ex- 
 ecution of his crime, or to punifh him when he has 
 executed it. And upon this is founded that re- 
 markable dirtindion between juftice and all the 
 other focial virtues, which has of late been parti- 
 cularly infilled upon by an author of very great 
 and original genius, that we feel ourfelves to ba 
 under a drifter obligation to ad according to juftice, 
 than agreeably to friendship, charity, or genero- 
 iity ; that the practice of thefe laft mentioned vir- 
 tues feems to be left in fome meafure to our own 
 choice but that, fomehow or other, we feel our- 
 felves to be in a peculiar manner tied, bound, and 
 obliged to the obfervation of juftice. We feel, 
 that is to fay, that force may, with the utmoft pn> 
 priety and with the approbation of all mankind, 
 be made ufe of to conftrain us to obferve the rules 
 of the one, but not to follow the precepts of the 
 other. 
 
 We mull: always, however, carefully diftinguifh 
 what is only blamable, or the proper object of dif- 
 approbation, from what force may be employed ei- 
 ther to punifh or to prevent. That feems blamable 
 which falls (hort of 'that ordinary degree of proper 
 beneficence which experience teaches us to expect 
 of every body •, and on the contrary, that feems 
 praife-worthy which goes beyond it. The ordinary 
 degree itfelf, feems neither blamable nor praife-^ 
 worthy. A father, a fon, a brother, who behaves 
 to the correfpondent relation, neither better nor 
 worfe than the greater part of men commonly do, 
 feems properly to deferve neither praife nor blame. 
 He who furprifes us by extraordinary and unexpect- 
 ed, 
 
Sedt 2. 0/ Merit W Demerit. 123 
 
 ed, though (till proper and fuitable kindnefs, or on 
 the contrary, by extraordinary and unexpected, as 
 well as unfuitable unkindnefs, feems praife-worthy in 
 the one cafe, and blamable in the other. 
 
 Even the moil ordinary degree of kindnefs or be- 
 neticehce, however, cannot, among equals, be ex- 
 torted by force. Among equals each individual is 
 naturally, and antecedent to the inftitution of ci- 
 vil government, regarded as having a right both to 
 defend himfelf from injuries, and to exact a certain 
 degree of punilhment for thofe which have been 
 done to him. Every generous fpectator not only ap- 
 proves of his conduct when he does this, but enters 
 fo far into his fentiments as often to be willing: to 
 afliil him. When one man attacks, or robs, or at- 
 tempts to murder another, all the neighbours take the 
 alarm, and think that they do right when they run, 
 either to revenge the perfon who has been injured, or 
 to defend him who is in danger of being fo. But when 
 a father fails in the ordinary degree of parental af- 
 fection towards a fon ; when a fon feems to want that 
 filial reverence which might be expected to his father ; 
 when brothers are without the ufual degree of bro- 
 therly affection • when a man (huts his breaft againft 
 xompafiion, and refufes to relieve the mifery of his 
 fellow-creatures, when he can with the greater!: eafe ; 
 in all theie cafes, though every body blames the 
 conduct, nobody imagines that thofe who might 
 have reafon, perhaps, to expect more kindnefs, 
 have any right to extort it by force. The fufferer 
 can only complain, and the fpectator can intermed- 
 dle no other way than by advice and perfuallon. 
 Upon all fuch occafions, for equals to ufe force 
 
 againft 
 
124 Of Merit and Demerit. Part If. 
 
 againft one another, would be thought the higheft 
 degree of infolence and prefumption. 
 
 A fuperior may, indeed, fometimes, with univer- 
 sal approbation, oblige thofe under his jurifdidtion 
 to behave, in this refpect, with a certain degree of 
 propriety to one another. The laws of all civilized 
 nations oblige parents to maintain their children, 
 and children to maintain their parents, and impofe 
 upon men many other duties of beneficence. The. 
 civil magistrate is entriifted with the power not only 
 of preferving the public peace by reftraining injuf- 
 tice, but of promoting the profperity of the com- 
 monwealth, by eftablifhing good discipline, and by 
 difcouraging every fort of vice and impropriety ; 
 he may prefcribe rules, therefore, which not only 
 prohibit mutual injuries among fellow citizens, but 
 command mutual good offices to a certain degree. 
 When the fovereign commands what is merely in- 
 different, and what, antecedent to his orders, might 
 have been omitted without any blame, it becomes 
 not only blamable but punifhabie to difobey him. 
 When he commands, therefore, what, antecedent 
 to any fuch order, could not have been omitted with- 
 out the greateft blame, it furely becomes much more 
 punifhabie to be wanting in obedience. Of all the 
 duties of a law-giver, however, this, perhaps, is 
 that which it requires the greater! delicacy and re- 
 ferve to execute with propriety and judgment. To 
 neglect it altogether expofes the common-wealth to 
 many grofs diforders and mocking enormities, and 
 to pufh it too far is deitructive of all liberty, fe- 
 curity, andjuftice. 
 
 v Though 
 
Sect. 2. Of Merit ^Demerit. 125 
 
 Though the mere want of beneficence feems to 
 merit no puni foment from equals, the greater ex- 
 ertions of that virtue appear to deferve the higheft 
 reward. By being productive of the greatefl good, 
 they are the natural and approved objects of the 
 livelier* gratitude. Though the breach of juftice, 
 on the contrary, expofes to punifhment, the obfer- 
 var.ce of the rules of that virtue feems fcarce to de- 
 ferve any reward. There is, no doubt, a propriety 
 in the practice of juftice, and it merits, upon that 
 account, all the approbation which is due to pro- 
 priety. m But as it does no real pofitive good, it is 
 entitled to very little gratitude. Mere juftice is, 
 upon moft occafions, but a negative virtue, and 
 only hinders us from hurting our neighbour. The 
 man who barely abftains from violating either the 
 perfon, or the eflate, or the reputation of his neigh- 
 bours, has furely very little pofitive merit. He 
 fulfils, however, all the rules of what is peculiarly 
 called juftice, and does everything which his equals 
 can with propriety force him to do, or which they 
 can punifh him for not doing. We may often fulfil 
 all the rules of juftice by fitting ftill and doing no- 
 thing. 
 
 As every man doth, fo mall it be done to him, 
 and retaliation feems to be the great law which is 
 dictated to us by Nature. Beneficence and gene- 
 rofity we think due to the generous and beneficent. 
 Thofe whofe hearts never open to the feelings of 
 humanity, ftiould, we think, be fhut out in the 
 fame manner, from the affections of all their fellow- 
 creatures, and be allowed to live in the midft of fo- 
 ciety,. as in a great defert where there is no-body to 
 care for them, or to inquire after them. The vio- 
 lator 
 
126 Of Merit and Demerit. Part II.. 
 
 latorof the laws of juftice ought to be made to feel 
 himfelf that evil which he has done to another ; and 
 fince no regard to the fufFerings of his brethren are 
 capable of reftraining him, he ought to be over- awed 
 by the fear of his own. The man who is barely in- 6 
 nocent ? who only obferves the law of juftice with 
 regard to others, and. merely abftains from hurting, 
 his neighbours, can merit only that his neighbours 
 in their turn mould refpecl his innocence, and that 
 the fame laws mould be religioufly obferved with re- 
 
 gard to him 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Of the fenfe of juftice, of remorfe, and of the confci* 
 oufnefs of merit. 
 
 \_ HERE can be no proper motive for hurting 
 our neighbour, there can be no incitement to do evil 
 to another, which mankind will go along with, ex- 
 cept jufl indignation for evil which that other has 
 done to us. To difturb his happinefs merely be- 
 caufe it Hands in the way of our own, to take from 
 him what is of real ufe to him merely becaufe it may 
 be of equal or more ufe to us, or to indulge, in this 
 manner, at' the expence of other people, the natural 
 preference which every man has for his own happi- 
 nefs above that of other people, is what no impar- 
 tial fpe&ator can go along with. Every man is, no 
 doubt, by nature} fir ft and principally recommend- 
 ed to his own care ; and as he is fitter to take care 
 
 of 
 
Sect. 2. Of Merit and Demerit. 127 
 
 of himfelf than of any other perfon, it is fit and right 
 that it fhould be fo. Every man, therefore, is much 
 more deeply interefted in whatever immediately 
 concerns himfelf, than in what concerns any other 
 man: and to hear, perhaps, of the death of another 
 perfon, with whom we have no particular connexion, 
 will give us lefs concern, will fpoil our flomach, or 
 break our reft much lefs than a very infignificant 
 difafter which has befallen ourfelves. But though 
 the ruin of our neighbour may affect us much lefs 
 than a very fmall misfortune of our own, we mult 
 not ruin him to prevent that fmall misfortune, nor 
 even to prevent our own ruin. We muft, here, as 
 in all other cafes, view ourfelves not fo much ac- 
 cording to that light in which we may naturally ap- 
 pear to ourfelves, as according to that in which we 
 naturally appear to others. Though every man 
 may, according to the proverb, be the whole world 
 to himfelf, to the reft of mankind he is a moft infig- 
 nificant part of it. Though his own happinefs may 
 be of more importance to him than that of all the 
 world befides, to every other perfon it is of no more 
 confequence than that of any other man. Though 
 it may be true, therefore, that every individual, in 
 his own breaft, naturally prefers himfelf to all man- 
 kind, yet he dares not look mankind in the face, 
 and avow that he acts according to this principle. 
 He feels that in this preference they can never go 
 along with him, and that how natural foever it may 
 be to him, it muft always appear exceflive and ex- 
 travagant to them. When he views himfelf in the 
 light in which he is confcious that others will view 
 him, he fees that to them he is but one of the mul- 
 titude in no refpect better than any other hi it. If 
 he would ad Co as that the impartial fpectator may 
 
 enter 
 
128 Of Merit ^Demerit. Part II, 
 
 enter into the principles of his conduct, which is 
 what of all things he has the greater!: defire to do, 
 he rrtuft, upon this, as upon all other occafions, 
 humble the arrogance of his felf-love, and bring it 
 down to fomething which other men can go along 
 with. They will indulge it fo far as to allow him 
 to be more anxious about, and to purfue with more 
 earneil affiduitv, his own happinefs than that of any 
 other perfon. Thus far, whenever they place them- 
 felves in his fituation, they will readily go along with 
 him. In the race for wealth and honours, and pre- 
 ferments, he may rim as hard as he can, and {train 
 every nerve and every mufcle, in order to outftrip 
 all his competitors. But if he mould juftle, or throw 
 down any of them, the indulgence of the fpeclators 
 is entirely at an end. It is a violation of fair play, 
 which they cannot admit of. This man is to them, 
 in every refpecl:, as good as he : they do not enter 
 into that felf-love by which he prefers himfelf fo 
 much to this other, and cannot go along with the 
 motive from which he hurt him. They readily, 
 therefore, fympathize with the natural refentment 
 of the injured, and the offender becomes the object 
 of their hatred and indignation. He is fenfiblethat 
 he becomes fo, and feels that thofe fentiments are 
 ready to burft out from all fides againfl him. 
 
 As the greater and more irreparable the evil that 
 is done, the refentment of the fufferer runs naturally 
 the higher^ fo does likewife the fympat'hetic indig- 
 nation of the fpeclator, as well as the fenfe of guilt 
 in the agent. Death is the greaterr. evil which one 
 man can inflict upon another, and excites the high- 
 eft degree of refentment in thofe who are immedi- 
 ately connected with the (lain. Murder, therefore, 
 
 is 
 
Sect. 2 Of Merit WDemerit. 129 
 
 is the moil attrocious of all crimes which affect in- 
 dividuals only, in the fight both of mankind, and of 
 the perfon who has committed it. To be deprived 
 of that which we are poifeffed of, is a greater evil 
 than to be disappointed of what we have only the 
 expectation. Breach of property, therefore, theft 
 and robbery, which take from us what we are pof- 
 fefled of, are greater crimes than breach of contract 
 which only difappoints us of what we expected. 
 The mofl facred laws of juftice, therefore, thofe 
 whofe violation feems to call the loudefl for ven- 
 geance and punifhment, are the laws which guard 
 the life and perfon of our neighbour ; the next are 
 thofe which guard his property and poffeflions ; and 
 laft of all come thofe which guard what are called 
 his perfonal rights, or what is duetto him from the 
 promifes of others. 
 
 The violator of the more facred laws of juftice 
 can never reflect on the fentiments which mankind 
 muft entertain with regard to him, without feeling 
 all the agonies of fhame, and horror, and confter- 
 nation. When his paflion is gratified, and he be- 
 gins coolly to reflect upon his conduct, he can enter 
 into none of the motives which influenced it. They 
 appear now as deteflable to him as they did always 
 to other people. By fympathizing with the hatred 
 and abhorrence which other men muft entertain for 
 him, he becomes in fome meafure the object of his 
 own hatred and abhorrence. The fituation of the 
 perfon, who fuffered by his injuftice, now calls upon 
 his pity. He is grieved at the thought of it; re- 
 grets the unhappy effects of his own conduct, and 
 feels at the fame time that they have rendered him 
 the proper object of the refentment and indignation 
 
 K of 
 
130 Of Merit and Demerit. Part IL 
 
 of mankind, and of what is the natural confequence 
 of refentment, vengeance and punifhment. The 
 thought of this perpetually haunts him, and fills 
 him with terror and amazement. He dares no lon- 
 ger look fociety in the face, but imagines himfelf 
 as it were rejected, and thrown out from the affec- 
 tions of all mankind. He cannot hope for the con- 
 folation of fympathy in this his greateft, and mod 
 dreadful diftrefs. The remembrance of his crimes 
 has fhut out all fellow-feelings with him from 
 the hearts of his fellow-creatures. The fenti- 
 ments which they entertain with regard to him, are 
 the very thing which he is moil afraid of. Every 
 thing feems hoflile, and lie would be glad to fly to 
 fome inhofpitable defert, where he might never more 
 behold the face of a human creature, nor read in 
 the countenance of mankind the condemnation of 
 his crimes. But folitude is flill more dreadful than 
 fociety. His own thoughts can prefent him with 
 nothing but what is black, unfortunate, and difafl- 
 rous, the melancholy forebodings of incomprehen- 
 fible mifery and ruin. The horror of folitude drives 
 him back into fociety, and he comes again into the 
 prefence of mankind, aftonifhed to appear before 
 them, loaded with fhame and dift.rac~t.ed with fear, 
 in order to fupplicate fome little protection from the 
 countenance of thofe very judges, who he knows 
 have already all unanimoufly condemned him. Such 
 is the nature of that fentiment, which is properly 
 called remorfe ; of all the fentiments which can en- 
 ter the human breaft the moil: dreadful. It is made 
 up of fhame from the fenfe of the impropriety of 
 paft conduct ; of grief for the effe&s.of it ; of pity 
 for thofe who fuj~fer by it ; and of the dread and ter- 
 ror of punifhment from the confcioufnefs of the juft- 
 ly provoked refentment of all rational creatures. 
 
 The 
 
Sett. 2. O/Merit WDemerit. 131 
 
 The oppofite behaviour naturally infpires the op- 
 pofite fentiment. The man who, not from frivo- 
 lous fancy, but from proper motives, has perform- 
 ed a generous action, when he looks forward to 
 thofe whom he has ferved, feels himfelf to be the 
 natural- object of their love and gratitude, and, by 
 fympathy with them, of the efteem and approba- 
 tion of all mankind. And when he looks back- 
 ward to the motive from which he acted, and fur- 
 veys it in the light in which the indifferent fpectator 
 will furvey it, he dill continues to enter into it, and 
 applauds himfelf by fympathy with the approbation 
 of this fuppofed impartial judge. In both thefe 
 points of view his' own conduct appears to him 
 every way agreeable. His mind, at the thought of 
 it, is filled with cheerfulnefs, ferenity, and compo- 
 fure. He is in friendfhip and harmony with all 
 mankind, and looks upon his fellow-creatures with 
 confidence and benevolent fatisfaction, fecure that 
 he has rendered himfelf worthy of their molt favour- 
 able regards. In the combination of all thefe fenti- 
 ments confifls the confcioufnefs of merit, or of de- 
 fer ved reward. 
 
 K 2 CHAP, 
 
132 0/ Merit ^ Demerit. Part II. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Of the utility of this conftitution of nature. 
 
 i 
 
 T is thus that man, who cain fubfift only in fo- 
 ciety, was fitted by nature to that fituationfor which 
 he was made. AH the members of human fociety 
 ftand in need of each others afliftance, and are like- 
 wife expofed to mutual injuries. Where thenecef- 
 fary afliftance is reciprocally afforded from love, 
 from gratitude, from friendship and efteem, the 
 fociety flourishes and is happy. All the different 
 members of it are bound together by the agreeable 
 bands of love and affection, and are, as it were, 
 drawn to one common centre of mutual good of- 
 fices. 
 
 But though the neceflary afliftance fhould not be 
 afforded from fuch generous and difmterefted mo- 
 tives, though among the different members of the 
 fociety there fhould be no mutual love and affection, 
 the fociety, though lefs happy and agreeable, will 
 not neceffarily be diflblved. Society may fubfift 
 among different men, as among different merchants, 
 from a fenfe of its utility, without any mutual love 
 or affection ; and though no man in it fhould owe 
 any obligation, or be bound in gratitude to any 
 other, it may x ltill be upheld by a mercenary ex- 
 change of good offices according to an agreed va~ 
 
 luation. 
 
 Society, 
 
Sedt. 2. Of Merit W Demerit, 133 
 
 Society, however, cannot fubfift among thofe 
 who are at all times ready to hurt and injure one 
 another. The moment that injury begins, the mo- 
 ment that mutual fefentment and ahimofity take 
 place, all the bands of it are broke afunder, and the 
 different members of which it condiled are, as it 
 were, diflipated and fcattered abroad by the violence 
 and oppofition of their difcordant affections. If 
 there is any fociety among robbers and murderers, 
 they muft at leaft, according to the trite cbfervation, 
 abflain from robbing and murdering one another. 
 Beneficence, therefore, is lefs eilential to the exig- 
 ence of fociety than juilice. Society may fubfift, 
 though not in the moft' comfortable ftate, without 
 beneficence ; but the prevalence of injuftice muft 
 utterly deflroy it. 
 
 Though Nature, therefore, exhorts mankind to 
 ads of beneficence, by the pleafing confcioufnefs of 
 deferved reward, flue has not thought it neceiTary to 
 guard and enforce the practice of it by the terrors 
 of merited punifhment in cafe it mould be neglect- 
 ed. It is the ornament which embellifhes, not the 
 foundation which fupports the building, and which 
 it was, therefore, fufhcient to recommend, but by 
 no means neceiTary to impofe. Juftice, on the con- 
 trary, is the main pillar that upholds the whole edi- 
 fice. If it is removed, the great, thejmmenfe fa- 
 bric of human fociety, that fabric which to raife and 
 fupport feems in this world, if I may fay fo, to have 
 been the peculiar and darling care of Nature^ muft 
 in a moment crumble into atoms. In order to en- 
 force the obfervation of juftice, therefore, Nature 
 has implanted in the human breaft that confciouf- 
 nefs of ill-defert, thofe terrors of merited punifh- 
 
 K 3 ment 
 
134 Of "Merit and DemeriT} Part II. 
 
 merit which attend upon its violation, as the great 
 fafe-guards of the affociation of mankind, to pro- 
 ted the weak, to curb the violent, and to chaftife 
 the guilty. Men, though naturally fympathetic, feel 
 fo little for another, with whom they have no par- 
 ticular connexion, in companion for what they feel 
 for themfelves ; the mifery of one, who is merely 
 their fellow-creature, is of fo little importance .to 
 them in comparifon even of a fmall conveniency of 
 their own -, they have it fo much in their power to 
 hurt him, and may have fo many temptations to 
 do fo, that if this principle did not {land up within 
 them in his defence, and overawe them into a re- 
 fpect for his innocence, they would, like wild 
 beafts, be at all times ready to fly upon him ; and 
 a man would enter an aiTembly of men as he enters 
 a den of lions. 
 
 In every part of the univerfe we obferve means 
 adjufted with the nicefl artifice to the ends which 
 they are intended to produce; and in the mecha- 
 nifm of a plant, or animal body, admire how every 
 thing is contrived for advancing the two great pur- 
 pofes of nature, the fupport of the individual, and 
 the propagation of the fpecies. But in thefe, and 
 in all fuch objects, we (till diftinguifh the efficient 
 from the final caufe of their feveral motions and or- 
 ganizations. The digeflion of the food, the circu- 
 lation of the blood, and the , fecretion of the feve- 
 ral juices which are drawn from it, are operations all 
 of them rieceuary for the great purpofes of animal 
 life. Yet we never endeavour to. account for them 
 from thofe purpofes as from their efficient caufes, 
 nor imagine that the blood circulates, or that the 
 food digeits oPks own accord, and with a view or 
 
 intention 
 
Sect. %. Of Merit and Demerit. 135 
 
 intention to the purpofes of circulation or digeftion. 
 The wheels of the watch are all admirably adjufted 
 to the end for which it was made, the pointing of 
 the hour. All their various motions confpire in the 
 niceft manner to produce this effect. If they were 
 endowed with a defire and intention to produce it, 
 they could not do it better. Yet we never afcribe 
 any fuch defire or intention to them, but to the 
 watch-maker, and we know that they are put in mo- 
 tion bv a fpring, which intends the effect it pro- 
 duces as little as they do. But though, in account- 
 ing for the operations of bodies, we never fail to 
 diftinguifh in this manner the efficient from the final 
 caufe, in accounting for thofe of the mind^ we are 
 very apt to confound thofe two different things with 
 one another. When by natural principles we are 
 led to advance thofe ends, which a refined and en- 
 lightened reafon mould recommend to us, we are 
 very apt to impute to that reafon, as to their efficient 
 caufe, the fentiments and actions by which we ad- 
 vance thofe ends, and to imagine that to-be the wif- 
 dom of man, which in reality is the wifdom of God. 
 Upon a fuperficial view this caufe feems fufficient to 
 produce the effects which are afcribed to it ; and the 
 fyftem of human nature feems to be more fimple 
 and agreeable when all its different operations are in 
 this manner deduced from a fmgle principle. 
 
 As fociety cannot fubfift unlefs the laws of juftice 
 are totally obferved, as no focial intercourfe can take 
 place among men who do not generally abftain 
 from injuring one another ; the confideration of this 
 neceflity, it has been thought, was the ground upon 
 which we approved of the enforcement of the laws 
 of jultice by the punifhment of thofe who violated 
 
 K 4 them. 
 
136 Of Merit W Demerit. Part II. 
 
 them. Man, it has been faid, has a natural love 
 for fociety, and defires that the union of mankind 
 fhould be preferved for its own fake, and though he 
 himfelf was to derive no benefit from it. The or- 
 derly and flourifhing (late of fociety is agreeable to 
 him, and he takes delight in contemplating it. Its 
 diforder and confufion, on the contrary, is the ob- 
 ject of his averfion, and he is chagrined at whatever 
 tends to produce it. He is fenfibie too that his own 
 interefl is connected with the profperity of fociety, 
 and that the happinefs, perhaps the prefervation of 
 his exiitence, depends upon its prefervation. Upon 
 every account, therefore, he has an abhorrence at 
 whatever can tend to deftroy fociety, and is willing 
 to make ufe of every means, which can hinder fo 
 hated and fo dreadful an event. Injuftice neceffa- 
 rily tends to deftroy it. Every appearance of in- 
 juftice, therefore, alarms him, and he runs, if I may 
 fay fo, to ftop the progrefs of what, if allowed to go 
 on, would quickly put an end to every thing that is 
 dear to hirrr. If he cannot reftrain it by gentle and 
 fair means, he muft bear it down by force and vio- 
 lence, and at any rate muft put a ftop to its fur- 
 ther progrefs. Hence it is, they fay, that he often 
 approves of the enforcement of the law of juftice 
 even by the capital puniftiment of thofe who vio- 
 late them. The difturber of the public peace is 
 hereby removed out of the world, and others are 
 terrified by his fate from imitating his example. 
 
 Such is the account commonly given of our ap- 
 probation of the punifhment of' injuftice. And fo 
 far this account is undoubtedly true, that we fre- 
 quently have occaiion to confirm our natural fenfe 
 of the propriety and fitnefs of pimifhment, by reflec- 
 ting 
 
Sect. 2. Of Merit ^Demerit, 137 
 
 ting how neceflary it is for preferring the order of 
 ibciety. When the guilty is about to fuffer that 
 juft retaliation, which the natural indignation of 
 mankind tells them is due to his crimes ; when the 
 infolence of his injuftice is broken and humbled by 
 the terror of his approaching punifhment ; when he 
 ceafes to be an object of fear, with the generous and 
 humane he begins to be an object of pity. The 
 thought of what he is about to fuffer extinguishes 
 their refentment for the fufferings of others to which 
 he has given occafion. They are difpofed to par- 
 don and forgive him, and to fave him from that pu- 
 nifhment, which in all their cool hours they had con- 
 fidered as the retribution due to fuch crimes. Here, 
 therefore, they have occafion to call to their aflift- 
 ance the consideration of the general intereft of fo- 
 ciety. They counterbalance the impalfe of this 
 weak and partial humanity by the dictates of a hu- 
 manity that is more generous and comprehenfive. 
 They reflect that mercy to the guilty is cruelty to 
 the innocent, and oppofe to the emotions of com- 
 panion which they feel for a particular perfon, a 
 more enlarged companion which they feel for man- 
 kind. 
 
 Sometimes too we have occafion to defend the 
 propriety of obferving the general rules of juflice by 
 the confideration of their necelTity to the fupport of 
 fociety. We frequently hear the young and the li- 
 centious ridiculing the mofl facred rules of morality, 
 and profefling, fometimes from the corruption, but 
 more frequently from the vanity of their hearts, the 
 mofl abominable maxims of conduct. Our indig- 
 nation roufes, and we are eager to refute and ex- 
 pofe fuch deteftable principles. But though it is 
 
 their 
 
138 Of Merit and Demerit. Part II. 
 
 their intrinfic hatefulnefs and deteftablenefs, which 
 originally inflames us againfl them, we are unwil- 
 ling to aflign this as the fole reaion why we con- 
 demn them, or to pretend that it is merely becaufe 
 we ourfelves hate and detefl them. The reaion, we 
 think, would not appear to be conclufive. Yet 
 why fhould it not > if we hate and deteft them be- 
 caufe they are the natural and proper objects of ha- 
 tred and deteftation ? But when we are afeed why 
 we mould not act in fuch or fuch a manner, the 
 very quefhion feems to fuppofe that, to thofe who 
 afk it, this manner of acting does not appear to be 
 for its own fake the natural and proper object of 
 thofe fentiments. We mult (how them, therefore, 
 that it ought to be fo for the fake of fomething elfe. 
 Upon this account we generally cafl about for other 
 arguments, and the confideration which full occurs 
 to us is the diforder and confufion of fociety which 
 would refult from the univerfal prevalence of fuch 
 practices. We feldom fail, therefore, to infill upon 
 this topic. 
 
 But though it commonly requires no great dif- 
 cernment to fee the deftructive tendency of all li- 
 centious practices to the welfare of fociety, it is fel- 
 dom this confideration which firfl animates us a- 
 gainit them. All men, even the mod ftupid and 
 unthinking, abhor fraud, perfidy, and injuftice, and 
 delight to fee them punifhed. But few men have re- 
 flected upon the neceflity of juftice to the exiftence of 
 fociety, how obvious foever that neceflity may ap- 
 pear to be. 
 
 That it is not a regard to the prefervation of fo- 
 ciety, which originally interefts us in the punifhment 
 
 of 
 
Sett. 2. Of Merit and Demerit. 1-9 
 
 of crimes committed againfl individuals, may be de- 
 monilrated by many obvious confiderations. The 
 concern which we take in f he fortune and happlnefs 
 of individuals does not, in common cafes, arife from 
 that which we take in the fortune and happinefs of 
 fociety. We are no more concerned for the de- 
 ftrudtidn or lofs of a fingle man, becaufe this man is 
 a member or part of fociety, and becaufe we mould 
 be concerned for the definition of fociety, than we 
 are concerned for the lofs of a fingle guinea, becaufe 
 this guinea is a part of a thoufand guineas, and be- 
 caufe we mould be concerned for the lofs of the 
 whole fum. In neither cafe does our regard for the 
 individuals arife from our regard for the multitude : 
 but in both cafes our regard for the multitude is 
 compounded and made up of the particular regards 
 which we feel for the different individuals of which 
 it is compofed. As when a fmall fum is nnjuftly 
 taken from us we do not fo much profecute the in- 
 jury from a regard to the prefer vation of our whole 
 fortune, as from a regard to that particular fum 
 which we have loft ; fo when a fingle man is injured 
 or deftroyed, we demand the punifhment of the 
 wrong that has been done to him, not fo much from 
 a concern for the general intereft of fociety, as from 
 a concern for that very individual who has been in- 
 jured. It is to be obferved, however, that this 
 concern does not necelfarily include in it any degree 
 of thofe exquifite fentiments which are commonly 
 called love, efreem, and affection, and by which we 
 diftinguifh our particular friends and acquaintance. 
 The concern which is requifite for this is no more 
 than the general fellow-feeling which we have with 
 every man merely becaufe he is our fellow-creature. 
 We enter into the refentment even of an odious per- 
 
 fon, 
 
140 Of Merit and Demerit. PartIL 
 
 ion, when he is injured by thofe to whom he has 
 given no provocation. Our difapprobation of his 
 ordinary character and conduct, does not in this 
 cafe altogether prevent our fellow-feeling with his 
 natural indignation ; though with thofe who are not 
 either extremely candid, or who have not been ac- 
 cuflomed to correct and regulate their natural fenti- 
 ments by general rules, it is very apt to damp it. 
 
 Upon fome occafions, indeed, we both punifh 
 and approve of punifhment, merely from a view to 
 the general intereil of fociety, vvhich, we imagine, 
 cannot otherwife be fecured. Of this kind are all 
 the punifhments inflicted for breaches of what is 
 called either civil police, or military difcipline. Such 
 crimes do not immediately or directly hurt any | par- 
 ticular perfon ; but their remote confequences, it is 
 fuppofed, do produce, or might produce, either a 
 confiderable inconveniency, or a great diforder in 
 the fociety. A centinel, for example, who falls afleep 
 upon his watch, furTers death by the law of war, be- 
 caufe fuch carelefTnefs might endanger the whole ar- 
 my. This feverity may, upon many occafions, ap- 
 pear neceifary, and, for that reafon, juft and proper. 
 When the prefervation of an individual is incon- 
 fiflent with the fafety of a multitude, nothing can be 
 more juft than that the many mould be preferred to 
 the one. Yet this punifhment, how neceflary fo- 
 ever, always appears to be excefllvely fevere. The 
 natural atrocity of the crime feems to be fo little, 
 ?nd the punifhment fo great, that it is with great 
 difficulty that our hearts can reconcile itfelf to it. 
 Though fuch carelefTnefs appears very blamable, 
 yet the thought of this crime does not naturally ex- 
 cite any fuch re"fentment, as would prompt us to 
 
 take 
 
Sect. 2. Of Merit and Demerit. 141 
 
 take fuch dreadful revenge. A man of humanity 
 mull recollect, himfelf, mufc make an effort, and ex- 
 ert his whole ftrmnefs and refolution, before he can 
 bring himfelf either to inflict it, or to go along with 
 it when it is inflicted by others. It is not, however, 
 in this manner, that he looks upon the juft pimifh- 
 ment of an ungrateful murderer or parricide. His 
 heart, in this cafe, applauds with ardour, and even 
 with tranfport, the juft retaliation which feems due 
 to fuch deteftable crimes, and which, if, by any ac- 
 cident, they mould happen to efcape, he would be 
 highly enraged and difappointed. The very differ- 
 ents fentiment with which the fpectator views thofe 
 different punifhments, is a proof that his approba- 
 tion of the one is far from being founded upon 
 the fame principles with that of the other. He looks 
 upon the centinel as an unfortunate victim, who, in- 
 deed, mult., and ought to be, devoted to the fafety 
 of numbers, but whom Hill, in his heart, he would 
 be glad to fave • and he is only forry, that the inter- 
 eft of the many mould oppofe it. Buf if the mur- 
 derer mould efcape from puniifiment, it would ex- 
 cite his higheft indignation, and he would call upon 
 God to avenge, in another world, that crime which 
 the injuftice of mankind had negle&ed to chaftife 
 upon earth. 
 
 For it well deferves to be taken notice of, that we 
 are fo far from imagining that injuftice ought to be 
 punifhed in this life, merely on account of the or- 
 der of fociety, which cannot otherwife be maintain- 
 ed,, that Nature teaches us to hope, and religion, we 
 fuppofe, authorizes us to expedt, that it will be pu- 
 nifhed, even in a life to come. Our fenfe of its ill 
 defert purfues it, if I may fay fo, even beyond the 
 
 grave, 
 
142 Of Merit and Demerit. Part II. 
 
 grave, though the example of its pimimment there 
 cannot ferve to deter the reft of mankind, who fee 
 it not, who know it not, from being guilty of the 
 like practices here. The juftice of God, however, 
 we think, itill requires, that he mould hereafter 
 avenge the injuries of the widow and the fatherlefs, 
 who are here lb often infulted with impunity. 
 
 That the Deity loves' virtue and hates vice, as a 
 voluptuous man loves riches and hates poverty, not 
 for their own fakes, but for the effects which they 
 tend to produce ; that he loves the one, only becaufe 
 it promotes the happinefs of fociety, which his be- 
 nevolence prompts him to defire •, and that he hates 
 the other, only becaufe it occafionsthe miferyof man- 
 kind, which the fame divine quality renders the ob- 
 ject of his averfion ; is not the doctrine of untaught 
 nature, but of an artificial refinement of reafon and 
 philofophy. Our untaught, natural fentiments, all 
 prompt us to believe, that as perfect virtue is fup- 
 pofed neceilarily to appear to the Deity, as it does 
 to us, for its own fake, and without any further 
 view, the natural and proper object of love and re- 
 ward, fo mult vice, of hatred and punifhment. 
 That the gods neither refent nor hurt, was the ge- 
 neral maxim of all the different fects of the ancient 
 philofophy : and if, by refenting, be underitood, 
 that violent and diforderly perturbation, which often 
 diftracts and confounds the human breait ; or if, by 
 hurting, be underitood, the doing mifchief wanton- 
 ly, and without regard to propriety or juftice, fuch 
 weaknefs is undoubtedly unworthy of the divine 
 perfection. But if it be meant, that vice does not 
 appear to the Deity to be, for its own fake, the ob- 
 ject of abhorrence and averfion, and what, for its 
 
 own 
 
Sect. 2. Of Merit WDemerit. 143 
 
 own fake, it is fit and right fhould be punifhed, the 
 truth of this maxim feems repugnant to fome very- 
 natural feelings. If we confult our natural fenti- 
 ments, we are even apt to fear, left, before the ho- 
 linefs of God, vice fhould appear to be more worthy 
 of punjfhment than the weaknefs and imperfection 
 of human virtue can ever feem to be of reward. 
 Man, when about to appear before a Being of infi- 
 nite perfection, can feel but little confidence in his 
 own merit, or in the imperfect propriety of his own 
 conduct. In the prefence of his fellow-creatures, he 
 may even juftly elevate himfelf, and may often have 
 reafon to think highly of his own character and con- 
 duct, compared to the ftill greater imperfection of 
 theirs. But the cafe is quite different when about to 
 appear before his infinite Creator. To fuch a Be- 
 ing, he fears, that his littlenefs and weaknefs can 
 fcarce ever appear the proper object, either of ef- 
 teem or of reward. But he can eafily conceive, 
 how the numberlefs violations of duty, of which he 
 has been guilty, fhould render him the proper object 
 of averfton and punifhment ; and he thinks he can 
 fee no reafon why the divine indignation fhould not 
 be let loofe without any restraint, upon fo vile an in- 
 fect, as he imagines that he himfelf mull: appear to 
 be. If he would ftill hope for happinefs, he fufpecls 
 that he cannot demand it from the juftice, but that 
 he muft entreat it from the mercy of God. Repent- 
 ance, forrow, humility, contrition at the thought of 
 his palt conduct, feem, upon this account, the fen- 
 timents which become him, and to be the only 
 means which he has left for appeafmg that wrath 
 which, he knows, he has juftly provoked. He 
 even diftrufts the efficacy of all thefe, and naturally 
 fears, left the wifdom of God fhould not, like the 
 
 weaknefs 
 
144 0/ Merit and Demerit. Part II. 
 
 weaknefs of man, be prevailed upon to fpare the 
 crime by the moft importunate lamentations of the 
 criminal. Some other interceflion, fome other fa- 
 crifice, fome other atonement, he imagines muft be 
 made for him, beyond what he himfelf is capable of 
 making, before the purity of the divinejuflice can be 
 reconciled to his manifold offences. The doctrines 
 of revelation coincide, in every refpeft, with thofe 
 original anticipations of nature -, and as they teach us 
 how little we can depend upon the imperfection of 
 our own virtue, fo they fhow us, at the fame time, 
 that the moft powerful interceflion has been made, 
 and that the moft dreadful atonement has been paid 
 for our manifold tranfgreflions and iniquities. 
 
 SEC- 
 
Sect. 3. Of Merit and Demerit* 145 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Of the influence of fortune upon the fentiments of 
 mankind, with regard to the merit or demerit of 
 actions. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Wi 
 
 HATEVER praife or blarrie can be due to 
 any action, mufl belong either, full, to the intention 
 or affection of the heart, from which it proceeds; 
 or, fecondly, to the external action or movement of 
 the body, which this affection gives occafionto; or, 
 laft, to all the good or bad confequences, which ac- 
 tually, and in fact, proceed from it. Thefe three 
 different things conilitute the whole nature and cir^ 
 cumflances of the action, and mufl be the foundation 
 of 'whatever quality can belong to it. 
 
 That the two lalt of thefe three circumflances can- 
 not be the foundation of any praife or blame, is abun- 
 dantly evident ; nor has the contrary ever been af- 
 ferted by any body. The external action or move- 
 ment of the body is often the fame in the^mofl in- 
 nocent and in the molt blamable actions. 'He who 
 moots a bird, and he who moots a man, both of them 
 
 L- perform 
 
146 Of Merit and Demerit. Part II. 
 
 perform the fame external movement : each of them 
 draws the tricker of a gun. The confequences 
 which actually, and in fact, happen to proceed from 
 any action, are, if pofiible, Hi 11 more indifferent 
 either to praife or blame, than even the external 
 movement of the body. As they depend, not up- 
 on the agent, but upon fortune, they cannot be the 
 proper foundation for any fentirrient, of which his 
 character and conduct are the objects. 
 
 The only confequences for which he can be ari- 
 fwerable, or by which he can deferve either approba- 
 tion or difapprobation of any kind, are thofe which 
 were fome way or other intended, or thofe which, 
 at leaft, fhow fome agreeable or difagreeable quality 
 in the intention of the heart, from which he acted. 
 To the intention or affection of the heart, therefore, 
 to the propriety or impropriety, to the beneficence 
 or hurtfulnefs of the defign, all praife or blame, all 
 approbation or difapprobation, of any kind, which 
 can juflly be beflowed upon any action, mufl ulti- 
 mately belong. 
 
 When this maxim is thus propofed in abflract and 
 general terms, there is no body who does not agree 
 to it. Its felf-evident jultice is acknowledged by 
 all the v/orld, and there is not a diffenting voice 
 among all mankind. Ever)- 'body allows, that how 
 different foever the accidental, the unintended and 
 unforefeen confequences of different actions, yet, if 
 the intentions or affections from which they arofe 
 were, on the one hand, equally proper and equally 
 beneficent, or, on the other, equally improper and 
 equally malevolent, the merit or demerit of the ac- 
 tions is itill the fame, and the agent is equally the 
 fuitable object either of gratitude or of refentment. 
 
 But 
 
Sect. 3. Of Merit and Demerit. 147 
 
 But how well foever we may feem to be perfuad- 
 ed of the truth of this equitable maxim, when we 
 confider it after this manner, in abftract, yet when 
 we come to particular cafes, the actual confequences 
 which happen to proceed from any action, have a 
 very great effect upon our fentiments concerning its 
 merit or demerit, and almofl always either enhance 
 or diminifh our fenfe of both. Scarce, in any one 
 inilance, perhaps, will our fentiments be found, af- 
 ter examination, to be entirely regulated by this 
 rule, which we • all acknowledge ought entirely to 
 regulate them. 
 
 This irregularity of fentiment, which every body- 
 feels, which fcarce any body is fufficiently aware of, 
 and which no body is willing to acknowledge, I pro- 
 ceed now to explain ; and I fhall confider, firft, the 
 caufe which gives occafion to it, or the mechanifnV 
 by which nature produces it ; fecondly, the extent 
 of its influence; and, laft of all, the end which it 
 anfwers, or the purpofe which the Author of nature 
 feems to have intended by it. 
 
 Lz chap: 
 
143 Of Merit and Demerit. Part II 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 Of the caufes of this influence of fortune. 
 
 T, 
 
 HE caufes of pain and pleafure, whatever they 
 are, or however they operate, feem to be the objects, 
 which, in all animals, immediately excite thofe two 
 paffions of gratitude and refentment. They are ex- 
 cited by inanimated, as well as by animated objects. 
 We are angry, for a moment, even at the ftone that 
 hurts us. A child beats it, a dog barks at it, a cho- 
 leric man is apt to curfe it. The leaf! reflection, in- 
 deed, corrects this fentiment, and we foon become 
 fenfible, that what has no feeling is a very improper 
 object of revenge. When the mifchief, however, 
 is very great, the object which caufed it becomes 
 difagreeable to us ever after, and we take pleafure 
 to burn or deftroy it. We mould treat, in this man- 
 ner, the inftrument which had accidentally been the 
 caufe of the death of a friend, and we mould often 
 think ourfelves guilty of a fort of inhumanity, if 
 we neglected to vent this abfurd fort of vengeance 
 upon it. 
 
 We conceive, in the fame manner, a fort of gra- 
 titude for thofe inanimated objects, which have been 
 the caufes of great, or frequent pleafure to us. The 
 failor, who, asxfoon as he got afhore, mould mend 
 his fire with the plank upon which he had juft ef- 
 
 caped 
 
Sect. 3". Of Merit and Demerit. 149 
 
 caped from a fhipwreck, would feem to be guilty 
 of an unnatural a&ion. We mould expect that he 
 would rather preferve it with care and affection, as 
 a monument that was, in ibme meafure, dear to 
 him. A man grows fond of a fnufF-box, of a pen- 
 knife, of a ftaff which he has long made ufe of, and 
 conceives fomething like a real love and affection 
 for them. If he breaks or loies them, he is vexed 
 out of all proportion to the value of the damage. 
 The houfe which we have long lived in, the tree, 
 whofe verdure and (hade we ha\*e long enjoyed, 
 are both looked upon with a fort of refpect that 
 feems due to fuch benefactors. The decay of the 
 one, or the ruin of the other, affects us with a kind 
 of melancholy, though we mould fuflain no lofs by 
 it. The Dryads and the Lares of the ancients, a 
 fort of genii of trees and houfes, were probably rirft 
 fuggefted by this fort of affection, which the authors 
 of thofe fuperflitions felt for fuch objects, and which 
 feemed unreafonable, if there was nothing animated 
 about them. 
 
 But, before any thing can be the proper object of 
 gratitude or refentment, it mull not only be the 
 caufe of pleafure or pain, it mult likewife be capa- 
 ble of feeling them. Without this other quality, 
 thofe pailions cannot vent themfelves with any fort 
 of fatisfaction upon it. As they are excited by the 
 caufes of pleafure and pain, fo their gratification 
 confifts in retaliating thofe fenfations upon what 
 gave oceafion to them 5 which it is to no purpofe to 
 attempt upon what has no fenfibility. Animals, 
 therefore, are lefs improper objects of gratitude and 
 refentment than inanimated objects. The dog that 
 bites, the ox that gores, are both of them puniflied. 
 
 L 3 If 
 
150 Of Merit and Demerit. Part II, 
 
 If they have, been the caufes of the death of any per- 
 son, neither the public, nor the relations of the (lain, 
 can be fatisfied, unlefs they are put to death in their 
 J:urn \ nor is this merely for the fecurity of the liv- 
 ing, but in fome meafure, to revenge the injury of 
 .the dead. Thofe animals, on the contrary, that 
 have been remarkably ferviceable to their mailers, 
 Jbecome the objects of a very lively gratitude. We 
 are (hocked at the brutality of that officer, mention- 
 ed in the Turkifh Spy, who ftabbed the horfe that 
 had carried him a-crofs an arm of the fea, left that 
 animal mould afterwards diftinguifh fome ether per- 
 fon by a fimilar adventure. 
 
 But, though animals are not only the caufes of 
 pleafure and pain, but are alfo capable of feeling 
 thofe fenfations, they are ftill far from being com- 
 plete and perfect objects, either of gratitude or re- 
 fentment ; and thofe paflions flill feel, that there is 
 fomething wanting to their entire gratification. What 
 gratitude chiefly defires, is not only to make the 
 benefactor feel pleafure in his turn, but to make him 
 confeious that he meets with this reward on account 
 of his pa(l conduct, to make him pleafed with that 
 conduct, and to fatisfy him that the perfen upon 
 whom he beftowed his good offices was not unwor-. 
 thy of them. What molt of all charms us in our 
 benefactor, is the concord between his fentiments 
 .arid our own, with regard to what intereits us fo near- 
 ly as the worth of our own character, and the efteem 
 that is due .to us. We are delighted to find a per- 
 fon who values us as well as we value ourfelves, and 
 diftinguilhes us from the reft of mankind, with an 
 attention not unlike that with which we diftinguifh 
 ourfelves. To maintain in him thefe agreeable and flat- 
 tering 
 
Sect. 3. . Of Merit and Demerit. 151 
 
 tering fentiments, is one of the chief ends propofed 
 by the returns we are difpofed to make to him. A 
 .generous mind often difdains the interefted thought 
 of extorting new favours from its benefactor, by 
 what may be called the importunities of its grati- 
 tude. But to preferve and to increafe his efteem, 
 is an interefl which the greateft mind does not think 
 unworthy of its attention. And this is the founda- 
 tion of what I formerly obferved, that when we 
 cannot enter into the motives of our benefactor, 
 when his conduct and character appear unworthy of 
 our approbation, let his fervices have been ever fo 
 great, our gratitude is always fenfibly diminifhed. 
 We are lefs flattered by the diftinction ; and to pre- 
 ferve the efteem of fo weak, or fo worthlefs a pa- 
 tron, feems to be an object which does not deferve 
 to be purfued for its own fake. 
 
 The object, on the contrary, which refentment 
 is chiefly intent upon, is not fo much to make our 
 enemy feel pain in his turn, as to make him con- 
 fcious that he feels it upon account of his paft con- 
 duct, to make him repent of that conduct, and to 
 make him fenfible, that the perfon whom he injur- 
 ed did not deferve to be treated in that manner. 
 What chiefly enrages us againfl the man who in- 
 jures or infults us, is the little account which he 
 feems to make of us, the unreafonable preference 
 which he gives to himfelf above us, and that abfurd 
 felf-love, by which he feems to imagine, that other 
 people may be facrificed at any time, to his conve- 
 niency or his humour. The glaring impropriety of 
 this conduct, the grofs infolence and injuftice which 
 it feems to involve in it, often (hock and exafperate 
 us more than all the mifchief which we have fuffered. 
 
 L 4 To 
 
152 Of Merit and Demerit. Part II. r 
 
 To bring him back to a more juft fenfe of what is 
 due to other people, to make him fenfible of what 
 he owes us, and of the wrong that he has done to 
 us, is frequently the principal end propofed in our 
 revenge, which is always imperfect when it cannot 
 accomplim this. When our enemy appears to have 
 done us no injury, when we are fenfible that he acl- 
 ed quite properly, that, in his fituation, we mould 
 have done the fame thing, and that we deferved 
 from him all the mifchief we met with; in that cafe, 
 if we have the leaft fpark either of candour or juftice, 
 we can entertain no fort of refentment. 
 
 Before any thing, therefore, can be the complete 
 and proper object, either of gratitude or refent- 
 ment, it muft poffefs three different qualifications. 
 Firfi:, it muft be the caufe of pleafure in the one cafe, 
 and of pain in the other. Secondly, it muft be ca- 
 pable of feeling thofe fenfations. And, thirdly, it 
 mull not only have produced thofe fenfations, but 
 it muft have produced them from defign, and from 
 a defign that is approved of in the one cafe, and 
 difapproved of in the other. It is by the firft quali- 
 fication, that any object is capable of exciting thofe 
 pailions : it is by the fecond, that it is in any refpect 
 capable of gratifying them : the third qualification is 
 both neceffary for their complete fatisfaction, and as 
 it gives a pleafure or pain that is both exquifite and 
 peculiar, it is likewife an additional exciting caufe of 
 thofe paflions f 
 
 As what .gives pleafure or pain, therefore, either 
 in one way or another, is the fole exciting caufe of 
 gratitude and refentment ; though the intentions of 
 any perfon fhould be ever fo proper and benefi- 
 cent. 
 
Sect. 3. Of Merit and Demerit. 153 
 
 cent, on the one hand, or ever fo improper and ma- 
 levolent on the other -, yet, if he has failed in pro- 
 ducing either the good or evil which he intended, as 
 one of the exciting caufes is wanting in both cafes, 
 lefs gratitude feems due to him in the one, and lefs 
 refentment in the other. And, on the contrary, 
 though in the intentions of any perfon, there was 
 either no laudable degree of benevolence on the one 
 .hand, or no blamable degree of malice on the other j 
 yet, if his actions mould produce either great good 
 or great evil, as one of the exciting caufes takes 
 place upon both thefe occafions, fome gratitude is 
 apt to arife towards him in the one, and fome re- 
 fentment in the other. A fhadow of merit feems to 
 fall upon him in the firft, a fhadow of demerit in the 
 fecond. And, as the confequences of a&ions are al- 
 together under the empire of Fortune, hence arifes 
 her influence upon the fentiments of mankind, with 
 regard to merit and demerit. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
i54 0/ Merit ^Demerit. Part II. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Of the extent of this influence of fortune. 
 
 IHE effect of this influence of fortune is, firfl, 
 to diminifh our fenfe of the merit or dement of thofe 
 actions which aroie from the mofl laudable or blam- 
 able intentions, when they fail of producing their 
 propofed effects : and, fecondly, to encreafe our 
 fenfe of the merit or demerit of actions, beyond 
 what is due to the motives or affections from 
 which they proceed, when they accidentally give 
 occafion either to extraordinary pleafure or pain. 
 
 p 
 I. Firfl, I fay, though the intentions of any perfon 
 mould be ever fo proper and beneficent, on the 
 one hand, or ever fo improper and malevolent, on 
 the other, yet, if they fail in producing their effects, 
 his merit feems imperfect in the one cafe, and his 
 demerit incomplete in the other. Nor is this irregu- 
 larity of fentiment felt only by thofe who are imme^ 
 diately affected by the confequences of any action. 
 It is felt, in fome meafure, even by the impartial 
 fpectator. The man who folicits an office for ano- 
 ther, without obtaining it, is regarded as his friend, 
 and feems to defer ve his love and affection. But the 
 man who not "only folicits, but procures it, is more 
 peculiarly confidered as his patron and- benefactor, 
 and is entitled to his refpect and gratitude. The 
 perfon obliged, we are apt to think, may with fome 
 x jufYice, 
 
Sect. 3. Gf Merit and Demerit. 155 
 
 juftice, imagine himfelf on a level with the firft : 
 but we cannot enter into his fentiments, if he does 
 not feel himfelf inferior to the fecond. It is com- 
 mon indeed to fay, that we are equally obliged to 
 the man who has endeavoured to ierve us, as to 
 him who actually did fo. It is the fpeech which we 
 conflantly make upon every unfuccefsful attempt of 
 this kind ; but wtych, like all other fine fpeeches, 
 muft be underftood with a grain of allowance. The 
 fentiments which a man of generofity entertains for 
 the friend who fails, may often indeed be nearly the 
 fame with thofe which he conceives for him who 
 iucceeds : and the more generous he is, the more 
 nearly will thofe fentiments approach to an exact 
 level. With the truly generous, to be beloved, to 
 be eiteemed by thofe whom they themfelves think 
 worthy of efteem, gives more pleafure, and thereby 
 excites more gratitude, than all the advantages 
 which they can ever expect from thofe fentiments. 
 When they lofe thofe advantages therefore, they 
 feem to lofe but a trifle, which is fcarce worth re- 
 garding. They flill however lofe fomething. Their 
 pleafure therefore, and confequently their gratitude, 
 is not perfectly complete : and accordingly if, be- 
 tween the friend who fails and the friend who fuc- 
 ceeds, all other circumftances are equal, there will, 
 even in the nobleft and the bell mind, be fome little 
 difference of affection in favour of him who fuc- 
 ceeds. Nay, fo unjuil are mankind in this rcfped, 
 that though the intended benefit mould be procured, 
 yet if it is not procured by the means of a particular 
 benefactor, they are apt to think that lefs gratitude 
 is due to the man, who with the beft intentions in 
 the world could do no more than help it a little for- 
 ward. As their gratitude is in this cafe divided 
 
 among 
 
156 Of Merit and Demerit. Partll. 
 
 among the different perfons who contributed to 
 their pieafure, a fmaller (hare of itfeems due to any 
 one. Such a perfon, we hear men commonly fay, 
 intended no doubt to ferve us -, and we really be- 
 lieve exerted himfelf to the utmoft of his abilities 
 for that purpofe. We are not, however, obliged to 
 him for this benefit ; fince had it not been for the 
 concurrence of others, all that he could have done 
 would never have brought it about. This confide- 
 ration, they imagine, mould, even in the eyes of the 
 impartial fpectator, diminifh the debt which they 
 owe to him. The perfon himfelf who has unfuccefs- 
 fully endeavoured to confer a benefit, has by no 
 means the fame dependency upon the gratitude of 
 the man whom he meant to oblige, nor the fame 
 fenfe of his own merit tov/ards him, which he would 
 have had in the cafe of fuccefs. 
 
 Even the merit of talents and abilities which fome 
 accident has hindered from producing Meir effects, 
 feems in fome meafure imperfect, even to thofe who 
 are fully convinced of their capacity to produce 
 them. The general who has been hindered by the 
 envy of miniflers from gaining fome great advan- 
 tage over the enemies of his country, regrets the 
 lofs of the opportunity for ever after. Nor is it 
 only upon account of the public that he regrets it. 
 He laments that he was hindered from performing 
 an action which would have added a new luftre to 
 his character in his own eyes, as well as in thofe of 
 every other perfpn. It fatisfies neither himfelf nor 
 others to reflect that the plan or defign was all that 
 depended on him, that no greater capacity was re- 
 quired to execute it than what was necelfary to con- 
 cert it : that he was avowed to be every way capa- 
 ble 
 
Seel. 3. Of Merit and Demerit. 157 
 
 ble of executing it, and that had he been permitted 
 to go on, fuccefs was infallible. He ftill did not 
 execute it ; and though he might deferve all the ap- 
 probation which is due to a magnanimous and great 
 deiign, he ftill wanted the actual merit of having 
 performed a great action. To take the management 
 of any affair of public concern from the man who has 
 almofl brought it to a conclufion, is regarded as the 
 moft invidious injuftice. As he had done fomuch, 
 he mould, we think, have been allowed to acquire 
 the complete merit of putting an end to it. It was 
 objected to Pompey, that he came in upon the victo- 
 ries of Lucullus, and gathered thofe laurels which 
 were due to the fortune and valour of another. The 
 glory of Lucullus, it feems, was lefs complete even 
 in the opinion of his own friends, when he was not 
 permitted to finiih that conquelt which his conduct 
 and courage had put in the power of almofl any man 
 to finifh. it mortifies an architect when his plans are 
 either not executed at all, or when they are fo far al- 
 tered as to fpoil the effect of the building. The plan, 
 however, is all that depends upon the architect. The 
 whole of his genius is, to good judges, as complete- 
 ly difcovered in that as in the actual execution. But 
 a plan does not, even to the mod intelligent, give 
 the fame pleafure as a noble and magnificent build- 
 ing. They may difcover as much both of tafte and 
 genius in the one as in the other. But their effects 
 are ftill vaftly different, and the amufement derived 
 from the fir/ft, never approaches to the wonder and 
 admiration which are fometimes excited by the fe- 
 cond. We may believe of many men, that their 
 talents are fuperior to thofe of Caefar and Alexander ; 
 and that in the fame fituations they would perform 
 ftill greater actions. In the mean time, however, 
 
 we 
 
158 Of Merit and Demerit. Part II. 
 
 we do not behold them with that aftonifnment and 
 admiration with whidh thofe two heroes have been 
 regarded in all ages and nations. The calm judg- 
 ments of the mind may approve of them more, but 
 they want the fplendor of great actions to dazzle and 
 tranfport it. The fuperiority of virtues and talents 
 have not, even upon thole who acknowledge that 
 fuperiority, the fame effect with the fuperiority of 
 atchievements. 
 
 As the merit of an unfuccefsful attempt to do good 
 feems thus, m the eyes of ungrateful mankind, 
 to be diminifhed by the mifcarriage, fo does like- 
 wife the demerit of an unfuccefsful attempt to do evil. 
 The defign to commit a crime, how clearly foever 
 it may be proved, is fcarce ever punifhed with the 
 fame feverity as the actual commiflion of it. The 
 cafe of treafon is perhaps the only exception. That 
 crime immediately affecting the being of the govern- 
 ment itfelf, the government is naturally more jealous 
 of it than of any other. In the punifhment of trea- 
 fon, the fovereign refents the injuries which are im- 
 mediately done to hirhfelf : in the puniftiment of 
 other crimes, he refents thofe which are done to other 
 men. It is his own refentment which he indulges in 
 the one cafe : it is that of his fubjects which by 
 f\mpathy he enters into it in the other. In the 
 hi ft cafe, therefore, as he judges in his own caufe, 
 he is very apt to be more violent and fanguinary in 
 his punifhments than the impartial fpectator can ap- 
 | >i (;v c of. His refentment too rifes here upon fmaller 
 occafions, and does not always, as in other cafes, 
 wait for the perpetration of the crime, or even for 
 the attempt to commit it. A treafonable concert, 
 though nothing has been done, or even attempted in 
 6 nfequenceof it, nay, a treafonable converfation, 
 
 is 
 
Sect. 3. Of Merit and Demerit. 159 
 
 is in many countries punilhed in the fame manner as 
 the actual commiirion of treafon. With regard to 
 all other crimes, the mere defign, upon which no 
 attempt has followed, is feldom punilhed at all, and 
 is never punilhed feverely. A criminal defign, and 
 a criminal aclion, it may be faid indeed, do not ne- 
 ceMarily fuppofe the fame degree of depravity, and 
 ought not therefore to be fubjedted to the fame pu- 
 nifhment. We are capable, it may belaid, ofre- 
 folving, and even of taking meafures to execute, 
 many things which, when it comes to the point, we 
 feel ourfelves altogether incapable of executing. 
 Bat this reafon can have no place when the de- 
 fign has been carried the length of the lad attempt. 
 The man, however, who fires a piftol at his enemy, 
 but miffes him, is punidied with death by the laws 
 of fcarce any country. By the old law of Scotland, 
 though he mould wound him, yet, unlefs death en- 
 fues within a certain time, the allanm is not liable to 
 the laft punifhment, The refentment of mankind, 
 ' however, runs fo high againfl this crime, their terror 
 for the man who mows himfelf capable of commit- 
 ting it, is fo great, that the mere attempt to commit 
 it ought in all countries to be capital. The attempt 
 to commit fmaller crimes is almoft always punilhed 
 very lightly, and fometimes is not punilhed at all. 
 The thief, whofe hand has been caught in his neigh- 
 bour's pocket^before he had taken any thing out of 
 it, is punilhed with ignominy only. If he had got 
 time to take away an handkerchief, he would have 
 been put to death. The houfe-breaker, who has 
 been found fetting a ladder to his neighbour's win- 
 dow, but had not got into it, is notexpofed to the 
 capital punifhment. The attempt to ravifh is not 
 punilhed as a rape. The attempt to feduce a mar- 
 ried 
 
160 Of Merit and Demerit. Part II. 
 
 ried woman is not punifhed at all, though reduction 
 is punifhed feverely. Our refentment againft the 
 perfon who only attempted to do a mifchief, is fel- 
 dom fo ftrong as to bear us out in inflicting the fame 
 punifhment upon him, which we mould have thought 
 due if he had actually done it. In the one cafe, the- 
 joy of our deliverance alleviates our fenfe of the atro- 
 city of his conduct ; in the other, the grief of our 
 misfortune increafes it. His real demerit, however, 
 is undoubtedly the fame in both cafes, fince his inten- 
 tions were equally criminal : and there is in this ref- 
 pect, therefore, an irregularity in the fentiments of 
 all men, and a confequent relaxation of difcipline in 
 the laws of, I believe, all nations, of the moil civiliz- 
 ed, as well as of the mofl barbarous. Thu humani- 
 ty of a civilized people difpofes them either to difpenfe 
 with, or to mitigate punifhments wherever their natu- 
 ral indignation is not goaded on by the confequences 
 of the crime. Barbarians, on the other hand, when 
 no actual confequence has happened from any action, 
 are not apt to be very delicate or inquifitive about . 
 the motives. 
 
 The perfon himfelf who either from paffion, or 
 from the influence of bad company, has refolved ? 
 and perhaps taken meafures to perpetrate fome 
 crime, but who has fortunately been prevented by 
 an accident which put it out of his power, is fure, if 
 he has any remains of conference, to regard this 
 event all his life after as a great and fignal delive- 
 rance. He can never think of it without returning 
 thanks to Heaven for having been thus gracioufly 
 pleafed to fave him from the guilt in which he was 
 juft ready to plunge himfelf, and to hinder him from 
 rendering all the relTbf his life a fcene of horror, re- 
 morfe, and repentance. But though his hands are 
 
 innocent, 
 
Sect. 3 Of Merit and Demerit. i£| 
 
 innocent, he is confcious that his heart is equally 
 guilty as if he had actually executed what he was fo 
 fully refolved upon. It gives great eafe to his con- 
 fcience, however, to confider that the crime was not 
 executed, though he knows that the failure arofe 
 from- no virtue in him. He ftill confiders himfelf 
 as lefs deferving of punifhment and refentment ; and 
 this good fortune either diminifhes, or takes away 
 altogether, all fenfe of guilt. To remember how 
 much he was refolved upon it, has no other effect than 
 to make him regard his efcape as the greater and 
 more miraculous ■ for he ftill fancies that he has es- 
 caped, and he looks back upon the danger to which 
 his peace of mind was expo fed, with that terror, 
 with which one who is in fafety may fometimes re- 
 member the hazard he was in of falling over a pre- 
 cipice, and fhudder with horror at the thought. 
 
 2. The fecond effect of this influence of fortune, 
 is to increafe our fenfe of the merit or demerit of 
 actions beyond what is due to the motives or affecti- 
 on from which they proceed, when they happen to 
 give occafion to extraordinary pleafure or pain. The 
 agreeable or difagreeable effects of the action often 
 throw a fhadow of merit or demerit upon the agent, 
 though in his intention there was nothing that de- 
 ferved either praife or blame, or atleaft that deferved 
 them in the degree in which we are apt to beflow 
 them. Thus, even the meflenger of bad news is 
 difagreeable to us, and, on the contrary, we feel a 
 fort of gratitude for the man who brings us good 
 tidings. For a moment we look upon them both 
 as the authors, the one of cur good, the other of our 
 bad fortune, and regard them in fome meafure as 
 if they had really brought about the events which 
 
 M they 
 
i6z Of Merit and Demerit. Part II. 
 
 they only give an account of. The firft author of 
 our joy is naturally the object of a tranfit-ry grati- 
 tude : we embrace him with warmth and affection, 
 and mould be glad, during the inttant of our profpe- 
 rity, to reward him as for fome fignal fervice. By 
 the cuftom of all courts, the officer who brings the 
 news of a victory, is entitled, to confiderable prefer- 
 ments, and the general always chufes one of his 
 principal favourites to go upon fo agieeable an er- 
 rand. The firft author of our forrow is, on the con- 
 trary, juft as naturally the object of a tranfitory re- 
 fentment. We can fcarce avoid looking upon him 
 with chagrin and uneafinefs ; and the rude and bru- 
 tal are apt to vent upon him that ipleen which his in- 
 telligence gives occalion to. Tigranes, King of 
 Armenia, ftruck off the head of the man who brought 
 him the firft account of the approach of a formida- 
 ble enemy. To punifh in this manner the author of 
 bad tidings, feems barbarous and inhuman ; yet, to 
 reward the meflenger of good news, is not disagree- 
 able to us i we think it fui table to the bounty of 
 kings. But why do we make this difference, fince, 
 if there is no fault in the one, neither is there any 
 merit in the other ? It is becaufe any fort of reafon 
 feems fufficient to authorize the exertion of the focial 
 and benevolent affections -, but it requires the moft 
 folid and fubftantial to make us enter into that of the 
 unfocial and malevolent. 
 
 But though in general we are averfe to enter into 
 the unfocial and malevolent affections, though we 
 lay it down for a rule that we ought never to approve 
 of their gratification, unlefs fo far as the malicious 
 and unjuft intention of the perfon, againft whom 
 they are directed Fenders him their proper object -, 
 
 yet, 
 
Se6\. 3. Of Merit W Demerit. l6s 
 
 yet upon fome occafions, we relax of this feverity 
 When the negligence of one man has occafioned 
 fome unintended damage to another, we generally 
 enter fo far into the refentment of the fufFerer as to 
 approve of his inflicling a punimment upon the of- 
 fender much beyond what the offence will have ap- 
 peared to deferve, had no fuch unlucky confe- 
 quence followed from it. 
 
 There is a degree of negligence, which would ap- 
 pear to deferve fome chaftifement though it mould 
 occafion no damage to any body. Thus, if a perfon 
 fhould throw a large ftone over a wall into a public 
 itreet without giving warning to thofe who might be 
 pafling by, and without regarding where it was like- 
 ly to fall, he would undoubtedly deferve fome chaf- 
 tifement. A very accurate police would punim fo 
 abfurd an acYion, even though it had done no mif- 
 chief. The perfon who has been guilty of it, mows 
 an mfolent contempt of the happinefs and fafety of 
 others. There is real injuftice in his conduct He 
 wantonly expofes his neighbour to what no man in 
 his fenfes would chufe to expofe himfelf, and evident- 
 ly wants that fenfe of what is due to his fellow-crea- 
 tures which is the bafis of juftice and of focietv. 
 Grofs negligence therefore is, in the law, faid to be 
 almoft equal to malicious defign * When any un- 
 lucky confequences happen from fuch carelefTnefs, 
 the perfon who has been guilty of it is often punifh- 
 ed as if he had really intended thofe confequences ; 
 and his conduct, which was only thoughtlefs and 
 mfolent, and what deferved fome chaftifement, is 
 considered as atrocious, and as liable to the fevered 
 M 2 v punim- 
 
 * Lata culpa prope dolum eft. 
 
164 0/ Merit /z;^ Demerit. Part II. 
 
 punifhment. Thus if, by the imprudent aftion 
 above-mentioned, he mould accidentally kill a man, 
 he is, by the laws of many countries, particularly by 
 the old law of Scotland, liable to the laft punifhment. 
 And though this is no doubt exceflively fevere, it is 
 not altogether inconfiftent with our natural fenti- 
 ments. Our juft indignation againft the folly and 
 inhumanity of his conduct is exafperated by our 
 fympathy with the unfortunate fufferer. Nothing 
 however would appear more mocking to our natural 
 fenfe of equity, than to bring a man to the fcaffold 
 merely for having thrown a ftone carelefsly into the 
 ftreet without hurting any body. The folly and in- 
 humanity of his conduct, however, would in this 
 cafe be the fame ; but flill our fentiments would be 
 very different. The confederation of this difference 
 may fatisfy us how much the indignation, even of 
 the fpe&ator, is apt to be animated by the a&ual con- 
 fequences of the action. In cafes of this kind there 
 will, if I am not miftaken, be found a great degree 
 of feverity in the laws of almofl all nations ; as I have 
 already obferved that in thofe of an oppofite. kind 
 there was a very general relaxation of difcipline. 
 
 There is another degree of negligence which does 
 not involve in it any fort of injuftice. The perfon 
 who is guilty of it treats his neighbour as he treats 
 himfelf, means no harm to any body, and is far 
 from entertaining any infolent contempt for the fafe- 
 ty and happinefs of others. He is not, however, fo 
 careful and circumfpect in his conduct as he ought to 
 be, and deferves upon this account fome degree of 
 blame and cenfure, but no fort of punifhment. Yet 
 if by a negligence * of this kind he mould occafion 
 
 fome 
 
 * Culpa levis. 
 
Sed. 3. Of Merit W Demerit. 165 
 
 fome damage to another perfon, he is by the laws of, 
 I believe, all countries, obliged to compenfate it. 
 And though this is no doubt a real puniihment, and 
 what no mortal would have thought of inflicting 
 upon him, had it not been for the unlucky accident 
 which his conduct gave occafion to ; yet this decifion 
 of the law is approved of by the natural fentiments 
 of all mankind. Nothing, we think, can be more 
 juft than that one man mould not fuffer by the care- 
 lefTnefs of another ; and that the damage occafioned 
 by blamable negligence fhould be made up by the 
 perfon who was guilty of it. 
 
 There is another fpecies of negligence % which 
 confifts merely in a want of the moil anxious timi- 
 dity and circumfpedion, with regard to all the pofli- 
 ble confequences of our adions. The want of this 
 painful attention, when no bad confequences follow 
 from it, is fo far from being regarded as blamable, 
 that the contrary quality is rather confidered as fuch. 
 That timid circumfpedion which is afraid of every 
 thing, is never regarded as a virtue, but as a quality 
 which more than any other incapacitates for adion 
 and bufmefs. Yet when, from a want of this ex- 
 ceffive care, a perfon happens to occafion fome da- 
 mage to another, he is often by the law obliged to 
 compenfate it. Thus, by the Aquilian law, the man, 
 who not being able to manage a horfe that had acci- 
 dentally taken fright, fhould happen to ride down 
 his neighbour's Have, is obliged to compenfate the 
 damage. When an accident of this kind happens, 
 we are apt to think that he ought not to have rode 
 fuch a horfe, and to regard his attempting it as an un- 
 M 3 pardonable 
 
 * Culpa leviflitna. 
 
166 Of Merit and Demerit. Part II. 
 
 pardonable levity ; though without this accident we 
 mould not only have made no fuch reflection, but 
 ihould have regarded his refufing it as the effect of 
 timid weaknefs, and of an anxiety about merely 
 pofhble events, which it is to no purpofe to be aware 
 of. The perfon himfelf, who by an accident even of 
 this kind has involuntarily hurt another, feems to 
 have fome fenfe of his own ill defert, with regard 
 to him. He naturally runs up to the fufferer to ex- 
 prefs his concern for what has happened, and to 
 make every acknowledgment in his power. If he 
 has any fenfibility, he neceiTarily defires to compen- 
 fate the damage, and to do every thing he can to 
 appeafe that animal refentment, which he is fenfi- 
 ble will be apt to arife in the breait of the fufferer. 
 To make no apology, to offer no atonement, is re- 
 garded as the highelt brutality. Yet why mould he 
 make an apology more than any other perfon ? 
 Why fhould he, fince he was equally innocent with 
 any other by-ftander, be thus fingled out from 
 among all mankind, to make up for the bad fortune 
 of another ? This tafk would furely never be impof- 
 ed upon him, did not even the impartial fpeftator 
 feel fome indulgence for what may be regarded as 
 the unjuft refentment of that other. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 -•■*---i 
 
Sect. 3. O/Merit WDemerit. 167 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Of the final caufe of this irregularity of fenti- 
 ments. 
 
 s 
 
 U C H is the effect of the good or bad confe- 
 quence of actions upon the fentiments both of 
 the perfon who performs them, and of others ; and 
 thus, Fortune, which governs the world, has fome 
 influence where we mould be leaft willing to allow 
 her any, and directs in fome meafure the fentiments 
 of mankind, with regard to the character and con- 
 duel: both of themfelves and others. That the world 
 judges by the event, and not by the defign, has been 
 in all ages the complaint, and is the great difcou- 
 ragement of virtue. Every body agrees to the gene- 
 ral maxim, that as the event does not depend on the 
 agent, it ought to have no influence upon your fenti- 
 ments, with regard to the merit or propriety of his 
 conduct. But when we come to particulars, we 
 find that our fentiments are fcarce in any one in- 
 ftance exactly conformable to what this equitable 
 maxim would direct. The happy or unprofperous 
 event of any action, is not only apt to give us a good 
 or bad opinion of the prudence with which it was 
 conducted, but almoft always too animates our gra- 
 titude or refentment, our fenfe of the merit or de- 
 merit of the defign. 
 
 M 4 Nature, 
 
i68 0/ Merit and Demerit. PartH. 
 
 Nature, however, when fhe implanted the feeds 
 of this irregularity in the human breaft, feems, as 
 upon all other occafions, to have intended the happi- 
 nefs and perfection of the fpecies. If the hurtfulnefs 
 of the defign, if the malevolence of the affection, 
 were alone the caufes which excited our refentment, 
 we mould feel all the furies of that paflion againft any 
 perfon in whofe breaft we fufpected or believed fuch 
 defigns or affections were harboured, though they 
 had never broke out into any actions. Sentiments, 
 thoughts, intentions, would become the objects of 
 punifhment •, and if the indignation of mankind ran 
 as high againft them as againft actions ; if the bafe- 
 nefs of the thought which had given birth to no acti- 
 on, feemed in the eyes of the world as much to call 
 aloud for vengeance as the bafenefs of the action, 
 every court ofjudicature would become a real inqui- 
 fition. There would be no fafety for the moft in- 
 nocent and circumfpect conduct. Ead wifhes, bad 
 views,bad defigns, might ftill be fufpected-, and while 
 thefe excited the fame indignation with bad conduct, 
 while bad intentions were as much refented as bad 
 actions, they would equally expofe the perfon to pu- 
 nifhment and refentment. Actions therefore which 
 either produce actual evil, or attempt to produce it, 
 and thereby put us in the immediate fear of it, are by 
 the Author of nature rendered the only proper and 
 approved objects of human punifhment and refent- 
 ment. Sentiments, defigns, affections, though it is 
 from thefe that according to cool reafon human 
 actions derive their whole merit or. demerit, are 
 placed by the great Judge of hearts beyond the li- 
 mits of every human jurisdiction, and are referved 
 for the cognizance ^of his own unerring tribunal. 
 
 That 
 
Se£t. 3. Of Merit and Demerit. 169 
 
 That neceflary rule ofjaftice, therefore, that men 
 in this life are liable to punifhment for their actions 
 only, not for their defigns and intentions, is founded 
 upon this falutary and ufeful irregularity in human 
 fentiments concerning merit or demerit, which at 
 firft. fight appears fo abfurd and unaccountable. 
 But every part of nature, when attentively furveyed, 
 equally demonflrates the providential care of its 
 Author, and we may admire the wifdom and good* 
 nefs of God even in the weaknefs and folly of 
 men. 
 
 Nor is that irregularity of fentiments altogether 
 without its utility, by which the merit of an unfuc- 
 cefsful attempt to ferve, and much more that of mere 
 good inclinations and kind wifhes, appears to be im- 
 perfect. Man was made for action, and to promote 
 by the exertion of his faculties fiich changes in 
 the external circumftances both of himfelf and 
 others, as may feem moll favourable to the happi- 
 nefs of all. He mud not be fatisfied with indolent 
 benevolence, nor fancy himfelf the friend of man- 
 kind, becaufe in his heart he wifhes well to the prof- 
 perity of the world. That he may call forth the 
 whole vigour of his foul, and llrain every nerve, in 
 order to produce thofe ends which it is the purpofe of 
 his being to advance, Nature has taught him, that 
 neither himfelf nor mankind can be fully fatisfied 
 with his conduct, nor bellow upon it the full meafure 
 of applaufe, unlefs he has actually produced them. 
 He is made to know, that the praife of good inten- 
 tions, without the merit of good offices, will be but of 
 little avail to excite either the louden 1 acclamations 
 of the world, or even the highefl degree of felf-ap- 
 plaufe. The man who has performed no fmgle 
 action of importance, but whole whole converfation 
 
 and 
 
170 Of Merit and Demerit. Part II. 
 
 and deportment exprefs the jufteft, the nobleft, and 
 moil generous fentiments, can be entitled to demand 
 no very high reward, even though his inutility mould 
 be owing to nothing but the want of an opportunity 
 to ferve. We can it ill refufe it him without blame, 
 We can ftill aik him, what have you done ? What 
 actual fervice can you produce, to entitle you to fo 
 great a recompenfe ? We eiteem you, and love you ; 
 but we owe you nothing. To reward indeed that 
 latent virtue which has been ufelefs only for want of 
 an opportunity to ferve, to bellow upon it thofe 
 honours and preferments, which, though in fome 
 meaiureit may be faid to deferve them, it could not 
 with propriety have infilled upon, is the effect of the 
 molt divine benevolence. To punifh, on the con- 
 trary, for the affections of the heart only, where no 
 crime has been committed, is the mod infolent and 
 barbarous tyranny. The benevolent affections feem 
 to deferve moil praife, when they do not wait till it 
 becomes almoit a crime for them not to exert them- 
 felves. The malevolent, on the contrary, can fcarce 
 be too tardy, too flow, or deliberate. 
 
 It is even of ufe that the evil which is done without 
 defign fhould be regarded as a misfortune to the doer 
 as well as to the fufferer. Man is thereby taught to 
 reverence the happinefs of his brethren, to tremble 
 left he fhould, even unknowingly, do any thing that 
 can hurt them, and to dread that animal refentment 
 which he feels is ready to buril out againil him, if 
 he fhould without defign be the unhappy inilrument 
 of their calamity. 
 
 Notwithstanding, however, all thefe feeming irre- 
 gularities of ientim&it, if man fhould unfortunately 
 
 either 
 
Sect. 3. Of Merit and Demerit. 171 
 
 either give occafion to thofe evils which he did not 
 intend, or fail in producing that good which he in- 
 tended, nature has not left his innocence altogether 
 without confolation, nor his virtue altogether with- 
 out reward. He then calls to his afriftance that juft 
 and equitable maxim, that thofe events which did 
 not depend upon our conduct ought not to diminim 
 the efteem that is due to us. He fummons up his 
 whole magnanimity and firmnefs of foul, and ftrives 
 to regard himfelf, not in the light in which he at 
 prefent appears, but in that in v/hich he ought 
 to appear, in which he would have appeared 
 had his generous defigns been crowned with fuc- 
 cefs, and in which he would flill appear, notwith- 
 ftanding their mifcarriage, if the fentiments of man- 
 kind were either altogether candid and equitable, or 
 even perfectly confident with themfelves. The 
 more candid and humane part of mankind entirely go 
 along with the efforts which he thus makes to fup- 
 port himfelf in his own opinion. They exert their 
 whole generofity and greatn6fs of mind, to correct 
 in themfelves this irregularity of human nature, and 
 endeavour to regard his unfortunate magnanimity in 
 the fame light in which, had it been fuccefsful, they 
 would, without any fuch generous exertion, have na- 
 turally been difpofed to confider it. 
 
 PART 
 
PART III. 
 
 Of the foundation of our judgments con- 
 cerning our own fentiments and conduit, 
 and of the fenfe of duty. 
 
 CONSISTING OF ONE SECTION. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 Of the confcioufnefs of merited praife or blame. 
 
 i 
 
 N the two foregoing parts of this difcourfe, I have 
 chiefly confidered the origin and foundation of our 
 judgments concerning the fentiments and conduct 
 of others. I come now to confider the origin of 
 thofe concerning our own. 
 
 The defire of the approbation and efteem of thofe 
 we live with, which is of fuch importance to our 
 happinefs, cannot be fully and entirely contented but 
 by rendering ourfelves thejuft and proper objects of 
 thofe fentiments, and by adjufling our own charac- 
 ter and conduct according to thofe meafures and 
 rules by which efteem and approbation are naturally 
 bellowed. It is not fufficient, that from ignorance 
 
 or 
 
1^4 Of /^Sense Part III, 
 
 or miilake, efleem and approbation fhould fome way 
 or other be bellowed upon us. If we are confcious 
 that we do not defer ve to be fo favourably thought 
 of, and that if the truth was known, we fhould be 
 regarded with very oppofite fentiments, our fatisfac- 
 tion is far frorri being complete. The man who ap- 
 plauds us either for actions which we did not per- 
 form, or for motives which had no fort of influence 
 upon our conduct, applauds not us, but another pei- 
 fon. We can derive no fort of fatisfaction from his 
 praifes. To us they fhould be more mortifying than 
 any cenfure, and fhould perpetually call to our minds> 
 the moil humbling of all reflections, the reflection 
 upon what we ought to be, but what we are not. A 
 woman who paints to conceal her uglinefs, could de- 
 Vive, one fhould imagine, but little vanity from the 
 compliments that are paid to her beauty. Thefe, 
 we fhould expect, ought rather to put her in mind of 
 the fentiments which her real complexion would ex- 
 cite, and mortify her more by the contrail:. To be 
 pleafed with fuch groundlefs applaufe is a proof of 
 the moll fuperficial levity and weaknefs. It is what 
 is properly called vanity, and is the foundation of the 
 mofl ridiculous and contemptible vices, the vices of 
 affectation and common lying ; follies which, if ex- 
 perience did not teach us how common they are, one 
 ihould imagine the leail fpark of common fenk 
 would lave us from. The foolifh liar, who endea- 
 vours to excite the admiration of the company by 
 the relation of adventures which never had any ex- 
 iilence, the important coxcomb who gives himfelf 
 airs of rank and diilinction which he well knows he 
 has no juft pretenfions to, are both of them, no 
 i libt, pleafed with the applaufe which they fancy 
 
 they 
 
Chap. i. of D u t y. 175 
 
 they meet with. But their vanity arifes from fo 
 grofs an illufion of the imagination, that it is difficult 
 to conceive how any rational creature mould be im- 
 pofed upon by it. When they place themfelves in 
 the fituation of thofe whom they fancy they have 
 deceived, they are ftruck with the higheit admiration 
 for their own perfons. They look upon themfelves, 
 not in that light in which, they know, they ought to 
 appear to their companions, but in that in which 
 they believe their companions actually look upon 
 them. Their fuperncial weaknefs and trivial folly 
 hinder them from ever turning their eyes inwards, 
 or from feeing themfelves in that defpicable point of 
 view in which their own confciences mould tell them 
 that they would appear to every body, if the real 
 truth mould ever come to be known. 
 
 As ignorant and groundlefs praife can give no fo- 
 lid joy, no fatisfaction that will bear any ferious ex- 
 amination, fo, on the contrary, it often gives real 
 comfort to reflect, that though no praife mould ac- 
 tually be beftowed upon us, our conduct, however, has 
 been fuch as to deferve it, and has been in every ref- 
 pedt fuitable to thofe meafures and rules by which 
 praife and approbation are naturally and commonly 
 beftowed.Wearepleafed not only with praife, but with 
 having done what is praife- worthy . We are pleafed to 
 think that we have rendered ourfelves the natural 
 objects of approbation, though no approbation, 
 mould ever actually be beftowed upon us : and we 
 are mortified to reflect that we have juftly incurred 
 the blame of thofe we live with, though that fenti- 
 xnent fhould never actually be exerted againft us. 
 
 The 
 
176 0/ 'the S e n s e v Part III. 
 
 The man who is confcious to himfeif that he has ex- 
 actly obferved thofe meafures of conduct which ex- 
 perience informs him are generally agreeable, re- 
 flects with fatisfaction on the propriety of his own 
 behaviour -, when he views it in the light in which 
 the impartial fpectator would view it, he thoroughly 
 enters into all the motives which influenced it ; he 
 looks back upon every part of it with pleafure 
 and approbation, and though mankind mould never 
 be acquainted with what he has done, he regards 
 himfeif not fo much according to the light in which 
 they actually regard him, as according to that, in 
 which they would regard him if they were better in- 
 formed. He anticipates the applaufe and admira- 
 tion which in this cafe would be bellowed upon 
 him, and he applauds and admires himfeif by fym- 
 pathy with fentiments which do not indeed actually 
 take place, but which the ignorance of the public 
 alone hinders from taking place, which he knows are 
 the natural and ordinary effects of fuch conduct, 
 which his imagination ftrongly connects with it, 
 and which he has acquired a habit of conceiving as 
 fomething that naturally and in propriety ought to 
 flow from it. Men have often voluntarily thrown 
 away life to acquire after death a renown which they 
 could no longer enjoy. Their imagination, in the 
 mean time, anticipated that fame which was there- 
 after to be bellowed upon them. Thofe applaufes 
 which they were never to hear rung in their ears ; 
 the thoughts of that admiration, whofe effects they 
 were never to feel, played about their hearts, banilTi- 
 ed from their breafts the ftrongeft of all natural fears, 
 and tranfported them to perform actions which feem 
 almofl beyond the reach of human nature. But in 
 x point 
 
Chap. i. (/Duty. 177 
 
 point of reality there is furely no great difference 
 between that approbation which is not to be bellow- 
 ed till we can no longer enjoy it, and that which in- 
 deed is never to be bellowed, but which would be 
 bellowed if the world was ever made to underftand 
 properly the real circumllances of our behaviour. 
 If the one often produces fuch violent effects-, we 
 cannot wonder that the other mould always be high- 
 ly regarded. 
 
 On the contrary, the man who has broke through 
 all thofe meafures of conduct, which can alone ren- 
 der him agreeable to mankind, tho' he mould have 
 the moll perfect alfurance that what he had done 
 was for ever to be concealed from every human eye, 
 it is all to no purpofe. When he looks back upon it, 
 and views it in the light in which the impartial fpec- 
 tator would view it, he finds that he can enter into 
 none of the motives which influenced it. He is abafhed 
 and confounded at the thoughts of it, and necefla- 
 rily feels a very high degree of that Ihame which he 
 would be expofed to, if his actions mould ever come 
 to be generally known. His imagination, in this 
 cafe too, anticipates the contempt and derifion from 
 which nothing faves him but the ignorance of thofe 
 he lives with. He Hill feels that he is the natural 
 object of thefe fentiments, and ftill trembles at the 
 thought of what he would fufTer if they were ever ac- 
 tually exerted againll him. But if what he had been 
 guilty of was not merely one of thofe improprieties 
 which are the objects of fimple difapprobation, but 
 one of thofe enormous crimes which excite detefla- 
 tion and refentment, he could never think of it, as 
 long as he had any fenfibility left, without feeling all 
 
 N the 
 
178 Of the S e n s e # PartllL 
 
 the agony of horror and remorfc ; and though he 
 could be allured that no man was ever to know it, 
 and could even bring himfelf to believe that there 
 was no God to revenge it, he would ftill feel enough 
 of both thefe fentiments to embitter the whole of his 
 life : He would ftill regard himfelf as the natural object 
 of the hatred and indignation of all his fellow-crea- 
 tures ; and if his heart was not grown callous by the 
 habit of crimes, he could not think without terror and 
 aftonifhment even of the manner in which mankind 
 would look upon him, of what would be the expref- 
 fion of their countenance and of their eyes, if the 
 dreadful truth mould ever come to be known. 
 Thefe natural pangs of an affrighted conference are 
 the daemons, the avenging furies which in this life 
 haunt the guilty, which allow them neither quiet nor 
 repofe, which often drive them to defpair and dif- 
 traction, from which no aiTurance of fecrecy can pro- 
 tect them, from which no principles of irreligion can 
 entirely deliver them, and from which nothing can 
 free them but the vileft and mod abject of all ftates, 
 a complete infenfibility of honour and infamy, to 
 vice and virtue. Men of the moft deteftable charac- 
 ters, who, in the execution of the moft dreadful 
 crimes, had taken their meafures fo coolly as to avoid 
 even the fufpicion of guilt, have fometimes been 
 driven, by the horror of their fituation, to difcover of 
 their own accord, what no human fagacity could ever 
 have inveftigated. By acknowledging their guilt, 
 by fubmitting themfelves to the refentment of their 
 offended citizens, and by thus fatiating that ven- 
 geance of which they were fenfible that they were be- 
 come the proper objects, they hoped by their death 
 
 to 
 
Chap. I. of D U T Y. ijg 
 
 to reconcile themfelves, at leaft in their own imagi- 
 nation, to the natural fentiments of mankind, to be 
 able to confider themfelves as lefs worthy of hatred 
 and refentment, to atone in fome meafure for their 
 crimes, and, if poflible, to die in peace and with the 
 forgivenefs of all their fellow-creatures. Compared 
 to what they felt before the difcovery, even the 
 thought of this, it feems, was happinefs. 
 
 Nz CHAP. 
 
iZo Of the Sense Part III. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 In what manner our own judgments refer to vjhat ought 
 to be the judgments of others : and of the origin of ge- 
 neral rules. 
 
 A 
 
 Great part, perhaps the greateft part, of human 
 happinefs and mifery arifes from the view of our 
 paft conduct, and from the degree of approbation or 
 difapprobation which we feel from the conlideration 
 of it. But in whatever manner it may affect us, our 
 fentiments of this kind have always fome fecret re- 
 ference either to what are, or to what upon a certain 
 condition would be, or to what we imagine ought to 
 be the fentiments of others. We examine it as we 
 imagine an impartial ipectator would examine it. If 
 upon placing ourfelves in his fituation we thoroughly 
 enter into all the pailions and motives which influ- 
 enced it, we approve of it by fympathy with the ap- 
 probation of this fuppofed equitable judge. If other- 
 wife, we enter into his difapprobation and condemn 
 it. 
 
 Was it poffible that a human creature could grow 
 up to manhood in fome folitary place without any 
 communication with his own fpecies, he could no 
 more think- of his own character, of the propriety or 
 demerit of his own fentiments and conduct, of the 
 beauty or deformity of his own mind, than of the 
 beauty or deformity of his own face. All thefe are 
 objects which he cannot eafily fee, which naturally 
 he does not look at ; and with regard to which he 
 
 is 
 
Chap. 2. of D u t y; ig r 
 
 is provided with no mirror which can prefent them 
 to his view. Bring him into fociety, and he is im- 
 mediately provided with the mirror which he want- 
 ed before. It is placed in the countenance and be- 
 haviour of thofe he lives with, which always mark 
 when they enter into, and when they difap- 
 prove of his fentiments ; and it is here that he firft 
 views the propriety and impropriety of his own 
 paffions, the beauty and deformity of his own 
 mind. To a man who from his birth was a ftran- 
 ger to fociety, the objects of his paffions, the ex- 
 ternal bodies which either pleafed or hurt him, would 
 occupy his whole attention. The paffions them- 
 felves, the defires or averfions, the joys or forrows, 
 which thofe objects excited, though of all things 
 the moil immediately prefent to him, could fcarce 
 ever be the objects of his thoughts. The idea of 
 them could never intereft him fo much as to call 
 upon his attentive confideration. The confideration 
 of his joy could in him excite no new joy, nor that 
 of his forrow any new forrow, though the confider- 
 ation of the caufes of thofe paffions might often ex- 
 cite both. Bring him into fociety, and ail his own 
 paffions will immediately become the caufes of new 
 paffions. He will obferve that mankind approve of 
 fome of them, and are difguited by others. He will 
 be elevated in the one cafe, and call down in the 
 other; his defires and averfions, his joys and for- 
 rows will now often become the caufes of new de- 
 fires and new averfions, new joys and new forrows: 
 they will now therefore intereft him deeply, and of- 
 ten call upon his molt attentive confideration. 
 
 Our nrft ideas of perfonal beauty and deformity, 
 are drawn from the fhape and appearance of others ,. 
 not from our own. We foon become fenfible, how- 
 
 N 3 ever^ 
 
1 82 O/ASense PartllL 
 
 ever, that others exercife the fame criticifm upon us. 
 We are pleafed when they approve of our figure, 
 and are difobliged when they feem to be difgufted. 
 We become anxious to know how far our appear- 
 ance defer ves either their blame or approbation. We 
 examine our own perfons limb by limb, and by 
 placing ourfelves before a looking-glafs, or by fome 
 fuch expedient, endeavour, as much as poffible, to 
 view ourfelves at the diflance and with the eyes of 
 other people. If after this examination we are fatis- 
 fied with our own appearance, we can more eafily 
 fupport the moil difadvantageous judgments of 
 others : if, on the contrary, we are fenfible that we 
 are the natural objects of diftafte, every appearance 
 of their difapprobation mortifies us beyond all mea- 
 fure. A man who is tolerably handfome, will allow 
 you to laugh at any little irregularity in his perfon ; 
 but all fuch jokes are commonly infupportable to one 
 who is really deformed. It is evident, however, 
 that we are anxious about our own beauty and defor- 
 mity only on account of its effect upon others. If 
 we had no connexion with fociety, we mould be al- 
 together indifferent about either. 
 
 In the fame manner our firft moral criticifms are 
 exercifed upon the characters and conduct of other 
 people ; and we are all very forward to obferve how 
 each of thefe affects us. But we foon learn, that 
 others are equally frank with regard to our own. 
 We become anxious to know how far we deferve 
 their ceniure or applaufe, and whether to them we 
 mult neceffarily appear thofe agreeable or difagree- 
 able creatures which they reprefent us. We begin 
 upon this account to examine our own palfions and 
 conduct, and to confider how thefe muft appear to 
 them, by confidering how they would appear to 
 
 us 
 
Chap. 2. of D u t y. 183 
 
 us if in their fituation. We fuppofe ourfelves the 
 fpectator s of our own behaviour, and endeavour to 
 imagine what effect it would, in this light, produce 
 upon us. This is the only looking-glafs by which 
 we can, in fome meafure, with the eyes of others, 
 fcrutinize the propriety of our own conduct. If in 
 this view it pleafes us, we are tolerably fatisfied. We 
 can be more indifferent about the applaufe, and, in 
 fome meafure, defpife the cenfure of others ■ fecure 
 that, however mifunderftood or mifreprefented, we 
 are the natural and proper objects of approbation, 
 On the contrary, if we are difpleafed with it, we are 
 often upon that very account more anxious to gain 
 their approbation, and, provided we have not alrea- 
 dy, as they fay, lhaken hands with infamy, we are 
 altogether diffracted at the thoughts of their cen- 
 fure, which then ftrikes us with double feverity. 
 
 When I endeavour to examine my own conduct, 
 when I endeavour to pafs fentence upon it, and ei- 
 ther to approve or condemn it, it is evident that, in 
 all fuch cafes, I divide myfelf, as it were, into two 
 perfons, and that I, the examiner and judge, repre- 
 fent a different character from that other I, the per- 
 fon whofe conduct is examined into and judged of. 
 The firft is the fpectator, whofe fentiments with re- 
 gard to my own conduct I endeavour to enter into, 
 by placing myfelf in his fituation, and by confider- 
 ing how it would appear to me when feen from that 
 particular point of view. The fecond is the agent, 
 the perfon whom I properly call myfelf, and of 
 whofe conduct, under the character of a fpectator, 
 I was endeavouring to form fome opinion. The 
 firfl is the judge ; the fecond the pannel. But that 
 the judge mould, in every refpect, be the fame 
 
 N 4 with 
 
1 84 Of the Sense Part III. 
 
 with the pannel, is as impoflible, as that the caufe 
 fhould, in every refpect, be the fame with the effect. 
 
 To be amiable and to be meritorious, that is, to 
 deferve love and to deferve reward, are the great 
 characters of virtue, and to be odious and punifria- 
 ble, of vice. But all thefe characters have an imme- 
 diate reference to the fentiments of others. Virtue 
 is not faid to be amiable or to be meritorious, be- 
 caufe it is the object of its own love, or of its own 
 gratitude ; but becaufe it excites thofe fentiments in 
 other men. The confcioufnefs that it is the object 
 of fuch favourable regards is the fourceof that in- 
 ward tranquillity and felf-fatisfaction with which it 
 is naturally attended, as the fufpicion of the contra- 
 ry gives occafion to the torments of vice. What fo 
 great happinefs as to be beloved, and to know that 
 we deferve to be beloved ? What fo great mifery 
 as to be hated, and to know that we deferve to be 
 hated ? 
 
 Man is confidered as a moral, becaufe he is re- 
 garded as an accountable being. But an account- 
 able being, as the word expreffes, is a being that 
 muft give an account of its actions to fome other, 
 and that confequently muft regulate them accord- 
 ing to the good liking of this other. Man is ac- 
 countable to God and his fellow-creatures. But 
 though he is, no doubt, principally accountable to 
 God ; in the order of time, he muft necelfarily con- 
 ceive himfelfas accountable to his fellow-creatures, 
 before he can form any idea of the Deity, or of the 
 rules by which that divine being will judge of his 
 conduct. A child furely conceives itfelf as account- 
 able to its parents,>and ic elevated or caft down by 
 
 the 
 
Chap. 2. of. Duty. 185 
 
 the thought of their merited approbation or difap- 
 probation, long before it forms any idea of its ac- 
 countablenefs to the Deity, or of the rules by which 
 that divine being will judge of its conduct. 
 
 The great judge of the world, has, for the wifeft 
 reafons, thought proper to interpofe, between the 
 weak eye of human reafon, and the throne of his 
 eternal juflice, a degree of obicurity and darknefs, 
 which though it does not entirely cover that great 
 tribunal from the view of mankind, yet renders the 
 imprefllon of it faint and feeble in cumparifon of 
 what might be expected from the grandeur and im- 
 portance of fo mighty an object. If thofe infinite 
 rewards and punifhitients which the Almighty has 
 prepared for thofe who obey or tranfgrefs his will, 
 v. ere perceived as diftinctly as we forefee the frivo- 
 lous and temporary retaliations which we may ex- 
 pect from one another, the weaknefs of human na- 
 ture, altonifhed at the immenfity of objects fo little 
 fitted to its comprehenfion, could no longer attend 
 to the little affairs of this world ; and it is abfolutely 
 impoflible that the bufinefs of fociety could have 
 been carried on, if, in this refpect, there had been a 
 fuller revelation of the intentions of Providence 
 than that which has already been made. That 
 men, however, might never be without a rule to 
 direct their conduct by, nor without a judge whofe 
 authority mould enforce its obfervation, the Author 
 of nature has made man the immediate judge of 
 mankind, and has, in this refpect, as in many 
 others, created him after his own image, and ap- 
 pointed him his vicegerent upon earth, to fuperin- 
 tend the behaviour of his brethren. They are 
 taught by nature to acknowledge that power and 
 
 jurifdiction 
 
1 86 Of the Se n s e Part III. 
 
 jurisdiction which has thus been conferred upon him, 
 and to tremble and exult according as they imagine 
 thr.t they have either merited his cenfure, or deferved 
 his applaufe. 
 
 But whatever may be the authority of this inferior 
 tribunal which is continually before their eyes, if at 
 any time it mould decide contrary to thofe princi- 
 ples and rules, which Nature has eftablimed for re- 
 gulating its judgments, men feel that they may ap- 
 peal from this unjuft decifion, and call upon a fupe- 
 rior tribunal, the tribunal eftablifhed in their own 
 breafts, to redrefs the injuftice of this weak or par- 
 tial judgment. 
 
 There are certain principles eftablifhed by Nature 
 for governing our judgment concerning the conduct 
 of thofe we live with. As long as we decide accord- 
 ing to thofe principles, and neither applaud nor con- 
 demn any thing which Nature has not rendered the 
 proper object of applaufe or condemnation, nor any 
 further than fhe has rendered it fuch, as our lentence 
 is, in this cafe, if I may fay fo, quite agreeable to 
 law, it is liable neither to repeal nor to correction of 
 any kind. The perfon concerning whom we form 
 thefe judgments, mud himfelf necerTarily approve of 
 them. When he puts himfelf into our fituation, he 
 cannot avoid viewing his own conduct in the very 
 fame light in which we appear to view it. He is 
 fenfible, that to us, and to every impartial fpectator, 
 he muft necerTarily appear the natural and proper ob- 
 ject: of thofe fentiments which we exprefs with regard 
 to him. Thofe fentiments, therefore, muft necefla- 
 rily produce their full effect upon him, and he cannot 
 fail to conceive all the* triumph of felf-approbation 
 
 - from, 
 
Chap. 2. of Du t y. 187 
 
 from, what appears to him, fuch merited applaufe, 
 as well as all the horrors of fhar&e from, what, he 
 is fenfible, is fuch deferved condemnation. 
 
 But it is otherwife, if we have either applauded or 
 condemned him, contrary to thofe principles and 
 rules which Nature has eftablifhed for the direction 
 of our judgments concerning every thing of this 
 kind. If we have either applauded or condemned 
 him for what, when he put himfelf into ourfituation, 
 does not appear to him to be the object either of ap- 
 plaufe or condemnation ; as in this cafe he cannot 
 enter into our fentiments, provided he has any con- 
 itancy or firmnefs, he is but little affected by them, 
 and can neither be much elevated by the favourable, 
 nor greatly mortified by the unfavourable decifion. 
 The applaufe of the whole world will avail but little, 
 if our own confidence condemn us -, and the difap- 
 probation of all mankind is not capable of oppreffmg 
 us, when we are abfolved by the tribunal within our 
 own breaft, and when our own mind tells us that 
 mankind are in the wrong. 
 
 But though this tribunal within the bread be thus 
 the fupreme arbiter of all our actions, though it can 
 reverfe the decifions of all mankind with regard to 
 our character and conduct, and mortify us amidfl 
 the applaufe, or fupport us under the cenfure of the 
 world ; yet, if we inquire into the origin of its in- 
 ftitution, its jurisdiction we fhall find is in a great 
 meafure derived from the authority of that very tribu- 
 nal, whofe decifions it fo often andfojuftly reverfes. 
 
 When wefirft come into the world, from the na 
 tural defire to pleafe, we accuftom ourfelves to con- 
 
 fider 
 
1 88 0//fo Sense . Part III. 
 
 fider what behaviour is likely to be agreeable to every 
 perfon we converfe wi th, to our parents, to our mas- 
 ters, to our companions. We addreis ourfelves to 
 individuals, and for fome time fondly purfue the im- 
 polTible and abfurd project of gaining the good- will 
 and approbation of every body. We are foon 
 taught by experience, however, that this universal 
 approbation is altogether unattainable. As foon as 
 we come to have more important interefts to manage, 
 we find, that by pleafmg one man, we almoft cer- 
 tainly di-fobl ; ge another, and that by humouring an 
 individual, we may often irritate a whole people. 
 The faireft and moil equitable conduct mull 
 frequently obftruct the interefls, or thwart the 
 inclinations of particular perfons, who will feldom 
 have candour enough to enter into the propriety ofour 
 motives, or to fee that this conduct, how difagreeable 
 foever to them, is perfectly fui table to our fituation. 
 In order to defend ourfelves from fuch partial judg- 
 ments, we foon learn to fet up in our own minds a, 
 judge between ourfelves and thofe we live with. Wc 
 conceive ourfelves as acting in the prefence of a per- 
 fon quite candid and equitable, of one who has no 
 particular relation either to ourfelves, or to thofe 
 whofe interefls are affected by our conduct, who is 
 neither father, nor brother, nor friend either to them 
 or to us, but is merely a man in general, an impar- 
 tial fpectator who confiders our conduct with the 
 fame indifference with which we regard that of other 
 people. If, when we place ourfelves in the fituation 
 of fuch a perfon, -our own actions appear to us under 
 an agreeable afpect, if we feel that fuch a fpectator 
 cannot avoid entering into all the motives which 
 
 influenced 
 
Chap. 2. of D u t y. 189 
 
 influenced us, whatever may be the judgments of the 
 world, we mufl ft ill be pleafed with our own beha- 
 viour, and regard ourfelves, in fpite of the cenfure 
 of our companions, as the juft and proper objects of 
 approbation. 
 
 On the contrary, if the man within condemns us, 
 the lcudeft acclamations of mankind appear but as 
 the noife of ignorance and folly, and whenever we 
 alTume the character of this impartial judge, we can- 
 not avoid viewing our own actions with this diftafte 
 and diffatisfaction. The weak, the vain, and the fri- 
 volous, indeed, may be mortified by the mod ground- 
 lefs cenfure, or elated by the moil abfurd applaufe. 
 Such perfons are not accuitomed to confult the judge 
 within concerning, the opinion which they ought to 
 form of their own conduct. This inmate of the 
 breaft, this abftra£t man, the reprefentative of man- 
 kind, and fubititute of the Deity, whom Nature has 
 conftituted the fupreme judge of all their actions, is 
 feldom appealed to by them. They are contented 
 with the decifion of the inferior tribunal. The ap- 
 probation of their companions, of the particular per- 
 fons whom they have lived and converfed with, has 
 o-enerally been the ultimate object of all their wifhes. 
 If they obtain this, their joy is complete ; and if they 
 fail, they are entirely disappointed. They never 
 think of appealing to the fuperior court. They have 
 feldom inquired after its decifions, and are altoge- 
 gether unacquainted with the rules and forms of its 
 procedure. When the world injures them, there- 
 fore, they are incapable of doing themfelves juftice, 
 and are, in confequence, neceifarily the flaves of the 
 
 world, 
 
i go Of the Sense . Part III. 
 
 world. But it is otherwife with the man who has, 
 upon all cccafions, been accuftomed to have recourfe 
 to the judge within, and to con fider, not what the 
 world approves or difapproves of, but what appears 
 to this impartial fpectator, the natural and proper 
 object of approbation or difapprobation. The judg- 
 ment of this fupreme arbiter of his conduct, is the 
 applaufe, which he has been accuftomed principally 
 to court, is the cenfure which he has been accuftom- 
 ed principally to fear. Compared with this final de- 
 cifion, the fentiments of all mankind, though not 
 altogether indifferent, appear to be but of fmall mo- 
 ment ; and he is incapable of being either much 
 elevated by their favourable, or greatly deprefTed by 
 their moll difadvantageous judgment. 
 
 It is only by consulting this judge within, that we 
 can fee whatever relates to ourfelves in its proper 
 fliape and dimenfions, or that we can make any pro- 
 per comparifon between our own interefls and thofe 
 of other men. 
 
 As to the eye of the body, objects appear great or 
 fmall, not fo much according to their real dimenfions, 
 as according to the nearnefs or diftance of their fitu- 
 ation j fo do they likewife to what may be called the 
 natural eye of the mind : and we remedy the defects 
 of both thefe organs pretty much in the fame manner. 
 In my prefent fituation an immenfe landfcape of 
 lawns, and woods, and diftant mountains, feems to 
 do no more than cover the little window which I 
 write by, and to be out of all proportion lefs than the 
 chamber in which I am fitting. lean form a juft 
 comparifon between thofe great objects and the 
 little objects around me, in no other way, than by 
 
 tran- 
 
Chap. 2. of D u *r Y. t$t 
 
 iranfporting myfeif, at lean: in fancy, to a different 
 ftation, from whence I can furvey both at nearly 
 equal diflances, and thereby forrri fome judgment 
 of their real proportions. Habit and experience have 
 taught me to do this fb eafily and fo readily, that I 
 am icarce fenfible that I do it •, and a man muft be, 
 in Tome meafure, acquainted with the philofophy of 
 vifion, before he can be thoroughly convinced, how 
 little thofe diftant objects would appear to the eye, 
 if the imagination, from a knowledge of, their real 
 magnitudes, did not fwell and dilate them. 
 
 In the fame manner, to the felnfh and original 
 pailions of human nature, the lofs or gain of a very 
 fmall intereft of our own, appears to be of vaflly 
 more importance, excites a much more paflionate 
 joy or forrow, a much more ardent defire or averfion, 
 than the greater! concern of another with whom we 
 have no particular connexion. His interefls, as long 
 as they are furveyed from this ftation, can never be 
 put into the balance with our own, can never re- 
 strain us from doing whatever may tend to promote 
 our own, how ruinous foever to him. Before we 
 can make any proper comparifon of thofe oppofite 
 interefts, we muft change our pofition. We muft 
 view them, neither from our own place, nor yet 
 from his, neither with our own eyes nor yet with his, 
 but from the place, and with the eyes of a third per- 
 fon, who has no particular connexion with either, and 
 who judges with impartiality between us. Here too, 
 habit and experience have taught us to do this fo 
 eafily and fo readily, that we are fcarce fenfible that 
 we do it ; and it requires, in this cafe too, fome 
 degree of reflection, and even of philofophy to con- 
 vince us, how little intereft we mould take in the 
 
 greateft 
 
lgz Of the S e n s e - Part III. 
 
 greatefl concerns of our neighbour, how little we 
 mould be affected by whatever relates to him, if the 
 fenfe of propriety andjuftice did not correct the 
 otherwife natural inequality of our fentiments. 
 
 Let us fuppofe that the great empire of China, 
 with all its myriads of inhabitants, was fuddeniy 
 fwallowed up by an earthquake, and let us confider 
 how a man of humanity in Europe, who had no fort 
 of connexion with that part of the world, would be 
 affected upon receiving intelligence of this dreadful 
 calamity. He would, I imagine, firft of all, exprefs 
 very flrongly his forrow for the misfortune of that 
 unhappy people, he would make many melancholy 
 reflections upon the precarioufnefs of human life, and 
 the vanity of all the labours of man, which could 
 thus be annihilated in a moment. He v/ould too, 
 perhaps, if he was a man of fpeculation, enter into 
 many reafonings concerning the effects which this 
 di falter might produce upon the commerce of Europe, 
 and the trade and bufmefs of the world in general. 
 And when all this fine phiiofophy was over, when all 
 thefe humane fentiments had been once fairly ex- 
 preffed, he would purfue his bufmefs or his pleafure, 
 take his repofe or his diverfion, with the fame eafe 
 and tranquility, as if no fuch accident had happened. 
 The moit frivolous difalter which could befai himfelf 
 would occafion a more real difturbance. If he was 
 to lofe his little finger to-morrow, he v/ould not deep 
 to-night ; but provided he never faw them, he will 
 fnore with the moft profound fecurity over the ruin 
 of a hundred millions of his brethren, and the de- 
 ftruction of that immenfe multitude feems plainly 
 an object lefs interefting to him, than this paultiy 
 misfortune of his owrr> To prevent therefore, this 
 
 - paultry 
 
Chap. 2. of D u t y. 193 
 
 paultry misfortune to himfelf would a man of hurra-. 
 ni/ty be willing to facrifice the lives of a hundred 
 millions of his brethren, provided he had never (tQa 
 them ? Human nature ftartles with horror at the 
 thought, and the world, in its greateft depravity and 
 corruption, never produced fuch a villain as could 
 be capable of entertaining it. But what makes this 
 difference ? When our paflive feelings are almoft al- 
 ways fo fordid and fo felfifh, how comes it that our 
 active principles mould often be fo generous and fo 
 noble ? When we are always fo much more deeply 
 affected by whatever concerns ourfelves, than by- 
 whatever concerns other men - what is it which 
 prompts the generous, upon all occafions, and the 
 mean upon many, to facrifice their own intereits to 
 the greater interefls of others ? It is not the foft power 
 of humanity, it is not that feeble fpark of benevo- 
 lence which Nature has lighted up in the human 
 heart, that is thus capable of counteracting the 
 ftrongeft impulfes of felf-iove. It is a ftrono-er 
 power, a more forcible motive, which exerts itielf 
 upon fuch occafions. It is reaion, principle, confci- 
 ence, the inhabitant of the breaft, the man within 
 the great judge and arbiter of our conduct. It is he 
 who, whenever we are about to act fo as to affect the 
 happinefs of others, calls to us with a voice capable 
 of aftonifhing the moll prefumptuous of our paflions, 
 that we are but one of the multitude, in no refpect 
 better than any other in it ; and that when we prefer 
 ourfelves fo fhamefully and fo blindly to others, we 
 become the proper objects of refentment, abhor- 
 rence, and execration. It is from him only that we 
 learn the real littlenefs of ourfelves, and of whatever 
 relates to ourfelves, and the natural mifreprefentati- 
 onsof felf-love can be corrected only by the eye of 
 
 O this 
 
194 Of rf je Sense Tart III. 
 
 this impartial fpectator. It is he who mows us 
 the propriety of generofity and the deformity of in- 
 justice ; the propriety of refigning the greatefl in- 
 terefts of our own, for the yet greater interefts 
 of others, and the deformity of doing the 
 fmalleft injury to another, in order to obtain the 
 greatefl benefit to ourfelves. It is not the love of 
 our neighbour, it is not the love of mankind, which 
 upon many occafions prompts us to the practice of 
 thofe divine virtues. It is a ftronger love, a more 
 powerful affection which generally takes place upon 
 fuch occafions, the love of what is honourable and 
 noble, of the grandeur, and dignity, and Superiority 
 of our own characters. 
 
 When the happinefs or mifery of others depends 
 in any refpect upon our conduct, we dare not, as 
 felf-love would fuggeft to us, prefer any little intereft 
 of our own, to the"yet greater intereft of our neigh- 
 bour. We feel that we mould become the proper ob- 
 jects of the refentment and indignation of our bre- 
 thren, and the fenfe of the impropriety of this affec- 
 tion is fupported and enlivened by the yet ftronger 
 fenfe of the demerit of the action, which it would in 
 this cafe give occafion to. But when the happinefs 
 or mifery of others in no refpect depends upon our 
 conduct, when our own interefts are altogether fepa- 
 rated and detached from theirs, fo that there is nei- 
 ther connexion nor competition between them, as 
 the fenfe of demerit does not in this cafe interpofe, 
 the mere fenfe of impropriety is feldom able to re- 
 ftrain us from abandoning ourfelves to our natural 
 anxiety about our own affairs, and to our natural in- 
 difference about thofe of other men. The moil vul- 
 gar education teaches us to act, upon all important 
 occafions, with iome fort of impartiality between 
 
 ourfelves 
 
Chap. 2. of D u t y. 
 
 ourfelves and others, and even the ordinary com 
 merce of the world is capable of adjufting our active 
 principles to fome degree of propriety. But it is 
 the mod artificial and refined education only, which 
 pretends to correct the inequalities of our paffive 
 feehngs, and we mult for this purpofe have recourfe 
 to the fevereft, as well as to the profoundeft philofo- 
 phy. 
 
 Two different fets of phi lofophers have attempted 
 to teach us this harden: of all the lefTons of morality. 
 One fet have laboured to increafe our fenfibiiityto 
 the interefts of others • another to diminim that to 
 our own. The firft would have us feel for others as 
 we naturally feel for ourfelves. The fecond would 
 have us feel for ourfelves, as we naturally feel for 
 others. 
 
 The full are thofe melancholy moralifts, who are 
 perpetually reproaching us with our happinefs, while 
 fo many of our brethren are in mifery, * who regard 
 as impious the natural joy of profperity, which does 
 not think of the many wretches that are at every in- 
 ftant labouring under all forts of calamities, in the 
 languor of poverty, in the agony of difeafe, in the 
 horrors of death, under the infults and oppreilion of 
 their enemies. Commiferation for thofe miferies 
 which we never faw, which we never heard of, but 
 which we may be allured are at all times infeiting 
 fuch numbers of our fellow-creatures, ought, they 
 think, to damp the pleafures of the fortunate, and to 
 render a certain melancholy dejection habitual to all 
 men. But firft of all, this extreme fyrnpathy with 
 
 O 2 misfortunes, 
 
 * See Thomfon's Seafons, Winter : 
 " Ah ! little think the gay licentious proud," &c. 
 See al fo Pafcal. 
 
196 Of the Sens i Part III. 
 
 misfortunes, which we know nothing about, feems 
 altogether abfurd and unreafonable. Take the whole 
 earth at an average, for one man who iiifTers pain or 
 mifery, you will find twenty in profperity and joy, 
 or at lead in tolerable circumftances. No reafon, 
 furely, can be afligned why we mould rather weep 
 with the one than rejoice with the twenty. This 
 artificial commiferation, befides, is not only abfurd, 
 but feems altogether unattainable ; and thofe who 
 afTeft this character have commonly nothing but a 
 certain hypocritical fadnefs, which, without reaching 
 the heart, ferves only to render the countenance and 
 converfation impertinently difmal and difagreeabie. 
 And laft of all, this difpofition of mind, though it 
 could be attained, would be perfectly ufelefs, and 
 could ferve no other purpofe than to render miferabte 
 the perfon who was pofTefled of it. Whatever in- 
 tereft we take in the fortune of thofe with whom 
 we have no acquaintance or connexion, and who 
 are placed altogether out of the fphere of our activity, 
 can produce only anxiety to ourfelves, without any 
 manner of advantage to them. To what purpofe 
 mould we trouble ourfelves about the world in the 
 moon ? All men, even thofe at the greatefl diftance, 
 are no doubt entitled to our good wifhes, and our 
 good wifhes we naturally give them. But if, not- 
 withstanding, they mould be unfortunate, to give 
 ourfelves any anxiety upon that account, feems to 
 be no part of our duty. That we mould be but 
 little interefted, therefore, in the fortune of thofe 
 whom we can neither ferve nor hurt, and who are in 
 every refpedt, fo very remote from us, feems wifely 
 ordered by nature ; and if it were poffible to 
 alter in this refpe& the original conftitutiori of our 
 frame, we could yet gain nothing by the change. 
 
 Among 
 
Chap. 2. of D U T Y. . ipy 
 
 Among the moralifts who endeavour to correct 
 the natural inequality of our paflive feelings by di- 
 mini filing our fenfibility to what peculiarly concerns 
 ourfelves, we may count all the ancient fedts of phi- 
 lofophers, but particularly the ancient ftoics. Man, 
 according to the ftoics, ought to regard himfelf, not 
 as iomething feparated and detached, but as a citi- 
 zen of the world, a member of the vaft common- 
 wealth of nature. To the intereft of this great com- 
 munity, he ought at all times to be willing that his 
 own little intereil mould be facrificed. Whatever 
 concerns himfelf, ought to affect him no more than 
 whatever concerns any other equally important part 
 of this immenfe fyftem. We mould view ourfelves, 
 not in the light in which our own felfifh paflions are 
 apt to place us, but in the light in which any other 
 citizen of the world would view us. What befalls 
 ourfelves we iliould regard as what befalls our neigh- 
 bour, or, what comes to the fame thing, as our 
 neighbour regards what befalls us. " When our 
 " neighbour," fays Epidtetus, " lofes his wife or his 
 " fon, there is nobody who is not fenfible that this is a 
 " human calamity, a natural event altogether, accord- 
 91 ing to the ordinary courfe of things : but when 
 " the fame thing happens to ourfelves, then we cry 
 tc out, as if we had fuffered the moft dreadful misfor- 
 M tune. We ought, however, to remember how 
 " we were affedted when this accident happened to 
 " another, and fuch as we were in his cafe, fuch 
 " ought we to be in our own." How diffi- 
 cult foever it may be to attain this fupreme degree 
 of magnanimity and firmnefs, it is by no means ei- 
 ther abfurd or ufelefs to attempt it. Though few 
 men have the floical idea of what this perfect pro- 
 priety requires, yet all men endeavour in fome mea- 
 
 O 3 toe 
 
198 Of the Sense Part ill, 
 
 lure to command themfelves, and to bring down 
 their feliifh paflions to fomething which their neigh- 
 bour can go along with. But this can never be done 
 Co effectually as by viewing whatever befalls them- 
 felves in the light in which their neighbours are apt 
 to view it. The floical philofophy, in this refpect, 
 does little more than unfold our natural ideas of 
 perfection. There is nothing abfurd or improper, 
 therefore, in aiming at this perfect felf-command. 
 Neither would the attainment of it be ufelefs, but, 
 on the contrary, the moft advantageous of all things, 
 as eitablifning our happinefs upon the moft folid and 
 fecure foundation, a firm confidence in that wifdom 
 and juftice which governs the world, and an entire 
 refignation of ourfelves, and of whatever relates to 
 ourfelves to the all- wife difpofal of this ruling prin- 
 ciple in nature. 
 
 It fcarce ever happens, however, that we are ca- 
 pable of adj lifting our paflive feelings to this perfect 
 propriety. We indulge ourfelves, and even the 
 world indulges us, in fome degree of irregularity in 
 this refpect. Though we mould be too much af- 
 fected by what concerns ourfelves, and too little by 
 what concerns other men, ) et, if we always act with 
 impartiality between ourfelves and others, if we ne- 
 ver actually facrifice any great intereft of others, to 
 any little intereft of our own, we are eafily pardon- 
 ed: and it were well, if, upon all occafions, thofe 
 who defire to do their duty were capable of main- 
 taining even this degree of impartiality between 
 themfelves and others. But this is Very far from 
 being the cafe. Even in good men, the judge with- 
 in is often in danger of being corrupted by the vio- 
 lence and injustice of their feltifti paflions, and is 
 
 often 
 
Chap. 2. of D u t y. 199 
 
 often induced to make a report very different from 
 what the real circumftances of the cafe are capable 
 of authorizing. 
 
 There are two different occafions, upon which we 
 examine our own conduct, and endeavour to view 
 it in the light in which the impartial Spectator would 
 view it. Firft, when we are about to act ; and, Se- 
 condly, after we have acted. Our views are very 
 partial in both cafes, but they are mofl fo, when it 
 is of mofl importance that they fhould be otherwife. 
 
 When we are about to act, the eagernefs of paf- 
 fion will feldom allow us to confider what we are 
 doing with the candour of an indifferent perfon. 
 The violent emotions which at that time agitate us, 
 diicolour our views of things, even when we are en- 
 deavouring to place ourfelves in the fjtuation of ano- 
 ther, and to regard the objects that intereft us, in 
 the light in which they will naturally appear to him. 
 The fury of our own paflions conftantly galls us 
 back to our own place, where every thing appears 
 magnified and mifreprefented by felf-love. Of the 
 manner in which thofe objects would appear to an- 
 other, of the view which he would take of them, we 
 can obtain, if I may fay fo, but inflantaneous 
 glimpfes, which vanifh in a moment, and which 
 even while they laft are not altogether juft. We 
 cannot even for that moment divefl ourfelves entire- 
 ly of the heat and keennefs with which our peculiar 
 fituation infpires us, nor confider what we are about 
 to do with the complete impartiality of an equitable 
 judge. The paflions, upon this account, as father 
 Jvlalebranche fays, all juftify themfelves, and feem 
 
 O 4 reasonable, 
 
200 Of the S e n s e Part III. 
 
 reafonable, and proportioned to their objects, as 
 long as we continue to feel them. 
 
 When the action is over, indeed, and the pafiions 
 which prompted it have fubfided, we can enter more 
 coolly into fentiments of the indifferent fpectator. 
 What before interelted us, is now become almoit as 
 indifferent to us as it always was to him, and we can 
 now examine our own condu& with his candour and 
 impartiality. But our judgments now are of little 
 importance, compared to what they were before; 
 and when they are molt feverely impartial, can com- 
 monly produce nothing but vain regret, and un- 
 availing repentance, without fecuring us, from the 
 like errors for the future. It is feidom, however, 
 that they are quite candid even in this cafe. The 
 opinion which we entertain of our own character, 
 depends entirely on our judgment concerning our 
 paft conduct. It is lb difagreeable to think ill of 
 ourfelves, that we often purpofely turn away our 
 view from thofe circumflances which might render 
 that judgment unfavourable. He is a bold furgeon, 
 they fay, whofe hand does not tremble when he 
 performs an operation upon his own perfon - 9 and he 
 is often equally bold who does not hefitate to pull 
 off the myflerious veil of felf-delufion, which covers 
 from his view the deformities of his own conduct. 
 Rather than lee our own behaviour under fo difagree- 
 able an afpect, we too often, fooliinly and weakly, 
 endeavour to exafperate anew thofe unjurt pailions 
 which had formerly milled us ; we endeavour by ar- 
 tifice to awaken our old hatreds, and irritate afrefh 
 our almoil forgotten refentments ; we even exert 
 ourfelves for this miferable purpofe, and thus per- 
 fevere in injuftice, merely becaufe we once were tin- 
 
 juft, 
 
Chap. 2. of D u t y. 201 
 
 juft, and becaufe we are afhamed and afraid to fee 
 that we were fo. 
 
 So partial are the views of mankind with regard 
 to the propriety of their own conduct, both at the 
 time of action and after it • and fo difficult is it for 
 them to view it in the light in which any indifferent 
 fpectator would confider it. But if it was by a pe- 
 culiar faculty, fuch as the moral fenfe is fuppofed to 
 be, that they judged of their own conduct, if they 
 were endued with a particular power of perception, 
 which diftinguifhed the beauty or deformity of paf- 
 fions and affections ; as their own paffions would be 
 more immediately expofed to the view of this fa- 
 culty, it would judge with more accuracy concern- 
 ing them, than concerning thofe of other men, of 
 which it had only a more diflant profpect. 
 
 This felf-deceit, this fatal weaknefs of mankind, 
 is the fource of half the diforders of human life. If 
 we faw ourfelves in the light in which others fee us, 
 or in which they would fee us if they knew all, a re- 
 formation would generally be unavoidable. We 
 could not otherwife endure the fight. 
 
 Nature, however, has not left this weaknefs, which 
 is of fo much importance, altogether without a re- 
 medy • nor has fhe abandoned us entirely to the de- 
 lufions of felf-love. Our continual obfervations up- 
 on the conduct of others, infenfibly lead us to form 
 to ourfelves certain general rules concerning what is 
 fit and proper either to be done or to be avoided, 
 Some of their actions mock all our natural fenti- 
 ments. We hear every body about us exprefs the 
 like deteftation againft them. This flill further con- 
 firms, and even exafperates our natural {en(e of 
 
 their 
 
202 Of the S e n s e Part Ilf. 
 
 their deformity. It fatisfies us that we view them 
 in the proper light, when we fee other people view 
 them in the fame light. We refolve never to be 
 guilty of the like, nor ever, upon any account, to 
 render ourfelves in this manner the objects of uni^- 
 verfal difapprobation We thus naturally lay down 
 to ourfelves a general rule, that all fuch actions are 
 to be avoided, as tending to render us odious, con- 
 temptible, or punifhable, the objects of all thofe 
 fentiments for which we have the grcatefl dread and 
 averfion. Other actions, on the contrary, call forth 
 our approbation, and we hear every body around us 
 exprefs the fame favourable opinion concerning 
 them. Every body is eager to honour and reward 
 them. They excite all thofe fentiments for which 
 we have by nature the flrongefl defire $ the love, the 
 gratitude, the admiration of mankind. We become 
 ambitious of performing the like ; and thus naturally 
 lay down to ourfelves a rule of another kind, that 
 every opportunity of acting in this manner is care-? 
 fully to be fought after. 
 
 It is thus that the general rules of morality are 
 formed. They are ultimately founded upon expe- 
 rience of what, in particular inftances, our moral fa- 
 culties, our natural fenfe of merit and propriety, 
 approve, or difapprove of. We do not originally 
 approve or condemn particular actions •, becaufe, up- 
 on examination, they appear to be agreeable or in- 
 confiftent with a certain general rule. The general 
 rule, on the contrary, is formed by finding from ex- 
 perience, that all actions of a certain kind, or cir- 
 cumftanced in a certain manner, are approved or 
 difapproved of. To the man who firft faw an in- 
 human murder, committed from avarice, envy, or 
 
 unjuft 
 
Chap. 2. of D u t y. 203 
 
 imjuft refentment, and upon one too that loved and 
 trufted the murderer, who beheld' the laft agonies of 
 the dying perfon, who heard him, with his expiring 
 breath, complain more of the perfidy and ingrati- 
 tude of his falfe friend, than of the violence which 
 had been done to him, there could be no occafion, 
 in order to conceive how horrible fuch an action was, 
 that he mould reflect, that one of the moft facred 
 rules of conduct was what prohibited the taking 
 away the life of an innocent perfon, that this was a 
 plain violation of that rule, and confequently a very 
 blamable a&ion. His deteftation of this crime, it 
 is evident, would arife inilantaneouily and antece- 
 dent to his having formed to himfelf any fuch ge- 
 neral rule. The general rule, on the contrary, 
 which he might afterwards form, would be founded 
 upon the deteflation which he felt neceifarily arife in 
 his own breaft, at the thought of this, and every 
 other particular action of the fame kind. 
 
 When we read in hillory or romance, the account 
 of actions either of generofity or of bafenefs, the ad- 
 miration which we conceive for the one, and the 
 contempt which we feel for the other, neither 
 of them arife from reflecting that there are certain 
 general rules which declare all actions of the one 
 kind admirable, and all actions of the other con- 
 temptible. Thofe general rules, on the contrary, 
 are all formed from the experience we have had of 
 the effects which actions of all different kinds natu- 
 rally produce upon us. 
 
 An amiable action, a refpectable adion, an hor- 
 rid action, are all of them actions which naturally 
 excite the love, the refpect, or the horror of the 
 
 fpectator. 
 
204 Of the Sense Part III. 
 
 fpectator, for the perfon who performs them. The 
 general rules which determine what actions are, 
 and what are not, the objects of each of thofe fenti- 
 ments, can be formed no other way than by observ- 
 ing what actions actually and in fact excite them. 
 
 When thefe general rules, indeed, have been 
 formed, when they are univerfally acknowledged 
 and eflablifhed, by the concurring fentiments of 
 mankind, we frequently appeal to them as to the 
 ftandards of judgment, in debating concerning the 
 degree of praife or blame that is due to certain ac- 
 tions of a complicated and dubious nature. They 
 are upon thefe occafions commonly cited as the ulti- 
 mate foundations of what is juft and unjufl in hu- 
 man conduct ; and this circumitance feems to have 
 milled feveral very eminent authors, to draw up 
 their fyflems in fuch a manner, as if they had fup- 
 pofed that the original judgments of mankind with 
 regard to right and wrong, were formed like the 
 decifions of a court of judicatory, by confidering 
 firfl the general rule, and then, fecondly, whether 
 the particular action under confideration fell properly 
 within its comprehenfion. 
 
 Thofe general rules of conduct, when they have 
 been fixed in our mind by habitual reflection, are of 
 great ufe in correcting mifreprefentations of felf-love 
 concerning what is fit and proper to be done in our 
 particular fituation. The man of furious refentment, 
 if he was to liflen to the dictates of that paflion, 
 would perhaps regard the death of his enemy, as but 
 a fmall compenfation for the wrong, he imagines, 
 he has recehed ; which, however, may be no more 
 than a very flight provocation. But his obfervations 
 
 upon 
 
Chap. z. , of D u t y. 205 
 
 upon the conduct of others, have taught him how 
 horrible all fuch fanguinary revenges appear. Un~ 
 lefs his education has been very lingular, he has laid 
 it down to himfelf as an inviolable rule, to abftain 
 from them upon all occafions. This rule preferves 
 its .authority with him, and renders him incapable of 
 being guilty of fuch a violence. Yet the fury of his 
 own temper may be fuch, that had this been the 
 mil time in which he confidered fuch an action, he 
 would undoubtedly have determined it to be quite 
 juft and proper, and what every impartial fpectator 
 would approve of. But that reverence for the rule 
 which paft experience has impreffed upon him, checks 
 the impetuofity of his paflion, and helps him to cor- 
 rect the too partial views which felf-love might 
 other wife fugged, of what was proper to be done 
 in his fituation. If he fhould allow himfelf to be 
 fo far tranfported by paflion as to violate this rule, 
 yet even in this cafe, he cannot throw off altogether 
 the awe and refpect with which he has been accuf- 
 tomed to regard it. At the very time of acting, at 
 the moment in which paflion mounts the higheft, he 
 hefitates and trembles at the thought of what he is 
 about to do : he is fecretly confcious to himfelf that 
 he is breaking through thofe meafures of conduct, 
 which, in all his cool hours, he had refolved never 
 to infringe, which he had never feen infringed by 
 others without the higheft difapprobation, and of 
 which the infringement, his own mind forebodes, 
 mult foon render him the object of the fame dif- 
 agreeable fentiments. Before he can take the laft 
 fatal refolution, he is tormented with all the agonies 
 of doubt and uncertainty ; he is terrified at the 
 thought of violating fo facred a rule, and at the fame 
 time is urged and goaded on by the fury of his de- 
 fires 
 
206 Of the S e n s e Fart III. 
 
 fires to violate it. He changes his purpofe every 
 moment ; fometimes he refolves to adhere to his 
 principle, and not indulge a paflion which may cor- 
 rupt the remaining part of his life with the horrors of 
 fhame and repentance; and a momentary calm 
 takes pofleflion of his breaft, from the profpeft of 
 that fecurity and tranquillity which he will enjoy 
 when he thus determines not to expofe himfelf to 
 the hazard of a contrary conduct. But immediately 
 the paffion roufes anew, and with frefh fury drives 
 him on to commit what he had the inflant before re- 
 folved to abftain from. Wearied and diftradted 
 with thcfe continual irrefolutions, he at length, 
 from a fort of defpair, makes the lafl fatal and ir- 
 recoverable ftep ; but with that terror and amaze- 
 ment with which one flying from an enemy, throws 
 himfelf over a precipice, where he is fure of meet- 
 ing with more certain deftruclion than from any 
 thing that purfues him from behind. Such are his 
 fentiments even at the time of acting ; though he is 
 then, no doubt, lefs fenfible of the impropriety of 
 his own conduct than afterwards, when his painon 
 being gratified and palled, he begins to view what 
 he has done in the light in which others are apt to 
 view it ; and actually feels, what he had only fore- 
 feen very imperfectly before, the flings of remorfe 
 and repentance begin to agitate and torment him. 
 
 C H A P. 
 
Chap. 3, of D u 1 y. 207 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Of the influence and authority of the general rules of mo- 
 rality, and that they are juftly regarded as the laws of 
 the Deity. 
 
 1 HE regard to thofe general rules of conduct, 
 is what is properly called a tenfe of duty, a prin- 
 ciple of the greatefl confequence in human life, and 
 the only principle by which the bulk of mankind are 
 capable of directing their adions. Many men be- 
 have very decently, and through the whole of their 
 lives avoid any conliderable degree of blame, who 
 yet, perhaps, never felt the fentiment upon the 
 propriety of which we found our approbation of 
 their conduct, but acted merely from a regard to 
 what they faw were the eftablifhed rules of beha- 
 viour. The man who has received great benefits 
 from another perfon, may, by the natural coldnefs of 
 his temper, feel but a very fmall degree of the fenti- 
 ment of gratitude. If he has been virtuoufly educated, 
 however, he will often have been made to obferve 
 how odious thofe actions appear which denote a 
 want of this fentiment, and how amiable the con- 
 trary. Tho' his heart therefore is not warmed with 
 any grateful affection, he will ftrive to act as if it 
 was, and will endeavour to pay all thofe regards 
 and attentions to his patron which the livelieft gra- 
 titude 
 
208 Of the Sense Part III. 
 
 titude could fuggeft. He will vifit him regularly ; 
 he will behave to him refpedtfully ; he will never 
 talk of him but with expreilions of the higheft ef- 
 teem, and of the many obligations which he owes 
 to him. And what is more, he will carefully em- 
 brace every opportunity of making a proper return 
 for pad fervices. He may do all this too without 
 any hypocrify or blamable diiTimulation, without 
 any felfiiTi intention of obtaining new favours, and 
 without any defign of impofing either upon his be- 
 nefactor or the public. The motive of his actions 
 may be no other than a reverence for the. edabli (Tied 
 rule of duty, a ferious and earned defire of acting, 
 in every refpecl, according to the law of gratitude. 
 A wife, in the fame manner, may iometimes not 
 feel that tender regard for her hufband which is fuit- 
 able to the relation that fubfifls between them. If 
 ihe has been virtuoufly educated, however, ihe will 
 endeavour to adt as if fhe felt it, to be careful, of- 
 ficious, faithful, aid fmcere, and to be deficient in 
 none of thofe attentions which the fentiment of con- 
 jugal affection could have prompted her to perform. 
 Such a friend, and fuch a wife, are neither of them, 
 undoubtedly, the very bell of their kinds ^ and 
 though both of them may have the mod ferious and 
 earned defire to fulfil every part of their duty, yet 
 they will fail in many nice and delicate regards, 
 they will mifs many opportunities of obliging, which 
 they could never have overlooked if they had pof- 
 felTed the fentiment that is proper to their fituation. 
 Though not the very fird of their kinds, however, 
 they are perhaps the fecond \ and if the regard to 
 the general rules of conduct has been very drongly 
 impreflfed upon them, neither of them will fail in 
 any eflential part of their duty. None but thofe of 
 
 the 
 
Chap. g. of Duty. 209 
 
 the happieft mould are capable of iuiting, with ex- 
 act juftnefs, their fentiments and behaviour to the 
 fmalieft difference of fituation, and of acting upon 
 all occafions with the moll: delicate and accurate 
 propriety. The coarfe clay of which the bulk of 
 mankind are formed, cannot be wrought up to filch 
 perfection. There is fcarce any man, however, 
 who by difcipline, education, and example, may not 
 be imprefled with a regard to general rules, as to act 
 upon almoft every occafion with toleiable decency, 
 and through the whole of his life avoid any confi- 
 derable degree of blame. 
 
 Without this facred regard to general rules, there 
 is no man whofe conduct can be much depended 
 upon. It is this which conftitutes the mofl eiiential 
 difference between a man of principle and honour 
 and a worthlefs fellow. The one adheres, on all 
 occafions, fleadily and refolutely to his maxims, 
 and prefer ves through the whole of his life one even 
 tenour of conduct. The other, acts varioufly and 
 accidentally, as humujr, inclination, or intereft 
 chance to be uppermoft. Nay, fuch are the ine- 
 qualities of humour to which all men are fubject ? 
 that without this principle, the man who, in his cool 
 hours, had the mofl delicate fenfibility to the pro- 
 priety of conduct, might often be led to act ab- 
 furdly upon the moft frivolous occafions, and when 
 it v/as fcarce poflible to affign any ferious motive for 
 his behaviour in this manner. Your friend makes 
 you a vifit when you happen to be in a humour 
 which makes it difagreeable to receive him : in your 
 prefent mood this civility is very apt to appear an 
 impertinent intrufion ; and if you v/ereto give way 
 to .the views of things which at this time occur, 
 
 p though 
 
21 o Of 'the Sense Part III. 
 
 though civil in your temper, you would behave to 
 him with coldnefs and contempt. What renders 
 you incapable of fuch a rudenefs, is nothing but a 
 regard to the general rules of civility and hofpitality, 
 which prohibit it. That habitual reverence which 
 your former experience has taught you for thefe, 
 enables you to ad, upon all fuch occafions, with 
 nearly equal propriety, and hinders thofe inequa- 
 lities of temper, to which all men are fubject, from 
 influencing your conduct in any very fenjible degree. 
 But if without regard to thefe general rules, even 
 the duties of politenefs, which are fo eafily obferv- 
 ed, and which can fcarce have any ferious motive 
 to violate, would yet be fo frequently violated, 
 what would become of the duties of juftice, of 
 truth, of chaftity, of fidelity, which it is often fo 
 difficult to obferve, and which there may be fo ma- 
 ny flrong motives to violate ? But upon the toler- 
 able obfervance of thefe duties, depends the very 
 exiftence of human fociety, which would crumble 
 into nothing if mankind were not generally impref- 
 fed with a reverence for thofe important rules of 
 conduct. 
 
 This reverence is flill further enhanced by an opi- 
 nion which is firfl imprefled by nature, and after- 
 wards confirmed by feafoning and philofophy, that 
 . thofe important rules of morality, are the commands 
 and laws of the Deity, who will finally reward the 
 obedient, and punifh the tranfgreiiors of their duty. 
 
 This opinion or apprehenfion, I fay* feems Brit to 
 be imprefled by nature. Men are naturally led to 
 afcribe to thofe myfterious beings, whatever they 
 are, which happen^ in any countrv, to be the ob- 
 jects 
 
Chap. 3. of D u t y. 211 
 
 jecls of religious fear, all their own fentiments and 
 paflions. They have no other, they can conceive 
 no other to aferibe to them. Thofe unknown in- 
 telligences which they imagine but fee not, mult 
 neceflarily be formed with fome fort of refemblance 
 to thofe intelligences of which they have experience. 
 During the ignorance and darknefs of pagan fuper- 
 ftition, mankind feem to have formed the ideas of 
 their divinities with fo little delicacy, that they af- 
 cribed to them, indifcriminately, all the paflions of 
 human nature, thofe not excepted which do the 
 leaft honour to our fpecies, fuch as luft, hunger, 
 avarice, envy, revenge. They could not fail there- 
 fore, to aferibe to thofe beings, for the excellence 
 of whofe nature they ltill conceived the higheft ad- 
 miration, thofe fentiments and qualities which are 
 the great ornaments of humanity, and which feem 
 to raife it to a refemblance of divine perfection, the 
 love of virtue and beneficence, and the abhorrence 
 of vice and injuftice. The man who was injured, 
 called upon Jupiter to be witnefs of the wrong that 
 was done to him, and could not doubt, but that di- 
 vine being would behold it with the fame indigna- 
 tion which would animate the meaneft of man- 
 kind, who looked on when injuftice was committed, 
 The man who did the injury, felt himfelf to be 
 the proper object of deteftation and refentment of 
 mankind ; and his natural fears led him to impute 
 the fame fentiments to thofe awful beings, whofe 
 prefence he could not avoid, and whofe power he 
 could not refift. Thefe natural hopes and fears, 
 and fufpicions, were propagated by fympathy, and 
 confirmed by education ; and the gods were univer- 
 fally reprefented and believed to be the rewarders 
 of humanity and mercy, and the avengers of per- 
 
 P2 fidy 
 
2i2 Of the S e n s e Part III. 
 
 fidy and injuftice. And thus religion, even in its 
 rudeft form, gave a fan&ion to the rules of mora- 
 lity, long before the age of artificial reafoning and 
 philofophy. That the terrors of religion mould 
 thus enforce the natural fenie of duty, was of too 
 much importance to the happinefs of mankind, for 
 nature to leave it dependent upon the flownefs and 
 uncertainty of philosophical refearches. 
 
 Thefe refearches, however, when they came to 
 take place, confirmed thofe original anticipations of 
 nature Upon whatever we fuppofe that our moral 
 faculties are founded, whether upon a certain modi- 
 fication of reafon, ' upon an original inflinct, called a 
 moral fenfe, or upon fome other principle of our 
 nature, it cannot be doubted, that they were given 
 us for the direction of our conduct in this life. They 
 carry along with them the molt evident badges of 
 this authority, which denote that they were fet up 
 within us to be the fupreme arbiters of all our actions, 
 to fuperintend all our fenfes, paflions, and appetites, 
 and to judge how far each of them was either to be 
 indulged or reflrained. Our moral faculties are by no 
 means, as fome have pretended, upon a level in this 
 refpecl with the other faculties and appetites of our 
 nature, endowed with no more right to reftrain thefe 
 lafl, than thefe lafl are to reflrain them. No other 
 faculty or principle of action judges of any other. 
 Love does not judge of refentment, nor refentment 
 of love. Thofe two paflions may be oppofite to one 
 another, but cannot, with any propriety, be faid to 
 approve or difapprove of one another. But it is the 
 peculiar office of thofe faculties now under our con- 
 federation to judge, to beflow cenfure or applaufe 
 upon all the other principles of our nature. They 
 
 may 
 
Chap. 3. of D u t y. 213 
 
 may be confidered as a fort of fenfes of which thofe 
 principles are the objects. Every fenfe is fupreme 
 over its own obje&s. There is no appeal from the 
 eye with regard to the beauty of colours, nor from 
 the ear with regard to the harmony of founds, nor 
 from the tafte with regard to the agreeableneis of 
 flavours. Each of thofe fenfes judges in the laft 
 refort of its own objecls. Whatever gratifies the 
 tafte is fweet, whatever pleafes the eye is beautiful, 
 whatever fooths the ear is harmonious. The very 
 eflence of each of thofe qualities confifts in being 
 fitted to pleafe the fenfe to which it is addreffed. It 
 belongs to our moral faculties, in the fame manner 
 to determine when the ear ought to be foot hed, when 
 the eye ought to be indulged, when the tafte ought 
 to be gratified, when and how far every other prin- 
 ciple of our nature ought to be indulged or reftrain- 
 ed. What is agreeable to our moral faculties, is fit, 
 and right, and proper to be done ; the contrary 
 wrong, unfit, and improper. The fentiments which 
 they approve of, are graceful and unbecoming. The 
 very words, right, wrong, fit, improper, graceful, 
 unbecoming, mean only what pleafes or difpleafes 
 thofe faculties. 
 
 Since thefe, therefore, were plainly intended to be 
 the governing principles of human nature, the rules 
 which they prefcribe, are to be regarded as the com- 
 mands and laws of the Deity, promulgated by thofe 
 vicegerents which he has thus fet up within us. All 
 general rules are commonly denominated laws : thus 
 the general rules which bodies obferve in the com- 
 munication of motion, are called the laws of motion. 
 But thofe general rules which our moral faculties 
 obferve in approving or condemning whatever fenti- 
 
 p 3 ment 
 
214 Of the S e x s £ Part III. 
 
 ment or action is fubjected to their examination, may 
 much more juftly be denominated fuch. They have 
 a much greater refemblance to what are properly call- 
 ed laws, thofe general rules which the fovereign lays 
 down to direct the conduct of his fubjects. Like 
 them they are rules to direct the free actions of men : 
 they are prefcribed molt furely by a lawful fuperior, 
 and are attended to in the fanction of rewards and 
 punifhments. Thofe vicegerents of God within us, 
 never fail to punifn the violation of them, by the tor- 
 ments of inward fhame, and felf-condemnation ; 
 and on the contrary, always reward obedience with 
 tranquillity of mind, with contentment, and felf-fa- 
 tisfacYion. 
 
 There are innumerable other considerations which 
 ferve to confirm the fame conclufion. The.happi- 
 nefs of mankind, as well as of all other rational 
 creatures, feems to have been the original pur- 
 pofe intended by the Author of nature, when he 
 brought them into exigence. No other end feems 
 worthy of that fupreme wifdom and divine benig- 
 nity which we necefTarily afcribe to him; and this 
 opinion, which we are led to by the abltract conlider- 
 ation of his infinite perfections, is flill more con- 
 firmed by the examination of the works of nature, 
 which feem all intended to promote happinefs, and 
 to guard againft miiery. put by acting according 
 to the dictates of our moral faculties, we necefTarily 
 purfue the molt effectual means for promoting the 
 happinefs of mankind, and may therefore be faid, 
 in fome fenfe, to co-operate with the Deity, and to 
 advance as far as in our power the plan of Provi- 
 dence. By acting otherv, ays, on the contrary, we 
 feem to obftrudt, In fome meafure, the fcheme 
 which the Author of nature has eitablifhed for the 
 
 happinefs 
 
Chap. 3. of D u t y. 215 
 
 happinefs and perfection of the world, and to de- 
 clare ourfelves, if I may fay fo, in fome rneafure the 
 enemies of God. Hence we are naturally encou- 
 raged to hcpe for his extraordinary favour and re- 
 ward in the one cafe, and to dread his vengeance 
 and punifhment in the other. 
 
 There are befides many other reafons, and many 
 other natural principles, which all tend to confirm 
 and inculcate the fame falutary do&rine. If we con- 
 fider the general rules by which external profperity 
 and adverfity are commonly diflributed in this life, 
 we fhall find, that notwithstanding the diforder in 
 which all things appear to be in this world, yet even 
 here every vjrtue naturally meets with its proper re- 
 ward, with the recompenfe which is moft fit to en- 
 courage and promote it ; and this too fo furely, that 
 it requires a very extraordinary concurrence of cir- 
 cumftances entirely to difappoint it. What is the 
 reward moft proper for encouraging induftry, pru^ 
 dence, and circumfpecYion ? Succefs in every fort 
 of bufinefs. And is it poilible that in the whole of 
 life thefe virtues (hould fail of attaining it t Wealth 
 and external honours are their proper recompenfe, 
 and the recompenfe which they can feldom fail of 
 acquiring. What reward is moft proper for pro- 
 moting the pradrice of truth, juftice, and humanity ? 
 The confidence, the efteem, and love of thofe we 
 live with. Humanity does not defire to be great, 
 but to be beloved. It is not in being rich that truth 
 and juftice would rejoice, but in being trufted and 
 believed, recompenfes which thofe virtues muft al- 
 moft always acquire. By fome very extraordinary 
 and unlucky circumftance, a good man may come 
 ro be' iufpe&ed of a crime of which he was altoge- 
 
 p 4 ther 
 
ai 6 Of the Sense Part III. 
 
 the* Incapable, and upon that account be molt ufi- 
 iuflly expofed for the remaining part of his life to 
 the horror and averfion of mankind. By an acci- 
 dent of this kind he may be laid to iofe his all, not-- 
 w ithilanding his integrity and juftice \ in the fame 
 manner as a cautious man, not w ithilanding his ut- 
 mafl circumfpection, may be ruined by an earth- 
 quake or an inundation. Accidents of the full 
 kind, however, are perhaps fall more rare, and ftiil 
 more contrary to the common courfe of things than 
 thofe of the fecond -, and fill! it remains true, that the 
 practice of truth, juftice, and humanity, is a certain 
 and almofl infallible method of acquiring what thofe 
 virtues chiefly aim at, the confidence and love of 
 thofe we live with. A perfon may be very eafiiy 
 mifreprefented with regard to a particular action; 
 but it is fcarce poflible that he mould be fo with re- 
 gard to the general tenor of his conduct. An inno- 
 cent man may be believed to have done wrong : 
 this, however, will rarely happen. On the contra- 
 ry, the eilabhfhed opinion of the imtoeence of his 
 manners, will often lead us to abfolve him where he 
 has really been in the fault, notwithltanding very 
 flrcng prefumptions. A knave, in the fame man- 
 ner may efcape cenfure, or even meet applaufe, for 
 a particular knavery, in which his conduct is not 
 under flood. But no man was ever habitually fucb, 
 without being almoft nniverfaliy known to be fo, 
 and without being even frequently fufpecled of 
 guilt, when he was in reality perfectly innocent. 
 And fo far as vice and virtue can be either punifhed 
 or rewarded by the. fentiments and opinions of man- 
 kind, they both, according to the common courfe 
 of things, meet e^en here with fomething more 
 than exact and impartial juftice. 
 
 But 
 
Chap. 3. rf D u t y. 217 
 
 But though the general rules by which profperity 
 and adverfity are commonly distributed, when con- 
 fidered in this cool and philosophical light, appear to 
 be perfectly fuited to the fituation of mankind in 
 this life, yet the) are by no means fuited to feme of 
 our natural fentiments. Our natural love and ad- 
 miration for fome virtues is fuch, that we mould 
 wifli to bellow on them all forts of honours and re- 
 wards, even thofe which we mull acknowledge to 
 be the proper recompenfes of other qualities with 
 which thofe virtues are not always accompanied. 
 Our deteftation, on the contrary, for fome vices is 
 fuch, that we lTioald defire to heap upon them even- 
 fort of difgrace and di fatter, thofe not excepted 
 which are the natural confequences of very different 
 qualities. Magnanimity, generofity, and juftice 
 command fo high a degree of admiration, that we 
 defire to fee them crowned with wealth, and power, 
 and honours of every kind, the natural confequences 
 of prudence, induflry, and application ; qualities 
 with which thofe virtues are not infeparably connect- 
 ed. Fraud, falfehood, brutality, and violence, on 
 the other hand, excite in every human bread fuch 
 fcorn and abhorrence, that our indignation roufes to 
 fee them poflefs thofe advantages which they may in 
 fome fenfe be faid to have merited, by the diligence 
 and induflry with which they are fometimes attended. 
 The induflrious knave cultivates the foil ; the indo- 
 lent good man leaves it uncultivated. Who ought 
 to reap the harvefl ? Who ftarve, and who live in 
 plenty? The natural courfe of things decides it in 
 favour of the knave : the natural fentiments of man- 
 kind in favour of the man of virtue. Man judges, 
 that the good qualities of the one are greatly over-re- 
 compenfed by thofe advantages which they tend to 
 
 procure 
 
2i S Of the S e n s e . Part III. 
 
 procure him, and that the omiflions of the other are 
 by far too feverely punifhed by the diftrefs which 
 they naturally bring upon him -, and human laws, 
 the confequences of human fentiments, forfeit the 
 life and the eftate of the induftrious and cautious 
 traitor, and reward, by extraordinary recompenfes, 
 the fidelity and public fpirit of the improvident and 
 carelefs good citizen. Thus man is by Nature di- 
 rected to correct, in fome meafure, that cMribution 
 of things which lhe herfelf would other wife have 
 made. The rules which for this purpofe fhe prompts 
 him to follow, are different from thofe which fhe 
 herfelf obferves. She bellows upon every virtue, and 
 upon every vice, that precife reward or punifhment 
 which is bed fitted to encourage the one, or to re- 
 ftrain the other. She is directed by this fole confede- 
 ration, and pays little regard to the different degrees 
 of merit and demerit, which they may feem to poffefs 
 in the fentiments and paflions of man. Man, on 
 the contrary, pays regard to this only, and would 
 endeavour to render the date of every virtue precifely 
 proportioned to that degree of love and efteem, and 
 of every vice to that degree of contempt and abhor- 
 rence, which he himfelf conceives for it. The rules 
 which lhe follows are fit for her, thofe which he fol- 
 lows for him : but both are calculated to promote the 
 fame great end, the order of the world, and the per- 
 fection and happinefs of human nature. 
 
 But though man is thus employed to alter that 
 diftribution of things which natural events would 
 make, if left to themfelves ; though, like the gods 
 of the poets, he is perpetually interpofmg, by extra- 
 ordinary means, in favour of virtue, and in oppofiti- 
 on to vice, and like them, endeavours to turn away 
 
 the 
 
Chap. 3. of D u t y. 219 
 
 the arrow that is aimed at the head of the righteous, 
 but accelerates the fword of dell: ruction that is lifted 
 up againft the wicked ; yet he is by no means able 
 to render the fortune of either quite fui table to his 
 own fentiments and willies. The natural courfe of 
 things cannot be entirely controuled by the impo- 
 tent endeavours of man : the current is too rapid and 
 too flrong for him to flop it j and though the rules 
 which direct it appear to have been eftabli fried for 
 the wifeil and beft purpofes, they fometimes pro- 
 duce effects which fhock all his natural fentiments. 
 That a, great combination of men, ftiould prevail 
 over a fmall one ; that thofe who engage in an en~ 
 terpriie with fore-thought and all neceffary prepara- 
 tion, mould prevail over fuch as oppofe them with- 
 out any ; and that every end mould be acquired by 
 thofe means only which Nature has eftablifhed for 
 acquiring it, feems to be a rale not only neceffary 
 and unavoidable in itfelf, but even ufeful and proper 
 for roufing the induftry and attention of mankind. 
 Yet, when, in confequence of this rule, violence and 
 artifice prevail over fincerity and juftice, what indig- 
 nation does it not excite in the bread of every humane 
 fpectator ? What forrow and companion for the 
 lurTerings of the innocent, and what furious refent- 
 ment againft the fuccefs of the oppreffor ? We are 
 equally grieved and enraged, at the wrong that is 
 done, but often find it altogether out of our power 
 to redrefs it. When we thus defpair of rinding any 
 force upon earth which can check the triumph of 
 injuftice, we naturally appeal to Heaven, and hope, 
 that the great Author of our nature will himfelf exe- 
 cute hereafter, what all the principles which he has 
 given us for the direction of our conduct, prompt us 
 to attempt even here -, that he will complete the 
 
 plan 
 
220 Of the S e n s e Part III. 
 
 plan which he himfelf has thus taught us to begin ; 
 and will, in a life to come, render to every one ac- 
 cording to the works which he has performed in this 
 world. And thus we are led to the belief of a future 
 Hate, not only by the weaknelTes, by the hopes and 
 fears of human nature, but by the nobleft and bell 
 principles which belong to it, by the love of virtue, 
 and by the abhorrence of vice and injuflice. 
 
 " Dees it fuit the greatnefs of God," fays the elo- 
 quent and philofophical bifhop of Clermont, with 
 that pailionate and exaggerating force of imaginati- 
 on, which feems fometimes to exceed the bounds of 
 decorum-, cc does it fuit the greatnefs of God, to 
 *! leave the world which he has created in fo uni- 
 " verfal a diforder ? To fee the wicked prevail al- 
 " moil always over the juft ; the innocent dethroned 
 " by the ufurper 3 the father become the victim of 
 " the ambition of an unnatural fon ; the hufband 
 " expiring under the ftroke of a barbarous and failh- 
 ;t lefs wife ? From the height of his greatnefs ought 
 " God to behold thofe melancholy events as a fan- 
 ic taflical amufement, without taking any fhare in 
 
 6 them ? Becaufe he is great, fhould he be weak, 
 " or unjuft, or barbarous ? Becaufe men are little, 
 " ought they to be allowed either to be diilolute 
 
 c without punifhment, or virtuous without reward ? 
 " O God ! if this is the character of your Supreme 
 ,c Being •, if it is you whom we adore under fuch 
 u dreadful ideas • I can no longer acknowledge you 
 u for my father, for my protector, for the comforter 
 "of my forrow, the fupport of my weaknefs, the 
 *' rewarderof my fidelity. You would then be no 
 pt more than an indolent and fantaflical tyrant, who 
 " facrifices mankind toJiis infolent vanitv, and who 
 
 «* has. 
 
Chap. 3. of D u t y. 221 
 
 " has brought them out of nothing, only to make 
 " them ferve for the fport of his leifure, and of his 
 " caprice." 
 
 When the general rules which determine the me- 
 rit and dement of actions, come thus to be regarded, 
 as the laws of an All-powerful Being, who watches 
 over our conduct, and who, in a life to come, will 
 reward the obfervance, and punifh the breach of 
 them •, they neceiTarily acquire a new facrednefs from 
 this confideration. That our regard to the will of 
 the Deity, ought to be the fupreme rule of our con- 
 duct, can be doubted of by no body who believes 
 his exiitence. The very thought of difobedience 
 appears to involve in it the moil (hocking improprie- 
 ty. How vain, how abfurd would it be for man, 
 either to oppofe or to neglect the commands that 
 were laid upon him by Infinite Wifdom, and Infi- 
 nite Power ! How unnatural, how impioufly un- 
 grateful not to reverence the precepts that were pre- 
 fcribed to him by the infinite goodnefs of his Creator, 
 even though no punifhment was to follow their vio- 
 lation. The fenfe of propriety too is here well fup- 
 ported by the ilrongeft motives of felf-intereft. 
 The idea that, however we may efcape the obferva- 
 tion of man, or be placed above the reach of human 
 punifhment, yet we are always acting under the eye, 
 and expofed to the punifhment of God, the great 
 avenger of injnflice, is a motive capable of retrain- 
 ing the molt headftrong palTions, with thofe at lead 
 who, by conftant reflection, have rendered it fami- 
 liar to them. 
 
 It is in this manner that religion enforces the na- 
 tural fenfe of duty : and hence it is, that mankind 
 
 are 
 
222 Of the StNSE Part III. 
 
 are generally dilpofed to place great confidence in 
 the probity of thofe who feem deeply impreiTed with 
 religious fentiments. Such perfons, they imagine^ 
 act under an additional tye, befides thofe which re- 
 gulate the conduct of other men. The regard to the 
 propriety of action as well as to reputation, the re- 
 gard to the applaufe of his own breaft, as well as that 
 of others, are motives which they fuppofe have the 
 fame influence over the religious man, as over the 
 man of the world. But the former lies under ano- 
 ther reftraint, and never acts deliberately but as in 
 the prefence of that Great Superior who is finally to 
 recompenfe him according to his deeds. A greater 
 truft isrepofed, upon this account, in the regularity 
 and exactnefs of his conduct. And wherever the 
 natural principles of religion are not corrupted by the 
 factious and party zeal of fome worthlefs cabal ; 
 wherever the firft duty which it requires, is to fulfil 
 all the obligations of morality h wherever men are not 
 taught to regard frivolous obfervances, as more im- 
 mediate duties of religion, than acts of juflice and 
 beneficence ; and to imagine, that by facrifices, and 
 ceremonies, and vain fupplications, they can bargain 
 with the Deity, for fraud, and perfidy, and violence, 
 the world undoubtedly judges right in this refpect, 
 andjuftly places a double confidence in the rectitude 
 of the religious man's behaviour. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
Chap. 4. of D u t y. 
 
 G H A P. IV. 
 
 In what cafes the fenfe of duty ought to he the fole princi- 
 ple of our conducl ; and in what cafes it ought to concur 
 with other motives. 
 
 Kj 
 
 .ELIGION affords fuch ftrong motives to 
 the practice of virtue, and guards us by fuch 
 powerful reftraints from the temptations of vice, 
 that many have been led to fuppofe, that religious 
 principles were the fole laudable motives of action. 
 We ought neither, they faid, to reward from grati- 
 tude, nor punifh from refentment ; 'we ought nei- 
 ther to protect the helplelfnefs of our children, nor 
 afford fupport to the infirmities of our parents, from 
 natural affe&ion. All affections for particular objects, 
 ought to be extinguished in our breafl, and one 
 great affection take the place of all others, the love 
 of the Deity, the defire of rendering ourfelves agree- 
 able to him, and of directing our conduct in every 
 refpect according to his will. We ought not to be 
 grateful from gratitude, we ought not to be charita- 
 ble from humanity, we ought not to be public-fpirited 
 from the love of our country, nor generous and juft 
 from the love of mankind. The fole principle and 
 motive of our conduct in the performance of all thofe 
 different duties, ought to be a fenfe that God has 
 
 com- 
 
224 Of the Sense Fart III. 
 
 commanded us to perform them. I lhall not at pre- 
 fent take time to examine this opinion particularly ; 
 I (hall only obferve, that we (hould not have expected 
 to have found it entertained by any feci, who pro- 
 feffed themfelves of a religion in which, as it is the 
 firft precept to love the Lord our God with all our 
 heart, with all our foul, and with all our ftrength, ib 
 it is the fecond to love our neighbour as we love 
 ourfelves ; and we love ourfelves furely for our own 
 fakes, and not merely becaufe we are commanded 
 to do fo. That the fen(e of duty mould be the fole 
 principle of our conduct, is no where the precept of 
 Chriilianily ; but that it (hould be the ruling and 
 governing one, as philoibphy, and as, indeed, com- 
 mon fenfe directs. It may be a queftion however, 
 in what cafes our actions ought to arife chiefly or en- 
 tirely from a fenfe of duty, or from a regard to gene- 
 ral rules ; and in what cafes fome other fentiment or 
 affection ought to concur, and have a principal in- 
 fluence. 
 
 The decifion of this queftion, which cannot, 
 perhaps, be given with any very great accuracy, will 
 depend upon two different circumftances ; firft, 
 upon the natural agreeablenefs or deformity of the 
 fentiment or affection which would prompt us to any 
 action independent of .all regard to general rules ; 
 and fecondly, upon the precifion and exact nefs, or 
 the loofenefs and inaccuracy of the general rules 
 themfelves. 
 
 I. Firft, I fay, it will depend upon the natural 
 agreeablenefs or deformity of the affection itfeif,how 
 far our actions ought to arife from it, or entirely pro- 
 ceed from a regard t*> the general rule. 
 
 All 
 
Chap. 4.. of D u t f. 
 
 22 a 
 
 All thofe graceful and admired actions, to which 
 the benevolent affections would prompt us, ouoht 
 to proceed as much from the paffions themfelves, as 
 from any regard to the general rules of conduct. 
 A benefactor thinks himfelf but ill requited, if the" 
 perfon upon whom he has bellowed his good offices, 
 repays them merely from a cold fenfe of duty, and 
 without any affection to his perfon. A hufband is 
 diffatisfied with the moil obedient wife, when he 
 imagines her conduct is animated by no other prin- 
 ciple befides her regard to what the relation fne 
 Hands in requires. Though a fon mould fail in none 
 of the offices of filial duty, yet if he wants that af- 
 fectionate reverence which it fo well becomes him to 
 feel, the parent may juftly complain of his indiffer- 
 ence. Nor could a fon be quite fatisfied with a pa- 
 rent who, though he performed all the duties of his 
 fituation, had nothing of that fatherly fondnefs 
 which might have been expected from him. With 
 regard to all fuch benevolent and focial affections, ic 
 is agreeable to fee the fenfe of duty employed rather 
 to reftrain than to enliven them, rather to hinder us 
 from doing too much, than to prompt us to do what 
 we ought. It gives us pieafure to fee a father obliged 
 to check his own fondnefs, a friend obliged to fee 
 bounds to his natural generohty, a perfon who has 
 received a benefit, obliged to reftrain the too fan- 
 guine gratitude of his own temper. 
 
 The contrary maxim takes place with regard to the 
 malevolent and unfocial paffions. We ought to re- 
 ward from the gratitude and generofity of our own 
 hearts, without any reluctance, and without being 
 obliged to reflect how great the propriety of reward- 
 ing ; but we ought always to punifii with reluctance, 
 
 Q and 
 
226 Of the Sense Part III. 
 
 and more from a fenfe of the propriety of punifhing 
 than from any favage difpofition to revenge. No- 
 thing is more graceful than the behaviour of the 
 man who appears to refent the greatelt injuries, more 
 from a fenfe that they deferve, and are the proper 
 objects of refentment, than from feeling himfelf the 
 furies of that difagreeable paffion > who, like a judge, 
 confiders only the general rule, which determines 
 what vengeance is due for each particular offence j 
 who, in executing that rule, feels lefs for what him- 
 felf has fuffered, than what the offender is about to 
 fuffer •, who, though in wrath remembers mercy, and 
 is difpofed to interpret the rule in the molt gentle and 
 favourable manner, and to allow all the alleviations 
 which the moft candid humanity could, confidently 
 with good fenfe, admit of. 
 
 As the felfifh paflions, according to what has for- 
 merly been obferved, hold in other refpects a fort of 
 middle place, between the focial and unfocial affecti-' 
 ons, fo do they likewife in this. The purfuit of the 
 objects of private intereft, in all common, little, and 
 ordinary cafes, ought to flow rather from a regard 
 to the general rules which prefcribe fuch conduct, 
 than from any pafiion for the objects themfelves ; 
 but upon more important and extraordinary occafi- 
 ons, we fhould be awkward, infipid, and ungrace- 
 ful, if the objects themfelves did not appear to ani- 
 mate us with a confiderable degree of paflion. To 
 be anxious, or to be laying a plot either to gain or 
 to fave a fingle fhilling, would degrade the moft vul- 
 gar tradefman in the opinion of all his neighbours. 
 Let his circumftances be ever fo mean, no attention 
 to any fuch fmall matters, for the fake of the things 
 themfelves, mull appear in his conduct. His fitu- 
 
 ation 
 
Ghap. 4. f/D'uTV, 227 
 
 ation may require the moft fevere ceconomy, and the 
 mod exact affiduity : but each particular exertion of 
 that ceconomy and affiduity muft proceed not To 
 much from a regard for that particular faving or 
 gain, as for the general rule which to him prefcribes ? 
 with the utmoft rigour, fuch a teriour of conduct. 
 His parfimony to-day muft not arife from a defire of 
 the particular three-pence which he will fave by it, 
 nor his attendance in his fhop from a paffion for the 
 particular ten-pence which he will acquire by it : 
 both the one and the other ought to proceed foleiy 
 from a regard to the general rule, which prefcribes, 
 with the moft unrelenting feverity, this plan of con- 
 duct to all perfons in his way of life, In this con- 
 fifts the difference between the character of a mifer, 
 and that of a perfon of exact ceconomy and affidui- 
 ty. The one is anxious about fmall matters for 
 their own fake j the other attends to them only in 
 confequence of the fcheme of life which he has 
 laid down to himfelf. 
 
 It is quite otherwife with regard to the more ex- 
 traordinary and important objects of felf-intereft. 
 A perfon appears mean-fpirited, who does not pur- 
 fue thefe with fome degree of earnefthefs for their 
 Own fake. We mould defpife a prince who was not 
 anxious about conquering or defending a province, 
 We mould have little refpect for a private gentleman 
 who did not exert himfelf to gain an eitate, or even 
 a cohfiderable office, when lie could acquire them 
 without either meannefs or injuftice. A member of 
 parliament who fhews no keenneis about his own 
 election, is abandoned by his friends, as altogether 
 unworthy of their attachment, Even a tradefman is 
 Q^z thought 
 
228 Of the Sense Part III. 
 
 thought a poor-fpirited fellow among his neigh- 
 bours, who does not beftir himfelf to get what they 
 call an extraordinary job, or fome uncommon ad- 
 vantage. This fpirit and keennefs conftitutes the 
 difference between the man of enterprife and the 
 man of dull regularity. Thofe great objects of 
 felf-intereft, of which the lofs or acquifition quite 
 changes the rank of the perfon, are the objects of 
 the pailion properly called ambition ; a paflion, 
 which when it keeps within the bounds of prudence 
 and juftice, is always admired in the world, and has 
 even fometimes a certain irregular greatnefs, which 
 dazzles the imagination, when it paffes the limits of 
 both thefe virtues, and is not only unjuft but extra- 
 vagant. Hence the general admiration for Heroes 
 and Conquerors, and even for Statefmen, whofe pro- 
 jects have been very daring and extenfive, though 
 altogether devoid of juftice-, fuch as thofe of the 
 Cardinals of Richlieu and of Retz. The objects of 
 avarice and ambition differ only in their greatnefs. 
 A mifer is as furious about a halfpenny, as a man 
 of ambition about the conqueft of a kingdom. 
 
 II. Secondly, I fay, it will depend partly upon 
 the precifion and exactnefs, or the loofenefs and in- 
 accuracy of the general rules themfelves, how far 
 our conduct ought to proceed entirely from a re- 
 gard to them. 
 
 The general rules of almoft all the virtues, the 
 general rules which determine what are the offices of 
 prudence, of charity, of generofity, of gratitude, 
 of friendfhip, are in many refpects loofe and inaccu- 
 rate, admit of many^exceptions, and require {o many 
 modifications, that it is fcarce pollible to regulate our 
 
 conduct 
 
Chap. 4. of D u t y. 229 
 
 conduct entirely by a regard to them. The common 
 proverbial maxims of prudence, being founded in 
 univerfal experience, are perhaps the belt general 
 rules which can be given about it. To affecl, howe- 
 ver, a very ftridt and literal adherence to them would 
 evidently be the mod abfurd and ridiculous pedan- 
 try. ' Of all the virtues I have juft now mentioned, 
 gratitude is that, perhaps, of which the rules are the 
 moft precife, and admit of the feweft exceptions. 
 That as foon as we can we mould make a return of 
 equal, and if poffible of fuperior value to the fer- 
 vices we have received, would feem to be a pretty 
 plain rule, and one which admitted of fcarce any ex- 
 ceptions. Upon the moft fuperficial examination, 
 however, this rule will appear to be in the highefl 
 degree loofe and inaccurate, and to admit of ten 
 thoufand exceptions. If your benefactor attended 
 you in your ficknefs, ought you to attend him in 
 his ? or can you fulfil the obligation of gratitude, 
 by making a return of a different kind ? If you 
 ought to attend him, how long ought you to attend 
 him ? The fame time which he attended you, or 
 longer, and how much longer ? If your friend lent 
 you money in your diftrefs, ought you to lend him 
 money in his ? How much ought you to lend him ? 
 When ought you to lend him ? Now, or to-morrow, 
 or next month ? And for how long a time ? It is 
 evident, that no general rule can be laid down, by 
 which a precife anfwer can, in all cafes, be given to 
 any of thefe queftions. The difference between his 
 character and yours, between his circumftances and 
 yours, may be fuch, that you may be perfectly 
 grateful, and juftly refufe to lend him a halfpenny : 
 and, on the contrary, you may be willing to lend, 
 or even to give him ten times thefum which he lent 
 
 CL 3 y° u > 
 
> 3° Of the S e n s e Part III. 
 
 you, and yet juftly be accufed of the blacked ingra- 
 titude, and of not having fulfilled the hundredth 
 part of the obligation you lie under. As the duties 
 of gratitude, however* are perhaps the mod facred 
 of all thofe which the beneficent virtues prefcribe to 
 us, fo the general rules which determine them are, 
 as I faid before, the moft accurate. Thofe which 
 afcertain the actions required by friendlhip, humani- 
 ty, hofpitality, generality, are flill more vague and 
 indeterminate. 
 
 There is, however, one virtue of which the gene- 
 ral rules determine with the greater! exactnefs every 
 external action which it requires. This virtue is 
 juftice. The rules of juftice are accurate in the 
 higher! degree, and admit of no exceptions or modi- 
 fications, but fuch as may be afcertained as accurate - 
 ]y as the rules themfelves, and which generally, in- 
 deed, flow from the very fame principles with them. 
 If I owe a man ten pounds, juftice requires that I 
 fhould precifely pay him ten pounds, either at the 
 time agreed upon, or when he demands it. What I 
 ought to perform, how much I ought to perform, 
 when and where I ought to perform it, the whole 
 nature and cjrcumftances of the action prefcribed, 
 are all of them precifely fixt and determined. Though 
 it may be awkward and pedantic, therefore, to af- 
 fect: too flrict an adherence to the common rules of 
 prudence or generofity, there is no pedantry in flick- 
 ing faft by the rules of juftice. On the contrary, 
 the moft facred regard is due to them ; and the acti- 
 ons which this virtue requires are never fo properly 
 performed, as when the chief motive for perform- 
 ing them is a reverential and religious regard to thofe 
 general rules which require them. In the practice of 
 
 the 
 
Chap. 4. of D u t y. 231 
 
 the other virtues, our conduct fhouid rather be 
 directed by a certain idea of propriety, by a certain 
 tafte for a particular tenour of conduct, than by any 
 regard to a precife maxim or rule ; and we fhouid 
 confider the end and foundation of the rule, more 
 than the rule itfelf. But it is otherwife with regard 
 to juftice: the man who in that refines the leaft, 
 and adheres with the mod obftinate ftedfaftnefs, to 
 the general rules themfelves, is the mod commenda- 
 ble, and the moft to be depended upon. Though 
 the end of the rules of juftice be, to hinder us 
 from hurting our neighbour, it may frequently be a 
 crime to violate them, though we could pretend s 
 with fome pretext of reafon, that this particular vio- 
 lation could do no hurt. A man often becomes a 
 villain the moment he begins even in his own heart, 
 to chicane in this -manner. The moment he thinks 
 of departing from the moft (launch and pofitive ad- 
 herence to what thofe inviolable precepts prefcribe 
 to him, he is no longer to be trufted, and no man 
 can fay what degree of guilt he may not arrive at. 
 The thief imagines he does no evil, when he fteals 
 from the rich, what he fuppofes they may eafily 
 want, and what poffibly they may never even 
 know has been ftolen from them. The adulterer 
 imagines he does no evil, when he corrupts the 
 wife of his friend, provided he covers his intrigue 
 from the fufpicion of the hufband, and does not 
 difturb the peace of the family. When once we 
 begin to give way to fuch refinements, there is 
 no enormity fo grofs of which we may not be capa- 
 ble. 
 
 The rules of juftice may be compared to the rules 
 
 of grammar -, the rules of the other virtues to the 
 
 Q^4 rules 
 
232 0/ /^ Sense Part HI. 
 
 rules which criticks lay down for the attainment of 
 what is fublirne and elegant in compofition. The 
 one, are precife, accurate, and indifpen fable. The 
 other, are loofe, vague, and indeterminate, and 
 prefent us rather with a general idea of the perfecti- 
 on we ought to aim at, than afford us any certain 
 and infallible directions for acquiring it. A man 
 may learn to write grammatically by rule, with the 
 moil abfolute infallibility ; and fo, perhaps, he may 
 be taught to act juftly. But there are no rules whofe 
 obferyance will infallibly lead us to the attainment 
 of elegance or fublimity in writing, though there are 
 fome which may help us, in fome meafure, to cor- 
 rect and aicertam the vague ideas which we might 
 otherwife have entertained of thofe perfections : and 
 there are no rules by the knowledge of which we can 
 infallibly be taught to act upon all occafions with 
 prudence, with juft magnanimity, or proper bene- 
 ficence. Though there are fome which may enable 
 US to correct and afcertain in feveral refpects, the 
 imperfect id< j as which we might otherwife have en- 
 tertained of thofe virtues. 
 
 It may fometimes happen, that with the moft fe- 
 rious and earneft defire of acting fo as to deferve ap- 
 probation, we may miftake the proper rules of con- 
 duct, and thus be milled by that very principle 
 which ought to direct us. It is in vain to expect, 
 that in this cafe mankind mould entirely approve of 
 our behaviour, They cannot enter into that abfurd 
 idea of duty which influenced us, nor go along with 
 any of the actions which follow from it. There is 
 fYiil, however, fomething refpectable in the charac- 
 ter and behaviour ok one who is thus betrayed into 
 
 vice, 
 
Chap. 4- of Duty. 232 
 
 vice, by a wrong fenfe of duty, or by what is called 
 an erroneous confcience. How fatally foever he 
 may be milled by it, he is ftill, with the generous 
 and humane, more the object of commiieration than 
 of hatred or refentmenr. They lament the weak- 
 nefs of human nature, which expofes us to fuch un- 
 happy delufions, even while we are mod fincerely 
 labouring after perfection, and endeavouring to act 
 according to the bed principle which can poflibly 
 direct us. Falfe notions of religion are almoft the 
 only caufes which can occafion any very grofs per- 
 verfion of our natural fentiments in this way ; and 
 that principle which gives the greater! authority 
 to the rules of duty, is alone capable of diftorting 
 our ideas of them in any considerable degree. In 
 all other cafes common knCe is fufficient to direct 
 us, if not to the mod exquifite propriety of conduct, 
 yet to fomething which is not very far from it-, and 
 provided we are in earned defirous to do well, our 
 behaviour will always, upon the whole, be praife- 
 worthy. That to obey the will of the Deity, is the 
 firft rule of duty, all men are agreed. But con- 
 cerning the particular commandments which that 
 will may impofe upon us, they differ widely from 
 one another. In this, therefore, the greater! mu- 
 tual forbearance and toleration is due ; and though 
 
 o 
 
 the defence of fociety requires that crimes mould be 
 punifhed, from whatever motives they proceed, yer 
 a good man will always puniili them with reluctance, 
 when they evidently proceed from falfe notions of 
 religious duty. He will never feel againft thofe 
 who commit them that indignation which he feejs 
 againft other criminals, but will rather regret, and 
 fometimes even admire their unfortunate firmnefs 
 and magnanimity, at the very time that he punifhes 
 
 their 
 
234- Of the Sense Part III. 
 
 their crime. In the tragedy of Mahomet, one of the 
 fined of Mr. Voltaire's, it is well reprefented, what 
 ought to be our fentiments for crimes which pro- 
 ceed from fuch motives. In that tragedy, two 
 young people of different fexes, of the moft inno- 
 cent and virtuous difpofitions, and without any 
 other weaknefs except what endears them the more 
 to us, a mutual fondnefs for one another, are infti- 
 gated by the ftrongeft motives of a falfe religion, to 
 commit a horrid murder, that fhocks all the princi- 
 ples of human nature : a venerable old man, who 
 had expreffed the moft tender affection for them 
 both, for whom, notwithftanding he was the avowed 
 enemy of their religion, they had both conceived the 
 higheft reverence and efteem, and who was in reality 
 their father, though they did not know him to be 
 fuch, is pointed out to them as a facrirlce which God 
 had exprefsly required at their hands, and they are 
 commanded to kill him. While they are about 
 executing this crime, they are tortured with all the 
 agonies which can arife from the flruggle between 
 the idea of the indifpenfablenefs of religious duty on 
 the one fide, and companion, gratitude, reverence 
 for the age, and love for the humanity and virtue of 
 the perfon whom they are going to deftroy, on the 
 other. The reprefentation of this exhibits one of the 
 moft interefting, and perhaps the moft inftrudive 
 fpeclacle that was ever introduced upon any theatre. 
 The fenfe of duty, however, at laft prevails over 
 all the amiable weakneffes of human nature. They 
 execute the crime impoled upon them j but immedi- 
 ately difcover their error, and the fraud which had 
 deceived them, and are diftracted with horror, re- 
 morfe, and refentment. Such as are our fentiments 
 for the unhappy Seickand Palmira, fuch ought we 
 
 to 
 
Chap. 4. of D u t y. 235 
 
 to feel for every perfon who is in this manner mifled 
 by religion, when we are fure that it is really religion 
 which mideads him, and not the pretence of it, 
 which is made a cover to fome of the worft of human 
 paffions. 
 
 As a perfon may acl: wrong by following a wrong 
 fenfe of duty, fo nature may fometimes prevail, and 
 lead him to acl: right in oppofition to it. We cannot 
 in this cafe be difpleafed to fee that motive prevail, 
 which we think.ought to prevail, though the perfon 
 himfelf is fo weak as to think otherwife. As his 
 conduct, however, is the erTecl of weaknefs, not 
 principle, we are far from bellowing upon it any 
 thing that approaches to complete approbation. A 
 bigotted Roman Catholick, who, during the maffa- 
 cre of St. Bartholomew, had been fo overcome by 
 companion, as to lave fome unhappy proteftants, 
 whom he thought it his duty to deftroy, would not 
 feem to be entitled to that high applaufe which we 
 mould have bellowed upon him, had he exerted the 
 fame generofity with complete felf-approbation. 
 We might be pleafed with the humanity of his tem- 
 per, but we mould (till regard him with a fort of 
 pity which is altogether inconfiitent with the admi- 
 ration that is 'due to perfecl virtue. It is the fame 
 cafe with all the other paffions. We do not dillike 
 to fee them exert themfelves properly, even when a 
 falfe notion of duty would direcl the perfon to ref- 
 train them. A very devout Quaker, who upon be- 
 ino- (truck upon one cheek, inftead of turning up 
 the other, mould fo far forget his literal interpreta- 
 tion of our Saviour's precept, as to beitow fome 
 good difcipline upon the brute that infuhed him 
 P would 
 
236 Of the S e n s e, &c. Part III. 
 
 would not be difagreeable to us. We fhould laugh 
 and be diverted with his fpirit, and rather like him 
 the better for it. But we mould by no means regard 
 him with that refpect and efleem which would feem 
 due to one who, upon a like occafion, had acted 
 properly from a juft fenfe of what was proper to be 
 done. No action can properly be called virtuous, 
 which is not accompanied with the fentiment of felf- 
 approbation. 
 
 
 <H-$» 
 
 PART 
 
PART IV. 
 
 Of the Effect of Utility upon the 
 fentiment of approbation. 
 
 CONSISTING OF ONE SECTION, 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 Of the beauty which the appearance of Utility be- 
 ftows upon all the productions of art , and of the 
 extenjive influence of this fpecies of beauty. 
 
 x 
 
 HAT utility is one of the principal fources 
 of beauty has been obferved by every body, who 
 has confidered with any attention what confti- 
 tutes the nature of beauty. The conveniency of a 
 houfe gives pleafure to the fpeclator as well as its 
 regularity, and he is as much hurt when he obferves 
 the contrary defect, as when he fees the correfpon- 
 dent windows of different forms, or the door not 
 placed exactly in the middle of the building. That 
 the fitnefs of any fyftem or machine to produce the 
 end for which it was intended, bellows a certain 
 propriety and beauty upon the whole, and renders 
 the very thought and contemplation of it agreeable, 
 is fo very obvious that nobody has overlooked it. 
 
 The 
 
23 8 ¥he Effect Part IV. 
 
 The caufe too, why utility pleafes, has of late 
 been afiigned by an ingenious and agreeable philofo- 
 pher, who joins the greateft depth of thought to 
 the greateft elegance of exprefiion, and poiTeifes the 
 fingular and happy talent of treating the abftrufeft 
 fubjects not only with the mod perfect perfpicuity, 
 but with the mod lively eloquence. The utility of 
 any object, according to him, pleafes the mafter by 
 perpetually fuggefting to him the pleafure or conve- 
 niency which it is fitted to promote. Every time he 
 looks at it, he is put in mind of this pleafure; and 
 the object in this manner becomes a fource of per- 
 petual fatisfaction and enjoyment. The fpectator 
 enters by fympathy into the fentiments of the mafter, 
 and neceflarily views the object under the fame agree- 
 able afpect. When we vifu the palaces of the great, 
 we cannot help conceiving the fatisfaction we fhould 
 enjoy if we ourfelves were the matters, and were pof- 
 fefled of fo much artful and ingenioufty contrived 
 accommodation. A fimilar account is given why 
 the appearance of inconveniency ihould render any 
 object difagreeable both to the owner and to the 
 fpectator. 
 
 But that this fitnefs, this happy contrivance of 
 any production of art, mould often be more valued, 
 than the very end for which it was intended ; and 
 that the exact adjuftment of the means for attaining 
 any conveniency or pleafure, fhould frequently be 
 more regarded, 'than that very conveniency or plea- 
 fure, in the attainment of which their whole merit 
 would feem to confift, has not, fo far as 1 know, 
 been yet taken notice of by any body. That this 
 however is very frequently the cafe, may be obferved 
 
 in 
 
Chap. I. of U T I L I T y. 229 
 
 in a thoufand inftances, both in the mod frivolous 
 and in the moft important concerns of human life. 
 
 When a perfon comes into his chamber, and finds 
 the chairs all (landing in the middle of the room, he 
 is angry with his fervant, and rather than fee them 
 continue in that diforder, perhaps takes the trouble 
 himfelf to let them all in their places with their backs 
 to the wall. The whole propriety of this new fitu- 
 ation arifes from its fuperior conveniency in leaving 
 the floor free and difengaged. To attain this con- 
 veniency he voluntarily puts himfelf to more trouble 
 than all he could have fuffered from the want of it ; 
 fince nothing was more eafy, than to have fet him- 
 felf down upon one of them, which is probably 
 what he does when his labour is over. What he 
 wanted therefore, it feems, was not fo much this 
 conveniency, as that arrangement of things which 
 promotes it. Yet it is this conveniency which ulti- 
 mately recommends that arrangement, and bellows 
 upon it the whole of its propriety and beauty. 
 
 A watch, in the fame manner, that falls behind 
 above two minutes in a day, is defpifed by one curi- 
 ous in watches. He fells it perhaps for a couple of 
 guineas, and purchafes another at fifty, which will 
 not lofe above a minute in a fortnight. The fole 
 ufe of watches however, is to tell us what o'clock 
 it is, and to hinder us from breaking any engage- 
 ment, or fuffering any other incpnveniency by our 
 ignorance in that particular point. But the perfon 
 fo nice with regard to this machine, will not always 
 be found either more fcrupuloufiy punctual than 
 other men, or more anxioufly concerned upon any 
 other account, to know precifely what time of day 
 
 it 
 
240 The Effect Fart IV. 
 
 it is. What interefts him is not fo much the attain- 
 ment of this piece of knowledge, as the perfection 
 of the machine which ferves to attain it. 
 
 How many people ruin themfelves by laying out 
 money on trinkets of frivolous utility ? What 
 pleafes thefe lovers of toys is not fo much the utility, 
 as the aptnefs of the machines which are fitted to 
 promote it. All their pockets are Huffed with little 
 conveniencies. They contrive new pockets, un- 
 known in the clothes of other people, in order to 
 carry a greater number. They walk about loaded 
 with a multitude of baubles, in weight and fome- 
 times in value not inferior to an ordinary Jew's-box, 
 fome of which may fometimes be of fome little 
 ufe, but all of which might at all times be very well 
 fpared, and of which the whole utility is certainly not 
 worth the fatigue of bearing the burden. 
 
 Nor is it only with regard to fuch frivolous ob- 
 jects that our conduct is influenced by this principle; 
 it is often the fecret motive of the .mod ferions 
 and important purfuits of both private and public 
 life. 
 
 The poor man's fon, whom Heaven in its anger 
 has vifited with ambition, when he begins to look 
 around him admires the condition of the rich. He 
 finds the cottage of his father too fmall for his 8 ac- 
 commodation,- and fancies he mould be lodged more 
 at his eafe in a palace. He is difpleafed with being 
 obliged to walk a- foot, or to endure the fatigue of 
 riding on horfeback. He fees his fuperiors carried 
 about in machines, ^and imagines that in one of 
 thefe he could travel with lefs inconveniency. He 
 
 feels 
 
Chap. I. c/Utilit y. 241 
 
 feels himielf naturally indolent, and willing to ferve 
 himfelf with his own hands as little as pofiible ; and 
 judges, that a numerous retinue of fervants would 
 fave him from a great deal of trouble. He thinks 
 if he had attained all thefe, he would fit dill con- 
 tentedly, and be quiet, enjoying himielf in the 
 thought of the happinefs and tranquillity of his fitn- 
 ation. He is enchanted with the diftant idea of this 
 felicity. It appears in his fancy like the life of fome 
 fuperior rank of beings, and in order to arrive at it, 
 he devotes himielf for ever to the purfuit of wealth 
 and ereatnels. To obtain the conveniences which 
 thefe afford, he fubrnits in the firft year, nay in the 
 firfl month of his application, to more fatigue of 
 body and more uneafmefs of mind than he could 
 have fuffered through the whole of his life from the 
 want of them. He fludies to diftinguifh himfelf in 
 fome laborious profeffion. With the mofl unre- 
 lenting indulfry he labours night and day to acquire 
 ralents fuperior to all his competitors. He endea- 
 vours next to bring thole talents into public view, 
 and with equal affiduity folicits every opportunity of 
 employment. For this purpofe he makes his court 
 to all mankind •, he ferves thofe whom he hates, and 
 is obfequious to thofe whom he defpifes. Through 
 the whole of his life he purfues the idea of a certain 
 artificial and elegant repofe which he may never ar- 
 rive at, for which he facrifices a real tranquillity 
 that is at all times in his power, and which, if in 
 the extremity of old age he fhould at lad attain to 
 it, he will find to be in no refpecl preferable to that 
 humble fecurity and contentment which he had aban- 
 doned for it. It is then, in the laft dregs of life, 
 his body wafted with toil and difeafes, his mind 
 galled and ruffled by the memory of a thou- 
 
 R fand 
 
242 The Effect Part IV. 
 
 fand injuries and difappointments which he imagines 
 he has met with from the injuftice of his enemies, 
 or from the perfidy and ingratitude of his friends, 
 that he begins at laft to find that wealth and great- 
 neis are mere trinkets of frivolous utility, no more 
 adapted for procuring eafe of body or tranquillity 
 of mind than the tweezer-cafes of the lover of toys ; 
 and like them too, more troublefome to the perfon 
 who carries them about with him than all the ad- 
 vantages they can afford him are commodious. 
 There is no other real difference between them, ex- 
 cept that the conveniencies of the one are fomewhat 
 more obfervable than thofe of the other. The pa- 
 laces, the gardens, the equipage, the retinue of the 
 great are objects of which the obvious conveniency 
 ftrikes every body. They do not require that their 
 matters fhould point out to us wherein confifts their 
 utility. Of our own accord we readily enter into it, 
 and by fympathy enjoy and thereby applaud the fa- 
 tisfaction which they are fitted to afford him. But 
 the curiofity of a tooth-pick, of an ear-picker, of a 
 machine for cutting the nails, or of any other trinket 
 of the fame kind, is not fo obvious. Their conveni- 
 ence may perhaps be equally great, but it is not fo 
 ftriking, and we do not fo readily enter into the fa- 
 tisfaclion of the man who poffeffes thrm. They are 
 therefore lefs reaibnable fubjecls of vanity than the 
 magnificence of wealth and greatnels •> and in this 
 confifts the fole advantage of thefe laft. They more 
 effectually gratify that love of diftin&ion fo natural 
 to man. To one who was to live alone in a defolate 
 illand it might be a matter of doubt, perhaps, whe- 
 ther a palace, or a collection of fuch fmall conveni- 
 encies as are commonly contained in a tweezer-cafe, 
 would contribute mod to his happinefs and enjoy- 
 ment.- 
 
Chap. I. ^/Utility. 243 
 
 ment. If he is to live in fociety, indeed, there can 
 be no companion, becatife in this, as in all other 
 cafes, we conftantly pay more regard to the fenti- 
 ments of the fpectator, than to thole of the perfon 
 principally concerned, and confider rather how his 
 fituation will appear to other people, than how it 
 will appear to himfelf. If we examine, however, 
 why the fpeclator diftinguifhes with fuch admiration 
 the condition of the rich and the great, we fhall find 
 that it is not fo much upon account of the fuperior 
 eafe or pleafure which they are fuppoiedto enjoy, as 
 of the numberlefs artificial and elegant contrivances 
 for promoting this eafe or pleafure. He does not 
 even imagine that they are really happier than other 
 people : but he imagines that they poffefs more 
 means of happinefs. And ic is the ingenious and 
 artful adjuftment of thole means to the end for 
 which they were intended, that is the principal 
 fource of his admiration. But in the languor of 
 difeafe, and the wearinefs of old age, the pleafures 
 jf the vain and empty diftinctions of greatnefs dii- 
 appear. To one, in this fituation, they are no 
 longer capable of recommending thole toiiibme pur- 
 fuits in which they had formerly engaged him. In 
 his heart he curfes ambition, and vainly regrets the 
 eafe and the indolence of youth, pleafures which are 
 fled for ever, and which he has foolifhly facrificed for 
 what, when he has got it, can afford him no real 
 fatisfaction. In this miferable afpecl does greatnefs 
 appear to every man when reduced either by fpleen 
 or difeafe to obferve with attention his own fituation, 
 and to confider what it is that is really wanting to 
 his happinefs. Power and riches appear then to be 
 what they are, enormous and operofe machines 
 contrived to produce a few trifling conveniencies to 
 R 2 the 
 
244 The E f f ect Part IV. 
 
 the body, confiding of fprings the mofl nice and de- 
 licate, which mud be kept in order with the mod 
 anxious attention, and which in fpite of all our care 
 are ready every moment to burft into pieces, and to 
 crufh in their ruins their unfortunate poffeffor. They 
 are immenie fabrics, which it requires the labour of a 
 life to raife, which threaten every moment to over- 
 whelm the perfon that dwells in them, and which 
 while they ftand, though they may fave him from fome 
 fmaller inconveniencies, can protect him from none 
 of the feverer inclemencies of the feafon. They keep 
 off the fummer fhower, not the winter dorm, but 
 leave him always as much, and fometimes more ex- 
 pofed than before, to anxiety, to fear, and to for- 
 row ; to difeafes, to danger, and to death. 
 
 But though this fplenetic philofophy, which in 
 time of fickneis or low fpirits is familiar to every 
 man, thus entirely depreciates thofe great objects of 
 human defire, when in better health and in better 
 humour, we never fail to regard them under a 
 more agreeable afpect Our imagination, which 
 in pain and forrow feems to be , confined and 
 cooped up within our own perfons, in times of 
 eafe and profperity expands itfelf to every thing 
 around us. We are then charmed with the beauty 
 of thar accommodation which reigns in the palaces 
 and oeconomy of the great ; and admire how every 
 thing is adapted to promote their eafe, to prevent 
 their wants,' to gratify their wifhes, and to amufe 
 and entertain their mod frivolous defires. If we 
 confider the real fatisfaction which all thefe things 
 are capable of affording, by itfelf and feparated 
 from the beauty off hat arrangement which is fitted 
 to promote it, it will always appear in the higheft 
 
 degree 
 
Chap. I. 0/ U t il i t y 245 
 
 degree contemptible and trifling. But we rarely 
 view it in this abftract and philofophical light. We 
 naturally confound it in our imagination with the 
 order, the regular and harmonious movement of the 
 fyftem, the machine or ceconomy by means of which 
 it is produced. The pleafures of wealth and great- 
 nefs, when confidered in this complex view, (hike 
 the imagination as fomething grand and beautiful and 
 noble, of which the attainment is well worth all the 
 toil and and anxiety which we are fo apt to beftow 
 upon ir. 
 
 And it is well that nature impofes upon us in this 
 manner. It is this deception which roufes and keeps 
 in continual motion the induftry of mankind. It is 
 this which fir ft prompted them to cultivate the 
 ground, to build houfes, to found cities and com- 
 mon-wealths, and to invent and improve all the 
 fciences and arts, which ennoble and embellifh hu- 
 man life ; which have entirely changed the whole 
 face of the globe, have turned the rude forefts of 
 nature into agreeable and fertile plains, and made the 
 tracklefs and barren ocean a new fund of fubfiftence, 
 and the great high road of communication to the 
 different nations of the earth. The earth by thefe 
 labours of mankind has been obliged to redouble her 
 natural fertility, and to maintain a greater multitude 
 of inhabitants. It is to no purpofe, that the proud 
 and unfeeling landlord views his extenfive fields, 
 and without a thought for the wants of his brethren, 
 in imagination confumes himfelf the whole harveft 
 that grows upon them. The homely and vulgar 
 proverb, that the eye is larger than the belly, never 
 was more fully verified than with regard to him. 
 The capacity of his ftomach bears no proportion to 
 
 R 3 the 
 
246 ^he Effect Part IV. 
 
 the immenfity of his defires, and will receive no 
 more than that of the meaneft peafant. The reft he 
 is obliged to diftribute among thofe, who prepare, 
 in the niceft manner, that little which he himfelf 
 makes ufe of, among thofe who fit up the palace in 
 which this little is to be confumed, among thofe 
 who provide and keep in order all the different bau- 
 bles and trinkets, which are employed in the cecono- 
 my of greatnefs; all of whom thus derive from his 
 luxury and caprice, that fhare of the neceffaries of 
 life, which they would in vain have expected from 
 his humanity or his juftice. The produce of the foil 
 maintains at all times nearly that number of inhabi- 
 tants, which it is capable of maintaining. The rich 
 only feted from the heap what is moft precious and 
 agreeable. They confume little more than the poor, 
 and in fpite of their natural felfifhnefs and rapacity, 
 though they mean only their own conveniency, 
 though the fole end which they propoie from the 
 labours of all the thoufands whom they employ, be 
 the g. atification of their own vain and infatiable de- 
 fires, they divide with the poor the produce of all 
 their improvements. They are led by an invifible 
 hand to make nearly the fame diftribution of the ne- 
 ceffaries of life, which would have been made, 
 had the earth been divided into equal portions among 
 all its inhabitants, and thus without intending it, 
 without knowing it, advance the interefl of the 
 fociety, and afford means to the multiplication of 
 the fpecies. When Providence divided the earth 
 among a few lordly matters, it neither forgot nor 
 abandoned thofe who feemed to have been left 
 out in the partition. Thefe lafl too enjoy their 
 fhare of all that it produces. In what conflitutes 
 
 the 
 
Chap. I. of U*t i L i t y. 247 
 
 the real happinefs of human Jife, they are in no re- 
 fpect inferior to thofe who would feem fo much above 
 them. In eafe of body and peace of mind, all the 
 different ranks of life are neariy upon a level, and 
 the beggar, who funs himfelf by the fide of the high- 
 way,. pofTeffcs that iecurity which kings are fighting 
 for. / 
 
 The fame principle, the fame love of fyltem, the 
 fame regard to the beauty of order, of art and con- 
 trivance, frequently ferves to recommend thofe inft i- 
 tutions, which tend to promote the public welfare. 
 When a patriot exerts himfelf for the improvement 
 of any part of the public police, his conduct does 
 not always arife from pure fympathy with the hap- 
 pinefs of thofe who are to reap the benefit of it. It 
 is not commonly from a fellow-feeling with carriers 
 and waggoners that a public-fpirited man encourages 
 the mending of high roads. When the legiflature 
 eftablifhes premiums and other encouragements to 
 advance the linen or woollen manufactures, its con- 
 duct feldom proceeds from pure fympathy with the 
 wearer of cheap or fine cloth, and much lefs from 
 that with the manufacturer, or merchant. The per- 
 fection of police, the extenfion of trade and manu- 
 factures, are noble and magnificent objects. The 
 contemplation of them pleafes us, and we are inter- 
 efted in whatever can tend to advance them. They 
 make part of the great fyftem of government, and 
 the wheels of the political machine feem to move 
 with more harmony and eafe by means of them. 
 We take pleafure in beholding the perfection of fb 
 beautiful and grand a fyftem, and we are uneafy till 
 we remove any obftruction that can in the lead dil- 
 turb or encumber the regularity of its motions. All 
 R 4 conftitutions 
 
248 The Effect Part IV. 
 
 confti'tutions of government, however, are valued 
 only in proportion, as they tend to promote the hap- 
 pinefs of thofe who live under them. This is their 
 fole ufe and end. From a certain fpirit of fyftem, 
 however, from a certain love of art and contrivance, 
 we ibmetimes feem to value the means moie than the 
 end, and to be eager to promote the happinefs of 
 our fellow- creatures, rather from a view to pcrfedt 
 and improve a certain beautiful and orderly fyftem, 
 than from any immediate fenle or feeling of what 
 they either fufrer or enjoy. There have been men of 
 the greater! public ipirit, who have fhewn themielves 
 in other refpects not very fenfible to the feelings of 
 humanity. And on the contrary, there have been 
 men of the greateft humanity, who feem to have 
 been entirely devoid of public fpirit. Every man 
 may find in the circle of his acquaintance inflances 
 both of the one kind and the other. Who had ever 
 lefs humanity, or more public fpirit, than the cele- 
 brated legiflator of Mufcovy ? The focial and well 
 natured James the Firfl of Great-Britain feems, on 
 the contrary, to have had fcarce any paffioi^ either 
 for the glory, or the intereft of his country. Would 
 you awaken the induftry of the man, who feems al- 
 moft dead to ambition, it will often be to no purpofe 
 to defcribe to him the happinefs of the rich and the 
 great ; to tell him that they are generally (heltered 
 from the fun and the rain, that they are feldom hun- 
 gry, that they are feldom cold, and that they are rare- 
 ly expofed to wearinefs, or to want of any kind. 
 The mod eloquent exhortation of this kind wiJl have 
 little erTe6t upon him. If you would hope to fuc- 
 ceed, you muft defcribe to him the conveniency and 
 arrangement of th^ different apartments in their 
 palaces ; you muft explain to him the propriety of 
 
 their 
 
Chap. I. (^/Utility. 249 
 
 their equipages, and point out to him the number, 
 the order, and the different offices of all their atten- 
 dants. If any thing is capable of making impreffion 
 upon him, this will. Yet all thefe things tend only 
 to keep off the fun and the rain, to fave them from 
 hunger and cold, from want and wearinefs. In the 
 fame manner, if you would implant public virtue in 
 the bread of him, who feems heedlefs of the intereft 
 of his country, it will often be to no purpofe to tell 
 him, what fuperior advantages the fubjecls of a well- 
 governed date enjoy j that they are better lodged, 
 that they are better clothed, that they are better fed. 
 Thefe confiderations will commonly make no great 
 impreffion. You will be more likely to perfuade, 
 if you defcribe the great fyftem of public police 
 which procures thefe advantages, if you explain the 
 connexions and dependencies of its feveral parts, 
 their mutual fubordination to one another, and their 
 general fubferviency to the happinefs of the fociety ; 
 if you mow how this fyftem might be introduced into 
 his own country, what it is that hinders it from tak- 
 ing place there at prefent, how thofe obftru&ions 
 might be removed, and all the feveral wheels of the 
 machine of government be made to move with more 
 harmony and fmoothnefs, without grating upon one 
 another, or mutually retarding one another's moti- 
 ons. It is fcarce poffible that a man mould liften to 
 a difcourfe of this kind, and not feel himfelf ani- 
 mated to fome degree of public fpirit. He will, at 
 lead for the moment, feel fome defire to remove thofe 
 obftructions, and to put into motion fo beautiful and 
 fo orderly a machine. Nothing tends fo much to 
 promote public fpirit as the ftudy of politics, of the 
 feveral fyftems of civil government, their advantages 
 and difadvantages, of the constitution of our own 
 
 country, 
 
250 The Effect Part IV. 
 
 country, its fituation, and intereft with regard to 
 foreign nations, its commerce, its defence, the difad- 
 vantages it labours under, the dangers to which it 
 may be expofed, how to remove the one, and how 
 to guard againft the other. Upon this account po- 
 litical difquifitions, if juft and reafonable, and prac- 
 ticable, are of all the works of fpeculation the moil 
 ufeful. Even the weakeftand theworflof them are not 
 altogether without their utility. They ferve at leafl 
 to animate the public paffions of men, and roufe them 
 to feek out the means of promoting the happinefs of 
 the fociety. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Of the beauty which the appearance of utility bejlows 
 upon the characlers and atlions of men •, and how far 
 the perception of this beauty may be regarded as one 
 of the original principles of approbation. 
 
 T, 
 
 H E characters of men, as well as the contri- 
 vances of art, or the inftitutions of civil govern- 
 ment, may be fitted either to promote or to difturb 
 the happinefs both of the individual and of the fo- 
 ciety. The prudent, the equitable, the active, re- 
 folute, and fober character promifes profperity and 
 fatisfadion, boxh to the perfon himfelf and to every 
 one connected with him. The raih, the infolent, 
 the flothful, effeminate, and voluptuous, on the 
 contrary, forebodes ruin to the individual, and mif- 
 fortune to all who jjave any thing to do with him. 
 The firft turn of mind has at leaft all the beauty 
 
 which 
 
Chap. II. e/ Utility. 251 
 
 which can belong to the mod perfect machine that 
 was ever invented for promoting the mod agreeable 
 purpofc : and the fecond ail the deformity of the 
 mod awkward and clumfy contrivance. What in- 
 ftitution of government could tend lb much to pro- 
 mote the happinefs of mankind as the general pre- 
 valence of wifdom and virtue ? All government is 
 but an imperfect remedy for the deficiency of thefe. 
 Whatever beauty, therefore, can belong to civil go- 
 vernment upon account of its utility, mufr in a far 
 fuperior degree belong to thefe. On the contrary, 
 what civil policy can be fo ruinous and d-flructive as 
 the vices of men ? The fatal effects of bad govern- 
 ment arife from nothing, but that it does not iuffici- 
 ently guard againft the mifchiefs which human wick- 
 ed nefs gives occafion to. 
 
 This beauty and deformity which characters ap- 
 pear to derive from their ufefulnefs or inconveniency, 
 are apt to ftrike, in a peculiar manner, thole who 
 confider, in an abftract and philofophical light, the 
 actions and conduct of mankind. When a philofo- 
 pher goes to examine why humanity is approved of, 
 or cruelty condemned, he does not always form to 
 himfelf, in a very clear and diifinct manner, the con- 
 ception of any one particular action either of cruelty 
 or of humanity, but is commonly contented with the 
 vague and indeterminate idea which the general 
 names of thofe qualities fuggeft to him. But it is in 
 particular inftances only that the propriety or impro- 
 priety, the merit or demerit of actions is very obvious 
 and difcernible. It is only when particular exam- 
 ples are given that we perceive diftinctly either the 
 concord or difagreement between our own affections 
 and thofe of the agent, or feel a focial gratitude arife 
 
 towards 
 
252 The Effect Part IV. 
 
 towards him in the one cafe, or a fympathetic re- 
 ientment in the other. When we confider virtue and 
 vice in an abftract and general manner, the qualities 
 by which they excite thefe ieveral fentiments feem in 
 a great meafure to diiappear, and the fentiments 
 themfelves become lefs obvious and difcernible. On 
 the contrary, the happy effects of the one and the 
 fatal confequences of the other feem then to rife up 
 to the view, and as it were to (land out and diftin- 
 guifh themfelves from all the other qualities of 
 either. 
 
 The fame ingenious and agreeable author who 
 firft explained why utility pleafes, has been fo (truck 
 with this view of things, as to refolve our whole ap- 
 probation of virtue into a perception of this fpecies 
 of beauty which refults from the appearance of uti- 
 lity. No qualities of the mind, he obferves, are ap- 
 proved of as virtuous, but fuch as are ufefui or 
 agreeable either to the perfon himfelf or to others ; 
 and no qualities are difapproved of as vicious but 
 fuch as have a contrary tendency. And Nature, in- 
 deed, feems to have fo happily adjufted our fenti- 
 ments of approbation and difapprobation, to the con- 
 veniency both of the individual and of the fociety, 
 that after the ftricteft examination it will be found, I 
 believe, that this is univerfally the cafe. But (till I 
 affirm, that it is not the view of this utility or hurt- 
 fulnefs which is either the firft or principal fource of 
 our approbation and difapprobation. Thefe fenti- 
 ments are no cloubt enhanced and enlivened by the 
 perception of the beauty or deformity which refults 
 from this utility or hurtfulnefs. But (till, I fay, 
 they are originally ar.d effentially different from this 
 perception. 
 
 For 
 
Chap. II. ^Utility. 2 5g 
 
 For firfb of all, it feems impoflible that the appro- 
 bation of virtue mould be a fentiment of the fame 
 kind with that by which we approve of a convenient 
 and well contrived building •, or that we fhould have 
 no other reafon for praifing a man than that for 
 which we commend a cheft of drawers. 
 
 And fecondly, it will be found, upon examinati- 
 on, that the ufefulnefs of any difpofuion of mind is 
 feldom the firft ground of our approbation •, and that 
 the fentiment of approbation always involves in it a 
 fenfe of propriety quite diftincl from the perception 
 of utility. We may obferve this with regard to all 
 the qualities which are aproved of as virtuous, both 
 thofe which, according to this fyftem, are originally 
 valued as ufeful to ourfelves, as well as thofe which 
 are efteemed on account of their ufefulnefs to others. 
 
 The qualities mod ufeful to ourfelves are, firft of 
 all, fuperior reafon and underftanding, by which 
 we are capable of difcerning the remote confequen- 
 ces of all our actions, and of forefeeing the advan- 
 tage or detriment which is likely to refult from 
 them : and fecondly, felf- command, by which we 
 are enabled to abftain from prefent pleafure or to en- 
 dure prefent pain, in order to obtain a greater plea- 
 fure or to avoid a greater pain in fome future time. 
 In the union of thofe two qualities confifts the vir- 
 tue of prudence, of all the virtues that which is moil: 
 ufeful to the individual. 
 
 With regard to the firft of thofe qualities, it has 
 been obferved on a former occafion, that fuperior 
 reafon and underftanding are originally approved of 
 
 as 
 
254 7i* Ejfect Part IV, 
 
 as juft and right and accurate, and not merely as 
 ufeful or advantageous. It is in the abftrufer fciences, 
 particularly in the higher parts of mathematics, that 
 the greater! and moft admired exertions of human 
 reafon have been difplayed. But the utility of thofe 
 fciences, either to the individual or to the public, is 
 not very obvious, and to prove it requires a difcuf- 
 fion which is not always very eafily comprehended. 
 It was not, therefore, their utility which firft recom- 
 mended them to the public admiration. This qua- 
 lity was but little infilled upon, till it became necef- 
 fary to make fome reply to the reproaches of thofe, 
 who, having themfelves no tafte for fuch fublime 
 difcoveries, endeavoured to depreciate them as ufe- 
 lefs. 
 
 That felf-command, in the fame manner, by which 
 we reftrain our prefent appetites, in order to gratify 
 them more fully upon another occafion, is approved 
 of, as much under the afpect of propriety, as under 
 that of utility. When we act in this manner, the 
 fentiments which influence our conduct feem exactly 
 to coincide with thofe of the fpectator. The fpecta- 
 tor does not feel the folicitations of our prefent appe- 
 tites. To him the pleafure which we are to enjoy a 
 week hence, or a year hence, is juft as interefting 
 as that which we are to enjoy this moment. When 
 for the fake of the prefent, therefore, we facrifice 
 the future, our conduct appears to him abfurd and 
 extravagant in the higheft degree, and he cannot en- 
 ter into the principles which influence it. On the 
 contrary, when we abftain from prefent pleafure, in 
 order to fecure greater pleafure to come, when we 
 act as if the remote object interefts us as much as 
 that which immediately prelTes upon the fenfes, as 
 
 our 
 
Chap. II. ^/Utility. 2,55 
 
 our affe6tions exactly correfpond with his own, he 
 cannot fail to approve of our behaviour : and as he 
 knows from experience, how few are capable of this 
 felf-command, he looks upon our conduct with a 
 confiderable degree of wonder and admiration. 
 Hence arifes that eminent efleem with which all 
 men naturally regard a Heady perieverance in the 
 practice of frugality, induftry, and application, 
 though directed to no other purpofe than the acqui- 
 fition of fortune. The refolute firmnefs of the per- 
 fon who acts in this manner, and in order to obtain 
 a great though remote advantage, not only gives up 
 all prefent pleafures, but endures the greateft labour 
 both of mind and body, necefiarily commands our 
 approbation. That view of his intereft and happi- 
 nefs which appears to regulate his conduct, exactly 
 tallies with the idea which we naturally form of it. 
 There is the mod perfect correfpondence between his 
 fentiments and our own, and at the fame time, from 
 our experience of the common weaknefs of human 
 nature, it is a correfpondence which we could not 
 reafonably have expected. We not only approve, 
 therefore, but in fome meafure admire his conduct, 
 and think it worthy of a confiderable degree of ap^ 
 plaufe. It is the confcioufnefs of this merited appro- 
 bation and efteem which is alone capable of fupport- 
 ing the agent in this tenour of conduct. The plea- 
 fure which we are to enjoy ten years hence interefts 
 us fo little in comparifon with that which we may 
 enjoy to-day, the paffion which the firft excites, is 
 naturally fo weak in comparifon with that violent 
 emotion which the fecond is apt to give occafion to, 
 that one could never be any balance to the other, un- 
 lefs it was fupported by the fenfe of propriety, by 
 the confcioufnefs that we merited the efteem and 
 
 approbation 
 
256 Tbt Effect Part IV. 
 
 approbation of every body, by acting in the one 
 way, and that we became the proper objects of their 
 contempt and derifion by behaving in the other. 
 
 Humanity, juftice, generofity, and public fpirit, 
 are the qualities moll ufeful to others. Wherein 
 confifts the propriety of humanity and juftice has 
 been explained upon a former occafion, where it 
 was fhewn how much ourefteem and approbation of 
 thofe qualities depended upon the concord between 
 the affections of the agent and thofe of the fpecta- 
 tors. 
 
 The propriety of generofity and public fpirit is 
 founded upon the fame principle with that of juftice. 
 Generofity is different from humanity. Thofe two 
 qualities, which at firft fight feem fo nearly allied, 
 do not always belong to the fame perfon. Humani- 
 ty is the virtue of a woman, generofity of a man. 
 The fair fex, who have commonly much more ten- 
 dernefs than ours, have feldom fo much generofity. 
 That women rarely make confiderable donations is 
 an obfervation of the civil law*. Humanity confifts 
 merely in the exquifite fellow-feeling which the fpec- 
 tator entertains with the fentiments of the perfon§ 
 principally concerned, fo as to grieve for their fuf- 
 ferings, to refent their injuries, and to rejoice at 
 their good fortune. The mod humane actions re- 
 quire no felf-denial, no felf-command, no great ex- 
 ertion of the fenfe of propriety. They confift only 
 in doing what this exquifite fympathy would of its 
 own accord prompt us to do. But it is otherwife 
 
 with 
 
 * Raro mulieres donare folcnt. 
 
Chap. II. (/Utility. 257 
 
 with generofny. We never are generous except 
 when in fome refpeft we prefer fome other perfon to 
 ourfelves, and facrifice fome great and important in- 
 tereft of ou*r own to an equal intereft of a friend or of 
 a fuperior. The man who gives up his pretentions 
 to an office that was the great object of his ambition, 
 becaufe he imagines that the fervices of another are 
 better entitled to it •, the man who expofes his life to 
 defend that of his friend, which he judges to be of 
 more importance, neither of them aft from humani- 
 ty, or becaufe they feel more exquifitely what con- 
 cerns that other perfon than what concerns themfelves. 
 They both confider thofe oppofite interefts not in the 
 light in which they naturally appear to themfelves, 
 but in that in which they appear to others. To every 
 byftander, the fuccefs or prefervation of this other 
 perfon may juftly be more interefting than their own •, 
 but it cannot be fo to themfelves. When to the in- 
 tereft of this other perfon, therefore, they facrifice 
 their own, they accommodate themfelves to the fen- 
 timents of the fpeftator, and by an effort of magna- 
 nimity aft according to thofe views of things which 
 they feel, muft naturally occur to any third perfon. 
 The foldier who throws away his life in order to de- 
 fend that of his officer, would perhaps be but little 
 afFefted by the death of that officer, if it fhould 
 happen without any fault of his own ; and a very 
 fmall difafter which had befallen himfelf might ex- 
 cite a much more lively forrow. But when he en- 
 deavours to aft fo as to deferve applaufe, and to 
 make the impartial fpeftator enter into the princi- 
 ples of his conduft, he feels, that to every body but 
 himfelf, his own life is a trifle compared with that of 
 his officer, and that when he facrifices the one to the 
 other, he afts quite properly and agreeably to what 
 
 S would 
 
25S Tbe Effect Part IV. 
 
 would be the natural apprehenfions of every impar- 
 tial byftander. 
 
 It is the fame cafe with the greater exertions of 
 public fpirit. When a young officer expofes his life 
 to acquire fome inconfiderable addition to the domi- 
 nions of his fovereign, it is not, becaufe the acqui- 
 fition of the new territory is, to himfelf, an object 
 more defireable than the prefervation of his own 
 life. To him his own life is of infinitely more va- 
 lue than the conqueft of a whole kingdom for the 
 Hate which he ferves. But when he compares thofe 
 two objects with one another, he does not view them 
 in the light in which they naturally appear to him- 
 felf, but in that in which they appear to the nation 
 he rights for. To them the fuccefs of the war 
 is of the higheft importance ; the life of a pri- 
 vate perfon of fcarce any confequence. When he 
 puts himfelf in their fituation, he immediately feels 
 that he cannot be too prodigal of his blood, if by 
 fhedding it, he can promote fo valuable a purpofe. 
 In thus thwarting, from a fenfe of duty and proprie- 
 ty, the ftrongeft of all natural propenfities, confifts 
 the heroifm of his conduct. There is many an ho- 
 neft Englilhman, who, in his private itation, would 
 be more ferioufly difturbed by the lofs of a guinea, 
 than by the national lofs of Minorca, who yet, had 
 it been in his power to defend that fortrefs, would 
 have facrificed his life a thoufand times rather than, 
 through his fault, have let it fall into the hands of 
 the enemy. When the firft Brutus led forth his 
 own fons to a capital punifhrnent, becaufe they had 
 confpired againft the rifing liberty of Rome, he fa- 
 crificed what, if tie had confulted his own bread 
 only, would appear to be the flronger to the weaker 
 
 affection. 
 
Chap. II; of U t i L i t y. 259 
 
 affection. Brutus ought naturally to have felt much 
 more for the death of his own fons, than for all th4t 
 probably Rome could have fuffered from the want of 
 fo great an example. But he viewed them, not with 
 the eyes of a father, but with thofeof a Roman citizen. 
 He entered fo thoroughly into the fentiments of this 
 laft character, that he paid no regard to that tye, 
 by which he himfelf was connected with them ; and 
 to a Roman citizen, the fons even of Brutus feemed 
 contemptible, when put into the balance with the 
 fmalleft intereft of Rome. In thefe and in all other 
 cafes of this kind, our admiration is not fo much 
 founded upon the utility, as upon the unexpected, 
 and on that account the great, the noble, and exalt- 
 ed propriety of fuch actions. This utility, when we 
 come to view it, bellows upon them, undoubtedly, 
 a new beauty, and upon that account ilill further 
 recommends them to our approbation. This beauty, 
 however, is chiefly perceived by men of reflection 
 and fpeculation, and is by no means the quality 
 which flrft recommends fuch actions to the natural 
 fentiments of the bulk of mankind. 
 
 It is to be obferved, that fo far as the fentiment 
 of approbation arifes from the perception of this 
 beauty of utility, it has no reference of any kind to 
 the fentiments of others. If it was poffible, there- 
 fore, that a perfon mould grow up to manhood with- 
 out any communication with fociety, his own actions 
 might, notwithstanding, be agreeable or difagreeable 
 to him on account of their tendency to his happinefs 
 or difadvantage. He might perceive a beauty of 
 this kind in prudence, temperance, and good con- 
 duct, and a deformity in the oppofite behaviour : 
 He might view his own temper and character with 
 S 2 that 
 
260 The Effect, &c. Part IV. 
 
 that fort of fatisfaction with which we confider a well 
 contrived machine, in the one cafe-, or with that 
 fort of diftafte and diflatisfaction with which we regard 
 a very awkward and clumfy contrivance, in the 
 other. As thefe perceptions, however, are merely a 
 ^natter of tafte, and have all the feeblenefs and deli- 
 cacy of that fpecies of perceptions, upon the juftnefs 
 of which what is properly called tafte is founded, 
 they probably would not be much attended to by one 
 in his folitary and miferable condition. Even though 
 they mould occur to him, they would by no means have 
 the fame effect upon him, antecedent to his connexi- 
 on with fociety, which they would have in confe- 
 quence of that connexion. He would not be caft 
 down with inward fhame at the thought of this de- 
 formity \ nor would he be elevated with fecret tri- 
 umph of mind from the confcioufnefs of the contrary 
 beauty. He would not exult from the notion of de- 
 ferving reward in the one cafe, nor tremble from the 
 fufpicion of meriting punifhment in the other. All 
 fuch fentiments fuppofe the idea of fome other being, 
 who is the natural judge of the peribn that feels 
 them ; and it is only by fympathy with the decifions 
 of this arbiter of his conduct, that he can conceive, 
 either the triumph of felf-applaufe, or the fhame of 
 felf-condemnation 
 
 PAR T 
 
PART V. 
 
 Of the Influence of Custom and 
 Fashion upon the fentiments of moral 
 approbation and difapprobation. 
 
 CONSISTING OF ONE SECTION. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 Of the influence of cuftom and fafhion upon our noti- 
 ons of beauty and deformity. 
 
 A H E R E are other principles befides thofe al- 
 ready enumerated, which have a confiderable influ- 
 ence upon the moral fentiments of mankind, and are 
 the chief caufes of the many irregular and difcordant 
 opinions which prevail in different ages and nations 
 concerning what is blameable or praife- worthy. 
 Thefe principles are cuftom and fa&ion, principles 
 which extend their dominion over our judgments 
 concerning beauty of every kind. 
 
 When two objects have frequently been feen toge- 
 ther, the imagination acquires a habit of paMing 
 eafily from the one to the other. If the firft appear, 
 we lay our account that the fecond is to follow. Of 
 
 S 3 their 
 
262 Of the Influence Part V. 
 
 their own accord they putjjs in mind of one another, 
 and the attention glides eafily along them. Though, 
 independent of cuftom, there fliould be no real 
 beauty in their union, yet when cuftom has thus 
 connected them together, we feel an impropriety in 
 their feparation. The one we think is awkward 
 when it appears without its ufual companion. We 
 mils fomething which we expected to find, and the 
 habitual arrangement of our ideas is difturbed by 
 the disappointment. A fuit of clothes, for example, 
 feems to want fomething if they are without the moft 
 infignificant ornament which ufually accompanies 
 them, and we find a meannefs or awkwardnefs in the 
 abfence even of a haunch button. When there is 
 any natural propriety in the union, cuftcm increafes 
 our fenfe of it, and makes a different arrangement 
 appear ftill more difagreeable than it would otherwife 
 feem 10 be. Thofe who have been accuftomed to 
 fee things in a good tafte, are more difgufted by 
 whatever is clumfy or awkward. Where the con- 
 junction is improper, cuftom either diminifhes, or 
 takes away altogether, our kwk of the impropriety. 
 Thole who have been accuftomed to flovenly diforder 
 loth all fenfe of neatnefs or elegance. The modes of 
 furniture or drefs which feem ridiculous to ftrangers, 
 give no offence to the people who are ufed to them. 
 
 Fafhion is different from cuftom, or rather is a 
 particular fpecies of it. That is not the fafhion which 
 every body wears, but which thofe wear who are of 
 a high rank, or character. The graceful, the eafy, 
 and commanding manners of the great, joined to the 
 uiual richnefs and magnificence of their drefs, give 
 a grace to the veryjbrm which they happen to beftow 
 
 upon 
 
Chap. I. of C u s t o m. 263 
 
 upon it. As long as they continue to ufe this form, 
 it is connected in our imaginations with the idea of 
 fomeching that is genteel and magnificent, and though 
 in itfelf it mould be indifferent, it feems, on account 
 of this relation, to have fomething about it that is 
 genteel and magnificent too. As foon as they drop 
 it, it lofes all the grace, which it had appeared to poi- 
 fefs before, and being now ufed only by the inferior 
 ranks of people, feems to have fomething of their 
 meannefs and awkwardnefs. 
 
 Drefs and furniture are allowed by all the world 
 to be entirely under the dominion of cuftom and 
 fafhion. The influence of thofe principles, however, 
 is by no means confined to fo narrow a fphere, but 
 extends itfelf to whatever is in any refpect the object 
 of tade, to mufic, to poetry, to architecture. The 
 modes of drefs and furniture are continually chang- 
 ing, and that fafhion appearing ridiculous to-day 
 which was admired five years ago, we are experi- 
 mentally convinced that it owed, its vogue chiefly or 
 entirely to cuftom and fafhion. Clothes and furni- 
 ture are not made of very durable materials. A well 
 fancied coat is done in a twelve-month, and cannot 
 continue longer to propagate, as the fafhion, that 
 form according to which it was made. The modes 
 of furniture change lefs rapidly than thofe of drefs ; 
 becaufe furniture is commonly more durable. In 
 five or fix years, however, it generally undergoes an 
 entire revolution, and every man in his own time fees 
 the fafhion in this refpecl: change many different ways. 
 The productions of the other arts are much more lad- 
 ing, and, when happily imagined, may continue to 
 propagate the fafhion of their make for a much longer 
 time. A well contrived building may endure many 
 S 4 centuries 
 
264 Of the Influence Part V. 
 
 centuries : a beautiful air may be delivered down by 
 a fort of tradition, through many fucceffive genera- 
 tions : a well written poem may laft as long as the 
 world ; and all of them continue for ages together, 
 to give the vogue to that particular ftyle, to that par- 
 ticular tafte or manner, according to which each of 
 them was compofed. Few men*have an opportunity 
 of feeing in their own times the fafhion in any of 
 the{c arts change very confiderably. Few men have 
 fo much experience and acquaintance with the differ- 
 ent modes which have obtained in remote ages and 
 nations, as to be thoroughly reconciled to them, or to 
 judge with impartiality between them, and what takes 
 place in their own age and country. Few men there- 
 fore are willing to allow that cuftom or fafhion have 
 much influence upon their judgments concerning 
 what is beautiful, or otherwife, in the productions 
 of any of thole, arts 5 but imagine, that all the rules, 
 which they think ought to be obferved in each of 
 them, are founded upon reafon and nature, not upon 
 habit or prejudice. A very little attention, however, 
 may convince them of the contrary, and fatisfy them, 
 that the influence of cuftom and fafhion over drefr, 
 and furniture, is not more abfolute than over archi- 
 tecture, poetry, and mufic. 
 
 Can any reafon, for example, be afligned why the 
 Doric capital fhould be appropriated to a pillar, 
 whole height is equal to eight diameters ; the Ionic 
 volute to one of nine -, and the Corinthian foliage to 
 one of ten ? The propriety of each of thofe appro- 
 priations can be founded upon nothing but habit and 
 cuftom. The eye having been ufed to fee a particu- 
 lar proportion connected with a particular ornament^ 
 would be offended if they were not joined together. 
 
 Each 
 
Chap I. of C u s t • m. 26*5 
 
 Each of the five orders has its peculiar ornaments, 
 which cannot be changed for any other, without 
 giving offence to all thofe who know any thing of 
 the rules of architecture. According to fome archi- 
 tec~h, 1 indeed, fuch is the exquifite judgment with 
 which the ancients have afligned to each order its pro- 
 per ornaments, that no others can be found which 
 are equally fuitable. It feems, however, a little diffi- 
 cult to be conceived that thefe forms, though, no 
 doubt, extremely agreeable, fliould be the only forms 
 which can fuit thofe proportions, or that there mould 
 not be five hundred others which, antecedent to 
 eftablilhed cuftom, would have fitted them equally 
 well. When cuftom, however, has eftablifhed par- 
 ticular rules of building, provided they are not ab- 
 folutely unreafonable, it is abfurd to think of alter- 
 ing them for others which are only equally good, or 
 even for others which, in point of elegance and 
 beauty, have naturally fome little advantage over 
 them. A man would be ridiculous who fliould ap- 
 pear in public with a fuit of clothes quite different 
 from thofe which are commonly worn, though the 
 new drefs mould in itfelf be ever fo graceful or con- 
 venient. And there feems to be an abfurdity of the 
 fame kind in ornamenting a houfe after a quite dif- 
 ferent manner from that which cuftom and fafhion 
 have prefcribed •, though the new ornaments fhould 
 in themfelves be fomewhat fuperior to the common 
 ones. 
 
 According to the ancient rhetoricians, a certain 
 meafure or verfe was by nature appropriated to each 
 particular fpecies of writing, as being naturally ex- 
 preffive of that character, fentiment, or paflion, 
 
 which 
 
266 Of the Influence Part V. 
 
 which ought to predominate in it. One verfe, they 
 faid, was fit for grave and another for gay works, 
 which could not, they thought, be interchanged 
 without the greateft impropriety. The experience 
 of modern times, however, feems to contradict this 
 principle, though in itfelf it would appear to be 
 extremely probable. What is the burlefque verfe in 
 Englifh is the heroic verfe in French. The trage- 
 dies of Racine and the Henriad of Voltaire, are in 
 the fame verfe with, 
 
 Thus faid to my lady the knight full of care. 
 
 The burlefque verfe in French, on the contrary, is 
 pretty much the fame with the heroic verfe of ten 
 fyllables in Englifh. Cuftom has made the one na- 
 tion affociate the ideas of gravity, fublimity, and 
 ferioufnefs, to that meafure which the other has 
 connected with whatever is gay, flippant, and ludi- 
 crous. Nothing would appear more abfurd in Eng- 
 lifh than a tragedy written in the Alexandrine verfes 
 of the French ; or in French, than a work of the 
 fame kind in verfes of ten fyllables. 
 
 An eminent artift will bring about a confiderable 
 change in the eftablifhed modes of each of thofe arts, 
 and introduce a new fafhion of writing, mufic, or 
 architecture. As the drefs of an agreeable man of 
 high rank recommends itfelf, and how peculiar and 
 fantaftical foeyer, comes foon to be admired and 
 imitated ♦, fo the excellencies of an eminent nufter 
 recommend his peculiarities, and his manner becomes 
 the fafhionable ftyle in the art which he practifes. 
 The tafte of the Italians in mufic and architecture, 
 has, within thefe fifty years* undergone a confiderable 
 
 * change. 
 
Chap. L of Custom. 2 6j 
 
 change, from imitating the peculiarities of ibme 
 eminent matters in each of thofe arts. Seneca is ac- 
 cufed by Quintilian of having corrupted the tafte of 
 the Romans, and of having introduced a frivolous 
 prettinefs in the room of majeftic reafon and mafcu- 
 line eloquence. Salluft and Tacitus have by others 
 been charged with the fame accusation, tho' in a dif- 
 ferent, manner. They gave reputation, it is pre- 
 tended, to a ftyle, which though in the higheft de- 
 gree concife, elegant, exprefiivc, and even poetical, 
 wanted, however, eafe, iimpiicity, and nature, and 
 was evidently the production of the mod laboured 
 and ftudied affectation. How many great qualities 
 mud that writer poffefs who can thus render his very 
 faults agreeable? After the praife of refining the 
 tafte of a nation, the higheft eulogy, perhaps, which 
 can be beftowed upon any author is to fay, that he 
 corrupted it. In our own language, Mr. Pope and 
 Dr. Swift have each of them introduced a manner 
 different from what was practifed before, into all 
 works that are written in rhyme, the one in long 
 verfes, the other in fhort. The quaintnefs of Butler 
 has given place to the plamnels of Swift. The 
 rambling freedom of Dryden, and the correct but 
 often tedious and profaic languor of Addifon, are no 
 longer the objects of imitation, but all long verfes 
 are now written after the manner of the nervous pre- 
 cifion of Mr. Pope. 
 
 Neither is it only over the productions of the arts, 
 that cuftom and fafhion exert their dominion. They 
 influence our judgments, in the fame manner, with 
 regard to the beauty of natural objects. What vari- 
 ous and oppofite forms are deemed beautiful in dif- 
 ferent fpecies of things ? The proportions which are 
 
 admired 
 
?68 0/ /^ Influence Part V. 
 
 admired in one animal, are altogether different from 
 thofe which are efteemed in another. Every clafs of 
 things has its own peculiar conformation, which is 
 approved of, and has a beauty of its own, diftinc~t 
 from that of every other fpecies. It is upon this 
 account that a learned Jefuit, father Burlier, has 
 determined that the beauty of every objedt confifts in 
 that form and colour, which is mod ufual among 
 things of that particular fort to which it belongs. 
 Thus, in the human form, the beauty of each 
 feature lies in a certain middle equally remov- 
 ed from a variety of other forms that are ugly. 
 A beautiful nofe, for example, is one that is neither 
 very long, nor very fhort, neither very ftraight, nor 
 very crooked, but a fort of middle among all thefe 
 extremes, and lefs different from any one of them, 
 than all of them are from one another. It is the 
 form which Nature feems to have aimed at in them 
 all, which, however, fhe deviates from in a great 
 variety of ways, and very feldom hits exactly •, but 
 to which all thofe deviations (till bear a very ftrong 
 refcmblance. When a number of drawings are 
 made after one pattern, though they may all mifs it 
 in fome refpects, yet they will all refemble it more 
 than they refemble one another •, the general charac- 
 ter of the pattern will run through them all •, the moil 
 fmgular and odd will be thofe which are moft wide 
 of it •, and though very few will copy it exactly, yet 
 the moft accurate delineations will bear a greater re- 
 femblance to the moft carelefs, than the carelefs 
 ones will bear to one another. In the fame manner, 
 in each fpecies of creatures, what is moft beautiful 
 bears the ftrongeft charadters of the general fabric of 
 the fpecies, and hasvthe ftrongeft refemblance to the 
 greater part of the individuals with which it is 
 
 claffecl 
 
Chap. I. c/ Custom, 269 
 
 claffed. Monfters. on the contrary, or what is per- 
 fectly deformed, are always mod fingular and odd, 
 and have the lead reiemblance to the generality of 
 that fpecies to which they belong. And thus the 
 beauty of each fpecies, though in one ienfe the rareft 
 of all things, becaufe few individuals hit this middle 
 form exactly, yet in another, is the molt common, 
 becaufe all the deviations from it refemble it more 
 than they refemble one another. The mod cuftom- 
 ary form, therefore, is in each fpecies of things, 
 according to him, the moft beautiful. And hence it 
 is that a certain practice and experience in contem- 
 plating each fpecies of objects is requifite, before 
 we can judge of its beauty, or know wherein the 
 middle and moft ufual form confifts. The niceft 
 judgment concerning the beauty of the human fpe- 
 cies, will not help us to judge of that of flowers, or 
 horfes, or any other fpecies of things. It is for the fame 
 reafon that in different climates and where different 
 cuftoms and ways of living take place, as the gene- 
 rality of any fpecies receives a different conformation 
 from thofe circumftances, lb different ideas of its 
 beauty prevail. The beauty of a Moorifh is not ex- 
 actly the fame with that of an Englifh horfe. What 
 different ideas are formed in different nations con- 
 cerning the beauty of the human fhape and counte- 
 ance? A fair complexion is a mocking deformity 
 upon the coaft of Guinea. Thick lips and a flat 
 nofe are a beauty. In fome nations long ears that hang 
 down upon the fhoulders are the objects of univer- 
 fal admiration. In China if a lady's foot is fo large 
 as to be fit to walk upon, fhe is regarded as a mon- 
 fter of uglinefs. Some of the favage nations in 
 North- America tie four boards round the heads of 
 their children, and thus fqueeze them, while the 
 
 bones 
 
?7° Of the Influence Part X. 
 
 bones are tender and griftly, into a form that is al- 
 moft perfectly fquare. Europeans are aftonifhed at 
 the abfurd barbarity of this practice, to which fome 
 miffionaries have imputed the lingular ftupidity 0/ 
 thofe nations among whom it prevails. But when 
 they condemn thofe favages, they do not reflect 
 that the ladies in Europe had, till within thefe very- 
 few years, been endeavouring, for near a century 
 paft, to fqueeze the beautiful roundneis of their na- 
 tural fh ape into a fquare form of the fame kind. 
 And that notwithstanding the many diftortions and 
 difeafes which this practice was known to occafion, 
 cuftom had rendered it agreeable among fome of the 
 mod civilized nations, which, perhaps, the world 
 ever beheld. 
 
 Such is the fyflem of this learned and ingenious 
 father, concerning the nature of beauty ; of which 
 the whole charm, according to him, would thus 
 feem to arife from its falling in with the habits which 
 'cuftom had imprelled upon the imagination, with 
 regard to things of each particular kind. I cannot, 
 however, be induced to believe that our fenfe even 
 of external beauty is founded altogether on cuftom. 
 The utility of any form, its fitneis for the ufeful 
 purpofes for which it was intended, evidently re- 
 commends it, and renders it agreeable to us inde- 
 pendent of cuftom. Certain colours are more agree- 
 able than others, and give more delight to the eye 
 the firft time it ever beholds them. A fmooth fur- 
 face is more agreeable than a rough one. Variety is 
 more pleafmg than a tedious undiverfified uniformity. 
 Connected variety, in which each new appearance 
 feems to be introduced by what went before it, and in 
 which all the adjoining parrs feem to have fome na- 
 tural 
 
Chap. II. ©/Custom. 271 
 
 tural relation to one another, is more agreeable than 
 a disjointed and diforderly aflemblage of unconnect- 
 ed objects. But though I cannot admit that cuftom 
 is the fole principle of beauty, yet I can ib far allow 
 the truth of this ingenious fyftem as to grant, that 
 there is fcarce any one external form fo beautiful as 
 to pleafe, if quite contrary to cuftom and unlike 
 whatever we have been ufed to in that particular fpe- 
 cies of things : or fo deformed as not to be agreeable, 
 if cuftom uniformly iupports it, and habituates us 
 to fee it in every fingle individual of the kind. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Of the influence of cuftom and fafoion upon moral 
 fentiments. 
 
 O I N C E our fentiments concerning beauty of 
 every kind are fo much influenced by cuftom and 
 fafhion, it cannot be expected, that thofe, concern- 
 ing the beauty, of conduct, fhould be entirely ex- 
 empted from the dominion of thofe principles. Their 
 influence here, however, fcems to be much lefs than 
 it is every where elfe. There is, perhaps, no form 
 of external objects, how abfurd and fantaftical fo- 
 ever, to which cuftom will not reconcile us, or 
 which fafhion will not render even agreeable. But 
 the characters and conduct of a Nero, or a Claudius, 
 are what no cuftom will ever reconcile us to, what 
 no fafhion will ever render agreeable ; but the one 
 will always be the object of dread and hatred ; the 
 other of fcorn and derifion. The principles of the 
 imagination, upon which our fenfe of beauty de- 
 pends, 
 
272 Of the Influx n n c e Part V. 
 
 pends, are of a very nice and delicate nature, and 
 may ealily be altered by habit and education : but 
 the fentiments of moral approbation and difappro- 
 bation, are founded on the ftrongeft and mod vigo- 
 rous paffions of human nature •, and though they 
 may be fomewhat warpt, cannot be entirely per- 
 verted. 
 
 But though the influence of cuftom and faihion, 
 upon moral fentiments, is not altogether fo great, 
 it is however perfectly fimilar to what it is every 
 where elfe. When cuftom and faihion coincide 
 with the natural principles of right and wrong, they 
 heighten the delicacy of our fentiments, and increale 
 our abhorrence for every thing which approaches to 
 evil. Thofe who have been educated in what is 
 really good company, not in what is commonly 
 called fuch, who have been accu domed to fee no- 
 thing in the perfons whom they efteemed and lived 
 with, but juftice, modefty, humanity, and good 
 order •, are more Ihocked with whatever feems to be 
 inconflftent with the rules which thofe virtues pre- 
 fcribe. Thofe, on the contrary, who have had the 
 misfortune to be brought up amidft violence, licen- 
 tioufnefs, falfehood, and injuftice •, lofe, though not 
 all fenfe of the impropriety of fuch conduct, yet all 
 fenfe of its dreadful enormity, or of the vengeance 
 and punifhment due to it. They have been famili- 
 arized with it from their infancy, cuftom has ren- 
 dered it habitual to them, and they are very apt to 
 regard it as, what is called the way of the world, 
 fomething which either may, or muft be prac- 
 tifed, to hinder us from being the dupes of our 
 own integrity. '■ 
 
 Faihion 
 
Chap. II. of C 1/ s t o m. |«i 
 
 Fafhion too will fometimes give reputation to a 
 certain degree of diforder, and on the contrary dif- 
 countenance qualities which deferve efteem. In the 
 reign of Charles II. a degree of licentioufnefs was 
 deemed the characteristic of a liberal education. It 
 was connected, according to the notions of thofe 
 times, with generofity, fincerity, magnanimity, loy- 
 alty, and proved that the perfon who acted in this 
 manner, was a gentleman, and not a puritan ; fe- 
 verity of manners, and regularity of conduct, on 
 the other hand, were altogether unfafhionable, and 
 were connected, in the imagination of that age, with 
 cant, cunning, hypocrify, and low manners. To 
 fuperficial minds^ the vices of the great feem at all 
 times agreeable. They connect them* not only with 
 the fplendour of fortune, but with many fuperiour 
 virtues, which they afcribe to their fuperiors; with 
 the fpirit of freedom and independency, with frankr 
 nefs, generofity, humanity, and politenefs. The 
 virtues of the inferior ranks of people, on the con- 
 trary, their parfimonious frugality, their painful- in- 
 dustry, and rigid adherence to rules, feem to them 
 mean and difagreeable. They connect them, both 
 with the meannefs of the Station to which thofe quali- 
 ties commonly belong, and with many great vices, 
 which, they fuppofe, ufually accompany them •, fuch 
 as an abject, cowardly, ill-natured, lying, pilfering 
 difpofition. 
 
 The objects with which men in the different pro- 
 feflions and ftates of life are converfant, being very 
 different, and habituating them to very different paf- 
 fions, naturally form in them very different charac- 
 ters and manners. We expect in each rank and pro- 
 
 T fefllon, 
 
274 Of the Influence Part V. 
 
 fefiion, a degree of thofe manners, which, experience 
 has taught us, belong to it. But as in each fpecies 
 of things, we are particularly pleafed with the middle 
 conformation, which in every part and feature agrees 
 mod exactly with the general ftandard which nature 
 feems to have eftablifhed for things of that kind •, fo 
 in each rank, or, if I may fay fo, in each fpecies of 
 men, we are particularly pleafed, if they have nei- 
 ther too much, nor too little of the character which 
 ufually accompanies their particular condition and 
 fituation. A man, we fay, fhouid look like his 
 trade and profeflion ; yet the pedantry of every pro- 
 feflion is difagreeable. The different periods of life 
 have, for the fame reafon, different manners affigned 
 to them. We expect in old age, that gravity and 
 fedatenefs which its infirmities, its long experience, 
 and its worn-out fenfibility feem to render both natu- 
 ral and refpectable ; and we lay our account to find 
 in youth that fenfibility, that gaiety and fprightly vi- 
 vacity which experience teaches us to expect: from 
 the lively impreffions that all interefting objects are 
 apt to make upon the tender and unpractiied fenfes 
 of that early period of life. Each of thofe two ages, 
 however, may eafily have too much of thefe peculi- 
 arities which belong to it. The flirting levity of 
 youth, and the immoveable infenfibility of old age, 
 are equally difagreeable. The young, according to 
 the common faying, are mofl agreeable when in 
 their behaviour there is fomething of the manners of 
 the old, and the old, when they retain fomething of 
 the gaiety of the young. Either of them, however, 
 may eafily have too much of the manners of the 
 other. The extreme coldnefs, and dull formality, 
 which are pardoned in old age, make youth ridicu- 
 lous. The levity, the carelefiheft, and the vanity, 
 
 which 
 
Chap. I J. ^/Custom, 275 
 
 which are indulged in youth, render old age con-» 
 temptible. 
 
 The peculiar character and manners which we are 
 led by cuftom to appropriate to each rank and pro- 
 feffion,- have fometimes perhaps a propriety indepen- 
 dent of cuftom ; and are what we mould approve of 
 for their own fakes, if we took into confideration all 
 the different circumftances which naturally affect 
 thofe in each different ftate of life. The propriety 
 of a perfon's behaviour, depends not upon its fuitable- 
 nefs to any one circumftance of his fituation, but 
 to all the circumftances, which, when we bring his 
 cafe home to ourfelves we feel, fhould naturally call 
 upon his attention. If he appears to be fo much oc- 
 cupied by any one of them, as entirely to neglect the 
 reft, we difapprove of his conduct, as fomething 
 which we cannot entirely go along with, becaufe not 
 properly adjufted to all the circumftances of his fitu- 
 ation : yet, perhaps, the emotion he expreffes for 
 the object which principally interefts him, does not 
 exceed what we fhould entirely fympathize.with, and 
 approve of, in one whole attention was not required 
 by any other thing. A parent in private life might, 
 upon the lofs of an only fon, exprefs without blame, 
 a degree of grief and tendernefs, which would be un- 
 pardonable in a general at the head of an army, when 
 glory, and the public fafety demanded fo great a part 
 of his attention. As different objects ought, upon 
 common occafions, to occupy the attention of men 
 of different profefTions, fo different pa/lions ought, 
 naturally to become habitual to them ; and when we 
 bring home to ourfelves their fituation in this parti- 
 cular refpect, we muft be fenfible, that every occur- 
 rence fhould naturally affect them more or lefs, ac- 
 T 2. cording 
 
276 Of the Influence Part V,. 
 
 cording as the emotion which it excites, coincides or 
 difagrees with the fixt habit and temper of their 
 minds. We cannot expect the fame fenfibility to the 
 gay pleafures and amufements of life in a clergyman 
 which we lay our account with in an officer. The 
 man whofe peculiar occupation it is to keep the 
 world in mind of that awful futurity which awaits 
 them, who is to announce what may be the fatal con- 
 fe-quences of every deviation from the rules of duty, 
 and who is himfelf to fet the example of the moft 
 exact conformity, feems to be the mefTenger of ti- 
 dings, which cannot, in propriety, be delivered either 
 with levity or indifference. His mind is fuppofed to 
 be continually occupied with what is too grand and 
 folemn, to leave any room for the impreflions of 
 thofe frivolous objects, which fill up the attention 
 of the diffipated and the gay. We readily feel there- 
 fore, that, independent of cuftom, there is a propri- 
 ety in the manners which cuftom has allotted to this 
 profeiTion ; and that nothing can be more fuitable to 
 the character of a clergyman, than that grave, that 
 auftere and abftracted feverity, which we are habitu- 
 ated to expect in his behaviour. Thefe reflections 
 are fo very obvious, that there is fcarce any man lb 
 inconfiderate, as not, at fome time, to have made 
 them, and to have accounted to himfelf in this man- 
 ner for his approbation of the ufual character of 
 this order. 
 
 The foundation of the cuftom ary character of 
 fome other profeiTions is not fo* obvious, and our ap- 
 probation of it is founded entirely in habit, without 
 being either confirmed, or enlivened by any reflections 
 of this kind. We are led by cuftom, for example, 
 to annex the character of gaiety, levity, and fprighdy 
 
 freedom, 
 
Chap. II. ^/Custom, 277 
 
 freedom, as well as of fome degree of diffipation, to 
 the military profeffion : yet, if we were to confider 
 what mood or tone of temper would be moft fuita- 
 ble to this fituation, we mould be apt to determine, 
 perhaps, that the mod ferious and thoughtful turn of 
 mind, would bed become thole whofe lives are con- 
 tinually expofed to uncommon danger-, and who 
 fhould therefore be more conftantly occupied with 
 the thoughts of death and its confequences than other 
 men. It is this very circumftance, however, which 
 is not improbably the occafion why the contrary turn 
 of mind prevails fo much among men of this pro- 
 feiFion. It requires fo great an effort to conquer the 
 ^fear of death, when we furvey it with (leadinefs and 
 attention, that thofe who are conftantly expofed to it, 
 find it eafier to turn away their thoughts from it al- 
 together, to wrap themfelves up in carelefs fecurity 
 and indifference, and to plunge themfelves, for this 
 purpoie, into every fort of amufcment and diffipa- 
 tion. A camp is not the element of a thoughtful 
 or a melancholy man : perfons of that cad, indeed, 
 are often abundantly determined, and are capable, 
 by a great effort, of going on with inflexible refolu- 
 tion to the moft unavoidable death. But to be ex- 
 pofed to continual, though lefs imminent danger, to 
 be obliged to exert, for a long time, a degree of this 
 effort, exhaufts and depreffes the mind, and renders 
 it incapable of all happinefs and enjoyment. The 
 gay and carelefs, who have occafion to make no ef- 
 fort at all, who fairly refolve never to look before 
 them, but to lofe in continual pleafures and amufe- 
 ments, all anxiety about their fituation, more eaflly 
 fnpport fuch circumftances. Whenever, by any 
 peculiar circumftances, an officer has no reafon to 
 lay his account with being expofed to any unc'om- 
 T 3 mon 
 
2j8 Of the Influence Part V. 
 
 mon danger, he is very apt to lofe the gaiety and dif- 
 iipated thoughtlefsnefs of his character. The cap- 
 tain of a city guard is commonly as fober, careful, 
 and penurious an animal as the reft of his fellow- citi- 
 zens. A long peace is, for the fame reafon, very apt 
 to diminifh the difference between the civil and the 
 military character. The ordinary fituation, howe- 
 ver, of men of this profeflion, renders gaiety, and a 
 degree of diflipation, fo much their ufual character ; 
 and cuitom has, in our imagination, fo (trongly con- 
 nected this character with this ftate of life, that we 
 are very apt to defpife any man, whofe peculiar hu- 
 mour or fituation, renders him incapable of acquiring 
 it. We laugh at the grave and careful faces of a city 
 guard, which, fo little refemble thofe of their profef- 
 fion. They themfelves feem often to be afhamed of 
 the regularity of their own manners, and, not to be 
 out of the fafhion of their trade, are fond of affecting 
 that levity, which is by no means natural to them. 
 Whatever is the deportment which we have been ac- 
 cuftomed to fee in a refpectable order of men, it 
 comes to be fo affociated in our imagination with that 
 order, that whenever we fee the one, we lay our ac- 
 count that we are to meet with the other, and when 
 difappointed, mifs fomething which we expected to 
 find. We are embarraffed, and put to a (land, and 
 know not how to addrefs ourfelves to a character, 
 which plainly affects to be of a different fpecies 
 from thofe with which we mould have been difpofed 
 to clafs it. . 
 
 The different fituations of different ages and 
 countries, are apt, in the fame manner, to give dif- 
 ferent characters to the generality of thofe who live 
 in them, and their fentiments concerning the parti- 
 cular 
 
Chap. II. cf C u s t o m. 279 
 
 cular degree of each quality, that is either blameable, 
 or praife-worthy, vary according to that degree, 
 which is ufual in their own country, and in their 
 own times. That degree of politenefs, which would 
 be highly efteerned, perhaps, would be thought ef- 
 feminate adulation, in Rufiia, would be regarded as 
 rudenefs and barbarifm at the court of France. 
 That degree of order and frugality, which, in a 
 Polifh nobleman, would be confidered as cxceflive 
 parfimony, would be regarded as extravagance in a 
 citizen of Amfterdam. Every age and country look 
 upon that degree of each quality, which is commonly 
 to be met with in thofe who are efteerned among 
 themfelves, as the golden mean of that particular 
 talent or virtue. And as this varies, according as 
 their different circumftances render different qualities 
 more or lefs habitual to them, their fentirnents con- 
 cerning the exact propriety of character and behavi- 
 our vary accordingly. 
 
 Among civilized nations, the virtues which are 
 founded upon humanity, are more cultivated than 
 thofe which are founded upon felf-denial and the 
 command of the paffions. Among rude and bar- 
 barous nations, it is quite otherwife, the virtues of 
 felf-denial are more cultivated than thofe of huma- 
 nity. The general fecurity and happinefs which 
 prevail in ages of civility and politenefs afford little 
 exercife to the contempt of danger, to patience in 
 enduring labour, hunger, and pain. Poverty may 
 eafily be avoided, and the contempt of it therefore^" 
 almoft ceafes to be a virtue. The abflinence from 
 pleafure, becomes lefs neceffary, and the mind 
 is more at liberty to unbend itfelf, and to indulge 
 
 T 4 its 
 
zSo Of the Influence. Part V, 
 
 its natural inclinations in all thofe particular re- 
 aped s. 
 
 Among favages and barbarians it is quite other- 
 wife. Every favage undergoes a fort of Spartan 
 difcipline, and by the neceffity of his fituation is in- 
 ured to every fort of hardfhip. He is in continual 
 danger : He is often expofed to the greateft extremi- 
 ties of hunger, and frequently dies of pure want. 
 His circumftances not only habituate him, to every 
 fort of diftrefs, but teach him to give way to none of 
 the paffions which that diftrefs is apt to excite. He 
 can expect from his countrymen no fympathy or in- 
 dulgence for fuch weaknefs. Before we can feel 
 much for others, we mud in fome meafure be at 
 eafe ourfelves. If our own mifery pinches us very 
 feverely, we have no leifure to attend to that of our 
 neighbour : And all favages are too much occupied 
 with their own wants and neceffities, to give much 
 attention to thofe of another perfon. A favage, 
 therefore, whatever be the nature of his diftrefs, ex- 
 peels no fympathy from thofe about him, and dif- 
 clains, upon that account, to expofe himfelf, by slU 
 lowing the leaft weaknefs to efcape him. His paf- 
 fions, how furious and violent foe^er, are never per- 
 mitted to difturb the ferenity of his countenance or 
 the compofure of his conduct and behaviour. The 
 favages in North America, we are told, alTume upon 
 all occafions the greateft indifference, and would 
 think themfelves degraded if they fliould ever ap- 
 pear in any refpecl: to be overcome, either by love, 
 or grief, or refentment. Their magnanimity and 
 fdf-command, in tfris refpecl:, are almoft beyond the 
 conception of Europeans. In a country in which, 
 dl men are upon > level, with regard to rank and 
 
 fortune 
 
Chap. II. of C U S T o m. 281 
 
 fortune, it might be expected that the mutual incli- 
 nations of the two parties fhould be the only thing 
 confidered in marriages, and fhould be indulged 
 without any fort of controul. This, however, is the 
 country in which all marriages, without exception, 
 are made up by the parents, and in which a young 
 man would think himfelf difgraced for ever, if he 
 fhewed the lead preference of one woman above an- 
 other, or did not exprels the mod complete indiffer- 
 ence, both about the time when, and the perfon to 
 whom he was to be married. The weaknefs of love, 
 which is fo much indulged in ages of humanity and 
 politenefs, is regarded among favages as the moft un- 
 pardonable effeminacy. Even after the marriage the 
 two parties feem to be afhamed of a connexion which 
 is founded upon fo fordid a neceflity. They do not 
 live together. They fee one another by Health only. 
 They both continue to dwell in the houfes of their re- 
 ipective fathers, and the open cohabitation of the 
 two fexes, which is permitted without blame in all 
 other countries, is here confidered as the moft inde- 
 cent and unmanly fenfuality. Nor is it only over 
 this agreeable paflion that they exert this abfolute 
 felf-command. They often bear in the fight of all 
 their countrymen with injuries, reproach, and the 
 groflfeft infults with the appearance of the greatett in- 
 fenfibility, and without exprefTing the fmalleft re- 
 fentment. "When a favage is made prifoner of war, 
 and receives, as is ufual, the fentence of death from 
 his conquerors, he hears it without exprefTing any 
 emotion, and afterwards fubmits to the moft dread- 
 ful torments, without ever bemoaning himfelf, or 
 difcovering any other paflion but contempt of his 
 enemies. While he is hung by the moulders over a 
 flow fire, he derides his tormentors, and tells them 
 
 with 
 
2%z Of the I n f l u e n c e - Part V* 
 
 with how much more ingenuity, he himfelf had tor- 
 mented fuch of their countrymen as had fallen into 
 his hands. After he has been fcorched and burnt, 
 and lacerated in all the moft tender and fenftble parts 
 of his body for feveral hours together, he is often al- 
 lowed, in order to prolong his miiery, a ftiort refpite, 
 and is taken down from the (lake : he employs this 
 interval in talking upon all indifferent fubjects, in- 
 quires after the news of the country, and feems in- 
 different about nothing but his own fituation. The 
 fpeclators exprefs the fame infenfibility ; the fight of 
 fo horrible an object feems to make no impreffion 
 upon them •, they fcarce look at the prifoner, except 
 when they lend a hand to torment him. At other 
 times they fmoke tobacco, and amufe themfelves 
 with any common object, as if no fuch matter was 
 going on. Every favage is faid to prepare himfelf 
 from his earlieft youth for this dreadful end. He 
 compofes, for this purpofe, what they call the fong of 
 death, a fong which he is to fmg when he has fallen 
 into the hands of his enemies, and is expiring under 
 the tortures which they inflict upon him. It confifts 
 of infults upon his tormentors, and expreffes the 
 higher!; contempt of death and pain. He fings this 
 fong upon all extraordinary occafions, when he goes 
 out to war, when he meets his enemies in the field, 
 or whenever he has a mind to mow that he has farni- 
 liarifed his imagination to the mod dreadful misfor- 
 tunes, and that no human event can daunt his refo- 
 lution, or alter, his purpofe. The fame contempt of 
 death and torture prevails among all other favage na- 
 tions. There is not a negro from the coaft of Africa 
 who does nor, in this refpedl, poffefs a degree of 
 magnanimity which^he foul of his fordid matter is 
 
 too 
 
Chap. II. ^/Custom. 283 
 
 too often fcarce capable of conceiving. Fortune 
 never exerted more cruelly her empire over mankind, 
 than when fhe fubjedted thofe nations of heroes to 
 the refufe of the jails of Europe, to wretches who 
 ponefs the virtues neither of the countries which 
 they come from," nor of thofe which they go to, and 
 whofe levity, brutality, and bafenefs, fo juftly expofe 
 them to the contempt of the vanquifhed. 
 
 This heroic and unconquerable firmnefs, which 
 the cuftom and education of his country demand of 
 every lavage, is not required of thole who are brought 
 up to live in civilized focieties. If thefe laft complain 
 when they are in pain, if they grieve when they are 
 in diftrefs, if they allow themfelves either to be 
 overcome by love, or to be difcompofed by anger, 
 they are eafily pardoned. Such weakneffes are not 
 apprehended to afFecl: theefTential parts of their cha- 
 racter. As long as they do not allow themfelves to 
 be tranfported to do any thing contrary to juftice or 
 humanity, they lofe but little reputation, though the 
 ierenity of their countenance or the compofure of 
 their difcourfe and behaviour mould be lbmewhat 
 ruffled and diflurbed. A humane and polifhed peo- 
 ple, who have more fenfibility to the paflions of 
 others, can more readily enter into an animated and 
 pafiionate behaviour, and can more eafily pardon 
 ibme little excels. The perfon principally concerned 
 is fenfible of this ; and being allured of the equity 
 of his judges, indulges himfelf in ftronger expreffions 
 of paffion, and is lefs afraid of expofing himfelf to 
 their contempt by the violence of his emotions. We 
 can venture ro exprefs more emotion in the prefence 
 of a friend than in that of a ftranger, becaufe we ex- 
 peel: more indulgence from the one than from the 
 
 other. 
 
284 Of the 1 n f l u e n c e - Part V. 
 
 other. And in the fame manner the rules of decorum 
 among civilized nations, admit of a more animated 
 behaviour, than is approved of among barbarians. 
 The firft converle together with the opennefs of 
 friends ; the fecond with the referve of ftrangers. 
 The emotion and vivacity with which the French 
 and the Italians, the two moft polifhed nations upon 
 the continent, exprefs themfelves on occafions that 
 are at all interefting, furprife at firft thofe ftrangers 
 who happen to be travelling among them, and who, 
 having been educated among a people of duller fenfi- 
 bility, cannot enter into this pafFionate behaviour, 
 of which they have never feen any example in their 
 own country. A young French nobleman will weep 
 in the preience of the whole court upon being refufed 
 a regiment. An Italian, fays the abbot Du Bos, ex- 
 prefies more emotion on being condemned in a fine 
 of twenty (hillings, than an Englishman on receiving 
 the fentence of death. Cicero, in the times of the 
 highcft Roman politenefs, could, without degrading 
 himfelf, weep with all the bitternefs of lbrrow in the 
 fight of the whole fenate and the whole people ; as 
 it is evident he muft have done in the end of almoft 
 every oration. The orators of the earlier and ruder 
 ages of Rome could not probably, confilient with 
 the manners of the times, have expreffcd themfelves 
 with fo much emotion. It would have been re- 
 garded, I iuppofe, as a violation of nature and pro- 
 priety in the Scipios. in the Leliufes, and in the el- 
 der Cato, to have expofed lb much tenderneis to the 
 view of the public. Thofe ancient warriors could 
 exprefs themfelves, with order, gravity, and good 
 judgment •, but are laid to have been ftrangers to 
 that iubiimeand palli-Qnate eloquence which was firft 
 introduced into Rome, not many years before the 
 
 birth 
 
Chap. II. of C u s t o m. 2 §^ 
 
 birth of Cicero, by the two Gracchi, by Craflus, and 
 by Sulpitius. This animated eloquence, which has 
 been long praclifed, with or without fuccefs, both in 
 France and Italy, is but juft beginning to be intro- 
 duced into England. So wide is the difference be- 
 tween the degrees of felf-command which are re- 
 quired in civilized and in barbarous nations, and by 
 iuch different ftandards do they judge of the pro- 
 priety of behaviour. 
 
 This difference gives occafion to many others that 
 are not lefs effential. A polifhed people being ac- 
 cu domed to give way, in fome mealure, to the move- 
 ments of nature, become frank, open, and fincere, 
 Barbarians, on the contrary, being obliged to fmo- 
 ther and conceal the appearance of every paflion, 
 neceffarily acquire the habits of falfehood and dif- 
 fimulation. It is oblerved by all thofe who have 
 been converfant with favage nations, whether in 
 Afia, Africa, or America, that they are all equally 
 impenetrable, and that, when they have a mind to 
 conceal the truth, no examination is capable^ of 
 drawing it from them. They cannot be trepanned 
 by the mod artful queftions. The torture itfelf is 
 incapable of making them confefs any thing which 
 they have no mind to tell. The paffions of a fa- 
 vage too, though they never exprefs themfelves by 
 any outward emotion, but lie concealed in the breafl: 
 of the fufferer, are, notwithftanding, all mounted to 
 the highelt pitch of fury. Though he fcrldom fhows 
 any fymptoms of anger, yet his vengeance, when he 
 comes to give way to it, is always ianguinary and 
 dreadful. The lead: affront drives him to defpair. 
 His countenance and difcourfe indeed are ftill fober 
 and comoofed, and exprefs nothing but the mod: per- 
 
 fedt 
 
286 Of the 1 n f l u e n c e Part V, 
 
 feet tranquillity of mind: But his actions are often 
 the mod furious and violent. Among the North- 
 Americans it is not uncommon for perfons of the 
 tenderer! age and more fearful fex to drown them- 
 felves upon receiving only a flight reprimand from 
 their mothers, and this too without exprefling any 
 pafTions or faying any thing, except, youjhallno Ion- 
 ger have a daughter. In civilized nations the paf- 
 fions of men are not commonly fo furious or fo def- 
 perate. They are often clamorous and noify, but 
 are feldom very hurtful j and feem frequently to aim 
 at no other fatisfaction, but that of convincing the 
 fpectator, that they are in the right to be fo much 
 moved, and of procuring his fympathy and appro- 
 bation. 
 
 All thefe effects of cuftom and fafhion, however, 
 upon the moral fentiments of mankind, are inconfi- 
 derable in comparifon of thofe which they give occa- 
 fion to in fome other cafes ; and it is not concerning 
 the general ftyle of character and behaviour, that 
 thofe principles produce the greater! perverfion of 
 judgment, but concerning the propriety or impro- 
 priety of particular ufages. 
 
 The different manners which cuftom teaches us to 
 approve of in the different profeilions and ftates of 
 life, do not concern things of the greateft importance. 
 We expect truth and juftice from an old man as well 
 as from a young, from a clergyman as well as from 
 an officer •, and it is in matters of fmall moment only 
 that we look for the diftinguifhing marks of their re- 
 fpective characters. With regard to thefe too, there 
 is often fome unobferved circumftance which, if it 
 was attended to, woultl fhow us, that, independent 
 
 of 
 
Chap. II. ^/Custom. 287 
 
 of cuftom, there was a propriety in the character 
 which cuftom had taught us to allot to each profef- 
 fion. We cannot complain, therefore, in this cafe, 
 that the perverfion of natural fentiment is very great. 
 Though the manners of different nations require dif- 
 ferent degrees of the fame quality, in the character 
 which they think worthy of efteem, yet the word 
 that can be faid to happen even here, is that the du- 
 ties of one virtue are fometimes extended fo as to en- 
 croach a little upon the precincts of fome other. 
 The ruftic hofpitality that is in fafhion among the 
 Poles encroaches, perhaps, a little upon ceconomy 
 and good order ; and the frugality that is efteemed 
 in Holland, upon generofity and good-fellowfhip. 
 The hardinefs demanded of favages diminifhes their 
 humanity ; and, perhaps, the delicate fenfibility re- 
 quired in civilized nations fometimes deftroys the 
 mafculine firmnefs of the character. In general, the 
 ftyle of manners which takes place in any nation, 
 may commonly upon the whole be faid to be that 
 which is mod fuitable to its fuuation. Hardinefs is 
 the character mo/t fuitable to the circumftances of a 
 favage -, fenfibility to thofe of one who lives in a very 
 civilized focie/y. Even here, therefore, we cannot 
 complain that the moral fentiments of men are very 
 grofsly perverted. 
 
 It is not therefore in the general ftyle of conduct 
 or behaviour that cuftom authorizes the wideft depar- 
 ture from what is the natural propriety of action. 
 With regard to particular ufages its influence is often 
 much more deftructive of good morals, and it is ca- 
 pable of eftabliftiing, as lawful and blamelefs, par- 
 ticular actions, which (hock the plained principles 
 
 of right and wrong. 
 
 Can 
 
288 0//^Inflvence Part V. 
 
 Can there be greater barbarity, for example, than 
 to hurt an infant? Its helpleflhefs, its innocence, 
 its amiablenefs, call forth the compaflion even of 
 an enemy, and not to fpare that tender age is re- 
 garded as the molt furious effort of an enraged and 
 cruel conqueror. What then mould we imagine 
 mull be the heart of a parent who could injure that 
 weaknefs which even a furious enemy is afraid to vio- 
 late ? Yet the expofition, that is, the murder of new- 
 born infants, was a practice allowed of in almoft all 
 the dates of Greece, even among the polite and civi- 
 lized Athenians-, and whenever the circurnftances 
 of the parent rendered it inconvenient to bring up the 
 child, to abandon it to hunger, or to wild beads, 
 was regarded without blame or cenfure. This prac- 
 tice had probably begun in times of the mod favage 
 barbarity. The imaginations of men had been fir ft 
 made familiar with it in that earlieft period of focie- 
 ty, and the uniform continuance of the cuftom had 
 hindered them afterwards from perceiving its enor- 
 mity. We find, at this day, that this practice pre- 
 vails among; all favage nations : and in that rtideft 
 and lowed date of fociety it is undoubtedly more 
 pardonable than in any other. The extreme indi- 
 gence of a favage is often fuch that he himfelf is fre- 
 quently expofed to the greated extremity of hunger, 
 he often dies of pure want, and it is frequently im- 
 poflible for him to fupport both himfelf and his 
 child. We cannot wonder, therefore, that in this 
 cafe he mould* abandon it. One who in flying from 
 an. enemy, whom it was impoflible torefift, fliould' 
 throw down his infant, becaufe it retarded his flight, 
 would furely be excufeable ; fince, by attempting to 
 fave it, he could orTiy hope for the confolation of 
 
 dying 
 
Chap. lJ. of C u s t o m. 289 
 
 dying with it. That in this ftate of fociety, there- 
 fore, a parent fhould be allowed to judge whether he 
 can bring up his child, ought not to furprife us fo 
 greatly. In the latter ages of Greece, however, the 
 fame thing was permitted from views of remote in- 
 tereft or conveniency, which could by no means ex- 
 cufe it. Uninterrupted cuftom had by this time fo 
 thoroughly authorized the practice, that not only the 
 loofe maxims of the world tolerated this barbarous 
 prerogative, but even the doctrine of philofophers, 
 which ought to have been more juft and accurate, 
 was led away by the eftabiifried cuftom, and upon 
 this, as upon many other occafions, inftead of 
 cenfuring, Supported the horrible abufe, by far- 
 fetched confederations of public utility. Ariftotle 
 talks of it as of what the magistrate ought upon 
 many occafions to encourage. The humane Plato 
 is of the fame opinion, and, with all that love 
 of mankind which feems to animate all his writ- 
 ings, no where marks this practice with difappro- 
 bation. When cuftom can give fanction to fo dread- 
 ful a violation of humanity, we may well imagine 
 that there is fcarce any particular practice fo grofs 
 which it cannot authorize. Such a thing, we hear 
 men every day faying, is commonly done, and they 
 feem to think this a fufficient apology for what, 
 in itfelf, is the molt unjuft and unreasonable con- 
 dud. 
 
 There is an obvious reafon why cuftom mould 
 never pervert our fentiments with regard to the 
 general ftyle and character of conduct and behavi- 
 our, in the fame degree as with regard to the pro- 
 priety, or unlawfulnefs of particular ufages. There 
 
 U never 
 
290 Of the Influence, &c. Part V. 
 
 never can be any fuch cuftom. No fociety could 
 fubfift a moment, in which the ufual drain of mens 
 conduct and behaviour was of a piece with the hor- 
 rible practice I juft now mentioned. 
 
 ttNy-^HMPP 
 
 1 
 
 PART 
 
PART VI. 
 
 Of Syftems of Moral Philosophy. 
 
 CONSISTING OF FOUR SECTIONS. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 Of the queftions which ought to be examined in a 
 theory of moral fentiments. 
 
 IF we examine the moft celebrated and remarka- 
 ble of the different theories which have been given 
 concerning the nature and origin of our moral fenti- 
 ments, we fnall find that almoft all of them coincide 
 with fome part or other of that which I have been 
 endeavouring to give an account of; and that if 
 every thing which has already been faid be fully con- 
 fidered, we fhall be at no lofs to explain what was 
 the view or afpect of nature which led each particu- 
 lar author to form his particular fyftem. From fome 
 one or other of thofe principles which I have been 
 endeavouring to unfold, every fyftem of morality 
 that ever had any reputation in the world has, per- 
 haps, ultimately been derived. As they are all of 
 them, in this refpecl, founded upon natural princi- 
 ples, they are all of them in fome meafure in the 
 right. But as many of them are derived from a par- 
 
 U % tiai 
 
292 O/Systems Part VL 
 
 tial and imperfect view of nature, there are many of 
 them too in fome refpects in the wrong. 
 
 In treating of the principles of morals there are 
 two queftions to be confidered. Firft, wherein does 
 virtue confift ? Or what is the tone of temper, and 
 tenour of conduct, which constitutes the excellent 
 and praife-worthy character, the character which is 
 the natural object of efteem, honour, and approba- 
 tion ? and fecondly, by what power or faculty in the 
 mind is it, that this character, whatever it be, is re- 
 commended to us ? Or in other words, how and by 
 what means does it come to pafs, that the mind 
 prefers one tenour of conduct to another, denomi- 
 nates the one right and the other wrong ; confiders 
 the one as the object of approbation, honour, and 
 reward, and the other of blame, cenfure, and pu- 
 nifhment ? 
 
 "We examine the firft queftion when we confider 
 whether virtue confifts in benevolence, as Dr. Hutche- 
 fon imagines ; or in acting iuitably to the different 
 relations we ftand in, as Dr. Clarke fuppofes ; or in 
 the wife and prudent purfuit of our own real and fo- 
 lid happinefs, as has been the opinion of others. 
 
 We examine the fecond queftion, when we con- 
 fider, whether the virtuous character, whatever it 
 confifts in, be recommended to us by felf-love, 
 which makes us perceive that this character, both in 
 ourfelves and others, tends mod to promote our own 
 private intereft ; or by reafon, which points out to us 
 the difference between one character and another, in 
 the fame manner as it does that between truth and 
 falfehoodj or by^ii peculiar power of perception, 
 
 called 
 
Sed. I. <?/ Moral Philosophy. 293 
 
 called a moral fenfe, which this virtuous character 
 gratifies and pleafes, as the contrary difgufts and 
 difpleafes it ; or laft of all, by fome other principle 
 in human nature, fuch as a modification of fympa- 
 thy, or the like. 
 
 I fhall begin with confidering the fyflems which 
 have been formed concerning the firft of thefe ques- 
 tions, and fhall proceed afterwards to examine thofe 
 concerning the fecond. 
 
 j.4. i 
 
 
 U 2 SEC- 
 
294 0/ S y s t e m s Part VI 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 Of the different accounts which have been given 
 of the nature of virtue. 
 
 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 T, 
 
 H E different accounts which have been given 
 of the nature of virtue, or of the temper of mind 
 which conftitutes the excellent and praife-worthy 
 character, may be reduced to three different claffes. 
 According to fome, the virtuous temper of mind 
 does not confift in any one fpecies of affections, but 
 in the proper government and direction of all our af- 
 fections, which may be either virtuous or vicious ac- 
 cording to the objects which they purfue, and the 
 degree of vehemence with which they purfue them. 
 According to thefe authors, therefore, virtue con- 
 fifts in propriety. 
 
 According to others, virtue confifts in the judici- 
 ous purfuit of our own private jntereft and happi- 
 neis, or in the proper government and direction of 
 thofe felfifh affections which aim folely at this end. 
 In the opinion of thefe authors, therefore, virtue 
 confifts in prudence. 
 
 Another fet of authors make virtue confift in 
 thofe affections only which aim at the happinefs of 
 others, not in thofe which aim at our own. Ac- 
 cording to them, therefore, difinterefted benevolence 
 
 is 
 
Sect. II. ^ Moral Philosophy. 295 
 
 is the only motive which can ftamp upon any action 
 the character of virtue. 
 
 The character of virtue, it is evident, muft either 
 be afcribed indifferently to all our affections, when 
 under proper government and direction •, or it muft 
 be confined to fome one clafs or divifion of them. 
 The great divifion of our affections is into the felfilh 
 and the benevolent. If the character of virtue, 
 therefore, cannot be afcribed indifferently to all our 
 affections, when under proper government and di- 
 rection, it muft be confined either to thofe which aim 
 directly at our own private happinefs, or to thofe which 
 aim directly at that of others. If virtue, therefore, 
 does not confift in propriety, it muft confift either in 
 prudence or in benevolence. Befides thefe three, it 
 is fcarce poflible to imagine that any other account 
 can be given of the nature of virtue. I fhall endea- 
 vour to fhew hereafter how all the other accounts, 
 which are feemingly different from any of thefe, 
 coincide at bottom with fome one or other of them. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 Of thofe fyftems which make virtue confift in pro- 
 priety. 
 
 A 
 
 CCORDING to Plato, to Ariftotle, and to 
 Zeno, virtue confifts in the propriety of conduct, or 
 in the fuitablenefs of the affection from which we act 
 to the object which excites it. 
 
 I. In the fyftem of Plato * the foul is confidered 
 as fomething like a little ftate or republic, compofed 
 of three different faculties or orders, 
 
 U 4 The 
 
 * $ee Plato de Rep. lib. iy. 
 
296 O/Systems Part VI. 
 
 The firft is the judging faculty, the faculty which 
 determines not only what are the proper means for at- 
 taining any end, but alfo what ends are fit to be pur- 
 fued, and what degree of relative value we ought to 
 put upon each. This faculty Plato called, as it is 
 very properly called reafon, and confidered it as 
 what had a right to be ^the governing principle of 
 the whole. Under this appellation, it is evident, he 
 comprehended not only that faculty by which we 
 judge of truth and falfehood, but that by which we 
 judge of the propriety or impropriety of defires and 
 affections. 
 
 The different paflions and appetites, the natural 
 fubject of this ruling principle, but which are fo apt 
 to rebel againft their matter, he reduced to two dif- 
 ferent clafies or orders. The firft confided of thole 
 paftions, which are founded in pride and refentment, 
 or in what the fchoolmen called the irafcible part of 
 fhe foul ; ambition, animofity, the love of honour, 
 and the dread of fhame, the defire of victory, fu- 
 periority, and revenge •, all thofe pafiions, in fhort, 
 which are fuppofed either to rife from, or to denote 
 what, by a metaphor in our language, we commonly 
 call fpirit or natural fire. The fecond confided of 
 thofe paffions which are founded in the love of plea- 
 fure, or in what the fchoolmen called the concupif- 
 cible part of the foul. It comprehended all the appe- 
 tites of the body, the love of eafe and fecurity, and 
 of all fenfual gratifications. 
 
 It rarely happens that we break in upon that plan 
 of conduct, which the governing principle prefcribes, 
 and which in all our cool hours we had laid down to 
 ouriclves as what was molt proper for us to purfue, 
 
 but 
 
Se<5b. II. 0/ Moral Philosophy. 297 
 
 but when prompted by one or other of thofe two 
 different fets of paflions -, either by ungovernable 
 ambition and refentment, or by the importunate ib- 
 licitations of prefent eale and plealure. But though 
 thefe two orders of paflions are fo apt to miflead us, 
 they are (till confidered as neceflary parts of human 
 natur'e : the fir ft having been given to defend us 
 againft injuries, to aflfert our rank and dignity in the 
 world, to make us aim at what is noble and ho- 
 nourable, and to make us diftinguifh thofe who act 
 in the fame manner ; the fecond to provide for the 
 fupport and nccefiities of the body. 
 
 In the ftrength, acutenefs, and perfection of the 
 governing principle was placed the eflential virtue of 
 prudence, which, according to Plato, confifted in a 
 juft and clear difcernment, founded upon general 
 and fcientific ideas, of the ends which were proper to 
 be purfued, and of the means which were proper for 
 attaining them. 
 
 When thefirfl fet of paflions, thofe of the irafcible 
 part of the foul, had that degree of ftrength and 
 ntmnefs, which enabled them, under the direction 
 of reafon, to defpife all dangers in the purfuit of 
 what was honourable and noble ; it conftituted the 
 virtue of fortitude and magnanimity. This order of 
 paflions, according to this fyftem, was of a more ge- 
 nerous and noble nature than the other. They were 
 confidered upon many occafions as the auxiliaries of 
 reafon, to check and reftrain the inferior and brutal 
 appetites. We are often angry at ourfelves, it was 
 obferved, we often become the objects of our own re- 
 fentment and indignation, when the love of pleafure 
 prompts to do what we difapprove of 5 and the irafci- 
 ble 
 
2 o8 of Systems Part VI. 
 
 ble part of our nature is in this manner called in to 
 aiTift the rational againft the concupifcibie. 
 
 When all thofe three different parts of our nature 
 were in perfect concord with one another, when neither 
 the irafcible nor concupifcibie paiTions ever aimed at 
 any gratification which reafon did not approve of, 
 and when reafon never commanded any thing, but 
 what thefe of their own accord were willing to per- 
 form ; this happy compofure, this perfect and com- 
 plete harmony of foul, conftituted that virtue which 
 in their language is exprefTed by a word which we 
 commonly tranflate temperance, but which might 
 more properly be tranflated good temper, or fobriety 
 and moderation of mind. 
 
 Juftice, the laft and greateft of the four cardinal 
 virtues, took place, according to this fyftem, when 
 each of thofe three faculties of the mind confined it- 
 felf to its proper office, without attempting to en- 
 croach upon that of any other*, when reafon directed 
 and paflion obeyed, and when each pailion perform- 
 ed its proper duty, and exerted itfelf towards its 
 proper object eafdy and without reluctance, and with 
 that degree of force and energy, which was fuitable 
 to the value of what it purfued. In this confided 
 that complete virtue, that perfect propriety of con- 
 duct, which Plato, after fome of the ancient Pythago- 
 reans, denominated Juftice. 
 
 the word, ft is to be obferved, which expreffes juf- 
 tice in the Greek lansuaor, has feveral different mean- 
 ings j and as the correfpondent word in ail other lan- 
 guages, fo far as 1 know, has the fame, there muft be 
 fome natural affinity among thofe various fignifkations. 
 
 in 
 
5ect. II. of Moral Philosophy. 299 
 
 In onefenfe we are laid to do juftice to our neigh- 
 bour when we abftain from doing him any pofitive 
 harm, and do not directly hurt him, either in his 
 perfon, or in his eftate, or in his reputation. This 
 is thatjudice which I have treated of above, the ob- 
 fervance of which may be extorted by force, and the 
 violation of which expofes to punifhment. In ano- 
 ther fenfe we are faid not to do judice to our neigh- 
 bour unlefs we conceive for him all that love, refpect 
 and edeem, which his character, his fuuation, and 
 his connexion with ourfelves, render fuitable and 
 proper for us to feel, and unlefs we act according- 
 ly. It is in this fenfe that we are faid to do injuRice 
 to a man of merit who is connected with us, tho' 
 we abftain from hurting him in every refpect, if we 
 do not exert ourfelves to ferve him and to place him 
 in that fuuation in which the impartial fpectator 
 would be pleafed to fee him. The fird fenfe of the 
 word coincides with what Aridotle and the School- 
 men call commutative juliice, and with what Gro- 
 tius calls the j 'uji itia expletrix, which confids in ab- 
 flaining from what is another's, and in doing volun- 
 tarily whatever we can with propriety be forced to 
 do. The fecond fenfe of the word coincides with 
 what fome have called didributive judice*, and with 
 xhejujlitia attributrix of Grotius, which conlifts in 
 proper beneficence, in the becoming ufe of what is 
 our own, and in the applying it to thofe purpoies 
 either of charity or generolity, to which it is mod 
 fuitable, in our fuuation, that it mould be applied. 
 In this fenfe judice comprehends all the focial virtues. 
 ' There 
 
 * The diftributive juftice of Ariftotle is fomewhat different. 
 It confifts in the proper diftribution of rewards from the public 
 flock of a community. See Ariftotle Ethic. Nic. 1. 5. c. .?. 
 
joo Of Systems Part VL 
 
 There is yet another fenfe in which the word juftice 
 is fometimes taken, (till more extenfive than either 
 of the former, though very much a-kin to the laft j 
 and which runs too, fo far as I know, through all 
 languages. It is in this lad fenfe that we are faid to 
 beunjuft, when we do not feem to value any parti- 
 cular object with that degree of efteem, or to purfue 
 it with that degree of ardour which to the impartial 
 fpectator it may appear to deferve or to be naturally 
 fitted for exciting. Thus we are faid to do injuftice 
 to a poem or a picture, when we do not admire them 
 enough, and we are faid to do them more than juftice 
 when we admire them too much. In the fame man- 
 ner we are faid to do injuftice to ourfelves when we 
 appear not to give fufricient attention to any particu- 
 lar object of felf-intereft. In this laft fenfe, what is 
 called juftice means the fame thing with exact and 
 perfect propriety of conduct and behaviour, and com- 
 prehends in it, not only the offices of both commu- 
 tative and distributive juftice, but of every other vir- 
 tue, of prudence, of fortitude, of temperance. It is in 
 this laft fenfe that Plato evidently underftands what 
 he calls juftice, and which, therefore, according to 
 him, comprehends in it the perfection of every fort 
 of virtue. 
 
 Such is the account given by Plato of the nature 
 of virtue, or of that temper of mind which is the 
 proper object of praife and approbation. It confifts, 
 according to him, in that ftate of mind in which eve- 
 ry faculty confines itfelf within its proper fphere 
 without encroaching upon that of any other, and 
 performs its proper office with that precife degree of 
 ftrength and vigour which belongs to it. His ac- 
 count, it is evident^ coincides in every refpect with 
 
 what 
 
Sect. II. of Moral Philosophy. 301 
 
 what we have faid above concerning the propriety of 
 conduct. 
 
 II. Virtue, according to Ariftotle *, confifts in 
 the habit of mediocrity according to right reafon. 
 Every particular virtue, according to him, lies in a 
 kind of middle between two oppolite vices, of which 
 the one offends from being too much, the other from 
 being too little affected by a particular fpecies of ob- 
 jects. Thus the virtue of fortitude or courage lies 
 in the middle between the oppofite vices of cowardice 
 and of prefumptuous rafhnefs, of which the one 
 offends from being too much, and the other from be- 
 ing too little affected by the objects of fear. Thus 
 too the virtue of frugality lies in a middle between 
 avarice and profufion, of which the one confifts in an 
 excefs, the other in a defect of the proper attention 
 to the objects of felf-intereft. Magnanimity, in the 
 fame manner, lies in a middle between the excefs of 
 arrogance and the defect of pufillanimity, of which, 
 the one confifts in too extravagant, the other in too 
 weak a fentiment of our own worth and dignity. It 
 is unneceffary to obferve that this account of virtue 
 correfponds too pretty exactly with what has been 
 faid above concerning the propriety and impropriety 
 of conduct. 
 
 According to Ariftotle f , indeed, virtue did not 
 fo much confift: in thofe moderate and right affecti- 
 ons, as in the habit of this moderation. In order to 
 underftand this, it is to be obferved, that virtue may 
 be confidered either as the quality of an action, or 
 
 as 
 
 * See Ariftotle Ethic. Nic. I. 2. c. 5. et feq. et I. 3. c 5. et 
 'feq. 
 
 f See Ariftotle Ethic. Nic. lib. ii. ch. 1 2. 3. and 4. 
 
302 0/Systems Part VI. 
 
 as the quality of a perfon. Confidered as the qua- 
 lity of an action, it coniifts, even according to Arif- 
 totle, in the reafonable moderation of the affection 
 from which the action proceeds, whether this difpo- 
 ikion be habitual to the perion or not. Confidered 
 as the quality of a perfon, it confifts in the habit of 
 this reafonable moderation, in its having become the 
 cuiiomary and ufual difpofition of the mind. Thus 
 the action which proceeds from an occafional fit of 
 generality is undoubtedly a generous action, but the 
 man who performs it, is not necefTarily a generous 
 perfon, becaufe it may be the fingle action of the 
 kind which he ever performed. The motive and 
 difpofition of heart, from which this action was per- 
 formed, may have been quite juft and proper : but 
 as this happy mood feems to have been the effect 
 rather of accidental humour than of any thing fteady 
 or permanent in the character, it can reflect no great 
 honour on the performer. When we denominate a 
 character generous or charitable, or virtuous in any 
 refpect, we mean to fignify that the difpofition ex- 
 preffed by each of thofe appellations is the ufual 
 and cuftomary difpofition of the perfon. But fingle 
 actions 'of any kind, how proper and fuitable foever, 
 are of little confequence to fhow that this is the cafe. 
 If a fingle action was fufficient to (lamp the character 
 of any virtue upon the perfon who performed it, the 
 mod worthlefs of mankind might lay claim to all the 
 virtues ; fince there is no man who has not, upon 
 fome occafions, acted with prudence, juftice, tem- 
 perance, and fortitude. But though fingle actions, 
 how laudable foever, reflect very little praife upon 
 the perfon who performs them, a fingle vicious action 
 performed by one wtjofe conduct is ufually very re- 
 gular, greatly diminifhes and fometimes deflroys al- 
 together 
 
Se6t.IL ^/ Moral Philosophy. 303 
 
 together our opinion of his virtue. A Tingle action 
 of this kind fufficiently fhows that his habits are not 
 perfect, and that he is lefs to be depended upon, 
 than, from the ufual train of his behaviour, we 
 might have been apt to imagine. 
 
 Ariftotle too *, when he made virtue to confift in 
 practical habits, had it probably in his view to op- 
 pofe the doctrine of Plato, who feems to have been 
 of opinion that juft fentiments and reafonable judg- 
 ments concerning what was fit to be done or to be 
 avoided, were alone fufficient to conftitute the moll 
 perfect virtue. Virtue, according to Plato, might 
 be confidered as a fpecies of fcience, and no man, he 
 thought, could fee clearly and demonftratively what 
 was right and what was wrong, and not act accord- 
 ingly. Paflion might make us act contrary to doubt- 
 ful and uncertain opinions, not to plain and evident 
 judgments. Ariftotle, on the contrary, was of opi- 
 nion, that no conviction of the underftanding was 
 capable of getting the better of inveterate habits, 
 and that good morals arofe not from knowledge but 
 from action. 
 
 III. According to Zeno +, the founder of the 
 ftoical doctrine, every animal was by nature recom- 
 mended to its own care, and was endowed with the 
 principle of felf-love, that it might endeavour to 
 preferve, not only its exiftence, but all the different 
 parts of its nature, in the bell and mod perfedl ftate 
 of which they were capable. 
 
 The 
 
 * See Ariftotle Mag. Mor. lib. i. ch. I. 
 t See Cicero de finibus, lib. iii. alfo Diogenes Laertius in 
 Zenone, lib, vii. fegment 84. 
 
3C4 , Of S y s t £ m s Part VL 
 
 The felf love of man embraced, if I may fay fo, 
 his body and all its different members, his mind and 
 all its different faculties and powers, and defired the 
 prefervation and maintenance of them all in their 
 belt and moft perfect condition. Whatever tended 
 to fupport this ftate of existence was, therefore, by 
 nature pointed out to him as fit to be cholen ; and 
 whatever tended to deitroy it, as fit to be rejected. 
 Thus health, ftrength, agility, and eafe of body, as 
 well as the external conveniences which could pro- 
 mote theie, wealth, power, honours, the refpect and 
 efteem of thofe we live with, were naturally pointed 
 out to us as things eligible, and of which the pofTef- 
 fion was preferable to the contrary. On the other 
 hand, ficknefs, infirmity, unwieldinefs, pain of body, 
 as well as all the external inconveniencies which 
 tended to occafion or bring on any of them, poverty, 
 the want of authority, the contempt or hatred of 
 thofe we live with •, were, in the fame manner, pointed 
 out to us as things to be fhunned and avoided. In 
 each of thofe two different claffes of objects there 
 were fome which appeared to be more the objects 
 either of choice or rejection than others in the fame 
 clafs. Thus, in the nrfl clafs, health appeared evi- 
 dently preferable to ftrength, and ftrength to agility ; 
 reputation to power, and power to riches. And thus 
 too, in the fecond clafs, ficknefs was more to be 
 avoided than unwieldinefs of body, ignominy than 
 poverty, and poverty than the want of authority. 
 Virtue and the propriety of conduct conftfted in 
 choofing and rejeding all different objects and cir- 
 cumftances according as they were by nature rendered 
 more or lefs the objects of choice or rejection; in 
 felefting always from among the feveral objects of 
 choice prefented tcTus, that which was moft to be 
 
 chofen, 
 
Sect. II. <?/ Moral Philosophy, 305 
 
 chofen, when we could not obtain them all : and in 
 felecting too out of the feveral objects of rejection 
 offered to us, that which was leaft to be avoided, 
 when it was not in our power to avoid them all. By 
 choofing and rejecting with this juft and accurate dis- 
 cernment, by thus bellowing upon every object the 
 precife degree of attention it deferved, according to 
 the place which it held in this natural fcale of things, 
 we maintained, according to the Stoics, that perfect 
 rectitude of conduct which conttituted the elTence of 
 virtue. . This was what they called to live confift- 
 ently, to live according to nature, and to obey thofe 
 laws and directions which nature, or the Author of 
 nature, had prefcribed for our conduct. - 
 
 So far the Stoical idea of propriety and virtue is 
 not very different from that of Ariltotle and the an- 
 tient peripatetics. What chiefly diftinguifhed thofe 
 two fyltenvs from one another was the different de- 
 grees of felf-command which they required. The 
 peripatetics allowed of fome degree of perturbation 
 as fuitable to the weaknefs of human nature, and as 
 ufeful to fo imperfect a creature as man. If his own 
 misfortunes excited no palTionate grief, if his own in- 
 juries palled forth no lively refentment, reafon, or a 
 regard to the general rules which determined what 
 was right and fit to be done, would commonly, they 
 thought, be too weak to prompt him to avoid the 
 one or to beat off the other. The Stoics, on the 
 contrary, demanded the molt perfect apathy, and re- 
 garded every emotion which could in the fmalleit de- 
 gree dilturb the tranquillity of the mind, as the ef-~ 
 feet of levity and folly. The Peripatetics feem to 
 have thought that no paiTion exceeded the bounds of 
 propriety as long as the fpectator, by the utmoft ef- 
 
 X fort 
 
3©6 Of StsiEMs Part VL 
 
 fort of humanity, could fympathize with it. The 
 Stoics, on the contrary, appear to have regarded 
 every pafTion as improper, which made any demand 
 upon the fympathy of the fpectator, or required him 
 to alter in any refpect the natural and ordinary Hate 
 of his mind, in order to keep time with the vehe- 
 mence of its emotions. A man of virtue, they 
 feem to have thought, ought not to depend upon 
 the generofity of thofe he lives with for pardon or 
 approbation. 
 
 According to the Stoics, every event ftiould, to 
 a wife man, appear indifferent, and what for its own 
 fake could be the object neither of defire, nor aver- 
 sion, neither of joy, nor forrow. If' he preferred 
 fome events to others, if fome fituations were the ob- 
 jects of his choice, and others of his rejection, * it 
 was not, becaufe he regarded the one as, in them- 
 felves, in any refpect better than the other, or thought 
 that his own happinefs would be more complete in, 
 what is called, the fortunate, than in what is com- 
 monly regarded as the diflrefsful fituation ; but be- 
 caufe the propriety of action, the rule which the 
 gods had given him for the direction of his conduct, 
 required him to choofe and reject in this manner. 
 Among the primary objects of natural inclination, or 
 among thofe things which nature had originally re- 
 commended to us as eligible, was the profperity, of 
 our family, of our relations, of our friends, of our 
 country, of mankind, and of the univerfe in general. 
 Nature too had taught us that as the profperity of 
 
 two 
 
 * Some of thefe^exprefiions found a little aukward in the 
 Englim language : they are literal translations of the technical 
 terms of the Stoics, 
 
Sedt. II. ^/Moral Philosophy. 307 
 
 two was preferable to that of one, that of many or of 
 all muft be infinitely more fo. That we ourfelves 
 were but one, and that confequently wherever our 
 profperity, was inconfiftent with that, either of the 
 whole, or of any confiderable part of the whole, ic 
 ought,, even in our own choice, to yield to what was 
 fo valtly preferable. As all the events in this world 
 were conducted by the providence of a wife, pow- 
 erful and good God, we might be aflfured that what- 
 ever happened, tended to the profperity and perfec- 
 tion of the whole. If we ourfelves, therefore, were 
 in poverty, in fickneis, or in any other calamity, we 
 ought, firft of all, to ufe our utmoft endeavours, fo 
 far as juftice and our duty to others would allow, to 
 refcue ourfelves from this difagreeable circumftance. 
 But if after all we could do, we found this impofTi- 
 ble, we ought to reft fatisfied that the order and per- 
 fection of the univerfe required that we mould in the 
 mean time continue in this fituation. And as the 
 profperity of the whole mould, even to us, appear 
 preferable to fo infignificant a part as ourfelves, Our 
 fituation, whatever it was, ought from that moment 
 to become the object of our choice, and even of our 
 defire, if we would maintain that complete propriety 
 and rectitude of fentiment and conduct in which the 
 perfection of our nature confifts. If, indeed, any 
 opportunity of extricating ourfelves (hould offer, it 
 became our duty to embrace it. The order of the 
 univerfe, it was evident, no longer required our con- 
 tinuance in this fituation, and the great director of 
 the world plainly called upon us to leave it, by fo 
 clearly pointing out the road which we were to fol- 
 low. It was the fame cafe with the adverfity of our 
 relations, our friends, our country, If without vio- 
 X z lating 
 
jo8 Of Systems Part VL 
 
 lating any more facred obligation, it was in our 
 power to prevent or to put an end to their calamity,, 
 it undoubtedly was onr duty to do fo. The propri- 
 ety of ad ion, the rule which Jupiter had given us 
 for the direction of our conduct, evidently required 
 this of us. But if it was altogether out of our power 
 to do either, we ought then to confider this event as 
 the moft fortunate which could poflibly have hap- 
 pened : Becaufe we might be aflured that it tended 
 moft to the proiperity and order of the whole : which 
 was what we ourfelves, if we were wife and equita- 
 able, ought moft of all to deiire. " In what fenfe, 
 €C fays Epi&etus, are fome things faid to be accord- 
 " inor to our nature, and others contrary to it ? It is 
 " in that fenfe in which we confider oiiifelves as fe- 
 " parated and detached from all other things. For 
 " thus it may be faid to be according to the nature of 
 cc the foot to be always clean. But if you confider 
 * 6 it as a foot, and not as fomething detached from the 
 " reft of the body, it muft behove it fometimes to 
 " trample in the dirt, and fometimes to tread upon 
 " thorns, and fometimes too to be cut off for the fake 
 " of the whole body ; and if it refufes this, it is no 
 " longer a foot. Thus too ought we to conceive 
 " with regard to ourfelves. What are you ? A man. 
 " If you confider yourfelf as fomething feparated 
 <c and detached, it is agreeable to your nature to live 
 " to old age, to be rich, to be in health. But if you 
 " confider yourfelf as a man, and as a part of a 
 " whole, upon account of that whole it will behoove 
 " you fometimes to be in ficknefs, fometimes to be ex- 
 " pofed to the inconveniency of a fea voyage, fome- 
 ■ times to be in want ; and at lad, perhaps, to die 
 " before your tirrfc. "Why then do you complain ? 
 
 " Don't 
 
Se&. IT. sf Moral Philosophy. 309 
 
 *? Don't you know that by doing fo, as the foot ceaies 
 " to be a foot, fo you ceafe to be a man ?" * 
 
 This fubmiffion to the order of the univerfe, this 
 entire indifference with regard to whatever concerns 
 ourfelves, when put into the balance with the intereit 
 of the whole, could derive its propriety, it is evident, 
 from no other principle befides that, upon which I 
 have endeavoured to fhow, the propriety of juitice 
 was founded. As long as we view our own interefts 
 with our own eyes, it is fcar.ee poffible that we fhottld 
 willingly acquiefce in their being thus facrificed to 
 the interefts of the whole. It is only when we view 
 thofe oppofite interefts with the eyes of others, that 
 what concerns ourfelves can appear to be fo con- 
 temptible in the companion, as to be refigned with- 
 out any reluctance. To every body but the perfon 
 principally concerned, nothing can appear more 
 agreeable to reafon and propriety than that the part 
 Ihould give place to the whole. But what is agree- 
 able to the reafon of all other men, ought not to ap- 
 pear contrary to his. He himfelf therefore ought to 
 approve of this facrifice, and acknowledge its confor- 
 mity to reafon. But all the affections of a wife man, 
 according to the ftoics, are perfectly agreeable to rea- 
 fon and propriety, and of their own accord coincide 
 with whatever thefe ruling principles prefcribe. A 
 wife man, therefore, could never feel any reluctance 
 to comply with this difpolition of things. 
 
 IV. Befides thefe ancient, there are fome modern 
 fyftems, according to which virtue confifls in propri- 
 ety j oc in the mitablenefs of the affection from which 
 
 X 3 we 
 
 * Arrian. lib. II. c. s. 
 
gio Of Systems Part VI 
 
 we ad, to the caufe or object which excites it. The 
 fyftem of Dr. Clarke, which places virtue in acting 
 according to the relations of things, in regulating 
 our conduct according to the fitnefs or incongruity 
 which there may be in the application of certain 
 actions to certain things, or to certain relations : 
 That of Mr. Woolafton, which places it in acting ac- 
 cording to the truth of things, according to their 
 proper nature and eiTence, or in treating them as 
 what they really are, and not as what they are not : 
 tfoat of my lord Shaftefbury, which places it in main- 
 taining a proper balance of the affections, and in al- 
 lowing no paifion to go beyond its proper fphere ; 
 are all of them more or lefs inaccurate defcriptions of 
 the fame fundamental idea. 
 
 The defcription of virtue which is either given, 
 or at lead meant and intended to be given in each 
 of thofe fyftems, for fome of the modern authors are 
 not very fortunate in their manner of exprefiing 
 themfelves, is no doubt quite juft, fo far as it goes. 
 There is no virtue without propriety, and wherever 
 there is propriety, fome degree of approbation is 
 due. But (till this defcription is imperfect. For 
 though propriety is an eflential ingredient in every 
 virtuous action, it is not always the fole ingredient. 
 Beneficent actions have in them another quality by 
 which they appear not only to deferve approbation 
 but recompenfe. None of thofe fyftems account 
 either eafily or fufficiently for that fuperior degree 
 of efteem which feems due to fuch actions, or for 
 that diverfity of fentiment which they naturally ex- 
 cite. Neither is the defcription of vice more com- 
 plete. For in the fame manner, though impropriety 
 is a necelTary ingredient in every vicious action, it is 
 
 not 
 
Sect. II. of Moral Philosophy. 311* 
 
 not always the fole ingredient, and there is often the 
 higheft degree of abfurdity and impropriety in very 
 harmlefs and infignificant actions. Deliberate ani- 
 ons, of a pernicious tendency to thofe we live with, 
 have, befides their impropriety, a peculiar quality of 
 their own by which they appear to deferve, not only 
 difapprobation, but punifhment ; and to be the ob- 
 jects, not of diflike merely, but of refentment and 
 revenge : and none of thofe fyftems eafily and fuffi- 
 ently account for that fuperior degree of defoliation 
 which we feel for fuch ad ions. 
 
 CHAP. u. 
 
 Of thofe fyftems which make virtue confift in pru- 
 dence. 
 
 H E mod ancient of thofe fyftems which make 
 virtue confift: in prudence, and of which any confi- 
 derable remains have come down to us, is that of 
 Epicurus, who is faid, however, to have borrowed 
 all the leading principles of his philofophy, from 
 fome of thofe who had gone before him, particularly 
 from Ariftippus ; though it is very probable, not- 
 withstanding this allegation of his enemies, that at 
 lead his manner of applying thofe principles was al- 
 together his own. 
 
 According to Epicurus, * bodily pleafure and 
 
 pain were the fole ultimate objects of natural defire 
 
 and averfion. That they were always the natural 
 
 objects of thofe paffions, he thought required no 
 
 X 4 proof. 
 
 * See Cicero de finibus, lib. i. Diogenes Laert. 1. x. 
 
312 0/ S y s t e m s Part VI. 
 
 proof. Pleafure might, indeed, appear fometimes 
 to be avoided ; not, however, becaufe it was plea- 
 fure, but becaufe, by the enjoyment of ir, we mould 
 either forfeit fome greater pleafure, or expofe our- 
 felves to fome pain that was more to be avoided than 
 this pleafure was to be defired. Pain, in the fame 
 manner, might appear fometimes to be eligible-, not, 
 however, becaufe it was pain, but becaufe by en- 
 during it we might either avoid a ftill greater pain, 
 or acquire fome pleafure of much more importance. 
 That bodily pain and pleafure, therefore, were al- 
 ways the natural objects of defire and averlion, was, 
 he thought, abundantly evident. Nor was it lefs fo, 
 he imagined, that they were the fole ultimate objects 
 of thofe paiTions. Whatever elfe was either defired 
 or avoided was fo, according to him, upon account 
 of its tendency to produce one or other of thofe fen- 
 fations. The tendency to procure pleasure rendered 
 power and riches defirable, as the contrary tendency 
 to produce pain made poverty and infignificancy the 
 objects of averfion. Honour and reputation were 
 valued, becaufe the efteem and love of thofe we live 
 with were of the greateft confequence both to pro- 
 cure pleafure and to defend us from pain. Ignominy 
 and bad fame, on the contrary, were to be avoided, 
 becaufe the hatred, contempt, and refentment of 
 thofe we lived with deftroyed all fecurity, and ne- 
 ceffarily expofed us to the greateft bodily evils. 
 
 All the pleafures and pains of the mind were, ac- 
 cording to Epicurus, ultimately derived from thofe 
 of the body. The mind was happy when it thought 
 of the'paft pleafures of the body, and hoped for 
 others to come : and it was miferable when it thought 
 ^ of 
 
Seel, i I. of Moral Philosophy. 313 
 
 of the pains which the body had formerly endured, 
 and dreaded the fame or greater thereafter. 
 
 But the pleafures and pains of the mind, though 
 ultimately derived from thofe of the body, were 
 vaftly greater than their originals. The body felt 
 only the fenfation of the prefent inftant, whereas the 
 mind felt alfo the paft and the future, the one by 
 remembrance, the other by anticipation, and confe- 
 quently both fuffered and enjoyed much more. 
 When we are under the greateft bodily pain, he ob- 
 ferved, we mall always find, if we attend to it, that 
 it is not the fuffering of the prefent inflant which 
 chiefly torments us, but either the agonizing re- 
 membrance of the paft, or the yet more horrible dread 
 of the future. The pain of each inftant, confidered 
 by itieif, and cut off from all that goes before and all 
 that comes after it, is a trifle not worth the regard- 
 ing. Yet this is all which the body can ever be faid 
 to fuffer. In the fame manner, when we enjoy the 
 greateft pleafure, we Jhall always find that the bodily 
 fenfation, the feniation of the prefent inflant makes 
 but a Imall part of our happinefs, that our enjoy- 
 ment chiefly arifes either from the cheerful recollec- 
 tion of the paft, or the ftill more joyous anticipation 
 of the future, and that the mind always contributes 
 by much the largeft fhare of the entertainment. 
 
 Since our happinefs and mifery, therefore, de- 
 pended chiefly on the mind, if this part of our na- 
 ture was well difpofed, if our thoughts and opinions 
 were as they fhould be, it was of little importance 
 in what manner our body was affected. Though 
 under great bodily pain, we might ftill enjoy a con- 
 fiderable fhare of happinefs, if our reafon and judg- 
 ment 
 
314 of Systems Part VI/ 
 
 ment maintained their fuperiority. We might en- 
 tertain ourfelves with the remembrance of pall, and 
 with the hopes of future pleafure; we might (often 
 the rigour of our pains, by recollecting what it was 
 which, even in this fituation, we were under any ne- 
 cefiity of fuftering. That this was merely the bodily 
 fenfation, the pain of the prefent inftant, which by 
 itfelf could never be very great. That whatever 
 agony we fuffered from the dread of its continuance 
 was the effect of an opinion of the mind, which might 
 be corrected by jufter fentiments ; by confidering 
 that, if our pains were violent, they would proba- 
 bly be of fhort duration ; and that if they were of 
 long continuance, they would probably be moderate, 
 and admit of many intervals of eafe; and that, at 
 any rate, death was always at hand and within call 
 to deliver us, which as, according to him, it put an 
 end to all fenfation, either of pain or pleafure, could 
 not be regarded as an evil. When we are, faid he, 
 death is not ; and when death is, we are not -, death 
 therefore can be nothing to us. 
 
 If the actual fenfation of pofitive pain was in it- 
 felf fo little to be feared, that of pleafure was ftill 
 lefs to be defired. Naturally the fenfation of plea- 
 fure was much lefs pungent than that of pain. If, 
 therefore, this laft could take fo very little from the 
 happinefs of a well difpofed mind, the other could 
 add fcarce any thing to it. When the body was 
 free from pain and the mind from fear and anxiety, 
 the fuperadded fenfation of bodily pleafure could be 
 of very little importance-, and though it might di- 
 verfify, could not be properly be faid to increafe the 
 happinefs of this fituation. 
 
 In 
 
Sect. II. of Moral Philosophy. 215 
 
 In eafe of body, therefore, and in fecurity or tran- 
 quillity of mind, confided, according to Epicurus, 
 the moil perfect ftate of human&nature, the moft 
 complete happinefs which man was capable of en- 
 joying. To obtain this great end of natural defire 
 was the fole object of all the virtues, which, accord- 
 ing to him, were not defirable upon their own ac- 
 count, but upon account of their tendency to bring 
 about this fituation. 
 
 Prudence, for example, though according to this 
 philofophy, the fource and principle of all the vir- 
 tues, was not defirable upon its own account. That 
 careful and laborious and circumfpect ftate of mind, 
 ever watchful and ever attentive to the moft diftant 
 confequences of every action, could ndt be a thing 
 pleafant or agreeable for its own fake, but upon ac- 
 count of its tendency to procure the greateft goods 
 and to keep off the greateft evils. 
 
 To abftain from pleafure too, to curb and ref- 
 train our natural paffions for enjoyment, which was 
 the office of temperance, could never be defirable 
 for its own fake. The whole value of this virtue 
 arofe from its utility, from its enabling us to poft- 
 pone the prefent enjoyment for the fake of a greater 
 to come, or to avoid a greater pain that might enfue 
 from it. Temperance, in fhort, was nothing but 
 prudence with regard to pleafure. 
 
 To fupport labour, to endure pain, to be expofed 
 to danger or to death, the fituations which fortitude 
 would often lead us into, were furely (till lefs the 
 objects of natural defire. They were chofen only to 
 avoid greater evils. We fubmitted to labour, in or- 
 der 
 
3 x6 Of Systems Part VI. 
 
 der to avoid the greater fhame and pain of poverty, 
 and we expofed ourielves to danger and to death in 
 defence of our liberty and property, the means and 
 inftruments of pleafure and happinefs •, or in defence 
 of our country, in the fafety of which our own was 
 necefiarily comprehended. Fortitude enabled us to 
 do all this cheerfully, as the beft which, in our pre- 
 lent fituation, could poMibly be done, and was in 
 reality no more than prudence, good judgment, and 
 prefence of mind in properly appreciating pain, la- 
 bour, and danger, always choofing the lefs in order 
 to avoid the greater. 
 
 It is the fame cafe with juftice. To abftain from 
 what is another's was not defirableon its own account, 
 and it could not furely be better for you, that I 
 fhould poflefs what is my own, than that you mould 
 pofieis it. You ought however, to abftain from 
 whatever belongs to me, becaufe by doing otherwife 
 you will provoke the refentment and indignation of 
 mankind. The fecurity and tranquillity of your 
 mind will be entirely defiroyed. You will be filled 
 with fear and confirmation at the thought of that 
 punifhment which you will imagine that men are at 
 all times ready to inflict upon you, and from which 
 no power, no art, no concealment, will ever, in your 
 own fancy, be fufficient to protect you. That other 
 fpecies of juftice which confifts in doing proper good 
 offices to different perfons, according to the various 
 relations of neighbours, kinfmen, friends, benefac- 
 tors, fuperiors, or equals, which they may ftand in 
 to us, is recommended by the fame reafons. To act 
 properly in all thefe different relations procures us 
 the efteem and love of thofe we live with ; as to do 
 otherwife excites th*ir contempt and hatred. By the 
 
 one 
 
Sect. II. c/ Moral Philosophy. bip 
 
 one we naturally fecure, by the other we neceflarily 
 endanger our own eafe and tranquillity, the great and 
 ultimate objects of all our defires. The whole virtue 
 of juftice, therefore, the moil important of all the 
 virtues, is no more than difcreet and prudent con- 
 duct with regard to our neighbours. 
 
 Such is the doctrine of Epicurus concerning the 
 nature of virtue. It may feem extraordinary that 
 this philofopher, who is defcribed as a perfon of the 
 mod amiable manners, mould never have obferved, 
 that, whatever may be the tendency of thofe virtues, 
 or of the contrary vices, with regard to our bodily 
 eafe and fecurity, thr fentiments which they natural- 
 ly excite in others are the objects of a much more 
 paflionate defire or averfion than all their other con- 
 fequences ; That to be amiable, to be refpectable, 
 to be the proper object of efteem, is by every well- 
 difpofed mind more valued than all the eafe and fecu- 
 rity which love, refpect, and efteem can procure us \ 
 That, on the contrary, to be odious, to be contempti- 
 ble, to be the proper object of indignation, is more 
 dreadful than all that we can fuffer in our body from 
 hatred, contempt, or indignation •, and that confe- 
 quently our defire of the one character, and our aver- 
 fion to the other, cannot arile from any regard to the 
 effects which either of them is likely to produce upon 
 the body. 
 
 This fyftem is, no doubt, altogether inconfiftent 
 with that which I have been endeavouring to efta- 
 blifh. It is not difficult, however, to difcover from 
 what phafis, if I may fay fo, from what particular 
 view or afpect of nature, this account of things de- 
 rives its probability. By the wife contrivance of the 
 
 Author 
 
3 i8 O/Systems Part VI. 
 
 Author of nature, virtue is upon all ordinary occafi- 
 ons, ever, with regard to this lifey real wifdom, and 
 the fureft and readied means of obtaining both fafety 
 and advantage. Our fuccefs or difappointment in 
 our undertakings muft very much depend upon the 
 good or bad opinion which is commonly entertained 
 of us, and upon the general difpofuion of thofe we 
 live with, either to affift or to oppofe us. But the 
 belt, the fureft, the eafieft, and the readied way of 
 obtaining the advantageous and of avoiding the un- 
 favourable judgments of others, is undoubtedly to 
 render ourfelves the proper objects of the former and 
 not of the latter. " Do you dtiiic, faid Socrates, 
 " the reputation of a good mufician ? The only fure 
 " way of obtaining it, is to become a good mufician. 
 " Would you defire in the fame manner to be thought 
 " capable of ferving your country either as a general 
 " or as a ftatefman ? The bed way in this cafe too 
 " is really to acquire the art and experience of war 
 " and government, and to become really fit to be a 
 " general or a ftatefman. And in the fame manner 
 "if you would be reckoned fober, temperate, ju ft, 
 M and equitable, the beft way of acquiring this re- 
 ** putation is to become fober, temperate, juft, and 
 " equitable. If you can really render yourfelf amia- 
 " ble, refpectable, and the proper object of efteem, 
 " there is no fear of your not foon acquiring the love, 
 " the refpect, and efteem of thofe you live with." 
 Since the practice of virtue, therefore, is in general 
 fo advantageous, and that of vice lb contrary to our 
 intereft, the confideration of thofe oppofite tenden- 
 cies undoubtedly flamps an additional beauty and 
 propriety upon the one, and a new deformity and 
 impropriety upon tfre other. Temperance, mag- 
 nanimitv, juftice, and beneficence, come thus to 
 
 be 
 
Sed. II. of Moral Philosophy. 319 
 
 be approved of, not only under their proper charac- 
 ters, but under the additional character of the higheft 
 wifdom and mod real prudence. And in the fame 
 manner the contrary vices of intemperance, pufilla- 
 nimity, injuftice, and either malevolence or fordid 
 felfifhnefs, come to be difapproved of, not only un- 
 der their proper characters, but under the additional 
 character of the moft fhort-fighted folly and weak- 
 nefs. Epicurus appears in every virtue to have at- 
 tended to this fpecies of propriety only. It is that 
 which is moft apt to occur to thofe who are endea- 
 vouring to perfuade others to regularity of conduct. 
 When men by their practice, and perhaps too by 
 their maxims, manifeftly fhow that the natural beauty 
 of virtue is not like to have much effect upon them, 
 how is it poflible to move them but by reprefenting 
 the folly of their conduct, and how much they them- 
 felves are in the end likely to fuffer by it ? 
 
 By running up all the different virtues too to this 
 one fpecies of propriety, Epicurus indulged a propen- 
 fity, which is natural to all men, but which philofo- 
 phers in particular are apt to cultivate with a pecu- 
 liar fondnefs, as the great means of difplaying their 
 ingenuity, the propenfity to account for all appear- 
 ances from as few principles as poflible. And he, 
 no doubt, indulged this propenfity flill further, when 
 he referred all the primary objects of natural defire 
 and averfion to the pleafures and pains of the body. 
 The great patron of the atomical philofophy, who 
 took fo much pleafure in deducing all the powers and 
 qualities of bodies from the moft obvious and fami- 
 liar, the figure, motion, and arrangement of the 
 fmall parts of matter, felt no doubt a fimilar fatis- 
 kction, when he accounted, in the fame manner, for 
 
 all 
 
3'2o Of S y s t £ u a Part VI. 
 
 all the fentiments and pafiions of the mind from thofe 
 which are molt obvious and familiar. 
 
 The fyftem of Epicurus agreed with thofe of Pla- 
 to, Arifiotle, and Zeno, in making virtue confift in 
 acting in the mod fuitable manner to obtain the * 
 primary objects of natural defire. It differed from 
 all of them in two other refpects ; firit, in the account 
 which it gave of thofe primary objects of natural de- 
 lire; and fecondly, in the account which it gave of 
 the excellence of virtue, or of the reafon why thai: 
 quality ought to be efteemed. 
 
 The primary objects of natural defire confided, 
 according to Epicurus, in bodily pleafure and pain, 
 and in nothing elfe : whereas, according to the other 
 three philofophers, there were many other objects, 
 fuch as knowledge, fuch as the happinefs of our re- 
 lations, of our friends, of our country, which were 
 ultimately defirable for their own fakes. 
 
 Virtue too, according to Epicurus, did not deferve 
 to be purfued for its own fake, nor was itfelf one 
 of the ultimate objects of natural appetite, but was 
 eligible only upon account of its tendency to prevent 
 pain and to procure eafe and pleafure. In the opinion 
 of the other three, on the contrary, it was defirable, 
 not merely as the means of procuring the other pri- 
 mary objects of natural defire, but as fomething 
 which was in itfelf more valuable than them all. 
 Man, they thought, being born for adion, his hap- 
 pinefs mult confift, not merely in the agreeablenefs 
 of hispaffive fenfations, but alfo in the propriety of 
 his active exertions. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 * Prima naturse. 
 
Sect. Ik of Moral Philosophy^ p,i 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Of thofe fyftems tvhicb make virtue conjift in bene- 
 volence. 
 
 JL H E fyfiem which makes virtue confift in bene- 
 volence, though I think not fo ancient as all of thofe 
 which I have already given an account of, is, how- 
 ever, of very great antiquity. It feems to have been 
 the doctrine of the greater part of thofe philofophers 
 who, about and after the age of Auguftus, called 
 themfelves Eclectics, who pretended to follow chiefly 
 the opinions of Plato and Pythagoras, and who upon 
 that account are commonly known by the name of 
 the later Platonifts; 
 
 In the divine nature, according td thefe authors, 
 benevolence or love was the fole principle of action* 
 and directed the exertion of all the other attributes. 
 The wifdom of the Deity was employed in finding 
 out the means for bringing about thofe ends which 
 his goodnefs fuggefted, as his infinite power was ex- 
 erted to execute them. Benevolence, however* was 
 ltill the fupreme and governing attribute* to which 
 the others were fubfervient, and from which the whole 
 excellency, or the whole morality, if I may be al- 
 lowed fuch an expreflion, of the divine operations* 
 was ultimately derived. The whole perfection and 
 virtue of the human mind confided in fome refem- 
 blance or participation of the divine perfections, and, 
 confequently, in being filled with the fame principle 
 
 Y it 
 
322 0/ S y s t e m s Part VL 
 
 of benevolence and love which influenced all the acti- 
 ons of the deity. The actions of men which flowed 
 from this motive were alone truly praife- worthy, or 
 could claim any merit in the fight of the deity. It 
 was by actions of charity and love only that we 
 could imitate, as became us, the conduct of God, 
 that we could exprefs our humble and devout admi- 
 ration of his infinite perfections, that by foftering in 
 our own minds the fame divine principle, we could 
 bring our own affections to a greater refemblance 
 with his holy attributes, and thereby become more 
 proper objects of his love and efteem j till at laft we 
 arrived at that immediate converfe and communica- 
 tion with the deity to which it was the great object of 
 this philofophy to raife us. 
 
 This fyflem, as it was much efteemed by many 
 ancient fathers of the chriftian church, fo aftw the 
 reformation it was adopted by feveral divines of the 
 moft eminent piety and learning, and of the moft 
 amiable manners ; particularly, by Dr. Ralph Cud- 
 worth, by Dr. Henry More, and by Mr. John Smith 
 of Cambridge. But of all the patrons of this fyflem, 
 ancient or modern, the late Dr. Hutchefon, was un- 
 doubtedly beyond all comparifon, the moft: acute, 
 the moft diftinct, the moft philofophical, and what 
 is of th£ greateft confequence of all, the fobereft and 
 moft judicious. 
 
 That virtue confifts in benevolence is a notion 
 fupported by many appearances in human nature* 
 It has been obferved already that proper benevo- 
 lence is the moft graceful and agreeable of all the 
 affections, that iuis recommended to us by a double 
 fympathy, that as its tendency is necefTarily benefi- 
 cent, 
 
Sect. II. of Moral Philosophy. 32-3 
 
 cent, it is the proper object of gratitude and reward, 
 and that upon all thefe accounts it appears to our 
 natural fentiments to poffefs a merit fuperior to any 
 other. It has been obferved too that even the weak- 
 nefTes of benevolence are not very difagreeable to us, 
 whereas thofe of every other paffion are always ex- 
 tremely difgufting. Who does not abhor exceflive 
 malice, exceflive felfifhnefs, or exceflive refentment ? 
 But the moft exceflive indulgence even of partial 
 friendfhip is not fo offenfive. It is the benevolent 
 paflions only which can exert themfelves without 
 any regard or attention to propriety, and yet retain 
 fomething about them which is engaging. There is 
 fomething pleafing even in mere inftinctive good- 
 will which goes on to do good offices without once 
 reflecting whether by this conduct it is the proper 
 object either of blame or approbation. It is not fa 
 with the other paflions. The moment they are de- 
 ferted, the moment they arc unaccompanied by the 
 fenfe of propriety, they ceafe to be agreeable. 
 
 As benevolence beftows upon thofe actions which 
 proceed from it, a beauty fuperior to all others, fo 
 the want of it, and much more the contrary inclina* 
 tion, communicates a peculiar deformity to whatever 
 evidences fuch a difpofnion. Pernicious actions are 
 often punifhable for no other reafon than becaufe they 
 fhow a want of fufficient attention to the happinefs 
 of our neighbour. 
 
 Befides all this, Dr. Hutchefon * obferved, that 
 
 whenever in any action, fuppofed to proceed from 
 
 benevolent affections, fome other motive had been 
 
 Y 2 discovered* 
 
 * See Inquiry concerning virtue, feet. 1, *nd **. 
 
324 Of Systems Part VI. 
 
 difcovered, our fenfe of the merit of this action was 
 juft fo far diminifhed as this motive was believed to 
 have influenced it. If an action, fuppofed to proceed 
 from gratitude, fhould be difcovered to have arifen from 
 an expectation of fome new favour, or if what was 
 apprehended to proceed from public fpirit, mould be 
 found out to have taken its origin from the hope of 
 a pecuniary reward, fuch a difcovery would entirely 
 deftroy all notion of merit or praife-worthinefs in 
 either of thefe actions. Since, therefore, the mixture 
 of any felfifh motive, like that of a bafe alloy, di- 
 minifhed or took away altogether the merit which 
 would otherwife have belonged to any action, it was 
 evident, he imagined, that virtue muft confift in pure 
 and difinterefted benevolence alone. 
 
 When thofe actions, on the contrary, which are 
 commonly fuppofed to proceed from a felfifh motive, 
 are difcovered to have arifen from a benevolent one, 
 it greatly enhances our fenfe of their merit. If we 
 believed of any perfon that he endeavoured to ad- 
 vance his fortune from no other view but that of do- 
 ing friendly offices, and of making proper returns to 
 his benefactors, we fhould only love and efteem him 
 the more. And this obfervation feemed (till more to 
 confirm the conclufion, that it was benevolence only 
 which could ftamp upon any action the character of 
 virtue. 
 
 Laft of all, what, he imagined, was an evident 
 proof of the juftnefs of this account of virtue, in all 
 the difputes of cafuifts concerning the rectitude of 
 conduct, the public good, he obferved, was the 
 ftandard to whicl> they conftantly referred ; thereby 
 univerfally acknowledging that whatever tended to 
 
 promote 
 
Sect. IT. c/ Moral Philosophy. 325 
 
 promote the happinefs of mankind was right and 
 laudable and virtuous, and the contrary, wrong, 
 blameable, and vicious. In the late debates about 
 pafilve obedience and the right of refiftance, the fole 
 point in controverfy among men of fenfe was, whe- 
 ther univerfal fubmifiion would probably be attended 
 with greater evils than temporary infurre&ions when 
 privileges were invaded. Whether what, upon the 
 whole, tended moft to the happinefs of mankind, 
 was not alfo morally good, was never once, he faid, 
 made a queftion. 
 
 Since benevolence, ther efore, was the only mo- 
 tive which could beftow upon any action the charac- 
 ter of virtue, the greater the benevolence which was 
 evidenced by any action, the greater the praife which 
 mull belong to it. 
 
 Thofe actions which aimed at the happinefs of a 
 great community, as they demonftrated a more en- 
 larged benevolence than thofe which aimed only at 
 that of a fmaller fyftem, fo were they, likewife, pro- 
 portionally the more virtuous. The moft virtuous 
 of all affections, therefore, was that which embraced 
 as its object the happinefs of all intelligent beings. 
 The leaft virtuous, on the contrary, of thofe to which 
 the character of virtue could in any refpect belong, 
 was that which aimed no further than at the happi- 
 nefs of an individual, fuch as a fon, a brother, a 
 friend. 
 
 In directing all our actions to promote the greateil 
 
 pofTible good, in fubmitting all inferior affections to 
 
 the defire of the general happinefs of mankind, in 
 
 regarding ones felf but as one of the many, whofe 
 
 Y 3 profperity 
 
326 Of Systems Part VI. 
 
 profperity was to be purfued no further than it was 
 confident with, or conducive to that of the whole, 
 confided the, perfection of virtue. 
 
 Self-love was a principle which could never be 
 virtuous in any degree or in any direction. It was 
 vicious whenever it obstructed the general good. 
 When it had no other effect than to make the in- 
 dividual take care of his own happinefs, it was merely 
 innocent, and tho' it deferved no praife, neither 
 ought it to incur any blame. Thofe benevolent 
 actions which were performed, notwithstanding fome 
 ftrong motive from felf-intereft, were the more vir- 
 tuous upon that account. They demonftrated the 
 ftrength and vigour of the benevolent principle. 
 
 Dr. Hutchefon * was fo far from allowing felf- 
 love to be in any cafe a motive of virtuous actions, 
 that even a regard to the pleafure of felf-approbation, 
 to the comfortable applaufe of our own confciences, 
 according to him, diminifhed the merit of a benevo- 
 lent action. This was a felfifh motive, he thought, 
 which, fo far as it contributed to any action, demon- 
 ftrated the weaknefs of that pure and difinterefted 
 benevolence which could alone ftamp upon the con- 
 duct of man the character of virtue. In the com- 
 mon judgments of mankind, however, this regard 
 to trje approbation of our own minds is fo far from 
 being confidered as what can in any refpect diminifh 
 the virtue of any action, tliat it is rather looked upon 
 as the fole motive which deferves the appellation of 
 virtuous. 
 
 Such 
 
 * Inquiry concerning virtue, fed. 2. art. 4. alfo illuftrations 
 on the moral fenfe, feet. 5. laft paragraph. 
 
Se<St. II- of Moral Philosophy. 327 
 
 Such is the account given of the nature of virtue 
 in this amiable fyftem, a fyftem which has a peculiar 
 tendency to nourifh and fupport in the human heart 
 the nobleft and the molt agreeable of all affections, 
 and not only to check the injuftice of felf-love, but 
 in fome meafure to difcourage that principle altoge- 
 ther, by reprefenting it as what could never reflect 
 any honour upon thofe who were influenced by it. 
 
 As fome of the other fyftems which I have already 
 given an account of, do not fufficiently explain from 
 whence arifes the peculiar excellency of the fupreme 
 virtue of beneficence, fo this fyftem feems to have 
 the contrary defeft, of not fufficiently explaining 
 from whence arifes our approbation of the inferior 
 virtues of prudence, vigilance, circumfpection, tem- 
 perance, conftancy, firmnefs. The view and aim of 
 our affections, the beneficent and hurtful effects which 
 they tend to produce, are the only qualities at all at- 
 tended to in this fyftem. Their propriety and im- 
 propriety, their fuitablenefs and unfuitablenefs, to 
 the caule which excites them, are difregarded alto- 
 gether. 
 
 Regard to our own private happinefs and intereil 
 too, appear upon many occafions very laudable prin- 
 ciples of ad ion. The habits ofoeconomy, induftry, 
 difcretion, attention, and application of thought, 
 are generally fuppofed to be cultivated from felf- 
 interefted motives, and at the fame time are appre- 
 hended to be very praife-worthy qualities, which de- 
 ferve the efteem and approbation of every body. 
 The mixture of a felfim motive, it is true, feems 
 often to fully the beauty of thofe actions which ought 
 Y 4 to 
 
3^8 Of Systems Part VI. 
 
 to arife from a benevolent affection, The caufe of 
 this, however, is not that felf-love can never be 
 the motive of a virtuous action, but that the bene- 
 volent principle appears in this particular cafe to 
 want its due degree of ftrength, and to be altoge- 
 ther unfuitable to its object. The character, there-, 
 fore, feems evidently imperfect, and upon the whole 
 to deferve blame rather than praife. The mixture 
 of a benevolent motive in an action to which felf- 
 love alone ought to be fufficient to prompt us, is 
 not fo apt indeed to diminifh our fenfe of its propri- 
 ety, or of the virtue of the perfon who performs it. 
 We are not ready to fufpect any perfon of being de- 
 fective in felHfhnefs. This is by no means the weak 
 fide of human nature, or the failing of which we 
 are apt to be fufpicious. If we could really believe, 
 however, of any man, that, was it not from a regard 
 to his family and friends, he would not take that 
 proper care of his health, his life, or his fortune, to 
 which felf-prefervation alone ought to be fufficient to 
 prompt him, it would undoubtedly be a failing, tho s 
 one of thofe amiable failings, which render a perfon 
 rather the object of pity than of contempt or hatred. 
 It would ftill, however, fomewhat diminifh the dig- 
 nity and refpectablenefs of his character. Carelefs- 
 nefs and want of ceconomy are univerfally difap- 
 proved of, not, however as proceeding from a want 
 of benevolence, but from a want of the proper at- 
 tention to the objects of felf-intereft. 
 
 Though the ftandard by which cafuifts fre- 
 quently determine what is right or wrong in human 
 conduct, be its tendency to the welfare or diforder 
 of fociety, it does not follow that a regard to the 
 
 welfare 
 
Se6t. II, of Moral Philosophy. 329 
 
 welfare of fociety fhould be the fole virtuous motive 
 of action, but only that, in any competition, it 
 ought to cart the balance againft all other motives. 
 
 Benevolence may, perhaps, be the fole principle 
 of action in the Deity, and there are feveral, not im- 
 probable, arguments which tend to perfuade us that 
 it is fo. It is not eafy to conceive what other motive 
 an independent and all perfect being, who (lands in 
 need of nothing external, and whofe happinefs is 
 complete in himfelf, can act from. But whatever 
 may be the cafe with the Deity, fo imperfect a crea- 
 ture as man, the fupport of whofe exiftence requires 
 fo many things external to him, muft often act from 
 many other motives. The condition of human na- 
 ture were peculiarly hard, if thofe affections, which, 
 by the very nature of our being, ought frequently to 
 influence our conduct, could upon no occafion appear 
 virtuous, or deferve efteem and commendation from 
 any body. 
 
 Thofe three fyftems, that which places virtue in 
 propriety, that which places it in prudence, and 
 that which makes it confift in benevolence, are the 
 principal accounts which have been given of the na- 
 ture of virtue. To one or other of them, all the 
 other defcriptions of virtue, how different foever they 
 may appear, are eafily reducible. 
 
 That fyftem which places virtue in obedience to 
 the will of the Deity, may be counted either among 
 thpfe which make it confift in prudence, or among 
 thofe which make it confift in propriety. When it is 
 afked, why we ought to obey the will of the Deity, 
 this queftion, which would be impious and abfurd 
 in the higheft degree, if afked from any doubt that 
 
 we 
 
330 O/ S y s t e m s Part VI. 
 
 we ought to obey him, can admit but of two differ- 
 ent anfwers. It muft either be faid that we ought to 
 obey the will of the Deity becaufe he is a being of 
 infinite power, who will reward us eternally if we do 
 fo, and punifh us eternally if we do otherwife : Or 
 it mull be faid, that independent of any regard to our 
 own happinefs, or to rewards and punifhments of 
 any kind, there is a congruity and fitnefs that a crea- 
 ture fliould obey its creator, that a limited and imper- 
 fect being mould fubmit to one of infinite and in- 
 comprehenfible perfections. Befides one or other of 
 thefe two it is impofiible to conceive that any other 
 anfwer can be given to this queftion. If the firft an- 
 fwer be the proper one, virtue confifts in prudence, 
 or in the proper purfuit of our own final intereft and 
 happinefs; fince it is upon this account that we are 
 obliged to obey the will of the Deity. If the fecond 
 anfwer be the proper one, virtue muft confift in pro- 
 priety, fince the ground of our obligation to obedi- 
 ence is the fuitablenefs or congruity of the fentiments 
 of humility and fubmiflion to the fuperiority of the 
 object which excites them. 
 
 That fyftem which places virtue in utility coincides 
 too with that which makes it confift in propriety. 
 According to this fyftem all thofe qualities of the 
 mind* which are agreeable or advantageous, either to 
 the perfon himfelf or to others, are approved of as 
 virtuous, and the contrary difapproved of as vicious. 
 But the agreeablenefs or utility of any affection de- 
 pends upon the degree which it is allowed to fubfift 
 in. Every affection is ufeful when it is confined to 
 a certain degree of moderation •, and every affection 
 is difadvantageous when it exceeds the proper bounds. 
 According to this fyftem therefore, virtue confifts, 
 
 not 
 
Sect. IL of Moral Philosophy. 331 
 
 not in any one affection, but in the proper degree of 
 all the affections. The only difference between it 
 and that which I have been endeavouring to eftablifh, 
 is, that it makes utility, and not fympathy, or the 
 correfpondent affection of the fpectator, the natural 
 and original meafure of this proper degree. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 Of licentious fyftems. 
 
 A 
 
 L L thofe fyftems, which I have hitherto given 
 an account of, fuppofe that there is a real and effen ■• 
 tial diftinction between vice and virtue, whatever 
 thefe qualities may confift in. There is a real and 
 effential difference between the propriety and impro- 
 priety of any affection, between benevolence and any 
 other principle of action, between real prudence and 
 fhort- lighted folly or precipitate raihnefs. In the 
 main too all of them contribute to encourage the 
 praife- worthy, and to difcourage the blameable dif- 
 pofuion. 
 
 It may be true perhaps, of fome of them, that 
 they tend, in fome meafure, to break the balance 
 of the affections, and to give the mind a particular 
 bias to fome principles of action, beyond the pro- 
 portion that is due to them. The ancient fyftems 
 which place virtue in propriety, feem chiefly to re- 
 commend the great, the awful, and the refpectable 
 virtues, the virtues of felf-government and felf- 
 command •, fortitude, magnanimity, independency 
 upon fortune, the contempt of all outward accidents, 
 of pain, poverty, exile, and death. It is in thefe 
 
 great 
 
3$z 0/ Systems , Part VI. 
 
 great exertions that the nobleft propriety of conduct 
 is difplayed. The foft, the amiable, the gentle vir- 
 tues, all the virtues of indulgent humanity are, in 
 comparifon, but little infifted upon, and feem, on 
 the contrary, by the Stoics in particular, to have 
 been often regarded as mere weaknefTes which it be- 
 hoved a wife man not to harbour in his bread. 
 
 The benevolent fyftem, on the other hand, while 
 it fofters and encourages all thofe milder virtues in 
 the higheft degree, feems entirely to neglect the more 
 awful and refpectable qualities of the mind. It even 
 denies them the appellation of virtues. It calls them 
 moral abilities, and treats them as qualities which do 
 not delerve the fame fort of efteem and approbation, 
 that is due to what is properly denominated virtue. 
 All thofe principles of action which aim only at our 
 own intereft, it treats, if that be pofiible, ftill worfe. 
 So far from having any merit of their own, they di- 
 minifh, it pretends, the merit of benevolence, when 
 they co-operate with it : and prudence, it is afferted, 
 when employed only in promoting private intereft, 
 can never even be imagined a virtue. 
 
 That fyftem, again, which makes virtue confift 
 in prudence only, while it gives the higheft encou- 
 ragement to the habits of caution, vigilance, fobrieiy, 
 and judicious moderation, feems to degrade equally 
 both the amiable and refpedtable virtues, and to 
 ftrip the former of all their beauty, and the latter of 
 all their grandeur. 
 
 But notwithftanding thefe defects, the general ten- 
 dency of each of thofe three fyftems is to encourage 
 the beft and moft laudable habits of the human mind : 
 
 and 
 
Sect. II. of Moral Philosophy. 333 
 
 and it were well for fociety, if, either mankind in 
 general, or even thofe few who pretend to live ac- 
 cording to any philofophical rule, were to regulate 
 their conduct by the precepts of any one of them. 
 We may learn from each of them fomething that is 
 both valuable and peculiar. If it was pofiible, by 
 precept and exhortation, to infpire the mind with 
 fortitude and magnanimity, the ancient fyftems of 
 propriety would feem fufEcient to do this. Or if it 
 was poflible, by the fame means, to foften it into 
 humanity, and to awaken the affections of kindnefs 
 and general love towards thofe we live with, fome 
 of the pictures with which the benevolent fyftem pre- 
 fents us, might feem capable of producing this ef- 
 fect. We may learn from the fyftem of Epicurus, 
 though undoubtedly the worft of all the three, how 
 much the practice of both the amiable and refpecta- 
 ble virtues is conducive to our own intereft, to our 
 own eafe and fafety and quiet even in this life. As 
 Epicurus placed happinefs in the attainment of eafe 
 and fecurity, he exerted himfelf in a particular man- 
 ner to (how that virtue was, not merely the befl and 
 the fureft, but the only means of acquiring thofe in- 
 valuable pofifeflions. The good effects of virtue, 
 upon our inward tranquility and peace of mind, are 
 what other philofophers have chiefly celebrated. Epi- 
 curus, without neglecting this topic, has chiefly in- 
 filled upon the influence of that amiable quality on 
 our outward profperity and fafety. It was upon this 
 account that his writings were fo much ftudied in the 
 ancient world by men of all different philofophical 
 parties. It is from him that Cicero, the great enemy 
 of the Epicurean fyftem, borrows his mod agreeable 
 proofs that virtue alone is fufficient to fecure happi- 
 nefs. Seneca, though a Stoic, the feet mod oppo- 
 
334 0/ S y s t e m s Part VL 
 
 fite to that of Epicurus, yet quotes this philofopher 
 more frequently than any other. 
 
 There are, however, fome other fyftems which 
 ieem to take away altogether the diftin&ion between 
 vice and virtue, and of which the tendency is, upon 
 that account, wholly pernicious: I mean the fyftems 
 of the duke of Rochefoucault and Dr. Mandeville. 
 Though the notions of both thefe authors are in al- 
 mod every refpect erroneous, there are, however, 
 fome appearances in human nature which, when 
 viewed in a certain manner, feem at firft fight to fa- 
 vour them. Thefe, firft flightly fketched out with 
 the elegance and delicate precifion of the duke of 
 Rochefoucault, and afterwards more fully repre- 
 fented with the lively and humorous, though coarfe 
 and ruftic eloquence of Dr. Mandeville, have thrown 
 upon their doctrines an air of truth and probability 
 which is very apt to impofe upon the unfkilful. 
 
 Dr. Mandeville, the mod methodical of thofe 
 two authors, confiders whatever is done from a fenfe 
 of propriety, from a regard to what is commendable 
 and praife-worthy, as being done from a love of 
 praife and commendation, or as he calls it from va- 
 nity. Man, he obferves, is naturally much more 
 interefted in his own happinefs than in that of others, 
 and it is impoiliblethat in his heart he can ever really 
 prefer their profperity to his own. Whenever he ap- 
 pears to do fo, we may be aflured that he impofes 
 upon us, and that he is then acting from the fame 
 felfifti motives as at all other times. Among his 
 other felfifti paflions, vanity is one of the ftrongeft, 
 and he is always eafily flattered and greatly delighted 
 with the applaufes of thofe about him. , When he 
 
 appears 
 
Sect. II. of Moral Philosophy. 335 
 
 appears to facrifice his own intereft to that of his 
 companions, he knows that this conduct will be 
 highly agreeable to their felf-love, and that they will 
 not fail to exprefs their fatisfaction by bellowing up- 
 on him the moil extravagant praifes. The pleafure 
 which, he expects from this, over- balances, in his 
 opinion, the intereft which he abandons in order to 
 procure it. His conduct, therefore, upon this oc- 
 cafion, is in reality juft as felfifh, and arifes from juft 
 as mean a motive as upon any other. He is flatter- 
 ed, however, and he flatters himfelf with the belief 
 that it is entirely difmterefted •, fince, unlefs this was 
 fuppofed, it would not feem to merit any commenda- 
 tion either in his own eyes or in thole of others. All 
 public fpirit, therefore, all preference of public to 
 private intereft, is, according to him a mere cheat 
 and impofition upon mankind -, and that human vir- 
 tue which is fo much boafted of, and which is the 
 occafion of fo much emulation among men, is the 
 mere offspring of flattery begot upon pride. 
 
 Whether the mod generous and public fpirited 
 actions may not, in fome fenfe, be regarded as pro- 
 ceeding from felf-love, I fhall not at prefent exa- 
 mine. The decifion of this queftion is not, I appre- 
 hend, of any importance towards eftablifhing the 
 reality of virtue, fince felf-love may frequently be a 
 virtuous motive of action. I fhall only endeavour to 
 (how that the defire of doing what is honourable and 
 noble, of rendering ourfelves the proper objects of 
 efteem and approbation, cannot with any propriety 
 be called vanity. Even the love of well-grounded 
 fame and reputation, the defire of acquiring efteem 
 by what is really eftimable, does not deferve that 
 name. The firft is the love of virtue, the nobleft 
 
 and 
 
33$ Of Systems Part VI. 
 
 and the bed paflion of human nature. The fecond 
 is the love of true glory, a paflion inferior no doubt 
 to the former, but which in dignity appears to come 
 immediately after it. He is guilty of vanity who de- 
 fires praife for qualities which are either not praife- 
 worthy in any degree, or not in that degree which 
 he expects to be praifed for them ; who fees his cha- 
 racter upon the frivolous ornaments of drefs and 
 equipage, or the equally frivolous accompiifhments 
 of ordinary behaviour. He is guilty of vanity who 
 defires praife for what indeed very well deferves it, 
 but what he perfectly knows does not belong to him. 
 The empty coxcomb who gives himfelf airs of im- 
 portance which he has no title to, the filly liar who 
 aflumes the merit of adventures which never happen- 
 ed, the foolifh plagiary who gives himfelf out for the 
 author of what he has no pretenfions to, are properly 
 accufed of this paflion. He too is faid to be guilty 
 of vanity who is not contented with the filent fenti- 
 ments of edeem and approbation, who feems to be 
 fonder of their noify expreflions and acclamations 
 than of the fentiments themfelves, who is never fatis- 
 iied but when his own praifes are ringing in his ears, 
 and whofolicits with the mod anxious importunity all 
 external marks of refpect, is fond of titles, of compli- 
 ments, of being vifited, of being attended, of being 
 taken notice of in public places with the appearance of 
 deference and attention. This frivolous paflion is al- 
 together different from either of the two former, and 
 is the paflion of the lowed, and the lead of mankind, 
 as they are of the nobled and the greated. 
 
 But though thefe three paflions, the defire of ren- 
 dering ourfelves tl^e proper objects of honour and 
 edeem ; or of becQming what is honourable and 
 
 eftimablei 
 
Sect. II. of Moral Philosophy. 337 
 
 eftimable ; the defire of acquiring honour and efteem 
 by really defer ving thofe fentirnents ; and the frivo- 
 lous defire of praife at any rate, are widely different ; 
 though the two former are always approved of, 
 while the latter never fails to be defpifed ; there is, 
 however, a certain remote affinity among them, 
 which, exaggerated by the humorous and diverting 
 eloquence of this lively author, has enabled him to 
 impofe upon his readers. There is an affinity be- 
 tween vanity and the love of true glory, as both thefe 
 paffions aim at acquiring efteem and approbation. 
 But they are different in this, that the one is a juft, 
 reafonable, and equitable paffion, while the other is 
 unjufl, abfurd, and ridiculous. The man who de- 
 fires efteem for what is really eftimable, defires no- 
 thing but what he is juftly entitled to, and what can- 
 not be refufed him without fome fort of injury. He, 
 on the contrary, who defires it upon any other terms, 
 demands what he has no juft claim to. The firft is 
 eafily fatisfied, is not apt to be jealous or fufpicious 
 that we do not efteem him enough, and is feldom fo- 
 licitous about receiving many external marks of our 
 regard. The other, on the contrary, is never to be 
 fatisfied, is full of jealoufy and fufpicion that we do 
 not efteem him fo much as he defires, becaufe he has 
 fome fecret confcioufnefs that he defires more than he 
 deferves. The leaft neglect of ceremony, he confi- 
 ders as a mortal affront, and as an expreffion of the 
 moft determined contempt. He is reftlefs and im- 
 patient, and perpetually afraid that we have loft all 
 refpect for him, and is upon this account always 
 anxious to obtain new expreflions of efteem, and 
 cannot be kept in temper but by continual atten- 
 dance and adulation, 
 
 Z There 
 
338 O/Systems Part VL 
 
 There is an affinity too between the defire of be- 
 coming what is honourable and eflimable, and the 
 defire of honour and efleem, between the love of vir- 
 tue and the love of true glory. They refemble one 
 another not only in this refpect, that both aim at 
 really being what is honourable and noble, but even 
 in that refpect in which the love of true glory refem- 
 bles what is properly called vanity, fome reference 
 to the fentiments of others. The man of the greater! 
 magnanimity, who defires virtue for its own fake, 
 and is mod indifferent about what actually are the 
 opinions of mankind with regard to him, is flill, 
 however, delighted with the thoughts of what they 
 ihould be, with the conicioufnefs that though he 
 may neither be honoured nor applauded, he is flill 
 the proper object of honour and applaufe, and that 
 if mankind were cool and candid and confiftent with 
 themfelves, and properly informed of the motives 
 and circumftances of his conduct, they would not 
 fail to honour and applaud him. Though he def- 
 pifes the opinions which are actually entertained of 
 him, he has the higheft value for thofe which ought 
 to be entertained of him. That he might think 
 himfelf worthy of thofe honourable fentiments, 
 and, whatever was the idea which other men 
 might conceive of his character, that when he 
 fhould put himfelf in their fituation, and con- 
 fider, not what was, but what ought to be their 
 Opinion, he fhould always have the higheft idea 
 of it himfelf, was the great and exalted motive of his 
 conduct. As even in the love of virtue, therefore, 
 there is flill fome reference, though not to what is, 
 yet to what in reafon and propriety ought to be, the 
 opinion of others, there is even in this refpect fome 
 affinity between it, and the love of true glory. There 
 is, however, at the fame time, a very great differ- 
 ence 
 
Sect. II. of Moral Philosophy. 339 
 
 ence between them. The man who acts folely from 
 a regard to what is right and fit to be done, from a 
 regard to what is the proper object of efteem and 
 approbation, though thefe fentiments mould never be 
 beftowed upon him, acts from the mod fublime and 
 godlike' motive which human nature is even capable 
 of conceiving. The man, on the other hand, who 
 while he defires to merit approbation is at the fame 
 time anxious to obtain it, though he too is laudabk 
 in the main, yet his motives have a greater mixture 
 of human infirmity. He is in danger of being mor- 
 tified by the ignorance and injultice of mankind, and 
 his happineis is expofed to the envy of his rivals, and 
 the folly of the public. The happinefs of the other, 
 on the contrary, is altogether fecure and independent 
 of fortune, and of the caprice of thofe he lives with. 
 The contempt and hatred which may be thrown upon 
 him by the ignorance of mankind, he confiders as not 
 belonging to him, and is not at all mortified by it. 
 Mankind defpife and hate him from a falfe notion of 
 his character and conduct. If- they knew him bet- 
 ter, they would efteem and love him. It is not him 
 whom, properly fpeaking, they hate and defpife, but 
 another perfon whom they miftake him to be. Our 
 friend, whom we mould meet at a mafquerade in 
 the garb of our enemy, would be more diverted than 
 mortified, if under that difguife we mould vent our 
 indignation againft him. Such are the fentiments of 
 a man of real magnanimity, when expofed to unjufl 
 cenfure. It feldom happens, however, that human 
 nature arrives at this degree of firmnefs. Though 
 none but the weakeft and mod worthlefs of man- 
 kind are much delighted with falfe glory, yet, by 
 a ftrange inconfiftency, falfe ignominy is often ca r 
 pable of mortifying thofe who appear the moft refo- 
 lute and determined. 
 
 Z 2 Df. 
 
54° 0/ S y s t e m s % Part VI. 
 
 Dr. Mandeville is not fatisfied with reprefenting 
 the frivolous motive of vanity, as the fource of all 
 thofe actions which are commonly accounted virtu- 
 ous. He endeavours to point out the imperfection 
 of human virtue in many other refpects. In every 
 cafe, he pretends, it falls fhort of that complete felf- 
 denial which it pretends to, and, inftead of a con- 
 quer!:, is commonly no more than a concealed indul- 
 gence of our paffions. Wherever our referve with 
 regard to pleafure falls fhortof the moft afcetic ab- 
 flinence, he treats it as grofs luxury and fenfuality. 
 Every thing, according to him, is luxury which ex- 
 ceeds what is abfolutely necerTary for the fupport of 
 human nature, fo that there is a vice even in the ufe 
 of a clean fhirt, or of a convenient habitation. The 
 indulgence of the inclination to fex ? in the moft law- 
 ful union, he confiders as the fame fenfuality with 
 the moft hurtful gratification of that paflion, and de- 
 rides that temperance and that chaftity which can be 
 pradtifed at fo cheap a rate. The ingenious fophiftry 
 of his reafoning, is here, as upon many other occa- 
 fions, covered by the ambiguity of language. There 
 are fome of our pafHons which have no other names 
 except thofe which mark the difagreeable and offen- 
 five degree. The fpeclator is more apt to take no- 
 tice of them in this degree than in any other. When 
 they fhock his own fentiments, when they give him 
 fome fort of antipathy and uneafinefs, he is necefla- 
 rily obliged to attend to them, and is from thence 
 naturally led to give them a name. When they fall 
 in with the natural ftateof his own mind, he is very- 
 apt to overlook them altogether, and either gives 
 them no name at all, or, if he gives them any, it is 
 one which marks rather the fubjeclion and reftraint 
 of the paflion than the degree which it ftill is allowed 
 
 to 
 
Sed. II. 0/ Moral Philosophy. 34* 
 
 to fubfift in, after it is fo fubje&ed and reftrained. 
 Thus the common names of the * love of pleafure, 
 and of the love of fex, denote a vicious and offenfive 
 degree of thofe paffions. The words temperance 
 and chaftity, on the other hand, feem to mark rather 
 the reftraint and fubjection which they are kept un- 
 der, than the degree which they are dill allowed 
 to fubfift in. When he can (how, therefore, that 
 they dill fubfift in fome degree, he imagines, he has 
 entirely demolilhed the reality of the virtues of tem- 
 perance and chaftity, and fhown them to be mere 
 impofnions upon the inattention and fimplicity of 
 mankind. Thofe virtues, however, do not require 
 an entire infenfibility to the objects of the pafiions 
 which they mean to govern. They only aim at re- 
 straining the violence of thofe paffions fo far as not to 
 hurt the individual, and neither difturb nor offend 
 the fociety. 
 
 It is the great fallacy of Dr. Mandeville's book f 
 to reprefent every paflion as wholly vicious, which is 
 fo in any degree and in any direction. It is thus that 
 he treats every thing as vanity which has any reference, 
 either to what are, or to what ought to be the fenti- 
 ments of others : and it is by means of this fophi- 
 ftry, that he eftablifhes his favourite conclufion, that 
 private vices are public benefits. If the love of mag- 
 nificence, a tafte for the elegant arts and improve- 
 ments of human life, for whatever is agreeable in 
 drefs, furniture, or equipage, for architecture, ftatu- 
 ary, painting, and mufic, is to be regarded as luxury, 
 fenfuality and oftentation, even in thofe whofe fitu- 
 ation allows, without any inconveniency, the indul- 
 
 Z 3 gence 
 
 * Luxury and lull. f Fable of the Bees, 
 
342 Of Systems Part VI, 
 
 gence of thole paflions, it is certain that luxury, fen- 
 iuality, and oftentation are public benefits : fince, 
 without the qualities upon which he thinks proper to 
 beftow fuch opprobrious names, the arts of refine- 
 ment could never find encouragement, and muft 
 languifh for want of employment. Some popular 
 afcetic doctrines which had been current before his 
 time, and which placed virtue in the entire extir- 
 pation and annihilation of all our paflions, were the 
 real foundation of this licentious fyftem. It was eafy 
 for Dr. Mandeville to prove, firft, that this entire 
 conqueft never actually took place among men ; and 
 Secondly, that, if it was to take place univerfally, it 
 would be pernicious to fociety, by putting an end to 
 all induflry and commerce, and in a manner to 
 the whole bufinefs of human life. By the firft of 
 thefe proportions he feemed to prove that there was 
 no real virtue, and that what pretended to be fuch, 
 was a mere cheat and impofition upon mankind ; and 
 by the fecond, that private vices were public bene- 
 fits, fince without them no fociety could profper or 
 fiourifh. 
 
 Such is the fyftem of Dr. Mandeville, which once 
 made fo much noife in the world, and which, though 
 perhaps, it never gave occafion to more vice than 
 what would have been without it, at lead taught 
 that vice, which arofe from other caufes, to appear 
 with more effrontery, and to avow the corruption of 
 its motives with a profligate audacioufnefs which had 
 never been heard of before. 
 
 But how deftructive foever this fyftem may appear, 
 it could never have impofed upon fo great a number 
 of perfons, nor h^ye occafioned fo general an alarm 
 
 among 
 
Sect. II. of Moral Philosophy. 343 
 
 among thofe who are the friends of better principles, 
 had it not in fome refpeds bordered upon the truth. 
 A fyftem of natural philofophy may appear very 
 plaufible, and be for a long time very generally re- 
 ceived in the world, and yet have no foundation in 
 nature, nor any fort of refemblance to the truth. 
 The vortices of Des Cartes were regarded by a 
 very ingenious nation, for near a century toge- 
 ther, as a mod fatisfactory account of the revoluti- 
 ons of the heavenly bodies. Yet it has been demon- 
 ftrated, to the conviction of all mankind, that thefe 
 pretended caufes of thofe wonderful effects, not only 
 do not actually exift, but are utterly impoflible, and 
 if they did exift, could produce no fuch effects as are 
 afcribed to them. But it is otherwife with fyftems of 
 moral philofophy, and an author who pretends to 
 account for the origin of our moral fentiments, can- 
 not deceive us fo grofsly, nor depart fo very far from 
 all refemblance to the truth. When a traveller gives 
 an account of fome diftant country, he may impofe 
 upon our credulity the moft groundlefs and abfurd 
 fictions as the moft certain matters of fact. But 
 when a perfon pretends to inform us of what paiTes 
 in our neighbourhood, and of the affairs of the very 
 parifh which we live in, though here too, if we are fo 
 carelefs as not to examine things with our own eyes, 
 he may deceive us in many refpects, yet the greater! 
 falfehoods which he impofes upon us muft bear fome 
 refemblance to the truth, and muft even have a con- 
 fiderable mixture of truth in them. An author who 
 treats of natural philofophy, and pretends to afiign 
 the caufes of the great phenomena of the univerfe, 
 pretends to give an account of the affairs of a very 
 diftant country, concerning which he may tell us 
 what he pleafes, and as long as his narration keeps 
 within the bounds of feeming poffibility, he need not 
 
 Z 4 defpair 
 
344 0/ Systems Part VI. 
 
 defpair of gaining our belief. But when he propofes 
 ro explain the origin of our defires and affections, of 
 our fentiments of approbation and difapprobation, he 
 pretends to give an account, not only of the affairs 
 of the very parifh that we live in, but of our own 
 domeftic concerns. Though here too, like indolent 
 matters who put their truft in a fteward who deceives 
 them, we are very liable to be impofed upon, yet we 
 are incapable of palling any account which does not 
 preferve fome little regard to the truth. Some of the 
 articles, at lead, muft be juft, and even thofe which 
 are mod overcharged muft have had fome foundati- 
 on, otherwife the fraud would be detected even by 
 that carelefs infpection which we are difpofed to give. 
 The author who mould aflign, as the caufe of any 
 natural fentiment, fome principle which neither had 
 any connexion with it, nor refembled any other prin- 
 ciple which had fome fuch connexion, would appear 
 abfurd and ridiculous to the mod injudicious and un- 
 experienced reader. 
 
 SEC T. 
 
Sett. III. of Moral Philosophy, 34.5 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Of the different fyftems which have been formed 
 concerning the principle of approbation. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 J\ F T E R the inquiry concerning the nature ot 
 virtue, the next queftion of importance in Moral 
 Philofophy, is concerning the principle of approba- 
 tion, concerning the power or faculty of the mind 
 which renders certain characters agreeable or difa- 
 greeable to us, makes us prefer one tenour of con- 
 duel to another, denominate the one right and the 
 other wrong, and confider the one as the object of 
 approbation, honour, and reward ; the other as that 
 of blame, cenfure, and punifhment. 
 
 Three different accounts have been given of this 
 principle of approbation. According to fome, we 
 approve and difapprove both of our own actions and 
 of thofe of others, from felf-love only, or from fome 
 view of their tendency to our own happinefs or dis- 
 advantage -, according to others, reafon, the fame fa- 
 culty by which we diflinguifh between truth and 
 falfehood, enables us to diflinguifh between what is 
 fit and unfit both in actions and affections : accord- 
 ing to others this diftinction is altogether the effect 
 of immediate fentiment and feeling, and arifes from 
 the "Satisfaction or difgufl with which the view of 
 
 certain 
 
346 Of S y s t e m s Part VI. 
 
 certain actions or affections infpires us. Self-love, 
 reafon, and fentiment, therefore, are the three dif- 
 ferent fources which have been afligned for the prin- 
 ciple of approbation. 
 
 Before I proceed to give an account of thofe dif- 
 ferent fyftems, I muft obferve, that the determina- 
 tion of this fecond queftion, though of the greateft 
 importance in fpeculation, is of none in practice. 
 The queftion concerning the nature of virtue necef- 
 farily has fome influence upon our notions of right 
 and wrong in many particular cafes. That concern- 
 ing the principle of approbation can poffibly have no 
 iuch effect. To examine from what contrivance or 
 mechanifm within, thofe different notions or fenti- 
 ments arife, is a mere matter of philofophical curio- 
 fity. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 Of thofe fyftems which deduce the principle of approba- 
 tion from J elf love. 
 
 HOSE who account for the principle of ap- 
 probation from felf-love, do not ail account for it in 
 the fame manner, and there is a good deal of confu- 
 fion and inaccuracy in all their different fyftems. 
 According to Mr. Hobbes, and many of his follow- 
 ers, * man is driven to take refuge in fociety, not 
 by any natural love which he bears to his own kind, 
 but becaufe without the afliftance of others he is in- 
 capable of lubfifting with eafe or fafety. Society, 
 
 upon 
 
 * Puffendorff. Mandeville. 
 
Sect. III. of Moral Philosophy. 347 
 
 upon this account, becomes neceflary to him, and 
 whatever tends to its iupport and welfare, he confi- 
 ders as having a remote tendency to his own interelt, 
 and, on the contrary, whatever is likely to diiturb 
 or deftroy it, he regards as in fome meafure hurtful 
 or pernicious to himfelf. Virtue is the great fupport, 
 and vice the great difturber of human fociety. The 
 former, therefore, is agreeable, and the latter offen- 
 iive to every man ; as from the one he forefees the 
 profperity, and from the other the ruin and diforder 
 of what is fo neceflary for the comfort and fecurity 
 of his exiftence. 
 
 That the tendency of virtue to promote, and of 
 vice to difturb the order of fociety, when we confider 
 it coolly and philofophically, reflects a very great 
 beauty upon the one, and a very great deformity 
 upon the other, cannot, as I have obferved upon a 
 former occafion, be called in queftion. Human fo~ 
 ciety, when we contemplate it in a certain abftract 
 and philofophical light, appears like a great, an im- 
 menfe machine, whofe regular and harmonious move- 
 ments produce a thoufand agreeable effects. As in 
 any other beautiful and noble machine that was the 
 production of human art, whatever tended to ren- 
 der its movements more fmooth and eafy, would de- 
 rive a beauty from this effect, and, on the contrary, 
 whatever tended to obitruct them would difpleafe 
 upon that account: fo virtue, which is, as it were, 
 the fine polifh to the wheels of fociety, neceffarily 
 pleafes -, while vice, like the vile ruft, which makes 
 them jar and grate upon one another, is as neceffarily 
 offenfive. This account, therefore, of the origin of 
 approbation and difapprobation, fo far as it derives 
 them from a regard to the order of fociety, runs into 
 
 that 
 
^48 0/ Systems Part VL 
 
 that principle which gives beauty to utility, and 
 which I have explained upon a former occafion •, and 
 it is from thence that this fyftem derives all that ap- 
 pearance of probability which it poffefles. When 
 thofe authors defcribe the innumerable advantages of 
 a cultivated and focial, above a favage and folitary 
 life ; when they expatiate upon the necefilty of vir- 
 tue and good order for the maintenance of the one, 
 and demonftrate how infallibly the prevalence of 
 vice and difobedience to the laws tend to bring back 
 the other, the reader is charmed with the novelty 
 and grandeur of thofe views which they open to him : 
 he fees plainly a new beauty in virtue, and a new 
 deformity in vice, which he had never taken notice 
 of before, and is commonly fo delighted with the 
 difcovery, that he feldom takes time to reflect, that 
 this political view, having never occurred to him in 
 his life before, cannot pofiibly be the ground of that 
 approbation and disapprobation with which he has 
 always been accuftomed to confider thofe different 
 qualities. 
 
 When thofe authors, on the other hand, deduce 
 from felf-love the intereft which we take in the wel- 
 fare of fociety, and the efleem which upon that ac- 
 count we beflow upon virtue, they do not mean, that 
 when we in this age applaud the virtue of Cato, and 
 deteft the villainy of Catiline, our ientiments are in- 
 fluenced by the notion of any benefit we receive from 
 the one, or of any detriment we fufFer from the 
 other. It was not becaufe the profperity or fubver- 
 fion of fociety, in thofe remote ages and nations, 
 was apprehended to have any influence upon our 
 happinefs or mifery in the prefent times •, that ac- 
 cording to thofe pkjlofophers, we efteemed the vir- 
 tuous, 
 
Sect. III. of Moral Philosophy. 349 
 
 tuous, and blamed the diforderly character. They 
 never imagined that our fentiments were influenced 
 by any benefit or damage which we fuppofed actual- 
 ly to redound to us, from either; but by that which 
 might have redounded to us, had we lived in thofe dis- 
 tant ages and countries; or by that which might (till 
 redound to us, if in our own times'.we fhould meet 
 with characters of the fame kind. The idea, in fhort, 
 which thofe authors were groping about, but which 
 they were never able to unfold diflinctly, was that 
 indirect fympathy which we feel with the gratitude 
 or refentment of thofe who received the benefit or fuf- 
 fered the damage refulting from fuch oppofite charac- 
 ters : and it was this which they were indiflinctly 
 pointing at, when they faid, that it was not the 
 thought of what we had gained or fuffered which 
 prompted our applaufe or indignation, but the con- 
 ception or imagination of what we might gain or 
 fufFer if we were to act in fociety with fuch afib- 
 ciates. 
 
 Sympathy, however, cannot, in any fenfe, be re- 
 garded as a felfifh principle. When I fympathize 
 with your forrow or your indignation, it may be 
 pretended, indeed, that my emotion is founded in 
 felf-love, becaufe it arifes from bringing your cafe 
 home to myfelf, from putting myfelf in your fitua- 
 tion, and thence conceiving what I fhould feel in the 
 like circumftances. But though fympathy is very 
 properly faid to arife from an imaginary change of 
 fituations with the perfon principally concerned, yet 
 this imaginary change is not fuppofed to happen to 
 me in my own perfon and character, but in that of 
 the perfon with whom I fympathize. When I con- 
 dole with you for the lofs of your only fon, in order 
 to enter into your grief, I do not confider what; I, a 
 
 perfon 
 
35° ' Of Systems Part VI. 
 
 perfon of fuch a character and profefllon, mould 
 fuffer, if I had a fori, and if that fon was unfortu- 
 nately to die : but I confider what I lhould fuffer if I 
 was really you, and I not only change circumftances 
 with you, but I change perfons and characters. My 
 grief, therefore, is entirely upon your account, and 
 not in the leaft upon my own. It is not, therefore, 
 in the leaft felfifh. How can that be regarded as a 
 felfifh paffion, which does not arife even from the 
 imagination of any thing that has befallen, or that 
 relates to myfelf, in my own proper perfon and cha- 
 racter, but which is entirely occupied about what 
 relates to you ? A man may fympathize with a wo- 
 man in child-bed •, though it is impoffible that he 
 fhould conceive himfelf as fuffering her pains in his 
 own proper perfon and character. That whole ac- 
 count of human nature, however, which deduces 
 all fentiments and affections from felflove, which 
 has made fo much noife in the wor]d, but which, fo 
 far as I know, has never yet been fully and diftinctly 
 explained, feems to me to have arifen from fome 
 confufed mifapprehenfion of the fyftem of fympathy. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Of thofe Jyflems which make reafon the principle of 
 approbation. 
 
 A T is well known to have been the doctrine of 
 Mr. Hobbes, that a ftate of nature, is a (late of war ; 
 and that antecedent to the inftitution of civil go- 
 vernment, there could be no fafe or peaceable foci- 
 cty among men. To preferve fociety, therefore, ac- 
 cording 
 
Sect. III. of Moral Philosophy.- 351 
 
 cording to him, was to fupport civil government, and 
 to deftroy civil government was the fame thing as to 
 put an end to fociety. But the exiftence of civil go- 
 vernment depends upon the obedience that is paid 
 to the fupreme magiftrate. The moment he lofes 
 his authority, all government is at an end. As felf- 
 prefervation, therefore, teaches men to applaud 
 whatever tends to promote the welfare of fociety, 
 and to blame whatever is likely to hurt it 5 fo the 
 fame principle, if they would think and fpeak con- 
 fidently, ought to teach them to applaud upon all 
 ocafions obedience to the civil magiftrate, and to 
 blame all difobedience and rebellion. The very 
 ideas of laudable and blameable, ought to be the 
 fame with thofe of obedience and difobedience. The 
 laws of the civil magiftrate, therefore, ought to be 
 regarded as the fole ultimate ftandards of what was 
 juft and unjuft, of what was right and wrong. 
 
 It was the avowed intention of Mr. Hobbes, by 
 propagating thefe notions, to fubject the confciences 
 of men immediately to the civil, and not to the ec- 
 clefiaftical powers, whofe turbulence and ambition, 
 he had been taught, by the example of his own 
 times, to regard as the principal fource of the dif- 
 orders of fociety. His doctrine, upon this account, 
 was peculiarly offenfive to Theologians, who accord- 
 ingly did not fail to vent their indignation againft 
 him with great afperity and bitternefs. It was like- 
 wife offenfive to all found moralifts, as it fuppofed 
 that there was no natural diftinction between right 
 and wrong, that thefe were mutable and changeable, 
 and depended upon the mere arbitrary will of the 
 civil magiftrate. This account of things, therefore, 
 
 was 
 
352 O/Systems Part VI. 
 
 was attacked from all quarters, and by all forts of 
 weapons, by fober reafon as well as by furious de- 
 clamation. 
 
 In order to confute fo odious a doctrine, it was 
 neceffary to prove, that antecedent to all law or 
 pofnive inftitution, the mind was naturally endowed 
 with a faculty, by which it diftinguifhed in certain 
 actions and affections, the qualities of right, laudable, 
 and virtuous, and in others thofe of wrong, blame- 
 able, and vicious. 
 
 Law, it was juftly obferved by Dr. Cudworth, * 
 could not be the original fource of thofe diftinctions ; 
 fince upon the fuppofition of fuch a law, it muft 
 either be right to obey it, and wrong to difobey it, 
 or indifferent whether we obeyed it, or difobeyed it. 
 That law which it was indifferent whether we obeyed 
 or difobeyed, could not, it was evident, be the fource 
 of thofe diftinctions ; neither could that which it was 
 right to obey and wrong to difobey, fince even this 
 ftill fuppofed the antecedent notions or ideas of right 
 and wrong, and that obedience to the law was con- 
 formable to the idea of right, and difobedience to 
 that of wrong. 
 
 Since the mind, therefore, had a notion of thofe 
 diftinctions antecedent to all law, it feemed necefla- 
 rily to follow, that it derived this notion from rea- 
 fon, which pointed out the difference between right 
 and wrong, m the fame manner in which it did that 
 between truth and falfehood : and this conclufion, 
 which though true in fome refpects, is rather hafty 
 
 in 
 
 * Immutable Morality, 1. i. 
 
Scdt. III. c/ Moral Philosophy. 353 
 
 in others, was more eafily received at a time when 
 the abftract fcience of human nature was but in its 
 infancy, and before the diftinct offices and powers of 
 the different faculties of the human mind had been 
 carefully examined and diftinguifhed from one ano- 
 ther. When this controverfy with Mr. Hobbes was 
 carried on with thegreateft warmth and keennefs, no 
 other faculty had been thought of from which any 
 fuch ideas could poffibly be fuppofed to arife. It 
 became at this time, therefore, the popular doctrine, 
 that the eiTence of virtue and vice did not con (id in 
 the conformity or difagreement of human actions 
 with the law of a fuperior, but in their conformity or 
 difagreement with reaibn, which was thus confidered 
 as the original fource and principle of approbation 
 and difapprobation. 
 
 That virtue confifts in conformity to reafon, is 
 true in fome refpects, and this faculty may veryjuftly 
 be confidered, as in fome fenfe, the fource and prin- 
 ciple of approbation and difapprobation, and of all 
 folid judgments concerning right and wrong. It is 
 by reafon that we difcover thole general rules of juf- 
 tice by which we ought to regulate our actions : and 
 it is by the fame faculty that we form thofe more 
 vague and indeterminate ideas of what is prudent, of 
 what is decent, of what is generous or noble, which 
 we carry conftantly about with us, and according to 
 which we endeavour, as well as we can, to model 
 the tenour of our conduct. The general maxims of 
 morality are formed, like all other general maxims, 
 from experience and induction. We obferve in a 
 great variety of particular cafes what pleafes or dif- 
 pleafes our moral faculties, what thefe approve or 
 difapprove of, and, by induction from this experi- 
 
 A a ence, 
 
354 Of Systems Part VL 
 
 ence, we eftablifh thofe general rules. But induction 
 is always regarded as one of the operations of reafon. 
 From reafon, therefore, we are very properly faid 
 to derive all thofe general maxims and ideas. It is 
 by thefe, however, that we regulate the greater part 
 of our moral judgments, which would be extremely 
 uncertain and precarious if they depended altogether 
 upon what is liable to fo many variations as immedi- 
 ate fentiment and feeling, which the different ftates 
 of health and humour are capable of altering fo 
 efTentially. As our moft folid judgments, therefore, 
 with regard to right and wrong, are regulated by 
 maxims and ideas derived from an induction of rea- 
 fon, virtue may very properly be faid to confifi in a 
 conformity to reafon, and fo far this faculty may be 
 confidered as the fource and principle of approbation 
 and difapprobation. 
 
 But though reafon is undoubtedly the fource of 
 the general rules of morality, and of all the moral 
 judgments which we form by means of them; it is 
 altogether abfurd and unintelligible to fuppofe that 
 the firft perceptions of right and wrong can be derived 
 from reafon, even in thofe particular cafes upon the 
 experience of which the general rules are formed. 
 Thefe firft perceptions, as well all other experiments 
 upon which any general rules are founded, cannot be 
 the object of reafon, but of immediate fenfe and 
 feeling. It is by finding in a vaft variety of inftances 
 that one tenour of conduct conftantly pleafes in a 
 certain manner, and that another as conftantly dif- 
 pleafes the mind, that we form the general rules of 
 morality. But reafon cannot render any particular 
 object either agreeable or difagreeable to the mind 
 for its own fake.^ Reafon may fhow that this object 
 
 is 
 
Sect. III. of Moral Philosophy. $5$ 
 
 k the means of obtaining fome other which is natu- 
 rally either pleafing or difpleafing, and in this man- 
 ner may render it either agreeable or difagreeable for 
 the fake of fomething elfe. But nothing can be 
 agreeable or difagreeable for its own fake, which is 
 not rendered fuch by immediate fenfe and feeling. 
 If virtue, therefore, in every particular inftance, 
 neceffarily pleafes for its own fake, and if vice as 
 certainly difpleafes the mind, it cannot bereafon, but 
 immediate fenfe and feeling, which, in this manner, 
 reconciles us to the one, and alienates us from the 
 other. 
 
 Pleafure and pain are the great objects of de fire 
 and averfion : but thefe are diftinguifhed not by 
 reafon, but by immediate fenfe and feeling. If vir- 
 tue, therefore, is defirable for its own fake, and if 
 vice is, in the fame manner, the object of averfion, 
 it cannot be reafon which originally diftinguifhes 
 thofe different qualities, but immediate fenfe and 
 feeling. 
 
 As reafon, however, in a certain fenfe, may juftly 
 be confidered as the principle of approbation and dis- 
 approbation, thefe fentiments were, through inat- 
 tention, long regarded as originally flowing from the 
 operations of this faculty. Dr. Hutchefon had the 
 merit of being the firft who diftinguifhed with any 
 degree of precifion in what refpect all moral diftincti- 
 ons may be faid to arife from reafon, and in what 
 refpedt they are founded upon immediate fenfe and 
 feeling. In his illuftrations upon the moral fenfe he 
 has explained this fo fully, and, in my opinion, fo 
 unanfwerably, that, if any controverfy is ftill kept 
 up about this fubject, I can impute it to nothing, 
 A a 2 but 
 
35 6 Of S y s t e m s Part VI. 
 
 but either to inattention to what that gentleman has 
 written, or to a fuperftitious attachment to certain 
 forms of expreflion, a weaknefs not very uncommon 
 among the learned, efpecially in fubjects fo deeply 
 interesting as the prefent, in which a man of virtue 
 is often loth to abandon, even the propriety of a 
 fingle phrafe which he has been accuftomed to. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Of thofe fyftems which make fentiment the principle of 
 approbation. 
 
 JL HOSE fyftems which make fentiment the 
 principle of approbation may be divided into two 
 different claffes. 
 
 I. According to fome the principle of approbation 
 is founded upon a fentiment of a peculiar nature, 
 upon a particular power of perception exerted by the 
 mind at the view of certain actions or affections y 
 fome of which affecting this faculty in an agreeable 
 and others in a difagreeable manner, the former are 
 flampt with the characters of right, laudable, and 
 virtuous •> the latter with thofe of wrong, blameable 
 and vicious. This fentiment being of a peculiar 
 nature diftinct from every other, and the effect of a 
 particular power of perception, they give it a parti- 
 cular name,' and call it a moral fenfe. 
 
 II. According to others, in order to account for 
 the principle of approbation, there is no occafion 
 for fuppofing an^ new power of perception which 
 
 had 
 
Sect. III. c/Moral Philosophy. 357 
 
 had never been heard of before : Nature, they ima- 
 gine, acts here, as in all other cafes, with the ftricteft 
 ceconomy, and produces a multitude of effects from 
 one and the fame caufe j and fympathy, a power which 
 has always been taken notice of, and with which the 
 mind is manifeftly endowed, is, they think, fuffici- 
 ent to account for all the effects afcribed to this pecu- 
 liar faculty. 
 
 I. Dr. Hutchefon * had been at great pains to 
 prove that the principle of approbation was not 
 founded on felf-love. He had demonftrated too that 
 it could not arife from any operation of reafon. No- 
 thing remained, he thought, but to fuppofe it a fa- 
 culty of a peculiar kind, with which Nature had en- 
 dowed the human mind, in order to produce this one 
 particular and important effect. • When felf-love and 
 reafon were both excluded, it did not occur to him 
 that there was any other known faculty of the mind 
 which could in any refpect anfwer this purpofe. 
 
 This new power of perception he called a moral 
 fenie, and fuppofed it to be fomewhat analogous to 
 the external fenfes. As the bodies around us, by 
 affecting thefe in a certain manner, appear to poffefs 
 the different qualities of found, tafte, odour, colour-, 
 fo the various affections of the human mind, by 
 touching this particular faculty in a certain manner, 
 appear to poffefs the different qualities of amiable 
 and odious, of virtuous and vicious, of right and 
 wrong. 
 
 The various fenfes or powers of perception, f from 
 
 which the human mind derives all its fimple ideas, 
 
 A a 3 were, 
 
 * Inquiry concerning Virtue, f Treatife of the paftions. 
 
358 Of S y s t'e m s Part VI. 
 
 were, according to this fyftem,of two different kinds, 
 of which the one were called the direct or antecedent, 
 the other, the reflex or confequent fenfes. The di- 
 rect fenfes were thofe faculties from which the mind 
 derived the perception of fuch fpecies of things as 
 did not prefuppofe the antecedent perception of any 
 other. Thus founds and colours were objects of the 
 direct fenfes. To hear a found or to fee a colour docs 
 not prefuppofe the antecedent perception of any other 
 quality or object. The reflex or confequent fenfes, 
 on the other hand, were thofe faculties from which 
 the mind derived the perception of fuch fpecies of 
 things as prefuppofed the antecedent perception of 
 fome other. Thus harmony and beauty were objects 
 of the reflex fenfes. In order to perceive the har- 
 mony of a found, or the beauty of a colour, we muft 
 firft perceive the found or the colour. The moral 
 fenfe was confidered. as a faculty of this kind. That 
 faculty, which Mr. Locke calls reflection, and from 
 which he derived the fimple ideas of the different 
 paffions and emotions of the human mind, was, ac- 
 cording to Dr. Hutchefon, a direct internal fenfe. 
 That faculty again by which we perceived the beauty 
 or deformity, the virtue or vice of thofe different 
 paffions and emotions, was a reflex, internal fenfe. 
 
 Dr. Hutchefon endeavoured (till further to fupport 
 this doctrine, by (hewing that it was agreeable to the 
 analogy of nature, and that the mind was endowed 
 with a variety of other reflex fenfes exactly fimilar to 
 the moral fenfe * fuch as a fenfe of beauty and de- 
 formity in external objeas ; a public fenfe, by which 
 we fympathize with the happinefs or mifery of our 
 v fellow- 
 
Sect. HI. of Moral Philosophy. 359 
 
 fellow-creatures -, a fenfe of fhame and honour, and 
 a fenfe of ridicule. 
 
 But notwithftanding all the pains which this in- 
 genious philofopher has taken to prove that the prin- 
 ciple of approbation is founded in a peculiar power 
 of perception, fomewhat analogous to the external 
 fenfes, there are fome confequences, which he ac- 
 knowledges to follow from this doctrine, that will, 
 perhaps, be regarded by many as a fufficient confu- 
 tation of it. The qualities, he allows, * which be- 
 long to the objects of any fenfe, cannot, without the 
 greateft abfurdity, be afcribed to the fenfe itfelf. Who 
 ever thought of calling the fenfe of feeing black or 
 white, the fenfe of hearing loud or low, or the fenfe 
 of tailing fweet or bitter ? And, according to him, 
 it is equally abfurd to call our moral faculties vir- 
 tuous or vicious, morally good or evil. Thefe quali- 
 ties belong to the objects of thofe faculties, not to 
 the faculties themfelves. If any man, therefore, was 
 fo abfurdly conftituted as to approve of cruelty and 
 injuftice as the higheft virtues, and to dilapprove of 
 equity and humanity as the mod pitiful vices, fuch 
 a conftitution of mind might indeed be regarded as 
 inconvenient both to the individual and to the foci- 
 ety, and likewife as ftrange, furprifing, and unnatu- 
 ral in itfelf-, but it could not, without the greateft 
 abfurdity, be denominated vicious or morally evil. 
 
 Yet furely if we faw any man (homing with ad- 
 miration and applaufe at a barbarous and unmerited 
 execution, which fome infolent tyrant had ordered, 
 A a 4 we 
 
 * Illuftrations upon the Moral Senfe. Se&. 1. p. 237, et feq. 
 Third Edition. 
 
36*0 0/ S y s t e m s Part VL 
 
 we mould not think we were guilty of any great ab- 
 furdity in denominating this behaviour vicious and 
 morally evil in the higheft degree, though it exprelTed 
 nothing but depraved moral faculties, or an abfurd 
 approbation of this horrid action, as of what was 
 noble, magnanimous, and great. Our heart, I ima- 
 gine, at the fight of fuch a fpectator, would forget 
 for a while its fympathy with the fufferer, and feel 
 nothing but horror and deteftation, at the thought of 
 fo execrable a wretch. We mould abominate him 
 even more than the tyrant who might be goaded on 
 by the ftrong pamons of jealoufy, fear, and refent- 
 ment, and upon that account be more excufable. 
 But the fentiments of the fpectator would appear al- 
 together without caufe or motive, and therefore mod 
 perfectly and completely deteftable. There is no 
 perverfion of fentiment or affection \vhich our heart 
 would be more averfe to enter into, or which it would 
 reject with greater hatred and indignation than one 
 of this kind ; and fo far from regarding fuch a con- 
 ititution of mind as being merely fomething ftrange 
 or inconvenient, and not in any refpect vicious or 
 morally evil, we mould rather confider it as the very 
 lad and molt dreadful flage of moral depravity. 
 
 Correct moral fentiments, on the contrary, natu- 
 rally appear in fome degree laudable and morally 
 good. The man, whofe cenfure and applaul'e arc 
 upon all occafions fuited with the greateft accuracy 
 to the value or unworthinefs of the object, feems to 
 deferve a degree even of moral approbation. We 
 admire the delicate precifion of his moral fentiments : 
 they lead our own judgments, and, upon account of 
 their uncommon and furprifing juftnefs, they even 
 excite our wonder and applaufe. W r e cannot indeed 
 
 be 
 
Sect. III. of Moral Philosophy. 361 
 
 be always fure that the conduct of fuch a perfon 
 would be in any refpect correfpondent to the preci- 
 fion and accuracy of his judgments concerning the 
 conduct of others. Virtue requires habit and refo- 
 lution of mind, as well as delicacy of fentiment -, 
 and unfortunately the former qualities are fometimes 
 wanting, where the latter is in the greateft perfection. 
 This difpofition of mind, however, though it may 
 fometimes be attended with imperfections, is incom- 
 patible with any thing that is grofsly criminal, and 
 is the happiefl foundation upon which the fuperftruc- 
 ture of perfect virtue can be built. There are many 
 men who mean very well, and ierioufly purpofe to do 
 what they think their duty, who notwithstanding are 
 difagreeable on account of the coarfenefs of their 
 moral fentiments. 
 
 It may be faid, perhaps, that though the princi- 
 ple of approbation is not founded upon any power 
 of perception that is in any refpect analogous to the 
 external fenfes, it may dill be founded upon a pecu- 
 liar fentiment which anfwers this one particular pur- 
 pofe and no other. Approbation and difapproba- 
 tion, it may be pretended, are certain feelings or 
 emotions which arife in the mind upon the view of 
 different characters and actions ; and as refentment 
 might be called a fenfe of injuries, or gratitude a 
 fenfe of benefits, fo thefe may very properly receive 
 the name of a fenfe of right and wrong, or of a mo- 
 ral fenfe. 
 
 But this account of things, though it may not be 
 liable to the fame objections with the foregoing, 
 is expofed to others which are equally unanfwerable. 
 
 Fird 
 
362 Of S y s t e m s Part VL 
 
 Firft of all, whatever variations any particular 
 emotion may undergo, it (till preferves the general 
 features which diftinguifh it to be an emotion of 
 fuch a kind, and thefe general features arc always 
 more ftriking and remarkable than any variation 
 which it may undergo in particular cafes. Thus an- 
 ger is an emotion of a particular kind : and accord* 
 ingly its general features are always more diftin- 
 guifhable than all the variations it undergoes in par- 
 ticular cafes. Anger againft a man, is, no doubt, 
 fomewhat different from anger againft a woman, 
 and that again from anger againft a child. In each 
 of thofe three cafes, the general paffion of anger re- 
 ceives a different modification from the particular 
 character of its object, as may eafily be obferved by 
 the attentive. But ftill the general features of the 
 paffion predominate in all thefe cafes. To diftin- 
 guifh thefe, requires no nice obfervation : a very de- 
 licate attention, on the contrary, is necelTary to difco- 
 ver their variations : every body takes notice of the 
 former : fcarce any body obferves the latter. If ap- 
 probation and difapprobation, therefore, were, like 
 gratitude and refentment, emotions of a particular 
 kind, diftinct from every other, we mould expect 
 that in all the variations which either of them might 
 undergo, it would ftill retain the general features 
 which mark it to be an emotion of fuch a particular 
 kind, clear, plain, and eafily diftinguifhable. But 
 in fact it happens quite otherwife. If we attend to 
 what we really feel when upon different occafions we 
 either approve or difapprove, we fhall find that our 
 emotion in one cafe is often totally different from 
 that in another, and that no common features can 
 poflibly be difcovered between them. Thus the ap- 
 x probation 
 

 
 Sect. III. of Moral Philosophy. 36 
 
 probation with which we view a tender, delicate, 
 and humane fentiment, is quite different from that 
 with which we are ftruck by one that appears great, 
 daring, and magnanimous. Our approbation of 
 both may, upon different occafions, be perfect and 
 entire ; but we are foftened by the one, and we are 
 elevated by the other, and there is no fort of re- 
 femblance between the emotions which they excite 
 in us. But, according to that fyftem which I have 
 been endeavouring to eftablifh, this muft neceffarily 
 be the cafe. As the emotions of the perfon whom 
 we approve of, are, in thofe two cafes, quite oppo- 
 fite to one another, and as our approbation ariies 
 from fympathy with thofe oppofite emotions, what 
 we feel upon the one occafion, can have no fort of 
 refemblance to what we feel upon the other. But 
 this could not happen if approbation confided in a 
 peculiar emotion which had nothing in common with 
 the fentiments we approved of, but which arofe at 
 the view of thofe fentiments, like any other paffion 
 at the view of its proper object. The fame thing 
 holds true with regard to difapprobation. Our 
 horror for cruelty has no fort of refemblance to our 
 contempt for mean-fpiritednefs. It is quite a dif- 
 ferent fpecies of difcord which we feel at the view 
 of thofe two different vices, between our minds 
 and thofe of the perfon whofe fentiments and be- 
 haviour we confider. 
 
 Secondly, I have already obferved, that not only 
 the different paffions or affections of the human mind 
 which are approved or difapproved of appear mo- 
 rally good or evil, but that proper and improper ap- 
 probation appear, to our natural fentiments, to be 
 ftarnpt with the fame characters. I would afk, 
 
 therefore, 
 
364 O/Systems Part VI. 
 
 therefore, how it is, that, according to this fyftem, 
 we approve or difapprove of proper or improper 
 approbation. To this queftion, there is, I imagine, 
 but one reafonable anfwer, which can poflibly be 
 given. It mult be faid, that when the approbation 
 with which our neighbour regards the conduct of a 
 third perfon coincides with our own, we approve of 
 his approbation, and confider it as, in fomemeafure, 
 morally good ; and that on the contrary, when it 
 does not coincide with our own fentiments, we dif- 
 approve of it, and confider it as, in fome meafure, 
 morally evil. It mud be allowed, therefore, that, 
 at leaft in this one cafe, the coincidence or oppofition 
 of fentiments, between the obferver and the perfon 
 obferved, conftitutes moral approbation or difappro- 
 bation. And if it does fo in this one cafe, I would 
 afk, why not in every other? to what purpofe ima- 
 gine a new power of perception in order to account 
 for thofe fentiments ? 
 
 Againft every account of the principle of appro- 
 bation, which makes it depend upon a peculiar fen- 
 timent, diftincl from every other, I would object ; 
 that it is ftrange that this fentimenr, which Provi- 
 dence undoubtedly intended to be the governing 
 principle of human nature, fhould hitherto have 
 been fo little taken notice of, as not to have got a 
 name in any language. The word moral fenfe is of 
 very late formation, and cannot yet be confidered as 
 making part of the Englifh tongue. The word ap- 
 probation has but within thefe few years been ap- 
 propriated to denote peculiarly any. thing of this 
 kind. In propriety of language we approve of 
 whatever is entirely to our fatisfa&ion, of the form 
 of a building, of rhe contrivance of a machine, of 
 
 the 
 
Se£t. III. of Moral Philosophy. 365 
 
 the flavour of a didi of meat. The word confcience 
 does not immediately denote any moral faculty by 
 which we approve or difapprove. Confcience fup- 
 pofes, indeed, the exiftence of fome fuch faculty, 
 and properly fignifies our confcioufnefs of having 
 acted agreeably or contrary to its directions. When 
 love, hatred, joy, lbrrow, gratitude, refentment, with 
 fo many other pafiions which are all fuppofed to be 
 the fubjects of this principle, have made themfelves 
 confiderable enough to get titles to know them by, 
 is it not furprifing that the fovereign of them ail 
 mould hitherto have been fo little heeded, that, a 
 few philofophers excepted, no body has yet thought 
 it worth while to bellow a name upon it ? 
 
 "When we approve of any character or action, 
 the fentiments which we feel, are, according to the 
 foregoing fyftem, derived from four fources, which 
 are in fome refpects different from one another. 
 Firft, we fympathize with the motives of the agent ; 
 fecondly, we enter into the gratitude of thofe who 
 receive the benefit of his actions ; thirdly, we ob- 
 ferve that his conduct has been agreeable to the ge- 
 neral rules by which thofe two fympathies generally 
 act ; and, laft of all, when we confider fuch ac- 
 tions as making part of a fyftem of behaviour which 
 tends to promote the happinefs either of the indivi- 
 dual or of the fociety, they appear to derive a beauty 
 from this utility, not unlike that which we afcribe 
 to any well contrived machine. After deducting, 
 in any one particular cafe, all that muft be acknow- 
 ledged to proceed from fome one or other of thefe four 
 principles, I fhould be glad to know what remains, 
 and I (hall freely allow this overplus to be afcribed 
 to a moral fenfe, or to any other peculiar faculty, 
 
 provided 
 
$66 Of S y s t e m s Part VI. 
 
 provided any body will afcertain precifely what this 
 overplus is. It might be expected, perhaps, that 
 if there was any fuch peculiar principle, foch as 
 this moral fenfe is luppofed to be, we mould feel it, 
 in fome particular cafes, feparated and detached from 
 every other, as we often feel joy, forrow, hope, 
 and fear, pure and unmixed with any other emotion. 
 This however, I imagine, cannot even be pretended. 
 I have never heard any inftance alleged in which 
 this principle could be faid to exert itfelf alone and 
 unmixed with fympathy or antipathy, with gratitude 
 or refentment, with the perception of the agreement 
 or difagreement of any action to an eflablifhed rule, 
 or lad of all with that general tafte for beauty and 
 order which is excited by inanimated as well as by 
 animated objects. 
 
 II. There is another fyflem which attempts to ac- 
 count for the origin of our moral fentiments from 
 fympathy diftinct from that which I have been en- 
 deavouring to eftablifh. It is that which places vir- 
 tue in utility, and accounts for the pleafure with 
 which the fpectator furveys the utility of any quality 
 from fympathy with the happinefs of thofe who are 
 affected by it. This fympathy is different both from 
 that by which we enter into the motives of the agent, 
 and from that by which we go along with the grati- 
 tude of the perfons who are benefited by his actions. 
 It is the fame principle with that by which we ap- 
 prove of a well contrived machine. But no machine 
 can be the object of either of thofe two laft mentioned 
 fympathies. I have already, in the fourth part of 
 this difcourfe, given fome account of this fyftem. 
 
 SECT- 
 
Sect. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 367 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 Of the manner in which different authors have treated 
 of the practical rules of morality. 
 
 X T was obferved in the third part of this difcourfe, 
 that the rules of juftice are the only rules of morality 
 which are precife and accurate ; that thofe of all the 
 other virtues are loofe, vague, and indeterminate; 
 that the firft may be compared to the rules of gram- 
 mar \ the others to thofe which critics lay down for 
 the attainment of what is fublime and elegant in com- 
 pofition, and which prefent us rather with a general 
 idea of the perfection we ought to aim at, than af- 
 ford us any certain and infallible directions for ac- 
 quiring it. 
 
 As the different rules of morality admit fuch dif- 
 ferent degrees of accuracy, thofe authors who have 
 endeavoured to collect and digeft them into fyilems 
 have done it in two different manners ; and one fet 
 has followed thro' the whole that loofe method to 
 which they were naturally directed by the confidera- 
 tion of one fpecies of virtues *, while another has as 
 univerfally endeavoured to introduce into their pre- 
 cepts that fort of accuracy of which only fome of 
 them are fufceptible. The firft have wrote like cri- 
 tics, the fecond like grammarians. 
 
 I. The 
 
3 6S Of S y s t e m s Part VL 
 
 I. The firft, among whom we may count all the 
 ancient moralifts, have contented themfelves with 
 defcribing in a general manner the different vices and 
 virtues, and with pointing out the deformity and 
 mifery of the one difpofuion as well as the pro- 
 priety and happinefs of the other, but have not af- 
 fected to lay down many precife rules that are to 
 hold good unexceptionably in all particular cafes. 
 They have only endeavoured to afcertain, as far as 
 language is capable of afcertaining, firft, wherein 
 confifts the fentiment of the heart, upon which 
 each particular virtue is founded, what fort of in- 
 ternal feeling or emotion it is which conftitutes the 
 effence of friendfhip, of humanity, of generality, 
 of juftice, of magnanimity, and of all the other 
 virtues, as well as of the vices which are oppofed 
 tn them : and, fecondly, What is the general way of 
 acting, the ordinary tone and tenour of conduct to 
 which each of thofe fentiments would direct us, or 
 how it is that a friendly, a generous, a brave, a juft, 
 and a humane man, would, upon ordinary occafions, 
 chufe to act. 
 
 To characterize the fentiment of the heart, upon 
 which each particular virtue is founded, though it 
 requires both a delicate and accurate pencil, is a tafk, 
 however, which may be executed with fome degree 
 of exactnefs. It is impoflible, indeed, to exprefs all 
 the variations which each fentiment either does or 
 ought to undergo, according to every poffible varia- 
 tion of circumftances. They are endlefs, and lan- 
 guage wants names to mark them by. The fenti- 
 ment of friendfhip, for example, which we feel for 
 an old man is different from that which we feel for 
 
 a young : 
 
Sect. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 369 
 a young : that which we entertain for an auftere 
 man different from that which we feel for one of 
 fofter and gentler manners : and that again from 
 what we feel for one of gay vivacity and fpirit. The 
 friendfhip which we conceive for 'a man is different 
 from that with which a woman affects us, even 
 where there is no mixture of any groffer paffion. 
 What author could enumerate and afcertain thefe 
 and all the other infinite varieties which this fenti- 
 ment is capable of undergoing ? But ftill the general 
 fentiment of friendfhip and familiar attachment 
 which is common to them all, may be afcertained with 
 a fufficient degree of accuracy. The picture which is 
 drawn of it, though it will always be in many refpects 
 incomplete, may, however, have fuch a refemblance 
 as to make us know the original when we meet with 
 it, and even diftinguifh it from other fentiments to 
 which it has a considerable refemblance, fuch as good- 
 will, refpect, efteem, admiration. 
 
 To defcribe, in a general manner, what is the or- 
 dinary way of acting to which each virtue would 
 prompt us, is ftill more eafy. It is, indeed, fcarce 
 poffible to defcribe the internal fentiment or emotion 
 upon which it is founded, without doing fomething 
 of this kind. It is impoflible by language to ex- 
 prefs, if I may fay fo, the invifible features of all 
 the different modifications of pafiian as they fhow 
 themfelves within. There is no other way of mark- 
 ing and diftinguilhing them from one another, but 
 by defcribing the effects which they produce with- 
 out, the aletrations which they occafion in the 
 countenance, in the air and external behaviour, the 
 refolutions they fuggeft, the actions they prompt to. 
 It is thus that Cicero, in the firft book of his Of- 
 B b flees. 
 
3jo * 0/ Systems Part VI. 
 
 fices, endeavours to direct us to the practice of the 
 four cardinal virtues, and that Ariflotle in the prac- 
 tical parts of his Ethics, points out to us the diffe- 
 rent habits by which he would have us regulate our 
 behaviour, fuch as liberality, magnificence, magna- 
 nimity, and even jocularity and good humour, qua- 
 lities, which that indulgent philolbpher has thought 
 worthy of a place in the catalogue of the virtues, 
 though the lightnefs of that approbation which we 
 naturally beftow upon them, mould not feem to en- 
 title them to fo venerable a name. 
 
 Such works prefent us with agreeable and lively 
 pictures of manners. By the vivacity of their de- 
 fcriptions they inflame our natural love of virtue, 
 and increafe our abhorrence of vice : by the juft- 
 nefs as well as delicacy of their obfervations they 
 may often help both to correct and to afcertain our 
 natural fentiments with regard to the propriety of 
 conduct, and fuggefling many nice and delicate at- 
 tentions, form us to a more exact juftnefs of be- 
 haviour, than what, without fuch initruction, we 
 fhould have been apt to think of. In treating of 
 the rules of morality, in this manner, confifts the 
 fcience which is properly called Ethics, a fcience, 
 which though like criticifm, it does not admit of the 
 mod: accurate precifion, is, however,both highly ufefui 
 and agreeable. It is of all others the moll fufcepti- 
 ble of the embellifliments of eloquence, and by means 
 of them of bellowing, if that be poflible, a new im- 
 portance upon the fmalleft rules of duty. Its pre- 
 cepts, when thus drefled and adorned, are capable 
 of producing upon the flexibility of youth, the 
 noblefl and moft lafling impreffions, and as they 
 fall in with the natural magnanimity of that gene- 
 rous 
 
Sect. IV. o/Moral Philosophy, ^i 
 
 rous age, they are able to infpire, for a time atleaft,* 
 the moft heroic resolutions, and thus tend both to 
 eftablifh and confirm the beft and moft ufeful habits 
 of which the mind of man is fufceptible. What- 
 ever precept and exhortation can do to animate us to 
 the practice of virtue, is done by this fcience de- 
 livered in this manner. 
 
 IL Thefecond fet of moralifts, among whom we 
 may count all the cafuifts of the middle and latter 
 ages of the chriftian church, as well as ail thofe who 
 in this and in the preceding century have treated of 
 what is called natural jurifprudence, do not content 
 themfeives with characterizing in this general man- 
 ner that tenour of conduct which they would re- 
 commend to us, but endeavour to lay down exact 
 and precife rules for the direction of every circum- 
 ftance of our behaviour. As juftice is the only virtue 
 with regard to which iuch exact rules can properly 
 be given - 9 it is this virtue, that has chiefly fallen 
 under the confideration of thofe two different fets of 
 writers. They treat of it, however, in a very dif- 
 ferent, manner. 
 
 Thofe who write upon the principles of jurifpru- 
 dence, confider only what the perfon to whom the 
 obligation is due, ought to think himfelf entitled to 
 exact by force ; what every impartial fpectator would 
 approve of him for exacting, or what a judge or 
 arbiter, to whom he had fubmitted his cafe, and 
 who had undertaken to do him juftice, ought to oblige 
 the other perfon to fuffer or to perform. The ca- 
 fuifts, on the other hand, do not fo much examine 
 what it is, that might properly be exacted by force, 
 as what it is, that the perfon who owes the obligation 
 
 B b 2 ought 
 
• 
 
 372 Of Systems Part VL 
 
 ought to think himfelf bound to perform from the 
 mod facred and fcrupulous regard to the general 
 rules of juftice, and from the mod confcientious 
 dread, either of wronging his neighbour, or of vio- 
 lating the integrity of his own character. It is the 
 end of jurifprudence to prefcribe rules for the deci- 
 fions of judges and arbiters. It is the end of ca- 
 fuiftry to prefcribe rules for the conduct of a good 
 man. By obferving all the rules of jurifprudence, 
 fuppofing them ever fo perfect, we mould deferve 
 nothing but to be free from external punifhment. 
 By obferving thofe of cafuiftry, fuppofing them fuch 
 as they ought to be, we mould be entitled to confi- 
 derable praife by the exact and fcrupulous delicacy 
 of our behaviour. 
 
 It may frequently happen that a good man ought 
 to think himfelf bound, from a facred and confcien- 
 tious regard to the general rules of juftice to perform 
 many things which it would be the higheft injuftice 
 to extort from him, or for any judge or arbiter to 
 impofe on him by force. To give a trite example ; 
 a highwayman, by the fear of death, obliges a tra- 
 veller to promife him a certain fum of money. 
 Whether fuch a promife, extorted in this manner by 
 unjuft force, ought to be regarded as obligatory, is a 
 queftion that has been very much debated. 
 
 If we confider it merely as a queftion of jurifpru- 
 dence, the decifion can admit of no doubt. It 
 would be abfurd to fuppofe that the highwayman 
 can be entitled to ufe force to conftrain the other to 
 perform. To extort the promife was a crime which 
 deferved the higheft punifhment, and to extort the 
 performance would only be adding a new crime to 
 
 the 
 
Sect. IV. c/Moral Philosophy. 373 
 
 the former. He can complain of no injury who has 
 been only deceived by the perfon by whom he might 
 juftly have been killed. To fuppofe that a judge 
 ought to enforce the obligation of fuch promifes, or 
 that the magiftrate ought to aliow them to fuflain 
 an action at law, would be the moil ridiculous of all 
 abfurdities. If we confider this queftion, therefore, 
 as a queftion of jurifprudence, we can be at no lofs 
 about the decifion. 
 
 But if we confider it as a queftion of cafuiftry, 
 it will not be fo eafily determined. Whether a good 
 man, from a confcientious regard to that mod facred 
 rule of juftice, which commands the obfervance of 
 all ferious promifes, would not think himfelf bound. 
 to perform, is at lead much more doubtful. That 
 no regard is due to the difappointment of the wretch 
 who brings him into this fituation, that no injury is 
 done to the robber, and confequently that nothing 
 can be extorted by force, will admit of no fort of 
 difpute. But whether fome regard is not, in this 
 cafe, due to his own dignity and honour, to the in- 
 violable facrednefs of that part of his character 
 which makes him reverence the law of truth, and 
 abhor every thing that approaches to treachery and 
 falfehood, may, perhaps, more reafonably be made 
 a queftion. The cafuifts accordingly are greatly di- 
 vided about it. One party, with whom we may 
 count Cicero among the ancients, among the mo- 
 derns, Puffendorf, Barbeyrac his commentator, and 
 above all the late Dr. Hutchefon, one who in mod 
 cafes was by no means a loofe cafuift, determine, 
 without any hefitation, that no fort of regard is due 
 to any fuch promife, and that to think otherwife is 
 B b p. mere 
 
374- Of Systems Part VI. 
 
 mere weaknefs and fiiperftition. Another party, 
 among whom we may reckon * fome of the ancient 
 fathers of the church, as well as fome verv eminent 
 modern cafuifts, have been of another opinion, and 
 have judged all fuch promifes obligatory. 
 
 If we confider the matter according to the com- 
 mon fentiments of mankind, we Ihall find that fome 
 regard would be thought due even to a promife of 
 this kind ; but that it is impofiible to determine how 
 much, by any general rule that will apply to all cafes 
 without exception. The man who was quite frank 
 and eafy rn making promifes of this kind, and who 
 violated them with as little ceremony, we mould not 
 choofe for our friend and companion. A gentleman 
 who mould promife a highwayman five pounds and 
 not perform, would incur fome blame. If the fum 
 promifed, however, was very great, it night be 
 more doubtful, what was proper to be dome. If it 
 was fuch, for example, that the payment of it would 
 entirely ruin the family of the promifer, if it was fo 
 great as to be fufficient for promoting the moll 
 ufeful purpofes, it would appear in fome meafure 
 criminal, at leaft extremely improper, to throw 
 it, for the fake of a punctilio, into fuch worth- 
 lefs hands. The man who mould beggar him- 
 felf, or who mould throw away an hundred 
 thoufand pounds, though he could afford that 
 vail fum, for the fake of obferving fuch a parole 
 with a thief, would appear to the common fenfe of 
 mankind, abfurd and extravagant in the higheft de- 
 gree. Such profufion would feem inconfiftent with 
 his duty, with what he owed both to himfelf and 
 
 others^ 
 
 * St>Auguftine, la Placctte. 
 
Sect. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 37$ 
 
 others, and what, therefore, regard, to a promife ex- 
 torted in this manner, could by no means authorize. 
 To fix, however, by any precife rule, what degree 
 of regard ought to be paid to it, or what might be 
 the greateft fum which could be due from it, is evi- 
 dently impofiible. This would vary according to 
 the characters of the perfons, according to their cir- 
 cumftances, according to the folemnity of the promife, 
 and even according to the incidents of the rencoun^ 
 ter : and if the promifer had been treated with a great 
 deal of that fort of gallantry, which is fometimes to 
 be met with in perfons of the moll abandoned cha- 
 racters, more would feem due than upon other occa- 
 fions. It may be faid in general, that exact propriety 
 requires the obfervance of all fuch promifes, when- 
 ever it is not inconfiftent with fome other duties that 
 are more facred •, fuch as regard to the public in- 
 terest, to thofe whom gratitude, whom natural affec- 
 tion, or whom the laws of proper beneficence fhould 
 prompt us to provide for. But, as was formerly 
 taken notice of, we have no precife rules to determine 
 what external actions are due from a regard to fuch 
 motives, nor, confequently, when it is that thofe 
 virtues are inconfiftent with the obfervance of fuch 
 promifes. 
 
 It is to be obferved, however, that whenever fuch 
 promifes are violated, though for the mod necefiary 
 reafons, it is always with fome degree of difhonour 
 to the perfon who made them. After they are made, 
 we may be convinced of the impropriety of obferv- 
 ing them. But ftill there is fome fault in having 
 made them. It is at leaft a departure from the 
 higheft and nobleft maxims of magnanimity and ho- 
 B b 4 nour. 
 
$]6 Of Systems Part VL 
 
 nour. A brave man ought to die, rather than make 
 a promiie which he can neither keep without folly, 
 nor violate without ignominy. For fome degree of 
 ignominy always attends a fituation of this kind. 
 Treachery and falfehood are vices fo dangerous, fo 
 dreadful, and, at the fame time, fuch as may foeafily, 
 and, upon many occafions, fo fafely be indulged, that 
 we are more jealous of them than of almoft any 
 other. Our imagination therefore attaches the idea 
 of fhame to all violations of faith, in every circum- 
 ftance and in every fituation. They refemble, in 
 this refpect, the violations of chaftity in the fair fex, 
 a virtue of which, for the like reafons, we are excef- 
 fively jealous -, and our fentiments are not more de- 
 licate with regard to the one, than with regard to the 
 other. Breach of chaftity difhonours irretrievably. 
 No circumftances, no folicitation can excufe it ; no 
 forrow, no repentance atone for it. We are fo nice 
 in this refpect that even a rape difhonours, and the 
 innocence of the mind cannot, in our imagination, 
 warn out the pollution of the body. It is the fame 
 cafe with the violation of faith, when it has been fo- 
 lemnly pledged, even to the mod worthlefs of man- 
 kind. Fidelity is fo neceffary a virtue, that we ap- 
 prehend it in general to be due even to thofe to whom 
 nothing elfe is due, and whom we think it lawful to 
 kill and deftroy. It is to no purpofe that the perfon 
 who has been guilty of the breach of it, urges that he 
 promifed in order to fave his life, and that he broke 
 his promife becaufe it was inconfiftent with fome 
 other refpe&able duty to keep it. Thefe circum- 
 ftances may alleviate, but cannot entirely wipe out 
 hU difhonour. He appears to have been guilty of; 
 an action with which, in the imaginations of men, 
 fome degree of fhame is infeparably connected. He 
 
 has 
 
Sect. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 377 
 
 has broke a promife which he had folemnly averred 
 he would maintain •, and his character, if not irre- 
 trievably ftained and polluted, has at lead a ridicule 
 affixed to it, which it will be very difficult entirely 
 to efface •, and no man, I imagine, who had gone 
 through an adventure of this kind, would be fond of 
 telling the (lory. 
 
 This inftance may ferve to (how wherein confifts 
 the difference between cafuiftry and jurifprudence, 
 even when both of them confider the obligations of 
 the general rules of juftice. 
 
 But though this difference be real and efTential, 
 though thofe two fciences propofe quite different 
 ends, the famenefs of the Subject has made fuch a 
 fimilarity between them, that the greater part of au- 
 thors whofe profeflfed defign was to treat of jurif- 
 prudence, have determined the different queftions 
 they examine, fometimes according to the principles 
 of that fcience, and fometimes according to thofe of 
 cafuiftry, without diftinguilhing, and, perhaps, with- 
 out being themfelves aware when they did the one, 
 and when the other. 
 
 The doctrine of the cafuifts, however, is by no 
 means confined to the confideration of what a con- 
 scientious regard to the general rules of juftice, would 
 demand of us. It embraces many other parts of 
 Chriftian and moral duty. What feems principally 
 to have given occafion to the cultivation of this 
 fpecies of fcience was the cuftom of auricular con- 
 feffion, introduced by the Roman Catholic fuperfti- 
 tion^ in times of barbarifm and ignorance. By that 
 
 inftitution, 
 
37$ Of Systems Part VI. 
 
 inftitution, the mod fecret actions, and even the 
 thoughts of every perfon, which could be fufpected 
 of receding in the imalleft degree from the rules of 
 Chriftian purity, were to be revealed to the confefibr. 
 The confefibr informed his penitents whether, and in 
 what refpect they had violated their duty, and what 
 penance it behoved them to undergo, before he 
 could abfolve them in the name of the offended 
 Deity. 
 
 The con fcioufnefs, or even the fufpicion of having 
 done wrong, is a load upon every mind, and is ac- 
 companied with anxiety and terrour in all thofe who 
 are not hardened by long habits of iniquity. Men, 
 in this, as in all other diftrefifes, are naturally eager to 
 difburthen themfelves of the oppreflion which they 
 feel upon their thoughts, by unbofoming the agony 
 of their mind to fome perfon whofe fecrecy and dif- 
 cretion they can confide in. The fiiame, which they 
 fuffer from this acknowledgment, is fully compen- 
 lated by that alleviation of their uneafinefs which 
 the fympathy of their confident feldom fails to occa- 
 iion. It relieves them to find that they are not alto- 
 gether unworthy of regard, and that however their 
 paft conduct may be cenfured, their prefent difpo- 
 iition is at leaft approved of, and is perhaps fufficient 
 to compenfate the other, at leaft to maintain them in 
 fome degree of efteem with their friend. A nume- 
 rous and artful clergy had, in thofe times of fuper- 
 itiiion, infwuated themfelves into the confidence of 
 almoft every, private family. They pofiefifed all the 
 little learning which the times could afford, and their 
 manners, though in many refpects rude and difor- 
 derly, were polifhed and regular compared with thofe 
 of the age they livej in. They were regarded, there- 
 fore, 
 
Sect. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 379 
 
 fore, not only as the great directors of all religious, 
 but of all moral duties. Their familiarity gave re- 
 putation to whoever was fo happy as to poffefs it, 
 and every mark of their difapprobation (lamped the 
 deeped ignominy upon all who had the misfortune 
 to fall under it. Being confidered as the great judges 
 of right and wrong, they were naturally confuked 
 about all fcruples that occurred, and it was reputable 
 for any perfon to have it known that he made thoie 
 holy men the confidents of all fuch fecrets, and took 
 no important or delicate ftep in his conduct without 
 their advice and approbation. It was not difficult 
 for the clergy, therefore, to get it eftablifhed as a ge- 
 neral rule, that they mould be entrufted with what 
 it had already become falhionable to entruft them, 
 and with what they generally would have been en- 
 trufted though no fuch rule had been eftablifhed. 
 To qualify themfelves for confefibrs became thus a 
 neceflary part of the ftudy of churchmen and divines, 
 and they were thence led to collect what are called 
 cafes of conlcience, nice and delicate fituations, in 
 which it is hard to determine whereabouts the propri- 
 ety of conduct may lie. Such works, they ima- 
 gined, might be of ufe both to the directors of con- 
 ferences and to thole who were to be directed ; and 
 hence the origin of books of cafuiftry. 
 
 The moral duties which fell under the confidera- 
 tion of the cafuifts were chiefly thofe which can, in 
 ibme meafure at leaft, be circumfcribed within gene- 
 ral rules, and of which the violation is naturally at- 
 tended with fome degree of remorfe and fome dread 
 of fuffering punifhment. The defign of that inftitu- 
 tion which gave occafion to their works, was to ap- 
 peafe thoje terrours of confeience which attend upon 
 
 the 
 
380 O/Systems Part VI, 
 
 the infringement of fuch duties. But it is not every 
 virtue of which the defect is accompanied with any 
 very fevere compunctions of this kind, and no man 
 applies to his confelTor .for absolution, becaufe he did 
 not perform the mod generous, the moft friendly, 
 or the moft magnanimous action which, in his cir- 
 cumftances, it was pofiible to perform. In failures 
 of this kind, the rule that is violated is commonly 
 not very determinate, and is generally of fuch a na- 
 ture too, that though the obfervance of it might en- 
 title to honour and reward, the violation feems to ex- 
 pole to no pofitive blame, cenfure, or punifhment. 
 The exercife of fuch virtues the cafuifts ieem to have 
 regarded as a fort of works of fupererogation, which 
 could not be very ftrictly enacted, and which it was 
 therefore unnecefiary for them to treat of. 
 
 The breaches of moral duty, therefore, which 
 came before the tribunal of the confeflbr, and upon 
 that account fell under the cognizance of the cafuifts, 
 were chiefly of three different kinds. 
 
 Firft and principally, breaches of the rules of 
 juftice. The rules here are all exprefs and pofitive, 
 and the violation of them is naturally attended 
 with the confcioufnefs of deferving, and the dread 
 of fuffering punifhment both from God and man. 
 
 Secondly, breaches of the rules of chaftity. Thefe 
 in all groffer inftances are real breaches of the rules 
 of juftice, and no perfon can be guilty of them with- 
 out doing the moft unpardonable injury to fome 
 other. In fmaller inftances, when they amount only 
 , to a violation of thofe exact decorums which ought 
 
 to 
 
Sect. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 381 
 
 to be obferved in the converfation of the two fexes, 
 they cannot indeed juftly be confidered as violations 
 of the rules of jultice. They are generally, how- 
 ever, violations of a pretty plain rule, and, at 
 lead in one of the fexes, tend to bring ignominy up- 
 on the perfon who has been guilty of them, and con- 
 iequently to be attended in the fcrupulous with fome 
 degree of fhame and contrition of mind. 
 
 Thirdly, breaches of the rules of veracity. The 
 violation of truth, it is to be obferved, is not always 
 a breach of ju dice, though it is fo upon many occa- 
 fions, and confequently cannot always expofe to any 
 external punifhment. The vice of common lying, 
 though a mod miferable meannefs, may frequently 
 do hurt to no perfon, and in this cafe no claim of 
 vengeance or fatisfa&ion can be due either to the 
 perfons impofed upon, or to others. But though 
 the violation of truth is not always a breach of juf- 
 tice, it is always a breach of a very plain rule, and 
 what naturally tends to cover with fhame the perfon 
 whohas been guilty of it. The great pleafure of 
 converfation, and indeed of fociety, arifes from a 
 certain correfpondence of fentiments and opinions, 
 from a certain harmony of minds, which like fo 
 many mufical inflruments coincide and keep time 
 with one another. But this mod delightful harmony 
 cannot be obtained unlefs there is a free communica- 
 tion of fentiments and opinions. We all defire, 
 upon this account, to feel how each other is affected, 
 to penetrate into each other's bofoms, and to obferve 
 the fentiments and affections which really fubfift 
 there. The man who indulges us in this natural paf- 
 fion, who invites us into his heart, who, as it were, 
 fets open the gates of his bread to us, feems to exer- 
 
 cife 
 
382 O/Systems Part VI. 
 
 cife a fpecies of hofpitality more delightful than any 
 other. No man, who is in ordinary good temper, 
 can fail of pleafing, if he has the courage to utter 
 his real Ientiments as he feels them, and becaufe he 
 feels them. It is this unreferved fincerity which ren- 
 ders even the prattle of a child agreeable. How 
 weak and imperfect foever the views of the open- 
 hearted, we take pleaiure to enter into them, and en- 
 deavour, as much as we can, to bring down our own 
 underftanding to the level of their capacities, and to 
 regard every iubject in the particular light in which 
 they appear to have conftdered it. This pafTion to 
 difcover the real Ientiments of others is naturally fo 
 ftrong, that it often degenerates into a troublelbme 
 and impertinent curiofity to pry into thole fecrets of 
 our neighbours which they have very juftifiable rea- 
 fons for concealing, and, upon many occafions, it 
 requires prudence and a ftrong fenie of propriety ta 
 govern this, as well as all the other paflions of hu- 
 man nature, and to reduce it to that pitch which any 
 impartial fpectator can approve of. To difappoint 
 this curiofity, however, when it is kept within pro- 
 per bounds, and aims at nothing which there can be 
 any juft reafon for concealing, is equally difagreeable 
 in its turn. The man who eludes our mod innocent 
 queftions, who gives no fatisfaction to our moft in- 
 offenfive inquiries, who plainly wraps himfelf up in 
 impenetrable obfcurity, feems, as it were, to build a 
 wall about his bread. We run forward to get within 
 it, with all the eagernefs of harmlefs curiofity, and 
 feel ourfelves all at once pufhed back with the rudeft 
 and moft offenfive violence. If to conceal is fo dif- 
 agreeable, to attempt to deceive us is (till more dif- 
 gufting, even though we could pofiibly fuffer no- 
 thing by the fuccefs of the fraud. If we fee that our 
 
 companion 
 
Se6t. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 383 
 
 companion wants to impofe upon us, if the fenti- 
 ments and opinions which he utters appear evidently 
 not to be his own, let them be ever fo fine, we can 
 derive no fort of entertainment from them \ and if 
 fomething of human nature did not now and then 
 tranfpire through all the covers which falfehood and 
 affectation are capable of wrapping around it, a pup- 
 pet of wood would be altogether as pleafant a com- 
 panion as a perfon who never fpoke as he was affected. 
 No man ever deceives, with regard to the moft infig- 
 nificant matters, who is not confcious of doing fome- 
 thing like an injury to thofe he converfes with ; and 
 who does not inwardly blufh and fhrink back with 
 fhame and confufion even at the fecret thought of a 
 detection. Breach of veracity, therefore, being al- 
 ways attended with lbme degree of remorfe and felf- 
 condemnation, naturally fell under the cognizance 
 of the cafuifts. 
 
 The chief fubjects of the works of the cafuifts, 
 therefore, were the confcientious regard that is due 
 to the rules of juftice ; how far we ought to refpecc 
 the life and property of our neighbour; the duty of 
 reflitution ; the laws of chaftity and modefty, and 
 wherein coniifted what, in their language, are called 
 the fins of concupifcence : the rules of veracity, and 
 the obligation of oaths, promifes, and contracts of 
 all kinds. 
 
 It may be faid in general of the works of the ca- 
 fuifts that they attempted, to no purpofe, to direct 
 by precife rules what belongs to feeling and fentiment 
 only to judge of. How is it poflible to afcertain by 
 rules the exact point at which, in every cafe, a deli- 
 cate fenfe of juftice begins to run into a frivolous and 
 
 weak 
 
384 Of Systems Part VI. 
 
 weak fcrupulofity of confcience ? When it is that fe- 
 crecy and referve begin to grow into diflimulation ? 
 How far an agreeable irony may be carried, and at 
 what precife point it begins to degenerate into a de- 
 teftable lie ? What is the higheft pitch of freedom 
 and eafe of behaviour which can be regarded as 
 graceful and becoming, and when it is that it firft 
 begins to run into a negligent and thoughtlefs licen- 
 tioufnefs? With regard to all fuch matters, what 
 would hold good in any one cafe would fcarce do fo 
 exactly in any other, and what conftitutes the propri- 
 ety and happinefs of behaviour varies in every cafe 
 with thefmaileft variety of fituation. Books of ca- 
 fuiftry, therefore, are generally as ufelefs as they are 
 commonly tirefome. They could be of little ufe to 
 one who mould confult them upon occafion, even 
 fuppofing their decifions to be juft -, becaufe, notwith- 
 ftanding the multitude of cafes collected in them, 
 yet upon account of the flill greater variety of pofli- 
 ble circumftances, it is a chance, if among all thofe 
 cafes there be found one exactly parallel to that under 
 confideration. One, who is really anxious to do his 
 duty, muft be very weak, if he can imagine that 
 he has much occafion for them ; and with regard to 
 one who is negligent of it, the ftyle of thofe writings 
 is not fuch as is likely to awaken him to more atten- 
 tion. None of them tend to animate us to what is 
 generous and noble. None of them tend to foften 
 us to what is gentle and humane. Many of them, 
 on the contrary, tend rather to teach us to chicane 
 with our own confeiences, and by their vain fubtil- 
 ties ferve to authorize innumerable, evafive refine- 
 ments with regard to the moil eifential articles of our 
 duty. That frivolous accuracy which they attempt- 
 ed to introduce intafubje&s which do not admit of 
 
 it, 
 
Sect. IV. of Moral Philosophy, 585 
 
 it, almoft neceflarily betrayed them into thofe danger 
 rous errours, and at the fame time rendered their 
 works dry and difagreeable, abounding in abftrufe 
 and metaphyfical distinctions, but incapable of ex- 
 citing in the heart any of thofe emotions which it is 
 the principal ufe of books of morality to excite* 
 
 The two nfeful parts of moral philofophy, there- 
 fore, are Ethics and Jurifprudence : cafuiftry ought 
 to be rejected altogether, and the ancient moraltfts 
 appear to have judged much better, who, in treating 
 of the fame fubjects, did not affect any fuch nice 
 exactnefs, but contented themfelves with defcribing, 
 in a general manner, what is the fentiment upon 
 which juftice, modefty, and veracity are founded, 
 and what is the ordinary way of acting to which thole 
 virtues would commonly prompt us. 
 
 Something, indeed, not unlike the doctrine of 
 the cafuifls, feems to have been attempted by feve- 
 ral philofophers. There is fomething of this kind 
 in the third book of Cicero's Offices, where he en- 
 deavours like a cafuift to gives rules for our conduct 
 in many nice cafes, in which it is difficult to deter- 
 mine whereabouts the point of propriety may lie. It 
 appears too, from many paflages in the fame book s 
 that feveral other philofophers had attempted fome- 
 thing of the fame kind before him. Neither he nor 
 they, however, appear to have aimed at giving a 
 complete fyftem of this fort, but only meant to fhow 
 how fituations may occur, in which it is doubtful* 
 whether the higheft propriety of conduct confifts in 
 obferving or in receding from what, in ordinary 
 cafes, are the rules of duty. 
 
 C c Everv 
 
386 O/Svstems Part VI. 
 
 Every fyftem of pofitive law may be regarded as 
 a more or lefs imperfect attempt towards a fyftem 
 of natural jurifprudence, or towards an enumeration 
 of the particular rules of juftice. As the violation of 
 juftice is what men will never fubmit to from one 
 another, the public magiftrate is under a neceflity of 
 employing the power of the commonwealth to enforce 
 the practice of this virtue. Without this precaution, 
 civil fociety would become a fcene of bloodfhed and 
 diforder, every man revenging himfelf at his own 
 hand whenever he fancied he was injured. To pre- 
 vent the confufion which would attend upon every 
 man's doing juftice to himfelf, the magiftrate, in all 
 governments that have acquired any confiderable au- 
 thority, undertakes to do juftice to all, and promi- 
 fes to hear and to redrefs every complaint of injury. 
 In all well-governed ftates too, not only judges are 
 appointed for determining the controverfies of indi- 
 viduals, but rules are prefcribed for regulating the 
 decifions of thofe judges ; and thefe rules are, in 
 general, intended to coincide with thofe of natural 
 juftice. It does not, indeed, always happen that 
 they do fo in every inftance. Sometimes what is 
 called the conftitution of the ftate, that is, the in- 
 tereft of the government ; fometirnes of the inter- 
 eft of particular orders of men who tyrannize the 
 government, warp the pofitive laws of the country 
 from what natural juftice would prefcribe. In fome 
 countries, the rudenefs and barbarifm of the people 
 hinder the-natural fentiments of juftice from arriving 
 at that accuracy and precifion which, in more civi- 
 lized nations, they naturally attain to. Their laws 
 are, like their manners, grofs and rude and undif- 
 tinguiQiing. Ir other countries the unfortunate 
 conftitution of their courts of judicature hinders any 
 regular fyftem of jurifprudence from ever eftablifh- 
 
 ing 
 
Se6l.lV. of Moil Ah Philosophy. 387 
 
 ing itfelf among them, though the improved manners 
 of the people may be fuch as would admit of the 
 mod accurate. In no country do the decifions of 
 pofitive law coincide exactly, in every cafe, with 
 the rules which the natural ienfe of juftice would 
 dictate* Syftems of pofitive law, therefore, though 
 they deferve the greatest authority, as the records of 
 the fentiments of mankind in different ages and na- 
 tions, yet can never be regarded as accurate fyftems 
 of the rules of natural juftice. 
 
 It might have been expected that the feafonings 
 of lawyers, upon the different imperfections and im- 
 provements of the laws of different countries, ihould 
 have given occafion to an inquiry into what were the 
 natural rules of juftice independent of all pofitive 
 inftitution. It might have been expected that thele 
 reafonings fnould have led them to aim at eftablifh- 
 ing a fyftem of what might properly be called na- 
 tural jurifprudence, or a theory of the general prin- 
 ciples which ought to run through and be the foun- 
 dation of the laws of all nations. But tho' the rea- 
 fonings of lawyers did produce fomething of this 
 kind, and though no man has treated fyftematically 
 of the laws of any particular country, without in- 
 termixing in his work many obfervationsof this fort - t 
 it was very late in the world before any fuch general 
 fyftem was thought of, or before the philofophy of 
 law was treated of by itfelf, and without regard to 
 the particular inftitutions of any one nation. In none 
 of the ancient moralifts, do we find any attempt to- 
 wards a particular enumeration of the rules of juftice* 
 Cicero in his Offices, and Ariftotle in his Ethics, 
 treat of juftice in the fame general manner in which 
 they treat of all the other virtues. In the laws of 
 C c 2 Cicero 
 
3«8 " Of Systems,^. Part VI. 
 
 Cicero and Plato, where we might naturally have ex- 
 pected fome attempts towards an enumeration of thofe 
 rules of natural equity, which ought to be enforced by 
 the pofitive laws of every country, there is however, 
 nothing of this kind. Their laws are laws of police, 
 not of juftice. Grotius feems to have been the firft, 
 who attempted to giv*e the world any thing like a 
 fyftem of thofe principles which ought to run through, 
 and be the foundation of the laws of all nations •, and 
 his treatife of the laws of war and peace, with all 
 its imperfections, is perhaps at this day the mod 
 complete work that has yet been given upon this 
 fubjedt. I fhali in another difcourfe endeavour to 
 give an account of the general principles of law and 
 government, and of the different revolutions they 
 have undergone in the different ages and periods of 
 fociety, not only in what concerns juftice, but in 
 what concerns police, revenue, and arms, and what- 
 ever elfe is the object of law. I mall not, therefore, 
 at prefent enter into any further detail concerning the 
 hiftory of jurifprudence. 
 
 THE END. 
 
C 3*9 ] 
 C O N S I D E R A T I O N S 
 
 Concerning the FIRST 
 
 FORMATION of LANGUAGES, 
 
 AND THE 
 
 Different Genius of original and compounded 
 LANGUAGES. 
 
 _JL H E aflignation of particular names, to denote 
 particular objects, that is, the inftitution of nouns 
 fubftantive, would, probably, be one of the firfc 
 fteps towards the formation of language. Two 
 favages, who had never been taught to fpeak, but 
 had been bred up remote from the focieties of men, 
 would naturally begin to form that language by 
 which they would endeavour to make their mutual 
 wants intelligible to each other, by uttering certain 
 founds, whenever they meant to denote certain objects* 
 Thofe objects only which were mofl familiar to them, 
 and which they had mofl: frequent occafion to men- 
 tion, would have particular names ailigned to them u 
 The particular cave whole covering fheltered them 
 from the weather, the particular tree whofe fruit 
 relieved their hunger, the particular fountain whole 
 water allayed their third, would firfl be denoted by 
 the words cave, free, fountain, or by whatever other 
 C c 3 appellations 
 
39Q FORMATION OF 
 
 appellations they might think proper, in that primi- 
 tive jargon, to mark them. Afterwards, when the 
 more enlarged experience of thefe favages had led 
 them to obferve, and their neceflary occafions 
 obliged them to make mention of, other caves, and 
 other trees, and other fountains, they would natu- 
 rally beftow, upon each of thofe new objects, the 
 lame name, by which they had been accuftomed to 
 expreis the fimilar object they were firft acquainted 
 with. The new objects had none of them any namp 
 of its own, but each of them exactly refembled ano- 
 ther object, which had fuch an appellation. It was 
 Jmpoflible that thofe favages could behold the new 
 objects, without recollecting the old ones ; and the 
 name of the old ones, to which the new bore fo clofe 
 a retemblance. When they, had occafion, therefore, 
 to mention, or to point out to each other, any of the 
 new objects, they would naturally utter the name of 
 the correspondent old one, of which the idea could not 
 fail, at that inftant, to prefent itfelf to their memory 
 jn the ftrongeft and liyelieft manner. And thus, 
 thofe words, which were originally the proper names 
 of individuals, would each of them infenfibly become 
 the common name of a multitude. A child that is 
 juft learning to fpeak, calls every perfon who comes 
 to the houfe its papa or its mama j and thus beflows 
 upon the whole fpecies thofe names which it had been 
 taught to apply to two individuals. I have known a 
 clown, who did not know the proper name of the ri- 
 ver which ran by his own door. It was the river y he 
 faid, and hs never heard any other name for it. 
 His experience, it feems, had not led him to obferve 
 any other river. The general word river ^ there - 
 fore, was, it is evident, in his acceptance of it, a 
 proper name, fignifying an individual object. If this 
 
 perfon 
 
LANGUAGES. 391 
 
 perfon had been carried to another river, would he 
 not readily have called it a river ? Could we fup- 
 pofe any perfon living on the banks of the Thames 
 fo ignorant, as not to know the general word river * 
 but to be acquainted only with the particular word 
 Thames, if he was brought to any other river, would 
 he not- readily call it a "Thames? This, in reality, is 
 no more than what they, who are well acquainted 
 with the general word, are very apt to do. An 
 Englifhman, defcribingany great river which he may 
 have feen in fome foreign country, naturally fays, 
 that it is another Thames. The Spaniards, when 
 they firft arrived upon the coaft of Mexico, and ob- 
 ferved the wealth, populoufnefs, and habitations of 
 that fine country, fo much fuperior to the favage na- 
 tions which they had been vifiting for fome time be- 
 fore, cried out, that it was another Spain. Hence it 
 was called New Spain ; and this name has ftuck to 
 that unfortunate country ever fince. We fay, in the 
 fame manner, of a hero, that he is an Alexander ; of 
 an orator, that he is a Cicero ; of a philofopher, that 
 he is a Newton. This way of fpeaking, which the 
 grammarians call an Antonomafia, and which is Hill 
 extremely common, though now not at all necefiary, 
 demonftrates how much mankind are naturally dif- 
 pofed to give to one object: the name of any other, 
 which nearly refembles it, and thus to denominate a 
 multitude, by what originally was intended to exprefs 
 an individual. 
 
 It is this application of the name of an individual 
 to a great? multitude of objects, whofe refemblance 
 naturally recalls the idea of that individual, and of 
 the name which expreffes it, that feems originally to 
 have given occafion to the formation of thofe clafies 
 
 C c 4 and 
 
392 FORMATION OF 
 
 and affortments, which, in the fchools, are called 
 genera and fpecies, and of which the ingenious and 
 eloquent M. Rouffeau of Geneva*, finds himfelf 
 fo much at a lofs to account for the origin. What 
 constitutes a fpecies is merely a number of objects, 
 bearing a certain degree of relemblance to one ano- 
 ther, and on that account denominated by a fingle 
 appellation, which may be applied to exprefs any 
 one of them. 
 
 When the greater part of objects had thus been ar- 
 ranged under their proper claffes and affortments, 
 diftinguifhed by fuch general names, it was impof- 
 iible that the greater part of that almoft infinite num- 
 ber of individuals, comprehended under each particu- 
 lar afibrtment or fpecies, could have any peculiar or 
 proper names of their own, diflinct from the general 
 name of the fpecies. When there was occafion, 
 therefore, to mention any particular object, it often 
 became neceffary to diftinguifh it from the other ob- 
 jects comprehended under the fame general name, 
 either, firft, by its peculiar qualities -, or, fecondly, 
 by the peculiar relation which it flood in to fome 
 other things. Hence the neceffary origin of two other 
 fets of words, of which the one ftiould exprefs qua- 
 lity ; the other relation. 
 
 Nouns adjective are the words which exprefs qua- 
 lity confidered as qualifying, or, as the fchoolmen 
 fay, in concrete with, fome particular fubject. Thus 
 the word green expreffes a certain quality confidered 
 as qualifying, or as in concrete with, the particular 
 
 fubject 
 
 * Origine de 1'Inegalite. Partie premiere, p. 376, 377, 
 Edition d'Amfterdam/tles Oeuvres diverfes de J. J. RoufTeau, 
 
LANGUAGES. 393 
 
 fubject to which it may be applied. Words of this 
 kind, it is evident, may ferve to diftinguifh particu- 
 lar objects from others comprehended under the fame 
 general appellation. The words green tree, for 
 example, might ferve to diftinguifh a particular tree 
 from others that were withered or blafted. 
 
 Prepofnions are the words which exprefs relation 
 confidered, in the fame manner, in concrete with the 
 co-relative object. Thus the prepofnions of, to, for 9 
 with, by, above, below, &c. denote fome relation ful- 
 filling between the objects expreffed by the words 
 between which the prepofitions are placed ; and they 
 denote that this relation is confidered in concrete with 
 the co-relative object. Words of this kind ferve to 
 diftinguifh particular objects from others of the fame 
 fpecies, when thofe particular objects cannot be fo 
 properly marked out by any peculiar qualities of 
 their own. When we fay, the green tree of the meadow y 
 for example, we diftinguifh a particular tree, not 
 only by the quality which belongs to it, but by the 
 relation which it ftands in to another object. 
 
 As neither quality nor relation can exift in abftract, 
 it is natural to fuppofe that the words which denote 
 them confidered in concrete, the way in which we 
 always fee them fubfift, would be of much earlier 
 invention, than thofe which exprefs them confidered 
 in abftract, the way in which we never fee them fub- 
 fift. The words green and blue would, in all proba- 
 bility, be fooner invented than the words greennefs 
 and bluenefs , the words above and below, than the 
 words fuperiority and inferiority. To invent words 
 of the latter kind requires a much greater effort of 
 
 abftraction 
 
394 FORMATION OF 
 
 abftraction than to invent thofe of the former. It is 
 probable, therefore, that fuch abftract terms would 
 be of much later inftitution. Accordingly, their 
 etymologies generally mow that they are fo, they 
 being generally derived from others that are con- 
 crete. 
 
 But though the invention of nouns adjective be 
 much more natural than that of the abftract nouns 
 fubftantive derived from them, it would ftill, howe- 
 ver, require a confiderable degree of abftraction and 
 generalization. Thofe, for example, who firft in- 
 vented the words, green, blue, red, and the other 
 names of colours, muft have obferved and compared 
 together a great number of objects, muft have re- 
 marked their refemblances and diflimilitudes in re- 
 flect of the quality of colour, and muft have ar- 
 ranged them, in their own minds, into different 
 clafles and afibrtments, according to thofe refem- 
 blances and diffimilitudes. An adjective is by na- 
 ture a general, and in fome meafure, an abftract word, 
 and neceflarily prefuppofes the idea of a certain fpe- 
 cies or afibrtment of things, to all of which it is 
 equally applicable. The word green could not, as we 
 were fuppofing might be the cafe of the word cave, 
 have been originally the name of an individual, and 
 afterwards have become, by what grammarians call 
 an Antonomafia the name of a fpecies. The word 
 green denoting, not the name of a fubftance, but the 
 peculiar quality of a fubftance, muft from the very 
 firft have been a general word, and confidered as 
 equally applicable to any other fubftance pofTeiTed 
 of the fame quality. The man who firft diftinguifhed 
 a particular object by the epithet of green, muft have 
 obferved other objects that were not green, from 
 
 which 
 
LANGUAGES. 39S 
 
 which he meant to feparate it by this appellation. 
 The inditution of this name, therefore, fuppofes 
 companion. It likewiie fuppofes fome degree of al> 
 (traction. The perlbn who firft invented this appel- 
 lation mud have didinguifhed the quality from the 
 object to which it belonged, and mud have conceived 
 the object as capable of fubfifling without the qua- 
 lity. The invention, therefore, even of the fimpleft 
 nouns adjective, mud have required more metaphy- 
 fics than we are apt to be aware of. The different 
 mental operations, of arrangement or claffing, of 
 companion, and of abstraction, mud all have 
 been employed, before even the names of the differ- 
 ent colours, the lead metaphyfical of all nouns ad- 
 jective, could be indituted. From all which I infer, 
 that when languages were beginning to be formed, 
 nouns adjective would by no means be the words of 
 the earlied invention. 
 
 There is another expedient for denoting the dif- 
 ferent qualities of different fubdances, which as it re- 
 quires no abdraction, nor any conceived feparation 
 of the quality from the fubject, feems more natural 
 than the invention of nouns adjective, and which, 
 upon this account, could hardly fail, in the fird 
 formation of language, to be thought of before them. 
 This expedient is to make fome variation upon the 
 noun fubdantive itfelf, according to the different qua- 
 lities which it is endowed with. Thus, in many lan- 
 guages, the qualities both of fex and of the want of 
 fex, are expreffed by different terminations in the 
 nouns fubdantive, which denote objects fo qualified. 
 In Latin, for example, lupus, lupa ; equus, equa-, ju- 
 vencus, juvenca ; Julius, Julia ; Lucretius, Lucretia, 
 &C. .denote the qualities of male and female in the 
 
39 6 FORMATION OF 
 
 animals and perfons to whom fuch appellations be- 
 long, without needing the addition of any adjective 
 for this purpofe. On the other hand, the words fo- 
 rum, pratum, plauftrum, denote by their peculiar ter- 
 mination the total abfence of fex in the different fub- 
 flances which they fland for. Both fex, and the want 
 of all fex, being naturally confidered as qualities 
 modifying and infeparable from the particular fub- 
 ftances to which they belong, it was natural to exprefs 
 them rather by a modification in the noun fubftan- 
 tive, than by any general and abftract word expreflive 
 of this particular fpecies of quality. The expreflion 
 bears, it is evident, in this way, a much more exad 
 analogy to the idea or object which it denotes, than 
 in the other. The quality appears, in nature, as a 
 modification of the fubftance, and as it is thus ex- 
 preffed, in language, by a modification of the noun 
 iubftantive, which denotes that fubftance, the qua- 
 lity and the fubject are, in this cafe, blended toge- 
 ther, if I may fay fo, in the exprefTion, in the fame 
 manner, as they appear to be in the object and in the 
 idea. Hence the origin of the mafculine, feminine, 
 and neutral genders, in all the ancient languages. By 
 means of thefe, the mod important of all distincti- 
 ons, that of fubftances into animated and inanimated, 
 and that of animals into male and female, feem to 
 have been fufflciently marked without the affiftance 
 of adjectives, or of any general names denoting this 
 mod extenfive fpecies of qualifications. 
 
 There are no more than thefe three genders m 
 
 any of the languages with which I am acquainted •, 
 
 that is to fay, the formation of nouns fubftantive, 
 
 can, by itfelf, and without the accompaniment of ad- 
 
 ^ jectives, 
 
LANGUAGES. 
 
 97 
 
 je&ives, exprefs no other qualities but thofe three 
 above-mentioned, the qualities of male, of female, of 
 neither male nor female. I mould not, however, 
 be furprifed, if, in other languages with which I am 
 unacquainted, the different formations of nouns fub- 
 ftantive ihould be capable of expreffing many other 
 different qualities. The different diminutives of the 
 Italian, and of fome other languages, do, in reality, 
 fometimes, exprefs a great variety of different modi- 
 fications in the fubftances denoted by thofe nouns 
 which undergo fuch variations. 
 
 It was impoffible, however, that nouns fubftan- 
 tive could, without lofing altogether their original 
 form, undergo fo great a number of variations, as 
 would be fufficient to exprefs that almoft infinite va- 
 riety of qualities, by which it might, upon different 
 occafions, be neceffary to fpecify and diftinguim. 
 them. Though the different formation of nouns 
 fubftantive, therefore, might, for fome time, fore- 
 ftall the neceffity of inventing nouns adjective, it was 
 impoffible that this neceffity could be foreftalled alto- 
 gether. When nouns adjective came to be invented,, 
 it was natural that they fhould be formed with fome 
 fimilarity to the fubflantives, to which they were to 
 ferve as epithets or qualifications. Men would na- 
 turally give them the fame terminations with the fub- 
 ftantives to which they were firft applied, and from 
 that love of fimilarity of found, from that delight in 
 the returns of the fame fyllables, which is in the 
 foundation of analogy in all languages, they would 
 be apt to vary the termination of the fame adjective, 
 according as they had occafion to apply it to a maf- 
 culine, to a feminine, or to a neutral fubftantive, 
 
 thief 
 
398 FORMATION OF 
 
 They would fay, magnus lupus, magna lupa^ magnum 
 pratum, when they meant to exprefs a great he wolf, 
 a great Jhe wolf, a great meadow. 
 
 This variation, in the termination of the noun 
 adjective, according to the gender of the fubftantive, 
 which takes place in all the ancient languages, feems 
 to have been introduced chiefly for the fake of a cer- 
 tain fimilarity of found, of a certain fpecies of rhyme, 
 which is naturally fo very agreeable to the human 
 ear. Gender, it is to be obferved, cannot properly 
 belong to a noun adjective, the fignification of which 
 is always precifely the fame, to whatever fpecies of 
 fubftantives it is applied. When we fay, a great 
 man, a great woman, the word great has precifely the 
 fame "meaning in both cafes, and the difference of the 
 fex in the fubjects to which it may be applied, makes 
 no fort of difference in its fignification. Magnus, 
 magna, magnum, in the fame manner, are words 
 which exprefs precifely the fame quality, and the 
 change of the termination is accompanied with no 
 fort of variation in the meaning. Sex and gender are 
 qualities which belong to fubftances, but cannot be- 
 long to the qualities of fubftances. In general, no 
 quality, when confidered in concrete, or as qualifying 
 fome particular fubject, can itfclf be conceived as the 
 fubject of any other quality •, though when confi- 
 dered in abftract it may. No adjective therefore 
 can qualify any other adjective. A great good man, 
 means a man.who is both great and good. Both the 
 adjectives qualify the fubftantive •, they do not qua- 
 lify one another. On the other hand, when we fay, 
 the great goodnefs of the man, the word goo dnefs deno- 
 ting a quality conficjered in abftract, which may it- 
 felf be the fubject of other qualities, is upon that 
 
 account 
 
LANGUAGES. 399 
 
 account capable of being qualified by the word, 
 great. 
 
 If the original invention of nouns adje&ive would 
 be attended with fo much difficulty, that of prepofi- 
 tions would be accompanied with yet more. Every 
 prepofition, as I have already obferved, denotes fome 
 relation confidered in concrete with the co-relative 
 object. The prepofition above, for example, denotes 
 the relation of fuperiority, not in abftract, as it is 
 cxprefftd by the word fuperiority, but in concrete 
 with fome co-relative object. In this phrafe, for ex- 
 ample, the tree above the cave, the word above, ex- 
 prefTes a certain relation between the tree and the 
 cave, and it exprefles this relation in concrete with 
 the co- relative object, the cave. A prepofition al- 
 ways requires, in order to complete the fenfe, fome 
 other word to come after it ; as may be obferved in 
 this particular inftance. Now, I fay, the original 
 invention of fuch words would require a yet greater 
 effort ofabftra&ion and generalization, than that of 
 nouns adjective. Firft of all, a relation is, in itfelf, 
 a more metaphyfical objed than a quality. Nobody 
 can be at a lots to explain what is meant by a quali- 
 ty ; but few people will find themfelves able to ex- 
 prefs, very diftindtly, what is underftood by a rela- 
 tion. Qualities are almoft always the objects of our 
 external fenfes -, relations never are. No wonder, 
 therefore, that the one fet of objects mould be fo 
 much more comprehenfible than the other. Second- 
 ly, though prepofitions always exprefs the relation 
 which they (land for, in concrete with the co-relative 
 object, they could not have originally been formed 
 without a confiderable effort of abftraction. A pre- 
 pofition denotes a relation, and nothing but a relation. 
 
 But 
 
4 oo FORMATIONOF 
 
 But before men could inftitute a word, which 
 fignified a relation, and nothing but a relation, 
 they mud have been able, in fome meaiure, to con- 
 fider this relation abftractedly from the related ob- 
 jects •, fince the idea of thofe objects does not, in any 
 refpect, enter into the fignification of the prepofition. 
 The invention of luch a word, therefore, muft have 
 required a confiderable degree of abftraction. Third- 
 ly, a prepofition is from its nature a general word, 
 which, from its very firft inftitution, muft have 
 been confidered as equally applicable to denote any 
 other fimilar relation. The man who firft invented 
 the word above, muft not only have diftinguifhed, in 
 fome meafure, the relation of fuperiority from the ob- 
 jects which were fo related, but he muft alio have 
 diftinguilhed this relation from other relations, fuch 
 as, from the relation of inferiority denoted by the 
 word below, from the relation of juxtapofition> ex- 
 preffed by the word befede, and the like. He muft 
 have conceived this word, therefore, as exprefllve of 
 a particular fort or fpecies of relation diftinct from 
 every other, which could not be done without a 
 confiderable effort of comparifon and generalization. 
 
 Whatever were the difficulties, therefore, which 
 embarrafled the firft invention of nouns adjective, 
 the fame, and many more, muft have embarrafied 
 that of prepofitions. If mankind, therefore, in the 
 firft formation of languages, feem to have, for fome 
 time, evaded the neceility of nouns adjective, by 
 varying the termination of the names of fubftances, 
 according as thefe varied in fome of their moft impor- 
 tant qualities, they would much more find them- 
 felves under the neceility of evading, by fome fimi- 
 lar contrivance, the yet more difficult invention of 
 
 prepofitions. 
 
LANGUAGES. 401 
 
 prepofitions. The different cafes in the ancient 
 languages is a contrivance of precifely the fame kincf . 
 The genitive and dative cafes, in Greek and Latin, 
 evidently fupply the place of the prepofitions 3 and 
 by a variation in the noun fubftantive, which (lands 
 for the co- relative term, exprefs the relation which 
 i'ubfi (Is between what is denoted by that noun fub- 
 ftantive, and what is expreffed by fome other word 
 in the fentence. In thefe expreffions, for example, 
 fruclus arborise the fruit of the tree ; facer Herculi, 
 f acred to Horcules ; the variations made in the co- re- 
 lative words, arbor and Hercules, exprefs the fame 
 relations which are expreffed in Englifh by the prepo- 
 fitions </and to. 
 
 To exprefs a relation in this manner, did not re- 
 quire any effort of abftra&ion. It was not here ex- 
 preffed by a peculiar word denoting relation and no-, 
 thing but relation, but by a variation upon the co- 
 relative term. It was expreffed here, as k appears in 
 nature, not as fomething feparaced and detached, but 
 as thoroughly mixed and blended with the co- rela- 
 tive object. 
 
 To exprefs relation in this manner, did not require 
 any effort of generalization. The words arboris and 
 Herculi, while they involve in their fignification the 
 fame relation expreffed by the Englifh prepofitions 
 of and to, are not, like thofe prepofitions, general 
 words, which can be applied to exprefs the fame re- 
 lation between whatever other objects it might be 
 obferved to fubfift. 
 
 To exprefs relation in this manner did not require 
 any effort of comparifon. The words arboris and 
 
 D d Herculi 
 
402 FORMATION F 
 
 Herculi are not general words intended to denote a 
 particular fpecies of relations which the inventors of 
 rhofe expreflions meant, in confequence of fome fort 
 cf comparifon, to feparate and diftinguifh from 
 every other fort of relation. The example, indeed, 
 of this contrivance would foon probably be fol- 
 lowed, and whoever had occafion to exprefs a firm- 
 lar relation between any other objedts would be very 
 apt to do it by making a fimilar variation on the 
 name of the co-relative object. This, I fay, would 
 probably, or rather certainly happen •, but it would 
 happen without any intention or forefight in thofe 
 who firft fet the example, and who never meant to 
 eftablifh any general rule. The general rule would 
 eftabliih itfelf infenfibly, and by flow degrees, in 
 confequence of that love of analogy and fimilarity 
 of found, which is the foundation of by far the 
 greater part of the rules of grammar. 
 
 To exprefs relation therefore, by a variation in 
 the name of the co-relative object, requiring neither 
 abstraction, nor generalization, nor comparifon of 
 any kind, would, at firft, be much more natural and 
 eafy, than to exprefs it by thofe general words called 
 prepofitions, of which the firft invention mud have 
 demanded fome degree of all thofe operations. 
 
 The number of cafes is different in different lan- 
 guages. There are five in the Greek, fix in the 
 Latin, and there are faid to be ten in the Armenian 
 language. It mud have naturally happened that 
 there mould be a greater or a fmaller number of 
 cafes, according as in the terminations of nouns fub- 
 ftantive the firft formers of any language happened 
 to have eftablifhed a greater or a fmaller number of 
 
 variations, 
 
LANGUAGES. 405 
 
 variations, in order to exprefs the different relations 
 they had occafion to take notice of, before the in- 
 vention of thofe more general and abflracl: prepofi- 
 tions which could fupply their place. 
 
 It is, .perhaps, worth while to obferve that thofe 
 prepofitions, which in modern languages hold the 
 place of the ancient cafes, are, of all others, the 
 mod genera], and abflracl:, and metaphyfical ; and 
 of confequence, would probably be the laft invented. 
 Afk any man of common acutenefs, "What relation 
 is expreffed by the prepofition above ? He will readily 
 anfwer, that offuperiority. By the prepofition below ? 
 He will as quickly reply, that of inferiority. But afk 
 him, what relation is expreffed by the prepofition of, 
 and, if he has not beforehand employed his thoughts 
 a good deal upon thefe fubjedls, you may fafely 
 allow iiim a week to confider of his anfwer. The 
 prepofitions above and below do not denote any of 
 the relations expreffed by the cafes in the ancient 
 languages. But the prepofition of, denotes the fame 
 relation, which is in them expreffed by the genitive 
 cafe ; and which, it is eafy to obferve, is of a very 
 metaphyfical nature. The prepofition of denotes 
 relation in general, confidered in concrete with the 
 co- y relative object. It marks that the noun fub- 
 ftantive which goes before ir, is fomehow or other 
 related to that which comes after it, but without in 
 any refpecl afcertaining, as is done by the prepofition 
 above, what is the peculiar nature of that relation. 
 We often apply ir, therefore, to exprefs the moft 
 oppofite relations •, becaufe, the moft oppofite rela- 
 tions agree fo far that each of them comprehends in 
 it the general idea or nature of a relation. We fay, 
 the father of the fon, and the f on of the father ± the 
 D d 2 fir- 
 
4 04 FORMATION OF 
 
 fir-trees of the foreft, and the foreft of the fir-trees. 
 The relation in which the father (lands to the fon, 
 is, it is evident, a quite oppofite relation to that in 
 which the fon (lands to the father \ that in which the 
 parts Hand to the whole, is quite oppofite to that in 
 which the whole {lands to the parts. The word of 
 however, ferves very well to denote all thofe rela- 
 tions, becaufe in itfelf it denotes no particular rela- 
 tion, but only relation in general », and lb far as any 
 particular relation is collected from fuch expreffions, 
 it is inferred by the mind, not from the prepofition 
 itfelf, but from the nature and arrangement of the 
 fubflantives, between which the prepofition is placed. 
 
 What I have faid concerning the prepofition of, 
 may in fome meafure be applied to the prepofitions, 
 to, for, with, by, and to whatever other prepofitions 
 are made ufe of in modern languages, to fupply the 
 place of the ancient cafes. They all of them ex- 
 prefs very abftracl: and metaphyseal relations, which 
 any man, who takes the trouble to try it, will find 
 it extremely difficult to exprefs by nouns fubftantive, 
 in the fame manner as we may exprefs the relation 
 denoted by the prepofition above, by the noun fub- 
 ftantive fuperiority. They all of them, however, ex- 
 prefs fome fpecific relation, and are, confequently, 
 none of them fo abftracl: as the prepofition of, 
 which may be regarded as by far the moft meta- 
 physeal of all prepofitions. The prepofitions there- 
 fore, which are capable of fupply ing the place of 
 the ancient cafes, being more abftracl: than the other 
 prepofitions, would naturally be of more difficult 
 invention. The relations at the fame time which 
 thofe prepoiitioss exprefs, are, of all others, thofe 
 which we have moft frequent occafion to mention. 
 
 The 
 
LANGUAGES. 405 
 
 The prepofitions above, below, near, within, without, 
 againft, &c. are much more rarely made ufe of, in 
 modern languages, than the prepofitions of, to, for, 
 with, from, by, A prepofnion of the former kind 
 will not occur twice in a page ; we can fcarce com- 
 pofe a fingle fentence without the afTiftance of one 
 or two of the latter. If thefe latter prepofitions, 
 therefore, which fupply the place of the cafes, 
 would be of fuch difficult invention on account of 
 their abftractednefs, fome expedient, to fupply their 
 place, mud have been of indifpenfable necefiity, on 
 account of the frequent occafion which men have to 
 take notice of the relations which they denote. But 
 there is no expedient fo obvious, as that of varying 
 the termination of one of the principal words. 
 
 It is, perhaps, unneceffary to obferve, that there 
 are fome of the cafes in the ancient languages, which, 
 for particular reafons, cannot be reprefented by any 
 prepofitions. Thefe are the nominative, accufative, 
 and vocative cafes. In thofe modern languages^ 
 which do not admit of any fuch variety in the ter- 
 minations of their nouns fubftantive, the corre- 
 fpondent relations are exprefied by the place of the 
 words, and by the order and conftruction of the fen- 
 tence. 
 
 As men have frequently occafion to make men- 
 tion of multitudes as well as of fingle objects, it 
 became necefTary that they mould have fome method 
 of exprefiing number. Number may be expreffed 
 either by a particular word, exprefiing number in 
 general, fuch as the words many, more, &c. or by 
 fome, variation upon the words which exprefs the 
 things numbered. It is this laft expedient which 
 D d 3 mankind 
 
4o6 FORMATION OF 
 
 mankind would probably have recourfe to, in the 
 infancy of language. Number, confidered in gene* 
 raff without relation to any particular fet of objects 
 numbered, is one of the mod abftract and me- 
 taphyseal ideas, which the mind of man is capable 
 of forming •, and, confequently, is not an idea, 
 which would readily occur to rude mortals, who 
 were juft beginning to form a language. They 
 would naturally, therefore, diftinguifh when they 
 talked of a fingle, and when they talked of a mul- 
 titude of objects, not by any metaphyseal adjectives, 
 luch as the Englifh, a, an, many* but by a variation 
 upon the termination of the word which fignified 
 the objects numbered. Hence the origin of the 
 fingular and plural numbers, in all the ancient lan- 
 guages j and the fame diftinction has likewife been 
 retained in all the modern languages, at lead, in the 
 greater part of words. 
 
 All primitive and nncompounded languages feem 
 to have a dual, as well as a plural number. This 
 is the cafe of the Greek, and I am told of the He- 
 brew, of the Gothic, and of many other languages. 
 In the rude beginnings of fociety, one, two, and more, 
 might poflibly be all the numeral diflinctions which 
 mankind would have any occafion to take notice of. 
 Thefe they would find it more natural to exprefs, 
 by a variation upon every particular noun fubftan- 
 tive, than by fuch general and abftract words as one, 
 two, three, four, &c. Thefe words, though cuftom 
 has rendered them familiar to us, exprefs, perhaps, 
 the mod fubtile and refined abftractions, which the 
 mind of man is capable of forming. Let any one 
 confider within himfelf, for example, what he means 
 
 by 
 
LANGUAGES. 407 
 
 by the word three, which fignifies neither three (hil- 
 lings, nor three pence, nor three men, nor three 
 horfes, but three in general; and he will eafily fa- 
 tisfy himfelf that a word, which denotes fo very me- 
 taphyfical an abftraction, could not be either a very 
 obvious or a very early invention. I have read of fome 
 favage nations, whofe language was capable of ex- 
 preffing no more than the three firft numeral diftinc- 
 tions. But whether it exprefTed thofe diftinctions by- 
 three general words, or by variations upon the nouns 
 fubftantive, denoting the things numbered, I do 
 not remember to have met with any thing which 
 could determine. 
 
 As all the fame relations which fubfift between 
 fingle, may likewife fubfift between numerous ob- 
 jects, it is evident there would be occafion for the 
 fame number of cafes in the dual and in the plural, 
 as in the lingular number. Hence the intricacy and 
 complexnefs of the declenfions in all the ancient 
 languages. In the Greek there are five cafes in 
 each of the three numbers, confequently fifteen 
 in all. 
 
 As nouns adjective, in the ancient languages, 
 varied their terminations according to the gender of 
 the fubftantive to which they were applied, fo did 
 they likewife, according to the cafe and the number. 
 Every noun adjective in the Greek language, there- 
 fore, having three genders, and three numbers, and 
 five cafes in each number, may be confidered as 
 having five and forty different variations. The firft 
 formers of language feem to have varied the termi- 
 nation of the adjective, according to the cafe and 
 the number of the fubftantive, for the fame reafon 
 D d 4 which 
 
408 FORMATION OF 
 
 which made them vary according to the gender ; the 
 love of analogy, and of a certain regularity of found. 
 In the fignification of adjectives there is neither cafe 
 nor number, and the meaning of fuch words is 
 always precifely the fame, notwithstanding all the 
 variety of termination under which they appear. 
 Magnus vir, magni viri, magnorum virorum j a great 
 man, of a great man, of great men \ in all thefe ex- 
 preffions the words magnus, magni, magnorum, as well 
 as the word great, have precifely one and the fame 
 fignification, though the fubftantives to which they 
 are applied have not. The difference of termina- 
 tion in the noun adjective is accompanied with no 
 fort of difference in the meaning. An adjective 
 denotes the qualification of a noun fubftantive. But 
 the different relations in which that noun fubftantive 
 may occafionally ftand, can make no fort of diffe- 
 rence upon its qualification. 
 
 If the declenfions of the ancient languages are 
 fo very complex, their conjugations are infinitely 
 more fo. And the complexnefs of the one is founded 
 upon the fame principle with that of the other, the 
 difficulty of forming, in the beginnings of language, 
 abftract and general terms. 
 
 Verbs mufl neceffarily have been coeval with the 
 very firft attempts towards the formation of lan- 
 guage. No affirmation can be exprefled without the 
 affi fiance of fome verb. We never fpeak but in or- 
 der to exprefe our opinion that fomething either is or 
 is not. But the word denoting this event, or this 
 matter of fact, which is the fubject of our affirma- 
 tion, muft always be a verb. 
 
 ^ Imperfonal 
 
LANGUAGES. 409 
 
 Imperfonal verbs, which exprefs in one word a 
 complete event, which preferve in the expreflion that 
 perfect fimplicity and unity, which there always is in 
 the object and in the idea, and which fuppofe no ab~ 
 fraction, or metaphyfical divifion of the event into 
 its feveral conftituent members of fubject and attri- 
 bute, would, in all probability, be the fpecies of 
 verbs firft invented. The verbs pluit, it rains ; nin- 
 gity it fnows ; tonaty it thunders ♦, lucet, it is day ♦, 
 turbatur, there is a confufion y &c. each of them ex- 
 prefs a complete affirmation, the whole of an event, 
 with that perfect fimplicity and unity with which 
 the mind conceives it in nature. On the contrary, the 
 phrafes, Alexander ambulat, Alexander walks *, Petrus 
 fedety Peter fits, divide the event, as it were, into two 
 parts, the perfon or fubject, and the attribute, or 
 matter of fad, affirmed of that fubject. But in na- 
 ture, the idea or conception of Alexander walking, is 
 as perfectly and completely one fingle conception, as 
 that of Alexander not walking. The divifion of 
 this event, therefore, into two parts, is altogether ar- 
 tificial, and is the effect of the imperfection of lan- 
 guage, which, upon this, as upon many other occa- 
 fions, fupplies, by a number of words, the want of 
 one, which could exprefs at once the whole matter of 
 fact that was meant to be affirmed. Every body 
 mufl obferve how much more fimplicity there is in 
 the natural expreflion, plait, than in the more artifi- 
 cial expreflions, imber decidit, the rain falls ; or, 
 tempeftas eft pluvia, the weather is rainy. In thefe 
 two laft expreflions, the fimple event, or matter of 
 fact, is artificially fplit and divided, in the one, into 
 two •, in the other, into three parts. In each of them 
 it is exprefifed by a fort of grammatical circumlocu- 
 tion, 
 
4 io FORMATION OF 
 
 tion, of which the fignifkancy is founded upon a 
 certain metaphyfical analyfis of the component parts 
 of the idea exprefTed by the word phut. The firft 
 verbs, therefore, perhaps even the firft words, made 
 ufe of in the beginnings of language, would in all 
 probability be fuch imperfonal verbs. It is obferved 
 accordingly, I am told, by the Hebrew Gramma- 
 rians, that the radical words of their language, from 
 which all the others are derived, are ail of them 
 verbs, and imperfonal verbs. 
 
 It is eafy to conceive how, in the progrefs of lan- 
 guage, thofe imperfonal verbs mould become perfo- 
 nal. Let us iuppofe, for example, that the word 
 venit y it comes, was originally an imperfonal verb, 
 and that it denoted, not the coming of fomething in 
 general, as at prefent, but the coming of a particular 
 object, fuch as the Lion. The firft favage inventors 
 of language, we mail Iuppofe, when they obferved 
 the approach of this terrible animal, were accuftom- 
 ed to cry out to one another, venit, that is, the lion 
 comes ; and that this word thus exprefTed a complete 
 event, without the afliftance of any other. After- 
 wards, when, on the further progrefs of language, 
 they had begun to give names to particular fub- 
 ftances, whenever they obferved the approach of 
 any other terrible object, they would naturally join 
 the name of that object to the word venit, and cry 
 out, venit urfus, venit lupus. By degrees the word 
 venit would thus come to fignify the coming of any 
 terrible object,- and not merely the coming of the 
 lion. It would now therefore, exprefs, not the com- 
 ing of a particular object, but the coming of an ob- 
 ject of a particular kind. Having become more ge- 
 neral in its fignificatiott, it could no longer reprefent 
 
 any 
 
LANGUAGES. 411 
 
 any particular diftincl: event by itfelf, and without 
 the afliftance of a noun fubftantive, which might 
 ferve to afcertain and determine its fignification. It 
 would now, therefore, have become a perfonal, in- 
 ftead of an imperfonal verb. We may eafily con- 
 ceive how, in the further progrefs of fociety, it might 
 ftill.grow more general in its fignification, and come 
 to fignify, as at prefent, the approach of any thing 
 whatever, whether good, bad, or indifferent. 
 
 It is probably in fome fuch manner as this, that 
 almoft all verbs have become perfonal, and that 
 mankind have learned by degrees to fplit and divide 
 almoft every event into a great number of metaphy- 
 fical parts, expreffed by the different parts of fpeech, 
 varioufly combined in the different members of every 
 phrafe and fentence. * The fame fort of progrefs 
 feems to have been made in the art of fpeaking as 
 in the art of writing. When mankind firft began to 
 attempt to exprefs their ideas by writing, every cha- 
 racter reprefented a whole word. But the number 
 of words being almoft infinite, the memory found 
 itfelf quite loaded and oppreffed by the multitude of 
 
 characters 
 
 * As the far greater part of Verbs exprefs, at prefent, not an 
 event, but the attribute of an event, and, confequently, require 
 a fubjeft, or nominative cafe, to complete their fignification, 
 fome grammarians, not having attended to this progrefs of nature, 
 and being defirous to make their common rules quite univerfal, 
 and without any exception, have infilled that all verbs required a 
 nominative, either exprefled or underftood ; and have, accord- 
 ingly put themfelves to the torture to find fome awkward nomi- 
 natives to thofe few verbs, which flill exprefling a complete event, 
 olainly admit of none- Pluit, for example, according to Sanftius* 
 1 means flwvia plait, in Englim, the rain rains, See Sanclii Mi- 
 nerva, 1. 5. c. r f 
 
4i2 FORMATION OF 
 
 characters which it was obliged to retain. Neceffity 
 taught them, therefore, to divide words into their 
 elements, and to invent characters which mould re- 
 prefent, not the words themfelves, but the elements 
 of which they were compofed. In confequence of 
 this invention, every particular word came to be re- 
 prefented, not by one character, but by a multitude 
 of characters •, and the expreflion of it in writing be- 
 came much more intricate and complex than before. 
 But though particular words were thus reprefented 
 by a greater number of characters, the whole lan- 
 guage was exprefied by a much fmaller, and about 
 four and twenty letters were found capable of fup- 
 plying the place of that immenfe multitude of cha- 
 racters, which were requifite before. In the fame 
 manner, in the beginnings of language, men feem to 
 have attempted to exprefs every particular event, 
 which they had occafion to take notice of, by a par- 
 ticular word, which exprefied at once the whole of 
 that event. But as the number of words muft, in 
 this cafe, have become really infinite, in confequence 
 of the really infinite variety of events, men found 
 themfelves partly compelled by neceffity, and partly 
 conducted by nature, to divide every event into 
 what may be called its metaphyfical elements, and to 
 inftitute words, which mould denote not fo much 
 the events, as the elements of which they were com- 
 pofed. The expreflion of every particular event, 
 became in this manner more intricate and complex, 
 but the whole fyftem of the language became more 
 coherent, more connected, more eafily retained and 
 comprehended. 
 
 When verbs, from being originally imperfonal had 
 thus, by the divifioo of the event into its metaphy- 
 fical 
 
LANGUAGES. 4 i S 
 
 fical elements, become perfonal, it is natural to fup~ 
 pofe that they would firft be made ufe of in the third 
 perfon lingular. No verb is ever uled imperfonally 
 in our language, nor, fo far as I know, in any other 
 modern tongue. But in the ancient languages, 
 whenever any verb is ufed imperfonally, it is always 
 in the third perfon fingular. The termination of 
 thofe verbs, which are ftiil always imperfonal, is 
 conftantly the fame with that of the third perfon fin- 
 gular of perfonal verbs. The confideration of thefe 
 circumftances, joined to the naturalnefs of the thing 
 itfelf, may ferve to convince us that verbs firfc be- 
 came perfonal in what is now called the third perfon 
 fingular. 
 
 But as the event, or matter of fact, which is ex- 
 preffed by a verb, may be affirmed either of the per- 
 fon who fpeaks, or of the perfon who is fpoken to, 
 as well as of fome third perfon or object, it became 
 neceffary to fall upon fome method of exprefTing 
 thefe two peculiar relations of the event. In the 
 Englifh language this is commonly done, by pre- 
 fixing, what are called the perfonal pronouns, to the 
 general word which expreffes the event affirmed. 
 I came y you came^ he or it came\ in thefe phrafes the 
 event of having come is, in the firft, affirmed of the 
 fpeaker ; in the fecond, of the perfon fpoken to j in 
 the third, of fome other perfon, or object. The firft 
 formers of language, it may be imagined, might have 
 done the fame thing, and prefixing in the fame man- 
 ner the two firft perfonal pronouns, to the fame ter- 
 mination of the verb, which exprefTed the third per- 
 fon fingular, might have faid, ego venit, tu venit % 
 as well as ilk or illudvenit, And I make no doubt 
 
 but 
 
4H FORMATION OF 
 
 but they would have done fo, if at the time when 
 they had firft occafion to txprefs thefe relations of the 
 verb, there had been any fuch words as either ego or 
 tu in their language. But in this early period of the 
 language, which we are now endeavouring to de- 
 fcribe, it is extremely improbable that any fuch 
 words would be known. Though cuftom has now 
 rendered them familiar to us, they, both of them, 
 exprefs ideas extremely metaphyseal and abftract. 
 The word /, for example, is a word of a very parti- 
 cular fpecies. Whatever fpeaks may denote itfelf by 
 this peribnal pronoun. The word I, therefore, is a 
 general word, capable of being predicated, as the lo- 
 gicians fay, of an infinite variety of objects. It dif- 
 fers, however, from all other general words in this 
 refpect ; that the obje&s of which it may be predi- 
 cated, do not form any particular fpecies of objects 
 diftinguiQied from all others. The word /, does 
 not, like the word man, denote a particular clafs of 
 objects, feparated from all others by peculiar qua- 
 lities of their own. It is far from being the name of 
 a fpecies, but, on the contrary, whenever it is made 
 ufe of, it always denotes a precife individual, the par- 
 ticular perfon who then fpeaks. It may be faid to 
 be, at once, both what the logicians call, a Angular, 
 and what they call, a common term ; and to join in 
 its fignification the feemingly oppofite qualities of the 
 moft precife individuality, and the moil extenfive 
 generalization. This word, therefore, exprefling fo 
 very abftract and metaphyfical an idea, would not 
 eafily or readily occur to the firft formers of language. 
 What are called the perfonal pronouns, it may be 
 obferved, are among the laft words of which chil- 
 dren learn to make life* A child, fpeaking of itfelf, 
 
 fays, 
 
LANGUAGES. 415 
 
 fays, Billy walks, Billy fits, inftead of / walk, I fit. 
 As in the beginnings of language, therefore, man- 
 kind feem to have evaded the invention of at leaft the 
 more abftract propofitions, and to have exprefTed the 
 fame relations which thefe now ftand for, by vary- 
 ing the termination of the co-relative term, fo they 
 likewife would naturally attempt to evade the necef- 
 lity of inventing thofe more abftracl pronouns by va- 
 rying the termination of the verb, according as the 
 event which it exprefTed was intended to be affirmed 
 of the firft, fecond, or third perfon. This feems, 
 accordingly, to be the univerfal practice of all the 
 ancient languages. In Latin, veni, venifti, venit, fuf- 
 flciently denote, without any other addition, the dif- 
 ferent events expreffed by the Englifh phrafes, / 
 came, you came, he', or -it came. The verb would, 
 for the fame reafon, vary its termination, according 
 as the event was intended to be affirmed of the firft, 
 fecond, or third perfons plural •, and what is expreffed 
 by the Englifh phrafes, we came, ye came, they came, 
 would be denoted by the Latin words, venimus, ve- 
 nifiis, venerunt. Thofe primitive languages, too, 
 which, upon account of the difficulty of inventing 
 numeral names, had introduced a dual, as well as a 
 plural number, into the declenfion of their nouns 
 iubftantive, would probably, from analogy, do the 
 fame thing in the conjugations of their verbs. And 
 thus in all thofe original languages, we might ex- 
 pect to find, at leaft fix, if not eight or nine varia- 
 tions, in the termination of every verb, according 
 as the event which it denoted was meant to be affirm- 
 ed of the firft, fecond, or third perfons fingular, 
 dual, or plural. Thefe variations again being re- 
 peated, along with others, through all its dif- 
 ferent tenfes, modes and voices, mud neceffarily 
 
 have 
 
4 i6 FORMATION OF 
 
 have rendered their conjugations (till more intricate 
 and complex than their declenfions. 
 
 Language would probably have continued upon 
 this footing in all countries, nor would ever have 
 grown more fimple in its declenfions and conjugati- 
 ons, had it not become more complex in its co.mp.o- 
 fition, in conlequence of the mixture of feveral lan- 
 guages with one another, occafioned by the mixture 
 of different nations. As long as any language was 
 fpoke by thofe only who learned it in their infancy, 
 the intricacy of its declenfions and conjugations 
 could occafion no great embarrailment. The far 
 greater part of thofe who had occafion to fpeak ir 5 
 had acquired it at h very early a period of their 
 lives, fo infenfibly and by fuch flow degrees, that 
 they were fcarce ever fenfible of the difficulty. Blu 
 when two nations came to be mixed with one ano- 
 ther, either by conqueft or migration, the caie 
 would be very different. Each nation, in order to 
 make itfelf intelligible to thofe with whom it was 
 under the neceffity of converfing, would be obligee 
 to learn the language of the other. The greater parv 
 of individuals too, learning the new language, not 
 by art, or by remounting to its rudiments and firfc 
 principles, but by rote, and by what they commonly 
 heard in converfation, would be extremely perplexed 
 by the intricacy of its declenfions and conjugations 
 They would endeavour, therefore, to fupply their 
 ignorance of thefe, by whatever fhift the language 
 could afford them. Their ignorance of the declenfi- 
 ons they would naturally fupply by the ufe of pre- 
 pofitions ; and a Lombard, who was attempting to 
 fpeak Latin, and wanted to exprefs that fuch a per- 
 fon was a citizen orRome, or a benefactor to Rome, 
 
 if 
 
Languages. 417 
 
 if he happened not to be acquainted with the geni- 
 tive and dative cafes of the word Roma, would natu- 
 rally exprefs himfelf by prefixing the prepofitions ad 
 and de to the nominative ; and, inftead of Roma, 
 would fay, ad Roma, and de Roma. Al Roma and 
 di Roma, accordingly, is the manner in which the 
 prefent Italians, the defcendants of the ancient Lom- 
 bards and Romans, exprefs this and all other fimilar 
 relations. And in this manner prepofitions feem to 
 have been introduced, in the room of the ancient 
 declenfions. The fame alteration has, I am informed, 
 been produced upon the Greek language, fince the 
 taking of Conftantinople by the Turks. The words 
 are, in a great meafure, the fame as before-, buc 
 the grammar is entirely loft, prepofitions having 
 come in the place of the old declenfions. This 
 change is undoubtedly a fimplification of the langu- 
 age, in point of rudiments and principle. It intro- 
 duces, inftead of a great variety of declenfions, one 
 univerfal declenfion, which is the fame in every 
 word, of whatever gender, number, or termination. 
 
 A fimilar expedient enables men, in the fituation 
 above mentioned, to get rid of almoft the whole in- 
 tricacy of their conjugations. There is in every 
 language a verb, known by the name of the fubftan- 
 tive verb ; in Latin, fum -, in Englifh, / am. This 
 verb denotes not the exiftence of any particular 
 event, but exiftence in general. It is, upon this 
 account, the moft abftract and metaphyseal of all 
 verbs •, and, confequently, could by no means be a 
 a word of early invention. When it came to be in- 
 vented, however, as it had all the tenfes and modes 
 of any other verb, by being joined with the paffive 
 participle, it was capable of fupplying the place of 
 E e chc 
 
4i8- FORMATION OF 
 
 the whole paflive voice, and of rendering this part of 
 their conjugations as fimple and uniform, as the ufe 
 of prepofitions had rendered their declenfions. A 
 Lombard, who wanted to fay, I am loved, but could 
 not recoiled the word amor, naturally endeavoured 
 to fupply his ignorance, by faying, ego fum amatus. 
 Jo fono amato, is at this day the Italian expreflion* 
 which correfponds to the Englifh. phrafe above men- 
 tioned. 
 
 There is another verb, which, in the fame man- 
 ner, runs through all languages, and which is diftin- 
 guifhed by the name of the poffeflive verb ; in Latin, 
 habeo\ in Englifh, I have. This verb, likewife, de- 
 notes an event of an extremely abftract and metaphy- 
 fical nature, and, confequently, cannot be fuppofed 
 to have been a word of the earlieft invention. When 
 it came to be invented, however, by being applied 
 to the paflive participle, it was capable of fupplying 
 a great part of the active voice, as the fubftantive 
 verb had fupplied the whole of the paflive. A Lom- 
 bard, who wanted to fay, I had loved, but could not 
 recollecl the word amaveram, would endeavour to 
 fupply the place of it, by faying either ego babebam 
 amafum, or ego habui amatum. lo avevd amato, or 
 Io ebbi amato, are the correfpondent Italian exprefli- 
 ons at this day. And thus upon the intermixture of 
 different nations with one another, the conjugations, 
 by means of different auxiliary verbs, were made 
 to approach towards the fimplicity and uniformity of 
 the declenfions. 
 
 In general it may be laid down for a maxim, that 
 the more fimple any>Janguage is in its composition, 
 
 the 
 
LANGUAGES. . 4 i 9 
 
 ■the more complex it mud be in its declenfions and 
 conjugations ♦, and, on the contrary, t^he more Am- 
 ple it is in its declenfions and conjugations, the more 
 complex it muft be in its composition. 3 
 
 The Greek teems, to be, in a great meafure, a 
 fimple, uncompounded language, formed from the 
 primitive jargon of thofe wandering favages, the an- 
 cient Hellenians and Pelafgians, from whom the 
 Greek nation is faid to have been descended. All 
 the words in the Greek language are derived from 
 about three hundred primitives, a plain evidence 
 chat the Greeks farmed their language ajmoft entirely 
 among themfelves, and that when they, had occafion 
 for a new word, they were not ac.cuftomed, as we 
 .are, to borrow it from fome foreign- language* but to 
 form it, either by compofition or derivation from 
 fome other word or words, in their owa. The de- 
 clenfions and conjugations, therefore, TDf the Greek 
 are much more complex than thofe of any other Eu~ 
 ropean language with which I am acquainted. 
 
 The Latin is a compofition of the Greek and of 
 the ancient Tufcan languages. Its declenfions and 
 conjugations accordingly are much lefs complex than 
 thofe of the Greek : it has dropt the dual number in 
 both. Its verbs have no optative mood diflinguifhed 
 by any peculiar termination. They have but one 
 future. They have no aorift diftindt from the pre- 
 terit-perfect ; they have no middle voice -, and even 
 many of ..heir tenfes in the pafFive voice are eked out, 
 in the fame manner as in the modern languages, by 
 the help of the fubftantive verb joined to the paffive 
 participle. In both the voices, the number of in- 
 E e 2 finitives. 
 
42o FORMATION OF 
 
 finitives and participles is much fmaller in the Latin 
 than in the Greek. 
 
 The French and Italian languages are each of 
 them compounded, the one of the Latin, and the 
 language of the ancient Franks, the other of the fame 
 Latin and the language of the ancient Lombards. 
 As they are both of them, therefore, more complex 
 in. their compofition than the Latin, fo are they like- 
 wife more fimple in their declenfions and conjugati- 
 ons. With regard to their declenfions, they have 
 both of them loft their cafes altogether ; and with 
 regard ,to their conjugations, they have both of them 
 loft the whole of the paffive, and fome part of the 
 active voices of their verbs. The want of the paffive 
 voice they fupply entirely by the fubftantive verb 
 joined to the' paffive participle j and they make out 
 part of the active, in the fame manner, by the help 
 of the pofleflive verb and the fame paffive partici- 
 ple. 
 
 The Englifh is compounded of the French and 
 the ancient Saxon languages. The French was in- 
 troduced into Britain by the Norman conqueft, and 
 continued, till the time of Edward III. to be the 
 fole language of the law as well as the principal 
 language of->the court. The Englifh, which came 
 to be fpoken afterwards, and which continues to be 
 jpoken now, is a mixture of the ancient Saxon and 
 this Norm2n French. As the Englifh language, 
 therefore, is more complex in its compofition than 
 either the French or the Italian, fo is it likewile more 
 fimple in its declenfions and conjugations. Thofe 
 two languages retain, at leaft, a part of the diftinc- 
 tion of genders, a?td their adjectives vary their ter- 
 mination 
 
LANGUAGES. 4*1 
 
 mination according as they are applied to a mafcu- 
 line or to a feminine fubftantive. But there is no 
 fuch diftinction in the Englifh language, whofe ad- 
 jectives admit of no variety of termination. The 
 French and Italian languages have, both of them, 
 the remains of a conjugation, and all thofe tenfes of 
 the active voice, which cannot be exprefled by the 
 poffeflive verb joined to the paflive participle, as well 
 as many of thofe which can, are, in thofe languages, 
 marked by varying the termination of the principal 
 verb. But almoft all thofe other tenfes are in the 
 Englifh eked out by other auxiliary verbs, fo that 
 there is in this language fcarce even the remains of a 
 conjugation. I love, I loved, loving, are all the va- 
 rieties of termination which the greater part of Eng- 
 lifh verbs admit of. All the different modifications 
 of meaning, which cannot be expreffed by any of 
 thofe three terminations, mufl be made out by differ- 
 ent auxiliary verbs joined to fome one or other of 
 them. Two auxiliary verbs fupply all the deficien- 
 cies of the French and Italian conjugations; it re- 
 quires more than half a dozen to fupply thofe of the 
 Englifh, which befides the fubftantive and pofTef- 
 five verbs, makes ufe of do, did-, will, would-, Jhall? 
 fhould; can, could-, may, might. 
 
 It is in this manner that language becomes more 
 fimple in its rudiments and principles, juft in pro- 
 portion as it grows more complex in its compofition, 
 and the fame thing has happened in it, which com*- 
 monly happens with regard to mechanical engines. 
 All machines are generally, when firft invented, ex- 
 tremely complex in their principles, and there is of- 
 ;en a particular principle of motion for every parti- 
 cular 
 
422 FORMATION OF 
 
 cular movement which, it is intended, they ihould 
 perform. Succeeding improvers obferve, that one 
 principle may be To applied as to produce feveral of 
 thofe movements, and thus the machine becomes 
 gradually more and more fimple, and produces its 
 effects with fewer wheels, and fewer principles of 
 motion. In language, in the fame manner, every 
 cafe of every noun, and every tenfe of every verb, 
 was originally exprefTed by a particular diflind word, 
 which ferved for this purpofe and for no other. But 
 fucceeding obfervation difcovered that one kt of 
 words was capable of fupplying the place of ail that 
 infinite number, and that four or five prepofitions, 
 and half a dozen auxiliary verbs, were capable of 
 anfwering the end of all the declenfions, and of all 
 the conjugations in the ancient languages. 
 
 But this fimplification of languages, though it 
 arifes, perhaps, from fimilar caufes, has by no means 
 fimilar effects with the correfpondent fimplification of 
 machines. The fimplification of machines renders 
 them more and more perfect, but this fimplification 
 of the rudiments of languages renders them more and 
 more imperfect and lefs proper for many of the pur- 
 pofes of language : and this for the following reafans. 
 
 Firft of all, languages are by this fimplification 
 rendered more prolix, feveral words having become 
 necefiary to exprefs what could have been exprefifed 
 by a fingle word before. Thus the words, Dei and, 
 Deo, in the Latin, diffidently fhow, without any ad- 
 dition, what relation, the object fignified is under- 
 wood to (land in to the objects exprefTed by the 
 other words in the fentence. But to exprefs the fame 
 
 relation 
 
LANGUAGES. 423 
 
 relation inEnglifh,and in all other modern languages, 
 we muft make ufe of, at lead, two words, and fay, 
 of God, to God. So far as the declenfions are con- 
 cerned, therefore, the modern languages are much 
 more prolix than the ancient. The difference is (till 
 greater with regard to the conjugations. What a 
 Roman expreffed by the fmgle word, amavijfem, an 
 Englilhman is obliged to exprefs by four different 
 words, / Jhould have loved. It is unneceffary to 
 take any pains to fhow how much this prolixnefs 
 muft enervate the eloquence of all modern languages. 
 How much the beauty of any expreffion depends 
 upon its concifenefs, is well known to thofe who 
 have any experience in compofition. 
 
 Secondly, this Amplification of the principles of 
 languages renders them lefs agreeable to the ear. 
 The variety of termination in the Greek and Latin, 
 occafioned by their declenfions and conjugations, 
 give a fweetnefs to their language altogether un- 
 known to ours, and a variety unknown to any other 
 modern language. In point of fweetnefs, the Ita- 
 lian, perhaps, may furpafs the Latin, and almoft 
 equal the Greek ; but in point of variety, it is greatly 
 inferior to both. 
 
 Thirdly, this Amplification, not only renders the 
 founds of our language lefs agreeable to the ear, 
 but it alfo reftrains us from difpofing fuch founds 
 as we have, in the manner that might be moil: agree 
 able. It ties down many words to a particular fitua- 
 tion, though they might often be placed in another 
 with much more beauty. In the Greek and Latin, 
 though the adjective and fubftantive were feparated 
 
 from 
 
4 24 Formation op 
 
 from one another, the correfpondence of their termi- 
 nations dill fhowed their mutual reference, and the 
 feparation did not neceflarily occafion any fort of 
 confufion. Thus in the firft line of Virgil : 
 
 Tityre tu patulce recubans fub tegmine fagi. 
 
 We eafily fee that tu refers to recubans, and patula 
 to fagi ; though the related words are feparated 
 from one another by the intervention of feveral 
 others : becaufe the terminations, (bowing the cor- 
 refpondence of their cafes, determine their mutual 
 reference. But if we were ro tranflate this line liter- 
 ally into Englifh, and fay, Tityrus, thou of fpreading 
 reclining under the jhade beech, CEdipus himfelf could 
 not make lenfe of it ; becaufe there is here no dif- 
 ference of termination, to determine which fub- 
 ftantive each adjedtive belongs to. It is the fame 
 cafe with regard to verbs. In Latin the verb may 
 often be placed, without an inconveniency or ambi- 
 guity, in any part of the fentence. But in Engliili 
 its place is almoft always precifely determined. It 
 muft follow the fubjective and precede the objective 
 member of the phrafe in almoft all cafes. Thus in 
 Latin whether you fay, Joannem verberavit Robertus, 
 or Robertus verberavit Joannem, the meaning is pre- 
 cifely the fame, and the termination fixes John to be 
 the fufferer in both cafes. But in Englifh John beat 
 Robert, and Robert beat John, have by no means the 
 fame figmfication. The place therefore of the three 
 principal members of the phrafe is in the Englifh, 
 and for the fame reafon in the French and Italian 
 languages almoft always precifely determined ; 
 whereas in the ancient languages a greater latitude is 
 
 allowed, 
 
LANGUAGES.. *?| 
 
 allowed, and the place of thofe members is often, in 
 a great meafure, indifferent. We muft have rccourfe 
 to Horace, in order to interpret fome parts of Mil- 
 ton's literal tranflatidn ; 
 
 Who now enjoys thee credulous' all gold, 
 Who always vacant, always amiable 
 Hopes thee-, of flattering gales 
 Unmindful 
 
 are verfes which it is impoflible to interpret by any 
 rules of our language. There are no rules in our 
 language, by which any man could difcover, that, 
 in the firft line, credulous referred to who, and not to 
 thee; or, that all gold referred to any thing; or, that 
 in the fourth line, unmindful, referred to who, in the 
 fecond, and not to thee in the third ; or, on the con- 
 trary, that, in the fecond line always vacant, always- 
 amiable, referred to thee in the third, and not to who 
 in the fame line with it. In the Latin, indeed, all 
 this is abundantly plain. 
 
 §)ui nunc te fruit ttr credulus awed, 
 Qui femper vacuam, femfer amabikm 
 Sperat te \ nefcius aurxfallacis. 
 
 Becaufe the terminations in the Latin determine the 
 reference of each adjective to its proper fubftantive, 
 which it is impoflible for any thing in the Englifh to 
 do. How much this power of tranfpofing the order 
 of their words muft have facilitated the compofitiorj 
 of the ancients, both in verfe and profe, can hardly 
 be imagined. That it muft greatly have facilitated 
 their verification it is needlefs to obfervc ; and m 
 
 F f profe,, 
 
+26 FORMATION, &e. 
 
 profe, whatever beauty depends upon the arrange- 
 ment and conftruchon of the feveral members of the 
 period, muft to them have been acquirable with 
 much more eafe, and to much greater perfection* 
 than it can be to thofe whofe expreflion is conftant- 
 ly confined by the prolixnefs, conftraint and mono- 
 tony of modern languages. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
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BJ1005.S64 
 
 The theory of moral sentiments, or, An 
 
 Princeton Theological Seminary-Speer Library 
 
 1 1012 00161 6251 
 
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