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THE
PHILOSOPHY
OF THE
ACTIVE AND MORAL POWERS OF MAN.
BY
DUGALD STEWART, F. R. SS. LOND. AND ED.
REVISED, WITH OMISSI0NS AND ADDITIONS,
BY JAMES WALKER, D.D.,
ItOIPZSR01 OF ZITELLECTUAL AND MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN HAARVID COLLEG..Sebtntbt tbfttou.
BOSTON:
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY.
1 8-659.




atered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by
JOHN BARTLETT,
La the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusett




PREFACE
BY THE EDITOR.
SIR JAMrES MACKINTOSH has said of Mr. Stewart,-" Perhaps few men ever lived, who poured into the breasts of
youth a more fervid, and yet reasonable, love of liberty, of
truth, and of virtue.  How many are still alive, in different
countries, and in every rank to which education reaches,
who, if they accurately examined their own minds and lives,
would ascribe much of whatever goodness and happiness they
possess to the early impressions of his gentle and persuasive
eloquence!"
The Philosophy of the Active'and Moral Powers of Man
was the last of his publications; it came from the press in
the spring of 1828, a few weeks before the author's death.
An unfriendly and severe critic in the Penny Cyclopaedia admits, in respect to this treatise, that it is " by far the least
exceptionable of his works. It is more systematic, and contains more newtruths, than any of his metaphysical writings; and his long acquaintance with the world and with let.
ters enabled him to suggest many obvious but overlooked
analyses."  Only two editions of it have appeared in this
country, - one separately in 1828, the other in a collection




IV                      PREFACE.
of his works in the following year; the former has long been
out of print.
The author begins his Preface by apologizing for "the
large and perhaps disproportionate space" allotted by him to
the evidence and doctrines of natural religion.  This part,
making nearly one third of the whole, has been omitted in
the present edition, as being out of place here, however excellent in itself.  Other retrenchments have also been made
in respect to unimportant details, in order to find room, without transgressing the prescribed limits, for some additional
notes and illustrations.  The latter, which are indicated by
brackets, or otherwise, as they- occur, consist almost exclusively of extracts from living or late writers, or references to
them, and are inserted with a view to mark whatever progress has been made or attempted in ethical speculation since
Mr. Stewart's day.
Some changes have been mtade in the distribution and numbering of the chapters and sections, and sub-sections have
been introduced for the first time. The use of the latter in
giving a more distinct impression of the successive steps in
the argument or exposition, no practised teacher will fail to
appreciate. The Latin and Greek citations in the text are
translated in the present edition, where this had not been done
by the author. The translations are taken, for the most part,
from common sources, without particular acknowledgment,
the only object being to fit the work for more general and
convenient use as a text-book.
CMRsamGEz, August 16, 1849.




CONTENTS.
I.TRODUCTION,...    1
BOOK I.
OF OUR INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
CHAPTER I.
OF OUR APPETITES..  11
CHAPTER II.
OF OUR DESIRES..... 16
SECT. I. The Desire of Knowledge,...16
II. The Desire of Society,...         20
III. The Desire of Esteem,.....     28
IV. The Desire of Power,.... 44
V. Emulation, or the Desire of Superiority,...  49
CHAPTER III.
OF OUR AFFECTIONS.
SECTr.I. General Observations,.... 56
II. Of the Affections of Kindred,......61
III. Of Friendship,.....         66
IV. Of Patriotism,..                       70
V. Of Pity to the Distressed,....     80




Vi                        CONTENTS.
VI. Of Resentment, and the various other Angry Affections
grafted upon it, commonly considered by Ethical Writers as Malevolent Affections,....   91
BOOK II.
OF OUR RATIONAL AND GOVERNING PRINCIPLES OF
ACTION.
CHAPTER I.
OF A PRUDENTIAL REGARD TO OUR OWN HAPPINESS, OR
WHAT IS COMMONLY  CALLED  BY  MORALISTS  THE
PRINCIPLE OF SELF-LOVE,..              102
CHA PTER II.
OF THE MORAL FACULTY.
SECT. I. The Moral Faculty not resolvable into Self-Love,. 115
II. Examination of Hartley's Theory of the Formation of the
Moral Sense by Association alone,...    125
III. The Moral Constitution of Human Nature not disproved by
the Diversityin Men's Moral Judgments,. 131
IV. Licentious Systems of Morals,.               154
APPENDIX TO CHAPTER II.
Bentham and his Followers,.                                  171
CHAPTER III.
ANALYSIS OF OUR MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS, 188
SECT. I. Of the Perception of Right and Wrong,...          193
II. Of the Agreeable and Disagreeable Emotions arising from
the Perception of what is Right and Wrong in Conduct,. 217
III. Of the Perception of Merit and Demerit,..     221




CONTENTS.                         vi
CHAPTER IV.
OF MORAL OBLIGATION)                     233
CHAPTER V.
OF CERTAIN PRINCIPLES WHICH COOPERATE WITH OUR
MORAL POWERS IN THEIR INFLUENCE ON THE CONDUCT.......... 243
SECT. I. Of Decency, or a Regard to Character,.      244
II. Of Sympathy,........   245
III. Of the Sense of the Ridiculous,...... 261
IV. Of Taste, considered in its Relation to Morals,..   264
CHAPTER VI.
OF MANrS FREE AGENCY.
2SECT. I. Preliminary Observations,.                       268
II. Review of the Argument for Necessity,....   274
III. Is the Evidence of Consciousness in Favor of the Scheme of
Free Will, or of that of Necessity?.. 300
IV. Of the Schemes of Free Will, and of Necessity, considered as
influencing Practice,.                          309
V. On the Argument for Necessity drawn from the Prescience
of the Deity,.... 316
BOOK III.
OF THE VARIOUS BRANCHES OF OUR DUTY.
CHAPTER I.
OF THE DUTIES WHICH RESPECT THE DEITY,. 325
CHAPTER II.
OF THE DUTIES WHICH RESPECT OUR FELLOWCREATURES....  335
SECT. I. Of Benevolence,.. 335




II. Of Justice,.                                  3.....  852
III. Of the Right of Property,... 363
IV. Of Veracity,..    376
CHAPTE R  III.
OF THE DUTIES WHICH RESPECT OURSELVES,. 383
SECT. I. Of the Duty of employing the Means we possess to secure
our own Happiness,.                           38X
II. Of the Different Theories of Happiness,... 387
III. Means of promoting and securing Happiness,...   399
BOOK IV.
OF THE NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
CHAPTER I.
OF THE GENERAL DEFINITION OF VIRTUE,..               424
CHAPTER II.
ON AN AMBIGUITY IN THE WORDS RIGHT AND WRONGS
VIRTUE AND VICE,.4. 428
CHAPTER III.
OF THE OFFICE AND USE OF REASON IN THE PRACTICE
OF MORALITY2.,.  431
APPENDIX TO BOOK IV.
SECT. I. Sir James Mackintosh's Theory of Morals,... 436
II. Jouffroy's Theory of Morals,......       449




PHILOSOPHY
O0 THE
ACTIVE AND MORAL POWERS OF MAN.
INTRODUCTION.
1. Connection between the Intellectual and the Active
Powers.] In my former work on the Human Mind I
confided my attention almost exclusively to man considered as an intelleclual being; and attempted an analysis of those faculties and powers which compose that
part of his nature commonly called his intellect or his
understanding. It is by these faculties that he acquires
his knowledge of external objects; that he investigates
truth in the sciences; that he combines means in order
to attain the ends he has in view; and that he imparts
to his fellow-creatures the acquisitions he has made.
A being might, I think, be conceived, possessed of
these principles, without any of the active propensities
belonging to our species, at least without any of them
but the principle of curiosity; —a being formed only
for speculation, without any determination to the pursuit of particular external objects, and whose whole
happiness consisted in intellectual gratifications.
But, although such a being might perhaps be conceived to exist, and although, in studying our internal
frame, it be convenient to treat of our intellectual powers apart from our active propensities, yet, in fact, the
two are very intimately, and indeed inseparably, con-!




2                   INTRODUCTION.
nected in all our rincntal operations.  I have already
hinted, that, even in our sXf-e(.aLive inquiries, the principle of curiosity is necessary to account for the exertion we make; and it is still,Inoc, oC bvious, that a combination of means to accomplish particular ends presupposes some  determination  of or nature which
makes the attainment of these ends desirable.  Our
active propensities, therefore, are the motives which induce us to exert our intellectual powers; and our intellectual powers are the instruments by which we attain
the ends recommended to us by our active propensities:
" Reason the card, but passion is the gale."
It will afterwards appear, that our active propensities
are not only necessary to produce our intellectual exertions, but that tile state of the intellectual powers, in
the case of individuals, depends, in a great measure, on
the strength of their propensities, and on the particular
propensities which are predomlllant in the temper. of
their minds. A man of strong phlloscpnical curiosity
is likely to possess a much more cuitivated and inventive understanding than another of equal natural capacity, destitute of the same stimulus.  In like manner,
the love of fame, or a strong sense of duty, may compensate for original defects, or may lay the foundation
of uncommon attainments. The intellectual powers,
too, may be variously modified by the habits arising
from avarice. from the animal appetites, from ambition,
or from the benevolent affections; insomuch that the
moral principles of the miser, of the elegant voluptuary, of' the political intriguer, and of the philanthropist
are not, perhaps, more dissimilar than the acquired capacities of their understandings, and the species of information with which their memories are stored. Among
the various external indications of character, few circumstances will be found to throw more light on the
ruling passions of individuals than the habitual direction of their studies, and the nature of those accomo
plishments which they have been ambitious to attain.




INTRODUCTION.                        3
When Montaigne complains of " the difficulty he experienced in remembering the.names of his servants;
of his ignorance of the value of the French coins
which he was daily handling: and of his inability to
distinguish the different kinds of grain from each other,
both in the earth and in the granary";* his observations, instead of proving the point which he supposed
them to establish (an original and incurable defect in
his faculty of memory), only afford an illustration of
the little  interest he took  in things external, and of
the preternatural and distempered engrossment of his
thoughts with the phenomena of the internal world.
To this peculiarity in his turn of mind he had  himself
alluded, when he says, "I study myself more than any
other subject. This is my metaphysic; this my natural philosophy." A person well acquainted with the
peculiarities of Montaigne's memory might, 1 think, on
comparing them with the general superiority of his
mental powers, have anticipated him in this specification of the study which almnost exclusively occupied his
attention.t
Helvetius in his book  De l'Esprit (a work which,
among many paradoxical and some very pernicious
opinions, contains a number of acute and lively observations) has prosecuted, with considerable success, this
last view of human nature, and has collected a variety
of amusing facts to illustrate the influence of the passions on the intellectual powers.  " It is the passions,"
he observes, "that rouse the soul from  its natural ten.
* Montaigne's Essays, Book II. Chap. xvii.
t The following remarks of the learned and ingenious Dr. Jortin are
not unworthy of the attention of those whose taste leads them to the observation and study of character.
"From the complexion of those anecdotes which a man collects from
others, or which he forms by his own pen, may, without much difficulty,
be conjcctured what manner of man he was.
"The human being is mightily given to assimilation, and, fiom the stories which any one relates with spirit, from the general tenor of his conversation, and from the books or associates to which he most addicts his attention, the inference cannot be far distant as to the texture of his mind,
the vein of his wit, or. we may add, the ruling passion of his heart."Jortin's Tracts, Vol. I. p. 445.




4                  INTRODUCTION.
dency to rest, and surmount the vis inertice to which it
is always inclined to yield; and it is the strong' passions alone that prompt men to the execution of those
heroic actions, and give birth to those sublime ideas,
which command the admiration of ages.
" It is the strength of passion alone that can enable
men to defy dangers, pain, and death.
" It is the passions, too, which, by keeping up a perpetual fermentation in our minds, fertilize the same
ideas, which, in more phlegmatic temperaments, are
barren, and resemble seed scattered on a rock.
" It is the passions which, having strongly fixed our
attention on the object of our desire, lead us to view it
under aspects unknown to other men; and which, consequently, prompt heroes to plan and execute those
hardy enterprises which must always appear ridiculous
to the multitude till the sagacity of their authors has
been evinced by success." *
To this passage, which is, I think, just in the main, I
have only to object, that, in consequence of the ambiguity of the word passion, it is apt to suggest an erroneous idea of the author's meaning.  It is plain that he
uses it to denote our active priinciples in general; and,
in this sense, there can be no doubt that his doctrine is
well founded; inasmuch as, without such principles
as curiosity, the love of fame, ambition, avarice, or the
love of mankind, our intellectual capacities would for
ever remain sterile and useless. But it is not in this
sense that the word passion is most commonly einployed. In its ordinary acceptation it denotes those
animal impulses which, although they may sometimes
prompt to intellectual exertion, are certainly on the
whole unfavorable to intellectual improvement.  Helvetius himself has not always attended to this ambiguity
of language; and hence may be traced many of the
paradoxes and errors of his philosophy.
To these slight remarks it may not be useless to
subjoin an observation of La Rochefoucauld, which is
* De l'Esprit, Discours III. Chap. vi.




INTRODUCTION.                   A
equally refined and just; and which, in its practical
tendency, calls the attention to a source of danger in a
quarter where it is too seldom apprehended. " It is a
mistake to believe that none but the violent passions,
such as ambition and love, are able to triumph over the
other active principles.  Laziness, as languid as it is,
often gets the mastery of them all; overrules all the
designs and actions of life, and insensibly consumes
and destroys both passions and virtues." *
From the foregoing observations it appears, that, in
accounting for the diversities of genius and of intellectual character among men, important lights may be derived from an examination of their active propensities.
It is of more consequence for me, however, to remark
at present the intimate relation which an analysis of
these propensities bears to the theory of morals, and its
practical connection with our opinions on the duties
and the happiness of human life. Indeed, it is in this
way alone that the light of nature enables us to form
any reasonable conclusions concerning the ends and
destination of our being, and the purposes for which
we were sent into the world: Quid sumus, et quidnam
victuri gignimur.t  It forms, therefore, a necessary introduction to the science of ethics, or rather is the foundation on which that science may rest.
II. Object and Plan qf the Work.]  In prosecuting
our inquiries into the Active and the Moral Powers of
Man, I propose, first, to attempt a classification and
analysis of the most important principles belonging to
this part of our constitution; and, secondly, to treat of
the various branches of' our duty. Under the former of
these heads, my principal aim will be to illustrate the
essential distinction between those active principles
which originate in m;Ln's rational nature, and those
wlhich urge him. by a blind and instinctive impulse, to
their respective objects.
In general, it may be here remarked, that the word
* Sentences et laxiines, cclxvi.  t Persius, Sat. III. 1. 67.
1*




6                   INTRODUCTION.
action is properly applied to those exertions which are
consequent on volition, whether the exertion be made
on external objects, or be confined to our mental operations.  Thus, we say the mind is active when engaged
in study. In ordinary discourse, indeed, we are apt to
confound together action and motion.  As the operations in the minds of other men escape our notice, we
can judge of their activity only from the sensible effects it produces; and hence we are led to apply the
character of activity to those whose bodily activity
is the most remarkable, and to distinguish mankind
into two classes, the active and the speculative. In the
present instance, the word active is used in its most extensive signification, as applicable to every voluntary
exertion.
According to the definition now given of the word action, the primary sources of our activity are the circumstances in which the acts of the will originate.  Of
these there are some which make a part of our constitution, and which, on that account, are called active
principles. Such are hunger, thirst, the appetite which
unites the sexes. curiosity, ambition, pity, resentment.
These active principles are also called powers of the
will, because, by stimulating us in various ways to action, they afford exercise to our sense of duty and our
other rational principles of action, and give occasion to
our voluntary determinations as free agents.
III. Diffculty of the Study.] The study of this part
of our constitution, although it may at first view seem
to lie more open to our examination than the powers of
the understanding, is attended with some difficulties
peculiar to itself. For this various reasons may be
assigned; among which there are two that seem principally to claim our attention.
1. When we wish to examine the nature of any of
our intellectual prin(ciples, we can at all times subject
the faculty in question to the scrutiny of reflection; and
can institute whatever experiments with respect to it
may be necessary for ascertaining its general laws




INTRODUCTION.                  7
It is characteristic of all our operations purely intellectual to leave the mind cool and undisturbed, so that the
exercise of the faculties concerned in them  does not
prevent us from an analytical investigation of their theory. The case is very difiercnt with our active powers,
particularly with those which, from their violence and
impetuosity, have the greatest influence on human happiness. When we are under the dominion of the power, or, in plainer language, when we are hurried by passion to the pursuit of a particular end, we feel no inclination to speculate concerning the mental pllenornena.
When the tumult subsides, and our curiosity is awakened concerning the past, the moment for observation
and experiment is lost, and wve are obliged to search for
our facts in an imperfect recollection of what was
viewed, even in the first instance, through the most
troubled and deceitful of all media.
Something connected with this is the following remark of Mr. Hume: —  Moral philosophy has this peculiar disadvantage, which is not to be found in natural, that, in collecting its experiments, it cannot make
them purposely, with premeditation, and after such a
manner as to satisfy itself concerning every particular
difficulty that may arise. When I am at a loss to
know the effects of one body upon another in any situation, I need only put them in that situation, and observe what results from it. But should I endeavour to
clear up, after the same manner, any doubts in moral
philosophy, by placing myself in the same case with
that which I consider, it is evident that this reflectionl
and premeditation would so disturb the operation of
my natural principles, as must render it impossible to
form any just conclusion from the phenomenon.  We
must therefore glean up our experiments in this science
from a cautious observation of human life, and take
them as they appear in the common course of the
world, by men's behaviour in company, in affairs, and
in their pleasures." *
* Treatise of Human Nature, Vol. I., Introduction.




8                 INTRODUCTION.
2. Another circumstance which adds much to the
difficulty of this branch of study is the great variety of
our active principles, and the endless diversity of their
combinations in the characters of men. The same action may proceed from very different. and even opposite, motives in the case of two individuals, and even
in the sarme individual on diflirent occasions; -or an
action which in one man proceeds from a single motive
may, in another, proceed from a number of motives
conspiring together and modifying each other's effects.
The philosophers who have speculated on this subject
have in general been misled by an excessive love of
simplicity, and have attempted to explain the phenomena from the smallest possible number of data.  Overlooking the real complication of our active principles,
they have sometimes fixed on a single one, (good or
bad, according as they were disposed to think well or
ill of human nature,) and have deduced from it a
plausible explanation of all the varieties of human
character and conduct.
Our inquiries on this subject must be conducted in one
of two ways, either by studying the characters of other
men, or by studying our own. In the former way, we
may undoubtedly collect many useful hints, and many
facts to confirm or to limit our conclusions; but the
conjectures we form concerning the motives of others
are liable to so much uncertainty, that it is chiefly by
attending to what passes in our own minds that we can
reasonably hope to ascertain the general laws of our
constitution as active and moral beings.
Even this plan of study, however, as I have already
hinted, requires uncommlon perseverance, and still more
uncommon candor. The difficulty is great of attending to any of the operations of the mind; but this
difficultv is much increased in those cases in which we
are led by vanity or timidity to fancy that we have an
interest in concealing the truth from our own knowledge.
Most men, perhaps, are disposed, in consequence of
these and some other causes, to believe themselves bet.




INTRODUCTION.
ter than they really are; and a few, there is reason to
suspect, go into the opposite extreme, from the influence of false systems of philosophy or religion, or from
the gloomy views inspired by a morbid melancholy.
WVhen  to  these considerations we add  the  endless
metaphysical disputes on t:he subject of the will, and
of' man's free agency, it may easily be conceived that
the field of inquiry upon which  we are now to enter
abounds with questions not less curious and intricate
than any of those which have been hitherto under our
review. In point of practical importance some of them
will be found in a still higher degree entitled to our attention.
IV. Division of the Active Principles.]  In the further
prosecution of this subject, I shall avoid, as much as
possible, all technical divisions and classifications, and
shall content myself with the following enumeration
of our Active Principles, which I hope will be found
sufficiently distinct and comprehensive for our purposes.
1. APPETITES.
2. DESIRES.
3. AFFECTIONS.
4. SELF-LOVE.
5. THE MORAL FACULTY.
The first three may be distinguished (for a reason
which will afterwards appear) by the title of INSTINCTIVE OR IMPLANTED PROPENSITIES; the last two by
the title of RATIONAL AND GOVERNING PRINCIPLES OF
ACTION.*
* In tile above enumeration I have departed widely from Dr. Reid's
language. See his Essays on the Active Poiwers, Essay III., Parts I, Il.,
and III. This great philosopher, with whom I am always unwilling to
differ, refers our active principles to three classes, the mechanical, the
animal, and the rational; using all these three words with what I think a
very exceptional latitude. On this occasion I shall only observe, that the
word mechanical (under which he comprehends our instincts and h abits)
cannot, in my opinion, be properly applied to any of our active principles.
It is indeed used, in this instance, merely as a term of distinction; but it
seems to imply some theory concerning the nature of the principles com.
prehended under it, and is apt to suggest incorrect notions on the subject.




10                         INTRODUCTION.
If I had been disposed to examine this part of our constitution with all
the minute accuracy of which it is suscepti)le, I should have preferred the
following arrangement to that which  I have adopted, as well as to that
proposed( by D)r Rcid: —I. Of our or/ignial principles of action.  2. Of
our acquired principles of actiol.
The oriAyinal principles of action may be subdivided into the animnoal and
the rat/ionall; to the former of which classes our instincts ought undoubtedly
to be referred, as well as our al:pnetites  In I)r. Reid's arrangement, nothing appears more unaccountable, if not capricious, than to call our appetites aniaial principles, because they are common to man and to the brutes;
and, at the same time, to distinguish our i nstincts by the title of i)iech(tlical;
-when, of all our active propensities, there are none in which the nature
of man bears so strong an analogy to that of the lower animals as in these
instinctive impulses.  Indeed, it is fiom  the condition of the brutes that
the word instinct is transferred to that of man by a sort of figure or metaphor.
Our acquired principles of action comprehend all those propensities to
act which we acquire from  habit.  Such are our artificial appetites and
artificial desires, and the various factitious motives of human conduct
generated by association and fashion.
At i)resent, it being useless for any of the purposes which I have in view
to attempt so comprehensive and detailed an examination of the subject,
I shall confine myself to the general enumeration already mentioned.
As our apIpetites, our desires, and our affections, whether original or acquired. stand in the same common relation to the Moral Faculty (the
illustration of which is the chief object of this volume), I purposely avoid
those slighter and less important subdivisions which might be thought to
savour unnecessarily of scholastic subtilty.
[For later classifications of our Active Principles, see Upham's Elements of Mlental Philosodphy, Vol. II., Introduction, Chap. ii., and Whewell's
Elements of MiJorality, Book I. Chap. ii.]




BOOK I.
OF OUR INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
CHAPTER I.
OF OUR APPETITES.
I. Their Nature, Use, and Abuse.]  This class of our
Active Principles is distinguished by the following circumnstances: -
1. They take their rise from the body, and are common to us with the brutes.
2. They are not constant, but occasional.
3. They are accompanied with an uneasy sensation,
which is strong or weak in proportion to the strength
or weakness of the appetite.
Our appetites are three in number, hunger, thirst, and
the appetite of sex. Of these, two were intended for
the preservation of the individual; the third for the
continuation of the species; and without them reason
would have been insufficient for these important purposes.  Suppose, for example, that the appetite of
hunger had been no part of our constitution, reason
and experience might have satisfied us of the necessity
of food to our preservation; but how should we have
been able, without an implanted princi',le, to ascertain,
according to the varying state of our animal economy,
the proper seasons for eating, or the quantity of food
that is salutary to the body? The lower animals not
only receive this information from nature, but are,
moreover, directed by instinct to the particular sort of
food that is proper for them to use in health and in
sickness. The senses of taste and smell, in the savage




12       INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
state of our species, are subservient, at least in some
degree, to the same purpose.
Our appetites can, with no propriety, be caiied selJish,
for they are directed to their respective objects as ultimate ends, and they lmust Ball have elperated, in the +fir.,'
instance, prior to any experience iof the pleasure akrising
fromn their gratification.  A//lc,- this expw:icnce, indeed,
the desire of enjoyrment will 0atulraily come to be combined with the appetite; and it may sometimes lead us
to stimulate or provoke the appetite with a view to the
pleasure which is to result from indulging it. Imagination, too, and the association of ideas, together with
the social affections, and sometimes the moral facully,
lend their aid, and all conspire together in forming a
complex passion, in which the animal appetite is only
one ingredient. In proportion as this passion is gratified, its influence over the conduct becomes the more
irresistible, (for all the active determinations of our nature are strengthened by habit,) till at last we struggle
in vain against its tyranny. A man so enslaved by his
animal appetites exhibits humanity in one of its most
miserable and contemptible forms.
As an additional proof of the misery of such a state,
it is of great importance to remark, that, while habit
strengthens all our active determinations, it diminishes
the liveliness of our passive ivmpressions;- a remarkable instance of' which occurs in the effects produced by
an immoderaLte use of strong liquors, which, at the
same time that it confirms the active habit of intemperance, deadens and destroys the sensibility of the palate.  In consequence of this law of' our nature, the
evils of excessive indulgence are doubled, inasmuch
as our sensibility to pleasure decays in proportion as
the cravings of appetite increase.
In general, it will be found, that, wherever we attempt to enlarge the sphere of enjoyment beyond the
limits prescribed by nature, we frustrate our own purpose.
A man so enslaved by his appetites may undoubtedly, in one sense, be called seyfish; for, as he must ne



APPETITES.                  13
cessarily neglect the duties he owes to others, he may
be presumed to be deficient in the benevolent affections. But it cannot be said of him that he is actuated
by an inordinate sel/llove, (meaning by that word an
excessive regard for his own happiness,) for he sacrifices
to the meanest gratifications all the noblest pleasures
of whichl he is susceptible, and sacrifices to the pleas
ure of the  moment the permanent enjoyments of
health, reputation, and conscience.  This is true even
when the desire of gratification is combined with the
original appetite; for no two principles can be more
widely at variance than the desire of gratification and
the desire of happiness.
Of the errors introduced into morals, in consequence
of the vague use of the words selfishness and selJ:love,
I shall afterwards take notice. What I wish chiefly to
remark at present is, that in no sense of these words
can we refer to them the origin of our animal appetites;
and that the active propensities comprehended under
this title are ultimate facts in the human constitution.
II. Acquired Appetites.] Besides our natural appetites we have many acquired ones. Such are our appetites for tobacco, for opium, and for other intoxicating
drugs. In general, every thing that stimulates the nervous system produces a subsequent languor, which gives
rise to a desire of repetition.
The universality of this appetite for intoxicating
drugs is a curious fact in the history of our species.
" It seems," says Dr. Robertson, "to have been one of
the first exertions of human ingenuity to discover some
composition of an intoxicating quality; and there is
hardly any nation so rude, or so destitute of invention,
as not to have succeeded in this fatal research.  The
most barbarous of the American tribes have been so
unfortunate as to attain this art; and even those -who
are so deficient in knowledge as to be unacquainted
with the method of giving an inebriating strength to
liquors by fermentation can accomplish the same end
by other means. The people of the islands of North
9'




1 t      INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
America and of California used for this purpose the
smoke of tobacco, drawn up with a certain instrument
into the nostrils, the furies of which ascending to the
brain, they Ielt all the transports and frenzy of intoxication. In almost every part of the New World the
natives possessed the art of extracting an intoxicating
liquor f'ron maize, or the manioc root, the same substances which they convert into bread.  The operation
by which they effect this nearly resembles the common
one of brewing, but with this difference, that, instead
of yeast, they use a nauseous infusion of maize or
manioc chewed by their women.  The saliva excites
a vigorous fermentation, and in a few days the liquor
becomes fit for drinking. It is not disagreeable to the
taste, and, when swallowed in large quantities, is of an
inebriating quality. This is the general beverage of the
Americans, which they distinguish by different names,
and for which they feel such a violent and insatiable
desire, as it is not easy either to conceive or describe." *
Many striking confirmations of this remark occur in
the voyages of Cook and of later navigators.
III. Other analogous Propensities.] Our occasional
propensities to action and to repose are, in many respects, analogous to our appetites. They have, indeed,
all the three characteristics of our appetites already
mentioned. They are common, too, to man and to the
lower animals, and they operate, in our own species,
in the most infant state of the individual. In general,
every animal we know is prompted by an instinctive
impulse to take that degree of exercise which is salutary to the body, and is prevented from passing the
bounds of moderation by that languor and desire of
repose which are the consequences of continued exertion.
There is something, also, very similar to this with
respect to the mind. We are impelled by nature to
the exercise of its different faculties, and we are warned,
* Historq of Amnerica. Book I V. 6 100.




APPETITES.                       15
wnen we are in danger of overstraining them, by a
consciousness of fatigue.  After we are exhausted by
a long course of application to business, how delightful are the first moments of indolence and repose!
O che bella cosa difar niente!  We are apt to imagine
that no inducement shall again lead us to engage in
the bustle of the world: but, after a short respite from
our labors, our intellectual vigor returns; the mind
rouses from its lethargy "like a giant from his sleep,"
and we feel ourselves urged by an irresistible impulse
to return to our duties as members of society.
The active principles already mentioned are common
to man and to the brutes.  But besides these, the latter
have some instinctive impulses, of which I do not know
that there are any traces to be found in the human race.
Such are those antipathies which they discover against
the natural enemies of their respective tribes. It is probable, I think, that their existence is guarded entirely by
their appetites and antipathies; for the desire of selfpreservation implies a degree of reason and reflection
which they do not appear to possess. Even in the case
of man, this desire is probably the result of his experience of the pleasures which life affords; and, accordingly, as Dr. Beattie very finely remarks, Milton has, with
exquisite judgment, represented Adam, in the first moments of his being, as contemplating, without anxiety
or regret, the idea of immediate annihilation:"While thus I called and strayed I knew not whither
From where I first drew air, and first beheld
This happy light, when answer none returned,
On a green, shady bank profuse of flowers
Pensive I sat me down. There gentle sleep
First found mre, and with soft oppression seized
MIv drowzied sense; UNTROUBLED, though I thought
I then was passing to my former state
Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve." *
* Paradise Lost, Book VIII. 283.




16       INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
CHAPTER II.
OF OUR DESIRES.
OUR desires are distinguished from our appetites by
the following circumstances: —
1. They do not take their rise from the body.
2. They do not operate periodically after certain intervals, nor do they cease after the attainment of a
particular object.
The most remarkable active principles belonging to
this class are, -
1. The Desire of Knowledge, or the principle of Curiosity.
2. The Desire of Society.
3. The Desire of Esteem.
4. The Desire of Power, or the principle of Ambition.
5. The Desire of Superiority, or the principle of Emulation.
SECTION I.
THE DESIRE OF KNOWLEDGE.
I. Earl/y and various Manifestations.] The principle
of curiosity appears in children at a very early period,
and is commonly proportioned to the degree of intellectual capacity they possess. The direction, too, which it
takes, is regulated by nature according to the order of
our wants and necessities; being confined, in the first
instance, exclusively to those properties of material objects, and those laws of the material world, an acquaintance with which is essential to the preservation of
our animnal existence.  Hence the instinctive eagerness
with which children handle and examine every thing
which is presented to them; an employment which we
are commonly apt to consider as a mere exercise of their
animal powers, lbut which, if we reflect on the limited




DESIRE OF KNOWLEDGE.               1.7
province of sight prior to experience, and on the early
period of life at which we are able to judge by the eye
of the distances and of the tangible qualities of bodies,
will appear plainly to be the most usefull occupation in
which they could be engaged, if it were in the power
of a philosopher to have the regulation of' their attention from the hour of their birth.  Ill more advanced
years curiosity displays itself in one way or another in
every individual, anld gives rise to an infinite diversity in
their pursuits, - engrossing the attention of one man
about physical causes, of another about mathematical
truths, of a third about historical facts, of a fourth about
the objects of natural history, of a fifth about the transactions of private families, or about the politics and
news of the day.
Whether this diversity be owing to natural predisposition, or to early education, it is of little consequence
to determine, as, upon either supposition, a preparation
is made for it in the original constitution of the mind,
combined with the circumstances of our external situation. Its final cause is also sufficiently obvious, as it is
this which gives rise in the case of individuals to a limitation of attention and study, and lays the foundation
of all the advantages which society derives from the division and subdivision of intellectual labor.
II. Neither Selfish nor M'oral in itself.]  These advantages are so great, that some philosophers have attempted to resolve the desire of knowledge into selflove. But to this theory the same objection may be
stated which has already been made to the attempts of
some philosophers to account, in a similar way, for the
origin of our appetites;- that all of these are active
principles, manifestly directed by nature to particular
specific objects, as their ultimate ends; —that as the
object of hunger is not happiness, but food, so the object of curiosity is not happiness, but knowledge.  To
this analogy Cicero has very beautifully alluded, when
he calls knowledge the natural food of the understanding.  " Est animorum ingeniorumque nostrorum  na




18      INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
turale quoddam quasi pabulum consideratio contemnplatioque naturie."  WVe can indeed conceive a being
prompted merely by the cool desire of happiness to
accumulate information; but in a creature like man,
endowed with a variety of other active principles, the
stock of his knowledge would probably have been
scanty, unless self-love had been aided in~this particular
by the principle of curiosity.
Although, however, the desire of knowledge is not
resolvable into self-love, it is not in itself an object of
moral approbation.  A person may indeed employ his
intellectual powers with a view to his own moral improvement, or to the happiness of society, and so far he
acts from a laudable principle. But to prosecute study
merely from the desire of knowledge is neither virtuous
nor vicious.  When not suffered to interfere with our
duties it is morally innocent.  The virtue or vice does
not lie in the desire, but in the proper or improper regulation of it. The ancient astronomer, who, when accused of indifference with respect to public transactions,
answered that his country was in the heavens, acted
criminally, inasmuch as he suffered his desire of knowledge to interfere with the duties which he owed to
mankind.
III. But superior in Dignity and Use to the Appetites.]
At the same time, it must be admitted that the desire
of knowledge (and the same observation is applicable
to our other desires) is of' a more dignified nature than
those appetites which are common to us with the brutes.
A thirst for science has been always considered as a
mark of a liberal and elevated mind; and it generally
cooperates with the moral faculty in forming us to those
habits of self-government which enable us to keep our
animal appetites in due subjection.
There is another circumstance which renders this
desire peculiarly estimable, that it is always accompanied with a strong desire to communicate our knowledge to others; insomuch, that it has been doubted ii
the principle of curiosity would be sufficiently power




DESIRE OF KNOWLEDGE.                           19
ful to animate the intellectual exertions of any man in
a long  course of persevering    study, if he had no prospect of being ever able to impart his acquisitions to his
friends or the public.   " Si quis in ccelurn aseendisset,"
says  Cicero, " naturamque  mundi  et  pulchritudinem
siderum   perspexisset, insuavem   illlan  adrnirationem  ei
fore, que jucundissirna fuisset, si aliquem, cui narraret,
habuisset.  Sic natura solitarium  nihil arnat, semlperque
ad  aliquod  tamrquam   adminiculum   annititur, quod  in
amicissimo quoque dulcissimurn est."*  And to the same
purpose  Seneca: —' Nec  me ulla  res delectabit, licet
sit exirnia  et salutaris, quam   mihi uni seiturus  sum.
Si cum  hac exceptione detar sapientia, ut illam  inclusam
teneam, nec enuntieln, rejiciam: nullius boni, sine socio,
jucunda possessio est." t
A  strong  curiosity, properly directed, may  be justly
considered  as one  of the  most important elements in
philosophical genius; and, accordingly, there is no circumstance of greater consequence in education than to
keep the curiosity always awake, arid to turn it to useful pursuits.    I cannot help, therefore, disapproving
greatly of a very common practice in this country, that
of communicating  to  children  general anld  superficial
views of science and history by means of popular introductions.   In  this way we  rob  their future  studies
of all that interest which  can  render study  agreeable,
and  reduce  the  mrind, in the pursuits of science, to the
same  state of listlessness  and  languor as when we toil
through  the  pages of a tedious novel after being made
acquainted with the final catastrophe.
* lDe Amicitie, 23.  Thus translated, or rather paraphrased, by Melmothll: -' Were a man to he carriedl u1 to heaven, and the beanties ot
univcrsal natuie displayled to his view. fhe would receive but little pleasure
fiomn the von(lldfttl scence, if there were none to whom he might relate the
glorics lle lhadil  lwehe!i. Ihmnian nature, indeed, is so constituted as to be inCal),Lhle of loiclv sa:tisfaction  m: n, like tlose plhmnts which are formed te
em!ilaee otliher. is  led hlv a;n instinctive impulse to recline on his species'
andl( lhe tindlls his hapliest and umost secure sup)port in the armiis of a fikithful
fi'ield."
i Seneca, E)ist. 41/or, Lib. I. El. 6. "Nor, indeed. would any thing give
me plc:asure, hoxwever excellent al(l salntarv it mii-ht be, were I to keep the
knowledge of it to mynself. Were wistioni o'fered me under such restriction
as to be olhliged to con(eal it, I would reject it. No enjoyment whatevez
tan be agreeable without paiti(.ipatioll."




20        INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
It would contribute greatly to the culture and the
guidance of this principle of curiosity, if the different
sciences were taught as much as possible in the order
of the anzal/bic rather than  in that of the syzthetic
method;* a plan, however, \which I readily admit it is
not so practicable to carry into effect in a course of
public as of private instruction.  Such a mode of educalion, too, would  be attended with the additional
advantage of accustomring the student to the proper
method of investigation; and thereby preparing him in
due time to enter on the career of invention and discovery.  Nor is this all.  It would impress the knowledge he thus acquired, in some measure by his own
ingenuity, much mnore deeply on his memory than if it
were passively imbiiflbed from books or teachers;- in the
same manner as the \ilidings of a road make a more
lasting impression on the mind when we have once travelled it alone, and inquired out the way at every turn,
than if we had travelled along it a hundred times trusting ourselves implicitly to the guidance of a companion.
I am happy to be confirmed in this opinion by its
coincidence with what has been excellently remarked
on the same subject by Miss Edgeworth, in her treatise
on Practical Education; a work equally distinguished
by good sense and by originality of thought. The passage I allude to more particularly at present is the short
dialogue about the steam-engine, as improved by Mr.
Watt.t
SECTION II.
THE DESIRE OF SOCIETY.
I. An Instinctive Principle.]  Abstracted from those
affections which interest us in the happiness of others,
* Analyticalyq we discover, bh a sort of decomposition, the simple laws
which are concerned(l in the phcom(rnon uider c(otlsideration; sqtlhcticall.q
taking the laws for glrante(l. we (itermine' 1priori what the result will be
>f any hypothetical combl-ination of them - ED.
t Essays on Practical Education, Chap. XXI.




DESIRE OF SOCIETY.                21
and from all the advantages which we ourselves derive
from the social union, we are led by a natural and instilleive desire to associate with our species.  This
principle is easily discernible Wi the minds of children
long before the dawn of reason. "; Attend only," says
an intelligent and accurate observer, " to the eves, the
features, and the gestures of a child on the breast when
another child is presented to it;- both instantly, previous to the possibility of instruction or habit, exhibit
the most evident expressions of joy. Their eyes sparkle,
and their features and gestures demonstrate, in the most
unequivocal manner, a mutual attachment.   When
further advanced, children who are strangers to each
other, though their social appetite be equally strong,
discover a mutual shyness of approach, which, however,
is soon conquered by the more powerful instinct of association." *
In the lower animals, too, very evident traces of the
same instinct appear. In some of these we observe a
species of union strikingly analogous to political associations among men: in others we observe occasional
unions among individuals to accomplish a particular
purpose, - to repel, for example, a hostile assault; —
but there are also various tribes which discover a desire of society, and a pleasure in the company of their
own species, without an apparent reference to any
further end.  Thus we frequently see horses, when confined alone in an inclosure, neglect their food and break
the fences to join their companions in the contiguous
field. Every person must have remarked the spirit and
alacrity with which this animal exerts himself on the
road, when accompanied by another animal of his own
species, in comparison of what he discovers when travelling alone; and, with respect to oxen and cows, it
has been asserted, that even in the finest pasture they
dD not fatten so rapidly in a solitary state as when they
feed together in a herd.t
* Smellie's Philosophy of Natural History, Chap. XI.
t One of the best accounts of the social principle in animals is found in
Swainson's Habits and In2stincts of Animals, Chapters IX. and X. - ED.




22'     INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
What is the final cause of the associating instinct in
such animals as lhave now been mentioned it is not
easy to conjecture, unless we suppose that it was intended merely to augmcelt the sum of their enjoyments.
But whatever opinion we may form on this point, it is
indisputable that the instinctive determination is a
strong one, and that it produces striking effects on the
habits of the animal, even when external circumstances
are the most unfavorable to its operation. Horses and
oxen, for example, when deprived of companions of
their own species, associate and become attached to
each other. The same thing sometimes happens between individuals that belong to tribes naturally hostile; as between dogs and cats, or between a cat and
a bird.
If these facts be candidly considered, there will appear but little reason to doubt the existence of the social instinct in our own species, when it is so agreeable to the general analogy of nature, as displayed
through the rest of the animal creation. As this point,
however, has been controverted warmly by authors of
eminence, it will be necessary to consider it with some
attention.
II. The Theory of Hobbes stated and refuted.]  The
question with respect to the social or the solitary nature
of man seems to me to amount to this; whether man
has any disinterested principles which lead him to unite
with his fellow-creatures, or whether the social union
be the result of prudential views of self-interest, suggested by the experience of his own insufficiency to
procure the objec s of his natural desires.  Of these
two opinions, Hobbes has maintained the latter, and
has endeavoured to establish it by proving, that, in what
he calls the state of nature, every man is an enemy to
his brother, and that it was the experience of the evils
arising from these hostile dispositions that induced men
to unite in a political society. In proof of this he insists on the terror which children feel at the sight of a
stranger; on the apprehension which, he says, a person




DES1RE OF SOCIETY.                23
naturally feels when he hears the tread of a foot in the
dark; on the universal invention of locks and keys
and on various other circumstances of a similar nature.*
That this theory of Hobbes is contrary to the universal history of mankind cannot be dlisputed.  Man has
always been found in a social state; and there is reason
even for thinking, that the principles of union which
nature has implanted in his heart operate with the
greatest force in those situations in which the advantages of the social union are the smallest.  As society
advances, the relations among individuals are continually multiplied, and man is rendered the more necessary to man: but it may be doubted, if, in a period of
great refinement, the social affections be as warm and
powerful as when the species were wandering in the
forest.
Besides, it does not seem to be easy to conceive in
what manner Hobbes's supposition could be realized.
Surely, if there be a foundation for any thing laid in
the constitution of man's nature, it is for family union.
The infant of our species continues longer in a helpless state, and requires longer the protecting care of
both parents, than the young of any other animal. Before the first child is able to provide for itself, a second
and a third are produced, and thus the union of the
sexes, supposing it at first to have been merely casual,
is insensibly confirmed by habit, and cemented by the
common interest which both parents take in their offspring.  So just is the simple and beautiful statement
of the fact given by Montesquieu, that " man is born
in society, and there he remains."
From these considerations, it appears that the social
union does not take its rise from views of self-interest,
b)ut that it forms a necessary part of the condition of
man from the constitution of his nature.  It is true, indeed, that before he begins to reflect he finds himself
connected with society by a thousand ties; so that, inL Leviathan, Part I. Chap. xiii. De Corpore Politico, Part I. Chap. i.




24        INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
dependently of any social instinct, prudence would undoubtedly prevent him from abandoning his fellow-creatures.  But still it is evident that, the  social instinct
forms a part of human nature, and has a tendency to
unite men even \when they stand in no need of each
other's assistence.  WVere the case otherwise, prudence
and  the  social disposition  would  be  only  different
names for the same principle, whereas it is matter of
common remark, that although the two principles be
by no means inconsistent when kept within reasonable.
bounds, yet that the former, when it rises to any excess,
is in a great measure exclusive of the latter. I have
hinted, too, already, that it is in societies where individuals are most independent of each other as to their animal wants, that the social principles operate with the
greatest force.
III. The Wants and Necessities of Man help to develop, but do not create, his Social Principles.] According to the view  of the subject now  given, the multiplied wants and necessities of man in his infant state,
by laying the foundation of the family union, impose
upon our species, as a necessary part of their condition,
those social connections which are so essential to our
improvement and happiness. And therefore nothing
could  be more unphilosophical than  the complaints
which the ancient Epicureans founded upon this circumstance, and which Lucretius has so pathetically expressed in the following verses: —
Turn porro puer, ut soevis projectus ab undis
Navita, nudus humi jacet, infans, indigus omni
Vitali auxilio, cum primum in luminis oras
Nixibus ex alvo matris natura profudit:
Vagituque locum lugubri conlplet, ut aequum est,
Cui tantum in vita restat transire malorum." *
* Lib. V. 223.
"As when wild, wrecking tempests sweep the skies,
Cast on the shore the naked sailor lies:
So the weak infant, when he springs to light.
Thrown on the strand of life in helpless plight,
With mournftil cries the joyful mansion fills,
The unheeded omens of a life of ills."




DESIRE OF SOCIETY.                   25
The philosophy of Pope is in this respect much
more pleasing and much more solid:"Heaven, forming each on other to depend,
A master, or a servanllt, or a friend,
Bids each on other for assistance call,
Till one man's weakness grows the strength of all.
Wants, fiailties, passions, closer still ally
The common intefrest, or endear the tie.
To these we owe true frienndship, love sincere,
Each home-felt joy that life inherits here." *
Tile considerations now stated afford a beautiful illustration of the beneficent design with which the physical condition of man is adapted to the principles of'
his moral constitution; an adaptation so striking, that
it is not surprising those philosophers who are fond of
simplifying the theory of human nature should have
attempted to account for the origin of these principles
from the habits which our external circumstances impose.  In this, as in many other instances, their attention has been misled by the spirit of system from those
wonderful combinations of means to particular entds,
which are everywhere conspicuous in the universe. It
is not by the physical condition of man that the essential principles of his mind are formed; but the one is
fitted to the other by the same superintending wisdom
which adapts the fin of the fish to the water, and the
wing of the bird to the air, and which scatters the
seeds of the vegetable tribes in those soils and exposures where they are fitted to vegetate. It is not the
wants and necessities of his animal being which create
his social principles, and which produce an artificial
and interested league among individuals who are naturally solitary and hostile; but, determined by instinct
to society, endowed with innumerable principles which
have a reference to his fellow-creatures, he is placed by
the condition of his birth in that element where alone
the perfection and happiness of his nature are to be
found.
* Essay on Ilan, Ep. II. 249. See on this subject The Moralists of
Lo (rd Shaftesbhlrv.
e)




AG6     INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
IV. Man's Nature adjusted beforehand to the Condi
tion in which he is placed.]  In speaking of the lowe
animals, I before observed, that such of them as are in
stinctively social discover the secret workings of nature.
even when removed from  the society of their kini.
This fact amounts in their case to a demonstration of
that mutual adaptation of the different parts of nature
to each other which I have just remarked. It demonstrates that the structure of their internal frame is purposely adjusted to that external scene in which they
are destined to be placed. As the lamb, when it strikes
with its forehead while yet unarmed, proves that it is
not its weapons which determine its instincts, but that
it has pre/xistent instincts suited to its weapons, so
when we see an animal deprived of the sight of his
fellows cling to a stranger, or disarm, by his caresses,
the rage of an enemy, we perceive the workings of' a
social instinct, not only not superinduced by external
circumstances, but manifesting itself in spite of circumstances which are adverse to its operation.  The
same remark may be extended to man. When in
solitude, he languishes, and, by making companions
of the lower animals, or by attaching  himself to
inanimate objects, strives to fill up the void of which
he is conscious. "Were I in a desert," says an author,
who, amidst all his extravagances and absurdities,
sometimes writes like a wuise man, and, where the
moral feelings are at all concerned, never fails to write
like a good man. -   were I in a desert, I would find
out wherewith in it to call forth my affections. If I
could not do better, I would fasten them upon some
sweet myrtle, or seek some melancholy cypress to connect myself to; I would court their shade, and greet
them kindly for their protection. I would cut my
name upon them, and swear they were the loveliest
trees throughout the desert. If their leaves withered,
I would teach myself to mourn, and when they rejoiced, I would rejoice along with them."
The Count de Lauzun was confined by Louis XIV.
for nine years in the castle of Pignerol, in a small




DESIRE OF SOCIETY.              27
room where no light could enter but from a chink in
the roof. In this solitude he attached himself to a
spider, and contrived for some time to amuse himself
with attempting to tame it, with catching flies for its
support, and with superintending the progress of its
web. The jailer discovered his amusement, and killed
the spider; and the Count used afterwards to declare,
that the pang he felt on the occasion could be compared only to that of a mother for the loss of a child.
This anecdote is quoted by Lord Kames in his
Sketches, and by the late Lord Auckland in his Principles of Penal Law. It is remarkable that both these
learned and respectable writers should have introduced
it into their works on account of the shocking incident
of the jailer, and as a proof of the pure and unprovoked malice of which some minds are capable, without
taking any notice of it as a beautiful picture of the
feelings of a man of sensibility in a state of solitude, and
of his disposition to create to himself some object upon
which he may rest those affections which have a reference to society.
It will be said that these are the feelings of one who
has experienced the pleasures of social life, and that
no inference can be drawn from such facts in opposition to Hobbes. But if they do not prove in man an
instinctive impulse towards society prior to experience,
they at least prove that he feels a delight in the society
of his fellow-creatures, which no view of self-interest is
sufficient to explain.
It does not belong to our present speculation to illustrate the importance of the social union to our improvement and our happiness.  Its subserviency to
both (abstracted entirely from its necessity for the
complete gratification of our physical wants) is much
greater than we should be disposed at first to apprehend. In proof of this, it is sufficient to mention here
its connection with the culture of our intellectual faculties, and with the development of our moral principles.
Illustrations of this may be drawn from the low state
in which both these parts of our nature are generally




28          INSTINCTIVE  PRINCIPLES  OF ACTION.
found in the deaf and dumb, and from the effects
which a few  months' education  sometimes has in unfolding their mental powers. The pleasing change
which  in  the  mean  time  takes  place  in  their once
vacant countenances, when animated and lighted up
by an active and inquisitive mind, cannot escape the
notice of the most careless observer.*
SECTION III.
THE  DESIRE  OF ESTEEM.
I. An Orig, inal Principle of our Nature.]   This principle, as well as those we have now been considering,
discovers itself at a very early period in infants, who,
long before they are able to reflect on the advantagres
resulting from the good opinion of others, and even
before they acquire the use of speech, are sensibly
mortified by arlr expression of neglect or contempt.
It seems, therefore, to  be an original principle  of our
* For an additional illustration of the same thing, see a remarkable
case of recovery from deafness and dumbness in the history of the Royal
Academy of Sciences at Paris for the year 1703.
A doctrine similar to that which I have now been controverting, concerning the origin of society, was maintained by some of the ancient
sophists. and has found advocates in every age amonF those writers who
wished to depreciate human nature. as well as among many who were
anxious to represent man as entirely the creature of education and government. with the view of inculcating- implicit and passive obedience to the
civil magistrate. In Buchanan's elegant and philosophical )ialogue I)e
eure KReqni apud Scotos, the question is particularly discussed between the
two interlocutors, one of whom ascribes the origin of society to views of
utility, meaning by utility the private interest or advantage of the individual. On the contrary, Buchanan himself, who is the other speaker,
contends with great warmth for the existence of social principles in the
nature of man, which, independently of any views of interest, lay a foundation for the social union.
Part of this Dialogue is curious, as it shows how completely Buchanan
had not only anticipated, but refuted, the very far-fetched argument which
Hobbes was soon after to draw firom his supposed state of nature in support of his slavish maxims of government.
[See the sunlject of man's natural sociality still further illustrated, in
connection w-ith experiments in prison discipline, in De Beaumont and De
Toequeville's Petniteintiarq System of the United States; and in F. C. Gray's
Prison Discipline of America.]




DESIRE OF ESTEEM.               29
nature; that is, it does not appear to be resolvable into
reason and experience, or into any other principle
more general than itself.  An additional proof of this
is the very powerful influence it has over the mind, —
an influence more striking than that of any other active
principle whatsoever.  Even the love of life daily gives
wav to the desire of esteem, and of an esteem which, as
it is only to aflect our memories, cannot be supposed to
interest our self-love.  In what manner the association
of ideas should manufacture, out of the other principles
of our constitution, a new principle stronger than them
all, it is difficult to conceive.
In these observations I have had an eye to the
theories of those modern philosophers wmho represent
self-love, or the desire of happiness, as the only original
principle of action in man, and who attempt to account for the origin of all our other active principles
from  habit or the association of ideas.  That this
theory is just in some instances cannot be disputed.
Thus, in the case of avarice, it is manifest that it is
from habit alone it derives its influence over the mind;
for no man surely was ever brought into the world
with an innate love of money.. Money is at first desired, merely as the means of obtaining other objects;
but in consequence of being long and constantly accustomed to direct our efforts to its attainment on
account of its apprehended utility, we come at last to
pursue it as an ultimate end, and frequently retain our
attachment to it long after we have lost all relish for
the enjoyments it enables us to command.  In like
manner, it has been supposed that the esteem of our
fellow-creatures is at first desired on account of its
apprehended utility, and that it comes in time to be
pursued as an ultimate end, without any reference on
our part to the advant:fges it bestows.  In opposition
to this doctrine it seems to me to be clear, that as the
object of hunger is not happiness, but food; as the
object of curiosity is not happiness, but knowledge;
so the object of this principle of action is not happiness, but the esteem  and respect of other men.  That
V3




30      INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
this is not inconsistent with the analogy of our nature appears from the observations already made on
our appetites and desires; and that it really is the fact
may be proved by various arguments. Before touching, however, on these, I must remark, that I consider
this as merely a question of speculative curiosity;
for, upon either supposition, the desire of esteem is
equally the work of nature; and consequently, upon
either supposition, it is equally unphilosophical to
attempt, by metaphysical subtilties, to counteract her
wise and beneficent purposes.
Among the different arguments which concur to
prove that the desire of esteem is not wholly resolvable
into the association of ideas, one of the strongest has
already been hinted at, — the early period of life at
which this principle discovers itself, — long before we
are able to form the idea of happiness, far less to judge
of the circumstances which have a tendency to promote it. The difference in this respect between avarice
and the desire of esteem is remarkable. The former
is the vice of old age, and is, comparatively speaking,
confined to a few. The latter is one of the most powerful engines in the education of children, and is not
less universal in its'influence than the principle of
curiosity.
II. The Desire of Posthumous Fame represented by
TVollaston as Illusory.]  The desire, too, of posthlumous
fame, of which no man can entirely divest himself,
furnishes an insurmountable objection to the theories
already mentioned.  It is, indeed, an  objection so
obvious to the common sense of mankind, that all the
philosophers who have leaned to these theories have
employed their ingenuity in attempting to resolve this
desire into an illusion of the imagination produced by
habit.  This, too, was the opinion of ain excellent'writer, and still more excellent man, Mr. Wollaston,
who, from a well-meant, but very mistaken, zeal to
weaken the influence of this principle of action on
human conduct, has been at pains to give as ludicrous




DESIRE OF ESTEEM.              31
an account as possible of its origin. As I differ widely
from Wollaston on this point, both in his theoretical
speculations and in the practical inferences he deduces
from them, I shall quote the passage at length, and then
subjoin a fewv remarks on it.
" Men please themselves with notions of immortality,
and fancy a perpetuity of fame secured to themselves
by books and testimonies of historians; but alas! it is
a stupid delusion when they imagine themselves present
and entjoying, that fame at the reading of their story after
their death. And beside, in reality, the man is not
known ever the more to posterity, because his name is
transmitted to them. Hee doth not live, because his
name does. When it is said,'Julius Caesar subdued
Gaul, beat Pompey, and changed the Roman commonwealth into a monarchy,' it is the same thing as to say,' The conqueror of Pompey was Ceasar'; that is, Caesar
and the conqueror of Pompey are the same thing, and
Cuesar is as much known by the one designation as by
the other. The amount, then, is only this, that the conqueror of Pompey conquered Pompey, or somebody conquered Pompey; or rather, since Pompey is now as little
known as Caesar, somebody conquered somebody. Such
a poor business is this boasted immortality; and such
as has been described is the thing called glory among
us! The notion of it may serve to excite them who,
having abilities to serve their country in time of real
danger or want, or to do some other good, have yet not
philosophy enough to do this upon principles of virtue,
or to see through the glories of the world (just as we
excite children by praising them, and as we see many
good inventions and improvements proceed from emulation and vanity); but to discerning men this fame is
mere air, and the next remove from nothing, which they
despise, if not shun. I think there are two considerations which may justify a desire of some glory or honor,
and scarce more. When men have performed any virtuous actions, or such as sit easy on their memories, it
is a reasonable pleasure to have the testimony of the
world added to that of their own consciences. that they




INSTINCTIVE  PRINCIPLES  OF ACTION.
mvi}  e done well.   And more than that, if the reputation:iC.Tiired  by  any  qualification  or action  may  produce
a  maln  any  real, comfort or advantage  (if it be only
protection froIn  the insolence and injustice of mankind,
or if it enables him, by his authority, to  do more good
to others), to have this privilege must be a great satisfactionl, Iald what a wise a nd good man may be alloxwed, as he has opportunity, to  propose  to  himself.
But then he proposes it no further than it may be use-.fidl, and  it can  be no  further useful than  he wants it.
So that, upon the whole, glory, praise, and the like, are
either mere vanity, or only  valuable in  proportion  to
defects and wants." *
It appears from this passage, that Wollaston does
not consider the desire of posthumous fame as an ultimate fact in our nature, for he proposes a theory to
account for it.   " It is," says he, "a  stupid  delusion,
when men imagine themselves present and enjoying
that fame  at the  reading  of their story  after death."
Mr. Smith, too, in  his  Theory  of Moral  Sentimzents,
*  Wollaston's Religion of Nature Delineated, Sect. V. ~ xix. A thought
substantially the same with that of Wollaston occurs in Cowley's ode entitled Life and FPane.':Great Cmsar's self a higher place does claim
In the seraphic entity of flanie.
He, since that toy, his death,
Doth fill each month and breath.'T is true, the two immortal syllables remain;
But, 0 ye learned men, explain,
What essence, what existence this,
What substance, wlr'hat subsistence, what hypostasis
In six poor letters is?
In those alone does the great COesar live.'T is al! the conquered world could give."
Notwitllstallding' the:"merit of these lines, I should hardly have thonght
it worth while to quote thein. if l)r. Hurd (a critic of no common ingenuity
as well as learnling) had not shown, by his comment upon them. how conlpletely lie liad nlisaq)l:)rchende(ll the reasoning both of the poet and of the
philosopher.  IIe rinarks: —
"This lively ridicule on posthumous fame is well enough placed in a
poem  or dcelamation;  but we are a little surprised to find so g-rave a
writer as Wollaston diverting  himself with it.'In reality,' says he,' the
man is not known ever the more to posterity because his name is transmitted to them.  lie does not live, because his name does.' When it is
said,'Julius Caesar subdued Gaul,' &c., &c., the sophistry is apparent.




DESIRE  OF ESTEEM.                         33
seems to think  that the desire  of a posthumous fame
is to be resolvable into  an illusion of the imagination.
" Men," says he, " have often voluntarily thrown away
life to acquire  after death  a renown which  they could
no longer enjoy.   Their imagination, in the mean time,
anticipated  that fame which  Nwas thereafter to be bestowed upon them.  Those applauses which they were
never to hear rung in their ears, the thoughts of that
admiration whose effects they were never to feel played about their hearts, banished from their breasts the
strongest of all natural fears, and transported them to
perform  actions which  seem  almost beyond the reach
of human nature."          But why have recourse to  an  illusion of the imagination to account for a principle
which the wisest of men find it impossible to extinguish  in  themselves, or even  sensibly to weaken; and
none  more remarkably than  some of those  who  have
employed their ingenuity in  attempting to turn it into
ridicule?   Is it possible that men should imagine themselves present and enjoying their fame at the reading of
Put Cato in the place of Caesar, and then see whether that great man do
not live in his name substantially, that is, to good purpose, if the impression
which these two immortal syllables make on the mind be of use in exciting
posterity, or any one man, to the love and imitation of Cato's virtue."Hurd's Cowley, Vol. I. p. 179
In this remark, Hurd plainly proceeds on the supposition, that lWollas
ton's sophistry is directed against the utility of the love of posthumous
glory, whereas the only point in dispute relates to the oriqin of this principle, which Wollaston seems to have thought. if it could not be resolved
into the rational motive of self love, must be the illegitimate and contemptible offspring of our own stupidity and folly.
How very different must Cowley's feelings have been when he wrote
the metaphysical ode referred to by Hurd, from those which inspired that
first burst of juvenile emotion which forms the exordium to his Poetical
Works!
" What shall I do to be for ever known,
And make the age to come my own?
I shall, like beasts or common people, die,
Unless you write my elegy.
What sound is't strikes mine ear?
Sure I fame's trumpet hear.
It sounds like the last trumpet, for it can
Raise up the buried man."
# Part III. Chap. ii.




34          INSTINCTIVE  PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
their story after death. without being  conscious of this
operation of the imagination  themselves?   Is not this
to depart from  the plain and obvious appearance of the
fact, and to adopt refinements similar to those by which
the selfish philosophers explain away all our disinterested  affections?   We  might as well suppose  that a
man's regard for the welfare of his posterity and friends
after his death does not arise from natural affection,
but from  an  illusion  of the imagination, leading  him
to suppose himself still present with them, and a witness
of their prosperity.'   If we have  confessedly  various
other propensities directed to specific objects as ultimate ends, where is the difficulty of conceiving that a
desire, directed to the good opinion of our fellow-creatures (without any reference to the advantages it is to
yield us either now or hereafter), may be among the
number?
III.  Vindication of this Principle.]   It would not, indeed, (as I have already hinted,) materially affect the
argument, although we should suppose, with Wollaston,
that the desire of posthumous fame is resolvable into
an illusion  of the imagination.   For, whatever be its
origin, it was plainly the intention  of nature  that all
men should  be in  some measure under its influence;
and it is perhaps of little consequence whether we regard it as a principle originally implanted by nature, or
suppose that she has laid a foundation  for it in other
principles which belong universally to the species.
* The two cases seem to be so exactly parallel, that it is somewhat surprising that no attempt should have been made to extend to the latter princilple of action the same ridicule which has been so lavishly bestowed on
the former. So far, however, from this being the case, I believe it will be
ulicersallly granted, that, where the latter principle fails in produillng its
natural and ordinary effect on the conduct, there must exist some defect
in the rational or moral character, for which no other good qualities can
snfficientlv atone. " He that careth not for his own house is worse than
an infidel."' But if this be acknowledged with respect to the interest wve
take in the concerns of our connections after our own disappearance fiom
the present scene, why judge so harshly of the desire of posthumous fame l
Do not the two principles often cooperate in stimulating our active exertions to the very same ends, more especially in those cases (alas! too common) where the inheritance of a respectable name is all that a good man
has it in his power to bequeathe to his familyv?




DESIRE OF ESTEEM.                       35
How  very powerfully it operates appears, not only
from the heroical sacrifices to which it has led in every
age of the world, but from the conduct of the meanest
and most worthless of mankind, who, when they are
brought to the scaffold in consequence of the clearest
and most decisive evidence of their guilt, frequently
persevere to the last, with the terrors of futurity full in
their viex,s in the most solemn protestations of their
innocence; and that merely in the hope of leaving  behind them, not a fair, but an equivocal or problematical
reputation.
With respect to the other parts of Wollaston's reasoning, that it is only the letters which compose our
names that we can transmit to posterity, it is worthy
of observation, that, if the argument be good for any
thing, it applies equally against the desire of esteem
from  our contemporaries, excepting  in those cases in
which we ourselves are personally known by those
whose praise we covet, and of whose applause we happen ourselves to be ear-witnesses.  And yet, undoubtedly, according to the common judgment of mankind,
the love of praise is more peculiarly the mark of a liberal and elevated spirit in cases where the gratification
it seeks has nothing to recommend it to those whose
ruling passions are interest or the love of flattery.* It
is precisely for the same reason that the love of posthumous fame is strongest in the noblest and most exalted
characters.  If self-love were really the sole motive in
all our actions, Wollaston's reasoning  would  prove
* That the desire of esteem, if a fantastic principle of action in the olne
of these cases, is equally so in the other, is remarked by Pope; biut, instead of availingr himself of this consideration to justify the desire of posthumnous renown, he employs it as an argument to expose the nothingness
of famne in all cases whatsoever.
"What's fame? a fancied life in others' breath,
A thing bevond us e'en before our death.
All that we feel of it begins and ends
In the small circle of our foes or friends;
To all beside, as much an empty shade
An Eugene living as a Caesar dead."
Essay on Alcan, Epistle IV. 237.




36       INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
clearly the absurdity of any concern about our inem
ory.  Such a concern, as Dr. Hutcheson observes, "no
selish being, who had the modelling of his own nature,
would choose to implant ill hiinself.  But, since we
have not this power, w\e must be coitienlted to be thiiu
miataitted by natulre into a puiblic interest to'ainusl our
wIcill." *
As to the fact on which WVollastowl's argument proceeds, is it not more philosophical to consider it as affording an additional stimulus to the instinctive love of'
posthumous fame, by holding it up to the imagination
as the noblest and proudest boast of human ambition.
to be able to entail on the casual combination of letters
which composes our name the respect of distant ages,
and the blessings of generations yet unborn? Nor is
it an unworthy object of the most rational benevolence
to render these letters a sort of' magical spell for kindling the emulation of the wise and good wherever
they shall reach the human ear.
Nor is it only in this instance that nature has " thus
outwitted us" for her own wise and salutary purposes.
By a mode of reasoning analogous to that of Wollaston, it would be easy to turn most, if not all, our active principles into ridicule. But what should we gain
by the attempt, but a ludicrous exposition of that moral constitution which it has pleased our Maker to give
us, and which, the more we study it, will be found to
abound the more with marks of wise and beneficent
design?
It is fortunate, ini such cases, that, although the reasonings of the lnetaphysician'may puzzle the understanding, they produce very little effect on the conduct.
He may tell us, for example, that the admiration of female beauty is absurd, because beauty, as well as color,
is a quality not existing in the object, but in the mind
of the spectator; or (which brings the case still nearer
to that under our consideration) he may allege that
the whole charm of the finest countenance would van* Natur(  otand Conduct of the Passiois. Sect. I. Art. IV.




DESIRE OF ESTEEM.                     37
ish if it were examined with the aid of a microscope.
In all such cases, as well as in the instance referred to
by Wollaston, Twe are determined very powerfully by
nature; in a way, indeed, that our reason cannot explain, but which we never fail to find subservient to
valuable ends. For I am far from thinking that it
would be of advantage to mankind if Wollaston's
views were generally adopted. That the love of glory
has sometimes covered the earth with desolation and
bloodshed I am ready to grant; but the actions to
which it generally  prompts are highly serviceable  to
the world. Indeed, it is only by such actions that an
enviable fame is to be acquired.
A strong conviction of this truth has led Dr. Akenside to express himself in one of his odes with a
warmth which passes, perhaps, the bounds of strict
propriety, but for which a sufficient apology may be
found in the poetical enthusiasm by which it was inspired. The ode is said to have been occasioned by a
sermon against the love of glory.
" Come, then, tell me, sage divine,
Is it an offence to own
That our bosoms e'er incline
Towards immortal glory's throne?
For with me nor pomp nor pleasure,
Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure,
So can fancy's dream rejoice,
So conciliate reason's choice,
As one approving word of her impartial voice.
"If to spurn at noble praise
Be the passport to thy heaven,
Follow thou these gloomy ways;
No such law to me was given:
Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me
Faring like my fiiends before me,
Nor a holier heaven desire
Than Timolcon's arms acquire,
And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre."
Having mentioned the name of Milton, I cannot forbear to add, that he too has called the love of fame an
infirmity, although he has qualified this implied censure
by calling it the " infirmity of a noble rmind."  He has
distinctly acknowledged, at the same time, the heroic
4




38       INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
sacrifices of ease and pleasure to which it has prompted the most distinguished benefactors of the human
race.
" Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise
(The last infirmity of noble minds)
To scorn delights and live laborious days."
IV. Hlume's Theory respecting its Origin.]  I must
not dismiss this subject without taking some notice of
a theory started by Mr. Hume with respect to the origin of the love of praise; a theory which applies to
this passion even when it has for its object the praise
of our contemporaries.  " Of all opinions," he observes, " those which we form in our own favor, however lofty and presuming, are at bottom the frailest, and
the most easily shaken by the contradiction and opposition of others. Our great concern in this case makes
us soon alarmed, and keeps our passions upon the
watch; our consciousness of partiality still makes us
dread a mistake; and the very difficulty of judging
concerning an object which is never set at a due distance from us, nor seen in a proper point of view,
makes us hearken anxiously to the opinion of others
\who are better qualified to form opinions concerning
us.  Hence that strong love of fame with which all
mankind are possessed.  It is in order to fix and confirm their favorable opinion of themselves, not JofionL ar,
origrinalpassion, that they seek the applause of'others."' 
I think it cannot be doubted that the circumstance
here mentioned by Mr. Hume adds greatly to the pleasure we derive from  the possession of esteem; but it
sufficiently appears from the facts already stated, particularly from the early period of life at which this principle makes its appearance, that there is a satisfaction
arising from the possession of esteem perfectly unconnected with the cause referred to by this author.  Mr.
Hume has therefore mistaken a concomitant effect for
the cause of the phenomenon in question.
* Dissertation on the Passions, Sect I. ~ 10.




DESIRE OF ESTEEML.              39
In remarking, however, this concomitant effect, he
must be allowed to have called our attention to a fact
of some importance in the philosophy of the human
mind, and which ought not to be overlooked in analyzing the compounded sentiment of satisfaction we derive from the good opinion of others. Nor is this the
only accessory circumstance that enhances the pleasure
resulting from the gratification of the original principle.
If in those cases where we are somewhat doubtful of
the propriety of our own conduct we are anxious to
have in our favor the sanction of public opinion, so,
on the other hand, when we are satisfied in our own
minds that our conduct has been right, part of the
pleasure we receive from esteem arises from observing
the just views and candid dispositions of others. Nor
is it less indisputable, on the contrary supposition, that
when, in consequence of calumny and misrepresentation, we fail in obtaining that esteem  to which we
know ourselves to be entitled, our disappointment at
missing our just reward is aggravated, to a wonderful
degree, by our sorrow for the injustice and ingratitude
of mankind. Still, however, it must be remembered
that these are only accessory circumstances, and that
there is a pleasure resulting from the possession of esteem which is not resolvable into either of them, and
which appears to be an ultimate fact in the constitution of our nature.
V. Incidental Benefits resulting from  the Love of
Fame.] From the passage formerly quoted from Wollaston it appears that he apprehended the love of fame
to be justifiable only in two cases. The one is, when
we desire it as a confirmation of the rectitude of our
own judgments; the other, when the possession of it
can be attended with some real and solid good. But
why, I must again repeat, offer any apology for our
obeying a natural principle of our constitution, so long
as we preserve it under due regulation?
It is not unworthy of remark, that this principle is
one of those with which our fellow-creatures are most




40      INSTINC'rTVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
disposed to sympathize. With what indignation do we
hear the slightest reflection cast on the memory of one
who was dear to us, and how sacred do we feel the duty
of coming forward in his detence! Nor is this sympathy
confined to the circle of our acquaintance. It embraces
the wise and good of the most remote ages, and
prompts us irresistibly to protect their fame from the
assaults of envy and detraction. Whatever theory philosophers may adopt as to the origin of this sympathy,
its utility in preserving immaculate the reputation of
those ornaments of humanity whom mankind look up
to as models for imitation is equally indisputable.
I have already said that the desire of esteem is, on
the whole, a useful principle of action; for, although
there are many cases in which the public opinion is
erroneous and corrupted, there are many more in which
it is agreeable to reason, and favorable to the interests
of virtue and of mankind.   The habits, therefore,
which this principle of action has a tendency to form
are likely, in most instances, to coincide with those
which are recommended by a sense of duty. In many
men, accordingly, who are very little influenced by
higher principles, a regard to the opinion of the world
(or, as we commonly express it, a regard to character)
produces a conduct honorable to themselves and beneficial to society.
To this observation it may be added, that the habits
to which we are trained by the desire of esteem render
the acquisition of virtuous habits more easy. The desire of esteem operates in children before they have a
capacity to distinguish right from wrong; or at least
the former principle of action is much more powerful
in their case than the latter. Hence it furnishes a most
useful and effectual engine in the business of education,
more particularly by training us early to exertions of
self-command and self-denial. It teaches us, for example, to restrain our appetites within those bounds which
decency prescribes, and thus forms us to habits of moderation and temperance.  And although our conduct
cannot be denomninated virtuous so long as a regard tc




DESIRE OF ESTEEM.                41
the opinion of others is our only motive, yet the habits
we thus acquire in infancy and childhood render it more
easy for us to subject our passions to the authority of
reason and conscience as we advance to maturity.  " It.
that young man," said Sylla, speaking of Cuesar, " who
walks the streets with so little regard to modesty, I foresee many Mariuses."  His idea probably was, that on
a temper so completely divested of sympathy with the
feelings of others society could lay little hold, and that
whatever principle of action should happen to gain
the ascendant in his mind was likely to sacrifice to its
own gratification the restraints both of honor and of
duty.
VI. Adam Smith confounds Desire of Esteem with the
Moral Motive.]  These, and some other considerations
of the same kind, have struck Mr. Smith so forcibly,
that he has been led to resolve our sense of duty into a
regard to the good opinion, and a desire to obtain the
sympathy, of our fellow-creatures. I shall afterwards have
occasion to examine the principal arguments he alleges
in support of his conclusions. At present I shall only
remark, that, although his theory mnay account for the
desire which all men, both good and bad, have to assume
the appearance of virtue, it never can explain the origin
of our notions of duty and of moral obligation. One
striking proof of this is, that the love of fame can only
be completely gratified by the actual possession of those
qualities for which we wish to be esteemed; and that,
when we receive praises which we know we do not deserve, we are conscious of a sort of fraud or imposition
on the world.
" All fame is foreign but of true desert, -
Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart."
In further confirmation of the same doctrine it may
be observed, that, although the desire of esteem is often
a useful auxiliary to our sense of duty, and although,
in most of our good actions, the two principles are per.
haps more or Jess blended together, yet the merit of vir4V




42          INSTINCTIVE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ACTION.
tuous conduct is always enhanced, in  the opinion  of
mankind, when  it is discovered in the more private situations of life, where the individual cannot be suspected
of any  views to  the  applauses  of the  world.   Even
Cicero, in whose mind vanity had at least its due sway?
has  borne  testimony  to  this  truth:-"  Mihi quidem
laudabiliora  videntur omnia, qum  sine  venditatione  et
sine populo teste fiunt: non  quo  fugiendus sit (omnia
enim   benefacta  in  luce  se collocari volunt) sed tamen
nullumrn theatrum virtuti conscientia majus est."" So
* Tusc. Disp., Lib. II. 26. " Besides, to me, indeed, every thing seems
the more commendable, the less the people are courted, and the fewer eyes
there are to see it. Not that observation is to be avoided, for every generous action loves the public view; still, there is no theatre for virtue like
the witness of a good conscience."  The same remark is made by Pliny
in one of his epistles, Lib. III. Epist. XVI., where it is illustratcd by one
of the most beautiful anecdotes recorded in the annals of our species.
Although no English version can possibly do justice to the conciseness and
spirit of Pliny's own language, I shall, for the sake of my unlearned readers, quote the anecdote referred to above, in the admirable translation of
Mr. Melmnoth.
"I have frequently ol)served, that, amongst the noble actions and remarkable sayings of distinguished persons in either sex, those which have
been most celebrated have not always been the most illustrious: and I am
confirmed in this opinion by a conversation I had yesterday  with Fannia.
This lady is granddaughter to that celebrated Arria who animated her
husband to meet death by her own glorious example.  She informed me
of several particulars relating to Arria, not less heroical than this famous
action of hers, though less taken notice of, which, I am persuaded, will
raise your admiration as much as they did mine.  Her husband, Cacinna
Paetus, and his son, were both at the same time attacked with a dangerous
illness, of which the son died. This youth, who had a most beautiful person and amiable bellaviourl, was not less endeared to his parents by his
virtues than by the ties of' affection.  His mother managed his funeral so
privately, that Pawtus did not know of his death. Whenever she came to
his bed-chaml)er she pretendelcd her son was better; and, as often as he in
quired after his health, would answer that he had rested well, or had eat
with an apletitc.  Wlhen she found she could no longer restrain her grief,
but her tears were guslhin- out, she would leave the room, and, having
given vent to her passion, return again with dry eyes, as if she had dismissed everv sentinment of sorrow at her entrance.  The action was no
doubt truly noble, when, driawinr the dagger. she plunged it in her breast,
and then plresented it to her husba-nd, with that ever memorable, I had
atmost said dtivine expression, -  P(erts. it is not lpainfitd.' It must, however, be considered that, whllen she sp)oke and acted tihus, she had the prospect of immortal glory before her eyes to encourage and support her.
But was it nlot something much greater, without the view of such powerful motives, to hide her tears, to conceal her grief, and cheerfully seem tht
mother wher she was so nlo more q "




DESIRE OF ESTEEM.               43
far, therefore, are the desire of esteem and the sense of
duty from being radically the same principle of action,
that the former is only an auxiliary to the latter, and is
always understood to diminish the merit of the agent
in proportion to the influence it had over his determrinations.
An additional proof of this may be derived from the
miserable effects produced on the conduct by the desire
of fame, when it is the sole, or even the governing, principle of our actions. In this case, indeed, it seldom fails
to disappoint its own purposes, for a lasting fame is
scarcely to be acquired without a steady and consistent
conduct, and such a conduct can only arise from a conscientious regard to the suggestions of our own breasts.
The pleasure, therefore, which a being capable of reflection derives from the possession of fame, so far from being the original motive to worthy actions, presupposes
the existence of other and of nobler motives in the mind.
Nor is this all; when a competition happens between
the desire of fame and a regard to duty, if we sacrifice
the latter to the former we are filled with remorse and
self-condemnation, and the applauses of the world afford
us but an empty and unsatisfactory recompense; whereas a steady adherence to the right, even although it
should accidentally expose us to calumny, never fails
to be its own reward. Whether, therefore, we regard
our lasting happiness or our lasting fame, the precept
of Cicero is equally deserving of our attention.
"Neither make it your study to secure the applauses
of the vulgar, nor rest your hopes of happiness on rewards which men can bestow. Let virtue, by her own
native attractions, allure you in the paths of honor.
What others may say of you is their concern, not yoturs;
nor is it worth your while to be out of humor for the
topics which your conduct may supply to their conversation." -" Neque sermonibus vulgi dederis te, nec in
pramiis humanis spem posueris rerum tuarum; suis te
oportet illecebris ipsa virtus trahat ad verum decus. Quid
de te alii loquantur, ipsi videant: sed loquentur tamen." *
* Sowmn. Scipionis.




44      INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
SECTION IV.
THE DESIRE OF POWER.
I. Early Manifestations of this Principle.]  The manner in which the idea of power is at first introduced into
the mind has been long a perplexing subject of speculation to metaphysicians, and has given rise to some of
the most subtile disquisitions of the human understanding. But, although it be difficult to explain its origin,
the idea itself is familiar to the most illiterate, even at
the earliest period of life; and the desire of possessing
the corresponding object seems to be one of the strongest principles of human conduct.
In general, it may be observed, that, whenever we are
led to consider ourselves as the authors of any effect,
we feel a sensible pride or exultation in the consciousness of power, and the pleasure is in general proportioned to the greatness of the effect, compared with the
smallness of our exertion.
What s commonly called the pleasure of activity is
in truth the pleasure of power. Mere exercise, which
produces no sensible effect. is attended with no enjoyment, or a very slight one. The enjoyment, such as it
is, is only corporeal.
The infant, while still on the breast, delights in exerting its little strength on every object it meets with, and
is mortified when any accident convinces it of its own
imbecility. The pastimes of the boy are, almost without exception, such as suggest to him the idea of his
power. When he throws a stone, or shoots an arrow,
he is pleased with being able to produce an effect at a
distance from himself; and, while he measures with his
eye the amplitude or range of his missile weapon, contemplates with satisfaction the extent to which his power
has reached. It is on a similar principle that he loves
to bring his strength into comparison with that of his
fellows, and to enjoy the consciousness of superior
prowess. Nor need we search in the malevolent dispo.




DESIRE OF POWER.                     45
sitions of our nature for any other motive to the apparent acts of cruelty which he sometimes exercises over
the inferior animals, — the sufferings of the animal, in
such cases, either entirely escaping his notice, or being
overlooked in that state of pleasurable triumph which
the wanton abuse of power communicates to a weak
and unreflecting judgment. The active sports of the
youth captivate his fancy by suggesting similar ideas,
— of strength of body, of force of mind, of contempt
of hardship and of danger. And accordingly such are
the occupations in which Virgil, with a characteristical
propriety, employs his young Ascanius.
"At puer Ascanius mediis in vallibus acri
Gaudet equo; jamque hos cursu, jam praeterit illos;
Spumantemque dari pecora inter inertia votis
Optat aprum, aut fulvum descendere monte leonem." *
II. Increases our Desire of Knowledge in after Life.]
As we advance in years, and as our animal powers lose
their activity and vigor, we gradually aim at extending
our influence over others by the superiority of fortune
and station, or by the still more flattering superiority
of intellectual endowment, by the force of our understanding, by the extent of our information, by the arts
of persuasion, or the accomplishments of address. What
but the idea of power pleases the orator in managing
the reins of an assembled multitude, when he silences
the reason of others by superior ingenuity, bends to his
purposes their desires and passions, and, without the
aid of force or the splendor of rank, becomes the arbiter
of the fate of nations!
To the same principle we may trace, in part, the
pleasure arising from the discovery of general theorems
* Zneid., Lib. IV. 156.
"While there, exulting, to his utmost speed
The young Ascanius spurs hisfiery steed,
Outstrips by turns the flying social train,
And scorns the meaner triumphs of the plain:
The hopes of glory all his soul inflame;
Eager he longs to run at nobler game,
And drench his youthful javelin in the'Of the fierce lion, or the nmountain boa.




46      INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
in the sciences. Every such discovery puts us in possession of innumerable particular truths or particular
facts, and gives us a ready command of a great stock
of knowledge, of which we could not, with equal ease,
avail ourselves before. It increases, in a word, our intellectual power in a way very analogous to that in
which a machine or engine increases the mechanical
power of the human body.
The discoveries we make in natural philosophy have,
beside this effect, a tendency to enlarge the sphere of
our power over the material universe; first, by enabling
us to accommodate our conduct to the established
course of physical events; and secondly, by enabling
us to call to our aid many natural powers or agents as
instruments for the accomplishment of our purposes.
In general, every discovery we make with respect to
the laws of nature, either in the material or moral
worlds, is an accession of power to the human mind,
inasmuch as it lays the foundation of prudent and effectual conduct in circumstances where, without the
same means of information, the success of our proceedings must have depended on chance alone. The
desire of power; therefore, comes, in the progress of
reason and experience, to act as an auxiliary to our instinctive desire of knowledge; and it is with a view to
strengthen and confirm this alliance that Bacon so
often repeats his favorite maxim, that knowledge and
power are synonymous or identical terms.
III. Other Passions resolvable, in part at least, into
the Desire of Power.] The idea of power is, partly at
least, the foundation of our attachment to property. It
is not enough for us to have the use of an object. We
desire to have it completely at our own disposal, without being responsible to any person whatsoever for the
purposes to which we may choose to turn it. "There
is an unspeakable pleasure," says Addison, "in calling
any thing one's own. A freehold, though it; be but in
ice and snow, will make the owner pleased in the pos.
session and stout in the defence of it."




DESIRE  OF POWER.                         47
Avarice is a particular modification of the desire of
vower, arising from  the various functions of money in a
commercial country. Its influence as an active principle is greatly strengthened by habit and association, insomuch that the original desire of power is frequently
lost in the acquired propensities to which it gives birth;
tile possession of money becoming, in process of time,
al ultimate object of pursuit, and continuing to stimulate the activity of the mind after it has lost a relish
for every other species of exertion.'
The love of liberty proceeds in'part, if not wholly,
from  the same source; from  a desire of being  able to
do whatever is agreeable to our own inclination. Slavery mortifies us, because it limits our power.
Even the love of tranquillity and retirement has been
resolved  by Cicero into  the desire of power.  " Multi
autem  et sunt et fuerunt, qui eam, quam  dico, tranquillitatem  expetentes, a negotiis publicis se removerint, ad
otiumque   perfugerint......  His  idem   propositum
fuit quod regibus, ut ne qua re egerent, ne cui parerent,
libertate uterentur; cujus proprium est sic vivere ut
velis. Quare, cum hoc commune sit potentire cupidorum cum iis quos dixi otiosis; alteri se adipisci id posse arbitrantur, si opes magnas habeant, alteri, si contenti sint et sueo, et parvo." t
* Berkelev in his Qaerist has started the same idea.
" Whether the real end and aim of men be not power? and whether he
who could have every thing else at his wish or will would value money?"
To this query the good Bishop has subjoined another, which one would
hardly have expected from a writer so zealously attached to Tory and
High-Church principles.
"Whether the public aim in every well-governed state be not, that each
member, according to his just pretensions and industry, should have
POWER?"
Naturam e.pellas furcd, tamen usque recurret.
tDe Qff:, Lib. I. 20. 21. " Now there have been and are many who
have withdrawn from public business, and sought in retirement the trtnquillity of which I am speaking. These men have proposed to themselvts
the same end with kings; nanmely, that they may need nothing, be subject
to no one, and enjoy freedom, the leading privilege of which is to live as
you please.  They, therefore, who aspire after power have this in common
with those who court retirement. that the former think they are able to attain the same object by the possession of a vast fortune which the other
look for in contentment with their present means, however humble."




48       INSTINCTI\ F PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
The idea of power is also, in some degree, the foundation of the pleasure of virtue.  We love to be at liberty to follow our own inclinations, without being subject to the control of a superior; but even this is not
sufficient to our happiness. When we are led by vicious habits, or by the force of passion, to do what reason disapproves, we are sensible of a mortifying subjection to the inferior principles of our nature, and feel
our own littleness and weakness.  On the other hand,
he that ruleth, his spirit feels himself greater than he that
taketh a city. " It is pleasant," says Dr. Tillotson, "to
be virtuous and good, because that is to excel many
others. It is pleasant to grow better, because that is to
excel ourselves. It is pleasant to mortify and subdue
our appetites, because that is victory. It is pleasant to
command our passions, and keep them within the
bounds of reason, because this is empire."
From the observations now made, it appears that
the desire of power is subservient to important purposes
in our constitution, and is one of the principal sources
both of our intellectual and moral improvements. An
examination of the effects which it produces on society would open views very strikingly illustrative of
benevolent intention in the Author of our frame. I
shall content myself, however, with remarking, that the
general aspect of the fact affords a very favorable view
of human nature.  When we consider how much more
every man has it in his power to injure others than to
promote their interests, it must appear manifest that
society could not possibly subsist unless the benevolent
affections had a very decided predominance over those
principles which give rise to competition and enmity.
Whoever reflects duly on this consideration will, if I
do not deceive myself, be inclined to form conclusions
concerning the dispositions of his fellow-creatures very
different from the representations of them to be found
in the writings of some gloomy and misanthropical
moralists.*
* On ambition see Lieber, Political Ethics, Book III. Chap. iv. - ED.




DESIRE OF SUPERIORITY.            49
SECTION V.
EMULATION, OR THE DESIRE OF SUPERIORITY.
I. Not a Malevolent Affection.] This principle of
action is classed by Dr. Reid with the affections, and is
considered by him as a malevolent affection.*  He tells
us, however, that he does not mean by this epithet to
insinuate that there is any thing criminal in emulation,
any more than in resentment when excited by an injury; but he thinks that it involves a sentiment of ill-will
to our rival, and makes use of the word malevolent to
express this sentiment, as the language affords no softer epithet to convey the idea.
I own it appears to me that emulation, considered as
a principle of action, ought to be classed with the desires, and not with the affections.  It is, indeed, frequently accompanied with a malevolent affection; but
it is the desire of superiority which is the active principle, and the affection is only a concomitant circumnstance.
I do not even think that this malevolent affection is
a necessary concomitant of the desire of superiority.
It is possible, surely, to conceive (although the case
may happen but rarely) that emulation may take place
between men who are united by the most cordial friendship, and without a single sentiment of ill-will disturbing their harmony.
II. Distinction between Emulation and Envy.]  When
emulation is accompanied with malevolent affection, it
assumes the name of envy. The distinction between
these two principles of action is accurately stated by
Dr. Butler. " Emulation is merely the desire of superiority over others, with whom we compare ourselves.
To desire the attainment of this superiority by the particular means of others being brought down below our
* Esstys oa twe.tct'i/e IPo,'ers, Essay III. Parit II. Chap. v.




50         INSTINCTIVE  PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
own level is the distinct notion of envy. From whence
it is easy to see, that the real end which the natural
passion, emulation, and which the unlawful one, envy,
aims at is exactly the same; and, consequently, that to
do mischief is not the end of envy, but merely the
means it makes use of to  attain  its end."    Dr. Reid
himself seems to have clearly perceived the distinction,
although in other parts of the same section he has lost
sight of it again.  "He  who runs a race,"  says he,
" feels uneasiness at seeing another outstrip him. This
is uncorrupted nature, and the work of God within him.
But this uneasiness may  produce either of two  very
different effects. It may incite him to make more
vigorous exertions, and to strain every nerve to get
before his  rival.  This is fair and  honest emulation.
This is the effect it is intended -to produce. But if he
has not fairness and  candor of heart, he will look with
an evil eye on his competitor, and will endeavour to
trip him, or to throw a stumbling-block in his way.
This is pure envy, the most malignant passion that
can lodge in the human breast, which devours, as
its natural food, the fame and the happiness of those
who are most deserving of our esteem " t
In quoting these passages, I would not be understood to represent this distinction between emulation
* Sermon I., On Human Nature.
t Reid, On the Active Poiwers, Essay III. Part II. Chap. v. Dr. Beattie,
in his Elemenerts of A~oral Science, after stating very correctly the speculative
distinction between emulation and envy. observes with great truth, that it
is extremely difficult to preserve the former wholly unmixed with the
latter, and that emulation, though entirely different from envy, is very apt,
through the weakness of our nature, to degenerate into it. To this remark he subjoins the following 5very striking practical reflection. " Let
the man." says he, "'who thinks he is actuated by generous emulation only,
and wishes to know  whether there be any thing of envy in the case,
examine his own heart, and ask himself whether his friends, on becoming,
though in an honorable way, his competitors, have less of his affection
than they had before; whether he be gratified by hearing them depreciated; whether lhe would wish their merit less, that he might the more easily
equal or excel them; and whether he would have a more sincere regard
for them if the world were to acknowledge him their superior. If his
heart answer all or any of these questions in the affirmative, it is time to
look out for a cure, for the symptoms of envy are but too apparent."
Part I, Chap. ii. ~ 5:'




DESIRE OF SUPERIORITY.                51
and envy as a novelty in the science of ethics; for the
very same distinction was long ago stated with admirable conciseness and justness by Aristotle; whose definitions, (I shall take this opportunity of remarking by
the way,) however censurable they may frequently be
when they relate to physical subjects, are, in most instances, peculiarly happy when  they relate to moral
ideas.  "iEmulatio bonum  quiddam est, et bonis viris
convenit; at invidere  improbum   est, et hominum
improborum; nam aomulans talem efficere se studet, ut
ipsa bona quoque nanciscatur: at invidens studet
efficere, ut ne alter boni quid habeat." *
Before leaving the subject, I think it of consequence
again to repeat, that, notwithstanding the speculative
distinction I have been endeavouring to make between
emulation and envy, the former disposition is so
seldom  altogether unmixed with the latter, that men
who are conscious of possessing original powers ol
thinking can scarcely be at too much pains to draw a
veil over their claims to originality, if they wish to
employ their talents to the best advantage in the
service of mankind.
"Men must be taught as if you taught them not,
And things unknown proposed as things forgot." t
In the observations which I have hitherto made
upon emulation, I have proceeded on the supposition,
that the subject of competition is the personal qualities
of the individual. These, however, are not the great
objects of ambition with the bulk of mankind, nor
perhaps do they occasion jealousies and enmities so
fatal to our morals and our happiness, as those which
are occasioned by the seemingly partial and unjust
distribution  of the goods of fortune.  To  see the
natural rewards of industry and genius fall to the
* Aristot., Rhetor., Lib. II. Cap. xi. The whole chapter is excellent. I
have adopted in the text the Latin version of Buhle. " Emulation is a
good thing, and belongs to good men; envy is bad, and belongs to bad
men. What a man is emulous of he strives to attain, that he may really
possess the desired object; the envious are satisfied if nobody has it."
t Pope's Essay on Criticism, 1. 574.




5i2         INSTINCTIVE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ACTION.
share of the weak and the profligate can scarcely fail
to excite a regret in the best regulated tempers; and
to those who are disposed (as every man perhaps is in
some degree) to overrate  their own pretensions, and to
undervalue those of their neighbours, this regret is a
source of discontent and misery, which no measure of
external prosperity is sufficient to remove. The feeling, when it does not lead to any act of injustice or
dishonor, is so intimately connected with our sense of
merit and demerit, that many allowances for it will be
made  by those  who reflect candidly  on  the  common
infirmities of humanity; and much indulgence is due
from the prosperous to their less fortunate rivals. So
much, indeed, is this indulgence recommended to us by
all the best principles of our nature, and so painful is
the reflection that we are even the innocent cause of
disquiet to others, that it may be doubted whether the
constraint and embarrassment produced by great and
sudden accessions of prosperity be not more than
sufficient to counterbalance any solid addition they are
likely to bring to our own happiness.*
* The following admirable passage is from Smith's Theory of the AMaoral
Sentimnents, Part I. Sect II. Chap. v.: — The man who, by some sudden
revolution of fortune, is lifted up all at once into a condition of life greatly
above what he had formerly lived in, may be assured that the congratulations of his best friends are not all of them perfectly sincere. An upstart,
though of the greatest merit, is generally disagreeable, and a sentiment of
envy commonly prevents us from heartily sympathizing with his joy. If
he has any judgment, he is sensible of this, and, instead of appearing to
be elated with his good fortune, he endeavours, as much as he can, to
smother his joy, and keep down that elevation of mind with which his new
circumstances naturally inspire him. He affects the same plainness of
dress, and the same modesty of behaviour, which became him in his
former station. He redoubles his attentions to his old friends, and endeavours.more than ever to be humble, assiduous, and complaisant. And this
is the behaviour which in his situation we most approve of; because we
expect, it seems, that he should have more sympathy with our envy and
aversion to his happiness than we have to his happiness. It is seldom that,
with all this, he succeeds.  We suspect the sincerity of his humility, and
he grows weary of this constraint. In a little time, therefore, he generally
leaves all his old friends behind him, some of the meanest of them excepted, who may, perhaps, condescend to become his dependents: nor does he
always acquire any new ones; the pride of his new connections is as much
affronted at finding him their equal, as that of his old ones had been by his
becoming their superior; and it requires the most obstinate and persevering
modesty to atone for this mortification to either. He gcnerally grows wcary




DESIRE  OF SUPERIORITY.                       53
III.   The  Desire  to  excel  a  universal  Passion.]
Among the lower animals we see many symptoms ol
emulation, but in  them  its effects are perfectly insignifi.
cant when compared with those it produces on human
conduct. Their emulation is chiefly confined to swift.
nhess,  strength, or favor  with  their females.   I think,
too, among  dogs  we  may  perceive  something   like
jealousy or rivalship in courting the favor of man. In
our own race emulation operates in an infinite variety
of' directions, and is one of the principal sources of
human improvement.
Human life has been often likened to a race, and the
parallel holds, not only in the general resemblance, but
in many of the minuter circumstances. When the
horses first start from the barrier, how easy and
sportive  are their sallies, —sometimes one taking  the
lead, sometimes  another!    If they  happen   to  run
abreast, their contiguity seems only the effect of the
social instinct. In proportion, however, as they advance
in their career, the spirit of emulation becomes gradually more apparent, till at length, as they draw near
to the goal, every sinew  and  every nerve is strained to
the utmost, and it is well if the competition closes
without some suspicion of jostling and foul play on
the part of the winner.
too soon, and is provoked, by the sullen and suspicious pride of the one, and
by the saucy contempt of the other, to treat the first with neglect and the second with petulance, till at last he grows habitually insolent, and forfeits the
esteem of all. If the chief part of human happiness arises from the consciousness of being beloved, as I believe it does, these sudden changes of
fortune seldom contribute much to happiness. He is happiest who advances more gradually to greatness, whom  the public destines to every step of
his preferment long before he arrives at it. in whom, upon that account,
when it comes, it can excite no extravagant joy, and with regard to whom
it cannot reasonably create either any jealousy in those he overtakes, or
any envy in those he leaves behind."
In Bacon's Essays there is an article on Envy, ahounding withoriginal,
and, in the main, just reflections. Even those which are somewhat questionable may be useful in suggesting materials of thought to others.
* One of the most remarkable instances of this that I have read of is
the emulation of the race-horses at Rome when run without riders. This
emulation is even said to be inspirited by the concourse of spectators. -
See Observations made in a Tour to Italy, by the celebrated M. de la Con.
damine.
5 i




54        INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
How exact and melancholy a picture of the race of
ambition, of the insensible and almost inevitable effect
of political rivalship in extinguishing early friendships,
and of the increasing eagerness with which men continue to grasp at the palm of victory till the fatal moment
arrives when it is to drop from their hands for ever!
Artificial Desires.] As we have artificial appetites, so
we have also artificial desires. Whatever conduces to
the attainment of any object of natural desire is itself
desired on account of its subservience to this end, and
frequently comes in process of time to be regarded as
valuable in itself, independent of this subservience. It
is thus (as was formerly observed) that wealth becomes
with many an ultimate object of desire, although it is
undoubtedly valued at first merely on account of its
subservience to the attainment of other objects. In
like manner we are led to desire dress, equipage,
retinue, furniture, on account of the estimation in
which they are supposed to be held by the public. Dr.
Hutcheson calls such desires secondary desires, and accounts for their origin in the way I have now mentioned.'" Since we are capable," says he, "of reflection,
memory, observation, and reasoning about the distant
tendencies of objects and actions, and not confined to
things present, there must arise, in consequence of our
original desires, secondary desires of every thing imagined to be useful to gratify any of the primary desires,
and that with strength proportioned to the several
original desires, and the imagined usefulness or necessity of the advantageous object."-" Thus," he continues, "as soon as we come to apprehend the use of
wealth or power to gratify any of our original desires,
we must also desire them.  Hence arises the universality of the desires of wealth and power, since they are the
means of gratifying all other desires."    The only
* Nature and Conduct of tie Passions, Sect. I. Art. II.




A'TIFICIAI   DESIRES.                        55
thing  exceptionable  in  the  foregoing  passage  is, that
the author classes the desire of power with that of
wealth; whereas I apprehend it to  be  clear, according
to Hutcheson's own definition, that the former is a  primary desire, and the latter a secondary one. Avarice,
indeed, (as I have already remarked,) is but a particular
modification  of the  desire  of power generated  by  the
conventional value  which  attaches  to  money  in  the
progress of society, in consequence of which it becomes
the immediate and the habitual object of pursuit in all
the various departments of professional industry.
The author, also, of the Preliminary Dissertation prefixed to King's Origin of Evil attempts to  explain, by
means of the association of ideas, the origin, not only
of avarice, but of the desire of knowledge and of the
desire of fame, both of which I have endeavoured to
show, in  the  preceding  pages, are  justly  entitled  to
rank with the primary and most simple elements of our
active constitution. That they, as well as all the other
original principles of our nature, are very powerfully influenced by association and habit, is a point about
which there can be no dispute; and hence arises the
plausibility of those theories which would represent
them  as wvholly factitious.'
D* r. Hartley's once celebrated work, entitled Observations on Man, in
which he has pushed the theory of association to so extravagant a length,
and which, not many years ago, found so many enthusiastic admirers in
England. seems to have owed its existence to the dissertation here referred to.
" The work here offered to the public," he tells us himself in his preface,
"consists of papers written at different times, but taking their rise from
the following occasion.
"About eighteen years ago I was informed that the Rev. Mr. Gay, then
living, asserted the possibility of deducing all our intellectual pleasures
and pains from association,  This put me upon considering the power of
association. Mr. Gay published his sentiments on this matter, about the
same time, in a Dissertation on the Fundamental Principle of Virtue, prefixed
to Mr. Archdeacon Law's translation of Archbishop King's Origin of Evi,'."
[Mr. Stewart speaks with too much confidence of the waning influence
of the " once celebrated work " of IHartley.  Since he wrote this note. one
of the ablest defences of the Hartlcian view has appeared in the Analysis
pf the Hullan lJi'nd, by James Mill.
Most writers, holding with Stewart to a plurality of elementary desires,
differ from him in making the desire of property and the desire of selfNreservation to be of this number.  See Upham's Mental Philososnlp, Vol.




5.5(        INSTINCTIVE  PRINCIPLES  OF ACTION.
CHAPTER III.
OF OUR AFFECTIONS.
SECTION  I.
GENERAL OBSERVATIONS.
I. What Principles included under this Head.]  Under
this title are comprehended all those active principles
whose direct and ultimate object is the communication
either of enjoyment or of suffering to any of our fellow-creatures. According to this definition, which has
been adopted by some eminent writers, and among others by Dr. Reid, resentment, revenge, hatred, belong to
the class of our affections, as well as gratitude or pity.
Hence  a  distinction  of the  affections into  benevolent
and malevolent. I shall afterwards mention some considerations which lead me to think that the distinction
requires some limitations in the statement.
Our benevolent affections are various, and it would
not perhaps be easy to enumerate them completely.
II. Part. I. Chap iv., and Whewell's Elements of Morality, Book I. Chap.
ii. On the desire of property, consult Lieber's Political Ethics, Book I1.
Chap. ii., and Pllustrations of the Passions, Vol. I. Chap. v. Also the pbrenologists, and particularly Gall.
On the other hand, the author of the article Desir in the Dictionnaire des
Sciences Pliilosophiques reduces them to three, curiosity, ambition, and sympathy. This writer observes: -:The mind always knows, more or less,
that which it desires; reason illuminates what sensibility pursues. Malebranche gave the saying of the poet. Ignoti nulla cupido, under a philosophical form of expression, when he defined desire to be'the idea of a good
which a man possesses not, but hopes to possess.' Desire is distinguished
by this from the blind tendency which urges every being towards its end,
whether it knows it or not. It is a spontaneous movement of nature
transformed by intelligence, and constitutes, therefore, a phenomenon which
cannot take place except among intelligent beings. A stone has its affinilies; a brute has its instincts; man alone has his desires, because he alone
has received the gift of thought."
Consult, also. on the subjects treated of in this chapter and the f)llowing, Gibon, Cours de Philosophie, Tom. I. p. 226 et seq.; Bautain, P.iloso.
phie iMorale. Tom. I. Chap. iv.; Dr. Whewell's edition of Butler's Three
Sermons on Hulman Nature: with a Preface and Notes.]




BENEVOIENT AFFECTIONS.            57
The parental and the filial affections, the affections of
kindred, love, friendship, patriotism, universal benevolence, gratitude, pity to the distressed, are some of the
most important. Besides these there are peculiar benevolent affections excited by those moral qualities in
other men which render them either amiable or respectable, or objects of admiration.
In the foregoing enumeration, it is not to be understood that all the benevolent affections particularly
specified are stated as original principles, or ultimate
facts in our constitution.  On the contrary, there can
be little doubt that several of them may be analyzed
into the same general principle, differently modified according to the circumstances in which it operates.
This, however, (notwithstanding the stress which has
been sometimes laid upon it,) is chiefly a question of
arrangement. Whether we suppose these principles to
be all ultimate facts, or some of them to be resolvable
into other facts more general, they are equally to be regarded as constituent parts of human nature, and, upon
either supposition, we have equal reason to admire the
wisdom with which that nature is adapted to the situation in which it is placed. The laws which regulate
the acquired perceptions of sight are surely as much a
part of our frame as those which regulate any of our
original perceptions; and although they require for
their development a certain degree of experience and
observation in the individual, the uniformity of the result shows that there is nothing arbitrary or accidental
in their origin.
The question, indeed, concerning the origin of our
different affections, leads to some curious disquisitions,
but is of very subordinate importance to those inquiries
which relate to their nature and laws and uses. In
many philosophical systems, however, it seems to have
been considered as the most interesting subject of discussion connected with this part of the human constitution.
II. Two Circumstances in which all the Benevolent




*58      INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
Affections agree.] Before we proceed to consider ally
of our benevolent affections in detail, I shall make a
few observations on two circumstances in which they
all agree. In the first place, they are all accompanied
with an agreeable feeling; and, secondly, they imply
a desire of' happiness or of good to their respective
objects.'
1. That the exercise of all our kind affections is accompanied with an agreeable feeling xvill not be questioned. Next to a good conscience it constitutes the
principal part of human happiness. With what satisfaction do we submit to fatigue and danger in the service of those we love, and how many cares do even the
most selfish voluntarily bring on themselves by their
attachment to others! So much, indeed, of our happiness is derived from  this source, that those authors
whose object is to furnish amnusement to the mind avail
themselves of these affections as one of the chief vehicles of' pleasure.  Hence the principal charm of tragedy, and of every other species of pathetic composition.
How far it is of use to separate in this manner "the
lu.x:ur./ of pity" from the opportunities of active exertion may perhaps be doubted.  My own opinion on
this question I have stated at some length in the Philosophy of the Human lMind.t
Without entering, however, in this place into the argum-ent I have there endeavoured to support, I shall
only remark at present, that the pleasures of kind affection are by no means confined to the virtuous part of
our species. They mingle also with our criminal indulgences, and often mislead the young and thoughtless by
the charms they impart to vice and folly. It is, indeed,
from this very quarter that the chief dangers to morals
are to be apprehended in early life; and it is a melancholy consideration to add, that these dangers are not
a little increased by the amiable and attractive qualities
by which nature often distinguishes those unfortunate
* See Reid On the Active Powers, Essay III. Part II. Chap. iii.
t Part I. Chap. vii. Sect. v.




BENEVOLENT  AFFECTIONS.                 59
men who would seem, on a superficial view, to be her
peculiar favorites.
Nor is it only when the kind affections meet with
circumstances favorable to their operation that the exercise of them is a source of enjoyment.  Contrary to
the analogy of most, if not all, of our other active
principles, there is a degree of pleasure mixed with the
pain even in those cases in which they are disappointed
in the attainment of their object. Nay, in such cases
it often happens that the pleasure predominates so far
over the pain as to produce a mixed emotion, on which
a wounded heart loves to dwell.  When death, for example, has deprived us of the society of a friend, we
derive some consolation for our loss from  the recollection of his virtues, which awakens in our mind all
those kind affections which the sight of him used to inspire; and in such a situation the indulgence of these
affections is preferred, not only to every lighter amusement, but to every other social pleasure.  Heu quanto
zinus est cure reliquis versari quam tui meminisse!  The
final cause of the agreeable emotion connected with
the exercise of benevolence in all its various modes
was evidently to induce us to cultivate with peculiar
care a class of our active principles so immediately
subservient to the happiness of society.*
2. All our benevolent affections imply a desire of
happiness to their respective objects.  Indeed, it is
from this circumstance they derive their name.
III. Our Benevolent Affections not resolvable  into
Self-love.]  The philosophers who have endeavouredl
to resolve our appetites and desires into self-love have
given a similar account of our benevolent affections.
* See Lucan's picturesque and pathetic description of the behaviour
of Cornelia, when she retired to the hold of the ship, to indulge her grief
An solitude and darkness, after the murder of Pompey.
" Caput ferali obduxit amictu,
Decrevitquc pati tenebras, puppisque cavernis
Delituit; steveemque arctk complexa dolorein
Perfruitur lacrymis, et amat pro conjuge luctum," &c., &c.
Pharsalia. Lib. IX. 109.




60       INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
It is evident that this amounts to a denial of their existence as a separate class of active principles; for
when a thing is desired, not on its own account, but as
instrumental to the attainment of something else, it is
not the desire of the mteans, but that of the end, which
is in this case the principle of action.
In the course of my observations on the different affections, when I come to consider them particularly, I
slhall endeavour to show that this account of their origin is extremely wide of the truth. In the mean time,
it may be worth while to remark, in general, how
strongly it is opposed by the analogy of the other active powers already examined. We have found that
the preservation of the individual and the continuation
of the species are not intrusted to self-love and reason
alone, but that we are endowed with various appetites,
which, without any reflection on our part, impel us to
their respective objects. We have also found, with respect to the acquisition of knowledge, (on which the
perfection of the individual and the improvement of
the species essentially depend,) that it is not intrusted
solely to self-love and benevolence, but that we are
prompted to it by the implanted principle of curiosity.
It further appeared, that, in addition to our sense of
duty, another incentive to worthy conduct is provided
in the desire of esteem, which is not only one of our
most powerful principles of action, but continues to operate in full force to the last moment of our being.
Now, as me:l were plainly intended to live in society,
and as the social union could not subsist without a
mutual interchange of good offices, would it not be
reasonable to expect, agreeably to the analogy of our
nature, that so important an end would not be intrusted solely to the slow deductions of reason, or to the
metaphysical refinements of self-love, but that some
provision would be made for it, in a particular class of
active principles, which might operate, like our appetites and desires, independently of our reflection? To
say this of parental affection or of pity is saying nothing
more in their lavor than what was affirmed of hunger




AFFECTIONS OF KINDRED.            61
and thirst, that they prompt us to particular objects
without any reference to our own enjoyment.
I have not offered these objections to the selfish theory with any view of exalting our natural affections
into virtues; for, in so far as they arise from original
constitution, they confer no merit whatever on the individual, any more than his appetites or desires. At
the same time, (as Dr. Reid has observed,) there is a
manifest gradation in the sentiments of respect with
which we regard these different constituents of character.
Our desires, (it was formerly observed,) although not
virtuous in themselves, are manly and respectable, and
plainly of greater dignity than our animal appetites.
In like manner it may be remarked that our benevolent
affections, although not meritorious, are highly amiable.
A want of attention to the essential difference between
the ideas expressed by these two words has given rise
to much confusion in different systems of moral philosophy, more particularly in the systems of Shaftesbury
and Hutcheson.
As it would lead me into too minute a detail to consider our different benevolent affections separately, I
shall confine myself to a few detached remarks on
some of the most important.
The first place is undoubtedly due to what we commonly call natural affection, including under the term
the affections of parents and children, and those of
other near relations.
SECTION II.
OF THE AFFECTIONS OF KINDRED.
I. The Parental Affection common to Animals and
Men.] The parental affection is common to us with
most of the brutes, although with them it is variously
modified according to their respective natures, and according as the care of the parent is more or less necessary for the preservation and nurture of the young.
6




62        INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
Cicero remarks that this is no more than might have
been expected fromn that beneficent providence everywhere conspicuous in nature.  " Hae inter se congruere nlon possunt, ut natura et procreari vellet et diligi
procreates non curaret." -" Commune anirnantiuln
omniurm  est conjunctionis appetitus, et cura queedam
eorulin quae procreata sunt." t
W'hen I ascribe parental affection to our own species, I do not mean to insinuate that there is any foundation for those stories which poets have feigned, of'
particular discriminating feelings which have enabled
parents and children, after a long absence, or when
they have never met before, mutually to recognize each
other.  The parental affection takes its rise from  a
knowledge of the relation in which the parties stand,
and it is very powerfully confirmed by habit. All that
I assert is, that it results naturally from that knowledge,
and from the habits superinduced by the relation which
the parties bear to each other; in which sense it may
be justly said, (to adopt a beautiful and philosophical
expression of Dr. Ferguson's,) that "natural affection
springs up in the soul as the milk springs in the breast
of the mother.":  Accordingly, it operates, in a great
measure, independently of reflection and of a sense of
duty.  Reason, indeed, might satisfy a man that his
children are particularly intrusted to his care, and that
it is his duty to rear and educate them, - as reason
might have induced him to eat and drink without the
appetites of hunger and thirst; but reason cannot create an affection any more than an appetite.  And, considering how little the conduct of mankind is in general influenced by a sense of duty, there are good
grounds for thinking, that, were not reason in this case
aided by a very powerful implanted principle, a very
* De Finibuls, III. 19. "Nature would have been inconsistent if she
had intended men to procreate, without providing at the same time that
they should love their offspring."
t De lffic, I. 4  "The passion which unites the sexes, and a certain
affection for their youne, are common to all animals "
Prinlciples of lorral and Po!li'tical Scie'ce, Ve\. I p 31.




AFFE.CTIONS OF KINDRED.            63
small proportion out of the whole number of children
brought into the world would arrive at maturity.
How much this affection depends upon habil appears
fromn this, that, when the care of a child is devolved
upon one who is not its parent, the parental affection
is, in a great measure, transferred along with it. This
(as Dr. Reid observes) is plainly "the work of nature,"
and is an additional provision made by her for the continuation and preservation of the species.
The parental affection, as we have hitherto considered it, is common to both sexes; but it cannot, I think,
be denied, that it is in the heart of the mother that it
exists in the most perfect strength and beauty.  Indeed, I do not think that those have gone too far who,
have pronounced " the heart of a good mother to be the
masterpiece of nature's works."'  There is no form, certainly, in which humanity appears so lovely, or presents so fair a copy of the Divine image after which it
was made.
II. Affections of Kindred the Foundation of our Social and Political Virtues.]  Nor are these affections of
parent and child useful solely for the preservation of
the race. They form the heart in infancy for its more
extensive social duties, and gradually prepare it for
those affections which constitute the character of the
good citizen; not to mention that, in every period of
life, it is our private attachments which furnish the
most powerful of all incentives to patriotism and heroic virtue. Nothing, therefore, could be more unphilosophieal than the opinion of Plato, that the indulgence
of the domestic charities unfitted men for the discharge
of their political duties; an opinion which he carried so
far as to propose, that, as soon as a child was born, it
should be separated from its parents, and educated ever
after at the expense of the public. It has been often
observed that persons brought up in foundling hospitals
have seldom turned out well in the world; and al* See Marmontel, Lefons sur la Morale, p. 132, et seq.




64      INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
though I doubt not that various splendid exceptions to
this proposition may be quoted, I am inclined to think,
that, if the special accidents connected with these exceptions were fully known, they would be found, instead
of invalidating, to confirm the general rule. One thing,
at least, is obvious, that, in that best of all educations
which nature has provided for us in the ordinary circumstances of our condition, it formed an important
part of her plan to soften the heart betimes amid the
scenes of domestic life; and, accordingly, it is under
the shelter of these scenes that all the social virtues
may be seen to shoot up with the greatest vigor and
luxuriancy. Even the sterner qualities of fortitude and
bravery, so far from being inconsistent with a warm
and susceptible heart, are almost its inseparable attendants, insomuch that we always expect to find them united. How true, in this respect, to all the best feelings
of our nature, is the beautiful story recorded of Epaminondas, that, after the battle of Leuctra, he thanked
the gods that his parents still survived to enjoy his
fame!
It is remarked by Dr. Beattie that Homer and Virgil,
the most accurate of all observers, and the most faithful of all painters of human character, always unite
the domestic attachments with the more splendid virtues of their heroes. The scene between Hector and
Andromache, and the interview between Ulysses and
his father after an absence of twenty years, are pronounced b)y the same excellent critic to be the finest
passages in the Iliad and Odyssey. He observes further, that, in the portrait of Achilles, his love to his parents forms one of the most prominent and distinguishing features, and that " this single circumstance throws
an amiable softness into the most terrific human personage that was ever described in poetry." How powerful a charm the AEneid derives from the same source
it is needless to mention, as it is the chief groundwork
of the interest inspired by the whole texture of the fable. In no instance is it more affecting than in the address of Euryalus to Nisus before they set out on their




AFFECTIONS OF KINDRED.                        65
desperate expedition by night; and I believe few will
deny that the pious concern which he expresses for his
aged parent in that moment of approaching peril accords perfectly with the gallantry of his spirit, and interests us more than any thing else in his fortunes.
" Contra quem talia fatur
Euryalus: me nulla dies tam fortibus ausis
Dissimilem arguerit; tantum fortuna secunda,
Haud adversa cadat: sed te super omnia dona,
Unum oro: genetrix Priami de gente vetusta
Est mihi, quam miseram tenuit non Ilia tellus,
Mecum excedentem, non mcenia regis Acestee:
Hanc ego nunc ignaram hujus quodcumque pericli est
Inque salutatam linquo nox, et tua testis
Dextera, qujd nequeam lacryrnas perferre parentis.
At tu, oro, solare inopem, et succurre relictee.
Hanc sine me spem ferre tui: audentior ibo
In casus omnes. Percussa mente dederunt
DardanidaT lacrymas: ante omnes pulcher Iulus,
Atque animum patrime strinxit pietatis imago." *
I shall conclude this section in the words of Lord
Bacon: -" Unmarried men are best friends, best mas*  Eneid., Lib. IX. 280.
"'All of my life,' replies the youth,'shall aim,
Like this one hour, at everlasting fame.
Though fortune only our attempt can bless,
Yet still my courage shall deserve success.
But one reward I ask, before I go, -
The greatest I can ask, or you bestow.
My mother, - tender, pious, fond, and good,
Sprung, like thy own, from Priam's royal blood,
Such was her love, she left her native Troy,
And fair Trinacria, for her darling boy;
And such is mine, that I must keep unknown
From her the danger of so dear a son:
To spare her anguish, lo! I quit the place
Without one parting kiss, one last embrace!
By night, and that respected hand, I swear,
Her melting tears are more than I can bear!
For her, good prince, your pity I implore;
Support her, childless, and relieve her, poor;
O, let her, let her find, (when I am gone,)
In you, a friend, a guardian, and a son!
With that dear hope, emboldened shall I go,
Brave every danger, and defy the foe.'
"Charmed with his virtue all the Trojan peers,
But, more than all, Ascanius melts in tears,
To see the sorrows of a duteous son
And filial love, a love so like his own."
6 *




66      INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
ters, best servants, but not always best subjects, for
they are light to run away, and almost all fugitives are
of that condition.  For soldiers, I find that the generals in their hortatives commonly put men in mind of
their wives and children; and I think the despising of
marriage among the Turks maketh the vulgar soldier
the more base. Certainly, wife and children are a kind
of discipline of humanity; and single men, though
they be many times more charitable, because their
means are less exhaust, yet, on the other side, they are
more cruel and hard-hearted, because their tenderness is
n-)t so often called upon."'
SECTION III.
OF FRIENDSHIP.
I. Pleasures of Friendship.]  Friendship, like all the
other benevolent affections, includes two things, an
agreeable feeling, and a desire of happiness to its object.
Besides, however, the agreeable feeling common to
all the exertions of benevolence, there are some peculiar to friendship. I before took notice of the pleasure
we derive from communicating our thoughts and our
feelings to others; but this communication prudence
and propriety restrain us from making to strangers;
and hence the satisfaction we enjoy in the society of
one to whom we canl communicate every circumstance
in our situation, and can trust every secret of our heart.
There is also a wonderful pleasure arising from the
sympathy of our fellow-creatures with our joys and
with our sorrows, nay, even with our tastes and our
humors; but, in the ordinary commerce of the world,
we are often disappointed in our expectations of this
enjoyment, - a disappointlnent which is peculiarly incident to men of genius and sensibility superior to the
common, who frequently feel themselves " alone in the
midst of a crowd," and reduced to the necessity of ac* Bacon's Essays. Of Marriage and Single Life.




T'RIENDSHIP.                  67
commodating their own temper, and their own feelings,
to a standard borrowed from those whom they cannot
help thinking undeserving of such a sacrifice.
It is only in the society of a friend that this symlpathy is at all times to be found; and the pleasing reflection, that we have it in our power to command so
exquisite a gratification, constitutes, perhaps, the principal charm of this connection.  " What we call afkction," says Mr. Smith, "is nothing but an habitual
sympathy." I will not go quite so far as to adopt this
proposition in all its latitude, but I perfectly agree with
this profound and amiable moralist in thinking, that the
experience of this sympathy is the chief foundation
of friendship, and one of the principal sources of the
pleasures which it yields. Nor is it at all inconsistent
with this observation to remark, that, where the groundwork of two characters in point of moral worth is the
same, there is sometimes a contrast in the secondary
qualities, of taste, of intellectual accomplishments, and
even of animal spirits, which, instead of presenting
obstacles to friendship, has a tendency to bind more
strongly the knot of mutual attachment between the
parties. Two very interesting and memorable examples of this may be found in Cuvier's account of the
friendship between Buffon and Daubenton,* and in
Playfair's account of the friendship between Black and
Hutton.t
I do not mean here to enter into the consideration
of the various topics relating to friendship which are
commonly discussed by writers on that subject.  Mlost
of these, indeed I may say all of themn, are beautifully
illustrated by Cicero in the treatise De Amicitia, ill
which he has presented us with a summary of all that
was most valuable on this article of ethics in the
writings of preceding philosophers; and so comprehensive is the view of it which he has taken, that the
modern authors who have treated of it have done little
more than to repeat his observations.
* Recuei des Eloges Historiques. M. Daubenton,
t Biographical Account of the late Dr. James Hutton. Works, Vol. IV.




68      INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
II. Can Friendship subsist between more than Two
Persons?]  One question concerning friendship much
agitated in the ancient schools was, whether this connection call subsist in its full perfection between more
than two persons; —and I believe it was the common
decision of antiquity that it cannot. For my own part,
I can see no foundation for this limitation, and I own
it seems to me to have been suggested more by the
dreams of romance, or the fables of ancient mythology,
than by good sense or an accurate knowledge of mankind. The passion of love between the sexes is indeed
of an exclusive nature; and the jealousy of the one
party is roused the moment a suspicion arises that the
attachment of the other is in any degree divided; (and,
by the way, this circumstance, which I think is strongly
characteristical of that connection, deserves to be added to the various other considerations which show that
monogamy has a foundation in human nature.)  But
the feelings of friendship are of a perfectly different
sort. If our friend is a man of discernment, we rejoice
at every new acquisition he makes, as it affords us an
opportunity of adding to our own list of worthy and
amiable individuals, and we eagerly concur with him
in promoting the interests of those who are dear to
his heart. When we ourselves, on the other hand,
have made a new discovery of worth and genius, how
do we long to impart the same satisfaction to a friend,
and to be instrumental in bringing together the various
respectable and worthy men whom the accidents of
life have thrown in our way!
I acknowledge, at the same time, that the number of
our attached and confidential friends cannot be great,
otherwise our attention would be too much distracted
by the multiplicity of its objects, and the views for which
this affection of the mind was probably implanted
would be frustrated by its engaging us in exertions
beyond the extent of our limited abilities; and, accordingly, nature has made a provision for preventing this.
inconvenience, by rendering friendship the fruit only of
long and intimate acquaintance. It is strengthened




FRIENDSHIP.                   69
by the acquaintance which the parties have, not only
with each other's personal qualities, but with their
histories, situations, and connections from infancy, and
every particular of this sort which falls under their
mutual knowledge forms to the fancy an additional relation by which they are united.  Men who have a
very wide circle of friends, without much discriminatiol
or preference, are justly suspected of being incapable
of genuine friendship, and indeed are generally men of
cold and selfish characters, who are influenced chiefly
by a cool and systematical regard to their own comfort,
and who value the social intercourse of life only as it is
subservient to their accommodation and amusement.
III. How  we are affected by the Distresses of our
Friends.] That the affection of friendship includes a
desire of happiness to the beloved object, it is unnecessary to observe. There is, however, a certain limitation of the remark, which occurs among the Maxims of
La Rochefoucauld, and which has been often repeated
since by misanthropical moralists, "That, in the distresses of our best friends, there is always something
which does not displease us."  It may be proper to
consider in what sense this is to be understood, and how
far it has a foundation in truth.  It is expressed in
somewhat equivocal terms; and, I suspect, owes much
of its plausibility to this very circumstance.
From the triumphant air with which the maxim in
question has been generally quoted by the calumniators
of human nature, it has evidently been supposed by
them to imply that the misfortunes of our best friends
give us more pleasure than pain.* But this La Rochefoucauld has not said, nor, indeed, could a proposition
so obviously false and extravagant have escaped the pen
* It was plainly in this sense that Swift understood it when he prefixed
it as a motto to the verses on his own death.
"As Rochefoucauld his maxims drew
From nature, I believe them true.
If what he savs be not a joke,
We mortals are strange kind of folk."




70      INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
of so acute a writer. What La Rochefoucauld has
said amounts only to this, that, in the distresses of our
best friends, the pain we feel is not altogether unmixed;- a proposition unquestionably true, wherever we
have an opportunity of soothing their sorrows by th9
consolations of sympathy, or of evincing, by more substantial services, the sincerity and strength of our attachrnent.  But the pleasure we experience in such
cases, so far from indicating any thing selfish or
malevolent in the heart, originates in principles of a
directly opposite description, and will be always most
pure and exquisite in the most disinterested and generous characters. The maxim, indeed, when thus interpreted, is not less true when applied to our own
distresses than to those of our friends. In the bitterest
cup that may fall to the lot of either, there are always
mingled s'me cordial drops,-in the misfortunes of
others, the consoiation of administering relief, - in our
own, that of receiving it from the sympathy of those
we love.
Whether La Rochefoucauld, in the satirical humor
which dictated the greater part of his maxims, did not
wish, in the present instance, to convey by his words a
little more than meets the ear, I do not presume to determine.
SECTION IV.
OF PATRIOTISM.
I. Provision made for a Division of Mankind into
distinct Communities.]  Notwithstanding the principles
of union implanted by nature in the human breast, it
was plainly not her intention that society should always
go on increasing in numbers. A foundation is laid for
a division of mankind into distinct communities, in
those natural divisions on the surface of the globe that
are formed by chains of mountains, impassable rivers,
and the oceans which separate the larger continents; and
the same end is further answered by those principles of




PATRIOTISM.                            71
enmity which, in the earlier stages of society, never
fail to estrange neighbouring tribes from each other
and which continue to operate with a very powerful
effect even in periods of knowledge and refinement.
I shall not at present attempt to analyze  particularly
the origin of these principles of disunion among mankind.   I shall only remark, that they do not imply  any
original malignity in the human heart; on the contrary,
they seem  to have their source in the  social nature  of
man, -in  those  affections  which  attach  him  to the
tribe he belongs to, and to the country which gave him
birth. This remark has been so excellently illustrated
by  Lord  Shaftesbury  and  by  Dr. Ferguson, that it
would  be  quite  superfluous to  enlarge  upon  it here.
Contenting myself, therefore, with a reference to their
works,* I shall proceed to some other views of the subject, where the field of observation does not seem to be
so completely exhausted.
See Shaftesbury's Essay on the i;reedomz of Wit and Iltmnor, Part IlT.
Sect. 2, and Ferguson's Essa.y on the History of Civil Society, Part I. Sect.
4. The former observes:-' It is strange to imagine that war, which of
all things appears the most savage, should be the passion of the most heroic spirits. But it is in war that the knot of fellowship is closest drawn.
It is in war that mutual succor is most given, mutual danger run, and
common affection most exerted and employed. For heroism and philanthropy are almost one and the same. Yet, by a small misguidance of
the affection, a lover of mankind becomes a ravager: a hero and deliverer
becomes an oppressor and destroyer."  " Vast empires are in many respects unnatural; but particularly in this, that, be they ever so well constituted, the affairs of many must in such governments turn upon a very few;
and the relation be less sensible, and in a manner lost, between the magistrate and people, in a body so unwieldy in its limbs, and whose members
lie so remote fiom one another, and distant from the head. It is in such
bodies as these that strong factions are aptest to engender. The associating spirits, for want of exercise, form new movements, and seek a narrower sphere of activity, when they want action in a greater. Thus we
have wheels within wheels. And in some national constitutions, (notwithstanding the absurdity in politics,) we have one empire within another.
Nothing is so delightful as to incorporate."  In the same strain Ferguson:
-" The titles of /fllow-citizen and contrg/man, unopposed by those of alien
and/foreigner, to which they refer, would fall into disuse, and lose their
meaning. We love individuals on account of personal qualities: but we
love our country, as it is a party in the divisions- of mankind; and our
zeal for its interests is a predilection in behalf of the side we maintain."
"'M Av father,' said a Spanish peasant,'would rise fiom his grave, if he
could foresee a war with France'  WVhat interest had he, or the bones of
his fatherl, in the quarrels of princes? "




72      INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
The foundation which nature has laid for a diversity
of languages, of customs, of manners, and of institutions among mankind, adds force to the principles of
division and repulsion already mentioned. These circumstances derive their effect, indeed, from the ignorance of men, which is apt to mistake a diversity of
arbitrary signs and arbitrary ceremonies for a diversity
of opinions and of moral sentiments; and accordingly,
as society advances, and reason improves, the effect becomes gradually less and less sensible. As the effect,
however, is universal among rude nations, and as it is
the unavoidable result of the general laws of our constitution when placed in certain circumstances, we may
consider it as a part of the plan of Providence with respect to our species; and we may presume that here,
as in other instances, that plan tends ultimately to
some wise and beneficent purpose, though by means
which appear to us, at first view, to have a very unfavorable aspect. What these purposes are it is impossible for our limited faculties to trace completely; but
even we, narrow and partial as our views at present
are, may perceive some salutary consequences resulting
from these apparent disorders of the moral world. I
shall only mention the tendency which a constant state
of hostility and alarm must have among barbarous
tribes to bind and consolidate in each of them apart
the political union; and, by strengthening the hands
of government, to prepare the way for the progress of
society. We may add, the exercise which it gives to
many of our most important moral principles, and the
powerful stimulus it applies to our intellectual capacities. The discipline is indeed rough, but it is perhaps
the only one of which the mind of man, in a certain
state of his progress, is susceptible.
II. Tendency of Civilization to diminish the Causes of
Disunton.] If these observations are well founded, may
we not presume to offer a conjecture, that, as this finail
cause ceases to exist in proportion as government advances to maturity, and as the moral causes of hostili



PATRIOTISM.                73
ty among nations (arising from diversity of language
and of manners) cease to operate upon men of enlightened and liberal minds, the tendency of civilized society is to diminish the dissensions among different communities, and to unite the human race in the bonds of
amity? The just views of political economy which
Mr. Smith and some other authors have lately opened,
and which demonstrate the absurdity of commercial
jealousies, all contribute to encourage the same pleasing prospect; but, alas! it is a prospect which the
vices and prejudices of men allow us to indulge only
in those moments of enthusiasm when our benevolent
wishes for mankind, and our confidence in the wisdom
and goodness of Providence, transport us from the calamities and atrocities of our own times, to anticipate
the triumphs of reason and humanity in a more fortunate age.
In my Philosophy of the Human Mind I have remarked, that " there are many prejudices which are found to
prevail universally among our species in certain periods
of society, and which seem to be. essentially necessary
for maintaining its order in ages when men are unable
to comprehend the purposes for which governments are
instituted. As society advances, these prejudices gradually lose their influence on the higher classes, and
would probably soon disappear altogether, if it were
not supposed to be expedient to prolong their existence
as a source of authority over the multitude. In an age,
however, of universal and unrestrained discussion, it is
impossible that they can long maintain their empire;
nor ought we to regret their decline, if the important
ends to which they have been subservient in the past
experience of mankind are found to be accomplished
by the growing light of philosophy. On this supposition, a history of human prejudices, in so far as they
have supplied the place of more enlarged political
views, may, at some future period, furnish to the philosopher a subject of speculation no less pleasing and
instructive than that beneficent wisdom of nature
which guides the operations of the lower animals, and
7




74      INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
which, even in our own species, takes upon itself the
care of the individual in the infancy of human reason." 
The remarks which have been now made on the
sources of disunion and hostility among mankind in
the earlier periods of society, and on the final causes to
which this constitution of things is subservient, afford
one remarkable illustration of the conjecture which I
have hazarded in the foregoing passage.
Before proceeding to consider the affection of patriotism, it was necessary to turn our attention for a moment to the principles of disunion in our species, as the
idea of patriotism proceeds on the supposition, that
mankind are divided into distinct communities, with
separate, if not with rival and hostile interests.
III. Exciting Causes of Patriotism.]  The exciting
causes of patriotism (abstracted from all considerations of reason and duty) are many. We are formed
with so strong a disposition to associate with and to
love our own species, that the imagination lays hold
with eagerness of every circumstance, how slight soever, that can form a bond of union; a common language, a common religion, common laws, even a common appellation, - not to mention the prudential considerations of common enemies and a common interest.
The feelings which these uniting circumstances inspire
attach us even to the territory which our fellow-citizens
inhabit, by the same law of association that endears to
us the spot where a friend was born, or the scene
where we have enjoyed any social pleasure; and thus
the imagination forms to itself a complex idea of countrymen and country, which impresses every susceptible
heart with irresistible force. In perusing the history of
either, how remote soever the period it describes may
be, we feel an interest which no other narrative inspires.
We sympathize with the fortunes of those who trod the
same ground that we now tread, and we appropriate to
ourselves a share of the glory they acquired by their
* Part I. Chap. iv. Sect. viii.




PATRIOTISM.                7~
bravery and virtue. " When the late Mr. Anson (Lord
Anson's brother) was on his travels in the East, he
hired a vessel to visit the Isle of Tenedos. His pilot,
an old Greek, as they were sailing along, said with
some satisfaction,'"T was there our fleet lay.' Mr.
Anson demanded,'W hat fleet?''What fleet!' replied
the old man, a little piqued at the question,'why, our
Grecian fleet at the siege of Troy-" This anecdote,
(which I borrow from the Philological Inquiries of Mr.
Harris,*) naturally excites a smile; but it is,'at the same
time, so congenial to feelings inseparable from our constitution, that its effect seems to me to border on the
pathetic, and I presume there are few who have read ii
without some emotion.
It is not a little remarkable, with respect to this natural attachment to the scenes of our infancy and youth,
that it is commonly strongest among the inhabitants
of barren and mountainous countries. This would appear to indicate that it is produced less by the recollection of agreeable physical impressions than of moral
pleasures, - pleasures which probably derive an additional zest from the absence of those interesting or
amusing objects which dissipate the attention by inviting the thoughts abroad. Where nature has been sparing in her external bounty, men become the more dependent for their happiness on internal enjoyment; it
is thus that the storms and gloom of winter give a higher relish to the pleasures of society. Perhaps, too, the
thin and scattered population of such countries may
contribute something to the romantic enthusiasm of the
domestic and private attachments, as it is certain that
the opposite extreme of a crowded and busy population
seldom fails to extinguish all the more ardent social affections. Among the inhabitants of Europe this attachment to home is said to be the most remarkable in the
Swiss and the Laplanders, who, when removed to a distance from their native scenes, are subject to a particular species of despondency, to which medical writers
* Part III. Chap. v.




76         INSTINCTIVE  PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
have given the name of nostalgia.  It is thus described
by Haller, who was himself a native of Switzerland,
and who, in some of his poetical pieces, composed dur
ing  the  period of his academical studies in  Holland,
has sufficiently shown that his own heart was not proof
against its influence.
" Nostalgia genus est mceroris subditis reipublicm mere
familiaris, etiam  civibus, a desiderio  nati suorum.  Is
sensim   consumit  egros et destruit, nonnunquam   in
rigorem et maniam abit, alias in febres lentas. Eum
spes sanat. Etiam animalia consueta societate privata,
nonnunquam  depereunt, et ex pullis amissis etiam  lutre
maris Kaintschadalensis. Sic ex amore frustrato lenta
et insanabilis consumptio sequitur, quod Angli cor rupturm vocant." *
We are informed by another medical writer, (Sauvages,) -that he has known this disorder in the son of a
common beggar, who could scarcely be said to have any
home but the streets and public roads.t
" Thus every good his native wilds impart
Imprints the patriot passion on his heart.
And even the ills that round his mansion rise
Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies.
DI)ear is that shed to which his soul conforms,
And dear that hill that lifts him to the storms.
And as a child, when scaring sounds molest,
Clings close and closer to its mother's breast,
So the loud tempest and the whirlwind's roar
But bind him to his native mountains more." t
The sources of patriotism hitherto mentioned arise
chiefly from  the imagination and from the association of
ideas, and have little or no connection with our rational
and moral powers. They presuppose, indeed, sensibility,
social attachment, and force of mind, but they do not
* Elem. Physiol., Lib. XVII. Sect. 2, ~ 5. " Nostalgia is a ibalady common among my countrymen, originating in a longing for home. It gradually consumes and wears out the patient, sometimes going off in chills
and mania, sometimes in a slow fever. Hope cures it. Even animals,
when deprived of their accustomed companions, will sometimes die; as is
the case with the sea-otter of Kamtschatka when bereft of her young. So,
likewise, a lingering and incurable consumption follows disappointed love,
which the English call a broken heart."
t Nosologia Methodica.              I Goldsmith's Traveller.




PATRIOTISM.                 77
necessarily imply reflection or a sense of duty. They
are the natural result of our constitution when placed
in certain circumstances; and hence, though not coeval
with our birth, nor after their appearance unsusceptible
of analysis, the affection they produce, in so far as it
arises from them without the cooperation of any other
motive, may be considered as a blind impulse, analogous
in its operation to those desires and appetites which
have been already mentioned. This affection may be
called, for the sake of distinction, instinctive patriotism.
IV. Patriotism  in Small and in Large Countries.]
The circumstances which have been enumerated as the
sources of instinctive patriotism operate with peculiar
force in small communities, where the extent of the territory and the body of the people, falling under the
habitual observation of every citizen, present more definite objects to the imagination, and affect the heart
more deeply, than what is only conceived fiom description. Here, too, the individual feels his importance as
an active member of the state, and the consciousness
of what he is able to do for its prosperity contributes
powerfully to promote his patriotic exertions.
In an extensive and populous country, the instinctive
affection of patriotism is apt to grow languid among
the mass of the people, and therefore it becomes the
more necessary to impress on their minds those considerations of reason and duty which recommend public
spirit as one of the principal branches of morality.
What these considerations are, I shall afterwards endeavour to point out in treating of the duties we owe
to our fellow-creatures. At present I shall only remark,
that, as instinctive patriotism decays, so rational patriotism acquires force, in proportion to the extent of territory and to the multitude of fellow-citizens it embraces;
in other words, in proportion to the magnitude of that
sum of happiness which it aspires to secure and to
augment.
Such considerations, however, can have weight only
with men whose sense of duty is strong; and as, un.
7*




78      INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
fortunately, this is not the case with a great proportion
of mankind, it is of the utmost consequence. in every
state of society, to cherish as much as possible the-instinctive affection of patriotism, and to counteract those
causes that tend to extinguish it. For this purpose,
nothing is more likely to be effectual than to diffuse a
general taste for historical and geographical reading.
A peasant who has never extended his thoughts beyond
his own province, and who sees every thing flourishing
and happy around him, is apt to consider the enjoyments he possesses as inseparable from the human race,
and no more connected with any particular system of
laws than the advantages he derives from the immediate bounty of nature. It is the study of history and
geography alone that can remove this prejudice, by showing us, on the one hand, the narrow limits within which
the political happiness of our species has hitherto been
confined, and, on the other, the singular combination of
acci-dental circumstances to which we are indebted for
the blessings we enjoy. This effect of history, indeed,
tends rather to cherish rational than instinctive patriotism; but it operates also wonderfully on the latter affection, by leading us to Contrast our own country and countrymen with other lands and other nations, and thereby
presenting a more definite and interesting object to the
imagination and to the heart. When, from the transactions of past ages and of foreign lands, we return to
what is near and familiar, we are affected somewhat in
the same manner as if we met with a fellow-citizen in
a distant country. Absence from home never fails to endear it to a mind possessed of any sensibility. The extent
of our country, too, seems to diminish to our intellectual
eye in proportion as the object recedes from us, and we
feel a sensible relation to what we before regarded with
complete indifference. The natives of the same country in Scotland feel towards each other a partial predilection when they meet in the metropolis of Great
Britain; and the circumstance of being born in this
island forms a tie of friendship between individuals in
the other quarters of the globe. The study of hist(ry




PATRIOTISM.                   7.t
operates somewhat in the same manner, though not
perhaps in the same degree. By transporting us in imagination over the surface of this planet, and by assembling before our view the myriads who have occupied it before us, it serves to define to our thoughts
more distinctly the particular community to which we
belong, and strengthens the bond of relationship that
unites us to all its members.
I shall only add further on this subject, that, when
the extent and population of a country are so very
great as to give it a decided preeminence among neighbouring nations, it has a tendency to produce (partly
by interesting the vanity, and partly by dazzling the
imagination) an attachment to national glory, which
operates both on the vulgar and on men of better education in a way extremely analogous to the instinctive
patriotism felt by the member of a small community.
A remarkable instance of this occurred in the national
character of the French prior to the late revolution; nor
does it seem to have altered in this respect since that
event, if we may judge from the indignation with which'the idea of a confederate republic has always been received. A feeling of the same kind may be traced in
various expressions employed by Livy in the preface
to his Roman History.  " Utcunque erit, juvabit tamen
rerum gestarum memorima principis terrarum populi, pro
virili parte, et ipsum consuluisse; et si in tanta scriptorum  turba mea fama in obscuro sit, nobilitate ac
magnitudine eorum qui nomini officient meo me consoler. Res est prmaterea et immensi operis, ut qum supra
septingentesirlum  annum  repetatur, et qum ab exiguis
profecta initiis eo creverit, ut jam magnitudine laboret
sua: et legentium plerisque haud dubito, quin prime
origines proximaque originibus, minus praebitura voluptatis sint, festinantibus ad haec nova, quibus jampridem  prwvalentis populi vires se ipsm conficiunt."*
* "However that may be, I shall at all events derive no small satisfaction from the reflection that my best endeavours have been exerted in tralLsmritting to posterity the achievements of the greatest people in the Nworld;
and if; amidst such a multitude of writers, my name should not enecrge




so0        INSTINCTIVE  PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
The very danger which such an empire was exposed to
from its enormous magnitude, and from the seeds of
destruction which it carried in its bosom, seems to
heighten the patriotic affection of the historian, by
awakening an anxious solicitude for its impending fate.
The contrast between this feeling of national pride, and
a melancholy anticipation of those calamities to which
national greatness leads, gives the principal charm to
this exquisite composition.
SECTION V.
OF PITY TO THE DISTRESSED.
I. Office and important Uses of Compassion.] As the
unfortunate chiefly stand in need of our assistance, so
there is provided in every breast a most powerful advocate in their favor; an advocate, to whose solicitations
it is impossible even for the most obdurate to turn always
a deaf ear. The appropriation of the word humanity to
this part of our constitution affords sufficient evidence
of the common sentiments of mankind upon the subject.
" Mollissima corda
Humano generi dare se natura fatetur,
QuMe lacrymas dedit. HMec nostri pars optima senses..Separat hoc nos
A grege mutorum." *
from obscurity, I shall console myself by considering the distinguished
reputation and eminent merit of those who stand in my way in the pursuit
of fame. It may be further observed, that such a subject must require a
work of immense extent, as our researches must be carried back through
a space of more than seven hundred years; that the state has, from very
small beginnings, gradually increased to such a magnitude that it is now
distressed by its own bulk; and, besides, that there is every reason to apprehend that the generality of readers will receive but little pleasure from
the accounts of its first origin, or of the times immediately succeeding, but
will be impatient to arrive at these modern times, in which the powers of
this overgrown state have been long employed in working their own de.
struction."
* Juv., Sat. XV. 131, 142.
"Nature, who gave us tears, by that alone
Proclaims she made the feeling heart our own;
And't is our noblest sense.
b.... This marks onr birth;
Our great distinction from the beasts of earth."




PITY TO THE DISTRESSED.           81
The general principle of benevolence, or of goodlwill to our fellow-creatures, (of which I shall treat afterwards, when I come to consider our moral duties,) as it
disposes us to promote the happiness of others, so it
restrains us from doing them evil, and prompts us to
relieve their distresses. - The office of compassion or
pity is more limited. It impels us to relieve distress;
it serves as a check on resentment and selfishness, and
the other- principles which lead us to injure the interests
of others; but it does not prompt us to the communication of positive happiness. Its object is to relieve,
and sometimes to prevent, suffering; but not to augment the enjoyment of those who are already easy and
comfortable. We are disposed to do this by the general spirit of benevolence, but not by the particular affection of pity.
The final cause of this constitution of our nature is
very ingeniously and happily pointed out by Dr. Butler
in his second sermon On Compassion. This profound
philosopher observes, that, "supposing men to be capable of happiness and of misery in degrees equally intense, yet they are liable to the latter during longer periods of time than they are susceptible of the former.
We frequently see men suffering the agonies of pain
for days, weeks, and months together, without any intermission, except the short suspensions of sleep, - a
stretch of misery to which no state of high enjoyment
can approach in point of duration. Such, too, is our
constitution, and that of the world around us, that the
sources of our sufferings are placed much more within
the power of other men than the sources of our pleasures, so that there is no individual (however incapable
he may be to add to the happiness of his fellow-creatures) who has it not in his power to do them great and
extensive mischief. To prevent the abuse of this power
when we are under the influence of any of the angry
passions, by means of a particular affection tending to
check the excess of resentment, was, therefore, of more
consequence to the comfort of human life than it would
have been to superadd to the general principle of good



82      INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
will a particular affection prompting to the communi.
cation of positive enjoyment. The power we have over
the misery of our fellow-creatures being a more important trust than our power of promoting the happiness
of those already comfortable, the former stood more in
need of a guard to check its excesses than the latter of
a stimulus to animate its exertions. But, further, as it
is more in our power to cominnunicate misery than happiness, so it is more in our power to relieve misery than
to superadd enjoyment.  Hence an additional reason
for implanting in our constitution the affection of compassion, while there is none analogous to it urging us by
an instinctive impulse to acts of general benevolence."
The final causes of compassion, then, are to prevent
and to relieve misery, - to prevent misery by checking
the violence of our own angry passions, and to relieve
misery by calling our attention, and engaging our good
offices, to every object of distress within our reach.
The latter is the more common and the more important of its offices, at least in the present state of society.
And it is this which I have chiefly in view in the following observations.
I have said that compassion calls or arrests our attention to the distressed objects within our reach. When
we are immersed in the business of the world, or intoxicated with its pleasures, we are apt to overlook, and
sometimes to withdraw from, scenes of misery. It is
the office of compassion to plead the cause of the
wretched, or rather to solicit us to take their case under
our consideration; for so strong is the sense which all
men have of the duty of beneficence, that, if they could
only be brought to exercise their powers of reflection
on the facts before them, they could scarcely ever fail
to relieve distress, when, in consistency with other obligations, it was in their power to do so. One striking
proof of this is, that the active zeal of humanity is
(c2eteris paribus) strongest in those men whose warnm
imaginations present to them lively pictures of the sufferings of others; and that there is scarcely any man,
however callous and selfish, whose beneficence may not




PITY TO THE DISTRESSED.            83
be called forth by a skilful and eloquent description of
any scene of misery. General considerations with regard to our social duties will often have little weight;
but if the attention can only be fixed to facts, nature,
in most instances, accomplishes the rest. Hence the
importance in our constitution of the affection of compassion, which, amidst the tumult of business or of
pleasure, stops us suddenly in our career, and reminds
us that we have social duties to fulfil; calls upon us to
examine the claims of the helpless, and aggravates our
guilt if we disregard its admonition.
II. An Instinctive, and not, in itself, a Moral Principle.]  Compassion, according to the view now given
of it, is an instinctive impulse prompting to a particular
object, analogous in many respects to the animal appetites already considered. It is, indeed, one of the most
amiable, and one of the most important parts of our
constitution; but it is not an object of moral approbation. Our duty lies in the proper regulation of it, - in
considering with attention the facts it recommends to
our notice, and in acting with respect to them as reason
and conscience prescribe. It is hardly necessary for me
to add, that there are cases in which these inform us
that we ought not to follow the impulse of compassion,
and in which it is no less meritorious in us to resist its
solicitations than to deny ourselves the unlawful gratification of a sensual appetite; and even in those instances in which our duty calls us to obey its impulse,
our merit does not arise from the affection we feel, but
from doing what our conscience approves of as right,
on a deliberate consideration of the action we are to
perform, when examined in all its bearings and consequences.
Notwithstanding, however, the unquestionable truth
of this theoretical conclusion, it is nevertheless certain,
that a strong and habitual tendency to indulge this affection affords no slight presumption in favor of the
Nworth and benevolence of a character.  Whoever retlects, on the one hand, upon its general coincidence




84         INSTINCTIVE  PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
with what a sense of duty prescribes, and, upon the
other, on the nature of those circumstances by which'ts indulgence is checked and discouraged among men
of the world, will, I apprehend, readily assent to the
truth  of this observation.  The poet, perhaps, went a
little too far when he stated, as a general and  unqualified maxim,'AyaOoi appLtaKpPVE aWvBpe; * but, upon the whole,
I am inclined to think that this maxim, with all the exceptions which may contradict it, will be found much
nearer to the fact than they who have been trained in
the schools of fashionable persiflage will be disposed to
acknowledge.
III. The Affection of Pity not a Modification of Selflove.] The philosophers who attempt to resolve the
whole of human  conduct into  self-love have adopted
various theories to explain the affection of pity. Without stopping to examine these, I shall confine myself
to a simple statement of the fact, which statement will
at once show how far all of these are erroneous, and
will point out the oversight in which they have originated. Whoever reflects carefully on the effect produced on his own mind by objects which excite his
pity must be sensible that it is a compounded one; and
therefore, unless we are at pains to analyze it carefully,
we may be apt to mistake some one of the ingredients
for the whole combination.
* "Good men are prone to shed tears."-" The poets," says Mr. Wollaston, " who of all writers undertake to imitate nature most, off intred uce
even their heroes weeping. (See how Homer represents Ulysses, Gd., E
151 et seq.) The tears of men are in truth very different from the cries
and ejulations of children. They are silent streams, and flow from other
causes, commonly some tender, or perhaps philosophical reflection. It is
easy to see how hard hearts and dry eyes come to be fashionable. But for
all that, it is certain the glandulce lacrymales are not made for nothing."
Religion of Nature Delineated, Sect. VI. ~ xvii.
It is also remarked by Descartes, that the tears of children and of old
men (in which both are apt to indulge) flow from different sources. " Senes
swepe lacrymantur ex amore et ~audio...... Infantes raro ex laetitia
lacrymantur, sinpius ex tristitia, etiam quam amor non comitatur."' (De
Passionibus, Secunda Pars, Art. cxxxiii.) The important facts here described have seldom been remarked; and the statement of them does honor
to Descartes, as an attentive and accurate observer of human nature in the
beginning and towards the close of its history.




PITY  TO  THE  DISTRESSED.                     85
On the sight of distress we are distinctly conscious,
I think, of three things:-  1st. A  painful emotion  in
consequence of the distress we see. 2d. A selfish
desire to remove the cause of this uneasiness. 3d. A
disposition to relieve the distress from  a benevolent and
disinterested concern about the sufferer. If we had
not this last disposition, and if it were not stronger
than the former, the sight of a distressed object would
invariably prompt us to fly from it, as we frequently
see those men do in whom the second ingredient prevails over the third. In ordinary cases, the impulse of
pity attaches us to the cause of our sufferings; and we
cling to it, even although we are conscious that we can
afford  no relief but the consolation  of sympathy; -a
demonstrative proof that one at least of the ingredients
of pity (and in most men the prevailing ingredient) is
purely disinterested in its nature and origin.*
* There is a passage in Hazlitt's Essays on the Principles of Human
Action, 2d ed., pp. 131 et seq, which exposes a common fallacy on this
subject.  "It is absurd to say, that, in compassionating the distress of
others, we are only affected by our own pain and uneasiness, since this
vpry pain arises from our compassion. It is putting the effect before the
cause. Before I can be affected by my own pain, I must be put in pain.
If I am affected by, or feel pain and sorrow at, an idea existing in my
mind, which idea is neither pain itself nor an idea of my own pain, in
what sense can this be called the love of myself? Again, I am equally at
a loss to conceive how, if the pain which this idea gives me does not impel
me to get rid of it as it gives me pain, or as it actually affects myself as
a distinct, momentary impression, but as it is connected with other' ideas,
that is, is supposed to affect another, - how, I say, this can be considered
as the effect of self-love. The object, effort, or struggle of the mind is not
to remove the idea or immediate feeling of pain from the [sympathizing]
in(lividual, or to put a stop to that feeling as it affects his temporary
interest, but to produce a disconnection (whatever it may cost him) hbetween certain ideas of other things existing in his mind, namely, the idea
of pain and the idea of another person. Self, -mere physical self. is
entirely forgotten, both practically and consciously.
"'0, but,' it will be said,'I cannot help feeling pain when I see another
in actual pain, or get rid of the idea by any other means than by relieving
the person, and knowing that it exists no longer.' But will this prove
that my love of others is regulated by my love of myself, or that my selflove is subservient to my love of others? What hinders me from immediately removing the painful idea from my mind but that sympathy
with others which stands in the wayv of it?  That this independent attachment to the good of others is a natural, unavoidable feeling of the human
mind is what I do not wish to deny. It is also, if you will, a mechanical
feeling; but then it is neither a physical nor a selfish mechanism. I see
fd




86          INSTINCTIVE  PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
Although, however, this observation seems to me
decisive against the theory in question, in whatever
form it may be proposed, I cannot omit this opportunity of examining a new modification of the same
hypothesis, which occurs in Mr. Smith's Theory of
Moral Sentiments.   The view  of the subject which  he
has taken has the merit of entire originality, and, like
all his other speculations and opinions, derives a strong
recommendation from the splendid abilities and exemplary worth of the author. I hope, therefore, that
the critical strictures upon it which I am now to offer
will not be considered as a useless or unreasonable
interruption of the discussions in which we are at
present engaged.
Before entering on this argument, I shall just mention another hypothesis concerning the origin of cornpassion, which seems to me to approach more nearly
to that of Mr Smith than any thing else I have met
with in the works of his predecessors. I allude to the
account of pity given by Hobbes, who defines it to be
"the  imagination  or fiction  of future calamity to ourcolors, hear sounds, feel heat and cold, and believe that two and two make
four, by a certain mechanism, or from the necessary structure of the
human mind; but it does not follow that all this has any thing to do with
self-love. One half of the process, namely, the connecting the sense of
pain with the idea of it, is evidently contrary to self-love; nor do I see
any more reason for ascribing to that principle the uneasiness, or active
impulse which follows, since my own good is neither thought of in it, nor
follows from it except indirectly, slowly, and conditionally. The mechanical tendency to my own ease or gratification is so far from being the real
spring o: natural motive of compassion, that it is constantly overruled and
defeated by it.
"Lastly, should any desperate metaphysician persist in affirming that
myv love of others is still the love of myself, because the impression
excitin- my sympathy must exist in my mind and so be a part of myself,
I should answer that this is using words without affixing any distinct
nmeaning, to them. The love or affection excited by any general idea
existing in my mind can no more be said to be the love of myself, than
the idea of another person is the idea of myself because it is I who perceive it. This method of reasoning, however, will not go a great way
to prove the doctrine of an abstract principle of self-interest, for by
the same rule it would follow that I hate myself in hating any other
person,"
From the preceding extract it will be seen that Hazlitt does not concede
so much as Stewart to self-love. - ED.




PITY TO THE DISTRESSED.            87
selves proceeding from the sense of another man's calamity."  In what respect this theory coincides with
Mr. Smith's will appear from the remarks I am about
to make. In the mean time, I shall only observe how
completely the futility of Hobbes's definition is exposed
by a single remark of Butler, that, if it were just, it
would follow that the most fearful temper would be
the most compassionate.j We may add, too, that our
pity is more strongly excited by the distresses of an
infant than by those of the aged, although the former
are such as we cannot possibly be exposed to suffer a
second time, and the latter such as we must expect to
endure sooner or later, if the period of life should be
prolonged to that term which the weakness of most individuals disposes them to wish for.
IV. Adam Smith's Theory of Pity.] The leading
principles of Mr. Smith's theory, in as far as it applies
to pity or compassion, are comprehended in the three
following propositions: —
1st. That it is from our own experience alone we
can form any idea of the sufferings of another person
on any particular occasion.
2d. That the only manner in which we can form
this idea is by supposing ourselves in the same circumstances with him, and then conceiving how we should
be affected if we were so situated.
3d. That the uneasiness which we feel in consequence of the sufferings of another arises from our
conceiving those sufferings to be our own.
The first of these propositions is unquestionable.
Our notions 6f pain and of suffering are undoubtedly derived, in the first instance, from our own experience.
The second proposition is perhaps expressed with too
great a degree of latitude. That, in order to under* Iuman Nature, Chap ix. ~ 10.
t See an excellent note on Sermon V. It contains an important
hint about sympathy, which Mr. Smith has prosecuted with great ingenuity.




88      INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
stand complletely the sufferings of our neighbours in
any particular instance, it is necessary for us to have
been once placed in circumstances somewhat similar to
his, I believe to be true, and there can be no doubt that
it is frequently useful to us to direct our attention to
the distresses of others, by conceiving their situation to
be ours; but it does not appear to me that this process
of the mind takes place in every case in which we are
affected by the sight of misery. When we are once
satisfied that a particular situation is a natural source
of misery to the person placed in it, the -bare perception of the situation is sufficient to excite an unpleasant emotion in the spectator, without any reference
whatever to himself. This is easily explicable on the
common doctrine of the association of ideas.
Nor is this all. The looks, the gestures, the tones
of distress, speak in a moment from heart to heart, and
affect us with an anguish more exquisitely piercing
than any we are able to produce by all the various
expedients we can employ to assist the imagination in
conceiving the situation of the sufferer.
But, not to insist on these considerations, and
granting the second proposition in all its extent, the
third proposition is by no means a necessary consequence of it; for even in those cases in which we
endeavour to awaken our compassion for the sufferings
of our neighbour by conceiving ourselves placed in his
situation, our compassion is not founded on a belief
that the sufferings are ours. So long as we conceive
ourselves in distress, we feel a certain degree of uneasiness; but this is not the uneasiness of compassion.
In order to excite this, we must apply to our neighbour
the result of what we have experienced in ourselves;
or, in other words, having formed an idea of what he
suffers by bringing his case home to ourselves, we
must carry our attention back to him before he becomes the object of our pity. Nor is there any thing
mysterious or wonderful in this process of the mind.
That we are so formed as to expect that the operation
of the same cause, in similar circumstances, will be




PITY TO THE DISTRESSED.                  89
attended with the same result, might be shown from
a thousand instances. It is thus, that, having tried a
physical experiment on certain substances, I take for
granted that the result of a similar experiment on
similar substances will be the same.   It is thus that
I conclude, with the most perfect confidence, that a
wound given to my body in a particular organ would
be instantly fatal; although it is worthy of remark,
that in this case I have no direct evidence from experience that the internal structure of my body is similar
to those of the bodies which anatomists have hitherto
examined. Now, I apprehend, it is in the same manner, that, having once experienced the pain produced
by an instrument of torture applied to myself; I take
for granted that the effect will be the same when it is
applied to another. In consequence of this application,
the sentiment of compassion arises in my mind, during
the continuance of which my attention is completely
engrossed, not about myself, but about the real sufferer
And, indeed, if the case were otherwise, compassion
would be ultimately resolvable into a selfish principle,
and those men would be most ready to feel the distresses of others who are most impatient of their own.
A remark similar to this, as I have already observed, is
Inade by Dr. Butler, with respect to a theory of
Hobbes, who defines pity to be the fiction of future
calamity to ourselves from the sight of the present
calamity of another.  " Were this the case," says Butler,
" the most fearful tempers would be the most compassionate." According to Mr. Smith, pity arises from the
fiction, not of future, but of present, calamity to ourselves. The two theories approach very nearly to each
other, and the same answer is applicable to both.*
* So far, indeed, is it from being true that those who are most impatient
under their personal distresses are the most prone to commiserate the
sorrows of others, that I apprehend the reverse of this supposition will be
found agreeable to universal experience. The most unfeeling characters
I have ever known have been men, not only tremblingly alive to the slightest evil which affected themselves, but whose whole attention seemed
manifestly to be engrossed with their own comforts and luxuries. On the
other hand, the nearest approaches I have happened to witness to stoical




90        INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
In further proof that the distress produced by the suf.
ferings of others arises from  a conception that these dis,
tresses are our own, Mr. Smith mentions a variety of
facts which he thinks establish his doctrine with demonstrative evidence.  " When we see a stroke aimed
and just ready to fall upon the leg or arm of another
person, we naturally shrink and draw back our own
leg, or our own arm, and when it does fall we feel it in
some measure, and are hurt by it as well as the sufferer.
The mob, when they are gazing at a dancer on the
slack rope, naturally writhe and twist and balance their
own bodies as they see him do, and as they feel that
they must themselves do, if in his situation." In general, he observes, that, " as to be in pain or distress of
any kind excites the Inost excessive sorrow, so to conceive or to imagine that we are in it excites some degree of the same emotion, in proportion to the vivacity
or dulness of the conception." 
The facts here appealed to by Mr. Smith are indeed
extremely  curious, and  I do not pretend  to explain
them. They are not, however, singular facts in our
constitution, but belong to that class of phenomena
which medical writers refer to what they call the principle of imitation.t  Of this kind are the contagious
effects of hysterics, of yawning, of laughter, of crying,
&c. In these last cases Mr. Smith would suppose, if
he were to apply the same reasoning he uses in analogous instances, that the effect arises from  our conceiving ludicrous or sorrowful ideas similar to those by
which these emotions are produced. But the primary
patience and fortitude under severe suffering have been invariably accompanied with a peculiarly strong disposition to social tenderness and sympathy. Gray alludes to this contrast in his Ode on a Distant Prospect of
Eton Colleye: -
"To each his sufferings; all are men
Condemned alike to groan;
The feeling, for another's pain,
The unfeeling, for his own."
* Theory of Mloral Sentimnents. Part I. Sect. I. Chap i.
t In my Philosophy of the Huanan JMind, Vol. III., I have distinguished
this law of our nature by the more precise and unequivocal title of the
Principlc of Sylnputhetic Imitation.




MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS.           91
effect seems to be produced on the body, and the secon
dary effect on the mind; somewhat in the same man
ner in which we can excite a sensible degree of the passion of anger in our own breast by imitating the looks
and gestures which are expressive of rage. It does not
-appear to me that thi~ bodily contagion of the expression of passion has any immediate connection with our
fellow-feeling with distress. If it had, those would be
most liable to it who felt the most deeply for the sorrows of others, - a conclusion which is certainly not
agreeable to fact. During the madness of Belvidera,
those who are the most powerfully affected by the representation are not the nervous ladies who catch from
the actress something similar to a hysteric paroxysm;
but they who, retaining their own reason, reflect on the
train of misfortunes which have unhinged her mind,
and who weep for her madness, not so much as a misfortune in itself, as an indication of that conflict of
passions by which it was produced. The effect in the
former case depends on a peculiar irritability and
mobility of the bodily frame altogether unconnected
with any of the moral sympathies or sensibilities of
our nature.
SECTION VI.
OF RESENTMENT, AND THE VARIOUS OTHER ANGRY AF
FECTIONS GRAFTED UPON IT) COMMONLY CONSIDERED
BY ETHICAL WRITERS AS MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS.
I. Enumeration of the Malevolent Affections originating, in Resentment.] The names which are given to
these affections in common discourse are various, Hatred, Jealousy, Envy, Revenge, Misanthrop)y; but it
may be doubted if there be any principle of this kind
implanted by nature in the mind, excepting the Principle of Resentment, the others being grafted on this
stock by our erroneous opinions and criminal habits.
Emulation, indeed, (which is unquestionably an origiral principle of action,) is treated of by Dr. Reid un



92       INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
der the title of the Malevolent Affections. But I formerly gave my reasons for classing this principle with
the desires, and not with the affections.  I acknowledged, indeed, that emulation is often accompanied
with ill-will to our rival; but the malevolent affection
is only a concomitant circumstance; and it is not the
affection, but the desire of superiority, which can be
justly regarded as the active principle.
Nor is this sentiment of ill-will a necessary concomitant of the desire of superiority; for there is unquestionably a solid distinction between emulation and envy, the latter of which is a corruption of the former,
disgraceful to the character and ruinous to the happiness of whoever indulges it. In the case of envy, the
malevolent affection arises, I believe, generally from
some error of the judgment or some illusion of the
imagination, leading us to refer the cause of our own
want of success either to some injustice on the part of
our rival, or to an unjust partiality in the world, which
overrates his merits and undervalues ours. In both of
these cases, the desire of superiority generates malevolent affections, by first leading us to apprehend injustice, and thus exciting the natural passion of resentment.
Before proceeding to consider this principle of action, it may be proper again to remark, that, when the
epithet malevolent is applied to it, that word must not
be understood to imply any thing criminal, at least so
long as resentment is restrained within proper bounds,
after having been originally excited by real injustice.
The epithet malevolent is used only to express that temporary ill-will towards the author of the apprehended injustice with which resentment is necessarily accompanied till it begins to subside.
One of the first authors who examined with success
this part of our constitution, and illustrated the important purposes to which it is subservient, was Bishop
Butler, in an excellent discourse printed among his Sermons. The hints he has thrown out have evidently
been of great use both to Lord Kames and Mr. Smith
in their speculations concerning the principles of morals.




MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS.             93
II. Instinctive and Deliberate Resentment.]  To Butler we are indebted for the illustration of a very important distinction (which had been formerly hinted at by
Hobbes) between instinctive and deliberate resentment
Instinctive resentment operates in men exactly as in
the lower animals, arising necessarily from any feeling
of pain excited by external objects, and prompting us
to a retaliation upon the cause of our suffering, without
any exercise whatever of reflection and reason. It is
thas that a child beats the ground after it has hurt itself by a fall, and that we sometimes see a passionate
man wreak his vengeance on inanimate objects by dashing them to pieces. This species of resentment, however, subsides instantly, and we are ready next moment
to smile at the absurdity of our conduct.
Deliberate resentment is excited only by intentional
injury, and therefore implies a sense of justice, or of
moral good or evil. It is plainly peculiar to a rational
nature, though perhaps it is not very distinguishable
from instinctive or animal resentment in the ruder state
of our own species. It is observed by Dr. Robertson,
that "the desire of vengeance which takes possession
of the heart of savages resembles the instinctive rage
of an animal rather than the passion of a man, and
that it turns with undiscerning fury even against inanimate objects."  He adds, "that, if struck with an arrow in battle, they will tear it from the wound, break
and bite it with their teeth, and dash it on the ground." *
This distinction, too, is much insisted on by Lord
Kames in various parts of his writings; and it is from
him that I have borrowed the phrase of instinctive resentment, which he has substituted instead of sudden
resentment, employed by Butler.
III. The Final Cause of Instinctive Resentment.] The
final cause of instinctive resentment was plainly to de.
fend us against sudden violence, (where reason would
come too late to our assistance,) by rousing the powers
*k History of America, Book IV. ~ 73.




91          INSTINCTIVE  PRINCIPLES  OF ACTION.
both of mind and body to instant and vigorous exertion. A number of our other instincts are perfectly
analogous to this. Such, for example, is the instinctive
effort we make to recover ourselves when we are ill
danger of losing our balance,' and the instinctive de* Although I have followed Dr. Reid's language in calling this an instinctive effort, I am abundantlv aware that the expression is not unexceptionable.  On this head I perfectly agree (excepting in one single point)
with the following remarks of Gravesande: -
"II y a quelque chose d'admirable dans le moyen ordinaire dont les
hommes se servent, pour s'emp'cher de tomber: car dans le tems que,
par quelque mouvement, le poids du corps s'augmente d'une cote, un
autre mouvement retablit l'equilibre dans linstant. On attribue communement la chose a un instinct naturel quoiqu'il faille n6cessairement l'attribuer h un art perfectionna par l'exercise.
"Les enfans ignorent absolulnent cet art dans les premi'.res ann6es de
leur vie; ils l'apprennent penu  peu, et s'y perfectionnent, parce qu'ils ont
continuellement occasion de s'y exercer; exercise qui, dans la suite, n'exige presque plus aucune attention de leur part; tout comme un musicidn
remue les doigts, suivant les r, gles de l'art, pendant qu'il apperqoit ( peine
qu'il y fasse le moindre attention." - (Euvres Philosophiques de M. S'Gravesande, p. 121, 2de Partie, Amsterdam, 1774.
The only thing I am disposed to object to in the foregoing passage is
that clause where the author ascribes the effort in question to an art. Is it
not manifestly as wide of the truth to refer it to this source as to a pure
instinct?
The word art implies intelligence, - the perception of an end, and the
choice of means. But where is there any appearance of either in an operation common to the whole species, (not excepting the idiot and the insane,) and which is practised as successfully by the brutes as by rational
creatures?
Elephants (it is well known) were taught by the ancients to walk on the
tight rope, on which occasions their trunk probably performed the office of
a pole. Whoever has seen a peacock walk in a windy day along the
branch of a tree must have observed the address with which he avails
himself of his tail for the same purpose.
Nothing, however, can place in a stronger light the capacity of the
brutes to acquire the nice management of the centre of gravity, than the
mathematical exactness with which we may daily see horses in the circus
adjusting the inclination of their bodies to the velocity of their circular
speed. Here, indeed, a good deal is to be ascribed to the effects of human
discipline, but by far the greater part of the groundwork is laid by nature
in the instinctive dispositions of the animal. The acquisition seems to be
almost as easy as that of the habits which constitute the acquired perceptions of sight.
In one of the last volumes of Dr. Clarke's Travels there is a figure of
a goat, whom the author saw standing with its four feet collected together
on the top of a cylindrical piece of wood of a few inches diameter. Nobody can doubt that the effects of discipline were greatly facilitated in this
instance by the natural instincts of the goat, which probably accommodated themselves with very little instruction to the artificial circumstances
in which they were forced to operate.




MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS.             95
spatch with which we shut the eyelids when an object
is made to pass rapidly before the face. In general it
rvill be found, that, as nature has taken upon herself
the care of our preservation during the infancy of our
reason, so in every case in which our existence is threatened by dangers, against which reason is unable to
supply a remedy with sufficient promptitude, she continues this guardian care through the whole of life.
The disposition which we sometimes feel, when under the influence of instinctive resentment, to wreak
our vengeance upon inanimate objects, has suggested
to Dr. Reid a very curious query, Whether, upon such
an occasion, we may have a momentary belief that the
object is alive? For my own part, I confess my inclination to answer this question in the affirmative. I
agree with Dr. Reid in thinking, that, unless we had
such a belief, our conduct could not possibly be what
it frequently is, and that it is not till this momentary
belief is at an end that our conduct appears to ourselves to be absurd and ludicrous. With respect to infants, there are many facts besides that now under consideration which render it probable that their first apprehensions lead them to believe all the objects around
them to be animated, and that it is only in consequence
of experience and reason that they come to form the
notion of insentient substances. If this be the case,
the illusion of imagination which leads us to ascribe
life to things inanimate, when we are under the influence of instinctive resentment, may perhaps be owing
to a momentary relapse into those apprehensions which
were habitually familiar to us in the first years of our
existence.
But whatever theory we adopt on the subject, there
can be no doubt about the fact, that the final cause of
this law of our nature was to secure and guard us
against the sudden effects of external injuries in cases
where there is not time for deliberation and judgment.
With respect to the injuries we are liable to from our
fellow-creatures, it secures us further by its effect in restraining them from acts of violence. "It is a kind of




96       INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
penal statute promulgated by nature, the execution of
which is committed to the sufferer." *
IV. Final Cause of Deliberate Resentment.]  In man
the instinctive resentment subsides as soon as he is satisfied that no injury was intended; and it is only intentional injury that is the object of settled and deliberate
resentment. The final cause of this species of resentment is analogous to that of the other,- to serve as a
check on those men whose violent or malignant passions might lead them to disturb the happiness of their
fellow-creatures.
In order to secure still more effectually so very important an end, we are so formed that the injustice offered to others, as well as to ourselves, awakens our resentment against the aggressor, and prompts us to take
part in the redress of their grievances. In'this case the
emotion we feel is more properly denoted in our language by the word indignation; but (as Butler has remarked) our principle of action is in both cases fundamentally the same, - an aversion or displeasure at injustice and cruelty, which interests us in the punishment
of those by whom they have been exhibited. Resentment, therefore, when restrained within due bounds,
seems to be rather a sentiment of hatred against vice
than an affection of ill-will against any of our fellowcreatures; and, on this account, I am somewhat doubtful (notwithstanding the apology I have already made
for the title of this section) whether I have not followed
Dr. Reid too closely in characterizing resentment, considered as an original part of the constitution of man,
by the epithet of malevolent.
An additional confirmation of this doctrine arises
from the following consideration: -that, in candid and
generous minds, the whole object of resentment is to
convince the person who has injured them that he has
treated them unjustly, - to show him that he has
formed an unfair estimate of their characters and of
* Reid, On the Active Powers, Essay III. Part II. Chap. v.




MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS.            97
their talents, and to obtain such a superiority over himr
in point of powoer as to be able, by a generous forgiveness of his aggressions, to convert his malice into
gratitude. In other words, in such minds the great
object of resentment is to correct the faults of the
delinquent, and to make a friend of an enemy.
This last observation points out, by the wvay, the
final cause of a very remarkable circumstance accontipanying the affection of resentment when excited by
an injury offered to ourselves. We desire not only tlhe
punishment of the offender, but that we should have
the power of inflicting the punishment with our own
hand. It is probable that this originates partly in our
love of power; but I believe it is chiefly owing to a
secret wish of convincing our enemy, by the magnanimity of our conduct, how much he had mistaken the
object of his hatred. In the mean and the malicious,
the passion of revenge is gratified by any suffering inflicted on an enemy, whether by an indifferent person
or by the hand of Heaven.
After all, however, that I have advanced in justification of this part of the human constitution, I must acknowledge that there is no principle of action which
requires more pains, even in the best minds, to restrain
it within the bounds of moderation.  The imagination
exaggerates the injuries that we ourselves have received; and mistaken views of human nature, concurring with low spirits or disappointed ambition, lead us
to ascribe to our opponents worse motives than those
from which they really have acted. We seldom, too,
are sufficiently attentive to the situations and feelings
of other men, and even where we do make an effort to
place ourselves in their circumstances, it is not every
man who is possessed of the degree of imagination
requisite for that purpose. Our own sufferings, at the
same time, are always present to our view, and force
themselves on the notice of the most thoughtless without any effbrt on their part. And hence it is that an
irritability to personal injury is often accompanied with
a callousness to the feelings of others, and even with a
9




98      INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
disposition to put unfavorable constructions on their
actions.
V. Hotv checked and restrained by Indignation in
Others.] In order to check the excesses to which thlis
ungovernable passion is apt to lead us, nature has
made a beautiful provision in that sentiment of indignation which the sight of injustice excites in the breast
of the unconcerned spectator. This sentiment interests society in general in the cause of the oppressed,
and serves to protect the weak against the wrongs of the
powerful. As it is not, however, liable to the same excesses with the passion of resentment excited by a personal injury, it sympathizes only with the injured while
his retaliations are restrained within the bounds of moderation. When resentment rises to cruel and relentless revenge, unconcerned spectators become disposed
to abandon the cause they had espoused, and to transfer their protection to the original aggressor.
It does not follow from this observation that resentment alid indignation are two distinct principles; for
the whole difference between them  may be accounted
for from the different views we naturally take of our
own wrongs and those of others. They are both founded in a sentiment of aversion and ill-will excited by
injustice; but the one is more apt to pass the bounds
of moderation than the other, in consequence of the
facts being more strongly obtruded on our notice, and
often exaggerated by the heightenings of imagination.
Mr. Smith has endeavoured, on the principles now
stated, to account for the origin of our sense of justice.
The passion of resentment, he thinks, when excited by
a personal injury, would set no bounds to its gratification, but would lead us to sacrifice every thing to revenge. But, as we find that other men would not go
along with us when our revenge ceases to bear any
proportion to the original injury, we learn to adjust our
retaliations, not to our own feelings, but to those of
the impartial spectator.  Hence the origin of our setnse
of justice, our regard for which arises from our desire
of obtaininti the svmnathv and the support of society.




MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS.             99
I shall afterwards state some objections to this theo.
ry, which appear to me unanswerable. In particular, I
shall attempt to show, that, so far is our idea of justice
from being posterior to the affections of resentment and
indignation, and to a comparison between our own
feelings and those of other men, that the very emotion
of deliberate resentment presupposes the idea of justice, and of what is morally right and wrong.  The
fact, however, on which the theory proceeds is a most
important one, and Mr. Smith has had great merit in
illustrating it so fully. Lord Kames, in his Historical
Law Tracts, has made a happy application of it to explain the origin and progress of criminal law.  Which
of these two authors first conceived the idea of applying it to jurisprudence does not appear to me to be perfectly certain. Both of them have evidently been
much indebted, in their speculations concerning this
part of human nature, to the Sermons of Bishop Butler.
VI. All the Malevolent Affections attended by a Sense
of Pain.] I shall conclude this subject at present by
remarking, that, as all the benevolent affections are accompanied with pleasant, emotions, so all the malevolent affections are sources of pain and disquiet. This
is true even of resentment, how justly soever it may be
roused by the injurious conduct of others. Here, too,
we may perceive a final cause perfectly analogous to
that of which I formerly took notice in treating of the
benevolent affections. As the pleasant emotion accompanying these seems evidently to have been intended
as an incitement to us to cultivate and cherish them, so
the painful feeling accompanying resentment, and every
other affection which is hostile to our fellow-creatures,
serves as a check on the habitual indulgence of them,
and induces us, as soon as the first impulse of passion
is over, and reason begins to reassume her empire, to
obliterate every trace of them from the memory. Dr.
Reid has expressed this last observation with great
beauty, and has enforced it with uncommon felicity of
llustration.  " When we consider that, on the one




100     INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.
hand, every benevolent affection is pleasant in its nature. is health to the soul and a cordial to the spirits;
that nature has made even the outward expression of
belevolent affections in the countenance pleasant to
every beholder, and the chief ingredient of beauty in'the human face divine'; that, on the other hand, every
malevolent affection, not only in its faulty excesses, but
in its moderate degrees, is vexation and disquiet to the
mind, and even gives deformity to the countenance. it
is evident that by these signals nature loudly admonishes us to use the former as our daily bread, both for
health and pleasure, but to consider the latter as a nauseous medicine, which is never to be taken without necessity, and even then in no greater quantity than the
necessity requires." *
After the clear, and, at the same time, cautious terms
in which Butler, Kames, and Smith have expressed
themselves concerning resentment, it is surprising to
find some late writers of considerable name speaking
of the pleasure of revenge as a natural gratification, of
which every man is entitled to look forward to the enjoyment; and which, after the establishment of the political union, every man has a right to insist upon at
the hands of the civil magistrate. Such, in particular,
seems to be the opinion of Mr. Bentham, and of his
very ingenious and eloquent commentator, M. Dumont: -
" Every species of satisfaction naturally brings in its
train a punishment to the defendant, a pleasure of vengeance for the party injured. This pleasure is a gain:
it recalls the riddle of Samson; it is the sweet which
comes out of the strong; it is the honey gathered from
the carcass of the lion. Produced without expense,
net result of an operation necessary on other accounts,
it is an enjoyment to be cultivated as well as any other; for the pleasure of vengeance, considered abstractly, is, like every other pleasure, only good in itself.
It is innocent so long as it is confined within the limits
* O1 the Active Powers, Essay III. Part II Chap. vi.




MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS.                    10l
of the laws; it becomes criminal at the moment it
breaks them...... Useful to the individual, this motive is also useful to the public, or, to speak more correctly, necessary. It is this vindictive satisfaction
which often unties the tongue  of the witness; it is
this which generally animates the breast of the accuser,
and engages him  in  the service of justice, notwithstanding  the  trouble, the  expenses, the enmities, to
which it exposes him; it is this which overcomes the
public pity in the punishment of the guilty.....
" Some commonplace moralists, always the dupes of
-words, cannot understand this truth.'The  desire of
vengeance is odious; all satisfaction drawn from this
source is vicious; forgiveness of injuries is the noblest
of virtues.' Doubtless, implacable characters, whom
no satisfaction can soften, are hateful and ought to be
so.  The forgiveness of injuries is a virtue necessary to
humanity; but it is only a virtue when justice has
done its work, when it has furnished or refused a satisfaction. Before this, to forgive injuries is to invite
their perpetration, -  is to be, not the friend, but the
enemy of society.  What could wickedness desire more
than an arrangement by which offences should be always followed by pardon?" *
The observations above quoted from  Butler, Reid,
and Smith will at once point out the limitations with
which this passage must be understood, and  will furnish a triumphant reply to it where it departs from the
truth.t
* Bentham's Principles of Penal Law, Part I. Chap. xvi. The French
translation by M. I)umont was published before the original, and was quoted bv Mr. Stewart. I have taken the liberty to substitute the original,
wh ii(cil has since al)peared. - ED.
i To the works already cited or referred to in this and the preceding
chla)ters at illustrating wvliat Mr. Stewart calls the Instinctive Principles
of Action should be added Brovwn's Philosolphy  f' the Hulman Mind, Lect.
LXV.-   LXXII.; Cogan's Philosolphicd Treatise on the, Passions; Rauch's
Psyrchotly, tart 11II. Sect. II.; Damiron, Psycholoyie, Sect. II. Chap.
Hii.- JED.
9*




BOOK II.
OF OUR RATIONAL* AND GOVERNING PRINCI.
PLES OF ACTION.
CHAPTER I.
OF A PRUDENTIAL REGARD TO OUR OWN HAPPINESS,
OR WHAT IS COMMONLY CALLED BY MORALISTS THE
PRINCIPLE OF SELF-LOVE.
I. Difference between the Animal and Rational Natures.]   The constitution of man, if it were composed
merely  of the  active  principles  hitherto  mentioned,
would, in  some important respects, be analogous to
that of the brutes.  His reason, however, renders his
nature and condition, on the whole, essentially different from theirs; and, by elevating him to the rank of
a moral agent, distinguishes him  from the lower animals
still more remarkably than by the superiority it imparts
to his intellectual endowments.
Of this wvant of reason in the brutes, it is an obvious
result, that they are incapable of looking forward to
consequences, or of comparing  together the different
gratifications of which they are susceptible; and, accor(lingly, as far as we can perceive, they yield to every
present impulse. Among the inhabitants of this globe
* To various active principles which have been already under our consideration, suc h, for instance, as the desire of knowledge, the desire of esteeml, pity to the distressed, &c., &c., the epithet rational may undoubtedly
be app)lied in one sense with propriety, as they exclusively belong to rational beingss; but they are yet of a nature essentially different fiom those active )prilnciples of which we are now to treat, and which I have distin~uishled by the title of Rational and Governing. My reasons for using this
la~ngaulge will appear in the sequel.




SELF-LOVE.                 103
it is the exclusive prerogative of man, as an intelligent
being, to take a comprehensive survey of his various
principles of action, and to form plans of conduct for
the attainment of his favorite objects.  He is possessed,
therefore, of the power of sef-:government; for how
could a plan of conduct be conceived and carried into
execution, without a power of refusing occasionally lo
particular active principles the gratification which they
demand?  This difference between the animal and the
rcational natures is well and concisely described by
Seneca in the following words:-" Animalibus pro
r'atione impetus; homini pro imzpetu ratio." *
According to the particular active principle which
influences habitually a man's conduct, his character receives its denomination of covetous, ambitious, studious,
or voluptuous; and his conduct is more or less systematical as he adheres to his general plan with steadiness
or inconstancy.
II. Importance of Self-control and of systematic and
concentrated Action.]  It is hardly necessary for me to
remark how  much a man's success in his favorite
pursuit depends on the systematical steadiness with
which he keeps his object in view.  That an uncommon measure of this quality often supplies, to a
great degree, the place of genius, and that, where it is
wanting, the most splendid endowments are of little
value, are facts which have been often insisted on by
philosophers, and which are confirmed to us by daily
experience.  The effects of this concentration of the
attention to one particular end on the development
and improvement of the intellectual powers in general
have not been equally taken notice of.  They are,
however, extremely remarkable, as every person will
readily acknowledge, who compares the sagacity and
penetration of those individuals who have enjoyed its
advantages with the weakness and incapacity alnd
* Seneca, De Ira, II. 16. "Animals have impulse for reason: rman.
reain;o for impulse."




,104                 SELF-LOVE.
dissipation of thought produced by an undecided
choice arnong the various pursuits which human life
presents to us.  Even the systematical voluptuary,
while he commands a much greater variety of sensual
indulgences, and continues them to a much more
advanced age, than the thoughtless profligate, seldom
fails to give a certain degree of cultivation to his
understanding, by employing his faculties habitually in
one direction.
The only exception, perhaps, which can be mentioned to this last remark, occurs in the case of those
men whose leading principle of action is vanity, and
who, as their rule of conduct is borrowed from without, mrnst, in consequence of this very- circumstance,
be perpetually wavering  and  inconsistent in their
pursuits. Accordingly, it will be found that such men,
although  they  have frequently  performed  splendid
ac.tions, have seldom  risen to eminence in any one
Px. rticular career, unless when, by a rare concurrence c(i
Wccidental circumstances, this career has been steadl ii;
pointed out to them, through the whole of their lives,
by public opinion.
"Alcibiades," says a French writer, "was a man not
of ambition, but of' vanity,-a man whose ruling
p:assion was to make a noise, and to furnish matter
of conversation to the Athenians. He possessed the
reniuts of a great man, but his soul, the springs o-i
wh-ich were too much slackened to urge him  to const-nt application, could not elevate him, but by starts,
to putrsuits worthy of his powers.  I can scarcely bring
myself to believe that a, man, whose versatility was
such as to enable him when in Sparta to assumrne the
severe manners of a Spartan, and when in lonia to
indulge in the refined voluptuousness of an Ionian,
had received from  nature the stamina of a great  character." 
To what has been now observed in favor of syste.
* Quoted hby Warburton in his note on Pope's character of the Duke of
W'harton, Moral Essays, Ep. I. 190.




SELF-LOVE.                   lotI
matical views in the conduct of life, it may be added.
that they are incomparably more conducive to hap
piness than a course of action influenced merely by occasional inclination and appetite.  Lord Shaftesbury
goes so far as to assert, that even the man who is uniformly and systematically bad enjoys more happiness
(perhaps he would have been nearer the truth if he had
contented himself with saying that he suffers less misery)
than one of a more mixed and more inconsistent character. "' It is the thorough profligate knave alone, the
complete unnatural villain, who can any way bid for
happiness with the honest man.  True interest is wholly on one side or on the other.  All between is inconsistency, irresolution, remorse, vexation, and an ague
fit, — from hot to cold, - from one passion to another
quite contrary, - a perpetual discord of life, and an alternate disquiet and self-dislike.  The only rest or repose must be through one determined considerate resolution, which, when once taken, must be courageously
kept, and the passions and affections brought under
obedience to it, — the temper steeled and hardened to
the mind, — the disposition to the judgment. Both
must agree, else all must be disturbance and confusion." *
To the same purpose Horace:" Quanto constantior idem
In vitiis, tanto levior miser, ac prior illo
Qui jam contento, jam laxo fune laboret." t
III. Examples of the Evils of Inconstancy.] Of the
state of a mind originally possessed of the most splendid endowments, but where every thing has been suffered to run into anarchy from  the want of some controlling and steady principle of action, a masterly picture is drawn by Cicero in the following account of
Catiline.
Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Humor, Part IV. Sect. 1.
t Hor., Sermo., Lib. II., Sat. VII. 18.
" So constant was he to his darling vice,
Yet less a wretch than he who now maintains
A steady course, now dr;ies with looser reins."




106                      SELF-ILOVE.
"l Ttebatur horninibus improbis multis, et quidem  op.
timis se viris deditum  esse simulabat; erant apud illumn illecebrae libidinum multee; erant etiam industrie
quidam   stimuli ac laboris: flagrabant libidinis  vitia
apud illum; vigebant etiam  studia rei militaris: neque
ego unquam   fuisse tale monstrum  in terris ullum  puto,
tam ex contrariis diversisque inter se pugnantibus naturte studiis cupiditatibusque conflatum. Quis clarioribus viris quodam  tempore jucundior? quis turpioribus
conjunctior?  quis civis meliorum  partium  aliquando?
quis tetrior hostis huic civitati?  quis in voluptatibus
inquinatior? quis in laboribus patientior? quis in rapacitate avarior? quis in largitione effusior? " 
in a person of this description, whatever indications
of genius and ability he may discover, and whatever
may be the great qualities he possesses, there is undoubtedly some tendency to insanity, which, if it were
not the radical source of the evil, could  hardly fail,
sooner or later, to be the effect of a perpetual conflict
between different and discordant passions. And, accordingly, this is the idea which Sallust seems to have
formed of this extraordinary man. " His eyes," he observes, "had a disagreeable glare; his complexion was
pale; his walk sometimes quick, sometimes slow; and
his general appearance indicated a discomposure of
mind approaching to madness."
I would not be understood to insinuate by this last
observation, that, in every case in which we observe a
conduct apparently inconsistent and irregular, we are
entitled to conclude, all at once, that it proceeds from
accidental humor, or from a disordered understanding.
* Oratio pro M. Coelio, Sect. V. and VI  " He was acquainted with a
great number of wicked men, yet a pretended admirer of the virtuous.
His house was furnished with a variety of temptations to lust and lewdness, yet with several incitements also to industry and labor: it was a
scene of vicious pleasures, yet a school of martial exercises. There never was such a monster on earth, compounded of passions so contrary and
o)posite. Who was ever more a-recablle at one time to the best citizens?
who more intimate at another with thle worst? who a man of better professions? who a fouler enemy to this city? who more intemperate in
pleasure? whllo more patient in labor? who more rapacious in plundering?
who more profuse in squandering?"




SELF-LOVE.                      107
The knowledge of a man's ruling passion is often a
key to what appeared, on a superficial view, to be perfectly inexplicable. Some excellent reflections on this
subject are to be found in the first of Pope's ioral
Essayis, where they are most happily and forcibly illus-.rated by the character of the Duke of Wharton.
"Search, then, the ruling passion: there alone
The wild are constant, and the cunning known;
The fool consistent, and the false sincere;
Priests, princes, women, no dissemblers here.
This clew, once found, unravels all the rest,
The prospect clears, and Wharton stands confessed, —
Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days,
Whose ruling passion was the lust of praise.
Born with whate'er could win it from the wise,
Women and fools must like him, or he dies.
Ask you why Wharton broke through every rule?'T was all for fear the knaves should call him fool.
Nature well known, no prodigies remain,
Comets are regular and Wharton plain."
I have only to add to these observations of Pope,
that I believe the inconsistencies he describes are chiefly
to be found in the conduct of men whose ruling principle of action  is vanity.  I have  already remarked,
that while every other principle which gains an ascendant over the rest has a tendency to systematize  our
course of action, vanity has, on the contrary, a tendency to disorganize it, leading us always to look abroad
for our rule of conduct, and thereby rendering it as wavering and inconsistent as the opinions and fashions of
mankind. Where vanity, therefore, is the ruling passion of any individual, a want of system  may be regarded as a necessary consequence of his general chalracter.
IV. Why the Desire of Happiness should be accounled a Rational, and not an Instinctive, Principle of Action.]  From  the foregoing considerations it sufficiently
appears how much the nature of man is discriminated
from that of the brutes, in consequence of the comlprehensive view wvhich his reason enables him  to talke of
his different principles of action, and of the deliberate




108                     SELF-LOV'V.
choice he has it in his power to make of the genera.
plan of conduct he is to pursue. There is another,
however, and a very important respect, in which the ra
tional nature differs from the animal,-  that it is able
to form the notion of happiness. or wha/t is g'ood for it
upoi the whole, and to deliberate about the most efTectual means of attaining it.  It is owing to this distinguishing prerogative of' our species that we can avail
ourselves of our past experience in avoiding those enjoyments which we know will be succeeded by suffering,
and in submitting to lesser evils which we know are to
be instrumental in procuring us a greater accession of
good.  " Sed inter hominem  et belluam," says Cicero,
"hoc maxime interest, quod hec tantuim  quantuim  sensu
movetur, ad id solum  quod adest, quodque proesens est,
se accommodat, paullulum adinodum sentiens preateritum aut futurunm. Horno autem, quoniam rationis est
particeps, per quam consequentia cernit, causas rerum
videt, earumque praegressus et antecessiones non ignorat; similitudines comparat, et rebus presentibus adjungit atque annectit futuras; facile totins vitm cursum
videt, ad eamque degendam  prmaparat res necessarias."'
It is implied in the very idea of lhappiness that it is
a desirable object, and therefore self-love is an active
principle very different from those which have been
hitherto considered. These, for aught we know, may
be the effect of arbitrary appointment, and they have
accordingly been called implanted principles, or principles resultiing from  a positive accommodation.of the
constitutioil of maln to the objects with which  he is
surroun(led. The desire of happiness may be called a
rational principle of action, being peculiar to a rational
nature, and inseparably connected with it. It is imK. De Off., Lib. I. 4  "But between man and the lower animals there
is in other respects the greatest difference. The latter, guided by the impulse of their senses alone, are confined to what is present, or near, with a
very slight knowledge of the past or the future. Man, however, who partakes of reason, distinguishes the causes and the consequences of events,
obhcrves their progress, compares similar circumstances. connects the past
with the future. survevs the whole course of life, and makes the necessary
provision for its wel b-eing."




SET,F-LOVE.                        109
possible  to  conceive a being capable of forming the
notions  of happiness  and  misery, to  whom  the  one
shall not be  an  object of desire, and  the  other of
aversion.X
V. Objections to the Ternm  Self-love.]  In  prefixing
to this chapter the title of Self-love, the ordinary
language of modern  philosophy has been followed, as
I am always anxious to avoid unnecessary innovations
in the use of words.  The expression, however, is exceptionable, for it suggests an analogy (where there is
none in fact) between that regard which every rational
being must necessarily have to his own happiness, and
those  benevolent affections  which  attach  us  to  our
fellow-creatures. There is surely nothing in the former
of these principles analogous to the affection of love;
and, therefore, to call it by the appellation of self-love
is to suggest a theory with respect to its nature, and
a theory which has no foundation in truth.
The  word  qtXavrla  was  used  among  the  Greeks
nearly in the same sense, and introduced similar inlaccuracies into their reasonings concerning the principle
of morals. In our language, however, the impropriety
does not stop here; for not only is the phrase selj'-ioe
used as synonymous with the desire of happiness, but
it is often confounded (in consequence of an unfortunate connection  in their etymology) with  the word
selfishness, which  certainly, in  strict propriety, denotes
a very different disposition of mind. In proof of this' From this constitution of the human mind, as at once sensitive and
rational, arise necessarily the emotions of hope and fear, joy and sorrow.
The pleasurable emotion arising from good in expectation is called hope,
the painful emotion arising from apprehended evil is called fear. TI'he
words joqy and sorrow are more general, applicable alike to the emotions
arising from the experience and from the apprehension of good and of evil
The interest which our benevolent affections give us in the concerns of
others inspires us (more particularly in the case of those to whom we are
fobu-dly attached) with emotions analogous to those which have a reference
to our own condition.
The laws which regulate these emotions connected with the sensitive
nature of man deserve a careful examination; but the subject does not
fall under the present plrt of -nyr plan.
To)




110                   SELF-LOVE.
it is sufficient to observe, that. the word selfishness is
always used in an unfavorable sense, whereas sel-love,
or tle (desire of happiness, is insel)arable fromn our
nat lr' as rational and( sensitive beings.
Thle mistaken notion that vice consists in an excessive self-love naturally arose fromn the application of thle
terln self-love, or q.Xavur&a, to express the desire of' happitiess.  As benevolence, or the love of mankind, constitutes, in the opinion of many moralists, the whole
of' virtue, so it was not unnatural to conclude that the
love of ourselves (which this mode of speaking seemns
to contrast with  benevolence) was the radical source
of all the vices. And, accordingly, this conclusion has
been  adopted by many writers, both  ancient and
modern.  " If we scan," says Dr. Barrow, "the particular nature, and search into the original causes of the
several kinds of naughty dispositions in our souls, and
oI miscarriages in our lives, we shall find inordinate
self-love to be a main ingredient, and a common
source of them all, so that a divine of great name had
solne reason to affirm  that ori~,inal sin (or that innate
distemper fiom  which men generally become so very
prone to evil and averse to good) doth consist inl selflove disposing us to  all kinds of irregularity  and
excess."*  In this passage, Dr. Barrow  refers to the
opinion of Zuinglius, who has expressly called sell-love
the original or radical sin in our nature.  " Est ergo
ista ad peccandum  amore  sui propensio, peccat urn
on iillale."
It is chiefly, however, from  some of our English
moralists that this notion concerning the nature of
vice has derived its authority; and the plausibility of
their reasonings on the subject has been much aided
by that indiscriminate use of the words self-love and
selfishness of which I have already taken notice.
I shall afterwards have occasion to show that vice
does not consist in an excessive regard to our own
happiness.  At present I shall only remark, in addition
* Sermon, On Self-Loe in ygieel!.




SELF-LOVE.                      11i
to what was said above with respect to the distinction
between the meanings of the words self-lovie and selfishness, that the former is so far from  expressing any
thing blamable, that it denotes a principle  of action
whic h we never sacrifice to  any  of' our implanted
appetites, desires, or affections without incurring  renlorse  and  self-condemnation.   When  we see, for
example, a man enslaved by his animal appetites, so
far from considering him as under the influence of all
excessive self-love, we pity and despise him for neglecting the higher enjoyments which. are placed within
his reach. Accordingly, those very authors who tell us
that vice consists in an inordinate self-love are forced
to confess that there are some senses of the word in
which it expresses a worthy and commendable principle of action.  " Reason," says Dr. Barrow, " dictateth
and prescribeth to us, that we should have a sober
regard to our true good and welfare; to our best interest and solid content; to that which (all things being
rightly stated, considered, and  computed) will in the
end  prove most beneficial and satisfactory to us; a
self-love working in prosecution of such things, coinmon sense cannot but allow and approve." - -" To6 jiP
dyO1v,"P says Aristotle,'" 83 qLaXrov edvat."  And in another
passage of the same chapter, " ao4dEL 8' av 0 rOtOrLOv taXXov
ELIL LXaVTavrov.
As a further proof that selfishness is not synonymous
with the desire of happiness, it may be observed, that,
although we apply the epithet sel/ishl to avarice and to
low private sensuality, we never apply it to the desire
of knowledge or to the pursuits of virtue, which are
certainly sources of more exquisite pleasure than riches
or sensuality can bestow.'Yet at the darkened eye, the withered face,
The hoary head, I never will repine:
But spare, 0 time! whate'er of mental grace,
Of candor, love, or sympathy divine,
Whatc'er of fancy's ray, or friendship's flame, was mine."
* Sermon. 0) S/'Love i,  getertrl.
A Ethic. Nic, Lil). IX. Cap. viii "'A good man must be a lover of
hilmself "' e Such a man wvould seem to he tie greatest of self-lovers."




1.12                 SELF-LOVE.
Such a wish is surely dictated. by the most rational
view of our real interest; and yet no man will pretend
that it contains any thing inconsistent with a generous
and heroic mind.  Had it been directed to wealth, to
long life, or to the preservation of youthful beauty and
vigor, it would have been universally condemned as
scifish and contemptible.
VI. tihy some Pursuits are called Selfish, while others, thoulgh contributing, still more to our own Good, are
not.]  This restriction of the term  selfishness to a particular class of human pursuits is taken notice of by
Dr. Ferguson in his EssCay on Civil Society, and seels
to be considered by him as originating in a capricious,
or rather in an inconsistent, use of language. " It is
somewhat remarkable, that, notwithstanding men value
themselves so much on qualities of the mind, on parts,
learning, and wit, on courage, generosity, and honor,
those men are still supposed to be in the highest degree
selfish, or attentive to themselves, who are most careful
about animal life, and who are least mindful of rendering that life an object worthy of care. It will be difficult, however, to tell why a good understanding, a
resolute and generous mind, should not, by every man
in his senses, be reckoned as much parts of himself as
either his stomach or his palate, and much more than
his estate or his dress.  The epicure who consults his
physician how he may restore his relish for food, and,
by creating an appetite, renew  his enjoyment, might
at least, with an equal regard to himself;, consult how'ce might strengthen his affection to a parent or a child,
hi  country or to mankind; and it is probable that
ml appetite of this sort would prove a source of enjoyttient no less than the former." *
Of the difficulty here remarked by Dr. Ferguson, the
solution appears to me to be this, that the word selfishnePss, when applied to a pursuit, has no reference to the
motive from which the pursuit proceeds, but to the effect
* Part I. Sect. II.




SELF-LOVF~.                113
it has on the conduct. Neither our animal appetites,
nor avarice, nor curiosity, nor the desire of moral im.
provement, arise from self-love, but some of these
active principles disconnect us with society more than
others; and consequently, though they do not indicate
a greater regard for our own happiness, they betray a
greater unconcern about the happiness of our neighbours. The pursuits of the miser have no mixture
whatever of the social affections; on the contrary, they
continually lead him to state his own interest in opposition to that of other men. The enjoyments of the
sensualist all expire within his own person; and, therefore, whoever is habitually occupied in the search of
them must of necessity neglect the duties which he
owes to mankind.  It is otherwise with the desire of
knowledge, which is always accompanied with a strong
desire of social communication, and with the love of
moral excellence, which, in its practical tendency, coincides so remarkably with benevolence, that many authors have attempted to resolve the one principle into
the other. How far their conclusion, in this instance,
is a necessary consequence of the premises from which
it is deduced, will appear hereafter.
The foregoing observations coincide so remarkably
with a passage in Aristotle's Ethics, that 1 am tempted
to quote it at length in the excellent English translation of Dr. Gillies. After stating the same inconsistencies in our language about self-love which Dr. Ferguson
has pointed out, Aristotle proceeds thus:" I'hese contradictions cannot be reconciled but by
distinguishing the different senses in which man is saidl
to love  inmself. Those who reproach self-love as a vice
consider it only as it appears in worldlings and voluptuaries, who arrogate to themselves more than their due
share of wealth, power, or pleasure. Such things are
to the multitude the objects of earnest concern and eager contention, because the multitude regards them as
prizes of the highest value, and, in endeavouring to atlain them, strives to gratify its passion at the expense
of its reason. This kind of' self-love, which belongs tc
10 




114                           SELF-LOVE.
the  contemptible  multitude, is doubtless  obnoxious to
blame, and  in  this  acceptation  the  word  is generally
taken.   But should  a  man  assume  a  preeminence  in
exercising justice, temn perance, and other virtues, thouoh
such a mlan has really more true self-love than the multitude, yet nobody would  impute  this affection to him
as  a  crime.   Yet he takes to  himself the  fairest and
greatest of all goods, and  those the most acceptable to
the ruling principle in his nature, which is properly himself, in  the  same  manner as the  sovereignty  in  every
community is that which most properly constitutes the
state.   He  is  said, also, to  have, or not to  have, the
command of himself, just as this principle bears sway,
or as it is subject to control; and those acts are coinsidered as most voluntary which proceed from  this legislative or sovereign power.  Whoever cherishes and gratifies this ruling  part of his nature  is strictly  and  peculiarly a lover of himself, but in a quite different sense
from  that in which  self-love is regarded  as a matter of
reproach; for all men approve and praise an affection
calculated to produce the greatest private and the greatest public happiness; whereas they disapprove and
blame  the  vulgar kind  of self-love, as often  hurtful to
others, and always ruinous to those who indulge it."'
* Aristotle's Ethics, Book IX. Chap. viii.
Joufifroy accounts thus for the appearance of self-love (gqoisme) in human
nature:-"The faculties, as long as they are abandoned to the imlplse of
the passions, obey that passion wlhich happens to he the strongcst at the
time, from which a twofold inconvenience ensues.  In the first place, tlhe
passions are of all things the most unstable. the dominion of one hc)eiIL
almost immediately supplantedi by th at of' another, so tllt the f. tcuitis1
wlhile under their exclusive control are incalpallc of' continuous and c(onnected effort. and consequently niothin- of ilnport.lance is etffected.  And,
acain, the good found in the satisfalction of the dominant pa.ssion at tile
m.o.oiment often leads. to serionus evil, while, o01 the othler halil, tlhe evil of its
not lceing satisfied often results ill rceat and permalnenit.good' fioln wx li, h
it apl)pears that nothing is less fihvoriblic to the attainmient of our iiiinest
good than this exclusive dominion of til panssions.  Reason is not slowN to
discover this, or to conclude fi'om  it tlhat, in order to o!ttinl the hliil1,st
]possi!le (ood0. our effective force lmust no lon'er 1rh  the plrev of thle mec}lanical impullse of the!)assions.  It sees. on the contrary, how mu-ch l lttel it would be, if, instead of beinog hurried  away each' instant byv su.I imrulse to the gratification of some new pzLsion. it wen'l fre'ed froml thlis con
straint, and directed exclusively to tile realization of the initerest of all th(




THE MORAL FACULTY.                            115
CIIAPTER II.
OF THE MORAL FACULTY.
SECTION I.
THE MORAL FACULTY NOT RESOLVABLE INTO SELF-LOVE.
I. Duty and Interest not the same.]   As some authors
have supposed that vice consists in an excessive regard
passions taken together, — that is to say, the greatest good of our whole
nature.  Moreover, with the same degree of clearness that our reason conceives this course to lce wise, it also conceives it to be practicable.  eVc are
certainly capable of judging what the highest good of our nature is; our
reason enables us to do it. Equally certain is it that we can, if we please,
take possession of our own faculties, and employ them  to carry out this
idea of our reason.  That we have this power has been revealed cven under the exclusive empire of passion; we have felt it in the spontaneous
effort by which, in order to satisfy the dominant passion for the tile beilg,
we have concentrated all our forces on a single point. It is only necessary
that we should do voluntarily what before we have done spontaneously,
andfiee iwill appears.  No sooner is this great revolution conceivedl, than
it is accomplished. A new pirinciple of action sprinigs up within us, interest well ulideirstood, -a principle which is not a passion, but an idea: not a
blind and instinctive pronmpting of our nature, but an intelliible, deliberate, and rational pulrpose; not an impulse, ltut a motive. Fin(ling a point of
support in this motive, thle natural power we have over our faculties takes
these faculties under its control, and in its effort to direct them  a(c ording
to this motive shakes off the bondage of the passions, and becomes itself
more arid more developed and free. From  this time our active powers
are delivered fi-om the irregular, vacillating, and turbulent empire of the
passions. and becomine submissive to the law of reason, which consilelrs what
will be for the greatest possible satisfa(tion of our tendencies, tthat is to
sav. the higrhest Frood of the individual, or self-interest well understood." -
C(otrs de Droit Niturel, Leqon II.  See the whole of this Lecture tand the
following one in the original, or in Mr. Channing's translation.
No writer has treated the subject of self-love with so much care and
minuteness of discrimination as Jererny Bentham, in the first volume of
his ilntroduction to the Principles of lllorolhs and Le.qis/ltion.  Here we have
wh1at has bheen called his Moral Arithmletic, by which lie thinks to determine tle relative value of different "lots of pleasure or pain"; and also
iihat h:s bieen called his Moral DI)ynamics, or the doctrine of force.s, motiver, or sanc(tions. by which self-love, and through that the human will, is
influenced and determined in all cases.
Paler, not conteint with making pleasure, considered as constituting human happiness, the only ultimate object of human pursuit, denies that the
rational and moral pleasures, as such, are entitled to more reg ard than the
rest. "'In tlios inlluiry," says he, "I will omit muach usual declamation on




116                   THE MORAL FACULTY
to our own happiness, so others have gone into the opposite extreme, by representing virtue as merely a mattel
of prudence, and a sense of duty but another name for
a rational selJ-love.   This view  of the subject is far from
being   unnatural; for we find that these  two  principles
lelad  in general to  the  satne  course of action; and we
have every reason  to  believe, that, if our knowledge of
the universe were more extensive, they would be found
to  do  so  in  all instances  whatever.   Accordingly, by
many of the best of the ancient moralists, our sense of
duty  was considered  as resolvable  into  self-love, and
the whole of ethics was reduced to this question, What
is the supreme good?  or, in  other words, What is most
conducive, on the whole, to our happiness? The same
opinion, as will soon app)ear, has been adopted by various philosophers of the first eminence in England, and
was long the prevailing system  on the Continent.
That we have, however, a sense of duty, which is not
resolvable into a regard to our happiness, appears from
various considerations.
II. First Argument.   Expressed by distinct Terms in
all Langcuagres.]   There  are, in  all languages, words
equivalent to duty and to interest, which men have constantly distinguished in their signification.   They coincide in  general in their applications, but they  convey
very different ideas. When I wish to persuade a man
to a particular action, I address some of my arguments
the dignity and capacity of our nature; the superiority of the soul to the
bovy, of the rational to the animal part of our constitution; upon the
worthiness, refinement, and delicacy of some satisfactions, or the meanness, grossness, andl sensuality of others; because I hold that pleasures
differ in nothing  but in continuance and intensity." -l3oral PhlilosoplAy,
Book I. Chap. vi. Dr. Whewell, in the Preface to his edition of Sir James
MI.ackintosh's Dissertation on the Proqress of'Ethical Philosophy, says of this
passage, — If we could use such a term without an unbecoming disrespect towards a virtuous and useful writer, this opinion might properly be
called blrttish, since it recor(nizes no difference between the pleasures of
ma n and those of the lowest animnals."
For a veir olriinial and ingenious speculation respecting the nature of
self-love an t tlie natural disinteestedness of the human mind, see Hazlitt'i
]Essays on the Pri;nci/)les of' 7unlan Action. Also his Literaryl Remains, Essay X.. On Self:love.




NOT RESOLVABLE INTO SELF-LOVE              117
to a sense of duty, and others to the regard he has to
his own interest.  I endeavour to show him  that it is
not only his duty, but his interest, to act in the way
that I recommend to him.
This distinction was expressed among the Roman
moralists by the words honesturm  and utile.   Of the
former Cicero says, "Q uod vere dicimus, etiamsi a nullo
laudetur, natura esse laudabile." *
The r6 KaXo'v among the Greeks corresponds, when appliedl to the conduct, to the hlonestunn of the Romans.
Dr. Reid remarks that the word KaO~Kov (oifciumn) extended both to the honestuom and the utile, and comprehended every action performed either from a sense of
duty, or from an enlightened regard to our true interest.t In English we use the word reasonable with the
same latitude, and indeed almost exactly in the same
sense in which Cicero defines officium: " Id quod cur
factum sit ratio probabilis reddi potest."$  In treating
of such offices, Cicero, and Pancetius before him, first
point out those that are recommended to us by our
love of the honesturl, and next those that are recomrlmended by our regard to the utile.
This distinction between a sense of duty and a regard to interest is acknowledged even by men whose
moral principles are not the purest, nor the most consistent. What unlimited confidence do we repose in
the conduct of one whom we know to be a man of honor,
even in those cases in which he acts out of the view
of the world, and where the strongest temptations of
worldly interest concur to lead him astray!  We know
that his heart would revolt at the idea of any thing
base or unworthy.  Dr. Reid observes that what \we
call honor, considered as a principle of conduct, "is
* De Offic.. Lib. I. 4. "Which, though none should praise it, we maintain with truth to be of itself praiseworthy."
t Essays on the Active Pouters, Essay III. Part III. Chap. v.
t De Offic., Lib. I. 3. " That, for the doing of which a reasonable motive can be assigned." But, as Sir W. Hamilton says in a note to the passage in Reid, " this definition does not napply to Kat0Kov or gfici1um in general, but only to KaOlKOv it-ov, O(ficiulM clMillle."- ED.




1. Is            THE MORAL FACULTY
only another name for a regard to duty, to rectitude,
to propriety of conduct." This, I think, is going rather
too far; for, although the two principles coincide in
general in the direction they give to our conduct, they
do not coincide always; the principle of honor being
liable, from its nature and origin, to be most unhappily
perverted in its applications by a bad education and the
influence of fashion. At the same time, Dr. Reid's reInark is perfectly in point, for the principle of honor is
plainly grafted on a sense of duty, and necessarily presupposes its existence.
Dr. Paley, one of the most zealous advocates for the
selfish system of morals, admits the fact on which the
foregoing argument proceeds, but endeavours to evade
the conclusion by means of a theory so extraordinary,
that I shall state it in his own words.  " There is always understood to be a difference between an act of,prudence and an act of duty. Thus, if I distrusted a man
who owed me a sum of money, I should reckon it an
act of prudence to get another person bound with him;
but I should hardly call it an act of duty.  On the
other hand, it would be thought a very unusual and
loose kind of language to say, that, as I had made such
a promise, it was prudent to perform it; or that, as my
friend, when he went abroad, placed a box of jewels
in my hands, it would be prudent in me to preserve it
for him till he returned.
" Now, in what, you will ask, does the difference consist, inasmuch as, according to our account of the matter, both in the one case and the other, in acts of duty
as well as acts of prudence, we consider soleiy what we
ourselves shall gain or lose by the act.
"The difference, and the only difference, is this; that
in the one case we consider what we shall gain or lose
in the present world; in the other case, we consider
also what we shall lose or gain in the world to come." *
* Mloral Philosopiiq, Book II. Chap. iii. It is in view of passages like
these that I)r. lBrown expresses himself with indignllant severity. "This
form of t    s, selfih systeln, wlih lhas been emblraced by many t/heolojrical
writers of' tuidoulte'd piety and purity, is notwithstanding, i cannot but




NOT RESOLVABLE INTO SELF-LOVE.                        119
On this curious passage I have no comment to offer.
A sufficient answer to it may, I trust, be derived from
the following reasonings.   In  the mean time, it will be
allowed  to  be at least one presumption of an essential
distinction between the notions of duty and of interest,
that there are different words to express these notions
in all languages, and that the most illiterate of mankind are in no danger of confounding them  together.
1IT. Second Argument. Moral Emotions differ friom
all other-s in Kind.]   But, secondly, the emotions arising
from  the contemplation  of what is right and wrong in
conduct are  different both  in  degree  and in kind from
those which are produced by a calm  regard to our own
happiness.   Of this, I think, nobody  can  doubt, who
considers with attention the operation of our moral
principles in cases where their effects are not counteracted or modified by a combination with some other
principles of our nature.   In judging, for example, of our
own conduct, our moral powers are warped by the influence of self-partiality and self-deceit; and, accordingly,
think, as degrading to the human character as any other form of the doctrine of absolute selfishness; or rather, it is in itself the most deg-rading
of all the forms which the selfish system can assume: because, while tilhe
selfishness which it maintains is as absolute and unremitting as if the objects of personal gain were to be found in the wealth. or honors, or sensual pleasures of this earth, this very selfishness is rerdered more offensive
by the noble image of the Deity which is continuallyl presentel to our
mind, and presented in all his benevolence, - not to be love(l. hut to be
courted with a mockery of affection.  The sensualist of the common system of selfishness, who never thinks of any hil-her object in the )urssiit of
the little pleasures which he is mniserable enough to regard as happiness,
seems to me, even in the brutal stupidity in which he is sunk, a being more
worthy of esteem than the sefish qo'another life; to whose view Go(l is ever
present, but wllo view him  always only to feel constantly in their heart
that. in loving him who has been the dispenser of all these blessings which
they have enjoyed, and who has revealed himself in the glorious clharactcr
of the diffuser of an immortality of happiness, they love not the Giver himself, but only the gifts which they have received, or the gifts that are promised." - Philosopy.q of the Hltman Mind, Lect. LXXIX   Wainewright endeavours to defend Paley against these and other charges.  15indication of
Dr. Palte's T/seoy of MIorals. Chap. iv., et passim.
The strict followcrs of Paler ocenerally hold tihat we are indebted to the'hristian revelation for our belief in a future rectribsltion.  If so, it wouild
seem  to fol'ow firom  the passage in the text that none but Christians, or
those who might be Christians, have any thing to do with " duties." - ED.




120            THE MORAL FACULTY
we daily see men commit, without any remorse, actions,
which, if performed by another person, they would
have regarded with the liveliest, sentiments of indignation and abhorrence. Even in this last case the experiment is not always perfectly fair; for where the actor
has been previously known to us, our judgment is generally affected, in a greater or less degree, by our prepossessions or by our prejudices. In contemplating the
characters exhibited in histories and in novels, the emotions we feel are the immediate and the genuine result
of our moral constitution; and although they may be
stronger in some men than in others, yet they are in all
distinctly perceivable, even in those whose want of temper and of candor render them scarcely conscious of the
distinction of right and wrong in the conduct of their
neighbours and acquaintance. And hence, probably,
(we may observe by the way,) the chief origin of the
pleasure we experience in this sort of reading.  The
representations of the stage, however, afford the most
favorable of all opportunities for studying the moral
constitution of man.  As the mind is here perfectly indifferent to the parties whose character and conduct are
the subject of the fable, the judgments it forms can
hardly fail to be impartial, and the feelings arising from
these judgments are much more conspicuous in their
external effects than if the play were perused in the
closet; for every species of enthusiasm operates more
forciblv whean men are collected in a crowd. On such
an occasion the slightest hint suggested by the poet
raises to transport the passions of the audience, and
forces involuntary tears from men of the greatest reserve and the most correct sense of propriety.  The
crowd does not create the feeling, nor evenalter its nature; it only enables us to remark its operation on a
greater scale. In these cases we have surely no time
for reflection; and, indeed, the emotions of which we
are conscious are such as no speculations about our
own interest could possibly excite. It is in situations
of this kind that we most completely forget ourselves
as individuals, and feel the most sensibly the existence




NOT RESOLVABLE INTO SELF-LOVE.          A1
of those moral ties by which Heaven has been pleased
to bind mankind together.
IV. Third Argument.  The Expediency of Virtue got
obvious to comlmon Experience.]  Although philosophers
have shown that a sense of duty and an enlightened
regard to our own happiness conspire in most instances
to give the same direction to our conduct, so as to pit.
it beyond a doubt that, even in this world, a virtuous
life is true wisdom, yet this is a truth by no means oivious to the common sense of mankind, but deduced
from an extensive view of human affairs, and an accurate investigation of the remote consequences of our
different actions. It is from experience and reflectionl,
therefore, we learn the connection between virtue and
happiness; and, consequently, the great lessons of morality which are obvious to the capacity of all mankind
could never have been suggested to them merely by a
regard to their own interest. Indeed, this discovery
which experience makes to us of the connection between virtue and happiness, both in the case of individuals and of political societies, furnishes one of the
most pleasing subjects of speculation to the philosopher,
as it places in a striking point of view the unity of design which takes place in our constitution, and opens
encouraging and delightful prospects with respect to
the moral government of the Deity.
It is a just and beautiful observation of Dr. Reid,
that " although wise men have concluded that virtue is
the only road to happiness, this conclusion is founded
chiefly upon the natural respect men have for virtues,
and the good and happiness that is intrinsic to it, anid
arises from  the love of it.  If we suppose a man altogether destitute of this principle, who considered
virtue as only the means to another end, there is ilo
reason to think that he would ever take it to be the
road to happiness, but would wander for ever seeking
this object where it is not to be found." 
* Essays o0z the Active -Poii's. Es-;ay l II. Part III. Chap. iv.
11




122            THE MORAL FACULTY
This observation leads me to remark further, that
the man who is most successful in the pursuit of happiness is not he who proposes it to himself as the
great object of his pursuit. To do so, and to be continually occupied with schemes on the subject, would
fill the mind with anxious conjectures about futurity,
and with perplexing calculations of the various chances of good and evil. Whereas the man whose ruling
principle of action is a sense of duty conducts himself
in the business of life with boldness, consistency, and
dignity, and finds himself rewarded with that happiness
which so often eludes the pursuit of those who exert
every faculty of the mind in order to attain it.
Something very similar to this takes place with re
gard to nations. From the earliest accounts of mankind, politicians have been employed in devising schemes
of national aggrandizement, and have proceeded on the
supposition that the prosperity of their own country
could only be advanced by depressing all others around
them. It has now been shown, with irresistible evidfence, that those views were founded on mistake, and
that the prosperity of a country is intimately connected
with that of its neighbours, insomuch that the enlightened statesman, instead of embarrassing himself with
the care of a machine whose parts have become too
complicated for any human comprehension, finds his labor reduced to the simple business of observing the rules
of justice and humanity. It is remarkable, that, long
before the date of these profound speculations in politics, for which we are indebted to Mr. Smith and to the
French economists, Fenelon was led merely by the
good ness of his heart, and by his speculative conviction
of the intimate connection between virtue and happiness under the moral government of God, to recommend a free trade as an expedient measure in policy
and to reprobate the mean ideas of national jealousy,
as calculated to frustrate the very ends to which they
are supposed to be subservient. Indeed, I am inclined
to think thet, as in conducting the affairs of private life.
"the itntegrity of the upright man " is his surest guide,




NOT RESOLVABLE INTO SELF-LOVE.        123
so, in managing the affairs of a great empire, a strong
sense of justice, and an ardent zeal for the rights and
for the happiness of mankind, will go further to formrr a
great and successful statesman than the most perfect
acquaintance with political details, unassisted by the
direction of these inward monitors.
An author, too, in our own country, of sound judgment, and of very accurate commercial information,
and who was one of the first in England who turned
the attention of the public to those liberal notions concerning trade which are now become so prevalent, acknowledges that it was by a train of reasoning a priori
that he was led to his conclusions. " Can we suppose,"
says he, " that Divine Providence has really constituted
the order of things in such a sort, as to make the rule
of natural self:-preservation inconsistent with the fundamental principle of universal benevolence, and the doing as we would be done by?  For my own part, I
must confess, I never could conceive that an all-wise,
just, and benevolent Being would contrive one part of
his plan to be so contradictory to the other as here supposed, -that is, would lay us under one obligation as
to morals, and another as to trade; or, in short, to
make that to be our duty which is not, upon the whole,
and generally speaking, (even without the consideration of a future state,) our interest likewise.
" Therefore I concluded a priori that there must be
some flaw or other in the preceding arguments, plausible as they seem, and great as they are on the foot
of human authority.  For though the appearance of
things at first sight makes for this conclusion,'that
poor countries must inevitably carry away the tradel
fiom rich ones, and consequently impoverish them,' the
fact itself cannot be so." $
V. Fourthl Argrument. Moral Judgments in GClildbren
precede the Calculations of Prudence.]  The same con- Tucker's Four Tracts on Political and Commercial Subjects, Tract I
p. 20.




J.24                 THE  MORAL FACULTY.
clusion is strongly confirmed by the early period of life
at which our moral judgments make  their appearance,
fong before children are able to form  the general notion
of happiness, and, indeed, in  the  very  infancy  of their
reason.   It is astonishing  how   powerfully  a child  of
sensibility may be affected by any simple narration calculated to rouse the feelings of pity, of generosity, or
of indignation, and how  very early some minds formed
in a happy mould are inspired with a consciousness of
the dignity of their nature, and glow  with the enthusiasm of virtue. Dr. Beattie has beautifully painted
these openings of the moral character in the description
he gives of the effect produced on his young Edwin by
the fine old ballad of The Babes in the Wood.
"But when to horror his amazement rose,
A gentler strain the beldame would rehearse, -
A tale of rural life, a tale of woes,
The orphan babes and guardian uncle fierce.
0, cruel! will no pang of pity pierce
That heart by lust of lucre seared to stone?
For sure, if aught of virtue last, or verse,
To latest times shall tender souls bemoan
Those helpless orphan babes by thy fell arts undone.
"See where, with berries smeared, with brambles torn,
The babes now famished lay them down to die;'Midst the wild howl of datrksome woods forlorn,
Folded in one another's arms they lie.
Nor friend, nor stranger, hears their dying cry,'For from the town the man returns no more.'
But thou who Heaven's just vengeance dar'st defy,
This deed with fruitless tears shall soon deplore,
When death lays waste thy house, and flames consume thy store.
" A stifled smile of stern, vindictive joy
Briqhtened one moment Eduein's startinq tear; -' But why should gold mnan's feeble mind decoy,
And innocence thus die byv doom severe?'
O Edwin! while thy heart is yet sincere,
The assaults of discontent and doubt repel;
Dark even at noontide is our mortal sphere,
But let us hope, - to doubt is to rebel, -
Let us exult in hope that all shall yet be well."*
* The Minstrel, Book I  For a more extended statement of the proofs
of man's moral nature, see Upham's il~iental Philosophy, Vol. II. ~ 207 et
seq. Also, Lieber's Political Ethics, Book I. Chap. II.- ED.




HARTLEY.                   123
SECTION II.
CXAMINATION OF HARTLEY S THEORY OF THE FORIMA-'ION OF THE MORAL SENSE BY ASSOCIATION ALONE.
I. This Theory eludes but in Part the foreg- oing Argu1enls.]  The reasonings already stated seem to me to
Iurnish a sufficient refutation of the selfish theory of
morals, as it is explained by the greater number of the
philosophers who have adopted it; but, before leaving
the subject, it is necessary for me to take notice of a
doctrine fundamentally the same, though modified in
such a manner as to elude some of the foregoing argu
ments,- a doctrine which has been maintained of late
by various English writers of note, and which I suspect
is at present the prevailing system in that part of the
island. According to this doctrine, we do, indeed, in
many cases, approve or disapprove of particular actions,
without any reference to our own interest at the time;
but it is asserted that it was views of self-interest
which originally created these moral sentiments, and
led us to associate agreeable or disagreeable emotions
xvith human conduct. The origin of the moral faculty,
in the opinion of these theorists, is precisely analogous
to that of avarice, or of any of our other factitious
principles of action.  Money, it will not be disputed,
is at first desired merely on account of' its subservience
to the gratification of our natural desires; but, ill process of time, the association of ideas leads us to regard
it as a desirable thing in itself; without any reference to
this subservience or utility, and in many cases it continues to be coveted with an increasing passion, long
after we have lost all relish for the enjoyments it enables us to purchase.  In the same manner, a particular
action which was at first approved or disapproved of,
merely on account of its supposed tendency with respect to our own interest, comes, in process of time, to
be approved or disapproved of the moment it is mentioned, and without anlly reflection on our part that we
11*




126               THE MORAL FACULTY.
are able to recollect. Thus, without abandoning the
old selfish principles, they contrive to evade the force of
the arguments founded by Hutcheson and others on
the instantaneousness with which our moral judgments
are commonly prollounced.  This, if I am  not mistalien, is the theory of Dr. Law, of Dr. Hartley, of Dr.
Priestley, of Dr. Paley, and of Dr. Paley's great oracle
in philosophy, the author of The Liglht of Nature Puirsued.*
I am  ready to acknowledge that this refinement on
the old selfish system gives it a degree of plausibility
which it did not originally possess, and obviates one of
the objections to it formerly stated. But it must be remembered that this was not the only objection, and
that there are several others which apply both to the
old and new  hypothesis with equal force.
Among these arguments, what I would lay the
principal stress on is the degree of experience and
reflection  necessary  for discovering  the tendency of
virtue to promote our happiness, compared with the
very early period of life when the moral sentiments
display themselves in their full vigor.
II. Paley's Doctrine, that Moral Sentiments are generated by Imitation, unsatisfactory.] In answer to this,
it may perhaps be alleged, that, when once moral ideas
have been  formed by the process already described,
they are caught by infants from  their parents or preceptors, by a sort of imitation, and without any reflection on their part.  " There is nothing," says Dr. Paley,
"which children imitate, or apply more readily, than
expressions of affection  or aversion, of approbation,
hatred, resentment, and the like; and when these passions and expressions are once connected, (which they
HIartley, though he borrowed the hint and general idea from others,
was chiefly instrumental in giving form and currency to this theory, and
hence it commonly goes under his name. Observartions on 31aln, Chap. IV.
Sect. vi. It has found, perihaps, its ablest advocate in James Mill, Anoalsis
Pf' the Hilman Mind, Chap. XXIII. With both it is only part of a more
genertall thleory. — ED.




PALEY.                       127
will soon be by the same association which unites
words with their ideas,) the passion will follow the
expression, and attach upon the object to which the
child has been accustomed to apply the epithet.  In a
word, when almost every thing else is learned by ini.itation, can we wonder to find  the same cause concerned
in the generation of our moral sentiments?" i
The plausibility of this reasoning arises entirely
from  the  address with  which the  author introduces
indirectly a most important fact with  respect to  the
human mind; a fact which, by engrossing the attention
of the reader, is apt to prevent his perceiving, on a
superficial view, its inapplicability to the point in dispute, or at least its insufficiency to establish in its full
extent the conclusion which is deduced from it. That
imitation and the association of ideas have a great influence on our moral judgments and emotions, more
particularly in our early years, every man must be
sensible who has reflected at all on the subject; and it
is a fact which deserves the serious consideration of
all who have any concern in the education of youth.
But does it therefore follow, that imitation  and  the
association of ideas are sufficient to account for the
ori(gin of the power of moral perception, and for the
origin of our notions of right and wrong?t On the
contrary, the tendency we have in the infancy of our
reason to follow in our moral judgments the example
of those whom  we love and reverence, and the influence of association, sometimes in guiding and somletimes in misleading us in what we  praise or blame,
presuppose the existence of the power of moral judgM* Moral Philosophy, Book I. Chap. V.
t Mr. Stewart has said in another connection, Philosophy of the Hiuman
Mfind, First Part, Chap. V. Part ii. Sect. ii.: -" The association of ideas can
never account for the origin of a new notion, or of a pleasure essentially
different fromn all the others which we know. It may, indeed, enable us
to conceive how a thing indifferent in itself mav become a source of
pleasure, by being connected in the mind with something else which is
tnaturally agreeable; but it presupposes, in every instance, the existence of
tlhloe notions and those feelings which it is its province to conlbine."
-EID.




128             THE MORAL FACULTY.
ment, and of the general notions of right and wrong,
The power of these adventitious causes over the mind
is so great, that there is perhaps no particular practice
which we may not be trained to approve of or to condemn; but wherever this happens, the operation of
these causes supposes us to be already in possession
of some faculty by which we are capable of bestowing
approbation or blame.  It is worthy, too, of remark,
that it is only with respect to particular practices that
education is capable of misleading us; for even when
education perverts the judgment, it produces its effect
by employing the instrumentality of our moral principles. In many cases it will be found that it operates
by combining a number of principles against one; by
associating, for example, a number of worthy dispositions and amiable affections with habits which, if
divested of such an alliance, would be regarded as
mean and contemptible.
To all this we may add, that our speculative judgnlents concerning truth and falsehood, as well as our
judgments concerning right and wrong, are liable to
be influenced by imitation and the association of ideas.
Even in mathematics, when a pupil of a tender age
enters first on the study of the elements, his judgment
leans not a little on that of his teacher, and he feels
his confidence in the truth of his conclusions sensibly
confirmed by his faith in the superior understanding of'
those whom he looks up to with respect. It is only
by degrees that he emancipates himself from this depen dence, and comes at last to perceive the irresistible
force of demonstrative evidence; and yet it will not
be inferred from this that the power of 9reasoningA is the
result of imitation or of habit.  The conclusion mentioned above with respect to the power of moral judgment is equally erroneous.
III. Patley's Statement of the Question as to the Ex.
isteence of a Moral Sense.]  The looseness and sophistry of Paley's reasonings on the subject of' the moral
faculty mavy be traced to the vague and itdistine. —t con



PALEY.                   129
ception. he had formed of the point in question. In
proof of this I shall transcribe his own words from his
Plincziples of JIoral and Political Philosophy.  It is
necessary to premise, that he introduces his argument
against the existence of a moral sense by quoting a
story from Valerius Maximus, which I shall present
to my readers in Dr. Paley's version.
"The father of Caius Toranius had been proscribed
by the Triumvirate. Caius Toranius, coming over to
the interests of that party, discovered to the officers
who were in pursuit of' his father's life the place where
he concealed himself, and gave them withal a description by which they might distinguish his person when
they found him.  The old man, more anxious for the
safety and fortunes of his son than about the little that
might remain of his own life, began immediately to
inquire of the officers who seized him, whether his son
was well,-whether he had done his duty to the satisfaction of his generals.'That son,' replied one of the
officers,'so dear to thy affections, betrayed thee to us;
by his information thou art apprehended and diest.'
The officer with this struck a poniard to his heart, and
the unhappy parent fell, not so much affected by his
fate as by the means to which he owed it."
" Now," says Dr. Paley, "the question is, whether,
if this story were related to the wild boy caught some
years ago in the woods of Hanover, or to a savage
without experience and without instruction, cut off in
his infancy from all intercourse with his species, and
consequently under no possible influence of example,
authority, education, sympathy, or habit,-whether, I
say, such a one would feel, upon the relation, any degree of that sentiment of disapprobation of Toranius's
conduct which we feel, or not.
" They who maintain the existence of a moral sense,
of innate maxims, of a natural conscience, that the love
of virtue and hatred of vice are instinctive, or the perception of right and wrong intuitive, (all of which are
only diflerent ways of expressing the same opiniol,)
affirm that he would.




130              THE MORAL FACULTY,
"They who deny the existence of a moral sense,
&c., affirm that he would not.
" Anld upon this issue is joined." 
To those who are at all acquainted with the history
of this dispute, it must appear evident that the question
is here completely misstated; and that, in the whole
of Dr. Paley's subsequent argument on the subject,
he combats a phantom of his own imagination. The
opinion which he ascribes to his antagonists has been
loudly and repeatedly disavowed by all the most eminent moralists who have disputed Locke's reasonings
against innate practical principles; and is, indeed, so
fo ery obviously absurd, that it never could have been
for a moment entertained by any person in his senses.
Did it ever enter into the mind of the wildest theorist to irnmagine that the sense of seeing would enable
a man, brought up from  the moment of his birth in
utlter dalkness, to form  a conception of light and colors?  But would it not be equally rash to conclude,
firom the extravagance of such a supposition, that the
sense of seeing is not an original part of the human
frame?
The above quotation from  Paley forces me to remark further, that, in combating the supposition of' a
m)oral sense, he has confounded together, as only different wUays of expressia,/ the same opinion, a variety of
systems, which are regarded by all our best philosoil)ers, not only as essentially distinct, but as in sorne
measure opposed to each other. The system of Hutcheson, for example, is identified with that of Cudwortll,
to which (as will afterwards appear) it stands in direct
Ppolo-I nr. But although, in this instance, the author's
logical discrimination does not appear to much advantage, the sweeping censure thus bestowed on so mrany
of our most celebrated ethical theories has the merit of
thlrowing a very strong light on that particular view of
tihe subject which it is the aim of his reasonings to establish in contradiction to them all.t
" J, tJiM)i P1lilosopn1ly l ook I. Clhap. V.
()Xn tlhe sui:ect of Palev's illustration cited in the text, Dr. Whewell




DIVERSITY  IN  ITS JUDGMENTS.                    131
SECTION III.
TIlE MORAL CONSTITUTION OF HUMAN NATURE NOT DISPROVED  BY  THE  DIVERSITY  IN  MEN'S  MORAL  JUDGMENTS.
I. How far and in what Way our Moral Nature mawy
be affected by Education.] In the preceding observations I have endeavoured to prove that the moral faculty is an original principle of our constitution, which is
remarks: —" To expect to obtain moral axioms by referring the question
to a jury of savages, or of men nearly approaching to savages inrl prejudice, ignorance, or passion, would certainly be a very wild expectation
and I hope it will not be considered a defect in any moral system to which
we may be led, that it does not satisfy such an expectation as this.  The
notion, that an appeal to such a jury is the way to test moral axioms, is
something like Paley's prol)osal of bringing the narration of an atrocious
crime before Peter, the wild boy, who was bred up, or rather grew up, like
a wild beast; and of doing this, in order to discern whether man has a natural abhorrence of crime. Paley himself points out the difficulty which
makes such an experiment impossible: -'If,' lie says,' he could be ma(le
to understand the story.' But it is evident that he coidd not be made to
understand the story, except by growing up as a man among men, and
ceasiq( to be a wild boy. And, in like manner, we must say of a supposed
promiscuous jury of men, by whom  you would test our moral axioins,
If these men are so savage, and ignorant, and Ipassionate, as to have in
thenl the attributes of men imperfectly unifolded, they cannot tell you what
moral tlruths are evident to man as moan."
And aain: - " Truths may be self-evident when we have made a ccertain progress in thinking,, which are not self-evident when we beg-in to think.
And this may be, not because the truths thus later discerned arC delpenIlent on the prerequisite truths by any logical tie, or can be inferred firol.
themn  by argumenlt; but because, )by the train of thought b)y which we
coime to see those earlier gleams of truth, the mind is unfold(ed lld indti-rli'ted, so as to perceive the later and fuller light.  This may be so, be-iui e
in the process of thought thus previously gone through -we have le.urnt t,
classifv and distinguish the actions of nien around us, or our own fi-;tling 
and impul.es within us. It may be that to groups and classes and relationls of emotions and sentimlents we have given names; and that tllront'li
thtese names lannia-ne has exercised its power of aiding thoug-ht, and hlas
enabled us to see what, without such aid, we could not see. In these ways,
and1 in others, moral truths may become evident to us, when we hlave ma(ld
some little adlvnlce in the development of our moral nature, rnd in tile
power of apprlhellndinl such truth; althoullh, so long as we wcrle hal-' iin!bhlted by thle iah.en(nce of anv cahlri and contrnued tho'llIlt orl sl(ih  l,,ijerts, and bx the s-":tiness of our acquaintance withi t1o r relatiors
luon11, Mein wxxhich ar;i  the materitals for solb(h thougllt. xvwc w(lore il s'ns1i'-.   t




132                  THE  MORAL  FACULTY.
not resolvable into any other principle or principles
more general than itself; in particular, that it is not
resolvable into  self-love, or a prudential regard  to  our
ownT interest.   In order, however, completely  to  establish the existence of the  moral faculty  as an  essential
andc  universal part of human nature, it is necessary  to
examine with attention the objections which hilave been
state(d  to  this  conclusion  by  some  t-writers, who  were
either anxious to display their ingenuity by accounting
in a different manner for the origin of our moral ideas,
or who  wished to favor the cause of skepticism  by  exthe evidence which now seems so glaring.  It requires a cutlt're of the human mind to make that evident which, nevertheless, is evident by the nature of the human mind.; And. in truth, we cannot help asking why we should go to savages
for the genuine voice of human nature.  Why should it be supposed that
men are more properly men, because in them some of the mlost important
attriltutes of humanity remain latent and undevelopled?  If cultured men
see, as evident in morals, what savages do not see as evident, are not cultured men still men?  And all that they know and think, in addition to
whllt savages know and think, did they not come to know it by the use of
their human faculties?  The earlv Romans called every stranlger an enemy;
every peref/rinus was hostis.  The later Romans filled the theatre with
thunders of applause, when the poet made the actor say,'Homo sum, humani nihil a me aliennan ptto.'
Which of these two was the genuine voice of humanity?  Was not the
latter evidently the assent to the irresistible evidence of a moral truth?
Was that earlier practical denial'of this moral truth really the utterance of
a moral conviction? Was it not an utterance which camne firom man, not
as the utterance of conviction, but of uncontrolled fear and anger? not an
articulate utteranuc in the name of humanity, but an inarticulate cry, borrowing part of i import from the ferine nature of the nation? It was a
tral:e of the wot"fs milk." - Lectures on Systematic lMorality, Lect. II. pp.
34, 38. See,also Lieler's Political Ethics, Book II. Chap. III, and Sedg.wick's Disco,rse on0 the Studics of the Ulniversity, pp. 57 et seq., and Appen.
dix (E).;' Peter the Wild Boy" made a great noise amiong scientific men in the
early part of the last century.  "Swift has immortalized him in his humorous production, It cannot rain, but it pours; or, Lonldon strewed wcith Rami/i,s. Linnxaus gave him a niche in the Systema Xiturarv,. under the dle
nomination of Jlrvenis lHanoveranus; Buffon, I)e Paatiw, arid J. J. Rous
sctau have extolled him as the true child of nature, the genluie unsophisticated,ainz. Monboddo is still more enthusiastic, declaring his appearance to be
a. much more important occurrence than the discovery of the planet Uranus." - Lawrence's LNatutral History of Man, Chap. II.  He turned out to
I,- an idiotic boy, who had been lost in the woodls. or driven into them  and!bandoned, ab1out a year before he was brought into suech notice. - En.




DIVERSITY IN iTS JUDGMIENTS.        133
plaining away the reality and immutability of moral
distinctions.
Among these objections, that which merits the most
careful consideration, from the characters of those by
whoim it is maintained, is founded on the possibility of
explaining the fact without increasing the number of
original principles in our constitution.  The rules of
morality, it has been supposed, were, in the first instance, brought to light by the sagacity of philosophers
and politicians; and it is only in consequence of the
influence of education that they appear to form an
original part of the human frame. The diversity of
opinions among different nations with respect to the
morality of particular actions has beer, zonsidered as a
strong confirmation of this doctrine.
But the power of education, although great, is confined within certain limits. It is, indeed, much more
extensive than philosophers once believed, as sufficiently appears from those modern discoveries, with respect
to the distant parts of the globe, which have so wonderfully enlarged our knowledge of human nature, and
which show clearly that many sentiments and opinions,
which had been formerly regarded as inseparable from
the nature of man, are the results of accidental situation.  If our forefathers, however, went into one extreme on this point, we seem to be at present in no
small danger of going into the opposite one, by considering man as entirely a factitious being, that may be
moulded into any form by education and fashion.
I have said that the power of education is confined
within certain limits. TIhe reason is obvious, for it is
by cooperating with the natural principles of the mind
that education produces its effects. Nay, this very
susceptibility of education, which is acknowledged to
belong universally to the race, presupposes the existence of certain principles which are common to all
mankind.
The influence of education in diversifying the appearances which the moral constitution of man exhibits in different instances depends chiefly on tlhat law of
12




1].31:     T1IE, 1MORALI, FACULTY.
our constitution which was formerly called the association of ideas; and this law supposes, in every case,
that there are opinions and feelings essential to the human frame, by a combination with which external circurnstances lay hold of the mind, and adapt it to its
accidental situation.  What we daily see happen in
the trifling article of dress may help us to conceive
how the association of ideas operates in matters of
nore serious consequence.  Fashion, it is well known,
can reconcile us, in the course of a few weeks, to the
most absurd and fantastical ornament; but does it follow from this that fashion could create our ideas of
bieauty and elegance?  During the time we have seen
this ornament worn, it has been confined, in a great
measure, to those whom we consider as models of.
taste, and has been gradually associated with the impressiols produced by the real elegance of their appearantce and manner. When it pleases by itself, the effeet is not to be ascribed to the thing considered abstractedly, nor to any change which our general notions
of' beauty have undergone, but to the impressions with
which it has been generally connected, and which it
naturally recalls to the mind. The case is nearly the
same with our moral sentiments.  A man of splendid
virtues attracts some esteem  also to his imperfections,
and, if placed in a conspicuous situation, may corrupt
the moral sentiments of the multitude in the same
manner in which he may introduce an absurd or fantastical ornament by his whimsical taste in the articles of
dress.  The commanding influence of Cato's virtues
seems to have produced somewhat of this eftiet onl tile
minds of some of his admirers.  He was accused, we
are told, of intemperance in wine; nor do his apolto,gists pretend altogether to deny the charge. " 13Bu!,"
says one of them, "it would be much easier to prove
that intemperance is a decent and respectable quality,
than that Cato could be guilty of any vice."  " Catoni
ebrietas objecta est; et facilius efficiet, quisquis objecerit, hoc crimen honestum, quam turpem Catonem."
In general it may be remarked, that as education




DIVERSITY  IN ITS JUDGMENTS.                     135
may  vary -in particular cases the opinions of individuals with  reslpect to  the  objects of taste, without being
able to create our notions of beauty or deformity, of
grandeur or meanness, so education may vary our
sentiments with respect to particular actions, but could
not create  our notions of right and  wrong,  of  merit
and demerit.'
II. Diversity in  MIen's Moral Judgments.]   With  re* It is observed by Condorlet in his Eloge on Euler, " That, if we except
the common  mlxils o/ sunort[/lyt, there is no *one truth which can boast of
having been so generally adopted, or through such a succession of agres. as
certain ridiculous and pernicious errors."  The assertion, although not
without some foundation in fact, is manifestly expressed by this author in
terms too strong and unqualified.  I quote it here chiefly on account of
the remarkable concession which it involves in favor of the ftrdtometlle t
priociples of' iorlity; — a subject on which it has been generally allegd,
by skeptical writers, that our opinions are more liable than on most otlers
to be warped by the influence of education and fashion.
[Sir James Mackintosh is a strenuous asserter of the general uniformity
of men's moral judgments.  "I do not speak of the theory of morals,
but of the rule of life. First examine the ftct, and see whether, fiom the
earliest times, any improvement, or even any change, has been made in
the practical rules of human conduct.  Look at the code of Moses.
I speak of it now as a mere human composition, without considering its
sacred origin.  Considering it merely in that light, it is the most ancient
and the most curious memorial of the early history of mankind.  More
than three thousand years have elapsed since the composition of the P'entateuch;  and let any man, if he is able, tell nce in what important respects
the rtule of IfeJ has varied since that distant period. Let the Institutes of
Menu l)e explored with the same view; we shall arrive at the same conclusion. Let the books of false religion ble opened; it will be found that
their moral systelm is, in all its grand features, the same.  Tlhe impostors
who composed them were compelled to pay this homage to the uniform
moral sentiments of the world. Examine the codes of nations, those
authentic depositories of the moral judgments of men; you everywl ere
find the same rules prescribed, the same duties imposed: even the boldest
of those ingenious skeptics who have attacked every other opinion has
spared the sacred and immutable simplicity of the rules of life. In our
comminon duties, Bayle and Hume agree with  Bossuet and  Ba:rrow.
Sulch as the rule was at the first dawn of history, such it continues till the
present day. Ages roll over mankind; mighty nations pass alway like a
shadow'; virtue alone remains thle same, immnortal and unchangeable." —
Memloirs, b y his Soim, Vol. 1. Chap. III. p. 120.
Even should we think that the statement, as here made, needs further
qua lification, there (an be no doubt that the cormmon opinion errs still
ioreti on the other side.  One reason rvNhy the points of difference ill monrals
are thought to be more numerous tilan they really are is, that these alone
are inaide the subject of frcequent discussion-  and properly so, b]ec'ause it ii
only in this way that they catn be cleared lup, and recoiciled. - ED.J]




136               THE IMTORAL FACULTY.
spect to the historical facts which have been quoted
as proofs that the moral judgments of mankind are
entirely factitious, we may venture to assert in general,
that none of them  justify so very extravagant a concllsion; that a great part of them  are the effects of
miisrel)resentation; and that others lead to a conclusion directly the reverse of what has been drawn from
i!emn.  It \vwould hardly be necessary, in the present
iines, to examine them  seriously, were it not for the
authority which, in the opinion of many, they still continue to derive from the sanction of Mr. Locke.
" Have there not been whole nations," says this
eminent philosopher, " and those of the most civilized
people, among whom the exposing their children,
and leaving them in the fields to perish by want or
wild beasts, has been the practice, as little condemned
or scrupled as the begetting them? Do they not still,
in some countries, put them into the same graves with
their mothers, if they die in child-birth, or despatch
them, if a pretended astrologer declares them to have
unhappy stars?  And are there not places where, at
a certain age, they kill or expose their parents without
any remorse at all?  Where, then, are our innate ideas
of justice, piety, gratitude; or where is that universal
consent that assures us there are such inbred rules?" *
To this question of Locke's so satisfactory an
answer has been  given  by various writers, that it
would be superfluous to enlarge on the subject here.
It is sufficient to refer, on the ori(gin of infanticide, to
Mr. Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments;t  and on the,1/cged impiety among  some  rude tribes of children
onwards their parents, to Charron Sur la Sagesse,:  and
to an excellent note of Dr. Beattie's in his Essa1/  on
Fable and Romance.  The reasonings of the last two, Book I. Chap. III. ~ 9.
t Part V. Chap. II.
t Liv. II. Chap. VIII. Charron's argument is evidently pointed at certain passages in Montaigne's Essays, in which that ingenious writer has
fallen into a train of thought very similar to that which is the groundwork
of Locke's reasonings against innate pra ctical principles.




DI VCRSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS.           137
writers are strongly confirmed by Mr. Ellis, in his
Voyage for the Discovery of a.Northwest Passage, and
by Mr. Curtis (afterwards Sir Roger Curtis), in a
p.-per containing Some PaLrticulars zwith Respect to the
C'ouztry of Labradore, published in the Philosophical
T'ansactions for the year 1773.
In order to form a competent judgment, on facts of
this nature, it is necessary to attend to a variety of
considerations which have been too frequently overlookled by philosophers; and, in particular, to make
proper allowances for the three following: --
1. For the different situations in which mankind are
placed, partly by the diversity in their physical circumstances, and partly by the unequal degrees of civilization which they have attained.
2. For the diversity of their speculative opinions,
arising from their unequal measures of knowledge or
of capacity; and,
3. For the different moral import of the same action
under different systems of external behaviour.
III. First Cause of Diversity in Men's Moral JldtgmteLnts.  Difference of Condition.  (1.) As regards Property.]  In a part of the globe where the soil and climate are so favorable as to yield all the necessaries
and many of the luxuries of life with little or no labor
on the part of man, it may reasonably be expected
that the ideas of men will be more loose concerning
the rights of property than where nature has been less
liberal in her gifts.  As the right of property is founded, in the fir'st instanzce, on the natural sentiment, that
the laborer is entitled to the fruits of his own labor, it
is not surprising that, where little or no labor is required for the gratification of our desires, theft should
be regarded as a very venial offence.   There is here
no contradiction in the moral judgments of mankind.
Men feel there, with respect to those articles which Twe
appropriate with the most anxious care, as we, in this
part of the world, feel with respect to air, liglht, and
water.  If a country could be found in which no inu!;,




138              THE MORAL FACULTY.
justice was apprehended in depriving an individual of
an enjoyment which he had provided for himself by a
long course of persevering industry, the fact would be
something to the purpose.  But this, we may venture
to say, has not yet been found to be the case in any
quarter of the globe.  That the circumstance I have
mentioned is the true explanation of the prevalence of
theft in the South Sea Islands, atd of the venial light
in wnhiich it is there regarded, appears plainly from the
accounts of our most intelligent navigators.
" There was another circumstance," says Captain
Cook, speaking of the inhabitants of the Sand\wich
Islands, "' in which the people perfectly resembled the
other islanders we had visited.  At first, oil their entering the ship, they endeavoured to steal every thing
they came near, or rather to take it openly, as wzhat
we either should not resent, or not hinder."  (January,
1778.)
In another place, talking of the same people: —
" These islanders," says he, " merited our best commendations in  their commercial intercourse, never
once attempting to cheat us, either ashore or alongside
the ships.  Some of them, indeed, as already mentioned, at first betrayed a thievish disposition; or rather,
they thought that they had a right to every thing they
co1uld lay their hands on; but they soon laid aside a
conduct which we convinced  them  they could not
persevere in with impunity."
In another part of the voyage, (April, 1778,) in
\TlIich he gives an account of the American Indians
iiear King George's Sound, he contrasts their notions
on the subject of theft with those of the South Sea
Islanders.  " The inhabitants of the South Sea Islands,
rather than be idle, would steal any thingc they could
lay i heir hands on, without ever considering xThether it
could be of use to them or nro.  The novelty of' the
olbject was with theni  a sufc'ieint motive for endleavourilng, by any indirect meilans, to get possession of ii;
whic h m~arlked, that ill sUch cases they were rather
actuated by a chlildish curiosity ty  an by a dishonest




DIVERSITY  IN  ITS  JUDGMENTS.                    139
disposition, regardless of the modes of supplying real
wants.   The inhabitants of Nootka, who  invaded  our
property,  have  not  such  an   apology.                They  were
/tieves in  the  strictest sense of the wvord; for they piifered  nothing  from   us but what they  knew   could  be
converted to the purposes of private utility, and had
a     recc   value, according  to  their estimation  of things."
Hie adds, that he had " abundant proof that stealing  is
much  practised  among  thernselves"; -   but it is evidentt, frorn the manner in which he expresses himnsel;f,
that theft was not here considered in the same venial or
indifferent light as in  those  parts of the  globe  where
the bounty of' nature deprives exclusive property of almrost all its value.*
In general it will be found, that the ideas of rude
nations on  the  subject of property  are precise and  decided, in proportion to the degree of labor to which they
have been  habituated  in  procuring  the means of subsistence.   Of one barbarous people, (the Greenlanders,)
we  are  expressly  told   by  a  very  authentic  writer,
(Crantz,) that their regard to property acquired by labor
is not only strict, but approaches to superstition.  " Not
one of them," says he,'" will appropriate  to  himself a
sea-dog in which  hIe finds one  or more  harpoons with
unttorn  thongs;  nor even  carry  away  drift wood,  or
other things thrown up  by the  sea, if they are  cotvered'with  a stone, because they consider this as all indication
that they have already been appropriated by some other
person." t
* See, also, Anderson's Remarks, February, 1777, and December, 1777.' History of Greenland, Vol. I. p. 181. The following passage of Voltaire
is perh:aps liable to the charge of over-refinement; but it sutlicientlv shows
that hle savt clearly the general principle on which the lax opinlions of
somle nations on the subject of theft are to be explained.' On a 1bnm nons dire, qu'. Laced,3inoine, le larcin rtoit ordlonn; ce
n'est I. qlu'utn alus des mots.  La mime chose que nous appellons l(.rrcin,
n'etoit point comnmandoe A Lacedemone; mnais dans une ville, o', tout,ttoit en comolnmin la permission qu'on donnoit  de prendre Ilabilemlnet ce
qcie d(s' p",arti.uliers s'approp)rioient contre la loi, 6toit une Imlilire de
p-nlir l'(spl'it de I)roprite6 d':fendin chez ces peuples.  Le tieo, et  1 utiae
i't(cit iln (c'ritoe, dont cc qne notii aitl)pellons ltrcina etoit la imnitiol." —
V)tetelirs'i, t( l o.f ot' Vetols's Disoeies.   Some of his oth' rCllliarks on
Louke are very- curious.




140                   THE MORAL FACULTY.
IV.  (2.)  As regoards  the  Uses of Money.]   Another
very  remarkable  instance  of an  apparent diversity  in
the  moral judgments of' mankind  occurs in the contradictory opinions  entertained  by different ages  and  nations on  the  moral lawfulness of exacting  interest for
tihe use of money. Aristotle, in the first book of his
P1ilitics  (6th  chap.), speaking  of the  various  ways of
gi,,ting  money, considers agriculture and the rearing of
cattle as honorable and natural, because the earth itself,
anfd  all animals, are by nature  fruitful; " but to  make
money from  money, which is barren  and unfruitful," he
pronounces  " to be the worst of all modes of accumulation, and the utmost corruption of artificial degeneracy.  By commerce," he observes, " money is perverted
from   the  purpose  of exchlange to  that of gain.   Still,
however, this  gain  is obtained  by  the mutual transfer
of different objects; but usury, by transferring  merely
the same object from one hand to another, generates
money from money; and the interest thus generated is
therefore called'offspring,' as being precisely of the
same  nature, and of the  same  specific  substance, with
that from   which  it proceeds." --   Similar  sentiments
with respect to usury (under which title was compre" Gillies's Translation   The argument of Aristotle is so extremely abslad and puerile, that it could never have led this most acute and profound
phlilosopher to the conclusion it is employed to supp)ort, but may be justly
lnunbered among the instances in -whicli spec ulative men havye exertel
tlicir ingenuitv to defend, by sophistical reasonin s, the establishcd preijn(li-cs of tile times in whliichl thev lived, and in wxhi.h t/he sllposed eviderre XO
t'/ if/reiice hais se rved, in their estimation? to compensate for the weaakness
of the premises.  It is, however, worthy of remark, that the ar'Lulent,
uah,as it is, was manifestly sugl  ested by the etynloloyv of the word rOKKOS
(ilnterest), froln the verb rtKTrO, pario, to )reed or b7in(J forth; an etyniology
wvihich seems to imply that the principal grenerates the interest.  The Name
idla, too, occurs in the scene between Antonio and Shylock, in tho Aler.
chanlt of Vrea ice:"If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
As to thy fiiends  (for when did friendship take
A breed of barren metalefirom his friend?)
But lend it rather to thine enemyv.
Who, if he brieak, tholu mavst with better face
Exact the peinalty"
Act I. Scene III.




DIVERSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS.         141
hended every premium, great or small, which was received by way of interest) occur in the Roman writers.
"Concerning the arts," says Cicero, in his first book
De Offciis, "and the means of acquiring wealth which
are to be accounted liberal, and which mean, the following are the sentiments usually entertained. In the
first place, those means of gain are in the least credit
which incur the hatred of' mankind, as those of' taxgatherers and usurers." The same author (in the second book of' the same work) mentions an anecdote of
old Cato, who, being asked what he thought of lending
money upon interest, answered, "What do you think
of the crime of murder?"
In the code of the Jewish legislator, the regulations
concerning loans imply manifestly, that to exact a premium  for the thing lent was an act of unkindness unsuitable to the fraternal relation in which the Israelites stood
to one another. " Thou shalt not lend," it is said, " upon
usury to thy brother: usury of money, usury of victuals,
usury of any thing that is lent upon usury. Unto a
stranger thou mayest lend upon usury; but unto thy
brother thou shalt not lend upon usury; that the Lord
thy God may bless thee in all that thou settest thine
hand to, in the land whither thou goest to possess it." *
In consequence of this prohibition in the Mosaic law,
the primitive Christians, conceiving that they ought to
look on all ment, both Jews and Gentiles, as brethren,
inferred, (partly, perhaps, from the prohibition given by
Moses, and partly from the general prejudices then prevalent against usury,) that it was against the Christian
law to take interest from any man. And, accordingly,
there is no crime against which the Fathers in their
homilies declaim with more vehemence. The same abhorrence of usury of every kind appears in the canon
law, insomuch that the penalty by that law is excommunication; nor is the usurer allowed burial until he
has made restitution of what he got by usury, or secu.
rity is given that restitution shall be made after his
* Dent. xxiii. 19, 20.




142                  THE  MORAL FACULTY.
death. About the middle of the seventeenth century,
we  find  the  divines  of the  Church  of England  very
often preaching against all interest for the use of money,
even that which the law allowed, as a gross immorality.
And not much earlier it was the general opinion, both
of divines and lawyers, that, although law permitted a
certain rate of interest to prevent greater evils, and in
compliance with the general corruption of men, (as the
law of Moses permitted polygamy, and authorized divorce for slight causes, among the Jews,) yet that the
rules of morality did not sanction the taking  any interest for money; at least, that it was a very doubtful point
whether they did. The same opinion was maintained
in the English House of Commons by some of the
members who were lawyers, in  the debate upon a bill
brought in not much more than a hundred years ago.
I need not remark how completely the sentiments of
mankind are now changed upon the subject; insomuch
that a moralist or divine would expose himself to ridicule if he should seriously think it worth his while to
use arguments to prove the lawfulness of a practice
which was formerly held in universal abhorrence. The
consistency of this practice (in  cases where the debtor
is able to pay the interest) with the strictest morality
appears to us so manifest and indisputable, that it would
be thought equally absurd to argue for it as against it.*
The diversity of judgments, however, on this particular question, instead of proving a diversity in the moral
* A learned gentleman, indeed, of the Middle Temple, Mr. Plowden,
(a lawyer, I believe, of the Roman Catholic persuasion,) who published,
albtout thirty years ago, a Treatise upon the Law?f Usury and Annuities, has
employed no less than fifty-nine pages of his work in consideringr the law
of usury in a spirit.ual viewo. in order to establish the following conclusion:
- "T'hat it is not sinful, but lawful, for a British subject to receive legal
interest for the money he may lend, whether he receive it in annual divi~dends fi'om the public, or in interest from private individuals who may
have borrowed it upon mortgage, bond, or otherwise."  M. Necker, too, in
the notes annexed to his Elq/le on Colbert, thought it necessalv for him to
offer an apoloogv to the Church of Rome for the freedom with whicl he
vntured to write upon this critical sublject.  " Ce (cue je dis (e inter't est
sous un point (ie vile lolitiqne, et n'Ia point de rapport avec les respectablei
Itaxilucs s(l Ia religion sur ce point."




DIVERSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS.        143
judgments of mankind, affords an illustration of the
uniformity of their opinions concerning the fundainental rules of moral duty.
In a state where there is little or no commerce, the
great motive for borrowing being necessity, the value
of a loan cannot be ascertained by calculation, as it
may be where money is borrowed for the purposes of
trade. In such circumstances, therefore, every moneylender who accepts of interest will be regarded in the
same odious light in which pawnbrokers are considered
among us; and the man "who putteth out his money
to usury" will naturally be classed (as he is in the
words of Scripture) with him who "' taketh reward
against the innocent." t
These considerations, while they account for the
origin of the opinions concerning the practice of taking interest for money among those nations of antiquity whose commercial transactions were few and
insignificant, will be sufficient, at the same time, to
establish its reasonableness and equity in countries
where money is most commnonly borrowed for the purposes of commercial profit, and where, of consequence,
the use of it has a fixed and determinate value, depending (like that of any commodity in general request) on the circumstances of the market at the time.
In such countries both parties are benefited by the transaction, and even the state is a gainer in the end. The
lenders of money are frequently widows and orphans,
who subsist on the interest of their slender funds,
while the borrowers as frequently belong to the most
opulent class of the community, who wish to enlarge
their capital and extend their trade; and who, by doing
so, are enabled to give further encouragement to industry, and to supply labor and bread to the indigent.
The prejudices, therefore, against usury among the
ancient philosophers were the natural result of the
state of society which fell under their observation.
t Ps. xv. 5.




1.44            THE MORAL FACULTY.
The prohibition of usury among the Jews in their own
mutual transactions, while they were permitted to take
a premium for the money which they lent to strangers,
was in perfect consistency with the other principles of
their political code; commerce being interdicted, as
tending to an intercourse with idolaters, and mortgages prevented by the indefeasible right which every
man had to his lands.
V. (3.) Want of an Egfflcient Police.] I shall only
mention one instance more to illustrate the effects of
different states of society in modifying the moral judgments of mankind. It relates to the crime of assassination, which we now justly consider as the most dreadful
of any; but which must necessarily have been viewed
in a very different light when laws and magistrates
were unknown, and when the only check on injustice
was the principle of resentment.  As it is the nature
of this principle, not only to seek the punishment of
the delinquent, but to prompt the injured person to'inflict the punishment with his own hand, so in every
country the criminal jurisdiction of the magistrate has
been the last branch of his authority that was established.  Where the police, therefore, is weak, murders
must not only be more frequent, but are really less
criminal, than in a society like ours, where the private
rights of individuals are completely protected by law,
and where there hardly occurs an instance, excepting
in a case of self'-defence, in which one man can be
justified for shedding the blood of another. And even
when, in a rude age, a murder is committed from unjustifiable motives of self-interest or jealousy, yet the
frequency of the occurrence prevents the minds of
men from revolting so strongly at the sight of blood
as we do at present. It is on this very principle that
Mr. Mitford accounts for the manners and ideas that
prevailed in the heroic ages of Greece.
But it is unnecessary, on this head, to appeal to the
history of early times, or of distant nations. In our
own country of Scotland, about two centuries ago,




DIVERSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS.               145
what shocking murders were perpetrated, and seemingly without remorse, by men who were by no means
wholly destitute of a sense of religion and morality!
Dr. Robertson remarks, that "Buchanan  relates the
murder of Cardinal Beatoun and of Rizzio without
expressing those feelings which are natural to a man,
or that indignation which became an historian. Knox,
whose mind was fiercer and more unpolished, talks of
the death of Beatoun and of the Duke of Guise, not
only without censure, but with the utmost exultation.
On the other hand, the Bishop of Ross mentions the
assassination of the Earl of Murray with some degree
of applause. Blackwood dwells on it with the mlost
indecent triumph; and ascribes it directly to the hand
of God.   Lord  Ruthven, the principal actor in  the
conspiracy against Rizzio, wrote an account of it some
time before his own death; and in all his long narrative there is not on6 expression of regret, or one symptom of compunction, for a crime no less dishonorable
than barbarous. Morton, equally guilty of the same
crime, entertained the same sentiments concerning it;
and in his last moments, neither he himself, nor the
ministers who attended him, seem to have considered
it as an action which called for repentance. Even then
he talks of'David's slaughter' as coolly as if it had
been an innocent or commendable deed." *
The reflections of Dr. Robertson on these assassinatiorns, which were formerly so common in this country,
are candid and judicious. " In consequence of the limit* History of Scotland, Book IV. The following lines, in which Sir
David Lindsay reprobates the murder of his contemporary and enemy,
Cardinal Beatoun, deserve to be added to the instances quoted by J)r.
Robertson, as an illustration of the moral sentiments of our ancestors.
They are expressed with a nafretd which places in a strong light both the
moral and religious principles of that age.
"As for this Cardinal, I grant,
He was a man we well might want;
God willforgive it soon:
But of a sooth, the truth to say,
Altho' the loun be well away,
The act was foully done."
13




146            THE MORAL FACULTY.
ed power of our princes, the administration of justice
xvas extremely feeble and dilatory.  An attempt to
punish the crimes of a chieftain, or even of his vassals,
often excited rebellions and civil wars.  To nobles
haughty and independent, among whom the causes of
discord were miany and unavoidable; who were quick
in discerning an injury, and impatient to revenge it;
who esteemed it infamous to submit to an enemy, and
cowardly to forgive him; who considered the right of
punishing those who had injured them as a privilege
of their order, and a mark of independency; such slow
proceedings were extremely unsatisfactory. The blood
of their adversary was, in their opinion, the only thing
that could wash away an affront. Where that was
not shed, their revenge was disappointed; their courage
became suspected, and a stain was left on their honor.
That vengeance which the impotent hand of the magistrate could not inflict, their own could easily execute.
Under a government so feeble, men assumed, as in a
state of nature, the right of judging and redressing their
own wrongs. And thus assassination, a crime of all
others the most destructive to society, came not only
to be allowed, but to be deemed honorable."  In
another passage he observes, that "mankind became
thus habituated to blood, not only in times of war, but
of peace; and from this, as well as other causes, contracted an amazing ferocity of temper and of manners."
VI. Second Cause of Diversity in Men's Moral Judginents. Difference in Speculative Opinions.] The second
cause I mentioned of the apparent diversity among
mankind in their moral judgments is the diversity in
their speculative opinions.
The manner in which this cause operates will appear
obvious, if it be considered that nature, by the suggestions of our moral principles, only recommends to us
particular ends, but leaves it to our reason to ascertain
the most effectual means by which these ends are to be
attained. Thus nature points out to us ofir own happitless, and also the happiness of our fellow-creatures,




DIVERSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS.       147
as objects towards the attainment of which our best
exertions ought to be directed; but she has left us to
exercise our reason, both in ascertaining what the constituents of happiness are, and  how  they may be
most completely secured.  Hence, according to the
different points of view in which these subjects of consideration may appear to different understandings,
there must of necessity be a'diversity of judgments
wvith respect to the morality of the same actions. One
man, for example, believes that the happiness of society is roost effectually consulted by an implicit obedience in all cases to the will of the civil magistrate.
Another, that the mischiefs to be apprehended from
resistance and insurrection in cases of urgent necessity
are trifling when compared with those which may
result to ourselves and our posterity from an established despotism. The former will of course be an advocate for the duty of passive obedience; the latter for
the rghAt, and, in certain supposable cases, for the
obligation of resistance. Both of these men, however,
agree in the general principle, that it is our duty to
promote to the utmost of our power the happiness
of society; and they differ from each other only on a
speculative question of expediency.
In like manner, there is a wide diversity between
the moral systems of ancient and modern times on
the subject of suicide. Both, however, agree in this,
that it is the duty of man to obey the will of his
Creator, and to consult every intimation of it that his
reason can discover, as the supreme law of his conduct.
They differed only in their speculative doctrines concerning the interpretation of the will of God, as manifested by the dispensations of his providence in the events
of human life. The prejudices of the ancients on this
subject were indeed founded in a very partial and
erroneous view of circumstances (arising, however, not
unnaturally, from the unsettled state of society in the
ancient republics); but they only afford an additional
instance of the numerous mistakes to which human
reason is liable; not of a fluctuation in the judgments




1't48             THE MORAL FACULTY.
of mnankind concerning the fundamental rules of mor.
al duty.*
VII. Third Cause of Diversity in Men's Moral Judg-.
ments.  Different Systems of Behaviour.]  The different moral import, too, of the same material action, under different systems of external behaviour, deserves particular attention, in forming an estimate of the moral
sentiments of different ages and nations.
This difference is chiefly owing to two causes: —
First, to the different conceptions of happiness and misery, - of what is to be desired and shunned, - which
men are led to form in different states of society. Secondly, to the effect of accident, which, as it leads men
to speak different languages in different countries, so it
leads them to express the same dispositions of the
heart by different external observances.
1. Where the opinions of mankind vary concerning the external circumstances that constitute happiness, the external expressions of benevolence must vary
of course. Thus, in the fact referred to by Locke concerning the Indians in the neighbourhood of'Hudson's
Bay, the wishes of the aged parent being different from
what we are accustomed to observe in this part of the
world, the marks of filial affection on the part of the
child must vary also.  "In some countries honor is
associated-with suffering, and it is reckoned a favor to
-be killed with circumstances of torture. Instances of
this occur in the manners of some American nations,
and in the pride which an Indian matron feels when
placed on the funeral pile of her deceased husband." t
In such cases an action may have to us all the external
marks of extreme cruelty, while it proceeds from a
disposition generous and affectionate.
* See Lieber's Political Ethics, Book I. Sect. xviii., where the conduct of
the Thugs of India - a fanatical sect pursuing murder as a trade, and under the supposed sanction of religion - is reconciled with the moral constitution of human nature.- ED.
t Ferguson's Moral and Political Science, Part II. Chap. II. Sect. iv.
[For facts in confirmation of this doctrine, see Historical Illustrations of
the Passions, particularly Vol. I. Chap. III. and IV.]




DIVERSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS.            149
2. A difference in the moral import of the same action often arises from the same accidental causes which
lead men, in different parts of the globe, to express the
same ideas by different arbitrary signs.
What happens in the trifling forms and ceremonies
of behaviour may serve to illustrate the operation of
the same causes on more important occasions. " In
the general principles of urbanity, politeness, or civility,
we may venture to assert that the opinions of all nations are agreed; but in the expression of this disposition, we meet with endless varieties.  In Europe, it is
the form of respect to uncover the head; in Japan, the
corresponding form is said to be to uncover the foot by
dropping the slipper.* Persons unacquainted with any
language but their own are apt to think the words they
use natural and fixed expressions -of things; while the
words of a different language they consider as mere
jargon, or the result of caprice. In the same manner,
forms of behaviour different from their own appear offensive and irrational, or a perverse substitution of absurd for reasonable manners.
"Among the. varieties of this sort, we find actions,
gestures, and forms of expression, in their own nature
indifferent, entered into the code of civil or religious
duties, and enforced under the strongest sanctions of
public censure or esteem; or under the strongest denunciations of the Divine indignation or favor.
" Numberless ceremonies and observances in the ritual of different sects are to be accounted for on the same
principles which produce the diversity of names or
signs for the same thing in the vocabulary of different
languages. Thus, the generality of Christians when
they pray take off their hats; the Jews when they pray
put them on. Such acts, how strongly soever they
may affect the imaginations of the multitude, may just* "Even here," Sir Joshua Reynolds ingeniously remarks, "we may
perhaps observe a general idea running through all the varieties; to wit,
the general idea of making the body less in token of respect, whether by
bowing the body, kneeling,-prostration, pulling off the upper part of the
dress, or throwing aside the lower."
13*




150            THE MORAL FACULTY.
ly be considered as part of the arbitrary language of
particular countries; implying no diversity whatever in
the ideas or feelings of those- among whom they are
established." *
As a further proof of the impossibility of judging of
the general character of a people from their opinions
concerning the morality of particular actions, we may
observe; that, in some of the writings of the ancient
moralists, we meet with the most refined and sublime
precepts blended promiscuously with dissuasives from
the most shocking and detestable crimes; in one sentence, perhaps, a precept which may be read with advantage by the most enlightened of the present times;
and in the next, a dissuasive from some crime which
no-one now could be supposed to perpetrate who had
not arrived at the last stage of depravity.
I have dwelt very long on this subject, because, if it
be painful to be staggered in our belief of the immutability of moral distinctions by the first aspect of the
history of mankind, it affords a tenfold pleasure to
those who feel themselves interested in the cause of
morality, when they find, on an accurate examination,
that those facts on which skeptics have laid the greatest stress are not only consistent with the moral constitution of man, but result necessarily from this constitution, diversified in its effects according to the different
circumstances in which the individual is situated. To
trace in this manner the essential principles of the human frame, amidst the various disguises it borrows
from accidental causes, is one of the most interesting
employments of philosophical curiosity; nor is there,
perhaps, a more satisfactory gratification to a liberal
mind, than when it recognizes, under the superstition,
the ignorance, and the loathsome sensualities of savage life, the kindred features of humanity, and the indelible vestiges of that Divine image after which man
was originally formed.
VIII. Locke's Connection with this Controversy.] The
* See Ferguson's Moral and Political Science, Part II. Chap. II. Sect. iv,




DIVERSITY IN ITS JUDGMENTS.       151
doctrines cn this subject which I have hitherto been endeavouring to refute, (how erroneous soever in their
principles, and dangerous in their consequences,) have
been-maintained by some writers who certainly were
not unfriendly in their views to the interests of virtue
and of mankind. In proof of this, I need only mention the name of Mr. Locke, who, in the course of a
long and honorable life, distinguished himself no less
by the exemplary worth of his private character, aifd
by his ardent zeal for civil and religious liberty, than
by the depth and originality of his philosophical speculations. His errors, however, ought not, on these accounts, to be treated with reverence; but, on the contrary, they require a more careful and severe examination,
in consequence of the high authority they derive from
his genius and his virtues. And accordingly, I have
enlarged on such of his opinions as seemed to me favorable to skeptical views concerning the foundation
of morals, at much greater length than the ingenuity or
plausibility of his reasonings in support of them may
appear to some to have merited.
To these opinions of Locke Lord Shaftesbury has
alluded, in various parts of his works, with a good deal
of indignation; and particularly in the following passage of his Advice to an Author. " One would imagine that our philosophical writers, who pretend to treat
of morals, should far outdo our poets in recommending
virtue, and representing what is fair and amiable in human actions. One would imagine, that, if they turned
their eyes towards remote countries, (of which they affect so much to speak,) they should search for that simplicity of manners, and innocence of behaviour, which
has been often known among mere savages, ere they
were corrupted by our commerce, and, by sad example,
instructed in all kinds of treachery and inhumanity. It
would be of advantage to us to hear the cause of this
strange corruption in ourselves, and be made to consider of our deviation from nature, and from that just
purity of manners which might be expected, especially
from a people so assisted and enlightened by religion




152            THE MORAL FACULTY.
For who would not naturally expect more justice, fidel.
ity, temperance, and honesty from Christians than from
Mahometans or mere Pagans? But so far are our mod.
ern moralists from condemning any unnatural vices or
corrupt manners, whether in our own or foreign climates,
that they would have vice itself appear as natural as
virtue; and, from the worst examples, would represent
to us,'that all actions are naturally indifferent; that
they have no note or character of good or ill in themselves, but are distinguished by mere fashion, law, or
arbitrary decree.' Wonderful philosophy! raised from
the dregs of an illiterate, mean kind, which was ever
despised among the great ancients, and rejected by all
men of action or sound erudition; but, in these ages,
imperfectly copied from the original, and, with much
disadvantage, imitated and assumed in common, both
by devout and indevout attempters in the moral kind." *
Besides these incidental remarks on Locke, which
occur in different parts of Shaftesbury's writings, there
is a letter of his addressed to a student at the university, which relates almost entirely to the opinion we have
been considering, and contains some excellent observations on the subject.
In this letter Lord Shaftesbury observes, that " all
those called free writers now-a-days have espoused
those principles which Mr. Hobbes set afoot in this last
age."  "Mr. Locke," he continues, "as much as I
honor him on account of other writings (viz. on government, policy, trade, coin, education, toleration, &c.),
and as-well as I knew him, and can answer for his sincerity, as a most zealous Christian and believer, did
however go in the selfsame track, and is followed by
the Tindals, and all the other ingenious free authors of
our time.
" It was Mr. Locke that struck the home blow; for
Mr. Hobbes's character and base, slavish principles of
government took off the poison of his philosophy. It
was Mr. Locke that struck at all fundamentals, threw
* Part III. Sect. iii.




DIVERSITY  IN  ITS JUDGIMENTS.                  153
all order and virtue out of the world, and made the
very ideas of these (which are the same with those of
God) unnatural, and without foundation in our minds
Innate is a word he poorly plays upon; the right word
though less used, is connatural. For what has birth,
or progress of thefwtus out of.the womb, to do in  this
case?   The question  is not about the time the ideas
entered, or the moment that one body came out of the
other, but whether the constitution of man be such,
that, being adult and grown up, at such or such a time,
sooner or later, (no matter when,) the idea and sense
of order, administration, and a God will not infallibly,
inevitably, necessarily, spriin  up in him?" *
In this last remark, Lord Shaftesbury appears to me
to place the question concerning innate ideas upon the
right and only philosophical footing, and to afford a
key to all the confusion which runs through Locke's
argument on the subject. The observations which follow are not less just and valuable; but I- must not indulge myself in any further extracts at present.t
These  passages of Shaftesbury, in  some of which
the warmth of his temper has betrayed him into expressions disrespectful to Locke, have drawn on, him a
number of very severe animadversions, particularly
from  Warburton, in the preface to his Divine Legation
L* etters to a Student at the University, Let. VIII.
t Notwithstanding, however, the countenance which Locke's reasonings
against innate practical principles have the appearance of giving to the
philosophy of Hobbes, I have not a doubt that the difference of opinion
between him and Lord Shaftesbury on this point was almost entirely verbal. Of this I have elsewhere produced ample proofs; but the following
passage will suffice for my present purpose. "I would not be mistaken, as
if, because I deny an innate law, I thought there were none but positive
laws. There is a great deal of difference between an innate law and a law
of nature, between something imprinted on our minds in their very original,
and something that we, being ignorant of, may attain to the knowledge of,
by the use and due application of our ngtural faculties. And I think they
equally forsake the truth, who, running into the contrary extremes, either
affirm an innate law, or deny that there is a law knowable by the light of
nature, without the help of a positive revelation." - Locke's Essay concerring Human Understanding, Book I. Chap. III. ~ 13.
[See, however, Cousin, Histoire de la Philosophie du XVI[Ie Silcle, Tom.
II. Leqon XXe. Or Professor Henry's translation of the same, Elements of
Psychology, Chap. V.]




154            THE MORAL FACULTY.
of Moses. But although Shaftesbury's personal allusions to Locke cannot be justified, some allowance
ought to be made for the indignation of a generous
mind at a doptrine which (however well meant by the
proposer) strikes at the very root of morality. In this
instance, too, it is not improbable that the discussion of
the general argument may have added to the asperity
of his style, by reviving the memory of the private controversies which, it is presumable, had formerly been
carried on between Locke and him on this important
subject. It is well known that Shaftesbury was Locke's
pupil, and also that their tempers and literary tastes
were not suitable to each other. In this it is commonly supposed that the former was to blame; but, I presume, not wholly. Dr. Warton tells us, that Mr. Locke
affected to despise poetry, and that he depreciated the
ancients; " which circumstance," he adds, " as I am informed from undoubted authority, was the subject of
perpetual discontent and dispute between him and his
pupil, Lord Shaftesbury."'  That Shaftesbury was not
insensible to Locke's real merits appears sufficiently
from a passage in the first of his Letters to a Student
at the University. "However, I am  not sorry that I
lent you' Locke's Essay, a book that may as well qualify men for business and the world as for the sciences
and the university. No one has done more towards
the recalling of philosophy from barbarity into use and
practice of the world, and into the company of the
better and politer sort, who might well be ashamed
of it in its other dress. No one has opened a better
and clearer way to reasoning."
SECTION IV.
LICENTIOUS SYSTEMS OF MORALS.
I. Character of the Systems so named.]  The theories concerning the origin of our moral ideas which we
* Essay on the Genius and IVritings of Pope, Sect. XII.




LICENTIOUS SYSTEMS.           155
are now to consider, although they agree in, many respects with that of Locke and his followers, have yet
proceeded from  very different views and intentions.
They also involve some principles-that are peculiar to
themselves, and which, therefore,.render a separate examination of them necessary for the complete illustration of this fundamental article of ethics. They have
been distinguished by Mr. Smith by the name of the
Licentious Systems of Morals,- a name which certainly cannot be censured as too harsh, when applied to
those which maintain that the motives of all men are
fundamentally the same, and that what we commonly
call virtue is mere hypocrisy.
Among the licentious moralists of modern times, the
most celebrated are the Duc de la Rochefoucauld, author of the Maxims and Moral Reflections, and Dr.
Mandeville, author of the Fable of the Bees. By the
generality of our English philosophers, these two writers are commonly coupled together as advocates for
the same system, although their views and their characters were certainly extremely different. In the first
editions of Mr. Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments,
he speaks of a licentious doctrine concerning morality,
which, he says, 1" was first sketched by the delicate pencil of the Duc de la Rochefoucauld, and was afterwards enforced by the coarse but powerful eloquence
of Dr. Mandeville." In the last edition of that work
the name of La Rochefoucauld is omitted, from Mr.
Smith's deliberate conviction that it was unjust to his
memory to class him with an author' vhose writings
tend directly to confound all our ideas of moral distinctions. On this point I speak from personal knowledge,
having been requested by Mr. Smith, when I happened
to he at Paris some years before his death, to express
to the late excellent and unfortunate Duc de la Rochefoucauld his sincere regret for having introduced the
name of his ancestor and that of Dr. Mandeville in the
same sentence.
II. La Roclhefoucauld's Life and Personal Clarac



156            THE AMORAL FACULTY.
ter.] The Duc de la Rochefoucauld, author of the
Maxims, was born in 1613, and died in 1680. The
early part of his education was neglected; but the disadvantages he labored under in consequence of this
circumstance he in a.great measure overcame by the
force of his own talents. According to Madame de
Maintenon, who knew him well, "he was possessed of
a countenance prepossessing and interesting; of manners graceful and dignified; of much genius, and little
acquired knowledge." The same excellent judge adds
of him, that " he was intriguing, accommodating, and
cautious; but that she had never known a friend more
firm, more open, or whose counsels were of greater value. He loved raillery; and used to say, that personal
bravery appeared to him nothing better than folly; and
yet he himself was brave to an extreme. He preserved
to the last the vivacity of his mind, which was always
agreeable, though naturally serious."
In the share which he took in the political transactions of his times, he discovered a facility to engage in
intrigues, without much steadiness in the pursuit of his
object. This, at least, is a remark made on him by the
Cardinal de Retz, who, in a portrait of him drawn with
a masterly, though somewhat prejudiced hand, ascribes
the apparent inconsistencies of his conduct to a natural want of resolution. A later writer,* more favorable
to his memory, has attempted to account for them,
with much plausibility, by that superiority of penetration, and that rigid integrity, which all his contemporaries allow to have been distinguishing features in his
character; and which, though not sufficient to keep
him wholly disengaged from intrigues in a court where
every thing was put in motion by the spirit of party,
rendered him soon disgusted with the pretended patriotism and the selfish politics of those with whom he
acted. Accordingly, although he was induced by the
force of early connections, and a natural facility of
temper, to involve himself during a part of his life in
M. Suard, in his edition of the AMaximes, which appeared in 1778.




LA ROCHEFOUCAULD.              1.57
public affairs, and more particularly, to become a tool
of the Duchess of Longueville in the cabals of the
Fronde, his own taste seems to have attached him to a
more private scene, where he could enjoy in freedom
the society and friendship of a few chosen companions.
Towards the end of his life he spent much of his time
at the house of Madame de la Fayette, which appears,
from the letters of her friend, Madame (le Se';iune, to
have been, at that period, the resort of all persons distinguished for wit.and refinement. It was in the midst
of this chosen society that he composed his Memoirs
of the Regency of Anne of Austria, and also his Moral
Reflections and Maxims.
III. Influence of his fWritings.]  Of these two works,
the former is written with much elegance, and with a
great appearance of sincerity; but the events which it
records are uninteresting in the present age. Bayle, in
his Dictionary, gives it the preference to the Commentaries of Casar; but the judgment of the public has
not been equally favorable. " The Memoirs of the Duc
de la Rochefoucauld," says Voltaire, in his account of
the writers of the age of Louis XIV., "are read; but
every one knows his Maxims by heart."  In fact, it is
almost entirely by these ma.ims (which, as Montesquieu
observes, " have become the proverbs of men of Wit")
that the name of La Rochefoucauld is known; and it
must be confessed that few performances have acquired
to their authors a higher or more general reputation.
"One of the works," says Voltaire, " which contributed
most to form the taste of the nation to a justness and
precision of thought and expression, was the small collection of maxims by Francis, Duc de la Rochefoucauld. Although there is but one idea in the book,
that self-love is the spring of all our action.v, yet this
idea is presented in so great a variety of forms as to
be always amusing. When it first appeared, it was
rea.d with avidity; and it contributed, more than any
other performance since the revival of letters, to accustom writers to indulge themselves in an originality of
1,,




158                  THE MORAL FACULTY.
thought, and to improve the vivacity, precision, and
delicacy of French composition."'
That the tendency of these maxims is, upon the
whole, unfavorable to morality, and that they always
leave a disagreeable impression on the mind, must, I
think, be granted.t At the same time, it may be fairly
questioned if the motives of the author have in general been well understood, either by his admirers or by
his opponents.   In affirming that self-love is the spring
of all our actions, there is no good reason for supposing that he meant to deny the reality of moral distinctions as a philosophical truth, -a supposition quite
inconsistent with his own fine and deep remark, that.
hypocrisy is itself a homage which vice renders to virtue.
He states it merely as a proposition, which, in the
course of his experience as a man of the world, he had
found very generally verified in the higher classes of
society, and which he was induced to announce, without any qualification or restriction, in order to give
more force and poignancy to his satire. In adopting
this mode of writing, he has unconsciously conformed
himself, like many other French authors, who have
since followed his example,: to a suggestion which
* Sigcle de Louis XIV., Chap. XXXII.
t Mr. Spence, in his Anecdotes of Men and Books, ascribes to Pope s
remark on La Rochefoucauld which does no small honor to the poet's
shrewdness and knowledge of human nature. I quote it in Spence's
words. "As L'Esprit, La Rochefoucauld, and that sort of people, prove
that all virtues are disguised vices, I would engage to prove all vices to
be disguised virtues. Neither, indeed, is true; but this would be a more
agreeable subject, and'would overturn their whole scheme." —p. 11.
t Thus it has often been said by French writers, that " no man is a hero
to his valet de chamnbre "; and the maxim, when properly understood, has
some foundation in truth. It probably was meant by its original author to
refer. only to those petty circumstances of temper and behaviour which,
without affecting the essentials of character, have a tendency to diminish,
on a near approach, the theatrical effect of great men. It has, however,
been frequently quoted as implying that there are none whose virtues will
bear a close examination; in which acceptation, it is not more injurious to
human nature than it is contrary to fact. How much more profound, as
well as more plcasing,*is the remark of Plutarch! "Real virtue is most
loved where it is most nearly seen, and no respect which it commands
from  strangers can equal the never-ceasing admiration it excites in the
daily intercourse of domestic life." - -it. Periclis. It is indeed true, that




LA ROCHEFOUCAULD.                   159
Aristotle has stated with admirable depth and acuteness in his Rhetoric.  "Sentences or apothegms lend
much aid to eloquence. One reason of this is, that
they  flatter the  pride  of the hearers, who  are de
lighted when the speaker, making use of general language, touches upon opinions which they had before
known to be true in part.  Thus, a person who had
the misfortune to live in a bad neighbourhood, or to
have worthless children, would easily assent to the
speaker who should affirm  that nothing is more vexatious than to have any neighbours; nothing more irrational than to bring children into the world."*  This
observation of Aristotle, while it goes far to account
for the imposing and dazzling effect of these rhetorical
exaggerations, ought to guard us against the common
and popular error of mistaking them for the serious
and profound generalizations of science. As for La
Rochefoucauld, we know, from the best authorities,
that in private life he was a conspicuous example of
all those moral qualities of which he seemed to deny
the existence; and that- he exhibited, in this respect, a
striking contrast to the Cardinal de Retz, who has presunmed to censure him for his want of faith in the reality Qf virtue.
In reading La Rochefoucauld, it should never be forgotten that it was within the vortex of a court he enjoyed his chief opportunities of studying the world,
and that the narrow and exclusive circle in which he
moved was not likely to- afford him the most favorable
specimens of human nature in general. Of the court
of Louis XIV.. in particular, we are told by a very nice
and reflecting observer (Madame de la Fayette), that
some men, who are admired by the world, appear to most advantage when
viewed at a distance; but, on the other hand, may it not be contended
that many who are objects of general odium would be found, if examined
more nearly, not to be destitute of estimable and amiable qualities 2 May
we not even go further, and assert that the very worst of men have a mixture of good in their composition, and express a doubt whether human
nature would gain or lose upon a thorough acquaintance with the conduct
and motives of individuals?
* Lib. II. Cap. XXII.




160           THE MORAL FACULTY.
" ambition and gallantry were the soul, actuating alike
both men and women. So many contending interests,
so many different cabals, were constantly at work,
and in all of those women bore so important a part,
that love was always mingled with business, and
business with love.  Nobody was tranquil or indifferent.  Every one studied to advance himself by
pleasing, serving, or ruining others.  Idleness and
languor were unknown, and nothing was thought of
but intrigues or pleasures."
In the passage already quoted from Voltaire, he
takes notice of the effect of La Rochefoucauld's maxims in. improving the style of French composition.
We may add to this remark, that their effect has not
been less sensible in vitiating the tone and character of
French philosophy, by bringing into vogue those false
and degrading representations of human nature and
of human life which have prevailed in that country
more or less for a century past. Mr. Addison, in one
of the papers of the Tatler, expresses his indignation
at this general bias among the French writers of his
age.  "It is impossible," he observes, "to read a
passage in Plato, or Tully, or a thousand other ancient
moralists, without being a greater and better man for
it. On the contrary, I could never read any of our
modish French authors, or those of our own country
who are the imitators and admirers of that nation,
without being for some time out of humor with myself, and at every thing about me. Their business' is to
depreciate human nature, and to consider it under the
worst appearances; they give mean interpretations and
base motives to the worthiest of actions.  In short,
they endeavour to make no distinction between man
and man, or between the species of man and that of
the brutes."
IV. Mandeville's Writings and Mbral System.] From
the form in which La Rochefoucauld's maxims are published, it is impossible to attempt a particular examination of them; nor, indeed, do I apprehend that such




MANDEVILLE.               161
an examination is necessary for any of the purposes
which I have at present in view. So far as their ten'
dency is unfavorable to the reality of moral distinctions,
it is the same with that of Mandeville's system; and
therefore the strictures I am now to offer on the latter
writer may be applied with equal truth to the general
conclusions which some have chosen to draw from the
satirical observations of the former.
Dr. Mandeville was born in Holland, where he received his education both in medicine and in philosopny.
Hie made his first appearance in England about the beginning of the last century, and soon attracted very
general attention by the vivacity and licentiousness of
his publications.
The work by which he is best known is a poem,
first printed in 1714, with the title of The Grumbling
Hive, or Knaves turned Honest; upon which he afterwards wrote Remarks, and published the whole at
London in 1723, having for its title The Fable of the
Bees: or Private Vices, Public Benefits. This book
was presented by the grand jury of Middlesex the
same year, and was severely animadverted on soon
after by some very eminent writers, particularly by Dr.
Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne, and by Dr. Hutcheson of
Glasgow in his various treatises on ethical subjects.
To the Remarks on the Fable of the Bees, the author has prefixed An Inquiry into the Origin of Moral
Virtue; and it is to this inquiry that I propose to confine myself chiefly in the following strictures, as it
exhibits his peculiar opinions concerning the principles
of morals in a more systematical form than any of
his other writings. In the course of the observations
Which I have to offer with respect to it, I shall perhaps
be led to repeat one or two remarks which have been
already suggested by the doctrines of Locke. But, for
this repetition, I hope that the importance of the subject will be a sufficient apology.
The great object of Mandeville's inquiry into the
origin of moral virtue is to show that all our moral
sentiments are derived from education, and are the
14'




162            THE MORAL FACULTY.
workmanship of politicians and lawgivers.  "These."
says he, " observing how selfish an animal man is, and
how impossible, in consequence, it would be to retain
numbers together in the same society without government, endeavoured to give his selfish principles a direction useful to the public. For this purpose they have
labored in all ages to convince him that it is better to
restrain than to indulge his appetites, and to consult
the public interest than his own. The engine they
employed in working upon him was flattery, which
they addressed to vanity, one of the strongest principles
of our nature. They contrasted man with the lower
animals, and magnified the advantages he possesses
over them. The human race they divided into two
classes; the mean and contemptible, who, after the
example of the brutes, gratify every animal propensity;
and the generous and high-spirited, who, disdaining
these low gratifications, bend their study to cultivate
the nobler principles of our nature, and wage a continual war with themselves to promote the happiness
of others. In the case of men possessed of an extraordinary degree of pride and resolution, these representations of politicians and moralists were able to effectuate a complete conquest of their natural appetites,
and a complete contempt of their own visible interests;
and even the feeble-minded and abject would be unwilling to rank themselves in the class to which they
really belonged, and would strive to conceal their imperfections from the world, by their forwardness to
swell the cry in praise of self-denial and of public
spirit. - Such," says Mandeville, " was, or at least
might have been, the manner after which savage man
was broke; and what we call the moral virtues are
merely the political offspring which flattery begot upon
pride."
I shall not insist on the absurdity of supposing that
government is an invention of political wisdom, and
not the natural result of man's constitution, and of the
circumstances in which he is placed. This, however
improbable, is one of the least absurdities of Man




MnANDEVILLE.               16e
deville's system. Its capital defect consists in supposing
that the origin of our moral virtues may be accounted
for from the power of education v a fundamental error,
which is common to the system of Mandeville and that
of Locke as commonly understood by his followers,
and which I had formerly occasion to notice and refute.
I shall not, therefore, enlarge upon it at present, but
shall confine myself to those parts of Mandevilles
philosophy which are peculiar to himself.
V. His Erroneous Notions respecting. Vanity and
Pride.] It appears from the passage just quoted, that
the engine which Mandeville supposes politicians to
employ for the purpose of creating the artificial distinction between virtue and vice is vanity or pride, which
two words he uses as synonymous. He employs them,
likewise, in a much more extensive sense than their
common acceptation authorizes; to denote, not only an
overweening conceit of our own character and attainments, or a weak and childish passion for the admiration of others, but that reasonable desire for the esteem
of our fellow-creatures, which, so far from being a
weakness, is a laudable and respectable principle.
The desire of esteem and the dread of contempt are
undoubtedly among the strongest principles of our
nature; but in good minds they are only subsidiary to
the desire of excellence, nay, they cannot be effectually
gratified if they are the first springs of our actions. To
be pleased with the applause of others, it is not sufficient to possess the appearance of good qualities; we
must possess the reality. A man of sense and delicacy
is never more mortified than when he receives praise
for qualities which he knows do not belong to hitn;
and he is comforted, under the mistaken censures of
the world, by the consciousness he does not deserve
them. A desire of applause may, without detracting
from our merit, mingle itself with the more worthy
motives of our conduct; but if it is the sole motive,
the attainment of the object will never communicate
a lasting satisfaction.




(64             THE MORAL FACULTY.
" Falsus honor juvat, et mendax infamia terret,
Quem, nisi mendosum et mendaccm? "*
Vanity, in propriety of speech, denotes a weakness
arising from a perversion of the desire of esteem. A
man is vain who values himself on what is unworthy
of regard, as the external distinctions of equipage ot
dress.  He, too, is vain who wishes to pass in the
world for what he really is not, and boasts of qualities
which he does not possess. We also give the name
of vanity to that weakness which disposes a man to
be pleased with flattery, and which leads him, not only
to desire the esteem of others, but to place his happiness in public expressions of it. In every case, vanity
denotes a weakness which is carefully to be distinguished from the love of true glory.
Mandeville uses the word to express every sentiment
of regard that we feel for the good opinion of others;
and, wherever this regard can be supposed to have had
any influence on our conduct, he concludes that vanity
was our principle of action.
From these observations, added to those formerly
made on Locke, it follows, in the first place, that the
whole of our moral sentiments cannot be accounted for
from  education.  Secondly, that, by confounding to-'gether vanity, and a reasonable regard to the esteem of
our fellow-creatures, Mandeville has expressed the fundamental proposition of his system in terms so vague
and ambiguous as renders it impossible to form  a
distinct conception of his meaning. And, thirdly, that
even this reasonable and laudable desire of esteem
cannot be effectually gratified, if it be the sole principle of our conduct; and therefore cannot [e the only
source of our moral virtues.
From the principle of vanity, Mandeville endeavours
to account for all the instances of self-denial that have
occurred in the world.  But he is not satisfied with ex.
* Hor., Ep. XVI. 39.
"False praise can charm, unreal shame control,
Whom, but a vicious or a sickly soul  "




MANDEVILLE.               165
plaining away in this manner the reality of moral
distinctions. He endeavours to show that human life
is nothing but a scene of hypocrisy, and that there is
really little or none of that self-denial to be found that
some men lay claim to. In his theory of moral virtue
he seems to allow that education may not only teach
a man to check his appetites in order to procure the
esteem of others, but that it may teach him to consider such a conquest over the lower principles of his
nature as noble in itself, and as elevating him still
farther than nature had done above the level of the
brutes. "Those men," says he, "who have labored to
establish societies endeavoured, in the first place, to
insinuate themselves into the hearts of men by flattery,
extolling the excellences of our nature above other animals. They next began to instruct them in the notions
of honor and shame, representing the one as the worst
of all evils, and the other as the highest good to which
mortals could aspire; — which being done, they laid
before them how unbecoming it was the dignity of
such sublime creatures to be solicitous about gratifying
those appetites which they had in common with the
brutes, and at the same time unmindful of those higher
qualities that gave them the preeminence over all
visible beings.  They, indeed, confessed that theseimpulses of nature were very pressing; that it was
troublesome to resist, and very difficult wholly to subdue
them. But this they only used as an argument to demonstrate how glorious the conquest of them was on
the one hand, and how scandalous on the other not to
attempt it."
These arguments, it is evident, are addressed to
pride rather than to vanity; and it is worthy of remark,
that, though Mandeville never states the distinction
between these two words, but, on the contrary, affects
to consider them as synonymous, he plainly was
aware of the import of both, and sometimes uses the
one, and sometimes the-other, as best suits his purpose.
Thus, in the following passage, if the word vanity were
substituted instead of pride, the impropriety could not




166            THE MORAL FACULTY.
escape the most careless reader. " Such men as, from
no other motive but their love of goodness, performt a
worthy action in silence, have, I confess, acquired more
refilled notions of virtue than those I have hitherto
spoke of, yet even in these (with whom the world has
never yet swarmed) we may discover no small symptomns of pride; and the humblest man alive must confess that the reward of a virtuous action, which is the
satisfaction that ensues upon it, consists in a certain
pleasure he procures to himself, by contemplating on
his own worth; which pleasure, together with the
occ)asion of it, are as certain signs of pride as looking
pale and trembling at any imminent danger are the
symptoms of fear."
From these passages, however, it is abundantly
clear, that, in his theory of virtue, Mandeville admits
the possibility of self-denial being exercised merely for
the private gratification of the pride of the individual,
without any regard to the opinions of other men. But
in his commentary on the Fable of the Bees, he goes
much farther, and attempts to show that there is really
no self-denial in the world, and that what we call a
conquest is only a concealed indulgence of our passions.
To establish this point, he avails himself of the ambiguity of language. The passion of sex he, in every
case, calls lust; every thing which exceeds what is
necessary for the support of life he calls luxury; and
thus confounding the innocent and reasonable gratifications of our passions with their vicious excesses, he
pretends to show that there is really no virtue among
men. "There are some of our passions," says Mr.
Smith, " which have no other names except those
which  mark the disagreeable and offensive degree.
The spectator is more apt to take notice of them in
this degree than in any other. When they shock his
own sentiments, when they give him  some sort of
antipathy and uneasiness, he is necessarily obliged to
attend to them, and is from  thence naturally led'to
give themn a name. When they fall in with the natural state of his own mind, he is very apt to overlook




MANDEVI IE.                167
them altogether, and either gives them no name at all, or,
if he gives thenl any, it is one which remarks rather the
subjection and restraint of the passion than the degree
which it is still allowed to subsist in after it is so subjected and restrained. Thus, the common names of
the love of pleasure and of the love of sex denote -
vicious and offensive degree of those passions.  The
words temperance and chastity, on the other hand, seem
to mark rather the restraint and subjection in which
they are kept under, than the degree which they are
still allowed to subsist in. When he call show, therefore, that they still subsist in some degree, he imagines
he has entirely demolished the reality of the virtues of
temperance and chastity, and shown them to be mere
impositions upon the inattention and simplicity of
mankind. Those virtues, however, do not require an
entire insensibility to the objects of the passions which
they mean to govern. They only aim at restraining the
violence of those passions so far as not to hurt the individual, and neither to disturb nor offend society.
"It is the great fallacy of Dr. Mandeville's book to
represent every passion as wholly vicious, which is so
in any degree, and in any direction. It is thus that he
treats every thing as vanity which has any reference
either to what are, or what ought to be, the sentiments
of others; and it is by means of this sophistry that he
establishes his favorite conclusion, that private vices are
public benefits. If the love of magnificence, a taste
for the elegant arts and improvements of human life, for
whatever is agreeable in dress, furniture, or equipage,
for architecture, statuary, painting, and music, is to be
regarded as luxury, sensuality, and ostentation, even in
those whose situation allows, without any inconveniency, the indulgence of those passions, it is certain that
luxury, sensuality, and ostentation are public benefits,
since, without the qualities upon which he thinks proper
to bestow such opprobrious names, the arts of refinement could never find employment, and must languish
for want of encouragemei;t.  Some popular ascetic
doctrines which had been current before his li'me, and




168            THE MORAL FACULTY.
which placed virtue in the entire extirpation and an,
nihilation qf all our passions, were the real foundation
of this licentious system. It was easy for Dr. Mandeville to prove, first, that this entire conquest never actually took place among men; and, secondly, that, if it
was to take place universally, it would be pernicious to
society, by putting an end to all commerce and industry, and, in a manner, to the whole business of human
lite. By the first of these propositions he seemed to
-prove that there was no real virtue, and that what pretended to be such was a mere cheat and imposition
upon mankind; and by the second, that private vices
were public benefits, since without them no society
could prosper or flourish." *
VI. On the General Impression and Practical Tendency of such Speculations.]  I shall not enter into a
more particular examination of Mandeville's doctrines.
I cannot, however, leave the subject without observing,
that the impression which the author's writings produce
on the mind affords a sufficient refutation of his principles.  It was considered by Cicero as a strong presumption against the system of Epicures, that "it
breathed% nothing generous or noble," nihil magnificum,
nihil gaenerosum sapit; and the same presumption will
be found to apply, with tenfold force, to that theory
which has been now under our discussion. If there be
no real distinction between virtue and vice, — if the
account given by Mandeville of the constitution of our
nature be a just one, - why do his reasonings render
us dissatisfied with our own characters, or inspire us
with a detestation and contempt for mankind? Why
do we turn with pleasure from the dark and uncomrnfortable prospects which he presents to us, to the delightfill and elevating views of human nature which are exhibited in those philosophical systems which he attempts
to explode? It will be said, perhaps, that all this arises
from pride or vanity. When we read Mandeville, we
* Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part VII. Sect. II. Chap. IV.




MANDEVILLE.               165
are ashamed of the species to which we belong; while,
on the contrary, our pride is gratified by those sublime
but fallacious descriptions of disinterested virtue, with
which the weakness or hypocrisy of some popular writers has flattered the moral enthusiasm of the multitude. But if Mandeville's account of our nature be just,
whence is it that we come to have an idea of one class
of qualities as more excellent and meritorious than another?  Why do we consider pride or vanity as a less
wvorthy motive for our conduct than disinterested patriotism or friendship, or a determined adherence to
what we believe to be our duty? Why does human
nature appear to us less amiable in his writings than in
the writings of Addison? or whence the origin of those
opposite sentiments which the very names of Addison
and of Mandeville inspire?_ We shall admit the fact
with respect to the actual depravity of man to be as he
states it; but does not the impression his system leaves
on the mind demonstrate that we are at least formed
with the love and admiration of moral excellence, and
tiat virtue was intended to be the law of our conduct?
The question concerning the actual attainments of man
must not be confounded with the question concerning
the reality of moral distinctions. If Mandeville is successful in establishing his doctrine on the first of thesepoints, the dissatisfaction his conclusions leave on the
mind is sufficient to overturn his doctrine with respect
to the latter. The remark of La Rochefoucauld, that
"hypocrisy itself is a homage which vice renders to virtue," involves a satisfactory reply to all the arguments
that have ever been drawn from the prevailing corruption of mankind against the moral constitution of human nature.
It is the capital defect of this system to confound together the two questions I have just stated, and to substitute a satire on vice and folly instead of'a philosophical account of those moral principles which form an
essential part of our frame. That there is a great deal
of truth mixed with the sophistry it contains, I am ready
to acknowledge; and if the author's remarks had been
15




170               THE MORAL FACULTY.
thrown into the form of satires, many of them might
have been useful to the world, by the light they throw
on human character, and by the assistance which individuals may derive from them  in examining their own
motives of action.   Some apology might have been
made, in this.case, for the colorings which the author's
facts have borrowed from his imagination. The object
of the satirist is to reform; and for this purpose it may
sometimes be of use to exaggerate the prevailing vices
and follies of the time, in order to contrast more strongly what mankind are with what they might and ought
to be.  But the satirist who wishes well to his species,
while he indulges his indignation against prevailing corruptions, will recollect, that, if his censures are just, they
presuppose the reality of moral distinctions; and while
he laments the depravity of the race, and chastises the
follies and vices of individuals, he will reverence morality as the Divine law, and those essential principles of
the human frame which bear the manifest signature of
the Divine workmanship. To attempt to depreciate
these can never answer a good purpose. On the contrary, it has a tendency to fill the minds of good men
with a desponding skepticism, and to stifle every generous and active exertion; and if it does not actually increase the depravity of the world, it tends at least to
strengthen the effrontery of vice, and to expose the wiser
and better part of mankind to the impertinent raillery
of fools and profligates.*
* As the direct influence of the writings of La Rochefoucauld and Mandeville has passed away for the most part, I have taken the liberty slightly
to abridge what was said of them in the text, in order to make room for
some account of a more distinguished moralist of the selfish school, Jeremy
Bentham. What relates to Bentham himself is taken from Morell's Viezo
of Speculative Philosophy in the Nineteenth Century, Chap. IV.; what relates
to his followers is taken from Mackintosh's Progress of Ethical Philosophy,
Sect. VI.- ED.




BENTHAM.                 171
APPENDIX TO CHAPTER II.
BENTHAM AND HIS FOLLOWERS.
1. Bentham's Ethical Writings and Doctrines.] Jeremy
]Bentham was born in London, in the year 1748, and at
a very early age became a graduate of the University
of Oxford. Whilst there, he directed his attention to
the study of law and the cognate branch of ethics, and
during the last year of his stay in that city became an
ardent admirer and investigator of the principle of utility, chiefly from reading Dr. Priestley's Essay upon Governnent. In 1776 he published a Fragment on Government, and in 1789 appeared his grand work, entitled
Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation.
The moral system which Bentham advocated in this
latter work, and wvhich he expanded more and more
during a long and laborious life, at length came forth,
in the year 1834, in its most complete, and at the same
time most popular form, as a posthumous production,
edited by Dr. Bowring, under the title of Deontology;
or the Science of Morality.
The principles advocated under the name of deontology may be easily explained. The whole system takes
its rise from the consideration that man is capable of
pleasures and pains, and that, from the calculation of
these, all moral action proceeds. On this theory, g'ood
is a word synonymous with pleasure, evil synonymous
with pain, and all happiness consists in the possession
of the one, and the absence of the other. Give me,
says the utilitarian teacher, give me the human sensibilities, -joy and grief, pain and pleasure, and I will
create a moral world.  Pleasure and pain, then, the
basis of our moral nature, are to be estimated according to their magnitude and extent; matgnitude, referring
to their; intensity and duration; extent, depending on
the number of persons who are affected by them. It
is in the proper balancing of these, asserts Bentham,
that all morality consists, and beyond this the words
virtue and vice are emptiness and folly.




172            THE MORAL FACULTY.
Pleasure or pain, however, may arise from  two
sources; it may arise from considerations affecting
ourselves, or it may arise from the contemplation of
others, the former being purely of a selfish nature, the
latter being sympathetic. Hence originates a twofold
division of virtue into prudence and effective benevolence, —both of them, however, alike having their
ground in the pleasure we personally derive from their
exercise. Prudence, again, is of two kinds, that which
respects ourselves, which our author terms self-regarding prudence; and that which respects others, which
he terms extra-regarding prudence. Effective benevolence, also, is twofold, positive and negative; the business of the former being to augment pleasure by voluntary exertion, that of the latter being to do the same
by abstaining from action. Virtue, says Bentham, when
separated from the pursuit of happiness, is absolutely
nothing; and, accordingly, it is termed by him a fictitious entity. Inasmuch, also, as no one is supposed to
have any motive for action different from the pursuit of
pleasure or the avoidance of pain, we have the deontological doctrine educed, that every motive is abstractedly
good, and that evil has to do with nothing but our actions or dispositions. In a word, we are to imagine,
that man has originally no moral sentiment whatever,
that he has no idea of one thing being right and another
wrong, that all actions are to him in this respect absolutely alike, and that the conception of virtue, as well
as the rules of morality, are all the product of experience, teaching us what actions produce happiness, and
what suffering.  Such is the moral system which is
aptly enough termed the greatest-happiness principle,
and such the virtue which is correctly expressed as the
art of mnaximizifng our e'njoyment.
The style of the work from which I have made the
above analysis is pdpular, witty, and somewhat amusing, but becomes at length tedious from repetition and
tautology. It abounds in biting sarcasm against what
is termed the dogmatism and "ipse-dixitism" of most
other moralists; but, what is remarkable, is itself at the
same time one of the most striking instances of reiter.




BENTHAM.                           173
ated assertion that is to be found among all the ethical
writings of the present century.*
* A few selections will best illustrate Bentham's light and irreverent
tone. Thus in Part I. Chap. II.: —" The talisman of arrogance, indolence, and ignorance is to be found in a single word, an authoritative imposture, which in these pages it will be frequently necessary to unveil. It
is the word ought, - ought or ought not, as circumstances may be. In deciding' You ought to do this, - You ought not to do it,' is not every question of morals set at rest? If the word be admissible at all, it'ought' to be
banished from the vocabulary of morals. There is another word which
has a talismanic virtue, too, and which might be wielded to destroy many
fatal and fallacious positions.' You ought,' -' You ought not,' says the
dogmatist.' Why?' retorts the inquirer,-' Why?' To say'You ought'
is easy in the extreme. To stand the searching penetration of a'Why' 
not so easy.' Why ought I?''Because you ought,' is the not urnfrequent reply; on which the Why? comes back again with the added advantage of having obtained a victory." A morality from the vocabulary
of which the word " ought" is to be banished! It is hardly necessary to
observe that the whole force of Bentham's " Why?" depends on his determination to accept no answer which is not satisfactory according to his
theory of utilitarianism, - of course palpably illogical, as it begs the whole
question.
Again in Chapter III.: — The summum bonum, - the sovereign good, -
what is it? The philosopher's stone that converts all metals into gold, -
the balm Hygeian that cures all manner of diseases. It is this thing, and
that thing, and the other thing; it is any thing but pleasure; it is the Irishman's apple-pie made of nothing but quinces."  He then amuses himself
by going a little more into detail with the various answers which philosophers and divines have made to the question proposed above. A single
specimen will suffice. " But we are still at sea, and another set cry out,'T'he habit of virtue'; the habit of virtue is the summum bonum: either
this is the jewel itself, or the casket in which it is found. Lie all your life
long in your bed with the rheumatism in your loins, the stone in your bladder, and the gout in your feet: have but the habit of virtue, and you have
the summum bonumn. Much good may it do you."
Once more, in Chapter IV.: —"' The moral sense, say some, prompts
to generosity; but does it determine what is generous? It prompts to
justice; but does it determine what is just? It can decide no controversy;
it can reconcile no difference. Introduce a modern partisan of the moral
sense, and an ancierit Greek, and ask each of them whether actions deemed
blameless in ancient days, but respecting which opinions have now undergone great change, ought to be tolerated in a community.' By no means,'
says the modern;'as my moral sense abhors them, therefore they ought
not.''But mine,' says the ancient,'approves of them; therefore they
ought.' And there, if the modern keep his principles and his temper, the
matter must end between them. Upon the ground of nmoral sense there is
no going one jot further; and the result is, that the actions in question are
at once laudable and detestable. The modern, then, as probably he will
keep neither his principles nor his temper, says to the ancient,'Your
moral-sense is nothing to the purpose; yours is corrupt, abominable, detestable; all nations cry out against you.'' No such thing,' replies the
ancient;' and if they did, it would be nothing to the purpose; our business.




174                  THE MORAL FACULTY.
II.   Objections to  Bentham's  System.]   In  offering
some remarks upon Bentham's philosophy, v e must
state distinctly, that we leave entirely out of the  question his valuable labors in the department of jurisprudence, and refer simply to the principres of his moral
theory. And here we would caution every ethical student against imagining, that he will find all the originality which is claimed for the deontologist by  himself
and his more ardent admirers. To speak of Bentham's
" having found out the true psychological law of our
nature, as Newton discovered that of the material universe," is not only metaphysically false, but, even allowing its philosophical accuracy, is historically untrue.
To say nothing of the Epicureans of ancient times,
and  more  recently  of Hobbes, we  might point out
many writers who have given far more than passing allusions to the very same doctrine- as that for which
Bentham is so highly extolled, although they may not
have expanded it so fully, or applied it so extensively,
as was done iri  the  case before us.*    The professed
supporters of utility, again, such as Hume and  Paley,
proceeded virtually upon.the very same principle; and
even if we pass over these, yet still we might refer to
was to inquire, not what people think, but what they ought to think.' Thereupon the modern kicks the ancient, or spits in his face; or. if he is strong
enough, throws him behind the fire. One can think of no other method,
that is at once natural and consistent, of continuing the debate."
It was Mr. Bentham's pleasure to persist in supposing that all his opponents, a few ascetics excepted, could be classed under the head of believers in a moral sense. A large proportion of them, as we shall soon see,
hold that the moral faculty pertains to the rational, and not to the sensitive,
element in human nature   That the moral faculty should make mistakes,
and afterwards correct them, does not disprove its existence as a natural
endowment of man, or its legitimate authority. If it did, we might disprove the existence and authority of the knowing or cognitive faculty in
the same way; for that also makes mistakes, and afterwards corrects them.
Because we sav that children and savages have a conscience, we do not
mean that they have one in the same stage of development, and consequently we do not mean that its decisions are as clear, or as correct, as in
the case of the properly educated.-ED.
* The only difference between Epicurus or Hobbes on the one side, and
Bentham on the other, is, that the former drew their principles at once
from human nature metaphysically considered, —while the latter gave no
theory of man generally, but laid down his moral axioms as ultimate
facts.




BENTHAM.                  175
Gay's Preface to Archbishop- King On the Origin of
Evil, to the writings of Priestley, to the Political Justice
of Godwin, and, to many of the French moralists, for illustrations of the very same theory, which Bentham only
somewhat more perseveringly elaborated.  The greatest-happiness. principle is, in fact, utilitarianism in one
of its many different phases; and accordingly the objections which we have already urged against that doctrine apply with equal force to the one now before us.
As the question, however, is of some importance, we
shall specify a few other objections, which apply more
directly to the utilitarian system, as held by the advocates of deontology; and,
1. There is in these writers a perpetual habit of confounding the cause of virtuous action with the effect.
We have it reiterated again and again, as an unanswerable argument, that there must be a selfish pleasure experienced whenever we act on virtuous principles:
for, if our action terminates in ourselves, it must arise
from the prospect of our own happiness and advantage;
if, on the other hand, we act for the welfare of others,
still, we are told, it is only for the satisfaction of our
own impulses that we seek to benefit them. Now,
that there is pleasure attached to moral action, whether
it be self-seeking or extra-seeking, we readily admit;
but this is far from giving us a proof that such action
springs from any anticipation of the pleasure we hope
to obtain. It is a pleasure to a strong man to exercise
his limbs; but this is no evidence that he cannot have
any other motive than this for exercising them.: To a
man devoted to business, it is a pleasure to be perpetually absorbed in it; but still his activity may have
many other grounds of excitement besides that one.
Prove as you may, that pleasure actually accompanies,
and even that we expect it to accompany, the practice
of every. virtue, the point is still far from being settled
that there is no other spring of virtuous action in existence.  The Deity, assuredly, may have given us a
moral law, may have engraved it on our own minds,
and placed it far beyond all the chances of human cal.




176            THE MORAL FACULTY.
culation; and yet may have attached pleasure. to the
obedience of it as a mark of his approval, and as a reward for our fidelity. The mere fact, therefore, that we
always look for happiness to accompany virtuous action, does not at all prove that happiness is the ground
of its moral excellence. This is confirmed when we
consider,
2. That, upon investigating the moral phenonena of
our minds, we find a class of affections which rise in
their real worth just in proportion to their disinterestedness. If personal pleasure were the ground of virtue,
then every affection ought to be esteemed higher in the
scale of morality in proportion as it tends more directly to self as its object. Just the contrary is the case.
The more our own individual interests are sacrificed in
the pursuit of another's welfare, the higher rises the
scale of virtue from which such conduct proceeds. If
it be said that we sacrifice our own interests, because
the pleasure of satisfying our benevolent feelings more
than counterbalances the loss we sustain, we reply,
that this only exhibits the vast strength of our purely
disinterested affections, and affords no proof that, because they give, us pleasure in their exercise, therefore
they must be selfish in their origin. Only show in one
single instance that the direct end of an action is for
the sake of another to the sacrifice of ourselves, and
the fact that we have a moral satisfaction in its performance does not in the slightest degree shake its purely unselfish character.
3. That there are certain fixed relations between
man's moral sensibilities and oitward actions is a fact
resting upon the evidence of our consciousness; and it
is to these eternal relations that we direct our inquiries,
when we seek to lay the groundwork of a moral philosophy. Very different, however, is our employment
when we are merely engaged in calculating for our future happiness, with pleasures and pains as our ciphers.
What is a pleasure to one man is often a pain to
another; that which offers to me satisfaction presents,
perhaps, a prospect of naught but misery to you; so




BENTHAM.                 177
that moral relations, on this principle, must be as uncertain and variable as are the temperaments or idiosyncrasies of individual minds. There needs to be, on the
deontological system, a separate moral scale for every
man; nay, we ought all to revise our own moral principles every year or two, to see whether that which was
a pleasure to us some time ago may not now have be.
come an object of dissatisfaction: whether, therefore,
that which was virtue has not now become vice. Our
reason, we contend, in opposition to this,' forces us to
form certain primary and fundamental moral judgments,
just as much as it necessitates the existence of our primary beliefs with regard to the external world, or to the
fact of an exertion of power in the production of every
effect, or to the axioms which lie at the foundation of
all mathematical' reasoning. It is just as impossible
for me practically to deny the obligation of justice, as
it is to deny that the world exists, or that a whole is
greater than a part. The one as well as the other rests
upon the primary and undeniable facts of our own unchangeable consciousness, - facts which, though they
may be disputed in theory, can never be denied in practice. That a philosophical dreamer may run his head
against the wall on the score of his idealism, we do not
dispute; nor do we doubt but that, in the case of moral obliquity, where the consequences of the folly are
not so immediate, men may be found to reject the fundamental axioms of moral obligation; but in the
healthy understandings of the mass of mankind, the
one judgment is just as plainly developed as the other.
4. There is a secret pelitio principii at the very foundation of all utilitarian reasoning like that of Bentharn.
Every man, it is affirmed, ought to seek the greatest
-happiness of the greatest number, as the fundamental
principle of his actions in the world. But why ought
he to do so? On what ground can it be shown, that
I am bound to seek the welfare of myself or my fellow-creatures, if there is no such thing as moral obligation? If it pleases me more to inflict misery upon
mankind, why am I not just as virtuous an agent in




178             THE MORAL FACULTY.
doing so, as if I please myself by producing their happiness? The greatest-happiness principle itself must,
in fact, rest upon the pedestal of moral obligation, otherwise there is no means of enforcing it as the true
principle of action, either in our social or our political
relations. Take away that firm resting-place which is
afforded by the notion of duty, and expressed in the
word ought, and we may sink from one position down
to another, without ever reaching a solid basis on which
we may plant our feet, and lay the first stone of a moral superstructure. That this is really the case is half
acknowledged by the followers of Benth'am, who are
now visibly shrinking from the extreme view he has taken of utilitarianism, and seeking to include the idea
of moral approbation, in order to give their doctrine
some degree of strength and consistency.
5. Into the political consequences of this systerm we
shall not allow ourselves to enter at any length.  One
thing, however, there is, of which-we would remind
those who hold up the excellence of Bentham's political writings as a proof of the soundness of his ethical
system; we mean the fact that Hobbes, with a logic
equally, if not more severe, deduced from  the very
same fundamental principles the propriety of all government being grounded on absolute despotism, as the
form best suited to the wants of human nature. That
Bentham was so successful on the subject of jurisprudence arose, we consider, from his giving up the strict
view of the selfish system with which he started, and
following the dictates of common sense and of a benevolence which were more consonant with his own
disposition than they were with his moral theory.*
Moreover, there is a fundamental distinction between
the principles of legislation and those of private morality, which should never be lost sight of. The former
principles suppose the existence of the latter, and must
* Or rather, from his confounding the rule of general interest with that
of personal interest; but this, as Jouffroy has shown, Introduction to Ethics,
Lecture XIV., involves the abandonment of the principle on which his
system is founded. - ED.




BENTHAM.                 179
proceed in strict accordance with them, whether it appear a mattel of policy to do so or not. The object of
the jurist is, simply to take men with their moral feelings as they are, already fixed and determined, and so
to direct their actions as to bring about the greatest
welfare of the community. Morality says, Fiat justitia ruat cwlum; jurisprudence points out in what way
justice is to be done, so as to tend to the happiness of
the whole nation. The one gives the absolute rule of
action, the other only directs the details for social purposes. Moral law is immediately from God; political
law, though springing from  moral principles, is an
adaptation of man; —-the one is a code written upon
the tablet of the human heart; the other, a code written in the statute-book of the empire, conformable, indeed, to moral law, but compiled for social utility, To
morality, as a science, the utilitarian ground is entirely
destructive, altering its universal and necessary aspect;
in politics, utility, directed by moral precept, must be a
chief element in every enactment. Bentham, looking
at the subject with the eye of a jurist, by degrees became blind to every thing but the utilitarian element, -
an error which, while only partially dangerous in legis
lation, is to the moralist fatal and deceptive from the
very first step.
That Bentham was a great man, a courageous man,
and in many respects a benevolent man, we believe all
must be ready to admit; still, we cannot but think that
he neither read enough to disabuse his mind of' many
a cherished notion, which a wider range of investigation would have exploded, nor ever cultivated enough
that steady, reflective habit of mind which evolves
truth from the observation of our inward consciousness,
and reduces, by a close analysis, the admitted facts of
human nature to their primary origin. With unexampled patience, he developed the influence of pleasure
and pain upon human actions; but a deeper philosophy
would have pointed out, thaEt these are but the accompanirnents of virtue, while the law and the -imperative
to its obedience come from a surer and a far more exalted source.




180                THE MORAL FACULTY.
III. General Objection to the Followers of Bentham.]
The followers of Mr. Bentham have carried to an unusual extent the prevalent fault of the more modern
advocates of utility, who have dwelt so exclusively on
the outward advantages of virtue as to have iost sight
of the delight which is a part of virtuous feeling, and
of the beneficial influence of good actions upon the
frame of the mind.
" Benevolence towards others," says Mr. Mill, " produces a return of benevolence from  them." *  The...fact
is true, and ought to be stated. But how unimportant
is it in comparison with that which is passed over in
silence, -the pleasure of the affection itself;, which, if it
could become lasting and intense, would convert the
heart into a heaven! No one who has ever felt kindness, if he could accurately recall his feelings, could
hesitate about their infinite superiority. The cause of
the general neglect of this consideration is, that it is
only when a gratification is something'distinct from a
state of mind, that we can easily learn to consider it as
a pleasure. Hence the great error respecting the affections, where the inherent delight is not duly estimated,
on account of that very peculiarity of being a part of
a state of mind, which  renders it unspeakably more
valuable as independent of every thing without. The
social affections are the only principles of human nature which have no direct pains.  To have any of these
desires is to be in a state of happiness. The malevolent passions have properly no pleasures; for that attainment of their purpose which is improperly so called
consists only in healing or assuaging the torture which
* Analysis of the Humnan Mind, Chap. XXIII.
The author of this work, James Mill, was born at Montrose, in Scotland,
in 1773, and educated at Edinburgh, being destined for the church. He
afterwards changed his views, established himself in London in 1800, and
soon became acquainted with Bentham. He published his History of British India in 1818, which procured for him a place in the home establishment of the East India Company. He was also a lhrge contributor to the
Supplement to the Encyclopwedia Britannica, (afterwards incorporated into the
seventh edition of that work,) on subjects connected with politics and morals  He died at Kensington in 1836. John Stuart Mill, a living writer of
eminence, is his son.- ED.




JAMES MILL.                     181
envy, jealousy, and malice inflict on the malignant
mind. It might with as much propriety be said that
the toothache and the stone have pleasures, because
their removal is followed by an agreeable feeling.
These bodily disorders, indeed, are often cured by the
process which removes the suffering; but the mental
distempers of envy and revenge are nourished by every
act of odious ihdulgence which for a moment suspends
their pain.
The same observation is applicable to every virtuous
disposition, though not so obviously as to the benevolent affections. That a brave man is, on the whole,
far less exposed to danger than a coward, is not the
chief advantage of a courageous temper. Great dangers are rare; but the constant absence of such painful and mortifying sensations as those of fear, and the
steady consciousness of superiority to what subdues
ordinary men, are a perpetual source of inward enjoyment.  No man who has ever been visited by a gleam
of magnanimity can place any outward advantage of
fortitude in comparison with the feeling of being always able fearlessly to  defend  a  righteous cause.*
Even humility, in spite of first appearances, is a remarkable example. It has of late been unwarrantably
used to signify that painful consciousness of inferiority
which. is the first stage of envy.t It is a term consecrated in Christian ethics to denote that disposition
which, by inclining towards a modest estimate of our
qualities, corrects the prevalent tendency of human nature to overvalue our merits and to overrate our claims.
What can be a less doubtful or a much more considerable blessing than this constant sedative, which soothes
and composes the irritable passions of vanity and pride?
According to Cicero's definition of fortitude, "Virtus pugnans pro
cequitate." The remains of the original sense of virtus, manhood, give a
beauty and force to these expressions, which cannot be preserved in our
language. The Greek dipert and the German Tugend originally denoted
strength, afterwards courage, and at last virtue. But the happy derivation of
virtus from vir gives an energy to the phrase of Cicero, which illustrates
the use of etymology in the hands of a skilful writer.
t Mr. Mill's Analysis of the Human lind, Chap. XXII. Sect. II.
16




1SE)          THE MORAL FACULTY.
What is more conducive to lasting peace of mind
than the consciousness of proficiency in that most delicate species of equity which, in the secret tribunal of
conscience, labors to be impartial in the comparison
of ourselves with others?  What can so perfectly assure us of the purity of our moral sense, as the habit
of contemplating, not that excellence which we have
reached, but that which is still to be pursued, - of not
considering how far we may outrun others, but how far
we are from the goal?
Those who have most inculcated the doctrine of
utility have given another notable example of the very
vulgar prejudice which treats the unseen as insignificant. Tucker is the only one of them who occasionally considers that most important effect of human
conduct which consists in its action on the frame of
the mind, by fitting its faculties and sensibilities for
their appointed purpose. A razor or a penknife would
well enough cut cloth or meat; but if they were often
so used, they would be entirely spoiled.  The same
sort of observation is much more strongly applicable to
habitual dispositions, which, if they be spoiled, we have
no certain means of replacing or mending. Whatever
act, therefore, discomposes the moral machinery of
mind, is more injurious to the welfare of the agent
than-most disasters from without can be; for the latter
are commonly limited and temporary; the evil of the
former spreads through the whole of life.  Health of
mind, as well as of body, is not only productive in
itself of a greater sum of enjoyment than arises from
other sources, but is the only condition of our frame
in which we are capable of receiving pleasure from
without. Hence it appears how incredibly absurd it
is to prefer, on grounds of calculation, a present interest to the preservation of those mental habits on
which our well-being depends. When they are most
moral, they may often prevent us from obtaining advantages. It would be as absurd to desire to lower them
for that reason, as it would be to weaken the body lestits
strength should render it more liable to contagious disorders of rare occurrence.




JAMES MILL.                183
It is, on the other hand, impossible to combine the
benefit of the general habit with the advantages of occasional deviation; for every such deviation either produces remorse, or weakens the habit, and prepares the
way for its' gradual destruction. He who obtains a fortune by the undetected forgery of a will, may indeed be
honest in his other acts; but if he had such a scorn of
fraud before as he must himself allow to be generally
useful, he must suffer a severe punishment from contrition; and he will be haunted with the fears of one
who has lost his own security for his good conduct. In
all cases, if they be well examined, his loss by the distemper of his mental frame will outweigh the profits of
his vice.
By repeating the like observation on similar occasions, it will be manifest that the infirmity of recollection, aggravated by the defects of language, gives an
appearance of more selfishness to man than truly belongs to his nature; and that the effect of active agents
upon the habitual state of mind, - one of the considerations to which.the epithet " sentimental " has of late
been applied in derision, - is really among the most
serious and reasonable objects of moral philosophy.
When the internal pleasures and pains which accompany good and- bad feelings, or rather form a part of
them, and the internal advantages and disadvantages
which follow good and bad actions, are sufficiently
considered, the comparative importance of outward consequences will be more. and more narrowed; so that the
Stoical philosopher may be thought almost excusable
for rejecting it altogether, were it not an indispensably
necessary consideration for those in whom right habits
of feeling are not sufficiently strong. They alone are
happy, or even truly virtuous, who have little need of it.
The later moralists who adopt the principle of utility
have so misplaced it, that in their hands it has as great
a tendency as any theoretical error can have to lessen
the intrinsic pleasure of virtue, and to unfit our habitual feelings for being the most effectual inducements
Uo good conduct. This is the natural tendency of a




184            THE MORAL FACULTY.
discipline which brings utility too closely and frequent'
ly into contact with action. By this habit, in its best
state, an essentially weaker motive is gradually substituted for others which must always be of more force.
The frequent appeal to utility as the standard of action
tends to introduce an uncertainty with respect to the
conduct of other men, which would render all intercourse insupportable. It affords, also, so fair a disguise
for selfish and malignant passions, as often to hide their
nature from him who is their prey. Some taint of these
mean and evil principles will at le~ast creep in, and by
their venom give an animation not its own to the cold
desire of utility.  The moralists who take an active
part in those affairs which often call out unamiable passions, ought to guard with peculiar watchfulness against
self-delusions.  The sin that must most easily beset
them is that of sliding from general to particular consequences, -that of trying single actions, instead of
dispositions, habits, and rules, by the standard of utility,
- that of authorizing too great a latitude for discretion
and policy in moral conduct,, —that of readily allowing
exceptions to the most important rules, - that of too
lenient a censure of the use of doubtful means when
the end seems to them good, - and that of believing
unphilosophically, as well as dangerously, that there
can be any measure or scheme so useful to the world
as the existence of men who would not do a base thing
for any public advantage.  It was said of Andrew
Fletcher, " He would lose his life to serve his country,
but would not do a base thing to save it." Let those
preachers of utility who suppose that such a man sacrifices ends to means consider whether the scorn of baseness be not akin to the contempt of danger, and whether
a nation composed of such men would not be invincible. But theoretical principles are counteracted by a
thousand causes, which confinet their mischief as well
as circumscribe their benefits. Men are never so good
or so bad as their opinions. All that can be with reason apprehended is, that they may always produce some
part of their natural evil, and that the mischief will be




JAMES MILL.                  1S5
greates; among the many who seek excuses for these
passions. Aristippus found in the Socratic representation of the union of virtue and happiness a pretext for
sensuality; and many Epicureans became voluptuaries
in spite of the example of their master, easily dropping
by degrees the limitations by which he guarded his
doctrines. In proportion as a man accustoms himself
to be influenced by the utility of particular acts, without regard to rules, he approaches to the casuistry of
the Jesuits and to the practical maxims of Caesar Borgia.
IV. Mr. Mill's Errors respecting Government and
Education.] Mr. Mill derives the whole theory of government* from the single fact, that every man pursues
his interest when he knows it; which he assumes to be
a sort of self-evident practical principle, if such a phrase
be not contradictory. That a man's pursuing the interest of another, or indeed any other object in nature,
is just as conceivable as that he should pursue his own
interest, is a proposition which seems never to have occurred to this acute and ingenious writer. Nothing,
however, can be more certain than its truth, if the term
"interest" be employed in its proper sense of general
well-being, which is the only acceptation in which'it
can serve the purpose of his arguments. If, indeed,
the term be employed to denote the gratification of a
predominant desire, his proposition is self-evident, but
wholly unserviceable in his argument; for it is clear
that individuals and multitudes often desire what they
know to be most inconsistent with their general welfare.
A nation, as much as an -individual, and sometimes
more, may not only mistake its interest, but, perceiving
it clearly, may prefer the gratification of a strong passion to it. The whole fabric of his political reasoning
seems to be overthrown by this single observation; and
instead of attempting to explain the immense variety
* Essay on Government, in the Encyclopaedia Britannica, seventh edition.
His contributions to that work have also been collected in an octavo vol.
ame, and published separately. - ED.
16*




186             THE MORAL FACULTY.
of political facts by the simple principle of a con'est of
nterests, we are reduced to the necessity of once more
referring them to that.variety of passions, habits, opinions, and prejudices, which we discover only by ex-;.erience.
Mr. Mill's Essay on Education * affords another example of the inconvenience of leaping at once from
the most general laws to a multiplicity of minute appearances. Having assumed, or at least inferred from
insufficient premises, that the. intellectual and moral
character is entirely formed by circumstances, he proceeds, in the.latter part of the essay,'as if it were a
necessary consequence of that doctrine, that we might
easily acquire the power of combining and: directing
circumstances in such a manner as to produce the.best
possible character. Without disputing for the present
the theoretical proposition, let us consider what would
be the reasonableness of similar' expectations in a mpre
easily intelligible case, The general theory of the winds
is pretty well understood; we know that they proceed
from the rushing of air from those portions of the atmosphere which are more condensed into those which
are more rarefied; but how great a chasm is there between that simple law and the great variety of facts
which experience teaches us respecting winds!  The
constant winds between the tropics are large and regular enough-to be in some measure capable of explanation; butwho can tell why, in variable climates, the
wind blows to-day from the east, to-morrow from the
west?  Who can foretell what its shiftings and variations.are to be?  Who can account for a tempest on
one day, and a calm on another?  Even if we could
foretell the irregular and infinite variations, how far
might we not still be from the power of combining and
guiding their causes? No man but the lunatic in the,
story of Rasselas ever dreamt that he could command
he weather.  The difficulty plainly consists in the
multiplicity and minuteness of the circumstances which
* In the Encyclopcedia Britannica, seventh edition.




JAMES MILL.                        187
act on the atmosphere.  Are those which influence the
formation of the human  character likely to be less minute and multiplied? *
* In reply to this criticism, and to other parts of the volume from which
it is taken, Mr. Mill published anonymously, in 183A, an octavo volume,
under the title of A Fragment on Mackintosh. On some points the defence
is able and successful; but the effect of the whole is greatly impaired by
the vituperation, not to say scurrility, in which it abounds.
After what has been said in the text, it is but justice to add, that the later
followers or admirers of Bentham are not unable to see, or unwilling to
acknowledge, his defects. A writer in the Westminster Review, for July,
1838, who begins by making the great hierophant of utilitarianism to be
one of " the two great seminal minds of England in their age," expresses
himself thus:- "Bentham's contempt of all other schools of thinkers,
and his determination to create a philosophy wholly out of the materials
furnished by his own mind, and by minds like his own, were his first disqualifications as a philosopher. His second was the incompleteness of his
own mind as a representative of universal human nature. In many-of the
most natural and strongest feelings of.human nature he had no sympathy;
from many of its gravest experiences he was altogether cut off; and the
faculty by which one mind understands a mind different from itself, and
throws itself into the feelings of that other mind, was denied him by his
deficiency of imagination.
" Bentkam's knowledge of human nature is wholly empirical: and the
empiricism of one who has had little experience.  He had neither internal experience nor external; the quiet, even tenor of his life and his
healthiness of mind conspired to exclude him from both. He never-knew
prosperity nor adversity, passion nor satiety; he never had even the experience which sickness gives, -- he lived from childhood to the age of
eighty-five in boyish health. He' knew no dejection, no heaviness of heart.
He never felt life a sore and a weary burden. He was a boy to the last.
Self-consciousness, that demon of the men of genius of our time, from
Wordsworth to Byron, from Goethe to Chateaubriand, and to which this
age owes most both of its cheerful and its mournful wisdom, never was
awakened in him. How much of human nature slumbered in him he
knew not, neither can we know.
" This, then, is our idea of Bentham. He was a man both of remarkable endowments for philosophy and of remarkable deficiencies for it; fitted
beyond almost any man for drawing from his premises conclusions not
only correct, but sufficiently precise and specific to be practical, but whose
general conception of human nature and life furnished him with an unusually slender stock of premises. It is obvious what would be likely to
be achieved by such a man; what a thinker thus gifted and thus disqualified could be in philosophy. He could be a systematic and logical half-mlan,
hunting half-truths to their consequences and practical application, on a
scale both of greatness and minuteness not previously exemplified: and
this is the character which posterity will probably assign to Bentham."tllD.




188     MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
CHAPTER III.
ANALYSIS OF OUR MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND
EMOTIONS.
I. Butler's Proofs of Man's Moral Nature.] Before
proceeding to this extensive and difficult subject, I shall
quote a passage from Dr. Butler, in which he has combined together, and compressed into the compass of a
few paragraphs, all the most important arguments in
proof of the existence of the moral faculty which have
been hitherto under our review. While this quotation
serves as a summary of what has already been stated,
it will, I hope, prepare us for entering on the following
discussions with greater interest and a more enlightened
curiosity.
"That which renders beings capable of moral government is their having a moral nature, and moral faculties of perception and of action. Brute creatures are
impressed and actuated by various instincts and propensities: so also are we. But, additional to this, we
have a capacity for reflecting upon actions and charac-.ters, and making them an object to our thought; and
on doing this we naturally and unavoidably approve
some actions, under the peculiar view of their being
virtuous and of good desert, and disapprove others as
vicious and of ill desert. That we have this moral approving and disapproving faculty is certain from our experiencing it in ourselves, and recognizing it in each
other. It appears from our exercising it unavoidably in
the approbation and disapprobation even of feigned
characters; fromn the words right and wrong, odious and
amiable, base and worthy, with many others of like signification in all languages, applied to actions and characters; from the many written systems of morals which
suppose it, since it cannot be imagined that all these
authors, throughout all these treatises, had absolutely no
meaning at all to their words, or a meaning merely




MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.      189
chimerical; from our natural sense of gratitude, which
implies a distinction between merely being the instrument of good and intending it; from the like distinction every one makes between injury and mere harm,
which Hobbes says is peculiar to mankind, and between
injury and just punishment, a distinction plainly natural,
prior to the consideration of human laws. It is manifest great part of common language and of common behaviour over the world is formed upon supposition of
such a moral faculty, whether called conscience, moral
reason, moral sense, or Divine reason, — whether considered as a perception of the understanding, or as a
sentiment of the heart, or, which seems the truth, as including both. Nor is it at all doubtful, in the general,
what course of action this faculty, or practical discerning
power within us, approves, and what it disapproves.
For, as much as it has been disputed wherein virtue consists, or whatever ground for doubt there may be about
particulars, yet in general there is in reality a universally acknowledged standard of it. It is that which all
ages and all countries have made profession of in public, - it is that which every man you meet puts on the
show of, — it is that which the primary and fundamrental laws of all civil constitutions over the face of
the earth make it their business and endeav6ur to enforce the practice of upon mankind, namely, justice,
veracity, and regard to common good." 
Upon the various topics here suggested, a copious
and instructive commentary might be written, but I
think it better to leave them in the concise and impressive form in which they are proposed by the author.
II. Theoretical and Practical Morals.] The science
of ethics has been divided by modern writers into two
parts; the one comprehending the theory of morals, and
the other its practical doctrines.
The questions about which the former is employed
are chiefly the two following. First, by what principle
Dissertation on the Nature of Virtue.




190      MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
of our constitution are we led to form the notion of
moral distinctions, - whether by that faculty which
perceives the distinction between truth and falsehood
in the other branches of human knowledge, or by a
peculiar power of perception (called by some the moral
sense) which is pleased with one set of qualities and
displeased with another?  Secondly, what is the proper
object of moral approbation? or, in other words, what is
the common quality or qualities belonging to all the
different modes of virtue? Is it benevolence, or a rational self-love, or a disposition (resulting from the ascendant of reason over passion) to act suitably to the
different relations in which we are placed? These two
questions seem to exhaust the whole theory of morals.
The scope of the one is to ascertain the origin of our
moral ideas; that of the other to refer the phenomena
of moral perception to their most simple and general
laws.
The practical doctrines of morality comprehend all
those rules of conduct which profess to point out the
proper ends of human pursuit, and the most effectual
means of attaining them; to which we may add, under
the general. title of adminicles, (if I may be allowed to
borrow a technical word of Lord Bacon's,) all those
literary compositions, whatever be their particular form,
which have for their aim to fortify and animate our
good dispositions by delineations of the beauty, of the
dignity, or of the utility of virtue.
I shall not inquire at present into the justness of this
division. I shall only observe that the words theory and
practice are not in this instance employed in their usual
acceptations. The theory of morals does not bear, for
example, the same relation to the practice of morals that
the theory of geometry bears to practical geometry. In
this last science all the practical rules are founded on
theoretical principles previously established. But in the
former science the practical rules are obvious to the
capacities of all mankind, while the theoretical princi.
ples form one of the most difficult subjects of discussion
that has ever exercised the ingenuity of metaphysicians




MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.      191
Although, however, a complete acquaintance with the
practice of our duty does not presuppose any knowledge of the theory of morals, it does not therefore follow that false theoretical notions upon this subject may
not be attended with very pernicious consequences.
On the contrary, nothing is more evident than this, that
every system which calls in question the immutability
of moral distinctions has a tendency to undermine the
foundations of all the virtues, both private and public,
and to dry up the best and purest sources of human
happiness. When skeptical doubts have once been excited in the mind by the perusal of such systems, no
exhortation to the practice of our duties can have any
effect; and it is necessary for us, before we think of
addressing the heart, or influencing the will, to begin
with undeceiving and enlightening the understanding.
It is for this reason, that, in such an age as the present,
when skeptical doctrines have been so anxiously disseminated by writers of genius, it appears to me to be
a still: more essential object in: academical instruction
to vindicate the theory of morals against the cavils of
licentious metaphysicians, than to indulge in the more
interesting and popular disquisitions of practical ethics.
On the former subject, much yet remains to be done.
On the latter, although the field of inquiry is by no
means as yet completely exhausted, the student may be
safely trusted to his own serious reflections, guided by
the precepts of those illustrious'men wtho, in different
ages and countries, have devoted their talents to the
improvement and happiness of the human race.
In this department of literature, no country whatever
has surpassed our own; whether we consider the labors
of the great lights of the English Church, or the fugitive
essays of: those later writers who (after the example of
Addison) have attempted to enlist in the cause of virtue
and religion whatever aid fancy and wit and elegance
could tend to' the support of truth. It is scarcely necessary for me to mention the' advantage which may be
derived in the same study from the philosophical remains of ancient Greece and Rome, - due allowances




192     MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
being made for some unfortunate prejudices produced
or encouraged by violent and oppressive systems of
policy. Indeed, with the exception of a few such prejudices, it may with great truth be asserted, that they
who have been most successful, in modern times, in
inculcating the duties of life, have been the moralists
who have trod the most closely in the footsteps of the
Greek and Roman philosophers. The case is different
with respect to the theory of morals, which, among the
ancients, attracted comparatively but a small degree of
attention, although one of the questions formerly mentioned (that concerning the object of moral approbation)
was a favorite subject of discussion in their schools.
The other question, however, (that concerning the principle of moral approbation,) with the exception of a
few hints in the writings of Plato, may be considered
as in a great measure peculiar to modern Europe, having been chiefly agitated since the writings- of Cudworth in opposition to those of Hobbes; and it is this
question, accordingly, (recommended at once by its novelty and difficulty to the curiosity of speculative men,)
that' has produced most of the theories which characterize and distinguish from each other the later systems
of moral philosophy.
III. Analysis of Moral Perceptions and Emotions.]
It appears to me that the diversity of these systems has
arisen, in a great measure, from the partial views which
different writers have taken of the same complicated
subject; that these systems are by no means so exclusive of each other as has commonly been imnagined;
and that, in order to arrive at the truth, it is necessary
for us, instead of attaching ourselves to any one, to
avail ourselves of the lights which all of them have
furnished.  Our moral perceptions ind emotions are,
in fact, the result of different principles combined together. They involve a judgment of the understanding,
and they involve also a feeling of the heart; and it is
only by attending to both that we can form a just notion of our moral constitution. In confirmation of this




HaBBES.                  193
remark, it will be necessary for us to analyze particularly the state of our minds, when we are spectators of
any good or bad action performed by another person,
or when we reflect on the actions performed by ourselves. On such occasions we are conscious of three
different things:1. The perception of an action as right or wrong.
2. An emotion of pleasure or of pain, varying in its
degree according to the acuteness of our moral sensibility.
3. A perception of the merit or demerit of the agent.
SE.CTION I.
OF THE PERCEPTION OF RIGHT AND WRONG.
I. Views entertained by Hobbes.]  The controversy
concerning the origin of our moral ideas took its rise in
modern times, in consequence of the writings of Mr.
Hobbes. According to him, we approve of virtuous
actions, or of actions beneficial to society, from selflove, as we know that whatever promotes the interest
of society has on that very account an indirect tendency
to promote'our own. He further taught, that, as it is
to the institution of government we are indebted for
all the comforts and the confidence of social life, the
laws which the civil magistrate enjoins are the ultimate
standards of morality.
Dangerous as these doctrines are, some apology may
oe made for the author from the unfortunate circumstances of the times in which he lived. He had been a
witness of the disorders which took place in England
at the time of.the dissolution of the monarchy by the
death of Charles the First; and, in consequence of his
mistaken speculations on the politics of that period, he
contracted a bias in favor of despotical government.
and was led to consider it as the duty of a good citizento strengthen, as much as possible, the hands of the
civil magistrate, by inculcating the doctrines of passive
obedience and non-resistance. It was with this views
17




194     hIORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
that he was led to maintain the philosophical plinciples
which have been already mentioned. He seems likewise to have formed a very unfavorable, idea of the
clerical order, from the instances which his own experience afforded of their turbulence and ambition; and on
that account he wished to subject the consciences of
men inmmediately to the secular powers. In consequence
of this, his system, although offensive in a very high degree to all sound moralists, provoked in a more peculiar
manner the resentment of the clergy, and drew on the
author a great deal of personal obloquy, which neither
his character in private life, nor his intentions as a
writer, appear to have merited.
II. Reply of his Antagonists.]  Among the antagonists of Hobbes, the most eminent by far was Dr. Cudworth; and indeed modern times have not produced
an author who is better qualified to do justice to the
very important argument he undertook, by his ardent
zeal for the best interests of mankind, by his singular
vigor and comprehensiveness of thought, and by the
astonishing treasures he had collected of ancient literature.
That our ideas of right and wrong are not derived
from positive law, Cudworth concluded from the following argument: — " Suppose such a law to be established, it must either be right to obey it, and wrong to
disobey it, or indifferent whether we obey or disobey it.
But a law which it is indifferent whether we obey or
not cannot, it is evident, be the source of moral distinctions; and, on the contrary supposition, if it is
right to obey the law, and wrong to disobey it, these
distinctions must have had an existence antecedent to
the law." * In a word, it is from natural law that positive law derives all its force.
The same argument against Hobbes is thus stated
by Lord Shaftesbury.
"It is ridiculous to say there is any obligation on
* Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part VII. Sect. III. Chap. II.




HOBMES.                  19i
man to act sociably or honestly in a formed government, and not in that which is commonly called the
state of nature. For, to speak in the fashionable language of our modern philosophy, society being founded
on a compact, the surrender made of every man's private ut!i.mited right into the handg of fhe majority, or
such as the majority should appoint, was of free choice,
and by a promise. Now the promise itself was made
in a state of nature, and that which could make a pw'omise obligatory in the state of nature must make all
other acts of humanity as much our real duty and natural part. Thus faith, justice, honesty, and virtue must
have been as early as the state of nature, or they could
never have been at all. The civil union or confederacy
could never make right or wrong if they subsisted not
before. He who was free to any villany before his
contract, will and ought to make as free with his contract when he sees fit. The natural knave has the same
reason to be a civil one, and may dispense with his
politic capacity as oft as he sees occasion; it. is only
his word stands in the way. A man is obliged to
keep his word. Why?  Because he has given his
word to keep it. Is not this a notable account of the
original of moral justice, and the rise of civil government and allegiance?" *
To these observations it may be added, that our notions of right and wrong are so far from owing their
origin to positive institutions, that they afford us the
chief standard to which we appeal, in comparing different positive institutions with each other. Were it not
for this test, how could we pronounce one code to be
more humane, more liberal, or more equitable than
another? or how could we feel that, in our own municipal regulations, some are consonant and others repugnant to the principles of justice. " Let any one,"
says a learned and judicious civilian, "acquaint himself with the sanguinary system of Draco, and then
view it as tempered with the philosophy of Solon, and
* Freedom of Wit, Part III. Sect. I.




196         MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND  EMOTIONS.
the softer refinements of a better age; let him loolk
with the eye of speculation upon an establishment that
directs' not to seethe a kid in its mother's milk'; noi
to'muzzle the ox when  he  treadeth  out the  corn';
when our brother's cattle go astray or fall down by the
way, not to"' hide ourselves from  them'; that acquits
the betrothed damsel who was violated at a distance,
and out of hearing, upon this compassionate suggestion, -' For he found her in the field, and the betrothed
damsel cried, and there was none to save her'; let him
reflect, I say, on his own feelings when he considers
these different enactments, and then judge how far
they agree with the philosophy of Hobbes." *
Agreeably to this view of positive institutions, Demosthenes remarks, -" The laws of a country may be
regarded as a criterion for estimating the morals of the
state, and the prevailing character of the people." t
III. Origin and History of Hobbes's Doctrine.]   It is
justly  observed  by  Cudworth, that the doctrines now
under consideration are not peculiar to the system of
Hobbes; and that similar opinions have been entertained in all ages by those writers who were either
anxious to flatter the passions of tyrannical rulers, or
who had a secret bias to atheistic and Epicurean principles.
In confirmation of this remark, he takes a review of
* Taylor On the Civil Law, p. 159.
t Adv. Timocrat. Taylor gives the passage from which this is taken in
the version of the Latin translator: -" Illud igitur vobis est etiam considerandum, multos Grecorum seape decrevisse, vestris utendum esse legibus:
id quod vobis laudi haud injurih ducitis. Nam verum illud niihi videtur,
quod quendam apud vos dixisse ferunt: omnes cordatos in ea esse sententia,
ut leqes nihil aliud esse putent quam mores civitates. Danda igitur est opera,
ut ex quam optimam esse videantur."
[A new interest has been awakened of late in Hobbes and his writings.
See Cousin, Cours d'Ilistoire de la Philosophie Morale au XVIIe Siecle,
Premi;re Partie: Ecole Sensualiste, Leqons VII. - IX. Joaffroy, Introduction
to Ethics, Lectures XIII. and XIV. Damiron, L'Histoire de la Philosophie
au XVl'f  Siicle, Liv. III.  Hazlitt's Literary Remains, Essay VI. Blakev's History of lloral Science, Chap. IV. Mackintosh's Proqgress of Ethical
Philosophy, Sect. IV. Fragment on Mackintosh, Sect. II. Hallam's Intro.
duction to the Literature of Europe, Vol. III Chap. III. Sect. IV.]




HOBBES.                   19'
the principal attempts that have been made to under
mine the foundations of morals, both in ancient an(;
modern times, and interweaves with this history many
profound reflections of his own. The following paragraphs contain the substance of this part of his work,
and I hope will furnish an interesting, as well as useful,
introduction to the reasonings I am afterwards to offer in vindication of the reality and irmnutability of
moral distinctions.
" As the vulgar generally'look no higher for the original of moral good and evil, just and unjust, than the
codes and pandects, the tables and laws, of their country and religion, so there have not wanted pretended
philosophers in all ages, who have asserted nothing to
be good and evil, just and unjust, naturally and immutably, /vaEL al dAKlpvqros; but that all these things were
positive, arbitrary, and factitious only. Such Plato
mentions, in his T'enth Book, De Legibus, who maintained,'that nothing at all Was naturally just, but then,
changing their opinions concerning them  perpetually,
sometimes made one thing just, sometimes another;
but whatever is decreed and constituted, that for the
time is valid, being made so by acts and laws, but not
by any nature of its own.'  And Aristotle more than
once takes notice of this opinion in his Ethics.' Things
honest and just, which politics are conversant about,
have so great a variety and uncertainty in them, that
they seem to be only by law and not by nature.' * And
afterwards t - having divided T, &IKULOV IrOXLLKOV,' that
which is politically just,' into  vaULK0v, i. e.' natural,'' which has everywhere the same force,' and voALKOv, i. e.'legal,'  which, before there be a law made, is indifferent, but, when once the law is made, is' determined to
be just or unjust'- he adds,' Some there are that
think there is no other just or unjust but what is made
by law. and men, because that which is natural is irn.,
mutable, and hath everywhere. the same force, whereas
jura and justa, "rights" and "just things," are every* Ethic. MYc., Lib. T. cap. I.  t Lib. V. cap. X.
17*




198       MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
where different.'  The latter, therefore, they conceive
to be analogous to wine and wheat measures, whch va],ry from place to place, according to local customs-; the
former they compare to the properties of fire, which
produce the same effects in Persia and Greece.
" After these succeeded Epicurus, the reviver of the
Democritical philosophy, the frame of whose principles
must needs lead him to deny justice and injustice to be
natural things; and therefore he determines that they
arise wholly from mutual pacts and covenants of men,
made for their own convenience and utility.'Those
living creatures that could not make mutual covenants
together not to hurt, nor to be hurt by, one anotlher,
could not, for this cause, have any such thing as just or
unjust among them.  And there is tife same reason for
those nations that either will not or cannot make such
compacts: for there is no such thing as justice by itself,
but only in the mutual congresses of men.'  Or, (as
the late compiler of the Epicurean system expresses
the same meaning,)'there are some who think that
those things which are just are just according to their
proper, unvaried nature, and that the laws do not make
them just, but only prescribe according to that nature
which they have: but the thing, is not so.' *
" And since in this latter age the physiological hypotheses of Democritus and Epicurus have been revived, and successfully applied to the solving of some
of the pheriomena of the visible world, there have not
wanted some that have endeavoured to vent also those
other paradoxes of the same philosophers, viz. that
there is no incorporeal substance, nor any natural difference between good and evil, just and unjust, and to
recommend the same under a show of wisdom, as the
* It may be proper to mention that Cudworth alludes here to Gassendi,
who was at much pains to revive the philosophy of Epicurus, both in physics and morals, rejecting, however, or palliating, those parts of it which are
most exceptionable. -With this philosopher, (who appears to have been a
most amiable and exemplary man in private life, and who in learning was
not surpassed by any of his contemporaries,) Hobbes lived in habits of
very intimate friendship during his long residence in France. See Gassen
di Opera, Tom. V. pp. 129 et seq.




HOBBES.                   1t9
deep and profound mysteries of the atomical and corpuscular philosophy, as if senseless matter and atoms
were the original of all things, according to thec song
of old Silenus in Virgil.  Of this sort is that late writer of ethics and politics, who asserts'that there are no
authentic doctrines concerning just and unjust, good
and evil, except the laws which are established in every
city; and that it concerns none to inquire whether an
action be reputed just or unjust, good or evil, except
such only whom the community have appointed to be
the interpreters of their laws.'*'In the state of nature,' according to him,' nothing can be unjust, and the
notions of right and wrong, justice and injustice, have
there no place.  Where there is no common po)wer
there is no law; where no law, no injustice.'tI'No
law can be unjust.':  Nay, temperance is no more
naturally right, according to this philosopher, than
justice.'Sensuality, in the sense in which it is condemned, hath no place till there be laws.' ~
"But whatsoever was the true meaning of these
philosophers that affirm justice and injustice to be only by-law, and not by nature, certain it is that diverse
modern theologers do not only seriously, but zealously,
contend, in like manner, that there is nothing absolutely, intrinsically, and naturally good and evil, just and
unjust, antecedently to any positive command or prohibition of God, but that the arbitrary will and pleasure
of God, (that is an Omnipotent Being, devoid of all
essential and natural justice,) by its commands and
prohibitions, is the first and only rule and measure
thereof. Whence it follows unavoidably, that nothing
can be imagined so grossly wicked, or so foully unjust
or dishonest, but, if it were supposed to be commanded
by this omnipotent Deity, must needs, upon that hypothesis, forthwith become holy, just, and righteous.
For, though the ancient fathers of the Christian Church
were very abhorrent from this doctrine, yet it crept up
H lobbes, De Cive, Prawfatio.  t Leviathan, Part I. Chap. XIII
$ Ibid., Part II. Chap. XXX.  ~ Ibid., Part I. Chap. VI.




200     MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
afterward in the scholastic age, Ockham being an..(,ng
the first that maintained' that there is no act evil, l,ut
as it is prohibited by God, and which cannot be nade
good if it be commanded by him.' And herein Pctrus
Alliacus and Andreas de Novo Castro, with others,
quickly followed him.
" Now the necessary and unavoidable consequences
of this opinion are such as these: —' That to love God
is by nature an indifflrent thing, and is morally good
only because it is enjoined by his command';' that holiness is not a conformity with the Divine nature and
attributes';'that God hath no natural inclination to
the good of the creatures, and might justly doom an
innocent creature to eternal torment';- all which propositions, with others of the kind, are word for word asserted by some late authors. Though I think not fit
to mention the names of any of them in this place, excepting only one, Joannes Szydlovius, who, in a book
published at Franeker, hath professedly avowed and
maintained the grossest of them. And yet neither he,
nor the rest, are to be thought any more blameworthy
herein-than many others, that, holding the same premises, have either dissembled or disowned those conllu.
sions which unavoidably follow therefrom, but rather to
be commended for their openness, simplicity, and inge.
nuity in representing their opinion naked to the world
such as indeed it is, without any veil or mask.
" Wherefore, since there are so many, both philosophers and theologians, that seemingly and verbally acknowledge such things as moral good and evil, just and
unjust, yet contend, notwithstanding, that these are not
by nature but institution, and that there is nothing naturally or immutably just or unjust, I shall from hence
fetch the rise of this ethical discourse or inquiry concerning things good and evil, just and unjust, laudable
and shameful, demonstrating, in the first place, that, if
there be any thing at all good or evil, just or unjust,
there must of necessity be something naturally and immutably good and just. And from thence I shall pro.
ceed afterward to show what this natural, immutabie




CUDWORTH.                    201
and eternal justice is, with the branches and species
of it." *
IV. Cudworth's Theory of Morals.]  The foregoing
very long quotation, while it contains much valuable
information with respect to the history of moral science,
will be sufficient to convey a general idea of the scope
of Cudworth's ethical inquiries, and of the prevailing
opinions among philosophers upon this subject, at the
time when he wrote.  For the details of his argument
I must refer to his work. It is sufficient for my present
purpose to observe, that he seems plainly to have considered our notions of right and wrong as incapable of
analysis, that is, (to use the language of more modern
writers,) he considered them as simple ideas or notions,
of which the names do not admit of definition.  In this
respect, also, his philosophy differs from that of Hobbes,
who, as we have already remarked, ascribes our moral
judgments, not to an immediate perception of the
qualities of actions, but to a view of their tendencies,
which we approve or disapprove according as they appear to be conducive or not to our own interest, or to
that of society.  Indeed, according to Hobbes, these
two tendencies coincide, or rather are the same, for he.
apprehended that all ouf zeal for the public good originates in a selfish principle.  " Man," he said, " is driven to society by necessity, and whatever promotes its,
interest is judged to have a remote tendency.to pro..
mote his own." Thus he attempts to account for oum
approbation of virtue by resolving it into self-love, and.
of consequence, to resolve the notions expressed by the
words right and wrong into other notions more simple
and general. This theory I have already endeavoured
to refute at some length, and I have only now to add
to what was formerly remarked with respect to it, that,
if it were agreeable to fact, the words right and wrong
* Eteinal and Immutable Morality, Book I. Chap I. Here, as in some
other cases, Mr. Stewart does not cite the whole of the passage continuously, as it stands in the original, but those parts only which are to his
purpose, sometimes giving merely the substance. —ED.




202     MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EIMOTIONS.
would be synonymous with advantageous and disadvan.
tag, eous; and to say that those actions are right which
are calculated to promote our own happiness would be
an identical proposition.
Cudworth's opinion, on the contrary, led him to consider our perception of right and wrong as an ultimate
fact in our nature. Indeed, to those whose judgments
are not warped by preconceived theories, no fact with
respect to the human mind can well appear more incontestable. We can define the words riglht and zwrong'
only by synonymous words and phrases, or by the properties and necessary concomitants of what they denote.
Thus, " we may say of the word right, that it expresses what we ought to do, what is fair and honest, what
is approvable, what every man professes to be the rule of
his conduct, what all men praise, and what is in itself
laudable, though no man praise it." * In such definitions
and explanations it is evident we only-substitute a synonymous expression instead of the word defined, or
we characterize the quality which the word denotes by
some circumstance connected with it or resulting from
it as a consequence; and therefore we may, with confidence, conclude that the word in question expresses a
simple idea.
The two most important conclusions, then, which
result from Cudworth's reasonings in opposition to
Hobbes are these: - First, that the mind is able to
form antecedently to positive institution the ideas of right
and wrong; and secondly, that these words express
simple ideas, or ideas incapable of analysis,
From these conclusions of Cudworth a further question naturally arose, —how the ideas of right and
wrong were formed, and to what principle of our constitution they ought to be referred. This very interesting
question did not escape the attention of Cudworth.
And, in answer to it, he endeavoured to show that our
notions of moral distinctions are formed by reason, or.
in other words, by the power which distinguishes truth
* Reid, 0n the'Actire Powers, Essay III. Part I!I. Chap'V.




LOCKE.                     203
from falsehood.  And accordingly it became, for some
time, the fashionable language among moralists, to say
that virtue consisted, not in obedience to the law of a
superior, but in a conduct conformable to reason.
At the time when Cudworth wrote, no accurate classification had been attempted of the principles of the
human mind.  His account of the office of reason, acc'ordingly, in enabling us to perceive the distinction between right and wrong, passed without censure, alnd
was understood merely to imply, that there is an eternal
and inmmuttable distinction between right and wrong, no
less than between truth and falsehood; and that both
these distinctions are' perceived by our rational powiers,
or by those powers which raise us above the brutes.*
V. Connection of Locke's Theory of-the Origin of
Ideas with this Inquiry.] The publication of Locke's
Essay introduced into this part of science a precision
of expression unknown before, and taught philosophers
to distinguish a variety of powers which had formerly
been very generally confounded. With these great merits, however, his work has capital defects, and perhaps
ill no part of it are these defects more important than
in the attempt he has made to deduce the origin of our
knowledge entirely from  sensation and reflection.  To
the former of these sources he refers the ideas we receive by our external senses,-  of colors, sounds, hardness, &c. To the latter, the ideas we derive from consciousness of our own mental operations, -of memory,
imagination, volition, pleasure, pain, &c. These, according to him, are the sources of all our simple ideas;
and the only power that -the mind possesses is to perform certain operations of analysis, combination, comparison, &c., on the materials with which it is thus
supplied.
It was this system of Locke's which led him to those
dangerous opinions that were formerly mentioned con* For some curious notices of Cudworth and the fate of his writings,
see D'Israeli's Amenities of Literature, under the head of The True Intellectual System of the Universe. - ED.




204      MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
cerning the nature of moral distinctions, which'he seelns
to have considered as entirely the offspring of educatiow,
and fashion.  Indeed, if the words right and wrong
neither express sim1le ideas, nor relations discoverable
by reason, it will not be found easy to avoid adopting
this conclusion.
In order to reconcile Locke's account of the origin of
our ideas with the immutability of moral distinctions,
different theories were proposed concerning the nature
of virtue. According to one,* for example, it was said
to consist in a conduct conformable to truth; according to another,t in a conduct conformable to the fitness
of things. The great object of all these theories may
be considered as the same, to remove right and wrong
from the class of simple ideas, and to resolve moral
rectitude into a conformity with some relation perceived
by reason or by the understanding.
VI., Hutcheson's  Theory of a Moral Sense.]  Dr.
Hutcheson saw clearly the vanity of these attempts,
and hence he was led, in compliance with the language of Locke'd philosophy, to refer the origin of
our moral ideas to a particular power of perception, to
which he gave the name of the moral sense.." All the
ideas," says he, "or the materials of our reasoning or
judging; are received by some immediate powers of
perception, internal or external, which we may call
senses."  " Reasoning or intellect seems to raise no new
species of ideas, but to discover or discern the relations
of those received." t
According to this system, as it has been commonly
explained, our perceptions of right and wrong are impressions which our minds are made to receive from
particular actions, similar to the relishes and aversionris
* Mr. Wollaston, in his Religion of Nature Delineated.
t Dr. Clarke, in his Discourse concerning the Unchangeable Obligations of
Natural Religion, and in other works. [For the connection between Locke
and the subsequent English ethical theories, see Jouffroy, Lectures XXI.
and XXII.]
$ Nature and Conduct &f the Passions, Treatise II. Sect. I.




HIUTCHESON.                205
gp,en us for particular objects of the external and internal senses.
That this was Dr. Hutcheson's own idea appears
from the ft)llowing passage, in which he endeavours to
obviate some dangerous notions which were supposed
to follow from this doctrine. " Let none imagine that
calling the ideas of virtue and vice perceptions of sense,
upon apprehending the actions and affections of another. does diminish their reality more than the like assertions concerning all pleasure and pain, happiness or
misery. Our reason often corrects the report of our
senses about the natural tendency of the external action,
and corrects rash conclusions about the- affections of
the agent. But whether. our moral sense be subject to
such a disorder as to have different perceptions, from
the same apprehended affections in an agent, at different times, as the eye may have of the colors of an unaltered object, it is not easy to determine; perhaps it
will be hard to find any instance of such a change.
VWhat reason could correct if it fell into such a disorder, I know not, except suggesting to its remembrance
its former approbations, and representing the general
sense of mankind. But this does not prove ideas of
virtue and vice to be previous to a sense, more than a
like correction of the ideas of color in a person under
the jaundice proves that colors are perceived by reason
previously to sense." *
Mr. Hume, whose philosophy coincides in this respect
with Dr. Hutcheson's, has expressed himself on this subject still more explicitly. " As virtue is an end, and is
desirable on its own account, without fee or reward,
merely for the immediate satisfaction which it cohveys,
it is requisite that there should be some sentiment which
it touches, some internal taste or feeling, or whatever
you please to call it, which distinguishes moral good
and evil, and which embraces the one and rejects the
other.
" Thus the distinct boundaries and offices of reason
* Nature and Conduct of the Passions, Treatise II. Sect. IV.
18




206      MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
and of taste are easily ascertained. The former conveys
the knowledge of truth and falsehood; the latter gives
the sentiment of beauty and deformity, vice and virtue.
The one discovers objects as they really stand in nature,
without addition or diminution; the other has a productive faculty, and, gilding or staining all natural objects with the colors borrowed from internal sentiment,
raises, in a manner, a new creatioil. Reason, being
cool and disengaged, is no motive to action, and directs
only the impulse received from appetite or inclination,
by showing us the means of attaining happiness or
avoiding misery. Taste, as it gives pleasure or pain,
and thereby constitutes happiness or misery, becomes
a motive to action, and is the first spring or impulse to
desire and volition. From circumstances and relations,
known or supposed, the former leads us to the discovery
of the concealed and unknown. After all circumstances
and relations are laid before us, the latter makes us feel
from the whole a new sentiment of blame or approbation. The standard of the one, being founded on the
nature of things, is eternal and inflexible, even by the
will of the Supreme Being. The standard of the other,
arising from- the internal frame and constitution of animals, is ultimately derived from -that Supreme Will
which bestowed on each being its peculiar nature, and
arranged the several classes and orders of existence." *
In the passage now quoted from Mr. Hume, a slight
hint is given of his skepticism with respect to the immutability of moral distinctions; but, in some other
parts of his writings, he has openly and avowedly expressed his opinions upon this important question.
The words right and wrong (according to him) signify
nothing in the objects themselves to which they are
applied, any more than the words sweet and bitter,
pleasant and painful, but only certain effects in the mind
of the spectator. As it is improper, therefore, (according
to the doctrines of some modern philosophers,) to say
of an object of taste that it is sweet, or of heat that it
* Principles of Morals, Appendix I.




HUTCHESON.                     207
is int the fire, so it is equally improper to say of actions
that they are right or wrong. It is absurd to speak of
morality as a thing independent and unchangeable, inasmuch as it arises from  an arbitrary relation between
our constitution and particular objects.  The distinction
of moral good and evil is founded on.ie pleasure or
pain which results from  the view of any sentiment or
character; and, as that pleasure or pain cannot be- unknown to the person who feels it, it follows that there
is just so much vice or virtue in any character as every
one places in it; and that it is impossible in this par.
tibular we can ever be mistaken.*
Before we proceed to an examination of these conclusions, it may be worth while to remark, that they
have not even the merit of originality; for we find from
the Theetetus of Plato, as well as from  other remains
of antiquity, that the same skepticism prevailed among
the Grecian sophists, and was supported by nearly the
same arguments. Protagoras and his followers extended it to all truth, physical as well as moral, and maintained that every thing was relative to perception. The
following maxims in particular have a wonderful coincidence with Hume's philosophy. " Nothing is true or
false, any more than sweet or sour, in itself, but relatively to the perceiving mind."  "Man is the measure of
all things, and every thing is that, and no other, which
to every one it seems to be, so that there can be nothing
true, nothing existent, distinct from the mind's own
perceptions."
With respect to this skeptical philosophy, as it is
taught in the-writings of Hume, it appears evidently,
from what has been already said, to be founded entirely on the supposition, that our perception of the
moral qualities of actions has some analogy to our perception of the sensible qualities of matter; and there* "Were I not afraid of appearing too philosophical, r should remind
my reader of that famous doctrine, supposed to be fully proved in modern
times, that tastes and colors, and all other sensible qualities, lie, not in the
bodies, but merely in the senses. The case is the same with beauty and
deformity, virtue and vice." - Hume's Essays, Moral, Political, and Literary,
Part I. Essay XVIII.




208      MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
fore it becomes a very interesting inquiry for us to ex
amine how far this supposition is agreeable to fact
Indeed, this is the most important question that can be
stated with respect to the theory of morals; and yet \
confess it appears to me that the obscurity in wxhich il
is involved arises chiefly, if not wholly, from the use ot
indefinite and ambiguous terms.
That moral distinctions are perceived by a sense is
implied in the definition of a. sense already quoted
from Dr. Hutcheson. "All the ideas, or the materials
of our reasoning or judging, are received by some immediate powers of perception, internal or external,
which we may call senses.  Reasoning or intellect
seems to raise no new species of ideas, but to discover
or discern the relations of those received."  If this definition be admitted, there cannot be a doubt that the
origin of our moral ideas must be referred to a sense;
at least there can be no doubt upon.this point among
those*who hold, with Cudworth and with Price, that
the words right and wrong express simple ideas.  The
latter of these authors, a most zealous opposer of a
moral sense, (and although one of the driest and least
engaging of our English moralists, yet certainly one of
the most sound and judicious,) grants that the words
right and wrong are incapable of a definition, and considers a want of attention to this circumstance as a
principal source of the errors which have misled philosophers in treating of this part of moral science. "It
is a very necessary previous observation," says he, "that
right and wrongs denote simple ideas, and are therefore
to be ascribed to some power of immediate perception in
the human mind. He that doubts need only try to
enumerate the simple ideas they signify, or to give definitions of them when applied (suppose to beneficence
or cruelty), which shall amount to more than synonymous expressions. From not attending to this, from
giving definitions of these ideas, and attempting to derive them from deduction or reasoning, has proceeded
most of that confusion in which' the -question concerning the foundation of morals has been involved. There




HUTCHESON.                 209
are, undoubtedly, some actions that are ultimately approved, and for justifying which no reason can be assigned, as there are some ends which are ultimately desired, and for choosing which no reason can be given.
Were not this true, there would be an infinite series or
progression of reasons and ends subordinate to one
another. There would be nothing at which to stop,
and therefore nothing that could at all be approved or
desired." *
It appears from the foregoing passage that Dr. Price,
as well as Dr. Hutcheson, ascribes our ideas of moral
distinctions to a power of immediate perception in the.
mind, and therefore the difference between them turns
entirely on the propriety of the definition of a sense
which Dr. Hutcheson has given.
It may be further observed, in justification of Dr.
Hutcheson, that the skeptical consequences deduced
from his supposition of a moral sense do not necessarily result from it. Unfdrtunately, most of his illustrations were taken from the secondary qualities of matter, which, since the time of Descartes, philosophers
have been in general accustomed. to refer to the mind,
and not to the external object. But if we suppose our
perception of right and wrong to be analogous to the
perception of extension and figure, and other primary
qualities, the reality and immutability of moral distinctions seem to be placed on a foundation sufficiently
satisfactory to a candid inquirer. That our notions of
primary qualities are necessarily accompanied with a
conviction of their separate and independent existence
was formerly shown; and, therefore, to compare our
perception of right and wrong to our perception of
extension and of figure, although it may not, perhaps,
be very accurate or philosophical, does not imply any
skepticism with respect to the immutability of moral
distinctions; at least does not justify those skeptical
inferences which Mr. IHume has endeavoured to deduce
from Dr. Hutcheson's language.
* Review of the Principal Questions in Morals, Chap. I. Sect. III.
18*




210      MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
The definition, however, of a sense which Dr. Hutcheson has given is by far too general, and was plainly
suggested to him by Locke's account of the origin of.
our ideas.  The words cause and effect, duration, numzber, equality, identity, and many others, express simple
ideas, as well as the words right and wrong'; and yet
it would surely be absurd to ascribe each of them to a
particular power of perception, meaning thereby a
sense.'Notwithstanding this circumstance, as the expression moral sense has now the sanction of use, and
as, when properly explained, it cannot lead to any bad
consequences, it may be still retained without inconvenience in ethical disquisitions.  It has been much in
fashion among moralists since the time of Shaftesbury
and Hutcheson, nor was it an innovation introduced by
them; for the ancients often speak of a sensus recti et
honesti; and, in our own language, a sense of duty is a
phrase not only employed by philosophers, but habitually used in common discourse.*
VII. Price's  Theory of Intuitive Perception.]   To
what part oi' our constitution, then, shall we ascribe
the origin of the ideas of right and wrong?  Dr. Price
(returning to the antiquated phraseology of Cudworth)
says, to the understanding, and endeavours to show, in
opposition to Locke add his followers, that " the power
which understands, or the faculty that discerns truth, is
itself a source of new ideas."
This controversy turns solely on the meaning of
words. The origin of our ideas of right and wrong is
manifestly the same with that of the other simple ideas
already mentioned  and, whether it be referred to the
understanding or not, seems to me a matter of mere atrangement, provided it be granted that the words right
and wrong express qualities of actions, and not merely
* For further notices of Hutcheson and the sentimental moralists generally, see Cousin, Cours d'Histoire de la Philosophie Morale au XVIII'
eSitele, Seconde Partie: Ecole Ecossaise; -Jouffrov, Introduction to Ethics,
Lectures XVI. - XX.; - and Alexander Smith's Philosophy of Alorals, Part
I. Chap. III. -ED.




PRICE.                 211
a power of exciting certain agreeable or disagreeable
emotions in our minds.
It may perhaps obviate some objections against the
language of Cudworth and Price to remark, that the
word reason is used in senses which are extremely different: sometimes to express the whole of those powers which elevate man above the brutes, and constitute
his rational. nature, - more especially, perhaps, his intellectual powers; sometimes to express the power of
deduction or argumentation. The former is the sense
in which the word is used in common discburse; and
it is in this sense that it-seems to be employed by those
writers who refer to it the origin of our moral ideas.
Their antagonists, on the other hand, understand in
general, by reason, the power of deduction or argumentation; a use of the word which is not unnatural, from
the similarity between the words reason and reasoning,
but which is not agreeable to its ordinary meaning.
" No hypothesis," says Dr. Campbell, " hitherto invented has shown that, by means of the discursive faculty, without the aid of any other mental power, we
could ever obtain a notion either of the beautiful or the
good."' The remark is undoubtedly true; and it may
be applied to all those systems which ascribe to reason
the origin of our moral ideas, if the expressions'reason' and'discursive faculty' be used as synonymous.
Buat if the word reason be used in a more general sense,
to denote merely our rational and intellectual nature,
there does not seem to be much impropriety in ascribing to it the origin of those simple notions which are
not excited in the mind by the immediate operation of
the senses, but which arise in consequence of the exercise of the intellectual powers upon their various objects.
A variety of intuitive judgments might be rrentioned
involving simple ideas, which,it is impossible to trace
to any origin but to the power which enables us to
form these judgments. Thus it is surely an intuitive
truth, that the sensations of which I am conscious, and
* Philosophy of Rhetoric, Book I. Chap. VII. Sect. IV.




212      MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
all those I remember, belong to one and the same be.
ing, which I call myself.  Here is an intuitive judgment
involving the simple idea of identity. In like manner,
the changes which I perceive in the universe impress
me with a conviction, that some cause must have operated to produce them. Here is an intuitive judgment
involving the simple idea of causation.  Wthen we consider the adjacent angles made by a straight line standing upon another, and perceive that their sum is equal
to two right angles, the judgment we form involves the
simple idea of equality. To say, therefore, that reason,
or the understanding, is a source of new ideas, is not
so exceptionable a mode of speaking as has sometimes
been supposed. According to Locke, sense furnishes
our ideas, and reason perceives their agreements or disagreements; whereas, in point of fact, these agreements
or disagreements are in many instances simple ideas,
of which no analysis can be given, and of which the
origin must therefore be referred to reason, according to
Locke's own doctrine.
In speaking of the hypothesis of a moral sense, I formerly observed that the expression was sanctioned by
the example of the ancients.  The same authority may
be appealed to in justification of the language used by
Cudworth and Price, whose ideas on the subject seem
indeed to be still more conformable to the spirit of the
Greek philosophy.  The leading. principle of action, To
yEIoMVLKOdv, for example, so much insisted on by P'lato
and others, was plainly considered by them as the faculty of reason; To VE6E a8E0-rOTLKOV TOVreoir To XOyL'tLKOV, says
Alcinoiis, De Doctrina Platonis.*  In Plato's Thecetetus,
too, Socrates observes, "that it cannot be any of the
powers of sense that compares the perceptions of all
the senses, and apprehends the general affections of
things, and particularly identity, number, similitude, dissimilitude, equality, inequality, to which he adds KaXOV Kai
aguxpov, virtue and vice; asserting that this power is
* Cap. XXVIII. "Sovereignty belongs by nature to the reasoning faculty."




PRICE.                            213
reason, or the soul acting by itself separately from  matter, and  independently  of any  corporeal impressions
and passions; and that, consequently, in opposition to
Protagoras, knowledge is not to be sought for in sense,
but in this superior part of the soul. It seems to me,
that, for the perception of these things, a different organ or faculty is not appointed, but that the soul itself;,
and in virtue of its own power, observes these general
affections of all things. So far we have advanced as
to find that knowledge is by no means to be sought
in sense, but in the power of the soul which it employs,
when within itself it contemplates and searches out
truth." *
* Plato could hardly have expressed himself with greater precision, had
he been arguing against Hutcheson's doctrine of a moral sense. See on
this subject Cudworth's limutable Morality, Book III., and Price's Review
of the Principal Questions and Difficulties in Morals. Chap. I. Sect. II.
[For the argument in the-text, it is only necessary t$ mark the points of
ditference which distinguish the truths of the pure or intuitive reason from
those of the discursive reason, or reasoniny.
1. The former are simple and elementary judgments. They constitute
a portion of what may be called the data of intelligence, resembling, in
this respect, the data of sensation and consciousness. They result inmnediately from a law of our cognitive faculties, from our original constitution
as rational beings, and therefore may be regarded, in this sense, as primi
tive or innate.
2. They are also recognized, assumed, or assented to, as soon as we have
occasion to apply them, or as soon as the propositions containing them
are understood. They are not derived truths, either by induction or deduction; they do not depend on testimony, or memory, or experience of any
kind. All that experience does for them  is to bring about the occasions.
and the measure of development, on condition of which they spring up in
the mind itself. They neither require nor admit of proof: reason asserts
them as being self-evident; and, as such, they are acted on and assented to,
in proportion as reason is unfolded, by all men. In this sense, therefbre,
they may be pronounced universal.
3. Again, reason not only affirms that these primitive and universal
judgments are true, but, taking for granted the veracity of our cognitive
faculties, that they cannot not be true. They relate to realities which cannot be made the objects of sense or consciousness, and consequently we
cannot inmagine what they are; nevertheless, the objects of sense and consciousness, as apprehended by the reason, necessarily presuppose these realities. These objects do not contain them.- but reason sees that they presuppose them. In words we may deny that qualities presuppose a sutbstance or substratum, in which they inhere, or that body presupposes space,
which it measures and fills; but we are so far from being able actually to
believe. in the negative of these propositions, that we cannot bring ourselves by any effort to conceive of it as being possible. Hence, we conclude




214        MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
VIII. The Thleory which we adopt must maintain the
Reality and Irlmutability of Moral Distinctions.]   The
opinion we form, however, on this point, is of little
moment, provided it be granted that the words right
and wrong express qualities of actions.  VWhen I say of
an act of justice that it is right, do I mean merely that
the act excites pleasure in my mind, as a particular
color pleases my eye, in consequence of a relation which
it bears to my organ? or do I mean to assert a truth
which is as independent of my constitution as the
equality of the three angles of a triangle to two right
angles? Skepticism may be indulged in, both cases,
about mathematical and about moral truth, but in
neither case does it admit of a refutation by argument.
For my own part, I can as easily conceive a rational
being so formed as to believe the three angles of a triangle to be equal to one right angle, as to believe that, if
he had it in his power, it would be right to sacrifice the
happiness of other men to the gratification of his own
animal appetites, or that there would be no injustice in
depriving an industrious old man of the fruits of his
own laborious acquisitions.  The exercise of our reason
in the two cases is very different; but in both cases we
have a perception of truth, and are impressed with an
irresistible conviction that the truth is immutable, and
independent of the will of any being whatever.
In the passage which was formerly quoted from Dr.
Cudworth, mention is made of various authors, parthat the truths of the pure or intuitive reason are not only primitive and
universal, hut necessary.
Now the Rational School,of moralists, represented by such writers as
Cudlworth and Price, maintain that morality has its foundation in truths of
this de.cription, and not, as is held by the Sentimental School, represented
by such writers as Hutcheson and Hume, in facts of sensibility, or in purely
instinctive phenomena.
For more recent authorities on this subject, see Cousin, Sur le Fondement
dps Id/.es Absolues du Vrai, du Beau, et du. Bien. Bouillier, Theorie de la Raison Iimpersonnclle. Coleridge's Aids to Reflection; particularly his comment
on the eighth of the Aphorisms on that'hich is indeed Spiritual Religion.
Whewell's Philosophy of tie Inductive Sciences, Book I.
Jouffroy has given, Introduction to Ethics, Lectures XXI. - XXIII., an
admirable criticism on Price, and other rational moralists of the same
school, including Cudworth and Stewart. - ED.]




IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS.   215
ticularly among the theologians of the scholastic ages,
who were led to call in qpestion the immutability of
moral distinctions by the pious design of magnifying
the perfections of the Deity. I am sorry to observe that
these`notions are not as yet completely exploded; and
that, in our own age, they have misled the speculations
of some writers of considerable genius, particularly
those of Dr. Johnson, Soame Jenyns, and Dr. Paley.
Such authors certainly do not recollect, that what they
add to the Divine power- and majesty they take away
from his moral attributes; for if moral distinctions be
not immutable and eterhal, it is absurd.to speak of the
goodness or of the justice of God. "Whoever thinks,"
says Shaftesbury, " that there is a God, and pretends
formally to believe that he is just and good, must suppose that there is independently such a thing as justice
and injustice, truth and falsehood, right and wrong, according to which eternal and'immutable standards he
pronounces that God is just, righteous, and true. If the
mere will, decree, or law of God be said absolutely to
constitute right and wrong, then are these latter words
of no signification at all [when applied to lrim].' *
In justice, indeed, to one of the writers above men
tioned, Dr. Paley, it is proper for me to observe, that the
objection just now stated has not escaped his attention,
and that he has even attempted an answer to it; but
it is an answer in which he admits the justness of the
inference which we have drawn from his premises; or,
in other words, in which hp admits, that, to speak of
the moral attributes of God, or to say that he is just,
righteous, and true, is to employ words which are al-'ogether nugatory and unmeaning. That I may not
be accused of misinterpreting the doctrine of this ingenious writer, who on many accounts deserves the
popularity he enjoys, I shall quote his own statement
of his opinion on this subject. " Since moral obligation
depends, as we have seen, upon the will of God, right,
which is correlative to it, must depend upon the same.
Inquiry concerning- Virtue, Part. III. Sect. IL 




216        MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
Right therefore signifies consistency with the will of God.
But if the Divine will determine  the  distinction  of
right and wrong, what else is it but an identical proposition to say of God that he acts right? or how is it
possible even to conceive'that he should act wrong?
Yet these assertions are intelligible and significant.
The case is this: by virtue of the two principles, that
God wills the happiness of his creatures, and that the
will of God  is the measure  of right and wrong, we
arrive at certain conclusions, which conclusions become
rules; and we soon learn to pronounce actions right and
wrong according as they agree or disagree with our rules,
without looking further; and when the habit is once
established of stopping at the rules, We can go back
and compare with these rules even the Divine conduct
itself; and yet it may be true, (only not observed by
us at the time,) that the rules themselves are deduced
from the Divine will."  
To this very extraordinary passage, (some parts of
which I confess I do not completely comprehend, but
which plainly gives up the moral attributes of God as a
form of words that convey no meaning,) I have no particular answer to offer.' That it was written with the
purest intentions, and from the complete conviction of
the author's own mind, I am perfectly satisfied from the
general scope of his book, as well- as from the strong
testimony of the first names in England in favor of the
worth of the writer; but it leads to consequences of the
Moral Philosophy, Book II. Chap. IX. When Dr. Paley first appeared
as an author, his reading on ethical subjects seems to me to have been extremely limited, and to have extended little farther than to the works ol
that ingenious and well-meaning, but fanciful and superficial writer, Ahra
ham Tucker, author, under the fictitious name of Edward Search, Esq.
of The Lght of Nature Pursued. See the preface to the Mloral Philosophy
The political part of Paley's book, although by no means unexceptionable
displays talents so far superior to the moral, that one would scarcely sup
pose them to have proceeded fiom the same pen. [John Law, to whos,
father the book is dedicated, and who was himself a friend and fellow-tuto
of Paley and afterwards Bishop of Elphin in Ireland, is said to have as
sisted in the composition of the work, and to have written the whole of th
admirale chapter. Of Reverencing the Deity. Dyer's Privileges of (an
bridge, Vol. IL. p. 59.




THE BEAUTY OF VIRTUE          1       ti
most alarming nature, coinciding in every  material
respect with the systems of those scholastic theologians
whomn Dr. Cudworth classes with the Epicurean philosophers of old, and whose errors that great and excellent writer has refuted with so splendid a display of
learning, and such irresistible force of argument."*
SECTION II.
OF THE AGREEABLE AND DISAGREEABLE EMOTIONS ARISING FROM THE PERCEPTION OF WHAT IS RIGHT AND
WRONG IN CONDUCT.
I. Moral Beauty and Deformity.]  It is impossible to
behold a good action without being conscious of a benevolent affection, either of love or of respect, towards
the agent; and consequently, as all our benevolent affections include an agreeable feeling, every good action
must be a source of pleasure to the spectator. Besides
this, other agreeable feelings, of order, of utility, of
peace of mind, &c., come, in process of time, to be associated with the general idea of virtuous conduct.
Those qualities in good actions which excite agreeable feelings in the mind of the spectator form what
some moralists have called the beauty qf virtue.
All this may be applied, mutatis mutandis, to explain
what is meant by the deformity of vice.
This view of the moral faculty, which represents it
as a species of taste, by which we are determined to
the love of moral excellence, occurs very frequently in
the works of the ancients.  But I shall confine myself
at present to one short quotation from Cicero. " Nec
vero illa parva vis naturae est rationisque, quod unurn
hoc animal sentit quid sit ordo; quid sit, quod deceat;
in factis dictisque qui modus.  Itaque eorum  ipsorumi
Even Wardlaw, though he rejects Butler's doctrine respecting a natu.
ral conscience in man, strenuously opposes those who make moral distinctions depend on the will of God. Christian Ethics, Lecture VI. See also
Uphain's fe ta / Ph/ilosogpy, Vol. I. II. ~ 292 et seq. - ED.
19




218        MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
quAc adspectu sentiuntur, nullum  aliud animal pulchritudinem, venustatem, convenientiam  partium  sentit; quani
similitudinem   natura  ratioque  ab  oculis ad  animumn
transjerens, multo  etiam   magis pulchritudinem, constantiam, ordinem in consiliis factisque conservandum
putat; cavetque ne quid indecore, effeminateve flaciat;
turn in omnibus et opinionibus et factis, ne quid libidinose aut faciat aut cogitet: quibus ex rebus conflatur
et efficitur id, quod quaerimus honesturnm; quod, etiam  si
nobilitatum  non sit, tamen honestum  sit; quodque ver/e
dicitnus, etiam, si'a nullo laudetur, natura esse laudabile.
Formam  quidern ipsam, Marce fili, et tamquam  faciemn
honesti vides; quae si oculis cerneretur, mirabiles amores,
ut ait Plato, excitaret sapientira." *
The same moralists who have applied to virtue and
to vice the epithets I have now been endeavouring to
define, have remarked, that, as in natural objects, so also
in the conduct and characters of mankind, there are
two  different species of beauty;-  the  one  what is
properly called beauty, in the more limited and precise
acceptation of the term; the other what is properly
called grandeur or sublimity.  The former naturally excites love toward the agent, the latter renders him an
object of our admiration. To the former class belong
the qualities of gentleness, candor, condescension, and
humanity.  To the latter, magnanimity, fortitude, inflexible justice, self-command, contempt of danger and
contempt of death; those qualities which, as exhibited
in the character of Cato, formed in the judgment of Sen* De Off, Lib. I. 4, 5. " Nor is that power of nature and reason small
Pwhich has given to man alone a perception of order and propriety, and a
-tandard by which to regulate his speech and his actions. Of the objects of
sense., no other animal is qualified to perceive the beauty, the grace: and
the symmetry of parts. But reason enables man to make the same application of this perception of external nature to the nind, and to observe that
a much highler beauty, harmony, and order ought to be preserved in dcsigns and in actions, and that unbecoming opinions and dissolute conduct
should be wholly avoided. From this constitution of nature arises that
virtue we seek for, which, however little distin(guished by the world, is still
virtue, and which, though none approved, we justly affirm to be of itself
praiseworthy. Such, my son Marcus, is the form and character of virtue,
which. according to the opinion of Plato,'if it could be distinguished by the,ye, would excite a wonderful love of wisdom.'"




THE BEAUTY OF VIRTUE.            219
eca a spectacle which Heaven itself might behold witlh
pleasure.  " Ecce spectaculum Deo dignum, ad quod
respiciat Jupiter, suo operi intentus, vir fortis cum mala
fortuna compositus." Illustrations of this kind abound
in those writers who have adopted Shaftesbury's scheme
of morals.
II. Distinguishable from our Perceptions of Right and
Wtrong.] Without deciding at present on the propriety
of the expressions moral beauty and moral deformity, it
is of consequence for us to remark, that our perception
of the qualities which these words are employed to denote is plainly distinguishable from our perception of
actions as right or wrong.  The latter involves a judgment with respect to certain attributes of actions,
which no more depend on our perception than the primary qualities of body depend on the informations we
receive of them by our external senses, or than the distinction between mathematical truth and falsehood depends on the conclusions of our understanding. The
words beauty and deformity, on the other hand, have always a reference to the feelings of the spectator, -to
the delight or uneasiness which particular actions produce on the mind.
Nor are these perceptions distinguishable from each
other merely in theory. The distinct operation of each
in producing the moral sentiments of mankind is easily
discernible by the most superficial observer; for, although they are always in some degree combined together, yet they are not always combined in the same
relative proportions. There are some men who, with
Marcus in the play, at the bare mention of successful
iniquity, are " tortured even to madness "; while others,
whose judgments with respect to morality are equally
sound, possess that steady and dispassionate temper
which
" Can look on fraud, rebellion, guilt, and Caesar,
In the calm light of mild philosophy." *
* Addison's Cato, Act I. Scene I.




220      MORAI, PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
The rectitude, therefore, of our moral judgments is by
no means to be estimated by the liveliness of the impressions which good or bad actions produce on the
mind.  Indeed, the same circumstances which contribute to the accuracy of' the former have in some respects
a tendency to weaken the latter. These, like all other
passive impressions, are rendered more languid by custorn;* whereas constant exercise and a proper application of our intellectual powers in general are absolutely necessary to guard us against the various errors
by which the power of moral judgment is liable to be
perverted.  The liveliness, too, of our moral feelings
depends much on accidental circumstances; - on constitutional temper, on education, on early associations,
and, above all, on the culture which the power of imagination has received.
Notwithstanding, however, the reality and importance of this distinction, it has been but little attended
to by the greater part of philosophers. The ancients
had it in view when they spoke of the honestum and
the pulchrum, the rT &,Katov and the rO KaoXv; but the
moderns seem in general to have overlooked it almost
entirely, some of themn confining their attention exclusively to the one perception, and some to the other.
Clarke, for example, and his followers, neglecting the
consideration of our moralfeelingrs, have treated of this
part of our constitution as if it consisted wholly of a
power of distinguishing between right and wrong; and
hence their works, how satisfactory soever to the understanding, seldom engage the imagination, or interest
the heart.  Shaftesbury, on the other hand, and his
numerous admirers, by dwelling exclusively on our perception of moral beauty and deformity, have been led
into enthusiasm and declamation, and have furnished
licentious moralists with a pretence for questioning the
immutability of mnoral distinctions. Even Dr. Hutche* On further reflection, this proposition seems to me somewhat doubtful
Perhaps it may be found that our moral impressions form a singular ex.
ception to this general law of our constitution.




THE BEAUTY OF VIRTUE.             221
son, one of the ablest and most judicious of his disciples, has contented himself with this partial view of our
moral constitution.  He everywhere describes virtue
and vice by the effects accompanying the perception of
them, alnd makes no distinction between the rectitude
of an action, as approved by our reason, and its gratejlltess to the taste of the observer, or its aptitude to
excite his moral emotions.
III. Errors resulting, from an exclusive Regard to i!he
Ml'oral Emotions.]  Another erroneous conclusion of a
very dangerous tendency has been suggested by the
doctrines of Lord Shaftesbury's school.  Accustomed
to define virtue and vice by their agreeable or disagreeable effects on the mind of the spectator, his followers
have been led to extend the meaning of these words far
beyond their proper signification; and, as virtue forms
always an agreeable and vice a disagreeable object of
contemplation, they have concluded that the converse
of the proposition is equally true, and that every thing
that is agreeable or disagreeable in human character
or conduct might be properly expressed by the words
virtue and vice. Accordingly, Hume, proceeding on the
same general principles with Hutcheson, has been led
to adopt this very conclusion as a fundamental truth
in ethics, and even to introduce it into the definition
Nwhich he gives of virtue, -" virtue," according to his
theory, " consisting in the possession of qualities which
are useful or agreeable to ourselves or to others." 
That this definition is erroneous is sufficiently evident;
for nothing can be plainer than that the words virtue
and vice are applicable only to those parts of our character and conduct which depend on our own voluntary
exertions. Sensibility, gayety, liveliness, good-humor,
natural affection, are a source of pleasure to every beholder, and wherever they are to be found entitle the
possessor to the appellation of amiable; but in so far as
they result from original constitution, or from external
* Hume's Principles of Morals, Sect. IX. Part I.
19*




222      MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
circumstances over which he had no control, they certainly do not render him an object of moral approbation.
A further inaccuracy in the philosophy of Shaftesbury and Hutcheson has arisen from the same source,
the application of the epithets virtuous and vicious to
the affections of the mind.  In order to think with precision on this subject, it is necessary for us always to
remnember.that the object of moral approbation is not
affections, but actions.  The efforts, indeed, we make to
cultivate our amiable affections are in a high degree
meritorious, because the object of the effort is to add tc
the happiness of those with whom we associate, and
because the effort depends upon ourselves; but the
merit in such cases does not consist in the affection,
but in the efforts by which it has been cultivated.
The result of the remarks now made on the systems
of Shaftesbury and Hutcheson amounts to this, that
they do not draw the line sufficiently between constitutional good qualities, and those which are voluntary and meritorious. In common discourse, indeed, we
frequently apply the word virtue to both, but it is the
last alone which in strict propriety deserves the name:
and, in our own case, it is of great consequence for us
to attend to the distinction.  In the case of others, as
it is impossible for us to draw the line, and as the tendency of our nature is rather to think too unfavorably
of our neighbours, it may be the safest rule to consider
every action as meritorious which can be supposed, by
any reasonable or plausible interpretation, to have probably, or even possibly, proceeded from a virtuous motive.
The author of The Man of Feeling, among the many
beautiful features in the character of Harley, has not
failed to remark this candid and amiable disposition.
" Her benevolence " - he is speaking of his heroine, Miss
Walton - "was unbounded. Indeed, the natural tenderness of her heart might have been argued by the frigidity of a casuist as detracting from her virtue in this
respect, for her humanity was a feeling, not a principle.
But minds like Harley's are not very apt to make this




THE BEAUTY OF VIRTUE.                 223
distinction, and generally give our virtue credit for all
that benevolence which is instinctive in our nature."
In offering these criticisms on the writings of Shaftesbury and Hutcheson, I would not be understood as
detracting from their merits.  I am fully sensible of the
infinite service they have rendered to this branch of science. by rescuing it from the hands of monks and casuists, and restoring it to its ancient honors. The enthusiasm with which both of them have painted the charms
of moral excellence, while it delights the imagination
and exalts the taste, is admirably calculated to lay hold
of the generous affections of youth, and to kindle in
their breasts the glow  of virtue.  The Rhapsody ot
Shaftesbury in particular, whatever the blemishes in
point of taste (and they are many) which a critical
reader may find in it, will remain for ever a monument
to the powers of his genius, as well as to the purity and
elevation of his mind.  It is in general free from the
reprehensible sentiments which have given so much just
offence in some of his earlier publicatiorns, and well
merits the encomium which Thomson has bestowed on
it in his enumeration of the illustrious names which
have adorned the literary history of England.
"The generous Ashley thine! the friend of man,
Who scanned his nature with a brother's eye,
His weakness prompt to shade, - to raise his aim,
To touch the finer movements of the mind,
And with the moral beauty charm the heart."
Still, however, I must again repeat, that it is chiefly
on account of their practical tendency that I would recommend these two eminent writers; and that, in order
to guard ourselves against the cavils of skeptics, it is
necessary to look out for a more solid foundation to
morality than their philosophy supplies.
IV. Whether all Beauty depends on its being Sitnificant or Suggestive of Mental Qualities.]  I must not
leave this subject of moral beauty, without taking some
notice of a speculation with respect to it, which formed
one of the favorite doctrines of the Socratic school, and




224     MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
which Shaftesbury and some other modern writers have
attempted to revive. In the observations I have hitherto made, I have proceeded on the supposition, that the
words beauty and sublimity are applied to actions and
characters Inetaphorically, or from an analogy between
the emotions which certain moral qualities and certain
material objects produce in the mind. This, which is
certainly the more obvious and the more common doctrine, seems to have been adopted by Cicero in the passage which I have already quoted. And as the opinion
we form concerning it has no connection with any of
the inquiries in which we have just been engaged, I
was unwilling to distract the attention by mentioning
any other.  The philosophers now referred to have
adopted a conclusion directly opposite to this, and have
maintained that the words beauty and sublimity express,
in their literal signification, qualities of mind; and that
material objects affect us in this way only by means of
the moral ideas they suggest. For my own part, I am
not prepared to say any thing very decided either on
the one side or on the other; but I must confess that
my present views rather incline to the last of these
doctrines. The following considerations, in particular,
seem to me to have great weight.
It is only in the case of our own minds that we have
any direct or immediate knowledge either of intellectual
or moral qualities. In the case of other men we know
them only by their external effects; that is, either by
the natural signs of intelligence and sentiment which
we read in the countenance, or by the information we
derive from artificial language, or by the inferences we
draw from their conduct and behaviour. To all these
external effects, but more particularly to the features
of the countenance, we apply the epithet of beautiful.
But I believe it will be found that this epithet is applicable to them onlt, or at least chiefily, in so far as they
are siwnaificatnt.  Into this question, however, when proposed in general terms, I shall not enter; nor shall I
take upon me positively to say that there is no beauty
in certain combinations of complexion and features, ab



THE BEAUTY OF VIRTUE.               225
stracted from  any particular meaning.  It is sufficient
for my purpose, if it be granted that the beauty of the
human face consists chiefly in its expression; and about
this it is impossible there can be any controversy. The
harman face, therefore, it would appear, is beautiful
chiefly as it presents to our conceptions the qualities of
im ind.
The same observation is applicable very nearly to
the material universe in general.  The pleasurable emotion it excites in the mind of the peasant or mechanic
is extremely trifling; but to those whose understandings have received such a degree of cultivation as to be
enabled to read in it the characters of power, wisdom,
and goodness, how sublime, how beautiful, does it appear! Even in the case of particular objects, it may
be doubted whether the beauty of order and uniformity
does not arise partly from  some obscure suggestion of
design and intelligence. I say partly, because, independent of any such considerations, order and uniformity please from the aids they afford to our powers of
comprehension and memory. If these observations are
well founded, it will follow  that it is mind alone that
possesses original and underived beauty; and that what
we call the beauty of the material world is chiefly, if
not wholly, reflected from intellectual and moral qualities; as the hlg/ht we admire on the disk of the moon
and planets is, when traced to its original source, the
light of the sun.  The exclamation, therefore, of the
poet in the following lines would appear, notwithstanding the enthusiasm which animates it, to be strictly and
philosophically just.
"Mind, mind alone,- bear witness earth and Heaven! -
The living fountains in itself contains
Of beauteous and sublime. Here hand in hand
Sit paramount the graces. Here enthroned,
Celestial Venus, with divinest airs,
Invites the soul to never-fading joy." *
If with these doctrines of the Socratic school wa
combine the fine and philosophical speculations of Mr.
* Akenside, Pleasures of lrnaginatior, Book I.




226       MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
Alison with respect to  the effect of association, they
will be found to add greatly to the evidence of the general conclu-sion.  Perhaps it may appear to some that
the former speculations are resolvable into the latter.
This, however, is not the case; for the former relate to
nattural sirns; the latter to arbitrary connections established in the mind by habit.  In the mind of the philosol)her, for example, who traces in the universe the signatures of the Divine perfections, the beauties he contemplates cannot, with propriety, be referred to association, any more than the charms of a beautiful face the
first time it is seen. But in a mind conversant with
poetry, to which every object in nature recalls a thousand agreeable images, a great part of the pleasing
effect must be referred to this source.  Even here, however, association operates in a manner which illustrates
and confirms the general theory, inasmuch as it produces its effect by making objects more sig,nificant than
they were before; or, in other words, by rendering them
the occasions of our conceiving intellectual and moral
beauties, of which they are not naturally expressive.*
Whatever opinion we adopt on this speculative question, there can be no dispute about the fact, that good
actions and virtuous characters form the most delightful of all objects to ihe human mind; and that
there are no charms in the external universe so powerful as those which recommend to us the cultivation of
the qualities that constitute the perfection and the happiness of our nature.
" Look, then, abroad through nature, to the range
()f planets, suns, and adamantine spheres,
Wheeling unshaken through the void immense,
And speak, 0 man! does this capacious scene,
With half that kindling majesty dilate
Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose,
Refulgent from the stroke of Coesar's fate,
Amid the crowd of patriots; and, his arm
Aloft extending, like eternal Jove
When guilt brings down the thunder, called aloud
* See the profound and eloquent reflections with which Mr. Alison coneludes the first chapter of his admirable Essays on the Nat'e and Principles of Taste.




THE BEAUTY OF VIRTUE.                    227
On Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel,
And bade the father of his country, Hail!
For. lo! the tyrant prostrate in the dust,
And Rome again is free? Is aught so fair,
In all the dewy landscapes of the spring,
In the bright eye of Hesper or the morn,
In nature's fairest forms, is aught so fair
As virtuous friendship? as the candid blush
Of him who strives with fortune to be just?
The graceful tear that streams for others' woes 
Or the mild majesty of private life,
Where peace with ever-blooming olive crowns
The gate, where honor's liberal hands effuse
Unenvied treasures, and the snowy wings
Of innocence and love protect the scene? " 
V. Use to be made of this Connection between Natural and Moral Beauty.]  It is no less evident that these
two kinds of taste (that for natural and that for moral
beauty), if not ultimately resolvable into the same principle, are  at least very nearly  allied, or very  closely
connected; insomuch that every author who has treated professedly of the one has been insensibly led to
illustrate his subject by frequent references to the other.
Hence in poetry the natural and pleasing union of
those pictures which recall to us the charms of exterinal nature, and that moral painting, which affects and
delights the heart.  The intentions of Nature, in thus
associating the ideas of the beautiful and the good, cannot be mistaken. Much, I am persuaded, might be
done by a judicious system of education, in following
out the plan which Nature has herself, in this instance,
so manifestly traced; as we find, indeed, was done to a
very great degree in those ancient schools, who considered it as the most important of all objects to establili,
such a union between philosophy and the fine arts.is
might add to the natural beauty of Virtue every attrlc(tion which the imagination could give her.
It would be improper to bring this subject to a conclusion  without mentioning the  attempt which  Mr.
Hume has made to show that what we call the beauty
of virtue is the beauty of utility. For a particular ex.
* Akenside, Book I.




228      MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
amination and refutation of this opinion, I refer the
reader to Mr. Smith's Theory of _Jioral Sentimlents.
Although, however, Mr. Smith differs from  Mr. Hume
in thinking that virtue pleases because we consider it
to be usefil, he agrees with him that all those qualities
w\hich we consider as amiable or agreeable are really
useful either to ourselves or to others.  In this respect
their conclusions coincide with the doctrines of the Socr atie school, and affobrd addilional evidence of the blencficent solicitude with which Nature allures us to the
practice of our duty. " Do you imagine," says Socrates to Aristippus, "that what is good is not beautiful?
Have you not observed that these appearances always
coincide?  Virtue, for instance, in the same respect as
to which we call it good, is ever acknowledged to be
beautiful also. In the character we always join the
two denominations together.*  The beauty of human
bodies corresponds, in like manner, with that economy
of parts which constitutes them good; and in every
circumstance of life the same object is constantly accounted both beautiful and good, inasmuch as it answers the purposes for which it is designed." t
SECTION III.
OF THE PERCEPTION OF MERIT AND DEMERIT.
I. Origrin and Use of Ideas of.Mlerit and Demerit.]
The various actions performed by other men not only
excite in our minds a benevolent affection towards
them, or a disposition to promote their happiness, but
impress us with a sense of the mnerit of the agents.
We perceive them to be the proper objects of love and
esteem, and that it is morally right that they should teceive their reward.  We feel ourselves called on to
inake their worth known to the world, in order to procure them the favor and respect they deserve; and if
By the words KaXoKvaya0o's and KaXoKcayaO6la
t Xenoph. Mllenorab., Lib. III. c. 8. The translation is Akensidesa.




MERIT AND DEMER'IT.           229
we allow it to remai.i secret, we are conscious of injustice in suppressing the natural language of the heart.
On the other hand, when we are witnesses of an act
of selfishness, of cruelty, or of oppression, whlether we
ourselves are sufferers or not, we are not only inspired
with aversion and hatred towards the delinquent, but
find it difficult to restrain our indignation from breaking loose against him. By this natural impulse of the
mind a check is imposed on the bad passions of indi
viduals, and a provision is made even before the estab.
lishment of positive laws for the good order of society.
In our own case, how delightful are our feelings
when we are conscious of doing well?  By a species
of instinct we know ourselves to be the object of the
esteem and attachment of our fellow-creatures, and we
feel, with the evidence of a perception, that Heaven
smiles on our labors, and that we enjoy the approbationI and favor of the Invisible Witness of our conduct.
Hence it is that we not only have a sense of merit, but
an anticipation of reward, and look forward to the future with increased confidence and hope. Nor is this
confidence weakened, provided we retain our integrity
unshaken, by the strokes of adverse fortune, but, on the
contrary, we feel it increase in proportion to the efforts
that we have occasion to make; and even in the moment of danger and of death it exhorts us to persevere,
and assures us that all will be finally well with us.
5Hence the additional heroism of the brave when they
draw the sword in a worthy cause. They feel themselves animated with tenfold strength, relying on the
succour of an invisible arm, and seeming to trust, while
employed in promoting the beneficent purposes of
Providence, " that guardian angels combat on their
side." Although, however, this sense of merit which
accompanies the performance of good actions convinces the philosopher of the connection which the Deity
has established between virtue and happiness, he does
not proceed on the supposition, that on particular occasions miraculous interpositions are to be made in his
favor. That virtue is the most direct road to happiness
20




230        MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND EMOTIONS.
he sees to be the case even in this world; but he knows
that the Deity governs by general laws; and when he
feels himself disappointed in the attainment of his
wishes, he acquiesces in his lot, and looks forward with
hope to futurity.  It is an error of the vulgar to expect
that good or bad fortune is, even in this world,to be the
immediate consequence of good  or bad  actions, — a
prejudice of which we may trace the influence in all
ages and nations, but more particularly in times of superstition and ignorance. From this error arose the
practices of judicial combat, and of trial by ordeal, both
of which formerly prevailed in this part of the world,
and of which the latter (as appears from  the Asiatic
Researches) kept its ground in Hindostan  as late  as
1784,* and probably keeps its ground at this day.  Absurd as these ideas are, they show  strongly how  natural to the human  mind are the sentiments noxw- under
consideration; for this belief of the connection between
virtue and goodfortune has plainly taken its rise from
the natural connection between the ideas of virtue and
merit, a  connection  which, we  may rest assured, is
agreeable to the general laws by which the universe is
governed, but which the slightest reflection may satisfy
us cannot always correspond with the order of events
in such a world as we inhabit at present.
I am  not certain but we may trace something of the
same kind in the sports of children, who have all a notion  that good fortune in  their games of chance depends upon perfect fairness towards their adversaries,
and that those are certain to lose who attempt to take
secretly any undue advantage.
* " In the code of the Gentoo laws mention is made of the trial by or
deal, which was one of the first laws instituted by Moses among the Jews.
See INumbers, Chap. V. Fire or water is usuallv employed; hbt in In
dia the mode varies, and is often determined by the choice of the parties.
I remember a letter from a man of rank, who was accused of corresponding in time of war with the enemy, in which he says.'Let my accuser be
pro(ducied; let me see him face to face; let the most venomous snakes he
put into a pot; let us put our hands into it together; let it be covered for
a certain time; and he who remaineth unhurt shall be innocent.'
"T'his trial is always accompanied with the solemnities of a religious
teremony"- Crawfor'd's Sketches of the Hlindoos, p. 298.




MERIT  AND  DEMERIT.                        231
"Pucri ludentes, Rex eris, aiunt,
Si rect&. facies." *
Indeed, the moral perceptions (although frequently misapplied in consequence of the weakness of reason and
the want of experience) may be as distinctly traced  in
the mind at that time  of life  as ever afterwards, wNhen
surely it cannot be supposed that they are the result, as
some authors  have  held, of a conviction, founded  oi
actual observation, of the utililty of virtue. t
* Horat. Epist., Lib. I. Ep. 1. 59.
"Let children sing
Amid their sports,' Do right and be a king."'
t Cousin expresses clearly and forcibly his views of the connection between merit and demerit and the rewards and plonishmernts rightfuilly inflicted
l)y society.  Hiistoire de la Philosophie du XVIIIC Sit'cle, Vincgtieme Lecon.
We copy a single paragraph from Professor Henry's excellent translation,
Elements of Psychloloqy, Chap. V.:- " Without ally doubt, it is useful to
society to inflict contempt upon the violator of moral order; without
doubt, it is useful to society to punish effectually the individual who attacks
the foundations of social order. This consideration of utility is real; it is
weighty; but I say that it is not the first. that it is only accessory, and that
the immediate basis of all penalty is the idea of the essential merit and
demerit of actions, - the general idea of' order, which imperiously demands
that the merit and demerit of actions, which is a law of reason and of order, should be realized in a society that pretends to be rational and well
ordered.  On this ground, and on this ground alone. of realizing this law
of' reason and of order, the two powers of society, opinion and government,
appear faithful to their primary law. Then comes up utility, - the imme
diate utility of repressing evil, and the indirect utility of preventing it by
example, that is, by fear. But this consideration has need of a basis superior to itself, in order to render it legitimate. Suppose. in fact, that there
is nothing good or evil in itself; and consequently neither essential merit
nor demerit, and consequently, again, no absolute right of blaming or
punishing; by what right, then, I ask, do you blame or disgrace a man, or
make him ascend the scaffold, or put him in irons for life, for the adva(ltaye
of others, when the action of the man is neither good nor bad in itself, and
mierits in itself neither blame nor punishment?  Suppose that it is not al,
solutely right, just in itself, to blame this man or to punish him, and the
legitimacy and propriety of infamy and of glory, and of every species of
reward and punishment, are at an end. Still further, I maintain if punishment has no other ground than utility, then even its utility is destroyedl;
for in order that a punishment may be useful, it is requisite, - 1st, that he
upon whom it is inflicted, endowed as he is with the principle of merit and
dcmerit. should regard himself as justly punished, and should accept his
punishment with a suitable disposition; 2d, that the spectators, equally en
dowed with the principle of merit and demerit. should regard the culprit as
justly punished according to the measure of his crime, and should apply
to themselves by anticipation the same justice in case of crime, and should




232        MORAL PERCEPTIONS AND  EMOTIONS.
II. Howt to gutarld caainst Self-deceit.]   I shall conelude this subject by  again  recalling  to the attention
of the reader a very remarkable fact formerly stated,
that our moral emotions seem  to be stronger with  respect to the conduct of others than  our own.  A  man
who can be guilty, apparently without remorse, of the
most flagrant injustice, will yet feel the warmest indignationl against a similar act of injustice in another; and
the best of men know  it to be in  many cases a useful
rule, before they determine  on any  particular conduct,
to consider how they would judge of the conduct of
another in the same circumstances.  " Do to  others as
ye would that they should do unto you." This is owing to  the  influence  of self-partiality  and  self-deceit.
IMr. Smith has been so much struck with the difference
of our moral judgments in our own case and in that of
another, that he has concluded conscience to be only an
application to ourselves of those rules which we have
collected from observing our feelings in cases in which
we are  not personally  concerned.  I shall afterwards
state some objections to which this opinion is liable.
Were it not for the influence of self-deceit, it could
hardly happen that a man should habitually act in direct opposition  to  his  moral principles.  We  know,
however, that this is but too frequently the case.  The
most perfect conviction of the obligation of virtue, and
the strongest moral feelings, will be of little use in regbe kept in harmony with the social order by the view of its legitimate penalties. Hence arises the utility of examples of punishments, whether moral or physical. But take away its foundation in justice, and you destroy
the utility of punishment; you excite indignation and abhorrence, instead
of awakening penitence in the victim, or teaching a salutary lesson to the
il)u]lic. You array courage, sympathy, every thing noble and elevated in
human nature. on the side of the victim. You excite all energetic spirits
against society and its artificial laws. Thus the utility of punishment is
itself grounded in its justice, instead of justice being grounded in its utility. Punishment is the sanction of the law, and not its foundation. Moral order has its foundation not in punishment, but punishment has its foundation in moral order. The idea of right and wrong is grounded only on
itself, on reason which reveals it. It is the condition of the idea of merit
and demerit which is the condition of the idea of reward and punishment;
and this latter is to the two former, but especially to the idea of right and
wrong, in the relation of the consequence to the principle." - ED.




MIORAL OBLIGATION.              233
ulating our conduct, unless we are at pains to attend
constantly to the state of our own character, and to
scrutinize with the most suspicious care the motives of
our actions. Hence the importance of the precept so
munch recommended by the moralists of all ages,"Anolv  thyself."
These observations may convince us still more of
the truth of what I have elsewhere remarked with respect to sentimental reading, and of its total insufficiency for forming a virtuous character without many other
precautions.*  Where its efficts are corrected by habits
of business, and every instance of conduct is brouiyldt
ho2me by the reader to himself, it may be a source of
solid improvement; for although strong moral feelings
do by no means alone constitute virtue, yet they add
to the satisfaction we derive from the discharge of our
duty, and they increase the interest we take in the
prosperity of virtue in the world.
CHAPTER IV.
OF MORAL OBLIGATION.
I. Ground of Obligation.]  According to some systems, moral obligation is founded entirely on our belief
that virtue is enjoined by the command of God. But
how, it may be asked, does this belief impose an obligation?  Only one of two answers can be given.
Either that there is a moral fitness that we should conform our will to that of the Author and the Governor
of the universe; or that a rational self-love should induce us, from motives of prudence, to study every
means of rendering ourselves acceptable to the Almighty Arbiter of happiness and misery.
On the first supposition, we reason in a circle.  We
* Philosophy of the Itilman liCnd, Part I. Chap. VIII. Sect. V.
20*




234              MORAL OBLIGATION.
resolve our sense of moral obligation into our sense of
religion, and the sense of religion into that of moral
obligation.
The other system, which makes virtue a mere matter
of priudence, allhouoh not so obviously unsatisfactory,
leads to consequences which sufficiently invalidate every
argument in its favor. Among others, it leads us to
conclude, —1. That the disbelief of a future state absolves from all moral obligation, excepting in so far as
we find virtue to be conducive to our present interest;
2. That a being independently and completely happy
cannot have any moral perceptions or any moral attributes.
But, further, the notions of reward and punishment
presuppose the notions of' right and wrong.  They are
sanctions of virtue, or additional motives to the practice
of it, but they suppose the existence of some previous
obligation.
In the last place, if moral obligation be constituted
by a regard to our situation in another life, how shall
the existence of a future state be proved, or even rendered probable, by the light of nature? or how shall
we discover what conduct is acceptable to the Deity?
The truth is, that the strongest presumption for such a
state is deduced from our natural notions of right and
wrong, of merit and demerit, and from a comparison
between these and the general course of human affairs.
It is absurd, therefore, to ask idhy we are bound to
practise virtue.  The very notion of virtue implies the
notion of obligation. Every being who is conscious
of the distinction between right and wrong carries
about with him a law which he is bound to observe,
notwithstanding he may be in total ignorance of a
future state.  " What renders obnoxious to punishment," as Dr. Butler has well remarked, "is not thle
foreknowledge of it, but merely the violating a known
obligation." Or (as Plato has expressed the same idea),
Tr LEyv OpOOv VOFLO r ETaL i3aOLXtK0'.
* Minos. "Right itself is a royal law."




MORAL OBLIGATION.               23o
From what has been stated, it follows that the moral
faculty, considered as an active power of the mind,
differs essentially from all the others hitherto enumerated.  The least violation of its authority fills us with
remorse.  On the contrary, the greater the sacrifices
we make in obedience to its suggestions, the greater
are our satisfaction and triumph.
II. Butler on the Supremacy of Conscience.]  The
supreme authority of conscience, although beautifully
described by many of the ancient moralists, was not
sufficiently attended to by modern writers as a fundamental principle in the science of ethics till the time
of Dr. Butler. Too little stress is laid on it by Lord
Shaftesbury; and the omission is the chief defect in
his system of morals.  Shaftesbury's opinion, however,
although he does not state it explicitly in his Inquiry,
seems to have been precisely the same at bottom with
that of Butler.*
With respect to Dr. Butler, I shall take this opportunity of remarking, that in his sermons On HIlunan
Nature, in the Preface to his Sermons, and in a short
Dissertation on Virtue annexed to his Analogy, he has,
in my humble opinion, gone farther towards a just explanation of our moral constitution than any other modern philosopher. Without aiming at the praise of novelty or of refinement, he has displayed singular penetration and sagacity in availing himself of what was sound
in former systems, and in supplying their defects. He
is commonly considered as an uninteresting and obscure
writer: but, for my own part, I never could perceive
the slightest foundation for such a charge; though I
am ready to grant that he pays little attention to the
graces of composition, and that the construction of his
sentences is frequently unskilful and unllarmonious.
As to the charge of obscurity, which he himself anticipated from the nature of his subject, he has replied to
it in the most satisfactory manner in the Preface al.
* See his Advice to an Author, Part I. Sect. II.




236                    MORAL  OBLIGArroN.
ready referred to. I think it proper to add, ihat I
would by no means propose these sermons (which were
originally preached before the learned Society of Lincolti's Intn) as models for the pulpit.   I consider them
merely  in  the  light of  philosophical essays.   In  the
same volume with them, however, are to be found some
practical and  characteristical discourses, which  are  peculiarly interesting and impressive, particularly the sermons On  Self-deceit, and  Oni the Character of Balaam;
both  of which  evince  an  iiftirnate  acquaintance  with
the springs of human action, rarely found in union with
speculative  and  philosophical powers  of so  high  an
order. The chief merit, at the same time, of Butler as
an ethical writer, undoubtedly lies in what he has written  on  the supreme altthoriy.of conscience  as the  governing principle of human conduct, -a doctrine which
he has placed in the strongest and happiest lights, and
which, before his time, had been very little attended to
by the moderns. It is sometimes alluded to by Lord
Shaftesbury, but so very slightly as almost to justify
the censure which Butler bestows on this part of his
writings.
The scope of Butler's own reasonings may be easily
conceived from the passage of Scripture which he has
chosen as the groundwork of his argument: -" For
when the Gentiles, which have not the law, do by nature the things contained in the law, these, having not
the law, are a law  unto themselves." *
* "Butler's writings," says Dr. Whewell, "have been of the greatest
value in preserving and restoring among us true views of morality; but
there are some expressions used by him, which, if not duly limited, ma:
ecad his followers into mistakes.  Thus, he sometimes speaks. not only o'
the athlloritq, but of the sltpreemacy, of conscience.  Now if by calling con
science sj,'Velne, it were meant that the principle so described is some
thing possessing sovereign and original authority over men's otl-lher spring:
of action. this principle would necessarily  be the proper ground of raues oj
action: and all such rules must be derived ultimately from  this principle
We shou(l then, in order to frame rules of nioralitv, or to decide attv more
question. have to inquire how we can learn tile decisions of conscience o:
such subijects.  Conscience is otir ouide; where are we to learn what sh
say s   Conscience, the law on the heart, is supreme over all laws; ho'
are we to read this law?  Conscielce is the test of' right ltnd wrong; bt
whose conscience? for conscience belongs to a person. Butler's opponent




MORAL OBLIGATION.                          237
III.  Other Authorities for the same Doctrine.]   One
of the clearest and most concise statements of this
doctrine  that I have  met with  is in  a sermon  On. the
Nature and  Obligation of Virtue, by Dr. Adams of Oxford; the justness of whose ideas on this subject make
have constantly said, -' You tell us that conscience is the proper guide
of action; but whose conscience? ours, or yours?  Our consciences point
different ways;- can both be right? And if not both, how are we to
know which'
"These are familiar and popular arguments; but they appear to me to
be lecisive against all who ascribe to conscience a stlremalc, in the proper
sense of the term  - nanely, a sovereign and ultimate authority over all
other principles of action, so that, when a decision is pronounced by conscience, there is no further reason to be rendered for it, nor any higher decision to be sought...... But I think it is very plain that this was not
Butler's view, - that he did not thus hold an original and independent
faculty of conscience, whose decisions would form  a- permanent body of
moral rules. I think that, with him, conscience was not a body of truths,
but a process by which truth is to be obtained;- a faculty, if you choose,
but a faculty which must be trained and exercised in order to be used, -
which may be improved, instructed, and enlightened, - which mayv be
blinded and perverted in individual men. Conscience is a faculty of man,
as reason is a faculty;- a power by exercising which he may come to
discern truths, not a repository of truths already collected in a visible
shape.  Conscience, indeed, is the reason, employed about questions of
right and wrong, and accompanied with the sentiments of approbation andt
condemnation which, by the nature of man, cling inextricably to his Iapprehension of right and wrong.'Ihis is the view that we have been led
to take of contscience. This is, as I conceive, Butler's view also. That
by conscience he does not mean any special independent faculty, distinct
from the reason with its accompanying moral sentiments, is, I think, evident
from the whole current of his language. He does not confine himself to
the single term conscience, in his account of the superior principle of our
nature: on the contrary, he perpetually uses, for this term or with it, other
terms, which give the same view of it which we have taken. He calls it'reflection on conscience, an approbation of some principles or actions,
and a disapprobation of others'; - and again,' reflex approbation or disapprobation.' All the phrases which he employs manifestly point at a
principle or faculty, not by which we necessarily have, but by which we
may get, a true knowledge of the course which we ought to take under any
given circumstances.  We are, to use another of his phrases,'to act suitablv to our whole nature, and especially to the higher and better part of
our nature'; the constitution of human nature being such that. there;s in
it a higher and better part. This higher and better part tells us that injutstice is worse than pain; but it does not tell us what acts are unjust,
except through the process of reflection. The notion of injustice is necessarily the object of disapprobation to the conscience; but to unfold this
notion of injustice into detail, so as to see what special acts are included
in it,- this is the office of the reflection, that is, of the reason."  Lectures
on Systematic Morality, Lecture VI.
On the vwhole subject of conscience, see President Wayland's Elements
of Moral Science, Book I. Chap. II. - ED.




238             MORAL OBLIGATION.
it the more surprising that his pupil and friend, Dr,
Sarnuel Johnson, should have erred so very widely firon
thile truth. " Right," says he, "implies duty in its idea.
To perceive an action to be right is to see a reason for
doing it in the action itself, abstracted from all other
considerations whatever; and this perception, this acknowledged rectitude in the action, is the very essence
of obligation, that which commands the approbation
and choice, and binds the conscience, of every rational
1-human being." -" Nothing can bring us under an obligation to do what appears to our moral judgment
wrong. It may be supposed our interest to do this, but
it cannot be supposed our duty. For, I ask, if some
power, which we are unable to resist, should assume
the command over us, and give us laws which are unrighteous and unjust, should we be under an obligation
to obey him?  Should we not rather be obliged to
shake off the yoke, and to resist such usurpation, if it
were in our power?   However, then, we might be
swayed by hope or fear, it is plain that we are under
an obligation to right, which is antecedent, and in order
and nature superior, to all other. Power may compel,
interest may bribe, pleasure may persuade, but reason
only can oblige.  This is the only authority which rational beings can own, and to which they owe obedience."
Dr. Clarke has expressed himself nearly to the same
purpose. " The judgment and conscience of a man's
own mind concerning the reasonableness and fitness of
the thing is the truest and formallest obligation; for
whoever acts contrary to this sense and conscience of
his own mind is necessarily se~f-condemned; and the
greatest and strongest of all obligations is that which
a man cannot break through without condemning himself. So far, therefore, as men are conscious of what
is rig,,ht and wrong, so far they are under an obligation
to act accordingly." *
* Discourse concerning the Unalterable Obligations of Natural Religios,
Proposition I. 3.




MORAL OBLIGATION.                         239
I would not have quoted so many passages in illustration of a point which appears to myself so very
obvious, if I had not been anxious to counteract the
authority of some eminent writers who have lately
espoused a very different system, by showing how
widely they have departed from the sound and philosophical views of their predecessors.   I confess, too,
I should have distrusted my own judgment, if, on a
question so interesting to human happiness, and so
open to examination, I had been led, by any theoretical
refinements, to  a conclusion which was not sanctioned
by the concurrent sentiments of other impartial inquirers.   The  fact, however, is, that, as this  view  of
human nature is the most simple, so it is the most
ancient, which occurs in the history of moral science.
It was the doctrine of' the Pythagorean school, as appears  from   a  fragment of  Theages,  a  Pythagorean
writer, published  in  Gale's  Opuscula  lIythologica.   It
is also explained by Plato in some of his Dialogues,
in which he compared the soul to a commonwealth,
and reason to the council of state, which governs and
directs the whole.*
* " In Plato's Dialogues the question is repeatedly discussed, whether
the rule of action for man be the pursuit of pleasure and gain, or the internal harmony of his nature. You will, many of you, recollect the lively
and dramatic dialogue at the beginning of The Republic, in which the
former of these opinions is asserted by one of the interlocutors, and the
acute and decisive Socratic refutation which it encounters.   You will
recollect, too, the doctrine announced at the close of the fourth book, as
the result of the previous discussion.' Virtue, then. as we are thus led to
see, is a health and beauty and well-being of the soul. Vice is a disease,
and foulness, and infirmity.' And when the original question is, at this
point of the argument, again asked, - whether it is better to be just or to
be unjust, even if the injustice is to remain unknown by all and to meet no
punishment, - the person to whom the argument is addressed, and who is,
by this time, brought to a conviction of the truth of the doctrine which it
is the object of the dialogue to inculcate, says,'Nay, Socrates, this question
is now ridiculously superfluous.' And in the ninth book. the discussion
being really concluded, the speakers, playfully mimicking the practice of
pronouncing, by the voice of a public crier, a solemn judgment upon the
merit of a theatrical spectacle, agree to proclaim, -' The son of Aristo
gives hbs judgment that the most virtuous and just is also the most happy,
and the wicked and unjust the most. unhappy'; and further,' that this is
so, even if their deeds are hidden fiom all, mnen and gods.'" - Whewell's Sysletmatic Morali;ty, Lecture VI.




240                 MORAL OBLIGATION.
In the following passage from Cicero the same doctrine is enforced in a manner peculiarly sublime and
expressive, or, as Lactantius says, pwne divina voce.
" Est quidem  vera Lex, recta ratio, nature congruens,
diffusa in omnes, constans, sempiterna, qua vocet ad
officium  jubendo, vetando  a  firaude  deterreat, que
tamen neque probos frustra jubet aut vetat, nec improbos jubendo aut vetando movet. Huic legi nec obrogari fas est, neque derogari ex hac aliquid licet, neque
tota abrogari potest. Nec vero aut per senatum aut
per populum solvi hac lege possumus: neque est quwerendus explanator aut interpres ejus alius: nec erit alia
Lex Romte, alia Athenis, alia nune, alia posthac; sed
et omnes gentes, et omni tempore una lex et sempiterna et immutabilis continebit; unusque erit communis quasi magister et imperator omnium  Deus.  Ille
legis hujus inventor, disceptator, lator. Cui qui non
parebit, ipse se fugiet, ac, naturam hominis aspernatus,
hoc ipso luet maximas paenas, etiamsi cetera supplicia,
quse putantur, effugerit." 
It is very justly observed by Mr. Smith (and I consider the remark  as of the highest importance), that,
"if the distinction pointed out in the foregoing quotations between the moral factlty and our other active
powers be acknowledged, it is of the less consequence
what particular theory we adopt concerning the origin of
our moral ideas." And accordingly, though he resolves
moral approbation ultimately into a feeling of the mind,
he nevertheless represents the supremacy of conscience
*De Repub., Lib. III. 22. " There is a true law, a right reason, congruous to nature, pervading all minds, constant, eternal; which calls to
duty by its commands, and repels from wrong-doing by its prohibitions:
and to the good does not command or forbid in vain, while the wicked are
unmoved by its exhortations or its warnings. This law cannot be annulled, superseded, or overruled. No senate, no people, can loose us from
it; no jurist, no interpreter, can explain it away. It is not one law at
Rome, another at Athens; one at present, another at some future time;
but one law, perpetual and immutable, it extends to all nations and all
times, the universal sovereign. Of this law the author and giver is God.
Whoever disobeys it flies from himself, and by the wrong thus done to his
own nature, even though he should escape every other form of punishment, incurs the heaviest penalty'




MORAL OBLIGATION.             24
as a principle which is equally essential to all the different systems that have been proposed on the subject.
" Upon whatever we suppose our moral faculties to be
founded," (I quote his own words,) " whether upon a
certain modification of reason, upon an original instinct
called a moral sense, or upon some other principle of
our nature, it cannot be doubted that they are given us
for the direction of our conduct in this life.  They
carry along with them the most evident badges of their
authority, which denote that they were set up within
us to be the supreme arbiters of all our actions; to
superintend all our senses, passions, and -appetites;
and to judge how far each of them was to be either
indulged or restrained. Our moral faculties are by no
means, as some have pretended, upon a level in this
respect with the other faculties and appetites of our
nature, endowed with no more right to restrain these
last than these last are to restrain them.  No other
faculty or principle of action judges of any other.
Love does not judge of resentment, nor resentment
of love. Those two passions may be opposite to ohe
another, but cannot, with any propriety, be said to
approve or disapprove of one another. But it is the
peculiar office of those faculties now under consideration to judge, to bestow censure or applause upon all
the other principles of our nature."
",Since these, therefore," continues Mr. Smith, " were
plainly intended to be the governing principles of human nature, the rules which they prescribe are to be
regarded as the commands and laws of the Deity promulgated by those vicegerents which he has thus set
up within us. By acting according fo their dictates
we may be said, in some sense, to cooperate with the
Deity, and to advance, as far as in our power, the plan
of Providence. By acting otherwise, on the contrary,
we seem to obstruct in some measure the scheme which
the Author of Nature has established for the happiness
and perfection of the world, and'to declare ourselves
in some measure the enemies of God. Hence we are
naturally encouraged to hope for his extraordinary favor
21




242                MORAL OBLIGATION.
and reward in the one case, and to dread his vengeance
and punishment in the other."*
I have only to add further on this subject, at present,
that the supreme authority of conscience is felt and
tacitly acknowledged by the worst no less than by the
best of men; for even they who have thrown off all
hypocrisy with the-world are at pains to conceal theii
real character from their own eyes. No man ever, in a
soliloquy or private meditation, avowed to himself that
he was a-villain; nor do I believe that such a character
as Joseph, in The Schoolfor Scandal, (who is introduced
as reflecting coolly on his own knavery and baseness,
without any uneasiness but what arises from the dread
of detection,) ever existed in the world.  Such men
probably impose op themselves fully as much as they
do upon others.   Hence the various artifices of selfdeceit which Butler has so well described in his discourses on that subject.
It is said by St. Augustine, that at the delivery of
that famous line of Terence," Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto,"
" I am a man, and feel an interest in all mankind," —
the whole Roman theatre resounded with applause.t
We may venture to say that a similar sentiment, well
pronounced by an actor, would at this day, in the most
corrupt capital in Europe, be followed by a similar burst
of sympathetic emotion.
" Voyez i nos spectacles
Quand on peint quelque trait de candeur, de bont6,
Oi brille en tout son jour la tendre humanite,
Tous les cceurs sont remplis d'une volupt6 pure,
Et c'est la qu'on entend le cri de la nature." t
"On  such  occasions,"  as a late writer remarks,
"though we may think meanly of the genius of the
poet, it is impossible not to think, and to be happy
in thinking, highly of the people; — the people whose
* Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part III. Chap. V.
t See a note on-this line in Coleman's translation of Terence's S/f:
Tomnentor.
t Gresset, Le Mbfchant.




AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES.           243
opinions may often be folly, whose conduct may sometimes be madness, but whose sentiments are almost
always honorable and just; - the people whom an
author may delight with bombast, may amuse with
tinsel, may divert with idlecency, but whom he cannot
mislead in principle, nor harden into inhumanity. It is
only the mob in the side boxes, who, in the coldness of
sell-interest, or the languor of outworn dissipation, can
hear unmoved the sentiments of compassion, of generosity, or of virtue." 
CHAPTER V.
OF CERTAIN PRINCIPLES WHICH  CO'PERATE WITH
OUR MORAL POWERS IN THEIR INFLUENCE ON THE
CONDUCT.
IN order to secure still more completely the good
order of society, and to facilitate the acquisition of
virtuous habits, nature has superadded to our moral
constitution a variety of auxiliary principles, which
sometimes give rise to a conduct agreeable to the rules
of morality and highly useful to mankind, where the
merit of the individual, considered as a moral agent,
is inconsiderable. Hence some of them have been confounded with our moral powers, or even supposed to
be of themselves sufficient to account for the phenomena of moral perception, by authors whose views
of human nature have not been sufficiently comprehensive. The most important principles of this description are, - 1st. A Regard to Character. 2d. Sympathy. 3d. The Sense of the Ridiculous. And 4th.
Taste., The principle of Self-Love (which was treated
of in a former section) cooperates very powerfully to
the same purposes.
* Mackenzie's Account of the German Theatre. Transactions of tho
Royal Society of Edinburgh, Vol. II. Part II. p. 174.




244            AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES.
SECTION I.
OF DECENCY, OR A REGARD TO CHARACTER.
UPON this subject I had formerly occasion to offeT
various remarks, in treating'of the desire of esteem.
But the view of it which I then took was extremely
general, as I did not think it necessary for me to attend
to the distinction between intellectual and moral qualities. There can be no doubt that a regard to the good
opinion of our fellow-creatures has great influence in
promoting our exertions to cultivate both the one and
the other; but what we are more particularly concerned
to remark at present is the effect which this jirinciple
has in strengthening our virtuous habits, and in restraining those passions which a sense of duty'alone would
not be sufficient to regulate.
I have before observed, that the desire of esteem operates in children before they have a capacity of distinguishing right from wrong; and that the former principle of action continues for a long time to be much
more powerful than the latter. Hence it furnishes a
most useful and effectual engine in the business of education, more particularly by training us early to exertions of self-command and self-denial. It teaches us,
for example, to restrain our appetites within those
bounds which delicacy prescribes, and thui forms us to
habits of moderation and temperance. And although
our conduct cannot be denominated virtuous so long as
a regard to the opinion of others is our sole motive,
yet the habits we thus acquire in infancy and childhood
render it more easy for us to subject our passions to
reason and conscience as we advance to maturity.
The subject well deserves a more ample illustration;
but at present it is sufficient to recall these remarks to
the recollection of the reader.




SYMPATHY. -ADAM SMITH.           245
SECTION II.
OF SYMPATHY.
I. Nature and Functions of Sympathy.]  That there
is an exquisite pleasure annexed by the constitution of
our nature to the sympathy or fellow-feeling of other
men with our joys and sorrows, and even with our
opinions, tastes, and humors, is a'fact obvious to vulgar
observation. It is no less evident that we feel a disposition to accommodate the state of our own minds to
that of our companions, wherever we feel a benevolent
affection towards them, and that this accommodating
temper is in proportion to the strength of our affection.
In such cases sympathy would appear to be grafted
on benevolence; and perhaps it might be found, on an
accurate examination, that the greater part of the pleasure which sympathy yields is resolvable into that-which
arises from the exercise of kindness, and from the consciousness of being beloved.
II. Adam Smith's Theory.] The phenomenalgenerally referred to sympathy have appeared to Mr. Smith
so important, and so curiously connected, that he has
been led to attempt anll explana1on from this single
principle of all the phenomena of moral perception.
In this attempt, however, (not to mention the vague
use which he occasionally makes of the term,) he has
plainly been misled, like many eminent philosophers
before him, by an excessive love of simplicity; and
has mistaken a very subordinate principle in our moral
constitution (or rather a principle superadded to our
moral constitution as an auxiliary to the sense of duty)
for that faculty which distinguishes right from wrong,
and which (by what name soever we may choose to
call it) recurs to us constantly in all our ethical disquisitions, as an ultimate fact in the nature of man.
I shall take this opportunity of offering a few remarks
on this most ingenious and beautiful theory, in the
21*




246           AUXILIARY PRIN TIPLES.
course of which I shall have occasion to state all that
I think necessary to observe concerning the place which
sympathy seems to me really to occupy in our moral
constitution. In stating these remarks, I would be understood to express myself with all the respect and veneration due to the talents and virtues of a writer, whose
friendship I regard as one of the most fortunate incidents of my life, but, at the same time, with that entire freedom which the importance of the subject demands, and which I know that his candid and liberal
mind would have approved.
In addition to the incidental strictures which I have
already hazarded on Mr. Smith's theory, I have yet to
state two objections of a more general nature, to which
it appears to me to be obviously liable. But before I
proceed to these objections, it is necessary for me to
premise (which I shall do in Mr. Smith's words) a remark which I have not hitherto had occasion to mention, and which may be justly regarded as one of the
most characteristical principles of his system.
" Were it possible," says he, " that a human creature
could grow up to manhood in some solitary place, without any communication with his own species, he could
no more think of his own character, of the propriety or
demerit of his own sentiments and conduct, of the
beauty or deformity of his own mind, than of the beauty or deformity of his own face. All these are objects
which he cannot easily see, which naturally he does not
look at, and with regard to which he is provided With
no mirror which can present them to his view. Bring
him into society, and he is immediately provided with
the mirror which he wanted before. It is placed in the
countenance and behaviour of those he lives with, which
always mark when they enter into and when they disapprove of his sentiments, and it is here that he first
views the propriety and impropriety of his own passions,
the beauty and deformity of his own mind." *
* 277eor'f Moral Sentiments, Part III. Chap. I.




SYMPATHY. -ADAM SMITIH.          247
II. Two Objections to the Theory in general.l To
this account of the origin of our moral sentiments it
may be objected, - 1st. That, granting the proposition
to be true, " that a human creature, who should grow
up to manhood without any communication with his
own species, could no more think of the propriety or
demerit of his own sentiments than of the beauty or deformity of his own face," it would by no means authorize the conclusion which is here deduced from it. Tilhe
necessity of social intercourse, as an indispensable condition implied in the generation and growth of our moral sentiments, does not arise merely from its effect in
holding up a mirror for the examination of our own
character; but from the impossibility of-finding, in a
solitary state, any field for the exercise of our most important moral duties. In such a state the moral faculty
would inevitably remain dormant and useless, for the
same reason that the orgah of sight would remain uselegs and unknown to a person who should pass his
whole life in the darkness of a dungeon.
2d. It may be objected to Mr. Smith's theory, that it
confounds the means or expedients by which nature enables us to correct our moral judgments, with the principles in our constitution to which our moral judgments
owe their origin. These means or expedients he has
indeed described with singular penetration and sagacity, and by doing so has thrown new and most important lights on practical morality; but, after all his reasonings on the subject, the metaphysical problem concerning the primary sources of our moral ideas and
emotions will be found involved in the same obscurity
as before. The intention of such expedients, it is perfectly obvious, is merely to obtain a just and fair view
of circumstances; and after this view has been obtained, the question still remains, what constitutes the
obligation upon me to act in a particular manner? Ia
answer to this question it is said, that, from recollecting
my own judgments in similar cases in which I have been
concerned, I infer in what light my conduct will appear
to society; that there is an exquisite satisfaction annexed




248               AUXILIARY  PRINCIPLES.
to mutual sympathy; and that, in order to obtain this
satisfaction, I accommodate my conduct, not to my
own-feelings, but to those of my fellow-creatures. Now
I acknowledge that this may account for a man's assuming the appearance of virtue, and I believe that
something of this sort is the real foundation of the
rules of good breeding in polished society; * but in the
important concerns of life I apprehend there is something more; for when I have once satisfied myself
with respect to the conduct which an impartial judge
would approve of, I feel that this conduct is right for
me, and that I am under a moral obligation to put it
in practice. If I had had recourse to no expedient for
correcting my first judgment, I should nevertheless
have'formed some judgment or other of a particular
conduct, as right, wrong, or indifferent, and the only
difference would have been, that I should probably have
decided improperly, from an erroneous or a partial view
of the case.
From these observations I conclude that the words
right and wrong, ought and ought not,-  express simple
ideas or notions, of which no explanation can be given.
They are to be found in all languages, and it is impossible to carry on any ethical speculation without them.
Of this Mr. Smith himself furnishes a remarkable
proof in the statement of his theory, not only by the
occasional use which he makes of these and other synonymous expressions, but by his explicit and repeated
acknowledgments, that the propriety of actions cannot
* This remark I borrow from Dr. Beattie, who. in his Essay on Tr3uth,
observes, that the foundation of good breeding is " that kind of sensibility
or sympathy by which we suppose ourselves in the situation of others,
adopt their sentiments, and in a manner perceive their very thoughts."
Part I. Chap. I. The observation well deserves to be prosecuted.
t Dr. Hutcheson, in his IIlustrations upon thle Moral Sense, calls ought a
confused word: - " As to that confused word ought," &c. Sect. I. ad fin.
But for this he seems to have had no better reason than the impossibility
of defining it logically. And may not the same remark be applied to the
words time, space, motion? Was there ever a language in which these
words, together with those of ought and ought not, were not to be found?
Ought corresponds with the 8iE of the Greeks, and the oportet and decet el
the Latins.




SYMPATHY.- ADAMI SMITH.           249
be always determined by the actual judgments of soc.i
ety, and that, in such cases, we must act according to
the judgments which other men ought to have formed
of. our conduct. Is not this to admit that we have a
standard of right and wrong in our own minds, of superior authority to any instinctive propensity we may
feel to obtain the sympathy of our fellow-creatures?
It was in order to reconcile this acknowledgment
with the general language of his system that -Mr. Smith
was forced to have recourse to the supposition of "an
abstract man within the breast, the representative of
mankind and substitute of the Deity, whom nature has
constituted the supreme judge of all our actions." *
Of this very ingenious fiction he has availed himself in
various passages of the first editions of his book; but
he has laid much greater stress upon it in the last edition, the sixth, published a short time before his death
An idea somewhat similar occurs in Lord Shaftesbury's
Advice to an Author, where he observes, with that
quaintness of phraseology which so often deforms his
otherwise beautiful style, that " when the wise ancients
spoke of a demon, genius, or angel, to whom we are
committed from the moment of our birth, they meant
no more than enigmatically to declare,'that we have
each.of us a patient in ourselves; that we are properly
our own subjects of practice; and that we then become
due practitioners, when, by virtue of an intimate recess,
we can discover a certain duplicity of soul, and divide
ourselves into two parties.'"   He afterwards tells us,
that, " according as this recess was deep and intimate,
and the dual number practically formed in us, we were
supposed by the ancients to advance in morals and true
wisdom." t
By means of this fiction Mr. Smith has rendered his
theory (contrary to what might have been expected
from its first aspect) perfectly coincident in its practical
tendency with that cardinal principle of the Stoical
philosophy which exhorts us to search for the rules of
* Page 208, 5th edition.    t Part I. Sect. II.




250            AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES.
life, not without ourselves, but within: — " Nec te quma.
siveris extra." Indeed, Butler himself has not asserted
the authority and supremacy of conscience in stronger
terms than -Ir. Smith, who represents this as a manifest and unquestionable principle, whatever particular
theory we may adopt concerning the origin of our
moral ideas. It is only to be regretted, that, instead of
the metaphorical expression of' "the man within the
breast, to whose opinions and feelings we find it of
more consequence to conform our conduct than to those
of the whole world," he had not made use of the
simpler and more familiar words reason and conscience.
This mode of speaking was indeed suggested to him,
or rather obtruded on him, by the theory of sympathy,
and nothing can exceed the skill and taste with which
he has availed himself of its assistance in perfecting
his system; but it has the effect, with many readers, of
keeping out of view the real state of the question, and
(like Plato's commonwealth of the soul and council of
state) to encourage among inferior writers a figurative
or allegorical style in treating of subjects which, more
than any other, require all the simplicity, precision, and
logical consistency of which language is susceptible.
IV. Particular Instances in which Smith lays too much
Stress on Sympathy.]  A few slight observations on detached passages of Mr. Smith's theory will be useful in
illustrating more fully certain phenomena referred by
him, rather too exclusively, to the principle of sympathy or fellow-feeling.
In proof of the pleasure annexed to mutual sympathy, Mr. Smith remarks, that " a man is mortified when,
after having endeavoured to divert the company, he
looks around and sees that nobody laughs at his jest
but himself. " * It may be doubted, however, if in this
case a disappointed sympathy be the chief cause of
his uneasiness. Various other circumstances undoubtedly conspire, particularly the censure which the silence
Part 1. Sect. 1. Chap. II.




SYMPATHY. - ADAM SMITH.          2.51
of the company conveys of his taste and judgment, together with the proof it exhibits of their sullenness and
want of good-humor.
The pleasure, too, which, according to Mr. Smith,
we receive from reading to a stranger a poem whose
effect on ourselves has been destroyed by repetition,
may be explained, without any refinement about sympathy, by the satisfaction we always feel in communicating pleasure to another, combined with the flattering though indirect testimony paid to the justness of
our taste by its coincidence with that of an individual
whose judgment we respect. The sympathy of an acknowledged fool would certainly be in the same circumstances a source of mortification.
In mentioning these considerations, I do not mean to
dispute that there is an exquisite pleasure arising from
mutual sympathy; but only to suggest, that Mr. Smith
has ascribed to this principle solely various phenomena,
ill accounting for which other causes appear to be no
less deserving of attention
The versatile and accommodating manners which
Mr. Smith has so beaEutifully described in various passages of his Theory may be assumed from different
motives, —in some men from a desire to promote the
happiness of those around them; and where this is the
case, it is unquestionably one of the most amiable and
meritorious forms in which benevolence can appear,
and contributes more by its daily and constant operation to increase the comfort of human life than those
splendid exertions of virtue which we are so seldom
called upon to make. In other men, in whom the benevolent affections are not so strong, it may proceed
chiefly from a view to their own tranquillity and amusernent, and may render them agreeable and harmless
companions, without giving them any claim to the appellation of virtuous. In many it arises from views of
self-interest and ambition; and in such men, whatever
pleasure we may have derived from their society, these
qualities never fail to inspire universal distrust and dislike, as soon as they are known to be the real motives




252            AUXILIARY PRINCTPLES.
of that pliancy and versatility with which we were at
first captivated. It would appear, therefore, that the accommodating temper, where it is approved as morally
right, is not approved on its own account, but as an
expression of a benevolent disposition.
From the combined efforts of the actor and of the
spectator towards a mutual sympathy, Mr. Smith endeavours to trace the origin of "two different sets of
virtues." Upon the effort of the spectator to enter into
the situation of the person principally concerned, and
to raise his sympathetic emotions to a level with the
emotions of the actor, are founded "the gentle, the
amiable virtues, the virtues of candid condescension
and indulgent humanity." Upon the effort of the per
son principally concerned to lower his own emotions,
so as to correspond as nearly as possibl] with those of
the spectator, are founded " the great, the awful, and
respectable virtues, the virtues of sel;-denial, of selfgovernment, of that command of the passions which
subjects all movements of our nature to what our own
dignity and honor, and the propriety of our own conduct, require."  If the word qualities were substituted
for virtues, I agree in general with this doctrine. The
mode of expression, however, certainly requires correction. "Candid condescension" and "indulgent humanity " are always amiable; and when they really proceed
from a disposition habitually benevolent, are with great
propriety called virtues. "l Self-denial and self-government" are always respectable, and sometimes awful
qualities, because they indicate a force of mind which
few men possess; but it depends on the motives from
which they are exercised, whether they indicate a virtuous or a vicious character.
As a further illustration of the foregoing doctrine
Mr. Smith considers particularly the degrees of the different passions which are consistent with propriety,
and endeavours to show, that in every case it is de.
cent or indecent to express a passion strongly, accord.
* Ibid., C ip V.




SYMPATHY. -ADAM SMITH.           253
ing as mankind are disposed or not disposed to sympathize with it. It is unbecoming, for example, to express strongly any of those passions which arise from
a certain condition of the body; because other men
who are not in the same condition cannot be expected
to sympathize with them. It is unbecoming to cry out
with bodily pain, because the sympathy felt by the
spectator bears no proportion to the acuteness of what;
is felt by the sufferer. The case is somewhat similar
with those passions which take their origin from a par.
ticular turn or habit of the imagination.*
All violent expressions of such passions are undoubtedly offensive, and good breeding dictates that they
should be restrained; but not because the spectator
finds it difficult to enter into the situation of the person
principally concerned; perhaps the opposite reason
would be nearer the truth. To eat voraciously in the
presence of a company who have already dined would
be obviously indecent; but I apprehend, not so much
so as to eat even moderately in presence of one whom
we knew to be hungry, and who was not permitted to
share in the repast. With respect to bodily pain, it appears to me that there is no calamity- whatever which
so completely interests the spectator, or with which his
sympathy is so acute and lively. It is on this account
that a steady composure under it, while it indicates
the manly quality of self-command, has something in
it peculiarly amiable, when we suppose that it proceeds
in any degree from a tenderness for the feelings of others. In many surgical operations it is probable that
the imagination of the pain exceeds the reality; and
there cannot be a doubt, that, where the patient is the
object of our love, the sufferings which he feels require
less fortitude than ours.
Again, in the case of the unsocial passions of " ha.
tred and resentment," the sympathy of the spectator
"is divided" between the person- who feels the passion
and the person who is the' object of it. " We are con* Ibid., Sect. II. Chap. I.
22




254            AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES.
cerned for both, and our fear for what the one may suffer damps our resentment for what the other has suffered." * Hence the imperfect degree in which we sympathize with such passions, and the propriety, when
under their influence, of moderating their expression
to a much greater degree than in the case of any other
emotions.
Abstraction made of all considerations of this kind,
satisfactory reasons may be given for our listening
with caution to the dictates of resentment when we
ourselves are the sufferers. - Experience must soon satisfy us how apt this passion is to blind the judgment,
and to exaggerate in our estimation the injury we have
received; and how certainly we lay in matter for future
remorse for our cooler hours, if we obey its first suggestions. A wise man, therefore, learns to delay forming
his resolutions till his passion has in some degree subsided;- not in order to obtain the sympathy of other
men, but in order to secure the approbation of his own
conscience. If he conceives to himself what conduct
the impartial. spectator will approve of, it is merely
as an expedient to divest himself of the partialities of
self-love; and when he acts agreeably to what he supposes to be, on this occasion, the unbiased judgment
of spectators, his satisfaction arises,~not from the possession of their sympathy, but from a consciousness that
he has done his best to ascertain what was right, and
has regulated his conduct accordingly.
" Where there is no envy in the case, our propensity
to sympathize with joy is much stronger than our propensity to sympathize with sorrow."
" It is on account of this dull sensibility to the afflictions of others, that magnanimity amidst great distress always appears so divinely graceful."t
If this were true, would it not follow that the admiration of heroic magnanimity would be in proportion
to the insensibility of the spectator?
-" Finally, it is because mankind are more disposed
* Ibid., Chap. III.     t Ibid., Sect. III. Chap. I.




SYMPATHY. - ADAM SMITH.           255
to court the favor, to comply with the humors, and to
judge with indulgence the actions, of the prosperous
than of the unfortunate, that we make parade of our
riches, and conceal our poverty." - " It is the misfortunes of kings alone," Mr. Smith adds, " which afford
the proper subjects for tragedy." *
Of this last proposition I confess I have some doubts,
at least to the extent in which it is here stated; and I
am inclined to think that, in those cases where it holds,
it may be easily accounted for on more obvious principles. By far the greater number of tragedies are founded on historical facts; and history records only the
transactions of men in elevated stations. But even in
these tragedies the most interesting personages are frequently domestics or captives. The old shepherd in
Douglas is surely a more interesting character than
Lord Randolph. And for my own part I am not
ashamed to confess that I' have shed more tears at
some tragedies bourgeoises and comedies larmoyantes
of very inferior merit, than were ever extorted from me
by the exquisite poetry of Corneille, Racine, or Voltaire.
The fortunes of the great, indeed, interest us more
than those of men in inferior stations. But for this
there are various causes, independent of that assigned
by Mr. Smith. 1. Their destiny involves the fortunes
of many, and frequently affects the-public interest.
2. Their situation points them out to public attention, and renders them subjects of general and; daily
conversation; and, accordingly, we may remark a curiosity perfectly analogous to that which the history of
the great excites with respect to the biography of all
men who have been long and constantly in the view of
the world. The trifling anecdotes in the life of Quin
or Garrick find as many readers as the important events
connected with the history of Frederic the Great.
V. Historical Notices of the Doctrine.]  In my Ac.
* Ibid., Chap. II.




256            AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES.
count of the Life and Writings of ]I3lr Smith, I observed,
that, according to the learned translator of Aristotle's
Ethics and Politics, "the general idea which runs
through Mr. Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments was
obviously borrowed from the following passage of Polybitrs.' From the union of the two sexes, to which all
are naturally inclined, children are born. When any of
these, therefore, being arrived at perfect age, instead of
yielding suitable returns of gratitude and assistance to
those by whom they have been bred, on the contrary
attempt to injure them by words or actions, it is manifest that those who behold the wrong, after having also
seen the sufferings and the anxious cares that were sustained by the parents in the nourishment and education
of their children, must be greatly offended and displeased at such proceeding. For man, who, among all
the various kinds of animals, is alone endowed with
the faculty of reason, cannot, like the rest, pass over
such actions, but will make reflection on what he sees;
and, comparing likewise the future with the present,
will not fail to express his indignation at this injurious
treatment; to which, as he foresees, he may also at
some time be exposed. Thus again, when any one
who has been succoured by another in the- time of danger, instead of showing the like kindness to his benefactor, endeavours at any time to destroy or hurt him, it
is certain that all men must be shocked by such ingratitude, through sympathy with the resentment of their
neighbour, and from an apprehension also that the case
may be their own. And from hence arises in the mind
of every man a certain notion of the nature and force
of duty, in which consists both the beginning and the
end of justice. In like manner, the man who, in defence of others, is seen to throw himself the foremost
into every danger, and even to sustain the fury of the
fiercest animals, never fails to obtain the loudest acclamations of applause and veneration from all the multitude, while he who shows a different conduct is pursued
with censure and reproach. And thus it is that the
people begin to discern the nature of things honorable




SYMPATHY. - ADAM SMITH.           253
and base, and in what consists the difference between
them; and to perceive that the former, on account of
the advantage that attends them, are fit to be admired
and imitated, and the latter to be detested and avoided.'" *
"The doctrine," says Dr. Gillies, " contained in this
passage is expanded by Mr. Smith into a theory of moral sentiments. But he departs from his author in placing the perception of right and wrong in sentiment or
feeling, ultimately and simply. Polybius, on the contrary, maintains, with Aristotle, that these notions arise
from reason or intellect operating on affection or appetite; or, in other words, that the moral faculty is a
compound, and may be resolved into two simpler- principles of the mind." t
The only expression I object to in the preceding
sentences is the phrase his author, which has the appearance of insinuating a charge of plagiarism against Mr.
Smith; —a charge which, I am confident, he did not
deserve, and to xThich the above extract does not, in my
opinion, afford any plausible color. It exhibits, indeed,
an instance of a curious coincidence between two philosophers in their views of the same subject, and as
such I have no doubt that Mr. Smith himself would
have remarked it, had it occurred to his memory when
he was writing his book. Of such accidental coincidences between different minds, examples present themselves every day to those who, after having drawn
from-their internal resources all the lights they could
supply on a particular question, have the curiosity to
compare their own conclusions with those of their predecessors. And it is extremely worthy of observation,
that, in proportion as any conclusion approaches to the
truth, the number of previous approximations to it may
be reasonably expected to be multiplied.
In the instance before us, however, the question
about originality is of little or no moment, for the pe.
* Lib. VI. Cap. VI., Hampton's translation.
Gillies's Aristot. Ethics, Book III. Chap. IV., note.
22*




258            AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES.
culiar merit of Mr. Smith's work does not lie ill his
general principle, but in the skilful use he has made of
it to give a systematical arrangement to the most important discussions and doctrines of ethics. In this
point of view, the Theory of Moral Sentiments may be
justly regarded as one of the most original efforts of
the human mind in that branch of science to which it
relates; and even if we were to suppose that it was
first suggested to the author by a remark of which the
world had been in possession for two thousand years
before, this very circumstance would only reflect a
stronger lustre on the novelty of his design, and on the
invention and taste displayed in its execution.
In the same work I have observed, that, " in studying
the connection and filiation of successive theories,
when we are at a loss in any instance for a link to
complete the continuity of philosophical speculation, it
seems much more reasonable to search for it in the svstems of the immediately preceding period, and in the
inquiries which then occupied the public attention, than
in detached sentences, or accidental expressions gleaned
from the relies of distant ages. It is thus only that we
can hope to seize the precise point of view in which an
author's subject first presented itself to his attention,
and to account to our own satisfaction, from the particular aspect under which he saw it, for the subsequent
direction which was given to his curiosity. In following such a plan, our object is not to detect plagiarisms,
which we suppose men of genius to have intentionally
concealed, but to fill up an apparent chasm in the history of science, by laying hold of the thread which insensibly guided the mind from one station to another."
Upon these principles, our attention is naturally directed, on the present occasion, to the inquiries of Dr. Butler, in preference to those of any other author, ancient
or modern. At the time when Mr. Smith began his
literary career, Butler unquestionably stood highest
among the ethical writers of England; and his works
appear to have produced a still deeper and more last.
ing impression in Scotland than in the other part of the




SYMPATHY. -ADAM SMITH.            259
island. Of the esteem in which they were held by
Lord Kames and Mr. Hume, satisfactory documents
remain in their published letters; nor were his writings
less likely to attract the notice of Mr. Smith, in consequence of the pointed and unanswerable objections
which they contain to some of the favorite opinions of
his predecessor, Dr. Hutcheson.
VI. Butler's Views on this Subject.]  The probability
of this conjecture is confirmed by the obvious and easy
transition which connects the theory of sympathy with
Butler's train of thinking in his Sermon On Self-deceit.
In order to free the mind from the influence of its artifices, experience gradually teaches us (as Butler has
excellently shown), either to recollect the judgments we
have formerly passed in similar circumstances on the
conduct of others, or to state cases to ourselves, in
which.we and all our personal concerns'are left entirely
out of the question. Hence it was not an unnatural
inference, on the first aspect of the fact, that our only
ideas of right and wrong, with respect to our own conduct, are derived from our sentiments with respect to
the conduct of others. This, accordingly (as we have
already seen), is the distinguishing principle of Mr.
Smith's theory.
I have formerly referred to a note in Butler's fifth
Sermon, in which  he has exposed the futility of
Hobbes's definition of pity. In the same note, it is remarked further by the very acute and profound author,
that Hobbes's premises, if admitted to be sound, so far
from establishing his favorite doctrine concerning the
selfish qnature of man, would afford an additional illustration of the provision made in his constitution for
the establishment and maintenance of the social union. " If there be really any such thing as the fiction
or imagination of danger to ourselves from sight of the
miseries of others, which Hobbes speaks of, and which
he has absurdly mistaken for the whole of compassion,
- if there be any thing of this sort common to mankind distinct from the reflection of reason, it would be




260            AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES.
a most remarkable instance of what was farthest from
his thoughts, namely, of a mutual sympathy between
each particular of the species,- a fellow-feeling common to mankind. It would not, indeed, be an instance
of our substituting others for ourselves, but it would
be an example of our substituting ourselves for others."
To those who are at all acquainted with Mr. Smith's
book, it is unnecessary for me to observe how very precisely Butler has here touched on the general fact which
is assumed as the basis of the Theory of Moral Sentiments.
In various other parts of Butler's writings there are
manifest anticipations of Mr. Smith's ethical speculations. In his Sermon, for example, On Forgiveness of
Injuries, he expresses himself thus: -" Without knowing particulars, I take upon me to assure all persons
who think they have received indignities or injurious
treatment, that they may depend upon it, as in a manner certain, that the offence is not so great as they
themselves imagine. We are in such a peculiar situation, with respect to injuries done to ourselves, that we
can scarce any more see them as they really are than
our eye can see itself. If we could place ourselves at
a due distance (that is, be really unprejudiced), we
should frequently discern that to be in reality inadvertence and mistake in our enemy, which we now fancy
we see to be malice or scorn. From  this proper point
of view we should likewise, in all probability, see something of these latter in ourselves, and most certainly a
great deal of the former. Thus the indignity or injury would almost infinitely lessen, and perhaps at last
come out to be nothing at all. Self-love is a medium
of a peculiar kind; in these cases it magnifies every
thing which is amiss in others, at the same time that
it lessens every thing amiss in ourselves."
The following passage in Butler's Sermon On Self
deceit is still more explicit. " It would very much prevent our being misled by this self-partiality, to reduce
that practical rule of our Saviour - Whatsoever ye
would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them




RIDICULE.                          251
-- to our judgment or way of thinking.   This rule, you
see, consists of two parts.   One is to  substitute  another for yourself when you take a survey of any part of
your behaviour, or consider what is proper and fit and
reasonable for you to do upon any occasion; the other
part is, that you substitute yourself in the room of
another, - consider yourself as the person affected by
such a behaviour, or towards whom such an action is
donie, and then you would not only see, but likewise
feel, the reasonableness -or unreasonableness of such an
action or behaviour." *
SECTION III.
OF THE SENSE OF THE RIDICULOUS.
I. Objects of Ridicule.] Another auxiliary principle
to the moral faculty  yet remains to  be considered,
the sense of ridicule, and the anxiety which all men feel
to avoid whatever is likely to render them the objects
of it. The subject is extremely curious and interesting; but the time I have bestowed on the former article
obliges me to confine myself to a'very short explanation
of the meaning of the word, and of the relation which
the principle denoted by it bears to our nobler motives
of action.
The natural and proper object of ridicule is those
* The same idea is stated with great clearness and conciseness by
Hobbes. "There is an easy rule to know upon a sudden, whether the
action I be to do be against the law of nature or not. And it is but this,
- That a man imagine himself in the place of the party with whom he hath to
do, and reciprocally him in his. Which is no more but changing (as it were)
of the scales; for every man's passion weigheth heavy in his own scale,
but not in the scale of his neighbour. And this rule is very well known
and expressed in the old dictate, Quod tibifieri non vis, alteri ne feceris." -
De Corpore Politico, Chap. IV.
It is observed by Gibbon that this golden rule of doing as we would be
done by is to be found in a moral treatise of Isocrates. - Decline and Fall
of the Roman Empire, Chap. LIV., note.
[For other critical notices of Adam Smith's theory, see Brown's Philosophy of the Human Mind, Lect. LXXX. and LXXXI. Cousin, Philosophid
Mlo-rale, Seconde Partie: Ecole Ecossaise, Leqons IV.-VI. Jouffiroy's In.
troduction to Ethics, Lectures XVI. - XVIII.]




262            AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES.
smaller improprieties in character and manners which
do not rouse our feelings of moral indignation, or impress us with a melancholy sense of human depravity.
In the words of Aristotle, ro yeXoLov, or the ridiculous,
may be defined to be Tr atoXo davwuvvov, the deformed without hurt or mischief, or (as he has explained his own
meaning) " those smaller faults which are neither painful nor pernicious, but unbeseeming, "; and "of which,"
he adds, "the proper correction is not reproach, but
laughter."
In stating this as a general principle with respect to
the ridiculous, I would not be understood to assert that
every thing which is ridiculous implies immorality, in
the strict acceptation of that word. Ignorance, absurdity in reasoning, even a want of acquaintance with the
established ceremonial of behaviour, often provoke our
laughter with irresistible force. What is ridiculous,
however, always implies'some imperfection, and exposes the individual to whom it attaches to a species
of contempt, of which (how good-humored soever) no
man would choose to be the object.
Perhaps, indeed, it might be found, on a more accurate analysis of this part of our constitution, that it is
not, in such cases, merely the intellectual or physical defect which excites our ridicule, but the contrast between
this and some moral impropriety or imperfection, which
either conceals the defect from the individual himself,
or induces him to' attempt concealing it from others;
and consequently, that the sentiment of ridicule always
involves, more or less, a sentiment of moral disapprobation. One thing is certain, that intellectual and physical imperfections never appear so ridiculous as when
accompanied with affectation, hypocrisy, vanity, pride,
or an obvious incongruity between the pretensions of
an individual and the education he has received, or the
station in which he was originally placed.
Upon this question, howevfer, I shall not at present
presume to decide. It is sufficient for my purpose, if
it be granted that nothing is ridiculous but what falls
short, some way or other, of our ideas of excellence;




RIDICULE.                    G63
or (as Cicero expresses it), " Locus et regio quasi ridiculi, turpitudine et deformitate quadarn continetur."
II. Final Cause of this Principle.]  Hence, I think,
may be traced a beautifulfinal cause in this part of our
frame:. For while it enlarges the fund of our enjovment, by rendering the more trifling imperfections of
our fellow-creatures a source of amusement to us, it excites the exertions of every individual to correct those
imperfections by which the ridicule of others is likely
to be provoked. As our eagerness, too, to correct these
imperfections may be presumed to be weak in proportion as we apprehend them  to be, in a moral view, of
trifling moment,we are so formed, that the painful feelings produced by ridicule are often more poignant than
those arising from the consciousness of having rendered
ourselves the objects of strong moral disapprobation.
Even the consciousness of being hated by mankind is
to the gerierality of men less intolerable than what the
poet calls
"The world's dread laugh,
Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn."
It furnishes no objection to these. observations, that
the sense of ridicule is not always favorable to virtuous conduct; and that it frequently tends very powerfully to mislead us from our duty. The same remark
may be extended to the desire of esteem, and even to
the moralfaculty, - that they are liable to be perverted
by education and fashion.  But the great ends of our
being are to be collected from the general scope of the
principles of our constitution; not from the particular
instances in which this scope is thwarted by adventitious, circumstances; and nothing surely can be more
evident than this, that the three principles just mentioned were all intended to cooperate together, and to
lead to a conduct favorable to the improvement of'the
individual, and to the general interests of society.
* De Oratore, Lib. II. 58. " The place and, as it were, province of ridinule are confined to baseness and deformity."




264            AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES.
The sense of ridicule, in particular, although it has a
manifest reference to such a scene of imperfection as
we are placed in at present, is, on the whole, a most
important auxiliary to our sense of duty, and well deserves a careful examination in an analysis of the moral constitution of man. It is one of the most striking
characteristics of the human constitution, as distinguished from that of the lower animals, and has an intimate connection with the highest and noblest principles of our nature. As Milton has observed,
" Smiles from reason flow,
To brutes denied";
and it may be added, that they not only imply the
power of reason, in the more limited acceptation of that
word, as applicable to the perception of truth and falsehood, but the moral faculty, or that power by which we
distinguish right from wrong. Indeed, they imply the
power of reason (in both acceptations of the term) in
a high state of cultivation.
In the education of youth, there-is nothing which requires more serious attention than the proper'regulation
of the sense of ridicule; nor is there any instance in
which the legislator has it more in his power to influence national manners, than by watching over those
public exhibitions which avail themselves of this principle of human nature, as a vehicle of entertainment to
the multitude.
SECTION IV.
OF TASTE, CONSIDERED IN ITS RELATION TO MORALS.
I. Taste applicable to Morals.] From the explanation
formerly given of the import of the phrases moral beauty and moral deformity, it may be easily conceived in
what manner the character and the conduct of our fellow-creatures may become subservient to the gratification of taste. The use which the poet makes of this
class of our intellectual pleasures is entirely analogous
to the resources which he borrows from the charms o:




MORAL TASTE.                263
external nature.  By skilful selections and combinations, characters more exalted and more pleasing may
be drawn than have ever fallen under our observation;
and a series of events may be exhibited in perfect consonance to our moral feelings. Rewards and punishments may be distributed by the poet with an exact
regard to the merits of individuals; and those irregularities in the distribution of happiness and misery,
which furnish the subject of so many complaints inl
real life, may be corrected in the world created by his
genius. Here, too, the poet borrows from nature the
model after which he copies, not only as he accommodates his imaginary arrangements to his unperverted
sense of justice, but as he accommodates them to the
general laws by which the world is governed; for
whatever exceptions may occur in particular cases,
there can be no more doubt about the fact, that virtue
is the direct road to happiness, and vice to misery, than
that, in the material world, blemishes and defects are
lost amid prevailing beauty and order.
The power of moral taste, like that which has for its
object the beauty of material forms and the various
productions of the fine arts, requires much exercise for
its development and culture. The one species of taste,
also, as well as the other, is susceptible of a false refinement, injurious to our own happiness, and to our
usefulness as members of society.
II. Dangers incident to a false Refinement of Moral
Taste.]  With this false refinement of taste is sometimes connected the peculiar species of misanthropy
which is grafted on a worthy and benevolent heart.
When the standard of moral excellence we have been
accustomed to dwell upon in imagination is greatly
elevated above the common attainments of humanity,
we are apt to become too difficult and fastidious (if I
may use the expression) in our moral taste; or, in plainer language, to become unreasonably censorious of the
follies and vices of our contemporaries. In such cases,
it may happen that the native benevolence of the mind,
23




AUXILIARY PRINCIPLES.
by being habitually directed towards ideal characters,
may prove a source of real dissatisfaction and dislike
towards those with whom we associate.  Such a disposition, when carried to an extreme, not only sours
the temper, and dries up all the springs of innocent
comfort which nature has so liberally provided for us
in the common incidents of life, but, by withdrawing a
man from active pursuits, renders all his talents and
virtues useless to society. A character of this deseription has furnished to Moliere the subject of the most
finished of all his dramatic pieces, and to iMarmontel,
that of one of his most agreeable and useful tales. The
former of these is universally known as the masterpiece
of French comedy; but the latter possesses also an uncommon degree of merit by the hints it suggests for
curing the weakness in which the character originates,
and by the interesting contrast it exhibits between the
misanthrope of Moliere, and a man who unites inflexibility of principle with that accommodation of temper
which is necessary for the practical exercise of virtue.
The great nurse and cherisher of this species of misanthropy is solitary contemplation; and the only effect
ual remedy is society and business, together with a
habit of directing the attention rather to the correction
of our own faults than to a jealous and suspicious examination of the motives which influence the conduct
of our neighbours.
Considered as a principle of action, a cultivated
moral taste, while it provides an effectual security
against the grossness necessarily connected with many
vices, cherishes a temper of mind friendly to all that
is amiable, or generous, or elevated in our nature.
When separated, however, as it sometimes is, from a
strong sense of duty, it can scarcely fail to prove a
fallacious guide; the influence of fashion, and of other
casual associations, tending perpetually to lead it astray.
This is more particularly remarkable in men to whom
the gratifications of taste in general form the principal
object of pursuit, and whose habits of life encourage
them to look no higher for their rule of conduct that
the way of the world.




MORAL TASTE.                 267
The language employed by some of the Greek philosophers in their speculations concerning the nature of
virtue seems, on a superficial view, to imply that they
supposed the moral faculty to be wholly resolvable into
a sense of the beautiful; and hence Lord Shaftesbury,
Dr. Hutcheson, and others, have been led to adopt a
phraseology which has the appearance of substituting
taste, in contradistinction to reason and conscience,
as the ultimate standard of right and wrong.
While on this subject, I cannot help taking notice of
a highly exceptionable passage which occurs in one of
Mr. Burke's later publications, -a passage in which,
after contrasting the polished and courtly manners of
the higher orders with the coarseness and vulgarity of
the multitude, he remarks, that among the former " vice
itself lost half its evil by losing all its grossness."*
The fact, according to my view of things, is precisely
the reverse; that the malignant contagiousness of vice
is increased tenfold by every circumstance which draws
a veil over or disguises its native deformity. On this
argument volumes might be written, and I sincerely
wish that a hand could be found equal to the task.
At present, I must content myself with recommending
it to the serious attention of moralists, as one of the
most important topics of practical ethics which the
actual circumstances of this part of the world point
out as Etn object of philosophical discussion.
* At the close of the eloquent description of the queen, in his Reflections
on the Revolution in France.




268                  FREE AGENCY.
CHAPTER VI.
OF MAN'S FREE AGENCY.
SECTION I.
PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS.
I. Man's Free Agency has been called in question by
Speculative Minds.]  All the foregoing inquiries con.
cerning the moral constitution of man proceed on the
supposition, that he has a freedom of choice between
good and evil, and that, when he deliberately performs
an action which he knows to be wrong, he renders himself justly obnoxious to punishment.  That this supposition is agreeable to the common apprehensions of
mankind will not be disputed.
From very early times, indeed, the truth of the supposition has been called in question by a few speculative men, who have contended that the actions we
perform  are the necessary result of the constitution of
our minds, operated on by the circumstances of our external situation; and that what we call moral delinquencies are as much a part of our destiny as the corporeal or intellectual qualities we have received from
nature. The argument in support of this doctrine has
been proposed in various forms, and has been frequently urged with the confidence of demonstration.*
This question about predestination and free-will has
furnished, in all ages and countries, inexhaustible matter of contention, both to philosophers and divines.
In the ancient schools of Greece it is well known how
generally and how  keenly it was agitated.  Among
the Mahometans it constitutes one of the principal
* The rest of this chapter was thrown by the author into an appendix
In this edition it is inserted in its place, as being necessary to the discus
sion. Some retrenchments have been made in order to find room for th
notes, which are intended to give some slight intimations of the preser
state of the controversy. - ED.




PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS.          269
points of division between the followers of Omar and
those of Ali; and among the ancient Jews it was the
subject of endless dispute between the Pharisees and
the Sadducees. It is scarcely necessary for me to add,
what violent controversies it has produced, and still
continues to produce, in the Christian world.
II. Explanation of Terms used in this Controversy.]
As this controversy, like most others in metaphysics,
has been involved in much unnecessary perplexity by
the ambiguity of language, a few brief remarks on
some equivocal terms connected with the question at
issue may perhaps add something to the perspicuity
and precision of the following reasonings.
1. The word volition is defined by Locke to be " an
act of the mind, knowingly exerting that dominion it
takes itself to have over any part of the man, by employing it in, or withholding it from, any particular action."* Dr. Reid defines it, more briefly, to be "the
determination of the mind to do or not to do something
which we conceive to be in our power." He remarks,
at the same time, that "this definition is not strictly
logical, inasmuch as the determination of the mind is
only another term for volition. But it ought to be observed, that the most simple acts of the mind do not
admit of being logically defined.' The only way to
form a precise notion of them is to reflect attentively
upon them  as we feel them  in ourselves.  Without
this reflection, no definition can enable us to reason
about them with correctness.""t
2. It is necessary to form a distinct notion of what
is meant by the word volition, in order to understand
the import of the word wzill; for this last word properly
expresses that power of the mind of which volition is the
act, and it is only by attending to what we experience,
while we are conscious of the act, that we canl understand any thing concerning the nature of the power.
* Essay concerning yuman Understanding, Book II. Chap. XXI. ~ 15.
t Essays on the Active Powers, Essay II. Chap. I.
23*




270               FREE AGENCY.
The word will, however, is not always used in this;ts proper acceptation, but is frequently substituted for
volition; as when I say that my hand moves in obedience to my will. This, indeed, happens to the names
of most of the powers of the mind, - that the same
word is employed to express the power and the act.
Thus imagination signifies both the power and the act
of imagining; abstraction signifies both the power and
the act of abstracting; and so in other instances. But
although the word will may, without departing from
the usual forms of speech, be used indiscriminately for
the power and the act, the word volition applies only
to the latter; and it would undoubtedly contribute to
the distinctness of our reasonings to restrict the signification of the word will entirely to the former.
It is not necessary, I apprehend, to enlarge any more
on the meaning of these terms. It is to be learned
only from careful reflection on what passes in our own
minds, and to multiply words upon the subject would
only involve it in obscurity.
3. There is, however, a state of the mind perfectly distinct both from the power and the act of willing, with
which they have been frequently confounded, and of
which it may therefore be proper to mention the characteristical marks. The state I refer to is properly
called desire, the distinction between which and will
was first clearly pointed out by Mr. Locke. " I find
the will," says he, " often confounded with several of
the affections, especially desire, and that by men who
would not willingly be thought not to have had very
distinct notions of things, and not to have writ very
clearly about them."' - " This," he justly adds, " has
been no small occasion of obscurity and mistake in
this matter, and therefore is, as much as may be, to be
avoided."  The substance of his remarks on the appropriate meaning of these two terms amounts to the
two following propositions:- 1. That at the same
moment a man may desire one thing and will another.
2. That at the same moment a man may have contrary
desires, but cannot have contrary wills. The notions,




PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS.          271
therefore, which ought to be annexed to the words wil!
and desire are essentially different.
It will be proper, however, to state Mr. Locke's observations in his own words: -" He that shall turn his
thoughts inwards upon what passes in his own mind
when he wills, shall see that the will or power of volition is conversant about nothing but that particulac
determination of the mind whereby, barely by a thought,
the mind endeavours to give rise, continuation, or stob
to any action which it takes to be in its power. This,
well considered, plainly shows, that the will is perfectly
distinguished from desire, which, in the very same action, may have a quite contrary tendency from that
which our wills set us upon. A man whom I cannot
deny may oblige me to use persuasions to another,
which, at the same time I am speaking, I may wish
not to prevail on him. In this case, it is plain the will
and desire run counter.  I will the action that tends
one way, whilst my desire tends another, and that the
direct contrary. A man who, by a violent fit of gout
in his limbs, finds a doziness in his head or a want
of appetite in his stomach removed, desires to be eased
too of the pain of his feet or hands (for wherever there
is pain there is a desire to be rid of it); though yet,
while he apprehends that the removal of the pain mnay
translate the noxious humors to a more vital part, his
will is never determined to any one action that may
serve to remove this pain. Whence it is evident that
desiring and willing are two distinct acts of the mind;
and, consequently, that the will, which is but the
power of volition, is much more distinct from desire." *
It is surprising how little this important passage has
been attended to by Locke's successors.
Dr. Johnson on this, as on every other occasion where
logical precision of ideas is called for in a definition, is
strangely indistinct and inconsistent. Will he defines
to be " that power by which we desire and purpose ";
d Essay concerning Human Understandiny, Book II. Chap. XXI. ~ 30.




272               FREE AGENCY.
and he gives as its synonyme the scholastic word vellei.
ty. On turning to the article velleity, we are told that
" it is the school term used to signify the lowest degree
of desire "; in illustration of which Dr. South is quoted,
according to whom  "the wishing of a thing is not
properly the willing it, but it is that which is called by
the schools an imperfect velleity, and imports no more
than an idle, inoperative complacency in and desire of
the end, without any consideration of the means."
4. Instead of speaking (according to common phraseology) of the influence of motives on the will, it would
be much more correct to speak of the influence of motives on the agent. We are apt to forget what the will
is, and to consider it as something inanimate and passive, the state of which can be altered only by the action of some external cause. The habitual use of the
metaphorical word motives, to denote the intentions or
purposes which accompany our voluntary actions, or,
in other words, the ends which we have in view in the
exercise of the power intrusted to us, has a strong tendency to confirm us in this error, by leading us to assimilate in fancy the volition of a mind to the motion
of a body, and the circumstances which give rise to
this volition to the vis motrix by which the motion is
produced.
It was probably in order to facilitate the reception of
his favorite scheme of necessity that Hobbes was led
to substitute, instead of the old division of our faculties
into the powers of the understanding and those of the
will, a new division of his own, in which the name
of cognitive powers was given to the former, and that
of motive powers to the latter. To familiarize the ears
of superficial readers to this phraseology was of itself
one great step towards securing their suffrages against
the supposition of man's free agency. To say that the
will is determined by motive powers, is to employ a
language which virtually implies a recognition of the
very point in dispute. Accordingly, Mr. Belsham is
at pains to keep the metaphorical origin of the word
motive in the view of his readers, by prefixing to his




PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS.             273
argument in favor of the scheme of necessity the following definition: -" Motive, in this discussion, is to
be understood in its most extensive sense.  It expresses whatever MIOVES or influences the mind in its
choice."'
5. According to Mr. Locke, the ideas of liberty and
of power are very nearly the same. " Every one," he
observes, " finds in himself a power to begin or forbear,
continue or put an end to, several actions in himself.
From  the consideration of the extent of this power of
the mind over the actions of the man, which every one
finds in himself, arise the ideas of liberty and necessity."  And a few sentences afterwards: —" The idea of
liberty is the idea of a power in any agent to do or
forbear any particular action, according to the determination or thought of the mind, whereby either of
them is preferred to the other. Where either of them
is not in the power of the agent, to be produced by
him according to his volition, there he is not at liberty,
but under necessity." t  That these definitions are not
perfectly correct will appear hereafter. They approach,
indeed, very nearly to the definitions of liberty and
necessity given by Hobbes, Collins, and Edwards;
whereas Locke, in order to do justice to his own decided opinion on the subject, ought to have included
also in his idea of liberty a power over the determinations of his will.
It is owing in a great measure to this close connection between the ideas of free will and of power, and
to the pleasure with which the consciousness of power
is always accompanied, that we feel so painful a mortification in perusing those systems in which our free
agency is called in question. Dr. Priestley himself, as
well as his great oracle, Dr. Hartley, has acknowledged,
that " he was not a ready convert to the doctrine of
necessity, and that he gave up his liberty with great
reluctance.": But whence this reluctance to embrace
* Elements of the Philosophy of the Ml]ind, Chap. IX. Sect. I.*:
T L ssay concerning Human Understanding, Book II. Chap. XXI ~~ 7, 8.
t Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity Illustrated, PrefLace.




274                FREE AGENCY.
a doctrine so i" great and glorious," but from its repugnance to the natural feelings and natural wishes of the
human mind?
SECTION II.
REVIEW OF THE ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY.
I. Concessions by the Advocatesfor Free Will.]  Before proceeding to an examination of this question, I
shall premise a few principles in which both parties are
agreed, or which at least appear to me to be concessions which the advocates for free will may safely make
to their antagonists without any injury to their general
argument.
1. Every action is performed with some view, or, in
other words, is performed from some motive. Dr. Reid,
indeed, denies this with zeal, but I am doubtful if he
has strengthened his cause by doing so;* for he confesses that the actions which are performed without
motives are perfectly trifling and insignificant, and not
such as lead to any general conclusion concerning the
merit or demerit of moral agents. I should therefore
rather be disposed to yield this point than to dispute
a proposition not materially connected with the question at issue. One thing is clear and indisputable, that
it is only in so far as a man acts from motives or intentions, that he is entitled to the character of a rational being.
2. The merit of an action depends entirely on the
motive from which it was performed. Dr. Reid remarks, that some necessitarians have triumphed in
this principle as the very hinge of the controversy,
whereas the truth is, that no reasonable advocate for
free will ever called it in question.
II. General Statement of the Argument for Necessity.]
So far, I think, we are justified in going. The great
* Essays on the Active Powers, Essay IV. Chap. IV.




ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY.          275
question is, How do motives influence or determine the
will? In answer to this question the necessitarians
reason as follows:Every change in our nature, we are told, implies the
operation of a cause; and this maxim, it is pretended,
holds not only with respect to inanimate matter, but
with respect to the changes which take place in the
state of a mind. Every volition, therefore, must have
been produced by a motive with which it is as necessarily connected as any other effect with its cause; and
when different motives are presented to the mind at the
same time, the will yields to the strongest, as necessarily as a body urged by two contrary forces moves in
the direction of that which is most powerful.
The foregoing argument goes to prove, that all human actions are as necessarily produced by motives as
the going of a clock is necessarily produced by the
weights, and that no human action could have been
otherwise than it really was. Nay, it applies also in
full force to the Deity, and indeed to all intelligent beings whatever; for it is not founded on any thing peculiar to the human mind, but on the impossibility of
free agency; and, of consequence, it leads to this general conclusion, that no event in the universe could
have happened otherwise than it did.
Accordingly, Dr. Clarke has been at much pains to
prove that the Deity must be a free agent, and therefore
that free agency is not impossible; from which he infers that there must be some flaw in the reasonings
just stated to prove that man is a necessary agent.'
If this reasoning of Clarke's be admitted as conclusive,
swhere is the absurdity, I would ask, of supposing tha t
God may have been pleased to place man in a state of'
moral discipline, by imparting to him a freedom of
choice between good and evil, in like manner as he
has imparted to him various other faculties and powers
essentially different from any thing we observe in the
lower animals? Is not the contrary assertion a pre* Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God, Prop. XII.




276               FREE AGENCY.
sumptuous attempt to set limits -to the Divine Omnip 
otence?
Among the various forms which religious enthusiasm
assumrnes, there is a certain prostration of the mind,
which, under the specious disguise of a deep humility,
aims at exalting the Divine perfections by annihilat
ing all the powers which belong to human nature.
"Nothing is more usual for fervent devotion," says Sir
James Mackintosh, in speaking of' some theories current among the Hindoos, " than to dwell so long and
so warmly on the meanness and worthlessness of
created things, and on the all-sufficiency of the Supremrne Being, that it slides insensibly from comparative
to absolute language, and, in the eagerness of its zeal
to magnify the Deity, seems to annihilate every thing
else."
This excellent observation may serve to account for
the zeal displayed by many devout men in favor of the
scheme of necessity.  " We have nothing," they frequently and justly remind us, " but what we have received." But the question here is simply a matter of
fact, whether we have or have not received from God
the gift of fiee will; and the only argument, it must
be remembered, which they have yet been able to advance for the negative proposition is, that this gift was
impossible even for the power of God; — an argument,
we may remark, which not only annihilates the power
of man, but annihilates that of God also, and subjects
him, as well as all his creatures, to the control of causes
which he is unable to resist. So completely does this
scheme defeat the pious views in which it has gometimes originated.
I say sometimes; for this very argument against the
liberty of the will is employed by Spinoza, according to
whom the free agency of man involves the absurd supposition of an imperium in imperio in the universe.*
Voltaire, too, - who in his latter days, abandoning
those principles for which he had before, when in the
* Tractat. Polit., Cap. II. Sect. V1.




ARGUMENT  FOR  NECESSITY.                      277
full vigor of his faculties, so zealously and eloquently
contended, seems to have become a convert to the
scheme  of fatalism, -  has  on  one  occasion  had  recourse to an argument against man's free  agency similar in substance to what is advanced by Spinoza in the
passage now  referred to.  " En effet, il seroit bien  singtlier que toute  la nature, tous les astres obeissent a
des loix et6rnelles, et qu'il y  eut un  petit animal haut
de cinq  pieds, qui en  mepris de ces lois put agir toujours comme il lui plairoit au seul gre de son  caprice."'
" Singular!"  exclaims  Dr. Beattie, after quoting  the
preceding sentence; " ay, singular indeed, -  but not a
whit more singular than that this same  animal of five
feet should perceive, and think, and read, and write,
and speak; attributes which no astronomer of my acquaintance has ever supposed to belong to the planets,
notwithstanding their brilliant appearance  and  stupendous magnitude." t The reply is quite as good as the
argument is entitled to.  ^           / 
* Le Philosophe Ignorant, XIII. "Indeed, it would be very singular
that all nature, all the planets, should obey eternal laws, and that there
should be a little animal, five feet high, who, in contempt of these laws,
could act as he pleased, solely according to his caprice."
t Essay on Truth, Part II. Chap. II. Sect. III.
It n reply to the general argument for necessity founded on the theory
of causation, I copy a few paragraphs from Tappan's Review of Edwards's
Inquiry into the Freedom of the Will. -" Let us look at the connection of
cause and phenomena a little more particularly. What is cause? It is
that which is the ground of the possible and actual existence of phenomena. How is cause known? By the phenornena. Is cause visible? No;
whatever is seen is phenomenal.  We observe phenomena, and by the law
of our intelligence we assign them  to cause. But how do we conceive of
cause as producing phenomena? By a nisus, an effort, or energy. Is
this nisus itself a phenomenon? It is when it is observed. Is it always observed 2 It is not  The nisus of gravitation we do not observe; we observe merely the facts of gravitation. The nisus of heat to consume we
do not observe; we observe merely the facts of combustion.  Where,
then, do we observe this nisus? Only in will. Really, volition is the nisus
or effort of that cause which we call will. When I wish to do any thing,
I make an effort, a nisus, to do it; I make an effort to raise mv arm,.and I
raise it. This effort is simply the volition. I make an effort to lift a
weigrht with my hand; this effort is simply the volition to lift it, and immediately antecedent to this effort I recognize only my will. or really only
myself. This effort, this nisus, this volition, - whatever we call it, - is in
the will itself, and it becomes a phenomenon to us because we are causes
that know ourselves. Every nists, or effort, or volition, wllich wo may make,
i24




278                       FREE  AGENCY.
III.  Hobbes's  kSchenme  of  Necessity.]   According  to
the view  of the  subject that has now   been  taken, we
are led to conclude that man possesses a power over
the de'eerminations of his will; — and this is precisely
the scheme of what is commonly called free will, in opposition to that of necessity.
But this power over the  determinations  of the will
has been represented by some philosophers as an absurdity and impossibility. Liberty, we are told, consists
oinly in a power to act as we will; and  it is impossible
to conceive in any being a greater liberty than this.
Hence it follows, that liberty does not extend to the
determinations of the will, but only to the actions consequent upon  its  determinations.   To  say  that we  have
is in our consciousness: causes which are not self-conscious, of course, do
not reveal this nisus to themselves; and they cannot reveal it to us because it is in the very bosom of the cause itself. What we observe in relation to all causes not ourselves, whether they be self-conscious or not, is
not the nisus, but the sequents of the nisus. Thus in men we do not observe the volition or nisus in their wills, but the phenomena which form the
sequents of the nisus. And in physical causes, we do not observe the vnisus of these causes, but only the phenomena which form the sequents of
this nisus. But when each one comes to himself, it is different.  He penetrates himself, —knows himself.   He is himself the cause; he himself;makes the nisus, and is conscious of it; and this nisus to him becomes an
effect, a phenomenon, -the first phenomenon by which he reveals himselft
but a phenomenon by which he reveals himself only to himself. It is bv
the sequents of this nisus, the effects produced in the external visible world,
that he reveals himself to others." - pp. 190- 192.
That our particular volitions are the effects of the general power of
willing, and not of external motives, is plain enough. But the determination of the general power of willing to put forth this or that particular volition, - is not this the effect of some cause? and if so, of what cause?
Let us hear Mr. Tappan again: —" Does the objector allege, as a palpable absurdity, that these is, after all, nothing to account for the particular
determination? I answer, that the particular determination is accounte(l
for in the very quality or attribute of the cause. In the case of a physical
cause, the particular determination is accounted for in the quality of the
cause, which quality is to be necessarily correlated to the object. In the
case of will, the particular determination is accounted for in the quality of
the cause, which quality is to have the power to make the particular determination without being necessarily correlated to the object. A physical
cause is a cause fixed, determined, and necessitated.  The will is a cause
contingent and free. A physical cause is a cause instrumental of a first
cause; - the will is first cause itself.  The Infinite Will is the first cauqs
inhabiting eternity, filling immensity, and unlimited in its energy-.  The
human will is first cause appearing in time, con!incd( to place, and finite in
its ener.,_,yX l)ut it is te.i(; i/e 0irl, beutluse:it.sle 11 tlhe liikiles- o(-f the




ARGUMENT  FOR  NECESSITY.                      279
power to will such  all action, is to  say  that we may
will it if we will. This supposes the will to be determined by a prior will; and for the same reason, that
wVill must be determined by a will prior to it, and so on
in an infinite series of wills, which is absurd.   To  act
freely, therefore, can mean nothing more than to act
voluntarily; and this is all the liberty that can be conceived in man or in any other being.
Agreeably to  this reasoning, Hobbes defines a free
agent to be " he that can do if he will and forbear if he
will." The same definition has been adopted by Leibnitz, by Collins, by Gravesande, by Edwards, by Bonnet, and by all later necessitarians.
Dr. Priestley ascribes this peculiar notion of free will
to Hobbes as its author;* but it is in fact of much
Infinite Will. As first cause it is self-moved; it makes its nisus of itself,
and of itself it forbears to make it; and within the sphere of its activity,
and in relation to its objects, it has the power of selecting, by a mere arbitrary act, any particular object. It is a cause all whose acts, as well as
any particular act, considered as phenomenon demanding a cause, are accounted for in itself alone." - pp. 222, 223.
"Acts of the will may be conceived of as analogous to intuitive or
first truths.  First truths require no demonstration; they admit of none;
they form the basis of all demonstration. Acts of the will are first movevimeats of primearg causes, and as such neither require nor admit of antecedent
causes, to explain their action. Will is the source and basis of all other
cause. It explains all other cause, but in itself admits of no explanation.
It presents the primary and all-comprehending fact of power. In God,
will is infinite, primary cause, and uncreated: in man it is finite, primary
cause, constituted by God's creative act, but not necessitated; for if necessitated it would not be will, - it would not be power after the likeness of
the Divine power; it would be mere physical or secondary cause, and comprehended in the chain of natural antecedents and sequents." - p. 228.
Jouffroy says in reference to this point:-" The law, that every motive
in material bodies is proportioned to the moving force which prodluced it.
supposes a fact; namely, the inertia of matter. To apply this law to th!
relation which subsists between the resolutions of my will, and the motives which act upon it, is to suppose that my being, - that I, myself.
ami not a cause; for a cause is something which produces an act by its owrt
proper power. That which is inert is not a cause; it may receive and
transmit an impulse, but it cannot originate it. Are we, or are we not, a
case?  Have we, or have we not, a power in oulrselves of producing certain
acts? It would seem necessary for us to decide this question, before we
can rightly apply the law of external phenomena to internal operations."]Jltroduction to Ethics, Lecture IV. — ED.
* "' The doctrine of philosophical necessity is in reality a modern thing:
not older. I believe, than Mr. Hobbes.  Of the Calvinists, I believe Mr
Jonathan Edwards to be the first. Others have followed his steps, espe.




280                    FREE AGENCY.
older date, even among modern metaphysicians, coinciding exactly with the doctrine of those scholastic
divines who contended for the liberty of spontaneity, in
opposition to the liberty of indifference. It is, however, to Hobbes that the partisans of this opinion are
indebted for the happiest and most popular illustration
of' it that has yet been given. " I conceive," says he,
" liberty to be rightly defined, the absence of all the impediments to action that are not contained in the nature
and intrinsical quality of the agent.  As, for example,
the water is said to descend freely, or to have liberty
to descend by the channel of the river, because there is
no impediment that way; but not across, because the
banks are impediments. And though water cannot ascend, yet men never say it wants the liberty to ascend,
but the faculty or power, because the impediment is in
the nature of the water, and intrinsical. So also we
say, he that is tied wants the liberty to go, because the
impediment is not in him, but in his bands; whereas we
say not so of him who is sick or lame, because the impediment is in himself." t
In order to judge how far the reasoning of Hobbes is
in this instance satisfactory, it is necessary to attend to
the various significations of the word liberty; for the
sense in which Hobbes has defined it is only one of its
acceptations, and by no means the sense in which it
ought to be employed in this controversy.
1. Liberty is opposed to confinement of the body by
superior force, as when a person is shut up in a prison.
It is in this sense that Hobbes uses the word; for he
iells us that liberty consists only in a power to act as
cially Mr. Toplady. But the inconsistency of his scheme with what is
pl)oper'ly Calvinism appears by his dropping several of the essential parts
of that system, and his silence with respect to others. And when the doctrine of necessity shall be thloroughly understood and well considered by
Calvinists, it will be found to militate against almost all their peculiar tenets." - Philosophical Necessity Illustrated, Sect. XIII.
i See his treatise Of Liberty and Necessity under this head, Mly Opinion
about Liberty and Necessity. Also, Questions concerning Liberty, Necessity,
and Chance clearly stated and debated between Dr. Brainhall and Thomas
[lobbes.




ARGUMENT  FOR  NECESSITY.                      281
we will. And if the word had no other acceptation,
the objection  now  stated would be a valid  one; for as
the will cannot be confined by any external force, neither
can we with propriety ascribe to the will that species of
libert) which is opposed to such confinement.*
2. Liberty is opposed to the restraints on human
conduct arising  from   law  and  government; as when
we say, that, by entering into a political society, a man
gives up part of his natural liberty. In this sense liberty undoubtedly extends to the determinations of the
will; and  the very obligations which are opposed  to  it
proceed on the  supposition  that the will is free.   The
establishment of law does not abridge this freedom,
but, on the contrary, it takes for granted  that we  have
* " This is called the liberty firom co-action or violence, the liberty of spontaneity,- spontaneity, r- EKOv'Lov. In the present question, this species of
liberty ought to be thrown altogether out of account: it is admitted by all
parties; is common equally to brutes and men; is not a peculiar quality
of the will; and is, in fact, essential to it, for the will cannot possibly be
forced. The greatest spontaneity is, in fact. the greatest necessity. Thus, a
hungry horse, who turns of necessity to food, is said, on this definition of
liberty, to do so with freedom, because he does so spontaneously; and, in
general, the desire of happiness, which is the most necessary tendency,
will, on this application of the term, be the most free.
"I may observe, that, among others, the definition of liberty given by
the celebrated advocate of moral freedom. Dr. Samuel Clarke, is in reality
only that of the liberty of spontaneity, viz.:-' The power of self-motion
or action, which, in all animate agents, is spontaneity, is, in moral or rational agents, what we properly call liberty.' Fifth Reply to Leibnitz,
~~ I - 20, and First Answer to the Gentleman of Cambirige. This self-motion,
absolutely considered, is itself necessary...... To live is to act, and as
man is not free to live or not to live, so neither, absolutely speaking, is he
fiee to act or not to act. As he lives, he is necessarily determined to act
or energize, - to think and will; and all the liberty to which he can pretend is to choose between this mode of action and that. In scholastic
language, man cannot have the liberty of exercise, though he may have the
liberty of specification.  The root of his freedom is thus necessity. Nay, we
cannot conceive otherwise even of the Deity.  As we must think him  as
necessarily existent, and necessarily living, so we must think him as necessarily active.  Such are the conditions of human thought. It is thus sufficiently manifest that Dr. Clarke's inference of the fact of moral liberty,
firom the conditions of self-activity, is incompetent. And when he says,
T' le true definition of liberty is the power to act,' lie should have recollected
that this power is, on his own hypothesis, absolutelyfatal, if it cannot but
act. See his eremarks on Collins, pp. 15, 20, 27."
I copy the above from two notes of Sir WV. Hamilton, in his edition of
Reid's Works.  On the Active Powers, Essay IV. Chap. I. and II. - ED.
24 *




282               FREE AGENCY.
it in our power to obey or to transgress; proposing to
us, on the one hand, the motives of duty and of interest,
and setting before us, on the other, the consequences
of wilful transgression.
3. Liberty is opposed to necessity; and it is in this
sense the word is employed, when we say that man is
a free and accountable being, and that the connection
between motives and actions is not a necessary connection, like that between cause and effect.  This
species of liberty has been called by some moral liberty.
That there is nothing inconceivable in this idea ap.
pears, I hope, sufficiently from what has been already
said. And indeed it is so far from being a metaphysical refinement or subtilty, that the common sense of
mankind pronounces men to be accountable for their
conduct only in so far as they are understood to be
morally free. Whence is it that we consider the pain
of the rack as an alleviation of the falsehoods extorted
from the criminal? Plainly because the motives presented to him are supposed to be such as no ordinary
degree of self-command is able to resist. And if we
were only satisfied that these motives were perfectly
irresistible, we would not ascribe to him any guilt at
all.
As an additional confirmation of Hobbes's doctrine,
it has been urged that human laws require no more to
constitute a crime but that it be voluntary; and hence
it has been inferred, that the criminality consists in the
determination of the will, whether that determination
be free or necessary.
The case just referred to affords a sufficient refutation
of this argument. The confession of' the criminal is
surely voluntary, in the strict acceptation of that term;
and yet we consider his guilt as alleviated in the same
proportion in which we suppose his moral liberty to be
abridged.
It is true that in most cases human laws require no
more to constitute a crime than that it be voluntary;
because, in general, motives are placed beyond the cog.




ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY.           283
nizance of earthly tribunals.  But, in a moral view,
merit and demerit suppose not only actions to be voluntary, but the agent to be possessed of moral liberty.
And even earthly tribunals judge on the same principle, wherever it can be made to appear that the person
accused was deprived of the power of self-government
by insanity, or by some accidental paroxysm of passion.
I shall mention, in this connection, only one other
argument in favor of the scheme of necessity; and I
have reserved for it the last place, as it has been proposed with all the confidence of mathematical demonstration by a writer of no less note than Mr. Belsham.
It is in the form  of a reductio ad absurdurn; and its
more immediate object is to expose to ridicule the consequences which necessarily flow from the doctrine of
free will.
The argument is this:-" According to the hypothesis of free will, the essence of virtue and vice consists
in liberty; for example, benevolence without liberty is
no virtue: malignity without liberty is no vice. Both
are equally in a neutral state. Add a portion of liberty to both, benevolence instantly becomes an eminent
virtue, and malignity an odious vice. That is, IF TO
EQUALS YOU ADD EQUALS, THE WHOLES ~WILL BE UNEQUAL; than which nothing can be more absurd." *
On this reasoning, to which it would be unjust to
deny the merit of complete originality, I have no comment to offer. I have quoted it chiefly as a specimen
of the logical and mathematical skill of the present
advocates for the doctrine of philosophical necessity.
In this point of view, it forms an amusing contrast to
the lofty pretensions of a sect which prides itself, not
only on its superiority to vulgar prejudices, but on its
sagacity in detecting a fraud so successfully practised
on the rest of mankind by the Author of their moral
constitution.
IV. Argument of Leibnitz for Necessity.] It is well
*Elements of the Philosophy of the Human:M)ind, Chap. IX. Sect. V.




284                FREE AGENCY.
known to all who have any acquaintance with the
history of modern philosophy, that one of the funda.
mental principles of the Leibnitzian system is, that
"nothing exists without a sufficient reason why it should
be so, and not otherwise." Of this principle the following succinct account is given by Leibnitz himself;
in his controversial correspondence with Dr. Clarke:"The great foundation of mathematics is the principle
of' contradiction or identity; that is, that a proposition
cannot be true and false at the same time. But in
order to proceed from mathematics to natural philosophy, another principle is requisite (as I have observed
in my Theodicy), I mean the principle of the suficient
reason; or, in other words, that nothing happens without a reason why it should be so rather than otherwise.
And accordingly, Archimedes was obliged, in his book
De ~EquEilibrio, to take for granted, that, if there be a
balance in which every thing is alike on both sides, and
if equal weights are hung on the two ends of that balance, the whole will be at rest. It is because no reason
can be given why one side should weigh down rather
than the other. Now by this single principle of the
sufflcient reason may be demonstrated the being of a
God, and all the other parts of metaphysics or natural
theology; and even in some measure those physical
truths that are independent upon mathematics, such as
the dynamical principles, or the principles of force." *
Some of the inferences deduced by Leibnitz from
this almost gratuitous assumption are so paradoxical,
that one cannot help wondering he was not staggered
about its certainty. Not only was he led to conclude
that the mind is necessarily determined in all its elections by the greatest apparent good, insomuch that it
would be impossible for it to make a choice between
two things perfectly alike; but he had the boldness to
extend this conclusion to the Deity, and to assert, that
* Collection of Papers which passed between Mr. Leibnitz and Dr. Clarke,
Leibnitz's Second Paper. For a full statement of Leibnitz's views on this
ani kindred questions, see his Essais de Thlodic&e.




ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY.          285
two things perfectly alike could not have been produced even by Divine power. It was upon this ground
that he rejected a vacuum, because all the parts of it
would be perfectly like to each other; and that he'also
rejected the supposition of atoms, or similar particles
of matter, and ascribed to each particle a monad, or
active principle, by which it is discriminated from every
other particle. The application of his principle, however, on which he evidently valued himself the most,
was that to which I have already alluded, - the demonstrative evidence with which he conceived it to
establish the impossibility of free agency, not only in
man, but in any other intelligent being.
Let us examine, therefore, Leibnitz's principle as applicable to the determinations of the will, and consider
what it implies, and how far it is agreeable to fact. And
for this purpose it is necessary to attend to the various
senses in which it may be understood.
1. When it is said, that for every voluntary action
there must have been a sufficient reason, the proposition may be understood merely to imply, that every
such action must have had a cause. And we may remark by the way, that this is the only interpretation of
which the proposition admits, if the word reason be
used in the same sense in which alone Leibnitz's maxim is applicable to inanimate matter. But in this sense
of the proposition it does not at all affect the question
about liberty and necessity; for it only implies that the
action is an effect, which either proceeded from the
free will of the agent (in which case he may justly be
said to be the cause of the effect), or which did not
proceed from his free will (in which case it must ultimately be referred to some other cause).
2. The principle of the sufficient reason, when applied to our voluntary actions, may be understood to
imply, that the will is necessarily determined by the
greatest apparent good. As this proposition is not peculiar to the system of Leibnitz, it may be proper to
state it more fully.
The circumstances of our external situation, it has




286               FREE AGENCY.
been said, and the state of our appetites, desires, &c.,
at any particular time, evidently do not depend on us.
Suppose, then, that I am under the influence of any
two active principles which urge me in different directions, and that I deliberate which of them I am to obey.
The conclusion my understanding forms on this subject
does not depend on me, and this conclusion necessarily
determines my will; for it is impossible for a man not
to do what appears to him to be, on the whole, the best
and most eligible thing at the moment. My will, therefore, in every case, depends as little on myself as the
conclusion of my understanding when I give my assent
to a mathematical demonstration.
The flaw of this reasoning, I apprehend, lies in that
step in which it is affirmed that the will is necessarily
determined by what appears to us to be best and most
eligible at the moment;-and the only circumstance
which gives the proposition the smallest degree of plausibility is the ambiguity of the language in which it is
stated. For it may either imply that our volitions are
necessarily agreeable to what we will at the time; in
which case we only assert an identical proposition: or
that the will is necessarily determined by what appears
to us to be morally best and really most eligible at the
time; in which case we assert what is contrary to fact.
3. The meaning of the proposition now under consideration may be understood to be this, - that for
every action there must be a motive.
I have already said that in this sense I am disposed
to admit the maxim. Dr. Reid, indeed, has very confidently maintained the negative; but I do not think
(as I formerly observed), that by doing so he has
strengthened his cause; for he confesses that the actions which are performed without motives are perfectly trifling and insignificant: nay, he acknowledges
that the merit of an action depends entirely on the motive from which it is performed.
But although we grant this general proposition, it
certainly does not follow from it that man is a necessary agent. The question is not concerning the i'nflu.




ARGUMENT  FOR  NECESSITY.                     287
ence of motives, but concerning  the nature of that illfluence.   The  advocates for necessity  represent it as
the influence of a cause in producing its effect. The
advocates for liberty acknowledge that the motive is
the occasion of acting, or the reason for acting; but
contend that it is so far from being the efficient cause
of it, that it supposes the efficiency to exist elsewhere,
namely, in the mind of the agent. Between these two
opinions there  is an  essential distinction.    The  one
represents man  merely as a passive instrument.   According to the other, he is really an agent, and  the  sole
author of his own actions.   He acts, indeed, from  motives, but he has the power of choice among different
ones. When he acts from a particular motive, it is not
because this motive is stronger than others, but because
he willed to act in this way. Indeed, it may be questioned if the word  strength  conveys any idea when applied to motives. It is obviously an analogical or metaphorical expression, borrowed from a class of phenomena essentially different.*
* "It is the strongest motive, say they, which determines the will.
What is this strongest motive, I ask, and how do you measure the comparative force of motives? Is that the strongest motive, according to your
idea, which determines the volition? If this is so, you are arguing in a
circle; and instead of showing that it is the strongest motive which decides the will, you are merely saying that, as the determination of the
will is in conformity with such or such a motive, therefore this motive is
strongest.'" But, if we cannot judge from effect, we must find some common measure
by which to decide. Let us inquire, then, what this measure can be.
t"Of two impulses, manifestly unequal, it would be easy to determine
the stronger; a vehement desire is distinguishable in our consciousness
from one not so. And thus, merely from their vivacity and fervor, we
may often recognize the stronger from  the weaker passion.  There is,
then, if you choose to say so, a common measure between different impulses of our sensitive nature, which are peculiarly distinguished as emotions. On the other hand, of different courses of conduct which reason
and self-interest bring into contrast, I may see that one is much more advantageous than another. There is, then, if you please, a means of comparing together different suggestions of self-interest: the suggestion which
promises the most for my interest should have the most power over me.
In the same way, among different duties which may present themselves to
my judgrment, there may be one which appears more obligatory than another; for there are duties of different degrees of importance, and in many
cases I must sacrifice the less to the greater. I perceive, then, that, strictly




2S8                       FREE AGENCY.
V. Scheme of Necessity advocated by Collins and Eduwards.] The ablest defenders of free will have contended that the doctrine of necessity, when pushed to
its logical consequences, must ultimately terminate in
Spinozism. It seems to have been the great aim of
Collins to vindicate his favorite scheme from this reproach, and to retaliate upon the partisans of free will
the charge of favoring  atheism   and  immorality.   In
proof of this, I have only to quote the account given
by the author himself of the plan of his work.
" Too  much  care cannot be taken to prevent being
misunderstood and prejudged in handling questions of
such nice speculation as those of liberty and necessity;
and therefore, though I might in justice expect to be
read before any judgment be passed on me, I think it
proper to premise the following observations: -
speaking, there is a possibility of comparing together the relative force of
different motives originating from duty, and of different motives suggested
by self-interest, or, finally, of different desires striving within me at a given
moment. But between a desire on the one hand, and a conception of interest or of duty on the other, where, I ask, can you find a standard of comparison? If I assume passion as the measure, then, evidently, passion will
appear the stronger motive; but if, on the other hand, I assume interest or
duty as the measure, then desire becomes nothing, and duty or interest all
in all. It depends, then, wholly upon the measure of comparison which
I adopt, whether this or the other motive is strongest; which proves that
there is no common measure of comparison to be applied at all times to these
different kinds of motives, when we would estimate their relative force.
"Thus, in truth, in almost every case, to say that we yield to the strongest motive is to say what has no meaning; for in most cases it is impossible to determine the strongest motive. If I will to be prudent, I follow
the motive of self-interest; if I will to be virtuous, I follow the motive of
duty; if I will to be neither prudent nor virtuous, I follow passion; and
in proportion as I yield to passion, to enlightened interest, or to duty, does
the merit of my conduct vary. And here is a marvel for the advocate of
necessity, and something which, in the sincerity of his conviction, he should
ponder well. I, who am not free, - who, whatever resolution I have taken,
have vet been fatally determined to take it by the strongest motive, - I
feel that I am responsible for this resolution; and others, too, regard me
as responsible; so that, according as I have been impelled to this or that
act, do I believe myself to have merit or demerit, and pass sentence on
myself as reasonable or unreasonable, prudent or foolish; and, in a word,
apply to myself, though I have yielded necessarily to the strongest motive,
certain expressions and names, all implying most decisively and forcibly
that I was free to yield or resist, to take at my option this or that course,
and, consequently, that this so-called strongest motive did not, after all, determine the act." - Jouffroy's Introduction to Ethics, Lect. IV.




ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY.           289
" First, though I deny liberty in a certain meaning
of that word, yet I contend for liberty, as it signifies a
power in man to do as he wills or pleases.
" Secondly, when I affirm necessity, I contend only
for moral necessity, meaning thereby that man, who is
an intelligent and sensible being, is determined by his
reason and his senses; and I deny man to be subject
to such necessity as is in clocks, watches, and such other beings, which, for want of sensation and intelligence,
are subject to an absolute, physical, or mechanical necessity.
" Thirdly, I have undertaken to show that the notionls
I advance are so far from being inconsistent with, that
they are the sole foundations of, morality and laws,
and of rewards and punishments in society; and that
the notions I explode are subversive of them." *
In the prosecution of his argument on this question,
Collins endeavours to show that man is a necessary
agent: — 1. From experience. By experience he means
our own consciousness that we are necessary agents.
2. From  the impossibility of liberty. 3. From  the
consideration of the Divine prescience. 4. From the
nature and use of rewards and punishments. And, 5.
From the nature of morality.
In this view of the subject, and indeed in the very
selection of his premises, it is remarkable how completely Collins has anticipated Dr. Jonathan Edwards,
the most celebrated and indisputably the ablest champion, in later times, of the scheme of necessity.  The
coincidence is so perfect, that the outline given by the
former of the plan of his work might have served with
equal propriety as a preface to that of the latter. From
the above-mentioned summary of the argument, and
still more from the whole tenor of the Philosophical Li,quiry, it is evident that Collins (one of the most obnoxious writers of his day to divines of all denominations~
was not less solicitous than his successor, Edwards, to
reconcile his metaphysical notions with man's account* Philosophical lTqptiry coeriryJ I mrnan Liberty, Preface.
2;5




290                      FREE  AGENCY.
ableness and moral agency. The remarks, according.
ly, of Clarke upon Collins's work are equally applicable
to that of Edwards. It is to be regretted that they
seem never to have fallen into the hands of this very
acute and candid  reasoner.*   As for Collins, it is a re* Remarks upon a Book entitled A Philosophical Inquiry concerning Humnan
Liberty. Voltaire, who in all probability never read either Clarke or Collins, has said that the former replied to the latter only by theological reasonings; -" Clarke n'a rbpondu h Collins qu'en th6ologien."  (Quest sitr
l'Encyc., Art. Liberty.) Nothing can be more remote from the truth. Tile
argument of Clarke is wholly metaphysical, whereas his antagonist in various instances has attempted, though an avowed deist, to wrest to his own
purposes the words of Scripture.
[For a full and elaborate answer to Edwards, see Mr. Tappan's Review,
fiom which a long quotation has already been given, directed against one
of his leading positions.  We give another, on the distinction, so much insisted on by Edwards, and essential, indeed, to his scheme, between moral
and natural inability.
"' Man, they say. is morally unable to do good, and naturally able to
do good, and therefore he can justly be made the subject of command, appeal, rebuke, and exhortation. Natural inability, as defined by this system,
lies in the connection between the volition, considered as an antecedent,
and the effect required. Thus I am naturally unable to walk, when, although I make the volition, my limbs, through weakness or disease, do not
obey. Any defect in the powers or instrumentalities dependent for activity
upon volition, or any impediment which volition cannot surmount, constitutes natural inability. According to this svstem, I atn not held responsihle for any thing which, through natural inability, cannot he accomplished,
_although the volition is made. But let us suppose that there is no defect
in the powers or instrumentalities dependent for activity upon volition,
and no implediment which volition cannot surmount, so that there need be
only a volition in order to have the effect, and then the natural ability is
complete: - I will to walk, and I walk. Now it is affirmed that a man
is fairly responsible for the doing of any thing, and can be fairly urged to
do it, when, as in this case, all that is necessary for the doing of it is a volition, although there may be a moral inability to the volition itself.
"Nothin(g, it seems to me, can be more absurd than this distinction. If
it he granted to be absurd to urge men to do right when they are conceived
to be totally unable to do right, it is equally so when they are conceived to
lhave onlq a natural ability to do right; because this natural ability is of no
avail without a corresponding moral ability. If the volition take place,
there is, indeed, nothing to prevent the action; nay,' the very willing is the
doingr of it': but then the volition, as an effect, cannot take place without
a cause; and to acknowledge a moral inability is nothing less than to acknowledge that there is no cause to produce the required volition. The
inability, under both representations, is a total inability. In the utter impossibility of a right volition is the utter impossihility of any good deed.
When we have denied liberty in denying s self-determining power, these
definitions. in order to make out a qctasi liberty and ability, are nothing ha.
ingenious folly aLnd plausible deception.
You tell the inan, indeed, that he can i~'e 1ill/; and when he repiics,




ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY.                      291
markable circumstance, that he attempted no reply to
this tract of Clarke's, although he lived twelve years after its publication.   The reasonings contained in it, together with those on the same subject in his correspondence with Leibnitz, and in his Demonstration of the
Being and Attributes of God, form, in my humble opinthat on your principles the required volition is impossible, you refer him to
the common notions of mankind. According to these, you say, a man is
guilty when he forbears to do right, since nothing is wanting to right-doing
but a volition, and guilty when he does wrong, because he wills to do
wrong. According to these common notions, too, a man may fairly be
persuaded to do right, when nothing is wanting but a will to do right.
But do we find this distinction of natural and moral ability in the common
notions of men? When nothing is required to the performance of a deed
but a volition, do men conceive of any inability whatever? Do they not feel
that the volition has a metaphysical possibility, as well as that the sequent
of the volition has a physical possibility  "- pp. 161 - 165.
We copy the following passage from Blakey's IHistory qf the Philosophy
of Mind, Vol. IV. p. 515, as giving one of the latest European estimates
of Dr. Edwards's merits as a philosopher:- " Dr. Edwards had a peculiarly constituted mind; —a mind capable of pursuing, with incomparable
steadiness and clearness, the longest and most intricate chain of reasoning;
but a mind, withal, by no means endowed with the loftiest powers of logical comprehension. He saw every link in a chain of reasoning with a microscopic eye, which, when its focal power was changed, made every thing
at a distance appear hazy, clouded, and ill-defined. He could do one thing
as no other man has ever been able to do it; he could reason from given
or assumed premises with perspicuity, neatness, and power, and with an almost superhuman ease and correctness; but he could not embrace a pllilosophical system as a whole, and show its manifold bearings and relations to other branches of knowledge. He was an acute, but not a great,
philosopher. His was a vivid and piercing light, but its illuminating rays,
at a certain distance, became limited and scattered, and gave to all surround.ing objects a disturbed and confused appearance. His ratiocination
is so perfect of its kind. that it assumes the appearance of mechanism:
and we feel a sort of secret dislike to have all the pegs and wires of anl
ar rument so minutely and obtrusively placed before us. Edwards has, in
fac.t, been denominated a'reasoning machine'; and the epithet is by no
means misapplied or extravagant. But as a machine can only do its work
one way, and we cannot humor it, or make its power more pliable, so in
like manner do we find the intellectual mechanism of Edwards unvielding
and unmanageable, except in its own peculiar fashion."
With an inconsistency by no means uncommon, Blakey, in his notice
of Collins, quotes with approbation what Stewart says above of Collins as
anticipating Edwards in every thing, and afterwards, in his notice of Edwards, says of the latter, that "' he has stated and illustrated the principle
of necessary connection in a manner altogether different from the way in
which Collins, Priestley, Hume, and others have argued it."
See, also, an Essay on the Genius and Writi,.qs qf Edwards. prefixed to
the London edition of his works, 1834. by H. Rogers; and I. Taylor's In.
trodaction to his edition of Edwards On ithe Wrill.]




292                FREE AGENCY.
ion, the most important, as well as powerful, of all his
metaphysical arguments. The adversaries with whom
he had to contend xwere both of them eminently distinguished by ingenuity and subtilty, and he seems to
have put forth to the utmost his logical strength, in contending with such antagonists. " The liberty or moral
agency of man," says his friend, Dr. Hoadly, " was a
darling point to him. He excelled always, and showed
a superiority to all, whenever it came into private discourse or public debate.  But he never more excelled
than when he was pressed with the strength Leibnitz'was master of; which made him exert all his talents to set it once again in a clear light, to guard it
against the evil of metaphysical obscurities, and to
give the finishing stroke to a subject which must ever
be the foundation of morality in man, and is the
ground of the accountableness of intelligent creatures
for all their actions."
To the arguments of Collins against man's free agency some of his followers have added the inconsistency
of this doctrine with the known effects of education
(under which phrase they comprehend also the moral
effects of all the external circumstances in which men
are involuntarily placed) in forming the characters of
individuals.
The plausibility of this argument (on which so
much stress has been laid by Priestley and others), arises entirely from the mixture of truth which it involves;
or, to express myself more correctly, from the evidence
and importance of the fact on which it proceeds, when
that fact is stated with due limitations.
That the influence of education, in this comprehensive sense of the word, was greatly underrated by our
ancestors is now universally acknowledged, and it is to
Locke's writings, more than to any other single cause,
that the change in public opinion on this head is to be
ascribed.  On various occasions he has expressed himself very strongly with respect to the extent of this influence, and has more than once intimated his belief,
that the great majority of men continue through life




ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY.           293
what early education has made them. In making use,
however, of this strong language, his object (as is evident fromn the opinions which he has avowed in other
parts of his works) was only to arrest the attention of
his readers to the practical lessons he was anxious to
inculcate; and not to state a metaphysical fact, which
wras to be literally and rigorously interpreted in the
controversy about liberty and necessity.  The only
sound and useful moral to be drawn from the spirit of
his observation is the duty of gratitude to Heaven for
all the blessings, in respect of education and of external situation, which have fallen to our own lot; the impossibility of ascertaining the involuntary misfortunes
by which the seeming demerits of others may have
been in part occasioned, and in the same proportion diminished; and the consequent obligation upon ourselves to think as charitably as possible of their cond uct under the most unfavorable appearances. The
tlruth of all this I conceive to be implied in these words
of Scripture, —" To whorh much is given, of them
much will be required"; and, if possible, still more explicitly and impressively in the Parable of the Talents.
Is not the use which has been made by necessitarians of Locke's Treatise on Education, and other books
of a similar tendency, only one instance more of that
disposition, so common among metaphysical sciolists,
to conceal from the world their incapacity to add to the
stock of useful knowledge, by appropriating to themselves the conclusions of their wiser and more sober
predecessors, under the startling and imposing disguise
of' universal maxims, admitting neither of exception
nor restriction? It is thus that Locke's judicious and
refined remarks on the association' of ideas have been
exaggerated to such an extreme by Hartley and Priestley, as to bring among cautious inquirers some degree
* of discredit on one of the most important doctrines of
modern philosophy. Or, to take another case still more
ill point, it is thus that Locke's reflections on the effects
of education in modifying the intellectual faculties, and
(where skilfully conducted) in supplying their origiia!
25*




294                FREE AGENCY.
defects, have been distorted into the puerile paradox of
Helvetius, that the mental capacities of the whole humnan race are the same at the moment of birth. It is
sufficient for me here to throw out these hints, which
will be found to apply equally to a large proportion of
other theories started by modern metaphysicians.
VI. Ground taken by later Advocates of Necessity.]
It is needless to say, that neither Leibnitz nor Collins
admitted the fairness of the inferences which Clarke
conceived to follow from the scheme of necessity. But
almost every page in the subsequent history of this controversy may be regarded as an additional illustration
of the soundness of Clarke's reasonings, and of the sagacity with which he anticipated the fatal errors likely
to ensue from the system which he opposed.
A very learned and pious disciple of Leibnitz, who
made his first appearance as an author about thirty
years after the death of his master, exclaims, -" Thus
the same chain embraces the physical and moral worlds,
binds the past to the present, the present to the future,
the future to eternity.
" That wisdom which has ordained the existence of
this chain has doubtless willed that of every link of
which it is composed. A CALIGULA is one of those
links, and this link is of iron.  A MARCus AURELIUS IS
another link, and this link is of gold. Both are necessary parts of one whole, which could not but exist.
Shall God, then, be angry at the sight of the iron link?
What absurdity! God esteems this link at its proper
value: he sees it in its cause, and he approves this
cause, for it is good.  God beholds moral monsters as
he beholds physical monsters.  Happy is the link of
gold! Still more happy if he know that he is only fortunalte.  [Heureux le chainon d'or!  Plus heureux encore, s'il sait qu'il n'est qu'h.eureux.]  He has attained
the highest degree of moral perfection, and is neverthe.
less without pride, knowing that what he is is the necessary result of the place which he must occupy in the
chain.




ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY.           295
"The Gospel is the allegorical exposition of this system; the simile of the potter is its summary." 
In what essential respect does this system differ from
that of Spinoza? Is it not even more dangerous in its
practical tendency, in consequence of the high strain of
mystical devotion by which it is exalted?
This objection, however, does not apply to the quotations which follow. They exhibit, without any coloring of imagination or of enthusiasm, the scheme of
necessity pushed to the remotest and most alarming
conclusions which it appeared to Clarke to involve;
and, as they express the serious and avowed creed of
two of our contemporaries (both of them men of distinguished talents), may be regarded as a proof that
the zeal displayed by Clarke against the metaphysical
principles which led ultimately to such results was not
so unfounded as some worthy and able inquirers have
supposed.
"All that is must be," says the Baron de Grimm, addressing himself to the Duke of Saxe Gotha, —' all
that is must be, even because it is; this is the only
sound philosophy; as long as we do not know this universe a priori (as they say in the schools), ALL IS NECESSITY. Liberty is a word without meaning, as you
will see in the letter of MI. Diderot."
The following passage is extracted from Diderot's
letter here referred to.
" I am now, my dear friend, going to quit the tone of
a preacher, to take, if I can, that of a philosopher. Examine it narrowly, and you will see that the word liberty is a word devoid of meaning; that there are not,
and that there cannot be, free beings; that we are only
what accords with the general order, with our organization, our education, and the chain of events.  These
dispose of us invincibly. VWe can no more conceive of
a being acting without a motive, than we can of one of
the arms of a balance acting without a weight.  The
motive is always exterior and foreign, fastened upon us
Bonnet, Principes Plilosophiqes, Part VIII. Chap. VII.




296                FREE AGENCY.
by some cause distinct from ourselves. What deceives
us is the prodigious variety of our actions, joined to
the habit, which we catch at our birth, of confounding
the voluntary and the free.  We have been so often
praised and blamed, and have so often praised and
blamed others, that we contract an inveterate prejudice
of believing that we and they will and act freely. But
if there is no liberty, there is no action that merits either
praise or blame; neither vice nor virtue; nothing that
ought either to be rewarded or punished. What, then,
is the distinction among men? The doing of good
and the doing of ill! The doer of ill is one who must
be destroyed or punished. The doer of good is lucky,
not virtuous. But though neither the doer of good nor
of ill be free, man is nevertheless a being to be modified; it is for this reason the doer of ill should be destroyed upon the scaffold. From thence the good effects
of education, of pleasure, of grief, of grandeur, of poverty, &c.; from thence a philosophy full of pity, strongly attached to the good, nor more angry with the wicked
than with the whirlwind which fills one's eyes with dust.
Strictly speaking, there is but one sort of causes, that
is, physical causes.  There is but one sort of necessity,
which is the same for all beings.  This is what reconciles me to human kind; it -is for this reason I exhort
you to philanthropy. Adopt these principles if you
think them  good, or show me that they are bad.  If
you adopt them  they will reconcile you, too, with others and with yourself; you will neither be pleased nor
anlgry with yourself for being what you are.  Reproach
others for nothing, and repent of nothing; this is the
first step to wisdom.  Besides this, all is prejudice and
false philosophy." *'Substantially the same doctrines have been recently
illtroduced into this country, and I have no doubt with
good intentions, by a very different class of philosophers, the greater part of whom have labored hard to
* Correspondance Littiraire, Philosophique et Critique, Toni. II. pp. 5C
60, et seq.




ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY.                297
dispute the connection between the premises and some
of the conclusions.  Not so Mr. Belsham. " Remorse,"
says he,' is the exquisitely painful feeling which arises
from the belief, that, in circumstances precisely the
same, we might have chosen  and  acted differently.
This fallacious feeling is superseded by the doctrine of
necessity."  And again, -" The doctrine of philosophical necessity supersedes remorse, so far as remorse is
founded upon the belief, that, in the same previous circumstances, it was possible to have acted otherwise."
In another part of Mr. Belsham's work the following
observation occurs:-" Remorse supposes free will.  It
arises from forgetfulness of the precise state of mind
when the action was performed. It is of little or no
use in moral discipline. In a degree it is even pernicious." As to our moral sentiments concerning the
conduct and character of our fellow-creatures, Mr. Belsham is of opinion that the doctrine of necessity conciliates good-will to men. " By teaching us to look up
to God as the prime agent, and the proper cause of every
thing that happens, and to regard men as nothing more
than instruments which he employs for accomplishing
his good pleasure, it tends to suppress all resentment,:malice, and revenge; while it induces us to regard our
worst enemies with compassion rather than with hatred,
and to return good for evil." *
From these extracts it appears that Mr. Belsham is
not only himself convinced of the truth of the doctrine
of necessity, considered as a philosophical dogma, but
that he conceives it would be for the advantage of the
world if all mankind were to become converts to his
way of thinking. In this respect his system is certainly much more of a piece than that of Lord Kames,
who, although he adopts zealously the doctrine of' necessity, and represents the argument in support of it as
* Elements of the Philosopiy of the Ml~ind, pp. 284, 307, 316, 406. " The
doctrine of necessity," says Dr. Hartley, "has a tendency to abate all resentment against men. Since all they do against us is by the appointment
of God, it is relellion against him to be offended with them." Obstrtva
tions on  1:Man, Part I., Conclusion.




298                 FREE AGENCY.
demonstrative, yet candidly acknowledges that our nat.
ural feelings are adverse to that doctrine; and even
goes so far as to say, that, without such a feeling, the
business of society could not be carried on. In this
dilemma he attempts to reconcile the two opinions, by
the supposition of a deceitful sense of liberty. We are
so formed as to believe that we are free agents, when
in truth we are mere machines, acting only so far as we
are acted upon.
Perhaps no opinion on the subject of necessity was
ever offered to the public which excited more general
opposition than this hypothesis of a deceitful sense;
and yet, if the argument for necessity be admitted, I
do not see any other supposition which can possibly
reconcile the conclusions of our reason with the feelings of which every man is conscious.  Not that I
would insinuate any apology for a doctrine, the absurdity of which is not only obvious, but ludicrous, inasmuch as it involves the supposition that the Deity
intended that his creatures should believe themselves
to be free agents; and that, while the great mass of
mankind were thus deceived to their own advantage, a
few minds of a superior order had the metaphysical
sagacity to detect the imposition.  Nor is this all. If the
doctrine of necessity be just, it must one day or another become the universal and popular creed of mankind, as every doctrine which is true, and more especially every doctrine which is supported by demonstrative evidence, may be expected to become in the progress of human reason.  What will then become of the
great conlcerns of human life?  Will man, as he improves in knowil-dge, be unfitted for the ends of his
being, and exhibit an inconsistency between his reasoning faculties and his active principles, contrary to the
invariable analogy of that systematical and harmonious
design which is everywhere else so conspicuous in the
works of nature? *' This argument is very ably and forcibly stated in a small pamphlet
on liberty and necessity, by the late learned and ingenious Mr. Dawson,
of Sedbergh.




ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY.                        299
Lord  Kames, who was a most sincere inquirer after
truth, abandoned, in  the last edition of his Essays on
Miorality  and  Natural Religion, the  doctrine  of a dIeceitful sense of liberty; and in so doing gave a rare example of candor and fairness as a reasoner.   But I am
very doubtful if the  alterations which  he  made  in  his
scheme did not impair the merits which in its original
concoction  it possessed  in  point of consistency.   T1he
iirst edition of this work appeared when the author was
in the full vigor of his faculties; the last, when he was
approaching to fourscore.*
*One of the ablest of the living asserters of necessity, John Stuart
Mill, acknowledges, and endeavours to correct, the fatalistic implications
and tendencies of that doctrine, as generally received. We will give his
own words: -
" Though the doctrine of necessity, as stated by most who hold it, is
very remote from fatalism, it is probable that most necessarians are fatalists, more or less, in their feelings. A fatalist believes, or half believes
(for nobody is a consistent fatalist), not only that whatever is about to
happen will be the infallible result of the causes which produce it (which
is the true necessarian doctrine), but moreover that there is no use in
struggling against it; that it will happen, however we may strive to prevent it. Now, a necessarian, believing that our actions follow fiom  our
characters, and that our characters follow from our organization, our education, and our circumstances, is apt to be, with more or less of consciousness on his part, a fatalist as to his own actions, and to believe that his
natule is such, or that his education and circumstances have so moulded
his character, that nothing can now prevent him fiom  feeling and acting
in a particular way, or at least that no effort of his own can hinder it. In
the words of the sect [Robert Owen and his followers] which in our own
day has so perseveringly inculcated, and so perversely misunderstood,
this great doctrine, his character is formed for him, and not 1/ him; there
fore his wishing that it had been formed differently is of no use, - he has
no power to alter it. But this is a grand error. He has, to a certain extent, a power to alter his character.  Its being, in the ult;inate resoir.
formed for him, is not inconsistent with its being, in part, formed!tq 1ili
as one of the intermediate agents  His character is formed by his circumnstances (including among these his particular organization); but his o —wl
desire to mould it in a particular way is one of those circumstances, a0(d
by no mnepns one of the least influential. We cannot, indeed, directly will
to b1e different fiom what we are. But did those who are supposed to have
for-ned our characters directly will that we should be what we are?  Their
will had no direct power except over their own actions. They made us
what they did make us, by willing, not the end, hut the requisite means;
and we, when our habits are not too inveterate, can, by similarly willing
the requisite means, make ourselves different.  If they could place us unn
der the influence of certain circumstances, we. in like manner, can place
ourselves under the influence of other circumstances.  We are exactlv




300                       FREE AGENCY.
SECTION III.
IS THE  EVIDENCE  OF  CONSCIOUSNESS  IN  FAVOR  OF THE
SCHEME  OF FREE WVILL,   OR  OF THAT  OF NECESSITY?
I. Tlhe Appeal to Consciousness.] It has been lately
said. by a very ingenious and acute writer, that, " in the
as capable of making our own character, if we will, as others are of makin: it for us.' Yes,' answers the Owenite,' but these words, " if we will," surrender
the whole point: since the will to alter our own character is given us, not
bly any efforts of ours, but by circumstances which we cannot help; it
comnes to us either from external causes, or not at all.' Most true: if the
Owenite stops here, he is in a position from which nothing can expel him.
Our character is formed by us, as well as for us; but the wvish which induces us to attempt to form it is formed for us. And 1how?  Not in general, by our organization or education, but by our experience, - experience of the painful consequences of the character we previously had;
or by some strong feeling of admiration or aspiration, accidentally aroused.
But to think that we have no power, and to think that we shall not use out
power unless we have a motive, are very different things, and have a very
different effect upon the mind. A person who does not wish to alter his
cliaracter cannot be the person who is supposed to feel discouraged or paralyzed by thinking himself unable to do it. The depressing effect of the
fatalist doctrine can only be felt where there is a wish to do what that
doctrine represents as impossible. It is of no consequence what we think
f-orms our character when we have no desire of our own about forming it;
but it is of great consequence that we should not be prevented from forming' such a desire by thinking the attainment impracticable, and that, if we
iilae the desire, we should know that the work is not so irrevocalbly done
as to be incapable of being altered......
The subject will never be generally understood, until that objectionable
tenr [necessity] is dropped.  The free-will doctrine, by keeping in viev
precisely that I,lrtion of the truth which the word necessity puts out of
si:ht, -namely, the power of the mind to co)lcratc int the formation of
its own character, — has given to its adherents a practical feeling much
nearer to the truth than has generally, I believe, existed in the minds of
necessarians.  The latter may have had a stronger sense of the inmportance of what human beings can do to shape the characters of one another;
lbut the free-will doctrine has, I believe, fostered, especially in the younger
of its supporters, a much stronger spirit of self culture." - System of Logic,
I' ok VI. Chap. II. ~ 3.
The concessions contained in the last paragraph, considered as conming
fircm a thorough-going necessitarian, are important. The modification in
the understanding of the doctrine here proposed removes some of the
purely psychological objections to it, but does not touch the moral objcctions. The doctrine is still as irreconcilable as ever with any intelligible
a(.,,-ptation of human accotuntability, or the moral government of Godl.
And betides, when Mr. Mill asserts that "the feling of moral ficed)os



EVIDENCE OF CONSCIOUSNESS.              301
controversy concerning liberty and necessity, the onll
question at issue between the disputants related to a
matter offact, on which they both appealed to the evidence of consciousness; namely, whether, all previous
circumstances being the same, the choice of man be
not also at all times the same." *
If the author of this observation had contented himself with saying that this question concerning the matter of fact, as ascertained by the evidence of consciousness, oug/htt to have been considered as the only point at
issue between the contending parties, I should most
readily have subscribed to his proposition. Indeed, I
have expressed myself very nearly to the same purpose
in a former work.t But if it is to be understood as an
historical statement of the manner in which the controversy has always, or even most frequently, been carried on, I must beg leave to dissent from it very widely.
I-Iow many arguments against the freedom of the will
have been in all ages drawn from the prescience of the
Deity! How many still continue to be drawn by very
eminent divines from the doctrines of predestination
and of eternal decrees!  Has not Mr. Locke himself
acknowledged the impression which the former of these
considerations made on his mind?  "I own," says he,
"freely to you'the weakness of my understanding; that
though it be unquestionable that there is omnipotence
and omniscience in God our Maker, and though I cannot have a clearer perception of any thing than that I am
f ee, yet I cannot make freedom in man consistent with
omnipotence and omniscience in God, though I am as
fully persuaded of both as of any truth I most firmly
assent to; and therefore I have long since given off the
consideration of that question, resolving all into this
which we are conscious of" is nothing but a "feelingr of our being able
to modify our own character if we wish," he asserts what the advocates of
frec will will not admit to be true. If what we do depends on our wishing
to do it, and our wishing to do it does not depend on ourselves, then nothing depends on ourselves, - except to be the willing and active instruments
of destinv. - ED.
Edillbm'aqh Reviewe, Vol. XXVII. p. 226. [By Sir James Mackintosh ]
T Philosolphy of the HItlman lindl, Part Il. Chail;. I. Sect. II.
-. r 1)




302                 FREE AGENCY.
short conclusion, that if it be possible for God to make
a free agent, then mall is free, though I see not the
way of it."
A still more recent exception to the general assertion,
which has given occasion to this section, occurs in Lord
Kames's hypothesis of a deceitful sense of liberty, noticed above, as maintained in the first edition of his
Essays on Morality and Natural Religion.  Here, upon
the faith of some subtile metaphysical reasonings, the
very ingenious author adopts the scheme of necessity
in direct opposition to the evidence which he candidly
confesses that consciousness affords of our free agency.
Even the latest advocates for necessity, Priestley and
Belsham, as well as their predecessor, Collins himself;
while they appealed (in the very words of the learned
critic) to the evidence of consciousness in proof of the
fact, that, all previous circumstances being the same, the
choice of man is also at all times the same; yet thought
it worth their while to strengthen this conclusion by
calling to their aid the theological doctrines already
mentioned. I cannot, therefore, see with what color of
plausibility it can be said that "' this matter of fact has
been the only question at issue between the disputants."
It may, however, be regarded as one great step gained
in this controversy, if it may henceforth-be assumed as
a principle agreed on by both parties, that this is the
only question which can be philosophically stated on
the subject, and that all arguments drawn from the attributes of the Deity are entirely foreign to the discussion. I shall accordingly devote this section to an examination of the'fact, agreeably to the representation
of it given by our modern necessitarians.
In what I have hitherto said upon the subject, I have
proceeded on the supposition, that the doctrine of free
will is consistent with the common feelings and belief
of mankind. That " all our actions do now, in experience, seem to us to befree, exactly in the same manner as they would do upon the supposition of our being
really free agents," is remarked by Clarke in his reply
to Collins.  " Anld consequently," he adds, "though




EVIDENCE  OF  CONSCIOUSNESS.                    303
this alone does not amount to a strict demonstration of
our being free, yet it leaves on the other side of the
question  nothing but a bare possibility of our being  so
framed by the Author of nature, as to  be unavoidably
deceived in this matter by every experience and every
action  we  perform.   The  case  is exactly  the  same,"
continues  Dr. Clarke, " as in  that  notable  question,
whether the world exists or no.   There is no demonstration  of it from  experience.   There  always remains a
bare possibility that the Supreme Being may have so
framed my mind as that I shall always necessarily be
deceived in every one of my perceptions, as in a dream,
though  possibly  there  be  no  material world, nor ally
other creature whatsoever existing besides myself. Of
this, I say, there always remains a bare possibility, and
yet no man in his senses argues from thence that experience is no proof to us of the existence of things." *
* Remarks, p. 19.
Cousin maintains liberty on the authority of consciousness.  A free
action is defined by hint to be one "performed with the consciousness
of power not to do it."  He then proceeds to analyze a free action in
order to ascertain precisely in what part it is free. According to him, tile
total action is resolvable into three elements, perfectly distinct::-' 1. The
intellectual element, which is composed of the knowledge of the motives
for and against, of deliberation, of preference, of choice. 2. The vollutlry
element, which consists in an internal act, namely, the resolution, the determination to do it. 3. The physical element, or cxternal action.
~' The question now to be decided is. precisely in which of these three
elements liberty is to be found, - that is, the power of doing with the consciousness of being able not to do. I)oes this power of doing, while conscions of the power not to do, belong to the first element, the intellectual
element of the free action? It does not; for it is not at the will of a man
to judgae that such or such a motive is preferable to anotherl;  -we are not
master of our preferences; we judge in this respect according to our intellectual nature, which has its necessary laws, without having tlc c(.sciousness of being able to judge otherwise, and even with the collscioll.ness of not being able to judge otherwise, than we do. It is not, tlhen. in
this element that we are to look for liberty. Still less is it in the thiod
element, in the physical action; for this action supposes an external world,
an organization corresponding  to it, and, in this organization, a nImuscular
system sound and suitable, without which the physical action woulnl be impossible. When we accomplish it, we are consc ious of acting, but under the
codition of a theatre of which we have not the disposal, and of instruments
of whic,.h we have but an imperlfect disposal, whicll we can neithler replace if
they escape us, - and they may do so every moment. - nor repair if they
are out of' order or unfaithful, as is often the case, and which are subject te
inas pectliar to themselves, over which we have no poWier, and which we




304                        FREE AGENCY.
II.  Consciousness vainly denied to be in Favor of Lib.
erty.] But this appeal to consciousness in proof of free
agency proceeds altogether (according to some late
writers) on a partial and superficial view of the subject; the evidence of consciousness, when all circumstances are taken into the account and duly weighed,
being decidedly in favor of the scheme of necessity.
Dr. Hartley was, I believe, one of the first (if not the
first) who denied that our consciousness is in  favor of
our free  agency.   " It is  true,"  he  observes, "that a
man by internal feeling may prove his own free will,
if by free will be meant the power of doing what a
man  wills or desires;  or of resisting  the  motives  of
sensuality, ambition, &c., that is, free will in the popular and practical sense. Every person may easily recollect instances where he has done these several things,
but these are entirely foreign to the present question.
To prove that a man has free will in the sense opposite to  mechanism, he ought to feel that he can do different things while the motives remain precisely the
same. And here, I apprehend, the internal feelings are
entirely against free will, where the motives are of a
scarcely even know. Whence it follows, that we do not act here with the
consciousness of being able to do the contrary of what we do. Liberty,
then, is no more to be found in the third than in the first element. It can
then only be in the second; and there in fact we find it.
"Neglect the first and third elements, the judgment and the physical
ac.tion, and let the second element, the willing, subsist by itself; analysis
discovers in this single element two terms, namely, a special act of willing,
anli the povwer of willing, which is within us, and to which we refer the special act.  That act is an effect in relation to the power of willing, which is
its cause; and this cause, in order to produe6 its effect, has need of no other
t!lheatre, and no other instrument, than itself.  It produces it directly, with-;out, any thing intermediate, and without condition; continues and consulinnlates, or suspends and modifies; creates it, or annihilates it entirely; an:d
it the moment it exerts itself in any special act, we are conscious that it
mig-ht exert itself in a special act totally contrary, without any obstacle,
without being thereby exhausted: so that, after having changed its acts a
hllndred times, the faculty remains integrally the same, inexhaustible and
idlentical, amidst the perpetual variety of its applications, being always
able to do what it does not do, and able not to do what it does. Here,
then, in all its plentitude, is the characteristic of liberty." - Professor
Henry's translation, Elements of Psychology, Chap. X. p. 319. See, also,
Tappan's Doctrine of the Will determined by an Appeal to Consciousness.ED.




EVIDENCE OF CONSCIOUSNESS.             30b
sufficient magnitude to be evident: where they are not
nothing can be proved." *
Mr. Belsham has enlarged still more fully on this
subject.  " When men," says he, " who  have been
guilty of a crime review the action in calmer moments,
\Avhen the strength of passion has subsided, and the,oiiftrary motives appear in all their force, and perhaps
mlagnified by the evil consequences of their vice and
itlly, they are ready to think that they might at the
i ime have thought and acted as they now think and
ant; but this is a fallacious feeling, and arises fromr
their not placing themselves in circumstances exactly
similar." We are elsewhere told by Mr. Belsharn, " that
the popular opinion, that in many cases it was in the
power of the agent to have chosen differently, the previous circumstances remaining exactly the same, arises
either from a mistake of the question, from aforgetfuilness of the motives by which our choice was determined,
or from  the extreme difficulty of placing ourselves in
imagination in circumstances exactly similar to those
in which the election was made."  And still more explicitly and concisely in the following aphorism: —
"The pretended consciousness of free will amounts to
nothing more than forgetfulness of the motive." t  To
the same purpose Dr. Priestley has expressed himself.
" A man, when he reproaches himself for any particular
action in his past conduct, may fancy that, if he was
iln the same situation again, he would have acted differently.  But this is a mere deception; and if he ext;nines himself strictly, and takes in all circumstances,
lie may be satisfied that, with the same inward disposilion, of mind, and with precisely the same views of
thinas that he had then, and exclusive of all others that
lie has acquired by reflection since, he could not have
acted otherwise than he did." $
* Observations on Man, Part I., Conclusion.
t Elements, pp. 278, 279, 306.'- Illustrations of Philosophical Necessity, p. 99.
The very same view of the sulject has been lately taken by Laplace,
li hli,'ssai PIhilosophiqlule sir Ies P:obabilitis. "L'axiorume connu sons 1e,(5 6




306                      FREE  AGENCY.
If these statements be accurately examined, they will
be found to resolve entirely into this identical proposition, that the will of the criminal, being  supposed  to
remain in the same state as when the crime was committed, he could not have willed and  acted  otherwise.
This proposition, it is obvious, does not at all touch
the  cardinal point in question, which  is simply  this:
hllether, all other circumstances remaining the same,
the c(riminal had it not in his power to abstain trorn
willing, the commission  of the crime.  The vagueness
of Priestley's language upon this occasion must not be
overlooked; the words inward  disposition  of mind admitting of a variety of different meanings, and in this
instance being plainly intended to include the act of
the will, as well as every thing else connected with the
criminal action.
In the preceding strictures, I have been partly anticipated by the following very acute remarks of Dr. Magee
on the definitions of volition and of philosophical liberty,.
prefixed to  Mr. Belshamn's discussion  of the doctrines
now under our consideration. According to Mr. Belsham, " Volition is that state of mind which is immediately previous to actions which  are called voluntary."
N  i"Nt1lural liberty, or, as it is more properly called, philoso)phical liberty, or liberty  of choice, is the  power of
doing an action or its contrary, all the previous circutmstantces remaining the same."  -  " Now  here," says Dr.
Magee, "is the point of free wTill at once decided; f'or
volition itself' being  included  among the previous cir-,rnfistances, it is a manifest contradiction  to suppose
the'power of doing  an  action  or its contrary, all the
norn de priocipe de la raison slffisante s'6tcnd aux actions meme que l'on
j3 c> indiffircntes. La volont6 la plus libre ne pent sans un motif dktermniriaLnt leou donner naissance; car si, toutes les circonstances de deux positioins (tant exactement semblables, elie agissait dans lune et s'al)stenait
d'Iail dans l'autre. son choix serait un cffet sans cause: elle serait alors,
(lit Icilazitz, ce hasard aveuelc des /picuricns. L'opinion contraire est une
illu,:ion (e l'cespit lqui )(rdlliilt de rue les raisons fugitives du choix de la
v-oloelt dians ls choses indiffircntes. se persuade qu'elle s'est dkternmin6e
d'cllc-nenime et sanis mnotifs." - Under the lead, D3e la Priobabilitd.
* Elemllets, p. 227.




EVIDENCE OF CONSCIOUSNESS.              30'
previous circumstances remaining the same'; since
that supposes the power to act voluntarily against a
volition. After this," Dr. Magee justly and pertinently
adds, " Mr. Belsham  might surely have spared himself
the trouble of the ninety-two pages which follow." 
And why have recourse, with Belsham and Priestley,
in this argument, to the indistinct and imperfect recollection of the criminal at a subsequent period, with respect to the state of his feelings while he was perpetrating the crime? Why not make a direct appeal to
his consciousness at the very moment when he was
doing the deed?  Will any person of candor deny,
that, in the very act of transgressing an acknowledged
duty, he is impressed with a conviction, as complete
as that of his own existence, that his will is free, and
that he is abusing, contrary to the suggestions of reason and conscience, his moral liberty? t
Sometimes, indeed, when we are under the influence
of a violent appetite or passion, our judgment is apt
to see things in a false light; and hence a wise man
learns to distrust his own opinion when he is thus circumstanced, and to act, not according to his present
judgment, but according to those general maxims of
propriety of which his reason had previously approve(d
in his cooler hours. All this, however, evidently proceeds on the supposition of his free agency; and, so
far from implying any belief on his part of fatalism or
of moral necessity, evinces in a manner peculiarly striking and satisfactory, the power which he feels himself
to possess, not only over the present, but over the fittwre
leterminations of his will.  In some other instances. it
happens that I believe bond Jide an action to be right,
at, the moment I perform it, and afterwards discover
t hat I judged improperly; - perhaps from want of sufficient information, or from  a careless and partial -Iiew
* Discourses and Dissertations on the Scriptural Doctrines of Atonement ana
Sacrifice, Appendix, Vol. II. p. 180, note.
t T'l'he firee will of man," says Bolinghroke, " which no one can deny
tlhat he has, without lying, or renouncing his intuitive knowledge." - Frag.
~eti.ds, No. XLII.




308                        FREE  AGENCY.
of the subject. In such a case, I may undoubtedly
regret as  a  misfortune  what has  happened.   1] may
blame myself for my carelessness in not having acquired  the  proper  information  before  I acted; but I
cannot consider  myself as criminal in  acting  at that
moment according  to  the  views which  I then  entertained.   On the contrary, if I had  acted  in  opposition
to these views, although my conduct might have been
agreeable to the dictates of a more enlightened understanding than my own, yet, with respect to myself, the
action would have been wrong.
If the doctrine of necessity were just, what possible
foundation could there be for the distinction we always
make between an accidental hurt and  an  intended  injury, when received from   another? or for the  different
sentiments of reg'ret and of remorse that we experience,
according as the misfortunes we suffer are the consequences of our own misconduct or not?  What an alleviation of our sufferings when we are satisfied that
we cannot consider ourselves as the  authors of them!
and what a cruel aggravation of our miseries, when
we can trace them  to something in which we have
been obviously to blame! *' —
* Sir W. Hamilton accepts the fact of moral liberty on the evidence of
consciousness; still he finds insuperable difficulties in conceiving of its possibility. In a note on )r. Reid's definition of the liberty of a moral agent,
he sayvs -- "Moral liberty does not merely consist in the power of doing
U:l(lt ce will, but in the power of' williny what we will. For a power over
the determinations of our will supposes an act of will that our will should
determine so and so; for we can only freely exert power through a. rational
determination or volition. But then question upon question remains, and
tlii:s  d iyi,iitum,'.  Have we a power (a will) over such anterior will? and
itnril this question be definitively answered, which it never can be, we must
bOe t1(tl/e to conceive the possibility of the fact of liberty.  But, though inconceivable, this fact is not therefore false.  For there are many contradictories (and of contradictories, one nlmust, and olte only can, be true), of which
we are equally unable to conceive the possibility of either.  The philosopliy, tlerefore, which I profess, annihilates the theoretical problem, - How
is the scheme of liberty, or the scheme of necessity, to be rendered comprehlensille? by showing that both schemes are equally inconceivable 
but it establishes liberty practically ais a fact. by showing that it is either
itself an immediate daturl, or is involved in an immediate datumn of consciousness.
Again he says:-.' To conceive a free act is to conceive an act which,
h. i:g a cause,  Is tl)ti it itlief an effect; in other words, to conceive an ab.




THE THEORY AS INFLUENCING PRACTICE.   30M
SECTION IV.
OF THE SCHEMES OF FREE WILL, AND OF NECESSITY,
CONSIDERED AS INFLUENCING PRACTICE.
I. Tendency of the Scheme of Necessity to  Pantheism
and  Atheism.]   Collins, in  his inquiry  concerning  husolute commencement. But is such by us conceivable?"  According to
him, in order to be a free agent it is not enough that a person is the cause
of the determination of his own will; he must not be " determined to that
determination."  "But is the person," he asks, "an original undetermined
cause of the determination of his will? If he be not, then he is not a free
agecnt, and the scheme of necessity is admitted. If he be, in the first place,
it is impossible to conceive the possibility of this; and, in the second, if the
fact, though inconceivable, be allowed, it is impossible to see how a cause
undetermined by any motive can be a rational, moral, and accountable cause.
There is no conceivable medium between fatalism and casuism; and the
contradictory schemes of liberty and necessity themselves are inconceivable. For as we cannot compass in thought an undetermined cause, - an absolute commencement, - the fundamental hypothesis of the one; so we can as
little think an infinite series of determined causes, - of relative commencements,
- the fundamental hypothesis of the other.  The champions of the opposite doctrines are thus at once resistless in assault, and impotent in defence.
Each is hewn down, and appears to die under the home-thrusts of his adversary; but each again recovers life from the very death of his antagonist, and, to borrow a simile, both are like the heroes in Valhalla, ready
in a moment to amuse themselves anew in the bloodless and interminable
conflict.
"' The doctrine of moral liberty cannot be made conceivable, for we can
only conceive the determined and the relative. As already stated, all that
can be done is to show, - 1st. That, for the fact of liberty, we have, immediately or mediately, the evidence of consciousness; and, 2d. That there
are, among the phenomena of mind, many facts which we must admit as
actual, but of whose possibility we are wholly unable to form a notion. I
may merely observe, that the fact of ntotion can be shown to be impossible,
on grounds not less strong than those on which it is attempted to disprove
the fact of liberty; to say nothing of many contradictories, neither of which
can be thoulqht, but one of which must, on the laws of contradiction and
excluded middle, necessarily be. This philosophy - the Philosophy o'f the
Conditioned - has not, however, either in itself, or in relation to its consequences, as yet been developed." - Hamilton's edition of Reid's Works,
Essays on the Active Powers, Essay IV. Chap. I.
Kant comes to substantially the same coniclusions.  In his Critic of
Pure Reason, under the head of "the antinomy of pure reason" in his
" Transcendental Dialectic," he treats of liberty and necessity as constituting one of the "contradictions of tlanscendental ideas," both the " thesis "
and the "antithesis " being demonstrable. Afterwards, in his Critic of
Practical Reason, he maintains the fact of liberty as a corollary of thefact
of moral obligation. - ED.




310                       FREE AGENCY.
man liberty, after endeavouring to show that "iliberty
can only be grounded on the' absurd principles of Epicurean atheism,'" observes, that " the Epicurean  atheists, who  wrere the  most popular and  most numerous
sect of the atheists of antiquity, were the great asserters of liberty;" as, on  the  other side, the  Stoics, who
were the most popular and numerous sect among the
religionists of antiquity, were the great asserters of fate
and necessity.   The case was also the same among the
Jews as among the heathens.t The Sadducees, who
were esteemed an irreligious and atheistical sect, maintained the liberty of man. But the Pharisees, who
were a religious sect, ascribed all things to  fate  or to
God's appointment; and it was the first article of their
creed, that Fate and God do all; and consequently,
they could not assert a true liberty, when  they asserted
a liberty together with this fatality and necessity of all
things." t
* In proof of this assertion, that the ancient Epicureans were advocates for man's free agency, Collins refers to Lucretius, Lib. II. v. 2.51 et
seq. But it is to be observed that the liberty here ascribed to the will is
nothing more than the liberty of spontaneity, which is conceded to it by
Collins, and indeed by all necessitarians, without exception, since the time
of Hobbes. Lucretius, irndeed, speaks of this liberty as an exception to
universal fatalism; but he nevertheless considers it as a necessary effect oJ
some cause, to which he gives the name of clinamen, so as to render man as
completely a piece of passive mechanism as he was supposed to be by
Collins and Hobbes.  The reason, too, which he gives for this is, that, if
the case were otherwise, there would be an effect witlout a cause. - Ibid., v.
284.
t With respect to the opinions of the Sadducees and the Pharisees on
man's free agency, see Cudworth's Irntellectual Systenm, with Mosheim's
Notes and Dissertations, translated by Harrison, Book I Chap. I. ~ 4. According to Josephlus, the Pharisees held'"that some things, and not all,
were the effects of fate, but some things were left in man's own power and
liberty." - Antiq. Jud., Lit). XIII. Cap. V. Sect. 9.
t In this passage, as in others, Collins plainly proceeds on the suppositi n, that all fatalists are of course necessitarians; and I agree with him
in thinking, that this would be the case if they reasoned consequentially.
It is certain, however, that a great proportion of those who have belonged
to the first sect have disclaimed all connection with the second. The Stoics themselves, notwithstanding what is said above, furnish one very remarkable instance. I do not know any author by whom the liberty of the
will is stated in stronger and more explicit terms than it is by Epictetus,
in the first sentence of the Erchiridion.  Indeed, the Stoics seem, with
their usual passion for exaggrelration, to have carried their ideas about the
freedom of the will to an unplilosophlical extreme.




THE  THEORY  AS INFLUENCING  PRACTICE.                  311
To the same purpose Edwards attempts to show
(and it is one of the weakest parts of his book) that
the scheme of free will (by affording an exception to
that dictate of common sense which leads us to refer
every event to a cause) would destroy the proof a posteriori for the  being  of  God.   One  thing  is certain,
that the two schemes of atheism and of necessity have
been hitherto always connected together in the history
of modern philosophy: not that I would, by any means,
be understood to say, that every necessitarian must ipso
facto be an atheist, or even that any presumption is afforded, by  a man's attachment to  the  former sect;, of
his having the slightest bias in favor of the latter, but
only that every modern atheist I have ever heard of has
been a necessitarian. I cannot help adding, that by far
the ablest necessitarians who have yet appeared have
been those who followed out their principles till they
ended  in  Spinozism;  a  doctrine  which  differs  from
atheism more in words than in reality. *
* "The following is Cousin's view of Spinoza's system. It apparently
differs from what is said above. but really tends to the same conclusions.'Instead of accusing Spinoza of atheism, he ought to be reproached for
an error in the other direction.  Spinoza starts from the perfect and ijfinite
being of Descartes's system, and easily demonstrates that such a being is
alone being in itse!f, but that a being finite, imperfect, and relative only
participates of being, without possessing it in itself;- that being in itself
is necessarily one;-that there is but one substance; - and that all that
remains has only a phenomenal existence; - that to call phenomena finite
substances is affirming and denying at the same time; for as there is hut
one substance which possesses being in itself, and the finite is that which
participates of existence without possessing it in itself, a substance finite
implies two contradictory notions.  Thus, in the philosophy of Spinoza,
mall and nature are pure phenomena, simiple attributes of that one and absolute
substance, but attributes which are coeternal with their substance: for as
phenomena cannot exist without a subject, the imperfect without the perfect, the finite without the infinite, and man and nature suppose God; so,
likewise, the substance cannot exist without phenomena. the perfect without the imperfect, the infinite without the finite, and God on his part supposes man and nature. The error of his system lies in the predominance
of the relation of phenomenon to being, of attribute to substance, over the
relation of effect to cause. When man has been represented, not as a
cause voluntary and free, but'as necessary and uncontrollable desire, and
as an imp-rftect and finite thought, God, or the supreme pattern of humanity, can be only a substance, and not a cause, - a being perfect, infinite,
necessary, -- the immutable substance of the ulriverse, and not its producing
and creatinly carltse. In Cartesianism. the notion of substance figures more




312                      FREE  AGENCY.
II. Moral and Political Tendencies of the  Scheme oJ
Necessity.]   In  Bernier's Abrge',  de  la Philosoplhie  de
Gassendi, there  are  some very judicious observations
on the practical tendency of the scheme of necessity;
- a subject on which his opinion is entitled to great
weight, not only from his long residence among the followers of Mahomet, but from  those prepossessions in
favor of this scheme which he may be presumed to
have imbibed from his education under Gassendi. I
shall quote a few of his concluding reflections.
conspicuously than that of cause; and this notion of substance, become
altogether predominant, constitutes Spinozism.' - Histoire de la Philosophie du XViiIe Siicle, Tome I. p. 465.
" The preponderance of the notion of substance and attribute over that
of cause and effect, which Cousin here pronounces the vice of Spinoza's
system, is indeed the vice of every system which contains the dogma of
the necessary determination of will. The first consequence is pantheism;
the second, atheism. I will endeavour to explain. When self-determination is denied to will, and it is resolved into mere desire, necessitated in all
its acts from its preconstituted correlation with objects, then will really ceases to be a cause. It becomes an instrument of antecedent power. but is no
power in itself, creative or productive.  The reasoning employed in reference to the human will applies in all its force to the Divine will, as has
been already abundantly shown. The Divine will therefore ceases to be a
cause, and becomes a mere instrument of antecedent power. This antecedent power is the infinite and necessary wisdom: but infinite and necessary
wisdom is eternal and unchangeable; what it is now, it always was; what
tendencies or energies it has now, it always had; and therefore. whatever
volitions it now necessarily produces, it always necessarily produced. If
we conceive a volition to have been, in one direction, the immediate and
necessary antecedent of creation; and, in another, the immediate and necessary sequent of infinite and eternal wisdom; then this volition must have
always existed, and consequently creation, as the necessary effect of this volition, must have always existed. The eternal and infinite wisdom thus becomes the substance, because this is existence in itself no antecedent being
conceivable; and creation, that is to say, maan and nature, imperfect and
finite, participating only of existence, and not being existence in themselves, are not substances, but phenomnena. But what is the relation of the
phenomena to the substance? Not that of effect to cause; - this relation
slides entirely out of view, the moment will ceases to be a cause. It is the
relation simply of phenomena to being, considered as the necessary and
inseparable manifestations of being; the relation of attributes to substance,
considered as the necessary and inseparable properties of substance. We
cannot conceive of substance without attributes or phenomena, nor of attributes or phenomena without substance: they are, therefore, coeternal
in this relation.  Who, then, is God?  Substance and its attributes being
and its phenomena. In other words, the universe, as made up of substance
and attributes, is God. This is pantheism; and it is the first and legiti
mate consequence of a necessitated will.




THE  THEORY  AS INFLUENCI-NG  PRACTICE.                 Ki:s
"De tout ceci jugez si j'ai sujet de croire  cette  doctrine si pernicieuse a la societ6 humaine. Certainement a considerer que  ce  sont principalement les Mahometans qui s'en trouvent infectees, et que  c'est prilicipalement encore parini elles presentement qu'elle  est
fomentee et entretenue, je douterois presque que ce fult
l'invention de quelques uns de ces tyrans d'Asie, comnime
auroit peut-etre un Mahomet, un  Tamerlane, un Baj',zet, ou quelqu'un  de  ces autres fleaux  du  monde  qni
pour assouvir leur ambition demandoit des soldats qui
"The second consequence is atheism.  In the denial of will as a cause
per se, - in resolving all its volitions into the necessary phenomena of the
eternal substance, - we destroy personality: we have nothing remaining ),lt
the universe. Now we may call the universe God: but with equal propr;iety we call God the universe. This distinction of personality, this merging
of God into necessary substance and attributes, is all that we mean lby
atheism.  The conception is really the same, whether we name it fate, pinttheism, or atheism.
" The arguments of many atheists might be referred to, to illustrate ii-l
connection between necessity and atheism. I shall here refer, however, to
only one individual, remarkable both for his poetic genius and metaph  vical acumen. I mean the late Percy Bysshe Shelley.  He openly and unblushingly professed atheism. In his Queen Mlab we find this line:' There
is no God.' In a note upon this line, he remarks, -' This negation must
be understood solely to affect a creative Deity. The hypothesis of a }cirvading spirit, coeternal with the universe, remains unshaken.' This last bhypothesis is pantheism. Pantheism is really the negation of a creative 1)eity, -the identity, or at least necessary and eternal coexistence, of tG( od
and the universe. Shelley has expressed this clearly in another passage:-'Spirit of nature! all-sufficing power,
Necessity! thou mother of the world!'
"' In a note upon this passage, Shelley has argued the doctrine of tihe
necessary determination of will by motive with an acuteness and power
scarcelv inferior to Collins or Edwards.  He makes, indeed, a different
application of the doctrine, but a perfectly legitimate one. Collins andl
Edwards, and the whole race of necessitarian theologians, evidently toil
under insurmountable difficulties, while attempting to base religion upon
this doctrine, and effect their escape only under a fog of subtilties.  Bllt
Shelley. in daring to be perfectly consistent, is perfectly clear.  He fea',.lesslv proceeds from necessity to pantheism, and thence to atheism andti rhi:
destruction of all moral distinctions.' We are taught,' he remarks,, hethe doctrine of necessity, that there is neither good nor evil in the univer.>,,,
otherwise than as the events to which we apply these epithets have relation
to our own peculiar mode of being. Still less than with the hypothesis of
a God, will the doctrine of necessity accord with the belief of a future
state of punishment."' - Tappan's Review of' Edwards, pp. 139, 145. For:?an exnosition of Spinoza's theory, see Jouffroy's Introduction to Ethics, Lect. and VII. -ED.
27




3141                     FREE  AGENCY.
etant entet6s de predestination, s'abandonassent brutalement'a tout, et se precipitassent marne volontiers, aux
occasions, la tete la premiere dans le fosse d'une ville
assieg6e pour servir du  pont au reste de l'armnle.  Je
sSais bien qu'on pourroit peut-etre dire que cette opinion est mal prise et mal entendue par les Mahometans;
mais quoi qu'il en soit, que doit on raisonablement penser d'ulne doctrine qui peut si aisement etre mal-prise et
qui peut, soit par erreur ou autrement, avoir si etranges
suites?" *
The scheme of free will is not liable to any such objection, inasmuch as it seems quite impossible for the
most ingenious sophistry to pervert it to any pernicious
purpose. Indeed, its great object is to reconcile with
the conclusions of our reason those moral feelings
which are so essential, both to our own happiness and
to the interests of society, that they have been regarded
by some of the most acute as well as candid partisans
of necessity as merciful illusions of the imagination,
by which man is blinded to the melancholy fact of his
real condition: " Nervis alienis mobile lig-numn! "
There is good reason to believe that the practical
consequences produced  by the scheme of necessity at
the time of the Reformation alarmed the minds of
some very able men by whom it was at first adopted.
* Tome VIII. p. 536 et seq. " Judge from what has been said whether
I have not reason to think this doctrine pernicious to society. Indeed,
when I consider that it is principally the Mahometans who are infected
with it, that it is principally by them that it is still fomented and kept up,
I almost suspect it to have been the invention of one of those Asiatic
despots, of a Mahomet, a Tamerlane, a Bajazet, or some other scourge
of the worl(l, who, in order to glut his ambition, required soldiers besotted by a belief in predestination, and therefore ready to abandon themselves brutally to every thing, - to precipitate themselves headlong, if ne.
cessary, into the trenches of a besieged city to serve as a bridge for the
rest of the army. Many will say, I am aware, that this doctrine is mistaken and misunderstood by the Mahometans; but, however this may be,
what opinion can we reasonably entertain of a tenet which is so liable to
be misapprehended, and is followed, either through mistake or otherwise,
by such strange consequences?"
For a less unfavorable view of the practical tendency of a belief in necessitv, see an article by Sir James Mackintosh, in the Edinburgh Review.
Vol. XXVII. p. 180.-ED.




THE THEORY AS INFLUENCING PRACTICE.   315'
" The Germans," says Dr. Burnet, " saw the ill effects
of the doctrine of decrees. Luther changed his mind
about it, and Melancthon wrote openly against it; and
since that time the whole stream of the Lutheran
churches has run the other way. But still Calvin and
Bucer were both for maintaining the doctrine; only they
warned the people not to think much about them, since
they were secrets that men could not penetrate into.
Hooper and many other good writers did often exhort
the people from entering into these curiosities; and a
caveat to the same purpose was put into the article
about predestination." *
" Concerning the disputants themselves," says Dr.
Jortin, "we may safely affirm, that the defenders of the
liberty of man, and of the conditional decrees of God,
have been, beyond all comparison, the more learned, judicious, and moderate men; and'that severity and oppression have appeared most on the other side." t
Priestley has somewhere very justly remarked, that
there are some men so happily born that no speculative
theories are likely to mislead them from their duty;
and of the truth of his observation I sincerely believe
that his own private life afforded a very striking example. Little stress, therefore, is to be laid on individual
cases as arguments for or against the practical tendency of any philosophical dogma. The case, however, is
very different with respect to observations made on so
great a scale as those above quoted from Bernier and
Burnet. Let me add, that the practical influence of
the scheme of necessity ought not to be judged of
from the lives of its speculative partisans, but from
those of persons who have been educated from their
early years in the belief of it. In this point of view,
it might be interesting to trace the history of the immediate descendants of some of the most zealous advocates for necessity. If the principles which they
have advanced be just, particularly those they have laid
* Burnet on the Reformation, Part II. p. 113.
] Six Dissertations, Diss. I. p. 4.




316               FrEE am ECY.
down on the influence of education, the moral characters of their pupils should, or rather must, be exemplary
in no common, degree.
SECTION V.
ON THE ARGUMENT FOR NECESSITY DRAWN FROM THE
PRESCIENCE OF THE DEITY.
I. The' Argument stated and answered.] In reviewing
the arguments that have been advanced on the oppo.
site sides of this question, I have hitherto taken no notice of those which the necessitarians have founded on
the prescience of the Deity, because I do not think
them fairly applicable to the subject; inasmuch as. they
draw an inference from what is altogether placed be-,
yond the reach of our faculties, against a fact for which
every man has the evidence of his own consciousness.
Some of the advocates, however, for liberty have ventured to meet their adversaries even on this ground; in
particular, Dr. Clarke, in his Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God, and Dr. Reid, in. his Essays
on the Active Powers of Man. Both of these writers
have attempted to show, with much ingenuity and subtilty of reasoning, that, even although we should admit
the prescience of God in. the fullest extent in which it
has ever been ascribed to him, it does not lead, to any
conclusion inconsistent with man's free agency. On
their speculations on this point I have no commentary
to offer.
The argument for necessity, drawn from the, Divine
prescience, is much insisted on both by Collins and Edwards; more especially by the latter, who, after insisting at great length on " God's certain foreknowledge
of the volitions of moral agents," undertakes to show
that "this foreknowledge infers a necessity of volition
as much as an absolute decree."
Mr. Belsharn, on this as on other occasions, rises
above his predecessors in the boldness of his assertions
"The principal argument in favor of moral necessity




PRESCIENCE OF THE DEITY.           317
and the insurmountable objection against the existence
of philosophical liberty in any degree, or under any re.
strictions whatever, arises from the prescience of God.
Liberty and prescience stand in direct hostility to each
other. A philosopher, to be consistent, must give up
onie or the other." " Upon the whole, the advocates
for philosophical liberty are reduced to the dilemma,
either of denying the foreknowledge of God, and thus
robbing the Deity of one of his most glorious attributes,
or of admitting that God is the author of evil, in the
same sense, and in the same degrees, in which this doctrine is charged upon the necessarians." *
On this argument I shall make but one remark, that,
if it be conclusive, it only serves to identify still more
the creed of the necessitarians with that of Spinoza.
For if God certainly foresees all the future volitions of
his creatures, he must, for the same reason, foresee all
his own future volitions; and if this foreknowledge infers a necessity of volition in the one case, how is it
possible to avoid the same inference in the other?  Mr.
Belsham seems to have been not unaware of this inference; but shows no disposition, on account of it, to
shrink from his principles. " It is always to be remembered that the prescience of an agent necessarily includes predestination, though that of a spectator may
not. It is nonsense to say that a being does not mean
to bring an event to pass which he foresees to be the
certain and inevitable consequence of his own previous voluntary action." t
I have already mentioned the attempt of Clarke and
others to show that no valid argument against the
scheme of free will can be deduced from the prescience
of God, even supposing that prescience to extend to all
the actions of voluntary beings. On this point I must
decline offering any opinion of my own, because I conceive it as placed far beyond the reach of our faculties.
It is sufficient for my purpose to observe, that, if it
could be demonstrated (which, in my opinion, has not
* Elements, pp. 293, 302.       t Elements, p. 307.




318                      FREE  AGENCY.
yet been done) that the prescience of the volitions of
moral agents is incompatible with the free agency of
man, the logical inference would be, not in favor of the
scheme of necessity, but that there are some events the
foreknowledge of which implies an impossibility. Shall
we venture to affirm  that it exceeds the power of God
to  permit such  a train  of contingent events to  take
place, as his own foreknowledge shall not extend  to?
Does not such a proposition  detract from  the omnipotence of God, in the same proportion in which it aims
to exalt his omniscience? "
* The strength of Edwards's argument to prove that " no future event
can be certainly foreknown, whose existence is contingent, and without all
necessity," may be summed up in the following syllogism:It is impossible for a thing to be certainly known to any intellect without evidence.
A contingent future event is without evidence.
Therefore, a contingent future event is a thing impossible to be certainly
known.
Mr. Tappan says: -"I dispute both premises. That which is known
by evidence or proof is mediate knowledge; - that is, we know it through
something which is immediate, standing between the faculty of knowledge
and the object of knowledge in question.  That which is known intuitively is known without proof; and this is immediate knowledge. In this way
all axioms or first truths, and all facts of the senses, are known. Indeed,
evidence itself implies immediate knowledge, for the evidence by which
any thing is known is its.lf immediate knowledge. To a Being, therefore,
whose knowledge fills duration, future and past events may be as immediately known as present events. Indeed, can we conceive of God otherwise
than as immediately knowing all things? An Infinite and Eternal Intelligence cannot be thought of under relations of time and space, or as arriving at knowledge through media of proof or demonstration. So much for
the first premise. The second is equally untenable: -'A  contingent future event is without evidence.' We grant with Edwards that it is not
self-evident, implying by that the evidence arisinq from'the necessity of its
n(atire,' as, for example, 2 X 2 = 4. What is self-evident [from being immediatel.y perceived] does not require any [other] evidence or proof, but is
knotwvn immediately; and a future contingent event may be self-evident [in
this sense] as a fact lying before the Divine mind reaching into futurity,
although it cannot be self-evident from'the necessity of its nature.' "
Review of Edirards, p. 256.
The following remarks on the same subject are from Dr. Copleston's
Inquiry into the Doctrines of Necessity and Predestination, p. 45, note. " Edwards, in his work on the Freedom of the Will, dwells much upon the distinction between making the event necessary, and proving it to be necessary.'Whether prescience,' he says,'be the thing that makes the event necessary
or no, it alters not the case. Infallible foreknowledge may prove the ne
cessity of the event foreknown, and yet not be the thing that causes the no




PRESCIENCE  OF  THE  DEITY.                     319
II. Source  of the   General  Prevalence  of Fatalism
among  Unenlightened  Nations.]   It is  a  circumstance
not a little curious in the history of the human mind,
that, while men have been in all ages impressed with
this irresistible conviction of their own free agency,
they have nevertheless had a proneness, not only to admit the prescience of God in its fullest extent, but to
suppose  that there  is  a.fatal and  irresistible  destiny
attending  every  individual.   Traces  of this  opinion
occur in every country of the world of which we have
received  any  account.   We  meet with  it among  the
sages of Greece, and among the ignorant and unenlightened natives of St. Kilda. The following Arabian tale,
which I quote from  the late  Mr. Harris, will place the
import of the doctrine I now allude to in a more striking light than I could possibly do by any philosophical
comment.
" The Arabians tell us," says this author, " that as
Solomon (whom they supposed a magician from his superior wisdom) was one day walking with a person in
Palestine, his companion said to him with horror,' What hideous spectre is that which approaches us?
I don't like his visage. Send me, I pray thee, to the
remotest  mountain   of  India.'    Solomon   complied,
cessity.' Part II. Sect. XII. But infallible foreknowledge, while it remains foreknowledge, proves nothing. When the being which possesses
this foreknowledge declares that a thing will come to pass, that declaration
indeed proves, or is a certain ground of assurance to us, that it will come
to pass. Even then it does not prove the event to be necessary.' If, however, the question be regarded as merely logical, namely, whether the very term foreknowledge does not imply a necessity in the thing foreknown, it must be decided by the established use of words. That such is
not the received definition of the term may, I believe, be with confidence
asserted; and the confusion, whenever it does prevail, seems to arise from
the following cause.  We may be unable to conceive how a thing not
necessary in its nature can be foreknown; for our foreknowledge is in general limited by that circumstance, and is more or less perfect in proportion
to the fixed or necessary nature of the things we contemplate, with which
nature we become acquainted by experience, and are thus able to anticipate a great variety of events; but to subject the knowledge of God to
any such limitation is surely absurd and unphilosophical, as well as impious; and, therefore, to mix up the idea of God's foreknowledge with any
quality in the nature of the things foreknown is even less excusable than
to be guilty of that confusion when speaking of ourselves." -- ED.




320                       FREE  AGENCY.
and the very moment he was sent off the spectre arrived,'Solomon,' said  the  spectre,'how  came  that
fellow here? I was to have fetched him from the remotest mountain of India.' Solomon answered,' Angel of Death, thou wilt find him  there.' ""
The general prevalence of fatalism among unenlightened nations is the obvious effect of the insidious lessons inculcated by their religious instructors. The
chief expedient employed by the priesthood in all rude
countries for subjecting the minds of the people is to
impress them  with  a belief that it is possible, by  the
study of auguries, of omens, or of judicial astrology, to
gratify that misguided curiosity which disposes blind
mortals anxiously to tear asunder the merciful veil
drawn by Providence over futurity.   " Wherever superstition,"  says Dr. Robertson, "is so  established  as to
form  a regular system, this desire  of penetrating  into
the secrets of futurity is connected with it. Divination
becomes a religious act; and priests, as the ministers
of Heaven, pretend to deliver its oracles to man. They
are the  only  soothsayers, augurs, and  magicians who
possess the sacred and important art of disclosing what
is hid from other eyes." t
III. Ao Dogma sufficient to efface the  Consciousness
of Moral Liberty.]   Between this creed and that of an
inevitable fate or destiny the connection is necessary
Philosolphical Inquiries, Part III. Chap. VII.  The following remark
of M. Ancillon upon the difference between the Mahometan doctrine of
destiny, and that which prevailed upon the same subject among the ancient
Greeks, appears to me just and important.  " Ii  a une grande difftrence
entre le destin des Orientaux, surtout depuis que Mahomet a fit. dt'ine
doctrine geni6ralement repan(ldue avant lui, un article de foi, et le Polytheisme Greec. Le Grec lutte contre le destin, et tout en succombant sous sa
force, it fait preuve de libert6: lc Mahomdtan se rffsigne en a veugle avant
l'cvnement; lors mime qu'il agit, it agit en homme h qui l'action ne scrvira (lde ricn. Le premier murmure contre cc pouvoir, et le sulpporte avec
iml)atience; le second s'en felicite parce qu'il dispense (le l'activito'. Les
Grccs pla,;oient la force avcutle c dans le destin; et la pensie qui iui reisiste,
et (lii le comlat, dans I'honme;  chez les Malhomftans la force aveugle est
dans Ihomrme  cette force n'cest qu'une force passive, et la pcnsie est dans
le lcestin." - Essais Philosophiqites, Tome I. pp. 150, 151.
t History of Amer) ica, Book IV.




PRESCIENCE OF THE DE rY.              321
and obvious; and hence in every false religion the
scheme of fatalism may be expected to form, not only
an essential, but the fundamental article.  The inconsiderable influence which this theological dogma (a dog,
ma, too, peculiarly calculated to affect and even to overwhelm the imagination) has always had in stifling the
sentiment of remorse on the commission of a crime,
affords a demonstrative proof of the impotence of suo.}t
scholastic refinements, when opposed to the feelings cf
nature, on a question concerning which these feelings
form the only tribunal to which a legitimate appeal can
be made.  That a criminal, in order to alleviate the
pang of remorse, may have sometimes sought for relief
in this doctrine, is far from being improbable; but no
man ever acted on this belief in the common concerns
of human life; and, indeed, some of its most zealous
partisans have acknowledged (particularly Lord Kames),
that, were it to prevail universally as a practical principle, the business of the world could not possibly go on.
In the ancient Stoical system  (as I have already observed), the doctrine of fatalism and that of man's free
agency were both admitted as fundamental articles of
belief.  " By fate," says Mrs. Carter, "the Stoics seeln
to have understood a series of events appointed by the
immutable councils of God, or that law  of his providence by which he governs the world.  It is evident
by their writings that they meant it in no sense which
interferes with the liberty of human actions." Of the
truth of this remark the most satisfactory evidence is
afforded by the very first sentence of the Enchiridion of
Epictetus, in which it is explicitly stated, that "; opinioIn,
pursuit, desire, and aversion, and, in one word, whatr
ever are our own actions, are in our own power." 
* That the doctrine of fatalism, however, led some of the Stoics to very
impious and alarming consequences, appears from the following words,
which Lucan puts into the mouth of Cato.
"Summum Brute nefas civilia bella fatemur,
Sed quo fata trahunt, virtus secura sequetur.
Crinmen erit superis et mefecisse nocentem."
Phar. II. 254.
See, also, Lib. VII. 657.- Copleston, Prcelect. eAcad., p. 277,




322                   FREE AGENCY.
Such, too, is the philosophy of Virgil: —
" Stat sua cuique dies, breve et irreparabile tempus
Omnibus est vitma; sed famam extendere factis
Hoc virtutis opus." *
The doctrine, however, of fatalism, and of an inevi.
table destiny, must not be confounded with that of the
Divine prescience, between which and the freedom  of
human actions some of our profoundest philosophers,
as I have already observed (particularly Clarke and
Reid), have labored to show that there is no inconsistency; while other writers of no less eminence have apprehended that there is no absurdity in supposing that
the Deity may, for wise purposes, have chosen to open
a source of contingency in the voluntary actions of his
creatures, to which no prescience can possibly extend.
Whatever opinion we may adopt on this point, the
conclusions formerly stated concerning man's free agency remain unshaken. Our own free will we know by
our consciousness; and we can have no evidence for
any other truth so irresistible as this. On the other
hand, it would unquestionably be rash and impious in
us, from the fact of our own free will, to deny that our
actions may be foreseen by the Deity, or to measure the
Divine attributes by a standard borrowed from  our imperfect faculties. The conclusion of St. Augustine on
this subject is equally pious and philosophical. " Wherefore we are nowise reduced to the necessity, either by
admitting the prescience of God, to deny the freedom
of the humn: l will, or by admitting the freedom of the
will to hazard the impious assertion, that the prescience.*.neid., Lib. X. 467.
"To all that breathe is fixed the appointed date;
Life is but short, and circumscribed by fate:'T is virtue's work by fame to stretch the span,
Whose scanty limit bounds the days of man."
The notions of Virgil, however, on this point, as is well observed by
Servius, do not seem to have been quite consistent. How are the follow.
ing lines, which he applies to Dido, to be reconciled with the above passage 
"Nam quia nec fato, meritM nec morte peribat;
Sed misera ante diem."- Idem, Lib. IV. 695.




PRESCIENCE OF THE  DEITY.                     323
df God does not extend to all future contingencies:
but, on the contrary, we are disposed  to embrace both
doctrines, and with sincerity to bear testimony to their
truth, —the one that our faith may be sound, the other
that our lives may be good." *
* The following passage in one of Gray's letters has a sufficient connection with what is said above to justify me in giving it a place here. Indeed, were the connection much slighlter and less obvious than it is, little
apology would be necessary for relieving the attention of the reader by
quoting any thing relating to so important a subject from such a pen.
" I am as sorry as you seem to be, that our acquaintance harped so much
on the subject of materialism when I saw him with you in town, because
it was plain to which side of the long-debated question he inclined. That
we are, indeed, mechanical and dependent beings, I need no other proof
than my own feelings; and from the same feelings I learn with equal conviction, that we are not merely such. That there is a power within which
struggles against the force and bias of that mechanism, commands its motion, and by frequent practice reduces it to that ready obedience we call
habit; and all this in conformity to a preconceived opinion (no matter
whether right or wrong), -to that least material of all agents, a thought.
I have known many in his case, who, while they thought they were conquering an old prejudice, did not perceive that they were under the influence of one far more dangerous, —one that furnishes us with a ready
apology for all our worst actions, and opens to us a full license for doing
whatever we please; and yet these very people were not at all the more
indulgent to other men (as they naturally should have been); their indigrnation at such as offended them, their desire of revenge on any body that
hurt them, was nothing mitigated. In short, they wished to be persuaded
of that opinion for the sake of its convenience, but were not so in their
hearts; and they would have been glad (as they ought in common prudence) that nobody else should think the same, for fear of the mischief
that might ensue to themselves. His French author I never saw, but have
read fifty in the same strain, and shall read no more. I can be wretched
enotgqh without them." - Works, by Mason, Letter XXXI.
I shall avail myself of this note to remark, that, on the subject of free
will, though Locke has thrown out many important observations, he is on
the whole more indistinct, undecided, and inconsistent than might have
been expected from his powerful mind, when directed to so important a
question. This was probably owing to his own strong feelings in favor of
man's moral liberty, combined with the deep impression left on his philo
sophical creed by the writings of Hobbes, and by the habits of intimacy
and friendship in which he lived with the acutest and ablest of all neces
sitarians, Anthony Collins. That Locke conceived himself to be an advocate for free will appears indisputably from many expressions in his chapter On Power; and yet in that very chapter he has made various concessions to his adversaries, in which he seems to yield all that was contended
for by Hobbes and Collins; and accordingly, he is ranked, with some appearance of truth, by Priestley, with those who, while they opposed verbally the scheme of necessity, have adopted it substantially, without being
aware of their mistake.
[To the multitude of works cited or referred to in this chapter may be




324                        FREE AGENCY.
added the following: - Crombie's Essay on Philosophical Necessity; Bray's
Philosophy of Necessity; Cogan's Ethical Questions, Question IV.; Sir T.
C. Morgan's Sketches of the Philosophy of Morals, Chap. II.; Bailey's Essays on the Pursulit of Truth, 4c., Essay III.; Gregory's Essay in Defence
of Philosophical Liberty; Bockshammer On the Freedom  of the Human
WillU; Charma, Essai sur les Bases et les Diveloppements de la 3Moralite,
Part. I. Sect. I., II.; Damiron, Psychologie, Liv. I. Sect. II. Chap. III.;
Ballantyne's Examination of the Human Mind, Chap. III.; Gibon, Cours de
Philosophie, Part. I. Chap. XIII.; Blakey's Essay showing the Intimate Connection between our Notions of Moral Good and Evil and our Conceptions of
the Freedomn of the Divine and Human Wills; Harvey's Examination of the
Plelaqian and Arminian Theory of Moral Agency; Day's Inquiry respecting
the Self-determining Power of the Will; I)ay's Examination of President
Edwards's Inquiry on the Freedom of the Will.l




BOOK III.
OF THE VARIOUS BRANCHES OF OUR DUTY.
T1IE different theories which have been proposed concerning the nature and essence of virtue have arisen
chiefly from attempts to trace all the branches of our
duty to one principle of action;  such as a rational
self-love, benevolence, justice, or a disposition to obey
the will of God.
In order to avoid those partial views of the subject
which naturally take their rise from an undue love of
system, the following inquiries proceed on an arrangement which has, in all ages, recommended itself to the
good sense of mankind. This arrangement is founded
on the different objects to which our duties relate. 1st.
The Deity.  2d. Our Fellow-Creatures.  And, 3d.
Ourselves.
CHAPTER I.
OF THE DUTIES WHICH RESPECT THE DEITY.
I. The Duty of Religious CGonsideration.]  It is
scarcely possible to conceive a man capable of reflection, who has not, at times, proposed to himself the
following questions: — Whence am I? and whence
the innumerable tribes of plants and of animals which
I see, in constant succession, rising into existence?
Whence the beautiful fabric of this universe? and by
what wise and powerful Being were the principles of
my constitution so wonderfully adapted to the various
objects around me? To whom am I indebted for the
28




326              DUTIES TO GOD.
distinguished rank which I hold in the creation, and
for the numberless blessings which have fallen to my
lot?  And what return shall I make for this profusion
of goodness? The only return I can make is by accommodating my conduct to the will of my Creator,
and by fulfilling, as far as I. am able, the purposes of
my being.
But how are these purposes to be discovered? The
analogy of the lower animals gives me here no information. They, too, as well as I, are endowed with various instincts and appetites; but their nature, on the
whole, exhibits a striking contrast to mine. They are
impelled by a blind determination towards their proper
objects, and seem to obey the law of their nature in
vielding to every principle which excites them to action. In my own species alone the case is different.
Every individual chooses for himself the ends of his
pursuit, and chooses the means which he is to employ
for attaining them. Are all these elections equally
good? and is there no law prescribed to man? I feel
the reverse. I am able to distinguish what is right
from what is wrong; what is honorable and becoming
from what is unworthy and base; what is laudable and
meritorious from what is shameful and criminal. Here,
then, are plain indications of the conduct I ought to
pursue. There is a law prescribed to man as well as
to the brutes. The only difference is, that it depends
on my own will whether I obey or disobey it. And
shall I alone counteract the intentions of my Maker,
by abusing that freedom of choice which he has been
pleased to bestow on me, by raising me to the rank of
a rational and moral being?
This is surely the language of nature; and which
could not fail to occur to every man capable of serious
thought, were not the understanding and the moral
feelings in some instances miserably perverted by religious and political prejudices, and in others by the false
refinements of metaphysical theories. How callous must
be that heart which does not echo back the reflections
which Milton puts into the mouth of our first parent?




DUTIES TO GOD.                   327
"Thou sun, said I, fair light,
And thou, enlightened earth, so fresh and gay,
Ye hills and dales, ye rivers, woods, and plains,
And ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell,
Tell, if you saw, how came I thus, how here;
Not of myself; by some great maker then,
In goodness, as in power, preeminent;
Tell me how I may know him, how adore,
From whom I have, that thus I move and live,
And feel that I amn happier than I know."
II. The Duty of Piety.] If the Deity be possessed
of infinite moral excellence, we must feel towards him,
in an infinite degree; all those affections of love, gratitude, and confidence, which are excited by the imperfect worth we observe among  our fellow-creatures.
Now it is only by conceiving all that is benevolent and
amiable in man raised to the highest perfection, that
we can form some faint notion of the Divine nature.
To cultivate, therefore, an habitual love and reverence
of the Supreme Being may be justly considered as the
first great branch of morality; nor is the virtue of that
man complete, or even consistent with itself, in whose
mind those sentiments of piety are wanting.
Piety seems to be considered by Mr. Smith as foundod in some degree on those principles of our nature
which connect us with our fellow-creatures.  The dejection of mind which accompanies a state of complete
solitude; the disposition we have to impart to others
our thoughts and feelings; the desire we have of other
intelligent and moral natures to sympathize with our
own, -all lead us, in the progress of reason and of
moral perception, to establish gradually a mental intercourse with the Invisible Witness and Judge of our
conduct.  An habitual sense of the Divine presence
comes at last to be formed. In every object or event
that we see, we trace the hand of the Almighty, and in
the suggestions of reason and conscience we listen to
his inspirations. In this intercourse of the heart with
God, (an intercourse which enlivens and gladdens the
most desolate scenes, and which dignifies the duties of
the meanest station,) the supreme felicity of our nature is to be found; and till it is firmly established,




328                DUTIES TO GOD.
there remains a void in every breast which nothing
earthly can supply; - a consideration which proves
that religion has a foundation in the original principles
of our constitution, while it affobrds us a presage of
that immortal happiness which Providence has destined
to be the reward of virtue.*
III. Religion necessary as a Support to Public and
Private Virtue.]  Although religion can with no propriety be considered as the sole foundation of morality,
yet, when we are convinced that God is infinitely good,
and that he is the friend and protector of virtue, this
belief affords the most powerful inducements to the
practice of every branch of our duty. It leads us to
consider conscience as the vicegerent of God, and to
attend to its suggestions as to the commands of that
Being from whom we have received our existence, and
the great object of whose government is to promote
the happiness and the perfection of his whole creation.
These considerations not only are addressed to our
gratitude, but awaken in the mind a sentiment of universal benevolence, and make us feel a relation to every
part of the universe. In doing our duty, we conceive
ourselves as fellow-workers with the Deity, and as willing instruments in his hands for promoting the benevolent purposes of his administration. This is that sublime sentiment of piety and benevolence which we
meet with so often in the writings of the ancient Stoics.
"Shall any one say," observes Antoninus, "' 0  beloved city of Cecrops!' and wilt not thou say,'0 beloved city of God'?"
In this manner it appears that a sense of religion is
favorable to the practice of virtue in two respects; first,
by leading us to consider every act of duty as an expression of gratitude to God; and, secondly, as leading
us to regard ourselves as parts of that universal system
* For a further consideration of this important subject, see Butler's two
Sermons Upon Piety, or the Love of God. Also, his Analogy, Part II.
Chap. T.- ED.




DUTIES TO  GOD.                       329
ot which he is the Author and Governor. There is
another respect in which it is calculated to influence
our conduct very powerfully, as it is addressed to our
hopes and fears. In this view religion is a species of
authoritative law, enforced by the most awful sanctions,
atid of which it is impossible for us, by any art, to
elude the penalties.  In the case of the lower orders of
men, who are incapable of abstract speculation, and
whose moral feelings cannot be supposed  to  have received much cultivation, it is chiefly this view of religion, as addressed  to their hopes and fears, that secures a faithful discharge of their duties as members of
society.  In vain would the civil magistrate attempt to
preserve the order of society by annexing the penalty
of death to heinous offences, if men in general apprehended that there was nothing to be feared beyond the
grave. And it is of importance to remark, that this ohb
servation applies with peculiar force to the lower orders,
who have commonly much less attachment to life than
their superiors. Of this truth, all wise legislators, both
ancient and modern, have been aware, and have seen
the necessity of maintaining a sense of religion among
their fellow-citizens, as the most powerful of all supports to the political order.  " Ut aliqua in vita formido
improbis esset posita, apud  inferose jusmodi quaedam
illi antiqui supplicia impiis constituta esse voluerunt;
quod videlicet intelligebant his remotis, non esse mortem   ipsam   pertimescendam."*   They, on  the  other
* Cic. Catil. IV. " For it was on this account that the ancients invented
those infernal punishments of the dead, to keep the wicked under some
awe in this life, who, without them, would have no dread of death itself."
With these views, it is not surprising that some of the wisest of the
heathen writers should have expressed themselves so very strongly concerning the guilt incurred by those who, by exposing to ridicule the fabulous mythology which formed the popular creed among their contemporaries, endangered the authority of those moral principles which were identified with it in the vulgar belief. There is good reason for thinking that
the secret communicated to the initiated in the. Eleusinian mvsteries was
the unity of God; a truth too sublime to be disclosed at once to the uninformled multitude, as it struck at the root of all those fables which were
incorporated with their habits of thinking and feeling on the most imporlant subjects. On this supposition we have a satisfactory explanation of a
28*




330                  DUTIES TO GOD.
hand, who have labored to loosen the bands of society,
have found it necessary to begin with perverting or destroying the natural sentiments of the mind with respect
to a future retribution. In ages when the religious
principles of the multitude were too firmly riveted to be
entirely eradicated, they have inculcated, theological
dogmas subversive of moral distinctions, as in the case
of the antinornian teachers during our own civil wars.
In other and more recent instances, they have avowedly attempted to establish a system of atheism. So
true is the old observation, that the extremes of superstition and of infidelity unite in their tendency, and so
completely verified are now  the apprehensions which
were expressed eighty years ago by Bishop Butler, that
the spirit of irreligion (which, in his time, was beginning to grow fashionable among the higher ranks)
might produce some time or other political disorders
similar to those which arose from religious fanaticism
in the preceding century. " Is there no danger that all
this may raise somewhat like the levelling spirit upon
atheistical principles, which, in the last age, prevailed
upon enthusiastic ones, — not to speak of the possibility that different sorts of people may unite in it, upon
these contrary principles?" "
A prediction by a later writer of genius and discerninent, and one well acquainted with the principles and
manners of the world, is not unworthy of attention in
the present times, in which we have seen it very remarkably verified in numberless instances.   " I shall
say nothing at present of the lower ranks of mankind.
Though they have not yet got into the fashion of
noted passage in Horace, between which and the preceding lines it seems
not easy at first to trace any connection.
Est et fideli tuta silentio
Merces. Vetato, qui Cereris sacrum
Vulgarit arcane, sub isdem
Sit trabibus, fragilemve mecum
Solvat phaselum.
Carmn. Lib. III. Ode II.
Sermon preached before the Iouse of Lords, January 30, 1740.




DUTIES TO GOD.               3\
laughing at religion, and treating it with scorn and
contempt, and I believe are too serious a set of creatures ever to come into it, yet we are not to imagine
but that the contempt it is held in by those whose examples they are too apt to imitate will in time utterly
shake their principles, and render them, if not as profane, at least as corrupt, as their betters. When this
event happens, and we begin to feel the effects of it in
our dealings with them, those who have done the mischief will find the necessity at last of turning religious
in their own defence, and (for want of a better principle) to set an example of piety and good morals for
their own interest and convenience." *
Nor is it merely in restraining men from grosser outrages, that a sense of religion operates as a compulsory
law.  Without a secret impression (of which it is impossible that the human mind can divest itself), that
there is at all times an invisible witness of our thoughts,
it is probable that the virtue of the best men would often yield to temptation. Even amidst the darkness of
the heathen world, Xenophon had recourse to this impression to account for the inflexible integrity of Socrates, when he sat as one of the judges in the celebrated trial of the naval commanders. " Having taken,"
says Xenophon, " as was customary, the senatorial oath,
by which he bound himself to act in all things conformably to the laws, and arriving in his turn to be president of the assembly of the people, he boldly refused to
give his suffrage to the iniquitous sentence which condemned the nine captains, being neither intimidated by
the menaces of the great, nor the fury of the people,
but steadily preferring the sanctity of an oath to the
safety of his person. For he was persuaded the gods
watched over the affairs of men, in a way altogether
different from what the vulgar imagined; for while
these limited their knowledge to some particulars only,
Socrates, on the contrary, extended it to all, firmly
Dersuaded that they are everywhere present, and that
* Sterne's Sermons.




332                DUTIES TO GOD.
every word, every action, nay, even our most retired deliberations, were open to their view." *
In the last place, a sense of religion, where it is sincere, will necessarily be attended with a complete resignation of our own will to that of the Deity, as it
teaches us to regard every event, even the most afflicting, as calculated to promote beneficent purposes,
which we are unable to comprehend, and to promote,
finally, the perfection and happiness of our own nature.
This is the best, and, indeed, the only rational foundation of fortitude. Nay, it may be safely affirmed (as
Socrates long ago observed in the Phledo of Plato),
that whoever founds his fortitude on any thing else is
only qvaliant through fear.  In other words, he exposes
himself to danger, merely from a regard to the opinion
of others, and, of consequence, wants that internal principle of heroism which can alone arm the mind with
patience under those misfortunes which it is condemned
to bear in solitude, or under sorrows which prudence
conceals from the public eye. But to the man who believes that every thing is ordered for the best, and that
his existence and happiness are in the hands of a Being
who watches over him with the care of a parent, the
difficulties and dangers of life only serve to call forth
the latent powers of the soul, by reminding him of the
prize for which he combats, and of that beneficeni
Providence by which the conflict was appointed.
Safe in the hands of one disposing Power,
Or in the natal or the mortal hour.
IV. Religion the First and Chief Branch of Mora
Duty.]  The view which I have given of religion, a
forming the first and chief branch of moral duty. an,
as contributing in its turn most powerfully to promot
the practice of every virtue, is equally consonant to th
spirit of the Sacred Writings, and to the most obviou
dictates of reason and conscience; and accordingly i
is sanctioned by the authority of all those philosopher
* Mcmor. Lib. I. Cap. I.




Duvrr9s To Got.                 33U
of antiquity who devoted their talents to the improve.
ment and happiness of mankind.  " It should never be
thought," says Plato in one of his Dialogues, "that
there is any branch of human virtue of greater importance than piety towards the Deity."  The chief article
of the unwritten law mentioned by Socrates is, " that
the gods ought to be worshipped." " This," he says,
",is acknowledged everywhere, and received by all men
as the first command."'   And to the same purpose
Cicero, in the first book of his Offices, places in the first
rank of duties those we owe to the immortal gods.
" In ipsa communitate sunt gradus officiorum ex quibus, quid cuique praestet, intelligi possit: ut prima Diis
immortalibus; secunda, patriae; tertia, parentibus, deinceps gradatim reliquis debeantur." t
The elevation of mind which some of the most illustrious characters of antiquity derived from  their religious principles, however imperfect and erroneous, and
the weight which these principles gave them in their
public and political capacity, are remarked by many
ancient writers; and such, I apprehend, will always be
found to be the case when the personal importance of
the individual rests on the basis of public opinion.
"But he," says Plutarch, " who was most conversant
with Pericles, and most contributed to give him a grandeur of mind, and to make his high spirit for governing
the popular assemblies more weighty and authoritative,-in a word, who exalted his ideas, and raised,
at the same time, the dignity of his demeanour, - the
person who did this was Anaxagoras the Clazomenian,
whom the people of that age reverenced as the first
who made mind or intellect (in opposition to chance) a
principle in the formation and government of the universe." |
* Xen. Memor. Lib. IV. Cap. IV.
t Lib. I. Cap. ult. " In society itself our duties are of different degreest
n which the proper order of preference is readily understood:- first of
ll, our duties to the immortal gods; secondly, to our country; thirdly;o our parents, and, after thllen, to other hmen in their several gradations."
Trit. Peic.




334                DUTIES'TO GOD.
The extraordinary respect which the Romans, during
their period of greatest glory,-entertained for religion,
(false as their own system was in its mythological
foundations, and erroneous in many of its practical
tendencies,) has been often taken notice of as one of
the principal sources of their private and public virtues.
" The Spaniards," says Cicero, " exceed us in numbers;
the Gauls in the glory of war; but we surpass all nations in that wisdom by which we have learned that
all things are governed and directed by the immortal
gods." *
In the latter periods of their history, this reverence
for religion, together with the other virtues which gave
them the empire of the world, was in a great measure
lost; and we continually find their orators and historians drawing a melancholy contrast between the degeneracy of their manners and those of their ancestors.
In the account which Livy has given of the consulate
of Q. Cincinnatus, he mentions an attempt which the
tribunes made to persuade the people that they were
not bound by their military oath to follow the consul
to the field, because they had taken that oath when he
was a private man.  But, howrever agreeable this doctrine might be to their inclinations, and however strongly recommended to them  by the sanction of their own
popular magistrates, we find that their reverence for
the religion of an oath led them to treat the doctrine
as nothing better than a cavil. Livy's reflection on this
occasion is remarkable. " Nondum hac, qum nunc tenet
seculum, negligentia Deuim venerat: nec interpretando
sibi quisque jusjurandum leges aptas faciebat, sed suos
po)tius mores ad ea accommodabat." t
i Orat de Hartusp. Respon.. Cap. IX.
t Lib. III. Cap. XX. " But that disregard of the gods, which prevails in
the present age, had not then taken place; nor did every one, by his own
interpretations, accommodate oaths and the laws to his particular views
but rather adapted his practice to them."




DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN.         335
CHAPTER II.
OF THE DUTIES WHICH RESPECT OUR FELLOWCREATURES.
UNDER this title it is not proposed to give a complete
enumeration of our social duties, but only to point out
some of the most important, chiefly with a view to
show the imperfections of those systems of morals
which attempt to resolve the whole of virtue into one
particular principle. Among these, that which resolves
virtue into benevolence is undoubtedly the most amiable; but even this system will appear, from the following remarks, not only to be inconsistent with truth, but
to lead to dangerous consequences.
SECTION I.
OF BENEVOLENCE.
I. Huitcheson resolves all Virtue into Benevolence.]
Benevolence is so important a branch of virtue, that it
has been supposed by some n-oralists to constitute the
whole of it. According to these writers, good-will to
mankind is the only immediate object of moral approbation; and the obligation of all our other moral duties
arises entirely from their apprehended tendency to promote the happiness of society.
Among the most eminent partisans of this system
in modern times, Mr. Smith mentions particularly Dr.
Ralph Cudworth, Dr. Henry More, and Mr. John Smith
of Cambridge; "but of all its patrons," he observes,
"ancient or modern, Dr. Francis Hutcheson was undoubtedly beyond all comparison the most acute, the
most distinct, the most philosophical, and, what is of
the greatest consequence of all, the soberest and most
judicious." *
* Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part VII. Sect. II. Chap. III.




335        DUTIES TO OUR FELLOT-MXlEN.
In favor of this system, Mr. Smith acknowledges. that
there are many appearances in human nature which at
first sight seem strongly to support it; and of some of
these appearances Dr. Hutcheson avails himself with
much acuteness and plausibility. First, whenever, in
any action supposed to proceed from benevolent affections, some other motive is discovered, our sense of the
merit of this action is just so far diminished as this
motive is believed to have influenced it.  Secondly,
when those actions, on the contrary, which are commonly supposed to proceed from a selfish motive are
discovered to have arisen from a benevolent one, it
generally enhances our sense of their merit.  Lastly,
it was urged by Dr. Hutcheson, that, in all casuistical
disputes concerning the rectitude of conduct, the ultimate appeal is uniformly made to utility. In the later
debates, for example, about passive obedience and the
right of resistance, the sole point in controversy among
men of sense was, whether universal submission would
probably be attended with greater evils than temporary
insurrection when privileges were invaded. Whether
what, upon the whole, tended most to the happiness of
mankind was not also morally good, was never once
made a question.
Since benevolence, therefore, was the only motive
which could bestow upon any action the character of
virtue, the greater the benevolence which was evidenced
by any action, the greater the praise which must belong to it.
In directing all our actions to promote the greatest
possible good, - in submitting all inferior affections to
the desire of the general happiness of mankind, - in
regarding one's self as but one of the many, whose
prosperity was to be pursued no further than it was
consistent with, or conducive to, that of the whole, -
consisted the perfection of virtue.
Dr. Hutcheson held, further, that self-love was a principle which could never be virtuous in any degree or
in an) direction.  This maxim he carried so far as
to assert, that even a regard to the pleasure of self




BENEVOLENOE.                337
approbation, to the comfortable applauses of our own
consciences, diminisheg the merit of a benevolent action. "In the common judgments of mankind, however," says Mr. Smith, "this regard to the. approbation
of our own minds is so far from being considered as
what can in any respect diminish the virtue of any action, that it is rather looked upon as the sole moivfe.
which deserves the -appellation of virtuous."
Of the truth and correctness of these principles Dr.
Hutcheson was so fully convinced, that, in conformity
to them, he has offered some algebraical formulas for
computing mathematically the morality of. actions. GO
this very extraordinary attempt, the following axioms,
which -he premises to his formulas, may serve as a
sufficient specimen.
~1. The mloral importance of any agent, or the quantity of public good produced by him, is in a compound
ratio of his benevolence and abilities, or M (moment of
good) = B X A.
2. In like manner, the moment of private good or
interest produced by any person to himself is in a
compound ratio of his self-love and ability, or I -=S
X A.
3. When, in comparing the virtue of two agents, the
abilities are equal, the moment of' public good produ:ced by them in like circumstances is- as the benevo
lence, or M = B X 1.  
4. When benevolence in two agents is equal, and
other circumstances alike, the moment of public good
is as the abilities, or M= A X 1.
5. The virtue, then, of agents, or their benevolence,
is always directly as the moment of good produced in
like circumstances, and inversely as their abilities, or
B  M
IL Qbjections to this Theory.]  As Dr. Hutcheson's
example in the use of these formulas has not been fol* Hutcheson's Inquiry into the Original of our Ideas of Bauty and VR,
Treatise II. Sect. III.
29




,38         DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN.
(owed by any of his successors, it is unnecessary to
employ any arguments to expose the absurdity of
this unsuccessful innovation in the usual language
of ethics.'  It is of more consequence to direct our
attention  to the substance of the doctrine which it
was the great object of the ingenious author to establish.
And, in the first place, the necessary and obvious
consequences to which this account of virtue leads
seem to furnish a satisfactory proof of its unsoundness.
For if the merit of an action depends on no other circumstance than the quantity of good intended by the
agent, then the rectitude of an action can in no case
be influenced by the mutual relations of the parties;
- a conclusion contradicted by the universal judgment
of mankind in favor of the paramount obligation of
various other duties.  It is sufficient to mention the
obligations of gratitude, of veracity, and of justice.t
Unless we admit these duties to be immediately obligatory, we must admit the maxim, that a good end may
sanctify any means necessary for its attainment; or,
in other words, that it would be lawful for us to dispense with the obligations of veracity and justice whenever, by doing so, we had a prospect of promoting any
of the essential interests of society.
With respect to this maxim, I would only ask, Is it
probable, a priori, that the wise and beneficent Author
of the universe should have left the conduct of such a
fallible. and short-sighted creature as man to be regulated by no other principle than the private opinion of
each individual with respect to the expediency of his
actions? Or, in other words, by the conjectures which
the individual might formn on the good or evil resulting,
on the whole, from an endless train of future contin* Dr. Hutcheson's attempt to introduce the language of mathematics
into morals gave occasion to a valuable Essay on Quantity, by the late Dr.
Reid. This essay may be found in the Philosophical Transactions of the
Royal Society of London for the year 1748. [It is reprinted in Sir W.
Hamilton's edition of Dr. Reid's Works.]
t See Butl'r's Essay on the Nature of Virtue, at the end of his Analo.y.




BENEVOLENCE.               339
gencies? Were this the case, the opinions of mankind
concerning the rules of morality would be as various
as their judgments concerning the probable issue of the
most doubtful and difficult determination in politics.
Numberless cases might be fancied, in which a person
would not only claim merit to himself, but actually possess it, in consequence of actions which are generally
regarded with indignation and abhorrence. Even meni
of the soundest judgment and most penetrating sagacity might frequently be led to the perpetration of enorrnities, if they had no other standard of right and
wrong but what they derived from their own uncertain
anticipations of futurity. And when we consider -how
small the number of such men is, in comparison with
those whose understandings are perverted by the prejudices of education, and by their own selfish passions,
it is easy to see what a scene of anarchy the world
would become. Surely, if the Deity intended the happiness of his creatures, he would not build the order
(I rnay say the existence) of society on so precarious a
foundation. And here it deserves particularly to be
mentioned, that one of the arguments commonly produced in support of the scheme is drawn from the
benevolence of God.  Benevolence, we are told, induced the Deity to call the universe into existence, and
benevolence is the great law of his government; and
as virtue in man must consist in conformity to the will
of God, in imitating his moral perfections to the utmost
of our power, it is concluded that virtue and- benevolence are the same. But the premises here lead to a
conclusion directly opposite; -for if the happiness of
mankind be the great end for which they are brought
into being, it is presumable that the rules of their conduct are of such a nature as to be obvious to the
capacities of all men of sincere and well-disposed
minds. Accordingly, we find, (and the fact is in a
peculiar degree worthy of attention,) that, while the
theory of ethics involves some of the most abstruse
questions which have ever employed the human faculties, the moral judgments and moral feelings of the




340         DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN.
most distant ages and nations, with respect to all
the most essential duties of life, are ohe and the
same.*
The reasonableness of the foregoing conclusion will
be much confirmed, if we consider how much the happiness of mankind is often left to depend on the will
of one or of a few individuals. The best men, in such
circumstances, when invested with  absolute power,
might be rendered curses to the world by sanguine
plans of beneficence; and the ambitious and designing
would be supplied with specious pretences to justify the
most cruel and tyrannical measures.  In truth, it is this
very plea of benevolent intention which has been employed to palliate, or rather to sanctify, the conduct of
the greatest scourges of the human race. It is this
very plea which, in former times, lighted up the fires
of the Inquisition, and which, in our own age, has furnished a pretence for outrages against all the principles
of justice and all the feelings of humanity.t
It may perhaps be urged, that the principle of benevolence, or a regard to utility, would lead to an invariable adherence to the rules of veracity, gratitude,
and justice, because in this way more good is produced
on the whole than could be obtained by any occasional
deviations from them; that it is this idea of utility
which first leads us to approve of these virtues; and
that afterwards habit, or the association of ideas,
makes us observe their rules without thinking of consequences. But is not this to adopt that mode of reasoning which Hutcheson censures so severely in the
selfish philosophers?  According to them, we labor to
promote the public prosperity, because we believe our
own to be intimately connected with it.  They acknowledge, at the same time, that we often make a
* "Si quid rectissimum sit quwerimus, perspicuum est. Si quid maximei
expediat, obscurum." - Cic. Ep. ad Fam., IV. 2.
t See the remarks on Paley's scheme of morals in Gisborne's Principles
of Moral Philosophy, where these arguments are urged with great force
They are replied to by Wainewright, in his Vindication of Dr. Paley'
1 teor of Morals, Chap. II.]




BENEVOLENCE.               341
real sacrifice of private to public advantage, and that
we often exert ourselves in the public service without
once thinking of our own interest. But all this they
explain by habits and associations, which operate in
this case as they do in the case of the miser, who,
although his attachment to money was originally
founded on the consideration of its uses, yet continues to accumulate wealth without once thinking of
the ends to which it is subservient, and indeed long
after he is able to enjoy those comforts which it can
purchase.
Now, as I have said, the fallaciousness of this mode
of reasoning has been pointed out by Dr. Hutcheson
with great clearness and force; and the arguments he
employs against it may with great justice be turned
against himself.  In general, the safest rule we can
follow in our inquiries concerning the principles of
human conduct is to acquiesce, in the first instance,
in the plain and obvious appearance of facts; and if
these conclusions are inaccurate, to correct them gradually, in proportion as a more attentive examination
of our subject discovers to us the prejudices which
education and accidental associations have blended
with the truth. It is at least a presumption in favor
of any system concerning the mind, that it falls in with
the natural apprehensions of mankind in all countries
and ages; —and I believe it will commonly be found
that these are the systems which, in the progress of
human reason, are justified by the most profound and
enlightened philosophy. I state this observation with
the greater confidence, as it coincides with the following admirable remark of Mr. Hume, - an author who
had certainly no interest in inculcating such a doctrine,
as he seems to have paid very little attention to it in
the course of his own speculations.
" The case is not the same in moral philosophy as in
physics. Many an hypothesis in nature, contrary to
first appearances, has been found, on more accurate
scrutiny, solid and satisfactory. Instances of this kind
are so frequent, that a judicious as well as witty phi
29*




342        DUTIES TO OUR FELLOWV-MEN.
losopher * has ventured to affirm, if there be more than
one way in which a phenomenon may be produced,
that there is a general presumption for its arising from
the causes which are the least obvious and familiar
But the presumption always lies on the other side in
all inquiries concerning the origin of our passions, and
of the internal operations of the human mind.  The
simplest and most obvious cause which can there be
assigned for any phenomenon is probably the true one.
When a philosopher, in the explication of his system,
is obliged to have recourse to some very intricate and
refined reflections, and to suppose them essential to the
production of any passion or emotion, we have reason
to be extremely on our guard against so fallacious an
hypothesis. The affections are not susceptible of any
impression from the refinements of reason or imagination-; and it is always found, that a vigorous exertion
of the latter faculty necessarily, from the limited capacity of the human mind, destroys all activity in the
former. Our predominant motive or interest is indeed
frequently concealed from ourselves when it is mingled
and confounded with other motives, which the mind,
from vanity and selflconceit, is desirous of supposing
more prevalent; but there is no instance that a concealment of this nature has ever arisen from the abstruseness and intricacy of the motive. A man that
has lost a friend and patron may flatter himself that
all his grief arises from generous sentiments, without
any mixture of narrow or interested considerations;
but a mall that grieves for a valuable friend who needed
his patronage and protection, how can we suppose that
his passionate tenderness arises from some metaphysical regards to a self-interest which has no foundation
in reality? We may as well imagine that minute
wheels and springs, like those of a watch, give motion
to a wagon, as account for the origin of passion from
such abstruse reflections." t
* Fontenelle.
t Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, Appendix II.




BENEVOLENCE.                         343
III. The same Objections applicable to the Doctrine of
Utility, as held by Hume, Godwin, and Paley.]   The remarks which I have now made with respect to Do.
Hutcheson's philosophy are applicable, with some slight
alterations, to a considerable variety  of moral systems
which have been offered to the world under very different forms, but which agree with him and with each other in deriving the practical rules of virtuous conduct
from   considerations  of utility.  All of these  systems
are but modifications of the old doctrine which resolves
the whole of virtue into benevolence.
This theory of utility (which is of a very ancient
date, and which in modern times has derived much celebrity from the genius of Mr. Hume) has been revived
more recently by Mr. Godwin, and by the late Dr. Paley. Widely as these two writers differ in the source
whence they derive their rule of conduct, and the sanctions by which they enforce its observance, they are perfectly agreed about its paramount authority over every
other principle of action.   " Whatever is expedient,"
says Dr. Paley, "is right.  It is the utility of any moral rule alone which constitutes the obligation of it." 
5" But then it must be expedient on the whole, at the
long run, in all its effects, collateral and remote, as well
as those which are immediate and direct, as it is obvious that, in computing consequences, it makes no difference in what way or at what distance they ensue." t
* Principles of Moral and Political Philosophy, Book II. Chap. VI.
t Ibid. Chap. VIII. In another part of this work, Book VI. Chap.
XII., Dr. Paley explicitly asserts that every moral rule is liable to be superseded in particular cases on the ground of expediency. "Moral Philosophy cannot pronounce that any rule of morality is so rigid as to bend
to no exceptions; nor, on the other hand, can she comprise these exceptions within any previous description. She confesses that the obligntion
of every law depends upon its ultimate utility; that, this utility ha,:ing a
finite and determinate value, situations may be feigned, and consequently
niay possibly arise, in which the general tendency is outweighed by the
enormity of the particular mischief."  In such an event, ultimate utility
would render it as much an act of duty to break the rule as it is on other
occasions to observe it.
[Some have contended that Paley's criterion of right is not liable to the
samne objections with that of other selfish systems, because he does not
make it turn on a calculation of the probable consequences of the particular action in hand, but on what is called "the doctrine of general conse




344             DUTIES TO  OUR FELLOW-MEN.
Mr. Godwin  has nowhere expressed  himself on  this
fundamental question of practical ethics in terms more
decided and unqualified.
01 this theory of utility, so strongly recommended
to some by the powerful talents of Hume, and to others
by the well-merited popularity of Paley, the most satisfactory of all refutations is to be found in the work of
Mr. Godwin. It is unnecessary to inquire how far the
practical lessons he has inculcated are logically inferred
from his fundamental principle; for although I apprequences."  "The general consequence of any action may be estimated,"
he says, " by asking what would be the consequence if the same sort of ac
tions were generally permitted." - Moral Philosophy, Book II. Chap. VIII
But to this Coleridge, in The Friend, Vol II. Essay XI., replies: —
1. "H ere, as in all other calculations, the result depends on that faculty
of the soul in the degrees of which men most vary from each other, and
which is itself most affected by accidental advantages or disadvantages of
education, natural talent, and acquired knowledge, - the faculty, I mean,
of foresight and systematic comprehension. But surely morality, which is
of equal importance to all men, ought to be grounded, if possible, in that
part of our nature which in all men may and ought to be the same: in the
conscience and the common sense."
2. " This criterion confounds morality with law; and when the author
adds, that in all probability the Divine justice will be regulated in the
final judgment by a similar rule, he draws away the attention from the
will, that is, from the inward motives and impulses which constitute the essence of morality, to the outward act, and thus changes the virtue commanded by the Gospel into the mere legality which was to be enlivened by it.
One of the most persuasive, if not one of the strongest, arguments for a
future state rests on the belief, that, although by the necessity of things our
outward and temporal welfare must be regulated by our outward actions,
which alone can be the objects and guides of human law, there must Yet
needs come a juster and more appropriate sentence hereafter, in which our
intentions will be considered, and our happiness and misery made to accord
with the grounds of our actions. Our fellow-creatures can only judge
what we are by what we do; but in the eye of our Maker what we do is
of no worth, except as it flows from what we are."
3. " The criterion is also nugatory. The individual is to imagine what
the general consequences would be, all other things remaining the same, if
all men were to act as he is about to act. 1 scarcemy need remind the reader what a source of self-delusion and sophistry is here opened to a mind
in a state of temptation. Will it not say to itself,'I know that all men
will not act so; and the immediate good consequences, which I shall obtain, are real, while the bad consequences are imaginary and improbable' 
Vthen the foundations of morality have once been laid in the outward conse(luences, it will be in vain to recall to the mind what the consequences
would be were all men to reason in the same way; for the very excuse of
this mind to itself is, that neither its action nor its reasoning is likely to
lhave any consequences at all, its immediate object excepted."




BENEVOLENCE.                         345
hend much might be objected to these, even on his own
hypothesis, yet if such be the conclusions to which, in
the judgment of so acute a reasoner, it appeared to
lead with demonstrative evidence, nothing further is
requisite to illustrate the practical tendency of a systern which, absolving men from the obligations imposed
on them with so commanding an authority by the moral constitution of human nature, abandons every individual to the guidance of his own narrow views cor -
cerning the complicated interests of political society.
4. "But suppose the mind in its sanest state. How can it possibly form
a notion of the nature of an action considered as indefinitely multiplied,
unless it has previously a distinct notion of the nature of the single action
itself which is the multiplicand? If I conceive a crown' multiplied a hundredfbld, the simple crown enables me to understand what a hundred
crowns are; but how can the notion hundred teach me what a crown is? "
5. " I confess myself unable to divine any possible use, or even meaning,
in this doctrine of general consequences, unless it be that in all our actions we are bound to consider the effect of our example, and to guard as
much as possible against the hazard of their being misunderstood. I will
not slaughter a lamb, or drown a litter of kittens, in the presence of my
child of four years old, because the child cannot understand my action,
but will understand that his father has inflicted pain, and taken away life
from beings that had never offended him. All this is true, and no man in
his senses ever thought otherwise. But methinks it is strange to state
that as a criterion of morality which is no more than an accessory aggravation of an action bad in its own nature, or a ground of caution as to the
mode and time in which we are to do or suspend what is in itself good
and innocent."
6. " The duty of setting a good example is no doubt a most important
duty; but the example is good or bad, necessary or unnecessary, according as the action may be which has a chance of being imitated. I once
knew a small, but (in outward circumstances at least) respectable congregation, four fifths of whom professed that they went to church entirely for
the example's sake; in other words, to cheat each other and act a common
lie! These rational Christians had not considered that example niay increase the good or evil of an action, but can never constitute either."
7. "To the objection, that the doctrine of general consequences was
stated as the criterion of the action, not of the agent, I might answer, thlt
the author himself had in some measure justified me in not noticing this
distinction, by holding forth the probability, that the Supreme Judge will
proceed by the same rule. The agent may then safely be included in the
action, if both here and hereafter the action only and its general consequences will be attended to. But my main ground of justification is, that
the distinction itself is merely logical, - not real and vital. The character
of the agent is determined by his view of the action; and that systemr of
morality is alone true and suited to human nature, which unites the intention ana the motive, the warmth and the light, in one and the same act of
mind."]




346            DUTIES TO  OUR FELLOW-MEN.
Among the practical consequences which Dr. Paley
deduces from the same principle, there are some which
to my mind are not less revolting than those of Mr.
Godwin.   Such, for example, is  the  argument  by
which he controverts the received maxim of criminal
jurisprudence, that it is better for ten guilty persons to
escape than for one innocent man to suffer. But on this
subject I need not enlarge. The sophistry, and, I am
sorry to add, the reckless inhumanity displayed in this
part of Paley's work, have been triumphantly exposed
by that great and good man, Sir Samuel Romilly; —
a man whom, long before his talents and worth  were
known to the public, I admired and loved, and whose
memory I shall never cease to revere.*
* Observations on the Criminal Law of England.  See, in particular,
Note D.
[For some account of the writings and influence of Godwin, see the
thirty-sixth Lecture of Professor Smyth, On the French Revolution. He begins his notice by observing, with reference to the time of the first French
Revolution, -" I would wish to afford you some general notion of the
sort of mental intoxication which then prevailed among those who should
have been the guides and instructors of mankind. And looking round for
this purpose, I shall select from the rest, as a memorable specimen of the
whole, the once celebrated work of Mr. Godwin. The influence of the
work I can myself remember. In any ordinary state of the world, it must
have fallen lifeless from the press: highly metaphysical, continually running into general abstractions, into disquisitions never ending, still beginning, nothingr was ever less fitted to attract a reader than the repulsive
Inquiry concerning Political Justice; and if the state had not been out of
joint, most assuredly scarce a reader would have been found. Some years
after, when the success of the work had been established, Mr. Burke was
asked whether he had seen it.' Why, yes, I have seen it,' was the answer,'and a mighty stupid-looking book it is.' No two words could better have
described it. The late excellent Sir Samuel Romilly, who had then leisure
to read every thin,,, told a friend who had never heard of it, that there had
just appeared a book by far the most absurd that had ever come within
his knowledge; this wag the work of Godwin. Mrs. Barbauld, also, who
at length by the progress of its doctrines was compelled to look at it, declared that what was good in the book was chiefly taken from Hume; that
it was'borrowed sense and original nonsense.' The work, however, prospered; this' original nonsense' was then in great request, and at a high
premium. Mr. Godwin had his admirers, had his school; there were Godwininns in those days, as well as Whigs and Tories, more particularly in
the Inns of Court, and among the young lawyers; and this borrower of
sense and retailer of nonsense, this dreamer of dreams and seer of visions,
was suddenly transformed from a Dissenting clergyman, dissatisfied with
his profession, and unknowing and unknown, into a person pointed at, as




BENEVOLENCE.                         347
That the practice of veracity and justice, and of all
our other duties, is useful to mankind, is acknowledged
he walked in the metropolis of England, as a disturber of empires and a reformer of the world."
According to Mr. Godwin, every thing is to be referred to justice. General utility is the criterion of justice, and one of his extravagances consists
in maintaining that all private affections and personal obligations are to be
sacrificed to it. Professor Smyth goes on:"' But justice,' says Mr. Godwin,' is no respecter of persons';- very
well. The illustrious Bishop of Cambray, for instance, was of more worth
than his valet, and there are few of us, says Mr. Godwin, that would hesitate to pronounce, if the Bishop's palace were in flames, which of the two
should be preserved. But again:"' Suppose I had been myself the valet,' says Mr. Godwin;'I ought
to have chosen to die, rather than F6nelon should have died. To have
done otherwise would have been a breach of justice.' Somewhat alarming this, but let it pass; —very well. Again:-' Suppose,' says Mr.
Godwin,'the valet had been my brother, or my father, or my benefactor; -
this would not alter the truth of the proposition: the life of F6nelon
would still be more valuable than that of the valet; and justice, pure, unadulterated justice, would still have preferred that which was most valuable; justice would have taught me to save the life of Finelon at the expense of the other. What magic is there in the pronoun my to overturn
the decision of impartial truth? My brother, or my father, may be a fool
or a profligate, malicious, lying, or dishonest. If they be, of what consequence is it that they are mine?'
"This, then, was the result that was wanted, —filial duty at an end.
The poor father was to see his son helping another person out of the
flames, and be left himself to perish; - all upon the principle of justice,
the foundation of all morality. Mathematicians, when their reasonings
conduct them to some unnatural position, - that the greater is equal to
the less, or the less to the greater, - immediately stop short, produce their
phrase quod est absurdum, and think it high time to begin again."
The logic by which Godwin reasons away the obligation that exists between parent and child reminds Professor Smyth of the following passage
in Tristram Shandy:" In that most entertaining performance, the lawyers are supposed discussing a law question before Yorick and my Uncle Toby.'In the reign
of Edward VI.,' says one of them,'in the famous case, commonly known
by the name of tile Duke of Suffolk's case, as it was a great cause, andl
much depending upon its issue, and as many causes of great property
were likely to be decided in times to come by the precedent to be then
made, the most learned, as well in the laws of this realm as in the civil
law, were con'sulted together; and not only the temporal lawyers, but the
church lawyers, the jurisconsulti, the jurisprudentes, the civilians, the advocates, the commissaries, the judges of the consistory and prerogative
courts of Canterbury and York, with the Master of the Faculties, were all
unanimously of opinion, that the mother, the Duchess of Suffolk, was not
of kin to her child.'
"' And what said the Duchess of Suffolk to it?' said my Uncle Toby.
This was an unexpected question, it seems; and as nothing could oe
made of it, the lawyers voted the order of the day, and went on with




348           DUTIES TO  OUR FELLOW~-MEN.
by moralists of all descriptions; and there is good reason for believing, that, if a person saw all the consequences of his actions, he would perceive that an adherence to their rules is useful and advantageous on
the whole, even in those cases in which his limited
views incline him to think otherwise. The same observation may be applied to self-interest, that the most
eflectual way of promoting it is to observe religiously
the obligations of morality; and these are both very
striking instances of that unity of design which is conspicuous alike in the moral and natural world. This
makes it an easy matter for a philosopher to give a
plausible explanation of all our duties from one principle, because the general tendency of all of them is to
determine us to the same course of life. That benevolence may be the sole principle of action in the Deity
is possible (although when we affirm that it is so we
go beyond our depth); but the case is obviously very
different with mankind. If the hypothesis be just with
respect to the Deity, we must suppose that he enjoined
the duties of veracity and justice, not on account of
their intrinsic rectitude, but of their utility. But still,
with respect to man they are indispensable laws, for he
has an immediate perception of their rectitude.  And
indeed, if he had not, but were left to deduce their
rectitude from the consequences which they have a
tendency to produce, we may venture to affirm that
there would iot be enough of virtue left in the world
to hold socie.ty together.
It is remarked by Mr. Smith, in a passage which
their law argument: this, when they had finished it, left the Duchess, as
before, not of kin to her own child.
"' Let the learned say what they will, there must certainly,' quoth my
Uncle Toby,' be some manner of consanguinity between the Duchess of
Suffolk and her son.'
"' The vulgar are of the same opinion to this hour,' quoth Yorick"
There is a remarkabl 3 coincidence in some of the definitions and sr eculations of Edwards and the Hopkinsian divines in this country, and those ot
Godwin. For. references, see Ely's Contrast between Calvinism and Hop.
tinsianism, Chap. XI.  See likewise Robert HIall's celebrated sermon:110dern Irfidelity considered with respect to its Influence on Society; and Dr
Parr'.s,Spital Sernmon, especially the Notes. - En.




BENEVOLENCE.               349
cannot be too frequently recalled to the reader's attention, that " although, in accounting for the operations
of bodies, we never fail to distinguish the efficient from
the final cause, in accounting for those of the mind we
are very apt to confound these two different things with
one another. When by natural principles we are led to
advance those ends which a refined and enlightened
reason would recommend to us, we are very apt to impute to that reason, as to their efficient cause, the sentiments and actions by which we advance those ends,
and to imagine that to be the wisdom of man which
in reality is the wisdom of God. Upon a superficial
view, this cause seems sufficient to produce the effects
which are ascribed to it, and the system of human nature seems to be more simple and agreeable when all
its different operations are in this manner deduced from
a single principle."
IV. Reasons uvhich have induced some Writers to re
solve all Virtue into Benevolence.]  To the strictures
already offered on Hutcheson's writings I have only to
add, that he seems to consider virtue as a quality of
our affections, whereas it is really a quality of our actions; or (perhaps in strict propriety) of those dispositions from which our actions immediately proceed.
Our benevolent affections are always amiable, but, in
so far as they are constitutional, they are certainly in
no respect meritorious. Indeed, some of them are common to us with the brutes. When they are possessed
in an eminent degree, we may perhaps consider them
as a ground of moral esteem, because they indicate the
pains which has been bestowed on their cultivation, and
a course of active virtue in which they have been exercised and strengthened. On the contrary, a person
who wants them is always an object of horror; chiefly
because we know they are only to be eradicated by
long habits of profligacy, and partly in consequence of
the uneasiness we feel when we see the ordinary course
of nature violated, as in a monstrous animal production. It is from these two facts that the plausibility of
30




350         DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN.
Dr. Hutcheson's language on this subject in a great
measure arises; but if the facts be accurately examined,
they will be found perfectly consistent with the doctrine
already laid down, that nothing is an object of moral
praise or blame, but what depends on our own voluntary exertions; and of consequence, that these terms
are not applicable to our benevolent or malevolent affections, so far as we suppose them to result necessarily
from our constitutional frame.
In order to think with accuracy on this very important point of morals, it is also necessary to distinguish
those benevolent affections which urge us to their respective objects by a blind impulse, from that rational
and enlightened benevolence which interests us in the
happiness of all mankind, and indeed of all the orders
of sensitive being.  This divine principle of action
appears but little in the bulk of our species; for, although the seeds of it are sown in every breast, it
requires long and careful cultivation to rear them to
maturity, choked as they are by envy, by jealousy, by
selfishness, and by those contracted views which originate in unenlightened schemes of human policy. Clear
away these noxious weeds, and the genuine benevolence of the human heart will appear in all its beauty.
No wonder, then, that we should regard with such
peculiar sentiments of veneration the character of one
whom we consider as the sincere and unwearied friend
of humanity; for such a character implies the existence
of all the other virtues; more particularly, candid and
just dispositions towards our fellow-creatures, and a
long course of persevering exertion in combating prejudice; and in eradicating narrow  and malignant passions. The gratitude, besides, which all men must feel
towards one in whose benevolent wishes they know
themselves to be comprehended, contributes to enliven
the former sentiment of moral esteemr; and both together throw so peculiar a lustre on this branch of
duty, as goes far to account for the origin of those systems which represent it as the only direct object of
moral approbation.




BENEVOLENCE.                351
It may be worth while to add, before leaving the
subject, that, when a rational and habitual benevolence
forms part of a character, it will render the conduct perfectly uniform, and will exclude the possibility of those
inconsistencies that are frequently observable in individuals who give themselves up to the guidance of particular affections, either private or public. How often,
for example, do we meet with individuals, who have
great pretensions to public spirit, and even to humanity, on important occasions, who affect an habitual rudeness in the common intercourse of society! The public spirit of such men cannot possibly arise from genuine benevolence, otherwise the same principle of action
would extend to every different part of the cofiduct by
which the comfort of other men is affected; and in the
case of most individuals, the addition they are able to
make to human happiness, by the constant exercise of
courtesy and gentleness to all who are withini the sphere
of their influence, is of far greater amount than all that
can result from the more splendid and heroic exertions
of their beneficence. A similar remark may be applied
to sueh as are possessed of strong private attachments
and of humanity to objects in distress, while they have
no idea of public spirit; and also to those who lay
claim to a more than common portion of patriotic zeal,
while they avow a contempt for the general interests of
humanity. In truth, all those offices, whether apparently trifling or important, which contribute to augment the happiness of our fellow-creatures, - civility,
gentleness, kindness, humanity, patriotism, universal
benevolence, - are only diversified expressions of the
same disposition, according to the circumstances in
which it operates, and the relation which the agent
bears to others.




352         DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN.
SECTION II.
OF JUSTICE.
I. Definition and Origin of the Sense of Justice.]
The word justice, in its most extensive signification,
denotes that disposition which leads us, in cases where
our own temper, or passions, or interests are concerned,
to determine and to act without being biased by partial
considerations.
I had occasion formerly to observe, that a desire of
our own happiness is inseparable from our nature as
sensitive and rational beings; or, in other words, that
it is impossible to conceive of a being capable of form'ing the ideas of happiness and misery, to whom the
one shall not be an object of desire and the other of
aversion. On the other hand, it is no less evident that
this desire is a principle belonging to such beings exclusively; inasmuch as the very idea of happiness, or of
what is good for man on the whole, presupposes the exercise of reason in the mind which is able to perform
it, and as it is only a being possessed of the power of
self-governnment which can pursue steadily this abstract
conception, in opposition to the solicitations of present
appetite and passion.  This rational self-love (or, in
other words, this regard to what is good for us on the
whole) is analogous, in some important respects, to
that calm benevolence which has been already illustrated. They are both characteristical endowments of
a rational nature, and they both exert an influence
over the conduct, in proportion as reason gains an as-.-endant over prejudice and error, and over those appetites which are common to us and to the brutes.
The inferior principles of action in our nature have
all a manifest reference to one or other of these rational
principles; for, although they operate without any reflection on our part, they all lead to ends beneficial to
the individual or to society. Of this kind are hunger,
thirst, the desire of knowledge, the desire of esteem.




JUSTICE.                 353
pity to the distressed, natural affection, and a variety
of others. Upon the whole, these two great principles
of action, self-love and benevolence, coincide wonderfully in recommending one and the same course of conduct; and we have great reason to believe, that, if we
were acquainted with all the remote consequences of
our actions, they would be found to coincide entirely.
There are, however, cases in which there seems to be
an interference between them; and, in such cases, the
generality of mankind are apt to be influenced more
than they ought to be by self-love, and the principles
which are subsidiary to it. These sometimes lead them
to act in direct opposition to their sense of duty; but
much more frequently they influence the conduct by
suggesting to the judgment partial and erroneous views
of circumstances, and by persuading men that the line
of their duty coincides with that which is prescribed
by interest and inclination.  Of all- this every man
capable of reflection must soon be convinced from experience, and he will study to correct his judgment in
cases in which he himself is a party, either by recollecting the judgments he has formerly passed in similar
circumstances on the conduct of others, or by stating
cases to himself, in which his own interest and predilections are perfectly left out of the question. Now
I use the word justice to express that disposition of
mind which leads a man, where his own interest or
passions are concerned, to determine and to act according to those judgments -which he would have formed
of the conduct of another placed in a similar situation.
But although I believe that expedients of this sort are
necessary to the best of men for correcting their moral
judgments in cases in which they themselves are parties, it will not therefore follow, (as I have before observed,*) that our ideas of right and wrong with respect
to our own conduct are originally derived from our
sentiments with respect to the conduct of others. If I
had had recourse to no such expedient for correcting
* See p. 248.
30 *




354        DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN.
my first judgment, I should still have formed some
judgment or other of a particular conduct, as right,
wrong, or indifferent, and the only differencee would
have been, that I should probably have decided improperly, from a false or a partial view of the case.
It is observed by Mr. Smith, as an argument against
the existence of a moral sense or moral faculty, that
these words are of very recent origin, and that it must
appear very strange that a principle, which Providence
undoubtedly intended to be the governing one of human nature, should hitherto have been so little taken
notice of, as not to have got a name in any language.
If this observation is levelled merely at these two
expressions, I do not take upon me to defend their
propriety.  I use them  because they are commonly
employed by ethical writers of late, and because I do
not think them liable to misinterpretation after the
explanation of them I formerly gave. I certainly do
not consider them as expressing an implanted relish for
certain qualities of action analogous to our relish for
certain tastes and smells. All I contend for is, that the
words right and wrong, ought and ought not, express
simple ideas; that our perception of these qualities in
certain actions is an ultimate fact of our nature; and
that this perception always implies the idea of moral
obligation. When I speak of a moral sense or a moral
faculty, I mean merely to express the power we have of
forming these ideas; but I do not suppose that this
bears any more analogy to our external senses than the
power we have of forming the simple ideas of number,
of time, or of causation, all which arise in the mind, we
cannot tell how, when certain objects or certain events
are perceived by the understanding.  If those ideas
were as important as those of right and wrong, or had
been as much under the review of philosophers, we
might perhaps have had a sense of time, a sense of
number, and a sense of causation. And, in fact, something very like this language occurs in the writings of
Lord Kames.
But if Mr. Smith meant to be understood as imply.




JUSTICE.                 355
ring that the words right and wrong, ought and ought
not, do not express simple ideas, I must take the liberty
of remarking, in opposition to it, that, although the
words moral sense and moral faculty, considered as
indicating their source, are of late origin, this is by no
means the case with the word conscience. It is indeed
said, that conscience "does not immediately denote
any moral -faculty, by which we approve or disapprove,
— that it supposes, indeed, the existence of some such
faculty, but that it properly signifies our consciousness
of having acted agreeably or contrary to its directions."'
But the truth I take to be this, that the word conscience
coincides exactly with the moral faculty, with this
difference only, that the former refers to our own conduct alone, whereas the latter is meant to express also
the power by which we approve or disapprove of the
conduct of others. Now if this be granted, and if it be
allowed that the former word is to be found in all
languages, and that the latter is only a modern inven
tion, is it not a natural inference, that our judgments,
w~~ith respect to our own conduct, are not merely applications to ourselves of those we have previously
formed with respect to the conduct of our fellow-cren
tures?
II. The Duty of Candor; or Justice in our Appreczation of other Men.] It would be endless to attempt to
point out all the various forms in which the disposition
formerly defined will display itself in life. I must content myself with mentioning one or two of its more
remarkable effects, merely as examples of the influence
it is likely to have on the conduct. One of the more
important of these is that temper of mind we express
by the word candor, which prevents our judgments
with respect to other men from being improperly biased
by our passions and prejudices.  This, although at
bottom the disposition is the same, may be considered
in three lights: - 1st. As it is displayed in appreciating
* Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part VII. Sect. III. Chap. III.




356        DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN.
the talents of others. 2d. In judging of their intentions.
3d. In controversy.
1. There is no principle more deeply implanted in
the mind than the love of fame and of distinction, and
there is none which, when properly regulated, is sub*:rvient to more valuable purposes. It is, at the same
time, a principle which it is perhaps as difficult to
restrain within the bounds of moderation as any other.
In some ungoverned minds, it seems to get the better
of every other principle of action, and must be a source
to the possessor of perpetual mortification and disgust,
by leading him to aspire at eminence in every different
line of ambition, and to repine if in any one of them he
is surpassed by others. In the midst of the astonishing
urojects which employed the sublime genius of Richelieu, his peace of mind was completely ruined by the
success of the Cid of Corneille. The first appearance
of this tragedy (according to Fontenelle) alarmed the
Cardinal as much as if he had seen the Spaniards at
the gates of Paris; and'the most acceptable flattery
which his minions could offer was to advise him to
eclipse the fame of Corneille by a tragedy of his own.
Nor did he aim merely at adding the fame of a poet to
that of a statesman. Mortified to think that any one
path of ambition was shut against him, he is said,
when on his death-bed, to have held some conversations
with his confessor about the possibility of his being
canonized as a saint.
In order to restrain this violent and insatiable desire
within certain bounds, there are many checks appointed
in our constitution. In the first place, it can be conmpletely gratified only by the actual possession of' those
qualities for which we wish to be esteemed, and of
those advantages which are the proper grounds of distinction. A good man is never more mortified than
when he is praised for qualities he does not possess, oi
for advantages in which he is conscious he has no
merit.  Secondly, although the gratification of this
principle consists in a certain superiority over other
men, we feel that we are not entitled to take undue




JUSTICE.                 357
advantages of them. We may exert ourselves to the
utmost in the race of glory, but we are not entitled to
obstruct the progress of others, or to detract from their
reputation in order to advance our own. All this will
be readily granted in general; and yet in practice there
is surely nothing more difficult than to draw the line
between emulation and envy, or to check that selfpartiality which, while it leads us to dwell on our own
advantages, and to magnify them in our own estimation, prevents us either from attending sufficiently to
the merits of others, or from viewing them in the most
favorable light.  Of this difficulty a wise and good
man will soon be satisfied from his own experience,
and he will endeavour to guard against it as far as he is
able, by judging of the merits of a rival, or even of an
enemy, as he would have done if there had been no
interference between them. He will endeavour, in short,
to do justice to their merits, not merely in words, but
in sincerity, and bring himself, if possible, to love and
to honor that genius and ability which have eclipsed
his own. Nor will he retire in disgust from the race
because he has been outstripped by others, but will
redouble all his exertions in the service of mankind;
recollecting, that, if Nature has been more partial to
others in her intellectual gifts than to him, she has left
open to all the theatre of virtue, where the merits of
individuals are determined, not by their actual attainments, but by the use and improvement they make of
those advantages which their situation has afforded
them.   I
2. Candor in judging of the intentions of others. I
have before mentioned several considerations which
render it highly probable that there is miich less vice or
criminal intention in the world than is commonly imagined, and that the greater part of the disputes among
mankind arise from mutual mistake and misapprehension. Every man must recollect many instances in
which his own motives have been grossly misapprehended by the world; and it is but reasonable for him to
conclude, that the case may have been the same with




358        DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN.
other men. It is but an instance, then, of that justice
we owe to others, to make the most candid allowances
for their apparent deviations, and to give every action
the most favorable construction it can possibly admit
of. Such a temper, while it renders a man respectable and amiable in society, contributes perhaps more
than any other circumstance to his private happiness.
" When you would cheer your heart," says Marcus
Antoninus, " consider the excellences and abilities of
your several acquaintance; the activity of one, the high
sense of honor and modesty of another, the liberality of
a third, and in other persons some other virtue. There
is nothing so delightful as virtue appearing in the conduct of your contemporaries as frequently as possible.
Such thoughts we should still retain with us." *
3. Perhaps there is no temper which so completely
disqualifies us for the search of truth, as that which we
experience when provoked by controversy or dispute.
Some men undoubtedly are more misled by it than
others; but I apprehend there is no one, however
modest and unassuming, who will not own that, upon
such occasions, he has almost always felt his judgment
warped, and a desire of victory mingle itself, in spite
of all his efforts, with his love of truth.  Hence the
aversion which all such men feel for controversy, —
convinced from experience how likely it would be to
betray themselves into error, and unwilling to afford an
opportunity for displaying the envious and malignant
passions of others. This amiable disposition has been
often mentioned by the friends of Sir Isaac Newton as
one of the most marked features in his character; and
we are even told that it led him to suppress, for a
course of years, some of his most important discoveries,
which he knew from their nature were likely to provoke
opposition. " He was indeed," says one of his biographers, "'of so meek and gentle a disposition, and so
great a lover of peace, that he would have rather chosen
to remain in obscurity than to have the calm of life
* Book VI. c. 48.




JUSTICE.                 359
ruffled by those storms and disputes which genius and
learning always draw upon those who are most eminent for them. From his love of peace arose, no doubt,
that, unusual kind of horror which he felt for all disputes.  Steady, unbroken attention, free from those
frequent recoilings incident to others, was his peculiar
felicity. He knew it, and he knew the value of it.
WVhen some objections, hastily made to his discoveries
concerning light and colorsinduced him to lay aside
the design he had taken of publishing his Optical
Lectures, we find him reflecting on that dispute, into
which he had unavoidably been drawn, in these terms:
-' I blamed my own imprudence for parting with so
real a blessing as my quiet, to run after a shadow.' In
the same temper, after he had sent the manuscript to
the Royal Society, with his consent to the printing of
it, upon Hooke's injuriously insisting that he had himself
solved Kepler's problem before our author, he determined, rather than be involved again in a controversy,
to suppress the third book; and he was very hardly
prevailed on to alter that resolution." *
I shall onlv add further on this head, that a love of
controversy indicates, not only an overweening vanity
and a disregard for truth, but in general, perhaps always, it indicates a mediocrity of genius; for it arises
from those feelings of envy and jealousy which provoke
little minds to depreciate the merit of useful discoveries.
He who is conscious of his own inventive powers, and
whose great object is to add to the stock of' human
knowledge, will reject unwillingly any plausible doctrine till after the most severe examination, and will
separate, with patience and temper, the truths it contains from the errors that are blended with them. No
opinion can be more groundless than that a captious
and disputatious temper is a mark of acuteness. On
the contrary, a sound and manly understanding is in no
instance more strongly displayed than in a quick perception of important truth, when imperfectly stated and
* Hutton's Mathematical Dictionary, Art. Newton (Sir Isaac).




360        DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-b. EN.
blended with, error;- a perception which may not be
sufficient to satisfy the judgment completely at. the
time, or at least to obviate the difficulties of others, but
which is sufficient to prevent it from a hasty rejection
of the whole, from the obvious defects of some of the
parts. Hence the important hints which an author of
genius collects among the rubbish of his predecessors;
and which, so far from detracting from his own originality, place it in the strongest possible light, by showing that an idea which was already current in the
world, and which had hitherto remained barren and
useless, may, in the mind of a philosopher, become the
germ of an extensive system.
I cannot help taking this opportunity of remarking
(although the observation is not much connected with
the subject in which we are engaged), that something
similar to this may be applied to our critical judgments
in the fine arts. It is easy to perceive blemishes, but
it is the province of genius'alone to have a quick perception of beauties, and to be eager' to applaud them.
And it is owing to this, that, of all critics, a dunce is
the severest, and a man of genuine taste the most indulgent.
III. The Duty of Honesty; or Justice in respect to
the Interests and Rights of other Men.]  The foregoing
illustrations are stated at some length, in order to correct those partial definitions of justice which restrict its
province to a rigorous observance of the rules of integrity or honesty in our dealings with our -fellow-creatures.
So far as this last disposition proceeds froth a sense of
duty, uninfluenced by human laws, it coincides exactly with that branch of virtue which has been now described under the title of candor.
In the instances hitherto mentioned, the disposition
of justice has been supposed to operate in restraining
the partialities of the tenroper and passions.- There are,
however, no instances in which its influence is more
necessary than where our interest is concerned; or, to
express myself more explicitly, where there is an appar



JUSTICE.                   361
ent interference between our rirhts and those of other
men.  In such cases, a disposition to observe the rules
of justice is called integrity or honesty, — which is so
important a branch of justice that it has, in a great
measure, appropriated the name to itself. The observations made by Mr. Hume and Mr. Smith, on the diiferences between justice and the other virtues, apply
only to this last branch of it; and it is this branchi
which properly forms the subject of that part of ethi.cs
which is called natural jurisprudence.*  In what remains
of this chapter, when the word justice occurs, it is to
be understood in the limited sense now mentioned.
The circumstances which distinguish this kind of
justice from the other virtues are chiefly two.  In the
first place, its rules may be laid down with a degree of
accuracy of which moral precepts do not in any other
instance admit.  Secondly, its rules may be enforced,
inasmuch as every breach of them violates the rights of
some other person, and entitles him to employ force for
his defence or security.
Another distinction between justice and the other virtues is much insisted on by Mr. Hume.  It is, according to him, an artificial and not a natural virtue, anld
derives all its obligations from the political union, and
from considerations of utility.  The principal argumriit,
alleged in support of this proposition is, that there is
no implanted principle, prompting us by a blind impulse to the exercise of justice, similar to those affections which conspire with and strengthen our benevolent dispositions. But, granting the fact upon which
this argument proceeds, nothing can be inferred from it
that makes an essential distinction between the obligations of justice and of beneficence; for, so far as we
act merely from the blind impulse of an affection, o it
conduct cannot be considered as virtuous.  Our affections were given us to arrest our attention to particular
objects, whose happiness is connected with our exertions, and to excite and support the activity of the
* Theory qf 2Moral Sentiments, Part VII. Sect. VI.
31




362         DUTIES TO OUR FELLOWV-MEN.
mind, when a sense of duty might he insufficient for
the purpose; but the propriety or impropriety of our
conduct depends, in no instance, on the strength or
weakness of the affection, but on our obeying or disobeying the dictates of reason and of conscience. These
inform us, in language which it is impossible to mistake, that it is sometimes a duty to check the most
amiable and pleasing emotions of the heart; — to withdraw, for example, from the sight of those distresses
which stronger clailns forbid us to relieve, and to deny
ourselves that exquisite luxury which arises from the
exercise of humanity. So far, therefore, as benevolence
is a virtue, it is precisely on the same footing with justice; that is, we approve of it, not because it is agreeable to us, but because we feel it to be a duty.
It may be further remarked, that there are very strong
implanted principles which serve as checks on injustice;
the principles, to wit, of resentment and of indignation,
which are surely as much a part of the human constitution as pity or parental affection. These principles
imply a sense of injustice, and consequently of justice.
In the case of justice, also, there is always a right on
one hand corresponding to an obligation on the other.
If I am under an obligation, for example, to abstain
froin violating the property of my neighbour, he has a
right to defend by force his property when invaded. It
therefore appears that the rules of justice may be laid
down in two different forms, either as a system of duties
or as a system of rights.  The former view of the subject belongs properly to the moralist, the latter to the
lawyer.  It is in this last form, accordingly, that the
principles of justice have been stated by the writers on
natural jurisprudence.
So far, there is nothing to be reprehended in the plan
they have followed. On the contrary, a considerable
advantage was gained in point of method by adopting
that very comprehensive and accurate division of our
rights which the civilians had introduced.  As the
whole object of law is to protect men in all that they
may lawfully do, or possess, or demand, civilians have




RIGHT OF PROPERTY.               563
defined the word jus, or right, to be facultas aliquid
agendi, vel possidendi, vel ab alio consequendi, - a lawful claim to do ally thing, to possess any thing, or to
demand something froin some other person. The first
of these may be called the right of liberty, or the right
of employing the powers we have received from nature in every case in which we do not injure the rights
of others; the second, the right of property; the third,
the rights arising from  contract.  The last two were
further distinguished from each other by calling the
former (to wit, the right of property) a real right, and
the latter (to wit, the rights arising from contract) personal rights, because they respect some particular person or persons from whom the fulfilment of the contract may be required.
This division of our rights appears to be comprehensive and philosophical, and it affords a convenient arrangement for exhibiting an indirect view of the different duties which justice prescribes. " What I have a
right to do it is the duty of my fellow-creatures to allow me to do, without molestation. What is my property no man ought to take from me, or to disturb me
in the enjoyment of it. And what I have a right to
demand of any man it is his duty to perform."*  Such
a system, therefore, with respect to our rights, exhibits
(though in a manner somewhat indirect and artificial)
a system of the rules of justice.
SECTION III.
OF THE RIGHT OF PROPERTY.
I. The Right of Property.]  The following observations on the right of property are introduced here chiefly with a view to show that men possess rights antecedent to the establishment of the political union.
It cannot, I apprehend, be doubted, that, according
to the notions to which we, in the present state of so.
* Reid, On the Active Powers, Essay V. Chap. IIL




364         DUTIES TO OUR FELILOW-MIEN.
ciety, are habituated from our infancy, the three follow.
ing things are included in the idea of property.
1. A right of exclusive enjoyment.
2. A right of inquiry after our property, when taker
away without our consent, and of reclaiming it wherever found.
3. A right of transference.
We do not consider our property in any object to be
complete, unless we can exercise all these three rights
with respect to it.
Lord Kames endeavours to show that these ideas are
not agreeable to the apprehensions of the human mind
in the ruder periods of society, but imply a refinement
and abstraction of thought which are the result of improvement in law and government. The relation (in
particular) of property, independent of possession, he
thinks of too metaphysical a nature for the mind of a
savage. "It appears to me," says he, "to be highly
probable, that among savages, involved in objects of
sense, and strangers to abstract speculation, property,
and the rights or moral powers arising from it, never
are with accuracy distinguished from the natural powers that must be exerted upon the subject to make it
profitable to the possessor.  The man who kills and
eats, who sows and reaps, at his own pleasure, independent of another's will, is naturally deemed proprietor. The grossest savages understand power without
right, of which they are made sensible by daily acts of
violence; but property without possession is a concep.
tion too abstract for a savage, or for any person who
has not studied the principles of law." *
With this remark I cannot agree; because I think
the right of property is founded on a natural sentiment,
which must be felt in full force in the lowest state of
society. The sentiment I allude to is that of a moral
connection between labor and a right of exclusive enjoyment to the fruits of it. This connection it will be
proper to illustrate more particularly.
* Historical Law Tracts, Tract III.




RIGHT OF PROPERTY.             365
Let us suppose, then, a country so fertile as to pro.
duce all the necessaries and accommodations of life
without any exertions of human industry; it is manifest, that, in such a state of things, no man would think
of appropriating to himself any of these necessaries or
accommodations, any more than we in this part of the
globe think of appropriating air or water.  As this,
however, is not, in any part of the earth, the condition
of man, doomed as he is, by the circumstances of his
birth, to eat his bread in the sweat of his brow, it
would be reasonable to expect, a priori, that Nature
would make some provision for securing to individuals
the fruits of their industry. In fact, she has made such
a provision in the natural sentiments of mankind,
which lead them to consider industry as entitled to
reward, and, in particular, the laborer as entitled to
the fruit of his own labor. These, I think, may be
fairly stated as moral axioms, to which the mind yields
its assent as immediately and necessarily as it does to
any axiom in mathematics or metaphysics.
How cruel is the mortification we feel when we see
an industrious man reduced by some unforeseen misfortune to beggary in old age! WVe can scarcely help complaining of the precarious condition of humanity, and
that man should be thus (loomed to be the sport of accident; and we feel ourselves called on, as far as we are
able, to repair, by our own liberality, this unjust distribution of the goods of fortune. On the other hand, it
is difficult to avoid some degree of dissatisfaction when
we see the natural and deserved reward of industry acquired all at once by a prize in the lottery or by gaining, although in this instance the uneasiness (as might
be expected from the natural benevolence to the human
mind) is trifling in comparison to what it is in the other case. Our dissatisfaction in particular instances is
much greater when we see the laborer deprived by accident of the immediate fruit of his own labor; — when,
for example, he has nearly completed a complicated
machine, and some delicate part of it gives way, and
renders all his toil useless.
31 




366         DUTIES TO OUR FET!,OWVT-MJEN.
If another person interft'res w-eib}!}iWe fruit of his industry, our dissatisfaction alld illndignation are still more
increased.'We feel here a variety of sentiments. 1. A
dissatisfaction that the laborer does not enjoy that
reward to which his industry entitled him. 2. A dissatisfaction that another person, who did not labor,
should acquire the possession of an object of value.
And 3. An indignation against the man who deprived
the laborer of his just reward.
This sentiment, that " the laborer deserves the fruit
of his own labor," is the chief, or rather (abstracting
positive institution) the only, foundation of the sense
of property. An attempt to deprive him of it is a
species of' injustice which rouses the indignation of
every impartial spectator; and so deeply are these principles implanted in our nature, that we cannot help
feeling some degree of remorse when we deprive even
a hive of bees of that provision which they had industriously collected for their own use.
The writers, indeed, on natural law ascribe in general the origin of property to priority of occupancy, and
have puzzled themselves in attempting to explain how
this act should appropriate to an individual what was
formerly in common.  Grotius and Puffendorf insist
that this right of occupancy is founded upon a tacit
but understood assent of all mankind, that the first
occupant should become the owner. And Barbeyrac,
Locke, and others, that the very act of occupancy
alone, being a degree of bodily labor, is, from a principle of natural justice, without any compact, a sufficient foundation of property.  Blackstone, although
he thinks that the dispute about the manner in which
occupancy conveys a right of property savors too
much of scholastic refinement, expresses no doubt
about its having this effect independent of positive
institutions.*
Some later philosophers have founded the right of
property on the general sympathy of mankind with
* See his Commentaries, Book II. Chap. I.




RIGHT OF PROPERTY.               367
the reasonable expectation which the occupant has
formed of enjoying unmolested the object he has got
possession of, or of which he was the first discoverer;
and on the indignation felt by the impartial spectator
when he sees this reasonable expectation disappointed.
This theory (which I have been assured from the best
authority was adopted by Mr. Smith in his lectures on
jurisprudence) seems to have been suggested by a passage in Dr. Hutcheson's Moral Philosophy, in which he
says, that "it is immoral, when we can support ourselves otherwise, to defeat any innocent design of another; and that on this immorality is founded the regard we owe to the claims of the first occupant."  In
this theory, too, it is taken for granted that priority of
occupancy founds a right of property, and that such a
right may even be acquired by having accidentally seen
a valuable object before it was observed by any other
person.
In order to think with accuracy on this subject, it is
necessary to distinguish carefully the complete right of'
property which is founded on labor, from the transient
right of possession which is acquired by mere priority
of occupancy.  Thus, before the appropriation of land,
if any individual had occupied a particular spot for
repose or shade, it would have been unjust to deprive
him of the possession of it.  This, however, was only
a transient right.  The spot of ground would again
becorne common the moment the occupier had left it;
that is, the right of possession would remain no longer
than the act of possession.  Cicero illustrates this happily by the similitude of a theatre.  " Quemadmodum
theatrum, cum commune sit, recte tamen dici potest
ejus esse eum locum quem quisque occuparit." 
The general conclusions which I deduce from  the
foregoing observations are these: 
1. That, in every state of society, labor, wherever it
is exerted, is understood to found a right of property.
* De Finibus, Lib. III. 20. " As in a theatre the seats are all for common
use, yet every man's place is his own when he has taken it."




368         DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN.
2. That, according to natural law, (in the sense at
least in which that phrase is commonly employed by
writers on jurisprudence,) labor is the only original way
of acquiring property.
3. That, according to natural law, mere occupancy
founds only a rilht of possession; and that, wherever
it founds a complete right of property, it owes its force
to positive institutions.
II. Origin and History of Property.]  An attention
to these conclusions, in particular to the distinction between the transient right of possession founded on occupancy, and the permanent right of property founded
on labor, will, if I mistake not, clear up some of the
difficulties which involve the first steps in the history
of property, according to the view of the subject given
by Lord Kames; and it was with this view I was led
to premise these general principles to the slight historical sketch I am now to offer.
With respect to that system which refers the origin
of property to the political union and to considerations
of utility, it seems sufficient to observe, that, so far is
government from creating this right, its necessary effect
is to subject it to certain limitations. Abstraction made
of political confederation, every man's property is solely at his own disposal.  He is supreme judge in his
own cause, and may defend what he conceives to b.
his right as far as his power reaches. In the state oi
civil society his property is regulated by positive laws,
and he must acquiesce in the judgment of his superiors
with respect to his rights, even in those cases where he
feels it to be unjust.
From the passage already quoted from Kames, it
appears that he conceived the idea of property without
possession to be of too abstract and metaphysical a
nature to be apprehended by a savage; and he has
collected a variety of facts to prove, that, according to
the common notions of mankind, in the infancy of
jurisprudence, the right of property is understood to
cease the moment that possession is at an end. But




RIGHT OF PROPER'rY.           369
on a more attentive examination of the subject, I apprehend it will be found that the ideas of savages, with
respect to property, are the same with ours; that mere
occupancy without labor founds only a right of possession; and that labor, wherever it is employed, founds
an exclusive and permanent right to the fruits of it.
Lord Kames's theory has obviously been suggested by
the common doctrine with respect to the right of property being founded in priority of occupancy, compared
with the acknowledged fact, that among rude nations
occupancy does not establish a permanent right. The
other arguments which he has alleged in support of
his opinion will be found to be equally inconclusive.
Before I proceed to the consideration of these, it
may be proper to observe, that we must not always
form an idea of the sentiments of men from the defects
of their laws. The existence, indeed, of a law is a
proof of the sentiments which men felt when the law
was made; but the defects of a law are not always
proofs that men did not feel that there were disorders
in the state of society which required correction. The
laws of a country may not make provision for reparation to the original proprietor in the case of theft; but
it will not follow from this that men do not apprehend
the original proprietor to have any rigbht when his
property has been stolen from him. The application
of this general remark to some of the arguments I ain
now to consider will, I hope, be so obvious, as to render
it unnecessary for me to point it out particularly.
Among these arguments, one of the most plausible is
founded on a general principle, which appears, from a
variety of facts quoted by Kames, to run through most
rude systems of jurisprudence, that, in the case of stolen
goods, the claim of the bond fide purchaser is preferable
to that of the original proprietor. This he accounts for
from the imperfect notions they have of the metaphysical nature of property when separated from possession.
But if this were the case, the same laws should support
the claim of the thief against the original proprietor:
or rather, indeed, neither the original proprietor, nlor




370        DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN.
any one else, could conceive that he had any connection
with the object stolen the moment after it was out of
his possession. The fact is, that this respect paid to the
bold Jfide purchaser is a proof, not of any misapprehen.
sion with respect to the idea of property, but of a weak
government and an imperfect police. Where thefts are
easily committed, and where no public fairs or markets
are established, it would put a complete end to all
transferences of property, if the bond fide purchaser
were left exposed to the claims of former proprietors.
Such a practice would be attended with still greater
inconveniences than arise from the casual violations
of property by theft; not to mention that the regard
shown to the bond fide purchaser must have a tendency
to repress theft, by redoubling the attention of individuals to preserve the actual possession of their property. That these or some other views of utility were
the real foundation of the laws quoted by Kames is
confirmed by an old regulation in our own country,
prohibiting buying and selling, except in open market,
-- a regulation which had obviously been suggested by
the experience of the inconveniences arising from the
latent claims of former proprietors against bond fide
purchasers.
Another argument mentioned by Kames in support
of his theory is founded on the shortness of the term
which completes prescription among rude nations; a
single year, for example, in the case of movables, by
the oldest law of the Romans.  This law, he says,
testifies that property, independent of possession, was
considered to be a right of the slenderest kind. It is
evident, that, upon his own principles, it should not in
ihat state of society have been considered as a right at
all. If it was conceived to subsist a single day after
the possession was at an end, the metaphysical difficulty which he magnifies so much was obviously surmounted. In every society, it will be found expedient
to fix some term for prescription, and the particular
length of it must be determined by the circumstances
of the society at the time.  In general, as law imn



RIGHT OF PROPERTY.              371
proves, and government becomes more effectual, a
greater attention to the stability of property, and consequently a longer term for prescription, may be expected.
T'he community of goods, which is said to take place
among some rude nations, will be found, on examination, to be perfectly consistent with the account I have
given of their ideas on the subject of property. Where
the game is taken by a common effort, the natural
sense of justice dictates that it should be enjoyed ill
common.  And indeed, abstracting all considerations
of justice, the experience of the precarious fortune of
the chase would soon suggest to the common sense
of mankind the expediency of such an arrangement.
This, however, does not indicate any imperfection in
their idea of property; for even in this state of society
there are always some articles which are understood to
be the exclusive property of the individual, such as his
bow and arrows, and the instruments he employs in
fishing.
I am confirmed in these conclusions by the account
given by Dr. Robertson of the American Indians; and
the more so, as the facts he mentions, and even his
reasonings, stand in opposition to his own preconceived
opinion. " Nations," he says expressly, " which depenil
upon hunting are strangers to the idea of property";
and yet, when he comes to explain himself; it appears
that, even in the present age of metaphysical refinement, if our physical circumstances were the same, wrc
should feel and judge exactly as they do. " As tlhe
animals," he continues, in the passage imln:ediateilv
following the last sentence I have quoted, " on whiichl
the hunter feeds are not bred under his inspection, ln(,r
nourished by his care, he can claim no right to themi
while they run wild in the forest. Where game is so
plentiful that it can be caught with little trouble, men
never dream of appropriating what is of small value,
or of easy acquisition. Where it is so rare that the labor
or danger of the chase requires the united efforts of' a
tribe or village, what is killed is a common stock, be




372         DUTIES TO OUR FELLO"W-MIEN.
lon,.ging equally to all who, by their skill or their courage, have contributed to the success of the excursion.
The forest or hunting-grounds are deemed the property
of' the tribe, fiorm which it has a title to exclude every
rival nation. But no individual arrogates a right to
any district of these in preference to his fellow-citizens,''1' y belong equally to all, and thither, as to a general,and undivided store, all repair in quest of sustenance.
The same principles by which they regulate their chief
occupation extend to that which is subordinate. Even
agriculture has not introduced among them a complete
idea of property. As the men hunt, the women labor
together, and after they have shared the toils of the
seed-time, they enjoy the harvest in common." *
In the notes and illustrations at the end of his History, Dr. Robertson seems to have been aware that he
had expressed himself somewhat too strongly on this
subject, and he has even gone so far as to intimate his
suspicions that the common facts are not very accurately stated. " I strongly suspect that a community
of goods, and an undivided store, are known only
among the rudest tribes of hunters, and that, as soon
as any species of agriculture or regular industry is
known, the idea of an exclusive right of property to
the fruits of them is introduced."
In support of this opinion, Dr. Robertson refers to
accounts which he had received concerning the state of
property among the Indians in very different regions of
America.'The idea of the natives of Brazil," says
the Chevalier de Pinto, who writes on this subject from
personal observation, "concerning property is, that, if
any person cultivate a field, he alone ought to enjoy
the produce of it, and no other has a title to pretend to
it. If an individual or a family go a hunting or fishing, what is caught belongs to the individual or family,
and they communicate no part of it but to their Cazique, and such of their kindred as happen to be indisposed.
tistory of America, Book IV. ~ 66.




RIGHT OF PROPERTYr.            373
If any person in the village come to their hut, he
may sit down freely and eat without asking liberty.
But this is the consequence of their general principle
of hospitality; for I never observed any partition of
the increase of their fields, or the produce of the chase,
which I could consider as the result of any idea concerning the community of goods.  On the contrary,
they are so much attached to what they deem to be
their property, that it would be extremely dangerous to
encroach on it. As far as I have seen or can learn,
there is not one tribe of Indians in South America
among whom that community of goods, which has
been so highly extolled, is known. The circumstance
in the government of the Jesuits most irksome to the
Indians of Paraguay was the community of goods
which those fathers introduced. This was repugnant
to the original ideas of the Indians. They were acquainted with the rights of private exclusive property,
and they submitted with impatience to the regulations
which destroyed them."
k" Actual possession," says a missionary who resided
several years among the Indians of the Five Nations,
"gives a right to the soil; but, whenever a possessor
sees fit to quit it, another has as gooda right to take
it as he who left it. This law or custom respects not
only the particular spot on which he erects his house,
but also his planting ground. If a man has prepared
a particular spot of ground, on which he proposes in
future to build or plant, no man has a right to incornmode him, much less to the fruit of his labors, until it
appears that he voluntarily gives up his views. But I
never heard of any formal conveyance from one Indian
to another in their natural state. The limits of every
canton are circumscribed, that is, they are allowed to
hunt as far as such a river on this hand, and such a
mountain on the other. This area is occupied and improved by individuals and their families. Individuals,
not the community, have the use and profit of their
own labors, or success in hunting."
32




374         DUTIES TO OU1R FEIOWV-MEN.
III. Property when rig, htfully created or recotgizead
by Positive Laws not less Sacred.]  It must not, however, be inferred from what has been said, that in a
civilized society there is any thing in that species of
property which is acquired by labor to which individuals owe a more sacred regard than they do to every
other species of property created or recognized by positive laws.  Among these last there are malny which
have derived their origin from  a principle no less obligatory than our natural sense of justice, a clear perception in the mind of the legislator (sanctioned perhaps by the concurrent experience of different ages
and nations) of general utility; and to all of them,
while they exist, the reverence of the subject is due,
on the same principle which binds him to respect and
to maintain the social order. Nature has provided for
humnan happiness, in this instance, in a manner precisely analogous to her general economy. Those simnple and indispensable rules of right and wrong', of just
an(l unjust, without which the fruits of the earth could
not be converted to the use of man, nor his existence
maintained even in the rudest form of the social union,
she has engraved on the heart as an essential part of
the human constitution, — leaving men, as society a:dvances, to employ their gradually improving reasoa in
fixing, according to their own ideas of expediency.
the various regulations concerning the acquisition, Ihe
alienation and transmission of property, which the
more complicated interests of the community may
require.
It is also beautifully ordered, that, while a regard for
legal property is thus secured, among men capable oi
reflection, by a sense of general utility, the same effect is
accomplished, in the minds of the multitude, by habit
and the association of ideas; in consequence of which.
all the inequalities of fortune are sanctioned by mere
prescription, and long possession is conceived to found
a right  of property as complete as that which, by the
law of nature, an individual has in the fruits of his
own idu11 stry.




RIGHT OF PROPERTY.              375
In such a state of things, therefore, as that with
which we are connected, the right of property must
be understood to derive its origin from  two distinct
sources: the one is that natural sentiment of the minde
which establishes a moral connection between labor
and an exclusive enjoyment of the fruits of it; the
other is the municipal institutions of the country where
we live. These institutions everywhere take rise partly
from ideas of natural justice, and partly (perhaps chiefly) from ideas of supposed utility, — two principles
which, when properly understood, are, I believe, always
in harmony with each other, and which it ought to be
the great aim of every legislator to reconcile to the utmost of his power.  Among those questions, however,
which fall under the cognizance of positive laws, there
are many on which natural justice is entirely silent,
and which, of consequence, may be discussed on principles of utility solely.  Such are most of the questions
concerning the regulation of the succession to a man's
property after his death; of some of which it may perhaps be found that the determination ought to vary
with the circumstances of the society, and which have
certainly, in fact, been frequently determined by the
caprice of the legislator, or by some principle ultimately resolvable into an accidental association of ideas.
Indeed, various cases may be supposed, in which it is
not only useful, but necessary, that a rule should be
fixed; while, at the same time, neither justice nor
utility seems to be much interested in the particular
decision.
In examining the questions which turn on consider
ations of utility, some will immediately occur, of whicle
the determination is so obvious, and which, at the same
time, are so universal in their application, that the laws
of all enlightened nations on the subject may be expected to be the same. Of this description are many of
the questions which may be stated with respect to the
eflfects of priority of occupancy in establishing permanent rights.  These questions are of course frequently
confounded with questions of natural law; and in one




376          DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN.
sense of that phrase they may not improperly be comprehended under the title, but the distinction between
them and the other class of questions is essential; for
wherever considerations of utility are involved, the political union is supposed, whereas the principle of justice, properly so called (of that justice, for example,
which respects the right of the laborer to enjoy the fruit
of his own industry), is inseparable from the human
frame.*
SECTION IV.
OF VERACITY.
I. Importance and Foundation of Veracity.] The important rank which veracity holds among our social duties appears from the obvious consequences that would
result if no foundation were laid for it in the constitution of our nature. The purposes of speech would be
frustrated, and every man's opportunities of knowledge
would be limited to his own personal experience.
Considerations of utility, however, do not seem to
De the only ground of the approbation we bestow on
this disposition. Abstraction made of all regard to
consequences, there is something pleasing and amiable
in sincerity, openness, and truth, - something disagreeable and disgusting in duplicity, equivocation, and falsehood.  Dr. Hutcheson himself, the great patron of that
theory which resolves all moral qualities into benevolence, confesses this; for he speaks of a sense which leads
us to approve of veracity, distinct from the sense which
approves of qualities useful to mankindl.t As this, however, is at best but a vague way of speaking, it may be
proper to analyze more particularly that part of our
* On the right of property and its limitations, see Mill's Principles of
Political Ecoinomy, Part II. Chap. I., I. - ED.
t Philosophie Ml3oralis Institutio Coinpendiaria, Lib. II. Capp. IX., X.
Aristotle expresses himself nearly to the same purpose. Ethic. Nico.
mach., Lib. IV. Cap. VII. Various passages of a similar import occur in
Cicero.




VERACITY.                 377
constitution from which our approbation of veracity
arises.
That there is in the human mind a natural or instinctive principle of veracity has been remarked by many
authors, the same part of our constitution which
pr'ompts to social intercourse prompting also to sinc1rity in our mutual comnmunicatl;ions. Truth is always
the spontaneous and native expression of our sentiments; whereas falsehood implies a certain violence
done to our nature, in consequence of the influence of
some motive which we are anxious to conceal.
II. Truth and the Love of Truthl.]  With respect to
the nature of truth various metaphysical speculations
have been offered to the world, and various definitions
have been attempted, both by the ancients and moderns.
These, however, have thrown but little light on the subject, which is not suprising, when we consider that the
word truth expresses a simple idea or notion, of which
no analysis or explication is possible. The same observation may be made with respect to the words knou7/ledge and belief.  All of them express notions which
are implied in every judgment of the understanding,
and which no being can form who is not possessed
of a rational nature. And, by the way, these notions
deserve to be added to the list formerly mentioned, as
exemplifications of the imperfection of the account
commonly given of the origin of our ideas. They are
obviously not derived from any particular sense; and
they do not seem to be referable to any part of our
constitution, but to the understanding; or, in other
words, to those rational powers which distinguish man
from the brutes. This language, I know, will appear
to be very loose and inaccurate to those who have familiarized their minds to the common doctrine; but it
is a plain and indisputable statement of the fact.
To acquire knowledge or to discover truth is the
proper object of curiosity;- a principle of action which
is coeval with the first operations of the intellect, and
which in most minds continues through life to have a
32 *




378         DUTIES TO OUR FEILOWV-MEN.
powerful influence, in one way or another, on the character and the conduct.  It is this principle which puts
the intellectual faculties in motion, and gives themn
that exercise which is necessary for their development
and improvement; and which, according to the direction it takes, and the particular set of faculties it exercises, is the principal foundation of the diversities of
genius among men.  And as the diversities of genius
proceed from the different directions in which curiosity
engages the attention, so the inequalities of genius
amnong individuals may be traced in a great measure to
the different degrees of ardor and perseverance with
which the curiosity operates. When I say this, I would
lnot be understood to insinuate that the different capacities of individuals are the same; a supposition contradicted by obvious facts, and contrary to what we should
be led to conclude from the analogy of the body. I
only wish to impress on all those who have any connection with the education of youth the great importance of stimulating the curiosity, and of directing it
to proper objects, as the most effectual of all means
for securing the improvement of the mind: I may add,
as one of the most effectual provisions that can be
made for the happiness of the individual, in cons(,quence of the resources it furnishes when we are left.
to depend on ourselves for enjoyment; and in consequence, also, of the progressive vigor with which it
operates to the very close of' life, in proportion to the
enlargement of our experience and the extent of our
information.
In order, however, to prevent misapprehensions of
my meaning, it is necessary for me again to remark,
that the curiosity on which I lay so great a stress is
that curiosity alone which has fruth for its object.
"There are many men," says Butler, "who have a
strong curiosity to know what is said, who have no
curiosity to know  what is trlte"; —men who value
1knowledge only as furnishing an employment to their
memory, or as supplying a gratification to their vanity in their intercourse with others. It is a weakness




VERACITY.                 379
which we may presume has prevailed more or less in
all ages, but which has been much encouraged in modern Europe by that superstitious admiration of antiquity which has withdrawn so much genius and industry from the pursuits of science to those of erudition.
No prejudice can be conceived more adverse to the
progress of useful knowledge, not only as it occasions
an idle wastet of time and labor which might have been
more profitably employed, but as it contributes powerfully to destroy that simplicity and modesty of' temper
which are the genuine characteristics of the true philosopher.
I think it of importance to add, that the love of
truth, where it is the great motive of our intellectual
pursuits, gains daily an accession of strength as our
knowledge advances. I have already said, that it is an
ultimate fact in our nature, and is not resolvable into
views of utility. Its extensive effects on human happiness are discovered only in the progress of our experience; but when this discovery is once made, it
superadds to our instinctive curiosity every stimulus
which self-love and benevolence can furnish. The connection between error and misery, between truth and
happiness, becomes gradually more apparent as our
inquiries proceed, and produces at last a complete conviction, that, even in those cases where we are unable
to trace it, the connection subsists. He who feels this
as he ought will consider a steadfast adherence to the
truth as an expression of benevolence to man, and of
confidence in the righteous administration of' the universe, and will suspect the purity of those motives
which would lead him to advance the good of his
species, or the glory of his Maker, by deceit and hypocrisy.
III. Means of inculcating and enforcing the Duty of
Veracity.]  In offering these remarks, I shall no doubt
be thought to have taken a very wide circuit in order
to illustrate the nature of that veracity which is incumbent on us in our intercourse with our fellow-creatures.




380         DUTIES TO OUR FELLOWT-MEN.
But it appears to me that the most solid of all founda.
tions for the uniform and the scrupulous exercise of this
virtue is to cherish the love of truth in general, and to
impress the mind with a conviction of its important
effects on our own happiness and on that of society.
There is, indeed, a sort of gross and ostensible practice of this duty, which is secured by what we call the
point of honor in modern Europe, which brands with
infamy every palpable deviation from the truth in matters of fact. The law of hionor here operates in the
case of veracity, in some measure, as the law of the
magistrate operates in the case of justice. But as in
the latter case a man may be unjust in the sight of
God and of his own conscience without transgressing
the letter of any statute, so, in the former, without forfeiting his character as a gentleman, he may often incur
all the guilt of a liar and an impostor. Is it, in a moral
view, more criminal to misrepresent a fact, than to impose on the world by what we know to be an unsound
or a fallacious argument? Is it, in a moral view, more
criminal to mislead another by a verbal lie, than by
actions which convey a false idea of our intentions?
Is it, in a moral view, more criminal, or is it more inconsistent with the dignity of a man of true honor, to
defraud men in a private transaction by an incorrect
or erroneous statement of circumstances, than to mislead the public to their own ruin by those wilful deviations from truth into which we see men daily led by
views of interest or ambition, or by the spirit of political faction?  Numberless cases, in short, may be fancied, in which our only security for truth is the virtuous
disposition of the individual, and where the restraint of
public opinion has little or no influence. Perhaps I
should not go too far were I to affirm, that, as there is
no duty of which the gross and ostensible practice is
so effectually secured by the manners of modern times,
so there is none to the obligation of which mankind
seem in general to be so insensible, considered as moral
agents, and accountable to God for their thoughts and
intentions.




VERACITY.                 381
Among the various causes which have conspired to
relax our moral principles on this important article, the
facility which the press affords us in modern times of
addressing the world by means of anonymous publications is probably one of the most powerful.  The salutary restraint which a regard to character imposes, in
most cases, on our moral deviations, is here withdrawn;
and we have no security for the fidelity of the writer,
but his disinterested love of truth and of mankind.
The palpable and ludicrous misrepresentations of facts,
to which we are accustomed from our infancy in the
periodical prints of the day, gradually unhinge our
faith in all such communications; and what we are
every day accustomed to see, we cease in time to regard with due abhorrence. Nor is this the only moral
evil resulting from the licentiousness of the press. The
intentions of nature in appointing public esteem as
the reward of virtue, and infamy as the punishment of
vice, are in a great measure thwarted; and while the
fairest characters are left open to the assaults of a
calumny which it is impossible to trace to its author,
the opinions of the public may be so divided by the
artifices of hireling flatterers, with respect to men of
the most profligate and abandoned lives, as to enable
them, not only to brave the censures of the world, but
to retaliate with more than an equal advantage on the
good name of those who have the rashness to accuse
them.
In a free government like ours, the liberty of the
press has been often and justly called the palladium of
the constitution; but it may reasonably be doubted
whether this liberty would be at all impaired by a regulation, which, while it left the press perfectly open
to every man who was willing openly to avow his
opinions, rendered it impossible for any individual to
publish a sentence without the sanction of his name.
Upon this question, however, considered in a political
point of view, I shall not presume to decide. Considered in a moral light, the advantages of such a regulation appear to be obvious and indisputable, and the




382         DUTIES TO OUR FELLOW-MEN.
effect could scarcely fail to have a most extensive in
fluence on national manners.'
Besides that love of truth which seems evidently tc
be an original principle of the mind, there are other
laws of our nature which were plainly intended to secure the practice of veracity in our intercourse with
our fellow-creatures. There are others, too, which, as
they suppose the practice of this virtue, may be regarded as intimations of that conduct which is conformable to the end and destination of our being.
Such is that disposition to repose faith in testimony,
which is coeval with the use of language. Without
such a disposition, the education of children would be
impracticable; and accordingly, so far from being the
result of experience, it seems to be, in the first instance,
unlimited, - nature intrusting its gradual correction to
the progress of reason and of observation. This remark, which I think was first made by Dr. Reid, has
been since repeated and enforced by Mr. Smith, in his
Theory of Mocral Sentiments.  This author observes,
further, that, " notwithstanding the lessons of caution
communicated to us by experience, there is scarcely a
man to be found who is not more credulous than he
ought to be, and who does not, upon many occasions,
give credit to tales which not only turn out to be perfectly false, but which a very moderate degree of reflection and attention might have taught him could not
well be true. The natural disposition is always to
believe. It is acquired wisdom and experience alone
that teach incredulity, and they very seldom teach it
enough. The wisest and most cautious of us all frequently gives credit to stories which he himself is afterwards both ashamed and astonished that he could possibly think of believing."  This disposition to repose
faith in testimony bears a striking analogy, both in its
origin and in its final cause, to our instinctive expectation of the continuance of those laws which regulate
the course of physical events.
* For the political aspects of this subject, see Lord Brougham's Polits
cal Plilosolhy, Part III. Chlap. XXI. - ED.




DUTIES TO OURSELVES.           3 
In infancy the principle of veracity is by no means
so conspicuous as that of credulity, and it sometimes
happens that a good deal of care is necessary to cherish
it. But in such cases it will always be found that
there is some indirect motive combined with the desire
of social communication, such as fear, or vanity, or
mischief, or sensuality.  The same principle which
prompts to social intercourse and to the use of speech
prompts also to veracity. Nor is it probable that there
is such a thing as falsehood uttered merely from the
love of falsehood.
If this remark be just, it suggests an important practical rule in the business of education;- not to attempt the cure of lying and deceit by general rules
concerning the duty of veracity, or by punishments
inflicted upon every single violation of it, but by studying to discover and remove the radical evil from which
it springs, whether it be cowardice, or vanity, or mischief, or selfishness, or sensuality. Either of these, if
allowed to operate, will in time unhinge the natural
constitution of the mind, and produce a disregard to
truth upon all occasions where a temporary convenience
can be gained by the breach of it.
From these imperfect hints, it would appear that
every breach of veracity indicates some latent vice or
some criminal intention, which an individual is ashamed
to avow. And hence the peculiar beauty of openness
or sincerity, uniting in some degree in itself the graces
of all the other moral qualities of which it attests the
existence.
CHAPTER III.
OF THE DUTIES WHICH RESPECT OURSELVES.
PRUDENCE, temnperance, and fortitude are no less requisite for enabling us to discharge our social duties




384            DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
than for securing our own private happiness; but as
they do not necessarily imply any reference to our fellow-creatures, they seem  to belong most properly to
this thtird branch of virtue.
An illustration of the nature and tendency of these
qualities, and of the means by which they are to be
improved and confirmed, although a most important
article of ethics, does not lead to any discussions of
so abstract a kind as to require particular attention
in a work of which brevity is a principal object. It is
sufficient here to remark, that, independently of all considerations of utility, either to ourselves or to others,
these qualities are approved of as right and becoming.
Their utility, at the same time, or rather necessity, for
securing the discharge of our other duties, adds greatly
to the respect they command, and is certainly the chief
ground of the obligation we lie under to cultivate the
habits by which they are formed.
A steady regard, in the conduct of life, to the happiness and perfection of our own nature, and a diligent
study of the means by which these ends may be attained,
is another duty belonging to this branch of virtue. It
is a duty so important and comprehensive, that it leads
to the practice of all the rest, and is therefore entitled
to a very full and particular examination in a system
of moral philosophy. Such an examination, while it
leads our thoughts " to the end and aim of our being,"
will again bring under our review the various duties
already considered; and, by showing how they all conspire in recommending the same dispositions, will illustrate the unity of design in the human constitution,
and the benevolent wisdom displayed in its formation.
Other subordinate duties, besides, which it would be
tedious to enumerate under separate titles, may thus
be placed in a light more interesting and agreeable.




PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS.           385
SECTION I.
OF THE DUTY OF EMPLOYING THE MEANS WE POSSESS
TO SECURE OUR OWN HAPPINESS.
ACCORDING to Dr. Hutcheson, our conduct, so far as
it is influenced by self-love, is never the object of moral
approbation. Even a regard to the pleasures of a good
conscience he considered as detracting from the merit
of those actions which it encourages us to perform.
That the principle of self-love (or, in other words,
the desire of happiness) is neither an object of approbation nor of blame is sufficiently obvious. It is inseparable from the nature of mall as a rational and a
sensitive being. It is, however, no less obvious, on the
other hand, that this desire, considered as a principle of
action, has by no means a uniform influence on the
conduct.  Our animal appetites, our affections, and
the other inferior principles of our nature, interfere as
often with self-love as with benevolence, and mislead
us from our own happiness as much as from the duties
we owe to others.
In these cases, every spectator pronounces that we
deserve to suffer for our folly and indiscretion; andt
we ourselves, as soon as the tumult of passion is over,
feel in the same manner. Nor is this remorse merely
a sentiment of regret for having missed that happiness
which we might have enjoyed. We are dissatisfied.
iot only with our condition, but with our conduct,with our having forfeited by our own imprudence what
we might have attained.*
It is true, that we do not feel so warm an indignation against the neglect of private good as against perfidy, cruelty, and injustice. The reason probably is,
that imprudence commonly carries its own punishment along with it, and our resentment is disarmed by
pity. Indeed, as that habitual regard to his own hap* See Butler's Dissertation on the Nature of Virtue.
33




386           DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
piness, which every man feels, except when under the
influence of some violent appetite, is a powerful check
on imprudence, it was less necessary to provide an additional punishment for this vice in the indignation of
the world.
From, the principles now stated, it follows, that, in a
person who believes in a future state, the criminality of
every bad action is aggravated by the imprudence with
which it is accompanied.
It follows, also, that the punishments annexed by the
civil magistrate to particular actions render the commission of them more criminal than it would otherwise
be; insomuch, that, if an action, in itself perfectly indifferent, were prohibited by some arbitrary law, under
a severe penalty, the commission of that action (unless
we were called to it by some urgent consideration of
duty) would be criminal, not merely on account of the
obedience which a subject owes to established authority, but on account of the regard which every man
ought to feel for his life and reputation. To forge the
handwriting of another with a fraudulent intention is
undoubtedly a crime, independently of positive institutions; and it becomes still more criminal in a commercial country like ours, on account of the extensive
mischiefs which may arise from it. It is a crime, however, not of greater magnitude than many other kinds
of commercial fraud that might be mentioned. If the
king, for example, grants his patent to a subject for a
particular invention, and another counterfeits it, and
makes use of his name, stamp, and coat of arms, he
not only injures an individual, but imposes on the public. Abstraction made, therefore, of positive law, the
criminality of the latter act is fully as great as that of
the former. As the law, however, has made the one
act capital, and the other not, but only subjected the
person who commits it to pecuniary damages to the
individual he has injured, the forgery of a deed becomes incomparably more criminal, in a moral view,
than the counterfeit of a patent invention. A good
man, indeed, will neither do the one nor the other.




THEORIES OF HAPPINESS. — THE EPICUREAN.  t37
But the man who adds to a fraudulent disposition an
imprudent disregard to his own life and character is,
undoubtedly, the more guilty of the two, and( meets
his fate with much less sympathy from others than he
would receive if he had committed the same act without knowing its consequences.
SECTION II.
OF THE DIFFERENT THEORIES OF HAPPINESS.
I. General Observations.] The most superficial observation of life is sufficient to convince us that happiness is not to be attained by giving every appetite and
desire the gratification it demands; and that it is necessary for us to form to ourselves some plan or system
of conduct, in subordination to which all other objects
are to be pursued.
To ascertain what this system ought to be is a problem which has, in all ages, employed the speculations
of philosophers.  Among the ancients, the question
concerning the sovereign good was the principal subject of controversy which divided the schools; and it
was treated in such a manner as to involve almost every other question of ethics. The opinions maintained
with respect to it by some of their sects comprehend
many of the most important truths to which the inquiry
leads, and leave little to be added but a few corrections
and limitations of their conclusions.
These opinions may be all reduced to three: those
of the Epicureans, of the Stoics, and of the Peripatetics;
and, indeed, it does not seem possible to form a conception of any scheme of happiness which may not be referred to one or other of these three systems.
II. (1.) Thle Epicurean.]  The fundamental principle of the Epicurean system was, that bodily pleasure
and pain were the sole ultimate objects of desire and
aversion.  These were desired and shunned on their
own account; every thing else, from its tendency to




388            DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
procure the one of these or to save us from the other.
Power, for example, riches, reputation, even the virtues
themselves, were not desirable for their own sake, but
were valuable merely as being instrumental to procure
us the objects of our natural desires. "They who
place the sovereign good ill virtue alone, and who, dazzled by words, overlook the intentions of nature, will
be delivered from this greatest of all errors, if they will
only listen to Epicurus.  As to these rare and excellent
qualities on which you set so high a value, who is there
that would consider them  as objects either of praise
or of imitation, unless from a belief that they are instrumental in adding to the sum of our pleasures? For
as we prize the medical art, not on its own account,
but as subservient to the preservation of health, and
the art of the pilot, not, for the skill he displays, but as
it diminishes the dangers of navigation, so, also, wisdom, which is the art of living, would be coveted by
none if it were altogether unprofitable, whereas now
it is an object of general pursuit, from a persuasion
that it both guides us to our best enjoyments, and
points out to us the most effectual means for their attainment." *
All the pleasures and pains of the mind (according
to Epicurus) are derived from the recollection and anticipation of bodily pleasures and pains; but this recollection and anticipation he considered as contributing
much more to our happiness or misery on the whole,
than the pleasures and pains themselves. His philosophy was, indeed, directed chiefly to inculcate this truth,
and to withdraw our solicitude from the pleasures and
pains themselves, which are not in our power, to the
regulation of our recollections and anticipations, which
depend upon ourselves. He placed happiness, therefore, in ease of body and tranquillity of mind, but much
more in the latter than in the former, insomuch that he
affirmed a wise man might be happy in the midst of
bodily torments. "Hear," says Cicero, "the language
* Cicero, De Fin., Lib. I. 13.




THEORIES OF HAPPINESS. -THE EPICUREAN. 38~(
of Epicurus on his death-bed.'Epicurus to Hermna
chus, greeting. - While I am passing the last day ol
my life, and that the happiest, I write this epistle, op.
pressed, at the same time. with so many and such
acute maladies, that it is scarcely possible to conceive
that my sufferings are susceptible of augmentation.
All these, however, are amply compensated by the
mental joy I derive from the recollection of the reasonillgs and discoveries of which I am the author.'"  The
concluding sentence of this letter does more honor to
Epicurus than any other part of it. " But you, as is
worthy of your good-will towards me and philosophy,
let it be your business to consider yourself as the guardian and protector of the children of Metrodorus." *
Epicurus himself is represented as a person of inoffensive and even amiable manners.  He is said to
have taught his philosophy in a garden, where he lived
a temperate and quiet life, enjoying what Thomson
calls " the glad poetic ease of Epicurus, - seldom understood."  He died at an advanced age, and was so
much beloved and esteemed by his followers, that his
birthday was annually celebrated as a festival. His
private virtues, however, were probably, in a great
measure, the eflect of a happy natural constitution; for
his philosophy, besides destroying all those supports of
morality that religion affords, tended avowedly to recormmend a life of indolent and selfish indulgence, and
a total abstraction from the concerns and duties of the
world.  Accorditlgly, we find that many of his disciples brought so much discredit on their principles by
the dissoluteness of their lives, that the word Epicurean
came gradually to be understood as characteristical of
a person devoted to sensual gratifications.
The influence which these principles had on the
manners of the later Romans has been remarked by
many writers; and it is not a little curious, that it was
clearly foreseen, ages before, by their virtuous and en* De Fin., II. 30. The same letter is also found in Diogenes Laertius,
Lib. X.
33 




390           DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
lightened progenitors. This fact, which has not been
sufficiently attended to, deserves the serious consideration of those who are disposed to call in question the
effect of speculative opinions on national character.
It was in the year of Rome 471, and (luring the consulate of Fabricius, that the Romans seemrn to have received the first notice of the Epicurean doctrines. At
that period the Tarentines had the address to instigate
the Samnites, and almost all the other Italian states,
to take arms against the republic, and also prevailed
on Pyrrhus, king of Epirus, to give them his assistance.
In the course of the war, Fabricius, with two other persons of high rank, was sent to Pyrrhus's court, to treat
with him about an exchange of prisoners; and it was
at a public entertainment given to them upon that occasion that Cineas, his minister and favorite, gave the
Roman ambassadors a general idea of the philosophical principles which Epicurus had begun to teach at
Athens about twenty years before. The effect which
this conversation had on the minds of the Roman ambassadors is an instructive fact in the history of philosophy.
" I have frequently heard from some of my friends,
who were much my seniors," says Cato to Scipio and
Lelius, " a traditionary anecdote concerning Fabricius.
They assured me, that, in the early part of their life,
they were told by certain very old men of their acquaintance, that, when Fabricius was ambassador at
the court of Pyrrhus, he expressed great astonishment
at the account given him by Cineas of a philosopher
at Athens, who maintained that the love of pleasure
was universally the leading motive of all human actions. My informer added, that, when Fabricius related this fact to M. Curius and Titus Coruncanius, they
both joined in wishing that Pyrrhus and the whole
Sarnnite nation might become converts to this extraordinary doctrine, as the people who were infected with
such unmanly principles could not fail, they thought,
of proving an easy conquest to their enemies. M. Curius had been intimately connected with Publius Decius,




THEORIES  OF IIAPP'INIESS.-  THE  STOIC.             391
who in his fourth  consulate (which was five years before the former entered upon that office) gloriously sacrificed his life to the preservation of his country.  This
generous patriot was personally  known  both  to  Fabricius and  to Coruncanius; and they were convinced,
by what they experienced in their own breasts, as well
as by the illustrious example of Decius, that there is in
certain  actions an  intrinsic rectitude  and  obligation
which, with a noble contempt of what the world  calls
pleaslure, every great and generous mind will steadily
keep  in. view  as a sacred  rule of conduct, and  as the
chief'concern of life."'
III. (2.) The,Stoic.]  In opposition to the Epicurean
doctrines already stated on the subject of happiness.
the Stoics placed the supreme good in rectitude of conduct, without any regard  to  the event.  They did  not,
however, as has been  often  supposed, recommend  an
indifference to external objects, or a life of inactivity
and apathy.  On the contrary, they taught that nature
pointed out to us certain objects of choice and of rejection, and  amongst these  some  to  be  more chosen
and avoided than  others; and  that virtue consisted in
choosing  and  rejecting  objects according  to  their itntrinsic  value.'They admitted  that health  was to  be
preferred to sickness, riches to proverty; the prosperity
of our family, of our friends, of our country, to their
adversity; and they allowed, nay, they recommended,
Cicero, De Senect. The system of morals generally ascribed to Epicurus is said to have been borrowed from Aristippus, who also taught that
happiness consisted in bodily pleasure; but it is probable, as Mr. Smitih
observes, that his manner of applying his principles was altogether hlis
own. Indeed, we have the testimony of I)iogenes Laertius that Aristippus
taunght that happiness consisted in the present pleasures of the body, and
not in any mental refinements on these pleasures, according to the svstemn
of Epicurus. - Lib. II. 187. The life of Epicurus has been written in
modern times by Gassendi (who also attempted to revive his philosophy,
Sqntaqmla Philosophte Epicturi), and by Bayle. I-eineccius also mentions
a book entitled, Jacob Rondellus, De Vita et de MIoribus Epicuri, which has
never fallen in my way. [For more modern authorities. see the general
histories of philosophy by Tennemann, Ritter, and Degerando.  Also,
War'nekros, Apoloqie und Leben Epictirs.  Steinhart in Ersch ut. Gruber.
Allyern. Encyclop., Vol. XXXV. p. 459 et seq.]




392             I'r'IES TO OURS E L'VES.
the most strenuous exertions to accomplish these desirable ends.  They only contended that these objects
should be pursued, not as the constituents of our happiness, but because we believe it to be agreeable to
nature that we should pursue them; and that, therefore,
when we have done our utmost, we should regard the
event as indifferent.'rhat this is a fair representation of the Stoical doctrine has been fully proved by Mr. Harris, in the very
learned and judicious notes on his Dialog,rue concern-;,wo Happiness; a performance which, although not entirely free from  Mr. Harris's peculiarities of thought:mnid style, does him  so much honor, both as a writer
and a moralist, that we cannot help regretting, while
we peruse it, that he should so often have wasted his
ingenuity and learning upon scholastic subtilties, equaliv inapplicable to the pursuits of science and to the
M l siness of life.
The word 7radOog," he observes, " which we usually
nci.ler ad passion, means, in the Stoic sense, a pertrlbati, and is always so translated by Cicero; and the
el)sithet i-raOir, when applied to the wise man, does not
niean an exemption from  passion, but an exemption
friomn that perturbation which is founded on erroneous
o.oinions.  The testimony of Epictetus is expressed to
tlis puurpose..' I am not,' says he,' to be apathetic like
a statue, but I am  withal to observe relations, both
tile natural and the adventitious; as the man of religiol, as the son, as the brother, as the father, as the
citizen.'  And immediately before, he tells us, that' a
perturbation in no other way ever arises, but either
when a desire is frustrated, or an aversion falls into
that which it should avoid.' In which passage," says
Harris, "it is observable that he does not make either
desire or aversion 7rradO, or perturbations, but only the
cause of perturbations when erroneously conducted."
From a great variety of' passages, which it is unnecessary for me to transcribe, Harris concludes that " the
Stoics, in the character of their virtuous man, included
rational desire, aversion, and exultation; included love




TIHEORIES OF HAPPINESS. - THE STOIC.    393
and parelntal affection, friendship, and a general benevolence to all mankind; and considered it as a duty
arising from our very nature not to neglect the welfare
of' public society, but to be ever ready, according to out
rank, to act either as the magistrate or as the private
citi ien."
Nor did they exclude wealth from among the objects
of choice.  The Stoic Hecato, in his treatise Of O//ices,
quoted by Cicero, tells us, that " a wise man, while he
abstains from doing any thing contrary to the customs,
laws, and institutions of his country, ought to a:ttend
to his own fortune.  For we do not desire to be rich
for ourselves only, but for our children, relations, and
friends, and especially for the commonwealth, inasmuch as the riches of individuals are the wealth of a
state."    " Nay," says Cicero, on another occasion,
" if the wise man could mend his condition by adding
to the amplest possessions the poorest, meanest utensil,
he would in no degree contemn it." t
From these quotations it sufficiently appears that the
Stoical system, so far from withdrawing men from the
duties of life, was eminently fa7vorable to active virtue.
Its peculiar and distinguishing tenet was, that our happiness does not depend on the attainment of the objects
of our choice, but on the part that we act; but this
principle was inculcated, not to damp our exertions, but
to lead us to rest our happiness only on circumstances
which we ourselves could command.  "If I am going
to sail," says Epictetus, " I choose the best ship and
the best pilot, and I wait for the fairest weather that
my circumstances and duty will allow. Prudence and
propriety, the principles which the gods have given
me for the direction of my conduct, require this of me,
but they require no more; and if, notwithstanding, a
storm arises, which neither the strength of the vessel
nor the skill of the pilot is likely to withstand, I give
myself no trouble about the consequences. All that I
had to do is done already.  The directors of my con.
* De Of.', III. 15.   t De Finibus, IV. 12.




394           DUTIES TO OUR'BSELVES.
duct never command me to be miserable, to be anxious,
desponding, or afraid. Whether we are to be drowned
or come to a harbour is the business of Jupiter, not
mine. I leave it entirely to his determination, nor ever
break my rest with considering which way he is likely
to decide it, but receive whatever comes with equal indifference and security."
We may observe further, in favor of this noble system, that the scale of desirable objects which it exhibited was peculiarly calculated to encourage the social
virtues.  It represented, indeed (in common with the
theory of Epicurus), self-love as the great spring of human actions; but in the application of this erroneous
principle to practice, its doctrines were favorable to
the most enlarged, nay, to the most disinterested benevolence. It taught that the prosperity of two was
preferable to that of one; that of a city to that of a
family; and that of our country to all partial considerations. It was upon this very principle, added to a
sublime sentiment of piety, that it founded its chief
argument for an entire resignation to the dispensations
of Providence. As all events are ordered by perfect
wisdom and goodness, the Stoics concluded that whatever happens is calculated to produce the greatest good
possible to the universe in general. As it is agreeable
to nature, therefore, that we should prefer the happiness of many to a few, and of all to that of many,
they concluded that every event which happens is precisely that which we ourselves would have desired, if
we had been acquainted with the whole scheme of the
Divine administration. " In what sense," says Epictetus, "are some things said to be according to our nature, and others contrary to it? It is in that sense' in
which we consider ourselves as separated and detached
from all other things. For thus it may be said to be
the nature of the foot to be always clean. But if you
consider it as a foot, and not as something detached
from the rest of the body, it must behoove it sometimes
to trample in the dirt, and sometimes to tread upon
thorns, and sometimes, too, to be cut off for the sake




THEORIES OF HAPPINESS. —THE STOIC.   395
of the whole body; and if it refuses this, it is no longer
a foot. Thus, too, ought we to conceive with respect
to ourselves. What are you? A man. If you consider yourself as something separated and detached, it
is agreeable to your nature to live to old age, to be rich,
to be in health. But if you consider yourself as a man,
and as a part of the whole, upon account of that whole
it will behoove you sometimes to be in sickness, sometimes to be exposed to the inconveniency of a sea vovage, sometimes to be in want, and at last, perhaps, to
die before your time. Why, then, do you complain?
Do you not know that by doing so, as the foot ceases
to be a foot, so you cease to be a man."
In the writings, indeed, of some of the Stoics, we
meet with some absurd and violent paradoxes about
the perfect felicity of the wise man on the one hand,
and the equality of misery among all those who fall
short of this ideal character on the other.'" As all the
actions of the wise man were perfect, so all those of
the man who had not arrived at this supreme wisdom
were faulty, and equally faulty.  As one truth could
not be more true, nor one falsehood more false, than
another, so an honorable action could not be more honorable, nor a shameful one more shameful, than another. As, in shooting at a mark, the man who had
missed it by an inch had equally missed it with him
who had done so by a hundred yards, so the man who,
in what appeared to us the most insignificant action,
had acted improperly, and without a sufficient reason,
was equally faulty with him who had done so in wlhit
appeared t6 us the most important; the manl who hi t
killed a cock, for example, improperly, and without a
sufficient reason, with him  who had murdered his
father.
"It is not, however," continues Mr. Smith,' by any
means probable that these paradoxes formed a part of
the original principles of Stoicism, as taught by Zeno
and Cleanthes. It is much more probable that they
were added to it by their disciple, Chrysippus, Nwhose
gtnulias seems to have been more fitted for sy.tematiz



396            DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
ing the doctrines of his preceptors. and adorning them
with the imposing appendages of artificial definitions
and divisions, than for imbibing the sublime spirit
which they breathed."
This apology, however, it must be confessed, will
not extend to all the errors of the Stoical school. in
particular, it will not extend to the notions it inculcated on the subject of suicide, and, in general, on the
air of defiance and gayety with which death was te
be met. But to account even for these, in some measure, by the peculiar circumstances of the times when
this philosophy arose, Mr. Smith observes: — " The
different republics of Greece were at home almost
always distracted by the most furious factions, and
abroad involved in the most sanguinary wars, in which
each sought, not merely superiority or dominion, but
either completely to extirpate all its enemies, or, what
was not less cruel, to reduce them into the vilest of all
states, - that of domestic slavery. The smallest of
the greater part of those states, too, rendered it to each
of them no very improbable event, that it might itself
fall into that very calamity which it had so frequently
infldicted or attempted to inflict on its neighbours. In
this disorderly state of things, the most perfect innocence, joined to the highest rank and the greatest services to the public, could give no security to any man,
that, even at home and among his fellow-citizens, he
was not, at some time or other, from the prevalence of
some hostile and furious faction, to be condemned to
the most cruel and ignominious punishment.  If he
was taken prisoner of war, or if the city of which he
was a member was conquered, he was exposed, if possible, to still greater injuries. As an American savage,
therefore, prepares his death-song', and considers how
lie should act when he has fallen into the hands of his
enemies, and is by them put to death in the most lingering tortures, and amidst the insults and derision of
all the spectators, so a Grecian patriot or hero could
not avoid frequently employing his thoughts in c.ansidering what he ought both to suffer and to do in ban




THEORIES OF HAPPINESS. -  THE STOIC.             397
ishment, in captivity, when reduced to slavery, when
put to the torture, when brought. to the scaffold. It
was the business of their philosophers to prepare the
death-song which the Grecian patriots and heroes
might make use of on the proper occasions; and of
all the different sects, the Stoics, I think it must be acknowledged, had prepared  by  far the most animated
and spirited song." ~
After all, it is impossible to deny that there is some
foundation for a censure which Lord Bacon  has somewhere  passed  on this  celebrated  sect.   " Certainly,"
says he, " the Stoics bestowed too much cost on death,
and by their preparations made it more fearful."   At
least, I suspect this may be the tendency of some passages in their writings, in such a state of society as
that in which we live; but in perusing them, we ought
always to remember the circumstances of those men to
whom  they were addressed, and which are so eloquently described in the observations just quoted from  Mr.
Smith. The practical reflection which Bacon adds to
this censure is invaluable, and is strictly conformable to
the spirit of the Stoical system, although he seems to
state it by way of contrast to their principles. "1 It is
as natural," says he, "to  die, as to be born; and to a
little infant perhaps the one is as painful as the other.
He that dies in an earnest pursuit is like one that is
wounded in hot blood, who for a time scarce feels the
hurt; and therefore a mind fixed and bent upon somewhat that is good doth best avert the dolors of death." t
"Hi mores, hoec duri immota Catonis
Secta fuit, servare modum, finemque tenere,
Naturamque sequi, patriseque impendere vitam;
Nec sibi, sed toti genitum se credere mundo." t
M* Moral Sentiments, Part VII. Sect II. Chap. I.
The preceding extracts from Epictetus are also taken from the same
chapter, and given in Mr. Srnith's translation.
t Essays or Counsels. Civil and AMoral, Essay II.
t Lucan. Phars., Lib. II. 1. 380. See the fragments of this school, published in Gale's Opuscula MAythologica, Physica, et Ethica. [Also, the general histories of philosophy mentioned above; Ritter and Preller in their
Ilistoria Philosoph. Gr:eco-Roman.; the articles on Zeno in Ba.yle, Diet.. and
in Biographie Universelle.]




398             DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
IV. (3.) The Peripatetic.]  The doctrine of the Peripatetics on this subject appears to have coincided with
that of the Pythagorean school, who defined hajppiness
to be " the exercise of virtue in aprosperozus life " (xp~uLt
aperr Ev EfTrvXla); a definition, like several others tranlsmitted to us from the same source, which unites in a
remarkable degree the merits of conciseness and of
philosophical precision.
In confirmation of this doctrine, the Pythagorean
school observed that it was not the mere possession, but,
the exercise, of virtue that made men happy. And
for the proper exercise of virtue, they thought that good
fortune was as necessary as light is for the exercise of
the faculty of sight. The utmost length, accordingly,
which they went, was to say, that the virtuous man in
adversity was not miserable; whereas the vicious and
foolish were miserable in all situations of fortune. In
another passage they say that the difference between
God and man is, that God is perfect in himself, and
needs nothing from  without; whereas the nature of
nian is imperfect and defective, and dependent on external circumstances. Although, therefore, we possess
virtue, that is but the perfection of one part, niamely,
the mind; but as we consist both of body and mind,
the body also must be perfect of its kind.  Nor is that
alone sufficient; but the prosperous exercise of virtue
requires certain externals; such as wealth, reputation,
fiiends, and, above all, a well-constituted state; for without that the rational and social animal is imperfect,
and unable to fulfil the purposes of its nature.
The difference between the Peripatetics and Stoics
ill these opinions is beautifully stated by Cicero, in a
passage strongly expressive of the elevation of his own
(character, as well as highly honorable to the two sects,
whose doctrines, while he contrasts them with each
other, he plainly considered as both originating in the
same pure and ardent zeal for the interests of morality.
" Pugnant Stoici cum Peripateticis: alteri negant quidquam bonum esse nisi quod honesturn sit; alteri, plurimum se, et longe, longeque plurimuini attribnere ho



MEANS OF  HAPPINESS.                       399
nestati, sed tamen et in corpore, et extra esse qumedam
bona.   Certamen  honesturn, et disputatio  splendida,
omnis est enim de virtutis dignitate contentio."n
SECTION III.
MEANS OF PROMOTING AND SECURING HAPPINESS.
I. Introductory Remarks.] From the slight view now
given of the systems of philosophers with respect to
the Sovereign Good, it may be assumed as an acknowiedged and indisputable fact, that happiness arises chieflyfrom  the mind.   The  Stoics undoubtedly  expressed
this too strongly when they said, that to a wise man
external circumstances are indifferent. Yet it must be
confessed, that happiness depends much less on these
than is commonly imagined; and that, as there is no
situation so prosperous as to exclude the torments of
malice, cowardice, and remorse, so there is none so adverse as to withhold the enjoyments of a benevolent,
resolute, and upright heart.
* De Finibus, Lib. II. 21. "The Stoics oppose the Peripatetics: one
sect denies that any thing can be good unless it is virtuous; while the other, after allowing very exalted and distinguished qualities to virtue, still
thinks that there are some bodily and external circumstances which are
good in some degree. The contest is generous; the difference is glorious;
for all the dispute is who shall most ennoble virtue."  See Arist., Ethic.
Nicom., Lib. I.
[Cousin, in his Fragments Philosophiques, Tome I. p. 279, observes:-'Not only do we unceasingly aspire after happiness as sensitive beings,
but when we have done well, we judge, as intelligent and moral beiTgSq,
that we are wvorth.y of happiness. Hence the necessary principle of merit
and of demerit, the origin and foundation of all our ideas of reward an/d
punishment; -a principle continually confounded either with the desilre
of happiness or with the moral law.'; ehold why it is that the question of the sovereign good has never been
resolved. Philosophers have sought a simple solution for a complex
question, not having the two principles which, together, are capable of resolving it completely.
"Epicurean solution:- the satisfaction of the desire of happiness.'Stoical solution: - the fulfilment of the moral law.
"The true solution is found in the harmony existing between virtue, and
happiness as merited by it; for the two elements in this duality are not
equal. Happiness is the consequent; virtue is the principle. Virtue.
though not the sole element of the sovereign good, is always the chief.- ED.




400           DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
If, from the sublime idea of a perfectly wise and virtuous man, we descend to such characters as the world
presents to us, some important limitations of the Stoical conclusions become necessary. Mr. Hume has justly remarked, that, " as in the bodily system a toothache
produces more violent convulsions of pain than phthisis or a dropsy, so, in the economy of the mind, although all vice be pernicious, yet the disturbance or
pain is not measured out by nature with exact proportion to the degree of vice; nor is the man of highest
virtue, even abstracting from external accidents, always
the most happy. A gloomy and melancholy disposition is certainly to our sentiments a vice or imperfection; but as it may be accompanied with a great sense
of honor and great integrity, it may be found in very
worthy characters, though it is sufficient alone to embitter life, and render the person afflicted with it completely miserable. On the other hand, a selfish villain
may possess a spring and alacrity of temper, a certain
gayety of heart, which is rewarded much beyond its
merit, and, when attended with good fortune, will
compensate for the uneasiness and remorse arising fromn
all the other vices."'
However this may be, it is certain that various mental qualities, which have no immediate connection with
moral desert, are necessary to insure happiness.  In
proof of this remark, it is sufficient to consider how
much our tranquillity is liable to be affected,
1. By our temper;
2. By our imagination;
3. By our opinions; and
4. By our habits.
In all these respects the mind may be influenced to a
great degree by original constitution or by early education; and when this influence happens to be unfavorable, it is not to be corrected at once by the precepts of
philosophy. Much, however, may be done, undoubtedly, in such instances, by our own persevering efforts;
and therefore the particulars now enumerated deserve
ourattention, not only from their connection with the




MEANS OF HAPPINESS. - TEMPER.        401
speculative question concerning the essentials of hap.
piness. but on account of the practical conclusions to
which the consideration of them may lead.
II. (1.) Influence of the Temper on Happiness.] The
word temper is used in different senses. Sometimes we
apply to it the epithets gay, lively, melancholy, gloomy;
on other occasions, the epithets fretful, passionate, sullen, cool, equable, gentle.  It is in the last sense we use
it at present, to denote the habitual state of a man's
mind in point of irascibility; or, in other words, to
mark the habitual predominance of the benevolent or
malevolent affections in his intercourse with his fellowcreatures.
The connection between this part of the character
of an individual and the habitual state of his mind in
point of happiness is obvious from what was formerly
observed concerning the pleasures and pains attached
respectively to the exercise of our benevolent and malevolent affections. As Nature has strengthened the
social ties among mankind, by annexing a certain
charm to every exercise of good-will and of kindness,
so she has provided a check on all the discordant passions, by that agitation and disquiet which are their
inseparable concomitant.  This is true even with respect to resentment, how justly soever it may be provoked by the injurious conduct of others. It is always
accompanied with an unpleasant feeling, which warns
us, as soon as we have taken the necessary measures
for our own security, to banish every sentiment of
malice from the heart. On the due regulation of this
part of our constitution, our happiness in life materially
depends; and there is no part of it whatever where it
is in our power, by our persevering efforts, to do more
to cure our constitutional or our acqu;ired infirmities.
Resentment was formerly distinguished into instiinctive and deliberate.  In some men the animal or instinctive impulse is stronger than in others.  Where.
this is the case, or where proper care has not been taken
in early education to brintl it under restraint, a quick
34




402            DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
or irascible temper is the consequence.  This fault
is frequently observable in affectionate and generous
characters, and impairs their happiness, not so much
by the effects it produces on their minds as by the
eventual misfortunes to which it exposes them.  The
sentiments of ill-will which such men feel are only momentary, and the habitual state of their mind is benevolent and happy; but as their reason is the sport of
every accident, the best dispositions of the heart can at
no time give them any security that they shall not, before they sleep, experience some paroxysm of insanity,
which shall close all their prospects of happiness for
ever.  A  frequent and serious consideration of the
fatal consequences which may arise from sudden and
ungoverned passion cannot fail to have some tendency
to check its excesses. It is an infirmity which is often
produced by some fault in early education; by allowing children to exercise authority over their dependents,
and not providing for them, in the opposition of their
equals, a sufficient discipline and preparation for the
conflicts they may expect to struggle with in future
life.
WVhen the animal resentment does not immediately
subside, it must be supported by an opinion of bad intention in its object; and, consequently, when this
happens to an individual so habitually as to be characteristic of his temper, it indicates a disposition on
his part to put unfavorable constructions on the actions
of' others, or (as wve commonly express it) to take things
by the wrong handle. In some instances this may proceed from a settled conviction of the worthlessness of
mankind; but in general it originates in self-dissatisfaction, occasioned by the consciousness of vice or folly,
which leads the person who feels it to withdraw his attention from himself by referring the causes of his illhumor to the imaginary faults of his neighbours. Such
men do not wait till provocation is given them, but look
out anxiously for occasions of quarrel, creating to themselves. by the help of imagination, an object suited to
that particular humor they wish to indulge; and, when




MEANS OF HAPPINESS. - TEMPER.        403
their resentment is once excited, they obstinately refuse to listen to any thing that mav be offered in the
way of extenuation or apology. In feeble minds, this
displays itself in peevishness, which vents itself languidly upon any object it meets. In more vigorous and
determined minds, it produces violent and boisterous
passion. For, as Butler has well remarked, both of
these seem to be the operation of the same principle,
appearing in different forms, according to the constitution of the individual. "In the one case, the humior
discharges itself at once; in the other, it is continually
discharging."
There is, too, a species of misanthropy, which is
sometimes grafted on a worthy and benevolent heart.
When the standard of moral excellence we have been
accustomed to conceive is greatly elevated above the
common attainments of humanity, we are apt to become too difficult and fastidious (if I may use the expression) in our moral taste; or, in plainer language,
we become unreasonably censorious of the follies and
vices of the age in which we live. In such cases it
may happeni that the native benevolence of the mind,
by being habitually directed towards ideal characters,
may prove a source of real disaffection and dislike to
those with whom  we associate.  The only effectual
remedy for this evil (as I have had occasion to observe
in another connection') is society or business, together
with a habit of directing the attention rather to the
improvement of our own characters, than to a jealous
and suspicious examination of the motives which influence the conduct of our neighbours.
This last observation leads me to remark, further,
that one great cause of this perversion of our nature is
a very common and fatal prejudice, which leads men
to believe that the degree of their own virtue is proportioned to the justness and the liveliness of their
moral feelingms; whereas, in truth, virtue consists neither
in liveliness of feeling nor in rectitude of judgment
* See ptage 266 of this volume,




404           DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
but in an habitual regard to our sense of duty in the
conduct of life. To enlighten, indeed, our conscience
with respect to the part which we ourselves have to
act, and to cultivate that quick and delicate sense of
propriety which may restrain us from every offence, how
trifling soever it may appear, against the laws of morality, is an essential part of our duty; and what a
strong sense of duty, aided by a sound understanding,
will naturally lead to. But to exercise our powers of
moral judgment and moral feeling on the character and
conduct of our neighbours is so far from being necessarily connected with our moral improvement, that it
has frequently a tendency to withdraw our attention
from the real state of our own characters, and to flatter
us with a belief, that the degree in which we possess
the different virtues is proportioned to the indignation
excited in our minds by the want of them in others.
That this rule of judgment is at least not infallible may
be inferred from the common observation (justified by
the experience of every man who has paid any attention to human life), that the most scrupulous men in
their own conduct are generally the most indulgent to
the faults of their fellow-creatures. I will not go quite
so far as to assert, with Dr. Hutcheson, (although I
believe his remark has much foundation in truth,) that
" men have commonly the good or the bad qualities
which they ascribe to mankind." I shall content myself with repeating, after Mir. Addison, that, " among
all the monstrous characters in human nature, there
is none so odious, nor, indeed, so exquisitely ridiculous, as that of a rigid, severe temper in a worthless
mran"; --- an observation which, from the manner in
which he states it, evidently shows that he did not consider this union as a very rare occurrence among the
numberless inconsistencies in our moral judgments and
habits.
But what we are chiefly concerned at present to remark is the tendency of a censorious disposition with
* Spectator, No. 169.




MEANS OF HAPPINESS.- TEMPER.        403
respect to our own happiness. That favorable opinions
of our species, and those benevolent affections towards
them which such opinions produce, are sources of exquisite enjoyment to those who entertain them, no
person will dispute. But there are two very different
ways in which men set about the attainment of this
satisfaction.  One set of men aim  at modelling the
world to their own wish, and repine in proportion to
the disappointments they experience in their plans of
general reformation.  Another, while they do what
they can to improve their fellow-creatures, consider it
as their chief business to watch over their own characters; and as they cannot succeed to their wish in
making mankind what they ought to be, they study to
accommodate their views and feelings to the order of
Providence. They exert their ingenuity in apologizing
for folly and rmisconduct, and are always more disposed to praise than to blame; and when they see
unquestionable and unpardonable delinquencies, they
avail themselves of such occurrences, not as occasions
for venting indignation and abuse, but as lessons of
admonition to themselves, and as calls to attempt the
amendment of the delinquent by gentle and friendly
remonstrances. Of these two plans, it is easy to see
that the one, while it appears flattering to the indolence
of the individual (because it requires no efforts of selfdenial), must necessarily engage him in impracticable
and hopeless efforts. The other, although it requires
force of mind to put it in execution, is within the reach
of every man to accomplish in a degree highly important to his own character and to his own comfort. This,
indeed, I apprehend, is the great secret of happiness,
-to study to accommodate our own minds to things
external, rather than to accommodate things external
to ourselves; and there are no instances in which the
practice of the rule is of more consequence than in our
intercourse with our fellow-creatures. Let us do what
we can to amend them, but let us trust for our happiness to what depends on ourselves.  Nor is there any
delusion necessary for this purpose; for the fairest




406            DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
views of human character are in truth the justest; and
the more intimately we know mankind, the less we
shall be misled by the partialites of pride and self-love,
anll( the more shall we be disposed to acknowledge the
merits and to pardon the frailties of others.
Another expedient of very powerful effect is to suppress, as far as possible, the external si'rns of peevishness or of violence.  So intimate is the connection between mind and body, that the mere imitation of' any
strong expression has a tendency to excite the corresponding passion; and, on the other hand, the suppression of the external sign has a tendency to compose the
passion which it indicates. It is said of Socrates, that
whenever he felt the passion of resentment rising in
his mind, he became instantly silent; and I have no
doubt, that, by observing this rule, he not only avoided
many an occasion of giving offence to others, but. added much to the comfort of his own life, by killing the
seeds of those malignant affections which are the great
bane of human happiness.
Something of the same kind, though proceeding
from a less worthy motive, we may see daily exemplified in the case of those men who are peevish and unhappy in their own families, while in the company of
strangers they are good-humored and cheerful.  Al
home they give vent to all their passions without
restraint, and exasperate their original irritability by
the reaction of that bodily agitation which it occasions.  In promiscuous society the restraints of ceremony render this impossible.  They find themselves
obliged to conceal studiously whatever emotions of diissatisfaction they may feel, and soon come to experience, in fact, that gentle and accommodating temper
of which they have been striving to counterfeit the apnearance.
The influence of the temper on happiness is much
increased by another circumstance; that the same
causes which alienate our affections from our fellowcreatures are apt to suggest unfavorable views of the
course of human affairs, and lead the mind by an easy




MEANS OF HAPPINESS.- IMAGINATION.   40,
trt.nsition to gloomy conceptions of the general order
of the universe. In this state of mind, when, in the
language of Hamlet, " Jlan dclii,,hts me not," the sentiment of misanthropy seldom fails to be accompanied
with that dark and hopeless philosophy which Shakspeare has, with such exquisite knowledge of the human
heart, described as springing up with it from the same
root. " This goodly frame, the earth, appears a sterile
promontory;- this majestical roof;, fretted with golden
fire, a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors; —
and Man himself, - noble in reason, infinite in faculties, - this beauty of the world, this paragon of animals, - seems but the quintessence of d/tst." Such a
temper and such views are not only to the possessor
the completion of wretchedness, but, by the proofs they
exhibit of insensibility and ingratitude towards the
Great Source of happiness and perfection, they argue
some defect in those moralfeelings to which many men
lay claim, who affect an indifference to all serious impressions and sentiments.  They argue at least what
Milton has finely called a " sullenness against Natlure,"
— a disposition of mind which no man could possibly
feel whose temper was rightly constituted towards his
fellow-creatures. How congenial to the best emotions
of the heart is the following sentiment ill his Tractate
on Education! " In those vernal seasons of the year,
when the air is soft and pleasant, it were an injury
and sullenness against Nature not to go out and see
her riches, and partake in her rejoicings with heaven
and earth."
III. (2.) Influence of the Imagination on Happiness.j
One of the principal effects of a liberal education is to
accustom us to withdraw our attention from the objects of our present perceptions, and to dwell at pleasure on the past, the absent, and the future. How much
it must enlarge in this way the sphere of our enjoyment or suffering is obvious; for (not to mention the
recollection of the past) all that part of our happiness
or misery which arises from our hopes or our fears de



408            DUTIES TO OURSELVYEi
rives its existence entirely from the power of imagi.
nation.
It is not, however, from education alone that the diffirences among individuals in respect of this faculty
seem to arise. Even among those who have enjoyed
the same advantages of mental culture, we find some
rmen in whomn it never makes any considerable appearance,- men whose thoughts seem  to be completely
engrossed with the objects and events with which thleir
senses are conversant, and on whose iminds the impressions produced by \Nthat is absent and future are so
comparatively languid, that they seldom or never excite their passions or arrest their attention. In others,
again, the coloring which imagination throws on the
objects they conceive is so brilliant, that even the present impressions of sense are unable to stand the comparison; and the thoughts are perpetually wandering
from this world of realities to fairy scenes of their own
creation. In such men, the imagination is the princi.
pal source of their pleasurable or painful sensations
and their happiness or misery is in a great measure determined by the gay or melancholy cast which this
faculty has derived from original constitution, or from
acquired habits.
WVhen the hopes or the fears which imagination inspires prevail over the present importunity of our sensual appetites, it is a proof of the superiority which the
intellectual part of our character has acquired over the
animal; and as the course of life which wisdom and
virtue prescribe requires frequently a sacrifice of the
present to thefuture, a warm and vigorous imagination
is sometimes of essential use, by exhibiting those lively
prospects of solid and permanent happiness which may
counteract the allurements of present pleasure.  In
those who are enslaved completely by their sensual appetites, imagination may indeed operate in anticipating future gratification, or it may blend itself with
memory in the recollection of past enjoyment; but
where this is the case, imagination is so far from answering its intended purpose, that it establishes an un



MEANS OF HAPPINESS.- IMAGINATION.    409
natural alliance between our intellectual powers and
our animal desires, and extends the empire of the latter, by filling up the intervals of actual indulgence with
habits of thought more degrading and ruinous, if possible, to the rational part of our being, than the time
which is employed, in criminal gratification.
In mentioning, however, the influence of imagination
on happiness, what I had chiefly in view was the addition which is made to our enjoyments or sufferings,
on the whole, by the predominance of hope or of fear.
in the habitual state of our minds. One man is continually led, by the complexion of his temper, to forebode evil to himself and to the world; while another,
after a thousand disappointments, looks forward to the
future with exultation, and feels his confidence in Providence unshaken. One principal cause of such differences is undoubtedly the natural constitution of the
mind in point of fortitude.
It may be worth while here to remark, that what we
properly call cowardice is entirely a disease of the imagination.  It does not always imply an impatience
under present suffering. On the contrary, it is frequently observed in men who submit quietly to the
evils which they have actually experienced, and of
which they have thus learned to measure the extent
with accuracy. Nay, there are cases in which patience
is the offspring of cowardice, the imagination magnifying future dangers to such a degree, as to render present sufferings comparatively insignificant. Men of this
description always judge it safer to "bear the ills they
know, than fly to others that they know not of," and,
of consequence, when under the pressure of pain and
disease, scruple to employ those vigorous remedies,
which, while they give them a chance for recovery,
threaten them with the possibility of a more imminent
danger. The brave, on the contrary, are not always
patient under distress; and they sometimes, perhaps,
owe their bravery in part to this impatience. We may
remark an apt illustration of this observation in the two
sexes. The male is more courageous, but more impa35




410            DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
tient of suffering; the female more timid, but more re.
signed and serene under severe pain and affliction.
Allowance being made for constitutional biases, the
two great sources of a desponding imagination are superstition and skepticism.  Of the former, the unhappy
victims are many, and have been so in all ages of the
world, although their number may be expected gradually to diminish in proportion to the progress and the
diffusion of knowledge. All of us, however, have had an
opportunity of witnessing enough of' its effects in those
remains which are still to be found, in many parts of
this country, of the old prejudices with respect to apparitions and spectres, to be able to form an idea of
what mankind must have suffered in the ages of
Gothic ignorance, when these weaknesses of the uninformed mind were skilfully made use of by an ambitious priesthood as an engine of ecclesiastical policy.
Skepticism, too, when carried to an extreme, can scarcely fail to produce similar effects. As it encourages the
notion that all events are regulated by chance, if it does
not alarm the mind with terror, it extinguishes at least
every ray of hope; and such is the restless activity of
the mind, that it may be questioned whether the agitation of fear be a source of more complete wretchedness, than that listlessness which deprives us of all interest about futurity, and represents' to us the present
moment alone as ours. Nor is this all. A complete
skepticism is so unnatural a state to the human understanding, that it was probably never realized in any
one instance. Nay, I believe it will generally be found,
that, in proportion to the violence of a man's disbelief
on those important subjects which are essential to human happiness, the more extravagant is his credulity
on other articles, where the fashion of the times does
not brand credulity as a weakness; for the mind must
have something distinct from the objects of sense on
which to repose itself; and those principles of our nature on which religion is founded, if they are prevented
from developing themselves under the direction of an
enlightened reason, wiJ infallibly disclose therr.selves,




MEANS OF HAPPINESS. - IMAGINATION.    411
in one way or another, in the character and the conduct.
Of this no stronger proof can be produced, than that
the same period of the eighteenth century, and the same
part of Europe, which were most distinguished by the
triumphs of a skeptical philosophy, were also distinguished by a credulity so extraordinary, as to encourage and support a greater number of visionaries and
impostors than had appeared since the time of the revival of letters. The pretenders to animal magnetism,
and the revivers of the Rosicrucian mysteries, are but
two instances out of many that might be mentioned.
Such, then, are the miseries of ill-regulated imagination, whether arising from constitutional biases or from
the acquisition of erroneous opinions; and they are miseries which, when they affect habitually the state of the
mind, are sufficient to poison all the enjoyments which
fortune can offer. To those, on the contrary, whose
education has been fortunately conducted, this faculty
opens inexhaustible sources of delight, presenting continually to their thoughts the fairest views of mankind
and of Providence, and, under the deepest gloom of
adverse fortune, gilding the prospects of futurity.
I have remarked, in the first volume of my Philosophy of the Human Mind, that what we call sensibility
depends in a great measure on the degree of imagination we possess; and hence, in such a world as ours,
clheckered as it is with good and evil, there must be in
every mind a mixture of pleasure and of pain, proportioned to the interest which imagination leads it to
take in the fortunes of mankind. It is even natural
and reasonable for a benevolent disposition, (notwithstanding what Mr. Smith has so ingeniously alleged to
the contrary,*) to dwell more habitually on the gloomy
than on the gay aspect of human affairs; for the fortu.
nate stand in no need of our assistance; while, amidst
the distractions of our own personal conce ns, the
wretched require all the assistance which our imagina.
* Theory of M2loral Sentiments, Part III. Chap. III.




412              DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
tion can lend them, to engage our attention to their
distresses. In this sympathy, however, with the general sufferings of humanity, the pleasure far overbalances the pain; not only on account of that secret
charm which accompanies all the modifications of benevolence, but because it is they alone whose prospects
of futurity are sanguine, and whose confidence in the
final triumph of reason and of justice is linked with all
the best principles of the heart, who are likely to make
a common cause with the oppressed and the miserable.
This, therefore, (although we frequently apply to it the
epithet melancholy,) is, on the whole, a happy state of
mind, and has no connection with what we commonly
call low spirits, - a disease where the pain is unmixed,
and which is always accompanied, either as a cause or
an effect, by the most intolerable of all feelings, a sentiment of self-dissatisfaction; whereas the temper I have
now alluded to is felt only by those who are at peace
with themselves and with the whole world.  Such is
that species of melancholy which Thomson has so
pathetically described as exerting a.peculiar influence
at that season of the year (his own favorite and inspiring season) when the "dark winds of autumn return,"
and when the falling leaves and the naked fields fill the
heart at once with mournful presages, and with tender
recollections.
"He comes! he comes! in every breeze the Power
Of philosophic melancholy comes!
His near approach the sudden starting tear,
The glowing cheek, the mild, dejected air,
The softened feature, and the beating heart,
Pierced deep with many a virtuous pang, declare.
O'er all the soul his sacred influence breathes;
Inflames imagination; through the breast
Infuses every tenderness; and far
Beyond dim earth exalts the swelling thought."
It will not, I think, be denied, that an imagination
of the cast here described, while it has an obvious tendency to refine the taste and to exalt the character,
enlarges very widely, in the man who possesses it, the
sphere of his enjoyment.  It is, however, no less indis.
putable, that this faculty requires an uncommon shll:.e




MEANS OF HAPPINESS. -IMAGINATION.    413
of good sense to keep it under proper regulation, and
to derive from it the pleasures it was intended to afford,
without suffering it either to mislead the judgment in
the conduct of life, or to impair our relish for the moderate gratifications which are provided for our present
condition.
The inconveniences of an ill-regulated imagination
have appeared to some philosophers to be so alarming,
that they have concluded it to be one of the most essential objects of education to repress as much as possible this dangerous faculty. But in this, as in other
instances, it is in vain to counteract the purposes of
Nature; and all that human wisdom ought to attempt
is to study the ends which she has apparently in view,
and to cooperate with the means which she has provided for their attainment.  The very argument on
which these philosophers have proceeded justifies the
remark I have now made, and encourages us to follow
out the plan I have recommended; for surely the more
cruel the effects of a deranged imagination, the happier
are the consequences to be expected from this part of
our constitution, if properly regulated, and if directed
to its destined purposes by good sense and philosophy.
It is justly remarked by an author in the Tatler,* as an
acknowledged fact, that, " of all writings, licentious
poems do soonest corrupt the heart. And why," continues he, " should we not be as universally persuaded
that the grave and serious performances of such as
write in the most engaging manner, by a kind of Divine impulse, nlust be the most effectual persuasive to
goodness? The most active principle in our mind is
the imagination. To it a good poet makes his court
perpetually, and by this faculty takes care to gain it
first. Our passions and inclinations come over next,
and our reason surrenders itself with pleasure in the
end. Thus the whole soul is insensibly betrayed into
morality, by bribing the fancy with beautiful and agreeable images of those very things that, in the books of
* No. 98.
35"




414           DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
the philosophers, appear austere, and have at the best
but a kind of forbidding aspect. In a word, the poets
do, as it were, strew the rough paths of virtue so full
of flowers, that we are not sensible of the uneasiness
of them, and imagine ourselves in the midst of pleasures, and the most bewitching allurements, at the time
we are making a progress in the severest duties of life."
Even in those men, however, whose education has
not been so systematically conducted, and whose associations have been formed by accident, notwithstanding
the many acute sufferings to which they may be exposed, I am persuaded that (except in some very rare
combinations of circumstances) this part of our constitution is a more copious source of pleasure than of
pain. After all the complaints that have been made
of the peculiar distresses incident to cultivated minds,
who would exchange the sensibility of his intellectual
and moral being for the apathy of those whose only
avenues of pleasure and pain are to be found in their
animal nature, - who " move thoughtlessly in the narrow circle of their existence, and to whom the falling
leaves present no idea but that of approaching winter"?
I shall conclude these very imperfect hints on a most
important subject with remarking the inefficacy of
mere reasoning or argument, in correcting the effects of
early impressions and' prejudices. More is to be expected from the opposite associations, which may be
gradually formed by a new course of studies and of
occupations, or by a complete change of scenes, of habits, and of society.
IV. (3.) Influence of Opinions on Happiness.]  By
opinions are here meant, not merely speculative conclusions to which we give our assent, but convictions
which have taken root in the mind, and exert a constantt and abiding influence on our dispositions and
conduct.
Of these opinions a very great and important part
ire, in the case of all mankind, interwoven by educa



MEANS OF HAPPINESS. - OPINIONS.      415
tion with their first habits of thinking, or insensibly
imbibed from the manners of the times.
Where such opinions are erroneous, they may often
be corrected to a great degree by the persevering efforts of a reflecting and vigorous mind; but as the
number of minds capable of reflection is comparatively
small, it becomes a duty on all who have themselves
experienced the happy effects of juster and more elevated views, to impart, as far as they are able, the same
blessing to others. The subject is of too great extent
to be here prosecuted; but the reader will find it discussed at great length in a very valuable section of Dr.
Ferguson's Principles of Moral and Political Science.*
Of the doctrines contained in this section, the following abstract is given by the same writer in his Institutes of Moral Philosophy.
" It is unhappy to lay the pretensions of human nature so low as to check its exertions. The despair of
virtue is still more unhappy than the despair of knowledge.
" It is unhappy to entertain notions of what men actually are, so high as, upon trial and disappointment, to
run into the opposite extreme of distrust.
"It is unhappy to rest our own choice of good qualities on the supposition, that we are to meet with such
qualities in other men; or to apprehend that want of
merit in other men will dispense with that justice or
liberality of conduct which we ought to maintain.
" It is unhappy to consider perfection as the standard
by which we are to censure others, not as the rule by
which we are to conduct ourselves.
" It is a wretched opinion, that happiness consists in
a freedom from trouble, or in having nothing to do. In
consequence of this opinion, men complain of what
might employ them agreeably. By declining every du.
ty and every active engagement, they render life a burden, and then complain that it is so. By declining
business to go in search of amusement, they reject
Part II. Chap. I. Sect. VIII.




416               DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
what is fitted to occupy them, and search in vain for
something else to quicken the languor of a vacant mind.
" It is therefore unhappy to entertain an opinion, that
any thing can amuse us better than the duties of our
station, or than that which we are in the present moment called upon to do.
" It is an unhappy opinion, that beneficence is an effort of self-denial, or that we lay our fellow-creatures
under great obligations by the kindness we do them.
" It is an unhappy opinion, that any thing whatever
is preferable to happiness." *
On  the other hand, "it is happy,"  continues the
same author, " to value personal qualities above every
other consideration, and to state perfection as a guide
to ourselves, not as a rule by which to censure others.
"' It is happy to rely on what is in our own power;
to value the characters of a worthy, benevolent, and
strenuous mind, not as a form merely to be observed in
our conduct, but as the completion of what we have to
wish for in human life, and to consider the-debasements of a malicious and cowardly nature as the extreme misery to which we are exposed.
" It is happy to have continually in view, that we are
members of society, and of the community of mankind; that we are instruments in the hand of God for
the good of his creatures; that, if we are ill members
of society, or unwilling instruments in the hand of God,
we do our utmost to counteract our nature, to quit our
station, and to undo ourselves.
* In illustration of this last remark, Dr. Ferguson quotes in a note the
following passage from the Tatler: --'There is hardly a man to be found,
who would not rather be in pain to appear happy, than be really happy to
appear miserable."
The author of the Fable of the Bees (see Remark M) has also said, -
"There is nothing so ravishing to the proud," (he should have said to the
vain,) "as to be thoulght happy."
Does not this general anxiety to assume the appearance of happiness
proceed from the universal conviction of the connection between happiness
and virtue? By counterfeiting the outward signs of happiness, a vain
man, without any offensive violation of modesty, lays claim indirectly to
all those moral qualities of which happiness is commonly understood to be
the fruit and the reward.




MEANS OF HAPPINESS. - OPINIONS.     417
"'I am in the station which God has assigned me,'
says Epictetus. With this reflection, a man may be
happy in every station; without it, he cannot be happy in any. Is not the appointment of God sufficient
to outweigh every'other consideration? This rendered
the condition of a slave agreeable to Epictetus, and
that of a monarch to Antoninus. This consideration
renders any situation agreeable to a rational nature,
which delights not in partial interests, but in universal
good."
This excellent passage contains a summary of the
most valuable principles of the Stoical school.  One
of their doctrines, however, I could have wished that
Dr. Ferguson had touched upon with his masterly
hand; I mean that which relates to the inconsistencies
which most men fall into in their expectations of happiness, as well as in the estimates they form of the
prosperity of others. The following quotation from
Epictetus will explain sufficiently the doctrine to which
I allude.
" What is more reasonable, than that they who take
pains for any thing should get most in that particular
for which they take pains? They have taken pains for
power, you for right principles; they for riches, you for
a proper use of the appearances of things. See whether they have the advantage of you in that for which
you have taken pains, and which they neglect. If they
are in power and you not, why will you not speak the
truth to yourself, that you do nothing for the sake of
power, but that they do every thing?' No, but since I
take care to have right principles, it is more reasonable
that I should have power.' Yes, in respect to what you
take care about,- your principles. But give up to others the things in which they have taken more care than
you. Else it is just as if, because you have right principles, you should think it fit that, when you shoot an
arrow, you should hit the mark better than an archer,
or that you should forge better than a smith."
Upon the foregoing passage a very ingenious and elegant writer, Mrs. Barbauld, has written a commentary




418           DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
so full of good sense and of important practical mo
rality, that I am sure I run no hazard of trespassing on
the patience of the reader by the length of the following extracts.
" As most of the unhappiness in the world arises
rather from disappointed desires than from positive evil,
it is of the utmost consequence to attain just notions
of the laws and order of the universe, that we may not
vex ourselves with fruitless wishes, or give way to
groundless and unreasonable discontent...... We
should consider this world as a great mart of commerce,
where fortune exposes to our view various commodities, riches, ease, tranquillity, fame, integrity, knowledge.
Exery thing is marked at a settled price. Our time,
our labor, our ingenuity, is so much ready money,
which we are to lay out to the best advantage. Examine, compare, choose, reject; but stand to your own
judgment, and do not, like children, when you have
purchased one thing, repine that you do not possess
another which you did not purchase. Such is the force
of well-regulated industry, that a steady and vigorous
exertion of our faculties, directed to one end, will generally insure success. Would you, for instance, be
rich? Do you think that single point worth the sacrificing every thing else to? You may, then, be rich.
Thousands have become so from the lowest beginnings,
from toil and patient diligence, and attention to the minutest articles of expense and profit. But you must
give up the pleasures of leisure, of a vacant mind, of a
free, unsuspicious temper. If you preserve your integrity, it must be a coarse-spun and vulgar honesty.
Those high and lofty notions of morals which you
brought with you from the schools must be considerably lowered, and mixed with the baser alloy of a jealous and worldly-minded prudence. You must learn to
do hard, if not unjust, things; and as for the nice embarrassments of a delicate and ingenuous spirit, it is
necessary for you to get rid of them as fast as possible.
You must shut your heart against the Muses, and be
content to feed your understanding with plain house



MEANS OF HAPPINESS. - HABITS.       419
hold truths.  In short, you must not attempt to enlarge your ideas, or polish your taste, or refine your
sentiments, but must keep on in one beaten track, without turning aside either to the right hand or to the
left.' But I cannot submit to drudgery like this; I
feel a spirit above it.''T is well: be above it then;
only do not repine that you are not rich......
"' But is it not some reproach upon the economy of
Providence, that such a one, who is a mean, dirty fellow, should have amassed wealth enough to buy half
a nation?' Not in the least. He made himself a mean,
dirty fellow for that end." *
V. (4.) Influence of Habits on Happiness.] The effect
of habit in reconciling our minds to the inconveniences
of our situation was formerly remarked, and an argument was drawn from it in proof of the goodness of
our Creator, who, besides making so rich a provision
of objects suited to the principles of our nature, has
thus bestowed on us a power of accommodation to
external circumstances, which these principles teach
us to avoid.
This tendency of the mind, however, to adapt itself
to the objects with which it is familiarly conversant,
may, in some instances, not only be a source of occasional suffering, but may disqualify us for relishing the
best enjoyments which human life affords. The habits
contracted during infancy and childhood are so much
more inveterate than those of our maturer years, that
they have been justly said to constitute a second nature; and if, unfortunately, they have been forme l
amidst circumstances over which we have no control.
they leave us no security for our happiness but the
caprice of fortune. To habituate the minds of children
to those occupations and enjoyments alone, which it is
in the power of an individual at all times to command,
is the most solid foundation that can be laid for their
future tranquillity.
* Works, Vol. II. p. 21.




120           DUTIES TO OURSELVES.
Dr. Paley, with that talent for familiar and happy il-'ustration for which he is so justly celebrated, has said:
— " The art in which the secret of human happiness
in a great measure consists is, to set the habits in such
a manner that every change may be a change for the
better. The habits themselves are much the same; for
whatever is made habitual becomes smooth and easy,
and nearly indifferent. The return to an old habit is
3ikewise easy, whatever the habit be. Therefore the
advantage is with those habits which allow of indulgence in the deviation from them. The luxurious receive no greater pleasure from their dainties than the
peasant does from his bread and cheese; but the peasant, whenever he goes abroad, finds a feast, whereas
the epicure must be well entertained to escape disgust.
Those who spend every day at cards, and thbse who
go every day to plough, pass their time much alike;
intent upon what they are about, wanting nothing, regretting nothing, they are both for the time in a, state
of ease; but then whatever suspends the occupation
of the card-player distresses him, whereas to the laborer
every interruption is refreshment; and this appears in
the different effect that Sunday produces on the two,
which proves a day of recreation to the one, but a
lamentable burden to the other. The man who has
learned to live alone feels his spirit enlivened whenever
he enters into company, and takes his leave without
regret. Another, who has long been accustomed to a
crowd, experiences in company no elevation of spirits,
nor any greater satisfaction than what the man of a
retired life finds in his chimney-corner.  So far their
conditions are equal; but let a change of place, fortune,
or situation separate the companion from his circle, his
visitors, his club, common room, or coffee-house, and the
difference of advantage in the choice and constitution
of the two habits will show itself. Solitude comes to
the one clothed with melancholy; to the other it brings
liberty and quiet. You will see the one fretful and
restless, at a loss how to dispose of his time till the
hour come ronnd that he can forget himself in bed;




MEANS OF HAPPINESS. -HABITS.         421
the other easy and satisfied, taking up his book or his
pipe as soon as he finds himself alone, ready to admit
any little amusement that casts up, or to turn his hanlds
and attention to the first business that presents itself,
or. content without either, to sit still and let his trains
of thought glide indolently through his brain, without
much use, perhaps, or pleasure, but without hankering
after any thing better, and without irritation. A reader
who has inured himself to books of science and argumentation, if a novel, a well-written pamphlet, an article of news, a narrative of a curious voyage, or the
journal of a traveller, comes in his way, sits down to
the repast with relish, enjoys his entertainment while
it lasts, and can return when it is over to his graver
reading without distaste. Another, with whom nothing will go down but works of humor and pleasantry,
or whose curiosity must be interested by perpetual
novelty, will consume a bookseller's window in half a
forenoon, during which time he is rather in search of
diversion than diverted; and as books to his taste are
few and short, and rapidly read over, the stock is soon
exhausted, when he is left without resource from this
principal supply of harmless amusement."*
As a supplement to the remarks of Paley, I shali
quote a short passage from Montaigne, containing an
observation relative to the same subject, which, although
stated in a form too unqualified, seems to me highly
worthy of attention. " We must not rivet ourselves
so fast to our humors and complexions.  Our chief
business is to know how to apply ourselves to various
customs. For a iman to keep himself tied and bound
by necessity to one only course is but bare existence,
not living. It was an honorable character of the elder
Cato, -' So versatile was his genius, that, whatever
he took in hand, you would be apt to say that he was
formed for that very thing only.' Were I to choose for
myself, there is no fashion so good that I should care
to be so wedded to it as not to have it in my power to
* lloral Philosophy, Book I. Chap. VI.
36




422           IDUTIES TO OURSELVES.
disengage myself from it. Life is a motion, uneven,
irregular, and ever varying its direction. A man is not
his own friend, much less his own master, but rather a
slave to himself, who is eternally pursuing his own
humor, and such a bigot to his inclinations that he is
not able to abandon or to alter them." *
The only thing to be censured in this passage is,
that the author makes no distinction between good and
bad habits; between those which we are induced to
cultivate by reason, and by the original principles of
our nature, and those which reason admonishes us to
shun, on account of the mischievous consequences with
which they are likely to be followed. With respect to
these two classes of habits, considered in contrast with
each other, it is extremely worthy of observation, that
the former are incomparably more easy in the acquisition than the latter; while the latter, when once acquired, are (probably in consequence of this very circumstance, the difficulty of overcoming our natural
propensities) of at least equal efficacy in subjecting all
the powers of the will to their dominion.
Of the peculiar difficulty of shaking off such inveterate habits as were at first the most repugnant to oui
taste and inclinations, we have a daily and a melancholy proof in the case of those individuals who have
suffered themselves to become slaves to tobacco, to
opium, and to other intoxicating drugs, which, so far
from possessing the attractions of pleasurable sensations, are in a great degree revolting to an unvitiated
palate. The same thing is exemplified in many of
those acquired tastes which it is the great object of the
art of cookery to create and to gratify; and still more
remarkably in those fatal habits which sometimes steal
on the most amiable characters, under the seducing
form of social enjoyment, and of a temporary respite
from the evils of life.
I am inclined, however, to think that Montaigne
meant to restrict his observations chiefly, if not solely,
* Essays, Book III. Chap. III.




MEANS OF HAPPINESS. -HABITS.                     W3
to habits which are itidifferent, or nearly indifferent, in
their moral tendency, and that all he is to be understood as asserting amounts to this, - that we ought
not, in  matters connected with  the accommodations of
human life, to enslave ourselves to one set of habits
in preference to another. In this sense his doctrine is
just and important.*
* On the subject treated of in this section, see Degerando, Dui Perfectionnement Mloral et de l'Education dle soi-meme. It has been translated into
English with this title: Self-Education; or the Means and Art of Moral
Progress. Also, Carpenter's Principles of Education, and Combe's Cotstitution of MIan. - ED.




BOOK IV.
OF THE NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
CHAPTER I.
OF THE GENERAL DEFINITION OF VIRTUE.
HAVING taken a cursory survey of the chief branches
of our duty, we are prepared to enter on the general
question concerning the nature and essence of virtue.
In fixing on the arrangement of this part of my subject, it appeared to me more agreeable to the established rules of philosophizing, to consider, first, our
duties in detail; and, after having thus laid a solid
foundation in the way of analysis, to attempt to rise
to the general idea in which all our duties concur, than
to circumscribe our inquiries, at our first outset, within
the limits of an arbitrary and partial definition. WThat
I have now to ofler, therefore, will consist of little more
than some obvious and necessary consequences from
principles which have been already stated.
The various duties which have been considered all
agree with each other in one common quality, that of
being obligatory on rational and voluntary agents; and
they are all enjoined by the same authority, — the authority of conscience. These duties, therefore, are but
different articles of one law, which is properly expressed
by the word virtue.
As all the virtues are enjoined by the same authority,
(the authority of conscience,) the man whose ruling
prihciple of action is a sense of duty will observe all
the different virtues with the same reverence and the
same zeal. He who lives in the habitual neglect of any




DEFINITION OF VIRTUE.             425
one of them shows plainly, that, where his conduct
happens to coincide with whait the rules of morality
prescribe, it is owing merely to an accidental agreement
between his duty and his inclination; and that he is
not actuated by that motive which can alone render
our conduct meritorious.  It is justly said, therefore,
that to live in the habitual practice of any one vice is
to throw off our allegiance to conscience and to our
Maker, as decidedly as if we had violated all the rules
which duty prescribes; and it is in this sense, I presume,
that we ought to interpret that passage of the sacred
writings in which it is said, " Whosoever shall keep
the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is guilty
of all." *
The word virtue, however, (as I shall have occasion
to remark more particularly in the next section,) is applied, not only to express a particular course of external conduct, but to express a particular species or description of hunman character. When so applied, it seems
properly to denote a habit of mind, as distinguished
from occasional acts of duty. It was formerly said, that
the characters of men receive their denominations of
covetous, voluptuous, ambitious, &c., from the particular active principle which prevailingly influences the
conduct. A man, accordingly, whose ruling or habitual
principle of action is a sense of duty, or a regard to
what is right, may be properly denominated virtuous.
Agreeably to this view of.the subject, the ancient Pythagoreans defined virtue to be'Ertv rov 8EoroV,t the habit
f duty, —-  the oldest definition of virtue of which we
have any account, and one of the most unexceptionable
which is yet to be found in any system of philosophy.
This account of virtue coincides very nearly with
what I conceive to be Dr. Reid's, from some passages
in his Essays on the Active Powers of the Hlman Mind.
Virtue he seems to consider as consisting "in a fixed
purpose or resolution to act according to our sense of
duty."  "We consider the moral virtues as inherent
h James ii. 10.      t Gale's Opuscula ll-ythologica, p. 690.
36 *




426       NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
in the mind of a good nman, even where there is no op
portunity of exercising  them.   Alnd what is it in the
mind whlich we can call the virtue of justice when it i,
not exercised?  It can be nlothing but a fixed purpose
or determinatioll to act according to the rules of justice
when there is opportunity."
With all this I perfectly agree.  It is the fixed pur
pose to do what is right, which evidently constituter
what we call a virtuous d~isposition.  But it appears to
rne that virtue, considered as an attribute of character
is more properly defined by the habit which the fixeO
purpose gradually forms, than by the fixed purpose itself. It is from the external habit alone that other men
can judge of the purpose; and it is from the uniformi
ty and spontaneity of his habit that the individual him
self must judge how far his purposes are sincere and
steady.
These observations lead to an explanation of what
has at first sight the appearance of paradox in the ethical
doctrines of Aristotle, that where there is self-denial
there is no virtue.  That the merit of particular actions
is increased by the self-denial with which they are accompanied cannot be disputed; but it is only when we
are learningt the practice of our duties that this selfdenial is exercised (for the practice of morality, as well
as of every thing else, is facilitated by repeated acts):
and therefore, if the word virtue be employed to express
that habit of mind which it is the great object of a
good man to confirm, it will follow, that, in proportion
as he approaches to it, his effoirts of self-denial must
dininish, and that all occasion for them would cease it
his end were completely attained.
The definition of virtue given by Aristotle, as consisting in "right practical habits, voluntary in their origin," is well illustrated by what Plutarch has told us
of the means by which he acquired the mastery over
his irascible passions. " I have always approved," says
he, "of the engagements and vows imposed on themselves from motives of religion, by certain philosophers,
to abstain from wine, or from some other favorite in



DEFINITION OF VIRTUE.              427
dulgence, for the space of a year. I have also approved
of the determination taken by others not to deviate
from the truth, even in the lightest conversation, during
a particular period. Comparing my own mind witlt
theirs, and conscious that I yielded to none of them in
reverence for God, I tasked myself, in the first instance,
not to give way to anger upon any occasion for several
days. I afterwards extended this resolution to a month
or longer; and having thus made a trial of what I
could do, I have learned at length never to speak but
with gentleness, and so carefully to watch over my
temper as never to purchase the short and unprofitable
gratification of venting my resentment at the expense
of a lasting and humiliating remorse." 
I must not dismiss this topic without recommending,
not merely to the perusal, but to the diligent study, of
all who have a taste for moral inquiries, Aristotle's
Nicomachean Ethics, in which he has examined, with
far greater accuracy than any other author of antiquity,
the nature of habits considered in their relation to our
moral constitution. The whole treatise is indeed of
great value, and, with the exception of a few passages,
almost justifies the warm and unqualified eulogium
pronounced upon it by a learned divine (Dr. Rennel)
before the University of Cambridge; in which he goes
so far as to assert, that " it affords not only the most
perfect specimen of scientific morality, but exhibits also
the powers of the most compact and best constructed
system  which the human intellect ever produced upon
any subject; enlivening occasionally great severity of
method, and strict precision of terms, by the sublimest,
though soberest, splendor of diction." t
* De Ira.
f We have several English translations of this work; one by Dr. Gillies i
another byv Thomas Taylor; another, the best, by R. W. Browne, in
Bohn's Classical Library. - ED.




428       NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
CHAPTER II.
ON AN AMBIGUITY IN THE WORDS RIGHT AND
WRONG, VIRTUE AND VICtE.
THE epithets right and wnrong, virtuous and vicious,
are applied sometimes to external actions, and sometimes to the intentions of the agent. A similar ambiguity may be remarked in the corresponding words in
other languages.
This ambiguity is owing to various causes, which it
is not necessary at present to trace. Among other circumstances, it is owing to the association of ideas,
which, as it leads us to connect notions of elegance or
of meanness with many arbitrary expressions in language, so it often leads us to connect notions of right
and wrong with external actions, considered abstractly
from the motives which produced them. It is owing
(at least in part) to this, that a mall who has been involuntarily the author of any calamity to another can
hardly by any reasoning banish his feelings of remorse;
and, on the other hand, however wicked our purposes
may have been, if by any accident we have been prevented from carrying them into execution, we are apt
to consider ourselves as far less culpable than if we had
perpetrated the crires that we had intended. It is
much in the same manner that we think it less criminal to mislead others by hints, or looks, or actions, than
by a verbal lie; and, in general, that we think our guilt
diminished if we can only contrive to accomplish our
ends without employing those external signs, or those
external means, with which we have been accustomed
to associate the notions of guilt and infamy. Shakspeare has painted with philosophical accuracy this natural subterfuge of a vicious mind, in which the sense
of duty still retains some authority, in one of the exquisite scenes between King John and Hubert: —
"Hadst thou but shook thvy head, or made a pause,
When I spake darkly what I purposed;




ABSOLUTE AND'RELATIVE RIGHT.           429
(Yr turned an eve of doubt upon my face,
As bid me tell mroy tale in express words;
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,
And those thv fears might have wrought fears in me.
But thou didst understand me by ray siqns,
And didst in signs again parley with sin."
As this twofold application of the words right and
wrong to the intentions of the mind, and to external
actions, has a tendency, in the common business of
life, to affect our opinions concerning the merits of individuals, so it has misled the theoretical speculations
of some very eminent philosophers in their inquiries
concerning the principles of morals.  It was to obviate
the confusion of ideas arising from this ambiguity of
language that the distinction between absolute and relative rectitude was introduced into ethics; and as the
distinction is equally just and important, it will be
proper to explain it particularly, and.to point out its
application to one or two of the questions which have
been perplexed by that vagueness of expression which
it is our object at present to correct.
An action may be said to be absolutely right, when
it is in every respect suitable to the circumstances in
which the agent is placed; or, in other words, when it
is such as, with perfectly good intentions, under the
guidance of an enlightened and well-informed understanding, he would have performed.
An action may be said to be relatively right, when
the intentions of the agent are sincerely good, whether
his conduct be suitable to his circumstances or sot.
According to these definitions, an action sway be
right in one sense and wrong in another;- an ambiguity in language, which, how obvious soever, las not
always been attended to by the writers on moral,s.
It is the relative rectitude of an action which determines the moral desert of the agent; but it is it., absolute rectitude which determines its utility to his worldly interests, and to the welfare of society. And it is
only so far as aasolute and relative rectitude coincide,
that utility can be affirmed to be a lquality of virtue.
A strong sense of duty will indeed induce us to avail




430        NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
ourselves of all the talents we possess, and of all the
information within our reach, to act agreeably to the
rules of absolute rectitude.  And if we fail in doing so,
our negligence is criminal. " Crimes committed through
ignorance," as Aristotle has very judiciously observed,
"are only excusable when the ignorance is involuntary; for when the cause of it lies in ourselves, it is then
justly punishable. The ignorance of those laws which
all may know if they will does not excuse the breach
of them; and neglect is not pardonable where attention ought to be bestowed. But perhaps we are incapable of attention. This, however, is our own fault,
since the incapacity has been contracted by our continual carelessness, as the evils of injustice and intemperance are contracted by the daily commission of iniquity and the daily indulgence in voluptuousness. For
such as our actions are, such must our habits become." *
Notwithstanding, however, the truth and the importance of this doctrine, the general principle already stated remains incontrovertible, that in every particular instance our duty consists in doing what appears to us to
be right at the time; and if, while we follow this rule,
we should incur any blame, our demerit does not arise
from acting according to an erroneous judgment, but
from our previous misemployment of the means we
possessed for correcting the errors to which our judgment is liable.t
From these principles it follows, that actions, although materially right, are not meritorious with respect to the agent, unless performed from a sense of
duty. Aristotle inculcates this doctrine in many parts
of his Ethics.:  To the same purpose, also, Lord
Shaftesbury: —" In this case alone it is we call any
creature worthy or virtuous, when it can attain to the
Aristotle's Ethics, by Gillies, p. 305.
t A distinction similar to that now made between absolute and relative
rectitude was expressed among the schoolmen by the phrases material and
formal virtue.
t See Ethic. Nic., Lib IV. Cap. I.; Lib. VI. Cap. V.




OFFICE OF REASON.                    431
speculation or sense of what is morally good or ill, ad.
mirable or blamable, right or wrong. For though we
may vulgarly call an ill horse vicious, yet we never say
of a good one, nor of any mere changeling or idiot,
though never so good-natured, that he is worthy or virtuous.  So that if a creature be generous, kind, constant, and compassionate, yet if he cannot reflect or:
what he himself does or sees others do, so as to talike
notice of what is worthy and honest, and make tha'
notice or conception of worth and honesty to be an object of his affection, he has not the character of being
virtuous, for thus, and no otherwise, he is capable of
having a sense of right or wrong." 
CHAPTER III.
OF THE OFFICE AND USE OF REASON IN THE PRACTICE OF MORALITY.
I FORMERLY observed, that a strong sense of duty,
while it leads us to cultivate with care our good dispositions, will induce us to avail ourselves of all the
means in our power for the wise regulation of our external conduct. The occasions on which it is necessary for us to employ our reason in this way are chiefly
the three following:1. When we have ground for suspecting that our
moral judgments and feelings may have been warped
and perverted by the prejudices of education.
* Inquiry concerning Virtue, Book I. Part II. Sect. III. Dr. Price, in
his Review, Chap. VIII., has made a number of judicious observations on
this subject; and Dr. Reid, in his Essays on the Active Powers, has a particular chapter allotted to the consideration of this very question, " Whether an action deserving moral approbation must be done with the belief of
its being morally good?" in which the doctrine he endeavours to establish
is precisely the same with that which has been now stated. Compare
Hume's Treatise oJ'Human Nature, Book III. Part II. Sect. I., where this
conclusion is disputed.




W432     NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
I formerly showed that the moral faculty is an original principle of the human constitution, and not the
result (as Mandeville and others suppose) of habits
superinduced by systems of education-planned by politicians and divines. The moral faculty, indeed, like the
faculty of reason, (which forms the f-ost essential of
its elements,) requires care and cultivation for its development; and, like reason, it has a gradual progress,
both in the case, of individuals and of societies. But
it does not follow from this that the former is a fictitious principle, any more than the latter, with respect to
the origin of which I do not know that any doubts
have been suggested by the greatest skeptics.
Although, however, the moral faculty is an original
part of the human frame, and although the great laws
of morality are engraven on every heart, it is not in
this way that the greater part of mankind arrive at
their first knowledge of them. The infant mind is
formed by the care of our early instructors, and for a
long time thinks and acts in consequence of the confidence it reposes in their superior judgment. All this
is undoubtedly agreeable to the design of Nature; and,
indeed, if the case were otherwise, the business of the
world could not possibly go on; for nothing can be
plainer than this, that the multitude, (at least as society is actually constituted,) condemned as they are to
laborious employments inconsistent with the cultivation of their mental faculties, are wholly incapable of
forming their own opinions on the most important
questions which can occupy the human mind. It is
evident, at the same time, that, as no system of- education can be perfect, many prejudices must mingle with
the most important and best ascertained truths; and as
the truths and the prejudices are both acquired from the
same source, the incontrovertible evidence of the one
serves, in the progress of human reason, to support and
confirm the other. Hence the suspicious and jealous
eye with which we ought to regard all those principles
which we have at first adopted without due examination, -a duty doubly incumbent on those whose onin.




'OFFICE OF REASON.             433
ions are likely, from their rank and situation in society,
to influence those of the multitude, and whose errors
may eventually be instrumental in impairing the morals and the happiness of generations yet unborn.
2. A second instance in which the exercise of reason
may be requisite for an enlightened discharge of our
duty occurs in those cases where there appears to be
an interference between different duties, and where of
course it seems to be necessary to sacrifice one duty io
another.
In the course of the foregoing speculations, i have
frequently taken notice of the coincidence of all our
virtuous principles of action in pointing out to us the
same line of conduct; and of the systematical consistency and harmony which they have a tendency to pro.
duce in the moral character.  Notwithstanding, however; this general and indisputable fact, it must be
owned that cases sometimes occur in which they see-<
at first view to interfere with each other, and in which,
ot consequence, the exact path of duty is not altogether so obvious as it commonly is. Thus, every man
feels it incumbent on him to have a constant regard ti-o
the welfare of society, and also to his own, happiness.
On the whole, these two interests will be found, by the
most superficial inquirer, to be inseparably conne.teti;
but, at the same time, it cannot be denied that cases
may be fancied in which it seems necessary to make a
sacrifice of the one to the other.
In such cases, when the public happiness is very
great, and the private comparatively inqonsiderable,
there is no room for hesitation; but the former may be
easily conceived to be diminished, and the latter to b,
increased, to such an amount as to render the exact
propriety of conduct very doubtful; more especially
when it is considered, that, cceteris paribus, a certain
degree of preference to ourselves is not only justifiable,
but morally right. In like manner, the attachments of
nature or of friendship, or the obligations of gratitude,
of veracity, or of justice, may interfere with private or
public good; and it may not be easy to say, whether
37




434       NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
all of these obligations may not sometimes be superseded by paramount considerations of utility. At least,
these are points on which moralists have been arguing
for some thousands of years, without having yet come
to a determination in which all parties are agreed. It
is much in the same manner that the different founda
lions of property may give rise to different claims; ani
it may be exceedingly difficult to determine, among a
variety of titles, which of them is entitled to a preference over the others.
The considci'ation of these nice and puzzling questions in the science of ethics has given rise in modern
times to a particular department of it, distinguished by
the title of casuistry.
3. When the ends at which our duty prompts us to
aim are to be accomplished by means which require
choice and deliberation.
Even if the whole of virtue consisted in following
steadily one principle of action, still reason would be
necessary to direct us to the means. The truth is, nature only recommends certain ends, leaving to ourselves
the selection of the most efficient means by which these
ends may be obtained. Thus all moralists, whatever
may be their particular system, agree in this, that it is
one 4f the chief branches of' our duty to promote to
the utmost of our power the happiness of that society
of which we are members; but the most ardent zeal
for the attainment of this object can be of no avail,
unless reason be employed both in ascertaining what
are the real constituents of social and political happiness, and by what means this happiness may be most
effectually advanced and secured.
It is owing to the last of these considerations that
the study of happiness, both private and public, becomes
an important part of the science of ethics. Indeed,
without this study, the best, dispositions of the heart,
whether relating to ourselves or to others, may be in a
great measure useless.
The subject of happiness, so far as relates to the individual, has been already considered. The great extent




OFFICE OF REASON.             4
and difficulty of those inquiries which have for their
object to ascertain what constitutes the happiness of a
community, and by what means it may be most effectually promoted, make it necessary to separate them
from the other questions of ethics. and to form theru
into a distinct branch of the science.
It is not, however, in this respect alone that politics is
connected with the other branches of moral philosophy.
The provisions which Nature has made for the intellectual and moral progress of the species all suppose the
existence of the political union; and the particular
form which this union happens in the case of any community to assume, determines many of the most important circumstances in the character of the people,
and many of those opinions and habits which affect the
happiness of private life.
These observations, which represent politics as a
branch of moral philosophy, have been sanctioned by
the opinions of all those authors, both in ancient and
modern times, by whom either the one or the other has
been cultivated with much success. Among the former it is sufficient to mention the names of Plato and
Aristotle, both of whom, but more especially the latter,
have left us works on the general principles of policy
and government, which may be read with the highest
advantage at the present day. As to Socrates, his
studies seem to have been chiefly directed to inculcate
the duties of private life; and yet, in the beautiful enumeration which Xenophon has given of his favorite
pursuits, the science of politics is expressly mentioned
as an important branch of the philosophy oft' human nature. " As for himself, man, and what related to man,
were the only subjects on which he chose to employ
himself. To this purpose, all his inquiries and conversations turned on what was pious, what impious;
what honorable, what base; what just, what unjust;
what wisdom, what folly; what courage, what cowardice; what a state or political community; what the
character of a statesman or a politician; what a govern.
melt of men, what the character of one equal to such




436           NATURE  AND  ESSENC   OF'VIRTUE.
a government.   It was on these  and  other matters of
the same kind that he used  to  discourse, in which  subjects those who were knowing he used to esteem men
of honor and goodness, and  those  who were ignorant,
to be no better than the basest of slaves." *
APPENDIX TO BOOK IV.
SINCE  the  publication  of  Mr. Stewart's work, two
theories on the nature of virtue have appeared and attracted considerable notice in  England  and  this country; one  by  Sir James  Mackintosh, and  the  other by
Jouffroy. A succinct account of each will be given in
this Appendix.t
SECTION I.
SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH'S THEORY  OF  MORALS.
I. His Distinction betlween tlhe Theory of Moral Sentiments  and  the  Crilerion  of  Morality.]   Mackintosh
has, with great propriety, insisted upon the  importance
of a distinction of two parts of moral philosophy which
* Memor., Lib. I. Cap. I.
[By reason, in this chapter, we are to understand the discnrsiive reason, or
reasoning.  We have seen that Mr. Stewart, after Price, is disposed to refer the origin of moral distinctions to the inltuiti/e reason. - ID.]
t The first is taken firomn 1)r. Whewell's Preface to his edition of Mackintosh's Dissertation on the Proqress of EJthical Philosophy; the second from
Jouffroy himself, mostly from  the twenty-ninth and thirtieth Lectures ot
his Cborrs de Droit \ttUrel. being part of the third volume, published sirnc
his death, and not yet translated into English. His criticism of other theories is taken firom the twentv-second Lecture.
The object of this work does not lead me to notice German speculations
on ethics not yet naturalized amongst us.  Those who wish to pursue the
study in that dlirection must read Kant, Grundlel/un  zir.1iet(lp)ysik der
Sitten; an(l Critik der )praktischen Vernaunfi.  (Most of Kant's ethical writings have been translated into English by J. W. Selnple, under the title
of The Metat,hysic.of Ethics.)  Schleierniacher, Entwr.f eines Systems det
Sittenlehre. Hegel, Grundlinien der Philosophie des Reclts.- ED.




SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH'S THEORY.        437
are often confounded; — the theory of moral sentiniments,
and the criterion of morality.  The question of the independent existence and character of the moral faculty
belongs to the former division of the subject; the construction of our system of ethics flows from the latter.'I'There is no necessary collision between doctrines on
tilese two points. We may hold that morality is an
ociiginal quality of actions, and may still form our rules
of morality by tracing the consequences of actions.
This distinction has often been neglected.  Those
-who hold that utility constitutes morality often call upon the advocates of a moral sense to show how the assertion of such a faculty leads us to distinguish right
from wrong, or how it can supersede the criterion of
general utility. To this it may be replied, that the existence of a moral conscience in man is an important
truth, but that this truth alone cannot be expected to
replace all the principles and deductions by which a
sound system of philosophical ethics is to be produced;
that the construction of such a system is undoubtedly
a difficult problem, but that we shall inevitably obtain
all erroneous solution of the problem, if we do not
take into our account the operation of the moral faculty. The criterion of utility cannot safely be applied
without acknowledging the independent value of morality, any more than the moral faculty can always
decide well without the consideration of consequences.
For among the most important results of actions, we
must include their effect upon the moral habits and
feelings of men'; and must consider these effects as
claiming attention for their own sake. The promotion
of human virtue must be our aimrn, as well as the augmentation of human happiness.  We cannot by any
analysis exclude the former of these ends; happiness
depends on the exercise of the virtuous affections, far
more clearly than virtue depends on the pursuit of
happiness.  The most wise and moderate of the utilitarian moralists do, accordingly, apply their method in
this manner. Thus Paley, in estimating the guilt of
corrupting a person to the commission of one offence,
37 




438       NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
states it as one ground of condemnation, that such seduction is the destruction of the person's moral principle.*  And it appears, at present, to be generally allowed, that the utilitarian doctrine cannot be applied
without considering the effect on the moral feelings of
men as among the important consequences of action.
" It often happens," it is said, " that an essential part
of the morality or immorality of an action, or a rule
of action, consists in its influence on the agent's own
mind."  "Many  actions, moreover, produce effects on
the characters of other persons besides the agents."'I'he effects here spoken of are, in fact, effects on the
moral habits of thought; and thus the existence of the
moral attributes of the mind, as original and independent objects of the attention of the ethical philosopher,
is presupposed in this mode of applying the utilitarian
schleme.
If; indeed, we take such good and bad consequences
into the account,- if, among the useful effects of actions, we conceive the most useful to be the improverment of man's moral character, - if we frame our rules
so that they shall conduce as much as possible to virtuous feeling as well as to beneficial action, to purity of
heart as well as to rectitude of conduct, - if we aim at
man's general well-being, and not merely at his gratification, - I know not what moralist would object to a criteriol- of morality so drawn from consequences, or would
deny that the promotion of human happiness, and that of
human virtue, require the same practical rules.  Mackintosh would undoubtedly have assented to this; for
he rnot only allows the universal coincidence of virtue
mwith utility in the largest sense, but founds his recommendation of the highest forms of virtue on the advantage of virtuous habits and feelings, both to the possessor and to the community; as when he speaks of
the trite example of Regulus, of the character of Andrew Fletcher, and of the virtue of courage.t  If we
* Moral Philosophy, Book III. Part III. Chap. III.
t See the extract from him on the followers of Bentham in this vol.
ume.




SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH'S THiORY.         4t39
could take into due account the whole value of right
principles, and the whole happiness produced by virtuous feelings, we could commit no practical error in
making the advantageous consequences of actions the
measure of their morality.
But this can happen only by considering moral good
as a primary object, valuable for its own sake; not by
supposing that virtue is aimed at, as subservient to
some other purpose of more genuine utility: and no
sagacity or fairness in estimating useful consequences
can stand as a substitute for the love of right itsel'.
It is true that honesty is the best policy; but he wlo
is honest only out of policy does not come up even
to the vulgar notion of a virtuous man.  If a man
were tempted by the opportunity of gaining a large
estate through a safe but fraudulent proceeding, the
utilitarian doctrine would seem to recommend him to
weigh both sides well, though it would direct him
in conclusion to decide in favor of probity; but the
common judgment of mankind would hardly deem
him  honest if he hesitated at all.  And in like manner
in regard to other temptations, the safety of virtue appears to consist so little in tracing all possible consequences, that it has been held that to deliberate is to
be lost, and that the only secure protection is that
purity of mind which will not look at the prospect of
sensual pleasure when it forms one side of the account.
We cannot help saying, with Cicero, " Hoc nonne est
turpe dubitare philosophos, qua  ne rustici quidem
dubitent? " "
Indeed, it appears to be acknowledged by the advocates of the rule of utility, that it is not safe to
apply the principle separately in each particular case.
Mr. Bentham  has urged, with great beauty of expression,t the propriety of framing general rules, and conforming our practice invariably to these, so as to avoid
the temptations of our frailty and passion in particular
* De Qff, Lib. III. 19. " Is it not base for philosophers to doubt where
even peasants do not hesitate? "
t Deontoloqy, Part II. Chap. I.




440       NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
instances. If a reverence for general maxims of mo.
rality, and a constant reference to the common precepts
of virtue, take the place, in the utilitarian's mind, of the
direct application of his principle, there will remain
little difference between him and the believer in original moral distinctions; for the practical rules of the
two will rarely differ, and in both systems the rules
will be the moral guides of thought and conduct.
But though the two schools agree so far, there still
will be found a deficiency on the part of the consistent
utilitarian. A persuasion that moral good is something different from, and superior to, mere pleasure, is
requisite to, give to our preference of it that tone of
enthusiasm  and affection which belongs to virtuous
feeling. To approve a rule as right, is different from
liking it as profitable; to admire an act of virtuous
self-devotion as we are capable of admiring, is a feeling so different from the apprehension of any usefulness the act may have, that the comparison of the two
things is altogether incongruous. The moral faculty
converts our perception of the quality of actions into
an affection of the strongest kind; nor can we be satisfied with any account of our moral sentiments which
excludes this feature in the process. Thus, as we hold
the affections to be motives of an order superior to the
desires which have reference to ourselves only, we
maintain the moral faculty, the conscience, the affection towards duty, to be a principle of action of an
order superior both to the desires and to the other affections.  Without the acknowledgment of this subordination, the language and feelings of men when they
compare the claims of personal pleasure, of social affection, and of duty, are altogether unintelligible and
absurd.
II. He refers the Formation of our Active Principles
to the Association of Ideas.]  I proceed to notice another principle which enters into Mackintosh's philoso.
phy, and which, in the way in which he holds it, constitutes one of his leading peculiarities. He assents,




SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH'S THEORY.        441
in a great measure, to the explanation suggested by
Hurme and Smith, but more fully developed by Hartley,
of the formation of our passions and affections, and even
of our sentiments of virtue and duty, by means of the
association of ideas.
1. But into this view, as usually understood, he introduces several modifications; and, in particular, he
asserts that the effect of such "association" may be
something very different from the mere juxtaposition
of the component elements. Thus he says that the
result may be so entirely a single sentiment, that " the
originally separate feelings can no longer be disjoined ";
and, moreover, that " the compound may have properties not to be found in any of its component parts ";
as constantly happens, he observes, in material compounds.
It is clear that this view of the effect of the " association of ideas " may give results very different from
those often founded upon that doctrine.  If we say
that gratitude, or compassion, or patriotism, are only
certain trains of pleasurable associations, -we are generally understood to assert that we can again resolve
those feelings into the constituent and associated elements; and that by so doing we may hope to reason
upon them  most philosophically and exactly.  Blut
Mackintosh's mode of considering these and other emotions would allow of neither of these inferences.  He
supposes'" association " to be employed in the education rather than in the creation of our moral sentiments; in awakening affections rather than in connecting notions.
2. The ideas or the feelings which are concerned in
this process are said to be associated; but this is, he declares, a very inadequate word to express the "' con plete
combination and fusion " which occur.  This association presupposes laws and powers of the mind itself,
according to which the conjunction produces its results.
The celebrated comparison of the mind to a sheet of
white paper is not just, except we consider that there
may be in the paper itself many circumstances which




442        NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
affect the nature of the writing.  A recent writer, ho(wever, appears to me to have supplied us with a much
more apt and beautiful comparison.  Man's soul at
first, says Professor Sedgwick, is one unvaried blank,
till it has received the impressions of external experience. " Yet has this blank," he adds, " been already
touched by a celestial hand; and, when plunged in the
colors which surround it, it takes not its tinge from accident, but design, and comes out covered with a glorious pattern."   This modern image of the mind as a
prepared blank is well adapted to occupy a permanent
place in opposition to the ancient sheet of white paper.
3. Not only the word association, but also the word
ideas, in the Lockian expression, appears to Mackintosh
to be unsuited to its purpose, since an association takes
place " of thoughts with emotions, as well as with each
other." Our author has indeed shown great solicitude
to bring into clear view that part of our nature which
he here distinguishes from thought; — " that other part
of it, hitherto without any adequate name, which feels,
an(d desires, and loves, and hopes, and wills." After
balancing the various terms which may be used to express the aggregate of such feelings, hie inclines finally
to call it the emotive part of man.
Thus the " association of ideas," according to Mackintosh, would more properly be termed the composition
of ideas and emotions.  In his view of the composite,
as losing all trace of apparent composition, the author
wavs, in some measure, following Hartley, though he
justly claims the credit of seeing more distinctly than
his predecessors the important truth, that the compound may have properties not found in any of its
component parts.
4. Mackintosh maintains that this is by no means a
modification of the selfish system; for the " affections
and the moral sentiments, though educed by association, only become what they are when they lose all
trace of self-regard."  " If the affections be acquired,
"Discourse on the Studies of the University, p. 54.




SIR JAMES MIACKINTOSH S THEORY.                443
they are justly called  natural; and  if their origin be
personal, their nature may and does become disinterested."
III. His Theory of Conscience.] But we must now
consider another peculiarity of Mackintosh's system: I
speak of what he names his theory of conscience.
1. The agreeable or painful sentiment, naturally attending certain emotions, is transferred, by association
of ideas, to the volitions and acts which they produce;
anl( thus, in the end, these volitions and acts become
the inmmediale objects of our love or repugnance.  According to Mackintosh's theory, the moral faculty consists of this class of secondary  desires and affections
which have dispositions and volitions for their sole object.  This description of our moral sentiments will, he
conceives, explain their peculiar character and attributes.  He expresses the relation  which he wishes to
ascribe, by saying that the moral sentiments are in
contact iwith the will; or, as he further elucidates this,
" they may and do stand  between any other practical
principle and its object, while it is absolutely impossible
that any other shall intercept their connection with the
will."   The conscience requires virtuous acts and dispositions to  action; and  by such  requisition  it canll
check and control any desires of external objects; but
no desire of any outward gratification can prevent the
conscience from  demanding a virtuous direction of the
will; and  this mental relation  explains and justifies,
Mackintosh conceives, that attribution  of siipremrna(c
and command to the conscience on which moral.l writtl'.
have often insisted.*
* In his remarks on Butler he says:-" The truth seems to be, that the
moral sentiments, in their mature state, are a class offeelings which have se
other object but the mental dispositions leading to voluntary action. and the voluntary actions which fiown fom these dispositions. We are pleased with some
dispositions and actions, and displeased with others, in ourselves acri:lr
fellows. We desire to cultivate the dispositions, and to perform:re actions, which we contemplate with satisfaction.  These objects, like all
those of human appetite or desire, are sought for their own sake. The
Deculiarity of these desires is, that their gratification requires the use of no




444           NATURE  AND  ESSENCE  OF  VIRTUE.
2. Thus conscience consists in, or rather results from,
the  composition  of all those  sentiments of whiclh the
final object is a state of the will. intimately  and  inseparably blended, and held  in a perfect state of solution;
and the conscience being thus representted as analogous
to  the  desires, it implies, in  the  same way  as  otilii
desires, a  sense  of what is grateful, and  a  iaculty  of
dwelling, in thought, on the gratification so obtained.
3. But if, in  order further to  develop  this  theory, it
be asked what states of the will are  thus  agreeable  to
imeans. Nothing (unless it he a volition) is interposed between the desires
nnd the voluntary act. It is impossille, therefore, that these p)assionsl
sliould undergo any change by transfer fiom the end to the mniens, as is;
the case with other practical principles.  On the other hand, as soon as
tlhev are fixed on these ends, they cannot regard any further object. AWhen
another passion prevails over them, the end of the moral faculty is con
verted into a means of gratification. But volitions and actions are not
themselves the end, or last object in view, of any other desire or aversicn.  Nothing stands between the moral sentiments and their object.
Thlc  are, as it were, in contact with the will. It is this sort of mental
position, if the expression may be pardoned, that explains, or seems to
cplailn, those characteristic properties which true philosophers ascribe to
them, and whtich all reflecting men feel to belong to them.  Being the
only desires, aversions, sentiments, or emotions which regard dispositions
and actions, they necessarily extend to the whole character antd conduct.
Among   motives to action, they alone are justly considered as un,iacersasl.'ev manny and do stand between any other practical principle and its ohbercti  while it is absolutely impossible that another shall intercept their
connection with the will. Be it observed, that, thouih nmainny passions!,evail over thetn, no other can act beyond its own appointed a;nd limitud
sl:lere'; and that the prevalence itself, leaving the natiural order mlldistiull ed in any other part of the mind, is perceived to be a disorder. when
seen in another n-an, and felt to be so by the mind disordered, when the
disorderi subsidQe.  Conscience may forbid tie will to contribute to the
g:ratification of: (lesire. No desire ever forb)ids will to obey conscietnce.
lThis resani of the peculiar relation of conscience to the will justifies
those metaphorical expressions which ascribe to it (tdlthorit  anti the rig'ht
of  lniveru sal conana7ad. It is imanltable; for, by the law which retulates all
feelings, it must rest on caction, which is its ob)iect. and be ond lwhicnh it
cannot look: and as it employs no 7means, it never can l)e transferred to
le:arer objects, in the way in which he wvho first desires an object, as a means
of gratification, may come to seek it as his end   Another r(nImarkatll e peciiarity is bestowed on the moral feelings by the nature of their o!je('t.
As the objects of all other desires are outward, the satisfaiction of them
may be frustrated by outward causes.  The moral sentitments may always
be fratified, because voluntary actions and moral dispositions spring from
within. No external circumstance affects them. Hence their indepe ndence.
As the moral sentiment needs no means, and the desire is instantaneoutsly
followed by the volition, it seems to be either that which first suggests t'he




SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH S THEORY.                     445
the  conscience, or, in  other words, swhat, according  to
this system, is the general character of the  dispositions
and actions which we consider good  and  right, Mackintosh's  answer would  be, that the  conscience, being
educated  and  awakened  by certain  processes of association, is thus composed of various elements, and finds
good under various formss; - that the beneficial volitions are delightful, and  that, therefore, they  strongly
attract those atfections which regard  the will, and  thus
give  rise  to  some  of the  elements of conscience;   -
relation between commnand and obedience, or at least that which affords the
simplest instance of it. It is therefore with the most rigorous precision
that authority and universality are ascribed to them.  Their only unfortunate property is their too frequent weakness; but it is apparent that it is
from that circumstanc e alone that their failure arises. Thus considered,
the language of Butler concerning conscience, that, "had it strengtli as it
has ri(ht, it would govern the world," which may seem to be only an effusion of generous feeling, proves to be a just statement of the nature and
action of the higrhest of human faculties.  The union of universality, immutability, and independence with direct action on the will, which distinguishes the moral sense from  every other part of our practical natu,.e,
iriiders it scarcelv  metaphorical language to ascribe to it unhounded sovc!:eignty and awful authority over the whole of the world within, - shows
that attributes, well denoted by terms sigrnificant of comnnmand and control,
are, in fact, inseparable fiom  it, or rather constitute its very essence,
justifies those ancient moralists who represent it as alone securing, if' not
formingr, the moral liberty of man; and finally, when religrion rises finom
its roots in virtuous feelingr, it clothes conscience with the sublime chllaracter of representing the Divine purity and majesty in the human soul.  Its
title is not impaired by any number of defeats; for every defeat necessarily
disposes the disinterested and dispassionate by-stander to wish that its
force were strengthened: and thouglh it Inay be doubted whether, con-istently with the present conistitution of human nature, it could be so invigorated as to be the only motive to action, yet every such by-stander rejoices
at all accessions to its force, and would ownn tl;t man becornes happlier,
more excellent, more estimable, more vencrable, in proportion as c(onscience acquires a power of banishinig malevolent passionls, of strongly
curbing all the private appetites, of influencing  and luiding the benevolent affections themselves."' To illustrate this more fully, we cite what he says in his " General
Remarks ": -- " When the social affections are thus formed, they atre naturally followed in every instance by the will to do whatever can promote
their ohject. Compassion excites a voluntary detelrmination to do whatever relieves the person pitied.  The like process must occur in every case
of gratitude, generosity, and affection.  Nothitn  so uniformlv follows- the
kind disposition as the act of will, because it is the only me~ans by which
the benevolent desire can be gratified. The result of w hat Brown jlustly
calls'a finer analysis' shows the mental contiguity of the affection to
the volition to be much closer than aptears on a coarser examination of.28




446           NATURE  AND  ESSENCE  OF  VIRTUE.
that our anger against those who  disappoint our wish
for the  happiness of others, when  in  like  manner detached  from   persons  and  transferred  to  dispositions,
becomes a sense of justice, another element of conscience; — that courage, energy, decision, when  tamed
by the society of the affections, and considered as dispositions only, become magnanimity, and gratify the
moral sense; -  and that even those habits which mainly affect our own good, as temperance, prudence, when
they  become  disposition  and  not calculation, are, for
like reasons, added to the constituents of conscience.
4. Thus the  view  of the  nature  of conscience  here
presented  explains  how  it is that the  private  desires
and the social affections alike fall under the authority
of the moral faculty. The explanation of this conmmunity of rule in sentiments of so widely different
nature, Mackintosh considers a strong confirmation of
the justice of his opinion.
IV. Inferences deduced from  this Theory.]   Without
pronouncing a judgment on  the  truth of this theory, I
this part of our nature. No wonder, then, that the strongest association,
the most active power of reciprocal suggestion. should subsist between
them.  As all the affections are delidghtful, so the volitions, voluntarv acts
which are the only means of their gratification. become agreeable objects
of coltemplation to the mind.  The hatl)itual disposition to perfolrml them
is felt ill ourselves, and observed in others, with satisfatction. As these feelings become niore lively. tlhe absence of them  mayv be viewed in ourselves
with a pain, in others with an alienationl, capable of indefinite increase.
They )bccome entirely independent sentiments  still, however, receivieng
constant supplies of nourishment fiom  their parent affections. which, in
wvell-balanced minds, recilprocally strcentlen each other; unlike the unkind passions, which are constantly en(aged in the most angry c(onflicts
of civil war.  In this state, ve desire to experience these beeficelt vo/itions, to cultivate a disposition towards them, and to do every correspondent voluntary act.  They are for their own sake the objects of desire.
They tlhus constitute a large portion of those emotions. desires, and afiections, which re(g.trd certain dispositions of the miind and determinations of
tihe will as their sole and ultimate end.  These are what are called the
moral sense, the moral sentiments, or best, thotugh most simply, by the
ancient name of Co(bscierce; which has the mecrit, in our languaage, of beilln aprplied to no other purpose, which peculiarly marks the strong workin!r of these feeling's on conduct, and which, from  its solemn and sacred
character, is well adapted to denote the venerable authority of the highest
priinciple  of ulnman nature"




SIR JAMES MACKINTOSHES THEORY.        447
hope I have faithfully represented the author's meaning.
But he draws from  the theory certain inferences, of
which I may say a few words.
1. Mackintosh, as we have seen, maintains that,
though the moral faculty is formed or educed by intercourse with the external world, it is a law of our nature; yet he allows that what this law prescribes agrees
with the rule, rightly understood, of bringing forth the
greatest happiness.  He was, therefore, naturally ca.led
upon to account for this coincidence.  If moral approval be a different sentiment from the estimation of
general happiness, why does the moral sense of man
invariably approve that which increases the happiness
of his species?  If this theory account for this phenomenon, such a circumstance will, he conceives, be a
strong argument in its favor.
He replies to this inquiry, that all the separate objects which conscience approves, the social affections,
the decisions of justice, the maxims of enlightened prudence, tend to the happiness of some part of' the species,
anid that thus the general rules of conscience must
agree with the rules of the general happiness. All the
acts  which the moral faculty sanctions promote the
welfare of some part of mankind, and all that reason
has to do is to add up the items of the account. All
tle principles of which conscience is composed converge towards the happiness of man; and therefore
this may be taken as its central point. And thus the
coincidence just noticed is not accidental, but is a necessary consequence of the theory.
I will add, as a corollary to what Mackintosh has
said, that a system of ethics, rightly constructed on the
principle of promoting, in the greatest degree, the happiness of mankind, will coincide, in most of its rules
of action, with a system  founded on the supreme authority of conscience; but that, in order to apply safely
and wxell the eudemonist principle, we must recollect
that happiness consists rather in habits of the mind
than in outward gratifications, and is to be sought
rather by forming moral dispositions than by prescrib



448       NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
ing acts. In Paley's AlToral Philosophy, we have a work
framed on the eudemonist basis, which has for some
time possessed considerable authority in this country,
and has probably in no small degree influenced men's
reasonings on such subjects in recent times.  WVithout
examining here how far Paley has always applied his
principle under due conditions, and traced his consequences with a sufficiently e nlarged survey, we may
observe that there prevails through the work a tone of
practical sagacity, good sense, and good feeling, which
neutralizes most of its theoretical defects.
2. Some other bearings of Mackintosh's theory may
be noticed, and especially the view it offers of the relation of religion and morality. This agrees nearly
with the doctrine of Butler, and many English divines,
that conscience is one of the ways in which the commands of God are conveyed to us. " The completeness and rigor acquired by conscience, when all its dictates are revered as the commands of a perfectly good
and wise Being, are so obvious, that they cannot be
questioned by any reasonable man, however wide his
incredulity may be. It is thus that conscience can add
the warmth of an affection to the inflexibility of principle and habit."  Not only are we bound to accept all
the precepts for the moral government of the will, disclosed either by revelation or by reason, as undeniable
rules for our feelings and actions; but the relations between man and his Maker which religion teaches us
tend to make this a work of love, no less than of dutv.
and bestow on that improvement of our inward nature
to which conscience is constantly urging us an aspect
of hope and joy, which human morality, without such
aid, can hardly assume, and seldom long retain.
3. I will only refer to one other consequence of this
theory of conscience of Mackintosh; — the view it a)pears to hirn to supply of the celebrated question of
free will. Since conscience contemplates those dispositions only which depend on the will, it excludes all
consideration of the cause in which the will originated:
hence the voluntary dispositions appear as the first link




JOUFFROY'S THEORY.               449
of the chain; and, in the eye of conscience, xx ill is the
independent cause of action.  Reason, on the other
hand, must consider occurrences as bound together by
the connection of cause and effect, and thus sees only
the strength of the necessitarian systemin.  Thus, while
speculation appears to show that our actions are necessa~'y, practice convinces us that they are free.  The advocates of necessity and of free will look at the questioll from different points of view; —that of the Ulderstanding and that of the conscience.  But the conscientious view, being strengthened by the moral sympathy of mankind, is by far the most generally and
strongly entertained.
SECTION II.
JOUFFROY S THEORY OF MORALS.
I. His Criticism of other Theories.]  Observation attests, and reason conceives, that every human action
must have a motive and an end.  In seeking to determine what are the distinct ends of human action, we
find that they may be reduced to three: first, the peculiar object of some one natural desire; secondly, the
complete satisfaction of our whole nature, or the pleasure which accompanies this satisfaction; thirdly, that
which is good in itself. We find, also, that all the distinct motives of' human action may be reduced to three,
which correspond to these three ends: first, sorme natural instinct; secondly, a desire of secondary formation,
which we call self-love, or the desire of happiness;
thirdly, obligation.  From  these arise three  simple
forms of determination, not to speak of those mixed
forms which result from the different possible combinations of these three ends and mrotives.
This being premised, we apply the name of good to
the following things: —
1. The objects of the different instincts of our nature, - such as food, riches, power, glory, esteem, friendship, - each of which we call good. Good, in this first
38*




450       NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
acceptation, signifies whatever is fitted to satisfy some
desire; so that there are as many varieties of good as
there are desires.
2. The greatest satisfaction of our nature; which is,
in other words, either its greatest good or its greatest
happ)iness, according as we consider its satisfaction in
itself, or the consequence of this, which is pleasure.
Here, the word good represents no longer the object of
a desire and its satisfaction, but the greatest satisfaction of all our desires.  Different persons may understand this good in their own way, but each has the
idea of such a good.
3. Good in itself.  By good, in this last acceptation,
we mean, not that which is good in reference to ourselves, but that which is good independently of ourselves and of every human being, - good in itself, and
absolutely.  There can be but one such good as this,
although there may be as many kinds of good of the
second class as there are beings, and as many of the
first as there are desires in individuals.
4. The conformity of the voluntary action of a free
and intelligent being to absolute good.  The word
good, in this last acceptation, represents that quality of
the conduct of intelligent and free individuals which
malkes it contlortnable to absolute good.  This is virtue, morality, moral good.
Such are the facts, at least as they appear to me.
Ethical systems become false by misconceiving or mutilating these facts more or less.  The system  that
mutilates them  the most is the selfish system; for it.
entirely effaces the distinctions just pointed out, and
reduces all these facts to one,    a voluntary and determined pursuit of personal good.  The instinctive or
sentimental system  is less at variance with the truth.
it recognizes two ends and two motives, —the end
and( motive of instinct, and the end and motive of
self-love;- but, in all else, it misconceives the reality.
The system  maintained by Price and Stewart comes
much nearer to the truth.  This recognizes three mo
tives and three ends; but it gives a false description




JOUFFROY'S THEORY.             451
of the third, and alters its nature by overlooking the
distinction between absolute good and moral good. It
confounds these two facts, which, though united, are
distinct, and forms of them a single fact, that retains
the qualities of neither the one nor the other exclusively, and thus, by blending them, mutilates both.
According to Price and Stewart, the idea of r(iod is
only all idea of a quality in actions recognized by inhtitive reason; so that, beyond actions, there is nothing
that is good, and, if there were no actions, good would
r:case to be.
In my opinion, this is true only of moral good.  1
grant the idea of moral good is the idea of a certain
quality in actions, —a quality which really exists in
them, and which my reason discovers. If there were
no actions, this quality, and consequently moral good,
would have no existence. The idea alone would exist.
and this would be the idea of a possible quality of
possible actions. But, in my opinion, moral good, oi
this particular quality, is not an intrinsic attribute ot
certain actions, as a round form is of certain bodies.
It is, on the contrary, a relation existing, between actions and an end, namely, absolute good; these actions may or may not tend to this end, by relation to
which they are good when they tend towards it, and
bad when they do not. This end is good itn itself; it
is the only absolute good, and whatever else is good
derives this character merely from being related to it.
This end is the reality which the word good represents;
the idea of it is perfectly equivalent to the idea of rood,
and, in fact, these two ideas are identical.
In what way, according to my view, is good perceived? The process is as follows: As good and evil,
in conduct and actions, depend upon their conformity
or their nonconformity to absolute good, it is evident
that, for me, they have no such character, unless I have
attained to the idea of this absolute good. It is on
the occasion of actions, to be sure, that this idea of
good is conceived, and the conception may be more or
less clear in my mind; but, clear or obscure, this idea




452       NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
must still precede any judgment as to particular actions.  Thus, in my system, moral conceptions must
necessarily originate in the idea of,ood in itself.
II. IHis Account of the Origin of our Ideas of Absolute Good and of iforal Obligation.]  The solution of
the moral problem is found in certain self-evident truths,
conceived a priori by the reason, the immediate consequence of which is a clear (lefinition of good, and this
supplies us with a precise method for determining in
what it consists for every possible being.  What the
truths are, and how they lead to this double consequence, I am going briefly to indicate.
The first of these truths is the principle, that every
being has an end; it has all the evidence, all the universality, all the necessity, of the principle of causality,
and our reason_ is as unable to conceive of an exception to one as to the other. It has, also, the fecundity;
for, having penetrated into our intelligence, it gives
birth to other truths contained impliedly in it, and
these cast on the end of things the same light which
the truths emanating from  the principle of causality
cast on their origin.
Indeed, if it is true that every being has an end, then
it is true that I have one, that you have one, that there
is no created being which has not one. Now in casting our eyes over the world, or over that part of it with
which we are acquainted, we perceive that, if all beings
have an end, this end is not uniform for all; for, as far
as our observation extends, each class of beings develops itself in its own way, and aspires to an end
peculiar to itself.  As soon, therefore, as we have conceived that every being has an end, we gather from  experience another truth, namely, that this end differs in
different beings, each being having an emnd peculiar to
ilself.
And this second discovery is not slow to introduce a
third, narnely, that a relation exists between the end of
each being and its nature, the diversity or peculiarity
iln the end corresponding to the diversity or peculiarit3




JOUFFROTYS THEORY-               453
in the nature. Clearly, if each being has its appro.
priate end, it must have received an organization
adapted to this end, and apt to attain it.  It would be
a contradiction to suppose an end to be imposed on a
being whose nature did not contain the means of realizing it.  Experience teaches us that no such contradiction exists in creation; it shows us everywhere the
nature of beings in harmony with their destination,
and a perfect parallelism between diversity of natures
and that of ends; so that this third truth, that thie and
of each b ein<,7 is conformled to its nature, is invested in
our intelligence with the same guaranties of universali
ty as the other two.
By its light you perceive the method for determining
what the true end of any being is. Though the end of
beings is a pure conception, invisible to the observer,
their nature is a reality which we can analyze and investigate; and, as the nature of every being is adapted
to its end, we can find in the first a revelation of the
second. There is, then, a way for discovering the
destiny of beings, - namely, by the study of their nature; whenever the latter is possible, the former can be
determined.
To these truths are soon added two others, which
equal, in evidence and reach, the first. If each being has
its end, then creation itself, whichl emsbraces all beings,
has one. Creation, it is true, cannot be comprehended
by us in its totality; we can take in only a fragment
of it, and this fragment we know in a moment only ol
its duration. The work of God fills space and duration, while all that we can directly seize pertains to
but a point in one, and a moment in the other. Still,
though infinite, and to endure for ever, the same principle applies to it, assuring our reason invincibly that
it has an end.
Moreover, this truth is revealed to us in connection
with the preceding truths, and all together generate still
another. If creation has an end, if each being has its
own end, and if creation is nothing but the assemblage
of all beings, it follows that the relation which exists




ai'.      NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
between the whole and its parts must also exist between the end of the whole and the end of each of the
parts of the whole.  The end of each being is, therefore, an element of the end of creation.  The end of
creation is only the resultant of the particular ends,of
all the beings that people and compose the universe,
while these, in their turn, are only the diverse means
Which concur in the accomplishment of the total and
supreme end. This last conception is not less evident
or less necessary than the rest, flowing, like them, from
the absolute principle that every thing has an end. By
an invincible relation, it attributes the end of all possible beings to a consequence of the creation, and forms
out of all these scattered enlds an harmonious whole,
the concurrence of which aspires to a single aim, -
that, even, which God proposed to himself, when he
allowed the universe to escape from his hands.
This is not all. Other ideas and truths issue from
this principle, that all has an end. The next which I
shall signalize is the idea of order.  The idea of order
is, indeed, but an emanation, a natural and inevitable
consequence of the idea of an end. If creation has
an end, and if this end is nothing but the resultant
of the particular ends of' the beings which compose it,
then the life of creation is nothing else but its movement towards this supreme end, and the movement
itself, in its turn, may be resolved into the several
movements of all created beings towards their respective ends. From the accomplishment of all particular
ends,- accomplishment which is effected simultaneously in all points of space, and successively in all momrents of duration, by the harmonious concurrence of all
berings, executing, each in its sphere and at its hour, the
part with which it has been charged, - results evidently
the universal life, or the accomplishment of the total
end of creation. Now this universal and eternal movement of each thing towards the end which God has assigned to it, and of all things towards the supreme, single, and definitive end of' creation, - this movement,
evidently regular, since it has an aim, is precisely what




JOUFFROY'S TIHEORY.            455
we call order. The only difference between the end of
creation and universal order is, that the end is the aim,
while the order is the regular movement of all in accordance with this aim.
Thus far nothing has been said of morality. The
conceptions just announced to you are only speculative
truths, which reveal to our reason what is, without
teaching it what ought to be done. Such, however, is
their nature, that, when'they have appeared in our intelligence, the idea of what is good, and consequently
of what ought to be done, necessarily follows. It is
impossible for our reason not to pass from this idea
of an end to the idea of good in itself, and from the
idea of order to that of moral good. If there exist in
the world intelligent and free beings, these beings resemble all others in having an end which has been assigned them, and a nature fitted to that end; in other
terms, like all other beings, they are fragments of crea.
tion, and their end is an element of the absolute end
of things. At the same time, they differ from other
creatures, by being endowed with intelligence and liberty;-a difference which produces in them special
and peculiar phenomena. Being intelligent, it is given
them to comprehend this world of which they make
part; to conceive that it has an end, that all beings
have one, and that the end of each being is an element
of the end of all. Being free, it is also given them to
realize voluntarily this end, of which they have formed
a conception, and thus to concur in the accomplishment of the absolute end of things, and contribute
their part to the absolute order, that is to say, to the
universal movement of all things towards an end.
Now that which has been given to these privileged
beings to do, -to these beings endowed by exception
with intelligence and liberty, — is precisely what they
ought, what they are required, what they are obliged,
to do.
To the eye of reason there is a perfect, absolute, ne.
cessary equation between the idea of end and the idea
of good. If it is true that the vworld has an end. it is




456      NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
equally so that this end is absolute good. If it is true
that each being has a special end, then it is true that
the good proper to this being is this end. Again, if it
is true that between the end of each being and the end
of all there is a correlation, so that the end of each being is only an element of the end of all, then it is true
that the good of each being is an element of absolute
good, and that thus the end of each being has the same
nature and the same value as absolute good itself.
Now to what is the idea of obligation invincibly attached?  To the idea of that which is good in itself
and absolutely. What we were ignorant of we now
know; we have a clear conception of it. Good in
itself is no other thing than the end of God in creation,
than the absolute end of things.  Henceforth, this end
appears to us as sacred, and with it all the diverse ends
which are the elements of it, and among these our own,
which is one of them. The accomplishment of our
end, or of our good, with which we are charged by
being made free and intelligent, and -that of the end
or the good of others in so far as we are able to concur
in it, - behold our duty, our rule, our legitimate law.
Here, gentlemen, is morality; we sought it; behold it
found.
I pretend not to say, that all these conceptions, which
constitute logically the foundations of morality, are distinctly unfolded to all minds.  Far from it.  All a
priori conceptions, though absolute and universal in
themselves, reveal themselves and manifest their authority and force, in the first instance, in particular applications. Afterwards, what is universal and absolute
in these particular applications is disengaged for some
mindls, and considered and understood by itself in the
form of necessary and absolute conceptions; for others
it is not. A majority do but take the first step; they
pronounce a particular course of conduct to be according to their nature; that is to say, in conformity
with their end; that is to say, again, what they were
made for. What is common to all minds is the habit
of thus applying these conceptions in particular cases,




JOUFFROY'S THEORY.             457
and this supposes that there is something which they
all feel in common. This something is a confused
idea, a confused sentiment of order, and of the respect
which every reasonable being should pay to it. The
proper and true name of moral good and evil is order
and disorder. When I do evil, I feel myself at war
with order. The least developed, the most darkened
consciences, have this sentiment, as well as the most
enlightened. When I do evil, I feel myself out of
order, in hostility with order; when I do good, I feel
myself in harmony with order; that is to say, in harmony with the absolute and common law of creation.
I am " in the ways of God," as the Scriptures say; for
the ways of God are his designs, the laws that govern
the universe and lead it to its end.
III. His View of the Destiny of Man.]  According to
a preceding formula, we are to determine what a man's
destiny is by the study of his nature; what he was made
for, by considering how he is made. Now by obser.
vation we discover that there are in man instincts, tendencies, desires, by which his nature expresses itself
and reveals itself primitively, and as long as it lives in
this world. He also has faculties, that is, instruments,
answering to his desires and tendencies, and evidently
intended to be the means of satisfying these desires
and tendencies. Again, he possesses a faculty of comprehension, the function of which is to enlighten him
respecting the objects of his desires, and also on the
best way of proceeding in order to satisfy these desires.
Finally, there is in him a directive force, called the will,
or the power of self-control, whose office it is, under
the superior authority of reason and intelligence, or the
comprehending faculty, to direct his instrumental faculties in the best manner for the attainment of the satisfaction of his nature.
Such being the constitution of human nature, we see
that every thing looks to the legitimate, harmonious,
and complete satisfaction of our whole nature; that is
to say, of all its primary and fundamental desires and
39




458      NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
tendencies. This, therefore, speaking absolutely, is its
destiny, its end.
Here, however, we encounter a fact of great moment.
Our conditioin in this world is such, that not one of the
desires and tendencies of our nature is ever completely
satisfied on earth, either in the individual, or in the race
considered collectively. Take curiosity, for example,
or the desire or tendency to know, - its complete satisfaction would be absolute knowledge; or sympathy, -
its complete satisfaction would be the perfect union
and harmony of all beings: neither of which is ever
realized in this world. Let no one object that a different and more perfect organization of society might
bring about these results. Undoubtedly a different and
more perfect organization of society would augment
the sum of the satisfactions of each and of all the
desires and tendencies of our nature; still, absolute
knowledge and a perfect and harmonious union of all
beings in this world would be impossible.
From this incontestable fact, two conclusions of the
highest importance follow.
In the first place, it follows that the absolute end of
man, as determined by his nature, is never realized in
this world, and consequently, that he is not placed here
for the accomplishment of this end.
The question respecting the end of man comes up,
therefore, in another form. What is the end of man
in this life?  Why is he placed amidst a constitution
of things where the free and spontaneous development
of his desires and tendencies is obstructed and hindered,
— where nature around him is not in harmony with
his own nature, making his existence here a perpetual
struggle, a perpetual conflict? Here, again, we must
determine the'end by considering the tendency, and
accordingly we ask, What is the tendency of this constitution of things, as regards man?  Evidently it is
to call out, exercise, and strengthen his self-directing,
self-controlling power, his personal power, that which
mnakes him to be a person, and not a thing, - capable
of virtue, capable of cooperating with God. Suppose




JOUFFROY'S THEORY.           459
we had been placed in a condition in which nothing
opposed or obstructed the accomplishment of our true
end; we should have gone to that end passively, if 1
may use such a term in speaking of an tactive being.
We should have been like the main-spring of a watch,
which, after having been wound up by the hand of its
owner, goes on gradually unwinding itself, marking the
hours until night; but the main-spring has no proper
participation in the effect produced. Whence comes
it that we elevate ourselves from the humble condition
of a being which is only a thing to the sublime condition of a person? It comes from this, that the world
is made as it is; fr,m the rigorous lar, under which we
are born, that we make not a single step towards the
accomplishment of our final destiny but by the sweat
of our brow.
The present life, therefore, with all its difficulties and
obstacles, with all its physical and moral evils, is not
a mistake or an accident. It has not only been explained. but justified; but the justification brings into
view a second consequence, equally important, from
the fact above mentioned. We have seen what the
true and absolute end of man is; we have also seen
that this is not and cannot be accomplished in this
life: hence we conclude that this life is not all. My
nature was made what it is. By virtue of its organization, I feel desires which have an aim and an end;
I have intelligence which comprehends all the reach
of these desires, and sensibility to suffer- pain and
anguish when they die impotent and without satisfaction; and I also have faculties clothed with power
to satisfy these desires, even in the face of difficulties
and obstacles.  All this I comprehend in respect to
my nature. When unhappy in my present condition,
I explain to myself this condition; I see the necessity
and suitableness of it;- all, however, on an hypothesis
which my whole nature cries out for. Is this hypothesis to be regarded as a fanciful chimera? Impossible!
The life to come may be one, or multiple. What we
feel authorized to affirm, under penalty of condemning




460      NATURE AND ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
to absurdity the universe, the world, the present life,
God, every thing, is that this life is not all. Another
life will dawn upon us, in which the accomplishment
of what we have seen to be man's true and absolute
destiny will be possible, -will be complete.
THE END,