PART VI._The Theory of Moral Sentiments Or, an Essay Towards an Analysis of the Principles by Which Men Naturally Judge Concerning the Conduct and Character, First of Their Neighbours, and Afterwards of Themselves. to Which Is Added, a Dissertation on the Origin of Languages.

Of Systems of MORAL PHILOSOPHY.

CONSISTING OF FOUR SECTIONS.

SECTION I.

Of the questions which ought to be examined in a theory of moral

sentiments.

If we examine the most celebrated and remarkable of the different

theories which have been given concerning the nature and origin of our

moral sentiments, we shall find that almost all of them coincide with

some part or other of that which I have been endeavouring to give an

account of; and that if every thing which has already been said be fully

considered, we shall be at no loss to explain what was the view or

aspect of nature which led each particular author to form his particular

system. From some one or other of those principles which I have been

endeavouring to unfold, every system of morality that ever had any

reputation in the world has, perhaps, ultimately been derived. As they

are all of them, in this respect, founded upon natural principles, they

are all of them in some measure in the right. But as many of them are

derived from a partial and imperfect view of nature, there are many of

them too in some respects in the wrong.

In treating of the principles of morals there are two questions to be

considered. First, wherein does virtue consist? Or what is the tone of

temper, and tenour of conduct, which constitutes the excellent and

praise-worthy character, the character which is the natural object of

esteem, honour, and approbation? and secondly, by what power or faculty

in the mind is it, that this character, whatever it be, is recommended

to us? Or in other words, how and by what means does it come to pass,

that the mind prefers one tenour of conduct to another, denominates the

one right and the other wrong; considers the one as the object of

approbation, honour, and reward, and the other of blame, censure, and

punishment?

We examine the first question when we consider whether virtue consists

in benevolence, as Dr. Hutcheson imagines; or in acting suitably to the

different relations we stand in, as Dr. Clarke supposes; or in the wise

and prudent pursuit of our own real and solid happiness, as has been the

opinion of others.

We examine the second question, when we consider, whether the virtuous

character, whatever it consists in, be recommended to us by self-love,

which makes us perceive that this character, both in ourselves and

others, tends most to promote our own private interest or by reason,

which points out to us the difference between one character and another,

in the same manner as it does that between truth and falsehood; or by a

peculiar power of perception, called a moral sense, which this virtuous

character gratifies and pleases, as the contrary disgusts and displeases

it; or last of all, by some other principle in human nature, such as a

modification of sympathy, or the like.

I shall begin with considering the systems which have been formed

concerning the first of these questions, and shall proceed afterwards to

examine those concerning the second.

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SECTION II.

Of the different accounts which have been given of the nature of virtue.

INTRODUCTION.

The different accounts which have been given of the nature of virtue, or

of the temper of mind which constitutes the excellent and praise-worthy

character, may be reduced to three different classes. According to some,

the virtuous temper of mind does not consist in any one species of

affections, but in the proper government and direction of all our

affections, which may be either virtuous or vicious according to the

objects which they pursue, and the degree of vehemence with which they

pursue them. According to these authors, therefore, virtue consists in

propriety.

According to others, virtue consists in the judicious pursuit of our own

private interest and happiness, or in the proper government and

direction of those selfish affections which aim solely at this end. In

the opinion of these authors, therefore, virtue consists in prudence.

Another set of authors make virtue consist in those affections only

which aim at the happiness of others, not in those which aim at our own.

According to them, therefore, disinterested benevolence is the only

motive which can stamp upon any action the character of virtue.

The character of virtue, it is evident, must either be ascribed

indifferently to all our affections, when under proper government and

direction; or it must be confined to some one class or division of them.

The great division of our affections is into the selfish and the

benevolent. If the character of virtue, therefore, cannot be ascribed

indifferently to all our affections, when under proper government and

direction, it must be confined either to those which aim directly at our

own private happiness, or to those which aim directly at that of others.

If virtue, therefore, does not consist in propriety, it must consist

either in prudence or in benevolence. Besides these three, it is scarce

possible to imagine that any other account can be given of the nature of

virtue. I shall endeavour to shew hereafter how all the other accounts,

which are seemingly different from any of these, coincide at bottom with

some one or other of them.

CHAP. I.

_Of those systems which make virtue consist in propriety._

According to Plato, to Aristotle, and to Zeno, virtue consists in the

propriety of conduct, or in the suitableness of the affection from which

we act to the object which excites it.

I. In the system of Plato[8] the soul is considered as something like a

little state or republic, composed of three different faculties or

orders.

Footnote 8:

See Plato de Rep. lib. iv.

The first is the judging faculty, the faculty which determines not only

what are the proper means for attaining any end, but also what ends are

fit to be pursued, and what degree of relative value we ought to put

upon each. This faculty Plato called, as it is very properly called

reason, and considered it as what had a right to be the governing

principle of the whole. Under this appellation, it is evident, he

comprehended not only that faculty by which we judge of truth and

falsehood, but that by which we judge of the propriety or impropriety of

desires and affections.

The different passions and appetites, the natural subject of this ruling

principle, but which are so apt to rebel against their master, he

reduced to two different classes or orders. The first consisted of those

passions, which are founded in pride and resentment, or in what the

schoolmen called the irascible part of the soul; ambition, animosity,

the love of honour, and the dread of shame, the desire of victory,

superiority, and revenge; all those passions, in short, which are

supposed either to rise from, or to denote what, by a metaphor in our

language, we commonly call spirit or natural fire. The second consisted

of those passions which are founded in the love of pleasure, or in what

the schoolmen called the concupiscible part of the soul. It comprehended

all the appetites of the body, the love of ease and security, and of all

sensual gratifications.

It rarely happens that we break in upon that plan of conduct, which the

governing principle prescribes, and which in all our cool hours we had

laid down to ourselves as what was most proper for us to pursue, but

when prompted by one or other of those two different sets of passions;

either by ungovernable ambition and resentment, or by the importunate

solicitations of present ease and pleasure. But though these two orders

of passions are so apt to mislead us, they are still considered as

necessary parts of human nature: the first having been given to defend

us against injuries, to assert our rank and dignity in the world, to

make us aim at what is noble and honourable, and to make us distinguish

those who act in the same manner; the second to provide for the support

and necessities of the body.

In the strength, acuteness, and perfection of the governing principle

was placed the essential virtue of prudence, which, according to Plato,

consisted in a just and clear discernment, founded upon general and

scientific ideas, of the ends which were proper to be pursued, and of

the means which were proper for attaining them.

When the first set of passions, those of the irascible part of the soul,

had that degree of strength and firmness, which enabled them, under the

direction of reason, to despise all dangers in the pursuit of what was

honourable and noble; it constituted the virtue of fortitude and

magnanimity. This order of passions, according to this system, was of a

more generous and noble nature than the other. They were considered upon

many occasions as the auxiliaries of reason, to check and restrain the

inferior and brutal appetites. We are often angry at ourselves, it was

observed, we often become the objects of our own resentment and

indignation, when the love of pleasure prompts to do what we disapprove

of; and the irascible part of our nature is in this manner called in to

assist the rational against the concupiscible.

When all those three different parts of our nature were in perfect

concord with one another, when neither the irascible nor concupiscible

passions ever aimed at any gratification which reason did not approve

of, and when reason never commanded any thing, but what these of their

own accord were willing to perform; this happy composure, this perfect

and complete harmony of soul, constituted that virtue which in their

language is expressed by a word which we commonly translate temperance,

but which might more properly be translated good temper, or sobriety and

moderation of mind.

Justice, the last and greatest of the four cardinal virtues, took place,

according to this system, when each of those three faculties of the mind

confined itself to its proper office, without attempting to encroach

upon that of any other; when reason directed and passion obeyed, and

when each passion performed its proper duty, and exerted itself towards

its proper object easily and without reluctance, and with that degree of

force and energy, which was suitable to the value of what it pursued. In

this consisted that complete virtue, that perfect propriety of conduct,

which Plato, after some of the ancient Pythagoreans, denominated

Justice.

The word, it is to be observed, which expresses justice in the Greek

language, has several different meanings; and as the correspondent word

in all other languages, so far as I know, has the same, there must be

some natural affinity among those various significations. In one sense

we are said to do justice to our neighbour when we abstain from doing

him any positive harm, and do not directly hurt him, either in his

person, or in his estate, or in his reputation. This is that justice

which I have treated of above, the observance of which may be extorted

by force, and the violation of which exposes to punishment. In another

sense we are said not to do justice to our neighbour unless we conceive

for him all that love, respect and esteem, which his character, his

situation, and his connexion with ourselves, render suitable and proper

for us to feel, and unless we act accordingly. It is in this sense that

we are said to do injustice to a man of merit who is connected with us,

tho’ we abstain from hurting him in every respect, if we do not exert

ourselves to serve him and to place him in that situation in which the

impartial spectator would be pleased to see him. The first sense of the

word coincides with what Aristotle and the Schoolmen call commutative

justice, and with what Grotius calls the _justitia expletrix_, which

consists in abstaining from what is another’s, and in doing voluntarily

whatever we can with propriety be forced to do. The second sense of the

word coincides with what some have called distributive justice[9], and

with the _justitia attributrix_ of Grotius, which consists in proper

beneficence, in the becoming use of what is our own, and in the applying

it to those purposes either of charity or generosity, to which it is

most suitable, in our situation, that it should be applied. In this

sense justice comprehends all the social virtues. There is yet another

sense in which the word justice is sometimes taken, still more extensive

than either of the former, though very much akin to the last; and which

runs too, so far as I know, through all languages. It is in this last

sense that we are said to be unjust, when we do not seem to value any

particular object with that degree of esteem, or to pursue it with that

degree of ardour which to the impartial spectator it may appear to

deserve or to be naturally fitted for exciting. Thus we are said to do

injustice to a poem or a picture, when we do not admire them enough, and

we are said to do them more than justice when we admire them too much.

In the same manner we are said to do injustice to ourselves when we

appear not to give sufficient attention to any particular object of

self-interest. In this last sense, what is called justice means the same

thing with exact and perfect propriety of conduct and behaviour, and

comprehends in it, not only the offices of both commutative and

distributive justice, but of every other virtue, of prudence, of

fortitude, of temperance. It is in this last sense that Plato evidently

understands what he calls justice, and which, therefore, according to

him, comprehends in it the perfection of every sort of virtue.

Footnote 9:

The distributive justice of Aristotle is somewhat different. It

consists in the proper distribution of rewards from the public stock

of a community. See Aristotle Ethic. Nic. l. 5. c. 2.

Such is the account given by Plato of the nature of virtue, or of that

temper of mind which is the proper object of praise and approbation. It

consists, according to him, in that state of mind in which every faculty

confines itself within its proper sphere without encroaching upon that

of any other, and performs its proper office with that precise degree of

strength and vigour which belongs to it. His account, it is evident,

coincides in every respect with what we have said above concerning the

propriety of conduct.

II. Virtue, according to Aristotle[10], consists in the habit of

mediocrity according to right reason. Every particular virtue, according

to him, lies in a kind of middle between two opposite vices, of which

the one offends from being too much, the other from being too little

affected by a particular species of objects. Thus the virtue of

fortitude or courage lies in the middle between the opposite vices of

cowardice and of presumptuous rashness, of which the one offends from

being too much, and the other from being too little affected by the

objects of fear. Thus too the virtue of frugality lies in a middle

between avarice and profusion, of which the one consists in an excess,

the other in a defect of the proper attention to the objects of self

interest. Magnanimity, in the same manner, lies in a middle between the

excess of arrogance and the defect of pusillanimity, of which the one

consists in too extravagant, the other in too weak a sentiment of our

own worth and dignity. It is unnecessary to observe that this account of

virtue corresponds too pretty exactly with what has been said above

concerning the propriety and impropriety of conduct.

Footnote 10:

See Aristotle Ethic. Nic. l. 2. c. 5. et seq. et l. 3. c. 5. et seq.

According to Aristotle[11], indeed, virtue did not so much consist in

those moderate and right affections, as in the habit of this moderation.

In order to understand this, it is to be observed, that virtue may be

considered either as the quality of an action, or as the quality of a

person. Considered as the quality of an action, it consists, even

according to Aristotle, in the reasonable moderation of the affection

from which the action proceeds, whether this disposition be habitual to

the person or not. Considered as the quality of a person, it consists in

the habit of this reasonable moderation, in its having become the

customary and usual disposition of the mind. Thus the action which

proceeds from an occasional fit of generosity is undoubtedly a generous

action, but the man who performs it, is not necessarily a generous

person, because it may be the single action of the kind which he ever

performed. The motive and disposition of heart, from which this action

was performed, may have been quite just and proper: but as this happy

mood seems to have been the effect rather of accidental humour than of

any thing steady or permanent in the character, it can reflect no great

honour on the performer. When we denominate a character generous or

charitable, or virtuous in any respect, we mean to signify that the

disposition expressed by each of those appellations is the usual and

customary disposition of the person. But single actions of any kind, how

proper and suitable soever, are of little consequence to show that this

is the case. If a single action was sufficient to stamp the character of

any virtue upon the person who performed it, the most worthless of

mankind might lay claim to all the virtues; since there is no man who

has not, upon some occasions, acted with prudence, justice, temperance,

and fortitude. But though single actions, how laudable soever, reflect

very little praise upon the person who performs them, a single vicious

action performed by one whose conduct is usually very regular, greatly

diminishes and sometimes destroys altogether our opinion of his virtue.

A single action of this kind sufficiently shows that his habits are not

perfect, and that he is less to be depended upon, than, from the usual

train of his behaviour, we might have been apt to imagine.

Footnote 11:

See Aristotle Ethic. Nic. lib. ii. ch. 1., 2., 3. and 4.

Aristotle too[12], when he made virtue to consist in practical habits,

had it probably in his view to oppose the doctrine of Plato, who seems

to have been of opinion that just sentiments and reasonable judgments

concerning what was fit to be done or to be avoided, were alone

sufficient to constitute the most perfect virtue. Virtue, according to

Plato, might be considered as a species of science, and no man, he

thought, could see clearly and demonstratively what was right and what

was wrong, and not act accordingly. Passion might make us act contrary

to doubtful and uncertain opinions, not to plain and evident judgments.

Aristotle, on the contrary, was of opinion, that no conviction of the

understanding was capable of getting the better of inveterate habits,

and that good morals arose not from knowledge but from action.

Footnote 12:

See Aristotle Mag. Mor. lib. i. ch. 1.

III. According to Zeno[13], the founder of the stoical doctrine, every

animal was by nature recommended to its own care, and was endowed with

the principle of self-love, that it might endeavour to preserve, not

only its existence, but all the different parts of its nature, in the

best and most perfect state of which they were capable.

Footnote 13:

See Cicero de finibus, lib. iii. also Diogenes Laertius in Zenone,

lib. vii. segment 84.

The self-love of man embraced, if I may say so, his body and all its

different members, his mind and all its different faculties and powers,

and desired the preservation and maintenance of them all in their best

and most perfect condition. Whatever tended to support this state of

existence was, therefore, by nature pointed out to him as fit to be

chosen; and whatever tended to destroy it, as fit to be rejected. Thus

health, strength, agility, and ease of body, as well as the external

conveniencies which could promote these, wealth, power, honours, the

respect and esteem of those we live with, were naturally pointed out to

us as things eligible, and of which the possession was preferable to the

contrary. On the other hand, sickness, infirmity, unwieldiness, pain of

body, as well as all the external inconveniencies which tended to

occasion or bring on any of them, poverty, the want of authority, the

contempt or hatred of those we live with; were, in the same manner,

pointed out to us as things to be shunned and avoided. In each of those

two different classes of objects there were some which appeared to be

more the objects either of choice or rejection than others in the same

class. Thus, in the first class, health appeared evidently preferable to

strength, and strength to agility; reputation to power, and power to

riches. And thus too, in the second class, sickness was more to be

avoided than unwieldiness of body, ignominy than poverty, and poverty

than the want of authority. Virtue and the propriety of conduct

consisted in choosing and rejecting all different objects and

circumstances according as they were by nature rendered more or less the

objects of choice or rejection; in selecting always from among the

several objects of choice presented to us, that which was most to be

chosen, when we could not obtain them all: and in selecting too out of

the several objects of rejection offered to us, that which was least to

be avoided, when it was not in our power to avoid them all. By choosing

and rejecting with this just and accurate discernment, by thus bestowing

upon every object the precise degree of attention it deserved, according

to the place which it held in this natural scale of things, we

maintained, according to the Stoics, that perfect rectitude of conduct

which constituted the essence of virtue. This was what they called to

live consistently, to live according to nature, and to obey those laws

and directions which nature, or the Author of nature, had prescribed for

our conduct.

So far the Stoical idea of propriety and virtue is not very different

from that of Aristotle and the ancient peripatetics. What chiefly

distinguished those two systems from one another was the different

degrees of self-command which they required. The peripatetics allowed of

some degree of perturbation as suitable to the weakness of human nature,

and as useful to so imperfect a creature as man. If his own misfortunes

excited no passionate grief, if his own injuries called forth no lively

resentment, reason, or a regard to the general rules which determined

what was right and fit to be done, would commonly, they thought, be too

weak to prompt him to avoid the one or to beat off the other. The

Stoics, on the contrary, demanded the most perfect apathy, and regarded

every emotion which could in the smallest degree disturb the

tranquillity of the mind, as the effect of levity and folly. The

Peripatetics seem to have thought that no passion exceeded the bounds of

propriety as long as the spectator, by the utmost effort of humanity,

could sympathize with it. The Stoics, on the contrary, appear to have

regarded every passion as improper, which made any demand upon the

sympathy of the spectator, or required him to alter in any respect the

natural and ordinary state of his mind, in order to keep time with the

vehemence of its emotions. A man of virtue, they seem to have thought,

ought not to depend upon the generosity of those he lives with for

pardon or approbation.

According to the Stoics, every event should, to a wise man, appear

indifferent, and what for its own sake could be the object neither of

desire, nor aversion, neither of joy, nor sorrow. If he preferred some

events to others, if some situations were the objects of his choice, and

others of his rejection,[14] it was not, because he regarded the one as,

in themselves, in any respect better than the other, or thought that his

own happiness would be more complete in, what is called, the fortunate,

than in what is commonly regarded as the distressful situation; but

because the propriety of action, the rule which the gods had given him

for the direction of his conduct, required him to choose and reject in

this manner. Among the primary objects of natural inclination, or among

those things which nature had originally recommended to us as eligible,

was the prosperity, of our family, of our relations, of our friends, of

our country, of mankind, and of the universe in general. Nature too had

taught us that as the prosperity of two was preferable to that of one,

that of many or of all must be infinitely more so. That we ourselves

were but one, and that consequently wherever our prosperity was

inconsistent with that, either of the whole, or of any considerable part

of the whole, it ought, even in our own choice, to yield to what was so

vastly preferable. As all the events in this world were conducted by the

providence of a wise, powerful and good God, we might be assured that

whatever happened, tended to the prosperity and perfection of the whole,

if we ourselves, therefore, were in poverty, in sickness, or in any

other calamity, we ought, first of all, to use our utmost endeavours, so

far as justice and our duty to others would allow, to rescue ourselves

from this disagreeable circumstance. But if after all we could do, we

found this impossible, we ought to rest satisfied that the order and

perfection of the universe required that we should in the mean time

continue in this situation. And as the prosperity of the whole should,

even to us, appear preferable to so insignificant a part as ourselves,

our situation, whatever it was, ought from that moment to become the

object of our choice, and even of our desire, if we would maintain that

complete propriety and rectitude of sentiment and conduct in which the

perfection of our nature consists. If, indeed, any opportunity of

extricating ourselves should offer, it became our duty to embrace it.

The order of the universe, it was evident, no longer required our

continuance in this situation, and the great director of the world

plainly called upon us to leave it, by so clearly pointing out the road

which we were to follow. It was the same case with the adversity of our

relations, our friends, our country. If without violating any more

sacred obligation, it was in our power to prevent or to put an end to

their calamity, it undoubtedly was our duty to do so. The propriety of

action, the rule which Jupiter had given us for the direction of our

conduct, evidently required this of us. But if it was altogether out of

our power to do either, we ought then to consider this event as the most

fortunate which could possibly have happened: Because we might be

assured that it tended most to the prosperity and order of the whole:

which was what we ourselves, if we were wise and equitable, ought most

of all to desire. “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 according to 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 behove it

sometimes to trample in the dirt, and sometimes to tread upon thorns,

and sometimes too to be cut off for the sake of the whole body; and if

it refuses this, it is no longer a foot. Thus too ought we to conceive

with regard 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 a 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 voyage, sometimes to be in want; and at

last, perhaps, to die before your time. Why then do you complain? Don’t

you know that by doing so, as the foot ceases to be a foot, so you cease

to be a man?”[15]

Footnote 14:

Some of these expressions sound a little awkward in the English

language: they are literal translations of the technical terms of the

Stoics.

Footnote 15:

Arrian. lib. II. c. 5.

This submission to the order of the universe, this entire indifference

with regard to whatever concerns ourselves, when put into the balance

with the interest of the whole, could derive its propriety, it is

evident, from no other principle besides that, upon which I have

endeavoured to show, the propriety of justice was founded. As long as we

view our own interests with our own eyes, it is scarce possible that we

should willingly acquiesce in their being thus sacrificed to the

interests of the whole. It is only when we view those opposite interests

with the eyes of others, that what concerns ourselves can appear to be

so contemptible in the comparison, as to be resigned without any

reluctance. To every body but the person principally concerned, nothing

can appear more agreeable to reason and propriety than that the part

should give place to the whole. But what is agreeable to the reason of

all other men, ought not to appear contrary to his. He himself therefore

ought to approve of this sacrifice, and acknowledge its conformity to

reason. But all the affections of a wise man, according to the stoics,

are perfectly agreeable to reason and propriety, and of their own accord

coincide with whatever these ruling principles prescribe. A wise man,

therefore, could never feel any reluctance to comply with this

disposition of things.

IV. Besides these ancient, there are some modern systems, according to

which virtue consists in propriety; or in the suitableness of the

affection from which we act, to the cause or object which excites it.

The system of Dr. Clarke, which places virtue in acting according to the

relations of things, in regulating our conduct according to the fitness

or incongruity which there may be in the application of certain actions

to certain things, or to certain relations: That of Mr. Woolaston, which

places it in acting according to the truth of things, according to their

proper nature and essence, or in treating them as what they really are,

and not as what they are not: that of my lord Shaftesbury, which places

it in maintaining a proper balance of the affections, and in allowing no

passion to go beyond its proper sphere; are all of them more or less

inaccurate descriptions of the same fundamental idea.

The description of virtue which is either given, or at least meant and

intended to be given in each of those systems, for some of the modern

authors are not very fortunate in their manner of expressing themselves,

is no doubt quite just, so far as it goes. There is no virtue without

propriety, and wherever there is propriety, some degree of approbation

is due. But still this description is imperfect. For though propriety is

an essential ingredient in every virtuous action, it is not always the

sole ingredient. Beneficent actions have in them another quality by

which they appear not only to deserve approbation but recompense. None

of those systems account either easily or sufficiently for that superior

degree of esteem which seems due to such actions, or for that diversity

of sentiment which they naturally excite. Neither is the description of

vice more complete. For in the same manner, though impropriety is a

necessary ingredient in every vicious action, it is not always the sole

ingredient, and there is often the highest degree of absurdity and

impropriety in very harmless and insignificant actions. Deliberate

actions, of a pernicious tendency to those we live with, have, besides

their impropriety, a peculiar quality of their own by which they appear

to deserve, not only disapprobation, but punishment; and to be the

objects, not of dislike merely, but of resentment and revenge: and none

of those systems easily and sufficiently account for that superior

degree of detestation which we feel for such actions.

CHAP. II.

_Of those systems which make virtue consist in prudence._

The most ancient of those systems which make virtue consist in prudence,

and of which any considerable remains have come down to us, is that of

Epicurus, who is said, however, to have borrowed all the leading

principles of his philosophy, from some of those who had gone before

him, particularly From Aristippus; though it is very probable,

notwithstanding this allegation of his enemies, that at least his manner

of applying those principles was altogether his own.

According to Epicurus,[16] bodily pleasure and pain were the sole

ultimate objects of natural desire and aversion. That they were always

the natural objects of those passions, he thought required no proof.

Pleasure might, indeed, appear sometimes to be avoided; not, however,

because it was pleasure, but because, by the enjoyment of it, we should

either forfeit some greater pleasure, or expose ourselves to some pain

that was more to be avoided than this pleasure was to be desired. Pain,

in the same manner, might appear sometimes to be eligible; not, however,

because it was pain, but because by enduring it we might either avoid a

still greater pain, or acquire some pleasure of much more importance.

That bodily pain and pleasure, therefore, were always the natural

objects of desire and aversion, was, he thought, abundantly evident. Nor

was it less so, he imagined, that they were the sole ultimate objects of

those passions. Whatever else was either desired or avoided was so,

according to him, upon account of its tendency to produce one or other

of those sensations. The tendency to procure pleasure rendered power and

riches desirable, as the contrary tendency to produce pain made poverty

and insignificancy the objects of aversion. Honour and reputation were

valued, because the esteem and love of those we live with were of the

greatest consequence both to procure pleasure and to defend us from

pain. Ignominy and bad fame, on the contrary, were to be avoided,

because the hatred, contempt, and resentment of those we lived with

destroyed all security, and necessarily exposed us to the greatest

bodily evils.

Footnote 16:

See Cicero de finibus, lib. i. Diogenes Laert. 1. x.

All the pleasures and pains of the mind were, according to Epicurus,

ultimately derived from those of the body. The mind was happy when it

thought of the past pleasures of the body, and hoped for others to come:

and it was miserable when it thought of the pains which the body had

formerly endured, and dreaded the same or greater thereafter.

But the pleasures and pains of the mind, though ultimately derived from

those of the body, were vastly greater than their originals. The body

felt only the sensation of the present instant, whereas the mind felt

also the past and the future, the one by remembrance, the other by

anticipation, and consequently both suffered and enjoyed much more. When

we are under the greatest bodily pain, he observed, we shall always

find, if we attend to it, that it is not the suffering of the present

instant which chiefly torments us, but either the agonizing remembrance

of the past, or the yet more horrible dread of the future. The pain of

each instant, considered by itself, and cut off from all that goes

before and all that comes after it, is a trifle not worth the regarding.

Yet this is all which the body can ever be said to suffer. In the same

manner, when we enjoy the greatest pleasure, we shall always find that

the bodily sensation, the sensation of the present instant makes but a

small part of our happiness, that our enjoyment chiefly arises either

from the chearful recollection of the past, or the still more joyous

anticipation of the future, and that the mind always contributes by much

the largest share of the entertainment.

Since our happiness and misery, therefore, depended chiefly on the mind,

if this part of our nature was well disposed, if our thoughts and

opinions were as they should be, it was of little importance in what

manner our body was affected. Though under great bodily pain, we might

still enjoy a considerable share of happiness, if our reason and

judgment maintained their superiority. We might entertain ourselves with

the remembrance of past, and with the hopes of future pleasure; we might

soften the rigour of our pains, by recollecting what it was which, even

in this situation, we were under any necessity of suffering. That this

was merely the bodily sensation, the pain of the present instant, which

by itself could never be very great. That whatever agony we suffered

from the dread of its continuance was the effect of an opinion of the

mind, which might be corrected by juster sentiments; by considering

that, if our pains were violent, they would probably be of short

duration; and that if they were of long continuance, they would probably

be moderate, and admit of many intervals of ease; and that, at any rate,

death was always at hand and within call to deliver us, which as,

according to him, it put an end to all sensation, either of pain or

pleasure, could not be regarded as an evil. When we are, said he, death

is not; and when death is, we are not; death therefore can be nothing to

us.

If the actual sensation of positive pain was in itself so little to be

feared, that of pleasure was still less to be desired. Naturally the

sensation of pleasure was much less pungent than that of pain. If,

therefore, this last could take so very little from the happiness of a

well-disposed mind, the other could add scarce any thing to it. When the

body was free from pain and the mind from fear and anxiety, the

superadded sensation of bodily pleasure could be of very little

importance; and though it might diversify, could not be properly be said

to increase the happiness of this situation.

In ease of body, therefore, and in security or tranquillity of mind,

consisted, according to Epicurus, the most perfect state of human

nature, the most complete happiness which man was capable of enjoying.

To obtain this great end of natural desire was the sole object of all

the virtues, which, according to him, were not desirable upon their own

account, but upon account of their tendency to bring about this

situation.

Prudence, for example, though according to this philosophy, the source

and principle of all the virtues, was not desirable upon its own

account. That careful and laborious and circumspect state of mind, ever

watchful and ever attentive to the most distant consequences of every

action, could not be a thing pleasant or agreeable for its own sake, but

upon account of its tendency to procure the greatest goods and to keep

off the greatest evils.

To abstain from pleasure too, to curb and restrain our natural passions

for enjoyment, which was the office of temperance, could never be

desirable for its own sake. The whole value of this virtue arose from

its utility, from its enabling us to postpone the present enjoyment for

the sake of a greater to come, or to avoid a greater pain that might

ensue from it. Temperance, in short, was nothing but prudence with

regard to pleasure.

To support labour, to endure pain, to be exposed to danger or to death,

the situations which fortitude would often lead us into, were surely

still less the objects of natural desire. They were chosen only to avoid

greater evils. We submitted to labour, in order to avoid the greater

shame and pain of poverty, and we exposed ourselves to danger and to

death in defence of our liberty and property, the means and instruments

of pleasure and happiness; or in defence of our country, in the safety

of which our own was necessarily comprehended. Fortitude enabled us to

do all this chearfully, as the best which, in our present situation,

could possibly be done, and was in reality no more than prudence, good

judgment, and presence of mind in properly appreciating pain, labour,

and danger, always choosing the less in order to avoid the greater.

It is the same case with justice. To abstain from what is anothers was

not desirable on its own account, and it could not surely be better for

you, that I should possess what is my own, than that you should possess

it. You ought however, to abstain from whatever belongs to me, because

by doing otherwise you will provoke the resentment and indignation of

mankind. The security and tranquillity of your mind will be entirely

destroyed. You will be filled with fear and consternation at the thought

of that punishment which you will imagine that men are at all times

ready to inflict upon you, and from which no power, no art, no

concealment, will ever, in your own fancy, be sufficient to protect you.

That other species of justice which consists in doing proper good

offices to different persons, according to the various relations of

neighbours, kinsmen, friends, benefactors, superiors, or equals, which

they may stand in to us, is recommended by the same reasons. To act

properly in all these different relations procures us the esteem and

love of those we live with; as to do otherwise excites their contempt

and hatred. By the one we naturally secure, by the other we necessarily

endanger our own ease and tranquillity, the great and ultimate objects

of all our desires. The whole virtue of justice, therefore, the most

important of all the virtues, is no more than discreet and prudent

conduct with regard to our neighbours.

Such is the doctrine of Epicurus concerning the nature of virtue. It may

seem extraordinary that this philosopher, who is described as a person

of the most amiable manners, should never have observed, that, whatever

may be the tendency of those virtues, or of the contrary vices, with

regard to our bodily ease and security, the sentiments which they

naturally excite in others are the objects of a much more passionate

desire or aversion than all their other consequences; That to be

amiable, to be respectable, to be the proper object of esteem, is by

every well-disposed mind more valued than all the ease and security

which love, respect, and esteem can procure us; That, on the contrary,

to be odious, to be contemptible, to be the proper object of

indignation, is more dreadful than all that we can suffer in our body

from hatred, contempt, or indignation; and that consequently our desire

of the one character, and our aversion to the other, cannot arise from

any regard to the effects which either of them is likely to produce upon

the body.

This system is, no doubt, altogether inconsistent with that which I have

been endeavouring to establish. It is not difficult, however, to

discover from what phasis, if I may say so, from what particular view or

aspect of nature, this account of things derives its probability. By the

wise contrivance of the Author of nature, virtue is upon all ordinary

occasions, even with regard to this life, real wisdom, and the surest

and readiest means of obtaining both safety and advantage. Our success

or disappointment in our undertakings must very much depend upon the

good or bad opinion which is commonly entertained of us, and upon the

general disposition of those we live with, either to assist or to oppose

us. But the best, the surest, the easiest, and the readiest way of

obtaining the advantageous and of avoiding the unfavourable judgments of

others, is undoubtedly to render ourselves the proper objects of the

former and not of the latter. “Do you desire, said Socrates, the

reputation of a good musician? The only sure way of obtaining it, is to

become a good musician. Would you desire in the same manner to be

thought capable of serving your country either as a general or as a

statesman? The best way in this case too is really to acquire the art

and experience of war and government, and to become really fit to be a

general or a statesman. And in the same manner if you would be reckoned

sober, temperate, just, and equitable, the best way of acquiring this

reputation is to become sober, temperate, just, and equitable. If you

can really render yourself amiable, respectable, and the proper object

of esteem, there is no fear of your not soon acquiring the love, the

respect, and esteem of those you live with.” Since the practice of

virtue, therefore, is in general so advantageous, and that of vice so

contrary to our interest, the consideration of those opposite tendencies

undoubtedly stamps an additional beauty and propriety upon the one, and

a new deformity and impropriety upon the other. Temperance, magnanimity,

justice, and beneficence, come thus to be approved of, not only under

their proper characters, but under the additional character of the

highest wisdom and most real prudence. And in the same manner the

contrary vices of intemperance, pusillanimity, injustice, and either

malevolence or sordid selfishness, come to be disapproved of, not only

under their proper characters, but under the additional character of the

most short-sighted folly and weakness. Epicurus appears in every virtue

to have attended to this species of propriety only. It is that which is

most apt to occur to those who are endeavouring to persuade others to

regularity of conduct. When men by their practice, and perhaps too by

their maxims, manifestly show that the natural beauty of virtue is not

like to have much effect upon them, how is it possible to move them but

by representing the folly of their conduct, and how much they themselves

are in the end likely to suffer by it?

By running up all the different virtues too to this one species of

propriety, Epicurus indulged a propensity, which is natural to all men,

but which philosophers in particular are apt to cultivate with a

peculiar fondness, as the great means of displaying their ingenuity, the

propensity to account for all appearances from as few principles as

possible. And he, no doubt, indulged this propensity still further, when

he referred all the primary objects of natural desire and aversion to

the pleasures and pains of the body. The great patron of the atomical

philosophy, who took so much pleasure in deducing all the powers and

qualities of bodies from the most obvious and familiar, the figure,

motion, and arrangement of the small parts of matter, felt no doubt a

similar satisfaction, when he accounted, in the same manner, for all the

sentiments and passions of the mind from those which are most obvious

and familiar.

The system of Epicurus agreed with those of Plato, Aristotle, and Zeno,

in making virtue consist in acting in the most suitable manner to obtain

the [17]primary objects of natural desire. It differed from all of them

in two other respects; first, in the account which it gave of those

primary objects of natural desire; and secondly, in the account which it

gave of the excellence of virtue, or of the reason why that quality

ought to be esteemed.

Footnote 17:

Prima naturæ.

The primary objects of natural desire consisted, according to Epicurus,

in bodily pleasure and pain, and in nothing else whereas, according to

the other three philosophers, there were many other objects, such as

knowledge, such as the happiness of our relations, of our friends, of

our country, which were ultimately desirable for their own sakes.

Virtue too, according to Epicurus, did not deserve to be pursued for its

own sake, nor was itself one of the ultimate objects of natural

appetite, but was eligible only upon account of its tendency to prevent

pain and to procure ease and pleasure. In the opinion of the other

three, on the contrary, it was desirable, not merely as the means of

procuring the other primary objects of natural desire, but as something

which was in itself more valuable than them all. Man, they thought,

being born for action, his happiness must consist, not merely in the

agreeableness of his passive sensations, but also in the propriety of

his active exertions.

CHAP. III.

_Of those systems which make virtue consist in benevolence._

The system which makes virtue consist in benevolence, though I think not

so ancient as all of those which I have already given an account of, is,

however, of very great antiquity. It seems to have been the doctrine of

the greater part of those philosophers who, about and after the age of

Augustus, called themselves Eclectics, who pretended to follow chiefly

the opinions of Plato and Pythagoras, and who upon that account are

commonly known by the name of the later Platonists.

In the divine nature, according to these authors, benevolence or love

was the sole principle of action, and directed the exertion of all the

other attributes. The wisdom of the Deity was employed in finding out

the means for bringing about those ends which his goodness suggested, as

his infinite power was exerted to execute them. Benevolence, however,

was still the supreme and governing attribute, to which the others were

subservient, and from which the whole excellency, or the whole morality,

if I may be allowed such an expression, of the divine operations, was

ultimately derived. The whole perfection and virtue of the human mind

consisted in some resemblance or participation of the divine

perfections, and, consequently, in being filled with the same principle

of benevolence and love which influenced all the actions of the deity.

The actions of men which flowed from this motive were alone truly

praise-worthy, or could claim any merit in the sight of the deity. It

was by actions of charity and love only that we could imitate, as became

us, the conduct of God, that we could express our humble and devout

admiration of his infinite perfections, that by fostering in our own

minds the same divine principle, we could bring our own affections to a

greater resemblance with his holy attributes, and thereby become more

proper objects of his love and esteem; till at last we arrived at that

immediate converse and communication with the deity to which it was the

great object of this philosophy to raise us.

This system, as it was much esteemed by many ancient fathers of the

christian church, so after the reformation it was adopted by several

divines of the most eminent piety and learning, and of the most amiable

manners; particularly, by Dr. Ralph Cudworth, by Dr. Henry More, and by

Mr. John Smith of Cambridge. But of all the patrons of this system,

ancient or modern, the late Dr. 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.

That virtue consists in benevolence is a notion supported by many

appearances in human nature. It has been observed already that proper

benevolence is the most graceful and agreeable of all the affections,

that it is recommended to us by a double sympathy, that as its tendency

is necessarily beneficent, it is the proper object of gratitude and

reward, and that upon all these accounts it appears to our natural

sentiments to possess a merit superior to any other. It has been

observed too that even the weakness of benevolence are not very

disagreeable to us, whereas those of every other passion are always

extremely disgusting. Who does not abhor excessive malice, excessive

selfishness, or excessive resentment? But the most excessive indulgence

even of partial friendship is not so offensive. It is the benevolent

passions only which can exert themselves without any regard or attention

to propriety, and yet retain something about them which is engaging.

There is something pleasing even in mere instinctive good-will which

goes on to do good offices without once reflecting whether by this

conduct it is the proper object either of blame or approbation. It is

not so with the other passions. The moment they are deserted, the moment

they are unaccompanied by the sense of propriety, they cease to be

agreeable.

As benevolence bestows upon those actions which proceed from it, a

beauty superior to all others, so the want of it, and much more the

contrary inclination, communicates a peculiar deformity to whatever

evidences such a disposition. Pernicious actions are often punishable

for no other reason than because they show a want of sufficient

attention to the happiness of our neighbour.

Besides all this, Dr. Hutcheson[18] observed, that whenever in any

action, supposed to proceed from benevolent affections, some other

motive had been discovered, our sense of the merit of this action was

just so far diminished as this motive was believed to have influenced

it. If an action, supposed to proceed, from gratitude, should be

discovered to have arisen from an expectation of some new favour, or if

what was apprehended to proceed from public spirit, should be found out

to have taken its origin from the hope of a pecuniary reward, such a

discovery would entirely destroy all notion of merit or

praise-worthiness in either of these actions. Since, therefore, the

mixture of any selfish motive, like that of a base alloy, diminished or

took away altogether the merit which would otherwise have belonged to

any action, it was evident, he imagined, that virtue must consist in

pure and disinterested benevolence alone.

Footnote 18:

See Inquiry concerning virtue, sect. 1. and 2.

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 greatly enhances our sense of their merit. If we

believed of any person that he endeavoured to advance his fortune from

no other view but that of doing friendly offices, and of making proper

returns to his benefactors, we should only love and esteem him the more.

And this observation seemed still more to confirm the conclusion, that

it was benevolence only which could stamp upon any action the character

of virtue.

Last of all, what, he imagined, was an evident proof of the justness of

this account of virtue, in all the disputes of casuists concerning the

rectitude of conduct, the public good, he observed, was the standard to

which they constantly referred; thereby universally acknowledging that

whatever tended to promote the happiness of mankind was right and

laudable and virtuous, and the contrary, wrong, blameable, and vicious.

In the late debates 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

insurrections when privileges were invaded. Whether what, upon the

whole, tended most to the happiness of mankind, was not also morally

good, was never once, he said, 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.

Those actions which aimed at the happiness of a great community, as they

demonstrated a more enlarged benevolence than those which aimed only at

that of a smaller system, so were they, likewise, proportionally the

more virtuous. The most virtuous of all affections, therefore, was that

which embraced as its object the happiness of all intelligent beings.

The lead virtuous, on the contrary, of those to which the character of

virtue could in any respect belong, was that which aimed no further than

at the happiness of an individual, such as a son, a brother, a friend.

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 ones self but as 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.

Self-love was a principle which could never be virtuous in any degree or

in any direction. It was vicious whenever it obstructed the general

good. When it had no other effect than to make the individual take care

of his own happiness, it was merely innocent, and tho’ it deserved no

praise, neither ought it to incur any blame. Those benevolent actions

which were performed, notwithstanding some strong motive from

self-interest, were the more virtuous upon that account. They

demonstrated the strength and vigour of the benevolent principle.

Dr. Hutcheson[19] was so far from allowing self-love to be in any case a

motive of virtuous actions, that even a regard to the pleasure of

self-approbation, to the comfortable applause of our own consciences,

according to him, diminished the merit of a benevolent action. This was

a selfish motive, he thought, which, so far as it contributed to any

action, demonstrated the weakness of that pure and disinterested

benevolence which could alone stamp upon the conduct of man the

character of virtue. In the common judgments of mankind, however, 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 motive which deserves the

appellation of virtuous.

Footnote 19:

Inquiry concerning virtue, sect 2. art. 4. also illustrations on the

moral sense, sect. 5. last paragraph.

Such is the account given of the nature of virtue in this amiable

system, a system which has a peculiar tendency to nourish and support in

the human heart the noblest and the most agreeable of all affections,

and not only to check the injustice of self-love, but in some measure to

discourage that principle altogether, by representing it as what could

never reflect any honour upon those who were influenced by it.

As some of the other systems which I have already given an account of,

do not sufficiently explain from whence arises the peculiar excellency

of the supreme virtue of beneficence, so this system seems to have the

contrary defect, of not sufficiently explaining from whence arises our

approbation of the inferior virtues of prudence, vigilance,

circumspection, temperance, constancy, firmness. The view and aim of our

affections, the beneficent and hurtful effects which they tend to

produce, are the only qualities at all attended to in this system. Their

propriety and impropriety, their suitableness and unsuitableness, to the

cause which excites them, are disregarded altogether.

Regard to our own private happiness and interest too, appear upon many

occasions very laudable principles of action. The habits of œconomy,

industry, discretion, attention, and application of thought, are

generally supposed to be cultivated from self-interested motives, and at

the same time are apprehended to be very praise-worthy qualities, which

deserve the esteem and approbation of every body. The mixture of a

selfish motive, it is true, seems often to sully the beauty of those

actions which ought to arise from a benevolent affection. The cause of

this, however, is not that self-love can never be the motive of a

virtuous action, but that the benevolent principle appears in this

particular case to want its due degree of strength, and to be altogether

unsuitable to its object. The character, therefore, seems evidently

imperfect, and upon the whole to deserve blame rather than praise. The

mixture of a benevolent motive in an action to which self-love alone

ought to be sufficient to prompt us, is not so apt indeed to diminish

our sense of its propriety, or of the virtue of the person who performs

it. We are not ready to suspect any person of being defective in

selfishness. This is by no means the weak side of human nature, or the

failing of which we are apt to be suspicious. If we could really

believe, however, of any man, that, was it not from a regard to his

family and friends, he would not take that proper care of his health,

his life, or his fortune, to which self-preservation alone ought to be

sufficient to prompt him, it would undoubtedly be a failing, tho’ one of

those amiable failings, which render a person rather the object of pity

than of contempt or hatred. It would still, however, somewhat diminish

the dignity and respectableness of his character. Carelessness and want

of œconomy are universally disapproved of, not, however as proceeding

from a want of benevolence, but from a want of the proper attention to

the objects of self-interest.

Though the standard by which casuists frequently determine what is right

or wrong in human conduct, be its tendency to the welfare or disorder of

society, it does not follow that a regard to the welfare of society

should be the sole virtuous motive of action, but only that, in any

competition, it ought to cast the balance against all other motives.

Benevolence may, perhaps, be the sole principle of action in the Deity,

and there are several, not improbable, arguments which tend to persuade

us that it is so. It is not easy to conceive what other motive an

independent and all perfect being, who stands in need of nothing

external, and whose happiness is complete in himself, can act from. But

whatever may be the case with the Deity, so imperfect a creature as man,

the support of whose existence requires so many things external to him,

must often act from many other motives. The condition of human nature

were peculiarly hard, if those affections, which, by the very nature of

our being, ought frequently to influence our conduct, could upon no

occasion appear virtuous, or deserve esteem and commendation from any

body.

Those three systems, that which places virtue in propriety, that which

places it in prudence, and that which makes it consist in benevolence,

are the principal accounts which have been given of the nature of

virtue. To one or other of them, all the other descriptions of virtue,

how different soever they may appear, are easily reducible.

That system which places virtue in obedience to the will of the Deity,

may be counted either among those which make it consist in prudence, or

among those which make it consist in propriety. When it is asked, why we

ought to obey the will of the Deity, this question, which would be

impious and absurd in the highest degree, if asked from any doubt that

we ought to obey him, can admit but of two different answers. It must

either be said that we ought to obey the will of the Deity because he is

a being of infinite power, who will reward us eternally if we do so, and

punish us eternally if we do otherwise: Or it must be said, that

independent of any regard to our own happiness, or to rewards and

punishments of any kind, there is a congruity and fitness that a

creature should obey its creator, that a limited and imperfect being

should submit to one of infinite and incomprehensible perfections.

Besides one or other of these two it is impossible to conceive that any

other answer can be given to this question. If the first answer be the

proper one, virtue consists in prudence, or in the proper pursuit of our

own final interest and happiness; since it is upon this account that we

are obliged to obey the will of the Deity. If the second answer be the

proper one, virtue must consist in propriety, since the ground of our

obligation to obedience is the suitableness or congruity of the

sentiments of humility and submission to the superiority of the object

which excites them.

That system which places virtue in utility coincides too with that which

makes it consist in propriety. According to this system all those

qualities of the mind which are agreeable or advantageous, either to the

person himself or to others, are approved of as virtuous, and the

contrary disapproved of as vicious. But the agreeableness or utility of

any affection depends upon the degree which it is allowed to subsist in.

Every affection is useful when it is confined to a certain degree of

moderation, and every affection is disadvantageous when it exceeds the

proper bounds. According to this system therefore, virtue consists, not

in any one affection, but in the proper degree of all the affections,

The only difference between it and that which I have been endeavouring

to establish, is, that it makes utility, and not sympathy, or the

correspondent affection of the spectator, the natural and original

measure of this proper degree.

CHAP. IV.

_Of licentious systems._

All those systems, which I have hitherto given an account of, suppose

that there is a real and essential distinction between vice and virtue,

whatever these qualities may consist in. There is a real and essential

difference between the propriety and impropriety of any affection,

between benevolence and any other principle of action, between real

prudence and short-sighted folly or precipitate rashness. In the main

too all of them contribute to encourage the praise-worthy, and to

discourage the blameable disposition.

It may be true perhaps, of some of them, that they tend, in some

measure, to break the balance of the affections, and to give the mind a

particular bias to some principles of action, beyond the proportion that

is due to them. The ancient systems which place virtue in propriety,

seem chiefly to recommend the great, the awful, and the respectable

virtues, the virtues of self-government and self-command; fortitude,

magnanimity, independency upon fortune, the contempt of all outward

accidents, of pain, poverty, exile, and death. It is in these great

exertions that the noblest propriety of conduct is displayed. The soft,

the amiable, the gentle virtues, all the virtues of indulgent humanity

are, in comparison, but little insisted upon, and seem, on the contrary,

by the Stoics in particular, to have been often regarded as mere

weaknesses which it behoved a wise man not to harbour in his breast.

The benevolent system, on the other hand, while it fosters and

encourages all those milder virtues in the highest degree, seems

entirely to neglect the more awful and respectable qualities of the

mind. It even denies them the appellation of virtues. It calls them

moral abilities, and treats them as qualities which do not deserve the

same sort of esteem and approbation, that is due to what is properly

denominated virtue. All those principles of action which aim only at our

own interest, it treats, if that be possible, still worse. So far from

having any merit of their own, they diminish, it pretends, the merit of

benevolence, when they co-operate with it: and prudence, it is asserted,

when employed only in promoting private interest, can never even be

imagined a virtue.

That system, again, which makes virtue consist in prudence only, while

it gives the highest encouragement to the habits of caution, vigilance,

sobriety, and judicious moderation, seems to degrade equally both the

amiable and respectable virtues, and to strip the former of all their

beauty, and the latter of all their grandeur.

But notwithstanding these defects, the general tendency of each of those

three systems is to encourage the best and most laudable habits of the

human mind: and it were well for society, if, either mankind in general,

or even those few who pretend to live according to any philosophical

rule, were to regulate their conduct by the precepts of any one of them.

We may learn from each of them something that is both valuable and

peculiar. If it was possible, by precept and exhortation, to inspire the

mind with fortitude and magnanimity, the ancient systems of propriety

would seem sufficient to do this. Or if it was possible, by the same

means, to soften it into humanity, and to awaken the affections of

kindness and general love towards those we live with, some of the

pictures with which the benevolent system presents us, might seem

capable of producing this effect. We may learn from the system of

Epicurus, though undoubtedly the worst of all the three, how much the

practice of both the amiable and respectable virtues is conducive to our

own interest, to our own ease and safety and quiet even in this life. As

Epicurus placed happiness in the attainment of ease and security, he

exerted himself in a particular manner to show that virtue was, not

merely the best and the surest, but the only means of acquiring those

invaluable possessions. The good effects of virtue, upon our inward

tranquility and peace of mind, are what other philosophers have chiefly

celebrated. Epicurus, without neglecting this topic, has chiefly

insisted upon the influence of that amiable quality on our outward

prosperity and safety. It was upon this account that his writings were

so much studied in the ancient world by men of all different

philosophical parties. It is from him that Cicero, the great enemy of

the Epicurean system, borrows his most agreeable proofs that virtue

alone is sufficient to secure happiness. Seneca, though a Stoic, the

sect most opposite to that of Epicurus, yet quotes this philosopher more

frequently than any other.

There are, however, some other systems which seem to take away

altogether the distinction between vice and virtue, and of which the

tendency is, upon that account, wholly pernicious: I mean the systems of

the duke of Rochefoucault and Dr. Mandeville. Though the notions of both

these authors are in almost every respect erroneous, there are, however,

some appearances in human nature which, when viewed in a certain manner,

seem at first sight to favour them. These, first slightly sketched out

with the elegance and delicate precision of the duke of Rochefoucault,

and afterwards more fully represented with the lively and humorous,

though coarse and rustic eloquence of Dr. Mandeville, have thrown upon

their doctrines an air of truth and probability which is very apt to

impose upon the unskilful.

Dr. Mandeville, the most methodical of those two authors, considers

whatever is done from a sense of propriety, from a regard to what is

commendable and praise-worthy, as being done from a love of praise and

commendation, or as he calls it from vanity. Man, he observes, is

naturally much more interested in his own happiness than in that of

others, and it is impossible that in his heart he can ever really prefer

their prosperity to his own. Whenever he appears to do so, we may be

assured that he imposes upon us, and that he is then acting from the

same selfish motives as at all other times. Among his other selfish

passions, vanity is one of the strongest, and he is always easily

flattered and greatly delighted with the applauses of those about him.

When he appears to sacrifice his own interest to that of his companions,

he knows that this conduct will be highly agreeable to their self-love,

and that they will not fail to express their satisfaction by bellowing

upon him the most extravagant praises. The pleasure which he expects

from this, over-balances, in his opinion, the interest which he abandons

in order to procure it. His conduct, therefore, upon this occasion, is

in reality just as selfish, and arises from just as mean a motive as

upon any other. He is flattered, however, and he flatters himself with

the belief that it is entirely disinterested; since, unless this was

supposed, it would not seem to merit any commendation either in his own

eyes or in those of others. All public spirit, therefore, all preference

of public to private interest, is, according to him a mere cheat and

imposition upon mankind; and that human virtue which is so much boasted

of, and which is the occasion of so much emulation among men, is the

mere offspring of flattery begot upon pride.

Whether the most generous and public-spirited actions may not, in some

sense, be regarded as proceeding from self-love, I shall not at present

examine. The decision of this question is not, I apprehend, of any

importance towards establishing the reality of virtue, since self-love

may frequently be a virtuous motive of action. I shall only endeavour to

show that the desire of doing what is honourable and noble, of rendering

ourselves the proper objects of esteem and approbation, cannot with any

propriety be called vanity. Even the love of well-grounded fame and

reputation, the desire of acquiring esteem by what is really estimable,

does not deserve that name. The first is the love of virtue, the noblest

and the best passion of human nature. The second is the love of true

glory, a passion inferior no doubt to the former, but which in dignity

appears to come immediately after it. He is guilty of vanity who desires

praise for qualities which are either not praise-worthy in any degree,

or not in that degree which he expects to be praised for them; who sets

his character upon the frivolous ornaments of dress and equipage, or the

equally frivolous accomplishments of ordinary behaviour. He is guilty of

vanity who desires praise for what indeed very well deserves it, but

what he perfectly knows does not belong to him. The empty coxcomb who

gives himself airs of importance which he has no title to, the silly

liar who assumes the merit of adventures which never happened, the

foolish plagiary who gives himself out for the author of what he has no

pretensions to, are properly accused of this passion. He too is said to

be guilty of vanity who is not contented with the silent sentiments of

esteem and approbation, who seems to be fonder of their noisy

expressions and acclamations than of the sentiments themselves, who is

never satisfied but when his own praises are ringing in his ears, and

who solicits with the most anxious importunity all external marks of

respect, is fond of titles, of compliments, of being visited, of being

attended, of being taken notice of in public places with the appearance

of deference and attention. This frivolous passion is altogether

different from either of the two former, and is the passion of the

lowest, and the least of mankind, as they are of the noblest and the

greatest.

But though these three passions, the desire of rendering ourselves the

proper objects of honour and esteem; or of becoming what is honourable

and estimable; the desire of acquiring honour and esteem by really

deserving those sentiments; and the frivolous desire of praise at any

rate, are widely different; though the two former are always approved

of, while the latter never fails to be despised; there is, however, a

certain remote affinity among them, which, exaggerated by the humorous

and diverting eloquence of this lively author, has enabled him to impose

upon his readers. There is an affinity between vanity and the love of

true glory, as both these passions aim at acquiring esteem and

approbation. But they are different in this, that the one is a just,

reasonable, and equitable passion, while the other is unjust, absurd,

and ridiculous. The man who desires esteem for what is really estimable,

desires nothing but what he is justly entitled to, and what cannot be

refused him without some sort of injury. He, on the contrary, who

desires it upon any other terms, demands what he has no just claim to.

The first is easily satisfied, is not apt to be jealous or suspicious

that we do not esteem him enough, and is seldom solicitous about

receiving many external marks of our regard. The other, on the contrary,

is never to be satisfied, is full of jealousy and suspicion that we do

not esteem him so much as he desires, because he has some secret

consciousness that he desires more than he deserves. The least neglect

of ceremony, he considers as a mortal affront, and as an expression of

the most determined contempt. He is restless and impatient, and

perpetually afraid that we have lost all respect for him, and is upon

this account always anxious to obtain new expressions of esteem, and

cannot be kept in temper but by continual attendance and adulation.

There is an affinity too between the desire of becoming what is

honourable and estimable, and the desire of honour and esteem, between

the love of virtue and the love of true glory. They resemble one another

not only in this respect, that both aim at really being what is

honourable and noble, but even in that respect in which the love of true

glory resembles what is properly called vanity, some reference to the

sentiments of others. The man of the greatest magnanimity, who desires

virtue for its own sake, and is most indifferent about what actually are

the opinions of mankind with regard to him, is still, however, delighted

with the thoughts of what they should be, with the consciousness that

though he may neither be honoured nor applauded, he is still the proper

object of honour and applause, and that if mankind were cool and candid

and consistent with themselves, and properly informed of the motives and

circumstances of his conduct, they would not fail to honour and applaud

him. Though he despises the opinions which are actually entertained of

him, he has the highest value for those which ought to be entertained of

him. That he might think himself worthy of those honourable sentiments,

and, whatever was the idea which other men might conceive of his

character, that when he should put himself in their situation, and

consider, not what was, but what ought to be their opinion, he should

always have the highest idea of it himself, was the great and exalted

motive of his conduct. As even in the love of virtue, therefore, there

is still some reference, though not to what is, yet to what in reason

and propriety ought to be, the opinion of others, there is even in this

respect some affinity between it, and the love of true glory. There is,

however, at the same time, a very great difference between them. The man

who acts solely from a regard to what is right and fit to be done, from

a regard to what is the proper object of esteem and approbation, though

these sentiments should never be bestowed upon him, acts from the most

sublime and godlike motive which human nature is even capable of

conceiving. The man, on the other hand, who while he desires to merit

approbation is at the same time anxious to obtain it, though he too is

laudably in the main, yet his motives have a greater mixture of human

infirmity. He is in danger of being mortified by the ignorance and

injustice of mankind, and his happiness is exposed to the envy of his

rivals, and the folly of the public. The happiness of the other, on the

contrary, is altogether secure and independent of fortune, and of the

caprice of those he lives with. The contempt and hatred which may be

thrown upon him by the ignorance of mankind, he considers as not

belonging to him, and is not at all mortified by it. Mankind despise and

hate him from a false notion of his character and conduct. If they knew

him better, they would esteem and love him. It is not him whom, properly

speaking, they hate and despise, but another person whom they mistake

him to be. Our friend, whom we should meet at a masquerade in the garb

of our enemy, would be more diverted than mortified, if under that

disguise we should vent our indignation against him. Such are the

sentiments of a man of real magnanimity, when exposed to unjust censure.

It seldom happens, however, that human nature arrives at this degree of

firmness. Though none but the weakest and most worthless of mankind are

much delighted with false glory, yet, by a strange inconsistency, false

ignominy is often capable of mortifying those who appear the most

resolute and determined.

Dr. Mandeville is not satisfied with representing the frivolous motive

of vanity, as the source of all those actions which are commonly

accounted virtuous. He endeavours to point out the imperfection of human

virtue in many other respects. In every case, he pretends, it falls

short of that complete self-denial which it pretends to, and, instead of

a conquest, is commonly no more than a concealed indulgence of our

passions. Wherever our reserve with regard to pleasure falls short of

the most ascetic abstinence, he treats it as gross luxury and

sensuality. Every thing, according to him, is luxury which exceeds what

is absolutely necessary for the support of human nature, so that there

is a vice even in the use of a clean shirt, or of a convenient

habitation. The indulgence of the inclination to sex, in the most lawful

union, he considers as the same sensuality with the most hurtful

gratification of that passion, and derides that temperance and that

chastity which can be practiced at so cheap a rate. The ingenious

sophistry of his reasoning, is here, as upon many other occasions,

covered by the ambiguity of language. There are some of our passions

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 them

a name. When they fall in with the natural state of his own mind, he is

very apt to overlook them altogether, and either gives them no name at

all, or, if he gives them any, it is one which marks rather the

subjection and restraint of the passion than the degree which it still

is allowed to subsist in, after it is so subjected and restrained. Thus

the common names of the [20]love of pleasure, and of the love of sex,

denote a vicious and offensive degree of those passions. The words

temperance and chastity, on the other hand, seem to mark rather the

restraint and subjection which they are kept under, than the degree

which they are still allowed to subsist in. When he can 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 disturb nor offend the society.

Footnote 20:

Luxury and lust.

It is the great fallacy of Dr. Mandeville’s book[21] 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 to what ought to be the sentiments of

others: and it is by means of this sophistry, that he establishes his

favourite 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

encouragement, and must languish for want of employment. Some popular

ascetic doctrines which had been current before his time, and which

placed virtue in the entire extirpation and annihilation of 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 industry and commerce, and in a manner to the whole business of

human life. By the first of these propositions he seemed to prove that

there was no real virtue, and that what 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.

Footnote 21:

Fable of the Bees.

Such is the system of Dr. Mandeville, which once made so much noise in

the world, and which, though perhaps, it never gave occasion to more

vice than what would have been without it, at least taught that vice,

which arose from other causes, to appear with more effrontery, and to

avow the corruption of its motives with a profligate audaciousness which

had never been heard of before.

But how destructive soever this system may appear, it could never have

imposed upon so great a number of persons, nor have occasioned so

general an alarm among those who are the friends of better principles,

had it not in some respects bordered upon the truth. A system of natural

philosophy may appear very plausible, and be for a long time very

generally received in the world, and yet have no foundation in nature,

nor any sort of resemblance to the truth. The vortices of Des Cartes

were regarded by a very ingenious nation, for near a century together,

as a most satisfactory account of the revolutions of the heavenly

bodies. Yet it has been demonstrated, to the conviction of all mankind,

that these pretended causes of those wonderful effects, not only do not

actually exist, but are utterly impossible, and if they did exist, could

produce no such effects as are ascribed to them. But it is otherwise

with systems of moral philosophy, and an author who pretends to account

for the origin of our moral sentiments, cannot deceive us so grossly,

nor depart so very far from all resemblance to the truth. When a

traveller gives an account of some distant country, he may impose upon

our credulity the most groundless and absurd fictions as the most

certain matters of fact. But when a person pretends to inform us of what

passes in our neighbourhood, and of the affairs of the very parish which

we live in, though here too, if we are so careless as not to examine

things with our own eyes, he may deceive us in many respects, yet the

greatest falsehoods which he imposes upon us must bear some resemblance

to the truth, and must even have a considerable mixture of truth in

them. An author who treats of natural philosophy, and pretends to assign

the causes of the great phenomena of the universe, pretends to give an

account of the affairs of a very distant country, concerning which he

may tell us what he pleases, and as long as his narration keeps within

the bounds of seeming possibility, he need not despair of gaining our

belief. But when he proposes to explain the origin of our desires and

affections, of our sentiments of approbation and disapprobation, he

pretends to give an account, not only of the affairs of the very parish

that we live in, but of our own domestic concerns. Though here too, like

indolent masters who put their trust in a steward who deceives them, we

are very liable to be imposed upon, yet we are incapable of passing any

account which does not preserve some little regard to the truth. Some of

the articles, at least, must be just, and even those which are most

overcharged must have had some foundation, otherwise the fraud would be

detected even by that careless inspection which we are disposed to give.

The author who should assign, as the cause of any natural sentiment,

some principle which neither had any connexion with it, nor resembled

any other principle which had some such connexion, would appear absurd

and ridiculous to the most injudicious and unexperienced reader.

SECTION III.

Of the different systems which have been formed concerning the principle

of approbation.

INTRODUCTION.

After the inquiry concerning the nature of virtue, the next question of

importance in Moral Philosophy, is concerning the principle of

approbation, concerning the power or faculty of the mind which renders

certain characters agreeable or disagreeable to us, makes us prefer one

tenour of conduct to another, denominate the one right and the other

wrong, and consider the one as the object of approbation, honour, and

reward; the other as that of blame, censure, and punishment.

Three different accounts have been given of this principle of

approbation. According to some, we approve and disapprove both of our

own actions and of those of others, from self-love only, or from some

view of their tendency to our own happiness or disadvantage; according

to others, reason, the same faculty by which we distinguish between

truth and falsehood, enables us to distinguish between what is fit and

unfit both in actions and affections: according to others this

distinction is altogether the effect of immediate sentiment and feeling,

and arises from the satisfaction or disgust with which the view of

certain actions or affections inspires us. Self-love, reason, and

sentiment, therefore, are the three different sources which have been

assigned for the principle of approbation.

Before I proceed to give an account of those different systems, I must

observe, that the determination of this second question, though of the

greatest importance in speculation, is of none in practice. The question

concerning the nature of virtue necessarily has some influence upon our

notions of right and wrong in many particular cases. That concerning the

principle of approbation can possibly have no such effect. To examine

from what contrivance or mechanism within, those different notions or

sentiments arise, is a mere matter of philosophical curiosity.

CHAP. I.

_Of those systems which deduce the principle of approbation from

self-love._

Those who account for the principle of approbation from self-love, do

not all account for it in the same manner, and there is a good deal of

confusion and inaccuracy in all their different systems. According to

Mr. Hobbes, and many of his followers,[22] man is driven to take refuge

in society, not by any natural love which he bears to his own kind, but

because without the assistance of others he is incapable of subsisting

with ease or safety. Society, upon this account, becomes necessary to

him, and whatever tends to its support and welfare, he considers as

having a remote tendency to his own interest, and, on the contrary,

whatever is likely to disturb or destroy it, he regards as in some

measure hurtful or pernicious to himself. Virtue is the great support,

and vice the great disturber of human society. The former, therefore, is

agreeable, and the latter offensive to every man; as from the one he

foresees the prosperity, and from the other the ruin and disorder of

what is so necessary for the comfort and security of his existence.

Footnote 22:

Puffendorff. Mandeville.

That the tendency of virtue to promote, and of vice to disturb the order

of society, when we consider it coolly and philosophically, reflects a

very great beauty upon the one, and a very great deformity upon the

other, cannot, as I have observed upon a former occasion, be called in

question. Human society, when we contemplate it in a certain abstract

and philosophical light, appears like a great, an immense machine, whose

regular and harmonious movements produce a thousand agreeable effects.

As in any other beautiful and noble machine that was the production of

human art, whatever tended to render its movements more smooth and easy,

would derive a beauty from this effect, and, on the contrary, whatever

tended to obstruct them would displease upon that account: so virtue,

which is, as it were, the fine polish to the wheels of society,

necessarily pleases; while vice, like the vile rust, which makes them

jar and grate upon one another, is as necessarily offensive. This

account, therefore, of the origin of approbation and disapprobation, so

far as it derives them from a regard to the order of society, runs into

that principle which gives beauty to utility, and which I have explained

upon a former occasion; and it is from thence that this system derives

all that appearance of probability which it possesses. When those

authors describe the innumerable advantages of a cultivated and social,

above a savage and solitary life; when they expatiate upon the necessity

of virtue and good order for the maintenance of the one, and demonstrate

how infallibly the prevalence of vice and disobedience to the laws tend

to bring back the other, the reader is charmed with the novelty and

grandeur of those views which they open to him: he sees plainly a new

beauty in virtue, and a new deformity in vice, which he had never taken

notice of before, and is commonly so delighted with the discovery, that

he seldom takes time to reflect, that this political view, having never

occurred to him in his life before, cannot possibly be the ground of

that approbation and disapprobation with which he has always been

accustomed to consider those different qualities.

When those authors, on the other hand, deduce from self-love the

interest which we take in the welfare of society, and the esteem which

upon that account we bestow upon virtue, they do not mean, that when we

in this age applaud the virtue of Cato, and detest the villainy of

Catiline, our sentiments are influenced by the notion of any benefit we

receive from the one, or of any detriment we suffer from the other. It

was not because the prosperity or subversion of society, in those remote

ages and nations, was apprehended to have any influence upon our

happiness or misery in the present times; that according to those

philosophers, we esteemed the virtuous, and blamed the disorderly

character. They never imagined that our sentiments were influenced by

any benefit or damage which we supposed actually to redound to us, from

either; but by that which might have redounded to us, had we lived in

those distant ages and countries; or by that which might still redound

to us, if in our own times we should meet with characters of the same

kind. The idea, in short, which those authors were groping about, but

which they were never able to unfold distinctly, was that indirect

sympathy which we feel with the gratitude or resentment of those who

received the benefit or suffered the damage resulting from such opposite

characters: and it was this which they were indistinctly pointing at,

when they said, that it was not the thought of what we had gained or

suffered which prompted our applause or indignation, but the conception

or imagination of what we might gain or suffer if we were to act in

society with such associates.

Sympathy, however, cannot, in any sense, be regarded as a selfish

principle. When I sympathize with your sorrow or your indignation, it

may be pretended, indeed, that my emotion is founded in self-love,

because it arises from bringing your case home to myself, from putting

myself in your situation, and thence conceiving what I should feel in

the like circumstances. But though sympathy is very properly said to

arise from an imaginary change of situations with the person principally

concerned, yet this imaginary change is not supposed to happen to me in

my own person and character, but in that of the person with whom I

sympathize. When I condole with you for the loss of your only son, in

order to enter into your grief, I do not consider what I, a person of

such a character and profession, should suffer, if I had a son, and if

that son was unfortunately to die: but I consider what I should suffer

if I was really you, and I not only change circumstances with you, but I

change persons and characters. My grief, therefore, is entirely upon

your account, and not in the least upon my own. It is not, therefore, in

the least selfish. How can that be regarded as a selfish passion, which

does not arise even from the imagination of any thing that has befallen,

or that relates to myself, in my own proper person and character, but

which is entirely occupied about what relates to you? A man may

sympathize with a woman in child-bed; though it is impossible that he

should conceive himself as suffering her pains in his own proper person

and character. That whole account of human nature, however, which

deduces all sentiments and affections from self-love, which has made so

much noise in the world, but which, so far as I know, has never yet been

fully and distinctly explained, seems to me to have arisen from some

confused misapprehension of the system of sympathy.

CHAP. II.

_Of those systems which make reason the principle of approbation._

It is well known to have been the doctrine of Mr. Hobbes, that a state

of nature, is a state of war; and that antecedent to the institution of

civil government, there could be no safe or peaceable society among men.

To preserve society, therefore, according to him, was to support civil

government, and to destroy civil government was the same thing as to put

an end to society. But the existence of civil government depends upon

the obedience that is paid to the supreme magistrate. The moment he

loses his authority, all government is at an end. As self-preservation,

therefore, teaches men to applaud whatever tends to promote the welfare

of society, and to blame whatever is likely to hurt it; so the same

principle, if they would think and speak consistently, ought to teach

them to applaud upon all occasions obedience to the civil magistrate,

and to blame all disobedience and rebellion. The very ideas of laudable

and blameable, ought to be the same with those of obedience and

disobedience. The laws of the civil magistrate, therefore, ought to be

regarded as the sole ultimate standards of what was just and unjust, of

what was right and wrong.

It was the avowed intention of Mr. Hobbes, by propagating these notions,

to subject the consciences of men immediately to the civil, and not to

the ecclesiastical powers, whose turbulence and ambition, he had been

taught, by the example of his own times, to regard as the principal

source of the disorders of society. His doctrine, upon this account, was

peculiarly offensive to Theologians, who accordingly did not fail to

vent their indignation against him with great asperity and bitterness.

It was likewise offensive to all sound moralists, as it supposed that

there was no natural distinction between right and wrong, that these

were mutable and changeable, and depended upon the mere arbitrary will

of the civil magistrate. This account of things, therefore, was attacked

from all quarters, and by all sorts of weapons, by sober reason as well

as by furious declamation.

In order to confute so odious a doctrine, it was necessary to prove,

that antecedent to all law or positive institution, the mind was

naturally endowed with a faculty, by which it distinguished in certain

actions and affections, the qualities of right, laudable, and virtuous,

and in others those of wrong, blameable, and vicious.

Law, it was justly observed by Dr. Cudworth,[23] could not be the

original source of those distinctions; since upon the supposition of

such a law, it must either be right to obey it, and wrong to disobey it,

or indifferent whether we obeyed it, or disobeyed it. That law which it

was indifferent whether we obeyed or disobeyed, could not, it was

evident, be the source of those distinctions; neither could that which

it was right to obey and wrong to disobey, since even this still

supposed the antecedent notions or ideas of right and wrong, and that

obedience to the law was conformable to the idea of right, and

disobedience to that of wrong.

Footnote 23:

Immutable Morality, l. 1.

Since the mind, therefore, had a notion of those distinctions antecedent

to all law, it seemed necessarily to follow, that it derived this notion

from reason, which pointed out the difference between right and wrong,

in the same manner in which it did that between truth and falsehood: and

this conclusion, which though true in some respects, is rather hasty in

others, was more easily received at a time when the abstract science of

human nature was but in its infancy, and before the distinct offices and

powers of the different faculties of the human mind had been carefully

examined and distinguished from one another. When this controversy with

Mr. Hobbes was carried on with the greatest warmth and keenness, no

other faculty had been thought of from which any such ideas could

possibly be supposed to arise. It became at this time, therefore, the

popular doctrine, that the essence of virtue and vice did not consist in

the conformity or disagreement of human actions with the law of a

superior, but in their conformity or disagreement with reason, which was

thus considered as the original source and principle of approbation and

disapprobation.

That virtue consists in conformity to reason, is true in some respects,

and this faculty may very justly be considered, as in some sense, the

source and principle of approbation and disapprobation, and of all solid

judgments concerning right and wrong. It is by reason that we discover

those general rules of justice by which we ought to regulate our

actions: and it is by the same faculty that we form those more vague and

indeterminate ideas of what is prudent, of what is decent, of what is

generous or noble, which we carry constantly about with us, and

according to which we endeavour, as well as we can, to model the tenour

of our conduct. The general maxims of morality are formed, like all

other general maxims, from experience and induction. We observe in a

great variety of particular cases what pleases or displeases our moral

faculties, what these approve or disapprove of, and, by induction from

this experience, we establish those general rules. But induction is

always regarded as one of the operations of reason. From reason,

therefore, we are very properly said to derive all those general maxims

and ideas. It is by these, however, that we regulate the greater part of

our moral judgments, which would be extremely uncertain and precarious

if they depended altogether upon what is liable to so many variations as

immediate sentiment and feeling, which the different states of health

and humour are capable of altering so essentially. As our most solid

judgments, therefore, with regard to right and wrong, are regulated by

maxims and ideas derived from an induction of reason, virtue may very

properly be said to consist in a conformity to reason, and so far this

faculty may be considered as the source and principle of approbation and

disapprobation.

But though reason is undoubtedly the source of the general rules of

morality, and of all the moral judgments which we form by means of them;

it is altogether absurd and unintelligible to suppose that the first

perceptions of right and wrong can be derived from reason, even in those

particular cases upon the experience of which the general rules are

formed. These first perceptions, as well all other experiments upon

which any general rules are founded, cannot be the object of reason, but

of immediate sense and feeling. It is by finding in a vast variety of

instances that one tenour of conduct constantly pleases in a certain

manner, and that another as constantly displeases the mind, that we form

the general rules of morality. But reason cannot render any particular

object either agreeable or disagreeable to the mind for its own sake.

Reason may show that this object is the means of obtaining some other

which is naturally either pleasing or displeasing, and in this manner

may render it either agreeable or disagreeable for the sake of something

else. But nothing can be agreeable or disagreeable for its own sake,

which is not rendered such by immediate sense and feeling. If virtue,

therefore, in every particular instance, necessarily pleases for its own

sake, and if vice as certainly displeases the mind, it cannot be reason,

but immediate sense and feeling, which, in this manner, reconciles us to

the one, and alienates us from the other.

Pleasure and pain are the great objects of desire and aversion: but

these are distinguished not by reason, but by immediate sense and

feeling. If virtue, therefore, is desirable for its own sake, and if

vice is, in the same manner, the object of aversion, it cannot be reason

which originally distinguishes those different qualities, but immediate

sense and feeling.

As reason, however, in a certain sense, may justly be considered as the

principle of approbation and disapprobation, these sentiments were,

through inattention, long regarded as originally flowing from the

operations of this faculty. Dr. Hutcheson had the merit of being the

first who distinguished with any degree of precision in what respect all

moral distinctions may be said to arise from reason, and in what respect

they are founded upon immediate sense and feeling. In his illustrations

upon the moral sense he has explained this so fully, and, in my opinion,

so unanswerably, that, if any controversy is still kept up about this

subject, I can impute it to nothing, but either to inattention to what

that gentleman has written, or to a superstitious attachment to certain

forms of expression, a weakness not very uncommon among the learned,

especially in subjects so deeply interesting as the present, in which a

man of virtue is often loth to abandon, even the propriety of a single

phrase which he has been accustomed to.

CHAP. III.

_Of those systems which make sentiment the principle of approbation._

Those systems which make sentiment the principle of approbation may be

divided into two different classes.

I. According to some the principle of approbation is founded upon a

sentiment of a peculiar nature, upon a particular power of perception

exerted by the mind at the view of certain actions or affections; some

of which affecting this faculty in an agreeable and others in a

disagreeable manner, the former are stampt with the characters of right,

laudable, and virtuous; the latter with those of wrong, blameable and

vicious. This sentiment being of a peculiar nature distinct from every

other, and the effect of a particular power of perception, they give it

a particular name, and call it a moral sense.

II. According to others, in order to account for the principle of

approbation, there is no occasion for supposing any new power of

perception which had never been heard of before: Nature, they imagine,

acts here, as in all other cases, with the strictest œconomy, and

produces a multitude of effects from one and the same cause; and

sympathy, a power which has always been taken notice of, and with which

the mind is manifestly endowed, is, they think, sufficient to account

for all the effects ascribed to this peculiar faculty.

I. Dr. Hutcheson[24] had been at great pains to prove that the principle

of approbation was not founded on self-love. He had demonstrated too

that it could not arise from any operation of reason. Nothing remained,

he thought, but to suppose it a faculty of a peculiar kind, with which

Nature had endowed the human mind, in order to produce this one

particular and important effect. When self-love and reason were both

excluded, it did not occur to him that there was any other known faculty

of the mind which could in any respect answer this purpose.

Footnote 24:

Inquiry concerning Virtue.

This new power of perception he called a moral sense, and supposed it to

be somewhat analogous to the external senses. As the bodies around us,

by affecting these in a certain manner, appear to possess the different

qualities of sound, taste, odour, colour; so the various affections of

the human mind, by touching this particular faculty in a certain manner,

appear to possess the different qualities of amiable and odious, of

virtuous and vicious, of right and wrong.

The Theory of Moral Sentiments Or, an Essay Towards an Analysis of the Principles by Which Men Naturally Judge Concerning the Conduct and Character, First of Their Neighbours, and Afterwards of Themselves. to Which Is Added, a Dissertation on the Origin of Languages. · 第 4 / 5 章