OF THE ORIGIN OF JUSTICE AND PROPERTY.
We now proceed to examine two questions, viz. _concerning the manner
in which the rules of justice are established by the artifice of men_;
and _concerning the reasons which determine us to attribute to the
observance or neglect of these rules a moral beauty and deformity_.
These questions will appear afterwards to be distinct. We shall begin
with the former.
Of all the animals with which this globe is peopled, there is none
towards whom nature seems, at first sight, to have exercised more
cruelty than towards man, in the numberless wants and necessities
with which she has loaded him, and in the slender means which she
affords to the relieving these necessities. In other creatures, these
two particulars generally compensate each other. If we consider the
lion as a voracious and carnivorous animal, we shall easily discover
him to be very necessitous; but if we turn our eye to his make and
temper, his agility, his courage, his arms and his force, we shall
find that his advantages hold proportion with his wants. The sheep
and ox are deprived of all these advantages; but their appetites
are moderate, and their food is of easy purchase. In man alone this
unnatural conjunction of infirmity and of necessity may be observed
in its greatest perfection. Not only the food which is required for
his sustenance flies his search and approach, or at least requires his
labour to be produced, but he must be possessed of clothes and lodging
to defend him against the injuries of the weather; though, to consider
him only in himself, he is provided neither with arms, nor force, nor
other natural abilities which are in any degree answerable to so many
necessities.
'Tis by society alone he is able to supply his defects, and raise
himself up to an equality with his fellow-creatures, and even acquire a
superiority above them. By society all his infirmities are compensated;
and though in that situation his wants multiply every moment upon him,
yet his abilities are still more augmented, and leave him in every
respect more satisfied and happy than 'tis possible for him, in his
savage and solitary condition, ever to become. When every individual
person labours apart, and only for himself, his force is too small to
execute any considerable work; his labour being employed in supplying
all his different necessities, he never attains a perfection in any
particular art; and as his force and success are not at all times
equal, the least failure in either of these particulars must be
attended with inevitable ruin and misery. Society provides a remedy for
these _three_ inconveniences. By the conjunction of forces, our power
is augmented; by the partition of employments, our ability increases;
and by mutual succour, we are less exposed to fortune and accidents.
'Tis by this additional _force, ability_, and _security_, that society
becomes advantageous.
But, in order to form society, 'tis requisite not only that it be
advantageous, but also that men be sensible of these advantages; and
'tis impossible, in their wild uncultivated state, that by study and
reflection alone they should ever be able to attain this knowledge.
Most fortunately, therefore, there is conjoined to those necessities,
whose remedies are remote and obscure, another necessity, which,
having a present and more obvious remedy, may justly be regarded as
the first and original principle of human society. This necessity is
no other than that natural appetite betwixt the sexes, which unites
them together, and preserves their union, till a new tie takes place
in their concern for their common offspring. This new concern becomes
also a principle of union betwixt the parents and offspring, and forms
a more numerous society, where the parents govern by the advantage of
their superior strength and wisdom, and at the same time are restrained
in the exercise of their authority by that natural affection which they
bear their children. In a little time, custom and habit, operating on
the tender minds of the children, makes them sensible of the advantages
which they may reap from society, as well as fashions them by degrees
for it, by rubbing off those rough comers and untoward affections which
prevent their coalition.
For it must be confest, that however the circumstances of human
nature may render an union necessary, and however those passions
of lust and natural affection may seem to render it unavoidable,
yet there are other particulars in our _natural temper_, and in our
_outward circumstances_, which are very incommodious, and are even
contrary to the requisite conjunction. Among the former we may justly
esteem our _selfishness_ to be the most considerable. I am sensible
that, generally speaking, the representations of this quality have
been carried much too far; and that the descriptions which certain
philosophers delight so much to form of mankind in this particular, are
as wide of nature as any accounts of monsters which we meet with in
fables and romances. So far from thinking that men have no affect ion
for any thing beyond themselves, I am of opinion that, though it be
rare to meet with one who loves any single person better than himself,
yet 'tis as rare to meet with one in whom all the kind affections,
taken together, do not overbalance all the selfish. Consult common
experience; do you not see, that though the whole expense of the family
be generally under the direction of the master of it, yet there are few
that do not bestow the largest part of their fortunes on the pleasures
of their wives and the education of their children, reserving the
smallest portion for their own proper use and entertainment? This is
what we may observe concerning such as have those endearing ties; and
may presume, that the case would be the same with others, were they
placed in a like situation.
But, though this generosity must be acknowledged to the honour of human
nature, we may at the same time remark, that so noble an affection,
instead of fitting men for large societies, is almost as contrary
to them as the most narrow selfishness. For while each person loves
himself better than any other single person, and in his love to others
bears the greatest affection to his relations and acquaintance,
this must necessarily produce an opposition of passions, and a
consequent opposition of actions, which cannot but be dangerous to the
new-established union.
'Tis, however, worth while to remark, that this contrariety of
passions would be attended with but small danger, did it not concur
with a peculiarity in our _outward circumstances_, which affords it
an opportunity of exerting itself. There are three different species
of goods which we are possessed of; the internal satisfaction our
minds; the external advantages of our body; and the enjoyment of such
possessions as we have acquired by our industry and good fortune. We
are perfectly secure in the enjoyment of the first. The second may be
ravished from us, but can be of no advantage to him who deprives us of
them. The last only are both exposed to the violence of others, and may
be transferred without suffering any loss or alteration; while at the
same time there is not a sufficient quantity of them to supply every
one's desires and necessities. As the improvement, therefore, of these
goods is the chief advantage of society, so the _instability_ of their
possession, along with their _scarcity_, is the chief impediment.
In vain should we expect to find, in _uncultivated nature_, a remedy to
this inconvenience; or hope for any inartificial principle of the human
mind which might control those partial affections, and make us overcome
the temptations arising from our circumstances. The idea of justice
can never serve to this purpose, or be taken for a natural principle,
capable of inspiring men with an equitable conduct towards each other.
That virtue, as it is now understood, would never have been dreamed
of among rude and savage men. For the notion of injury or injustice
implies an immorality or vice committed against some other person: And
as every immorality is derived from some defect or unsoundness of the
passions, and as this defect must be judged of, in a great measure,
from the ordinary course of nature in the constitution of the mind,
'twill be easy to know whether we be guilty of any immorality with
regard to others, by considering the natural and usual force of those
several affections which are directed towards them. Now, it appears
that, in the original frame of our mind, our strongest attention
is confined to ourselves; our next is extended to our relations and
acquaintance; and 'tis only the weakest which reaches to strangers and
indifferent persons. This partiality, then, and unequal affection, must
not only have an influence on our behaviour and conduct in society,
but even on our ideas of vice and virtue; so as to make us regard any
remarkable transgression of such a degree of partiality, either by
too great an enlargement or contraction of the affections, as vicious
and immoral. This we may observe in our common judgments concerning
actions, where we blame a person who either centres all his affections
in his family, or is so regardless of them as, in any opposition
of interest, to give the preference to a stranger or mere chance
acquaintance. From all which it follows, that our natural uncultivated
ideas of morality, instead of providing a remedy for the partiality of
our affections, do rather conform themselves to that partiality, and
give it an additional force and influence.
The remedy, then, is not derived from nature, but from _artifice_;
or, more properly speaking, nature provides a remedy, in the judgment
and understanding, for what is irregular and incommodious in the
affections. For when men, from their early education in society, have
become sensible of the infinite advantages that result from it, and
have besides acquired a new affection to company and conversation, and
when they have observed, that the principal disturbance in society
arises from those goods, which we call external, and from their
looseness and easy transition from one person to another, they must
seek for a remedy, by putting these goods, as far as possible, on the
same footing with the fixed and constant advantages of the mind and
body. This can be done after no other manner, than by a convention
entered into by all the members of the society to bestow stability on
the possession of those external goods, and leave every one in the
peaceable enjoyment of what he may acquire by his fortune and industry.
By this means, every one knows what he may safely possess; and the
passions are restrained in their partial and contradictory motions. Nor
is such a restraint contrary to these passions; for, if so, it could
never be entered into nor maintained; but it is only contrary to their
heedless and impetuous movement. Instead of departing from our own
interest, or from that of our nearest friends, by abstaining from the
possessions of others, we cannot better consult both these interests,
than by such a convention; because it is by that means we maintain
society, which is so necessary to their well-being and subsistence, as
well as to our own.
This convention is not of the nature of a _promise_; for even promises
themselves, as we shall see afterwards, arise from human conventions.
It is only a general sense of common interest; which sense all the
members of the society express to one another, and which induces them
to regulate their conduct by certain rules. I observe, that it will
be for my interest to leave another in the possession of his goods,
_provided_ he will act in the same manner with regard to me. He is
sensible of a like interest in the regulation of his conduct. When
this common sense of interest is mutually expressed, and is known to
both, it produces a suitable resolution and behaviour. And this may
properly enough be called a convention or agreement betwixt us, though
without the interposition of a promise; since the actions of each of
us have a reference to those of the other, and are performed upon the
supposition that something is to be performed on the other part. Two
men who pull the oars of a boat, do it by an agreement or convention,
though they have never given promises to each other. Nor is the rule
concerning the stability of possession the less derived from human
conventions, that it arises gradually, and acquires force by a slow
progression, and by our repeated experience of the inconveniences
of transgressing it. On the contrary, this experience assures us
still more, that the sense of interest has become common to all our
fellows, and gives us a confidence of the future regularity of their
conduct; and 'tis only on the expectation of this that our moderation
and abstinence are founded. In like manner are languages gradually
established by human conventions, without any promise. In like manner
do gold and silver become the common measures of exchange, and are
esteemed sufficient payment for what is of a hundred times their value.
After this convention, concerning abstinence from the possessions of
others, is entered into, and every one has acquired a stability in
his possessions, there immediately arise the ideas of justice and
injustice; as also those of _property, right_, and _obligation_. The
latter are altogether unintelligible, without first understanding
the former. Our property is nothing but those goods, whose constant
possession is established by the laws of society; that is, by the laws
of justice. Those, therefore, who make use of the words _property_,
or _right_, or _obligation_, before they have explained the origin of
justice, or even make use of them in that explication, are guilty of
a very gross fallacy, and can never reason upon any solid foundation.
A man's property is some object related to him. This relation is not
natural, but moral, and founded on justice. 'Tis very preposterous,
therefore, to imagine that we can have any idea of property, without
fully comprehending the nature of justice, and showing its origin in
the artifice and contrivance of men. The origin of justice explains
that of property. The same artifice gives rise to both. As our first
and most natural sentiment of morals is founded on the nature of our
passions, and gives the preference to ourselves and friends above
strangers, 'tis impossible there can be naturally any such thing as a
fixed right or property, while the opposite passions of men impel them
in contrary directions, and are not restrained by any convention or
agreement.
No one can doubt that the convention for the distinction of property,
and for the stability of possession, is of all circumstances the most
necessary to the establishment of human society, and that, after the
agreement for the fixing and observing of this rule, there remains
little or nothing to be done towards settling a perfect harmony and
concord. All the other passions, beside this of interest, are either
easily restrained, or are not of such pernicious consequence when
indulged. _Vanity_ is rather to be esteemed a social passion, and a
bond of union among men. _Pity_ and _love_ are to be considered in the
same light. And as to _envy_ and _revenge_, though pernicious, they
operate only by intervals, and are directed against particular persons,
whom we consider as our superiors or enemies. This avidity alone, of
acquiring goods and possessions for ourselves and our nearest friends,
is insatiable, perpetual, universal, and directly destructive of
society. There scarce is any one who is not actuated by it; and there
is no one who has not reason to fear from it, when it acts without
any restraint, and gives way to its first and most natural movements.
So that, upon the whole, we are to esteem the difficulties in the
establishment of society to be greater or less, according to those we
encounter in regulating and restraining this passion.
'Tis certain, that no affection of the human mind has both a sufficient
force and a proper direction to counterbalance the love of gain,
and render men fit members of society, by making them abstain from
the possessions of others. Benevolence to strangers is too weak for
this purpose; and as to the other passions, they rather inflame this
avidity, when we observe, that the larger our possessions are, the more
ability we have of gratifying all our appetites. There is no passion,
therefore, capable of controlling the interested affection, but the
very affection itself, by an alteration of its direction. Now, this
alteration must necessarily take place upon the least reflection;
since 'tis evident that the passion is much better satisfied by its
restraint than by its liberty, and that, in preserving society, we
make much greater advances in the acquiring possessions, than in the
solitary and forlorn condition which must follow upon violence and an
universal license. The question, therefore, concerning the wickedness
or goodness of human nature, enters not in the least into that other
question concerning the origin of society; nor is there any thing to
be considered but the degrees of men's sagacity or folly. For whether
the passion of self-interest be esteemed vicious or virtuous, 'tis all
a case, since itself alone restrains it; so that if it be virtuous,
men become social by their virtue; if vicious, their vice has the same
effect.
Now, as 'tis by establishing the rule for the stability of possession
that this passion restrains itself, if that rule be very abstruse
and of difficult invention, society must be esteemed in a manner
accidental, and the effect of many ages. But if it be found, that
nothing can be more simple and obvious than that rule; that every
parent, in order to preserve peace among his children, must establish
it; and that these first rudiments of justice must every day be
improved, as the society enlarges: if all this appear evident, as it
certainly must, we may conclude that 'tis utterly impossible for men to
remain any considerable time in that savage condition which precedes
society, but that his very first state and situation may justly be
esteemed social. This, however, hinders not but that philosophers
may, if they please, extend their reasoning to the supposed _state of
nature_; provided they allow it to be a mere philosophical fiction,
which never had, and never could have, any reality. Human nature
being composed of two principal parts, which are requisite in all
its actions, the affections and understanding, 'tis certain that the
blind motions of the former, without the direction of the latter,
incapacitate men for society; and it may be allowed us to consider
separately the effects that result from the separate operations
of these two component parts of the mind. The same liberty may be
permitted to moral, which is allowed to natural philosophers; and 'tis
very usual with the latter to consider any motion as compounded and
consisting of two parts separate from each other, though at the same
time they acknowledge it to be in itself uncompounded and inseparable.
This _state of nature_, therefore, is to be regarded as a mere fiction,
not unlike that of the _golden age_ which poets have invented; only
with this difference, that the former is described as full of war,
violence and injustice; whereas the latter is painted out to us as
the most charming and most peaceable condition that can possibly be
imagined. The seasons, in that first age of nature, were so temperate,
if we may believe the poets, that there was no necessity for men to
provide themselves with clothes and houses as a security against the
violence of heat and cold. The rivers flowed with wine and milk; the
oaks yielded honey; and nature spontaneously produced her greatest
delicacies. Nor were these the chief advantages of that happy age.
The storms and tempests were not alone removed from nature; but those
more furious tempests were unknown to human breasts, which now cause
such uproar, and engender such confusion. Avarice, ambition, cruelty,
selfishness, were never heard of: cordial affection, compassion,
sympathy, were the only movements with which the human mind was yet
acquainted. Even the distinction of _mine_ and _thine_ was banished
from that happy race of mortals, and carried with them the very notions
of property and obligation, justice and injustice.
This, no doubt, is to be regarded as an idle fiction; but yet deserves
our attention, because nothing can more evidently show the origin of
those virtues, which are the subjects of our present inquiry. I have
already observed, that justice takes its rise from human conventions;
and that these are intended as a remedy to some inconveniences, which
proceed from the concurrence of certain _qualities_ of the human mind
with the _situation_ of external objects. The qualities of the mind
are _selfishness_ and _limited generosity_: and the situation of
external objects is their _easy change_, joined to their _scarcity_ in
comparison of the wants and desires of men. But however philosophers
may have been bewildered in those speculations, poets have been guided
more infallibly, by a certain taste or common instinct, which, in most
kinds of reasoning, goes farther than any of that art and philosophy
with which we have been yet acquainted. They easily perceived, if every
man had a tender regard for another, or if nature supplied abundantly
all our wants and desires, that the jealousy of interest, which justice
supposes, could no longer have place; nor would there be any occasion
for those distinctions and limits of property and possession, which at
present are in use among mankind. Increase to a sufficient degree the
benevolence of men, or the bounty of nature, and you render justice
useless, by supplying its place with much nobler virtues, and more
valuable blessings. The selfishness of men is animated by the few
possessions we have, in proportion to our wants; and 'tis to restrain
this selfishness, that men have been obliged to separate themselves
from the community, and to distinguish betwixt their own goods and
those of others.
Nor need we have recourse to the fictions of poets to learn this;
but, beside the reason of the thing, may discover the same truth
by common experience and observation. 'Tis easy to remark, that a
cordial affection renders all things common among friends; and that
married people, in particular, mutually lose their property, and are
unacquainted with the _mine_ and _thine_, which are so necessary, and
yet cause such disturbance in human society. The same effect arises
from any alteration in the circumstances of mankind; as when there is
such a plenty of any thing as satisfies all the desires of men: in
which case the distinction of property is entirely lost, and every
thing remains in common. This we may observe with regard to air and
water, though the most valuable of all external objects; and may easily
conclude, that if men were supplied with every thing in the same
abundance, or if _every one_ had the same affection and tender regard
for _every one_ as for himself, justice and injustice would be equally
unknown among mankind.
Here then is a proposition, which, I think, may be regarded as certain,
_that 'tis only from the selfishness and confined generosity of men,
along with the scanty provision nature has made for his wants, that
justice derives its origin_. If we look backward we shall find,
that this proposition bestows an additional force on some of those
observations which we have already made on this subject.
_First_, We may conclude from it, that a regard to public interest, or
a strong extensive benevolence, is not our first and original motive
for the observation of the rules of justice; since 'tis allowed, that
if men were endowed with such a benevolence, these rules would never
have been dreamt of.
_Secondly_, We may conclude from the same principle, that the sense
of justice is not founded on reason, or on the discovery of certain
connexions and relations of ideas, which are eternal, immutable,
and universally obligatory. For since it is confessed, that such an
alteration as that above-mentioned, in the temper and circumstances
of mankind, would entirely alter our duties and obligations, 'tis
necessary upon the common system, _that the sense of virtue is derived
from reason_, to show the change which this must produce in the
relations and ideas. But 'tis evident, that the only cause why the
extensive generosity of man, and the perfect abundance of every thing,
would destroy the very idea of justice, is, because they render it
useless; and that, on the other hand, his confined benevolence, and
his necessitous condition, give rise to that virtue, only by making
it requisite to the public interest, and to that of every individual.
'Twas therefore a concern for our own and the public interest which
made us establish the laws of justice; and nothing can be more certain,
than that it is not any relation of ideas which gives us this concern,
but our impressions and sentiments, without which every thing in nature
is perfectly indifferent to us, and can never in the least affect us.
The sense of justice, therefore, is not founded on our ideas, but on
our impressions.
_Thirdly_, We may farther confirm the foregoing proposition, _that
those impressions, which give rise to this sense of justice, are
not natural to the mind of man, but arise from artifice and human
conventions_. For, since any considerable alteration of temper and
circumstances destroys equally justice and injustice; and since such
an alteration has an effect only by changing our own and the public
interest, it follows, that the first establishment of the rules of
justice depends on these different interests. But if men pursued the
public interest naturally, and with a hearty affection, they would
never have dreamed of restraining each other by these rules; and if
they pursued their own interest, without any precaution, they would
run headlong into every kind of injustice and violence. These rules,
therefore, are artificial, and seek their end in an oblique and
indirect manner; nor is the interest which gives rise to them of a kind
that could be pursued by the natural and inartificial passions of men.
To make this more evident, consider, that, though the rules of justice
are established merely by interest, their connexion with interest
is somewhat singular, and is different from what may be observed on
other occasions. A single act of justice is frequently contrary to
_public interest_; and were it to stand alone, without being followed
by other acts, may, in itself, be very prejudicial to society. When a
man of merit, of a beneficent disposition, restores a great fortune
to a miser, or a seditious bigot, he has acted justly and laudably;
but the public is a real sufferer. Nor is every single act of justice,
considered apart, more conducive to private interest than to public;
and 'tis easily conceived how a man may impoverish himself by a signal
instance of integrity, and have reason to wish, that, with regard to
that single act, the laws of justice were for a moment suspended in
the universe. But, however single acts of justice may be contrary,
either to public or private interest, 'tis certain that the whole plan
or scheme is highly conducive, or indeed absolutely requisite, both
to the support of society, and the well-being of every individual.
'Tis impossible to separate the good from the ill. Property must be
stable, and must be fixed by general rules. Though in one instance
the public be a sufferer, this momentary ill is amply compensated by
the steady prosecution of the rule, and by the peace and order which
it establishes in society. And even every individual person must find
himself a gainer on balancing the account; since, without justice,
society must immediately dissolve, and every one must fall into that
savage and solitary condition, which is infinitely worse than the worst
situation that can possibly be supposed in society. When, therefore,
men have had experience enough to observe, that, whatever may be the
consequence of any single act of justice, performed by a single person,
yet the whole system of actions concurred in by the whole society,
is infinitely advantageous to the whole, and to every part, it is not
long before justice and property take place. Every member of society
is sensible of this interest: every one expresses this sense to his
fellows, along with the resolution he has taken of squaring his actions
by it, on condition that others will do the same. No more is requisite
to induce any one of them to perform an act of justice, who has the
first opportunity. This becomes an example to others; and thus justice
establishes itself by a kind of convention or agreement, that is, by
a sense of interest, supposed to be common to all, and where every
single act is performed in expectation that others are to perform the
like. Without such a convention, no one would ever have dreamed that
there was such a virtue as justice, or have been induced to conform his
actions to it. Taking any single act, my justice may be pernicious in
every respect; and 'tis only upon the supposition that others are to
imitate my example, that I can be induced to embrace that virtue; since
nothing but this combination can render justice advantageous, or afford
me any motives to conform myself to its rules.
We come now to the second question we proposed, viz. _Why we annex the
idea of virtue to justice, and of vice to injustice_. This question
will not detain us long after the principles which we have already
established. All we can say of it at present will be despatched in a
few words: and for farther satisfaction, the reader must wait till
we come to the _third_ part of this book. The natural obligation to
justice, viz. interest, has been fully explained; but as to the _moral_
obligation, or the sentiment of right and wrong, 'twill first be
requisite to examine the natural virtues, before we can give a full
and satisfactory account of it.
After men have found by experience, that their selfishness and confined
generosity, acting at their liberty, totally incapacitate them for
society; and at the same time have observed, that society is necessary
to the satisfaction of those very passions, they are naturally induced
to lay themselves under the restraint of such rules, as may render
their commerce more safe and commodious. To the imposition, then, and
observance of these rules, both in general, and in every particular
instance, they are at first induced only by a regard to interest; and
this motive, on the first formation of society, is sufficiently strong
and forcible. But when society has become numerous, and has increased
to a tribe or nation, this interest is more remote; nor do men so
readily perceive that disorder and confusion follow upon every breach
of these rules, as in a more narrow and contracted society. But though,
in our own actions, we may frequently lose sight of that interest which
we have in maintaining order, and may follow a lesser and more present
interest, we never fail to observe the prejudice we receive, either
mediately or immediately, from the injustice of others; as not being
in that case either blinded by passion, or biassed by any contrary
temptation. Nay, when the injustice is so distant from us as no way
to affect our interest, it still displeases us; because we consider
it as prejudicial to human society, and pernicious to every one that
approaches the person guilty of it. We partake of their uneasiness
by _sympathy_; and as every thing which gives uneasiness in human
actions, upon the general survey, is called Vice, and whatever produces
satisfaction, in the same manner, is denominated Virtue, this is the
reason why the sense of moral good and evil follows upon justice and
injustice. And though this sense, in the present case, be derived only
from contemplating the actions of others, yet we fail not to extend
it even to our own actions. The _general rule_ reaches beyond those
instances from which it arose; while, at the same time, we naturally
_sympathize_ with others in the sentiments they entertain of us.
Though this progress of the sentiments be _natural_, and even
necessary, 'tis certain, that it is here forwarded by the artifice of
politicians, who, in order to govern men more easily, and preserve
peace in human society, have endeavoured to produce an esteem for
justice, and an abhorrence of injustice. This, no doubt, must have
its effect; but nothing can be more evident, than that the matter has
been carried too far by certain writers on morals, who seem to have
employed their utmost efforts to extirpate all sense of virtue from
among mankind. Any artifice of politicians may assist nature in the
producing of those sentiments, which she suggests to us, and may even,
on some occasions, produce alone an approbation or esteem for any
particular action; but 'tis impossible it should be the sole cause of
the distinction we make betwixt vice and virtue. For if nature did not
aid us in this particular, 'twould be in vain for politicians to talk
of _honourable_ or _dishonourable, praiseworthy_ or _blameable_. These
words would be perfectly unintelligible, and would no more have any
idea annexed to them, than if they were of a tongue perfectly unknown
to us. The utmost politicians can perform, is to extend the natural
sentiments beyond their original bounds; but still nature must furnish
the materials, and give us some notion of moral distinctions.
As public praise and blame increase our esteem for justice, so private
education and instruction contribute to the same effect. For as parents
easily observe, that a man is the more useful, both to himself and
others, the greater degree of probity and honour he is endowed with,
and that those principles have, greater force when custom and education
assist interest and reflection: for these reasons they are induced
to inculcate on their children, from their earliest infancy, the
principles of probity, and teach them to regard the observance of those
rules by which society is maintained, as worthy and honourable, and
their violation as base and infamous. By this means the sentiments of
honour may take root in their tender minds, and acquire such firmness
and solidity, that they may fall little short of those principles which
are the most essential to our natures, and the most deeply radicated in
our internal constitution.
What farther contributes to increase their solidity, is the interest
of our reputation, after the opinion, _that a merit or demerit attends
justice or injustice_, is once firmly established among mankind.
There is nothing which touches us more nearly than our reputation,
and nothing on which our reputation more depends than our conduct
with relation to the property of others. For this reason, every one
who has any regard to his character, or who intends to live on good
terms with mankind, must fix an inviolable law to himself, never, by
any temptation, to be induced to violate those principles which are
essential to a man of probity and honour.
I shall make only one observation before I leave this subject, viz.
that, though I assert that, in the _state of_ nature, or that imaginary
state which preceded society, there be neither justice nor injustice,
yet I assert not that it was allowable, in such a state, to violate
the property of others. I only maintain, that there was no such thing
as property; and consequently could be no such thing as justice or
injustice. I shall have occasion to make a similar reflection with
regard to _promises_, when I come to treat of them; and I hope this
reflection, when duly weighed, will suffice to remove all odium from
the foregoing opinions, with regard to justice and injustice.