Such would be the reasonings of our speculative philosopher: But I am

persuaded, that if he had not a perfect knowledge of human nature, he

would be apt to regard them as mere chimerical speculations, and would

consider the infamy attending infidelity, and backwardness to all its

approaches, as principles that were rather to be wished than hoped for

in the world. For what means, would he say, of persuading mankind, that

the transgressions of conjugal duty are more infamous than any other

kind of injustice, when it is evident they are more excusable, upon

account of the greatness of the temptation? And what possibility of

giving a backwardness to the approaches of a pleasure, to which nature

has inspired so strong a propensity; and a propensity that it is

absolutely necessary in the end to comply with, for the support of the

species?

But speculative reasonings, which cost so much pains to philosophers,

are often formed by the world naturally, and without reflection: As

difficulties, which seem unsurmountable in theory, are easily got over

in practice. Those, who have an interest in the fidelity of women,

naturally disapprove of their infidelity, and all the approaches to

it. Those, who have no interest, are carried along with the stream.

Education takes possession of the ductile minds of the fair sex in their

infancy. And when a general rule of this kind is once established, men

are apt to extend it beyond those principles, from which it first arose.

Thus batchelors, however debauched, cannot chuse but be shocked with any

instance of lewdness or impudence in women. And though all these maxims

have a plain reference to generation, yet women past child-bearing have

no more privilege in this respect, than those who are in the flower of

their youth and beauty. Men have undoubtedly an implicit notion, that

all those ideas of modesty and decency have a regard to generation;

since they impose not the same laws, with the same force, on the male

sex, where that reason takes not place. The exception is there obvious

and extensive, and founded on a remarkable difference, which produces

a clear separation and disjunction of ideas. But as the case is not the

same with regard to the different ages of women, for this reason, though

men know, that these notions are founded on the public interest, yet

the general rule carries us beyond the original principle, and makes us

extend the notions of modesty over the whole sex, from their earliest

infancy to their extremest old-age and infirmity.

Courage, which is the point of honour among men, derives its merit, in

a great measure, from artifice, as well as the chastity of women; though

it has also some foundation in nature, as we shall see afterwards.

As to the obligations which the male sex lie under, with regard to

chastity, we may observe, that according to the general notions of the

world, they bear nearly the same proportion to the obligations of women,

as the obligations of the law of nations do to those of the law of

nature. It is contrary to the interest of civil society, that men

should have an entire liberty of indulging their appetites in venereal

enjoyment: But as this interest is weaker than in the case of the female

sex, the moral obligation, arising from it, must be proportionably

weaker. And to prove this we need only appeal to the practice and

sentiments of all nations and ages.

PART III OF THE OTHER VIRTUES AND VICES

SECT. I OF THE ORIGIN OF THE NATURAL VIRTUES AND VICES

We come now to the examination of such virtues and vices as are entirely

natural, and have no dependance on the artifice and contrivance of men.

The examination of these will conclude this system of morals.

The chief spring or actuating principle of the human mind is pleasure or

pain; and when these sensations are removed, both from our thought and

feeling, we are, in a great measure, incapable of passion or action, of

desire or volition. The most immediate effects of pleasure and pain are

the propense and averse motions of the mind; which are diversified

into volition, into desire and aversion, grief and joy, hope and fear,

according as the pleasure or pain changes its situation, and becomes

probable or improbable, certain or uncertain, or is considered as out of

our power for the present moment. But when along with this, the objects,

that cause pleasure or pain, acquire a relation to ourselves or others;

they still continue to excite desire and aversion, grief and joy: But

cause, at the same time, the indirect passions of pride or humility,

love or hatred, which in this case have a double relation of impressions

and ideas to the pain or pleasure.

We have already observed, that moral distinctions depend entirely on

certain peculiar sentiments of pain and pleasure, and that whatever

mental quality in ourselves or others gives us a satisfaction, by the

survey or reflection, is of course virtuous; as every thing of this

nature, that gives uneasiness, is vicious. Now since every quality in

ourselves or others, which gives pleasure, always causes pride or love;

as every one, that produces uneasiness, excites humility or hatred: It

follows, that these two particulars are to be considered as equivalent,

with regard to our mental qualities, virtue and the power of producing

love or pride, vice and the power of producing humility or hatred. In

every case, therefore, we must judge of the one by the other; and may

pronounce any quality of the mind virtuous, which causes love or pride;

and any one vicious, which causes hatred or humility.

If any action be either virtuous or vicious, it is only as a sign of

some quality or character. It must depend upon durable principles of the

mind, which extend over the whole conduct, and enter into the personal

character. Actions themselves, not proceeding from any constant

principle, have no influence on love or hatred, pride or humility; and

consequently are never considered in morality.

This reflection is self-evident, and deserves to be attended to, as

being of the utmost importance in the present subject. We are never to

consider any single action in our enquiries concerning the origin

of morals; but only the quality or character from which the action

proceeded. These alone are durable enough to affect our sentiments

concerning the person. Actions are, indeed, better indications of a

character than words, or even wishes and sentiments; but it is only so

far as they are such indications, that they are attended with love or

hatred, praise or blame.

To discover the true origin of morals, and of that love or hatred, which

arises from mental qualities, we must take the matter pretty deep, and

compare some principles, which have been already examined and explained.

We may begin with considering a-new the nature and force of sympathy.

The minds of all men are similar in their feelings and operations; nor

can any one be actuated by any affection, of which all others are not,

in some degree, susceptible. As in strings equally wound up, the motion

of one communicates itself to the rest; so all the affections readily

pass from one person to another, and beget correspondent movements in

every human creature. When I see the effects of passion in the voice and

gesture of any person, my mind immediately passes from these effects

to their causes, and forms such a lively idea of the passion, as is

presently converted into the passion itself. In like manner, when I

perceive the causes of any emotion, my mind is conveyed to the effects,

and is actuated with a like emotion. Were I present at any of the more

terrible operations of surgery, it is certain, that even before it

begun, the preparation of the instruments, the laying of the bandages

in order, the heating of the irons, with all the signs of anxiety and

concern in the patient and assistants, would have a great effect upon my

mind, and excite the strongest sentiments of pity and terror. No

passion of another discovers itself immediately to the mind. We are only

sensible of its causes or effects. From these we infer the passion: And

consequently these give rise to our sympathy.

Our sense of beauty depends very much on this principle; and where any

object has atendency to produce pleasure in its possessor, it is always

regarded as beautiful; as every object, that has a tendency to produce

pain, is disagreeable and deformed. Thus the conveniency of a house, the

fertility of a field, the strength of a horse, the capacity, security,

and swift-sailing of a vessel, form the principal beauty of these

several objects. Here the object, which is denominated beautiful,

pleases only by its tendency to produce a certain effect. That effect

is the pleasure or advantage of some other person. Now the pleasure of

a stranger, for whom we have no friendship, pleases us only by sympathy.

To this principle, therefore, is owing the beauty, which we find in

every thing that is useful. How considerable a part this is of beauty

can easily appear upon reflection. Wherever an object has a tendency

to produce pleasure in the possessor, or in other words, is the proper

cause of pleasure, it is sure to please the spectator, by a delicate

sympathy with the possessor. Most of the works of art are esteemed

beautiful, in proportion to their fitness for the use of man, and even

many of the productions of nature derive their beauty from that source.

Handsome and beautiful, on most occasions, is nor an absolute but a

relative quality, and pleases us by nothing but its tendency to produce

an end that is agreeable.[1]

[1] Decentior equus cujus astricta sunt ilia; sed idem velocior.

Pulcher aspectu sit athieta, cujus lacertos exercitatio expressit;

idem certamini paratior. Nunquam vero species ab utilitate

dividitur. Sed hoc quidem discernere, modici judicii est. Quinct.

lib. 8. (A horse with narrow flanks looks more comely; It also

moves faster. An athlete whose muscles have been developed by

training presents a handsome appearance; he is also better prepared

for the contest. Attractive appearance is invariably associated

with efficient functioning. Yet it takes no outstanding powers of

judgement to wake this distinction.)

The same principle produces, in many instances, our sentiments of

morals, as well as those of beauty. No virtue is more esteemed than

justice, and no vice more detested than injustice; nor are there any

qualities, which go farther to the fixing the character, either as

amiable or odious. Now justice is a moral virtue, merely because it has

that tendency to the good of mankind; and, indeed, is nothing but

an artificial invention to that purpose. The same may be said of

allegiance, of the laws of nations, of modesty, and of good-manners. All

these are mere human contrivances for the interest of society. And since

there is a very strong sentiment of morals, which in all nations, and

all ages, has attended them, we must allow, that the reflecting on the

tendency of characters and mental qualities, is sufficient to give us

the sentiments of approbation and blame. Now as the means to an end

can only be agreeable, where the end is agreeable; and as the good

of society, where our own interest is not concerned, or that of our

friends, pleases only by sympathy: It follows, that sympathy is the

source of the esteem, which we pay to all the artificial virtues.

Thus it appears, that sympathy is a very powerful principle in human

nature, that it has a great influence on our taste of beauty, and that

it produces our sentiment of morals in all the artificial virtues. From

thence we may presume, that it also gives rise to many of the other

virtues; and that qualities acquire our approbation, because of

their tendency to the good of mankind. This presumption must become a

certainty, when we find that most of those qualities, which we naturally

approve of, have actually that tendency, and render a man a proper

member of society: While the qualities, which we naturally disapprove

of, have a contrary tendency, and render any intercourse with the person

dangerous or disagreeable. For having found, that such tendencies have

force enough to produce the strongest sentiment of morals, we can never

reasonably, in these cases, look for any other cause of approbation

or blame; it being an inviolable maxim in philosophy, that where any

particular cause is sufficient for an effect, we ought to rest satisfied

with it, and ought not to multiply causes without necessity. We have

happily attained experiments in the artificial virtues, where the

tendency of qualities to the good of society, is the sole cause of

our approbation, without any suspicion of the concurrence of another

principle. From thence we learn the force of that principle. And where

that principle may take place, and the quality approved of is really

beneficial to society, a true philosopher will never require any other

principle to account for the strongest approbation and esteem.

That many of the natural virtues have this tendency to the good

of society, no one can doubt of. Meekness, beneficence, charity,

generosity, clemency, moderation, equity bear the greatest figure among

the moral qualities, and are commonly denominated the social virtues, to

mark their tendency to the good of society. This goes so far, that some

philosophers have represented all moral distinctions as the effect of

artifice and education, when skilful politicians endeavoured to restrain

the turbulent passions of men, and make them operate to the public

good, by the notions of honour and shame. This system, however, is nor

consistent with experience. For, first, there are other virtues and

vices beside those which have this tendency to the public advantage

and loss. Secondly, had not men a natural sentiment of approbation and

blame, it could never be excited by politicians; nor would the

words laudable and praise-worthy, blameable and odious be any more

intelligible, than if they were a language perfectly known to us, as we

have already observed. But though this system be erroneous, it may teach

us, that moral distinctions arise, in a great measure, from the tendency

of qualities and characters to the interests of society, and that it is

our concern for that interest, which makes us approve or disapprove

of them. Now we have no such extensive concern for society but from

sympathy; and consequently it is that principle, which takes us so far

out of ourselves, as to give us the same pleasure or uneasiness in the

characters of others, as if they had a tendency to our own advantage or

loss.

The only difference betwixt the natural virtues and justice lies in

this, that the good, which results from the former, arises from every

single act, and is the object of some natural passion: Whereas a single

act of justice, considered in itself, may often be contrary to the

public good; and it is only the concurrence of mankind, in a general

scheme or system of action, which is advantageous. When I relieve

persons in distress, my natural humanity is my motive; and so far as

my succour extends, so far have I promoted the happiness of my

fellow-creatures. But if we examine all the questions, that come before

any tribunal of justice, we shall find, that, considering each case

apart, it would as often be an instance of humanity to decide contrary

to the laws of justice as conformable them. Judges take from a poor

man to give to a rich; they bestow on the dissolute the labour of the

industrious; and put into the hands of the vicious the means of harming

both themselves and others. The whole scheme, however, of law and

justice is advantageous to the society; and it was with a view to this

advantage, that men, by their voluntary conventions, established it.

After it is once established by these conventions, it is naturally

attended with a strong sentiment of morals; which can proceed from

nothing but our sympathy with the interests of society. We need no other

explication of that esteem, which attends such of the natural virtues,

as have a tendency to the public good. I must farther add, that there

are several circumstances, which render this hypothesis much more

probable with regard to the natural than the artificial virtues. It is

certain that the imagination is more affected by what is particular,

than by what is general; and that the sentiments are always moved

with difficulty, where their objects are, in any degree, loose and

undetermined: Now every particular act of justice is not beneficial to

society, but the whole scheme or system: And it may not, perhaps, be any

individual person for whom we are concerned, who receives benefit from

justice, but the whole society alike. On the contrary, every particular

act of generosity, or relief of the industrious and indigent, is

beneficial; and is beneficial to a particular person, who is not

undeserving of it. It is more natural, therefore, to think, that the

tendencies of the latter virtue will affect our sentiments, and command

our approbation, than those of the former; and therefore, since we find,

that the approbation of the former arises from their tendencies, we may

ascribe, with better reason, the same cause to the approbation of the

latter. In any number of similar effects, if a cause can be discovered

for one, we ought to extend that cause to all the other effects, which

can be accounted for by it: But much more, if these other effects be

attended with peculiar circumstances, which facilitate the operation of

that cause.

Before I proceed farther, I must observe two remarkable circumstances in

this affair, which may seem objections to the present system. The first

may be thus explained. When any quality, or character, has a tendency to

the good of mankind, we are pleased with it, and approve of it; because

it presents the lively idea of pleasure; which idea affects us by

sympathy, and is itself a kind of pleasure. But as this sympathy is very

variable, it may be thought that our sentiments of morals must admit of

all the same variations. We sympathize more with persons contiguous to

us, than with persons remote from us: With our acquaintance, than

with strangers: With our countrymen, than with foreigners. But

notwithstanding this variation of our sympathy, we give the same

approbation to the same moral qualities in China as in England. They

appear equally virtuous, and recommend themselves equally to the esteem

of a judicious spectator. The sympathy varies without a variation in our

esteem. Our esteem, therefore, proceeds not from sympathy.

To this I answer: The approbation of moral qualities most certainly

is not derived from reason, or any comparison of ideas; but proceeds

entirely from a moral taste, and from certain sentiments of pleasure

or disgust, which arise upon the contemplation and view of particular

qualities or characters. Now it is evident, that those sentiments,

whence-ever they are derived, must vary according to the distance or

contiguity of the objects; nor can I feel the same lively pleasure from

the virtues of a person, who lived in Greece two thousand years ago,

that I feel from the virtues of a familiar friend and acquaintance. Yet

I do not say, that I esteem the one more than the other: And therefore,

if the variation of the sentiment, without a variation of the esteem,

be an objection, it must have equal force against every other system, as

against that of sympathy. But to consider the matter a-right, it has no

force at all; and it is the easiest matter in the world to account

for it. Our situation, with regard both to persons and things, is in

continual fluctuation; and a man, that lies at a distance from us,

may, in a little time, become a familiar acquaintance. Besides, every

particular man has a peculiar position with regard to others; and it is

impossible we could ever converse together on any reasonable terms, were

each of us to consider characters and persons, only as they appear

from his peculiar point of view. In order, therefore, to prevent those

continual contradictions, and arrive at a more stable judgment of

things, we fix on some steady and general points of view; and always,

in our thoughts, place ourselves in them, whatever may be our present

situation. In like manner, external beauty is determined merely by

pleasure; and it is evident, a beautiful countenance cannot give so

much pleasure, when seen at the distance of twenty paces, as when it

is brought nearer us. We say not, however, that it appears to us less

beautiful: Because we know what effect it will have in such a position,

and by that reflection we correct its momentary appearance.

In general, all sentiments of blame or praise are variable, according

to our situation of nearness or remoteness, with regard to the person

blamed or praised, and according to the present disposition of our mind.

But these variations we regard not in our general decision, but still

apply the terms expressive of our liking or dislike, in the same manner,

as if we remained in one point of view. Experience soon teaches us this

method of correcting our sentiments, or at least, of correcting our

language, where the sentiments are more stubborn and inalterable. Our

servant, if diligent and faithful, may excite stronger sentiments of

love and kindness than Marcus Brutus, as represented in history; but we

say not upon that account, that the former character is more laudable

than the latter. We know, that were we to approach equally near to that

renowned patriot, he would command a much higher degree of affection and

admiration. Such corrections are common with regard to all the senses;

and indeed it were impossible we could ever make use of language,

or communicate our sentiments to one another, did we not correct the

momentary appearances of things, and overlook our present situation.

It is therefore from the influence of characters and qualities, upon

those who have an intercourse with any person, that we blame or praise

him. We consider not whether the persons, affected by the qualities,

be our acquaintance or strangers, countrymen or foreigners. Nay, we

over-look our own interest in those general judgments; and blame not a

man for opposing us in any of our pretensions, when his own interest

is particularly concerned. We make allowance for a certain degree of

selfishness in men; because we know it to be inseparable from human

nature, and inherent in our frame and constitution. By this reflection

we correct those sentiments of blame, which so naturally arise upon any

opposition.

But however the general principle of our blame or praise may be

corrected by those other principles, it is certain, they are not

altogether efficacious, nor do our passions often correspond entirely

to the present theory. It is seldom men heartily love what lies at

a distance from them, and what no way redounds to their particular

benefit; as it is no less rare to meet with persons, who can pardon

another any opposition he makes to their interest, however justifiable

that opposition may be by the general rules of morality. Here we are

contented with saying, that reason requires such an Impartial conduct,

but that it is seldom we can bring ourselves to it, and that our

passions do not readily follow the determination of our judgment. This

language will be easily understood, if we consider what we formerly said

concerning that reason, which is able to oppose our passion; and which

we have found to be nothing but a general calm determination of the

passions, founded on some distant view or reflection. When we form our

judgments of persons, merely from the tendency of their characters

to our own benefit, or to that of our friends, we find so many

contradictions to our sentiments in society and conversation, and such

an uncertainty from the incessant changes of our situation, that we

seek some other standard of merit and demerit, which may not admit of so

great variation. Being thus loosened from our first station, we cannot

afterwards fix ourselves so commodiously by any means as by a sympathy

with those, who have any commerce with the person we consider. This is

far from being as lively as when our own interest is concerned, or that

of our particular friends; nor has it such an influence on our love

and hatred: But being equally conformable to our calm and general

principles, it is said to have an equal authority over our reason, and

to command our judgment and opinion. We blame equally a bad action,

which we read of in history, with one performed in our neighbourhood the

other day: The meaning of which is, that we know from reflection, that

the former action would excite as strong sentiments of disapprobation as

the latter, were it placed in the same position.

I now proceed to the second remarkable circumstance, which I proposed to

take notice of. Where a person is possessed of a character, that in its

natural tendency is beneficial to society, we esteem him virtuous, and

are delighted with the view of his character, even though particular

accidents prevent its operation, and incapacitate him from being

serviceable to his friends and country. Virtue in rags is still virtue;

and the love, which it procures, attends a man into a dungeon or desart,

where the virtue can no longer be exerted in action, and is lost to all

the world. Now this may be esteemed an objection to the present system.

Sympathy interests us in the good of mankind; and if sympathy were the

source of our esteem for virtue, that sentiment of approbation could

only take place, where the virtue actually attained its end, and

was beneficial to mankind. Where it fails of its end, it is only an

imperfect means; and therefore can never acquire any merit from that

end. The goodness of an end can bestow a merit on such means alone as

are compleat, and actually produce the end.

To this we may reply, that where any object, in all its parts, is fitted

to attain any agreeable end, it naturally gives us pleasure, and is

esteemed beautiful, even though some external circumstances be wanting

to render it altogether effectual. It is sufficient if every thing be

compleat in the object itself. A house, that is contrived with great

judgment for all the commodities of life, pleases us upon that account;

though perhaps we are sensible, that no one will ever dwell in it. A

fertile soil, and a happy climate, delight us by a reflection on the

happiness which they would afford the inhabitants, though at present the

country be desart and uninhabited. A man, whose limbs and shape promise

strength and activity, is esteemed handsome, though condemned to

perpetual imprisonment. The imagination has a set of passions belonging

to it, upon which our sentiments of beauty much depend. These passions

are moved by degrees of liveliness and strength, which are inferior to

belief, and independent of the real existence of their objects. Where a

character is, in every respect, fitted to be beneficial to society,

the imagination passes easily from the cause to the effect, without

considering that there are some circumstances wanting to render the

cause a complete one. General rules create a species of probability,

which sometimes influences the judgment, and always the imagination.

It is true, when the cause is compleat, and a good disposition is

attended with good fortune, which renders it really beneficial to

society, it gives a stronger pleasure to the spectator, and is attended

with a more lively sympathy. We are more affected by it; and yet we do

not say that it is more virtuous, or that we esteem it more. We know,

that an alteration of fortune may render the benevolent disposition

entirely impotent; and therefore we separate, as much as possible, the

fortune from the disposition. The case is the same, as when we correct

the different sentiments of virtue, which proceed from its different

distances from ourselves. The passions do not always follow our

corrections; but these corrections serve sufficiently to regulate our

abstract notions, and are alone regarded, when we pronounce in general

concerning the degrees of vice and virtue.

It is observed by critics, that all words or sentences, which are

difficult to the pronunciation, are disagreeable to the ear. There is no

difference, whether a man hear them pronounced, or read them silently

to himself. When I run over a book with my eye, I imagine I hear it all;

and also, by the force of imagination, enter into the uneasiness, which

the delivery of it would give the speaker. The uneasiness is not real;

but as such a composition of words has a natural tendency to produce

it, this is sufficient to affect the mind with a painful sentiment, and

render the discourse harsh and disagreeable. It is a similar case, where

any real quality is, by accidental circumstances, rendered impotent, and

is deprived of its natural influence on society.

Upon these principles we may easily remove any contradiction, which may

appear to be betwixt the extensive sympathy, on which our sentiments

of virtue depend, and that limited generosity which I have frequently

observed to be natural to men, and which justice and property suppose,

according to the precedent reasoning. My sympathy with another may

give me the sentiment of pain and disapprobation, when any object is

presented, that has a tendency to give him uneasiness; though I may not

be willing to sacrifice any thing of my own interest, or cross any of

my passions, for his satisfaction. A house may displease me by being

ill-contrived for the convenience of the owner; and yet I may refuse to

give a shilling towards the rebuilding of it. Sentiments must touch

the heart, to make them controul our passions: But they need not

extend beyond the imagination, to make them influence our taste. When

a building seems clumsy and tottering to the eye, it is ugly and

disagreeable; though we be fully assured of the solidity of the

workmanship. It is a kind of fear, which causes this sentiment of

disapprobation; but the passion is not the same with that which we feel,

when obliged to stand under a wall, that we really think tottering and

insecure. The seeming tendencies of objects affect the mind: And the

emotions they excite are of a like species with those, which proceed

from the real consequences of objects, but their feeling is different.

Nay, these emotions are so different in their feeling, that they

may often be contrary, without destroying each other; as when the

fortifications of a city belonging to an enemy are esteemed beautiful

upon account of their strength, though we could wish that they were

entirely destroyed. The imagination adheres to the general views of

things, and distinguishes the feelings they produce, from those which

arise from our particular and momentary situation.

If we examine the panegyrics that are commonly made of great men, we

shall find, that most of the qualities, which are attributed to them,

may be divided into two kinds, viz. such as make them perform their

part in society; and such as render them serviceable to themselves, and

enable them to promote their own interest. Their prudence, temperance,

frugality, industry, assiduity, enterprize, dexterity, are celebrated,

as well as their generosity and humanity. If we ever give an indulgence

to any quality, that disables a man from making a figure in life, it is

to that of indolence, which is not supposed to deprive one of his parts

and capacity, but only suspends their exercise; and that without any

inconvenience to the person himself, since it is, in some measure, from

his own choice. Yet indolence is always allowed to be a fault, and a

very great one, if extreme: Nor do a man's friends ever acknowledge him

to be subject to it, but in order to save his character in more material

articles. He could make a figure, say they, if he pleased to give

application: His understanding is sound, his conception quick, and his

memory tenacious; but he hates business, and is indifferent about his

fortune. And this a man sometimes may make even a subject of vanity;

though with the air of confessing a fault: Because he may think, that

his incapacity for business implies much more noble qualities; such as

a philosophical spirit, a fine taste, a delicate wit, or a relish for

pleasure and society. But take any other case: Suppose a quality, that

without being an indication of any other good qualities, incapacitates

a man always for business, and is destructive to his interest; such as

a blundering understanding, and a wrong judgment of every thing in life;

inconstancy and irresolution; or a want of address in the management

of men and business: These are all allowed to be imperfections in a

character; and many men would rather acknowledge the greatest crimes,

than have it suspected, that they are, in any degree, subject to them.

It is very happy, in our philosophical researches, when we find the

same phænomenon diversified by a variety of circumstances; and by

discovering what is common among them, can the better assure ourselves

of the truth of any hypothesis we may make use of to explain it. Were

nothing esteemed virtue but what were beneficial to society, I am

persuaded, that the foregoing explication of the moral sense ought still

to be received, and that upon sufficient evidence: But this evidence

must grow upon us, when we find other kinds of virtue, which will not

admit of any explication except from that hypothesis. Here is a man,

who is not remarkably defective in his social qualities; but what

principally recommends him is his dexterity in business, by which he

has extricated himself from the greatest difficulties, and conducted the

most delicate affairs with a singular address and prudence. I find an

esteem for him immediately to arise in me: His company is a satisfaction

to me; and before I have any farther acquaintance with him, I would

rather do him a service than another, whose character is in every other

respect equal, but is deficient in that particular. In this case, the

qualities that please me are all considered as useful to the person, and

as having a tendency to promote his interest and satisfaction. They are

only regarded as means to an end, and please me in proportion to their

fitness for that end. The end, therefore, must be agreeable to me. But

what makes the end agreeable? The person is a stranger: I am no way

interested in him, nor lie under any obligation to him: His happiness

concerns not me, farther than the happiness of every human, and indeed

of every sensible creature: That is, it affects me only by sympathy.

From that principle, whenever I discover his happiness and good, whether

in its causes or effects, I enter so deeply into it, that it gives me a

sensible emotion. The appearance of qualities, that have a tendency to

promote it, have an agreeable effect upon my imagination, and command my

love and esteem.

This theory may serve to explain, why the same qualities, in all cases,

produce both pride and love, humility and hatred; and the same man is

always virtuous or vicious, accomplished or despicable to others, who is

so to himself. A person, in whom we discover any passion or habit, which

originally is only incommodious to himself, becomes always disagreeable

to us, merely on its account; as on the other hand, one whose character

is only dangerous and disagreeable to others, can never be satisfied

with himself, as long as he is sensible of that disadvantage. Nor is

this observable only with regard to characters and manners, but may

be remarked even in the most minute circumstances. A violent cough in

another gives us uneasiness; though in itself it does not in the least

affect us. A man will be mortified, if you tell him he has a stinking

breath; though it is evidently no annoyance to himself. Our fancy easily

changes its situation; and either surveying ourselves as we appear to

others, or considering others as they feel themselves, we enter, by that

means, into sentiments, which no way belong to us, and in which nothing

but sympathy is able to interest us. And this sympathy we sometimes

carry so far, as even to be displeased with a quality commodious to us,

merely because it displeases others, and makes us disagreeable in

their eyes; though perhaps we never can have any interest in rendering

ourselves agreeable to them.

There have been many systems of morality advanced by philosophers in

all ages; but if they are strictly examined, they may be reduced to

two, which alone merit our attention. Moral good and evil are certainly

distinguished by our sentiments, not by reason: But these sentiments

may arise either from the mere species or appearance of characters and

passions, or from reflections on their tendency to the happiness of

mankind, and of particular persons. My opinion is, that both these

causes are intermixed in our judgments of morals; after the same manner

as they are in our decisions concerning most kinds of external beauty:

Though I am also of opinion, that reflections on the tendencies of

actions have by far the greatest influence, and determine all the great

lines of our duty. There are, however, instances, in cases of less

moment, wherein this immediate taste or sentiment produces our

approbation. Wit, and a certain easy and disengaged behaviour, are

qualities immediately agreeable to others, and command their love

and esteem. Some of these qualities produce satisfaction in others

by particular original principles of human nature, which cannot be

accounted for: Others may be resolved into principles, which are more

general. This will best appear upon a particular enquiry.

As some qualities acquire their merit from their being immediately

agreeable to others, without any tendency to public interest; so some

are denominated virtuous from their being immediately agreeable to the

person himself, who possesses them. Each of the passions and operations

of the mind has a particular feeling, which must be either agreeable or

disagreeable. The first is virtuous, the second vicious. This particular

feeling constitutes the very nature of the passion; and therefore needs

not be accounted for.

But however directly the distinction of vice and virtue may seem to flow

from the immediate pleasure or uneasiness, which particular qualities

cause to ourselves or others; it is easy to observe, that it has also a

considerable dependence on the principle of sympathy so often insisted

on. We approve of a person, who is possessed of qualities immediately

agreeable to those, with whom he has any commerce; though perhaps we

ourselves never reaped any pleasure from them. We also approve of

one, who is possessed of qualities, that are immediately agreeable to

himself; though they be of no service to any mortal. To account for this

we must have recourse to the foregoing principles.

Thus, to take a general review of the present hypothesis: Every quality

of the mind is denominated virtuous, which gives pleasure by the mere

survey; as every quality, which produces pain, is called vicious. This

pleasure and this pain may arise from four different sources. For we

reap a pleasure from the view of a character, which is naturally fitted

to be useful to others, or to the person himself, or which is agreeable

to others, or to the person himself. One may, perhaps, be surprized.

that amidst all these interests and pleasures, we should forget our own,

which touch us so nearly on every other occasion. But we shall easily

satisfy ourselves on this head, when we consider, that every particular

person’s pleasure and interest being different, it is impossible men

could ever agree in their sentiments and judgments, unless they chose

some common point of view, from which they might survey their object,

and which might cause it to appear the same to all of them. Now in

judging of characters, the only interest or pleasure, which appears the

same to every spectator, is that of the person himself, whose character

is examined; or that of persons, who have a connexion with him. And

though such interests and pleasures touch us more faintly than our own,

yet being more constant and universal, they counter-ballance the latter

even in practice, and are alone admitted in speculation as the standard

of virtue and morality. They alone produce that particular feeling or

sentiment, on which moral distinctions depend.

As to the good or ill desert of virtue or vice, it is an evident

consequence of the sentiments of pleasure or uneasiness. These

sentiments produce love or hatred; and love or hatred, by the original

constitution of human passion, is attended with benevolence or anger;

that is, with a desire of making happy the person we love, and miserable

the person we hate. We have treated of this more fully on another

occasion.

SECT. II OF GREATNESS OF MIND

It may now be proper to illustrate this general system of morals, by

applying it to particular instances of virtue and vice, and shewing how

their merit or demerit arises from the four sources here explained. We

shall begin with examining the passions of pride and humility, and

shall consider the vice or virtue that lies in their excesses or just

proportion. An excessive pride or overweaning conceit of ourselves is

always esteemed vicious, and is universally hated; as modesty, or a just

sense of our weakness, is esteemed virtuous, and procures the good-will

of every-one. Of the four sources of moral distinctions, this is to

be ascribed to the third; viz, the immediate agreeableness and

disagreeableness of a quality to others, without any reflections on the

tendency of that quality.

In order to prove this, we must have recourse to two principles,

which are very conspicuous in human nature. The first of these is the

sympathy, and communication of sentiments and passions above-mentioned.

So close and intimate is the correspondence of human souls, that

no sooner any person approaches me, than he diffuses on me all his

opinions, and draws along my judgment in a greater or lesser degree.

And though, on many occasions, my sympathy with him goes not so far as

entirely to change my sentiments, and way of thinking; yet it seldom

is so weak as not to disturb the easy course of my thought, and give an

authority to that opinion, which is recommended to me by his assent

and approbation. Nor is it any way material upon what subject he and I

employ our thoughts. Whether we judge of an indifferent person, or of my

own character, my sympathy gives equal force to his decision: And even

his sentiments of his own merit make me consider him in the same light,

in which he regards himself.

This principle of sympathy is of so powerful and insinuating a nature,

that it enters into most of our sentiments and passions, and often takes

place under the appearance of its contrary. For it is remarkable, that

when a person opposes me in any thing, which I am strongly bent upon,

and rouzes up my passion by contradiction, I have always a degree of

sympathy with him, nor does my commotion proceed from any other origin.

We may here observe an evident conflict or rencounter of opposite

principles and passions. On the one side there is that passion or

sentiment, which is natural to me; and it is observable, that the

stronger this passion is, the greater is the commotion. There must also

be some passion or sentiment on the other side; and this passion can

proceed from nothing but sympathy. The sentiments of others can never

affect us, but by becoming, in some measure, our own; in which case they

operate upon us, by opposing and encreasing our passions, in the very

same manner, as if they had been originally derived from our own temper

and disposition. While they remain concealed in the minds of others,

they can never have an influence upon us: And even when they are known,

if they went no farther than the imagination, or conception; that

faculty is so accustomed to objects of every different kind, that a mere

idea, though contrary to our sentiments and inclinations, would never

alone be able to affect us.

The second principle I shall take notice of is that of comparison, or

the variation of our judgments concerning objects, according to the

proportion they bear to those with which we compare them. We judge

more, of objects by comparison, than by their intrinsic worth and

value; and regard every thing as mean, when set in opposition to what

is superior of the same kind. But no comparison is more obvious than

that with ourselves; and hence it is that on all occasions it takes

place, and mixes with most of our passions. This kind of comparison is

directly contrary to sympathy in its operation, as we have observed in

treating of compassion and malice.[2] IN ALL KINDS OF COMPARISON AN

OBJECT MAKES US ALWAYS RECEIVE FROM ANOTHER, TO WHICH IT IS COMPARED, A

SENSATION CONTRARY TO WHAT ARISES FROM ITSELF IN ITS DIRECT AND

IMMEDIATE SURVEY. THE DIRECT SURVEY OF ANOTHER'S PLEASURE NATURALLY

GIVES US PLEASURE; AND THEREFORE PRODUCES PAIN, WHEN COMPARED WITH OUR

OWN. HIS PAIN, CONSIDERED IN ITSELF, IS PAINFUL; BUT AUGMENTS THE IDEA

OF OUR OWN HAPPINESS, AND GIVES US PLEASURE.

[2] Book II. Part II. Sect. VIII.

Since then those principles of sympathy, and a comparison with

ourselves, are directly contrary, it may be worth while to consider,

what general rules can be formed, beside the particular temper of the

person, for the prevalence of the one or the other. Suppose I am now in

safety at land, and would willingly reap some pleasure from this

consideration: I must think on the miserable condition of those who are

at sea in a storm, and must endeavour to render this idea as strong and

lively as possible, in order to make me more sensible of my own

happiness. But whatever pains I may take, the comparison will never

have an equal efficacy, as if I were really on the shore,[3] and saw a

ship at a distance tossed by a tempest, and in danger every moment of

perishing on a rock or sand-bank. But suppose this idea to become still

more lively. Suppose the ship to be driven so near me, that I can

perceive distinctly the horror, painted on the countenance of the

seamen and passengers, hear their lamentable cries, see the dearest

friends give their last adieu, or embrace with a resolution to perish

in each others arms: No man has so savage a heart as to reap any

pleasure from such a spectacle, or withstand the motions of the

tenderest compassion and sympathy. It is evident, therefore, there is a

medium in this case; and that if the idea be too feint, it has no

influence by comparison; and on the other hand, if it be too strong, it

operates on us entirely by sympathy, which is the contrary to

comparison. Sympathy being the conversion of an idea into an

impression, demands a greater force and vivacity in the idea than is

requisite to comparison.

[3] Suave mari magno turbantibus aequora ventis E terra magnum

alterius spectare laborem; Non quia vexari quenquam eat jucunda

voluptas, Sed quibus ipse malls caress qula cernere sauv' est.

LUCRET.

(There is something pleasant in watching, from dry land, the great

difficulties another man is undergoing out on the high sea, with

the winds lashing the waters. This is not because one derives

delight from any man's distress, but because it is pleasurable to

perceive from what troubles one is oneself free.)

All this is easily applied to the present subject. We sink very much in

our own eyes, when in the presence of a great man, or one of a superior

genius; and this humility makes a considerable ingredient in that

respect, which we pay our superiors, according to our foregoing

reasonings on that passion.[4] Sometimes even envy and hatred arise

from the comparison; but in the greatest part of men, it rests at

respect and esteem. As sympathy has such a powerful influence on the

human mind, it causes pride to have, in some measure, the same effect

as merit; and by making us enter into those elevated sentiments, which

the proud man entertains of himself, presents that comparison, which is

so mortifying and disagreeable. Our judgment does not entirely

accompany him in the flattering conceit, in which he pleases himself;

but still is so shaken as to receive the idea it presents, and to give

it an influence above the loose conceptions of the imagination. A man,

who, in an idle humour, would form a notion of a person of a merit very

much superior to his own, would not be mortified by that fiction: But

when a man, whom we are really persuaded to be of inferior merit, is

presented to us; if we observe in him any extraordinary degree of pride

and self-conceit; the firm persuasion he has of his own merit, takes

hold of the imagination, and diminishes us in our own eyes, in the same

manner, as if he were really possessed of all the good qualities which

he so liberally attributes to himself. Our idea is here precisely in

that medium, which is requisite to make it operate on us by comparison.

Were it accompanied with belief, and did the person appear to have the

same merit, which he assumes to himself, it would have a contrary

effect, and would operate on us by sympathy. The influence of that

principle would then be superior to that of comparison, contrary to

what happens where the person's merit seems below his pretensions.

[4] Book II. Part II. Sect. X.

The necessary consequence of these principles is, that pride, or an

over-weaning conceit of ourselves, must be vicious; since it

causes uneasiness in all men, and presents them every moment with a

disagreeable comparison. It is a trite observation in philosophy, and

even in common life and conversation, that it is our own pride, which

makes us so much displeased with the pride of other people; and that

vanity becomes insupportable to us merely because we are vain. The gay

naturally associate themselves with the gay, and the amorous with the

amorous: But the proud never can endure the proud, and rather seek the

company of those who are of an opposite disposition. As we are, all of

us, proud in some degree, pride is universally blamed and condemned by

all mankind; as having a natural tendency to cause uneasiness in others

by means of comparison. And this effect must follow the more naturally,

that those, who have an ill-grounded conceit of themselves, are for ever

making those comparisons, nor have they any other method of supporting

their vanity. A man of sense and merit is pleased with himself,

independent of all foreign considerations: But a fool must always find

some person, that is more foolish, in order to keep himself in good

humour with his own parts and understanding.

But though an over-weaning conceit of our own merit be vicious and

disagreeable, nothing can be more laudable, than to have a value for

ourselves, where we really have qualities that are valuable. The utility

and advantage of any quality to ourselves is a source of virtue, as well

as its agreeableness to others; and it is certain, that nothing is more

useful to us in the conduct of life, than a due degree of pride, which

makes us sensible of our own merit, and gives us a confidence and

assurance in all our projects and enterprizes. Whatever capacity any

one may be endowed with, it is entirely useless to him, if he be not

acquainted with it, and form not designs suitable to it. It is requisite

on all occasions to know our own force; and were it allowable to err on

either side, it would be more advantageous to over-rate our merit, than

to form ideas of it, below its just standard. Fortune commonly favours

the bold and enterprizing; and nothing inspires us with more boldness

than a good opinion of ourselves.

Add to this, that though pride, or self-applause, be sometimes

disagreeable to others, it is always agreeable to ourselves; as on the

other hand, modesty, though it gives pleasure to every one, who observes

it, produces often uneasiness in the person endowed with it. Now it has

been observed, that our own sensations determine the vice and virtue of

any quality, as well as those sensations, which it may excite in others.

Thus self-satisfaction and vanity may not only be allowable, but

requisite in a character. It is, however, certain, that good-breeding

and decency require that we should avoid all signs and expressions,

which tend directly to show that passion. We have, all of us, a

wonderful partiality for ourselves, and were we always to give vent to

our sentiments in this particular, we should mutually cause the greatest

indignation in each other, not only by the immediate presence of so

disagreeable a subject of comparison, but also by the contrariety of

our judgments. In like manner, therefore, as we establish the laws

of nature, in order to secure property in society, and prevent the

opposition of self-interest; we establish the rules of good-breeding, in

order to prevent the opposition of men's pride, and render conversation

agreeable and inoffensive. Nothing is more disagreeable than a

man's over-weaning conceit of himself: Every one almost has a strong

propensity to this vice: No one can well distinguish in himself betwixt

the vice and virtue, or be certain, that his esteem of his own merit is

well-founded: For these reasons, all direct expressions of this passion

are condemned; nor do we make any exception to this rule in favour of

men of sense and merit. They are not allowed to do themselves justice

openly, in words, no more than other people; and even if they show

a reserve and secret doubt in doing themselves justice in their own

thoughts, they will be more applauded. That impertinent, and almost

universal propensity of men, to over-value themselves, has given us such

a prejudice against self-applause, that we are apt to condemn it, by a

general rule, wherever we meet with it; and it is with some difficulty

we give a privilege to men of sense, even in their most secret thoughts.

At least, it must be owned, that some disguise in this particular is

absolutely requisite; and that if we harbour pride in our breasts, we

must carry a fair outside, and have the appearance of modesty and mutual

deference in all our conduct and behaviour. We must, on every occasion,

be ready to prefer others to ourselves; to treat them with a kind of

deference, even though they be our equals; to seem always the lowest

and least in the company, where we are not very much distinguished above

them: And if we observe these rules in our conduct, men will have

more indulgence for our secret sentiments, when we discover them in an

oblique manner.

I believe no one, who has any practice of the world, and can penetrate

into the inward sentiments of men, will assert, that the humility, which

good-breeding and decency require of us, goes beyond the outside, or

that a thorough sincerity in this particular is esteemed a real part

of our duty. On the contrary, we may observe, that a genuine and hearty

pride, or self-esteem, if well concealed and well founded, is essential

to the character of a man of honour, and that there is no quality of the

mind, which is more indispensibly requisite to procure the esteem

and approbation of mankind. There are certain deferences and mutual

submissions, which custom requires of the different ranks of men towards

each other; and whoever exceeds in this particular, if through interest,

is accused of meanness; if through ignorance, of simplicity. It is

necessary, therefore, to know our rank and station in the world, whether

it be fixed by our birth, fortune, employments, talents or reputation.

It is necessary to feel the sentiment and passion of pride in conformity

to it, and to regulate our actions accordingly. And should it be said,

that prudence may suffice to regulate our actions in this particular,

without any real pride, I would observe, that here the object of

prudence is to conform our actions to the general usage and custom; and,

that it is impossible those tacit airs of superiority should ever have

been established and authorized by custom, unless men were generally

proud, and unless that passion were generally approved, when

well-grounded.

If we pass from common life and conversation to history, this reasoning

acquires new force, when we observe, that all those great actions and

sentiments, which have become the admiration of mankind, are founded on

nothing but pride and self-esteem. Go, says Alexander the Great to his

soldiers, when they refused to follow him to the Indies, go tell your

countrymen, that you left Alexander corn pleating the conquest of the

world. This passage was always particularly admired by the prince of

Conde, as we learn from St Evremond.

"ALEXANDER," said that prince, "abandoned by his soldiers, among

barbarians, not yet fully subdued, felt in himself such a dignity of

right and of empire, that he could not believe it possible any one

could refuse to obey him. Whether in Europe or in Asia, among Greeks or

Persians, all was indifferent to him: Wherever he found men, he fancied

he found subjects."

In general we may observe, that whatever we call heroic virtue, and

admire under the character of greatness and elevation of mind, is either

nothing but a steady and well-established pride and self-esteem, or

partakes largely of that passion. Courage, intrepidity, ambition, love

of glory, magnanimity, and all the other shining virtues of that kind,

have plainly a strong mixture of self-esteem in them, and derive a great

part of their merit from that origin. Accordingly we find, that many

religious declaimers decry those virtues as purely pagan and natural,

and represent to us the excellency of the Christian religion, which

places humility in the rank of virtues, and corrects the judgment of the

world, and even of philosophers, who so generally admire all the efforts

of pride and ambition. Whether this virtue of humility has been rightly

understood, I shall not pretend to determine. I am content with the

concession, that the world naturally esteems a well-regulated pride,

which secretly animates our conduct, without breaking out into such

indecent expressions of vanity, as many offend the vanity of others.

The merit of pride or self-esteem is derived from two circumstances,

viz, its utility and its agreeableness to ourselves; by which it

capacitates us for business, and, at the same time, gives us an

immediate satisfaction. When it goes beyond its just bounds, it loses

the first advantage, and even becomes prejudicial; which is the reason

why we condemn an extravagant pride and ambition, however regulated by

the decorums of good-breeding and politeness. But as such a passion is

still agreeable, and conveys an elevated and sublime sensation to the

person, who is actuated by it, the sympathy with that satisfaction

diminishes considerably the blame, which naturally attends its dangerous

influence on his conduct and behaviour. Accordingly we may observe, that

an excessive courage and magnanimity, especially when it displays itself

under the frowns of fortune, contributes in a great measure, to

the character of a hero, and will render a person the admiration of

posterity; at the same time, that it ruins his affairs, and leads him

into dangers and difficulties, with which otherwise he would never have

been acquainted.

Heroism, or military glory, is much admired by the generality of

mankind. They consider it as the most sublime kind of merit. Men of

cool reflection are not so sanguine in their praises of it. The infinite

confusions and disorder, which it has caused in the world, diminish much

of its merit in their eyes. When they would oppose the popular notions

on this head, they always paint out the evils, which this supposed

virtue has produced in human society; the subversion of empires, the

devastation of provinces, the sack of cities. As long as these are

present to us, we are more inclined to hate than admire the ambition

of heroes. But when we fix our view on the person himself, who is the

author of all this mischief, there is something so dazzling in his

character, the mere contemplation of it so elevates the mind, that we

cannot refuse it our admiration. The pain, which we receive from its

tendency to the prejudice of society, is over-powered by a stronger and

more immediate sympathy.

Thus our explication of the merit or demerit, which attends the

degrees of pride or self-esteem, may serve as a strong argument for the

preceding hypothesis, by shewing the effects of those principles

above explained in all the variations of our judgments concerning that

passion. Nor will this reasoning be advantageous to us only by shewing,

that the distinction of vice and virtue arises from the four principles

of the advantage and of the pleasure of the person himself, and of

others: But may also afford us a strong proof of some under-parts of

that hypothesis.

No one, who duly considers of this matter, will make any scruple of

allowing, that any piece of in-breeding, or any expression of pride

and haughtiness, is displeasing to us, merely because it shocks our

own pride, and leads us by sympathy into a comparison, which causes the

disagreeable passion of humility. Now as an insolence of this kind

is blamed even in a person who has always been civil to ourselves in

particular; nay, in one, whose name is only known to us in history; it

follows, that our disapprobation proceeds from a sympathy with others,

and from the reflection, that such a character is highly displeasing

and odious to every one, who converses or has any intercourse with

the person possest of it. We sympathize with those people in their

uneasiness; and as their uneasiness proceeds in part from a sympathy

with the person who insults them, we may here observe a double rebound

of the sympathy; which is a principle very similar to what we have

observed.[5]

[5] Book II. Part II. Sect. V.

SECT. III OF GOODNESS AND BENEVOLENCE

Having thus explained the origin of that praise and approbation, which

attends every thing we call great in human affections; we now proceed to

give an account of their goodness, and shew whence its merit is derived.

When experience has once given us a competent knowledge of human

affairs, and has taught us the proportion they bear to human passion, we

perceive, that the generosity of men is very limited, and that it seldom

extends beyond their friends and family, or, at most, beyond their

native country. Being thus acquainted with the nature of man, we expect

not any impossibilities from him; but confine our view to that narrow

circle, in which any person moves, in order to form a judgment of his

moral character. When the natural tendency of his passions leads him

to be serviceable and useful within his sphere, we approve of his

character, and love his person, by a sympathy with the sentiments of

those, who have a more particular connexion with him. We are quickly

obliged to forget our own interest in our judgments of this kind, by

reason of the perpetual contradictions, we meet with in society and

conversation, from persons that are not placed in the same situation,

and have not the same interest with ourselves. The only point of

view, in which our sentiments concur with those of others, is, when we

consider the tendency of any passion to the advantage or harm of

those, who have any immediate connexion or intercourse with the person

possessed of it. And though this advantage or harm be often very remote

from ourselves, yet sometimes it is very near us, and interests us

strongly by sympathy. This concern we readily extend to other cases,

that are resembling; and when these are very remote, our sympathy

is proportionably weaker, and our praise or blame fainter and more

doubtful. The case is here the same as in our judgments concerning

external bodies. All objects seem to diminish by their distance: But

though the appearance of objects to our senses be the original standard,

by which we judge of them, yet we do not say, that they actually

diminish by the distance; but correcting the appearance by reflection,

arrive at a more constant and established judgment concerning them.

In like manner, though sympathy be much fainter than our concern for

ourselves, and a sympathy with persons remote from us much fainter

than that with persons near and contiguous; yet we neglect all these

differences in our calm judgments concerning the characters of

men. Besides, that we ourselves often change our situation in this

particular, we every day meet with persons, who are in a different

situation from ourselves, and who could never converse with us on any

reasonable terms, were we to remain constantly in that situation and

point of view, which is peculiar to us. The intercourse of sentiments,

therefore, in society and conversation, makes us form some general

inalterable standard, by which we may approve or disapprove of

characters and manners. And though the heart does not always take part

with those general notions, or regulate its love and hatred by them, yet

are they sufficient for discourse, and serve all our purposes in company,

in the pulpit, on the theatre, and in the schools.

From these principles we may easily account for that merit, which

is commonly ascribed to generosity, humanity, compassion, gratitude,

friendship, fidelity, zeal, disinterestedness, liberality, and all those

other qualities, which form the character of good and benevolent. A

propensity to the tender passions makes a man agreeable and useful

in all the parts of life; and gives a just direction to all his other

quailties, which otherwise may become prejudicial to society. Courage

and ambition, when not regulated by benevolence, are fit only to make

a tyrant and public robber. It is the same case with judgment and

capacity, and all the qualities of that kind. They are indifferent in

themselves to the interests of society, and have a tendency to the

good or ill of mankind, according as they are directed by these other

passions.

As Love is immediately agreeable to the person, who is actuated by it,

and hatred immediately disagreeable; this may also be a considerable

reason, why we praise all the passions that partake of the former, and

blame all those that have any considerable share of the latter. It is

certain we are infinitely touched with a tender sentiment, as well

as with a great one. The tears naturally start in our eyes at the

conception of it; nor can we forbear giving a loose to the same

tenderness towards the person who exerts it. All this seems to me a

proof, that our approbation has, in those cases, an origin different

from the prospect of utility and advantage, either to ourselves or

others. To which we may add, that men naturally, without reflection,

approve of that character, which is most like their own. The man of a

mild disposition and tender affections, in forming a notion of the most

perfect virtue, mixes in it more of benevolence and humanity, than

the man of courage and enterprize, who naturally looks upon a certain

elevation of mind as the most accomplished character. This must

evidently proceed from an immediate sympathy, which men have with

characters similar to their own. They enter with more warmth into such

sentiments, and feel more sensibly the pleasure, which arises from them.

It is remarkable, that nothing touches a man of humanity more than any

instance of extraordinary delicacy in love or friendship, where a person

is attentive to the smallest concerns of his friend, and is willing

to sacrifice to them the most considerable interest of his own. Such

delicacies have little influence on society; because they make us regard

the greatest trifles: But they are the more engaging, the more minute

the concern is, and are a proof of the highest merit in any one, who is

capable of them. The passions are so contagious, that they pass with the

greatest facility from one person to another, and produce correspondent

movements in all human breasts. Where friendship appears in very signal

instances, my heart catches the same passion, and is warmed by those

warm sentiments, that display themselves before me. Such agreeable

movements must give me an affection to every one that excites them.

This is the case with every thing that is agreeable in any person. The

transition from pleasure to love is easy: But the transition must here

be still more easy; since the agreeable sentiment, which is excited by

sympathy, is love itself; and there is nothing required but to change

the object.

Hence the peculiar merit of benevolence in all its shapes and

appearances. Hence even its weaknesses are virtuous and amiable; and a

person, whose grief upon the loss of a friend were excessive, would be

esteemed upon that account. His tenderness bestows a merit, as it does a

pleasure, on his melancholy.

We are not, however, to imagine, that all the angry passions are

vicious, though they are disagreeable. There is a certain indulgence due

to human nature in this respect. Anger and hatred are passions

inherent in Our very frame and constitutions. The want of them, on some

occasions, may even be a proof of weakness and imbecillity. And where

they appear only in a low degree, we not only excuse them because they

are natural; but even bestow our applauses on them, because they are

inferior to what appears in the greatest part of mankind.

Where these angry passions rise up to cruelty, they form the most

detested of all vices. All the pity and concern which we have for the

miserable sufferers by this vice, turns against the person guilty of

it, and produces a stronger hatred than we are sensible of on any other

occasion. Even when the vice of inhumanity rises not to this extreme

degree, our sentiments concerning it are very much influenced by

reflections on the harm that results from it. And we may observe in

general, that if we can find any quality in a person, which renders him

incommodious to those, who live and converse with him, we always allow

it to be a fault or blemish, without any farther examination. On the

other hand, when we enumerate the good qualities of any person, we

always mention those parts of his character, which render him a safe

companion, an easy friend, a gentle master, an agreeable husband, or an

indulgent father. We consider him with all his relations in society; and

love or hate him, according as he affects those, who have any immediate

intercourse with him. And it is a most certain rule, that if there be

no relation of life, in which I could not wish to stand to a particular

person, his character must so far be allowed to be perfect. If he be

as little wanting to himself as to others, his character is entirely

perfect. This is the ultimate test of merit and virtue.

SECT. IV OF NATURAL ABILITIES

No distinction is more usual in all systems of ethics, than that betwixt

natural abilities and moral virtues; where the former are placed on the

same footing with bodily endowments, and are supposed to have no merit

or moral worth annexed to them. Whoever considers the matter accurately,

will find, that a dispute upon this head would be merely a dispute of

words, and that though these qualities are not altogether of the same

kind, yet they agree in the most material circumstances. They are both

of them equally mental qualities: And both of them equally produce

pleasure; and have of course an equal tendency to procure the love

and esteem of mankind. There are few, who are not as jealous of their

character, with regard to sense and knowledge, as to honour and courage;

and much more than with regard to temperance and sobriety. Men are even

afraid of passing for goodnatured; lest that should be taken for want

of understanding: And often boast of more debauches than they have been

really engaged in, to give themselves airs of fire and spirit. In short,

the figure a man makes in the world, the reception he meets with in

company, the esteem paid him by his acquaintance; all these advantages

depend almost as much upon his good sense and judgment, as upon any

other part of his character. Let a man have the best intentions in the

world, and be the farthest from all injustice and violence, he will

never be able to make himself be much regarded without a moderate

share, at least, of parts and understanding. Since then natural

abilities, though, perhaps, inferior, yet are on the same footing, both

as to their causes and effects, with those qualities which we call moral

virtues, why should we make any distinction betwixt them?

Though we refuse to natural abilities the title of virtues, we must

allow, that they procure the love and esteem of mankind; that they give

a new lustre to the other virtues; and that a man possessed of them is

much more intitled to our good-will and services, than one entirely

void of them. It may, indeed, be pretended that the sentiment of

approbation, which those qualities produce, besides its being inferior,

is also somewhat different from that, which attends the other virtues.

But this, in my opinion, is not a sufficient reason for excluding them

from the catalogue of virtues. Each of the virtues, even benevolence,

justice, gratitude, integrity, excites a different sentiment or feeling

in the spectator. The characters of Caesar and Cato, as drawn by

Sallust, are both of them virtuous, in the strictest sense of the word;

but in a different way: Nor are the sentiments entirely the same, which

arise from them. The one produces love; the other esteem: The one is

amiable; the other awful: We could wish to meet with the one character

in a friend; the other character we would be ambitious of in ourselves.

In like manner, the approbation which attends natural abilities, may be

somewhat different to the feeling from that, which arises from the other

virtues, without making them entirely of a different species. And indeed

we may observe, that the natural abilities, no more than the other

virtues, produce not, all of them, the same kind of approbation. Good

sense and genius beget esteem: Wit and humour excite love.[6]

[6] Love and esteem are at the bottom the same passions, and arise

from like causes. The qualities, that produce both, are agreeable,

and give pleasure. But where this pleasure is severe and serious;

or where its object is great, and makes a strong impression; or

where it produces any degree of humility and awe: In all these

cases, the passion, which arises from the pleasure, is more

properly denominated esteem than love. Benevolence attends both:

But is connected with love in a more eminent degree.

Those, who represent the distinction betwixt natural abilities and

moral virtues as very material, may say, that the former are entirely

involuntary, and have therefore no merit attending them, as having no

dependance on liberty and free-will. But to this I answer, first, that

many of those qualities, which all moralists, especially the antients,

comprehend under the title of moral virtues, are equally involuntary and

necessary, with the qualities of the judgment and imagination. Of this

nature are constancy, fortitude, magnanimity; and, in short, all the

qualities which form the great man. I might say the same, in some

degree, of the others; it being almost impossible for the mind to

change its character in any considerable article, or cure itself of a

passionate or splenetic temper, when they are natural to it. The greater

degree there is of these blameable qualities, the more vicious they

become, and yet they are the less voluntary. Secondly, I would have

anyone give me a reason, why virtue and vice may not be involuntary, as

well as beauty and deformity. These moral distinctions arise from the

natural distinctions of pain and pleasure; and when we receive those

feelings from the general consideration of any quality or character,

we denominate it vicious or virtuous. Now I believe no one will assert,

that a quality can never produce pleasure or pain to the person who

considers it, unless it be perfectly voluntary in the person who

possesses it. Thirdly, As to free-will, we have shewn that it has no

place with regard to the actions, no more than the qualities of men. It

is not a just consequence, that what is voluntary is free. Our actions

are more voluntary than our judgments; but we have not more liberty in

the one than in the other.

But though this distinction betwixt voluntary and involuntary be not

sufficient to justify the distinction betwixt natural abilities and

moral virtues, yet the former distinction will afford us a plausible

reason, why moralists have invented the latter. Men have observed, that

though natural abilities and moral qualities be in the main on the

same footing, there is, however, this difference betwixt them, that the

former are almost invariable by any art or industry; while the latter,

or at least, the actions, that proceed from them, may be changed by the

motives of rewards and punishments, praise and blame. Hence legislators,

and divines, and moralists, have principally applied themselves to the

regulating these voluntary actions, and have endeavoured to produce

additional motives, for being virtuous in that particular. They

knew, that to punish a man for folly, or exhort him to be prudent and

sagacious, would have but little effect; though the same punishments

and exhortations, with regard to justice and injustice, might have a

considerable influence. But as men, in common life and conversation,

do not carry those ends in view, but naturally praise or blame whatever

pleases or displeases them, they do not seem much to regard this

distinction, but consider prudence under the character of virtue as well

as benevolence, and penetration as well as justice. Nay, we find, that

all moralists, whose judgment is not perverted by a strict adherence

to a system, enter into the same way of thinking; and that the antient

moralists in particular made no scruple of placing prudence at the head

of the cardinal virtues. There is a sentiment of esteem and approbation,

which may be excited, in some degree, by any faculty of the mind, in its

perfect state and condition; and to account for this sentiment is the

business of Philosophers. It belongs to Grammarians to examine what

qualities are entitled to the denomination of virtue; nor will they

find, upon trial, that this is so easy a task, as at first sight they

may be apt to imagine.

The principal reason why natural abilities are esteemed, is because of

their tendency to be useful to the person, who is possessed of them.

It is impossible to execute any design with success, where it is not

conducted with prudence and discretion; nor will the goodness of our

intentions alone suffice to procure us a happy issue to our enterprizes.

Men are superior to beasts principally by the superiority of their

reason; and they are the degrees of the same faculty, which set such an

infinite difference betwixt one man and another. All the advantages of

art are owing to human reason; and where fortune is not very capricious,

the most considerable part of these advantages must fall to the share of

the prudent and sagacious.

When it is asked, whether a quick or a slow apprehension be most

valuable? whether one, that at first view penetrates into a subject, but

can perform nothing upon study; or a contrary character, which must

work out every thing by dint of application? whether a clear head, or

a copious invention? whether a profound genius, or a sure judgment? in

short, what character, or peculiar understanding, is more excellent than

another? It is evident we can answer none of these questions, without

considering which of those qualities capacitates a man best for the

world, and carries him farthest in any of his undertakings.

There are many other qualities of the mind, whose merit is derived from

the same origin, industry, perseverance, patience, activity, vigilance,

application, constancy, with other virtues of that kind, which it will

be easy to recollect, are esteemed valuable upon no other account,

than their advantage in the conduct of life. It is the same case with

temperance, frugality, economy, resolution: As on the other hand,

prodigality, luxury, irresolution, uncertainty, are vicious, merely

because they draw ruin upon us, and incapacitate us for business and

action.

As wisdom and good-sense are valued, because they are useful to the

person possessed of them; so wit and eloquence are valued, because they

are immediately agreeable to others. On the other hand, good humour is

loved and esteemed, because it is immediately agreeable to the person

himself. It is evident, that the conversation of a man of wit is very

satisfactory; as a chearful good-humoured companion diffuses a joy over

the whole company, from a sympathy with his gaiety. These qualities,

therefore, being agreeable, they naturally beget love and esteem, and

answer to all the characters of virtue.

It is difficult to tell, on many occasions, what it is that renders

one man's conversation so agreeable and entertaining, and another's so

insipid and distasteful. As conversation is a transcript of the mind as

well as books, the same qualities, which render the one valuable, must

give us an esteem for the other. This we shall consider afterwards. In

the mean time it may be affirmed in general, that all the merit a

man may derive from his conversation (which, no doubt, may be very

considerable) arises from nothing but the pleasure it conveys to those

who are present.

In this view, cleanliness is also to be regarded as a virtue; since it

naturally renders us agreeable to others, and is a very considerable

source of love and affection. No one will deny, that a negligence in

this particular is a fault; and as faults are nothing but smaller vices,

and this fault can have no other origin than the uneasy sensation, which

it excites in others, we may in this instance, seemingly so trivial,

dearly discover the origin of the moral distinction of vice and virtue

in other instances.

Besides all those qualities, which render a person lovely or valuable,

there is also a certain JE-NE-SAIS-QUOI of agreeable and handsome, that

concurs to the same effect. In this case, as well as in that of wit and

eloquence, we must have recourse to a certain sense, which acts without

reflection, and regards not the tendencies of qualities and characters.

Some moralists account for all the sentiments of virtue by this sense.

Their hypothesis is very plausible. Nothing but a particular enquiry can

give the preference to any other hypothesis. When we find, that almost

all the virtues have such particular tendencies; and also find, that

these tendencies are sufficient alone to give a strong sentiment of

approbation: We cannot doubt, after this, that qualities are approved

of, in proportion to the advantage, which results from them.

The decorum or indecorum of a quality, with regard to the age, or

character, or station, contributes also to its praise or blame. This

decorum depends, in a great measure, upon experience. It is usual to

see men lose their levity, as they advance in years. Such a degree

of gravity, therefore, and such years, are connected together in our

thoughts. When we observe them separated in any person's character, this

imposes a kind of violence on our imagination, and is disagreeable.

That faculty of the soul, which, of all others, is of the least

consequence to the character, and has the least virtue or vice in its

several degrees, at the same time, that it admits of a great variety of

degrees, is the memory. Unless it rise up to that stupendous height

as to surprize us, or sink so low as, in some measure, to affect the

judgment, we commonly take no notice of its variations, nor ever mention

them to the praise or dispraise of any person. It is so far from being a

virtue to have a good memory, that men generally affect to complain of

a bad one; and endeavouring to persuade the world, that what they say

is entirely of their own invention, sacrifice it to the praise of genius

and judgment. Yet to consider the matter abstractedly, it would be

difficult to give a reason, why the faculty of recalling past ideas with

truth and clearness, should not have as much merit in it, as the

faculty of placing our present ideas, in such an order, as to form true

propositions and opinions. The reason of the difference certainly must

be, that the memory is exerted without any sensation of pleasure or

pain; and in all its middling degrees serves almost equally well in

business and affairs. But the least variations in the judgment are

sensibly felt in their consequences; while at the same time that faculty

is never exerted in any eminent degree, without an extraordinary delight

and satisfaction. The sympathy with this utility and pleasure bestows a

merit on the understanding; and the absence of it makes us consider the

memory as a faculty very indifferent to blame or praise.

Before I leave this subject of natural abilities, I must observe, that,

perhaps, one source of the esteem and affection, which attends them, is

derived from the importance and weight, which they bestow on the person

possessed of them. He becomes of greater consequence in life. His

resolutions and actions affect a greater number of his fellow-creatures.

Both his friendship and enmity are of moment. And it is easy to observe,

that whoever is elevated, after this manner, above the rest of mankind,

must excite in us the sentiments of esteem and approbation. Whatever is

important engages our attention, fixes our thought, and is contemplated

with satisfaction. The histories of kingdoms are more interesting than

domestic stories: The histories of great empires more than those

of small cities and principalities: And the histories of wars and

revolutions more than those of peace and order. We sympathize with the

persons that suffer, in all the various sentiments which belong to their

fortunes. The mind is occupied by the multitude of the objects, and by

the strong passions, that display themselves. And this occupation or

agitation of the mind is commonly agreeable and amusing. The same theory

accounts for the esteem and regard we pay to men of extraordinary parts

and abilities. The good and ill of multitudes are connected with their

actions. Whatever they undertake is important, and challenges our

attention. Nothing is to be over-looked and despised, that regards them.

And where any person can excite these sentiments, he soon acquires our

esteem; unless other circumstances of his character render him odious

and disagreeable.

SECT. V SOME FARTHER REFLECTIONS CONCERNING THE NATURAL VIRTUES

It has been observed, in treating of the passions, that pride

and humility, love and hatred, are excited by any advantages or

disadvantages of the mind, body, or fortune; and that these advantages

or disadvantages have that effect by producing a separate impression of

pain or pleasure. The pain or pleasure, which arises from the general

survey or view of any action or quality of the mind, constitutes its

vice or virtue, and gives rise to our approbation or blame, which is

nothing but a fainter and more imperceptible love or hatred. We have

assigned four different sources of this pain and pleasure; and in order

to justify more fully that hypothesis, it may here be proper to observe,

that the advantages or disadvantages of the body and of fortune, produce

a pain or pleasure from the very same principles. The tendency of any

object to be useful to the person possessed of it, or to others; to

convey pleasure to him or to others; all these circumstances convey an

immediate pleasure to the person, who considers the object, and command

his love and approbation.

To begin with the advantages of the body; we may observe a phænomenon,

which might appear somewhat trivial and ludicrous, if any thing could be

trivial, which fortified a conclusion of such importance, or ludicrous,

which was employed in a philosophical reasoning. It is a general

remark, that those we call good women's men, who have either signalized

themselves by their amorous exploits, or whose make of body promises any

extraordinary vigour of that kind, are well received by the fair sex,

and naturally engage the affections even of those, whose virtue prevents

any design of ever giving employment to those talents. Here it is

evident, that the ability of such a person to give enjoyment, is the

real source of that love and esteem he meets with among the females; at

the same time that the women, who love and esteem him, have no prospect

of receiving that enjoyment themselves, and can only be affected by

means of their sympathy with one, that has a commerce of love with him.

This instance is singular, and merits our attention.

Another source of the pleasure we receive from considering bodily

advantages, is their utility to the person himself, who is possessed of

them. It is certain, that a considerable part of the beauty of men, as

well as of other animals, consists in such a conformation of members, as

we find by experience to be attended with strength and agility, and to

capacitate the creature for any action or exercise. Broad shoulders,

a lank belly, firm joints, taper legs; all these are beautiful in

our species because they are signs of force and vigour, which being

advantages we naturally sympathize with, they convey to the beholder a

share of that satisfaction they produce in the possessor.

So far as to the utility, which may attend any quality of the body. As

to the immediate pleasure, it is certain, that an air of health, as well

as of strength and agility, makes a considerable part of beauty; and

that a sickly air in another is always disagreeable, upon account of

that idea of pain and uneasiness, which it conveys to us. On the other

hand, we are pleased with the regularity of our own features, though

it be neither useful to ourselves nor others; and it is necessary at a

distance, to make it convey to us any satisfaction. We commonly consider

ourselves as we appear in the eyes of others, and sympathize with the

advantageous sentiments they entertain with regard to us.

How far the advantages of fortune produce esteem and approbation from

the same principles, we may satisfy ourselves by reflecting on our

precedent reasoning on that subject. We have observed, that our

approbation of those, who are possessed of the advantages of fortune,

may be ascribed to three different causes. First, To that immediate

pleasure, which a rich man gives us, by the view of the beautiful

cloaths, equipage, gardens, or houses, which he possesses. Secondly,

To the advantage, which we hope to reap from him by his generosity and

liberality. Thirdly, To the pleasure and advantage, which he himself

reaps from his possessions, and which produce an agreeable sympathy in

us. Whether we ascribe our esteem of the rich and great to one or all of

these causes, we may clearly see the traces of those principles, which

give rise to the sense of vice and virtue. I believe most people, at

first sight, will be inclined to ascribe our esteem of the rich to

self-interest, and the prospect of advantage. But as it is certain,

that our esteem or deference extends beyond any prospect of advantage

to ourselves, it is evident, that that sentiment must proceed from

a sympathy with those, who are dependent on the person we esteem and

respect, and who have an immediate connexion with him. We consider him

as a person capable of contributing to the happiness or enjoyment of

his fellow-creatures, whose sentiments, with regard to him, we naturally

embrace. And this consideration will serve to justify my hypothesis

in preferring the third principle to the other two, and ascribing our

esteem of the rich to a sympathy with the pleasure and advantage, which

they themselves receive from their possessions. For as even the other

two principles cannot operate to a due extent, or account for all the

phaenomena, without having recourse to a sympathy of one kind or other;

it is much more natural to chuse that sympathy, which is immediate and

direct, than that which is remote and indirect. To which we may add,

that where the riches or power are very great, and render the person

considerable and important in the world, the esteem attending them, may,

in part, be ascribed to another source, distinct from these three,

viz. their interesting the mind by a prospect of the multitude, and

importance of their consequences: Though, in order to account for the

operation of this principle, we must also have recourse to sympathy; as

we have observed in the preceding section.

It may not be amiss, on this occasion, to remark the flexibility of our

sentiments, and the several changes they so readily receive from

the objects, with which they are conjoined. All the sentiments of

approbation, which attend any particular species of objects, have a

great resemblance to each other, though derived from different sources;

and, on the other hand, those sentiments, when directed to different

objects, are different to the feeling, though derived from the same

source. Thus the beauty of all visible objects causes a pleasure pretty

much the same, though it be sometimes derived from the mere species and

appearance of the objects; sometimes from sympathy, and an idea of their

utility. In like manner, whenever we survey the actions and characters

of men, without any particular interest in them, the pleasure, or pain,

which arises from the survey (with some minute differences) is, in the

main, of the same kind, though perhaps there be a great diversity in the

causes, from which it is derived. On the other hand, a convenient house,

and a virtuous character, cause not the same feeling of approbation;

even though the source of our approbation be the same, and flow

from sympathy and an idea of their utility. There is something very

inexplicable in this variation of our feelings; but it is what we have

experience of with regard to all our passions and sentiments.

SECT. VI CONCLUSION OF THIS BOOK

Thus upon the whole I am hopeful, that nothing is wanting to an accurate

proof of this system of ethics. We are certain, that sympathy is a very

powerful principle in human nature. We are also certain, that it has a

great influence on our sense of beauty, when we regard external

objects, as well as when we judge of morals. We find, that it has force

sufficient to give us the strongest sentiments of approbation, when it

operates alone, without the concurrence of any other principle; as in

the cases of justice, allegiance, chastity, and good-manners. We may

observe, that all the circumstances requisite for its operation are

found in most of the virtues; which have, for the most part, a tendency

to the good of society, or to that of the person possessed of them. If

we compare all these circumstances, we shall not doubt, that sympathy is

the chief source of moral distinctions; especially when we reflect, that

no objection can be raised against this hypothesis in one case, which

will not extend to all cases. Justice is certainly approved of for no

other reason, than because it has a tendency to the public good: And the

public good is indifferent to us, except so far as sympathy interests

us in it. We may presume the like with regard to all the other virtues,

which have a like tendency to the public good. They must derive all

their merit from our sympathy with those, who reap any advantage from

them: As the virtues, which have a tendency to the good of the person

possessed of them, derive their merit from our sympathy with him.

Most people will readily allow, that the useful qualities of the mind

are virtuous, because of their utility. This way of thinking is so

natural, and occurs on so many occasions, that few will make any scruple

of admitting it. Now this being once admitted, the force of sympathy

must necessarily be acknowledged. Virtue is considered as means to an

end. Means to an end are only valued so far as the end is valued.

But the happiness of strangers affects us by sympathy alone. To that

principle, therefore, we are to ascribe the sentiment of approbation,

which arises from the survey of all those virtues, that are useful

to society, or to the person possessed of them. These form the most

considerable part of morality.

Were it proper in such a subject to bribe the reader's assent, or employ

any thing but solid argument, we are here abundantly supplied with

topics to engage the affections. All lovers of virtue (and such we

all are in speculation, however we may degenerate in practice) must

certainly be pleased to see moral distinctions derived from so noble a

source, which gives us a just notion both of the generosity and capacity

of human nature. It requires but very little knowledge of human affairs

to perceive, that a sense of morals is a principle inherent in the soul,

and one of the most powerful that enters into the composition. But this

sense must certainly acquire new force, when reflecting on itself,

it approves of those principles, from whence it is derived, and finds

nothing but what is great and good in its rise and origin. Those who

resolve the sense of morals into original instincts of the human mind,

may defend the cause of virtue with sufficient authority; but want

the advantage, which those possess, who account for that sense by an

extensive sympathy with mankind. According to their system, not only

virtue must be approved of, but also the sense of virtue: And not only

that sense, but also the principles, from whence it is derived. So that

nothing is presented on any side, but what is laudable and good.

This observation may be extended to justice, and the other virtues of

that kind. Though justice be artificial, the sense of its morality is

natural. It is the combination of men, in a system of conduct, which

renders any act of justice beneficial to society. But when once it has

that tendency, we naturally approve of it; and if we did not so, it

is impossible any combination or convention could ever produce that

sentiment.

Most of the inventions of men are subject to change. They depend upon

humour and caprice. They have a vogue for a time, and then sink into

oblivion. It may, perhaps, be apprehended, that if justice were allowed

to be a human invention, it must be placed on the same footing. But the

cases are widely different. The interest, on which justice is founded,

is the greatest imaginable, and extends to all times and places. It

cannot possibly be served by any other invention. It is obvious, and

discovers itself on the very first formation of society. All these

causes render the rules of justice stedfast and immutable; at least,

as immutable as human nature. And if they were founded on original

instincts, could they have any greater stability?

The same system may help us to form a just notion of the happiness, as

well as of the dignity of virtue, and may interest every principle

of our nature in the embracing and cherishing that noble quality.

Who indeed does not feel an accession of alacrity in his pursuits of

knowledge and ability of every kind, when he considers, that besides the

advantage, which immediately result from these acquisitions, they

also give him a new lustre in the eyes of mankind, and are universally

attended with esteem and approbation? And who can think any advantages

of fortune a sufficient compensation for the least breach of the social

virtues, when he considers, that not only his character with regard to

others, but also his peace and inward satisfaction entirely depend upon

his strict observance of them; and that a mind will never be able to

bear its own survey, that has been wanting in its part to mankind and

society? But I forbear insisting on this subject. Such reflections

require a work apart, very different from the genius of the present.

The anatomist ought never to emulate the painter; nor in his accurate

dissections and portraitures of the smaller parts of the human body,

pretend to give his figures any graceful and engaging attitude or

expression. There is even something hideous, or at least minute in the

views of things, which he presents; and it is necessary the objects

should be set more at a distance, and be more covered up from sight, to

make them engaging to the eye and imagination. An anatomist, however,

is admirably fitted to give advice to a painter; and it is even

impracticable to excel in the latter art, without the assistance of the

former. We must have an exact knowledge of the parts, their situation

and connexion, before we can design with any elegance or correctness.

And thus the most abstract speculations concerning human nature, however

cold and unentertaining, become subservient to practical morality; and

may render this latter science more correct in its precepts, and more

persuasive in its exhortations.

APPENDIX

There is nothing I would more willingly lay hold of, than an opportunity

of confessing my errors; and should esteem such a return to truth and

reason to be more honourable than the most unerring judgment. A man,

who is free from mistakes, can pretend to no praises, except from the

justness of his understanding: But a man, who corrects his mistakes,

shews at once the justness of his understanding, and the candour and

ingenuity of his temper. I have not yet been so fortunate as to discover

any very considerable mistakes in the reasonings delivered in

the preceding volumes, except on one article: But I have found by

experience, that some of my expressions have not been so well chosen,

as to guard against all mistakes in the readers; and it is chiefly to

remedy this defect, I have subjoined the following appendix.

We can never be induced to believe any matter of fact, except where its

cause, or its effect, is present to us; but what the nature is of that

belief, which arises from the relation of cause and effect, few have

had the curiosity to ask themselves. In my opinion, this dilemma is

inevitable. Either the belief is some new idea, such as that of reality

or existence, which we join to the simple conception of an object, or

it is merely a peculiar feeling or sentiment. That it is not a new

idea, annexed to the simple conception, may be evinced from these two

arguments. First, We have no abstract idea of existence, distinguishable

and separable from the idea of particular objects. It is impossible,

therefore, that this idea of existence can be annexed to the idea of any

object, or form the difference betwixt a simple conception and belief.

Secondly, The mind has the command over all its ideas, and can separate,

unite, mix, and vary them, as it pleases; so that if belief consisted

merely in a new idea, annexed to the conception, it would be in a man's

power to believe what he pleased. We may, therefore, conclude, that

belief consists merely in a certain feeling or sentiment; in something,

that depends not on the will, but must arise from certain determinate

causes and principles, of which we are not masters. When we are

convinced of any matter of fact, we do nothing but conceive it, along

with a certain feeling, different from what attends the mere reveries

of the imagination. And when we express our incredulity concerning any

fact, we mean, that the arguments for the fact produce not that feeling.

Did not the belief consist in a sentiment different from our mere

conception, whatever objects were presented by the wildest imagination,

would be on an equal footing with the most established truths founded on

history and experience. There is nothing but the feeling, or sentiment,

to distinguish the one from the other.

This, therefore, being regarded as an undoubted truth, that belief is

nothing but a peculiar feeling, different from the simple conception,

the next question, that naturally occurs, is, what is the nature of

this feeling, or sentiment, and whether it be analogous to any other

sentiment of the human mind? This question is important. For if it be

not analogous to any other sentiment, we must despair of explaining its

causes, and must consider it as an original principle of the human mind.

If it be analogous, we may hope to explain its causes from analogy,

and trace it up to more general principles. Now that there is a greater

firmness and solidity in the conceptions, which are the objects of

conviction and assurance, than in the loose and indolent reveries of

a castle-builder, every one will readily own. They strike upon us with

more force; they are more present to us; the mind has a firmer hold of

them, and is more actuated and moved by them. It acquiesces in them;

and, in a manner, fixes and reposes itself on them. In short, they

approach nearer to the impressions, which are immediately present to us;

and are therefore analogous to many other operations of the mind.

There is not, in my opinion, any possibility of evading this conclusion,

but by asserting, that belief, beside the simple conception, consists in

some impression or feeling, distinguishable from the conception. It does

not modify the conception, and render it more present and intense: It

is only annexed to it, after the same manner that will and desire

are annexed to particular conceptions of good and pleasure. But the

following considerations will, I hope, be sufficient to remove this

hypothesis. First, It is directly contrary to experience, and our

immediate consciousness. All men have ever allowed reasoning to be

merely an operation of our thoughts or ideas; and however those ideas

may be varied to the feeling, there is nothing ever enters into our

conclusions but ideas, or our fainter conceptions. For instance; I hear

at present a person's voice, whom I am acquainted with; and this sound

comes from the next room. This impression of my senses immediately

conveys my thoughts to the person, along with all the surrounding

objects. I paint them out to myself as existent at present, with the

same qualities and relations, that I formerly knew them possessed of.

These ideas take faster hold of my mind, than the ideas of an inchanted

castle. They are different to the feeling; but there is no distinct or

separate impression attending them. It is the same case when I recollect

the several incidents of a journey, or the events of any history. Every

particular fact is there the object of belief. Its idea is modified

differently from the loose reveries of a castle-builder: But no distinct

impression attends every distinct idea, or conception of matter of fact.

This is the subject of plain experience. If ever this experience can

be disputed on any occasion, it is when the mind has been agitated with

doubts and difficulties; and afterwards, upon taking the object in a new

point of view, or being presented with a new argument, fixes and reposes

itself in one settled conclusion and belief. In this case there is a

feeling distinct and separate from the conception. The passage from

doubt and agitation to tranquility and repose, conveys a satisfaction

and pleasure to the mind. But take any other case. Suppose I see the

legs and thighs of a person in motion, while some interposed object

conceals the rest of his body. Here it is certain, the imagination

spreads out the whole figure. I give him a head and shoulders, and

breast and neck. These members I conceive and believe him to be

possessed of. Nothing can be more evident, than that this whole

operation is performed by the thought or imagination alone. The

transition is immediate. The ideas presently strike us. Their customary

connexion with the present impression, varies them and modifies them in

a certain manner, but produces no act of the mind, distinct from this

peculiarity of conception. Let any one examine his own mind, and he will

evidently find this to be the truth.

Secondly, Whatever may be the case, with regard to this distinct

impression, it must be allowed, that the mind has a firmer hold, or

more steady conception of what it takes to be matter of fact, than of

fictions. Why then look any farther, or multiply suppositions without

necessity?

Thirdly, We can explain the causes of the firm conception, but not those

of any separate impression. And not only so, but the causes of the firm

conception exhaust the whole subject, and nothing is left to produce any

other effect. An inference concerning a matter of fact is nothing but

the idea of an object, that is frequently conjoined, or is associated

with a present impression. This is the whole of it. Every part is

requisite to explain, from analogy, the more steady conception; and

nothing remains capable of producing any distinct impression.

Fourthly, The effects of belief, in influencing the passions and

imagination, can all be explained from the firm conception; and there

is no occasion to have recourse to any other principle. These arguments,

with many others, enumerated in the foregoing volumes, sufficiently

prove, that belief only modifies the idea or conception; and renders

it different to the feeling, without producing any distinct impression.

Thus upon a general view of the subject, there appear to be two

questions of importance, which we may venture to recommend to the

consideration of philosophers, Whether there be any thing to distinguish

belief from the simple conception beside the feeling of sentiment? And,

Whether this feeling be any thing but a firmer conception, or a faster

hold, that we take of the object?

If, upon impartial enquiry, the same conclusion, that I have formed,

be assented to by philosophers, the next business is to examine the

analogy, which there is betwixt belief, and other acts of the mind, and

find the cause of the firmness and strength of conception: And this I do

not esteem a difficult task. The transition from a present impression,

always enlivens and strengthens any idea. When any object is presented,

the idea of its usual attendant immediately strikes us, as something

real and solid. It is felt, rather than conceived, and approaches the

impression, from which it is derived, in its force and influence. This I

have proved at large. I cannot add any new arguments.

I had entertained some hopes, that however deficient our theory of the

intellectual world might be, it would be free from those contradictions,

and absurdities, which seem to attend every explication, that human

reason can give of the material world. But upon a more strict review of

the section concerning personal identity, I find myself involved in

such a labyrinth, that, I must confess, I neither know how to correct

my former opinions, nor how to render them consistent. If this be not a

good general reason for scepticism, it is at least a sufficient one (if

I were not already abundantly supplied) for me to entertain a diffidence

and modesty in all my decisions. I shall propose the arguments on both

sides, beginning with those that induced me to deny the strict and

proper identity and simplicity of a self or thinking being.

When we talk of self or substance, we must have an idea annexed to

these terms, otherwise they are altogether unintelligible. Every idea is

derived from preceding impressions; and we have no impression of self

or substance, as something simple and individual. We have, therefore, no

idea of them in that sense.

Whatever is distinct, is distinguishable; and whatever is

distinguishable, is separable by the thought or imagination. All

perceptions are distinct. They are, therefore, distinguishable, and

separable, and may be conceived as separately existent, and may exist

separately, without any contradiction or absurdity.

When I view this table and that chimney, nothing is present to me but

particular perceptions, which are of a like nature with all the other

perceptions. This is the doctrine of philosophers. But this table, which

is present to me, and the chimney, may and do exist separately. This is

the doctrine of the vulgar, and implies no contradiction. There is no

contradiction, therefore, in extending the same doctrine to all the

perceptions.

In general, the following reasoning seems satisfactory. All ideas are

borrowed from preceding perceptions. Our ideas of objects, therefore,

are derived from that source. Consequently no proposition can be

intelligible or consistent with regard to objects, which is not so with

regard to perceptions. But it is intelligible and consistent to say,

that objects exist distinct and independent, without any common simple

substance or subject of inhesion. This proposition, therefore, can never

be absurd with regard to perceptions.

When I turn my reflection on myself, I never can perceive this self

without some one or more perceptions; nor can I ever perceive any thing

but the perceptions. It is the composition of these, therefore, which

forms the self. We can conceive a thinking being to have either many or

few perceptions. Suppose the mind to be reduced even below the life

of an oyster. Suppose it to have only one perception, as of thirst or

hunger. Consider it in that situation. Do you conceive any thing but

merely that perception? Have you any notion of self or substance? If

not, the addition of other perceptions can never give you that notion.

The annihilation, which some people suppose to follow upon death, and

which entirely destroys this self, is nothing but an extinction of all

particular perceptions; love and hatred, pain and pleasure, thought and

sensation. These therefore must be the same with self; since the one

cannot survive the other.

Is self the same with substance? If it be, how can that question have

place, concerning the subsistence of self, under a change of substance?

If they be distinct, what is the difference betwixt them? For my part,

I have a notion of neither, when conceived distinct from particular

perceptions.

Philosophers begin to be reconciled to the principle, that we have

no idea of external substance, distinct from the ideas of particular

qualities. This must pave the way for a like principle with regard to

the mind, that we have no notion of it, distinct from the particular

perceptions.

So far I seem to be attended with sufficient evidence. But having thus

loosened all our particular perceptions, when I proceed to explain

the principle of connexion, which binds them together, and makes us

attribute to them a real simplicity and identity; I am sensible, that my

account is very defective, and that nothing but the seeming evidence

of the precedent reasonings could have induced me to receive it. If

perceptions are distinct existences, they form a whole only by being

connected together. But no connexions among distinct existences are

ever discoverable by human understanding. We only feel a connexion or

determination of the thought, to pass from one object to another. It

follows, therefore, that the thought alone finds personal identity, when

reflecting on the train of past perceptions, that compose a mind, the

ideas of them are felt to be connected together, and naturally introduce

each other. However extraordinary this conclusion may seem, it need not

surprize us. Most philosophers seem inclined to think, that personal

identity arises from consciousness; and consciousness is nothing but a

reflected thought or perception. The present philosophy, therefore,

has so far a promising aspect. But all my hopes vanish, when I come to

explain the principles, that unite our successive perceptions in our

thought or consciousness. I cannot discover any theory, which gives me

satisfaction on this head.

In short there are two principles, which I cannot render consistent; nor

is it in my power to renounce either of them, viz, that all our distinct

perceptions are distinct existences, and that the mind never perceives

any real connexion among distinct existences. Did our perceptions either

inhere in something simple and individual, or did the mind perceive some

real connexion among them, there would be no difficulty in the case. For

my part, I must plead the privilege of a sceptic, and confess, that this

difficulty is too hard for my understanding. I pretend not, however, to

pronounce it absolutely insuperable. Others, perhaps, or myself,

upon more mature reflections, may discover some hypothesis, that will

reconcile those contradictions.

I shall also take this opportunity of confessing two other errors of

less importance, which more mature reflection has discovered to me in my

reasoning. The first may be found in Vol. I. page 106. where I say, that

the distance betwixt two bodies is known, among other things, by the

angles, which the rays of light flowing from the bodies make with each

other. It is certain, that these angles are not known to the mind, and

consequently can never discover the distance. The second error may be

found in Vol. I. page 144 where I say, that two ideas of the same object

can only be different by their different degrees of force and vivacity.

I believe there are other differences among ideas, which cannot properly

be comprehended under these terms. Had I said, that two ideas of the

same object can only be different by their different feeling, I should

have been nearer the truth.