The Theory of Moral Sentiments
{"WorkMasterId":4694,"WpPageId":238247,"ParentWpPageId":193807,"Slug":"the-theory-of-moral-sentiments","Url":"https://chrisdeasy.com/theos/humanities/philosophy/philosophers/adam-smith/the-theory-of-moral-sentiments/","RelativeUrl":"theos/humanities/philosophy/philosophers/adam-smith/the-theory-of-moral-sentiments/","HasFullText":true,"RawHtmlLength":821552,"CleanHtmlLength":765442,"Kicker":"Philosophy Work","Title":"The Theory of Moral Sentiments","Deck":"Argues that moral judgment arises through sympathy and the standpoint of an impartial spectator who corrects passion, propriety, merit, virtue, and self-command.","BackLink":{"Text":"Back to Adam Smith","Url":"https://chrisdeasy.com/theos/humanities/philosophy/philosophers/adam-smith/"},"AuthorCard":{"Label":"Author","Title":"Adam Smith","Url":"https://chrisdeasy.com/theos/humanities/philosophy/philosophers/adam-smith/","MediaHref":"","ImageSrc":"https://chrisdeasy.com/wp-content/uploads/adam-smith-01-muir-portrait.jpg","ImageAlt":"Muir Portrait of Adam Smith","FilterTerra":"Western Europe","ClickText":"Adam Smith","ClickHref":"https://chrisdeasy.com/theos/humanities/philosophy/philosophers/adam-smith/","Copies":["1723 CE – 1790 CE","Kirkcaldy, Fife","Scottish philosopher from Kirkcaldy, Fife associated with epistemology, ethics, and political philosophy."]},"ContextCards":[{"Label":"Period","Key":"Period:3","Title":"Early Modern History","DateText":"1500 CE – 1799 CE","Url":"https://chrisdeasy.com/theos/humanities/philosophy/eras-of-thought/philosophers-of-early-modern-history/"},{"Label":"Era","Key":"Era:9","Title":"Enlightenment and Proto-Industrial","DateText":"1700 CE – 1799 CE","Url":"https://chrisdeasy.com/theos/humanities/philosophy/eras-of-thought/philosophers-of-early-modern-history/philosophers-of-the-enlightenment-and-proto-industrial/"},{"Label":"Composition","Title":"1759 CE","Url":"","DateText":""}],"DateNote":"","GeoCards":[{"Label":"Region","Key":"Region:1"},{"Label":"Terra Avita","Key":"TerraAvita:1"},{"Label":"Terra Avita Region","Key":"TerraAvitaRegion:2"},{"Label":"Modern Country","Key":"Country:GBR:1"}],"OriginalTitle":"The Theory of Moral Sentiments","Language":"English","DisciplineCards":[{"Label":"Primary Discipline","Key":"Discipline:ethics"},{"Label":"Secondary Discipline","Key":"Discipline:philosophy-of-mind"}],"Tradition":"Scottish Enlightenment; moral sentimentalism","FullText":{"Title":"Full Text","Copy":"Public-domain full text from Project Gutenberg eBook #67363 .","Url":"","Label":"","Kicker":"","Cards":[]},"CoreThesis":["Argues that moral judgment arises through sympathy and the standpoint of an impartial spectator who corrects passion, propriety, merit, virtue, and self-command."],"Classification":{"AlternateTitles":"TMS; Theory of Moral Sentiments","KeyConcepts":"sympathy, impartial spectator, propriety, merit, virtue, self-command, conscience, justice, beneficence","Methodology":"Moral psychology and sentimentalist analysis","Structure":"Philosophical treatise"},"Arguments":["Sympathy and the impartial spectator; propriety and merit; justice and beneficence; self-command and virtue."],"Influence":{"InfluencedBy":"Francis Hutcheson, David Hume, Stoicism, classical virtue ethics","InfluenceOn":""},"Significance":["Smith\u0027s major ethical work and the moral-psychological foundation of his wider social thought.","Used in virtue ethics, moral psychology, empathy and sympathy debates, and markets-and-morality scholarship."],"EvidenceNote":[],"MainSections":[{"Kind":"RawSection","Title":"Full Versions","BodyHtml":"\u003cdiv class=\"dz-philo__full-version-grid\"\u003e\n \u003carticle class=\"dz-philo__full-version-card\"\u003e\n \u003cp class=\"dz-philo__full-version-provider\"\u003eProject Gutenberg\u003c/p\u003e\n \u003ch3 class=\"dz-philo__full-version-title\"\u003eProject Gutenberg eBook #67363\u003c/h3\u003e\n \u003cp class=\"dz-philo__full-version-meta\"\u003eHtmlText · Imported\u003c/p\u003e\n \u003ca class=\"dz-philo__full-version-link\" href=\"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67363\"\u003eOpen full version\u003c/a\u003e\n \u003c/article\u003e\n \u003c/div\u003e"},{"Kind":"TextSection","Title":"Core Thesis","Paragraphs":["Argues that moral judgment arises through sympathy and the standpoint of an impartial spectator who corrects passion, propriety, merit, virtue, and self-command."]},{"Kind":"FieldSection","Title":"Classification","Fields":[{"Label":"Alternate Titles","Value":"TMS; Theory of Moral Sentiments"},{"Label":"Key Concepts","Value":"sympathy, impartial spectator, propriety, merit, virtue, self-command, conscience, justice, beneficence"},{"Label":"Methodology","Value":"Moral psychology and sentimentalist analysis"},{"Label":"Structure","Value":"Philosophical treatise"}]},{"Kind":"TextSection","Title":"Arguments","Paragraphs":["Sympathy and the impartial spectator; propriety and merit; justice and beneficence; self-command and virtue."]},{"Kind":"FieldSection","Title":"Influence","Fields":[{"Label":"Influenced By","Value":"Francis Hutcheson, David Hume, Stoicism, classical virtue ethics"},{"Label":"Influence On","Value":"Scottish Enlightenment ethics, moral psychology, virtue ethics, liberal theory, economics and ethics debates"}]},{"Kind":"TextSection","Title":"Significance","Paragraphs":["Smith\u0027s major ethical work and the moral-psychological foundation of his wider social thought.","Used in virtue ethics, moral psychology, empathy and sympathy debates, and markets-and-morality scholarship."]},{"Kind":"RawSection","Title":"Full Text","BodyHtml":"\u003cp class=\"dz-philo__section-copy dz-philo__full-text-source\"\u003ePublic-domain full text from \u003ca href=\"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67363\"\u003eProject Gutenberg eBook #67363\u003c/a\u003e.\u003c/p\u003e\n \u003carticle class=\"dz-philo__full-text-body\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"tnotes covernote\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c000\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eTranscriber’s Note:\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c000\"\u003eThe cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"titlepage\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003ch1 class=\"c001\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"small\"\u003eTHE\u003c/span\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"xlarge\"\u003eTHEORY\u003c/span\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"small\"\u003eOF\u003c/span\u003e\u003cbr\u003e MORAL SENTIMENTS;\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"small\"\u003eOR,\u003c/span\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"xlarge\"\u003eAN ESSAY\u003c/span\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"xsmall\"\u003eTOWARDS\u003c/span\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"small\"\u003eAn \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eAnalysis\u003c/span\u003e of the \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003ePrinciples\u003c/span\u003e by which \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eMen\u003c/span\u003e naturally judge concerning the \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eConduct\u003c/span\u003e and \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eCharacter\u003c/span\u003e, first of their \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eNeighbours\u003c/span\u003e, and afterwards of \u003cspan class=\"fss\"\u003eTHEMSELVES\u003c/span\u003e.\u003c/span\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"xsmall\"\u003eTO WHICH IS ADDED,\u003c/span\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"xlarge\"\u003eA DISSERTATION\u003c/span\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"xsmall\"\u003eON THE\u003c/span\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"xlarge\"\u003eORIGIN \u003cspan class=\"fss\"\u003eOF\u003c/span\u003e LANGUAGES.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/h1\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center-c0\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center c002\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\u003cspan class=\"large\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eBy\u003c/span\u003e ADAM SMITH, L.L.D. F.R.S.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"c003\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"small\"\u003eFormerly Professor of Philosophy in the University of Glasgow; and Author of the Nature and Cause of the Wealth of Nations.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"c002\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"large\"\u003eTHE SIXTH EDITION.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"c002\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"large\"\u003eDUBLIN:\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"c003\"\u003ePrinted for \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eJ. Beatty\u003c/span\u003e and \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eC. Jackson\u003c/span\u003e, No. 32, \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eSkinner-Row\u003c/span\u003e.\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"c003\"\u003eM,DCC,LXXVII.\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003ch2 class=\"c004\"\u003eCONTENTS.\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003ctable class=\"table0\"\u003e\r\n\u003ctbody\u003e\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003ePART I.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"xxlarge\"\u003eO\u003c/span\u003ef the Propriety of Action.\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e \u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003eSECTION I.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003eOf the sense of propriety\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003ePage \u003ca href=\"#Page_1\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e1\u003c/a\u003e.\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. I.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf Sympathy\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003eibid.\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. II.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the Pleasure of mutual Sympathy\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_9\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e9\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. III.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the manner in which we judge of the propriety or impropriety of the affections of other men, by their concord or dissonance with our own\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_14\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e14\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. IV.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eThe same subject continued\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_19\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e19\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. V.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the amiable and respectable virtues\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_27\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e27\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003eSECTION II.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003eOf the degrees of the different passions which are consistent with propriety\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_33\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e33\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. I.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the passions which take their origin from the body\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_34\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e34\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. II.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf those passions which take their origin from a particular turn or habit of the imagination\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_41\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e41\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. III.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the unsocial passions\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_46\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e46\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. IV.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the social passions\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_54\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e54\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. V.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the selfish passions\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_58\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e58\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003eSECTION III.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003eOf the effects of prosperity and adversity upon the judgment of mankind with regard to the propriety of action; and why it is more easy to obtain their approbation in the one state than in the other\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_64\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e64\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. I.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eThat though our sympathy with sorrow is generally a more lively sensation than our sympathy with joy, it commonly falls much more short of the violence of what is naturally felt by the person principally concerned\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003eibid.\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. II.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the origin of ambition, and of the distinction of ranks\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_74\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e74\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. III.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the stoical philosophy\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_89\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e89\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003ePART II.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003eOf Merit and Demerit; or of the objects of reward and punishment.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003eSECTION I.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003eOf the sense of merit and demerit\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_97\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e97\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. I.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eThat whatever appears to be the proper object of gratitude, appears to deserve reward; and that, in the same manner, whatever appears to be the proper object of resentment, appears to deserve punishment\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_98\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e98\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. II.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the proper objects of gratitude and resentment\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_102\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e102\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. III.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eThat where there is no approbation of the conduct of the person who confers the benefit, there is little sympathy with the gratitude of him who receives it: and that, on the contrary, where there is no disapprobation of the motives of the person who does the mischief, there is no sort of sympathy with the resentment of him who suffers it\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_106\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e106\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. IV.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eRecapitulation of the foregoing chapters\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_109\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e109\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. V.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eThe analysis of the sense of merit and demerit\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_112\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e112\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003eSECTION II.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003eOf justice and beneficence\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_119\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e119\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. I.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eComparison of those two virtues\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003eibid.\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. II.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the sense of justice, of remorse, and of the consciousness of merit\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_126\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e126\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. III.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the utility of this constitution of nature\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_132\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e132\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003eSECTION III.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003eOf the influence of fortune upon the sentiments of mankind, with regard to the merit or demerit of actions\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_145\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e145\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. I.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the causes of this influence of fortune\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_148\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e148\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. II.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the extent of this influence of fortune\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_154\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e154\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. III.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the final cause of this irregularity of sentiments\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_167\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e167\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003ePART III.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003eOf the foundation of our judgments concerning our own sentiments and conduct, and of the sense of duty.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. I.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the consciousness of merited praise or blame\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_173\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e173\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. II.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eIn what manner our own judgments refer to what ought to be the judgments of others: and of the origin of general rules\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_180\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e180\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. III.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the influence and authority of the general rules of morality, and that they are justly regarded as the laws of the Deity\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_207\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e207\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. IV.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eIn what cases the sense of duty ought to be the sole principle of our conduct; and in what cases it ought to concur with other motives\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_223\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e223\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003ePART IV.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003eOf the effect of utility upon the sentiments of approbation.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. I.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the beauty which the appearance of Utility bestows upon all the productions of art, and of the extensive influence of this species of beauty\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_237\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e237\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. II.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the beauty which the appearance of utility bestows upon the characters and actions of men; and how far the perception of this beauty may be regarded as one of the original principles of approbation\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_250\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e250\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003ePART V.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003eOf the influence of custom and fashion upon the sentiments of moral approbation and disapprobation.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. I.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the influence of custom and fashion upon our notions of beauty and deformity\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_261\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e261\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. II.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the influence of custom and fashion upon moral sentiments\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_271\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e271\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003ePART VI.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003eOf Systems of Moral Philosophy.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003eSECTION I.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003eOf the questions which ought to be examined in a theory of moral sentiments\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_291\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e291\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003eSECTION II.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003eOf the different accounts which have been given of the nature of virtue\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_294\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e294\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. I.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf those systems which make virtue consist in propriety\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_295\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e295\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. II.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf those systems which make virtue consist in prudence\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_311\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e311\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. III.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf those systems which make virtue consist in benevolence\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_321\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e321\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. IV.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf licentious systems\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_331\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e331\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003eSECTION III.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003eOf the different systems which have been formed concerning the principle of approbation\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_345\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e345\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. I.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf those systems which deduce the principle of approbation from self-love\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_346\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e346\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. II.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf those systems which make reason the principle of approbation\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_350\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e350\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eChap. III.\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf those systems which make sentiment the principle of approbation\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_356\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e356\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\u003ctd class=\"c005\" colspan=\"2\"\u003eSECTION IV.\u003c/td\u003e\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003eOf the manner in which different authors have treated of the practical rules of morality\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_367\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e367\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c006\"\u003e\u003cem\u003eConsiderations concerning the first formation of languages, and the different genius of original and compound languages\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003ctd class=\"c007\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#Page_389\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e389\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003c/tbody\u003e\u003c/table\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_1\"\u003e1\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch2 class=\"c004\"\u003ePART I.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"large\"\u003eOf the PROPRIETY of ACTION.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center-c0\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center c002\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003eConsisting of three Sections.\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c008\"\u003eSECTION I.\u003cbr\u003e Of the \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eSense\u003c/span\u003e of \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003ePropriety\u003c/span\u003e.\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c008\"\u003eCHAP. I.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf\u003c/em\u003e \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eSympathy\u003c/span\u003e.\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eHow selfish soever man may be supposed,\r\nthere are evidently some principles in his nature,\r\nwhich interest him in the fortune of others, and render\r\ntheir happiness necessary to him, though he derives\r\nnothing from it, except the pleasure of seeing it.\r\nOf this kind is pity or compassion, the emotion which\r\nwe feel for the misery of others, when we either see\r\nit, or are made to conceive it in a very lively manner.\r\nThat we often derive sorrow from the sorrow of\r\nothers, is a matter of fact too obvious to require any\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_2\"\u003e2\u003c/span\u003einstances to prove it; for this sentiment, like all the\r\nother original passions of human nature, is by no\r\nmeans confined to the virtuous and humane, though\r\nthey perhaps may feel it with the most exquisite sensibility.\r\nThe greatest ruffian, the most hardened\r\nviolator of the laws of society, is not altogether\r\nwithout it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs we have no immediate experience of what\r\nother men feel, we can form no idea of the manner\r\nin which they are affected, but by conceiving what\r\nwe ourselves should feel in the like situation. Though\r\nour brother is upon the rack, as long as we ourselves\r\nare at our ease, our senses will never inform us of\r\nwhat he suffers. They never did and never can carry\r\nus beyond our own person, and it is by the imagination\r\nonly that we can form any conception of\r\nwhat are his sensations. Neither can that faculty\r\nhelp us to this any other way, than by representing\r\nto us what would be our own, if we were in his case.\r\nIt is the impressions of our own senses only, not those\r\nof his, which our imaginations copy. By the imagination\r\nwe place ourselves in his situation, we conceive\r\nourselves enduring all the same torments, we\r\nenter as it were into his body and become in some\r\nmeasure him, and thence form some idea of his sensations\r\nand even feel something which, though weaker\r\nin degree, is not altogether unlike them. His agonies,\r\nwhen they are thus brought home to ourselves, when\r\nwe have thus adopted and made them our own, begin\r\nat last to affect us, and we then tremble and\r\nshudder at the thought of what he feels. For as to\r\nbe in pain or distress of any kind excites the most\r\nexcessive sorrow, so to conceive or to imagine that\r\nwe are in it, excites some degree of the same emotion,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_3\"\u003e3\u003c/span\u003ein proportion to the vivacity or dullness of the\r\nconception.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThat this is the source of our fellow-feeling for\r\nthe misery of others, that it is by changing places in\r\nfancy with the sufferer, that we come either to conceive\r\nor to be affected by what he feels, may be demonstrated\r\nby many obvious observations, if it\r\nshould not be thought sufficiently evident of itself.\r\nWhen we see a stroke aimed and just ready to fall\r\nupon the leg or arm of another person, we naturally\r\nshrink and draw back our own leg or our own arm;\r\nand when it does fall, we feel it in some measure,\r\nand are hurt by it as well as the sufferer. The mob,\r\nwhen they are gazing at a dancer on the slack rope,\r\nnaturally writhe and twist and balance their own bodies,\r\nas they see him do, and as they feel that they\r\nthemselves must do if in his situation. Persons of\r\ndelicate fibres and a weak constitution of body,\r\ncomplain that in looking on the sores and ulcers which\r\nare exposed by beggars in the streets, they are apt\r\nto feel an itching or uneasy sensation in the correspondent\r\npart of their own bodies. The horror\r\nwhich they conceive at the misery of those wretches\r\naffects that particular part in themselves more than\r\nany other; because that horror arises from conceiving\r\nwhat they themselves would suffer, if they really\r\nwere the wretches whom they are looking upon, and\r\nif that particular part in themselves was actually affected\r\nin the same miserable manner. The very\r\nforce of this conception is sufficient, in their feeble\r\nframes, to produce that itching or uneasy sensation\r\ncomplained of. Men of the most robust make, observe\r\nthat in looking upon sore eyes they often feel a\r\nvery sensible soreness in their own, which proceeds\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_4\"\u003e4\u003c/span\u003efrom the same reason; that organ being in the\r\nstrongest man more delicate than any other part of\r\nthe body is in the weakest.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eNeither is it those circumstances only, which\r\ncreate pain or sorrow, that call forth our fellow-feeling.\r\nWhatever is the passion which arises from any\r\nobject in the person principally concerned, an analogous\r\nemotion springs up, at the thought of his situation,\r\nin the breast of every attentive spectator.\r\nOur joy for the deliverance of those heroes of tragedy\r\nor romance who interest us, is as sincere as our grief\r\nfor their distress, and our fellow-feeling with their\r\nmisery is not more real than that with their happiness.\r\nWe enter into their gratitude towards those faithful\r\nfriends who did not desert them in their difficulties;\r\nand we heartily go along with their resentment against\r\nthose perfidious traitors who injured, abandoned, or\r\ndeceived them. In every passion of which the mind\r\nof man is susceptible, the emotions of the by-stander\r\nalways correspond to what, by bringing the case\r\nhome to himself, he imagines, should be the sentiments\r\nof the sufferer.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003ePity and compassion are words appropriated to\r\nsignify our fellow-feeling with the sorrow of others.\r\nSympathy, though its meaning was, perhaps, originally\r\nthe same, may now, however, without much\r\nimpropriety, be made use of to denote our fellow-feeling\r\nwith any passion whatever.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eUpon some occasions sympathy may seem to\r\narise merely from the view of a certain emotion in\r\nanother person. The passions, upon some occasions,\r\nmay seem to be transfused from one man to another,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_5\"\u003e5\u003c/span\u003einstantaneously, and antecedent to any knowledge\r\nof what excited them in the person principally concerned.\r\nGrief and joy, for example, strongly expressed\r\nin the look and gestures of any one, at once\r\naffect the spectator with some degree of a like painful\r\nor agreeable emotion. A smiling face is, to every\r\nbody that sees it, a chearful object; as a sorrowful\r\ncountenance, on the other hand, is a melancholy\r\none.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThis, however, does not hold universally, or with\r\nregard to every passion. There are some passions of\r\nwhich the expressions excite no sort of sympathy,\r\nbut before we are acquainted with what gave occasion\r\nto them, serve rather to disgust and provoke us\r\nagainst them. The furious behavior of an angry\r\nman is more likely to exasperate us against himself\r\nthan against his enemies. As we are unacquainted\r\nwith his provocation, we cannot bring his case home\r\nto ourselves, nor conceive any thing like the passions\r\nwhich it excites. But we plainly see what is the situation\r\nof those with whom he is angry, and to\r\nwhat violence they may be exposed from so enraged\r\nan adversary. We readily, therefore, sympathize\r\nwith their fear or resentment, and are immediately\r\ndisposed to take part against the man from whom\r\nthey appear to be in so much danger.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIf the very appearances of grief and joy inspire us\r\nwith some degree of the like emotions, it is because\r\nthey suggest to us the general idea of some good or\r\nbad fortune that has befallen the person in whom\r\nwe observe them: and in these passions this is sufficient\r\nto have some little influence upon us. The\r\neffects of grief and joy terminate in the person who\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_6\"\u003e6\u003c/span\u003efeels those emotions, of which the expressions do\r\nnot, like those of resentment, suggest to us the idea\r\nof any other person for whom we are concerned,\r\nand whose interests are opposite to his. The general\r\nidea of good or bad fortune, therefore, creates some\r\nconcern for the person who has met with it, but the\r\ngeneral idea of provocation excites no sympathy\r\nwith the anger of the man who has received it. Nature,\r\nit seems, teaches us to be more averse to enter\r\ninto this passion, and, till informed of its cause, to be\r\ndisposed rather to take part against it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eEven our sympathy with the grief or joy of another,\r\nbefore we are informed of the cause of either,\r\nis always extremely imperfect. General lamentations,\r\nwhich express nothing but the anguish of the\r\nsufferer, create rather a curiosity to inquire into his\r\nsituation, along with some disposition to sympathize\r\nwith him, than any actual sympathy that is very sensible.\r\nThe first question which we ask is, What\r\nhas befallen you? Till this be answered, tho’ we\r\nare uneasy both from the vague idea of his misfortune,\r\nand still more from torturing ourselves with\r\nconjectures about what it may be, yet our fellow-feeling\r\nis not very considerable.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSympathy, therefore, does not arise so much from\r\nthe view of the passion, as from that of the situation\r\nwhich excites it. We sometimes feel for another,\r\na passion of which he himself seems to be altogether\r\nincapable; because when we put ourselves in his\r\ncase, that passion arises in our breast from the imagination,\r\nthough it does not in his from the reality.\r\nWe blush for the impudence and rudeness of another,\r\nthough he himself appears to have no sense of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_7\"\u003e7\u003c/span\u003ethe impropriety of his own behavior; because we\r\ncannot help feeling with what confusion we ourselves\r\nshould be covered, had we behaved in so absurd a\r\nmanner.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eOf all the calamities to which the condition of\r\nmortality exposes mankind, the loss of reason appears,\r\nto those who have the least spark of humanity,\r\nby far the most dreadful, and they behold that last\r\nstage of human wretchedness with deeper commiseration\r\nthan any other. But the poor wretch, who\r\nis in it, laughs and sings perhaps, and is altogether\r\ninsensible of his own misery. The anguish which\r\nhumanity feels, therefore, at the sight of such an\r\nobject, cannot be the reflection of any sentiment of\r\nthe sufferer. The compassion of the spectator\r\nmust arise altogether from the consideration of what\r\nhe himself would feel if he was reduced to the same\r\nunhappy situation, and, what perhaps is impossible,\r\nwas at the same time able to regard it with his present\r\nreason and judgment.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhat are the pangs of a mother when she hears\r\nthe moanings of her infant that during the agony of\r\ndisease cannot express what it feels? In her idea of\r\nwhat it suffers, she joins, to its real helplessness,\r\nher own consciousness of that helplessness, and her\r\nown terrors for the unknown consequences of its\r\ndisorder; and out of all these, forms, for her own\r\nsorrow, the most complete image of misery and\r\ndistress. The infant, however, feels only the uneasiness\r\nof the present instant, which can never be\r\ngreat. With regard to the future it is perfectly secure,\r\nand in its thoughtlessness and want of foresight\r\npossesses an antidote against fear and anxiety,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_8\"\u003e8\u003c/span\u003ethe great tormentors of the human breast, from\r\nwhich reason and philosophy will in vain attempt\r\nto defend it when it grows up to a\r\nman.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWe sympathize even with the dead, and overlooking\r\nwhat is of real importance in their situation,\r\nthat awful futurity which awaits them, we are\r\nchiefly affected by those circumstances which strike\r\nour senses, but can have no influence upon their\r\nhappiness. It is miserable, we think, to be deprived\r\nof the light of the sun; to be shut out from life\r\nand conversation; to be laid in the cold grave, a\r\nprey to corruption and the reptiles of the earth;\r\nto be no more thought of in this world, but to be\r\nobliterated in a little time from the affections and\r\nalmost from the memory of their dearest friends\r\nand relations. Surely, we imagine, we can never\r\nfeel too much for those who have suffered so dreadful\r\na calamity. The tribute of our fellow-feeling\r\nseems doubly due to them now, when they are in\r\ndanger of being forgot by every body; and, by\r\nthe vain honors which we pay to their memory,\r\nwe endeavor, for our own misery, artificially\r\nto keep alive our melancholy remembrance\r\nof their misfortune. That our sympathy\r\ncan afford them no consolation seems to be\r\nan addition to their calamity; and to think that all\r\nwe can do is unavailing, and that, what alleviates\r\nall other distress, the regret, the love, and the lamentations\r\nof their friends, can yield no comfort to\r\nthem, serves only to exasperate our sense of their\r\nmisery. The happiness of the dead, however, most\r\nassuredly, is affected by none of these circumstances;\r\nnor is it the thought of these things which can ever\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_9\"\u003e9\u003c/span\u003edisturb the profound security of their repose. The\r\nidea of that dreary and endless melancholy, which\r\nthe fancy naturally ascribes to their condition, arises\r\naltogether from our joining to the change which\r\nhas been produced upon them, our own consciousness\r\nof that change, from our putting ourselves in\r\ntheir situation, and from our lodging, if I may be\r\nallowed to say so, our own living souls in their inanimated\r\nbodies, and thence conceiving what would\r\nbe our emotions in this case. It is from this very\r\nillusion of the imagination, that the foresight of our\r\nown dissolution is so terrible to us, and that the idea\r\nof those circumstances, which undoubtedly can give\r\nus no pain when we are dead, makes us miserable\r\nwhile we are alive. And from thence arises one of\r\nthe most important principles in human nature, the\r\ndread of death, the great poison to the happiness,\r\nbut the great restraint upon the injustice of mankind,\r\nwhich, while it afflicts and mortifies the individual,\r\nguards and protects the society.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. II.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the Pleasure of mutual Sympathy.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eBut whatever may be the cause of sympathy,\r\nor however it may be excited, nothing pleases us\r\nmore than to observe in other men a fellow-feeling\r\nwith all the emotions of our own breast; nor are\r\nwe ever so much shocked as by the appearance of\r\nthe contrary. Those who are fond of deducing all\r\nour sentiments from certain refinements of self-love,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_10\"\u003e10\u003c/span\u003ethink themselves at no loss to account, according to\r\ntheir own principles, both for this pleasure and this\r\npain. Man, say they, conscious of his own weakness\r\nand of the need which he has for the assistance\r\nof others, rejoices whenever he observes that they\r\nadopt his own passions, because he is then assured\r\nof that assistance; and grieves whenever he observes\r\nthe contrary, because he is then assured of\r\ntheir opposition. But both the pleasure and the pain\r\nare always felt so instantaneously, and often upon\r\nsuch frivolous occasions, that it seems evident that\r\nneither of them can be derived from any such self-interested\r\nconsideration. A man is mortified when,\r\nafter having endeavored to divert the company, he\r\nlooks round and sees that no body laughs at his jests\r\nbut himself. On the contrary, the mirth of the company\r\nis highly agreeable to him, and he regards this\r\ncorrespondence of their sentiments with his own as\r\nthe greatest applause.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eNeither does his pleasure seem to arise altogether\r\nfrom the additional vivacity which his mirth may\r\nreceive from sympathy with theirs, nor his pain\r\nfrom the disappointment he meets with when he\r\nmisses this pleasure; though both the one and the\r\nother, no doubt, do in some measure. When we\r\nhave read a book or poem so often that we can no\r\nlonger find any amusement in reading it by ourselves,\r\nwe can still take pleasure in reading it to a\r\ncompanion. To him it has all the graces of novelty;\r\nwe enter into the surprise and admiration which\r\nit naturally excites in him, but which it is no longer\r\ncapable of exciting in us; we consider all the ideas\r\nwhich it presents rather in the light in which they\r\nappear to him, than in that in which they appear\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_11\"\u003e11\u003c/span\u003eto ourselves, and we are amused by sympathy\r\nwith his amusement which thus enlivens our\r\nown. On the contrary, we should be vexed if he\r\ndid not seem to be entertained with it, and we could\r\nno longer take any pleasure in reading it to him.\r\nIt is the same case here. The mirth of the company,\r\nno doubt, enlivens our own mirth, and their silence,\r\nno doubt, disappoints us. But though this may\r\ncontribute both to the pleasure which we derive\r\nfrom the one, and to the pain which we feel from\r\nthe other, it is by no means the sole cause of either;\r\nand this correspondence of the sentiments of others\r\nwith our own appears to be a cause of pleasure, and\r\nthe want of it a cause of pain, which cannot be accounted\r\nfor in this manner. The sympathy, which\r\nmy friends express with my joy, might, indeed, give\r\nme pleasure by enlivening that joy: but that which\r\nthey express with my grief could give me none, if\r\nit served only to enliven that grief. Sympathy,\r\nhowever, enlivens joy and alleviates grief. It enlivens\r\njoy by presenting another source of satisfaction;\r\nand it alleviates grief by insinuating into the\r\nheart almost the only agreeable sensation which\r\nit is at that time capable of receiving.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is to be observed accordingly, that we are\r\nstill more anxious to communicate to our friends\r\nour disagreeable than our agreeable passions, that\r\nwe derive still more satisfaction from their sympathy\r\nwith the former than from that with the latter,\r\nand that we are still more shocked by the want of it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eHow are the unfortunate relieved when they\r\nhave sound out a person to whom they can communicate\r\nthe cause of their sorrow? Upon his sympathy\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_12\"\u003e12\u003c/span\u003ethey seem to disburthen themselves of a part\r\nof their distress: he is not improperly said to share\r\nit with them. He not only feels a sorrow of the\r\nsame kind with that which they feel, but as if he\r\nhad derived a part of it to himself, what he feels\r\nseems to alleviate the weight of what they feel.\r\nYet by relating their misfortunes, they in some\r\nmeasure renew their grief. They awaken in their\r\nmemory the remembrance of those circumstances\r\nwhich occasion their affliction. Their tears accordingly\r\nflow faster than before, and they are apt to\r\nabandon themselves to all the weakness of sorrow.\r\nThey take pleasure, however, in all this, and, it is\r\nevident, are sensibly relieved by it; because the\r\nsweetness of his sympathy more than compensates\r\nthe bitterness of that sorrow, which, in order to\r\nexcite that sympathy, they had thus enlivened and\r\nrenewed. The cruelest insult, on the contrary,\r\nwhich can be offered to the unfortunate, is to appear\r\nto make light of their calamities. To seem\r\nnot to be affected with the joy of our companions\r\nis but want of politeness; but not to wear a serious\r\ncountenance when they tell us their afflictions, is real\r\nand gross inhumanity.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eLove is an agreeable, resentment a disagreeable\r\npassion; and accordingly we are not half so anxious\r\nthat our friends should adopt our friendships, as\r\nthat they should enter into our resentments. We\r\ncan forgive them though they seem to be little affected\r\nwith the favors which we may have received,\r\nbut lose all patience if they seem indifferent\r\nabout the injuries which may have been done to us:\r\nnor are we half so angry with them for not entering\r\ninto our gratitude, as for not sympathizing with our\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_13\"\u003e13\u003c/span\u003eresentment. They can easily avoid being friends\r\nto our friends, but can hardly avoid being enemies\r\nto those with whom we are at variance. We seldom\r\nresent their being at enmity with the first,\r\nthough upon that account we may sometimes affect\r\nto make an awkward quarrel with them; but we\r\nquarrel with them in good earnest if they live in\r\nfriendship with the last. The agreeable passions of\r\nlove and joy can satisfy and support the heart without\r\nany auxiliary pleasure. The bitter and painful\r\nemotions of grief and resentment more strongly require\r\nthe healing consolation of sympathy.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs the person who is principally interested in any\r\nevent is pleased with our sympathy, and hurt by the\r\nwant of it, so we, too, seem to be pleased when we\r\nare able to sympathize with him, and to be hurt\r\nwhen we are unable to do so. We run not only to\r\ncongratulate the successful, but to condole with the\r\nafflicted; and the pleasure which we find in the\r\nconversation of one whom in all the passions of his\r\nheart we can entirely sympathize with, seems to do\r\nmore than compensate the painfulness of that sorrow\r\nwith which the view of his situation affects us.\r\nOn the contrary, it is always disagreeable to feel\r\nthat we cannot sympathize with him, and instead of\r\nbeing pleased with this exemption from sympathetic\r\npain, it hurts us to find that we cannot share his\r\nuneasiness. If we hear a person loudly lamenting\r\nhis misfortunes, which, however, upon bringing\r\nthe case home to ourselves, we feel, can produce no\r\nsuch violent effect upon us, we are shocked at his\r\ngrief; and, because we cannot enter into it, call\r\nit pusillanimity and weakness. It gives us the\r\nspleen, on the other hand, to see another too happy\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_14\"\u003e14\u003c/span\u003eor too much elevated, as we call it, with any\r\nlittle piece of good fortune. We are disobliged\r\neven with his joy, and, because we cannot go along\r\nwith it, call it levity and folly. We are even put\r\nout of humor if our companion laughs louder or\r\nlonger at a joke than we think it deserves; that\r\nis, than we feel that we ourselves could laugh at\r\nit.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. III.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the manner in which we judge of the propriety or impropriety of the affections of other men, by their concord or dissonance with our own.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eWhen the original passions of the person\r\nprincipally concerned are in perfect concord\r\nwith the sympathetic emotions of the spectator,\r\nthey necessarily appear to this last just and\r\nproper, and suitable to their objects; and, on the\r\ncontrary, when, upon bringing the case home to\r\nhimself, he finds that they do not coincide with\r\nwhat he feels, they necessarily appear to him unjust\r\nand improper, and unsuitable to the causes which\r\nexcite them. To approve of the passions of another,\r\ntherefore, as suitable to their objects, is the\r\nsame thing as to observe that we entirely sympathize\r\nwith them; and not to approve of them as such,\r\nis the same thing as to observe that we do not entirely\r\nsympathize with them. The man who resents\r\nthe injuries that have been done to me, and\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_15\"\u003e15\u003c/span\u003eobserves that I resent them precisely as he does, necessarily\r\napproves of my resentment. The man\r\nwhose sympathy keeps time to my grief, cannot\r\nbut admit the reasonableness of my sorrow. He\r\nwho admires the same poem, or the same picture,\r\nand admires them exactly as I do, must surely allow\r\nthe justness of my admiration. He who laughs at\r\nthe same joke, and laughs along with me, cannot\r\nwell deny the propriety of my laughter. On the\r\ncontrary, the person who, upon these different occasions,\r\neither feels no such emotion as that which\r\nI feel, or feels none that bears any proportion to\r\nmine, cannot avoid disapproving my sentiments on\r\naccount of their dissonance with his own. If my\r\nanimosity goes beyond what the indignation of my\r\nfriend can correspond to; if my grief exceeds what\r\nhis most tender compassion can go along with; if\r\nmy admiration is either too high or too low to tally\r\nwith his own; if I laugh loud and heartily when he\r\nonly smiles, or, on the contrary, only smile when he\r\nlaughs loud and heartily; in all these cases, as soon\r\nas he comes from considering the object, to observe\r\nhow I am affected by it, according as there is more\r\nor less disproportion between his sentiments and\r\nmine, I must incur a greater or less degree of his\r\ndisapprobation: and upon all occasions his own\r\nsentiments are the standards and measures by which\r\nhe judges of mine.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eTo approve of another man’s opinions is to adopt\r\nthose opinions, and to adopt them is to approve of\r\nthem. If the same arguments which convince you\r\nconvince me likewise, I necessarily approve of your\r\nconviction; and if they do not, I necessarily disapprove\r\nof it: neither can I possibly conceive that I\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_16\"\u003e16\u003c/span\u003eshould do the one without the other. To approve\r\nor disapprove, therefore, of the opinions of others\r\nis acknowledged, by every body, to mean no more\r\nthan to observe their agreement or disagreement\r\nwith our own. But this is equally the case with\r\nregard to our approbation or disapprobation of the\r\nsentiments or passions of others.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThere are, indeed, some cases in which we seem\r\nto approve without any sympathy or correspondence\r\nof sentiments, and in which, consequently, the sentiment\r\nof approbation would seem to be different\r\nfrom the perception of this coincidence. A little\r\nattention, however, will convince us that even in\r\nthese cases our approbation is ultimately founded\r\nupon a sympathy or correspondence of this kind.\r\nI shall give an instance in things of a very frivolous\r\nnature, because in them the judgments of mankind\r\nare less apt to be perverted by wrong systems. We\r\nmay often approve of a jest, and think the laughter\r\nof the company quite just and proper, though we\r\nourselves do not laugh, because, perhaps, we are in\r\na grave humour, or happen to have our attention\r\nengaged with other objects. We have learned,\r\nhowever, from experience, what sort of pleasantry\r\nas upon most occasions capable of making us laugh,\r\nand we observe that this is one of that kind. We\r\napprove, therefore, of the laughter of the company,\r\nand feel that it is natural and suitable to its object;\r\nbecause, though in our present mood we cannot easily\r\nenter into it, we are sensible that upon most occasions\r\nwe should very heartily join in it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe same thing often happens with regard to all\r\nthe other passions. A stranger passes by us in the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_17\"\u003e17\u003c/span\u003estreet with all the marks of the deepest affliction;\r\nand we are immediately told that he has just received\r\nthe news of the death of his father. It is impossible\r\nthat, in this case, we should not approve of\r\nhis grief. Yet it may often happen, without any\r\ndefect of humanity on our part, that, so far from\r\nentering into the violence of his sorrow, we should\r\nscarce conceive the first movements of concern upon\r\nhis account. Both he and his father, perhaps, are\r\nintirely unknown to us, or we happen to be employed\r\nabout other things, and do not take time to picture\r\nout in our imagination the different circumstances of\r\ndistress which must occur to him. We have learned,\r\nhowever, from experience, that such a misfortune\r\nnaturally excites such a degree of sorrow, and\r\nwe know that if we took time to consider his situation,\r\nfully and in all its parts, we should, without\r\ndoubt, most sincerely sympathize with him. It is\r\nupon the consciousness of this conditional sympathy,\r\nthat our approbation of his sorrow is founded, even\r\nin those cases in which that sympathy does not actually\r\ntake place; and the general rules derived\r\nfrom our preceding experience of what our sentiments\r\nwould commonly correspond with, correct\r\nupon this, as upon many other occasions, the impropriety\r\nof our present emotions.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe sentiment or affection of the heart from\r\nwhich any action proceeds, and upon which its whole\r\nvirtue or vice must ultimately depend, may be considered\r\nunder two different aspects, or in two different\r\nrelations; first, in relation to the cause which\r\nexcites it, or the motive which gives occasion to it;\r\nand secondly, in relation to the end which it proposes,\r\nor the effect which it tends to produce.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_18\"\u003e18\u003c/span\u003eIn the suitableness or unsuitableness, in the proportion\r\nor disproportion which the affection seems\r\nto bear to the cause or object which excites it, consists\r\nthe propriety or impropriety, the decency or\r\nungracefulness of the consequent action.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIn the beneficial or hurtful nature of the effects\r\nwhich the affection aims at, or tends to produce,\r\nconsists the merit or demerit of the action, the qualities\r\nby which it is entitled to reward, or is deserving\r\nof punishment.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003ePhilosophers have, of late years, considered chiefly\r\nthe tendency of affections, and have given little\r\nattention to the relation which they stand in to the\r\ncause which excites them. In common life, however,\r\nwhen we judge of any person’s conduct, and of the\r\nsentiments which directed it, we constantly consider\r\nthem under both these aspects. When we blame in\r\nanother man the excesses of love, of grief, of resentment,\r\nwe not only consider the ruinous effects\r\nwhich they tend to produce, but the little occasion\r\nwhich was given for them. The merit of his favourite,\r\nwe say, is not so great, his misfortune is not so\r\ndreadful, his provocation is not so extraordinary, as\r\nto justify so violent a passion. We should have indulged,\r\nwe say; perhaps, have approved of the violence\r\nof his emotion, had the cause been in any respect\r\nproportioned to it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen we judge in this manner of any affection,\r\nas proportioned or disproportioned to the cause which\r\nexcites it, it is scarce possible that we should make\r\nuse of any other rule or canon but the correspondent\r\naffection in ourselves. If, upon bringing the case\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_19\"\u003e19\u003c/span\u003ehome to our own breast, we find that the sentiments\r\nwhich it gives occasion to, coincide and tally with\r\nour own, we necessarily approve of them as proportioned\r\nand suitable to their objects; if otherwise,\r\nwe necessarily disapprove of them, as extravagant\r\nand out of proportion.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eEvery faculty in one man is the measure by which\r\nhe judges of the like faculty in another. I judge of\r\nyour sight by my sight, of your ear by my ear, of\r\nyour reason by my reason, of your resentment by\r\nmy resentment, of your love by my love. I neither\r\nhave nor can have any other way of judging about\r\nthem.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. IV.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eThe same subject continued.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eWe may judge of the propriety or impropriety\r\nof the sentiments of another person by their correspondence\r\nor disagreement with our own, upon two\r\ndifferent occasions; either, first, when the objects\r\nwhich excite them are considered without any peculiar\r\nrelation, either to themselves or to the person\r\nwhose sentiments we judge of; or, secondly, when\r\nthey are considered as peculiarly affecting one or\r\nother of us.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_20\"\u003e20\u003c/span\u003e1. With regard to those objects which are considered\r\nwithout any peculiar relation either to ourselves\r\nor to the person whose sentiments we judge\r\nof; wherever his sentiments intirely correspond\r\nwith our own, we ascribe to him the qualities of taste\r\nand good judgment. The beauty of a plain, the\r\ngreatness of a mountain, the ornaments of a building,\r\nthe expression of a picture, the composition of\r\na discourse, the conduct of a third person, the proportions\r\nof different quantities and numbers, the\r\nvarious appearances which the great machine of the\r\nuniverse is perpetually exhibiting, with the secret\r\nwheels and springs which produce them; all the\r\ngeneral subjects of science and taste, are what we\r\nand our companions regard, as having no peculiar\r\nrelation to either of us. We both look at them\r\nfrom the same point of view, and we have no occasion\r\nfor sympathy, or for that imaginary change\r\nof situations from which it arises, in order to produce,\r\nwith regard to these, the most perfect harmony\r\nof sentiments and affections. If, notwithstanding,\r\nwe are often differently affected, it arises either from\r\nthe different degrees of attention, which our different\r\nhabits of life allow us to give easily to the several\r\nparts of those complex objects, or from the different\r\ndegrees of natural acuteness in the faculty of the\r\nmind to which they are addressed.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen the sentiments of our companion coincide\r\nwith our own in things of this kind, which are obvious\r\nand easy, and in which, perhaps, we never\r\nfound a single person who differed from us, though\r\nwe, no doubt, must approve of them, yet he seems\r\nto deserve no praise or admiration on account of\r\nthem. But when they not only coincide with our\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_21\"\u003e21\u003c/span\u003eown, but lead and direct our own; when in forming\r\nthem he appears to have attended to many things\r\nwhich we had overlooked, and to have adjusted\r\nthem to all the various circumstances of their objects;\r\nwe not only approve of them, but wonder and are\r\nsurprised at their uncommon and unexpected acuteness\r\nand comprehensiveness, and he appears to\r\ndeserve a very high degree of admiration and applause.\r\nFor approbation heightened by wonder and\r\nsurprise, constitutes the sentiment which is properly\r\npalled admiration, and of which applause is the natural\r\nexpression. The decision of the man who\r\njudges that exquisite beauty is preferable to the\r\ngrossest deformity, or that twice two are equal to\r\nfour, must certainly be approved of by all the world,\r\nbut will not, surely, be much admired. It is the\r\nacute and delicate discernment of the man of taste,\r\nwho distinguishes the minute, and scarce perceptible,\r\ndifferences of beauty and deformity; it is the comprehensive\r\naccuracy of the experienced mathematician,\r\nwho unravels, with ease, the most intricate\r\nand perplexed proportions; it is the great leader in\r\nscience and taste, the man who directs and conducts\r\nour own sentiments, the extent and superior justness\r\nof whole talents astonish us with wonder and surprise,\r\nwho excites our admiration and seems to deserve\r\nour applause: and upon this foundation is\r\ngrounded the greater part of the praise which is\r\nbestowed upon what are called the intellectual\r\nvirtues.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe utility of those qualities, it may be thought,\r\nis what first recommends them to us; and, no doubt,\r\nthe consideration of this, when we come to attend\r\nto it, gives them a new value. Originally, however,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_22\"\u003e22\u003c/span\u003ewe approve of another man’s judgment, not as something\r\nuseful, but as right, as accurate, as agreeable\r\nto truth and reality: and it is evident we attribute\r\nthose qualities to it for no other reason but because\r\nwe find that it agrees with our own. Taste, in the\r\nsame manner, is originally approved of, not as useful,\r\nbut as just, as delicate, and as precisely suited to\r\nits object. The idea of the utility of all qualities of\r\nthis kind, is plainly an after-thought, and not what\r\nfirst recommended them to our approbation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e2. With regard to those objects, which affect in\r\na particular manner either ourselves or the person\r\nwhose sentiments we judge of, it is at once more\r\ndifficult to preserve this harmony and correspondence,\r\nand at the same time, vastly more important.\r\nMy companion does not naturally look upon the\r\nmisfortune that has befallen me, or the injury that\r\nhas been done me, from the same point of view in\r\nwhich I consider them. They affect me much\r\nmore nearly. We do not view them from the same\r\nstation, as we do a picture, or a poem, or a system\r\nof philosophy, and are, therefore, apt to be very\r\ndifferently affected by them. But I can much more\r\neasily overlook the want of this correspondence of\r\nsentiments with regard to such indifferent objects\r\nas concern neither me nor my companion, than with\r\nregard to what interests me so much as the misfortune\r\nthat has befallen me, or the injury that has been\r\ndone me. Though you despise that picture, or\r\nthat poem, or even that system of philosophy, which\r\nI admire, there is little danger of our quarrelling\r\nupon that account. Neither of us can reasonably\r\nbe much interested about them. They ought all\r\nof them to be matters of great indifference to us\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_23\"\u003e23\u003c/span\u003eboth; so that, though our opinions may be opposite,\r\nour affections may still be very nearly the same.\r\nBut it is quite otherwise with regard to those objects\r\nby which either you or I are particularly affected.\r\nThough your judgment in matters of speculation,\r\nthough your sentiments in matters of taste, are\r\nquite opposite to mine, I can easily overlook this\r\nopposition; and if I have any degree of temper, I\r\nmay still find some entertainment in your conversation,\r\neven upon those very subjects. But if you\r\nhave either no fellow-feeling for the misfortunes I\r\nhave met with, or none that bears any proportion\r\nto the grief which distracts me, or if you have either\r\nno indignation at the injuries I have suffered, or\r\nnone that bears any proportion to the resentment\r\nwhich transports me, we can no longer converse\r\nupon these subjects. We become intolerable to one\r\nanother. I can neither support your company, nor\r\nyou mine. You are confounded at my violence\r\nand passion, and I am enraged at your cold insensibility\r\nand want of feeling.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIn all such cases, that there may be some correspondence\r\nof sentiments between the spectator and\r\nthe person principally concerned, the spectator\r\nmust, first of all, endeavour, as much as he can, to\r\nput himself in the situation of the other, and to bring\r\nhome to himself every little circumstance of distress\r\nwhich can possibly occur to the sufferer. He must\r\nadopt the whole case of his companion with all its\r\nminutest incidents; and strive to render as perfect\r\nas possible, that imaginary change of situation upon\r\nwhich his sympathy is founded.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAfter all this, however, the emotions of the spectator\r\nwill still be very apt to fall short of the violence\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_24\"\u003e24\u003c/span\u003eof what is felt by the sufferer. Mankind, though\r\nnaturally sympathetic, never conceive, for what has\r\nbefallen another, that degree of passion which naturally\r\nanimates the person principally concerned.\r\nThat imaginary change of situation, upon which\r\ntheir sympathy is founded, is but momentary.\r\nThe thought of their own safety, the thought that\r\nthey themselves are not really the sufferers, continually\r\nintrudes itself upon them; and though it does\r\nnot hinder them from conceiving a passion somewhat\r\nanalogous to what is felt by the sufferer, hinders\r\nthem from conceiving any thing that approaches\r\nto the same degree of violence. The person principally\r\nconcerned is sensible of this, and, at the same\r\ntime passionately desires a more complete sympathy.\r\nHe longs for that relief which nothing can afford\r\nhim but the entire concord of the affections of the\r\nspectators with his own. To see the emotions of\r\ntheir hearts, in every respect, beat time to his own,\r\nin the violent and disagreeable passions, constitutes\r\nhis sole consolation. But he can only hope to obtain\r\nthis by lowering his passion to that pitch, in\r\nwhich the spectators are capable of going along\r\nwith him. He must flatten, if I may be allowed\r\nto say so, the sharpness of its natural tone, in order\r\nto reduce it to harmony and concord with the emotions\r\nof those who are about him. What they\r\nfeel, will, indeed, always be, in some respects, different\r\nfrom what he feels, and compassion can never\r\nbe exactly the same with original sorrow; because\r\nthe secret consciousness that the change of situations,\r\nfrom which the sympathetic sentiment arises, is but\r\nimaginary, not only lowers it in degree, but in some\r\nmeasure, varies it in kind, and gives it a quite different\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_25\"\u003e25\u003c/span\u003emodification. These two sentiments, however,\r\nmay, it is evident, have such a correspondence\r\nwith one another, as is sufficient for the harmony of\r\nsociety. Though they will never be unisons, they\r\nmay be concords, and this is all that is wanted or\r\nrequired.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIn order to produce this concord, as nature teaches\r\nthe spectators to assume the circumstances of the\r\nperson principally concerned, so she teaches this last\r\nin some measure to assume those of the spectators.\r\nAs they are continually placing themselves in this\r\nsituation, and thence conceiving emotions similar to\r\nwhat he feels; so he is as constantly placing himself\r\nin theirs, and thence conceiving some degree of that\r\ncoolness about his own fortune, with which he is sensible\r\nthat they will view it. As they are constantly\r\nconsidering what they themselves would feel, if they\r\nactually were the sufferers, so he is as constantly led\r\nto imagine in what manner he would be affected if\r\nhe was only one of the spectators of his own situation.\r\nAs their sympathy makes them look at it,\r\nin some measure, with his eyes, so his sympathy\r\nmakes him look at it, in some measure, with theirs,\r\nespecially when in their presence and acting under\r\ntheir observation: and as the reflected passion, which\r\nhe thus conceives, is much weaker than the original\r\none, it necessarily abates the violence of what he felt\r\nbefore he came into their presence, before he began\r\nto recollect in what manner they would be affected\r\nby it, and to view his situation in this candid and\r\nimpartial light.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_26\"\u003e26\u003c/span\u003eThe mind, therefore, is rarely so disturbed, but\r\nthat the company of a friend will restore it to some\r\ndegree of tranquillity and sedateness. The breast\r\nis, in some measure, calmed and composed the moment\r\nwe come into his presence. We are immediately\r\nput in mind of the light in which he will\r\nview our situation, and we begin to view it ourselves\r\nin the same light; for the effect of sympathy is instantaneous.\r\nWe expect less sympathy from a common\r\nacquaintance than from a friend: we cannot\r\nopen to the former all those little circumstances\r\nwhich we can unfold to the latter: we assume,\r\ntherefore, more tranquillity before him, and endeavour\r\nto fix our thoughts upon those general outlines\r\nof our situation which he is willing to consider.\r\nWe expect still less sympathy from an assembly of\r\nstrangers, and we assume, therefore, still more tranquillity\r\nbefore them, and always endeavour to bring\r\ndown our passion to that pitch, which the particular\r\ncompany we are in may be expected to go along\r\nwith. Nor is this only an assumed appearance:\r\nfor if we are at all masters of ourselves, the presence\r\nof a mere acquaintance will really compose us, still\r\nmore than that of a friend; and that of an assembly\r\nof strangers still more than that of an acquaintance.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSociety and conversation, therefore, are the most\r\npowerful remedies for restoring the mind to its\r\ntranquillity, if, at any time, it has unfortunately lost\r\nit; as well as the best preservatives of that equal\r\nand happy temper, which is so necessary to self-satisfaction\r\nand enjoyment. Men of retirement and\r\nspeculation, who are apt to sit brooding at home\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_27\"\u003e27\u003c/span\u003eover either grief or resentment, though they may\r\noften have more humanity, more generosity, and a\r\nnicer sense of honour, yet seldom possess that equality\r\nof temper which is so common among men of the\r\nworld.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. V.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the amiable and respectable virtues.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eUpon these two different efforts, upon that\r\nof the spectator to enter into the sentiments of the\r\nperson principally concerned, and upon that of the\r\nperson principally concerned, to bring down his\r\nemotions to what the spectator can go along with,\r\nare founded two different sets of virtues. The soft,\r\nthe gentle, the amiable virtues, the virtues of candid\r\ncondescension and indulgent humanity, are founded\r\nupon the one: the great, the awful and respectable,\r\nthe virtues of self-denial, of self-government, of that\r\ncommand of the passions which subjects all the\r\nmovements of our nature to what our own dignity\r\nand honour, and the propriety of our own conduct\r\nrequire, derive their origin from the other.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eHow amiable does he appear to be, whose sympathetic\r\nheart seems to re-echo all the sentiments\r\nof those with whom he converses, who grieves for\r\ntheir calamities, who resents their injuries, and rejoices\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_28\"\u003e28\u003c/span\u003eat their good fortune! When we bring home\r\nto ourselves the situation of his companions, we\r\nenter into their gratitude, and feel what consolation\r\nthey must derive from the tender sympathy of so\r\naffectionate a friend. And for a contrary reason,\r\nhow disagreeable does he appear to be, whose hard\r\nand obdurate heart feels for himself only, but is altogether\r\ninsensible of the happiness or misery of others!\r\nWe enter, in this case too, into the pain which his\r\npresence must give to every mortal with whom he\r\nconverses, to those especially with whom we are\r\nmost apt to sympathize, the unfortunate and the injured.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eOn the other hand, what noble propriety and\r\ngrace do we feel in the conduct of those who, in\r\ntheir own case, exert that recollection and self-command\r\nwhich constitute the dignity of every\r\npassion, and which bring it down to what others\r\ncan enter into? We are disgusted with that clamorous\r\ngrief, which, without any delicacy, calls upon\r\nour compassion with sighs and tears and importunate\r\nlamentations. But we reverence that reserved, that\r\nsilent and majestic sorrow, which discovers itself\r\nonly in the swelling of the eyes, in the quivering of\r\nthe lips and cheeks, and in the distant, but affecting,\r\ncoldness of the whole behaviour. It imposes the\r\nlike silence upon us. We regard it with respectful\r\nattention, and watch with anxious concern over our\r\nwhole behaviour, lest by any impropriety we should\r\ndisturb that concerted tranquillity, which it requires\r\nso great an effort to support.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe insolence and brutality of anger, in the same\r\nmanner when we indulge its fury without check or\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_29\"\u003e29\u003c/span\u003erestraint, is, of all subjects, the most detestable.\r\nBut we admire that noble and generous resentment\r\nwhich governs its pursuit of the greatest injuries,\r\nnot by the rage which they are apt to excite in the\r\nbreast of the sufferer, but by the indignation which\r\nthey naturally call forth in that of the impartial spectator;\r\nwhich allows no word, no gesture, to escape\r\nit beyond what this more equitable sentiment would\r\ndictate; which never, even in thought, attempts any\r\ngreater vengeance, nor desires to inflict any greater\r\npunishment, than what every indifferent person\r\nwould rejoice to see executed.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAnd hence it is, that to feel much for others and\r\nlittle for ourselves, that to restrain our selfish, and to\r\nindulge our benevolent affections, constitutes the\r\nperfection of human nature; and can alone produce\r\namong mankind that harmony of sentiments and\r\npassions in which consist their whole grace and propriety.\r\nAs to love our neighbour as we love ourselves\r\nis the great law of christianity, so it is the great\r\nprecept of nature to love ourselves only as we love\r\nour neighbour, or what comes to the same thing, as\r\nour neighbour is capable of loving us.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs taste and good judgment, when they are considered\r\nas qualities which deserve praise and admiration,\r\nare supposed to imply a delicacy of sentiment\r\nand an acuteness of understanding not commonly\r\nto be met with; so the virtues of sensibility and self-command\r\nare not apprehended to consist in the ordinary,\r\nbut in the uncommon degrees of those qualities.\r\nThe amiable virtue of humanity requires,\r\nsurely, a sensibility, much beyond what is possessed\r\nby the rude vulgar of mankind. The great and\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_30\"\u003e30\u003c/span\u003eexalted virtue of magnanimity undoubtedly demands\r\nmuch more than that degree of self-command,\r\nwhich the weakest of mortals are capable of\r\nexerting. As in the common degree of the intellectual\r\nqualities, there are no abilities; so in the\r\ncommon degree of the moral, there is no virtue.\r\nVirtue is excellence, something uncommonly great\r\nand beautiful, which rises far above what is vulgar\r\nand ordinary. The amiable virtues consist in that\r\ndegree of sensibility which surprises by its exquisite\r\nand unexpected delicacy and tenderness. The awful\r\nand respectable, in that degree of self-command\r\nwhich astonishes by its amazing superiority over the\r\nmost ungovernable passions of human nature.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThere is, in this respect, a considerable difference\r\nbetween virtue and mere propriety; between those\r\nqualities and actions which deserve to be admired\r\nand celebrated, and those which simply deserve to\r\nbe approved of. Upon many occasions, to act\r\nwith the most perfect propriety, requires no more\r\nthan that common and ordinary degree of sensibility\r\nor self-command which the most worthless of mankind\r\nare possessed of, and sometimes even that degree\r\nis not necessary. Thus, to give a very low instance,\r\nto eat when we are hungry, is certainly, upon\r\nordinary occasions, perfectly right and proper,\r\nand cannot miss being approved of as such by every\r\nbody. Nothing, however, could be more absurd\r\nthan to say it is virtuous.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eOn the contrary, there may frequently be a considerable\r\ndegree of virtue in those actions, which\r\nfall short of the most perfect propriety; because\r\nthey may still approach nearer to perfection than\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_31\"\u003e31\u003c/span\u003ecould well be expected upon occasions in which it\r\nwas so extremely difficult to attain it: and this is\r\nvery often the case upon those occasions which require\r\nthe greatest exertions of self-command. There\r\nare some situations which bear so hard upon human\r\nnature, that the greatest degree of self-government,\r\nwhich can belong to so imperfect a creature as man,\r\nis not able to stifle, altogether, the voice of human\r\nweakness, or reduce the violence of the passions to\r\nthat pitch of moderation, in which the impartial\r\nspectator can entirely enter into them. Though in\r\nthose cases, therefore, the behaviour of the sufferer\r\nfall short of the most perfect propriety, it may still\r\ndeserve some applause, and even in a certain sense,\r\nmay be denominated virtuous. It may still manifest\r\nan effort or generosity and magnanimity of\r\nwhich the greater part of men are incapable; and\r\nthough it fails of absolute perfection, it may be a\r\nmuch nearer approximation towards perfection, than\r\nwhat, upon such trying occasions, is commonly either\r\nto be found or to be expected.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIn cases of this kind, when we are determining\r\nthe degree of blame or applause which seems due to\r\nany action, we very frequently make use of two\r\ndifferent standards. The first is the idea of complete\r\npropriety and perfection, which, in those difficult\r\nsituations, no human conduct ever did, or\r\neven can come up to; and in comparison with\r\nwhich the actions of all men must for ever appear\r\nblameable and imperfect. The second is the idea of\r\nthat degree of proximity or distance from this complete\r\nperfection, which the actions of the greater\r\npart of men commonly arrive at. Whatever goes\r\nbeyond this degree, how far soever it may be removed\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_32\"\u003e32\u003c/span\u003efrom absolute perfection, seems to deserve\r\napplause; and whatever falls short of it, to deserve\r\nblame.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is in the same manner that we judge of the\r\nproductions of all arts which address themselves to\r\nthe imagination. When a critic examines the work\r\nof any of the great masters for poetry or painting,\r\nhe may sometimes examine it by an idea of perfection,\r\nin his own mind, which neither that nor any\r\nother human work will ever come up to; and as\r\nlong as he compares it with this standard, he can\r\nsee nothing in it but faults and imperfections. But\r\nwhen he come to consider the rank which it ought\r\nto hold among other works of the same kind, he\r\nnecessarily compares it with a very different standard,\r\nthe common degree of excellence which is usually\r\nattained in this particular art; and when he judges\r\nof it by this new measure, it may often appear to\r\ndeserve the highest applause, upon account of its\r\napproaching much nearer to perfection than the\r\ngreater part of those works which can be brought\r\ninto competition with it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_33\"\u003e33\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c001\"\u003eSECTION II.\u003cbr\u003e Of the degrees of the different passions which are consistent with propriety.\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c011\"\u003eINTRODUCTION.\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c012\"\u003eThe propriety of every passion excited by objects\r\npeculiarly related to ourselves the pitch\r\nwhich the spectator can go along with, must lie, it\r\nis evident, in certain mediocrity. If the passion is\r\ntoo high, or if it is too low, he cannot enter into it.\r\nGrief and resentment for private misfortunes and injuries\r\nmay easily, for example, be too high, and in\r\nthe greater part of mankind they are so. They\r\nmay likewise, though this more rarely happens, be\r\ntoo low. We denominate the excess, weakness and\r\nfury: and we call the defect, stupidity, insensibility,\r\nand want of spirit. We can enter into neither of\r\nthem, but are astonished and confounded to see\r\nthem.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThis mediocrity, however, in which the point of\r\npropriety consists, is different in different passions.\r\nIt is high in some, and low in others. There are\r\nsome passions which it is indecent to express very\r\nstrongly, even upon those occasions, in which it is\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_34\"\u003e34\u003c/span\u003eacknowledged that we cannot avoid feeling them\r\nin the highest degree. And there are others of\r\nwhich the strongest expressions are upon many occasions\r\nextremely graceful, even though the passions\r\nthemselves do not, perhaps, arise so necessarily.\r\nThe first are those passions with which, for certain\r\nreasons, there is little or no sympathy: the second\r\nare those with which, for other reasons, there is the\r\ngreatest. And if we consider all the different passions\r\nof human nature, we shall find that they are\r\nregarded as decent, or indecent, just in proportion\r\nas mankind are more or less disposed to sympathize\r\nwith them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. I.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the passions which take their origin from the body.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003e1. It is indecent to express any strong degree of\r\nthose passions which arise from a certain situation or\r\ndisposition of the body; because the company, not\r\nbeing in the same disposition, cannot be expected\r\nto sympathize with them. Violent hunger, for example,\r\nthough upon many occasions not only natural,\r\nbut unavoidable, is always indecent, and to\r\neat voraciously is universally regarded as a piece of\r\nill manners. There is, however, some degree of\r\nsympathy, even with hunger. It is agreeable to see\r\nour companions eat with a good appetite, and all\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_35\"\u003e35\u003c/span\u003eexpressions of loathing are offensive. The disposition\r\nof body which is habitual to a man in health,\r\nmakes his stomach easily keep time, if I may be\r\nallowed so coarse an expression, with the one, and\r\nnot with the other. We can sympathize with the\r\ndistress which excessive hunger occasions when we\r\nread the description of it in the journal of a siege,\r\nor of a sea voyage. We imagine ourselves in the\r\nsituation of the sufferers, and thence readily conceive\r\nthe grief, the fear and consternation, which\r\nmust necessarily distract them. We feel, ourselves,\r\nsome degree of those passions, and therefore sympathize\r\nwith them: but as we do not grow hungry\r\nby reading the description, we cannot properly,\r\neven in this case, be said to sympathize with their\r\nhunger.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is the same case with the passion by which Nature\r\nunites the two sexes. Though naturally the\r\nmost furious of all passions, all strong expressions of\r\nit are upon every occasion indecent, even between\r\npersons in whom its most complete indulgence is acknowledged\r\nby all laws, both human and divine,\r\nto be perfectly innocent. There seems, however,\r\nto be some degree of sympathy even with this passion.\r\nTo talk to a woman as we should to a man\r\nis improper: it is expected that their company\r\nshould inspire us with more gaiety, more pleasantry,\r\nand more attention; and an entire insensibility to\r\nthe fair sex, renders a man contemptible in some\r\nmeasure even to the men.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSuch is our aversion for all the appetites which\r\ntake their origin from the body: all strong expressions\r\nof them are loathsome and disagreeable. According\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_36\"\u003e36\u003c/span\u003eto some ancient philosophers, these are the\r\npassions which we share in common with the brutes,\r\nand which having no connexion with the characteristical\r\nqualities of human nature, are upon that account\r\nbeneath its dignity. But there are many\r\nother passions which we share in common with the\r\nbrutes, such as resentment, natural affection, even\r\ngratitude, which do not, upon that account, appear\r\nto be so brutal. The true cause of the peculiar\r\ndisgust which we conceive for the appetites of the\r\nbody when we see them in other men, is that we\r\ncannot enter into them. To the person himself\r\nwho feels them, as soon as they are gratified, the\r\nobject that excited them ceases to be agreeable:\r\neven its presence often becomes offensive to him;\r\nhe looks round to no purpose for the charm which\r\ntransported him the moment before, and he can\r\nnow as little enter into his own passion as another\r\nperson. When we have dined, we order the covers\r\nto be removed; and we should treat in the\r\nsame manner the objects of the most ardent and\r\npassionate desires, if they were the objects of no\r\nother passions but those which take their origin from\r\nthe body.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIn the command of those appetites of the body\r\nconsists that virtue which is properly called temperance.\r\nTo restrain them within those bounds,\r\nwhich regard to health and fortune prescribes, is the\r\npart of prudence. But to confine them within those\r\nlimits, which grace, which propriety, which delicacy,\r\nand modesty, require, is the office of temperance.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e2. It is for the same reason that to cry out with\r\nbodily pain, how intolerable soever, appears always\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_37\"\u003e37\u003c/span\u003eunmanly and unbecoming. There is, however, a\r\ngood deal of sympathy even with bodily pain. If,\r\nas has already been observed, I see a stroke aimed,\r\nand just ready to fall upon the leg or arm, of another\r\nperson, I naturally shrink and draw back my own\r\nleg, or my own arm; and when it does fall, I feel\r\nit in some measure, and am hurt by it as well as the\r\nsufferer. My hurt, however, is, no doubt, excessively\r\nslight, and, upon that account, if he makes\r\nany violent out-cry, as I cannot go along with him,\r\nI never fail to despise him. And this is the case of\r\nall the passions which take their origin from the body:\r\nthey excite either no sympathy at all, or such a degree\r\nof it, as is altogether disproportioned to the\r\nviolence of what is felt by the sufferer.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is quite otherwise with those passions which take\r\ntheir origin from the imagination. The frame of\r\nmy body can be but little affected by the alterations\r\nwhich are brought about upon that of my companion:\r\nbut my imagination is more ductile, and\r\nmore readily assumes, if I may so, the shape and\r\nconfiguration of the imaginations of those with\r\nwhom I am familiar. A disappointment in love,\r\nor ambition, will, upon this account, call forth more\r\nsympathy than the greatest bodily evil. Those passions\r\narise altogether from the imagination. The\r\nperson who has lost his whole fortune, if he is in\r\nhealth, feels nothing in his body. What he suffers\r\nis from the imagination only, which represents to\r\nhim the loss of his dignity, neglect from his friends,\r\ncontempt from his enemies, dependence, want, and\r\nmisery, coming fast upon him; and we sympathize\r\nwith him more strongly upon this account, because\r\nour imaginations can more readily mould themselves\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_38\"\u003e38\u003c/span\u003eupon his imagination, than our bodies can mould\r\nthemselves upon his body.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe loss of a leg may generally be regarded as a\r\nmore real calamity than the loss of a mistress. It\r\nwould be a ridiculous tragedy, however, of which\r\nthe catastrophe was to turn upon a loss of that kind.\r\nA misfortune of the other kind, how frivolous soever\r\nit may appear to be, has given occasion to many\r\na fine one.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eNothing is so soon forgot as pain. The moment\r\nit is gone the whole agony of it is over, and the\r\nthought of it can no longer give us any sort of disturbance.\r\nWe ourselves cannot then enter into the\r\nanxiety and anguish which we had before conceived.\r\nAn unguarded word from a friend will occasion a\r\nmore durable uneasiness. The agony which this\r\ncreates is by no means over with the word. What\r\nat first disturbs us is not the object of the senses,\r\nbut the idea of the imagination. As it is an idea,\r\ntherefore, which occasions our uneasiness, till time\r\nand other accidents have in some measure effaced\r\nit from our memory, the imagination continues to\r\nfret and rankle within, from the thought of it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003ePain never calls forth any very lively sympathy\r\nunless it is accompanied with danger. We sympathize\r\nwith the fear, though not with the agony of\r\nthe sufferer. Fear, however, is a passion derived\r\naltogether from the imagination, which represents,\r\nwith an uncertainty and fluctuation that increases\r\nour anxiety, not what we really feel, but what we\r\nmay hereafter possibly suffer. The gout or the\r\ntooth-ache, though exquisitely painful, excite very\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_39\"\u003e39\u003c/span\u003elittle sympathy; more dangerous diseases, though\r\naccompanied with very little pain, excite the highest.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSome people faint and grow sick at the sight of\r\na chirurgical operation, and that bodily pain which\r\nis occasioned by tearing the flesh, seems, in them,\r\nto excite the most excessive sympathy. We conceive\r\nin a much more lively and distinct manner,\r\nthe pain which proceeds from an external cause, than\r\nwe do that which arises from an internal disorder.\r\nI can scarce form an idea of the agonies of my\r\nneighbour when he is tortured with the gout, or the\r\nstone; but I have the clearest conception of what\r\nhe must suffer from an incision, a wound, or a fracture.\r\nThe chief cause, however, why such objects\r\nproduce such violent effects upon us, is their novelty.\r\nOnce who has been witness to a dozen dissections,\r\nand as many amputations, sees, ever after, all operations\r\nof this kind with great indifference, and often\r\nwith perfect insensibility. Though we have\r\nread or seen represented more than five hundred\r\ntragedies, we shall seldom feel so entire an abatement\r\nof our sensibility to the object which they represent\r\nto us.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIn some of the Greek tragedies there is an attempt\r\nto excite compassion, by the representation of the\r\nagonies of bodily pain. Philoctetes cries out and\r\nfaints from the extremity of his sufferings. Hippolytus\r\nand Hercules are both introduced as expiring\r\nunder the severest tortures, which, it seems,\r\neven the fortitude of Hercules was incapable of supporting.\r\nIn all these cases, however, it is not the\r\npain which interests us, but some other circumstance.\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_40\"\u003e40\u003c/span\u003eIt is not the sore foot, but the solitude, of Philoctetes\r\nwhich affects us, and diffuses over that charming\r\ntragedy, that romantic wildness, which is so\r\nagreeable to the imagination. The agonies of Hercules\r\nand Hippolytus are interested only because we\r\nforesee that death is to be the consequence. If those\r\nheroes were to recover, we should think the representation\r\nof their sufferings perfectly ridiculous.\r\nWhat a tragedy would that be of which the distress\r\nconsisted in a colic. Yet no pain is more exquisite.\r\nThese attempts to excite compassion by the representation\r\nof bodily pain, may be regarded as among\r\nthe greatest breaches of decorum of which the Greek\r\ntheatre has set the example.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe little sympathy which we feel with bodily\r\npain is the foundation of the propriety of constancy\r\nand patience in enduring it. The man, who under\r\nthe severest tortures allows no weakness to escape\r\nhim, vents no groan, gives way to no passion which\r\nwe do not entirely enter into, commands our highest\r\nadmiration. His firmness enables him to keep\r\ntime with our indifference and insensibility. We\r\nadmire and entirely go along with the magnanimous\r\neffort which he makes for this purpose. We approve\r\nof his behaviour, and from our experience of\r\nthe common weakness of human nature, we are surprised,\r\nand wonder how he should be able to act so\r\nas to deserve approbation. Approbation, mixed\r\nand animated by wonder and surprise, constitutes the\r\nsentiment which is properly called admiration, of\r\nwhich, applause is the natural expression, as has already\r\nbeen observed.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_41\"\u003e41\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. II.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf those passions which take their origin from a particular turn or habit of the imagination.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eEven of the passions derived from the imagination,\r\nthose which take their origin from a peculiar\r\nturn or habit it has acquired, though they may be\r\nacknowledged to be perfectly natural, are, however,\r\nbut little sympathized with. The imaginations of\r\nmankind, not having acquired that particular turn,\r\ncannot enter into them; and such passions, though\r\nthey may be allowed to be almost unavoidable in\r\nsome part of life, are always in some measure ridiculous.\r\nThis is the case with that strong attachment\r\nwhich naturally grows up between two persons\r\nof different sexes, who have long fixed their thoughts\r\nupon one another. Our imagination not having run\r\nin the same channel with that of the lover, we cannot\r\nenter into the eagerness of his emotions. If\r\nour friend has been injured, we readily sympathize\r\nwith his resentment, and grow angry with the very\r\nperson with whom he is angry. If he has received\r\na benefit, we readily enter into his gratitude, and\r\nhave a very high sense of the merit of his benefactor.\r\nBut if he is in love, though we may think his passion\r\njust as reasonable as any of the kind, yet we\r\nnever think ourselves bound to conceive a passion of\r\nthe same kind, and for the same person for whom\r\nhe has conceived it. The passion appears to every\r\nbody, but the man who feels it, entirely disproportioned\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_42\"\u003e42\u003c/span\u003eto the value of the object; and love,\r\nthough it is pardoned in a certain age because we\r\nknow it is natural, is always laughed at, because we\r\ncannot enter into it. All serious and strong expressions\r\nof it appear ridiculous to a third person;\r\nand though a lover may be good company to his\r\nmistress, he is so to nobody else. He himself is sensible\r\nof this; and as long as he continues in his sober\r\nsenses, endeavours to treat his own passion with raillery\r\nand ridicule. It is the only style in which we\r\ncare to hear of it; because it is the only style in\r\nwhich we ourselves are disposed to talk of it. We\r\ngrow weary of the grave, pedantic, and long-sentenced\r\nlove of Cowley and Propertius, who never\r\nhave done with exaggerating the violence of their\r\nattachments; but the gaiety of Ovid, and the gallantry\r\nof Horace, are always agreeable.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut though we feel no proper sympathy with an\r\nattachment of this kind, though we never approach\r\neven in imagination towards conceiving a passion\r\nfor that particular person, yet as we either have\r\nconceived, or may be disposed to conceive, passions\r\nof the same kind, we readily enter into those high\r\nhopes of happiness which are proposed from its gratification,\r\nas well as into that exquisite distress which\r\nis feared from its disappointment. It interests us\r\nnot as a passion, but as a situation that gives occasion\r\nto other passions which interest us; to hope, to fear,\r\nand to distress of every kind: in the same manner as\r\nin a description of a sea voyage, it is not the hunger\r\nwhich interests us, but the distress which that hunger\r\noccasions. Though we do not properly enter into\r\nthe attachment of the lover, we readily go along\r\nwith those expectations of romantic happiness which\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_43\"\u003e43\u003c/span\u003ehe derives from it. We feel how natural it is for\r\nthe mind, in a certain situation, relaxed with indolence,\r\nand fatigued with the violence of desire, to\r\nlong for serenity and quiet, to hope to find them in\r\nthe gratification of that passion which distracts it,\r\nand to frame to itself the idea of that life of pastoral\r\ntranquillity and retirement which the elegant, the\r\ntender, and the passionate Tibullus takes so much\r\npleasure in deferring; a life like what the poets describe\r\nin the Fortunate Islands, a life of friendship,\r\nliberty, and repose; free from labour, and from\r\ncare, and from all the turbulent passions which attend\r\nthem. Even scenes of this kind interest us most,\r\nwhen they are painted rather as what is hoped, than\r\nas what is enjoyed. The grossness of that passion\r\nwhich mixes with, and is, perhaps, the foundation\r\nof love, disappears when its gratification is far off\r\nand at a distance; but renders the whole offensive,\r\nwhen described as what is immediately possessed.\r\nThe happy passion, upon this account, interests us\r\nmuch less than the fearful and the melancholy.\r\nWe tremble for whatever can disappoint such natural\r\nand agreeable hopes: and thus enter into all the\r\nanxiety, and concern, and distress of the lover.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eHence it is, that, in some modern tragedies and\r\nromances, this passion appears so wonderfully interesting.\r\nIt is not so much the love of Castalio and\r\nMonimia which attaches us in the Orphan, as the distress\r\nwhich that love occasions. The author who\r\nshould introduce two lovers, in a scene of perfect\r\nsecurity, expressing their mutual fondness for one\r\nanother, would excite laughter, and not sympathy.\r\nIf a scene of this kind is ever admitted into a tragedy,\r\nit is always, in some measure, improper, and\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_44\"\u003e44\u003c/span\u003eis endured, not from any sympathy with the passion\r\nthat is expressed in it, but from concern for the\r\ndangers and difficulties with which the audience\r\nforesee that its gratification is likely to be attended.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe reserve which the laws of society impose\r\nupon the fair sex, with regard to this weakness, renders\r\nit more peculiarly distressful in them, and, upon\r\nthat very account, more deeply interesting. We\r\nare charmed with the love of Phædra, as it is expressed\r\nin the French tragedy of that name, notwithstanding\r\nall the extravagance and guilt which\r\nattends it. That very extravagance and guilt\r\nmay be said, in some measure, to recommend it to\r\nus. Her fear, her shame, her remorse, her horror,\r\nher despair, become thereby more natural and interesting.\r\nAll the secondary passions, if I may be\r\nallowed to call them so, which arise from the situation\r\nof love, become necessarily more furious and\r\nviolent: and it is with these secondary passions only\r\nthat we can properly be said to sympathize.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eOf all the passions, however, which are so extravagantly\r\ndisproportioned to the value of their\r\nobjects, love is the only one that appears, even to\r\nthe weakest minds, to have any thing in it that is\r\neither graceful or agreeable. In itself, first of all,\r\nthough it may be ridiculous, it is not naturally\r\nodious; and though its consequences are often fatal\r\nand dreadful, its intentions are seldom mischievous.\r\nAnd then, though there is little propriety in the\r\npassion itself, there is a good deal in some of those\r\nwhich always accompany it. There is in love a\r\nstrong mixture of humanity, generality, kindness,\r\nfriendship, esteem; passions with which, of all\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_45\"\u003e45\u003c/span\u003eothers, for reasons which shall be explained immediately,\r\nwe have the greatest propensity to sympathize,\r\neven notwithstanding we are sensible that\r\nthey are, in some measure, excessive. The sympathy\r\nwhich we feel with them, renders the passion which\r\nthey accompany less disagreeable, and supports it\r\nin our imagination, notwithstanding all the vices\r\nwhich commonly go along with it; though in the\r\none sex it necessarily leads to ruin and infamy; and\r\nthough in the other, where it is apprehended to be\r\nleast fatal, it is almost always attended with an incapacity\r\nfor labour, a neglect of duty, a contempt\r\nof fame, and even of common reputation. Notwithstanding\r\nall this, the degree of sensibility and\r\ngenerosity with which it is supposed to be accompanied,\r\nrenders it to many the object of vanity;\r\nand they are fond of appearing capable of feeling\r\nwhat would do them no honour if they had really\r\nfelt it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is for a reason of the same kind, that a certain\r\nreserve is necessary when we talk of our own friends,\r\nour own studies, our own professions. All these are\r\nobjects which we cannot expect should interest our\r\ncompanions in the same degree in which they interest\r\nus. And it is for want of this reserve, that the one\r\nhalf of mankind make bad company to the other.\r\nA philosopher is company to a philosopher only;\r\nthe member of a club, to his own little knot of\r\ncompanions.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_46\"\u003e46\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. III.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the unsocial passions.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eThere is another set of passions, which though\r\nderived from the imagination, yet before we can\r\nenter into them, or regard them as graceful or becoming,\r\nmust always be brought down to a pitch\r\nmuch lower than that to which undisciplined nature\r\nwould raise them. These are hatred and resentment,\r\nwith all their different modifications.\r\nWith regard to all such passions, our sympathy is\r\ndivided between the person who feels them and the\r\nperson who is the object of them. The interests of\r\nthese two are directly opposite. What our sympathy\r\nwith the person who feels them would prompt\r\nus to wish for, our fellow-feeling with the other\r\nwould lead us to fear. As they are both men, we\r\nare concerned for both, and our fear for what the\r\none may suffer, damps our resentment for what the\r\nother has suffered. Our sympathy, therefore, with\r\nthe man who has received the provocation, necessarily\r\nfalls short of the passion which naturally animates\r\nhim, not only upon account of those general causes\r\nwhich render all sympathetic passions inferior to the\r\noriginal ones, but upon account of that particular\r\ncause which is peculiar to itself, our opposite sympathy\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_47\"\u003e47\u003c/span\u003ewith another person. Before resentment, therefore,\r\ncan become graceful and agreeable, it must\r\nbe more humbled and brought down below that\r\npitch to which it would naturally rise, than almost\r\nany other passion.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eMankind, at the same time, have a very strong\r\nsense of the injuries that are done to another. The\r\nvillain, in a tragedy or romance, is as much the object\r\nof our indignation, as the hero is that of our\r\nsympathy and affection. We detest Iago as much\r\nas we esteem Othello; and delight as much in the\r\npunishment of the one, as we are grieved at the distress\r\nof the other. But though mankind have so\r\nstrong a fellow-feeling with the injuries that are\r\ndone to their brethren, they do not always resent\r\nthem the more that the sufferer appears to resent\r\nthem. Upon most occasions, the greater his patience,\r\nhis mildness, his humanity, provided it does\r\nnot appear that he wants spirit, or that fear was the\r\nmotive of his forbearance, the higher the resentment\r\nagainst the person who injured him. The amiableness\r\nof the character exasperates their sense of the\r\natrocity of the injury.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThese passions, however, are regarded as necessary\r\nparts of the character of human nature. A person\r\nbecomes contemptible who tamely sits still, and submits\r\nto insults, without attempting either to repel or\r\nto revenge them. We cannot enter into his indifference\r\nand insensibility: we call his behaviour mean-spiritedness,\r\nand are as really provoked by it as by\r\nthe insolence of his adversary. Even the mob are\r\nenraged to see any man submit patiently to affronts\r\nand ill usage. They desire to see this insolence resented,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_48\"\u003e48\u003c/span\u003eand resented by the person who suffers from\r\nit. They cry to him with fury, to defend, or to revenge\r\nhimself. If his indignation rouses at last,\r\nthey heartily applaud, and sympathize with it. It\r\nenlivens their own indignation against his enemy,\r\nwhom they rejoice to see him attack in turn, and\r\nare as really gratified by his revenge, provided it is\r\nnot immoderate, as if the injury had been done to\r\nthemselves.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut though the utility of those passions to the individual,\r\nby rendering it dangerous to insult or injure\r\nhim, be acknowledged; and though their utility\r\nto the public, as the guardians of justice, and of the\r\nequality of its administration, be not less considerable,\r\nas shall be shewn hereafter; yet there is still\r\nsomething disagreeable in the passions themselves,\r\nwhich makes the appearance of them in other men\r\nthe natural object of our aversion. The expression\r\nof anger towards any body present, if it exceeds a\r\nbare intimation that we are sensible of his ill usage,\r\nis regarded not only as an insult to that particular\r\nperson, but as a rudeness to the whole company.\r\nRespect for them ought to have restrained us from\r\ngiving way to so boisterous and offensive an emotion.\r\nIt is the remote effects of these passions which are\r\nagreeable; the immediate effects are mischief to\r\nthe person against whom they are directed. But it\r\nis the immediate, and not the remote effects of objects\r\nwhich render them agreeable or disagreeable\r\nto the imagination. A prison is certainly more\r\nuseful to the public than a palace; and the person\r\nwho founds the one is generally directed by a much\r\njuster spirit of patriotism, than he who builds the\r\nother. But the immediate effects of a prison, the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_49\"\u003e49\u003c/span\u003econfinement of the wretches shut up in it, are disagreeable;\r\nand the imagination either does not take\r\ntime to trace out the remote ones, or sees them at\r\ntoo great a distance to be much affected by them.\r\nA prison, therefore, will always be a disagreeable\r\nobject; and the fitter it is for the purpose for which\r\nit was intended, it will be the more so. A palace,\r\non the contrary, will always be agreeable; yet its\r\nremote effects may often be inconvenient to the\r\npublic. It may serve to promote luxury, and set\r\nthe example of the dissolution of manners. Its immediate\r\neffects, however, the conveniency, the pleasure,\r\nand the gaiety of the people who live in it,\r\nbeing all agreeable, and suggesting to the imagination\r\na thousand agreeable ideas, that faculty generally\r\nrests upon them, and seldom goes further\r\nin tracing its more distant consequences. Trophies\r\nof the instruments of music or of agriculture, imitated\r\nin painting or in stucco, make a common and\r\nan agreeable ornament of our halls and dining-rooms.\r\nA trophy of the same kind, composed of the instruments\r\nof surgery, of dissecting and amputation-knives,\r\nof saws for cutting the bones, of trepanning\r\ninstruments, \u0026amp;c. would be absurd and shocking.\r\nInstruments of surgery, however, are always more\r\nfinely polished, and generally more nicely adapted\r\nto the purposes for which they are intended, than\r\ninstruments of agriculture. The remote effects of\r\nthem too, the health of the patient, is agreeable,\r\nyet as the immediate effect of them is pain and suffering,\r\nthe sight of them always displeases us. Instruments\r\nof war are agreeable, though their immediate\r\neffect may seem to be in the same manner pain\r\nand suffering. But then it is the pain and suffering\r\nof our enemies, with whom we have no sympathy.\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_50\"\u003e50\u003c/span\u003eWith regard to us, they are immediately connected\r\nwith the agreeable ideas of courage, victory, and\r\nhonour. They are themselves, therefore, supposed\r\nto make one of the noblest parts of dress, and the\r\nimitation of them one of the finest ornaments of\r\narchitecture. It is the same case with the qualities\r\nof the mind. The ancient stoics were of opinion,\r\nthat as the world was governed by the all-ruling\r\nprovidence of a wise, powerful, and good God,\r\nevery single event ought to be regarded, as making\r\na necessary part of the plan of the universe, and as\r\ntending to promote the general order and happiness\r\nof the whole: that the vices and follies of mankind,\r\ntherefore, made as necessary a part of this plan as\r\ntheir wisdom or their virtue; and by that eternal\r\nart which educes good from ill, were made to tend\r\nequally to the prosperity and perfection of the great\r\nsystem of nature. No speculation of this kind,\r\nhowever, how deeply soever it might be rooted in\r\nthe mind, could diminish our natural abhorrence for\r\nvice, whose immediate effects are so destructive, and\r\nwhose remote ones are too distant to be traced by\r\nthe imagination.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is the same case with those passions we have\r\nbeen just now considering. Their immediate effects\r\nare so disagreeable, that even when they are most\r\njustly provoked, there is still something about them\r\nwhich disgusts us. These, therefore, are the only\r\npassions of which the expressions, as I formerly observed,\r\ndo not dispose and prepare us to sympathize\r\nwith them, before we are informed of the cause\r\nwhich excites them. The plaintive voice of misery,\r\nwhen heard at a distance, will not allow us to be\r\nindifferent about the person from whom it comes.\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_51\"\u003e51\u003c/span\u003eAs soon as it strikes our ear, it interests us in his fortune,\r\nand, if continued, forces us almost involuntarily\r\nto fly to his assistance. The sight of a smiling\r\ncountenance, in the same manner, elevates even the\r\npensive into that gay and airy mood, which disposes\r\nhim to sympathize with, and share the joy which it\r\nexpresses; and he feels his heart, which with thought\r\nand care was before that shrunk and depressed, instantly\r\nexpanded and elated. But it is quite otherwise\r\nwith the expressions of hatred and resentment.\r\nThe hoarse, boisterous, and discordant voice of\r\nanger, when heard at a distance, inspires us either\r\nwith fear or aversion. We do not fly towards it,\r\nas to one who cries out with pain and agony. Women,\r\nand men of weak nerves, tremble and are\r\novercome with fear, though sensible that themselves\r\nare not the objects of the anger. They conceive\r\nfear, however, by putting themselves in the situation\r\nof the person who is so. Even those of stouter\r\nhearts are disturbed; not indeed enough to make\r\nthem afraid, but enough to make them angry; for\r\nanger is the passion which they would feel in the situation\r\nof the other person. It is the same case with\r\nhatred. Mere expressions of spite inspire it against\r\nno body, but the man who uses them. Both these\r\npassions are by nature the objects of our aversion.\r\nTheir disagreeable and boisterous appearance never\r\nexcites, never prepares, and often disturbs our sympathy.\r\nGrief does not more powerfully engage\r\nand attract us to the person in whom we observe it,\r\nthan these, while we are ignorant of their cause,\r\ndisgust and detach us from him. It was, it seems,\r\nthe intention of Nature, that those rougher and more\r\nunamiable emotions, which drive men from one\r\nanother, should be less easily and more rarely communicated.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_52\"\u003e52\u003c/span\u003eWhen music imitates the modulations of grief or\r\njoy, it either actually inspires us with those passions,\r\nor at least puts us in the mood which disposes us to\r\nconceive them. But when it imitates the notes of\r\nanger, it inspires us with fear. Joy, grief, love,\r\nadmiration, devotion, are all of them passions which\r\nare naturally musical. Their natural tones are all\r\nsoft, clear, and melodious; and they naturally express\r\nthemselves in periods which are distinguished\r\nby regular pauses, and which upon that account are\r\neasily adapted to the regular returns of the correspondent\r\nairs of a tune. The voice of anger, on the\r\ncontrary, and of all the passions which are akin to\r\nit, is harsh and discordant. It periods too are all\r\nirregular, sometimes very long, and sometimes\r\nvery short, and distinguished by no regular pauses.\r\nIt is with difficulty, therefore, that music can imitate\r\nany of those passions; and the music which does\r\nimitate them is not the most agreeable. A whole\r\nentertainment may consist, without any impropriety,\r\nof the imitation of the social and agreeable passions.\r\nIt would be a strange entertainment which consisted\r\naltogether of the imitations of hatred and resentment.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIf those passions are disagreeable to the spectator,\r\nthey are not less so to the person who feels them.\r\nHatred and anger are the greatest poison to the\r\nhappiness of a good mind. There is, in the very\r\nfeeling of those passions, something harsh, jarring,\r\nand convulsive, something that tears and distracts\r\nthe breast, and is altogether destructive of that composure\r\nand tranquillity of mind which is so necessary\r\nto happiness, and which is best promoted by the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_53\"\u003e53\u003c/span\u003econtrary passions of gratitude and love. It is not\r\nthe value of what they lose by the perfidy and ingratitude\r\nof those they live with, which the generous\r\nand humane are most apt to regret. Whatever\r\nthey may have lost, they can generally be very\r\nhappy without it. What most disturbs them is the\r\nidea of perfidy and ingratitude exercised towards\r\nthemselves; and the discordant and disagreeable\r\npassions which this excites, constitutes, in their own\r\nopinion, the chief part of the injury which they\r\nsuffer.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eHow many things are requisite to render the\r\ngratification of resentment compleatly agreeable,\r\nand to make the spectator thoroughly sympathize\r\nwith our revenge? The provocation must first of\r\nall be such that we should become contemptible, and\r\nbe exposed to perpetual insults, if we did not, in\r\nsome measure, resent it. Smaller offences are always\r\nbetter neglected; nor is there any thing more\r\ndespicable than that froward and captious humour\r\nwhich takes fire upon every slight occasion of quarrel.\r\nWe should resent more from a sense of the\r\npropriety of resentment, from a sense that mankind\r\nexpect and require it of us, than because we feel\r\nin ourselves the furies of that disagreeable passion.\r\nThere is no passion, of which the human mind is\r\ncapable, concerning whose justness we ought to be\r\nso doubtful, concerning whose indulgence we ought\r\nso carefully to consult our natural sense of propriety,\r\nor so diligently to consider what will be the sentiments\r\nof the impartial spectator. Magnanimity, or\r\na regard to maintain our own rank and dignity in\r\nsociety, is the only motive which can ennoble the\r\nexpressions of this disagreeable passion. This motive\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_54\"\u003e54\u003c/span\u003emust characterize our whole stile and deportment.\r\nThese must be plain, open, and direct;\r\ndetermined without positiveness, and elevated without\r\ninsolence; not only free from petulance and\r\nlow scurrility, but generous, candid, and full of all\r\nproper regards, even for the person who has offended\r\nus. It must appear, in short, from our whole\r\nmanner, without our labouring affectedly to express\r\nit, that passion has not extinguished our humanity;\r\nand that if we yield to the dictates of revenge, it is\r\nwith reluctance, from necessity, and in consequence\r\nof great and repeated provocations. When resentment\r\nis guarded and qualified in this manner, it may\r\nbe admitted to be even generous and noble.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. IV.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the social passions.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eAs it is a divided sympathy which renders the\r\nwhole set of passions just now mentioned, upon\r\nmost occasions, so ungraceful and disagreeable; so\r\nthere is another set opposite to these, which a redoubled\r\nsympathy renders almost always peculiarly\r\nagreeable and becoming. Generosity, humanity,\r\nkindness, compassion, mutual friendship and esteem,\r\nall the social and benevolent affections, when expressed\r\nin the countenance or behaviour, even towards\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_55\"\u003e55\u003c/span\u003ethose who are peculiarly connected with ourselves,\r\nplease the indifferent spectator upon almost\r\nevery occasion. His sympathy with the person who\r\nfeels those passions, exactly coincides with his concern\r\nfor the person who is the object of them. The\r\ninterest, which, as a man, he is obliged to take in\r\nthe happiness of this last, enlivens his fellow-feeling\r\nwith the sentiments of the other, whose emotions are\r\nemployed about the same object. We have always,\r\ntherefore, the strongest disposition to sympathize\r\nwith the benevolent affections. They appear in\r\nevery respect agreeable to us. We enter into the\r\nsatisfaction both of the person who feels them, and\r\nof the person who is the object of them. For as\r\nto be the object of hatred and indignation gives more\r\npain than all the evils which a brave man can fear\r\nfrom his enemies; so there is a satisfaction in the\r\nconsciousness of being beloved, which, to a person\r\nof delicacy and sensibility, is of more importance\r\nto happiness than all the advantage which he can\r\nexpect to derive from it. What character is so detectable\r\nas that of one who takes pleasure to sow\r\ndissension among friends, and to turn their most tender\r\nlove into mortal hatred? Yet wherein does the\r\natrocity of this so much abhorred injury consist?\r\nIs it in depriving them of the frivolous good offices,\r\nwhich had their friendship continued, they might\r\nhave expected from one another? It is in depriving\r\nthem of that friendship itself, in robbing them of\r\neach others affections, from which both derived so\r\nmuch satisfaction; it is in disturbing the harmony of\r\ntheir hearts, and putting an end to that happy commerce\r\nwhich had before subsisted between them.\r\nThese affections, that harmony, this commerce, are\r\nfelt, not only by the tender and the delicate, but by\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_56\"\u003e56\u003c/span\u003ethe rudest vulgar of mankind, to be of more importance\r\nto happiness than all the little services which\r\ncould be expected to flow from them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe sentiment of love is, in itself, agreeable to\r\nthe person who feels it. It sooths and composes\r\nthe breast, seems to favour the vital motions, and\r\nto promote the healthful state of the human constitution;\r\nand it is rendered still more delightful by\r\nthe consciousness of the gratitude and satisfaction\r\nwhich it must excite in him who is the object of it.\r\nTheir mutual regard renders them happy in one\r\nanother, and sympathy, with this mutual regard,\r\nmakes them agreeable to every other person. With\r\nwhat pleasure do we look upon a family, through\r\nthe whole of which reign mutual love and esteem,\r\nwhere the parents and children are companions for\r\none another, without any other difference than what\r\nis made by respectful affection on the one side, and\r\nkind indulgence on the other; where freedom and\r\nfondness, mutual raillery, and mutual kindness,\r\nshow that no opposition of interest divides the brothers,\r\nnor any rivalship of favour sets the sisters at\r\nvariance, and where every thing presents us with\r\nthe idea of peace, chearfulness, harmony, and contentment?\r\nOn the contrary, how uneasy are we\r\nmade when we go into a house in which jarring\r\ncontention sets one half of those who dwell in it\r\nagainst the other; where amidst affected smoothness\r\nand complaisance, suspicious looks and sudden\r\nstarts of passion betray the mutual jealousies which\r\nburn within them, and which are every moment\r\nready to burst out through all the restraints which\r\nthe presence of the company imposes?\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_57\"\u003e57\u003c/span\u003eThose amiable passions, even when they are acknowledged\r\nto be excessive, are never regarded with\r\naversion. There is something agreeable even in the\r\nweakness of friendship and humanity. The too\r\ntender mother, the too indulgent father, the too generous\r\nand affectionate friend, may sometimes, perhaps,\r\non account of the softness of their natures, be\r\nlooked upon with a species of pity, in which, however,\r\nthere is a mixture of love, but can never be\r\nregarded with hatred and aversion, nor even with\r\ncontempt, unless by the most brutal and worthless\r\nof mankind: It is always with concern, with sympathy\r\nand kindness, that we blame them for the extravagance\r\nof their attachment. There is a helplessness\r\nin the character of extreme humanity which\r\nmore than any thing interests our pity. There is\r\nnothing in itself which renders it either ungraceful\r\nor disagreeable. We only regret that it is unfit for\r\nthe world, because the world is unworthy of it, and\r\nbecause it must expose the person who is endowed\r\nwith it as a prey to the perfidy and ingratitude of\r\ninsinuating falsehood, and to a thousand pains and\r\nuneasinesses, which, of all men, he the least deserves\r\nto feel, and which generally too he is, of all\r\nmen, the least capable of supporting. It is quite\r\notherwise with hatred and resentment. Too violent\r\na propensity to those detestable passions, renders a\r\nperson the object of universal dread and abhorrence,\r\nwho, like a wild beast, ought, we think, to be hunted\r\nout of all civil society.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_58\"\u003e58\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. V.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the selfish passions.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eBesides those two opposite sets of passions,\r\nthe social and unsocial, there is another which holds\r\na sort of middle place between them; is never either\r\nso graceful as is sometimes the one set, nor is ever\r\nso odious as is sometimes the other. Grief and\r\njoy, when conceived upon account of our own private\r\ngood or bad fortune, constitute this third set of\r\npassions. Even when excessive, they are never so\r\ndisagreeable as excessive resentment, because no opposite\r\nsympathy can ever interest us against them:\r\nand when most suitable to their objects they are never\r\nso agreeable as impartial humanity and just benevolence;\r\nbecause no double sympathy can ever\r\ninterest us for them. There is, however, this difference\r\nbetween grief and joy, that we are generally\r\nmost disposed to sympathize with small joys and great\r\nsorrows. The man, who, by some sudden revolution\r\nof fortune, is lifted up all at once into a condition\r\nof life, greatly above what he had formerly lived\r\nin, may be assured that the congratulations of his\r\nbest friends are not all of them perfectly sincere.\r\nAn upstart, though of the greatest merit, is generally\r\ndisagreeable, and a sentiment of envy commonly\r\nprevents us from heartily sympathizing with\r\nhis joy. If he has any judgment he is sensible of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_59\"\u003e59\u003c/span\u003ethis, and instead of appearing to be elated with his\r\ngood fortune, he endeavours, as much as he can,\r\nto smother his joy, and keep down that elevation of\r\nmind with which his new circumstances naturally inspire\r\nhim. He affects the same plainness of dress,\r\nand the same modesty of behaviour, which became\r\nhim in his former station. He redoubles his attention\r\nto his old friends, and endeavours more than\r\never to be humble, assiduous, and complaisant. And\r\nthis is the behaviour which in his situation we most\r\napprove of; because we expect, it seems, that he\r\nshould have more sympathy with our envy and aversion\r\nto his happiness, than we have with his happiness.\r\nIt is seldom that with all this he succeeds.\r\nWe suspect the sincerity of his humility, and he\r\ngrows weary of this constraint. In a little time,\r\ntherefore, he generally leaves all his old friends behind\r\nhim, some of the meanest of them excepted,\r\nwho may, perhaps, condescend to become his dependents:\r\nnor does he always acquire any new ones;\r\nthe pride of his new connections is as much affronted\r\nat finding him their equal, as that of his old ones\r\nhad been by his becoming their superior: and it requires\r\nthe most obstinate and persevering modesty\r\nto atone for this mortification to either. He generally\r\ngrows weary too soon, and is provoked, by\r\nthe sullen and suspicious pride of the one, and by\r\nthe saucy contempt of the other, to treat the first\r\nwith neglect, and the second with petulance, till at\r\nlast he grows habitually insolent, and forfeits the\r\nesteem of all. If the chief part of human happiness\r\narises from the consciousness of being beloved,\r\nas I believe it does, those sudden changes of fortune\r\nseldom contribute much to happiness. He is\r\nhappiest who advances more gradually to greatness,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_60\"\u003e60\u003c/span\u003ewhom the public destines to every step of his preferment\r\nlong before he arrives at it, in whom, upon\r\nthat account, when it comes, it can excite no extravagant\r\njoy, and with regard to whom it cannot\r\nreasonably create either any jealousy in those he overtakes,\r\nor any envy in those he leaves behind.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eMankind, however, more readily sympathize\r\nwith those smaller joys which flow from less important\r\ncauses. It is decent to be humble amidst great\r\nprosperity; but we can scarce express too much satisfaction\r\nin all the little occurrences of common\r\nlife, in the company with which we spent the evening\r\nlast night, in the entertainment that was set before\r\nus, in what was said and what was done, in\r\nall the little incidents of the present conversation,\r\nand in all those frivolous nothings which fill up the\r\nvoid of human life. Nothing is more graceful than\r\nhabitual chearfulness, which is always founded upon\r\na peculiar relish for all the little pleasures which\r\ncommon occurrences afford. We readily sympathize\r\nwith it: it inspires us with the same joy, and\r\nmakes every trifle turn up to us in the same agreeable\r\naspect in which it presents itself to the person\r\nendowed with this happy disposition. Hence it is\r\nthat youth, the season of gaiety, so easily engages\r\nour affections. That propensity to joy which seems\r\neven to animate the bloom, and to sparkle from the\r\neyes of youth and beauty, though in a person of\r\nthe same sex, exalts, even the aged, to a more\r\njoyous mood than ordinary. They forget, for a\r\ntime, their infirmities, and abandon themselves to\r\nthose agreeable ideas and emotions to which they\r\nhave long been strangers, but which, when the presence\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_61\"\u003e61\u003c/span\u003eof so much happiness recalls them to their\r\nbreast, take their place there, like old acquaintance,\r\nfrom whom they are sorry to have ever been parted,\r\nand whom they embrace more heartily upon account\r\nof this long separation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is quite otherwise with grief. Small vexations\r\nexcite no sympathy, but deep affliction calls forth\r\nthe greatest. The man who is made uneasy by every\r\nlittle disagreeable incident, who is hurt if either\r\nthe cook or the butler have failed in the least article\r\nof their duty, who feels every defect in the highest\r\nceremonial of politeness, whether it be shewn to\r\nhimself or to any other person, who takes it amiss\r\nthat his intimate friend did not bid him good-morrow\r\nwhen they met in the forenoon, and that his\r\nbrother hummed a tune all the time he himself was\r\ntelling a story; who is put out of humour by the\r\nbadness of the weather when in the country, by the\r\nbadness of the roads when upon a journey, and by\r\nthe want of company, and dullness of all public\r\ndiversions when in town; such a person, I say,\r\nthough he should have some reason, will seldom\r\nmeet with much sympathy. Joy is a pleasant emotion,\r\nand we gladly abandon ourselves to it upon\r\nthe slightest occasion. We readily, therefore, sympathize\r\nwith it in others, whenever we are not prejudiced\r\nby envy. But grief is painful, and the\r\nmind, even when it is our own misfortune, naturally\r\nresists and recoils from it. We would endeavour\r\neither not to conceive it at all, or to shake it\r\noff as soon as we have conceived it. Our aversion\r\nto grief will not, indeed, always hinder us from\r\nconceiving it in our own case upon very trifling occasions,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_62\"\u003e62\u003c/span\u003ebut it constantly prevents us from sympathizing\r\nwith it in others when excited by the like\r\nfrivolous causes: for our sympathetic passions are\r\nalways less irresistible than our original ones. There\r\nis, besides, a malice in mankind, which not only\r\nprevents all sympathy with little uneasinesses, but\r\nrenders them in some measure diverting. Hence\r\nthe delight which we all take in raillery, and in the\r\nsmall vexation which we observe in our companion,\r\nwhen he is pushed, and urged, and teased\r\nupon all sides. Men of the most ordinary good-breeding\r\ndissemble the pain which any little incident\r\nmay give them; and those who are more thoroughly\r\nformed to society, turn, of their own accord,\r\nall such incidents into raillery, as they know\r\ntheir companions will do for them. The habit\r\nwhich a man, who lives in the world, has acquired\r\nof considering how every thing that concerns himself\r\nwill appear to others, makes those frivolous calamities\r\nturn up in the same ridiculous light to him,\r\nin which he knows they will certainly be considered\r\nby them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eOur sympathy, on the contrary, with deep distress,\r\nis very strong and very sincere. It is unnecessary\r\nto give an instance. We weep even at the\r\nfeigned representation of a tragedy. If you labour,\r\ntherefore, under any signal calamity, if by\r\nsome extraordinary misfortune you are fallen into\r\npoverty, into diseases, into disgrace and disappointment;\r\neven though your own fault may have been,\r\nin part, the occasion, yet you may generally depend\r\nupon the sincerest sympathy of all your\r\nfriends, and, as far as interest and honour will permit,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_63\"\u003e63\u003c/span\u003eupon their kindest assistance too. But if your\r\nmisfortune is not of this dreadful kind, if you have\r\nonly been a little baulked in your ambition, if you\r\nhave only been jilted by your mistress, or are only\r\nhen-pecked by your wife, lay your account with\r\nthe raillery of all your acquaintance.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_64\"\u003e64\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c001\"\u003eSECTION III.\u003cbr\u003e Of the effects of prosperity and adversity upon the judgment of mankind with regard to the propriety of action; and why it is more easy to obtain their approbation in the one state than in the other.\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c008\"\u003eCHAP. I.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eThat though our sympathy with sorrow is generally a more lively sensation than our sympathy with joy, it commonly falls much more short of the violence of what is naturally felt by the person principally concerned.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eOur sympathy with sorrow, though not more\r\nreal, has been more taken notice of than our sympathy\r\nwith joy. The word sympathy, in its most\r\nproper and primitive signification, denotes our fellow-feeling\r\nwith the sufferings, not that with the enjoyments,\r\nof others. A late ingenious and subtile philosopher\r\nthought it necessary to prove, by arguments,\r\nthat we had a real sympathy with joy, and that congratulation\r\nwas a principle of human nature. Nobody,\r\nI believe, ever thought it necessary to prove\r\nthat compassion was such.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eFirst of all, our sympathy with sorrow is, in some\r\nsense, more universal than that with joy. Though\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_65\"\u003e65\u003c/span\u003esorrow is excessive, we may still have some fellow-feeling\r\nwith it. What we feel does not, indeed, in\r\nthis case, amount to that complete sympathy, to\r\nthat perfect harmony and correspondence of sentiments\r\nwhich constitutes approbation. We do not\r\nweep, and exclaim, and lament, with the sufferer.\r\nWe are sensible, on the contrary, of his weakness,\r\nand of the extravagance of his passion, and yet\r\noften feel a very sensible concern upon his account.\r\nBut if we do not entirely enter into, and go along\r\nwith, the joy of another, we have no sort of regard\r\nor fellow-feeling for it. The man who skips and\r\ndances about with that intemperate and senseless\r\njoy which we cannot accompany him in, is the object\r\nof our contempt and indignation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003ePain besides, whether of mind or body, is a more\r\npungent sensation than pleasure, and our sympathy\r\nwith pain, though it falls greatly short of what is\r\nnaturally felt by the sufferer, is generally a more\r\nlively and distinct perception than our sympathy\r\nwith pleasure, though this last often approaches\r\nmore nearly, as I shall show immediately, to the\r\nnatural vivacity of the original passion.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eOver and above all this, we often struggle to keep\r\ndown our sympathy with the sorrow of others.\r\nWhenever we are not under the observation of the\r\nsufferer, we endeavour, for our own sake, to suppress it\r\nas much as we can, and we are not always successful.\r\nThe opposition which we make to it, and the reluctance\r\nwith which we yield to it, necessarily oblige us\r\nto take more particular notice of it. But we never\r\nhave occasion to make this opposition to our sympathy\r\nwith joy. If there is any envy in the case,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_66\"\u003e66\u003c/span\u003ewe never feel the least propensity towards it; and\r\nif there is none, we give way to it without any reluctance.\r\nOn the contrary, as we are always ashamed\r\nof our own envy, we often pretend, and\r\nsometimes really wish to sympathize with the joy of\r\nothers, when by that disagreeable sentiment we are\r\ndisqualified from doing so. We are glad, we say,\r\non account of our neighbour’s good fortune, when\r\nin our hearts, perhaps, we are really sorry. We\r\noften feel a sympathy with sorrow when we wish to\r\nbe rid of it; and we often miss that with joy when\r\nwe would be glad to have it. The obvious observation,\r\ntherefore, which it naturally falls in our way\r\nto make, is that our propensity to sympathize with\r\nsorrow must be very strong, and our inclination to\r\nsympathize with joy very weak.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eNotwithstanding this prejudice, however, I will\r\nventure to affirm, that, when there is no envy in the\r\ncase, our propensity to sympathize with joy is much\r\nstronger than our propensity to sympathize with sorrow;\r\nand that our fellow-feeling for the agreeable\r\nemotion approaches much more nearly to the vivacity\r\nof what is naturally felt by the persons principally\r\nconcerned, than that which we conceive for the\r\npainful one.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWe have some indulgence for that excessive grief\r\nwhich we cannot entirely go along with. We know\r\nwhat a prodigious effort is requisite before the sufferer\r\ncan bring down his emotions to compleat harmony\r\nand concord with those of the spectator. Though\r\nhe fails, therefore, we easily pardon him. But we\r\nhave no such indulgence for the intemperance of\r\njoy; because we are not conscious that any such vast\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_67\"\u003e67\u003c/span\u003eeffort is requisite to bring it down to what we can\r\nentirely enter into. The man who, under the\r\ngreatest calamities, can command his sorrow, seems\r\nworthy of the highest admiration; but he who, in\r\nthe fulness of prosperity, can in the same manner\r\nmaster his joy, seems hardly to deserve any praise.\r\nWe are sensible that there is a much wider interval\r\nin the one case than in the other, between what is\r\nnaturally felt by the person principally concerned,\r\nand what the spectator can entirely go along with.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhat can be added to the happiness of the man who\r\nis in health, who is out of debt, and has a clear\r\nconscience? To one in this situation, all accessions\r\nof fortune may properly be said to be superfluous;\r\nand if he is much elevated upon account of them,\r\nit must be the effect of the most frivolous levity.\r\nThis situation, however, may very well be called\r\nthe natural and ordinary state of mankind. Notwithstanding\r\nthe present misery and depravity of the\r\nworld, so justly lamented, this really is the state of\r\nthe greater part of men. The greater part of men,\r\ntherefore, cannot find any great difficulty in elevating\r\nthemselves to all the joy which any accession\r\nto this situation can well excite in their companion.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut though little can be added to this state, much\r\nmay be taken from it. Though between this condition\r\nand the highest pitch of human prosperity, the\r\ninterval is but a trifle; between it and the lowest\r\ndepth of misery the distance is immense and prodigious.\r\nAdversity, on this account, necessarily depresses the\r\nmind of the sufferer much more below its natural\r\nstate, than prosperity can elevate him above it.\r\nThe spectator, therefore, must find it much more\r\ndifficult to sympathize entirely, and keep perfect\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_68\"\u003e68\u003c/span\u003etime, with his sorrow, than thoroughly to enter into\r\nhis joy, and must depart much further from his\r\nown natural and ordinary temper of mind in the one\r\ncase than in the other. It is on this account, that,\r\nthough our sympathy with sorrow is often a more\r\npungent sensation than our sympathy with joy, it always\r\nfalls much more short of the violence of what\r\nis naturally felt by the person principally concerned.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is agreeable to sympathize with joy; and\r\nwherever envy does not oppose it, our heart abandons\r\nitself with satisfaction to the highest transports\r\nof that delightful sentiment. But it is painful to\r\ngo along with grief, and we always enter into it\r\nwith reluctance\u003ca id=\"r1\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f1\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[1]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e. When we attend to the representation\r\nof a tragedy, we struggle against that sympathetic\r\nsorrow which the entertainment inspires as\r\nlong as we can, and we give way to it at last only\r\nwhen we can no longer avoid it: we even then endeavour\r\nto cover our concern from the company.\r\nIf we shed any tears, we carefully conceal them,\r\nand are afraid lest the spectators, not entering into\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_69\"\u003e69\u003c/span\u003ethis excessive tenderness, should regard it as effeminacy\r\nand weakness. The wretch whose misfortunes\r\ncall upon our compassion feels with what reluctance\r\nwe are likely to enter into his sorrow, and therefore\r\nproposes his grief to us with fear and hesitation:\r\nhe even smothers the half of it, and is ashamed,\r\nupon account of this hard-heartedness of mankind,\r\nto give vent to the fulness of his affliction. It is otherwise\r\nwith the man who riots in joy and success.\r\nWherever envy does not interest us against him, he\r\nexpects our compleatest sympathy. He does not fear,\r\ntherefore, to announce himself with shouts of exultation,\r\nin full confidence that we are heartily disposed\r\nto go along with him.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f1\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r1\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e1\u003c/a\u003e. It has been objected to me that as I found the sentiment of\r\napprobation, which is always agreeable, upon sympathy, it is inconsistent\r\nwith my system to admit any disagreeable sympathy. I\r\nanswer, that in the sentiment of approbation there are two things to\r\nbe taken notice of; first the sympathetic passion of the spectator;\r\nand, secondly, the emotion which arises from his observing the perfect\r\ncoincidence between this sympathetic passion in himself, and the\r\noriginal passion in the person principally concerned. This last emotion,\r\nin which the sentiment of approbation properly consists, is always\r\nagreeable and delightful. The other may either be agreeable\r\nor disagreeable, according to the nature of the original passion, whose\r\nfeature it must always, in some measure, retain. Two sounds I\r\nsuppose, may, each of them, taken singly, be austere, and yet, if\r\nthey are perfect concords, the perception of their harmony and coincidence\r\nmay be agreeable.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhy should we be more ashamed to weep than to\r\nlaugh before company? We may often have as real\r\noccasion to do the one as to do the other: But we always\r\nfeel that the spectators are more likely to go\r\nalong with us in the agreeable, than in the painful\r\nemotion. It is always miserable to complain, even\r\nwhen we are oppressed by the most dreadful calamities.\r\nBut the triumph of victory is not always ungraceful.\r\nPrudence, indeed, would often advise us to bear prosperity\r\nwith more moderation; because prudence\r\nwould teach us to avoid that envy which this very\r\ntriumph is, more than any thing, apt to excite.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eHow hearty are the acclamations of the mob,\r\nwho never bear any envy to their superiors, at a\r\ntriumph or a public entry? And how sedate and moderate\r\nis commonly their grief at an execution?\r\nOur sorrow at a funeral generally amounts to no\r\nmore than affected gravity; but our mirth at a\r\nchristening or a marriage, is always from the heart,\r\nand without any affectation. Upon these, and all\r\nsuch joyous occasions, our satisfaction, though not so\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_70\"\u003e70\u003c/span\u003edurable, is often as lively as that of the persons\r\nprincipally concerned. Whenever we cordially congratulate\r\nour friends, which, however, to the disgrace\r\nof human nature, we do but seldom, their\r\njoy literally becomes our joy: we are for the moment,\r\nas happy as they are: our heart swells and overflows\r\nwith real pleasure: joy and complacency\r\nsparkle from our eyes, and animate every feature\r\nof our countenance, and every gesture of our\r\nbody.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut, on the contrary, when we condole with our\r\nfriends in their afflictions, how little do we feel, in\r\ncomparison of what they feel? We sit down by\r\nthem, we look at them, and while they relate to us\r\nthe circumstances of their misfortune, we listen\r\nto them with gravity and attention. But while their\r\nnarration is every moment interrupted by those natural\r\nbursts of passion which often seem almost to\r\nchoak them in the midst of it; how far are the languid\r\nemotions of our hearts from keeping time to\r\nthe transports of theirs? We may be sensible, at the\r\nsame time, that their passion is natural, and no\r\ngreater than what we ourselves might feel upon the\r\nlike occasion. We may even inwardly reproach ourselves\r\nwith our own want of sensibility, and perhaps\r\non that account, work ourselves up into an artificial\r\nsympathy, which, however, when it is raised,\r\nis always the slightest and most transitory imaginable;\r\nand generally, as soon as we have left the\r\nroom, vanishes, and is gone for ever. Nature, it\r\nseems, when she has loaded us with our own sorrows,\r\nthought that they were enough, and therefore\r\ndid not command us to take any further share\r\nin those of others, than what was necessary to\r\nprompt us to relieve them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_71\"\u003e71\u003c/span\u003eIt is on account of this dull sensibility to the afflictions\r\nof others, that magnanimity amidst great\r\ndistress appears always so divinely graceful. His\r\nbehaviour is genteel and agreeable who can maintain\r\nhis chearfulness amidst a number of frivolous disasters.\r\nBut he appears to be more than mortal who\r\ncan support in the same manner the most dreadful\r\ncalamities. We feel what an immense effort is requisite\r\nto silence those violent emotions which naturally\r\nagitate and distract those in his situation.\r\nWe are amazed to find that he can command himself\r\nso intirely. His firmness, at the same time,\r\nperfectly coincides with our insensibility. He makes\r\nno demand upon us for that more exquisite degree\r\nof sensibility which we find, and which we\r\nare mortified to find, that we do not possess. There\r\nis the most perfect correspondence between his sentiments\r\nand ours, and on that account the most perfect\r\npropriety in his behaviour. It is a propriety too,\r\nwhich, from our experience of the usual weakness\r\nof human nature, we could not reasonably have\r\nexpected he should be able to maintain. We wonder\r\nwith surprise and astonishment at that strength\r\nof mind which is capable of so noble and generous\r\nan effort. The sentiment of compleat sympathy\r\nand approbation, mixed and animated with wonder\r\nand surprise, constitutes what is properly called\r\nadmiration, as has already been more than once\r\ntaken notice of. Cato, surrounded on all sides by\r\nhis enemies, unable to resist them, and disdaining to\r\nsubmit to them, and reduced by the proud maxims\r\nof that age, to the necessity of destroying himself;\r\nyet never shrinking from his misfortunes, never\r\nsupplicating with the lamentable voice of wretchedness,\r\nthose miserable sympathetic tears which we\r\nare always so unwilling to give; but on the contrary,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_72\"\u003e72\u003c/span\u003earming himself with manly fortitude, and the moment\r\nbefore he executes his fatal resolution, giving,\r\nwith his usual tranquillity, all necessary orders for\r\nthe safety of his friends; appears to Seneca, that\r\ngreat preacher of insensibility, a spectacle which\r\neven the gods themselves might behold with pleasure\r\nand admiration.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhenever we meet, in common life, with any\r\nexamples of such heroic magnanimity, we are always\r\nextremely affected. We are more apt to weep\r\nand shed tears for such as, in this manner, seem\r\nto feel nothing for themselves, than for those who\r\ngive way to all the weakness of sorrow: and in this\r\nparticular case, the sympathetic grief of the spectator\r\nappears to go beyond the original passion in the\r\nperson principally concerned. The friends of Socrates\r\nall wept when he drank the last potion, while\r\nhe himself expressed the gayest and most chearful\r\ntranquillity. Upon all such occasions the spectator\r\nmakes no effort, and has no occasion to make any,\r\nin order to conquer his sympathetic sorrow. He is\r\nunder no fear that it will transport him to any thing\r\nthat is extravagant and improper; he is rather pleased\r\nwith the sensibility of his own heart, and gives way\r\nto it with complacence and self-approbation. He\r\ngladly indulges, therefore, the most melancholy\r\nviews which can naturally occur to him, concerning\r\nthe calamity of his friend, for whom, perhaps, he\r\nnever felt so exquisitely before, the tender and tearful\r\npassion of love. But it is quite otherwise with the\r\nperson principally concerned. He is obliged as much\r\nas possible, to turn away his eyes from whatever is\r\neither naturally terrible or disagreeable in his situation.\r\nToo serious an attention to those circumstances,\r\nhe fears, might make so violent an impression\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_73\"\u003e73\u003c/span\u003eupon him, that he could no longer keep\r\nwithin the bounds of moderation, or render himself\r\nthe object of the complete sympathy and approbation\r\nof the spectators. He fixes his thoughts,\r\ntherefore, upon those only which are agreeable;\r\nthe applause and admiration which he is about to\r\ndeserve by the heroic magnanimity of his behaviour.\r\nTo feel that he is capable of so noble and generous\r\nan effort, to feel that in this dreadful situation he can\r\nstill act as he would desire to act, animates and transports\r\nhim with joy, and enables him to support that\r\ntriumphant gaiety which seems to exult in the victory\r\nhe thus gains over his misfortunes.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eOn the contrary, he always appears, in some\r\nmeasure, mean and despicable, who is sunk in\r\nsorrow and dejection upon account of any calamity\r\nof his own. We cannot bring ourselves to feel for\r\nhim what he feels for himself, and what, perhaps,\r\nwe should feel for ourselves if in his situation: we,\r\ntherefore, despise him; unjustly, perhaps, if any\r\nsentiment could be regarded as unjust, to which\r\nwe are by nature irresistibly determined. The weakness\r\nof sorrow never appears in any respect agreeable,\r\nexcept when it arises from what we feel\r\nfor others more than from what we feel for\r\nourselves. A son, upon the death of an indulgent\r\nand respectable father, may give way to it without\r\nmuch blame. His sorrow is chiefly founded upon a\r\nsort of sympathy with his departed parent; and we\r\nreadily enter into this humane emotion. But if he\r\nshould indulge the same weakness upon account of\r\nany misfortune which affected himself only, he\r\nwould no longer meet with any such indulgence.\r\nIf he should be reduced to beggary and ruin, if he\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_74\"\u003e74\u003c/span\u003eshould be exposed to the most dreadful dangers, if\r\nhe should even be led out to a public execution,\r\nand there shed one single tear upon the scaffold,\r\nhe would disgrace himself for ever in the opinion of\r\nall the gallant and generous part of mankind. Their\r\ncompassion for him, however, would be very strong,\r\nand very sincere; but as it would still fall short of\r\nthis excessive weakness, they would have no pardon\r\nfor the man who could thus expose himself in the\r\neyes of the world. His behaviour would affect them\r\nwith shame rather than with sorrow; and the dishonour\r\nwhich he had thus brought upon himself\r\nwould appear to them the most lamentable circumstance\r\nin his misfortune. How did it disgrace the\r\nmemory of the intrepid Duke of Biron, who had\r\nso often braved death in the field, that he wept\r\nupon the scaffold, when he beheld the state to which\r\nhe was fallen, and remembered the favour and the\r\nglory from which his own rashness had so unfortunately\r\nthrown him!\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. II.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the origin of ambition, and of the distinction of ranks.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eIt is because mankind are disposed to sympathize\r\nmore entirely with our joy than with our sorrow,\r\nthat we make parade of our riches, and conceal\r\nour poverty. Nothing is so mortifying as to\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_75\"\u003e75\u003c/span\u003ebe obliged to expose our distress to the view of the\r\npublic, and to feel, that though our situation is\r\nopen to the eyes of all mankind, no mortal conceives\r\nfor us the half of what we suffer. Nay, it\r\nis chiefly from this regard to the sentiments of\r\nmankind, that we pursue riches and avoid poverty.\r\nFor to what purpose is all the toil and bustle of\r\nthis world? what is the end of avarice and ambition,\r\nof the pursuit of wealth, of power, and pre-eminence?\r\nIs it to supply the necessities of nature?\r\nThe wages of the meanest labourer can\r\nsupply them. We see that they afford him food\r\nand clothing, the comfort of a house, and of a family.\r\nIf we examine his œconomy with rigor, we\r\nshould find that he spends a great part of them upon\r\nconveniences, which may be regarded as superfluities,\r\nand that, upon extraordinary occasions, he\r\ncan give something even to vanity and distinction.\r\nWhat then is the cause of our aversion to his situation,\r\nand why should those who have been educated\r\nin the higher ranks of life, regard it as worse than\r\ndeath, to be reduced to live, even without labour,\r\nupon the same simple fare with him, to dwell under\r\nthe same lowly roof, and to be clothed in the\r\nsame humble attire? Do they imagine that their\r\nstomach is better, or their sleep sounder in a palace\r\nthan in a cottage? the contrary has been so often\r\nobserved, and, indeed, is so very obvious, though it\r\nhad never been observed, that there is no body ignorant\r\nof it. From whence, then, arises that emulation\r\nwhich runs through all the different ranks\r\nof men, and what are the advantages which we\r\npropose by that great purpose of human life which\r\nwe call bettering our condition? To be observed,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_76\"\u003e76\u003c/span\u003eto be attended to, to be taken notice of with sympathy,\r\ncomplacency, and approbation, are all the\r\nadvantages which we can propose to derive from\r\nit. It is the vanity, not the ease, or the pleasure,\r\nwhich interests us. But vanity is always founded\r\nupon the belief of our being the object of attention\r\nand approbation. The rich man glories in\r\nhis riches, because he feels that they naturally draw\r\nupon him the attention of the world, and that\r\nmankind are disposed to go along with him in all\r\nthose agreeable emotions with which the advantages\r\nof his situation so readily inspire him. At\r\nthe thought of this, his heart seems to swell\r\nand dilate itself within him, and he is fonder of\r\nhis wealth upon this account, than for all the\r\nother advantages it procures him. The poor man,\r\non the contrary, is ashamed of his poverty. He\r\nfeels that it either places him out of the sight of\r\nmankind, or, that, if they take any notice of him,\r\nthey have, however, scarce any fellow-feeling with\r\nthe misery and distress which he suffers. He is\r\nmortified upon both accounts; for though to be\r\noverlooked, and to be disapproved of, are things\r\nentirely different, yet as obscurity covers us from\r\nthe daylight of honour and approbation, to feel\r\nthat we are taken no notice of necessarily damps\r\nthe most agreeable hope, and disappoints the most\r\nardent desire, of human nature. The poor man\r\ngoes out and comes in unheeded, and when in the\r\nmidst of a croud is in the same obscurity as if shut\r\nup in his own hovel. Those humble cares and\r\npainful attentions which occupy those in his situation,\r\nafford no amusement to the dissipated and the\r\ngay. They turn away their eyes from him, or if\r\nthe extremity of his distress forces them to look\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_77\"\u003e77\u003c/span\u003eat him, it is only to spurn so disagreeable an object\r\nfrom among them. The fortunate and the proud\r\nwonder at the insolence of human wretchedness,\r\nthat it should dare to present itself before them,\r\nand with the loathsome aspect of its misery, presume\r\nto disturb the serenity of their happiness. The\r\nman of rank and distinction, on the contrary, is\r\nobserved by all the world. Every body is eager to\r\nlook at him, and to conceive, at least by sympathy,\r\nthat joy and exultation with which his\r\ncircumstances naturally inspire him. His actions\r\nare the objects of the public care. Scarce a word,\r\nscarce a gesture, can fall from him that is altogether\r\nneglected. In a great assembly he is the person\r\nupon whom all direct their eyes; it is upon him that\r\ntheir passions seem all to wait with expectation,\r\nin order to receive that movement and direction\r\nwhich he shall impress upon them; and if his\r\nbehaviour is not altogether absurd, he has, every\r\nmoment, an opportunity of interesting mankind,\r\nand of rendering himself the object of\r\nthe observation and fellow-feeling of every body\r\nabout him. It is this, which notwithstanding the\r\nrestraint it imposes, notwithstanding the loss of liberty\r\nwith which it is attended, renders greatness\r\nthe object of envy, and compensates in the opinion\r\nof mankind, all that toil, all that anxiety, all\r\nthose mortifications which must be undergone in\r\nthe pursuit of it; and what is of yet more consequence,\r\nall that leisure, all that ease, all that\r\ncareless security, which are forfeited for ever by the\r\nacquisition.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen we consider the condition of the great,\r\nin those delusive colours in which the imagination\r\nis apt to paint it, it seems to be almost the abstract\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_78\"\u003e78\u003c/span\u003eidea of a perfect and happy state. It is the\r\nvery state which, in all our waking dreams and\r\nidle reveries, we had sketched out to ourselves as\r\nthe final object of all our desires. We feel, therefore,\r\na peculiar sympathy with the satisfaction of\r\nthose who are in it. We favour all their inclinations,\r\nand forward all their wishes. What\r\npity, we think, that any thing should spoil and\r\ncorrupt so agreeable a situation! We could even\r\nwish them immortal; and it seems hard to us,\r\nthat death should at last put an end to such perfect\r\nenjoyment. It is cruel, we think, in Nature,\r\nto compel them from their exalted stations\r\nto that humble, but hospitable home, which she\r\nhas provided for all her children. Great King,\r\nlive for ever! is the compliment, which after the\r\nmanner of eastern adulation, we should readily\r\nmake them, if experience did not teach us its\r\nabsurdity. Every calamity that befalls them, every\r\ninjury that is done them, excites in the breast of\r\nthe spectator ten times more compassion and resentment\r\nthan he would have felt, had the same\r\nthings happened to other men. It is the misfortunes\r\nof Kings only which afford the proper subjects\r\nfor tragedy. They resemble, in this respect,\r\nthe misfortunes of lovers. Those two situations\r\nare the chief which interest us upon the\r\ntheatre; because, in spite of all that reason and\r\nexperience can tell us to the contrary, the prejudices\r\nof the imagination attach to these two\r\nstates a happiness superior to any other. To disturb,\r\nor to put an end to such perfect enjoyment,\r\nseems to be the most atrocious of all injuries.\r\nThe traitor who conspires against the life\r\nof his monarch, is thought a greater monster than\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_79\"\u003e79\u003c/span\u003eany other murderer. All the innocent blood that\r\nwas shed in the civil wars, provoked less indignation\r\nthan the death of Charles I. A stranger\r\nto human nature, who saw the indifference of\r\nmen about the misery of their inferiors, and the\r\nregret and indignation which they feel for the\r\nmisfortunes and sufferings of those above them,\r\nwould be apt to imagine, that pain must be more\r\nagonizing, and the convulsions of death more terrible\r\nto persons of higher rank, than to those of\r\nmeaner stations.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eUpon this disposition of mankind, to go along\r\nwith all the passions of the rich and the powerful,\r\nis founded the distinction of ranks, and the order\r\nof society. Our obsequiousness to our superiors\r\nmore frequently arises from our admiration for\r\nthe advantages of their situation, than from any\r\nprivate expectations of benefit from their good-will.\r\nTheir benefits can extend but to a few;\r\nbut their fortunes interest almost every body. We\r\nare eager to assist them in compleating a system\r\nof happiness that approaches so near to perfection;\r\nand we desire to serve them for their own\r\nsake, without any other recompense but the vanity\r\nor the honour of obliging them. Neither is\r\nour deference to their inclinations founded chiefly,\r\nor altogether, upon a regard to the utility of such\r\nsubmission, and to the order of society, which is\r\nbest supported by it. Even when the order of society\r\nseems to require that we should oppose them,\r\nwe can hardly bring ourselves to do it. That kings\r\nare the servants of the people, to be obeyed, resisted,\r\ndeposed, or punished, as the public conveniency\r\nmay require, is the doctrine of reason\r\nand philosophy; but it is not the doctrine of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_80\"\u003e80\u003c/span\u003eNature. Nature would teach us to submit to\r\nthem, for their own sake, to tremble and bow\r\ndown before their exalted station, to regard their\r\nsmile as a reward sufficient to compensate any\r\nservices, and to dread their displeasure, though\r\nno other evil was to follow from it, as the severest\r\nof all mortifications. To treat them in\r\nany respect as men, to reason and dispute with\r\nthem upon ordinary occasions, requires such resolution,\r\nthat there are few men whose magnanimity\r\ncan support them in it, unless they are\r\nlikewise assisted by familiarity and acquaintance.\r\nThe strongest motives, the most furious passions,\r\nfear, hatred, and resentment, are scarce sufficient\r\nto balance this natural disposition to respect them:\r\nand their conduct must, either justly or unjustly,\r\nhave excited the highest degree of all those passions,\r\nbefore the bulk of the people can be brought\r\nto oppose them with violence, or to desire to see\r\nthem either punished or deposed. Even when\r\nthe people have been brought this length, they\r\nare apt to relent every moment, and easily relapse\r\ninto their habitual state of deference to those\r\nwhom they have been accustomed to look upon\r\nas their natural superiors. They cannot stand the\r\nmortification of their monarch. Compassion soon\r\ntakes the place of resentment, they forget all past\r\nprovocations, their old principles of loyalty revive,\r\nand they run to re-establish the ruined authority\r\nof their old master, with the same violence\r\nwith which they had opposed it. The death\r\nof Charles I. brought about the Restoration of the\r\nroyal family. Compassion for James II. when he\r\nwas seized by the populace in making his escape\r\non ship-board, had almost prevented the Revolution,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_81\"\u003e81\u003c/span\u003eand made it go on more heavily than\r\nbefore.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eDo the great seem insensible of the easy price\r\nat which they may acquire the public admiration;\r\nor do they seem to imagine that to them,\r\nas to other men, it must be the purchase either of\r\nsweat or of blood? By what important accomplishments\r\nis the young nobleman instructed to\r\nsupport the dignity of his rank, and to render\r\nhimself worthy of that superiority over his fellow-citizens,\r\nto which the virtue of his ancestors had\r\nraised them? Is it by knowledge, by industry,\r\nby patience, by self-denial, or by virtue of any\r\nkind? As all his words, as all his motions are\r\nattended to, he learns an habitual regard to every\r\ncircumstance of ordinary behaviour, and studies to\r\nperform all those small duties with the most exact\r\npropriety. As he is conscious how much he\r\nis observed, and how much mankind are disposed\r\nto favour all his inclinations, he acts, upon the\r\nmost indifferent occasions, with that freedom and\r\nelevation which the thought of this naturally\r\ninspires. His air, his manner, his deportment, all\r\nmark that elegant and graceful sense of his own\r\nsuperiority, which those who are born to inferior\r\nstations can hardly ever arrive at: these are the\r\narts by which he proposes to make mankind more\r\neasily submit to his authority, and to govern their\r\ninclinations according to his own pleasure: and\r\nin this he is seldom disappointed. These arts,\r\nsupported by rank and pre-eminence, are, upon\r\nordinary occasions, sufficient to govern the world.\r\nLewis XIV. during the greater part of his reign,\r\nwas regarded, not only in France, but over all\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_82\"\u003e82\u003c/span\u003eEurope, as the most perfect model of a great\r\nprince. But what were the talents and virtues by\r\nwhich he acquired this great reputation? Was it\r\nby the scrupulous and inflexible justice of all his\r\nundertakings, by the immense dangers and difficulties\r\nwith which they were attended, or by\r\nthe unwearied and unrelenting application with\r\nwhich he pursued them? Was it by his extensive\r\nknowledge, by his exquisite judgment, or by his\r\nheroic valour? It was by none of these qualities.\r\nBut he was, first of all, the most powerful prince\r\nin Europe, and consequently held the highest rank\r\namong kings; and then, says his historian, “he\r\nsurpassed all his courtiers in the gracefulness of\r\nhis shape, and the majestic beauty of his features.\r\nThe sound of his voice, noble and affecting,\r\ngained those hearts which his presence intimidated.\r\nHe had a step and deportment which\r\ncould suit only him and his rank, and which\r\nwould have been ridiculous in any other person.\r\nThe embarrassment which he occasioned\r\nto those who spoke to him, flattered that secret\r\nsatisfaction with which he felt his own superiority.\r\nThe old officer, who was confounded\r\nand faultered in asking him a favour, and not\r\nbeing able to conclude his discourse, said to him,\r\nSir, your majesty, I hope, will believe that I\r\ndo not tremble thus before your enemies: had\r\nno difficulty to obtain what he demanded.”\r\nThese frivolous accomplishments, supported by his\r\nrank, and, no doubt, too, by a degree of other\r\ntalents and virtues, which seems, however, not\r\nto have been much above mediocrity, established\r\nthis prince in the esteem of his own age, and\r\nhave drawn, even from posterity, a good deal of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_83\"\u003e83\u003c/span\u003erespect for his memory. Compared with those\r\nof his own times, and in his own presence, no\r\nother virtue, it seems, appeared to have any merit.\r\nKnowledge, industry, valour, and beneficence,\r\ntrembled, were abashed, and lost all dignity before\r\nthem.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut it is not by accomplishments of this kind,\r\nthat the man of inferior rank must hope to distinguish\r\nhimself. Politeness is so much the virtue\r\nof the great, that it will do little honour to any\r\nbody but themselves. The coxcomb, who imitates\r\ntheir manner, and affects to be eminent by\r\nthe superior propriety of his ordinary behaviour,\r\nis rewarded with a double share of contempt for his\r\nfolly and presumption. Why should the man, whom\r\nnobody thinks it worth while to look at, be very\r\nanxious about the manner in which he holds up his\r\nhead, or disposes of his arms while he walks through\r\na room? He is occupied surely with a very superfluous\r\nattention, and with an attention too that\r\nmarks a sense of his own importance, which no\r\nother mortal can go along with. The most perfect\r\nmodesty and plainness, joined to as much negligence\r\nas is consistent with the respect due to\r\nthe company, ought to be the chief characteristics\r\nof the behaviour of a private man. If ever\r\nhe hopes to distinguish himself, it must be by\r\nmore important virtues. He must acquire dependants\r\nto balance the dependants of the great,\r\nand he has no other fund to pay them from,\r\nbut the labour of his body, and the activity of\r\nhis mind. He must cultivate these therefore: he\r\nmust acquire superior knowledge in his profession,\r\nand superior industry in the exercise of it. He\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_84\"\u003e84\u003c/span\u003emust be patient in labour, resolute in danger, and\r\nfirm in distress. These talents he must bring into\r\npublic view, by the difficulty, importance, and, at\r\nthe same time, good judgment of his undertakings,\r\nand by the severe and unrelenting application\r\nwith which he pursues them. Probity and prudence,\r\ngenerosity and frankness, must characterize\r\nhis behaviour upon all ordinary occasions;\r\nand he must, at the same time, be forward to\r\nengage in all those situations in which it requires\r\nthe greatest talents and virtues to act with propriety,\r\nbut in which the greatest applause is to\r\nbe acquired by those who can acquit themselves\r\nwith honour. With what impatience does the man\r\nof spirit and ambition, who is depressed by his\r\nsituation, look round for some great opportunity\r\nto distinguish himself? No circumstances,\r\nwhich can afford this, appear to him undesirable.\r\nHe even looks forward with satisfaction to the\r\nprospect of foreign war, or civil dissension; and,\r\nwith secret transport and delight, sees through\r\nall the confusion and bloodshed which attend them,\r\nthe probability of those wished for occasions presenting\r\nthemselves, in which he may draw upon himself\r\nthe attention and admiration of mankind. The\r\nman of rank and distinction, on the contrary,\r\nwhose whole glory consists in the propriety of his\r\nordinary behaviour, who is contented with the\r\nhumble renown which this can afford him, and\r\nhas no talents to acquire any other, is unwilling\r\nto embarrass himself with what can be attended\r\neither with difficulty or distress. To figure at a\r\nball is his great triumph, and to succeed in\r\nan intrigue of gallantry, his highest exploit. He\r\nhas an aversion to all public confusions, not from\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_85\"\u003e85\u003c/span\u003ethe love of mankind, for the great never look\r\nupon their inferiors as their fellow-creatures; nor\r\nyet from want of courage, for in that he is seldom\r\ndefective; but from a consciousness that he\r\npossesses none of the virtues which are required\r\nin such situations, and that the public attention\r\nwill certainly be drawn away from him by others.\r\nHe may be willing to expose himself to some\r\nlittle danger, and to make a campaign when it\r\nhappens to be the fashion. But he shudders with\r\nhorror at the thought of any situation which demands\r\nthe continual and long exertion of patience,\r\nindustry, fortitude, and application of thought.\r\nThese virtues are hardly ever to be met with in\r\nmen who are born to those high stations. In all governments\r\naccordingly, even in monarchies, the\r\nhighest offices are generally possessed, and the whole\r\ndetail of the administration conducted by men who\r\nwere educated in the middle and inferior ranks of\r\nlife, who have been carried forward by their own\r\nindustry and abilities, though loaded with the\r\njealousy, and opposed by the resentment of all those\r\nwho were born their superiors, and to whom the\r\ngreat, after having regarded them first with contempt,\r\nand afterwards with envy, are at last contented\r\nto truckle with the same abject meanness\r\nwith which they desire that the rest of mankind\r\nshould behave to themselves.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is the loss of this easy empire over the affections\r\nof mankind which renders the fall from\r\ngreatness so insupportable. When the family of\r\nthe King of Macedon was led in triumph by\r\nPaulus Æmilius, their misfortunes, it is said, made\r\nthem divide with their conqueror the attention\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_86\"\u003e86\u003c/span\u003eof the Roman people. The sight of the royal\r\nchildren, whose tender age rendered them insensible\r\nof their situation, struck the spectators, amidst\r\nthe public rejoicings and prosperity, with\r\nthe tenderest sorrow and compassion. The King\r\nappeared next in the procession; and seemed like\r\none confounded and astonished, and bereft of all\r\nsentiment, by the greatness of his calamities. His\r\nfriends and ministers followed after him. As they\r\nmoved along, they often cast their eye upon their\r\nfallen sovereign, and always burst into tears at the\r\nsight; their whole behaviour demonstrating that\r\nthey thought not of their misfortunes, but were\r\noccupied entirely by the superior greatness of his.\r\nThe generous Romans, on the contrary, beheld\r\nhim with disdain and indignation, and regarded\r\nas unworthy of all compassion the man who could\r\nbe so mean-spirited as to bear to live under such\r\ncalamities. Yet what did those calamities amount\r\nto? According to the greater part of historians,\r\nhe was to spend the remainder of his days under\r\nthe protection of a powerful and humane\r\npeople, in a state which in itself should seem\r\nworthy of envy, a state of plenty, ease, leisure, and\r\nsecurity, from which it was impossible for him\r\neven by his own folly to fall. But he was no\r\nlonger to be surrounded by that admiring mob\r\nof fools, flatterers, and dependants, who had formerly\r\nbeen accustomed to attend upon all his\r\nmotions. He was no longer to be gazed upon\r\nby multitudes, nor to have it in his power to\r\nrender himself the object of their respect, their\r\ngratitude, their love, their admiration. The passions\r\nof nations were no longer to mould themselves\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_87\"\u003e87\u003c/span\u003eupon his inclinations. This was that insupportable\r\ncalamity which bereaved the King of all\r\nsentiment; which made his friends forget their own\r\nmisfortunes; and which the Roman magnanimity\r\ncould scarce conceive how any man could be so\r\nmean-spirited as to bear to survive.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e“Love, says my Lord Rochefoucault, is commonly\r\nsucceeded by ambition; but ambition\r\nis hardly ever succeeded by love.” That passion\r\nwhen once it has got entire possession of\r\nthe breast, will admit neither a rival nor a successor.\r\nTo those who have been accustomed to\r\nthe possession, or even to the hope of public admiration,\r\nall other pleasures sicken and decay. Of\r\nall the discarded statesmen who for their own\r\nease have studied to get the better of ambition,\r\nand to despise those honours which they could no\r\nlonger arrive at, how few have been able to succeed?\r\nThe greater part have spent their time in\r\nthe most listless and insipid indolence, chagrined\r\nat the thoughts of their own insignificancy, incapable\r\nof being interested in the occupations\r\nof private life, without enjoyment except when\r\nthey talked of their former greatness, and without\r\nsatisfaction except when they were employed\r\nin some vain project to recover it. Are you in\r\nearnest resolved never to barter your liberty for\r\nthe lordly servitude of a Court, but to live free,\r\nfearless, and independent? There seems to be one\r\nway to continue in that virtuous resolution; and\r\nperhaps but one. Never enter the place from\r\nwhence so few have been able to return; never\r\ncome within the circle of ambition; nor even bring\r\nyourself into comparison with those masters of the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_88\"\u003e88\u003c/span\u003eearth who have already engrossed the attention of\r\nhalf mankind before you.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eOf such mighty importance does it appear to be,\r\nin the imaginations of men, to stand in that situation\r\nwhich sets them most in the view of general sympathy\r\nand attention. And thus, place, that great object\r\nwhich divides the wives of aldermen, is the end\r\nof half the labours of life; and is the cause of all the\r\ntumult and bustle, all the rapine and injustice, which\r\navarice and ambition have introduced into this world.\r\nPeople of sense, it is said, indeed despise place; that\r\nis, they despise sitting at the head of the table, and\r\nare indifferent who it is that is pointed out to the\r\ncompany by that frivolous circumstance, which the\r\nsmallest advantage is capable of overbalancing. But\r\nrank, distinction, pre-eminence, no man despises,\r\nunless he is either raised very much above, or sunk\r\nvery much below, the ordinary standard of human\r\nnature; unless he is either so confirmed in wisdom\r\nand real philosophy, as to be satisfied that, while the\r\npropriety of his conduct renders him the just object\r\nof approbation, it is of little consequence though he\r\nbe neither attended to, nor approved of; or so habituated\r\nto the idea of his own meanness, so sunk in\r\nslothful and sottish indifference, as entirely to have\r\nforgot the desire, and almost the very wish, for superiority.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_89\"\u003e89\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. III.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the stoical philosophy.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eWhen we examine in this manner into the\r\nground of the different degrees of estimation which\r\nmankind are apt to bestow upon the different conditions\r\nof life, we shall find, that the excessive preference,\r\nwhich they generally give to some of them\r\nabove others, is in a great measure without any\r\nfoundation. If to be able to act with propriety,\r\nand to render ourselves the proper objects of the approbation\r\nof mankind, be, as we have been endeavouring\r\nto show, what chiefly recommends to us\r\none condition above another, this may equally be\r\nattained in them all. The noblest propriety of conduct\r\nmay be supported in adversity, as well as in\r\nprosperity; and though it is somewhat more difficult\r\nin the first, it is upon that very account more admirable.\r\nPerils and misfortunes are not only the\r\nproper school of heroism, they are the only proper\r\ntheatre which can exhibit its virtue to advantage,\r\nand draw upon it the full applause of the world.\r\nThe man, whose whole life has been one even and\r\nuninterrupted course of prosperity, who never braved\r\nany danger, who never encountered any difficulty,\r\nwho never surmounted any distress, can excite but\r\nan inferior degree of admiration. When poets and\r\nromance-writers endeavour to invent a train of adventures,\r\nwhich shall give the greatest lustre to those\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_90\"\u003e90\u003c/span\u003echaracters for whom they mean to interest us, they\r\nare all of a different kind. They are rapid and sudden\r\nchanges of fortune, situations the most apt to\r\ndrive those who are in them to frenzy and distraction,\r\nor to abject despair; but in which their heroes act\r\nwith so much propriety, or at least with so much\r\nspirit and undaunted resolution, as still to command\r\nour esteem. Is not the unfortunate magnanimity of\r\nCato, Brutus, and Leonidas, as much the object of\r\nadmiration, as that of the successful Cæsar or Alexander?\r\nTo a generous mind, therefore, ought it not\r\nto be as much the object of envy? If a more dazzling\r\nsplendor seems to attend the fortunes of successful\r\nconquerors, it is because they join together\r\nthe advantages of both situations, the lustre of prosperity\r\nto the high admiration which is excited by\r\ndangers encountered, and difficulties surmounted,\r\nwith intrepidity and valour.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt was upon this account that, according to the\r\nstoical philosophy, to a wise man all the different\r\nconditions of life were equal. Nature, they said,\r\nhad recommended some objects to our choice, and\r\nothers to our disapprobation. Our primary appetites\r\ndirected us to the pursuit of health, strength,\r\nease, and perfection, in all the qualities of mind and\r\nbody; and of whatever could promote or secure\r\nthese, riches, power, authority: and the same original\r\nprinciple taught us to avoid the contrary. But\r\nin chusing or rejecting, in preferring or postponing,\r\nthose first objects of original appetite and aversion,\r\nNature had likewise taught us, that there was a certain\r\norder, propriety, and grace, to be observed, of\r\ninfinitely greater consequence to happiness and perfection,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_91\"\u003e91\u003c/span\u003ethan the attainment of those objects themselves.\r\nThe objects of our primary appetites or\r\naversions were to be pursued or avoided, chiefly\r\nbecause a regard to this grace and propriety required\r\nsuch conduct. In directing all our actions according\r\nto these, consisted the happiness and glory\r\nof human nature. In departing from those rules\r\nwhich they prescribed to us, its greatest wretchedness\r\nand most complete depravity. The outward\r\nappearance of this order and propriety was indeed\r\nmore easily maintained in some circumstances than\r\nin others. To a fool, however, to one whose passions\r\nwere subjected to no proper controul, to act\r\nwith real grace and propriety, was equally impossible\r\nin every situation. Though the giddy multitude\r\nmight admire him, though his vanity might\r\nsometimes be elevated by their ignorant praises into\r\nsomething that resembled self-approbation, yet still\r\nwhen he turned his view to what passed within his\r\nown breast, he was secretly conscious to himself of\r\nthe absurdity and meanness of all his motives, and\r\ninwardly blushed and trembled at the thoughts of\r\nthe contempt which he knew he deserved, and\r\nwhich mankind would certainly bestow upon him\r\nif they saw his conduct in the light in which in his\r\nown heart he was obliged to regard it. To a wise\r\nman, on the contrary, to one whose passions were\r\nall brought under perfect subjection to the ruling\r\nprinciples of his nature, to reason and the love of\r\npropriety, to act so as to deserve approbation was\r\nequally easy upon all occasions. Was he in prosperity,\r\nhe returned thanks to Jupiter for having joined\r\nhim with circumstances which were easily mastered,\r\nand in which there was little temptation to\r\ndo wrong. Was he in adversity, he equally, returned\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_92\"\u003e92\u003c/span\u003ethanks to the director of this spectacle\r\nof human life, for having opposed to him a\r\nvigorous athlete, over whom, though the contest\r\nwas likely to be more violent, the victory was more\r\nglorious, and equally certain. Can there be any\r\nshame in that distress which is brought upon us without\r\nany fault of our own, and in which we behave\r\nwith perfect propriety? There can therefore, be no\r\nevil, but, on the contrary, the greatest good and advantage.\r\nA brave man exults in those dangers, in\r\nwhich, from no rashness of his own, his fortune has\r\ninvolved him. They afford an opportunity of exercising\r\nthat heroic intrepidity, whose exertion gives\r\nthe exalted delight which flows from the consciousness\r\nof superior propriety and deserved admiration.\r\nOne who is master of all his exercises has no aversion\r\nto measure his strength and activity with the strongest.\r\nAnd in the same manner, one who is master\r\nof all his passions, does not dread any circumstances\r\nin which the superintendant of the universe may\r\nthink proper to place him. The bounty of that Divine\r\nBeing has provided him with virtues which render\r\nhim superior to every situation. If it is pleasure,\r\nhe has temperance to refrain from it; if it is pain,\r\nhe has constancy to bear it; if it is danger or death,\r\nhe has magnanimity and fortitude to despise it. He\r\nnever complains of the destiny of providence, nor\r\nthinks the universe in confusion when he is out of\r\norder. He does not look upon himself, according\r\nto what self-love would suggest, as a whole, separated\r\nand detached from every other part of nature,\r\nto be taken care of by itself, and for itself. He regards\r\nhimself in the light in which he imagines the\r\ngreat Genius of human nature, and of the world,\r\nregards him. He enters, if I may say so, into the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_93\"\u003e93\u003c/span\u003esentiments of that Divine Being, and considers himself\r\nas an atom, a particle, of an immense and infinite\r\nsystem, which must, and ought to be disposed\r\nof, according to the conveniency of the whole. Assured\r\nof the wisdom which directs all the events of\r\nhuman life, whatever lot befalls him, he accepts it\r\nwith joy, satisfied that, if he had known all the connexions\r\nand dependencies of the different parts of\r\nthe universe, it is the very lot which he himself would\r\nhave wished for. If it is life, he is contented to\r\nlive: and if it is death, as Nature must have no further\r\noccasion for his presence here, he willingly goes\r\nwhere he is appointed. I accept, said a stoical philosopher,\r\nwith equal joy and satisfaction, whatever\r\nfortune can befal me. Riches or poverty, pleasure\r\nor pain, health or sickness, all is alike: nor would\r\nI desire that the gods should in any respect change\r\nmy destination. If I was to ask of them any thing,\r\nbeyond what their bounty has already bestowed, it\r\nshould be that they would inform me beforehand\r\nwhat it was their pleasure should be done with me,\r\nthat I might of my own accord place myself in this\r\nsituation, and demonstrate the chearfulness with\r\nwhich I embraced their allotment. If I am going\r\nto fail, says Epictetus, I chuse the best ship, and the\r\nbest pilot, and I wait for the fairest weather that my\r\ncircumstances and duty will allow. Prudence and\r\npropriety, the principles which the gods have given\r\nme for the direction of my conduct, require this of\r\nme; but they require no more: and if, notwithstanding,\r\na storm arises, which neither the strength\r\nof the vessel, nor the skill of the pilot are likely to\r\nwithstand, I give myself no trouble about the consequence.\r\nAll that I had to do, is done already.\r\nThe directors of my conduct never command me\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_94\"\u003e94\u003c/span\u003eto be miserable, to be anxious, desponding, or\r\nafraid. Whether we are to be drowned, or to come\r\nto a harbour, is the business of Jupiter, not mine.\r\nI leave it entirely to his determination, nor ever\r\nbreak my rest with considering which way he is\r\nlikely to decide it, but receive whatever comes with\r\nequal indifference and security.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSuch was the philosophy of the stoics, a philosophy\r\nwhich affords the noblest lessons of magnanimity,\r\nis the best school of heroes and patriots, and\r\nto the greater part of whose precepts there can be\r\nno objection, except that honourable one, that they\r\nteach us to aim at a perfection altogether beyond\r\nthe reach of human nature. I shall not at present\r\nstop to examine it. I shall only observe, in confirmation\r\nof what has formerly been said, that the\r\nmost dreadful calamities are not always those which\r\nit is most difficult to support. It is often more mortifying\r\nto appear in public, under small disasters,\r\nthan under great misfortunes. The first excite no\r\nsympathy; but the second, though they may excite\r\nnone that approaches to the anguish of the sufferer,\r\ncall forth, however, a very lively compassion. The\r\nsentiments of the spectators are, in this last case,\r\ntherefore, less wide of those of the sufferer, and\r\ntheir imperfect fellow-feeling lends him some assistance\r\nin supporting his misery. Before a gay assembly,\r\na gentleman would be more mortified to appear\r\ncovered with filth and rags than with blood\r\nand wounds. This last situation would interest\r\ntheir pity; the other would provoke their laughter.\r\nThe judge who orders a criminal to be set in the\r\npillory, dishonours him more than if he had condemned\r\nhim to the scaffold. The great prince,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_95\"\u003e95\u003c/span\u003ewho, some years ago, caned a general officer at the\r\nhead of his army, disgraced him irrecoverably.\r\nThe punishment would have been much less had he\r\nshot him through the body. By the laws of honour,\r\nto strike with a cane dishonours, to strike with\r\na sword does not, for an obvious reason. Those\r\nslighter punishments when inflicted on a gentleman,\r\nto whom dishonour is the greatest of all evils, come\r\nto be regarded among a humane and generous people,\r\nas the most dreadful of any. With regard to\r\npersons of that rank, therefore, they are universally\r\nlaid aside, and the law, while it takes their life upon\r\nmany occasions, respects their honour upon almost\r\nall. To scourge a person of quality, or to\r\nset him in the pillory, upon account of any crime\r\nwhatever, is a brutality of which no European government,\r\nexcept that of Russia, is capable.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eA brave man is not rendered contemptible by being\r\nbrought to the scaffold; he is, by being set in\r\nthe pillory. His behaviour in the one situation may\r\ngain him universal esteem and admiration. No behaviour\r\nin the other can render him agreeable. The\r\nsympathy of the spectators supports him in the one\r\ncase, and saves him from that shame, that consciousness\r\nthat his misery is felt by himself only, which is\r\nof all sentiments the most unsupportable. There is\r\nno sympathy in the other; or, if there is any, it is\r\nnot with his pain, which is a trifle, but with his consciousness\r\nof the want of sympathy with which this\r\npain is attended. It is with his shame, not with\r\nhis sorrow. Those who pity him, blush and hang\r\ndown their heads for him. He droops in the same\r\nmanner, and feels himself irrecoverably degraded\r\nby the punishment, though not by the crime. The\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_96\"\u003e96\u003c/span\u003eman, on the contrary, who dies with resolution, as\r\nhe is naturally regarded with the erect aspect of esteem\r\nand approbation, so he wears himself the same\r\nundaunted countenance; and, if the crime does\r\nnot deprive him of the respect of others, the punishment\r\nnever will. He has no suspicion that his situation\r\nis the object of contempt or derision to any\r\nbody, and he can, with propriety, assume the air,\r\nnot only of perfect serenity, but of triumph and\r\nexaltation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e“Great dangers,” says the Cardinal de Retz, “have\r\ntheir charms, because there is some glory to be\r\ngot, even when we miscarry. But moderate dangers\r\nhave nothing but what is horrible, because\r\nthe loss of reputation always attends the want of\r\nsuccess.” His maxim has the same foundation\r\nwith what we have been just now observing with regard\r\nto punishments.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eHuman virtue is superior to pain, to poverty, to\r\ndanger, and to death; nor does it even require its\r\nutmost efforts to despise them. But to have its misery\r\nexposed to insult and derision, to be led in\r\ntriumph, to be set up for the hand of scorn to point\r\nat, is a situation in which its constancy is much more\r\napt to fail. Compared with the contempt of mankind,\r\nall other evils are easily supported.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_97\"\u003e97\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch2 class=\"c004\"\u003ePART II.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"large\"\u003eOf \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eMerit\u003c/span\u003e and \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eDemerit\u003c/span\u003e; or, of the Objects of \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eReward\u003c/span\u003e and \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003ePunishment\u003c/span\u003e.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center-c0\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center c002\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eConsisting of three Sections.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c008\"\u003eSECTION I.\u003cbr\u003e Of the sense of merit and demerit.\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c008\"\u003eINTRODUCTION.\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eThere is another set of qualities ascribed to\r\nthe actions and conduct of mankind, distinct from\r\ntheir propriety or impropriety, their decency or ungracefulness,\r\nand which are the objects of a distinct\r\nspecies of approbation and disapprobation. These\r\nare merit and demerit, the qualities of deserving\r\nreward, and of deserving punishment.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt has already been observed, that the sentiment\r\nor affection of the heart, from which any action\r\nproceeds, and upon which its whole virtue or vice\r\ndepends, may be considered under two different aspects,\r\nor in two different relations: first, in relation\r\nto the cause or object which excites it; and,\r\nsecondly, in relation to the end which it proposes,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_98\"\u003e98\u003c/span\u003eor to the effect which it tends to produce: that upon\r\nthe suitableness or unsuitableness, upon the proportion\r\nor disproportion, which the affection seems\r\nto bear to the cause or object which excites it, depends\r\nthe propriety or impropriety, the decency or\r\nungracefulness of the consequent action; and that\r\nupon the beneficial or hurtful effects which the affection\r\nproposes or tends to produce, depends the merit\r\nor demerit, the good or ill desert of the action\r\nto which it gives occasion. Wherein consists our\r\nsense of the propriety or impropriety of actions, has\r\nbeen explained in the former part of this discourse.\r\nWe come now to consider, wherein consists that of\r\ntheir good or ill desert.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. I.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eThat whatever appears to be the proper object of gratitude, appears to deserve reward; and that, in the same manner, whatever appears to be the proper object of resentment, appears to deserve punishment.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eTo us, therefore, that action must appear to deserve\r\nreward, which appears to be the proper and\r\napproved object of that sentiment, which most immediately\r\nand directly prompts us to reward, or to\r\ndo good to another. And in the same manner,\r\nthat action must appear to deserve punishment,\r\nwhich appears to be the proper and approved object\r\nof that sentiment which most immediately and directly\r\nprompts us to publish, or inflict evil upon\r\nanother.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_99\"\u003e99\u003c/span\u003eThe sentiment which most immediately and directly\r\nprompts us to reward, is gratitude; that which\r\nmost immediately and directly prompts us to punish,\r\nis resentment.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eTo us, therefore, that action must appear to deserve\r\nreward, which appears to be the proper and approved\r\nobject of gratitude; as, on the other hand,\r\nthat action must appear to deserve punishment,\r\nwhich appears to be the proper and approved object\r\nof resentment.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eTo reward, is to recompense, to remunerate, to\r\nreturn good for good received. To punish, too, is\r\nto recompense, to remunerate, though in a different\r\nmanner; it is to return evil for evil that has been\r\ndone.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThere are some other passions, besides gratitude\r\nand resentment, which interest us in the happiness or\r\nmisery of others; but there are none which so directly\r\nexcite us to be the instruments of either. The\r\nlove and esteem which grow upon acquaintance and\r\nhabitual approbation, necessarily lead us to be pleased\r\nwith the good fortune of the man who is the object\r\nof such agreeable emotions, and consequently, to be\r\nwilling to lend a hand to promote it. Our love,\r\nhowever, is fully satisfied, though his good fortune\r\nshould be brought about without our assistance. All\r\nthat this passion desires is to see him happy, without\r\nregarding who was the author of his prosperity. But\r\ngratitude is not to be satisfied in this manner. If the\r\nperson to whom we owe many obligations, is made\r\nhappy without our assistance, though it pleases our\r\nlove, it does not content our gratitude. Till we\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_100\"\u003e100\u003c/span\u003ehave recompensed him, till we ourselves have been\r\ninstrumental in promoting his happiness, we feel ourselves\r\nstill loaded with that debt which his past services\r\nhave laid upon us.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe hatred and dislike, in the same manner,\r\nwhich grow upon habitual disapprobation, would often\r\nlead us to take a malicious pleasure in the misfortune\r\nof the man whose conduct and character excite\r\nso painful a passion. But though dislike and hatred\r\nharden us against all sympathy, and sometimes dispose\r\nus even to rejoice at the distress of another, yet,\r\nif there is no resentment in the case, if neither we\r\nnor our friends have received any great personal provocation,\r\nthese passions would not naturally lead us to\r\nwish to be instrumental in bringing it about. Tho’\r\nwe could fear no punishment in consequence of our\r\nhaving had some hand it, we would rather that it\r\nshould happen by other means. To one under the\r\ndominion of violent hatred it would be agreeable,\r\nperhaps, to hear, that the person whom he abhorred\r\nand detested was killed by some accident. But if he\r\nhad the least spark of justice, which, though this passion\r\nis not very favourable to virtue, he might still\r\nhave, it would hurt him excessively to have been himself,\r\neven without design, the occasion of this misfortune.\r\nMuch more would the very thought of voluntarily\r\ncontributing to it shock him beyond all measure.\r\nHe would reject with horror even the imagination of\r\nso execrable a design; and if he could imagine himself\r\ncapable of such an enormity, he would begin to\r\nregard himself in the same odious light in which he\r\nhad considered the person who was the object of\r\nhis dislike. But it is quite otherwise with resentment:\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_101\"\u003e101\u003c/span\u003eif the person who had done us some great injury,\r\nwho had murdered our father or our brother, for example,\r\nshould soon afterwards die of a fever, or even\r\nbe brought to the scaffold upon account of some other\r\ncrime, though it might sooth our hatred, it would not\r\nfully gratify our resentment. Resentment would\r\nprompt us to desire, not only that he should be punished,\r\nbut that he should be punished by our means,\r\nand upon account of that particular injury which he\r\nhad done to us. Resentment cannot be fully gratified,\r\nunless the offender is not only made to grieve in\r\nhis turn, but to grieve for that particular wrong\r\nwhich we have suffered from him. He must be\r\nmade to repent and be sorry for this very action, that\r\nothers, through fear of the like punishment, may be\r\nterrified from being guilty of the like offence. The\r\nnatural gratification of this passion tends, of its own\r\naccord, to produce all the political ends of punishment;\r\nthe correction of the criminal, and the example\r\nto the public.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eGratitude and resentment, therefore, are the sentiments\r\nwhich most immediately and directly prompt\r\nto reward and to punish. To us, therefore, he must\r\nappear to deserve reward, who appears to be the\r\nproper and approved object of gratitude; and he to\r\ndeserve punishment, who appears to be that of resentment.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_102\"\u003e102\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. II.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the proper objects of gratitude and resentment.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eTo be the proper and approved object either of\r\ngratitude or resentment, can mean nothing but to\r\nbe the object of that gratitude, and of that resentment,\r\nwhich naturally seems proper, and is approved\r\nof.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut these, as well as all the other passions of human\r\nnature, seem proper and are approved of, when\r\nthe heart of every impartial spectator entirely sympathizes\r\nwith them, when every indifferent by-stander\r\nentirely enters into, and goes along with\r\nthem.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eHe, therefore, appears to deserve reward, who,\r\nto some person or persons, is the natural object of\r\na gratitude which every human heart is disposed to\r\nbeat time to, and thereby applaud: and he, on the\r\nother hand, appears to deserve punishment, who\r\nin the same manner is to some person or persons the\r\nnatural object of a resentment which the breast of\r\nevery reasonable man is ready to adopt and sympathize\r\nwith. To us, surely, that action must appear\r\nto deserve reward, which every body who\r\nknows of it would wish to reward, and therefore\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_103\"\u003e103\u003c/span\u003edelights to see rewarded: and that action must as\r\nsurely appear to deserve punishment, which every\r\nbody who hears of it is angry with, and upon that\r\naccount rejoices to see punished.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e1. As we sympathize with the joy of our companions\r\nwhen in prosperity, so we join with them in the\r\ncomplacency and satisfaction with which they naturally\r\nregard whatever is the cause of their good fortune.\r\nWe enter into the love and affection which\r\nthey conceive for it, and begin to love it too. We\r\nshould be sorry for their sakes if it was destroyed, or\r\neven if it was placed at too great a distance from\r\nthem, and out of the reach of their care and protection,\r\nthough they should lose nothing by its absence\r\nexcept the pleasure of seeing it. If it is man who\r\nhas thus been the fortunate instrument of the happiness\r\nof his brethren, this is still more peculiarly the\r\ncase. When we see one man assisted, protected, relieved\r\nby another, our sympathy with the joy of the\r\nperson who receives the benefit serves only to animate\r\nour fellow-feeling with his gratitude towards him\r\nwho bestows it. When we look upon the person\r\nwho is the cause of his pleasure with the eyes with\r\nwhich we imagine he must look upon him, his benefactor\r\nseems to stand before us in the most engaging\r\nand amiable light. We readily therefore sympathize\r\nwith the grateful affection which he conceives for\r\na person to whom he has been so much obliged; and\r\nconsequently applaud the returns which he is disposed\r\nto make for the good offices conferred upon him.\r\nAs we entirely enter into the affection from which\r\nthese returns proceed, they necessarily seem every\r\nway proper and suitable to their object.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_104\"\u003e104\u003c/span\u003e2. In the same manner, as we sympathize with\r\nthe sorrow of our fellow-creature whenever we see\r\nhis distress, so we likewise enter into his abhorrence\r\nand aversion for whatever has given occasion to it.\r\nOur heart, as it adopts and beats time to his grief, so\r\nis it likewise animated with that spirit by which he\r\nendeavours to drive away or destroy the cause of it.\r\nThe indolent and passive fellow-feeling, by which we\r\naccompany him in his sufferings, readily gives way\r\nto that more vigorous and active sentiment by which\r\nwe go along with him in the effort he makes, either\r\nto repel them, or to gratify his aversion to what has\r\ngiven occasion to them. This is still more peculiarly\r\nthe case, when it is man who has caused them.\r\nWhen we see one man oppressed or injured by another,\r\nthe sympathy which we feel with the distress\r\nof the sufferer seems to serve only to animate our\r\nfellow-feeling with his resentment against the offender.\r\nWe are rejoiced to see him attack his adversary\r\nin his turn, and are eager and ready to assist him\r\nwhenever he exerts himself for defence, or even for\r\nvengeance within a certain degree. If the injured\r\nshould perish in the quarrel, we not only sympathize\r\nwith the real resentment of his friends and relations,\r\nbut with the imaginary resentment which in fancy\r\nwe lend to the dead, who is no longer capable of\r\nfeeling that or any other human sentiment. But as\r\nwe put ourselves in his situation, as we enter, as it\r\nwere, into his body, and in our imaginations, in some\r\nmeasure, animate anew the deformed and mangled\r\ncarcass of the slain, when we bring home in this manner\r\nhis case to our own bosoms, we feel upon this, as\r\nupon many other occasions, an emotion which the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_105\"\u003e105\u003c/span\u003eperson principally concerned is incapable of feeling,\r\nand which yet we feel by an illusive sympathy with\r\nhim. The sympathetic tears which we shed for\r\nthat immense and irretrievable loss, which in our\r\nfancy he appears to have sustained, seem to be but a\r\nsmall part of the duty which we owe him. The injury\r\nwhich he has suffered demands, we think, a\r\nprincipal part of our attention. We feel that resentment\r\nwhich we imagine he ought to feel, and which\r\nhe would feel, if in his cold and lifeless body there\r\nremained any consciousness of what passes upon\r\nearth. His blood, we think, calls aloud for vengeance.\r\nThe very ashes of the dead seem to be\r\ndisturbed at the thought that his injuries are to pass\r\nunrevenged. The horrors which are supposed to\r\nhaunt the bed of the murderer, the ghosts which,\r\nsuperstition imagines, rise from their graves to demand\r\nvengeance upon those who brought them to\r\nan untimely end, all take their origin from this natural\r\nsympathy with the imaginary resentment of\r\nthe slain. And with regard, at least, to this most\r\ndreadful of all crimes, Nature, antecedent to all reflections\r\nupon the utility of punishment, has in this\r\nmanner stamped upon the human heart, in the\r\nstrongest and most indelible characters, an immediate\r\nand instinctive approbation of the sacred and\r\nnecessary law of retaliation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_106\"\u003e106\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. III.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eThat where there is no approbation of the conduct of the person who confers the benefit, there is little sympathy with the gratitude of him who receives it: and that, on the contrary, where there is no disapprobation of the motives of the person who does the mischief, there is no sort of sympathy with the resentment of him who suffers it.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eIt is to be observed, however, that, how beneficial\r\nsoever on the one hand, or how hurtful\r\nsoever on the other, the actions or intentions\r\nof the person who acts may have been to the person\r\nwho is, if I may say so, acted upon, yet if in\r\nthe one case there appears to have been no propriety\r\nin the motives of the agent, if we cannot enter into\r\nthe affections which influenced his conduct, we\r\nhave little sympathy with the gratitude of the person\r\nwho receives the benefit: or if, in the other\r\ncase, there appears to have been no impropriety\r\nin the motives of the agent, if, on the contrary,\r\nthe affections which influenced his conduct are such\r\nas we must necessarily enter into, we can have no\r\nsort of sympathy with the resentment of the person\r\nwho suffers. Little gratitude seems due in the\r\none case, and all sort of resentment seems unjust in\r\nthe other. The one action seems to merit little\r\nreward, the other to deserve no punishment.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_107\"\u003e107\u003c/span\u003e1. First, I say, that wherever we cannot sympathize\r\nwith the affections of the agent, wherever there\r\nseems to be no propriety in the motives which influenced\r\nhis conduct, we are less disposed to enter into\r\nthe gratitude of the person who received the benefit\r\nof his actions. A very small return seems due to\r\nthat foolish and profuse generosity which confers the\r\ngreatest benefits from the most trivial motives, and\r\ngives an estate to a man merely because his name and\r\nsurname happen to be the same with those of the\r\ngiver. Such services do not seem to demand any\r\nproportionable recompense. Our contempt for the\r\nfolly of the agent hinders us from thoroughly entering\r\ninto the gratitude of the person to whom the good\r\noffice has been done. His benefactor seems unworthy\r\nof it. As when we place ourselves in the\r\nsituation of the person obliged, we feel that we could\r\nconceive no great reverence for such a benefactor,\r\nwe easily absolve him from a great deal of that submissive\r\nveneration and esteem which we should think\r\ndue to a more respectable character; and provided\r\nhe always treats his weak friend with kindness and\r\nhumanity, we are willing to excuse him from many\r\nattentions and regards which we should demand to a\r\nworthier patron. Those Princes, who have heaped,\r\nwith the greatest profusion, wealth, power, and\r\nhonours, upon their favourites, have seldom excited\r\nthat degree of attachment to their persons which has\r\noften been experienced by those who were more frugal\r\nof their favours. The well-natured, but injudicious\r\nprodigality of James the First of Great Britain\r\nseems to have attached no body to his person; and\r\nthat Prince, notwithstanding his social and harmless\r\ndisposition, appears to have lived and died without\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_108\"\u003e108\u003c/span\u003ea friend. The whole gentry and nobility of\r\nEngland exposed their lives and fortunes in the\r\ncause of his more frugal and distinguishing son,\r\nnotwithstanding the coldness and distant severity of\r\nhis ordinary deportment.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e2. Secondly, I say, That wherever the conduct\r\nof the agent appears to have been entirely directed\r\nby motives and affections which we thoroughly\r\nenter into and approve of, we can have no sort of\r\nsympathy with the resentment of the sufferer, how\r\ngreat soever the mischief which may have been done\r\nto him. When two people quarrel, if we take\r\npart with, and entirely adopt the resentment of one\r\nof them, it is impossible that we should enter\r\ninto that of the other. Our sympathy with the\r\nperson whose motives we go along with, and whom\r\ntherefore we look upon as in the right, cannot but\r\nharden us against all fellow-feeling with the other,\r\nwhom we necessarily regard as in the wrong.\r\nWhatever this last, therefore, may have suffered,\r\nwhile it is no more than what we ourselves should\r\nhave wished him to suffer, while it is no more than\r\nwhat our own sympathetic indignation would\r\nhave prompted us to inflict upon him, it cannot\r\neither displease or provoke us. When an inhuman\r\nmurderer is brought to the scaffold, though we\r\nhave some compassion for his misery, we can have\r\nno sort of fellow-feeling with his resentment, if\r\nhe should be so absurd as to express any against\r\neither his prosecutor or his judge. The natural\r\ntendency of their just indignation against so vile a\r\ncriminal is indeed the most fatal and ruinous to\r\nhim. But it is impossible that we should be displeased\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_109\"\u003e109\u003c/span\u003ewith the tendency of a sentiment, which,\r\nwhen we bring the case home to ourselves, we feel\r\nthat we cannot avoid adopting.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. IV.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eRecapitulation of the foregoing Chapters.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eWe do not, therefore, thoroughly and heartily\r\nsympathize with the gratitude of one man towards\r\nanother, merely because this other has been the\r\ncause of his good fortune, unless he has been the\r\ncause of it from motives which we entirely go along\r\nwith. Our heart must adopt the principles of the\r\nagent, and go along with all the affections which\r\ninfluenced his conduct, before it can entirely sympathize\r\nwith, and beat time to, the gratitude of\r\nthe person who has been benefited by his actions.\r\nIf in the conduct of the benefactor there appears\r\nto have been no propriety, how beneficial soever its\r\neffects, it does not seem to demand, or necessarily\r\nto require, any proportionable recompense.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut when to the beneficent tendency of the\r\naction is joined the propriety of the affection from\r\nwhich it proceeds, when we entirely sympathize\r\nand go along with the motives of the agent, the\r\nlove which we conceive for him upon his own\r\naccount, enhances and enlivens our fellow-feeling\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_110\"\u003e110\u003c/span\u003ewith the gratitude of those who owe their prosperity\r\nto his good conduct. His actions seem then to\r\ndemand, and, if I may say so, to call aloud for a\r\nproportionable recompense. We then entirely enter\r\ninto that gratitude which prompts to bestow it.\r\nThe benefactor seems then to be the proper object\r\nof reward, when we thus entirely sympathize with,\r\nand approve of, that sentiment which prompts to\r\nreward him. When we approve of, and go along\r\nwith, the affection from which the action proceeds,\r\nwe must necessarily approve of the action, and regard\r\nthe person towards whom it is directed as its\r\nproper and suitable object.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e2. In the same manner, we cannot at all sympathize\r\nwith the resentment of one man against another,\r\nmerely because this other has been the cause\r\nof his misfortune, unless he has been the cause of it\r\nfrom motives which we cannot enter into. Before\r\nwe can adopt the resentment of the sufferer, we\r\nmust disapprove of the motives of the agent, and\r\nfeel that our heart renounces all sympathy with the\r\naffections which influenced his conduct. If there\r\nappears to have been no impropriety in these, how\r\nfatal soever the tendency of the action which proceeds\r\nfrom them to those against whom it is directed,\r\nit does not seem to deserve any punishment,\r\nor to be the proper object of any resentment.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut when to the hurtfulness of the action is joined\r\nthe impropriety of the affection from whence it\r\nproceeds, when our heart rejects with abhorrence\r\nall fellow-feeling with the motives of the agent,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_111\"\u003e111\u003c/span\u003ewe then heartily and entirely sympathize with the\r\nresentment of the sufferer. Such actions seem then\r\nto deserve, and, if I may say so, to call aloud for,\r\na proportionable punishment; and we entirely enter\r\ninto, and thereby approve of, that resentment which\r\nprompts to inflict it. The offender necessarily\r\nseems then to be the proper object of punishment,\r\nwhen we thus entirely sympathize with, and thereby\r\napprove of, that sentiment which prompts to punish.\r\nIn this case too, when we approve, and go along\r\nwith, the affection from which the action proceeds,\r\nwe must necessarily approve of the action, and\r\nregard the person against whom it is directed, as its\r\nproper and suitable object.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_112\"\u003e112\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. V.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eThe analysis of the sense of merit and demerit.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003e1. As our sense, therefore, of the propriety of\r\nconduct arises from what I shall call a direct sympathy\r\nwith the affections and motives of the person\r\nwho acts, so our sense of its merit arises from what\r\nI shall call an indirect sympathy with the gratitude\r\nof the person who is, if I may say so, acted upon.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs we cannot indeed enter thoroughly into the\r\ngratitude of the person who receives the benefit,\r\nunless we beforehand approve of the motives of the\r\nbenefactor, so, upon this account, the sense of merit\r\nseems to be a compounded sentiment, and to be\r\nmade up of two distinct emotions; a direct sympathy\r\nwith the sentiments of the agent, and an indirect\r\nsympathy with the gratitude of those who receive\r\nthe benefit of his actions.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWe may, upon many different occasions, plainly\r\ndistinguish those two different emotions combining\r\nand uniting together in our sense of the good desert\r\nof a particular character or action. When we read in\r\nhistory concerning actions of proper and beneficent\r\ngreatness of mind, how eagerly do we enter into\r\nsuch designs? How much are we animated by that\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_113\"\u003e113\u003c/span\u003ehigh-spirited generosity which directs them? How\r\nkeen are we for their success? How grieved at their\r\ndisappointment? In imagination we become the very\r\nperson whose actions are represented to us: we transport\r\nourselves in fancy to the scenes of those distant\r\nand forgotten adventures, and imagine ourselves\r\nacting the part of a Scipio or a Camillus, a Timoleon\r\nor an Aristides. So far our sentiments are founded\r\nupon the direct sympathy with the person who\r\nacts. Nor is the indirect sympathy with those who\r\nreceive the benefit of such actions less sensibly felt.\r\nWhenever we place ourselves in the situation of these\r\nlast, with what warm and affectionate fellow-feeling do\r\nwe enter into their gratitude towards those who served\r\nthem so essentially? We embrace, as it were, their\r\nbenefactor along with them. Our heart readily sympathizes\r\nwith the highest transports of their grateful\r\naffection. No honours, no rewards, we think, can\r\nbe too great for them to bestow upon him. When\r\nthey make this proper return for his services, we\r\nheartily applaud and go along with them; but are\r\nshocked beyond all measure, if by their conduct they\r\nappear to have little sense of the obligations conferred\r\nupon them. Our whole sense, in short, of the\r\nmerit and good desert of such actions, of the propriety\r\nand fitness of recompensing them, and making\r\nthe person who performed them rejoice in his turn,\r\narises from the sympathetic emotions of gratitude\r\nand love, with which, when we bring home to our\r\nown breast the situation of those principally concerned,\r\nwe feel ourselves naturally transported towards\r\nthe man who could act with such proper and noble\r\nbeneficence.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_114\"\u003e114\u003c/span\u003e2. In the same manner as our sense of the impropriety\r\nof conduct arises from a want of sympathy, or\r\nfrom a direct antipathy to the affections and motives\r\nof the agent, so our sense of its demerit arises from\r\nwhat I shall here too call an indirect sympathy with\r\nthe resentment of the sufferer.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs we cannot indeed enter into the resentment of\r\nthe sufferer, unless our heart beforehand disapproves\r\nthe motives of the agent, and renounces all fellow-feeling\r\nwith them; so upon this account the sense of\r\ndemerit, as well as that of merit, seems to be a compounded\r\nsentiment, and to be made up of two distinct\r\nemotions; a direct antipathy to the sentiments\r\nof the agent, and an indirect sympathy with the resentment\r\nof the sufferer.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWe may here too, upon many different occasions,\r\nplainly distinguish those two different emotions combining\r\nand uniting together in our sense of the ill\r\ndesert of a particular character or action. When\r\nwe read in history concerning the perfidy and cruelty\r\nof a Borgia or a Nero, our heart rises up against the\r\ndetestable sentiments which influenced their conduct,\r\nand renounces with horror and abomination all fellow-feeling\r\nwith such execrable motives. So far\r\nour sentiments are founded upon the direct antipathy\r\nto the affections of the agent: and the indirect sympathy\r\nwith the resentment of the sufferers is still\r\nmore sensibly felt. When we bring home to ourselves\r\nthe situation of the persons whom those\r\nscourges of mankind insulted, murdered, or betrayed,\r\nwhat indignation do we not feel against such insolent\r\nand inhuman oppressors of the earth? Our\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_115\"\u003e115\u003c/span\u003esympathy with the unavoidable distress of the innocent\r\nsufferers is not more real nor more lively, than our\r\nfellow-feeling with their just and natural resentment.\r\nThe former sentiment only heightens the latter, and\r\nthe idea of their distress serves only to inflame and\r\nblow up our animosity against those who occasioned\r\nit. When we think of the anguish of the sufferers,\r\nwe take part with them more earnestly against their\r\noppressors; we enter with more eagerness into all\r\ntheir schemes of vengeance, and feel ourselves every\r\nmoment wreaking, in imagination, upon such violators\r\nof the laws of society, that punishment which\r\nour sympathetic indignation tells us is due to their\r\ncrimes. Our sense of the horror and dreadful atrocity\r\nof such conduct, the delight which we take in\r\nhearing that it was properly punished, the indignation\r\nwhich we feel when it escapes this due retaliation,\r\nour whole sense and feeling, in short, of its ill\r\ndesert, of the propriety and fitness of inflicting evil\r\nupon the person who is guilty of it, and of making\r\nhim grieve in his turn, arises from the sympathetic\r\nindignation which naturally boils up in the breast of\r\nthe spectator, whenever he thoroughly brings home\r\nto himself the case of the sufferer\u003ca id=\"r2\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f2\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[2]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f2\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r2\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e2\u003c/a\u003e. To ascribe in this manner our natural sense of the ill desert\r\nof human actions to a sympathy with the resentment of the sufferer,\r\nmay seem, to the greater part of people, to be a degradation\r\nof that sentiment. Resentment is commonly regarded as so odious\r\na passion, that they will be apt to think it impossible that so laudable\r\na principle, as the sense of the ill desert of vice, should in\r\nany respect be founded upon it. They will be more willing, perhaps,\r\nto admit that our sense of the merit of good actions is founded\r\nupon a sympathy with the gratitude of the persons who receive\r\nthe benefit of them; because gratitude, as well as all the\r\nother benevolent passions, is regarded as an amiable principle,\r\nwhich can take nothing from the worth of whatever is founded\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_116\"\u003e116\u003c/span\u003eupon it. Gratitude and resentment, however, are in every respect,\r\nit is evident, counterparts to one another; and if our sense of\r\nmerit arises from a sympathy with the one, our sense of demerit can\r\nscarce miss to proceed from a fellow-feeling with the other.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eLet it be considered too that resentment, though, in the degrees\r\nin which we too often see it, the most odious, perhaps, of all the\r\npassions, is not disapproved of when properly humbled and entirely\r\nbrought down to the level of the sympathetic indignation of the\r\nspectator. When we, who are the bystanders, feel that our own\r\nanimosity entirely corresponds with that of the sufferer, when the\r\nresentment of this last does not in any respect go beyond our own,\r\nwhen no word, no gesture, escapes him that denotes an emotion\r\nmore violent than what we can keep time to, and when he never\r\naims at inflicting any punishment beyond what we should rejoice to\r\nsee inflicted, or what we ourselves would upon this account even\r\ndesire to be the instruments of inflicting, it is impossible that we\r\nshould not entirely approve of his sentiments. Our own emotion\r\nin this case must, in our eyes, undoubtedly justify his. And as\r\nexperience teaches us how much the greater part of mankind are\r\nincapable of this moderation, and how great an effort must be made\r\nin order to bring down the rude and undisciplined impulse of resentment\r\nto this suitable temper, we cannot avoid conceiving a\r\nconsiderable degree of esteem and admiration for one who appears\r\ncapable of exerting so much self-command over one of the most\r\nungovernable passions of his nature. When indeed the animosity\r\nof the sufferer exceeds, as it almost always does, what we can go\r\nalong with, as we cannot enter into it, we necessarily disapprove of\r\nit. We even disapprove of it more than we should of an equal\r\nexcess of almost any other passion derived from the imagination.\r\nAnd this too violent resentment, instead of carrying us along with\r\nit, becomes itself the object of our resentment and indignation. We\r\nenter into the opposite resentment of the person who is the object of\r\nthis unjust emotion, and who is in danger of suffering from it.\r\nRevenge, therefore, the excess of resentment, appears to be the\r\nmost detestable of all the passions, and is the object of the horror\r\nand indignation of every body. And as in the way in which this\r\npassion commonly discovers itself among mankind, it is excessive a\r\nhundred times for once that it is moderate, we are very apt to consider\r\nit as altogether odious and detestable, because in its most ordinary\r\nappearances it is so. Nature, however, even in the present\r\ndepraved state of mankind, does not seem to have dealt so unkindly\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_117\"\u003e117\u003c/span\u003ewith us, as to have endowed us with any principle which is\r\nwholly in every respect evil, or which, in no degree and in no direction,\r\ncan be the proper object of praise and approbation. Upon\r\nsome occasions we are sensible that this passion, which is generally\r\ntoo strong, may likewise be too weak. We sometimes complain\r\nthat a particular person shows too little spirit, and has too little\r\nsense of the injuries that have been done to him; and we are as\r\nready to despise him for the defect, as to hate him for the excess of\r\nthis passion.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe inspired writers would not surely have talked so frequently\r\nor so strongly of the wrath and anger of God, if they had regarded\r\nevery degree of those passions as vicious and evil, even in so weak\r\nand imperfect a creature as man.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eLet it be considered too, that the present inquiry is not concerning\r\na matter of right, if I may say so, but concerning a matter of\r\nfact. We are not at present examining upon what principles a perfect\r\nbeing would approve of the punishment of bad actions; but\r\nupon what principles so weak and imperfect a creature as man\r\nactually and in fact approves of it. The principles which I have\r\njust now mentioned, it is evident, have a very great effect upon his\r\nsentiments; and it seems wisely ordered that it should be so. The\r\nvery existence of society requires that unmerited and unprovoked\r\nmalice should be restrained by proper punishments; and consequently,\r\nthat to inflict those punishments should be regarded as a\r\nproper and laudable action. Though man, therefore, be naturally\r\nendowed with a desire of the welfare and preservation of society,\r\nyet the Author of nature has not entrusted it to his reason to find\r\nout that a certain application of punishments is the proper means\r\nof attaining this end; but has endowed him with an immediate\r\nand instinctive approbation of that very application which is most\r\nproper to attain it. The œconomy of nature is in this respect exactly\r\nof a piece with what it is upon many other occasions. With\r\nregard to all those ends which, upon account of their peculiar importance,\r\nmay be regarded, if such an expression is allowable, as\r\nthe favourite ends of nature, she has constantly in this manner not\r\nonly endowed mankind with an appetite for the end which she proposes,\r\nbut likewise with an appetite for the means by which alone\r\nthis end can be brought about, for their own sakes, and independent\r\nof their tendency to produce it. Thus self-preservation, and the\r\npropagation of the species, are the great ends which Nature seems\r\nto have proposed in the formation of all animals. Mankind are\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_118\"\u003e118\u003c/span\u003eendowed with a desire of those ends, and an aversion to the contrary;\r\nwith a love of life, and a dread of dissolution; with a desire\r\nof the continuance and perpetuity of the species, and with an aversion\r\nto the thoughts of its entire extinction. But though we are in\r\nthis manner endowed with a very strong desire of those ends, it has\r\nnot been entrusted to the slow and uncertain determinations of our\r\nreason, to find out the proper means of bringing them about. Nature\r\nhas directed us to the greater part of these by original and\r\nimmediate instincts. Hunger, thirst, the passion which unites\r\nthe two sexes, the love of pleasure, and the dread of pain, prompt\r\nus to apply those means for their own sakes, and without any consideration\r\nof their tendency to those beneficent ends which the\r\ngreat Director of nature intended to produce by them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBefore I conclude this note, I must take notice of a difference\r\nbetween the approbation of propriety and that of merit or beneficence.\r\nBefore we approve of the sentiments of any person as proper\r\nand suitable to their objects, we must not only be affected in the\r\nsame manner as he is, but we must perceive this harmony and correspondence\r\nof sentiments between him and ourselves. Thus,\r\nthough upon hearing of a misfortune that had befallen my friend,\r\nI should conceive precisely that degree of concern which he gives\r\nway to; yet till I am informed of the manner in which he behaves,\r\ntill I perceive the harmony between his emotions and mine, I cannot\r\nbe said to approve of the sentiments which influence his behaviour.\r\nThe approbation of propriety therefore requires, not only that we\r\nshould intirely sympathize with the person who acts, but that we\r\nshould perceive this perfect concord between his sentiments and our\r\nown. On the contrary, when I hear of a benefit that has been bestowed\r\nupon another person, let him who has received it be affected\r\nin what manner he pleases, if, by bringing his case home to myself,\r\nI feel gratitude arise in my own breast, I necessarily approve of the\r\nconduct of his benefactor, and regard it as meritorious, and the proper\r\nobject of reward. Whether the person who has received the\r\nbenefit conceives gratitude or not, cannot, it is evident, in any degree\r\nalter our sentiments with regard to the merit of him who has bestowed\r\nit. No actual correspondence of sentiments, therefore, is here required.\r\nIt is sufficient that if he was grateful, they would correspond;\r\nand our sense of merit is often founded upon one of those\r\nillusive sympathies, by which, when we bring home to ourselves the\r\ncase of another, we are often affected in a manner in which the person\r\nprincipally concerned is incapable of being affected. There is a\r\nsimilar difference between our disapprobation of demerit, and that of\r\nimpropriety.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_119\"\u003e119\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c001\"\u003eSECTION II.\u003cbr\u003e Of justice and beneficence.\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c008\"\u003eCHAP. I.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eComparison of those two virtues.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eActions of a beneficent tendency, which proceed\r\nfrom proper motives, seem alone to require\r\nreward; because such alone are the approved objects\r\nof gratitude, or excite the sympathetic gratitude\r\nof the spectator.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eActions of a hurtful tendency, which proceed from\r\nimproper motives, seem alone to deserve punishment;\r\nbecause such alone are the approved objects of\r\nresentment, or excite the sympathetic resentment of\r\nthe spectator.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBeneficence is always free, it cannot be extorted\r\nby force, the mere want of it exposes to no punishment;\r\nbecause the mere want of beneficence tends\r\nto do no real positive evil. It may disappoint of the\r\ngood which might reasonably have been expected,\r\nand upon that account it may justly excite dislike\r\nand disapprobation: it cannot, however, provoke\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_120\"\u003e120\u003c/span\u003eany resentment which mankind will go along with.\r\nThe man who does not recompense his benefactor,\r\nwhen he has it in his power, and when his benefactor\r\nneeds his assistance, is, no doubt, guilty of the blackest\r\ningratitude. The heart of every impartial spectator\r\nrejects all fellow-feeling with the selfishness of\r\nhis motives, and he is the proper object of the highest\r\ndisapprobation. But still he does no positive hurt\r\nto any body. He only does not do that good which\r\nin propriety he ought to have done. He is the object\r\nof hatred, a passion which is naturally excited by\r\nimpropriety of sentiment and behaviour; not of resentment,\r\na passion which is never properly called forth but\r\nby actions which tend to do real and positive hurt\r\nto some particular persons. His want of gratitude,\r\ntherefore, cannot be punished. To oblige him by\r\nforce to perform what in gratitude he ought to perform,\r\nand what every impartial spectator would approve\r\nof him for performing, would if possible, be\r\nstill more improper than his neglecting to perform it.\r\nHis benefactor would dishonour himself if he attempted\r\nby violence to constrain him to gratitude, and it\r\nwould be impertinent for any third person, who was\r\nnot the superior of either, to intermeddle. But of all\r\nthe duties of beneficence, those which gratitude recommends\r\nto us approach nearest to what is called\r\na perfect and complete obligation. What friendship,\r\nwhat generosity, what charity, would prompt\r\nus to do with universal approbation, is still more free,\r\nand can still less be extorted by force than the\r\nduties of gratitude. We talk of the debt of gratitude,\r\nnot of charity, or generosity, nor even of friendship,\r\nwhen friendship is mere esteem, and has not\r\nbeen enhanced and complicated with gratitude for\r\ngood offices.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_121\"\u003e121\u003c/span\u003eResentment seems to have been given us by nature\r\nfor defence, and for defence only. It is the\r\nsafeguard of justice and the security of innocence.\r\nIt prompts us to beat off the mischief which is attempted\r\nto be done to us, and to retaliate that which\r\nis already done; that the offender may be made to\r\nrepent of his injustice, and that others, through fear\r\nof the like punishment, may be terrified from being\r\nguilty of the like offence. It must be reserved\r\ntherefore for these purposes, nor can the spectator\r\never go along with it when it is exerted for any\r\nother. But the mere want of the beneficent virtues,\r\nthough it may disappoint us of the good which\r\nmight reasonably be expected, neither does, nor attempts\r\nto do, any mischief from which we can have\r\noccasion to defend ourselves.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThere is however another virtue, of which the observance\r\nis not left to the freedom of our own wills,\r\nwhich may be extorted by force, and of which the\r\nviolation exposes to resentment, and consequently to\r\npunishment. This virtue is justice: the violation of\r\njustice is injury: it does real and positive hurt to\r\nsome particular persons, from motives which are naturally\r\ndisapproved of. It is, therefore, the proper\r\nobject of resentment, and of punishment, which is\r\nthe natural consequence of resentment. As mankind\r\ngo along with, and approve of, the violence\r\nemployed to avenge the hurt which is done by injustice,\r\nso they much more go along with, and approve\r\nof, that which is employed to prevent and\r\nbeat off the injury, and to restrain the offender\r\nfrom hurting his neighbours. The person himself\r\nwho meditates an injustice is sensible of this, and\r\nfeels that force may, with the utmost propriety, be\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_122\"\u003e122\u003c/span\u003emade use of, both by the person whom he is about\r\nto injure, and by others, either to obstruct the execution\r\nof his crime, or to punish him when he has\r\nexecuted it. And upon this is founded that remarkable\r\ndistinction between justice and all the\r\nother social virtues, which has of late been particularly\r\ninsisted upon by an author of very great\r\nand original genius, that we feel ourselves to be\r\nunder a stricter obligation to act according to justice,\r\nthan agreeably to friendship, charity, or generosity;\r\nthat the practice of these last mentioned virtues\r\nseems to be left in some measure to our own\r\nchoice, but that, somehow or other, we feel ourselves\r\nto be in a peculiar manner tied, bound, and\r\nobliged to the observation of justice. We feel,\r\nthat is to say, that force may, with the utmost propriety\r\nand with the approbation of all mankind,\r\nbe made use of to constrain us to observe the rules\r\nof the one, but not to follow the precepts of the\r\nother.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWe must always, however, carefully distinguish\r\nwhat is only blamable, or the proper object of disapprobation,\r\nfrom what force may be employed either\r\nto punish or to prevent. That seems blamable\r\nwhich falls short of that ordinary degree of proper\r\nbeneficence which experience teaches us to expect\r\nof every body; and on the contrary, that seems\r\npraise-worthy which goes beyond it. The ordinary\r\ndegree itself, seems neither blamable nor praise-worthy.\r\nA father, a son, a brother, who behaves\r\nto the correspondent relation, neither better nor\r\nworse than the greater part of men commonly do,\r\nseems properly to deserve neither praise nor blame.\r\nHe who surprises us by extraordinary and unexpected,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_123\"\u003e123\u003c/span\u003ethough still proper and suitable kindness, or on\r\nthe contrary, by extraordinary and unexpected, as\r\nwell as unsuitable unkindness, seems praise-worthy in\r\nthe one case, and blamable in the other.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eEven the most ordinary degree of kindness or beneficence,\r\nhowever, cannot, among equals, be extorted\r\nby force. Among equals each individual is\r\nnaturally, and antecedent to the institution of civil\r\ngovernment, regarded as having a right both to\r\ndefend himself from injuries, and to exact a certain\r\ndegree of punishment for those which have been\r\ndone to him. Every generous spectator not only approves\r\nof his conduct when he does this, but enters\r\nso far into his sentiments as often to be willing to\r\nassist him. When one man attacks, or robs, or attempts\r\nto murder another, all the neighbours take the\r\nalarm, and think that they do right when they run,\r\neither to revenge the person who has been injured, or\r\nto defend him who is in danger of being so. But when\r\na father fails in the ordinary degree of parental affection\r\ntowards a son, when a son seems to want that\r\nfilial reverence which might be expected to his father;\r\nwhen brothers are without the usual degree of brotherly\r\naffection; when a man shuts his breast against\r\ncompassion, and refuses to relieve the misery of his\r\nfellow-creatures, when he can with the greatest ease;\r\nin all these cases, though every body blames the\r\nconduct, nobody imagines that those who might\r\nhave reason, perhaps, to expect more kindness,\r\nhave any right to extort it by force. The sufferer\r\ncan only complain, and the spectator can intermeddle\r\nno other way than by advice and persuasion.\r\nUpon all such occasions, for equals to use force\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_124\"\u003e124\u003c/span\u003eagainst one another, would be thought the highest\r\ndegree of insolence and presumption.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eA superior may, indeed, sometimes, with universal\r\napprobation, oblige those under his jurisdiction\r\nto behave, in this respect, with a certain degree of\r\npropriety to one another. The laws of all civilized\r\nnations oblige parents to maintain their children,\r\nand children to maintain their parents, and impose\r\nupon men many other duties of beneficence. The\r\ncivil magistrate is entrusted with the power not only\r\nof preserving the public peace by retraining injustice,\r\nbut of promoting the prosperity of the commonwealth,\r\nby establishing good discipline, and by\r\ndiscouraging every sort of vice and impropriety;\r\nhe may prescribe rules, therefore, which not only\r\nprohibit mutual injuries among fellow-citizens, but\r\ncommand mutual good offices to a certain degree.\r\nWhen the sovereign commands what is merely indifferent,\r\nand what, antecedent to his orders, might\r\nhave been omitted without any blame, it becomes\r\nnot only blamable but punishable to disobey him.\r\nWhen he commands, therefore, what, antecedent\r\nto any such order, could not have been omitted without\r\nthe greatest blame, it surely becomes much more\r\npunishable to be wanting in obedience. Of all the\r\nduties of a law-giver, however, this, perhaps, is\r\nthat which it requires the greatest delicacy and reserve\r\nto execute with propriety and judgment. To\r\nneglect it altogether exposes the commonwealth to\r\nmany gross disorders and shocking enormities, and\r\nto push it too far is destructive of all liberty, security,\r\nand justice.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_125\"\u003e125\u003c/span\u003eThough the mere want of beneficence seems to\r\nmerit no punishment from equals, the greater exertions\r\nof that virtue appear to deserve the highest\r\nreward. By being productive of the greatest good,\r\nthey are the natural and approved objects of the\r\nliveliest gratitude. Though the breach of justice,\r\non the contrary, exposes to punishment, the observance\r\nof the rules of that virtue seems scarce to deserve\r\nany reward. There is, no doubt, a propriety\r\nin the practice of justice, and it merits, upon that\r\naccount, all the approbation which is due to propriety.\r\nBut as it does no real positive good, it is\r\nentitled to very little gratitude. Mere justice is,\r\nupon most occasions, but a negative virtue, and\r\nonly hinders us from hurting our neighbour. The\r\nman who barely abstains from violating either the\r\nperson, or the estate, or the reputation of his neighbours,\r\nhas surely very little positive merit. He\r\nfulfils, however, all the rules of what is peculiarly\r\ncalled justice, and does everything which his equals\r\ncan with propriety force him to do, or which they\r\ncan punish him for not doing. We may often fulfil\r\nall the rules of justice by sitting still and doing nothing.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs every man doth, so shall it be done to him,\r\nand retaliation seems to be the great law which is\r\ndictated to us by Nature. Beneficence and generosity\r\nwe think due to the generous and beneficent.\r\nThose whose hearts never open to the feelings of\r\nhumanity, should, we think, be shut out in the\r\nsame manner, from the affections of all their fellow-creatures,\r\nand be allowed to live in the midst of society,\r\nas in a great desert where there is nobody to\r\ncare for them, or to inquire after them. The violator\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_126\"\u003e126\u003c/span\u003eof the laws of justice ought to be made to feel\r\nhimself that evil which he has done to another; and\r\nsince no regard to the sufferings of his brethren are\r\ncapable of restraining him, he ought to be over-awed\r\nby the fear of his own. The man who is barely innocent,\r\nwho only observes the law of justice with\r\nregard to others, and merely abstains from hurting\r\nhis neighbours, can merit only that his neighbours\r\nin their turn should respect his innocence, and that\r\nthe same laws should be religiously observed with regard\r\nto him.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. II.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the sense of justice, of remorse, and of the consciousness of merit.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eThere can be no proper motive for hurting\r\nour neighbour, there can be no incitement to do evil\r\nto another, which mankind will go along with, except\r\njust indignation for evil which that other has\r\ndone to us. To disturb his happiness merely because\r\nit stands in the way of our own, to take from\r\nhim what is of real use to him merely because it may\r\nbe of equal or more use to us, or to indulge, in this\r\nmanner, at the expence of other people, the natural\r\npreference which every man has for his own happiness\r\nabove that of other people, is what no impartial\r\nspectator can go along with. Every man is, no\r\ndoubt, by nature, first and principally recommended\r\nto his own care; and as he is fitter to take care\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_127\"\u003e127\u003c/span\u003eof himself than of any other person, it is fit and right\r\nthat it should be so. Every man, therefore, is much\r\nmore deeply interested in whatever immediately\r\nconcerns himself, than in what concerns any other\r\nman: and to hear, perhaps, of the death of another\r\nperson, with whom we have no particular connexion,\r\nwill give us less concern, will spoil our stomach, or\r\nbreak our rest much less than a very insignificant\r\ndisaster which has befallen ourselves. But though\r\nthe ruin of our neighbour may affect us much less\r\nthan a very small misfortune of our own, we must\r\nnot ruin him to prevent that small misfortune, nor\r\neven to prevent our own ruin. We must, here, as\r\nin all other cases, view ourselves not so much according\r\nto that light in which we may naturally appear\r\nto ourselves, as according to that in which we\r\nnaturally appear to others. Though every man\r\nmay, according to the proverb, be the whole world\r\nto himself, to the rest of mankind he is a most insignificant\r\npart of it. Though his own happiness may\r\nbe of more importance to him than that of all the\r\nworld besides, to every other person it is of no more\r\nconsequence than that of any other man. Though\r\nit may be true, therefore, that every individual, in\r\nhis own breast, naturally prefers himself to all mankind,\r\nyet he dares not look mankind in the face,\r\nand avow that he acts according to this principle.\r\nHe feels that in this preference they can never go\r\nalong with him, and that how natural soever it may\r\nbe to him, it must always appear excessive and extravagant\r\nto them. When he views himself in the\r\nlight in which he is conscious that others will view\r\nhim, he sees that to them he is but one of the multitude\r\nin no respect better than any other in it. If\r\nhe would act so as that the impartial spectator may\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_128\"\u003e128\u003c/span\u003eenter into the principles of his conduct, which is\r\nwhat of all things he has the greatest desire to do,\r\nhe must, upon this, as upon all other occasions,\r\nhumble the arrogance of his self-love, and bring it\r\ndown to something which other men can go along\r\nwith. They will indulge it so far as to allow him\r\nto be more anxious about, and to pursue with more\r\nearnest assiduity, his own happiness than that of any\r\nother person. Thus far, whenever they place themselves\r\nin his situation, they will readily go along with\r\nhim. In the race for wealth and honours, and preferments,\r\nhe may run as hard as he can, and strain\r\nevery nerve and every muscle, in order to outstrip\r\nall his competitors. But if he should justle, or throw\r\ndown any of them, the indulgence of the spectators\r\nis entirely at an end. It is a violation of fair play,\r\nwhich they cannot admit of. This man is to them,\r\nin every respect, as good as he: they do not enter\r\ninto that self-love by which he prefers himself so\r\nmuch to this other, and cannot go along with the\r\nmotive from which he hurt him. They readily,\r\ntherefore, sympathize with the natural resentment\r\nof the injured, and the offender becomes the object\r\nof their hatred and indignation. He is sensible that\r\nhe becomes so, and feels that those sentiments are\r\nready to burst out from all sides against him.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs the greater and more irreparable the evil that\r\nis done, the resentment of the sufferer runs naturally\r\nthe higher, so does likewise the sympathetic indignation\r\nof the spectator, as well as the sense of guilt\r\nin the agent. Death is the greatest evil which one\r\nman can inflict upon another, and excites the highest\r\ndegree of resentment in those who are immediately\r\nconnected with the slain. Murder, therefore,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_129\"\u003e129\u003c/span\u003eis the most atrocious of all crimes which affect individuals\r\nonly, in the sight both of mankind, and of\r\nthe person who has committed it. To be deprived\r\nof that which we are possessed of, is a greater evil\r\nthan to be disappointed of what we have only the\r\nexpectation. Breach of property, therefore, theft\r\nand robbery, which take from us what we are possessed\r\nof, are greater crimes than breach of contract,\r\nwhich only disappoints us of what we expected.\r\nThe most sacred laws of justice, therefore, those\r\nwhose violation seems to call the loudest for vengeance\r\nand punishment, are the laws which guard\r\nthe life and person of our neighbour; the next are\r\nthose which guard his property and possessions; and\r\nlast of all come those which guard what are called\r\nhis personal rights, or what is due to him from the\r\npromises of others.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe violator of the more sacred laws of justice\r\ncan never reflect on the sentiments which mankind\r\nmust entertain with regard to him, without feeling\r\nall the agonies of shame, and horror, and consternation.\r\nWhen his passion is gratified, and he begins\r\ncoolly to reflect upon his conduct, he can enter\r\ninto none of the motives which influenced it. They\r\nappear now as detestable to him as they did always\r\nto other people. By sympathizing with the hatred\r\nand abhorrence which other men must entertain for\r\nhim, he becomes in some measure the object of his\r\nown hatred and abhorrence. The situation of the\r\nperson, who suffered by his injustice, now calls upon\r\nhis pity. He is grieved at the thought of it; regrets\r\nthe unhappy effects of his own conduct, and\r\nfeels at the same time that they have rendered him\r\nthe proper object of the resentment and indignation\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_130\"\u003e130\u003c/span\u003eof mankind, and of what is the natural consequence\r\nof resentment, vengeance and punishment. The\r\nthought of this perpetually haunts him, and fills\r\nhim with terror and amazement. He dares no longer\r\nlook society in the face, but imagines himself\r\nas it were rejected, and thrown out from the affections\r\nof all mankind. He cannot hope for the consolation\r\nof sympathy in this his greatest, and most\r\ndreadful distress. The remembrance of his crimes\r\nhas shut out all fellow-feelings with him from\r\nthe hearts of his fellow-creatures. The sentiments\r\nwhich they entertain with regard to him, are\r\nthe very thing which he is most afraid of. Every\r\nthing seems hostile, and he would be glad to fly to\r\nsome inhospitable desert, where he might never more\r\nbehold the face of a human creature, nor read in\r\nthe countenance of mankind the condemnation of\r\nhis crimes. But solitude is still more dreadful than\r\nsociety. His own thoughts can present him with\r\nnothing but what is black, unfortunate, and disastrous,\r\nthe melancholy forebodings of incomprehensible\r\nmisery and ruin. The horror of solitude drives\r\nhim back into society, and he comes again into the\r\npresence of mankind, astonished to appear before\r\nthem, loaded with shame and distracted with fear,\r\nin order to supplicate some little protection from the\r\ncountenance of those very judges, who he knows\r\nhave already all unanimously condemned him. Such\r\nis the nature of that sentiment, which is properly\r\ncalled remorse; of all the sentiments which can enter\r\nthe human breast the most dreadful. It is made\r\nup of shame from the sense of the impropriety of\r\npast conduct; of grief for the effects of it; of pity\r\nfor those who suffer by it; and of the dread and terror\r\nof punishment from the consciousness of the justly\r\nprovoked resentment of all rational creatures.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_131\"\u003e131\u003c/span\u003eThe opposite behaviour naturally inspires the opposite\r\nsentiment. The man who, not from frivolous\r\nfancy, but from proper motives, has performed\r\na generous action, when he looks forward to\r\nthose whom he has served, feels himself to be the\r\nnatural object of their love and gratitude, and, by\r\nsympathy with them, of the esteem and approbation\r\nof all mankind. And when he looks backward\r\nto the motive from which he acted, and surveys\r\nit in the light in which the indifferent spectator\r\nwill survey it, he still continues to enter into it, and\r\napplauds himself by sympathy with the approbation\r\nof this supposed impartial judge. In both these\r\npoints of view his own conduct appears to him\r\nevery way agreeable. His mind, at the thought of\r\nit, is filled with chearfulness, serenity, and composure.\r\nHe is in friendship and harmony with all\r\nmankind, and looks upon his fellow-creatures with\r\nconfidence and benevolent satisfaction, secure that\r\nhe has rendered himself worthy of their most favourable\r\nregards. In the combination of all these sentiments\r\nconsists the consciousness of merit, or of deserved\r\nreward.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_132\"\u003e132\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. III.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the utility of this constitution of nature.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eIt is thus that man, who can subsist only in society,\r\nwas fitted by nature to that situation for which\r\nhe was made. All the members of human society\r\nstand in need of each others assistance, and are likewise\r\nexposed to mutual injuries. Where the necessary\r\nassistance is reciprocally afforded from love,\r\nfrom gratitude, from friendship and esteem, the\r\nsociety flourishes and is happy. All the different\r\nmembers of it are bound together by the agreeable\r\nbands of love and affection, and are, as it were,\r\ndrawn to one common centre of mutual good offices.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut though the necessary assistance should not be\r\nafforded from such generous and disinterested motives,\r\nthough among the different members of the\r\nsociety there should be no mutual love and affection,\r\nthe society, though less happy and agreeable, will\r\nnot necessarily be dissolved. Society may subsist\r\namong different men, as among different merchants,\r\nfrom a sense of its utility, without any mutual love\r\nor affection; and though no man in it should owe\r\nany obligation, or be bound in gratitude to any\r\nother, it may still be upheld by a mercenary exchange\r\nof good offices according to an agreed valuation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_133\"\u003e133\u003c/span\u003eSociety, however, cannot subsist among those\r\nwho are at all times ready to hurt and injure one\r\nanother. The moment that injury begins, the moment\r\nthat mutual resentment and animosity take\r\nplace, all the bands of it are broke asunder, and the\r\ndifferent members of which it consisted are, as it\r\nwere, dissipated and scattered abroad by the violence\r\nand opposition of their discordant affections. If\r\nthere is any society among robbers and murderers,\r\nthey must at least, according to the trite observation,\r\nabstain from robbing and murdering one another.\r\nBeneficence, therefore, is less essential to the exigence\r\nof society than justice. Society may subsist,\r\nthough not in the most comfortable state, without\r\nbeneficence; but the prevalence of injustice must\r\nutterly destroy it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThough Nature, therefore, exhorts mankind to\r\nacts of beneficence, by the pleasing consciousness of\r\ndeserved reward, she has not thought it necessary to\r\nguard and enforce the practice of it by the terrors\r\nof merited punishment in case it should be neglected.\r\nIt is the ornament which embellishes, not the\r\nfoundation which supports the building, and which\r\nit was, therefore, sufficient to recommend, but by\r\nno means necessary to impose. Justice, on the contrary,\r\nis the main pillar that upholds the whole edifice.\r\nIf it is removed, the great, the immense fabric\r\nof human society, that fabric which to raise and\r\nsupport seems in this world, if I may say so, to have\r\nbeen the peculiar and darling care of Nature, must\r\nin a moment crumble into atoms. In order to enforce\r\nthe observation of justice, therefore, Nature\r\nhas implanted in the human breast that consciousness\r\nof ill desert, those terrors of merited punishment\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_134\"\u003e134\u003c/span\u003ewhich attend upon its violation, as the great\r\nsafe-guards of the association of mankind, to protect\r\nthe weak, to curb the violent, and to chastise\r\nthe guilty. Men, though naturally sympathetic, feel\r\nso little for another, with whom they have no particular\r\nconnexion, in comparison for what they feel\r\nfor themselves; the misery of one, who is merely\r\ntheir fellow-creature, is of so little importance to\r\nthem in comparison even of a small conveniency of\r\ntheir own; they have it so much in their power to\r\nhurt him, and may have so many temptations to\r\ndo so, that if this principle did not stand up within\r\nthem in his defence, and overawe them into a respect\r\nfor his innocence, they would, like wild\r\nbeasts, be at all times ready to fly upon him; and\r\na man would enter an assembly of men as he enters\r\na den of lions.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIn every part of the universe we observe means\r\nadjusted with the nicest artifice to the ends which\r\nthey are intended to produce; and in the mechanism\r\nof a plant, or animal body, admire how every\r\nthing is contrived for advancing the two great purposes\r\nof nature, the support of the individual, and\r\nthe propagation of the species. But in these, and\r\nin all such objects, we still distinguish the efficient\r\nfrom the final cause of their several motions and organizations.\r\nThe digestion of the food, the circulation\r\nof the blood, and the secretion of the several\r\njuices which are drawn from it, are operations all\r\nof them necessary for the great purposes of animal\r\nlife. Yet we never endeavour to account for them\r\nfrom those purposes as from their efficient causes,\r\nnor imagine that the blood circulates, or that the\r\nfood digests of its own accord, and with a view or\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_135\"\u003e135\u003c/span\u003eintention to the purposes of circulation or digestion.\r\nThe wheels of the watch are all admirably adjusted\r\nto the end for which it was made, the pointing of\r\nthe hour. All their various motions conspire in the\r\nnicest manner to produce this effect. If they were\r\nendowed with a desire and intention to produce it,\r\nthey could not do it better. Yet we never ascribe\r\nany such desire or intention to them, but to the\r\nwatch-maker, and we know that they are put in motion\r\nby a spring, which intends the effect it produces\r\nas little as they do. But though, in accounting\r\nfor the operations of bodies, we never fail to\r\ndistinguish in this manner the efficient from the final\r\ncause, in accounting for those of the mind, we are\r\nvery apt to confound those two different things with\r\none another. When by natural principles we are\r\nled to advance those ends, which a refined and enlightened\r\nreason should recommend to us, we are\r\nvery apt to impute to that reason, as to their efficient\r\ncause, the sentiments and actions by which we advance\r\nthose ends, and to imagine that to be the wisdom\r\nof man, which in reality is the wisdom of God.\r\nUpon a superficial view this cause seems sufficient to\r\nproduce the effects which are ascribed to it; and the\r\nsystem of human nature seems to be more simple\r\nand agreeable when all its different operations are in\r\nthis manner deduced from a single principle.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs society cannot subsist unless the laws of justice\r\nare totally observed, as no social intercourse can take\r\nplace among men who do not generally abstain\r\nfrom injuring one another; the consideration of this\r\nnecessity, it has been thought, was the ground upon\r\nwhich we approved of the enforcement of the laws\r\nof justice by the punishment of those who violated\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_136\"\u003e136\u003c/span\u003ethem. Man, it has been said, has a natural love\r\nfor society, and desires that the union of mankind\r\nshould be preserved for its own sake, and though he\r\nhimself was to derive no benefit from it. The orderly\r\nand flourishing state of society is agreeable to\r\nhim, and he takes delight in contemplating it. Its\r\ndisorder and confusion, on the contrary, is the object\r\nof his aversion, and he is chagrined at whatever\r\ntends to produce it. He is sensible too that his own\r\ninterest is connected with the prosperity of society,\r\nand that the happiness, perhaps the preservation of\r\nhis existence, depends upon its preservation. Upon\r\nevery account, therefore, he has an abhorrence at\r\nwhatever can tend to destroy society, and is willing\r\nto make use of every means, which can hinder so\r\nhated and so dreadful an event. Injustice necessarily\r\ntends to destroy it. Every appearance of injustice,\r\ntherefore, alarms him, and he runs, if I may\r\nsay so, to stop the progress of what, if allowed to go\r\non, would quickly put an end to every thing that is\r\ndear to him. If he cannot restrain it by gentle and\r\nfair means, he must bear it down by force and violence,\r\nand at any rate must put a stop to its further\r\nprogress. Hence it is, they say, that he often\r\napproves of the enforcement of the law of justice\r\neven by the capital punishment of those who violate\r\nthem. The disturber of the public peace is\r\nhereby removed out of the world, and others are\r\nterrified by his fate from imitating his example.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSuch is the account commonly given of our approbation\r\nof the punishment of injustice. And so\r\nfar this account is undoubtedly true, that we frequently\r\nhave occasion to confirm our natural sense\r\nof the propriety and fitness of punishment, by reflecting\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_137\"\u003e137\u003c/span\u003ehow necessary it is for preserving the order of\r\nsociety. When the guilty is about to suffer that\r\njust retaliation, which the natural indignation of\r\nmankind tells them is due to his crimes; when the\r\ninsolence of his injustice is broken and humbled by\r\nthe terror of his approaching punishment; when he\r\nceases to be an object of fear, with the generous and\r\nhumane he begins to be an object of pity. The\r\nthought of what he is about to suffer extinguishes\r\ntheir resentment for the sufferings of others to which\r\nhe has given occasion. They are disposed to pardon\r\nand forgive him, and to save him from that punishment,\r\nwhich in all their cool hours they had considered\r\nas the retribution due to such crimes. Here,\r\ntherefore, they have occasion to call to their assistance\r\nthe consideration of the general interest of society.\r\nThey counterbalance the impulse of this\r\nweak and partial humanity by the dictates of a humanity\r\nthat is more generous and comprehensive.\r\nThey reflect that mercy to the guilty is cruelty to\r\nthe innocent, and oppose to the emotions of compassion\r\nwhich they feel for a particular person, a\r\nmore enlarged compassion which they feel for mankind.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSometimes too we have occasion to defend the\r\npropriety of observing the general rules of justice by\r\nthe consideration of their necessity to the support of\r\nsociety. We frequently hear the young and the licentious\r\nridiculing the most sacred rules of morality,\r\nand professing, sometimes from the corruption, but\r\nmore frequently from the vanity of their hearts, the\r\nmost abominable maxims of conduct. Our indignation\r\nrouses, and we are eager to refute and expose\r\nsuch detestable principles. But though it is\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_138\"\u003e138\u003c/span\u003etheir intrinsic hatefulness and detestableness, which\r\noriginally inflames us against them, we are unwilling\r\nto assign this as the sole reason why we condemn\r\nthem, or to pretend that it is merely because\r\nwe ourselves hate and detest them. The reason, we\r\nthink, would not appear to be conclusive. Yet\r\nwhy should it not; if we hate and detest them because\r\nthey are the natural and proper objects of hatred\r\nand detestation? But when we are asked why\r\nwe should not act in such or such a manner, the\r\nvery question seems to suppose that, to those who\r\nask it, this manner of acting does not appear to be\r\nfor its own sake the natural and proper object of\r\nthose sentiments. We must show them, therefore,\r\nthat it ought to be so for the sake of something else.\r\nUpon this account we generally cast about for other\r\narguments, and the consideration which first occurs\r\nto us is the disorder and confusion of society which\r\nwould result from the universal prevalence of such\r\npractices. We seldom fail, therefore, to insist upon\r\nthis topic.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut though it commonly requires no great discernment\r\nto see the destructive tendency of all licentious\r\npractices to the welfare of society, it is seldom\r\nthis consideration which first animates us against\r\nthem. All men, even the most stupid and\r\nunthinking, abhor fraud, perfidy, and injustice, and\r\ndelight to see them punished. But few men have reflected\r\nupon the necessity of justice to the existence of\r\nsociety, how obvious soever that necessity may appear\r\nto be.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThat it is not a regard to the preservation of society,\r\nwhich originally interests us in the punishment\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_139\"\u003e139\u003c/span\u003eof crimes committed against individuals, may be demonstrated\r\nby many obvious considerations. The\r\nconcern which we take in the fortune and happiness\r\nof individuals does not, in common cases, arise from\r\nthat which we take in the fortune and happiness of\r\nsociety. We are no more concerned for the destruction\r\nor loss of a single man, because this man is\r\na member or part of society, and because we should\r\nbe concerned for the destruction of society, than we\r\nare concerned for the loss of a single guinea, because\r\nthis guinea is a part of a thousand guineas, and because\r\nwe should be concerned for the loss of the\r\nwhole sum. In neither case does our regard for the\r\nindividuals arise from our regard for the multitude:\r\nbut in both cases our regard for the multitude is\r\ncompounded and made up of the particular regards\r\nwhich we feel for the different individuals of which\r\nit is composed. As when a small sum is unjustly\r\ntaken from us we do not so much prosecute the injury\r\nfrom a regard to the preservation of our whole\r\nfortune, as from a regard to that particular sum\r\nwhich we have lost; so when a single man is injured\r\nor destroyed, we demand the punishment of the\r\nwrong that has been done to him, not so much from\r\na concern for the general interest of society, as from\r\na concern for that very individual who has been injured.\r\nIt is to be observed, however, that this\r\nconcern does not necessarily include in it any degree\r\nof those exquisite sentiments which are commonly\r\ncalled love, esteem, and affection, and by which we\r\ndistinguish our particular friends and acquaintance.\r\nThe concern which is requisite for this is no more\r\nthan the general fellow-feeling which we have with\r\nevery man merely because he is our fellow-creature.\r\nWe enter into the resentment even of an odious person,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_140\"\u003e140\u003c/span\u003ewhen he is injured by those to whom he has\r\ngiven no provocation. Our disapprobation of his\r\nordinary character and conduct, does not in this\r\ncase altogether prevent our fellow-feeling with his\r\nnatural indignation; though with those who are not\r\neither extremely candid, or who have not been accustomed\r\nto correct and regulate their natural sentiments\r\nby general rules, it is very apt to damp it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eUpon some occasions, indeed, we both punish\r\nand approve of punishment, merely from a view to\r\nthe general interest of society, which, we imagine,\r\ncannot otherwise be secured. Of this kind are all\r\nthe punishments inflicted for breaches of what is\r\ncalled either civil police, or military discipline. Such\r\ncrimes do not immediately or directly hurt any particular\r\nperson; but their remote consequences, it is\r\nsupposed, do produce, or might produce, either a\r\nconsiderable inconveniency, or a great disorder in\r\nthe society. A centinel, for example, who falls asleep\r\nupon his watch, suffers death by the law of war, because\r\nsuch carelessness might endanger the whole army.\r\nThis severity may, upon many occasions, appear\r\nnecessary, and, for that reason, just and proper.\r\nWhen the preservation of an individual is inconsistent\r\nwith the safety of a multitude, nothing can be\r\nmore just than that the many should be preferred to\r\nthe one. Yet this punishment, how necessary soever,\r\nalways appears to be excessively severe. The\r\nnatural atrocity of the crime seems to be so little,\r\nand the punishment so great, that it is with great\r\ndifficulty that our hearts can reconcile itself to it.\r\nThough such carelessness appears very blamable,\r\nyet the thought of this crime does not naturally excite\r\nany such resentment, as would prompt us to\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_141\"\u003e141\u003c/span\u003etake such dreadful revenge. A man of humanity\r\nmust recollect himself, must make an effort, and exert\r\nhis whole firmness and resolution, before he can\r\nbring himself either to inflict it, or to go along with\r\nit when it is inflicted by others. It is not, however,\r\nin this manner, that he looks upon the just punishment\r\nof an ungrateful murderer or parricide. His\r\nheart, in this case, applauds with ardour, and even\r\nwith transport, the just retaliation which seems due\r\nto such detestable crimes, and which, if, by any accident,\r\nthey should happen to escape, he would be\r\nhighly enraged and disappointed. The very different\r\nsentiment with which the spectator views those\r\ndifferent punishments, is a proof that his approbation\r\nof the one is far from being founded upon\r\nthe same principles with that of the other. He looks\r\nupon the centinel as an unfortunate victim, who, indeed,\r\nmust, and ought to be, devoted to the safety\r\nof numbers, but whom still, in his heart, he would\r\nbe glad to save; and he is only sorry, that the interest\r\nof the many should oppose it. But if the murderer\r\nshould escape from punishment, it would excite\r\nhis highest indignation, and he would call upon\r\nGod to avenge, in another world, that crime which\r\nthe injustice of mankind had neglected to chastise\r\nupon earth.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eFor it well deserves to be taken notice of, that we\r\nare so far from imagining that injustice ought to be\r\npunished in this life, merely on account of the order\r\nof society, which cannot otherwise be maintained,\r\nthat Nature teaches us to hope, and religion, we\r\nsuppose, authorizes us to expect, that it will be punished,\r\neven in a life to come. Our sense of its ill\r\ndesert pursues it, if I may say so, even beyond the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_142\"\u003e142\u003c/span\u003egrave, though the example of its punishment there\r\ncannot serve to deter the rest of mankind, who see\r\nit not, who know it not, from being guilty of the\r\nlike practices here. The justice of God, however,\r\nwe think, still requires, that he should hereafter\r\navenge the injuries of the widow and the fatherless,\r\nwho are here so often insulted with impunity.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThat the Deity loves virtue and hates vice, as a\r\nvoluptuous man loves riches and hates poverty, not\r\nfor their own sakes, but for the effects which they\r\ntend to produce; that he loves the one, only because\r\nit promotes the happiness of society, which his benevolence\r\nprompts him to desire; and that he hates\r\nthe other, only because it occasions the misery of mankind,\r\nwhich the same divine quality renders the object\r\nof his aversion; is not the doctrine of untaught\r\nnature, but of an artificial refinement of reason and\r\nphilosophy. Our untaught, natural sentiments, all\r\nprompt us to believe, that as perfect virtue is supposed\r\nnecessarily to appear to the Deity, as it does\r\nto us, for its own sake, and without any further\r\nview, the natural and proper object of love and reward,\r\nso must vice, of hatred and punishment.\r\nThat the gods neither resent nor hurt, was the general\r\nmaxim of all the different sects of the ancient\r\nphilosophy: and if, by resenting, be understood,\r\nthat violent and disorderly perturbation, which often\r\ndistracts and confounds the human breast; or if, by\r\nhurting, be understood, the doing mischief wantonly,\r\nand without regard to propriety or justice, such\r\nweakness is undoubtedly unworthy of the divine\r\nperfection. But if it be meant, that vice does not\r\nappear to the Deity to be, for its own sake, the object\r\nof abhorrence and aversion, and what, for its\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_143\"\u003e143\u003c/span\u003eown sake, it is fit and right should be punished, the\r\ntruth of this maxim seems repugnant to some very\r\nnatural feelings. If we consult our natural sentiments,\r\nwe are even apt to fear, lest, before the holiness\r\nof God, vice should appear to be more worthy\r\nof punishment than the weakness and imperfection\r\nof human virtue can ever seem to be of reward.\r\nMan, when about to appear before a Being of infinite\r\nperfection, can feel but little confidence in his\r\nown merit, or in the imperfect propriety of his own\r\nconduct. In the presence of his fellow-creatures, he\r\nmay even justly elevate himself, and may often have\r\nreason to think highly of his own character and conduct,\r\ncompared to the still greater imperfection of\r\ntheirs. But the case is quite different when about to\r\nappear before his infinite Creator. To such a Being,\r\nhe fears, that his littleness and weakness can\r\nscarce ever appear the proper object, either of esteem\r\nor of reward. But he can easily conceive,\r\nhow the numberless violations of duty, of which he\r\nhas been guilty, should render him the proper object\r\nof aversion and punishment; and he thinks he can\r\nsee no reason why the divine indignation should not\r\nbe let loose without any restraint, upon so vile an insect,\r\nas he imagines that he himself must appear to\r\nbe. If he would still hope for happiness, he suspects\r\nthat he cannot demand it from the justice, but that\r\nhe must entreat it from the mercy of God. Repentance,\r\nsorrow, humility, contrition at the thought of\r\nhis past conduct, seem, upon this account, the sentiments\r\nwhich become him, and to be the only\r\nmeans which he has left for appeasing that wrath\r\nwhich, he knows, he has justly provoked. He\r\neven distrusts the efficacy of all these, and naturally\r\nfears, lest the wisdom of God should not, like the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_144\"\u003e144\u003c/span\u003eweakness of man, be prevailed upon to spare the\r\ncrime by the most importunate lamentations of the\r\ncriminal. Some other intercession, some other sacrifice,\r\nsome other atonement, he imagines must be\r\nmade for him, beyond what he himself is capable of\r\nmaking, before the purity of the divine justice can be\r\nreconciled to his manifold offences. The doctrines\r\nof revelation coincide, in every respect, with those\r\noriginal anticipations of nature; and as they teach us\r\nhow little we can depend upon the imperfection of\r\nour own virtue, so they show us, at the same time,\r\nthat the most powerful intercession has been made,\r\nand that the most dreadful atonement has been paid\r\nfor our manifold transgressions and iniquities.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_145\"\u003e145\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c001\"\u003eSECTION III.\u003cbr\u003e Of the influence of fortune upon the sentiments of mankind, with regard to the merit or demerit of actions.\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c011\"\u003eINTRODUCTION.\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c012\"\u003eWhatever praise or blame can be due to\r\nany action, must belong either, first, to the intention\r\nor affection of the heart, from which it proceeds;\r\nor, secondly, to the external action or movement of\r\nthe body, which this affection gives occasion to; or,\r\nlast, to all the good or bad consequences, which actually,\r\nand in fact, proceed from it. These three\r\ndifferent things constitute the whole nature and circumstances\r\nof the action, and must be the foundation\r\nof whatever quality can belong to it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThat the two last of these three circumstances cannot\r\nbe the foundation of any praise or blame, is abundantly\r\nevident; nor has the contrary ever been asserted\r\nby any body. The external action or movement\r\nof the body is often the same in the most innocent\r\nand in the most blamable actions. He who\r\nshoots a bird, and he who shoots a man, both of them\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_146\"\u003e146\u003c/span\u003eperform the same external movement: each of them\r\ndraws the tricker of a gun. The consequences\r\nwhich actually, and in fact, happen to proceed from\r\nany action, are, if possible, still more indifferent\r\neither to praise or blame, than even the external\r\nmovement of the body. As they depend, not upon\r\nthe agent, but upon fortune, they cannot be the\r\nproper foundation for any sentiment, of which his\r\ncharacter and conduct are the objects.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe only consequences for which he can be answerable,\r\nor by which he can deserve either approbation\r\nor disapprobation of any kind, are those which\r\nwere some way or other intended, or those which,\r\nat least, show some agreeable or disagreeable quality\r\nin the intention of the heart, from which he acted.\r\nTo the intention or affection of the heart, therefore,\r\nto the propriety or impropriety, to the beneficence\r\nor hurtfulness of the design, all praise or blame, all\r\napprobation or disapprobation, of any kind, which\r\ncan justly be bestowed upon any action, must ultimately\r\nbelong.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen this maxim is thus proposed in abstract and\r\ngeneral terms, there is no body who does not agree\r\nto it. Its self-evident justice is acknowledged by\r\nall the world, and there is not a dissenting voice\r\namong all mankind. Every body allows, that how\r\ndifferent soever the accidental, the unintended and\r\nunforeseen consequences of different actions, yet, if\r\nthe intentions or affections from which they arose\r\nwere, on the one hand, equally proper and equally\r\nbeneficent, or, on the other, equally improper and\r\nequally malevolent, the merit or demerit of the actions\r\nis still the same, and the agent is equally the\r\nsuitable object either of gratitude or of resentment.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_147\"\u003e147\u003c/span\u003eBut how well soever we may seem to be persuaded\r\nof the truth of this equitable maxim, when we\r\nconsider it after this manner, in abstract, yet when\r\nwe come to particular cases, the actual consequences\r\nwhich happen to proceed from any action, have a\r\nvery great effect upon our sentiments concerning its\r\nmerit or demerit, and almost always either enhance\r\nor diminish our sense of both. Scarce, in any one\r\ninstance, perhaps, will our sentiments be found, after\r\nexamination, to be entirely regulated by this\r\nrule, which we all acknowledge ought entirely to\r\nregulate them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThis irregularity of sentiment, which every body\r\nfeels, which scarce any body is sufficiently aware of,\r\nand which no body is willing to acknowledge, I proceed\r\nnow to explain; and I shall consider, first, the\r\ncause which gives occasion to it, or the mechanism\r\nby which nature produces it; secondly, the extent\r\nof its influence; and, last of all, the end which it\r\nanswers, or the purpose which the Author of nature\r\nseems to have intended by it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_148\"\u003e148\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. I.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the causes of this influence of fortune.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eThe causes of pain and pleasure, whatever they\r\nare, or however they operate, seem to be the objects,\r\nwhich, in all animals, immediately excite those two\r\npassions of gratitude and resentment. They are excited\r\nby inanimated, as well as by animated objects.\r\nWe are angry, for a moment, even at the stone that\r\nhurts us. A child beats it, a dog barks at it, a choleric\r\nman is apt to curse it. The least reflection, indeed,\r\ncorrects this sentiment, and we soon become\r\nsensible, that what has no feeling is a very improper\r\nobject of revenge. When the mischief, however,\r\nis very great, the object which caused it becomes\r\ndisagreeable to us ever after, and we take pleasure\r\nto burn or destroy it. We should treat, in this manner,\r\nthe instrument which had accidentally been the\r\ncause of the death of a friend, and we should often\r\nthink ourselves guilty of a sort of inhumanity, if\r\nwe neglected to vent this absurd sort of vengeance\r\nupon it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWe conceive, in the same manner, a sort of gratitude\r\nfor those inanimated objects, which have been\r\nthe causes of great, or frequent pleasure to us. The\r\nsailor, who, as soon as he got ashore, should mend\r\nhis fire with the plank upon which he had just escaped\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_149\"\u003e149\u003c/span\u003efrom a shipwreck, would seem to be guilty\r\nof an unnatural action. We should expect that he\r\nwould rather preserve it with care and affection, as\r\na monument that was, in some measure, dear to\r\nhim. A man grows fond of a snuff-box, of a pen-knife,\r\nof a staff which he has long made use of, and\r\nconceives something like a real love and affection\r\nfor them. If he breaks or loses them, he is vexed\r\nout of all proportion to the value of the damage.\r\nThe house which we have long lived in, the tree,\r\nwhose verdure and shade we have long enjoyed,\r\nare both looked upon with a sort of respect that\r\nseems due to such benefactors. The decay of the\r\none, or the ruin of the other, affects us with a kind\r\nof melancholy, though we should sustain no loss by\r\nit. The Dryads and the Lares of the ancients, a\r\nsort of genii of trees and houses, were probably first\r\nsuggested by this sort of affection, which the authors\r\nof those superstitions felt for such objects, and which\r\nseemed unreasonable, if there was nothing animated\r\nabout them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut, before any thing can be the proper object of\r\ngratitude or resentment, it must not only be the\r\ncause of pleasure or pain, it must likewise be capable\r\nof feeling them. Without this other quality,\r\nthose passions cannot vent themselves with any sort\r\nof satisfaction upon it. As they are excited by the\r\ncauses of pleasure and pain, so their gratification\r\nconsists in retaliating those sensations upon what\r\ngave occasion to them; which it is to no purpose to\r\nattempt upon what has no sensibility. Animals,\r\ntherefore, are less improper objects of gratitude and\r\nresentment than inanimated objects. The dog that\r\nbites, the ox that gores, are both of them punished.\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_150\"\u003e150\u003c/span\u003eIf they have been the causes of the death of any person,\r\nneither the public, nor the relations of the slain,\r\ncan be satisfied, unless they are put to death in their\r\nturn: nor is this merely for the security of the living,\r\nbut in some measure, to revenge the injury of\r\nthe dead. Those animals, on the contrary, that\r\nhave been remarkably serviceable to their masters,\r\nbecome the objects of a very lively gratitude. We\r\nare shocked at the brutality of that officer, mentioned\r\nin the Turkish Spy, who stabbed the horse that\r\nhad carried him a-cross an arm of the sea, lest that\r\nanimal should afterwards distinguish some other person\r\nby a similar adventure.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut, though animals are not only the causes of\r\npleasure and pain, but are also capable of feeling\r\nthose sensations, they are still far from being complete\r\nand perfect objects, either of gratitude or resentment;\r\nand those passions still feel, that there is\r\nsomething wanting to their entire gratification. What\r\ngratitude chiefly desires, is not only to make the\r\nbenefactor feel pleasure in his turn, but to make him\r\nconscious that he meets with this reward on account\r\nof his past conduct, to make him pleased with that\r\nconduct, and to satisfy him that the person upon\r\nwhom he bestowed his good offices was not unworthy\r\nof them. What most of all charms us in our\r\nbenefactor, is the concord between his sentiments\r\nand our own, with regard to what interests us so nearly\r\nas the worth of our own character, and the esteem\r\nthat is due to us. We are delighted to find a person\r\nwho values us as well as we value ourselves, and\r\ndistinguishes us from the rest of mankind, with an\r\nattention not unlike that with which we distinguish\r\nourselves. To maintain in him these agreeable and flattering\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_151\"\u003e151\u003c/span\u003esentiments, is one of the chief ends proposed\r\nby the returns we are disposed to make to him. A\r\ngenerous mind often disdains the interested thought\r\nof extorting new favours from its benefactor, by\r\nwhat may be called the importunities of its gratitude.\r\nBut to preserve and to increase his esteem,\r\nis an interest which the greatest mind does not think\r\nunworthy of its attention. And this is the foundation\r\nof what I formerly observed, that when we\r\ncannot enter into the motives of our benefactor,\r\nwhen his conduct and character appear unworthy of\r\nour approbation, let his services have been ever so\r\ngreat, our gratitude is always sensibly diminished.\r\nWe are less flattered by the distinction; and to preserve\r\nthe esteem of so weak, or so worthless a patron,\r\nseems to be an object which does not deserve\r\nto be pursued for its own sake.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe object, on the contrary, which resentment\r\nis chiefly intent upon, is not so much to make our\r\nenemy feel pain in his turn, as to make him conscious\r\nthat he feels it upon account of his past conduct,\r\nto make him repent of that conduct, and to\r\nmake him sensible, that the person whom he injured\r\ndid not deserve to be treated in that manner.\r\nWhat chiefly enrages us against the man who injures\r\nor insults us, is the little account which he\r\nseems to make of us, the unreasonable preference\r\nwhich he gives to himself above us, and that absurd\r\nself-love, by which he seems to imagine, that other\r\npeople may be sacrificed at any time, to his conveniency\r\nor his humour. The glaring impropriety of\r\nthis conduct, the gross insolence and injustice which\r\nit seems to involve in it, often shock and exasperate\r\nus more than all the mischief which we have suffered.\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_152\"\u003e152\u003c/span\u003eTo bring him back to a more just sense of what is\r\ndue to other people, to make him sensible of what\r\nhe owes us, and of the wrong that he has done to\r\nus, is frequently the principal end proposed in our\r\nrevenge, which is always imperfect when it cannot\r\naccomplish this. When our enemy appears to have\r\ndone us no injury, when we are sensible that he acted\r\nquite properly, that, in his situation, we should\r\nhave done the same thing, and that we deserved\r\nfrom him all the mischief we met with; in that case,\r\nif we have the least spark either of candour or justice,\r\nwe can entertain no sort of resentment.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBefore any thing, therefore, can be the complete\r\nand proper object, either of gratitude or resentment,\r\nit must possess three different qualifications.\r\nFirst, it must be the cause of pleasure in the one case,\r\nand of pain in the other. Secondly, it must be capable\r\nof feeling those sensations. And, thirdly, it\r\nmust not only have produced those sensations, but\r\nit must have produced them from design, and from\r\na design that is approved of in the one case, and\r\ndisapproved of in the other. It is by the first qualification,\r\nthat any object is capable of exciting those\r\npassions: it is by the second, that it is in any respect\r\ncapable of gratifying them: the third qualification is\r\nboth necessary for their complete satisfaction, and as\r\nit gives a pleasure or pain that is both exquisite and\r\npeculiar, it is likewise an additional exciting cause of\r\nthose passions.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs what gives pleasure or pain, therefore, either\r\nin one way or another, is the sole exciting cause of\r\ngratitude and resentment; though the intentions of\r\nany person should be ever so proper and beneficent,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_153\"\u003e153\u003c/span\u003eon the one hand, or ever so improper and malevolent\r\non the other; yet, if he has failed in producing\r\neither the good or evil which he intended, as\r\none of the exciting causes is wanting in both cases,\r\nless gratitude seems due to him in the one, and less\r\nresentment in the other. And, on the contrary,\r\nthough in the intentions of any person, there was\r\neither no laudable degree of benevolence on the one\r\nhand, or no blamable degree of malice on the other;\r\nyet, if his actions should produce either great good\r\nor great evil, as one of the exciting causes takes\r\nplace upon both these occasions, some gratitude is\r\napt to arise towards him in the one, and some resentment\r\nin the other. A shadow of merit seems to\r\nfall upon him in the first, a shadow of demerit in the\r\nsecond. And, as the consequences of actions are altogether\r\nunder the empire of Fortune, hence arises\r\nher influence upon the sentiments of mankind, with\r\nregard to merit and demerit.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_154\"\u003e154\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. II.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the extent of this influence of fortune.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eThe effect of this influence of fortune is, first,\r\nto diminish our sense of the merit or demerit of those\r\nactions which arose from the most laudable or blamable\r\nintentions, when they fail of producing their\r\nproposed effects: and, secondly, to increase our\r\nsense of the merit or demerit of actions, beyond\r\nwhat is due to the motives or affections from\r\nwhich they proceed, when they accidentally give\r\noccasion either to extraordinary pleasure or pain.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e1. First, I say, though the intentions of any person\r\nshould be ever so proper and beneficent, on the\r\none hand, or ever so improper and malevolent, on\r\nthe other, yet, if they fail in producing their effects,\r\nhis merit seems imperfect in the one case, and his\r\ndemerit incomplete in the other. Nor is this irregularity\r\nof sentiment felt only by those who are immediately\r\naffected by the consequences of any action.\r\nIt is felt, in some measure, even by the impartial\r\nspectator. The man who solicits an office for another,\r\nwithout obtaining it, is regarded as his friend,\r\nand seems to deserve his love and affection. But the\r\nman who not only solicits, but procures it, is more\r\npeculiarly considered as his patron and benefactor,\r\nand is entitled to his respect and gratitude. The\r\nperson obliged, we are apt to think, may with some\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_155\"\u003e155\u003c/span\u003ejustice, imagine himself on a level with the first:\r\nbut we cannot enter into his sentiments, if he does\r\nnot feel himself inferior to the second. It is common\r\nindeed to say, that we are equally obliged to\r\nthe man who has endeavoured to serve us, as to\r\nhim who actually did so. It is the speech which we\r\nconstantly make upon every unsuccessful attempt of\r\nthis kind; but which, like all other fine speeches,\r\nmust be understood with a grain of allowance. The\r\nsentiments which a man of generosity entertains for\r\nthe friend who fails, may often indeed be nearly the\r\nsame with those which he conceives for him who\r\nsucceeds: and the more generous he is, the more\r\nnearly will those sentiments approach to an exact\r\nlevel. With the truly generous, to be beloved, to\r\nbe esteemed by those whom they themselves think\r\nworthy of esteem, gives more pleasure, and thereby\r\nexcites more gratitude, than all the advantages\r\nwhich they can ever expect from those sentiments.\r\nWhen they lose those advantages therefore, they\r\nseem to lose but a trifle, which is scarce worth regarding.\r\nThey still however lose something. Their\r\npleasure therefore, and consequently their gratitude,\r\nis not perfectly complete: and accordingly if, between\r\nthe friend who fails and the friend who succeeds,\r\nall other circumstances are equal, there will,\r\neven in the noblest and the best mind, be some little\r\ndifference of affection in favour of him who succeeds.\r\nNay, so unjust are mankind in this respect,\r\nthat though the intended benefit should be procured,\r\nyet if it is not procured by the means of a particular\r\nbenefactor, they are apt to think that less gratitude\r\nis due to the man, who with the best intentions in\r\nthe world could do no more than help it a little forward.\r\nAs their gratitude is in this case divided\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_156\"\u003e156\u003c/span\u003eamong the different persons who contributed to\r\ntheir pleasure, a smaller share of it seems due to any\r\none. Such a person, we hear men commonly say,\r\nintended no doubt to serve us; and we really believe\r\nexerted himself to the utmost of his abilities\r\nfor that purpose. We are not, however, obliged to\r\nhim for this benefit; since had it not been for the\r\nconcurrence of others, all that he could have done\r\nwould never have brought it about. This consideration,\r\nthey imagine, should, even in the eyes of the\r\nimpartial spectator, diminish the debt which they\r\nowe to him. The person himself who has unsuccessfully\r\nendeavoured to confer a benefit, has by no\r\nmeans the same dependency upon the gratitude of\r\nthe man whom he meant to oblige, nor the same\r\nsense of his own merit towards him, which he would\r\nhave had in the case of success.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eEven the merit of talents and abilities which some\r\naccident has hindered from producing their effects,\r\nseems in some measure imperfect, even to those who\r\nare fully convinced of their capacity to produce\r\nthem. The general who has been hindered by the\r\nenvy of ministers from gaining some great advantage\r\nover the enemies of his country, regrets the\r\nloss of the opportunity for ever after. Nor is it\r\nonly upon account of the public that he regrets it.\r\nHe laments that he was hindered from performing\r\nan action which would have added a new lustre to\r\nhis character in his own eyes, as well as in those of\r\nevery other person. It satisfies neither himself nor\r\nothers to reflect that the plan or design was all that\r\ndepended on him, that no greater capacity was required\r\nto execute it than what was necessary to concert\r\nit: that he was allowed to be every way capable\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_157\"\u003e157\u003c/span\u003eof executing it, and that had he been permitted\r\nto go on, success was infallible. He still did not\r\nexecute it; and though he might deserve all the approbation\r\nwhich is due to a magnanimous and great\r\ndesign, he still wanted the actual merit of having\r\nperformed a great action. To take the management\r\nof any affair of public concern from the man who has\r\nalmost brought it to a conclusion, is regarded as the\r\nmost invidious injustice. As he had done so much,\r\nhe should, we think, have been allowed to acquire\r\nthe complete merit of putting an end to it. It was\r\nobjected to Pompey, that he came in upon the victories\r\nof Lucullus, and gathered those laurels which\r\nwere due to the fortune and valour of another. The\r\nglory of Lucullus, it seems, was less complete even\r\nin the opinion of his own friends, when he was not\r\npermitted to finish that conquest which his conduct\r\nand courage had put in the power of almost any man\r\nto finish. It mortifies an architect when his plans are\r\neither not executed at all, or when they are so far altered\r\nas to spoil the effect of the building. The plan,\r\nhowever, is all that depends upon the architect. The\r\nwhole of his genius is, to good judges, as completely\r\ndiscovered in that as in the actual execution. But\r\na plan does not, even to the most intelligent, give\r\nthe same pleasure as a noble and magnificent building.\r\nThey may discover as much both of taste and\r\ngenius in the one as in the other. But their effects\r\nare still vastly different, and the amusement derived\r\nfrom the first, never approaches to the wonder and\r\nadmiration which are sometimes excited by the second.\r\nWe may believe of many men, that their\r\ntalents are superior to those of Cæsar and Alexander;\r\nand that in the same situations they would perform\r\nstill greater actions. In the mean time, however,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_158\"\u003e158\u003c/span\u003ewe do not behold them with that astonishment and\r\nadmiration with which those two heroes have been\r\nregarded in all ages and nations. The calm judgments\r\nof the mind may approve of them more, but\r\nthey want the splendor of great actions to dazzle and\r\ntransport it. The superiority of virtues and talents\r\nhave not, even upon those who acknowledge that\r\nsuperiority, the same effect with the superiority of\r\natchievements.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs the merit of an unsuccessful attempt to do good\r\nseems thus, in the eyes of ungrateful mankind,\r\nto be diminished by the miscarriage, so does likewise\r\nthe demerit of an unsuccessful attempt to do evil.\r\nThe design to commit a crime, how clearly soever\r\nit may be proved, is scarce ever punished with the\r\nsame severity as the actual commission of it. The\r\ncase of treason is perhaps the only exception. That\r\ncrime immediately affecting the being of the government\r\nitself, the government is naturally more jealous\r\nof it than of any other. In the punishment of treason,\r\nthe sovereign resents the injuries which are immediately\r\ndone to himself: in the punishment of\r\nother crimes, he resents those which are done to other\r\nmen. It is his own resentment which he indulges in\r\nthe one case: it is that of his subjects which by\r\nsympathy he enters into it in the other. In the\r\nfirst case, therefore, as he judges in his own cause,\r\nhe is very apt to be more violent and sanguinary in\r\nhis punishments than the impartial spectator can approve\r\nof. His resentment too rises here upon smaller\r\noccasions, and does not always, as in other cases,\r\nwait for the perpetration of the crime, or even for\r\nthe attempt to commit it. A treasonable concert,\r\nthough nothing has been done, or even attempted in\r\nconsequence of it, nay, a treasonable conversation,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_159\"\u003e159\u003c/span\u003eis in many countries punished in the same manner as\r\nthe actual commission of treason. With regard to\r\nall other crimes, the mere design, upon which no\r\nattempt has followed, is seldom punished at all, and\r\nis never punished severely. A criminal design, and\r\na criminal action, it may be said indeed, do not necessarily\r\nsuppose the same degree of depravity, and\r\nought not therefore to be subjected to the same punishment.\r\nWe are capable, it may be said, of resolving,\r\nand even of taking measures to execute,\r\nmany things which, when it comes to the point, we\r\nfeel ourselves altogether incapable of executing.\r\nBut this reason can have no place when the design\r\nhas been carried the length of the last attempt.\r\nThe man, however, who fires a pistol at his enemy,\r\nbut misses him, is punished with death by the laws\r\nof scarce any country. By the old law of Scotland,\r\nthough he should wound him, yet, unless death ensues\r\nwithin a certain time, the assassin is not liable to\r\nthe last punishment. The resentment of mankind,\r\nhowever, runs so high against this crime, their terror\r\nfor the man who shows himself capable of committing\r\nit, is so great, that the mere attempt to commit\r\nit ought in all countries to be capital. The attempt\r\nto commit smaller crimes is almost always punished\r\nvery lightly, and sometimes is not punished at all.\r\nThe thief, whose hand has been caught in his neighbour’s\r\npocket before he had taken any thing out of\r\nit, is punished with ignominy only. If he had got\r\ntime to take away an handkerchief, he would have\r\nbeen put to death. The house-breaker, who has\r\nbeen found setting a ladder to his neighbour’s window,\r\nbut had not got into it, is not exposed to the\r\ncapital punishment. The attempt to ravish is not\r\npunished as a rape. The attempt to seduce a married\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_160\"\u003e160\u003c/span\u003ewoman is not punished at all, though seduction\r\nis punished severely. Our resentment against the\r\nperson who only attempted to do a mischief, is seldom\r\nso strong as to bear us out in inflicting the same\r\npunishment upon him, which we should have thought\r\ndue if he had actually done it. In the one case, the\r\njoy of our deliverance alleviates our sense of the atrocity\r\nof his conduct; in the other, the grief of our\r\nmisfortune increases it. His real demerit, however,\r\nis undoubtedly the same in both cases, since his intentions\r\nwere equally criminal: and there is in this respect,\r\ntherefore, an irregularity in the sentiments of\r\nall men, and a consequent relaxation of discipline in\r\nthe laws of, I believe, all nations, of the most civilized,\r\nas well as of the most barbarous. The humanity\r\nof a civilized people disposes them either to dispense\r\nwith, or to mitigate punishments wherever their natural\r\nindignation is not goaded on by the consequences\r\nof the crime. Barbarians, on the other hand, when\r\nno actual consequence has happened from any action,\r\nare not apt to be very delicate or inquisitive about\r\nthe motives.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe person himself who either from passion, or\r\nfrom the influence of bad company, has resolved,\r\nand perhaps taken measures to perpetrate some\r\ncrime, but who has fortunately been prevented by\r\nan accident which put it out of his power, is sure, if\r\nhe has any remains of conscience, to regard this\r\nevent all his life after as a great and signal deliverance.\r\nHe can never think of it without returning\r\nthanks to Heaven for having been thus graciously\r\npleased to save him from the guilt in which he was\r\njust ready to plunge himself, and to hinder him from\r\nrendering all the rest of his life a scene of horror, remorse,\r\nand repentance. But though his hands are\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_161\"\u003e161\u003c/span\u003einnocent, he is conscious that his heart is equally\r\nguilty as if he had actually executed what he was so\r\nfully resolved upon. It gives great ease to his conscience,\r\nhowever, to consider that the crime was not\r\nexecuted, though he knows that the failure arose\r\nfrom no virtue in him. He still considers himself\r\nas less deserving of punishment and resentment; and\r\nthis good fortune either diminishes, or takes away\r\naltogether, all sense of guilt. To remember how\r\nmuch he was resolved upon it, has no other effect than\r\nto make him regard his escape as the greater and\r\nmore miraculous: for he still fancies that he has escaped,\r\nand he looks back upon the danger to which\r\nhis peace of mind was exposed, with that terror,\r\nwith which one who is in safety may sometimes remember\r\nthe hazard he was in of falling over a precipice,\r\nand shudder with horror at the thought.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e2. The second effect of this influence of fortune,\r\nis to increase our sense of the merit or demerit of\r\nactions beyond what is due to the motives or affection\r\nfrom which they proceed, when they happen to\r\ngive occasion to extraordinary pleasure or pain. The\r\nagreeable or disagreeable effects of the action often\r\nthrow a shadow of merit or demerit upon the agent,\r\nthough in his intention there was nothing that deserved\r\neither praise or blame, or at least that deserved\r\nthem in the degree in which we are apt to bestow\r\nthem. Thus, even the messenger of bad news is\r\ndisagreeable to us, and, on the contrary, we feel a\r\nsort of gratitude for the man who brings us good\r\ntidings. For a moment we look upon them both\r\nas the authors, the one of our good, the other of our\r\nbad fortune, and regard them in some measure as\r\nif they had really brought about the events which\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_162\"\u003e162\u003c/span\u003ethey only give an account of. The first author of\r\nour joy is naturally the object of a transitory gratitude:\r\nwe embrace him with warmth and affection,\r\nand should be glad, during the instant of our prosperity,\r\nto reward him as for some signal service. By\r\nthe custom of all courts, the officer who brings the\r\nnews of a victory, is entitled to considerable preferments,\r\nand the general always chuses one of his\r\nprincipal favourites to go upon so agreeable an errand.\r\nThe first author of our sorrow is, on the contrary,\r\njust as naturally the object of a transitory resentment.\r\nWe can scarce avoid looking upon him\r\nwith chagrin and uneasiness; and the rude and brutal\r\nare apt to vent upon him that spleen which his intelligence\r\ngives occasion to. Tigranes, King of\r\nArmenia, struck off the head of the man who brought\r\nhim the first account of the approach of a formidable\r\nenemy. To punish in this manner the author of\r\nbad tidings, seems barbarous and inhuman: yet, to\r\nreward the messenger of good news, is not disagreeable\r\nto us; we think it suitable to the bounty of\r\nkings. But why do we make this difference, since,\r\nif there is no fault in the one, neither is there any\r\nmerit in the other? It is because any sort of reason\r\nseems sufficient to authorize the exertion of the social\r\nand benevolent affections; but it requires the most\r\nsolid and substantial to make us enter into that of the\r\nunsocial and malevolent.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut though in general we are averse to enter into\r\nthe unsocial and malevolent affections, though we\r\nlay it down for a rule that we ought never to approve\r\nof their gratification, unless so far as the malicious\r\nand unjust intention of the person, against whom\r\nthey are directed renders him their proper object;\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_163\"\u003e163\u003c/span\u003eyet, upon some occasions, we relax of this severity.\r\nWhen the negligence of one man has occasioned\r\nsome unintended damage to another, we generally\r\nenter so far into the resentment of the sufferer, as to\r\napprove of his inflicting a punishment upon the offender\r\nmuch beyond what the offence will have appeared\r\nto deserve, had no such unlucky consequence\r\nfollowed from it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThere is a degree of negligence, which would appear\r\nto deserve some chastisement though it should\r\noccasion no damage to any body. Thus, if a person\r\nshould throw a large stone over a wall into a public\r\nstreet without giving warning to those who might be\r\npassing by, and without regarding where it was likely\r\nto fall, he would undoubtedly deserve some chastisement.\r\nA very accurate police would punish so\r\nabsurd an action, even though it had done no mischief.\r\nThe person who has been guilty of it, shows\r\nan insolent contempt of the happiness and safety of\r\nothers. There is real injustice in his conduct. He\r\nwantonly exposes his neighbour to what no man in\r\nhis senses would chuse to expose himself, and evidently\r\nwants that sense of what is due to his fellow-creatures\r\nwhich is the basis of justice and of society.\r\nGross negligence therefore is, in the law, said to be\r\nalmost equal to malicious design\u003ca id=\"r3\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f3\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[3]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e. When any unlucky\r\nconsequences happen from such carelessness,\r\nthe person who has been guilty of it is often punished\r\nas if he had really intended those consequences;\r\nand his conduct, which was only thoughtless and\r\ninsolent, and what deserved some chastisement, is\r\nconsidered as atrocious, and as liable to the severest\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_164\"\u003e164\u003c/span\u003epunishment. Thus if, by the imprudent action\r\nabove-mentioned, he should accidentally kill a man,\r\nhe is, by the laws of many countries, particularly by\r\nthe old law of Scotland, liable to the last punishment.\r\nAnd though this is no doubt excessively severe, it is\r\nnot altogether inconsistent with our natural sentiments.\r\nOur just indignation against the folly and\r\ninhumanity of his conduct is exasperated by our\r\nsympathy with the unfortunate sufferer. Nothing\r\nhowever would appear more shocking to our natural\r\nsense of equity, than to bring a man to the scaffold\r\nmerely for having thrown a stone carelessly into the\r\nstreet without hurting any body. The folly and inhumanity\r\nof his conduct, however, would in this\r\ncase be the same; but still our sentiments would be\r\nvery different. The consideration of this difference\r\nmay satisfy us how much the indignation, even of\r\nthe spectator, is apt to be animated by the actual consequences\r\nof the action. In cases of this kind there\r\nwill, if I am not mistaken, be found a great degree\r\nof severity in the laws of almost all nations; as I have\r\nalready observed that in those of an opposite kind\r\nthere was a very general relaxation of discipline.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f3\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r3\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e3\u003c/a\u003e. \u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eLata culpa prope dolum est.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThere is another degree of negligence which does\r\nnot involve in it any sort of injustice. The person\r\nwho is guilty of it treats his neighbour as he treats\r\nhimself, means no harm to any body, and is far\r\nfrom entertaining any insolent contempt for the safety\r\nand happiness of others. He is not, however, so\r\ncareful and circumspect in his conduct as he ought to\r\nbe, and deserves upon this account some degree of\r\nblame and censure, but no sort of punishment. Yet\r\nif by a negligence\u003ca id=\"r4\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f4\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[4]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e of this kind he should occasion\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_165\"\u003e165\u003c/span\u003esome damage to another person, he is by the laws of,\r\nI believe, all countries, obliged to compensate it.\r\nAnd though this is no doubt a real punishment, and\r\nwhat no mortal would have thought of inflicting\r\nupon him, had it not been for the unlucky accident\r\nwhich his conduct gave occasion to; yet this decision\r\nof the law is approved of by the natural sentiments\r\nof all mankind. Nothing, we think, can be more\r\njust than that one man should not suffer by the carelessness\r\nof another; and that the damage occasioned\r\nby blamable negligence should be made up by the\r\nperson who was guilty of it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f4\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r4\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e4\u003c/a\u003e. \u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eCulpa levis.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThere is another species of negligence\u003ca id=\"r5\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f5\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[5]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e, which\r\nconsists merely in a want of the most anxious timidity\r\nand circumspection, with regard to all the possible\r\nconsequences of our actions. The want of this\r\npainful attention, when no bad consequences follow\r\nfrom it, is so far from being regarded as blamable,\r\nthat the contrary quality is rather considered as such.\r\nThat timid circumspection which is afraid of every\r\nthing, is never regarded as a virtue, but as a quality\r\nwhich more than any other incapacitates for action\r\nand business. Yet when, from a want of this excessive\r\ncare, a person happens to occasion some damage\r\nto another, he is often by the law obliged to\r\ncompensate it. Thus, by the Aquilian law, the man,\r\nwho not being able to manage a horse that had accidentally\r\ntaken fright, should happen to ride down\r\nhis neighbour’s slave, is obliged to compensate the\r\ndamage. When an accident of this kind happens,\r\nwe are apt to think that he ought not to have rode\r\nsuch a horse, and to regard his attempting it as an unpardonable\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_166\"\u003e166\u003c/span\u003elevity; though without this accident we\r\nshould not only have made no such reflection, but\r\nshould have regarded his refusing it as the effect of\r\ntimid weakness, and of an anxiety about merely\r\npossible events, which it is to no purpose to be aware\r\nof. The person himself, who by an accident even of\r\nthis kind has involuntarily hurt another, seems to\r\nhave some sense of his own ill desert, with regard\r\nto him. He naturally runs up to the sufferer to express\r\nhis concern for what has happened, and to\r\nmake every acknowledgment in his power. If he\r\nhas any sensibility, he necessarily desires to compensate\r\nthe damage, and to do every thing he can to\r\nappease that animal resentment, which he is sensible\r\nwill be apt to arise in the breast of the sufferer.\r\nTo make no apology, to offer no atonement, is regarded\r\nas the highest brutality. Yet why should he\r\nmake an apology more than any other person?\r\nWhy should he, since he was equally innocent with\r\nany other by-stander, be thus singled out from\r\namong all mankind, to make up for the bad fortune\r\nof another? This task would surely never be imposed\r\nupon him, did not even the impartial spectator\r\nfeel some indulgence for what may be regarded as\r\nthe unjust resentment of that other.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f5\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r5\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e5\u003c/a\u003e. \u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eCulpa levissima.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_167\"\u003e167\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. III.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the final cause of this irregularity of sentiments.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eSuch is the effect of the good or bad consequence\r\nof actions upon the sentiments both of\r\nthe person who performs them, and of others; and\r\nthus, Fortune, which governs the world, has some\r\ninfluence where we should be least willing to allow\r\nher any, and directs in some measure the sentiments\r\nof mankind, with regard to the character and conduct\r\nboth of themselves and others. That the world\r\njudges by the event, and not by the design, has been\r\nin all ages the complaint, and is the great discouragement\r\nof virtue. Every body agrees to the general\r\nmaxim, that as the event does not depend on the\r\nagent, it ought to have no influence upon your sentiments,\r\nwith regard to the merit or propriety of his\r\nconduct. But when we come to particulars, we\r\nfind that our sentiments are scarce in any one instance\r\nexactly conformable to what this equitable\r\nmaxim would direct. The happy or unprosperous\r\nevent of any action, is not only apt to give us a good\r\nor bad opinion of the prudence with which it was\r\nconducted, but almost always too animates our gratitude\r\nor resentment, our sense of the merit or demerit\r\nof the design.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_168\"\u003e168\u003c/span\u003eNature, however, when the implanted the seeds\r\nof this irregularity in the human breast, seems, as\r\nupon all other occasions, to have intended the happiness\r\nand perfection of the species. If the hurtfulness\r\nof the design, if the malevolence of the affection,\r\nwere alone the causes which excited our resentment,\r\nwe should feel all the furies of that passion against any\r\nperson in whose breast we suspected or believed such\r\ndesigns or affections were harboured, though they\r\nhad never broke out into any actions. Sentiments,\r\nthoughts, intentions, would become the objects of\r\npunishment; and if the indignation of mankind ran\r\nas high against them as against actions; if the baseness\r\nof the thought which had given birth to no action,\r\nseemed in the eyes of the world as much to call\r\naloud for vengeance as the baseness of the action,\r\nevery court of judicature would become a real inquisition.\r\nThere would be no safety for the most innocent\r\nand circumspect conduct. Bad wishes, bad\r\nviews, bad designs, might still be suspected; and while\r\nthese excited the same indignation with bad conduct,\r\nwhile bad intentions were as much resented as bad\r\nactions, they would equally expose the person to punishment\r\nand resentment. Actions therefore which\r\neither produce actual evil, or attempt to produce it,\r\nand thereby put us in the immediate fear of it, are by\r\nthe Author of nature rendered the only proper and\r\napproved objects of human punishment and resentment.\r\nSentiments, designs, affections, though it is\r\nfrom these that according to cool reason human\r\nactions derive their whole merit or demerit, are\r\nplaced by the great Judge of hearts beyond the limits\r\nof every human jurisdiction, and are reserved\r\nfor the cognizance of his own unerring tribunal.\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_169\"\u003e169\u003c/span\u003eThat necessary rule of justice, therefore, that men\r\nin this life are liable to punishment for their actions\r\nonly, not for their designs and intentions, is founded\r\nupon this salutary and useful irregularity in human\r\nsentiments concerning merit or demerit, which at\r\nfirst sight appears so absurd and unaccountable.\r\nBut every part of nature, when attentively surveyed,\r\nequally demonstrates the providential care of its\r\nAuthor, and we may admire the wisdom and goodness\r\nof God even in the weakness and folly of\r\nmen.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eNor is that irregularity of sentiments altogether\r\nwithout its utility, by which the merit of an unsuccessful\r\nattempt to serve, and much more that of mere\r\ngood inclinations and kind wishes, appears to be imperfect.\r\nMan was made for action, and to promote\r\nby the exertion of his faculties such changes in\r\nthe external circumstances both of himself and\r\nothers, as may seem most favourable to the happiness\r\nof all. He must not be satisfied with indolent\r\nbenevolence, nor fancy himself the friend of mankind,\r\nbecause in his heart he wishes well to the prosperity\r\nof the world. That he may call forth the\r\nwhole vigour of his soul, and strain every nerve, in\r\norder to produce those ends which it is the purpose of\r\nhis being to advance, Nature has taught him, that\r\nneither himself nor mankind can be fully satisfied\r\nwith his conduct, nor bestow upon it the full measure\r\nof applause, unless he has actually produced them.\r\nHe is made to know, that the praise of good intentions,\r\nwithout the merit of good offices, will be but of\r\nlittle avail to excite either the loudest acclamations\r\nof the world, or even the highest degree of self-applause.\r\nThe man who has performed no single\r\naction of importance, but whose whole conversation\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_170\"\u003e170\u003c/span\u003eand deportment express the justest, the noblest, and\r\nmost generous sentiments, can be entitled to demand\r\nno very high reward, even though his inutility should\r\nbe owing to nothing but the want of an opportunity\r\nto serve. We can still refuse it him without blame.\r\nWe can still ask him, what have you done? What\r\nactual service can you produce, to entitle you to so\r\ngreat a recompense? We esteem you, and love you;\r\nbut we owe you nothing. To reward indeed that\r\nlatent virtue which has been useless only for want of\r\nan opportunity to serve, to bestow upon it those\r\nhonours and preferments, which, though in some\r\nmeasure it may be said to deserve them, it could not\r\nwith propriety have insisted upon, is the effect of the\r\nmost divine benevolence. To punish, on the contrary,\r\nfor the affections of the heart only, where no\r\ncrime has been committed, is the most insolent and\r\nbarbarous tyranny. The benevolent affections seem\r\nto deserve most praise, when they do not wait till it\r\nbecomes almost a crime for them not to exert themselves.\r\nThe malevolent, on the contrary, can scarce\r\nbe too tardy, too slow, or deliberate.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is even of use that the evil which is done without\r\ndesign should be regarded as a misfortune to the doer\r\nas well as to the sufferer. Man is thereby taught to\r\nreverence the happiness of his brethren, to tremble\r\nlest he should, even unknowingly, do any thing that\r\ncan hurt them, and to dread that animal resentment\r\nwhich he feels is ready to burst out against him, if\r\nhe should without design be the unhappy instrument\r\nof their calamity.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eNotwithstanding, however, all these seeming irregularities\r\nof sentiment, if man should unfortunately\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_171\"\u003e171\u003c/span\u003eeither give occasion to those evils which he did not\r\nintend, or fail in producing that good which he intended,\r\nnature has not left his innocence altogether\r\nwithout consolation, nor his virtue altogether without\r\nreward. He then calls to his assistance that just\r\nand equitable maxim, that those events which did\r\nnot depend upon our conduct ought not to diminish\r\nthe esteem that is due to us. He summons up his\r\nwhole magnanimity and firmness of soul, and strives\r\nto regard himself, not in the light in which he at\r\npresent appears, but in that in which he ought\r\nto appear, in which he would have appeared\r\nhad his generous designs been crowned with success,\r\nand in which he would still appear, notwithstanding\r\ntheir miscarriage, if the sentiments of mankind\r\nwere either altogether candid and equitable, or\r\neven perfectly consistent with themselves. The\r\nmore candid and humane part of mankind entirely go\r\nalong with the efforts which he thus makes to support\r\nhimself in his own opinion. They exert their\r\nwhole generosity and greatness of mind, to correct\r\nin themselves this irregularity of human nature, and\r\nendeavour to regard his unfortunate magnanimity in\r\nthe same light in which, had it been successful, they\r\nwould, without any such generous exertion, have naturally\r\nbeen disposed to consider it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_173\"\u003e173\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch2 class=\"c004\"\u003ePART III.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"large\"\u003eOf the foundation of our judgments concerning our own sentiments and conduct, and of the sense of duty.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center-c0\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center c002\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\u003cspan class=\"small\"\u003eCONSISTING OF ONE SECTION.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c008\"\u003eCHAP. I.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the consciousness of merited praise or blame.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eIn the two foregoing parts of this discourse, I have\r\nchiefly considered the origin and foundation of our\r\njudgments concerning the sentiments and conduct\r\nof others. I come now to consider the origin of\r\nthose concerning our own.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe desire of the approbation and esteem of those\r\nwe live with, which is of such importance to our\r\nhappiness, cannot be fully and entirely contented but\r\nby rendering ourselves the just and proper objects of\r\nthose sentiments, and by adjusting our own character\r\nand conduct according to those measures and\r\nrules by which esteem and approbation are naturally\r\nbestowed. It is not sufficient, that from ignorance\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_174\"\u003e174\u003c/span\u003eor mistake, esteem and approbation should some way\r\nor other be bestowed upon us. If we are conscious\r\nthat we do not deserve to be so favourably thought\r\nof, and that if the truth was known, we should be\r\nregarded with very opposite sentiments, our satisfaction\r\nis far from being complete. The man who applauds\r\nus either for actions which we did not perform,\r\nor for motives which had no sort of influence\r\nupon our conduct, applauds not us, but another person.\r\nWe can derive no sort of satisfaction from his\r\npraises. To us they should be more mortifying than\r\nany censure, and should perpetually call to our minds,\r\nthe most humbling of all reflections, the reflection\r\nupon what we ought to be, but what we are not. A\r\nwoman who paints to conceal her ugliness, could derive,\r\none should imagine, but little vanity from the\r\ncompliments that are paid to her beauty. These,\r\nwe should expect, ought rather to put her in mind of\r\nthe sentiments which her real complexion would excite,\r\nand mortify her more by the contrast. To be\r\npleased with such groundless applause is a proof of\r\nthe most superficial levity and weakness. It is what\r\nis properly called vanity, and is the foundation of the\r\nmost ridiculous and contemptible vices, the vices of\r\naffectation and common lying; follies which, if experience\r\ndid not teach us how common they are, one\r\nshould imagine the least spark of common sense\r\nwould save us from. The foolish liar, who endeavours\r\nto excite the admiration of the company by\r\nthe relation of adventures which never had any existence,\r\nthe important coxcomb who gives himself\r\nairs of rank and distinction which he well knows he\r\nhas no just pretensions to, are both of them, no\r\ndoubt, pleased with the applause which they fancy\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_175\"\u003e175\u003c/span\u003ethey meet with. But their vanity arises from so\r\ngross an illusion of the imagination, that it is difficult\r\nto conceive how any rational creature should be imposed\r\nupon by it. When they place themselves in\r\nthe situation of those whom they fancy they have\r\ndeceived, they are struck with the highest admiration\r\nfor their own persons. They look upon themselves,\r\nnot in that light in which, they know, they ought to\r\nappear to their companions, but in that in which\r\nthey believe their companions actually look upon\r\nthem. Their superficial weakness and trivial folly\r\nhinder them from ever turning their eyes inwards,\r\nor from seeing themselves in that despicable point of\r\nview in which their own consciences should tell them\r\nthat they would appear to every body, if the real\r\ntruth should ever come to be known.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs ignorant and groundless praise can give no solid\r\njoy, no satisfaction that will bear any serious examination,\r\nso, on the contrary, it often gives real\r\ncomfort to reflect, that though no praise should actually\r\nbe bestowed upon us, our conduct, however, has\r\nbeen such as to deserve it, and has been in every respect\r\nsuitable to those measures and rules by which\r\npraise and approbation are naturally and commonly\r\nbestowed. We are pleased not only with praise, but with\r\nhaving done what is praise-worthy. We are pleased to\r\nthink that we have rendered ourselves the natural\r\nobjects of approbation, though no approbation,\r\nshould ever actually be bestowed upon us: and we\r\nare mortified to reflect that we have justly incurred\r\nthe blame of those we live with, though that sentiment\r\nshould never actually be exerted against us.\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_176\"\u003e176\u003c/span\u003eThe man who is conscious to himself that he has exactly\r\nobserved those measures of conduct which experience\r\ninforms him are generally agreeable, reflects\r\nwith satisfaction on the propriety of his own\r\nbehaviour; when he views it in the light in which\r\nthe impartial spectator would view it, he thoroughly\r\nenters into all the motives which influenced it; he\r\nlooks back upon every part of it with pleasure\r\nand approbation, and though mankind should never\r\nbe acquainted with what he has done, he regards\r\nhimself not so much according to the light in which\r\nthey actually regard him, as according to that, in\r\nwhich they would regard him if they were better informed.\r\nHe anticipates the applause and admiration\r\nwhich in this case would be bestowed upon\r\nhim, and he applauds and admires himself by sympathy\r\nwith sentiments which do not indeed actually\r\ntake place, but which the ignorance of the public\r\nalone hinders from taking place, which he knows are\r\nthe natural and ordinary effects of such conduct,\r\nwhich his imagination strongly connects with it,\r\nand which he has acquired a habit of conceiving as\r\nsomething that naturally and in propriety ought to\r\nflow from it. Men have often voluntarily thrown\r\naway life to acquire after death a renown which they\r\ncould no longer enjoy. Their imagination, in the\r\nmean time, anticipated that fame which was thereafter\r\nto be bestowed upon them. Those applauses\r\nwhich they were never to hear rung in their ears;\r\nthe thoughts of that admiration, whose effects they\r\nwere never to feel, played about their hearts, banished\r\nfrom their breasts the strongest of all natural fears,\r\nand transported them to perform actions which seem\r\naimed beyond the reach of human nature. But in\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_177\"\u003e177\u003c/span\u003epoint of reality there is surely no great difference\r\nbetween that approbation which is not to be bestowed\r\ntill we can no longer enjoy it, and that which indeed\r\nis never to be bestowed, but which would be\r\nbestowed if the world was ever made to understand\r\nproperly the real circumstances of our behaviour.\r\nIf the one often produces such violent effects, we\r\ncannot wonder that the other should always be highly\r\nregarded.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eOn the contrary, the man who has broke through\r\nall those measures of conduct, which can alone render\r\nhim agreeable to mankind, tho’ he should have\r\nthe most perfect assurance that what he had done\r\nwas for ever to be concealed from every human eye,\r\nit is all to no purpose. When he looks back upon it,\r\nand views it in the light in which the impartial spectator\r\nwould view it, he finds that he can enter into\r\nnone of the motives which influenced it. He is abashed\r\nand confounded at the thoughts of it, and necessarily\r\nfeels a very high degree of that shame which he\r\nwould be exposed to, if his actions should ever come\r\nto be generally known. His imagination, in this\r\ncase too, anticipates the contempt and derision from\r\nwhich nothing saves him but the ignorance of those\r\nhe lives with. He still feels that he is the natural\r\nobject of these sentiments, and still trembles at the\r\nthought of what he would suffer if they were ever actually\r\nexerted against him. But if what he had been\r\nguilty of was not merely one of those improprieties\r\nwhich are the objects of simple disapprobation, but\r\none of those enormous crimes which excite detestation\r\nand resentment, he could never think of it, as\r\nlong as he had any sensibility left, without feeling all\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_178\"\u003e178\u003c/span\u003ethe agony of horror and remorse; and though he\r\ncould be assured that no man was ever to know it,\r\nand could even bring himself to believe that there\r\nwas no God to revenge it, he would still feel enough\r\nof both these sentiments to embitter the whole of his\r\nlife: He would still regard himself as the natural object\r\nof the hatred and indignation of all his fellow-creatures;\r\nand if his heart was not grown callous by the\r\nhabit of crimes, he could not think without terror and\r\nastonishment even of the manner in which mankind\r\nwould look upon him, of what would be the expression\r\nof their countenance and of their eyes, if the\r\ndreadful truth should ever come to be known.\r\nThese natural pangs of an affrighted conscience are\r\nthe dæmons, the avenging furies which in this life\r\nhaunt the guilty, which allow them neither quiet nor\r\nrepose, which often drive them to despair and distraction,\r\nfrom which no assurance of secrecy can protect\r\nthem, from which no principles of irreligion can\r\nentirely deliver them, and from which nothing can\r\nfree them but the vilest and most abject of all states,\r\na complete insensibility of honour and infamy, to\r\nvice and virtue. Men of the most detestable characters,\r\nwho, in the execution of the most dreadful\r\ncrimes, had taken their measures so coolly as to avoid\r\neven the suspicion of guilt, have sometimes been\r\ndriven, by the horror of their situation, to discover of\r\ntheir own accord, what no human sagacity could ever\r\nhave investigated. By acknowledging their guilt,\r\nby submitting themselves to the resentment of their\r\noffended citizens, and by thus satiating that vengeance\r\nof which they were sensible that they were become\r\nthe proper objects, they hoped by their death\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_179\"\u003e179\u003c/span\u003eto reconcile themselves, at least in their own imagination,\r\nto the natural sentiments of mankind, to be\r\nable to consider themselves as less worthy of hatred\r\nand resentment, to atone in some measure for their\r\ncrimes, and, if possible, to die in peace and with the\r\nforgiveness of all their fellow-creatures. Compared\r\nto what they felt before the discovery, even the\r\nthought of this, it seems, was happiness.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_180\"\u003e180\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. II.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eIn what manner our own judgments refer to what ought to be the judgments of others: and of the origin of general rules.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eA great part, perhaps the greatest part, of human\r\nhappiness and misery arises from the view of our\r\npast conduct, and from the degree of approbation or\r\ndisapprobation which we feel from the consideration\r\nof it. But in whatever manner it may affect us, our\r\nsentiments of this kind have always some secret reference\r\neither to what are, or to what upon a certain\r\ncondition would be, or to what we imagine ought to\r\nbe the sentiments of others. We examine it as we\r\nimagine an impartial spectator would examine it. If\r\nupon placing ourselves in his situation we thoroughly\r\nenter into all the passions and motives which influenced\r\nit, we approve of it by sympathy with the approbation\r\nof this supposed equitable judge. If otherwise,\r\nwe enter into his disapprobation and condemn\r\nit.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWas it possible that a human creature could grow\r\nup to manhood in some solitary place without any\r\ncommunication with his own species, he could no\r\nmore think of his own character, of the propriety or\r\ndemerit of his own sentiments and conduct, of the\r\nbeauty or deformity of his own mind, than of the\r\nbeauty or deformity of his own face. All these are\r\nobjects which he cannot easily see, which naturally\r\nhe does not look at; and with regard to which he\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_181\"\u003e181\u003c/span\u003eis provided with no mirror which can present them\r\nto his view. Bring him into society, and he is immediately\r\nprovided with the mirror which he wanted\r\nbefore. It is placed in the countenance and behaviour\r\nof those he lives with, which always mark\r\nwhen they enter into, and when they disapprove\r\nof his sentiments; and it is here that he first\r\nviews the propriety and impropriety of his own\r\npassions, the beauty and deformity of his own\r\nmind. To a man who from his birth was a stranger\r\nto society, the objects of his passions, the external\r\nbodies which either pleased or hurt him, would\r\noccupy his whole attention. The passions themselves,\r\nthe desires or aversions, the joys or sorrows,\r\nwhich those objects excited, though of all things\r\nthe most immediately present to him, could scarce\r\never be the objects of his thoughts. The idea of\r\nthem could never interest him so much as to call\r\nupon his attentive consideration. The consideration\r\nof his joy could in him excite no new joy, nor that\r\nof his sorrow any new sorrow, though the consideration\r\nof the causes of those passions might often excite\r\nboth. Bring him into society, and all his own\r\npassions will immediately become the causes of new\r\npassions. He will observe that mankind approve of\r\nsome of them, and are disgusted by others. He will\r\nbe elevated in the one case, and cast down in the\r\nother; his desires and aversions, his joys and sorrows\r\nwill now often become the causes of new desires\r\nand new aversions, new joys and new sorrows:\r\nthey will now therefore interest him deeply, and often\r\ncall upon his most attentive consideration.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eOur first ideas of personal beauty and deformity,\r\nare drawn from the shape and appearance of others,\r\nnot from our own. We soon become sensible, however,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_182\"\u003e182\u003c/span\u003ethat others exercise the same criticism upon us.\r\nWe are pleased when they approve of our figure,\r\nand are disobliged when they seem to be disgusted.\r\nWe become anxious to know how far our appearance\r\ndeserves either their blame or approbation. We\r\nexamine our own persons limb by limb, and by\r\nplacing ourselves before a looking-glass, or by some\r\nsuch expedient, endeavour, as much as possible, to\r\nview ourselves at the distance and with the eyes of\r\nother people. If after this examination we are satisfied\r\nwith our own appearance, we can more easily\r\nsupport the most disadvantageous judgments of\r\nothers: if, on the contrary, we are sensible that we\r\nare the natural objects of distaste, every appearance\r\nof their disapprobation mortifies us beyond all measure.\r\nA man who is tolerably handsome, will allow\r\nyou to laugh at any little irregularity in his person;\r\nbut all such jokes are commonly insupportable to one\r\nwho is really deformed. It is evident, however,\r\nthat we are anxious about our own beauty and deformity\r\nonly on account of its effect upon others. If\r\nwe had no connexion with society, we should be altogether\r\nindifferent about either.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIn the same manner our first moral criticisms are\r\nexercised upon the characters and conduct of other\r\npeople; and we are all very forward to observe how\r\neach of these affects us. But we soon learn, that\r\nothers are equally frank with regard to our own.\r\nWe become anxious to know how far we deserve\r\ntheir censure or applause, and whether to them we\r\nmust necessarily appear those agreeable or disagreeable\r\ncreatures which they represent us. We begin\r\nupon this account to examine our own passions and\r\nconduct, and to consider how these must appear to\r\nthem, by considering how they would appear to\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_183\"\u003e183\u003c/span\u003eus if in their situation. We suppose ourselves the\r\nspectators of our own behaviour, and endeavour to\r\nimagine what effect it would, in this light, produce\r\nupon us. This is the only looking-glass by which\r\nwe can, in some measure, with the eyes of others,\r\nscrutinize the propriety of our own conduct. If in\r\nthis view it pleases us, we are tolerably satisfied. We\r\ncan be more indifferent about the applause, and, in\r\nsome measure, despise the censure of others; secure\r\nthat, however misunderstood or misrepresented, we\r\nare the natural and proper objects of approbation.\r\nOn the contrary, if we are displeased with it, we are\r\noften upon that very account more anxious to gain\r\ntheir approbation, and, provided we have not already,\r\nas they say, shaken hands with infamy, we are\r\naltogether distracted at the thoughts of their censure,\r\nwhich then strikes us with double severity.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen I endeavour to examine my own conduct,\r\nwhen I endeavour to pass sentence upon it, and either\r\nto approve or condemn it, it is evident that, in\r\nall such cases, I divide myself, as it were, into two\r\npersons, and that I, the examiner and judge, represent\r\na different character from that other I, the person\r\nwhose conduct is examined into and judged of.\r\nThe first is the spectator, whose sentiments with regard\r\nto my own conduct I endeavour to enter into,\r\nby placing myself in his situation, and by considering\r\nhow it would appear to me when seen from that\r\nparticular point of view. The second is the agent,\r\nthe person whom I properly call myself, and of\r\nwhose conduct, under the character of a spectator,\r\nI was endeavouring to form some opinion. The\r\nfirst is the judge; the second the pannel. But that\r\nthe judge should, in every respect, be the same\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_184\"\u003e184\u003c/span\u003ewith the pannel, is as impossible, as that the cause\r\nshould, in every respect, be the same with the effect.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eTo be amiable and to be meritorious, that is, to\r\ndeserve love and to deserve reward, are the great\r\ncharacters of virtue, and to be odious and punishable,\r\nof vice. But all these characters have an immediate\r\nreference to the sentiments of others. Virtue\r\nis not said to be amiable or to be meritorious, because\r\nit is the object of its own love, or of its own\r\ngratitude; but because it excites those sentiments in\r\nother men. The consciousness that it is the object\r\nof such favourable regards is the source of that inward\r\ntranquillity and self-satisfaction with which it\r\nis naturally attended, as the suspicion of the contrary\r\ngives occasion to the torments of vice. What so\r\ngreat happiness as to be beloved, and to know that\r\nwe deserve to be beloved? What so great misery\r\nas to be hated, and to know that we deserve to be\r\nhated?\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eMan is considered as a moral, because he is regarded\r\nas an accountable being. But an accountable\r\nbeing, as the word expresses, is a being that\r\nmust give an account of its actions to some other,\r\nand that consequently must regulate them according\r\nto the good liking of this other. Man is accountable\r\nto God and his fellow-creatures. But\r\nthough he is, no doubt, principally accountable to\r\nGod; in the order of time, he must necessarily conceive\r\nhimself as accountable to his fellow-creatures,\r\nbefore he can form any idea of the Deity, or of the\r\nrules by which that divine being will judge of his\r\nconduct. A child surely conceives itself as accountable\r\nto its parents, and is elevated or cast down by\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_185\"\u003e185\u003c/span\u003ethe thought of their merited approbation or disapprobation,\r\nlong before it forms any idea of its accountableness\r\nto the Deity, or of the rules by which\r\nthat divine being will judge of its conduct.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe great judge of the world, has, for the wisest\r\nreasons, thought proper to interpose, between the\r\nweak eye of human reason, and the throne of his\r\neternal justice, a degree of obscurity and darkness,\r\nwhich though it does not entirely cover that great\r\ntribunal from the view of mankind, yet renders the\r\nimpression of it faint and feeble in comparison of\r\nwhat might be expected from the grandeur and importance\r\nof so mighty an object. If those infinite\r\nrewards and punishments which the Almighty has\r\nprepared for those who obey or transgress his will,\r\nwere perceived as distinctly as we foresee the frivolous\r\nand temporary retaliations which we may expect\r\nfrom one another, the weakness of human nature,\r\nastonished at the immensity of objects so little\r\nfitted to its comprehension, could no longer attend\r\nto the little affairs of this world; and it is absolutely\r\nimpossible that the business of society could have\r\nbeen carried on, if, in this respect, there had been a\r\nfuller revelation of the intentions of Providence\r\nthan that which has already been made. That\r\nmen, however, might never be without a rule to\r\ndirect their conduct by, nor without a judge whose\r\nauthority should enforce its observation, the Author\r\nof nature has made man the immediate judge of\r\nmankind, and has, in this respect, as in many\r\nothers, created him after his own image, and appointed\r\nhim his vicegerent upon earth, to superintend\r\nthe behaviour of his brethren. They are\r\ntaught by nature to acknowledge that power and\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_186\"\u003e186\u003c/span\u003ejurisdiction which has thus been conferred upon him,\r\nand to tremble and exult according as they imagine\r\nthat they have either merited his censure, or deserved\r\nhis applause.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut whatever may be the authority of this inferior\r\ntribunal which is continually before their eyes, if at\r\nany time it should decide contrary to those principles\r\nand rules, which Nature has established for regulating\r\nits judgments, men feel that they may appeal\r\nfrom this unjust decision, and call upon a superior\r\ntribunal, the tribunal established in their own\r\nbreasts, to redress the injustice of this weak or partial\r\njudgment.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThere are certain principles established by Nature\r\nfor governing our judgment concerning the conduct\r\nof those we live with. As long as we decide according\r\nto those principles, and neither applaud nor condemn\r\nany thing which Nature has not rendered the\r\nproper object of applause or condemnation, nor any\r\nfurther than she has rendered it such, as our sentence\r\nis, in this case, if I may say so, quite agreeable to\r\nlaw, it is liable neither to repeal nor to correction of\r\nany kind. The person concerning whom we form\r\nthese judgments, must himself necessarily approve of\r\nthem. When he puts himself into our situation, he\r\ncannot avoid viewing his own conduct in the very\r\nsame light in which we appear to view it. He is\r\nsensible, that to us, and to every impartial spectator,\r\nhe must necessarily appear the natural and proper object\r\nof those sentiments which we express with regard\r\nto him. Those sentiments, therefore, must necessarily\r\nproduce their full effect upon him, and he cannot\r\nfail to conceive all the triumph of self-approbation\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_187\"\u003e187\u003c/span\u003efrom, what appears to him, such merited applause,\r\nas well as all the horrors of shame from, what, he\r\nis sensible, is such deserved condemnation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut it is otherwise, if we have either applauded or\r\ncondemned him, contrary to those principles and\r\nrules which Nature has established for the direction\r\nof our judgments concerning every thing of this\r\nkind. If we have either applauded or condemned\r\nhim for what, when he put himself into our situation,\r\ndoes not appear to him to be the object either of applause\r\nor condemnation; as in this case he cannot\r\nenter into our sentiments, provided he has any constancy\r\nor firmness, he is but little affected by them,\r\nand can neither be much elevated by the favourable,\r\nnor greatly mortified by the unfavourable decision.\r\nThe applause of the whole world will avail but little,\r\nif our own conscience condemn us; and the disapprobation\r\nof all mankind is not capable of oppressing\r\nus, when we are absolved by the tribunal within our\r\nown breast, and when our own mind tells us that\r\nmankind are in the wrong.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut though this tribunal within the breast be thus\r\nthe supreme arbiter of all our actions, though it can\r\nreverse the decisions of all mankind with regard to\r\nour character and conduct, and mortify us amidst\r\nthe applause, or support us under the censure of the\r\nworld; yet, if we inquire into the origin of its institution,\r\nits jurisdiction we shall find is in a great\r\nmeasure derived from the authority of that very tribunal,\r\nwhose decisions it so often and so justly reverses.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen we first come into the world, from the natural\r\ndesire to please, we accustom ourselves to consider\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_188\"\u003e188\u003c/span\u003ewhat behaviour is likely to be agreeable to every\r\nperson we converse with, to our parents, to our masters,\r\nto our companions. We address ourselves to\r\nindividuals, and for some time fondly pursue the impossible\r\nand absurd project of gaining the good-will\r\nand approbation of every body. We are soon\r\ntaught by experience, however, that this universal\r\napprobation is altogether unattainable. As soon as\r\nwe come to have more important interests to manage,\r\nwe find, that by pleasing one man, we almost certainly\r\ndisoblige another, and that by humouring an\r\nindividual, we may often irritate a whole people.\r\nThe fairest and most equitable conduct must\r\nfrequently obstruct the interests, or thwart the\r\ninclinations of particular persons, who will seldom\r\nhave candour enough to enter into the propriety of our\r\nmotives, or to see that this conduct, how disagreeable\r\nsoever to them, is perfectly suitable to our situation.\r\nIn order to defend ourselves from such partial judgments,\r\nwe soon learn to set up in our own minds a\r\njudge between ourselves and those we live with. We\r\nconceive ourselves as acting in the presence of a person\r\nquite candid and equitable, of one who has no\r\nparticular relation either to ourselves, or to those\r\nwhose interests are affected by our conduct, who is\r\nneither father, nor brother, nor friend either to them\r\nor to us, but is merely a man in general, an impartial\r\nspectator who considers our conduct with the\r\nsame indifference with which we regard that of other\r\npeople. If, when we place ourselves in the situation\r\nof such a person, our own actions appear to us under\r\nan agreeable aspect, if we feel that such a spectator\r\ncannot avoid entering into all the motives which\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_189\"\u003e189\u003c/span\u003einfluenced us, whatever may be the judgments of the\r\nworld, we must still be pleased with our own behaviour,\r\nand regard ourselves, in spite of the censure\r\nof our companions, as the just and proper objects of\r\napprobation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eOn the contrary, if the man within condemns us,\r\nthe loudest acclamations of mankind appear but as\r\nthe noise of ignorance and folly, and whenever we\r\nassume the character of this impartial judge, we cannot\r\navoid viewing our own actions with this distaste\r\nand dissatisfaction. The weak, the vain, and the frivolous,\r\nindeed, may be mortified by the most groundless\r\ncensure, or elated by the most absurd applause.\r\nSuch persons are not accustomed to consult the judge\r\nwithin concerning the opinion which they ought to\r\nform of their own conduct. This inmate of the\r\nbreast, this abstract man, the representative of mankind,\r\nand substitute of the Deity, whom Nature has\r\nconstituted the supreme judge of all their actions, is\r\nseldom appealed to by them. They are contented\r\nwith the decision of the inferior tribunal. The approbation\r\nof their companions, of the particular persons\r\nwhom they have lived and conversed with, has\r\ngenerally been the ultimate object of all their wishes.\r\nIf they obtain this, their joy is complete; and if they\r\nfail, they are entirely disappointed. They never\r\nthink of appealing to the superior court. They have\r\nseldom inquired after its decisions, and are altogether\r\nunacquainted with the rules and forms of its\r\nprocedure. When the world injures them, therefore,\r\nthey are incapable of doing themselves justice,\r\nand are, in consequence, necessarily the slaves of the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_190\"\u003e190\u003c/span\u003eworld. But it is otherwise with the man who has,\r\nupon all occasions, been accustomed to have recourse\r\nto the judge within, and to consider, not what the\r\nworld approves or disapproves of, but what appears\r\nto this impartial spectator, the natural and proper\r\nobject of approbation or disapprobation. The judgment\r\nof this supreme arbiter of his conduct, is the\r\napplause, which he has been accustomed principally\r\nto court, is the censure which he has been accustomed\r\nprincipally to fear. Compared with this final decision,\r\nthe sentiments of all mankind, though not\r\naltogether indifferent, appear to be but of small moment;\r\nand he is incapable of being either much\r\nelevated by their favourable, or greatly depressed by\r\ntheir most disadvantageous judgment.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is only by consulting this judge within, that we\r\ncan see whatever relates to ourselves in its proper\r\nshape and dimensions, or that we can make any proper\r\ncomparison between our own interests and those\r\nof other men.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs to the eye of the body, objects appear great or\r\nsmall, not so much according to their real dimensions,\r\nas according to the nearness or distance of their situation;\r\nso do they likewise to what may be called the\r\nnatural eye of the mind: and we remedy the defects\r\nof both these organs pretty much in the same manner.\r\nIn my present situation an immense landscape of\r\nlawns, and woods, and distant mountains, seems to\r\ndo no more than cover the little window which I\r\nwrite by, and to be out of all proportion less than the\r\nchamber in which I am sitting. I can form a just\r\ncomparison between those great objects and the\r\nlittle objects around me, in no other way, than by\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_191\"\u003e191\u003c/span\u003etransporting myself, at least in fancy, to a different\r\nstation, from whence I can survey both at nearly\r\nequal distances, and thereby form some judgment\r\nof their real proportions. Habit and experience have\r\ntaught me to do this so easily and so readily, that I\r\nam scarce sensible that I do it; and a man must be,\r\nin some measure, acquainted with the philosophy of\r\nvision, before he can be thoroughly convinced, how\r\nlittle those distant objects would appear to the eye,\r\nif the imagination, from a knowledge of their real\r\nmagnitudes, did not swell and dilate them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIn the same manner, to the selfish and original\r\npassions of human nature, the loss or gain of a very\r\nsmall interest of our own, appears to be of vastly\r\nmore importance, excites a much more passionate\r\njoy or sorrow, a much more ardent desire or aversion,\r\nthan the greatest concern of another with whom we\r\nhave no particular connexion. His interests, as long\r\nas they are surveyed from this station, can never be\r\nput into the balance with our own, can never restrain\r\nus from doing whatever may tend to promote\r\nour own, how ruinous soever to him. Before we\r\ncan make any proper comparison of those opposite\r\ninterests, we must change our position. We must\r\nview them, neither from our own place, nor yet\r\nfrom his, neither with our own eyes nor yet with his,\r\nbut from the place, and with the eyes of a third person,\r\nwho has no particular connexion with either, and\r\nwho judges with impartiality between us. Here too,\r\nhabit and experience have taught us to do this so\r\neasily and so readily, that we are scarce sensible that\r\nwe do it; and it requires, in this case too, some\r\ndegree of reflection, and even of philosophy to convince\r\nus, how little interest we should take in the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_192\"\u003e192\u003c/span\u003egreatest concerns of our neighbour, how little we\r\nshould be affected by whatever relates to him, if the\r\nsense of propriety and justice did not correct the\r\notherwise natural inequality of our sentiments.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eLet us suppose that the great empire of China,\r\nwith all its myriads of inhabitants, was suddenly\r\nswallowed up by an earthquake, and let us consider\r\nhow a man of humanity in Europe, who had no sort\r\nof connexion with that part of the world, would be\r\naffected upon receiving intelligence of this dreadful\r\ncalamity. He would, I imagine, first of all, express\r\nvery strongly his sorrow for the misfortune of that\r\nunhappy people, he would make many melancholy\r\nreflections upon the precariousness of human life, and\r\nthe vanity of all the labours of man, which could\r\nthus be annihilated in a moment. He would too,\r\nperhaps, if he was a man of speculation, enter into\r\nmany reasonings concerning the effects which this\r\ndisaster might produce upon the commerce of Europe,\r\nand the trade and business of the world in general.\r\nAnd when all this fine philosophy was over, when all\r\nthese humane sentiments had been once fairly expressed,\r\nhe would pursue his business or his pleasure,\r\ntake his repose or his diversion, with the same ease\r\nand tranquility, as if no such accident had happened.\r\nThe most frivolous disaster which could befal himself\r\nwould occasion a more real disturbance. If he was\r\nto lose his little finger to-morrow, he would not sleep\r\nto-night; but provided he never saw them, he will\r\nsnore with the most profound security over the ruin\r\nof a hundred millions of his brethren, and the destruction\r\nof that immense multitude seems plainly\r\nan object less interesting to him, than this paultry\r\nmisfortune of his own. To prevent therefore, this\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_193\"\u003e193\u003c/span\u003epaultry misfortune to himself would a man of humanity\r\nbe willing to sacrifice the lives of a hundred\r\nmillions of his brethren, provided he had never seen\r\nthem? Human nature startles with horror at the\r\nthought, and the world, in its greatest depravity and\r\ncorruption, never produced such a villain as could\r\nbe capable of entertaining it. But what makes this\r\ndifference? When our passive feelings are almost always\r\nso sordid and so selfish, how comes it that our\r\nactive principles should often be so generous and so\r\nnoble? When we are always so much more deeply\r\naffected by whatever concerns ourselves, than by\r\nwhatever concerns other men; what is it which\r\nprompts the generous, upon all occasions, and the\r\nmean upon many, to sacrifice their own interests to\r\nthe greater interests of others? It is not the soft power\r\nof humanity, it is not that feeble spark of benevolence\r\nwhich Nature has lighted up in the human\r\nheart, that is thus capable of counteracting the\r\nstrongest impulses of self-love. It is a stronger\r\npower, a more forcible motive, which exerts itself\r\nupon such occasions. It is reason, principle, conscience,\r\nthe inhabitant of the breast, the man within,\r\nthe great judge and arbiter of our conduct. It is he,\r\nwho, whenever we are about to act so as to affect the\r\nhappiness of others, calls to us with a voice capable\r\nof astonishing the most presumptuous of our passions,\r\nthat we are but one of the multitude, in no respect\r\nbetter than any other in it; and that when we prefer\r\nourselves so shamefully and so blindly to others, we\r\nbecome the proper objects of resentment, abhorrence,\r\nand execration. It is from him only that we\r\nlearn the real littleness of ourselves, and of whatever\r\nrelates to ourselves, and the natural misrepresentations\r\nof self-love can be corrected only by the eye of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_194\"\u003e194\u003c/span\u003ethis impartial spectator. It is he who shows us\r\nthe propriety of generality and the deformity of injustice;\r\nthe propriety of resigning the greatest interests\r\nof our own, for the yet greater interests\r\nof others, and the deformity of doing the\r\nsmallest injury to another, in order to obtain the\r\ngreatest benefit to ourselves. It is not the love of\r\nour neighbour, it is not the love of mankind, which\r\nupon many occasions prompts us to the practice of\r\nthose divine virtues. It is a stronger love, a more\r\npowerful affection which generally takes place upon\r\nsuch occasions, the love of what is honourable and\r\nnoble, of the grandeur, and dignity, and superiority\r\nof our own characters.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen the happiness or misery of others depends\r\nin any respect upon our conduct, we dare not, as\r\nself-love would suggest to us, prefer any little interest\r\nof our own, to the yet greater interest of our neighbour.\r\nWe feel that we should become the proper objects\r\nof the resentment and indignation of our brethren,\r\nand the sense of the impropriety of this affection\r\nis supported and enlivened by the yet stronger\r\nsense of the demerit of the action, which it would in\r\nthis case give occasion to. But when the happiness\r\nor misery of others in no respect depends upon our\r\nconduct, when our own interests are altogether separated\r\nand detached from theirs, so that there is neither\r\nconnexion nor competition between them, as\r\nthe sense of demerit does not in this case interpose,\r\nthe mere sense of impropriety is seldom able to restrain\r\nus from abandoning ourselves to our natural\r\nanxiety about our own affairs, and to our natural indifference\r\nabout those of other men. The most vulgar\r\neducation teaches us to act, upon all important\r\noccasions, with some sort of impartiality between\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_195\"\u003e195\u003c/span\u003eourselves and others, and even the ordinary commerce\r\nof the world is capable of adjusting our active\r\nprinciples to some degree of propriety. But it is\r\nthe most artificial and refined education only, which\r\npretends to correct the inequalities of our passive\r\nfeelings, and we must for this purpose have recourse\r\nto the severest, as well as to the profoundest philosophy.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eTwo different sets of philosophers have attempted\r\nto teach us this hardest of all the lessons of morality.\r\nOne set have laboured to increase our sensibility to\r\nthe interests of others; another to diminish that to\r\nour own. The first would have us feel for others as\r\nwe naturally feel for ourselves. The second would\r\nhave us feel for ourselves, as we naturally feel for\r\nothers.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe first are those melancholy moralists, who are\r\nperpetually reproaching us with our happiness, while\r\nso many of our brethren are in misery,\u003ca id=\"r6\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f6\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[6]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e who regard\r\nas impious the natural joy of prosperity, which does\r\nnot think of the many wretches that are at every instant\r\nlabouring under all sorts of calamities, in the\r\nlanguor of poverty, in the agony of disease, in the\r\nhorrors of death, under the insults and oppression of\r\ntheir enemies. Commiseration for those miseries\r\nwhich we never saw, which we never heard of, but\r\nwhich we may be assured are at all times infecting\r\nsuch numbers of our fellow-creatures, ought, they\r\nthink, to damp the pleasures of the fortunate, and to\r\nrender a certain melancholy dejection habitual to all\r\nmen. But first of all, this extreme sympathy with\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_196\"\u003e196\u003c/span\u003emisfortunes, which we know nothing about, seems\r\naltogether absurd and unreasonable. Take the whole\r\nearth at an average, for one man who suffers pain or\r\nmisery, you will find twenty in prosperity and joy,\r\nor at least in tolerable circumstances. No reason,\r\nsurely, can be assigned why we should rather weep\r\nwith the one than rejoice with the twenty. This\r\nartificial commiseration, besides, is not only absurd,\r\nbut seems altogether unattainable; and those who\r\naffect this character have commonly nothing but a\r\ncertain hypocritical sadness, which, without reaching\r\nthe heart, serves only to render the countenance and\r\nconvocation impertinently dismal and disagreeable.\r\nAnd last of all, this disposition of mind, though it\r\ncould be attained, would be perfectly useless, and\r\ncould serve no other purpose than to render miserable\r\nthe person who was possessed of it. Whatever interest\r\nwe take in the fortune of those with whom\r\nwe have no acquaintance or connexion, and who\r\nare placed altogether out of the sphere of our activity,\r\ncan produce only anxiety to ourselves, without any\r\nmanner of advantage to them. To what purpose\r\nshould we trouble ourselves about the world in the\r\nmoon? All men, even those at the greatest distance,\r\nare no doubt entitled to our good wishes, and our\r\ngood wishes we naturally give them. But if, notwithstanding,\r\nthey should be unfortunate, to give\r\nourselves any anxiety upon that account, seems to\r\nbe no part of our duty. That we should be but\r\nlittle interested, therefore, in the fortune of those\r\nwhom we can neither serve nor hurt, and who are in\r\nevery respect so very remote from us, seems wisely\r\nordered by nature; and if it were possible to\r\nalter in this respect the original constitution of our\r\nframe, we could yet gain nothing by the change.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f6\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r6\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e6\u003c/a\u003e. See Thomson’s Seasons, Winter:\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"lg-container-b c014\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"linegroup\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"group\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"line\"\u003e“Ah! little think the gay licentious proud,” \u0026amp;c.\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c015\"\u003eSee also Pascal.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_197\"\u003e197\u003c/span\u003eAmong the moralists who endeavour to correct\r\nthe natural inequality of our passive feelings by diminishing\r\nour sensibility to what peculiarly concerns\r\nourselves, we may count all the ancient sects of philosophers,\r\nbut particularly the ancient stoics. Man,\r\naccording to the stoics, ought to regard himself, not\r\nas something separated and detached, but as a citizen\r\nof the world, a member of the vast commonwealth\r\nof nature. To the interest of this great community,\r\nhe ought at all times to be willing that his\r\nown little interest should be sacrificed. Whatever\r\nconcerns himself, ought to affect him no more than\r\nwhatever concerns any other equally important part\r\nof this immense system. We should view ourselves,\r\nnot in the light in which our own selfish passions are\r\napt to place us, but in the light in which any other\r\ncitizen of the world would view us. What befalls\r\nourselves we should regard as what befalls our neighbour,\r\nor, what comes to the same thing, as our\r\nneighbour regards what befalls us. “When our\r\nneighbour,” says Epictetus, “loses his wife or his\r\nson, there is nobody who is not sensible that this is a\r\nhuman calamity, a natural event altogether, according\r\nto the ordinary course of things: but when\r\nthe same thing happens to ourselves, then we cry\r\nout, as if we had suffered the most dreadful misfortune.\r\nWe ought, however, to remember how\r\nwe were affected when this accident happened to\r\nanother, and such as we were in his case, such\r\nought we to be in our own.” How difficult\r\nsoever it may be to attain this supreme degree\r\nof magnanimity and firmness, it is by no means either\r\nabsurd or useless to attempt it. Though few\r\nmen have the stoical idea of what this perfect propriety\r\nrequires, yet all men endeavour in some measure\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_198\"\u003e198\u003c/span\u003eto command themselves, and to bring down\r\ntheir selfish passions to something which their neighbour\r\ncan go along with. But this can never be done\r\nso effectually as by viewing whatever befalls themselves\r\nin the light in which their neighbours are apt\r\nto view it. The stoical philosophy, in this respect,\r\ndoes little more than unfold our natural ideas of\r\nperfection. There is nothing absurd or improper,\r\ntherefore, in aiming at this perfect self-command.\r\nNeither would the attainment of it be useless, but,\r\non the contrary, the most advantageous of all things,\r\nas establishing our happiness upon the most solid and\r\nsecure foundation, a firm confidence in that wisdom\r\nand justice which governs the world, and an entire\r\nresignation of ourselves, and of whatever relates to\r\nourselves to the all-wise disposal of this ruling principle\r\nin nature.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt scarce ever happens, however, that we are capable\r\nof adjusting our passive feelings to this perfect\r\npropriety. We indulge ourselves, and even the\r\nworld indulges us, in some degree of irregularity in\r\nthis respect. Though we should be too much affected\r\nby what concerns ourselves, and too little by\r\nwhat concerns other men, yet, if we always act with\r\nimpartiality between ourselves and others, if we never\r\nactually sacrifice any great interest of others, to\r\nany little interest of our own, we are easily pardoned:\r\nand it were well, if, upon all occasions, those\r\nwho desire to do their duty were capable of maintaining\r\neven this degree of impartiality between\r\nthemselves and others. But this is very far from\r\nbeing the case. Even in good men, the judge within\r\nis often in danger of being corrupted by the violence\r\nand injustice of their selfish passions, and is\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_199\"\u003e199\u003c/span\u003eoften induced to make a report very different from\r\nwhat the real circumstances of the case are capable\r\nof authorizing.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThere are two different occasions, upon which we\r\nexamine our own conduct, and endeavour to view\r\nit in the light in which the impartial spectator would\r\nview it. First, when we are about to act; and, secondly,\r\nafter we have acted. Our views are very\r\npartial in both cases, but they are most so, when it\r\nis of most importance that they should be otherwise.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen we are about to act, the eagerness of passion\r\nwill seldom allow us to consider what we are\r\ndoing with the candour of an indifferent person.\r\nThe violent emotions which at that time agitate us,\r\ndiscolour our views of things, even when we are endeavouring\r\nto place ourselves in the situation of another,\r\nand to regard the objects that interest us, in\r\nthe light in which they will naturally appear to him.\r\nThe fury of our own passions constantly calls us\r\nback to our own place, where every thing appears\r\nmagnified and misrepresented by self-love. Of the\r\nmanner in which those objects would appear to another,\r\nof the view which he would take of them, we\r\ncan obtain, if I may say so, but instantaneous\r\nglimpses, which vanish in a moment, and which\r\neven while they last are not altogether just. We\r\ncannot even for that moment divest ourselves entirely\r\nof the heat and keenness with which our peculiar\r\nsituation inspires us, nor consider what we are about\r\nto do with the complete impartiality of an equitable\r\njudge. The passions, upon this account, as father\r\nMalebranche says, all justify themselves, and seem\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_200\"\u003e200\u003c/span\u003ereasonable, and proportioned to their objects, as\r\nlong as we continue to feel them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen the action is over, indeed, and the passions\r\nwhich prompted it have subsided, we can enter more\r\ncoolly into sentiments of the indifferent spectator.\r\nWhat before interested us, is now become almost as\r\nindifferent to us as it always was to him, and we can\r\nnow examine our own conduct with his candour and\r\nimpartiality. But our judgments now are of little\r\nimportance, compared to what they were before;\r\nand when they are most severely impartial, can commonly\r\nproduce nothing but vain regret, and unavailing\r\nrepentance, without securing us from the\r\nlike errors for the future. It is seldom, however,\r\nthat they are quite candid even in this case. The\r\nopinion which we entertain of our own character,\r\ndepends entirely on our judgment concerning our\r\npast conduct. It is so disagreeable to think ill of\r\nourselves, that we often purposely turn away our\r\nview from those circumstances which might render\r\nthat judgment unfavourable. He is a bold surgeon,\r\nthey say, whose hand does not tremble when he\r\nperforms an operation upon his own person; and he\r\nis often equally bold who does not hesitate to pull\r\noff the mysterious veil of self-delusion, which covers\r\nfrom his view the deformities of his own conduct.\r\nRather than see our own behaviour under so disagreeable\r\nan aspect, we too often, foolishly and weakly,\r\nendeavour to exasperate anew those unjust passions\r\nwhich had formerly misled us; we endeavour by artifice\r\nto awaken our old hatreds, and irritate afresh\r\nour almost forgotten resentments: we even exert\r\nourselves for this miserable purpose, and thus persevere\r\nin injustice, merely because we once were unjust,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_201\"\u003e201\u003c/span\u003eand because we are ashamed and afraid to see\r\nthat we were so.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSo partial are the views of mankind with regard\r\nto the propriety of their own conduct, both at the\r\ntime of action and after it; and so difficult is it for\r\nthem to view it in the light in which any indifferent\r\nspectator would consider it. But if it was by a peculiar\r\nfaculty, such as the moral sense is supposed to\r\nbe, that they judged of their own conduct, if they\r\nwere endued with a particular power of perception,\r\nwhich distinguished the beauty or deformity of passions\r\nand affections; as their own passions would be\r\nmore immediately exposed to the view of this faculty,\r\nit would judge with more accuracy concerning\r\nthem, than concerning those of other men, of\r\nwhich it had only a more distant prospect.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThis self-deceit, this fatal weakness of mankind,\r\nis the source of half the disorders of human life. If\r\nwe saw ourselves in the light in which others see us,\r\nor in which they would see us if they knew all, a reformation\r\nwould generally be unavoidable. We\r\ncould not otherwise endure the sight.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eNature, however, has not left this weakness, which\r\nis of so much importance, altogether without a remedy;\r\nnor has she abandoned us entirely to the delusions\r\nof self-love. Our continual observations upon\r\nthe conduct of others, insensibly lead us to form\r\nto ourselves certain general rules concerning what is\r\nfit and proper either to be done or to be avoided.\r\nSome of their actions shock all our natural sentiments.\r\nWe hear every body about us express the\r\nlike detestation against them. This still further confirms,\r\nand even exasperates our natural sense of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_202\"\u003e202\u003c/span\u003etheir deformity. It satisfies us that we view them\r\nin the proper light, when we see other people view\r\nthem in the same light. We resolve never to be\r\nguilty of the like, nor ever, upon any account, to\r\nrender ourselves in this manner the objects of universal\r\ndisapprobation. We thus naturally lay down\r\nto ourselves a general rule, that all such actions are\r\nto be avoided, as tending to render us odious, contemptible,\r\nor punishable, the objects of all those\r\nsentiments for which we have the greatest dread and\r\naversion. Other actions, on the contrary, call forth\r\nour approbation, and we hear every body around us\r\nexpress the same favourable opinion concerning\r\nthem. Every body is eager to honour and reward\r\nthem. They excite all those sentiments for which\r\nwe have by nature the strongest desire; the love, the\r\ngratitude, the admiration of mankind. We become\r\nambitious of performing the like; and thus naturally\r\nlay down to ourselves a rule of another kind, that\r\nevery opportunity of acting in this manner is carefully\r\nto be sought after.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is thus that the general rules of morality are\r\nformed. They are ultimately founded upon experience\r\nof what, in particular instances, our moral faculties,\r\nour natural sense of merit and propriety,\r\napprove, or disapprove of. We do not originally\r\napprove or condemn particular actions; because, upon\r\nexamination, they appear to be agreeable or inconsistent\r\nwith a certain general rule. The general\r\nrule, on the contrary, is formed by finding from experience,\r\nthat all actions of a certain kind, or circumstanced\r\nin a certain manner, are approved or\r\ndisapproved of. To the man who first saw an inhuman\r\nmurder, committed from avarice, envy, or\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_203\"\u003e203\u003c/span\u003eunjust resentment, and upon one too that loved and\r\ntrusted the murderer, who beheld the last agonies of\r\nthe dying person, who heard him, with his expiring\r\nbreath, complain more of the perfidy and ingratitude\r\nof his false friend, than of the violence which\r\nhad been done to him, there could be no occasion,\r\nin order to conceive how horrible such an action was,\r\nthat he should reflect, that one of the most sacred\r\nrules of conduct was what prohibited the taking\r\naway the life of an innocent person, that this was a\r\nplain violation of that rule, and consequently a very\r\nblamable action. His detestation of this crime, it\r\nis evident, would arise instantaneously and antecedent\r\nto his having formed to himself any such general\r\nrule. The general rule, on the contrary,\r\nwhich he might afterwards form, would be founded\r\nupon the detestation which he felt necessarily arise in\r\nhis own breast, at the thought of this, and every\r\nother particular action of the same kind.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen we read in history or romance, the account\r\nof actions either of generosity or of baseness, the admiration\r\nwhich we conceive for the one, and the\r\ncontempt which we feel for the other, neither\r\nof them arise from reflecting that there are certain\r\ngeneral rules which declare all actions of the one\r\nkind admirable, and all actions of the other contemptible.\r\nThose general rules, on the contrary,\r\nare all formed from the experience we have had of\r\nthe effects which actions of all different kinds naturally\r\nproduce upon us.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAn amiable action, a respectable action, an horrid\r\naction, are all of them actions which naturally\r\nexcite the love, the respect, or the horror of the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_204\"\u003e204\u003c/span\u003espectator, for the person who performs them. The\r\ngeneral rules which determine what actions are,\r\nand what are not, the objects of each of those sentiments,\r\ncan be formed no other way than by observing\r\nwhat actions actually and in fact excite them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen these general rules, indeed, have been\r\nformed, when they are universally acknowledged\r\nand established, by the concurring sentiments of\r\nmankind, we frequently appeal to them as to the\r\nstandards of judgment, in debating concerning the\r\ndegree of praise or blame that is due to certain actions\r\nof a complicated and dubious nature. They\r\nare upon these occasions commonly cited as the ultimate\r\nfoundations of what is just and unjust in human\r\nconduct; and this circumstance seems to have\r\nmisled several very eminent authors, to draw up\r\ntheir systems in such a manner, as if they had supposed\r\nthat the original judgments of mankind with\r\nregard to right and wrong, were formed like the\r\ndecisions of a court of judicatory, by considering\r\nfirst the general rule, and then, secondly, whether\r\nthe particular action under consideration fell properly\r\nwithin its comprehension.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThose general rules of conduct, when they have\r\nbeen fixed in our mind by habitual reflection, are of\r\ngreat use in correcting misrepresentations of self-love\r\nconcerning what is fit and proper to be done in our\r\nparticular situation. The man of furious resentment,\r\nif he was to listen to the dictates of that passion,\r\nwould perhaps regard the death of his enemy, as but\r\na small compensation for the wrong, he imagines,\r\nhe has received; which, however, may be no more\r\nthan a very slight provocation. But his observations\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_205\"\u003e205\u003c/span\u003eupon the conduct of others, have taught him how\r\nhorrible all such sanguinary revenges appear. Unless\r\nhis education has been very singular, he has laid\r\nit down to himself as an inviolable rule, to abstain\r\nfrom them upon all occasions. This rule preserves\r\nits authority with him, and renders him incapable of\r\nbeing guilty of such a violence. Yet the fury of his\r\nown temper may be such, that had this been the\r\nfirst time in which he considered such an action, he\r\nwould undoubtedly have determined it to be quite\r\njust and proper, and what every impartial spectator\r\nwould approve of. But that reverence for the rule\r\nwhich past experience has impressed upon him, checks\r\nthe impetuosity of his passion, and helps him to correct\r\nthe too partial views which self-love might\r\notherwise suggest, of what was proper to be done\r\nin his situation. If he should allow himself to be\r\nso far transported by passion as to violate this rule,\r\nyet even in this case, he cannot throw off altogether\r\nthe awe and respect with which he has been accustomed\r\nto regard it. At the very time of acting, at\r\nthe moment in which passion mounts the highest, he\r\nhesitates and trembles at the thought of what he is\r\nabout to do: he is secretly conscious to himself that\r\nhe is breaking through those measures of conduct,\r\nwhich, in all his cool hours, he had resolved never\r\nto infringe, which he had never seen infringed by\r\nothers without the highest disapprobation, and of\r\nwhich the infringement, his own mind forebodes,\r\nmust soon render him the object of the same disagreeable\r\nsentiments. Before he can take the last\r\nfatal resolution, he is tormented with all the agonies\r\nof doubt and uncertainty; he is terrified at the\r\nthought of violating so sacred a rule, and at the same\r\ntime is urged and goaded on by the fury of his desires\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_206\"\u003e206\u003c/span\u003eto violate it. He changes his purpose every\r\nmoment; sometimes he resolves to adhere to his\r\nprinciple, and not indulge a passion which may corrupt\r\nthe remaining part of his life with the horrors of\r\nshame and repentance; and a momentary calm\r\ntakes possession of his breast, from the prospect of\r\nthat security and tranquillity which he will enjoy\r\nwhen he thus determines not to expose himself to\r\nthe hazard of a contrary conduct. But immediately\r\nthe passion rouses anew, and with fresh fury drives\r\nhim on to commit what he had the instant before resolved\r\nto abstain from. Wearied and distracted\r\nwith those continual irresolutions, he at length,\r\nfrom a sort of despair, makes the last fatal and irrecoverable\r\nstep; but with that terror and amazement\r\nwith which one flying from an enemy, throws\r\nhimself over a precipice, where he is sure of meeting\r\nwith more certain destruction than from any\r\nthing that pursues him from behind. Such are his\r\nsentiments even at the time of acting; though he is\r\nthen, no doubt, less sensible of the impropriety of\r\nhis own conduct than afterwards, when his passion\r\nbeing gratified and palled, he begins to view what\r\nhe has done in the light in which others are apt to\r\nview it; and actually feels, what he had only foreseen\r\nvery imperfectly before, the stings of remorse\r\nand repentance begin to agitate and torment him.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_207\"\u003e207\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. III.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the influence and authority of the general rules of morality, and that they are justly regarded as the laws of the Deity.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eThe regard to those general rules of conduct,\r\nis what is properly called a sense of duty, a principle\r\nof the greatest consequence in human life, and\r\nthe only principle by which the bulk of mankind are\r\ncapable of directing their actions. Many men behave\r\nvery decently, and through the whole of their\r\nlives avoid any considerable degree of blame, who\r\nyet, perhaps, never felt the sentiment upon the\r\npropriety of which we found our approbation of\r\ntheir conduct, but acted merely from a regard to\r\nwhat they saw were the established rules of behaviour.\r\nThe man who has received great benefits\r\nfrom another person, may, by the natural coldness of\r\nhis temper, feel but a very small degree of the sentiment\r\nof gratitude. If he has been virtuously educated,\r\nhowever, he will often have been made to observe\r\nhow odious those actions appear which denote a\r\nwant of this sentiment, and how amiable the contrary.\r\nTho’ his heart therefore is not warmed with\r\nany grateful affection, he will strive to act as if it\r\nwas, and will endeavour to pay all those regards\r\nand attentions to his patron which the liveliest gratitude\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_208\"\u003e208\u003c/span\u003ecould suggest. He will visit him regularly;\r\nhe will behave to him respectfully; he will never\r\ntalk of him but with expressions of the highest esteem,\r\nand of the many obligations which he owes\r\nto him. And what is more, he will carefully embrace\r\nevery opportunity of making a proper return\r\nfor past services. He may do all this too without\r\nany hypocrisy or blamable dissimulation, without\r\nany selfish intention of obtaining new favours, and\r\nwithout any design of imposing either upon his benefactor\r\nor the public. The motive of his actions\r\nmay be no other than a reverence for the established\r\nrule of duty, a serious and earnest desire of acting,\r\nin every respect, according to the law of gratitude.\r\nA wife, in the same manner, may sometimes not\r\nfeel that tender regard for her husband which is suitable\r\nto the relation that subsists between them. If\r\nshe has been virtuously educated, however, she will\r\nendeavour to act as if she felt it, to be careful, officious,\r\nfaithful, and sincere, and to be deficient in\r\nnone of those attentions which the sentiment of conjugal\r\naffection could have prompted her to perform.\r\nSuch a friend, and such a wife, are neither of them,\r\nundoubtedly, the very best of their kinds; and\r\nthough both of them may have the most serious and\r\nearnest desire to fulfil every part of their duty, yet\r\nthey will fail in many nice and delicate regards,\r\nthey will miss many opportunities of obliging, which\r\nthey could never have overlooked if they had possessed\r\nthe sentiment that is proper to their situation.\r\nThough not the very first of their kinds, however,\r\nthey are perhaps the second; and if the regard to\r\nthe general rules of conduct has been very strongly\r\nimpressed upon them, neither of them will fail in\r\nany essential part of their duty. None but those of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_209\"\u003e209\u003c/span\u003ethe happiest mould are capable of suiting, with exact\r\njustness, their sentiments and behaviour to the\r\nsmallest difference of situation, and of acting upon\r\nall occasions with the most delicate and accurate\r\npropriety. The coarse clay of which the bulk of\r\nmankind are formed, cannot be wrought up to such\r\nperfection. There is scarce any man, however,\r\nwho by discipline, education, and example, may not\r\nbe impressed with a regard to general rules, as to act\r\nupon almost every occasion with tolerable decency,\r\nand through the whole of his life avoid any considerable\r\ndegree of blame.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWithout this sacred regard to general rules, there\r\nis no man whose conduct can be much depended\r\nupon. It is this which constitutes the most essential\r\ndifference between a man of principle and honour\r\nand a worthless fellow. The one adheres, on all\r\noccasions, steadily and resolutely to his maxims,\r\nand preserves through the whole of his life one even\r\ntenour of conduct. The other, acts variously and\r\naccidentally, as humour, inclination, or interest\r\nchance to be uppermost. Nay, such are the inequalities\r\nof humour to which all men are subject,\r\nthat without this principle, the man who, in his cool\r\nhours, had the most delicate sensibility to the propriety\r\nof conduct, might often be led to act absurdly\r\nupon the most frivolous occasions, and when\r\nit was scarce possible to assign any serious motive for\r\nhis behaviour in this manner. Your friend makes\r\nyou a visit when you happen to be in a humour\r\nwhich makes it disagreeable to receive him: in your\r\npresent mood this civility is very apt to appear an\r\nimpertinent intrusion; and if you were to give way\r\nto the views of things which at this time occur,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_210\"\u003e210\u003c/span\u003ethough civil in your temper, you would behave to\r\nhim with coldness and contempt. What renders\r\nyou incapable of such a rudeness, is nothing but a\r\nregard to the general rules of civility and hospitality,\r\nwhich prohibit it. That habitual reverence which\r\nyour former experience has taught you for these,\r\nenables you to act, upon all such occasions, with\r\nnearly equal propriety, and hinders those inequalities\r\nof temper, to which all men are subject, from\r\ninfluencing your conduct in any very sensible degree.\r\nBut if without regard to these general rules, even\r\nthe duties of politeness, which are so easily observed,\r\nand which can scarce have any serious motive\r\nto violate, would yet be so frequently violated,\r\nwhat would become of the duties of justice, of\r\ntruth, of chastity, of fidelity, which it is often so\r\ndifficult to observe, and which there may be so many\r\nstrong motives to violate? But upon the tolerable\r\nobservance of these duties, depends the very\r\nexistence of human society, which would crumble\r\ninto nothing if mankind were not generally impressed\r\nwith a reverence for those important rules of\r\nconduct.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThis reverence is still further enhanced by an opinion\r\nwhich is first impressed by nature, and afterwards\r\nconfirmed by reasoning and philosophy, that\r\nthose important rules of morality, are the commands\r\nand laws of the Deity, who will finally reward the\r\nobedient, and punish the transgressors of their duty.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThis opinion or apprehension, I say, seems first to\r\nbe impressed by nature. Men are naturally led to\r\nascribe to those mysterious beings, whatever they\r\nare, which happen, in any country, to be the objects\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_211\"\u003e211\u003c/span\u003eof religious fear, all their own sentiments and\r\npassions. They have no other, they can conceive\r\nno other to ascribe to them. Those unknown intelligences\r\nwhich they imagine but see not, must\r\nnecessarily be formed with some sort of resemblance\r\nto those intelligences of which they have experience.\r\nDuring the ignorance and darkness of pagan superstition,\r\nmankind seem to have formed the ideas of\r\ntheir divinities with so little delicacy, that they ascribed\r\nto them, indiscriminately, all the passions of\r\nhuman nature, those not excepted which do the\r\nleast honour to our species, such as lust, hunger,\r\navarice, envy, revenge. They could not fail therefore,\r\nto ascribe to those beings, for the excellence\r\nof whose nature they still conceived the highest admiration,\r\nthose sentiments and qualities which are\r\nthe great ornaments of humanity, and which seem\r\nto raise it to a resemblance of divine perfection, the\r\nlove of virtue and beneficence, and the abhorrence\r\nof vice and injustice. The man who was injured,\r\ncalled upon Jupiter to be witness of the wrong that\r\nwas done to him, and could not doubt, but that divine\r\nbeing would behold it with the same indignation\r\nwhich would animate the meanest of mankind,\r\nwho looked on when injustice was committed.\r\nThe man who did the injury, felt himself to be\r\nthe proper object of detestation and resentment of\r\nmankind; and his natural fears led him to impute\r\nthe same sentiments to those awful beings, whose\r\npresence he could not avoid, and whose power he\r\ncould not resist. These natural hopes and fears,\r\nand suspicions, were propagated by sympathy, and\r\nconfirmed by education; and the gods were universally\r\nrepresented and believed to be the rewarders\r\nof humanity and mercy, and the avengers of perfidy\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_212\"\u003e212\u003c/span\u003eand injustice. And thus religion, even in its\r\nrudest form, gave a sanction to the rules of morality,\r\nlong before the age of artificial reasoning and\r\nphilosophy. That the terrors of religion should\r\nthus enforce the natural sense of duty, was of too\r\nmuch importance to the happiness of mankind, for\r\nnature to leave it dependent upon the slowness and\r\nuncertainty of philosophical researches.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThese researches, however, when they came to\r\ntake place, confirmed those original anticipations of\r\nnature. Upon whatever we suppose that our moral\r\nfaculties are founded, whether upon a certain modification\r\nof reason, upon an original instinct, called a\r\nmoral sense, or upon some other principle of our\r\nnature, it cannot be doubted, that they were given\r\nus for the direction of our conduct in this life. They\r\ncarry along with them the most evident badges of\r\nthis authority, which denote that they were set up\r\nwithin us to be the supreme arbiters of all our actions,\r\nto superintend all our senses, passions, and appetites,\r\nand to judge how far each of them was either to be\r\nindulged or restrained. Our moral faculties are by no\r\nmeans, as some have pretended, upon a level in this\r\nrespect with the other faculties and appetites of our\r\nnature, endowed with no more right to restrain these\r\nlast, than these last are to restrain them. No other\r\nfaculty or principle of action judges of any other.\r\nLove does not judge of resentment, nor resentment\r\nof love. Those two passions may be opposite to one\r\nanother, but cannot, with any propriety, be said to\r\napprove or disapprove of one another. But it is the\r\npeculiar office of those faculties now under our consideration\r\nto judge, to bestow censure or applause\r\nupon all the other principles of our nature. They\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_213\"\u003e213\u003c/span\u003emay be considered as a sort of senses of which those\r\nprinciples are the objects. Every sense is supreme\r\nover its own objects. There is no appeal from the\r\neye with regard to the beauty of colours, nor from\r\nthe ear with regard to the harmony of sounds, nor\r\nfrom the taste with regard to the agreeableness of\r\nflavours. Each of those senses judges in the last\r\nresort of its own objects. Whatever gratifies the\r\ntaste is sweet, whatever pleases the eye is beautiful,\r\nwhatever sooths the ear is harmonious. The very\r\nessence of each of those qualities consists in being\r\nfitted to please the sense to which it is addressed. It\r\nbelongs to our moral faculties, in the same manner\r\nto determine when the ear ought to be soothed, when\r\nthe eye ought to be indulged, when the taste ought\r\nto be gratified, when and how far every other principle\r\nof our nature ought to be indulged or restrained.\r\nWhat is agreeable to our moral faculties, is fit,\r\nand right, and proper to be done; the contrary\r\nwrong, unfit, and improper. The sentiments which\r\nthey approve of, are graceful and unbecoming. The\r\nvery words, right, wrong, fit, improper, graceful,\r\nunbecoming, mean only what pleases or displeases\r\nthose faculties.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSince these, therefore, were plainly intended to be\r\nthe governing principles of human nature, the rules\r\nwhich they prescribe, are to be regarded as the commands\r\nand laws of the Deity, promulgated by those\r\nvicegerents which he has thus set up within us. All\r\ngeneral rules are commonly denominated laws: thus\r\nthe general rules which bodies observe in the communication\r\nof motion, are called the laws of motion.\r\nBut those general rules which our moral faculties\r\nobserve in approving or condemning whatever sentiment\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_214\"\u003e214\u003c/span\u003eor action is subjected to their examination, may\r\nmuch more justly be denominated such. They have\r\na much greater resemblance to what are properly called\r\nlaws, those general rules which the sovereign lays\r\ndown to direct the conduct of his subjects. Like\r\nthem they are rules to direct the free actions of men:\r\nthey are prescribed most surely by a lawful superior,\r\nand are attended to in the sanction of rewards and\r\npunishments. Those vicegerents of God within us,\r\nnever fail to punish the violation of them, by the torments\r\nof inward shame, and self-condemnation;\r\nand on the contrary, always reward obedience with\r\ntranquillity of mind, with contentment, and self-satisfaction.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThere are innumerable other considerations which\r\nserve to confirm the same conclusion. The happiness\r\nof mankind, as well as of all other rational\r\ncreatures, seems to have been the original purpose\r\nintended by the Author of nature, when he\r\nbrought them into existence. No other end seems\r\nworthy of that supreme wisdom and divine benignity\r\nwhich we necessarily ascribe to him; and this\r\nopinion, which we are led to by the abstract consideration\r\nof his infinite perfections, is still more confirmed\r\nby the examination of the works of nature,\r\nwhich seem all intended to promote happiness, and\r\nto guard against misery. But by acting according\r\nto the dictates of our moral faculties, we necessarily\r\npursue the most effectual means for promoting the\r\nhappiness of mankind, and may therefore be said,\r\nin some sense, to co-operate with the Deity, and to\r\nadvance as far as in our power the plan of Providence.\r\nBy acting otherways, on the contrary, we\r\nseem to obstruct, in some measure, the scheme\r\nwhich the Author of nature has established for the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_215\"\u003e215\u003c/span\u003ehappiness and perfection of the world, and to declare\r\nourselves, if I may say so, in some measure the\r\nenemies of God. Hence we are naturally encouraged\r\nto hope for his extraordinary favour and reward\r\nin the one case, and to dread his vengeance\r\nand punishment in the other.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThere are besides many other reasons, and many\r\nother natural principles, which all tend to confirm\r\nand inculcate the same salutary doctrine. If we consider\r\nthe general rules by which external prosperity\r\nand adversity are commonly distributed in this life,\r\nwe shall find, that notwithstanding the disorder in\r\nwhich all things appear to be in this world, yet even\r\nhere every virtue naturally meets with its proper reward,\r\nwith the recompense which is most fit to encourage\r\nand promote it; and this too so surely, that\r\nit requires a very extraordinary concurrence of circumstances\r\nentirely to disappoint it. What is the\r\nreward most proper for encouraging industry, prudence,\r\nand circumspection? Success in every sort\r\nof business. And is it possible that in the whole of\r\nlife these virtues should fail of attaining it? Wealth\r\nand external honours are their proper recompense,\r\nand the recompense which they can seldom fail of\r\nacquiring. What reward is most proper for promoting\r\nthe practice of truth, justice, and humanity?\r\nThe confidence, the esteem, and love of those we\r\nlive with. Humanity does not desire to be great,\r\nbut to be beloved. It is not in being rich that truth\r\nand justice would rejoice, but in being trusted and\r\nbelieved, recompenses which those virtues must almost\r\nalways acquire. By some very extraordinary\r\nand unlucky circumstance, a good man may come\r\nto be suspected of a crime of which he was altogether\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_216\"\u003e216\u003c/span\u003eincapable, and upon that account be most unjustly\r\nexposed for the remaining part of his life to\r\nthe horror and aversion of mankind. By an accident\r\nof this kind he may be said to lose his all, notwithstanding\r\nhis integrity and justice; in the same\r\nmanner as a cautious man, notwithstanding his utmost\r\ncircumspection, may be ruined by an earthquake\r\nor an inundation. Accidents of the first\r\nkind, however, are perhaps still more rare, and still\r\nmore contrary to the common course of things than\r\nthose of the second; and still it remains true, that the\r\npractice of truth, justice, and humanity, is a certain\r\nand almost infallible method of acquiring what those\r\nvirtues chiefly aim at, the confidence and love of\r\nthose we live with. A person may be very easily\r\nmisrepresented with regard to a particular action;\r\nbut it is scarce possible that he should be so with regard\r\nto the general tenor of his conduct. An innocent\r\nman may be believed to have done wrong:\r\nthis, however, will rarely happen. On the contrary,\r\nthe established opinion of the innocence of his\r\nmanners, will often lead us to absolve him where he\r\nhas really been in the fault, notwithstanding very\r\nstrong presumptions. A knave, in the same manner\r\nmay escape censure, or even meet applause, for\r\na particular knavery, in which his conduct is not\r\nunderstood. But no man was ever habitually such,\r\nwithout being almost universally known to be so,\r\nand without being even frequently suspected of\r\nguilt, when he was in reality perfectly innocent.\r\nAnd so far as vice and virtue can be either punished\r\nor rewarded by the sentiments and opinions of mankind,\r\nthey both, according to the common course\r\nof things, meet even here with something more\r\nthan exact and impartial justice.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_217\"\u003e217\u003c/span\u003eBut though the general rules by which prosperity\r\nand adversity are commonly distributed, when considered\r\nin this cool and philosophical light, appear to\r\nbe perfectly suited to the situation of mankind in\r\nthis life, yet they are by no means suited to some of\r\nour natural sentiments. Our natural love and admiration\r\nfor some virtues is such, that we should\r\nwish to bestow on them all sorts of honours and rewards,\r\neven those which we must acknowledge to\r\nbe the proper recompenses of other qualities with\r\nwhich those virtues are not always accompanied.\r\nOur detestation, on the contrary, for some vices is\r\nsuch, that we should desire to heap upon them every\r\nsort of disgrace and disaster, those not excepted\r\nwhich are the natural consequences of very different\r\nqualities. Magnanimity, generosity, and justice\r\ncommand so high a degree of admiration, that we\r\ndesire to see them crowned with wealth, and power,\r\nand honours of every kind, the natural consequences\r\nof prudence, industry, and application; qualities\r\nwith which those virtues are not inseparably connected.\r\nFraud, falsehood, brutality, and violence, on\r\nthe other hand, excite in every human breast such\r\nscorn and abhorrence, that our indignation rouses to\r\nsee them possess those advantages which they may in\r\nsome sense be said to have merited, by the diligence\r\nand industry with which they are sometimes attended.\r\nThe industrious knave cultivates the soil; the indolent\r\ngood man leaves it uncultivated. Who ought\r\nto reap the harvest? Who starve, and who live in\r\nplenty? The natural course of things decides it in\r\nfavour of the knave: the natural sentiments of mankind\r\nin favour of the man of virtue. Man judges,\r\nthat the good qualities of the one are greatly over-recompensed\r\nby those advantages which they tend to\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_218\"\u003e218\u003c/span\u003eprocure him, and that the omissions of the other are\r\nby far too severely punished by the distress which\r\nthey naturally bring upon him; and human laws,\r\nthe consequences of human sentiments, forfeit the\r\nlife and the estate of the industrious and cautious\r\ntraitor, and reward, by extraordinary recompenses,\r\nthe fidelity and public spirit of the improvident and\r\ncareless good citizen. Thus man is by Nature directed\r\nto correct, in some measure, that distribution\r\nof things which she herself would otherwise have\r\nmade. The rules which for this purpose she prompts\r\nhim to follow, are different from those which she\r\nherself observes. She bestows upon every virtue, and\r\nupon every vice, that precise reward or punishment\r\nwhich is best fitted to encourage the one, or to restrain\r\nthe other. She is directed by this sole consideration,\r\nand pays little regard to the different degrees\r\nof merit and demerit, which they may seem to possess\r\nin the sentiments and passions of man. Man, on\r\nthe contrary, pays regard to this only, and would\r\nendeavour to render the state of every virtue precisely\r\nproportioned to that degree of love and esteem, and\r\nof every vice to that degree of contempt and abhorrence,\r\nwhich he himself conceives for it. The rules\r\nwhich she follows are fit for her, those which he follows\r\nfor him: but both are calculated to promote the\r\nsame great end, the order of the world, and the perfection\r\nand happiness of human nature.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut though man is thus employed to alter that\r\ndistribution of things which natural events would\r\nmake, if left to themselves; though, like the gods\r\nof the poets, he is perpetually interposing, by extraordinary\r\nmeans, in favour of virtue, and in opposition\r\nto vice, and like them, endeavours to turn away\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_219\"\u003e219\u003c/span\u003ethe arrow that is aimed at the head of the righteous,\r\nbut accelerates the sword of destruction that is lifted\r\nup against the wicked; yet he is by no means able\r\nto render the fortune of either quite suitable to his\r\nown sentiments and wishes. The natural course of\r\nthings cannot be entirely controuled by the impotent\r\nendeavours of man: the current is too rapid and\r\ntoo strong for him to stop it; and though the rules\r\nwhich direct it appear to have been established for\r\nthe wisest and best purposes, they sometimes produce\r\neffects which shock all his natural sentiments.\r\nThat a great combination of men, should prevail\r\nover a small one; that those who engage in an enterprise\r\nwith fore-thought and all necessary preparation,\r\nshould prevail over such as oppose them without\r\nany; and that every end should be acquired by\r\nthose means only which Nature has established for\r\nacquiring it, seems to be a rule not only necessary\r\nand unavoidable in itself, but even useful and proper\r\nfor rousing the industry and attention of mankind.\r\nYet, when, in consequence of this rule, violence and\r\nartifice prevail over sincerity and justice, what indignation\r\ndoes it not excite in the breast of every humane\r\nspectator? What sorrow and compassion for the\r\nsufferings of the innocent, and what furious resentment\r\nagainst the success of the oppressor? We are\r\nequally grieved and enraged, at the wrong that is\r\ndone, but often find it altogether out of our power\r\nto redress it. When we thus despair of finding any\r\nforce upon earth which can check the triumph of\r\ninjustice, we naturally appeal to Heaven, and hope,\r\nthat the great Author of our nature will himself execute\r\nhereafter, what all the principles which he has\r\ngiven us for the direction of our conduct, prompt us\r\nto attempt even here; that he will complete the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_220\"\u003e220\u003c/span\u003eplan which he himself has thus taught us to begin;\r\nand will, in a life to come, render to every one according\r\nto the works which he has performed in this\r\nworld. And thus we are led to the belief of a future\r\nstate, not only by the weaknesses, by the hopes and\r\nfears of human nature, but by the noblest and best\r\nprinciples which belong to it, by the love of virtue,\r\nand by the abhorrence of vice and injustice.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e“Does it suit the greatness of God,” says the eloquent\r\nand philosophical bishop of Clermont, with\r\nthat passionate and exaggerating force of imagination,\r\nwhich seems sometimes to exceed the bounds of\r\ndecorum; “does it suit the greatness of God, to\r\nleave the world which he has created in so universal\r\na disorder? To see the wicked prevail almost\r\nalways over the just; the innocent dethroned\r\nby the usurper; the father become the victim of\r\nthe ambition of an unnatural son; the husband\r\nexpiring under the stroke of a barbarous and faithless\r\nwife? From the height of his greatness ought\r\nGod to behold those melancholy events as a fantastical\r\namusement, without taking any share in\r\nthem? Because he is great, should he be weak,\r\nor unjust, or barbarous? Because men are little,\r\nought they to be allowed either to be dissolute\r\nwithout punishment, or virtuous without reward?\r\nO God! if this is the character of your Supreme\r\nBeing; if it is you whom we adore under such\r\ndreadful ideas; I can no longer acknowledge you\r\nfor my father, for my protector, for the comforter\r\nof my sorrow, the support of my weakness, the\r\nrewarder of my fidelity. You would then be no\r\nmore than an indolent and fantastical tyrant, who\r\nsacrifices mankind to his insolent vanity, and who\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_221\"\u003e221\u003c/span\u003ehas brought them out of nothing, only to make\r\nthem serve for the sport of his leisure, and of his\r\ncaprice.”\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen the general rules which determine the merit\r\nand demerit of actions, come thus to be regarded,\r\nas the laws of an All-powerful Being, who watches\r\nover our conduct, and who, in a life to come, will\r\nreward the observance, and punish the breach of\r\nthem; they necessarily acquire a new sacredness from\r\nthis consideration. That our regard to the will of\r\nthe Deity, ought to be the supreme rule of our conduct,\r\ncan be doubted of by no body who believes\r\nhis existence. The very thought of disobedience\r\nappears to involve in it the most shocking impropriety.\r\nHow vain, how absurd would it be for man,\r\neither to oppose or to neglect the commands that\r\nwere laid upon him by Infinite Wisdom, and Infinite\r\nPower! How unnatural, how impiously ungrateful\r\nnot to reverence the precepts that were prescribed\r\nto him by the infinite goodness of his Creator,\r\neven though no punishment was to follow their violation.\r\nThe sense of propriety too is here well supported\r\nby the strongest motives of self-interest.\r\nThe idea that, however we may escape the observation\r\nof man, or be placed above the reach of human\r\npunishment, yet we are always acting under the eye,\r\nand exposed to the punishment of God, the great\r\navenger of injustice, is a motive capable of restraining\r\nthe most headstrong passions, with those at least\r\nwho, by constant reflection, have rendered it familiar\r\nto them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is in this manner that religion enforces the natural\r\nsense of duty: and hence it is, that mankind\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_222\"\u003e222\u003c/span\u003eare generally disposed to place great confidence in\r\nthe probity of those who seem deeply impressed with\r\nreligious sentiments. Such persons, they imagine,\r\nact under an additional tye, besides those which regulate\r\nthe conduct of other men. The regard to the\r\npropriety of action as well as to reputation, the regard\r\nto the applause of his own breast, as well as that\r\nof others, are motives which they suppose have the\r\nsame influence over the religious man, as over the\r\nman of the world. But the former lies under another\r\nrestraint, and never acts deliberately but as in\r\nthe presence of that Great Superior who is finally to\r\nrecompense him according to his deeds. A greater\r\ntrust is reposed, upon this account, in the regularity\r\nand exactness of his conduct. And wherever the\r\nnatural principles of religion are not corrupted by the\r\nfactious and party zeal of some worthless cabal;\r\nwherever the first duty which it requires, is to fulfil\r\nall the obligations of morality; wherever men are not\r\ntaught to regard frivolous observances, as more immediate\r\nduties of religion, than acts of justice and\r\nbeneficence; and to imagine, that by sacrifices, and\r\nceremonies, and vain supplications, they can bargain\r\nwith the Deity for fraud, and perfidy, and violence,\r\nthe world undoubtedly judges right in this respect,\r\nand justly places a double confidence in the rectitude\r\nof the religious man’s behaviour.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_223\"\u003e223\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. IV.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eIn what cases the sense of duty ought to be the sole principle of our conduct; and in what cases it ought to concur with other motives.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eReligion affords such strong motives to\r\nthe practice of virtue, and guards us by such\r\npowerful restraints from the temptations of vice,\r\nthat many have been led to suppose, that religious\r\nprinciples were the sole laudable motives of action.\r\nWe ought neither, they said, to reward from gratitude,\r\nnor punish from resentment; we ought neither\r\nto protect the helplessness of our children, nor\r\nafford support to the infirmities of our parents, from\r\nnatural affection. All affections for particular objects,\r\nought to be extinguished in our breast, and one\r\ngreat affection take the place of all others, the love\r\nof the Deity, the desire of rendering ourselves agreeable\r\nto him, and of directing our conduct in every\r\nrespect according to his will. We ought not to be\r\ngrateful from gratitude, we ought not to be charitable\r\nfrom humanity, we ought not to be public-spirited\r\nfrom the love of our country, nor generous and just\r\nfrom the love of mankind. The sole principle and\r\nmotive of our conduct in the performance of all those\r\ndifferent duties, ought to be a sense that God has\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_224\"\u003e224\u003c/span\u003ecommanded us to perform them. I shall not at present\r\ntake time to examine this opinion particularly;\r\nI shall only observe, that we should not have expected\r\nto have found it entertained by any sect, who professed\r\nthemselves of a religion in which, as it is the\r\nfirst precept to love the Lord our God with all our\r\nheart, with all our soul, and with all our strength, so\r\nit is the second to love our neighbour as we love\r\nourselves; and we love ourselves surely for our own\r\nsakes, and not merely because we are commanded\r\nto do so. That the sense of duty should be the sole\r\nprinciple of our conduct, is no where the precept of\r\nChristianity; but that it should be the ruling and\r\ngoverning one, as philosophy, and as, indeed, common\r\nsense directs. It may be a question however,\r\nin what cases our actions ought to arise chiefly or entirely\r\nfrom a sense of duty, or from a regard to general\r\nrules; and in what cases some other sentiment or\r\naffection ought to concur, and have a principal influence.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe decision of this question, which cannot,\r\nperhaps, be given with any very great accuracy, will\r\ndepend upon two different circumstances; first,\r\nupon the natural agreeableness or deformity of the\r\nsentiment or affection which would prompt us to any\r\naction independent of all regard to general rules;\r\nand secondly, upon the precision and exactness, or\r\nthe looseness and inaccuracy of the general rules\r\nthemselves.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eI. First, I say, it will depend upon the natural\r\nagreeableness or deformity of the affection itself, how\r\nfar our actions ought to arise from it, or entirely proceed\r\nfrom a regard to the general rule.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_225\"\u003e225\u003c/span\u003eAll those graceful and admired actions, to which\r\nthe benevolent affections would prompt us, ought\r\nto proceed as much from the passions themselves, as\r\nfrom any regard to the general rules of conduct.\r\nA benefactor thinks himself but ill requited, if the\r\nperson upon whom he has bestowed his good offices,\r\nrepays them merely from a cold sense of duty, and\r\nwithout any affection to his person. A husband is\r\ndissatisfied with the most obedient wife, when he\r\nimagines her conduct is animated by no other principle\r\nbesides her regard to what the relation she\r\nstands in requires. Though a son should fail in none\r\nof the offices of filial duty, yet if he wants that affectionate\r\nreverence which it so well becomes him to\r\nfeel, the parent may justly complain of his indifference.\r\nNor could a son be quite satisfied with a parent\r\nwho, though he performed all the duties of his\r\nsituation, had nothing of that fatherly fondness\r\nwhich might have been expected from him. With\r\nregard to all such benevolent and social affections, it\r\nis agreeable to see the sense of duty employed rather\r\nto restrain than to enliven them, rather to hinder us\r\nfrom doing too much, than to prompt us to do what\r\nwe ought. It gives us pleasure to see a father obliged\r\nto check his own fondness, a friend obliged to set\r\nbounds to his natural generosity, a person who has\r\nreceived a benefit, obliged to restrain the too sanguine\r\ngratitude of his own temper.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe contrary maxim takes place with regard to the\r\nmalevolent and unsocial passions. We ought to reward\r\nfrom the gratitude and generosity of our own\r\nhearts, without any reluctance, and without being\r\nobliged to reflect how great the propriety of rewarding:\r\nbut we ought always to punish with reluctance,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_226\"\u003e226\u003c/span\u003eand more from a sense of the propriety of punishing\r\nthan from any savage disposition to revenge. Nothing\r\nis more graceful than the behaviour of the\r\nman who appears to resent the greatest injuries, more\r\nfrom a sense that they deserve, and are the proper\r\nobjects of resentment, than from feeling himself the\r\nfuries of that disagreeable passion; who, like a judge,\r\nconsiders only the general rule, which determines\r\nwhat vengeance is due for each particular offence;\r\nwho, in executing that rule, feels less for what himself\r\nhas suffered, than what the offender is about to\r\nsuffer; who, though in wrath remembers mercy, and\r\nis disposed to interpret the rule in the most gentle and\r\nfavourable manner, and to allow all the alleviations\r\nwhich the most candid humanity could, consistently\r\nwith good sense, admit of.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs the selfish passions, according to what has formerly\r\nbeen observed, hold in other respects a sort of\r\nmiddle place, between the social and unsocial affections,\r\nso do they likewise in this. The pursuit of the\r\nobjects of private interest, in all common, little, and\r\nordinary cases, ought to flow rather from a regard\r\nto the general rules which prescribe such conduct,\r\nthan from any passion for the objects themselves;\r\nbut upon more important and extraordinary occasions,\r\nwe should be awkward, insipid, and ungraceful,\r\nif the objects themselves did not appear to animate\r\nus with a considerable degree of passion. To\r\nbe anxious, or to be laying a plot either to gain or\r\nto save a single shilling, would degrade the most vulgar\r\ntradesman in the opinion of all his neighbours.\r\nLet his circumstances be ever so mean, no attention\r\nto any such small matters, for the sake of the things\r\nthemselves, must appear in his conduct. His situation\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_227\"\u003e227\u003c/span\u003emay require the most severe œconomy, and the\r\nmost exact assiduity: but each particular exertion of\r\nthat œconomy and assiduity must proceed not so\r\nmuch from a regard for that particular saving or\r\ngain, as for the general rule which to him prescribes,\r\nwith the utmost rigour, such a tenour of conduct.\r\nHis parsimony to-day must not arise from a desire of\r\nthe particular three-pence which he will save by it,\r\nnor his attendance in his shop from a passion for the\r\nparticular ten-pence which he will acquire by it:\r\nboth the one and the other ought to proceed solely\r\nfrom a regard to the general rule, which prescribes,\r\nwith the most unrelenting severity, this plan of conduct\r\nto all persons in his way of life. In this consists\r\nthe difference between the character of a miser,\r\nand that of a person of exact œconomy and assiduity.\r\nThe one is anxious about small matters for\r\ntheir own sake; the other attends to them only in\r\nconsequence of the scheme of life which he has\r\nlaid down to himself.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is quite otherwise with regard to the more extraordinary\r\nand important objects of self-interest.\r\nA person appears mean-spirited, who does not pursue\r\nthese with some degree of earnestness for their\r\nown sake. We should despise a prince who was not\r\nanxious about conquering or defending a province.\r\nWe should have little respect for a private gentleman\r\nwho did not exert himself to gain an estate, or even\r\na considerable office, when he could acquire them\r\nwithout either meanness or injustice. A member of\r\nparliament who shews no keenness about his own\r\nelection, is abandoned by his friends, as altogether\r\nunworthy of their attachment. Even a tradesman is\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_228\"\u003e228\u003c/span\u003ethought a poor-spirited fellow among his neighbours,\r\nwho does not bestir himself to get what they\r\ncall an extraordinary job, or some uncommon advantage.\r\nThis spirit and keenness constitutes the\r\ndifference between the man of enterprise and the\r\nman of dull regularity. Those great objects of\r\nself-interest, of which the loss or acquisition quite\r\nchanges the rank of the person, are the objects of\r\nthe passion properly called ambition; a passion,\r\nwhich when it keeps within the bounds of prudence\r\nand justice, is always admired in the world, and has\r\neven sometimes a certain irregular greatness, which\r\ndazzles the imagination, when it passes the limits of\r\nboth these virtues, and is not only unjust but extravagant.\r\nHence the general admiration for Heroes\r\nand Conquerors, and even for Statesmen, whose projects\r\nhave been very daring and extensive, though\r\naltogether devoid of justice; such as those of the\r\nCardinals of Richlieu and of Retz. The objects of\r\navarice and ambition differ only in their greatness.\r\nA miser is as furious about a halfpenny, as a man\r\nof ambition about the conquest of a kingdom.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eII. Secondly, I say, it will depend partly upon\r\nthe precision and exactness, or the looseness and inaccuracy\r\nof the general rules themselves, how far\r\nour conduct ought to proceed entirely from a regard\r\nto them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe general rules of almost all the virtues, the\r\ngeneral rules which determine what are the offices of\r\nprudence, of charity, of generosity, of gratitude,\r\nof friendship, are in many respects loose and inaccurate,\r\nadmit of many exceptions, and require so many\r\nmodifications, that it is scarce possible to regulate our\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_229\"\u003e229\u003c/span\u003econduct entirely by a regard to them. The common\r\nproverbial maxims of prudence, being founded in\r\nuniversal experience, are perhaps the best general\r\nrules which can be given about it. To affect, however,\r\na very strict and literal adherence to them would\r\nevidently be the most absurd and ridiculous pedantry.\r\nOf all the virtues I have just now mentioned,\r\ngratitude is that, perhaps, of which the rules are the\r\nmost precise, and admit of the fewest exceptions.\r\nThat as soon as we can we should make a return of\r\nequal, and if possible of superior value to the services\r\nwe have received, would seem to be a pretty\r\nplain rule, and one which admitted of scarce any exceptions.\r\nUpon the most superficial examination,\r\nhowever, this rule will appear to be in the highest\r\ndegree loose and inaccurate, and to admit of ten\r\nthousand exceptions. If your benefactor attended\r\nyou in your sickness, ought you to attend him in\r\nhis? or can you fulfil the obligation of gratitude,\r\nby making a return of a different kind? If you\r\nought to attend him, how long ought you to attend\r\nhim? The same time which he attended you, or\r\nlonger, and how much longer? If your friend lent\r\nyou money in your distress, ought you to lend him\r\nmoney in his? How much ought you to lend him?\r\nWhen ought you to lend him? Now, or to-morrow,\r\nor next month? And for how long a time? It is\r\nevident, that no general rule can be laid down, by\r\nwhich a precise answer can, in all cases, be given to\r\nany of these questions. The difference between his\r\ncharacter and yours, between his circumstances and\r\nyours, may be such, that you may be perfectly\r\ngrateful, and justly refuse to lend him a halfpenny:\r\nand, on the contrary, you may be willing to lend,\r\nor even to give him ten times the sum which he lent\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_230\"\u003e230\u003c/span\u003eyou, and yet justly be accused of the blackest ingratitude,\r\nand of not having fulfilled the hundredth\r\npart of the obligation you lie under. As the duties\r\nof gratitude, however, are perhaps the most sacred\r\nof all those which the beneficent virtues prescribe to\r\nus, so the general rules which determine them are,\r\nas I said before, the most accurate. Those which\r\nascertain the actions required by friendship, humanity,\r\nhospitality, generosity, are still more vague and\r\nindeterminate.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThere is, however, one virtue of which the general\r\nrules determine with the greatest exactness every\r\nexternal action which it requires. This virtue is\r\njustice. The rules of justice are accurate in the\r\nhighest degree, and admit of no exceptions or modifications,\r\nbut such as may be ascertained as accurately\r\nas the rules themselves, and which generally, indeed,\r\nflow from the very same principles with them.\r\nIf I owe a man ten pounds, justice requires that I\r\nshould precisely pay him ten pounds, either at the\r\ntime agreed upon, or when he demands it. What I\r\nought to perform, how much I ought to perform,\r\nwhen and where I ought to perform it, the whole\r\nnature and circumstances of the action prescribed,\r\nare all of them precisely fixt and determined. Though\r\nit may be awkward and pedantic, therefore, to affect\r\ntoo strict an adherence to the common rules of\r\nprudence or generosity, there is no pedantry in sticking\r\nfast by the rules of justice. On the contrary,\r\nthe most sacred regard is due to them; and the actions\r\nwhich this virtue requires are never so properly\r\nperformed, as when the chief motive for performing\r\nthem is a reverential and religious regard to those\r\ngeneral rules which require them. In the practice of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_231\"\u003e231\u003c/span\u003ethe other virtues, our conduct should rather be\r\ndirected by a certain idea of propriety, by a certain\r\ntaste for a particular tenour of conduct, than by any\r\nregard to a precise maxim or rule; and we should\r\nconsider the end and foundation of the rule, more\r\nthan the rule itself. But it is otherwise with regard\r\nto justice: the man who in that refines the least,\r\nand adheres with the most obstinate stedfastness, to\r\nthe general rules themselves, is the most commendable,\r\nand the most to be depended upon. Though\r\nthe end of the rules of justice be, to hinder us\r\nfrom hurting our neighbour, it may frequently be a\r\ncrime to violate them, though we could pretend,\r\nwith some pretext of reason, that this particular violation\r\ncould do no hurt. A man often becomes a\r\nvillain the moment he begins even in his own heart,\r\nto chicane in this manner. The moment he thinks\r\nof departing from the most staunch and positive adherence\r\nto what those inviolable precepts prescribe\r\nto him, he is no longer to be trusted, and no man\r\ncan say what degree of guilt he may not arrive at.\r\nThe thief imagines he does no evil, when he steals\r\nfrom the rich, what he supposes they may easily\r\nwant, and what possibly they may never even\r\nknow has been stolen from them. The adulterer\r\nimagines he does no evil, when he corrupts the\r\nwife of his friend, provided he covers his intrigue\r\nfrom the suspicion of the husband, and does not\r\ndisturb the peace of the family. When once we\r\nbegin to give way to such refinements, there is\r\nno enormity so gross of which we may not be capable.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe rules of justice may be compared to the rules\r\nof grammar; the rules of the other virtues to the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_232\"\u003e232\u003c/span\u003erules which critics lay down for the attainment of\r\nwhat is sublime and elegant in composition. The\r\none, are precise, accurate, and indispensable. The\r\nother, are loose, vague, and indeterminate, and\r\npresent us rather with a general idea of the perfection\r\nwe ought to aim at, than afford us any certain\r\nand infallible directions for acquiring it. A man\r\nmay learn to write grammatically by rule, with the\r\nmost absolute infallibility; and so, perhaps, he may\r\nbe taught to act justly. But there are no rules whose\r\nobservance will infallibly lead us to the attainment\r\nof elegance or sublimity in writing, though there are\r\nsome which may help us, in some measure, to correct\r\nand ascertain the vague ideas which we might\r\notherwise have entertained of those perfections: and\r\nthere are no rules by the knowledge of which we can\r\ninfallibly be taught to act upon all occasions with\r\nprudence, with just magnanimity, or proper beneficence.\r\nThough there are some which may enable\r\nus to correct and ascertain in several respects, the\r\nimperfect ideas which we might otherwise have entertained\r\nof those virtues.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt may sometimes happen, that with the most serious\r\nand earnest desire of acting so as to deserve approbation,\r\nwe may mistake the proper rules of conduct,\r\nand thus be misled by that very principle\r\nwhich ought to direct us. It is in vain to expect,\r\nthat in this case mankind should entirely approve of\r\nour behaviour. They cannot enter into that absurd\r\nidea of duty which influenced us, nor go along with\r\nany of the actions which follow from it. There is\r\nstill, however, something respectable in the character\r\nand behaviour of one who is thus betrayed into\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_233\"\u003e233\u003c/span\u003evice, by a wrong sense of duty, or by what is called\r\nan erroneous conscience. How fatally soever he\r\nmay be misled by it, he is still, with the generous\r\nand humane, more the object of commiseration than\r\nof hatred or resentment. They lament the weakness\r\nof human nature, which exposes us to such unhappy\r\ndelusions, even while we are most sincerely\r\nlabouring after perfection, and endeavouring to act\r\naccording to the best principle which can possibly\r\ndirect us. False notions of religion are almost the\r\nonly causes which can occasion any very gross perversion\r\nof our natural sentiments in this way; and\r\nthat principle which gives the greatest authority\r\nto the rules of duty, is alone capable of distorting\r\nour ideas of them in any considerable degree. In\r\nall other cases common sense is sufficient to direct\r\nus, if not to the most exquisite propriety of conduct,\r\nyet to something which is not very far from it; and\r\nprovided we are in earnest desirous to do well, our\r\nbehaviour will always, upon the whole, be praise-worthy.\r\nThat to obey the will of the Deity, is the\r\nfirst rule of duty, all men are agreed. But concerning\r\nthe particular commandments which that\r\nwill may impose upon us, they differ widely from\r\none another. In this, therefore, the greatest mutual\r\nforbearance and toleration is due; and though\r\nthe defence of society requires that crimes should be\r\npunished, from whatever motives they proceed, yet\r\na good man will always punish them with reluctance,\r\nwhen they evidently proceed from false notions of\r\nreligious duty. He will never feel against those\r\nwho commit them that indignation which he feels\r\nagainst other criminals, but will rather regret, and\r\nsometimes even admire their unfortunate firmness\r\nand magnanimity, at the very time that he punishes\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_234\"\u003e234\u003c/span\u003etheir crime. In the tragedy of Mahomet, one of the\r\nfinest of Mr. Voltaire’s, it is well represented, what\r\nought to be our sentiments for crimes which proceed\r\nfrom such motives. In that tragedy, two\r\nyoung people of different sexes, of the most innocent\r\nand virtuous dispositions, and without any\r\nother weakness except what endears them the more\r\nto us, a mutual fondness for one another, are instigated\r\nby the strongest motives of a false religion, to\r\ncommit a horrid murder, that shocks all the principles\r\nof human nature: a venerable old man, who\r\nhad expressed the most tender affection for them\r\nboth, for whom, notwithstanding he was the avowed\r\nenemy of their religion, they had both conceived the\r\nhighest reverence and esteem, and who was in reality\r\ntheir father, though they did not know him to be\r\nsuch, is pointed out to them as a sacrifice which God\r\nhad expressly required at their hands, and they are\r\ncommanded to kill him. While they are about\r\nexecuting this crime, they are tortured with all the\r\nagonies which can arise from the struggle between\r\nthe idea of the indispensableness of religious duty on\r\nthe one side, and compassion, gratitude, reverence\r\nfor the age, and love for the humanity and virtue of\r\nthe person whom they are going to destroy, on the\r\nother. The representation of this exhibits one of the\r\nmost interesting, and perhaps the most instructive\r\nspectacle that was ever introduced upon any theatre.\r\nThe sense of duty, however, at last prevails over\r\nall the amiable weaknesses of human nature. They\r\nexecute the crime imposed upon them; but immediately\r\ndiscover their error, and the fraud which had\r\ndeceived them, and are distracted with horror, remorse,\r\nand resentment. Such as are our sentiments\r\nfor the unhappy Seid and Palmira, such ought we\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_235\"\u003e235\u003c/span\u003eto feel for every person who is in this manner misled\r\nby religion, when we are sure that it is really religion\r\nwhich misleads him, and not the pretence of it,\r\nwhich is made a cover to some of the worst of human\r\npassions.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs a person may act wrong by following a wrong\r\nsense of duty, so nature may sometimes prevail, and\r\nlead him to act right in opposition to it. We cannot\r\nin this case be displeased to see that motive prevail,\r\nwhich we think ought to prevail, though the person\r\nhimself is so weak as to think otherwise. As his\r\nconduct, however, is the effect of weakness, not\r\nprinciple, we are far from bestowing upon it any\r\nthing that approaches to complete approbation. A\r\nbigotted Roman Catholic, who, during the massacre\r\nof St. Bartholomew, had been so overcome by\r\ncompassion, as to save some unhappy protestants,\r\nwhom he thought it his duty to destroy, would not\r\nseem to be entitled to that high applause which we\r\nshould have bestowed upon him, had he exerted the\r\nsame generosity with complete self-approbation.\r\nWe might be pleased with the humanity of his temper,\r\nbut we should still regard him with a sort of\r\npity which is altogether inconsistent with the admiration\r\nthat is due to perfect virtue. It is the same\r\ncase with all the other passions. We do not dislike\r\nto see them exert themselves properly, even when a\r\nfalse notion of duty would direct the person to restrain\r\nthem. A very devout Quaker, who upon being\r\nstruck upon one cheek, instead of turning up\r\nthe other, should so far forget his literal interpretation\r\nof our Saviour’s precept, as to bestow some\r\ngood discipline upon the brute that insulted him,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_236\"\u003e236\u003c/span\u003ewould not be disagreeable to us. We should laugh\r\nand be diverted with his spirit, and rather like him\r\nthe better for it. But we should by no means regard\r\nhim with that respect and esteem which would seem\r\ndue to one who, upon a like occasion, had acted\r\nproperly from a just sense of what was proper to be\r\ndone. No action can properly be called virtuous,\r\nwhich is not accompanied with the sentiment of self-approbation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"figcenter id001\"\u003e\r\n\u003cimg alt=\"\" class=\"ig001\" src=\"https://chrisdeasy.com/wp-content/uploads/gutenberg-theory-of-moral-sentiments-i-236.jpg\" id=\"img_images_i_236.jpg\"\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_237\"\u003e237\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch2 class=\"c004\"\u003ePART IV.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"large\"\u003eOf the \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eEffect\u003c/span\u003e of \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eUtility\u003c/span\u003e upon the sentiment of approbation.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center-c0\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center c002\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\u003cspan class=\"small\"\u003eCONSISTING OF ONE SECTION.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c008\"\u003eCHAP. I.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the beauty which the appearance of\u003c/em\u003e \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eUtility\u003c/span\u003e \u003cem\u003ebestows upon all the productions of art, and of the extensive influence of this species of beauty\u003c/em\u003e.\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eThat utility is one of the principal sources\r\nof beauty has been observed by every body, who\r\nhas considered with any attention what constitutes\r\nthe nature of beauty. The conveniency of a\r\nhouse gives pleasure to the spectator as well as its\r\nregularity, and he is as much hurt when he observes\r\nthe contrary defect, as when he sees the correspondent\r\nwindows of different forms, or the door not\r\nplaced exactly in the middle of the building. That\r\nthe fitness of any system or machine to produce the\r\nend for which it was intended, bestows a certain\r\npropriety and beauty upon the whole, and renders\r\nthe very thought and contemplation of it agreeable,\r\nis so very obvious that nobody has overlooked it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_238\"\u003e238\u003c/span\u003eThe cause too, why utility pleases, has of late\r\nbeen assigned by an ingenious and agreeable philosopher,\r\nwho joins the greatest depth of thought to\r\nthe greatest elegance of expression, and possesses the\r\nsingular and happy talent of treating the abstrusest\r\nsubjects not only with the most perfect perspicuity,\r\nbut with the most lively eloquence. The utility of\r\nany object, according to him, pleases the master by\r\nperpetually suggesting to him the pleasure or conveniency\r\nwhich it is fitted to promote. Every time he\r\nlooks at it, he is put in mind of this pleasure; and\r\nthe object in this manner becomes a source of perpetual\r\nsatisfaction and enjoyment. The spectator\r\nenters by sympathy into the sentiments of the master,\r\nand necessarily views the object under the same agreeable\r\naspect. When we visit the palaces of the great,\r\nwe cannot help conceiving the satisfaction we should\r\nenjoy if we ourselves were the masters, and were possessed\r\nof so much artful and ingeniously contrived\r\naccommodation. A similar account is given why\r\nthe appearance of inconveniency should render any\r\nobject disagreeable both to the owner and to the\r\nspectator.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut that this fitness, this happy contrivance of\r\nany production of art, should often be more valued,\r\nthan the very end for which it was intended; and\r\nthat the exact adjustment of the means for attaining\r\nany conveniency or pleasure, should frequently be\r\nmore regarded, than that very conveniency or pleasure,\r\nin the attainment of which their whole merit\r\nwould seem to consist, has not, so far as I know,\r\nbeen yet taken notice of by any body. That this\r\nhowever is very frequently the case, may be observed\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_239\"\u003e239\u003c/span\u003ein a thousand instances, both in the most frivolous\r\nand in the most important concerns of human life.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen a person comes into his chamber, and finds\r\nthe chairs all standing in the middle of the room, he\r\nis angry with his servant, and rather than see them\r\ncontinue in that disorder, perhaps takes the trouble\r\nhimself to set them all in their places with their backs\r\nto the wall. The whole propriety of this new situation\r\narises from its superior conveniency in leaving\r\nthe floor free and disengaged. To attain this conveniency\r\nhe voluntarily puts himself to more trouble\r\nthan all he could have suffered from the want of it;\r\nsince nothing was more easy, than to have set himself\r\ndown upon one of them, which is probably\r\nwhat he does when his labour is over. What he\r\nwanted therefore, it seems, was not so much this\r\nconveniency, as that arrangement of things which\r\npromotes it. Yet it is this conveniency which ultimately\r\nrecommends that arrangement, and bestows\r\nupon it the whole of its propriety and beauty.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eA watch, in the same manner, that falls behind\r\nabove two minutes in a day, is despised by one curious\r\nin watches. He sells it perhaps for a couple of\r\nguineas, and purchases another at fifty, which will\r\nnot lose above a minute in a fortnight. The sole\r\nuse of watches however, is to tell us what o’clock\r\nit is, and to hinder us from breaking any engagement,\r\nor suffering any other inconveniency by our\r\nignorance in that particular point. But the person\r\nso nice with regard to this machine, will not always\r\nbe found either more scrupulously punctual than\r\nother men, or more anxiously concerned upon any\r\nother account, to know precisely what time of day\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_240\"\u003e240\u003c/span\u003eit is. What interests him is not so much the attainment\r\nof this piece of knowledge, as the perfection\r\nof the machine which serves to attain it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eHow many people ruin themselves by laying out\r\nmoney on trinkets of frivolous utility? What\r\npleases these lovers of toys is not so much the utility,\r\nas the aptness of the machines which are fitted to\r\npromote it. All their pockets are fluffed with little\r\nconveniencies. They contrive new pockets, unknown\r\nin the clothes of other people, in order to\r\ncarry a greater number. They walk about loaded\r\nwith a multitude of baubles, in weight and sometimes\r\nin value not inferior to an ordinary Jew’s-box,\r\nsome of which may sometimes be of some little\r\nuse, but all of which might at all times be very well\r\nspared, and of which the whole utility is certainly not\r\nworth the fatigue of bearing the burden.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eNor is it only with regard to such frivolous objects\r\nthat our conduct is influenced by this principle;\r\nit is often the secret motive of the most serious\r\nand important pursuits of both private and public\r\nlife.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe poor man’s son, whom Heaven in its anger\r\nhas visited with ambition, when he begins to look\r\naround him admires the condition of the rich. He\r\nfinds the cottage of his father too small for his accommodation,\r\nand fancies he should be lodged more\r\nat his ease in a palace. He is displeased with being\r\nobliged to walk a-foot, or to endure the fatigue of\r\nriding on horseback. He sees his superiors carried\r\nabout in machines, and imagines that in one of\r\nthese he could travel with less inconveniency. He\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_241\"\u003e241\u003c/span\u003efeels himself naturally indolent, and willing to serve\r\nhimself with his own hands as little as possible; and\r\njudges, that a numerous retinue of servants would\r\nsave him from a great deal of trouble. He thinks\r\nif he had attained all these, he would sit still contentedly,\r\nand be quiet, enjoying himself in the\r\nthought of the happiness and tranquillity of his situation.\r\nHe is enchanted with the distant idea of this\r\nfelicity. It appears in his fancy like the life of some\r\nsuperior rank of beings, and in order to arrive at it,\r\nhe devotes himself for ever to the pursuit of wealth\r\nand greatness. To obtain the conveniencies which\r\nthese afford, he submits in the first year, nay in the\r\nfirst month of his application, to more fatigue of\r\nbody and more uneasiness of mind than he could\r\nhave suffered through the whole of his life from the\r\nwant of them. He studies to distinguish himself in\r\nsome laborious profession. With the most unrelenting\r\nindustry he labours night and day to acquire\r\ntalents superior to all his competitors. He endeavours\r\nnext to bring those talents into public view,\r\nand with equal assiduity solicits every opportunity of\r\nemployment. For this purpose he makes his court\r\nto all mankind, he serves those whom he hates, and\r\nis obsequious to those whom he despises. Through\r\nthe whole of his life he pursues the idea of a certain\r\nartificial and elegant repose which he may never arrive\r\nat, for which he sacrifices a real tranquillity\r\nthat is at all times in his power, and which, if in\r\nthe extremity of old age he should at last attain to\r\nit, he will find to be in no respect preferable to that\r\nhumble security and contentment which he had abandoned\r\nfor it. It is then, in the last dregs of life,\r\nhis body wailed with toil and diseases, his mind\r\ngalled and ruffled by the memory of a thousand\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_242\"\u003e242\u003c/span\u003einjuries and disappointments which he imagines\r\nhe has met with from the injustice of his enemies,\r\nor from the perfidy and ingratitude of his friends,\r\nthat he begins at last to find that wealth and greatness\r\nare mere trinkets of frivolous utility, no more\r\nadapted for procuring ease of body or tranquillity\r\nof mind than the tweezer-cases of the lover of toys;\r\nand like them too, more troublesome to the person\r\nwho carries them about with him than all the advantages\r\nthey can afford him are commodious.\r\nThere is no other real difference between them, except\r\nthat the conveniencies of the one are somewhat\r\nmore observable than those of the other. The palaces,\r\nthe gardens, the equipage, the retinue of the\r\ngreat are objects of which the obvious conveniency\r\nstrikes every body. They do not require that their\r\nmasters should point out to us wherein consists their\r\nutility. Of our own accord we readily enter into it,\r\nand by sympathy enjoy and thereby applaud the satisfaction\r\nwhich they are fitted to afford him. But\r\nthe curiosity of a tooth-pick, of an ear-picker, of a\r\nmachine for cutting the nails, or of any other trinket\r\nof the same kind, is not so obvious. Their convenience\r\nmay perhaps be equally great, but it is not so\r\nstriking, and we do not so readily enter into the satisfaction\r\nof the man who possesses them. They are\r\ntherefore less reasonable subjects of vanity than the\r\nmagnificence of wealth and greatness; and in this\r\nconsists the sole advantage of these last. They more\r\neffectually gratify that love of distinction so natural\r\nto man. To one who was to live alone in a desolate\r\nisland it might be a matter of doubt, perhaps, whether\r\na palace, or a collection of such small conveniencies\r\nas are commonly contained in a tweezer-case,\r\nwould contribute most to his happiness and enjoyment.\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_243\"\u003e243\u003c/span\u003eIf he is to live in society, indeed, there can\r\nbe no comparison, because in this, as in all other\r\ncases, we constantly pay more regard to the sentiments\r\nof the spectator, than to those of the person\r\nprincipally concerned, and consider rather how his\r\nsituation will appear to other people, than how it\r\nwill appear to himself. If we examine, however,\r\nwhy the spectator distinguishes with such admiration\r\nthe condition of the rich and the great, we shall find\r\nthat it is not so much upon account of the superior\r\nease or pleasure which they are supposed to enjoy, as\r\nof the numberless artificial and elegant contrivances\r\nfor promoting this ease or pleasure. He does not\r\neven imagine that they are really happier than other\r\npeople: but he imagines that they possess more\r\nmeans of happiness. And it is the ingenious and\r\nartful adjustment of those means to the end for\r\nwhich they were intended, that is the principal\r\nsource of his admiration. But in the languor of\r\ndisease, and the weariness of old age, the pleasures\r\nof the vain and empty distinctions of greatness disappear.\r\nTo one, in this situation, they are no\r\nlonger capable of recommending those toilsome pursuits\r\nin which they had formerly engaged him. In\r\nhis heart he curses ambition, and vainly regrets the\r\nease and the indolence of youth, pleasures which are\r\nfled for ever, and which he has foolishly sacrificed for\r\nwhat, when he has got it, can afford him no real\r\nsatisfaction. In this miserable aspect does greatness\r\nappear to every man when reduced either by spleen\r\nor disease to observe with attention his own situation,\r\nand to consider what it is that is really wanting to\r\nhis happiness. Power and riches appear then to be\r\nwhat they are, enormous and operose machines\r\ncontrived to produce a few trifling conveniencies to\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_244\"\u003e244\u003c/span\u003ethe body, consisting of springs the most nice and delicate,\r\nwhich must be kept in order with the most\r\nanxious attention, and which in spite of all our care\r\nare ready every moment to burst into pieces, and to\r\ncrush in their ruins their unfortunate possessor. They\r\nare immense fabrics, which it requires the labour of a\r\nlife to raise, which threaten every moment to overwhelm\r\nthe person that dwells in them, and which\r\nwhile they stand, though they may save him from some\r\nsmaller inconveniencies, can protect him from none\r\nof the severer inclemencies of the season. They keep\r\noff the summer shower, not the winter storm, but\r\nleave him always as much, and sometimes more exposed\r\nthan before, to anxiety, to fear, and to sorrow;\r\nto diseases, to danger, and to death.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut though this splenetic philosophy, which in\r\ntime of sickness or low spirits is familiar to every\r\nman, thus entirely depreciates those great objects of\r\nhuman desire, when in better health and in better\r\nhumour, we never fail to regard them under a\r\nmore agreeable aspect. Our imagination, which\r\nin pain and sorrow seems to be confined and\r\ncooped up within our own persons, in times of\r\nease and prosperity expands itself to every thing\r\naround us. We are then charmed with the beauty\r\nof that accommodation which reigns in the palaces\r\nand œconomy of the great; and admire how every\r\nthing is adapted to promote their ease, to prevent\r\ntheir wants, to gratify their wishes, and to amuse\r\nand entertain their most frivolous desires. If we\r\nconsider the real satisfaction which all these things\r\nare capable of affording, by itself and separated\r\nfrom the beauty of that arrangement which is fitted\r\nto promote it, it will always appear in the highest\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_245\"\u003e245\u003c/span\u003edegree contemptible and trifling. But we rarely\r\nview it in this abstract and philosophical light. We\r\nnaturally confound it in our imagination with the\r\norder, the regular and harmonious movement of the\r\nsystem, the machine or œconomy by means of which\r\nit is produced. The pleasures of wealth and greatness,\r\nwhen considered in this complex view, strike\r\nthe imagination as something grand and beautiful and\r\nnoble, of which the attainment is well worth all the\r\ntoil and anxiety which we are so apt to bestow\r\nupon it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAnd it is well that nature imposes upon us in this\r\nmanner. It is this deception which rouses and keeps\r\nin continual motion the industry of mankind. It is\r\nthis which first prompted them to cultivate the\r\nground, to build houses, to found cities and commonwealths,\r\nand to invent and improve all the\r\nsciences and arts, which ennoble and embellish human\r\nlife; which have entirely changed the whole\r\nface of the globe, have turned the rude forests of\r\nnature into agreeable and fertile plains, and made the\r\ntrackless and barren ocean a new fund of subsistence,\r\nand the great high road of communication to the\r\ndifferent nations of the earth. The earth by these\r\nlabours of mankind has been obliged to redouble her\r\nnatural fertility, and to maintain a greater multitude\r\nof inhabitants. It is to no purpose, that the proud\r\nand unfeeling landlord views his extensive fields,\r\nand without a thought for the wants of his brethren,\r\nin imagination consumes himself the whole harvest\r\nthat grows upon them. The homely and vulgar\r\nproverb, that the eye is larger than the belly, never\r\nwas more fully verified than with regard to him.\r\nThe capacity of his stomach bears no proportion to\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_246\"\u003e246\u003c/span\u003ethe immensity of his desires, and will receive no\r\nmore than that of the meanest peasant. The rest he\r\nis obliged to distribute among those, who prepare,\r\nin the nicest manner, that little which he himself\r\nmakes use of, among those who sit up the palace in\r\nwhich this little is to be consumed, among those\r\nwho provide and keep in order all the different baubles\r\nand trinkets, which are employed in the œconomy\r\nof greatness; all of whom thus derive from his\r\nluxury and caprice, that share of the necessaries of\r\nlife, which they would in vain have expected from\r\nhis humanity or his justice. The produce of the soil\r\nmaintains at all times nearly that number of inhabitants,\r\nwhich it is capable of maintaining. The rich\r\nonly select from the heap what is most precious and\r\nagreeable. They consume little more than the poor,\r\nand in spite of their natural selfishness and rapacity,\r\nthough they mean only their own conveniency,\r\nthough the sole end which they propose from the\r\nlabours of all the thousands whom they employ, be\r\nthe gratification of their own vain and insatiable desires,\r\nthey divide with the poor the produce of all\r\ntheir improvements. They are led by an invisible\r\nhand to make nearly the same distribution of the necessaries\r\nof life, which would have been made,\r\nhad the earth been divided into equal portions among\r\nall its inhabitants, and thus without intending it,\r\nwithout knowing it, advance the interest of the\r\nsociety, and afford means to the multiplication of\r\nthe species. When Providence divided the earth\r\namong a few lordly masters, it neither forgot nor\r\nabandoned those who seemed to have been left\r\nout in the partition. These last too enjoy their\r\nshare of all that it produces. In what constitutes\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_247\"\u003e247\u003c/span\u003ethe real happiness of human life, they are in no respect\r\ninferior to those who would seem so much above\r\nthem. In ease of body and peace of mind, all the\r\ndifferent ranks of life are nearly upon a level, and\r\nthe beggar, who suns himself by the side of the highway,\r\npossesses that security which kings are fighting\r\nfor.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe same principle, the same love of system, the\r\nsame regard to the beauty of order, of art and contrivance,\r\nfrequently serves to recommend those institutions,\r\nwhich tend to promote the public welfare.\r\nWhen a patriot exerts himself for the improvement\r\nof any part of the public police, his conduct does\r\nnot always arise from pure sympathy with the happiness\r\nof those who are to reap the benefit of it. It\r\nis not commonly from a fellow-feeling with carriers\r\nand waggoners that a public-spirited man encourages\r\nthe mending of high roads. When the legislature\r\nestablishes premiums and other encouragements to\r\nadvance the linen or woollen manufactures, its conduct\r\nseldom proceeds from pure sympathy with the\r\nwearer of cheap or fine cloth, and much less from\r\nthat with the manufacturer, or merchant. The perfection\r\nof police, the extension of trade and manufactures,\r\nare noble and magnificent objects. The\r\ncontemplation of them pleases us, and we are interested\r\nin whatever can tend to advance them. They\r\nmake part of the great system of government, and\r\nthe wheels of the political machine seem to move\r\nwith more harmony and ease by means of them.\r\nWe take pleasure in beholding the perfection of so\r\nbeautiful and grand a system, and we are uneasy till\r\nwe remove any obstruction that can in the least disturb\r\nor encumber the regularity of its motions. All\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_248\"\u003e248\u003c/span\u003econstitutions of government, however, are valued\r\nonly in proportion, as they tend to promote the happiness\r\nof those who live under them. This is their\r\nsole use and end. From a certain spirit of system,\r\nhowever, from a certain love of art and contrivance,\r\nwe sometimes seem to value the means more than the\r\nend, and to be eager to promote the happiness of\r\nour fellow-creatures, rather from a view to perfect\r\nand improve a certain beautiful and orderly system,\r\nthan from any immediate sense or feeling of what\r\nthey either suffer or enjoy. There have been men of\r\nthe greatest public spirit, who have shewn themselves\r\nin other respects not very sensible to the feelings of\r\nhumanity. And on the contrary, there have been\r\nmen of the greatest humanity, who seem to have\r\nbeen entirely devoid of public spirit. Every man\r\nmay find in the circle of his acquaintance instances\r\nboth of the one kind and the other. Who had ever\r\nless humanity, or more public spirit, than the celebrated\r\nlegislator of Muscovy? The social and well\r\nnatured James the First of Great Britain seems, on\r\nthe contrary, to have had scarce any passion, either\r\nfor the glory, or the interest of his country. Would\r\nyou awaken the industry of the man, who seems almost\r\ndead to ambition, it will often be to no purpose\r\nto describe to him the happiness of the rich and the\r\ngreat; to tell him that they are generally sheltered\r\nfrom the sun and the rain, that they are seldom hungry,\r\nthat they are seldom cold, and that they are rarely\r\nexposed to weariness, or to want of any kind.\r\nThe most eloquent exhortation of this kind will have\r\nlittle effect upon him. If you would hope to succeed,\r\nyou must describe to him the conveniency and\r\narrangement of the different apartments in their\r\npalaces, you must explain to him the propriety of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_249\"\u003e249\u003c/span\u003etheir equipages, and point out to him the number,\r\nthe order, and the different offices of all their attendants.\r\nIf any thing is capable of making impression\r\nupon him, this will. Yet all these things tend only\r\nto keep off the sun and the rain, to save them from\r\nhunger and cold, from want and weariness. In the\r\nsame manner, if you would implant public virtue in\r\nthe breast of him, who seems heedless of the interest\r\nof his country, it will often be to no purpose to tell\r\nhim, what superior advantages the subjects of a well-governed\r\nstate enjoy; that they are better lodged,\r\nthat they are better clothed, that they are better fed.\r\nThese considerations will commonly make no great\r\nimpression. You will be more likely to persuade,\r\nif you describe the great system of public police\r\nwhich procures these advantages, if you explain the\r\nconnexions and dependencies of its several parts,\r\ntheir mutual subordination to one another, and their\r\ngeneral subserviency to the happiness of the society;\r\nif you show how this system might be introduced into\r\nhis own country, what it is that hinders it from taking\r\nplace there at present, how those obstructions\r\nmight be removed, and all the several wheels of the\r\nmachine of government be made to move with more\r\nharmony and smoothness, without grating upon one\r\nanother, or mutually retarding one another’s motions.\r\nIt is scarce possible that a man should listen to\r\na discourse of this kind, and not feel himself animated\r\nto some degree of public spirit. He will, at\r\nleast for the moment, feel some desire to remove those\r\nobstructions, and to put into motion so beautiful and\r\nso orderly a machine. Nothing tends so much to\r\npromote public spirit as the study of politics, of the\r\nseveral systems of civil government, their advantages\r\nand disadvantages, of the constitution of our own\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_250\"\u003e250\u003c/span\u003ecountry, its situation, and interest with regard to\r\nforeign nations, its commerce, its defence, the disadvantages\r\nit labours under, the dangers to which it\r\nmay be exposed, how to remove the one, and how\r\nto guard against the other. Upon this account political\r\ndisquisitions, if just and reasonable, and practicable,\r\nare of all the works of speculation the most\r\nuseful. Even the weakest and the worst of them are not\r\naltogether without their utility. They serve at least\r\nto animate the public passions of men, and rouse them\r\nto seek out the means of promoting the happiness of\r\nthe society.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. II.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the beauty which the appearance of utility bestows upon the characters and actions of men; and how far the perception of this beauty may be regarded as one of the original principles of approbation.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eThe characters of men, as well as the contrivances\r\nof art, or the institutions of civil government,\r\nmay be fitted either to promote or to disturb\r\nthe happiness both of the individual and of the society.\r\nThe prudent, the equitable, the active, resolute,\r\nand sober character promises prosperity and\r\nsatisfaction, both to the person himself and to every\r\none connected with him. The rash, the insolent,\r\nthe slothful, effeminate, and voluptuous, on the\r\ncontrary, forebodes ruin to the individual, and misfortune\r\nto all who have any thing to do with him.\r\nThe first turn of mind has at least all the beauty\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_251\"\u003e251\u003c/span\u003ewhich can belong to the most perfect machine that\r\nwas ever invented for promoting the most agreeable\r\npurpose: and the second all the deformity of the\r\nmost awkward and clumsy contrivance. What institution\r\nof government could tend so much to promote\r\nthe happiness of mankind as the general prevalence\r\nof wisdom and virtue? All government is\r\nbut an imperfect remedy for the deficiency of these.\r\nWhatever beauty, therefore, can belong to civil government\r\nupon account of its utility, must in a far\r\nsuperior degree belong to these. On the contrary,\r\nwhat civil policy can be so ruinous and destructive as\r\nthe vices of men? The fatal effects of bad government\r\narise from nothing, but that it does not sufficiently\r\nguard against the mischiefs which human wickedness\r\ngives occasion to.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThis beauty and deformity which characters appear\r\nto derive from their usefulness or inconveniency,\r\nare apt to strike, in a peculiar manner, those who\r\nconsider, in an abstract and philosophical light, the\r\nactions and conduct of mankind. When a philosopher\r\ngoes to examine why humanity is approved of,\r\nor cruelty condemned, he does not always form to\r\nhimself, in a very clear and distinct manner, the conception\r\nof any one particular action either of cruelty\r\nor of humanity, but is commonly contented with the\r\nvague and indeterminate idea which the general\r\nnames of those qualities suggest to him. But it is in\r\nparticular instances only that the propriety or impropriety,\r\nthe merit or demerit of actions is very obvious\r\nand discernible. It is only when particular examples\r\nare given that we perceive distinctly either the\r\nconcord or disagreement between our own affections\r\nand those of the agent, or feel a social gratitude arise\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_252\"\u003e252\u003c/span\u003etowards him in the one case, or a sympathetic resentment\r\nin the other. When we consider virtue and\r\nvice in an abstract and general manner, the qualities\r\nby which they excite these several sentiments seem in\r\na great measure to disappear, and the sentiments\r\nthemselves become less obvious and discernible. On\r\nthe contrary, the happy effects of the one and the\r\nfatal consequences of the other seem then to rise up\r\nto the view, and as it were to stand out and distinguish\r\nthemselves from all the other qualities of\r\neither.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe same ingenious and agreeable author who\r\nfirst explained why utility pleases, has been so struck\r\nwith this view of things, as to resolve our whole approbation\r\nof virtue into a perception of this species\r\nof beauty which results from the appearance of utility.\r\nNo qualities of the mind, he observes, are approved\r\nof as virtuous, but such as are useful or\r\nagreeable either to the person himself or to others;\r\nand no qualities are disapproved of as vicious but\r\nsuch as have a contrary tendency. And Nature, indeed,\r\nseems to have so happily adjusted our sentiments\r\nof approbation and disapprobation, to the conveniency\r\nboth of the individual and of the society,\r\nthat after the strictest examination it will be found, I\r\nbelieve, that this is universally the case. But still I\r\naffirm, that it is not the view of this utility or hurtfulness\r\nwhich is either the first or principal source of\r\nour approbation and disapprobation. These sentiments\r\nare no doubt enhanced and enlivened by the\r\nperception of the beauty or deformity which results\r\nfrom this utility or hurtfulness. But still, I say,\r\nthey are originally and essentially different from this\r\nperception.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_253\"\u003e253\u003c/span\u003eFor first of all, it seems impossible that the approbation\r\nof virtue should be a sentiment of the same\r\nkind with that by which we approve of a convenient\r\nand well contrived building, or that we should have\r\nno other reason for praising a man than that for\r\nwhich we commend a chest of drawers.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAnd secondly, it will be found, upon examination,\r\nthat the usefulness of any disposition of mind is\r\nseldom the first ground of our approbation; and that\r\nthe sentiment of approbation always involves in it a\r\nsense of propriety quite distinct from the perception\r\nof utility. We may observe this with regard to all\r\nthe qualities which are approved of as virtuous, both\r\nthose which, according to this system, are originally\r\nvalued as useful to ourselves, as well as those which\r\nare esteemed on account of their usefulness to others.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe qualities most useful to ourselves are, first of\r\nall, superior reason and understanding, by which\r\nwe are capable of discerning the remote consequences\r\nof all our actions, and of foreseeing the advantage\r\nor detriment which is likely to result from\r\nthem: and secondly, self-command, by which we\r\nare enabled to abstain from present pleasure or to endure\r\npresent pain, in order to obtain a greater pleasure\r\nor to avoid a greater pain in some future time.\r\nIn the union of those two qualities consists the virtue\r\nof prudence, of all the virtues that which is most\r\nuseful to the individual.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWith regard to the first of those qualities, it has\r\nbeen observed on a former occasion, that superior\r\nreason and understanding are originally approved of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_254\"\u003e254\u003c/span\u003eas just and right and accurate, and not merely as\r\nuseful or advantageous. It is in the abstruser sciences,\r\nparticularly in the higher parts of mathematics, that\r\nthe greatest and most admired exertions of human\r\nreason have been displayed. But the utility of those\r\nsciences, either to the individual or to the public, is\r\nnot very obvious, and to prove it requires a discussion\r\nwhich is not always very easily comprehended.\r\nIt was not, therefore, their utility which first recommended\r\nthem to the public admiration. This quality\r\nwas but little insisted upon, till it became necessary\r\nto make some reply to the reproaches of those,\r\nwho, having themselves no taste for such sublime\r\ndiscoveries, endeavoured to depreciate them as useless.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThat self-command, in the same manner, by which\r\nwe restrain our present appetites, in order to gratify\r\nthem more fully upon another occasion, is approved\r\nof, as much under the aspect of propriety, as under\r\nthat of utility. When we act in this manner, the\r\nsentiments which influence our conduct seem exactly\r\nto coincide with those of the spectator. The spectator\r\ndoes not feel the felicitations of our present appetites.\r\nTo him the pleasure which we are to enjoy a\r\nweek hence, or a year hence, is just as interesting\r\nas that which we are to enjoy this moment. When\r\nfor the sake of the present, therefore, we sacrifice\r\nthe future, our conduct appears to him absurd and\r\nextravagant in the highest degree, and he cannot enter\r\ninto the principles which influence it. On the\r\ncontrary, when we abstain from present pleasure, in\r\norder to secure greater pleasure to come, when we\r\nact as if the remote object interests us as much as\r\nthat which immediately presses upon the senses, as\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_255\"\u003e255\u003c/span\u003eour affections exactly correspond with his own, he\r\ncannot fail to approve of our behaviour: and as he\r\nknows from experience, how few are capable of this\r\nself-command, he looks upon our conduct with a\r\nconsiderable degree of wonder and admiration.\r\nHence arises that eminent esteem with which all\r\nmen naturally regard a steady perseverance in the\r\npractice of frugality, industry, and application,\r\nthough directed to no other purpose than the acquisition\r\nof fortune. The resolute firmness of the person\r\nwho acts in this manner, and in order to obtain\r\na great though remote advantage, not only gives up\r\nall present pleasures, but endures the greatest labour\r\nboth of mind and body, necessarily commands our\r\napprobation. That view of his interest and happiness\r\nwhich appears to regulate his conduct, exactly\r\ntallies with the idea which we naturally form of it.\r\nThere is the most perfect correspondence between his\r\nsentiments and our own, and at the same time, from\r\nour experience of the common weakness of human\r\nnature, it is a correspondence which we could not\r\nreasonably have expected. We not only approve,\r\ntherefore, but in some measure admire his conduct,\r\nand think it worthy of a considerable degree of applause.\r\nIt is the consciousness of this merited approbation\r\nand esteem which is alone capable of supporting\r\nthe agent in this tenour of conduct. The pleasure\r\nwhich we are to enjoy ten years hence interests\r\nus so little in comparison with that which we may\r\nenjoy to-day, the passion which the first excites, is\r\nnaturally so weak in comparison with that violent\r\nemotion which the second is apt to give occasion to,\r\nthat one could never be any balance to the other, unless\r\nit was supported by the sense of propriety, by\r\nthe consciousness that we merited the esteem and\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_256\"\u003e256\u003c/span\u003eapprobation of every body, by acting in the one\r\nway, and that we became the proper objects of their\r\ncontempt and derision by behaving in the other.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eHumanity, justice, generosity, and public spirit,\r\nare the qualities most useful to others. Wherein\r\nconsists the propriety of humanity and justice has\r\nbeen explained upon a former occasion, where it\r\nwas shewn how much our esteem and approbation of\r\nthose qualities depended upon the concord between\r\nthe affections of the agent and those of the spectators.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe propriety of generosity and public spirit is\r\nfounded upon the same principle with that of justice.\r\nGenerosity is different from humanity. Those two\r\nqualities, which at first sight seem so nearly allied,\r\ndo not always belong to the same person. Humanity\r\nis the virtue of a woman, generosity of a man.\r\nThe fair sex, who have commonly much more tenderness\r\nthan ours, have seldom so much generosity.\r\nThat women rarely make considerable donations is\r\nan observation of the civil law\u003ca id=\"r7\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f7\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[7]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e. Humanity consists\r\nmerely in the exquisite fellow-feeling which the spectator\r\nentertains with the sentiments of the persons\r\nprincipally concerned, so as to grieve for their sufferings,\r\nto resent their injuries, and to rejoice at\r\ntheir good fortune. The most humane actions require\r\nno self-denial, no self-command, no great exertion\r\nof the sense of propriety. They consist only\r\nin doing what this exquisite sympathy would of its\r\nown accord prompt us to do. But it is otherwise\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_257\"\u003e257\u003c/span\u003ewith generosity. We never are generous except\r\nwhen in some respect we prefer some other person to\r\nourselves, and sacrifice some great and important interest\r\nof our own to an equal interest of a friend or of\r\na superior. The man who gives up his pretensions\r\nto an office that was the great object of his ambition,\r\nbecause he imagines that the services of another are\r\nbetter entitled to it, the man who exposes his life to\r\ndefend that of his friend, which he judges to be of\r\nmore importance, neither of them act from humanity,\r\nor because they feel more exquisitely what concerns\r\nthat other person than what concerns themselves.\r\nThey both consider those opposite interests not in the\r\nlight in which they naturally appear to themselves,\r\nbut in that in which they appear to others. To every\r\nby-stander, the success or preservation of this other\r\nperson may justly be more interesting than their own;\r\nbut it cannot be so to themselves. When to the interest\r\nof this other person, therefore, they sacrifice\r\ntheir own, they accommodate themselves to the sentiments\r\nof the spectator, and by an effort of magnanimity\r\nact according to those views of things which\r\nthey feel, must naturally occur to any third person.\r\nThe soldier who throws away his life in order to defend\r\nthat of his officer, would perhaps be but little\r\naffected by the death of that officer, if it should\r\nhappen without any fault of his own; and a very\r\nsmall disaster which had befallen himself might excite\r\na much more lively sorrow. But when he endeavours\r\nto act so as to deserve applause, and to\r\nmake the impartial spectator enter into the principles\r\nof his conduct, he feels, that to every body but\r\nhimself, his own life is a trifle compared with that of\r\nhis officer, and that when he sacrifices the one to the\r\nother, he acts quite properly and agreeably to what\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_258\"\u003e258\u003c/span\u003ewould be the natural apprehensions of every impartial\r\nby-stander.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f7\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r7\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e7\u003c/a\u003e. \u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eRaro mulieres donare solent.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is the same case with the greater exertions of\r\npublic spirit. When a young officer exposes his life\r\nto acquire some inconsiderable addition to the dominions\r\nof his sovereign, it is not, because the acquisition\r\nof the new territory is, to himself, an object\r\nmore desireable than the preservation of his own\r\nlife. To him his own life is of infinitely more value\r\nthan the conquest of a whole kingdom for the\r\nstate which he serves. But when he compares those\r\ntwo objects with one another, he does not view them\r\nin the light in which they naturally appear to himself,\r\nbut in that in which they appear to the nation\r\nhe fights for. To them the success of the war\r\nis of the highest importance; the life of a private\r\nperson of scarce any consequence. When he\r\nputs himself in their situation, he immediately feels\r\nthat he cannot be too prodigal of his blood, if by\r\nshedding it, he can promote so valuable a purpose.\r\nIn thus thwarting, from a sense of duty and propriety,\r\nthe strongest of all natural propensities, consists\r\nthe heroism of his conduct. There is many an honest\r\nEnglishman, who, in his private station, would\r\nbe more seriously disturbed by the loss of a guinea,\r\nthan by the national loss of Minorca, who yet, had\r\nit been in his power to defend that fortress, would\r\nhave sacrificed his life a thousand times rather than,\r\nthrough his fault, have let it fall into the hands of\r\nthe enemy. When the first Brutus led forth his\r\nown sons to a capital punishment, because they had\r\nconspired against the rising liberty of Rome, he sacrificed\r\nwhat, if he had consulted his own breast\r\nonly, would appear to be the stronger to the weaker\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_259\"\u003e259\u003c/span\u003eaffection. Brutus ought naturally to have felt much\r\nmore for the death of his own sons, than for all that\r\nprobably Rome could have suffered from the want of\r\nso great an example. But he viewed them, not with\r\nthe eyes of a father, but with those of a Roman citizen.\r\nHe entered so thoroughly into the sentiments of this\r\nlast character, that he paid no regard to that tye,\r\nby which he himself was connected with them; and\r\nto a Roman citizen, the sons even of Brutus seemed\r\ncontemptible, when put into the balance with the\r\nsmallest interest of Rome. In these and in all other\r\ncases of this kind, our admiration is not so much\r\nfounded upon the utility, as upon the unexpected,\r\nand on that account the great, the noble, and exalted\r\npropriety of such actions. This utility, when we\r\ncome to view it, bestows upon them, undoubtedly,\r\na new beauty, and upon that account still further\r\nrecommends them, to our approbation. This beauty,\r\nhowever, is chiefly perceived by men of reflection\r\nand speculation, and is by no means the quality\r\nwhich first recommends such actions to the natural\r\nsentiments of the bulk of mankind.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is to be observed, that so far as the sentiment\r\nof approbation arises from the perception of this\r\nbeauty of utility, it has no reference of any kind to\r\nthe sentiments of others. If it was possible, therefore,\r\nthat a person should grow up to manhood without\r\nany communication with society, his own actions\r\nmight, notwithstanding, be agreeable or disagreeable\r\nto him on account of their tendency to his happiness\r\nor disadvantage. He might perceive a beauty of\r\nthis kind in prudence, temperance, and good conduct,\r\nand a deformity in the opposite behaviour:\r\nHe might view his own temper and character with\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_260\"\u003e260\u003c/span\u003ethat sort of satisfaction with which we consider a well\r\ncontrived machine, in the one case; or with that\r\nsort of distaste and dissatisfaction with which we regard\r\na very awkward and clumsy contrivance, in the\r\nother. As these perceptions, however, are merely a\r\nmatter of taste, and have all the feebleness and delicacy\r\nof that species of perceptions, upon the justness\r\nof which what is properly called taste is founded,\r\nthey probably would not be much attended to by one\r\nin his solitary and miserable condition. Even though\r\nthey should occur to him, they would by no means have\r\nthe same effect upon him, antecedent to his connexion\r\nwith society, which they would have in consequence\r\nof that connexion. He would not be cast\r\ndown with inward shame at the thought of this deformity;\r\nnor would he be elevated with secret triumph\r\nof mind from the consciousness of the contrary\r\nbeauty. He would not exult from the notion of deserving\r\nreward in the one case, nor tremble from the\r\nsuspicion of meriting punishment in the other. All\r\nsuch sentiments suppose the idea of some other being,\r\nwho is the natural judge of the person that feels\r\nthem; and it is only by sympathy with the decisions\r\nof this arbiter of his conduct, that he can conceive,\r\neither the triumph of self-applause, or the shame of\r\nself-condemnation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_261\"\u003e261\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch2 class=\"c004\"\u003ePART V.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"large\"\u003eOf the \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eInfluence\u003c/span\u003e of \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eCustom\u003c/span\u003e and \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eFashion\u003c/span\u003e upon the sentiments of moral approbation and disapprobation.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center-c0\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center c002\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003eCONSISTING OF ONE SECTION.\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c008\"\u003eCHAP. I.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the influence of custom and fashion upon our notions of beauty and deformity.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eThere are other principles besides those already\r\nenumerated, which have a considerable influence\r\nupon the moral sentiments of mankind, and are\r\nthe chief causes of the many irregular and discordant\r\nopinions which prevail in different ages and nations\r\nconcerning what is blameable or praise-worthy.\r\nThese principles are custom and faction, principles\r\nwhich extend their dominion over our judgments\r\nconcerning beauty of every kind.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen two objects have frequently been seen together,\r\nthe imagination acquires a habit of passing\r\neasily from the one to the other. If the first appear,\r\nwe lay our account that the second is to follow. Of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_262\"\u003e262\u003c/span\u003etheir own accord they put us in mind of one another,\r\nand the attention glides easily along them. Though,\r\nindependent of custom, there should be no real\r\nbeauty in their union, yet when custom has thus\r\nconnected them together, we feel an impropriety in\r\ntheir reparation. The one we think is awkward\r\nwhen it appears without its usual companion. We\r\nmiss something which we expected to find, and the\r\nhabitual arrangement of our ideas is disturbed by\r\nthe disappointment. A suit of clothes, for example,\r\nseems to want something if they are without the most\r\ninsignificant ornament which usually accompanies\r\nthem, and we find a meanness or awkwardness in the\r\nabsence even of a haunch button. When there is\r\nany natural propriety in the union, custom increases\r\nour sense of it, and makes a different arrangement\r\nappear still more disagreeable than it would otherwise\r\nseem to be. Those who have been accustomed to\r\nsee things in a good taste, are more disgusted by\r\nwhatever is clumsy or awkward. Where the conjunction\r\nis improper, custom either diminishes, or\r\ntakes away altogether, our sense of the impropriety.\r\nThose who have been accustomed to slovenly disorder\r\nlose all sense of neatness or elegance. The modes of\r\nfurniture or dress which seem ridiculous to strangers,\r\ngive no offence to the people who are used to them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eFashion is different from custom, or rather is a\r\nparticular species of it. That is not the fashion which\r\nevery body wears, but which those wear who are of\r\na high rank, or character. The graceful, the easy,\r\nand commanding manners of the great, joined to the\r\nusual richness and magnificence of their dress, give\r\na grace to the very form which they happen to bestow\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_263\"\u003e263\u003c/span\u003eupon it. As long as they continue to use this form,\r\nit is connected in our imaginations with the idea of\r\nsomething that is genteel and magnificent, and though\r\nin itself it should be indifferent, it seems, on account\r\nof this relation, to have something about it that is\r\ngenteel and magnificent too. As soon as they drop\r\nit, it loses all the grace, which it had appeared to possess\r\nbefore, and being now used only by the inferior\r\nranks of people, seems to have something of their\r\nmeanness and awkwardness.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eDress and furniture are allowed by all the world\r\nto be entirely under the dominion of custom and\r\nfashion. The influence of those principles, however,\r\nis by no means confined to so narrow a sphere, but\r\nextends itself to whatever is in any respect the object\r\nof taste, to music, to poetry, to architecture. The\r\nmodes of dress and furniture are continually changing,\r\nand that fashion appearing ridiculous to-day\r\nwhich was admired five years ago, we are experimentally\r\nconvinced that it owed its vogue chiefly or\r\nentirely to custom and fashion. Clothes and furniture\r\nare not made of very durable materials. A well\r\nfancied coat is done in a twelve-month, and cannot\r\ncontinue longer to propagate, as the fashion, that\r\nform according to which it was made. The modes\r\nof furniture change less rapidly than those of dress;\r\nbecause furniture is commonly more durable. In\r\nfive or six years, however, it generally undergoes an\r\nentire revolution, and every man in his own time sees\r\nthe fashion in this respect change many different ways.\r\nThe productions of the other arts are much more lasting,\r\nand, when happily imagined, may continue to\r\npropagate the fashion of their make for a much longer\r\ntime. A well contrived building may endure many\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_264\"\u003e264\u003c/span\u003ecenturies: a beautiful air may be delivered down by\r\na sort of tradition, through many successive generations:\r\na well written poem may last as long as the\r\nworld; and all of them continue for ages together,\r\nto give the vogue to that particular style, to that particular\r\ntaste or manner, according to which each of\r\nthem was composed. Few men have an opportunity\r\nof seeing in their own times the fashion in any of\r\nthese arts change very considerably. Few men have\r\nso much experience and acquaintance with the different\r\nmodes which have obtained in remote ages and\r\nnations, as to be thoroughly reconciled to them, or to\r\njudge with impartiality between them, and what takes\r\nplace in their own age and country. Few men therefore\r\nare willing to allow that custom or fashion have\r\nmuch influence upon their judgments concerning\r\nwhat is beautiful, or otherwise, in the productions\r\nof any of those arts; but imagine, that all the rules,\r\nwhich they think ought to be observed in each of\r\nthem, are founded upon reason and nature, not upon\r\nhabit or prejudice. A very little attention, however,\r\nmay convince them of the contrary, and satisfy them,\r\nthat the influence of custom and fashion over dress\r\nand furniture, is not more absolute than over architecture,\r\npoetry, and music.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eCan any reason, for example, be assigned why the\r\nDoric capital should be appropriated to a pillar,\r\nwhose height is equal to eight diameters; the Ionic\r\nvolute to one of nine; and the Corinthian foliage to\r\none of ten? The propriety of each of those appropriations\r\ncan be founded upon nothing but habit and\r\ncustom. The eye having been used to see a particular\r\nproportion connected with a particular ornament,\r\nwould be offended if they were not joined together.\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_265\"\u003e265\u003c/span\u003eEach of the five orders has its peculiar ornaments,\r\nwhich cannot be changed for any other, without\r\ngiving offence to all those who know any thing of\r\nthe rules of architecture. According to some architects,\r\nindeed, such is the exquisite judgment with\r\nwhich the ancients have assigned to each order its proper\r\nornaments, that no others can be found which\r\nare equally suitable. It seems, however, a little difficult\r\nto be conceived that these forms, though, no\r\ndoubt, extremely agreeable, should be the only forms\r\nwhich can suit those proportions, or that there should\r\nnot be five hundred others which, antecedent to\r\nestablished custom, would have fitted them equally\r\nwell. When custom, however, has established particular\r\nrules of building, provided they are not absolutely\r\nunreasonable, it is absurd to think of altering\r\nthem for others which are only equally good, or\r\neven for others which, in point of elegance and\r\nbeauty, have naturally some little advantage over\r\nthem. A man would be ridiculous who should appear\r\nin public with a suit of clothes quite different\r\nfrom those which are commonly worn, though the\r\nnew dress should in itself be ever so graceful or convenient.\r\nAnd there seems to be an absurdity of the\r\nsame kind in ornamenting a house after a quite different\r\nmanner from that which custom and fashion\r\nhave prescribed; though the new ornaments should\r\nin themselves be somewhat superior to the common\r\nones.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAccording to the ancient rhetoricians, a certain\r\nmeasure or verse was by nature appropriated to each\r\nparticular species of writing, as being naturally expressive\r\nof that character, sentiment, or passion,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_266\"\u003e266\u003c/span\u003ewhich ought to predominate in it. One verse, they\r\nsaid, was fit for grave and another for gay works,\r\nwhich could not, they thought, be interchanged\r\nwithout the greatest impropriety. The experience\r\nof modern times, however, seems to contradict this\r\nprinciple, though in itself it would appear to be\r\nextremely probable. What is the burlesque verse in\r\nEnglish is the heroic verse in French. The tragedies\r\nof Racine and the Henriad of Voltaire, are in\r\nthe same verse with,\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"lg-container-b c014\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"linegroup\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"group\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"line\"\u003e\u003cem\u003eThus said to my lady the knight full of care.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c015\"\u003eThe burlesque verse in French, on the contrary, is\r\npretty much the same with the heroic verse of ten\r\nsyllables in English. Custom has made the one nation\r\nassociate the ideas of gravity, sublimity, and\r\nseriousness, to that measure which the other has\r\nconnected with whatever is gay, flippant, and ludicrous.\r\nNothing would appear more absurd in English\r\nthan a tragedy written in the Alexandrine verses\r\nof the French, or in French, than a work of the\r\nsame kind in verses of ten syllables.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAn eminent artist will bring about a considerable\r\nchange in the established modes of each of those arts,\r\nand introduce a new fashion of writing, music, or\r\narchitecture. As the dress of an agreeable man of\r\nhigh rank recommends itself, and how peculiar and\r\nfantastical soever, comes soon to be admired and\r\nimitated; so the excellencies of an eminent matter\r\nrecommend his peculiarities, and his manner becomes\r\nthe fashionable style in the art which he practises.\r\nThe taste of the Italians in music and architecture,\r\nhas, within these fifty years, undergone a considerable\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_267\"\u003e267\u003c/span\u003echange, from imitating the peculiarities of some\r\neminent masters in each of those arts. Seneca is accused\r\nby Quintilian of having corrupted the taste of\r\nthe Romans, and of having introduced a frivolous\r\nprettiness in the room of majestic reason and masculine\r\neloquence. Sallust and Tacitus have by others\r\nbeen charged with the same accusation, tho’ in a different\r\nmanner. They gave reputation, it is pretended,\r\nto a style, which though in the highest degree\r\nconcise, elegant, expressive, and even poetical,\r\nwanted, however, ease, simplicity, and nature, and\r\nwas evidently the production of the most laboured\r\nand studied affectation. How many great qualities\r\nmust that writer possess who can thus render his very\r\nfaults agreeable? After the praise of refining the\r\ntaste of a nation, the highest eulogy, perhaps, which\r\ncan be bestowed upon any author is to say, that he\r\ncorrupted it. In our own language, Mr. Pope and\r\nDr. Swift have each of them introduced a manner\r\ndifferent from what was practised before, into all\r\nworks that are written in rhyme, the one in long\r\nverses, the other in short. The quaintness of Butler\r\nhas given place to the plainness of Swift. The\r\nrambling freedom of Dryden, and the correct but\r\noften tedious and prosaic languor of Addison, are no\r\nlonger the objects of imitation, but all long verses\r\nare now written after the manner of the nervous precision\r\nof Mr. Pope.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eNeither is it only over the productions of the arts,\r\nthat custom and fashion exert their dominion. They\r\ninfluence our judgments, in the same manner, with\r\nregard to the beauty of natural objects. What various\r\nand opposite forms are deemed beautiful in different\r\nspecies of things? The proportions which are\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_268\"\u003e268\u003c/span\u003eadmired in one animal, are altogether different from\r\nthose which are esteemed in another. Every class of\r\nthings has its own peculiar conformation, which is\r\napproved of, and has a beauty of its own, distinct\r\nfrom that of every other species. It is upon this\r\naccount that a learned Jesuit, father Buffier, has\r\ndetermined that the beauty of every object consists in\r\nthat form and colour, which is most usual among\r\nthings of that particular sort to which it belongs.\r\nThus, in the human form, the beauty of each\r\nfeature lies in a certain middle equally removed\r\nfrom a variety of other forms that are ugly.\r\nA beautiful nose, for example, is one that is neither\r\nvery long, nor very short, neither very straight, nor\r\nvery crooked, but a sort of middle among all these\r\nextremes, and less different from any one of them,\r\nthan all of them are from one another. It is the\r\nform which Nature seems to have aimed at in them\r\nall, which, however, she deviates from in a great\r\nvariety of ways, and very seldom hits exactly; but\r\nto which all those deviations still bear a very strong\r\nresemblance. When a number of drawings are\r\nmade after one pattern, though they may all miss it\r\nin some respects, yet they will all resemble it more\r\nthan they resemble one another; the general character\r\nof the pattern will run through them all; the most\r\nsingular and odd will be those which are most wide\r\nof it; and though very few will copy it exactly, yet\r\nthe most accurate delineations will bear a greater resemblance\r\nto the most careless, than the careless\r\nones will bear to one another. In the same manner,\r\nin each species of creatures, what is most beautiful\r\nbears the strongest characters of the general fabric of\r\nthe species, and has the strongest resemblance to the\r\ngreater part of the individuals with which it is\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_269\"\u003e269\u003c/span\u003eclassed. Monsters, on the contrary, or what is perfectly\r\ndeformed, are always most singular and odd,\r\nand have the least resemblance to the generality of\r\nthat species to which they belong. And thus the\r\nbeauty of each species, though in one sense the rarest\r\nof all things, because few individuals hit this middle\r\nform exactly, yet in another, is the most common,\r\nbecause all the deviations from it resemble it more\r\nthan they resemble one another. The most customary\r\nform, therefore, is in each species of things,\r\naccording to him, the most beautiful. And hence it\r\nis that a certain practice and experience in contemplating\r\neach species of objects is requisite, before\r\nwe can judge of its beauty, or know wherein the\r\nmiddle and most usual form consists. The nicest\r\njudgment concerning the beauty of the human species,\r\nwill not help us to judge of that of flowers, or\r\nhorses, or any other species of things. It is for the same\r\nreason that in different climates and where different\r\ncustoms and ways of living take place, as the generality\r\nof any species receives a different conformation\r\nfrom those circumstances, so different ideas of its\r\nbeauty prevail. The beauty of a Moorish is not exactly\r\nthe same with that of an English horse. What\r\ndifferent ideas are formed in different nations concerning\r\nthe beauty of the human shape and countenance?\r\nA fair complexion is a shocking deformity\r\nupon the coast of Guinea. Thick lips and a flat\r\nnose are a beauty. In some nations long ears that hang\r\ndown upon the shoulders are the objects of universal\r\nadmiration. In China if a lady’s foot is so large\r\nas to be fit to walk upon, she is regarded as a monster\r\nof ugliness. Some of the savage nations in\r\nNorth America tie four boards round the heads of\r\ntheir children, and thus squeeze them, while the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_270\"\u003e270\u003c/span\u003ebones are tender and gristly, into a form that is almost\r\nperfectly square. Europeans are astonished at\r\nthe absurd barbarity of this practice, to which some\r\nmissionaries have imputed the singular stupidity of\r\nthose nations among whom it prevails. But, when\r\nthey condemn those savages, they do not reflect\r\nthat the ladies in Europe had, till within these very\r\nfew years, been endeavouring, for near a century\r\npast, to squeeze the beautiful roundness of their natural\r\nshape into a square form of the same kind.\r\nAnd that notwithstanding the many distortions and\r\ndiseases which this practice was known to occasion,\r\ncustom had rendered it agreeable among some of the\r\nmost civilized nations, which, perhaps, the world\r\never beheld.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSuch is the system of this learned and ingenious\r\nfather, concerning the nature of beauty; of which\r\nthe whole charm, according to him, would thus\r\nseem to arise from its falling in with the habits which\r\ncustom had impressed upon the imagination, with\r\nregard to things of each particular kind. I cannot,\r\nhowever, be induced to believe that our sense even\r\nof external beauty is founded altogether on custom.\r\nThe utility of any form, its fitness for the useful\r\npurposes for which it was intended, evidently recommends\r\nit, and renders it agreeable to us independent\r\nof custom. Certain colours are more agreeable\r\nthan others, and give more delight to the eye\r\nthe first time it ever beholds them. A smooth surface\r\nis more agreeable than a rough one. Variety is\r\nmore pleasing than a tedious undiversified uniformity.\r\nConnected variety, in which each new appearance\r\nseems to be introduced by what went before it, and in\r\nwhich all the adjoining parts seem to have some natural\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_271\"\u003e271\u003c/span\u003erelation to one another, is more agreeable than\r\na disjointed and disorderly assemblage of unconnected\r\nobjects. But though I cannot admit that custom\r\nis the sole principle of beauty, yet I can so far allow\r\nthe truth of this ingenious system as to grant, that\r\nthere is scarce any one external form so beautiful as\r\nto please, if quite contrary to custom and unlike\r\nwhatever we have been used to in that particular species\r\nof things: or so deformed as not to be agreeable,\r\nif custom uniformly supports it, and habituates us\r\nto see it in every single individual of the kind.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. II.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf the influence of custom and fashion upon moral sentiments.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eSince our sentiments concerning beauty of\r\nevery kind are so much influenced by custom and\r\nfashion, it cannot be expected, that those, concerning\r\nthe beauty, of conduct, should be entirely exempted\r\nfrom the dominion of those principles. Their\r\ninfluence here, however, seems to be much less than\r\nit is every where else. There is, perhaps, no form\r\nof external objects, how absurd and fantastical soever,\r\nto which custom will not reconcile us, or\r\nwhich fashion will not render even agreeable. But\r\nthe characters and conduct of a Nero, or a Claudius,\r\nare what no custom will ever reconcile us to, what\r\nno fashion will ever render agreeable; but the one\r\nwill always be the object of dread and hatred; the\r\nother of scorn and derision. The principles of the\r\nimagination, upon which our sense of beauty depends,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_272\"\u003e272\u003c/span\u003eare of a very nice and delicate nature, and\r\nmay easily be altered by habit and education: but\r\nthe sentiments of moral approbation and disapprobation,\r\nare founded on the strongest and most vigorous\r\npassions of human nature; and though they\r\nmay be somewhat warpt, cannot be entirely perverted.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut though the influence of custom and fashion,\r\nupon moral sentiments, is not altogether so great,\r\nit is however perfectly similar to what it is every\r\nwhere else. When custom and fashion coincide\r\nwith the natural principles of right and wrong, they\r\nheighten the delicacy of our sentiments, and increase\r\nour abhorrence for every thing which approaches to\r\nevil. Those who have been educated in what is\r\nreally good company, not in what is commonly\r\ncalled such, who have been accustomed to see nothing\r\nin the persons whom they esteemed and lived\r\nwith, but justice, modesty, humanity, and good\r\norder, are more shocked with whatever seems to be\r\ninconsistent with the rules which those virtues prescribe.\r\nThose, on the contrary, who have had the\r\nmisfortune to be brought up amidst violence, licentiousness,\r\nfalsehood, and injustice, lose, though not\r\nall sense of the impropriety of such conduct, yet all\r\nsense of its dreadful enormity, or of the vengeance\r\nand punishment due to it. They have been familiarized\r\nwith it from their infancy, custom has rendered\r\nit habitual to them, and they are very apt to\r\nregard it as, what is called the way of the world,\r\nsomething which either may, or must be practised,\r\nto hinder us from being the dupes of our\r\nown integrity.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_273\"\u003e273\u003c/span\u003eFashion too will sometimes give reputation to a\r\ncertain degree of disorder, and on the contrary discountenance\r\nqualities which deserve esteem. In the\r\nreign of Charles II. a degree of licentiousness was\r\ndeemed the characteristic of a liberal education. It\r\nwas connected, according to the notions of those\r\ntimes, with generosity, sincerity, magnanimity, loyalty,\r\nand proved that the person who acted in this\r\nmanner, was a gentleman, and not a puritan; severity\r\nof manners, and regularity of conduct, on\r\nthe other hand, were altogether unfashionable, and\r\nwere connected, in the imagination of that age, with\r\ncant, cunning, hypocrisy, and low manners. To\r\nsuperficial minds, the vices of the great seem at all\r\ntimes agreeable. They connect them, not only with\r\nthe splendour of fortune, but with many superiour\r\nvirtues, which they ascribe to their superiors; with\r\nthe spirit of freedom and independency, with frankness,\r\ngenerosity, humanity, and politeness. The\r\nvirtues of the inferior ranks of people, on the contrary,\r\ntheir parsimonious frugality, their painful industry,\r\nand rigid adherence to rules, seem to them\r\nmean and disagreeable. They connect them, both\r\nwith the meanness of the station to which those qualities\r\ncommonly belong, and with many great vices,\r\nwhich, they suppose, usually accompany them; such\r\nas an abject, cowardly, ill-natured, lying, pilfering\r\ndisposition.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe objects with which men in the different professions\r\nand states of life are conversant, being very\r\ndifferent, and habituating them to very different passions,\r\nnaturally form in them very different characters\r\nand manners. We expect in each rank and procession,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_274\"\u003e274\u003c/span\u003ea degree of those manners, which, experience\r\nhas taught us, belong to it. But as in each species\r\nof things, we are particularly pleased with the middle\r\nconformation, which in every part and feature agrees\r\nmost exactly with the general standard which nature\r\nseems to have established for things of that kind; so\r\nin each rank, or, if I may say so, in each species of\r\nmen, we are particularly pleased, if they have neither\r\ntoo much, nor too little of the character which\r\nusually accompanies their particular condition and\r\nsituation. A man, we say, should look like his\r\ntrade and profession; yet the pedantry of every profession\r\nis disagreeable. The different periods of life\r\nhave, for the same reason, different manners assigned\r\nto them. We expect in old age, that gravity and\r\nsedateness which its infirmities, its long experience,\r\nand its worn-out sensibility seem to render both natural\r\nand respectable; and we lay our account to find\r\nin youth that sensibility, that gaiety and sprightly vivacity\r\nwhich experience teaches us to expect from\r\nthe lively impressions that all interesting objects are\r\napt to make upon the tender and unpractised senses\r\nof that early period of life. Each of those two ages,\r\nhowever, may easily have too much of these peculiarities\r\nwhich belong to it. The flirting levity of\r\nyouth, and the immoveable insensibility of old age,\r\nare equally disagreeable. The young, according to\r\nthe common saying, are most agreeable when in\r\ntheir behaviour there is something of the manners of\r\nthe old, and the old, when they retain something of\r\nthe gaiety of the young. Either of them, however,\r\nmay easily have too much of the manners of the\r\nother. The extreme coldness, and dull formality,\r\nwhich are pardoned in old age, make youth ridiculous.\r\nThe levity, the carelessness, and the vanity,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_275\"\u003e275\u003c/span\u003ewhich are indulged in youth, render old age contemptible.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe peculiar character and manners which we are\r\nled by custom to appropriate to each rank and profession,\r\nhave sometimes perhaps a propriety independent\r\nof custom; and are what we should approve of\r\nfor their own sakes, if we took into consideration all\r\nthe different circumstances which naturally affect\r\nthose in each different state of life. The propriety\r\nof a person’s behaviour, depends not upon its suitableness\r\nto any one circumstance of his situation, but\r\nto all the circumstances, which, when we bring his\r\ncase home to ourselves we feel, should naturally call\r\nupon his attention. If he appears to be so much occupied\r\nby any one of them, as entirely to neglect the\r\nrest, we disapprove of his conduct, as something\r\nwhich we cannot entirely go along with, because not\r\nproperly adjusted to all the circumstances of his situation:\r\nyet, perhaps, the emotion he expresses for\r\nthe object which principally interests him, does not\r\nexceed what we should entirely sympathize with, and\r\napprove of, in one whose attention was not required\r\nby any other thing. A parent in private life might,\r\nupon the loss of an only son, express without blame,\r\na degree of grief and tenderness, which would be unpardonable\r\nin a general at the head of an army, when\r\nglory, and the public safety demanded so great a part\r\nof his attention. As different objects ought, upon\r\ncommon occasions, to occupy the attention of men\r\nof different professions, so different passions ought,\r\nnaturally to become habitual to them; and when we\r\nbring home to ourselves their situation in this particular\r\nrespect, we must be sensible, that every occurrence\r\nshould naturally affect them more or less, according\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_276\"\u003e276\u003c/span\u003eas the emotion which it excites, coincides or\r\ndisagrees with the fixt habit and temper of their\r\nminds. We cannot expect the same sensibility to the\r\ngay pleasures and amusements of life in a clergyman\r\nwhich we lay our account with in an officer. The\r\nman whose peculiar occupation it is to keep the\r\nworld in mind of that awful futurity which awaits\r\nthem, who is to announce what may be the fatal consequences\r\nof every deviation from the rules of duty,\r\nand who is himself to set the example of the most\r\nexact conformity, seems to be the messenger of tidings,\r\nwhich cannot, in propriety, be delivered either\r\nwith levity or indifference. His mind is supposed to\r\nbe continually occupied with what is too grand and\r\nsolemn, to leave any room for the impressions of\r\nthose frivolous objects, which fill up the attention\r\nof the dissipated and the gay. We readily feel therefore,\r\nthat, independent of custom, there is a propriety\r\nin the manners which custom has allotted to this\r\nprofession; and that nothing can be more suitable to\r\nthe character of a clergyman, than that grave, that\r\naustere and abstracted severity, which we are habituated\r\nto expect in his behaviour. These reflections\r\nare so very obvious, that there is scarce any man so\r\ninconsiderate, as not, at some time, to have made\r\nthem, and to have accounted to himself in this manner\r\nfor his approbation of the usual character of\r\nthis order.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe foundation of the customary character of\r\nsome other professions is not so obvious, and our approbation\r\nof it is founded entirely in habit, without\r\nbeing either confirmed, or enlivened by any reflections\r\nof this kind. We are led by custom, for example,\r\nto annex the character of gaiety, levity, and sprightly\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_277\"\u003e277\u003c/span\u003efreedom, as well as of some degree of dissipation, to\r\nthe military profession: yet, if we were to consider\r\nwhat mood or tone of temper would be most suitable\r\nto this situation, we should be apt to determine,\r\nperhaps, that the most serious and thoughtful turn of\r\nmind, would best become those whose lives are continually\r\nexposed to uncommon danger; and who\r\nshould therefore be more constantly occupied with\r\nthe thoughts of death and its consequences than other\r\nmen. It is this very circumstance, however, which\r\nis not improbably the occasion why the contrary turn\r\nof mind prevails so much among men of this profession.\r\nIt requires so great an effort to conquer the\r\nfear of death, when we survey it with steadiness and\r\nattention, that those who are constantly exposed to it,\r\nfind it easier to turn away their thoughts from it altogether,\r\nto wrap themselves up in careless security\r\nand indifference, and to plunge themselves, for this\r\npurpose, into every sort of amusement and dissipation.\r\nA camp is not the element of a thoughtful\r\nor a melancholy man: persons of that cast, indeed,\r\nare often abundantly determined, and are capable,\r\nby a great effort, of going on with inflexible resolution\r\nto the most unavoidable death. But to be exposed\r\nto continual, though less imminent danger, to\r\nbe obliged to exert, for a long time, a degree of this\r\neffort, exhausts and depresses the mind, and renders\r\nit incapable of all happiness and enjoyment. The\r\ngay and careless, who have occasion to make no effort\r\nat all, who fairly resolve never to look before\r\nthem, but to lose in continual pleasures and amusements,\r\nall anxiety about their situation, more easily\r\nsupport such circumstances. Whenever, by any\r\npeculiar circumstances, an officer has no reason to\r\nlay his account with being exposed to any uncommon\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_278\"\u003e278\u003c/span\u003edanger, he is very apt to lose the gaiety and dissipated\r\nthoughtlessness of his character. The captain\r\nof a city guard is commonly as sober, careful,\r\nand penurious an animal as the rest of his fellow-citizens.\r\nA long peace is, for the same reason, very apt\r\nto diminish the difference between the civil and the\r\nmilitary character. The ordinary situation, however,\r\nof men of this profession, renders gaiety, and a\r\ndegree of dissipation, so much their usual character;\r\nand custom has, in our imagination, so strongly connected\r\nthis character with this state of life, that we\r\nare very apt to despise any man, whose peculiar humour\r\nor situation, renders him incapable of acquiring\r\nit. We laugh at the grave and careful faces of a city\r\nguard, which, so little resemble those of their profession.\r\nThey themselves seem often to be ashamed of\r\nthe regularity of their own manners, and, not to be\r\nout of the fashion of their trade, are fond of affecting\r\nthat levity, which is by no means natural to them.\r\nWhatever is the deportment which we have been accustomed\r\nto see in a respectable order of men, it\r\ncomes to be so associated in our imagination with that\r\norder, that whenever we see the one, we lay our account\r\nthat we are to meet with the other, and when\r\ndisappointed, miss something which we expected to\r\nfind. We are embarrassed, and put to a stand, and\r\nknow not how to address ourselves to a character,\r\nwhich plainly affects to be of a different species\r\nfrom those with which we should have been disposed\r\nto class it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe different situations of different ages and\r\ncountries, are apt, in the same manner, to give different\r\ncharacters to the generality of those who live\r\nin them, and their sentiments concerning the particular\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_279\"\u003e279\u003c/span\u003edegree of each quality, that is either blameable,\r\nor praise-worthy, vary according to that degree,\r\nwhich is usual in their own country, and in their\r\nown times. That degree of politeness, which would\r\nbe highly esteemed, perhaps, would be thought effeminate\r\nadulation, in Russia, would be regarded as\r\nrudeness and barbarism at the court of France.\r\nThat degree of order and frugality, which, in a\r\nPolish nobleman, would be considered as excessive\r\nparsimony, would be regarded as extravagance in a\r\ncitizen of Amsterdam. Every age and country look\r\nupon that degree of each quality, which is commonly\r\nto be met with in those who are esteemed among\r\nthemselves, as the golden mean of that particular\r\ntalent or virtue. And as this varies, according as\r\ntheir different circumstances render different qualities\r\nmore or less habitual to them, their sentiments concerning\r\nthe exact propriety of character and behaviour\r\nvary accordingly.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAmong civilized nations, the virtues which are\r\nfounded upon humanity, are more cultivated than\r\nthose which are founded upon self-denial and the\r\ncommand of the passions. Among rude and barbarous\r\nnations, it is quite otherwise, the virtues of\r\nself-denial are more cultivated than those of humanity.\r\nThe general security and happiness which\r\nprevail in ages of civility and politeness afford little\r\nexercise to the contempt of danger, to patience in\r\nenduring labour, hunger, and pain. Poverty may\r\neasily be avoided, and the contempt of it therefore,\r\nalmost ceases to be a virtue. The abstinence from\r\npleasure, becomes less necessary, and the mind\r\nis more at liberty to unbend itself, and to indulge\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_280\"\u003e280\u003c/span\u003eits natural inclinations in all those particular respects.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAmong savages and barbarians it is quite otherwise.\r\nEvery savage undergoes a sort of Spartan\r\ndiscipline, and by the necessity of his situation is inured\r\nto every sort of hardship. He is in continual\r\ndanger: He is often exposed to the greatest extremities\r\nof hunger, and frequently dies of pure want.\r\nHis circumstances not only habituate him to every\r\nsort of distress, but teach him to give way to none of\r\nthe passions which that distress is apt to excite. He\r\ncan expect from his countrymen no sympathy or indulgence\r\nfor such weakness. Before we can feel\r\nmuch for others, we must in some measure be at\r\nease ourselves. If our own misery pinches us very\r\nseverely, we have no leisure to attend to that of our\r\nneighbour: And all savages are too much occupied\r\nwith their own wants and necessities, to give much\r\nattention to those of another person. A savage,\r\ntherefore, whatever be the nature of his distress, expects\r\nno sympathy from those about him, and disdains,\r\nupon that account, to expose himself, by allowing\r\nthe least weakness to escape him. His passions,\r\nhow furious and violent soever, are never permitted\r\nto disturb the serenity of his countenance or\r\nthe composure of his conduct and behaviour. The\r\nsavages in North America, we are told, assume upon\r\nall occasions the greatest indifference, and would\r\nthink themselves degraded if they should ever appear\r\nin any respect to be overcome, either by love,\r\nor grief, or resentment. Their magnanimity and\r\nself-command, in this respect, are almost beyond the\r\nconception of Europeans. In a country in which\r\nall men are upon a level, with regard to rank and\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_281\"\u003e281\u003c/span\u003efortune, it might be expected that the mutual inclinations\r\nof the two parties should be the only thing\r\nconsidered in marriages, and should be indulged\r\nwithout any sort of controul. This, however, is the\r\ncountry in which all marriages, without exception,\r\nare made up by the parents, and in which a young\r\nman would think himself disgraced for ever, if he\r\nshewed the least preference of one woman above another,\r\nor did not express the most complete indifference,\r\nboth about the time when, and the person to\r\nwhom he was to be married. The weakness of love,\r\nwhich is so much indulged in ages of humanity and\r\npoliteness, is regarded among savages as the most unpardonable\r\neffeminacy. Even after the marriage the\r\ntwo parties seem to be ashamed of a connexion which\r\nis founded upon so sordid a necessity. They do not\r\nlive together. They see one another by stealth only.\r\nThey both continue to dwell in the houses of their respective\r\nfathers, and the open cohabitation of the\r\ntwo sexes, which is permitted without blame in all\r\nother countries, is here considered as the most indecent\r\nand unmanly sensuality. Nor is it only over\r\nthis agreeable passion that they exert this absolute\r\nself-command. They often bear in the sight of all\r\ntheir countrymen with injuries, reproach, and the\r\ngrossest insults with the appearance of the greatest insensibility,\r\nand without expressing the smallest resentment.\r\nWhen a savage is made prisoner of war,\r\nand receives, as is usual, the sentence of death from\r\nhis conquerors, he hears it without expressing any\r\nemotion, and afterwards submits to the most dreadful\r\ntorments, without ever bemoaning himself, or\r\ndiscovering any other passion but contempt of his\r\nenemies. While he is hung by the shoulders over a\r\nslow fire, he derides his tormentors, and tells them\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_282\"\u003e282\u003c/span\u003ewith how much more ingenuity, he himself had tormented\r\nsuch of their countrymen as had fallen into\r\nhis hands. After he has been scorched and burnt,\r\nand lacerated in all the most tender and sensible parts\r\nof his body for several hours together, he is often allowed,\r\nin order to prolong his misery, a short respite,\r\nand is taken down from the stake: he employs this\r\ninterval in talking upon all indifferent subjects, inquires\r\nafter the news of the country, and seems indifferent\r\nabout nothing but his own situation. The\r\nspectators express the same insensibility; the sight of\r\nso horrible an object seems to make no impression\r\nupon them; they scarce look at the prisoner, except\r\nwhen they lend a hand to torment him. At other\r\ntimes they smoke tobacco, and amuse themselves\r\nwith any common object, as if no such matter was\r\ngoing on. Every savage is said to prepare himself\r\nfrom his earliest youth for this dreadful end. He\r\ncomposes, for this purpose, what they call the song of\r\ndeath, a song which he is to sing when he has fallen\r\ninto the hands of his enemies, and is expiring under\r\nthe tortures which they inflict upon him. It consists\r\nof insults upon his tormentors, and expresses the\r\nhighest contempt of death and pain. He sings this\r\nsong upon all extraordinary occasions, when he goes\r\nout to war, when he meets his enemies in the field,\r\nor whenever he has a mind to show that he has familiarised\r\nhis imagination to the most dreadful misfortunes,\r\nand that no human event can daunt his resolution,\r\nor alter his purpose. The same contempt of\r\ndeath and torture prevails among all other savage nations.\r\nThere is not a negro from the coast of Africa\r\nwho does not, in this respect, possess a degree of\r\nmagnanimity which the soul of his sordid master is\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_283\"\u003e283\u003c/span\u003etoo often scarce capable of conceiving. Fortune\r\nnever exerted more cruelly her empire over mankind,\r\nthan when she subjected those nations of heroes to\r\nthe refuse of the jails of Europe, to wretches who\r\npossess the virtues neither of the countries which\r\nthey come from, nor of those which they go to, and\r\nwhose levity, brutality, and baseness, so justly expose\r\nthem to the contempt of the vanquished.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThis heroic and unconquerable firmness, which\r\nthe custom and education of his country demand of\r\nevery savage, is not required of those who are brought\r\nup to live in civilized societies. If these last complain\r\nwhen they are in pain, if they grieve when they are\r\nin distress, if they allow themselves either to be\r\novercome by love, or to be discomposed by anger,\r\nthey are easily pardoned. Such weaknesses are not\r\napprehended to affect the essential parts of their character.\r\nAs long as they do not allow themselves to\r\nbe transported to do any thing contrary to justice or\r\nhumanity, they lose but little reputation, though the\r\nserenity of their countenance or the composure of\r\ntheir discourse and behaviour should be somewhat\r\nruffled and disturbed. A humane and polished people,\r\nwho have more sensibility to the passions of\r\nothers, can more readily enter into an animated and\r\npassionate behaviour, and can more easily pardon\r\nsome little excess. The person principally concerned\r\nis sensible of this; and being assured of the equity\r\nof his judges, indulges himself in stronger expressions\r\nof passion, and is less afraid of exposing himself to\r\ntheir contempt by the violence of his emotions. We\r\ncan venture to express more emotion in the presence\r\nof a friend than in that of a stranger, because we expect\r\nmore indulgence from the one than from the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_284\"\u003e284\u003c/span\u003eother. And in the same manner the rules of decorum\r\namong civilized nations, admit of a more animated\r\nbehaviour, than is approved of among barbarians.\r\nThe first converse together with the openness of\r\nfriends; the second with the reserve of strangers.\r\nThe emotion and vivacity with which the French\r\nand the Italians, the two most polished nations upon\r\nthe continent, express themselves on occasions that\r\nare at all interesting, surprise at first those strangers\r\nwho happen to be travelling among them, and who,\r\nhaving been educated among a people of duller sensibility,\r\ncannot enter into this passionate behaviour,\r\nof which they have never seen any example in their\r\nown country. A young French nobleman will weep\r\nin the presence of the whole court upon being refused\r\na regiment. An Italian, says the abbot Dû Bos, expresses\r\nmore emotion on being condemned in a fine\r\nof twenty shillings, than an Englishman on receiving\r\nthe sentence of death. Cicero, in the times of the\r\nhighest Roman politeness, could, without degrading\r\nhimself, weep with all the bitterness of sorrow in the\r\nsight of the whole senate and the whole people; as\r\nit is evident he must have done in the end of almost\r\nevery oration. The orators of the earlier and ruder\r\nages of Rome could not probably, consistent with\r\nthe manners of the times, have expressed themselves\r\nwith so much emotion. It would have been regarded,\r\nI suppose, as a violation of nature and propriety\r\nin the Scipios, in the Leliuses, and in the elder\r\nCato, to have exposed so much tenderness to the\r\nview of the public. Those ancient warriors could\r\nexpress themselves, with order, gravity, and good\r\njudgment; but are said to have been strangers to\r\nthat sublime and passionate eloquence which was first\r\nintroduced into Rome, not many years before the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_285\"\u003e285\u003c/span\u003ebirth of Cicero, by the two Gracchi, by Crassus, and\r\nby Sulpitius. This animated eloquence, which has\r\nbeen long practiced, with or without success, both in\r\nFrance and Italy, is but just beginning to be introduced\r\ninto England. So wide is the difference between\r\nthe degrees of self-command which are required\r\nin civilized and in barbarous nations, and by\r\nsuch different standards do they judge of the propriety\r\nof behaviour.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThis difference gives occasion to many others that\r\nare not less essential. A polished people being accustomed\r\nto give way, in some measure, to the movements\r\nof nature, become frank, open, and sincere.\r\nBarbarians, on the contrary, being obliged to smother\r\nand conceal the appearance of every passion,\r\nnecessarily acquire the habits of falsehood and dissimulation.\r\nIt is observed by all those who have\r\nbeen conversant with savage nations, whether in\r\nAsia, Africa, or America, that they are all equally\r\nimpenetrable, and that, when they have a mind to\r\nconceal the truth, no examination is capable of\r\ndrawing it from them. They cannot be trepanned\r\nby the most artful questions. The torture itself is\r\nincapable of making them confess any thing which\r\nthey have no mind to tell. The passions of a savage\r\ntoo, though they never express themselves by\r\nany outward emotion, but lie concealed in the breast\r\nof the sufferer, are, notwithstanding, all mounted to\r\nthe highest pitch of fury. Though he seldom shows\r\nany symptoms of anger, yet his vengeance, when he\r\ncomes to give way to it, is always sanguinary and\r\ndreadful. The least affront drives him to despair.\r\nHis countenance and discourse indeed are still sober\r\nand composed, and express nothing but the most perfect\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_286\"\u003e286\u003c/span\u003etranquillity of mind: But his actions are often\r\nthe most furious and violent. Among the North-Americans\r\nit is not uncommon for persons of the\r\ntenderest age and more fearful sex to drown themselves\r\nupon receiving only a slight reprimand from\r\ntheir mothers, and this too without expressing any\r\npassions or saying any thing, except, \u003cem\u003eyou shall no longer\r\nhave a daughter\u003c/em\u003e. In civilized nations the passions\r\nof men are not commonly so furious or so desperate.\r\nThey are often clamorous and noisy, but\r\nare seldom very hurtful; and seem frequently to aim\r\nat no other satisfaction, but that of convincing the\r\nspectator, that they are in the right to be so much\r\nmoved, and of procuring his sympathy and approbation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAll these effects of custom and fashion, however,\r\nupon the moral sentiments of mankind, are inconsiderable\r\nin comparison of those which they give occasion\r\nto in some other cases; and it is not concerning\r\nthe general style of character and behaviour, that\r\nthose principles produce the greatest perversion of\r\njudgment, but concerning the propriety or impropriety\r\nof particular usages.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe different manners which custom teaches us to\r\napprove of in the different professions and states of\r\nlife, do not concern things of the greatest importance.\r\nWe expect truth and justice from an old man as well\r\nas from a young, from a clergyman as well as from\r\nan officer; and it is in matters of small moment only\r\nthat we look for the distinguishing marks of their respective\r\ncharacters. With regard to these too, there\r\nis often some unobserved circumstance which, if it\r\nwas attended to, would show us, that, independent\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_287\"\u003e287\u003c/span\u003eof custom, there was a propriety in the character\r\nwhich custom had taught us to allot to each profession.\r\nWe cannot complain, therefore, in this case,\r\nthat the perversion of natural sentiment is very great.\r\nThough the manners of different nations require different\r\ndegrees of the same quality, in the character\r\nwhich they think worthy of esteem, yet the worst\r\nthat can be said to happen even here, is that the duties\r\nof one virtue are sometimes extended so as to encroach\r\na little upon the precincts of some other.\r\nThe rustic hospitality that is in fashion among the\r\nPoles encroaches, perhaps, a little upon œconomy\r\nand good order; and the frugality that is esteemed\r\nin Holland, upon generosity and good-fellowship.\r\nThe hardiness demanded of savages diminishes their\r\nhumanity; and, perhaps, the delicate sensibility required\r\nin civilized nations sometimes destroys the\r\nmasculine firmness of the character. In general, the\r\nstyle of manners which takes place in any nation,\r\nmay commonly upon the whole be said to be that\r\nwhich is most suitable to its situation. Hardiness is\r\nthe character most suitable to the circumstances of a\r\nsavage; sensibility to those of one who lives in a very\r\ncivilized society. Even here, therefore, we cannot\r\ncomplain that the moral sentiments of men are very\r\ngrossly perverted.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is not therefore in the general style of conduct\r\nor behaviour that custom authorizes the widest departure\r\nfrom what is the natural propriety of action.\r\nWith regard to particular usages its influence is often\r\nmuch more destructive of good morals, and it is capable\r\nof establishing, as lawful and blameless, particular\r\nactions, which shock the plainest principles\r\nof right and wrong.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_288\"\u003e288\u003c/span\u003eCan there be greater barbarity, for example, than\r\nto hurt an infant? Its helplessness, its innocence,\r\nits amiableness, call forth the compassion even of\r\nan enemy, and not to spare that tender age is regarded\r\nas the most furious effort of an enraged and\r\ncruel conqueror. What then should we imagine\r\nmust be the heart of a parent who could injure that\r\nweakness which even a furious enemy is afraid to violate?\r\nYet the exposition, that is, the murder of newborn\r\ninfants, was a practice allowed of in almost all\r\nthe states of Greece, even among the polite and civilized\r\nAthenians; and whenever the circumstances\r\nof the parent rendered it inconvenient to bring up the\r\nchild, to abandon it to hunger, or to wild beasts,\r\nwas regarded without blame or censure. This practice\r\nhad probably begun in times of the most savage\r\nbarbarity. The imaginations of men had been first\r\nmade familiar with it in that earliest period of society,\r\nand the uniform continuance of the custom had\r\nhindered them afterwards from perceiving its enormity.\r\nWe find, at this day, that this practice prevails\r\namong all savage nations; and in that rudest\r\nand lowest state of society it is undoubtedly more\r\npardonable than in any other. The extreme indigence\r\nof a savage is often such that he himself is frequently\r\nexposed to the greatest extremity of hunger,\r\nhe often dies of pure want, and it is frequently impossible\r\nfor him to support both himself and his\r\nchild. We cannot wonder, therefore, that in this\r\ncase he should abandon it. One who in flying from\r\nan enemy, whom it was impossible to resist, should\r\nthrow down his infant, because it retarded his flight,\r\nwould surely be excusable; since, by attempting to\r\nsave it, he could only hope for the consolation of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_289\"\u003e289\u003c/span\u003edying with it. That in this state of society, therefore,\r\na parent should be allowed to judge whether he\r\ncan bring up his child, ought not to surprise us so\r\ngreatly. In the latter ages of Greece, however, the\r\nsame thing was permitted from views of remote interest\r\nor conveniency, which could by no means excuse\r\nit. Uninterrupted custom had by this time so\r\nthoroughly authorized the practice, that not only the\r\nloose maxims of the world tolerated this barbarous\r\nprerogative, but even the doctrine of philosophers,\r\nwhich ought to have been more just and accurate,\r\nwas led away by the established custom, and upon\r\nthis, as upon many other occasions, instead of\r\ncensuring, supported the horrible abuse, by far-fetched\r\nconsiderations of public utility. Aristotle\r\ntalks of it as of what the magistrate ought upon\r\nmany occasions to encourage. The humane Plato\r\nis of the same opinion, and, with all that love\r\nof mankind which seems to animate all his writings,\r\nno where marks this practice with disapprobation.\r\nWhen custom can give sanction to so dreadful\r\na violation of humanity, we may well imagine\r\nthat there is scarce any particular practice so gross\r\nwhich it cannot authorize. Such a thing, we hear\r\nmen every day saying, is commonly done, and they\r\nseem to think this a sufficient apology for what,\r\nin itself, is the most unjust and unreasonable conduct.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThere is an obvious reason why custom should\r\nnever pervert our sentiments with regard to the\r\ngeneral style and character of conduct and behaviour,\r\nin the same degree as with regard to the propriety\r\nor unlawfulness of particular usages. There\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_290\"\u003e290\u003c/span\u003enever can be any such custom. No society could\r\nsubsist a moment, in which the usual strain of mens\r\nconduct and behaviour was of a piece with the horrible\r\npractice I just now mentioned.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"figcenter id001\"\u003e\r\n\u003cimg alt=\"\" class=\"ig001\" src=\"https://chrisdeasy.com/wp-content/uploads/gutenberg-theory-of-moral-sentiments-i-290.jpg\" id=\"img_images_i_290.jpg\"\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_291\"\u003e291\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch2 class=\"c004\"\u003ePART VI.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"large\"\u003eOf Systems of \u003cspan class=\"sc\"\u003eMoral Philosophy\u003c/span\u003e.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center-c0\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center c002\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003eCONSISTING OF FOUR SECTIONS.\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c008\"\u003eSECTION I.\u003cbr\u003e Of the questions which ought to be examined in a theory of moral sentiments.\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eIf we examine the most celebrated and remarkable\r\nof the different theories which have been given\r\nconcerning the nature and origin of our moral sentiments,\r\nwe shall find that almost all of them coincide\r\nwith some part or other of that which I have been\r\nendeavouring to give an account of; and that if\r\nevery thing which has already been said be fully considered,\r\nwe shall be at no loss to explain what was\r\nthe view or aspect of nature which led each particular\r\nauthor to form his particular system. From some\r\none or other of those principles which I have been\r\nendeavouring to unfold, every system of morality\r\nthat ever had any reputation in the world has, perhaps,\r\nultimately been derived. As they are all of\r\nthem, in this respect, founded upon natural principles,\r\nthey are all of them in some measure in the\r\nright. But as many of them are derived from a partial\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_292\"\u003e292\u003c/span\u003eand imperfect view of nature, there are many of\r\nthem too in some respects in the wrong.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIn treating of the principles of morals there are\r\ntwo questions to be considered. First, wherein does\r\nvirtue consist? Or what is the tone of temper, and\r\ntenour of conduct, which constitutes the excellent\r\nand praise-worthy character, the character which is\r\nthe natural object of esteem, honour, and approbation?\r\nand secondly, by what power or faculty in the\r\nmind is it, that this character, whatever it be, is recommended\r\nto us? Or in other words, how and by\r\nwhat means does it come to pass, that the mind\r\nprefers one tenour of conduct to another, denominates\r\nthe one right and the other wrong; considers\r\nthe one as the object of approbation, honour, and\r\nreward, and the other of blame, censure, and punishment?\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWe examine the first question when we consider\r\nwhether virtue consists in benevolence, as Dr. Hutcheson\r\nimagines; or in acting suitably to the different\r\nrelations we stand in, as Dr. Clarke supposes; or in\r\nthe wise and prudent pursuit of our own real and solid\r\nhappiness, as has been the opinion of others.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWe examine the second question, when we consider,\r\nwhether the virtuous character, whatever it\r\nconsists in, be recommended to us by self-love,\r\nwhich makes us perceive that this character, both in\r\nourselves and others, tends most to promote our own\r\nprivate interest or by reason, which points out to us\r\nthe difference between one character and another, in\r\nthe same manner as it does that between truth and\r\nfalsehood; or by a peculiar power of perception,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_293\"\u003e293\u003c/span\u003ecalled a moral sense, which this virtuous character\r\ngratifies and pleases, as the contrary disgusts and\r\ndispleases it; or last of all, by some other principle\r\nin human nature, such as a modification of sympathy,\r\nor the like.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eI shall begin with considering the systems which\r\nhave been formed concerning the first of these questions,\r\nand shall proceed afterwards to examine those\r\nconcerning the second.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"figcenter id001\"\u003e\r\n\u003cimg alt=\"\" class=\"ig001\" src=\"https://chrisdeasy.com/wp-content/uploads/gutenberg-theory-of-moral-sentiments-i-293.jpg\" id=\"img_images_i_293.jpg\"\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_294\"\u003e294\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c001\"\u003eSECTION II.\u003cbr\u003e Of the different accounts which have been given of the nature of virtue.\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c011\"\u003eINTRODUCTION.\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c012\"\u003eThe different accounts which have been given\r\nof the nature of virtue, or of the temper of mind\r\nwhich constitutes the excellent and praise-worthy\r\ncharacter, may be reduced to three different classes.\r\nAccording to some, the virtuous temper of mind\r\ndoes not consist in any one species of affections, but\r\nin the proper government and direction of all our affections,\r\nwhich may be either virtuous or vicious according\r\nto the objects which they pursue, and the\r\ndegree of vehemence with which they pursue them.\r\nAccording to these authors, therefore, virtue consists\r\nin propriety.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAccording to others, virtue consists in the judicious\r\npursuit of our own private interest and happiness,\r\nor in the proper government and direction of\r\nthose selfish affections which aim solely at this end.\r\nIn the opinion of these authors, therefore, virtue\r\nconsists in prudence.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAnother set of authors make virtue consist in\r\nthose affections only which aim at the happiness of\r\nothers, not in those which aim at our own. According\r\nto them, therefore, disinterested benevolence\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_295\"\u003e295\u003c/span\u003eis the only motive which can stamp upon any action\r\nthe character of virtue.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe character of virtue, it is evident, must either\r\nbe ascribed indifferently to all our affections, when\r\nunder proper government and direction; or it must\r\nbe confined to some one class or division of them.\r\nThe great division of our affections is into the selfish\r\nand the benevolent. If the character of virtue,\r\ntherefore, cannot be ascribed indifferently to all our\r\naffections, when under proper government and direction,\r\nit must be confined either to those which aim\r\ndirectly at our own private happiness, or to those which\r\naim directly at that of others. If virtue, therefore,\r\ndoes not consist in propriety, it must consist either in\r\nprudence or in benevolence. Besides these three, it\r\nis scarce possible to imagine that any other account\r\ncan be given of the nature of virtue. I shall endeavour\r\nto shew hereafter how all the other accounts,\r\nwhich are seemingly different from any of these,\r\ncoincide at bottom with some one or other of them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. I.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf those systems which make virtue consist in propriety.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eAccording to Plato, to Aristotle, and to\r\nZeno, virtue consists in the propriety of conduct, or\r\nin the suitableness of the affection from which we act\r\nto the object which excites it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eI. In the system of Plato\u003ca id=\"r8\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f8\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[8]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e the soul is considered\r\nas something like a little state or republic, composed\r\nof three different faculties or orders.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f8\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r8\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e8\u003c/a\u003e. See Plato de Rep. lib. iv.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_296\"\u003e296\u003c/span\u003eThe first is the judging faculty, the faculty which\r\ndetermines not only what are the proper means for attaining\r\nany end, but also what ends are fit to be pursued,\r\nand what degree of relative value we ought to\r\nput upon each. This faculty Plato called, as it is\r\nvery properly called reason, and considered it as\r\nwhat had a right to be the governing principle of\r\nthe whole. Under this appellation, it is evident, he\r\ncomprehended not only that faculty by which we\r\njudge of truth and falsehood, but that by which we\r\njudge of the propriety or impropriety of desires and\r\naffections.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe different passions and appetites, the natural\r\nsubject of this ruling principle, but which are so apt\r\nto rebel against their master, he reduced to two different\r\nclasses or orders. The first consisted of those\r\npassions, which are founded in pride and resentment,\r\nor in what the schoolmen called the irascible part of\r\nthe soul; ambition, animosity, the love of honour,\r\nand the dread of shame, the desire of victory, superiority,\r\nand revenge; all those passions, in short,\r\nwhich are supposed either to rise from, or to denote\r\nwhat, by a metaphor in our language, we commonly\r\ncall spirit or natural fire. The second consisted of\r\nthose passions which are founded in the love of pleasure,\r\nor in what the schoolmen called the concupiscible\r\npart of the soul. It comprehended all the appetites\r\nof the body, the love of ease and security, and\r\nof all sensual gratifications.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt rarely happens that we break in upon that plan\r\nof conduct, which the governing principle prescribes,\r\nand which in all our cool hours we had laid down to\r\nourselves as what was most proper for us to pursue,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_297\"\u003e297\u003c/span\u003ebut when prompted by one or other of those two\r\ndifferent sets of passions; either by ungovernable\r\nambition and resentment, or by the importunate solicitations\r\nof present ease and pleasure. But though\r\nthese two orders of passions are so apt to mislead us,\r\nthey are still considered as necessary parts of human\r\nnature: the first having been given to defend us\r\nagainst injuries, to assert our rank and dignity in the\r\nworld, to make us aim at what is noble and honourable,\r\nand to make us distinguish those who act\r\nin the same manner; the second to provide for the\r\nsupport and necessities of the body.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIn the strength, acuteness, and perfection of the\r\ngoverning principle was placed the essential virtue of\r\nprudence, which, according to Plato, consisted in a\r\njust and clear discernment, founded upon general\r\nand scientific ideas, of the ends which were proper to\r\nbe pursued, and of the means which were proper for\r\nattaining them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen the first set of passions, those of the irascible\r\npart of the soul, had that degree of strength and\r\nfirmness, which enabled them, under the direction\r\nof reason, to despise all dangers in the pursuit of\r\nwhat was honourable and noble; it constituted the\r\nvirtue of fortitude and magnanimity. This order of\r\npassions, according to this system, was of a more generous\r\nand noble nature than the other. They were\r\nconsidered upon many occasions as the auxiliaries of\r\nreason, to check and restrain the inferior and brutal\r\nappetites. We are often angry at ourselves, it was\r\nobserved, we often become the objects of our own resentment\r\nand indignation, when the love of pleasure\r\nprompts to do what we disapprove of; and the irascible\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_298\"\u003e298\u003c/span\u003epart of our nature is in this manner called in to\r\nassist the rational against the concupiscible.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen all those three different parts of our nature\r\nwere in perfect concord with one another, when neither\r\nthe irascible nor concupiscible passions ever aimed at\r\nany gratification which reason did not approve of,\r\nand when reason never commanded any thing, but\r\nwhat these of their own accord were willing to perform;\r\nthis happy composure, this perfect and complete\r\nharmony of soul, constituted that virtue which\r\nin their language is expressed by a word which we\r\ncommonly translate temperance, but which might\r\nmore properly be translated good temper, or sobriety\r\nand moderation of mind.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eJustice, the last and greatest of the four cardinal\r\nvirtues, took place, according to this system, when\r\neach of those three faculties of the mind confined itself\r\nto its proper office, without attempting to encroach\r\nupon that of any other; when reason directed\r\nand passion obeyed, and when each passion performed\r\nits proper duty, and exerted itself towards its\r\nproper object easily and without reluctance, and with\r\nthat degree of force and energy, which was suitable\r\nto the value of what it pursued. In this consisted\r\nthat complete virtue, that perfect propriety of conduct,\r\nwhich Plato, after some of the ancient Pythagoreans,\r\ndenominated Justice.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe word, it is to be observed, which expresses justice\r\nin the Greek language, has several different meanings;\r\nand as the correspondent word in all other languages,\r\nso far as I know, has the same, there must be\r\nsome natural affinity among those various significations.\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_299\"\u003e299\u003c/span\u003eIn one sense we are said to do justice to our neighbour\r\nwhen we abstain from doing him any positive\r\nharm, and do not directly hurt him, either in his\r\nperson, or in his estate, or in his reputation. This\r\nis that justice which I have treated of above, the observance\r\nof which may be extorted by force, and the\r\nviolation of which exposes to punishment. In another\r\nsense we are said not to do justice to our neighbour\r\nunless we conceive for him all that love, respect\r\nand esteem, which his character, his situation, and\r\nhis connexion with ourselves, render suitable and\r\nproper for us to feel, and unless we act accordingly.\r\nIt is in this sense that we are said to do injustice\r\nto a man of merit who is connected with us, tho’\r\nwe abstain from hurting him in every respect, if we\r\ndo not exert ourselves to serve him and to place him\r\nin that situation in which the impartial spectator\r\nwould be pleased to see him. The first sense of the\r\nword coincides with what Aristotle and the Schoolmen\r\ncall commutative justice, and with what Grotius\r\ncalls the \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003ejustitia expletrix\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, which consists in abstaining\r\nfrom what is another’s, and in doing voluntarily\r\nwhatever we can with propriety be forced to\r\ndo. The second sense of the word coincides with\r\nwhat some have called distributive justice\u003ca id=\"r9\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f9\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[9]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e, and with\r\nthe \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003ejustitia attributrix\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e of Grotius, which consists in\r\nproper beneficence, in the becoming use of what is\r\nour own, and in the applying it to those purposes\r\neither of charity or generosity, to which it is most\r\nsuitable, in our situation, that it should be applied.\r\nIn this sense justice comprehends all the social virtues.\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_300\"\u003e300\u003c/span\u003eThere is yet another sense in which the word justice\r\nis sometimes taken, still more extensive than either\r\nof the former, though very much akin to the last;\r\nand which runs too, so far as I know, through all\r\nlanguages. It is in this last sense that we are said to\r\nbe unjust, when we do not seem to value any particular\r\nobject with that degree of esteem, or to pursue\r\nit with that degree of ardour which to the impartial\r\nspectator it may appear to deserve or to be naturally\r\nfitted for exciting. Thus we are said to do injustice\r\nto a poem or a picture, when we do not admire them\r\nenough, and we are said to do them more than justice\r\nwhen we admire them too much. In the same manner\r\nwe are said to do injustice to ourselves when we\r\nappear not to give sufficient attention to any particular\r\nobject of self-interest. In this last sense, what is\r\ncalled justice means the same thing with exact and\r\nperfect propriety of conduct and behaviour, and comprehends\r\nin it, not only the offices of both commutative\r\nand distributive justice, but of every other virtue,\r\nof prudence, of fortitude, of temperance. It is in\r\nthis last sense that Plato evidently understands what\r\nhe calls justice, and which, therefore, according to\r\nhim, comprehends in it the perfection of every sort\r\nof virtue.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f9\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r9\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e9\u003c/a\u003e. The distributive justice of Aristotle is somewhat different.\r\nIt consists in the proper distribution of rewards from the public\r\nstock of a community. See Aristotle Ethic. Nic. l. 5. c. 2.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSuch is the account given by Plato of the nature\r\nof virtue, or of that temper of mind which is the\r\nproper object of praise and approbation. It consists,\r\naccording to him, in that state of mind in which every\r\nfaculty confines itself within its proper sphere\r\nwithout encroaching upon that of any other, and\r\nperforms its proper office with that precise degree of\r\nstrength and vigour which belongs to it. His account,\r\nit is evident, coincides in every respect with\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_301\"\u003e301\u003c/span\u003ewhat we have said above concerning the propriety of\r\nconduct.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eII. Virtue, according to Aristotle\u003ca id=\"r10\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f10\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[10]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e, consists in\r\nthe habit of mediocrity according to right reason.\r\nEvery particular virtue, according to him, lies in a\r\nkind of middle between two opposite vices, of which\r\nthe one offends from being too much, the other from\r\nbeing too little affected by a particular species of objects.\r\nThus the virtue of fortitude or courage lies\r\nin the middle between the opposite vices of cowardice\r\nand of presumptuous rashness, of which the one\r\noffends from being too much, and the other from being\r\ntoo little affected by the objects of fear. Thus\r\ntoo the virtue of frugality lies in a middle between\r\navarice and profusion, of which the one consists in an\r\nexcess, the other in a defect of the proper attention\r\nto the objects of self interest. Magnanimity, in the\r\nsame manner, lies in a middle between the excess of\r\narrogance and the defect of pusillanimity, of which\r\nthe one consists in too extravagant, the other in too\r\nweak a sentiment of our own worth and dignity. It\r\nis unnecessary to observe that this account of virtue\r\ncorresponds too pretty exactly with what has been\r\nsaid above concerning the propriety and impropriety\r\nof conduct.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f10\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r10\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e10\u003c/a\u003e. See Aristotle Ethic. Nic. l. 2. c. 5. et seq. et l. 3. c. 5. et\r\nseq.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAccording to Aristotle\u003ca id=\"r11\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f11\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[11]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e, indeed, virtue did not\r\nso much consist in those moderate and right affections,\r\nas in the habit of this moderation. In order to\r\nunderstand this, it is to be observed, that virtue may\r\nbe considered either as the quality of an action, or\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_302\"\u003e302\u003c/span\u003eas the quality of a person. Considered as the quality\r\nof an action, it consists, even according to Aristotle,\r\nin the reasonable moderation of the affection\r\nfrom which the action proceeds, whether this disposition\r\nbe habitual to the person or not. Considered\r\nas the quality of a person, it consists in the habit of\r\nthis reasonable moderation, in its having become the\r\ncustomary and usual disposition of the mind. Thus\r\nthe action which proceeds from an occasional fit of\r\ngenerosity is undoubtedly a generous action, but the\r\nman who performs it, is not necessarily a generous\r\nperson, because it may be the single action of the\r\nkind which he ever performed. The motive and\r\ndisposition of heart, from which this action was performed,\r\nmay have been quite just and proper: but\r\nas this happy mood seems to have been the effect\r\nrather of accidental humour than of any thing steady\r\nor permanent in the character, it can reflect no great\r\nhonour on the performer. When we denominate a\r\ncharacter generous or charitable, or virtuous in any\r\nrespect, we mean to signify that the disposition expressed\r\nby each of those appellations is the usual\r\nand customary disposition of the person. But single\r\nactions of any kind, how proper and suitable soever,\r\nare of little consequence to show that this is the case.\r\nIf a single action was sufficient to stamp the character\r\nof any virtue upon the person who performed it, the\r\nmost worthless of mankind might lay claim to all the\r\nvirtues; since there is no man who has not, upon\r\nsome occasions, acted with prudence, justice, temperance,\r\nand fortitude. But though single actions,\r\nhow laudable soever, reflect very little praise upon\r\nthe person who performs them, a single vicious action\r\nperformed by one whose conduct is usually very regular,\r\ngreatly diminishes and sometimes destroys altogether\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_303\"\u003e303\u003c/span\u003eour opinion of his virtue. A single action\r\nof this kind sufficiently shows that his habits are not\r\nperfect, and that he is less to be depended upon,\r\nthan, from the usual train of his behaviour, we\r\nmight have been apt to imagine.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f11\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r11\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e11\u003c/a\u003e. See Aristotle Ethic. Nic. lib. ii. ch. 1., 2., 3. and 4.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAristotle too\u003ca id=\"r12\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f12\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[12]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e, when he made virtue to consist in\r\npractical habits, had it probably in his view to oppose\r\nthe doctrine of Plato, who seems to have been\r\nof opinion that just sentiments and reasonable judgments\r\nconcerning what was fit to be done or to be\r\navoided, were alone sufficient to constitute the most\r\nperfect virtue. Virtue, according to Plato, might\r\nbe considered as a species of science, and no man, he\r\nthought, could see clearly and demonstratively what\r\nwas right and what was wrong, and not act accordingly.\r\nPassion might make us act contrary to doubtful\r\nand uncertain opinions, not to plain and evident\r\njudgments. Aristotle, on the contrary, was of opinion,\r\nthat no conviction of the understanding was\r\ncapable of getting the better of inveterate habits,\r\nand that good morals arose not from knowledge but\r\nfrom action.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f12\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r12\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e12\u003c/a\u003e. See Aristotle Mag. Mor. lib. i. ch. 1.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIII. According to Zeno\u003ca id=\"r13\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f13\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[13]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e, the founder of the\r\nstoical doctrine, every animal was by nature recommended\r\nto its own care, and was endowed with the\r\nprinciple of self-love, that it might endeavour to\r\npreserve, not only its existence, but all the different\r\nparts of its nature, in the best and most perfect state\r\nof which they were capable.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f13\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r13\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e13\u003c/a\u003e. See Cicero de finibus, lib. iii. also Diogenes Laertius in\r\nZenone, lib. vii. segment 84.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_304\"\u003e304\u003c/span\u003eThe self-love of man embraced, if I may say so,\r\nhis body and all its different members, his mind and\r\nall its different faculties and powers, and desired the\r\npreservation and maintenance of them all in their\r\nbest and most perfect condition. Whatever tended\r\nto support this state of existence was, therefore, by\r\nnature pointed out to him as fit to be chosen; and\r\nwhatever tended to destroy it, as fit to be rejected.\r\nThus health, strength, agility, and ease of body, as\r\nwell as the external conveniencies which could promote\r\nthese, wealth, power, honours, the respect and\r\nesteem of those we live with, were naturally pointed\r\nout to us as things eligible, and of which the possession\r\nwas preferable to the contrary. On the other\r\nhand, sickness, infirmity, unwieldiness, pain of body,\r\nas well as all the external inconveniencies which\r\ntended to occasion or bring on any of them, poverty,\r\nthe want of authority, the contempt or hatred of\r\nthose we live with; were, in the same manner, pointed\r\nout to us as things to be shunned and avoided. In\r\neach of those two different classes of objects there\r\nwere some which appeared to be more the objects\r\neither of choice or rejection than others in the same\r\nclass. Thus, in the first class, health appeared evidently\r\npreferable to strength, and strength to agility;\r\nreputation to power, and power to riches. And thus\r\ntoo, in the second class, sickness was more to be\r\navoided than unwieldiness of body, ignominy than\r\npoverty, and poverty than the want of authority.\r\nVirtue and the propriety of conduct consisted in\r\nchoosing and rejecting all different objects and circumstances\r\naccording as they were by nature rendered\r\nmore or less the objects of choice or rejection; in\r\nselecting always from among the several objects of\r\nchoice presented to us, that which was most to be\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_305\"\u003e305\u003c/span\u003echosen, when we could not obtain them all: and in\r\nselecting too out of the several objects of rejection\r\noffered to us, that which was least to be avoided,\r\nwhen it was not in our power to avoid them all. By\r\nchoosing and rejecting with this just and accurate discernment,\r\nby thus bestowing upon every object the\r\nprecise degree of attention it deserved, according to\r\nthe place which it held in this natural scale of things,\r\nwe maintained, according to the Stoics, that perfect\r\nrectitude of conduct which constituted the essence of\r\nvirtue. This was what they called to live consistently,\r\nto live according to nature, and to obey those\r\nlaws and directions which nature, or the Author of\r\nnature, had prescribed for our conduct.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSo far the Stoical idea of propriety and virtue is\r\nnot very different from that of Aristotle and the ancient\r\nperipatetics. What chiefly distinguished those\r\ntwo systems from one another was the different degrees\r\nof self-command which they required. The\r\nperipatetics allowed of some degree of perturbation\r\nas suitable to the weakness of human nature, and as\r\nuseful to so imperfect a creature as man. If his own\r\nmisfortunes excited no passionate grief, if his own injuries\r\ncalled forth no lively resentment, reason, or a\r\nregard to the general rules which determined what\r\nwas right and fit to be done, would commonly, they\r\nthought, be too weak to prompt him to avoid the\r\none or to beat off the other. The Stoics, on the\r\ncontrary, demanded the most perfect apathy, and regarded\r\nevery emotion which could in the smallest degree\r\ndisturb the tranquillity of the mind, as the effect\r\nof levity and folly. The Peripatetics seem to\r\nhave thought that no passion exceeded the bounds of\r\npropriety as long as the spectator, by the utmost effort\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_306\"\u003e306\u003c/span\u003eof humanity, could sympathize with it. The\r\nStoics, on the contrary, appear to have regarded\r\nevery passion as improper, which made any demand\r\nupon the sympathy of the spectator, or required him\r\nto alter in any respect the natural and ordinary state\r\nof his mind, in order to keep time with the vehemence\r\nof its emotions. A man of virtue, they\r\nseem to have thought, ought not to depend upon\r\nthe generosity of those he lives with for pardon or\r\napprobation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAccording to the Stoics, every event should, to\r\na wise man, appear indifferent, and what for its own\r\nsake could be the object neither of desire, nor aversion,\r\nneither of joy, nor sorrow. If he preferred\r\nsome events to others, if some situations were the objects\r\nof his choice, and others of his rejection,\u003ca id=\"r14\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f14\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[14]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e it\r\nwas not, because he regarded the one as, in themselves,\r\nin any respect better than the other, or thought\r\nthat his own happiness would be more complete in,\r\nwhat is called, the fortunate, than in what is commonly\r\nregarded as the distressful situation; but because\r\nthe propriety of action, the rule which the\r\ngods had given him for the direction of his conduct,\r\nrequired him to choose and reject in this manner.\r\nAmong the primary objects of natural inclination, or\r\namong those things which nature had originally recommended\r\nto us as eligible, was the prosperity, of\r\nour family, of our relations, of our friends, of our\r\ncountry, of mankind, and of the universe in general.\r\nNature too had taught us that as the prosperity of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_307\"\u003e307\u003c/span\u003etwo was preferable to that of one, that of many or of\r\nall must be infinitely more so. That we ourselves\r\nwere but one, and that consequently wherever our\r\nprosperity was inconsistent with that, either of the\r\nwhole, or of any considerable part of the whole, it\r\nought, even in our own choice, to yield to what was\r\nso vastly preferable. As all the events in this world\r\nwere conducted by the providence of a wise, powerful\r\nand good God, we might be assured that whatever\r\nhappened, tended to the prosperity and perfection\r\nof the whole, if we ourselves, therefore, were\r\nin poverty, in sickness, or in any other calamity, we\r\nought, first of all, to use our utmost endeavours, so\r\nfar as justice and our duty to others would allow, to\r\nrescue ourselves from this disagreeable circumstance.\r\nBut if after all we could do, we found this impossible,\r\nwe ought to rest satisfied that the order and perfection\r\nof the universe required that we should in the\r\nmean time continue in this situation. And as the\r\nprosperity of the whole should, even to us, appear\r\npreferable to so insignificant a part as ourselves, our\r\nsituation, whatever it was, ought from that moment\r\nto become the object of our choice, and even of our\r\ndesire, if we would maintain that complete propriety\r\nand rectitude of sentiment and conduct in which the\r\nperfection of our nature consists. If, indeed, any\r\nopportunity of extricating ourselves should offer, it\r\nbecame our duty to embrace it. The order of the\r\nuniverse, it was evident, no longer required our continuance\r\nin this situation, and the great director of\r\nthe world plainly called upon us to leave it, by so\r\nclearly pointing out the road which we were to follow.\r\nIt was the same case with the adversity of our\r\nrelations, our friends, our country. If without violating\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_308\"\u003e308\u003c/span\u003eany more sacred obligation, it was in our\r\npower to prevent or to put an end to their calamity,\r\nit undoubtedly was our duty to do so. The propriety\r\nof action, the rule which Jupiter had given us\r\nfor the direction of our conduct, evidently required\r\nthis of us. But if it was altogether out of our power\r\nto do either, we ought then to consider this event as\r\nthe most fortunate which could possibly have happened:\r\nBecause we might be assured that it tended\r\nmost to the prosperity and order of the whole: which\r\nwas what we ourselves, if we were wise and equitable,\r\nought most of all to desire. “In what sense,\r\nsays Epictetus, are some things said to be according\r\nto our nature, and others contrary to it? It is\r\nin that sense in which we consider ourselves as separated\r\nand detached from all other things. For\r\nthus it may be said to be according to the nature of\r\nthe foot to be always clean. But if you consider\r\nit as a foot, and not as something detached from the\r\nrest of the body, it must behove it sometimes to\r\ntrample in the dirt, and sometimes to tread upon\r\nthorns, and sometimes too to be cut off for the sake\r\nof the whole body; and if it refuses this, it is no\r\nlonger a foot. Thus too ought we to conceive\r\nwith regard to ourselves. What are you? A man.\r\nIf you consider yourself as something separated\r\nand detached, it is agreeable to your nature to live\r\nto old age, to be rich, to be in health. But if you\r\nconsider yourself as a man, and as a part of a\r\nwhole, upon account of that whole it will behoove\r\nyou sometimes to be in sickness, sometimes to be exposed\r\nto the inconveniency of a sea voyage, sometimes\r\nto be in want; and at last, perhaps, to die\r\nbefore your time. Why then do you complain?\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_309\"\u003e309\u003c/span\u003eDon’t you know that by doing so, as the foot ceases\r\nto be a foot, so you cease to be a man?”\u003ca id=\"r15\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f15\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[15]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f14\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r14\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e14\u003c/a\u003e. Some of these expressions sound a little awkward in the\r\nEnglish language: they are literal translations of the technical\r\nterms of the Stoics.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f15\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r15\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e15\u003c/a\u003e. Arrian. lib. II. c. 5.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThis submission to the order of the universe, this\r\nentire indifference with regard to whatever concerns\r\nourselves, when put into the balance with the interest\r\nof the whole, could derive its propriety, it is evident,\r\nfrom no other principle besides that, upon which I\r\nhave endeavoured to show, the propriety of justice\r\nwas founded. As long as we view our own interests\r\nwith our own eyes, it is scarce possible that we should\r\nwillingly acquiesce in their being thus sacrificed to\r\nthe interests of the whole. It is only when we view\r\nthose opposite interests with the eyes of others, that\r\nwhat concerns ourselves can appear to be so contemptible\r\nin the comparison, as to be resigned without\r\nany reluctance. To every body but the person\r\nprincipally concerned, nothing can appear more\r\nagreeable to reason and propriety than that the part\r\nshould give place to the whole. But what is agreeable\r\nto the reason of all other men, ought not to appear\r\ncontrary to his. He himself therefore ought to\r\napprove of this sacrifice, and acknowledge its conformity\r\nto reason. But all the affections of a wise man,\r\naccording to the stoics, are perfectly agreeable to reason\r\nand propriety, and of their own accord coincide\r\nwith whatever these ruling principles prescribe. A\r\nwise man, therefore, could never feel any reluctance\r\nto comply with this disposition of things.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIV. Besides these ancient, there are some modern\r\nsystems, according to which virtue consists in propriety;\r\nor in the suitableness of the affection from which\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_310\"\u003e310\u003c/span\u003ewe act, to the cause or object which excites it. The\r\nsystem of Dr. Clarke, which places virtue in acting\r\naccording to the relations of things, in regulating\r\nour conduct according to the fitness or incongruity\r\nwhich there may be in the application of certain\r\nactions to certain things, or to certain relations:\r\nThat of Mr. Woolaston, which places it in acting according\r\nto the truth of things, according to their\r\nproper nature and essence, or in treating them as\r\nwhat they really are, and not as what they are not:\r\nthat of my lord Shaftesbury, which places it in maintaining\r\na proper balance of the affections, and in allowing\r\nno passion to go beyond its proper sphere;\r\nare all of them more or less inaccurate descriptions of\r\nthe same fundamental idea.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe description of virtue which is either given,\r\nor at least meant and intended to be given in each\r\nof those systems, for some of the modern authors are\r\nnot very fortunate in their manner of expressing\r\nthemselves, is no doubt quite just, so far as it goes.\r\nThere is no virtue without propriety, and wherever\r\nthere is propriety, some degree of approbation is\r\ndue. But still this description is imperfect. For\r\nthough propriety is an essential ingredient in every\r\nvirtuous action, it is not always the sole ingredient.\r\nBeneficent actions have in them another quality by\r\nwhich they appear not only to deserve approbation\r\nbut recompense. None of those systems account\r\neither easily or sufficiently for that superior degree\r\nof esteem which seems due to such actions, or for\r\nthat diversity of sentiment which they naturally excite.\r\nNeither is the description of vice more complete.\r\nFor in the same manner, though impropriety\r\nis a necessary ingredient in every vicious action, it is\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_311\"\u003e311\u003c/span\u003enot always the sole ingredient, and there is often the\r\nhighest degree of absurdity and impropriety in very\r\nharmless and insignificant actions. Deliberate actions,\r\nof a pernicious tendency to those we live with,\r\nhave, besides their impropriety, a peculiar quality of\r\ntheir own by which they appear to deserve, not only\r\ndisapprobation, but punishment; and to be the objects,\r\nnot of dislike merely, but of resentment and\r\nrevenge: and none of those systems easily and sufficiently\r\naccount for that superior degree of detestation\r\nwhich we feel for such actions.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. II.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf those systems which make virtue consist in prudence.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eThe most ancient of those systems which make\r\nvirtue consist in prudence, and of which any considerable\r\nremains have come down to us, is that of\r\nEpicurus, who is said, however, to have borrowed\r\nall the leading principles of his philosophy, from\r\nsome of those who had gone before him, particularly\r\nFrom Aristippus; though it is very probable, notwithstanding\r\nthis allegation of his enemies, that at\r\nleast his manner of applying those principles was altogether\r\nhis own.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAccording to Epicurus,\u003ca id=\"r16\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f16\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[16]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e bodily pleasure and\r\npain were the sole ultimate objects of natural desire\r\nand aversion. That they were always the natural\r\nobjects of those passions, he thought required no\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_312\"\u003e312\u003c/span\u003eproof. Pleasure might, indeed, appear sometimes\r\nto be avoided; not, however, because it was pleasure,\r\nbut because, by the enjoyment of it, we should\r\neither forfeit some greater pleasure, or expose ourselves\r\nto some pain that was more to be avoided than\r\nthis pleasure was to be desired. Pain, in the same\r\nmanner, might appear sometimes to be eligible; not,\r\nhowever, because it was pain, but because by enduring\r\nit we might either avoid a still greater pain,\r\nor acquire some pleasure of much more importance.\r\nThat bodily pain and pleasure, therefore, were always\r\nthe natural objects of desire and aversion, was,\r\nhe thought, abundantly evident. Nor was it less so,\r\nhe imagined, that they were the sole ultimate objects\r\nof those passions. Whatever else was either desired\r\nor avoided was so, according to him, upon account\r\nof its tendency to produce one or other of those sensations.\r\nThe tendency to procure pleasure rendered\r\npower and riches desirable, as the contrary tendency\r\nto produce pain made poverty and insignificancy the\r\nobjects of aversion. Honour and reputation were\r\nvalued, because the esteem and love of those we live\r\nwith were of the greatest consequence both to procure\r\npleasure and to defend us from pain. Ignominy\r\nand bad fame, on the contrary, were to be avoided,\r\nbecause the hatred, contempt, and resentment of\r\nthose we lived with destroyed all security, and necessarily\r\nexposed us to the greatest bodily evils.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f16\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r16\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e16\u003c/a\u003e. See Cicero de finibus, lib. i. Diogenes Laert. 1. x.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAll the pleasures and pains of the mind were, according\r\nto Epicurus, ultimately derived from those\r\nof the body. The mind was happy when it thought\r\nof the past pleasures of the body, and hoped for\r\nothers to come: and it was miserable when it thought\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_313\"\u003e313\u003c/span\u003eof the pains which the body had formerly endured,\r\nand dreaded the same or greater thereafter.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut the pleasures and pains of the mind, though\r\nultimately derived from those of the body, were\r\nvastly greater than their originals. The body felt\r\nonly the sensation of the present instant, whereas the\r\nmind felt also the past and the future, the one by\r\nremembrance, the other by anticipation, and consequently\r\nboth suffered and enjoyed much more.\r\nWhen we are under the greatest bodily pain, he observed,\r\nwe shall always find, if we attend to it, that\r\nit is not the suffering of the present instant which\r\nchiefly torments us, but either the agonizing remembrance\r\nof the past, or the yet more horrible dread\r\nof the future. The pain of each instant, considered\r\nby itself, and cut off from all that goes before and all\r\nthat comes after it, is a trifle not worth the regarding.\r\nYet this is all which the body can ever be said\r\nto suffer. In the same manner, when we enjoy the\r\ngreatest pleasure, we shall always find that the bodily\r\nsensation, the sensation of the present instant makes\r\nbut a small part of our happiness, that our enjoyment\r\nchiefly arises either from the chearful recollection\r\nof the past, or the still more joyous anticipation\r\nof the future, and that the mind always contributes\r\nby much the largest share of the entertainment.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSince our happiness and misery, therefore, depended\r\nchiefly on the mind, if this part of our nature\r\nwas well disposed, if our thoughts and opinions\r\nwere as they should be, it was of little importance\r\nin what manner our body was affected. Though\r\nunder great bodily pain, we might still enjoy a considerable\r\nshare of happiness, if our reason and judgment\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_314\"\u003e314\u003c/span\u003emaintained their superiority. We might entertain\r\nourselves with the remembrance of past, and\r\nwith the hopes of future pleasure; we might soften\r\nthe rigour of our pains, by recollecting what it was\r\nwhich, even in this situation, we were under any necessity\r\nof suffering. That this was merely the bodily\r\nsensation, the pain of the present instant, which by\r\nitself could never be very great. That whatever\r\nagony we suffered from the dread of its continuance\r\nwas the effect of an opinion of the mind, which might\r\nbe corrected by juster sentiments; by considering\r\nthat, if our pains were violent, they would probably\r\nbe of short duration; and that if they were of\r\nlong continuance, they would probably be moderate,\r\nand admit of many intervals of ease; and that, at\r\nany rate, death was always at hand and within call\r\nto deliver us, which as, according to him, it put an\r\nend to all sensation, either of pain or pleasure, could\r\nnot be regarded as an evil. When we are, said he,\r\ndeath is not; and when death is, we are not; death\r\ntherefore can be nothing to us.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIf the actual sensation of positive pain was in itself\r\nso little to be feared, that of pleasure was still\r\nless to be desired. Naturally the sensation of pleasure\r\nwas much less pungent than that of pain. If,\r\ntherefore, this last could take so very little from the\r\nhappiness of a well-disposed mind, the other could\r\nadd scarce any thing to it. When the body was\r\nfree from pain and the mind from fear and anxiety,\r\nthe superadded sensation of bodily pleasure could be\r\nof very little importance; and though it might diversify,\r\ncould not be properly be said to increase the\r\nhappiness of this situation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_315\"\u003e315\u003c/span\u003eIn ease of body, therefore, and in security or tranquillity\r\nof mind, consisted, according to Epicurus,\r\nthe most perfect state of human nature, the most\r\ncomplete happiness which man was capable of enjoying.\r\nTo obtain this great end of natural desire\r\nwas the sole object of all the virtues, which, according\r\nto him, were not desirable upon their own account,\r\nbut upon account of their tendency to bring\r\nabout this situation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003ePrudence, for example, though according to this\r\nphilosophy, the source and principle of all the virtues,\r\nwas not desirable upon its own account. That\r\ncareful and laborious and circumspect state of mind,\r\never watchful and ever attentive to the most distant\r\nconsequences of every action, could not be a thing\r\npleasant or agreeable for its own sake, but upon account\r\nof its tendency to procure the greatest goods\r\nand to keep off the greatest evils.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eTo abstain from pleasure too, to curb and restrain\r\nour natural passions for enjoyment, which was\r\nthe office of temperance, could never be desirable\r\nfor its own sake. The whole value of this virtue\r\narose from its utility, from its enabling us to postpone\r\nthe present enjoyment for the sake of a greater\r\nto come, or to avoid a greater pain that might ensue\r\nfrom it. Temperance, in short, was nothing but\r\nprudence with regard to pleasure.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eTo support labour, to endure pain, to be exposed\r\nto danger or to death, the situations which fortitude\r\nwould often lead us into, were surely still less the\r\nobjects of natural desire. They were chosen only to\r\navoid greater evils. We submitted to labour, in order\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_316\"\u003e316\u003c/span\u003eto avoid the greater shame and pain of poverty,\r\nand we exposed ourselves to danger and to death in\r\ndefence of our liberty and property, the means and\r\ninstruments of pleasure and happiness; or in defence\r\nof our country, in the safety of which our own was\r\nnecessarily comprehended. Fortitude enabled us to\r\ndo all this chearfully, as the best which, in our present\r\nsituation, could possibly be done, and was in\r\nreality no more than prudence, good judgment, and\r\npresence of mind in properly appreciating pain, labour,\r\nand danger, always choosing the less in order\r\nto avoid the greater.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is the same case with justice. To abstain from\r\nwhat is anothers was not desirable on its own account,\r\nand it could not surely be better for you, that I\r\nshould possess what is my own, than that you should\r\npossess it. You ought however, to abstain from\r\nwhatever belongs to me, because by doing otherwise\r\nyou will provoke the resentment and indignation of\r\nmankind. The security and tranquillity of your\r\nmind will be entirely destroyed. You will be filled\r\nwith fear and consternation at the thought of that\r\npunishment which you will imagine that men are at\r\nall times ready to inflict upon you, and from which\r\nno power, no art, no concealment, will ever, in your\r\nown fancy, be sufficient to protect you. That other\r\nspecies of justice which consists in doing proper good\r\noffices to different persons, according to the various\r\nrelations of neighbours, kinsmen, friends, benefactors,\r\nsuperiors, or equals, which they may stand in\r\nto us, is recommended by the same reasons. To act\r\nproperly in all these different relations procures us\r\nthe esteem and love of those we live with; as to do\r\notherwise excites their contempt and hatred. By the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_317\"\u003e317\u003c/span\u003eone we naturally secure, by the other we necessarily\r\nendanger our own ease and tranquillity, the great and\r\nultimate objects of all our desires. The whole virtue\r\nof justice, therefore, the most important of all the\r\nvirtues, is no more than discreet and prudent conduct\r\nwith regard to our neighbours.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSuch is the doctrine of Epicurus concerning the\r\nnature of virtue. It may seem extraordinary that\r\nthis philosopher, who is described as a person of the\r\nmost amiable manners, should never have observed,\r\nthat, whatever may be the tendency of those virtues,\r\nor of the contrary vices, with regard to our bodily\r\nease and security, the sentiments which they naturally\r\nexcite in others are the objects of a much more\r\npassionate desire or aversion than all their other consequences;\r\nThat to be amiable, to be respectable,\r\nto be the proper object of esteem, is by every well-disposed\r\nmind more valued than all the ease and security\r\nwhich love, respect, and esteem can procure us;\r\nThat, on the contrary, to be odious, to be contemptible,\r\nto be the proper object of indignation, is more\r\ndreadful than all that we can suffer in our body from\r\nhatred, contempt, or indignation; and that consequently\r\nour desire of the one character, and our aversion\r\nto the other, cannot arise from any regard to the\r\neffects which either of them is likely to produce upon\r\nthe body.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThis system is, no doubt, altogether inconsistent\r\nwith that which I have been endeavouring to establish.\r\nIt is not difficult, however, to discover from\r\nwhat phasis, if I may say so, from what particular\r\nview or aspect of nature, this account of things derives\r\nits probability. By the wise contrivance of the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_318\"\u003e318\u003c/span\u003eAuthor of nature, virtue is upon all ordinary occasions,\r\neven with regard to this life, real wisdom, and\r\nthe surest and readiest means of obtaining both safety\r\nand advantage. Our success or disappointment in\r\nour undertakings must very much depend upon the\r\ngood or bad opinion which is commonly entertained\r\nof us, and upon the general disposition of those we\r\nlive with, either to assist or to oppose us. But the\r\nbest, the surest, the easiest, and the readiest way of\r\nobtaining the advantageous and of avoiding the unfavourable\r\njudgments of others, is undoubtedly to\r\nrender ourselves the proper objects of the former and\r\nnot of the latter. “Do you desire, said Socrates,\r\nthe reputation of a good musician? The only sure\r\nway of obtaining it, is to become a good musician.\r\nWould you desire in the same manner to be thought\r\ncapable of serving your country either as a general\r\nor as a statesman? The best way in this case too\r\nis really to acquire the art and experience of war\r\nand government, and to become really fit to be a\r\ngeneral or a statesman. And in the same manner\r\nif you would be reckoned sober, temperate, just,\r\nand equitable, the best way of acquiring this reputation\r\nis to become sober, temperate, just, and\r\nequitable. If you can really render yourself amiable,\r\nrespectable, and the proper object of esteem,\r\nthere is no fear of your not soon acquiring the love,\r\nthe respect, and esteem of those you live with.”\r\nSince the practice of virtue, therefore, is in general\r\nso advantageous, and that of vice so contrary to our\r\ninterest, the consideration of those opposite tendencies\r\nundoubtedly stamps an additional beauty and\r\npropriety upon the one, and a new deformity and\r\nimpropriety upon the other. Temperance, magnanimity,\r\njustice, and beneficence, come thus to\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_319\"\u003e319\u003c/span\u003ebe approved of, not only under their proper characters,\r\nbut under the additional character of the highest\r\nwisdom and most real prudence. And in the same\r\nmanner the contrary vices of intemperance, pusillanimity,\r\ninjustice, and either malevolence or sordid\r\nselfishness, come to be disapproved of, not only under\r\ntheir proper characters, but under the additional\r\ncharacter of the most short-sighted folly and weakness.\r\nEpicurus appears in every virtue to have attended\r\nto this species of propriety only. It is that\r\nwhich is most apt to occur to those who are endeavouring\r\nto persuade others to regularity of conduct.\r\nWhen men by their practice, and perhaps too by\r\ntheir maxims, manifestly show that the natural beauty\r\nof virtue is not like to have much effect upon them,\r\nhow is it possible to move them but by representing\r\nthe folly of their conduct, and how much they themselves\r\nare in the end likely to suffer by it?\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBy running up all the different virtues too to this\r\none species of propriety, Epicurus indulged a propensity,\r\nwhich is natural to all men, but which philosophers\r\nin particular are apt to cultivate with a peculiar\r\nfondness, as the great means of displaying their\r\ningenuity, the propensity to account for all appearances\r\nfrom as few principles as possible. And he,\r\nno doubt, indulged this propensity still further, when\r\nhe referred all the primary objects of natural desire\r\nand aversion to the pleasures and pains of the body.\r\nThe great patron of the atomical philosophy, who\r\ntook so much pleasure in deducing all the powers and\r\nqualities of bodies from the most obvious and familiar,\r\nthe figure, motion, and arrangement of the\r\nsmall parts of matter, felt no doubt a similar satisfaction,\r\nwhen he accounted, in the same manner, for\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_320\"\u003e320\u003c/span\u003eall the sentiments and passions of the mind from those\r\nwhich are most obvious and familiar.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe system of Epicurus agreed with those of Plato,\r\nAristotle, and Zeno, in making virtue consist in\r\nacting in the most suitable manner to obtain the\r\n\u003ca id=\"r17\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f17\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[17]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003eprimary objects of natural desire. It differed from\r\nall of them in two other respects; first, in the account\r\nwhich it gave of those primary objects of natural desire;\r\nand secondly, in the account which it gave of\r\nthe excellence of virtue, or of the reason why that\r\nquality ought to be esteemed.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f17\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r17\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e17\u003c/a\u003e. \u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003ePrima naturæ.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe primary objects of natural desire consisted,\r\naccording to Epicurus, in bodily pleasure and pain,\r\nand in nothing else whereas, according to the other\r\nthree philosophers, there were many other objects,\r\nsuch as knowledge, such as the happiness of our relations,\r\nof our friends, of our country, which were\r\nultimately desirable for their own sakes.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eVirtue too, according to Epicurus, did not deserve\r\nto be pursued for its own sake, nor was itself one\r\nof the ultimate objects of natural appetite, but was\r\neligible only upon account of its tendency to prevent\r\npain and to procure ease and pleasure. In the opinion\r\nof the other three, on the contrary, it was desirable,\r\nnot merely as the means of procuring the other primary\r\nobjects of natural desire, but as something\r\nwhich was in itself more valuable than them all.\r\nMan, they thought, being born for action, his happiness\r\nmust consist, not merely in the agreeableness\r\nof his passive sensations, but also in the propriety of\r\nhis active exertions.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_321\"\u003e321\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. III.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf those systems which make virtue consist in benevolence.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eThe system which makes virtue consist in benevolence,\r\nthough I think not so ancient as all of those\r\nwhich I have already given an account of, is, however,\r\nof very great antiquity. It seems to have been\r\nthe doctrine of the greater part of those philosophers\r\nwho, about and after the age of Augustus, called\r\nthemselves Eclectics, who pretended to follow chiefly\r\nthe opinions of Plato and Pythagoras, and who upon\r\nthat account are commonly known by the name of\r\nthe later Platonists.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIn the divine nature, according to these authors,\r\nbenevolence or love was the sole principle of action,\r\nand directed the exertion of all the other attributes.\r\nThe wisdom of the Deity was employed in finding\r\nout the means for bringing about those ends which\r\nhis goodness suggested, as his infinite power was exerted\r\nto execute them. Benevolence, however, was\r\nstill the supreme and governing attribute, to which\r\nthe others were subservient, and from which the whole\r\nexcellency, or the whole morality, if I may be allowed\r\nsuch an expression, of the divine operations,\r\nwas ultimately derived. The whole perfection and\r\nvirtue of the human mind consisted in some resemblance\r\nor participation of the divine perfections, and,\r\nconsequently, in being filled with the same principle\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_322\"\u003e322\u003c/span\u003eof benevolence and love which influenced all the actions\r\nof the deity. The actions of men which flowed\r\nfrom this motive were alone truly praise-worthy, or\r\ncould claim any merit in the sight of the deity. It\r\nwas by actions of charity and love only that we\r\ncould imitate, as became us, the conduct of God,\r\nthat we could express our humble and devout admiration\r\nof his infinite perfections, that by fostering in\r\nour own minds the same divine principle, we could\r\nbring our own affections to a greater resemblance\r\nwith his holy attributes, and thereby become more\r\nproper objects of his love and esteem; till at last we\r\narrived at that immediate converse and communication\r\nwith the deity to which it was the great object of\r\nthis philosophy to raise us.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThis system, as it was much esteemed by many\r\nancient fathers of the christian church, so after the\r\nreformation it was adopted by several divines of the\r\nmost eminent piety and learning, and of the most\r\namiable manners; particularly, by Dr. Ralph Cudworth,\r\nby Dr. Henry More, and by Mr. John Smith\r\nof Cambridge. But of all the patrons of this system,\r\nancient or modern, the late Dr. Hutcheson, was undoubtedly\r\nbeyond all comparison, the most acute,\r\nthe most distinct, the most philosophical, and what\r\nis of the greatest consequence of all, the soberest and\r\nmost judicious.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThat virtue consists in benevolence is a notion\r\nsupported by many appearances in human nature.\r\nIt has been observed already that proper benevolence\r\nis the most graceful and agreeable of all the\r\naffections, that it is recommended to us by a double\r\nsympathy, that as its tendency is necessarily beneficent,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_323\"\u003e323\u003c/span\u003eit is the proper object of gratitude and reward,\r\nand that upon all these accounts it appears to our\r\nnatural sentiments to possess a merit superior to any\r\nother. It has been observed too that even the weakness\r\nof benevolence are not very disagreeable to us,\r\nwhereas those of every other passion are always extremely\r\ndisgusting. Who does not abhor excessive\r\nmalice, excessive selfishness, or excessive resentment?\r\nBut the most excessive indulgence even of partial\r\nfriendship is not so offensive. It is the benevolent\r\npassions only which can exert themselves without\r\nany regard or attention to propriety, and yet retain\r\nsomething about them which is engaging. There is\r\nsomething pleasing even in mere instinctive good-will\r\nwhich goes on to do good offices without once\r\nreflecting whether by this conduct it is the proper\r\nobject either of blame or approbation. It is not so\r\nwith the other passions. The moment they are deserted,\r\nthe moment they are unaccompanied by the\r\nsense of propriety, they cease to be agreeable.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs benevolence bestows upon those actions which\r\nproceed from it, a beauty superior to all others, so\r\nthe want of it, and much more the contrary inclination,\r\ncommunicates a peculiar deformity to whatever\r\nevidences such a disposition. Pernicious actions are\r\noften punishable for no other reason than because they\r\nshow a want of sufficient attention to the happiness\r\nof our neighbour.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBesides all this, Dr. Hutcheson\u003ca id=\"r18\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f18\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[18]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e observed, that\r\nwhenever in any action, supposed to proceed from\r\nbenevolent affections, some other motive had been\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_324\"\u003e324\u003c/span\u003ediscovered, our sense of the merit of this action was\r\njust so far diminished as this motive was believed to\r\nhave influenced it. If an action, supposed to proceed,\r\nfrom gratitude, should be discovered to have arisen from\r\nan expectation of some new favour, or if what was\r\napprehended to proceed from public spirit, should be\r\nfound out to have taken its origin from the hope of\r\na pecuniary reward, such a discovery would entirely\r\ndestroy all notion of merit or praise-worthiness in\r\neither of these actions. Since, therefore, the mixture\r\nof any selfish motive, like that of a base alloy, diminished\r\nor took away altogether the merit which\r\nwould otherwise have belonged to any action, it was\r\nevident, he imagined, that virtue must consist in pure\r\nand disinterested benevolence alone.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f18\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r18\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e18\u003c/a\u003e. See Inquiry concerning virtue, sect. 1. and 2.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen those actions, on the contrary, which are\r\ncommonly supposed to proceed from a selfish motive,\r\nare discovered to have arisen from a benevolent one,\r\nit greatly enhances our sense of their merit. If we\r\nbelieved of any person that he endeavoured to advance\r\nhis fortune from no other view but that of doing\r\nfriendly offices, and of making proper returns to\r\nhis benefactors, we should only love and esteem him\r\nthe more. And this observation seemed still more to\r\nconfirm the conclusion, that it was benevolence only\r\nwhich could stamp upon any action the character of\r\nvirtue.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eLast of all, what, he imagined, was an evident\r\nproof of the justness of this account of virtue, in all\r\nthe disputes of casuists concerning the rectitude of\r\nconduct, the public good, he observed, was the\r\nstandard to which they constantly referred; thereby\r\nuniversally acknowledging that whatever tended to\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_325\"\u003e325\u003c/span\u003epromote the happiness of mankind was right and\r\nlaudable and virtuous, and the contrary, wrong,\r\nblameable, and vicious. In the late debates about\r\npassive obedience and the right of resistance, the sole\r\npoint in controversy among men of sense was, whether\r\nuniversal submission would probably be attended\r\nwith greater evils than temporary insurrections when\r\nprivileges were invaded. Whether what, upon the\r\nwhole, tended most to the happiness of mankind,\r\nwas not also morally good, was never once, he said,\r\nmade a question.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSince benevolence, therefore, was the only motive\r\nwhich could bestow upon any action the character\r\nof virtue, the greater the benevolence which was\r\nevidenced by any action, the greater the praise which\r\nmust belong to it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThose actions which aimed at the happiness of a\r\ngreat community, as they demonstrated a more enlarged\r\nbenevolence than those which aimed only at\r\nthat of a smaller system, so were they, likewise, proportionally\r\nthe more virtuous. The most virtuous\r\nof all affections, therefore, was that which embraced\r\nas its object the happiness of all intelligent beings.\r\nThe lead virtuous, on the contrary, of those to which\r\nthe character of virtue could in any respect belong,\r\nwas that which aimed no further than at the happiness\r\nof an individual, such as a son, a brother, a\r\nfriend.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIn directing all our actions to promote the greatest\r\npossible good, in submitting all inferior affections to\r\nthe desire of the general happiness of mankind, in\r\nregarding ones self but as one of the many, whose\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_326\"\u003e326\u003c/span\u003eprosperity was to be pursued no further than it was\r\nconsistent with, or conducive to that of the whole,\r\nconsisted the perfection of virtue.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSelf-love was a principle which could never be\r\nvirtuous in any degree or in any direction. It was\r\nvicious whenever it obstructed the general good.\r\nWhen it had no other effect than to make the individual\r\ntake care of his own happiness, it was merely\r\ninnocent, and tho’ it deserved no praise, neither\r\nought it to incur any blame. Those benevolent\r\nactions which were performed, notwithstanding some\r\nstrong motive from self-interest, were the more virtuous\r\nupon that account. They demonstrated the\r\nstrength and vigour of the benevolent principle.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eDr. Hutcheson\u003ca id=\"r19\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f19\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[19]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e was so far from allowing self-love\r\nto be in any case a motive of virtuous actions,\r\nthat even a regard to the pleasure of self-approbation,\r\nto the comfortable applause of our own consciences,\r\naccording to him, diminished the merit of a benevolent\r\naction. This was a selfish motive, he thought,\r\nwhich, so far as it contributed to any action, demonstrated\r\nthe weakness of that pure and disinterested\r\nbenevolence which could alone stamp upon the conduct\r\nof man the character of virtue. In the common\r\njudgments of mankind, however, this regard\r\nto the approbation of our own minds is so far from\r\nbeing considered as what can in any respect diminish\r\nthe virtue of any action, that it is rather looked upon\r\nas the sole motive which deserves the appellation of\r\nvirtuous.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f19\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r19\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e19\u003c/a\u003e. Inquiry concerning virtue, sect 2. art. 4. also illustrations\r\non the moral sense, sect. 5. last paragraph.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_327\"\u003e327\u003c/span\u003eSuch is the account given of the nature of virtue\r\nin this amiable system, a system which has a peculiar\r\ntendency to nourish and support in the human heart\r\nthe noblest and the most agreeable of all affections,\r\nand not only to check the injustice of self-love, but\r\nin some measure to discourage that principle altogether,\r\nby representing it as what could never reflect\r\nany honour upon those who were influenced by it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs some of the other systems which I have already\r\ngiven an account of, do not sufficiently explain from\r\nwhence arises the peculiar excellency of the supreme\r\nvirtue of beneficence, so this system seems to have\r\nthe contrary defect, of not sufficiently explaining\r\nfrom whence arises our approbation of the inferior\r\nvirtues of prudence, vigilance, circumspection, temperance,\r\nconstancy, firmness. The view and aim of\r\nour affections, the beneficent and hurtful effects which\r\nthey tend to produce, are the only qualities at all attended\r\nto in this system. Their propriety and impropriety,\r\ntheir suitableness and unsuitableness, to\r\nthe cause which excites them, are disregarded altogether.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eRegard to our own private happiness and interest\r\ntoo, appear upon many occasions very laudable principles\r\nof action. The habits of œconomy, industry,\r\ndiscretion, attention, and application of thought,\r\nare generally supposed to be cultivated from self-interested\r\nmotives, and at the same time are apprehended\r\nto be very praise-worthy qualities, which deserve\r\nthe esteem and approbation of every body.\r\nThe mixture of a selfish motive, it is true, seems\r\noften to sully the beauty of those actions which ought\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_328\"\u003e328\u003c/span\u003eto arise from a benevolent affection. The cause of\r\nthis, however, is not that self-love can never be\r\nthe motive of a virtuous action, but that the benevolent\r\nprinciple appears in this particular case to\r\nwant its due degree of strength, and to be altogether\r\nunsuitable to its object. The character, therefore,\r\nseems evidently imperfect, and upon the whole\r\nto deserve blame rather than praise. The mixture\r\nof a benevolent motive in an action to which self-love\r\nalone ought to be sufficient to prompt us, is\r\nnot so apt indeed to diminish our sense of its propriety,\r\nor of the virtue of the person who performs it.\r\nWe are not ready to suspect any person of being defective\r\nin selfishness. This is by no means the weak\r\nside of human nature, or the failing of which we\r\nare apt to be suspicious. If we could really believe,\r\nhowever, of any man, that, was it not from a regard\r\nto his family and friends, he would not take that\r\nproper care of his health, his life, or his fortune, to\r\nwhich self-preservation alone ought to be sufficient to\r\nprompt him, it would undoubtedly be a failing, tho’\r\none of those amiable failings, which render a person\r\nrather the object of pity than of contempt or hatred.\r\nIt would still, however, somewhat diminish the dignity\r\nand respectableness of his character. Carelessness\r\nand want of œconomy are universally disapproved\r\nof, not, however as proceeding from a want\r\nof benevolence, but from a want of the proper attention\r\nto the objects of self-interest.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThough the standard by which casuists frequently\r\ndetermine what is right or wrong in human\r\nconduct, be its tendency to the welfare or disorder\r\nof society, it does not follow that a regard to the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_329\"\u003e329\u003c/span\u003ewelfare of society should be the sole virtuous motive\r\nof action, but only that, in any competition, it\r\nought to cast the balance against all other motives.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBenevolence may, perhaps, be the sole principle\r\nof action in the Deity, and there are several, not improbable,\r\narguments which tend to persuade us that\r\nit is so. It is not easy to conceive what other motive\r\nan independent and all perfect being, who stands in\r\nneed of nothing external, and whose happiness is\r\ncomplete in himself, can act from. But whatever\r\nmay be the case with the Deity, so imperfect a creature\r\nas man, the support of whose existence requires\r\nso many things external to him, must often act from\r\nmany other motives. The condition of human nature\r\nwere peculiarly hard, if those affections, which,\r\nby the very nature of our being, ought frequently to\r\ninfluence our conduct, could upon no occasion appear\r\nvirtuous, or deserve esteem and commendation from\r\nany body.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThose three systems, that which places virtue in\r\npropriety, that which places it in prudence, and\r\nthat which makes it consist in benevolence, are the\r\nprincipal accounts which have been given of the nature\r\nof virtue. To one or other of them, all the\r\nother descriptions of virtue, how different soever they\r\nmay appear, are easily reducible.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThat system which places virtue in obedience to\r\nthe will of the Deity, may be counted either among\r\nthose which make it consist in prudence, or among\r\nthose which make it consist in propriety. When it is\r\nasked, why we ought to obey the will of the Deity,\r\nthis question, which would be impious and absurd\r\nin the highest degree, if asked from any doubt that\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_330\"\u003e330\u003c/span\u003ewe ought to obey him, can admit but of two different\r\nanswers. It must either be said that we ought to\r\nobey the will of the Deity because he is a being of\r\ninfinite power, who will reward us eternally if we do\r\nso, and punish us eternally if we do otherwise: Or\r\nit must be said, that independent of any regard to our\r\nown happiness, or to rewards and punishments of\r\nany kind, there is a congruity and fitness that a creature\r\nshould obey its creator, that a limited and imperfect\r\nbeing should submit to one of infinite and incomprehensible\r\nperfections. Besides one or other of\r\nthese two it is impossible to conceive that any other\r\nanswer can be given to this question. If the first answer\r\nbe the proper one, virtue consists in prudence,\r\nor in the proper pursuit of our own final interest and\r\nhappiness; since it is upon this account that we are\r\nobliged to obey the will of the Deity. If the second\r\nanswer be the proper one, virtue must consist in propriety,\r\nsince the ground of our obligation to obedience\r\nis the suitableness or congruity of the sentiments\r\nof humility and submission to the superiority of the\r\nobject which excites them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThat system which places virtue in utility coincides\r\ntoo with that which makes it consist in propriety.\r\nAccording to this system all those qualities of the\r\nmind which are agreeable or advantageous, either to\r\nthe person himself or to others, are approved of as\r\nvirtuous, and the contrary disapproved of as vicious.\r\nBut the agreeableness or utility of any affection depends\r\nupon the degree which it is allowed to subsist\r\nin. Every affection is useful when it is confined to\r\na certain degree of moderation, and every affection\r\nis disadvantageous when it exceeds the proper bounds.\r\nAccording to this system therefore, virtue consists,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_331\"\u003e331\u003c/span\u003enot in any one affection, but in the proper degree of\r\nall the affections, The only difference between it\r\nand that which I have been endeavouring to establish,\r\nis, that it makes utility, and not sympathy, or the\r\ncorrespondent affection of the spectator, the natural\r\nand original measure of this proper degree.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. IV.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf licentious systems.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eAll those systems, which I have hitherto given\r\nan account of, suppose that there is a real and essential\r\ndistinction between vice and virtue, whatever\r\nthese qualities may consist in. There is a real and\r\nessential difference between the propriety and impropriety\r\nof any affection, between benevolence and any\r\nother principle of action, between real prudence and\r\nshort-sighted folly or precipitate rashness. In the\r\nmain too all of them contribute to encourage the\r\npraise-worthy, and to discourage the blameable disposition.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt may be true perhaps, of some of them, that\r\nthey tend, in some measure, to break the balance\r\nof the affections, and to give the mind a particular\r\nbias to some principles of action, beyond the proportion\r\nthat is due to them. The ancient systems\r\nwhich place virtue in propriety, seem chiefly to recommend\r\nthe great, the awful, and the respectable\r\nvirtues, the virtues of self-government and self-command;\r\nfortitude, magnanimity, independency\r\nupon fortune, the contempt of all outward accidents,\r\nof pain, poverty, exile, and death. It is in these\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_332\"\u003e332\u003c/span\u003egreat exertions that the noblest propriety of conduct\r\nis displayed. The soft, the amiable, the gentle virtues,\r\nall the virtues of indulgent humanity are, in\r\ncomparison, but little insisted upon, and seem, on\r\nthe contrary, by the Stoics in particular, to have\r\nbeen often regarded as mere weaknesses which it behoved\r\na wise man not to harbour in his breast.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe benevolent system, on the other hand, while\r\nit fosters and encourages all those milder virtues in\r\nthe highest degree, seems entirely to neglect the more\r\nawful and respectable qualities of the mind. It even\r\ndenies them the appellation of virtues. It calls them\r\nmoral abilities, and treats them as qualities which do\r\nnot deserve the same sort of esteem and approbation,\r\nthat is due to what is properly denominated virtue.\r\nAll those principles of action which aim only at our\r\nown interest, it treats, if that be possible, still worse.\r\nSo far from having any merit of their own, they diminish,\r\nit pretends, the merit of benevolence, when\r\nthey co-operate with it: and prudence, it is asserted,\r\nwhen employed only in promoting private interest,\r\ncan never even be imagined a virtue.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThat system, again, which makes virtue consist\r\nin prudence only, while it gives the highest encouragement\r\nto the habits of caution, vigilance, sobriety,\r\nand judicious moderation, seems to degrade equally\r\nboth the amiable and respectable virtues, and to\r\nstrip the former of all their beauty, and the latter of\r\nall their grandeur.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut notwithstanding these defects, the general tendency\r\nof each of those three systems is to encourage\r\nthe best and most laudable habits of the human mind:\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_333\"\u003e333\u003c/span\u003eand it were well for society, if, either mankind in\r\ngeneral, or even those few who pretend to live according\r\nto any philosophical rule, were to regulate\r\ntheir conduct by the precepts of any one of them.\r\nWe may learn from each of them something that is\r\nboth valuable and peculiar. If it was possible, by\r\nprecept and exhortation, to inspire the mind with\r\nfortitude and magnanimity, the ancient systems of\r\npropriety would seem sufficient to do this. Or if it\r\nwas possible, by the same means, to soften it into\r\nhumanity, and to awaken the affections of kindness\r\nand general love towards those we live with, some\r\nof the pictures with which the benevolent system presents\r\nus, might seem capable of producing this effect.\r\nWe may learn from the system of Epicurus,\r\nthough undoubtedly the worst of all the three, how\r\nmuch the practice of both the amiable and respectable\r\nvirtues is conducive to our own interest, to our\r\nown ease and safety and quiet even in this life. As\r\nEpicurus placed happiness in the attainment of ease\r\nand security, he exerted himself in a particular manner\r\nto show that virtue was, not merely the best and\r\nthe surest, but the only means of acquiring those invaluable\r\npossessions. The good effects of virtue,\r\nupon our inward tranquility and peace of mind, are\r\nwhat other philosophers have chiefly celebrated. Epicurus,\r\nwithout neglecting this topic, has chiefly insisted\r\nupon the influence of that amiable quality on\r\nour outward prosperity and safety. It was upon this\r\naccount that his writings were so much studied in the\r\nancient world by men of all different philosophical\r\nparties. It is from him that Cicero, the great enemy\r\nof the Epicurean system, borrows his most agreeable\r\nproofs that virtue alone is sufficient to secure happiness.\r\nSeneca, though a Stoic, the sect most opposite\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_334\"\u003e334\u003c/span\u003eto that of Epicurus, yet quotes this philosopher\r\nmore frequently than any other.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThere are, however, some other systems which\r\nseem to take away altogether the distinction between\r\nvice and virtue, and of which the tendency is, upon\r\nthat account, wholly pernicious: I mean the systems\r\nof the duke of Rochefoucault and Dr. Mandeville.\r\nThough the notions of both these authors are in almost\r\nevery respect erroneous, there are, however,\r\nsome appearances in human nature which, when\r\nviewed in a certain manner, seem at first sight to favour\r\nthem. These, first slightly sketched out with\r\nthe elegance and delicate precision of the duke of\r\nRochefoucault, and afterwards more fully represented\r\nwith the lively and humorous, though coarse\r\nand rustic eloquence of Dr. Mandeville, have thrown\r\nupon their doctrines an air of truth and probability\r\nwhich is very apt to impose upon the unskilful.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eDr. Mandeville, the most methodical of those\r\ntwo authors, considers whatever is done from a sense\r\nof propriety, from a regard to what is commendable\r\nand praise-worthy, as being done from a love of\r\npraise and commendation, or as he calls it from vanity.\r\nMan, he observes, is naturally much more\r\ninterested in his own happiness than in that of others,\r\nand it is impossible that in his heart he can ever really\r\nprefer their prosperity to his own. Whenever he appears\r\nto do so, we may be assured that he imposes\r\nupon us, and that he is then acting from the same\r\nselfish motives as at all other times. Among his\r\nother selfish passions, vanity is one of the strongest,\r\nand he is always easily flattered and greatly delighted\r\nwith the applauses of those about him. When he\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_335\"\u003e335\u003c/span\u003eappears to sacrifice his own interest to that of his\r\ncompanions, he knows that this conduct will be\r\nhighly agreeable to their self-love, and that they will\r\nnot fail to express their satisfaction by bellowing upon\r\nhim the most extravagant praises. The pleasure\r\nwhich he expects from this, over-balances, in his\r\nopinion, the interest which he abandons in order to\r\nprocure it. His conduct, therefore, upon this occasion,\r\nis in reality just as selfish, and arises from just\r\nas mean a motive as upon any other. He is flattered,\r\nhowever, and he flatters himself with the belief\r\nthat it is entirely disinterested; since, unless this was\r\nsupposed, it would not seem to merit any commendation\r\neither in his own eyes or in those of others. All\r\npublic spirit, therefore, all preference of public to\r\nprivate interest, is, according to him a mere cheat\r\nand imposition upon mankind; and that human virtue\r\nwhich is so much boasted of, and which is the\r\noccasion of so much emulation among men, is the\r\nmere offspring of flattery begot upon pride.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhether the most generous and public-spirited\r\nactions may not, in some sense, be regarded as proceeding\r\nfrom self-love, I shall not at present examine.\r\nThe decision of this question is not, I apprehend,\r\nof any importance towards establishing the\r\nreality of virtue, since self-love may frequently be a\r\nvirtuous motive of action. I shall only endeavour to\r\nshow that the desire of doing what is honourable and\r\nnoble, of rendering ourselves the proper objects of\r\nesteem and approbation, cannot with any propriety\r\nbe called vanity. Even the love of well-grounded\r\nfame and reputation, the desire of acquiring esteem\r\nby what is really estimable, does not deserve that\r\nname. The first is the love of virtue, the noblest\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_336\"\u003e336\u003c/span\u003eand the best passion of human nature. The second\r\nis the love of true glory, a passion inferior no doubt\r\nto the former, but which in dignity appears to come\r\nimmediately after it. He is guilty of vanity who desires\r\npraise for qualities which are either not praise-worthy\r\nin any degree, or not in that degree which\r\nhe expects to be praised for them; who sets his character\r\nupon the frivolous ornaments of dress and\r\nequipage, or the equally frivolous accomplishments\r\nof ordinary behaviour. He is guilty of vanity who\r\ndesires praise for what indeed very well deserves it,\r\nbut what he perfectly knows does not belong to him.\r\nThe empty coxcomb who gives himself airs of importance\r\nwhich he has no title to, the silly liar who\r\nassumes the merit of adventures which never happened,\r\nthe foolish plagiary who gives himself out for the\r\nauthor of what he has no pretensions to, are properly\r\naccused of this passion. He too is said to be guilty\r\nof vanity who is not contented with the silent sentiments\r\nof esteem and approbation, who seems to be\r\nfonder of their noisy expressions and acclamations\r\nthan of the sentiments themselves, who is never satisfied\r\nbut when his own praises are ringing in his ears,\r\nand who solicits with the most anxious importunity all\r\nexternal marks of respect, is fond of titles, of compliments,\r\nof being visited, of being attended, of being\r\ntaken notice of in public places with the appearance of\r\ndeference and attention. This frivolous passion is altogether\r\ndifferent from either of the two former, and\r\nis the passion of the lowest, and the least of mankind,\r\nas they are of the noblest and the greatest.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut though these three passions, the desire of rendering\r\nourselves the proper objects of honour and\r\nesteem; or of becoming what is honourable and\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_337\"\u003e337\u003c/span\u003eestimable; the desire of acquiring honour and esteem\r\nby really deserving those sentiments; and the frivolous\r\ndesire of praise at any rate, are widely different;\r\nthough the two former are always approved of,\r\nwhile the latter never fails to be despised; there is,\r\nhowever, a certain remote affinity among them,\r\nwhich, exaggerated by the humorous and diverting\r\neloquence of this lively author, has enabled him to\r\nimpose upon his readers. There is an affinity between\r\nvanity and the love of true glory, as both these\r\npassions aim at acquiring esteem and approbation.\r\nBut they are different in this, that the one is a just,\r\nreasonable, and equitable passion, while the other is\r\nunjust, absurd, and ridiculous. The man who desires\r\nesteem for what is really estimable, desires nothing\r\nbut what he is justly entitled to, and what cannot\r\nbe refused him without some sort of injury. He,\r\non the contrary, who desires it upon any other terms,\r\ndemands what he has no just claim to. The first is\r\neasily satisfied, is not apt to be jealous or suspicious\r\nthat we do not esteem him enough, and is seldom solicitous\r\nabout receiving many external marks of our\r\nregard. The other, on the contrary, is never to be\r\nsatisfied, is full of jealousy and suspicion that we do\r\nnot esteem him so much as he desires, because he has\r\nsome secret consciousness that he desires more than he\r\ndeserves. The least neglect of ceremony, he considers\r\nas a mortal affront, and as an expression of the\r\nmost determined contempt. He is restless and impatient,\r\nand perpetually afraid that we have lost all\r\nrespect for him, and is upon this account always\r\nanxious to obtain new expressions of esteem, and\r\ncannot be kept in temper but by continual attendance\r\nand adulation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_338\"\u003e338\u003c/span\u003eThere is an affinity too between the desire of becoming\r\nwhat is honourable and estimable, and the\r\ndesire of honour and esteem, between the love of virtue\r\nand the love of true glory. They resemble one\r\nanother not only in this respect, that both aim at\r\nreally being what is honourable and noble, but even\r\nin that respect in which the love of true glory resembles\r\nwhat is properly called vanity, some reference\r\nto the sentiments of others. The man of the greatest\r\nmagnanimity, who desires virtue for its own sake,\r\nand is most indifferent about what actually are the\r\nopinions of mankind with regard to him, is still,\r\nhowever, delighted with the thoughts of what they\r\nshould be, with the consciousness that though he\r\nmay neither be honoured nor applauded, he is still\r\nthe proper object of honour and applause, and that\r\nif mankind were cool and candid and consistent with\r\nthemselves, and properly informed of the motives\r\nand circumstances of his conduct, they would not\r\nfail to honour and applaud him. Though he despises\r\nthe opinions which are actually entertained of\r\nhim, he has the highest value for those which ought\r\nto be entertained of him. That he might think\r\nhimself worthy of those honourable sentiments,\r\nand, whatever was the idea which other men\r\nmight conceive of his character, that when he\r\nshould put himself in their situation, and consider,\r\nnot what was, but what ought to be their\r\nopinion, he should always have the highest idea\r\nof it himself, was the great and exalted motive of his\r\nconduct. As even in the love of virtue, therefore,\r\nthere is still some reference, though not to what is,\r\nyet to what in reason and propriety ought to be, the\r\nopinion of others, there is even in this respect some\r\naffinity between it, and the love of true glory. There\r\nis, however, at the same time, a very great difference\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_339\"\u003e339\u003c/span\u003ebetween them. The man who acts solely from\r\na regard to what is right and fit to be done, from a\r\nregard to what is the proper object of esteem and\r\napprobation, though these sentiments should never be\r\nbestowed upon him, acts from the most sublime and\r\ngodlike motive which human nature is even capable\r\nof conceiving. The man, on the other hand, who\r\nwhile he desires to merit approbation is at the same\r\ntime anxious to obtain it, though he too is laudably\r\nin the main, yet his motives have a greater mixture\r\nof human infirmity. He is in danger of being mortified\r\nby the ignorance and injustice of mankind, and\r\nhis happiness is exposed to the envy of his rivals, and\r\nthe folly of the public. The happiness of the other,\r\non the contrary, is altogether secure and independent\r\nof fortune, and of the caprice of those he lives with.\r\nThe contempt and hatred which may be thrown upon\r\nhim by the ignorance of mankind, he considers as not\r\nbelonging to him, and is not at all mortified by it.\r\nMankind despise and hate him from a false notion of\r\nhis character and conduct. If they knew him better,\r\nthey would esteem and love him. It is not him\r\nwhom, properly speaking, they hate and despise, but\r\nanother person whom they mistake him to be. Our\r\nfriend, whom we should meet at a masquerade in\r\nthe garb of our enemy, would be more diverted than\r\nmortified, if under that disguise we should vent our\r\nindignation against him. Such are the sentiments of\r\na man of real magnanimity, when exposed to unjust\r\ncensure. It seldom happens, however, that human\r\nnature arrives at this degree of firmness. Though\r\nnone but the weakest and most worthless of mankind\r\nare much delighted with false glory, yet, by\r\na strange inconsistency, false ignominy is often capable\r\nof mortifying those who appear the most resolute\r\nand determined.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_340\"\u003e340\u003c/span\u003eDr. Mandeville is not satisfied with representing\r\nthe frivolous motive of vanity, as the source of all\r\nthose actions which are commonly accounted virtuous.\r\nHe endeavours to point out the imperfection\r\nof human virtue in many other respects. In every\r\ncase, he pretends, it falls short of that complete self-denial\r\nwhich it pretends to, and, instead of a conquest,\r\nis commonly no more than a concealed indulgence\r\nof our passions. Wherever our reserve with\r\nregard to pleasure falls short of the most ascetic abstinence,\r\nhe treats it as gross luxury and sensuality.\r\nEvery thing, according to him, is luxury which exceeds\r\nwhat is absolutely necessary for the support of\r\nhuman nature, so that there is a vice even in the use\r\nof a clean shirt, or of a convenient habitation. The\r\nindulgence of the inclination to sex, in the most lawful\r\nunion, he considers as the same sensuality with\r\nthe most hurtful gratification of that passion, and derides\r\nthat temperance and that chastity which can be\r\npracticed at so cheap a rate. The ingenious sophistry\r\nof his reasoning, is here, as upon many other occasions,\r\ncovered by the ambiguity of language. There\r\nare some of our passions which have no other names\r\nexcept those which mark the disagreeable and offensive\r\ndegree. The spectator is more apt to take notice\r\nof them in this degree than in any other. When\r\nthey shock his own sentiments, when they give him\r\nsome sort of antipathy and uneasiness, he is necessarily\r\nobliged to attend to them, and is from thence\r\nnaturally led to give them a name. When they fall\r\nin with the natural state of his own mind, he is very\r\napt to overlook them altogether, and either gives\r\nthem no name at all, or, if he gives them any, it is\r\none which marks rather the subjection and restraint\r\nof the passion than the degree which it still is allowed\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_341\"\u003e341\u003c/span\u003eto subsist in, after it is so subjected and restrained.\r\nThus the common names of the \u003ca id=\"r20\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f20\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[20]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003elove of pleasure,\r\nand of the love of sex, denote a vicious and offensive\r\ndegree of those passions. The words temperance\r\nand chastity, on the other hand, seem to mark rather\r\nthe restraint and subjection which they are kept under,\r\nthan the degree which they are still allowed\r\nto subsist in. When he can show, therefore, that\r\nthey still subsist in some degree, he imagines, he has\r\nentirely demolished the reality of the virtues of temperance\r\nand chastity, and shown them to be mere\r\nimpositions upon the inattention and simplicity of\r\nmankind. Those virtues, however, do not require\r\nan entire insensibility to the objects of the passions\r\nwhich they mean to govern. They only aim at restraining\r\nthe violence of those passions so far as not to\r\nhurt the individual, and neither disturb nor offend\r\nthe society.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f20\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r20\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e20\u003c/a\u003e. Luxury and lust.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is the great fallacy of Dr. Mandeville’s book\u003ca id=\"r21\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f21\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[21]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\r\nto represent every passion as wholly vicious, which is\r\nso in any degree and in any direction. It is thus that\r\nhe treats every thing as vanity which has any reference,\r\neither to what are, or to what ought to be the sentiments\r\nof others: and it is by means of this sophistry,\r\nthat he establishes his favourite conclusion, that\r\nprivate vices are public benefits. If the love of magnificence,\r\na taste for the elegant arts and improvements\r\nof human life, for whatever is agreeable in\r\ndress, furniture, or equipage, for architecture, statuary,\r\npainting, and music, is to be regarded as luxury,\r\nsensuality and ostentation, even in those whose situation\r\nallows, without any inconveniency, the indulgence\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_342\"\u003e342\u003c/span\u003eof those passions, it is certain that luxury, sensuality,\r\nand ostentation are public benefits: since,\r\nwithout the qualities upon which he thinks proper to\r\nbestow such opprobrious names, the arts of refinement\r\ncould never find encouragement, and must\r\nlanguish for want of employment. Some popular\r\nascetic doctrines which had been current before his\r\ntime, and which placed virtue in the entire extirpation\r\nand annihilation of all our passions, were the\r\nreal foundation of this licentious system. It was easy\r\nfor Dr. Mandeville to prove, first, that this entire\r\nconquest never actually took place among men; and\r\nsecondly, that, if it was to take place universally, it\r\nwould be pernicious to society, by putting an end to\r\nall industry and commerce, and in a manner to\r\nthe whole business of human life. By the first of\r\nthese propositions he seemed to prove that there was\r\nno real virtue, and that what pretended to be such,\r\nwas a mere cheat and imposition upon mankind; and\r\nby the second, that private vices were public benefits,\r\nsince without them no society could prosper or\r\nflourish.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f21\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r21\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e21\u003c/a\u003e. Fable of the Bees.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSuch is the system of Dr. Mandeville, which once\r\nmade so much noise in the world, and which, though\r\nperhaps, it never gave occasion to more vice than\r\nwhat would have been without it, at least taught\r\nthat vice, which arose from other causes, to appear\r\nwith more effrontery, and to avow the corruption of\r\nits motives with a profligate audaciousness which had\r\nnever been heard of before.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut how destructive soever this system may appear,\r\nit could never have imposed upon so great a number\r\nof persons, nor have occasioned so general an alarm\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_343\"\u003e343\u003c/span\u003eamong those who are the friends of better principles,\r\nhad it not in some respects bordered upon the truth.\r\nA system of natural philosophy may appear very\r\nplausible, and be for a long time very generally received\r\nin the world, and yet have no foundation in\r\nnature, nor any sort of resemblance to the truth.\r\nThe vortices of Des Cartes were regarded by a\r\nvery ingenious nation, for near a century together,\r\nas a most satisfactory account of the revolutions\r\nof the heavenly bodies. Yet it has been demonstrated,\r\nto the conviction of all mankind, that these\r\npretended causes of those wonderful effects, not only\r\ndo not actually exist, but are utterly impossible, and\r\nif they did exist, could produce no such effects as are\r\nascribed to them. But it is otherwise with systems of\r\nmoral philosophy, and an author who pretends to\r\naccount for the origin of our moral sentiments, cannot\r\ndeceive us so grossly, nor depart so very far from\r\nall resemblance to the truth. When a traveller gives\r\nan account of some distant country, he may impose\r\nupon our credulity the most groundless and absurd\r\nfictions as the most certain matters of fact. But\r\nwhen a person pretends to inform us of what passes\r\nin our neighbourhood, and of the affairs of the very\r\nparish which we live in, though here too, if we are so\r\ncareless as not to examine things with our own eyes,\r\nhe may deceive us in many respects, yet the greatest\r\nfalsehoods which he imposes upon us must bear some\r\nresemblance to the truth, and must even have a considerable\r\nmixture of truth in them. An author who\r\ntreats of natural philosophy, and pretends to assign\r\nthe causes of the great phenomena of the universe,\r\npretends to give an account of the affairs of a very\r\ndistant country, concerning which he may tell us\r\nwhat he pleases, and as long as his narration keeps\r\nwithin the bounds of seeming possibility, he need not\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_344\"\u003e344\u003c/span\u003edespair of gaining our belief. But when he proposes\r\nto explain the origin of our desires and affections, of\r\nour sentiments of approbation and disapprobation, he\r\npretends to give an account, not only of the affairs\r\nof the very parish that we live in, but of our own\r\ndomestic concerns. Though here too, like indolent\r\nmasters who put their trust in a steward who deceives\r\nthem, we are very liable to be imposed upon, yet we\r\nare incapable of passing any account which does not\r\npreserve some little regard to the truth. Some of the\r\narticles, at least, must be just, and even those which\r\nare most overcharged must have had some foundation,\r\notherwise the fraud would be detected even by\r\nthat careless inspection which we are disposed to give.\r\nThe author who should assign, as the cause of any\r\nnatural sentiment, some principle which neither had\r\nany connexion with it, nor resembled any other principle\r\nwhich had some such connexion, would appear\r\nabsurd and ridiculous to the most injudicious and unexperienced\r\nreader.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_345\"\u003e345\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c001\"\u003eSECTION III.\u003cbr\u003e Of the different systems which have been formed concerning the principle of approbation.\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c011\"\u003eINTRODUCTION.\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c012\"\u003eAfter the inquiry concerning the nature of\r\nvirtue, the next question of importance in Moral\r\nPhilosophy, is concerning the principle of approbation,\r\nconcerning the power or faculty of the mind\r\nwhich renders certain characters agreeable or disagreeable\r\nto us, makes us prefer one tenour of conduct\r\nto another, denominate the one right and the\r\nother wrong, and consider the one as the object of\r\napprobation, honour, and reward; the other as that\r\nof blame, censure, and punishment.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThree different accounts have been given of this\r\nprinciple of approbation. According to some, we\r\napprove and disapprove both of our own actions and\r\nof those of others, from self-love only, or from some\r\nview of their tendency to our own happiness or disadvantage;\r\naccording to others, reason, the same faculty\r\nby which we distinguish between truth and\r\nfalsehood, enables us to distinguish between what is\r\nfit and unfit both in actions and affections: according\r\nto others this distinction is altogether the effect\r\nof immediate sentiment and feeling, and arises from\r\nthe satisfaction or disgust with which the view of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_346\"\u003e346\u003c/span\u003ecertain actions or affections inspires us. Self-love,\r\nreason, and sentiment, therefore, are the three different\r\nsources which have been assigned for the principle\r\nof approbation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBefore I proceed to give an account of those different\r\nsystems, I must observe, that the determination\r\nof this second question, though of the greatest\r\nimportance in speculation, is of none in practice.\r\nThe question concerning the nature of virtue necessarily\r\nhas some influence upon our notions of right\r\nand wrong in many particular cases. That concerning\r\nthe principle of approbation can possibly have no\r\nsuch effect. To examine from what contrivance or\r\nmechanism within, those different notions or sentiments\r\narise, is a mere matter of philosophical curiosity.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. I.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf those systems which deduce the principle of approbation from self-love.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eThose who account for the principle of approbation\r\nfrom self-love, do not all account for it in\r\nthe same manner, and there is a good deal of confusion\r\nand inaccuracy in all their different systems.\r\nAccording to Mr. Hobbes, and many of his followers,\u003ca id=\"r22\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f22\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[22]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\r\nman is driven to take refuge in society, not\r\nby any natural love which he bears to his own kind,\r\nbut because without the assistance of others he is incapable\r\nof subsisting with ease or safety. Society,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_347\"\u003e347\u003c/span\u003eupon this account, becomes necessary to him, and\r\nwhatever tends to its support and welfare, he considers\r\nas having a remote tendency to his own interest,\r\nand, on the contrary, whatever is likely to disturb\r\nor destroy it, he regards as in some measure hurtful\r\nor pernicious to himself. Virtue is the great support,\r\nand vice the great disturber of human society. The\r\nformer, therefore, is agreeable, and the latter offensive\r\nto every man; as from the one he foresees the\r\nprosperity, and from the other the ruin and disorder\r\nof what is so necessary for the comfort and security\r\nof his existence.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f22\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r22\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e22\u003c/a\u003e. Puffendorff. Mandeville.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThat the tendency of virtue to promote, and of\r\nvice to disturb the order of society, when we consider\r\nit coolly and philosophically, reflects a very great\r\nbeauty upon the one, and a very great deformity\r\nupon the other, cannot, as I have observed upon a\r\nformer occasion, be called in question. Human society,\r\nwhen we contemplate it in a certain abstract\r\nand philosophical light, appears like a great, an immense\r\nmachine, whose regular and harmonious movements\r\nproduce a thousand agreeable effects. As in\r\nany other beautiful and noble machine that was the\r\nproduction of human art, whatever tended to render\r\nits movements more smooth and easy, would derive\r\na beauty from this effect, and, on the contrary,\r\nwhatever tended to obstruct them would displease\r\nupon that account: so virtue, which is, as it were,\r\nthe fine polish to the wheels of society, necessarily\r\npleases; while vice, like the vile rust, which makes\r\nthem jar and grate upon one another, is as necessarily\r\noffensive. This account, therefore, of the origin of\r\napprobation and disapprobation, so far as it derives\r\nthem from a regard to the order of society, runs into\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_348\"\u003e348\u003c/span\u003ethat principle which gives beauty to utility, and\r\nwhich I have explained upon a former occasion; and\r\nit is from thence that this system derives all that appearance\r\nof probability which it possesses. When\r\nthose authors describe the innumerable advantages of\r\na cultivated and social, above a savage and solitary\r\nlife; when they expatiate upon the necessity of virtue\r\nand good order for the maintenance of the one,\r\nand demonstrate how infallibly the prevalence of\r\nvice and disobedience to the laws tend to bring back\r\nthe other, the reader is charmed with the novelty\r\nand grandeur of those views which they open to him:\r\nhe sees plainly a new beauty in virtue, and a new\r\ndeformity in vice, which he had never taken notice\r\nof before, and is commonly so delighted with the\r\ndiscovery, that he seldom takes time to reflect, that\r\nthis political view, having never occurred to him in\r\nhis life before, cannot possibly be the ground of that\r\napprobation and disapprobation with which he has\r\nalways been accustomed to consider those different\r\nqualities.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen those authors, on the other hand, deduce\r\nfrom self-love the interest which we take in the welfare\r\nof society, and the esteem which upon that account\r\nwe bestow upon virtue, they do not mean, that\r\nwhen we in this age applaud the virtue of Cato, and\r\ndetest the villainy of Catiline, our sentiments are influenced\r\nby the notion of any benefit we receive from\r\nthe one, or of any detriment we suffer from the\r\nother. It was not because the prosperity or subversion\r\nof society, in those remote ages and nations,\r\nwas apprehended to have any influence upon our\r\nhappiness or misery in the present times; that according\r\nto those philosophers, we esteemed the virtuous,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_349\"\u003e349\u003c/span\u003eand blamed the disorderly character. They\r\nnever imagined that our sentiments were influenced\r\nby any benefit or damage which we supposed actually\r\nto redound to us, from either; but by that which\r\nmight have redounded to us, had we lived in those distant\r\nages and countries; or by that which might still\r\nredound to us, if in our own times we should meet\r\nwith characters of the same kind. The idea, in short,\r\nwhich those authors were groping about, but which\r\nthey were never able to unfold distinctly, was that\r\nindirect sympathy which we feel with the gratitude\r\nor resentment of those who received the benefit or suffered\r\nthe damage resulting from such opposite characters:\r\nand it was this which they were indistinctly\r\npointing at, when they said, that it was not the\r\nthought of what we had gained or suffered which\r\nprompted our applause or indignation, but the conception\r\nor imagination of what we might gain or\r\nsuffer if we were to act in society with such associates.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSympathy, however, cannot, in any sense, be regarded\r\nas a selfish principle. When I sympathize\r\nwith your sorrow or your indignation, it may be\r\npretended, indeed, that my emotion is founded in\r\nself-love, because it arises from bringing your case\r\nhome to myself, from putting myself in your situation,\r\nand thence conceiving what I should feel in the\r\nlike circumstances. But though sympathy is very\r\nproperly said to arise from an imaginary change of\r\nsituations with the person principally concerned, yet\r\nthis imaginary change is not supposed to happen to\r\nme in my own person and character, but in that of\r\nthe person with whom I sympathize. When I condole\r\nwith you for the loss of your only son, in order\r\nto enter into your grief, I do not consider what I, a\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_350\"\u003e350\u003c/span\u003eperson of such a character and profession, should\r\nsuffer, if I had a son, and if that son was unfortunately\r\nto die: but I consider what I should suffer if I\r\nwas really you, and I not only change circumstances\r\nwith you, but I change persons and characters. My\r\ngrief, therefore, is entirely upon your account, and\r\nnot in the least upon my own. It is not, therefore,\r\nin the least selfish. How can that be regarded as a\r\nselfish passion, which does not arise even from the\r\nimagination of any thing that has befallen, or that\r\nrelates to myself, in my own proper person and character,\r\nbut which is entirely occupied about what\r\nrelates to you? A man may sympathize with a woman\r\nin child-bed; though it is impossible that he\r\nshould conceive himself as suffering her pains in his\r\nown proper person and character. That whole account\r\nof human nature, however, which deduces\r\nall sentiments and affections from self-love, which\r\nhas made so much noise in the world, but which, so\r\nfar as I know, has never yet been fully and distinctly\r\nexplained, seems to me to have arisen from some\r\nconfused misapprehension of the system of sympathy.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. II.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf those systems which make reason the principle of approbation.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eIt is well known to have been the doctrine of\r\nMr. Hobbes, that a state of nature, is a state of war;\r\nand that antecedent to the institution of civil government,\r\nthere could be no safe or peaceable society\r\namong men. To preserve society, therefore, according\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_351\"\u003e351\u003c/span\u003eto him, was to support civil government, and\r\nto destroy civil government was the same thing as to\r\nput an end to society. But the existence of civil government\r\ndepends upon the obedience that is paid\r\nto the supreme magistrate. The moment he loses\r\nhis authority, all government is at an end. As self-preservation,\r\ntherefore, teaches men to applaud\r\nwhatever tends to promote the welfare of society,\r\nand to blame whatever is likely to hurt it; so the\r\nsame principle, if they would think and speak consistently,\r\nought to teach them to applaud upon all\r\noccasions obedience to the civil magistrate, and to\r\nblame all disobedience and rebellion. The very\r\nideas of laudable and blameable, ought to be the\r\nsame with those of obedience and disobedience. The\r\nlaws of the civil magistrate, therefore, ought to be\r\nregarded as the sole ultimate standards of what was\r\njust and unjust, of what was right and wrong.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt was the avowed intention of Mr. Hobbes, by\r\npropagating these notions, to subject the consciences\r\nof men immediately to the civil, and not to the ecclesiastical\r\npowers, whose turbulence and ambition,\r\nhe had been taught, by the example of his own\r\ntimes, to regard as the principal source of the disorders\r\nof society. His doctrine, upon this account,\r\nwas peculiarly offensive to Theologians, who accordingly\r\ndid not fail to vent their indignation against\r\nhim with great asperity and bitterness. It was likewise\r\noffensive to all sound moralists, as it supposed\r\nthat there was no natural distinction between right\r\nand wrong, that these were mutable and changeable,\r\nand depended upon the mere arbitrary will of the\r\ncivil magistrate. This account of things, therefore,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_352\"\u003e352\u003c/span\u003ewas attacked from all quarters, and by all sorts of\r\nweapons, by sober reason as well as by furious declamation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIn order to confute so odious a doctrine, it was\r\nnecessary to prove, that antecedent to all law or\r\npositive institution, the mind was naturally endowed\r\nwith a faculty, by which it distinguished in certain\r\nactions and affections, the qualities of right, laudable,\r\nand virtuous, and in others those of wrong, blameable,\r\nand vicious.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eLaw, it was justly observed by Dr. Cudworth,\u003ca id=\"r23\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f23\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[23]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\r\ncould not be the original source of those distinctions;\r\nsince upon the supposition of such a law, it must\r\neither be right to obey it, and wrong to disobey it,\r\nor indifferent whether we obeyed it, or disobeyed it.\r\nThat law which it was indifferent whether we obeyed\r\nor disobeyed, could not, it was evident, be the source\r\nof those distinctions; neither could that which it was\r\nright to obey and wrong to disobey, since even this\r\nstill supposed the antecedent notions or ideas of right\r\nand wrong, and that obedience to the law was conformable\r\nto the idea of right, and disobedience to\r\nthat of wrong.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f23\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r23\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e23\u003c/a\u003e. Immutable Morality, l. 1.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSince the mind, therefore, had a notion of those\r\ndistinctions antecedent to all law, it seemed necessarily\r\nto follow, that it derived this notion from reason,\r\nwhich pointed out the difference between right\r\nand wrong, in the same manner in which it did that\r\nbetween truth and falsehood: and this conclusion,\r\nwhich though true in some respects, is rather hasty\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_353\"\u003e353\u003c/span\u003ein others, was more easily received at a time when\r\nthe abstract science of human nature was but in its\r\ninfancy, and before the distinct offices and powers of\r\nthe different faculties of the human mind had been\r\ncarefully examined and distinguished from one another.\r\nWhen this controversy with Mr. Hobbes was\r\ncarried on with the greatest warmth and keenness, no\r\nother faculty had been thought of from which any\r\nsuch ideas could possibly be supposed to arise. It\r\nbecame at this time, therefore, the popular doctrine,\r\nthat the essence of virtue and vice did not consist in\r\nthe conformity or disagreement of human actions\r\nwith the law of a superior, but in their conformity or\r\ndisagreement with reason, which was thus considered\r\nas the original source and principle of approbation\r\nand disapprobation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThat virtue consists in conformity to reason, is\r\ntrue in some respects, and this faculty may very justly\r\nbe considered, as in some sense, the source and principle\r\nof approbation and disapprobation, and of all\r\nsolid judgments concerning right and wrong. It is\r\nby reason that we discover those general rules of justice\r\nby which we ought to regulate our actions: and\r\nit is by the same faculty that we form those more\r\nvague and indeterminate ideas of what is prudent, of\r\nwhat is decent, of what is generous or noble, which\r\nwe carry constantly about with us, and according to\r\nwhich we endeavour, as well as we can, to model\r\nthe tenour of our conduct. The general maxims of\r\nmorality are formed, like all other general maxims,\r\nfrom experience and induction. We observe in a\r\ngreat variety of particular cases what pleases or displeases\r\nour moral faculties, what these approve or\r\ndisapprove of, and, by induction from this experience,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_354\"\u003e354\u003c/span\u003ewe establish those general rules. But induction\r\nis always regarded as one of the operations of reason.\r\nFrom reason, therefore, we are very properly said\r\nto derive all those general maxims and ideas. It is\r\nby these, however, that we regulate the greater part\r\nof our moral judgments, which would be extremely\r\nuncertain and precarious if they depended altogether\r\nupon what is liable to so many variations as immediate\r\nsentiment and feeling, which the different states\r\nof health and humour are capable of altering so\r\nessentially. As our most solid judgments, therefore,\r\nwith regard to right and wrong, are regulated by\r\nmaxims and ideas derived from an induction of reason,\r\nvirtue may very properly be said to consist in a\r\nconformity to reason, and so far this faculty may be\r\nconsidered as the source and principle of approbation\r\nand disapprobation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut though reason is undoubtedly the source of\r\nthe general rules of morality, and of all the moral\r\njudgments which we form by means of them; it is\r\naltogether absurd and unintelligible to suppose that\r\nthe first perceptions of right and wrong can be derived\r\nfrom reason, even in those particular cases upon the\r\nexperience of which the general rules are formed.\r\nThese first perceptions, as well all other experiments\r\nupon which any general rules are founded, cannot be\r\nthe object of reason, but of immediate sense and\r\nfeeling. It is by finding in a vast variety of instances\r\nthat one tenour of conduct constantly pleases in a\r\ncertain manner, and that another as constantly displeases\r\nthe mind, that we form the general rules of\r\nmorality. But reason cannot render any particular\r\nobject either agreeable or disagreeable to the mind\r\nfor its own sake. Reason may show that this object\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_355\"\u003e355\u003c/span\u003eis the means of obtaining some other which is naturally\r\neither pleasing or displeasing, and in this manner\r\nmay render it either agreeable or disagreeable for\r\nthe sake of something else. But nothing can be\r\nagreeable or disagreeable for its own sake, which is\r\nnot rendered such by immediate sense and feeling.\r\nIf virtue, therefore, in every particular instance,\r\nnecessarily pleases for its own sake, and if vice as\r\ncertainly displeases the mind, it cannot be reason, but\r\nimmediate sense and feeling, which, in this manner,\r\nreconciles us to the one, and alienates us from the\r\nother.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003ePleasure and pain are the great objects of desire\r\nand aversion: but these are distinguished not by\r\nreason, but by immediate sense and feeling. If virtue,\r\ntherefore, is desirable for its own sake, and if\r\nvice is, in the same manner, the object of aversion,\r\nit cannot be reason which originally distinguishes\r\nthose different qualities, but immediate sense and\r\nfeeling.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs reason, however, in a certain sense, may justly\r\nbe considered as the principle of approbation and disapprobation,\r\nthese sentiments were, through inattention,\r\nlong regarded as originally flowing from the\r\noperations of this faculty. Dr. Hutcheson had the\r\nmerit of being the first who distinguished with any\r\ndegree of precision in what respect all moral distinctions\r\nmay be said to arise from reason, and in what\r\nrespect they are founded upon immediate sense and\r\nfeeling. In his illustrations upon the moral sense he\r\nhas explained this so fully, and, in my opinion, so\r\nunanswerably, that, if any controversy is still kept\r\nup about this subject, I can impute it to nothing,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_356\"\u003e356\u003c/span\u003ebut either to inattention to what that gentleman has\r\nwritten, or to a superstitious attachment to certain\r\nforms of expression, a weakness not very uncommon\r\namong the learned, especially in subjects so deeply\r\ninteresting as the present, in which a man of virtue\r\nis often loth to abandon, even the propriety of a\r\nsingle phrase which he has been accustomed to.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003ch4 class=\"c001\"\u003eCHAP. III.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cem\u003eOf those systems which make sentiment the principle of approbation.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/h4\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eThose systems which make sentiment the\r\nprinciple of approbation may be divided into two\r\ndifferent classes.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eI. According to some the principle of approbation\r\nis founded upon a sentiment of a peculiar nature,\r\nupon a particular power of perception exerted by the\r\nmind at the view of certain actions or affections;\r\nsome of which affecting this faculty in an agreeable\r\nand others in a disagreeable manner, the former are\r\nstampt with the characters of right, laudable, and\r\nvirtuous; the latter with those of wrong, blameable\r\nand vicious. This sentiment being of a peculiar\r\nnature distinct from every other, and the effect of a\r\nparticular power of perception, they give it a particular\r\nname, and call it a moral sense.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eII. According to others, in order to account for\r\nthe principle of approbation, there is no occasion\r\nfor supposing any new power of perception which\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_357\"\u003e357\u003c/span\u003ehad never been heard of before: Nature, they imagine,\r\nacts here, as in all other cases, with the strictest\r\nœconomy, and produces a multitude of effects from\r\none and the same cause; and sympathy, a power which\r\nhas always been taken notice of, and with which the\r\nmind is manifestly endowed, is, they think, sufficient\r\nto account for all the effects ascribed to this peculiar\r\nfaculty.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eI. Dr. Hutcheson\u003ca id=\"r24\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f24\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[24]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e had been at great pains to\r\nprove that the principle of approbation was not\r\nfounded on self-love. He had demonstrated too that\r\nit could not arise from any operation of reason. Nothing\r\nremained, he thought, but to suppose it a faculty\r\nof a peculiar kind, with which Nature had endowed\r\nthe human mind, in order to produce this one\r\nparticular and important effect. When self-love and\r\nreason were both excluded, it did not occur to him\r\nthat there was any other known faculty of the mind\r\nwhich could in any respect answer this purpose.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f24\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r24\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e24\u003c/a\u003e. Inquiry concerning Virtue.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThis new power of perception he called a moral\r\nsense, and supposed it to be somewhat analogous to\r\nthe external senses. As the bodies around us, by\r\naffecting these in a certain manner, appear to possess\r\nthe different qualities of sound, taste, odour, colour;\r\nso the various affections of the human mind, by\r\ntouching this particular faculty in a certain manner,\r\nappear to possess the different qualities of amiable\r\nand odious, of virtuous and vicious, of right and\r\nwrong.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe various senses or powers of perception,\u003ca id=\"r25\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f25\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[25]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e from\r\nwhich the human mind derives all its simple ideas,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_358\"\u003e358\u003c/span\u003ewere, according to this system, of two different kinds,\r\nof which the one were called the direct or antecedent,\r\nthe other, the reflex or consequent senses. The direct\r\nsenses were those faculties from which the mind\r\nderived the perception of such species of things as\r\ndid not presuppose the antecedent perception of any\r\nother. Thus sounds and colours were objects of the\r\ndirect senses. To hear a sound or to see a colour does\r\nnot presuppose the antecedent perception of any other\r\nquality or object. The reflex or consequent senses,\r\non the other hand, were those faculties from which\r\nthe mind derived the perception of such species of\r\nthings as presupposed the antecedent perception of\r\nsome other. Thus harmony and beauty were objects\r\nof the reflex senses. In order to perceive the harmony\r\nof a sound, or the beauty of a colour, we must\r\nfirst perceive the sound or the colour. The moral\r\nsense was considered as a faculty of this kind. That\r\nfaculty, which Mr. Locke calls reflection, and from\r\nwhich he derived the simple ideas of the different\r\npassions and emotions of the human mind, was, according\r\nto Dr. Hutcheson, a direct internal sense.\r\nThat faculty again by which we perceived the beauty\r\nor deformity, the virtue or vice of those different\r\npassions and emotions, was a reflex, internal sense.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f25\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r25\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e25\u003c/a\u003e. Treatise of the passions.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eDr. Hutcheson endeavoured still further to support\r\nthis doctrine, by shewing that it was agreeable to the\r\nanalogy of nature, and that the mind was endowed\r\nwith a variety of other reflex senses exactly similar to\r\nthe moral sense; such as a sense of beauty and deformity\r\nin external objects; a public sense, by which\r\nwe sympathize with the happiness or misery of our\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_359\"\u003e359\u003c/span\u003efellow-creatures; a sense of shame and honour, and\r\na sense of ridicule.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut notwithstanding all the pains which this ingenious\r\nphilosopher has taken to prove that the principle\r\nof approbation is founded in a peculiar power\r\nof perception, somewhat analogous to the external\r\nsenses, there are some consequences, which he acknowledges\r\nto follow from this doctrine, that will,\r\nperhaps, be regarded by many as a sufficient confutation\r\nof it. The qualities, he allows,\u003ca id=\"r26\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f26\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[26]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e which belong\r\nto the objects of any sense, cannot, without the\r\ngreatest absurdity, be ascribed to the sense itself. Who\r\never thought of calling the sense of seeing black or\r\nwhite, the sense of hearing loud or low, or the sense\r\nof tasting sweet or bitter? And, according to him,\r\nit is equally absurd to call our moral faculties virtuous\r\nor vicious, morally good or evil. These qualities\r\nbelong to the objects of those faculties, not to\r\nthe faculties themselves. If any man, therefore, was\r\nso absurdly constituted as to approve of cruelty and\r\ninjustice as the highest virtues, and to disapprove of\r\nequity and humanity as the most pitiful vices, such\r\na constitution of mind might indeed be regarded as\r\ninconvenient both to the individual and to the society,\r\nand likewise as strange, surprising, and unnatural\r\nin itself; but it could not, without the greatest\r\nabsurdity, be denominated vicious or morally evil.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f26\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r26\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e26\u003c/a\u003e. Illustrations upon the Moral Sense. Sect. 1. p. 237, et seq.\r\nThird Edition.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eYet surely if we saw any man shouting with admiration\r\nand applause at a barbarous and unmerited\r\nexecution, which some insolent tyrant had ordered,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_360\"\u003e360\u003c/span\u003ewe should not think we were guilty of any great absurdity\r\nin denominating this behaviour vicious and\r\nmorally evil in the highest degree, though it expressed\r\nnothing but depraved moral faculties, or an absurd\r\napprobation of this horrid action, as of what was\r\nnoble, magnanimous, and great. Our heart, I imagine,\r\nat the sight of such a spectator, would forget\r\nfor a while its sympathy with the sufferer, and feel\r\nnothing but horror and detestation, at the thought of\r\nso execrable a wretch. We should abominate him\r\neven more than the tyrant who might be goaded on\r\nby the strong passions of jealousy, fear, and resentment,\r\nand upon that account be more excusable.\r\nBut the sentiments of the spectator would appear altogether\r\nwithout cause or motive, and therefore most\r\nperfectly and completely detestable. There is no\r\nperversion of sentiment or affection which our heart\r\nwould be more averse to enter into, or which it would\r\nreject with greater hatred and indignation than one\r\nof this kind; and so far from regarding such a constitution\r\nof mind as being merely something strange\r\nor inconvenient, and not in any respect vicious or\r\nmorally evil, we should rather consider it as the very\r\nlast and most dreadful stage of moral depravity.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eCorrect moral sentiments, on the contrary, naturally\r\nappear in some degree laudable and morally\r\ngood. The man, whose censure and applause are\r\nupon all occasions suited with the greatest accuracy\r\nto the value or unworthiness of the object, seems to\r\ndeserve a degree even of moral approbation. We\r\nadmire the delicate precision of his moral sentiments:\r\nthey lead our own judgments, and, upon account of\r\ntheir uncommon and surprising justness, they even\r\nexcite our wonder and applause. We cannot indeed\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_361\"\u003e361\u003c/span\u003ebe always sure that the conduct of such a person\r\nwould be in any respect correspondent to the precision\r\nand accuracy of his judgments concerning the\r\nconduct of others. Virtue requires habit and resolution\r\nof mind, as well as delicacy of sentiment;\r\nand unfortunately the former qualities are sometimes\r\nwanting, where the latter is in the greatest perfection.\r\nThis disposition of mind, however, though it may\r\nsometimes be attended with imperfections, is incompatible\r\nwith any thing that is grossly criminal, and\r\nis the happiest foundation upon which the superstructure\r\nof perfect virtue can be built. There are many\r\nmen who mean very well, and seriously purpose to do\r\nwhat they think their duty, who notwithstanding are\r\ndisagreeable on account of the coarseness of their\r\nmoral sentiments.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt may be said, perhaps, that though the principle\r\nof approbation is not founded upon any power\r\nof perception that is in any respect analogous to the\r\nexternal senses, it may still be founded upon a peculiar\r\nsentiment which answers this one particular purpose\r\nand no other. Approbation and disapprobation,\r\nit may be pretended, are certain feelings or\r\nemotions which arise in the mind upon the view of\r\ndifferent characters and actions; and as resentment\r\nmight be called a sense of injuries, or gratitude a\r\nsense of benefits, so these may very properly receive\r\nthe name of a sense of right and wrong, or of a moral\r\nsense.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut this account of things, though it may not be\r\nliable to the same objections with the foregoing,\r\nis exposed to others which are equally unanswerable.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_362\"\u003e362\u003c/span\u003eFirst of all, whatever variations any particular\r\nemotion may undergo, it still preserves the general\r\nfeatures which distinguish it to be an emotion of\r\nsuch a kind, and these general features are always\r\nmore striking and remarkable than any variation\r\nwhich it may undergo in particular cases. Thus anger\r\nis an emotion of a particular kind: and accordingly\r\nits general features are always more distinguishable\r\nthan all the variations it undergoes in particular\r\ncases. Anger against a man, is, no doubt,\r\nsomewhat different from anger against a woman,\r\nand that again from anger against a child. In each\r\nof those three cases, the general passion of anger receives\r\na different modification from the particular\r\ncharacter of its object, as may easily be observed by\r\nthe attentive. But still the general features of the\r\npassion predominate in all these cases. To distinguish\r\nthese, requires no nice observation: a very delicate\r\nattention, on the contrary, is necessary to discover\r\ntheir variations: every body takes notice of the\r\nformer: scarce any body observes the latter. If approbation\r\nand disapprobation, therefore, were, like\r\ngratitude and resentment, emotions of a particular\r\nkind, distinct from every other, we should expect\r\nthat in all the variations which either of them might\r\nundergo, it would still retain the general features\r\nwhich mark it to be an emotion of such a particular\r\nkind, clear, plain, and easily distinguishable. But\r\nin fact it happens quite otherwise. If we attend to\r\nwhat we really feel when upon different occasions we\r\neither approve or disapprove, we shall find that our\r\nemotion in one case is often totally different from\r\nthat in another, and that no common features can\r\npossibly be discovered between them. Thus the approbation\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_363\"\u003e363\u003c/span\u003ewith which we view a tender, delicate,\r\nand humane sentiment, is quite different from that\r\nwith which we are struck by one that appears great,\r\ndaring, and magnanimous. Our approbation of\r\nboth may, upon different occasions, be perfect and\r\nentire; but we are softened by the one, and we are\r\nelevated by the other, and there is no sort of resemblance\r\nbetween the emotions which they excite\r\nin us. But, according to that system which I have\r\nbeen endeavouring to establish, this must necessarily\r\nbe the case. As the emotions of the person whom\r\nwe approve of, are, in those two cases, quite opposite\r\nto one another, and as our approbation arises\r\nfrom sympathy with those opposite emotions, what\r\nwe feel upon the one occasion, can have no sort of\r\nresemblance to what we feel upon the other. But\r\nthis could not happen if approbation consisted in a\r\npeculiar emotion which had nothing in common with\r\nthe sentiments we approved of, but which arose at\r\nthe view of those sentiments, like any other passion\r\nat the view of its proper object. The same thing\r\nholds true with regard to disapprobation. Our\r\nhorror for cruelty has no sort of resemblance to our\r\ncontempt for mean-spiritedness. It is quite a different\r\nspecies of discord which we feel at the view\r\nof those two different vices, between our minds\r\nand those of the person whose sentiments and behaviour\r\nwe consider.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSecondly, I have already observed, that not only\r\nthe different passions or affections of the human mind\r\nwhich are approved or disapproved of appear morally\r\ngood or evil, but that proper and improper approbation\r\nappear, to our natural sentiments, to be\r\nstampt with the same characters. I would ask,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_364\"\u003e364\u003c/span\u003etherefore, how it is, that, according to this system,\r\nwe approve or disapprove of proper or improper\r\napprobation. To this question, there is, I imagine,\r\nbut one reasonable answer, which can possibly be\r\ngiven. It must be said, that when the approbation\r\nwith which our neighbour regards the conduct of a\r\nthird person coincides with our own, we approve of\r\nhis approbation, and consider it as, in some measure,\r\nmorally good; and that on the contrary, when it\r\ndoes not coincide with our own sentiments, we disapprove\r\nof it, and consider it as, in some measure,\r\nmorally evil. It must be allowed, therefore, that,\r\nat least in this one case, the coincidence or opposition\r\nof sentiments, between the observer and the person\r\nobserved, constitutes moral approbation or disapprobation.\r\nAnd if it does so in this one case, I would\r\nask, why not in every other? to what purpose imagine\r\na new power of perception in order to account\r\nfor those sentiments?\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAgainst every account of the principle of approbation,\r\nwhich makes it depend upon a peculiar sentiment,\r\ndistinct from every other, I would object;\r\nthat it is strange that this sentiment, which Providence\r\nundoubtedly intended to be the governing\r\nprinciple of human nature, should hitherto have\r\nbeen so little taken notice of, as not to have got a\r\nname in any language. The word moral sense is of\r\nvery late formation, and cannot yet be considered as\r\nmaking part of the English tongue. The word approbation\r\nhas but within these few years been appropriated\r\nto denote peculiarly any thing of this\r\nkind. In propriety of language we approve of\r\nwhatever is entirely to our satisfaction, of the form\r\nof a building, of the contrivance of a machine, of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_365\"\u003e365\u003c/span\u003ethe flavour of a dish of meat. The word conscience\r\ndoes not immediately denote any moral faculty by\r\nwhich we approve or disapprove. Conscience supposes,\r\nindeed, the existence of some such faculty,\r\nand properly signifies our consciousness of having\r\nacted agreeably or contrary to its directions. When\r\nlove, hatred, joy, sorrow, gratitude, resentment, with\r\nso many other passions which are all supposed to be\r\nthe subjects of this principle, have made themselves\r\nconsiderable enough to get titles to know them by,\r\nis it not surprising that the sovereign of them all\r\nshould hitherto have been so little heeded, that, a\r\nfew philosophers excepted, no body has yet thought\r\nit worth while to bestow a name upon it?\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen we approve of any character or action,\r\nthe sentiments which we feel, are, according to the\r\nforegoing system, derived from four sources, which\r\nare in some respects different from one another.\r\nFirst, we sympathize with the motives of the agent;\r\nsecondly, we enter into the gratitude of those who\r\nreceive the benefit of his actions; thirdly, we observe\r\nthat his conduct has been agreeable to the general\r\nrules by which those two sympathies generally\r\nact; and, last of all, when we consider such actions\r\nas making part of a system of behaviour which\r\ntends to promote the happiness either of the individual\r\nor of the society, they appear to derive a beauty\r\nfrom this utility, not unlike that which we ascribe\r\nto any well contrived machine. After deducting,\r\nin any one particular case, all that must be acknowledged\r\nto proceed from some one or other of these four\r\nprinciples, I should be glad to know what remains,\r\nand I shall freely allow this overplus to be ascribed\r\nto a moral sense, or to any other peculiar faculty,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_366\"\u003e366\u003c/span\u003eprovided any body will ascertain precisely what this\r\noverplus is. It might be expected, perhaps, that\r\nif there was any such peculiar principle, such as\r\nthis moral sense is supposed to be, we should feel it,\r\nin some particular cases, separated and detached from\r\nevery other, as we often feel joy, sorrow, hope,\r\nand fear, pure and unmixed with any other emotion.\r\nThis however, I imagine, cannot even be pretended.\r\nI have never heard any instance alleged in which\r\nthis principle could be said to exert itself alone and\r\nunmixed with sympathy or antipathy, with gratitude\r\nor resentment, with the perception of the agreement\r\nor disagreement of any action to an established rule,\r\nor last of all with that general taste for beauty and\r\norder which is excited by inanimated as well as by\r\nanimated objects.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eII. There is another system which attempts to account\r\nfor the origin of our moral sentiments from\r\nsympathy distinct from that which I have been endeavouring\r\nto establish. It is that which places virtue\r\nin utility, and accounts for the pleasure with\r\nwhich the spectator surveys the utility of any quality\r\nfrom sympathy with the happiness of those who are\r\naffected by it. This sympathy is different both from\r\nthat by which we enter into the motives of the agent,\r\nand from that by which we go along with the gratitude\r\nof the persons who are benefited by his actions.\r\nIt is the same principle with that by which we approve\r\nof a well contrived machine. But no machine\r\ncan be the object of either of those two last mentioned\r\nsympathies. I have already, in the fourth part of\r\nthis discourse, given some account of this system.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_367\"\u003e367\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch3 class=\"c001\"\u003eSECTION IV.\u003cbr\u003e Of the manner in which different authors have treated of the practical rules of morality.\u003c/h3\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eIt was observed in the third part of this discourse,\r\nthat the rules of justice are the only rules of morality\r\nwhich are precise and accurate; that those of all the\r\nother virtues are loose, vague, and indeterminate;\r\nthat the first may be compared to the rules of grammar;\r\nthe others to those which critics lay down for\r\nthe attainment of what is sublime and elegant in composition,\r\nand which present us rather with a general\r\nidea of the perfection we ought to aim at, than afford\r\nus any certain and infallible directions for acquiring\r\nit.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs the different rules of morality admit such different\r\ndegrees of accuracy, those authors who have\r\nendeavoured to collect and digest them into systems\r\nhave done it in two different manners; and one set\r\nhas followed thro’ the whole that loose method to\r\nwhich they were naturally directed by the consideration\r\nof one species of virtues; while another has as\r\nuniversally endeavoured to introduce into their precepts\r\nthat sort of accuracy of which only some of\r\nthem are susceptible. The first have wrote like critics,\r\nthe second like grammarians.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_368\"\u003e368\u003c/span\u003eI. The first, among whom we may count all the\r\nancient moralists, have contented themselves with\r\ndescribing in a general manner the different vices and\r\nvirtues, and with pointing out the deformity and\r\nmisery of the one disposition as well as the propriety\r\nand happiness of the other, but have not affected\r\nto lay down many precise rules that are to\r\nhold good unexceptionably in all particular cases.\r\nThey have only endeavoured to ascertain, as far as\r\nlanguage is capable of ascertaining, first, wherein\r\nconsists the sentiment of the heart, upon which\r\neach particular virtue is founded, what sort of internal\r\nfeeling or emotion it is which constitutes the\r\nessence of friendship, of humanity, of generosity,\r\nof justice, of magnanimity, and of all the other\r\nvirtues, as well as of the vices which are opposed\r\nto them: and, secondly, What is the general way of\r\nacting, the ordinary tone and tenour of conduct to\r\nwhich each of those sentiments would direct us, or\r\nhow it is that a friendly, a generous, a brave, a just,\r\nand a humane man, would, upon ordinary occasions,\r\nchuse to act.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eTo characterize the sentiment of the heart, upon\r\nwhich each particular virtue is founded, though it\r\nrequires both a delicate and accurate pencil, is a talk,\r\nhowever, which may be executed with some degree\r\nof exactness. It is impossible, indeed, to express all\r\nthe variations which each sentiment either does or\r\nought to undergo, according to every possible variation\r\nof circumstances. They are endless, and language\r\nwants names to mark them by. The sentiment\r\nof friendship, for example, which we feel for\r\nan old man is different from that which we feel for\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_369\"\u003e369\u003c/span\u003ea young: that which we entertain for an austere\r\nman different from that which we feel for one of\r\nsofter and gentler manners: and that again from\r\nwhat we feel for one of gay vivacity and spirit. The\r\nfriendship which we conceive for a man is different\r\nfrom that with which a woman affects us, even\r\nwhere there is no mixture of any grosser passion.\r\nWhat author could enumerate and ascertain these\r\nand all the other infinite varieties which this sentiment\r\nis capable of undergoing? But still the general\r\nsentiment of friendship and familiar attachment\r\nwhich is common to them all, may be ascertained with\r\na sufficient degree of accuracy. The picture which is\r\ndrawn of it, though it will always be in many respects\r\nincomplete, may, however, have such a resemblance\r\nas to make us know the original when we meet with\r\nit, and even distinguish it from other sentiments to\r\nwhich it has a considerable resemblance, such as good-will,\r\nrespect, esteem, admiration.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eTo describe, in a general manner, what is the ordinary\r\nway of acting to which each virtue would\r\nprompt us, is still more easy. It is, indeed, scarce\r\npossible to describe the internal sentiment or emotion\r\nupon which it is founded, without doing something\r\nof this kind. It is impossible by language to express,\r\nif I may say so, the invisible features of all\r\nthe different modifications of passion as they show\r\nthemselves within. There is no other way of marking\r\nand distinguishing them from one another, but\r\nby describing the effects which they produce without,\r\nthe alterations which they occasion in the\r\ncountenance, in the air and external behaviour, the\r\nresolutions they suggest, the actions they prompt to.\r\nIt is thus that Cicero, in the first book of his Offices,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_370\"\u003e370\u003c/span\u003eendeavours to direct us to the practice of the\r\nfour cardinal virtues, and that Aristotle in the practical\r\nparts of his Ethics, points out to us the different\r\nhabits by which he would have us regulate our\r\nbehaviour, such as liberality, magnificence, magnanimity,\r\nand even jocularity and good humour, qualities,\r\nwhich that indulgent philosopher has thought\r\nworthy of a place in the catalogue of the virtues,\r\nthough the lightness of that approbation which we\r\nnaturally bestow upon them, should not seem to entitle\r\nthem to so venerable a name.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSuch works present us with agreeable and lively\r\npictures of manners. By the vivacity of their descriptions\r\nthey inflame our natural love of virtue,\r\nand increase our abhorrence of vice: by the justness\r\nas well as delicacy of their observations they\r\nmay often help both to correct and to ascertain our\r\nnatural sentiments with regard to the propriety of\r\nconduct, and suggesting many nice and delicate attentions,\r\nform us to a more exact justness of behaviour,\r\nthan what, without such instruction, we\r\nshould have been apt to think of. In treating of\r\nthe rules of morality, in this manner, consists the\r\nscience which is properly called Ethics, a science,\r\nwhich though like criticism, it does not admit of the\r\nmost accurate precision, is, however, both highly useful\r\nand agreeable. It is of all others the most susceptible\r\nof the embellishments of eloquence, and by means\r\nof them of bestowing, if that be possible, a new importance\r\nupon the smallest rules of duty. Its precepts,\r\nwhen thus dressed and adorned, are capable\r\nof producing upon the flexibility of youth, the\r\nnoblest and most lasting impressions, and as they\r\nfall in with the natural magnanimity of that generous\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_371\"\u003e371\u003c/span\u003eage, they are able to inspire, for a time at least,\r\nthe most heroic resolutions, and thus tend both to\r\nestablish and confirm the best and most useful habits\r\nof which the mind of man is susceptible. Whatever\r\nprecept and exhortation can do to animate us to\r\nthe practice of virtue, is done by this science delivered\r\nin this manner.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eII. The second set of moralists, among whom we\r\nmay count all the casuists of the middle and latter\r\nages of the christian church, as well as all those who\r\nin this and in the preceding century have treated of\r\nwhat is called natural jurisprudence, do not content\r\nthemselves with characterizing in this general manner\r\nthat tenour of conduct which they would recommend\r\nto us, but endeavour to lay down exact\r\nand precise rules for the direction of every circumstance\r\nof our behaviour. As justice is the only virtue\r\nwith regard to which such exact rules can properly\r\nbe given; it is this virtue, that has chiefly fallen\r\nunder the consideration of those two different sets of\r\nwriters. They treat of it, however, in a very different\r\nmanner.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThose who write upon the principles of jurisprudence,\r\nconsider only what the person to whom the\r\nobligation is due, ought to think himself entitled to\r\nexact by force; what every impartial spectator would\r\napprove of him for exacting, or what a judge or\r\narbiter, to whom he had submitted his case, and\r\nwho had undertaken to do him justice, ought to oblige\r\nthe other person to suffer or to perform. The casuists,\r\non the other hand, do not so much examine\r\nwhat it is, that might properly be exacted by force,\r\nas what it is, that the person who owes the obligation\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_372\"\u003e372\u003c/span\u003eought to think himself bound to perform from the\r\nmost sacred and scrupulous regard to the general\r\nrules of justice, and from the most conscientious\r\ndread, either of wronging his neighbour, or of violating\r\nthe integrity of his own character. It is the\r\nend of jurisprudence to prescribe rules for the decisions\r\nof judges and arbiters. It is the end of casuistry\r\nto prescribe rules for the conduct of a good\r\nman. By observing all the rules of jurisprudence,\r\nsupposing them ever so perfect, we should deserve\r\nnothing but to be free from external punishment.\r\nBy observing those of casuistry, supposing them such\r\nas they ought to be, we should be entitled to considerable\r\npraise by the exact and scrupulous delicacy\r\nof our behaviour.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt may frequently happen that a good man ought\r\nto think himself bound, from a sacred and conscientious\r\nregard to the general rules of justice to perform\r\nmany things which it would be the highest injustice\r\nto extort from him, or for any judge or arbiter to\r\nimpose on him by force. To give a trite example;\r\na highwayman, by the fear of death, obliges a traveller\r\nto promise him a certain sum of money.\r\nWhether such a promise, extorted in this manner by\r\nunjust force, ought to be regarded as obligatory, is a\r\nquestion that has been very much debated.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIf we consider it merely as a question of jurisprudence,\r\nthe decision can admit of no doubt. It\r\nwould be absurd to suppose that the highwayman\r\ncan be entitled to use force to constrain the other to\r\nperform. To extort the promise was a crime which\r\ndeserved the highest punishment, and to extort the\r\nperformance would only be adding a new crime to\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_373\"\u003e373\u003c/span\u003ethe former. He can complain of no injury who has\r\nbeen only deceived by the person by whom he might\r\njustly have been killed. To suppose that a judge\r\nought to enforce the obligation of such promises, or\r\nthat the magistrate ought to allow them to sustain\r\nan action at law, would be the most ridiculous of all\r\nabsurdities. If we consider this question, therefore,\r\nas a question of jurisprudence, we can be at no loss\r\nabout the decision.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut if we consider it as a question of casuistry,\r\nit will not be so easily determined. Whether a good\r\nman, from a conscientious regard to that most sacred\r\nrule of justice, which commands the observance of\r\nall serious promises, would not think himself bound\r\nto perform, is at least much more doubtful. That\r\nno regard is due to the disappointment of the wretch\r\nwho brings him into this situation, that no injury is\r\ndone to the robber, and consequently that nothing\r\ncan be extorted by force, will admit of no sort of\r\ndispute. But whether some regard is not, in this\r\ncase, due to his own dignity and honour, to the inviolable\r\nsacredness of that part of his character\r\nwhich makes him reverence the law of truth, and\r\nabhor every thing that approaches to treachery and\r\nfalsehood, may, perhaps, more reasonably be made\r\na question. The casuists accordingly are greatly divided\r\nabout it. One party, with whom we may\r\ncount Cicero among the ancients, among the moderns,\r\nPuffendorf, Barbeyrac his commentator, and\r\nabove all the late Dr. Hutcheson, one who in most\r\ncases was by no means a loose casuist, determine,\r\nwithout any hesitation, that no sort of regard is due\r\nto any such promise, and that to think otherwise is\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_374\"\u003e374\u003c/span\u003emere weakness and superstition. Another party,\r\namong whom we may reckon \u003ca id=\"r27\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f27\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[27]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003esome of the ancient\r\nfathers of the church, as well as some very eminent\r\nmodern casuists, have been of another opinion, and\r\nhave judged all such promises obligatory.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f27\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r27\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e27\u003c/a\u003e. St. Augustine, la Placette.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIf we consider the matter according to the common\r\nsentiments of mankind, we shall find that some\r\nregard would be thought due even to a promise of\r\nthis kind; but that it is impossible to determine how\r\nmuch, by any general rule that will apply to all cases\r\nwithout exception. The man who was quite frank\r\nand easy in making promises of this kind, and who\r\nviolated them with as little ceremony, we should not\r\nchoose for our friend and companion. A gentleman\r\nwho should promise a highwayman five pounds and\r\nnot perform, would incur some blame. If the sum\r\npromised, however, was very great, it might be\r\nmore doubtful, what was proper to be done. If it\r\nwas such, for example, that the payment of it would\r\nentirely ruin the family of the promiser, if it was so\r\ngreat as to be sufficient for promoting the most\r\nuseful purposes, it would appear in some measure\r\ncriminal, at least extremely improper, to throw\r\nit, for the sake of a punctilio, into such worthless\r\nhands. The man who should beggar himself,\r\nor who should throw away an hundred\r\nthousand pounds, though he could afford that\r\nvast sum, for the sake of observing such a parole\r\nwith a thief, would appear to the common sense of\r\nmankind, absurd and extravagant in the highest degree.\r\nSuch profusion would seem inconsistent with\r\nhis duty, with what he owed both to himself and\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_375\"\u003e375\u003c/span\u003eothers, and what, therefore, regard, to a promise extorted\r\nin this manner, could by no means authorize.\r\nTo fix, however, by any precise rule, what degree\r\nof regard ought to be paid to it, or what might be\r\nthe greatest sum which could be due from it, is evidently\r\nimpossible. This would vary according to\r\nthe characters of the persons, according to their circumstances,\r\naccording to the solemnity of the promise,\r\nand even according to the incidents of the rencounter:\r\nand if the promiser had been treated with a great\r\ndeal of that sort of gallantry, which is sometimes to\r\nbe met with in persons of the most abandoned characters,\r\nmore would seem due than upon other occasions.\r\nIt may be said in general, that exact propriety\r\nrequires the observance of all such promises, whenever\r\nit is not inconsistent with some other duties that\r\nare more sacred; such as regard to the public interest,\r\nto those whom gratitude, whom natural affection,\r\nor whom the laws of proper beneficence should\r\nprompt us to provide for. But, as was formerly\r\ntaken notice of, we have no precise rules to determine\r\nwhat external actions are due from a regard to such\r\nmotives, nor, consequently, when it is that those\r\nvirtues are inconsistent with the observance of such\r\npromises.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is to be observed, however, that whenever such\r\npromises are violated, though for the most necessary\r\nreasons, it is always with some degree of dishonour\r\nto the person who made them. After they are made,\r\nwe may be convinced of the impropriety of observing\r\nthem. But still there is some fault in having\r\nmade them. It is at least a departure from the\r\nhighest and noblest maxims of magnanimity and honour.\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_376\"\u003e376\u003c/span\u003eA brave man ought to die, rather than make\r\na promise which he can neither keep without folly,\r\nnor violate without ignominy. For some degree of\r\nignominy always attends a situation of this kind.\r\nTreachery and falsehood are vices so dangerous, so\r\ndreadful, and, at the same time, such as may so easily,\r\nand, upon many occasions, so safely be indulged, that\r\nwe are more jealous of them than of almost any\r\nother. Our imagination therefore attaches the idea\r\nof shame to all violations of faith, in every circumstance\r\nand in every situation. They resemble, in\r\nthis respect, the violations of chastity in the fair sex,\r\na virtue of which, for the like reasons, we are excessively\r\njealous; and our sentiments are not more delicate\r\nwith regard to the one, than with regard to the\r\nother. Breach of chastity dishonours irretrievably.\r\nNo circumstances, no solicitation can excuse it; no\r\nsorrow, no repentance atone for it. We are so nice\r\nin this respect that even a rape dishonours, and the\r\ninnocence of the mind cannot, in our imagination,\r\nwash out the pollution of the body. It is the same\r\ncase with the violation of faith, when it has been solemnly\r\npledged, even to the most worthless of mankind.\r\nFidelity is so necessary a virtue, that we apprehend\r\nit in general to be due even to those to whom\r\nnothing else is due, and whom we think it lawful to\r\nkill and destroy. It is to no purpose that the person\r\nwho has been guilty of the breach of it, urges that he\r\npromised in order to save his life, and that he broke\r\nhis promise because it was inconsistent with some\r\nother respectable duty to keep it. These circumstances\r\nmay alleviate, but cannot entirely wipe out\r\nhis dishonour. He appears to have been guilty of\r\nan action with which, in the imaginations of men,\r\nsome degree of shame is inseparably connected. He\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_377\"\u003e377\u003c/span\u003ehas broke a promise which he had solemnly averred\r\nhe would maintain; and his character, if not irretrievably\r\nstained and polluted, has at least a ridicule\r\naffixed to it, which it will be very difficult entirely\r\nto efface; and no man, I imagine, who had gone\r\nthrough an adventure of this kind, would be fond of\r\ntelling the story.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThis instance may serve to show wherein consists\r\nthe difference between casuistry and jurisprudence,\r\neven when both of them consider the obligations of\r\nthe general rules of justice.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut though this difference be real and essential,\r\nthough those two sciences propose quite different\r\nends, the sameness of the subject has made such a\r\nsimilarity between them, that the greater part of authors\r\nwhose professed design was to treat of jurisprudence,\r\nhave determined the different questions\r\nthey examine, sometimes according to the principles\r\nof that science, and sometimes according to those of\r\ncasuistry, without distinguishing, and, perhaps, without\r\nbeing themselves aware when they did the one,\r\nand when the other.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe doctrine of the casuists, however, is by no\r\nmeans confined to the consideration of what a conscientious\r\nregard to the general rules of justice, would\r\ndemand of us. It embraces many other parts of\r\nChristian and moral duty. What seems principally\r\nto have given occasion to the cultivation of this\r\nspecies of science was the custom of auricular confession,\r\nintroduced by the Roman Catholic superstition,\r\nin times of barbarism and ignorance. By that\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_378\"\u003e378\u003c/span\u003einstitution, the most secret actions, and even the\r\nthoughts of every person, which could be suspected\r\nof receding in the smallest degree from the rules of\r\nChristian purity, were to be revealed to the confessor.\r\nThe confessor informed his penitents whether, and in\r\nwhat respect they had violated their duty, and what\r\npenance it behoved them to undergo, before he\r\ncould absolve them in the name of the offended\r\nDeity.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe consciousness, or even the suspicion of having\r\ndone wrong, is a load upon every mind, and is accompanied\r\nwith anxiety and terror in all those who\r\nare not hardened by long habits of iniquity. Men,\r\nin this, as in all other distresses, are naturally eager to\r\ndisburthen themselves of the oppression which they\r\nfeel upon their thoughts, by unbosoming the agony\r\nof their mind to some person whose secrecy and discretion\r\nthey can confide in. The shame, which they\r\nsuffer from this acknowledgment, is fully compensated\r\nby that alleviation of their uneasiness which\r\nthe sympathy of their confident seldom fails to occasion.\r\nIt relieves them to find that they are not altogether\r\nunworthy of regard, and that however their\r\npast conduct may be censured, their present disposition\r\nis at least approved of, and is perhaps sufficient\r\nto compensate the other, at least to maintain them in\r\nsome degree of esteem with their friend. A numerous\r\nand artful clergy had, in those times of superstition,\r\ninsinuated themselves into the confidence of\r\nalmost every private family. They possessed all the\r\nlittle learning which the times could afford, and their\r\nmanners, though in many respects rude and disorderly,\r\nwere polished and regular compared with those\r\nof the age they lived in. They were regarded, therefore,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_379\"\u003e379\u003c/span\u003enot only as the great directors of all religious,\r\nbut of all moral duties. Their familiarity gave reputation\r\nto whoever was so happy as to possess it,\r\nand every mark of their disapprobation stamped the\r\ndeepest ignominy upon all who had the misfortune\r\nto fall under it. Being considered as the great judges\r\nof right and wrong, they were naturally consulted\r\nabout all scruples that occurred, and it was reputable\r\nfor any person to have it known that he made those\r\nholy men the confidents of all such secrets, and took\r\nno important or delicate step in his conduct without\r\ntheir advice and approbation. It was not difficult\r\nfor the clergy, therefore, to get it established as a general\r\nrule, that they should be entrusted with what\r\nit had already become fashionable to entrust them,\r\nand with what they generally would have been entrusted\r\nthough no such rule had been established.\r\nTo qualify themselves for confessors became thus a\r\nnecessary part of the study of churchmen and divines,\r\nand they were thence led to collect what are called\r\ncases of conscience, nice and delicate situations, in\r\nwhich it is hard to determine whereabouts the propriety\r\nof conduct may lie. Such works, they imagined,\r\nmight be of use both to the directors of consciences\r\nand to those who were to be directed; and\r\nhence the origin of books of casuistry.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe moral duties which fell under the consideration\r\nof the casuists were chiefly those which can, in\r\nsome measure at least, be circumscribed within general\r\nrules, and of which the violation is naturally attended\r\nwith some degree of remorse and some dread\r\nof suffering punishment. The design of that institution\r\nwhich gave occasion to their works, was to appease\r\nthose terrors of conscience which attend upon\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_380\"\u003e380\u003c/span\u003ethe infringement of such duties. But it is not every\r\nvirtue of which the defect is accompanied with any\r\nvery severe compunctions of this kind, and no man\r\napplies to his confessor for absolution, because he did\r\nnot perform the most generous, the most friendly,\r\nor the most magnanimous action which, in his circumstances,\r\nit was possible to perform. In failures\r\nof this kind, the rule that is violated is commonly\r\nnot very determinate, and is generally of such a nature\r\ntoo, that though the observance of it might entitle\r\nto honour and reward, the violation seems to expose\r\nto no positive blame, censure, or punishment.\r\nThe exercise of such virtues the casuists seem to have\r\nregarded as a sort of works of supererogation, which\r\ncould not be very strictly enacted, and which it was\r\ntherefore unnecessary for them to treat of.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe breaches of moral duty, therefore, which\r\ncame before the tribunal of the confessor, and upon\r\nthat account fell under the cognizance of the casuists,\r\nwere chiefly of three different kinds.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eFirst and principally, breaches of the rules of\r\njustice. The rules here are all express and positive,\r\nand the violation of them is naturally attended\r\nwith the consciousness of deserving, and the dread\r\nof suffering punishment both from God and man.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSecondly, breaches of the rules of chastity. These\r\nin all grosser instances are real breaches of the rules\r\nof justice, and no person can be guilty of them without\r\ndoing the most unpardonable injury to some\r\nother. In smaller instances, when they amount only\r\nto a violation of those exact decorums which ought\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_381\"\u003e381\u003c/span\u003eto be observed in the conversation of the two sexes,\r\nthey cannot indeed justly be considered as violations\r\nof the rules of justice. They are generally, however,\r\nviolations of a pretty plain rule, and, at\r\nleast in one of the sexes, tend to bring ignominy upon\r\nthe person who has been guilty of them, and consequently\r\nto be attended in the scrupulous with some\r\ndegree of shame and contrition of mind.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThirdly, breaches of the rules of veracity. The\r\nviolation of truth, it is to be observed, is not always\r\na breach of justice, though it is so upon many occasions,\r\nand consequently cannot always expose to any\r\nexternal punishment. The vice of common lying,\r\nthough a most miserable meanness, may frequently\r\ndo hurt to no person, and in this case no claim of\r\nvengeance or satisfaction can be due either to the\r\npersons imposed upon, or to others. But though\r\nthe violation of truth is not always a breach of justice,\r\nit is always a breach of a very plain rule, and\r\nwhat naturally tends to cover with shame the person\r\nwho has been guilty of it. The great pleasure of\r\nconversation, and indeed of society, arises from a\r\ncertain correspondence of sentiments and opinions,\r\nfrom a certain harmony of minds, which like so\r\nmany musical instruments coincide and keep time\r\nwith one another. But this most delightful harmony\r\ncannot be obtained unless there is a free communication\r\nof sentiments and opinions. We all desire,\r\nupon this account, to feel how each other is affected,\r\nto penetrate into each other’s bosoms, and to observe\r\nthe sentiments and affections which really subsist\r\nthere. The man who indulges us in this natural passion,\r\nwho invites us into his heart, who, as it were,\r\nsets open the gates of his breast to us, seems to exercise\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_382\"\u003e382\u003c/span\u003ea species of hospitality more delightful than any\r\nother. No man, who is in ordinary good temper,\r\ncan fail of pleasing, if he has the courage to utter\r\nhis real sentiments as he feels them, and because he\r\nfeels them. It is this unreserved sincerity which renders\r\neven the prattle of a child agreeable. How\r\nweak and imperfect soever the views of the open-hearted,\r\nwe take pleasure to enter into them, and endeavour,\r\nas much as we can, to bring down our own\r\nunderstanding to the level of their capacities, and to\r\nregard every subject in the particular light in which\r\nthey appear to have considered it. This passion to\r\ndiscover the real sentiments of others is naturally so\r\nstrong, that it often degenerates into a troublesome\r\nand impertinent curiosity to pry into those secrets of\r\nour neighbours which they have very justifiable reasons\r\nfor concealing, and, upon many occasions, it\r\nrequires prudence and a strong sense of propriety to\r\ngovern this, as well as all the other passions of human\r\nnature, and to reduce it to that pitch which any\r\nimpartial spectator can approve of. To disappoint\r\nthis curiosity, however, when it is kept within proper\r\nbounds, and aims at nothing which there can be\r\nany just reason for concealing, is equally disagreeable\r\nin its turn. The man who eludes our most innocent\r\nquestions, who gives no satisfaction to our most inoffensive\r\ninquiries, who plainly wraps himself up in\r\nimpenetrable obscurity, seems, as it were, to build a\r\nwall about his breast. We run forward to get within\r\nit, with all the eagerness of harmless curiosity, and\r\nfeel ourselves all at once pushed back with the rudest\r\nand most offensive violence. If to conceal is so disagreeable,\r\nto attempt to deceive us is still more disgusting,\r\neven though we could possibly suffer nothing\r\nby the success of the fraud. If we see that our\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_383\"\u003e383\u003c/span\u003ecompanion wants to impose upon us, if the sentiments\r\nand opinions which he utters appear evidently\r\nnot to be his own, let them be ever so fine, we can\r\nderive no sort of entertainment from them; and if\r\nsomething of human nature did not now and then\r\ntranspire through all the covers which falsehood and\r\naffectation are capable of wrapping around it, a puppet\r\nof wood would be altogether as pleasant a companion\r\nas a person who never spoke as he was affected.\r\nNo man ever deceives, with regard to the most insignificant\r\nmatters, who is not conscious of doing something\r\nlike an injury to those he converses with; and\r\nwho does not inwardly blush and shrink back with\r\nshame and confusion even at the secret thought of a\r\ndetection. Breach of veracity, therefore, being always\r\nattended with some degree of remorse and self-condemnation,\r\nnaturally fell under the cognizance\r\nof the casuists.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe chief subjects of the works of the casuists,\r\ntherefore, were the conscientious regard that is due\r\nto the rules of justice; how far we ought to respect\r\nthe life and property of our neighbour; the duty of\r\nrestitution; the laws of chastity and modesty, and\r\nwherein consisted what, in their language, are called\r\nthe sins of concupiscence: the rules of veracity, and\r\nthe obligation of oaths, promises, and contracts of\r\nall kinds.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt may be said in general of the works of the casuists\r\nthat they attempted, to no purpose, to direct\r\nby precise rules what belongs to feeling and sentiment\r\nonly to judge of. How is it possible to ascertain by\r\nrules the exact point at which, in every case, a delicate\r\nsense of justice begins to run into a frivolous and\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_384\"\u003e384\u003c/span\u003eweak scrupulosity of conscience? When it is that secrecy\r\nand reserve begin to grow into dissimulation?\r\nHow far an agreeable irony may be carried, and at\r\nwhat precise point it begins to degenerate into a detestable\r\nlie? What is the highest pitch of freedom\r\nand ease of behaviour which can be regarded as\r\ngraceful and becoming, and when it is that it first\r\nbegins to run into a negligent and thoughtless licentiousness?\r\nWith regard to all such matters, what\r\nwould hold good in any one case would scarce do so\r\nexactly in any other, and what constitutes the propriety\r\nand happiness of behaviour varies in every case\r\nwith the smallest variety of situation. Books of casuistry,\r\ntherefore, are generally as useless as they are\r\ncommonly tiresome. They could be of little use to\r\none who should consult them upon occasion, even\r\nsupposing their decisions to be just; because, notwithstanding\r\nthe multitude of cases collected in them,\r\nyet upon account of the still greater variety of possible\r\ncircumstances, it is a chance, if among all those\r\ncases there be found one exactly parallel to that under\r\nconsideration. One, who is really anxious to do his\r\nduty, must be very weak, if he can imagine that\r\nhe has much occasion for them; and with regard to\r\none who is negligent of it, the style of those writings\r\nis not such as is likely to awaken him to more attention.\r\nNone of them tend to animate us to what is\r\ngenerous and noble. None of them tend to soften\r\nus to what is gentle and humane. Many of them,\r\non the contrary, tend rather to teach us to chicane\r\nwith our own consciences, and by their vain subtilties\r\nserve to authorize innumerable evasive refinements\r\nwith regard to the most essential articles of our\r\nduty. That frivolous accuracy which they attempted\r\nto introduce into subjects which do not admit of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_385\"\u003e385\u003c/span\u003eit, almost necessarily betrayed them into those dangerous\r\nerrors, and at the same time rendered their\r\nworks dry and disagreeable, abounding in abstruse\r\nand metaphysical distinctions, but incapable of exciting\r\nin the heart any of those emotions which it is\r\nthe principal use of books of morality to excite.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe two useful parts of moral philosophy, therefore,\r\nare Ethics and Jurisprudence: casuistry ought\r\nto be rejected altogether, and the ancient moralists\r\nappear to have judged much better, who, in treating\r\nof the same subjects, did not affect any such nice\r\nexactness, but contented themselves with describing,\r\nin a general manner, what is the sentiment upon\r\nwhich justice, modesty, and veracity are founded,\r\nand what is the ordinary way of acting to which those\r\nvirtues would commonly prompt us.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSomething, indeed, not unlike the doctrine of\r\nthe casuists, seems to have been attempted by several\r\nphilosophers. There is something of this kind\r\nin the third book of Cicero’s Offices, where he endeavours\r\nlike a casuist to give rules for our conduct\r\nin many nice cases, in which it is difficult to determine\r\nwhereabouts the point of propriety may lie. It\r\nappears too, from many passages in the same book,\r\nthat several other philosophers had attempted something\r\nof the same kind before him. Neither he nor\r\nthey, however, appear to have aimed at giving a\r\ncomplete system of this sort, but only meant to show\r\nhow situations may occur, in which it is doubtful,\r\nwhether the highest propriety of conduct consists in\r\nobserving or in receding from what, in ordinary\r\ncases, are the rules of duty.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_386\"\u003e386\u003c/span\u003eEvery system of positive law may be regarded as\r\na more or less imperfect attempt towards a system\r\nof natural jurisprudence, or towards an enumeration\r\nof the particular rules of justice. As the violation of\r\njustice is what men will never submit to from one\r\nanother, the public magistrate is under a necessity of\r\nemploying the power of the commonwealth to enforce\r\nthe practice of this virtue. Without this precaution,\r\ncivil society would become a scene of bloodshed and\r\ndisorder, every man revenging himself at his own\r\nhand whenever he fancied he was injured. To prevent\r\nthe confusion which would attend upon every\r\nman’s doing justice to himself, the magistrate, in all\r\ngovernments that have acquired any considerable authority,\r\nundertakes to do justice to all, and promises\r\nto hear and to redress every complaint of injury.\r\nIn all well-governed states too, not only judges are\r\nappointed for determining the controversies of individuals,\r\nbut rules are prescribed for regulating the\r\ndecisions of those judges; and these rules are, in\r\ngeneral, intended to coincide with those of natural\r\njustice. It does not, indeed, always happen that\r\nthey do so in every instance. Sometimes what is\r\ncalled the constitution of the state, that is, the interest\r\nof the government; sometimes of the interest\r\nof particular orders of men who tyrannize the\r\ngovernment, warp the positive laws of the country\r\nfrom what natural justice would prescribe. In some\r\ncountries, the rudeness and barbarism of the people\r\nhinder the natural sentiments of justice from arriving\r\nat that accuracy and precision which, in more civilized\r\nnations, they naturally attain to. Their laws\r\nare, like their manners, gross and rude and undistinguishing.\r\nIn other countries the unfortunate\r\nconstitution of their courts of judicature hinders any\r\nregular system of jurisprudence from ever establishing\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_387\"\u003e387\u003c/span\u003eitself among them, though the improved manners\r\nof the people may be such as would admit of the\r\nmost accurate. In no country do the decisions of\r\npositive law coincide exactly, in every case, with\r\nthe rules which the natural sense of justice would\r\ndictate. Systems of positive law, therefore, though\r\nthey deserve the greatest authority, as the records of\r\nthe sentiments of mankind in different ages and nations,\r\nyet can never be regarded as accurate systems\r\nof the rules of natural justice.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt might have been expected that the reasonings\r\nof lawyers, upon the different imperfections and improvements\r\nof the laws of different countries, should\r\nhave given occasion to an inquiry into what were the\r\nnatural rules of justice independent of all positive\r\ninstitution. It might have been expected that these\r\nreasonings should have led them to aim at establishing\r\na system of what might properly be called natural\r\njurisprudence, or a theory of the general principles\r\nwhich ought to run through and be the foundation\r\nof the laws of all nations. But tho’ the reasonings\r\nof lawyers did produce something of this\r\nkind, and though no man has treated systematically\r\nof the laws of any particular country, without intermixing\r\nin his work many observations of this sort;\r\nit was very late in the world before any such general\r\nsystem was thought of, or before the philosophy of\r\nlaw was treated of by itself, and without regard to\r\nthe particular institutions of any one nation. In none\r\nof the ancient moralists, do we find any attempt towards\r\na particular enumeration of the rules of justice.\r\nCicero in his Offices, and Aristotle in his Ethics,\r\ntreat of justice in the same general manner in which\r\nthey treat of all the other virtues. In the laws of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_388\"\u003e388\u003c/span\u003eCicero and Plato, where we might naturally have expected\r\nsome attempts towards an enumeration of those\r\nrules of natural equity, which ought to be enforced by\r\nthe positive laws of every country, there is however,\r\nnothing of this kind. Their laws are laws of police,\r\nnot of justice. Grotius seems to have been the first,\r\nwho attempted to give the world any thing like a\r\nsystem of those principles which ought to run through,\r\nand be the foundation of the laws of all nations; and\r\nhis treatise of the laws of war and peace, with all\r\nits imperfections, is perhaps at this day the most\r\ncomplete work that has yet been given upon this\r\nsubject. I shall in another discourse endeavour to\r\ngive an account of the general principles of law and\r\ngovernment, and of the different revolutions they\r\nhave undergone in the different ages and periods of\r\nsociety, not only in what concerns justice, but in\r\nwhat concerns police, revenue, and arms, and whatever\r\nelse is the object of law. I shall not, therefore,\r\nat present enter into any further detail concerning the\r\nhistory of jurisprudence.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center-c0\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center c002\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003eTHE END.\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_389\"\u003e389\u003c/span\u003e\r\n\u003ch2 class=\"c004\"\u003eCONSIDERATIONS\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"large\"\u003eConcerning the FIRST\u003c/span\u003e\u003cbr\u003e FORMATION \u003cspan class=\"fss\"\u003eOF\u003c/span\u003e LANGUAGES,\u003cbr\u003e \u003cspan class=\"large\"\u003eAND THE\u003c/span\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Different Genius of original and compounded LANGUAGES.\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"drop-capa0_0_0 c009\"\u003eThe assignation of particular names, to denote\r\nparticular objects, that is, the institution of nouns\r\nsubstantive, would, probably, be one of the first\r\nsteps towards the formation of language. Two\r\nsavages, who had never been taught to speak, but\r\nhad been bred up remote from the societies of men,\r\nwould naturally begin to form that language by\r\nwhich they would endeavour to make their mutual\r\nwants intelligible to each other, by uttering certain\r\nsounds, whenever they meant to denote certain objects.\r\nThose objects only which were most familiar to them,\r\nand which they had most frequent occasion to mention,\r\nwould have particular names assigned to them.\r\nThe particular cave whose covering sheltered them\r\nfrom the weather, the particular tree whose fruit\r\nrelieved their hunger, the particular fountain whose\r\nwater allayed their thirst, would first be denoted by\r\nthe words \u003cem\u003ecave\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003etree\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003efountain\u003c/em\u003e, or by whatever other\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_390\"\u003e390\u003c/span\u003eappellations they might think proper, in that primitive\r\njargon, to mark them. Afterwards, when the\r\nmore enlarged experience of these savages had led\r\nthem to observe, and their necessary occasions\r\nobliged them to make mention of, other caves, and\r\nother trees, and other fountains, they would naturally\r\nbestow, upon each of those new objects, the\r\nsame name, by which they had been accustomed to\r\nexpress the similar object they were first acquainted\r\nwith. The new objects had none of them any name\r\nof its own, but each of them exactly resembled another\r\nobject, which had such an appellation. It was\r\nimpossible that those savages could behold the new\r\nobjects, without recollecting the old ones; and the\r\nname of the old ones, to which the new bore so close\r\na resemblance. When they had occasion, therefore,\r\nto mention, or to point out to each other, any of the\r\nnew objects, they would naturally utter the name of\r\nthe correspondent old one, of which the idea could not\r\nfail, at that instant, to present itself to their memory\r\nin the strongest and liveliest manner. And thus,\r\nthose words, which were originally the proper names\r\nof individuals, would each of them insensibly become\r\nthe common name of a multitude. A child that is\r\njust learning to speak, calls every person who comes\r\nto the house its papa or its mama; and thus bestows\r\nupon the whole species those names which it had been\r\ntaught to apply to two individuals. I have known a\r\nclown, who did not know the proper name of the river\r\nwhich ran by his own door. It was \u003cem\u003ethe river\u003c/em\u003e, he\r\nsaid, and he never heard any other name for it.\r\nHis experience, it seems, had not led him to observe\r\nany other river. The general word \u003cem\u003eriver\u003c/em\u003e, therefore,\r\nwas, it is evident, in his acceptance of it, a\r\nproper name, signifying an individual object. If this\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_391\"\u003e391\u003c/span\u003eperson had been carried to another river, would he\r\nnot readily have called it a river? Could we suppose\r\nany person living on the banks of the Thames\r\nso ignorant, as not to know the general word \u003cem\u003eriver\u003c/em\u003e,\r\nbut to be acquainted only with the particular word\r\n\u003cem\u003eThames\u003c/em\u003e, if he was brought to any other river, would\r\nhe not readily call it a \u003cem\u003eThames\u003c/em\u003e? This, in reality, is\r\nno more than what they, who are well acquainted\r\nwith the general word, are very apt to do. An\r\nEnglishman, describing any great river which he may\r\nhave seen in some foreign country, naturally says,\r\nthat it is another Thames. The Spaniards, when\r\nthey first arrived upon the coast of Mexico, and observed\r\nthe wealth, populousness, and habitations of\r\nthat fine country, so much superior to the savage nations\r\nwhich they had been visiting for some time before,\r\ncried out, that it was another Spain. Hence it\r\nwas called New Spain; and this name has stuck to\r\nthat unfortunate country ever since. We say, in the\r\nsame manner, of a hero, that he is an Alexander; of\r\nan orator, that he is a Cicero; of a philosopher, that\r\nhe is a Newton. This way of speaking, which the\r\ngrammarians call an Antonomasia, and which is still\r\nextremely common, though now not at all necessary,\r\ndemonstrates how much mankind are naturally disposed\r\nto give to one object the name of any other,\r\nwhich nearly resembles it, and thus to denominate a\r\nmultitude, by what originally was intended to express\r\nan individual.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is this application of the name of an individual\r\nto a great multitude of objects, whose resemblance\r\nnaturally recalls the idea of that individual, and of\r\nthe name which expresses it, that seems originally to\r\nhave given occasion to the formation of those classes\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_392\"\u003e392\u003c/span\u003eand assortments, which, in the schools, are called\r\ngenera and species, and of which the ingenious and\r\neloquent M. Rousseau of Geneva\u003ca id=\"r28\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f28\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[28]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e, finds himself\r\nso much at a loss to account for the origin. What\r\nconstitutes a species is merely a number of objects,\r\nbearing a certain degree of resemblance to one another,\r\nand on that account denominated by a single\r\nappellation, which may be applied to express any\r\none of them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f28\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r28\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e28\u003c/a\u003e. \u003cspan lang=\"fr\"\u003eOrigine de l’Inegalité. Partie premiere, p. 376, 377,\r\nEdition d’Amsterdam, des Oeuvres diverses de J. J. Rousseau.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen the greater part of objects had thus been arranged\r\nunder their proper classes and assortments,\r\ndistinguished by such general names, it was impossible\r\nthat the greater part of that almost infinite number\r\nof individuals, comprehended under each particular\r\nassortment or species, could have any peculiar or\r\nproper names of their own, distinct from the general\r\nname of the species. When there was occasion,\r\ntherefore, to mention any particular object, it often\r\nbecame necessary to distinguish it from the other objects\r\ncomprehended under the same general name,\r\neither, first, by its peculiar qualities; or, secondly,\r\nby the peculiar relation which it stood in to some\r\nother things. Hence the necessary origin of two other\r\nsets of words, of which the one should express quality;\r\nthe other relation.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eNouns adjective are the words which express quality\r\nconsidered as qualifying, or, as the schoolmen\r\nsay, in concrete with, some particular subject. Thus\r\nthe word \u003cem\u003egreen\u003c/em\u003e expresses a certain quality considered\r\nas qualifying, or as in concrete with, the particular\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_393\"\u003e393\u003c/span\u003esubject to which it may be applied. Words of this\r\nkind, it is evident, may serve to distinguish particular\r\nobjects from others comprehended under the same\r\ngeneral appellation. The words \u003cem\u003egreen tree\u003c/em\u003e, for\r\nexample, might serve to distinguish a particular tree\r\nfrom others that were withered or blasted.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003ePrepositions are the words which express relation\r\nconsidered, in the same manner, in concrete with the\r\nco-relative object. Thus the prepositions \u003cem\u003eof\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003eto\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003efor\u003c/em\u003e,\r\n\u003cem\u003ewith\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003eby\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003eabove\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003ebelow\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003e\u0026amp;c.\u003c/em\u003e denote some relation subsisting\r\nbetween the objects expressed by the words\r\nbetween which the prepositions are placed; and they\r\ndenote that this relation is considered in concrete with\r\nthe co-relative object. Words of this kind serve to\r\ndistinguish particular objects from others of the same\r\nspecies, when those particular objects cannot be so\r\nproperly marked out by any peculiar qualities of\r\ntheir own. When we say, \u003cem\u003ethe green tree of the meadow\u003c/em\u003e,\r\nfor example, we distinguish a particular tree, not\r\nonly by the quality which belongs to it, but by the\r\nrelation which it stands in to another object.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs neither quality nor relation can exist in abstract,\r\nit is natural to suppose that the words which denote\r\nthem considered in concrete, the way in which we\r\nalways see them subsist, would be of much earlier\r\ninvention, than those which express them considered\r\nin abstract, the way in which we never see them subsist.\r\nThe words \u003cem\u003egreen\u003c/em\u003e and \u003cem\u003eblue\u003c/em\u003e would, in all probability,\r\nbe sooner invented than the words \u003cem\u003egreenness\u003c/em\u003e\r\nand \u003cem\u003eblueness\u003c/em\u003e; the words \u003cem\u003eabove\u003c/em\u003e and \u003cem\u003ebelow\u003c/em\u003e, than the\r\nwords \u003cem\u003esuperiority\u003c/em\u003e and \u003cem\u003einferiority\u003c/em\u003e. To invent words\r\nof the latter kind requires a much greater effort of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_394\"\u003e394\u003c/span\u003eabstraction than to invent those of the former. It is\r\nprobable, therefore, that such abstract terms would\r\nbe of much later institution. Accordingly, their\r\netymologies generally show that they are so, they\r\nbeing generally derived from others that are concrete.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut though the invention of nouns adjective be\r\nmuch more natural than that of the abstract nouns\r\nsubstantive derived from them, it would still, however,\r\nrequire a considerable degree of abstraction and\r\ngeneralization. Those, for example, who first invented\r\nthe words, \u003cem\u003egreen\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003eblue\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003ered\u003c/em\u003e, and the other\r\nnames of colours, must have observed and compared\r\ntogether a great number of objects, must have remarked\r\ntheir resemblances and dissimilitudes in respect\r\nof the quality of colour, and must have arranged\r\nthem, in their own minds, into different\r\nclasses and assortments, according to those resemblances\r\nand dissimilitudes. An adjective is by nature\r\na general, and in some measure, an abstract word,\r\nand necessarily presupposes the idea of a certain species\r\nor assortment of things, to all of which it is\r\nequally applicable. The word \u003cem\u003egreen\u003c/em\u003e could not, as we\r\nwere supposing might be the case of the word \u003cem\u003ecave\u003c/em\u003e,\r\nhave been originally the name of an individual, and\r\nafterwards have become, by what grammarians call\r\nan Antonomasia the name of a species. The word\r\n\u003cem\u003egreen\u003c/em\u003e denoting, not the name of a substance, but the\r\npeculiar quality of a substance, must from the very\r\nfirst have been a general word, and considered as\r\nequally applicable to any other substance possessed\r\nof the same quality. The man who first distinguished\r\na particular object by the epithet of \u003cem\u003egreen\u003c/em\u003e, must have\r\nobserved other objects that were not \u003cem\u003egreen\u003c/em\u003e, from\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_395\"\u003e395\u003c/span\u003ewhich he meant to separate it by this appellation.\r\nThe institution of this name, therefore, supposes\r\ncomparison. It likewise supposes some degree of abstraction.\r\nThe person who first invented this appellation\r\nmust have distinguished the quality from the\r\nobject to which it belonged, and must have conceived\r\nthe object as capable of subsisting without the quality.\r\nThe invention, therefore, even of the simplest\r\nnouns adjective, must have required more metaphysics\r\nthan we are apt to be aware of. The different\r\nmental operations, of arrangement or classing, of\r\ncomparison, and of abstraction, must all have\r\nbeen employed, before even the names of the different\r\ncolours, the least metaphysical of all nouns adjective,\r\ncould be instituted. From all which I infer,\r\nthat when languages were beginning to be formed,\r\nnouns adjective would by no means be the words of\r\nthe earliest invention.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThere is another expedient for denoting the different\r\nqualities of different substances, which as it requires\r\nno abstraction, nor any conceived separation\r\nof the quality from the subject, seems more natural\r\nthan the invention of nouns adjective, and which,\r\nupon this account, could hardly fail, in the first\r\nformation of language, to be thought of before them.\r\nThis expedient is to make some variation upon the\r\nnoun substantive itself, according to the different qualities\r\nwhich it is endowed with. Thus, in many languages,\r\nthe qualities both of sex and of the want of\r\nsex, are expressed by different terminations in the\r\nnouns substantive, which denote objects so qualified.\r\nIn Latin, for example, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003elupus\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003elupa\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e; \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eequus\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eequa\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e; \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003ejuvencus\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e,\r\n\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003ejuvenca\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e; \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eJulius\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eJulia\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e; \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eLucretius\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eLucretia\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e,\r\n\u0026amp;c. denote the qualities of male and female in the\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_396\"\u003e396\u003c/span\u003eanimals and persons to whom such appellations belong,\r\nwithout needing the addition of any adjective\r\nfor this purpose. On the other hand, the words \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eforum\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e,\r\n\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003epratum\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eplaustrum\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, denote by their peculiar termination\r\nthe total absence of sex in the different substances\r\nwhich they stand for. Both sex, and the want\r\nof all sex, being naturally considered as qualities\r\nmodifying and inseparable from the particular substances\r\nto which they belong, it was natural to express\r\nthem rather by a modification in the noun substantive,\r\nthan by any general and abstract word expressive\r\nof this particular species of quality. The expression\r\nbears, it is evident, in this way, a much more exact\r\nanalogy to the idea or object which it denotes, than\r\nin the other. The quality appears, in nature, as a\r\nmodification of the substance, and as it is thus expressed,\r\nin language, by a modification of the noun\r\nsubstantive, which denotes that substance, the quality\r\nand the subject are, in this case, blended together,\r\nif I may say so, in the expression, in the same\r\nmanner, as they appear to be in the object and in the\r\nidea. Hence the origin of the masculine, feminine,\r\nand neutral genders, in all the ancient languages. By\r\nmeans of these, the most important of all distinctions,\r\nthat of substances into animated and inanimated,\r\nand that of animals into male and female, seem to\r\nhave been sufficiently marked without the assistance\r\nof adjectives, or of any general names denoting this\r\nmost extensive species of qualifications.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThere are no more than these three genders in\r\nany of the languages with which I am acquainted;\r\nthat is to say, the formation of nouns substantive,\r\ncan, by itself, and without the accompaniment of adjectives,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_397\"\u003e397\u003c/span\u003eexpress no other qualities but those three\r\nabove-mentioned, the qualities of male, of female, of\r\nneither male nor female. I should not, however,\r\nbe surprised, if, in other languages with which I am\r\nunacquainted, the different formations of nouns substantive\r\nshould be capable of expressing many other\r\ndifferent qualities. The different diminutives of the\r\nItalian, and of some other languages, do, in reality,\r\nsometimes, express a great variety of different modifications\r\nin the substances denoted by those nouns\r\nwhich undergo such variations.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt was impossible, however, that nouns substantive\r\ncould, without losing altogether their original\r\nform, undergo so great a number of variations, as\r\nwould be sufficient to express that almost infinite variety\r\nof qualities, by which it might, upon different\r\noccasions, be necessary to specify and distinguish\r\nthem. Though the different formation of nouns\r\nsubstantive, therefore, might, for some time, forestall\r\nthe necessity of inventing nouns adjective, it was\r\nimpossible that this necessity could be forestalled altogether.\r\nWhen nouns adjective came to be invented,\r\nit was natural that they should be formed with some\r\nsimilarity to the substantives, to which they were to\r\nserve as epithets or qualifications. Men would naturally\r\ngive them the same terminations with the substantives\r\nto which they were first applied, and from\r\nthat love of similarity of sound, from that delight in\r\nthe returns of the same syllables, which is in the\r\nfoundation of analogy in all languages, they would\r\nbe apt to vary the termination of the same adjective,\r\naccording as they had occasion to apply it to a masculine,\r\nto a feminine, or to a neutral substantive.\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_398\"\u003e398\u003c/span\u003eThey would say, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003emagnus lupus\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003emagna lupa\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003emagnum\r\npratum\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, when they meant to express a great he wolf,\r\na great \u003cem\u003eshe wolf\u003c/em\u003e, a great \u003cem\u003emeadow\u003c/em\u003e.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThis variation, in the termination of the noun\r\nadjective, according to the gender of the substantive,\r\nwhich takes place in all the ancient languages, seems\r\nto have been introduced chiefly for the sake of a certain\r\nsimilarity of sound, of a certain species of rhyme,\r\nwhich is naturally so very agreeable to the human\r\near. Gender, it is to be observed, cannot properly\r\nbelong to a noun adjective, the signification of which\r\nis always precisely the same, to whatever species of\r\nsubstantives it is applied. When we say, \u003cem\u003ea great\r\nman\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003ea great woman\u003c/em\u003e, the word \u003cem\u003egreat\u003c/em\u003e has precisely the\r\nsame meaning in both cases, and the difference of the\r\nsex in the subjects to which it may be applied, makes\r\nno sort of difference in its signification. \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eMagnus\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e,\r\n\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003emagna\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003emagnum\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, in the same manner, are words\r\nwhich express precisely the same quality, and the\r\nchange of the termination is accompanied with no\r\nsort of variation in the meaning. Sex and gender are\r\nqualities which belong to substances, but cannot belong\r\nto the qualities of substances. In general, no\r\nquality, when considered in concrete, or as qualifying\r\nsome particular subject, can itself be conceived as the\r\nsubject of any other quality; though when considered\r\nin abstract it may. No adjective therefore\r\ncan qualify any other adjective. A \u003cem\u003egreat good man\u003c/em\u003e,\r\nmeans a man who is both \u003cem\u003egreat\u003c/em\u003e and \u003cem\u003egood\u003c/em\u003e. Both the\r\nadjectives qualify the substantive; they do not qualify\r\none another. On the other hand, when we say,\r\nthe \u003cem\u003egreat goodness\u003c/em\u003e of the man, the word \u003cem\u003egoodness\u003c/em\u003e denoting\r\na quality considered in abstract, which may itself\r\nbe the subject of other qualities, is upon that\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_399\"\u003e399\u003c/span\u003eaccount capable of being qualified by the word,\r\n\u003cem\u003egreat\u003c/em\u003e.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIf the original invention of nouns adjective would\r\nbe attended with so much difficulty, that of prepositions\r\nwould be accompanied with yet more. Every\r\npreposition, as I have already observed, denotes some\r\nrelation considered in concrete with the co-relative\r\nobject. The preposition \u003cem\u003eabove\u003c/em\u003e, for example, denotes\r\nthe relation of superiority, not in abstract, as it is\r\nexpressed by the word \u003cem\u003esuperiority\u003c/em\u003e, but in concrete\r\nwith some co-relative object. In this phrase, for example,\r\n\u003cem\u003ethe tree above the cave\u003c/em\u003e, the word \u003cem\u003eabove\u003c/em\u003e, expresses\r\na certain relation between the \u003cem\u003etree\u003c/em\u003e and the\r\n\u003cem\u003ecave\u003c/em\u003e, and it expresses this relation in concrete with\r\nthe co-relative object, the \u003cem\u003ecave\u003c/em\u003e. A preposition always\r\nrequires, in order to complete the sense, some\r\nother word to come after it; as may be observed in\r\nthis particular instance. Now, I say, the original\r\ninvention of such words would require a yet greater\r\neffort of abstraction and generalization, than that of\r\nnouns adjective. First of all, a relation is, in itself,\r\na more metaphysical object than a quality. Nobody\r\ncan be at a loss to explain what is meant by a quality;\r\nbut few people will find themselves able to express,\r\nvery distinctly, what is understood by a relation.\r\nQualities are almost always the objects of our\r\nexternal senses; relations never are. No wonder,\r\ntherefore, that the one set of objects should be so\r\nmuch more comprehensible than the other. Secondly,\r\nthough prepositions always express the relation\r\nwhich they stand for, in concrete with the co-relative\r\nobject, they could not have originally been formed\r\nwithout a considerable effort of abstraction. A preposition\r\ndenotes a relation, and nothing but a relation.\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_400\"\u003e400\u003c/span\u003eBut before men could institute a word, which\r\nsignified a relation, and nothing but a relation,\r\nthey must have been able, in some measure, to consider\r\nthis relation abstractedly from the related objects;\r\nsince the idea of those objects does not, in any\r\nrespect, enter into the signification of the preposition.\r\nThe invention of such a word, therefore, must have\r\nrequired a considerable degree of abstraction. Thirdly,\r\na preposition is from its nature a general word,\r\nwhich, from its very first institution, must have\r\nbeen considered as equally applicable to denote any\r\nother similar relation. The man who first invented\r\nthe word \u003cem\u003eabove\u003c/em\u003e, must not only have distinguished, in\r\nsome measure, the relation of \u003cem\u003esuperiority\u003c/em\u003e from the objects\r\nwhich were so related, but he must also have\r\ndistinguished this relation from other relations, such\r\nas, from the relation of \u003cem\u003einferiority\u003c/em\u003e denoted by the\r\nword \u003cem\u003ebelow\u003c/em\u003e, from the relation of \u003cem\u003ejuxtaposition\u003c/em\u003e, expressed\r\nby the word \u003cem\u003ebeside\u003c/em\u003e, and the like. He must\r\nhave conceived this word, therefore, as expressive of\r\na particular sort or species of relation distinct from\r\nevery other, which could not be done without a\r\nconsiderable effort of comparison and generalization.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhatever were the difficulties, therefore, which\r\nembarrassed the first invention of nouns adjective,\r\nthe same, and many more, must have embarrassed\r\nthat of prepositions. If mankind, therefore, in the\r\nfirst formation of languages, seem to have, for some\r\ntime, evaded the necessity of nouns adjective, by\r\nvarying the termination of the names of substances,\r\naccording as these varied in some of their most important\r\nqualities, they would much more find themselves\r\nunder the necessity of evading, by some similar\r\ncontrivance, the yet more difficult invention of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_401\"\u003e401\u003c/span\u003eprepositions. The different cases in the ancient\r\nlanguages is a contrivance of precisely the same kind.\r\nThe genitive and dative cases, in Greek and Latin,\r\nevidently supply the place of the prepositions; and\r\nby a variation in the noun substantive, which stands\r\nfor the co-relative term, express the relation which\r\nsubsists between what is denoted by that noun substantive,\r\nand what is expressed by some other word\r\nin the sentence. In these expressions, for example,\r\n\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003efructus arboris\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003cem\u003ethe fruit of the tree\u003c/em\u003e; \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003esacer Herculi\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e,\r\n\u003cem\u003esacred to Hercules\u003c/em\u003e; the variations made in the co-relative\r\nwords, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003earbor\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eHercules\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, express the same\r\nrelations which are expressed in English by the prepositions\r\n\u003cem\u003eof\u003c/em\u003e and \u003cem\u003eto\u003c/em\u003e.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eTo express a relation in this manner, did not require\r\nany effort of abstraction. It was not here expressed\r\nby a peculiar word denoting relation and nothing\r\nbut relation, but by a variation upon the co-relative\r\nterm. It was expressed here, as it appears in\r\nnature, not as something separated and detached, but\r\nas thoroughly mixed and blended with the co-relative\r\nobject.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eTo express relation in this manner, did not require\r\nany effort of generalization. The words \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003earboris\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e and\r\n\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eHerculi\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, while they involve in their signification the\r\nsame relation expressed by the English prepositions\r\n\u003cem\u003eof\u003c/em\u003e and \u003cem\u003eto\u003c/em\u003e, are not, like those prepositions, general\r\nwords, which can be applied to express the same relation\r\nbetween whatever other objects it might be\r\nobserved to subsist.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eTo express relation in this manner did not require\r\nany effort of comparison. The words \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003earboris\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e and\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_402\"\u003e402\u003c/span\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eHerculi\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e are not general words intended to denote a\r\nparticular species of relations which the inventors of\r\nthose expressions meant, in consequence of some sort\r\nof comparison, to separate and distinguish from\r\nevery other sort of relation. The example, indeed,\r\nof this contrivance would soon probably be followed,\r\nand whoever had occasion to express a similar\r\nrelation between any other objects would be very\r\napt to do it by making a similar variation on the\r\nname of the co-relative object. This, I say, would\r\nprobably, or rather certainly happen; but it would\r\nhappen without any intention or foresight in those\r\nwho first set the example, and who never meant to\r\nestablish any general rule. The general rule would\r\nestablish itself insensibly, and by slow degrees, in\r\nconsequence of that love of analogy and similarity\r\nof sound, which is the foundation of by far the\r\ngreater part of the rules of grammar.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eTo express relation therefore, by a variation in\r\nthe name of the co-relative object, requiring neither\r\nabstraction, nor generalization, nor comparison of\r\nany kind, would, at first, be much more natural and\r\neasy, than to express it by those general words called\r\nprepositions, of which the first invention must have\r\ndemanded some degree of all those operations.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe number of cases is different in different languages.\r\nThere are five in the Greek, six in the\r\nLatin, and there are said to be ten in the Armenian\r\nlanguage. It must have naturally happened that\r\nthere should be a greater or a smaller number of\r\ncases, according as in the terminations of nouns substantive\r\nthe first formers of any language happened\r\nto have established a greater or a smaller number of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_403\"\u003e403\u003c/span\u003evariations, in order to express the different relations\r\nthey had occasion to take notice of, before the invention\r\nof those more general and abstract prepositions\r\nwhich could supply their place.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is, perhaps, worth while to observe that those\r\nprepositions, which in modern languages hold the\r\nplace of the ancient cases, are, of all others, the\r\nmost general, and abstract, and metaphysical; and\r\nof consequence, would probably be the last invented.\r\nAsk any man of common acuteness, What relation\r\nis expressed by the preposition \u003cem\u003eabove\u003c/em\u003e? He will readily\r\nanswer, that of \u003cem\u003esuperiority\u003c/em\u003e. By the preposition \u003cem\u003ebelow\u003c/em\u003e?\r\nHe will as quickly reply, that of \u003cem\u003einferiority\u003c/em\u003e. But ask\r\nhim, what relation is expressed by the preposition \u003cem\u003eof\u003c/em\u003e,\r\nand, if he has not beforehand employed his thoughts\r\na good deal upon these subjects, you may safely\r\nallow him a week to consider of his answer. The\r\nprepositions \u003cem\u003eabove\u003c/em\u003e and \u003cem\u003ebelow\u003c/em\u003e do not denote any of\r\nthe relations expressed by the cases in the ancient\r\nlanguages. But the preposition \u003cem\u003eof\u003c/em\u003e, denotes the same\r\nrelation, which is in them expressed by the genitive\r\ncase; and which, it is easy to observe, is of a very\r\nmetaphysical nature. The preposition of, denotes\r\nrelation in general, considered in concrete with the\r\nco-relative object. It marks that the noun substantive\r\nwhich goes before it, is somehow or other\r\nrelated to that which comes after it, but without in\r\nany respect ascertaining, as is done by the preposition\r\n\u003cem\u003eabove\u003c/em\u003e, what is the peculiar nature of that relation.\r\nWe often apply it, therefore, to express the most\r\nopposite relations; because, the most opposite relations\r\nagree so far that each of them comprehends in\r\nit the general idea or nature of a relation. We say,\r\n\u003cem\u003ethe father of the son\u003c/em\u003e, and \u003cem\u003ethe son of the father\u003c/em\u003e; \u003cem\u003ethe\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_404\"\u003e404\u003c/span\u003efir-trees of the forest\u003c/em\u003e, and the \u003cem\u003eforest of the fir-trees\u003c/em\u003e.\r\nThe relation in which the father stands to the son,\r\nis, it is evident, a quite opposite relation to that in\r\nwhich the son stands to the father; that in which the\r\nparts stand to the whole, is quite opposite to that in\r\nwhich the whole stands to the parts. The word \u003cem\u003eof\u003c/em\u003e,\r\nhowever, serves very well to denote all those relations,\r\nbecause in itself it denotes no particular relation,\r\nbut only relation in general; and so far as any\r\nparticular relation is collected from such expressions,\r\nit is inferred by the mind, not from the preposition\r\nitself, but from the nature and arrangement of the\r\nsubstantives, between which the preposition is placed.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhat I have said concerning the preposition \u003cem\u003eof\u003c/em\u003e,\r\nmay in some measure be applied to the prepositions,\r\n\u003cem\u003eto\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003efor\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003ewith\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003eby\u003c/em\u003e, and to whatever other prepositions\r\nare made use of in modern languages, to supply the\r\nplace of the ancient cases. They all of them express\r\nvery abstract and metaphysical relations, which\r\nany man, who takes the trouble to try it, will find\r\nit extremely difficult to express by nouns substantive,\r\nin the same manner as we may express the relation\r\ndenoted by the preposition \u003cem\u003eabove\u003c/em\u003e, by the noun substantive\r\n\u003cem\u003esuperiority\u003c/em\u003e. They all of them, however, express\r\nsome specific relation, and are, consequently,\r\nnone of them so abstract as the preposition \u003cem\u003eof\u003c/em\u003e,\r\nwhich may be regarded as by far the most metaphysical\r\nof all prepositions. The prepositions therefore,\r\nwhich are capable of supplying the place of\r\nthe ancient cases, being more abstract than the other\r\nprepositions, would naturally be of more difficult\r\ninvention. The relations at the same time which\r\nthose prepositions express, are, of all others, those\r\nwhich we have most frequent occasion to mention.\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_405\"\u003e405\u003c/span\u003eThe prepositions \u003cem\u003eabove\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003ebelow\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003enear\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003ewithin\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003ewithout\u003c/em\u003e,\r\n\u003cem\u003eagainst\u003c/em\u003e, \u0026amp;c. are much more rarely made use of, in\r\nmodern languages, than the prepositions \u003cem\u003eof\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003eto\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003efor\u003c/em\u003e,\r\n\u003cem\u003ewith\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003efrom\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003eby\u003c/em\u003e. A preposition of the former kind\r\nwill not occur twice in a page; we can scarce compose\r\na single sentence without the assistance of one\r\nor two of the latter. If these latter prepositions,\r\ntherefore, which supply the place of the cases,\r\nwould be of such difficult invention on account of\r\ntheir abstractedness, some expedient, to supply their\r\nplace, must have been of indispensable necessity, on\r\naccount of the frequent occasion which men have to\r\ntake notice of the relations which they denote. But\r\nthere is no expedient so obvious, as that of varying\r\nthe termination of one of the principal words.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is, perhaps, unnecessary to observe, that there\r\nare some of the cases in the ancient languages, which,\r\nfor particular reasons, cannot be represented by any\r\nprepositions. These are the nominative, accusative,\r\nand vocative cases. In those modern languages,\r\nwhich do not admit of any such variety in the terminations\r\nof their nouns substantive, the correspondent\r\nrelations are expressed by the place of the\r\nwords, and by the order and construction of the sentence.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs men have frequently occasion to make mention\r\nof multitudes as well as of single objects, it\r\nbecame necessary that they should have some method\r\nof expressing number. Number may be expressed\r\neither by a particular word, expressing number in\r\ngeneral, such as the words \u003cem\u003emany\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003emore\u003c/em\u003e, \u0026amp;c. or by\r\nsome variation upon the words which express the\r\nthings numbered. It is this last expedient which\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_406\"\u003e406\u003c/span\u003emankind would probably have recourse to, in the\r\ninfancy of language. Number, considered in general,\r\nwithout relation to any particular set of objects\r\nnumbered, is one of the most abstract and metaphysical\r\nideas, which the mind of man is capable\r\nof forming; and, consequently, is not an idea,\r\nwhich would readily occur to rude mortals, who\r\nwere just beginning to form a language. They\r\nwould naturally, therefore, distinguish when they\r\ntalked of a single, and when they talked of a multitude\r\nof objects, not by any metaphysical adjectives,\r\nsuch as the English, \u003cem\u003ea\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003ean\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003emany\u003c/em\u003e, but by a variation\r\nupon the termination of the word which signified\r\nthe objects numbered. Hence the origin of the\r\nsingular and plural numbers, in all the ancient languages;\r\nand the same distinction has likewise been\r\nretained in all the modern languages, at least, in the\r\ngreater part of words.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAll primitive and uncompounded languages seem\r\nto have a dual, as well as a plural number. This\r\nis the case of the Greek, and I am told of the Hebrew,\r\nof the Gothic, and of many other languages.\r\nIn the rude beginnings of society, \u003cem\u003eone\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003etwo\u003c/em\u003e, and \u003cem\u003emore\u003c/em\u003e,\r\nmight possibly be all the numeral distinctions which\r\nmankind would have any occasion to take notice of.\r\nThese they would find it more natural to express,\r\nby a variation upon every particular noun substantive,\r\nthan by such general and abstract words as \u003cem\u003eone\u003c/em\u003e,\r\n\u003cem\u003etwo\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003ethree\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003efour\u003c/em\u003e, \u0026amp;c. These words, though custom\r\nhas rendered them familiar to us, express, perhaps,\r\nthe most subtile and refined abstractions, which the\r\nmind of man is capable of forming. Let any one\r\nconsider within himself, for example, what he means\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_407\"\u003e407\u003c/span\u003eby the word \u003cem\u003ethree\u003c/em\u003e, which signifies neither three shillings,\r\nnor three pence, nor three men, nor three\r\nhorses, but three in general; and he will easily satisfy\r\nhimself that a word, which denotes so very metaphysical\r\nan abstraction, could not be either a very\r\nobvious or a very early invention. I have read of some\r\nsavage nations, whose language was capable of expressing\r\nno more than the three first numeral distinctions.\r\nBut whether it expressed those distinctions by\r\nthree general words, or by variations upon the nouns\r\nsubstantive, denoting the things numbered, I do\r\nnot remember to have met with any thing which\r\ncould determine.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs all the same relations which subsist between\r\nsingle, may likewise subsist between numerous objects,\r\nit is evident there would be occasion for the\r\nsame number of cases in the dual and in the plural,\r\nas in the singular number. Hence the intricacy and\r\ncomplexness of the declensions in all the ancient\r\nlanguages. In the Greek there are five cases in\r\neach of the three numbers, consequently fifteen\r\nin all.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eAs nouns adjective, in the ancient languages,\r\nvaried their terminations according to the gender of\r\nthe substantive to which they were applied, so did\r\nthey likewise, according to the case and the number.\r\nEvery noun adjective in the Greek language, therefore,\r\nhaving three genders, and three numbers, and\r\nfive cases in each number, may be considered as\r\nhaving five and forty different variations. The first\r\nformers of language seem to have varied the termination\r\nof the adjective, according to the case and\r\nthe number of the substantive, for the same reason\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_408\"\u003e408\u003c/span\u003ewhich made them vary according to the gender; the\r\nlove of analogy, and of a certain regularity of sound.\r\nIn the signification of adjectives there is neither case\r\nnor number, and the meaning of such words is\r\nalways precisely the same, notwithstanding all the\r\nvariety of termination under which they appear.\r\n\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eMagnus vir\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003emagni viri\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003emagnorum virorum\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e; \u003cem\u003ea great\r\nman\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003eof a great man\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003eof great men\u003c/em\u003e in all these expressions\r\nthe words \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003emagnus\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003emagni\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003emagnorum\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, as well\r\nas the word \u003cem\u003egreat\u003c/em\u003e, have precisely one and the same\r\nsignification, though the substantives to which they\r\nare applied have not. The difference of termination\r\nin the noun adjective is accompanied with no\r\nsort of difference in the meaning. An adjective\r\ndenotes the qualification of a noun substantive. But\r\nthe different relations in which that noun substantive\r\nmay occasionally stand, can make no sort of difference\r\nupon its qualification.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIf the declensions of the ancient languages are\r\nso very complex, their conjugations are infinitely\r\nmore so. And the complexness of the one is founded\r\nupon the same principle with that of the other, the\r\ndifficulty of forming, in the beginnings of language,\r\nabstract and general terms.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eVerbs must necessarily have been coeval with the\r\nvery first attempts towards the formation of language.\r\nNo affirmation can be expressed without the\r\nassistance of some verb. We never speak but in order\r\nto express our opinion that something either is or\r\nis not. But the word denoting this event, or this\r\nmatter of fact, which is the subject of our affirmation,\r\nmust always be a verb.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_409\"\u003e409\u003c/span\u003eImpersonal verbs, which express in one word a\r\ncomplete event, which preserve in the expression that\r\nperfect simplicity and unity, which there always is in\r\nthe object and in the idea, and which suppose no abstraction,\r\nor metaphysical division of the event into\r\nits several constituent members of subject and attribute,\r\nwould, in all probability, be the species of\r\nverbs first invented. The verbs \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003epluit\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003cem\u003eit rains\u003c/em\u003e; \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eningit\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e,\r\n\u003cem\u003eit snows\u003c/em\u003e; \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003etonat\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003cem\u003eit thunders\u003c/em\u003e; \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003elucet\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003cem\u003eit is day\u003c/em\u003e;\r\n\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eturbatur\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003cem\u003ethere is a confusion\u003c/em\u003e, \u0026amp;c. each of them express\r\na complete affirmation, the whole of an event,\r\nwith that perfect simplicity and unity with which\r\nthe mind conceives it in nature. On the contrary, the\r\nphrases, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eAlexander ambulat\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003cem\u003eAlexander walks\u003c/em\u003e; \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003ePetrus\r\nsedet\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003cem\u003ePeter sits\u003c/em\u003e, divide the event, as it were, into two\r\nparts, the person or subject, and the attribute, or\r\nmatter of fact, affirmed of that subject. But in nature,\r\nthe idea or conception of Alexander walking, is\r\nas perfectly and completely one single conception, as\r\nthat of Alexander not walking. The division of\r\nthis event, therefore, into two parts, is altogether artificial,\r\nand is the effect of the imperfection of language,\r\nwhich, upon this, as upon many other occasions,\r\nsupplies, by a number of words, the want of\r\none, which could express at once the whole matter of\r\nfact that was meant to be affirmed. Every body\r\nmust observe how much more simplicity there is in\r\nthe natural expression, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003epluit\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, than in the more artificial\r\nexpressions, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eimber decidit\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003cem\u003ethe rain falls\u003c/em\u003e; or,\r\n\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003etempestas est pluvia\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003cem\u003ethe weather is rainy\u003c/em\u003e. In these\r\ntwo last expressions, the simple event, or matter of\r\nfact, is artificially split and divided, in the one, into\r\ntwo; in the other, into three parts. In each of them\r\nit is expressed by a sort of grammatical circumlocution,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_410\"\u003e410\u003c/span\u003eof which the significancy is founded upon a\r\ncertain metaphysical analysis of the component parts\r\nof the idea expressed by the word \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003epluit\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e. The first\r\nverbs, therefore, perhaps even the first words, made\r\nuse of in the beginnings of language, would in all\r\nprobability be such impersonal verbs. It is observed\r\naccordingly, I am told, by the Hebrew Grammarians,\r\nthat the radical words of their language, from\r\nwhich all the others are derived, are all of them\r\nverbs, and impersonal verbs.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is easy to conceive how, in the progress of language,\r\nthose impersonal verbs should become personal.\r\nLet us suppose, for example, that the word\r\n\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003evenit\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003cem\u003eit comes\u003c/em\u003e, was originally an impersonal verb,\r\nand that it denoted, not the coming of something in\r\ngeneral, as at present, but the coming of a particular\r\nobject, such as \u003cem\u003ethe Lion\u003c/em\u003e. The first savage inventors\r\nof language, we shall suppose, when they observed\r\nthe approach of this terrible animal, were accustomed\r\nto cry out to one another, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003evenit\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, that is, \u003cem\u003ethe lion\r\ncomes\u003c/em\u003e; and that this word thus expressed a complete\r\nevent, without the assistance of any other. Afterwards,\r\nwhen, on the further progress of language,\r\nthey had begun to give names to particular substances,\r\nwhenever they observed the approach of\r\nany other terrible object, they would naturally join\r\nthe name of that object to the word \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003evenit\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, and cry\r\nout, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003evenit ursus\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003evenit lupus\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e. By degrees the word\r\n\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003evenit\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e would thus come to signify the coming of any\r\nterrible object, and not merely the coming of the\r\nlion. It would now therefore, express, not the coming\r\nof a particular object, but the coming of an object\r\nof a particular kind. Having become more general\r\nin its signification, it could no longer represent\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_411\"\u003e411\u003c/span\u003eany particular distinct event by itself, and without\r\nthe assistance of a noun substantive, which might\r\nserve to ascertain and determine its signification. It\r\nwould now, therefore, have become a personal, instead\r\nof an impersonal verb. We may easily conceive\r\nhow, in the further progress of society, it might\r\nstill grow more general in its signification, and come\r\nto signify, as at present, the approach of any thing\r\nwhatever, whether good, bad, or indifferent.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is probably in some such manner as this, that\r\nalmost all verbs have become personal, and that\r\nmankind have learned by degrees to split and divide\r\nalmost every event into a great number of metaphysical\r\nparts, expressed by the different parts of speech,\r\nvariously combined in the different members of every\r\nphrase and sentence.\u003ca id=\"r29\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003e\u003ca class=\"c013 pginternal\" href=\"#f29\"\u003e\u003csup\u003e[29]\u003c/sup\u003e\u003c/a\u003e The same sort of progress\r\nseems to have been made in the art of speaking as\r\nin the art of writing. When mankind first began to\r\nattempt to express their ideas by writing, every character\r\nrepresented a whole word. But the number\r\nof words being almost infinite, the memory found\r\nitself quite loaded and oppressed by the multitude of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_412\"\u003e412\u003c/span\u003echaracters which it was obliged to retain. Necessity\r\ntaught them, therefore, to divide words into their\r\nelements, and to invent characters which should represent,\r\nnot the words themselves, but the elements\r\nof which they were composed. In consequence of\r\nthis invention, every particular word came to be represented,\r\nnot by one character, but by a multitude\r\nof characters; and the expression of it in writing became\r\nmuch more intricate and complex than before.\r\nBut though particular words were thus represented\r\nby a greater number of characters, the whole language\r\nwas expressed by a much smaller, and about\r\nfour and twenty letters were found capable of supplying\r\nthe place of that immense multitude of characters,\r\nwhich were requisite before. In the same\r\nmanner, in the beginnings of language, men seem to\r\nhave attempted to express every particular event,\r\nwhich they had occasion to take notice of, by a particular\r\nword, which expressed at once the whole of\r\nthat event. But as the number of words must, in\r\nthis case, have become really infinite, in consequence\r\nof the really infinite variety of events, men found\r\nthemselves partly compelled by necessity, and partly\r\nconducted by nature, to divide every event into\r\nwhat may be called its metaphysical elements, and to\r\ninstitute words, which should denote not so much\r\nthe events, as the elements of which they were composed.\r\nThe expression of every particular event,\r\nbecame in this manner more intricate and complex,\r\nbut the whole system of the language became more\r\ncoherent, more connected, more easily retained and\r\ncomprehended.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"footnote\" id=\"f29\"\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"#r29\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003e29\u003c/a\u003e. As the far greater part of Verbs express, at present, not an\r\nevent, but the attribute of an event, and, consequently, require\r\na subject, or nominative case, to complete their signification,\r\nsome grammarians, not having attended to this progress of nature,\r\nand being desirous to make their common rules quite universal,\r\nand without any exception, have insisted that all verbs required a\r\nnominative, either expressed or understood; and have, accordingly\r\nput themselves to the torture to find some awkward nominatives\r\nto those few verbs, which still expressing a complete event,\r\nplainly admit of none. \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003ePluit\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, for example, according to \u003cem\u003eSanctius\u003c/em\u003e,\r\nmeans \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003epluvia pluit\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, in English, \u003cem\u003ethe rain rains\u003c/em\u003e. See Sanctii Minerva,\r\nl. 3. c. 1.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eWhen verbs, from being originally impersonal had\r\nthus, by the division of the event into its metaphysical\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_413\"\u003e413\u003c/span\u003eelements, become personal, it is natural to suppose\r\nthat they would first be made use of in the third\r\nperson singular. No verb is ever used impersonally\r\nin our language, nor, so far as I know, in any other\r\nmodern tongue. But in the ancient languages,\r\nwhenever any verb is used impersonally, it is always\r\nin the third person singular. The termination of\r\nthose verbs, which are still always impersonal, is\r\nconstantly the same with that of the third person singular\r\nof personal verbs. The consideration of these\r\ncircumstances, joined to the naturalness of the thing\r\nitself, may serve to convince us that verbs first became\r\npersonal in what is now called the third person\r\nsingular.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut as the event, or matter of fact, which is expressed\r\nby a verb, may be affirmed either of the person\r\nwho speaks, or of the person who is spoken to,\r\nas well as of some third person or object, it became\r\nnecessary to fall upon some method of expressing\r\nthese two peculiar relations of the event. In the\r\nEnglish language this is commonly done, by prefixing,\r\nwhat are called the personal pronouns, to the\r\ngeneral word which expresses the event affirmed.\r\n\u003cem\u003eI came\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003eyou came\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003ehe\u003c/em\u003e or \u003cem\u003eit came\u003c/em\u003e; in these phrases the\r\nevent of having come is, in the first, affirmed of the\r\nspeaker; in the second, of the person spoken to; in\r\nthe third, of some other person, or object. The first\r\nformers of language, it may be imagined, might have\r\ndone the same thing, and prefixing in the same manner\r\nthe two first personal pronouns, to the same termination\r\nof the verb, which expressed the third person\r\nsingular, might have said, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eego venit\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003etu venit\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e,\r\nas well as \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eille\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e or \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eillud venit\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e. And I make no doubt\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_414\"\u003e414\u003c/span\u003ebut they would have done so, if at the time when\r\nthey had first occasion to express these relations of the\r\nverb, there had been any such words as either \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eego\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e or\r\n\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003etu\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e in their language. But in this early period of the\r\nlanguage, which we are now endeavouring to describe,\r\nit is extremely improbable that any such\r\nwords would be known. Though custom has now\r\nrendered them familiar to us, they, both of them,\r\nexpress ideas extremely metaphysical and abstract.\r\nThe word \u003cem\u003eI\u003c/em\u003e, for example, is a word of a very particular\r\nspecies. Whatever speaks may denote itself by\r\nthis personal pronoun. The word \u003cem\u003eI\u003c/em\u003e, therefore, is a\r\ngeneral word, capable of being predicated, as the logicians\r\nsay, of an infinite variety of objects. It differs,\r\nhowever, from all other general words in this\r\nrespect; that the objects of which it may be predicated,\r\ndo not form any particular species of objects\r\ndistinguished from all others. The word \u003cem\u003eI\u003c/em\u003e, does\r\nnot, like the word \u003cem\u003eman\u003c/em\u003e, denote a particular class of\r\nobjects, separated from all others by peculiar qualities\r\nof their own. It is far from being the name of\r\na species, but, on the contrary, whenever it is made\r\nuse of, it always denotes a precise individual, the particular\r\nperson who then speaks. It may be said to\r\nbe, at once, both what the logicians call, a singular,\r\nand what they call, a common term; and to join in\r\nits signification the seemingly opposite qualities of the\r\nmost precise individuality, and the most extensive\r\ngeneralization. This word, therefore, expressing so\r\nvery abstract and metaphysical an idea, would not\r\neasily or readily occur to the first formers of language.\r\nWhat are called the personal pronouns, it may be\r\nobserved, are among the last words of which children\r\nlearn to make use. A child, speaking of itself,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_415\"\u003e415\u003c/span\u003esays, \u003cem\u003eBilly walks\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003eBilly sits\u003c/em\u003e, instead of \u003cem\u003eI walk\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003eI sit\u003c/em\u003e.\r\nAs in the beginnings of language, therefore, mankind\r\nseem to have evaded the invention of at least the\r\nmore abstract proportions, and to have expressed the\r\nsame relations which these \u003cem\u003enow\u003c/em\u003e stand for, by varying\r\nthe termination of the co-relative term, so they\r\nlikewise would naturally attempt to evade the necessity\r\nof inventing those more abstract pronouns by varying\r\nthe termination of the verb, according as the\r\nevent which it expressed was intended to be affirmed\r\nof the first, second, or third person. This seems,\r\naccordingly, to be the universal practice of all the\r\nancient languages. In Latin, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eveni\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003evenisti\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003evenit\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, sufficiently\r\ndenote, without any other addition, the different\r\nevents expressed by the English phrases, \u003cem\u003eI\r\ncame\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003eyou came\u003c/em\u003e, he, or \u003cem\u003eit came\u003c/em\u003e. The verb would,\r\nfor the same reason, vary its termination, according\r\nas the event was intended to be affirmed of the first,\r\nsecond, or third persons plural; and what is expressed\r\nby the English phrases, \u003cem\u003ewe came\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003eye came\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003ethey came\u003c/em\u003e,\r\nwould be denoted by the Latin words, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003evenimus\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003evenistis\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e,\r\n\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003evenerunt\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e. Those primitive languages, too,\r\nwhich, upon account of the difficulty of inventing\r\nnumeral names, had introduced a dual, as well as a\r\nplural number, into the declension of their nouns\r\nsubstantive, would probably, from analogy, do the\r\nsame thing in the conjugations of their verbs. And\r\nthus in all those original languages, we might expect\r\nto find, at least six, if not eight or nine variations,\r\nin the termination of every verb, according\r\nas the event which it denoted was meant to be affirmed\r\nof the first, second, or third persons singular,\r\ndual, or plural. These variations again being repeated,\r\nalong with others, through all its different\r\ntenses, modes and voices, must necessarily\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_416\"\u003e416\u003c/span\u003ehave rendered their conjugations still more intricate\r\nand complex than their declensions.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eLanguage would probably have continued upon\r\nthis footing in all countries, nor would ever have\r\ngrown more simple in its declensions and conjugations,\r\nhad it not become more complex in its composition,\r\nin consequence of the mixture of several languages\r\nwith one another, occasioned by the mixture\r\nof different nations. As long as any language was\r\nspoke by those only who learned it in their infancy,\r\nthe intricacy of its declensions and conjugations\r\ncould occasion no great embarrassment. The far\r\ngreater part of those who had occasion to speak it,\r\nhad acquired it at so very early a period of their\r\nlives, so insensibly and by such slow degrees, that\r\nthey were scarce ever sensible of the difficulty. But\r\nwhen two nations came to be mixed with one another,\r\neither by conquest or migration, the case\r\nwould be very different. Each nation, in order to\r\nmake itself intelligible to those with whom it was\r\nunder the necessity of conversing, would be obliged\r\nto learn the language of the other. The greater part\r\nof individuals too, learning the new language, not\r\nby art, or by remounting to its rudiments and first\r\nprinciples, but by rote, and by what they commonly\r\nheard in conversation, would be extremely perplexed\r\nby the intricacy of its declensions and conjugations.\r\nThey would endeavour, therefore, to supply their\r\nignorance of these, by whatever shift the language\r\ncould afford them. Their ignorance of the declensions\r\nthey would naturally supply by the use of prepositions;\r\nand a Lombard, who was attempting to\r\nspeak Latin, and wanted to express that such a person\r\nwas a citizen of Rome, or a benefactor to Rome,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_417\"\u003e417\u003c/span\u003eif he happened not to be acquainted with the genitive\r\nand dative cases of the word \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eRoma\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, would naturally\r\nexpress himself by prefixing the prepositions \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003ead\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e\r\nand \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003ede\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e to the nominative; and, instead of \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eRomæ\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e,\r\nwould say, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003ead Roma\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003ede Roma\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e. \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"it\"\u003eAl Roma\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e and\r\n\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"it\"\u003edi Roma\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, accordingly, is the manner in which the\r\npresent Italians, the descendants of the ancient Lombards\r\nand Romans, express this and all other similar\r\nrelations. And in this manner prepositions seem to\r\nhave been introduced, in the room of the ancient\r\ndeclensions. The same alteration has, I am informed,\r\nbeen produced upon the Greek language, since the\r\ntaking of Constantinople by the Turks. The words\r\nare, in a great measure, the same as before; but\r\nthe grammar is entirely lost, prepositions having\r\ncome in the place of the old declensions. This\r\nchange is undoubtedly a simplification of the language,\r\nin point of rudiments and principle. It introduces,\r\ninstead of a great variety of declensions, one\r\nuniversal declension, which is the same in every\r\nword, of whatever gender, number, or termination.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eA similar expedient enables men, in the situation\r\nabove-mentioned, to get rid of almost the whole intricacy\r\nof their conjugations. There is in every\r\nlanguage a verb, known by the name of the substantive\r\nverb; in Latin, \u003cem\u003esum\u003c/em\u003e; in English, \u003cem\u003eI am\u003c/em\u003e. This\r\nverb denotes not the existence of any particular\r\nevent, but existence in general. It is, upon this\r\naccount, the most abstract and metaphysical of all\r\nverbs; and, consequently, could by no means be a\r\na word of early invention. When it came to be invented,\r\nhowever, as it had all the tenses and modes\r\nof any other verb, by being joined with the passive\r\nparticiple, it was capable of supplying the place of\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_418\"\u003e418\u003c/span\u003ethe whole passive voice, and of rendering this part of\r\ntheir conjugations as simple and uniform, as the use\r\nof prepositions had rendered their declensions. A\r\nLombard, who wanted to say, \u003cem\u003eI am loved\u003c/em\u003e, but could\r\nnot recollect the word \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eamor\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, naturally endeavoured\r\nto supply his ignorance, by saying, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eego sum amatus\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e.\r\n\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"it\"\u003eIo sono amato\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, is at this day the Italian expression,\r\nwhich corresponds to the English phrase above-mentioned.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThere is another verb, which, in the same manner,\r\nruns through all languages, and which is distinguished\r\nby the name of the possessive verb; in Latin,\r\n\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003ehabeo\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e; in English, \u003cem\u003eI have\u003c/em\u003e. This verb, likewise, denotes\r\nan event of an extremely abstract and metaphysical\r\nnature, and, consequently, cannot be supposed\r\nto have been a word of the earliest invention. When\r\nit came to be invented, however, by being applied\r\nto the passive participle, it was capable of supplying\r\na great part of the active voice, as the substantive\r\nverb had supplied the whole of the passive. A Lombard,\r\nwho wanted to say, \u003cem\u003eI had loved\u003c/em\u003e, but could not\r\nrecollect the word \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eamaveram\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, would endeavour to\r\nsupply the place of it, by saying either \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eego habebam\r\namatum\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, or \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eego habui amatum\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e. \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"it\"\u003eIo avevá amato\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, or\r\n\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"it\"\u003eIo ebbi amato\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, are the correspondent Italian expressions\r\nat this day. And thus upon the intermixture of\r\ndifferent nations with one another, the conjugations,\r\nby means of different auxiliary verbs, were made\r\nto approach towards the simplicity and uniformity of\r\nthe declensions.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIn general it may be laid down for a maxim, that\r\nthe more simple any language is in its composition,\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_419\"\u003e419\u003c/span\u003ethe more complex it must be in its declensions and\r\nconjugations; and, on the contrary, the more simple\r\nit is in its declensions and conjugations, the more\r\ncomplex it must be in its composition.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe Greek seems to be, in a great measure, a\r\nsimple, uncompounded language, formed from the\r\nprimitive jargon of those wandering savages, the ancient\r\nHellenians and Pelasgians, from whom the\r\nGreek nation is said to have been descended. All\r\nthe words in the Greek language are derived from\r\nabout three hundred primitives, a plain evidence\r\nthat the Greeks formed their language almost entirely\r\namong themselves, and that when they had occasion\r\nfor a new word, they were not accustomed, as we\r\nare, to borrow it from some foreign language, but to\r\nform it, either by composition or derivation from\r\nsome other word or words, in their own. The declensions\r\nand conjugations, therefore, of the Greek\r\nare much more complex than those of any other European\r\nlanguage with which I am acquainted.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe Latin is a composition of the Greek and of\r\nthe ancient Tuscan languages. Its declensions and\r\nconjugations accordingly are much less complex than\r\nthose of the Greek: it has dropt the dual number in\r\nboth. Its verbs have no optative mood distinguished\r\nby any peculiar termination. They have but one\r\nfuture. They have no aorist distinct from the preterit-perfect;\r\nthey have no middle voice; and even\r\nmany of their tenses in the passive voice are eked out,\r\nin the same manner as in the modern languages, by\r\nthe help of the substantive verb joined to the passive\r\nparticiple. In both the voices, the number of infinitives\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_420\"\u003e420\u003c/span\u003eand participles is much smaller in the Latin\r\nthan in the Greek.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe French and Italian languages are each of\r\nthem compounded, the one of the Latin, and the\r\nlanguage of the ancient Franks, the other of the same\r\nLatin and the language of the ancient Lombards.\r\nAs they are both of them, therefore, more complex\r\nin their composition than the Latin, so are they likewise\r\nmore simple in their declensions and conjugations.\r\nWith regard to their declensions, they have\r\nboth of them lost their cases altogether; and with\r\nregard to their conjugations, they have both of them\r\nlost the whole of the passive, and some part of the\r\nactive voices of their verbs. The want of the passive\r\nvoice they supply entirely by the substantive verb\r\njoined to the passive participle; and they make out\r\npart of the active, in the same manner, by the help\r\nof the possessive verb and the same passive participle.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThe English is compounded of the French and\r\nthe ancient Saxon languages. The French was introduced\r\ninto Britain by the Norman conquest, and\r\ncontinued, till the time of Edward III. to be the\r\nsole language of the law as well as the principal\r\nlanguage of the court. The English, which came\r\nto be spoken afterwards, and which continues to be\r\nspoken now, is a mixture of the ancient Saxon and\r\nthis Norman French. As the English language,\r\ntherefore, is more complex in its composition than\r\neither the French or the Italian, so is it likewise more\r\nsimple in its declensions and conjugations. Those\r\ntwo languages retain, at least, a part of the distinction\r\nof genders, and their adjectives vary their termination\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_421\"\u003e421\u003c/span\u003eaccording as they are applied to a masculine\r\nor to a feminine substantive. But there is no\r\nsuch distinction in the English language, whose adjectives\r\nadmit of no variety of termination. The\r\nFrench and Italian languages have, both of them,\r\nthe remains of a conjugation, and all those tenses of\r\nthe active voice, which cannot be expressed by the\r\npossessive verb joined to the passive participle, as well\r\nas many of those which can, are, in those languages,\r\nmarked by varying the termination of the principal\r\nverb. But almost all those other tenses are in the\r\nEnglish eked out by other auxiliary verbs, so that\r\nthere is in this language scarce even the remains of a\r\nconjugation. \u003cem\u003eI love\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003eI loved\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003eloving\u003c/em\u003e, are all the varieties\r\nof termination which the greater part of English\r\nverbs admit of. All the different modifications\r\nof meaning, which cannot be expressed by any of\r\nthose three terminations, must be made out by different\r\nauxiliary verbs joined to some one or other of\r\nthem. Two auxiliary verbs supply all the deficiencies\r\nof the French and Italian conjugations; it requires\r\nmore than half a dozen to supply those of the\r\nEnglish, which besides the substantive and possessive\r\nverbs, makes use of \u003cem\u003edo\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003edid\u003c/em\u003e; \u003cem\u003ewill\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003ewould\u003c/em\u003e; \u003cem\u003eshall\u003c/em\u003e,\r\n\u003cem\u003eshould\u003c/em\u003e; \u003cem\u003ecan\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003ecould\u003c/em\u003e; \u003cem\u003emay\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003emight\u003c/em\u003e.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eIt is in this manner that language becomes more\r\nsimple in its rudiments and principles, just in proportion\r\nas it grows more complex in its composition,\r\nand the same thing has happened in it, which commonly\r\nhappens with regard to mechanical engines.\r\nAll machines are generally, when first invented, extremely\r\ncomplex in their principles, and there is often\r\na particular principle of motion for every particular\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_422\"\u003e422\u003c/span\u003emovement which, it is intended, they should\r\nperform. Succeeding improvers observe, that one\r\nprinciple may be so applied as to produce several of\r\nthose movements, and thus the machine becomes\r\ngradually more and more simple, and produces its\r\neffects with fewer wheels, and fewer principles of\r\nmotion. In language, in the same manner, every\r\ncase of every noun, and every tense of every verb,\r\nwas originally expressed by a particular distinct word,\r\nwhich served for this purpose and for no other. But\r\nsucceeding observation discovered that one set of\r\nwords was capable of supplying the place of all that\r\ninfinite number, and that four or five prepositions,\r\nand half a dozen auxiliary verbs, were capable of\r\nanswering the end of all the declensions, and of all\r\nthe conjugations in the ancient languages.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eBut this simplification of languages, though it\r\narises, perhaps, from similar causes, has by no means\r\nsimilar effects with the correspondent simplification of\r\nmachines. The simplification of machines renders\r\nthem more and more perfect, but this simplification\r\nof the rudiments of languages renders them more and\r\nmore imperfect and less proper for many of the purposes\r\nof language: and this for the following reasons.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eFirst of all, languages are by this simplification\r\nrendered more prolix, several words having become\r\nnecessary to express what could have been expressed\r\nby a single word before. Thus the words, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eDei\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e and,\r\n\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eDeo\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, in the Latin, sufficiently show, without any addition,\r\nwhat relation, the object signified is understood\r\nto stand in to the objects expressed by the\r\nother words in the sentence. But to express the same\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_423\"\u003e423\u003c/span\u003erelation in English, and in all other modern languages,\r\nwe must make use of, at least, two words, and say,\r\n\u003cem\u003eof God\u003c/em\u003e, \u003cem\u003eto God\u003c/em\u003e. So far as the declensions are concerned,\r\ntherefore, the modern languages are much\r\nmore prolix than the ancient. The difference is still\r\ngreater with regard to the conjugations. What a\r\nRoman expressed by the single word, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eamavissem\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, an\r\nEnglishman is obliged to express by four different\r\nwords, \u003cem\u003eI should have loved\u003c/em\u003e. It is unnecessary to\r\ntake any pains to show how much this prolixness\r\nmust enervate the eloquence of all modern languages.\r\nHow much the beauty of any expression depends\r\nupon its conciseness, is well known to those who\r\nhave any experience in composition.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eSecondly, this simplification of the principles of\r\nlanguages renders them less agreeable to the ear.\r\nThe variety of termination in the Greek and Latin,\r\noccasioned by their declensions and conjugations,\r\ngive a sweetness to their language altogether unknown\r\nto ours, and a variety unknown to any other\r\nmodern language. In point of sweetness, the Italian,\r\nperhaps, may surpass the Latin, and almost\r\nequal the Greek; but in point of variety, it is greatly\r\ninferior to both.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c010\"\u003eThirdly, this simplification, not only renders the\r\nsounds of our language less agreeable to the ear,\r\nbut it also restrains us from disposing such sounds\r\nas we have, in the manner that might be most agreeable.\r\nIt ties down many words to a particular situation,\r\nthough they might often be placed in another\r\nwith much more beauty. In the Greek and Latin,\r\nthough the adjective and substantive were separated\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_424\"\u003e424\u003c/span\u003efrom one another, the correspondence of their terminations\r\nstill showed their mutual reference, and the\r\nseparation did not necessarily occasion any sort of\r\nconfusion. Thus in the first line of Virgil:\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"lg-container-b c014\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"linegroup\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"group\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"line\"\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eTityre tu patulæ recubans sub tegmine fagi.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c015\"\u003eWe easily see that \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003etu\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e refers to \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003erecubans\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003epatulæ\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e\r\nto \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003efagi\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e; though the related words are separated\r\nfrom one another by the intervention of several\r\nothers: because the terminations, showing the correspondence\r\nof their cases, determine their mutual\r\nreference. But if we were to translate this line literally\r\ninto English, and say, \u003cem\u003eTityrus, thou of spreading\r\nreclining under the shade beech\u003c/em\u003e, Œdipus himself could\r\nnot make sense of it; because there is here no difference\r\nof termination, to determine which substantive\r\neach adjective belongs to. It is the same\r\ncase with regard to verbs. In Latin the verb may\r\noften be placed, without an inconveniency or ambiguity,\r\nin any part of the sentence. But in English\r\nits place is almost always precisely determined. It\r\nmust follow the subjective and precede the objective\r\nmember of the phrase in almost all cases. Thus in\r\nLatin whether you say, \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eJoannem verberavit Robertus\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e,\r\nor \u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eRobertus verberavit Joannem\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e, the meaning is precisely\r\nthe same, and the termination fixes John to be\r\nthe sufferer in both cases. But in English \u003cem\u003eJohn beat\r\nRobert\u003c/em\u003e, and \u003cem\u003eRobert beat John\u003c/em\u003e, have by no means the\r\nsame signification. The place therefore of the three\r\nprincipal members of the phrase is in the English,\r\nand for the same reason in the French and Italian\r\nlanguages almost always precisely determined;\r\nwhereas in the ancient languages a greater latitude is\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_425\"\u003e425\u003c/span\u003eallowed, and the place of those members is often, in\r\na great measure, indifferent. We must have recourse\r\nto Horace, in order to interpret some parts of Milton’s\r\nliteral translation;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"lg-container-b c014\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"linegroup\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"group\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"line\"\u003e\u003cem\u003eWho now enjoys thee credulous all gold,\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"line\"\u003e\u003cem\u003eWho always vacant, always amiable\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"line\"\u003e\u003cem\u003eHopes thee; of flattering gales\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"line\"\u003e\u003cem\u003eUnmindful.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c015\"\u003eare verses which it is impossible to interpret by any\r\nrules of our language. There are no rules in our\r\nlanguage, by which any man could discover, that,\r\nin the first line, \u003cem\u003ecredulous\u003c/em\u003e referred to \u003cem\u003ewho\u003c/em\u003e, and not to\r\n\u003cem\u003ethee\u003c/em\u003e; or, that \u003cem\u003eall gold\u003c/em\u003e referred to any thing; or, that\r\nin the fourth line, \u003cem\u003eunmindful\u003c/em\u003e, referred to \u003cem\u003ewho\u003c/em\u003e, in the\r\nsecond, and not to \u003cem\u003ethee\u003c/em\u003e in the third; or, on the contrary,\r\nthat, in the second line \u003cem\u003ealways vacant, always\r\namiable\u003c/em\u003e, referred to \u003cem\u003ethee\u003c/em\u003e in the third, and not to \u003cem\u003ewho\u003c/em\u003e\r\nin the same line with it. In the Latin, indeed, all\r\nthis is abundantly plain.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"lg-container-b c014\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"linegroup\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"group\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"line\"\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eQui nunc te fruitur credulus aureâ,\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"line\"\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eQui semper vacuam, semper amabilem\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"line\"\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan lang=\"la\"\u003eSperat te; nescius auræ fallacis.\u003c/span\u003e\u003c/i\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"c015\"\u003eBecause the terminations in the Latin determine the\r\nreference of each adjective to its proper substantive,\r\nwhich it is impossible for any thing in the English to\r\ndo. How much this power of transposing the order\r\nof their words must have facilitated the composition\r\nof the ancients, both in verse and prose, can hardly\r\nbe imagined. That it must greatly have facilitated\r\ntheir versification it is needless to observe; and in\r\n\u003cspan class=\"pageno\" id=\"Page_426\"\u003e426\u003c/span\u003eprose, whatever beauty depends upon the arrangement\r\nand construction of the several members of the\r\nperiod, must to them have been acquirable with\r\nmuch more ease, and to much greater perfection,\r\nthan it can be to those whose expression is constantly\r\nconfined by the prolixness, constraint and monotony\r\nof modern languages.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center-c0\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center c002\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003eFINIS.\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"figcenter id001\"\u003e\r\n\u003cimg alt=\"\" class=\"ig001\" src=\"https://chrisdeasy.com/wp-content/uploads/gutenberg-theory-of-moral-sentiments-i-426.jpg\" id=\"img_images_i_426.jpg\"\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"pbb\"\u003e\r\n\u003chr class=\"pb c003\"\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"tnotes x-ebookmaker\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter ph2\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center-c0\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"nf-center c016\"\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003eTRANSCRIBER’S NOTES\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003col class=\"ol_1 c002\"\u003e\r\n\u003cli\u003eSilently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.\r\n\r\n \u003c/li\u003e\r\n\u003cli\u003eRetained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.\r\n \u003c/li\u003e\r\n\u003c/ol\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/article\u003e"}],"SectionSequence":["Back Link","Work Title","Deck","Author","Period","Era","Composition","Region","Terra Avita","Terra Avita Region","Modern Country","Original Title","Language","Primary Discipline","Secondary Discipline","Tradition","Full Versions","Core Thesis","Classification","Arguments","Influence","Significance","Full Text"],"Counts":{"ContextCards":3,"GeoCards":4,"DisciplineCards":2,"Links":11,"Sections":23,"Styles":3,"Scripts":1}}