\ 

 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ESSAYS 
 
 ON THE 
 
 ACTIVE POWERS 
 
 OF MA N-
 
 > *
 
 ESSAYS 
 
 
 ON THE 
 
 ACTIVE POWERS 
 
 OF MAN. 
 
 By THOMAS ^E I D, D. D. F. R. S. Edin. 
 
 PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY 
 IN THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. 
 
 He bath Jhcwed thee, Man, what is good. MiCAH. 
 
 EDINBURGH: 
 Printed FOR JOHN BELL, Parliament-Squar£, 
 And G. G. J. & J. ROBINSON, London. 
 
 M,DCC,LXXX\III. 
 \ 1 t<
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 INTRODUCTION, - - - - i 
 
 ESSAY I. OF ACTIVE POWER IN GENERAL. 
 
 Chap. i. Of the Notion of yl^ive Power ^ - - 5 
 
 2. 7" he fame SubjeEl^ - - - 13 
 
 ■ 3. Of Mr Locke's Account of our Idea of Power y 22 
 
 4. OfMx Hume's Opinion of the Idea of Power, - 26 
 
 5. Whether Beings that have no Will nor Under/landing 
 
 may have ABive Power ? - - ~ 33 
 
 6. Of the efficient Caufes of the Phanomena of Nature y 41 
 
 7. Of the Extent of Human Power, - - 48 
 
 ESSAY n. OF THE WILL. 
 
 Chap. i. Obfervations concerning the Will, " - - 59 
 
 2. 0/ the Influence of Incitements and Motives upon the — 
 
 Will, - - - 67 
 
 3. Of Operations of Mind which may be called Voluntary, 78 
 
 -' 4. Corollaries, ^ - - - - 92 
 
 ESSAY III. OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 PARTI. Of the Mechanical Principles of Jaion. '^ 
 
 Chap. t. Of the Principles of jl£lion in general, - 97 
 
 ■ 2. Injlin5l, - - - - 103 
 
 3. Of Habit, - - - 117 
 
 a 2 ESSAY
 
 % 
 
 vi CONTENTS. 
 
 ESSAY III. PART II. 
 Of Animal Principles of AB'ion. 
 
 Page 
 
 Chap. i. Of Appetites, - - - 121 
 
 2. OfDeftres,.y - . - 131 
 
 3. Of Benevolent Affedion in general, - - I41 
 
 4. Of the particular Benevolent Affe^ions, - 148 
 
 5. Of Malevolent AffeElion, - - 166 
 
 6. OfPaJion, - - - 180 
 
 7. Of Difpofttion, ' - - 102 
 
 8. Of Opinion, - - - - 198 
 
 ESSAY III. PART III. 
 Of the Rational Principles of ASiion. 
 
 Chap. i. 'There are Rational Principles of A6lion in Man, -' 205. 
 
 2. Of Regard to our Good on the Whole, - - 208 
 
 3. The Tendency of this Principle, - 215 
 
 4. Defers of this Principle, - - - 221 
 
 ■ 5* Of the Notion of Duty, Redlitude. moral Obligation, 227 
 
 6. Of the Senfe of Duty, - - - 236 
 
 7. Of moral Approbation and Difapprobation^ - 244 
 
 ■ 8. Obfervations concerning Confcience, - - 252 
 
 ESSAY IV. OF THE LIBERTY OF MORAL AGENTS. 
 
 Chap. i. The Notions of Moral Liberty and Necefity fated, 267 
 
 2. Of the Words Caufe and EjfeSl, A£lion, and AElive ' 
 
 Power, - - - 275 
 
 — — 3. Canfes of the Ambiguity of thofe Words, - 281 
 
 Chap.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 vu 
 
 ^ Page 
 
 Chap. 4. Of the Influence of Motives, - - 291 
 
 5. Liberty conftftent ivilb Government^ - - 302 
 
 6. Firfl Argument for LJberty, - - - 312 
 
 7. Second Argument, - - - 323 
 
 8. Third Argument, - - - 329 
 
 9. Of Arguments for Necejftty, - - - 333 
 
 The fame Subject, - - - 346 
 
 10. 
 
 II. Of the PermiJJion of Evil, - - 3f5 
 
 ESSAY V. OF MORALS. 
 
 Chap. I. Of the Firjl Principles of Morals, - 369 
 
 2. OfSyftems of Morals, _ _ . -gQ 
 
 3. Of Syjlems of Natural Jurifprudence, - 387 
 
 4. Whether an ASiion deferving Moral Approbation, mujl 
 
 be done ivith the Belief of its being morally good, 39 c 
 
 5. Whether Jttjiice be a Natural or an Artifcial Virtue, 409 
 
 6. Of the Nature and Obligation of a Contrary • 44 c 
 
 7. That Moral Approbation implies a real Judgment, 467
 
 ESSAYS 
 
 ON THE 
 
 ACTIVE POWERS of the HUMAN MIND, 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 TH E divifion of the faculties of the human mind into Un- 
 derjlanding and Will is very ancient, and has been very ge- 
 nerally adopted ^ the former comprehending all our fpeculative, 
 the latter all our a<flive Powers. 
 
 It is evidently the intention of our Maker, that man fhould be 
 an adlive and not merely a fpeculative being. For this purpofe, 
 certain adtive powers have been given him, limited indeed in 
 many refpeds, but fuited to his rank and place in the creation. 
 
 Ouv bufinefs is to manage thefe powers, by propofing to our- 
 felves the beft ends, planning the moft proper fyftem of condud 
 that is in our power, and executing it with induftry and zeal. 
 This is true wifdom ; this is the very intention of our being. 
 
 Every thing virtuous and praife-worthy muft lie in the right 
 ufeof our power; every thing vicious and blameable in the abufe 
 of it. What is not within the fphere of our power cannot be 
 imputed to us either for blame or praife. Thefe are felf-evident 
 
 A truths,
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 truths, to which every unprejudiced mind yields an immediate 
 and invincible afTent. 
 
 Knowledge derives its value from this, that it enlarges our 
 power, and direds us in the application of it. For in the right 
 employment of our ad;ive power confifts all the honour, digni- 
 ty and worth of a man, and, in the abufe and perverfion of it, 
 all vice, corruption and depravity. 
 
 We are diflinguiflied from the brute-animals, not lefs by our 
 active than by our fpeculative powers. 
 
 The brutes are Simulated to various adlions by their inftinds, 
 by their appetites, by their paflions. But they feem to be ne- 
 ceflarily determined by the flrongeft impulfe, without any capa- 
 city of felf-government. Therefore we do not blame them for 
 what they do ; nor have we any reafon to think that they blame 
 themfelves. They may be trained up by difcipline, but cannot 
 be governed by law. There is no evidence that they have the 
 conception of a law, or of its obligation. 
 
 Man is capable of ading from motives of a higher nature. 
 He perceives a dignity and worth in one courfe of condudl, a de- 
 merit and turpitude in another, which brutes have not the capa- 
 city to difcern. 
 
 He perceives it to be his duty to a<5l the worthy and the ho- 
 nourable part, whether his appetites and paflions incite him to it, 
 or to the contrary. When he facrifices the gratification of the 
 flrongeft appetites or paflions to duty, this is fo far from dimi- 
 niftiing the merit of his condud, that it greatly increafes it, 
 and affords, upon refledlion, an inward fatisfadion and triumph, 
 of which brute-animals are not fufceptible. When he ads a 
 contrary part, he has a confcioufnefs of demerit, to which they 
 are no lefs ftrangers. 
 
 Since,
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Since, therefore, the active powers of man make fo important 
 a part of his conftitution, and diftinguifh him fo eminently from 
 his fellow-animals, they defer%'e no lefs to be the fubje<^ of phi- 
 lofophical difquifition than his intellectual powers. 
 
 A jufl: knowledge of our powers, whether intelledual or ac- 
 tive, is fo far of real importance to us, as it aids us in the ex- 
 ercife of them. And every man mufl acknowledge, that to adl 
 properly is much more valuable than to think juftly or reafon 
 acutely. 
 
 A 2 ESSAY
 
 ESSAY L 
 
 OF ACTIVE POWER IN GENERAL. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 Of the Notion of A&ive Power. 
 
 TO confider gravely what Is meant by Adtive Power, may 
 feem altogether unneceflary, and to be mere trifling. It is 
 not a term of art, but a common word in our language, ufed 
 every day in difcourfe, even by the vulgar. We find words of 
 the fame meaning in all other languages ; and there is no reafon 
 to think that it is not perfectly underftood by all men who un- 
 derftand the Englllh language. 
 
 I believe all this is true, and that an attempt to explain a 
 word fo well underftood, and to ftiow that it has a meaning, re- 
 quires an apology. 
 
 The apology is. That this term, fo well underftood by the vul- 
 gar, has been darkened by philofophers, who, in this as in many 
 other inftances, have found great difficulties about a thing which, 
 to the reft of mankind, feems perfed:ly clear. 
 
 This has been the more eafily effeifted, becaufe Power is a 
 thing fo much of its own kind, and fo fimple in its nature, as 
 not to admit of a logical definition. 
 
 It is well known, that there are many things perfedly under- 
 ftood, and of which we have clear and diftindt conceptions, 
 
 which
 
 6 E S S A Y I. 
 
 CH AP. L which cannot be logically defined. No man ever attempted $o 
 define magnitude ; yet there is no word whofe meaning is more 
 difl:indly or more generally underftood. We cannot give a logi- 
 cal definition of thought, of duration, of number, or of motion. 
 
 When men attempt to define fuch things, they give no light. 
 They may give a fynonymous word or phrafe, but it will proba- 
 bly be a worfe for a better. If they will define, the definition 
 will either be grounded upon a hypothefis, or it will darken the 
 fubjed: rather than throw light upon it. 
 
 The Ariftotelian definition of motion, that it is " A&us entis in 
 " potentia^quatenus in potentta,^'' has beenjuftly cenfured by modern 
 Philofophers ; yet I think it is matched by what a celebrated mo- 
 dern Philofopher has given us, as the moft accurate definition of 
 belief, to wit, " That it is a lively idea related to or aflbciated 
 " with a prefent impreflion." Treatife of Human Nature, vol. i. 
 p. 172. " Memory," according to the fame Philofopher, " is 
 " the faculty by which we repeat our impreflions, fo as that 
 " they retain a confiderable degree of their firfl vivacity, and 
 " are fomewhat intermediate betwixt an idea and an Imprelllon." 
 
 Euclid, if his editors have not done him injuftice, has at- 
 tempted to define a right line, to define unity, ratio and number. 
 But thefe definitions are good for nothing. We may indeed 
 fufped: them not to be Euclid's ; becaufe they are never once 
 quoted in the Elements, and are of no ufe. 
 
 I fhall not therefore attempt to define adive power, that I may 
 not be liable to the fame cenfure ; but fliall offer fome oblerva- 
 tions that may lead us to attend to the conception we have of it 
 in our own minds. 
 
 I. Power is not an objed of any of our external fenfes, nor 
 even an objed of confcioufhefs. 
 
 That
 
 OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 7 
 
 That it is not feen, nor heard, nor touched, nor tafted, nor chap, i.^ 
 fmclt, needs no proof. That we are not confcious of it, in 
 the proper fenfe of that word, will be n6 lefs evident, if we re- 
 flect, that confcioufnefs is that power of the mind by which it 
 has an immediate knowledge of its own operations. Po\Ver is 
 not an operation of the mind, and therefore no objed of cbn- 
 fcioufneis. Indeed every operation of the mind is the exertion 
 of fome power of the mind ; but we are confcious of the ope- 
 ration only, the power lies behind the fcene; and though we 
 may juftly infer the power from the operation, it muft be re- 
 membered, that inferring is not the province of confcioufnefs, 
 but of rcaion. 
 
 I acknowledge, therefore, that our having ahy conception of 
 idea of power is repuguant to Mr Locke's theory, that all our Am- 
 ple ideas are got either by the external fenfes, or by confcioufnefs. 
 Both cannot be true. Mr Hume perceived this repugnancy, 
 and confiftently maintained, that we have no idea of power. 
 Mr Locke did not perceive it. If he had, it might have led 
 him to fufped his theory j for when theory is repugnant to facfl, 
 it is eafy to fee which ought to yield. I am confcious that I 
 have a conception or iJea of power, but, ftriclly fpeaking, I am 
 not confcious that 1 have power. 
 
 I fliall have occafion to (hew, that we have very early, from 
 our conftitution, a convic'liou or belief of fome degree of adive 
 power in ourfelves. This belief, however, is not confcioufnefs : 
 For we may be deceived in it ; but the teftimony of confciouf- 
 nefs can never deceive. Thus, a man who is (truck with a palfy 
 in the night commonly knows not that he has loft the power of 
 fpeech till he attempts to fpeak ; he knows not whether he can 
 move his hands and arms till he makes the trial ; and if, with- 
 out making trial, he confults his confcioufnefs ever fo attentive- 
 ly, it will give him no information whether he has loft thefe 
 powers, or iUll retains them. 
 
 From
 
 ^ 
 
 ESSAY I. 
 
 » — ^ — ' 
 
 CHAP. I. From this we muft conclude, that the powers we have are not 
 an objed of confcloufnefs, though it would be foolifh to cenfure 
 this way of fpeaking in popular difcourfe, which requires not 
 accurate attention to the different provinces of our various fa- 
 culties. The teftimony of confcloufnefs is always unerring, nor 
 was it ever called in queflion by the greateft fceptics, ancient or 
 modem. 
 
 2. A fecond obfervation is. That as there are fome things of 
 which we have a dired, and others of which we have only a re- 
 lative conception, power belongs to the latter clafs. 
 
 As this diftindion is overlooked by moft writers In logic, I 
 fliall beg leave to Illuflrate it a little, and then fhall apply It to 
 the prefent fubjed. 
 
 Of fome things we know what they are in themfelves ; our 
 conception of fuch things I call direB. Of other things, we 
 know not what they are in themfelves, but only that they have 
 certain properties or attributes, or certain relations to other 
 things ; of thefe oui* conception is only relative. 
 
 To Illuftrate this by fome examples : In the unlverfity-library, 
 I call for the book, prefs L, fhelf lo. No. lo. ; the library- 
 keeper muft have fuch a conception of the book I want, as to be 
 able to dlftlngulfh it from ten thoufand that are under his care. 
 But what conception does he form of it from my words ? They 
 inform him neither of the author, nor the fubjed, nor the lan- 
 guage, nor the fize, nor the binding, but only of its mark and 
 place. His conception of it is merely relative to thefe clrcum- 
 ftances ; yet this relative notion enables him to diftinguifli it 
 from every other book in the library. 
 
 There are other relative notions that are not taken from ac- 
 cidental relations, as in the example juft now mentioned, but 
 from qualities or attributes eflential to the thing. 
 
 Of
 
 OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. < 
 
 Of this kind are our notions both of body and mind. What CHA P, r. 
 is body ? It is, fay Phllofophers, that which is extended, folid and 
 divifible. Says the querift, 1 do not afk what the properties of 
 body arc, but what is the thing itfelf ^ let me firft know diredly 
 what body is, and then confider its properties ? To this demand 
 I am afraid the querift will meet with no fatisfadory anfwer ; 
 becaufe our notion of body is not diredl but relative to its qua- 
 lities. We know that it is fomething extended, folid and divi- 
 fible, and we know no more. 
 
 Again, if It fhould be afked, W hat Is mind ? It is that which 
 thinks. I afk not what it does, or what its operations are, but 
 what it is ? To this I can find no anfwer j our notion of mind 
 being not dired, but relative to its operations, as our notion of 
 body Is relative to its qualities. 
 
 There are even many of the qualities of body, of which we 
 have only a relative conception. What Is heat In a body ? It is 
 a quality which affeds the fenfe of touch In a certain way. If 
 you want to know, not how It affeds the fenfe of touch, but 
 what It Is In Itfelf ; this I confefs I know not. My conception 
 of it Is not dired, but relative to the effed It has upon bodies. 
 The notions we have of all thofe qualities which Mr Locke 
 calls fecondary, and of thofe he calls powers of bodies, fuch as 
 the power of the magnet to attrad iron, or of fire to burn 
 wood, are relative. 
 
 Having given examples of things of which our conception is 
 only relative, it may be proper to mention fome of which It Is 
 dired. Of this kind, are all the primary qualities of body ; fi- 
 gure, extenfion, folidlty, hardnefs, fluidity, and the like. Of 
 thefe we have a dired and Immediate knowledge from our fenfes. 
 To this clafs belong alfo all the operations of mind of which we 
 are confcious. I know what thought Is, what memory, what a 
 purpofe, what a promife. 
 
 B There
 
 10 
 
 ESSAY I. 
 
 CHAP. I. There are fome things of which we can have both a direcft and 
 a relative conception. I can diredlly conceive ten thoufand men 
 or ten thoufand pounds, becaufe both are objeds of fenfe, and 
 may be feen. But whether I fee fuch an objed:, or dire(5lly con- 
 ceive it, my notion of it is indiflind ; it is only that of a great 
 multitude of men, or of a great heap of money ; and a fmall 
 addition or diminution makes no perceptible change in the no- 
 tion I form in this way. But I can form a relative notion of 
 the fame number of men or of pounds, by attending to the re- 
 lations which this number has to other numbers, greater or lefs. 
 Then I perceive that the relative notion is diftin(St and fcientific. 
 For the addition of a fingle man, or a fingle pound, or even of 
 a penny, is ealily perceived. 
 
 In like manner, I can form a diredl notion of a polygon of a 
 thoufand equal fides and equal angles. This direct notion can- 
 not be more diflintfl, when conceived in the mind, than that 
 which I get by fight, when the objedl is before me ; and I find it 
 fo indiftind:, that it has the fame appearance to my eye, or to 
 my dired conception, as a polygon of a thoufand and one, or 
 of nine hundred and ninety-nine fides. But when I form a rela- 
 tive conception of it, by attending to the relation it bears to 
 polygons of a greater or lefs number of fides, my notion of it 
 becomes diftind and fcientific, and I can demonfl;rate the pro- 
 perties by which it is diftinguifhed from all other polygons. 
 From thefe inflances it appears, that our relative conceptions of 
 things are not always lefs difi;ind, nor lefs fit materials for accu- 
 rate reafoning, than thofe that are dired j and that the con- 
 trary may happen in a remarkable degree. 
 
 Our conception of power Is relative to its exertions or effeds. 
 Power is one things its exertion is another thing. It is true, 
 there can be no exertion without power; but there may be power 
 that is not exerted. Thus a man may have power to fpeak when 
 he is filentj he may have power to rife and walk when he fits flill. 
 
 But
 
 OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. n 
 
 But though it be one thing to fpeak, and another to have the CHAI'. i.^ 
 power of fpeaking, I apprehend we conceive of the power as 
 fomething which has a certain relation to the efled. And of 
 every power we form our notion by the effed which it is able to 
 produce. 
 
 3. It is evident that power is a quality, and cannot exifl with- 
 out a fubjed to which it belongs. 
 
 That power may exiil: without any being or fubjed to which 
 that power may be attributed, is an abfurdity, fhocking to every 
 man of common underllanding. 
 
 It is a quality which may be varied, not only in degree, but 
 alfo in kind ; and we diftinguifli both the kinds and degrees by 
 the effedts which they are able to produce. 
 
 Thus a power to fly, and a power to reafon, are different kinds 
 of power, their effeds being different in kind. But a power to 
 carry one hundred weight, and a power to carry two hundred, 
 are different degrees of the fame kind. 
 
 4. We cannot conclude the want of power from its not being 
 exerted ; nor from the exertion of a lefs degree of power, can 
 we conclude that there is no greater degree in the fubjed. Thus, 
 though a man on a particular occafion faid nothing, we cannot 
 conclude from that circumflance, that he had not the power of 
 fpeech ; nor from a man's carrying ten pound weight, can we 
 conclude that he had not power to carry twenty. 
 
 5. There are fome qualities that have a contrary, others that 
 have not ; power is a quality of the latter kind. 
 
 Vice is contrary to virtue, mifery to happinefs, hatred to love, 
 negation to affirmation ; but there is no contrary to power. Weak- 
 
 B 2 nefs
 
 12 E S S A Y I. 
 
 CHA P. I. nefs or impotence are defeds or privations of power, but not 
 contraries to it. 
 
 If what has been faid of power be ealily underftood, and rea- 
 dily aflented to, by all who underftand our language, as I believe 
 it is, we may from this juflly conclude. That we have a diftind 
 notion of power, and may reafon about it with underltanding, 
 though we can give no logical definition of it.. 
 
 If power were a thing of which we have no idea, as fome 
 Philofophers have taken much pains to prove, that is, if power 
 were a word without any meaning, we could neither affirm nor 
 deny any thing concerning it with underftanding. We fhould 
 have equal reafon to fay that it is a fubftance, as that it is a qua- 
 lity ; that it does not admit of degrees as that it does. If the 
 underftanding immediately aflents to one of thefe affertions, and 
 revolts from the contrary, we may conclude with certainty, that 
 we put fome meaning upon the word power, that is, that we 
 have fome idea of it. And it is chiefly for the fake of this con- 
 clufion, that I have enumerated fo many obvious things concern- 
 ing it. 
 
 The term adive power is ufed, I conceive, to diftinguifh it 
 from fpeculative powers. As all languages diflinguifh adlion 
 from fpeculation, the fame difl;ind:ion is applied to the powers 
 by which they are produced. The powers of feeing, hearing, 
 remembering, diftinguifhing, judging, reafoning, are fpeculative 
 powers ; the power of executing any work of art or labour is 
 adive power. 
 
 There are many things related to power, in fuch a manner, that 
 we can have no notion of them if we have none of power. 
 
 The exertion of adlive power we call aEl'ion; and as every 
 adion produces fome change, fo every change muft be caufed by 
 
 fome
 
 OFTHENOTIONOFACTIVEPOWER. 13 
 
 fome exertion, or by the ceflation of fome exertion of power. That chap. ii. 
 which produces a change by the exertion of its power, we call 
 the caufe of that change ', and the change produced, the effeEl of 
 that caufe. 
 
 When one being, by its adive power, produces any change 
 upon another, the lall is faid to be pqffive, or to be aded upon. 
 Thus we fee that adion and paffion, cuufe and effed, exertion 
 and operation, have fuch a relation to adive power, that if it 
 be underftood, they are underftood of confequence ; but if 
 power be a word without any meaning, all thofe words which 
 are related to it, nuift be words without any meaning. They 
 are, however, common words in our language j and equivalent 
 words have always been common in all languages. 
 
 It would be very ftrange indeed, if mankind had always ufed 
 thefe words fo familiarly, without perceiving that they had no 
 meaning ; and that this difcovery fliould have been firft made by 
 a Philofophcr of the prefent age. 
 
 With equal reafon it might be maintained, that though there 
 are words in all languages to exprefs fight, and words to fignify 
 the various colours which are objeds of fight ; yet that all man- 
 kind from the beginning of the world had been blind, and never 
 had an idea of fight or of colour. But there are no abfurdities 
 fo grofs as thofe which Philofophers have advanced concerning 
 ideas. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 The fame Subje£l. 
 
 THERE are, I believe, no abftrad notions, that are to be 
 found more early, or more univerfally, in the minds of men, 
 than thofe of ading, and being aded upon. Every child that 
 
 underftands
 
 *4 
 
 ESSAY I. 
 
 CHAP. II. underftands the difllndlon between ftriking and being flruck, 
 mufl have the conception of adlion and pailion. 
 
 We find accordingly, that there Is no language fo Imperfed, but 
 that it has adive and paffive verbs, and participles ; the one fig- 
 nifying fome kind of adionj the other the being aded upon. 
 This diftindion enters into the original contexture of all lan- 
 guages. 
 
 Adive verbs have a form and conftrudtlon proper to them- 
 felves ; paffive verbs a different fonn and a different conflru6lion. 
 In all languages, the nominative to an adlive verb is the agent; 
 the thing aded upon is put in an oblique cafe. In paffive verbs, 
 the thing adted upon is the nominative, and the agent, if expreC- 
 fed, muit be in an oblique cafe ; as in this example : Raphael 
 drew the Cartoons j the Cartoons were drawn by Raphael. 
 
 Every diftindlon which we find m the ftrufture of all lan- 
 guages, mufl: have been familiar to thofe who framed the lan- 
 guages at firft, and to all who fpeak them with underftanding. 
 
 It may be objeded to this argument, taken from the ftrudure 
 of language, in the ufe of a6tive and paffive verbs, that adive 
 verbs are not always ufed to denote an ad:ion, nor is the nomina- 
 tive before an active verb, conceived in all cafes to be an agent, 
 in the ftridl fenfe of that word j that there are many paffive 
 verbs which have an adlive fignification, and adlive verbs which 
 have a paffive. From thefe fadts, it may be thought a jufl: con- 
 clufion, that in contriving the different forms of adllve and paf- 
 five verbs, and their different conftruClion, men have not been 
 governed by a regard to any diftindlion between adlion and paf- 
 fion, but by chance, or fome accidental caufe. 
 
 In anfwer to this objedion, the fad an which it Is founded, 
 
 mufl
 
 OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 15 
 
 mud be admitted ; hut I think the conclufion not juftly drawn cha p, il 
 from it, for the following reafons : 
 
 1. It feems contrary to reafon, to attribute to chance or acci- 
 dent, what is fubjed to rules, even though there may be excep- 
 tions to the rule. The exceptions may, in fuch a cafe, be attri- 
 buted to accident, but the rule cannot. There is perhaps hard- 
 ly any thing in language fo general, as not to admit of excep- 
 tions. It cannot be denied to be a general rule, that verbs and 
 participles have an adive and a pallive voice ; and as this is a 
 general rule, not in one language only, but in all the languages 
 we are acquainted with, it fhews evidently that men, in the ear- 
 lieft ftages, and in all periods of fociety, have diftinguifhedadlion 
 from paflion. 
 
 2. It is to be obferved, that the forms of language are often ap- 
 plied to purpofes different from thofe for which they were ori- 
 ginally intended. The varieties of a language, even the moft 
 perfect, can never be made equal to all the variety of human 
 conceptions. The forms and modifications of language mull be 
 confined within certain Imiits, that they may not exceed the ca- 
 pacity of human memory. Therefore, in all languages, there 
 muft be a kind of frugality ufed, to make one form of expref- 
 fion ferve many different purpofes, like Sir Hudibras' dagger, 
 which, though made to ftab or break a head, was put to many 
 other ufes. Many examples might be produced of this frugali- 
 ty in language. Thus the Latins and Greeks had five or fix 
 cafes of nouns, to exprefs the various relations that one thing 
 could bear to another. The genitive cafe muff have been at 
 firft intended to exprefs fome one capital relation, fuch as that 
 of poiTeflion or of property ; but it would be very difficult to 
 enumerate all the relations which, in the progrefs of language, 
 it was ufed to exprefs. The fame obl'crvatioa may be applied 
 to other cafes of nouns. 
 
 The
 
 i6 E S S A Y I. 
 
 CHAP. II. The flighteft fimilltude or analogy is thought fufficlent to juf^ 
 tify the extenfion of a form of fpeech beyond its proper mean- 
 ing, whenever the language does not afford a more proper form. 
 In the moods of verbs, a few of thofe which occur moll fre- 
 quently are diftinguifhed by different forms, and thefe are made 
 to fupply all the forms that are wanting. The fame obferva- 
 tion may be applied to what is called the voices of verbs. An 
 adiive and a paiUve are the capital ones ; fome languages have 
 more, but no language fo many as to anfwer to all the variations 
 of human thought. We cannot always coin new ones, and there- 
 fore muft ufe fome one or other of thofe that are to be found 
 in the language, though at firft intended for another purpofe. 
 
 3. A third obfervation in anfwer to the objedlion is. That we 
 can point out a caufe of the frequent mifapplication of adive 
 verbs, to things which have no proper adlivity : A caufe which 
 extends to the greater part of fuch mifapplications, and which 
 confirms the account I have given of the proper intention of 
 adive and pallive verbs. 
 
 As there is no principle, that appears to be more univerfally ac- 
 knowledged by mankind, from the fii'ft dawn of reafon, than, that 
 every change we obferve in nature mufl have a caufe; fo this is no 
 fooner perceived, than there arifes in the human mind, a flrong 
 defire to know the caufes of thofe changes that fall within our 
 obfervation. Felix qui potuit rerum cognofccre catifas, is the voice of 
 nature in all men. Nor is there any thing that more early di- 
 Itinguiflies the rational from the brute creation, than this avidi- 
 ty to know the caufes of things, of which I fee no fign in brute- 
 animals. 
 
 ■It muft furely be admitted, that in thofe periods wherein lan- 
 guages are formed, men are but poorly furniftied for carrying on 
 this invelHgation with fuccefs. We fee, that the experience of 
 thoufands of years is neceflary to bring men into the right track 
 
 in
 
 OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 17 
 
 In this jnvcfligation, if indeed they can yet be Hiid to be brought CUAP^il. 
 into it. What innumerable errors rude ages mufl fall into, with 
 regard to caufes, from impatience to judge, and inability to judge 
 right, we may conje«5ture from reafon, and may fee from experi- 
 ence; from which I think, it is evident, that fuppofing adivc verbs 
 to have been originally intended to exprefs what is properly cal- 
 led adion, and their nominatives to exprefs the agent ; yet, in 
 the rude and barbarous ftate wherein languages are formed, there 
 muft be innumerable mifapplications of fuch verbs and nomina- 
 tives, and many things fpoken of as adlive, which have no real 
 adivity. 
 
 To this we may add, that it is a general prejudice of our early 
 years, and of rude nations, when we perceive any thing to be 
 changed, and do not perceive any other thing which we can be- 
 lieve to be the caufe of that change, to impute it to the thing itfelf, 
 and conceive it to be adive and animated, fo far as to have the 
 power of producing that change in itfelf. Hence, to a child, or to 
 a favage, all nature feems to be animated ; the fea, the earth, the 
 air, the fun, moon, and ftars, rivers, fountains and groves, are 
 conceived to be adive and animated beings. As this is a fentiment 
 natural to man in his rude flate, it has, on that account, even in 
 polilhed nations, the verifimilitude that is required in poetical fic- 
 tion and fable, and makes perfonification one of the moft agreeable 
 figures in poetry and elofjuence. 
 
 The origin of this prejudice probably is, that we judge of other 
 things by ourfelves, and therefore are difpofed to afcribe to them 
 that life and adivity which we know to be in ourfelves. 
 
 A little girl afcribes to her doll, the pafTions and fentiments 
 
 flie feels in herfclf. Even brutes feem to have fomething of this 
 
 nature. Ayoung cat, when (he fees any brifk motion in a feather 
 
 or a draw, is prompted, by natural inftind, to hunt it as (he would 
 
 hunt a moufe. 
 
 C Whatever
 
 i8 E S S A Y I. 
 
 v. 
 
 CHAP. II. Whatever be the origin of this prejudice in mankind, it has a. 
 powerful influence upon language, and leads men, in the ftruc- 
 ture of language, to afcribe action to many things that are merely 
 paflive ; becaufe, when fuch forms of fpeech were invented, thofe 
 things were really believed to be adive. Thus we fay, the wind 
 blows, the fea rages, the fun rifes and fets, bodies gravitate and 
 move. 
 
 When experience difcovers that thefe things are altogether in- 
 adlive, it is eafy to correal our opinion about them ; but it is not 
 fo eafy to alter the efbablifhed forms of language. The moft 
 perfe6l and the mofl: poliHied languages are like old furniture, 
 which is never perfedlly fuited to the prefent tafte, but retains 
 fomething of the fafliion of the times when it was made. 
 
 Thus, though all men of knowledge believe, that the fuccef- 
 fion of day and night is owing to the rotation of the earth round 
 Its axis, and not to any diurnal motion of the heavens ; yet 
 we find ourfelves under a neceility of fpeaking in the old flyle, 
 of the fun's rifing and going down, and coming to the meridian. 
 And this fliyle is ufed, not only In converfing with the vulgar, 
 but when men of knowledge converfe with one another. And 
 if we ihould fuppofe the vulgar to be at laft fo far enlightened,, 
 as to have the fame belief with the learned, of the caufe of day 
 and night, the fame ftyle would ftlll be ufed. 
 
 From this inftance we may learn, that the language of man- 
 kind may furnlfh good evidence of opinions which have been 
 early and unlverfally entertained, and that the forms contrived 
 for expreiling fuch opinions, may remain In ufe after the opinions 
 which gave rife ta them have been greatly changed. 
 
 Adllve verbs appear plainly to have been firft contrived to ex- 
 prefs adion. They are Hill In general applied to this purpofe. 
 And though we find many inllances of the application of adive 
 
 verbs
 
 OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 19 
 
 verbs to thinj^s which we now believe not to be adive, this 
 one;ht to be afcribed to mens having once had the belief that 
 thofe things are adive, and perhaps, in fome cafes, to this, that 
 forms of exprelhon are commonly extended, in courfc of time, 
 beyond their original intention, either from analogy, or hecanfe 
 more proper forms for the purpofe nre not found in lan- 
 guage. 
 
 Even the mifapplication of this notion of adtion and adlive 
 power fliews that there is fuch a notion in the human mind, and 
 flaews the neceiTity there is in philofophy of diftinguifhing the 
 proper application of thefe words, from the vague and improper 
 application of them, founded on common language, or on po- 
 pular prejudice. 
 
 Another argimient to fliew that all men have a notion or idea 
 of adive power is, that there are many operations of mind com- 
 mon to all men who have reafon, and neceflary in the ordinary 
 conduct of life, which imply a belief of adive power in our- 
 felves and in others. 
 
 All our volitions and efforts to ad, all our deliberations, our 
 purpofes and promifes, imply a belief of adive power in our- 
 felves ; our counfcls, exhortations and commands, imply a belief 
 of adive power in thofe to whom they are addrefled. 
 
 If a man (hould make an efTort to fly to the moon; if he fhould 
 even deliberate about it, or refolve to do it, we fliould conclude 
 him to be lunatic ; and even lunacy would not account for his 
 condud, unlefs it made him believe the thing to be in his power. 
 
 If a man promifes to pay me a fura of money to-morrow, with- 
 out believing that it will then be in his power, he is not an ho- 
 neft man ; and, if 1 did not believe that it will then be in his 
 power, I fliould have no dependence on his proniife. 
 
 C 2 All 
 
 CHAP. II.
 
 20 
 
 ESSAY I. 
 
 CHAP. 11. All our power is, without doubt, derived from the Author of 
 our being, and, as he gave it freely, he may take it away when 
 he will. No man can be certain of the continuance of any of 
 his powers of body or mind for a moment ; and, therefore, in 
 every promife, there is a condition underflood, to wit, if we 
 live, if we retain that health of body and foundnefs of mind 
 which is neceflary to the perfoi-mance, and if nothing happen-, 
 in the providence of God, which puts it out of our power. 
 The rudefl; favages are taught by nature to admit thefe condi- 
 tions in all promifes, whether they be exprefTed or not ; and na 
 man is charged with breach of promife, when he fails through 
 the failure of thefe conditions. 
 
 It is evident, therefore, that, without the belief of fome ac- 
 tive power, no honefl man would make a promife, no wife man 
 would trufi; to a promife ; and it is no lefs evident, that the be- 
 lief of adlive power, in ourfelves or in others, implies au idea 
 or notion of adive power. 
 
 The fame reafoning may be applied to every inftance wherein 
 we give counfel to others, wherein we perfuade or command. 
 As long, therefore, as mankind are beings who can deliberate and 
 refolve and will, as long as they can give counfel, and exhort, and 
 command, they muft believe the exiftence of axSive power in 
 themfelves, and in others, and therefoi-e muft have a notion or 
 idea of adive power. 
 
 It might farther be obferved, that power is the proper and 
 immediate object of ambition, one of the moft univerfal paf- 
 fions of the human mind, and that which makes the greateft fi- 
 gure in the hiftory of all ages. Whether Mr Hume, in defence 
 of his fyftem, would maintain that there is no fuch pallion in 
 mankind as ambition, or that ambition is not a vehement defire 
 of power, or that men may have a vehement defire of power, 
 without having any idea of power, I will not pretend to divine. 
 
 I
 
 OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 21 
 
 I cannot help repeating my apology for infifting fo long in the CHAP, ii.^ 
 refutation of fo great an abfiirdity. It is a capital dodrine in a 
 late celebrated fyfteni of human nature, that we have no idea 
 of power, not even in the Deity ; that we are not able to difco- 
 ver a fingle inftance of it, either in body or fpirit, either in 
 fuperior or inferior natures ; and that we deceive ourfclves 
 when we imagine that we are poffefled of any idea of this kind. 
 
 To fupport this important doclrine, and the out-works that 
 are railed in its defence, a great part of the firft volume of the 
 Treatife of Human Nature is employed. That fyftem abounds 
 with conclufions the moft abfurd that ever were advanced by 
 any Philofopher, deduced with great acutencfs and ingenuity 
 from principles commonly received by Philofophers. To rejed: 
 fuch conclufions as unworthy of a hearing, would be difrefpedl- 
 ful to the ingenious author ; and to refute them is difficult, and 
 appears ridiculous. 
 
 It is difficult, becaufe we can hardly find principles to reafon 
 from, niore evident than thofe we wifli to prove ; and it appears 
 ridiculous, becaufe, as this author juftiy obfervcs, next to the 
 ridicule of denying an evident truth, is that of taking much 
 pains to prove it. 
 
 Proteflants complain, with juftice, of the hardfhip put upon 
 them by Roman Catholics, in requiring them to prove that bread 
 and wine is not flefh and blood. They have, however, fubmit- 
 tcd to this hardfhip for the fake of truth. I think it is no lefs 
 hard to be put to prove that men have an idea of power. 
 
 What convinces myfelf that I have an idea of power is, that I 
 am confcious that 1 know what I mean by that word, and, 
 while I have this confcioufnefs, I difdain equally to hear argu- 
 ments for or againft my having fuch an idea. But if we would 
 convince thofc, who, being led away by prejudice, or by autho- 
 rity.
 
 22 E S S A Y I. 
 
 CHAP. IL rify^ deny that they have any fuch idea, we muft condefcend to 
 ufe fuch arguments as the fubjed will afford, and fuch as we 
 fhould ufe with a man who fliould deny that mankind have any 
 idea of magnitude or of equality. 
 
 The arguments I have adduced are taken from thefe five to- 
 pics: I. That there are many things that we can affirm or deny 
 concerning power, with underflanding. 2. That there are, In all 
 languages, words fignlfying, not only power, but fignifying many 
 other things that imply power, fuch as, adion and paffion, caufe 
 and effed, energy, operation, and others. 3. That in the llruc- 
 ture of all languages, there is an adive and pafllve form in. verbs 
 and participles, and a different conftrudion adapted to thefe 
 forms, of which diverfity no account can be given, but that it has 
 been intended to diftinguifli adlion from paffion. 4. That there 
 are many operations of the human mind familiar to every man 
 come to the ufe of reafon, and neceflary in the ordinary con- 
 dud of life, which imply a convidlon of fome degree of power 
 in ourfelves and In others. 5. That the defire of power is one 
 of the ftrongeft paffions of human nature. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 Of Mr Locke's Account of our Idea of Power. 
 
 THIS author, having refuted the Cartefian dodrlne of innate 
 ideas, took up, perhaps too raflily, an opinion that all our 
 fimple Ideas are got, either by fenfatlon or by refledlon j that Is, 
 by our external fenfes, or by confcloufnefs of the operations of 
 our own minds. 
 
 Through the whole of his Effay, he fhews a fatherly affec- 
 tion to this opinion, and often drains very hard to reduce our 
 fimple ideas to one of thofe fources, or both. Of this, feveral 
 
 inftances
 
 Mr LOCKE'S ACCOUNT OF POWER. 43 
 
 inftances might be given, in his account of our idea of fub- CHAP. IIL 
 ftance, of duration, of perfonal identity. Omitting thefe, as 
 foreign to the prcfent fubjed, 1 fhall only take notice of the ac- 
 count he gives of our idea of power. 
 
 The fum of it is, That obferving, by our fenfes, various 
 changes in objedls, we coUedl a pofllbility in one objedl to be 
 changed, and in another a pofllbihty of making that change, 
 and fo come by that idea which we call power. 
 
 Thus we fay the fire has a power to melt gold, and gold has 
 power to be melted ; the firfl he calls active, the fecond palHve 
 power. 
 
 He thinks, however, that we have the raoft diftindt notion of 
 a<ftive power, by attending to the power which we ourfelves ex- 
 ert, in giving motion to our bodies when at reft, or in directing 
 our thoughts to this or the other objedl as we will. And this 
 ■way of forming the idea of power he attributes to reflexion, as 
 he refers the former to fenfation. 
 
 On this account of the origin of our idea of power, I would 
 beg leave to make two remarks, with the refpe(ft* that is moft 
 juflly due to fo great a Philofopher, and fo good a man. 
 
 1. Whereas he diftinguifhes power into aHive and pajfive, I con- 
 ceive paflive power is no power at all. He means by it, the pof- 
 fibility of being changed. To call this poiver, feems to be a 
 mifapplication of the word. I do not remember to have met 
 ■with the phrafe pajfive power in any other good autlior. Mr 
 Locke feems to have been unlucky in inventing it; and it de- 
 ferves not to be retained in our language. 
 
 Perhaps he was unwarily led into it, as an oppofite to adive 
 po^wer. But 1 conceive we call certain powers acJive, to diftin- 
 
 guifli
 
 H 
 
 ESSAY I. 
 
 CHA P. Ill, guifli them from other powers that are called fpeculal'ive. As all 
 mankind diflinguifh action from fpeculation, it is very proper to 
 diftinguifh the powers by which thofe different oper tions are 
 performed, into adive and fpeculative. Mr Locke indeed acknow- 
 ledges that active power is more properly called power j but I 
 fee no propriety at all in pallive power j it is a powerlefs power, 
 and a contradidlion in terms. 
 
 2. I would obferve, that Mr Locke feems to have impofed 
 upon hlmfelf, in attempting to reconcile this account of the 
 idea of power to his favourite dodrine. That all our fimple ideas 
 are ideas of fenfation, or of refledion. 
 
 There are two fleps, according to his account, which the 
 mind takes, in forming this idea of power ; Jirji, It obferves 
 changes in things j and, fecondly, From thefe changes, it infers a 
 caufe of them, and a power to produce them. 
 
 If both thefe lieps are operations of the external fenfes, or of 
 confcioufnefs, then the idea of power may be called an idea of 
 fenfation, or of refledion. But, if either of thofe fleps requires 
 the co-operation of other powers of the mind, it will follow, 
 that the idea of power cannot be got by fenfation, nor by reflec- 
 tion, nor by both together. Let us, therefore, conlider each of 
 thefe fteps by itfelf. 
 
 Firjl, We obferve various changes in things. And Mr Locke 
 takes it for granted, that changes in external things are obferved 
 by our fenfes, and that changes in our thoughts are obferved by 
 confcioufnefs. ' 
 
 I grant that it may be faid, that changes in things are ob- 
 ferved by our fenfes, when we do not mean to exclude every other 
 faculty from a fhare in this operation. And it would be ridicu- 
 lous to cenfure the phrafe, when it is fo ufed in popular difcourfe. 
 
 But
 
 Mr LOCKE'S ACCOUNT OF POWER. 25 
 
 But it is neccfHiry to Mr LockIe's purpofe, that changes in chap, iir^ 
 external things fliould be obferved by the fenfes alone, excluding 
 every other faculty ; becaufe every faculty that is ncceflary in 
 order to obferve the change, will claim a fliarc in the origin of 
 the idea of power. 
 
 Now, it is evident, that memory is no Icfs neccfTIiry than the 
 fenfes, in order to our obferving changes in external things, and 
 therefore the idea of power, derived from the changes obferved, 
 may as jullly be afcribed to memory as to the fenfes. 
 
 Every change fuppofes two ftates of the thing changed. Both 
 ihefe ftates may be part ; one of them at leafl muft be part ; and 
 one only can be prefent. By our fenfes we may obferve the pre- 
 fent ftate of the thing ; but memory muft fupply us with the 
 part ; and, unlefs we remember the paft ftate, we can perceive 
 no change. 
 
 The fame obfervation may be applied to confcioufnefs. The 
 truth, therefore, is, that, by the fenfes alone, without memory, 
 or by confcioufnefs alone, without memory, no change can be 
 obferved. Every idea, therefore, that is derived from obferving 
 changes in things, muft have its origin, partly from memory, 
 and not from the fenfes alone, nor from confcioufnefs alone, nor 
 from both together. 
 
 The fecond ftep made by the mind in forming this idea of 
 pov.cr is this : From the changes obferved we colledl a caufe of 
 thofe changes, and a power to produce them. 
 
 Here one might afk Mr Locke, whether it is by our fenfes 
 that we draw this conclufion, or is it by confcioufnefs ? Is rea- 
 foning the province of the fenfes, or is it the province of con- 
 fcioufnefs ? If the fenfes can draw one conclufion from premifes, 
 
 D they
 
 26 E S S A Y I. 
 
 CHAP. IV. they may draw five hundred, and demonflrate the whole ele- 
 ments of Euclid. 
 
 Thus, I think, it appears, that the account which Mr Locke 
 himfelf gives of the origin of our idea of power, cannot be re- 
 conciled to his favourite dodrine, That all our fimple ideas have 
 their origin from fenfation or refledion ; and that, in attempting 
 to derive the idea of power from thefe two fources only, he un- 
 awares brings in our memory, and our reafoning power, for a 
 {hare in its origin. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 Of Mr Hume's Opinion of the Idea of Power. 
 
 THIS very ingenious author adopts the principle of Mr 
 Locke before mentioned. That all our fimple ideas are de- 
 rived either from fenfation or refledlion. This he feems to un- 
 derftand, even in a ftrider fenfe than Mr Locke did. For he 
 will have all our fimple ideas to be copies of preceeding impref- 
 fions, either of our external fenfes or of confcioufnefs. " After 
 " the moft; accurate examination," fays he, " of which I am 
 " capable, I venture to affirm, that the rule here holds without 
 " any exception, and that every fimple idea has a fimple im- 
 " prefilon which refembles it, and every fimple imprellion a 
 " correfpondent idea. Every one may fatisfy himfelf in this 
 " point, by running over as many as he pleafes." 
 
 I obferve here, by the way, that this conclufion is formed by 
 the author rafhly and unphilofophically. For it is a conclufion 
 that admits of no proof, but by indudion ; and it is upon this 
 ground that he himfelf founds it. The indudion cannot be per- 
 fedl till every fimple idea that can enter into the human mind 
 be examined, and be fhewn to be copied from a refembling im- 
 
 prefilon
 
 Mr HUME'S OPINION OF POWER. 27 
 
 prcffion of fcnCc or of confcioufnefs. No man can pretend to CHAP, iv . 
 have made this examination of all our funple ideas without ex- 
 ception; and, therefore, no man can, confidently with the rules 
 of philofophifniG;-, afllire us, that this conclufion holds without 
 any exception. 
 
 The author profelles, in his title-page, to introduce into moral 
 fuhjeds the experimental method of reafoning. This was a very 
 laudahle attempt ; but he ought to have known, that it is a rule 
 in the experimental method of reafoning, That conclufions efta- 
 bliflied by indudion ought never to exclude exceptions, if any 
 fuch fliould afterwards appear from obfervation or experiment. 
 Sir Isaac Newton, fpeaking of fuch conclufions, fays, " Et fi 
 " quando in experiundo poflea reperiatur aliquid, quod a parte 
 " contraria faciat ; tum demum, non fine iftis exceptionibus af- 
 " firmetur conclufio opportebit." " But," fays our author, " I 
 " will venture to afiirm, that the rule here holds without any ex- 
 " ception." 
 
 Accordingly, throughout the whole treatife, this general rule 
 is confidered as of fufficient authority, in itfelf, to exclude, 
 even from a hearing, every thing that appears to be an exception 
 to it. This is contrary to the fundamental principles of the ex- 
 perimental method of reafoning, and therefore may be called 
 rafli and unphilofophical. 
 
 Having thus cftabliflied this general principle, the author does * 
 
 great execution by it among our ideas. He finds, that we have 
 no idea of fubllance, material or fpiritual; that body and mind 
 are only certain trains of related imprelTions and ideas; that we 
 have no idea of fpace or duration, and no idea of power, adlive 
 or intelledive. 
 
 Mr Locke ufed his principle of fenfation and refledion with 
 greater moderation and mercy. Being unwilling to thrufi the 
 
 D 2 ideas
 
 28 E S S A Y I. 
 
 CHAP. IV. ideas we have mentioned into the limbo of non-exiftence, he 
 ftretches fenfation and refledion to the very utmoft, in order to 
 receive thefe ideas within the pale ; and draws them into it, as 
 it were by violence. 
 
 But this author, inflead of fhewing them any favour, feems 
 fond to get rid of them. 
 
 Of the ideas mentioned, it is only that of power that con- 
 cerns our prefent fubjed. And, with regard to this, the author 
 boldly affirms, " That we never have any idea of power ; that 
 " we deceive ourfelves when we imagine we are poflefTed of any 
 " idea of this kind." 
 
 He begins with obferving, " That the terms efficacy, agency, 
 " power, force, energy, are all nearly fynonymous ^ and therefore 
 " it is an abfurdlty to employ any of them in defining the reft. 
 " By this obfervation," fays he, " we rejed at once all the vul- 
 " gar definitions which Philofophers have given of power and 
 " efficacy.^^ 
 
 Surely this author was not ignorant, that there are many 
 things of which we have a clear and diftindl conception, which 
 are fo fimple in their nature, that they cannot be defined any 
 other way than by fynonymous words. It is true that this is not 
 a logical definition, but that there is, as he affirms, an abfurdity 
 in ufing if, when no better can be had, I cannot perceive. 
 
 He might here have applied to power and ejficacy what he fays, 
 in another place, of pri^le and humility. " The pafllons of pride 
 " and humility" he fays, " being fimple and uniform impref- 
 , " fions, it is impofiible we can ever give a jufi definition of 
 " them. As the words are of general ufe, and the things they 
 ** reprefent the mod common of any, every one, of himfelf, 
 
 •• will
 
 Mr HUME'S OPINION OF POWER. 
 
 39 
 
 " will he able to form a jufl notion of them without danger of CHAP. IV. 
 " miftake." ' 
 
 He mentions Mr Locke's account of the idea of power, That, 
 obferving various changes in things, we conclude, that there 
 mull be fomewhere a power capable of producing them, and fo 
 arrive at laft, by this real'oning, at the idea of power and effi- 
 cacy. 
 
 " But," fays he, " to be fatisfied that this explication is more 
 " popular than philofophical, we need but refled: on two very 
 " obvious principles ; fifjl. That reafon alone can never give 
 " rife to any original idea j and, fecondly. That reafon, as dl- 
 " ftinguifhed from experience, can never make us conclude, 
 " that a caufe, or produdive quality, is abfolutely requifite to 
 " every beginning of exiftence." 
 
 Before v/e confider the two principles which our author op- 
 pofes to the popular opinion of Mr Locke, I obferve, 
 
 Firjl, That there are fome popular opinions, which, on that 
 very account, deferv-e more regard from Philofophers, than this 
 author is willing to bellow. 
 
 That things cannot begin to cxifl, nor undergo any change, 
 without a caufe that hath power to produce that change, is in- 
 deed fo popular an opinion, that, 1 believe, this author is the 
 firft of mankind that ever called it in queflion. It is fo popular, 
 that there is not a man of common prudence who does not ad 
 from this opinion, and rely upon it every day of his life. And 
 any man who fliould condud himfelf by the contrary opinion 
 would foon be confined as infane, and continue in that flate 
 till a fuHkicnt caufe was found for his enlargement. 
 
 Such a popular opinion as this, (lands upon a higher authori- 
 ty
 
 3° 
 
 ESSAY 1. 
 
 CHAP. IV. ty than that of philofophy, and philofophy muft ftrike fail to it, if 
 fhe would not render herfelf contemptible to every man of com- 
 mon underftanding. 
 
 For though, in matters of deep (peculation, the multitude 
 muft be guided by Philofophers, yet, in things that are within 
 the reach of every man's underftanding, and upon which the 
 whole condudt of human life turns, the Philofopher muft fol- 
 low the multitude, or make himfelf perfedly ridiculous. 
 
 Secondly, I obferve, that whether this popular opinion be true 
 or falfe, it follows from mens having this opinion, that they 
 have an idea of power. A falfe opinion about power, no lefs 
 than a true, implies an idea of power ; for how can men have 
 any opinion, true or falfe, about a thing of which they have no 
 idea ? 
 
 The Jirji of the very obvious principles which the author op- 
 pofes to Mr Locke's account of the idea of power, is, Thatrea- 
 fon alone can never give rife to any original idea. 
 
 This appears to me fo far from being a very obvious princi- 
 ple, that the contrary is very obvious. 
 
 Is it not our reafoning faculty that gives rife to the idea of 
 reafoning itfelf ? As our idea of fight takes its rife from our be- 
 ing endowed with that faculty ; fo does our idea of reafoning. 
 Do not the ideas of demonftration, of probability, our ideas of 
 a fyllogifm, of major, minor and conclufion, of an enthymeme, 
 dilemma, forites, and all the various modes of reafoning, take 
 their rife from the faculty of reafon ? Or is it poilible, that a 
 being, not endowed with the faculty of reafoning, fliould have 
 thefe ideas ? This principle, therefore, is fo far from being ob- 
 vioufly true, that it appears to be obvioufly falfe. 
 
 The
 
 Mr HUME'S OPINION OF POWER. 
 
 The fccond obvious principle is, That reafon, as diftinguifhed CHAP. IV. 
 from experience, can never make us conchidc, that a caufe, or 
 produdlive quality, is abiblutely requifite to every beginning of 
 exiftence. 
 
 In fome Eflays on the Intelledual Powers of Man, I had 
 occafion to treat of this principle, That every change in 
 nature muft have a caufe; and, to prevent repetition, I beg 
 leave to refer the reader to what is faid upon this fubjedl, 
 EJfay VT. chap. 6. I endeavoured to fhew that it is a firft princi- 
 ple, evident to all men come to years of underftanding. Be- 
 fides its having been univerfally received, without the lead 
 doubt, from the beginning of the world, it has this fure mark 
 of a fir ft principle, that the belief of it is abfolutely neceflary 
 in the ordinary affairs of life, and, without it, no man could 
 adl with common prudence, or avoid the imputation of inJanity. 
 Yet a Philofopher, who ac^ed upon the finn belief of it every 
 day of his life, thinks fit, in his clofet, to call it in queftion. 
 
 He infinuates here, that we may know it from experience. I 
 endeavoured to (hew, that we do not learn it from experience, 
 for two reafons. 
 
 Fir^, Becaufe it is a necefHiry truth, and has always been re- 
 ceived as a neceflary truth. Experience gives no information of 
 what is necelTary, or of what muft be. 
 
 We may know from experience, what is, or what was, and 
 from that may probably conclude what (hall be in like circum- 
 ftances ; but, with regard to what muft; necefl^arily be, exjjeri- 
 ence is perfectly filent. 
 
 Thus we know, by unvaried experience, from the beginning 
 of the world, that the fun and ftars rife in the eaft and fet in the 
 weft. But no man believes, that it could not polTibly have been 
 
 otherwife,
 
 32 
 
 ESSAY I. 
 
 CHA P, iv^ otherwife, or that it did not depend upon the will and power of 
 him who made the world, whether the earth fliould revolve to 
 the eaft or to the wefl. 
 
 In like manner, if we had experience, ever fo conftant, that 
 every change in nature we have obferved, actually had a caufe, 
 this might afford ground to believe, that, for the future, it fhall 
 be fo ; but no ground at all to believe that it muft be fo, and 
 cannot be otherwife. 
 
 Another reafon to fhew that this principle is not learned from 
 -experience is, That experience does not fliew us a caufe of one 
 in a hundred of thofe changes which we obferve, and therefore 
 can never teach us that there muft be a caufe of all. 
 
 Of all the paradoxes this author has advanced, there is not 
 one more Ihocking to the human underftanding than this, That 
 things may begin to exift without a caufe. This would put an 
 end to all fpeculation, as well as to all the bufmefs of life. The 
 employment of fpeculative men, lince the beginning of the 
 world, has been to inveftigate the caufes of things. What pity 
 is it, they never thought of putting the previous quellion, Whe- 
 ther things have a caufe or not ? This queftion has at laft been 
 ftarted j and what is there fo ridiculous as not to be maintained 
 by fome Philofopher? 
 
 Enough has been faid upon it, and more, I think, than it de- 
 ferves. But, being about to treat of the adlive powers of the 
 human mind, 1 thought it improper to take no notice of what 
 has been faid by fo celebrated a Philofopher, to fhew, that there 
 is not, in the human mind, any idea of power. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 OF BEINGS THAT HAVE NO UNDERSTANDING. 33 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Whether Beings that have no Will nor Under/landing may have A&ive 
 Power ? 
 
 THAT adive power is an attribute, which cannot exifl: but 
 in fome being poflelTed of that power, and the fubjed; of 
 that attribute, I take for granted as a felf-evident truth. Whe- 
 ther there can be adtive power in a fubjed which has no thought, 
 no underdanding, no will, is not fo evident. 
 
 The ambiguity of the words power, caufe, agent, and of all 
 the words related to thefe, tends to perplex this queftion. The 
 weaknefs of human underftanding, which gives us only an in- 
 dirccl: and relative conception of power, contributes to darken 
 our realbning, and Ihould make us cautious axid modeft in our 
 detenninations. 
 
 We can derive little light in this matter from the events which 
 we obferve in the courfe of nature. We perceive changes innu- 
 mer:ible in things without us. We know that thofe changes 
 mufl be produced by the adive power of fome agent ; but we 
 neither perceive the agent nor the power, but the change only. 
 Whether the things be adlive, or merely pallive, is not eafily dif- 
 covered. And though it may be an objedl of curiofity to the 
 fpeculative few, it does not greatly concern the many. 
 
 To know the event and the circumftances that attended it, 
 .ind to know in what circumrtances like events may be expeded, 
 may be of confequence in the condud of life ; but to know the 
 real efficient, whether it be matter or mind, whether of a fupe- 
 rior or inferior order, concerns us little. 
 
 E Thus
 
 34 . E S S A Y I. 
 
 CHAP. V. Thus it is with regard to all the effedls we afcribe to na- 
 ture. 
 
 Nature is the name we give to the efficient caufe of innumera- 
 ble effedls which fall daily under our obfervation. But if it be 
 afked what nature is ? Whether the firft unlverfal caufe, or a 
 fubordinate one, whether one or many, whether intelligent or 
 unintelligent ? Upon thefe points we find various conjedures and 
 theories, but no folid ground upon which we can reil. And I 
 apprehend the wifeft men are they who are fenfible that they 
 know nothing of the matter. 
 
 From the courfe of events in the natural world, we have fuf- 
 ficient reafon to conclude the exiftence of an eternal intelligent 
 Firft Caufe. But whether he adls immediately in the production 
 of thofe events, or by fubordinate intelligent agents, or by in- 
 ftruments that are unintelligent, and what the number, the na- 
 ture, and the different offices of thofe agents or inftruments 
 may be ; thefe I apprehend to be myfteries placed beyond the 
 limits of human knowledge. We fee an eftablifhed order in the 
 fucceflion of natural events, but we fee not the bond that con- 
 nedts them together. 
 
 Since we derive fo little light, v/ith regard to efficient cau(es 
 and their ad:ive power, from attention to the natural world, let 
 us next attend to the moral, I mean, to human actions and con- 
 dud. 
 
 Mr Locke obferves very juftly, " That, from the obferva- 
 '• tion of the operation of bodies by our fenfes, we have but a 
 " very imperfect obfcure idea of adlive power, fince they afford us 
 " not any idea in themfelves of the power to begin any adion, 
 " either of motion or thought." He adds, " That we find in 
 " ourfelves a power to begin or forbear, continue or end feveral 
 " adlions of our minds and motions of our bodies, barely by a 
 
 " thought
 
 OF BEINCIS THAT HAVE NO UNDERSTANDING. 35 
 
 " thouglit or preference of the mind, ordering, or, as it were, CHAP, v.^ 
 
 " coumianding the doing or not doing fuch a particuhir adtion. 
 
 " This power which the mind has tlius to order the confidera- 
 
 " tion of any idea, or the forbearing to confider it, or to pre- 
 
 " fer the motion of any part of the body to its I'eft, and -y/Vdr ver- 
 
 " fa, in any particnhir inftance, is that which we call the ivill. 
 
 " The adiiai exercife of that power, by diredling any particular 
 
 " adion, or its forbearance, is that which we call volition or 
 
 " willing^ 
 
 "^Yv^ According to Mr Locke, therefore, the only clear notion or 
 idea we have of active power, is taken from the power which 
 we fmd in ourfelves to give certain motions to our bodies, or a 
 certain direction to our thoughts ; and this power in ourfelves 
 can be brought into adlion only by willing or volition. 
 
 From this, I think, it follows, that, if we had not will, 
 and that degree of underftanding which will neceflarily im- 
 plies, we could exert no adive power, and confequently could 
 have none : For power that cannot be exerted is no power. It 
 follows alfo, that the adlive power, of which only we can have 
 any diftindl conception, can be only in beings that have under- 
 ftanding and will. 
 
 ^^^ Power to produce any effedl implies power not to produce 
 it. We can conceive no way in which power may be deter- 
 mined to one of thefe rather than the other, in a being that has 
 no will. 
 
 Whatever is the effed of adive power muft be fomething that 
 is contingent. Contingent exiftence is that which depended 
 upon the power and will of its caufe. Oppofed to this, is necef- 
 fary exiltcnce, which we afcribe to the Supreme Being, becaufe 
 his exiftence is not owing to the power of any being. The fmic 
 diftindion there is between contingent and neceflary truth. 
 
 E 2 That
 
 36 E S S A Y I. 
 
 CHAP. V. That the planets of our fyftem go round the fun from weft to 
 eaft, is a continofent truth ; becaufe it depended upon the power and 
 will of him who made the planetary fyftem, and gave motion to it. 
 That a circle and a right line can cut one another only in two 
 points, is a truth which depends upon no power nor will, and 
 therefore is called neceftary and immutable. Contingency, 
 therefore, has a relation to adlive power, as all ad:ive power is 
 exerted in contingent events ; and as fuch events can have no 
 exiftence, but by the exertion of adlive power. 
 
 When I obferve a plant growing from its feed to maturity, I 
 know that there muft be a caufe that has power to produce this 
 effed:. But I fee neither the caufe nor the manner of its ope- 
 ration. 
 
 / But in certain motions of my body and diredllons of my 
 
 thought, I know, not only that there muft be a caufe that has 
 power to produce thefe effeds, but that I am that caufe ; and I 
 am confcious of what 1 do in order to the production of them. 
 
 From the confcioufnefs of our own adlivity, feems to be de- 
 rived, not only the cleareft, but the only conception we can 
 form of adivity, or the exertion of adlive power. 
 
 As I ain unable to form a notion of any intelledlual power 
 different in kind from thofe I poflefs, the fame holds with re- 
 fped to adlive power. If all men had been blind, we ftiould 
 have had no conception of the power of feeing, nor any name 
 for it in language. If man had not the powers of abftradlion 
 and reafoning, we could not have had any conception of thefe 
 operations. In like manner, if he had not fome degree of ac- 
 tive power, and if he were not confcious of the exertion of it 
 in his voluntary adlions, it is probable he could have no con- 
 ception of adlivity, or of acSlive power. 
 
 A
 
 OF BEINGS THAT HAVE NO UNDERSTANDING. 37 
 
 A train of events following one another ever fo regularly, 'xll^^LZ^ 
 .could never lead us to the notion of a caufe, if we had not, from 
 our conftitution, a convidion of the necelTity of a caufe to eve- 
 ry event. 
 
 And of the manner in which a caufe may exert its adive 
 power, we can have no conception, but from confcioufnefs of the 
 manner in which our own adlive power is exerted. 
 
 With regard to the operations of nature, it is fufficient for 
 us to know, that, whatever the agents may be, whatever the 
 manner of their operation, or the extent of their power, they 
 depend upon the firft caufe, and are under his control ; and this 
 indeed is all that we know ; beyond this we are left in darknefs. 
 But, in what regards human adions, we have a more immediate 
 concern. 
 
 It is of the highefl importance to us, as moral and account- 
 able creatures, to know what adions are in our own power, be- 
 caufe it is for thefe only that we can be accountable to our Ma- 
 ker, or to our fellow-men in fociety ; by thefe only we can me- 
 rit praife or blame ; in thefe only all our prudence, wifdom and 
 virtue muft be employed 3 and, therefore, with regard to them, 
 the wife Author of nature has not left us in the dark. 
 
 Every man is led by nature to attribute to himfelf the free de- 
 terminations of his own will, and to believe thofe events to be 
 in his power which depend upon his will. On the other hand, 
 it is felf-evident, that nothiug is in our power that is not fubjedt 
 to our will. 
 
 We grow from childhood to manhood, we digeft our food, 
 our blood circulates, our heart and arteries beat, we are fome- 
 times fick and fomttimi s in health ; all thefe things muft be 
 done by the power of fomc agent 3 but they are not done by 
 
 our
 
 38 E S S A Y I. 
 
 CHAP. V. om- power. How do we know this ? Becaufe they are not 
 fubjedt to our will. This is the infallible "criterion by which 
 we diftinguifh what is our doing from what is not ; what is in 
 our power from what is not. 
 
 Human power, therefore, can only be exerted by will, and we 
 are unable to conceive any active power to be exerted without 
 will. Every man knows infallibly that what is done by his con- 
 fcious will and intention, is to be imputed to him, as the agent 
 or caufe ; and that whatever is done without his will and inten- 
 tion, cannot be imputed to him with truth. 
 
 We judge of the adions and condud: of other men by the 
 fame rule as we judge of our own. In morals, it is felf-evi- 
 dent that no man can be the objedl either of approbation or of 
 blame for what he did not. But how fhall we know whether it 
 is his doing or not ?ij[f the adlion depended upon his will, and 
 if he intended and willed it, it is his adlion in the judgment of 
 all mankind. But if it was done without his knowledge, or 
 without his will and intention, it is as certain that he did It not, 
 and that it ought not to be imputed to him as the agent. 
 
 When there is any doubt to whom a particular adtion ought 
 to be imputed, the doubt arifes only from our ignorance of 
 fadls J when the fads relating to it are known, no man of un- 
 derflanding has any doubt to whom the adtion ought to be im- 
 puted. 
 
 The general rules of imputation are felf-evident. They have 
 been the fame in all ages, and among all civilized nations. No 
 man blames another for being black or fair, for having a fever 
 or the falling licknefs ; becaufe thefe things are believed not to 
 be in his power ; and they are believed not to be in his power, 
 becaufe they depend not upon his will. We can never conceive 
 
 that
 
 OF BEINGS THAT HAVE NO UNDERSTANDING. 39 
 
 that a man's duty goes beyond his power, or that his power goes CHA P, v.^ 
 beyond what depends upon his will. 
 
 Reafon leads us to afcribe unlimited power to the Supreme 
 Being. But what do we mean by unlimited power ? It is power 
 to do whatfoever he wills. To fuppofe him to do what he does 
 not will to do, is abfurd. 
 
 The only diftincfl conception I can form of adlive power is, 
 that is is an attribute in a being by which he can do certain 
 things if he wills. This, after all, is only a relative conception. 
 It is relative to the effed, and to the will of producing it. Take 
 away thefe, and the conception vaniflies. They are the handles 
 by which the mind takes hold of it. When they are taken 
 away, our hold is gone. The fame is the cafe with regard to 
 other relative conceptions. Thus velocity is a real flate of a 
 body, about which Philofophers reafon with the force of demon- 
 ftration ; but our conception of it is relative to fpace and time. 
 What is velocity in a body ? It is a flate in which it pafles 
 through a certain fpace in a certain time. Space and time are 
 very different from velocity ; but we cannot conceive it but by 
 its relation to them. The effect produced, and the will to pro- 
 duce it, are things different from acftive power, but we can have 
 no conception of it, but by its relation to them. 
 
 Whether the conception of an efficient caufc, and of real ac- 
 tivity, could ever have entered into the mind of man, if we had 
 not had the experience of a(^ivity in ourfelves, I am not able to 
 determine with certainty. The origin of many of our concep- 
 tions, and even of many of our judgments, is not fo eafily traced 
 as Philofophers have generally conceived. No man can recol- 
 \e6t the time when he firfl got the conception of an efficient 
 caufe, or the time when he firfl got the belief that an cflicient 
 caufe is nccelfary to every change in nature. The conception 
 of an efficient caufe may very probably be derived from the ex- 
 perience
 
 40 E S S A Y I. 
 
 CHAP. V.^ perlence we have had in very early life of our own power to 
 produce certain effefts. But the belief, that no event can hap- 
 pen without an efficient caufe, cannot be derived from expe- 
 rience. We may learn from experience what is, or what was, 
 but no experience can teach us what neceflarily mufl be. 
 
 In like manner, we probably derive the conception of pain 
 from the experience we have had of it in ourfelves ; but our be- 
 lief that pain can only exifl in a being that hath life, cannot be 
 got by experience, becaufe it is a neceflary truth ; and no ne- 
 cefTary truth can have its attellation from experience. 
 
 If it be fo that the conception of an efficient caufe enters in- 
 to the mind, only from the early conviction we have that we 
 are the efficients of our own voluntary adlions, (which 1 think 
 is moft probable) the notion of efficiency will be reduced to this. 
 That it is a relation between the caufe and the efFed, fimilar to 
 that which is between us and our voluntary adions. This is 
 furely the moft diftindl notion, and, 1 think, the only notion we 
 can form of real efficiency. 
 
 Now It is evident, that, to conftitute the relation between me 
 and my action, my conception of the adion, and will to do it, 
 are eflential. For what I never conceived, nor willed, I never 
 did. 
 
 If any man, therefore, affirms, that a being may be the effi- 
 cient caufe of an adion, and have power to produce it, which 
 that being can neither conceive nor will, he fpeaks a language 
 which I do not underfland. If he has a meaning, his notion of 
 power and efficiency muft be eflentially different from mine ; 
 and, until he conveys his notion of efficiency to my underftand- 
 ing, I can no more aflent to his opinion, than if hefliould affirm, 
 that a being without life may feel pain. 
 
 It
 
 OF THE PHiENOMENA OF NATURE. 
 
 It fecms, therefore, to me mod probable, that fuch beings only 
 as have fome degree of underftanding and will, can pofTefs ac- 
 tive power ; and that inanimate beings mufl be merely paflive, 
 and have no real adivity. Nothing we perceive without us af- 
 fords any good ground for afcribing aflive power to any inani- 
 mate being ; and every thing we can difcover in our own con- 
 flitution, leads us to think, that adive power cannot be exerted 
 without will and intelligence. 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 Of the efficient Catifes of the Phanomena of Nature. 
 
 IF adlive power, in its proper meaning, requires a fubjedl en- 
 dowed with will and intelligence, what Ihall we fay of thofe 
 adive powers which Philofophers teach us to afcribe to matter ; 
 the powers of corpufcular attradlion, magnetifm, eledlricity, 
 gravitation, and others ? Is it not univerfally allowed, that hea- 
 vy bodies defcend to the earth by the power of gravity ; that, 
 by the fame power, the moon, and all the planets and comets, 
 are retained in their orbits ? Have the moft eminent natural 
 Philofophers been impofuig upon us, and giving us words in- 
 flcad of real caufes ? 
 
 In anfwcr to this, I apprehend, that the principles of natural 
 philofophy have, in modern times, been built upon a foundation 
 that cannot be Ihaken, and that they can be culled in quertiou 
 only by thofe who do not undcrftand the evidence on which 
 they (land. But the ambiguity of the words caufe, agency^ aElivc 
 power, and the other words related to thefe, has led many to un- 
 derftand them, when ufed in natural philofuphy, in a wrong 
 fenfe, and in a fcnfe which is neither ncccflary for eftablifliing 
 
 F the
 
 42 E S S A Y 1. 
 
 CHAP. VI. the true principles of natural phllofophy, nor was ever meant 
 by the mofl enlightened in that fcience. 
 
 To be convinced of this, we may obferve, that thofe very Phi- 
 lofophers who attribute to matter the power of gravitation, and 
 other active powers, teach us, at the fame time, that matter is a 
 fubftance altogether inert, and merely paffive ; that gravitation, 
 and the other attra6live or repulfive powers which they afcribe 
 to it, are not inherent in its nature, but imprefled upon it by 
 fome external caufe, which they do not pretend to know, or to 
 explain. Now, when we find wife men afcribing action and ac- 
 tive power to a fubftance which they exprefsly teach us to con- 
 fider as merely paflive and afted upon by fome unknown caufe, 
 we muft conclude, that the adtion and adive power afcribed to 
 it are not to be underftood ftridily, but in fome popular fenfe. 
 
 It ought llkewife to be obfei'ved, that although Philofophers, 
 for the fake of being underftood, muft fpeak the language of 
 the vulgar, as when they fay, the fun rifes and fets, and goes 
 through all the figns of the zodiac, yet they often think diffe- 
 rently from the vulgar. Let us hear what the greateft of natu- 
 ral Philofophers fays, ia the 8th definition prefixed to his Pr'inci- 
 pia, " Voces autem attradionis, impulfus, vel propenfionis cu- 
 '• jufcunque in centrum, indifferenter et pro fe mutuo promlfcue 
 " ufurpo ; has voces non phyfice fed mathematice confixlerando. 
 " Unde caveat ledtor, ne per hujus modi voces cogitet me fpe- 
 " ciem vel modum adtionis, caufamve aut rationem j^yficam, 
 " alicubi definire ; vel centris (quae funt punda mathematica) 
 " vires vere et phyfice tribuere, fi forte centra trahere, aut vires 
 " centrorum eft'e, dixero." 
 
 In all languages, adion is attributed to many things which all 
 men of common underftanding believe to be merely paflive j 
 thus we fay, the wind blows, the rivers flow, the fea rages, the 
 fire burns, bodies move, and impel other bodies. 
 
 Every
 
 OF THE PHENOMENA OF NATURE. 43 
 
 Every objedl which undergoes any change, mufl be either ac- CHAP, vr . 
 tive or palTive in that change. This is felf-evident to all men 
 from the firrt dawn of reafon ; and therefore the change is al- 
 ways exprefTed in language, either by an active or a pallive verb. 
 Nor do I know any verb, exprelFive of a change, which does 
 not imply either a<flion or palllon. The thing either changes, 
 or it is changed. But it is remarkable in language, that when 
 an external caufe of the change is not obvious, the change is al- 
 ways imputed to the thing changed, as if it were animated, and 
 had adlive power to produce the change in itfelf. So we fav, 
 the moon clianges, the fun rifes and goes down. 
 
 Thus acllve verbs arc very often applied, and adlive power 
 imputed to things, which a little advance in knowledge and ex- 
 perience teaches us to be merely pailive. This proj^erty, com- ' 
 mon to all languages, I endeavoured to account for in the fe- 
 cond chapter of this Eflay, to which the reader is referred. 
 
 A like irregularity may be obferved in the ufe of the word 
 figmfying can/e, in all languages, and of the words related to it. 
 
 Our knowledge of caufes is very fcanty In the moft advanced 
 ftate of fociety, much more is it fo in that early period in which 
 language is formed. A ftrong defire to know the caufes of 
 things, is common to all men in every Hate ; but the experience 
 of all ages fhews, that this keen appetite, rather than go empty, 
 will feed upon the hulks of real knowledge where the fruit can- 
 not be found. 
 
 While we are very much in the dark with regard to the real 
 agents or caufes which produce the phxnomena of nature, and 
 have, at the fame time, an avidity to know them, ingenious men 
 frame conjcdures, which thofe of weaker underflanding take for 
 truth. The fare is coarfe, but appetite makes it go down. 
 
 F 2 Thus.
 
 '44 
 
 ESSAY I. 
 
 V. 
 
 CHAP. VI. Thus, In a very ancient fyftem, love and ftrife were made the 
 caufes of things. Plato made the caufes of tilings to be mat- 
 ter, ideas, and an efEcient archited. Aristotle, matter, form, 
 and privation. Des Cartes thought matter, and a certain quan- 
 tity of motion given it by the Almighty at firft, to be all that is 
 neceffiu-y to make the material world. Leibnitz conceived the 
 whole univerfe, even the material part of it, to be made up of 
 monodes, each of which is active and intelligent, and produces 
 in itfelf, by its own active power, all the changes it undergoes 
 frpm the beginning of its exiftence to eternity. 
 
 In common language, we give the name of a caufe to a reafon, 
 a motive, an end, to any circumflance which is connedled with 
 the efFed, and goes before it. 
 
 Aristotle, and the fchoolmen after him, diftinguiflied four 
 kinds of caufes, the efficient, the material, the formal, and the 
 final. This, like many of Aristotle's diftindlions, is only a di- 
 ftindion of the various meanings of an ambiguous word j for 
 the efficient, the matter, the form and the end, have nothing 
 common in their nature, by which they may be accounted fpe- 
 cies of the fame genus; but the Greek word which Ve tranflate 
 cavfe, had thefe four different meanings in Aristotle's days, 
 and we have added other meanings. We do not indeed call the 
 matter or the fonn of a thing its caufe ; but we have final caufes, 
 inflrumental caufes, occafional caufes, and 1 know not how many 
 others. 
 
 Thus the word caufe has been fo hackneyed, and made to hare 
 lb many different meanings in the writings of Philofophers, and 
 in the difcourfe of the vulgar, that its original and proper mean- 
 ina; is loft in the crowd. 
 
 With regard to the pha:nomena of nature, the important end 
 of knowing their caufes, befides gratifying our curiofity, is, 
 
 that
 
 OF THE PHiENOMENA OF NATURE. 45 
 
 ihat wc may know when to expedl them, or how to bring them CHA P. VI . 
 ubout. This is very often of real importance in life; and tliis 
 jnirpofe is fcrved, by knowing what, by the coiirfe of nature, 
 goes before tlicm and is connedled with them ; and this, there- 
 fore, we call the cau/c of fuch a phxnonienon. 
 
 If a magnet be brought near to a mariner's compafs, the 
 needle, which was before at reft, immediately begins to move, 
 and bends its courfe towards the magnet, or perhaps the contrary 
 way. If an imlearned failor is afked the caufe of this motion 
 of the needle, he is at no lofs for an anfwer. He tells you it is 
 the magnet j and the proof is clear ', for, remove the magnet, 
 and the elTed ccafes ; bring it near, and the cffed: is again pro- 
 duced. It is, therefore, evident to fenfe, that die magnet is the 
 caufe of this effect. 
 
 A Cartefian Philofopher enteVs deeper into the caufe of this 
 phasnomenon. He obferves, that the magnet does not touch the 
 needle, and therefore can give it no impulfe. He pities the ig- 
 norance of the failor. The effect is produced, fays he, by mag- 
 netic clTluvia, or fubtile matter, which paflcs from the magiiet to 
 the needle, and forces it from its place. He can even fliew you, 
 in a figure, where thefe magnetic effluvia iflue from the magnet, 
 what round they take, and what way they return home again. 
 And thus he thinks he comprehends perfedly how, and by what 
 caufe, the motion of the needle is produced. 
 
 A Newtonian Philofopher enquires what proof can be offered 
 for the exiftcnce of magnetic effluvia, and can find none. He 
 therefore holds it as a fidion, a hypothefis ; and he has learned 
 that hypothefes ought to have no place in the pliilofophy of na- 
 ture. He confelles his ignorance of the real caufe of this 
 motion, and thinks, that his bullnefs, as a Philofopher, is onlv to 
 find from experiment the laws by which it is regulated in aP 
 cafes. 
 
 Thefe
 
 -46 E S S A Y I. 
 
 CHA P. VI. Thefe three perfons difFer much in their fentiments with re- 
 gard to the real caufe of this phaenomenon ; and the man who 
 knows moft is he who is fenfible that he knows nothing of the 
 matter. Yet all the three fpeak the fame language, and acknow- 
 ledge, that the caufe of this motion is the attradive or repulfive 
 power of the magnet. 
 
 What has been faid of this, may be applied to every phaeno- 
 menon that falls within the compafs of natural philofophy. We 
 deceive ourfelves, if we conceive, that we can point out the real 
 efficient caufe of any one of them. 
 
 The grandefl difcovery ever made in natural philofophy, was 
 that of the law of gravitation, which opens fuch a view of our 
 planetary fyftem, that it looks like fomething divine. But the 
 author of this difcovery was perfectly aware, that he difcovered 
 no real caufe, but only the law or rule, according to which the 
 unknown caufe operates. 
 
 Natural Philofophers, w^io think accurately, have a precife 
 meaning to the terms they ufe in the fcience ; and when they 
 pretend to fhew the caufe of any phaenomenon of nature, they 
 mean by the caufe, a law of nature of which that phaenomenon 
 is a necelFary confequence. 
 
 The whole objed of natural philofophy, as Newton exprefsly 
 teaches, is reducible to thefe two heads j firft, by jufl: indudion 
 from experiment and obfervation, to difcover the laws of nature, 
 and then to apply thofe laws to the folution of the phenomena 
 of nature. This was all that this great Philofopher attempted, 
 and all that he thought attainable. And this indeed he attained 
 in a great meafure, with regard to the motions of our planetary 
 fyllem, and with regard to the rays of light. 
 
 But fuppofing that all the phsenomena that fall within the 
 
 reach
 
 OF THE PIIiENOMENA OF NATURE. 47 
 
 reach of our fcnfcs, were accoiintccl for from general laws of na- CiiAP. vi. 
 ture, jiiflly deduced from experience ; that is, fuppofmg natu- 
 ral philofophy brought: to its utmoft perfedion, it does not dif- 
 cover the efficient caufe of any one phaenomenon in nature. 
 
 The laws of nature are the rules according to which the ef- 
 fe£ls are produced ; but there muft be a caufe which operates 
 according to thefe rules. The rules of navigation never navi- 
 gated a fliip. The rules of architedure never built a houfe. 
 
 Natural philofophers, by great attention to the courfe of na- 
 ture, have difcovered many of her laws, and have very happily 
 applied them to account for many phasnomena ; but they have 
 never difcovered the efFicient caufe of any one phenomenon ; 
 nor do thofe who have diltinct notions of the principles of the 
 fcience, make any fuch pretence. 
 
 Upon the theatre ofnature we lee Innumerable effects, which-' 
 require an agent endowed with active 'power j but the agent is 
 behind the fcene. Whether it be the Supreme Caufe alone, or a 
 fubordinate caufe or caufes ; and if fubordinate caufes be em- 
 ployed by the Almighty, what their nature, their number, and ■ 
 their different offices may be, are things hid, for wife reafous 
 without doubt, from the human eye. 
 
 It is only in human adions, that may be imputed for praife or 
 blame, that it is neceflfary for us to know who is the agent ; 
 and in this, nature has given us all the light that is necefTary for 
 our condutl. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 ESSAY I. 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 Of the Extent of Human Power. 
 
 EVERY thing laudable and praife-worthy in man, muft con- 
 lift in the proper exercife of that power which is given 
 him by his Maker. This is the talent which he is required to 
 occupy, and of which he muft give an account to him who com- 
 mitted it to his truft. 
 
 To fome perfons more power is given than to others ; and to 
 the fame perfon more at one time and lefs at another. Its ex- 
 iftence, its extent, and its continuance, depend folely upon the 
 pleafure of the Almighty j but every man that is accountable 
 muft have more or lefs of it. For, to call a perfon to account, 
 to approve or difapprove of his condudt, who had no power to do 
 good or ill, is abfurd. No axiom of Euclid appears more evi- 
 dent than this. 
 
 As power is a valuable gift, to under-rate it is ingratitude to 
 the giver ; to over-rate it, begets pride and prefumption, and 
 leads to unfuccefsful attempts. It is therefore, in every man, 
 a point of wifdom to make a juft eftimate of his own power. 
 ^Idferre recufent, quid valeant humeri. 
 
 We can only fpeak of the power of man in general ; and as 
 our notion of power is relative to its effedis, we can eftimate its 
 extent only by the effects which it is able to produce. 
 
 It would be wrong to eftimate the extent of human power by 
 the effedls which it has adlually produced. For every man had 
 power to do many things which he did not, and not to do many 
 
 things
 
 OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. 
 
 49 
 
 things wliich he did ; othcrwife he could not be an ohiecft either CHAP. V'ir. 
 of approbation or of difapprobation, to any rational being. 
 
 The efleds of human power are either immediate, or they are 
 more remote. 
 
 The immediate eficcfts, I think, are reducible to two heads. 
 We can give certain motions to our own bodies ; and we can give 
 a certain direction to our own thoughts. 
 
 Whatever we can do beyond this, muft be done by one of 
 thefe means, or both. 
 
 We can 'produce no motion in any body in the univerfe, but 
 by moving firft our own body as an inftrument. Nor can we 
 produce thought in any other perfon, but by thought and mo- 
 tion in ourfelves. 
 
 Our power to move our own body, is not only limited in its 
 extent, but in its nature is fubjed to mechanical laws. It may 
 be compared to a fpring endowed with the power of contra<5ling 
 or expanding itfelf, but which cannot contradl without drawing 
 equally at both ends, nor expand without pufhing equally at both 
 ends ; fo that every adion of the fpring is always accompanied 
 with an equal readtion in a contrary diretflion. 
 
 We can conceive a man to have power to move his whole bo- 
 dy in any diredtion, without the aid of any other body, or a 
 power to move one part of his body without the aid of any other 
 part. But philofophy teaches us that man has no fuch power. 
 
 If he carries his whole body in any direction with a certain 
 quantity of motion, this he can do only by pufliing the earth, 
 or fome other body, with an equal quantity of motion in the con- 
 
 G trary
 
 ^o E S S A Y I. 
 
 CHAP. VI!. trary direaion. If he but ftretch out his arm in one diredion, 
 * — " ' the reft of his body is pufhed with an equal quantity of mo- 
 tion in the contrary diredlion. 
 
 This is the cafe with regard to all animal and voluntary mo- 
 tions, which come within the reach of our fenfes. They are 
 perfonned by the contraction of certain mufcles ; and a mufcle, 
 when it is contracted, draws equally at both ends. As to the 
 motions antecedent to the contra6tion of the mufcle, and confe- 
 quent upon the volition of the animal, we know nothing, and 
 can fay nothing about them. 
 
 We know not even how thofe immediate effedls of our power 
 are produced by our willing them. We perceive not any necef- 
 fary connedion between the volition and exertion on our part, 
 and the m.otion of our body that follows them. 
 
 Anatomifts inform us, that every voluntary motion of the 
 body is performed by tlae contradlion of certain mufcles, and 
 that the mufcles are contraded by fome influence derived from 
 the nerves. But, without thinking in the leaft, either of muf- 
 cles or nerves, we will only the external efTedl, and the inter- 
 nal machinery, without our call, immediately produces that 
 effed. 
 
 This is one of the wonders of our frame, which we have rea- 
 fon to admire ; but to account for it, is beyond the reach of our 
 underflanding. 
 
 That there is an eftabliflied hannony between our willing cer- 
 tain motions of our bodies, and the operation of the nerves and 
 mufcles which produces thofe motions, is a fad known by expe- 
 rience. This volition is an ad of th^ mind. But whether this 
 ad of the~TTuii^~Tiave^~any phyfical effed upon the nerves and 
 mufcles 5 or whether it be only an occafion of their being aded 
 
 upon
 
 OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. ^r 
 
 upon by fome other efficient, accordinc^ to the eftublifhed laws CITAP. viL 
 of nature, is hid froin us. So dark is our conception of our 
 own power when wc trace it to its origin. 
 
 We have good rcafon to believe, that matter had its origin 
 from mind, as well as all its motions ; but how, or in what man- 
 ner, ic is moved by mind, we know as little as how it was created. 
 
 It is pofTible therefore, for any thing we know, that what we 
 call the immediate effeds of our power, may not be fo in the 
 Uridcrt fenfe. Between the will to produce the efl'edt, and the 
 produdion of it, there may be agents or inftruments of which 
 we are ignorant. 
 
 This may leave fome doubt, whether wc be in the flridteft 
 fenfe, the efficient caufe of the voluntary motions of our own 
 body. But it can produce no doubt with regard to the moral 
 cftimation of our adions. 
 
 The man who knows that fuch an event depends upon his 
 will, and who deliberately wills to produce it, is, in the ftridefl 
 moral fenfe, the caufe of the event; and it is juftly imputed to 
 him, whatever phyfical caufes may have concurred in its pro- 
 duction. 
 
 Thus, he who malicioufly intends to Hioot his neighbour dead, 
 and voluntarily does it, is undoubtedly the caufe of his death, 
 though he did no more to occafion it than draw the trigger of 
 the gim. He neither gave to the ball its velocity, nor to the 
 powder its expanfive force, nor to the flint and fteel the power 
 to ftrike fire ; but he knew that what he did muff be followed by 
 the man's death, and did it with that intention; and therefore he 
 is juftly chargeable with the murder. 
 
 Philofophers may therefore difputc innocently, whether we 
 
 G 2 ' be
 
 5a 
 
 ESSAY I. 
 
 CHAP. vn. be the proper efficient caufes of the voluntary motions of our 
 own body J or whether we be only, as Malebranche thmks, 
 the occafional caufes. The determination of this queftion, if 
 it can be determined, can have no efFed on human condudt. 
 
 The other branch of what is immediately in our power, is to give 
 a certain dlr^dion to our own thoughts. This, as well as the firft 
 branch, is limited in various ways. It is greater in fome perfons 
 than in others, and in the fame perfon is very different, accord- 
 ing to the health of his body, and the ftate of his mind. But 
 that men, when free from difeafe of body and of mind, have a 
 confiderable degree of power of this kind, and that it may be 
 greatly increafed by pradice and habit, is fufficiently evident- 
 from experience, and from the natural convidion of all man- 
 kind. 
 
 Were we to examine minutely into the connedion between, 
 our volitions, and the diredion of our thoughts which obeys, 
 thefe volitions ; were we to confider how we are able to give 
 attention to an objed for a certain time, and turn our attention 
 to another when we chufe, we might perhaps find it difficult tO' 
 determine, whether the mind itfelf be the fole efficient caufe of- 
 the voluntary changes in the diredion of our thoughts, or whe- 
 ther it requires the aid of other efficient caufes. 
 
 I fee no good reafon why the difpute about efficient and oc- 
 cafional caufes, may not be applied to the power of direding- 
 our thoughts, as well as to the power of moving our bodies. In 
 both cafes, I apprehend the difpute is endlefs, and, if it could be: 
 brought to an ilTue, would be fruitlefs. 
 
 Nothing appears more evident to our reafon, than that there- 
 mull be an efficient caufe of every change that happens in na- 
 ture. But when I attempt to comprehend the manner in which 
 an efficient caufe operates, either upon body or upon mind, 
 
 there
 
 OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. S3 
 
 there Is a darknefs which my faculties arc not able to pene- chap^vi'. 
 tratc. 
 
 However finall the immediate effefts of human power feem 
 to be, its more remote effcdls are very confiderablc. 
 
 In this refpedl, the power of man may be compared to the 
 Nile, the Ganges, and other great rivers, which make a figure 
 upon the globe of the earth, and, travcrfing vafl; regions, bring 
 fomctimes great benefit, at other times great mifchief to many, 
 nations ; yet, when we trace tliofc rivers to their fource, we fmd 
 them to rife from inconfiderable fountains and rills. 
 
 The command of a mighty prince, what is it, but the found 
 of his breatli, modified by his organs of fpeech ? But it may 
 have great confequences; it may raife armies, equip fleets, and 
 fpread war and defolation over a great part of the earth. 
 
 The meaneft of mankind has confiderablc power to do good, 
 and more to hurt himfelf and others. 
 
 From this I think we may conclude, that, although the dege- 
 neracy of mankind be great, and juftly to be lamented, yet men, 
 in general, are more difpofed to employ their power in doing 
 good, than in doing hurt to their fellow-men. The lafl is much 
 more in their power than tlic firft ; and, if they were as much 
 difpofed to it, human fociety could not fubfift, and the fpecies 
 mud foon perifli from the eaith. 
 
 We may firll confider the efTecls which may be produced by 
 human power upon the material fyflem. 
 
 It is confined indeed to the planet which we inhabit ; we can- 
 not remove to another j nor can we produce any change in the 
 annual or diunial motions of our own. 
 
 But,
 
 54 
 
 ESSAY I. 
 
 CHAP. vli. gut:^ by human power, great changes may be made upon tlie 
 face of the earth ; and thofe treafures of metals and minerals 
 that are florcd up in its bowels, may be difcovered and brought 
 forth. 
 
 The Supreme Being could, no doubt, have made the earth to 
 fiipply the wants of man, without any cultivation by human la- 
 bour. Many inferior animals, who neither plant, nor fow, nor 
 fpin, are provided for by the bounty of Heaven. But this is not 
 the cafe with man. 
 
 He has adive powers and ingenuity given him, by which he 
 can do much for fupplying his wants ', and his labour is made ne- 
 cellary for that purpofe. 
 
 His wants are more than thofe of any other animal that inha- 
 bits this globe ; and his refources are proportioned to them, and 
 put within the fphere of his power. 
 
 The earth Is left by nature in fuch a flate as to require culti- 
 vation for the accommodation of man. 
 
 It is capable of cultivation, in moft places, to fuch a degree, 
 that, by human labour, it may afford fubfiftence to an hundred 
 times the number of men it could in its natural ftate. 
 
 Every tribe of men, in evei'y climate, muft labour for their 
 fubfiftence and accommodation ; and their fupply is more or lefs 
 comfortable, in proportion to the labour properly employed 
 for that purpofe. 
 
 It is evidently the intention of Nature, that man fliould be la- 
 borious, and that he fhould exert his powers of body and mind 
 for his own, and for the common good. And, by his power 
 properly applied, he may make great improvement upon the fer- 
 tility
 
 OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. 55 
 
 tllity of the earth, and a great addition to his o-Mvn accommoda- cha?. vir. 
 tion and comfortable ftate. 
 
 By clearing, tilling and manuring tlic ground, by planting and 
 fowing, by building cities and harbours, draining marfhes and 
 lakes, making rivers navigable, and joining them by canals, by 
 manufaduring the rude materials which the earth, duly culti- 
 vated, produces in abundance, by the mutual exchange of com- 
 modities and of labour, he may make the bai'ren wildernefs the 
 habitation of rich and populous ftates. 
 
 If \vc compare the city of Venice, the province of Holland, 
 the empire of China, with thofe places of the earth which ne- 
 ver felt the hand of induflry, we may form foinc conception of 
 the extent of human power upon the material fyftcm, in 
 changing the face of the eartli, and furnilhing the accommoda- 
 tions of human life. 
 
 But, in order to produce thofe happy changes, man himfclf 
 inuft be improved. 
 
 His animal faculties are fufiicient for the prcfervation of the 
 fj)ecies ; they grow up of themfelves, like the trees of the foreft, 
 which require only the force of nature and the influences of 
 Heaven. 
 
 His rational and moral faculties, like the earth itfelf, arc rude 
 and barren by nature, but capable of a high degree of culture ; 
 ami this culture he muft receive from parents, from inflru<ftors, 
 from thofe with whom he lives in fociety, joined with his own 
 indurtry. 
 
 If wc confider the changes that may be produced by man upon 
 his own mind, and upon the minds of others, they appear to be 
 great. 
 
 Upon
 
 56 E S S A Y I. 
 
 CHA P.viT . Upon his ovm mind he may make great improvement, In ac- 
 quiring the treafures of ufeful knowledge, the habits of flcill in 
 arts, the habits of wifdom, prudence, felf-command, and every 
 other virtue. It is the conftitution of nature, that fuch qualities 
 as exalt and dignify human nature are to be acquired by proper 
 exertions ; and, by a contrary condud, fuch qualities as debafe 
 it below the condition of brutes. 
 
 Even upon the minds of others, great efFed:s may be produced 
 by means within the compafs of human power ; by means 
 of good education, of proper inflrudlion, of perfuafion, of good 
 example, and by the difcipline of laws and government. 
 
 That thefe have often had great and good effeds on the civili- 
 zation and improvement of individuals, and of nations, cannot 
 be doubted. But what happy efFeds they might have, if applied 
 univerfally with the fkill and addrefs that is within the reach 
 of human wifdom and power, is not eafily conceived, or to what 
 pitch the happinefs of human fociety, and the improvement of 
 the fpecies, might be carried. 
 
 What a noble, what a divine employment of human power is 
 here afligned us ? How ought it to roufe the ambition of pa- 
 rents, of inftrudtors, of lawgivers, of magiftrates, of every man 
 in his ftation, to contribute his part towards the accomplifhment 
 of fo glorious an end ? 
 
 The power of man over his own and other minds, when we 
 trace it to its origin, is involved in darknefs, no lefs than his 
 power to move his own and other bodies. 
 
 How far we are properly efficient caufes, how far occafional 
 ■caufes, I cannot pretend to determine. 
 
 We know that habit produces great changes in the mind 5 but 
 
 how
 
 OF TUT. EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. 57 
 
 how it docs fo, v,c know not. ^Vc know, that example has a CHAP. vir » 
 powerful, anil, in the early period of life, ahnofl: an irrtfiftihle 
 elYcti ; but we know not how it produces this elTcdl. The com- 
 munication of thonj^ht, fcntiment and palllon, from one mind to 
 another, has foraethinj^ in it as myfterious as the communication 
 of motion from one body to another. 
 
 We perceive one event to follow another, according to efta- 
 blillied laws of nature, and we are accuftomed to call the firil 
 the caufe, and the lafl the effect, without knowing what is the 
 bond that unites them. In order to produce a certain event, we 
 ufe means which, by laws of nature, are connedcd with that 
 event ; and we call ourfelves the caufe of that event, though 
 other eilicient caufes may have had the chief hand in its pro- 
 dudion. 
 
 Upon the whole, human power, in its exigence, in Its extent, 
 and in its exertions, is entirely dependent upon God, and upon 
 the laws of nature which he has eftabliilied. This ought to 
 banilh pride and arrogance from the moft mighty of the fons of 
 men. At the fame time, that degree of power which we have 
 received from the bounty of Heaven, is one of the noblefl; gifts 
 of God to man ; of which we ought not to be infenfible, that 
 we may not be ungrateful, and that we may be excited to make 
 the proper ufe of it. 
 
 The extent of human power is pcrfei^ly fm'ted to the ftate of 
 man, as a (late of improvement and difcipline. It is fufPicient 
 to animate us to the noblefl exertions. By the proper exercifc 
 of this gift of God, human nature, in individuals and in Ibcicties, 
 may be exalted to a high degree of dignity and felicity, and the 
 earth become a paradifc. On the contrary, its perverfion and 
 nbufe is the caufe of moft of the evils that afHi<5t human life. 
 
 H ESSAY
 
 ESSAY ir. 
 
 OF THE WILL. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 Obfcrvai'iom concerning the WilL 
 
 EVERY man is confcious of a power to determine, in things 
 whicli he conceives to depend upon his determination. 
 To this power we give the name of w/V/y and, as it is ufual, in 
 the operations of the mind, to give tlie fame name to the power 
 and to the ad of that power, the term iv'tll is often put to figni- 
 fy the adt of determining, which more properly is called voli- 
 tion. 
 
 Volition, tliereforc, fignifies the acft of willing and determin- 
 ing, and will is put indifferently to lignify cither the power of 
 willing or the ad. 
 
 But the term leill has ^'ery often, efpccially In the writings of 
 Philofophers, a more e.xtenfive meaning, which we muft careful- 
 ly dirtinguifla from that which we have. now given. 
 
 In the general divifion of our faculties into underflandhig and 
 will, our pafllons, appetites and affedions arc comprehended 
 under the will ; and lb it is m.ade to figiiify, not only our de- 
 termination to ad or not to ad, but cverv motive :'.nd incite- 
 ment to ndion. 
 
 H 2 It
 
 ^0 £ S S A Y IT. 
 
 CHAP. J. It Is this, probably, that has led fome Philofophers to reprefent 
 defire, averfion, hope, fear, joy, forrow, all our appetites, paf- 
 fions and alTedions, as different modifications of the will, which, 
 I think, tends to confound things which are very different in 
 their nature. 
 
 The advice given to a man, and his determination cohfequent 
 to that advice, are things fo different in their nature, that it 
 would be improper to call them modifications of one and the 
 fame thing. In like manner, the motives to adion, and the de- 
 termination to ad or not to ad, are things that have no com- 
 mon nature, and therefore ought not to be confounded under 
 one name, or reprefented as different modifications of the fame 
 thing. 
 
 For this reafon, in fpeaking of the will in this Effay, I do not 
 comprehend under that term any of the incitements or motives 
 which may have an influence upon our determinations, but fole- 
 ly the determination itfelf, and the power to determine. 
 
 Mr Locke has confidered this operation of the mind more at- 
 tentively, and diftinguifhed it more accurately, than fome very 
 ingenious authors w^ho wrote after him. 
 
 He defines volition to be, " An ad of the mind knowingly 
 " exerting that dominion it takes Itfelf to have over any part 
 " of the man, by employing it in, or with-holding it from any 
 " particular adion." 
 
 It may more briefly be defined. The determination of the 
 mind to do, or not to do fomething which we conceive to be in 
 our power. 
 
 If this were given as a flridly logical definition, It would be 
 liable to this objedion, that the determination of the mind is 
 
 only
 
 OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING THE WILL. 6r 
 
 CHily another term for volition. But it ought to be obferved, CIIAP. i. 
 that the niort limple ads of the mind do not admit of a logical 
 defniition. The way to form a clear notion of theni is, to re- 
 fled attentively upon them as we feel them in ourfelves. With- 
 out this relleclion, no definition can give us a diftintl conception 
 of them. 
 
 For this rcafon, rather than fift any definition of the will, I 
 fliall make fome obfervations upon it, whicli may lead us to re- 
 fled upon it, and to dillinguilh it from other ads of mind, 
 which, from the ambiguity of words, are apt to be confounded 
 with it. 
 
 FirJ}, Every ad of will muft have an objed. He that wills 
 muft will fomething; and that which he wills is called the ob- 
 jcd of his volition. As a man cannot think without thinking 
 of ibmething, nor remember without remembering fomething, 
 fo neither can he will without willing fomething. Every ad of 
 will, therefore, muft have an objcd ; and the perfon who wills 
 muft have fome conception, more or lefs diftind, of what he 
 wills. 
 
 By this, things done voluntarily arc diftingulflied from things 
 done merely from inftind, or merely from habit. 
 
 A healthy child, fome hours after its birth, feels the fenfatioa 
 of hunger, and, if applied to the breaft, fucks and fwallows 
 Its food very perfedly. We have no reafon to think, that, be- 
 fore it ever fucked, it has any conception of that complex opera- 
 tion, or how it is performed. It cannot, therefore, with pro- 
 priety, be faid, that it wills to fuck. 
 
 Numberlefs inftances might be given of things done by animals 
 without any previous conception of what they are to do ; without 
 the intention of doing it. They ad by fome inward blind iin- 
 
 pulfe.
 
 ^2 E S S A Y II. 
 
 CH-AP. I. pulfe, of which the efficient caufe is hid from us ; and though 
 "^ ' there is an end evidently intended by the action, this intention 
 
 is not in the animal, but in its Maker. 
 
 Other things are done by habit, which cannot properly be 
 called voluntary. We fhut our eyes feveral times every minute 
 while we are awake 3 no man is confcious of willing this every 
 time he does it. 
 
 A fecond obfcrvation is, That the immediate objed of will 
 muft be fome adion of our own. 
 
 By this, will is diftinguiflied from two adls of the mind, 
 which fometimes take its name, and thereby are apt to be con- 
 founded with it p thefe are defire and command. 
 
 The diftindlion between will and defire has been well explain- 
 ed by Mr Locke; yet many later writers have overlooked it, 
 and have reprefented defire as a modification of will. 
 
 Defire and will agree in this, that both mufl have an objed, 
 of which w^e mufi: have fome conception j and therefore both 
 muflr be accompanied with fome degree of underftanding. But' 
 they differ in feveral things. 
 
 The objed of defire may be any thing which appetite, pafilon 
 or affedion, leads us' to purfue ; it may be any event which we 
 think good for us, or for thofe to whom we are well affeded. 
 1 may defire meat, or drink, or eafe from pain : But to fay that 
 I will meat, or will drink, or will eafe from pain, is not Englifh. . 
 There is therefore a difiindion in common language between 
 defire and will. And the dillindion is, That v/hat we willmufl 
 be an adion, and our own adion ;, what we defire may not be our 
 own adion, it may be no adion at all. 
 
 A
 
 OBSERVATIONS CONTCERNING THE WILL. 63 
 
 A man tlellres that his children maybe happy, and tliat they CIIAP. i. 
 may bcliavc well. Their being happy is no udion at all 3 their 
 behaving well is not his adion but theirs. 
 
 With regard to our own adions, we may defire what we do 
 not will, and will what we do not defire ^ nay, what we have a 
 great avcrfion to. 
 
 A man a-thirfl has a (Irong defire to drink, but, for fome par- 
 ticular reafon, he determines not to gratify his defire. A judge, 
 from a regard to juftlce, and to the duty of his office, dooms a 
 criminal to die, while, from humanity or particular affedion, he 
 defires that he ihould live. A man for health may take a nau- 
 feous draught, for which he has no defire but a great avcrfion. 
 Defire therefore, even when its objed is fome action of our own, 
 is only an incitement to will, but it is not volition. The deter- 
 mination of the mind may be, not to do what we defire to do. 
 But as defire is often accompanied by will, we are apt to over- 
 look the diftindion between them. 
 
 The command of a perfon is fomctimes called his will, fome- 
 timcs his defire ; but when thefe words are ufed properly, they 
 fignify three dilTerent ads of the mind. 
 
 The immediate objed of will is fome adion of our own ; the 
 objcd of a command is fome adion of another peribn, over 
 whom we claim authority ^ the objed of defire may be no adion 
 .at all. 
 
 In giving a command all thefe ads concur 3 and as they go 
 together, it is not uncommon in language, to give to one the 
 name which properly belongs to another. 
 
 A command being a voluntary adion, there muft be a will to 
 
 give
 
 64 E S S A Y II. 
 
 CHA P, i.^ g|yg j-}jg command : Some defire is commonly the motive to that 
 ad; of will, and the command is the effect of it. 
 
 Perhaps it may be thought that a command is only a defire 
 exprefied by language, that the thing commanded fliould be done. 
 But it is not fo. For a defire may be expreOed by language 
 ■when there is no command j and there may poflibly be a com- 
 mand without any defire that the thing commanded fliould be 
 done. There have been inftances of tyrants who have laid grie- 
 vous commands upon their fubjeds, in order to reap the penalty 
 of their difobedience, or to fumifh a pretence for their puniih- 
 ment. 
 
 We might farther obfer\^e, that a command is a fecial a(5t of 
 the mind. It can have no exiftence but by a communication 
 of thought to fome intelligent being ; and therefore implies 
 a belief that there is fuch a being, and that we can communicate 
 our thoughts to him. 
 
 Defire and will are folitary a6ls, which do not imply any fuch 
 communication or belief. 
 
 "^ The immediate object of volition therefore, mufl be fome 
 adlion, and our own action. 
 
 A third obfervation is. That the objed: of our volition mufl 
 be fomething which we believe to be in our power, and to de- 
 pend upon our will. 
 
 A man may defire to make a vifit to the moon, or to the 
 planet Jupiter, but he cannot will or determine to do it ; becaufe 
 he knows it is not in his power. If an infane perfon fhould 
 make an attempt, his infanity muft firft make him believe it to 
 be in his power. 
 
 A
 
 OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING THE WILL. 65 
 
 A man In his flcep mny be ftrnck witli a pally, which deprives CHAP. I. 
 hiin of tlie power of fpcech ; when he awakes, he attempts to 
 f|K-ak, not knowing; that he has loft the power. }5ut when he 
 knows by experience that the power is gone, he ceafes to make 
 the effort. 
 
 The fame man, knowing that fome perfons have recovered the 
 power of fijecch after they had loll it by a paralytica! ftroke, 
 may now and then make an effort. In this effort, iiowever, 
 there is not properly a will to fpcak, but a will to try whether 
 he can fpeak or not. 
 
 In like manner, a man may exert his ftrength toraifc a weight 
 which is too heavy for him. liut he always does this, either 
 from the belief that he can raife the weight, or for a trial whe- 
 ther he can or not. It is evident therefore, that what we will 
 niuft be believed to be in our power, and to depend upon our 
 will. 
 
 The next obfervation is, That when we will to do a thing im- 
 mediately, the volition is accompanied with an eiforc to execute 
 that which we willed, y 
 
 If a man wills to raife a great weight from the ground by the 
 llrengih of his arm, he makes an eflfort for that purpofe propor- 
 tioned to the weight he determines to raife. A great weight re- 
 quires a great effort ; a fmall weight a Icfs effort. We fay in- 
 deed, thjt to raife a very fmall body requires no effort at all. 
 But this, I ai:)|)rehend, muft be underftood either as a figurative 
 way of fpeaking, by which things very fmall are accounted as 
 nothing; or it is owing to our giving no attention to very final! 
 efforts, and therefore having no name for them. 
 
 Great efforts, wlicthcr of body or mind, arc attended with 
 difficulty, and wlien long continued produce laflltude, which re- 
 
 I quires
 
 66 E S S A Y II. 
 
 CHAP. I. quires that they fliould be intermitted. This leads us to refled 
 " upon them and to give them a name. The name effort is com- 
 
 monly appropriated to them ; and thole that are made with eafe, 
 and leave no fenfible efted, pafs without obfervation and with- 
 out a name, though they be of the fame kind, and differ only 
 in degree from thofe to which the name is given. 
 
 This effort we are confcious of, if we will but give attention 
 to it ; and there is nothing in which we are in a more flrid 
 fenfe adive. 
 
 The laji obfervation is. That in all determinations of the mind 
 that are of any importance, there mufl be fomething in the pre- 
 ceding flate of the mind that difpofes or inclines us to that de- 
 termination. 
 
 If the mind were always in a flate of perfect indifference, 
 without any incitement, motive, or reafon, to adt, or not to ad:, 
 to ad one way rather than another, our adive power, having no 
 end to purfue, no rule to dired its exertions, would be given in 
 vain. We fliould either be altogether inadive, and never will to 
 do any thing, or our volitions would be perfedly unmeaning and. 
 futile, being neither wife nor foolilh, virtuous nor vicious. 
 
 We have reafon therefore to think, that to every being to 
 whom God hath given any degree of adive power, he hath alfo 
 given fome principles of adion, for the diredion of that power 
 to the end for which it was intended. 
 
 It is evident that, in the conftitution of man, there are various 
 principles of adion fuited to our flate and fituation. A particu- 
 lar confideration of thefe is the iubjed of the next effay ; in 
 this we are only to confider them in general, with a view to ex- 
 amine the relation they bear to volition, and how it is influ- 
 enced by them. 
 
 CHAP,
 
 OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING THE WILL. 67 
 
 CHAT. II. 
 ' .. ' 
 
 C H A P. II. 
 
 Of the Influence of Incitements and Motives upon the Will. 
 
 WE come into the world ignorant of every thing, yet we 
 muft do many things in order to our fubfirtence and 
 well-being. A new-born child may be carried in arms, and 
 kept warm by his nurfe \ but he muil fuck and fwallow his food 
 for himfelf. And this muft be done before he has any concep- 
 tion of fucking or fwallowing, or of the manner in which they 
 are to be performed. He is led by nature to do thefe adions 
 without knowing for what end, or what he is about. This we 
 call tnftiuEl. 
 
 In many cafes there Is no time for voluntary determination. 
 The motions muft; go on fo rapitlly, that the conception and vo- 
 lition of every movement cannot keep pace with them. In fome 
 cafes of this kind, inftind, iu others habit, comes in to our aid. 
 
 When a man ftumblcs and lofes his balance, the motion ne- 
 ceftarv to prevent his fall would come too late, if it were the 
 confcquence of thinking what is fit to be done, and making a 
 voluntary efiort for that purpofe. He does this inftindively. 
 
 When a man beats a drum or plays a tune, he has not time to 
 dired every particular beat or ftop, by a voluntary determina- 
 tion ; but the habit which may be acquired by exercifc, anfwers 
 the purpofe as well. 
 
 By inftind therefore, and by habit, we do many things with- 
 out any exercife either of judgment or will. 
 
 In other adions the will Is exerted, but without judgment. 
 
 1 2 Suppofe
 
 6a E S S A Y II. 
 
 CHAP. II. Suppofe a man to know that, in order to live, he mufl: eat. 
 What (hall he eat ? How much ? And how often ? His reafon 
 can anfwer none of thefe queftions j and therefore can give no 
 diredion how he fhould determine. Here again nature, as an in- 
 dulgent parent, fupplies the defedls of his reafon ; giving him ap- 
 petite, which fhews him when he is to eat, how often, and how 
 much J and tafle, which informs him what he is, and what he Is 
 not to eat. And by thefe principles he is much better direded 
 than he could be without them, by all the knowledge he can ac- 
 quire. 
 
 As the Author of nature has given us fome principles of adlon- 
 to fupply the defeds of our knowledge, he has given others to^ 
 lupply the defeds of our wifdom and virtue.. 
 
 The natural delires, affedions and paflions, which are common 
 to the wife and to the foolifli, to the virtuous and to the vicious, 
 and even to the more fagacious brutes, ferve very often to dired 
 the courfe of human adions. By thefe principles men may perform 
 the moft laborious duties of life, without any regard to duty 5 
 and do what is proper to be done, without regard to propriety ; 
 like a veflel that is carried on In her proper courfe by a pro- 
 fperous gale, without the (kill or judgment of thofe that are a- 
 board. 
 
 Appetite, a(Iedion, or pallibn, give an Impulfe to a certain 
 adion. In this impulfe there is no judgment implied. It may- 
 be weak or ftrong; we can even conceive It Irrefiftible. In the 
 cafe of madnefs it Is fo. Madmen have their appetites and paf^ 
 lions y but they want the power of felf-government ; and there- 
 fore we do not Impute their adions to the man but to the dif- 
 eafe. 
 
 In adions that proceed from app*etlte or paffion, we are pa(^" 
 iive In part, and only In part adive. They are therefore part-
 
 INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES UPON THE WILL. ^9 
 
 ly imputed to the pafllon ; and If it is fnppofcd to be irrcfiftiblc, ^ 
 wc do not impute them to the man at all. 
 
 Even an American favagc judg;es in this manner : When in a 
 fit of drunkcnnefs he kills his friend : As foon as he comes to 
 himfclf, he is very forry for what he has done j but pleads that 
 drink, and not he, was the caufe. 
 
 We conceive brute-animals to have no fuperior principle to 
 control their appetites and palllons. On this account, their ac- 
 tions are not fubjedl to law. Men are in a like ftate in infancy, 
 in madnefs, and in the delirium of a fever. They have appe- 
 tites and palTlons, but they want that which makes them moral 
 agents, accountable for their condu<fl, and objedts of moral ap- 
 probation or of blame. 
 
 In fome cafes, a flronger Impulfe of appetite or pafllon may 
 oppofe a weaker. Here alfo there may be determination and' 
 adion without judgment. 
 
 Suppofe a foldier ordered to inount a breach, and cenain of 
 prefent death if he retreats, this man needs not courage to go 
 on, fear is fufficient. The certainty of prefent death if he 
 retreats, is an overbalance to the probability of being killed if 
 he goes on. Tlie man is pufhed by contrary forces, and it re- 
 quires neither judgment nor exertion to yield to the ItrongelK 
 
 A hungry dog adts by the fame principle, if meat is fet before 
 him, with a threatening to beat him if he touch it. Hunger 
 pufties him forward, fear pufhes him back with more force, and 
 the ftrongeft force prevails. 
 
 Thus we fee, that, in many even of our voluntary aclions, 
 we may acl from the impulfe of appetite, affedion, or jnilion, 
 
 without 
 
 CHAP. ir.
 
 70 
 
 ESSAY II. 
 
 CHAP. IL -without any exerclfe of judgment, and much in the fame man« 
 ner as brute-animals feem to a.&.. 
 
 Sometimes, however, there is a calm in the mind from the 
 gales of pafllon or appetite, and the man is left to work his 
 way, in the voyage of Life, without thofe impulfes which they 
 give. Then he calmly weighs goods and evils, which are at too 
 great a diftance to excite any pafllon. He judges what is befl; 
 upon the whole, without feeling any bias drawing him to one 
 fide. He judges for himfelf as he would do for another in his 
 fituation ; and the determination is wholly imputable to the man, 
 and not in any degree to his pafllon. 
 
 Every man come to years of underftanding, who has given 
 any attention to his own condudt, and to that of others, has, in 
 his mind, a fcale or meafure of goods and evils, more or lefs 
 exadt. He makes an efl:imate of the value of health, of repu- 
 tation, of riches, of pleafure, of virtue, of felf-approbation, and 
 of the approbation of his Maker. Thefe things, and their con- 
 traries, have a comparative importance in his cool and delibe- 
 xate judgment. 
 
 When a man confiders whether health ought to be preferred 
 •to bodily ftrength, fame to riches, whether a good confcience 
 and the approbation of his Maker, to every thing that can come 
 in competition with it ; this appears to me to be an exercife of 
 judgment, and not any impulfe of pafllon or appetite. 
 
 Every thing worthy of purfuit, muft be fo, either intrinfically, 
 and upon its own account, or as the means of procuring fomething 
 that is intrinfically valuable. That it is by judgment that we 
 difcern the fitnefs of means for attaining an end, is felf-evident ; 
 and in this, I think, all Philofophers agree. But that it is the 
 office of judgment to appreciate the value of an end, or the 
 
 preference
 
 INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES UPON THE WILL. ^x 
 
 preference due to one end above another, is not granted by fome ^hap. ir.^ 
 Philofophers. 
 
 In determining what is good or ill, and, of different goods, 
 which is bcft, they think we muft be guided, not by judgment, 
 but by fome natural or acquired tafte, which makes us rclilh 
 one thing and diflike another. 
 
 Thus, if one man prefers cheefe to lobflers, anotlicr lobfters 
 to cheefe, it is vain, fay they, to apply judgment to determine 
 which is right. In like manner, if one man prefers pleafure to 
 virtue, another virtue to pleafure, this is a matter of tafle, judg- 
 ment has nothing to do in it. This feems to be the opinion of 
 fome Fhilofophers. 
 
 I cannot help being of a contrary opinion. I think we may 
 form a judgment, both in the queftion about cheefe and lobfters 
 and in the more important queftion about pleafure and virtue. 
 
 When one man feels a more agreeable relifli in cheefe, ano- 
 ther in lobfters, this, I grant, requires no judgment ; it de- 
 pends only upon the conftitution of the palate. But, if we 
 would determine which of the two has the befl tafte, I think 
 the queftion muft be determined by judgment ; and that, with a 
 fraall Ihare of this faculty, we may give a very certain determi- 
 nation, to wit, that the two taftes are equally good, and that 
 both of the perfons do equally well, in preferring what fuits 
 their palate and their llomach. 
 
 Nay, I apprehend, that the two perfons who differ in their 
 tafte will, notwithftanding that diftcrencc, agree perfedly in 
 their judgment, that both taftes are upon a footing of equality, 
 and that neither has a juft claim to preference. 
 
 Thus it appears, that, in this inftance, the office of tafle is 
 
 very
 
 72 E S S A Y II. 
 
 CHAP. IL very different from that of judgment ; and that men, who differ 
 moft in tafte, may agree perfectly in their judgment, even with 
 refpedt to the taftes wherein they differ. 
 
 To make the other cafe parallel with this, it mufl be fup- 
 pofed, that the man of pleafure and the man of virtue agree in, 
 their judgment, and that neither fees any reafon to prefer the 
 one courfe of life to the other. 
 
 If this be fuppofed, I fhall grant, that neither of thefe perfons 
 has reafon to condemn the other. Each chufes according to his 
 tafte, in matters which his befl judgment determines to be per- 
 fectly indifferent. 
 
 But it is to be obferved, that this fuppofitlon cannot have 
 place, when we fpeak of men, or indeed of moral agents. The 
 man who is incapable of perceiving the obligation of virtue, 
 when he ufes his beft judgment, is a man in name, but not in 
 reality. He is incapable either of virtue or vice, and is not a 
 moral agent. 
 
 Even the man of pleafure, when his judgment Is unblafled, 
 fees, that there are certain things which a man ought not to do, 
 though he ftiould have a tafte for them. If a thief breaks into 
 his houfe and carries off his goods, he is perfedlly convinced 
 that he did wrong and deferves punifhment, although he had as 
 ftrong a relifli for the goods as he himfelf has for the pleafures 
 he purfues. 
 
 It is evident, that mankind, in all ages, have conceived two 
 parts in the human conftitution that may have influence upon 
 our voluntary adions. Thefe we call by the general names of 
 pajfion and reofon ; and we Ihall find, in all languages, names that 
 are equivalent. 
 
 Under
 
 INFLUEN'CE OF MOTIVES UPON THE WILL. 73 
 
 Under the former, we comprehend various principles of ac- CHAP. ir. 
 lion, funihir to thofe we obfcrvc in brute-animals, and in men 
 who have not the ufe of reafon. Appetites, offe&ious, pajjions^ are 
 the names by which they are denominated ; and thcfe names 
 are not fo accurately thftinguinied in common language, but 
 that they are ufed fomewhat promifcuoufly. This, however, 
 is common to them all, that they draw a man toward a certain 
 objed, without any farther view, by a kind of violence ; a vio- 
 lence which indeed may be refifted if the man is mailer of him- 
 felf, but cannot be refifted without a ftruggle. 
 
 Cicero's phrafe for exprefling their influence is, " Horainem 
 " hue et illuc rapiunt." Dr Hutcheson ufes a iimilar phrafe, 
 " (^libus agitatur mens et brute quodam impetu fertur." 
 There is no exercile of reafoa or judgment neceflary in order 
 to feel their influence. 
 
 "With regard to this part of the human conftitutlon, I fee no 
 difference between the vulgar and Philolbphers. 
 
 As to the other part of our conftltution, which is commonly 
 called reafon, as oppofed to pafCon, there have been very fubtile 
 difputes among modern Philolbphers, whether it ought to be 
 called reafon, or be not rather fome internal fenfe or tafle. 
 
 "Whether it ought to be called reafon, or by what other name, 
 I do not here enquire, but what kiud of influence it has upon 
 our voluntary actions. 
 
 As to this point, I think, all men muft allow that this is the 
 manly part of our conllitution, the other the brute part. This 
 operates in a calm and difpafTionate manner ; a manner fo like 
 to judgment or reafon, that even thofe who ilo not allow it to 
 be called by that name, endeavour to account for its having al- 
 
 K ways
 
 7+ 
 
 ESSAY ir. 
 
 CHAT^iL ways had the namej becaufe, in the manner of its operation, 
 it has a fimilitude to reafon. 
 
 As the fimilitude between this principle and reafon has led 
 mankind to give it that name, fo the diflimilitude between it 
 and paflion has led them to fet the two in oppofition. They 
 have confidered this cool principle, as having an influence upon 
 our adlions fo different from pailion, that what a man does cool- 
 ly and deliberately, without paffion, is imputed folely to the 
 man, whether it have merit or demerit ; whereas, what he does 
 from paflion is imputed in part to the paflion. If the paflion 
 be conceived to be irrefiftible, the adtion is imputed folely to it, 
 and not at all to the man. If he had power to refift, and ought 
 to have refifted, we blame him for not doing his duty j but, in 
 proportion to the violence of the paflion, the fault is alleviated. 
 
 By this cool principle, we judge what ends are moft worthy 
 to be purfued, how far every appetite and paflion may be in- 
 dulged, and when it ought to be refifled. 
 
 It direds us, not only to refift the impulfe of paflion when it 
 would lead us wrong, but to avoid the occafions of inflaming 
 it ; like Cyrus, who refufed to fee the beautiful captive prin- 
 cefs. In this he a6ted the part both of a wife and a good man j 
 firm in the love of virtue, and, at the fame time, confcious of 
 the weaknefs of human nature, and unwilling to put it to too 
 fevere a trial. In this cafe, the youth of Cyrus, the incompara- 
 ble beauty of his captive, and every circumftance which tended 
 to inflame his defire, exalts the merit of his condudl in refifting 
 it. 
 
 It is in fuch adlions that the fuperiority of human nature ap- 
 pears, and the fpecific difference between it and that of brutes. 
 lx\ them we may obferve one paflion combating another, and the 
 flrongeft prevailing^ but we perceive no calm principle in their 
 
 conftitution,
 
 INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES UPON THE WILL. 75 
 
 Gonftitution, thatis fuperior to every paflion, and able to give chaiml 
 law to it. 
 
 The difference between thcfe two parts of our conftitution 
 may be farther illurtratcd by an inflance or two wherein pailion 
 prevails. 
 
 If a man, upon great provocation, flrike another when he 
 ought to keep the peace, he blames himt'elf for what he did, 
 and acknowledges that he ought not to have yielded to his paf- 
 Gon. Every other pcrfon agrees with his fober judgment. They 
 think he did wrong in yielding to his paflion, when he might 
 and ought to have refifled its impulfe. If they thought it im- 
 poffible to bear the provocation, they would not blame him at 
 all ; but believing that it was in his power, and was his duty, 
 they impute to him fome degree of blame, acknowledging, at 
 the fame time, that it is alleviated in proportion to the provoca- 
 tion ; Co that the trefpafs is imputed, partly to the man, and 
 partly to the paffion. But, if a man deliberately conceives a 
 defign of mifchief againft his neighbour, contrives the means, 
 .ind executes it, the adion admits of no alleviation, it is perfedt- 
 ly voluntary, ahd he bears the whole guilt of the evil in- 
 tended and done. 
 
 If a man, by the agony of the rack, is made to difclofe a fe- 
 cret of importance, with which he is entrulted, we pity him 
 more than we blame him. We confider, that fuch is the wcak- 
 nefs of human nature, that the refolutlon, even of a good man, 
 might be overcome by fuch a trial. But if he have ftrength of 
 mind, which even the agony of the rack could not fubduc, we 
 admire his fortitude as truly heroical. 
 
 Thus, I think, it appears, that the common fenfe of men 
 (which, in matters of common life, ought to have great authori- 
 ty) has led them to diftinguilh two parts iu the huinuu conllitu- 
 
 K. 2 tion.
 
 y6 E S S A Y II. 
 
 CHAP. 11. tion, which have nifluence upon our vokmtary determinations. 
 There is an irrational part, common to us with brute-animals, 
 confifling of appetites, affedions and pafTions, and there is a 
 cool and rational part. The firft, in many cafes, gives a flrong 
 impulfe, but without judgment, and without authority. The fe- 
 cond is always accompanied with authority. All wifdom and 
 virtue confill in following its did:ates ; all vice and folly in dlf- 
 obeying them. We may refill the Impulfes of appetite and paf- 
 fion,.not only without regret, but with lelf-applaufe and triumph; 
 but the calls of reafon and duty can never be refifted, without 
 remorfe and felf-conderanation. 
 
 The ancient Philofophers agreed with the vulgar, in making 
 this diftinftion of the principles of acflion. The irrational part 
 the Greeks called o^iJin. Cicero calls it appetUus, taking that 
 word in an extenfive fenfe, fo as to include every propenfity to 
 adtion which is not grounded on judgment. 
 
 The other principle the Greeks called ^cuf ; Plato calls It the 
 iyr/xenxoi-, or leading principle. " Duplex en'im eft vis animorum at-^ 
 " que natura^ fays Cicero, una pars in oppetitu pofita eji, qua ejl 
 " Of;:**) Grace, qua hominem hue et illuc rapit; altera in ratione, qua 
 " docet, et explanat, quid faciendum fugiendumvefitj ita Jit ut ratio 
 " prafit appetitus obtemperet.''^ 
 
 The reafon of explaining this dillindion here Is, that thefe 
 two principles influence the will in diiferent ways. Their In- 
 fluence differs, not in degree only, but in kind. This difference 
 we feel, though it may be difKcult to find words to exprefs it. 
 We may perhaps more eafily form a notion of it by a fimili- 
 tude. 
 
 It Is one thing to pufh a man from one part of the room to> 
 another ; it is a thing of a very different nature to ufe argu- 
 ments to perluade him to leave his place, and go to another,. 
 
 He
 
 INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES UPON THE WILL. 77 
 
 He may yield to the force which puHics him, without any exer- CHARir. 
 cife of liis rational faculties ; nay, he mufl: yield to it, if he do 
 not oppofe an equal or a greater force. His liberty is impaired 
 in foinc degree ; and, if he has not power fuflicient to oppofe, 
 his liberty is quite taken away, and the motion cannot be im- 
 puted to him at all. The influence of appetite or pafllon feems 
 to me to be very like to this. If the paflion be fuppofed irre- 
 fiftiblc, we impute the adion to it fulely, and not to the man» 
 If he had power to refill, but yields after a flruggle, we impute 
 the adion, partly to the man, and partly to the paffion. 
 
 If we attend to the other caie, when the man is only urged 
 by arguments to leave his place, this refembles the operation of 
 the cool or rational principle. It is evident, that, whether he 
 yields to the arguments or not, the determination is wholly his 
 own ad, and is entirely to be imputed to him. Argimients, 
 whatever be the degree of their ftrength, dimlnifh not a man's 
 liberty ; they may produce a cool convidlion of what we ought 
 to do, and they can do no more. But appetite and palllon give 
 an impulfe to ad and impair liberty, in proportion to their 
 Ilrength. 
 
 With mofl men, the Impulfe of paflion is more efiedual than 
 bare convidion ; and, on this account, orators, who would per- 
 fuade, find it necefiary to addrefs the paflions, as well as to con- 
 vince the underftanding ; and, in all fyftcms of rhetoric, thefe 
 two have been confidered as different intentions of the orator^ 
 and to be accompliflied by different means. 
 
 C II A P.
 
 78 E S S A Y II. 
 
 CHAP. in. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Of Operations of Mind ivhicb may be called Voluntary. 
 
 THE faculties of underftanding and will are eafi^y diflin- 
 guifhed in thought, but very rarely, if ever, disjoined in 
 operation. 
 
 In moft, perhaps in all the operations of mind for which we 
 have names in language, both faculties are employed, and we are 
 both intelle(5live and adtive. 
 
 Whether it be poffible that intelligence may exifl without 
 fome degree of ad;ivity, or impoflible, is perhaps beyond the 
 reach of our faculties to determine ; but, I apprehend, that, in 
 fadl, they are always conjoined in the operations of our minds. 
 
 It is probable, I think, that there is fome degree of adlivity in 
 thofe operations which we refer to the underflanding ; accor- 
 dingly, they have always, and in all languages, been expreffed by 
 adtive verbs ; as, I fee, I hear, I remember, I apprehend, I judge, 
 I reafon. And it is certain, that every adl of will mufl be ac- 
 companied by fome operation of the underflanding j for he that 
 wills mufl apprehend what he wills, and apprehenfion belongs 
 to the underflanding. 
 
 The operations I am to confider in this chapter, I think, have 
 commonly been referred to the underflanding ; but we fhall 
 find that the will has fo great a (hare in them, that they may, 
 with propriety, be called voluntary. They are thefe three, attention^ 
 deliberation, and fxed purpofe or refolution. 
 
 Attention may be given to any objedl, either of fenfe or of 
 
 intelledl.
 
 OF VOL UNTARY OPERATIONS. 79 
 
 jntelleft, in order to form a diftind notion of it, or to difcover CHAP. III. 
 its nature, its attributes, or its relations. And fo great is the 
 cffcd of attention, that, without it, it is iinpofliblc to acquire or 
 retain a dlllind: notion of any objed: of thought. 
 
 If a man hear a dilcourfe without attention, what does he car- 
 ry away with him ? If he fee St Peter's or the Vatican without 
 attention, What account can he give of it ? While two per- 
 fons are engaged in interefting difcourfe, the clock {Irikes with- 
 in their hearing, to which they give no attention, What is the 
 confequence ? The next minute they know not whether the 
 clock ftruck or not. Yet their ears were not fliut. The ufual 
 imprellion was made upon the organ of hearing, and upon the 
 auditory nerve and brain ; but from inattention the found either 
 was not perceived, or pafled in the twinkling of an eye, without 
 leaving the leaft veftige in the memory. 
 
 A man fees not what is before his eyes when his mind is oc- 
 cupied about another objedl. In the tumult of a battle a man 
 may be fliot through the body without knowing any thing 
 of the matter, till he difcover it by the lofs of blood or of 
 ftrcns-th. 
 
 'o* 
 
 The moft acute fenfation of pain may be deadened, if the at- 
 tention can be vigoroufly direded to another objetfl. A gentle- 
 man of my acquaintance, in the agony of a fit of the gout, ufed 
 to call for the chefs-board. As he was fond of that game, he 
 acknowledged that, as the game advanced and drew his at- 
 tention, the fenfe of pain abated, and the time feemcd much 
 fhorter. 
 
 Archimedes, it is faid, being intent upon a mathematical 
 propofition, when Syracufe was taken by the Romans, knew not 
 the calamity of the city, till a Roman foldier broke in upon his 
 
 retirement.
 
 So E S S A Y II. 
 
 CHA P. Ill , retiremenf , and gave him a deadly wound ; on which he lament- 
 ed only that he had loft a fine demonftration. 
 
 It is needlefs to multiply Inftances to fliew, that when one 
 faculty of the mind is intenfely engaged about any objedl, the 
 other faculties are laid as it were fafl: afleep. 
 
 It may be farther obferved, that if there be any thing that 
 can he called genius in matters of mere judgment and reafoning, 
 it feems to confifl chiefly in being able to give that attention 
 to the fubjed which keeps it iteady in the mind, till we can 
 furvey it accurately on all fides. 
 
 There is a talent of imagination, which bounds from earth 
 
 to heaven, and from heaven to earth in a moment. This may 
 
 be favourable to wit and imagery ; but the powers of judging 
 
 and reafoning depend chiefly upon keeping the mind to a clear 
 
 [ and fteady view of the fubjed. 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton, to one who complimented him upon the 
 force of genius, which had made fuch improvements in mathe- 
 matics and natural philofophy, is faid to have made this reply, 
 which was both modefl: and judicious, That, if he had made any 
 improvements in thofe fciences, it was owing more to patient at- 
 tention than to any other talent. 
 
 Whatever be the effedls which attention may produce, ( and I 
 apprehend they are far beyond what is commonly believed,} it 
 is for the moft part in our power. 
 
 Every man knows that he can turn his attention to this fub- 
 jedl or to that, for a longer or a fliorter time, and with more or 
 lefs intenfenefs, as he pleafes. It is a voluntary ad:, and depends 
 upon his will. 
 
 But what was before obferved of the will in general, is appli- 
 cable
 
 OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 8i 
 
 cable to this particular exertion of it, That the mind is rarely P^'^| ';^"' 
 ill a flate of indilTerence, left to turn its attention to the ob- 
 jedt which to realbn appears moft deferving of it. There is, for 
 the moft part, a bias to feme particular object, more than to any- 
 other J and this not from any judi^ment of its deferving our 
 attention more, but from foine impulfe or proptnfity, grounded 
 on nature or habit. 
 
 It is well known that things new and uncommon, things 
 grand, and things that are beautiful, draw our attention, not in 
 proportion to the intereft we have, or think we have in them, 
 but in a much greater proportion. 
 
 Whatever moves our paflions or affe(flions draws our atteu" 
 tion, very often, more than we wifli. 
 
 You defire a man not to think of an unfortunate event which 
 torments him. It admits of no remedy. The thought of it an- 
 fwers no purpofe but to keep the wound bleeding. He is per- 
 fedlly convinced of all you fay. He knows that he would not 
 feel the afflidion, if he could only not think of it ; yet he hard- 
 ly thinks of any thing elfe. Strange ! when happinefs and mi- 
 fery ftand before him, and depend upon his choice, he chufes 
 mifery, and reje<^s happinefs with his eyes open! 
 
 Yet he wifhes to be happy, as all m.cn do. How fliall we re- 
 concile this contradiction between his judgment and his con- 
 ducfl? 
 
 The account of it feems to me to be this : The afflicfling event 
 draws his attention fo ftrongly, by a natural and blind force, 
 that he either hath not the power, or hath not the vigour, of 
 mind to refift its impulfe, though he knows that to yield to it 
 is mifery, without any good to balance it. 
 
 L Acute
 
 ESSAY II. 
 
 Acute bodily pain draws oar attention, and makes it very 
 difficult to attend to any thing elfe, even when attention to the 
 pain ferves no other purpofe but to aggravate it tenfold. 
 
 The man who played a game at chefs in the agony of the 
 gout, to engage his attention to another objedl, aded the reafon- 
 able part, and confulted his real happinefs ; but it required a 
 great effort to give that attention to his game, which was necef- 
 fary to produce the effed intended by it.. 
 
 Even when there is no particular object that draws away our 
 attention, there is a defultorinefs of thought in man, and in fome 
 more than in others, which makes it very difficult to give that 
 fixed attention to important objed:s which reafon requires. 
 
 It appears, I think, from what has been faid, that the atten- 
 tion we give to objeds, is for the moft part voluntary : That a 
 great part of wifdom and virtue confifls in giving a proper di-^ 
 redlon to our attention j and that however reafonable this ap- 
 pears to the judgment of every man, yet, in fome cafes, it re- 
 quires an effort of felf-command no lefs than the mofl heroic 
 virtues. 
 
 Another operation that may be called vduntary^ is delibera- 
 tion about what we are to do or to forbear. 
 
 Every man knows that it Is In his power to deliberate or not 
 to deliberate about any part of his conduft ; to deliberate for a 
 Ihorter, or a longer time, more carelefsly, or more ferioully : 
 And when he has reafon to fufpedt that his affedion may bias 
 his judgment,, he may either honelily ufe the beft means in his 
 power to form an impartial judgment, or he may yield to his 
 bias, and only feek arguments to juftify what inclination leads 
 him to do. In all thefe points, he determines, he wills, the 
 right or the wrong. 
 
 The
 
 OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 83 
 
 The general rules of deliberation arc perfectly evident to rca- chap, iir . 
 fon when we conlidcr them abftradly. They are axioms ia 
 morals. 
 
 Wc ought not to deliberate in cafes that are perfectly clean 
 No man deliberates whether he ought to chufe happincfs or mi- 
 fcry. No honeit man deliberates whether he fliall Ileal his neigh- 
 bour's property. When the cafe is not clear, when it is of im- 
 portance, and when there is time for deliberation, wc ought 
 to deliberate with more or lefs care, In proportion to the Import- 
 ance of the adlion. In deliberation we ought to weigh things in 
 an even balance, and to allow to every confideration the weight 
 which, in fober judgment, we think it ought to have, and no 
 more. This is to deliberate impartially. Our deliberation 
 fliould be brought to an IfTue in due time, fo that we may not 
 lofe the opportunity of adling while we deliberate. 
 
 The axioms of Euclid do not appear to me to have a greater 
 degree of felf-evidence, than thefe rules of deliberation. And 
 as far as a man ads according to them, his heart approves of 
 him, and he has confidence of the approbation of the Searcher 
 of hearts. 
 
 But though the manner in which we ought to deliberate be 
 evident to reafon, it Is not always eafy to follow it. Our appe- 
 tites, our afiedions and paflions, oppofe all deliberation, but that 
 which Is employed in finding the means of their gratification. 
 Avarice may lead to deliberate upon the ways of making money, 
 but it does not difiinguilh between the honeil and the dilhoneit. 
 
 We ought furely to deliberate how far every appetite and paf- 
 fion may be indulged, and what limits fliould be fet to it. But 
 our appetites and palfions pufh us on to the attainment of their 
 objeds, in the fhortcft road, and without delay. 
 
 L 2 Tiuu
 
 84 E S S A. Y II. 
 
 CHAP. III. Thus it happens, that, if we yield to their impulfe, we fliall 
 often tranfgrefs thofe rules of deliberation, which reafon approves. 
 In this conflia between the didlates of reafon, and the blind im- 
 pulfe of pallion, we mufl voluntarily determine. When we take 
 part with our reafon, though in oppofition to paflion, we ap- 
 prove of our own condudl. 
 
 What we call a fault of ignorance, is always owing to the- 
 want of due deliberation. When we do not take due pains to 
 be rightly informed, there is a fault, not indeed in adiing ac- 
 cording to the light we have, but in not uling the proper means 
 to get light. For if we judge wrong, after uling the proper 
 means of information, thei'e is no fault in ading according to 
 that wrong judgment ; the error is invincible. 
 
 The natural confequence of deliberation on any part of our 
 condud:, is a determination how we fhall ad 3 and if it is not 
 brought to this ilTue it is loft labour. 
 
 There are two cafes in which a determination may take place ; 
 when the opportunity of putting it in execution is prefent, and 
 when it is at a diftance. 
 
 When the opportunity is prefent, the determination to ad is 
 immediately followed by the adion. Thus, if a man determine 
 to rife and walk, he immediately does it, unlefs he is hindered 
 by force, or has loll the power of walking. And if he fit ftill 
 when he has power to walk, we conclude infallibly that he has 
 not determined, or willed to walk immediately. 
 
 Our determination or will to ad, is not always the refult of 
 deliberation, it may be the effed of fome paffion or appetite, 
 without any judgment interpofed. And when judgment is in- 
 terpofed, we may determine and ad either according to that 
 judgment or contrary to it. 
 
 When
 
 OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. ■ 9^ 
 
 When a man fits down hungry to dine, he eats from appetite, C!i\P. iir. 
 very often without exercifing his judgment at all ; nature in- 
 vites and he obeys the call, as the ox, or the horfe, or as an in- 
 fant does. 
 
 When we converfe with perfons whom we love or refpect, we 
 fay and do civil things merely from affedion or from refpe(ft. 
 They flow fpontancoufly from the heart, without requiring any 
 judgment. In fuch cafes we adl as brute-animals do, or as child- 
 ren before the ufe of reafon. We feel an impulfe in our na- 
 ture, and we yield to it. 
 
 When a man eats merely from appetite, he does not confider 
 the pleafure of eating, or its tendency to health. Thefe coiifi- 
 derations are not in his thoughts. But we can fuppofe a man 
 who eats with a view to enjoy the pleafure of eating. Such a 
 nian reafons and judges. He will take care to ufe the proper 
 means of procuring an appetite. He will be a critic in tafles, 
 and make nice difcriminations. This man ufes his rational fa- 
 culties even in eating. And however contemptible this applica- 
 tion of them may be, it is an exercife of which, I apprehend, 
 brute-animals are not capable. 
 
 In like manner, a man may fay or do civil things to another, 
 not from affedtion, but in order to ferve fome end by it, or be- 
 caufe he thinks it his duty. 
 
 To a(5l with a view to fome dillant interefl, or to act from a 
 fenfe of duty, feems to be proper to man as a reafonable being ; 
 but to a£l merely from pallion, from appetite, or from afleclion, 
 is common to him with the brute-animals. In the lail cafe there 
 is no judgment required, but in the firft there is. 
 
 To acft againft what one judges to be for his real good upon 
 the whole, is folly. To act againft what he judges to be his du- 
 ty,
 
 S6 ESSAY II. 
 
 CHAP . Ill, ty^ ]g immorality. It cannot be denied that there are too many 
 inftances of both in human Hfe. Video 7neliora proboque, deteriora 
 feqttor, is neither an impoflible, nor an unfrequent cafe. 
 
 "While a man does what he really thinks wifefl and heft to be 
 done, the more his appetites, his affeftions and paffions draw 
 him the contrary way, the more he approves of his own con- 
 dud, and the more he is entitled to the approbation of every 
 rational being. 
 
 The ^/6/r<y operation of mind I mentioned, which may be cal- 
 led voluntary, Is, A fixed purpofe or refolutlon with regard to 
 our future condudt. 
 
 This naturally takes place, when any adllon, or courfe of ac- 
 tion, about which we have deliberated, is not immediately to be 
 executed, the occafion of adiing being at fome diflance. 
 
 A fixed purpofe to do, fome time hence, fomething which we 
 believe fhall then be in our power, is ftrldly and properly a de- 
 termination of will, no lefs than a determination to do it in- 
 flantly. Every definition of volition agrees to it. Whether 
 the opportunity of doing what we have determined to do be 
 prefent or at fome diflance, is an accidental circumftance which 
 does not affedl the nature of the determination, and no good 
 reafon can be afligned why It fhould not be called volition in the 
 one cafe, as well as in the other. A purpofe or refolutlon, 
 therefore, is truly and properly an adl of will. 
 
 Our purpofes are of two kinds. We may call the one particu- 
 lar, the other general. By a particular purpofe, I mean that 
 which has for its objedl an individual adion, limited to one 
 time and place ; by s. general \)nx\io(Q, that of a courfe or train 
 of adion, intended for fome general end, or regulated by fome 
 general rule. 
 
 Thus,
 
 OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 87 
 
 Tlius, I may purpofe to go to London next winter. When p'^'"^''^'^; 
 the time comes, 1 execute my purpofe, if I continue of the 
 fame mind j and the purpofe, when executed, is no more. Thus 
 it is with every particuhir purpofe. 
 
 A general purpofe may continue for life ; and, after many par- 
 ticular adiions have been done in confcq^uence of it, may re- 
 main and regulate future adions. 
 
 Thus, a young man propofes to follow the profefllon of law, 
 of medicine, or of theology. This general purpofe diredls the 
 courfe of his reading and lludy. It drredts him in the choice- 
 of his company and companions, and even of his diverfions. 
 It determines his travels and the place of his abode. It has in- 
 fluence upon his drefs and manners, and a confiderable elTec^ in 
 forming his charader. 
 
 There are other fixed purpofes which have a ftill greater ef- 
 fe<ft in forming the charader. I mean fuch as regard our mo- 
 ral conduct. 
 
 Suppofe a man to have exercifed his intelle»flual and moral 
 faculties, fo far as to have dillind notions of juftice and inju- 
 ftice, and of the confequences of both, and, after due delibera- 
 tion, to have formed a fixed purpofe to adhere inflexibly to ju- 
 nice, and never to handle the wages of iniquity. 
 
 Is not this the man whom we flaould call a juft man ? We 
 confider the moral virtues as inherent in the mind of a good 
 man, even when there is no opportunity of exercifing them. 
 And what is it in the mind which we can call the virtue of ju- 
 flice, when it is not exercifed ? It can be nothing but a fixed 
 purpofe, or determination, to acft according to the rules of ju- 
 ftice, when there is opportunity. 
 
 The
 
 88 
 
 E S S A V IT. 
 
 CHAP. HI. The Roman law defined jufllce, A Jleady and perpetual will to 
 (rive to every man his due. When the opportunity of doing juftice 
 is not prefent, this can mean nothing ehe than a fteady parpofe, 
 which is very properly called will. Such a purpofe, if it is ftea- 
 dy, will infallibly produce jufl conduct ; for every known tranf- 
 crellion of juftice demonftrates a change of purpofe, at leafl for 
 that time. 
 
 What has been fald of juftice, may be fo eafily applied to 
 every other moral virtue, that it is unneceflary to give inftances. 
 They are all fixed purpofes of ading according to a certain 
 rule. 
 
 By this, the virtues may be eafily diftinguiflied, in thought 
 at leaft, from natural affedtions that bear the fame name. Thus, 
 benevolence is a capital virtue, which, though not fo neceflliry 
 to the being of fociety, is entitled to a higher degree of appro- 
 bation than even juftice. But there is a natural affedtion of be- 
 nevolence, common to good and bad men, to the virtuous and to 
 the vicious. How fliall thefe be diftinguiflied ? 
 
 In practice, indeed, we cannot diftinguifli them in other men, 
 and with difficulty in ourfelves ; but in theory, nothing is more 
 eafy. The virtue of benevolence is a fixed purpofe or refolution 
 to do good when we have opportunity, from a convidtion that 
 it is right, and is our duty. The affedtion of benevolence is a 
 propenfity to do good, from natural conftitution or habit, with- 
 out regard to reditude or duty. 
 
 There are good tempers and bad, which are a part of the 
 conftitution of the man, and ai'e really involuntary, though they 
 often lead to voluntary adions. A good natural temper is not 
 virtue, nor is a bad one vice. Hard would it be indeed to think, 
 that a man fliould be born under a decree of reprobation, be- 
 caufe he has the misfortune of a bad natural temper. 
 
 The
 
 OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 89 
 
 The Phyfiog-nomifl; faw, in the features of Socrates, the f^g- chap. iir. 
 natures of many bad difpofitlons, which that good man acknow- 
 ledged he feh within him ; but the triumph of his virtue was 
 the greater in having conquered them. 
 
 In men who have no fixed rules of condu(fl, no felf-govern- 
 ment, the natural temper is variable by numberlefs accidents. 
 The man who is full of affedion and benevolence this hour, 
 when a crofs accident happens to ruffle him, or perhaps when 
 an eafterly wind blows, feels a flrange revolution in his temper. 
 The kind and benevolent affedlions give place to the jealous 
 and malignant, which are as readily indulged in their turn, and 
 for the fame reafon, becaufe he feels a propenfity to indulge 
 them. 
 
 We may obferve, that men who have exercifed their rational 
 powers, are generally governed in their opinions by fixed prin- 
 ciples of belief; and men who have made the greateft advance 
 m felf-government, are governed, in their pradlice, by general 
 fixed purpofes. Without the former, there would be no fleadi- 
 nefs and confiftence in our belief j nor without the latter, in our 
 condud;. 
 
 When a man is come to years of underdanding, from his edu- 
 cation, from his company, or from his ftudy, he forms to him- 
 felf a fet of general principles, a creed, which governs his judg- 
 ment in particular points that occur. 
 
 If new evidence is laid before him which tends to overthrow 
 any of his received principles, it requires in him a great degree 
 of candour and love of truth, to give it an impartial examination, 
 and to form a new judgment. Moil men, when they are fixed 
 in their principles, upon what they account fufficient evidence, 
 can hardly be drawn into a new and ferious examination of 
 them, 
 
 M They
 
 90 
 
 ESSAY II. 
 
 CHA P. ]n . They get a habit of believing them, which Is flrengthened by 
 repeated ads, and remains Immoveable, even when the evidence 
 upon which their belief was at firfl grounded, is forgot. 
 
 It is this that makes converfions, either from religious or 
 political principles, fo difficult. 
 
 A mere prejudice of education ftlcks faft, as a propofitlon of 
 Euclid does with a man who hath long ago forgot the proof. 
 Both Indeed are upon a fimllar footing. We reft in both, be- 
 caufe we have long done fo, and think we received them at firll 
 upon good evidence, though that evidence be quite forgot. 
 
 When we know a man*s principles, we judge by them, rather 
 than by the degree of his underftanding, how he will determine 
 in any point which is connedied with them. 
 
 Thus, the judgment of moft men who judge for themfelves Is 
 governed by fixed principles ; and, I apprehend, that the con- 
 dudl of moft men who have any felf-government, and any con- 
 fiftency of conduct, Is governed by fixed purpofes. 
 
 A man of breeding may, m his natural temper, be proud, pat 
 fionate, revengeful, and In his morals a very bad man ; yet, in 
 good company, he can ftlfle every pafllon that is inconfiftent 
 with good breeding, and be humane, modeft, complaifant, even 
 to thofe whom In his heart he defpifes or hates. Why is this 
 man, who can command all his pallions before company, a Have 
 to them in private ? The reafon is plain : He has a fixed refolu- 
 tion to be a man of breeding, but hath no fuch refolution to be 
 a man of virtue. He hath combated his moft violent pafllons 
 a thoufand times before he became mafter of them In company. 
 The fame refolution and perfeverance would have given him the 
 eGirunand of them when alone, 
 
 A
 
 OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 91 
 
 A fixed rcfolution retains its influence upon the condu(fl, even CHAP. ii» . 
 \vhen the motives to it are not in view, in the fame manner as a 
 fixed principle retains its influence upon the belief, when the 
 evidence of it is forgot. The former may be called a habit of 
 the w/7/, the latter a habit of the underjiandlng. By fuch habits 
 chiefly, men are governed in their opinions and in their prac- 
 tice. 
 
 A man who has no general fixed purpofes,may be fiiid, as Pope 
 fays of moft: women, (I hope imjuftly) to have no charadler at 
 all. He will be honefl; or diflionclt, benevolent or malicious, 
 compaflionate or cruel, as the tide of his paflions and affections 
 drives him. This, however, I believe, is the cafe of but a few 
 in advanced life, and thefe, with regard to condud:, the wcakefl: 
 and moft contemptible of the fpecies. 
 
 A man of fome conftancy may change his general purpofes 
 once or twice in life, feldom more. From the purfuit of plea- 
 fure in early life, he may change to that of ambition, and from 
 ambition to avarice. But every man who ufes his reafon in the 
 conduct of life, will have fome end, to which he gives a pre- 
 ference above all others. To this he fteers his courfe ; his pro- 
 je(fls and his actions will be regulated by it. Without this, there 
 would be no confiftency in his condud;. He would be like a 
 ftiip in the ocean, which is bound to no port, under no govern- 
 ment, but left to the mercy of winds and tides. 
 
 We obferved before, that there are moral rules refpeding the 
 attention we ought to give to objeds and refpeding our delibe- 
 rations, which are no lefs evident than mathematical axioms. 
 The fame thing may be obferved with refpedl to our fixed pur- 
 pofes, whether particular or general. 
 
 Is it not felf-cvident, that, after due deliberation, we oughc 
 to refolve upon that condud, or that courfe of condud, which, 
 
 JM 2 to
 
 9* 
 
 ESSAY 11. 
 
 CHAP. IV. to our fober judgment, appears to be befl and mofl approvable ? 
 That we ought to be firm and fteady in adhering to fuch refo- 
 lutions, while we are perfuaded that they are right ; but open 
 to conviction, and ready to change our courfe, when we have 
 good evidence that it is wrong ? 
 
 Ficklenefs, inconftancy, facility, on the one band, wilfulnefs, 
 inflexibility, and obllinacy, on the other, are moral qualities, 
 refpedlng our purpofes, which every one fees to be wrong. A 
 manly firmnefs, grounded upon rational convldlion, is the pro- 
 per mean which every man approves and reveres. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 Corollaries. 
 
 FROM what has been faid concerning the will, it appears, 
 frj, That, as fome ads of the will are tranfient and mo- 
 mentary, fo others are permanent, and may continue for a long, 
 time, or even through the whole courfe of our rational life. 
 
 When T will to ftretch out my hand, that will is at an end as- 
 foon as the adion is done. It is an adt of the will which be- 
 sfins and ends in a moment. But when I will to attend to a 
 mathematical propofition, to examine the demonflratlon, and 
 the confequences that may be drawn from it, this will may con- 
 tinue for hours. It mufl continue as long as my attention con- 
 tinues ; for no man attends to a mathematical propofitipn longer 
 than he wills. 
 
 The fame thing may be faid of deliberation, with regard,, 
 (either to any point of couuud:, or with regard to any general 
 
 courfe
 
 COROLLARIES. ^ 
 
 courfe of condud. We will to deliberate as long as. we do dc- CHAP. iv. 
 liberate > and that may be for days or for weeks. 
 
 A purpofc or refolution, which we have fliewn to be an act of 
 the will, may continue for a great part of life, or for the whole, 
 after we are of age to form a refolution. 
 
 Thus, a merchant may refolve, that, after he has made fuch a 
 fortune by traffic, he will give it up, and retire to a country 
 life. He may continue this refolution for thirty or forty years, 
 and execute it at laft ; but he continues it no longer than he 
 wills, for he may at ^ny time change his refolution. 
 
 There are therefore a6ls of the will which are not tranfient 
 and momentary, which may continue long, and grow into a habit. 
 This deferves the more to be obiei-ved, becaufe a very eminent 
 Philofopher has advanced a contrary principle, to wit. That all 
 the ads of the will are tranfient and momentary ; and from that 
 principle has drawn very important conclufions, with regard to 
 what conftltutes the moral charader of man. 
 
 hfeconi corollary is. That nothing in a man, wherein the will 
 is not concerned, can juftly be accounted either virtuous or im- 
 moral. 
 
 That no blame can be imputed to a man for what is altoge- 
 ther involuntary, is fo evident in itfelf, that no arguments can 
 make it more evident. The pradice of all criminal courts, in 
 all enlightened nations, is founded upon it. 
 
 If it fliould be thought an objedion to this maxim, that, by 
 the laws of all nations, children often fuffer for the crimes of 
 parents, in which they had no hand, the anfwer is eafy. 
 
 Yor,JirJ}, Such is the connedion between parents and children, 
 
 that
 
 94 E S S A Y II. 
 
 CHAP. IV. that the punllhment of a parent miift hurt his children whether 
 the law will or not. If a man is fined, or imprifoned ; If he 
 lofes life, or limb, or eftate, or reputation, by the hand of juftice, 
 his children fuffer by neceflary confequence. Secondly When 
 laws intend to appoint any punidmient of innocent children 
 for the father's crime, fuch laws are either unjuft, or they are 
 to be confidered as adts of police, and not of jurifprudence, and 
 are intended as an expedient to deter parents more effectually 
 from the commlffion of the crime. The innocent children, in 
 this cafe, are facrlficed to the public good, in like manner, as, 
 to prevent the fpreading of the plague, the found are fliut up 
 with the infeded in a houfe or fhip, that has the infed;ion. 
 
 By the law of England, if a man is killed by an ox goring 
 him, or a cart running over him, though there be no fault or 
 negledl in the owner, the ox or the cart is a deodand, and is confif- 
 cated to the Church. The Legiflature furely did not intend to 
 punifli 'the ox as a criminal, far lefs the cart. The intention 
 evidently was, to inlplre the people with a facred regard to the 
 life of man. 
 
 When the Parliament of Paris, with a fimilar intention, or- 
 dained the houfe in which RavIUiac was born, to be razed to the 
 ground, and never to be rebuilt, it would be great weaknefs to 
 conclude, that the wife judlcatui'e intended to punlfh the houfe. 
 
 If any judicature fhould. In any inftance, find a man guilty, 
 and an obje6l of punllhment, for what they allowed to be alto- 
 gether involuntary, all the world would condemn them as men 
 who knew nothing of the firft and mofl fundamental rules of 
 jullice. 
 
 I have endeavoured to fliew, that, in our attention to objeds, 
 in order to form a right judgment of them ; in our deliberation 
 about particular adions, or about general rules of condud ; In 
 
 our
 
 COROLLARIES. 
 
 95 
 
 our purpofcs and refolutions, as well as in the execution of them, chap. iv. 
 the will has a j)rincii'al fliare. If any man could be found, who, 
 in the whole courfc of his life, had given due attention to things 
 that concern him, had deliberated duly and impartially about 
 his coiidudl, had formed his refolutions, and executed them ac- 
 cording to his befl: judgment and capacity, furely fuch a man 
 might hold up his face before God and man, and plead inno- 
 cence. He muft be acquitted by the impartial Judge, whatever 
 his natural temper was, whatever his pallions and affedions, as 
 far as they were involuntary. 
 
 A tlj'ird corollary is. That all virtuous habits, when we diftin- 
 guilh them from virtuous actions, confift in fixed purpofes of 
 adling according to the rules of virtue, as often as we have op- 
 portunity. 
 
 We can conceive in a man a greater or a lefs degree of fleadi- 
 nefs to his purpofes or refolutions ; but that the general tenor 
 of his condutl: fhould be contrary to them, is impollible. 
 
 The man who has a determined refolution to do his duty in 
 every inftance, and who adheres fteadily to his refolution, is a 
 perfedl man. The man who has a determined purpofe of car- 
 rying on a courfe of adlion which he knows to be wrong, is a. 
 hardened offender. Between thefe extremes there are many in- 
 termediate degrees of virtue and vice. 
 
 ESSAY
 
 ESSAY JII. 
 
 OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Of the Mechanical Principles of AEl'ion. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 Of the Principles of AElion in general. 
 
 IN the ftrid phllofophical fenfe, nothing can be called the aftion 
 of a man, but what he previoufly conceived and willed or de- 
 termined to do. In morals we commonly employ the word in 
 this fenfe, and never impute any thing to a man as his doing, in 
 which his will was not interpofed. But when moral imputation 
 is not concerned, we call many things adions of the man, which 
 he neither previoufly conceived nor willed. Hence the adions of 
 men have been diftinguilbed into three claffes, the voluntary, the 
 involuntary, and the mixed. By the lafl: are meant fuch adions 
 as are \mdcr the command of the will, but are commonly per- 
 formed without any interpofition of will. 
 
 We cannot avoid ufing the word aElion in this popular fenfe, 
 without deviating too much from the common ufe of language 5 
 and it is in this fenfe we ufe it when we enquire into the prin- 
 ciples of adion in the human mind. 
 
 V>y principles of adion, I undcrftand every thing that incites us 
 to ad. 
 
 N If
 
 9« ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. I, If there were no incitements to adiion, adive power would 
 be given us in vain. Having no motive to dired: our adlive ex- 
 ertions, the mind would, in all cafes, be in a ftate of perfed in- 
 difference, to do this or that, or nothing at all. The adive 
 power would either not be exerted at all," or its exertions would 
 be perfedly unmeaning and frivolous, neither wife nor foolifh, 
 neither good nor bad. To every adion that is of the fmalleft 
 importance, there muft be fome incitement, fome motive, fome 
 reafon. 
 
 It is therefore a moft important part of the philofophy of the 
 human mind, to have a diflind and juft view of the various prin- 
 ciples of adion, which the Author of our being hath planted in 
 our nature, to arrange them properly, and to affign to every one 
 its rank. 
 
 By this it is, that we may difcover the end of our being, and 
 the part which is affigned us upon the theatre of life. In this 
 part of the human conllitution the noblefl work of God that 
 falls within our notice, we may difcern moft clearly the cha- 
 rader of him who made us, and how he would have us to em- 
 ploy that adive power which he hath given us. 
 
 I cannot without great diffidence enter upon this fubjed, ob- 
 ferving that almoft every author of reputation, who has given at:- 
 tention to it, has a fyftem of his own ; and that no man has 
 been fo happy as to give general fatisfadion to thofe who came 
 after him. 
 
 There is a branch of knowledge much valued, and very juftly, 
 which we call knowledge of the world, knowledge of mankind, 
 knowledge of human nature : This, I think, confifts in knowing 
 from what principles men generally ad ; and it is commonly the 
 fruit of natural fagacity joined with experience. 
 
 A
 
 OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 99 
 
 A man of fagacity, who has had occafion to deal in mtercftlng cha p, i. 
 matters, with a great variety of perfons of diflcrent age, fcx, 
 rank and profclTion, learns to judge what may be expeded from 
 men in given circinnftances ; and how they may be mofl; efFec- 
 tually induced to ad the part which he defircs. To know this 
 is of fo great importance to men in adlive life, that it is called 
 knowing men, and knowing human nature. 
 
 This knowledge may be of confiderable ufe to a man who 
 would fpeculate upon the fubjedt we have propofed, but is not, 
 by itfelf, futPicient for that purpofe. 
 
 The man of the world conjedlures, perhaps with great proba- 
 bility, how a man will adl in certain given circumllances ; and 
 this is all he wants to know. To enter into a detail of the va- 
 rious principles which influence the adtions of men, to give them 
 diftind names, to define them, and to afcertain their different 
 provinces, is the bufmefs of a philofoplier, and not of a man of 
 the world ; and, indeed, it is a matter attended with great diffi- 
 culty from various caufes. 
 
 Firji, On account of the great number of adive principles that 
 influence the adions of men. 
 
 Man has, not without reafon, been called an epitome of the 
 univerfe. His body, by which his mind is greatly affeded, being 
 a part of the material fyftem, is fubjed to all the laws of inani- 
 mate matter. During fome part of his exiftence, his flate is very 
 like that of a vegetable. He rifes, by imperceptible degrees, to 
 the animal, and, at lafl, to the rational life, and has the prin- 
 ciples that belong to all. 
 
 Another caufe of the difficulty of tracing the various principles 
 of adion in man, is, That the fame adion, nay, the fame courfc 
 and train of adiou may proceed from very different principles. 
 
 N a Men
 
 loo ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. I. Men who are fond of a hypothefis, commonly feek no other 
 proof of US truth, but that it ferves to account for the ap- 
 pearances which it is brought to explain. This is a very flip- 
 pery kind of proof in every part of philofophy, and never to be 
 truiled ', but leafl of all, when the appearances to be accounted 
 for are. human adtions. 
 
 Moft actions proceed from a variety of principles concurring 
 in their diredlon ; and according as we are difpofed to judge 
 favourably or unfavourably of the perfon, or of human nature 
 in general, we impute them wholly to the befl, or wholly to the 
 ■worft, overlooking others which had no fniall Ihare in them. 
 
 The principles from which men afb can be difcovered only 
 in thefe two ways; by attention to the condud: of other men^ 
 or by attention to our own condu<ft, and to what we feel in our- 
 felves. There is much uncertainty in the former, and much 
 difficulty in the latter. 
 
 Men differ much In their charad^ers ; and we can obferve the 
 condudl of a few only of the fpecles. Men differ not only from 
 other men, but from themfelves at different times, and on dif- 
 ferent occalions ; according as they are in the company of their 
 fuperiors, inferiors, or equals j according as they are in the eye 
 of flrangers, or of their familiars only, or in the view of no hu- 
 man eye j according as they are in good or bad fortune, or in 
 good or bad humour. We fee but a fmall part of the adlions 
 of our mofl familiar acquaintance ; and what we fee may lead 
 us to a probable conjedture, but can give no certain knowledge 
 of the principles from which they acl. 
 
 A man may, no doubt, know with certainty the principles 
 from which he himfelf ad:s, becaufe he is confcious of them. 
 But this knowledge requires an attentive refledlion upon the 
 operations of his own mind, which is very rarely to be found. 
 
 It
 
 OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. ici 
 
 It is perhaps more eafy to find a man who has formed a jufl notion CHAP. I. 
 of the cliarader of man in general, or of thofc of his familiar 
 acquaintance, than one who has a jufl notion of Ins own cha- 
 racter. 
 
 Moll men, through pride and felf-flattery, are apt to think 
 themfelves better than they really are ; and fome, perhaps from 
 melancholy, or from falfe principles of religion, arc led to 
 think themfelves worfe than they really are. 
 
 It requires, therefore, a very accurate and impartial examina- 
 tion of a man's own heart, to be able to form a diftind notion 
 of the various principles which influence his conduct:. That 
 this is a matter of great difliculty, we may judge from the very 
 different and contradidory fyftems of Philofophers upon this 
 fubjedt, from the earliefl ages to this day. 
 
 During the age of Greek Philofophy, the Platonifl, the Peri- 
 patetic, the Stoic, the Epicurean, had each his own fyftem. In 
 the dark ages, the Schoolmen and the MylHcs had fyftems dia- 
 metrically oppofite ; and, fince the revival of learning, no con- 
 troverfy hath been more keenly agitated, efpecially among Bri- 
 tifli Philofophers, than that about the principles of adion in the 
 human conftitution- 
 
 They have determined, to the fatisfadion of the learned, the 
 forces by which the planets and comets traverfe the boundlefs 
 regions of fpace ; but have not been able to determine, with any 
 degree of unanimity, the forces which every man is confcious 
 of m himfelf, and by which his condud is directed. 
 
 Some admit no principle but felf-love ; others refolve all into 
 love of the pleafures of fenfe, varioufly modified by the aflocia- 
 tion of ideas ; others admit difinterefled benevolence along with 
 feLf-love ; others reduce all to realon and pallion ; others to piC- 
 
 fion
 
 JD2 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP.i. fion alone J nor is there lefs variety about the number and dif- 
 tribution of the paffions. 
 
 The names we give to the various principles of adlion, have 
 fo little precifion, even in the befl and pureft writers in every 
 language, that, on this account, there is no fmall difEculty in 
 giving them names, and arranging them properly. 
 
 The words appetite, pojfion^ offeEl'iotiy iuterejl, reafon^ cannot be 
 faid to have one definite fignification. They are taken fome- 
 times in a larger, and fometimes in a more limited fenfe. The 
 fame principle is fometimes called by one of thofe names, fome- 
 times by another ; and principles of a very different nature are 
 often called by the fame name. 
 
 To remedy this confufion of names, it might perhaps feem 
 proper to invent new ones. But there are fo few entitled to this 
 privilege, that I ihall not lay claim to it ; but fhall endeavour to 
 clafs the various principles of human adlion as diftindlly as I 
 am able, and to point out their fpecific differences j giving 
 them fuch names as may deviate from the common ufe of the 
 words as little as poflible. 
 
 There are fome principles of adtlon which require no atten- 
 tion, no deliberation, no will. Thefe, for diflindlion's fake, we 
 fliall call mechanical. Another clafs we may call animal, as they 
 feem common to man with other animals. A third clafs we 
 may call rational, being proper to man as a rational creature. 
 
 CHAP,
 
 T 
 
 INSTINCT. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 hiJlhiEl. 
 
 H E mechanical principles of adion may, I think, be re- 
 duced to two fpecies, inJlinEls and babUs. 
 
 103 
 
 By Inflindl, I mean a natural blind impulfe to certain adlions, 
 without having any end in view, without deliberation, and very 
 often without any conception of what we do. 
 
 Thus a man breathes while he Is alive, by the alternate con- 
 traction and relaxation of certain mufcles, by which the chef!:, 
 and of confcquence the lungs, are contracted and dilated. 
 There is no reafon to think, that an infant new-born, knows 
 that breathing is neceflary to life in its new ftate, that he knows 
 how it muft be performed, or even that he has any thought or 
 conception of that operation ; yet he breathes as foon as he is 
 born with perfedl regularity, as if he had been taught, and got 
 the habit by long pradlice. 
 
 By the fame kind of principle, a new-born child, when its 
 ftomach is emptied, and nature has brought milk into the mo- 
 ther's breaft, fucks and fwallows its food as perfedly as if it. 
 knew the principles of that operation, and had got the habit of 
 working according to them. 
 
 Sucking and fwallowing are very complex operations. Ana- 
 tomifts defcribe about thirty pairs of mufcles that muft be em- 
 ployed in every draught. Of thofe mufcles, every one muft be 
 ferved by its proper nerve, and can make no exertion but by 
 fomc influence communicated by the nerve. The exertion of 
 all thofc mufcles and nerves is not fimultaneous. They muft 
 
 fucceed 
 
 CH\P. II.
 
 I04 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. II. fucceed each other in a certain order, and their order is no lefs 
 necellliry than the exertion itfelf. 
 
 This regular train of operations is carried on according to the 
 niceft rules of art, by the infant, who has neither art, nor 
 fcience, nor experience, nor habit. 
 
 That the infant feels the uneafy fenfation of hunger, I admit; 
 and that it 'fucks no longer than till this fenfation be removed. 
 But who informed it that this uneafy fenfation might be re- 
 moved, or by what means ? That it knows nothing of this is 
 evident ; for it will as readily fuck a finger, or a bit of ilick, as 
 the nipple. 
 
 By a like principle it is, that infants cry when they are pain- 
 ed or hurt ; that they are afraid when left alone, efpecially in 
 the dark; that they ftart when in danger of falling; that they 
 are terrified by an angry countenance, or an angry tone of voice, 
 and are foothed and comforted by a placid countenance, and by 
 foft and gentle tones of voice. 
 
 In the animals we are befl acquainted with, and which we 
 look upon as the more perfect of the brute-creation, we fee 
 much the fame inflinds as in the human kind, or very fimilar 
 ones, fuited to the particular date and manner of life of the 
 animal. 
 
 Befides thefe, there are in brute-animals inflinds peculiar to 
 each tribe, by which they are fitted for defence, for offence, 
 or for providing for themfelves, and for their offspring. 
 
 It is not more certain, that nature hath furniflied various 
 animals with various weapons of ofience and defence, than that 
 the fame nature hath taught them how to ufe them ; the bull 
 and the ram to butt, the horfe to kick, the dog to bite, the 
 
 lion
 
 INSTINCT. IC5 
 
 lion to life his paws, tlie boar his tuHcs, the fcrpent his fangs, CHAP.ir. 
 and the bee and wafp their fting. 
 
 The manufadlures of animals, If we may call them by that 
 name, prefent us with a wonderful variety of inflinds, belong- 
 ing to particular fpecies, whether of the focial or of the folitary 
 kind ; the nefls of birds, fo fimilar in their fituation and archi- 
 tedure ii the fame kind, fo various in different kinds ; the webs 
 of fpiders, and of other fpinning animals ; the ball of the filk- 
 worm i the ncfts of ants and other mining animals ; the combs 
 of wafps, hornets and bees j the dams and houfes of beavers. 
 
 The inftind of animals is one of the moft delightful and in- 
 ftrudive parts of a moft pleafant ftudy, that of natural hiftory; 
 and deferves to be more cultivated than it has yet been. 
 
 Every manufacturing art among men was invented by fome 
 man, improved by others, and brought to perfedion by time 
 and experience. Men learn to work in it by long pradice, 
 which i-roduces a habit. The arts of men vary in every age, 
 and in every nation, and are found only in thofe who have been 
 taught them. 
 
 The manufactures of animals differ from thofe of men in 
 many flriking particulars. 
 
 No animal of the fpecies can claim the invention. No ani- 
 mal ever introduced any new improvement, or any variation 
 from the former pradice. Every one of the fpecies has equal 
 (kill from the beginning, without teaching, without experience 
 or habit. Every one has its art by a kind of infpiration. I do 
 not mean that it is infpired witk the principles or niles of the 
 art, but with the ability and inclination of working in it to per- 
 fedion, without any knowledge of its principles, rules or end. 
 
 O The
 
 io6 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. II. The more fagacious animals may be taught to do many things 
 which they do not by inftincl. What they are taught to do, 
 they do with more or lefs fklll, according to their fagacity and 
 their training. But, in their own arts, they need no teaching nor 
 training, nor Is the art ever improved or loft. Bees gather their 
 honey and their wax, they fabricate their combs and rear their 
 young at this day, neither better nor worfe than they did when 
 Virgil fo fweetly fung their works. 
 
 The work of every animal is Indeed like the works of nature,, 
 perfedl in Its kind, and can bear the moft critical examination 
 of the mechanic or the mathematician. One example from the 
 animal laft mentioned may ferve to Illuftrate this. 
 
 Bees, It Is well known, conftru(5t their combs with fmall cells 
 on both fides, fit both for holding their ftore of honey, and for 
 rearing their young. There are only three poffible figures of the 
 cells, which can make them all equal and fimilar, without any 
 ufelefs nterftlces. Thefe are the equilateral triangle, thefquare, 
 and the regular hexagon. 
 
 It Is well known to mathematicians, that there is not a fourth 
 way poffible. In which a plane may be cut Into little fpaces that 
 fhall be equal, fimilar and regular, without leaving any Inter- 
 ftices. Of tlie three, the hexagon is the moft proper, both for 
 convenlency and ftrength. Bees, as if they knew this, make 
 their cells regular hexagons. 
 
 As the combs have cells on both fides, the cells may either be 
 exadly oppofite, having partition agalnft partition, or the bot- 
 tom of a cell may reft upon the partitions between the cells on 
 the other fide, which will ferve as a buttrefs to ftrengthen It. 
 The laft way Is beft for ftrength ; accordingly, the bottom of 
 each cell refts agalnft the point where three partitions meet on 
 the other fide, which gives it all the ftrength poftible* 
 
 The
 
 1 N S T I N C T. 
 
 T07 
 
 The bottom of a cell may either be one plane perpendicular chap. ir. 
 to the fide-partitions, or it may be compofed of feveral planes, 
 meeting in a foliJ angle in the middle point. It is only in one 
 of thefe two ways, that all the cells can be fimilar without 
 lofing room. And, for the fame intention, the planes of which 
 the bottom is compofed, if there be more than one, mufl be 
 three in number, and neither more nor fewer. 
 
 It has been demonftrated, that, by making the bottoms of the 
 cells to confift of three planes meeting in a point, there is a 
 faving of material and labour no way inconfiderable. The bees, 
 as if acquainted with thefe principles of folld geometry, follow 
 them mod accurately ; the bottom of each cell being compofed 
 of three planes which make obtufe angles with the fide-parti- 
 tions, and with one another, and meet in a point in the middle 
 of the bottom ; the three angles of this bottom being fupported 
 by three partitions on the other fide of the comb, and the point 
 of it by the common interfedtion of thofe three partitions. 
 
 One inflance more of the mathematical fkill difplayed in the 
 ftruclure of a honey-comb deferves to be mentioned. 
 
 It is a curious mathematical problem, at what precife angle 
 the three planes which compofe the bottom of a cell ought to 
 meet, in order to make the greatefl poflible faving, or the leall 
 expence, of material and labour. 
 
 . This is one of thofe problems, belonging to the higher parts 
 of mathematics, which are called problems of maxima and mini- 
 ma. It has been refolved by fome mathematicians, particularly 
 by the ingenious Mr Maclaurin, by a fluxionary calculation, 
 which is to be found in the Tranfa(^Ioiis of the Royal Society 
 of London. He has determined precifely the angle required ^ 
 and he found, by the mofl exadt menfuration the fubjed could 
 
 O 2 admit.
 
 io8 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHA P. II . admit, that it is the very angle, in which the three planes in the- 
 bottom of the cell of a honey-comb do actually meet. 
 
 Shall we afk here, who taught the bee the properties of folids, 
 and to refolve problems of maxima and minima ? If a honey- 
 comb were a work of human art, every man of common fenfe 
 would conclude, without hefitation, that he who invented the 
 conflrudlion, mail have underftood the principles on which it is 
 conflruded. 
 
 We need not fay that bees know none of thefe things. They 
 work moft geometrically, without any knowledge of geometry ; 
 fomewhat like a child, who, by turning the handle of an organ^ 
 makes good raufic, without any knowledge of mufic. 
 
 The art is not in the child, but in him who made the organ. 
 In like manner, when a bee makes its combs fo geometrically, 
 the geometry is not in the bee, but in that great Geometrician 
 who made the bee, and made all things in number, weight and 
 meafure,. 
 
 To return to inftinds in man ; thofe are mofl remarkable 
 which appear in infancy, when we are ignorant of every thing 
 neceflary to bur prefervation, and therefore mufl; periih, if we 
 had not an invifible Guide, who leads us blind -fold in the way we 
 fliould take, if we had eyes to fee it. 
 
 Befides the inftinds which appear only in infancy, and are. 
 intended to fupply the want of underftanding in that early pe- 
 riod, there are many which continue through life, and which 
 fupply the defeds of our intelledual powers in every period. 
 Of thefe we may obferve three clafles. 
 
 Firfi^ There are many things neceflary to be done for our pre- 
 fervation,
 
 INSTINCT. 
 
 109 
 
 fervation, which, even when we will to do, we know not the ci!AP. 11. 
 means by which they inuft be done. 
 
 A man knows that he mufl fwallow his food before it can 
 nourifli him. But this adion requires the co-operation of ma- 
 ny nerves and mufclcs, of which he knows nothing; and if it 
 were to be direded folely by his underftanding and will, he 
 would llarve before he learned how to perform it. 
 
 Here inftind comes in to his aid. He needs do no more than 
 will to fwallow. All the rcquifite motions of nerves and muf- 
 cles immediately take place in their proper order, without his 
 knowing or willing any thing about them. 
 
 If we afk here, whofe will do thefe nerves and mufcles obey ? 
 Not his, furely, to whom they belong. He knows neither their 
 names, nor nature, nor office ; he never thought of them. They 
 are moved by fome impulfe, of which the caufe is unknown, 
 without any thought, will or intention on his part, that is, they 
 are moved inlHndivelv. 
 
 ft 
 
 This is the cafe, in fome degree, in every voluntary motion of 
 our body. Thus, I will to ftretch out my arm. The effedl im- 
 mediately follows. But we know that the arm is ftrctched out 
 by the contradlion of certain mufcles ; and that the mufcles are 
 contradled by the influence of the nerves. I know nothing, I 
 think nothing, either of nerves or mufcles, when I ftretch out 
 my arm ; yet this nervous influence, and this contraction of the 
 mufcles, uncalled by me, immediately produce the effect which I 
 willed. This is, as if a weight were to be raifed, which can be 
 raifed only by a complication of levers, pullies, and other me- 
 chanical powers, that are behind the curtain, and altogether un- 
 known to me. I will to raife the weight ; and no fooner is this 
 volition exerted, than the machinery behind the curtain falls to 
 ■work and raifes the weight. 
 
 Tf
 
 no 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. II, If fuch a cafe fiiould happen, we would conclude, that there 
 is fome perfon behind the curtain, who knew my will, and put 
 the machine in motion to execute it. 
 
 The cafe of my willing to llretch out my arm, or to fwallow 
 my food, has evidently a great fimilarity to this. But who it is 
 that flands behind the curtain, and fets the internal machinery 
 a-going, is hid from us ; fo flrangely and wonderfully are we 
 made. This, however, is evident, that thofe internal motions 
 are nt)t willed nor intended by us, and therefore are iuftindlive. 
 
 A fecond cafe in which we have need of inllind, even in ad- 
 vanced life, is. When the adtion muft be fo frequently repeated, 
 that to intend and will it every time it is done, would occupy 
 too much of our thought, and leave no room for other necef- 
 fary employments of the mind. 
 
 We muft breathe often every minute whether awake or afleep. 
 We muft often clofe the eye-lids, in order to preferve the luftre 
 of the eye. If thefe things required particular attention and 
 volition every time they are done, they would occupy all our 
 thought. Nature therefore gives an impulfe to do them as often 
 as is neceflary, without any thought at all. They confume no 
 time, they give not the leaft interruption to any exercife of the 
 mind ', becaufe they are done by inftind. 
 
 A third cafe, in which we need the aid of inftind, is, When 
 the adion muft be done fo fuddenly, that there is no time to 
 think and determine. When a man lofes his balance, either on 
 foot or on horfeback, he makes an inftantaneous effort to recover 
 it by inftin(5t. The effort would be in vain, if it waited the de- 
 termination of reafon and will. 
 
 When .any thing threatens our eyes, we wink hard, by inftindt, 
 and can hardly avoid doing fo, even when we know that the 
 
 ftroke
 
 INSTINCT. Ill 
 
 flroke is aimed in jeft, and that we are perfedly fafe from dan- CHAP. n. 
 
 ger. I liave feen this tried upon a wa52;er, which a man was to 
 
 gain if he could keep his eyes open, while another aimed a ftroke 
 
 at them in jefl. The difficulty of doing this fliews that there 
 
 may be a ftruggle between inflinrt and will ; and that it is not 
 
 eafy to refill; the impulfe of inftinft, even by a ftrong refolution 
 
 not to yield to it. 
 
 Thus the merciful Author of our nature, hath adapted our in- 
 (lindls to the defedts, and to the weaknefs of our underfland- 
 ing. In infancy we are ignorant of every thing j yet many 
 things muft be done by us for our prefervation : Thefe are done 
 by inflind. When we grow up there are many motions of our 
 limbs and bodies necefTary, which can be performed only by a 
 curious and complex internal machinery ; a machinery of which 
 the bulk of mankind are totally ignorant, and which the moft 
 fkilful anatomifl knows but imperfedly. All this machinery 
 is fet a-going by inftinc^. We need only to will the external 
 motion, and all the internal motions, previoufly neceffary to the 
 effeft, take place of themfelves, without our will or command. 
 
 Some actions muR be fo often repeated, through the whole of 
 life, that, if they required attention and will, we lliould be able 
 to do nothing elfe : Thefe go on regularly by inftincft. 
 
 Our prefervation from danger often requires fuch fudden ex- 
 ertions, that there is no time to think and to determine : Accord- 
 ingly we make Inch exertions by inftincft. 
 
 Another thing in the nature of man, which I take to be part- 
 ly, though not wholly, iiiflindtive, is his pronenefs to imita- 
 tion. 
 
 Aristotle obferved, long ago, that man is an Imitative a- 
 nimal. He is fo in more refpedls than one. He is difpofed 
 
 to
 
 112 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. 1 1. to imitate what be approves. In all arts men learn more, and 
 more agreeably, by example than by rules. Imitation by the 
 chifTel, by the pencil, by defcription profaxc and poetical, and 
 by adlion and gefture, have been favourite and elegant enter- 
 tainments of the whole fpecies. In all thefe cafes, however, the 
 imitation is intended and willed, and therefore cannot be faid 
 to be inftindive. 
 
 But, I apprehend, that human nature difpofes us to the imita- 
 tion of thofe among whom we live, when we neither defire nor 
 will it. 
 
 Let an Englilhman, of middle age, take up his refidence in 
 Edinburgh or Glafgow ; although he has not the leaft intention 
 to ufe the Scots dialed, but a firm refolution to preferve his own 
 pure and unmixed, he will find it very difficult to make 
 good his intention. He will, in a courfe of years, fall in- 
 fenfibly, and without intention, into the tone and accent, and 
 even into the words and phrafes of thofe he converfes with j and 
 nothing can preferve him from this, but a flrong difgufl to eve- 
 ry Scoticifm, which perhaps may overcome the natural inflind;. 
 
 It is commonly thought that children often learn to flammer 
 by imitation 3 yet I believe no perfon ever defired or willed to 
 learn that quality, 
 
 I apprehend that inftindive imitation has no fmall influence 
 in forming the peculiarities of provincial dialeds, the peculiari- 
 ties of voice, geflure, and manner, which we fee in fome fami- 
 lies, the manners peculiar to different ranks, and different pro- 
 feflions j and perhaps even in forming national charaders, and 
 the human character in general. 
 
 The inflances that hiftory furnifhes of wild men, brought up 
 from early years, without the fociety of any of their own fpe- 
 cies
 
 INSTINCT. nj 
 
 cies are Co few that we cannot build conclufions upon them with CHAP. ir. 
 great certainty. But all I have heard of agreed in this, that the 
 wild man gave but very flender indications of the rational facul- 
 ties ; and, with regard to his mind, was hardly diftinguifhable 
 from the more fagacious of the brutes. 
 
 There is a confiderable part of the lowcft rank in every na- 
 tion, of whom it cannot be faid that any pains have been taken by 
 themfelves, or by others, to cultivate their underftanding, or to 
 form their manners ; yet we fee an immenfe difference between 
 them and the wild man. 
 
 This difference is wholly the effedl of foclety ; and, I think, 
 it is in a great meafure, though not wholly, the effedt of unde- 
 figned and inftindlive imitation. 
 
 Perhaps, not only our adions, but even our judgment, and be- 
 lief, is, in fome cafes, guided by inflindl:, that is, by a natural 
 and blind impulfe. 
 
 When we confider man as a rational creature, it may feem 
 right that he fliould have no belief but what is grounded upon 
 evidence, probable or demonllrative ; and it is, I think, common- 
 ly taken for granted, that it is always evidence, real or apparent, 
 that determines our belief. 
 
 If this be fo, the confequence is, That, in no cafe, can there 
 be any belief, till we find evidence, or, at leaft, what to our judg- 
 ment appears to be evidence. I fufped it is not fo ; but that, on the 
 contrary, before we grow up to the full ufe of our rational facul- 
 ties, we do believe, and mufl believe, many things without any 
 evidence at all. 
 
 The faculties which we have in common with brute-animals, 
 are of earlier growth than reafon. We are irrational animals 
 
 P for
 
 n+ 
 
 ESSAY HI. 
 
 CHAP. ir. for a conliderable time before we can properly be called rational. 
 The operations of reafon fpring up by imperceptible degrees j 
 nor is it pofllble for vis to trace accurately the order in which 
 they rife. The power of refledtion, by which only we could 
 trace the progrefs of our growing faculties, comes too late to 
 anfvver that end. Some operations of brute-animals look fo like 
 reafon, that they are not eafily diftinguilhed from it. Whether 
 brutes have any thing that can properly be called belief, I cannot 
 fay ; but their actions fliew fomething that looks very like it. 
 
 If there be any inflincftive belief in man, it is probably of the 
 fame kind with that which we afcribe to brutes, and may be fpe- 
 cifically different from that rational belief which is grounded on 
 evidence ; but that there is fomething in man which we call be- 
 lief, which is not grounded on evidence, I think, mufl be 
 granted. 
 
 We need to be informed of many things before we ar€ ca- 
 pable of difcerning the evidence on which they reft. W^ere our 
 belief to be with-held till we are capable, in any degree, of weigh- 
 ing evidence, we fhould lofe all the benefit of that inftrudioii 
 and information, without which we could never attain the ufe of 
 our rational faculties. 
 
 Man would never acquire the ufe of reafon if he were not 
 brought up in the fociety of reafonable creatures. The benefit 
 he receives from fociety, is derived partly from imitation of 
 what he fees others do, partly from the inftrudlion and informa- 
 tion they communicate to him, without which he could neither 
 be preferved from deftrudtion, nor acquire the ufe of his ration- 
 al powers. 
 
 Children have a thoufand things to learn, and they learn ma- 
 ny things every day ; more than will be eafily believed by thofe 
 who have never given attention to their progrefs. 
 
 Oportet
 
 INSTINCT.. f,5 
 
 X)portct d'lfcentan credere is a common adage. Clilldrcn liave chap. ir. 
 every thing to learn ; and, in order to learn, they mud believe 
 their inftrudors. They need a greater (lock of faiih from in- 
 fancy to twelve or fourteen, than ever after. But how fliall 
 they get this ftock fo nccefifary to tlieni ? If their faith de- 
 pend upon evidence, the ftock of evidence, real or apparent, 
 muft bear proportion to their faith. But fuch, in reality, is 
 their fituation, that when their faith mufl be greatell, the 
 evidence is leaft. They believe a thoufand things before they 
 ever fpend a thought upon evidence. Nature fupplies the 
 want of evidence, and gives them an inftindive kind of faith 
 without evidence. 
 
 They believe Implicitly whatever they are told, and receive 
 with aflurance the teftimony of every one, without ever thinking 
 of a reafon why they fliould do fo. 
 
 A parent or a mafter might command them to believe j but 
 In vain ; for belief is not in our power ; but in the firft part of 
 life, it is governed by mere teftimony in matters of fad, and by 
 mere authority in all other matters, no lefs than by evidence in 
 riper years. 
 
 It is not the words of the teftifier, but his belief, that produces 
 this belief in a child: For children foon learn to diftiii<ruini 
 what is faid in jeft, from what is faid in good earneft. What 
 appears to them to be faid in jeft, produces no belief. They 
 glory in ftiewing that they are not to be impofed on. When the 
 figns of belief in the fpeaker are ambiguous, it is pleafant to ob- 
 ferve with what fagacity they pry into his features, to difcern 
 whether he really believes what he fays, or only counterfeits 
 belief. As foon as this point is determined, their belief is regu- 
 lated by his. if he be doubtful, they are doubtful, if he be af- . 
 fured, they are alfo aflured. 
 
 It is well known what a deep impreflion religious principles 
 
 P 2 zealouflv
 
 iifr ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. II. zealoufly inculcated make upon the minds of children. The 
 abfurditles of ghofts and hobgoblins early imprefled, have been 
 known to flick fo fall, even in enlightened minds, as to baffle all 
 rational conviction. 
 
 Wheo we grow up to the ufe of reafon, teftimony attended 
 with certain circumftances, or even authority, may afford a ra- 
 tional ground of belief; but with children, without any regard 
 to circumftances, either of them operates like demonftration. 
 And as they feek no reafon, nor can give any reafon, for this re- 
 gard to teftimony and to authority, it is the effedt of a natural 
 impulfe, and may be called inftindl. 
 
 Another inftance of belief which appears to be inftindlive, is 
 that which children fhew even in infancy, that an event v.'hich 
 they have obferved in certain circumftances, will happen again 
 in like circumftances. A child of half a year old, who has once 
 burned his finger by putting it in the candle, will not put it there 
 again. And if you make a fhew of putting it in the candle by 
 force, you fee the mofl manifelt figns that he believes he fhall 
 meet with the fame calamity. 
 
 Mr Hume hath fhewn very clearly, that this belief is not the 
 effecft either of reafon or experience. He endeavours to account 
 for it by the affociation of ideas. Though I am not fatisfied 
 with his account of this phenomenon, I fhall not now examine 
 it J becaufe it is fulKcient for the prefent argument, that this be- 
 lief is not grounded on evidence, real or apparent, which I think 
 he clearly proves. 
 
 A perfon who has lived fo long In the world, as to obferve that 
 nature is governed by fixed laws, may have fome rational ground 
 to expert fimilar events in fimilar circumftances ; but this can- 
 not be the cafe of the child. His belief therefore is not ground- 
 ed on evidence. It is the refult of his conftitution. 
 
 Nor
 
 O F H A B I T. „7 
 
 Nor is It the lefs fo, though it fliould arifc from the aflbciation CHAP. iii. 
 of ideas. For what is called the alTociation of ideas is a law of 
 nature in our couftitution ; which produces its efTcds without 
 any operation of reafon oil our part, and in a manner of wliich 
 we are entirely ignorant. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 Of Hahit. 
 
 HABIT differs from inftind, not in its nature, but in Its 
 origin .; the latter being natural, the former acquired. 
 Both operate without will or intention, without thought, and 
 therefore may be called mechanical principles. 
 
 Habit is commonly defined, A facility of doing a thing, acquired 
 hy having done it frequently. This definition is fufficient for ha- 
 bits of art ; but the habits which may, with propriety, be called 
 principles of action, muft give more than a facility, they mufl 
 give aa inclination or impulfe to do the adllon ; and that, in 
 many cafes, habits have this force, cannot be doubted. 
 
 How many aukward habits, by frequenting Improper compa- 
 ny, are children apt to learn, in their addrefs, motion, looks, 
 gefiure and pronunciation. They acquire fuch habits common- 
 ly from an undefigned and inllindlive iniitation, before they can 
 judge of what is proper and becoming. 
 
 When they are a little advanced in undcrflanding, they may 
 eafily be convinced that fuch a thing is unbecoming, they may 
 relolve to forbear it, but when the habit is formed, fuch a gene- 
 ral rcfoluiion is not of itlllf fulficient ; for the habit will ope- 
 rate without intention ; and particular attention is ncceflary, on 
 
 every
 
 ii8 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. III. every occafion, to refift its impulfe, until it be undone by tVie 
 habit of oppofing it. 
 
 It is owing to the force of habits, early acquired by imitation, 
 that a man who has grown up to manhood in the lowefl rank of 
 life, if fortune raife him to a higher rank, very rarely acquires 
 the air and manners of a gentleman. 
 
 When to that inflindlive imitation, which I fpoke of before, 
 %ve join the force of habit, it is eafy to fee, that thefe mechani- 
 cal principles have no fmall fliare in forming the manners and 
 charader of mort men. 
 
 The difficulty of overcoming vicious habits has, in all ages, 
 been a common topic of theologians and moralifls ; and we fee 
 too many fad examples to permit us to doubt of it. 
 
 There are good habits, in a moral fenfe, as well as bad ; and 
 it is certain, that the dated and regular performance of what we 
 approve, not only makes it eafy, bat makes us uneafy in the 
 omilFion of it. This is the cafe, even when the adion dei'ives 
 all its goodnefs from the opinion of the performer. A good il- 
 literate Roman Catholic does not fleep found if he goes to 
 bed without telling his beads, and repeating prayers which he 
 does not underfland. 
 
 Aristotle makes wifdom, prudence, good fenfe, fcience and 
 art, as well as the moral virtues and vices, to be habits. If he 
 meaot no more, by giving this name to all thofe intelledual and 
 moral qualities, than that they are all flrengthened and confirm- 
 ed by repeated adls, this is undoubtedly true. I take the word 
 in a lefs extenfive fenfe, when I confider habits as principles of 
 adlion. I conceive it to be a part of our conftitution, that what 
 we have been accuftomed to do, we acquire, not only a facility, 
 but a pronenefs to do on like occafions j fo that it requires a 
 
 particular
 
 O V H A B I r. 119 
 
 particular will and efTort to forbear it, but to do it, requires very CHAPjni. 
 often no will at all. We are carried by habit as by a ftream 
 in fwimming, if we make no refiUance. 
 
 Every art furiiiflies examples both of the power of habits and 
 of their utility ; no one more than the molt common of all arts, 
 the art of fpeaking. 
 
 Articulate language is fpoken, not by nature, but by art. It 
 is no eafy matter to children, to learn the fnnple founds of lan- 
 guage J I mean, to learn to pronounce the vowels and confo- 
 nants. It would be much more difficult, if they were not led 
 by inftind to imitate the founds they hear ; for the difficulty is 
 vaflly greater of teaching the deaf to pronounce the letters and 
 words, though experience fliows that it can be done. 
 
 What is it that makes this prommciatron fo eafy at lafl which 
 was fo difficult at firft ? It is habit. 
 
 But from what caufe does it happen, that a good fpeaker no 
 fooner conceives what he would exprefs, than the letters, fylla- 
 blcs and words arrange themfelves according to innumerable 
 rules of fpeech, while he never thinks of thefe rules ? He means 
 to exprefs certain fentiments ; in order to do this properly, a fe- 
 ledlion muft be made of the materials, out of many thoufands. 
 He makes this feledion without any expence of time or thought. 
 The materials feleded mull be airranged in a particular order, 
 according to innumerable rules of grammar, logic and rhetoric, 
 and accompanied with a particular tone and eniphafis. He does 
 all this as it were by infplration, without thinking of any of 
 thefe rules, and without breaking one of them. 
 
 This art, if it were not more common, would appear more 
 wonderful, than that a roan flioukl dance blind-fold amidft a 
 
 thou land
 
 120 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHA P. Ill , thoufand burning plough-flaares, without being burnt i yet all 
 this may be done by habit. 
 
 It appears evident, that as, without infllndl, the infant could 
 not live to become a man, fo, without habit, man would re- 
 main an infant through life, and would be as helplefs, as un- 
 handy, as fpeechlefs, and as much a child in underftanding at 
 threefcore as at three. 
 
 I fee no reafon to think, that we fhall ever be able to affign 
 the phyfical caufe, either of inftindl, or of the power of habit. 
 
 Both feem to be parts of our original conftitutlon. Their end 
 and ufe is evident ; but we can aflign no caufe of them, but the 
 will of him who made us. 
 
 With regard to inftindl, which is a natural propenfity, this will 
 perhaps be eafily granted ; but it Is no lefs true with regard to 
 that power and inclination which we acquire by habit. 
 
 No man can fliew a reafon why our doing a thing frequently 
 fliould produce either facility or inclination to do it. 
 
 The fadl is fo notorious, and fo conflantly in our eye, that 
 we are apt to think no reafon fhould be fought for it, any more 
 than why the fun (hines. But there muft be a caufe of the fun's 
 Ibinlng, and there muft be a caufe of the power of habit. 
 
 We fee nothing analogous to it in inanimate matter, or in 
 things made by human art. A clock or a watch, a waggon or 
 a plough, by the cuftom of going, does not learn to go better, 
 or require lefs moving force. The earth does not increafe in 
 fertility by the cuftom of bearing crops. 
 
 It is faid, that 'trees and other vegetables, by growing long in 
 
 an
 
 O F H A B I T. 121 
 
 an unkindly foil or climate, fometimes acquire qualities by CHAP. in. 
 which they can bear its inclemency with lefs hurt. This, in the 
 vegetable kingdom, has fome refemblancc to the power of ha- 
 bit ; but, in inanimate matter, I know nothing that refembles 
 
 It. 
 
 A ftone lofes nothing of its weight by being long fupported, 
 or made to move upward. A body, by being toQed about ever 
 fo long, or ever fo violently, lofes nothing of its inertia, nor ac- 
 quires the leaft difpofition to change its Hate. 
 
 H 
 
 ESSAY III. PART 11. 
 
 Of Animal Principles of AElion, 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 Of Appetites. 
 
 AVING difcourfed of the mechanical principles of adion, 
 I proceed to confider thofe 1 called animal. 
 
 They are fuch as operate upon the will and intention, but do 
 not fuppofe any exercife of judgment or reafon ; and are moft 
 of them to be found in fome brute-animals, as well as in man. 
 
 In this clafs, the firfl kind I fliall call appetites, taking that 
 word in a ftric^er fenfe than it is fometimes taken, even by good 
 writers. 
 
 Q^ The
 
 122 
 
 ESSAY in. 
 
 CHAP. I. xhe word appetite is fometimes limited, fo as to figt^ify only 
 ' "^ ' the defire of food when we hunger ; fometimes it is extended 
 fo as to fignify any ftrong defire, whatever be its obje(ft. With- 
 out pretending to cenfure any ufe of the word which cuflom 
 hath authorifed, I beg leave to limit it to a particular clafs of 
 defires, which are diflinguiflied from all others by the following 
 marks. 
 
 Firjl, Every appetite is accompanied with an uneafy fenfation 
 proper to it, which is ftrong or weak, in proportion to the de- 
 fire we have of the objeft. Secondly, Appetites are not conftant, 
 but periodical, beingfated by their objedts for a time, and re- 
 turning after certain periods. Such is the nature of thofe prin- 
 ciples of adlion, to which I beg leave, in this EfTay, to appro- 
 priate the name o? appetites. Thofe that are chiefly obfervable 
 in man, as well as in moft other animals, are hunger, thirft, and 
 luft. 
 
 If we attend to the appetite of hunger, we fhall find in it two 
 ingredients, an uneafy fenfuion and a defire to eat. The defire^ 
 keeps pace with the fenfation, and ceafes when it ceafes. When 
 a man is fated with eating, both the uneafy fenfation and the 
 defire to eat ceafe for a time, and return after a certain interval. 
 So it is w^ith other appetites. 
 
 In infants, for fome time after they come into the world, the 
 uneafy fenfation of hunger is probably the whole. W^e cannot 
 fuppofe in them, before experience, any conception of eating, 
 nor, confequently, any defire of it. They are led by mere in- 
 ftindl to fuck when they feel the fenfation of hunger. But 
 when experience has conneded, in their imagination, the uneafy 
 fenfation with the means of removing it, the defire of the laft 
 comes to be fo afTociated with the firft, that they remain through 
 life infeparable ; And we give the name of hunger to the prin- 
 ciple that is made up of both. 
 
 That
 
 O F A p. P E T I T E S. 123 
 
 That the a]:>])ciitL; of hunger includes the two higrcchents I C^HAP. I 
 have nicinionecl will not, I apprehciul, he queftionetl. I take 
 noiice of it the rather becaufe we may, if I niiftake not, find a 
 fnniiar conipolition in other principles of aclion. They arc 
 made up of dilTerent ingredients, and may be analyzed into t]}e 
 parts that enter into their compofition. 
 
 If one Philofopher fliould maintain, that hunger is an uneafy 
 fenfation, another, that it is a defire to eat, they feem to difler 
 widely ; for a defire and a fenfation are very different things, 
 and have no finiilitude. But they are both in the right j for 
 hunger includes both an- uneafy fenfation and a defire to eat. 
 
 Although there has been no fuch difpute among Philofophcrs 
 as we h;ne fuppofed with regard to hunger, yet there have been 
 fimilar difputes with regard to other principles of action ; and 
 it deferves to be confidercd whether they may not be terminated 
 in a fimilar manner. 
 
 The ends for which our natural appetites are given, are too 
 evident to efcape the obfervation of any man of the lead re- 
 flection. Two of thofe I named are intended for the preferva- 
 tion of the individual, and the third for the continuance of the 
 fpecies. 
 
 The reafon of mankind would be altogether infufficient for 
 thcfe ends, without the diredlion and call of apjietite. 
 
 Though a man knew that his life muft be fupported by eating, 
 reafon could not direcl: liim when to eat, or what ; how much, 
 or how often. In all thefe things, apj^etite is a much better 
 guide than our reafon. Were reafon only to direcfl us in this 
 matter, its calm voice would often be drowned in the hurry of 
 bufinefs, or the charms of amulement. But the voice of appe- 
 
 CL 2 titc 
 
 J
 
 124 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. r. tjte rifes gradually, and, at laft, becomes loud enough to call of? 
 our attention from any other employment. 
 
 Every man muft be convinced, that, without our appetites, 
 even fuppofing mankind inipired with all the knowledge requi- 
 iite for anfwering their ends, the race of men mufl have periflied 
 long ago ; but, by their means, the race is continued from one 
 generation to another, whether men be favage or civilized, 
 knowing or ignorant, virtuous or vicious. 
 
 By the fame means, every tribe of brute-animals, from the 
 whale that ranges the ocean to the lead microfcopic infed:, has 
 been continued from the beginning of the world to this day j 
 nor has good evidence been found, that any one fpecies which 
 God made has perifhed. 
 
 Nature has given to every animal, not only an appetite for 
 its food, but tafte and fmell, by which it diftinguilhes the food 
 proper for it. 
 
 It is pleafant to fee a caterpillar, which nature intended to 
 live upon the leaf of one fpecies of plant, travel over a hundred 
 leaves of other kinds without tafting one, till it comes to that 
 which is its natural food, which it immediately falls on, and de- 
 vours greedily. 
 
 Mofl; caterpillars feed only upon the leaf of one fpecies of 
 plant, and nature fuits the feafon of their produdion to the 
 food that is intended to nourifh them. Many infedls and ani- 
 mals have a greater variety of food ; but, of all animals, man 
 has the greatell variety, being able to fubfill; upon almoft every 
 kind of vegetable or animal food, from the bark of trees to the 
 oil of whales. 
 
 I believe our natural appetites may be made more violent by 
 
 excellive
 
 O F A P P E T I T E S. 12^- 
 
 excefllve indulgence, and that, on the other hand, they may be chai\l 
 weakened by flarvlng. The firfl is often the efie<fl of a perni- 
 cious hixury, the hift may fometinies be the effe(f\ of want, 
 fonietinics of fuperftition. I apprehend that nature has given to 
 our appetites that degree of ftrength which is mod proper for us j 
 and that whatever ahers tlieir natural tone, either in excefs or 
 in defetY, does not mend the work of nature, but may mar and 
 pervert it. 
 
 A man may eat from appetite only. So the brutes common- 
 ly do. He may eat to pleafe his tafte when he has no call of 
 appetite. I believe a brute may do this alfo. He may eat for 
 the fake of health, when neither ajipetite nor tafte invites. 
 This, as far as I am able to judge, brutes never do. 
 
 From fo many different principles, and from many more, the 
 fame adion may be done ; and this may be faid of moft human 
 adions. From this, it appears, that very different and contrary 
 theories may ferve to account for the adlions of men. The 
 caufes affigned may be fufhcient to produce the effecfb, and yet 
 not be the true caufes. 
 
 To acH: merely from appetite is neither good nor ill in a mo- 
 ral view. It is neither an object of praife nor of blame. No 
 man claims any praife becaufe he eats when he is hungry, or 
 refts when he is weary. On the other hand, he is no objedl of 
 blame, if he obeys the call of appetite when there is no reafon 
 to hinder him. In this, he ads agreeably to his nature. 
 
 From this we may obferve, that the definition of virtuous ac- 
 tions, given by the ancient Stoics, and adopted by fome modera 
 authors, is imperfed. They defined virtuous adions to be fuch 
 as are according to nature. What is done according to the animal 
 part of our nature, which is common to us with the brute-ani- 
 raals, is in itfelf neither virtuous nor vicious, but perfedly in- 
 different.
 
 126 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. I. diiTerent. Then only it becomes vicious, when it is done in op- 
 poiition to Ibme principle of iuperior importance and authority. 
 And it may be virtuous, if done for fome important or worthy 
 tnd. 
 
 Appetites, considered in themfelves, are neither focial princi- 
 ples of adion, nor felfifh. They cannot be called focial, be- 
 caufe they imply no concern for the good of others. Nor can 
 they juflly be called felfiili, though they be commonly referred 
 to that clafs. An appetite draws us to a certain object, without 
 regard to its being good for us, or ill. There is no felf-love im- 
 plied in it any more than benevolence. We fee, that, in many 
 cafes, appetite may lead a man to what he knows will be to his 
 hurt. To call this adling from felf-love, is to pervert the mean- 
 ing of words. It is evident, that, in every cafe of this kind, 
 felf-love is fncrificed to appetite. 
 
 There are fome principles of the human frame very like to 
 our appetites, though they do not commonly get that name. 
 
 Men are made for labour either of body or mind. Yet ex- 
 ceflive labour hurts the powers of both. To prevent this hurt, 
 nature "hath given to men, and other animals, an uncafy fenfa- 
 tion, which always attends excellive labour, and which we call 
 fatigue, -wearinefs, lajjitudc. This uneafy fenfation is conjoined 
 •with the defire of relt, or intermlffion of our labour. And thus 
 nature calls us to reft when we are weary, in the fame manner 
 as to eat when we are hungry. 
 
 In both cafes there is a defire of a certain obje<fl, and an un- 
 eafy fenfation accompanying that defire. In both cafes the de- 
 fire is fatiated by its objed, and returns after certain intervals. 
 In this only they differ, that in the appetites firft mentioned, 
 the uneafy fenfation arifes at intervals without adion, and leads 
 
 to
 
 O F A P P E T I T E S. 127 
 
 to a certain adion : In wearincfs, tlie uncafy fcnfation arifcs CHAP. L 
 from adion too long continued, and leads to relh 
 
 But nature Intended that we Ihould be adive, and we need 
 fome principle to incite us to adlion, when we happen not to be 
 invited by any appetite or pallion. 
 
 For this end, when rtrength and fpirits are recruited by reft, 
 nature has made total inadion as uneafy as excelfive labour. 
 
 We may call this the principle of a^ivi/y. It is mofl confpl- 
 cuous in children, who cannot be fuppofed to know how ufeful 
 and necefTary It is for their improvement to be conflantly em- 
 ployed. Their conftant activity therefore aj^pcars not to pro- 
 ceed from their having fome end conftantly in view, but rather 
 from this, that they defire to be always doing fomething, and 
 feel uneafinefs in total inadion. 
 
 Nor Is this principle confined to childhood 3 it has great ef- 
 fedls in advanced life. 
 
 When a man has neither hope, nor fear, nor defire, nor pro- 
 ject, nor employment, of body or mind, one might be apt to 
 think him the happicfl mortal upon earth, having nothing to do 
 but to enjoy himfelf : but we find him, in fad, the moft un- 
 happy. 
 
 He is more weary of inadlon than ever he was of exceflive 
 labour. He is weary of the world, and of his own exillence j 
 and is more miferable than the failor wreftling with a florin, or 
 the foldier mounting a breach. 
 
 This difmal ftate is commonly the lot of the man who has 
 neither exercife of body nor employment of mind. For the 
 
 mind.
 
 128 ESSAY III. 
 
 ^^HAP^ mind, like water, corrupts and putrifies by ftagnation, but by 
 running purifies and refines. 
 
 Befides the appetites which nature hath given us for ufeful 
 and necefiliry purpofes, we may create appetites which nature 
 never gave. 
 
 The frequent ufe of things which flimulate the nervous fyftem, 
 produces a languor when their effeil is gone off, and a defire 
 to repeat them. By this means a defire of a certain objedt is 
 created, accompanied by an uneafy fenfation. Both are remo- 
 ved for a time by the objedl defired j but they return after a 
 certain interval. This differs from natural appetite, only in 
 being acquired by cuflom. Such are the appetites which fome 
 men acquire for the ufe of tobacco, for opiates, and for intoxi-^ 
 eating liqours. 
 
 Thefe are commonly called habits, and juftly. But there are 
 different kinds of habits, even of the adive fort, which ought to 
 be difflnguifhed. Some habits produce only a facility of doing 
 a thing, without any inclination to do it. All arts are habits of 
 this kind, but they cannot be called principles of adllon. Other 
 habjts produce a pronenefs to do an adlion, without thought or 
 intention. Thefe we confidered before as mechanical prin- 
 ciples of adlion. There are other habits which produce a de- 
 lire of a certain objeft, and an uneafy fenfation, till it is obtain- 
 ed. It is this lafl kind only that I call acquired appetites. 
 
 As It is befl to preferve our natural appetites, in that tone and 
 degree of flrength which nature gives them, fo we ought to be- 
 ware of acquiring appetites which nature never gave. They 
 are always ufelefs, and very often hurtful. 
 
 Although, as was before obferved, there be neither virtue nor 
 
 vice
 
 O F A P P E T I T E S. 129 
 
 vice in riding- from appetite, there may be much of either in the ^^^- ^- 
 management of our appetites. 
 
 When appetite h oppofed by fome principle drawing a con- 
 trary way, there muft be a determination of the will, which 
 fliall prevail, and this determination may be, in a moral fenfe, 
 right or wrong. 
 
 Appetite, even in a brute-animal, may be reftrained by a 
 ilronger principle oppofed to it. A dog, when he is hungry 
 and has meat fet before him, may be kept from touching it by 
 the fear of immediate punilhment. In this cafe his fear ope- 
 rates more ftrongly than his defire. 
 
 Do we attribute any virtue to the dog on this account ? I 
 think not. Nor fhould we afcribe any virtue to a man in a like 
 cafe. The animal is carried by the ftrongeft moving force. This 
 requires no exertion, no felf-government, but paffively to yield 
 to the ftrongeft impulfe. This, I think, brutes always do j there- 
 fore we attribute to them, neither virtue nor vice. We confider 
 them as being neither objeQs of moral approbation, nor difap- 
 probation. 
 
 But it may happen, that, when appetite draws one way, it may 
 be oppofed, not by any appetite or pafiion, but by fome cool 
 principle of adlion, which has authority without any impulfive 
 force : For example, by fome intereft, which is too diftant 
 to raife any pafllon or emotion j or by fome confideration of 
 decency, or of duty. 
 
 In cafes of this kind, the man is convinced that he ought not 
 to yield to appetite, yet there is not an equal or a greater im- 
 pulfe to oppofe it. There are circumftances, indeed, that con- 
 vince the judgment, but thefe are not fiifficient to determine the 
 will agaiufl a ftrong appetite, without felf-govcmment. 
 
 R I
 
 130 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. I. I apprehend that brute-animals have no power of felf-govern- 
 ment. From their conftitution, they muft be led by the appe- 
 tite or paflion which is itrongell for the time. 
 
 On this account they have, in all ages, and among all nations, 
 been thought incapable of being governed by laws, though fonie 
 of them may be fubjeds of difcipline. 
 
 The fame would be the condition of man, if he had no pow- 
 er to reftrain appetite, but by a ftronger contrary appetite or 
 paffion. It would be to no purpofe to prefcribe laws to him for 
 the government of his adions. You might as well forbid the 
 wind to blow, as forbid him to follow whatever happens to give 
 the flrongefl prefent impulfe. 
 
 Every one knows, that when appetite draws one way, duty, 
 decency, or even interefl, may draw the contrary way j and that 
 appetite may give a ftronger impulfe than any one of thefe, or 
 even all of them conjoined. Yet it is certain, that, in every 
 cafe of this kind, appetite ought to yield to any of thefe princi- 
 ples when it ftands oppofed to them. It is in fuch cafes that 
 felf-government is neceflary. 
 
 The man who fuffers himfelf to be led by appetite to do w hat 
 he knows he ought not to do, has an immediate and natural 
 convidtion that he did wrong, and might have done otherwife ;, 
 and therefore he condemns himfelf, and confefles that he yield- 
 ed to an appetite which ought to have been under his com- 
 mand. 
 
 Thus it appears, that though our natural appetites have in 
 themfelves neither virtue nor vice, though the ading merely 
 from appetite, when there is no principle of greater authority 
 to oppofe it, be a matter indifferent ; yet there may be a great 
 deal of virtue or of vice in the management of our appetites; 
 
 and
 
 1" DESIRES. 
 
 13^ 
 
 and that ihc power of fclf-govcrnmciit is nccclTary for their re- CH'^P- "• 
 
 , « ' 
 
 pulation. 
 
 c: U A ?. II. 
 Of Befires, 
 
 A 
 
 NOT HER clafs of animal principles of aclion in man, 1 
 Ihall, for want of a better fpecific name, call dcftres. 
 
 They are diflingiiiflied from appetites by this : That there is 
 not an uneafy fcnfation proper to each, and always accompany- 
 ing it J and that they are not periodical, but conllant, not being 
 fated with their objects for a time, as appetites are. 
 
 The defires I have in view, are chiefly thefe three, tlie defire 
 of power, the defire of efleem, and the defire of knowledge. 
 
 We may, I think, perceive fome degree of thefe principles in 
 brute-animals of the more fagacious kind j but in man they are 
 much more confpicuous, and have a larger fphere. 
 
 In a herd of black cattle there is a rank and fubordination. 
 When a ftranger is introduced into the herd, he mud fight every 
 one till his rank is fettled. Then he yields to the ftronger and 
 alTumes authority over the weaker. The cafe is much the fame 
 in the crew of a (hip of war. 
 
 As foon as men alTociate together, the defire of fuperiority 
 difcovers itfelf. In barbarous tribes, as well as among the gre- 
 garious kinds of animals, rank is determined by flrength, cou- 
 rage, fwiftnefs, or fuch other qualities. Among civili/ed na- 
 tions, many things of a different kind give power and rank ; 
 
 R 2 places
 
 132 ESSAY III. 
 
 ^HAP^ places in government, titles of honour, riches, ■wifdom, elo- 
 quence, virtue, and even the reputation of thefe. All thefe are 
 either different fpecies of power, or means of acquiring it ; and 
 •when they are fought for that end, mufl be confidered as inftan- 
 ces of the defire of power. 
 
 The defire of efteem Is not peculiar to man. A dog exults In 
 the approbation and applaufe of his mafter, and is humbled by 
 his difpleafure. But in man this defire is much more conlpi- 
 cuous, and operates In a thoufand different ways. 
 
 Hence it Is that fo very few are proof agalnfl flattery, when 
 it Is not very grofs. We wifli to be well In the opinion of o- 
 thers, and therefore are prone to interpret in our own favour, 
 the figns of their good opinion, even when they are ambiguous. 
 
 There are few Injuries that are not more eafy to be born than 
 contempt. 
 
 We cannot always avoid feeing, In the condudl of others, 
 things that move contempt ; but, in all polite circles, the figns 
 of It muft be fuppreffed, otherwife men could not converfe to- 
 gether. 
 
 As there Is no quality, common to good and bad men, more 
 efteemed than courage, nor any thing In a man more the ob- 
 je6i: of contempt than cowardice ; hence every man defires to 
 be thought a man of courage ; and the reputation of cowardice 
 Is worfe than death. How many have died to avoid being 
 thought cowards ? How many, for the fame reafon, have done 
 Vvhat made them unhappy to the end of their lives. 
 
 I believe many a tragical event. If traced to Its fource In hu- 
 man nature, might be referred to the defire of eflieem, or the 
 dread of contempt. 
 
 In
 
 O F D E S I R E S. 133 
 
 In brute-animals there is fo little that can be called know- cha p, ii.^ 
 ledge, that the dcfirc of it can make no confiderable figure in 
 them. Yet I have fccn a cat, when brought into a new habita- 
 tion, examine with care every corner of it, and anxious to know 
 every lurking place, and the avenues to it. And I believe the 
 fame thing may be obferved in many other fpecies, efpeci- 
 ally in thofe that are liable to be hunted by man, or by other 
 animals. 
 
 But the defire of knowledge in the human fpecies, is a prin- - 
 ciple that cannot efcape our obfervation. 
 
 The curiofity of children is the principle that occupies mofl 
 of their time while they are awake. What they can handle 
 they examine on all fides, and often break in pieces, in order to 
 difcover what is within. 
 
 When men grow up their curiofity does not ceafe, but is em- 
 ployed upon other objedls. Novelty is confidered as one great 
 fource of the pleafures of tafte, and indeed is neceflary, in one 
 degree or other, to give a relifh to them all. 
 
 When we fpeak of the defire of knowledge as a principle of 
 adlion in man, we muft not confine it to the purfuits of the Phi- 
 lofopher, or of the literary man. The defire of knowledge dif- 
 covers itfelf, in one perfon, by an avidity to know the fcandal 
 of the village, and who makes love, and to whom ; in another, 
 to know the economy of the next family j in another, to know 
 what the poll brings, and, in another, to trace the path of a new 
 comet. 
 
 When men ihew an anxiety, and take pains to know what is 
 of no moment, and can be of no ufe to thcmfelves or to others, 
 this is trifling, and vain curiofity. It is a culpable weaknefs and 
 folly 3 but flill it is the wrong dIre«flion of a natural principle ; 
 
 and
 
 134 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. II. a^-id fliews the force of that principle, more than when it is di- 
 redied to matters worthy to be known. 
 
 I think it unneceflary to ufe arguments to fliow, that the de- 
 Hres of power, of efteem, and of knowledge, are natural prin- 
 ciples in the conftitution of man. Thofe who are not convinced 
 •of this by refleAing upon their own feelings and fentiments, 
 will not eafily be convinced by arguments. 
 
 Power, efteera and knowledge, are fo ufeful for many purpofes, 
 that it is eafy to refolve the defire of them into other principles. 
 Thofe who do fo muft maintain, that we never defire thefe ob- 
 jeds for their own fakes, but as means only of procuring plea- 
 fure, or fomething which is a natural object of defire. This, 
 indeed, was the dod:rine of Epicurus ; and it has had its vota- 
 ries in modern times. But it has been obferved, that men de- 
 fire poflhumous fame, which can procure no pleafure. 
 
 Epicurus himfelf, though he believed that he fhould have no 
 €xiflence after death, was fo defirous to be remembered with 
 effeem, that, by his lafl will, he appointed his heirs to comme- 
 morate his birth annually, and to give a monthly feafl to his 
 difciples, upon the twentieth day of the moon. What pleafure 
 could this give to Epicurus when he had no exiflence ? On 
 this account, Cicero juflly obferves, that his dodirine was re- 
 futed by his own practice. 
 
 Innumerable inflances occur in life, of men who facrifice 
 eafe, pleafure, and every thing elfe, to the lufl of power, of 
 fame, or even of knowledge. It is abfurd to fuppofe, that men 
 fliould facrifice the end to what they defire only as the means 
 of promoting that end. 
 
 The natural defires I have mentioned are, in themfelves, nei- 
 ther virtuous nor vicious. They are parts of our conftitution, 
 
 ' and
 
 O F D E S I R E S. 135 
 
 and ought to be regulated and rcftrained, when they ftand in cha p, il 
 competition with more important principles. But to eradicate 
 them if it were poOiblc, (and I believe it is not) would only be 
 like cutting oft' a leg or an arm, that is, making ourfelves other 
 creatures than God has made us. 
 
 They cannot, with propriety, be called rehifli. principles, 
 though they have commonly been accounted fuch. 
 
 "When power is defired for its own fake, and not as the means 
 in order to obtain fomething elfe, this deli re is neither felfifh nor 
 focial. When a man defires power as the means of doing good to 
 others, this is benevolence. When he defires it only as the 
 means of promoting his own good, thisisfelf-love. But when he 
 defires it for its own fake, this only can properly be called the 
 defire of power ; and it implies neither felf-lovc nor benevo- 
 lence. The fame thing may be applied to the defires of efleein 
 and of knowledge. 
 
 The wife intention of nature in giving us thefe defires, is na 
 lefs evident than in giving our natural appetites. 
 
 Without the natural appetites, reafon, as was before obferved, 
 would be infufficient, either for the prefervation of the indivi- 
 dual, or the continuation of the fpecies j and without the natu- 
 ral defires we have mentioned, human virtue would be infuffi- 
 cient to influence mankind to a tolerable condutl: in fociety. 
 
 To thefe natural defires, common to good and to bad men, 
 it is owing, that a man, who has little or no regard to virtue, • 
 may notwithftanding be a good member of fociety. It is true, 
 indeed, that perfedl virtue, joined with perfect knowledge, 
 would make both our appetites and defires unneceflary incum- 
 brances of our nature ; but as human knowledge and human 
 
 virtue
 
 136 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. 11,^ virtue are both very imperfedl, thefe appetites and defires are 
 necellary fupplements to our imperfe<5lions. 
 
 Society, among men, could not fubfifl without a certain de- 
 gree of that regularity of condudl which virtue prefcribes. To 
 this regularity of conduft, men who have no virtue are induced 
 by a regard to charaiSler, fometimes by a regard to intereft. 
 
 Even in thofe who are not deditute of virtue, a regard to cha- 
 rader is often an ufeful auxiliary to it, when both principles 
 concur in their diredion. 
 
 The purfuits of power, of fame, and of knowledge, require a 
 felf-command no lefs than virtue does. In our behaviour towards 
 our fellow-creatures, they generally lead to that very condu6t 
 which virtue requires. I fay generally, for this, no doubt, ad- 
 mits of exceptions, efpecially in the cafe of ambition, or the 
 defire of power. , 
 
 The evils which ambition has produced in the world are a 
 common topic of declamation. But it ought to be obferved, 
 that where it has led to one adlion hurtful to fociety, it has led 
 to ten thoufand that are beneficial to it. And we juftly look 
 upon the want of ambition as one of the mofl unfavourable 
 fymptoms in a man's temper. 
 
 The defires of efteem and of knowledge are jhighly ufeful to 
 fociety, as well as the defire of power, and, at the fame time, 
 are lefs dangerous in their exceflTes. 
 
 Although adlions proceeding merely from the love of power, 
 of reputation, or of knowledge, cannot be accounted virtuous, 
 or be entitled to moral approbation ; yet we allow them to be 
 manly, ingenuous, and fuited to the dignity of human nature ; 
 
 and
 
 OFDESIRES. ,37 
 
 and therefore they are entitled to a degree of eftimation, fupc- ctiap. 11. 
 rlor to ihofe which proceed from mere appetite. 
 
 Alexander the Great deferved that epithet in the early part 
 of his life, when cafe and pleafure, and every appetite, were 
 facrificed to the love of glory and power. Bat when we view 
 him conquered hy oriental luxury, and ufing his power to grati- 
 fy his paflions and apjietitcs, he finks in our efteein, and feenu 
 to forfeit the title which he had acquired. 
 
 Sardanapalus, who is faid to have purfued pleafure as ea- 
 gerly as Alexander purfued glory, never obtained from man- 
 kind the appellation of the Great. 
 
 Appetite is the principle of moft of the adions of brutes, and 
 we account it brutal in a man to employ himfelf chiefly in the 
 gratification of his appetites. The dcfires of power, of efleem, 
 and of knowledge, are capital parts in the conftituti-on of man • '' 
 and the adions proceeding from them, though not properly vir- 
 tuous, are human and manly ; and they claim a jufl: fuperiority 
 over thofe that proceed from appetite. This, I think, is the uni- 
 verfal and unbiafled judgment of mankind. Upon what ground 
 this judgment is founded, may deferve to be confidered in its 
 proper place. 
 
 The defires we have mentioned arc not only highly ufeful in 
 fociety, and in their nature more noble than our appetites, they 
 are likewife the moft proper engines that can be ufed in the edu- 
 cation and difcipliue of men. 
 
 In training brute-animals to fuch habits as they are capable 
 of, the fear of punilhment is the chief inllrument to be ufed. 
 But in training men of ingenuous difpofition, ambition to excel, 
 and the love of efteem, are much nobler and more powerful 
 
 S engines,
 
 138 ESSAY III. 
 
 ^CHAF. II . engines, by which they may be led to worthy conduct, and 
 trained to good habits. 
 
 To this we may add, that the defires we have mentioned are 
 very friendly to real virtue, and make it more eafy to be ac- 
 quired. 
 
 A man that is not quite abandoned mufl behave Co in fociety 
 as to preferve forae degree of reputation. This every man de- 
 fires to do, and the greater part adually do it. In order to this, 
 he mufl acquire the habit of rellraining his appetites and paf- 
 fions within the bounds which common decency requires, and fo 
 as to make himfelf a tolerable member of fociety, if not an ufeful 
 and agreeable one. 
 
 It cannot be doubted that many, from a regard to charadler 
 and to the opinion of others, are led to make themfelves both 
 ufeful and agreeable members of fociety, in whom a fenfe of 
 duty has but a fmall influence. 
 
 Thus men, living in fociety, efpecially in poliihed fociety, are 
 tamed and civilized by the principles that are common to good 
 and bad men. They are taught to bring their appetites and paf- 
 fions under due reftraint before the eyes of men, which makes it 
 more eafy to bring them under the rein of virtue. 
 
 As a horfe that is broken is more eafily managed than an un- 
 broken colt, fo the man who has undergone the difcipline of focie- 
 ty is more tractable, and is in an excellent ftate of preparation for 
 the difcipline of virtue ; and that felf-command, which is ne- 
 celFary in the race of ambition and honour, is an attainment of 
 no fmall importance in the courfe of virtue. 
 
 For this reafon, I apprehend, they err very grofsly who con- 
 ceive the life of a hermit to be favourable to a courfe of virtue. 
 
 The
 
 OF DESIRES, 
 
 '39 
 
 The hermit, no doubt, is free from fome temptations to vice, chap. ii. 
 but he is deprived of many ftrong inducements to felf-govcrn- 
 nient, as well as of every opportunity of cxercifing the focial 
 virtues. 
 
 A very ingenious author has refolved our moral fcntiments 
 refpeding the virtues of felf-government, into a regard to the 
 opinion of men. This I think is giving a great deal too much 
 to the love of iefleem, and putting the iliadow of virtue in place 
 of the fubftance ; but that a regard to the opinion of others is, 
 in mofl: inftanccs of our external behaviour, a great inducement 
 to good condud, cannot be doubted. For, whatever men may 
 pradice themfelves, they will always approve of that in others 
 which they think right. 
 
 It was before obferved, that, befides the appetites which na 
 ture has given us, we may acquire appetites which, by indul- 
 gence, become as importunate as the natural. The fame thing 
 may be applied to defires. 
 
 One of the moft remarkable acquired defires Is that of mo- 
 ney, which, in commercial ftates, will be found in mofl men, 
 in one degree or other, and, in fome men, fwallows up every 
 other defire, appetite and pallion. 
 
 The defire of money can then only be accounted a principle 
 of adion, when it is defired for its own fake, and not merely as 
 the means of procuring fomething clfe. 
 
 It feems evident, that there is in mifers fuch a defire of mo- 
 ney ; and, I fuppofe, no man will fay that it is natural, or a part 
 of our original confiitution. It feems to be the ef^'ed of habit. 
 
 In commercial nations, money is an infli-ument by which al- 
 moft every thing may be procured that is defired. Being uleful 
 
 S a for
 
 140 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. IJ. for many different purpofes as the means, fome men lofe fight 
 of the end, and terminate their defire upon the means. Money 
 is alfo a fpecies of power, putting a man in condition to do 
 many things which he could not do without it ; and power is a 
 natural objed: of defire, even when it is not exercifed. 
 
 In like manner, a man may acquire the defire of a title of 
 honour, of an equipage, of an efiate. 
 
 Although our natural defires are highly beneficial to (bciety, 
 and even aiding to virtue, yet acquired defires are not only ufe- 
 lefs, but hurtful and even difgraceful. 
 
 No man is afhamed to own, that he loves power, that he loves 
 efteem, that he loves knowledge, for their own fake. There 
 may be an excefs in the love of thefe things, which is a ble- 
 milh ; but there is a degree of it, which is natural, and Is no 
 blemifli. To love money, titles or equipage, on any other ac- 
 count than as they are ufeful or ornamental, is allowed by all 
 to be weaknefs and folly. 
 
 The natural defires I have been confidering, though they 
 cannot be called facial principles of adlion in the common fenfe 
 of that word, fince it is not their objed: to procure any good or 
 benefit to others, yet they have fuch a relation to fociety, as to 
 ftiew moft evidently the Intention of nature to be, that man 
 Ihould live in fociety. 
 
 The defire of knowledge is not more natural than is the de- 
 fire of communicating our knowledge. Even power would be 
 lefs valued if there were no opportunity of Ihewing it to others. 
 It derives half its value from that circumflance. And as to the 
 defire of elleem, it can have no pofiTible gratification but in fo- 
 ciety. 
 
 Thefe
 
 OF BENEVOLENT AFFECTION IN GENERAL. 141 
 
 Thefe parts of our conltitiition, therefore, are evidently in- chap. iir. 
 tended for focial life ; and it is not more evident that birds were 
 made for flying and fiHies for fwimming, than^hat mm, endow- 
 ed with a natural defire of power, of efteem, and of knowledge, 
 is made, not for the fiivage and folitary Hate, but for living in 
 fociety. 
 
 w 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Of Benevolent Jlffcdlion in generol. 
 
 E have fcen how, by inftind and habit, a kind of me- 
 chanical principles, man, without any expence of 
 thought, without deliberation or will, is led to many anions, 
 necellary for his prefervation and well-being, which, without 
 thofe principles, all his fkill and wifdom would not have been 
 able to accomplifli. 
 
 It may perhaps be thought, that his deliberate and voluntary 
 actions are to be guided by his reafon. 
 
 But it ought to be obftrved, that he is a voluntary agent long 
 before he has the ufe of reafon. Reafon and virtue, the prero- 
 gatives of man, are of the laieft growth. They come to matu- 
 rity by flow degrees, and are too weak, in the greater part of 
 the fpecies, to fecure the prefervation of individuals and of com- 
 munities, and to produce that varied fcene of human life, in 
 which they are to be exercifed and improved. 
 
 Therefore the wife Author of our being haili imnlanted in 
 human nature many inferior principles of ad^tion, which, with 
 little or no aid of reafon or virtue, preferve the fpecies, and pro- 
 duce the various exertions, and the various changes and revolu- 
 tions which we oLfcrve upon the theatre of life. 
 
 In
 
 142 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. III. In this bufy fcene, reafon and virtue have accefs to adl their 
 parts, and do often produce great and good efFed:s ; but whe- 
 ther they interpofe or not, there are adlors of an inferior order 
 that will carry on the play, and produce a variety of events, 
 good or bad. 
 
 Reafon, if It were perfedl, would lead men to ufe the proper 
 means of preferving their own lives, and continuing their kind. 
 But the Author of our being hath not thought fit to leave this 
 taflc to reafon alone, otherwife the race would long ago have 
 been extind. He hath given us, in common with other ani- 
 mals, appetites, by which thofe important purpofes are fecured, 
 whether men be wife or foollfh, virtuous or vicious. 
 
 Reafon, if it were perfedl, would lead men neither to lofe the 
 benefit of their adlive powers by inadllvlty, nor to overfirain 
 them by excellive labour. But nature hath given a powerful 
 afliflant to reafon, by making inadlvlty a grievous punifhment 
 to Itfelf; and by annexing the pain of lallitude to exceffive 
 labour. 
 
 Reafon, If It were perfed, would lead us to defire power, know- 
 ledge, and the efteem and affection of our fellow-men, as means 
 of promoting our own happlnefs, and of being ufeful to others. 
 Here again, nature, to fupply the defeds of reafon, hath given 
 us a ftrong natural defire of thofe objeds, which leads us to pur- 
 fue them without regard to their utility. 
 
 Thefe principles we have already confidered ; and, we may 
 obferve, that all of them have things, not perfons, for their ob- 
 jedt. They neither imply any good nor 111 affedllon towards 
 any other perfon, nor even towards ourfelves. They cannot 
 therefore, with propriety, be called either felfi/h ox foetal. But 
 there are various principles of adion in man, which have per- 
 fons for their immediate objed, and imply, in their very nature, 
 
 our
 
 OF BENEVOLENT AFFECTION IN GENERAL. 143 
 
 our being well or ill affedled to fome peilbn, or, at leaft, to fome CHA? ill. 
 animated being. 
 
 Such principles I lluill call by the general name of affc6lions ; 
 Nvhether they difpofe us to do good or hurt to others. 
 
 Perhaps, in giving them this general name, I extend the meaning 
 of the word nffc£lion beyond its common ufe in difcourfe. Indeed 
 our language feems in this to have departed a little from analogy : 
 For ^ve ufe the verb affeB, and the participle affcEled^ in an indif- , 
 ferent fenfe, fo that they may be joined either with good or ill. 
 A man may be faid to be ill afFecled towards another man, or 
 well affected. But the word affeElmi^ which, according to ana- 
 logy, ought to have the fame latitude of lignification with that* 
 from which it is derived, and therefore ought to be applicable 
 to ill affediions as well as to good, feems, by cuflom, to be li- 
 mited to good affedions. When we fpeak of having affection 
 for any perfon, it is always underflood to be a benevolent af- 
 fedlion. 
 
 Malevolent principles, fuch as anger, refentment, envy, are 
 not commonly called affeUions, but rsLthev paj^ons. 
 
 I take the reafon of this to be, that the malevolent affedlions 
 are almoft always accompanied with that perturbation of mind 
 which we properly call pajfion ; and this paflion, being the mofl 
 conlpicuous ingredient, gives its name to the whole. 
 
 Even love, when it goes beyond a certain degree, is called a 
 pajfwn. But it gets not that name when it is fo moderate as not 
 to difcompofe a man's mind, nor deprive him in any meafure of 
 the government of himfelf. 
 
 As we give the name of pajfwn, even to benevolent affcdion 
 when it is fo vehement as to difcompofe the mind, fo, I think, 
 
 without
 
 144 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. III. without trerpafling much agahift propriety of words, we may 
 give the name of affe£l'ioii even to malevolent principles, when 
 unattended with that difturhance of mind which commonly, 
 though not always, goes along with them, and which has made 
 them get the name oi pajfwns. 
 
 The principles which lead us immediately to defire the good 
 of others, and thofe that lead us to defire their hurt, agree in 
 this, that perfons, and not things, are their immediate objed. 
 Both imply our being fome way affecfted towards the perfon. 
 They ought therefore to have fome common name to exprefs 
 what is common in their nature ; and I know no name more 
 proper for this than affcBion. 
 
 Taking affedion therefore in this extenfive fenfe, our affec- 
 tions are very naturally divided into benevolent and malevolent, 
 according as they imply our being well or ill affcdled towards 
 their objed. 
 
 There are fome things common to all benevolent afFedlions, 
 others wherein they differ. 
 
 They differ both in the feeling, or fenfation, which is an in- 
 gredient in all of them, and in the objed;s to which they are 
 direded. 
 
 They all agree in two things, to wit. That the feeling which 
 accompanies them is agreeable; and that they imply a defire 
 of good and happinel's to their objedl. 
 
 The affedion we bear to a parent, to a child, to a benefador, 
 to a perfon in diftrefs, to a miftrefs, differ not more in their ob- 
 je6l, than in the feelings they produce in the mind. We have 
 not names to exprefs the differences of theie feelings, but every 
 man is confcious of a difference. Yet, with all this difference, 
 they agree in being agreeable feelings. 
 
 I
 
 OF BENEVOLENT AFFECTION IN GENERAL. 145 
 
 I know no exception to this rule, If we diflingulili, as \vc cha p, ul 
 ouglu, the feeling which naturally and necclTarily attends the 
 kind affcclion, from tliofc which accidentally, in certain cir- 
 cumftanccs, it may jiroduce. 
 
 The parental afFeftion is an agreeable feeling; but it makies 
 the misfortune or mifbehaviour of a child give a deeper wound 
 to the mind. Pity is an agreeable feeling, yet diftrefs, which 
 we are not able to relieve, may give a painful fympathy. Love 
 to one of the other fex is an agreeable feeling ; but where it 
 does not meet with a proper return, it may give the mod pun- 
 gent dillrefs. 
 
 The joy and comfort of human life confifts in the reciprocal 
 exercife of kind afFedions, and without them life would be unde- 
 firable. 
 
 It has been obferved by Lord Shaftesbury, and by many other 
 judicious moralifts. That even the epicure and the debauchee, 
 who are thought to place all their happinefs in the gratifica- 
 tions of fenfe, and to purfue thefe as their only objecft, can find 
 no reliih in folitary indulgences of this kind, but in thofe only 
 that are mixed with focial intercourfe, and a reciprocal exchange 
 of kind afFedions. 
 
 Cicero has obferved, that the word convivium, which in Latin 
 fignifies a feaft, is not borrowed from eating or from drinking, 
 but from that focial intercourfe which, being the chief part of 
 fuch an entertainment, gives the name to the whole. 
 
 Mutual kind afFcdions are undoubtedly the balm of life, and 
 of all the enjoyments common to good and bad men, are the 
 chief. If a man had no perfon whom he loved or eftecmcd, no 
 perfon who loved or efteeined him, how wretched mufl his con- 
 
 T d it ion
 
 145 ESSAY III. 
 
 CKAP^^ dition be ! Surely a man capable of reflection would chufe to 
 pafs out of exiflence, rather than to live in fuch a ftate. 
 
 It has been, by the Poets, reprefented as the ftate of Tome 
 bloody and barbarous tyrants ; but Poets are allowed to paint 
 a little beyond the life. Atreus is reprefented as faying, Ode- 
 rint dum metuant. " I care not for their hatred, providing they 
 " dread my power." I believe there never .was a man fo dif- 
 pofed towards all mankind. The moft odious tyrant that ever 
 was, will have his favourites, whofe affedllon he endeavours to 
 deferve or to bribe, and to whom he bears fome good will. 
 
 We may therefore lay it down as a principle, that all benevo- 
 lent aiFedions are, in their nature, agreeable ; and that, next 
 to a good confcience, to which they are always friendly, and 
 never can be adverfe, they make the capital part of human hap- 
 pinefs. 
 
 Another ingredient ellential to every benevolent affedion, 
 and from which it takes the name, is a delire of the good and 
 happinefs of the objedt. 
 
 • 
 
 The objedt of benevolent affedion therefore, muft be fome be- 
 ing capable of happinefs. When we fpeak of affed:ion to a houfe, 
 or to any inanimate thing, the word has a different meaning. For 
 that which has no capacity of enjoyment, or of fuffering, may 
 be an objedl of liking or difguft, but cannot pofGbly be an ob- 
 jedl either of benevolent or malevolent affedion. 
 
 A thing may be defired either on its own account, or as the 
 ineans in order to fomething elfe. That only can properly be 
 called an obje6b of defire, which is defired upon its own account j 
 and it is only fuch defires that I call principles of adion. When 
 any thing is defired as the means only, there muft be an end 
 
 for
 
 OF BENEVOLENT AFFECTION IN GENERAL. 147 
 
 for which it is dcfired ; and the defire of the enti is, in this CHAP. ill. 
 cafe, the principle of adion. The means are dell red only as 
 they tend to that end ; and if different, or even contrary means 
 tended to the fame end, they would be equally defired. 
 
 On this account I confider thofe affedions only as benevo- 
 lent, where the good of the objedt is defired ultimately, and 
 not as the means only, in order to fomething elfe. 
 
 To fay that we defire the good of others, only in order to 
 procure fome pleafure or good to ourfelves, is to fay that there 
 is no benevolent affedlion in human nature. 
 
 This indeed has been the opinion of fome Philofophers, both 
 in ancient and in later times. I intend not to examine this opi- 
 nion in this place, conceiving it proper to give that view of the 
 principles of adlion in man, which appears to me to be jufl, be- 
 fore I examine the fyflems wherein they have been miftakcn or 
 mifreprefented. 
 
 I obferve only at prefent, that it appears as unreafonahle to 
 refolve all our benevolent affections into felf-love, as it would 
 be to refolve hunger and thirfl into felf-love. 
 
 Thefe appetites are neceflary for the prefervation of the indi- 
 vidual. Benevolent affedlions are no lefs neceffary for the pre- 
 fervation of fociety among men, without which man would be- 
 come an eafy prey to the beafts of the field. 
 
 We are placed in this world, by the Author of our being, 
 furrounded with many objedls that are neceffiry or ufeful to us, 
 and with many that may hurt us. We are led, not by rcafon and 
 felf-love only, but by many inlHnds, and appetites, and natural 
 defires, to feek the former and to avoid the latter. 
 
 T 2 Bur
 
 148 ESSAY HI. 
 
 CHAP. III. But of all the things of this world, mau may be the mofl ufe- 
 "^ ful, or the moft hurtful to man. Every man is in the power of 
 
 every man with whom he lives. Every man has power to do 
 much good to his fellow-men, and to do more hurt. 
 
 We cannot live without the fociety of men ; and it would be 
 impoffible to live in fociety, if men were not difpofed to do 
 much of that good to men, and but little of that hurt, which it 
 is in their power to do. 
 
 But how fhall this end, fo neceflary to the exiftence of human 
 fociety, and confequently to the exiftence of the human fpecies, 
 be accompliihed ? 
 
 If we judge from analogy, we muft conclude, that in this, as 
 in other parts of our conduit, our rational principles are aided 
 by principles of an inferior order, fimilar to thofe by which ma- 
 ny brute animals live in fociety with their fpecies ; and that by 
 means of fuch principles, that degree of regularity is obferved, 
 which we find in all focieties of men, whether wife or foolifh, 
 virtuous or vicious. 
 
 The benevolent affedions planted in human nature, appear 
 therefore no lefs neceffary for the prefervation of the human 
 fpecies, than the appetites of hunger and thirfl. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 Of the particular Benevolent AffeB'tons. 
 
 HAVING premifed thefe things in general concerning be- 
 nevolent affediions, I ihall now attempt fome enumera- 
 tion of them. 
 
 I. The
 
 OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 149 
 
 I. The firj] 1 mention Is tlint of parents and cliildrcn, and o- CHAP. iv. 
 thcr near relations. """ '""^"^ 
 
 This we commonly call natural affedion. Every language 
 has a name for it. It is common to us with moft of the brute- 
 animals J and is varioufly modified in different animals, accor- 
 ding as it is more or Icfs nccellary for the prcfervation of the 
 fpecies. 
 
 Many of the infect-tribe need no other care of parents, than 
 that the eggs be laid in a proper place, where they iliall have 
 neither too little nor too much heat, and where the animal, as 
 foon as it is hatched, ftiall find its natural food. This care the 
 parent takes, and no more. 
 
 In other tribes, the young mufl be lodged in fome fecret place, 
 where they cannot be eafily difcovered by their enemies. They 
 rnuft be cheriflied by the warmth of the parent's body. They 
 mull be fuckled, and fed at firft with tender food ; attended in 
 their excurfions, and guarded from danger, till they have learn- 
 ed by experience, and by the example of their parents, to pro- 
 vide for their own fubfirtence and fafety. With what afllduity 
 and tender affection this is done by the parents, in every fpecies 
 that requires it, is well known. 
 
 The eggs of the feathered tribe are commonly hatched by in- 
 cubation of the dam, who leaves off at once her fprightly mo- 
 tions and migrations, and confines herfelf to her folitary and 
 painful talk, cheered by the fong of her mate upon a neighbour- 
 ing bough, and fometimes fed by him, fomctinies relieved in 
 her incubation, while (lie gathers a fcanty meal, and with the 
 greateft difpatch returns to her port. 
 
 The young birds of many fjiecies are fo very tender and deli- 
 cate, that man, with all his wifdom and experience, would not 
 
 be
 
 I50 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. IV. be able to rear one to maturity. But the parents, without any 
 experience, know perfectly how to rear fometimes a dozen or 
 more at one brood, and to give every one its portion in due fea- 
 fon. They know the food beft fuited to their delicate confll- 
 tution, which is fometimes afforded by nature^, fometimes muft 
 be cooked and half digefted in the flomach of the parent. 
 
 In fome animals, nature hath furnifhed the female with a kind 
 of fecond womb, into which the young retire occafionally, for 
 food, warmth, and the conveniency of being carried about with 
 the mother. 
 
 It would be endlefs to recou-nt all the various ways in which 
 the parental affedtion is exprefled by brute-animals. 
 
 He muft, in my apprehenfion, have a very flrange complexion 
 of underftanding, who can furvey the various ways in which the 
 young of the various fpecies are reared, without wonder, with- 
 out pious admiration of that manifold wifdom, which hath fo 
 fkilfully fitted means to ends, in fuch an infinite variety of ways. 
 
 In all the brute-animals we are acquainted with, the end of 
 the parental affedion is completely anfwered in a fliort time ; 
 and then it ceafes as if it had never been. 
 
 The infancy of man is longer and more helplefs than that of 
 any other animal. The parental affedlion is neceffary for many 
 years j it is highly ufeful through life^ and therefore it termi- 
 nates only with life. It extends to children's children without 
 any diminution of its force. 
 
 How common is it to fee a young woman, in the gayefl; period 
 of life, who has fpent her days in mirth, and her nights in profound 
 fleep, without foUicitude or care, all at once transformed into 
 the careful, the folicitous, the watchful nurfe of her dear in- 
 fant :
 
 OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 151 
 
 flint : doing nothing by day but gazing upon it, and fcrving it Sll^Il!^* 
 in the meaneft oflices ; by night, depriving hcrfelf of found flecp 
 for months, that it may lie Cafe in her arms. Forgetful of her- 
 felf,- her whole care is centered in this little ohjed. 
 
 Such a fudden transformation of her whole habits, and occu- 
 pation, and turn of mind, if we did not fee it every day, would 
 appear a more wonderful mctamorphofis than any that Ovid has 
 defcribed. 
 
 This, however, is the work of nature, and not the effed of 
 rcafon and refledion. For we fee it in the good and in the bad, 
 in the moll thoughtlefs, as well as in the thoughtful. 
 
 Nature has afllgned different departments to the father and 
 mother in rearing their offspring. This may be feen in many 
 brute-animals; and that it is fo in the human fpecies, was long 
 ago obferved by Socrates, and mofl beautifully illuftrated by 
 him, as we learn from Xenophon's Oeconom'icks. The parental 
 affecftion in the different fexes is exadly adapted to the ollice 
 affigned to each. The father would make an awkward nurfe to 
 a new-bom child, and the mother too indulgent a guardian. But 
 both adl with propriety and grace in their proper fphere. 
 
 It is very remarkable, that when the office of rearing a child 
 is transferred from the parent to another perfon, nature feems 
 to transfer the affedion along with the office. A wet nurfe, or 
 even a dry nurfe, has commonly the fame affedion for her nurf- 
 ling, as if fhe had bom it. The fad is fo well known that 
 nothing needs be faid to confirm it 3 and it feems to be the work 
 of nature. 
 
 Our affedlons are not immediately in our power, as our out- 
 ward adions are. Nature has direded them to certain objeds. 
 
 We
 
 152 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP IV. ^^\TQ jnay do kind offices without affedion i but we cannot create 
 an affedion which nature has not given. 
 
 Reafon might teach a man that his children are particularly 
 committed to his care by the providence of God, and, on that 
 account, that he ought to attend to them as his particular 
 charge ; but reafon could not teach him to love them more than 
 other children of equal merit, or to be more afflidled for their 
 misfortunes or mifbehaviour. 
 
 It is evident, therefore, that that peculiar fenfibility of affec- 
 tion, with regard to his own children, is not the effect of reafon- 
 ing or reflection, but the effed: of that conllitution which na- 
 ture has given him. 
 
 There are fome affe<!^ions which we may call rational^ becaufe 
 they are grounded upon an opinion of merit in the objed:. The 
 parental affediou is not of this kind. For though a man's af- 
 fedion to his child may be encreafed by merit, and diminifhed 
 by demerit, I think no man will fay, that it took its rife from 
 an opinion of merit. It is not opinion that creates the affedion, 
 but affedion often creates opinion. It is apt to pervert the 
 judgment, and create an opinion of merit where there is none. 
 
 The abfolute neceflity of this parental affedion, in order to 
 the continuance of the human fpecies, is fo apparent, that there 
 is no need of arguments to prove it. The rearing of a child 
 from its birth to maturity requires fo much time and care, and 
 fuch infinite attentions, that, if it were to be done merely from 
 confiderations of reafon and duty, and were not fweetened by 
 affeftion in parents, nurfes and guardians, there is reafon to 
 doubt, whether one child in ten thoufand would ever be reared. 
 
 Befide the abfolute neceflity of this part of the human con- 
 ftitution to the prefervation of the fpecies, its utility is very 
 
 great
 
 OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 155 
 
 great, for tempering the giddinefs and impetuofity of youth, Cir.A P. iv . 
 
 and improving its knowledge by the prudence and experience of 
 
 age, for encouraging induflry and frugah'ty in the parents, in 
 
 order to provide for their children, for the folace and fupport 
 
 of parents under the infirmities of old age ; not to mention 
 
 that it probably gave rife to the firft civil governments. 
 
 It does not appear that the parental, and other family affec- 
 tions, are, in general, either too ftrong or too weak for anfwer- 
 ing their end. If they were too weak, parents would be moft 
 apt to err on the fide of undue fe verity ; if too ftrong, of un- 
 due indulgence. As they are in facl, 1 believe no man can 
 fay, that the errors are more general on one fide than on the 
 other. 
 
 When thefe afiedlions are exerted according to their inten- 
 tion, under the diredtion of wifdom and prudence, the econo- 
 my of fuch a family is a mod delightful fpedlacle, and furnifhes 
 the moft agreeable and affeding fubjedl to the pencil of the 
 painter, and to the pen of the orator and poet. "^ 
 
 2. The w^x/ benevolent affedtion I mention is gratitude to be- 
 nefadors. 
 
 That good ofiices are, by the very conftitution of our nature, 
 apt to produce good will towards the benefa(ftor, in good and 
 bad men, in the favage and in the civilized, cannot furely be de- 
 nied by any one, in the leaft acquainted with human nature. 
 
 The danger of perverting a man's judgment by good deeds, 
 where he ought to have no bias. Is fo well known, that it is 
 difhonourable in judges, In witnefll-s, in eledlors to offices of 
 truft, to accept of them ; and, in all civilized nations, they are, 
 in fuch cafes, prohibited, as the means of corruption. 
 
 U Tiiofe
 
 »54 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. IV. Thofe who would corrupt the fentence of a judge, the tefli- 
 mony of a witnefs, or the vote of an elecftor, know well, that 
 they muft not make a bargain, or ftipulate what is to be done in 
 return. This would fhock every man who has the leaft pre- 
 tenfion to morals. If the perfon can only be prevailed upon to 
 accept the good office, as a teflimony of pure and difinterefted 
 friendlhip, it is left to work upon his gratitude. He finds hira- 
 felf under a kind of moral obligation to confider the caufe of 
 his benefador and friend in the moft favourable light. He 
 finds it eafier to jullify his condudl to himfelf, by favouring the 
 intereil of his benefaiflor, than by oppofing it. 
 
 Thus the principle of gratitude is fuppofed, even in the na- 
 ture of a bribe. Bad men know how to make this natural prin- 
 ciple the moft effedual means of corruption. The very befl 
 things may be turned to a bad ufe. But the natural texidency 
 of this principle, and the intention of nature in planting it in 
 the human breaft, are, evidently, to promote good-will among 
 men, and to give to good offices the power of multiplying their 
 kind, like feed fown in the earth, which brings a return, with 
 increafe. 
 
 Whether there be, or be not, in the more fagacious brutes, 
 fomething that may be called gratitude, I will not difpute. We 
 muft allow this important difference between their gratitude and 
 that of the human kind, that, in the laft, the mind of the be- 
 nefadlor is chiefly regarded, in the firft, the external adlion only. 
 A brute-animal will be as kindly affedled to him who feeds it in 
 order to kill and eat it, as to him who does it from affedion. 
 
 A man may be juftly entitled to our gratitude, for an office 
 that is ufeful, though it be, at the fame time, difagreeable ; and 
 not only for doing, but for forbearing what he had a right to 
 do. Among men, it is not every beneficial office that claims 
 our gratitude, but fuch only as are not due to us in juftice. A 
 
 favour
 
 OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 155 
 
 favour alone gives a claim to gratitude ; and a favour muft be chap. jv. 
 
 fomcthing more than juftice requires. It does not appear that 
 
 brutes have any conception of juftice. They can neither diflin- 
 
 guifli hurt from injury, nor a favour from a good office that is 
 
 due. 
 
 3. A third natural benevolent affedion is pity and compaflioii 
 towards the diftrefled. 
 
 Of all perfons, thofe in diftrefs ftand mod in need of our 
 good otTices. And, for that reafon, the Author of nature hath 
 planted in the breaft of every human creature a powerful advo- 
 cate to plead their caufe. 
 
 In man, and in fome other animals, there are figns of diftrefs, 
 which nature hath both taught them to ufe, and taught all men 
 to underlland without any interpreter. Thefe natural figns are 
 more eloquent than language ; they move our hearts, and pro- 
 duce a fympathy, and a defire to give relief. 
 
 There are few hearts fo hard, but great diftrefs will conquer 
 their anger, their indignation, and every malevolent affedion. 
 
 We fympathife even with the traitor and with the afta/TIn, when 
 we fee him led to execution. It is only felf-prefervation, and 
 the public good, that makes us reludantly aflent to his being cut 
 off from among men. 
 
 The pradlice of the Canadian nations toward their prifoners 
 would tempt one to think, that they have been able to root out 
 the principle of compafllon from their nature. But this, I ap- 
 prehend, would be a rafti conclufion. It is only a part of the 
 prifoners of war that they devote to a cruel death. This grati- 
 fies the revenge of the women and children who h.ave loft their 
 
 U 2 hulbaud';
 
 156 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. IV. hulbands and fathers in the v/ar. The other pri loners are khul- 
 ly ufed, and adopted as brethren. 
 
 Compaflion with bodily pain is no doubt weakened among 
 thefe favages, becaufe they are trained from their infancy to be 
 fuperior to death, and to every degree of pain ; and he is 
 thouglit unworthy of the name of a man, who cannot defy his 
 tormentors, and fing his death-fbng in the midft of the moft 
 cruel tortures. He who can do this, is honoured as a brave 
 man, though an enemy. But he mud perifli in the experiment. 
 
 A Canadian has the mofi: perfedl contempt for every man who 
 thinks pain an intolerable evil. And nothing is fo apt to flifle 
 compaflion as contempt, and an apprehenlion, that the evil fuf- 
 fered is nothing but what ought to be manfully borne. 
 
 It muft alfo be obferved, that favages fet no bounds to their 
 revenge. Thofe who find no protedion in laws and government 
 never think themfelves fafe, but in the deftrudlion of their ene- 
 my. And one of the chief advantages of civil government is, 
 that it tempers the cruel paffion of revenge, and opens the 
 heart to compaflion with every human woe. 
 
 It feems to be falfe religion only, that is able to check the tear 
 of compaflion. 
 
 We are told, that, in Portugal and Spain, a man condemned to 
 be burned as an obftinate heretick, meets with no compaflion, 
 even from the multitude. It is true, they are taught to look 
 upon him as an enemy to God, and doomed to hell-fire. But 
 Ihould not this very circumftance move compaflion ? Surely it 
 would, if they were not taught, that, in this cafe, it is a crime 
 to fliew compaflion, or even to feel it. 
 
 4. A fourth benevolent affedion is, efleem of the wife and the 
 good» 
 
 The
 
 OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 157 
 
 The word: men cannot avoid feeling this in fome degree. CITAP. iv. 
 Eftecm, veneration, devotion, are different degrees of the fame ' ' ~^ 
 urtec'lion. The perfedion of -wirdom, power and goodnefs, 
 which belongs only tu the Almighty, is the objed of the liO. 
 
 It may be a doubt, whether this principle of efleem, as well as 
 that of gratitude, ought to be ranked in the order of animal prin- 
 ciples, or if they ought not rather to be placed in a higher or- 
 der. They are certainly more allied to the rational nature than ' 
 the others that have been named ; nor is it evident, that there 
 is any thing in brute-animals that delerves the fame name. 
 
 There is indeed a fubordination in a herd of cattle, and in a 
 flock of fheep, which, I believe, is determined by ftrength and 
 courage, as it is among lavage tribes of men. I have been in- 
 formed, that, in a pack of hounds, a ftanch hound acquires a 
 degree of efteem in the pack ; fo that, when the xlogs arc wan- 
 dering in queft of the fcent, if he opens, the pack immediately 
 clofes in with him, \?hen they would not regard the opening of 
 a dog of no reputation. This is fomething like a refpedl to 
 wifdom. 
 
 But I have placed efteem of the wife and good in the order of 
 animal principles, not from any perfuafion that it is to be found 
 in brute-animals, but becaufe, I think, it appears in the mod un- 
 improved and in the moft degenerate part of our fpecies, even 
 in thofe in whom we hardly perceive any exertion, either of rea- 
 fon or virtue. 
 
 I will not, however, difpute with any man who thinks that it 
 deferves a more honourable name than that of an animal prin- 
 ciple. It is of fmall importance what name we give it, if we 
 are fatisfied that there is fuch a principle in the human conftl- 
 tution. 
 
 5. Friendfliip
 
 X 
 
 158 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. IV. ^. Friendfliip is another benevolent affedtion. 
 
 Of this we have fome inftances famous in hlftory : Few in- 
 deed ; but fufficient to fhew, that human nature is fufceptlble 
 of that extraordinary attachment, fympathy and affedllon, to 
 one or a few perfons, which the ancients thought alone worthy 
 of the name of friendfhip. 
 
 The Epicureans found it very difficult to reconcile the ex- 
 Iftence of friendfhip to the principles of their fedl. They were 
 not fo bold as to deny its exiftence. They even boafted that 
 there had been more attachments of that kind between Epicure- 
 ans than in any other fed. But the difficulty was, to account 
 for real friendfhip upon Epicurean principles. They went into 
 different hypothefes upon this point, three of which are explained 
 by ToRQUATUs the Epicurean, in Cicero's book, De Finibus. 
 
 Cicero, in his reply to ToRquATUs, examines all the three, 
 and {hews them all to be either Inconfiflent with the nature of 
 true friendfhip, or inconfiflent with the fundamental principles 
 of the Epicurean fed:. 
 
 As to the friendfhip which the Epicureans boafled of among 
 thofe of their fed, Cicero does not queftlon the fad, but ob- 
 ferves, that, as there are many vvhofe pradice is worfe than 
 their principles, fo there are fome wliofe principles are worfe 
 than their pradice, and that the bad principles of thefe Epicu- 
 reans were overcome by the goodnefs of their nature. 
 
 6. Among the benevolent affedions, the paflion of love be- 
 tween the fexes cannot be overlooked. 
 
 Although it is commonly the theme of Poets, it is not un- 
 worthy of the pen of the Philofopher, as it is a moft important 
 part of the human confHtution. 
 
 It
 
 OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 159 
 
 It is no doubt made up of various ingredients, as many other CHAP. iv. 
 principles ot action are, but it certainly cannot exifl without a 
 very flrong benevolent affcrtion toward its objedl ; in whom it 
 finds, or conceives, every thing that is amiable and excellent, 
 and even fomething more than human. I confider it here, only 
 as a benevolent affedion natural to man. And that it is lb, no 
 man can doubt who ever felt its force. 
 
 It is evidently intended by nature to dired a man in the 
 choice of a mate, with whom he defires to live, and to rear an 
 offspring. 
 
 It has effedually fecured this end in all ages, and in every 
 (late of fociety. 
 
 The paflion of love, and the parental affecftion, are counter- 
 parts to each other ; and when they are conduded with pru- 
 dence, and meet with a proper return, are the fource of all do- 
 mcftic felicity, the greatelt, next to that of a good coafcience, 
 which this world affords. 
 
 As, in the prefent ftate of things, pain often dwells near to 
 pleafure, and forrov? to joy, it needs not be thought ftrange, 
 tliat a paffion, fitted and intended by nature to yield the great- 
 eft worldly felicity, ftioiild, by being ill regulated, or wrong di- 
 reded, prove the occafion of the moft pungent diftrefs. 
 
 But its joys and its griefs, its different modifications in the 
 different fexes, and its influence upon the charader of both, 
 though very important fubjeds, are fitter to be fung than faid ; 
 and I leave them to thofe who have llept upon the two-topped 
 Parnaffus. 
 
 7. The /o/? benevolent affedion I fhall mention is, what we 
 
 commonly
 
 170 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. IV. commonly call public fpirit, that is, an affediion to any coramu- 
 nity to which we belong. 
 
 If there be any man quite deftitute of this affedlion, he muft 
 be as great a monfter as a man born with two heads. Its ef- 
 fects are manifefl in the whole of human life, and in the hiftory 
 of all nations. 
 
 The lituatlon of a great part of mankind, indeed, is fuch, 
 that their thoughts and views muft be confined within a very 
 narrow fphere, and be very much engrofled by their private con- 
 cerns. With regard to an extenfive public, fuch as a ftate or 
 nation, they are like a drop to the ocean, fo that they have rare- 
 ly an opportunity of acting with a view to it. 
 
 In many, whofe adlions may affed the public, and whofe rank 
 and ftation lead them to think of it, private paflions may be an 
 overmatch for public fpirit. All that can be inferred from this 
 is, that their public fpirit is weak, not that it does not exift. 
 
 If a man wifhes well to the public, and is ready to do good 
 to it rather than hurt, when it cofts him nothing, he has fome 
 affedtion to it, though it may be fcandaloufly weak in degree. 
 
 I believe every man has it in one degree or another. What 
 man is there who does not refent fatyrical refledions upon his 
 country, or upon any community of which he is a member .'' 
 
 Whether the affedlion Ije to a college or to a cloifter, to a 
 clan or to a profefTion, to a party or to a nation, it is public 
 fpirit, Thefe affedlions differ, not in kind, but in the extent of 
 their objed;. 
 
 The objedl extends as our connedions extend j and a fenfe of 
 
 the
 
 OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. i5i 
 
 the connection carries the affcdlon along with It to every com- CHAT, iv.^ 
 munity to which we can apply the pronouns we and our. 
 
 Friend, parent, neighbour, firfl it will embrace, 
 His country next, and then all human race. Pope. 
 
 Even in the mifanthrope, this afFcdlon Is not extlngulflied. 
 It is overpowered by the apprehenfjon he has of the worthlefs- 
 nefs, the bafenefs, and the ingratitude of mankind. Convince 
 him, that there is any amiable quality in the fpecies, and imme- 
 diately his philanthropy revives, and rejoices to find an objedl 
 on which it can exert Itfelf. 
 
 Public rpirit has this in common with every fubordinate prin- 
 ciple of adion, that, when It is not under the government of 
 reafon and virtue, it may produce much evil as well as good. 
 Yet, where there is leaft of reafon and virtue, to regulate it, its 
 good far overbalances its ill. 
 
 It foraetlmes kindles or inflames animofitles between commu- 
 nities, or contending parties, and makes them treat each other 
 •with little regard to juftice. It kindles wars between nations, 
 and makes them deftroy one another for trifling caufes. But, 
 without it, fociety could not fublift, and every community 
 would be a rope of fand. 
 
 When under the diredion of reafon and virtue, It is the very 
 image of God in the foul. It difTufes its benign influence as 
 far as its power extends, and participates in the happinefs of 
 God, and of the whole creation. 
 
 Thefe are the benevolent affedions which appear to me to be 
 parts of the human conflitiition. 
 
 If any one thinks the enumeration incomplete, and that there 
 
 X are
 
 i62 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. IV. are natural benevolent affections, which are not included under 
 any of thoie that have been named, I fliall very readily liften to 
 fuch a corredion, being fenfible that fuch enumerations are 
 very often incomplete. 
 
 If others fhould think that any, or all, the afFedions I have 
 named, are acquired by education, or by habits and aflbciations 
 grounded on felf-love, and are not original parts of our conftitu- 
 tion; this is a point upon which, indeed, there has been much 
 fabtile difputation in ancient and modern times, and which, I 
 believe, muft be determiined from what a man, by careful re- 
 fledlion, may feel in himfelf, rather than from what he obferves 
 in others. But I decline entering into this difpute, till I fhall 
 have explained that principle of action which we commonly call 
 felf-love. 
 
 I fhall conclude this fubjed with fome reflections upon the 
 benevolent affedions. 
 
 The 7?/)? is, That all of them, in as far as they are benevo- 
 lent, in which view only I consider them, .agree very much in 
 the condud they difpofe us to, with regard to their objedls. 
 
 They difpofe us to do them good as far as we have power and 
 opportunity ), to wifli them well, when we can do them no good j 
 to judge favourably, and often partially, of them ; to fympa- 
 thife with them in their afflidions and calamities ; and to rejoice 
 with them in their happineis and good fortune. 
 
 It is Impoflible that there can be benevolent affedlion without 
 fympathy, both with the good and bad fortune of the objed ; 
 and it appears to be impoflible that there can be fympathy with- 
 out benevolent afFedlion. Men do not fyrapathife with one 
 whom they hate ; nor even with one to whofe good or ill they 
 are perfedtly indifferent.. 
 
 We may fympathife with a perfcd flranger, or even with an 
 
 enemy
 
 OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 163 
 
 enemy whom vvc fee In diflrefs ; but this is the effed of pity ; Cfl\ ?.iv\ 
 and if \vc did not pity him, \vc fhould not fympathife with him. 
 
 1 take notice of this the rather, becaufe a very ingenious au- 
 thor in his Theory of Moral Sentiments, gives a very (hfferent ac- 
 count of the origin of fympathy. It appears to me to be the 
 efrccH: of benevolent afFedUon, and to be infeparable from it. 
 
 K ftcond reflecftion is, That the coiiftitution of our nature 
 very powerfully invites us to cheriih and cultivate in our mintls 
 the benevolent alTedions. 
 
 The agreeable feeling which always attends them as a prefent 
 reward, appears to be intended by nature for this purpofc. 
 
 Benevolence, from its nature, compofes the mind, warms the 
 heart, enlivens the whole frame, and brightens every feature of 
 the countenance. It may juftly be faid to be medicinal both to 
 foul and body. We are bound to it by duty ; w-e are invited to it 
 by intereft ; and becaufe both thefe cords are often feeble, we have 
 natural kind affedions to aid them in their operation, and fup- 
 ply their defeds ; and thefe affedlions are joined with a manly 
 pleafure in their exertion, 
 
 A third refledion is. That the natural benevolent affcdions 
 fumllh the mofl irrefiftible proof, that the Author of our na- 
 ture intencled that we fliould live in fociety, and do good to our 
 fellow-men as we have opportunity ; fince this great and im- 
 portant part of the human conftitution has a manifefl relation to 
 fociety, and can have no exercife nor ufe in a folitary flate. 
 
 The Iq/i refledion is. That the different principles of ad:ion 
 have different degrees of dignity, and rife one above another 
 in our eftimation, when we make them objeds of contempla- 
 tion. 
 
 X 2 We
 
 i54 ESSAY III. 
 
 pH^ P-^; We afcribe no dignity to inftlnds or to habits. They lead 
 us only to admire the wifdom of the Creator, in adapting them 
 fo perfedtly to the manner of life of the different animals in 
 which they are found. Mach the fame may be faid of appe- 
 tites. They ferve rather for ufe than ornament. 
 
 The defires of knowledge, of power, and of efteem, rife high- 
 er in our eftimation, and we confider them as giving dignity 
 and ornament to man. The adlions proceeding from them, 
 though not properly virtuous, are manly and refpedtable, and 
 claim a jufl fuperiority over thofe that proceed merely from ap- 
 petite. This I think is the uniform judgment of mankind. 
 
 If we apply the fime kind of judgment to our benevolent 
 affedlions, they appear not only manly and refpectable, but ami- 
 able in a high degree. 
 
 They are amiable even in brute-animals. We love the meek^^ 
 nefs of the lamb, the gentlenefs of the dove, the affedion of a 
 dog to his mafter. We cannot, without pleafure, obferve the ti'- 
 mid ewe, v/ho never fhewed the leafl degree of courage in her 
 own defence, become valiant and intrepid in defence of her 
 lamb, and boldly aflault thofe enemies, the very fight of whom 
 was wont to put her to flight. 
 
 How pleafant is it to lee the family economy of a pair of 
 little birds in rearing their tender offspring ; the conjugal affec- 
 tion and fidelity of the parents ; their cheerful toil and induftry 
 in providing food to their family j their fagacity in concealing 
 their habitation ; the arts they ufe, often at the peril of their 
 own lives, to decoy hawks, and other enemies, from their dwel- 
 ling-place, and the afflicSlion they feel when fome unlucky boy 
 has robbed them of the dear pledges of their affedlion, and frur 
 illrated all their hopes of their riling family ? 
 
 If
 
 OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 165 
 
 If kind afTedion be amiable in brutes, it is not lefs Co in our CTIAP . Tv.^ 
 own fpccics. Even the external figns of it have a powerful 
 charm. 
 
 Every one knows that a perfon of accompliflied good breed- 
 ing, channs every one he converfes with. And what is this 
 good breeding ? If we analyze it, we fhall find it to be made up 
 of looks, geflurcs and fpeeches, which are the natural ligns of be- 
 nevolence and good ufTecftion. He who has got the habit of 
 ufing thefe figns with propriety, and without meannefs, is a 
 ■well-bred and a polite man. 
 
 What is that beauty in the features of the face, particularly of 
 the fair fex, which all men love and admire ? I believe it con- 
 fifts chiefly in the features which indicate good affedlions. Eve- 
 ry indication of meeknefs, gentlenefs, and benignity, is a beauty. 
 On the contrary, every feature that indicates pride, pafllon, envy, 
 and malignity, is a deformity. 
 
 Kind affecftions, therefore, are amiable in brutes. Even the 
 figns and ftiadows of them are highly attradtive in our own fpe- 
 cies. Indeed tliey are the joy and the comfort of human life, 
 not to good men only, but even to the vicious and dilfolutc. 
 
 Without fociety, and the intercourfe of kind affeclion, man is 
 a gloomy, melancholy and joylefs being. His mind opprefled 
 with cares and fears, he cannot enjoy the balm of found fleep : 
 in conftant dread of impending danger, he ftarts at the rufiling 
 of a leaf. His ears are continually upon> the ftretch, and every 
 zephyr brings fome found that alarms him. 
 
 When he enters into fociety, and feels fecurity in the good af- 
 fedion of friends and neighbours, it is then only that his fear 
 
 vanifhes.
 
 ^S6 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. IV. vanirties, and his mind is at eafe. His courage is raifed, his un- 
 ' " ' derftanding is enlightened, and his heart dilates with joy. 
 
 Human fociety may be compared to a heap of embers, which 
 when placed afunder, can retain neither their light nor heat, 
 amidfl the furrounding elements ; but when brought together 
 they mutually give heat and light to each other ; the flame breaks 
 forth, and not only defends itfelf, but fubdues every thing a- 
 roimd it. » 
 
 The fecurity, the happinefs, and the ftrength of human fociety, 
 fpring folely from the reciprocal benevolent affedions of its 
 members. 
 
 The benevolent affedlions, though they be all honourable and 
 lovely, are not all equally fo. There is a fubordination among 
 them J and the honour we pay to them generally correfponds to 
 the extent of their objed. 
 
 The good hufband, the good father, the good friend, the good 
 neighbour, we honour as a good man, worthy of our love and af- 
 fedion. But the man in whom thefe more private affedions 
 are fwallowed up in zeal for the good of his country, and of 
 mankind, who goes about doing good, and feeks opportunities 
 of being ufeful to his fpecies, we revere as more than a good 
 man, as a hero, as a good angel. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 Of Malevolent AffeElion. 
 
 AR E there, in the conftitution of man, any affedions that 
 may be called malevolent f What are they ? And what is 
 their ufe and end ? 
 
 To
 
 OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 167 
 
 To me there feem to be two, which we may call by that name. CHAP. v. 
 They are einul.ition and rclentincnt. Thefc 1 take to be parts 
 of the human conllitution, given us Ijy our Maker for good ends, 
 and, -when properly dirccled and regulated, of excellent ufe. 
 But, as their excefs or abufe, to which human nature is very 
 prone, is the fource and fpring of all the malevolence that is to 
 be found among men, it is on that account 1 call them male- 
 volent. 
 
 If any man thinks that they defcrve a foftcr name, fincc they 
 may be excrcifed according to the intention of nature, without 
 malevolence, to this I have no objeQion. 
 
 By emulation, I mean, a defire of fuperiorlty to our rivals in 
 any purfuit, accompanied with an uneafinefs at being fur- 
 pa fled. 
 
 Human life has juftly been compared to a race. The prize 
 is fuperiority in one kind or another. But the fpecies or forms 
 (if I may ufe the exprtllion) of fuperiority among men are in- 
 finitely diverfirted. 
 
 There is no man fo contemptible In his own eyes, as to hin- 
 der him from entering the lills in one form or another ; and he 
 ^\l\ always fmd competitors to rival him in his own way. 
 
 We fee emulation among brute-animals. Dogs and horfes 
 contend each with his kind in the race. Many animals of the 
 gregarious kind contend for fuperiority in their flock or herd, 
 and fhew manifefi: figns of jealoufy when others pretend to ri- 
 val them. 
 
 The emulation of tlie brute-animals is moHly confined to 
 fwiftnefs, or ftrength, or favour witli their fen)alcs. But the 
 emulation of the human kind has a much wider field. 
 
 In
 
 i68 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP.v. In every profeflion, and in every accompHfliment of body or 
 mind, real or imaginary, there are rivalfliips. Literary men 
 rival one another in literary abilities. Artifts in their feveral 
 arts. The fair fex in their beauty and attractions, and in the 
 refpedl paid them by the other fex. 
 
 In every political fociety, from a petty corporation up to the 
 national adminillration, there is a rivalfhip for power and in- 
 fluence. 
 
 Men have a natural defire of power without refpedl to the 
 power of others. This we call ambition. But the defire of fu- 
 periority, either in power, or in any thing we think worthy of 
 eftimation, has a relpe(5t to rivals, and is what we properly call 
 
 eviulation. 
 
 The flronger the defire is, the more pungent will be the un- 
 •eafinefs of being found behind, and the mind will be the more 
 hurt by this humiliating view. 
 
 Emulation has a manifefl tendency to improvement. With- 
 out it life would ftagnate, and the difcoveries of art and genius 
 would be at a ftand. This principle produces a conftant fer- 
 mentation in fociety, by which, though dregs may be produced, 
 the better part is purified and exalted to a perfe(Sion, which it 
 could not otherwife attain. 
 
 We have not fufficient data for a comparifon of the good and 
 bad effed:s which this principle adually produces in fociety ; 
 but there is ground to think of this, as of other natural princi- 
 ples, that the good overbalances the ill. As far as it is under 
 the dominion of reafon and virtue, its effeds are always good ', 
 when left to be guided by palliou and folly, they are often very 
 bad. 
 
 Reafon
 
 OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. t6^ 
 
 Reafon direds us to ftrive for fuperiority, only in tliinj^s that CHAP, v.^ 
 have real excellence, otlierwife we fpend our labour for that 
 which profiteth not. To value ourfelves for fuperiority in 
 things that have no real worth, or none compared with what 
 they coft, is to be vain of our own folly ; and to be uneafy at 
 the fuperiority of others in fuch things, is no lefs ridiculous. 
 
 Reafon diredls us to flrive for fuperiority only in things in 
 our power, and attainable by our exertion, otherwife we fliall 
 be like the frog in the fable, who fwelled herfelf till (he burft, 
 in order to equal the ox in magnitude. 
 
 To check all defire of things not attainable, and every uneafy 
 thought in the want of them, is an obvious dictate of prudence, 
 as well as of virtue and religion. 
 
 If emulation be regulated by fuch maxims of reafon, and all 
 undue partiality to ourfelves be laid afide, it will be a powerful 
 principle of our improvement, without hurt to any other perfon. 
 It will give ftrength to the nerves, and vigour to the mind, in eve- 
 ry noble and manly purfuit. 
 
 But dlfmal are its effedls, when it is no*: under thedirecftionof 
 reafon and virtue. It has often the moft malignant influence 
 on mens opinions, on their affedtions, and on their adions. 
 
 It Is an old obfervation, that affedion follows opinion; and it 
 is undoubtedly true in many cafes. A man cannot be grateful 
 without the opinion of a favour done him. He cannot have de- 
 liberate refentment without the opinion of an injury; nor efteem 
 without the opinion of fome elUmable quality ; nor compaliion 
 without the opinion of fuffering. 
 
 But it is no lefs true, that opln-on fometimes follows afTcdion, 
 not that it ought, but that it adually does fo, by giving a faife 
 
 Y bias
 
 lyo ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP, v.^ ijjas to our judgment. We are apt to be partial to our friends, 
 and flill more to onrfelves. 
 
 Hence the defire of fuperiorlty leads men to put an undue 
 efllmation upon thofe things wherein they excel, or think they 
 excel. And, by this means, pride may feed itlelf upon the very 
 dregs of human nature. 
 
 The fame defire of fuperiority may lead men to undervalue 
 thofe things wherein they either defpair of excelling, or care 
 not to make the exertion neceflary for that end. The grapes 
 are four, faid the fox, when he faw them beyond his reach. The 
 fame principle leads men to detract from the merit of others, 
 and to impute their brighteft adions to mean or bad motives. 
 
 He who runs a race feels uneafinefs at feeing another out- 
 ftrip him. This is uncorrupted nature, and the work of God 
 within him. But this uneafinefs may produce either of two ve- 
 ry different effeds. It may incite him to make more vigorous 
 exertions, and to flrain every nerve to get before his rival. 
 This is fair and honefl emulation. This is the effecft it is in-- 
 tended to produce. But if he has not fairnefs and candour of 
 heart, he will look with an evil eye upon his competitor, and 
 will endeavour to trip him, or to throw a ftumbling-block in his 
 way. This is pure envy, the moft malignant paflion that can 
 lodge In the human breaft j which devours, as its natural food, 
 the fame and the happinefs of thofe who are moft deferving of 
 our efleem. 
 
 If there be, in feme men, a pronenefs to detrad from the 
 charadler, even of perfons unknown, or indifferent, in others an 
 avidity to hear and to propagate fcandal, to v,'hat principle in 
 human nature muft we afcribe thefe qualities ? The failings of 
 others furely add nothing to our worth, nor are they, in them- 
 felves, a pleafant fubjed of thought or of difcourfe. But they 
 
 flatter
 
 OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 171 
 
 flatter pride, by giving an opinion of our fuperiority to thofe p^^^J- ^; 
 from whom we detracit. 
 
 Is it not poflible, that the fame defire of fuperiority may liave 
 fome fecret influence upon thofe „who love to difplay their elo- 
 quence in declaiming upon the corruption of human nature, 
 and the wickednefs, fraud and infincerity of mankind in gene- 
 ral ? It ought always to be taken for granted, that the declaimer 
 is an exception to the general rule, otherwife he would rather 
 chuie, even for his own fake, to draw a veil over the nakednefs 
 of his fpecies. But, hoping that his audience will be fo civil as 
 not to include him In the black defcription, he rifes fuperior by 
 the deprefllon of the fpecies, and (lands alone, like Noah in the 
 antediluvian world. This looks like envy agalnft the human 
 race. 
 
 It would be endlefs, and no ways agreeable, to enumerate all 
 the evils and all the vices which paflion and folly beget upon 
 emulation. Here, as in mofl cafes, the corruption of the bed 
 things is the worft. In brute-animals, emulation has little matter 
 to work upon, and its effeds, good or bad, are few. It may pro- 
 duce battles of cocks and battles of bulls, and little elfe that is 
 obfervablc. But in mankind, It has an infinity of matter to 
 work upon, and its good or bad effects, according as it is well or 
 ill regulated and directed, multiply in proportion. 
 
 The conclufion to be drawn from what has been faid upon 
 this principle is. That emulation, as far as it is a part of 
 our conftitution, is highly ufeful and important in fociety ; that 
 in the wife and good, it produces the bcft effedls without any 
 harm ; but in the foolifh and vicious, it is the parent of a great 
 part of the evils of life, and of the moft malignant vices that 
 ftain human nature. 
 
 We are next to confider refentmcnt. 
 
 Y a Nature
 
 17^ 
 
 ESSAY HI. 
 
 CHAP. V. Nature difpofes US, when we are hurt, to refift and retaliate, 
 Befides the bodily pain occafioned by the hurt, the mind Is 
 ruffled, and a defire raifed to retaliate upon the author of the 
 hurt or injury. This, in general, is what we call anger or refent- 
 ment. 
 
 A very important diftindlion is made by Bifhop Butler "be- 
 tween fudden refentment, which is a blind impulfe arifing from 
 our conilitution, and that which is deliberate. The firfl may 
 be raifed by hurt of any kind 5 but the laft can only be raiftd by 
 injury real or conceived. 
 
 The fame diftindlion is made by Lord Kames in his Elements 
 of Critic'ifm. What Butler calls fudden, he calls infmnive. 
 
 We have not, in common language, different names for thefe 
 different kinds of refentment; but the diftindlion is very necef- 
 fary, in order to our having jufl notions of this part of the hu- 
 man conftitution. It correfponds perfedly with the diilinction 
 I have made between the animal and rational principles of ac- 
 tion. For this fudden or inftindlive refentment, is an animal 
 principle common to us with brute-animals. But that refent- 
 ment which the authors I have named call deliberate, muft fall 
 under the clafs of rational principles. 
 
 It is to be obferved, however, that, by referring it to that clafs, 
 I do not mean, that it is always kept within the bounds that rea- 
 fon prefcribes, but only that it is proper to man as a reafonable 
 being, capable, by his rational faculties,, of diftinguifliing be- 
 tween hurt and injury. ; a dillin<5lion which no brute-animal can 
 make. 
 
 Both thefe kinds of refentment are raifed, whether the hurt 
 or injury be done to ourlelves, or to thole we are interefted in. 
 
 Wherever
 
 OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS 173 
 
 Wherever there Is any hencvolent aflcdion towards others, chap. v. 
 we relent their wrongs, hi proportion to the rtrength of our af- 
 fedion. Pity and lynipatliy with the fufTcrer, produce rcfent- 
 mcnt againh the author of the fuffcring, as naturally as concern 
 for ourfelves produces rcfentment of our own wrongs. 
 
 I fliall full confider that rcfentment which I call animal, which 
 BuTL£R calls fudJai, and Lord Kames injlin^ive. 
 
 In every animal to which nature hath given the power oF 
 hurting its enemy, we fee an endeavour to retaliate the ill that 
 is done to it. Even a moufe will bite when it cannot run away. 
 
 Perhaps there may be fome animals to whom nature hath 
 given no offenfive weapon. To fuch, anger and refentmenc 
 ■would be of no ufe ; and I believe we fliall find, that they never 
 Ihew any fign of it. But there are few of this kind. 
 
 Some of the more fagacious animals can be provoked to fierce 
 anger, and retain it long. Many of them fhcw great animofity 
 in defending their young, who hardly ftiew any in defending 
 themfelves. Others refift every aflault made upon the flock or 
 herd to which they belong. Bees defend their hive, wild beafls 
 their den, and birds their nelL 
 
 This fudden rcfentment operates In a fimilar manner in men 
 and in brutes, and appears to be given by nature to both for the 
 fame end, namely, for defence, even in cafes where there is no 
 time for deliberation. It may be compared to that natural \\\- 
 ftind, by which a man, who has loft his balance and begins to 
 fall, makes a fudden and violent effort to recover hiuifclf, with- 
 out uny intention or deliberation. 
 
 In. fuch efforts, men. often exert a degree of mufcular flrength 
 
 beyond
 
 174 ESSAY III. 
 
 ^'-^^^- '^i beyond what they are able to exert by a cahn determination of 
 the will, and thereby fave themfelves from many a dangerous 
 fail. 
 
 By a like violent and fudden impulfe, nature prompts us to re- 
 pel hurt upon the caufe of it, whether it be man or beaft. The 
 inflindl before mentioned is folely defenfive, and is prompted by 
 fear. This fudden refentment is offenlive, and is prompted by 
 anger, but with a view to defence. 
 
 Man, in his prefent ftate, is furrounded with fo many dangers 
 from his own fpecies, from brute-animals, from every thing 
 around him, that he has need of fome defenfive armour that fhall 
 always be ready in the moment of danger. His reafon is of 
 great ufe for this purpofe, when there is time to apply it. But, 
 in many cafes, the mifchief would be done before reafon could 
 think of the means of preventing it. 
 
 The wifdom of nature hath provided two means to fupply this 
 defedl of our reafon. One of thefe is the inftindl before men- 
 tioned, by which the body, upon the appearance of danger, is 
 inflantly, and without thought or intention, put in that pofture 
 •which is proper for preventing the danger, orleflening it. Thus, 
 we wink hard when our eyes are threatened ; we bend the body 
 to avoid a ftroke j we make a fudden effort to recover our ba- 
 lance, when in danger of falling. By fuch means we are guard- 
 ed from many dangers which our reafon would come too late to 
 prevent. 
 
 But as offenfive arms are often the fureft means of defence, 
 by deterring the enemy from an alTault, nature hath alfo pro- 
 vided man, and other animals, with this kind of defence, by that 
 fudden refentment of which we now fpeak, which outruns the 
 quickeft determinations of reafon, and takes fire in an infl:ant, 
 threatening the enemy with retaliation. 
 
 The
 
 OF iMALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 175 
 
 .: The firft of thefe principles operates upon the defender only ; CHAP. v. 
 but this operates both upon the defender and the affailant, in- 
 f|)iring the former with courage and animofity, and ftriking ter- 
 ror into the latter. It proclaims to all alT^ilants, what our ancient 
 Scottifh kings did upon their coins, by the emblem of a thilllc, 
 with this motto, Nemo me impune lacejfet. By this, in innume- 
 rable cafes, men and hearts are deterred from doing hurt, and 
 others thereby fecured from fuffering it. 
 
 But as refentment fuppofes an objed on whom we may reta- 
 liate, how comes it to pafs, that in brutes very often, and fome- 
 times in our own fpecies, we fee it wreaked upon inanimate 
 things, which are incapable of furtering by it ? 
 
 Perhaps it might be a fufficient anfwer to this queftion, That 
 pature ads by general laws, which, in fome particular cafes, 
 may go beyond, or fall (liort of their intention, though they be. 
 ever fo well adapted to it in general. 
 
 But I confefs It feems to me impoflible, that there fliould be 
 refentment againll a thing, which at that very moment is con- 
 fidered as inanimate, and confequently incapable either of in- 
 tending hurt, or of being punifhed. For what can be more ab- 
 furd, than to be angry with the knife for cutting me, or with 
 the weight for falling upon my toes ? There muft therefore, I 
 conceive, be fome momentary notion or conception that the ob- 
 ject of our refentment is capable of puniihment ; and if it be 
 natural, before refledion, to be angry with things inanimate, it 
 feems to be a necelFary confequence, that it is natural to think; 
 that they have life and feeling. 
 
 Several phenomena in human nature lead us to conjeclure 
 that, in the earlieft period of life, we are apt to think every 
 object about us to be animated. Judging of them, by ourfelvcs, 
 ■we afcribe to them the feelings we are confcious of in ourlclvcs. 
 
 So
 
 176 ESSAY in. 
 
 CHAP. V. So we Tee a little girl judges of her doll and of her 'play-things. 
 And fo we fee rude nations judge of the heavenly bodies, of the 
 elements, and of the fea, rivers, and fountains. 
 
 If this be fo, it ought not to be faid, that by reafon and expe- 
 rience, we learn to afcribe life and intelligence to things which 
 we before confidered as inanimate. It ought rather to be faid, 
 That by reafon and experience we learn that certain things are 
 inanimate, to which at firfl; we afcribed life and intelligence. 
 
 If this be true, it is lefs furprifing that, before reflexion, wc 
 fliould for a moment relapfe into this prejudice of our early 
 years, and treat things as if they had life, which we once be- 
 lieved to have it. 
 
 It does not much affedl our prefent argument, whether this 
 be, or be not the caufe, why a dog purfues and gnafhes at the 
 Hone that hurt him ; and why a man in a paffion, for lofing at 
 play, fometimes wreaks his vengeance on the cards or dice. 
 
 It is not ftrange that a blind animal impulfe ihould fometimes 
 lofe its proper diredlion. In brutes this has no bad confequence ', 
 in men the leaft ray of refledlion correds it, and fhews its ab- 
 furdity. 
 
 It is fufEciently evident, upon the whole, that this ludden, 
 or animal refehtment, is intended by nature for our defence. 
 It prevents mifchief by the fear of punifliment. It is a kind of 
 penal ftatute, promulgated by nature, the execution of which is 
 committed to the fufFerer. 
 
 It may be expeifled indeed, that one who judges in his own 
 caufe, will be difpofed to feek more than an equitable redrefs. 
 But this difpofition is checked by the refentment of the other 
 party. 
 
 Yet
 
 OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 177 
 
 Yet, in the ftate of nature, injuries once begun, will often be C"ap^v. 
 reciprocated between the parties, until mortal enmity is produ- 
 ced, and each party thinks himfclf fafe only in the dcllrudion 
 of his enemy. 
 
 This right of redrefling and punifliing our own wrongs, fo apt 
 to be abufed, is one of thofe natural rights, which, in political 
 fociety, is given up to the laws, and to the civil magiftratej and 
 this indeed is one of the capital advantages we reap from the 
 political union, that the evils arifing from ungoverned rcfent- 
 ment are in a great degree prevented. 
 
 Although deliberate refentment does not properly belong to 
 the clafs of animal principles ; yet, as both have the fame name, 
 and are diftinguilhed only by Philofophers, and as in real life 
 they are commonly intermixed, I Ihall here make fome remarks 
 upon it. 
 
 A fmall degree of reafoa and refledion teaches a man that in- 
 jury only, and not mere hurt, is a juft objed: of refentment to a 
 rational creature. A man may fuffer grievoufly by the hand of 
 another, not only without injury, but with the moft friendly 
 intention ; as in the cafe of a painful chirurgical operation. Eve- 
 ry man of common fenfe fees, that to refent fuch fuffcring, is 
 tiot the part of a man, but of a brute. 
 
 Mr Locke mentions a gentleman who, having been cured of 
 raadnefs by a very harfh and offenfive operation, with great 
 fenfe of gratitude, owned the cure as the grcateft obligation he 
 could have received, but could never bear the fight of the ope- 
 rator, becaufe it brought back the idea of that agony which he 
 "had endured from his hands. 
 
 In this cafe we fee diftindlly the operation both of the ani- 
 mal, and of the rational princi])le. The firft produced an avt-r- 
 
 Z iion
 
 178 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHA P. V. fion to the operator, which reafon was not able to overcome ; 
 and probably in a weak mind, might have produced lafting re- 
 fentment and hatred. But, in this gentleman, reafon lb far pre- 
 vailed, as to make him fenfible that gratitude, and not refent- 
 ment, was due. 
 
 Suffering may give a bias to the judgment, and make us ap- 
 prehend injury where no injury is done. But, I think, without 
 an apprehenlion of injury, there can be no deliberate refent- 
 nient. 
 
 Hence, among enlightened nations, hoftile armies fight with- 
 out anger or refentment. The vanquilhed are not treated as of- 
 fenders, but as brave men who have fought for their country 
 unfuccefsfuUy, and who are entitled to every office of humanity 
 confiflent with the fafety of the conquerors. 
 
 If we analyze that deliberate refentment which is proper to 
 rational creatures, we fhall find that though it agrees with that 
 which is merely animal in fome refpecls, it differs in others. 
 Both are accompanied with an uneafy fenfation, which diflurbs 
 the peace of the mind. Both prompt us to feek redrefs of our 
 fufferlngs, and fecurity from harm. But, in deliberate refent- 
 ment, there muft be an opinion of injury done or intended. 
 And an opinion of injury implies an idea of iuftice, and confe- 
 quently a moral faculty. 
 
 The very notion of an injury is, that it is lefs than we may juflly 
 claim J as, on the contrary, the notion of a favour is, that it is 
 more than we can jullly claim. Whence it is evident, that juflice 
 is the flandard, by which both a favoui', and an injury, are to be 
 weighed and ellimated. Their very nature and definition con- 
 fift in their exceeding or falling fhort of this ffandard. No man 
 therefore, can have the idea either of a favour or of an injury, 
 who has not the idea of juflice. 
 
 That
 
 OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 179 
 
 That vci-y idea of juftice which enters into cool and delibe- cha p, v.^ 
 rate refcntment, tends to rcftrain its excelTcs. For as there is 
 injuftice in doing an injury, Co there is injuflice in punifliing it 
 beyond meafure. 
 
 To a man of candour and refledion, conrclournefs of the frail- 
 ty of human nature, and that he has often flood in need of for- 
 givenefs himlelf, the plcafure of renewing good underftanding, 
 after it has been interrupted, the inward approbation of a gene- 
 rous and forgiving difpofition, and even the irkfomenefs and un- 
 eafjnefs of a mind rullled by refentment, plead ftrongly agaiuft 
 its excelTes. 
 
 Upon the whole, when we confider. That, on the one hand, 
 every benevolent affedtion is pleafant in its nature, is health to 
 the foul, and a cordial to the fpirits j That nature has made even 
 the outward exprellion of benevolent affedtions in the counte- 
 nance, pleafant to every beholder, and the chief ingredient of 
 beauty in the human Jace divine ', That, on the other hand, every 
 malevolent affection, not only in its faulty excefles, but in its 
 moderate degrees, is vexation and difquiet to the mind, and even 
 gives deformity to the countenance, it is evident that, by thefe 
 fignals, nature loudly admonifhes us to ufe the former as our 
 daily bread, both for health and pleafure, but to confider the 
 latter as a naufeous medicine, which is never to be taken with- 
 out neceffity j and even then in no greater quantity than the 
 neccflity requires. 
 
 Z 2 CHAP.
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 C H A P. VL 
 
 Of Fajfion. 
 
 BEFORE I proceed to confider the rational principles of 
 ad ion, it is proper to obferve, that there are fome things 
 belonging to the mind, which have great influence upon human 
 condudl, by exciting or allaying, inflaming or cooling the ani- 
 mal principles we have mentioned. 
 
 Three of this kind deferve particular confideration. I {hall call 
 them by the names of pajfton, difpofttmi, and opinion. 
 
 The meaning of the word pajfton is not precifely afcertained, 
 either in common difcourfe, or^in the writings of Philofophers. 
 
 I think it is commonly put to fignify fome agitation of mind, 
 which is oppofed to that ftate of tranquillity and compofure, in 
 which a man is moll mafter of himfelf. 
 
 The word iraflej, which anfwers to it in the Greek language, is, 
 by Cicero, rendered by the \} ord perturbatio. 
 
 It has always been conceived to bear analogy to a florm at 
 fea, or to a tempeft in the air. It does not therefore fignify any 
 thing in the mind that is conftant and permanent, but fomething 
 that is occaflonal, and has a limited duration, like a ftorm or 
 tempell. 
 
 Palfion commonly produces fenfible effeds even upon the bo- 
 dy. It changes the voice, the features, and the gefture. The ex- 
 ternal figns of paflion have, in fome cafes, a great refemblance to 
 thofe of madnefs ; in others, to thofe of melancholy. It gives of- 
 ten
 
 O F P A S S I O N. i8i 
 
 ten a deo^ree of mufcular force and agility to the body, far be- CHA P. VI . 
 yond what it poUcHls in cahn moments. 
 
 The effeds of pafTIon upon the mind are not lefs remarkable. 
 It turns the thoughts involuntarily to the ohjedts related to it, 
 fo that a man can hardly think of any thing elie. It gives often 
 , a ftrange bias to the judgment, making a man quickfighted in 
 every thing that tends to inflame his pafllon, and to juftify It, 
 but blind to every thing that tends to moderate and allay it. 
 Like a magic lanthorn, it raifes up fpeclres and apparitions that 
 have no reality, and throws falfe colours upon every objed. It 
 can turn deformity into beauty, vice Into virtue, and virtue into 
 vice. 
 
 The fentlments of a man under its influeiice will appear ab- 
 furd and ridiculous, not only to other men, but even to himfelf 
 when the ftorm is fpent and is fucceeded by a calm. Pafllon often 
 gives a violent impulfe to the will, and makes a man do what he 
 knows he fliall repent as long as he lives. 
 
 That fuch are the effedls of pafllon, I think all men agree. 
 They have been defcribcd in lively colours by poets, orators and 
 moralifts, in all ages. But men have given more attention to 
 the effeds of pafllon than to its nature ; and while they have co- 
 pioufly and elegantly defcribed the former, they have not pre- 
 cifely defined the latter. 
 
 The controvcrfy between the ancient Peripatetics and the 
 Stoics, with regard to the pafllons, was probably owing to their 
 affixing diftcrent meanings to the word. The one feci maintain- 
 ed, that the pafllons are good, and ufeful parts of our onft u- 
 tion, while they are held under the government of reafon. The 
 other fed, conceiving that nothing Is to be called palFion which 
 does not, In fome degree, cloud and darken the underftanding, con- 
 fidered all paliion as hortile to reafon, and therefore maintained, 
 
 that,
 
 i82 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. VI. tjiat, in the wife man, paflion fliould have no exigence, but be 
 utterly exterminated. 
 
 If both feds had agreed about the definition of paflion, they 
 would probably have had no difference. But while one con- 
 fidered paflion only as the caufe of thofe bad effedls which it 
 often produces, and the other confidered it as fitted by nature 
 to produce good effeds, while it is under fubjedion to reafon, it 
 does not appear that what one fedt jufl:ified, was the fame thing 
 which the other condemned. Both allowed that no didlate of 
 paflion ought to be followed in oppofition to reafon. Their dif- 
 ference therefore was verbal more than real, and was owing to 
 their giving different meanings to the fame word. 
 
 The precife meaning of this word feems not to be more clear- 
 ly afcertained among modern Philofophers. 
 
 Mr Hume gives the name oipajftonto every principle of adion 
 in the human mind ^ and, in confequence of this maintains, that 
 every man is, and ought to be led by his paflions, and that the 
 ufe of reafon is to be fubfervient to the paflions. 
 
 Dr Hutch EsoN, confidering all the principles of adlion as fo 
 many determinations or motions of the will, divides them into 
 the calm and the turbulent. The turbulent, he lays, are our ap- 
 petites and our paflions. Of the paflions, as well as of the calm 
 determinations, he fays, that " fome are benevolent, others are 
 " felfifti ; that anger, envy, indignation, and fome others, may 
 " be either felfifli or benevolent, according as they arife from 
 *' fome oppofition to our own interefts, or to thofe of our friends, 
 *' or perfons beloved or efl:eemed." 
 
 It appears, therefore, that this excellent author gives the name 
 of pajfions, not to every principle of adion, but to fome, and to 
 
 thofe
 
 O F P A S S I O N. 183 
 
 thofe only wlien they are turbulent and vehement, not wlicn CHAP. Vl. 
 they are cahn and deliberate. 
 
 Our natural dcfircs and affediions may be fo calm as to leave 
 room for refledlion, ib that we find no difliculty in deliberating 
 coolly, whether, in Inch a particular inftance, they ought ta be 
 gratified or not. On other occafions, they may be fo importu- 
 nate as to make deliberation very difficult, urging us, by a kind 
 of violence, to their immediate gratification. 
 
 Thus, a man may be fenfible of an injury without being in- 
 flamed. He judges coolly of the injury, and of the proper 
 means of redrefs. This is refentment without paJlion. It 
 leaves to the man the entire command of himfelf. 
 
 On another occafion, the fame principle of refentment rifes 
 into a flame. His blood boils within himj his looks, his voice 
 and his gefture are changed ; he can think of nothing but imme- 
 diate revenge, and feels a flrong impulfe, without regard to con- 
 fequences, to fay and do things which his cool reafon cannot 
 juftify. This is the paflion of refentment. 
 
 What has been fald of refentment may eafily be applied to 
 other natural defires and affections. When they are fo calm as 
 neither to produce any fenfible effedts upon the body, nor to 
 darken the undcrfl:anding and weaken the power of felf-com- 
 mand, they are not called paflions. But the fame principle, 
 when it becomes fo violent as to produce thefe effeds upon the 
 body and upon the mind, is a pallion, or, as Cicero very pro- 
 perly calls it, a perturbation. 
 
 It is evident, that this meaning of the word pajfion accords 
 much better with its common ufe in language, than that which 
 Mr Hume gives it. 
 
 When
 
 1^4 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP^. When he fays, that men ought to be governed by their paf- 
 fions only, and that the ufe of reafon is to be fubfervient to the 
 paffiohs, this, at firft hearing, appears a (hocking paradox, re- 
 pugnant to good morals and to common fenfe ; but, like moft 
 other paradoxes, when explained according to his meaning, it is 
 nothing but an abufe of words. 
 
 For if we give the name oi pajfton to every principle of adlion, 
 in every degree, and give the name of reafon folely to the power 
 ■ of difcerning the fitnefs of means to ends, it will be true, that 
 the ufe of reafon is to be fubfervient to the paflions. 
 
 As I wifh to ufe words as agreeably as poffible to their com- 
 mon ufe in language, I fhall, by the word pajfion mean, not any 
 principle of adion dittind: from thofe defires and affedions be- 
 fore explained, but fuch a degree of vehemence in them, or in any 
 of them, as is apt to produce thofe efFeds upon the body or upon 
 the mind which have been above defcribed. 
 
 Our appetites, even when vehement, are not, I think, very 
 commonly called paflions, yet they are capable of being in- 
 flamed to rage, and in that cafe their effedts are very fimilar to 
 thofe of the paflions ; and what is faid of one may be applied to 
 both. 
 
 Having explained what I mean by paflions, I think it unne- 
 ceflary to enter into any enumeration of them, fince they diffei*, 
 not in kind, but rather in degree, from the principles already 
 enumerated. 
 
 The common divifion of the paflions into defire and averfion, 
 hope and fear, joy and grief, has been mentioned almofl: by eve- 
 ry author who has treated of them, and needs no explic tion. 
 But we may obferve, that thefe are ingredients or modifications, 
 
 not
 
 O F P A S S J O N. i8j 
 
 not of tlie paflions only, but of every principle of adion, ani- CHAP. VI 
 mal and rational. 
 
 All of them imply the defire of fome objedl j and the dcfire 
 of an obje(5l cannot l)e without averfion to its contrary ; and, 
 according as the oBjedt is prefent or abfent, dcfirc and averfion 
 will be varioufly modified into joy or grief, hope or fear. It is 
 evident, that defire and averfion, joy and grief, hojoe and fear, 
 may be either calm and fedate, or vehement and pallionate. 
 
 Pafllng thefe, therefore, as common to all principles of adlion, 
 whether calm or vehement, I fliall only make fome obfervations 
 on paffion in general, which tend to fliew its influence on hu- 
 man condud. 
 
 Firjl, It is paflion that makes us liable to ftrong temptations. 
 Indeed, if we had no paflions, we fliould hardly be under any 
 temptation to wrong condu<ft. For, when we view things 
 calmly, and free from any of the falfe colours which paflion 
 throws upon them, we can hardly fail to fee the right and the 
 wrong, and to fee that the firfl is more eligible than the laft. 
 
 I believe a cool and deliberate preference of ill to good is never 
 the firfl: ftep into vice. 
 
 *' When the woman faw that the tree was good for food, and 
 " that it was pleafant to the eyes, and a tree to be defired to 
 " make one wife, flie took of the fruit thereof and did eat, and 
 " gave alfo to her hufljand with her and he did eat ; and the 
 " eyes of them both were opened." Inflamed defire had blind- 
 ed the eyes of their underflanding. 
 
 Fix'd on the fruit flie gaz'd, which to behold 
 Might tempt alone ; and in her cars the found 
 
 A a Yet
 
 i86 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. vr. Yet rung of his perfuafive words impregn'd 
 
 With reafon to her feemhig, and with truth. 
 
 Fair to the eye, inviting to the tafte, 
 
 Of virtue to make wife, what hinders then 
 
 To reach and feed at once both body and mind. Milton. 
 
 Thus our firfl parents were tempted to difobey their Maker, 
 and all their poflerity are liable to temptation from the fame 
 caufe. Paffion, or violent appetite, firfl blinds the underfland- 
 ing, and then perverts the will. 
 
 It is paflion, therefoi'e, and the vehement motions of appe- 
 tite, that makes us liable, in our prefent flate, to flrong tempta- 
 tions to deviate from our duty. This is the lot of human na- 
 ture in the prefent period of our exiftence. 
 
 Human virtue mufl gather flrength by ftruggle and effort. 
 As infants, before they can walk wi,thout Humbling, mufl be ex- 
 pofed to many a fall and bruife; as wrefllers acquire their 
 flrength and agility by many a combat and violent exertion j fb 
 it is in the noblefl powers of human nature, as well as the mean- 
 eft, and even in virtue itfelf. 
 
 It is not only made manifell by temptation and trial, but by 
 thefe means it acquires its flrength and vigour. 
 
 Men muft acquire patience by fuffering, and fortitude by be- 
 ing expofed to danger, and every other virtue by fituations that 
 put it to trial and exercife. 
 
 This, for any thing we know, may be neceffary in the nature 
 of things. It is certainly a law of nature with regard to man. 
 
 Whether there may be orders of intelligent and moral crea- 
 tures who never were fubjedl to any temptation, nor had their 
 
 virtue
 
 O F P A S S I O N. 187 
 
 virtue put to any trial, we cannot without prefumption deter- CHAP.vi. 
 mine. But it is evident, that this neither is, nor ever was the 
 lot of man, not even in the (late of innocence. 
 
 Sad, indeed, would be the condition of man, if the tempta- 
 tions to which, by the conftitution of his nature, and by his cir- 
 cumftances, he is liable, were irrefiftible. Such a flate would 
 not at all be a flate of trial and difcipline. 
 
 Our condition here is fuch, that, on the one hand, pafHon often 
 tempts and folicits us to do wrong j on the other hand, reafon 
 and confcience oppofe the didates of pafTion. The flefli lufteth 
 againft the fpirit, and the fpirit againft the flefh. And upon the 
 iflue of this conflid:, the charadler of the man and his fate de- 
 pend. 
 
 If reafon be vidorious, his virtue is (Irengthened ; he has the 
 inward fatisfadion of having fought a good fight in behalf of 
 his duty, and the peace of his mind is preferved. 
 
 If, on the other hand, paflion prevails againft the fen{e of du- 
 ty, the man is confcious of having done what he ought not, and 
 might not have done. His own heart condemns him, and he is 
 guilty to himfelf. 
 
 This conflict between the paflions of our animal nature and 
 the calm didatcs of reafon and confcience, is not a theory in- 
 vented to folve the phaenomena of human condud, it is a fad, 
 of which every man who attends to his own condud is con- 
 fcious. 
 
 In the moft ancient philofophy, of which we have any ac- 
 count, I mean that of the Pythagorean fchool, the mind of man 
 was compared to a ftate, or commonwealth, in which there are 
 
 A a 2 variouc
 
 i88 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. VI. various powers, fome that ought to govern, and others that ought 
 to be fubordinate. ' 
 
 The good of the whole, which is the fupreme law in this, as 
 in every commonweakh, requires that this fubordination be pre- 
 ferved, and that the governing powers have always the afcendant 
 over the appetites and paflions. All wife and good condud: con- 
 fifts in this. All folly and vice in the prevalence of pallion 
 over the dictates of reafon. 
 
 This philofophy was adopted by Plato j and it is fo agree- 
 able to what every man feels in himfelf, that it muft always pre- 
 vail with men who think without bias to a fyflem. 
 
 The governing powers, of which thefe ancient Philofophers 
 fpeak, are the fame which I call the rational principles of adion, 
 and which I fhall have occafion to explain. I only mention 
 them here, becaufe, without a regard to them, the influence of 
 the paflions, and their rank in our conftitution, cannot be di- 
 flinctly underfl:ood. 
 
 A fecond obfervation is, That the impulfe of pafllon is not al- 
 ways to what is bad, but very often to what is good, and what 
 our reafon approves. There are fome paflions, as Dr Hutc he- 
 son obferves, that are benevolent, as well as others that are 
 felfifli. 
 
 The aflfedions of refentment and emulation, with thofe that 
 fpring from them, from their very nature, difturb and difquiet 
 the mind, though they be not carried beyond the bounds which 
 reafon prefcribes ; and therefore they are commonly called paf- 
 fions, even in their moderate degrees. From a fimilar caufe, 
 the benevolent affedlions, which are placid in their nature, and 
 are rarely carried beyond the bounds of reafon, are very feldom 
 called paflions. We do not give the name of pafllon to bene- 
 volence,
 
 O F P A S S I O N. 189 
 
 volcnce, gratitude, or fVIcndfliip. Yet wc mnft except from this CHAP. vi. 
 gciu nil rule, love between the fexts, which, as it commonly dif- 
 conipofes the mind, and is not eafily kept within reafonable 
 bounds, is always called a paflion. 
 
 All our natural defires and affedions are good and neceffary 
 parts of our conftitution ; and paflion, being only a certain de- 
 gree of vehemence in thefe, its natural tendency is to good, 
 and it is by accident that it leads us wrong. 
 
 Paflion is very properly faid to be blind. It looks not beyond 
 the prefent gratification. It belongs to reafon to attend to the 
 accidental circumfl;ances which may fometimes make that grati- 
 fication impropiex or hurtful. When there is no impropriety in 
 it, much more when it is our duty, paflion aids reafon, and gives 
 additional force to its didates. 
 
 Sympathy with the diflrefl'ed may bring them a charitable re- 
 lief, when a calm fenfe of duty would be too weak to produce 
 the effed. 
 
 Objeds, either good or ill, conceived to be very diflant, when 
 they are confidered coolly, have not that influence upon men 
 which In reafon they ought to have. Imagination, like the eye, 
 diminiflieth its objeds in proportion to their diftance. The 
 paflions of hope and fear muft be raifed, in order to give fuch 
 objeds their due magnitude in the imagination, and their due 
 influence upon our condud. 
 
 The dread of difgrace and of the civil maglflrate, and the ap- 
 prehenfion of future punifliment, prevent many crimes, which 
 bad men, without thefe reflralnts, would commit, and contribute 
 greatly to the peace and good order of fociety. 
 
 There is no bad adion which fome paflion may not prevent; 
 
 nor
 
 I90 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP, vr. jjQj. jg there any external good action, of which fome paflion 
 may not be the main fpring ; and, it is very probable, that even 
 the paflions of men, upon the whole, do more good to fociety 
 than hurt. 
 
 The ill that is done draws our attention more, and is imputed 
 folely to human paflions. The good may have better motives, 
 and charity leads us to think that it has ; but, as we fee not the 
 heart, it is impoflible to determine what ihare men's paflions 
 may have in its produdlion. 
 
 The lajl obfervation is. That if we diflinguifli, in the effedts 
 of our paflions, thofe which are altogether involuntary, and 
 without the fphere of our power, from the effeds which may 
 be prevented by an exertion, perhaps a great exertion, of felf- 
 government ; we fliall find the firfl: to be good and highly ufeful, 
 and the laft only to be bad. 
 
 Not to fpeak of the effedls of moderate paflions upon the 
 health of the body, to which fome agitation of this kind feems 
 to be no lefs ufeful than ftorms and tempefl:s to the falubrity of 
 the air; every paflion naturally draws our attention to its obje<S, 
 and interefts us in it. 
 
 The -mind of man is naturally defultory, and when it has no 
 interefting obje6t in view, roves from one to another, without 
 fixing its attention upon any one. A tranfient and carelefs 
 glance is all that we beftow upon objeds in which we take no 
 concern. It requires a ftrong degree of curiofity, or fome more 
 important paflion, to give us that interefl: in an object which is 
 necefl^ary to our giving attention to it. And, without attention, 
 we can form no true and ft;able judgment of any objedt. 
 
 Take away the paflions, and it is not eafy to fay how great 
 
 a
 
 OF PASSION. 
 
 19T 
 
 a part of mankind would refemble thofe frivolous tnortals, who CHA P, vi . 
 never had a thought that engaged them in good earncft. 
 
 It is not mere judgment or intelle<ftual ability that enables a 
 man to excel in any art or fcience. He mufl: have a love and 
 admiration of it bordering upon enthufiafm, or a pafllonate de- . 
 fire of the fame, or of fome other advantage to be got by that 
 excellence. Without this, he would not undergo the labour and 
 fatigue of his faculties, which it requires. So that, I think, we 
 may with juftice allow no fmall merit to the paflions, even in 
 the difcoveries and improvements of the arts and fciences. 
 
 If the pafllons for fame and diftindion were extinguifhed, it 
 would be difficult to find men ready to undertake the cares and 
 toils of government ; and few perhaps would make the exer- 
 tion neceffary to raite themfelves above the ignoble vulgar. 
 
 The involuntary figns of the paffions and difpofitions of the 
 mind, in the voice, features, and a<flion, are a part of the human 
 conftitution which deferves admiration. The fignification of thofe 
 figns is known to all men by nature, and previous to all expe- 
 rience. 
 
 They are fo many openings into the fouls of our fellow-men, 
 by which their fentiments become vifible to the eye. They are 
 a natural language common to mankind, without which it would 
 have been impoilible to have invented any artificial language. 
 
 It is from the natural figns of the pafllons and difpofitions of 
 the mind, that the human form derives its beauty ; that paint- 
 ing, poetry, and mufic, derive their expreffion ; that eloquence 
 derives it greateft force, and converfation its greatefl charm. 
 
 The paffions, when kept within their proper bounds, give life 
 and vigour to the whole man. Without them man would be a flng:. 
 
 We
 
 192 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. VI. We fee what pollfli and animation the paffion of love, when ho- 
 nourable and not unfuccefsful, gives to both fexes. 
 
 The paffion for military glory raifes the brave commander, 
 in the day of battle, far above himfelf, making his countenance 
 to fhine, and his eyes to fparkle. The glory of old England 
 warms the heart even of the Britifh tar, and makes him defpife 
 every danger. 
 
 As to the bad effedls of paffion, it muft be acknowledged that 
 it often gives a ftrong impulfe to what is bad, and what a man 
 condemns himfelf for, as foon as it is done. But he muft be 
 confcious that the impulfe, though ftrong, was not irrefiftible, 
 otherwife he could not condemn himfelf. 
 
 We allow that a fudden and violent paffion, into which a man 
 is furprifed, alleviates a bad adlion ; but if it was irrefiflible, 
 it would not only alleviate, but totally exculpate, which it never 
 does, either in the judgment of the man himfelf,- or of others. 
 
 To fum up all, paffion furnifhes a very ftrong inftance of the 
 truth of the common maxim, That the corruption of the beft 
 things is worft. 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 0/ D'tfpofition, 
 
 BY difpofit'ton I mean a ftateof mind which, while it lafts, gives 
 a tendency, or pronenefs, to be moved by certain animal 
 principles, rather than by others ; while, at another time, ano- 
 ther ftate of mind, in the fame perfon, may give the afcendant 
 to other animal principles. 
 
 It
 
 OF DISPOSITION. 
 
 195 
 
 It was before obfervecl, that it Is a property of oar appetites CTfAP. vii. 
 to be periodical, cealing for a time, when fated by their objcds, 
 and returning reguhirly after certain periods. 
 
 Even thofe principles which are not periodical, l^ave their ebbs 
 and flows occalionally, according to the prefcnt difpofition of 
 the mind. 
 
 Among fome of the principles of adion there is a natural affi- 
 nity, lb that one of the tribe naturally difpofes to thofe which 
 are allied to it. 
 
 Such an affinity has been obferved by many good authors to 
 be among all the benevolent affedtions. The exercife of one be- 
 nevolent affedtion gives a pronenefs to the exercife of others. 
 
 There is a certain placid and agreeable tone of mind which in 
 common to them all, which feems to be the bond of that con- 
 nedllon and affinity they have with one another. 
 
 The malevolent affedions have alfo an affinity, and mutually 
 difpofe to each other, by means, perhaps, of that difagreeable 
 feeling common to them all, which makes the mind fore and 
 uneafy. 
 
 As far as we can trace the caufes of the dlflerent difpofitions 
 of the mind, they fcem to be in fome cafes owing to thofe aflb- 
 ciating powers of the principles of action, which have a natural 
 affinity, and are prone to keep company with one another; fome- 
 times to accidents of good or bad fortune, and fometimes, no 
 doubt, the ftate of the body may have Influence upon the difpo- 
 fition of the mind. 
 
 At one time the (late of the mind, like a ferenc unclouded 
 iky, fhews every thing in the moft agreeable light. Then a man 
 
 B b is
 
 X94 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP, VII. is prone to benevolence, compalHon, and every kind afFedion ; 
 unfufpicious, not eafily provoked. 
 
 The Poets have obferved that men have their mol/ia tempora 
 fundi, when they are averfe from faying or doing a harfli thing ; 
 and artful men watch thefe occafions, and know how to improve 
 them to promote their ends. 
 
 This difpofition, I think, we commonly call good humour^ of 
 which, in the fair fex, INlr Pope fays, 
 
 Good humour only teaches charms to laft, 
 
 Still makes new conquefts, and maintains the paft. 
 
 There is no difpofition more comfortable to the perfon him- 
 felf, or more agreeable to others, than good humour. It is to 
 the mind, what good health is to the body, putting a man in 
 the capacity of enjoying every thing that is agreeable in life, 
 and of ufmg every faculty without clog or impediment. It dif- 
 pofes to contentment with our lot, to benevolence to all men, 
 to fyttipathy with the diflrefled. It prefents every objed in the 
 moft favourable light, and difpofes us to -avoid giving or taking 
 offence. 
 
 This happy difpofition feems to be the natural fruit of a good 
 confcience, and a firm belief that the world is under a wife and 
 benevolent adminiflration j and, when it fprings from this root, 
 it is an habitual fentiment of piety. 
 
 Good humour is likewife apt to be produced by happy fuccefs, 
 or unexpeded good fortune. Joy and hope are favourable to itj. 
 vexation and difappointment are unfavourable. 
 
 The only danger of this difpofition feems to be. That if 
 we are not upon our guard, it may degenerate into levity, and 
 
 indifpofe
 
 OF DISPOSITION. 195 
 
 indifpofe us to a proper degree of caution, and of attention to the cha p, vii . 
 future coiifequences of our adions. 
 
 There is a difpofition oppofitc to good humour which \vc call 
 b^d humour, of which the tendency is diredlly contrary, and 
 therefore its influence is as malignant, as that of the other is 
 falutary. 
 
 Bad humour alone is fufficient to make a man unhappy; it tin- 
 ges every ohjert with its own difmal colour ; and, like a part 
 that is galled, is hurt by every thing that touches it. It takes 
 oflence where none was meant, and difpofes to dilcontcnt, jea- 
 loufy, envy, and, in general, to malevolence. 
 
 Another couple of oppofite difpofitions arc elatiou of mind, 
 on the one hand, and deprejjioti, on the other. 
 
 Thefe contrary difpofitions are both of an ambiguous nature ; 
 their influence may be good or bad, according as they are 
 grounded on true or falfe opinion, and according as they are 
 regulated. 
 
 That elation of mind which arifes from a juft fenfe of the 
 dignity of our nature, and of the powers and faculties with 
 which God hath endowed us, is true magnanimity, and difpofes 
 a man to the noblefl: virtues, and the mofl: heroic a<5lions and 
 enterprifes. 
 
 There is alfo an elation of mind, which arifes from a confci- 
 oufnefs of our worth and integrity, fuch as Job felt, when he 
 faid, " Till 1 die, I will not remove my integrity from ine. 
 '' My righteoufncfs 1 hold faft, and will not let it go ; my heart 
 " fliall not reproach me while I live." This may be called the 
 pride of virtue \ but it is a noble pride. It makes a man dif- 
 
 B b 2 dain
 
 196 ESSAY llf. 
 
 CHAP VII. d-^in to do what is bafe or mean. This is the true fenfe of ho- 
 
 nour. 
 
 B;it tbere is an elation of mind arifing from a vain opinion 
 of our having talents, or worth, which we have not ; or from 
 putting an undue value upon any of our endowments of mind, 
 body, or fortune. This is pride, the parent of many odious 
 vices ; fach as arrogance, undue contempt of others, felf-par- 
 tiality, and vicious felf-Iove. 
 
 The oppofite difpofition to elation of mind, is deprellion, which 
 alfo has good or bad efFecT:s, according as it is grounded upon 
 true or falfe opinion. 
 
 A jufl fenfe of the weaknefs and imperfedlions of human na- 
 ture, and of our own perfonal faults and defeds, is true humi- 
 lity. It is not to think of ourfelves above what ive ought to think ; a 
 moft falutary and amiable difpofition ; of great price in the 
 fight of God and man. Nor is it inconfifl:ent with real magna- 
 nimity and greatnefs of foul. They may dwell together with 
 great advantage and ornament to both, and be faithful monitors 
 againll; the extremes to which each has the greatefl tendency. 
 
 But there is a deprefiion of mind which is the oppofite to mag- 
 nanimity, which debilitates the fprings of adlion, and fi-eezes 
 every fentimeut that ihould lead to any noble exertion or enter- 
 prife. 
 
 Suppofe a man to have no belief of a good adminiftration of 
 the world, no conception of the dignity of virtue, no hope of 
 happinefs in another fi^ate. Suppofe hiin, at the fame time, in 
 a ftate of extreme poverty and dependence, and that he has no 
 higher aim than to fupply his bodily wants, or to minifter to the 
 pleafure, or flatter the pride of fome being as worthlefs as him- 
 felf. Is not the foul of fuch a man deprefled as much as his 
 
 body
 
 OF D r ^ ]W^ S I T I O N. ufj 
 
 body or bis fortune? And, if fortune fliould fnillc upon him CHAP. vii. 
 while he retains the fame fentiments, lie is only the ll.ive of for- 
 tune. His mind is deprefled to the ftate of a hrute ; and his 
 human faculties ferve only to make him feel that deprellion. 
 
 Depreillon of mind may be owing to melancholy, a diftempcr 
 of mind ^vhich jiroceeds from the Hate of the body, which 
 throws a difmal gloom upon every objed of thought, cuts all 
 the hnews of action, and often gives rife to ftrange and abfurd 
 opinions in religion, or in other intcrefling matters. Yet, where 
 there is real worth at bottom, fome rays of iu will break forth 
 even in this deprefled ftate of mind. 
 
 A remarkable inflance of this was exhibited in Mr Simon 
 Broun, a difl'enting clergyman in England, who, by melancho- 
 ly, was led into the belief that his rational foul had gradually 
 decayed within him, and at laft was totally extind:. From this 
 belief he gave up his miniflerial fundlion, and would not even 
 join with others in any act of v/orlhip, conceiving it to be a pro- 
 fanation to worlliip God without a foul. 
 
 Tn this difmal ftate of mind, he wrote an excellent defence of 
 the Chriftian religion, againlt Tindal's Chr'ijl'iamty as old as the 
 Creation. To the book he prefixed an epiftle dedicatory to 
 Qiieen Caroline, wherein he mentions, " That he was once a 
 *' man, but, by the immediate hand of God, for his fins, his 
 '' very thinking fubfiancc has, for more than feven years, been 
 " continually wafting away, till it is wholly perilhed out of 
 " him, if it be not utterly come to nothing.'' And, having 
 heard of her M;ijefty's eminent piety, he begs the aid of her 
 prayers. 
 
 The book was publiflied after his death without tlic dedica- 
 tion, which, however, having been preferved in manufcrij^t, was 
 afterwards printed in the Adventurer, No. 88. 
 
 Thus
 
 198 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHA P. VII . Thus this good man, when he believed that he had no foul, 
 fhewed a mod: generous and difmterefted concern for thole who 
 had fouls. 
 
 As depreffioa of mind may produce flrange opinions, efpeci- 
 ally in the cafe of melancholy, fo our opinions may have a very 
 confidei-able influence, either to elevate or to deprefs the mind, 
 even where there is no melancholy. 
 
 Suppofe, on one hand, a man who believes that he is deflin- 
 ed to an eternal exiflcnce ; that he who made, and who governs 
 the world, maketh account of him, and hath furnifhed him with 
 the means of attaining a high degree of perfection and glory. 
 With this man compare, on the other hand, the man who be- 
 lieves nothing at all, or who believes that his exiftence is only 
 the play of atoms, and that, after he hath been tofled about by 
 blind fortune for a few years, he fhall again return to nothing : 
 Can it be doubted, that the former opinion leads to elevation 
 and greatnefs of mind, the latter to meannefs and depreffion ? 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 Of Opinion. 
 
 WHEN we come to explain the rational principles of ac- 
 tion, it will appear, that opinion is an eflential ingredi- 
 ent in them. Here we are only to confider its influence upon 
 the animal principles. Some of thofe I have ranked in that 
 clafs cannot, I think, exift in the human mind without it. 
 
 Gratitude fuppofes the opinion of a favour done or intended j 
 refentment the opinion of an injury ; efteem the opinion of me- 
 rit ; the paflion of love fuppofes the opinion of uncommon me- 
 rit and perfedion in its objed. 
 
 Although
 
 O F O P I N I O N. 199 
 
 Altliough natural atredion to parents, children, and near rela- C HAP.vilf . 
 tions, is not grounded on the opinion of their merit, it is much 
 increafed by that eonfideration. So is every benevolent affec- 
 tion. On the contrary, real malevolence can hardly exifl with- 
 out the opinion of demerit in the objed. 
 
 There is no natural defire or averfion, which may not be re- 
 trained by opinion. Thus, if a man were athirfl, and had a 
 ftrong" defire to drink, the opinion that there was poifon in the 
 cup would make him forbear. 
 
 It is evident, that hope and fear, which every natural defire 
 or affection may create, depend upon the opinion of future good 
 or ill. 
 
 Thus it appears, that our palllons, our difpofitions, and our 
 opinions, have great influence upon our animal principles, to- 
 flrengthen or weaken, to excite or reftrain them ; and, by that 
 means, have great influence upon human adions and charaders. 
 
 That brute-animals have both pailions and difpofitions fimilar, 
 in many refpeds, to thofe of men, cannot be doubted. Whe- 
 ther they have oj)inions, is not fo clear. I thiiik they have not, 
 in the proper fenfe of the word. But, waving all difpute upon 
 this point, it will be granted, that opinion in men has a much 
 wider field than in brutes. No man will fay, that they have 
 fyftems of theology, morals, jurifprudence or politics ; or that 
 they can reafon from the laws of nature, in mechanics, medii- 
 cine, or agriculture. 
 
 They feel the evils or enjoyments that are prcfent j probably 
 they imagine thofe which experience has aflbciated with what 
 they feel. But they can take no large profped cither of the 
 pad or of the future, nor fee through a train of confequences. 
 
 ■ A
 
 200 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 <■ .. ■» 
 
 CHAP. VIII. A dog may be deterred from eating what is before him, by the 
 fear of immediate punilhment, which he has felt on Hke occa- 
 fions ; but he is never deterred by the confideration of health, 
 or of any diftant good. 
 
 I have been credibly informed, that a monkey, having once 
 been intoxicated with ftrong drink, in confequence of which it 
 burnt its foot in the fire, and had a fevere fit of ficknefs, could 
 never after be induced to drink any thing but pure water. 1 be- 
 lieve this is the utmoft pitch which the faculties of brutes can 
 reach. 
 
 From the influence of ■ opinion upon the condud: of mankind 
 we may learn, tbnr it is one of the chief inflruments to be ufed 
 In the difciplii e and government of men. 
 
 All men, in the early part of life, mufl; be under the difci- 
 pline and government of parents and tutors. Men, who live in 
 fociety, muft be under the government of laws and magiflrates, 
 through life. The government of men is undoubtedly one of 
 the nobleft exertions of human power. And it is of great im- 
 portance, that thofe who have any fliare, either in domeftic or 
 civil government, fhould know the nature of man, and how he 
 is to be trained and governed. 
 
 Of all inflruments of government, opinion is the fweeteft, 
 and the mofl agreeable to the nature of man. Obedience that 
 flows from opinion, is real freedom, which every man defires. 
 That which is extorted by fear of punifliment, is flavery ; a 
 yoke which is always galling, and which every man will fliake 
 off when it is in his power. 
 
 The opinions of the bulk of mankind have always been, and 
 vill always be, what they are taught by thofe whom they efteem 
 
 to
 
 O F O P I N I O N. 201 
 
 to be wife and good ; and, therefore, in a confidcrablo degree, chap . v ill , 
 are in the power of thofe who govern them. 
 
 Man, uncorrupted by bad habits and bad opinions, is of all 
 animals the moll: tractable ; corrupted by thefe, he is of all 
 animals the mofl untradlable. 
 
 I apprehend, therefore, that, if ever civil government Hiall 
 be brought to perfedion, it muft be the principal care of the '' 
 ftate to make good citi^^ens by proper education, and proper in- 
 ftruction and dilcipline. 
 
 The mofl ufcful part of medicine is that which ftrcngthens 
 the conrtitution, and prevents difeafes by good regimen ; the 
 reft is fomewhat like propping a ruinous fabric at great expence, 
 and to little purpofe. The art of government is the medicine 
 of the mind, and the moft ufeful part of it is that which pre- 
 vents crimes and bad habits, and trains men to virtue and good 
 habits, by proper education and difcipline. 
 
 The end of government is to make the fociety happy, which 
 can only be done by making it good and virtuous. 
 
 That men in general will be good or bad members of focietv, 
 according to the education and difcipline by whicli they have 
 been trained, experience may convince us. 
 
 The prefent age has made great advances in the art of train- 
 ing men to military duty. It will not be faid, that thofe who 
 enter into that fervice are more tradable than their fcllow-fub- 
 jeds of other profcfTions. And I know not why it iliould be 
 thought impolFible to train men to equal pcrfedion in the other 
 duties of good citizens. 
 
 What an immenfe dilTerence is there, for the purpofe of war, 
 
 C c between
 
 202 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. VIII between an army properly trained, and a militia haflily drawn 
 out of the multitude ? What fnould hinder us from thinking, 
 that, for every purpofe of civil government, there may be a like 
 difference between a civil fociety properly trained to virtue, 
 good habits and right fentiments, and thofe civil focieties which 
 we now behold ? But 1 fear 1 flaall be thought to digrefs from 
 xny fubjed: into Utopian fpeculation. 
 
 To make an end of what I have to fay upon the animal prin- 
 ciples of adtion, we may take a complex view of tb.eir eirtcl in 
 life, by fuppofing a being at!tuated by principles of no higher 
 order, to have no confcience or fenfe of duty, only let us allow 
 him that fuperiority of underflanding, and that power of felf- 
 government which man adually has. Let us fpeculate a little 
 upon this imaginary being, and conlider what condud and tenor 
 of adion might be expeded from him. 
 
 It is evident he would be a very different animal from a brute, 
 and perhaps not very different, in appearance, from what a 
 great part of mankind is» 
 
 He would be capable of confidering the diftant confequences 
 of his adions, and of reftraining or indulging his appetites, de- 
 fires and affcdions, from the confideration of diftant good or 
 evil. 
 
 He would be capable of chufing fome main end of his life, 
 and planning fuch a rule of condud as appeared moft fubfervi- 
 ent to it. Of this we have reafon to think no brute is capable. 
 
 We can perhaps conceive fuch a balance of the animal prin- 
 ciples of adion, as, with very little felf-government, might 
 make a man to be a good member of fociety, a good companion, 
 and to have many amiable qualities. 
 
 The
 
 OF OPINION. 203 
 
 The balance of our animal principles, 1 think, conftitntcs CHA P.vni . 
 what we call a man's natural temper; which may be good or bad, 
 without regard to his virtue. 
 
 A man in whom the benevolent aflecftions, the dcfire of 
 efteem and good humour are naturally prevalent, who is of a 
 calm and difpalllonate nature, who has the good fortune to live 
 with good men, and allbciate with good companions, may be- 
 have properly with little eflbrt. 
 
 His natural temper leads him, in mod cafes, to do what virtue 
 requires. And if he happens not to be expofed to thofc trying 
 fituations, in which virtue crolTes the natural bent of his tem- 
 per, he has no great temptation to adl amils. 
 
 But perhaps a happy natural temper, joined with fuch a happy 
 fituation, is moie ideal than real, though no doubt fome men 
 make nearer approaches to it than others. 
 
 The temper and the fituation of men is commonly fuch, that 
 the animal principles alone, without felf-governincnt, would 
 never produce any regular and confillent train of condudl. 
 
 One principle croffes another. Without felf-government, that 
 which is ftrongeft at the time will prevail. And that which is 
 weakeft at one time may, from pallion, from a change of difpo- 
 fition or of fortune, become rtrongeft at another time. 
 
 Every natural appetite, defire and affedion, has its own prc- 
 fent gratification only in view. A man, therefore, who has no 
 other leader than thefe, would be like a Ihip in the ocean with- 
 out hands, which cannot be faid to be deflined to any port. He 
 would have no charader at all, but be benevolent or fpiteful, 
 pleafant or morofe, honed or dillionefl, as the prefcnt wind of 
 pallion or tide of humour moved him. 
 
 C c ^ Every
 
 204 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. VIII. Every man who purfues an end, be it good ox* bad, muft be 
 adlive when he is difpofed to be indolent ; he muft rein every 
 pafllon and appetite that would lead him out of his road. 
 
 Mortification and felf-denial are found not in the path of vir- 
 tue only, they are common to every road that leads to an end, 
 be it ambition, or avarice, or even pleafure itfelf. Every man 
 who maintains an uniform and confiftent charadler, muft fweat 
 and toil, and often ftruggle with his prefent inclination. 
 
 Yet thofe who fteadily purfue fome end in life, though they 
 muft often reftrain their ftrongeft defires, and praclife much 
 felf-denial, have, upon the whole, more enjoyment than thofe 
 who have no end at all, but to gratify the prefent prevailing in- 
 clination. 
 
 A dog that is made for the chafe, cannot enjoy the happinefs 
 of a dog without that exercife. Keep him within doors, feed 
 him with the moft delicious fare, give him all the pleafures his 
 nature is capable of, he foon becomes a dull, torpid, unhappy 
 animal. No enjoyment can fupply the want of that employ- 
 ment which nature has made his chief good. Let him hunt, 
 and neither pain nor hunger nor fatigue feem to be evils. De- 
 prived of this exercife, he can relifh nothing. Life itfelf be- 
 comes burdcnfome. 
 
 It is no difparagement to the human kind to fay, that man, 
 as well as the dog, is made for hunting, and cannot be happy 
 but in fome vigorous purfuit. He has indeed nobler game to 
 purfue than the dog, but he muft have fome purfuit, otherwife 
 life ftagnates, all the faculties are benumbed, the fpirits flag, 
 and his exiftence becomes an unfupportable burden. 
 
 Even the mere foxhunter, who has no higher purfuit than his 
 dogs, has more enjoyment than he who has no purfuit at all. 
 
 He
 
 O F O P I N I O N. 205 
 
 He has an end in view, and this invigorates his fpirits, makes CHAV.vni . 
 him defpife pleafiire, and hear cold, hunger and fatigue, as if 
 they were no evils. 
 
 Manet fub Jove frigido 
 Venator, tenerae conjugis immemor, 
 Sen vifa eft catulis cerva fidclibus 
 Seu rupit teretes marfus aper plagas. 
 
 ESSAY III. PART III. 
 
 Of the Rational Principles of Adion. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 There are Rational Principles of A6lion in Man. 
 
 MECHANICAL principles of adion produce their efTedl with- 
 out any will or intention on our part. We may, by a 
 voluntary effort, hinder the effecl: ; but if it be not hindered by 
 will and effort, it is produced without them. 
 
 Animal principles of action require intention and will in 
 their operation, but not judgment. They are, by ancient mo- 
 ralifts, very properly called caca cupidincs, blind defires. 
 
 Having treated of thefe two clafles, I proceed to the third, 
 the rational principles of atflion in man,; wiiich have that name, 
 becaufe they can have no exiftcnce in beings not endowed with 
 reafon, and, in all their exertions, require, not only intention 
 .and will, but judgment or rcafou. 
 
 That
 
 266 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. I. That talent which we call reafon, by which men that are adult 
 and of a found mind, are diftinguifhed from brutes, idiots, and 
 infants, has, in all ages, among the learned and unlearned, been 
 conceived to have two offices, to regulate our belief, and to re- 
 gulate our adlions and condudt. 
 
 Whatever we believe, we think agreeable to reafon, and, on that 
 account, yield our afTent to it. Whatever we difbelieve, we think 
 contrary to reafon, and, on that account, diffent from it. Rea- 
 fon therefore is allowed to be the principle by which our belief 
 and opinions ought to be regulated. 
 
 But reafon has been no lefs univerfally conceived to be a prin- 
 ciple, by which our adlions ought to be regulated. 
 
 To ad reafonably, is a plirafe no lefs common in all languages, 
 than to judge reafonably. We immediately approve of a man's 
 condud, when it appears that he had good reafon for what he did. 
 And every adion we difapprove, we think unreafonable, or con- 
 trary to reafon. 
 
 A way of fpeaking fo univerfal among men, common to the 
 learned and the unlearned in all nations, and in all languages, 
 muft have a meaning. To fuppofe it to be words without mean- 
 ing, is to treat, with undue contempt, the common fenfe of man- 
 kind. 
 
 Suppofing this phrafe to have a meaning, we may confider in 
 what way reafon may ferve to regulate human conduct, fo that 
 fome adions of men are to be denominated reafonable, and o- 
 thers unreafonable. 
 
 I take it for granted, that there can be no exercife of reafon 
 without judgment, nor, on the other hand, any judgment of 
 things, abftract and general, without fome degree of reafon. 
 
 If
 
 RATIONAL PRINCIPLES OF ACTION IN MAN. 207 
 
 If, therefore, there be any principles of adion in the hiimnn CHAP. r. 
 conllitution, which, in their nature, nccefllirily imply ftich judjr. "^ ' 
 
 ment, they are the principles which we may call rational, to di- 
 ftinguifh them from animal principles, which hnply clefirc and 
 will, but not judgment. 
 
 Every deliberate human adlion muft be done either as the 
 means, or as an end ; as the means to fome end, to which it is 
 fubfervlt-nt, or as an end, for its own fake, and without regard ■ 
 to any thing beyond it. 
 
 That it is a part of the office of reafon to determine, what 
 are the proper means to any end which we defire, no man ever 
 denied. But fome Philolbphers, particularly Mr Hume, think 
 that it is no part of the oflice of reafon to determine the ends we 
 ought to purfuc, or the preference due to one end above ano- 
 ther. This, he thinks, is not the otlice of reafon, but of tafte 
 or feeling. 
 
 If this be fo, reafon cannot, with any propriety, be called a 
 principle of a(fkion. Its office can only be to minifter to the 
 principles of adion, by difcovering the means of their gratifica- 
 tion. Accordingly Mr Hume maintains, that reafon is no prin- 
 ciple of adlion ; but that it is, and ought to be, the fervant of 
 the paflions. 
 
 I iliall endeavour to fhew, that, among the various ends of 
 human adions, there are fome, of which, without reafon, we 
 could not even form a conception ; and that, as foon as they 
 are conceived, a regard to them is, by our conflitution, not only 
 a principle of acflion, but a leading and governing principle, to 
 which all our animal principles are fubordlnate, and to which 
 they ought to be fubjed. 
 
 Thefe 1 fliall call rational principles > becaufe they can exift 
 
 only
 
 2o8 ESSAY III, 
 
 CHAP. I.^ only in beings endowed with reafon, and becaufe, to adl from 
 thefe principles, is what has always been meant by adling accord- 
 ing to reafon. 
 
 The ends of human adions I have in view, are two, to wit, 
 What is good for us upon the whole, and what appears to be 
 our duty. They are very ftridliy conne(5ted, lead to the fame 
 courfe of condudt, and co-operate with each other ; and, on that 
 account, have commonly been comprehended under one name, 
 that of reafon. But as they may be disjoined, and are really 
 diftindt principles of adiion, I fhall confider them feparately. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Of Regard to our Good on the Whole. 
 
 IT will not be denied that man, when he comes to years of 
 underftanding, is led by his rational nature, to form the con- 
 ception of what is good for him upon the whole. 
 
 How early in life this general notion of good enters into the 
 mind, I cannot pretend to determine. It is one of the mod ge- 
 neral and abftradl notions we form. 
 
 Whatever makes a man more happy, or more perfedl, is good, 
 and is an object of defire as foon as we are capable of forming 
 the conception of it. The contrary is ill, and is an objed of 
 averflon. 
 
 In the firft part of life we have many enjoyments of various 
 kinds ; but very fimilar to thofe of brute-animals. 
 
 They confift in the exercife of our fenfes and powers of mo- 
 tion.
 
 OF REGARD TO OUR GOOD ON THE WHOLE. 209. 
 
 tion, the gratification of our appetites, and the exertions of our CHA P. U. 
 kind affedions. Thcfe are chequered with many evils of pain, 
 and fear, and cUfapiJointnient, and fympathy with the fufll-rings 
 of others. 
 
 But the goods and evils of this period of life are of (hort du- 
 ration, and foon forgot. The mind being regardlefs of the part, 
 and unconcerned about the future, we have then no other inea- 
 fure of good but tlie prefent delirej no other meafure of evil 
 but the prefent avcrfion. 
 
 Every animal defire has fome particular and prefent objedl, 
 and looks not beyond that objedt to its confequences, or to the *- 
 
 connexions it may have with other things. 
 
 The prefent objed, which is moft attrad;ive, or excites the 
 flrongeft; defire, determines the choice, whatever be its confe- 
 quences. The prefent evil that prefles moft, is avoided, though 
 it fliould be the road to a greater good to come, or tlie only 
 way to efcape a greater evil. This is the way in which brutes 
 adt, and the way in which men rauft adl:, till they come to the ufe 
 of reafon. 
 
 As we grow up to underftanding, we extend our view both 
 forward and backward. We refle(fl: upon what is part, and, by 
 the lampof experience, difcern what will probably happen in time 
 to come. We find that many things which we eagerly defired, 
 were too dearly purchafed, and that things grievous for the pre- 
 fent, like naufeous medicines, may be falutary in the ilTue. 
 
 We leam to obferve the conne<flions of things, and the con- 
 fequences of our actions j and, taking an extended view of our 
 exillence, pad, prefent, and future, we correCl our firrt notions 
 of good and ill, and form the conception of what is good or ill 
 upon the whole ; which muft be elUmated, not from the prefent 
 
 D d feeling,
 
 2IO ■' ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. IL feeling, or from the prefent animal defire or averfion, but from 
 a due confideration of its confequences, certain or probable, 
 during the whole of our exiftence. 
 
 That which, taken with all its difcoverable connections and 
 confequences, brings more good than ill, I call good upon the 
 whole. 
 
 That brute-animals have any conception of this good, I fee 
 no reafon to believe. And it is evident, that man cannot have 
 the conception of it, till reafon is fo far advanced, that he can 
 ferioufly refleft upon the paft, and take a profpedt of the future 
 part of his exiftence. 
 
 It appears therefore, that the very conception of what is good 
 or ill for us upon the whole, is the offspring of reafon, and can 
 be only In beings endowed with reafon. And if this concep- 
 tion give rife to any principle of adiion in man, which he had 
 not before, that principle may very properly be called a rational 
 principle of a6tion. 
 
 I pretend not in this to fay any thing that is new, but what 
 reafon fuggefted to thofe who firft turned their attention tothephi- 
 lofophy of morals. I beg leave to quote one paffage from Cicero,.. 
 in his nrft book of Offices ; wherein, with his ufual elegance, he 
 expreffes the fubftance of what I have fald. And there is good 
 reafon to think that Cicero borrowed it from Pan^tius, a 
 Greek Philofopher, whofe books of Offices are lofl. 
 
 " Sed Inter homlnem et belluam hoc maxime Interefl, quod 
 " haec tantum quantum fenfu movetur, ad id folum quod adefl, 
 " quodque praefens eft fe accommodat, paululum admodum ^tn- 
 ", tiens prasteritum aut futurum : Homo autem quoniam rationis 
 " eft partlceps, per quam confequentia cernit, caufas rerum videt, 
 *' earumque praegreflus et quafi antecefliones non ignorat ; fimi- 
 *' litudines comparat, et rebus praefentibus adjungit atque an- 
 
 " nedit
 
 OF REGARD TO OUR GOOD ON THE WHOLE. 211 
 
 " nedit futuras ; facile totius vitx curfum viJct ad eamque de- chap. ii. 
 '* gendam preparat res neceflarias.'' 
 
 I obferve, in the next place. That as foon as we have the con- 
 ception of what is good or ill for us upon the wliole, we are led, 
 by our conrtitution, to feek the good and avoid the ill ; and 
 this beoomes not only a principle of adion, but a leading or 
 governing principle, to which all our animal principles ought 
 to be fubordinate. 
 
 I am very apt to think, with Dr Price, tliat, in intelligent 
 beings, the deilre of what is good, and averfion to what is ill, is 
 neceflarily conneded with the intelligent nature ; and that it is 
 a contradidion to fuppofe fuch a being to have the notion of 
 good without the defire of it, or the notion of ill without aver- 
 fion to it. Perhaps there may be other necefTfiry connedions 
 between underftanding and the bell principles of adion, which 
 our faculties arc too weak to difcern. That they are neceflari- 
 ly conneded in him who is perfed in underflanding, we have 
 good rcafon to believe. 
 
 To prefer a greater good, though diftant, to a Icfs that is pre- 
 fent ; to chufe a prefent evil, in order to avoid a greater evil, 
 or to obtain a greater good, is, in the judgment of all men, wife 
 and reafonable condud ; and, when a man acts the contrary 
 part, all men will acknowledge, that he ads foolilhly and unrea- 
 fonably. Nor will it be denied, that, in innumerable cafes in 
 common life, our animal principles draw us one way, while a re- 
 gard to what is good on the whole, draws us the contrary wav. 
 Thus the flefh lurteth againrt the fpirit, and the ijiirit againft 
 the flcih, and thefe two are contrary. That in every conflid of 
 this kind the rational principle ought to prevail, and the animal 
 to be fubordinate, is too evident to need, or to admit of proof. 
 
 Thus, I think, it appears, that to purfue what is good up- 
 
 D d 2 on
 
 212 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. II. on the whole, and to avoid what is ill upon the whole, is a 
 rational principle of adion, grounded upon our conftitution as 
 reafonable creatures. 
 
 It appears that It Is not without juft caufe, that this principle of 
 action has in all ages been called reafon^ in oppolition to our 
 animal principles, which in common language are called by the 
 general name of the pajftons. 
 
 The firft not only operates in a calm and cool manner, like 
 reafon, but implies real judgment in all its operations. The fe- 
 cond, to wit, the paflions, are blind defires of fome particular 
 obje(5l, without any judgment or confideration, whether it be 
 good for us upon the whole, or ill. 
 
 It appears alfo, that the fundamental maxim of prudence, 
 and of all good morals, That the paflions ought, in all cafes, to 
 be under the dominion of reafon, is not only felf-evident, when 
 rightly underftood, but is exprefled according to the common 
 ufe and propriety of language. 
 
 The contrary maxim maintained by Mr Hume, can only be 
 defended by agrofs and palpable abufe of words. For, in order to 
 defend it, he muft include under the pajjions, that very principle 
 which has always, in all languages, been called reafon, and never 
 was, in any language, called a pajfton. And from the meaning of 
 the word reafon he mufl exclude the mod important part of it, 
 by which we are able to difcern and to purfue what appears to be 
 good upon the whole. And thus, including the mofl important 
 part of reafon under pailion, and making the leafl important 
 part of reafon to be the whole, he defends his favourite para- 
 dox, That reafon is, and ought to be, the fervant of the paf^ 
 fions. 
 
 To judge of what is true or falfe in fpeculative points, is the 
 
 office
 
 OF REGARD TO OUR GOOD ON THE WHOLE. 
 
 office of fpcculntive rcafon ; and to judge of what is good or ill CHAP. ii. 
 for us upon the whole, is the office of practical rcafon. Of true 
 and falfe there are no degrees ; but of good and ill there are 
 many degrees, and niajiy kinds ; and men are very apt to form 
 erroneous opinions concerning them j miflcd by their pafTions, 
 by the authority of the multitude, and by other caufes. 
 
 Wife men, in all ages, have reckoned it a chief point of wif- 
 do:ii, to make a right cftimate of the goods and evils of life. 
 They have laboured to difcover the errors of the multitude on 
 this important point, and to warn others againft them. 
 
 The ancient moraliits, though divided into feds, all agreed in 
 this, That opinion has a mighty influence upon what we com- 
 monly account the goods and ills of life, to alleviate or to ag- 
 gravate them. 
 
 The Stoics carried this fo far, as to conclude that they all de- 
 pend on opinion. n«'>T« 'TTroXn^if was a f^ivourite maxim with 
 them. 
 
 We fee, indeed, that the fame ftation or condition of life, 
 which makes one man happy, makes another miferable, and to 
 a third is perfedly indifferent. We fee men miferable through 
 life, from vain fears, and anxious defires, grounded folely upon 
 wrong opinions. \\'e fee men wear thcmfelves out with toil- 
 fome days, and fleeplefs nights, in purfuit of fome objecft which 
 they never attain ; or which, when attained, gives little fatisfac- 
 tion, perhaps real difguft. 
 
 The evils of life, which every man mufl feel, have a very dif- 
 ferent efTecil upon different men. What finks one into defpair 
 and abfolute mifery, roufes the virtue and magnanimity of ano- 
 ther, who bears it as the lot of humanity, and as the difcipliuc 
 
 of
 
 214 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. II. Qf r^ ^yjfg aj^(j merciful father in heaven. He rife s fuperior to 
 adverfity, and is made wifer and better by it, and confequently 
 happier. 
 
 It is therefore of the lafl importance, in the conduct of life, 
 to have juft opinions with refpedl to good and evil ; and furely 
 it is the province of reafon to corredl wrong opinions, and to 
 lead us into thofe that are juft and true. 
 
 It is true indeed, that men's paffions and appetites, too often, 
 draw them to a6l contrary to their cool judgment and opinion 
 of what is beft for them. Video tneUora proboque, deteriorafequor, 
 is the cafe in every wilful deviation from our true intereft and 
 our duty. 
 
 When this is the ca(e, the man is felf-condemned, he fees that 
 ' he a6led the part of a brute, when he ought to have adled the 
 
 part of a man. He is convinced that reafon ought to have re- 
 ftrained his paflion, and not to have given the rein to it. 
 
 When he feels the bad effeds of his condutfl, he imputes them 
 to himfelf, and would be flung with remorfe for his folly, though 
 he had no account to make to a fuperior being. He has finned, 
 againft himfelf, and brought upon his own head the punifhment 
 which his folly deferved. 
 
 From this we may fee, that this rational principle of a regard 
 to our good upon the whole, gives us the conception of a right: 
 and a wrong in human condud, at lead of a wife and ^ fooU/I}. 
 It produces a kind of felf-approbatlon, when the paffions and 
 appetites are kept in their due fubjedion to it ; and a kind of re- 
 morfe and compundion, when it yields to them. 
 
 In thefe refpeds, this principle is fo fimilar to the moral prin-. 
 
 ciple,
 
 OF REGARD TO OUR GOOD ON THE WHOLE. 21^ 
 
 ciple, or confciencc, and fo interwoven with it, that both are chap. iir. 
 commonly coinprcheiuled under the name of r^^//. This fimi- 
 larity led many of the ancient Philofophers, and fome among 
 the moderns, to refolve confcience, or a CtinCc of duty, entirely 
 into a regard to what is good for us upon the whole. 
 
 That they are diftindl principles of adion, though both lead 
 to the Came condud in life, I Ihall have occafion to fhew, when 
 I come to treat oC confcience. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 7'he Tendency of this Principle. 
 
 IT has been the opinion of the wifeft men, in all ages, that 
 this principle, of a regard to our good upon the whole, in 
 a man duly enlightened, leads to the pradice of every virtue. 
 
 This was acknowledged, even by Epicurus ; and the beft mo- 
 ralifts among the ancients derived all the virtues from this prin- 
 ciple. For, among them, the whole of morals was reduced to 
 this queftion, What is the greatelt good ? Or what courfe of 
 condud is beft for us upon the whole ? 
 
 In order to refolve this queftion, they divided goods into 
 three clafles, the goods of the body ; the goods of fortune, or 
 external goods, and the goods of the mind ; meaning, by the 
 laft, wifdon^ and virtue. 
 
 Comparing thefe different claffes of goods, they ftiewed, with 
 convincing evidence, that the goods of the mind arc, in many 
 refpeds, fuperior to ihofe of the body and of fortune, not only 
 as they have more dignity, are more durable, and lefs expofed 
 
 to
 
 2i6 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. III. to the ftrokes of fortune, but chiefly as they are the only goods 
 in our power, and which depend wholly on our condudt. 
 
 Epicurus himfelf maintained, that the wife man may be hap- 
 py in the tranquillity of his mind, even when racked with pain, 
 and ilruggling with adveriity. 
 
 They obferved very juftly, that the goods of fortune, and 
 even thofe of the body, depend much on opinion j and that, 
 when our opinion of them is duly corre(5ted by reafon, we fhall 
 find them of (mail value in themfelves. 
 
 How can he be happy who places his happinefs in things 
 which it is not in his power to attain, or in things from which, 
 when attained, a fit of ficknefs, or a flroke of fortune, may 
 tear him afunder. 
 
 The value we put upon things, and our uneafinefs in the want 
 of them, depend upon the ftrength of our defires j corred the 
 defire, and the uneafinefs ceafes. 
 
 The fear of the evils of body and of fortune, is often a 
 greater evil than the things we fear. As the wife man moderates 
 his defires by temperance, fo, to real or imaginary dangers, he. 
 oppofes the fhield of fortitude and magnanimity, which raifes 
 him above himfelf, and makes him happy and triumphant in 
 thofe moments wherein others are mofl raiferable. 
 
 Thefe oracles of reafon led the Stoics fo faras to maintain. 
 That all defires and fears, with regard to things not in our 
 power, ought to be totally eradicated ; that virtue is the only 
 good I, that what we call the goods of the body and of fortune, 
 are really things indifferent, which may, according to circum- 
 ftances, prove good or ill, and therefore have no intrinfic good- 
 nefs in themfelves ; that our fole bufinefs ought to be, to adl 
 
 our
 
 THE TENDENCY OF THIS PRINCIPLE. 217 
 
 our part well, and to do what is right, without the lead concern CH \P. IH. 
 about things not in our power, which we ought, with perfect 
 acquicfcencc, to leave to the care of hiin who governs the 
 world. 
 
 This noble and elevated conception of human wifdom and 
 duty was taught by Socrates, free from the extravagancies 
 which the Stoics afterwards joined with it. We fee it in the 
 Alcibiades of Plato ; from which Juvemal hatii taken it in 
 his tenth fatire, and adorned it with the graces of poetry. 
 
 Omnibus in terris quae funt a gadibus ufque 
 Auroram et Gangen, pauci dignofcere poflunt 
 Vera bona, atque illis multum diverfa, remota 
 Erroris nebula. Qiiid cnim ratione tiniemus ? 
 Aut cupimus ? Qiiid tarn dextera pede concupis ut te 
 Conatus non poeniteat, votique peradli ? 
 Nil ergo optabunt homines ? Si concilium vis, 
 Permittes Ipfis expendere numinibus, quid 
 Conveniat nobis, rebufque fit utile noftris. 
 Nam pro jucundis aptillima quxque dabunt Dii. 
 Charior eft illis homo quam fibi. Nos animorum 
 Impulfu, et ca;ca magnaque cupidine dudi, 
 Conjugium petimus, partumque uxoris ; at illis 
 Notum qui pueri, qualifque futura fit uxor. 
 Fortem pofce animum, et mortis terrore carentem, 
 Qui fpatium vitae extremum inter munera ponat 
 Naturse ; qui ferre queat quofcunque labores, 
 Nefciat irafci, cupiat nihil, et potiores 
 Herculis oerumnas credat, fa»vofque labores 
 Et venere, et coenis, et pluniis, Sardanapali. 
 
 Monftro quid ipfe tibi polfis dare. Semita certe 
 Tranquillae per virtuteni patet unica vitae. 
 Nullum numen abeft fi fit prudentia ; fed te 
 Nos facimus fortuna Deam, cceloque locamus. 
 
 E c Even
 
 2i8 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. III. Even Horace, in his ferious moments, falls into this fyftemv 
 
 Nil admirari, prope res eft una Numici, 
 Solaque quae poffit facere et fervare beatum. 
 
 We cannot but admire the Stoical fyftem of morals, even 
 when we think that, in fome points, it went beyond the pitch of 
 human nature. The virtue, the temperance, the fortitude and 
 magnanimity of fome who fincerely embraced it, amidft all the 
 flattery of fovereign power and the luxury of a court, will be 
 everlafting monuments to the honour of that fyftem^ and to the 
 honour of human nature. 
 
 That a due regard to what is bell: for us upon the whole," in 
 an enlightened mind, leads to the pradice of every virtue, may 
 be argued from conlidering what we think befl: for thofe for 
 whom we have the ftrongell affedion, and whofe good we ten- 
 der as our own. In judging for ourfelves, our paffions and ap- 
 petites are apt to bias our judgment ; but when we judge for 
 others, this bias is removed, and we judge impartially. 
 
 What is it then that a wife man would wifli as the greateft 
 good to a brother, a fon, or a friend ? 
 
 Is it that he may fpend his life in a conftant round of the 
 pleafures of fenfe, and fare fumptuoufly every day ? 
 
 No, furely j we wifh him to be a man of real virtue and 
 worth. We may wilh for him an honourable ftation in life j 
 but only with this condition, that he acquit himfelf honourably 
 m it, and acquire jufl reputation, by being ufeful to his country 
 and to mankind. We would a thoufand times rather wifli him 
 honourably to undergo the labours of Hercules, than to dif- 
 folve in pleafure with Sardanapalus. 
 
 Such
 
 THE TENDENCY OF THIS PRINCIPLE. 219 
 
 Such would be the wilh of every man of undcrflanding for CilAP.iir. 
 the friend whom he loves as his own foul. Such ihinj^s, there- 
 fore, he judj^es to be heft for him upon the whole ; and if lie 
 judges otherwife for himfelf, It is only becaufe his judgment is 
 perverted by animal pafCons and defires. 
 
 The fum of what has been faid in thefe three chapters amounts 
 to this : 
 
 There is a principle of acftion in men that are adult and of a 
 found mind, which, in all ages, has been called reafon, and let 
 in oppofition to the animal principles which we call the pajjlons. 
 The ultimate objeCl of this principle is what we judge to be good 
 upon the whole. This is not the objed of any of our animal 
 principles, they being all direded to particular objeds, without 
 any comi)arif(>n with others, or any conlideration of their being 
 good or ill upon the whole. 
 
 What is good upon the whole cannot even be conceived with- 
 out the exercife of reafon, and therefore cannot be aa objeC\ to 
 beings that have not feme degree of reafon. 
 
 As foon as we have the conception of this objed, we are led, 
 by ovw conilitution, to defire and purfue it. It juftly claims a 
 preference to all objeds of purfuit that can come in competition 
 with it. In preferring it to any gratification that oppofes it, or 
 in fubmitting to any pain or mortification which it requires, we 
 ad according to reafon ; and every fuch adion is accompanied 
 with felf-approbation and the approbation of mankind. The 
 contrary adions are accompanied with ftiame and lelf-condem- 
 nation in the agent, and with contempt in the fpedator, as foolilh 
 and unreafonable. 
 
 The right application of this principle to our condud re- 
 quires an extenlive prolped of human life, and a corred j'ldg- 
 
 £ c 2 ment
 
 220 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP, m. nient and eftimate of its goods and evils, with refped to their 
 intrinfic worth and dignity, their conftancy and duration, and 
 their attainablenefs. He muft be a wife man indeed, if any fuch 
 man there be, who can perceive, in every inftance, or even in 
 every important inftance, what is beft for him upon the whole, 
 if he have no other rule to dired his conduct. 
 
 However, according to the beft judgment which wife men 
 have been able to form, this principle leads to the pra<flice of 
 every virtue. It leads diredly to the virtues of prudence, tem- 
 perance and fortitude. And, when we confider ourfelves as fe- 
 cial creatures, whofe happinefs or mifery is very much connedl- 
 ed with that of our fellow-men j when we confider, that there 
 are many benevolent affedlions planted in our conftitution, 
 whofe exertions make a capital part of our good and enjoyment; 
 from thefe confiderations, this principle leads us alfo, though 
 more indiredlly, to the prad:ice of juftice, humanity, and all the 
 fecial virtues. 
 
 It is true, that a regard to our own good cannot, of itfelf, 
 produce any benevolent affedlion. But, if fuch affedlions be a 
 part of our conftitution, and if the exercife of them make a ca- 
 pital part of our happinefs, a regard to our own good ought to 
 lead us to cultivate and exercife them, as every benevolent af- 
 fedlion makes the good of others to be our own. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 DEFECTS OF THIS PRINCIPLE. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 DefeEls of this Principle. 
 
 HAVING explained the nature of this principle of adlion, 
 and fhewn in general the tenor of condu<5l to which it 
 leads, I fhall conclude what relates to it, by pointing out fome 
 of its defedts, if it be fuppofed, as it has been by fome Philofo- 
 phers, to be the only regulating principle of human conduct. 
 
 Upon that fuppofition, it would neither be a fufficiently plain 
 rule of condudt, nor would it raife the human character to that 
 degree of perfedion of which it is capable, nor would it yield 
 fo much real happinefs as when it is joined with another ra- 
 tional principle of adion, to wit, a difinterefted regard to duty. 
 
 Firji^ I apprehend the greater part of mankind can never at- 
 tain fuch extenfive views of human life, and fo correft a judg- 
 ment of good and ill, as the right application of this principle 
 requires. 
 
 The authority of the poet before quoted is of weight in this 
 point. " Pauci dignofcere pofl'unt vera bona, remota erroris ne- 
 " bula." The ignorance of the bulk of mankind concurs with 
 the ftrength of their paflious to lead them into error in this mofl: 
 important point. 
 
 Every man, in his calm moments, wiflies to know what is heft 
 for him on the whole, and to do it. But the difficulty of dif- 
 covering it clearly, amidfl fuch variety of opinions and the im- 
 portunity of prefent dcfires, tempt men to give over the fearch, 
 and to yield to the prefeut inclination. 
 
 Though
 
 444 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. IV. Though Phllof(3phers and morallfts have taken much laudable 
 pains to corredt the errors of mankind In this great point, their 
 inftrudlons are known to few ; they have little influence upon 
 the greater part of thofe to whom they are known, and fome- 
 times little even upon the Philofopher hiinfelf. 
 
 Speculative difcoveries gradually fpread from the knowing to 
 the ignorant, and diffufe themielves over all, fo that, with re- 
 gard to them, the world, it may be hoped, will Hill be growing 
 wifer. But the errors of men, with regard to what is truly good 
 or ill, after being difcovered and refuted in every age, are ilill 
 prevalent. 
 
 Men ftand in need of a fharper monitor to their duty than a 
 dubious view of diflant good. There is reafon to believe, that a 
 prefent fenfe pf duty has, in many cafes, a ftronger influence 
 than the apprehenfion of difl;ant good would have of itfelf. 
 And it cannot be doubted, that a fenfe of guilt and demerit is a 
 more pungent reprover than the bare apprehenfion of having 
 miftaken our true intereft. 
 
 The brave foldier, in expofing himfelf to danger and death, 
 is animated, not by a cold computation of the good and the ill, 
 but by a noble and elevated fenfe of military duty. 
 
 A Philofopher fliews, by a copious and jufl: indudion, what is 
 our real good and what our ill. But this kind of reafoning is 
 not eafily apprehended by the bulk of men. It has too little 
 force upon their minds to refifl; the fophiflry of the pafllons. 
 They are apt to think, that if fuch rules be good in the general, 
 they may admit of particular exceptions, and that what is good 
 for the greater part, may, to fome perfons, on account of parti- 
 cular circumftances, be ilk 
 
 Thus, I apprehend, that, if we had no plainer rule to direcfl 
 
 our
 
 DEFECTS OF THIS PRINCIPLE. 223 
 
 our conduct: in life than a rt\e;ard to our grcatcll good, the great- Cfiap. iv, 
 
 eft part of mankind would be fatally mifled, even by ignorance ^ "^ ' 
 of the road to it. 
 
 m 
 
 Secondly, Though a fteady purfuit of our own real good may, 
 III an enlightened mind, produce a kind of virtue which is en- 
 titled to fonie degree of approbation, yet it can never produce 
 the noblefl: kind of virtue, which claims our higheft love and 
 efteem. 
 
 We account him a wife man who Is wife for himfelf ; and, if 
 he i^rofecutes this end through dilHculties and temptations that 
 lie in his way, his character is far fuperior to that of the man 
 •who, having the fame end in view, is continually llarting out of 
 the road to it, from an attachment to bis appetites and paflions, 
 and doing every day what he knows he ihall heartily repent. 
 
 Yet, after all, this wife man, whofe thoughts and cares are all 
 centered ultimately in himielf, who indulges even his focial af- 
 fedtions only with a view to his own good, is not the man whom 
 we cordially love and efteem. 
 
 Like a cunning merchant, he carries his goods to the beft 
 market, and watches every opportunity of putting them oft' to 
 the beft account. He does well and wileiy. But it is for him- 
 felf. We owe him nothing upon this account. Even when he 
 does good to others, he means only to ferve himfelf; and there- 
 fore has no juft claim to their gratitude or affection. 
 
 This iurcly, if it be virtue, is not the nobleft kind, but a low 
 and mercenary fpecies of it. It can neither give a noble eleva- 
 tion to the mind tliat poft^fles it, nor attract the efteem and 
 love of others. 
 
 Our cordial love and efteem is due only to the man whofe 
 
 foul
 
 224 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. IV. foul is not contraded within itfelf, but embraces a more exten- 
 five objedl : who loves virtue, not for her dowry only, but for 
 her own fake : whofe benevolence is not felfifh, but generous 
 and difinterefled : who, forgetful of himfelf, has thecommongood 
 at heart, not as the means only, but as the end : who abhors 
 what is bafe, though he were to be a gainer by it, and loves that 
 which is right, although he fhould fuffer by it. 
 
 Such a man we efteem the perfedl man, compared with whom, 
 he who has no other aim but good to himfelf, is a mean and 
 defpicable charader. 
 
 Difinterefled goodnefs and reditude, is the glory of the Di- 
 vine Nature, without which he might be an objedt of fear or 
 hope, but not of true devotion. And it is the image of this 
 divine attribute in the human character, that is the glory of 
 man. 
 
 To ferve God and be ufeful to mankind, without any concern 
 about our own good and happinefs, is, I believe, beyond the pitch 
 of human nature. But to ferve God and be ufeful to men, 
 merely to obtain good to ourfelves, or to avoid ill, is fervility, 
 and not that liberal fervice which true devotion and real vir- 
 tue require. 
 
 Thirdly^ Though one might be apt to think, that he has the 
 befl chance for happinefs, who has no other end of his delibe- 
 rate adions but his own good ; yet a little confideration may 
 fatisfy us of the contrary. 
 
 A concern for our own good is not a principle that, of itfelf, 
 gives any enjoyment. On the contrary, it is apt to fill the mind 
 with fear, and care, and anxiety. And thefe concomitants of 
 this principle, often give pain and uneafinefs, that overbalance 
 the good they have in view. 
 
 We
 
 DEFECTS OF THIS PRINCIPLE. 225 
 
 We may here compare, in point of prefcnt happinefs, two ima- 
 ginary characters ; the firft, of the man who has no other ulti- 
 mate end of liis deliberate actions but his own good ; and who 
 has no regard to virtue or duty, but as the means to that end. 
 The fecond character is that of the man who is not indifferent 
 with regard to his own good, but has another ultimate end per- 
 fedly confiftent with it, to wit, a difmterefted love of virtue, for 
 its own fake, or a regard to duty as an end. 
 
 Comparing thcfe two characters in point of happinefs, that we 
 may give all poilible advantage to the fehilh principle, we fliall 
 fuppofe the man who is aduated iblely by it, to be fo far enlight- 
 ened as to fee it his intereft to live foberly, righteoufly, and god- 
 ly in the world, and that he follows the fame courfe of conduct 
 from the motive of his own good only, which the other does, 
 in a great meafure, or in fome meafure, from a fenfeofduty 
 and reftitude. 
 
 We put the cafe fo as that the difference between thefe two 
 perfons may be, not In what they do, but in the motive from 
 which they do it : and, I think, there can be no doubt that he 
 who adts from the noblefl: and molt generous motive, will have 
 moft happinefs in his conduct. 
 
 The one labours only for hire, without any love to the work. 
 The other loves the work, and thinks it the noblefl and moft 
 honourable he can be employed in. To the firlt, the mortifica- 
 tion and felf-denial which the courfe of virtue requires, is a 
 grievous talk, which he fubmits to only through nccellity. To 
 the other it is victory and triunjph, in the moll honourable 
 warfare. 
 
 It ought farther to be confidered, That although wife men 
 have concluded that virtue is the only road to happinefs, this 
 
 F f conclufion 
 
 CHA? IV, 
 » .J '
 
 226 ESSAY III. 
 
 ^!!^1^' conclufion is founded chiefly upon the natural refpecl men have 
 for virtue, and the good or happinefs that is intriiific to it and 
 arifes from the love of it. If we fuppofe a man, as we now do, 
 altogether deftitute of this principle, who confidered virtue only 
 as the means to another end, there is no reafon to think that 
 he would ever take it to be the road to happinefs, but would 
 wander forever feeking this objedl, where it is not to be found. 
 
 The road of duty is fo plain, that the man who feeks it, with 
 an upright heart, cannot greatly err from it. But the road to 
 happinefs, if that be fuppofed the only end our nature leads us 
 to purfue, would be found dark and intricate, full of fuares and 
 dangers, and therefore not to be trodden without fear, and care, 
 and perplexity. 
 
 The happy man therefore, is not he whofe happinefs is his 
 only care, but he who, with perfedl refignation, leaves the care 
 of his happinefs to him who made him, while he purfues with 
 ardor the road of his duty. 
 
 This gives an elevation to his mind, which Is real happinefs. 
 Inftead of care, and fear, and anxiety, and difappointment, it 
 brings joy and triumph. It gives a relifh to every good we en- 
 joy, and brings good out of evil. 
 
 And as no man can be indifferent about his happinefs, the 
 good man has the confolation to know, that he confults his hap- 
 pinefs moft effedtually, when, without any painful anxiety about 
 future events, he does his duty. 
 
 Thus, I think. It appears. That although a regard to our good 
 upon the whole, be a rational principle in man, yet, if it be fup- 
 pofed the only regulating principle of our condudl, it would be 
 a more uncertain rule, it would give far lefs perfedion to the 
 
 human
 
 OF THE NOTION OF DUTY, y^. 227 
 
 human charadter, and far IcTs happinefs, than wlien joined with ' ^^^^^- ^-^ 
 anotlicr rational principle, to wit, a regard to duty. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 Of the Notion of Duty, ReSJ'itudcy moral Obligation. 
 
 A Being endowed with the animal principles of aclion on- 
 ly, may be capable of being trained to certain purpofes 
 by difcipline, as we fee many bnxte-animals are, but would be 
 altogether incapable of being governed by law. 
 
 The fubjedl of law muft have the conception of a general rule 
 of condud^, which, without fome degree of reafon, he cannot 
 have. He mufl likewife have a fufficient inducement to obey 
 the law, even when his ftrongeft animal defires draw him the 
 contrary way. 
 
 This inducement may be a fenfe of intereft, or a fenfe of duty, 
 or both concurring. 
 
 Thefe are the only principles I am able to conceive, which 
 can reafonably induce a man to regulate all his adtions accord- 
 ing to a certain general rule or law. They may therefore be 
 juQIy called the rational principles of adion, fince they can have 
 no place but in a being endowed with reafon, and fince it is by 
 them only, that man is capable either of political or of moral 
 government. 
 
 Without them human life would be like a fhip at fea without 
 hands, left to be carried by winds and tides as they happen. It 
 belongs to the rational part of our nature to intend a certain 
 port, as the end of the voyage of life j to take the advuntat^e of 
 
 F f 2 wind«;
 
 228 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. V. winds and tides when they are favourable, and to bear up a- 
 gainfl them when they are unfavourable. 
 
 A fenfe of interefl: may induce us to do this, when a fuitable 
 reward is fet before us. But there is a nobler principle in the 
 conftitution of man, which, in many cafes, gives a clearer and 
 more certain rule of conducSt, than a regard merely to interefl: 
 would give, and a principle, without which man would not be a 
 moral agent. 
 
 A man is prudent when he confults his real interefl:, but he 
 cannot be virtuous, if he has no regard to duty. 
 
 I proceed now to confider this regard to duty as a rational 
 principle of adlion in man, and as that principle alone by which 
 he is capable either of virtue or vice. 
 
 I fliall firfl: offer fome obfervations with regard to the general 
 notion of duty, and its contrary, or of right and wrong in hu- 
 man condud, and then confider how we come to judge and 
 determine certain things in human condud to be right, and 
 others to be wrong. 
 
 With regai-d to the notion or conception of duty, I take it to 
 be too fimple to admit of a logical definition. 
 
 We can define it only by fynonymous words or phrafes, or by 
 its properties and neceflary concomitants, as when we fay that it 
 is what we ought to do, what is fair and honeft, what is ap- 
 provable, what evei'y man profeffes to be the rule of his con- 
 dud, what all men praife, and what is in itfelf laudable, though 
 no man fliould praife it. 
 
 I obferve, In the }iext place, That the notion of duty cannot 
 
 be
 
 OF THE NOTION OF DUTY, ^r. 229 
 
 be refolved into that of intereft, or what is moll for our happi- chap. v. 
 
 r "^ "^ ' 
 
 nets. 
 
 Every man may be fatisfied of this who attends to his own 
 conceptions, and the language of all mankind fliews it. When I 
 fay, this is my intercfl, I mean one thing; when I fay, it is my 
 duty, I mean another thing. And though the fame courfe of 
 adtion, when rightly underftood, may be both my duty and my 
 intcreft, the conce])tions are very different. Both are reafon- 
 able motives to adion, but quite diftinct in their nature. 
 
 I prefume it will be granted, that in every man of real worth, 
 there is a principle of honour, a regard to what is honourable 
 or dilhonourable, very diftind: from a regard to his intereft. It 
 is folly in a man to difregard his intereft, but to do what is dif- 
 honourable is bafenefs. The firft may move our pity, or, in 
 fome cafes, our contempt, but the lafl; provokes our indignation. 
 
 As thefe two principles are different in their nature, and not 
 refolvable into one, fo the principle of honour is evidently fupe- 
 rior in dignity to that of intereft. 
 
 No man would allow him to be a man of honour, who fliould 
 plead his interelt to juflify M'hat he acknowledged to be dif- 
 honourable ; but to facrifice intcrell to honour never cofls a 
 blufh. 
 
 It likewife will be allowed by every man of honour, that this 
 principle is not to be refolved into a regard to our reputation 
 among men, otherwife the man of honour would not defer\-e to 
 be trufted in the dark. He would have no averfion to lie, or 
 cheat, or play the coward, when he had no dread of being dif- 
 covered. 
 
 I take it for granted, therefore, that every man of real honour 
 
 feels
 
 230 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. V.^ feels an abhorrence of certain acftions, becaufe they are in them- 
 felves bafe, and feels an obligation to certain other ad;ions, be- 
 caufe they are in themfelves what honour requires, and this, in- 
 dependently of any conlideration of intereft or reputation. 
 
 This is an immediate moral obligation. This principle of ho- 
 nour, which is acknowledged by all men who pretend to cha- 
 radler, is only another name for what we call a regard to duty, 
 to reditude, to propriety of condu6t. It is a moral obligation 
 which obliges a man to do certain things becaufe they are right, 
 and not to do other things becaufe they are wrong. 
 
 Afk the man of honour, why he thinks himfelf obliged to pay 
 a debt of honour ? The very queftion fhocks him. To fuppofe 
 that he needs any other inducement to do it but the principle of 
 honour, is to fuppofe that he has no honour, no worth, and de- 
 ferves no efteem. 
 
 There is therefore a principle in man, which, when he adls 
 according to it, gives him a confcioufnefs of worth, and when 
 he adls contrary to it, a fenfe of demerit. 
 
 From the varieties of education, of fafhion, of prejudices, 
 and of habits, men may differ much in opinion with regard to the 
 extent of this principle, and of what it commands and forbids ; 
 but the notion of it, as far as it is carried, is the fame in all. 
 It is that which gives a man real worth, and is the objed: of mo- 
 ral approbation. 
 
 Men of rank call it honour, and too often confine it to certain 
 virtues that are thought mofl effential to their rank. The vul- 
 gar call it honejly, probityy virtue, confcience. Philofophers have 
 given it the names of the moral fenfe, the moral faculty, reBitude. 
 
 The univerfality of this principle in men that are grown up 
 
 to
 
 OF THE NOTION OF DUTY, ffff. 33» 
 
 to years of underftandinjjj and reflcdion, is evident. The words . ^J' J 
 that exprefs it, the names of the virtues which it commands, 
 and of the vices which it forbids, the ought and oug/jl not which 
 exprefs its didlates, make an efleniial part of every language. 
 The natural aflc-dions of refped to worthy characters, of re- 
 fentment of Injuries, of gratitude for favours, of indignation 
 againft tlie worthlefs, are parts of the human conftitutiun 
 which fui)pofe a right and a wrong in condudl. Many tranfac- 
 tions that arc found neceflary in the rudeft focieties go upon 
 the fame fuppofition. In all teftimony, in all promiles, and in all 
 contrads, there is necefHirily implied a moral obligation on one 
 party, and a truft in the other, grounded upon this obligation. 
 
 The variety of opinions among men in points of morality, is 
 not greater, but, as 1 apprehend, much Icfs than in fpcculative 
 points ; and this variety is as eafily accounted for, from the 
 common caufes of error, in the one cafe as in the other j fo that 
 it is not more evident, that there is a real diftinclion between 
 true and falfe, in matters of fpeculation, than that there is a real 
 diftiniition between right and wrong in human condud. 
 
 Mr Hume's authority, if there were any need of it, is of 
 weight in this matter, becaufe he was not wont to go ralhly 
 into vulgar opinions. 
 
 " Thofe, fays lie, who have denied the reality of moral dl- 
 " rtindions, may be ranked among the difingenuous difputants 
 " (who really do not believe the opinions they defend, but engage 
 " in the controverfy, from affedation, from a fpirit of oppofitit)n, 
 *' or from a defire of fhewingwit and ingenuity fuperior to the red 
 " of mankind) ; nor is it conceivable, that any human creature 
 " could ever ferioufly believe, that all charaders and adions 
 " were alike entitled to the regard and affedion of every one. 
 
 ** Let a man's iufenfibility be ever fo great, he muft often be 
 
 " touched
 
 23* 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP, v.^ « touched with the images of right and wrong j and let his pre- 
 " judices be ever Co obftinate, he mufl obferve that others are fuf- 
 " ceptible of like impreflions. The only way, therefore, of con- 
 " vincing an antagonift of this kind is to leave him to himfelf. 
 " For, finding that nobody keeps up the controverfy with him, 
 " it is probable he will at laft, of himfelf, from mere wearinefs, 
 " come over to the fide of common fenfe and reafon." 
 
 What we call rl^bi and honourable in human condudl, was, by 
 the ancients, called honejlum, to xatAw j of which Tully fays, 
 " Quod vere dicimus, etiamfi a nuUo laudetur, natura efle lauda- 
 " bile." 
 
 All tlie ancient feels, except the Epicureans, diftinguifhed the 
 honejlum from the utile, as we diflinguifh what is a man's duty 
 from what is his intereft. 
 
 The word offichnn, xoMwv, extended both to the honejlum and 
 the utile : So that every reafonable adlion, proceeding either 
 from a fenfe of duty or a fenfe of intereft, was called ojfficium. 
 It Is defined by Cicero to be, " Id quod cur fadlum fit ratio 
 " probabilis reddi poteft." We commonly render It by the 
 word duty, but it is more extenfive ; for the word duty, in the 
 Englifh language, I think, is commonly applied only to what 
 the ancients called honejlum. CicERO, and Panjetius before 
 him, treating of offices, firft point out thofe that are grounded 
 upon the honejlum, 2iX\A next thofe that are grounded upon the utile. 
 
 The moft ancient philofophical fyftem concerning the princi- 
 ples of adlion In the human mind, and, I think, the moft agree- 
 able to nature, is that which we find In foir.e fragments of the 
 ancient Pythagoreans, and which is adopted by Plato, and ex- 
 plained In fome of his dialogues. 
 
 According to this fyftem, there is a leading principle in the 
 
 foul.
 
 OFTHENOTIONOFDUTY, y^. 233 
 
 foul, which, like the fuprcme power in a commonwealth, his chap. v. 
 authority and right to jj;overn. Tliis leadin;^ princijjle they 
 called reafon. It is that which diftin^uiihes men that are adult 
 from brutes, idiots and infants. The inferior principles, which 
 are under the authority of the leading principle, are our paf- 
 fions and appetites, which we have in common with the brutes. 
 
 Cicero adopts this fyftem, and exprefles it well in few words. 
 " Duplex enim eft vis animorum atque naturae. Una pars in 
 " ajjpetitu pofita eft, quae hominem hue et illuc rapit, quie eft 
 " i^fjii grcece, altera in ratione, quae docet, et cxplanat quid faci- 
 " endum fugiendumve lit. Ita fit ut ratio prxfit appetitus ob- 
 " temperet." 
 
 This divifion of our acftive principles can hardly indeed be ac- 
 counted a difcovery of philofophy, becaufe it has been common 
 to the unlearned in all ages of the world, and fcems to be dic- 
 tated by the common fenfe of mankind. 
 
 What I would now obferve concerning this common divifion 
 of our active powers, is, that the leading principle, which is 
 called reafon, comprehends both a regard to what is right and 
 honourable, and a regard to our happincfs upon the whole. 
 
 Although thefe be really two diftind principles of adlion, it 
 is very natural to comprehend them under one name, becaufe 
 both are leading principles, both fuppofe the ufe of reafon, and, 
 when rightly underftood, both lead to the fame courfe of life. 
 They are like twp fountains whofe ftreams unite and run in the 
 lame channel. 
 
 When a man, on one occafion, confults his real happinefs in 
 things not inconfillent with his duty, though in oppolition to 
 the Iblicitation of appetite or paflion ; and when, on another 
 occafion, without any Itlfifli confideration, he does what is right 
 
 G g and
 
 234 ESSAY HI. 
 
 CHAP. V. ^^^] honourable, becaufe it is fo ; in both thefe cafes, he adls 
 reafonably ; every man approves of his condud, and calls it 
 reafonable, or according to reafon. 
 
 So that, when we fpeak of reafon as a principle of adlion in 
 man, it includes a regard both to the honejlum and to the utile. 
 Both are combined under one name ; and accordingly the dic- 
 tates of both, in the Latin tongue, were combined under the 
 name officium, and in the Greek under xaflrxoi*. 
 
 If we examine the abftradl notion of duty, or moral obliga- 
 tion, it appears to be neither any real quality of the ad:ion con- 
 fidered by itfelf, nor of the agent confidered without refpedl to 
 the adlion, but a certain relation between the one and the 
 other. 
 
 When we fay a man ought to do fuch a thing, the ought, 
 which exprefles the moral obligation, has a refpeft, on the one 
 hand, to the perfon who ought, and, on the other, to the adion 
 which he ought to do. Thofe two correlates are eflential to 
 every moral obligation ; take away either, and it has no ex- 
 iftence. So that, if we feek the place of moral obligation 
 among the categories, it belongs to the category of relation. 
 
 There are many relations of things, of which we have the 
 mod diftindt conception, without being able to define them lo- 
 gically. Equality and proportion are relations between quanti- 
 ties, which every man underflands, but no man can define. 
 
 Moral obligation is a relation of its own kind, which every 
 man underftands, but is perhaps too fimple to admit of logical 
 definition. Like all other relations, it may be changed or anni- 
 hilated by a change in any of the two related things, I mean 
 the agent or the adion. 
 
 Perhaps
 
 OF THE NOTION OF DUTY, Wc. 235 
 
 Perhaps it may not be improper to point out briefly the cir- CHAP, v, 
 cumftances, both in the ndion and in the aj^L-nt, wliich are ne- 
 ceflary to conllitute moral obligation. The univerfal agreement 
 of men in thefe, fliews that they have one and the lame notion 
 of it. 
 
 With regard to the adion, it mufl be a voluntary adion, or 
 preftation of the perfon obliged, and not of another. There 
 can be no moral obligation upon a man to be fix feet high. 
 Nor can I be under a moral obligation that another perfon 
 fliould do fuch a thing. His adlions mufl be imputed to hiinfelf, 
 and mine' only to me, either for praife or blame. 
 
 I need hardly mention, that a perfon can be under a moral 
 obligation, only to things within the fphere of his natural 
 
 power. 
 
 « 
 
 As to the party obliged, it is evident, there can be no moral 
 obligation upon an inanimate thing. To fpeak of moral obliga- 
 tion upon a ftone or a tree is ridiculous, becaufe it coutradids 
 every man's notion of moral obligation. 
 
 The perfon obliged mufl have underflanding and will, and 
 fome degree of adive power. He mufl not only have the na- 
 tural faculty of underflanding, but the means of knowing his 
 obligation. An invincible ignorance of this deflroys all moral 
 obligation. 
 
 The opinion of the agent in doing the adion gives it its mo- 
 ral denomination. If he does a materially good udion, without 
 any belief of its being good, but from fome other principle, it 
 is no good adion in him. And if he does it with the belief of 
 its being ill, it is ill in him. 
 
 Thus, if a man fliould give to his neighbour a potion which 
 
 G g 2 he
 
 236 ■ ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. V. [je really believes will poifon him, but which, in the event, proves 
 falutary, and does much good ; in moral eftimation, he is a poi- 
 foner, and not a benefactor. 
 
 Thefe qualifications of the ad:ion and of the agent, in mo- 
 ral obligation, are felf-evident ; and the agreement of all men 
 in them fhows, that all men have the fame notion and a diflindl 
 notion of moral obligation. 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 Of the Senfe of Duty. 
 
 w 
 
 E are next to confider, how we learn to judge and deter- 
 mine, that this is right, and that is wrong. 
 
 The abftradl notion of moral good and ill would be of no ufe 
 to diredl our life, if we had not the power of applying it to. 
 particular adions, and determining what is morally good, and 
 what is morally ill. 
 
 Some Phllofophers, with whom I agree, afcribe this to an ori- 
 ginal power or faculty in man, which they call the moral fenfe, 
 the moral faculty, confcience. Others think, that our moral fenti- 
 ments may be accounted for without fuppofing any original 
 fenfe or faculty appropriated to that purpofe, and go into very 
 different fyftems to account for them. 
 
 I am not, at prefent, to take any notice of thofe fyftems, be- 
 caufe the opinion firfl mentioned feems to me to be the truth, 
 to wit, That, by an original power of the mind, when we come 
 to years of underftanding and refledion, we not only have the 
 
 notions
 
 OFTHESENSEOFDUTY. 237 
 
 notions of right :iiul wrong in condud, but perceive certain cftat. vr. 
 tilings to be right, and others to be wrong. s/— — ' 
 
 The name of the moral fcnfe, thougii more frequently given to 
 confcience fince Lord Shaftesbury and Dr Hutcheson wruie 
 is not new. The fitifns reEl'i et boricjli is a phrafe not unfrequent 
 among the ancients, neither is the fenfe of duty among us. 
 
 It lias got this name of fenfe ^ no doubt, from fome analogy 
 which it is conceived to bear to the external fenfes. And if we 
 have juft notions of the oilice of tiie external fenfes, the analogy 
 is very evident, and I fee no reafon to take oiVence, as fome have 
 done, at the name ot the moral fcnfe. 
 
 The offence taken at this name feems to be owing to this, 
 That Philofophcrs have degraded the fenfes too much, and de- 
 prived them of the moft important part of their office. 
 
 We are taught, that, by the fenfes, we have only certain ideas 
 which we could not have otherwife. They are reprefented as 
 powers by which we have fenfations and ideas, not as powers by 
 which we judge. 
 
 This notion of the fenfes I take to be very lame, and to con- 
 tradidl what nature and accurate refledion teach concerning 
 them. 
 
 A man who has totally loft the fenfe of feeing, may retain ve- 
 ry diftinct notions of the various colours ; but he cannot judge 
 of colours, becaufe he has loft the fenfe by which alone he could 
 judge. By my eyes I not only have the ideas of a fquare and 
 a circle, but I perceive this furface to be a fquare, that to be a 
 circle. 
 
 By my ear, I not only have the idea of founds, loud and fofi, 
 acute and grave, but 1 immediately perceive and judge this found 
 
 to
 
 238 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. VI. to be loud, that to be foft, this to be acute, that to be grave. 
 Two or more fynchronous founds I perceive to be concordant, 
 others to be difcordant. 
 
 Thefe are judgments of the fenfes. They have always been 
 called and accounted fuch, by thofe whofe minds are not tinc- 
 tured by philofophical theories. They are the immediate 
 teftimony of nature by our fenfes ; and we are fo conftituted by 
 nature, that we mull receive their teftimony, for no other reafon 
 but becaufe it is given by our fenfes. 
 
 In vain do Sceptics endeavour to overturn this evidence by 
 metaphyfical reafoning. Though we fhould not be able to an- 
 fwer their arguments, we believe our fenfes ftill, and reft our 
 moft important concerns upon their teftimony. 
 
 If this be a juft notion of our external fenfes, as I conceive it 
 is, our moral faculty may, I think, without impropriety, be cal- 
 led the moral fenfe. 
 
 In its dignity it is, without doubt, far fuperior to every other 
 power of the mind j but there is this analogy between it and 
 the external fenfes, That, as by them we have not only the ori- 
 ginal conceptions of the various qualities of bodies, but the ori- 
 ginal judgments that this body has fuch a quality, that fuch 
 another^ fo by our moral faculty, we have both the original 
 conceptions of right and wrong in condudl, of merit and demerit, 
 and the original judgments that this condud is right, that is 
 wrong ', that this charader has worth, that, demerit. 
 
 The teftimony of our moral faculty, like that of the external 
 fenfes, Is the teftimony of nature, and we have the fame reafon 
 to rely upon it. 
 
 The truths immediately teftified by the external fenfes are the 
 
 firft
 
 OF THE SENSE OF DUTY. 
 
 239 
 
 lirft principles from which we rcafon, with regard to the mate- Cli^? vr. 
 rial world, and from which all our knowledge of it is deduced. 
 
 The truths immediately teftified by our moral faculty, are the 
 firfl: principles of all moral reafoning, from which all our know- 
 ledge of our duty muft be deduced. 
 
 By moral reafoning, I undcrftand all reafoning that is brought 
 to prove that fuch conducl: is right, and deferring of moral ai>- 
 probation, or that it is wrong, or that it is inditlereut, and, in it- 
 felf, neither morally good nor ill. 
 
 I think, all we can properly call moral judgments are redu- 
 cible to one or other of thefe, as all human actions, confidered 
 in a moral view, are either good, or bad, or indifferent. 
 
 I know the term moral reafoning is often ufed by good writers 
 in a more extenfive ['tn(t ; but as the reafoning I now fpeak of Is 
 of a peculiar kind, diflind from all others, and therefore ought to 
 have a diftind name, I take the liberty to limit the name of 
 moral reafoning to this kind. 
 
 Let It be underftood therefore, that in the reafoning I call 
 morale the conclufion always is, That fomething in the conduct 
 of moral agents is good or bad, in a greater or a lefs degree, 
 or indifferent. 
 
 All reafoning muft be grounded on firft principles. This 
 holds in moral reafoning, as in all other kinds. There muft 
 therefore be in morals, as in all other fclences, rirft or felf-evi- 
 dent principles, on which all moral reafoning is grounded, and 
 on which it ultimately refts. From fuch felf-evidcnt princi])les, 
 conclufions may be drawn fynthetically with regard to the mo- 
 ral condu(5t of life ; and particular duties or virtues may be 
 traced back to fuch principles, analytically. But, without fuch 
 
 principles,
 
 240 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. VI . principles, we can no more eftablifli any conclufion in morals, 
 than we can build a caftle in the air, without any foundation. 
 
 An example or two will ferve to illuftrate this. 
 
 It is a firft principle in morals. That we ought not to do to 
 another, what we fhould think wrong to be done to us in like 
 circumflances. If a man Is not capable of .perceiving this in 
 his cool moments, when he refledls ferioufly, he is not a moral 
 agent, nor is he capable of being convinced of It by reafon- 
 
 From what topic can yon reafon with fuch a man? You may 
 polfibly convince him by reafonlng, that It Is his Intereft to ob- 
 ferve this rule j but this Is not to convince him that it is his du- 
 ty. To reafon about juftice with a man who fees nothing to be 
 juft or unjuft ', or about benevolence with a man who fees no- 
 thing In benevolence preferable to malice, is like reafonlng with 
 a blind man about colour, or with a deaf man about found. 
 
 It is a quefllon in morals that admits of reafonlng. Whether, 
 by the law of nature, a man 'ought to have only one wife ? 
 
 We reafon upon this queftlon, by balancing the advantages 
 and difadvantages to the family, and to foclety In general, that 
 are naturally confequent both upon monogamy and polygamy. 
 And If It can be fhewn that the advantages are greatly upon the 
 fide of monogamy, we think the point Is determined. 
 
 But, if a man does not perceive that he ought to regard the 
 good of fociety, and the good of his wife and children, the rea- 
 fonlng can have no effed; upon him, becaufe he denies the firft 
 principle upon which it Is grounded. 
 
 Suppofe again, that we reafon for monogamy from the inten- 
 tion
 
 OF THE SENSE OF DUTY. 24* 
 
 tion of nature, difcovercd by the projiortion of mules and of fc- CHA P. VL 
 males that are born ; a proportion which correfixmds pcr:fcCi\y 
 with monogamy, but by no means with polygamy. This argu- 
 ment can have no weight with a man who does not perceive 
 that he ought to have a regard to the intention of nature. 
 
 Thus we fhall find that all moral rcafonings reft upon one or 
 more firft princijiles of morals, whofe truth is immediately per- 
 ceived without reafoning, by all men come to year') of under- 
 Handing. 
 
 And this indeed is common to every branch of human know- 
 ledge that deferves the name of fcience. There muft be fnii 
 principles proper to that fcience, by which the whole fupcr- 
 ftrudlure is fupported. 
 
 The firft: principles of all the fciences, muft be the immediate 
 didates of our natural faculties]; nor is it pollible that we fliould 
 have any other evidence of their truth. And in different fci- 
 ences the faculties which didate their firft principles are very 
 different. 
 
 Thus, in aftronomy and in optics, in which fuch wonder- 
 ful difcoveries have been made, that the unlearned can hardly 
 believe them to be within the reach of human capacity, the 
 firft principles are phrcnomena attefted folely by that little or- 
 gan, the human eye. If we diftjclieve its report, the whole of 
 thofe two noble fabrics of fcience, falls to pieces like the vi- 
 fions of tlie night. 
 
 The principles of mufic all depend upon the teftimony of the 
 ear. The principles of natural philofophy, upon the fadls at- 
 tefted by the fenfes. The principles of mathematics, upon the 
 neceffary relations of quantities confidered abftradly, fuch as, 
 That equal quantities added to equal quantities make equal 
 
 H h fums,
 
 242 ESSAY III. 
 
 P^'"^?- ^'l - Turns, and the like ; which neccflary relations are immediately- 
 perceived by the underftanding. 
 
 The fcience of politics borrows its principles from what we 
 know by experience of the charader and conduct of man. We 
 confider not what he ought to be, but wliat he is, and thence 
 conclude what part he will a6l in different fituations and cir- 
 cumllances. From fuch principles we reafon concerning the 
 caufes and effeds of different forms of government, laws, cuf- 
 toms, and manners. If man were either a more perfedl or a 
 more iraperfed, a better or a worfe creature than he is, politics 
 would be a different fcience from what it is. 
 
 The firft principles of morals are the Immediate ditftates of 
 the moral faculty. They Ihew us, not what man is, but what 
 he ought to be. Whatever is Immediately perceived to be juft, 
 honeft, and honourable, In human condudl, carries moral obli- 
 gation along with it, and the contrary carries demerit and blame ; 
 and, from thofe moral obligations that are immediately per- 
 ceived, all other moral obligations mull be deduced by reafon- 
 ing. 
 
 He that will judge of the colour of an objedl, mufl; confult his 
 eyes, In a good light, when there is no medium or contiguous 
 objeds that may give It a falfe tinge. But In vain will he con- 
 fult every other faculty In this matter. 
 
 In like manner, he that will judge of the firft principles of 
 morals, muft confult his confclence, or moral faculty, when he 
 is calm and dlfpaflionate, unbialled by intereft, affedlon, or 
 fafhion. 
 
 As we rely upon the clear and dlftlnd teftlmony of our eyes, 
 concerning the colours and figures of the bodies about us, we 
 have the fame reafon to rely with fecurity upon the clear and 
 
 unblafled
 
 OF THi: SENSE OF DUTY. 243 
 
 unblanecl tefllmony of our confcicncc, with rcgirJ to what we CH.MVVL 
 ought and ought not to do. In many cafes, moral worth and 
 demerit are difccrncd no lefs clearly by the Lift of thofe natural 
 faculties, than hgure and colour by the full. 
 
 The faculties which nature hath given us, are the only en- 
 gines we can ufe to find out the truth. ^V^e cannot indeed prove 
 that thofe faculties are not fallacious, unlcfs God fliould give 
 us new faculties to fit in judgment upon the old. But we are 
 born under a neccfTity of truftiiig them. 
 
 Every man in his fenfes believes his eyes, his ears, and his 
 other fenfes. He believes his confcioufnefs with refpedl to his 
 own thoughts and purpofes, his memory, with regard to what is 
 paft, his underftanding, with regard to abftrad: relations of 
 things, and his tafte, with regard to what is elegant and beau- 
 tiful. And he has the fame reafon, and, indeed, is under the 
 fame necelFity of believing the clear and unbiafled didates of 
 his confcience, with regard to what is honourable and what is 
 bafe. 
 
 The fum of what has been faid in this chapter is, That, by an 
 original power of the mind, which we call confcience, or the mo- 
 ral faculty, we have the conceptions of right and wrong in hu- 
 man condud, of merit and demerit, of duty and moral oblit^a- 
 tion, and our other moral conceptions ; and that, by the fame 
 faculty, we perceive fome things in human conduCl to be right, 
 and others to be wrong ; that the firft principles of morals are 
 the didates of this faculty ; and that we have the fame reafon 
 to rely upon thofe didtates, as upon the determinations of our 
 fenfes, or of our other natural faculties. 
 
 H h 2 CHAP.
 
 ESSAY III. |] 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 Of moral Approbation and Diftp probation. 
 
 OUR moral judgments are not like thofe we form in fpecu- 
 lative matters, dry and unaffeding, but, from their na- 
 ture, are neceflarily accompanied with affedions and feelings j 
 which we are now to conlider. 
 
 It was before obferved, that every human adlion, confidered 
 in a moral view, appears to us good, or bad, or indifferent. When 
 we judge the adion to be indifferent, neither good nor bad, 
 though this be a moral judgment, it produces no affedion nor 
 feeling, any more than our judgments in fpeculative matters. 
 
 But we approve of good adions, and difapprove of bad ; and 
 this approbation and difapprobation, when we analyfe it, appears 
 to include, not only a moral judgment of the adion, but fome 
 affedion, favourable or unfavourable, towards^ the agent, and 
 fome feeling in ourfelves. 
 
 Nothing Is more evident than this. That moral worth, even itt 
 a ftranger, with whom we have not the leall connedion, never 
 fails to produce fome degree of efteem mixed with good will. 
 
 The efteem which we have for a man on account of his mo- 
 ral worth, is different from that which is grounded upon his in- 
 telledual accomplifhments, his birth, fortune, and connedion 
 with us. 
 
 Moral worth, when it is not fet off by eminent abilities, and 
 external advantages, is like a diamond in the mine, which is 
 
 rough
 
 OF MORAL APPROBATION, =^c. 245 
 
 rough and unpoliflied, and perhaps cruftcd over with fome bafer chap. \ ir. 
 material that takes away its luflrc. ^' 
 
 But, -when it is attended with thefe advantages, it is hke a 
 diamond cut, polilhcd, and fet. Then its luftrc attrads every 
 eye. Yet thefe tilings which add Co much to its appearance, 
 add but little to its real value. 
 
 We muft farther obferve, that efleem and benevolent regard, 
 not only accompany real worth by the conftitution of our na- 
 ture, but are perceived to be really and properly due to it j and 
 that, on the contrary, unworthy condud really merits diflike 
 and indignation. 
 
 There is no judgment of the heart of man more clear, or 
 more irrefiftible, than this, That efteem and regard are really 
 due to good condudl, and the contrary to bafc and unworthy 
 contlud. Nor can we conceive a greater depravity in the heart 
 of man, than it would be to fee and acknowledge worth without 
 feeling any refpedt to it 3 or to fee and acknowledge the higheft. 
 ■worthlefliiefs without any degree of diflike and indignation. 
 
 The efteem that is due to worthy condud, is not leflened 
 ■when a man is confcious of it in himfelf. Nor can he help ha- 
 ving fome efleem for himfelf, when he is confcious of thofe 
 qualities for which he moft highly efteems others. 
 
 Self-efleem, grounded upon external advantages, or the gifts 
 of fortune, is pride. When it is grounded upon a vain conceit 
 of inward worth which we do not poflcfs, it is arrogance and 
 felf-dcceit. But when a man, without thinking of himfelf more 
 highly than he ought to think, is confcious of that integrity 
 of heart, and uprightnefs of conduct, which he moft highly 
 efteems in others, and values himfelf duly upon this account ; 
 this perhaps may be called the pride of virtue, but it is not a 
 
 vicious
 
 a4<5 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. VII . vicious pride. It is a noble and magnanimous dlfpofition, with- 
 out which there can be no fleady virtue. 
 
 A man who has a charadler with iiimfelf, which he vaUies, 
 will difdain to a6l in a manner unworthy of it. The language 
 of his heart will be like that of Job, " My righteoufnefs I hold 
 " faft, and will not let it go ; my heart fhall not reproach ine 
 " while I live." 
 
 ^ 
 
 A good man owes much to his character with the w^orld, and 
 will be concerned to vindicate it from unjuft imputations. But 
 he owes much more to his character with himfelf. For if his 
 heart condemns him not, he has confidence towards God j and 
 he can more eafily bear the lafli of tongues than the reproach 
 of his own mind. 
 
 The fenfe of honour, fo much fpoken of, and fo often mifap- 
 plied, is nothing elfe, when rightly underflood, but the difdain 
 which a man of worth feels to do a diflionourable adlion, though 
 it fhould never be known nor fufpe<5led. 
 
 A good man will have a much greater abhorrence againfl do- 
 ing a bad adlion, than even againfl: having it unjuftly imputed 
 to him. The laft may give a wound to his reputation, but the 
 firft gives a wound to his confcience, which is more difficult to 
 heal, and more painful to endure. 
 
 Let us, on the other hand, confider how we are affeded by 
 difapprobation, either of the condudt of others, or of our own. 
 
 Every thing we difapprove in the condudt of a man leflens 
 him in our eflieem. There are indeed brilliant faults, which, 
 having a mixture of good and ill in them, may have a very dif- 
 ferent afpedt, according to the fide on which we view them. 
 
 In
 
 OF MORAL APPROBATION, Wf. 247 
 
 In fuch faults of our friends, and much more of ourfclves, CHAP. vii. 
 we are difpofed to view them on the bcft fide, and on the con- 
 trary fide in thofe to whom wc are ill aflccted. 
 
 This partiality, in taking things by the befl or by the worfl 
 handle, is the chief caufe of wrong judgment with regard to 
 the cliaradler of others, and of felf-deceit with regard to our 
 own. 
 
 But when we take complex a<flions to pieces, and view every 
 part by itfclf, ill conduct of every kind leffens our efteem of a 
 man, as much as good conduct increafes it. It is apt to turn 
 lovc-into indifference, indifference into contempt, and contempt 
 into averfion and abhorrence. 
 
 When a man is confcious of immoral condudV in himfclf, it 
 lellens his felf-efteem. It depreffes and humbles his fpirit, and 
 makes his countenance to fall. He could even punilh himfelf 
 for his mifhehaviour, if that could wipe out the flain. There 
 is a fenfe of diflionour and worthleffnefs arifing from guilt, as 
 well as a fenfe of honour and worth arifing from woithy con- 
 dud. And this is the cafe, even if a man could conceal his 
 guilt from all the world. 
 
 We are next to confider the agreeable or uneafy feelings, in 
 the breaft of the fpedlator or judge, which naturally accompany 
 moral approbation and difapprobation. 
 
 There is no affection that is not accompanied with fome 
 agreeable or uneafy emotion. It has often been obferved, that 
 all the benevolent affections give pleafure, and the contrary ones 
 pain, in one degree or another. 
 
 When we contemplate a noble charader, though but in an- 
 cient hiftory, or even in tktiou j like a beautiful objcd, it gives 
 
 u
 
 248 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. vu. ^ lively and pleafant emotion to the fpirits. It warms the heart, 
 and invigorates the whole frame. Like the beams of the fun, 
 it enlivens the face of nature, and diffufes heat and light all 
 around. 
 
 We feel a fympathy with every noble and worthy charadler 
 that is reprefented to us. We rejoice in his profperity, we are 
 afflided in his diftrefs. We even catch fome fparks of that ce- 
 leftial fire that animated his conduct, and feel the glow of his 
 virtue and magnanimity. 
 
 This fympathy is the neceflary effedl of our judgment of his 
 conduct, and of the approbation and efteem due to it ; for real 
 fympathy is always the effedl of fome benevolent affediion, fuch 
 as efteem, love, pity or humanity. 
 
 When the perfon whom we approve is conneded with us by 
 acquaintance, friendfhip or blood, the pleafure we derive from 
 his condud is greatly increafed. We claim fome property in 
 his worth, and are apt to value ourfelves on account of it. This 
 fhews a ftronger degree of fympathy, which gathers ftrength 
 from every fecial tie. 
 
 But the higheft pleafure of all is, when we are confcious of 
 good condud in ourfelves. This, in facred fcripture, is called 
 the tejl'imony of a good confcience ', and it is reprefented, not only in 
 the facred writings, but in the writings of all moralifts, of eve- 
 ry age and fed:, as the pureft, the moft noble and valuable of 
 all human enjoyments. 
 
 Surely, were we to place the chief happinefs of this life (a 
 thing that has been fo much fought after) in any one kind of 
 enjoyment, that which arifes from the confcioufnefs of integri- 
 ty, and a uniform endeavour to adt the beft part in our ftation, 
 would moft juftly claim the preference to all other enjoyments the 
 
 human
 
 OF MORAL APPROBATION, t^V. 
 
 249 
 
 luiinin mind is capable of, on account of its dignity, the in- CUAV. viL 
 tenfcnefs of the happinefs it aiTords, its liability and duration, 
 its being in our power, and its being proof againft all accidents 
 of time and fortune. 
 
 On the other hand, the view of a vicious character, like that 
 of an ugly and deformed jobjed, is difagreeable. It gives dif- 
 gurt and abhorrence. 
 
 If the unworthy perfon be nearly connedcd with us, we have 
 a very painful fympathy indeed. We blufli even for the fmal- 
 ler faults of thofe we are conncded with, and feel ourfelves, as 
 it were, diflionoured by their ill condudl. 
 
 But, when there is a high degree of depravity in any perfon 
 connedled with us, we are deeply humbled and deprefled by it. 
 The fympathetic feeling has fome refemblance to that of guilt, 
 though it be free from all guilt. We are afhamed to fee our ac- 
 quaintance ; we would, if pofllble, difclaim all connection with 
 the guilty perfon. We wifh to tear him from our hearts, and 
 to blot him out of our remembrance. 
 
 Time, however, alleviates thofe fympathetic forrows which 
 arife from bad behaviour in our friends and connedions, if we 
 are confcious that we had no fhare in their guilt. 
 
 The wifdom of God, in the conftitution of our nature, hath 
 intended, that this fympathetic dillrefs fliould intereit us the 
 more deeply in the good behaviour, as well as in the good for- 
 tune of our friends j and that thereby friendlhip, relation and 
 every focial tie, fliould be aiding to virtue and unfavourable to 
 vice. 
 
 How common is it, even in vicious parents, to be deeply af- 
 flided when their children go into thefe courfes in which per- 
 
 I i haps
 
 250 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. VII. ]j3pg tiiey have gone before them, and, by their example, fliewa 
 them the way. 
 
 If bad conduct in thofe in whom we are interefted, be uneafy 
 and painful, it is fo much more when we are confcious of it in 
 ourfelves. This uneafy feeling has a name in all languages. We 
 call it remorje. 
 
 It has been defcribed in fuch frightful colours by writers (a- 
 cred and profane, by writers of every age and of every perfua- 
 fion, even by Epicureans, that 1 will not attempt the defcription 
 of it. 
 
 It is on account of the uneafmefs of this feeling, that bad 
 men take fo much pains to get rid of it, and to hide, even from 
 their own eyes, as much as poffible, the pravity of their con- 
 duit. Hence arife all the arts of felf-deceit, by which men 
 varnlfh their crimes, or endeavour to wafh out the flain of 
 guilt. Hence the various methods of expiation which fuperfti- 
 tion has invented, to folace the confcience of the criminal, and 
 give fome cooling to his parched breaft. Hence alfo arife, very 
 often, the efforts of men of bad hearts to excel in fome amiable 
 quality, which may be a kind of counterpoife to their vices, both 
 in the opinion of others and in their own. 
 
 For no man can bear the thought of being abfolutely deftltute 
 of all worth. The confcloufnefs of this would make him deteft 
 himfelf, hate the light of the fun, and fly. If poffible, out of ck- 
 iflence. 
 
 I have now endeavoured to delineate the natural operations 
 of that principle of a dl ion In man, which we call the moral fenfe, 
 the moral faculty, confcience. We know nothing of our natural 
 faculties, but by their operations within us. Of their operations 
 in our own minds, we are confcious, and we fee the figns of 
 
 their
 
 OF MORAL APPRO HAT I ON, ^r. 251 
 
 their operations in the minds of others. Of this faculty the CMAr.vii. 
 operations appear to be, the judy;ing ukiinately of what is right, 
 what is wrong, and what is indilVcrent in the conduct of inoral 
 agents ; the approbation of good condiidl anil difai^probation of 
 bad in confcquencc of that judgtnent, and the agreeable emo- 
 tions which attend obedience, and difagreeable which attend 
 difobcdience to its didates. 
 
 The Supreme Being, who lias given us eyes to difcern what 
 may be ufeful and what hurtful to our natural life, hath alfo 
 given us this light within to direct our moral condutt. 
 
 Moral condud is the bufinefs of every man ; and therefore 
 the knowledge of it ought to be within the reach of all. 
 
 Epicurus reafoned acutely and juftly to fliew, that a regard 
 to our prefent happinefs fliould induce us to the practice of tem- 
 perance, juftice and humanity. But the bulk of mankind can- 
 not follow long trains of reafoning. The loud voice of the 
 pafllons drowns the calm and ftill voice of reafoning. 
 
 Confcience commands and forbids with more authority, and 
 in the moft common and moft important points of condud, 
 without the labour of reafoning. Its voice is heard by every 
 man, and cannot be difregarded with impunity. 
 
 The fenfe of guilt makes a man at variance with himfclf. 
 He fees that he is what he ought not to be. He has fallen 
 from the dignity of his nature, and has fold his real worth for 
 a thing of no value. He is confcious of demerit, and cannot 
 avoid the dread of meeting with its reward. 
 
 On the other hand, he who pays a facred regard to the dic- 
 tates of his confcience, cannot fail of a prefent reward, and a 
 reward proportioned to the exertion required in doing his duty. 
 
 I i 2 1 he
 
 352 . ESSAY 111. 
 
 CHAP. VII . "phe man who, in oppofitlon to (Irong temptation, b y roble 
 eftbrt, maintains his integrity, is the happieft man on earth. The 
 more fevere his conflidl has been, the greater is his triumph. 
 The confcioufnefs of inward worth gives flrength to his heart, 
 and makes his countenance to (hine. Teinpefts may beat and^ 
 floods roar, but he ftands firm as a rock in the joy of a good ^ 
 confcience, and confidence of divine approbation. 
 
 « 
 
 To this I fhall only add, what every man's confcience dic- 
 tates. That he who does his duty, from the convidion that it is 
 right and honourable, and what he ought to do, adts from a 
 nobler principle, and with more inward fatisfad:ion, than he 
 who is bribed to do it, merely from the confideration of a reward 
 prefent or future. 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 Obfervations concerning Confcience. 
 
 I Shall now conclude this EfTay with fome obfervations con- 
 cerning this power of the mind which we call confciencey by 
 which its nature may be better underftood. 
 
 The ^r^ is. That, like all our other powers, it comes to ma- 
 turity by infenfible degrees, and may be much aided ia its 
 ftrength and vigour by proper culture. 
 
 All the human faculties have their infancy and their fiate of 
 maturity. 
 
 The faculties which we have in common with the brutes ap- 
 pear firft, and have the quickefl growth. In the firfi period of 
 life, children are not capable of diftinguifliing right from 
 
 wrong
 
 ' OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. ac;^ 
 
 wrong in human condud j neither are they capable of abftradl CHAP.vill- 
 reafoning in matters of fcicnce. I'heir judgment of moral 
 condudt, as well as their jutlgment of truth, advances by iiifcn- 
 fible degrees, like the corn and the grafs. 
 
 In vegetables, full; the blade or the leaf appears, then the 
 flower, and laJl of all the fruit, the noblelt produdion of the 
 three, and that for which the others were produced. Thefe 
 fucceed one another in a regular order. They require moiflufs 
 and heat and air and flielter to bring them to maturity, and 
 may be much improved by culture. According to the variations 
 of i'oil, fealbn and culture, fome plants are brought to much 
 greater perfedion than others of the fame fpecies. But no va- 
 riation of culture or feafon or foil can make grapes grow froiu 
 thorns, or figs from thiftles. 
 
 We may obferve a fimilar progrefs in the faculties of the 
 mind : For there is a wonderful analogy among all the works 
 of God, from the leaft even to the greateft. 
 
 The faculties of man unfold themfelves in a certain order, 
 appointed by the great Creator. In their gradual progrefs, they 
 may be greatly alUfted or retarded, improved or corrupted, by 
 education, inftruclion, example, exercife, and by the fociety and 
 converfation of men, which, like foil and culture in plants, may 
 produce great changes to the better or to the worfe. 
 
 But thefe means can never produce any new faculties, nor 
 any other than were originally planted in the mind by the Au- 
 thor of nature. And what is common to the whole fpecies, in 
 all the varieties of inftrudtion and education, of improvement 
 and degeneracy, is the work of God, and not the operation of 
 fecond caufes. 
 
 Such we may juflly account confciencc, or the faculty of df- 
 
 ftinguifliing
 
 254 E S S A Y III. 
 
 CHAP.viir. flinguiflilng right conduct from wrong ', fince it appears*, and in 
 all nations and ages, has appeared, in men that are come to ma- 
 turity. 
 
 The feeds, as it were, of moral difcernment are planted in the 
 mind by him that made us. They grow up in their proper fea- 
 fon, and are at firft tender and delcate, and eafily warped. 
 Their progrefs depends very much upon their being duly culti- 
 vated and properly exercifed. 
 
 It is fo with the power of reafonlng, which all acknowledge 
 to be one of the moil eminent natural faculties of man. It ap- 
 pears not in infancy. It fprings up, by infenfible degrees, as we 
 grow to maturity. But its llrength and vigour depend fo much 
 upon its being duly cultivated and exercifed, that we fee many 
 individuals, nay many nations, in which it is hardly to be per- 
 ceived. 
 
 Our intelledual difcernment is not fo flrong and vigorous by 
 nature, as to fecure us from errors in fpeculation. On the con- 
 trary, we fee a great part of mankind, in every age, funk in 
 grofs ignorance of things that are obvious to the more enlight- 
 ened, and fettered by errors and falfe notions, which the hu- 
 man underftanding, duly improved, eafily throws off. 
 
 It would be extremely abfurd, from the errors and ignorance 
 of mankind, to conclude that there is no fuch thing as truth ; or 
 that man has not a natural faculty of difcerning it, and diftin- 
 guilhing it from error. 
 
 In like manner, our moral difcernment of what we ought, and 
 what we ought not to do, is not fo flrong and vigorous by na- 
 ture, as to fecure us from very grofs raiftakes with regard to our- 
 
 duty. 
 
 In
 
 OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. 255 
 
 In matters of conduci, as \vell as in matters of fpeculation, CHAP.vill. 
 we are liable to be nilfled by prejudices of education, or by 
 wrong- inflruction. But, in matters of condud, we are alfo very 
 liable to have our judgment warped by our appetites and paflions, 
 by fafhion, and l)y tbe contagion of evil exainj)le. 
 
 We muft not therefore think, becaufe man has the natural 
 power of difcerning what is right and what is wrong, that he 
 has no need of inilrudioji ; that this power has no need of culti- 
 vation and inij)rovement ; that he may fafely rely upon the fug- 
 gertions of his mind, or upon opinions he has got, he knows not 
 how. 
 
 What (hould we think of a man who, becaufe he has by na- 
 ture the power of moving all his limbs, fhould therefore con- 
 clude that he needs not be taught to dance, or to fence, to ride, 
 or to fwim ? All thcfe excrcifes are performed by that power 
 of moving our limbs, which we have by nature ; but they will 
 be performed very awkwardly and imperfectly by thofe who 
 have not been trained to them, and praclifed in them. 
 
 W^hat (hould we think of the man who, becaufe he has the 
 power by nature of dillinguifhing what is true from what is 
 falfe, fhould conclude that he has no need to be taught mathe- 
 matics, or natural philofopliy, or other fciences ? It is by the 
 natural power of human underflanding that every thing in thofe 
 fciences has been difcovered, and that the truths they contain 
 are difcerned. But the underftanding left to itfelf, witliout the 
 aid of inftrudlion, training, habit, and exercife, would make ve- 
 ry fmall progrefs, as every one fees, in perfons unlnllruCted in 
 tliofe matters. 
 
 Our natural power of difcerning between right and wrong, 
 needs the aid of inftrudion, education, exercife, and habit, as 
 well as our other natural powers. 
 
 There
 
 ^5^ ESSAY III. 
 
 C HA?.vil L There are perfons who, as the fcrlpture fpeaks, have, by rea- 
 fon of ufe, their fenfes exercifed to difcern both good and evil ; 
 by that means, they have a much quicker, clearer, and more 
 certain judgment in morals than others. 
 
 The man who negledls the means of improvement in the 
 knowledge of his duty, may do very bad things, while he fol- 
 lows the light of fhis mind. And though he be not culpable for 
 acting according to his judgment, he may be very culpable for 
 not uling the means of having his judgment better informed. 
 
 It may be obferved. That there are truths, both fpeculative 
 and moral, which a, man left to himfelf would never difcover; 
 yet, when they are fairly laid before him, he owns and adopts 
 them, not barely upon the authority of his teacher, but upon 
 their own intrinfic evideace, and perhaps wonders that he could 
 be fo blind as not to fee them before. 
 
 Like a man whofe fon has been long abroad, and fuppofed 
 dead. After many years the fon returns, and is not known by 
 his father. He would never find that this is his fon. But, when 
 he difcovers himfelf, the father foon finds, by many circura- 
 ilances, that this is his fon who was loft, and can be no other 
 perfon. 
 
 Truth has an affinity with the human underftanding, which 
 error hath not. And right principles of condu<5t have an affinity 
 with a candid mind, which wrong principles have not. When 
 they are fet before it in a juft light, a well difpofed mind recog- 
 nifes this affinity, feels their authority, and perceives them to be 
 genuine. It was this, I apprehend, that led Plato to conceive 
 that the knowledge we acquire in the prefent ftate, is only re- 
 minifcence of what, in a former ftate, we were acquainted 
 with. 
 
 A
 
 OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. 257 
 
 A man born and brought up in a ilivage nation, maybe taug;ht chap .viii . 
 to purine injury with unrelenting malice, to the tleftrudion of 
 his enemy. Perhnps when he does fo, his heart does not con- 
 demn him. 
 
 Yet, if he be fair and candid, and, when the tumult of paflion 
 is over, have the virtues of clemency, generofity, and forgive- 
 nefs, laid before him, as they were taught and exemplified by 
 the divine Author of our religion, he will fee, that it is more 
 noble to overcome himfelf, and fubdue a favage pallion, than to 
 dellroy his enemy. He will fee, that to make a friend of an 
 enemy, and to overcome evil with good, is the greateft of all 
 vidliories, and gives a manly and a rational deliglii, with which 
 the brutifli pallion of revenge deferves not to be compared. He 
 will fee that hitherto he a(5led like a man to his friends, but like 
 a brute to his enemies ; now he knows how to make his whole 
 charader confillent, and one part of it to harmonize Nvith ano- 
 ther. 
 
 He muft indeed be a great ftranger to his own heart, and to 
 the ftate of human nature, who does not fee that he has need of 
 all the aid which his fituation affords him, in order to know 
 how he ought to aft in many cafes that occur. 
 
 A fecond obfervatlon is. That confcience is peculiar to man. 
 We fee not a veftige of it in brute-animals. It is one of thofe 
 prerogatives by which we are raifed above them. 
 
 Brute-animals have many faculties in common with us. They 
 fee, and hear, and tafte, and fmell, and feel. They have their 
 pleafures and pains. They have various inftincis and appetites. 
 They have an affedion for their offspring, and fome of them for 
 their herd or flock. Dogs have a wonderful attachment to 
 their mafters, and give manlfeft figns of fympathy with them. 
 
 K k Wc
 
 258 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP.VIII . We fee, in brute-animals, anger and emulation, pride and 
 fliame. Some of them are capable of being trained by habit, 
 and by rewards and punilbments, to many things ufeful to 
 man. 
 
 All this muft be granted ; and if our perception of what we 
 ought, and what we ought not to do, could be refolved into any 
 of thefe principles, or into any combination of them, it would 
 follow, that feme brutes are moral agents, and accountable for 
 their condudt. 
 
 But common fenfe revolts againft this conclufion. A man 
 "who ferioufly charged a brute with a crime, would be laughed 
 at. They may do adlions hurtful to themfelves, or to man. 
 They may have qualities, or acquire habits, that lead to fuch 
 adlions ; and this is all we mean when we call them vicious. 
 But they cannot be immoral j nor can they be virtuous. They 
 are not capable of felf-governraent ; and, when they adt accord- 
 ing to the pailion or habit which is llrongefl at the time, they 
 adl according to the nature that God has given them, and no 
 more can be required of them. 
 
 They cannot lay down a rule to themfelves, which they are 
 not to tranfgrefs, though prompted by appetite, or ruffled by 
 paflion. We fee no reafon to think that they can form the con- 
 ception of a general rule, or of obligation to adhere to it. 
 
 They have no conception of a promife or contract ; nor can 
 you enter into any treaty with them. They can neither affirm 
 iwr deny, nor refolve, nor plight their faith. If nature had 
 made them capable of thefe operations, we Ihould fee the figns 
 of them in their motions and geftures. 
 
 The moll fagacious brutes never Invented a language, nor 
 learned the ufe of one before invented. They never formed a 
 
 plan
 
 OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. 259 
 
 plan of government, nor tranfmittcd inventions to their pofte- CHAP.viii. 
 nty. 
 
 Thefe things, and many others that are obvious to conimon 
 obiervation, ihcw that there is juft rcafon why mankind have 
 always conlidered the brute-creation as deftitute of the nobicfl 
 faculties with which God hath endowed man, and particularly 
 of that faculty which makes us moral and accountable beings. 
 
 The next obfervation is. That confclence is evidently intend- 
 ed by nature to be the immediate guide and diredor of our con- 
 du(5l, after we arrive at the years of undcrflanding. 
 
 There are many things, which, from their nature and ftruc- 
 ture, fhew intuitively the end for which they were made. 
 
 A man who knows the flrudlure of a watch or clock, can have 
 no doubt in concluding that it was made to meafure time. And 
 he that knows the ftrudure of the eye, and the properties of 
 light, can have as little doubt whether it was made that we might 
 fee by it. 
 
 In the fabric of the body, the intention of the fevcral parts 
 is, in many inftances, fo evident, as to leave no poflibility of 
 doubt. Who can doubt whether the mufcles were intended to 
 move the parts in which they are inferted ? Whether the bones 
 were intended to give flrength and fupport to the body ; and 
 fomc of them to guard the parts which they inclofe ? 
 
 When we attend to the ftrudure of the mind, the intention of 
 its various original powers is no lefs evident. Is it not evi- 
 dent, that the external fenfes are given, that we may difcern 
 thofe qualities of bodies which may be ufeful or hurtful to us. 
 Memory, that we may retain the knowledge we have acquired : 
 
 K k 2 Judgment
 
 26o ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP.viii. Jiirltrment and underftanding, that we may diftinguifli what is 
 '^ ^ * true from what is falfe ? 
 
 The natural appetites of hunger and thirft, the natural affec- 
 tions of parents to their offspring, and of relations to each o- 
 ther, tlie natural docility and credulity of children, the affec- 
 tions of pity and fympathy with the diftreffed, the attachment 
 we feel to neighbours, to acquaintance, and to the laws and con- 
 flitution of our country j thefe are parts of our conftitution, 
 which plainly point out their end, fo that he muft be blind, or 
 very inattentive, who does not perceive it. Even the paffions of 
 anger and refentment, appear very plainly to be a kind of de- 
 fenfive armour, given by our Maker to guard us againfl inju- 
 ries, and to deter the injurious* 
 
 Thus it holds generally with regard both to the intelledlual 
 and adive powers of man, that the intention for which they are 
 given, is written in legible charaders upon the face of them* 
 
 Nor Is this the cafe of any of them more evidently than of 
 confcience. Its intention is manifeflly implied in its office ; 
 which is, to fhew us what is good, what bad, and what indiffe- 
 rent in human condud;. 
 
 It judges of every adion before it is done. For we can rarely 
 ad fo precipitately, but we have the confcioufnefs that what we 
 are about to do is right, or wrong, or indifferent. Like the bo- 
 dily eye, it naturally looks forward, though its attention may 
 be turned back to the paft. 
 
 To conceive, as fome feem to have done, that its office is only 
 to refled on paft adions, and to approve or dilapprove, is, as if 
 a man ftiould conceive, that the office of his eyes is only to look 
 back upon the road he has travelled, and to fee whether it be 
 
 clean
 
 OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. a6i 
 
 clean or dirty ; a miflake which no man can make who has CHAP.viri, 
 made the proper ufe of his eyes. 
 
 Confcience prefcribes meafures to every appetite, affcdion, 
 and pafTion, and fays to every otht;r principle of acliou, So far 
 thou niayeft go, but no farther. 
 
 We may Indeed tranlgrefs its didates, but we cannot tranf- 
 grcfs them with innocence, nor even with impmiity. 
 
 We condemn ourfelves, or, in the language of fcripture, our heart 
 condemns us, whenever we go beyond the rules of right and 
 wrong which confcience prefcribes. 
 
 Other principles of adion may have more ftrength, but this 
 only has authority. Its fentence makes us guilty to onrfelvcs, 
 and guilty in the eyes of our Maker, whatever other principle 
 may be fet in oppofition to it. 
 
 It is evident therefore, that this principle has, from its nature, 
 an authority to f'.ired and determine with regard to our condud ; 
 to judge, to acquit, or to condemn, and even to punlHi ; an 
 authority which belongs to no other principle of the human 
 mind. 
 
 It is the candle of the Lord fet up within us, to guide our 
 fteps. Other principles may urge and impel, but this only au- 
 thorifes. Other principles ought to be controlled by this ; this 
 may be, but never ought to be controlled by any other, and ne- 
 ver can be with innocence. 
 
 The authority of confcience over the other adive principles of 
 the mind, I do not confider as a point that requires proof by argu- 
 ment, but as fclf-evident. For it implies no more than this. 
 
 That.
 
 262 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. VIII. That in all cafes a man ought to do his duty. He only who 
 does in all cafes what he ought to do, is the perfed: man. 
 
 Of this perfedlion in the human nature, the Stoics formed the 
 idea, and held it forth in their writings, as the goal to which 
 the race of life ought to be dired:ed. Their vDife man was one 
 in whom a regard to the honejium fwallowed up every other prin- 
 ciple of adion. 
 
 The "Wife man of the Stoics, like the perfe& orator of the rhe- 
 toricians, was an ideal charadler, and was, in fome refpedls, car- 
 ried beyond nature ; yet it was perhaps the moft perfed; model 
 of virtue, that ever was exhibited to the heathen world ; and 
 fome of thofe who copied after it, were ornaments to human 
 nature. 
 
 The la^ obfervation is. That the moral faculty or confcience 
 is both an adlive and an intelledtual power of the mind. 
 
 It is an adive power, as every truly virtuous adion muft be 
 more or lefs influenced by it. Other principles may concur 
 with it, and lead the fame way ; but no adlion can be called 
 morally good, in which a regard to what is right, has not fome 
 influence. Thus a man who has no regard to juftice, may pay 
 his juft debt, from no other motive, but that he may not be 
 thrown into prifon. In this adion there is no virtue at all. 
 
 The moral principle, in particular cafes, may be oppofed by 
 any of our animal principles. Pafljon or appetite may urge to 
 what we know to be wrong. In every infl:ance of this kind, 
 the moral principle ought to prevail, and the more ditEcult its 
 conquefl is, it is the more glorious. 
 
 In fome cafes, a regard to what is right may be the fole mo- 
 tive, without the concurrence or oppofition of any other prin- 
 ciple
 
 OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. 263 
 
 ciple of adion ; as when a judge or an arbiter determines a CHAP.vin 
 pica between two indilTerent perfons, lolely from a regard to 
 juflice. 
 
 Thus we fee, that confcience, as an adlive principle, fometimes 
 concurs with other adlive principles, fometimes oppofes them, 
 and fometimes is the fole principle of adlion. 
 
 I endeavoured before to fliew, that a regard to our own good 
 upon the whole is not only a rational principle of action, but a 
 leading principle, to which all our animal principles are fubor- 
 dinate. As thefe are, therefore, two regulating or leading prin- 
 ciples in the conftitution of man, a regard to what is bed for 
 us upon the whole, and a regard to duty, it may be afked. 
 Which of thefe ought to yield if they happen to interfere? 
 
 Some well meaning perfons have maintained, That all regard 
 to ourfelves and to our own happinefs ought to be extinguifh- 
 ed ; that we ftiould love virtue for its own fake only, evea 
 though it were to be accompanied with eternal mifery. 
 
 This feems to have been the extravagance of fome Myflics, 
 which perhaps they were led into, in oppofitlon to a contrary 
 extreme of the fchoohnen of the middle ages, who made the de- 
 iire of good to ourfelves to be the fole motive to adion, and 
 virtue to be approvable only on account of its prefent or fu- 
 ture reward. 
 
 Jufter views of human nature will teach us to avoid both 
 thefe extremes. 
 
 On the one hand, the difinterefted love of virtue is undoubted- 
 ly the nobleft principle in human nature, and ought never to 
 ftoop to any other. 
 
 Oa
 
 264 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP.vni. On the other hand, there is no adlive principle which God 
 hath planted in our nature that is vicious in itfelf, or tliat ought 
 to be eradicated, even if it were in our power. 
 
 They are all ufeful and neceflary in our prefent ftaie. The 
 perfedion of human nature confifts, not in extinguilhing, but 
 inreftraining them within their proper bounds, and keeping them 
 in due fubordination to the governing principles. 
 
 As to the fuppofition of an oppofition between the two go- 
 verning principles, that is, between a regard to our happinefs 
 upon the whole, and a regard to duty, this fuppofition is merely 
 imaginary. There can be no fuch oppofition. 
 
 While the world is under a wife and benevolent adminiftration, 
 it is impoflible, that any man Ihould, in the ifTue, be a lofer by 
 doing his duty. Every man, therefore, who believes in God, 
 while he is careful to do his duty, may fafely leave the care of 
 his happinefs to him who made him. He is confcious that hfe 
 confults the laft mofl: effedually by attending to the firfl. 
 
 Indeed, if we fuppofe a man to be an atheift in his belief, 
 and, at the fame time, by wrong judgment, to believe that vir- 
 tue is contrary to his happinefs upon the whole, this cafe, as 
 Lord Shaftesbury juftly obferves, is without remedy. It will 
 be impoflible for the man to adl, fo as not to contradid: a lead- 
 ing principle of his nature. He muft either facrifice his happi- 
 nefs to virtue, or virtue to happinefs ; and is reduced to this 
 miferable dilemma, whether it be beft to be a fool or a knave. 
 
 This (hews the ftrong connedllon between morality and the 
 principles of natural religion ; as the lalt only can fecure a man 
 from the poflibility of an apprehenfion, that he may play the 
 fool by doing his duty. _ 
 
 Hence,
 
 OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. 265 
 
 Hence, even Lord Shaftesbury, in his gravcfl work, con- cHai'aiii. 
 eludes, T/miI virtue ivilhotit piety is incomplete. Without piety, it 
 IoIl-s its brighteft example, its nobled object, and its firmcft fup- 
 port. 
 
 I conclude with obferving;. That confcience, or the moral fa- 
 culty, is likewife an intellectual power. 
 
 By it folely we have the orip,inal conceptions or ideas of right 
 and wrong in human condudt. And of right and wrong, there 
 are not only many dilTcrent degrees, but many different fpecies. 
 Juftice and injuftice, gratitude and ingratitude, benevolence and 
 malice, prudence and folly, magnanimity and meannefs, decency 
 and indecency, are various moral forms, all comprehended under 
 the general notion of right and wrong in condudt, all of them 
 objedts of moral approbation or dilapprobation, in a greater or 
 a lefs degree. 
 
 The conception of thefe, as moral qualities, we have by our 
 moral faculty j and by the fame faculty, when we compare them 
 together, we perceive various moral relations among them. 
 Thus, we perceive, that juftice is entitled to a fmall degree of 
 praife, tut injufticc to a high degree of blame ; and the fame 
 may be faid of gratitude and its contrary. When juftice and 
 gratitude interfere, gratitude mult give place to juftice, and un- 
 merited beneficence muft give place to both. 
 
 Many fuch relations between the various moral qualities com- 
 pared together, are immediately difcerned by our moral faculty. 
 A man needs only to confult his own heart to be convinced of 
 them. 
 
 All our reafonings in morals, in natural jurifprudence, in the 
 law of nations, as well as our reafonings about the duties of 
 natural religion, and about the moral government of the Deity, 
 
 L 1 mufl
 
 266 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP. VIII. muft be grounded upon the di(3:ates of our moral faculty, as firft 
 principles. 
 
 As this faculty, therefore, furniflies the human mind with ma- 
 ny of its original conceptions or ideas, as well as with the firft 
 principles of many Important branches of human knowledge, it 
 may juftly be accounted an intellectual, as well as an adive 
 power of the mind. 
 
 ESSAY
 
 B 
 
 IL S S A Y IV. 
 
 OF THE LIBERTY OF MORAL AGENTS. 
 
 CHAP. L 
 
 T'he Notions of Moral Liberty and Necejfity JlalcJ. 
 
 Y the liberty of a moral agent, I underfland, a power ovei' 
 the determinations of his own will. 
 
 If, in any adion, he had power to will what he did, or not 
 to will it, in that adtion he is free. But if, in every voluntary 
 action, the determination of his will be the necellary confe- 
 quence of fomething involuntary in the ftate of his mind, or of 
 fomething in his external circumllances, he is not free ; he has 
 not what I call the liberty of a moral agent, but is fubjcdl to nc- 
 cellity. 
 
 This liberty fuppofcs the agent to have uuderftanding and 
 will ; for the determinations of the will are the fole objecl 
 about which this power is employed ; and there can be no will 
 witliout fuch a degree of underltanding, at leail, as gives the 
 conception of that which we will. 
 
 The liberty of a moral agent implies, not only a conception of 
 what he wills, but fome degree of practical judgment or reafon. 
 
 For, if he has not the judgment to diicem one determination 
 
 L 1 2 to
 
 268 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. I. to be preferable to another, either in itfelf, or for fome pur- 
 pofe which he intends, what can be the ufe of a power to de- 
 termine ? His determinations mufl be made perfecflly in the dark, 
 without reafon, motive or end. They can neither be right nor 
 wrong, wife nor foohfh. Whatever the confequences may be, 
 they cannot be imputed to the agent, who had not the capacity 
 of forefeeing them, or of perceiving any reafon for ading other- 
 wife than he did. 
 
 We may perhaps be able to conceive a being endowed with 
 power over the determinations of his will, without any light in 
 his mind to dii'ed: that power to fome end. But fuch power 
 would be given in vain. No exercife of it could be either 
 blamed or approved. As natui*e gives no power in vain, I fee 
 no ground to afcribe a power over the determinations of the 
 will to any being who has no judgment to apply it to the direc- 
 tion of his condudt, no difcernment of what he ought or ought 
 not to do. 
 
 For that reafon, in this Eflay, I fpeak only of the liberty of 
 moral agents, who are capable of acfting well or ill, wifely or 
 fooliflaly, and this, for diftindion's fake, I fhall call moral liberty. 
 
 What kind, or what degree of liberty belongs to brute aniw 
 mals, or to our own fpecies, before any ufe of reafon, I do not 
 know. We acknowledge that they have not the power of felf- 
 government. Such of their adions as may be called voluntary^ 
 feem to be invariably determined by the paflion or appetite, or 
 affection or habit which is ftrongcft at the time. 
 
 This feems to be the law of their conftitution, to which they 
 yield, as the inanimate creation does, without any conception, 
 of the law, or any intention of obedience. 
 
 But of civil or moral government, which are addrefled to the 
 
 ratioiial
 
 THE NOTIONS OF MORAL LIBERTY, l^c. 26(j- 
 
 rational powers, and require a conception of the law and an in- CIIAP. I. 
 
 tentional obedience, they arc, in the judgment of all mankind, 
 
 incapable. Nor do I fee what end could be ferved by giving 
 
 them a power over the determinations of their own will, unlefs 
 
 to make them intraclable by difcipline, which we fee they are 
 
 not. 
 
 The efTeift of moral liberty is, That it is in the power of the 
 agent to do well or ill. This power, like every other gift of 
 God, may be abufed. The right ufe of this gift of God is to 
 do well and wifely, as far as his beft judgment can direcfl him, 
 and thereby merit efteem and approbation. The abufe of it is 
 to adl contrary to what he knows or fufpcds to be his duty and 
 his wifdom, and thereby juftly merit difapprobation and blame. 
 
 By neccjfily^ I underftand the want of that moral liberty which 
 I have above defined. 
 
 If there can be a better and a worfe in adions on the fyftem 
 of neccfTity, let us fuppofe a man necelTarily determined in all 
 cafes to will and to do what is befl to be done, he would furely 
 be innocent and inculpable. But, as far as I am able to judge, 
 he w-ould not be entitled to the efteem and moral approbation of 
 thofe who knew and believed this nece/lity. What was, by an 
 ancient author, faid of Cato, might indeed be faid of him. 
 He was good becaufc he could riot be otberwife. But this faying, if 
 undcrftood literally and ftriclly, is not the praife of Cato, but 
 of his conftitution, which wns no more the work of Cato, than 
 his exiftence. 
 
 On the other hand, if a man be neceflarily determined to do 
 ill, this cafe feems to me to move pity, but not difapprobation. 
 He was ill, becaufe he could not be otherwife. Who can blame 
 l\im ? Ncccllity has no law. 
 
 If
 
 270 
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 If he knows that he a died under this necefCty, has he not jufl 
 ground to exculpate himfelf ? The blame, if there be any, is not 
 in him, but in his conftitution. If he be charged by his Maker 
 with doing wrong, may he not expoflulate with him, and fay, 
 Why haft thou made me thus ? I may be facrificed at thy plea- 
 fure, for the common good, like a man that has the plague, but 
 not for ill defert ; for thou knoweft that what I am charged with 
 is thy work, and not mine. 
 
 ~ Such are my notions of moral liberty and neceflity, and of the con- 
 fequences infeparably connedled with both the one and the other. 
 
 This moral liberty a man may have, though it do not extend 
 to all his adlions, or even to all his voluntary adions. He does 
 many things by inftincSl, many things by the force of habit 
 without any thought at all, and confequently without will. In 
 the firft part of life, he has not the power of felf-government 
 any more than the brutes. That power over the determinations 
 of his own will, which belongs to him In ripe years, is limited, 
 as all his powers are ; and it is perhaps beyond the reach of his 
 underftanding to define its limits with precifion. We can only 
 fay, in general, that it extends to every adion for which he is ac- 
 countable. 
 
 This power is given by his Maker, and at his pleafure whofe 
 gift it is, it may be enlarged or diminlfhed, continued or with- 
 drawn. No power In the creature can be independent of the 
 Creator. His hook is In its nofe ; he can give it line as far 
 as he fees fit, and, when he pleafes, can reftrain it, or turn it 
 whitherfoever he will. Let this be always underftood, when we 
 afcribe liberty to man, or to any created being. 
 
 Suppofing it therefore to be true, That man Is a free agent, 
 it may be true, at the fime time, that his liberty may be 
 impaired or loft, by dllbrder of body or mind, as in melancholy, 
 
 or
 
 THE NOTIONS OF MORAL LIBERTY, 'dfc. 271 
 
 or in madnefs ; it may be impaired or loft by vicious habits : it t:i^A.r. i. 
 may, in particular cafes, be reftrained by divine interpofition. 
 
 We call mail a free a^jent in the fame way as we call him a 
 reafonable agent. In many things he is not guided by rcafon, 
 but by principles fimilar to thofe of the brutes. His rcafon is 
 weak at bcft. It is liable to be impaired or lofl, by his own fault, 
 or by other means. In like manner, he may be a free aj^ent, 
 though his freedom of aclion may have many fmiilar limi- 
 tations. 
 
 The liberty I have defcribed has been reprefcnted bv fome 
 Philofophers as inconceivable, and as involving an abfurdity. 
 
 " Liberty, they fay, confifts only in a power to ac\ as we 
 will; and it is impollible to conceive in any being a greater 
 liberty than this. Hence it follows, that liberty does not ex- 
 tend to tlie determinations of the will, but only to the adions 
 confequent toits determination, and depending upon the will. To 
 fay that we have power to will fuch an adion, is to fay, that we 
 may will it, if we will. This fuppofes the will to be determined 
 by a prior will ; and, for the fame reafon, that will muli be de- 
 tennined by a will prior to it, and fo on in an infinite feries of 
 wills, which is abfurd. To a6l freely, therefore, can mean no- 
 thing more than to adt voluntarily ; and this is all the liberty 
 that can be conceived in man, or in any being." 
 
 This reafoning, firft, I think, advanced by Hobbes, has been 
 very generally adopted by the defenders of ncceflity. It is 
 gronndcd upon a definition of liberty totally different from 
 that which I have given, and therefore docs not apply to moral 
 liberty, as above defined. 
 
 But it is faid that this is the only liberty that is polTIbIc, that 
 is conceivable, that docs not involve an abfurdity. 
 
 It
 
 ^72 
 
 Ts: s s A Y rv. 
 
 CHAP. L Xt is ilratige, indeed ! if the word liberty has no meaning but 
 *" this one. I fliall mention three all very common. The objec- 
 
 ction applies to one of them, but to neither of the other two. 
 
 Liberty is fometimes oppofed to external force or confinement 
 :of the body. Sometimes it is oppofed to obligation by law, or 
 by lawful authority. Sometimes it is oppofed to neceflity. 
 
 I. It is oppofed to confinement of the body by fuperior force. 
 So we fay a prifoner is fet at liberty when his fetters are knock- 
 ed off, and he is difcharged from confinement. This is the li- 
 berty defined in the objedion ; and I grant that this liberty ex- 
 tends not to the will, neither does the confinement, becaufe the 
 will cannot be confined by external force. 
 
 1. Liberty is oppofed to obligation by law, or lawful autho- 
 rity. This liberty is a right to ad one way or another, in things 
 which the law has neither commanded nor forbidden ^ and 
 this liberty is meant when we fpeak of a man's natural liberty, 
 his civil liberty, his Chriftian liberty. It is evident that this li- 
 berty, as well as the obligation oppofed to it, extends to the 
 will : For It is the will to obey that makes obedience ; the will 
 to tranfgrefs that makes a tranfgreffion of the law. Without 
 will there can be neither obedience nor tranfgreffion. Law fup- 
 pofes a power to obey or to tranfgrefs ; it does not take away 
 this power, but propofes the motives of duty and of intereft, 
 leaving the power to yield to them, or to take the confequence 
 of tranfgreffion. 
 
 'i. Liberty is oppofed to neceffity, and in this fenfe it extends 
 to the determinations of the will only, and not to what is confe- 
 quent to the will. 
 
 In every voluntary adion, the determination of the will is 
 ithe firfl part of the adion, upon which alone the moral eftima- 
 
 tion
 
 THE NOTIONS OF MORAL LIBERTY, ^c. 273 
 
 tion of it depends. It has been made a cjueftlon among Pliilo- P^"^^- '■, 
 fophers, Wliether, in every inflance, this determination be the 
 neceflury confequence of the conftitution of the perfon, and the 
 circumflances in which he is phiced ; or whether he had not power, 
 in many cafes, to determine this way or that? 
 
 This has, by fome, been called the philofoph'ical notion of liber- 
 ty and necefllty i but it Is by no means peculiar to Phiiofophers. 
 The loweft of the vidgar have, in all ages, been prone to have 
 recourfe to this necelHty, to exculpate themfelves or their friends 
 in what they do wrong, though, in the general tenor of their 
 condudl, they a(5t upon the contrary principle. 
 
 Whether this notion of moral liberty be conceivable or not, 
 every man mufl judge for himfelf. To me there appears no 
 difhculty in conceiving it. I confider the determination of the 
 will as an efFed:. This effect mufl: have a caufe which had power 
 to produce it ; and the caufe mufl; be either the perfon him- 
 felf, whofe will it is, or fome other being. The firfl: is as eafily 
 conceived as the lafl. If the perfon was the caufe of that deter- 
 mination of his own will, he was free in that adllon, and it is 
 juftly imputed to him, whether it be good or bad. But, if ano- 
 ther being was the caufe of this determination, either by produ- 
 cing it immediately, or by means and inftruments under his di- 
 redion, then the determination is the ad and deed of that be- 
 ing, and is folely imputable to him. 
 
 But it Is faid, " That nothing is In our power but what de- 
 pends upon the will, and therefore the will Itfelf cannot be in 
 our power." 
 
 I anfwer, That this is a fallacy arifing from taking a common 
 faying in a fenfe which it never was intended 10 convey, and in 
 a fenfe contrary to what it neccflarily implies. 
 
 I\I m In
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 In common life, when men fpeak of Avliat is, or is not, in a 
 man's power, they attend only to the external and vifible effeds, 
 which only can be perceived, and which only can affecft them. 
 Of thefe, it is true, that nothing is in a man's power, but what 
 depends upon his will, and this is all that is meant by this com- 
 mon faying. 
 
 But this is fo far from excluding his will from being in his 
 power, that it neceflarily implies it. For to fay that what de- 
 pends upon the will Is in a man's power, but the will is not in 
 his power, is to fay that the end is in his power, but the means 
 nccelTary to that end are not in his power, which is a contra- 
 didion. 
 
 In many propofitions which we exprefs univerfaliy, there is 
 an exception neceflarily implied, and therefore always under- 
 liood. Thus when we fay that all things depend upon God, 
 God himfelf is neceflarily excepted. In like manner, when we 
 fay, that all that is in our power depends upon the will, the 
 will itfelf is neceflarily excepted : For if the will be not, no- 
 thing elfe can be in our power. Every effed mull be in the 
 power of its caufe. The determination of the will is an effed, 
 and therefore muft be in the power of its caufe, whether that 
 caufe be the agent himfelf, or fome other being. 
 
 From what has been faid In this chapter, I hope the notion of 
 moral liberty will be diftindly underftood, and that It appears 
 that this notion is neither inconceivable, nor involves any ab- 
 furdity or contradidion. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 OF THE WORDS CAUSE AND EFFECT, ^c. 275 
 
 CMAP. 11 
 
 C H A P. II. 
 Of the Words Caufe and EJft^l, A5i'ton, and Aclivc Poiver. 
 
 THE writings upon liberty and necenity have been much 
 darkened, by the ambiguity of the words ufed in reafon- 
 ing upon that fubjecl. The words caufe and tffccJ, aEl'iou and ac- 
 tive poxvcr^ liberty and ticcejfity, are related to each other : The 
 meaning of one determines the meaning of the reft. When we 
 attempt to define them, we can only do it by fynonymous words 
 which need definition as much. There is a ftricl: fenfe in which 
 thofe words muft be ufed, if we fpeak and reafon clearly about 
 moral liberty ; but to keep to this ftricl fenfe is difficult, becaufe, 
 in all languages, they have, by cuftom, got a great latitude of 
 fignification. 
 
 As we cannot reafon about moral liberty, without ufng thofe 
 ambiguous words, it is proper to point out, as diftindly as pof- 
 fible, their proper and original meaning, in which they ought to 
 be underftood in treating of this fubjecl:, and to fhew from 
 what caufes they have become fo ambiguous in all languages, 
 as to darken and embarrafs our reafonings upon it. 
 
 Every thing that begins to exift, muft have a caufe of Its ex- 
 iftence, which had power to give it exiftence. And every thing 
 that undergoes any change, muft have fbme caule of that 
 change. 
 
 That neither exiftence, nor any mode of exiflencc, can begin 
 without an efficient caufe, is a principle that appears very early 
 in the mind of man ; and it is fo univerfal, and fo firmly rooted 
 in human nature, that the moft determined fccpticifm cannot 
 eradicate it. 
 
 M m 2 Ir
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 It is upon this principle that we ground the rational belief of 
 a deity. But that is not the only ufe to which we apply it. 
 Every man's conducl is governed by it every day, and almoft 
 every hour of his life. And if it were pollible for any man to 
 root out this principle from his mind, he muft give up. every 
 thing that is called common prudence, and be fit only to be 
 confined as infane. 
 
 From this principle it follows, That every thing which under- 
 goes any change, muft either be the efficient caufe of that 
 change in itfelf, or it muft be changed by fome other being. 
 
 In the firfl cafe it is faid to have aSive power, and to aEi in- 
 producing that change. In the fecotid cafe it is merely pajfive^ or 
 is aBed upon, and the adtive power is in that being only which 
 produces the change. 
 
 The name of a caufe and of an agent, Is properly given to that 
 being only, which, by its ad:Ive power, produces fome change in 
 itfelf, or in fome other being. The change, whether it be of 
 thought, of will, or of motion, is the effe£l. Aftlve power there- 
 fore, is a quality in the caufe, which enables it to produce the 
 effedl. And the exertion of that adlive power In producing the 
 effed:, is called aEl'ion, agency, efficiency.. 
 
 In order to the production of any effe6t,. there muft be In the 
 caufe, not only power, but the exertion of that power : For 
 pov/er that is not exerted produces no effed. 
 
 All that is necefTary to the produifllon of any effedt, is power 
 in an efficient caufe to produce the effedl, and the exertion of 
 that power : For It Is a contradlcflion to fay, that the caufe has 
 powder to produce the effed, and exerts that power, and yet the 
 effed is not produced. The effed cannot be in his power un- 
 lefs all the means neceflary to Its produdion be in his power. 
 
 It
 
 OF THE WORDS CAUSE AND EFFECT, Uc. 277 
 
 It Is no Icfs a contradiction to fay, that a caufe has power to CHAP. ir. 
 produce a certain efFcd, but that he cannot exert that power: 
 For power which cannot be exerted is no power, and i^ a con- 
 tradidlion in terms. 
 
 To prevent miflake, it is jn-oper to obferve, That a being may 
 have a power at one time wliich it has not at another. It may 
 commonly have a power, which, at a particular time, it has not. 
 Thus, a man may commonly have power to walk or to run ; 
 but he lias not this power when afleep, or when he is confined 
 by fupcrior force. In common language, he may be faid to 
 have a power which he cannot then exert. But this popular 
 exprelTion means only that he commonly h'ls this power, and 
 will have it when the caufe is removed which at prefent deprives 
 him of it : For when we fpeak ftriftly and philofophically, it is 
 a contradidion to fay that he has this power, at that momenc 
 when he is deprived of it. 
 
 Thcfe, I thini:, are neceflary confequences from the principle 
 firlt mentioned, That every change which happens in nature 
 jnuft have an efficient caufe which had power to produce it. 
 
 Another principle, which appears very early in tlie mind of 
 man, is, That we are efficient caufes in our deliberate and vo- 
 luntary adlions. 
 
 Wc are confcious of making an exertion, fometimes with dif- 
 ficulty, in order to produce certain efleds. An exertion n^ade 
 deliberately and voluntarily, in order to produce an cfTcd, im- 
 plies a convidion that the effiid is in our power. No man can 
 deliberately attempt what he does not believe to be iruhis power. 
 The language of all mankind, and their ordinary condud in 
 life, demonftrate, that they have a conviction of fome active 
 power in thcmfelves to produce certain motions in their own and 
 ill other bodies, and to regulate and direct their own thoughts. 
 
 Thi^
 
 278 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. IL xhls convldlion we have fo early in life, that we have no re- 
 membrance when, or in what way we acquired it. 
 
 That fuch a convidion Is at firfl the neceflary refuit of our 
 conflitution, and that it can never be entirely obliterated, is, I 
 think, acknowledged by one of the mofl; zealous defenders of 
 necellity. Free Difaijfiott, &c. p. 298. " Such are the influences 
 " to which all mankind, without dillindlion, are expofed, that 
 " they neceflarily refer adions (I mean refer them ultimately) 
 " firfl of all to themfelves and others ; and it is a long time be- 
 " fore they begin to confider themfelves and others as inflru- 
 *' ments in the hand of a fuperior agent. Conlcquently, the 
 " affociations which refer adions to themfelves get fo confirm- 
 " ed, that they are never entirely obliterated ; and therefore 
 " the common language, and the common feelings of mankind, 
 " will be adapted to the firfl, the limited and imperfed, or ra- 
 *' ther erroneous view of things." 
 
 It is very probable, that the very conception or idea of aftlve 
 power, and of efficient caufes, is derived from our voluntary ex- 
 ertions in producing efFeds ; and that, if we were not confcious 
 of fuch exertions, we fhould have no conception at all of a 
 caufe, or of adtive power, and confequently no convidion of 
 the neceflity of a caufe of every change which we obferve in 
 nature. 
 
 It is certain that we can conceive no kind of adive power 
 but what is fimilar or analogous to that which we attribute to 
 ourfelves ; that is, a power which is exerted by will and with 
 underftanding. Our notion, even of Almighty power, is derived 
 from the notion of human power, by removing from the for- 
 mer thofe imperfedions and limitations to which the latter is 
 fubjeded. 
 
 It may be difficult to explain the origin of our conceptions 
 
 and
 
 OF THE WORDS CAUSE AND EFFECT, l^c. 279 
 
 and belief concerning clliciciit caufcs and aclivc power. The CHAP. IT. 
 common theory, that all our ideas are ideas of fenl'ition or rc- 
 fledlon, and that all our belief is a perception ol* the agree- 
 ment or the difagreemcnt of thofe ideas, appears to be repug- 
 nant, both to the idea of an etlicient caufc, and to the belief of 
 its neceflity. 
 
 An attachment to that theory has led fome Philofophers 10 
 deny that we have any conception of an eflicient caufe, or of ac- 
 tive power, bccaufe efficiency and aclive power are not ideas, 
 either of fenfation or relledion. They maintain, therefore, 
 that a caufe is only fomething prior to the efiecl, and conflantly 
 conjoined with it. This is Mr Hume's notion of a caufe, and 
 feenns to be adopted by Dr Priestley, who fays, " That a caiife 
 " cannot be defined to be any thing, but fuch previous circum- 
 " Jlaiices as are cotijlnnlly fulloivcd by a certain effe£l, tlie conllancy 
 " of the refult making us conclude, that there mufl be ^ftifficierit 
 " rea/on, in the nature of the things-, why it lliould be produced 
 " in thofe circumftances." 
 
 But theory ought to floop to fact, and not fn£t to theory. 
 Every man who underftands the language knows, that neither 
 priority, nor conftant conjun£tion, nor both taken together, im- 
 ply efliciency. Every man, free from prejudice, muil allent to 
 what Cicero has faid : Idiquc non ftc caufa intclligl debet, ut quod cin- 
 que antecedal, id et caufa fit , fed quod cu'iquc ejfficientcr antcccdit. 
 
 The very difpute, whether we have the conception of an efPi- 
 cicnt caufe, (hows thai we have. For though men may difpute 
 about things which have no exiAence, they cannot difpute about 
 things of which they have no conception. 
 
 What has been faid in this chapter is intended to flicw, That 
 the conception of caufes, of adion and of adive power, in the 
 ftrid and proper fcnfe of tbefe words, is found in the minds of 
 
 al!
 
 j>8o ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHA P, ir.^ .ill ji-iei^ very early, even in the dawn of their rational life. It 
 is therefore probable, that, in all languages, the words by which 
 thefe conceptions were exprefled were at firft diftinct and unam- 
 biguous, yet it is certain, that, among the moft enlightened na- 
 tions, thefe words are applied to fo many things of different na- 
 tures, and ufed in fo vague a mannei', that it is very difficult to 
 reafon about them diftindly. 
 
 This phsenomenon, at firft view, feems very unaccountable. 
 But a little refledion may fatisfy us, that it is a natural confe- 
 quence of the flow and gradual progrefs of human knowledge. 
 
 And fince the ambiguity of thefe words has fo great influence 
 upon our reafoning about moral liberty, and furnifhes the 
 ftrongeft objedions againft it, it is not foreign to our fubjedl to 
 fhew whence it arifes. When we know the caufes that have 
 produced this ambiguity, we fhall be lefs in danger of being 
 mifled by it, and the proper and RriO: meaning of the words 
 will more evidently appear. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 OF THE AMBIGUITY OF THOSE WORDS. 28r 
 
 CHAT III 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 Caufcs of the Ambiguity of tbofe Words. 
 
 WH E N we turn our attention to external objcds, and be- 
 gin to exercife our rational faculties about them, we 
 find, that there are fome motions and changes in them, which 
 we have power to produce, and that they have many which 
 muft have fome other caufe. Either the objeiTts muft have life 
 and adive power, as we have, or they mull be moved or changed 
 by fomething that has life and adlive power, as external objeds 
 are moved by us. 
 
 Our firft thoughts feem to be, That the objedls in which we 
 perceive fuch motion have underflanding and adlive power as 
 we have. 
 
 . " Savages, fays the Abbe Raynal, wherever they fee motion 
 " which they cannot account for, there they fuppofe a foul." 
 
 All men may be confidered as favages in this refpedl, until 
 they are capable of inftrudion, and of ufing their faculties in a 
 more perfedt manner than favages do. 
 
 The rational converfations of birds and beads in iEsop's Fa- 
 bles do not fhock the belief of children. They have that pro- 
 bability in them which we require in an epic poem. Poets give 
 us a great deal of pleafure, by clothing every objed with intel- 
 ledual and moral attributes, in metaphor and in other figures. 
 May not the pleafure which we take in this poetical language, 
 arife, in part, from its correfpondence with our earlicft fenti- 
 ments ? 
 
 N n However
 
 282 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. III. However this may be, the Abbe Raynal's o])rervation is fuf- 
 ficiently confirmed, both from fad:, and from the ftrudure of all 
 languages. 
 
 Rude nations do really believe fun, moon and flars, earth, fea 
 and air, fountains and lakes, to have underftanding and adtive 
 power. To pay homage to them and implore their favour, is a 
 kind of idolatry natural to favages. 
 
 All languages carry in their flrudure the marks of their be- 
 ing formed when this belief prevailed. The diftindion of verbs 
 and participles into a61ive and pafllve, which is found in all lan- 
 guages, mufl have been originally intended to diftinguilh what 
 is really adive from what is merely paflive; and, in all lan- 
 guages, we find adive verbs applied to thofe objeds, in which, 
 according to the Abbe Raynal's obfervation, favages fuppofe a 
 foul. 
 
 Thus we fay the fun rifes and fets, and comes to the meridian, 
 the moon changes, the fea ebbs and flows, the winds blow. 
 Languages were formed by men who believed thefe objeds to 
 have life and adive power in themfelves. It was therefore pro- 
 per and natural to exprefs their motions and changes by adive 
 verbs. 
 
 There is no furer way of tracing the fentiments of nations 
 before they have records than by the ftrudure of their language, 
 which, notwithftanding the changes produced in it by time, will 
 always retain fonie fignatures of the thoughts of thofe by whom 
 it was invented. When we find the fame fentiments indicated 
 in the fl:rudure of all languages, thofe fentiments mufl have 
 been common to the human fpecies when languages were in- 
 vented. 
 
 When a few of fuperior intelledual abilities find leifure for 
 
 Ipeculation,
 
 OF THE AMBIGUITY OF THOSE WORDS. 28J 
 
 rpcculatinn.thcybegin tophiloroi)hi7,c,anclfoon difcovL-r, that many CHAiMii. 
 of thole ohjcds uliich, at firll, they believed to he nitelliu,cMt and 
 artive, arc really lifelefs and jKillive. This is a very impurtant 
 difcovery. It elevates the mind, emancipates from many ^allga^ 
 luperllitions, and invites to fanher dilcoveries of the fame 
 kind. 
 
 As philofophy advances, life and adivity in natural objects 
 retires, and leaves them dead and inadlive. Inftead of movini;; 
 voluntarily, \\c find them to be moved neceflarily ; inftead of 
 adting, we find them to be acl;ed upon ; and nature appears as 
 one great machine, where one wheel is turned by another, that 
 by a third ; and how far this neceflary fucceillon may reach, the 
 Philofopher does not know. 
 
 The weaknefs of human reafon makes men prone, when they 
 leave one extreme, to rufli into the opjjofite ; and thus philofo- 
 phy, even in its infancy, may lead men from idolatry and poly- 
 theifm into atheifm, and from afcribing adlive power to inani- 
 mate beings, to conclude all things to be carried on by necellity. 
 
 Whatever origin we afcribe to the dodtrines of atheifm and 
 of fatal necedity, it is certain, that both may be traced almoft 
 as far back as philofophy ; and both appear to be the ojij^ofitcs 
 of the earlielt fentiments of men. 
 
 It muft have been by the obfervation and reafoning of the 
 fpeculative yt-w, that thofe objects were difcovered to be inani- 
 mate and inadive, to which the many afcribed life and aclivity. 
 But while the few are convinced of this, they muft fpeak the 
 language of the ruat/y in order to be undcrftood. So we fee, 
 that when the Ptolemaic fyllem of ailronomy, which agrees 
 with vulgar prejudice and with vulgar language, has been uni- 
 verfally rejected by Philofophers, they continue to ufe the phrafe- 
 ology that is grounded upon it, not only in fpeaking to the vul- 
 
 N n 3 gar.
 
 284 E S S A Y IV. 
 
 CHAP, iih gar, but in fpeaking to one another. They fay, The fun rlfes 
 and fets, and moves annually through all the figns of the zodiac, 
 while they believe that he never leaves his place. 
 
 In like manner, thofe ad:ive verbs and participles, which 
 were applied to the inanimate objeds of nature, when they were 
 believed to be really adtive, continue to be applied to them after 
 they are difcovered to be paflive. 
 
 The forms of language, once eflablifhed by cuftom, are not 
 fo eafily changed as the notions on which they were originally 
 founded. While the founds remain, their fignification is gra- 
 dually enlarged or altered. This is fometimes found, even in 
 thofe fciences in which the fignification of words is the moft 
 accurate and precife. Thus, in arithmetic, the word number^ 
 among the ancients, always fignified fo many units, and it would 
 have been abfurd to apply it either to unity or to any part of 
 an unit ; but now we call unity, or any part of unity, a number. 
 With them, multiplication always increafed a number, and di- 
 vifion diminiftied it j but we fpeak of multiplying by a fradtion, 
 which diminifhes, and of dividing by a fradlion, which in- 
 creafes the number. We fpeak of dividing or multiplying by 
 unity, which neither diminifhes nor increafes a number. Thefe 
 forms of exprellion, in the ancient language, would have been 
 abfurd. 
 
 By fuch changes, in the meaning of words, the language of 
 every civilized nation refembles old furniture new modelled, in 
 which many things are put to ufes for which they were not ori- 
 ginally intended, and for which they are not perfedly fitted. 
 
 This is one great caufe of the imperfedlion of language, and 
 it appears very remarkably in thofe verbs and participles which 
 are a<3;ive in their form, but are frequently ufed fo as to have 
 nothing adlive in their fignificatiou. 
 
 Hence
 
 OF THE AMBIGUITY OF THOSE WORDS. 1S5 
 
 Hence we are authorilcd by cuftom to afcribe atflion and ac- ^'HAP. ill. 
 tlvc power to things which we believe to be padlvc. The pro- 
 per and original lignihcation of every word, which at firft fig- 
 nified acflion and caiilation, is buried and loft under that vague 
 meaning which cuftoni has affixed to it. 
 
 That there is a real diftinclion, and perfect oppofition, be- 
 tween ading and being aded upon, every man may be fatisfied 
 who is capable of refledion. And that this diftindion is per- 
 ceived by all men as foon as they begin to reafon, appears by 
 the diltindlion between aclive and paffive verbs, which is origi- 
 nal in all languages, though, from the caufcs that have been 
 mentioned, they come to be confounded in tlie progrefs of hu- 
 man improvement. 
 
 Another way in which philofophy has contributed very much 
 to the ambiguity of the words under our confideration, deferves 
 to be mentioned. 
 
 The firfl ftep into natural philofophy, and what hath com- 
 monly been confidered as its ultimate end, is the invefligation 
 of the caufes of the phenomena of nature ; that is, the caufes 
 of thofe appearances in nature which are not the effects of hu- 
 man power. Felix qui potuit rcrum cogtiofcere caufas, is tlic fentl- 
 ment of every mind that has a turn to fpeculation. 
 
 The knowledge of the caufes of things promifes no lefs the 
 enlargement of human power than the gratification of human 
 curiofity j and therefore, among the enlightened part of man- 
 kind, this knowledge has been purfued in all ages with an avi- 
 dity proportioned to its importance. 
 
 In nothing does the difference between the intelledual powers 
 of man and thofe of brutes appear more confpicuous than in this. 
 For in them we perceive no defire to invefligate the caufes 
 
 of
 
 286 ESSAY rV. 
 
 CHA P. IIL of things, nor indeed any fign that they have the proper notion 
 of a caufe. 
 
 There is reafon, however, to apprehend, that, in this inveftl- 
 gation, men have wandered much in the dark, and that their 
 fuccefs has, by no means, been equal to their defire and expeda- 
 tion. 
 
 We eafily difcover an eftabliflied order and connection in the 
 phisnomena of nature. We learn, in many cafes, from what 
 has happened, to know what will happen. The difcoveries of 
 this kind, made by common obfervation, are many, and are the 
 foundation of common prudence in the condud of life. Philo- 
 fophers, by more accurate obfervation and experiment, have 
 made many more ', by which arts are improved, and human 
 power, as well as human knowledge, is enlarged. 
 
 But, as to the real caufes of the phjenomena of nature, how 
 little do we know ! All our knowledge of things external, muft 
 be grounded upon the informations of our fenfes 5 but caufation 
 and adive power are not objedls of fenfe ; nor is that always 
 the caufe of a phaenomenon which is prior to it, and conftantly 
 conjoined with it; otherwife night would be the caufe of day, 
 and day the caufe of the following night. 
 
 It is to this day problematical, whether all the ph:snomena of 
 the material fyflem be produced by the immediate operation of 
 the Firft Caufe, according to the laws which his wifdom deter- 
 mined, or whether fubordinate caufes are employed by him in 
 the operations of nature ; and, if they be, what their nature, 
 their number, and their different offices are ? And whether, in 
 all cafes, they ad by commillion, or, in fome, according to their 
 difcretion ? 
 
 When we are fo much in the dark with regard to the real 
 
 caufes
 
 OF THE AMBIGUITY OF TFIOSE WORDS. 2S7 
 
 caufes of the phenomena of nature, and have a ftrung dcfirc to chap. hi. 
 know them, it is not ftranv!,e, that inj^enious men Ihould form 
 lurvberlefs conjetfturcs and theories, by which the fuul, liunger- 
 Ing for knowledge, is fed with chaff inftead of wheat. 
 
 In a very ancient fyftem, love and ftrife were made the canfes 
 of thinG;s. In the Pythagpreau and Platonic fyllem, matter, 
 ideas and an intelligent mind. By Aristotle, matter, form and 
 privation. Des Carti.s thouglit that matter and a certain quantity 
 of motion given ar firll by the Almighty, arc fullicient to ac- 
 count for all the phaenomena of the natural world. Leiunitz, 
 that the uuiverfe is made u]) of monades, a(^^ive and i)recipient, 
 which, by their acT;ive power received at lirft, produce all the 
 changes they undergo. 
 
 While men thus wandered in the dark in fearcli of caules, 
 
 ► unwilling to confefs their difappointment, they vainly conceived 
 
 every thing they {tumbled upon to be a caufe, and the projjcr 
 
 notion of a caufe is loft, by giving the name to numberlefs 
 
 things which neither are nor can be caufes^ 
 
 This confufion of various things under the name of caufes, 
 is the more eafdy tolerated, bccaufe however hurtful it may be 
 to found philofophy, it has little influence upon the concerns of 
 life. A conftant antecedent, or concomitant of the phaenome- 
 non whofe caufe is fought, may anfwer the purpofe of the en- 
 quirer, as well as if the real caufe were known. Thus a failor 
 defires to know the caufe of the tides, that he may know when 
 to cxped high water : He is told that it is high water when the 
 moon is fo many hours palt the meridian : And now he thinks 
 he knows the caufe of the tides. What he takes for the caufe 
 anl'wrrs his purpofe, and his miftake does him no harm. 
 
 Thofe philofophers feem to have had the julleft views of na- 
 ture, as well as of the weaknefs of human uuderftanding, who, 
 
 giving
 
 288 ESSAY III. 
 
 CHAP, lu. giving up the pretence of difcovering the caufes of the opera- 
 tions of nature, have applied themfelves to difcover, by obferva- 
 tion and experiment, the rules, or laws of nature according to 
 which the phjenomena of nature are produced. 
 
 In compliance with cuftom, or perhaps, to gratify the avidity 
 of knowing the caufes of things, we call the laws of nature 
 caufes and adive powers. So we fpeak of the powers of gravi- 
 tation, of magnetifm, of eledricity. 
 
 We call them caufes of many of the phaenomena of nature ; 
 and fuch they are efteemed by the ignorant, and by the half 
 learned. 
 
 But thofe of jufter difcernment fee, that laws of nature are 
 not agents. They are not endowed with adlive power, and 
 therefore cannot be caufes in the proper fenfe. They are on- 
 ly the rules according to which the unknown caufe aiSls. 
 
 Thus it appears, that our natural defire to know the caufes 
 of the phaenomena of nature, our inability to difcover them, 
 and the vain theories of Philofophers employed in this fearch, 
 have made the word caufe, and the related words, fo ambiguous, 
 and to fignify fo many things of different natures, that they have 
 In a manner loft their proper and original meaning, and yet 
 we have no other words to exprefs it. 
 
 Every thing joined with the effed;, and prior to it, is called 
 its caufe. An inftrument, an occafion, a reafon, a motive, an 
 end, are called caufes. And the related words e^e^^ agent , power ^ 
 are extended in the fame vague manner. 
 
 Were it not that the terms caufe and agent have loft their pro- 
 per meaning, in the crowd of meanings that have been given 
 
 them,
 
 OF THE AMBIGUITY OF THOSE WORDS. 289 
 
 tneno, weiliould immediately perceive a com radidl ion in the terms chap. hi. 
 neceff'ary caufe and neccffary agent. And althougli the loofe mean- 
 ing of thofe words ib authoriled by cullom, the arbiter of lan- 
 guage, and therefore cannot be ccnfured, [xrhaps cannot always 
 be avoided, yet we ought to be upon our guard, that we be not 
 milled by it to conceive things to be the fame which are eden- 
 tially different. 
 
 To fay that man is a free agent, is no more than to fay, that 
 in fome inftanccs he is truly an agent, and a caufe, and is not 
 merely adted upon as a paillve inftrumcnt. On the contrary, 
 to fay that he ads from neceflity, is to fay that he does not adl 
 at all, that he is no agent, and that, for any thing we know, 
 there is only one agent in the univerfe, who does every thing 
 that is done, whether it be good or ill. 
 
 If this neceffity be attributed even to the Deity, the confe- 
 quence muft be, that there neither is, nor can be, a caufe at all ; 
 that nothing ads, but every thing is aded upon ; nothing moves, 
 but every thing is moved ; all is pallion without adion ; all in- 
 flrument without an agent ; and that every thing that is, or 
 •was, or fhall be, has that neceffary exiftence in its feafon, which 
 ■we commonly confider as the prerogative of the Firft Caufe. 
 
 This I take to be the genuine, and the mofl tenable fyftem of 
 neceflity. It was the fyftem of Spinosa, though he was not 
 the firft that advanced it ; for it is very ancient. And if this 
 fyftem be true, our reafoning to prove the exiftence of a firll 
 caufe of every thing that begins to exift, muft be given up as 
 fallacious. 
 
 If it be evident to the human underftanding, as 1 take it to be. 
 That what begins to exift muft have an efficient caufe, which 
 had power to give or not to give it exiftence ; and if it be true, 
 
 O o that
 
 290 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. Ill , that effects well and wifely fitted for the befl: purpofes, demon- 
 ftrate intelligence, wifdom, and goodnefs, in the efficient caufe, 
 as well as power, the proof of a Deity from thefe principles is 
 very eafy and obvious to all men that can reafon. 
 
 If, on the other hand, our belief that every thing that begins 
 to exift has a caufe, be got only by experience ; and if, as Mr 
 Home maintains, the only notion of a caufe be fomething prior 
 to the effed, which experience has fliewn to be coniiantly con- 
 joined with fuch an effedt, I fee not how, from thefe principles, 
 it is poffible to prove the exiftence of an intelligent caufe of the 
 univerfe. 
 
 Mr Hume feems to me to reafon juflly from his definition of 
 a caufe, when, in the perfon of an Epicurean, he maintains, that 
 with regard to a caufe of the univerfe, we can conclude no- 
 thing ', becaufe it is a Angular effedt. We have no expe- 
 rience that fuch effedls are always conjoined with fuch a caufe. 
 Nay, the caufe which we aflign to this effedl, is a caufe which 
 no man hath feen, nor can fee, and therefore experience cannot 
 inform us that it has ever been conjoined with any effedt. He 
 feems to me to reafon juflly from his definition of a caufe, 
 when he m'aintains, that any thing may be the caufe of any thing j 
 fince priority and conftant conjundlion is all that can be con- 
 ceived in the notion of a caufe. 
 
 Another zealous defender of the dodlrine of neceffity fays, that 
 " A caufe cannot be defined to be any thing hnx. fuch previous 
 " circumjiances as are conjlantly followed by a certain effe^, the conflancy 
 " of the refult making us conclude, that there muft be ^fiffi- 
 " cient recfon, in the nature of things, why it fhould be produced 
 " in thofe circumfl:ances." 
 
 This feems to me to be Mr Hume's definition of a caufe in 
 other words, and neither more nor lefs ; but I am far from 
 thinking that the Author of it will admit the confequences 
 
 which
 
 OF THE INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES. 291 
 
 which Mr Humk draws from it, however necenary they may ap- ch.M'. iv 
 pear to others. ' '' -.——' 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 Of the Influence of Motives. 
 
 HP HE modern advocates for the dodrine of nccellity la} 
 ■*• the rtrefs of their caufc upon the inlinencc of motives. 
 
 " Every deliberate adion, they fay, muft; have a motive. 
 " When there is no motive on the other fide, this motive muft 
 " determine the agent : When there are contrary motives, the 
 " ftrongeft muft prevail : We reafon from men's motives to 
 " their actions, as we do from other caufes to their effeds : 
 " If man be a free agent, and be not governed by motives, all 
 " his adions muft be mere caprice, rewards and punilhments 
 " can have no effed, and fuch a being muft be abfolutely ungo- 
 " vernable." 
 
 In order therefore to underftand diftindly, in what fenfe we 
 afcribe moral liberty to man, it is ncceflary to underftand what 
 influence we allow to motives. To prevent mifunderftanding, 
 which has been very common upon this point, I ofler the fol- 
 lowing obfervations : 
 
 1. I grant that all rational beings are influenced, and ought to 
 be influenced by motives. But the influence of motives is of a 
 ver^' different nature from that of efticient caufes. They arc 
 neither caufes nor agents. They fuppofe an efficient caufc, and 
 can do nothing without it. AVe cannot, without abfurdity, fup- 
 pofe a motive, either to ad, or to be adcd upon j it is equally 
 
 O o 2 incapablf
 
 292 E S S A Y IV. 
 
 ^^^■^' ^^' ii^capable of adlion and of paflion ; becaufe it Is not a thing that 
 exifts, but a thing that is conceived ; it is \A'hat the fchoolmen 
 called an ens rationis. Motives, therefore, may influence to adion, 
 but they do not adt. They may be compared to advice, or ex- 
 hortation, which leaves a man ftlll at liberty. For in vain is ad- 
 vice given when there is not a power either to do, or to forbear 
 what it recommends. In like manner, motives fuppofe liberty in. 
 the agent, otherwife they have no influence at alU 
 
 • 
 
 It is a law of nature, with refped to matter, That every mo- 
 tion, and change of motion, is proportional to the force im- 
 prefled, and in the diredtion of that force. The fcheme of ne- 
 celTity fuppofes a fimilar law to obtain in all the adlions of intel- 
 ligent beings ; which, with little alteration, may be expreffed 
 thus : Every adlion, or change of adtion, in an intelligent beings 
 is proportional to the force of motives imprefled, and in the di- 
 redlion of that force. 
 
 The law of nature refpecfting matter. Is grounded upon this 
 principle : That matter is an inert, inad:Ive fubftance, which 
 does not a6t, but is aded upon j and the law of neceflity rauft 
 be grounded upon the fuppofition. That an Intelligent being Is 
 an inert, inadlive fubftance, which does not adt^ but is adted 
 upon. 
 
 2. Rational beings, in proportion as they are wife and good, 
 will adl according to the beft motives ; and every rational being,, 
 who does otherwife, abufes his liberty. The raoft perfedl be- 
 ing. In every thing where there Is a right and a wrong, a better 
 and a worfe, always infallibly adls according to the beft motives. 
 This indeed is little elfe than an identical propohtion : For 
 it is a contradidtion to fay. That a perfedt being does 
 what is wrong or unreafonable. But to fay, that he does not 
 adt freely, becaufe he always does what is beft, is to fay. That 
 
 the
 
 OF THE INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES. 293 
 
 the proper ufe of liberty deflroys liberty, and that liberty cou- chap, iv . 
 fifts only in its abufe. 
 
 The moral perfection of the Deity confills, not in having no 
 power to do ill, otherwife, as Dr Clark. julHy obfcrves, there 
 would be no ground to thank him for his goodnefs to us any 
 more than for his eternity or immenfity ; but his moral perfection 
 confifts in this, that, when he has power to do every thing, a 
 power which cannot be refirted, he exerts that power only in 
 doing what is wifeft and bcft. To be fubjed to neceflity j,s to 
 have no power at all ; for power and neceflity arc oppofites. 
 We grant, therefore, that motives have inlluence, funllar to that 
 of advice or perfualion ; but this inHuence is perfectly confiitent 
 witli liberty, and indeed fuppofes liberty. 
 
 3. Whether every deliberate adion muft have a motive, de- 
 pends on the meaning we put upon the word deliberate. If, by 
 a deliberate adtion, we mean an aftion wherein motives are 
 weighed, which feems to be the original meaning of the word, 
 furely there mud be motives, and contrary motives, otherwife 
 they could not be weighed. But if a deliberate a(llion means 
 only, as it commonFy does, an action done by a cool and calm 
 determination of the mind, with forethought and will, I believe 
 there are innumerable fuch actions done without a motive. 
 
 This muli be appealed to every man's confcioufnefs. 1 do 
 many trifling actions every day, in which, upon the moft care- 
 ful refledion, I am confcious of no motive ; and to fay that 1 
 may be influenced by a motive of which 1 am not confcious, is, 
 in the firft place, an arbitrary fuppofition without any evidence, 
 aifd then, it is to fay, that 1 may be convinced by an argument 
 which never entered into my thought. 
 
 Cafes frequently occur, in which an end, that is of fume im- 
 portance, may be aufwered equally well by any one of fevcral 
 
 dilTcrenr
 
 294 
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. IV. (llfferent means. In fuch cafes, a man who Intends the end finds 
 not the leaft difficulty In taking one of thefe means, though he 
 be firmly perfuaded, that It has no title to be preferred to any of 
 the others. 
 
 To fay that this is a cafe that cannot happen, is to con- 
 tradict the experience of mankind ; for furely a man who 
 has occafion to lay out a fliilllng, or a guinea, may have two 
 hundred that are of equal value, both to the giver and to the re- 
 ceiver, any one of which will anfwer his purpofe equally well. 
 To fay, that, if fuch a cafe fliould happen, the man could not 
 execute his purpofe, Is ftill more ridiculous, though it have the 
 authority of fome of the fchoolmen, who determined, that the 
 afs, between two equal bundles of hay, would ftand fllll till it 
 died of hunger. 
 
 If a man could not adl without a motive, he would have no 
 power at all j for motives are not in our power , and he that has 
 not power over a neceflary mean, has not power over the end. 
 
 That an adion, done without any motive, can neither have 
 merit nor demerit. Is much infifted on by the writers for necef- 
 fity, and triumphantly, as if it were the very hinge of the con- 
 troverfy. I grant it to be a felf-evident propofitlon, and I know 
 no author that ever denied it. 
 
 How Infignlficant foever, in moral efi;imation, the adions 
 may be which are done without any motive, they are of mo- 
 ment in the queftion concerning moral liberty. For, if there 
 ever was any adion of this kind, motives are not the fole 
 caufes of human adions. And If we have the power of ading 
 without a motive, that power, joined to a weaker motive, may 
 counterbalance a fl:ronger. 
 
 4. It
 
 OF THE INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES. 295 
 
 4. It can never be proved, That when there is a motive on fMAljl^- 
 one fule only, tliat motive muft determine the adion. 
 
 According to the laws of reafoning, the proof is incumbent 
 on thofe who hold the affirmative ; and I have never feen a fha- 
 dow of argument, which does not take for granted the thing ii» 
 queftion, to wit, that motives are the fole caufes of actions. 
 
 Is there no fuch thing as wilfulnefs, ca[)rice or obftinacy, 
 among mankind ? If there be not, it is wonderful that they fhould 
 have nsimes in all languages. If there be fuch things, a fmgle 
 motive, or even many motives, may be refilled. 
 
 5. When it is faid, that of contrary motives the ftrongefl always 
 prevails, this can neither be aflirmed nor denied with under- 
 ftanding, until we know diftinctly what is meant by the ftrongeft 
 motive. 
 
 I do not find, that thofe who have advanced this as a felf- 
 evident axiom, have ever attempted to explain what they meant 
 by the Orongeft motive, or have given any rule by which we 
 may judge which of two motives is the ftrongeft. 
 
 How Ihall we know whether the ilrongeft motive always pre- 
 vails, if we know not which is rtrongeft ? There muft be fome 
 teft by which their ilrength is to be tried, fome balance in 
 which they may be weighed, otherwife, to fay that the ftrongeft 
 motive always prevails, is to fpcak without any meaning. We 
 mull therefore fearch for this tell or balance, fince they 
 who have laid fo much llrefs upon tliis axiom, have left us 
 wholly in the dark as to its meaning. 1 grant, that when the 
 contrary motives are of the fame kind, antl dilfer only in quan- 
 tity, it may be eafy to fay which is the (Irongefi. Thus a bribe 
 of a thoufand pounds is a ftronger motive than a bribe of a hun- 
 dred pounds. But when the motives are of di/lf^rcnt kinds, as, 
 
 money
 
 296 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. IV. money and fame, duty and worldly intereft, health and flrength, 
 riches and honour, by what rule fhall we judge which is the 
 ftrongeft motive ? 
 
 Either we meafure the flrength of motives, merely by their 
 prevalence, or by fome other flandard diftincS from their preva- 
 lence. 
 
 If we meafure their ftrength merely by their prevalence, and 
 by the ftrongeft motive mean only the motive that prevails, 
 it will be true indeed that the ftrongeft motive prevails j but the 
 propofition will be identical, and mean no more than that the 
 ftrongeft motive is the ftrongeft motive. From this furely no 
 conclulion can be drawn. 
 
 If It ftiould be faid. That by the ftrength of a motive is not 
 meant its prevalence, but the caufe of its prevalence ; that we 
 meafure the caufe by the effed:, and from the fuperiority of the 
 effeft conclude the fuperiority of the caufe, as we conclude that 
 to be the heavieft weight which bears down the fcale ; I anfwer, 
 That, according to this explication of the axiom, it takes for 
 o-ranted that motives are the caufes, and the fole caufes of ac- 
 tions. Nothing is left to the agent, but to be adled upon by the 
 motives, as the balance is by the weights. The axiom fuppofes, 
 that the agent does not ad, but is adted upon j and, from this 
 fuppofition, It is concluded that he does not adt. This is to rea- 
 fon in a circle, or rather it is not reafoning but begging the que- 
 ftion. 
 
 Contrary motives may very properly be compared to advo- 
 cates pleading the oppofite fides of a caufe at the bar. It would 
 be very weak reafoning to fay, that fuch an advocate is the moft 
 powerful pleader, becaufe fentence was given on his fide. The fen- 
 tence is in the power of the judge, not of the advocate. It is equally 
 weak reafoning, in proof of necellity, to fay, fuch a motive pre- 
 vailed,
 
 OF THE INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES. 29; 
 
 vailed, therefore it is the flrongcft ; fince the ckfeiulcrs of liber- CHAP. iv. 
 ty maintain that the determination was made l)y the man, and 
 not by the motive. 
 
 We are therefore brought to this ifTuc, that nnltfs fome mea- 
 fure of the ftrength of motives can be found dillinct from their 
 prevalence, it cannot be determined, whether tlie ftrongefl: mo- 
 tive always prevails or not. If fuch a meafure can be found 
 and applied, we may be able to judge of the truth of this max- 
 im, but not otherwife. 
 
 Every thing that can be called a motive, is addreflcd either 
 to the animal or to the rational part of our nature. Motives 
 of the former kind are common to us with the brutes ; thofe of 
 the latter are peculiar to rational beings. We fliall beg leave, 
 for diftin(5tiou's fake, to call the former, rtw/wa/ motives, and the 
 latter, rational. 
 
 Hunger is a motive in a dog to eat ; fo is it in a man. Ac- 
 cording to the ftrength of the appetite, it gives a ftronger or a 
 weaker impulfe to eat. And the fame thing may be faid of eve- 
 ry other appetite and pafTion. Such animal motives give an im- 
 pulfe to the agent, to which he yields with eafe ; and, if the im- 
 pulfe be ftrong, it cannot be refifled without an effort which re- 
 quires a greater or a lefs degree of felf-command. Such mo- 
 tives are not addrelfed to the rational powers. Their intluence 
 is immediately upon the will. We feel their influence, and 
 judge of their flrength, by the confcious effort which is neceJla- 
 ry to relift them. 
 
 When a man is aded upon by contrary motives of this kind, 
 he finds it eafy to yield to the ftrongefl. They are like two 
 forces pufliing him in contrary diredlions. To yield to the 
 ftrongeft, he needs only to be pillive. By exerting his own 
 force, he may refift ; l)ut this requires an effort of which he is 
 
 P p confcious.
 
 298 ESSAY IV. 
 
 C HAP. IV. confcious. The ftrength of motives of this kind is perceived, 
 not by our judgment, but by our feeling ; and that is the 
 ftrongeft of contrary motives, to which he can yield with eafe, 
 or which it requires an effort of felf-command to refiftj and 
 this we may call the animal tejl of flie ftrength of motives. 
 
 If it be afked, whether, in motives of this kmd, the ftrongeft 
 always prevails ? I would anfwer, That in brute-animals 1 be- 
 lieve it does. They do not appear to have any felf-command \. 
 an appetite or paiTion in them is overcome only by a ftronger 
 contrary one. On this account, they are not accountable for 
 their adions, nor can they be the fubjeds of law. 
 
 But in men who are able to exercife their rational powers, 
 and have any degree of felf-command, the ftrongeft animal mo- 
 tive does not always prevail. The flefti does not always prevail 
 againft the fpirit, though too often it docs. And if men were 
 necefllirlly determined by the ftrongeft animal motive, they 
 could no more be accountable, or capable of being governed by 
 law, than brutes are. 
 
 Let us next confider rational motives, to which the name of 
 tnotive is more commonly and more properly given. Their in- 
 fluence is upon the judgment, by convincing us that fuch an ac- 
 tion ought to be done, that it is our duty, or conducive to our 
 real good, or to ibme end which we have determined to purfue. 
 
 They do not give a blind impulfe to the will as animal mo- 
 tives do. They convince, but they do not impel, unlels, as may 
 often happen, they excite fome paflion of hope, or fear, or de- 
 fire. Such paflious may be excited by convidion, and may ope- 
 rate in its aid as other animal motives do. But there may bg, 
 convidion without pallion ; and the convidion of what we 
 ought to do, in order to fome end which we have judged fit to 
 be purfiied, is what 1 call a rational motive. 
 
 Brutes,
 
 OF THE INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES. 
 
 299 
 
 Brutes, I think, cannot be influenced by fuch motives. They t:HAP. IV. 
 have not the conception of ought and ought not. Children ac- 
 quire thcfe conceptions as their rational powers advance ; and 
 they are found in all of ripe age, who have the human facul- 
 ties. 
 
 If there be any competition between rational motives, it is 
 evident, that the Itrongell, in the eye of reafon, is that which it 
 is moft our duty and our real happinefs to follow. Our duty 
 and our real happinefs are ends which are infeparable; and they 
 are the ends which every man, endowed with reafon, is confci- 
 ous he ought to purine in preference to all others. This we 
 may call the rational teft of the ftrength of motives. A motive 
 which is the ftrongeft, according to the animal teft, may be, and 
 very often is the weakeft according to the rational. 
 
 The grand and the important competition of contrary mo- 
 tives is between the animal, on the one hand, and the rational 
 on the other. This is the conflid: between the flefli and the 
 fpirit, upon the event of which the charadter of men depends. 
 
 If it be afked, which of thefe is the ftrongeft motive ? The 
 anfwer is. That the firft is commonly ftrongeft, when they are 
 tried by the animal teft. If it were not fo, human life would 
 be no ftate of trial. It would not be a warfare, nor would vir- 
 tue require any effort or felf-command. No man would have 
 any temptation to do wrong. But, when we try the contrary 
 motives by the rational teft, it is evident, that the rational mo- 
 tive is always the ftrongeft. 
 
 And now, I think, it appears, that the ftrongeft motive, ac- 
 cording to either of the tefts I have mentioned, does not always 
 prevail. 
 
 In every wife and virtuous a(ftion, the motive that prevails is 
 
 P p 2 the
 
 300 
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. IV. tiie ftrongefl according to the rational teft, but commonly the 
 weakeft according to the animal. In every fooliih, and in eve- 
 ry vicious adtion, the motive that prevails is commonly the 
 ftrongefl according to the animal teft, but always the weakeft 
 according to the rational. 
 
 6. It is true, that we reafon from men's motives to their ac- 
 tions, and, in many cafes, with great probability, but never with 
 abfolute certainty. And to infer from this, that men are necef- 
 farily determined by motives, is very weak reafoning. 
 
 For let us fuppofe, for a moment, that men have moral liber- 
 ty, I would afk, what ufe may they be expedted to make of this 
 liberty ? It may furely be expedted, that, of the various adions 
 within the fphere of their power, they will chufe what pleafes 
 them moft for the prefent, or what appears to be moft for their 
 real, though dlftant good. When there is a competition between 
 thefe motives, the foolifh will prefer prefent gratification ; the 
 wife the greater and more diftant good. 
 
 Now, is not this the very way in which we fee men adl ? Is it 
 not from the prefumption that they adl in this way, that we rea- 
 fon from their motives to their adions ? Surely it is. Is it not 
 weak reafoning, therefore, to argue, that men have not liberty, 
 becaufe they ad in that very way in which they would ad if 
 they had liberty ? It would furely be more like reafoning to 
 draw the contrary conclufion from the fame premifes. 
 
 y. Nor is it better reafoning to conclude, that, if men are 
 not neceflarily determined by motives, all their adions muft be 
 capricious. 
 
 To refift the ftrongeft animal motives when duty requires, is 
 fo far from being capricious, that it is, in the higheft degree, wife 
 and virtuous. And we hope this is often done by good men. 
 
 To
 
 OF THE INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES. 
 
 To ad agalnll rational motives, iiuift always be foolidi, vi- 
 cious, or capricious. And, it cannot be denied, that there are 
 too many fuch adions done. But is it reafonable to conclude, 
 that becaufe liberty may be abufed by the foolilh and the vici- 
 ous, therefore it can never be put to its proper ufe, which is to 
 ad wilt'ly and virtuoufly ? 
 
 8. It is equally unreafonable to conclude, That if men are not 
 neceflarily determined by motives, rewards and punifhments 
 would have no eflc-d. With wife men they will have their due 
 effed i but not always with the foolifh and the vicious. 
 
 Let us confulerwhat effed rewards and punirtiments do really, 
 and in fad, produce, and what may be inferred from that ef- 
 fed, upon each of the oppofite fyftems of liberty and of necef- 
 fity. 
 
 I take it for granted that, in fad, the heft; and wifeft laws, 
 both human and divine, are often traufgreffed, notwithflanding 
 the rewards and punifliments that are annexed to them. If 
 any man fliould deny this fad, I know not how to reafon with 
 him. 
 
 From this fad, it may be inferred with certainty, upon the 
 fuppofition of nccelTity, That, in every inllance of tranfgreflion, 
 the motive of reward or punifliment was not of fufTicient llrerjgth 
 to produce obedience to the law. This implies a fault in the 
 lawgiver; but there can be no fault in the tranfgreflbr, who 
 ads mechanically by the force of motives. We might as well 
 impute a fault to the balance, when it does not raife a weight 
 of two pounds by the force of one pound. 
 
 Upon the fuppofition of ncccHlty, there can be neither reward 
 nor punifhmcnt, in the proper Cenfe, as ihofe words imply good 
 and ill dcfcrt. Reward and punifhmcnt arc only tools employ- 
 ed
 
 302 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. IV. Q^ fo produce a mechanical effedl. When the eSeO: is not pro- 
 duced, the tool muft be unfit or wrong applied. 
 
 Upon the fuppofitlon of liberty, rewards and punifhments will 
 have a proper effedt upon the wife and the good ; but not fo up- 
 on the foolifh and the vicious, when oppofed by their animal 
 pallions or bad habits ; and this is juft what we fee to be the 
 fad:. Upon this fuppofition the tranfgrefllon of the law im- 
 plies no defeft in the law, no fault in the lawgiver ; the fault 
 is folely in the tranfgrefTor. And it is upon this fuppofition on- 
 ly, that there can be either reward or punifhment, in the pro- 
 per fenfe of the words, becaufe it is only on this fuppofition, that 
 there can be good or ill defert. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Liberty consent with Government. 
 
 WHEN it is f.id that liberty would make us abfolute- 
 ly ungovernable by God or man ; to underftand the 
 ftrength of this conclufion, it is neceflary to know diftindt- 
 ly what is meant by government. There are two kinds of govern- 
 ment, very different in their nature. The one we may, for 
 diftindlion's fake, call mechanical government, the other moral. 
 The firll is the government of beings which have no adlive 
 power, but are merely pallive and aded upon ; the fecond, of 
 intelligent and attive beings. 
 
 An inflance of mechanical government may be that of a maf- 
 ter or commander of a fhip at fea. Suppofing her ikilfuUy built, 
 and furnifhed with every thing proper for the deiHned voyage, 
 to govern her properly for this purpofe requires much art and 
 attention ; And, as every art has its rules, or laws, fo has this. 
 
 But
 
 LIBERTY CONSISTENT WITH GOVERNMENT. 303 
 
 But by whom are thofe laws to be obeyed, or thofe rules ob- CfTAP. v. 
 fcrved ? not by the (hip, fureiy, for flic is anina<5tive being, but 
 by the governor. A fallor may fay that flie does not obey the 
 rudder ; and he has a diilindt meaning when he fays fo, and is 
 j)erfe(5lly underftood. But he means not obedience in the pro- 
 per, but in a metaphorical fcnfe : For, in the proper fen(e, 
 the ihip can no more obey the rudder, than flie can give a com- 
 mand. Every motion, both of the (hip and rudder, is exadly 
 proportioned to the force impreffed, and in the direction of that 
 force. The fliip never difobeys the laws of motion, even in the 
 metaphorical linfe j and they arc the only laws fhe can be fub- 
 jecl to. 
 
 The failor, perhaps, curfcs her for not obeying the rudder ; 
 but this is not the voice of reafon, but of pallion, like that of 
 the lofing gamerter, when he curfes the dice. The fliip is as 
 innocent as the dice. 
 
 Whatever may happen during the voyage, whatever may be 
 its ilTue, the (hip, in the eye of reafon, is neither an objedt of 
 approbation nor of blame ; becaufe (he docs not adl, but is acfl- 
 ed upon. If the material, in any part, be faulty ; Wiio put it 
 to that ufe ? If the form; Who made it? If the rules of na- 
 vigation were not oblerved ; \\"ho tranfgrefled them? If a 
 ftorm occafioned any difarter, it was no more in the power of 
 the fliip than of the mafler. 
 
 Another inftance to illuftrate the nature of mechanical govern- 
 ment may be, That ot the man win) makes and e\hi!)its a puppet- 
 fliow. The puppets, in all their diverting gelticulaiions, do not 
 move, but are moved by an impulfe fecretly conveyed, which 
 they cannot relilL If they do not play their parts properlv, the 
 fault is only in the maker or manager of the machinery. Too 
 much or too little force was applied, or it was wrong direded. 
 
 No
 
 304 .- E S S A Y IV. 
 
 CHA P. V.^ i^Q reafonable man imputes either praife or blame to the puppets, 
 but folely to their maker or their governor. 
 
 If we fuppofe for a moment, the puppets to be endowed with 
 underrtanding and will, but without any degree of active power, 
 this will make no change in the nature of their government : 
 For underllanding and will, without fome degree of adlive power, 
 can produce no effedl. They might, upon this fuppofition, be 
 called intelligent machines j but they would be machines ftill as 
 much fubjed: to the laws of motion as inanimate matter, and 
 therefore incapable of any other than mechanical government. 
 
 Let us next confider the nature of moral government. This Is 
 the government of perfons who have reafon and adlive power, and 
 have laws prefcribed to them for their condudl, by a legiflator. 
 Their obedience is obedience in the proper fenfe ', it mufl there- 
 fore be their own a6t and deed, and confequently they muft 
 have power to obey or to difobey. To prefcribe laws to them 
 which they have not power to obey, or to require a fei-vice 
 beyond their power, would be tyranny and injuilice in the high- 
 eft degree. 
 
 '"' When the laws are equitable, and prefcribed by juft authority, 
 
 "■ they produce moral obligation in thofe that are fubjed; to them, 
 
 and dlfobedience is a crime deferving puniihment. But if the 
 obedience be impollible ; if the tranfgreflion be neceffary j it 
 is felf-evident, that there can be no moral obligation to what is 
 impollible, that there can be no crime in yielding to neceilky, 
 and that there can be no jullice in punifliing a perfon for what 
 it was not In his power to avoid. There are firft principles in 
 morals and, to every unprejudiced mind, as felf-evident as the 
 axioms of mathematics. The whole fcience of morals muft 
 fland or fall with them. 
 
 Having thus explained the nature both of mechanical and of 
 
 moral
 
 LIBERTY CONSISTENT WITH GOVERNMENT. 305 
 
 moral government, the only kinds of government I am able to CHAP. v. 
 conceive, it is eafy to fee how far liberty or necelTity aj^rces with 
 either. 
 
 On the one hand, I acknowledge that necellky agrees per- 
 fedly with mechanical government. This kind of government 
 is molt perfect when the governor is the fole agent ; every thing 
 done is the doing of the governor only. The praife of every 
 thing well done is his fulely ; and his is the blame if there be- 
 any thing ill done, becaufe he is the fole agent. 
 
 It Is true that, in common language, praife or difpraife is often 
 metaphorically given to the work ; but, in propriety, it belongs 
 folely to the author. Every workman underftands this per- 
 fectly, and takes to himfelf very juftly the praife or difpraife of 
 his own work. 
 
 On the other hand, it is no lefs evident, that, on the fuppo- 
 fitlon of neceflity in the governed, there can be no moral go- 
 vernment. There can be neither wifdom nor equity in prc- 
 fcribing laws that cannot be obeyed. There can be no moral 
 obligation upon beings that have no a<flive power. There can 
 be no crime in not doing what it was impollible to do ; nor can 
 there be jultice in punilhing fuch omilHon. 
 
 If we apply thefe theoretical principles to the kinds of go- 
 vernment which do actually exift, whether human or divine, 
 we fhall find that, among men, even mechanical government is 
 imperfed. 
 
 Men do not make the matter they work upon. Its various 
 kinds, and the qualities belonging to each kind, are the work 
 of God. The laws of nature, to which it is fubjcd, are the 
 work of God. The motions of the atmofphere and of the fea, 
 the heat and cold of the air, the rain and wind, which are ule-
 
 3o6 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP, V. fyi inflruments in moft human operations, are not in our power. 
 So that, in all the mechanical produdions of men, the work is 
 more to be afcribed to God than to man. 
 
 Civil government among men is a £pecies of moral govern- 
 ment, but imperfed, as its lawgivers and its judges are. Hu- 
 man laws may be unwife or unjufl ; human judges may be par- 
 tial or unfkilful. But in all equitable civil governments, the max- 
 ims of moral government above mentioned, are acknowledged 
 as rules which ought never to be violated. Indeed the rules of 
 juftice are fo evident to all men, that the mofl tyrannical go- 
 A-ernments profefs to be guided by them, and endeavour to pal- 
 liate what is contrary to them by the plea of neceflity. 
 
 That a man cannot be under an obligation to what is impoH- 
 fible ; that he cannot be criminal in yielding to neceflity, nor 
 juflly puniftied for what he could not avoid, are maxims admit- 
 ted, in all criminal courts, as fundamental rules of juflice. 
 
 In oppofition to this, it has been faid by fome of the moft 
 able defenders of neceflity, That human laws require no more to 
 conftitute a crime, but that it be voluntary ; whence it is infer- 
 red that the criminality confifts in the determination of the 
 will, whether that determination be free or neceflliry. This, I 
 think indeed, is the only poflible plea by which criminality can 
 be made confiftent with neceflity, and therefore it deferves to be 
 confidered. 
 
 I acknowledge that a crime mufl; be voluntary ; for, if it be 
 not voluntary, it is no deed of the man, nor can be juflly im- 
 puted to him J but it Is no lefs necefliiry that the criminal have 
 moral liberty. In men that are adult, and of a found mind, 
 this liberty is prefumed. But in every cafe where it cannot be 
 prefumed, no criminality is imputed, even to voluntary anions. 
 
 This
 
 LIBERTY CONSISTENT WITH GOVERNMENT. 307 
 
 This is evident from the following inftanccs : Fhj}, The CHAr. v , 
 a«5lions of brutes apj^car to be voluntary ; yet they are never 
 conceived to be criminal, though they may be noxious. Sccoud- 
 /)', Children in nonage a<Sl voluntarily, but they are not charge- 
 able with crimes. 'thirdly. Madmen have both underllandlng 
 and will, but they have not moral liberty, and therefore are 
 not chargeable with crimes. Fourthly, Even in men that arc 
 adult, and of a found mind, a motive that is thought irrefiflible 
 by any ordinary degree of felf-command, fuch as the rack, or 
 the dread of prefent death, either exculpates, or very much alle- 
 viates a voluntary action, which, in other circumflances, would 
 be highly criminal ; whence it is evident, that if the motive 
 were abfolutely irrefiflible, the exculpation would be complete. 
 So far is it from being true in itfelf, or agreeable to the common 
 fenfe of mankind, that the criminality of an adtion depends fole- 
 ly upon its being voluntary. 
 
 The government of brutes, fo far as they are fubjcd to man, 
 is a fpecies of mechanical government, or fomething very like 
 to it, and has no refemblance to moral government. As inani- 
 mate matter is governed by our knowledge of the qualities 
 which God hath given to the various productions of nature, and 
 our knowledge of the laws of nature which he hath eftabliflicd ; 
 fo brute-animals are governed by our knowledge of the natural 
 Inltincbs, appetites, affections and pallions, which God hath given 
 them. By a Ikilfid application of thefe fprings of their actions, 
 they may be trained to many habits ufeful to man. After all, 
 we find that, from caufes unknown to us, not only fome fpecies, 
 but fome individuals of the fame fpecies, are more tradable 
 than others. 
 
 Children under age are governed much in the fame way as 
 the mofl: fagacious brutes. The opening of their intelledual 
 and moral powers, which may be much aided by proper inllruc- 
 
 Q^q 2 tion
 
 3o8 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP, v^ jJq,^ jjnd example, is that which makes them by .degrees, ca- 
 pable of moral government. 
 
 Reafon teaches us to afcrlbe to the Supreme Being a govern- 
 ment of the inanimate and inadlive part of his creation, analo- 
 gous to that mechanical government which men exerclfe, but 
 hifinitely more perfed. This, I think, is what we call God's 
 nati/ral government of the univerfe. In this part of the divine 
 government, whatever is done is God's doing. He is the fole 
 caufe, and the fole agent, whether he act immediately, or by in- 
 ftruments fubordinate to him ; and his will is always done : For 
 mllruments are not caufes, they are not agents, though we fome- 
 times improperly call them fo. 
 
 It is therefore no lefs agreeable to reafon, than to the lan- 
 guage of holy writ, to impute to the Deity whatever is done in 
 the natural world. When we fay of any thing, that it is the 
 work of nature, this is faying that it is the work of God, and 
 can have no other meaning. 
 
 The natural world is a grand machine, contrived, made, and 
 governed by the wifdom and power of the Almighty : And If 
 there be in this natural world, beings that have life, intelligence, 
 and will, without any degree of adtive power, they can only be 
 fubjedt to the fame kind of mechanical government, Their de- 
 terminations, whether we call them good or ill, muft be the 
 actions of the Supreme Being, as much as the produdlions of the 
 earth : For, life, intelligence, and will, without adive power, 
 can do nothing, and therefore nothing can juftly be imputed 
 to it. 
 
 This grand machine of the natural" world, difplays the power 
 and wifdom of the artificer. But in it, there can be no difplay 
 of moral attributes, which have a relation to moral condud in 
 his creatures, fuch as juftice and equity in rewarding or punifli-
 
 LIBERTY CONSISTENT WITH GOVERNMENT. 309 
 
 ing, the love of virtue unci abhorrence of wickednefs : For, as CHAT. v. 
 every thing in it is God's doing, tliere can be no vice to be pu- 
 niflied or abhorred, no virtue in his creatures to be rewarded. 
 
 According to the fyftem of neceflity, the whole univerfe of 
 creatures is this natural world; and of everything done in 
 it, God is the fole agent. There can be no moral government, 
 nor moral obligation. Laws, rewards, and punilhments, are 
 only mechanical engines, and the will of the lawgiver is obeyed 
 as much when his laws are tranfgreired, as when they are ob- 
 ferved. Such mufl be our notions of the government of the 
 world, ui)on the fuppolition of necellity. It mull be purely me- 
 chanical, and there can be no moral government upon that hy- 
 pothefis. 
 
 Let us confider, oi> the other hand, what notion of the divine 
 government we are naturally led into by the fuppofition of li- 
 berty. 
 
 Tliey who adopt this fyflem conceive, that in that fmall por- 
 tion of the univerfe which falls under our view, as a great part 
 has no adtive power, but moves, as it is moved, by necelTity, and 
 therefore mufl be fubje<fl to a mechanical government, fo it has 
 pleafed the Almighty to beftow upon fome of his creatures, par- 
 ticularly upon man, fome degree of active power, and of reafon, 
 to diredl him to the right ufe of his power. 
 
 What connedion there may be, in the nature of things, be- 
 tween reafon and adlive power, we know not. But we fee evi- 
 dently that, as reafon without adlive power can do nothing, fo 
 adive power without reafon has no guide to diredt it to any 
 end. 
 
 Thefc two conjoined make moral liberty, which, in how fmall 
 a degree foever it is polfeired, raifes man to a fuperior rank in 
 
 the
 
 3T0 ESSAY rv.. 
 
 CHA P. V. tjie creation of God. He is not merely a tool in the hand of 
 the mafter, but a fervant, in the proper fenfe, who has a certain 
 truft, and is accountable for the dilcharge of it. Within the fphere 
 of his power, he has a fubordinate dominion or government, and 
 therefore may be fiid to be made after the image of God, the 
 Supreme Governor. But as his dominion is fubordinate, he is 
 under a moral obligation to make a right ufe of it, as far as the 
 reafon which God hath given him can dired: him. When he does 
 fo, he is a juft objed: of moral approbation; and no lefs an object: 
 of dlfapprobation and jufl; puniftiment when he abufes the power 
 with which he is entrufled. And he muft finally render an ac- 
 count of the talent committed to him, to the fupreme Governor 
 and righteous Judge. 
 
 This Is the moral government of God, which, far from being 
 inconfiftent with liberty, fuppofes liberty in thofe that are fub- 
 jeO. to it, and can extend no farther than that liberty extends ; 
 for accountablenefs can no more agree with neceffity than light 
 with darknefs. 
 
 It ought likewife to be obferved, that as adlive power in man, 
 and in every created being, is the gift of God, it depends en- 
 tirely on his pleafure for its exiftence, its degree and its conti- 
 nuance, and therefore can do nothing which he does not fee fit 
 to permit. 
 
 Our power to adl does not exempt us from being adled upon, 
 and refiralned or compelled by a fuperior power ; and the power 
 of God is always fuperior to that of man. 
 
 It would be great folly and prefumption In us to pretend to 
 know all the w^ays in which the government of the Supreme 
 Being Is carried on, and his purpofes accomplifhed by men, ad:- 
 ing freely, and having different or oppofite purpofes in their 
 view. For, as the heavens are high above the earth, fo are his 
 thoughts above our thoughts, and his ways above our ways. 
 
 That
 
 LIBERTY CONSISTENT WITH GOVERNMENT. 311 
 
 That a man may have great influence upon the voluntary de- <^Hap. v. 
 terminations of other men, by means of education, eNannplc and ' "^ 
 
 pcrtliafion, Is a facil: uhith iniift be granted, whether \vc ado])t 
 the fyftc-m of liberty or necefllty. How far fuch determinations 
 ought to be imputed to the perfon who applied thofe means, 
 how far to the perfon influenced by them, we know not, but 
 God knows, and will judge righteoufly. 
 
 But what I would here obferve is, That if a man of fuperior 
 talents may have fo great influence over the adions of his fel- 
 low-creatures, without taking away their liberty, it is furely rca- 
 fonable to allow a much greater influence of the fame kind to 
 him who made man. Nor can it ever be proved, that the wif- 
 dom and power of the Almighty are infuflicient for governing 
 free agents, fo as to anfwer his purpofes. 
 
 He who made man -may have ways of governing his detenni- 
 nations, confident with moral liberty, of which we have no con- 
 ception. And he who gave this liberty freely, may lay anv re- 
 llraint upon it that is neceflary for anfwering his wife and bene- 
 volent purpofes. The juftice of his government requires, that 
 his creatures (hould be accountable only for what they have re- 
 ceived, and not for what was never entrufted to them. And we 
 are fure that the Judge of all the earth will do what is right. 
 
 Thus, I think, it appears, that, upon the fuppofition of nccef- 
 fity, there can be no moral government of the univerfe. Its 
 government muft be perfedly mechanical, and every thing done 
 in it, whether good or IH, mufl be God's doing ; and that, up- 
 on the fuppofition of liberty, there may be a perfed moral go- 
 vernment of the univerfe, confident with his atcompliiliing all 
 his purpofes, in its creation and government. 
 
 The arguments to prove that man is endowed with moral li- 
 berty, which have the grcateft weight with me, are three ; FirJ}, 
 
 Becauft
 
 312 E S S A Y IV. 
 
 CHAP. VI. Becaufe he has a natural convidion or belief, that, In many- 
 cafes, he ads freely ; fecondly, Becaufe he is accountable ; and, 
 thirdly, Becaufe he is able to profecute an end by a long feries of 
 means adapted to it. 
 
 C H A P. VI. 
 
 Firjl Argument, 
 
 X'T^'E have, by our conflitution, a natural convidlion or be- 
 W lief that we adl freely : A convidion fo early, fo uni- 
 verfal and fo neceflary in mofl of our rational operations, that 
 it muft be the refult of our conflitution, and the work of him 
 that made us. 
 
 Some of the mofl flrenuous advocates for the dodrlne of ne- 
 ceffity acknowledge that it is impoffible to ad upon it. They 
 fay that we have a natural fenfe or convidion that we ad freely, 
 but that this is a fallacious fenfe. 
 
 This dodrlne is difhonourable to our Maker, and lays a foun- 
 dation for univerfal fcepticifm. It fuppofes the Author of our 
 being to have given us one faculty on purpofe to deceive us, and 
 another by which we may deted the fallacy, and find that he 
 impofed upon us. 
 
 If any one of our natural faculties be fallacious, there can be 
 no reafon to trufl to any of them ; for he that made one made 
 all. 
 
 The genuine didate of our natural faculties is the voice of 
 God, no lefs than what he reveals from heaven j and to fay that 
 it is fallacious is to impute a lie to the God of truth. 
 
 If
 
 F I R S T A R G U M E N T. 313 
 
 If candour and veracity be not an cnLniial part of moral excel- chap vr. 
 lence, there is no fuch thinj^ as moral excellence, nor any reafon 
 to rely on the declarations and promifes of the Almis;hty. A man 
 may be tempted to lie, but not without being confcious of guilt 
 and of meaimefs. Shall we impute to the Almighty what we 
 cannot impute to a man without a heinous affi'ont ? 
 
 Failing this opinion, therefore, as fliocking to an ingenuous 
 mind, and, in its confequences, fubverfive of all religion, all 
 morals and all knowledge, let us proceed to coulider the evi- 
 dence of our having a natural conviction that we have fome de- 
 gree of adive power. 
 
 The very conception or idea of adive power muft be derived 
 from fomething in our own conftitution. It is impoflible to ac- 
 count for it otherwife. We fee events, but we fee not the 
 power that produces them. We perceive one event to fol- 
 low another, but we perceive not the chain that binds them to- 
 gether. The notion of power and caufation, therefore, cannot 
 be got from external objeds. 
 
 Yet the notion of caufes, and the belief that every event 
 muft have a caufe which had power to produce it, is found in 
 every human mind fo firmly eftablifhed, that it cannot be rooted 
 out. 
 
 This notion and this belief mufl have its origin from fome- 
 thing in our conftitution; and that it is natural to man, appears 
 from the following obfervations. 
 
 I. We are confcious of many voluntary exertions, fome eafy, 
 others more dilHcult, fome requiring a great cITort. Thefc are 
 exertions of power. And though a man may be unconfcious of 
 his power when he does not exert it, he muft have both the con- 
 
 R r ccption
 
 3H 
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. VI. ception and the belief of it, when he knowingly and willingly 
 exerts it, with intention to produce Ibme cffed:. 
 
 2. Deliberation about an adion of moment, whether we fliall 
 do it or not, implies a conviction that it is in our power. To 
 deliberate about an end, we mull be convinced that the means 
 are in our power j and to deliberate about the means, we muft 
 be convinced that we have power to chufe the mofl proper. 
 
 3. Suppofe our deliberation brought to an iflue, and that we 
 refolve to do what appeared proper, Can we form fuch a refolu- 
 tion or purpofe, without any convi6tion of power ta execute it ? 
 No J it is impoflible. A man cannot refolve to lay out a fum of 
 money, which he neither has, nor hopes ever to have. 
 
 4. Again, when I plight my faith in any promife or contraft, 
 I muft believe that I fhall have power to perform what I pro- 
 mile. Without this perfuafion, a promife would be downright 
 fraud. 
 
 There Is a condition implied in every promife, if we live, and 
 if God continue with us the power •which he hath given us. Our 
 eonvidion, therefore, of this power derogates not in the leaft 
 from our dependence upon God. The rudeft favage is taught 
 by nature to admit tliis condition in all promifes, whether it be 
 exprefTed or not. For it is a didtate of common fcnfe, that we 
 can be under no obligation to do what it is impoflible for us to 
 do. 
 
 If we adl upon the fyftem of necefllty, there muft be another 
 condition implied in all deliberation, in every refolution, and in 
 every promife j and that is, if wc fhall be willing. But the will 
 not being in our power, we cannot engage for it. 
 
 If this condition be underftood, as It muft be underftood if we 
 
 ad;''
 
 ]'" 1 R S T A R G U M E N T. 3 1; 
 
 act upon the lyflem of nccefllty, there can be no deliberation, chap, vi 
 or rciolution, nor any obligation in a promife. A man might 
 as well deliberate, refolve and promife, upon the aif\ions of other 
 men as upon his own. 
 
 It is no lefs evident, that we have a convicliou of pov/er in 
 other men, when we advife, or perfuade, or command, or con- 
 ceive them to be under obligation by their promifcs. 
 
 5. Is it pofllble for any man to blame himfclf for yielding to 
 nccefllty ? Then he may blame himfelf for dying, or for being a 
 man. Blame fiippofes a wrong ufe of power ; and when a man 
 does as well as it was pollible for him to do, wherein is he to be 
 blamed? Therefore all convi<flion of wrong conduct, all re- 
 morfe and felf-condemnation, imply a conviction of our power 
 to have done better. Take away this conviction, and there may 
 be a fenfe of mifery, or a dread of evil to come, but there can 
 be no fenfe of guilt or refolution to do better. 
 
 Many who hold the dodtrine of neceflity difown thefe confe- 
 quences of it, and think to evade them. To fuch they ought 
 not to be imputed ; but their infeparable connection with that 
 dodtrine appears felf-evident : And therefore fome late patrons 
 of it have had the boldnefs to avow them. " They cannot ac- 
 " cufe themfelves of having done any thing wrong in the ulti- 
 " mate fenfe of the words. In a ftridt fenfe, they have nothing 
 *' to do with repentance, confeiTion and pardon, thefe being 
 " adapted to a fallacious view of things." 
 
 Thofe who can adopt thefe fentiments, may indeed celebrate, 
 with high encomiums, the great and glorious doBr'tne of nccef- 
 fity. It reflores them, in their own conceit, to the Hate of in- 
 nocence. It delivers them from all the pangs of guilt and re- 
 morfe, and from all fear about their future conduct, thouo;h not 
 about their fate. They may be as fecurc that they fiiall do no- 
 
 R r 2 thint',
 
 3i6 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. VI. thing wrong, as thofe who have finiflied their courfe. A doc- 
 trine fo flattering to the mind of a finncr is very apt to give 
 ftrength to weak arguments. 
 
 After all, it is acknowledged by thofe who boaft of this glo- 
 rious dodrine, " That every man, let him ufe what efforts he 
 *' can, will necelfanly feel the fentiments of fhame, remorfe, 
 •' and repentance, and, oppreiled with a fenfe of guilt, will 
 " have recourfe to that mercy of which he ftands in need." 
 
 The meaning of this feems to me to be, That although the 
 dod:rine of necellity be fupported by invincible arguments, and 
 though it be the moft confolatory dodtrine in the world ; yet no 
 man, in his moft ferious moments, when he fifts himfelf before 
 the throne of his Maker, can poflibly believe it, but muft then 
 neceffarily lay afide this glorious dodlrine, and all its flattering 
 confequences, and return to the humiliating convidlion of his 
 having made a bad ufe of the power which God had given him. 
 
 If the belief of our having adtive power be neceflarily im- 
 plied in thofe rational operations we have mentioned, it mufl: be 
 coeval with our reafon j it mufl; be as univerfal among men, and 
 as necefl^ary in the conduct of life, as thofe operations are. 
 
 We cannot recoiled: by memory when it began. It cannot be 
 a prejudice of education, or of f;\lfe philofophy. It mufl; be a 
 part of our conftitution, or the necefl^ary refult of our confl;itU' 
 tion, and therefore the work of God. 
 
 It refembles, in this refpedt, our belief of the exiflence of a 
 material world j our belief that thofe we converfe with are li^ 
 ving and intelligent beings 3 our belief that thofe things did 
 really happen which we diftindlly remember, and our belief 
 that we continue the fame identical perfons. 
 
 We
 
 FIRST ARGUMENT. ^17 
 
 We find difFiculty in accounting for our belief of thefe things ; 
 and fomc Philolbi^hcrs think, that they have difcovcred good 
 reafons for throwing it olT. But it flicks fart, and the grcatert; 
 fccptic finds, that he muft yield to it in his praclice, while he 
 wages war with it in fpeculation. 
 
 If it be objeded to this argnment, That the belief of our 
 adling freely cannot be im])lied in the operations we have men- 
 tioned, becaufe thofe operations are performed by them who be- 
 lieve, that we are, in all our actions, governed by necellity. 
 The anfwer to this objedion is, That men in their pracflice may 
 be governed by a belief which in fjjeculation they rejecft. 
 
 However ftrange and unaccountable this may appear, there 
 are many well known inrtances of it. 
 
 I knew a man who was as much convinced as any man of the 
 folly of the popular belief of apparitions in the dark, yet he 
 could not fleep in a room alone, nor go alone into a room in 
 the dark. Can it be faid, that his fear did not imply a beleif of 
 danger ? This is impofUble. Yet his philofophy convinced him, 
 that he was In no more danger in the dark when alone, than 
 with company. 
 
 Here an unreafonable belief, which was merely a prejudice of 
 the nurfery, fluck fo fart as to govern his condud:, in oppofition 
 to his fpeculative belief as a Philofopher and a man of fenfe. 
 
 There are few perfons who can look down from the battlement 
 of a very high tower without fear, while their reafon convinces 
 them that they are in no more danger than when Handing upon 
 the ground. 
 
 There have been perfons who profefltd to believe that tlicrr 
 
 CFIAP.vr. 
 
 ' — ., '
 
 3,8 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. VI. Is no diftindioa between virtue and vice, yet in their practice 
 they refented injuries, and efteemed noble and virtuous actions. 
 
 There have been fceptics who profefled to difbelieve their 
 fenfes, and every human facuky; but no fceptic was ever known, 
 who did not, in pradlice, pay a regard to his fenfes and to his 
 other faculties. 
 
 There are fome points of belief fo neceflary, that, without 
 them, a man would not be the being which God made him. 
 Thefe may be oppofed in fpeculation, but it is impolTible to root 
 them out. In a fpeculative hour they feem to vanifh, but in 
 practice they refume their authority. This feems to be the cafe 
 of thofe who hold die dodlriue of neceflity, and yet adl as if 
 they were free. 
 
 This natural convidlion of fome degree of power in ourfelves 
 and in other men, refpedts voluntary adions only. For as all 
 our power is directed by our will, we can form no conception of 
 power, properly fo called, that is not under the diredlion of 
 will. And therefore our exertions, our deliberations, our pur- 
 pofes, our promifes, are only in things that depend upon our 
 will. Our advices, exhortations and commands, are only in 
 things that depend upon the will of thofe to whom they are ad- 
 drefled. We impute no guilt to ourfelves, nor to others, in 
 things where the will is not concerned. 
 
 But it deferves our notice, that we do not conceive every 
 thing, without exception, to be in a man's power which depends 
 upon his will. There are many exceptions to this general rule. 
 The mofi: obvious of thefe I fhall mention, becaufe they both 
 ferve to illuftrate the rule, and are of importance In the que- 
 ftion concerning the liberty of man. 
 
 In the rage of madnefs, men are abfolutely deprived of the 
 
 power
 
 F 1 R S T A R G U M E N T. " 3^9 
 
 power of felf-government. They adl voluntarily, but their will CHAP, vi . 
 is driven as by a tempeft, which, in lucid intervals, they rcfolve 
 to oppofe with all their might, but are overcome when the fit of 
 madnefs returns. 
 
 Idiots are like men Malking in the dark, who cannot be faid 
 to have the power of chulinir their way, becaufe they cannot 
 diftinguiOi the good road from the bad. Having no light in 
 their underflanding, they mufl either fit llill, or be carried on 
 by fome blind impulfc. 
 
 Between the darknefs of infxncy, which is equal to that of 
 idiots, and the maturity of reafon, there is a long twilight, 
 which, by infenfible degrees, advances to the perfedl day. 
 
 In this period of life, man has but little of the power of felf- 
 government. His actions, by nature, as well as by the laws of 
 fociety, are in the power of others more than in his own. His 
 folly and indifcretion, his levity and inconftancy, are confidered 
 as the fault of youth, rather than of the man. We confider 
 him as half a man and half a child, and expedl that each by 
 turns fliould play its part. He would be thought a fcvere and 
 wnequltable cenfor of manners, who required the fame cool de- 
 liberation, the flmne fteady condudl, and the fame maftery over 
 himfelf in a boy of thirteen, as in a man of thirty. 
 
 It is an old adage. That violent anger is a fhort fit of madtiefs. 
 If this be literally true in any cafe, a man, in fuch a fit of paf- 
 lion, cannot be faid to have the command of himfelf. If real 
 madnefs could be proved, it muil have the cffecl of madnefs 
 while it lafts, whether it be for an hour or for life. But the 
 madnefs of a (hort fit of palHon, if it be really madnefs, is inca- 
 pable of proof ; and therefore is not admitted in human tribu- 
 nals as an exculpation. And, I believe, there is no cafe where 
 a man can fatisfy his own mind tliat his paflion, both in its be- 
 
 ginning
 
 320 
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 GHAP, VI. ginning and in its progrefs, was irrefiflible. The Searcher of 
 hearts alone knows infallibly what allowance is due in cafes of 
 this kind. 
 
 But a violent paflion, though it may not be irrefiftible, is dif- 
 ficult to be refifted : And a man, furely, has not the fame power 
 over himfelf in palTion, as when he is cool. On this account it is 
 allowed by all men to alleviate, when it cannot exculpate ; and 
 has its weight in criminal courts, as well as in private judg- 
 ment. 
 
 It oueht likewife to be obferved. That he who has accuftomed 
 himfelf to reftrain his pallions, enlarges by habit his power over 
 them, and confequently over himfelf. When we confider that 
 a Canadian favage can acquire the power of defying death, in its 
 moft dreadful forms, and of braving the moft exquifite torment 
 for many long hours, without loiing the command of himfelf; 
 we may learn froili this, that, in the conflitution of human na- 
 ture, there is ample fcope for the enlargement of that power of 
 felf-command, without which there can be no virtue nor magna- 
 nimity. 
 
 There are cafes, however, in which a man's voluntary adlions 
 are thought to be very little, if at all, in his power, on account 
 of the violence of the motive that impels him. The magnani- 
 mity of a hero, or of a martyr, is not expected in every man, 
 and on all occafions. 
 
 If a man trufled, by the government, with a fecret, which it is 
 high treafon to difclofe, be prevailed upon by a bribe, we have 
 no mercy for him, and hardly allow the greateft bribe to be any 
 alleviation of his crhne. 
 
 But, on the other hand, if the fecret be extorted by the rack, 
 or by the dread of prefent death, we pity him more than we 
 
 blame
 
 FIRST ARGUMENT. 321 
 
 blame hiui, and would think it fevere and uncrjuitable to con- CHAP. vi. 
 deuDi him as a traitor. 
 
 ^^'^Klt is the reafon that all men agree in condemning this 
 man as a traitor in the firfl; cafe, and in the Jail, either excul- 
 pate him, or think his fault greatly alleviated ? If he aded 
 neceflarily in both cafes, compelled by an irrellftlblc motive, 
 I can fee no reafou why we Ihould not pafs the fume judgment 
 on both. 
 
 But the reafon of thefe dlfTcrent judgments is evidently this, 
 That the love of money, and of what is called a man's intereft, 
 is a cool motive, which leaves to a man the entire power over 
 himfelf: But the torment of the rack, or the dread of prefent 
 death, are fo violent motives, that men, who have not uncom- 
 mon ftrength of mind, are not mafters of themfelves In fuch a 
 Iituation, and therefore what they do is not imputed, or is thought 
 lefs criminal. 
 
 If a man refift fuch motives, we admire his fortitude, and 
 think his condud heroical rather than human. If he vields, 
 we impute It to human frailty, and think him rather to be pitied 
 than feverely cenfured. 
 
 Inveterate habits are acknowledged to diminifh very confider- 
 ably the power a man has over himfelf. Although we may 
 think him highly blameable In acquiring them, yet, when they 
 are confirmed to a certain degree, we confider him as no longer 
 mailer of himfelf, and hardly reclalmable without a miracle. 
 
 Thus we fee, that the power which we are led, by common 
 fcnfe, to afcrlbe to man, refpeds his voluntary actions only, and 
 that It has various limitations even with regard to them. Some 
 adions that depend upon our will are eafy, others very diflicult, 
 rmd fomc, peihaps, beyond our power. In different men, the 
 
 S f power
 
 322 
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. VI. power of felf-government is different, and in the fame man at 
 different times. It may be diminiflied, or perhaps loft, by bad 
 habits ; it may be greatly increafed by good habits. 
 
 Thefe are fads attefted by experience, and fupported by the 
 common judgment of mankind. Upon the fyftem of liberty, 
 they are perfedly Intelligible ; but, I think, irreconcileable to 
 that of neceflity ; for. How can there be an eafy and a diffi- 
 cult in adtions equally fubjed: to neceffity ? or, How can power 
 be greater or lefs, increafed or diminiflied, in thofe who have 
 no power i^ 
 
 This natural convidlon of our adling freely, which is acknow- 
 ledged by many who hold the dodlrine of neceffity, ought to 
 throw the whole burden of proof upon that fide : For, by this, 
 the fide of liberty has what lawyers call a Jus quafitiimy or a 
 right of ancient poffeflion, which ought to Hand good till it be 
 overturned. If it cannot be proved that we always ad: from 
 neceffity, there is no need of arguments on the other fide to 
 convince us that we are free agents. 
 
 To illuftrate this by a fimilar cafe ; If a Philofopher would 
 perfuade me, that my fellow-men with whom I converfe, are 
 not thinking Intelligent beings, but mere machines, though I 
 might be at a lofs to find arguments againft this ftrange opinion, 
 I ffiould think it reafonable to hold the belief which nature 
 gave me before I was capable of weighing evidence, vmtil con- 
 vincing proof is brought againft It. 
 
 CHAR
 
 SECOND ARGUMEN T. 323 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 > ^ ' 
 
 C H A P. VII. 
 Second Argument. 
 
 I'^H AT there is a real andeflentlal dirtincflion between right 
 and wrong condud:, between jufl: and unjufl ; that the 
 mod perfe<5l moral reclltude is to be afcribed to the Deity j 
 that man is a moral and accountable being, capable of ading 
 right and wrong, and anfwcrable for his condudl to him who 
 made him, and atllgned him a part to adt upon the Itage of life ; 
 are principles proclaimed by every man's confcience ; principles 
 upon which the fyftems of morality and natural religion, as well 
 as the fyftem of revelation, are grounded, and which have been 
 generally acknowledged by thofe who hold contrary opinions on 
 the fubjedt of human liberty. I fliall therefore here take them 
 for granted. 
 
 Thefe principles afford an obvious, and, I think, an invincible 
 argument, that man is endowed with moral liberty. 
 
 Two things are implied in the notion of a moral and account- 
 able being ; underftandi ng and acflive power. 
 
 F'trjl, He muft underftand the law to which he is bound, and 
 his obligation to obey it. IMoral obedience murt be voluntary, 
 and muft regard the authority of the law. I may command my 
 horfe to eat when he hungers, and drink when he thirfts. He 
 does fo ; but his doing it is no moral obedience. He does 
 not underftand my command, and therefore can have no will 
 to obey it. He has not the conception of moral obligation, 
 and therefore cannot a<ft from the conviction of it. In eating 
 and drinking he is moved by his own appetite onlv, and not by 
 my authority. 
 
 S f 2 Brute-
 
 324 
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. VII. Brute-animals are Incapable of moral obligation, becaufe thej 
 have not that degree of underftanding which It implies. They 
 have not the conception of a rule of conducft, and of obligation to 
 obey it, and therefore, though they may be noxious, they can- 
 not be criminal. 
 
 ]\Ian, by his rational nature, is capable both of underftanding 
 the law that is prefcribed to him, and of perceiving its obliga- 
 tion. He knows what it is to be juft and honeft, to injure na 
 raan, and to obey his Maker. From his conftltution, he has an 
 immediate convid:ion of his obligation to thefe things. He has 
 the approbation of his confcience when he ads by thefe rules v 
 and he is confcious of guilt and demerit when he tranfgrefles 
 them. And, without this l<jaowledge of his duty and his obliga- 
 tion, he would not be a moral and accountable being. 
 
 Secondly^ Another thing implied in the notion of a moral and 
 accountable being, is power to do what he is accountable for. 
 
 That no man can be under a moral obligation to do what it Is 
 Impoflible for him to do, or to forbear what it is impoflible for 
 him to forbear, Is an axiom as felf-evident as any In mathema- 
 tics. It cannot be contradided, without overturning all notion 
 of moral obligation y nor can there be any exception to it, when 
 it is rightly underftood. 
 
 Some moralifts have mentioned what they conceive to be an 
 exception to this maxim. The exception is this. When a man, 
 by his own fault, has difabled himfelf from doing his duty, his 
 obligation, they fay, remains, though he is now unable to dis- 
 charge it. Thus, if a man by fumptuous living has become 
 bankrupt, his inability to pay his debt does not take away his 
 obligation. 
 
 To
 
 SECOND A R G U INI K N T. ^z^ 
 
 To judge whether, in this and Jnnilar cafes, there be any ex- CHAi'.vii. 
 ception to the axiom above mentioned, they mull be ftatcd ac- 
 curately. 
 
 No doubt a man is highly criminal in living al)Ovc his for- 
 tune, and his crime is greatly aggravated by the circumftance 
 of his being thereby unable to pay his jufl debt. Let us fup- 
 pofe, therefore, that he is punifhed for this crime as much as it 
 deferves j that his goods are fairly diftributed among his credi- 
 tors, and that one half remains unpaid : Let us fuppofe alfo, 
 that he adds no new crime to what is pad:, that he becomes a 
 new man, and not only fupports himfelf by honefl induflry, 
 but does all in his power to pay what he Hill owes. 
 
 I would now aflc, Is he further punifliable, and really guilty 
 for not paying more than he is able ? Let every man confult 
 his confcience, and fay whether he can blame this man for not 
 doing more than he is able to do. His guilt before his bank- 
 ruptcy is out of the queftion, as he has received the puniHiment 
 due for it. But that his fubfequent condutt is unblameable, 
 every man mufl allow ; and that, in his prefent ftate, he is ac- 
 countable for no more than he is able to do. His obligation is 
 not cancelled, it returns with his ability, and can go no far- 
 ther. 
 
 Suppofe a fa'ilor, employed in the navy of his country, and 
 longing for the eafe of a public hofpital as an invalid, to cut off 
 his fingers, fo as to difable him from doing tiie duty of a fail- 
 or j he is guilty of a great crime ; but, after he has been pu- 
 niflied according to the demerit of his crime, will his captain in- 
 fill that he fliall ftill do the duty of a failor ? Will he command 
 him to go aloft when it is impofllble for him to do it, and pu- 
 nifli him as guilty of difobedience ? Surely if there be any fuch 
 thing as juftice and injufticc, this would be unjufl and wanton 
 cruelty. 
 
 Suppofe
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 Sunix)fe a fervant, through negligence and inattention, mif- 
 takes the orders given him by his mafter, and, from this mi- 
 ftake, does what he was ordered not to do. It is commonly 
 faid that culpable ignorance does not excufe a fault : This de- 
 cifion is inaccurate, becaufe it does not {hew where the fault 
 lies : The fault was folely in that inattention, or negligence, 
 ■vs'hich was the occafion of his miftake : There was no fubfe- 
 quent fault. 
 
 This becomes evident, when we vary^the cafe fo far as to fup- 
 pofe, that he was unavoidably led into the miftake without any 
 fault on his part. His miftake is now invincible, and, in the 
 opinion of all moralifts, takes aw-ay all blame ; yet this new 
 cafe fuppofes no change, but in the caufe of his miftake. His 
 fubfequent condud: was the fame in both cafes. The fault 
 therefore lay folely in the negligence and inattention which was 
 the eaufe of his miftake. 
 
 The axiom. That invincible ignorance takes away all blame, 
 is only a particular cafe of the general axiom. That there can 
 be no moral obligation to what is impoftlble j the former is 
 grounded upon the latter, and can have no other foundation. 
 
 I ftiall put only one cafe more. Suppofe that a man, by ex- 
 cefs and intemperance, has entirely deftroyed his rational fa- 
 culties, fo as to have become perfedlly mad or idiotical j fuppofe 
 him forewarned of his danger, and that, though he forefaw that 
 this muft be the confequence, he went on ftill in his criminal 
 indulgence. A greater crime can hardly be fuppofed, or more 
 deferving of fevere puniftiment ? Suppofe him puniftied as he 
 deferves ; will it be faid, that the duty of a man is incumbent 
 upon him now, when he has not the faculties of a man, or that 
 he incurs new guilt when he is not a moral agent ? Surely we 
 may as well fuppofe a plant, or a clod of earth, to be a fubjedl 
 of moral duty. 
 
 The
 
 SECOND ARGUMENT. 527 
 
 Tli€ tlecifions I have given of thefe cafes, are grounded upon CHAi'. vir. 
 the fundamental principles of morals, the niofl; immediate dic- 
 tates of confcience. If ihefe principles are given up, all mo- 
 ral reafoning is at an end, and no diflinclion is left between 
 what is jull and what is unjulh And it is evident, that none of 
 thefe cafes furniflies any exception to the axiom above mention- 
 ed. No moral obligation can be confident with impollibility 
 in the performance. 
 
 A(f\ive power, therefore, is neceflltrily implied in the very no- 
 tion of a moral accountable being. And if man be fuch a be- 
 ing, he muft have a degree of acftive power proportioned to the 
 account he is to make. He may have a model of perfedion 
 let before him which he is unable to reach ; but, if he does to 
 the utmoft of his power, this is all he can be anfwerable for. 
 To incur guilt, by not going beyond his power, is Impollible. 
 
 What was faid, in the firft argnmient, of the limitation of 
 our power, adds much ftrength to the prefent argument. A 
 man's power, it was obferved, extends only to his voluntary ac- 
 tions, and has many limitations, even with refpecfl to them. 
 
 His accountablenefs has the fame extent and the fime limita- 
 tions. 
 
 In the rage of madnefs he has no power over himfelf, neither 
 Is he accountable, or capable of moral obligation. In ripe age, 
 man is accountable in a greater degree than in non-age, becaufe 
 his power over himfelf is greater. Violent paflions, and violent 
 motives alleviate what is done through their influence, in the 
 fame proportion as they diminilh the power of reliftance. 
 
 There is, therefore, a perfedl correfpondence between power, • 
 on the one hand, and moral obligation and accountablenefs, on 
 the other. They not only correfpond in general, as they refped 
 
 voluntary
 
 J 
 
 28 E S S A Y IV. 
 
 CHAP.vir. voluntary actions only, but every limitation of the firft produces 
 a correfponding limitation of the two laft. This, indeed, 
 amounts to nothing more than that maxim of common fenfe, 
 confirmed by Divine authority, That to whom much is given, of 
 him much will be required. 
 
 The fum of this argument is. That a certain degree of ac- 
 tive power is the talent which God hath given to every rational 
 accountable creature, and of which he will requii*e an account. 
 If man had no power, he would have nothing to account for. 
 All wife and all foolifh condud, all virtue and vice, confift in 
 the right ule or in the abufe of that power which God hath 
 given us. If man had no power, he could neither be wife nor 
 foolifli, virtuous nor vicious. 
 
 If we adopt the fyftem of neceflity, the terms moral obligation 
 and accountableuefs^ praife and blame^ inerit and demerit, jujiice and 
 injujlice, reward and punijljment, •wifdom and Jolly, virtue and vice, 
 ought to be difufed, or to have new meanings given to them 
 when they are ufed in religion, In morals, or In civil govern- 
 ment J for upon that fyftem, there can be no fuch things as they 
 have been always ufed to fignify. 
 
 C HAP.
 
 THIRD ARGUMENT. 329 
 
 CHAP.VIII. 
 
 ^^ ,, / 
 
 .C H A P. VIII. 
 Third Argument. 
 
 THAT man has po\ver over his own niflions and volition* 
 appears, becaufc he is capable of carrying on, wifely and 
 prudently, ai fyftem of condud, which he has before conceived 
 in his mind, and refolved to profecute. 
 
 I take it for granted, that, among the various charaders of 
 men, there have been fome, who, after they came to years of 
 underftanding, deliberately laid down a plan of condud:, which 
 they refolved to pnrUie through life ; and that of thefe, fome 
 have fteadily purfued the end they had in view, by the proper 
 means. 
 
 It Is of no confequence in this argument, whether one has 
 made the beft choice of his main end or not ; whether his end 
 be riches, or power, or fiime, or the approbation of his Maker. 
 I fiippofe only, that he has pioidently and fteadily purfued it ; 
 that, in a long courfe of deliberate adions, he has taken the 
 means that appeared moll conducive to his end, and avoided 
 whatever might crofs it. 
 
 That fuch condud in a man demonftrates a certain degree of 
 wifdom and underftanding, no man ever doubted j and, I fay, it 
 demonltrates, with equal force, a certain degree of power over 
 his voluntary determinations. 
 
 This will appear evident, if we conlidcr, that underftanding 
 without power may projed, but can execute nothing. A regular 
 plan of condud, as it cannot be contrived without underftand- 
 ing, fo it cannot be carried into execution without power ; and, 
 
 T t therefore,
 
 330 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP.viii. therefore, the execution, as an effedl, demonflrates, with equal 
 force, both power and underflandlng in the caufe. Every indi- 
 cation of wifdom, taken from the effed, is equally an indication 
 of power to execute what wifdom planned. And, if we have 
 any evidence, that the wifdom which formed the plan is in the 
 man, we have the very fame evidence, that the power which ex- 
 ecuted it is in him alfo. 
 
 In this argument, we reafon from the fame principles, as in 
 demonftrating the being and perfedlons of the FIrft Caufe of all 
 things. 
 
 The effedls we obferve In the courfe of nature require a caufe. 
 EfFedls wifely adapted to an end, require a wife caule. Every 
 Indication of the wifdom of the Creator Is equally an indication 
 of his power. His wifdom appears only In the works done by 
 his power ; for wifdom without power may fpeculate, but it 
 cannot aft j it may plan, but It cannot execute its plans. 
 
 The fame reafoning we apply to the works of men. In a 
 ftately palace we fee the wifdom of the archited:. His wifdom 
 contrived It, and wifdom could do no more. The execution re- 
 quired, both a diftind conception of the plan, and power to 
 operate according to that plan. 
 
 Let us apply thefe principles to the fuppofition we have made. 
 That a man, in a long courfe of condud:, has determined and 
 adled prudently In the profecutlon of a certain end. If the 
 man had both the wifdom to plan this courfe of condud, and 
 that power over his own adions that was neceill^ry to carry It 
 Into execution, he is a free agent, and ufed his liberty. In this 
 inftance, with underftanding. 
 
 But if all his particular determinations, which concurred in 
 the execution of this plan were produced, not by himfelf, but 
 
 . by
 
 THIRD ARGUMENT. 331 
 
 by fome caufe aclint;; necefliirily upon liiui, then there is no cvi- CHAP.vin. 
 clcncL" left that he contrived tliis plan, or that he ever fpent a 
 thought about it. 
 
 The caufe that direcled all thefe determinations fo wifely, what- 
 ever it was, muft be a wife and intelligent caufe ; It muft have 
 underltood the plan, and have intended the execution of it. 
 
 If it be faid, that all this courfe of determinations was pro- 
 duced by motives ; motives llirely have not underftanding to 
 conceive a plan, and intend its execution. We muft therefore 
 go back beyond motives to fome intelligent being who had the 
 power of arranging thofe motives^ and applying them, in their 
 proper order and feafon, fo as to bring about the end. 
 
 This intelligent being muft have underftood the plan, and in- 
 tended to execute it. If this be fo, as the man had no hand in 
 the execution, we have not any evidence left, that he had any 
 hand in the contrivance, or even that he is a thinking being. 
 
 If we can believe, that an extenfive feries of means may con- 
 fpire to promote an end without a caufe that intended the end, 
 and had power to chufe and apply thofe means for the purpofe, 
 we may as well believe, that this world was made by a fortui- 
 tous concourfe of atoms, without an intelligent and powerful 
 caufe. 
 
 If a lucky concourfe of motives could produce the condudl of 
 an Alexander or a JuLtus C^sar, no reafon can be given 
 wliy a lucky concourfe of atoms might not produce the plane- 
 tary fyftem. 
 
 If, therefore, wife condudl in a man demonftrates that he has 
 fome degree of wifdom, it demonftrates, with equal force and 
 
 T t 2 evidence,
 
 332 E S S A Y IV. 
 
 CHAP. VI LI . evidence, that he has fome degree of power over his own deter- 
 mi nations. 
 
 All the reafon we can aflign for believing that our fellow-men 
 think and reafon, Is grounded upon their adions and fpeeches. 
 If they are not the caufe of thefe, there Is no reafon left to 
 conclude that they think and reafon. 
 
 Des Cartes thought that the human body is merely ame- 
 chanical engine, and that all its motions and aftlons are pro- 
 duced by mechanifm. If fuch a machine could be made to 
 fpeak and to ad rationally, we might indeed conclude with cer- 
 tainty, that the maker of it had both reafon and adlive power 5 
 but if we once knew, that all the motions of the machine were 
 purely mechanical, we fhould have no reafon to conclude that 
 the man had reafon or thought. 
 
 The conclufion of this argument is. That, If the adlions and 
 fpeeches of other men give us fufficient evidence that they are 
 reafonable beings, they give us the fame evidence, and the fame 
 degree of evidence, that they are free agents.. . 
 
 There is another conclufion that may be drawn from this rea- 
 foning, which it Is proper to mention. 
 
 Suppofe a fiitalift, rather than give up the fcheme of neceillty, 
 Ihould acknowledge that he has no evidence that there Is 
 thought and reafon In any of his fellow-men, and that they may 
 be mechanical engines for all that he knows j he will be forced 
 to acknowledge,, that there raufh be adlive power, as well as uur 
 derftanding, in the maker of thofe engines, and that the firft 
 caufc is a free agent. We have the fame reafon to believe this, 
 as to believe his exiftence and liis wifdom. And, if the Deity 
 ads freely, every argument brought to prove that freedom of 
 adion Is Impoflible, mull fall to the ground. 
 
 The
 
 THIRD ARGUMENT. 333 
 
 The Firft Cuufe gives us evidence of his power by every ef- C?lAP.viif . 
 feci that gives us evidence of his wirdom. And, if he is jileafed 
 to communicate to the work of his hands fonie degree of his 
 Nvifdom, no reafon can be afligned why he may not communi- 
 cate fome degree of his power, as the talent which wifdom is to 
 employ. 
 
 That the firft motion, or the firft effecfl, whatever It be, can- 
 not be produced necefl'arily, and, confequently, that the Firft 
 Caufe muft be a free agent, has been demouftrated fo clearly and 
 unanfwerably by Dr Clarke, both in his Demonftration of the 
 Being and Attributes of God, and in the end of his Remarks 
 on Collin's Philofophical Enquiry concerning Human Liberty, 
 that I can add nothing to what he has faid ; nor have I found 
 any objection made to his reafoning, by any of the defenders of 
 neceflltv. 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 Of Arguments for Neceffity. 
 
 SO M E of the arguments that have been offered for necef- 
 fity were already confidered in this eflay. 
 
 It has been faid. That human liberty refpecls only the adions 
 that are fubfequent to volition j and that power over the deter- 
 minations of the will is inconceivable, and involves a contra- 
 diction. This argument was confidered in the firft chapter. 
 
 It has been faid, That liberty is inconfiftent with the influence 
 of motives, that it would make human atflions capricious, and 
 man ungovernable by God or man. Thefe arguments were 
 confidered in the fourth and fifth chapters. 
 
 I
 
 334 
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAF.IX. I am now to make fome remarks upon other arguments that 
 
 ^ " ' have been urged in this caufe. They may, 1 think, be reduced 
 
 to three clafies. They are intended to prove, either that liberty 
 
 of determination is impoffible, or that it would be hurtful, or 
 
 that, in fad, man has no iuch liberty. 
 
 To prove that liberty of determination is impoffible, it has 
 been faid, That there mufl; be a fufEcient reafon for every thing. 
 For every exijlence^ for every evenly for every truths there mtiji be afuf- 
 ficknt reafon. 
 
 The famous German Philofopher Leibnitz boafted much of 
 having firfl: applied this principle to philolbphy, and of having, 
 by that means, changed metaphyfics from being a play of un- 
 meaning words, to be a rational and demonftrative fcience. On 
 this account it deferves to be confidered. 
 
 A very obvious objection to this principle was, That two or 
 more means may be equally fit for the fame end ; and that, in 
 fuch a cafe, there may be a fufficient reafon for taking one of 
 the number, though there be no reafon for preferring one to 
 another, of means equally fit. 
 
 To obviate this objeftion Leibnitz maintained, that the cafe 
 fuppofed could not happen -, or, if it did, that none of the means 
 could be ufed, for want of a fufficient reafon to prefer one to the 
 reft. Therefore he detennined, with fome of the fchoolmen. 
 That if an afs could be placed between two bundles of hay, or 
 two fields of grafs equally inviting, the poor beaft would cer- 
 tainly ftand ftill and flarve ; but the cafe, he fays, could not 
 happen without a miracle. 
 
 When it was objedted to this principle. That there could be 
 no reafon but the will of God why the material world was 
 placed in one part of unlimited fpace rather than another, or 
 
 created
 
 OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 335 
 
 created at one point of unliipite4 duration ratlicr than another, CHAV. IX: 
 
 or why the planets Hiould move from weft to eaft, rather than 
 
 in a contrary diredion ; thefe ohjedions Leibnitz, obviated 
 
 hy maintaining, That there is no fueh thing as unoccupied fpace 
 
 or duration; that fpace is nothing but the order of things co- 
 
 exlfting, and duration is nothing but the order of things fuccef- 
 
 five; that all motion is relative, fo that if there were only one 
 
 body in the univerfe, It would be immoveable ; that it is incon- 
 
 fiftent with the perfection of the Deity, that there fliould be any 
 
 part of fpace unoccupied by body ; and, I fiippofe, he under- 
 
 ftood the fame of every part of duration. So that, according to 
 
 this fyftcm, the world, like its Author, muft be infinite, eternal, 
 
 and immoveable; or, at leaft, as great in extent and duration 
 
 as it is poflible for it to be. 
 
 When it was objeded to the principle of a fuflicient reafon, 
 That of two particles of matter perfectly fimilar, there can be 
 no reafon but the will of God for placing this here and ibat 
 there ; this objection Leibnitz obviated by maintaining, That 
 it is impoinble that there can be two particles of matter, or 
 any two things perfedly fimilar. And this feems to have led 
 him to another of his grand principles, which he calls, The 
 Identity of indifcernibles. 
 
 When the principle of a fufficient reafon had produced fo 
 many furprifing difcoveries in philofophy, it is no wonder that 
 it fhould determine the long difputed queftion about human li^ 
 berty. This it does In a moment. The determination of the 
 will is an event for which there mult be a fulBcient reafon, that 
 is, fomething previous, which was neceiTarily followed by that 
 determination, and could not be followed by any other deter- 
 mination ; therefore it was neceflury. 
 
 Thus we fee, that this principle of the neceffity of a fufHcient 
 reafon for every thing, is very fruitful of confequences; anrl by its 
 
 fruits
 
 336 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. IX. fruits we may judge of it. Thofe who will adopt it, muft adopt 
 "^'""^ all the confequences that hang upon it. To fix them all be- 
 yond difpute, no more is neceflary but to prove the truth of the 
 principle on which they depend. 
 
 I know of no argument offered by Leibnitz in proof of this 
 principle, but the authority of Archimedes, who, he fays, 
 makes ufe of it to prove, that a balance loaded with equal 
 weights on both ends will continue at reft. 
 
 I grant it to be good reafoning with regard to a balance, or 
 with regard to any machine, That, when there is no external 
 caufe of its motion, it muft remain at reft, becaufe the ma- 
 chine has no power of moving itfelf. But to apply this reafoii- 
 ing to a man, is to take for granted that the man is a machine, 
 which is the very point in queftion. 
 
 Leibnitz, and his followers, would have us to take this prin- 
 ciple of the neceftity of a fufficient reafon for every exiftence, 
 for every event, for every truth, as a firft principle, without 
 proof, without explanation ; though it be evidently a vague pro- 
 pofition, capable of various meanings, as the word reafon is. It 
 muft have different meanings when applied to things of fo dif- 
 ferent nature as an event and a truth ; and it may have diffe- 
 rent meanings when applied to the fame thing. We cannot 
 therefore form a diftind: judgment of it in the grofs, but only 
 by taking it to pieces, and applying it to different things, in a 
 precife and diftin6l meaning. 
 
 It can have no connection with the difpute about liberty, ex- 
 cept when it is applied to the determinations of the will. Let 
 us therefore fuppofe a voluntary action of a man j and that the 
 queftion is put, Whether was there a fufficient reafon for this 
 iidion or not ? 
 
 The
 
 OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 337 
 
 The natural aiul obvious meaning of this qucllion is, Was CHAP. IX. 
 there a inotive to the adion fullkient to jultify it to be wife and 
 good, or, at Icafl, innocent ? Surely, in this fenfe, there is not a 
 fufficient reafon for every human adion, becaufe there are ma- 
 ny that are foolilh, unreafonable and unjuftitiable. 
 
 If the meaning of the qucflion be, 'Was there a caufe of the 
 action? Undoubtedly there was: Of every event there muft be 
 a caufe, that had power fnfhcient to produce it, and that exert- 
 ed that power for the purpofe. In the prefent cafe, either the 
 man was the caufe of the adion, and then it was a free adlion, 
 and is juftly imputed to him; or it mufl have had another 
 caufe, and cannot juftly be imj)uted to the man. In this fenfe, 
 therefore, it is granted that there was a fufficient reafon for 
 the action ; but the queftion about liberty is not in the Icaft 
 affeded by this concelllon. 
 
 If, again, the meaning of the queftion be, Was there fomc- 
 thlng previous to the adion, which made it to be neceftarily 
 produced ? Every man, who believes that the adlion was free, 
 will anfwer to this queftion in the negative. 
 
 I know no other meaning that can be put upon the principle 
 of a fufficient reafon, when applied to the determinations of the 
 human will, befides the three I have mentioned. In the firfl:, it 
 is evidently falfe ; In the fecond, it is true, but does not affircfl 
 the queftion about liberty ; in the third, it is a mere aflertion 
 of neceffity without proof. 
 
 Before we leave this boafted principle, we may fee how it ap- 
 plies to events of another kind. When we fay that a Philofo- 
 pher has afllgned a fufficient reafon for fuch a phetnomenon. 
 What is the meaning of this ? The meaning furely is. That he 
 has accounted for it from the known laws of nature. The fuffiicient 
 reafon of a phenomenon of nature muft therefore be fomc law 
 
 U u or
 
 338 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. IX. or la^vs of nature, of which the phaenomenon Is a neccHary 
 confequence. But are we fure that, in this fenfe, there is a fuf- 
 ficient reafon for every phenomenon of nature ? I think we are 
 not. 
 
 For, not to fpeak of inlraculous events, hi which the laws of 
 nature are fufpended, or counteradted, we know not but that, 
 in the ordinary courfe of God's providence, there may be parti- 
 cular adls of his adminiftration, that do not come under any 
 general law of nature. 
 
 Eftablilhed laws of nature are necefTary for enabling Intelli- 
 gent creatures to condudl their affairs with wifdom and pru- 
 dence, and profecute their ends by proper means ; but ftill It 
 may be fit, that fome particular events fhould not be fixed by 
 general laws, but be diredted by particular adls of the Divine 
 government, that fo his reafonable creatures may have fufficient 
 inducement to fupplicate his aid, his protedlion and direction, 
 and to depend upon him for the fuccefs of their honefl de- 
 figns. 
 
 We fee that, in human governments, even thofe that are mofl 
 legal, it is impollible that every ad: of the adminiftration iliould 
 be direded by eftabliflied laws. Some things mufl be left to the 
 diredion of the executive power, and particularly ads of cle- 
 mency and bounty to petitioning fubjeds. That there is no- 
 thing analogous to this in the Divine government of the world, 
 no man Is able to prove. 
 
 We have no authority to pray that God would counterad or 
 fufpend the laws of nature in our behalf. Prayer therefore fup- 
 pofes that he may lend an ear to our prayers, without tranf- 
 grefling the laws of nature. Some have thought that the only 
 ufe of prayer and devotion is, to produce a proper temper and 
 difpofition In ourfelves, and that it has no elHcacy with the 
 
 Deity..
 
 OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 339 
 
 Deity. But this is a hypothcfis without proof. It contradids CMAl'. ix. 
 our moll natural fcntiaients, as well as the plain dodrine of fcrip- 
 ture, and tends to damp the fervour of every act of devotion. 
 
 It was indeed an article of the fyftcm of Leibmitz, That the 
 Deity, fmce the creation of the world, never did any thing, ex- 
 cepting in the cafe of n^iraclcs ; his work being made fo per- 
 feA at firfl, as never to need his interpofition. But, in this, he 
 was oppofed by Sir Isaac Newton, and others of the ableft 
 Philofophers, nor was he ever able to give any proof of this 
 tenet. 
 
 There is no evidence, therefore, that there is a fufiiclent rea- 
 fon for every natural event ; if, by a "uFicient rcafon, we under- 
 ftand feme fixed law or laws of nature, of which that event is a 
 necelTary confequence. 
 
 But what, fhall we fay, Is the fufficient reafon for a truth? 
 For our belief of a truth, I think, the fufficient reafon is our 
 having good evidence ; but what may be meant by a fufficient 
 reafon for its being a truth, I am not able to guefs, unlefs the 
 fufficient reafon of a contingent truth be, That it is true ; and, 
 of a neceflary truth, that it ;«///? l)e true. This makes a man 
 little wifer. 
 
 From what has been fald, I think it appears. That this principle 
 of the necelTity of a fufficient reafon for every thing, is very in- 
 definite in its fignlfication. If it mean, That of every event there 
 mufl be a caufe that had fufficient power to produce it, this 
 is true, and has always been admitted as a firft principle in Phi- 
 lofophy, and in common life. If it mean that every event mufl 
 be neceflarily confequent upon fomething (called a fufficient 
 reafon) that went before it ; this is a direct aflertion of univcr- 
 fal fatality, and has many (Irangc, not 10 fay abfurd, confe- 
 quences : But, in this fenfe, it is neither fclf-evident, nor has 
 
 U u 2 any
 
 34° 
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. IX . jjpy proof of it been offered. And, In general, In every fenfe In 
 which it has evidence, it gives no new information ; and, in eve- 
 ry fenfe in which it would give new information, it wants evi- 
 dence. 
 
 Another argument that has been ufed to prove Hberty of 
 aftion to be impoflible is, That it implies " an effedl without a 
 *♦ caufe." 
 
 To this it may be briefly anfwered. That a free adion is an 
 effe<ft produced by a being who had power and will to pro- 
 duce it ; therefore it is not an effedl without a caufe. 
 
 To fuppofe any other caufe neceffary to the produdlion of an 
 effed, than a being who had the power and the will to produce 
 it, is a contradidion ; for it is to fuppofe that being to have power 
 to produce the effed, and not to have power to produce it. 
 
 But as great ftrefs is laid upon this argument by a late zea- 
 lous advocate for neceility, we Ihall conllder the light in which: 
 he puts it. 
 
 He' introduces this argument with an obfervatlon to which I 
 entirely agree : It is, That to eftablifli this dodrine of necef- 
 fity, nothing is neceffary but that, throughout all nature, the 
 fame confequences ihould invariably refult from the fame cir- 
 cumftances^ 
 
 I know nothing more that can be def] red to eftablifh univer- 
 fal fatality throughout the univerfe. When it is proved that, 
 through all nature, the fame confequences invariably refult 
 from the fame circumltances, the dodrine of liberty mufl: be 
 given up. 
 
 To prevent all ambiguity, I grant, that, in reafoning, the 
 
 fame
 
 OF ARGUMENTS F O R N E C ES SI T Y. 341 
 
 f;ime confeqiicnces, throughout all nature, will Invariahly follow CHUMX. 
 from the fame prenilfes : Hecaufe good reafonlnjif mud be good 
 reafoning in all times and places. But this has nothing to do 
 with the dodrine of necelllty. The thing to be proved, there- 
 fore, in order to eftablilli that dodrine, is, That, through all na- 
 ture, the fame events invariably refult from the fame circum- 
 flances. 
 
 Of this capital point, the proof offered by that author is, That 
 an event not preceded by any circumftanccs that determined it 
 to be what it was, would be an effcEl without a caiifc. Why fo ? 
 " For, fays he, a caufc cannot be defined to be any thing but 
 " fuch previous c'lrcumjlanccs as are conjlanlly folloived hy a certain ef~ 
 " fcR ; the conflancy of the refult making us conclude, that 
 " there muft be a fiifficient reafoii, in the nature of things, why it 
 " fliould be produced in thofe circumflances." 
 
 I acknowledge that, if this be the only definition that can be 
 given of a caufe, it will follow, That an event not preceded by 
 circumflances that determined it to be what it was, would be, 
 not an effcB without a caufe, which is a contradiclion in terms, 
 but an event without a caufe, which I hold to be impollible. 
 The matter therefore is brought to this lllue, \Vhether this be 
 the only definition that can be given of a caufe ? 
 
 With regard to this point, we may obferve,^r/?. That this defi- 
 nition of a caufe, bating the phrafeology of putting a c<7///^ under 
 the category of circumjlances, which I take to be new, is the fame, 
 in other words, with that which Mr Hume gave, of which he 
 ought to be acknowledged the inventor. For 1 know of no 
 author before Mr Hu.me, who maintained, that we ha\c no 
 other notion of a caufe, but that it is fomething prior to the ef- 
 fc<fl, which has been found by experience to he conftantly fol- 
 lowed by the effecl. This is a main pillar of his fyflcm; and 
 
 he
 
 342 
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 •CHAP. IX. he has drawn very important confequences fr^m this definition, 
 which I am far from thinking this author will adopt. 
 
 Without repeating what I have before faid of caufes in the 
 firft of thefe Eflays, and in the fecond and third chapters of 
 this, I {hall here mention fome of the confequences that may be 
 juftly deduced from this definition of a caufe, that we may 
 judge of it by its fruits. 
 
 Ytrjl, It follows from this definition of a caufe, that night is 
 the caufe of day, and day the caufe of night. For no two 
 things have more conflantly followed each other fince the be- 
 ginning of the world. 
 
 Secondly, It follows from this definition of a caufe, that, for 
 what we know, any thing may be the caufe of any thing, fince 
 nothing is eflential to a caufe but its being conftantly followed 
 by the effed. If this be fo, what is unintelligent may be the 
 caufe of what is intelligent ; folly may be the caufe of wifdom, 
 and evil of good ; all reafoning from the nature of the effecft to 
 the nature of the caufe, and all reafoning from final caufes, 
 muft be given up as fallacious. 
 
 Thirdly, From this definition of a caufe, it follows, that we 
 have no reafon to conclude, that every event muft have a caufe : 
 For innumerable events happen, when it cannot be fliewn that 
 there were certain previous circumftances that have conftantly 
 been followed by fuch an event. And though it were certain, 
 that every event we have had accefs to obferve had a caufe, it 
 would not follow, that every event muft have a caufe : For it is 
 contrary to the rules of logic to conclude, that, becaufe a thing 
 has always been, therefore it muft be j to reafon from what is 
 contingent, to what is neceflary. 
 
 Fourthly^ From this definition of a caufe, it would follow, that 
 
 we
 
 OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 343 
 
 we have no reafon to conclude that there was any caufe of the CiTMv ix. 
 creation of tliis world : For there were no previous clrcum- 
 ftances that had been conllantly followed by fuch an eflcd:. 
 And, for the fame reafon, it would follow from the definition, 
 that whatever was fmgular in its nature, or the firft thing- of its 
 kind, could have no caule. 
 
 Several of thefe confequences were fondly embraced by Mr 
 Hume, as necefliirily following from his definition of a caiifc, 
 and as favourable to his fyllem of abfolute fcepticlfin. Thofe 
 who adopt the definition of a caufe, from which they follow 
 may chufe whether they will adopt its confequences, or Hiew 
 that they do not follow from the definition. 
 
 A fecond ohfervation with regard to this argument is, That a 
 definition of a caufe may be given, which is not burdened with 
 fuch untoward confe-. uences. 
 
 Why may not an efficient caufe be defined to be a being that 
 had power and will to produce the cffed ? The produdion of 
 an etfecl requires adive power, and adive power, being a qua- 
 lity, muft be in a being endowed with that power. Power 
 without will produces no effed 3 but, where thefe are conjoined, 
 the effed muft be produced. 
 
 This, I think, is the proper meaning of the word caufe, when 
 it is ufed in mttaphyfics ; and particularly when we affirm, that 
 every thing that begins to exift muft have a caufe ; and when, 
 by rrjafonlng, we prove, that there muft be an eternal Firft Caufe 
 of all things. 
 
 Was the world produced by previous circumftances wiiich are 
 conftantly followed by fuch an effied ? or, Was it produced by a 
 Being that had power to produce it, and willed its produdion ? 
 
 In
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 In natural philofophy, the word caufe is often ufed in a very 
 different fenfe. "When an event is produced according to a 
 known law of nature, the law of nature is called the caufe of 
 that event. But a law of nature is not the efBcient caufe of 
 any event. It is only the rule, according to which the efficient 
 caufe adts. A law is a thing conceived in the mind of a rational 
 being, not a thing that has a real exiflence ; and, therefore, like 
 a motive, it can neither adt nor be adted upon, and confequent- 
 ly cannot be an efficient caufe. If there be no being that adls 
 according to the law, it produces no effedl. 
 
 This author takes it for granted, that every voluntary aftion 
 of man was determined to be what it was by the laws of nature, 
 in the fame fenfe as mechanical motions are determined by the 
 laws of motion ; and that every choice, not thus determined, " is 
 " juft as impolTible, as that a mechanical motion fliould depend 
 " upon no certain law or rule, or that any other effedl fliould 
 " exifl without a caufe." 
 
 It ought here to be obferved, that there are two kinds of 
 laws, both very properly called laws of nature, which ought not 
 to be confounded. There are moral laws of nature, and phyli- 
 cal laws of nature. The firfl: are the rules which God has pre- 
 fcribed to his rational creatures for their condudl. They re- 
 fpedl voluntary and free adlions oiily \ for no other actions can 
 be fubjedl to moral rules. Thefe laws of nature ought to be al- 
 ways obeyed, but they are often tranfgrefled by men. There is 
 therefore no impofllbility in the violation of the moral laws of 
 nature, nor is iuch a violation an effed: without a caufe. The 
 tranfgreffor is the caufe, and is juftly accountable for it. 
 
 The phyfical laws of nature are the rules according to which 
 the Deity commonly adls in his natural government of the 
 world ; and, whatever is done according to them, is not done 
 by man, but by God, either immediately or by inftruments un- 
 der
 
 or ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 345 
 
 der his direcftion. Thefc laws of nature neither reflrain the crJAP. IX. 
 power of" the Author of nature, nor bring him under any obhga- 
 tion to do nothing beyond their fjjhere. He has fomctimes 
 adled contrary to them, in the cafe of miracles, and perhaps of- 
 ten adls without regard to them, in the ordinary courfe of his 
 providence. Neither miraculous events, which are contrary to 
 the phyfical laws of nature, nor fuch ordinary ads of the Di- 
 vine adminiftration as are without their fphere, arc impollible, 
 nor are they effcEls without a catije. God is the caufe of them, 
 and to him only they are to be imputed. 
 
 That the moral laws of nature are often tranfgrefled by man, 
 is undeniable. If the phyfical laws of nature make his obedi- 
 ence to the moral law> to be impoflible, then he is, in the li- 
 teral fenfe, born under one law, bound unto another, which contra- 
 dicts every notion of a righteous government of the world. 
 
 But though this fuppofition were attended with- no fuch 
 (hocking confequence, it is mei'ely a fuppofition ; and until it be 
 proved, that every choice or voluntary adion of man is deter- 
 mined by the phyfical laws of nature, this argument for necefli- 
 ty is only the taking for granted the point to be proved. 
 
 Of the fame kind is the argument for the impoflibility of li- 
 berty, taken from a balance, which cannot move but as it is 
 moved by the weights put into it. This argument, though 
 urged by aimoft every writer in defence of neceflity, is fo piti- 
 ful, and has been fo often anfwered, that it fcarce delerves to be 
 mentioned. 
 
 Every argument in a difpute, which is not grounded on prin- 
 ciples granted by both parties, is that kind of fophifm which lo- 
 gicians call pctitio prtncipn\ and fuch, in my apprehenfion, are 
 all the arguments oflered to prove that liberty of adion is im- 
 poflible. 
 
 X X l!
 
 34^ ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. X. jj. n^jiy farther be obferved, that every argument of this clafs, 
 if it were really conclufive, inufl extend to the Deity, as well as 
 to all created beings ; and neceflary exiftence, which has always 
 been confidered as the prerogative of the Supreme Being, muft 
 belong equally to every creature and to every event, even the 
 moft trifling. 
 
 This I take to be the fyftem of Spinosa, and of thofe among 
 the ancients who carried fatality to the higheft pitch. 
 
 I before referred the reader to Dr Clarke's argument, which 
 profelTes to demonftrate, that the Firft Caufe is a free* agent. 
 Until that argument fhall be ftiewn to be fallacious, a thing 
 which I have not feen attempted, fuch weak arguments as have 
 been brought to prove the contrary, ought to have little weight. 
 
 CHAP, X. 
 
 'The fame SuhjeEl. 
 
 WITH regard to the fecond clafs of arguments for necef- 
 iity, which are intended to prove, that liberty of ac- 
 tion would be hurtful to man, I have only to obferve, that it is 
 n fad too evident to be denied, whether we adopt the fyflem of 
 liberty or that of necefllty, that men adually receive hurt from 
 their own voluntary adions, and from the voluntary adions of 
 other men j nor can it be pretended, that this fad is inconfiftent 
 with the dodrine of liberty, or that it is more unaccountable 
 upon this fyftem than upon that of neceffity. 
 
 In order, therefore, to draw any folid argument againft liber- 
 ty, from its hurtfulnefs, it ought to be proved, That, if man 
 
 were
 
 OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 3+7 
 
 were a free agent, he would do more hurt to himfclf, or to ^ 
 others, than he actually does. 
 
 To this purpofe it has been faid, That liberty woidd make 
 men's actions capricious ; that it would deftroy the influence of 
 motives ; that it would take away the effe<5t of rewards and pu- 
 nilhments ; and that it would make man abfolutely ungovern- 
 able. 
 
 Thefe arguments have been already confulered in the fourth and 
 fifth chapters of this Eflay ; and, therefore, I fliall now proceed 
 to the third clafs of arguments for necefllty, which are intended 
 to prove, that, in faft, men are not free agents. 
 
 The moft formidable argument of this clafs, and, I think, the 
 only one that has not been confidered in fome of the preceding 
 chapters, is taken from the prefcience of the Deity. 
 
 God forefees every determination of the human mind. It 
 muft therefore be what he forefees it fhall be ; and therefore 
 muft be necefTary. 
 
 This argument may be underflood three different ways, each 
 of which we fliall confider, that we may fee all its force. 
 
 The necefllty of the event may be thought to be a juft confe- 
 quence, either barely from its being certainly future, or barely 
 from its being forefeen, or from the impofllbility of its being 
 forefeen, if it was not neceffary. 
 
 Fir^, It may be thought, that, as nothing can be known to be 
 future which is not certainly future ; fo, if it be certainly future, 
 it muft be neceflary. 
 
 This opinion has no lefs authority in its favour than tliat of 
 
 X x 2 Akistotjle, 
 
 CFIAr. X. 
 
 I
 
 348 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHA F. X . Aristotle, who indeed held the doctrine of liberty, but be- 
 lieving, at the lame time, that whatever is certainly future muft 
 be neceflary, In order to defend the liberty of human actions, 
 maintained, That contingent events have no cenain futurity ; 
 but I know of no modern advocate for liberty, who has put the 
 defence of it upon that ifllie. 
 
 It muft be granted, that as whatever was, certainly was, and 
 whatever is, certainly is, fo whatever fhall be, certainly fhall be. 
 Thefe are identical propofitions, and cannot be doubted by thofe 
 who conceive them diftinclly. 
 
 But I know no rule of reafoning by which it can be inferred, 
 that, becaufe an event certainly (hall be, therefore its produc- 
 tion muft be neceflary. The manner of its produdion, whe- 
 ther free or neceflary, cannot be concluded from the time of its 
 production, whether it be paft, prefent or future. That it fhall 
 be, no more implies that it fliall be neceflarily, than that it fliall 
 be freely produced ; for neither prefent, paft nor future, have 
 any more connection with necefllty than they have with 
 freedom. 
 
 I grant, therefore, that, from events being forefeen, it may 
 be juftly concluded, that they are certainly future ; but from 
 their being certainly future, it does not follow that they are ne- 
 ceflary. 
 
 Secondly, If it be meant by this argument, that an event muft 
 be neceflary, merely becaufe it is forefeen, neither is this a juft 
 confequence : For it has often been obferved, That prefcience 
 and knowledge of every kind, being an immanent act, has no 
 effect upon the thing known. Its mode of exiftence, whether 
 it be free or neceflary, is not in the leaft affedted by its being 
 known to be future, any more than by its being known to be 
 paft or prefent. The Deity forefees his own futuxe free adions, 
 
 but
 
 OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 349 
 
 but neither his forefight nor his purjiofc makes them ncceflliry. CH-y --^- 
 The arji;inncnt, therefore, taken in this view, as well as in the 
 former, is inconclufive. 
 
 A third way in which this argument may he underftood, is 
 this : It is impoirihle that an event which is not necefTary ihould 
 be forefeen ; therefore every event that is certainly foreieen, 
 muft be necellary. Here the conchiiion certainly follows from 
 the antecedent propofition, and therefore the wliole ftrels of the 
 argument lies upon the proof of that propofition. 
 
 Let us confider, therefore, whether it can be proved, That no 
 free adion can be certainly forefeen. If this can be proved, it 
 will follow, either that all adlions are neceflary, or that all ac- 
 tions cannot be forefeen. 
 
 With regard to the general propofition. That it is impofllble 
 that any free adion can be certainly forefeen, I obferve, 
 
 FirJ}, That every man who believes the Deity to be a free 
 agent, muft believe that this propofition not only is incapable of 
 proof, but that it is certainly falle : For the man himfelf fore- 
 fees, that the Judge of all tlie earth will always do what is 
 right, and that he will fulfd whatever he has promifed j and, 
 at the fame time, believes, that, in doing what is right, and in 
 fulfilling his promifes, the Deity a(fts with the mort perfed: 
 freedom. 
 
 Secondly, I obfen'e, That every man who believes that it is an 
 abfurdity or contraditflion, that any free acftion fliould be certain- 
 ly forefeen, mud believe, if he will be confident, either that the 
 Deity is not a free agent, or that he does not forcfee his own 
 actions; nor can we forefee that he will do what is right, and 
 will fulfil his promifes. 
 
 rbirdh,
 
 350 
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. X. Thirdly^ Without confidering the confequences which this ge- 
 neral propofition carries in its bofom, which give it a very bad 
 afpecl, let us attend to the arguments offered to prove it. 
 
 Dr Priestley has laboured more in the proof of this propo- 
 fition than any other author I am acquainted with, and main- 
 tains it to be, not only a difficulty and a myftery, as it has been 
 called, that a contingent event Ihould be the objedl of know- 
 ledge, but that, In reality, there cannot be a greater abfurdity or 
 contradiction. Let us hear the proof of this. 
 
 " For, fays he, as certainly as nothing can be known to ex- 
 " ift, but what does exift ; fo certainly can nothing be known to 
 " ar'ifefrom what does ex'ifi, but what does arife from it or de- 
 " pend upon it. But, according to the definition of the terms, 
 " a contingent event does not depend upon any previous known 
 " circumftances, fmce fome other event might have arifeninthe 
 " fame circumftances." 
 
 This argument, when ftripped of incidental and explanatory 
 claufes, and affedled variations of exprefllon, amounts to this : 
 Nothing can be known to arife from what does exift, but what 
 does arife from it : But a contingent event does not arife from 
 what does exift. The conclufion, which is left to be drawn by 
 the reader, muft, according to the rules of reafoning, be : There- 
 fore a contingent event cannot be known to arife from what 
 does exift. 
 
 It is here very obvious, that a thing may arife from what does 
 exift, two Avays, freely or neceffarily. A contingent event a- 
 rifes from its caufe, not neceftarily but freely, and fo, that ano- 
 ther event might have arifen from the fxme caufe, in the fame 
 circumftances. 
 
 The fecond propofition of the argument is, That a contingent 
 
 event
 
 OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 33 
 
 event does not ilcpcncl upon any previous known circumrtances, 
 which 1 lake to be only a variation of the term of «&/ ar'ifmg from 
 •what does exijl. Therefore, in order to make tlie two propofi- 
 tions to correfpond, we mull underftand by arifing from what 
 does extfl, arifing neceflarily from what does cxift. When this 
 ambiguity is removed, the argument ftands thus : Nothing can 
 be known to arife neceflarily from what does exift, but what 
 does necellarily arife from it : But a contingent event does not 
 arife neceflarily from what docs exilt j therefore a contingent 
 event cannot be known to arife necelTarily from what docs 
 exift. 
 
 1 grant the whole ; but the conclufion of this argument is 
 not what he undertook to prove, and tlierefore the argument Is 
 that kind of fophifiii which logicians call ignoratitia elenchi. 
 
 The thing to be proved is not, That a contingent event can- 
 not be known to arife neceflarily from what exillsj but that a 
 contingent future event cannot be the object of knowledge. 
 
 To draw the argument to this conclufion, it muft be put thus : 
 Nothing can be known to arife from what does exifl:, but w hat 
 arifes necefllirily from it : But a contingent event does not arife 
 neceflarily from what does exifl: j therefore a contingent event 
 cannot be known to arife from what does exifl. 
 
 The conclufion here is what it ought to be j but the \ix^ pro- 
 pofltion ailumes the thing to be proved, and therefore the argu- 
 ment is what logicians call pcth'io principll. 
 
 To the fame purpofe he fays, " That nothing can be known 
 " at prefent, except itfelf or its neceflary caufe exifl at prc- 
 " fent." 
 
 This is afllrmed, but I find no proof of it. 
 
 Again 
 
 CHAP. X.
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 Again he fays, " That knowledge fiippofes an object, which, 
 " iu this cafe, does notexift." It is true that knowledge fuppofes 
 an objed, and every thing that is known is an objed of know- 
 ledge, whether paft, prefent, or future, whether contingent or 
 neceflary. 
 
 Upon the whole, the arguments 1 can find upon this point, 
 bear no proportion to the confidence of the aflertion, that there 
 cannot be a greater abfurdity or contradidion, than that a con- 
 tingent event fhould be the objed of knowledge. 
 
 To thofe who, without pretending to fliew a manifefl abfurdi- 
 ty or contradidion in the knowledge of future contingent e- 
 vents, are ftill of opinion, that it is impoirible that the future 
 free adions of man, a being of imperfed wifdom and virtue, 
 flioukl be certainly foreknown, I would humbly offer the fol- 
 lowing confiderations. 
 
 I. I grant that there is no knowledge of this kind In man j and 
 this is the caufe that we find it fo difficult to conceive it in any 
 other being. 
 
 All our knowledge of future events is drawn either from their 
 necefiliry connedion with the prefent courfe of nature, or from 
 their connedion with the charader of the agent that produces 
 them. Our knowledge, even of thofe future events that necef- 
 farily refult from the eftablifhed laws of nature, is hypothetical. 
 It fuppofes the continuance of thofe laws with which they are 
 conneded. And how long thofe laws may be continued, we 
 have no certain knowledge. God only knows when the pre- 
 fent courfe of nature lliall be changed, and therefore he only 
 has certain knowledge even of events of this kind. 
 
 The charader of perfed wifdom and perfed reditude in the 
 
 Deity,
 
 OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. ^53 
 
 Deity gives us certain knowledge th.it he will always be true CHA" x. 
 in all his declarations, faithful in all his pro nifes, and juft in ail 
 his difpenfations. But when we reafon from the character of 
 men to their future adions, though, in many cafes, we have 
 fucli probability as we reft upon in our moft important worldly 
 concerns, yet we have no certainty, becaufe men are imperfett 
 in wifdoni and in virtue. If we had even the moft pcrfed: know- 
 ledge of the charader and fituation of a man, this would not 
 be fulBcient to give certainty to our knowledge of his future 
 adions ; becaufe, in fonie adions, both good and bad men de- 
 viate from their general charader. 
 
 The prefcience of the Deity, therefore, muft be different not 
 only in degree, but in kind, from any knowledge we can attain 
 of futurity. 
 
 2. Though we can have no conception how the future free 
 adions of men may be known by the Deity, this is not a fufii- 
 cient reafon to conclude that they cannot be known. Do we 
 know, or can we conceive, how God knows the fecrets of mens 
 hearts ? Can we conceive how God made this world without any 
 pre-exiftent matter? All the ancient Philofophers believed this 
 to be impolTible : And for what reafon but this, that they could 
 not conceive how it could be done. Can we give any better 
 reafon for believing that the adions of men cannot be certain- 
 ly forefeen ? 
 
 3. Can we conceive how we ourfelves have certain knowledge 
 by thofe fixculties with which God has endowed us ? If any 
 man thinks that he underftands diftindly how he is confcio'is of 
 his own thoughts ; how he perceives external objeds by his fenfes i 
 how he remembers paft events, I am afraid that he is not yet fo 
 wile as to underftand his own ignorance. 
 
 4» There feems to me to be a great analogy between the pre- 
 
 Y y fcience
 
 3S^ 
 
 ESSAY IT. 
 
 CHAP. X. fclence of future contingents, and the memory of pafl: contln- 
 gents. We polTefs the laft in fome degree, and therefore find 
 no difficulty in believing that it may be perfed in the Deity. 
 But the firfl we have in no degree, and therefore are apt to think 
 it impoflible. 
 
 In both, the objed of knowledge is neither what prefently ex- 
 ifts, nor has any neceflary connedion with what prefently exifts. 
 Every argument brought to prove the impoffibility of prefcience, 
 proves, with equal force, the impoflibiHty of memory. If it be 
 true that nothing can be known to arife from what does exift, 
 but what neceflarily arifes from it, it muft be equally true, that 
 nothing can be known to have gone before what does exift, but 
 what muft neceflarily have gone before it. If it be true that 
 nothing future can be known unlefs its neceflary caufe exift at 
 prefent, it muft be equally true that nothing paft can be known 
 unlefs fomething confequent, with which it is necefl^arily connedt- 
 ed, exift at prefent. If the fatalift fliould fay. That paft events 
 are indeed neceflarily conneded with the prefent, he will not 
 furely venture to fay, that it is by tracing this neceflary con?- 
 nedion, that we remember the paft. 
 
 Why then fliould we think prefcience impoflible In the Al- 
 mighty, when he has given us a faculty which bears a ftrong 
 analogy to it, and which is no lefs unaccountable to the human 
 underftanding, than prefcience is. It is more reafonable, as 
 well as more agreeable to the facred writings, to conclude with 
 a pious father of the church, " Qnocirca nullo mode cogimur, aut 
 ** retenta prsefclentia Dei tollere voluntatis arbitrium, aut retento 
 ." voluntatis arbitrio, Deum, quod nefas eft, negare praefcium fu- 
 " turorum : Sed utrumque arapledimur, utrumque fideliter et 
 " veraciter confitemur : Illud ut bene credamus j hoc ut bene 
 " vivamus," Aug. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 OF THE PERMISSION OF EVIL. 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 Of the Perni'ijfion of EviL 
 
 ANOTHER ufe has been made of Divine prefcience by the 
 advocates for necefllty, which it is proper to confider be- 
 fore wc leave this fubject. 
 
 It has been faid, ** That all thofe confeqaences follow from 
 " the Divine prefcience which are thought moft alarming in the 
 " fcheme of neceility j and particularly God's being the proper 
 " caufe of moral evil. For, to fuppofe God to forefee and per- 
 " mlt what it was in his power to have prevented, is the very 
 " fame thing, as to fuppofe him to will, and diredly to caufe 
 " it. He diitindlly forefees all the adions of a man's life, and 
 " all the confequences of them : If, therefore, he did not think 
 " any particular man and his condud: proper for his plan of 
 " creation and providence, he certainly would not have in- 
 ** troduced him into being at all." 
 
 In this reafoning we may obferve, that a fuppofition Is made 
 which feems to contradidt itfelf. 
 
 That all the adions of a particular man (hould be diftindly 
 forefeen, and, at the fame time, that that man fhould never be 
 brought into exiftence, feems to me to be a contradidion : And 
 the fame contradidion there is, in fuppofing any adion to be 
 diftindly forefeen, and yet prevented. For, if it be forefeen, it 
 Ihall happen ; and, if it be prevented, it (hall not happen, and 
 therefore could not be forefeen. 
 
 The knowledge here fuppofed is neither prefcience nor fciencc, 
 
 Y y 3 but
 
 ^.^S ESSAY IV. 
 
 C?IAP. XL but fomefhing very different from both. It is a kind of know- 
 ledge, which fome metaphyfical divines, in their controverfies 
 about the order of the Divine decrees, a fubject far beyond the 
 limits of human underftanding, attributed to the Deity, and of 
 which other divines denied the poffibility, while they firmly 
 maintained the Divme prefcience. 
 
 It was cciUed fciefifia media, to diftinguifh it from prefcience j^ 
 and by this fdentia media was meant, not the knowing from 
 eternity all things that fhall exill, which is prefcience, nor 
 the knowing all the connexions and relations of things that 
 exift or may be conceived, which is (cience, but a knowledge oF 
 things contingent, that never did nor fhall exifl. For inftance, 
 the knowing every action that would be done by a man who is 
 barely conceived, and fhall never be brought mto exiflence. 
 
 Agalnft the pofTibllity of the fcieinla media arguments may be 
 urged, which cannot be applied to prefcience. Thus it may be 
 faid, that nothing can be known but what is true. It is true 
 that the future adions of a iv(t& agent fliall exift, and there- 
 fore we fee no impoflibility ia its being known that they fhall' 
 exifl : But with regard to the free adtions of an agent that ne- 
 ver did nor fhall exifl, there is nothing true, and therefore 
 nothing can be known. To fay that the being conceived, would- 
 certainly ad in fuch a way, if placed in fuch a fituation, if it 
 have any meaning, is to fay, That his adling in that way is the 
 confequence of the conception j but this contradicts the fuppo- 
 fitioii of its being a free adiona 
 
 Things merely conceived have no relations or connexions 
 but fuch as are implied in the conception, or are conlequent. 
 from it. Thus I conceive two. circles in the fame plane. If 
 this be all I conceive, it is not true that thefe circles are equal 
 or unequal, becaufe neither of thefe relations is implied in the 
 conception 3 yet if the two circles really exifled, they mufl be 
 
 either
 
 OF THE PERMISSION OF EVIL. 357 
 
 either equal or uuc'iikiI. A^ain, I conceive two circles in the C ^HA I ' xi . 
 fame i)hinc, the diftancc of whofe centres Is equal to the fum of 
 their feniidiamctcrs. It Is true of thefe circles, that they will 
 touch one another, becaufe this follows from the conception ; 
 but it Is not true that they will be equal or unequal, becaufe 
 neither of thefe relations is implieil in the conception, nor is con- 
 fcquent from it. 
 
 In like manner, I can conceive a being who has power to do 
 an inditTercnt adion, or not to do It. It Is not true that he 
 would do it, nor is it true that he would not do It, becaufe nei- 
 ther is implied in my conception, nor follows from it ; and what 
 is not true cannot be known. 
 
 Though I do not perceive any fallacy In this argument agalnfl 
 a fcicntia media, I am fenfible how apt we are to err in applying 
 what belongs to our conceptions and our knowledge, to the con- 
 ceptions and knowledge of the Supreme Being ; and, therefore, 
 without pretending to determine for or againfl a fcientia media, 
 I only obferve, that, to fuppofe that the Deity prevents what he 
 forefees by his prefcience, is a contradidion, and that to know 
 that a contingent event which he fees fit not to permit would 
 certainly happen if permitted, is not prefcience, but the fcientia 
 media, whofe exigence or poilibillty we are under no neceility of 
 admitting. 
 
 •a- 
 
 Waving all dlfpute about fcientia media., we ackno\vIedge, that 
 nothing can happen under the adminillratlon of the Deity, 
 which he does not fee fit to permit. The permillion of natural 
 and moral evil. Is a phenomenon which cannot be cMfputed. To 
 account for this phaeiiomenon under the government of a ileing 
 of infinite gooilnefs, jufiice, wifdom and power, has, hi all ages 
 been confidercd as difficult to human reafon, whether we em- 
 brace the fyflem of liberty or that of necellity. Bat, If the 
 difficulty of accounting for this phacnomenon upon the fvfleiji 
 
 cf
 
 ■358 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHA?. XI. of neceflity, be as great as it is upon the fyilem of liberty, it 
 can have no weight when ufed as an argument againft liberty. 
 
 The defenders of neceility, to reconcile it to the principles of 
 Theifm, find themfelves obliged to give up all the moral attri- 
 butes of God, excepting that of goodnefs, or a defire to produce 
 happinefs. This they hold to be the fole motive of his making 
 and governing the univerfe. Juftice, veracity, faithfulnefs, are 
 only modifications of goodnefs, the means of promoting its pur- 
 pofes, and are exercifed only fo far as they ferve that end. 
 Virtue is acceptable to him and vice difpleafing, only as the firft 
 tends to produce happinefs and the laft mifery. He is the pro- 
 per caufe and agent of all moral evil as well as good > but it is 
 for a good end, to produce the greater happinefs to his creatures. 
 He does evil that good may come, and this end fandlifies the 
 ■worft adions that contribute to it. All the wickednefs of men 
 being the work of God, he muft, when he furveys it, pronounce 
 it, as well as all his other works, to be very good. 
 
 This view of the Divine nature, the only one confiftent with 
 the fcheme of neceffity, appears to me much more fhocking 
 than the permiilion of evil upon the fcheme of liberty. It is 
 faid, that it requires on\j Jirejigth of mind to embrace it : To me 
 it feems to require much ftrength of countenance to profefs it. 
 
 In this fyfiem, as in Cleanthes' Tablature of the Epicurean 
 fyftem, pleafure or happinefs is placed upon the throne as the 
 queen, to whom all the virtues bear the humble office of menial 
 fervants. 
 
 As the end of the Deity, in all his adions, is not his own 
 good, which can receive no addition, but the good of his crea- 
 tures 5 and, as his creatures are capable of this difpofition in 
 fome degree, is he not pleafed with this image of himfelf in his 
 creatures, and difpleafed with the contrary ? Why then fliould 
 
 he
 
 OF THE PERMISSION OF EVIL. 359 
 
 he be the author of malice, envy, revenge, tyranny and oppref- CHA ? xf. . 
 {ion, in their hearts ? Other vices that have no malevolence in 
 them may pleafe fuch a Deity, but furcly malevolence cannot 
 plcafe him. 
 
 If we form our notions of the moral attributes of the Deity 
 from what we fee of his government of the world, from the 
 didates of reafon and confcience, or from the dodlrine of 
 revelation, jullice, veracity, faith fulnefs, the love of virtue and 
 diflike of vice, appear to be no lefs eflential attributes of his 
 nature than goodnefs. 
 
 In man, who is made after the Image of God, goodnefs or 
 benevolence is indeed an eflential part of virtue^ but it is not 
 the whole. 
 
 I am at a lofs what arguments can be brought to prove good- 
 nefs to be eflential to the Deity, which will not, with equal 
 force, prove other moral attributes to be fo ; or what objections 
 can be brought againfl the latter, which have not equal Itrength 
 againft the former, unlefs it be admitted to be an objcdion 
 againft other moral attributes, that they do not accord with the 
 dodrine of necellity. 
 
 If other moral evils maybe attributed to the Deity as the 
 means of promoting general good, why may not falfe declara- 
 tions and falfe promifes ? And then what ground have we left to 
 believe the truth of what he reveals, or to rely upon what he 
 promifes? 
 
 Suppofing this ftrange view of the Divine nature were to be 
 adopted in favour of the dodrine of necelEty, there is flill a 
 great difliculty to be refolved. 
 
 Since it is fuppofed, that the Supreme Being had no other end 
 
 in
 
 jGo ESSAY IV. 
 
 .CHAP. XI J,-) making and governing the univerfe, but to produce the great- 
 eft degree of happinefs to his creatures in general, how comes 
 it to pafs, that there 's To much mifery in a fyfteni made and 
 governed by infinite wifdom and power for a contrary purpofe ? 
 
 The fohition of this difficulty leads us neceflarily to another 
 hypothecs, That all the mifery and vice that is in the world is a 
 neceifary ingredient in that f)ftem which produces the greatefl: 
 fum of happinefs upon the whole. This connection betwixt the 
 greatefl fum of happinefs and all the mifery that is in the uni- 
 verfe, mufl be fatal and neceffary in the nature of things, fo that 
 even Almighty power cannot break It : For benevolence can 
 never lead to iaflid mifery without neceility. 
 
 This neceffary connexion between the greatefl Cam of happinefs 
 upon the whole, and all the natural and moral evil that is, or has 
 been, or fhall be, being once ellablifhed, it is impofUble for mor- 
 tal eyes to difcern how far this evil may extend, or on whom it 
 may happen to fall j whether this fatal connexion may be tem- 
 porary or eternal, or what proportion of the happinefs may be 
 balanced by it. 
 
 A world made by perfecft wifdom and Almighty power, for 
 no other end but to make it happy, prefents the moll pleafing 
 profpedl that can be imagined. We expe6l nothing but uninter- 
 rupted happinefs to prevail for ever. But, alas ! When we con- 
 lider that in this happiell fyflem, there mufl be neceflarily all 
 the mifery and vice we fee, and how much more we know not, 
 how is the profpecT; darkened ! 
 
 Thefe two hypothefes, the one limiting the moral charaderof 
 the Deity, the other limiting his power, feem to me to be 
 the nc' eflary confequences of neceility, when it is joined with 
 Theifm ; and they have accordingly been adopted by the ablefl 
 defenders of tiiat Uodlrine. 
 
 If
 
 OF THE P E R M I S S I O x\ OF E V I L. ^f)! 
 
 If Come defenders of liberty, by limiting too rafhiy the Divine CHAP. xi. 
 prefciencc, in order to defend that fylkm, have raifed hij^h in- 
 dignation in their opponents ; have they not equal ground of 
 indignation againft thofe, who, to defend nccefTity, limit the mo- 
 ral perfection of the Deity, and his Almighty power? 
 
 Let us confider, on the other hand, what confequenccs may 
 be fairly drawn from God's permitting the abufe of liberty in 
 agents on whom he has beftowed it. 
 
 If it be alked. Why does God permit fo much fin in his crea- 
 tion ? I confefs I cannot anfwer the qneftion, but mufl lay my 
 hand upon my mouth. He giveth no account of his conduct 
 to the children of men. It is our part to obey his commands, 
 and not to fay unto him. Why dofl thou thus ? 
 
 Hypothefes might be framed ; but, while we have ground to 
 be fatisfied, that he does nothing but what is right, it is more 
 becoming us to acknowledge that the ends and reafons of his 
 univerfal government are beyond our knowledge, and perhaps 
 beyond the comprehenfion of human underftanding. We can- 
 not penetrate fo far into the counfel of the Almighty, as to 
 know all the reafons why it became him, of whom are all things, 
 and to whom are all things, to create, not only machines, which 
 are folely moved by his hand, but fervants and children, who, 
 by obeying his commands, and imitating his moral jjerfedions, 
 might rile to a high degree of glory and happinefs in nis favour, 
 or, by perverfc difobedience, might incur guilt and jull puniHi- 
 ment. In this he appears to us awful in his juftice, as well as 
 amiable in his goodnefs. 
 
 But, as he difdains not to appeal to men for the equity of his 
 proceedings towards them when his character is impeached, 
 we may, with humble reverence, plead for God, and vindicate 
 
 Z z that
 
 362 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. XI. that moral excellence which is the glory of his nature, and of 
 which the image is the glory and the perfed:ion of man. 
 
 Let us obferve firil: of all, that to permit hath two meanings. 
 It fignifies not to forbid ; and it fignifies not to hinder by fupe- 
 rior power. In the firii of thefe fenfes, God never permits fin. 
 His law forbids every moral evil. By his laws and by his go- 
 vernment, he gives every encouragement to good condudt, and 
 every difcoui-agement to bad. But he does not always, by his 
 fuperior power, hinder it from being committed. This is the 
 ground of the accufation ; and this, it is faid, is the very fame 
 thing as diredly to will and to caufe it. 
 
 As this is afTerted without proof, and is far from being felf- 
 evldent, it might be fufficient to deny it until it be proved. 
 But, without refting barely on the defenfive, we may obferve, 
 that the only moral attributes that can be fuppofed inconfiftent 
 with the permillion of fin, are either goodnefs or juftice. 
 
 The defenders of necefHty, with whom we have to do In this 
 point, as they maintain that goodnefs is the only eflential moral 
 attribute of the Deity, and the motive of all his atftions, muft, 
 if they will be confiftent, maintain. That to will, and diredly to 
 caufe fin, much more not to hinder It, is confiftent with perfedl 
 goodnefs, nay, that goodnefs Is a fufEcient motive to juftify the 
 willing and diredly caufing it. 
 
 With regard to them, therefore, It Is furely unnecefTary to at- 
 tempt to reconcile the permillion of fin with the goodnefs of 
 God, fince an inconfiftency between that attribute and the 
 caufing of fin would overturn their whole fyftem. 
 
 If the caufing of moral evil, and being the real author of It, 
 be confiftent with perfect goodnefs, what pretence can there be 
 
 to
 
 OF THE PERMISSION OF EVIL. 363 
 
 to fay, that not to hinder it is inconfiftent with perfe<5l good- P^^J; ^[ ' 
 nefs ? 
 
 What is Incumbent upon them, therefore, to prove, Is, That the 
 permlfllon of fin is inconfiftent with jiiftice ; and, upon this 
 point, we are ready to join ifllie witli them. 
 
 But what pretence can there be to fay, that the perminion of 
 fin Is perfedly confillent with goodnefs in the Deity, but incon- 
 fiflent with juftice ? 
 
 Is it not as eafy to conceive, that he fliould permit fin, though 
 virtue be his delight, as that he infllcfls mifery, when his fole de- 
 light is to bellow happlnefs ? Should it appear Incredible, that 
 the permilTion of fin may tend to promote virtue, to them who 
 believe that the infliction of jnifery is necelTiiry to promote 
 happlnefs ? 
 
 The juftlce, as well as the goodnefs of God's moral govern- 
 ment of mankind, appears In this: That his laws are not arbi- 
 trary nor grievous, as it is only by the obedience of them that 
 our nature can be perfected and qualified for future happlnefs ; 
 that he Is ready to aid our weaknefs, to help our Infirmities, and 
 not to fufFer us to be tempted above what we arc able to bear ; 
 that he is not Ihid to mark Iniquity, or to execute judgment 
 fpeedily againft an evil work, but is long-fuflering, and waits to 
 be gracious ; that he is ready to receive the humble penitent to 
 his favour ; that he Is no refpedler of perfons, but in every na- 
 tion he that fears God and works rlQ;liteoufiiefs Is accepted of 
 him ; that of every man he will require an account, proportion- 
 ed to the talents he hath received; that he delights in mercy, 
 but hath no pleafure in the death of the wicked j and therefore 
 in ixmliliing will never go beyond the demerit of the criminal, 
 Dor beyond what the rules of his univcrfil government re- 
 quire. 
 
 Z. z 2 There
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 There were, in ancient ag;es, fome who faid, the way of the 
 Lord is not equal ; to whom the Prophet, in the name of God, 
 makes this reply, which, in all ages, is fufEcient to repel this ac- 
 cufation. Hear now, O houfe of Ifrael, Is not my way equal, 
 are not your ways unequal? When a righteous man turneth 
 away from his righteoufnefs, and committeth iniquity, for his 
 iniquity which he hath done fliall he die. Again, when a 
 wicked man turneth away from his wickednefs that he hath 
 committed, and doth that which is lawful and right, he fliall 
 fare his foul alive. O houfe of Ifrael, are not my ways equal, 
 are not your ways unequal ? Repent, and turn from all your 
 tranfgrellions, fo iniquity fliall not be your ruin. Cafl: away 
 from you all your tranfgreflions whereby you have tranfgreflTed, 
 and make you a new heart and a new fpirit, for why will ye die, 
 O houfe of Ifrael ? For I have no pleafure in the death of him 
 that dieth, faith the Lord God. 
 
 Another argument for necefllty has been lately offered, which 
 we fliall very briefly confider. 
 
 It has been maintained, that the powder of thinking is the re- 
 fult of a certain modification of matter, and that a certain con- 
 figuration of brain makes a foul ; and, if man be wholly a ma- 
 terial being, it is faid, that it will not be denied, that he muft be 
 a mechanical being ; that the dodlrine of necefllty is a dired: in- 
 ference from that of materialifm, and its undoubted confe- 
 quence. 
 
 As this argument can have no weight with thofe who do not 
 fee reafon to embrace this fyftem of materialifm ; fo, even v/ith 
 thofe who do, it feems to me to be a mere fophifm. 
 
 Phllofophers have been wont to conceive matter to be an In- 
 ert paflive being, and to have certain properties Inconfiftent 
 with the power of thinking or of adling. But a Philofopher 
 
 arifes.
 
 01- THE PERMISSION OF EVIL. 5<'5 
 
 drill's, who proves, we ftiall fiippofe, that we were quite mirtaKcn ^ ' ' . / 
 
 in our notion of matter ; that it has not the properties we fup- 
 polcd, and, in fad, has no properties but thofe of attradion and 
 rcpulfion ; but ftill he thinks, tliat, being matter, it will not be 
 denied that it is a mechanical being, and that the dotflrine of 
 necelTIty is a diretft inference from that of materialllin. 
 
 Herein, however, he deceives himfelf. If matter be what we 
 conceived it to be, it is equally Incapable of thinking and of 
 acftlng freely. But if the properties, from which wc drew this 
 conclufion, have no reality, as he thinks he has proved ; if it 
 have the powers of attradlion and repulfion, and require only a 
 certain configuration to make it think rationally. It will be im- 
 poirihlc to (hew any good reafon why the fame configuration 
 may not make it adl rationally and freely. If its reproach of 
 folldity, inertnefs and fluggiflinefs be wiped off; and if it be 
 raifed in our efteem to a nearer approach to the nature of what 
 we call fplrltual and immaterial beings, why fliould it flill be 
 nothing but a mechanical being? Is its folidity, inertnefs and 
 fluggiflinefs, to be firfl removed to make it capable of thinking, 
 and then reftored in order to make it incapable of adling ? 
 
 Thofe, therefore, who reafon juftly from this fyftcm of ma- 
 terlalifm will eafily perceive, that the dodrine of neceflity is fo 
 far from being a direct inference, that it can receive no fupport 
 from it. 
 
 To conclude this Effay : Extremes of all kinds ought to be 
 avoided ; yet men are prone to run into them j and, to fhun one 
 extreme, we often run into the contrary. 
 
 Of all extremes of opinion, none are more dangerous than 
 thofe that exalt the powers of man too high, on the one hand, 
 or fink them too low, on the other. 
 
 By
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 By raifing them too high, we feed pride and vain-glory, we 
 lofe the fenfe of our dependence upon God, and engage in at- 
 tempts beyond our abihties. By depreflhig them too low, we 
 cut the finews of adtion and of obligation, and are tempted to 
 think, that, as we can do nothing, we have nothing to do, but 
 to be carried pafllvely along by the flream of neceffity. 
 
 Some good men, apprehending that, to kill pride and vain- 
 glory, our active powers cannot be too much deprefTed, have 
 been led, by zeal for religion, to deprive us of all ad:ive power. 
 
 Other good men, by a like zeal, have been led to depreciate 
 the human underflanding, and to put out the light of nature 
 and reafon, in order to exalt that of revelation. 
 
 Thofe weapons which we/e taken up in fupport of religion, 
 are now employed to overturn it ; and what was, by fome, ac- 
 counted the bulwark of orthodoxy, is become the ftrong hold of 
 atheifm and infidelity. 
 
 Atheifls join hands with Theologians, In depriving man of 
 all ad:Ive power, that they may deflroy all moral obligation, and 
 all fenfe of right and wrong. They join hands with Theolo- 
 gians, in depreciating the human underftanding, that they may 
 lead us into abfolute fcepticlfm. 
 
 God, in mercy to the human race, has made us of fuch a 
 frame, that no fpeculative opinion whatfoever can root out the 
 fenfe of guilt and demerit when we do wrong, nor the peace and 
 joy of a good confcience when we do what is right. No fpecu- 
 lative opinion can root out a regard to the teftimony of our 
 fenfes, of our memory, and of our rational faculties. But we 
 have reafon to be jealous of opinions which run counter to thofe 
 natural fentiments of the human mind, and tend to fhake„ 
 though they never can eradicate them. 
 
 There
 
 OF THE PERMISSION OF EVIL. 367 
 
 There is little reafon to fear, that the condud of men, with CHAR X[. 
 regard to the concerns of the prefent life, will ever be much af- 
 feded, either by the dodrine of necefllty, or by fcepticifm. It 
 were to be wiflied, that men's condud, with regard to the con- 
 cerns of another life, were in as little danger from thofe opi- 
 
 nions. 
 
 In the prefent flate, we fee fome who zealoufly maintain the 
 dodrine of neceflity, others who as zealoufly maintain that of 
 liberty. One would be apt to think, that a practical belief of 
 thefe contrary fyftems fliould produce very different conduct in 
 them that hold them ; yet we fee no fuch difference in the af- 
 fairs of common life. 
 
 The fatalifl deliberates, and refolves, and plights his faith. 
 He lays down a plan of conduct, and profecutes it with vigour 
 and induftry. He exhorts and commands, and holds thofe to be 
 anfwerable for their condudl to whom he hath committed any 
 charge. He blames thofe that are falfe or unfaithful to him as 
 other men do. He perceives dignity and worth in fome charac- 
 ters and adions, and in others demerit and turpitude. He re- 
 fents injuries, and is grateful for good offices. 
 
 If any man fhould plead the do(flrine of necefllty to excul- 
 pate murder, theft, or robbery, or even wilful negligence in the 
 difcharge of his duty, his judge, though a fatalifl, if he had 
 common fenfe, would laugh at fuch a plea, and would not allow 
 It even to alleviate the crime. 
 
 In all fuch cafes, he fees that it would be abfurd not to acl 
 and to judge as thofe ought to do who believe themfelves and 
 other men to be free agents, juft as the fceptic, to avoid abfur- 
 dity, muft, when he goes into the world, ad and judge like other 
 men who are not fceptics. 
 
 If
 
 368 ESSAY IV. 
 
 CHAP. XL If the fatalifl: be as little influenced by the opinion of necef- 
 fity in his moral and religious concerns, and in his expedations 
 concerning another world, as he is in the common affairs of life, 
 his fpeculative opinion will probably do him little hurt. But, if 
 he trufl fo far to the do(5lrine of necellity, as to indulge lloth 
 and inadivity in his duty, and hope to exculpate himfelf to his 
 Maker by that dodlrine, let him confider whether he fuflains 
 this excufe from his fervants and dependants, when they are ne- 
 gligent or unfaithful in what is committed to their charge. 
 
 Bifliiop Butler, in his Analogy, has an excellent chapter upon 
 the opinion of necejjity confidered as iiifluencing praElice, which I think 
 highly deferring the confideration of thofe who are inclined to 
 that opinion. 
 
 ESSAY
 
 M 
 
 ESSAY V. 
 
 OF MORALS. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 Of the Firji Principles of Morals. 
 
 ORALS, like all other fciences, mufl have firft principles, 
 on which all moral reafoning is grounded. 
 
 In every branch of knowledge where difputes have been 
 raifed, it is ufeful to diftinguifh the firft: principles from the 
 fuperftrudture. They are the foundation on which the whole 
 fabric of the fcience leans ; and whatever is not fupported by 
 this foundation can have no {lability. 
 
 In all rational belief, the thing believed is either itfelf a firft 
 principle, or it is by juft reafoning deduced from firft prin- 
 ciples. When men differ about dcdudions of reafoning, the 
 appeal muft be to the rules of reafoning, which have been very 
 unanimoufly fixed from the days of Aristotle. But when they 
 differ about a firft principle, the appeal is made to another tri- 
 bunal ; to that of common fenfe. 
 
 How the genuine decifions of common fenfe may be diftin- 
 guifhed from the counterfeit, has been confidered in eflay fixth, 
 on the Intellcdual Powers of Man, chapter founh, to which 
 the reader is referred. What I would here obferve is, That as 
 firft principles differ from dedudtions of reafoning in the nature 
 
 A a a of
 
 370 ESSAY V. 
 
 CHAP. I. of their evidence, and muft be tried by a different ftandard when 
 they are called in queftion, It is of importance to know to which 
 of thefe two clalTes a truth which we would examine, belongs. 
 When they are not diftinguilhed, men are apt to demand proof 
 for every thing they think fit to deny : And when we attempt 
 to prove by diredl arg-ument, what is really felf-evldent, the 
 reafoning will always be inconclufive ; for it will either take for 
 granted the thing to be proved, or fomething not more evident; 
 and fo, inflead of giving flrength to the conclufion, will rather 
 tempt thofe to doubt of It, who never did fo before. 
 
 I propofe, therefore, In this chapter, to point out fome of the 
 firft principles of morals, without pretending to a complete enu- 
 meration. 
 
 The principles I am to mention, relate either to virtue In ge- 
 neral, or to the different particular branches of virtue, or to the 
 comparifon of virtues where they feem to interfere. 
 
 1. There are fome things in human condud, that merit ap- 
 probation and praife, others that merit blame and punifhment ; 
 and different degrees either of approbation or of blame, are due 
 to different adlions. 
 
 2. What Is In no degree voluntary, can neither deferve moral 
 approbation nor blame 
 
 3. What Is done from unavoidable neceffity may be agreeable 
 or dlfagreeable, ufeful or hurtful, but cannot be the objedl either 
 of blame or of moral approbation. 
 
 4. Men may be highly culpable in omitting what they ought 
 to have done, as well as In doing what they ought not. 
 
 5. We ought to ufe the befl means we can to be well inform^ 
 
 ed
 
 OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. 371 
 
 ed of our duty, by ferious attention to moral inftrudion ; by ob- Pl^Jl_j' 
 fervin^- what we approve, and what wc dilapjirove, in other 
 men, whether our accjuaintance, or thofe whofe adlions are re- 
 corded in hillory ; by reflecl:ing often, in a calm and difpaffion- 
 ate hour, on our own paft condudl, that we may difcern what 
 was wrong, what was right, and what might have been better j 
 by deliberating coolly and impartially upon our future condu(fl. 
 as far as we can forefee the opportunities we may have of doing 
 good, or the temptations to do wrong ; and by having this prin- 
 ciple deeply fixed in our minds, that as moral excellence is the 
 true worth and glory of a man, fo the knowledge of our duty 
 is to every man, in every ftation of life, the moft important of 
 all knowledge. 
 
 6. It ought to be our mofl ferious concern to do our duty as 
 far as we know it, and to fortify our minds againfl; every temp- 
 tation to deviate from it ; by niaintaining a lively fenfe of the 
 beauty of right condud, and of its prefent and future reward, 
 of the turpitude of vice, and of its bad confequences here and 
 hereafter; by having always in our eye the noblell examples; 
 by the habit of fubjedling our palTions to the government of rea- 
 fon; by firm purpofes and refolutions with regard to our coa- 
 dud ; by avoiding occafions of temptation when we can ; and 
 by imploring the aid of him who made us, in every hour of 
 temptation. 
 
 Thefe principles concerning virtue and vice in general, mud 
 appear felf-evident to every man who hath a confcience, and 
 who hath taken pains to exercife this natural power of his mind. 
 I proceed to others that are more particular. 
 
 I. We ought to prefer a greater good, though more diftant, 
 to a lefs ; and a Icfs evil to a greater. 
 
 A regard to our own good, though we had no confcience, 
 
 A a a 2 didate?
 
 ,372 E S S A Y V. 
 
 w^-Z_i didates this principle ; and we cannot help difapproving the 
 man that ads contrary to it, as deferving to lofe the good which 
 he wantonly threw away, and to fuffer the evil which he know- 
 ingly brought upon his own head. 
 
 We obferved before, that the ancient moralifts, and many 
 among the modern, have deduced the whole of morals from this 
 principle, and that when we make a right eftimate of goods and 
 evils according to their degree, their dignity, their duration, 
 and according as they are more or lefs in our power, it leads to 
 the practice of every virtue : More direcfhly, indeed, to the vir- 
 tues of felf- government, to prudence, to temperance, and to for- 
 titude ; and, though more indiredly, even to juftice, humanity, 
 and all the focial virtues, when their influence upon our happi- 
 nefs is well underllood. 
 
 Though it be not the nobleft principle of conduit, it has this 
 peculiar advantage, that its force is felt by the mofl ignorant, 
 and even by the moft abandoned. 
 
 Let a man's moral judgment be ever fo little improved by ex- 
 ercife, or ever fo much corrupted by bad habits, he cannot be 
 indifferent to his own happinefs or mifery. When he is become 
 infenfible to every nobler motive to right conduft, he cannot be 
 infenfible to this. And though to adl from this motive folely may 
 be called prudence rather than virtue, yet this prudence deferves 
 fome regard upon its own account, and much more as it is the 
 friend and ally of virtue, and the enemy of all vice ; and as it 
 gives a favourable teftimony of virtue to thofe who are deaf to 
 every other recommendation. 
 
 If a man can be induced to do his duty even from a regard to 
 his own happinefs, he will foon find reafon to love virtue for her 
 own iake, and to ad from motives lels mercenary. 
 
 I
 
 OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. 
 
 I cannot therefore approve of thofe moralifts, who would ba- 
 niHi all perluafives to virtue taken from the confidcration of pri- 
 vate good. In the prefent flate of human nature thefe are not 
 ufelefs to the belt, and they are the only means left of reclaim- 
 ing the abandoned. 
 
 2. As far as the intention of nature appears In the conftltu- 
 tion of man, we ought to comply with that intention, and to att 
 agreeably to it. 
 
 The Autlior of our being; hath given us not only the power 
 of ading within a limited fphere, but various principles or fprlngs 
 of action, of different nature and dignity, to diredl us in the ex- 
 ercife of our adlive power. 
 
 Fron:i the conftitution of every fpecies of the inferior ani- 
 mals, and efpccially from the active principles which nature has 
 given them, we eafily perceive the manner of life for which na- 
 ture intended them ; and they uniformly ad: the part to which 
 they are led by their conftitution, without any refledion upon 
 it, or intention of obeying its dictates. Man only, of the inha- 
 bitants of this world, is made capable of obferving his own con- 
 ftitution, what kind of life it is made for, and of ading accord- 
 ing to that intention, or contrary to it. He only is capable of 
 yielding an intentional obedience to the dictates of his nature, 
 or of rebelling againft them. 
 
 In treating of the principles of adion in man, it has been 
 fhewn, that as his natural inftinds and bodily appetites, are well 
 adapted to the prefervation of his natural life, and to the con- 
 tinuance of the fjiecies ; fo his natural dcfires, alTcdions, and 
 pallions, when uncorrupted by vicious habits, and under the go- 
 vernment of the leading principles of reafon and confcience, are 
 excellently fitted for the rational and fecial life. Every vicious 
 \6tion fliews an exccfs, or defed, or wrong dircdion of fome na- 
 tural
 
 374 ESSAY V. ^ 
 
 CHAP. I. tural fpring of adlion, and therefore may, very juflly, be faid to 
 be unnatural. Every virtuous adlion agrees with the uncorrupt- 
 ed principles of human nature. 
 
 The Stoics defined virtue to be a life according to nature. 
 Some of them more accurately, a life according to the nature of 
 man, in fo far as it is fuperior to that of brutes. The life of a 
 brute is according to the nature of the brute j but it is neither 
 virtuous nor vicious-. The life of a moral agent cannot be ac- 
 cording to his nature, unlefs it be virtuous. That confcience, 
 which is in every man's breaft, is the law of God written in his 
 heart, which he cannot difobey without adting unnaturally, and 
 being felf-condemned. 
 
 The intention of nature, in the various adlive principles of 
 man, in the defires of power, of knowledge, and of efteem, in 
 the affedion to children, to near relations, and to the commu- 
 nities to which we belong, in gratitude, in compaflion, and even 
 in refentment and emulation, is very obvious, and has been 
 pointed out in treating of thofe principles. Nor is it lefs evi- 
 dent, that reafon and confcience are given us to regulate the in- 
 ferior principles, fo that they may confpire, in a regular and 
 confiflent plan of life, in purfuit of fome worthy end. 
 
 3. No man is born for himfelf only. Every man, therefore, 
 ought to confider himfelf as a member of the common fociety 
 of mankind, and of thofe fubordinate focieties to which he be- 
 longs, fuch as family, friends, neighbourhood, country, and to do 
 as much good as he can, and as little hurt to the focieties of 
 ■which he is a part. 
 
 This axiom leads diredlly to the practice of every focial vir- 
 tue, and indiredlly to the virtues of felf-govemment, by which 
 only we can be qualified for difcharging the duty we owe to fo- 
 
 riet^f, 
 
 4. In
 
 OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. 375 
 
 4. In every cafe, we ought to a(it that part towarils another, p'^^*'- ] • 
 which we would judge to he right in him to adl toward us, if 
 we were in his circumftances and he in ours; or, more gene- 
 rally, what we approve in others, that we ought to pradife in 
 like circumftances, and what we condemn in others we ought 
 not to do. 
 
 If there be any fuch thing as right and wrong in the condu(fl 
 of moral agents, it muft be the fome to all in the fame circum- 
 ftances. 
 
 We ftand all in the fame relation to him who made us, and 
 will call us to account for our condud ; for with him there is 
 no refpedl of perfons. We ftand in the fame relation to one 
 another as members of the great community of mankind. The 
 duties confcquent upon the different ranks and offices and rela- 
 tions of men are the fame to all in the fame circumftances. 
 
 It is not want of judgment, but want of candour and Impar- 
 tiality, that hinders men from difcerning what they owe to 
 others. They are quickfighted enough in difcerning what is 
 due to themfclves. When they are injured, or ill-treated, they 
 fee it, and feel refentment. It is the want of candour that 
 makes men ufc one meafure for the duty they owe to others, 
 and another meafure for the duty that others owe to them in 
 like circumftances. That men ought to judge with candour, as 
 in all other cafes, fo efpecially in what concerns their moral 
 conduct, is furely felf-evident to every intelligent being. The 
 man who takes offence when he is injured in his perfon, in his 
 property, in his good name, pronounces judgment againft liim- 
 felf if he adl fo toward his neighbour. 
 
 As the equity and obligation of this rule of conduct is felf- 
 evident to every man who hath a confcience ; fo it is, of all the 
 rules of morality, the moft comprelicnfivc, and truly deferves 
 
 the
 
 376 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP, r. tiie encomium given it by the higheft authority, that it is the law 
 and the prophets. 
 
 It comprehends every rule of juftice without exception. It 
 comprehends all the relative duties, ariling either from the 
 more permanent relations of parent and child, of mailer 
 and fervant, of magiftrate and fubjed, of hufband and wife, or 
 from the more tranlient relations of rich and poor, of buyer 
 and feller, of debtor and creditor, of benefadlor and benefici- 
 ary, of friend and enemy. It comprehends every duty of cha- 
 rity and humanity, and even of courtefy and good manners. 
 
 Nay, I think, that, without any force or draining, it extends 
 even to the duties of felf-government. For, as every man ap- 
 proves in others the virtues of prudence, temperance, felf-com- 
 mand and fortitude, he muft perceive, that what is right in 
 others muft be right in hirafelf in like circumftances. 
 
 To fum up all, he who ads invariably by this rule will never 
 deviate from the path of his duty, but from an error of judg- 
 ment. And, as he feels the obligation that he and all men are 
 under to ufe the beft means in his power to have his judgment 
 well-informed in matters of duty, his errors will only be fuch as 
 are invincible. 
 
 It may be obferved, that this axiom fuppofes a faculty in man 
 by which he can diftinguifh right condud from wrong. It fup- 
 pofes alfo, that, by this faculty, we eafily perceive the right and 
 the wrong in other men that are indifferent to us ; but are very 
 apt to be blinded by the partiality of felfifh paflions when the 
 cafe concerns ourfelves. Every claim we have againft others is 
 apt to be magnified by felf-love, when viewed diredly. A 
 change of perfons uemoves this prejudice, and brings the claim 
 to appear in its juft magnitude. 
 
 5. To
 
 OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. 377 
 
 5. To every man who believes the exigence, the perfedlions, 
 and the providence of Gon, tlie veneration and tubniilllon we 
 owe to him is lelf-evident. Right fentinients of the Deity and 
 of his works, not only make the duty we owe to him obvious to 
 every intelligent being, but likewife add the authority of a Di- 
 vhie law to every rule of right condud. 
 
 There is another clafs of axioms in morals, by which, when 
 there feems to be an oppofition between the adlions that diffe- 
 rent virtues lead to, we determine to which the preference is due. 
 
 Between the feveral virtues, as they are difpofitions of mind, 
 or determinations of will, to a6l according to a certain general 
 rule, there can be no o|)poiition. They dwell together moll 
 amicably, and give mutual aid and ornament, without the polli- 
 bility of hoflility or oppofition, and, taken altogether, make 
 one uniform and confiftent rule of condu(il. But, between par- 
 ticular external adions, which different virtues would lead to, 
 there may be an oppofition. Thus, the fame man may be in 
 his heart, generous, grateful and juft. Thefe difpofitions 
 ftrengthen, but never can weaken one another. Yet it may 
 happen, that an external adlion which generofity or gratitude 
 folicits, juftice may forbid. 
 
 That in all fuch cafes, unmerited generofity fliould yield to 
 gratitude, and both to juftice, is felf-evident. Nor is it lefs fo, 
 that unmerited beneficence to thofe who are at eafe fhould 
 yield to compailion to the miferable, and external ads of 
 piety to works of mercy, becaufe God loves mercy more than 
 facrilice. 
 
 At the fame time, we perceive, that thofe ads of virtue which 
 ought to yield in the cafe of a competicion, h:ive moil intriulic 
 worth when there is no competitinn. 1 lius, it is evident that 
 there is more worth in pure and unmerited benevolence than iu 
 
 B b b compalfion. 
 
 CHAP. I.
 
 378 E S S A Y V. 
 
 F^^J"- '•, compaffion, more in compaflion than in gratitude, and more in 
 gratitude than in juftice. 
 
 I call thefe Jirjl principles, becaufe they appear to me to have 
 in themfelves an intuitive evidence which I cannot refift. I find 
 I can exprefs them in other words. I can illuftrate them by 
 examples and authorities, and perhaps can deduce one of them 
 from another j but I am not able to deduce them from other 
 principles that are more evident. And I find the beft moral 
 reafonings of authors I am acquainted with, ancient and mo- 
 dern, Heathen and Chriftian, to be grounded upon one or more 
 of them. 
 
 The evidence of mathematical axioms is not difcerned till men 
 come to a certain degree of maturity of underftanding. A boy 
 muft have formed the general conception of quantity, and of 
 more and lefs and equal, oi fum and difference; and he muft have 
 been accuftomed to judge of thefe relations in matters of com- 
 mon life, before he can perceive the evidence of the mathema- 
 tical axiom, that equal quantities, added to equal quantities, 
 make equal fums. 
 
 In like manner, our moral judgment, or confclence, grows to 
 maturity from an imperceptible feed, planted by our Creator. 
 When we are capable of contemplating the adions of other 
 men, or of reflecting upon our own calmly and difpaffionately, 
 we begin to perceive in them the qualities of honeft and dif- 
 honefl, of honourable and bafe, of right and wrong, and to 
 feel the fentiments of moral approbation and difapprobation. 
 
 Thefe fentiments are at firft feeble, eafily warped by paffions 
 and prejudices, and apt to yield to authority. By ufe and time, 
 the judgment, in morals as in other matters, gathers flrength, 
 and feels more vigour. We begin to diftinguifh the didates of 
 paflion from thofe of cool reafon, and to perceive, that it is not 
 
 always
 
 OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. 379 
 
 always fafe to rely upon the judf^ineiit of others. By an iin- CH^'^v^^ 
 pulfe of nature, we venture to judge for ourfelves, as we ven- 
 ture to walk by ourfelves. 
 
 There is a flrong analogy between the progrefs of the body 
 from infancy to maturity, and the progrefs of all the powers of 
 the mind. This progrelllon in both is the work of nature, and 
 in l)oth may be greatly aided or hurt by projjer education. It 
 is natural to a man to be able to walk or run or leap; but if 
 his limbs had been kept in fetters from his birth, he would have 
 none of thofe powers. It is no lefs natural to a man trained 
 in fociety, and accurtomed to judge of his own actions and 
 thofe of other men, to perceive a right and a wrong, an ho- 
 nourable and a bafe, in human condudl ; and to fuch a man, I 
 think, the principles of morals I have above mentioned will 
 appear ielf-evident. Yet there may be individuals of the hu- 
 man fpecies fo little accuftomed to think or judge of any thing, 
 but of gratifying their animal appetites, as to have hardly any 
 conception of right or wrong in condud:, or any moral judg- 
 ment ; as there certainly are fome who have not the conceptions 
 and the judgment neceflary to underftand the axioms of geo- 
 metry. 
 
 From the principles above mentioned, the whole fyflem of 
 moral conduft follows fo eafily, and with fo little aid of rea- 
 foning, that every man of common underflanding, who wiHies 
 to know his duty, may know it. The path of duty is a plain 
 path, which the upright in heart can rarely miftake. Such it 
 muft be, fince every man is bound to walk in it. There are 
 fome intricate cafes in morals which admit of difputation ; but 
 thefe feldom occur in pradice ; and, when they do, the learned 
 difputant has no great advantage : For the unlearned man, who 
 ufes the bed means in his power to know his duty, and ad:s ac- 
 cording to his knowledge, is inculpable in the fight of God and 
 man. He may err, but he is not guilty of immorality. 
 
 B b b 2 CHAP.
 
 380 ESSAY 
 
 CHAP.U. 
 
 -^ .. ^ 
 
 CHAR II. 
 
 Of Syjlcms of Morals. 
 
 F the knowledge of our duty be fo level to the apprehenfion 
 of all men, as has been reprefented In the lafl chapter, it 
 may feem hardly to deferve the name of a fcience. It may 
 feem that there is no need for inftrudtion in morals. 
 
 From what caufe then has it happened, that we have many 
 large and learned fyftems of moral philofophy, and iyftems of 
 natural jurifprudence, or the law of nature and nations ; and 
 that, in modern times, public profefllons have been inftituted in 
 molt places of education for inflruding youth in thefe branches 
 of knowledge ?. 
 
 This event, I think, may be accounted for, and the utility of 
 fuch fyftems and profefllons juftified, without fuppoling any dif- 
 ficulty or intricacy in the knowledge of our duty. 
 
 I am far from thinking inftruction in morals unnecefTary, 
 Men may, to the end of life, be ignorant of felf-evident truths.. 
 They niay, to the end of life, entertain grofs abfurdities. Expe- 
 rience fliews that this happens often in matters that are indiffe- 
 rent. Much more may it happen in matters where intereft, 
 pafllon, prejudice andfafliion, are fo apt to pervert the judgment. 
 
 The moft obvious truths are not perceived without fome ripe- 
 nefs of judgment. For we fee, that children may be made to 
 believe any thing, though ever fo abfurd. Our judgment of 
 things is ripened, not by time only, but chiefly by being exer- 
 cifed about things of the fame or of a fimilar kind. 
 
 Judgment, even in things feif-evident, requires a clear, di- 
 
 flind
 
 OF SYSTEMS OF MORALS. 381 
 
 flin<fl and fteady conception of tlic things about which we charit 
 ju(I(';f. Our conceptions are at firft ohfcure and wavering. The 
 habit of attending to them is neccfTary to make them diftind: 
 and Oeatly ; and this habit re(]uires an exertion of mind to 
 which many of our animal principles are unfriendly. The love 
 of truth calls for it ; but its ftill voice is often drowned by the 
 louder call of fome pafllon, or we are hindered from liftening to 
 it by lazinefs and defultorinefs. Thus men often remain 
 through life ignorant of things which they needed but to open 
 their eyes to fee, and which they would have feen if their at- 
 tention had been turned to them. 
 
 The mod knowing derive the greateft part of their know- 
 ledge, even in things obvious, from inftrucl:ion and informa- 
 tion, and from being taught to excrcife their natural faculties, 
 which, without inllrudion, would lie dormant. 
 
 I am very apt to tliink, that, if a man could be reared from 
 inf\ncy, without any fociety of his fellow-creatures, he would 
 hardly ever {hew anyfign, either of moral judgment, or of the 
 power of reafoning. His own adions would be direded by his ani- 
 mal appetites and paflions, without cool reflexion, and he would 
 have no accefs to improve, by obferving the condud of other 
 beings like himlelf. 
 
 The power of vegetation in the feed of a plant, without heat 
 and moifture, would for ever lie dormant. The rational and 
 moral powers of man would perhaps lie dormant without in- 
 ilrudion and example. Yet thefe powers are a part, and the 
 nobleft part, of his conftitution ; as the power of vegetation is 
 of the feed. 
 
 Our firft moral conceptions are probably got by attending 
 coolly to the condud of others, and obferving what moves our 
 approbation, what our indignation. Thefe fentiments fpring 
 
 from
 
 382 ' E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. II. from our moral faculty as naturally as the fenfations of fweet 
 and bitter from the faculty of tafte. They have their niitural 
 objeds. But moft human adions are of a mixed nature, and 
 have various colours, according as they are viewed on different 
 fides. Prejudice againfl, or in favour of the perfon, is apt to 
 warp our opinion. It requires attention and candour to diftin- 
 guifli the good from the ill, and, without favour or prejudice, to 
 form a clear and impartial judgment. In this we may be great- 
 ly aided by inftrudtion. 
 
 He mufl be very ignorant of human nature, who does not 
 perceive that the feed of virtue in the mind of man, like that of 
 a tender plant in an unkindly foil, requires care and culture in 
 the firft period of life, as well as our own exertion when we 
 come to maturity. 
 
 If the irregularities of pailion and appetite be timely checked,' 
 and good habits planted ; if we be excited by good examples, 
 and bad examples be fliewn in their proper colour j if the atten- 
 tion be prudently diredled to the precepts of wifdom and virtue, 
 as the mind is capable of receiving them ; a man thus trained 
 will rarely be at a lofs to diftlnguilli good from ill in his own 
 condud, without the labour of reafoning. 
 
 The bulk of mankind have but little of this culture in the 
 proper feafon ; and what they have is often unlkilfuUy applied ; 
 by which means bad habits gather ftrength, and falfe notions of 
 pleafure, of honour, and of intereft, occupy the mind. They 
 give little attention to what is right and honeft. Confcience is 
 feldom confulted, and fo little exercifed, that its decifions are 
 weak and wavering. Although, therefore, to a ripe underftand- 
 ing, free from prejudice, and accuflomed to judge of the morali- 
 ty of adions, moft truths in morals will appear felf-evldcnt, it 
 does not follow that moral inftrudion is unneceffary in the firft: 
 
 part
 
 OF SYSTEMS OF MORALS. 383 
 
 part of life, or that it may not be very profitable in its more ad- CHAPMI. 
 vancecl period. 
 
 The hiftory of pad ap;cs fliews that nations, highly civilized 
 and greatly enlightened in many arts and fciences, may, for ages, 
 not only hold the groflcfl; abfurdities with regard to the Deity 
 and his worihip, but with" regard to the duty we owe to our fel- 
 low-men, particularly to children, to fervants, to ftrangers, to 
 enemies, and to thofe who differ from us in religious opinions. 
 
 Such corruptions in religion, and in morals, had fpread fo 
 wide among mankind, and were fo confirmed by cuftom, as to 
 require a light from heaven to correct them. Revelation was 
 not intended to fuperfede, but to aid the ufe of our natural fa- 
 culties ; and 1 doubt not, but the attention given to moral truths, 
 in fuch fyllcms as we have mentioned, has contributed much to 
 corred the errors and prejudices of former ages, and may con- 
 tinue to have the fame good effed in time to come. 
 
 It needs not feem ftrange, that fyftems of morals may fwell to 
 great magnitude, if we confider that, although the general prin- 
 ciples be few and fimple, their application extends to every part 
 of human conducft, in every condition, every relation, and every 
 tranfaclion of life. They are the rule of life to the magirtrate 
 and to the fubjed, to the matter and to the fervant, to the parent 
 and to the child, to the fellow-citizen and to the alien, to the 
 friend and to the enemy, to the buyer and to the feller, to the 
 borrower and to the lender. Every human creature is fiibjeft 
 to their authority in his actions and words, and even in his 
 thoughts. They may, in this refpect, be compared to the laws 
 of motion in the natural world, which, though few and fimple, 
 ferve to regulate an infinite variety of operations throughout the 
 univerfe. 
 
 And as the beauty of the laws of motion is difplayed in the 
 
 moft
 
 384 ' E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. 11. moft flriking manner, when we trace them through all the va- 
 riety of their effedls j fo the divine beauty and fanftity of the 
 priuciples of morals, appear moft auguft when we take a com- 
 prehenfive view of their application to every condition and rela- 
 tion, and to every tranfadlion of human fociety. 
 
 This Is, or ought to be, the defign of fyftems of morals. They 
 may be made more or lefs extenfive, having no limits fixed by na- 
 ture, but the wide circle of human tranfadtions. When the prin- 
 ciples are applied tothefe in detail, the detail is pleafant and profit- 
 able. It requires no profound reafoning, (excepting, perhaps, 
 in a few difputable points.) It admits of the moft agreeable il- 
 luftration from examples and authorities ; it ferves to exercife, 
 and thereby to ftrengthen moral judgment. And one who has 
 given much attention to the duty of man. In all the various rela- 
 tions and circumftances of life, will probably be more enllghten- 
 .ed in his own duty, and more able to enlighten others. 
 
 The firfl writers in morals, we are acquainted with, delivered 
 (their moral Inftrudlions, not In fyftems, but in fliort unconnedt- 
 ed fentences, or aphorlfras. They faw no need for deductions 
 of reafoning, becaufe the truths they delivered could not but be 
 admitted by the candid and attentive. 
 
 Subfequent writers, to Improve the way of treating this fub- 
 jed:, gave method and arrangement to moral truths, by reducing 
 them under certain divlfions and fubdivifions, as parts of one 
 whole. By thefe means the whole Is more eafily comprehended 
 and remembered, and from this arrangement gets the name of a 
 fyftem and of a fcience. 
 
 A fyftem of morals is not like a fyftem of geometry, where 
 the fubfequent parts derive their evidence from the preceding, 
 and one chain of reafoning is carried on from the beginning ; 
 fo that, If the arrangement is changed, the chain is broken, and 
 
 the
 
 OF SYSTEMS OF MORALS. 38; 
 
 ihe evidence is loH. It rcfemblcs more a fyftcm of botany, or CHAT\ii. 
 mineralogy, where the fubfcqucnt parts depend not for their 
 evidence upon the preceding, and the arrangement is made to 
 facilitate apprchenfion and memory, and not to give evidence. 
 
 Morals have been methodifcd in different ways. The an- 
 cients commonly arranged them under the four cardinal virtues 
 of prudence, temperance, fortitude, and juftice. Chriftian wri- 
 ters, I think more properly, under the three heads of the duty 
 we owe to God, to ourfelves, and to our neighbour. One divi- 
 fion may be more comprehenfive, or more natural, than ano- 
 ther ; but the truths arranged are the fame, and their evidence 
 the fame in all. 
 
 I fliall only farther obferve, with regard to fyftems of mo- 
 rals, that they have been made more voluminous, and more in- 
 tricate, partly by mixing political queilions with morals, which 
 I think improper, becaufe they belong to a different fcience, and 
 are grounded on different principles ; partly by making what is 
 commonly, but 1 think improperly, called the Theory of Morals, 
 a part of the fyftem. 
 
 By the theory of morals is meant a juft account of the flruc- 
 ture of our moral powers ; that is, of thofe powers of the mind by 
 which we have our moral conceptions, and diftinguifli right 
 from wrong in human adions. This, indeed, is an intricate fub- 
 J€<ft, and there have been various theories and much controver- 
 fy about it in ancient and in modern times. But it has little 
 connection with the knowledge of our duty; and thofe who dif- 
 fer nioft in the theory of our moral powers, agree in the practical 
 rules of morals which they dictate. 
 
 As a man may be a good judge of colours, and of the other 
 vifible qualities of objects, without any knowledge of the ana- 
 tomy of the eye, and of the theory of vifion; fo a man may have 
 
 Geo a
 
 386 
 
 ESSAY V. 
 
 CHAP. II, a very clear and comprehenfive knowledge of what is right and 
 " what is wrong in human condudt, who never fludied the ftruc- 
 
 ture of our moral powers. 
 
 A good ear in mufic may be much improved by attention and 
 pradlice in that art ; but very little by ftudying the anatomy of 
 the ear, and the theory of found. In order to acquire a good 
 eye or a good ear in the arts that require them, the theory of 
 vifion and the theory of found, are by no means necefliiry, and 
 indeed of very little ufe. Of as little neceflity or ufe is what we 
 call the theory of morals, in order to improve our moral judg- 
 ment. 
 
 1 mean not to depreciate this branch of knowledge. It is a 
 very important part of the philofophy of the human mind, and 
 ought to be confidered as fuch, but not as any part of morals. 
 By the name we give to it, and by the cuftom of making it a 
 part of every fyftem of morals, men may be led into this grofs 
 miftake, which I wifh to obviate. That in order to underftand 
 his duty, a man muft needs be a philofopher and a metaphyfi- 
 cian. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 OF SYSTEMS OF NATURAL JURISPRUDENCE. 387 
 
 CHAP. iir. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Of Syflems of Natural fur if prudence. 
 
 SYSTEMS of natural jurifprudence, of the rights of peace 
 and war, or of the law of nature and nations, arc a modern 
 invention, which foon acquired fuch reputation, as gave occafion 
 to many public eftablifliments for teaching it along with the 
 other fciences. It has fo clofe a relation to morals, tliat it may 
 anfwer the purpofe of a fyftem of morals, and is commonly put 
 in the place of it, as far, at leaft, as concerns our duty to our 
 fellow-men. They differ in the name and form, but agree in 
 fubftance. This will appear from a llight attention to the na- 
 ture of both. 
 
 The dired intention of morals is to teach the duty of men : 
 that of natural jurifprudence, to teach the rights of men. Right 
 and duty are things very different, and have even a kind of op- 
 pofition ; yet they are fo related, that the one cannot even be 
 conceived without the others and he that underftands the one 
 mufl undcrftand the other. 
 
 They have the fame relation which credit has to debt. As 
 all credit fuppofes an equivalent debt; fo all right fuppofes a cor- 
 refponding duty. There can be no credit in one party without 
 an equivalent debt in another party; and there can be no 
 right in one party, without a correfponding duty in another 
 party. The fum of credit fliews the fum of debt; and the funi 
 of mens rights fliews, in like manner, the fum of their duty to 
 one another. 
 
 The word right has a very different meaning, according as it 
 is applied to actions or to perfons. A right adion is an adiou 
 
 C c c 2 agreeable
 
 588 - ■ E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. Ill , agreeable to our duty. But when we fpeak of the rights of men, 
 the word has a very different and a more artificial meaning. 
 It is a term of art in law, and fignifies all that a man may law- 
 fully do, all that he may lawfully poflefs and ufe, and all that he 
 may lawfully claim of any other perfon. 
 
 This comprehenfive meaning of the word right, and of the 
 Latin wordyW, which correfponds to it, though long adopted in- 
 to common language, is too artificial to be the birth of com- 
 mon language. It is a term of art, contrived by Civilians when 
 th ecivil lr>w became a profeifion^ 
 
 The whole end and obje<S of law is to protect the fubjedls in 
 all that they may lawfully do, or pofl^efs, or demand. This 
 threefold objed: of law. Civilians have comprehended under the 
 \iovdi jus ox right, which they define, Facultas aliquid agendi, vel 
 pojfidendi, vel ab alio confequendi : A lawful claim to do any thing, 
 to poflefs any thing, or to demand fome preftatioa from feme 
 other perfon. The firft of thefe may be called the right of //- 
 bertv, the fecond that of property, which is alfo called a real rigbty 
 the third is called perfonal right, becaufe it refpedls fome particu 
 lar perfon or pei^fons of whom the preflation may be demanded. 
 
 We can be at no lofs to perceive the duties correfponding to 
 the feveral kinds of rights. What I have a right to do, it is the 
 duty of all men not to hinder me from doing. What is my 
 property or real right, no man ought to take from me j or to mo- 
 left me in the ufe and enjoyment of it. And what I have a right 
 to demand of any man, it is his duty to perform. Between the 
 rio-ht, on the one hand, and the duty, on the other, there is not 
 only a neceffary connexion, but, in reality, they are only diffe- 
 rent expreflions of the fame meaning; juft as it is the fame 
 thing to fay I am your debtor, and to fay you are my creditor; 
 or as it is the fame thing to fay I am your father, and to fay 
 you are my fon. 
 
 Thus
 
 OF SYSTEMS OF NATURAL JURISPRUDENCE. 389 
 
 Thus \vc fee, tliat there is Inch a correfpondencc between tlie CHAP. ill. 
 rights of nifn and the ihitics of men, that the one points out the 
 other; and a lylUnn of the one may be fubftituttd for a fyllem 
 of the other. 
 
 Rnt here an objedlion occurs. It may be faid, That although 
 every right implies a chity, yet every duty does not imply a 
 right. Thus, it may be my duty to do a humane or kind office 
 to a man who has no claim of right to it ; and therefore a 
 fyftem of the rights of men, though it teach all the duties of 
 Itrid juflice, yet it leaves put all the duties of charity and hu- 
 manity, without which the f^fteni of morals muft be very 
 lame. 
 
 In aniwer to this objedlon, it may be obfcrved, That, as tlicrc 
 is a flrid notion of juflice, in which it is diflinguifhed from hu- 
 manity and cliarity, fo there is a more exteniive fignification of 
 it, in which it includes thole virtues. The ancient moralifls, 
 both Greek and Roman, under the cardinal virtue of juflice, in- 
 cluded beneficence ; and, in this exteniive fcnfe, it is often ufed 
 in common language. The like may be faid of right, which, 
 in a fenfc not uncommon, is extended to every proper claim of 
 humanity and charity, as well as to the claims of flricft juftice. 
 But, as it is proper to dillinguilli thefe two kinds of claims by 
 different names, writers in natural jurifprudence have given the 
 name of pcrfeH rights to the claims of llrid; juftice, and that of 
 mperfe^l rights to the claims of charity and humanity. Thus 
 all the duties of humanity have imperfed rights correfponding 
 to them, as thofe of Ihict juflice have pcrfecl rights. 
 
 Another objedion may be, That there is flill a clafs of duties 
 to which no right, perfect or imperfcd, correfponds. 
 
 We are bound in duty to pay due refped, not only to what is 
 truly the right of another, but to what, through ignorance or 
 
 miftake.
 
 390 ESSAY V. 
 
 CHA P. Ill , iiilftake, we believe to be his right. Thus, if my neighbour iS 
 pofleiled of a horfe which he ftole, and to which he has no 
 right 5 while I believe the horfe to be really his, and am igno- 
 rant of the theft, it is my duty to pay the fam-e refpedl to this 
 conceived right as if it were real. Here, then, is a moral obli- 
 gation on one party, without any correfponding right on the 
 other. 
 
 To fupply this defe(5l in the fyftem of rights, fo as to make 
 right and duty correfpond in every Inftance, writers in jurifpru- 
 dence have had recourfe to fomething like what is called a 
 fidl:ion of law. They give the name of right to the claim which 
 even the thief hath to the goods he has ftolen, while the theft 
 is unknown, and to all limilar claims grounded on the igno- 
 rance or miflake of the parties concerned. And to diflinguifli 
 this kind of right from genuine rights, perfedt or imperfed:, 
 they call it an external right. 
 
 Thus it appears, That although a fyflem of the perfed: rights 
 of men, or the rights of ftrid juftice, would be a lame fubftitute 
 for a fyftem of human duty ; yet when we add to it the imper- 
 fed and the external rights, it comprehends the whole duty we 
 owe to our fellow-men. 
 
 But it may be afked, Why fhould men be taught their duty in 
 this indirect way, by refledlion, as it were, from the rights of 
 other men ? 
 
 Perhaps it may be thought, that this indiredl way may be 
 more agreeable to the pride of man, as we fee that men of rank 
 like better to hear of obligations of honour than of obligations 
 of duty (although the didates of true honour and of duty be- 
 the fame) ; for this reafon that honour puts a man in mind of 
 what he owes to himfelf, whereas duty is a more humiliating 
 idea. For a like reafon, men may attend more willingly to their 
 
 rights,
 
 OF SYSTEMS OF NATURAL JURISPRUDENCE. 39^ 
 
 rights, which put them in mind of their dignity, than to their CHAP. iii. 
 duties, which fuggefl their dependence. And we fee that men 
 may give great attention to their rights who give but little to 
 their duty. 
 
 Whatever truth there may be in this, I believe better reafons 
 can be given why fyflems of natural jurifprudence have been 
 contrived and put in the place of fyftems of njorals. 
 
 Syftems of civil law were invented many ages before we had 
 any iyftem of natural jurifprudence 5 and the former feem to 
 have fuggefled the idea of the latter. 
 
 Such is the weaknefs of human underflanding, that no large 
 body of knowledge can be eafily apprehended and remembered, 
 unlefs it be arranged and methodifed, that is, reduced into a 
 fyftem. When the laws of the Roman people were multiplied to a 
 great degree, and the ftudy of them became an honourable and 
 lucrative profefTion, it became neceflary that they fliould be 
 methodifed into a fyftem. And the moft natural and obvious 
 way of methodifing law was found to be according to the divi- 
 iions and fubdivifions of mens rights, which it is the intention 
 of law to protedl. 
 
 The fludy of law produced not only fyftems of law, but a 
 language proper for exprelTlng them. Every art has its terms 
 of art for exprefling the conceptions that belong to it ; and the 
 Civilian inuft have terms for exprelling accurately the divifions 
 and fubdivifions of rights, and the various ways whereby they 
 may be acquired, transferred, or extinguiihed, in the various 
 tranfacftions of civil fociety. He muft have terms accurately de- 
 fined, for the various crimes by which mens rights are violated, 
 not to fpcak of the terms which exprefs the dilTerent forms of 
 adions at law, and the various ftcps of the procedure of judica- 
 tories. 
 
 Thofe
 
 592 
 
 ESSAY V. 
 
 CHA P, in . Thofe who have been bred to any profefTion are very 
 prone to ufe the terms of their profeflion in fpeaking or writing 
 on fubjeds that have any analogy to it. And they may do fo 
 with advantage, as terms of art are commonly more precife in 
 their fignification, and better defined, than the words of common 
 language. To fuch perfons it is alio very natural to model and 
 arrange other fubjedts, as far as their nature admits, into a me- 
 thod fimilar to that of the fyftem which fills their minds. 
 
 It might, therefore, be expedled, that a Civilian, intending to 
 give a detailed fyftem of morals, would ufe many of the terms 
 of civil law, and mould it, as far as it can be done, into the 
 form of a fyftem of law, or of the rights of mankind. 
 
 The necefl^ary and clofe relation of right to duty, which we 
 before obferved, juftified this : And moral duty had long been 
 confidered as a law of nature j a law, not wrote on tables of 
 ftone or brafs, but on the heart of man ; a law of greater anti- 
 quity and higher authority than the laws of particular ftates ; a 
 law which is binding upon all men of all nations, and therefore 
 is called by Cicero the taw of nature and of nations. 
 
 The idea of a fyftem of this law was worthy of the genius of 
 the immortal Hugo Grotius, and he was the firft who exe- 
 cuted it in fuch a manner as to draw the attention of the learn- 
 ed in all the European nations ; and to give occafion to feveral 
 princes and ftates to eftabliili public profeftions for the teaching 
 of this law. 
 
 The multitude of commentators and annotators upon this 
 work of Grotius, and the public eftablifhments to which it 
 gave occafion, are fufficient vouchers of its merit. 
 
 It is, indeed, a work fo well defigned, and fo fkllfully exe- 
 cuted ; fo free from the fcholaftic jargon which infeded the 
 
 learned
 
 OF SYSTEMS OF NATURAL JURISPRUDENCE. 393 
 
 learned at that time, fo miicli acldrcfrLd to the common fcnfe CHA?. in. 
 and moral judi^mcnt of mankind, and fo agreeably illiiftratcd by 
 examples from ancient biftory, and authorities from the fcnti- 
 mcnts of ancient authors, Heathen and Chrlitian, that it muft 
 always be efteemed as the capital work of a great genius upon 
 a moil important fubjccl. 
 
 The utility of a juft fyflcm of natural jurifprudcncc appears, 
 I. As it is a fyftem of the moral duty we owe to men, which, 
 by the aid they have taken from the terms and divifions of the 
 civil law, has been given more in detail and more fyftematically 
 by writers in natural jurifprudence than it was formerly. 2. As 
 it is the beil preparation for the fludy of law, being, as it were, 
 calt in the mould, and ufing and explaining many of the terms 
 of the civil law, on which the law of mofl; of tlie European na- 
 tions is grounded. 3. It is of ufe to lawgivers, who ought to 
 make their laws as agreeable as poflible to the law of nature. 
 And as laws made by men, like all human works, muft be im- 
 perfedl, it points out the errors and imperfedions of human 
 laws. 4. To judges and interpreters of the law it is of ufe, be- 
 caufc that interpretation ought to be preferred which is founded 
 in the law of nature. 5. It is of ufe in civil controverlles be- 
 tween ftates, or between individuals who have no common fupc- 
 rior. In fuch controverfies, the appeal muft be made to the law 
 of nature ; and the ftandard fyftems of it, particularly that of 
 Grotius, have great authority. And, 6. to fay no more upon 
 tliis point. It is of great ufe to foverelgns and ftates who arc 
 above all human laws, to be folemnly admonillied of the con- 
 dud they are bound to obferve to their own fubjecis, to the 
 fubjedls of other Jhites, and to one another, in peace and in war. 
 The better and the more generally the law of nature is under- 
 ftood, the greater difhonour, in public eftimation, will follow 
 every violation of it. 
 
 Some authors liavc imagined, that fyftems of natura.1 jurifiiru- 
 
 D d d dcnce
 
 » 
 
 94 
 
 ESSAY V. 
 
 CHAP. III. (lence ought to be confined to the perfeft rights of men, be- 
 caiife the duties which correfpond to the imperfed rights, the 
 duties of charity and humanity cannot be enforced by human 
 hiws, but nuifl: be left to the judgment and confcience of men, 
 free from compulfion. But the fyftems which have had the 
 greatefl applaufe of the pubUc, have not follovired this plan, and, 
 I conceive, for good reafons. Firjl, Becaufe a fyllem of perfect 
 rights could by no means ferve the purpofe of a fyftem of mo- 
 rals, which furely is an important purpofe. Secondly, Becaufe, 
 in many cafes, it is hardly pollible to fix the precife limit be- 
 tween juftice and humanity, between perfed and imperfedl right. 
 Like the colours in a prifmatic image, they run into each other, 
 fo that the heft eye cannot fix the precife boundary between them. 
 7'hirdly, As wife legiflators and magiftrates ought to have it as 
 their end to make the citizens good, as well as juft, we find, in 
 all civilized nations, laws that are intended to encourage the du- 
 ties of humanity. Where human laws cannot enforce them by 
 puniihments, they may encourage them by rewards. Of this 
 the wifeft legiflators have given examples ; and how far this 
 branch of legiflation may be carried, no man can forefee. 
 
 The fubftance of the four following chapters was wrote long 
 ago, and read in a literary fociety, with a view to juftify fome 
 points of morals from metaphyfical objedtions urged againft 
 them in the writings of David Hume, Efq. If they anfwerthat 
 end, and, at the fame time, ferve to illuftrate the account I have 
 given of our moral powers, It is hoped that the reader will not 
 think them improperly placed here j and that he will forgive 
 fome repetitions, and perhaps anachronifms, occafioned by their 
 being wrote at different times, and on different occafions. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 OBJECT OF MORAL. APPROBATION. 395 
 
 C H A P. IV. 
 
 Whether an AElion defervittg Moral Approbation, miijl be done with the 
 belief of its being morally good. 
 
 THERE Is no part of phllofophy more fubtilc and intri- 
 cate tlian that whicli is called 7'he Theory of Morals. Nor 
 is there any more plain and level to the apprehenfion of man 
 than the practical part of morals. 
 
 In the former, the Epicurean, the Peripatetic and the Stoic, 
 had each his different fyftem of old ; and almofl every modern 
 author of reputation has a fyftem of his own. At the fame 
 time, there is no branch of human knowledge, in which there 
 is fo general an agreement among ancients and moderns, learned 
 and unlearned, as in the prad.ical rules of morals. 
 
 From this difcord in the theory, and harmony in the pradical 
 part, \vc may judge, that the rules of morality ftand upon ano- 
 ther and a firmer foundation than the theory. And of this it Is 
 eafy to perceive the reafon. 
 
 For, in order to know what is right and what is wrong in hu- 
 man condud, we need only liften to the dictates of our con- 
 fcience when the mind is calm and unruffled, or attend to the 
 judgment we form of others in like clrcumftances. P)Ut, to 
 judge of the various theories of morals, we muft be able to ana- 
 lyze and diffed, as it were, the adivc powers of the human 
 mind, and efpecially to analyze accuia ely that confcicnce or 
 moral power by which we difcern right from wrong. 
 
 The confcience may be compared to the C} e in this, as in many 
 
 D d d 2 other 
 
 CHAP. IV.
 
 ESSAY V. 
 
 other refpedls. The learned and the unlearned fee objefts with 
 equal diftinftnefs. The former have no title to didate to the 
 latter, as far as the eye is judge, nor is there any difagreement 
 about fuch matters. But, to difTedl the eye, and to explain the 
 theory of vifion, is a difficult point, wherein the moll fkilful 
 have differed. 
 
 From this remarkable difparity between our decifions in the 
 theory of morals and in the rules of morality, we may, I think, 
 draw this conclufion. That wherever we find any difagreement 
 between the pradical rules of morality, which have been re- 
 ceived in all ages, and the principles of any of the theories ad- 
 vanced upon this fubjed, the pradlical rules ought to be the 
 flandard by which the theory is to be corred\ed, and that it is 
 both unfufe and unphilofophical to warp the pradical rules, in 
 order to make them tally with a favourite theory. 
 
 The queftion to be confidered in this chapter belongs to the 
 pradlical part of morals, and therefore is capable of a more eafy 
 and more certain determination. And, if it be determined ia 
 the affirmative, I conceive that it may ferve as a touchftone to 
 try fome celebrated theories which are inconfiftent with that de- 
 termination, and which have led the theorifts to oppofe it by 
 very fubtile metaphyfical arguments. 
 
 Every queftion about what is or is not the proper objedl of 
 moral approbation, belongs to pratlical morals, and fuch is the 
 queftion now under confideration : Whether a(ftions deferving 
 moral approbation muft be done with the belief of their being 
 morally good ? Or, Whether an adtion, done without any regard 
 to duty or to the didlates of confcience, can be entitled to moral 
 approbation ? 
 
 In every adion of a moral agent, his confcience is either al- 
 together filent, or it pronounces the adion to be good, or bad, 
 
 or
 
 OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 397 
 
 or indiiTcrent. This, I think, is a complete enumeration, cuw iv . 
 
 If it be jjcrfedly iHent, the adion mult be very trifling, 
 
 or appear lb. For confcience, in ihofe who have exercifcd 
 
 it, is a very pragmatical faculty, and meddles with every part 
 
 of our condudt, whether we defire its counfel or not. And 
 
 ■what a man does in perfedl fimplicity, without the leaf! fufpi- 
 
 cion of its being bad, his heart cannot condemn him for, nor 
 
 \vill he that knows the heart condemn him. If there was any 
 
 previous culjxible negligence or inattention which led him to a 
 
 wrong judgment, or hindered his forming a right one, that I do 
 
 not exculpate. I only confider the adion done, and the difpofi- 
 
 tion with which it w^as done, without its previous circumflances. 
 
 And in this there appears nothing that merits difapprobation. 
 
 As little can it merit any degree of moral approbation, becaufe 
 
 there was neither good nor ill intended. And the fame may be 
 
 faid when confcience pronounces the adion to be indifferent. 
 
 If, in the fecond place, I do what my confcience pronounces 
 to be bad or dubious, I am guilty to myfelf, and juftly deferve 
 the difapprobation of others. Nor am I lefs guilty in this cafe, 
 though what I judged to be bad fhould happen to be good or 
 indifferent. I did it believing it to be bad, and this is an im- 
 morality. 
 
 Lcijlly, If I do what my confcience pronounces to be right and 
 ray duty, either 1 have fome regard to duty, or I have none. 
 The lafi: is not fuppofible ; for I believe there is no man fo 
 abantloncd, but that he does what he believes to be his duty, 
 with more affurancc and alacrity upon that account. The 
 more weight the reclltude of the adion has in determining me 
 to do it, the more I approve of my own condud. x\n(.l if my 
 worldly intereft, my appetites or inclinations draw me ftrongly 
 the contrary way, my following the didates of my confcience, 
 in oppolition to thefe motives, adds to the moral worth of the 
 ad ion. 
 
 When
 
 398 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. IV . When a man ads from an erroneous judgment, if his error 
 be invincible, all agree that he is inculpable: But if his error 
 be owing to fome previous negligence or inattention, there 
 fcems to be fome dlfrerence among moralifts. This difference, 
 however, is only fceming, and not real. For wherein lies the 
 fault in this cafe ? It muil: be granted by all, that the fault lies 
 in this, and folely in this, that he was not at due pains to have 
 his judgment well informed. Thofe moralifts, therefore, who 
 confider the action and the previous conduct that led to it as 
 one whole, find fomething to blame in the whole ; and they do 
 fo mort juftly. But thofe who take this whole to pieces, and 
 confider what is blameable and what is right in each part, find 
 all that is blameable In what preceded this wrong judgment, 
 and nothing but what is approvable in what followed it. 
 
 Let us fuppofe, for Infiiance, that a man believes that God 
 has indifpenfably required him to obferve a A'ery rigorous fafl In 
 Lent ; and that, from a regard to this fuppofed Divine com- 
 mand, he fafts in fiich manner as is not only a great mortifica- 
 tion to his appetite, but even hurtful to his health. 
 
 His fuperftitlous opinion may be the effed of a culpable ne- 
 gligence, for which he can by no means be juftified. Let him, 
 therefore, bear all the blame upon this account that he deferves. 
 But now, having this opinion fixed in his mind, fhall he act 
 according to It or agalnfl; it ? Surely we cannot hefitate a mo- 
 ment in this cafe. It is evident, that. In following the light of 
 his judgment, he a6ls the part of a good and pious man ; where- 
 as, in acting contrary to his judgment, he would be guilty of 
 wilful difobedience to his Maker. 
 
 If my fervant, by miftaking my orders, docs the contrary of 
 wdiat 1 commanded, believing, at the fame time, that he obeys 
 my orders, there may be fome fault in his miftake, but to charge 
 
 him
 
 OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 399 
 
 hiin %\ iih the crime of difobcdicncc, would be Inhuman and CHAF. iv. 
 unjulh 
 
 Thefe deternunations appear to me to have hitultive evidence, 
 no lefs than that of mathematical axioms. A man who is 
 come to years of underdanding, and who has excrcifed his fa- 
 culties in judging of right and wrong, fees their truth as he fees 
 day-light. Mctaphyfical argmncnts brought againft them have 
 the fame efFed as when brought againll the evidence of fenfe ; 
 they may puzzle and confound, but they do not convince. It 
 appears evident, therefore, that jhofe adions only can truly be 
 called virtuous, or deferving of moral approbation, which the 
 agent believed to be right, and to which he was intluenced, 
 more or lefs, by that belief. 
 
 If it fliould be objected, Tliat this principle makes it to be of 
 no confequence to a man's morals, what his opinions may be, 
 providing he ads agreeably to them, the anfwer is eafy. 
 
 IVIorality requires, not only that a man fliould ad according 
 to his judgment, but that he fliould ufe the bell means in his 
 power that his judgment be according to truth. If he fail in 
 either of thefe points, he is worthy of blame j but, if he fail in 
 neither, I fee not wherein he can be blamed. 
 
 When a man muft ad, and has no longer time t6 deliberate, 
 he ought to ad according to the lii^ht of his confcience, even 
 •when he is in an error. But, when he has time to deliberate, 
 he ought furely to ufe all the means in his power to be rightly 
 informed. When he has done fo, he may ftill be in an error j 
 but it is an invincible error, and cannot juftly be imputed to him 
 as a fault. 
 
 A fecond objedion is, That we immediately approve of bene- 
 volence, gratitude, and other primary virtues, without enquiring 
 
 whether
 
 -40-0 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP, iv.^ whether they are pradifed from a perfuafion that they are our 
 duty. And the laws of God place the fum of virtue in loving 
 God and our neighbour, without any provifion that we do it 
 from a perfuafion that we ought to do To. 
 
 The anfvver to this objedion is, That the love of God, the 
 love of our nei;',hbour, jultice, gratitude, and other primary vir- 
 tues, are, by the conftitution of human nature, neceffarily ac- 
 companied with a conviction of their being morally good. We 
 may therefore fafely prefume, that thele things are never dif- 
 joined, and that every man who pradifes thefe virtues does it 
 with a good confcience. In judging of mens condud, we do 
 not fuppofe things which cannot happen, nor do the laws of 
 God give decifions upon impoflible cafes, as they muft have 
 done, if they fuppofed the cafe of a man who thought it contra- 
 ry to his duty to love God or to love mankind. 
 
 But if we wifh to know how the laws of God determine the 
 point in queftion, we ought to obferve their decifion with regard 
 to fuch acflions as may appear good to one man and ill to ano- 
 ther. And here the decifions of fcripture are clear : Let every 
 man be petfoaded in bis own mind. He that doubt eth is condemned if he 
 eat, becaufe he eateth not of faith, for •whatfuever is not rf faith is fin. 
 1^0 him that efeemeth any thing to be unclean, it is unclean. The 
 fcripture often placeth the fum of virtue in living in all good con- 
 fcience, in a<5ting fo that our hearts condemn us not. 
 
 The laft objedion I fhall mention is a metaphyfical one urged 
 by Mr Hume. 
 
 It is a favourite point In his fyftem of morals. That jufiice is 
 not a natural but an artificial virtue. To prove this, he has ex- 
 erted the whole itrength of his reafon and eloquence. And as 
 the principle we are confidering flood in his way, he takes 
 pains to relate it. 
 
 " Suppofe,
 
 OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 401 
 
 " Suppofe, (i\ys he, a perfon to have lent mc a fum of ino- CHAP. iv. 
 " ney, on coiulitioii that it be rcftored in a few days. After 
 " the expiration of the term he demands the fum. I afk, what 
 " reafon or motive have I to reftore the money ? It will per- 
 " haps be faid, That my regard to juftice and abhorrence of 
 " villany and knavery are funkicnt reafons for me." And this, 
 he acknowledges, would be a fatisfactory anfwer to a man in 
 his civilized ftatc, and when trained up according to a certain 
 difciplinc and education. " But in his rude and more natural 
 " condition, fays he, if you are pleafed to call fuch a condition 
 " natural, this anfwer would be rejeded as perfectly unintelli- 
 " gible and fophillical. 
 
 " For wherein confifts this honefty and juftice ? Not furely 
 " in the external adion. It muft, therefore, confift in the 
 " motive from which the external adlion is derived. This mo- 
 " tive can never be a regard to the honefty of the action. For 
 •' it is a plain fallacy to fay. That a virtuous motive is requifite 
 " to render an adtion honeft, and, at the fame time, that a re- 
 " gard to the honefty is the motive to the adion. We can 
 " never have a regard to the virtue of an adtion, unlcfs the ac- 
 " tion be antecedently virtuous." 
 
 And, in another place, " To fuppofe that the mere regard to 
 " the virtue of the action is that which rendered it virtuous, is 
 " to reafon in a circle. An action muft be virtuous, before we 
 " can have a regard to its virtue. Some virtuous motive, there- 
 " fore, muft be antecedent to that regard. Nor is this merely 
 " a metaphyfical fubtilty," 6v. Trcat'tfe of Hum. Nature, book 3. 
 Ptirl 2. fen. I. 
 
 I am not to confider at this time, how this reafoning is ap- 
 plied to fupport the author's opinion, That juftice is not a natu- 
 ral but an artificial virtue. I conlidcr it only as far as it 0{> 
 pofes the principle I have been endeavouring to eftabliHi, That, 
 
 E e e to
 
 402 
 
 ESSAY V. 
 
 CHAP. IV. to render an adion truly virtuous, the agent mufl: have fome 
 regard to its reditude. And I conceive the whole force of the 
 reafoning amounts to this : 
 
 'o 
 
 When we judge an adion to be good or bad, it muft have 
 been fo in its own nature antecedent to that judgment, other- 
 wife the judgment is erroneous. If, therefore, the adlion be 
 good in its nature, the judgment of the agent cannot make it 
 had, nor can his judgment make it good if, in its nature, it be 
 bad. For this would be to afcribe to our judgment a flrange 
 magical power to transform the nature of things, and to fay, 
 that my judging a thing to be what it is not, makes it really to 
 be what I erroneoufly judge it to be. This, I think, is the ob- 
 jedlion in Its full ftrength. And, in anfwer to it, 
 
 T'srjl, If w^e could not loofe this metaphyfical knot, I think we 
 might fairly and honertly cut it, becaufe it fixes an abfurdity 
 upon the clearefl and moft indifputable principles of morals and 
 of common fenfe. For I appeal to any man whether there be 
 any principle of morality, or any principle of common fenfe, 
 more clear and indifputable than that which we juft now quoted 
 from the Apoftle Paul, That although a thing be not unclean 
 in itfelf, yet to him that efteemeth it to be unclean, to him it is 
 unclean. But the metaphyfical argument makes this abfiard. 
 For, fays the metaphyfician. If the thing was not unclean in 
 itfelf, you judged wrong in efteeming it to be unclean ; and 
 what can be more abfurd, than that your efteeming a thing to 
 be what it is not, fliould make it what you erroneoufly efteem it 
 to be? 
 
 Let us try the edge of this argument in another inftance. 
 Nothing is more evident, than that an acftion does not merit the 
 name of benevolent, unlefs it be done from a belief that it 
 tends to promote the good of our neighbour. But this is ab- 
 furd, fays the metaphyfician. For, if it be not a benevolent 
 
 adlion
 
 OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 403 
 
 adion In itfelf, your belief of Its tendency cannot chan2;e its CHAP. iv. 
 nature. It is abfnrd, that your erroneous belief fliould make the 
 adion to be what you believe it to be. Nothing is more evi- 
 dent, than that a man who tells the truth, believing it to be a 
 lie, Is guilty of falfehood ; but the metaphyfician would make 
 this to be abfurd. 
 
 In a word, if there be any ftrength in this argument, it 
 would follow. That a man might be, in the higheft degree, vir- 
 tuous, without the leaft regard to virtue j that he might be very 
 benevolent, without ever intending to do a good office ; very 
 malicious, without ever intending any hurt ; very revengeful, 
 without ever intending to retaliate an injury j very grateful, 
 without ever intending to return a benefit ; and a man of ftrld: 
 veracity, with an intention to lie. We might, therefore, rejcdl 
 this reafoning, as repugnant to felf-evldent truths, though we 
 were not able to point out the fallacy of It. 
 
 2. But let us try, in the fecond place, whether the fallacy of 
 this argument may not be difcovered. 
 
 We afcribe moral goodnefs to adions confidered abftradly, 
 without any relation to the agent. We likewife afcribe moral 
 goodnefs to an agent on account of an adlion he has done ; we 
 call it a good adion, though, in this cafe, the goodnefs Is pro- 
 perly in the man, and is only by a figure afcribed to the adlion. 
 Now, it is to be confidered, whether moral goodnefs^ when applied 
 to an action confidered abftradlly, has the fame meaning as 
 when we apply it to a man on account of that adion j or whe- 
 ther we do not unawares change the meaning of the word, ac- 
 cording as we apply it to the one or to the other. 
 
 The a(flion, confidered abflradly, has neither underflanding 
 nor will ; it is not accountable, nor can it be under any moral 
 obligation. But all thefe things are elTential to that moral good- 
 
 E e e 2 nefs
 
 404 ESSAY V. 
 
 CHAP. IV. ji(.fs which belongs to a man ; for, if a man had not underftand- 
 ing and will, he could have no moral goodnefs. Hence it fol- 
 lows neceflarily, that the moral goodnefs which we afcribe to an 
 aftion confidered abftracflly, and that which we afcribe to a per- 
 fon for doing that adtion, are not the fame. The meaning of 
 the word is changed when it is applied to thefe different fubjeds. 
 
 This will be more evident, when we confider what is meant 
 by the moral goodnefs which we afcribe to a man for doing an 
 aft ion, and what by the goodnefs which belongs to the adion 
 confidered abftradlly. A good adion in a man is that in which 
 he applied his intelledual powers properly, in order to judge 
 what he ought to do, and adted according to his beft judgment. 
 This Is all that can be required of a moral agent j and in this 
 his moral goodnefs, in any good adion, confifts. But is this the 
 goodnefs which we afcribe to an adion confidered abllradly ? 
 No, furely. For the adion, confidered abfliradly, is neither 
 endowed with judgment nor with adive power ; and, therefore, 
 can have none of that goodnefs which we afcribe to the man 
 for doing it. 
 
 But what do we mean by goodnefs in an adion confidered 
 abftradly ? To me it appears to lie in this, and in this only. 
 That it is an adion which ought to be done by thofe who have 
 the power and opportunity, and the capacity of perceiving their 
 obligation to do it. I would gladly know of any man, what 
 other moral goodnefs can be in an adion confidered abftradly. 
 And this goodnefs Is inherent in its nature, and infeparable from 
 it. No opinion or judgment of an agent can in the leaft alter 
 its nature. 
 
 Suppofe the adion to be that of relieving an innocent perfon 
 out of great dlftrefs. This furely has all the moral goodnefs 
 that an adion confidered abftradly can have. Yet it Is evident, 
 that an agent, in relieving a perfon in diftrefs, may have no 
 
 moral
 
 OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 405 
 
 moral goodnefs, may have great merit, or may have great de- chap. iv. 
 merit. 
 
 Suppofe, yfr/?, That mice cut the cords which bound the di- 
 ftreflcd peribn, and fo bring him relief. Is there moral good- 
 nefs in this aft of the mice ? 
 
 Suppofe,y?foff^/)', That a man malicioufly relieves the diflrefled 
 perfon, in order to plunge him into greater diftrefs. In this ac- 
 tion, there is furely no moral goodnefs, but much malice and in- 
 humanity. 
 
 If, in the lajl place, we fuppofe a perfon, from real fympathy 
 and humanity, to bring relief to the diflrefled perfon, with con- 
 fiderable cxpence or danger to himfelf j here is an ad ion of 
 real worth, which every heart approves and every tongue 
 praifes. But wherein lies the worth ? Not in the action confi- 
 dered by itfelf, which was common to all the three, but in the 
 man who, on this occafion, aded the part which became a good 
 man. He did what his heart approved, and therefore he is ap- 
 proved by God and man. 
 
 Upon the whole, if we diftinguifli between that goodnefs 
 which may be afcribed to an adion confidered by itfelf, and 
 that goodnefs which we afcribe to a man when he puts it in ex- 
 ecution, we fliall find a key to this metaphyfical lock. \Ve ad- 
 mit, that the goodnefs of an adion, confidered abftradly, can 
 have no dependence upon the opinion or belief of an agent, any 
 more than the truth of a propofition depends upon our believing 
 it to be true. But, when a man exerts his adive power well or 
 ill, there is a moral goodnefs or turpitude which we figuratively 
 impute to the adion, but which is truly and properly imputable 
 to the man only ; and this goodnefs or turpitude depends very 
 much upon the intention of the agent, and the opinion he had 
 of his adion. 
 
 This
 
 4o6 ESSAY V. 
 
 CHAP. IV. This cliftlncllon has been underftood in all ages by thofe who 
 gave any attention to morals, though it has been varioully ex- 
 prefled. The Greek moralifts gave the name of xxBwev to an 
 adion good in itfelf j fuch an adtion might be done by the moft 
 worthlefs. But an adllon done with a right intention, which 
 implies real worth in the agent, they called xarcfS-w/xa. The di- 
 flindion is explained by Cicero in his OfRces. He calls the 
 firfl officium medium, and the fecond officium perfe£lum^ or reBum. 
 In the fcholaftic ages, an adlion good in itfelf was faid to be ma- 
 terially good, and an a6lion done with a right intention was ciX- 
 ledi formally good. This laft way of exprefling the diftindion 
 is ftill familiar among Theologians ; but Mr Hume feems not 
 to have attended to it, or to have thought it to be words with- 
 out any meaning. 
 
 Mr Hume, in the fedlion already quoted, tells us with great 
 afliirance, " In fhort, it may be eftabllfhed as an undoubted 
 *' maxim, that no adion can be virtuous or morally good, un- 
 " lefs there be in human nature fome motive to produce it, di- 
 " flindt from the fenfe of its morality," And upon this maxim 
 he founds matiy of his reafonings on the fubjed of morals. 
 
 Whether it be confiftent with Mr Hume's own fyftem, that 
 an adion may be produced merely from the fenfe of its mora- 
 lity, without any motive of agreeablenefs or utility, I Ihall not 
 now enquire. But, if it be true, and I think it evident to eve- 
 ry man of common underllanding, that a judge or an arbiter 
 ads the moft virtuous part when his fentence is produced by no 
 other motive but a regard to juftice and a good confcience; nay, 
 when all other motives diftind from this are on the other fide : 
 If this I fay be true, then that undoubted maxim of Mr Hume 
 muft be falfe, and all the concluiions built upon it muft fall to 
 the ground. 
 
 From the principle I have endeavoured to eftablifh, I think 
 
 fome
 
 OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 407 
 
 fonic confequcnces may be drawn with regard to the theory of CfiAP. iv. 
 
 morals. 
 
 Firji, If there be no virtue without the behef that what we 
 do Is right, it follows. That a moral faculty, that is, a j)ower 
 of difceniing moral goodnefs and turpitude in human condudl, 
 is eflcjitial to every being capable of virtue or vice. A being 
 who has no more conception of moral goodnefs and bafenefs 
 of right and wrong, than a blind man hath of colours, can 
 have no regard to it in his condud:, and therefore can neither 
 be virtuous nor vicious. 
 
 He may have qualities that are agreeable or difagreeable, ufe- 
 ful or hurtful ; fo may a plant or a machine. And we fome- 
 times ufe the word virtue in fuch a latitude as to fignify any 
 agreeable or ufeful quality, as when we fpeak of the virtues 
 of plants. But we are now fpeaking of virtue in the llridl and 
 proper fenfe, as it fignifics that quality in a man which is the 
 objed of moral approbation. 
 
 This virtue a man could not have, if he had not a power of 
 difcerning a right and a wrong in human condudt, and of being 
 influenced by that difcernment. For in fo far only he is virtu- 
 ous as he is guided in his conduft by that part of his conftitu- 
 tion. Brutes do not appear to have any fuch power, and there- 
 fore are not moral or accountable agents. They are capable of 
 culture and difcipline, but not of virtuous or criminal condudl. 
 Even human creatures, in infancy and non-age, are not moral 
 agents, becaufe their moral faculty is not yet unfolded. Thcfe 
 fentiments are fupported by the common fenfe of mankind, 
 which has always determined, that neither brutes nor infants 
 can be indidted for crimes. 
 
 It is of fmall confequence what name we give to this moral 
 power of the human mind^ but it is fo important a part of our 
 
 conftitution,
 
 4o8 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CFIAP. IV . conftitution, as to deferve an appropriated name. The name of 
 confdence^ as it is the moft common, feems to me as proper as any 
 that has been given it. I find no fault with the name moral 
 fetife, although I conceive this name has given occafion to fome 
 miftakes concerning the nature of our moral power. Modern 
 Philofophers have conceived of the external fenfes as having no 
 other office but to give us certain fenfations, or fimple concep- 
 tions, which we could not have without them. And this no- 
 tion has been applied to the moral fenfe. But it feems to me a 
 miftaken notion in both. By the fenfe of feeing, I not only 
 have the conception of the different colours, but I perceive one 
 body to be of this colour, another of that. In like manner, 
 by my moral fenfe, I not only have the conceptions of right and 
 wrong in condudl, but I perceive this conduct to be right, that 
 to be wrong, and that indifferent. All our fenfes are judging 
 faculties, fo alfo is confcience. Nor is this power only a judge 
 of our own adlions and thofe of others, it is likewife a princi- 
 ple of adlion in all good men j and fo far only can our condud: 
 be denominated virtuous, as it is influenced by this principle. 
 
 A fecond confequence from the principle laid down in this 
 chapter is, That the formal nature and effence of that virtue 
 which is the objed: of moral approbation confifts neither in a 
 prudent profecution of our private intereft, nor in benevolent 
 affedions towards others, nor in qualities ufeful or agreeable to 
 ourfelves or to others, nor in fympathizing with the pailions 
 and affedions of others, and in attuning our own condudt to 
 the tone of other mens paflions ; but it confifts in living in all 
 good confcience, that is, in ufing the befl means in our power 
 to know our duty, and adling accordingly. 
 
 Prudence is a virtue, benevolence is a virtue, fortitude is a 
 virtue ; but the eflence and formal nature of virtue muft lie in 
 fomething.that is common to all thefe, and to every other vir- 
 tue. And this I conceive can be nothing elfe but the reditude 
 
 of
 
 O F J U S T I C E. 409 
 
 of fuch conducl and tvirpltude of the contrary, which is difccrn- CHAP. v. 
 ed by a good man. And Co far only he is virtuous as he pur- 
 fucs the former and avoids the latter. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 Whether Juji'ice be a Natural or an Artificial Virtue. 
 
 MR Hume's philofophy concerning morals was firft prc- 
 fented to the world in the third volume of his Treatife of 
 Human Nature, in the year 17405 afterwards in his Enquiry con- 
 cerning the Principles of Morals, which was firft publifhed by itfelf, 
 and then in feveral editions of his EJfays and Treatfes, 
 
 In thefe two works on morals the fyftem is the fame. A more 
 popular arrangement, great embcUiflmient, and the omiilion of 
 fome metaphyfical reafonings, have given a preference in the 
 public efteem to the laft ; but I find neither any new principles 
 in it, nor any new arguments in fupport of the fyftem common 
 to both. 
 
 In this fyftem, the proper objed of moral approbation is 
 not adions or any voluntary exertion, but qualities of mind 5 
 that is, natural affedions or paflions, which are involunta- 
 ry, a part of the conftitution of the man, and common to us 
 with many brute-animals. When we praife or blame any vo- 
 luntary adion, it is only confidered as align of the natural af- 
 fedion from which it flows, and from which all its merit or de- 
 merit is derived. 
 
 Moral approbation or difapprobatlon is not an ad of the 
 judgment, which, like all ads of judgment, muft be true or falfe, 
 it is only a certain feeling, which, from the conftitution of hu- 
 
 F f f man
 
 410 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. V. jj^an nature, arifes upon contemplating certain characters or 
 qualities of mind coolly and impartially. 
 
 This feeling, when agreeable, is moral approbation ; when 
 difagreeable, difapprobation. The qualities of mind which 
 produce this agreeable feeling are the moral virtues, and thofe 
 that produce the difagreeable, the vices. 
 
 Thefe preliminaries being gi*anted, the queflion about the 
 foundation of morals is reduced to a fimple queftion of fafl, 
 to wit, What are the qualities of mind which produce, in the 
 difinterefted obferver, the feeling of approbation, or the con- 
 trary feeling ? 
 
 In anfwer to this queflion, the author endeavours to prove, 
 by a very copious indudlion, That all perfonal merit, all virtue, 
 all that is the obje6l of moral approbation, confifts in the qua- 
 lities of mind which are agreeable or i/Jlfitl to the pei'fon who 
 poflefTes them, or to others. 
 
 The t:/i/Ice and the ufi/e is the whole fum of merit in every 
 charad:er, in every quality of mind, and in every adion of life. 
 There is no room left for that hcnejlum which Cicero thus de- 
 fines, Honejlum igitur id intelligmus, quod tale ejl, tit detraHa omni uti- 
 Ihate^fme ullis prern'us frtiEltbufve, per fe ipjum pojfit jure landari. 
 
 Among the ancient moralifts, the Epicureans were the only 
 {^Gi who denied that there is any fuch thing as honejium, or mo- 
 ral worth, diftindl from pleafure. In this Mr Hume's fyflem 
 agrees with theirs. For the addition of utility to pleafure, as 
 a foundation of morals, makes only a verbal, but no real diffe- 
 rence. What is ufeful only has no value in itfelf, but derives 
 all its merit from the end for which it is ufeful. That end, in 
 this fyftem, is agreeablenefs or pleafure. So that, in both fy- 
 ftems, pleafure is the only end, the only thing that is good in 
 
 itfelf,
 
 O F J U 5 T I C E. 411 
 
 itftlf, and tlefirablc for its own fake ; and virtue derives all its CHAP, v^ 
 merit from its tendency to produce plcafurc. 
 
 Ai^^recablencfs and utility arc not moral conceptions, nor 
 have they any connexion with morality. What a man does, 
 merely becaufe it is agreeable, or ufeful to procure what is 
 agreeable, is not virtue. Therefore the Epicurean fyftem was 
 juftly thought by Cicero, and the beft moralifts among the an- 
 cients, to fubvert morality, and to fubftitutc another principle 
 in its room ; and this fyftem is liable to the fame cenfure. 
 
 In one thing, however, it differs remarkably from that of Epicu- 
 rus. It allows, that there are difinterefted affedions in human na- 
 ture ; that the love of children and relations, friendlhip, grati- 
 tude, companion and humanity, are not, as Epicurus maintain- 
 ed, different modifications of felf-love, but fimple and original 
 parts of the human conftitution ; that when intereft, or envy, 
 or revenge, pervert not our difpofition, we are Inclined, from 
 natural philanthropy, to dcfirc, and to be pleafed with the hap- 
 pinefs of the human kind. 
 
 All this, in oppofition to the Epicurean fyflem, Mr Hume 
 maintains with great ftrength of reafon and eloquence, and, in 
 this refped, his fyftcm is more liberal and difintercrted than that 
 of the Greek Philofopher. According to Epicurus, virtue is 
 whatever is agreeable to ourfelves. Accorditig to INIr Hume, 
 every quality of mind that is agreeable or ufeful to ourfelves or 
 to others. 
 
 This theory of the nature of virtue, it mufl be acknowledged, 
 enlarges greatly the catalogue of moral virtues, by bringing in- 
 to that catalogue every cpiality of mind that is ufeful or agree- 
 able. Nor does there ajipear any good reafon why the ufeful 
 and agreeable qualities of body and of fortune, as well as tiiofe 
 of the mind, fhould not have a place among moral viriaci in 
 
 F f f 2 this
 
 412 ESSAY V. 
 
 CHAP. V. t}^|s fyftem. They have the eiTence of virtue j that Is, agreca- 
 blenefs and utility, why then Ihould they not have the name ? 
 
 But, to compenfate this addition to the moral virtues, one 
 clafs of them feems to be greatly degraded and deprived of all 
 intrinfic merit. The ufeful virtues, as was above obferved, are 
 only minirtering fervants of the agreeable, and pur%'eyors for 
 them j they mufl, therefore, be fo far inferior in dignity, as 
 hardly to deferve the fame name. 
 
 Mr Hume, how^ever, gives the name of virtue to both ; and to 
 diflinguifh them, calls the agreeable qualities natural virtues, and 
 the ufeful artificial. 
 
 The natural virtues are thofe natural affedions of the human 
 conflitution which give immediate pleafure in their exercife. 
 Such are all the benevolent afledions. Nature difpofes to them, 
 and from their own nature they are agreeable, both when we 
 exercife them ourfelves, and when we contemplate their exercife 
 in others. 
 
 The artificial virtues are fuch as are efleemed folely on ac- 
 count of their utility, either to promote the good of fociety,. 
 as juflice, fidelity, honour, veracity, allegiance, chaftlty ; or on 
 account of their utilty to the poflefTor, as indufiry, difcretion, 
 frugality, fecrecy, order, perfeverance, forethought, judgment, 
 and others, of which, he fays, many pages could not contain 
 the catalogue. 
 
 This general view of Mr Hume's fyilem concerning the 
 foundation of morals, feemed neceffary, in order to underftand 
 diftlndly the meaning of that principle of his, which Is to be 
 the fubjedt of this chapter, and on which he has beftowed 
 much labour, to wit, that juftice is not a natural but an artifi- 
 cial virtue. 
 
 Thi^
 
 OF JUSTICE. 41. 
 
 This fyftcm of the foundation of virtue is fo contraclidlory in CHAi\ v. 
 many of its efTcntial points to the account we have before given 
 of the adlivc powers of liuuKin nature, tliat, if tlie one be true, 
 the other mufl be faUc. 
 
 If God has given to man a power Avhicli we call confcience, 
 the moral faculty, l\\fc fc rife of duty, by wliirli, when he comes to 
 years of underllandincr, he perceives certain things that depend 
 on his will to be his duty, and other things to be bafe and un- 
 worthy ; if the notion of duty be a finiple conception, of its 
 own kind, and of a diflercnt nature from the conceptions of 
 utility and agreeablenefs, of intereft or reputation ; if this mo- 
 ral faculty be the prerogative of man, and no velHge of it be 
 found in brute-animals ; if it be given us by God to regulate 
 all our animal affections and paflions ; if to be governed by it 
 be the glory of man and the image of God in his foul, and to 
 difrcgard its didlates be his didionour and depravity : I fliy, if 
 thefe things be fo, to feek the foundation of morality in the 
 affections which we have in common with the brutes, is to feek 
 the living among the dead, and to change the glory of man 
 and the image of God in his foul, into the llmilitude of an ox 
 that cateth grafs. 
 
 If virtue and vice be a matter of choice, they muft confift in 
 vcjluntary actions, or in fixed purpofes of arting according to a 
 certain rule when there is opportunity, and not in qualities of 
 mind which arc involuntary. 
 
 It is true, that every virtue is both agi-eeablc and ufeful in 
 the higheft degree ; and that every quality that is agreeable or 
 ufeful, has a merit upon that account. But virtue has a merit 
 peculiar to itlelf, a merit which does not arife from its beinrr 
 ufeful or agreeable, but from its being virtue. This merit is 
 difcerned by the fame faculty by which we dilcern it to be vir- 
 tue, and by no other.
 
 4H 
 
 ESSAY V. 
 
 CHAP. V. We e;Ive the name of ejleftn both to the regard we have for 
 tilings ufeful and agreeable, and to the regard we have for vir- 
 tue; but thefe are different kinds of elleem. I erteem a man 
 for his ingenuity and learning. 1 efteem him for his moral 
 worth. The found of tjleem in both thefe fpeeches is the fame, 
 but its meaning is very different. 
 
 Good breeding is a very amiable quality j and even if I knew 
 that the man had no motive to it but its pleafure and utility 
 to himfelf and others, I fliould like it flill, but I would not in 
 that cafe call it a moral virtue. 
 
 A dog has a tender concern for her puppies ; fo has a man 
 for his children. The natural affedlion is the fame in both, and 
 is amiable in both. But why do we impute moral virtue to the 
 man on account of this concern, and not to the dog? The rea- 
 fon furely is, That, in the man, the natural afFedion is accom- 
 panied with a fenfe of duty, but, in the dog, it is not. The 
 fame thing may be faid of all the kind affedions common to us 
 with the brutes. They are amiable qualities, but they are not 
 moral virtues. 
 
 What has been faid relates to Mr Hume's fyftem in general. 
 We are now to confider his notion of the particular virtue of 
 juftice, that its merit confifts wholly in its utility to foclety. 
 
 That juftice is highly ufeful and neceffary in fociety, and, on 
 that account, ought to be loved and efteeraed by all that love 
 mankind, will readily be granted. And as juftice is a foclal vir- 
 tue, it is true alfo, that there could be no exercife of it, and 
 perhaps we fliould have no conception of it, without fociety. 
 But this is equally true of the natural affections of benevolence, 
 gratitude, friendihip and compaffion, which Mr Hume makes to 
 be the natural virtues. 
 
 It may be granted to Mr Hume, that men have no concep- 
 tion
 
 O F J U S T I C E. 4ij- 
 
 tiou of the ^•il•tue of jullice till they have lived fome time in fo- Cliw. v. 
 ciety. It is purely a moral conce|)tion, and our moral concep- 
 tions and moral judgments are not born with us. They grow 
 up by degrees, as our reaion docs. Nor do I pretend to know 
 how early, or in wluit order we acquire the conception of the 
 feveral virtues. The conception of juflice fuppofes fome exer- 
 cife of the moral faculty, which, being the nobleft part of the 
 human conllitution, and that to which all its other parts are fub- 
 fervient, appears latell. 
 
 It may likewife be granted, that there is no animal atTeclion 
 in human nature that prompts us immediately to ads of juflice, 
 as fuch. We have natural aflecflions of the animal kind, which 
 immediately prompt us to acts of kindnefs ; but none, that I 
 know, that has the fame relation to juftice. The very concep- 
 tion of juftice fuppofes a moral faculty ; but our natural kind 
 atfeclions do not ; othcrwife w'e mufl allow that brutes have 
 this faculty. 
 
 What I maintain \s,Jiijl, That when men come to the exer- 
 cife of their nu)ral faculty, they perceive a turpitude in inju- 
 ftice, as they do in other crimes, and confequcntly an obliga- 
 tion to juftice, abftrading from the confideration of its utility. 
 hxvCi^fecojidly, That as foon as men liave any rational conception 
 of a favour, and of an injury, they muft have the conception of 
 juflice, and perceive its obligation dillind from its utility. 
 
 The firft of thefe points hardly admits of any other proof, 
 but an appeal to the fentiments of every honefl man, and eve- 
 ry man of honour. Whether his indignation is not immediately 
 inflamed againfl an atrocious ad of villany, without the cool 
 confideration of its diflant confequences upon the good of Ib- 
 ciety ? 
 
 We might appeal even to robbers and pirates, Whether they 
 
 have
 
 4i6 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. V. iijive not had 'great ftruggles with their confcience, when they 
 firft reiblved to break through all the rules of juflicc ? And 
 whether, in a folitary and ferious hour, they have not frequent- 
 ly felt the pangs of guilt ? They have very often confeiled this 
 at a time when all difguife is laid afide. 
 
 The common good of fociety, though a pleafing objedl to 
 all men, when prefented to their view, hardly ever enters' into 
 the thoughts of the far greatefl part of mankind ; and, if a regard 
 to it were the fole motive to juftice, the number of honeft men 
 mufl be fmall indeed. It would be confined to the higher ranks, 
 who, by their education, or by their office, are led to make the 
 public good an objed ; but that it is fo confined, I believe no 
 man will venture to affirm. 
 
 The temptations to injuflice are firongeft in the loweft clafs 
 of men j and if nature had provided no motive to oppofe thofe 
 temptations, but a fenfe of public good, there would not be 
 found an honeft man in that clafs. 
 
 To all men that are not greatly corrupted, injuftice, as well 
 as cruelty and ingratitude, is an objedl of difapprobation on its 
 own account. There is a voice within us that proclaims it to 
 be bafe, unworthy, and deferving of punifhment. 
 
 *That there is, in all ingenuous natures, an antipathy to ro- 
 guery and treachery, a reluctance to the thoughts of villany 
 and bafenefs, we have the teftimony of Mr Hume himfelf j who, 
 as I doubt not but he felt it, has exprefl'ed it very ftrongly in 
 the conclufion to his enquiry, and acknowledged that, in fome 
 cafes, without this reludiance and antipathy to difhonefty, a fen- 
 fible knave would find no fufficient motive from public good to 
 be honeft. 
 
 I
 
 O F J U S T I C E. 417 
 
 I fliiill give the paflage at large from the Enquiry concerning CHAP, v . 
 the Principles of Morals, fection 9. near the end. 
 
 " Treating vice with the greatcfl: candour, and making it all 
 
 • poflible concellions, we muft acknowledge that there is not, 
 ' in any inftance, the fmallefl pretext for giving it the preference 
 
 ' above virtue, with a view to felf-interefl j except, perhaps, 
 
 * in the cafe of juftice, where a man, taking things in a certain 
 light, may often feem to be a lofer by his integrity. And 
 though it is allowed that, without a regard to property, no fo- 
 ciety could fubfifl^ yet, according to the imperfedl way in which 
 human affairs are conducted, a fenfible knave, in particular in- 
 cidents, may think, that an adl of iniquity or infulelity will 
 make a coniiderable addition to his fortune, without caufing 
 any confiderablc breach in the focial union and confederacy. 
 That bottejiy is the bejl policy, may be a good general rule, but 
 it is liable to many exceptions : And he, it may perhaps be 
 thought, conduds himfelf with moft wifdom, who obferves 
 the general rule, and takes advantage of all the exceptions. 
 
 " I muft confefs that, if a man think that this reafoning much 
 " requires an anfwer, it will be a little difficult to find any, 
 ", which will to him appear fatisfadory and convincing. If his 
 " heart rebel not againfl: fuch pernicious maxims, if he feel no 
 " reludance to the thoughts of villany and bafenefs, he has in- 
 " deed loft a coniiderable motive to virtue, and we may expecT: 
 " that his pradice will be anfwerable to his fpeculation. But 
 " in all ingenuous natures, the antipathy ,to treachery and ro- 
 " gucry is too ftrong to be counterbalanced by any views of 
 " profit or pecuniary advantage. Inward peace of mind, confci- 
 " ouliiefs of integrity, a fatisfaclory review of our own conducl ; 
 " thefe are circumftances very requifite to happinefs, and will 
 " be cheriflied and cultivated by every honeft man who feels 
 " the importance of them." 
 
 G g g The
 
 4i8 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. V. xhe reafonlng of the fenftble knave in this pafTuge, feenis to 
 me to be juftly founded upon the principles of the Enquiry and 
 of the Treatife of Human Nature, and therefore it is no wonder, 
 that the Author fliould find it a little difficult to give any an- 
 fwer which would appear fatisfadory and convincing to fuch 
 a man. To counterbalance this reafoning, he puts in the other 
 fcale a reludance, an antipathy, u rebellion of the heart againfl: 
 fuch pernicious maxims, which is felt by ingenuous natures. 
 
 Let us confider a little the force of Mr Hume's anfwer to 
 this fenfible knave, who reafons upon his own principles. I 
 think it is either an acknowledgment, that there is a natural 
 judgment of confcience in man, that injuftice and treachery is a 
 bafe and unworthy praftice, which is the point I would efta- 
 blilh ; or it has no force to convince either the knave or an ho- 
 neft man. 
 
 A clear and intuitive judgment, refulting from the conftitu- 
 tion of human nature, is fufficient to overbalance a train of 
 fubtile reafoning on the other fide. Thus, the tefiiimony of our 
 fenfes is fufficient to overbalance all the fubtile arguments 
 brought againfl their teflimony. And, if there be a like tefi:imo- 
 «y of confcience in favour of honefl:y, all the fubtile reafoning 
 of the knave againfl; it ought to be rejedled without examina- 
 tion, as fallacious and fophifl:ical, becaufe it concludes againfl a 
 felf-evident principle; jufl: as we rejedl the fubtile reafoning of 
 the metaphyficlan againfl the evidence of fenfe. 
 
 If, therefore, the reluElance, the antipathy, the rebellion of the 
 heart againfl: injuftice, which Mr Hume fets againfl the reafon- 
 ing of the knave, include in their meaning a natural intuitive 
 judgment of confcience, that injuftice is bafe and unworthy, 
 the reafoning of the knave is convincingly anfwered ; but the 
 
 principle..
 
 O F J U S T I C E. 419 
 
 principle, Thai jujlice is an artificial •virtue, approved folely for its CHAP, v. 
 utility, is given up. 
 
 If, on the other liand, the antipathy, reluctance and rebellion 
 of heart, imply no judgment, but barely an uneafy feeling, and 
 that not natural, but acquired and artificial, the anfwer is indeed 
 very agreeable to the principles of the Enquiry, but has no force 
 to convince the knave, or any other man. 
 
 The knave is here fuppofed by Mr Hume to have no fucli 
 feelings, and therefore the anfwer does not touch hib cafe in the 
 leaft, but leaves him in the full poneilion of his reafoning. 
 And ingenuous natures, who have thefe feelings, are left to delibe- 
 rate whether they will yield to acquired and artificial feelings, 
 in oppofition to rules of condudl, which, to their beft judgment, 
 appear wife and prudent. 
 
 The fecond thing I propofed to fliew was, That, as foon as 
 men have any rational conception of a favour and of an injury, 
 they mufl have the conception of juftice, and perceive its obli- 
 gation. 
 
 The power with which the Author of nature hath endowed 
 us, may be employed either to do good to our fellow-men, or 
 to hurt them. When we employ our power to promote the 
 good and happinefs of others, this is a benefit or favour ; when 
 we employ it to hurt them, it is an injury. Juftice fills up the 
 middle between thefe two. It is fuch a conduct as does no in- 
 jury to others ; but it does not imply the doing them any fa- 
 vour. 
 
 The notions of a favour and of an injury, appear as early in 
 the mind of man as any rational notion whatever. They are 
 difcovercd, not by language only, but by certain alTcclions of 
 
 G g g 2 mind,
 
 420 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. V. mind, of which they are the natural objedls. A favour natu- 
 rally produces gratitude. An injury done to ourfelves produces^ 
 refentment j and even when done to another, it produces indig- 
 nation. 
 
 I take it for granted that gratitude and refentment are no lefs 
 natural to the human mind than hunger and thirfl ; and that 
 thofe affedlions are no lefs naturally excited by their proper ob- 
 jedls and occafions than thefe appetites. 
 
 It is no lefs evident, that the proper and formal objedl of gra- 
 titude is a perfon who has done us a favour ^ that of refentment, 
 a perfon who has done us an injury. 
 
 Before the ufe of reafon, the diftindlion between a favour and 
 an agreeable office is not perceived. Every adlion of another 
 perfon which gives prefent pleafure produces love and good 
 will towards the agent. Every adiion that gives pain or'unea- 
 jQnefs produces refentment. This is common to man before 
 the ufe of reafon, and to the more fagacious brutes j and it 
 Ihews no conception of juftice in either. 
 
 But, as we grow up to the ufe of reafon, the notion, both of 
 a favour and of an injury, grows more diftin6t and better de- 
 fined. It is not enough that a good office be done j it mufl be 
 done from good will, and with a good intention, otherwife it 
 is no favour, nor does it produce gratitude. 
 
 I have heard of a phyfician who gave fpiders in a medicine 
 to a dropfical patient, with an intention to poifon him, and that 
 this medicine cured the patient, contrary to the intention of 
 the phyfician. Surely no gratitude, but refentment, was due by 
 the patient, when he knew the real ftate of the cafe. It is evi- 
 dent to every man, that a benefit arifiug from the action of ano- 
 ther.
 
 O F J U S T I C E. 421 
 
 ther, either without or againil his intention, is not a motive to p^^ ^- v. 
 gratitude ; that is, is no favour. 
 
 Another thing implied in the nature of a favour is, that it be 
 not due. A man may fave my credit by paying what he owes 
 me. In this cafe, what he does tends to my benefit, and per- 
 haps is done with that intention; but it is not a favour, it is no 
 more than he was bound to do. 
 
 If a fervant do his work and receive his wages, there Is no 
 favour done on either part, nor any objecfl of gratitude j be- 
 caufe, though each party has benefited the other, yet neither 
 has done more than he was bound to do. 
 
 What I infer from this Is, That the conception of a favour in 
 every man come to years of underflanding, implies the concep- 
 tion of things not due, and confequently tlie conception of 
 things that are due. 
 
 A negative cannot be conceived by one who has no concep- 
 tion of the correfpondent pofitlve. Not to be due is the negative 
 of being due ; and he who conceives one of them mull conceive 
 both. The conception of things due and not due muft there- 
 fore be found in every mind which lias any rational concep- 
 tion of a favour, or any rational fentiment of gratitude. 
 
 If we confider, on the other hand, what an injury is which 
 is the obje(fl of the natural paflion of refentment, every man, 
 capable of refledion, perceives, that an injury implies more 
 than being hurt. If I be hurt by a ftone falling out of the 
 wall, or by a flafh of lightning, or by a convulfive and ijivo- 
 luntary motion of another man's arm, no injury is done, no 
 refentment railed in a man that has reafon. In this, as in all 
 
 moral
 
 422 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. V. moral actions, there mufl be the will and intention of the agent 
 
 V i»— ^.— iM^ 
 
 to do the hurt. 
 
 Nor is this fufBcient to conflitute an injury. The man who 
 breaks my fences, or treads down my corn, when he cannot 
 otherwlfe preferve himfelf from dellrudlion, who has no injuri- 
 ous intention, and is willing to indemnify me for the hurt 
 which neceflity, and not ill will, led him to do, is not injurious, 
 nor is an objec5l of refentment. 
 
 The executioner who does his duty, in cutting off the head 
 of a condemned criminal, is not an objedl of refentment. He 
 does nothhig unjuft, and therefore nothing injurious. 
 
 From this it is evident, that an injury, the objed: of the na- 
 tural palllon of refentment, implies in it the notion of injuftice. 
 And it is no lefs evident, that no man can have a notion of in- 
 juftice without having the notion of juftice. 
 
 To fum up what has been faid upon this point : A favour, an 
 adl of jurtice and an injury, are fo related to one another that 
 he who conceives one mufl conceive the other two. They lie, 
 as it were, in one line, and refemble the relations of greater, 
 lefs and equal. If one underflands what is meant by one line 
 being greater or lefs than another, he can be at no lofs to un- 
 derftand what is meant by its being equal to the other j for, if 
 it be neither greater nor lefs, it mufl be equal. 
 
 In like manner, of thofe adlions by which we profit or hurt 
 other men, a favour is more than juftice, an injury is lefs ; and 
 that which is neither a favour nor an injury is a jull adion. 
 
 As foon, therefore, as men come to have any proper notion 
 of a favour and of an injury ; as foon as they have any rational 
 exerclfc of gratitude and of refentment j fo foon they mufl 
 
 have
 
 O F J U S T I C E. 423 
 
 have the conception of jufticc and of injufticc; and if ^-ati- CHAi'. v. 
 tude and rcfcntmcnt be natural to man, which Mr Hume al- 
 lows, the notion of juftice mufl be no lefs natural. 
 
 The notion of juftice carries infeparabiy along with it, a per- 
 ception of its moral obligation. For to fay that fuch an action 
 is an a6l of juflice, that it is due, that it ought to be done, 
 that we are under a moral obligation to do it, are only diffe- 
 rent ways of exprefling the fame thing. It is true, that we per- 
 ceive no high degree of moral worth in a merely juft adion, 
 when it is not oppofed by intereft or paflion ; but we perceive 
 a high degree of turpitude and demerit in unjuft adions, or in 
 the omilllon of what juftice requires. 
 
 Indeed, if there were no other argument to prove, that the 
 obligation of juftice is not folely derived from its utility to pro- 
 cure what is agreeable either to ourfelves or to fociety, this 
 would be fuflicient, That the very conception of juftice implies 
 its obligation. The morality of juftice is included in the very 
 idea of it : Nor is it poftible that the conception of juftice can 
 enter into the human mind, without carrying along with it the 
 conception of duty and moral obligation. Its obligation, there- 
 fore, is infeparable from its nature, and is not derived folely from 
 its utility, either to ourfelves or to fociety. 
 
 We may farther obfcrve, That as in all moral eftimation, 
 every action takes its denomination from the motive that pro- 
 duces it j fo no ad ion can properly be denominated an ad of 
 juftice, unlefs it be done from a regard to juftice. 
 
 If a man pays his debt, only that he may not be cafl: into 
 prifon, he is not a juft man, becanfe prudence, and not juftice, 
 is liis motive. And if a man, from benevolence and charity, 
 gives to another what is really due to him, but wliat he believes 
 
 not
 
 424 E S S A Y V. 
 
 ^^Illj "°^ *° ^^ '^^^^' ^'^'^ ^^ ^°'- ^^ ^"^ °^ juflice in him, but of chari- 
 ty or benevolence, becaufe it is not done from a motive of ju- 
 flice. Thefe are felf-evldent truths j nor is it lefs evident, that 
 what a man does, merely to procure fomething- agreeable, either 
 to himfelf or to others, is not an adl of juftice, nor has the me- 
 rit of juftice. 
 
 Good mufic and good cookery have the merit of utility, in 
 procuring what is agreeable both to ourfelves and to fociety, but 
 they never obtained among mankind the denomination of mo- 
 ral virtues. Indeed, if this author's fyflem be well founded, 
 great injuftice has been done them on that account. 
 
 I fhall now make fome obfervations upon the reafoning of 
 this author, in proof of his favourite principle, That juftice is 
 not a natural but an artificial virtue; or, as it is exprefled in the 
 Enquiry, That public utility is the fole origin of juftice, and that 
 reflexions on the beneficial confequences of this virtue are the 
 fole foundation of its merit. 
 
 I. It muft be acknowledged, that this principle has a necefl'a- 
 ry connedion with his fyftem concerning the foundation of all 
 virtue ; and therefore it is no wonder that he hath taken fo 
 much pains to fupport It j for the whole fyftem muft ftand or 
 fall with it. 
 
 If the dulce and the utik, that is, pleafure, and what Is ufeful 
 to procure pleafiire, be the whole merit of virtue, juftice can 
 have no merit beyond its utility to procure pleafure. If, on the 
 other hand, an Intrinfic worth in juftice and demerit in injuftice 
 be dlfcerned by every man that hath a confclence ; if there be 
 a natural principle in the conftitution of man, by which juftice 
 is. approved and injuftice difapproved and condemned, then the 
 whole of this laboured fyftem muft fall to the ground. 
 
 2. We
 
 OF JUSTICE. 
 
 425 
 
 2. Wc may obfcrve, That as jiiftice is dircclly oppofcd to in- Cinr. v. 
 jury, and as there are various ways in which a man may be in- 
 jured, fo there mufl be various branches of juftice oppofed to 
 tiie diO'erent kinds of injury. 
 
 A man may be injured, Ji/;;^, in his perfon, by wounding-, 
 maiming or killing him ; fccoudly, in his family, by robbing him 
 of his children, or any way injuring thofc he is bound to pro- 
 tedl ; thirdly, in his liberty, by confinement ; fourthly, in his re- 
 jiutation ; fifthly^ in his goods or property ; and, lajlly, in the vio- 
 lation of contracts or engagements made with him. This enu- 
 meration, whetlier complete or not, is fulHcient for the prefent 
 pur pole. 
 
 The different branches of juflice, oppofed to thcfe different 
 kinds of injury, are commonly expreffed by laying, that an in- 
 nocent man has a right to the fafety of his perfon and family, 
 a right to his liberty and reputation, a right to his goods, and 
 to fidelity to engagements made with him. To fay that he has 
 a right to thefe things, has precifely the fame meaning as to fiy, 
 that juftice requires that he fliould be permitted to enjoy th*^-?!!, 
 or chat it is unjuft to violate them. For injuftice is the viola- 
 tion of right, and juftice is to yield to every man what is his 
 right. 
 
 Thefe things being underflood as the fimpleft and mofl com- 
 mon ways of expreffing the various branches of juUice, we are 
 to confider how far Mr Hume's reafoning proves any or all of 
 them to be artificial, or grounded folely upon jniblic utility. 
 The lad of them, fidelity to engagements, is to be the fubject 
 of the next chapter, and therefore I fhall lay nothing of it in 
 this. 
 
 The four firft named, to wit, the right of an innocent man to 
 the fafety of his perfon and family, to his liberty and reputa- 
 
 H h h tion,
 
 ESSAY V. 
 
 tlon are, by the writers on jnrifprudence, called natural rights 
 of man, becaufe they are grounded in the nature of man as a 
 rational and moral agent, and are by his Creator committed to 
 his care and keeping. By being called natural or innate, they 
 are diftlnguifhed from acquired rights, which fuppofe fome pre- 
 vious ad or deed of man by which they are acquired, whereas 
 natural rights fuppofe nothing of this kind. 
 
 When a man's natural rights are violated, he perceives in- 
 tuitively, and he feels that he is injured. The feeling of his 
 heart arifes from the judgment of his underftanding ; for if he 
 did not believe that the hurt was intended, and unjuflly intend- 
 ed, he would not have that feeling. He perceives that injury 
 is done to himfelf, and that he has a right to redrefs. The na- 
 tural principle of refentment is roufed by the view of its pro- 
 per objedt, and excites him to defend his right. Even the in- 
 jurious perfon is confclous of his doing Injury ; he dreads a jufi: 
 retaliation J and if it be in the power of the injured perfon, he 
 expeds it as due and deferved^ 
 
 That thefe fentiments fpring up in the mind of man as natu- 
 rally as his body grows to its proper llature ; that they are not 
 the birth of Inftrudtion, either of parents, priefts, philofophers 
 or politicians, but the pure growth of nature, cannot, I think, 
 without effrontery, be denied. We find them equally flrong in 
 the mort favage and in the mofl civilized tribes of mankind ; 
 and nothing can weaken them but an inveterate habit of rapine 
 and bloodfhed, which benumbs the confcience, and turns men 
 into wild beafls. 
 
 The public good is very properly confidered by the judge 
 who puniflies a private injury, but feldom enters into the 
 thought of the Injured perfon. In all criminal law, the redrefs 
 due to the private fufferer is diftinguiflied from that vv'hich is 
 due to the public j a diftlndion which could have no foundation, 
 
 if
 
 OF JUSTICE. 
 
 if the demerit of injufUcc arofe folcly from its hurting the pu- 
 blic. And every man is confcious of a l'j)ecific dilTcrencc be- 
 tween the refcntment he feels for an injury done to himtelf, 
 and his indignation againfl a wrong done to the public. 
 
 I think, therefore, it is evident, that, of the fix branches of 
 jultice we mentioned, four are natural, in the i^riclell fenfe, 
 being founded upon the conltitution of man, and antecedent to 
 all deeds and conventions of fociety ; fo that, if there were 
 but two men upon the earth, one might be unjufl and injurious, 
 and the other injured. 
 
 But does Mr Hume maintain the contrary r 
 
 To this queflion I anfwer. That his dodrine feems to imply 
 it, but I hope he meant it not. 
 
 He affirms in general that juftice is not a natural virtue ; 
 that it derives its origin folely from public utility, and that re- 
 fleclions on the beneficial confequences of this virtue are the 
 fole foundation of its merit. He mentions no particular 
 branch of jullice as an exception to this general rule ; yet ju- 
 ftice, in common language, and in all the writers on jurifpru- 
 dcnce 1 am acquainted with, comprehends the four branches 
 above mentioned. His doctrine, therefore, according to the 
 common conftruction of words, extends to thefe four, as well as 
 to the two other branches of juft:ice. 
 
 On the other hand, if we attend to his long and laboured 
 proof of this doclrine, it appears evident, that he had in his 
 eye only two particular branches of juftice. No part of his 
 reafoning applies to the other four. He feems, 1 know not why, 
 to have taken up a confined notion of juftice, and to have re- 
 ftricled it to a regard to property and fidelity in con^rads. As 
 to other branches he is filent. He no where lays, that it is not 
 
 H h h 2 naturally
 
 428 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP, v.^ naturally criminal to rob an innocent man of his life, of his 
 children, of his liberty, or of his reputation ; and I am apt to 
 think he never meant it. 
 
 The only Philofopher I know who has had the afTurance to 
 maintain this, is Mr Hobbes, who makes the ftate of nature to 
 be a ftate of war, of every man againfl every man ; and of fuch 
 u war in which every man has a right to do and to acquire 
 whatever his power can, by any means, accomplifti ; that is, a 
 ftate wherein neither right nor injury, juftice nor injulHce, can 
 poffibly exill. 
 
 Mr Hume mentions this fyflem of Hobbes, but without 
 adopting it, though he allows it the authority of Cicero in its 
 favour. 
 
 He fays in a note, " This fidllon of a flate of nature as a 
 *' ftate of war was not firfl flarted by Mr Hobbes, as is com- 
 " monly imagined. Plato endeavours to refute an hypothelis 
 " very like it, in the 2d, 3d and 4th books, De Republka. Ci- 
 " CERO, on the contrary, fuppofes it certain and univerfally ac- 
 " knowledged, in the following paflage, &c. Pro Sextio^ I. 42." 
 
 The pafTage, which he quotes at large, from one of Cicero's 
 Orations, feems to me to require fome flraining to make it tally 
 with the fyllem of Mr Hobbes. Be this as it may, Mr Hume 
 might have added, That Cicero, in his Orations, like many 
 other pleaders, fometimes fays not what he believed, but what 
 was fit to fupport the caufe of his client. That Cicero's opi- 
 nion, with regard to the natural obligation of juftice, was very 
 different from that of Mr Hobbes, and even from Mr Hume's, 
 is very well known. 
 
 3. As Mr Hume, therefore, has faid nothing to prove the 
 four branches of juftice which relate to the innate rights of 
 
 men,
 
 O F J U S T I C E. 429 
 
 men, to be artificial, or to derive their origin folely from public CIIAP. v. 
 utility, 1 proceed to the fifth branch, which requires us not to 
 invade another man's property. 
 
 The right of proj^erty is not innate, but acquired. It is not 
 grounded upon the conflitutiou of man, but upon his adions. 
 Writers on jurifprudence have explained its origin in a manner 
 that may fatisfy every man of common underi\anding. 
 
 The earth is given to men in common for the purpofes of life, 
 by the bounty of Heaven. But, to divide it, and appropriate 
 one part of its produce to one, another part to another, muft be 
 the work of men who have power and underftanding given 
 them, by which every man may accommodate himfelf without 
 hurt to any other. 
 
 This common right of every man to what the earth produces, 
 before it be occupied and appropriated by others, was, by an- 
 cient moralifts, very properly compared to the right which eve- 
 ry citizen had to the public theatre, where every man that came 
 might occupy an empty feat, and thereby acquire a right to it 
 while the entertainment lafled j but no man had a right to difpof- 
 fefs another. 
 
 The earth is a great theatre, furniflied by the Almighty, with 
 perfed wifdom and goodnefs, for the entertainment and employ- 
 ment of all mankind. Here every man has a right to accom- 
 modate himfelf as a fpedator, and to perform his part as an ac- 
 tor, but without hurt to others. 
 
 He who does fo is a jufl man, and thereby entitled to fome 
 degree of moral approbation ; and he who not only does no 
 hurt, but employs his j)ower to do good, is a good man, and is 
 thereby entitled to a higher degree of moral approbation. But 
 he who juflles and molefts his neighbour, who deprives him of 
 
 any
 
 430 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP.v. any accommodation which his indurtry has provided without 
 hurt to others, is unjuft, and a proper objedt of refentment. 
 
 It Is true, therefore, that property has a beginning from the 
 xiftions of men, occupying, and perhaps improving, by their in- 
 duftry, what was common by nature. It Is true aUo, that before 
 property exifts, that branch of jullice and injuftice which re- 
 gards property cannot exift. But it Is alfo true, that where 
 there are men, there will very foon be property of one kind or 
 ^ another, and confequently there will be that branch of juftice 
 which attends property as its guardian. 
 
 There are two kinds of property which we may diftingulflx. 
 
 The Jirjl is what mufl prefently be confumed to fuftain life ; 
 xhtfecond, which is more permanent, is what may be laid up and 
 iftored for the fupply of future wants. 
 
 Some of the gifts of nature muft be ufed and confumed by 
 Individuals for the daily fupport of life ; but they cannot be 
 ufed till they be occupied and appropriated. If another perfon 
 may, without injuftice, rob me of what I have Innocently occu- 
 pied for prefent fubfiftence, the neceflary confequence muft be, 
 that he may, without injuftice, take away my life. 
 
 A right to life implies a right to the neceflary means of life. 
 And that juftice which forbids the taking away the life of an 
 innocent man, forbids no lefs the taking from him the neceflary 
 means of life. He has the fame right to defend the one as the 
 other; and nature Infpires him with the fame juft refentment of 
 the one injury as of the other. 
 
 The natural right of liberty implies a right to fuch innocent 
 labour as a man chufes, and to the fruit of that labour. To 
 
 hinder
 
 O F J U S T I C E. 431 
 
 liIndcT anotlicr man's innocent labour, or to deprive him of the CUA?. v. 
 fruit of it, is an injultice of the fame kind, and has the fame 
 cBld as to put him in fetters or in prifon, and is equally a juft 
 object of refentment. 
 
 Thus it appears, that fome kind, or fome degree, of property 
 muft cxift wherever men exift, and that the right to fuch pro- 
 perty is the neceffary confequence of the natural right of men 
 to life and liberty. 
 
 It has been further obferved, that God has made man a faga- 
 cious and provident animal, led by his conftitution not only to 
 occupy and ufe what nature has provided for the fupply of his 
 prefent wants and neceflities, but to forefee future wants, and to 
 provide for them ^ and that not only for liimfelf, but for his 
 family, his friends and connexions.. 
 
 He therefore acts in perfect conformity to his nature, when 
 he Itores, of the fruit of his labour, what may afterwards be 
 ufeful to himfelf or to others ; when he invents and fabricates 
 utenfils or machines by which his labour may be facilitated, 
 and its produce increafed; and when, by exchanging with his 
 fellow-men commodities or labour, he accommodates both him- 
 felf and them. Thefe are the natural and innocent exertions 
 of that underftanding wherewith his Maker has endowed him. 
 He has therefore a right to exercife them, and to enjoy the fruit 
 of them. Every man who impedes him in making fjch exer- 
 tions, or deprives him of the fruit of them, is injurious and un- 
 juft, and an objedt of juil refentment. 
 
 Many brute-animals are led by inftinct to provide for futu- 
 rity, and to defend their ftore, and their itore-houfc, againlt all 
 invaders. There feems to be in man, before the ufe of reafon, 
 an inllind of the fame kind. When reafon and confcience 
 
 grow
 
 432 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP, v.^ gj-Q^y up^ ^l■^gy approve and juftify this provident care, and con- 
 demn, as unjuft, every invafion of others, that may fruftrate 
 it. 
 
 Two inftances of this provident fagacity feem to be peculiar 
 to man. I mean the invention of utenfils and machines for fa- 
 cilitating labour, and the making exchanges with his fellow- 
 men for mutual benefit. No tribe of men has been found fo 
 rude as not to pradife thefe things in fome degree. And I 
 know no tribe of brutes that was ever obferved to pradife them. 
 They neither invent nor ufe utenfils or machines, nor do they 
 traffic by exchanges. 
 
 From thefe obfervations, I think it evident, that man, even In 
 the ftate of nature, by his powers of body and mind, may ac- 
 quire permanent property, or what we call riches, by which his 
 own and his family's wants are more liberally fupplied, and his 
 power enlarged to requite his benefadors, to I'elieve objeds of 
 companion, to make friends, and to defend his property againft 
 unjuft invaders. And we know from hiftory, that men, who had 
 no fuperior on earth, no connedion with any public beyond 
 their own family, have acquired property, and had difl:ind no- 
 tions of that jufi:ice and injuftice, of which it is the objed. 
 
 Every man, as a reafonable creature, has a right to gratify his 
 natural and innocent defires, without hurt to .others. No defire 
 is more natural, or more reafonable, than that of fupplying his 
 wants. When this is done without hurt to any man, to hin- 
 der or frufl:rate his innocent labour, is an unjuft violation of his 
 natural liberty. Private utility leads a man to defire property, 
 and to labour for it ; and his right to it is only a right to la- 
 bour for his own benefit. 
 
 That public utility is the fole origin, even of that branch of 
 juftice which regards property, is fo far from being true, that 
 when men confederate and conftitute a public, under laws and 
 
 government,
 
 O F J U S T I C E. 433 
 
 government, the right of each indivuUial to his property Is, by ch ap, v . 
 that confederation, abridged and liniited. In the Ihite of na- 
 ture every man's property was folely at his own difpofal, becaufe 
 he had no fuperior. In civil fociety it nuifl: be fubjecl to the laws 
 of the fociety. He gives up to the public part of that right which 
 he had in the ftate of nature, as the price of that protection and 
 fecurity which he I'eceives from civil fociety. In the Uate of na- 
 ture, he was fole judge in his own caufe, and had right to de- 
 fend his property, his liberty, and life, as far as his power reach- 
 ed. In the ftate of civil fociety, he nnift fubmit to the judg- 
 ment of the fociety, and acquiefce in its fentence, though he 
 iliould conceive it to be unjuft. 
 
 What was faid above, of the natural right every man has to 
 acquire permanent property, and to difpofe of it, mull be under- 
 ftood with this condition, That no other man be thereby depriv- 
 ed of the neceflary means of life. The right of an innocent 
 man to the neceffaries of life, is, in its nature, fuperior to tbat 
 which the rich man has to his riches, even though they be ho- 
 neftly acquired. The ufe of riches, or permanent property, is 
 to fupply future and cafual wants, which ought to yield to pre- 
 fent and certain neceflity. 
 
 As, in a family, juftice requires that the children who are 
 unable to labour, and thofe who, by ficknefs, are di fabled, 
 fliould have their neeelTities fupplicd out of the common ftock, 
 fo, in the great family of God, of which all mankind are the 
 children, juftice, I think, as well as charity, requires, that the 
 necellities of thofe who, by the providence of God, are dif- 
 abled from fupplying themfelves, Ihould be fupplicd from what 
 might otherwife be ftored for future wants. 
 
 From this it appears, That the right of acquiring and that 
 of difpofing of property, may be fubjeCt to limitations and re- 
 ftriclions, even in the llate of nature, ami much more in the 
 
 I i i Mate
 
 in 
 
 ESSAY V. 
 
 flate of civil fociety, in which the public has what writers 
 jurifprudence call an eminent dominion over the property, as well 
 as over the lives of the fubjeds, as far as the public good re- 
 quires. 
 
 If thefe principles be well founded, Mr Hume's arguments to 
 prove that juftice is an artificial virtue, or th it its public utility 
 is the fole foundation of its merit, may be eafily anfwered. 
 
 He fuppofes,^/;^, a ftate in which nature has beftowed on the 
 human race, fuch abundance of external goods, that every man, 
 without cafe or induftry, finds himfelf provided of whatever he 
 can wifli or defire. It is evident, fays he, that in fuch a ftate, 
 the cautious jealous virtue of juftice would never once have 
 been dreamed of. 
 
 It may be obferved,^r/?, That this argument applies only to 
 one of the fix branches of juftice before mentioned. The other 
 five are not in the leaft afiecfted by it j and the Reader will eafily 
 perceive that this obfervation applies to almofl all his arguments, 
 fo that it needs not be repeated. 
 
 Secondly, All that this argument proves is, That a ftate of the 
 human race may be conceived wherein no property exifts, and 
 where, of confequence, there can be no exercife of that branch 
 of juftice which refpecfts property. But does it follow from this, 
 that where property exifts, and muft exift, that no regard ought 
 to be had to it ? 
 
 He next fuppofes that the necefllties of the human race con- 
 tinuing the fame as at prefent, the mind is fo enlarged with 
 friendftiip and generofity, that every man feels as much tender- 
 nefs and concern for the intereft of every man, as for his own. 
 It feems evident, he fays, that the ufe of juftice would be fu- 
 fpended by fuch an extenfive benevolence, nor would the divi- 
 
 fions
 
 O F J U S T I C E. 435 
 
 lions and barriers of property and obligation have ever been chap. v. 
 thought of. 
 
 I anfwcr, The condncH: whicl) this extenfivc benevolence leads 
 to, is either perfecftly confiftent with juftice, or it is not. FtrJ}, 
 If there be any cafe where this benevolence would lead us to 
 do injuiUce, the ufe of juftice is not fufpended. Its obligation 
 is fuperior to that of benevolence ; and, to fliew benevolence to 
 one, at the expcnce of injuftice to another, is immoral. Second- 
 ly^ Suppofing no fuch cafe could happen, the ufe of juftice would 
 "not be fufpended, becaufe by it we muft diftinguifli good offices 
 to which we had a right, from thole to which we had no rigiit, 
 and which therefore require a return of gratitude. Thirdly, 
 Suppofing the ufe of juftice to be fufpended, as it muft be in 
 every cafe where it cannot be exercifed, Will it follow, that its 
 obligation is fufpended, where there is accefs to exercife it ? 
 
 A third fuppofition is, the reverfe of the firft, That a fociety 
 falls into extreme want of the neceflaries of life : Tiie queftion 
 is put, Whether in fuch a cafe, an equal partition of bread, with- 
 out regard to private property, though effedted by power, and 
 even by violence, would be regarded as criminal and injurious ? 
 And. the Author conceives, that this would be a fufpenfion of 
 the ftricl laws of juftice. 
 
 I anfwer. That fuch an equal partition as Mr Hume mentions, 
 is fo fir from being criminal or injurious, that jullice recjuires 
 it ; and furely that cannot be a fufpenfion of the laws of juftice, 
 which is an act of juftice. All that the ftricleft juftice requires in 
 fuch a cafe, is, That the man whofe life is preferved at the expence 
 of another, and without his confent, lliould indemnify him when 
 he is able. His cafe is fimilar to that of a debtor who is infol- 
 vent, without any fault on his part. Juftice requires that he 
 ftiould be forboru till he is able to pay. It is ftrange that Mr 
 
 1 i i 2 Hume
 
 436 , E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. V. Hume flioukl think that an adion, neither criminal nor in- 
 jurious, flaould be a fufpenfion of the U\ws of juftice. This feems 
 to me a contradiction j for jujiice and injury are contradidlory 
 terms. 
 
 The next argument is thus exprelled : " When any man, even 
 " in political fociety, renders himfelf, by crimes, obnoxious 
 " to the public, he is punifhed in his goods and perfon \ that is, 
 " the ordinary rules of juflice are, with regard to him, fufpend- 
 " ed for a moment, and it becomes equitable to inflid on him, 
 " what otherwife he could not fuffer without wrong or injury." 
 
 This argument, like the former, refutes itfelf. For that an 
 a(5tion fhould be a fufpenfion of the rules of juftice, and at the 
 fame time equitable, feems to me a contradiction. It is pofli- 
 ble that equity may interfere with the letter of human laws, be- 
 caufe all the cafes that may fall under them, cannot be forefeen > 
 but that equity fliould interfere with juftice is impoftible. It is 
 ftrange that Mr Hume fhould think, that juft;ice requires that a 
 criminal fhould bC' treated in the fame way as an innocent 
 man. 
 
 Another argument is taken fi-om public war. What is it, fays 
 he, but a fufpenfion of juftice among the warring parties ? The 
 laws of war, which then fucceed to thofe of equity and juftice, 
 are rules calculated for the advantage and utility of that parti- 
 cular ftate in which men are now placed. 
 
 I anfwer, when war is undertaken for felf-defence, or for re- 
 paration of intolerable injuries, juftice authorifes it. The laws 
 of war, which have been defcribed by many judicious moralifts, 
 are all drawn from the fountain of juftice and equity ; and eve- 
 ry thing contrary to juftice, is contrary to the laws of war. 
 That juftice, which prefcribes one rule of condud: to a mafter, 
 
 another
 
 OF JUSTICE. 
 
 437 
 
 another to a fcrvant ; one to a parent, another to a child ; pre- chap. v. 
 Icribes ahb one rule of condudl towards a frienti, another to- 
 wards an enemy. I do not underfland what Mr Hume means 
 by the advantage and titUity of a Itate of war, for which he fays 
 the laws of war are calculated, and fuccced to thofe'of juftice 
 and equity. 1 know uo laws of war that are not calculated for 
 juflice and equity. 
 
 The next argument is this, were there a fpecies of creatures 
 intermingled with men, which, though rational, were polleired 
 of fucii inferior flrength, both of body and mind, that they were* 
 incapable of all refiftance, and could never, upon the higheft 
 provocation, make us feel the effeds of their refentment ; the 
 necefTary confequence, I think, is, that we fliould be bound, by 
 the laws of humanity, to give gentle ufage to thefe creatures, 
 but lliould not, properly fpeaking, lie under any rellraint of ju- 
 ftice with regard to tliem, nor could they poflefs any right or 
 property, exclufive of fuch arbitrary lords. 
 
 If Mr Hume had not owned this fentiment as a confequence 
 of his Tlieory of Morals, 1 fliould have thought it very unchari- 
 table to impute it to him. However, we may judge of the 
 Theory by its avowed confequence. For there cannot be bet- 
 ter evidence, that a theory of morals, or of any particular vir- 
 tue, is falfe, than when it fubverts the pradical rules of morals. 
 This defencelefs fpecies of rational creatures, is doomed by Mr 
 Hume to have no rights. Wliy ? Becaufe they have no power 
 to defend themfelves. Is not this to fay, That right has its ori- 
 gin from power ; which, indeed, was the doctrine of I\Ir Hobbes. 
 And to illuftrate this doctrine, Mr Hume adds, That as no in- 
 convenience ever refults from the cxercife of a power, fo llrmly 
 eftablilhed in nature, the reflraints of judice and property being 
 totally ufelefs, could never have place in fo imequal a confede- 
 racy J and, to tlie fame purpofe, he fays, that the female part of 
 
 our
 
 438 ESSAY V. 
 
 CHAP, v^ Qm- Q^i^ fpecies, owe the fhare they have in the rights of fociety, 
 to the power which their addrefs and their charms give them. 
 If this be found morals, Mr Hume's Theory of Juftice may be 
 true. 
 
 We may here obferve, that though, in other places, Mr Hume 
 founds the obligation of juftice upon its utility to owr/^/t;^/, or 
 to others, it is here founded folely upon utility to our/elves. For 
 furely to be treated with juftlce would be highly ufeful to the 
 defencelefs fpecies he here fuppofes to exift. But as no incon- 
 •venience to ourfelves can ever refult from our treatment of 
 them, he concludes, that juftice would be ufelefs, and therefore 
 can have no place. Mr Hobbes could have faid no more. 
 
 He fuppofes, in the laj} place, a Hate of human nature, where- 
 in all fociety and intercourfe is cut off between man and man. 
 It is evident, he fays, that fo folitary a being would be as much 
 incapable of juflice as of focial difcourfe and converfation. 
 
 And would not fo folitary a being be as incapable of frlend- 
 fliip, generofity and compafllon, as of juftice ? If this argu- 
 ment prove juftice to be an artificial virtue, it will, with equal 
 force, prove every focial virtue to be artificial. 
 
 Thefe are the arguments which Mr Hume has advanced in 
 his Enquiry, in the firft part of a long fedion upon juftice. 
 
 In the fecond part, the arguments are not fo clearly diftin- 
 guiftied, nor can they be eafily colledled. I fliall offer fome 
 remarks upon what feems mofl fpecious in this fecond part. 
 
 He begins with obferving, " That, if we examine the par- 
 " ticular laws by which juftice is direded and property deter- 
 *' mined, they prefent us with the fame conclufion. The good 
 
 " of
 
 O F J U S T I C E. 439 
 
 " of inankiiul is the only obj(^(S of all thofe laws and rcgula- CHAV. V. 
 
 " tions. 
 
 It is not eafy to perceive where the flrefs of this argument 
 lies. The good of mauk'iud is the ohjeEl of all the laivs and regulations 
 by "which jnflice is directed and property determined; therefore jiijlicc is 
 not a natural virtue^ hut has its origin folely from public utility, and its 
 beneficial confeqnences are the fole foundation of its inerit. 
 
 Some ftep feems to be wanting to connedl the antecedent 
 propofition with the conclufion, which, I think, mufl: be one 
 or other of thefe two propofitions ; firft, ylll the rules of juflice 
 tend to public utility ; or, fccondly, Public utility is the only flandard 
 of juJ}ice,from which alone all its rules mufl be deduced. 
 
 If the argument be, That juftice mufl have Its origin folely 
 from public utility, bccaufe all Its rules tend to public utility, 
 I cannot admit the confequence; nor can Mr Hume admit it 
 without overturning his own fyflem. For the rules of benevo- 
 lence and humanity do all tend to the public utility, and yet 
 in his fyflem, they have another foundation In human nature ; 
 fo likewifc may the rules of juftice. 
 
 I am apt to think, therefore, that the argument Is to be 
 taken in the lafl fcnfe, That public utility Is the only ftandard 
 of juftice, from which all Its rules mufl be deduced; and there- 
 fore juflice has Its origin folely from public utility. 
 
 This feems to be Mr Hume's meaning, bccaufe, In what 
 follows, he obferves, That, In order to ellablini laws for the 
 regulation of property, we mufl be acquainted with the na- 
 ture and fituation of man ; mufl rejedl appearances which may 
 be falfc, though fpecious ; and mufl fearch for thofe rules which 
 are, on the whole, mofl ufeful and beneficial ; and endeavours 
 to Ihew, that the cftabllflied rules which regard property are 
 more for the public good, than the iyflcm, either of thofe reli- 
 gious
 
 440 J: S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. V, glous fanatics of the lafl age, who held, that faints only fhould 
 inherit the earth 5 or of thofe political fanatics, who claimed an 
 equal divilion of property. 
 
 We fee here, as before, that though Mr Hume's conclufion 
 refpedls juflice in general, his argument Is confined to one 
 branch of juflice, to wit, the right of property ; and it is well 
 known, that, to conclude from a part to the whole, is not good 
 reafoning. 
 
 Befides, the propofition from which his conclufion is drawn, 
 cannot be granted, either with regard to property, or with re- 
 gard to the other branches of juflice. 
 
 We endeavoured before to fhow, that property, though not 
 a,n innate but an acquired right, may be acquired in the flate of 
 nature, and agreeably to the laws of nature ', and that this 
 right has not its origin from human laws, made for the public 
 good, though, when men enter into political fociety. It may 
 and ought to be regulated by thofe laws. 
 
 If there were but two men upon the face of the earth, of 
 ripe faculties, each might have his own property, and might 
 know his right to defend It, and his obligation not to invade the 
 property of the other. He would have no need to have re- 
 courfe to reafoning from public good, in order to know when 
 he was injured, either in his property, or In any of his natural 
 rights, or to know what rules of juflice he ought to obferve to- 
 wards his neighbour. 
 
 The fimple rule, of not doing to his neighbour what he 
 would think wrong to be done to himfelf, would lead him to 
 the knowledge of every branch of juflice, without the confidera- 
 tion of public good, or of laws and flatutes made to promote 
 it. 
 
 It
 
 O F J U S T I C E. 441 
 
 It is not tme, therefore, That public utility is the only flan- chap, v.^ 
 darcl of juUicc, and that the rules of juftice cai\ be deduced 
 only from their public utility. 
 
 Aristides, and the people of Athens, had kirely another 
 notion of juftice, when he pronounced the counfel of Themis- 
 TOCLES, which was communicated to him only, to be highly 
 ufeful, but unjuft ; and the aflembly, upon this authority, re- 
 jeded the propofitl unheard. Thefe honefl; citizens, though fub- 
 je(ft to no laws but of their own making, far from making 
 utility the flandard of judice, made juftice to be the ftandard 
 of utility. 
 
 " What is a man^s property ? Any thing which it is lawful for 
 *' him, and for him alone, to ufe. But ivbat rule have we by 
 " which we can di/iinguiP} thefe objeBs? Here we muft have re- 
 " courfe to ftatutes, cuftoms, precedents, analogies, ^t." 
 
 Does not this imply, that, in the ftate of nature, there can be 
 no diftindion of property? If fo, Mr Hume's ftate of nature 
 is the fame with that of Mr Hobbes. 
 
 It is true, that, when men become members of a political fo- 
 ciety, they fubjecfl their property, as well as themfelves, to the 
 laws, and muft either acquiefce in what the laws determine, or 
 leave thefociety. But juftice, and even that particular branch of it 
 which our author always fuppofes to be the whole, is antecedent 
 to political focieties and to their laws ; and the intention of 
 thefe laws is, to be the guardians of juftice, and to redrefs in- 
 juries. 
 
 As all the works of men are imperfecft, human laws may be 
 
 unjuft ; which could never be, if juftice had its origin from 
 law, as the author feems here to iniinuate. 
 
 K k k Juftice
 
 442 ESSAY V. 
 
 i^'!^^^' Juftice requires, that a member of a flate fliould fubmit to 
 the laws of the (late, when they require nothing unjufl or im- 
 pious. There may, therefore, be ilatutory rights and flatutory 
 crimes. A ftatute may create a right which did not before ex- 
 ift, or make that to be criminal which was not fo before. But 
 this could never be, if there were not an antecedent obligation 
 upon the fubjedts to obey the flatutes. In like manner, the 
 command of a mailer may make that to be the fervant's duty 
 which, before, was not his duty, and the fervant may be charge- 
 able with injuflice if he dlfobeys, becaufe he was under an 
 antecedent obligation to obey his mafter in lawful things. 
 
 We grant, therefore, that particular laws may diredl juftice 
 and determine property, and fometimes even upon very flight 
 reafons and analogies, or even for no other reafon but that it i-s 
 better that fuch a point Ihould be determined by law than that 
 it fliould be left a dubious fubjed: of contention. But this, 
 far from prefenting us with the conclufion which the author 
 •would eftabliHi, prelents us with a contrary conclufion^ For 
 all thefe particular laws and flatutes derive their whole obliga- 
 tion and force from a general rule of juftice antecedent to 
 them, to v/it, That fubjeds ought to obey the laws of their 
 country. 
 
 The author compares the rules of juftice with the moft frivo- 
 lous fuperftitions, and can find no foundation for moral fenti- 
 ment in the one more than In the other, excepting that jufllce 
 is requifite to the well-being and exiflence of fociety* 
 
 It is very true, that, if we examine mhte and thine by the 
 fcnfes of fight, fmell or touch, or fcrutinize them by the fc'tences of medi- 
 cine, chemijiry or phyfics, we perceive no difierence. But the rea- 
 fon is, that none of thefe fenfes or fciences are the judges of 
 right or wrong, or can give any conception of them, any more 
 than the ear of colour, or the eye of found. Every man of 
 
 common
 
 O F J U S T I C E. 443 
 
 common underftandlng, and every favage, when he applies his piAP. v. 
 moral faculty to thofe objcds, perceives a difference as clearly 
 as he perceives day-light. When that fcnfe or faculty is not 
 confulted, in vain do we confult every other, in a queflion of 
 right and wrong. 
 
 To perceive that juftlcc tends to the good of mankind, would 
 lay no moral obligation upon us to be juft, unlefs we be con- 
 fcious of a moral obligation to do what tends to the good of 
 mankind. If fuch a moral obligation be admitted, why may 
 We not admit a flronger obligation to do injury to no man ? 
 The laft obligation is as eafily conceived as the firft, and there 
 is as clear evidence of its exiftence in human nature. 
 
 The lafl argument is a dilemma, and is thus expreflcd : " The 
 
 " dilemma feems obvious. As juftice evidently tends to pro- 
 
 " mote public utility, and to fupport civil fociety, the fentimeni 
 
 " of juflice is either derived from our reflcding on that ten- 
 
 " dency, or, like hunger, thirfl and other appetites, refentment, 
 
 " love of life, attachment to offspring, and other pafljons, arifes 
 
 " from a fimple original inftind in the human breart, which 
 
 *' nature has implanted for like falutary purpofes. If the lat- 
 
 *• ter be the cafe, it follows, That property, which is the objed: 
 
 " of juftice, is alfo diftinguifhed by a fimple original inftind, 
 
 " and is not afcertained by any argument or refledion. But 
 
 '* who is there that ever heard of fuch an iuflind," <Sc. 
 
 1 doubt not but Mr Hume has heard of a principle called 
 confciettce, which nature has implanted in the human breaft. 
 Whether he will call it a fimple original inflind, I know not, 
 as he gives that name to all our appetites and to all our pafTions. 
 From this principle, I think, we derive the fentiment of juftice. 
 
 As the eye not only gives us the conception of colours, but 
 makes us perceive one body to have one colour, and another 
 
 K k k 2 bodv
 
 444 ESSAY V. 
 
 y^^ ^' ^ ' ^°^y another ; and as our reafon not only gives us the concep- 
 tion of true and falfe, but makes us perceive one propofition to 
 be true and another to be falfe ; fo our confcience, or moral fa- 
 culty, not only gives us the conception of honefl and dilhoneft, 
 but makes us perceive one kind of condud to be honeft, ano- 
 ther to be difhoneft. By this faculty we perceive a merit in 
 honeft condudl, and a demerit in difhoneft, without regard to 
 public utility. 
 
 That thefe fentiments are not the effedl of education or of 
 acquired habits, we have the fame reafon to conclude, as that 
 our perception of what is true and what falfe, is not the effed: 
 of education or of acquired habits. There have been men who- 
 profeffed to believe, that there is no ground to aflent to any one 
 propofition rather than its contrary ; but I never yet heard 
 of a man who had the effrontery to profefs himfelf to be under 
 no obligation of honour or honefty, of truth or juftice, in his 
 dealings with men. 
 
 Nor does this faculty of confcience require innate Ideas of pro- 
 perty, and of the various ways of acquiring and transferring it, or in- 
 nate ideas of kings and fenators, of pretors and chancellors and juries, 
 any more than the faculty of feeing x-equires innate ideas of 
 colours, or than the faculty of reafoning requires innate ideas 
 • of cones, cylinders and fpheres. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 OF THE NATURE OF A COXTRACT. 445 
 
 CHAP. \ I. 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 Of the Nature and Obligation of a ContraH. 
 
 TH E obligation of contradls and promifes is a matter fo fa- 
 cred, and of fuch confcqiience to human focicty, that fpe- 
 culations which have a tendency to weaken that obligation, and 
 to perplex men's notions on a fubjecft fo plain and fo important, 
 ought to meet with the difapprobation of all honeft men. 
 
 Some fuch fpcculations, I think, we have in the third volume 
 of Mr Hume's Trcatife of Human Nature, and in his Enquiry 
 hito the Principles of Morals ; and my defign in this chapter is, 
 to offer fome obfervations on the nature of a contrad or pro- 
 mife, and on two paffages of that author on this fubjed. 
 
 I am far from faying or thinking, that Mr HtJME meant to 
 weaken men's obligations to honcfty and fair dealing, or that 
 he had not a fenfe of thefe obligations himfelf. It is nut the 
 man I impeach, but his writings. Let us think of the lirft as 
 charitably as we can, while we freely examine the import and 
 tendency of the laft. 
 
 Although the nature of a contrad and of a promifc is per- 
 fecTlly underflood by all men of common underftanding ; yet, 
 by attention to the operations of mind fignified by thefe words, 
 we fliall be better enabled to judge of the metaphyfical fubtil- 
 ties which have been raifed about them. A promife and a con- 
 trail differ fo little in what concerns the prefent difquiiition, 
 that the fame reafoning (as Mr Hume jullly obferves) extends 
 to both. In a promife, one party only comes under the obliga- 
 tion, the other acquires a right to the prclhition promifed. But 
 we give the name of a contract to a tranfadion in which each 
 
 party
 
 44^ E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. VI. party comes under an obligation to the other, and each recipro- 
 cally acquires a right to what is promifed by the other. 
 
 The Latin word paBum feems to extend to both \ and the de- 
 finition given of it in the Civil Law, and borrowed from Ul- 
 PIAN, is, Duorum pluriumve in idem placitum covfenfus. Titius, 
 a modern Civilian, has endeavoured to make this definition 
 more complete, by adding the words, Obligationis licite conftituenda 
 vel tolknda caufa datus. With this addition the definition is. That 
 a contract is the confent of two or more perfons in the fame 
 thing, given with the intention of conftituting or diiTolving law- 
 fully fome obligation. 
 
 This definition is perhaps as good as any other that can be 
 given; yet, I believe, every man will acknowledge, that it gives 
 him no clearer or more diflin6l notion of a contradl than he 
 had before. If it is confidered as a ftridly logical definition, 
 I believe fome objections might be made to it ; but I forbear to 
 mention them, becaufe I believe that fimilar objedlions might be 
 made to any definition of a contrail that can be given. 
 
 Nor can it be inferred from this, that the notion of a contrail 
 is not perfedlly clear in every man come to years of underfland- 
 ing. For this is common to many operations of the mind, that 
 although we underfi:and them perfedlly, and are in no danger of 
 confounding them with any thing elfe ; yet we cannot define 
 them according to the rules of logic, by a genus and a fpecific 
 difference. And when we attempt it, we rather darken than 
 give light to them. 
 
 Is there any thing more difi:In£lly underilood by all men, 
 than what it is to fee, to hear, to remember, to judge ? Yet it is 
 the mofl; difficult thing in the world to define thefe operations 
 according to the rules of logical definition. But it is not more 
 difficult than it is ufelefs. 
 
 Sometimes
 
 OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 447 
 
 Sometimes Pliilofophcrs attempt to define them ; but, if we chap, vl 
 examine their definitions, we fliall find, that they amount to no 
 more than giving one fynonymous word for another, and com- 
 conly a worle for a better. So when we define a contrad, by 
 calling it a confent, a convention, an agreement, what is this but 
 giving a fynonymous word for it, and a word that is neither 
 more expreflivc nor better underftood ? 
 
 One boy has a top, another a fcourge ; fays tlie firfi to the 
 other, If you will lend me your fcourge as long as I can keep up 
 my top with it, you fliall next have the top as long as you can 
 keep it up. Agreed, fays the other. This is a contrad: perfecfl- 
 ly undcrftood by both parties, though they never heard of the 
 definition given by Ulpian or by Tixius. And each of them 
 knows, that he is injured if the other breaks the bargain, cmd 
 that he does wrong if he breaks it himfelf. 
 
 The operations of the human mind may be divided into two 
 clafles, the folitary and the focial. As promifes and contradls 
 belong to the lafl clafs, it may be proper to explain this divi- 
 fion.. 
 
 I call thofe operations yoAVi/rj, which may be performed by a 
 man in folitude, without iutercourfe with any other intelligent 
 being. 
 
 I call thofe operations foc/a/, which necefTlirily Imply focial 
 iutercourfe with fome other intelligent being who bears a part 
 in them. 
 
 A man may fee, and hear, and remember, and judge, and rea- 
 fon ; he may deliberate and form purpofcs, and execute them, 
 without the intervention of any other intelligent being. They 
 are folitary aifls. But when he afks a queftion for information, 
 when he tefiifics a fadl, when he gives a command to his ler- 
 vant, when he makes a promife, or enters into a contract, thefe arc 
 
 focial
 
 44S E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. VI. focial ads of mind, and can have no exiftence without the inter- 
 vention of fome other intelligent being, who a-^s a part in them. 
 Between the operations of the mind, which, for want of a more 
 proper name, I have called folitary, and thofe I have calledyoria/, 
 there is this very remarkable diftindion, that, in the folitary, 
 the exprellion of them by words, or any other fenfible fign, is 
 accidental. They may exift, and be complete, without being 
 exprefled, without being Known to any other perfon. But, in 
 the focial operations, the expreflion is effential. They can- 
 not exift without being exprefTed by words or figns, and known 
 to the other party. 
 
 If nature had not made man capable of fuch focial operations 
 of mind, and furnlflied him with a language to exprefs them, "he 
 might think, and reafon, and deliberate, and will ; he might 
 have defires and averfions, joy and forrow ; in a word, he might 
 exert all thofe operations of mind, which the writers in logic and 
 pneumatology have fo copioufly defcrlbed ; but, at the fame 
 time, he would ftill be a folitary being, even when in a crowd ', 
 it would be impolTible for him to put a queftion, or give a com- 
 mand, to alk a favour, or teftify a fad, to make a promife or a 
 bargain. 
 
 I take it to be the common opinion of Philofophers, That the 
 focial operations of the human mind are not fpecifically differ- 
 ent from the folitary, and that they are only various modifica- 
 tions or compofitions of our folitary operations, and may be re- 
 folved into them. 
 
 It is, for this reafon probably, that, in enumerating the opera- 
 tions of the mind, the folitary only are mentioned, and no no- 
 tice at all taken of the focial, though they are familiar to every 
 man, and have names in all languages. 
 
 I apprehend, however, it will be found extremely difficult, if 
 not impoffible, to refolve our focial operations into any modifi- 
 cation
 
 OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 
 
 449 
 
 cation or compofition of the folitary : And that an attempt to ^HAP. vi. 
 
 tlo this, would prove as ineffediial as the attempts that have 
 
 been made to refolve all our focial aO'edions into the felfifli. 
 
 The focial operations appear to be as fimple in their nature as 
 
 the folitary. They are found in every individual of the fpecies, 
 
 even before the ufc of reafon. 
 
 The power which man has of holding focial intercourfe 
 with his kind, by aflcing and refufing, threatening and fupplica- 
 ting, commanding and obeying, tertifying and promifing, mull 
 either be a dilUnifl faculty given by our Maker, and a part of 
 our conftitution, like the powers of feeing, and hearing, or it 
 muft be a human invention. If men have invented this art of 
 focial intercourfe, it muft follow, that every individual of the 
 fpecies muft have invented it for himfelf. It cannot be taught; 
 for though, when once carried to a certain pitch, it may be im- 
 proved by teaching ; yet it is impollible it can begin in that way, 
 becaufe all teaching fuppofes a focial intercourfe and language 
 already eftabliflied between the teacher and the learner. This 
 intercourfe muft, from the very firft, be carried on by fenfible 
 figns ; for the thoughts of other men can be difcovered in no 
 other way. I think it is likewife evident, that this intercourfe, 
 in its beginning at leaft, muft be carried on by natural figns, 
 whofe meaning is underftood by both parties, previous to all 
 compad or agreement. For there can be no compact without 
 figns, nor without focial intercourfe. 
 
 I apprehend therefore, that the focial intercourfe of mankind, 
 confifting of thofc focial operations which 1 have mentioned, 
 is the excrcife of a faculty appropriated to that purpofe, wliich 
 is the gift of God, no lefs than the powers of feeing and hear- 
 ing. And that, in order to carry on this intercourfe, God has 
 given to man a natural language, by which his focial operations 
 are exprefied, and, without which, the artificial languages of ar- 
 ticulate founds, and of writing, could never have been invented 
 by human art. 
 
 L I I The
 
 45 o 
 
 ESSAY V. 
 
 CHAP. VI. The figns in this natural language are looks, changes of the 
 ' ' features, modulations of the voice, and geftures of the body. 
 
 All men underftand this language without inftrudion, and all 
 men can ule it in fome degree. But they are moft expert in it 
 who ufe it moft. It makes a great part of the language of fa- 
 vages, and therefore they are more expert in the ufe of natural 
 figns than the civilized. 
 
 The language of dumb perfons is moftly formed of natural 
 figns ; and they are all great adepts in this language of nature. 
 All that we call adion and pronunciation, in the moft perfedl 
 orator, and the moft admired adlor, is nothing elfe but fuperad- 
 ding the language of nature to the language of articulate founds. 
 The pantomimes among the Romans carried it to the higheft: 
 pitch of perfedion. For they could a6l parts of comedies and 
 tragedies in dumb-fliew, fo as to be underftood, not only by 
 thofe who were accuftomed to this entertainment, but by all 
 the ftrangers that came to Rome, from all the corners of the 
 earth. 
 
 For it may be obferved of this natural language, (and no- 
 thing more clearly demonftrates it to be a part of the human 
 conftitution,) that although it require pradlice and ftudy to en- 
 able a man to exprefs his fentiments by it in the moft perfedl 
 manner j yet it requires neither ftudy nor pradice in the fpec- 
 tator to underftand it. The knowledge of it was before latent 
 in the mind, and we no fooner fee it, than we immediately re- 
 coonife it, as we do an acquaintance whom we had long forgot, 
 and could not have defcribed j but no fooner do we fee him, 
 than we know for certain that he is the very man. 
 
 This knowledge, in all mankind, of the natural figns of men's 
 thoughts and fentiments, is indeed fo like to reminifcence, that it 
 
 feems
 
 OF JUSTICE. 
 
 451 
 
 ieems to have led Plato to conceive all human knowledge to be chap. vi. 
 of that kind. 
 
 It is not by reafoning, that all mankind know, that an open 
 countenance, and a placid eye, is a fign of amity ; that a con- 
 tracted brow, and a fierce look, is the ligii of anger. It is not 
 from reafon that we learn to know the natural figns of confent- 
 ing and refufing, of affirming and denying, of threatening and 
 fupplicating. 
 
 No man can perceive any neceflary connecflion between the 
 figns of fuch operations, and the things fignified by them. But 
 we are fo formed by tlie Author of our nature, that the opera- 
 tions themfelves become vilible, as it were, by their natural 
 figns. This knowledge refembles reminifcence, in this refpcifl, 
 that it is immediate. We form the conclufion with great aflu- 
 rance, without knowing any premifes from which it may be 
 drawn by reafoning. 
 
 It would lead us too far from the intention of the prefent en- 
 quiry, to confider more particularly, in what degree the focial 
 intercourfe is natural, and a part of our conftitution ; how far 
 it is of human invention. 
 
 It is fufficient to obferve, that this intercourfe of human 
 minds, by which their thoughts and fentiments are exchanged, 
 and their fouls mingle together as it were, is common to the 
 whole fpecies from infancy. 
 
 Like our other powers, its firfl beginnings are weak, and 
 fcarccly perceptible. But, it is a certain fad, that we can 
 perceive fome communication of fentiments between the nurfe 
 and her nurfling, before it is a month old. And I doubt not, 
 but that, if both had grown out of the earth, and had never 
 feen another human face, they would be able in a few years 
 to converfe together. 
 
 L 1 1 2 There
 
 45* 
 
 ESSAY V. 
 
 CHAP. VI. There appears indeed to be fome degree of fecial intercourfe 
 among brute-animals, and between fome of them and man. A 
 dog exults in the careifes of his mafter, and is humbled at his 
 difpleafure. But there are two operations of the focial kind, of 
 which the brute-animals feem to be altogether incapable. They 
 can neither plight their veracity by teftimony, nor their fidelity 
 by any engagement or promife. If nature had made them ca- 
 pable of thefe operations, they would have had a language to ex- 
 prefs them by, as man has : But of this we fee no appearance. 
 
 A fox is faid to ufe ftratagems, but he cannot lie ; becaufe he 
 cannot give his teftimony, or plight his veracity. A dog is faid 
 to be faithful to his mafter ; but no more is meant but that he 
 is affedionate, for he never came under any engagement. I fee 
 no evidence, that any brute-animal is capable of either giving 
 teftimony, or making a promife. 
 
 A dumb man cannot fpeak any more than a fox or a dog ; but 
 he can give his teftimony by figns as early in life as other men 
 can do by words. He knows what a lie is as early as other men, 
 and hates it as much. He can plight his faith, and is fenfible 
 of the obligation of a promife or contradl^ 
 
 It is therefore a prerogative of man, that he can communicate 
 his knowledge of fads by teftimony, and enter into engagements 
 by promife or contrad. God has given him thefe powers by a 
 part of his conftitution, which diftinguiflies him from all brute- 
 animals. And whether they are original powers, or refolvable 
 into other original powers, it is evident that they fpring up in 
 the human mind at an early period of life, and are found in eve- 
 ry individual of the fpecies, whether lavage or civilized. 
 
 Thefe prerogative powers of man, like all his other powers, 
 muft be given for fome end, and for a good end. And if we 
 confuler a little farther the oeconomy of nature, in relation to 
 this part of the human conftitution, we ftiall perceive the wif- 
 
 dom
 
 OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 453 
 
 (lorn of Nature in the ftru(5liire of it, and difcover clearly our chap. vi. 
 duty in confequcnce of it. 
 
 ■ It is evident, in xht fir/} place, that if no credit was given to 
 tefliinony, if there was no reliance upon proinifes, they would 
 anfwer no end at all, not even that of deceiving. 
 
 Secondly, Suppofing men difpofed by fome principle in their na- 
 ture to rely on declarations and promifes ; yet if men found in 
 experience, that there was no fidelity on the other part in ma- 
 king and in keeping them, no man of common underftanding 
 would truft to them, and fo they would become ufelefs. 
 
 Hence it appears, thirdly, That this power of giving teftimony, 
 and of promifing, can anfwer no end in fociety, unlefs there be 
 a confiderable degree, both of fidelity on the one part, and of 
 truft on the other. Thefe two muft ftand or fall together, and 
 one of them cannot pofllbly fubfift without the other. 
 
 Fourthly, It may be obferved, that fidelity in declarations and 
 promifes, and its counter-part, truft and reliance upon them, 
 form a fyftem of focial intercourfe, the moft amiable, the moft 
 ufeful, that can be among men. Without fidelity and truft, 
 there can be no human fociety. There never was a fociety, 
 even of favages, nay even of robbers or pirates, in which there 
 was not a great degree of veracity and of fidelity among them- 
 felves. Without it man would be the moft diflocial aninuil that 
 God has made, tlis ftate would be in reality whatHoBBEs con- 
 ceived the ftate of nature to be, a ftate of war of every man 
 againft every man j nor could this war ever terminate in peace. 
 
 It may be obferved, in the fifth place, that man is evidently 
 made for living in fociety. His focial afTcdions ftiew this as 
 evidently, as that the eye was made for feeing. His focial ope- 
 rations, particularly thole of teftifying and promifing, make it 
 no Icfs evident. 
 
 From
 
 454 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. VI, From thefe obfervations it folldws, that if no provifion were 
 made by nature, to engage men to fidelity in declarations and 
 promifes, human nature would be a contradidion to itfelf, made 
 for an end, yet without the neceflary means of attaining it. 
 As if the fpecies had been furnifhed with good eyes, but with- 
 out the power of opening their eye-lids. There are no blunders 
 of this kind in the works of God. Wherever there is an end 
 intended, the means are admirably fitted for the attainment of 
 it J and fo we find it to be in the cafe before us. 
 
 For we fee that children, as foon as they are capable of under- 
 flandlng declarations and promifes, are led by their conftitution 
 to rely upon them. They are no lefs led by conftitution to ve- 
 racity and candour, on their own part. Nor do they ever de- 
 viate from this road of truth and fincerlty, until corrupted by 
 bad example and bad company. This difpofition to fincerity In 
 themfelves, and to give credit to others, whether we call it in- 
 Jlm6l, or whatever name we give it, mufl be confidered as the 
 effed of their conftitution. 
 
 So that the things efTentlal to human fociety, I mean good 
 faith on the one part, and truft on the other, are formed by na- 
 ture in the minds of children, before they are capable of know- 
 ing their utility, or being influenced by confiderations either of 
 duty or intereft. 
 
 When we grow up fo far as to have the conception of a right 
 and a wrong in condud, the turpitude of lying, falfehood, and 
 difhonefty, is difcerned, not by any train of reafoning, but by 
 an immediate perception. For we fee that every man difap- 
 proves it in others, even thofe who are confcious of it in them- 
 felves. 
 
 Every man thinks hlmfelf injured and ill ufed, and feels re- 
 fentment, when he Is Impofed upon by it. Every man takes it 
 as a reproach when falfehood is imputed to him. Thefe are 
 
 the
 
 OF JUSTICE. 455 
 
 the clcareft evidences, tliat all men difapprove of fulfeliood, when chap. vi. 
 their judgment is not biafled. 
 
 I know of no evidence that has been given of any nation fo 
 rude, as not to have thefe fcntiments. It is certain that dumb 
 people have them, and difcover them about the fame period of 
 life, in which they appear in thofe who fpeak. And it may rca- 
 fonably be thought, that dumb perfons, at that time of life, have 
 had as little advantage, with regard to morals, from their educa- 
 tion, as the greateft favages. 
 
 Every man come to years of refledion, when he pledges his 
 veracity or fidelity, thinks he has a right to be credited, and is 
 affronted if he is not. But there cannot be a fliadow of right to 
 be credited, unlefs there be an obligation to good faith. For 
 right on one hand, ueceflarily implies obligation on the other. 
 
 When we fee that in the mod favage (late, that ever was 
 known of the human race, men have alw^ays lived in focieties 
 greater or lefs, this of itfelf is a proof from facft, that they have 
 had that fenfe of their obligation to fidelity, without which no 
 human fociety can fubfift. 
 
 From thefe obfervations, I think, it appears very evident, that 
 as fidelity on one part, and truft on the other, are elfcntial to 
 that intercourfc of men, which we call human fociety ; fo the 
 Author of our nature has made wife provifion for perpetuating 
 them among men, in that degree that is neceflary to human fo- 
 ciety, in all the different periods of human life, and in all the 
 llages of human improvement and degeneracy. 
 
 In early years, we have an innate difpofition to them. In 
 riper years, we feel our obligation to fidelity as much as to any 
 moral duty \yhatfocver. 
 
 Nor
 
 456 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. VI, jvjoj- is it necefTary to mention the collateral inducements to 
 this virtue, from confiderations of prudence, which are obvious 
 to every man that refleds. Such as, that it creates truft, the 
 moft efFedtual engine of human power; that it requires no arti- 
 fice or concealment ; dreads no detection j that It infpires cou- 
 rage and magnanimity, and is the natural ally of every virtue ; 
 fo that there is no virtue whatfoever, to which our natural ob- 
 ligation appears more ftrong or more apparent. 
 
 An obfervation or two, with regard to the nature of a con- 
 trad:, will be fufficient for the prefent purpofe. 
 
 It is obvious that the preftation promifed mull be underftood 
 by both parties. One party engages to do fuch a thing, another 
 accepts of this engagement. An engagement to do, one does not 
 know what, can neither be made nor accepted. It is no lefs 
 obvious, that a contract is a voluntary tranfadtion. 
 
 But It ought to be obferved, that the will, which is eflential 
 to a contract, is only a will to engage, or to become bound. 
 We muft beware of confounding this will, with a will to perform 
 what we have engaged. The laft can fignify nothing elfe than 
 an intention and fixed purpofe to do what we have engaged to 
 do. The will to become bound, and to confer a right upon the 
 other party, is indeed the very eiTence of a contrad: ; but the pur- 
 pofe of fulfilling our engagement, is no part of the contrad at 
 all. 
 
 A purpofe is a folitary ad of mind, which lays no obliga- 
 tion on the perfon, nor confers any right on another. A fraudu- 
 lent perfon may contrad with a fixed purpofe of not perform- 
 ing his engagement. But this purpofe makes no change with 
 regard to his obligation. He Is as much bound as the honeft 
 man, who contrads with a fixed purpofe of performing. 
 
 As the contrad is binding without any regard to the purpofe, 
 
 fo
 
 OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 457 
 
 fo there may be a purpofe without any contrail. A purpofe Is chat. \'i. 
 no contradt, even when It is declared to the perfon for wliofe 
 benefit it is intended. 1 may fay to a man, I Intend to do fiieh 
 a thing for your benefit, but I come imdcr no engagement. 
 Every man underftands the meaning of this fpeech, and fees 
 no contradlcllon in It : Whereas, if a purpofe declared were the 
 fame thing with a contract, fuch a fpeech would be a contra- 
 didion, and would be the fame as if one fliould fay, I promlfe 
 to do fuch a thing, but I do not promlfe. 
 
 All this Is fo plain to every man of common fenfe, that it 
 would have been unuecefTary to be mentioned, had not fo acute 
 a man as Mr Hume grounded fome of the contradictions he 
 finds in a contracft, upon confounding a will to engage in a con- 
 tracft with a will or purpofe to perform the engagement. 
 
 I come now to confider the fpeculatlons of that Author with 
 regard to contrails. 
 
 In order to fupport a favourite notion of his own. That juftice 
 is not a natural but an artificial virtue, and that it derives Its 
 whole merit from its utility, he has laid down fome principles 
 which, I think, have a tendency to fubvert all faith and fair- 
 dealing among mankind. 
 
 In the third volume of the Treatlfe of Human Nature, p. 40. 
 he lays it down as an undoubted maxim, That no aclion can be 
 virtuous or morally good, unlefs there be, In human nature, 
 fome motive to produce It, dlfUnct from its morality. Let us 
 apply this undoubted maxim In an inlhmce or two. If a man 
 keeps his word, from this fole motive, that he ought to do fo, 
 this is no virtuous or morally good a<flion. If a man pays his 
 debt from this motive, that julllce requires this of him, this Is 
 no virtuous or morally good adion. If a judge or an arbiter 
 gives a fentence in a caufe, from no other motive but regard to 
 
 M m m jurticc,
 
 458 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP . VL j\iflJce, this is no virtuous or morally good a(flion. Thefe ap- 
 pear to me to be ihocking abfurdities, which no metaphyfical 
 fubtilty can ever juftify. 
 
 Nothing is more evident than that every human adion takes 
 its denomination and its moral nature from the motive from 
 which it is performed. That is a benevolent adlion, which is 
 done from benevolence. That is an ad of gratitude which is 
 done from a fentiment of gratitude. That is an ad: of obedi- 
 ence to God, which is done from a regard to his command.. 
 And, in general, that is an ad of virtue which Is done from a 
 regard to virtue. 
 
 Virtuous adions are fo far from needing other motives, be- 
 lides their being virtuous, to give them merit, that their merit 
 is then greateft and mod confpicuous, when every motive that 
 can be put In the oppofite fcale is outweighed by the fole con- 
 fideration of their being our duty. 
 
 This maxim, therefore, of Mr Hume, That no adion can be 
 virtuous or morally good, unlefs there be fome motive to pro- 
 duce it diftind from Its morality, is fo far from being undoubt- 
 edly true, that it is undoubtedly falfe. It was never, fo far as I 
 know, maintained by any moralifl:, but by the Epicureans j and 
 it favours of the very dregs of that fed. It agrees well with 
 the principles of thofe who maintained, that virtue is an empty 
 name, and that it Is entitled to no regard, but in as far as it ml- 
 nifters to pleafure or profit. 
 
 I believe the author of this maxim aded upon better moral 
 principles than he wrote j and that what Cicero fays of Epi- 
 curus, may be applied to him : Redarguitur ipfe a fefe^ vincunttir- 
 que fcripta ejus probitate ipfius et moribus, et ut alii exijlimantur dicere 
 melius quam facer e,fic ilk mihi vidctur facere melius quarn dicere. 
 
 But
 
 OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 
 
 459 
 
 But let us fee how lie applies this maxim to contrads. I give CHAP. vi. 
 you his words from the place formerly cited. " I fuppofe, 
 " fays he, a perfon to have lent me a fum of money, on condi- 
 " tion that it be reftored in a few days ; and, after the expira- 
 '• tion of the term agreed on, he demands tlie fimi. I aHc, 
 " what reafon or motive have I to reftore the money ? It will 
 ** perhaps be faid, that my regard to juilice and al)horrence of 
 *' villany and knavery, are fufficient reafons for me, if I have 
 " the leafl; grain of honefty, or fcnfe of duty and obligation. 
 " And this anfwer, no doubt, is jufl and fatisfaclory to man in 
 " his civilized ftate, and when trained up according to a certain 
 " difcipline and education. But, in his rude and more natural 
 ** condition, if you are pleafed to call fuch a condition natural, 
 " this anfwer would be rejeded as perfedly unintelligible and 
 " fophiftical." 
 
 Tiie dodrine we are taught in this palTage is this, That 
 though a man, in a civilized Itate, and when trained up accord- 
 ing to a certain difcipline and education, may have a regard to 
 juftice, and an abhorrence of villany and knavery, and fome 
 fenfe of duty and obligation; yet to a man in his rude and more 
 natural condition, the confiderations of honefty, jullice, duty 
 and obligation, will be perfectly unintelligible and fophiftical. 
 And this is brought as an argument to ftiew, that juftice is not 
 a natural but an artificial virtue. 
 
 I fliall offer fome obfervations on this argument. 
 
 I. Although it may be true, that what is unintelligible to man 
 in his rude ftate may be intelligible to him in his civilized ftate, 
 I cannot conceive, that what is fophiftical in the rude llatc 
 ihould change its nature, and become juft reafoning, when man 
 is more improved. What is a fophifm, will always be fo ; nor 
 can any change in the ftate of the perfon who judges, make 
 that to be juft reafoning Mhich before was fojihiltical. Mr 
 
 IM m m 2 HuMB'f
 
 46o E S S A Y V. 
 
 ^^^ZlZi' Hume's argument requires, that to man in his rude ftate, the 
 motives to juflice and honefly fhould not only appear to be fo- 
 phiflical, but fhould really be fo. If the motives were juft in 
 themfelves, then jullice would be a natural virtue, although the 
 rude man, by an error of his judgment, thought otherwife. 
 But if juftice be not a natural virtue, which is the point 
 Mr Hume intends to prove, then every argument, by which man 
 in his natural ftate may be urged to it, mufl be a fophifm in re- 
 ality, and not in appearance only j and the effed: of difcipllne 
 and education in the civilized ftate can only be to make thofe 
 motives to juftice appear juft and fatisfadlory, which, in their 
 own nature, are fophiftical, 
 
 2. It were to be wiftied, that this ingenious Author had fliewn 
 us, why that ftate of man, in which the obligation to honefty, 
 and an abhorrence of villany, appear perfectly unintelligible 
 and fophiftical, ftiould be his more natural JIate. 
 
 It is the nature of human fociety to be progreflive, as much 
 as it is the nature of the individual. In the individual, the 
 ftate of infancy leads to that of childhood, childhood to youth, 
 youth to manhood, and manhood to old age. If one ftiould fay, 
 that the ftate of infancy is a more natural ftate than that of 
 manhood or of old age, I am apt to think, that this would be 
 words without any meaning. In like manner, in human fociety, 
 there is a natural progrefs from rudenefs to civilization, from 
 ignorance to knowledge. What period of this progrefs fliall we 
 call man's natural ftate? To me they appear all equally natural. 
 Every ftate of fociety is equally natural, wherein men have ac- 
 cefs to exert their natural powers about their proper objeds, 
 and to improve thofe powers by the means which their fituation 
 affords. 
 
 Mr Hume, indeed, ftiews fome timidity in affirming the rude 
 ftate to be the more natural ftate of man ; and, therefore, adds 
 
 this
 
 OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 461 
 
 this qualifying parenthefis, If you are pleafed to call fiich a con- c hap, vr 
 dition natural. 
 
 But It ought to be obfcrvcd, That if the premifcs of his argu- 
 ment be weakened by this claufe, the fame weaknefs mull be 
 communicated to the conclufion ; and the concluiion, according 
 to the rules of good reafoning, ought to be, That juflice is aa 
 artificial virtue, if you be pleafed to call it artificial. 
 
 3. It were likewife to be wifhed, tliat Mr Hume had fhewn 
 from fad, that there ever did exift fuch a (late of man as that 
 which he calls his more natural flace. It is a flate wherein a 
 man borrows a fum of money, on the condition that he is to re- 
 ftore it in a few days ; yet when the time of payment comes, 
 his obligation to repay what he borrowed is perfectly unintelli- 
 gible and fophiftical. It would have been proper to have given 
 at leafl a fmgle inllance of fome tribe of the human race that 
 was found to be in this natural (late. If no fuch inftance can 
 be given, it is probably a (late merely imaginary ; like that 
 ftate, which fome have imagined, wherein men were Ouran Oii- 
 tangs, or wherein they were (i(hcs with tails. 
 
 Indeed, fuch a ftate feems Impodiblc. That a man fliould 
 lend without any conception of his having a right to be repaid ; 
 or that a man (hould borrow on the condition of paying in a 
 few days, and yet have no conception of his obligation, feems 
 to me to involve a contradidlion. 
 
 I grant, that a humane man may lend without any expecta- 
 tion of being repaid ; but that he (hould lend without any con- 
 ception of a right to be repaid, is a contradidion. In like man- 
 ner, a fraudulent man may borrow without an intention of pay- 
 ing back ; but that he could borrow, while an obligation to re- 
 pay is perfe(flly unintelligible to him, this is a contradiction. 
 
 The
 
 452 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. VI. The fame author, in his Enquiry into the Principles of Mo- 
 rals, fedt. 3. treating of the fame fubjed, has the following 
 note : 
 
 ^' 'Tis evident, that the will or confent alone never transfers 
 " property, nor caufes the obligation of a promife, (for the fame 
 " reaibning extends to both) but the will mull be exprefled by 
 " words or ligns, in order to impofe a tie upon any man. The 
 " expreflion being once brought in as fubfervient to the will, 
 " foon becomes the principal part of the promife ; nor will a 
 " man be lefs bound by his word, though he fecretly give a dif- 
 " ferent diredlion to his intention, and with-hold the affent of 
 " his mind. But though the expreflion makes, on moll occa- 
 " fions, the whole of the promife ; yet it does not always fo ; 
 " and one who fliould make ufe of any expreflion, of which he 
 " knows not the meaning, and which he ufes without any fenfe 
 " of the confequences, would not certainly be bound by it. 
 ^' Nay, though he know its meaning ; yet if he ufes it in jeft 
 " only, and with fuch ligns as Ihew evidently he has no ferious 
 " intention of binding himfelf, he would not be under any ob- 
 " ligation of performance j but it is neceflary that the words be 
 *' a perfeft expreflion of the will, without any contrary figns. 
 ** Nay, even this we mufl; not carry fo far as to imagine, that 
 " one whom, from our quicknefs of underftanding, we conjec- 
 ■" tui-e to have an intention of deceiving us, is not bound by 
 *' his expreflion or verbal promife, if we accept of it, but mufl; 
 " limit this conclufion to thofe cafes, where the figns are of a 
 " different nature from thofe of deceit. All thefe contradic- 
 ** tions are eafily accounted for, if juftice arifes entirely from 
 " its ufefulnefs to fociety, but will never be explained on any 
 " other hypothefis." 
 
 Here we have the opinion of this grave moralifl: and acute 
 metaphyfician, that the principles of honefty and fidelity are at 
 bottom a bundle of contradidions. This is one part of his 
 
 moral
 
 OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 
 
 moral fyflem which, I cannot help thinking, borders upon licen- 
 tioufnefs. It furely tends to give a very unfavourable notion of 
 that cardinal virtue, Nvithout which no man has a title to be 
 called an lioneft man. What regard can a man pay to the vir- 
 tue of fidelity, who believes that its efleiitial rules contradidt 
 each other ? Can a man be bound by contradidory rules of con- 
 dud ? No more, furely, than he can be bound to believe con- 
 tradictory principles. 
 
 He tells us, " That all thefe contradi(5tions are eafdy ac- 
 " counted for, if juftice arifes entirely from its ufefulnefs to 
 " fociety, but will never be explained upon any other hypo- 
 " thefis." 
 
 I know not indeed what is meant by accounting for contra- 
 dictions, or explaining them. I apprehend, that no hypothefis 
 can make that which is a contradiction to be no contradiction. 
 However, without attempting to account for thefe contradictions 
 upon his own hypothefis, he pronounces, in a decifive tone, that 
 they will never be explained upon any other hypothefis. 
 
 What if it fliall appear, that the contradictions mentioned in 
 this paragraph, do all take their rife from two capital miftakes 
 the author has made with regard to tlie nature of promifes and 
 contracts ; and if, when thefe are corrected, there fhall not appear 
 a Ihadow of contradiction in the cafes put by him? 
 
 The firft miftake is, That a promife is fome kind of will, con- 
 fent or intention, which may be exprelfed, or may not be ex- 
 prefled. This is to millake the nature of a promife : For no 
 will, no confent or intention, that is not exprefl'ed, is a promife. 
 A promife, being a fociai tranfaction between two parties, with- 
 out being exprefled can have no exiftcnce. 
 
 Another capital miftake that runs through the pafTiige cited
 
 464 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. VI. js That this will, confent or intention, which makes a promife, 
 is a will or intention to perform what we promife. Every man 
 knows that there may be a fra' dulent pro I e, made without in- 
 tention of performing. But the intention to perform the pro- 
 mife, or not to perform it, whether the intention be known to 
 the other party or not, makes no part of the promife, it is a fo- 
 litary a6l of the mind, and can neither conftltute nor diffolve 
 an obligation. What makes a promife is, that it be exprefled 
 to the other party with underftanding, and with an intention to 
 become bound, and that it be accepted by him. 
 
 Carrying thefe remarks along with us, let us review the paf- 
 fage cited. 
 
 Fir^, He obferves, that the will or confent alone does not 
 caufe the obligation of a promife, but it muft be expreffed. 
 
 I anfwer : The will not exprefled is not a promife ; and is it 
 a contradiction that that which is not a promife fhould not 
 caufe the obligation of a promife ? He goes on : The expref- 
 iion being once brought in as fubfervient to the will, foon be- 
 comes a principal part of the promife. Here it is fuppofed, that 
 the expreflion was not originally a conflituent part of the pro- 
 mife, but it foon becomes fuch. It is brought in to aid and be 
 fubfervient to the promife which was made before by the will. 
 If Mr Hume had confidered, that it is the exprellion accompa- 
 nied with underftanding and will to become bound, that confl:i- 
 tutes a promife, he would never have faid, that the exprellion 
 foon becomes a part, and is brought In as fubfervient. 
 
 He adds. Nor will a man be lefs bound by his word, though 
 he fecretly gives a different diredion to his intention, and with- 
 holds the affent of his mind. 
 
 The cafe here put needs fome explication. Either it means, 
 
 that
 
 OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 465 
 
 that the man knowingly and vohmturily gives his word, with- CHAI\VI. 
 
 out any intention of giving his word ; or that he gives it without 
 
 the intention of keeping it, and performing what he promifes. 
 
 The Lift of thefe is indeed a poilible cafe, and is, I apprehend, 
 
 what Mr Hume means. But the intention of keeping his pro- 
 
 mife is no part of the promife, nor does it in the leall afledl the 
 
 obligation of it, as we have often obferved. 
 
 If the Author meant that the man may knowingly and volun- 
 tarily give his word, without the intention of giving his word, 
 this is impolllble : For fuch is the nature of all focial aifts of the 
 mind, that, as they cannot be without being exprefled, lb they 
 cannot be exprefled knowingly and willingly, but they muft be. 
 If a man puts a queftion knowingly and willingly, it is impof- 
 fible that he fhould at the fame time will not to put it. If he 
 gives a command knowingly and willingly, it is impolllble that 
 he Ihould at the fame time will not to give it. We cannot have 
 contrary wills at the fame time. And, in like manner, if a man 
 knowingly and willingly becomes bound by a promife, it is im- 
 polllble that he ftiould at the fame time will not to be bound. 
 
 To fuppofe, therefore, that when a man knowingly and wil- 
 lingly gives his word, he with-holds that will and intention 
 which makes a promife, is indeed a contradidion ; but the con- 
 tradidion is not in the nature of the promife, but in the cafe 
 fuppofed by Mr Hume. 
 
 He adds, though the exprefllon, for the moft part, makes the 
 whole of the promife, it does not always fo. 
 
 I anfwer. That the exprefllon, if it is not accompanied with 
 underftanding, and will to engage, never makes a promife. The 
 Author here alTumes a polUdate, which no body ever granted, 
 and which can only be grounded on the impoflible fuppolition 
 made in the former fentence. And as there can be no promife 
 without knowledge, and will to engage, is it marvellous that 
 
 N u u words
 
 466 
 
 ESSAY V. 
 
 CHAP. VI. words which are not underrtood, or words fpoken in jeft, and 
 "^ without any intention to become bound, fliould not have the 
 
 effed of a promife ? 
 
 The laft cafe put by Mr Hume, is that of a man who pro- 
 mifes fraudulently with an intention not to perform, and whofe 
 fraudulent intention is difcovered by the other party, who, not- 
 withftanding, accepts the promife. He is bound, fays Mr 
 Hume, by his verbal promife. Undoubtedly he is bound, be- 
 caufe an intention not to perform the promife, whether known 
 to the other party or not, makes no part of the promife, nor 
 affefts its obligation, as has been repeatedly obferved. 
 
 From what has been faid, I think it evident, that to one 
 who attends to the nature of a promife or contrad:, there is not 
 the leaft appearance of contradidrion in the principles of morali- 
 ty relating to contrads. 
 
 It would indeed appear wonderful, that fuch a man as Mr 
 Hume Ihould have impofed upon himfelf in fo plain a matter, if 
 we did not fee frequent inftances of ingenious men, whofe zeal 
 in fupporting a favourite hypothefis, darkens their underftand- 
 ing, and hinders them from feeing what is before their eyes. 
 
 C h a p.
 
 APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 467 
 
 CHAr.VII. 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 That moral Approbation implies a real judgment. 
 
 THE approbation of good adlions, and dlfapprobation of 
 bad, are fo familiar to every man come to years of mider- 
 flanding, that it feems flrange there fhould be any difpute a- 
 bout their nature. 
 
 Whether we reflect upon our own condudl, or attend to the 
 condudl of others with whom we live, or of whom we hear or 
 read, we cannot help approving of fome things, difapproving of 
 others, and regarding many with perfett indifference. 
 
 Thefc operations of our minds we are confcious of every day, 
 and ahnoft every hour we live. Men of rijje underftanding are 
 capable of reflecting upon them, and of attending to what palTes 
 in their own thoughts on fuch occafions ; yet, for half a cen- 
 tury, it has been a ferious difpute among Philofophers, what 
 this approbation and diiapprobation is, Whether there be a real 
 judgment included in it, which, like all other judgments, muft 
 be true or falfe ; or. Whether it include no more but fome agree- 
 able or uneafy feeling, in the perfon who approves or difap- 
 proves. 
 
 Mr Hume obferves very juftly, that this is a controverfy7?j;7- 
 ed of late. Before the modern fyftem of ideas and impreilions 
 was introduced, nothing would have appeared more abl'uril, than 
 to fay. That when I condemn a man for what he has done, I 
 pafs no judgment at all about the man, but only exprefs fome 
 uneafy feeling in myfelf. 
 
 Nor did the new fyftem produce this difcovery at once, but 
 gradually, by feveral fteps, according as its confequences were 
 
 N n n .: more
 
 468 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. VII. more accurately traced, and its fpirit more thoroughly imbibed by 
 fuccefllve Philofophers. 
 
 Des Cartes and Mr Locke went no farther than to maintain 
 that the fecondary qualities of body, heat and cold, found, co- 
 lour, tafte and fmell, which we perceive and judge to be in the 
 external object, are mere feelings or fenfations in our minds, 
 there being nothing in bodies themfelves to which thefe names 
 can be applied j and that the office of the external fenfes is not 
 to judge of external things, but only to give us ideas or fenfa- 
 tions, from which we are by reafoning to deduce the exiftence 
 of a material world without us, as well as we can. 
 
 Arthur Collier and Bifhop Berkeley difcovered, from 
 the fame principles, that the primary, as well as the fecondary, 
 qualities of bodies, fuch as exteniion, figure, folidity, motion, 
 are only fenfations in our minds 3 and therefore, that there is 
 no material world without us at all. 
 
 The fame philofophy, when it came to be applied to matters 
 of tafte, difcovered that beauty and deformity are not any thing 
 in the objects, to which men, from the beginning of the world, 
 afcribed them, but certain feelings in the mind of the fpeda- 
 tor. 
 
 The next ftep was an eafy confequence from all the prece- 
 ding, that moral approbation and difapprobation are not judg- 
 ments, which muft be true or falfe, but barely, agreeable and un- 
 eafy feelings or fenfations. 
 
 Mr Hume made the lafl ftep in this progrefs, and crowned 
 the fyftem by what he calls his hypothefis, to wit. That belief is 
 more properly an adt of the fenfitive, than of the cogitative part 
 of our nature. 
 
 Beyond this I think no man can go in this track 5 fenfation or 
 
 feeling
 
 APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 469 
 
 feeling is all, and what is left to the cogitative part of our na- chap, vil 
 ture, I am not able to comprehend. "^ 
 
 I have had occafion to confidcr each of thefe paradoxes, ex- 
 cepting that which relates to morals, in E[fays on the Intel- 
 leBual Powers of Man : and, though they be ftridly conneded 
 with each other, and with the fyllem which has produced them, 
 I have attempted to fliew, that they are inconfiflent with jnft 
 notions of our intelledual powers, no lefs than they are with 
 the common fenfe and common language of mankind. And 
 this, I think, will likewife appear with regard to the conclufion 
 relating to morals, to wit. That moral approbation is only an agree- 
 able feeling, and not a real judgment. 
 
 To prevent ambiguity as much as pofllble, let us attend to 
 the meaning of feeling and of judgment. Thefe operations of the 
 mind, perhaps, cannot be logically defined ; but they are well 
 underftood, and eafily diftinguilhed, by their properties and ad- 
 jundts. 
 
 Feeling, or fenfiation, feems to be the lowed degree of anima- 
 tion we can conceive. We give the name of animal to every 
 being that feels pain or pleafure ; and this feems to be the bouu- 
 dary between the inanimate and animal creation. 
 
 We know no being of fo low a rank in the creation of God, 
 as to poffefs this animal power only without any other. 
 
 We commonly Ax^'m^uih feeling from thinking, becaufe it hard- 
 ly dcferves the name ; and though it be, in a more general fenfe, 
 a fpecies of thought, is leaft removed from the pallive and in- 
 ert ftate of things inanimate. 
 
 A feeling muft be agreeable, or uncafy, or indillcrent. It 
 may be weak or ftrong. It is exprefled in language either by 
 a fingle word, or by fuch a contexture of words as may be the 
 
 fubjea
 
 470 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. VII. fubjedl or predicate of a propofition, but fucli as cannot by them- 
 felves make a propofition. For it implies neither affirmation 
 nor negation ; and therefore cannot have the qualities of true 
 or falfe, which diftlnguilh propofitions from all other forms of 
 fpeech, and judgments from all other ad;s of the mind. 
 
 nat I have fuch a feeling. Is Indeed an affirmative propofition, 
 and exprefles teftlmony grounded upon an intuitive judgment. 
 But the feeling is only one term of this propofition ^ and It can 
 only make a propofition when joined with another term, by a 
 verb affirming or denying. 
 
 As feeling dlfl;lnguiflies the animal nature from the Inani- 
 mate J fo judging feeais to diftlngulfli the rational nature from 
 the merely animal. 
 
 Though judgment In general Is exprefled by one word In lan- 
 guage, as the moft complex operations of the mind may be ; yet 
 a particular judgment can only be exprefi^ed by a fentence, and 
 by that kind of fentence which Logicians call a propofition^ in 
 which there mufl; neceflarily be a verb In the Indicative mood, 
 either exprefled or underftood. 
 
 Every judgment mufi; necefl!arily be true or falfe, and the 
 fame may be faid of the propofition which exprefi^es it. It Is a 
 determination of the underftanding, with regard to what is true, 
 or falfe, or dubious. 
 
 In judgment, we can diftlngulfli the objedt about which we 
 judge, from the adl of the mind in judging of that objedt. In 
 mere feeling there Is no fuch difl:indion. The objed of judg- 
 ment mufi be exprefl'ed by a propofition j and belief, difiaelief 
 or doubt, always accompanies the judgment we form. If we 
 judge the propofition to be true, we mufi believe it j if we judge 
 It to be falfe, we muft diftDelieve it ; and If we be uncei'tain whe- 
 ther It be true or falfe, we muft doubt. 
 
 The
 
 APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 471 
 
 The tootbachy the headachy are words which cxprefs iincafy feel- CHAP. vir. 
 ings J but to lay that they exprefs a judgment would be ridi- 
 culous. 
 
 That the fun is greater than the earthy is a propofition, and there- 
 fore the objedt of judgment ; and when afl'inned or denied, be- 
 lieved or dilbelieved, or doubted, it exprefles judgment \ but to 
 fay that it expreflls only a feeling in the mind of him that be- 
 lieves it, would be ridiculous. 
 
 Thefe two operations of mind, when we confidcr them fcpa- 
 ratcly, are very different, and eafdy diflinguilhed. W'len we 
 feel without judging, or judge without feeling, it is impollible, 
 without very grofs "inattention, to raiftake the one for the 
 other. 
 
 But in many operations of the mind, both are infcparably con- 
 joined under one name ; and when we are not aware that the 
 operation is complex, we may take one ingredient to be the 
 whole, and overlook the other. 
 
 In former ages, that moral power, by which hninan acfl^ions 
 ought to be regulated, was called rejfon, and confidered both by 
 Philofophers, and by the vulgar, as the power of judging what 
 we ought, and what we ought not to do. 
 
 This is very fully expreflcd by Mr Hume, in his Treatife of Hu- 
 man Nature, Book II. Part III. § 3. " Nothing is more ufual iu 
 " philofophy, and even in common life, than to talk of the com.- 
 " bat of paflion and reafon, to give the preference to reafon, 
 " and aiTert that men are only fo far virtuous as they conform 
 " themfelves to its didlates. Every rational creature, 'tis laid, 
 ** is obliged to regulate his actions by reafon ; and if any other 
 " motive or principle challenge the direction of his conduct, he 
 " ought to oppofe it, till it be entirely fnbdued, or, at ka(t, 
 '* brought to a conformity to that fuperior principle. On this 
 
 " method
 
 472 " E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP, vir . " method of thinking, the greatefl part of moral philofophy, 
 " ancient and modern, feems to be founded." 
 
 That thofe Philofophers attended chiefly to the judging power 
 of our moral faculty, appears from the names they gave to Its 
 operations, and from the whole of their language concern- 
 ing It. 
 
 The modern philofophy has led men to attend chiefly to theit 
 fenfatlons and feelings, and thereby to refolve Into mere feel- 
 ing, complex adts of the mind, of which feeling is only one in- 
 gredient. 
 
 I had occafion, in the preceding Eflliys, to obferve. That feve- 
 ral operations of the mind, to which we give one name, and con- 
 fider as one a6t, are compounded of more limple ails Infeparably 
 united In our conftitutlon, and that In thefe, fenfatlon or feeling 
 often makes one ingredient. 
 
 Thus the appetites of hunger and thirfl: are compounded of 
 an uneafy fenfatlon, and the defire of food or drink. In our 
 benevolent affed^ions, there Is both an agreeable feeling, and a 
 defire of happinefs to the objedt of our affedlion^ and malevo- 
 lent affedions have ingredients of a contrary nature. 
 
 In thefe infl:ances, fenfatlon or feeling Is Infeparably conjoin- 
 ed with defire. In other infl:ances, we find fenfatlon Infepa- 
 rably conjoined with judgment or belief, and that In two diffe- 
 rent ways. In fome infliances, the judgment or belief feems to 
 be the confequence of the fenfatlon, and to be regulated by it. 
 In other inftances, the fenfatlon is the confequence of the judg- 
 ment. 
 
 When we perceive an external object by our fenfes, we have 
 a fenfatlon conjoined with a firm belief of the exiftence and 
 
 fenfible
 
 •APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 473 
 
 fenfible qiuilities of the external objed. Nor has all the Tub- CHAr-.vii. 
 tilty of inecaphyfics been able to disjoin what nature has con- 
 joined in our conllituiio i. Des Cartes a;.'d Locke endeavour- 
 ed, by reafoning, to deduce the exiftcnce of external objects 
 from our fenfations, but in vain. Subfcquent Philofophcrs, 
 finding no reafon for this connedion, endeavoured to throw off 
 the belief of external objects as being unreafonable ; but thii 
 attempt is no lefs vain. Nature has doomed us to believe tlic 
 teftimony of our fenfes, whether we can give a good reafon for 
 doing fo or not. 
 
 In this inftance, the belief or judgment is the confequence of 
 the fenfation, as the fcnfation is the confequence of the impref- 
 fion made on the organ of fenfe. 
 
 But in mod of the operations of mind in which judgment: or 
 belief is combined with feeling, the feeling is the conlequeuce 
 of the judgment, and is regulated by it. 
 
 Thus, an account of the good condud of a friend at a di- 
 ftance gives me a very agreeable feeling, and a contrary ac- 
 count would give me a very uneafy feeling ; but thefe feelings 
 depend entirely upon my belief of the report. 
 
 In hope, there is an agreeable feeling, depending upon the 
 belief or expectation of good to come : Fear is made up of con- 
 trary ingredients ; in both, the feeling is regulated by the de- 
 gree of belief. 
 
 In the refpecl we bear to the worthy, and in our contempt of 
 the worthlefs, there is both judgment and feeling, aiid the laft 
 depends entirely upon the firlt. 
 
 The fame may be laid of gratitude for good offices and re- 
 fcntment of injuries. 
 
 O o o Let
 
 474 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. vii. Let me now confider how I am afFefted when I fee a man ex- 
 erting himlelf nobly in a good caufe. I am confcious that the 
 efTect of his condudl on my mind is complex, though it may be 
 called by one name. I look up to his virtue, I approve, I ad- 
 mire it. In doing fo, I have pleafure indeed, or an agreeable 
 feeling ; this is granted. But I find myfelf interefted in his 
 fuccefs and in his fame. This is affedion ; it is love and efteem, 
 which is more than mere feeling. The man is the objedt of 
 this efteem j but in mere feeling there is no object* 
 
 I am llkewife confcious, that this agreeable feeling in me, 
 and this efteem of him, depend entirely upon the judgment I 
 form of his condudt. I judge that this conduct merits efteem ; 
 and, while 1 thus judge, I cannot but efteem him, and contem- 
 plate his condudt with pleafure. Perfuade me that he was 
 bribed, or that he aded from fome mercenary or bad motive, 
 immediately my efteem and my agreeable feeling vanifli. 
 
 In the approbation of a good adion, therefore, there is feel- 
 ing indeed, but there is alfo efteem of the agent ; and both the 
 feeling and the efteem depend upon the judgment we form of 
 his condud. 
 
 When I exercife my moral faculty about my own adlions or 
 thofe of other men, I am confcious that I judge as well as feel. 
 I accufe and excufe, I acquit and condemn, I aflent and diffent, 
 I believe and difl)elieve, and doubt. Thefe are ads of judgment, 
 and not feelings. 
 
 Every determination of the underftanding, with regard to 
 what is true or falfe, is judgment. That I ought not to fteal, or 
 to kill, or to bear falfe witnefs, are propofitions, of the truth of 
 which I am as well convinced as of any propofition in Euclid. 
 1 am confcious that I judge them to be true propofitions; and 
 
 ray
 
 APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 
 
 (•/J 
 
 my confciournefs makes all other arguments unneccITary, with CHAP. vii. 
 regard to the operations of my own mind. 
 
 That other men judge, as well as feel, in fuch cafes, I am 
 convinced, becaufe they underfland me when I exprefs my mo- 
 ral judgment, and exprefs theirs by the fame terms and 
 phrafes. 
 
 Suppofe that, in a cafe well known to both, my friend fays, 
 Such a man did well and wortbUy, his condu& Is highly approvable. 
 This fpeech, according to all rules of interpretation, exprefles 
 my friend's judgment of the man's condudl. This judgment 
 may be true or falfe, and I may agree in opinion with him, or 
 I may diiTent from him without olfence, as we may dilTer in 
 other matters of judgment. 
 
 Suppofe, again, that, in relation to the fame cafe, my friend 
 fays, 'The man s conduct gave me a very agreeable feeling. 
 
 This fpeech, if approbation be nothing but an agreeable feel- 
 ing, mufl have the very fame meaning with the firft, and exprefs 
 neither more nor lefs. But this cannot be, for two realons. 
 
 Firji^ Becaufe there is no rule in grammar or rhetoric, nor 
 any ufage in language, by which thefe two fpeeches can be con- 
 ilrued, fo as to have the fame meaning. The firjl exprciles 
 plainly an opinion or judgment of the conduct of the man, but 
 fays nothing of the fpeaker. The fecond only teftifies afa(5t con- 
 cerning the fpeaker, to wit, that he had fuch a feeling. 
 
 Another reafon why thefe two fpeeches cannot mean the fame 
 thing is, that the firft may be contradicled without any ground 
 of offence, fuch contradiclion being only a difference of opinion, 
 which, to a reafonable man, gives no offence. But the IccunJ 
 fpeech cannot be contradicled without an affront ; for, as cvr.iy 
 
 O o o 2 man
 
 476 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. VII . jD^xi muft know his own feelings, to deny that a man had a feel- 
 ing which he affirms he had, is to charge him with falfehood. 
 
 If moral approbation be a real judgment, which produces an 
 agreeable feeling in the mind of him who judges, both fpeeches 
 are perfedliy intelligible, in the moft obvious and literal fenfe. 
 Their meaning is different, but they are related, fo that the one 
 may be inferred from the other, as we infer the effedl from the 
 caufe, or the caufe from the effedl. I know, that what a man 
 judges to be a very worthy action, he contemplates with plea- 
 fure ; and what he contemplates with pleafure muft, in his judg- 
 ment, have worth. But the judgment and the feeling are diffe- 
 rent adls of his mind, though connected as caufe and effe<5t. 
 He can exprefs either the one or the other with perfedl pro- 
 priety ; but the fpeech which exprefles his feeling is altogether 
 improper and inept to exprefs his judgment, for this evident 
 reafon, that judgment and feeling, though in fome cafes con- 
 neded, are things in their nature different. 
 
 If we fuppofe, on the other hand, that moral approbation is 
 nothing more than an agreeable feeling, occafioned by the con- 
 templation of an adlion, the fecond fpeech above mentioned has 
 a diftind meaning, and expreffes all that is meant by moral ap- 
 probation. But the firft fpeech either means the very fame 
 thing, (which cannot be, for the reafons already mentioned) or 
 it has no meaning. 
 
 Now, we may appeal to the Reader, whether, in converfation 
 upon human characters, fuch fpeeches as the firft are not as fre- 
 quent, as familiar, and as well underftood, as any thing in lan- 
 guage ; and whether they have not been common in all ages 
 that we can trace, and in all languages ? 
 
 This dodrine, therefore, That moral approbation is merely a 
 feeling without judgment, necellkrily carries along with it this 
 
 confequeuce,
 
 APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 477 
 
 confequence, that a form of fpeech, upon one of the mod com- CHAP. vil. 
 mon topics of difcoiirfe, which either has no meaning, or a 
 ireaning irreconcilable to all rules of grammar or rhetoric, is 
 found to be common and familiar in all languages and in all 
 ages of the world, while every man knows how to cxprefs the 
 meaning, if it have^any, in plain and proper language. 
 
 Such a confequence I think fufficient to fink any philofophical 
 opinion on which it hangs. 
 
 A particular language may have fome oddity, or even ab- 
 furdity, introduced by fome man of eminence, from caprice or 
 wrong! judgment, ^"'■' *^'>''"^'ed, by fervile imitators, for a time, 
 till it be deteded, and, of confequence, difcountenanced and 
 dropt ; but that the fame abfurdity fhould pervade all languages, 
 through all ages, and that, after being detected and expofed, it 
 fhould flill keep its countenance and its place in language as 
 much as before, this can never be while men have uuderrtand- . 
 ing. 
 
 It maybe obferved by the way, that the fame argument may 
 be applied, with equal force, agalnft thofe other paradoxical 
 opinions of modern philofophy, which we before mentioned as 
 conneded with this, fuch as, that beauty and deformity are not 
 at all in the objeds to which language univerfally afcribes them, 
 but are merely feelings in the mindof the fpedlator ; that the 
 fecondary qualities are not in external objeds, but are merely 
 feelings or fenfations in him that perceives them ; and, in gene- 
 ral, that our external and internal fenfes are faculties by which 
 we have fenfations or feelings only, but by which we do not 
 judge. 
 
 That every form of fpeech, which language a/Tords tf) exprefs 
 our judgments, fhould, in all ages, and in all languages, be ufcd 
 to exprefs what is no judgment j and that feelings, which arc 
 
 eafjiy
 
 478 . ESSAY V. 
 
 CHAP. VII . eafily exprefled In proper language, fliould as univerfally be ex- 
 prefled by language altogether improper and abfurd, I cannot 
 believe ; and therefore muft conclude, that if language be the 
 expreflion of thought, men judge of the primary and fecondary 
 qualities of body by their external fenfes, of beauty and defor- 
 mity by their tafte, and of virtue and vice hy their moral fa- 
 culty. 
 
 A truth fo evident as this Is, can hardly be obfcured and 
 brought Into doubt, but by the abufe of w^ords. And much 
 abufe of words there has been upon this fubjeft. To avoid this, 
 as much as poffible, I have ufed the word Judgment, on one fide, 
 and Jen/ation ox feeling, upon the other ; becaufe thefe words have 
 been leaft liable to abufe or ambiguity. But it may be proper 
 to make fome obfervations upon other words that have been ufed 
 In this controverfy. 
 
 Mr Hume, in his Treatife of Human Nature, has employed 
 two fedions upon it, the titles of which are, Moral DiJilnSlions not 
 derived from Reafon, and Moral DiJlinSliom derived from a Moral 
 Senfe, 
 
 When he is not, by cuftom, led unawares to fpeak of reafon 
 like other men, he limits that word to fignify only the power 
 of judging in matters merely fpeculative. Hence he concludes, 
 That reafon of itfelf is inadive and perfedly inert." That 
 adtions may be laudable or blameable, but cannot be reafon- 
 able or unreafonable." That " it Is not contrary to reafon, 
 to prefer the deftrucftlon of the whole world to the fcratch- 
 ing of my finger." That " it is not contrary to reafon, for 
 me to chufe my total ruin to prevent the leafi; uneafinefs of 
 an Indian, or of a perfon wholly unknown to me." That 
 reafon is, and ought only to be, the flave of the paflions, and 
 can never pretend to any other ofEce, than to ferve and obey 
 '' them." 
 
 If
 
 APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 479 
 
 If we take the word reafon to mean what common ufe, both of f^'^Ai'. vir. 
 Pliilofophers, and of the vulgar, hath made it to mean, thefe 
 maxims are not only falfe, but licentious. It is only his abufe 
 of the words reafon and pajfiott, that can ju(tify thcn\ from this 
 cenfure. 
 
 The meaning of a common word is not to be afcertained by 
 philofophical theory, but by common ufage j and if a man will 
 take the liberty of limiting or extending the meaning of com- 
 mon words at his pleafure, he may, like Mandeville, infinuate 
 the moft licentious paradoxes with the appearance of plaufibi- 
 lity. I have before made fome obfervations upon the meaning 
 of this word, Eflay II. chap. 2. and Ellay III. part j. chap. i. 
 to which the Reader is referred. 
 
 When Mr Hume derives moral diftin(5lions from amoral fenfe, 
 I agree with him in words, but we differ about the meaning of 
 the word fenfe. Every power to which the name of a fenfe has 
 been given, is a power of judging of the objects of that (tnk^ 
 and has been accounted fuch in all ages ; the moral fenfe there- 
 fore is the power of judging in morals. But Mr Hume will 
 have the moral fenfe to be only a power of feeling, without 
 judging: This 1 take to be an abufe of a word. 
 
 Authors who place moral approbAtion in feeling only, very 
 often ufe the wordfen/imenl, to exprefs feeling without judgment. 
 This I take likewife to be an abufe of a word. Our moral de- 
 terminations may, with propriety, be called moral fenliments. For 
 the \vovi.\fent'tment^ in the Euglifh language, never, as I conceive, 
 fignifies mere feeling, but judgment accompanied with feeling. 
 It was wont to fignify opinion or judgment of any kind, but, of 
 late, is appropriated to fignify an opinion or judgment, that 
 ftilkes, and produces fome agreeable or uneafy emotion. So we 
 fpeak of fcntiments of refjiedt, of efteem, of gratitude. But I 
 never heard the pain of the gout, or any other mere feeling, 
 called a lentimeut. 
 
 Even
 
 48o E S S A Y V. 
 
 ^!ill^llli' Even the word judgment has been ufed by Mr Hume to ck- 
 prefs what he maintains to be only a feeling. Treatilc of Hu- 
 man Nature, part .3. page 3. " The term perception is no lefs ap- 
 *' plicable to \.ho(Q judgments by which we diftinguifh moral good' 
 " and evil, than to every other opei'ation of the mind." Per- 
 haps he ufed this word inadvertently ; for I think there cannot 
 be a greater abufe of words, than to put judgment for what he 
 held to be mere feeling. 
 
 All the words moft commonly ufed, both by Phllofophers and 
 by the vulgar, to exprefs the operations of our moral faculty, 
 fuch as, decijion, determination, fentence^ approbation^ difapprobation, 
 applaufe, cenfure, praife, blame^ neceffarily imply judgment in 
 their meaning. When, therefore, they are ufed by Mr Hume, 
 and others who hold his opinion, to fignify feelings only, this 
 is an abufe of words. If thefe Philofophers wifh to fpeak plain- 
 ly and properly, they muft, in difcourfing of morals, difcard 
 thefe words altogether, becaufe their eflablifhed fignification in 
 the language, is contrary to what they would exprefs by them. 
 
 They muft likewife difcard from morals the words ougJot and 
 ought not, which very properly exprefs judgment, but cannot be 
 applied to mere feelings. Upon thefe words Mr Hume has 
 made a particular obfervation in the conclufion of his firft fec- 
 tion above mentioned. I fhall give it in his own words, and 
 make fome remarks upon it. 
 
 " I cannot forbear adding to thefe reafonings, an obfervation 
 " which may, perhaps, be found of fome importance. In eve- 
 " ry fyftem of morality which I have hitherto met with, I have 
 " always remarked, that the Author proceeds for fome time in 
 " the ordinary way of reafoning, and eftabliflies the being of a 
 " God, or makes obferyatlons concerning human affairs ; when, 
 " of a fudden, I am furprifed to find, that, inftead of the ufual 
 " copulations of propofitions, is, and is not, I meet with no pro- 
 *' pofition that is not conneded with an ought, or an ought not. 
 
 " This
 
 <c 
 
 APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. « 481 
 
 " This chane;e is imperceptible, but is, however, of the laft con- CIIAP. vw. 
 " fequence. For as this ought or ought not exprefles fome new 
 relation or affirmation, 'tis necefTary that it fhould l)c obferved 
 " and explained ; and, at the fame time, that a reafon fhould be 
 *' given for what feems altogether inconceivable j how this 
 " new relation can be a declu(ftion from others which are cn- 
 " tirely different from it. But as Authors do not commonly ufe 
 " this precaution, I (liall prefume to recommend it to the Read- 
 " ers J and am perfuaded, that this fmall attention would fub- 
 " vert all the vulgar fyftems of morality, and let us fee, thai 
 " the diftindion of vice and virtue, is not founded merely on 
 " the relations of objedls, nor is perceived by reafon." 
 
 We may here obferve, that it is acknowledged, that the words 
 ought and ought not exprefs fome relation or affirmation ; but a re- 
 lation or affirmation which Mr Hume thought inexplicable, or, 
 at leafl, inconfiftent with his fyftem of morals. He mufl, there- 
 fore, have thought, that they ought not to be ufed in treating 
 of that fubjed. 
 
 He likewife makes two demands, and, taking it for granted 
 that they cannot be fatisfied, is perfuaded, that an attention to 
 this is fufficient to fubvert all the vulgar fyftems of morals. 
 
 The firjl demand is, that ought and ought not be explained. 
 
 To a man that underftands Englifli, there are furely no words 
 that require explanation lefs. Are not all men taught, from 
 their early years, that they ought not to lie, nor ftcal, nor fwear 
 falfely ? But Mr Hume thinks, that men never underftood what 
 thefe precepts mean, or rather that they are unintelligible. M 
 this be fo, I think indeed it will follow, that all the vulgar 
 fyftems of morals are fubverted. 
 
 P p p Dr
 
 482 ESSAY V. 
 
 CHAP. VII. Dr Johnson, in his Didlonary, explains the word ought to 
 lignify, being obliged by duty ; and I know no better explica- 
 tion that can be given of it. The Reader will fee what 1 thought 
 neceflary to fay concerning the moral relation exprelfed by this 
 word, in Elfay III. part 3. chap. 5. 
 
 The fecond demand is, That a reafon fhould be given why this 
 relation fliould be a dedudion from others which are entirely 
 different from it. 
 
 This is to demand a reafon for what does not exift. The firft 
 principles of morals are not deductions. They are felf-evident j 
 and their truth, like that of other axioms, is perceived without 
 reafoning or dedudion. And moral truths that are not felf- 
 evident, are deduced, not from relations quite different from 
 them, but from the firfl principles of morals. 
 
 In a matter fo interefling to mankind, and fo frequently the 
 fubjed of converfation among the learned and the unlearned as 
 morals is, it may furely be expeded, that men will exprefs both 
 their judgments and their feelings with propriety, and con- 
 fiflently with the rules of language. An opinion, therefore, 
 which makes the language of all ages and nations, upon this fub- 
 jed, to be improper, contrary to all rules of language, and fit 
 to be difcarded, needs no other refutation. 
 
 As mankind have, in all ages, underflood reafon to mean the 
 power by which not only our fpeculative opinions, but our ac- 
 tions ought to be regulated, we may fay, with perfed propriety, 
 that all vice is contrary to reafon ; that, by reafon, we are to 
 judge of what we ought to do, as well as of what we ought to 
 believe. 
 
 But though all vice be contrary to reafon, I conceive that it 
 
 would
 
 APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 483 
 
 would not be a proper dclinlcion of vice to C^y, that it is a con- CHAT. vir. 
 dudl contrary to reafon, becaufc this dcfuiition would apply 
 equally to folly, which all men diftinguifh from vice. 
 
 There are other phrafes which have been ufctl on the fume 
 fide of the quellion, which I fee no reafon for adopting, fuch as, 
 a^ifig contrary to the relations of things^ contrary to the rcofon of 
 things t to the fitnefs of things, to the truth of things, to abfolute fitncfs. 
 Thefe phrafes have not the authority of common w^^^ which, in 
 matters of language, is great. They feem to have been invent- 
 ed by fome authors, with a view to explain the nature of vice ; 
 but I do not think they aufwer that end. If intended as defi- 
 nitions of vice, they are improper; becaufe, in the moft favour- 
 able fenfe they can bear, they extend to every kind of foolifli 
 and abfurd condudl, as well as to that which is vicious. 
 
 I fhall conclude this chapter with fome obfervations upon the 
 five arguments which Mr Hume has offered upon this point in 
 his Enquiry. 
 
 The firji is. That it is impofllble that the hypothefis he op- 
 pofes, can, in any particular inftance, be fo much as rendered 
 intelligible, whatever fpecious figure it may make in general dif- 
 courfe. " Examine, fays he, the crime of ingratitude, anato- 
 " mize all its circumftances, and examine, by your reafon 
 " alone, in what confifts the demerit or blame, you will never 
 " come to any ilfue or conclufion." 
 
 I think it unneceffary to follow him through all the accounts 
 of ingratitude which he conceives may be given by thofe whom 
 he oppofes, becaufe I agree with him in that which he liimfelf 
 adopts, to wit, " That this crime arifes from a complication of 
 " circumftances, which, being prefented to the fpeclator, excites 
 
 P p p 3 "the
 
 484 ESSAY V. 
 
 CHAP^il. " (}-jg fentlment of blame by the particular (Irudure and fabric 
 " of his mind." 
 
 This he thought a true and intelligible account of the crimi- 
 nality of ingratitude. So do I. And therefore 1 think the hy- 
 pothefis he oppofes is intelligible, when applied to a particular 
 inflance. 
 
 Mr Hume, no doubt, thought, that the account he gives of 
 ingratitude is inconfiftent with the hypothefis he oppofes, and 
 could not be adopted by thofe who hold that hypothefis. He 
 could be led to think fo, only by taking for granted one of thefe 
 two things. Either, Jlrji^ That the fentiment of blame is a feeling- 
 only, without judgment }, or, fecondly, That whatever is excited 
 by the particular fabric and ftrufture of the mind mufl be feel- 
 ing only, and not judgment. But I cannot grant either the one 
 or the other. 
 
 For, as to thefirj}, it feems evident to me, that both fentiment 
 and blame imply judgment j and, therefore, that the fentiment of 
 blame is a judgment accompanied with feeling, and not mere 
 feeling without judgment. 
 
 The fecond can as little be granted ; for no operation of mind, 
 whether judgment or feeling, can be excited but by that parti- 
 cular flrucSure and fabric of the mind which makes us capable 
 of that operation. 
 
 By that part of our fabric which we call the facidty of feeing y 
 we judge of vifible objects ; by tafle^ another part of our fabric, 
 we judge of beauty and deformity j by that part of our fabric, 
 which enables us to form abllradt conceptions, to compare them, 
 and perceive their relations, we judge of abflracl truths ; and 
 by that part of our fabric which we call the moral faculty ^ we 
 
 judge
 
 APPROBATION IMPLIES J U D G .M E X T. 485 
 
 judge of virtue and vice. If wc fuppofe a being uithoiit any chap. vii. 
 moral faculty in his fabric, 1 grant that he could not have the " ' 
 
 Icntiincnts of blame and nioral approbation. 
 
 There are, therefore, judgments, as ^vell as feelings, tliat are 
 excited by the particular ftrudurc and fabric of tjie mind. But 
 there is this remarkable diflerence between them. That every 
 judgment is, in its own nature, true or falfe j and though it de- 
 pends upon the f\\bric of a mind, whether it have fuch a judg- 
 ment or not, it depends not upon tliat fabric whether the judg- 
 ment be true or not. A true judgment will be true, whatever 
 be the fabric of the mind; but a particular ftrutlure and fabric 
 is neceffary, in order to our perceiving that truth. Nothing 
 like this can be faid of mere feelings, becaufe the attributes of 
 true or falfe do not belong to them. 
 
 Thus I think it appears, that the hypothefis which Mr H[u:\iE 
 oppofes is not unintelligible, when applied to the particular in- 
 ilance of ingratitude ; becaufe the account of ingratitude 
 which he himfelf thinks true and intelligible, is perfectly agree- 
 able to it. 
 
 The /tffoW argument amounts to this : That in moral delibe- 
 ration, we mufl be acquainted before-hand with all the objcifls 
 and all their relations. After thefe things are known, the un- 
 dcrllanding has no farther room to operate. Nothing remains 
 but to feel, on our part, fome fentiraent of blame or approba- 
 tion. 
 
 Let us apply this reafoning to the office of a judge. In a caufc 
 that comes before him, he mufl be made acquainted with all the 
 objeds, and all their relations. After this, his underftanding 
 has no fiirther room to operate. Nothing remains, on his part, 
 
 but
 
 486 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHAP. VII. but to feel the right or the wrong; and mankind have, very ab- 
 furdly, called him ^ judge; he ought to be called ^feeler. 
 
 To anfwer this argument more diredtly : The man who dell- 
 berates, after all the objedls and relations mentioned by Mr 
 Hume are known to him, has a point to determine ; and that is, 
 whether the adion under his deliberation ought to be done or 
 ought not. In moll: cafes, this point will appear felf-evident to 
 a man who has been accuftomed to exercife his moral judgment ; 
 in fome cafes it may require reafoning. 
 
 In like manner, the judge, after all the circumftances of the 
 caufe are known, has to judge, whether the plaintiff has a juft 
 plea or not. 
 
 The third argument is taken from the analogy between moral 
 beauty and natural, between moral fentlment and tafte. As 
 beauty is not a' quality of the objedt, but a certain feeling of 
 the fpedator, fo virtue and vice are not qualities in the perfons 
 to whom language afcribes them, but feelings of the fpedator. 
 
 But is it certain that beauty is not any quality of the objed ? 
 This is indeed a paradox of modern philofophy, built upon a 
 philofophical theory ; but a paradox fo contrary to the common 
 language and common fenfe of mankind, that it ought rather to 
 overturn the theory on which it ftands, than receive any fup- 
 port from it. And if beauty be really a quality of the objed, 
 and not merely a feeling of the fpedator, the whole force of 
 this argument goes over to the other fide of the queflion. 
 
 " Euclid, he fays, has fully explained all the qualities of 
 
 " the circle, but has not, in any propofition, faid a word of its 
 
 *' beauty. The reafon is evident. The beauty is not a quality 
 
 " of the circle." 
 
 By
 
 APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 487 
 
 By the qualities of the circle, he muft mean its properties ; and CHAP.VIL 
 there are here two miftakes. 
 
 Firjl, Euclid has not fully explained all the properties of the 
 circle. Many have been difcovered and demonflratcd which he 
 never dreamt of. 
 
 Secondly, The reafon why Euclid has not faid a word of the 
 beauty of the circle, is not, that beauty is not a quality of the circle ; 
 the reafon is, that Euclid never di^relTcs from his fubjed. His 
 purpofc was to demonftrate the mathematical properties of the 
 circle. Beauty is a quality of the circle, not demonftrable by 
 mathematical reafoning, but immediately perceived by a good 
 tafte. To fpeak of it would have been a digreflion from his 
 fubjedl f and that is a fault he is never guilty of. 
 
 The fourth argument is, That inanimate objects may bear to 
 each other all the fame relations which we obferve in moral 
 agents. 
 
 If this were true, it would be very much to the purpofe ; but 
 it feems to be thrown out raftily, without any attention to its 
 evidence. Had I\Ir Hume reflected but a very little upon this 
 dogmatical aflertion, a thoufand inftances would iiave occurred 
 to him in diredt contradiction to it. 
 
 May not one animal be more tame, or more docile, or more 
 cunning, or more fierce, or more ravenous, than another ? Are 
 thefe relations to be found in inanimate objeds ? May not one 
 man be a better painter, or fculptor, or Ihip-builder, or tailor, 
 or fhoemaker, than another? Are thefe relations to be found in 
 inanimate objects, or even in brute-animds ? May not one moral 
 agent be more jud, more pious, more attentive to any moral du- 
 ty, or more cmineut in any uioral virtue, than auother ? Are 
 
 not
 
 488 E S S A Y V. 
 
 CHA P. VII . iiot tlicfe relations peculiar to moral agents ? But to come to the 
 relations raofi: eflentlal to morality. 
 
 When I fay that / ought to dofiich an aHlon, that it is my diityy 
 do not thefe words exprefs a relation between me and a certain 
 adion in my power ; a relation which cannot be between inani- 
 mate objects, or between any other objects but a moral agent 
 and his moral aftions ; a relation which is well underftood by 
 all men come to years of underftanding, and exprefled in all 
 languages ? 
 
 Again, when in deliberating about two actions In my power, 
 which cannot both be done, 1 fay this ought to be preferred to 
 the other; that juftice, for inllance, ought to be preferred to 
 generolity ; I exprefs a moral relation between two adtions of a 
 moral agent, which is well underftood, and which cannot exift 
 between objedts of any other kind. 
 
 There are, therefore, moral relations which can have no ex- 
 iftence but between moral agents and their voluntary adtions. 
 To determine thefe relations is the objedt of morals ; and to de- 
 termine relations is the province of judgment, and not of mere 
 feeling. 
 
 The laft argument is a chain of feveral propofitions, which de- 
 ferve diftindt confideration. They may, I think, be fummed up 
 in thefe four : i. There mufl be ultimate ends of adtion, beyond 
 which it is abfurd to afk a reafon of adting. 2. The ultimate 
 ends of human adtions can never be accounted for by reafon ; 
 3. but recommend themfelves entirely to the fentiments and af- 
 fedtions of mankind, without any dependence on the intelledtual 
 faculties. 4. As virtue is an end, and is defirable on its own ac- 
 count, without fee or reward, merely for the immediate fatisfac- 
 tion it conveys ; it is requifite, that there ihould be fome fenti- 
 
 ment
 
 APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 489 
 
 mcnt which it touches, fome internal tafte or feelinj^, or whnt- CHAP vii. 
 ever you pleafe to call it, which (liltinguilhcs moral good and 
 evil, and which embraces the one and rejcds the other. 
 
 To iUc Jirji df thcfe propofitions I entirely agree. The ulti- 
 mate ends of adion are what I have called the principles of aElion^ 
 •which I have endeavoured, in the third ElTiiy, to enumerate, and 
 to clafs under three heads of mechanical, animal and rational. 
 
 The fecond propofition needs fome explication. I take its 
 meaning to be. That there cannot be another end, for the fake 
 of which an ultimate end is purfued : For the reafon of an adtiou 
 means nothing but the end for which the adlion is done ; and 
 the reafon of an end of adtion can mean nothing but another 
 end, for the fake of which that end is purfued, and to which it 
 is the means. 
 
 That this is the author's meaning is evident from his reafon- 
 ing in confirmation of it. " Aflc a man, why he iifcs exercife ? 
 " he will anfwer, becaufe he defires to keep his health. If you then 
 " enquire, ivhy he defires health? he will readily reply, becaufe 
 " ficknefs is painful. If you pufti your enquiries further, and de- 
 *' fire a reafon why he hates pain, it is impoilible he can ever 
 " give any. This is an ultimate end, and is never referred to 
 " any other objedl." To account by reafon for an end, there- 
 fore, is to Hiow another end, for the fake of which that end is 
 defired and purfued. And that, in this fenfe, an ultimate end 
 can never be accoimted for by reafon, is certain, becaufe that 
 cannot be an ultimate end which is purfued only for the fake 
 of another end. 
 
 I agree therefore with Mr Hume in this fecond propofition, 
 which indeed is implied in the firft. 
 
 Qji\ q The
 
 490 
 
 ESSAY V. 
 
 CHAP. VII. The third propofition is. That ultimate ends recommend 
 themfelves entirely to the fentiments and afFedlions of mankind, 
 without any dependence on the intelledual faculties. 
 
 By fentiments he muft here mean feelings without judgment, 
 and by affeElions, fuch affedlions as imply no judgment. For 
 furely any operation that implies judgment, cannot be independ- 
 ent of the intellectual faculties. 
 
 This being underftood, I cannot aflent to this propofition. 
 
 The Author feems to think it implied in the preceding, or a 
 neceffary confequence from it, that becaufe an ultimate end 
 cannot be accounted for by reafon j that is, cannot be purfued 
 merely for the fake of another end ; therefore it can have no 
 dependence on the intelledual faculties. I deny this confe- 
 quence, and can fee na force in it. 
 
 1 think it not only does not follow from the preceding propo- 
 fition, but that it is contrary to trutli. 
 
 A man may axSt from gratitude as an ultimate end; but gra- 
 titude implies a judgment and belief of favours received, and 
 therefore is dependent on the intelledtual faculties. A man 
 may adt from refped to a worthy charader as an ultimate end ; 
 but this refped neceflarily implies a judgment of worth in the 
 peribn, and therefore is dependent on the intelledual facul^ 
 ties. 
 
 I have endeavoured in the third Eflay before mentioned, to 
 Ihew that, befide the animal principles of our nature, which 
 require will and intention, but not judgment, there are alfo in 
 human nature rational principles of adion, or ultimate ends, 
 which have, in all ages, been called rational, and have a jufl 
 
 title
 
 APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 491 
 
 title- to that name, not only from the authority of language, chap, vii 
 but becaufe they can have no exigence hut in beings endowed 
 with reafon, and becaufe, in all thtir exertions, they require not 
 only intention and will, but judgment or reafon. 
 
 Therefore, until it can be proved that an ultimate end cannot 
 be dependent on the intelled;ual faculties, this third propofitioD, 
 and all that hangs upon it, muft fail to the ground. 
 
 The /a/i ^propolhion alTumes, with very good reafon, That 
 virtue is an ultimate end, and dellrable on its own account. 
 From which, if the third propofition were true, the conclufion 
 would undoubtedly follow, That virtue has no dependence on 
 the intelleftual faculties. But as that propofition is not granted, 
 nor proved, this conclufion is left without any fupport from the 
 v?hole of the argument. 
 
 I fliould not have thought it worth while to infifl fo long 
 upon this controverfy, if I did not conceive that the confe- 
 quences which the contrary opinions draw after them are im- 
 portant. 
 
 If what we call moral judgment be no real judgrnent, but mere- 
 ly a feeling, it follows, that the principles of morals which we 
 have been taught to confider as an immutable law to all intelli- 
 gent beings, have no other foundation but an arbitrary ftruc- 
 ture and fabric in the conftitution of the human mind : So 
 that, by a change In our flrudure, what Is immoral might be- 
 come moral, virtue might be turned into vice, and vice into 
 virtue. And beings of a different ftrudure, according to the 
 variety of their feelings, may have different, nay oppofite, mea- 
 fures of moral good and evil. 
 
 It follows that, from our notions of morals, we can conclude 
 
 CLq q 2 nothing
 
 492 
 
 ESSAY V. 
 
 .• nothing concerning a moral character in the Deity, which is 
 the foundation of all religion, and the ftrongeft fupport of vir- 
 tue. 
 
 Nay, this opinion feems to conclude flrongly againil a m6ral 
 charadler in the Deity, fince nothing arhitrary or mutable can 
 be conceived to enter into the defcription of a nature eternal, 
 immutable, and neceflarily exiftent. Mr Hume feems perfedly 
 confiftent with himfelf, in allowing of no evidence for the mo- 
 ral attributes of the Supreme Being, whatever then; may be for 
 his natural attributes. 
 
 On the other hand, if moral judgment be a true and real 
 judgment, the principles of morals ftand' upon the immutable 
 foundation of truth, and can undergo no change by any diffe- 
 rence of fabric, or ilrudiure of thofe who judge of them. 
 There may be, and there are, beings, who have not the faculty 
 of conceiving moral truths, or perceiving the excellence of mo- 
 ral worth, as there are beings incapable of perceiving mathe- 
 matical truths 'y but no defedt, no error of imderftanding, can- 
 make what is true to be falfc. 
 
 If it be true that piety, juflice, benevolence, wifdom, tempe- 
 rance, fortitude, are in their own nature the moll excellent and 
 mofl amiable qualities of a human creature ; that vice has an in- 
 herent turpitude, which merits difapprobation and dillike ; thefc 
 truths cannot be hid from him whofe underftandlng is infinite, 
 whofe judgment is always according to truth, and who muft 
 efteem every thing according to its real value. 
 
 The Judge of all the earth, we are fure, will do right. He 
 has given to men the faculty of perceiving the right and the 
 wrong in condud;, as far as is neceffary to our prefent flate, and 
 of perceiving the dignity of the one, and the demerit of the 
 
 other ; 
 
 y
 
 APPROHATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 493 
 
 other; and fu rely there can be no real knowledge or real ex- ciiAi'. vii. 
 ccllence in man, which is not in his Maker. ' 
 
 We may therefore juflly conclude, That what we know In 
 part, and fee in j^art, of right and wrong, he fees pcrfedly ; that 
 the moral excellence which we fee and admire in fome of our 
 fellow-creatures, is a faint hut true copy of that moral ex- 
 cellence, which is effential to his nature ; and that to tread the 
 path of virtue, is the true dignity of our nature, an imitation of 
 God, and the way to obtain his favour. 
 
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