THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE 
 
 THEORY 
 
 OF 
 
 MORAL SENTIMENTS. 
 
 VOL. II,
 
 THE 
 
 THEORY 
 
 OF 
 
 MORAL SENTIMENTS ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 An Essay towards an Analyfis of the Principles by which 
 
 Men naturally judge concerning the Conduct and 
 
 Character, lirft of their Neighbours, and afterwards 
 
 of them [elves. 
 
 TO WHICH IS ADDED, 
 
 A Diflertation on the Origin -of Languages. 
 
 By ADAM SMITH, LL.D. 
 
 Fellow of the Roy.! Societies of London unci Edinburgh ; 
 
 One of the Co mmiffi oners of His Afaielfy's Culloms in Scotland: 
 
 and - formerly L'rofeflor of Moral Philoibphy in the 
 
 Univeditv of GialVow. 
 
 THE NINTH EDITION 
 
 IN TWO VOLUME?. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 i G N D N : 
 
 P,lntf.l by A. $;-.:.:■<.,:, I'rir.ttn-Strftt, 
 
 .'. Cadtll jun. and W. Davies in the Strand; and 
 W. Creech, and J. Bell and Co. at Edinburgh, 
 1 8 1 .
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE SECOND VOLUME. 
 
 PART V, 
 
 f the Influence of Custom and 
 Fashion upon the Sentiments of Moral 
 Approbation and Diiapprobation. 
 
 Chap. I. Of the Influence cf Cufom and Fafbhn upon our 
 notions cf Beauty and Defrmiiy. - Page I 
 
 Chap. II. Of the Influence of Cufom and Fafl/ion upon 
 Jlloral Sentiments. - - i; 
 
 TAR T 

 
 VI 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 P A R T VI. 
 Of the Character of Virtue. 
 
 Introduction, 
 
 P*S 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 Of the Character of the Individual, fo far as it 
 
 ;>« j ;- 
 
 r, . 
 
 juiccts ins own riappmeis j 01 01 irue.encc. 
 
 SECTION If, 
 
 Of the Chara&cr of the Individual, fo far as it 
 can ailect the Llyppiiiijis oi other People. 
 
 Ch.ap. I. (./ the O.-chr hi which hdicidcals are reccm- 
 >;; );Jei! iy Nature :', :ur car. and aiic.di .v. 
 
 Chap. IT. Of ihe O; der in which Societies <i; c hy Na! 
 
 5 
 
 7// 
 
 6 
 
 nc;i;. . :. ic .. r IU ucju-aice. 
 ■ Ml. Of itnhvrfirf Bern v I. v< 
 
 St 
 
 SEC T I O N TIT. 
 
 ( t Sch-coraaamd. 
 
 ( :.; .sion of the Sixth P;\rt. 
 
 1(7 I 
 
 i /
 
 CONTENTS. vii 
 
 PART VII. 
 Of Systems of Moral Philosophy* 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 Of the Quefllons which ought to be examined in a 
 Theory of Moral Sentiments. Page 1 6g 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 Of the different Accounts which have been given 
 of the Nature of Virtue. 
 
 Introduction, - - 173 
 
 CllAP. I. Of thofe Sxjlcms which male Virtue confijl in 
 Propriety. - - -175 
 
 Chap. II. Of thofe Sterns which male Virtue confjl in 
 
 Prudence. - - - 232 
 
 Chap. III. Of thofe Sxflems which male Virtue confjl in 
 Benevolence. - - - -245 
 
 Chap. IV. Of licentious Syfems. -- 25 S 
 
 13 SEC-
 
 liii CONTENTS. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Of the different Syftems which have been formed 
 concerning the Principle of Approbation. 
 
 Introduction. - - Page 277 
 
 Chap. I. Of thofe Syflems which deduce the Principle of 
 Approbc. . 7 /;-;;i Self-hve. - - 279 
 
 Chap. II. Cf ih fe Sjfenis which make Reafcn the Prin- 
 cipl. oj - ;rA.,':.;i. - - - 284 
 
 Cn ap . III. Of.'hfe S ■ A -. u which male Sentiment the Prin- 
 ciple f Jpprobaii.n. - - 292 
 
 S E C T I C N TV. 
 
 Of the Manner in which different Authors have 
 treated of the practical Rules of Morality. J07 
 
 • •; the jrf r:n:;ai;:n of 
 
 T 
 
 anguageSy 
 
 and .... u.j t ;■ :: Genius of original end cowticunckd 
 hangups. - - ■■ 341 
 
 Til E
 
 T HE 
 
 T II E O R Y 
 
 O F 
 
 MORAL SENTIMENTS, 
 
 PART V. 
 
 Of the Influence of Custom and 
 Fashion upon the Sentiments of Moral 
 Approbation and Difapprobation. 
 
 Confiding cf One Section. 
 
 C II A P. I. 
 
 Of the Influence of Cufllom and ' Fa/Jjion upon our 
 notions cf Beauty and Deformity, 
 
 ""thhere are other principles befides thofe 
 ■*■ already enumerated, which have a conii- 
 derablc influence upon the moral fentiments 
 of mankind, and are the chief cauies of the 
 many irregular and difcordant opinions 
 which prevail in different ages and nations 
 
 ^ CL. I I. B COI>-
 
 Of t!:c I s fluixl v. Part V 
 
 
 concerning wlrat is u.ameaulc c r praiie- 
 worthy. Thcic principles arc ciutom and 
 )n 3 pri which extend rhcir domi- 
 
 nion over our judgments concerning beauty 
 oi every kind. 
 
 When two objects have frequently been 
 i:cn together, the imagination requires a 
 habit of pafiing eafily from the one to the 
 other, li the fir ft appear, we lay our ac- 
 count that the fecond is to follow. Of their 
 own accord they put us in mind of one an- 
 other, and the attention glides eafily along 
 them. Though, independent of cuftom, 
 there fhould be no real beauty in their union, 
 yet wiie ■ cuftom has thus connected them 
 together, we feel an impropriety in their 
 ration. r -> ' we think is awkward 
 
 ■ ears without its ufual companion. 
 We :r: g which we expected to 
 
 , and the . ' arrangement of our 
 
 . is d'fhubed bj tnc dhappointment. A 
 fuit of el .ill _s, ■ •.:* t :■; - .que, fcems to want 
 
 ! \v,\ lc .• . ■ , . ithout the moll in- 
 
 j 
 
 it ornament whi h ufually accompa- 
 nies, eannefs or awk- 
 
 ice ~vcu of a haunch 
 
 ! Oil. V, 1 : is any natural propriety 
 
 . om inaeaies our ienfe of 
 
 it, aud uiakc-i a dificr-jnt arrangement appear 
 
 iliil
 
 Chap. I. of Custom. 3 
 
 Hill more difanrecable than it would other- 
 wile ieem to be. Thofe who have been ac- 
 cimoreed to ike things in a good tafle are 
 more difrufted by whatever is clumfy or 
 awkward. Where the conjunction is im- 
 proper, cuftom either iliminifhcs, or takes 
 away altogether, our fen:;' of the impro- 
 priety. Thofe who have been accuftomed 
 to flovenly diforder lofe all icn(c of neatnefs 
 or elegance. The modes of furniture or 
 drefs which ieem ridiculous to ir.ramters, p;ive 
 no offence to the people who are ufed to 
 them. 
 
 Faihion is different from cuftom, or rather 
 is a particular fpecies of it. That is not the 
 faihion which every body wears, but which 
 thofe wear who arc of a high rank, or cha- 
 racter. The graceful, the eafy, and com- 
 manding manners of the great, joined to the 
 ufual iichncfs and magnificence of their 
 drefs, give a grace to the very form which 
 they happen to bellow upon it. As long as 
 they continue to life tills form, it is con* 
 necled in our imamnath ns with the idea of 
 iomcthing that is genteel end magnificent, 
 are though in itfelf it mould be indifferent, 
 it teems, on account of this relation, to have 
 fom e ing ; bout it that k gerteel and magni- 
 bcent too. As ieem as they drop it, it lofes 
 
 jb i all
 
 Part V« 
 
 ,-.i 
 
 xxn x 
 
 V . 1 
 
 ircci to y 
 
 ) f< 
 
 jl'orc, and being now ukd only by the 
 ] rior ranks of people, feems to have iorne- 
 thing of their meannefs and awkward nefs. 
 
 Dreis and furniture are allowed by all the 
 world to be entire] v under the dominion or. 
 cuiiom and fahhion. The influence of thole 
 principles, however, is by no means confined 
 to K) narrow a fphere, but extends itfelf to 
 whatever is in any refpect the object of taftc, 
 to nvufic, to poetrv, to architecture. The 
 modes of drefs and furniture are continually 
 changing, and that fainion appearing ridi- 
 culous to-day which was admired five years 
 ago, we are experimentally convinced that it 
 owed its vogue chiefly or entirely to cuftom 
 and fafhicn. Clothes and furniture are not 
 made of verv durable materials. A well- 
 f. ncied coat \ ; dene in a twelve-month, and 
 cannot continue longer to propagate, as the 
 on, that form ae< ording to which it was 
 The modes of furniture change leis 
 ixr th:in thefe of drds ; becaufe iurni- 
 ' . more durable. In five or 
 
 diy undergoes an 
 <x :x ". n, an . every man in his own 
 
 ion m this rei 
 
 rA 
 
 ciian: 
 
 d ■ rut vx ,-s. The productions of 
 .... are much more lading, and, 
 
 when
 
 Chap. I. of C u s t o m, j 
 
 when happily imagined, may continue to 
 propagate the fefhion of their make for a 
 much longer time. A well-contrived build- 
 ing may endure many centuries : a beautiful 
 air may be delivered down by a fort of tra- 
 dition through many fuccemve generations: 
 a well- written poem may lait as long as the 
 world ; and ah of them continue for ages 
 together, to give the vogue to that particular 
 ilyie, to that genicular tafte or manner, ac- 
 cording to which each of them was compofed. 
 Few men have an ( unity of feeing in 
 
 their own thr.es toe ialhion in any of thefe 
 arts change very coniuierably. hew men 
 have io much experience and acquaintance 
 with tue ckuerent mooes wmcli have ob- 
 tained in remote ages ami nations, as to he 
 thoroughly reconciled to them, or to judye 
 with impartiality between them, and what 
 takes place in their own age cod country. 
 Few men therciore are wlkir.g to allow, that 
 cullcm or iailnon have much influence unon 
 their judgment; concerning vvh.t is be .Wool, 
 or otherwile, in tne productions of any of 
 thole arts; but imagine, that all the noes, 
 which they think ought to be ob'ciwed in 
 each oi: them, are iounded ig on reamn and 
 nature, not noon habit, or prejudice. A 
 •. . - lode attention, however, may convince 
 
 n 3
 
 6 Of the In flu en ce Part V. 
 
 them of the contrary, and fatisfy them, that 
 the influence or cu!l:om and fafhion over 
 drefs and furniture, is not more abfolute than 
 over architecture, poetry, ana mufic. 
 
 Can anv reafon, for example, be affigned 
 why the Doric capital fhould be appropri- 
 
 J k. x i I 
 
 ated to a pillar, whofe height is equal to 
 eight diameters ; the Ionic volute to one of 
 nine; and the Corinthian foliage to one or 
 ten ? T ! .e propriety of each of thole appro- 
 priations can be founded upon nothing but 
 habit and cuftom. The eye havin r been 
 ufed to fee a n \ thmi ir pro' rtion connected 
 with a particular ornament, would be offend- 
 ed if they were riot joined together. Each 
 of the ir:^ orders has its peculiar ornaments, 
 which cannot be changed ior any other, 
 without giving o.rerice lo all thole who know 
 any thing of the rules of architecture. Ac- 
 cording to fame architects, indeed, inch is 
 the exquiiite judgment with which the au- 
 cicn: : ] re a.n mod to each order its proper 
 ornament' , th; • no others can be found which 
 are equally fu'table. It feems, however, a 
 little difficult to be conceived that thefe 
 , though, no doubt, extremely agrce- 
 able, (hould be the only forms which can 
 fuit thofe proportions, or that there mould 
 pot be five hundred others, which, ante- 
 7 . cedent
 
 Chap. I. cf Custom. y 
 
 cedent to efiablifncd ctiHom, would liavc 
 fitted them equally well. When cufcom, 
 however, has cilablimed particular rules of 
 building, provided they are not absolutely 
 unreafonable, it is abiurd to taluk of altering 
 them for ethers which are only equally good, 
 or even for others which, in point of 
 gance and beauty, have illy lore, 
 
 advantage over them. A man would be ridb- 
 
 V- * W 
 
 n public witn a 
 
 eulous v, 
 
 iu it of clot quite dh; . from thole 
 
 :h are co nrnonly worn, though tl: : new 
 drefs fliouhl 
 conveni : ':. 
 
 ver io . ;raceiui or 
 
 fui -ht- r Oj 
 
 nd there fcems tc he an ab- 
 
 :e:h 
 
 ng a 
 a cmite Ci ii ji'eit manner irom 
 that wnicn cuitom cue iamion have prelcrm- 
 ed ; though the new ornaments fhould in 
 themfelves he fomewhat fuperior to the corn- 
 men ones. 
 
 . cording to the aivicnt rhetoricians, a 
 itur : or vei lc bv nature ap- 
 
 propriated to each particular !hn ;ies of vrit- 
 in n as being naturally exorcdive oi that cha- 
 
 i acler, fc ith ; it, or pa " :h d glit to 
 
 oniluate in it. One vcrfe, they laid, was 
 
 i t hr grave, and another ior gav work", 
 
 which could not, thc\ the iu lit, be inter- 
 
 changed without the rreaieit impropriety. 
 
 b ,■ The
 
 8 Of the Influence Part V, 
 
 The experience of modern times, however, 
 feems to contradict this principle, though in 
 itfelf it would appear to be extremely pro- 
 bable. What is the burlefque verie in En- 
 glifli, is the heroic verie in French. The 
 tragedies of Racine and the Henriad of Vol- 
 taire, arc nearly in the fame verie with, 
 
 Let ir,e have your advice in a weighty affair. 
 
 The burlefque verfc in French, on the con- 
 trary, is pretty much the fame with the he- 
 roic verie of ten fyllables in Englifh. Cuf- 
 tom has made the one nation affociate the 
 idea? of gravity, fublimity, and feriouinefs, 
 to that mcafurc which the other lias con- 
 nected with whatever is gay, flippant, and 
 ludicrous. Nothing would appear more ab- 
 furd in Enrdifh, than a tragedy written in 
 the Alexandrine verfes oi the French ; or in 
 French, than a work of the fame kind in 
 verfes of ten fyllables. 
 
 An eminent artift will bring about a con- 
 fidcrable change in the eilablifhed modes of 
 each of thole arts, and introduce a new 
 fafhion of writing, mufic, or architecture. 
 /Vs the drefs of an agreeable man of high 
 rank recommends i'Jelf, v.nd how peculiar 
 &rA fantailical icever, comes loon to be ad- 
 mired
 
 Ciiap.I. 
 
 cf C U S TOM. 
 
 9 
 
 mired and imitated 5 fo the excellencies of 
 an eminent raaftcr recommend his peculiari- 
 ties, and his manner becomes the faihienable 
 %ic in th r ! nracllies. r I lie taiie 
 
 'cf the kalians in mu architecture has, 
 
 within thefe fifty years, tm hm-one a confi- 
 derable change, from imitatim.; tl e peculiari- 
 ties of fame e ■ - ' thofe 
 :ca is accuf/d h • .. :i of 
 having cc:*ni ;t •' die l a;c o ' tl irns 
 and of having introduced a frivolous prctti- 
 nefs in the room cf maicfuc — frm -m'l >^ o~ 
 
 
 in and mai- 
 
 1 
 
 m ana _ . e:itus nav„ 
 by otners been car ' nth the fame accu- 
 
 ihtion, thou; !i in a • iD :cr . ' 
 
 j 
 
 fa" 1 - ic r ai^:on, it xs pie , !, to a i 
 
 which though in (he hh--h ■■:' d n C conch- 
 
 P^'eiiive, and even poetical, want- 
 cc <j however, cafe, fimplicitv, imd nature 
 and was evidently the pre medon of the 
 moil laboured and itudied aff.cdation. Flow 
 manv rereat dualities mull that wr't^r ■■■- 
 '••" •' :c> can thus render ids very faults ap-rce- 
 • - - ! ...i.^ o] icon . ._ nc taue • r 
 
 i^h mi! py, ;;. maps, v 
 
 ca: - : :J )oa any author, is to 1. r 
 
 1 ' ■ ' ' ■'■ ■ ■ it. i : 1 : ! j 
 
 jvjr « *' c p~ - ; - t> r. ! each of \ x 
 
 ■'"-'- ' manner different from v : .. v. ; 
 
 pracliJed
 
 5 
 
 Of the In flue nce 
 
 Fart V. 
 
 racllfcd hcf 
 
 ore, into 
 
 works that arc writ- 
 
 ten in rhyme, the one in long verfes, the 
 other in fhort. The quaintneis of Butler 
 has [i!vcn place to the plainncfs of Swift. 
 The ■: i ed( Dryden, and the 
 
 correct, ■ 
 r\f ■■'. i ■ 
 
 eel ... u profaic languor 
 
 e no ium.fr the ooie£ts of imi- 
 
 aticn, but all long veries are now written 
 .; c :er the aranner ci the nervous precifion of 
 
 Neither is it only over the productions of 
 the arts, that cuftom and faiahion exert their 
 dominion. They influence our judgments, 
 in the lame manner, with regard to the 
 beauty of natural objects. What various 
 an 1 oppohtc forms are deemed beautiful in 
 different fpeeies of tilings? The proportions 
 which are admired in one animal, are altoge- 
 ther different from thole which are efteemed 
 in another. Every ciais of tilings has its 
 own peculiar conformation, 
 - -■ 1 of, and lias a beau 
 
 e 
 
 r F 
 
 Vv 
 
 m 
 
 .in 
 
 is 
 
 an- 
 
 X 
 
 e 
 
 c 
 
 i 
 
 r ! 
 
 v'V. 
 
 am, 
 
 i <. 
 
 
 
 r 
 
 je 
 
 .lit, 
 
 
 
 
 
 ■■'y 
 
 
 
 
 nd 
 
 co- 
 
 
 
 - tiii 
 
 • -> rrc 
 
 
 • aul ) 
 
 oc 
 
 cacu
 
 Chau. I. 
 
 cf Custom. 
 
 IX 
 
 each feature lies in r certain middle, equally 
 removed from a variety of other forms that 
 are ugly. A beautiful nofe, for example, is 
 one that is neither very loner, nor very fhort, 
 neither very ftraight, nor very crooked, but 
 a lort of middle among all t'nefe extremes, 
 and : brent' from anv out of them, than 
 
 all of them , ire from one another. It is the 
 form which Nature ieen s t< lave aimed at in 
 them ail, which, however, me deviates from 
 in a great variety of ways, and very feldom 
 hits exactly ; but to which all thole devia- 
 tions frill bear a very itroncr rei 
 
 :molance. 
 
 >f rlrawmcrc 
 
 moer or drawings are made after 
 
 When a nui 
 one pattern, thourh thev may all mifs it in 
 fome relpects, yet they will all refemble it 
 more than they refemble one another; the 
 general character of the pattern will run 
 through them all ; the mot lingular and odd 
 will be thofe witch are mot wide oi: it ; and 
 though very few will copy it exactly, yet the 
 3 loit .lacerate delineations will bear a greater 
 relemblance to the mod carelefs, than the 
 carelels ones will bear to one another, in 
 the lame manner, in each fpecies of crea- 
 tures, what is moll beautiful hew; the (hone- 
 eft characters of the general fabric of the 
 fpecies, an J has the lirongeM relemblance to 
 the greater part of the individuals with which 
 
 it
 
 12 
 
 the Influe nce 
 
 Part V. 
 
 it is cLiiTld. Monfters, en the contrary, or 
 ivhat is perreccly deformed, are always moft 
 {insular and odd, ami have the leaft refem- 
 blance to the generality of that fpecics to 
 which tliey belong. And thus trie beauty 
 of each fpecics, in one icnio the rarefl 
 
 of all tilings, becauie few individuals hit this 
 mi die form exactly, yet in another, is the 
 rm .'1 common, became all the deviations 
 from it refemblc it more than they refemblc 
 one another. The mo ft cuitomary form, 
 therefore, is in each fpecics of things, accord- 
 to him, the mo ft beautiful. And hence 
 it is that a cei in 
 
 i ,; *■■ 
 
 ::cs ana exnerience in 
 
 ) ipe :ies oi objects is reoui- 
 iite, before we ecu judge of its beauty, or 
 kne .v wherein the middle and molt u 
 
 i coniitls. The meed inclement con- 
 
 terra ng the beau' ci the I urn i f< :cies, will 
 
 us to | ads . of that o ... .vers, or 
 
 , or an ■ r : ks of things. Ic is 
 
 that in dilh rent eh mates, 
 
 ; . and Vwivs of liv- 
 
 ty oi any ipe- 
 
 ac , cs l 
 
 ci ;s " matjon lr< >m 
 
 :a 
 
 : c:i sua : :an ;cs, lo ci j n cr :it as oi its 
 
 1 vail. The be aiU v oi a ?>loor'hh is 
 
 ■ tl '"' ne with that of an hnglifh 
 
 hone. VV1 u ::eut ideas a:e formed in 
 
 cliiicrcnt
 
 Chap. I. 0/ Custom. » a 
 
 difTercnt nations concerning the beauty of 
 the human fhape and countenance? A fair 
 complexion is a mocking deformity upon the 
 coaft of Guinea. Thick iips and a flat nolo 
 are a beauty. In fome nations long cars that 
 hang dov;n upon the moulders arc the ob- 
 jects of univerfal admiration. In China if a 
 lady's foot is Jo large as to be fit to walk 
 upon, me is regarded as a monfter of upli- 
 nets, .borne 01 tne lavage nations in North- 
 America tie four boards round the heads of 
 their children, and thus iquceze them, while 
 )ones are tender and gnuly, into a form 
 that is almcft perfectly fquare. Europeans 
 are aftonifhed at the abfurd barbarity of this 
 practice, to which fome mif nonaries have 
 ^puted the fir ular nupidity of thofe na- 
 tions among whom it prevails. Bu when 
 they condemn thofe lavages, they do not ve- 
 iled that the ladies in Europe had, till within 
 tile k very few year,,, been endeavouring, for 
 nt> ' a century pail, to fquceza the beautiful 
 roundn-rfs of their nature into a fquare 
 
 tbrmofth'. fams kind. And that, notwith- 
 standing the many diitoni- ns , ,id difeafes 
 ^ v,]iCil tins practice was known to nccaficn 
 ■ ; ' • ■; eeab'c- amou"- fome 
 °f the m« it civilized nations \\ ' '•■'" t "re 
 the w< iEJ -\n r beh< j ]d
 
 t4 0///^ Influence Part V* 
 
 Such is the fyftem of this learned and in- 
 genious Father, concerning the nature of 
 beautv ; of which the whole charm, accord- 
 ing to him, would thus feem to arife from its 
 failing in with the habits which cuftom had 
 impreiied upon the imagination, with regard 
 to things of eacli particular kind. I cannot, 
 however, be induced to believe that our feme 
 even of external beauty is founded altogether 
 en cuftom. The utility of any form, its fit- 
 nefs for the ufeful purpefes for which it was 
 intended, evidently recommends it, and ren- 
 ders it agreeable to us, independent of cui- 
 tcm. Certain colours are more agreeable 
 than others, and give more delight to the eye 
 the iirfttime it ever beholds them. Afmooth 
 furface is more agreeable than a roup-h one, 
 Variety is more pleating than a tedious un- 
 divcrfified uniformity. Connected variety, 
 in which each new appearance feems to be 
 introduced by what went before it, and in 
 which all the adjoinmg parts feem to have 
 fome uatiual relation, to one another, is more 
 : lLIu than a disjointed and difordcrly 
 
 ain nblage •■ unconnected objedts. But 
 though I can; ad] fu that cuitom is tin 
 fc] • ' n.ci , vet I can fo tar al- 
 
 low ti:s trntb o'l thh ingenious fvftcrn as to 
 ; •" • . ec an / on ; external
 
 Chap. I. cf C u stom. $ c 
 
 form fo beautiful as to pleafe, if quite con- 
 trary to cuftom, and unlike whatever wc 
 have been uicd to in that particular {pedes 
 of things : or fo deformed as not to be 
 agreeable, if cuftom uniformly fupports it, 
 and habituates us to fee it in every finsrle 
 
 . to 
 
 individual of the kind. 
 
 Of the Influence of Of cm and Fafbion upon 
 .Moral Sentiments, 
 
 piNCE our fentiments concerning beauty 
 *~* of c\'<*ry kind are fo much influenced by 
 cuftom end fafliion, It cannot be expected 
 thai thole, concerning the beauty of conduct, 
 Should be entirely exempted from the domi- 
 nion of thofe principles. Their influence 
 here, however, ieerns to be much lefs than 
 it is every where tile. ;re is, perhaps, 
 
 no form of external objects, hew abfurd and 
 fantaftical foever, to winch cuftom will not 
 reconcile us, or which fafliion will not ren- 
 der even agreeable. But the Leis and 
 iuct of a Nero, or a C .:. ; , ere what 
 no cuftom will e^ er reconcile us to, what no 
 
 falhicn
 
 Of the I N FLU I N C E 
 
 Part V. 
 
 faflrion will ever render agreeable ; but the 
 one will always be the object of dread and 
 hatred ; the other of i'corn and derifion. 
 The principles of the imagination, upon 
 which our fenfe of beauty depends, are of a 
 very nice and delicate nature, and may 
 eafily be altered by habit and education: 
 but the fentiments of moral approbation 
 and disapprobation, are founded on the 
 ftrcngeft and moll vigorous paflions of hu- 
 man nature ; and thrush tliey may be fome- 
 wliat warpt, cannot be entirely perverted. 
 
 But though the influence ol cuftom and 
 fail; ion upon moral fentiments is not alto- 
 gether io great, it is however perfectly iimi- 
 lar to what it is every where eb'e. When cuf- 
 tom and fafhion coincide witli the natural 
 principles of right and wrong, they heighten 
 the deiicacy of our fentiments, and incrcaie 
 our abhorrence for c ng which ap- 
 
 proaches to evil. Thole who have been 
 educated in what is really rood company, 
 
 c ued inch, who 
 .', * ) bing in the 
 
 adeemed and lived with, 
 
 )0(1 
 
 bin 
 
 and 
 
 not m what is a 
 ha\ e b c:i ; c< 
 parlous win . 
 but | efticc, i '-'' 
 
 ■ ; are ir ;d with whatever 
 
 fecms to lc incc ' with the rules 
 
 ^v ';ich tie ' i! . r l hole, on
 
 Chap. II. cf Custom. 17 
 
 the contrary, who have had the misfortune 
 to be brought up amidfl violence, licentiouf- 
 nei's, falfehood, and injuftice ; loie, though 
 not all fenfe of the impropriety of fuch con- 
 duct, yet all fenfe of its dreadful enormity, 
 or of the vengeance and punifhment due to 
 it. They have been familiarized with it 
 from their infancy, cuftom has rendered 
 it habitual to them, and they are very apt 
 to regard it as, what is called, the way of 
 the world, fomething which either may, or 
 muft be practifed, to hinder us from being 
 the dupes of our own integrity. 
 
 Fafhion too will fometimes give reputation 
 to a certain degree of diforder, and, on the 
 contrary, difcountenance qualities which de- 
 ferve eileem. In the reign of Charles II. a 
 degree of licentioufnefs was deemed the cn: 1 - 
 raeteriftic of a liberal education. It was con- 
 nected, according to the notions of thefe 
 times, with generality, fincerity, magnani- 
 mity, loyalty, and proved that the perfen 
 who acted in this manner was a gentleman, 
 and not a puritan. Severity of manners, 
 and regularity of conduct, on the ether 
 hand, were altogether unfaihionable, and 
 were connected, in the imagination of tl 
 age, with cant, cunning, hypocrify, and low 
 maimers. To fupeiiicial minds, the vices 
 
 VOL. II. C tliS
 
 1 8 Of the Influence Part V. 
 
 the great feem at all times agreeable. They 
 conned: them, not only with the fplendour 
 of fortune, but with many fuperior virtues, 
 which they afcribe to their fuperiors ; with 
 the fpirit of freedom and independency, with 
 franknefs, generoiity, humanity, and polite- 
 nefs. The virtues of the inferior ranks of 
 people, on the contrary, their parfnnonious 
 frugality, their painful induftry, and rigid 
 adherence to rules, feem to them mean and 
 diia<rreeable. They connect them, both with 
 the meannefs of the Nation to which thole 
 qualities commonly belong, and with many 
 great vices, which, they fuppofe, ufually ac- 
 company them ; iuch as an abject, cowardly, 
 ill-natured, lying, pilfering difpontion. 
 
 The cbje Is with which men in the dif- 
 ;■.: prcfeffions and Mates of life are con- 
 verfani, being very dilierent and habituating 
 them to very different pafllons, naturally 
 form in them very different characters and 
 manners. We expect in each rank and pro- 
 ion, a degree oi thole manners, which, 
 experience has taught us, belong to it. But 
 as in each fpecies of things, we are particu- 
 larly pleafed with the middle conformation, 
 which, in every part and feature, agrees mod 
 exactly with the general flandard which na- 
 ture feems to have eflabliihcd for things of 
 8 that
 
 Chap, II, of Custom. 19 
 
 that kind ; fo in each rank, or, if I may fay 
 fo, in each fpecies of men, we are particu- 
 larly plcafed, if they have neither too much, 
 nor too little of the character which ufuallv 
 accompanies their particular condition and 
 fituation. A man, we fay, mould look like 
 his trade and profeilion ; yet the pedantry of 
 every profeilion is difagreeable. The differ- 
 ent periods of life have, for the fame reafon, 
 different manners ailigned to them. We ex- 
 pect in old age, that gravity and fedateneis 
 which its infirmities, its long experience, 
 and its worn-out fenfibility, feem to render 
 both natural and refpectable ; and we- lay 
 our account to find in youth that fenfibility, 
 that gaiety and fprightiy vivacity winch ex- 
 perience teaches us to expect from the lively 
 impreflions that all intereiting objects are apt 
 to make upon the tender and unpractnfed 
 fenfes of that early per:;;] cf life. Each of 
 thofe two ages, however, may eafily have too 
 much of thefe peculiarities which belong to 
 it. The flirting levity of youth, and the 
 immoveable inienubiiity of old are, are 
 equally difagreeable. 1 he young, accord- 
 ing to the common faying, are moil agree- 
 able when in their behaviour there is fomc- 
 thing of the manners of the old, and the old, 
 when they retain fomcthing of the gaiety of 
 
 c 2 the
 
 20 Of the Influence Part V» 
 
 the young. Either of them, however, may 
 eafily have too much of the manners of the 
 other. The extreme coldnefs, and dull 
 formality, which are pardoned in old age, 
 make youth ridiculous. The levity, the 
 careleiTnefs, and the vanity, which are 
 indulged in youth, render old age con- 
 temptible. 
 
 The peculiar character and manners which 
 
 X 
 
 we are led by cuftom to appropriate to each 
 :..: profcfficn, have fometimes perhaps 
 a propriety independent of curlom j and are 
 what wc mould approve of for their own 
 :' } u we took into confederation all the 
 brent ci'jcurnilances which naturally affect 
 thefc in each different ftate of life. The 
 propriety of a perfon's behaviour, depends 
 r .. ; en its fuitablenefs to any one circum- 
 cf situation, but to all the circum- 
 nces, which., when we bring his cafe 
 home to cuneives, we feci, fliould naturally 
 call upon his attention. If he appears to be 
 •o much occupied by any one of them, as 
 entirely to neglect the reft, we disapprove of 
 his conduct, as iomethin?* which we cannot 
 entirely go along with, becauie not properly 
 adji; .d to all the circuinltances of his fitu- 
 ation : Yet, perhaps, the emotion he ex- 
 prciTcs for the object which principally inter- 
 efts
 
 Chap. II. of C u s t o M. 2 1 
 
 efts him, does rot exceed what we fhould 
 entirely fympathize with, an! approve of, in 
 one whofe attention was not required by any 
 other thing;. A parent in private life might, 
 upon the lofs of an only fon, exprefs without 
 blame a degree of grief and tendernefs, 
 which would be unpardonable in a general 
 at the head of an army, when glory and the 
 public fafety demanded to great a part of his 
 attention. As different objects ought, upon 
 common occafions, to occupy the attention 
 of men of different profeiTions, i'o different. 
 paflions ought naturally, to become habitual 
 to them ; and when we bring home to our-' 
 felves their fituation in this particular refpect, 
 we mud be fenfible, that every occurrence 
 fhould naturally affect them more or lefs, 
 according as the emotion which it excite?, 
 coincides or difagrees with the fixt habit and 
 temper of their minds. We cannot expert 
 the lame fenfihi'iity to the gay pleafures and 
 amufements of life in a clergyman, which 
 we lay cur account with in an oilieer. The 
 man whole peculiar occupation is to keep 
 the world in mind of that awful futurity 
 which awaits then, who is to announce 
 what may be the fatal confequenccs of every 
 deviation from the rules of duty, and who is 
 
 c 3 : im . .
 
 a 2 0/" //!><? I n fluenc E Part V, 
 
 himfelf to fet the example of the moft exact 
 conformity, feems to be the mefTenger of 
 tidings, which cannot, in propriety, be de- 
 livered either with levity or indifference. 
 His mind is fuppofed to be continually occu- 
 pied with what is too grand and folemn to 
 leave any room for the impreffions of thofe 
 frivolous objects which fill up the attention 
 of the diffipated and the gay. We readily 
 feel therefore, that, independent of cuftom, 
 there is a propriety in the manners which 
 custom has allotted to this profelfion ; and 
 that nothing can be more fuitable to the cha- 
 racter of a clergyman, than that grave, that 
 aufiere and abftracted feverity, which we are 
 habituated to expect in his behaviour. 
 Thde reflections are fo very obvious, that 
 there is fcarce any man i'o inconfiderate, as 
 not, at ionic time, to have made them, and 
 to have accounted to himfelf in this manner 
 for his approbation of the ufual character of 
 this order." 
 
 The foundation of the cuftomary character 
 of fume ot.ier proieifions is not fo obvious, 
 and our approbation of it is founded entirely 
 in Ii bit, without being either confirmed, 
 or enlivened by any reflections of tins kind. 
 V\ e arc led by cuftom, for examole, to an-
 
 Chap. II. /Custom. 23 
 
 nex the character of gaiety, levity, and 
 fprightly freedom, as well as of fo me degree 
 of diffipation, to the military profeliion. 
 Yet, if we were to confider what mood or 
 tone of temper would he moil fuitable to this 
 fituation, w T e mould be apt to determine, 
 perhaps, that the raoft ferious and thoughtful 
 turn of mind would bell become thole whole 
 lives are continually expofed to uncommon 
 danger, and who mould therefore be more 
 conftantly occupied with the thoughts of 
 death and its confequences than other men. 
 It is this very circumftance, however, which 
 is not improbably the occafion why the con- 
 trary turn of mind prevails lb much among 
 men of this profeffion. It requires fo great 
 an effort to conquer the fear of death, when 
 we furvey it with ftcadinefs and attention, 
 that thofe who are conftantly expofed to it, 
 find it eafier to turn away their thoughts 
 from it altogether, to wrap themfelves up in 
 carclcls fecurity and indifference, and to 
 plunge themfelves, for this purpofe, into 
 every lort of amulement and diffipation. A 
 camp is not the element of a thoughtful or a 
 melancholy man : perfons of that call, in- 
 deed, arc often abundantly determined, and 
 are canable, by a great effort, of goinc; on 
 with inflexible refolution to the moil un- 
 4 avoidable
 
 *4 Of the Influence PartVi 
 
 avoidable death. But to be expjfed to con- 
 tinual, though lefs imminent danger, to be 
 obliged to exert, for a long time, a degree of 
 this effort, exhaufts and depreffes the mind, 
 and renders it incapable of all happinefs and 
 enjoyment. The gay and carelefs, who 
 have occaficn to make no effort at all, who 
 fairly refolve never to look before them, but 
 to lofe in continual pleafures and amufements 
 all anxiety about their fituation, more eafily 
 fupport fuch circumftances. Whenever, by 
 any peculiar circumftances, an officer has no 
 reafon to lay his account with being expofed 
 to any uncommon danger, he is very apt to 
 lofe the gaiety and diffipated thoughtleffnefs 
 of Iris character. The captain of a city 
 guard is commonly as fober, careful, and 
 penurious an animal as the reft of his fellow- 
 citizens. A long peace is, for the fame rea- 
 fon, very apt to diminifh the difference be- 
 tween the civil and the military character. 
 The ordinary fituation, however, of men of 
 this profcflion, renders gaiety, and a degree 
 of dilf pation, fo much their ufual character; 
 and cuiloin has, in our imagination, fo 
 ftrongly con: \ .1 this characler with this 
 date ol iiie, that we are very apt to defpife 
 ,--,ny man, whole peculiar humour or fituation 
 renders him incapable cf accmirin«r it. We 
 
 laueh
 
 Chap. II. of Custom. 2£ 
 
 laugh at the grave and careful faces of a city 
 guard, which fo little referable thofe cf their 
 profcfTion. They themfelves feem often to 
 be afhamed of the regularity of their own 
 manners, and, not to be out of the fafhion 
 of their trade, are fond of affecting that 
 levity, which is by no means natural to 
 them. Whatever is the deportment which 
 we have been accuftomed to fee in a refpect- 
 able order of men, it comes to be fo affociated 
 in our imagination with that order, that 
 whenever we fee the one, we lay our account 
 that we are to meet with the other, and 
 when difappointed, mifs fomething wdiich 
 we expected to find. We are embarraffed, 
 and put to a fraud, and know not how to 
 addrefs ourfelves to a character, which plainly 
 affects to be of a different fpecies from thofe 
 with which we mould have been difpofed to 
 clafs it. 
 
 The different filiations of different ages 
 and countries arc apt, in the fame manner, 
 to give different characters to the generality 
 of thofe who live in them, and their fenti- 
 ments concernin-!; the particular degree of 
 each qcalitv, that is either blameable or 
 praife-worthv, vary, according to that degree 
 which is uiual in their own country, and in 
 their own times. That degree of politenefs, 
 
 which
 
 2 6 Of the I n f l u e nci Part V. 
 
 which would be highly efteemed, perhaps, 
 would be thought effeminate adulation, in 
 Ruflia, would be regarded as rudenefs and 
 barbarifm at the court of France. That de- 
 gree of order and frugality, which, in a Polilh 
 nobleman, would be conlidcred as exceflivc 
 parfimony, would be regarded as extrava- 
 gance in a citizen of Amfterdam. Every 
 age and country look upon that degree of 
 each quality, which is commonly to be met 
 with in thofe who are efteemed among them- 
 felves, as the golden mean of that particular 
 talent or virtue. And as this varies, accord- 
 ing as their different circum fiances render 
 different qualities more or lels habitual to 
 them, their fentiments concerning the cxacl: 
 propriety of character and behaviour vary 
 accordingly. 
 
 Among civilized nation?, the virtues 
 which are founded upon humanity, are more 
 cultivated than thofe which are founded upon 
 klf-denial and the command of the pafhons. 
 Among rude and barbarous nations, it is 
 quite othcrwife, the virtues of felf-denial are 
 more cultivated than thole of humanity. 
 M lie general fecurity and happinels which 
 prevail in ages of civility and politenefs, 
 ahord little exercife to the contempt or dan- 
 ger, to patience in enduring labour, hunger, 
 
 arid
 
 Chap. II, of C u s tom. 27 
 
 and paia. Poverty may eafily be avoided, 
 and the contempt of it therefore almoft ceafes 
 to be a virtue. The abftitience from plea- 
 sure becomes lcis neceflary, and the mind is 
 more at liberty to unbend itfelf, and to in- 
 dulge its natural inclinations in all thofe par- 
 ticular refpecls. 
 
 Among favages and barbarians it is quite 
 otherwife. Every favatre undergoes a fort of 
 Spartan difcipline, and by the neceffity of his 
 fituation is inured to every fort of hardship. 
 He is in continual danger : he is often ex- 
 pofed to the greateft extremities of hunger, 
 and frequently dies of pure want. His cir- 
 cumftances not only habituate him to every 
 fort of diftrefs, but teach him to give way to 
 none of the paffions which that diftrefs is apt 
 to excite. He can expect from his country- 
 men no iympathy or indulgence for fuch 
 vveaknefs. Before we can feel much tor 
 others, we mull in ibme meafure be at cafe 
 ourfelves. If our own mifery pinches us 
 very ieverely, we have no leifure to attend to 
 that of cur neighbour: and all favaees i 
 
 ire 
 
 too much occupied with their own wants 
 and neceffities, to give much attention to 
 thofe of another perion. A lavage, there- 
 fore, whatever be the nature of his diftrefs, 
 cxnects no fynroathv from thofe about him, 
 
 ,,..]
 
 s % Of the I n flu e n c e Part V. 
 
 and difdains, upon that account, to expofe 
 hirafelf, by allowing the leaft weaknefs to 
 efcape him. His paffions, how furious and 
 violent foever, arc never permitted to difturb 
 the ferenity of his countenance or the com- 
 pofure of his conduct and behaviour. The 
 lavages in North America, we are told, 
 aim me upon all occafions the greater! indif- 
 ference, and would think themfelves degraded 
 if they mould ever appear in any refpect to 
 be overcome, either by love, or grief, or 
 refentment. Their magnanimity and felf- 
 command, in this refpect, are almoft beyond 
 the conception of Europeans. In a country 
 in which all men are upon a level, with re- 
 gard to rank and fortune, it might be ex- 
 pected that the mutual inclinations of the two 
 parties mould be the only thing confidered 
 in marriages, and mould be indulged with- 
 out any fort of control. This, however, is 
 the country in which all marriages, without 
 exception, arc made up by the parents, and 
 in which a young man would think himfelf 
 difgraced for ever, if lie mewed the leaft pre- 
 ference of one woman above another, or did 
 : exprefs the mod complete indifference, 
 h about the time when, and the perfon to 
 i, he wes to be married. The weaknefs 
 is 9j much indulged in ages 
 
 of
 
 Chap. II. c/Cu s t o M. c 9 
 
 of humanity and polltenefs, is regarded 
 among lavages as the mod unpardonable 
 effeminacy. Even after the marriage, the 
 two parties feem to be afhamed of a con- 
 nexion which is founded upon fo fordid a 
 neceffity. They do not live together. They 
 fee one another by flealth only. They both 
 continue tc dwell in the houfes ox their re- 
 fpeclive fathers, and the open cohabitation 
 of the two iexes, which is permitted wit • 
 out blame in all c :her countries, is here con- 
 fidered as die moil indecent and unma: 
 fenfuality. I .or is it only ever this agree- 
 able pailion that they exert this abfolute fblf- 
 command. They often bear, in the fv/nt of 
 all their countrymen, with injuries, reproach., 
 and the groiTen: infults, with the appearance 
 of the greateft infenlibility, and without cx- 
 preffing the fm ailed refentment. When a 
 favaore is made nrlfoner of war, and receive?, 
 as is ufual, the fentence of death from his 
 conquerors, he hears it without exprefllng 
 anv emotion, and afterwards fubmits to the 
 moil dreadful torments, without ever be- 
 moaning himfelf, or discovering any other 
 pailion but contempt of his enemies. t While 
 he is hum; by the moulders over a flow tire, 
 he derides his tormentors, and tells them 
 with how much more ingenuity he himfelf 
 6 had
 
 $o Of the Influence Part V. 
 
 had tormented fuch of their countrymen as 
 had fallen into his hands. After he has 
 been fcorched and burnt, and lacerated in all 
 the molt tender and fenfible parts of hi c body 
 for fevcral hours together, he is often allowed, 
 in order to prolong his mifery, a fhort re- 
 fpite, and is taken down from the flake : he 
 employs this interval in talking upon all in- 
 different fubjects, inquires alter the news of 
 the country, and feems indifferent about no- 
 thing but his own fituation. The fpeclators 
 exprefs the lame infeufibility ; the light of 
 fo horrible an object feems to make no im- 
 premon upon them ; they fcarce lock at the 
 prifoner, except when they lend a hand to 
 torment him. At other times they fmoke 
 tobacco, and amufe themfelves with any 
 common object, as if no inch matter was 
 going on. Every lavage is laid to prepare 
 hirafelf from his carlieli youth for this dread- 
 ful end. lie compofes, for this purpofc, 
 what they call the fone of death, a foncr 
 which he is to ling when he has fallen into 
 the hands of his enemies, and is expiring 
 under the tortures which they inflict upon 
 him. It confifts of infults upon his tor- 
 mentors, and expreffes the higher! contempt 
 of death and pain. lie fmgs this fong upon 
 all extraordinary occafions, when he goes out 
 
 to
 
 Chap. II. of Custom. 3$ 
 
 to war, when he meets his enemies in the 
 field, or whenever he has a mind to (how 
 that he has familiarifed his imagination to 
 the moft dreadful misfortunes, and that no 
 human event can daunt his refolution, or 
 alter his purpofe. The fame contempt of 
 death and torture prevails among all ether 
 lavage nations. There is not a negro from 
 the coaft of Africa who does not, in this re- 
 ipedt, porfefs a degree of magnanimity which 
 the foul of his fordid mailer is too often 
 fcarce capable of conceiving. Fortune never 
 exerted more cruelly her empire over man- 
 kind, than when ilie fubjecled thofe nations 
 of heroes to the rsfufc of the jails of Europe, 
 to wretches who po fiefs the virtues neither 
 of the countries which they come from, nor 
 of thole which they go to, and wliofe levitv, 
 brutality, and bafenefs, fo juillv expofe them 
 to the contempt of the vanquilhed. 
 
 This heroic and unconquerable firmnefs, 
 which the cultom and education of his coun- 
 try demand of every favage, is not required 
 of thofe who are brought up to live in civil- 
 ized focleties. If thefe lad complain when 
 they are in pain, if they grieve when they 
 are in diftrefs, if they allow thcmfelves either 
 to be overcome by love, or to be difcompofed 
 by anger, they are cafily pardoned. Such 
 
 weak-
 
 3 z Of the I n f l u ENCfi Part V. 
 
 weakneffes are not apprehended to affect the 
 efTential parts of their character. As long 
 as they do not allow themfelves to be trans- 
 ported to do any thing contrary to juftice or 
 humanity, they loie but little reputation, 
 though the ferenlty of their countenance, or 
 the compofure of their difcourfe and beha- 
 viour, mould be fomewhat ruffled and dis- 
 turbed. A humane and polifhed people, 
 who have more fenfibility to the paffions of 
 others, can more readily enter into an ani- 
 mated and paffionate behaviour, and can 
 more eafily pardon fome little excefs. The 
 perfon principally concerned is fenfible of 
 this ; and being a (Tared of the equity of his 
 judges, indulges himfelf in flronger expref- 
 iions or paffion, and is lels afraid of expofing 
 himfelf to their contempt by the violence of 
 his emotions. We can venture to exprefs 
 more emotion in the prefence of a friend 
 than in that of a ftranger, became we expect 
 more indulgence from the one than from the 
 other. And in the fame manner the rules 
 of decorum anion."' civilized nations, admit 
 of a more animated behaviour, than is ap- 
 proved of among barbarians. The fir ft con- 
 vert together with the opennefs of friends ; 
 the fecond, with the referve of flrangers. 
 The emotion and vivacity with which the 
 
 Trench
 
 Chap. II. of C U S TO M. 3 3 
 
 French and the Italians, the two mod po- 
 liilied nations upon the continent, exprefs 
 themfelves on occafions that are at all inte- 
 refling, furprife at fir ft thofe ftrangers who 
 happen to be travelling among them, and 
 who, having been educated among a people 
 of duller fenfibility, cannot enter into this 
 paflionate behaviour, of which they have 
 never {qqu any example in their own coun- 
 try. A young French nobleman will weep 
 in the prefence of the whole court upon be- 
 ing refufed a regiment. An Italian, fays the 
 abbot Du Bos, expreiTes more emotion on 
 being condemned in a fine of twenty {hil- 
 lings, than an Englifhman on receiving the 
 fentence of death. Cicero, in the times of 
 the higheft Roman politcnefs, could, without 
 degrading himfelf, weep with all the bitter- 
 nefs of forrow in the fight of the whole fe- 
 male and the whole people ; as ic is evident 
 he rauft have done in the end of almoft 
 every oration. The orators of the earlier 
 and ruder ages of Rome could not probably, 
 confident with the manners of the times, 
 have exp relied themfelves with lb much 
 emotion. It would have been regarded, I 
 fuppole, as a violation of nature and pro- 
 priety in the Scipios, in the Leliules, and in 
 the elder Cato, to have expofed lb much ten- 
 vol. I l. p dernefs
 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 \ . , . 
 
 
 - 
 
 
 1 l; 
 
 £ 
 
 /- - - • 
 
 
 V 
 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 
 ! jIC 
 
 ! C L . ] 
 
 chi, 
 
 | 
 
 Of d Influej Part 7. 
 
 the public. Thofc 
 ic-iin :!ves 
 3u ]iii t i nient ; 
 . . . )ccn Grangers to that 
 
 ite ( [iience which was 
 into Rome, net many years 
 ■"iii of Cicero, by the two Grac- 
 es, and b* r Sulpitius. This ani- 
 ence, which has been long prac- 
 . or without fuccefs, both in France 
 
 ;. b Italy, b b'it juft beginning to be intro- 
 duc.-d intc Ei ; band. So" wide is the differ- 
 e: en the degrees of felt-command 
 
 wbi ired in civilized and in barba- 
 
 r ■,: nations, and by fiich different ftandards 
 <'•• i; ' .: cA tin. : of behaviour. 
 
 .rence ' : occanon to many 
 c: ntial. A polifhed 
 ] ■• ;• •"..; x give way, in 
 
 re, to the movements of nature, 
 open, and iincerc. Barba- 
 ... ■ ■ obliged to fmo- 
 
 thv; ■"•;: oi every paf- 
 
 i m. • ;'■•.;• habits of falfe- 
 
 >bferved by 
 fant with fa- 
 ■•, . . in A!: a, Africa, or 
 
 impene- 
 
 bave a mind to 
 
 conceal 
 
 , ,•
 
 Chap, IT. of Custo'm. 35 
 
 conceal die truth, no examination is canable 
 of drawing it from them. Thev cannot be 
 
 O J 
 
 trepanned by the mod artful queftiems. The 
 torture itfeif is incapable of making them 
 confefs any tiling which they have no mind 
 to tell. The pafiions of a favap-e too, thoimh 
 they never exprefs themfelves by any out- 
 ward emotion, but lie concealed in the b re aft 
 of the fufferer, are, notwithftandima;, all 
 mounted to the high eft pitch of fur v. 
 Though he ibidem fhe ws any IV: 
 
 anger, ye: his vengeance, wnen he comes 
 to crive way to it, is always famwinarv and 
 dreadful. The leaft affront drive;; him to 
 delpair. Kis countenance and difcom fa in- 
 deed are ftill fobcr and coinpofed, and L'-aaei"; 
 nothing but the mo ft perfect tranquillity of 
 minct : but his acinous pre often the mod: 
 furious and violent. Among 'die North- 
 Americans it is not uncommon for perfons 
 of the tendered age and more tearful lex to 
 drown themfelves upon receivincr onh 
 flight reprir 
 
 ■ 
 
 iaying any tinner, except, ice / a?/ j-::r 
 
 ba r 'c a (hvvhtcr. \\\ civilized nations te.e 
 paffions of men are not commonly in furious 
 or id defperatc. They are often el- 
 and noifv, but are feldom car'/ hurtful ; and 
 D 2 fee an
 
 30 
 
 Of the Influznc ., Part V. 
 
 -j 
 
 feern frequently to aim at no oilier fatisfac- 
 tion, but that of convincing; the fpeetator, 
 that they are in the right to be fo much 
 moved, and of procuring his fympathy and 
 approbation. 
 
 All thefe effects of cuftora and fafhion, 
 however, upon the moral fentiments of man- 
 kind, are inconfiderable, in companion of 
 thole which they give occafion to in fome 
 other caies ; and it is net concerning the ge- 
 neral flyle of character and behaviour, that 
 thofe principles produce the greateft perver- 
 fion of judgment, but concerning the pro- 
 priety or impropriety of particular ufages. 
 
 The different manners which cuftom 
 teaches us to approve of in the different 
 profeinons end {rates of life, do not concern 
 thirds of the created importance. We ex- 
 peel: truth and iufice from an old man as 
 well as from a young, from a clergyman as 
 well ;. leer; and it is in matters 
 
 of frn all moment c ily that we look for the 
 ,' ' ■uifhinir marks < f their refpective cha- 
 rafters. With regard to thefe too, there is 
 often fome unobierved circumftancc which, 
 if it wee attended to, would ihow us, that, 
 hide;: mdent of cmiom, tlicre was a propriety 
 in the character which cullom had taught us 
 tc allot to each orcfe.'hon. We cannot com- 
 
 phi :..
 
 Chap. II. 
 
 of CUSTO M. 
 
 37 
 
 plain, tliercfbrc, in this cafe, that the pervcr- 
 iion of natural ieutiment is very groat. 
 Though the manners or different nations 
 require dikerent degrees of the iume qua- 
 lity, in the character which they think 
 worthy of efleem, yet the work: that can 
 be laid to happen even here, is, that the du- 
 ties of one virtue are fometimes extended in 
 as to encroach a little upon trie precincls of 
 fome other. The ruitic hospitality that is in 
 fafhion among the Poles encroaches, perhaps, 
 a little upon ceconomy and good order ; and 
 the frugality that is elteemcd in Holland, 
 upon renerofitv and good-fellowfhip. The 
 hardineis demanded of lavages diminishes 
 their humanity ; and, perhaps, the delicate 
 ieniihility required in civilized nations fome- 
 times dcitroys the mafculine lirmnels of the 
 character. In general, the Style of manners 
 which takes place in any 'nation, may com- 
 monly upon the whole he hud to he that 
 which is mod luituhle to its Situation. 
 Hardineis is the character molt Suitable to 
 the circumiiances of a lavage ; icnfihility to 
 thoie or one who lives in a very civilized lo- 
 ciety. Even here, therefore, we cannot com- 
 plain that the moral fentiments of men are 
 very grofsly perverted. 
 
 D 7 It
 
 33 Of the hiFi.n.NCE PartV. 
 
 It is not Li "c in the cencral flyle cf 
 
 aviour thai enf m authorifes 
 
 i - v r is the natural 
 
 ] '• on. ^ , • d to parti- 
 
 ■ n^\ more 
 an. ■ ■ :i is capable 
 
 a a;- . . 1 fs, par- 
 
 . - ;•...:, i, which j i - ■ lefi prin- 
 
 ts of rb: ht and v.a ::<;:. 
 Can there be grcaiar barbant a for ex- 
 ample, tiun to hurt an infant? its 
 
 i I Cj 
 
 ami; as, c: tcrth 
 
 the coanoaluc i, even c . an enemv, and not 
 
 ■ ; i . '■: \ as the 
 
 iu.icus c ih /:; of an and cruel 
 
 conciucror. V\ hat then fhculd we imagine 
 . be the heaii oi a : an nt who could in- 
 jure that weakneis v. ■:n a furious 
 enemy is afraid to viob*"-?? Yet the expofi- 
 t is, the murder of new-born infants, 
 was ::. practice allowed oi in aim oft all the 
 . e . _a ; the polite and 
 civilized At '.:...". ; arid whenever the cir- 
 cuiuilances of the parent rendered it incon- 
 venient to bring wp the child, to abandon it 
 to hunger, or to wild hearts, was regarded 
 v ] blame or cenfure. This practice 
 had probably begun in times of the moil fa- 
 
 vaac
 
 Chap. If. cf Custom. 39 
 
 vagc barbarity. The inmad nations of 
 Lad been lirft made fami Lu" whh it 
 carlieft perl)': 1 of focicty, and the u i: 
 continuance 01 the cui'zo a .... mdered 
 them afterwards from pc-rceivrng its enor- 
 mity. We find, at this day, that this prac- 
 tice prevails anion ; ail Iava t en . . ; ; . i 
 in that rudeit and 
 
 undoubtedly more ; . ■ ! .e than in an " 
 
 other. The extreme i ■ ' 2 of a lave : 
 
 is often (itch that he iaiinhji: is \ 
 cxpofed to the greateR extremi - y, 
 
 lie often di ;s < c pure want, and i: is ire- 
 quently imp; ..'. jh: for him to fuppori. 
 himfelf and his child. We cannot w« ider, 
 therefore, that in this caf . ; 
 
 it. One who, in living irom ; : n eneuiv, 
 whom is was impo t r. _.., . ..a 
 
 throw down his infant, be; in e it i\ . 
 his flight, would fureiv be exc ice, 
 
 bv to lave it, lie ccuid 
 
 iov the eo ; Lido; or d am it. 
 
 in this Rate of (octet v, tb , r. 1 
 
 mould be allowed to judge whet '.in 
 
 ing up hi . child, ought noc te !h nvih ; . 
 ib greatly. In the I itte ' r re s 
 however, the lame thin ;■ v,\ . 
 
 'views of remote intercil or c : v w, 
 
 •.vhich could by no means cxcide it. " ' - 
 V 4 t •
 
 4 o Of the I n f l u e n c E Part V. 
 
 terrupted cuftom had by this time fo tho- 
 roughly authorifed the practice, that not 
 only the loofe maxims of the world tolerated 
 this barbarous prerogative, but even i\\t doc- 
 trine of philofophers, which ought to have 
 been more juft and accurate, was led away 
 by the eftabliihed cuftom, and upon this, as 
 upon many other occafions, inftead of cen- 
 furing, fupported the horrible abufe, by far- 
 fetched co nfi derations of public utility. Ari- 
 ftotle talks of it as of what the magiftrate 
 ought upon many occafions to encourage. 
 The humane Plato is of the fame opinion, 
 and, with all that love of mankind which 
 feems to animate all his writings, no where 
 marks this practice with difapprobation. 
 When cuftom can give fanclion to fo dread- 
 ful a violation of humanity, we may well 
 imagine that there is fcarce any particular 
 practice fo grofs which it cannot authoriie. 
 Such a thing, we hear men every day fay- 
 ing, is commonly done, and they feem to 
 think this a iuilicicnt apology for what, in 
 itfelf, is the mo ft unjuft and unreaionable 
 conduct. 
 
 There is an obvious reafon why cuftom 
 fhculd never pervert our fentiments with 
 regard to the general ftyle and character of 
 conduct and behaviour, in the fame degree 
 
 as
 
 Chap. II. 
 
 cf Custom. 
 
 4i 
 
 as with regard to the propriety or unlaw- 
 fulnefs of particular ufages. There never 
 can he any fuch ciiftom. No fociety could 
 fubfift a moment, in which the ufual drain 
 of men's conduct and beliaviour was of a 
 piece with the horrible practice I have juft 
 now mc ntioned.
 
 T U E () R Y 
 
 O F 
 
 RAL SENTIMENTS, 
 
 PART VI. 
 
 Of the Character of Virtue, 
 Confiding of three Sections. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ^7 /HEN v:c cor. fuler the characler of any 
 v ? individual, we naturally vic^ it under 
 fwo dihhrent a (peels ; iir'l, as il I 
 
 his own s; end fcccndly, as it may 
 
 ;d: ;ct that of other r-conlc.
 
 .] 4 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 Of the Cbaracler of the Individual^ fo far as it 
 
 off eels his ozvii Happincfs ; or cf Prudence. 
 
 he prefervation and healthful (late of the 
 body feem to be the objects which Na- 
 ture firft recommends to the care of every 
 individual. The appetites of hunger and 
 thirft, the acrreeable or difaereeable fenfations 
 of plcafurc and pain, of heat and cold, &c. 
 may be confidered as lefTons delivered by the 
 voice of Nature herfelf, directing him what 
 he ousrrit to chufc, and what he ought to 
 avoid, for this purpofe, The firft lefTons 
 which he is taught by thofe to whom his 
 childhood is entruftcd, tend, the greater part 
 of them, to the fame purpofe. Their prin- 
 cipal object i '. to teach him how to keep cut 
 of harm's way. 
 
 As he grows up, he foon learns that fome 
 care and forefight are necclTary for providing 
 the means of gratifying thofe natural appe- 
 tites, of procuring plcafurc and avoiding 
 pain, oi i rocurintr the agreeable and avoid- 
 ing the difagreeable temperature of heat and 
 
 cold.
 
 Seel. I. of V i r t u e . 45 
 
 cold. In the proper dircclion of this care 
 and forehVht confifts the art of prefervinrr 
 and increafing what is called his external 
 fortune. 
 
 Though it is in order to fupply the neccf- 
 fities and conveniencies of the body, that the 
 advantages of external fortune are originally 
 recommended to us, yet we cannot live long 
 in the world without perceiving that the 
 refpect of our equals, our credit and ran:: in 
 the icciety we live in, depend very much 
 upon the degree in which we poffels, or arc 
 iuppofed to pc. fiefs, thefe advantages. The 
 delire of becoming the proper objects of this 
 refpect, of deferring and obtainir tl ". cre- 
 dit and rank among cur equal?, ir., perhaps, 
 the ftrong;eft of all cur defirec, end cur 
 anxiety to obtain the advantages oi ior' 
 is accordingly much more excited and irri- 
 tated bv this defue, than by that of lbnplyinp- 
 all the neceihties and conveniencies of the 
 body, which are alwavs very eafily iimplied. 
 
 Our rank and credit among our equals, 
 too, depend very much upon, what, per' 
 a virtuous man would with them to der Mid 
 entirely, our character and coil irua., or upon 
 tire confidence, elleem, and gecd-v d!, which 
 thefe naturally excite in tlic people we 
 v ith. 

 
 46 Of the C 1 1 a r a c t e r. Part VL 
 
 The care of the health, of the fortune, of 
 the rank and reputation of the individual, the 
 objects upon which his comfort and happi- 
 nefs in this life are fuppofed principally to 
 depend, is confidered as the proper bufinefs 
 of that virtue which is commonly called 
 Prudence. 
 
 We fuller more, it has already been ob- 
 served, when we fall from a better to a worfe 
 fituation, than we ever enjoy when we rife 
 for a worfe to a better. Security, therefore, 
 is the firft and the principal object of pru- 
 dence. It is averfe to expofe our health, our 
 fortune, our rank, or reputation, to any 
 fort cf hazard. \i is rather cautious than 
 enterprifing, and more anxious to preierve 
 the advantages which we already poiTefs, 
 than fon to p opt us to the acquiution 
 
 oi flail greater advantages. 1 he methods of 
 improving our fortune, which it pr'mcin; 
 recommends to us, are thole which expofe 
 to no lofs or hazerd ; real knowledge and 
 fkill in our trade or t r Ron, aiiiduity and 
 indujury in the cxerciie oi' it, irugality, and 
 even ioine degree cf j : ly, in all our 
 
 expcnccG. 
 
 l ac nruuent n ii ; .ve •• i ... 
 
 and earnculy to i atever he pro* 
 
 icfes to u; di ' . 'J}' to pcr- 
 
 fu ado
 
 Sect. I. 
 
 of Virtue, 
 
 47 
 
 fuadc otlier people that lie underftands it ; 
 and though his talents may not always be 
 very brilliant, they are always perfectly 
 genuine. Fie neither endeavours to impofe 
 upon you by the cunning devices of an artful 
 impoftor, nor by the arrogant airs of an 
 afluming pedant, nor by the confident affer- 
 tions of a fuperiicial and impudent pretender. 
 He is not oftentatious, even of the abilities 
 which lie really poffeffes. His converfation 
 
 is fimple and modeft, ana he is averle to all 
 the quackiln arts by which other people fo 
 frequently thruft themfclvcs into public no- 
 tice and reputation. For reputation in his 
 profeflion lie is naturally difpofed to rely a 
 
 ill .1 /•'•■■• r 1 • I 1 ■; 
 
 !' OOU UCai Upuil Li'.C ; Ji Uib . .iivy . . ^Ll^l w 
 
 O i. J o 
 
 and abiiitic! 
 
 L\* UJC3 
 
 not always think 
 
 of cultivating the favour of thole little clubs 
 and cabals, who, in the fuperior arts and 
 fcicnccs, fo often creel: themfelves into the 
 fupreme judges of merit ; and who make it 
 their bufmefs to celebrate the talents and 
 virtues of one another, and to decry what- 
 ever can come into competition with them. 
 If he ever connects himlelt with any fociety 
 of this kind, it is merely In feif-defence, not 
 with a view to impofe upon the public, but 
 to hinder the piddle from being impofed 
 n, to his clij'ad vantage, 1 
 
 -. . 'V 
 
 clamours,
 
 48 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 the whifpers, or the intrigues, either of that 
 particular fociety, or of fome other of the 
 fame kind. 
 
 The prudent man is always fmcere, and 
 feels horror at the very thought of expofmg 
 himfelf to the difgrace which attends upon 
 the detection of falfehood. But though 
 always fmcere, he is not always frank and 
 open ; and though lie never tells any thing 
 but the truth, he does net always think him- 
 felf bound, when not properly called upon, 
 to tell the whole truth. As he is cautions 
 in his actions, fo he is referred in his fpeech; 
 and never rafhly or unneceiTarily obtrudes 
 liis opinion concerning either things or per- 
 ions. 
 
 The prudent man, though not always dif- 
 tinguilTied by the moil exquifite fenfibihty, 
 is always very capable of friendship. But 
 liis friendiliip is not that ardent and paiTion- 
 ate, but too often tranfitory affection, which 
 appears fo delicious to the generofity of youth 
 and inexperience, it is a fedate, but iteacly 
 and faithful attachment to a few well-tried 
 and well-choien companions ; in the choice 
 of whom he is not ruined by the: giddy ad- 
 miration of mining accomplishments, but 
 by the fober cfteem of modeily, dilcretion, 
 and good conducl:. But though capable of 
 7 friendiliip,
 
 Sett. I. of Virtue. 49 
 
 friendmip, he is not always much difpofed 
 to general fociality. He rarely frequents, 
 and more rarely figures in thofe convivial 
 focieties which are diftinguiihed for the jol- 
 lity and gaiety of their converfation. Their 
 way of life might too often interfere with the 
 regularity of his temperance, might interrupt 
 the fteadinefs of his induflry, or break in 
 upon the ftrictnefs of his frugality. 
 
 But though his converfation may not 
 always be very fprightly or diverting, it is 
 always perfectly inoffenfive. He hates the 
 thought of being guilty of any petulence or 
 rudenefs. He never aflumes impertinently 
 over any body, and, upon all common occa- 
 fions, is willing to place himfelf rather below 
 than above his equals. Both in his conduct 
 and converfation, he is an exact obferver of 
 decency, and refpects with an almoft religi- 
 ous fcrupulolity, all the eftablifhed decorums 
 and ceremonials of fociety. And, in this 
 refpect, he fets a much better example than 
 has frequently been done by men of much 
 more fplendid talents and virtues ; who, in 
 all ages, from that of Socrates and Ariftippus, 
 down to that of Dr. Swift and Voltaire, and 
 from that of Philip and Alexander the Great, 
 down to that of the great Czar Peter of 
 Mufcovy, have too often diftinguiihed thern- 
 vol. 11, e f elves
 
 _;o C///^ Character Part VI. 
 
 felves by the molt improper and even info- 
 lent contempt of all the ordinary decorums 
 of life and converfation, and who have 
 thereby fet the moft pernicious example to 
 thofe who wifh to refemble them, and who 
 too often content themfelves with imitating; 
 their follies, without even attempting to 
 attain their perfections. 
 
 In the ffeadinefs of his induftry and fru- 
 gality, in his fleadily facrificing the eafe and 
 enjoyment of the prefent moment for the 
 probable expectation of the flill greater eafe 
 and enjoyment of a more diftant but more 
 jailing period of time, the prudent man is 
 always both fupported and rewarded by the 
 entire approbation of the impartial fpectator, 
 and of the reprefentative of the impartial 
 fpectator, the man within the breaft. The 
 impartial fpectator does not feel himfelf worn 
 out by the prefect labour of thole whole 
 conduct he furveys ; nor does he feel himfelf 
 folicited by the importunate calls of their 
 prefent appetites. To him their prefent, and 
 what is likely to be their future fituation, are 
 very nearly the fame : he fees them nearly at 
 the fame diilance, and is affected by them 
 very nearly in the fame manner. He knows, 
 however, that to the perfons principally 
 concerned, they arc very far from being the 
 
 fame,
 
 Seel. I. of Virtue. 51 
 
 fame, and that they naturally affect them in a 
 very different manner. He cannot therefore 
 but approve, and even applaud, that proper 
 exertion of felf-command, which enables 
 them to act as if their prefent and their 
 future fituation affected them nearly in the 
 fame manner in which they affect him. 
 
 The man who lives within his income, is 
 naturally contented with his fituation, which 
 by continual, though fmall accumulations, is 
 growing better and better every day. He is 
 enabled gradually to relax, both in the rigour 
 of his parfimony and in the feverity of his 
 application ; and he feels with double fatif- 
 faction this gradual increafe of eafe and en- 
 joyment, from having felt before the hard- 
 ship which attended the want of them. He 
 has no anxiety to change fo comfortable a 
 fituation, and does not go in que ft of new 
 enterprifes and adventures, which might en- 
 danger, but could not well increafe, the fecure 
 tranquillity which he actually enjoys. If he 
 enters into any new projects or enterprifes, 
 they are likely to be well concerted and well 
 prepared. He can never be hurried or drove 
 into them by any neceffity, but has always 
 time and leiiure to deliberate foberly and 
 coolly concerning what are likely to be their 
 confequences. 
 
 E 2 The
 
 52 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 The prudent man is not willing to fubject 
 himfelf to any refponfibility which his duty 
 does not impofe upon him. He is not a 
 bufller in bufinefs where he has no concern ; 
 is not a meddler in other people's affairs ; is 
 not a profeffed counfellor or advifer, who ob- 
 trudes his advice where nobody is afking it. 
 He confines himfelf, as much as his duty 
 will permit, to his own affairs, and has no 
 tafte for that foolifh importance which many 
 people wilh to derive from appearing to have 
 fome influence in the management of thofe 
 of other people. He is averfe to enter into 
 any party difputes, hates faction, and is not 
 always very forward to liften to the voice 
 even of noble and great ambition. When 
 dnlinctly called upon, he will not decline the 
 fdvice of his country, but he will not cabal 
 in order to force himfelf into it, and would 
 be much better pleafed that the public buli- 
 ne r s were well managed by fome other perfon, 
 than that he himfelf mould have the trouble, 
 and incur the refponiibiiity, of managing it. 
 In the bottom of his heart he would prefer 
 the undlfhnbcd enjoyment of fecure tran- 
 quility, not cub. to all the vain fplendour of 
 fucreioiul ambition, but to the real and folid 
 glo"\ of ne:form'";.r the greateft and moil 
 magnanimous adions. 
 
 Prudence,
 
 Sect. I. of Virtue. 53 
 
 Prudence, in fhort, when directed merely 
 to the care of the heath, of the fortune, and 
 of the rank and reputation of the individual, 
 though it is regarded as a moil: refpectable, 
 and even in fome degree, as an amiable and 
 agreeable quality, yet it never is coniide r ed 
 as one, either of the moft endearing, or of 
 the moft ennobling of the virtues. It com- 
 mands a certain cold efteem, but feems not 
 entitled to any very ardent love or admira- 
 tion. 
 
 Wife and judicious conduct, when directed 
 to greater and nobler purpofes than the care 
 of the health, the fortune, the rank and 
 reputation of the individual, is frequently 
 and very properly called prudence. We 
 talk of the prudence of the great general, 
 of the great ftatefman, of the great legiflator. 
 Prudence is, in ail thefe cafes, combined with 
 many greater and more fplendid virtues, with 
 valour, with extenfive and flronc; benevo- 
 lence, with a facred regard to the rules of 
 juftice, and all thefe fupported by a proper 
 degree of felf-command. This fuperior pru- 
 dence, when carried to the higheft degree of 
 perfection, necefiarily fuppofes the art, the 
 talent, and the habit or clifpofition of acting 
 with the molt perfect propriety in every pof- 
 fible circumftance and iituation. It neceft'a- 
 £ 3 ri: 7
 
 54 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 rily fuppofes the utmoft perfection of all 
 the intellectual and of all the moral vir- 
 tues. It is the beft head joined to the beft 
 heart. It is the moft perfect wifdom com- 
 bined with the molt perfect virtue. It con- 
 stitutes very nearly the character of the 
 Academical or Peripatetic fage, as the in- 
 ferior prudence does that of the Epicu- 
 rean. 
 
 Mere imprudence, or the mere want of the 
 capacity to take care of one's felf, is, with the 
 generous and humane, the object of compaf- 
 fion ; with thofe of lefs delicate fentiments, 
 of neglect, or, at worft, of contempt, but ne- 
 ver of hatred or indignation. "When com- 
 bined with other vices, however, it aggra- 
 vates in the higheft degree the infamy and 
 dilgrace which would otherwife attend them. 
 The artful knave, whofe dexterity and ad- 
 drefs exempt him, though not from ftrong 
 iufpicions, yet from punifhment or diftinct 
 detection, is too often received in the world 
 with an indulgence which he by no means 
 deierves. The awkward and foolifh one, 
 who, for want of this dexterity and addrefs, 
 is convicted and brought to punifhment, is 
 the object of univerfal hatred, contempt, and 
 derifion. In countries where great crimes 
 frequently pais unpunifhed, the moil: atro- 
 cious
 
 Se£l. I. of Virtue. 55 
 
 cious anions become almoft familiar, and 
 ceafe to imprefs the people with that horror 
 which is univerfally felt in countries where 
 an exacl adminiftration of juftice takes place. 
 The injuftice is the fame in both countries ; 
 but the imprudence is often very different. 
 In the latter, great crimes are evidently great 
 follies. In the former, they are not always 
 confidered as fuch. In Italy, during the 
 greater part of the fixteenth century, afTailin- 
 ations, murders, and even murders under 
 truft, feem to have been almoft familiar 
 among the fuperior ranks of people. Csefar 
 Borgia invited four cf the little princes in his 
 neighbourhood, who all p ode fled little fove- 
 reignties, and commanded little armies of 
 their own, to a friendly conference at Sefii- 
 gaglia, where, as foon as they arrived, he put 
 them all to death. This infamous a&ion, 
 though certainly not approved of even in 
 that age of crimes, feems to have contributed 
 very little to the difcredit, and not in the lead 
 to the ruin of the perpetrator. That ruin 
 happened a few years after from caufes alto- 
 gether difconnecled with this crime. Ma- 
 chiavel, not indeed a man of the nicefl mora- 
 lity even for his own times, was refident, as 
 minifter from the republic of Florence, at the 
 court of Caeiar Borgia when this crime was 
 e 4 com-
 
 56 Of the Character Part VI, 
 
 committed. He gives a very particular ac- 
 count of it, and in that pure, elegant, and 
 fimple language which diftinguifhes all his 
 writings. He talks of it very coolly ; is 
 pleafed with the addrefs with which Csefar 
 Borgia conducted it ; has much contempt for 
 the dupery and weaknefs of the fufferers ; 
 but no compaffion for their miferable and 
 untimely death, and no fort of indignation at 
 the cruelty and falfehood of their murderer. 
 The violence and injuftice of great conquer- 
 ors are often regarded with foolifh wonder 
 and admiration ; thoie of petty thieves, rob- 
 bers, and murderers, with contempt, hatred, 
 and even horror upon all occafions. The 
 former, though they are a hundred times 
 more mifchievous and deftructive, yet when 
 fuccefsful, they often pals for deeds of the 
 mod heroic magnanimity. The latter are 
 always viewed with hatred and averfion, as 
 the lollies, as well as the crimes, of the low- 
 eft and mod worthlefs of mankind. The in^- 
 juftice of the former is certainly, at leaft, as 
 great as that of the latter ; but the folly and 
 imprudence arc not near fo great. A wicked 
 and worthlefs man of parts often goes through 
 the world with much more credit than he 
 defer vcs. A wicked and worthlefs fool ap- 
 pears always, of all mortals, the moft hate- 
 
 ful,
 
 Seel:, I. e/" Virtue. 57 
 
 ful, as well as the moft contemptible. As 
 prudence, combined with other virtues, con- 
 stitutes the nobleft ; fo imprudence, com- 
 bined with other vices, conititutes the vilefi 
 of all characters.
 
 58 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 Of the Character of the Individual, fo far as 
 it can affect the Happinefs of other People. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The character of every individual, fo far 
 as it can affect the happinefs of other 
 people, muft do io hy its difpofition either to 
 hurt or to benefit them. 
 
 Proper refentment for injuftice attempted, 
 or actually committed, is the only motive 
 which, in the eyes of the impartial fpecta- 
 tor, can jnftify our hurting or difturbing in 
 any refpect the happinefs of our neighbour. 
 To do fo from any other motive, is itfelf a 
 violation of the laws of juftice, which force 
 ought to be employed either to reftrain or 
 to puniih. The wiidom of every ftate or 
 commonwealth endeavours, as well as it can, 
 to employ the force of the fociety to reftrain 
 thofe who are fubject to its authority, from 
 hurting or difturbing the happinefs of one 
 another. The rules which it eftablifhes for 
 
 this
 
 Sect. II. of Virtue. 59 
 
 this purpofe, conftitute the civil and criminal 
 law of each particular ltate or country. The 
 principles upon which thole rules either are, 
 or ou^ht to he founded, are the fubject of a 
 particular fcience, of all fciences by far the 
 mo ft important, but hitherto, perhaps, the 
 leaft cultivated, that of natural jurisprudence ; 
 concerning which it belongs not to our pre- 
 fent fubjecl to enter into any detail. A 
 facred and religious regard not to hurt or 
 difturb in any refpect the happinefs of our 
 neighbour, even in thofe caies where no law 
 can properly protect him, conflitutes the 
 character of the perfectly innocent and juii 
 man ; a character which, when carried to a 
 certain delicacy of attention is always highly 
 refpectable and even venerable for its own 
 fake, and can fcarce ever fail to be accom- 
 panied with many other virtues, with great 
 feeling for other people, with great humanity 
 and great benevolence. It is a character fuf- 
 ficiently undcrftood, and requires no further 
 explanation, in the prefent fection I mail 
 only endeavour to explain the foundation of 
 that order which nature feems to have traced 
 out for the dillribution of our good offices, 
 or for the direction and employment of our 
 very limited powers of beneficence : iirft, 
 
 towards
 
 6o Of the C h a r a c t e r Part VI . 
 
 towards individuals ; and fecondly, towards 
 focieties. 
 
 The fame unerring wifdorn, it will be 
 found, which regulates every other part of 
 her conduct, directs, in this refpecT: too, the 
 order of her recommendations ; which are 
 always ilronger or weaker in proportion as 
 our beneficence is more or lefs neceiTary, or 
 can be more or lefs ufeful. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 Of the Order in ivhiclj Individuals are 
 recommended by Nature to our care and 
 attention, 
 
 IT 1 very man, as the Stoics ufed to fay, is 
 •*-' iirft and principally recommended to his 
 own care ; and every man is certainly, in 
 every refpect, fitter and abler to take care of 
 himfelf than of any other perfon. Every 
 man feels his own pleafures and his own 
 pains more fenfibly than thofe of other peo- 
 ple. The former are the original fenfations ; 
 the latter the reflected or fympathetic images 
 
 of
 
 Sea. II. of Virtue. Ci 
 
 of thole fenfations. The former may be faid 
 to be the fubftance ; the latter the fhadow. 
 
 After himfelf, the members of his own 
 family, thofe who ufually live in the fame 
 houfe with him, his parents, his children, 
 his brothers and lifters, are naturally the ob- 
 jects of his warmeft affections. They are 
 naturally and ufually the perfons upon whofe 
 happinefs or mifery his conduct mull have 
 the greater! influence. He is more habitu- 
 ated to fympathize with them. He knows 
 better how every thing is likely to affect 
 them, and his fympathy with them is more 
 precife and determinate, than it can be with 
 the greater part of other people. It ap- 
 proaches nearer, in fliort, to what he feels 
 for himfelf. 
 
 This fympathy too, and the affections 
 which are founded on it, are by nature more 
 ftrongly directed towards his children than 
 towards his parents, and his tendernefs for 
 the former feems generally a more active 
 principle, than his reverence and gratitude 
 towards the latter. In the natural ftate of 
 things, it has already been obferved, the ex- 
 igence of the child, for fome time after it 
 comes into the world, depends altogether 
 upon the care of the parent ; that of the 
 parent does not naturally depend upon the
 
 62 Of the Char a cter Part VI. 
 
 care of the child. In the eye of nature, it 
 would feem, a child is a more important ob- 
 ject than an old man ; and excites a much 
 more lively, as well as a much more univer- 
 fal fympathy. It ought to do fo. Every 
 thing may be expected, or at leaft hoped, 
 from the child. In ordinary cafes, very little 
 can be either expected or hoped from the old 
 man. The weaknefs of childhood interefls 
 the affections of the mod brutal and hard- 
 hearted. It is only to the virtuous and hu- 
 mane, that the infirmities of old age are not 
 the objects of contempt and averfion. In 
 ordinarv cafes, an old man dies without be- 
 ing much regretted by any body. Scarce a 
 child can die without rending afunder the 
 heart of fomebodv. 
 
 The carlieft friendmips, the friendlhips 
 which are naturally contracted when the 
 heart is moft fufceptible of that feeling, are 
 thofe amonfz brothers and fifters. Their 
 good agreement, while they remain in the 
 fame family, is necedary for its tranquillity 
 and happinels. They are capable of giving 
 more; pleaiure or pain to one another than to 
 the greater part of other people. Their fitu- 
 ation renders their mutual fympathy of the ut- 
 mofl importance to their common happinefs ; 
 and, by the wifdom of nature, the fame fitua- 
 12 tion,
 
 Sect. II. ef Virtue. 6$ 
 
 tion, by obliging them to accommodate to 
 one another, renders that fympathy more ha- 
 bitual, and thereby more lively, more dif- 
 tinct, and more determinate. 
 
 The children of brothers and fitters arc 
 naturally connected by the friendlhip which, 
 after feparating into different families, con- 
 tinues to take place between their parents. 
 Their good agreement improves the enjoy- 
 ment of that friendlhip ; their difcord would 
 difturb it. As they feldom live in the fame 
 family, however, though of more import- 
 ance to one another, than to the greater part 
 of other people, they are of much lefs than 
 brothers and fillers. As their mutual fym- 
 pathy is lefs neceflary, fo it is lefs habitual, 
 and therefore proportionally weaker. 
 
 The children of coulins, being (till lefs 
 connected, are of full lefs importance to one 
 another ; and the affection gradually dimi- 
 nithes as the relation grows more and more 
 remote. 
 
 What is called affection, is in reality, no- 
 thing but habitual fympathy. Our concern 
 in the happinefs or mifery ot thofe who are 
 the objects of what we call our affections ; 
 our dciire to promote the one, and to pre- 
 vent the other j are either the actual feeling 
 of that habitual fympathy, or the neceffarv 
 
 con-
 
 64 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 confequences of that feeling. Relations be- 
 ing ulually placed in fituations which natu- 
 rally create this habitual fympathy, it is ex- 
 pected that a fuitable degree of affection 
 ihould take place among them. We gene- 
 rally find that it actually does take place ; we 
 therefore naturally expect that it mould ; 
 and we are, upon that account, more fhocked 
 when, upon any occafion, we find that it 
 does not. The general rule is eftablifhed, 
 that perfcns related to one another in a cer- 
 tain degree, ought always to be affected to- 
 wards one another in a certain manner, and 
 that there is always the higheft impropriety, 
 and fometimes even a fort of impiety, in 
 their being affected in a different manner. 
 A parent without parental tendernefs, a child 
 devoid of all filial reverence, appear mon- 
 fters, the objects, not of hatred only, but of 
 horror. 
 
 Though in a particular inftance, the cir- 
 cumftances whi-.h ulually produce thofe na- 
 tural affections, as they are called, may, by 
 feme accident, not have taken place, yet 
 refpect for the general rule will frequently, 
 in fome meafure, fupply their place, and 
 produce fomething which, though not alto- 
 gether the lame, may bear, however, a very 
 considerable relcmbiance to thofe affections. 
 
 A father
 
 Seel. II. of Virtue. 65 
 
 A father is apt to be lefs attached to a child, 
 who, by fome accident, has been fepamted 
 from him in its infancy, and who does not 
 return to him till it is grown up to manhood. 
 The father is apt to feel lefs paternal tender- 
 nefs for the child ; the child, lefs filial rever- 
 ence for the father. Brothers and filters, 
 when they have been educated in diftant 
 countries, are apt to feel a fimilar diminution 
 of affection. With the dutiful and the vir- 
 tuous, however, reipeet for the general rule 
 will frequently produce fomething which, 
 though by no means the fame, yet may very 
 much refemble thofe natural affections. 
 Even during the feparation, the father and the 
 child, the brothers or the lifters, are by no 
 means indiiferent to one another. They all 
 confider one another as perions to and from 
 whom certain affections are due, and they 
 live in the hopes of being Ibme time or an- 
 other in a fituation to enjoy that friendihip 
 which ought naturally to have taken place 
 among perfons to nearly connected. Till 
 they meet, the abfent fon, the abfent brother, 
 are frequently the favourite fon, the favour- 
 ite brother. They have never offended, or, 
 if they have, it is io long ago, that the 
 offence is forgotten, as fome childifh trick 
 not worth the remembering. Every account 
 vol. 11. f they
 
 66 Of the Character Par t VI , 
 
 they have heard of one another, if conveyed 
 by people of any tolerable good nature, has 
 been, in the higher! degree, flattering and 
 favourable. The abfent fon, the abfent bro- 
 ther, is not like other ordinary fons and 
 brothers; but an all-perfect fon, an all-per- 
 fect brother ; and the moft romantic hopes 
 are entertained of the happinefs to be en- 
 joyed in the friendfhip and converfation of 
 fuch perfons. When they meet, it is often 
 with fo ftrong a difpofition.to conceive that 
 habitual fympathy which conftitutes the 
 family affection, that they are very apt to 
 fancy they have actually conceived it, and 
 to behave to one another as if they had. 
 Time and experience, however, I am afraid, 
 too frequently undeceive them. Upon a 
 more familiar acquaintance, they frequently 
 difcover in one another habits, humours, and 
 inclinations, different from what they ex- 
 pected, to which, from want of habitual 
 fympathy, from want of the real principle 
 and foundation of what is properly called 
 family-affection, they cannot now eafily ac- 
 commodate themf elves. They have never 
 lived in the fituation which almoft neceflarily 
 forces that eafy accommodation, and though 
 they may now be fincerely defirous to i flu me 
 it, they have really become incapable of 
 
 doing:
 
 Sect. II. of Virtue. Cy 
 
 doing fo. Their familiar converfation and 
 intercourfc foon become lefs pleafing to them, 
 and, upon that account, lefs frequent. They 
 may continue to live with one another in 
 the mutual exchange of all effential good 
 offices, and with every other external ap- 
 pearance of decent regard. But that cordial 
 fatisfa&ion, that delicious fympathy, that 
 confidential opennefs and eafe, which natu- 
 rally take pjace in the converfation of thofe 
 who have lived long and familiarly with one 
 another, it feldom happens that they can 
 completely enjoy. 
 
 It is only, however, with the dutiful and 
 the virtuous, that the general rule has even 
 this llender authority. With the difllpated, 
 the profligate, and the vain, it is entirely 
 difregarded. They are fo far from refpecting 
 it, that they feldom talk of it but with the 
 mod indecent derifion; and an early and 
 long reparation of this kind never fails to 
 eftrange them mo ft completely from one 
 another. With fuch perfons, refpect for the 
 general rule can at bed produce only a cold 
 and affected civility (a very fender femblance 
 of real regard); and even this, the flighted: 
 offence, the fmalleft oppofition of intereft, 
 commonly puts an end to altogether. 
 
 V 2 The
 
 68 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 The education of boys at diftant great 
 fchools, of young men at diftant colleges, of 
 young ladies in diftant nunneries and board- 
 ing- fchools, feems, in the higher ranks of 
 life, to have hurt moft effentially the do- 
 meftic morals, and confequently the domeftic 
 happinefs, both of France and England. *Do 
 you wifh to educate your children to be duti- 
 ful to their parents, to be kind and affec- 
 tionate to their brothers and fifters ? put 
 them under the neceffity of being dutiful 
 children, of being kind and affectionate bro- 
 thers and lifters : educate them in your own 
 houfe. From their parent's houfe they may, 
 with propriety and advantage, go out every 
 day to attend public fchools : but let their 
 dwelling be always at home. Refpect for 
 you rauft always impofe a very ufeful re- 
 ftraint upon their conduct ; and refpedt for 
 them may frequently impofe no ufelcfs re- 
 ftraint upon your own. Surely no acquire- 
 ment, which can poftibly be derived from 
 what is called a public education, can make 
 any fort of compenfation for what is almoft 
 certainly and neceffarily loft by it. Do- 
 meftic education is the inftitution of nature; 
 public education the contrivance of man. 
 It is furely unneceffary to fay, which is likely 
 to be the wifeft, 
 
 t In
 
 Sea. II. of Virtue. 69 
 
 In fome tragedies and romances, we meet 
 with many beautiful and interefting fcenes, 
 founded upon, what is called, the force of 
 blood, or upon the wonderful affection which 
 near relations are fuppofed to conceive for 
 one another, even before they know that 
 they have any fuch connexion. This force 
 of blood, however, I am afraid, exifts no- 
 where but in tragedies and romances. Even 
 in tragedies and romances, it is never fup- 
 pofed to take place between any relations, 
 but thofe who are naturally bred up in the 
 fame houie ; between parents and children, 
 between brothers and filters. To imagine 
 any fuch myfterious affection between cou- 
 fins, or even between aunts or uncles, and 
 nephews or nieces, would be too ridiculous. 
 
 In paftoral countries, and in all countries 
 where the authority of law is not alone fuf- 
 ficient to give perfect fecurity to every mem- 
 ber of the ftate, all the different branches of 
 the fame family commonly chufe to live in 
 the neighbourhood of one another. Their 
 affociation is frequently neceffary for their 
 common defence. They are all, from the 
 higheft to the loweft, of more or lefs im- 
 portance to one another. Their concord 
 itrengthens their neceffary affociation ; their 
 
 F % difcord
 
 7o 0//^ Character Part VI. 
 
 difcord always weakens, and might deftroy 
 it. They have more intercourfe with one 
 another, than with the members of any other 
 tribe. The remoteft members of the fame 
 tribe claim fome connection with one ano- 
 ther ; and, where all other circumitances are 
 equal, expect to be treated with more diftin- 
 guifhed attention than is due to thofe who 
 have no fuch pretenfions. It is not many 
 years ago that, in the Highlands of Scotland, 
 the Chieftain ufed to coniider the pooreft man 
 of his clan, as his coufin and relation. The 
 fame exteniive regard to kindred is faid to 
 take place among the Tartars, the Arabs, the 
 Turkomans, and, I believe, among all other 
 nations who are nearly in the fame ftate of 
 fociety in which the Scots Highlanders w r ere 
 about the beginning of the prefent century. 
 
 In commercial countries, where the autho- 
 rity of law is always perfectly fufficient to 
 protect the meaneft man in the ftate, the de- 
 fcendants of the fame family, having no fuch 
 motive for keeping together, naturally fepa- 
 rate and difperfe, as interefl or inclination 
 may direct:. They foon ceafe to be of im- 
 portance to one another ; and, in a few 
 generations, not only lofe all care about one 
 another, but all remembrance of their com- 
 mon
 
 Sea. II. of Virtue. 71 
 
 mon origin, and of the connection which 
 took place among their anceftors. Regard 
 for remote relations becomes, in every coun- 
 try, lefs and lefs, according as this ftate of 
 civilization has been longer and more com- 
 pletely eftablifhed. It has been longer and 
 more completely eftablifhed in England than 
 in Scotland ; and remote relations are, ac- 
 cordingly, more confidered in the latter 
 country than in the former, though, in this 
 refpect, the difference between the two coun- 
 tries is growing leis and lefs every day. 
 Great lords, indeed, are, in every country, 
 proud of remembering and acknowledging 
 their connection with one another, however 
 remote. The remembrance of fuch illuftri- 
 ous relations flatters not a little the family 
 pride of them all ; and it is neither from 
 affection, nor from any thing which refem- 
 bles affection, but from the moil frivolous 
 and childifh of all vanities, that this remem- 
 brance is fo carefully kept up. Should fome 
 more humble, though, perhaps, much nearer 
 kinfman, prefume to put fuch great men in 
 mind of his relation to their family, they 
 fcldom fail to tell him that they are bad 
 genealogifts, and miierably ill-informed con- 
 cerning their own family hiftory. It is not 
 in that order, I am afraid, that we are to ex- 
 
 f 4 pect
 
 j 2 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 peel; any extraordinary extenfion of, what 
 is called, natural affection. 
 
 I confider what is called natural affection 
 as more the effect of the moral than of the 
 fuppofed phyiical connection between the 
 parent and the child. A jealous hufband, 
 indeed, notwithstanding the moral connec- 
 tion, notwithstanding the child's having been 
 educated in his own houfe, often regards, 
 with hatred and averfion, that unhappy 
 child which he fuppofes to be the offspring 
 of his wife's infidelity. It is the Lifting mo- 
 nument of a mod difagreeable adventure ; of 
 his own difhonour, and of the difgrace of 
 his family. 
 
 Among well-difpofed people, the ncceffity 
 or conveniency of mutual accommodation, 
 very frequently produces a friendfhip not 
 unlike that which takes place among thofe 
 who are born to live in the fame family. 
 Colleagues in office, partners in trade, call 
 one another brothers ; and frequently feel 
 towards one another as if they really were fo. 
 Their good agreement is an advantage to all; 
 and, if they are tolerably reafonable people, 
 they are naturally difpofed to agree. We 
 expect that they mould do fo ; and their 
 dilagrecment is a fort of a fmall fcandal. 
 The Romans expreiled this fcrt of attach- 
 ment
 
 Sea. II. <f Virtue. 73 
 
 ment by the word necejjitudo, which, from 
 the etymology, feems to denote that it was 
 impofed by the neceffity of the fituation. 
 
 Even the trifling circumftance of living in 
 the fame neighbourhood, has fome effect: of 
 the fame kind. We refpect the face of a 
 man whom we fee every day, provided he 
 has never offended us. Neighbours can 
 be very convenient, and they can be very 
 troublefome, to one another. If they are 
 good fort of people, they are naturally dif- 
 pofed to agree. We expect their good 
 agreement ; and to be a bad neighbour is a 
 very bad character. There are certain fmall 
 good offices, accordingly, which are univer- 
 sally allowed to be due to a neighbour in 
 preference to any other perfon who has no 
 fuch connection. 
 
 This natural difpolition to accommodate 
 and to aflimilate, as much as we can, our 
 own fentiments, principles, and feelings, to 
 thofe which we fee fixed and rooted in the 
 perfons whom we are obliged to live and 
 converfe a great deal with, is the caufe of the 
 contagious effeds of both good and bad 
 company. The man who affociates chiefly 
 with the wife and the virtuous, though he 
 may not himfelf become either wife or vir- 
 tuous, cannot help conceiving a certain re- 
 
 fpeft
 
 j$ Of the C ha racter Part VI. 
 
 ipect at leaft for wifdom and virtue ; and the 
 man who affociates chiefly with the profligate 
 and the diffolute, though he may not himfelf 
 become profligate and diffolute, muft foon 
 lofe, at leaft, all his original abhorrence of 
 profligacy and difiblution of manners. The 
 iimilarity of family characters, which we fo 
 frequently fee tranfmitted through feveral 
 fucceflive generations, may, perhaps, be 
 partly owing to this difpofition, to affimilate 
 ourfelves to thole whom we are obliged to 
 live and converfe a great deal with. The 
 family character, however, like the family 
 countenance, feems to be owing, not alto- 
 gether to the moral, but partly to the phyfical 
 connection. The family countenance is cer- 
 tainly altogether owing to the latter. 
 
 But of all attachments to an individual, 
 that which is founded altogether upon eiteem 
 and approbation of his good conduct and beha- 
 viour, confirmed by much experience and long 
 acquaintance, is, by far, the moft refpectable. 
 Such friendfhips, arifing not from a conftrain- 
 ed fympu-hy, not from a fympathy which has 
 been affumed and rendered habitual for the 
 fake of convenience and accommodation; but 
 from a natural fympathy, from an involun- 
 tary feeling that the perlons to whom we 
 attach ourfelves are the natural and proper 
 
 objects
 
 Sect. II. of Virtue. 75 
 
 objects of efteem and approbation ; can exift 
 only among men of virtue. Men of virtue 
 only can feel that entire confidence in the 
 conduct and behaviour of one another, which 
 can, at all times, allure them that they can 
 never either offend or be offended by one an- 
 other. Vice is always capricious ; virtue 
 only is regular and orderly, The attachment 
 which is founded upon the love of virtue, as 
 it is certainly, of all attachments, the molt 
 virtuous ; fo it is likewife the happieft, as 
 well as the mod permanent and fecure. 
 Such friendships need not be coniined to a 
 fingle perfon, but may fafely embrace all the 
 wile and virtuous, with whom we have been 
 long and intimately acquainted, and upon 
 whole wifdom and virtue we can, upon that 
 account, entirely depend. They who would 
 confine friendship to two perfons, feem to 
 confound the wile fecurity of friendihip with 
 the jealoufy and folly of love. The hafty, 
 fond, and fooliih intimacies of young people, 
 founded, commonly, upon fome flight fimila- 
 rity of character, altogether unconnected with 
 good conduct, upon a tafte, perhaps, for the 
 fame ftudies, the fame amufements, the lame 
 diverfions, or upon their agreement in fome 
 lingular principle or opinion, not commonly 
 adopted j thofe intimacies which a freak be- 
 gins,
 
 jb 0//^ Character Part VI. 
 
 gins, and which a freak puts an end to, how 
 agreeable ibever they may appear while they 
 laff, can by no means deferve the facred and 
 venerable name of friendfhip. 
 
 Of all the perfons, however, whom nature 
 points out for our peculiar beneficence, there 
 are none to whom it feems more properly 
 directed than to thofe whole beneficence we 
 have ourfelves already experienced. Nature, 
 which formed men for that mutual kindnefs, 
 fo neceffary for their happinefs, renders 
 every man the peculiar object of kindnefs, to 
 the perfons to whom he himfelf has been 
 kind. Though their gratitude fhould not 
 always correfpond to his beneficence, yet the 
 fenle of his merit, the fympathetic gratitude 
 of the impartial fpe&ator, will always cor- 
 refpond to it. The general indignation of 
 other people, againft the bafenefs of their in- 
 gratitude, w r ill even, fometimes, increafe the 
 general fenfe of his merit. No benevolent 
 man ever loft altogether the fruits of his 
 benevolence. If he docs not always gather 
 them from the perfons from whom he ought 
 to have gathered them, he feldom fails to 
 gather then, and with a tenfold increafe, 
 from other people. Kindnefs is the parent 
 of kindnefs ; and if to be beloved by our 
 brethren be the great object of our ambition, 
 
 the
 
 Sea. II. of Virtue. 77 
 
 the fureft way of obtaining it is, by our con- 
 duel to fhew that we really love them. 
 
 After the perfons who are recommended 
 to our beneficence, either by their conne&ion 
 with ourfelves, by their peribnal qualities, or 
 by their pall fervices, come thofe who are 
 pointed out, not indeed to, what is called, 
 our friendship, but to our benevolent atten- 
 tion and good offices ; thofe who are diftin- 
 guifhed by their extraordinary fituation ; the 
 greatly fortunate and the greatly unfortunate, 
 the rich and the powerful, the poor and the 
 wretched. The diftinction of ranks, the 
 peace and order of fociety, are, in a great 
 meafure, founded upon the refpect which we 
 naturally conceive for the former. The re- 
 lief and confolation of human mifery depend 
 altogether upon our compaffion for the latter. 
 The peace and order of fociety, is of more 
 importance than even the relief of the mife- 
 rable. Our refpect for the great, accordingly, 
 is molt apt to offend by its excefs ; our fel- 
 low-feeling for the miferable, by its defect. 
 Moralifts exhort us to charity and compaf- 
 fion. They warn us againft the fafcination 
 of greatnefs. This fafcination, indeed, is fo 
 powerful, that the rich and the great are too 
 often preferred to the wife and the virtuous. 
 Nature has wifely judged that the diftinction 
 
 of
 
 ; 8 Of the Character Part VL 
 
 of ranks, the peace and order of fociety, 
 would reft more fecurely upon the plain and 
 palpable difference of birth and fortune, than 
 upon the invifible and often uncertain differ- 
 ence of wifdom and virtue. The undiftin- 
 guifhing eyes of the great mob of mankind 
 can well enough perceive the former : it is 
 with difficulty that the nice difcernment of 
 the wiie and the virtuous can fometimes dif- 
 tinguim the latter. In the order of all thole 
 recommendations, the benevolent wifdom of 
 nature is equally evident. 
 
 It may, perhaps, be unncceffary to obferve, 
 that the combination of two, or more, of 
 thofc exciting caufes of kindnefs, increafes 
 the kindnefs. The favour and partiality 
 which, when there is no envy in the cafe, 
 we naturally bear to greatnefs, are much in- 
 creafed when it is joined with wTdom and 
 virtue. If, notwithstanding that wifdom and 
 virtue, the great man mould fall into thoie 
 misfortunes, thofe dangers and dinrefTes, to 
 which the raoft exalted nations are often the 
 mod expofed, we are much more deeply in- 
 terested in his fortune than we ihould be in 
 that of a perfon equally virtuous, but in a 
 more humble fituation. The moil: mtercft- 
 ing fubjects of tragedies and romances are 
 the misfortunes of virtuous and magna- 
 nimous
 
 Sea. II. of Virtue. 79 
 
 nimous kings and princes. If, by the wif- 
 dom and manhood of their exertions, they 
 fhould extricate themfelves from thofe mil- 
 fortunes, and recover completely their former 
 fuperiority and fecurity, we cannot help 
 viewing them with the moil enthufiaftic and 
 even extravagant admiration. The grief 
 which we felt for their diftrefs, the joy 
 which we feel for their profperity, feem to 
 combine together in enhancing that partial 
 admiration which we naturally conceive both 
 for the ftation and the character. 
 
 When thofe different beneficent affections 
 happen to draw different ways, to determine 
 by any precife rules in what cafes we ought 
 to comply with the one, and in what with 
 the other, is, perhaps, altogether impoflible. 
 In what cafes friendfhip ought to yield to 
 gratitude, or gratitude to friendfhip; in what 
 cafes the ftrongeft. of all natural affections 
 ought to yield to a regard for the fafety 01 
 thofe fuperiors upon whofe fafety often de- 
 pends that of the whole fociety ; and in what 
 cafes natural affection may, without impro- 
 priety, prevail over that regard ; mull be left 
 altogether to the decifion of the man within 
 the breaft, the fuppofed impartial fpectator, 
 the great judge and arbiter of our conduct. 
 If we place ourfelves completely in his fitua- 
 
 tion,
 
 So Of the Ch a r a c te r Part VI. 
 
 tion, if we really view ourfelves with his 
 eyes, and as he views us, and liften with dili- 
 gent and reverential attention to what he 
 fuggefls to us, his voice will never deceive 
 us. We fhall ftand in need of no cafuiftic 
 rules to dire£t our conduct. Thefe it is often 
 impoffible to accommodate to all the different 
 fhades and gradations of circumftance, cha- 
 racter, and fituation, to differences and dif- 
 tinc"tions which, though not imperceptible, 
 are, by their nicety and delicacy, often alto- 
 gether undefmable. In that beautiful tragedy 
 of Voltaire, the Orphan of China, while we 
 admire the magnanimity of Zanti, who is 
 willing to facrifice the life of his own child, 
 in order to preferve that of the only feeble 
 remnant of his ancient fovereigns and maf- 
 ters ; we not only pardon, but love the ma- 
 ternal tendernefs of Idame, who, at the rifque 
 of difcovering the important .fecret of her 
 hufband, reclaims her infant from the cruel 
 hands of the Tartars, into which it had been 
 delivered.
 
 Sett. II. of Virtue. 8i 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Of the order in which Societies are by nature 
 recommended to oar Beneficence, 
 
 'TPHE fame principles that direct the order 
 * in which individuals are recommended 
 to our beneficence, direct that likewife in 
 which focieties are recommended to it. 
 Thofe to which it is, or may be of moil 
 importance, are flrft and principally recom- 
 mended to it. 
 
 The ftate or fovereignty in which we have 
 been born and educated, and under the pro- 
 tection of which we continue to live, is, in 
 ordinary cafes, the greateil fociety upon 
 whofe happinefs or mifery, our good or bad 
 conduct can have much influence. It is ac- 
 cordingly, by nature, mod ftrongly recom- 
 mended to us. Not only we ourfelves, but 
 all the objects of our kindeft affections, our 
 children, our parents, our relations, our 
 friends, our benefactors, all thofe whom we 
 naturally love and revere the moft, are com- 
 monly comprehended within it ; and their 
 profperity and fafety depend in fome mea- 
 vol. ii. G fure
 
 Sa 0///^ Character Part VI. 
 
 fure upon its profperity and fafety. It is by 
 nature, therefore, endeared to us, not only by 
 all our felfifh, but by all our private benevo- 
 lent affections. Upon account of our own 
 connection with it, its profperity and glory 
 ieera to reflect forne fort of honour upon 
 ourlelves. When we compare it with other 
 focicties of the lame kind, we are proud of 
 its fuperiority, and mortified in fome degree, 
 if it appears in any refpect below them. All 
 the iliuflrious characters which it has pro- 
 duced in former times (for againft thofe of our 
 own times envy may fometimes prejudice us 
 a little', its war.iors, its ftatefmen, its poets, 
 its philolophers, and men of letters of all 
 kinds ; we are dilpofed to view with the 
 moll partial admiration, and to rank them 
 (fometimes molt unjuftly) above thofe of all 
 other nations. The patriot who lays down 
 his life for the fafety, or even for the vain- 
 glory of this fociety, appears to act with the 
 moil exact propriety. He appears to view 
 hi nk if in the light in which the impartial 
 fpe&ator naturally and neceffarily views 
 lam, as but one of the multitude, in the 
 eye of that equitable judge, of no more con- 
 fequence than any other in it, but bound at 
 all times to facrilice and devote himielf to 
 the fafety, to the fcrvicc, and even to the
 
 Sea. II. c/Virtue. 83 
 
 glory of the greater number. But though 
 this facrifice appears to be perfectly juft and 
 proper, we know how difficult it is to make 
 it, and how few people are capable of mak- 
 ing it. His conduct, therefore, excites not 
 only our entire approbation, but our higher! 
 wonder and admiration, and feems to merit 
 all the applaufe which can be due to the mod 
 heroic virtue. The traitor, on the contrary, 
 who, in fome peculiar fituation, fancies he 
 can promote his own little intereft by be- 
 traying to the public enemy that of his na- 
 tive country ; who, regardlefs of the judg- 
 ment of the man within the breaft, prefers 
 himfelf, in this refpeet fo fhamefully and fo 
 bafely, to all thofe with whom he has any 
 connection ; appears to be of all villains the 
 moil deteftable. 
 
 The love of our own nation often difpofes 
 us to view, with the mo ft malignant jealoufy 
 and envy, the profperity and aggrandifement 
 of any other neighbouring nation. Inde- 
 pendent and neighbouring nations, having 
 no common fuperior to decide their difputes, 
 all live in continual dread and fufpicion of 
 one another. Each fovereign, expecting lit- 
 tle juftice from his neighbours, is difpofed to 
 treat them with as little as he expects from 
 them. The regard for the laws of nations, 
 G 2 or
 
 84 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 or for thofe rules which independent flates 
 profefs or pretend to think themfelves bound 
 to obferve in their dealings with one another, 
 is often very little more than mere pretence 
 and profeffion. From the fmalleft interelt, 
 upon the (lighter! provocation, we fee thofe 
 rules every day, either evaded or directly 
 violated without fhame or remorfe. Each 
 nation forcfees, or imagines it forefees, its 
 own fubjugation in the increafing power and 
 aggrandifement of any of its neighbours ; 
 and the mean .principle of national prejudice 
 is often founded upon the noble one of the 
 love of our own country. The fentence 
 with which the elder Cato is laid to have 
 concluded every fpeech which he made in 
 the fenate, whatever might be the fubjed:, 
 " // is my opinion likcwife that Carthage ought 
 " to be deflroyed" was the natural exprefhon 
 of the lavage patriotifm of a ftrong but 
 coarfe mind, enraged almoft to madnefs 
 againft a foreign nation from which his own 
 had fuffered io much. The more humane 
 fentence with which Sclpio Nafica is faid to 
 have concluded all his ipeeches, " // is my 
 " opinion likcwife that Carthage ought not to 
 " be dejlroyed" was the liberal expreflion of 
 a more enlarged and enlightened mind, who 
 felt no averfion to the profperity even of an 
 5 
 
 old
 
 Se<5l. II. of Virtue. 85 
 
 old enemy, when reduced to a ftate which 
 could no longer be formidable to Rome. 
 France and England may each of them have 
 fome reafon to dread the increafe of the na- 
 val and military power of the other ; but for 
 either of the n to envy the internal happinefs 
 and profperity of the other, the cultivation of 
 its lands, the advancement of its manufac- 
 tures, the increafe of its commerce, the fecu- 
 rity and number of its ports and harbours, its 
 proficiency in all the liberal arts and fciences, 
 Ls fure"y beneath the dignity of two fuch 
 great nations. Thele are the real improve- 
 ments of the world we live in. Mankind 
 are benefited, human nature is ennobled by 
 them. In fuch improvements each nation 
 ought, not only to endeavour itfelf to excel, 
 but from the love of mankind, to promote, 
 inftead of obftrucling the excellence of its 
 neighbours. Thefe are all proper objects of 
 national emulation, not of national prejudice 
 or envy. 
 
 The love of our own country feems not to 
 be derived from the love of mankind. The 
 former fentiment is altogether independent of 
 the latter, and feems fometimes even to dif- 
 pofe us to act inconiiftentlv with it. France 
 may contain, perhaps, near three times the 
 number of inhabitants which Great Britain 
 G ^ contains.
 
 86 0//^ Character Part VI. 
 
 contains. In the great fociety of mankind, 
 therefore, the profperity of France mould ap- 
 pear to he an object of much greater import- 
 ance than that to Great Britain. The Bri- 
 tifh fubject, however, who, upon that ac- 
 count, ihould prefer upon all occafions the 
 profperity of the former to that of the latter 
 country, would not be thought a good citi- 
 zen of Great Britain. We do not love our 
 country merely as a part of the great fociety 
 of mankind : we love it for its own lake, 
 and independently of anv fuch conhdera- 
 tion. That wiidom which contrived the 
 fyftem of human affections, as well as that 
 of every other part of nature, feems to have 
 judged that the intereft of the great fociety 
 of mankind would be belt promoted by di- 
 recting the principal attention of each indi- 
 vidual to that particular portion of it, which 
 was moil within the fphere both of his abili- 
 ties and of his undei (landing. 
 
 National prejudices and hatreds feldom 
 extend beyond neighbouring nations. We 
 very weakly and fooliihly, perhaps, call the 
 French our natural enemies ; and they per- 
 haps, as weakly and fooliihly, confider us in 
 the fame manner. Neither they nor we bear 
 any fort of envy to the profperity of China 
 or japan. It very rarely happens, however, 
 
 that
 
 Seel. II. cf Virtue. 87 
 
 that our crood-will towards fuch diftant coun- 
 
 o 
 
 tries can be exerted with much effect. 
 
 The molt extenfive public benevolence 
 which can commonly, be exerted with any 
 confiderable effect, is that of the ftatefmen, 
 who project and form alliances among 
 neighbouring or not very diftant nations, 
 for the prcfervation either of, what is called, 
 the balance of power, or of the general peace 
 and tranquillity of the Rates within the circle 
 of their negociations. The ftateimen, how- 
 ever, who plan and execute fuch treaties have 
 feldom any thin«r in view, but the intereft of 
 
 JO ' 
 
 their refpective countries. Sometimes, in- 
 deed, their views are more extenfive. The 
 Count d'Avaux, the plenipotentiary • of 
 France, at the treaty of Munfter, would 
 have been willing to facrifice his life (ac- 
 cording to the Cardinal de Retz, a man not 
 over-credulous in the virtue of other people), 
 in order to have reftored, by that treaty, the 
 general tranquillity of Europe. Ring Wil- 
 liam feems to have had a real zeal for the li- 
 berty and independency of the greater part 
 of the foyereign ftates of Europe ; which, 
 perhaps, might be a good deal flimulatcd by 
 his particular averfion to France, the Mate 
 from which, during his time, that liberty and 
 independency were principally in danger. 
 G 4 Some
 
 88 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 Some fhare of the fame fpirit feems to have 
 defcended to the firft miniftry of Queen 
 Anne. 
 
 Every independent ftate is divided into 
 many different orders and focieties, each of 
 which has its own particular powers, privi- 
 leges, and immunities. Every individual is 
 naturally more attached to his own particu- 
 lar order or fociety, than to any other. His 
 own intereft, his own vanity, the intereft and 
 vanity of many of his friends and compa- 
 nions, are commonly a good deal connected 
 with it. He is ambitious to extend its pri- 
 vileges and immunities. He is zealous to 
 defend them againft the encroachments of 
 every other order or fociety. 
 
 Upon the manner in which any ftate is 
 divided into the different orders and focieties 
 which compofe it, and upon the particular 
 diftribution which has been made of their 
 rcfpective powers, privileges, and immuni- 
 ties, depends, what is called, the conftitution 
 of that particular ftate. 
 
 Upon the ability of each particular order 
 or fociety to maintain its own powers, privi- 
 leges, and immunities, againft the encroach- 
 ments of every other, depends the ftability 
 of that particular conftitution. That parti- 
 cular conftitution is neceffarily more or Iefs 
 
 altered.
 
 Sea. II. o/Virtue. 89 
 
 altered, whenever any of its fubordinate 
 parts is either raifed above or deprefled be- 
 low whatever had been its former rank and 
 condition. 
 
 All thofe different orders and focicties are 
 dependent upon the ftate to which they owe 
 their fecurity and protection. That they are 
 all fubordinate to that (late, and eftablifhed 
 only in fubferviency to its profperity and 
 prefervation, is a truth acknowledged by the 
 molt partial member of every one of them. 
 It may often, however, be hard to convince 
 him that the profperity and prefervation of 
 the ftate require any diminution of the 
 powers, privileges, and immunities of his 
 own particular order or fociety. This par- 
 tiality, though it may fometimes be unjuft, 
 may not, upon that account, be ufelefs. It 
 checks the fpirit of innovation. It tends 
 to preferve whatever is the eftablifhed balance 
 among the different orders and focieties into 
 which the ftate is divided ; and while it 
 fometimes appears to obftruct fome altera- 
 tions of government which may be fafhion- 
 able and popular at the time, it contributes in 
 reality to the ftability and permanency of the 
 whole fyftem. 
 
 The love of our country feems, in ordinary 
 cafes, to involve in it two different princi- 
 ples ;
 
 96 Of the Characte r Part VI. 
 
 pies ; firft, a certain refpect and reverence 
 for thit conftitution or form of government 
 which is actually eftablimed ; and fecondly, 
 an earneft defire to render the condition of 
 our fellow-citizens as ilitz^ refpectable, and 
 happy as we can. He is net a citizen who 
 is not difpofed to relpect the laws and to 
 obey the civil magiflrate ; and he is certainly 
 not a good citizen who does not wifh to pro- 
 mote, by every means in his power, the wel- 
 fare of the whole fociety of his fellow-citi- 
 zens. 
 
 In peaceable and quiet times, thofe two 
 principles generally coincide and lead to the 
 fame con duel:. The fupport of the efta- 
 blifhed government feeins evidently the beft 
 expedient for maintaining the fafe, refpect- 
 able, and happy fituation of our fellow-citi- 
 zens ; when we lee that this government 
 actually maintains them in that fituation. 
 But in times of public dilcontent, faction, 
 and diforder, thefe two different principles 
 may draw different ways, and even a wife 
 man rnav be diinofed to think fome altera- 
 
 ^ i. 
 
 tion neceffary in that conftitution or form of 
 government which, in its actual condition, 
 appears plainly unable to maintain the pub- 
 lic tranquillity. In fuch cafes, however, it , 
 often requires, perhaps, the higher! effort of 
 
 political
 
 Se&. II. of Virtue. 91 
 
 political wifdom to determine when a real 
 patriot ought to fupport and endeavour to 
 re-eftablifh. the authority of the old iyltem, 
 and when he ought to give way to the more 
 daring, but often dangerous ipirit of innova- 
 tion. 
 
 Foreign war and civil faction are the two 
 iituations which afford the moft fplendid op- 
 portunities for the difplay of public fpirit. 
 The hero who ferves his country fuccefsfully 
 in foreign war gratifies the wifh.es of the 
 whole nation, and is, upon that account, the 
 objed of univerlal gratitude and admiration. 
 In times of civil diicord, the leaders of the 
 contending parties, though they may be ad- 
 mired by one half of their fellow-citizens, 
 are commonly execrated by the other. Their 
 characters and the merit of their refpective 
 fervices appear commonly more doubtful. 
 The glory which is acquired by foreign war 
 is, upon this account, almoff always more 
 pure and more fplendid than that which can 
 be acquired in civil faction. 
 
 The leader of the fuccefsful party, how- 
 ever, if he has authority enough to prevail 
 upon his own friends to act with proper 
 temper and moderation (which he frequently 
 lias not), may fometimes render to his coun- 
 try a fervice much more efTential and im- 
 portant
 
 92 Of the Char acter Part VI. 
 
 portant than the greateft victories and the 
 moft extenfive conquefts. He may re-efta- 
 blilh and improve the conftitution, and from 
 the very doubtful and ambiguous character 
 of the leader of a party, he may alfume the 
 ercateft and noble ft of all characters, that of 
 the reformer and legislator of a great ftate ; 
 and, by the wifdom of his inftitutions, fecure 
 the internal tranquillity and happinefs of his 
 fellow-citizens for many iucceeding genera- 
 tions. 
 
 Amidft the turbulence and diforder of fac- 
 tion, a certain fpirit of fyftem is apt to mix 
 itfelf with that public fpirit which is founded 
 upon the love of humanity, upon a real fel- 
 low-feeling with the inconveniences and dif- 
 treflcs to which fame of our fellow-citizens 
 may be expofed. This fpirit of fyftem com- 
 monly takes the direction of that more gentle 
 public fpirit ; always animates it, and often 
 inflames it even to the madnefs of fanati- 
 cifm. The leaders of the difcontented party 
 feldom fail to hold out fome plaufible plan of 
 reformation which, they pretend, will not 
 only remove the inconveniences and relieve 
 the diftrefies immediately complained of, but 
 will prevent, in all time coming, any return 
 ot the like inconveniences and diftreffes. 
 They often propofe, upon this account, to 
 
 new-
 
 Sect. II. gf Virtue. 93 
 
 new-model the conftitution, and to alter, in 
 fome of its moft effential parts, that fyftem 
 of government under which the fubjects of 
 a great empire have enjoyed, perhaps, peace, 
 fecurity, and even glory, during the courfe 
 of feveral centuries together. The great 
 body of the party are commonly intoxi- 
 cated with the imaginary beauty of this 
 ideal fyftem, of which they have no expe- 
 rience, but which has been reprefented to 
 them in all the moft dazzling colours in 
 which the eloquence of their leaders .could 
 paint it. Thole leaders themfelves, though 
 they originally may have meant nothing but 
 their own aggrandizement, become manv of 
 them in time the dupes of their own fophii- 
 try, and are as eager for this great reforma- 
 tion as the weakeft and fooliiheft of their 
 followers. Even though the leaders fhould 
 have preferved their own heads, as indeed 
 they commonly do, free from this fanaticifm, 
 yet they dare not always diiappoint the ex- 
 pectation of their followers ; but are often 
 obliged, though contrary to their principle 
 and their confeience, to act as if they were 
 under the common deiufion. The violence 
 of the party, refufmg all palliatives, all tem- 
 peraments, ail reafonable accommodations, 
 by requiring too much frequently obtains 
 
 nothing ;
 
 94 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 nothing ; and thofe inconveniences and dif- 
 treffes which, with a little moderation, might 
 in a great meafure have been removed and 
 relieved, are left altogether without the hope 
 of a remedy. 
 
 The man whofe public fpirit is prompted 
 altogether by humanity and benevolence, 
 will refpecl: the eftablifhed powers and pri- 
 vileges even of individuals, and ftill more 
 thofe of the great orders and focieties, into 
 which the ftate is divided. Though he 
 fhould confider fome of them as in fome 
 meafure abufive, he will content himfelf with 
 moderating, what he often cannot annihilate 
 without great violence. When he cannot 
 conquer the rooted prejudices of the people 
 by reafon and perfuafion, he will not attempt 
 to fubdue them by force ; but will religioufly 
 obferve what, by Cicero, is juftly called the 
 divine maxim of Plato, never to ufe violence 
 to his country no more than to his parents. 
 He will accommodate, as well as he can, his 
 public arrangements to the confirmed habits 
 and prejudices of the people ; and will re- 
 medy, as well as he can, the inconveniences 
 which may flow from the want of thofe re- 
 gulations which the people are averfe to fub- 
 mit to. When he cannot eftablim the right, 
 he will not difdain to ameliorate the wrong ; 
 
 but
 
 Seft. II. of Virtue. g ^ 
 
 but like Solon, when he eannot eftablifh the 
 beft fyftem of laws, lie will endeavour to 
 eftablifh the beft that the people can bear. 
 
 The man of fyftem, on the contrary, is apt 
 to be very wife in his own conceit ; and is 
 often fo enamoured with the fuppofed beauty 
 of his own ideal plan of government, that he 
 cannot fufler the fmalieft deviation from any 
 part of it. He goes on to eftabiim it com- 
 pletely and in all its parts, without any re- 
 gard either to the great interefts, or to the 
 ftrong prejudices which may oppofe it. He 
 feems to imagine that he can arrange the dif- 
 ferent members of a great fociety with as 
 much eafe as the hand arranges the different 
 pieces upon a chefs-board. He does not 
 conftder that the pieces upon the chefs-board 
 have no other principle of motion befides 
 that which the hand imprelTes upon them ; 
 but that, in the great chefs-board of human 
 fociety, every fingle piece has a principle of 
 motion of its own, altogether different from 
 that which the legiflature might choofe to 
 imprefs upon it. If thole two principles co- 
 incide and acl in the fame direction, the game 
 of human fociety will go on eaftly and har- 
 monioully, and is very likely to be happy 
 and fuccefsful. If they are oppofite or dif- 
 ferent, the game will go on mifcrably, and 
 
 the
 
 ()6 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 the fociety muft be at all times in the high- 
 eft degree of diforder. 
 
 Some general, and even fyftematical, idea 
 of the perfection of policy and law, may no 
 doubt be neceflary for directing the views of 
 the ftatefman. But to infift upon eftablifhing, 
 and upon eftablifhing all at once, and in fpite 
 of all oppofition, every thing which that idea 
 may feem to require, muft often be the high- 
 eft degree of arrogance. It is to erect his 
 own judgment into the fupreme ftandard of 
 right and wrong. It is to fancy himfelf the 
 only wife and worthy man in the common- 
 wealth, and that his fellow-citizens mould 
 accommodate themlelves to him and not he 
 to them. It is upon this account, that of all 
 political fpeculators, fovereign princes are by 
 far the molt dangerous. This arrogance is 
 perfectly familiar to them. They entertain 
 no doubt of the immenfe fuperiority of their 
 own judgment. When fuch imperial and 
 royal reformers, therefore, condefcend to 
 contemplate the conftitution of the country 
 which is committed to their government, 
 they feldom fee any thing fo wrong in it as 
 the obftruclions which it may fometimes op- 
 poie to the execution of their own will. 
 They hold in contempt the divine maxim 
 of Plato, and confidcr the flate as made for 
 
 them-
 
 Sett. II. gf Virtue. 97 
 
 themfelves, not themfelves for the ftatc. The 
 great object of their reformation, therefore, is 
 to remove thofe obftrucYions ; to reduce the 
 authority of the nobility ; to take away the 
 privileges of cities and provinces, and to ren- 
 der both the greateft individuals and the 
 greateft orders of the ftate, as incapable of 
 oppoling their commands, as the weakeft 
 and mod infignificant. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Of Univerfal Benevolence* 
 
 Though our effectual good offices can 
 very feldom be extended to any wider 
 fociety than that of our own country j our 
 good-will is circumfcribed by no boundary, 
 but may embrace the immenfity of the uni- 
 verfe. We cannot form the idea of any in- 
 nocent and fenfible being, whofe happinefs 
 we mould not defire, or to whofe mifery, 
 when diftinttly brought home to the ima- 
 gination, we mould not have fome degree of 
 averfion. The idea of a mifchievous, though 
 fenfible being, indeed, naturally provokes our 
 hatred : but the ill-will which, in this cafe, 
 vol, 11. H we
 
 98 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 we bear to it, is really the effect of our uni- 
 verfal benevolence. It is the effect of the 
 fympathy which we feel with the miferyand 
 refentment of thofe other innocent and fen- 
 fible beings, whofe happinefs is difturbed by 
 its malice. 
 
 This univerfal benevolence, how noble and 
 generous foever, can be the fource of no fo- 
 lid happinefs to any man who is not tho- 
 roughly convinced that all the inhabitants of 
 the univerfe, the meaneft as well as the great- 
 eft, are under the immediate care and protec- 
 tion of that great, benevolent, and all-wife 
 Being, who directs ail the movements of na- 
 ture ; and who is determined, by his own 
 unalterable perfections, to maintain in it, at 
 all times, the greateft poffible quantity of 
 happinefs. To this univerfal benevolence, 
 on the contrary, the very fufpicion of a fa- 
 therlefs world, muft be the moft melancholy 
 of all reflections ; from the thought that all 
 the unknown regions of infinite and incom- 
 prehenfible fpace may be filled with nothing 
 but endlefs mifery and wretchednefs. All 
 the fplendour of the higheft profperity can 
 never 'enlighten the gloom with which fo 
 dreadful an idea muft neceffarily overfhadow 
 the imagination ; nor, in a wife and virtuous 
 man, can all the forrow of the moil afflicting 
 
 adver-
 
 Sect. II. of Virtue. 99 
 
 adverfity ever dry up the joy which neceffa- 
 rily fprings from the habitual and thorough 
 conviction of the truth of the contrary fyf- 
 tem. 
 
 The wife and virtuous man is at all times 
 willing that his own private intereft mould 
 be facrified to the public intereft of his own 
 particular order or fociety. He is at all 
 times willing, too, that the intereft of this 
 order or fociety mould be facrificed to the 
 greater intereft of the ftate or fovereignty, o^ 
 which it is only a fubordinate part. He 
 fhould, therefore, be equally willing that all 
 thofe inferior interefts mould be facrificed to 
 the greater intereft of the univerfe, to the in- 
 tereft of that great fociety of all fenfible and 
 intelligent beings, of which God himfelf is 
 the immediate adminiftrator and director. If 
 he is deeply impreffed with the habitual and 
 thorough conviction that this benevolent and 
 all-wife Being can admit into the fyftem of 
 his government, no partial evil which is not 
 necellary for the univerfal good, he muft 
 conlkler all the misfortunes which may befal 
 himfelf, his friends, his fociety, or his coun- 
 try, as neceifary for the profperity of the 
 univerfe, and therefore as what he ought, not 
 only to fubmit to with relignation, but as 
 what he himfelf, if he had known all the 
 H 2 con-
 
 ioo Of the Character PartVL 
 
 connexions and dependencies of things, 
 ought fmcerely and devoutly to have 
 wifhed for. 
 
 Nor does this magnanimous refignation 
 to the will of the great Director of the uni- 
 ■verfe, feem in any refpecl: beyond the reach 
 of human nature. Good foldiers, who both 
 love and truft their general, frequently march 
 with more gaiety and alacrity to the forlorn 
 flation, from which they never expect to re- 
 turn, than they would to one where there 
 was neither difficulty nor danger. In march- 
 ing to the latter, they could feel no other 
 fentiment than that of the dulnefs of ordi- 
 nary duty : in marching to the former, they 
 feel that they are making the nobleft exertion 
 which it is poiiible for man to make. They 
 know that their general would not have or- 
 dered them upon this flation, had it not been 
 necefiary for the fafety of the army, for the 
 fuccefs of the war. They cheerfully facri- 
 fice their own little fyflems to the profperity 
 of a greater fyflem. They take an affec- 
 tionate leave of their comrades, to whom 
 they wifh all happinefs and fuccefs ; and 
 march out, not only with fubmiffive obe- 
 dience, but often with fhouts of the mofl 
 joyful exultation, to that fatal, but fplendid 
 and honourable llation to which they are ap- 
 pointed*
 
 Seel. II. c/Virtue. 101 
 
 pointed. No conductor of an army can de- 
 fcrve more unlimited truft, more ardent and 
 zealous affection, than the great Conductor 
 of the univerfe. In the greateft public as 
 well as private difafters, a wife man ought 
 to confider that he himfelf, his friends and 
 countrymen, have only been ordered upon 
 the forlorn ftation of the univerfe ; that had 
 it not been neceffary for the good of the 
 whole, they would not have been ib order- 
 ed ; and that it is their duty, not only with 
 humble resignation to fubmit to this allot- 
 ment, but to endeavour to embrace it with 
 alacrity and joy. A wife man fhould furely 
 be capable of doing what a good foldier holds 
 himfelf at all times in readinefs to do. 
 
 The idea of that divine Being, whole bene- 
 volence and wifdom have, from all eternity, 
 contrived and conducted the immenfe ma- 
 chine of the univerfe, fo as at all times to 
 produce the greateft poffible quantity of hap- 
 pinefs, is certainly of all the objects of 
 human contemplation by far the moil: fub- 
 lime. Every other thought needfully ap- 
 pears mean in the companion. The man 
 whom we believe to be principally occupied 
 in this fublime contemplation, fcldom fails to 
 be the object of our higheft veneration ; and 
 if ; thousrh
 
 102 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 though his life inould be altogether contem- 
 plative, we often regard him with a fort of 
 religious refpect much fuperior to that with 
 which we look upon the moft active and 
 ufeful fervant of the commonwealth. The 
 Meditations of Marcus Antoninus, which 
 turn principally upon this fubjecl:, have con- 
 tributed more, perhaps, to the general ad- 
 miration of his character, than all the differ- 
 ent tranfactions of his juft, merciful, and be- 
 neficent reign. 
 
 The adminiftration of the great fyftem of 
 the univerfe, however, the care of the uni- 
 verfal happinefs of all rational and fenfible 
 beings, is the bufinefs of God and not of 
 man. To man is allotted a much humbler 
 department, but one much more fuitable to 
 the weaknels of his powers, and to the nar- 
 rownefs of his comprehenhon ; the care of 
 his own happinefs, of that of his family, his 
 friends, his country : that he is occupied in 
 contemplating the more fublime, can never 
 be an excufe for his neglecting the more 
 humble department; and he muft not expofe 
 himfelf to the charge which Avidius Caffius 
 is laid to have brought, perhaps unjuftly, 
 againft Marcus Antoninus ; that while he 
 employed lihnielf in philofophical fpecula- 
 
 tions,
 
 Sed. II. /Virtue. I03 
 
 tions, and contemplated the prosperity f the 
 univerfe, he negleded that of the Roman 
 empire. The mod fublime fpeculation of 
 the contemplative philofopher can fcarce 
 compenfate the negled of the fmalleft adive . 
 duty. 
 
 114
 
 104 Of the Character PartVL 
 
 T 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Of Self-command. 
 
 HE man who acts according to the rules 
 of perfect prudence, of flricfc juftice, 
 and of proper benevolence, may be faid to 
 be perfectly virtuous. But the moft perfect: 
 knowledge of thofe rules will not alone ena- 
 ble him to act in this manner : his own 
 paffions are very apt to miflead him ; fome- 
 times to drive him and fometimes to feduce 
 him to violate all the rules which he himfelf, 
 in all his fober and cool hours, approves of. 
 The mod perfect knowledge, if it is not fup- 
 ported by the moft perfect lelf-command, will 
 not always enable him to do his duty. 
 
 Some of the Left of the ancient moralifts 
 feem to have confidered thofe paffions as 
 divided into two different claffes : firft, into 
 thofe which it requires a confiderable exer- 
 tion, of feif-command to reflrain even for a 
 fmgle moment ; and fecondly, into thofe 
 which it is eafy to reftrain for a fingle mo- 
 ment, or even for a fliort period of time ; but 
 
 which
 
 Seel. III. of Virtue. 105 
 
 which, by their continual and almoft incef- 
 fant folicitations, are, in the courfe of a life, 
 very apt to miflead into great deviations. 
 
 Fear and anger, together with fome other 
 pafTions which are mixed or connected 
 with them, conftitute the firft clafs. The 
 love of eafe, of pleafure, of applaufe, and of 
 many other felnfh gratifications, conftitute 
 the fecond. Extravagant fear and furious 
 anger, it is often difficult to reftrain even for 
 a fingle moment. The love of eafe, of plea- 
 fure, of applaufe, and other felfifh gratifica- 
 tions, it is always eafy to reftrain for a fingle 
 moment, or even for a fhort period of time ; 
 but, by their continual folicitations, they 
 often miflead us into many weakneffes which 
 we have afterwards much reafon to be 
 afhamed of. The former fet of paflions may 
 often be faid to drive, the latter, to feduce us 
 from our duty. The command of the former 
 was, by the ancient moralifts above alluded 
 to, denominated fortitude, manhood, and 
 ftrength of mind ; that of the latter, tem- 
 perance, decency, modefty, and modera- 
 tion. 
 
 The command of each of thefe two fets of 
 paflions, independent of the beauty which it 
 derives from its utility ; from its enabling us 
 upon all occafions to act according to the dic- 
 tates
 
 io6 0//^ Character Part VI. 
 
 tates of prudence, of juftice, and of proper 
 benevolence ; has a beauty of its own, and 
 feems to deferve for its own fake a certain 
 degree of efteem and admiration. In the one 
 cafe, the ftrength and greatnefs of the exer- 
 tion excites fome degree of that efteem and 
 admiration. In the other, the uniformity, 
 the equality and unremitting fleadinefs of 
 that exertion. 
 
 The man who, in danger, in torture, upon 
 the approach of death, preferves his tranquil- 
 lity unaltered, and fuffers no word, no ges- 
 ture to efcape him which does not perfectly 
 accord with the feelings of the moft indiffer- 
 ent fpectator, neceflarily commands a very 
 high degree of admiration. If he fuffers in 
 the caufe of liberty and juftice, for the fake 
 of humanity and the love of his country, 
 the moft tender companion for his fufferings, 
 the ftrongeft indignation againft the injuftice 
 of his perfecutors, the warmeft fvmpathetic 
 gratitude for his beneficent intentions, the 
 higheft fenfe of his merit, all join and mix 
 themfelves with the admiration of his mag- 
 nanimity, and often inflame that fentiment 
 into the moft cnthufiaftic and rapturous 
 veneration. The heroes of ancient and 
 modern hiftory, who are remembered with 
 the moft peculiar favour and affection, are, 
 
 many
 
 Sett. III. . of Virtue. 107 
 
 many of them, thofe who, in the caufe of 
 truth, liberty, and juftice, have perifhed 
 upon the fcaffold, and who appeared there 
 with that eafe and dignity which became 
 them. Had the enemies of Socrates fuffered 
 him to die quietly in his bed, the glory even 
 of that great philofopher might poffibly never 
 have acquired that dazzling fplendour in 
 which it has been beheld in all fucceeding 
 a^es. In the Engliih hiftory, when we look 
 over the illuftrious heads which have been 
 engraven by Venue and Howbraken, there 
 is fcarce any body, I imagine, who does not 
 feel that the axe, the emblem of having been 
 beheaded, which is engraved under fome of 
 the molt illuftrious of them ; under thole of 
 the Sir Thomas Mores, of the Rhaleighs, 
 the Ruffels, the Sydneys, &c. fheds a real 
 dignity and intereftingnefs over the charac- 
 ters to which it is affixed, much fuperior to 
 what they can derive from all the futile orna- 
 ments of heraldry, with which they are 
 fometimes accompanied. 
 
 Nor does this magnanimity give luftre 
 only to the characters of innocent and virtu- 
 ous men. It draws fome degree of favour- 
 able regard even upon thole of the greateft 
 criminals ; and when a robber or highway- 
 man is brought to the fcaffold, and behaves 
 
 there
 
 icS 0///^ Character Part VI. 
 
 there with decency and firmnefs, though 
 we perfectly approve of his punifhment, 
 we often cannot help regretting that a man 
 who poflefled fuch great and noble powers 
 mould have been capable of fuch mean enor- 
 mities. 
 
 War is the great fchool both for acquiring 
 and exercifmg this fpecies of magnanimity. 
 Death, as we fay, is the king of terrors ; and 
 the man who has conquered the fear of 
 death, is not likely to lofe his prefence of 
 mind at the approach of any other natural 
 evil. In war, men become familiar with 
 death, and are thereby neceflarily cured of 
 that luperflitious horror with which it is 
 viewed by the weak and unexperienced. 
 They confider it merely as the lofs of life, 
 and as no further the object of averfion than 
 as life may happen to be that of defire. 
 They learn frcm experience, too, that many 
 feemingly great dangers are not fo great as 
 they appear j and that, with courage, acti- 
 vity, and prefence of mind, there is often a 
 good probability of extricating themf elves 
 with honour from fituations where at firft 
 they could fee no hope. The dread of 
 death is thus greatly diminifhed ; and the 
 roniidenco or hope of efcaping it, aug- 
 mented. They learn to expefe themfelves 
 
 to
 
 Seel. III. (/Virtue. 109 
 
 to danger with lefs reluctance. They are 
 lefs anxious to get out of it, and lefs apt to 
 lofe their prefence of mind while they are in 
 it. It is this habitual contempt of danger 
 and death which ennobles the profeffion of a 
 foldier, and bellows upon it, in the natural 
 apprehenfions of mankind, a rank and dig- 
 nity fuperior to that of any other profeffion. 
 The fkilful and fuccefsful exercife of this 
 profeffion, in the fervice of their country, 
 feems to have conftituted the moft diftin- 
 guifhing feature in the character of the 
 favourite heroes of all ages. 
 
 Great wavlike exploit, though undertaken 
 contrary to every principle of juftice, and 
 carried on without any regard to humanity, 
 fometimes interefts us, and commands even 
 fome degree of a certain fort of cfteem for 
 the very worthlefs characters which conduct 
 it. We are intereited even in the exploits 
 of the Buccaneers ; and read w r ith fome fort 
 of elteein and admiration, the hiftory of the 
 moft worthlefs men, who, in purluit of the 
 moll: criminal purpofes, endured greater 
 hardfhips, furmounted greater difficulties, 
 and encountered greater dangers, than, per- 
 haps, any which the ordinary courfe of hif- 
 
 tory ^ives an account of, 
 
 The
 
 no Q/"/^ Character Part VI. 
 
 The command of anger appears upon 
 many occafions not lefs generous and noble 
 than that of fear. The proper expreffion of 
 juft indignation compofes many of the moft 
 fplendid and admired paffages both of an- 
 cient and modern eloquence. The Philip- 
 pics of Demoflhenes, the Catalinarians of 
 Cicero, derive their whole beauty from the 
 noble propriety with which this paffion is 
 expreffed. But this juft indignation is no- 
 thing but anger reftrained and properly at- 
 tempered to what the impartial fpectator can 
 enter into. The bluftering and noiiy paffion 
 which gees beyond this, is always odious 
 and offenfive, and interefts us, not for the 
 angry man, but for the man with whom he 
 is angry. The noblenefs of pardoning ap- 
 pears, upon many occafions, fuperior even 
 to the moft perfect propriety of refenting. 
 When either proper acknowledgments have 
 been made by the offending party ; or, even 
 without any inch acknowledgments, when 
 the public intereft requires that the moft 
 mortal enemies mould unite for the dis- 
 charge of fome important duty, the man 
 who can caft away all animofity, and act 
 with confidence and cordiality towards the 
 perfon who had moft grievoufly offended 
 
 him,
 
 Sea. III. of Virtue. IfI 
 
 him, feems juftly to merit our higheft 
 admiration. 
 
 The command of anger, however, does 
 not always appear in fuch fplendid colours. 
 Fear is contrary to anger, and is often the 
 motive which reftrains it ; and in fuch cafes 
 the meannefs of the motive takes away all 
 the noblenefs of the reftraint. Anger 
 prompts to attack, and the indulgence of 
 it feems fometimes to fhew a fort of courage 
 and fuperiority to fear. The indulgence of 
 anger is fometimes an obied of vanity. That 
 of fear never is. Vain and weak men, 
 among their inferiors, or thofe who dare not 
 refift them, often affect to be oftentatiouily 
 paflionate, and fancy that they mow, what is 
 called, fpirit in being fo. A bully tells many 
 ftories of his own iniblence, which are not 
 true, and imagines that he thereby renders 
 himfelf, if not more amiable and refpeclablc, 
 at lcaft more formidable to his audience. 
 Modern manners, which, by favour i no- the 
 pradice of duelling, may be faid, in feme 
 cafes, to encourage private revenue, contri- 
 bute, perhaps, a good deal to render, in mo- 
 dern times, the reftraint of anger by fear (till 
 more contemptible than it might otherwife 
 appear to be. There is always ibmething 
 dignified in the command of fear, whatever 
 
 mav
 
 ii2 Of the Character. Part VI. 
 
 maybe the motive upon which it is founded. 
 It is not fo with the command of anger. Un~ 
 lels it is founded altogether in the fenfe of 
 decency, of dignity, and propriety, it i>ever 
 is perfectly agreeable. 
 
 To act according to the dictates of pru- 
 dence, of juftice, and proper beneficence, 
 feems to have no great merit where there is 
 no temptation to do otherwife. But to acl: 
 with cool deliberation in the midft of the 
 greateft dangers and difficulties ; to obferve 
 religioufly the facred rules of juftice in fpite 
 both of the greateft interefts which might 
 tempt, and the greateft injuries which might 
 provoke us to violate them ; never to fuffer 
 the benevolence of our temper to be damped 
 or difcouraged by the malignity and ingrati- 
 tude of the individuals towards whom it may 
 have been exercifed ; is the character of the 
 moft exalted wiidom and virtue. Self-com- 
 mand is not only itfelf a great virtue, but 
 from it all the other virtues feem to derive 
 their principal luftre. 
 
 The command of fear, the command of 
 anger, are always great and noble powers. 
 When they are directed by juftice and bene- 
 volence, they are not only great virtues, but 
 increafe the fplcndour of thole other virtues. 
 They may, however, fometimes be directed 
 
 by
 
 Seel. III. cf Virtue. 113 
 
 by very different motives ; and in this cafe, 
 though ftill great and refpectable, they may 
 be exceflively dangerous. The mo ft intrepid 
 valour may be employed in the caufe of the 
 greateft injuftice. Amidft great provocations, 
 apparent tranquillity and good humour may 
 fomctimes conceal the meft determined and 
 cruel refolution to revenge. The flrength 
 of mind requifite for fuch diflimulation, 
 though always and neceflarily contaminated 
 by the bafenefs of falfehood, has, however, 
 been often much admired by many people 
 of no contemptible judgment. The diflimu- 
 lation of Catharine of Medicis is often cele- 
 brated by the profound hiftorian Davila ; 
 that of Lord Digby, afterwards Earl of 
 Briftol, by the grave and confeientious Lord 
 Clarendon; that of the firft Afliley Karl of 
 Shaftefbury, by the judicious Mr. Locke. 
 Even Cicero feems to confider this deceitful 
 character, not indeed as of the higheft dig- 
 nity, but as not unfuitable to a certain flexi- 
 bility of manners, which, he thinks, may, 
 notwithftanding, be, upon the 'whole, both 
 agreeable and refpectable. He exemplifies it 
 by the characters of Homer's Ulyffes, of the 
 Athenian Theiniftocles, of the Spartan Ly- 
 fander, and of the Roman Marcus Crauus. 
 This character of dark and deep diffimula- 
 vol. 11. i tion
 
 n 4 Of the Chap. a cter Part Vh 
 
 tion occurs mofl commonly in times of great 
 public diforder ; amidft the violence of fac- 
 tion and civil war. When law has become 
 in a great meafiire impotent, when the mod 
 perfect innocence cannot alone infure fafety, 
 regard to felf-defence obliges the greater part 
 of men to have recourfe to dexterity, to ad- 
 drefs, and to apparent accommodation to 
 whatever happens to be, at the moment, 
 the prevailing party. This falfe character, 
 too, is frequently accompanied with the 
 cool eft and moil determined courage. The 
 proper exerciie of it impofes that courage, as 
 death is commonly the certain confequence 
 of detection. It may be employed indiffer- 
 ently, either to exafperate or to allay thofe fu- 
 rious animofities of adverfe factions which 
 impofe the neceffity of afluming it ; and 
 though it may fometimes be ufeful, it is 
 at lead equally liable to be exceflively per- 
 nicious. 
 
 The command of the lefs violent and tur- 
 bulent paffions ieems much lefs liable to hp r 
 abufed to any pernicious purpofe. Tempe- 
 rance, decency, modefty, and moderation, 
 are always amiable, and can feldom be di- 
 rected to any bad end. It is from the un- 
 remitting ftcadinefs of thofe gentler exertions 
 of felf-command, that the amiable virtue of 
 7 chaftity a
 
 Seel. III. of Virtue. 115 
 
 chaflity, that the refpectable virtues of induf- 
 try and frugality, derive all that fober luftre 
 which attends them. The conduct of all 
 thole who are contented to walk in the hum- 
 ble paths of private and peaceable life, derives 
 from the fame principle the greater part of 
 the beauty and grace which belong to it ; a 
 beauty and grace which, though much lefs 
 dazzling, is not always lefs pleafing than 
 thofe which accompany the more fplendid 
 actions of the hero, the flatefman, or the 
 legifrator. 
 
 Alter what has already been faid, in feve- 
 ral different parts of this difcourfe, concern- 
 ing the nature of felf-command, I judge it 
 imneceifary to enter into any further detail 
 concerning thofe virtues. I mall only ob- 
 ierve at prefent, that the point of propriety, 
 the degree of any paflion which the impar- 
 tial fpectator approves of, is differently 
 fituated in different pafTicns. In fome paf- 
 iions the excels is lefs difagreeable than the 
 defect; and in fuch paCions the point of 
 propriety feems to (land high, or nearer to 
 the excels than to the defect. In other pai- 
 fions, the defect is lefs difagreeable than the 
 excels ; and in inch paflions the point of 
 propriety feems to ftand low, or nearer to 
 the delect than to the excefs. The former 
 1 2 are
 
 1 1 6 Of the C m a r a c t e r Part YL 
 
 are the pafiions which the fpe&ator is moft% 
 the latter, thofe which he is leaft difpofed to 
 fympathize witli. The former, too, are the 
 paflions of which the immediate feeling" or 
 fenfation is agreeable to the perfon princi- 
 pally concerned j the hitter, thofe of which 
 it is difagreeable. It may be laid down as a 
 general rule, that the paiiions which the fpec- 
 tator is moil: difpofed to fympathize with, 
 and in which, upon that account, the point 
 of propriety may be laid to ftand high, are 
 thofe of which the immediate feeling or fen- 
 fation is more or lefs agreeable to the perfon 
 principally concerned : and that, on the con- 
 trary, the pafiions which the fpeclator is leaft 
 difpofed to fympathize with, and in which, 
 upon that account, the point of propriety 
 may be laid to ftand low, are thofe of which 
 the immediate feeling or fenfation is more or 
 lefs dil agreeable, or even painful, to the per- 
 fon principally concerned. This general rule, 
 fo far as I have been able to obferve, admits 
 not of a lingle exception. A few examples 
 will at once both fulHcicntly explain it and 
 demonftrate the truth of it. 
 
 The difpofition to the affections which 
 tend 4o unite men in fociety, to humanity, 
 kindnefs, natural afteclion, friendship, efteem, 
 rnav fomeUmes be exceilivc. Even die ex- 
 
 cefs
 
 Gecl. ITT. of Virtue. 117 
 
 cefs of this difpofition, however, renders a 
 man interefting to every body. Though we 
 blame it, we dill regard it with companion, 
 and even with kindnefs, and never with dif- 
 like. We are more forry for it than angry 
 at it. To the peribri himfelf, the indulgence 
 even of fucli exceiuve affections is, upon 
 many occafions, not only agreeable but deli- 
 cious. Upon fome occalions, indeed, efpe- 
 cially when directed, as is coo often the cafe, 
 towards unworthy objects, it expofes him to 
 much real and heartfelt diflrefs. Even upon 
 iuch occafions, however, a well-difpoied 
 mind regards him with the moil exquihte 
 pity, and feds the highell indignation againft 
 thole who affect to deipiie him tor ins weak- 
 nels and imprudence. The defect, of this 
 difpofition, on the contrary, what is called 
 hardneis of heart, while it renders a man in- 
 ferrible to the feelings and diitrefies of other 
 people, renders other people equally infen- 
 iible to his ; and, by excluding him from the 
 hiendihip ot all the world, excludes him from 
 the belt and moil comfortable cf all focial 
 enjovments. 
 
 The diipofition to the affections which 
 
 drive men horn one another, and which 
 
 lend, as it were, to break the bands of 
 
 human ioeiety ; the difpofition to anger, 
 
 1 3 « hatred,,
 
 nS Of the Character PartVL 
 
 hatred, envy, malice, revenge ; is, on the 
 contraiy, much more apt to offend by its 
 excels than by its defect. The excefs ren- 
 ders a man wretched and miferable in his 
 own mind, and tne object of hatred, and 
 fometimes even of horror, to ether people. 
 The defect is very feldom complained of. 
 It may, however, be defective. The want 
 of prober indignation is a men: effentiai de- 
 feel in the manly character, and, upon many 
 occafions, renders a man incapable of pro- 
 tecting either himfelf or his friends from 
 infult and injuMice. Even that principle, in 
 the excefs and improper direction of which 
 confifts the odious and de^eltable paflion of 
 envy, may be defective. Envy is that paf- 
 iicn which views with malignant diflike the 
 fuperiority of tliofe who are really entitled to 
 all the fuperiority 'they poiiefs. The man, 
 however, who, in matters of confequence, 
 tamely f Liners other people, who are entitled 
 to no fuch iupcriority, to rile above him or 
 get he re him, is juilly condemned as mean- 
 fpirited. 1 his . '.: . Is is commonly founded 
 in ii:. : ! 'ence, :, melimes in good nature, in 
 an avcriion lo uppohtion, to buttle and foii- 
 citation, and iometimes, too, in a lort of ill— 
 uidircd ;■ unanimity, which fancies that it 
 
 .J CD J J 
 
 can always continue to defpifc the advantage 
 
 which
 
 Seel:. Ill, of V l R T u e. 119 
 
 which It then defpifes, and, therefore, fo 
 cafily gives up. Such weaknefs, however, is 
 commonly foil owed by much regret and re- 
 pentance ; and what had fome appearance 01 
 magnanimity in the beginning, frequently 
 gives place to a moil malignant envy in the 
 end, and to a hatred of that fuperiority, 
 which thofe who have once attained it, may 
 often become really entitled to, by the very 
 circumftance of having attained it. In order 
 to live comfortably in ! :lie world, it is, upon 
 all occafions, as neceffary to defend our die:- 
 nity and rank, as it is to defend cur life or 
 
 our fortune. 
 
 Our fenlibility to perfonal danger and dif- 
 trefs, like that to perfonal provocation, is 
 much more apt to offend by its excels than 
 by its defect.. No character is more con- 
 temptible than that of a coward ; no charac- 
 ter is more admired than that cf the man 
 who faces death with intrepidity, and main- 
 tains his tranquillity and prelence of mind 
 amidft the moil dreadful dangers. We 
 elleem the man who fupports pain and 
 even torture with manhood and hrmneis; 
 and we can have little regard for him who 
 links under ihem, and abandons himfelf to 
 ufelefs outcries and womaniih lamentations. 
 A fretful temper, which ieels, v. r lth too ir 
 1 &. fer
 
 i2c Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 fenfibility, every little crofs accident, renders 
 a man miierable in himfelf and offenfive to 
 other people. A calm one, which does not 
 allow its tranquillity to be difturbed, either 
 by the fmal] injuries, or by the little difafters 
 incident to the ufual ccarfe of human affairs; 
 but which, amitift the natural and moral evils 
 infefting the world, lays its account, and is 
 contented to fuffer a little from both, is a 
 bleffing to the man himfelf, and gives eafe 
 and fecurity to all his companions.. 
 
 Our fenfibility, however, both to our own 
 injuries and to our own misfortunes, though 
 generally too ftrong, may likewife be too 
 weak. The man who feels little for his own 
 misfortunes muft always ieel lei's for thofe of 
 other people, and be lefs difpofed to relieve 
 them. The man who has little refentment 
 for the injuries which are done to himfelf, 
 mult always have lefs for thofe which are 
 done to other people, and be lefs difpofed 
 either to protect or to avenge them. A ftu- 
 pid infenfib'dity to the events of human life 
 neceflarily extinguifhes all that keen and ear- 
 ner! attention to the propriety of our own 
 conduct, which conftitutes the real effence of 
 viitue. We can feel little anxiety about the 
 propriety of our own actions, when we are 
 indifferent about the events which may re- 
 
 fult
 
 Sect. III. of Virtue. 121 
 
 fult from them. The man who feels the full 
 diftrefs of the calamity which has befallen 
 him, who feels the whole bafenefs of the in- 
 juftice which has been done to him, but who 
 feels frill more ftrongly what the dignity of 
 his own character requires ; who does not 
 abandon himfeif to the guidance of the un- 
 difciplined paflions which his fituation might 
 naturally inipire ; hut who governs his whole 
 behaviour and conduit according to thofe 
 reftrained and corrected emotions which the 
 great inmate, the great demi-god within the 
 breaft prefcrihes and approves of; is alone 
 the real man of virtue, the only real and pro- 
 per object oi love, refpeet, and admiration. 
 Infenfibility and that noble firmnefs, that ex- 
 alted felf-command, which is founded in the 
 fenie of dignity audi propriety, arc fo far from 
 being altogether the fame, that in proportion 
 as the former takes place, the merit of the 
 latter is, in many cafes, entirely taken away. 
 But though the total want of fenfibility to 
 pcrfonal injury, to pcrfonal danger and dif- 
 trefs, woidd, in fuch iituations, take away 
 the whole merit of felf-command, that fenfi- 
 bilitv, however, may very eahly be too ex- 
 quifite, and it frequently is io. When the 
 fenfe of propriety, when the authority of the 
 judge within the breaft, can control this ex- 
 treme
 
 j 2 2 Of the C n a r acter Part VI, 
 
 treme fenfibility, that authority muft no 
 doubt appear very noble and very great. 
 But the exertion of it may be too fatiguing ; 
 it may have too much to do. The indivi- 
 dual, by a great effort, may behave perfectly 
 well. But the conteft between the two prin- 
 ciples, the warfare within the breaft, may be 
 too violent to be at all confident with inter- 
 nal tranquillity and happinefs. The wife 
 man whom nature has endowed with this 
 too exquifite fenfibility, and whole too lively 
 feelings have not been fufficiently blunted 
 and hardened by early education and proper 
 exerciie, will avoid, as much as duty and 
 propriety will permit, the iituations for 
 which lie is not perfectly fitted. The man 
 whole feeble and delicate conftitution ren- 
 ders him too fenfible to pain, to hardfhjp, 
 raid to every fort of bodily diftrefs, fhculd 
 not wantonly embrace the profeffion of a 
 foldlcr. The man of too much fenfibility to 
 injury, fliould not rafnly engage in the con- 
 tefts of faction. Though the (crSe of pro- 
 priety mould be ftrong enough to command 
 all thole fenfibilitics, the compofurc of the 
 mind muft always be difturbed in the ftrug- 
 '.''.,. In this difordcr the judgment cannot 
 always maintain its ordinary acutenefs and 
 pr. and though he may always mean 
 
 to
 
 Sect. III. cf Virtue. 123 
 
 to act properly, he may often act rafhly and 
 imprudently., and in a manner whidi he him- 
 felf will, in che fucceeding part of his life, be 
 for ever afliamed of. A certain intrepidity, 
 a certain firmnefs of nerves and hardinefs of 
 conftitution, whether natural or acquired, are 
 undoubtedly the bell preparatives for all the 
 great exertions of felf-command. 
 
 Though war and faction are certainly the 
 beft fchools for forming every man to this 
 hardinefs and firmnefs of temper, though 
 they are the beft remedies for curing him of 
 the oppofite weaknefTes, vet, if the day of 
 trial mould happen to come before he has 
 completely learned his leffon, before the re- 
 medy has had time to produce its proper ef- 
 fect, the confequences mieht not be agree- 
 able. 
 
 Our fenfibility to the pleafures, to the 
 amufements and enjoyments of human life, 
 may offend, in the fame manner, either by 
 its excefs or by n c defect. Gi rue two, how- 
 ever, the exec's ieems lefs difagreeable than 
 the defect. Born to the fpectator and to the 
 peribn principally concerned, a flrong pro- 
 pensity to joy is certainly mow pieaiing than 
 
 ul ui l.— 
 
 ment and diversion. We are charmed with 
 the gaiety of youth, and even with the play- 
 
 fulnefs
 
 124 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 fulnefs of childhood : but we foon grow 
 weary of the fiat and taftelefs gravity which 
 too frequently accompanies old age. When 
 this propensity, indeed, is not restrained by 
 the ienie of propriety, when it is unfuitable 
 to the time or to the place, to the age or to 
 the fituation of the perfon, when to indulge 
 it, he neglects either his intereft or his duty ; 
 it is juftly blamed as exceflive, and as hurt- 
 ful both to the individual and to the fociety. 
 In the greater part of fuch cafes, however, 
 what is chiefly to be found fault with is, not 
 fo much the ftrength of the propenfity to joy, 
 as the weaknefs of the fenfe of propriety and 
 duty. A young man who has no relifh for 
 the diverfions and amufements that are natu- 
 ral and fuitable to his age, who talks of no- 
 thing but his book or his bullnefs, is dif- 
 liked as formal and pedantic ; and we give 
 him no credit for his abftinence even from 
 improper indulgences, to which lie feems to 
 have fo little inclination. 
 
 The principle of felf-eftimation may be 
 too high, and it may likewife be too low. It 
 is lo very agreeable to think highly, and fo 
 very diirgreeable to think meanly of our- 
 felves, that, to the perfon himlelf, it cannot 
 well be doubled, but that fome degree of ex- 
 ec'':, mult be i\r.idi lefs difagreeable than any 
 
 degree
 
 Sea. III. tf Virtue. 125 
 
 degree of defect. Bat to the impartial fpec- 
 tator, it may perhaps he thought, things mud 
 appear quite differently, and that to him the 
 defeat muft always he lefs difagreeable than"' 
 the excefs. And in our companions, no 
 doubt, we much more frequently complain 
 of the latter than of the former. When they 
 affume upon us, or fet themfelves before us, 
 their felf-eftimation mortifies our own. Our 
 own pride and vanity prompt us to accufe 
 them of pride and vanity, and wc ceafe to be 
 the impartial fpectators of their conduct. 
 When the fame companions, however, fuffer 
 any other man to affume over them a fupe- 
 riority which does not belong to him, we not 
 only blame them, but often defpife them as 
 mean fpirited. When, on the contrary, 
 among other people, they pufh themfelves 
 a little more forward, and fcramble to an 
 elevation difproportioned, as we think, to 
 their merit, though we may not perfectly 
 approve of their conduct, we are often, upon 
 the whole, diverted with it ; and, where 
 there is no envy in the cafe, we are aim oft 
 always much lefs difpleafed with them, than 
 we mould have been, had they fullered them- 
 felves to fink below their proper ftatlon. 
 In eftimating our own merit, in judging of 
 
 our
 
 tld Of the C H a r a c T £ R Part VL 
 
 our own character and conduct, there are 
 two different ftandards to which we natu- 
 rally compare them. The one is the idea of 
 exact propriety and perfection, lb far as we 
 are each of us capable of comprehending that 
 idea. The other is that degree of approxi- 
 mation to this idea which is commonly at- 
 
 J 
 
 tained in the world, and which the greater 
 part of our friends and companions, of our 
 rivals and competitors, may have actually 
 arrived at. We very feldom (I am difpofed 
 to think, we never) attempt to judge of our- 
 felves without giving more or lefs attention 
 to both thefe different ftandards. But the 
 attention of different men, and even of the 
 fame man at different times, is often very 
 unequally divided between them ; and is 
 fometimes principally directed towards the 
 one, and femetimes towards the other, 
 
 So far as our attention is directed towards 
 the frit flandard, the wifeft and beft of us 
 all, can, in his own character and conduct, 
 ice nothing bu'". weaknefs and imperfection ; 
 can dileover no Ground for arrogance and 
 prcfumption, but a great deal for humility, 
 regret, and repentance. So far as our atten- 
 tion is directed towards the fecond, we may 
 be 1 cither in the one way or in the 
 
 oilier.
 
 Sea. III. gf Virtue. 127 
 
 other, and feci ourfelves, either really above, 
 or really below, the ftandard to which we 
 compare ourfelves. 
 
 The wife and virtuous man directs his 
 principal attention to the firrl ftandard ; 
 the idea of exact: propriety and perfection. 
 There exifls in the mind of every man an 
 idea of this kind gradually formed from his 
 obfervations upon the character and conduct 
 both of himfelf and of other people. It is 
 the flow, gradual., and progreffive work of 
 the great demi-god within the breait, the 
 great judge and arbiter of conduct. This 
 idea is in every man mere or lefs accurately 
 drawn, its coloring is mere or lets juft, its 
 outlines are mere or leis exactly dengned, 
 according to the delicacy and acutenefs of 
 that fcnlibility, with which thofe obferva- 
 tions were made, and according to the care 
 and attention employed in makincr them. In 
 the wife and virtuous man they have been 
 made with the moil acute and delicate fenfi- 
 bility, and the utmot care and attention have 
 been employed in makincr them. Everv day 
 fome feature is imp: eve/ ; every dry ionic 
 blemifh is corrected. lie has ftudied this 
 idea more than other people, he compre- 
 hends it more diftiuctiy, he has formed a 
 much more correct imacre cf it. and is much
 
 123 Of the C Haracter Part VI, 
 
 more deeply enamoured of its exquifite and 
 divine beauty. He endeavours, as well as 
 he can, to affimilate his own character to 
 this archetype of perfection. But he imi- 
 tates the work of a divine artift, which can 
 never be equalled. He feels the imperfect 
 fuccefs of all his bell endeavours, and fees, 
 with grief and affliction, in how many dif- 
 ferent features the mortal copy falls fhort of 
 the immortal original. He remembers, with 
 concern and humiliation, how often, from 
 want of attention, from want of judgment, 
 from want of temper, he has, both in words 
 and actions, both in conduct and converfa- 
 tion, violated the exact rules of perfect pro- 
 priety ; and has fo far departed from that 
 model, according to which he wilhed to 
 fafhion his own character and conduct. 
 When he directs his attention towards the 
 fecond ftandard, indeed, that degree of ex- 
 cellence which his friends and acquaintances 
 have commonly arrived at, he may be fen- 
 fible of li is own fupcriority. But, as his 
 principal attention is always directed towards 
 the firft ftandard, he is neccflarily much 
 more humbled by the one companion than 
 he ever can be elevated by the other. He is 
 never fo elated as to look down with info- 
 lence even upon thofe who are really below 
 
 him.
 
 Sect. III. of Virtue. 129" 
 
 him. He feels fo well his own imperfeo 
 ticn, he knows fo well the difficulty with 
 which he attained his own diftant appreci- 
 ation to rectitude, that he cannot regard 
 with contempt the ftill greater imperfection 
 of other people. Far from infulting over 
 their inferiority, he views it with the mod 
 indulgent commiferation, and, by his advice 
 as well as example, is at all times willing to 
 promote their further advancement. If, in 
 any particular qualification, they happen to 
 he fuperior to him, (for who is fo perfect as 
 not to have many fuperiors in many differ- 
 ent qualifications ?) far from envying their 
 fuperiority, he, who knows how difficult it 
 is to excel- efteems and honours their excel- 
 lence, and never fails to bellow upon it the 
 full meafure of arplaufc which it deferves. 
 Kis whole mind, in fhort, is deeply imprcfT- 
 cd, his whole behaviour and deportment ^Y2 
 cliftindtly Mamped with the character of real 
 modefty ; with that or" a very moderate efli- 
 mation of Ids own merit, and, at the fame 
 time, of a full fenfe of the merit of other 
 
 people. 
 
 In all the liberal and ingenious arts, in 
 painting, in poetry, in mufic, in eloquence, 
 in philofophv, the great art'ifc feels alwa\ T 3 
 the real imperfection of his own e ?: works, 
 
 vol. 11. k atid
 
 1 3° Of the Character. Part VI. 
 
 and is more fenfible than any man how 
 much they fall mort of that ideal perfection 
 of which he has formed fome conception, 
 which he imitates as well as he can, but 
 which he defpairs of ever equalling. It is 
 the inferior artlft only, who is ever perfectly 
 fatisfied 'with his own performances. He 
 has little conception of this ideal perfection, 
 about which he has little employed his 
 thoughts ; and it is chiefly to the works of 
 other artifts, of, perhaps, a ftill lower order, 
 that he deisms to compare his own works. 
 Boileau, the great French poet, (in fome of 
 his works, perhaps not inferior to the great- 
 ell poet of the fame kind, either ancient or 
 modern,) ufed to fay that no great man was 
 ever completely fatisfied with his own works. 
 Kis acquaintance Santeuil (a writer of Latin 
 verfes, and who, on account of that fchool- 
 boy accomplifhment, had the weaknefs to 
 
 - himfclf a poet) allured him that he 
 •A fc!f was always completely fatisfied with 
 his own. Boileau replied, with, perhaps, 
 an arch ambiguity, That he certainly was 
 the only great man that ever was fo. Boi- 
 , in judging of his own works, com- 
 
 ' them with the flandard of ideal perfec- 
 tion, which., in his own particular branch of 
 the poetic art, he had, I prefume, meditated 
 
 as
 
 Sect. III. of Virtue. 
 
 as deeply, and conceived as diilinctly, as it is 
 poffible for man to conceive it. Santeuil, in 
 judging of his own works, compared then, I 
 liippofe, chiefly to thofe of the other Latin 
 poets of his own time, to the greater part of 
 whom he was certainly very far from being 
 inferior. But to fupport and fmifh off, if I 
 may fay fo, the conduct and converfation of 
 a whole life to fome refemblance of this ideal 
 perfection, is finely much more difficult than 
 to work up to an equal refemblance any of 
 the productions of any of the ingenious arts. 
 
 i JO 
 
 The artift fits down to his work undifturbed, 
 at leifure, in the full poffeilion and recollec- 
 tion of all his fkill, experience, and know- 
 ledge. The wife man muft fupoort the pro- 
 priety of his own conduct in health and in. 
 ficknefs, in fuccefs and in diiappointment, in 
 the hour of fatigue and drowfy indolence, as 
 weii as in that of the molt awakened atten- 
 tion. The mo ft hidden and unexpected ai- 
 iaults of diliieulty and diflrefs muft never 
 furprile aha. 1 lie injuftice o'; other people 
 in uft never provoke him to injuftice. The 
 violence of faction muft never confound 
 him. Ail the hardiliirs and hazards of war 
 ; .ift never either diinearten or appal him. 
 
 Of the perfons who, in efiimating their 
 own merit, in iudrins of their own charac-
 
 1 3 2 Of ^ je ^ H A RACTER ? art VI. 
 
 ter and conduct, direct by far the greater 
 part of their attention to the fecond ftand- 
 ard, to that ordinary degree of excellence 
 which is commonly attained by other people, 
 there are fomc who really and juftly feel 
 themfelves very much above it, and who, by 
 every intelligent and impartial fpe&ator, are 
 acknowledged to be fo. The attention of 
 fuch perfons, however, being always princi- 
 pally directed, not to the ftandard of ideal, 
 but to that of ordinary perfection, they have 
 little fciife of their own weakneffes and im- 
 perfections ; they have little modefty ; are 
 often aHuming, arrogant, and prefumptuous; 
 great admirers of themfelves, and great con- 
 temners of ether people. Though their cha- 
 racters are in general much lefs correct, and 
 their merit much inferior to that of the man 
 of real and modeft virtue ; yet their excef- 
 fivc prefumption, founded upon their own 
 excemve feif-admiration, dazzles the multi- 
 tude, and often impofes even upon thofe 
 who are much fupcrior to the multitude. 
 The frequent, and often wonderful, fuccefs 
 of the mod ignorant quacks and impoftors, 
 both civil and religious, mmciently demon- 
 (Irate how cafi'y the multitude are impofed 
 upon by the moil extravagant and ground- 
 lefs pretenfions. But when thofe preten- 
 
 fions
 
 u 
 
 Sect. III. of Virtue. 133 
 
 fions arc fupported by a very high decree of 
 real and folid merit, when they are difp 1 tyed 
 with all the fplendour which orientation can 
 
 bellow upon them, when they are fupported 
 by high rank and great power, when they 
 have often been fuccefsfully exerted, and are, 
 upon that account, altended by the loud ac- 
 clamations of the multitude ; even the man 
 of ibber judgment often abandons himfelf to 
 the genera! admiration. The very noife of 
 thofe foolifh acclamations often contributes 
 to confound his underftanding, and while he 
 fees thofe great men only at a certain dis- 
 tance, he is often difpofed to worfhip them 
 with a fincere admiration, fuperior even to 
 that with \thich they, appear to worfhip 
 themfelves. When there is no envy in the 
 ca!e, we all take pleafure in admiring, and 
 are, upon that account, naturally difpofed, in 
 our own fancies, to render complete and per- 
 fect in every refpect the characters which, 
 in manv refpedls, are in veiy worthy of ad- 
 miration. The cxcefhve feif-ad miration of 
 thole great men is well underflcod, perhaps, 
 and even i^^n through, with fnme degree of 
 derilion, by thole wife men who arc much in 
 their familiarity, and who fecretlv fmile at 
 tlioie lofty prccenhons, which, by people at a 
 diitance, arc often regarded with reverence, 
 
 I- o n","'
 
 1 3 4 Of the Characte r Part VI. 
 
 and almofl with adoration. Such, however, 
 have been, in all ages, the greater part of 
 thole men who have procured to thcmfelves 
 the moil noifv fame, the mod extenfive re- 
 putation ; a fame and reputation, too, which 
 have often defcended to the remoted pode- 
 rity. 
 
 Great fuccefs in the world, great authority 
 over the fentiments and opinions of man- 
 kind, have very feldom been acquired with- 
 out fome degree of this exceflive felf-admira- 
 tion. The mod fplendid characters, the men 
 who have performed the mod illudrious ac- 
 tions, who have brought about the created 
 revolution;, both in the fituations and opi- 
 nioiis of mankind ; the moil iucceisful war- 
 rior., the d datefmen and le<nflators, 
 eloquent : ; and leaders of the mod 
 numerous and mod fuccefsi'ul ieels and par- 
 tics; lave l been, not more clii— 
 tinguiim d for their very great merit, than 
 i >r a degree of pref.unpticn and felf-admira- 
 tion altocTv-the Loportioned even to that 
 very ore.it merit. This prefumpiion w , 
 pc -'-:■', necedary, not only to prompt them 
 \'.j undeitakuo s which a more fober mind 
 
 o 
 
 • .'.. never have thought of, but -to com- 
 
 io c . he. Tien : rdience of their 
 
 ... ... fupoort them in fuch undertak-
 
 Seel. III. of Virtue. 135 
 
 ings. When crowned with fuccefs, accord- 
 ingly, this presumption has often betr.iyed 
 them into a vanity that approached aim oft to 
 infanity and folly. Alexander the Great ap- 
 pears, not only to have wifhed that other 
 people mould think him a god, but to have 
 been, at lea ft very w 11 difpofed to fancy him- 
 felf fuch. Upon his death-bed, the moil 
 ungodlike of all fituations, he requ'efted of 
 his friends that, to the refpe&able lift of dei- 
 ties, into which himfelf had long before been 
 inlerted, his old mother Olympia might like- 
 wife have the honour of being added. Amidfl 
 the refpeeMful admiration of his followers and 
 difciples, amidft the univerfal applaufe of the 
 public, after the oracle, which probably had 
 followed the voice of that applaufe, had pro- 
 nounced the wifeft of men, the great 
 wifdom of Socrat-js, th >li a it did not fufier 
 him to fancv him f elf a god, ye: was not great 
 enough to hinder him from fancying that he 
 had fecrct and frequent intimations from fome 
 invilible and divine Being. The found head 
 of Caelar was not (b perfectly found as to 
 him from being much pleated with his 
 . w genealogy from the goddels Mentis; 
 and, before the temple of tins pretended 
 great-grandmother, to receive, without riimg 
 from ins feat, the Roman Senate, when than 
 K X
 
 130 Of the C h a r a cter Part VI. 
 
 illuftrlous body came to prefect him with 
 fome decrees conferrine upon him the moil 
 extravagant honours. This infolence, joined 
 to fome other acts of an almoft childifh va- 
 nity, little to be expected from an under- 
 Handing at once (o very acute and comprc- 
 henilve, feems, by exalperating the public 
 jealoufy, to have emboldened his aiTaffins, 
 and to have haftened the execution of their 
 confpiracy. The religion and manners of 
 modern times give cur great men little en- 
 couragement to fancy themfelves either rods 
 or even prophets. Succefs, however, joined 
 to grc.t popular favour, has often io far 
 turned the heads of the greateft of them, as 
 to make them afcribe to themfelves both an 
 importance and an ability much beyond what 
 they really pofib-fTjd ; and, by this preemp- 
 tion, to precipitate themfelves into many rafh 
 and fumetimes ruinous adventures. It is a 
 characteriiac alinolt peculiar to the great 
 Duke of Marlborough, that ten years of Tucli 
 uninterrupted and iuch fnlendkl fuccefs as 
 rce any other general couid boail of, never 
 betrayed him into a invjlc v.\:}\ action, Icarcc 
 ljIc raih word or expreifion. The 
 i'.;;ne temperate c >ln 3 and fell-command 
 ',:..•, i think', be aicribed to any other 
 great vanior oi later times; not to Prince 
 
 f- i ! • onf
 
 Sect. III. of Virtue. 1-7 
 
 Eugene, not to the late King of Prufiia, not 
 to the great Prince of Conde, not even to Gui- 
 tavus Adolphus. Turenne feems to have ap- 
 proached the neareft to it: but feveral differ- 
 ent tranfactions of his life fufliciently demon- 
 ftrate that it was in him by no means ih per- 
 fect as in the great Duke of Marlborough. 
 
 In the humble projects of private life, as 
 well as in the ambitious and proud purfuits 
 of high ftations, great abilities and fncccfsful 
 enterpriie, in the beginning, have frequently- 
 encouraged to undertakings which neceffarily 
 leu to bankruptcy and ruin in the end. 
 
 The eileem and admiration which every 
 impartial fnectator conceives for the real 
 merit of thole fpirited, magnanimous, and 
 high-minded perfons, as it is a juft and-well- 
 founded fentiment, fo it is a iteady and per- 
 manent one, and altogether independent of 
 their good or bad fortune. It is otherwife 
 with that admiration which he is apt to con- 
 ceive for their exceflive fcif-eitimation and 
 prelumption. wnue tney are lucccisrui, in- 
 deed, he is often perfectly conquered and 
 
 orne by them. Succels covers from his 
 not only the great imprudence, but 
 
 eve 
 
 frequently the great injuhice of their cnter- 
 prifes ; and, iat horn blaming this dereelivc 
 part of their character, lie oiten views it 
 
 with
 
 138 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 with the mofi: enthufiailic admiration. When 
 they are unfortunate, however, things change 
 their colours and their names. What 
 was before heroic magnanimity, refumes its 
 proper appellation of extravagant rafhnefs 
 and folly ; and the blackneis of that avidity 
 and injuftice, which was before -hid under 
 the fplendour of profperity, comes full into 
 view, and blots the whole luure of their en- 
 terprise Had Ca?far, infrcad of gaining, loft 
 the battle of Pharialia, his character would, 
 at this hour, have ranked a little above that 
 of Catiline, and the weaken: man would have 
 viewed his enterprife againfl the laws of his 
 country in blacker colours, than, perhaps, 
 even Cato, with all the animohty of a party- 
 
 . ever viewed it at the time. His real 
 
 mere: 3 tne jiutne.s 01 lus take, tne lunplicity 
 
 and elegance of lus writings, the propriety of 
 
 '\\- eloquence, his ilkill in war, his resources 
 
 re is, '-cool and fedate judgment in 
 
 :r, his Ihithful attachment to his friends, 
 Ins unexampled generohty to his enemies, 
 would all have been acknowledged; as the 
 real merit of Catiline, who had many great 
 
 : tics is acknowledged at this day. But 
 the inielencc and injuilicc of lus all-grafping 
 ambition would have darkened and extin- 
 glory of all that real merit. For- 
 tune
 
 Seel. III. of V I R '1 ': E. t -?9 
 
 tune has in this, as well as in frame other 
 rcipects already mentioned, great inCiicnre 
 over the moral fentiments of mankind, and, 
 according as fhe ; s either favourable or ad- 
 vene, can render the fame character the ob- 
 ject, either 01 general love and admiration, 
 or of l; ivcrfal hatred and contempt. This 
 great dilbrder in our mora! fcntlmciits is by 
 no mean-?, however, without its utility; and 
 we may on ti is, as well as en many other 
 occasions, admire the wifdom of God even 
 in the weaknefs and folly of man. Our ad- 
 miration oi luccefs is founded upon the fame 
 principle with our refpect for wealth and 
 greatnefs, and is equally neceTary for efta- 
 bliihimr the difcinction oi ranks and the order 
 of foeiety. By this admiration offuccefs we 
 are taught to fubmit more eafily to thole 
 fuperiors, whom the courle of human affairs 
 mav allien to us; to regard with reverence, 
 and (bmetimes even with a fort of rafpeclful 
 aheelion, that fortunate violence which we 
 are no longer capable oi refilling; not only 
 the violence of inch fplendid characters as 
 thofc of a Creiar or an Alexander, bat olten 
 that of the mail brut d and lavage barbarian 1 -, 
 of an Attlla, a Geneva or a Tamerlane. To 
 all inch mighty camp: rers the great mob of 
 mankind arc naturally d: (unfed to look up 
 
 with
 
 140 Of the Character Part VI, 
 
 with a wondering, though, do doubt, with 
 a very weak and fooliih admiration. By this 
 admiration, however, they arc Laugh* to ac- 
 quiesce with lefs reluctance under that go- 
 vernment which an irrefiftible force impofes 
 upon th:rn, and from which no reluctance 
 comd deliver them. 
 
 Though in profperlty, however, the man 
 of excenive felf-eftimation may fometimes 
 appear to have fome advantage over the man 
 of correct and modeft virtue ; though the an- 
 plaufe of the multitude, and of thole who fee 
 them both only at a diftance, is often much 
 der in favour of the one than it ever is in 
 favour of the other; yet, all things fairly 
 computed, the real balance of advantage is, 
 perhaps in ail cafes, greatly in favour of the 
 latter and again ft the former. The man who 
 rr cither afcribes to himfelf, nor viihes that 
 oilier people fhould afcribe to him, any other 
 ides that which really belongs to 
 :, fears no humiliation, dreads no detec- 
 tion ; but refts contented and fecure upon the 
 genuine truth and folidity of Ins own cha- 
 racier. His admirers may neither be very 
 numerous nor very loud in their applaufes ; 
 but the wiled man wdio fees him the neareft 
 and who knows him the heft, admires him 
 the molt. To a real wife man the judicious 
 
 and
 
 Sea. III. 
 
 of Virtue. 
 
 14 T 
 
 and well-weighed approbation of a Pmgle wife 
 man, gives more heartfelt fatisfacition tha n all 
 the noify applaufes of ten thoufand i grmra ': 
 though cntliuiic :1c ad: Irer . He may y 
 with Parmenldes, who upon readln ; a p: 
 fophical rihcaurl 1 :iic ailcnd 
 
 Athens, and ohferving, id 1 at, except Plato, 
 the whole company had left hi.-n, conrnucd, 
 notwithftandmg, to read on, and did that 
 Plato alone was audience fnfdeicnt for him. 
 
 It is otherwise with the man of exceilive 
 felf-e(l:mation. The wife men who fee him 
 the neareft, admire him the lend. Araidft 
 the intoxication of prosperity, their fob a 
 juit eiteem rails lo i; ■ icrt c: me exti 
 gance of Ida own felf-sdmlrad n, that he 
 regards it as mere m fdgrdty and envy. K : 
 fufpects hi b friends. Their company 
 become-, cfeniivj to hhn. I"e drives t u 
 ace, And often rewards their 
 jLrvices not only with ::;;aa:h:a:, but with 
 cmelty and injuftiee. Ida a j >ns his ccn- 
 ridence to flatterers and traitor.:, who preten i 
 to idolize his vanity : a option; and 
 
 that character which in tb. !>a'*aa : a -a ta- 
 in iome refyeO.s defective, v%an-, upon the 
 whole both imialde md respectable, bee . 
 
 • nci cam; m toe end. 
 the intoxicath n of y- 'periiv, / 
 
 Amid ft 
 
 aexaa 
 i : ■
 
 ?42 Of the Character Part VL 
 
 killed Clytus, for having preferred the ex- 
 ploits of Ins father Philip to his own ; put 
 Califthenes to death in torture, for having 
 
 o 
 
 refufed to adore him in the Perfian manner; 
 and murdered the great friend of his father, 
 the venerable Parmenio, alter having, upon 
 the molt groundlchs fufpicions, lent fir ft to 
 the torture arid afterwards to the icaflbld the 
 only remaining ion of that old man, the reft 
 having all before died in his own fervice. 
 This was that Parmenio of whom Philip ufed 
 to fa 7, that the Athenians were very for- 
 tunate who cw; ; :i find ten generals every* 
 year, while he himfelf, in the whole courfe 
 of his life, could never find one but Par- 
 menio. It was upon the vigilance and atten- 
 tTiis Parmenio that he repofed at all 
 times with cenhdeace and fecurity, and, in 
 his hours of mirth and jollity, ufed to fay, 
 Let us drink, my friends, we may do it with 
 f fctv, Parmenio never drinks. It was 
 
 this io, with whole prefence 
 
 and eounfjl, it had been faid, Alexander 
 had rained all his victories: and without 
 whole prekmce and countel he had never 
 rained a finrrle "victory. The humble, ad- 
 :?, and flatterin ■ friends, whom Alex- 
 ander L\V. in power and authority behind 
 him, divided his empire among thcmfelves, 
 
 and
 
 Sett. III. cf Virtue. 143 
 
 and after having thus robbed his family and 
 kindred of their inheritance, put, one after 
 another, every hngle iurviving individual of 
 them, whether male or female, to death. 
 
 \Vc frequently not only pardon, but tho- 
 roughly enter into and fympathize with the 
 exccflivc felf-eftimation of thofs fplendid 
 characters in which we obferve a great and 
 diftinguifhed funeriority above the common 
 level of mankind. We call them fpirited, 
 magnanimous, and high-minded ; words 
 which all involve in their meaning a conn- 
 derable degree cf praife and admiration. But 
 we cannot enter into and fympathize with 
 the excefave felf-efcimation of thofe charac- 
 ters in which we can difcern no fuch cliftin- 
 guimed fupcriority. We are chfgurled and 
 revoked by it ; and it is with fome dimculty 
 that we can cither pardon or iaiTer it. We 
 call it pride or vanity ; two words, of which 
 the latter always, and the i^r^:::- for the 
 moil part, involve in their meaning a confi- 
 dereble degree of blame. 
 
 Thofe two vices, however, though refem- 
 
 bllng, " a as be ng be; m '- 
 
 tions cf 1 efi ve icIt-< n '.- ) et, 
 
 in n , very diflercnt tram one
 
 144 Of the Character Part VI; 
 
 The proud man is fincere, and, in the bot- 
 tom of his heart, is convinced of his own fu- 
 periority ; though it may fometimes be dif- 
 ficult to guefs upon what that conviction is 
 founded. He wiihes you to view him in no 
 other lirrht than that in which, when he 
 places himfelf in your fltuation, lie really 
 views hi mi elf. He demands no more of 
 you ihan what he thinks juftice. If you ap- 
 pear net to refpect him as he refpecls him- 
 felf, he is mere offended than mortified, and 
 feels the fame indignant refentment as if he 
 had fufFered a red injury. He does not 
 even then, however, deign to explain the 
 grounds of his own pretentions. He dif- 
 dains to court your cfteem. He affecls even 
 to defpife it, and endeavours to maintain his 
 arTumtd ftaticn, not fo much by making you 
 fenfible of his fuperiority, as of your own 
 meannefs. He leer.', to wifh, not fo much 
 to excite your efteem for himfelf ] as to mor- 
 tny tin;, lot yji/r/: J /f. 
 
 The vain man is not fincere, and, in the 
 bottom of his heart, is very felclom con- 
 vinced of that fuperiority which he wiflies 
 you to afcribe to him. He wifhes you to 
 view liim in much more fplendid colours 
 than thofc in which, when lie places himfelf 
 
 in
 
 Sea. III. /Virtue. 145 
 
 in your fituation, and fuppofes you to know- 
 all that, he knows, he can really view him- 
 felf. When you appear to view him, there- 
 fore, in different colours, perhaps in his pro- 
 per colours, he is much more mortified than 
 offended. The grounds of his claim to that 
 character which he wifhes you to aicribe to 
 him, he takes every opportunity of difplay- 
 ing, both by the mod oftentatious and unne- 
 ceffary exhibition of the good qualities and 
 accomplishments which he port cries in fome 
 tolerable degree, and fometimes even by falfe 
 pretentions lo thole which he either poffeffes 
 in no degree, or in fo very Header a degree 
 that he may well enough be faid to poffeis 
 them in no decree. Far from dcfpifins your 
 efteem, lie courts it with the molt anxious 
 affiduity. Far from wifhing; to mortify vour 
 felf-eitimation, he is happy to cherifh it, in 
 hopes that in return von will cherifh his own. 
 lie flatters in order to be flattered. He ftu- 
 dies to pleafe, and endeavours to bribe you 
 into a good opinion, of him by politenefs and 
 complaifance, and fometimes even by real 
 and effential good offices, though often dif- 
 played, perhaps, with unneceffary oftentation. 
 
 The vain man fees the refpeel which is 
 paid to rank and fortune, and wifhes to 
 
 VOL. 11. l ufurp
 
 146 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 ufurp this refpect, as well as that for talents 
 and virtues. His drefs, Ids equipage, his 
 way of living, accordingly, all announce both 
 a higher rank and a greater fortune than 
 really belongs to him ; and in order to fup- 
 port this foolifh impoikion for a few years 
 in the beginning of his life, he often reduces 
 himfelf to poverty and diitrefs long before 
 the end of it. As long as he can continue 
 his expence, however, his vanity is delighted 
 with viewing himfelf, not in the light in 
 which you would view him if you knew all 
 that he knows ; but in that in which, he 
 imagines, he has, by his own addrefs, in- 
 duced you actually to view him. Of all the 
 illufions of vanity this is, perhaps, the mod 
 common. Obfcure ftrangers who vifit fo- 
 reign countries, or who, from a remote pro- 
 vince, come to vifit, for a ihort time, the ca- 
 pital of their own country, mod frequently 
 attempt to practife it. The folly of the at- 
 tempt, though always very great and moft 
 unworthy of a man of knfe, may not be al- 
 together fo great upon fuch as upon moft 
 other occafions. If their Ray is fhort, they 
 may efcape any difgraceful detection ; and, 
 alter indulging their vanity for a few months 
 or a few years, they may return to their 
 
 own
 
 Seel. III. cf Virtue. 147 
 
 own homes, and repair, by future parfi- 
 mony, the wafte of their paft profufion. 
 
 The proud man can very feldom be ac- 
 cufed of this folly. His fenfe of his own 
 dignity renders him careful to preferve his 
 independency, and, when his fortune hap- 
 pens not to be large, though he wiihes to be 
 decent, he ftudies to be frugal and attentive 
 in all his expences. The orientations ex- 
 pence of the vain man is highly offenfivc to 
 him. It outfhines, perhaps, his own. It 
 provokes his indignation as an infolent af- 
 fumption of a rank which is by no means 
 due ; and he never talks of it without load- 
 ing it with the harfheft and fevered re- 
 proaches. 
 
 The proud man does not always feel him- 
 felf at his eafe in the company of his equals, 
 and (till lefs in that of his fuperiors. He 
 cannot lay down his lofty prctenfions, and 
 the countenance and converfition of fuch 
 company overawe him lo much that he dare 
 not difplay them. Pie lias recourie to hum- 
 bler company, for which he has little refpefr, 
 which he would not willingly chufe, and 
 which is by no means agreeable to him ; that 
 of his inferiors, his flatterers, and depend- 
 ants. He feidom viiits his fuperiors, or, if 
 he doe?, it is rather to fliow that he is en- 
 L 2 titled
 
 xaS Of the Character Part VL 
 
 titled to live in fuch company, than for any 
 real fatisfaction that he enjoys in it. It is as 
 Lord Clarendon lays of the Earl of Arundel, 
 that he fometimes went to court, becaufe he 
 could there only find a greater man than 
 himfelf; but that he went very feldom, 
 becaufe he found there a greater man than 
 himfelf. 
 
 It is quite otherwife with the vain man. 
 He courts the company of his fuperiors as 
 much as the proud man inuns it. Their 
 fplendour, lie feems to think, reflects a fplen- 
 dour u\)on thole who are much about them. 
 He haunts the courts of kings and the levees 
 of miniuers, and gives himfelf the air of be- 
 ing a candidate for fortune and preferment, 
 •Alien in reality he poiielTes the much more 
 precious happinefs, if he knew how to enjoy 
 it, of not being one. He is fond of being 
 admitted to the tables of the great, and (till 
 more fend ci magnifying to other people the 
 iamiliarity with which he is honoured there, 
 lie afl.bciates himfelf, as much as he can, 
 with faihionablc people, with thole who are 
 funpofed to direct the public opinion, with 
 the witty, with the learned, with the popu- 
 1 li ; and lie Hums the company of his bed 
 Jriends whenever the very uncertain current 
 
 of
 
 Sea. in. 
 
 of Virtue. 
 
 1 49 
 
 to run in any rc- 
 
 of public favour Iiappc 
 ipedl againft them. With the People to 
 whom he withes to recommend himfclf, he 
 is not always very delicate about the means 
 which he employs for ilii.it purpofe ; unnecef- 
 iary orientation, groundless pretcn.ficns, eon- 
 flant aifentation, frequently flattery, though 
 ior the molt part a pleafant and a fprightly 
 flattery, and very feidom the yrois and ful- 
 ibme (lattery of a parahte. The proud man, 
 on the contrary, never Hatters, and is fre- 
 quently fcarce civil to any body. 
 
 Notwithstanding nil its groundlefs preten- 
 lions, however, vanity is almoft always a 
 fp rightly and a gay, and very often a good- 
 natured pamon. Pride is always a grave, a 
 fullen, and a fevcre one. Even the falie- 
 hoods of the vain man arc all innocent falfe- 
 hoods, meant to raife himihlf, not to lower 
 other people. To do the proud man jufli.ee, 
 lie very leldom (loons to the bafenefs of falle- 
 hood. When he doc-, however, his f.ilfe- 
 hoeds arc by no means io innocent. They 
 are ail miiehievous, and meant to lower other 
 people. lie is lull of indignation at the un- 
 ]ult lupcriority, n ; he thinks it, which is given 
 to them, fie views them with malignity and 
 L^rrf, and, in talking of them, oiten endea- 
 L 1 vours,
 
 150 Of the Char a c t e R Part VI. 
 
 vours, as much as he can, to extenuate and 
 leiTen whatever are the grounds Upon which 
 their fuperiority is fuppofed to he founded. 
 Whatever tales are circulated to their difad- 
 vantage, though he feldom forges them him- 
 felf, yet he often takes pleafure in believing 
 them, is by no means unwilling to repeat 
 them, and even fomctimes with fome degree 
 of exaggeration. The worft falfehoods of va- 
 nity are all what we call white lies : thofe of 
 pride, whenever it condefcends to falfehood, 
 are all of the oppofite complexion. 
 
 Our diflike to pride and vanity generally 
 difpofes us to rank the perfons whom we 
 accufe of thofe vices rather below than 
 above the common level. In this judgment 
 however, I think, we are moft frequently 
 in the wrong, and that both the proud and 
 the vain man are often (perhaps for the mod 
 part) a good deal above it ; though not near 
 fo much as either the one really thinks him- 
 felf, or as the other wifhes you to think him. 
 If we compare them with their own preten- 
 fions, they may appear the juft objects of con- 
 tempt. But when we compare them with 
 what the greater part of their rivals and com- 
 petitors really are, they may appear quite 
 otherwife, and very much above the com- 
 mon
 
 Sect. III. of Virtue. 151 
 
 .mon level. Where there is this real iupe- 
 riority, pride is frequently attended with 
 many refpectahle virtues ; with truth, with 
 integrity, with a high fenfe of honour, with 
 cordial and fleady friendfhip, with the moft 
 inflexible firmnefs and relblution. Vanity,, 
 with many amiable ones ; with humanity, 
 with politenel's, with a defire to oblige in all 
 little matters, and ibmetiines with a real 
 generolity in great ones ; a generofity, how- 
 ever, which it often wifhes to difplay in the 
 moft fplendid colours that it can. By their 
 rivals and enemies, the French, in the lad 
 century, were accufed of vanity ; the Spa- 
 niards, of pride ; and foreign nations were 
 difpoled to confider the one as the more 
 amiable ; the other, as the more refpectahle 
 people. 
 
 The words vain and vanity are never taken 
 in a good {cnk. We Ibmetimes fay of a 
 man, when we are talking of him in good- 
 humour, that he is the better for his vanity, 
 or that his vanitv is more diverting than of- 
 fenlive ; but we Hill confider it as a foible 
 and a ridicule in his character. 
 
 The words proud and prldc^ on the con- 
 trary, are Ibmetimes taken in a good fenfe. 
 We frequently fay of a man, that he is too 
 l 4 proud,
 
 152 Of the C h a r a c t b R Part VI, 
 
 proud, or that he has too much noble pride, 
 ever to differ himfelf to do a mean thing. 
 Pride is, in this cafe, confounded with mag- 
 nanimity. Arirlotle, a philofopher who cer- 
 tainly knew the world, in drawing the cha- 
 racter of the magnanimous man, paints him 
 with many features which, in the two lait 
 centuries, were commonly aicribed to the 
 Spanifh character : that he was deliberate in 
 all his resolutions ; flow, and even tardy, in 
 all his actions ; that his voice was grave, his 
 fpeech deliberate, his ftep and motion flow; 
 that he appeared indolent and even ilothful, 
 not at all difpofed to buttle about little mat- 
 ters, but to act with the molt determined and 
 vigorous refolution upon all great and illus- 
 trious oecafions ; that he was net a lover of 
 danger, or forward to expofe himfelf to little 
 dangers, but to great dangers ; and that, 
 when he expofed himfelf to danger, he was 
 altogether regardlefs of his life. 
 
 The proud man is commonly too well con- 
 tented with himfelf to think that his charac- 
 ter require? any amendment. The man who 
 feels himfelf all-perfect, naturally enough de- 
 fpifes all further improvement. His felf-fuf- 
 ficiency and abfurd conceit of his own fuperio- 
 rity commonly attend him from his youth to 
 
 his
 
 Seel. III. of Virtue. 153 
 
 his mod advanced age ; and he dies, as Ham- 
 let lays, with all his fins upon his head, 
 unanointed, unanealed. 
 
 It is frequently quite othenvife with the 
 vain man. The dchrc of the el/teem and ad- 
 miration of other people, when for qualities 
 and talents which are the natural and proper 
 objects of e deem and admiration, is the real 
 love of true glory ; a p.iilion which, if not 
 the very bed paffion of human nature, is cer- 
 tainly one of the belt. Vanity is very fre- 
 quently no more than an. attempt prema- 
 turely to ufurp that glory before it is due. 
 Though your fon, under five-and-twenty 
 years of age, fhouid be but a coxcomb ; do 
 not, upon that account, defpair of his be- 
 coming, before he is forty, a very wife and 
 worthy man, and a real proficient in all thofe 
 talents and virtues to which, at prefent, he 
 may only be an orientations and empty pre- 
 tender. The great fecrct of education is to 
 direct vanity to proper objects. Never hirrer 
 him to value himlelt upon trivial accompiiih- 
 ments. But do not always difcourage his 
 pretentions to thole that are of real import- 
 ance. He would not pretend to them if he 
 did not earnestly defire to potieis them. 
 F.ncouracrc this dchrc ; afford him every 
 means to facilitate the acquifition 3 and do 
 
 not
 
 154 Qf the C h a r a c t i. r Part VI. 
 
 not take too much offence, although he 
 fhould foraetirnes afTume the air of having 
 attained it a little before the time. 
 
 Such, I fay, are die diftinguifhing charac- 
 teriftics of pride and vanity, when each of 
 them ads according to its proper character. 
 But the proud man is often vain ; and the 
 vain man is often proud. Nothing can be 
 more natural than that the man, who thinks 
 much more highly of himfelf than he de- 
 ferves, mould wifh that other people fhould 
 think ftill more highly of him : or that the 
 man, who wifhes that other people mould 
 think more highly of him than he thinks of 
 himfelf, fhould, at the fame time, think much 
 more highly of himfelf than he deferves. 
 Thofe two vices being frequently blended in 
 the fame character, the characteriflics of both 
 are neceffarily confounded ; and we fome- 
 times find the fuperficial and impertinent 
 oftcntation of vanity joined to the moft ma- 
 lignant and derifivc infolence of pride. We 
 are fometimes, upon that account, at a lofs 
 how to rank a particular character, or whe- 
 ther to place it among the proud or among 
 the vain. 
 
 Men of merit confiderably above the 
 common level, fometimes under-rate as well 
 as over-rate themfelves. Such characters, 
 
 though
 
 Se&.III. c/Virtue. !*5 
 
 though not very dignified, are often, in pri- 
 vate foeiety, far from being difagreeable. 
 His companions all feel thernfelves much at 
 their eafe in the foeiety of a man fo perfectly 
 modeft and unaifuming. If thofe compa- 
 nions, however, have not both more difcern- 
 ment and more generofity than ordinary, 
 though they may have fome kindnefs for 
 him, they have feldom much refpect ; and 
 the warmth of their kindnefs is very feldom 
 Sufficient to compenfate the coldnefs of their 
 refpeel. Men of no more than ordinary dis- 
 cernment never rate any perfon higher than 
 he appears to rate himfelf. He feems doubt- 
 ful himi'elf, they fay, whether he is perfectly 
 fit for fuch a fituation or fuch an o-lice ; and 
 immediately give the preference to fome im- 
 pudent blockhead who entertains no doubt 
 about his own qualifications. Though they 
 fhould have difcernment, yet, if they want 
 generofity, they never fail to take advantage 
 of his fimplicity, and to affume over him an 
 impertinent fuperiority which they are by no 
 means entitled to. His good-nature may 
 enable him to bear this for fome time; but 
 he grows weary at laft, and frequently .vhen 
 it is too late, and when that rank, which he 
 ought to have alfumed, is loft irrecoverably, 
 and ufurped, in confequence of his own back- 
 ward nefs,
 
 156 Of the' C h a racti!R Part VI. 
 
 wardncfe, by fome of his more forward, 
 though much lefs meritorious companions. 
 A man of th : s character mufl have been 
 very fortunate in the early choice of his 
 cos maniocs, if, in Groin q through the world, 
 he meets always with fair j ''' ; ;e, even from 
 thofe whom, from his own :.:: kindnefs, he 
 might have fome reafon to confider as his 
 bell friends ; and a yen';!, too unaiTuming 
 and too unambitious, is frequently followed 
 by an infmnibcanL complaining;, and difcon- 
 tented old a< r e. 
 
 Thofe unfortunate perfons whom nature 
 lias forme. 1 a good deal below the common 
 level, feem fometimes to rate themfelves 
 ftill more below it than they really are. 
 This humility appears fometimes to fink 
 them into idiotifm. Whoever has taken 
 the trouble to examine idiots with attention, 
 will find that, in many of them, the faculties 
 of the underftanding are by no means weaker 
 than in feveral other people, who, though 
 acknowledged to be dull and ftupid, are not, 
 by any bod.. mtecl idiots. Many idiots, 
 
 with no more than ordinary education, have 
 been taught to read, write, and account tole- 
 rably well. M my perfons, never accounted 
 idiots, uotwiildlandine: the moft careful edu- 
 cation, and notwithftanding that, in their ad- 
 vanced
 
 Sea. III. 
 
 cf Virtue. 
 
 l 57 
 
 vanced age, they have had fpirit enough to 
 attempt to learn what their early education 
 had not taught them, have never been able 
 to acquire in anv tolerable decree, any one 
 of thole three acccmplifhments. By an in- 
 itincl of pride, however, they fet themfelves 
 upon a level with their equals in age and 
 fituation ; and, with courage and firmnefs, 
 maintain their nroncr nation anions; their 
 companions. By an oppchte inflincr., the 
 idiot ice's himfclf below every company 
 into which you can introduce him. Ill— 
 ulage, to which he is extremely liable, is ca- 
 pable of throwing him into the mo ft violent 
 fits of rage and fury. But no good ulage, 
 no kindncis or indulgence, can ever raife 
 him to converle with you as your equal. 
 It you can bring him to converle with you at 
 all, however, you will frequently find his 
 aniwers lufiicicntly pertinent, and even fenii- 
 ble. But they are always ltampcd with a 
 cliltinct conieioulnefs of his own great infe- 
 riority, lie feems to lhrink and, as it were, 
 to retire from your look and converiation ; 
 and to feel, when he places himielf in your 
 iituation, that, notwirhltanding your appa- 
 rent condeicenhon, you cannot help conii- 
 dering him as immenlely below you. Some 
 idiots, perhaps the greater part, icem to be io, 
 
 7 clilci] y
 
 15S Of the Character. Part VI- 
 
 chiefly or altogether, from a certain numb- 
 nefs or torpidity in the faculties of the 
 underftanding. But there are others, in 
 whom thofe faculties do not appear more 
 torpid or benumbed than in many other 
 people who are not accounted idiots. But 
 that inftincl: of pride, neceffary to fupport 
 them upon an equality with their brethren, 
 feems totally wanting in the former and not 
 in the latter. 
 
 That degree of felf-efiimation, therefore, 
 which contributes mofr. to the happinef* 
 and contentment of the perfon himfelf, 
 feems likewife moft agreeable to the im- 
 partial fpe&ator. The man who efteems 
 himfelf as he ought, and no more than he 
 ought, feldom fails to obtain from other peo- 
 ple all the efteem that he himfelf thinks due. 
 He defires no more than is due to him, and 
 he refts upon it with complete fatisfacVion. 
 
 The proud and the vain man, on the con- 
 trary, are conflantly difiatisfied. The one is 
 tormented with indignation at the unjuil fu- 
 perioritv, as he thinks ir, of other people. 
 The other is in continual dread of the fhame 
 which, he fort-fees, would attend upon the 
 deteclio;: of his groundless pretenfions. E\tn 
 the extravagant preteniions of the man oi 
 
 o 1 
 
 real magnanimity, though., when iupported 
 
 by
 
 Seel. III. ^Virtue. 159 
 
 byfplendid abilities and virtues, and, above 
 all, by good fortune, they impofe upon the 
 multitude, whofe applaufes he little regards, 
 do not impofe upon thole wile men whofe 
 approbation he can only value, and whofe 
 eiteem he is moil anxious to acquire. He 
 feels that they fee through, and fufpects that 
 they defpile his exceifive prefumption ; and 
 he often fuffers the cruel misfortune of be- 
 coming, firil the jealous and fecrct, and at 
 lair, the open, furious, and vindictive enemy 
 of thofe very pcrfons, whofe fricndihip it 
 would have given him the greatefr, happinefs 
 to enjoy with unfufpicious fecurity. 
 
 Though our diilike to the proud and the 
 vain often difpofes us to rank them rather 
 below than above their proper llation, yet, 
 unlefs we arc provoked by lome particular 
 and perfonal impertinence, we very feldorn 
 venture to ule them ilk In common caies, 
 we endeavour for our own eaie, rather to 
 acquiefce, and, as well as we can, to accom- 
 modate ourfelves to their folly. But, to the 
 man who under-rates himfelf, unlefs we have 
 both more difcernment and more generohty 
 than belong to the greater part of men, we 
 feldom fail to do, at leair, all the injullice 
 which he does to himfelf, and frequently a 
 ereat deal more. He is not onlv more un- 
 
 h a p r> y
 
 i6o 0///^ Character Part VL 
 
 happy la his own feelings than either the 
 proud or the vain, but he is much more liable 
 to every fort of ill-uiage from other people. 
 In almofl all cafes, it is better to be a little 
 too proud, than, in any refpect, too humble ; 
 and, in the fentiment of felf eflimation, fome 
 degree of excefs feems, both to the perfon 
 himfelf and to the impartial fpeclator, to be 
 lefs difagreeable than any degree of defect. 
 
 In this, therefore, as well as in every other 
 emotion, pafiion, and habit, the degree that 
 is raoft agreeable to the impartial fpeclator is 
 likewife molt, agreeable to the perfon himfelf; 
 and according as either the excefs or the de- 
 fect is lead offcnfive to the former, fo, either 
 the one or the other is in proportion lead dif- 
 agreeable to the latter.
 
 Sea. III. /Virtue. iff* 
 
 Conclusion of the Sixth Part. 
 
 /concern for our own happinefs recorri- 
 ^^ mends to us the virtue of prudence : 
 concern for that of other people, the virtues 
 of juftice and beneficence ; of which, the one 
 reftrains us from hurting, the other prompts 
 us to promote that happinefs. Independent 
 of any regard either to what are, or to what 
 ought to be, or to what upon a certain con- 
 dition would be, the fentiments of other peo- 
 ple, the firft of thofe three virtues is origi- 
 nally recommended to us by our felfifh, the 
 other two by our benevolent affections. Re- 
 gard to the fentiments of other people, how- 
 ever, comes afterwards both to enforce and 
 to direct the practice of all thofe virtues; and 
 no man during, either tiie whole courfe of 
 his life, cr that of any confidcrabk part of it, 
 ever trod fteadily and uniformly in the paths 
 of prudence, of juftice, or of proper benefi- 
 cence, whole conduct was not principally di- 
 rected by a regard to the fentiments of the 
 fuppofed impartial fpectator, of the great in- 
 mate of the breaft, the great judge and arbiter 
 YOL. ii. M of
 
 1 62 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 of conduct. If in the courfe of the day we 
 have fwerved in any refpecft from the rules 
 which he prefcribes to us ; if we have either 
 exceeded or relaxed in our frugality ; if we 
 have either exceeded or relaxed in our induf- 
 try ; if, through paffion or inadvertency, we 
 have hurt in any refpect the intereft or hap- 
 pinefs of our neighbour ; if we have ne- 
 glected a plain and proper opportunity of 
 promoting that intereft and happinefs ; it is 
 this inmate who, in the evening, calls us to 
 an account for all thofe omiffions and viola- 
 tions, and his reproaches often make us 
 blufh inwardly both for our folly and inat- 
 tention to our own happinefs, and for our 
 ftill greater indifference and inattention, per- 
 haps, to that of other people. 
 
 But though the virtues of prudence, jult- 
 ice, and beneficence, may, upon different oc- 
 cafions, be recommended to us almoft equally 
 by two different principles; thofe of felf- 
 command are, upon moil occafions, princi- 
 pally and almoft entirely recommended to us 
 by one ; by the fenfe of propriety, by regard 
 to the fentiments cf the fuppofed impartial 
 fpcclator. Without the rcftraint which this 
 principle impofes, every paffion would, upon 
 mod occahons, ru(h headlong, if I may Jay 
 i'o, to its own gratification. Anger would 
 
 follow
 
 Sea. lit of Virtue. i6j 
 
 follow the fuggeftions of its own fury ; fear 
 thofc of its own violent agitations. Regard 
 to no time or place would induce vanity to 
 refrain from the loudeft and moft impertinent 
 oitentation ; or voluptuoufneis from the mod 
 open, indecent, and fcandalous indulgence. 
 Refpect for what are> or for what ought to 
 be, or for what upon a certain condition 
 would be, the fentiments of other people, is 
 the fole principle which, upon moft occa- 
 fions, overawes all thofe mutinous and tur- 
 bulent paffions into that tone and temper 
 which the impartial fpeclator can enter into 
 and fympathize with. 
 
 Upon fome occalions, indeed, thofe paf- 
 fions are reftrained, not fo much by a fenfe 
 of their impropriety, as by prudential con- 
 fiderations of the bad confequences which 
 might follow from their indulgence. Jn 
 inch cafes, the paffions, though reftrained, 
 are not always fubdued, but often remain 
 lurking in the bread; with all their original 
 fury. The man whole anger is reftrained 
 by fear, does not always lay afide his anger, 
 but only rcferves its gratification for a more 
 fafe opportunity. But the man who, in 
 relating to fome other perfon the injury 
 which has been done to him, ice's at once 
 the fury of his paifion cooled and becalmed 
 M 3 by
 
 1 64 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 by fympathy with the more moderate 
 ientiments of his companion, who at once 
 adopts thofe more moderate ientiments, and 
 comes to view that injury, not in the black 
 and atrocious colours in which he had ori- 
 ginally beheld it, but in the much milder 
 and fairer light, in which his companion 
 naturally views it ; not only reftrains, but 
 in fome meafure fubdues, his anger. The 
 pailion becomes really lefs than it was before, 
 and lefs capable of exciting him to the vio- 
 lent and bloody revenge which at firft, 
 perhaps, he might have thought of in- 
 flicting. 
 
 Thofe paflions which are reftrained by 
 the fenfe of propriety, are all in fome de- 
 gree moderated and fubdued by it. But 
 thofe which are reftrained only by pruden- 
 tial confiderations of any kind, are, on the 
 contrary, frequently inflamed by the re- 
 ftraint, and fometimes (long after the pro- 
 vocation given, and when nobody is think- 
 ing about it) burft out abfurdly and unex- 
 pectedly, and with tenfold fury and vio- 
 lence. 
 
 Anger, however, as well as every other 
 pnffion, may, upon many occafions, be 
 very properly rcfirained by prudential con- 
 hdcratioiiG. Some exertion of manhood 
 
 and
 
 Sea. TIT. gfViRTUi. \C$ 
 
 and felf-command is even necefTary for this 
 fort of reftraint ; and the impartial fpedta- 
 tor may fometimes view it with that fort of 
 cold eftcem due to that fpecies of conduct 
 which he considers as a mere matter of 
 vulgar prudence ; but never with that affec- 
 tionate admiration with which he furveys the 
 fame paflions, when, by the icnfc of pro- 
 priety, they are moderated and fubdued to 
 what he himfelf can readily eater into. In 
 the former fpecies of reftraint, he may fre- 
 quently difcern fome degree of propriety, 
 and, if you will, even of virtue ; but it is a 
 propriety and virtue of a much inferior or- 
 der to thole which he always feels with 
 tranfport and admiration in the latter. 
 
 The virtues of prudence, juftice, and bene- 
 ficence, have no tendency to produce any but. 
 the mod agreeable effects. Regard to thole 
 effects, as it originally recommends them to 
 the actor, fo docs it afterwards to die impar- 
 tial fpectator. In our approbation of the 
 character of the prudent man, we feel, with 
 peculiar complacency, the fecurity which he 
 muft enjoy while he walks under the lafe- 
 guard of that fedate and deliberate virtue. 
 In our approbation of the character of the 
 juft man, we feel, with equal complacency, 
 the fecurity which all thole connected- with 
 M i him
 
 j66 Of the Character Part VI. 
 
 him whether in neighbourhood, fociety, or 
 bufinefs, muft derive from his fcrupulous 
 anxiety never either to hurt or offend. In 
 our approbation of the character of the bene- 
 fieent man, we enter into the gratitude of all 
 thofe who are within the fphere of his good 
 offices, and conceive with them the higheft 
 fenfe of his merit. In our approbation of all 
 thofe virtues, our fenfe of their agreeable ef- 
 fects, of their utility, either to the perfon who 
 exercifes them, or to fome other perfons, 
 joins with our fenfe of their propriety, and 
 eonflitutes always a confiderable, frequently 
 the greater, part of that approbation. 
 
 But in our approbation of the virtues of 
 felf-command, complacency with their effects 
 fometimes conftitutes no part, and frequently 
 but a fmall part of that approbation. Thofe 
 effects may f6metimes be agreeable, and 
 fometimes difagreeable ; and though our ap- 
 probation is no doubt ftronger in the former 
 cafe, it is by no means altogether deftroyed 
 m the latter. The mod heroic valour may 
 be employed indifferently in the caufe either 
 of juftice or of injuftice ; and though it is no 
 doubt much more loved and admired in the 
 former cafe, it Rill appears a great and re- 
 fpedtahle quality even in the latter. In that, 
 and in all the other virtues of felf-command, 
 
 the
 
 Sea. TIL of Virtue. 167 
 
 the fplendid and dazzling quality feems al- 
 ways to be the grcatnefs and fteadinefs of the 
 exertion, and the ftrong fenfe of propriety 
 which is neceiTary in order to make and to 
 maintain th.it exertion. The effects are too 
 often but too little regarded.
 
 THE 
 
 THEORY 
 
 OF 
 
 MORAL SENTIMENTS, 
 
 PART VII. 
 Of Syftems of Moral Philosophy. 
 
 Ccnfiflincr of Four Sections. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 Of the. §>nefl\ons which ought to be examined 
 in a Theory of Moral Sentiments* 
 
 TF we examine the moft celebrated and 
 •*" remarkable of the different theories which 
 have been given concerning the nature and ori- 
 gin of our moral fentiments > we fhall find that 
 almoft all of them coincide with fome part or 
 
 other
 
 iyo Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 other cf that which I have been endeavour- 
 ing to give an account of; and that if every 
 thing which has already been faid be fully 
 confidered, we fhall be at no lofs to explain 
 what was the view or afpect of nature which 
 led each particular author to form his parti- 
 cular fyftem. From fome one or other of 
 thofe principles which I have been endeavour- 
 ing to unfold, every fyftem of morality that 
 ever had any reputation in the world has, 
 perhaps, ultimately been derived. As they 
 are all of them, in this refpect, founded 
 upon natural principles, they are all of them 
 in fome meafure in the right. But as many 
 of them are derived from a partial and imper- 
 fect view of nature, there are many of them 
 too in fome refpecls in the wrong. 
 
 In treating of the principles of morals 
 there are two queftions to be conlidered. 
 Firft, wherein docs virtue confift ? Or what 
 is the tone of temper, and tenour of conduct, 
 which coniiitutes the excellent and praife- 
 worthv character, the character which is the 
 natural object of eftcem, honour, and appro- 
 probation ? And, fecondly, by what power 
 or faculty in the mind is it, that this cha- 
 racter, whatever it be, is recommended to 
 us ? Or in other words, how and by what 
 means dc^^ it come to pafs, that the mind 
 
 prefers
 
 Seel:. I. cf Moral Philosophy. \yi 
 
 prefers one tenour of conduct to another, 
 denominates the one right and • the other 
 wrong ; confiders the one as the object of 
 approbation, honour, and reward, and the 
 other of blame, cenfure, and puniihment? 
 
 We examine the firft queftion when we 
 confider whether virtue confifts in benevo-* 
 lence, as Dr. Hutchefon imagines ; or in 
 acting fuitably to the different relations we 
 ftand in, as Dr. Clarke fuppofes ; or in the 
 wife and prudent purfuit of our own real 
 and folid happinefs, as has been the opinion 
 of others. 
 
 We examine the fecond queftion, when 
 we confider, whether the virtuous charac- 
 ter, whatever it confifts in, be recommend- 
 ed to us by felf-love, which makes us per- 
 ceive that this character, both in ourfelves 
 and others, tends moft to promote our own 
 private intereft ; or by reafon, which points 
 out to us the difference between one charac- 
 ter and another, in the lame manner as it 
 does that between truth and fallehood ; or 
 by a peculiar power of perception, called a 
 moral fenfe, which this virtuous character 
 gratifies and pieafes, as the contrary dif gulls 
 and difpleafes it ; or Lift of all, by iome 
 other principle in human nature, (uch as a 
 modification of fympathy, or the like. 
 
 I (hall
 
 x 7 2 Of Systems Part. VII. 
 
 I {hall begin with confidering the fyftems 
 which have been formed concerning the 
 firft of thefe queftions, and mall proceed 
 afterwards to examine thofe concerning the 
 fecond.
 
 Sect. II. of Moral Philosophy. 173 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 Of the different Accounts which have been 
 given of the Nature of Virtue, 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 *npHE different accounts which have been 
 ■*• given of the nature of virtue, or of 
 the temper of mind which conftitutes the 
 excellent and praife-worthy character, may- 
 be reduced to three different claffes. Ac- 
 cording to fome, the virtuous temper of 
 mind does not confift in any one fpecies of 
 affections, but in the proper government 
 and direction of all our affections, which 
 may be either virtuous or vicious according 
 to the objects which they purfue, and the 
 degree of vehemence with which they pur- 
 fue them. According to thefe authors, there- 
 fore, virtue confilts in propriety. 
 
 According to others, virtue confifts in 
 the judicious purfuit of our own private 
 intereft and happinefs, or in the proper 
 government and direction of thofe felfifh 
 
 affections
 
 174 Of S y s t e m s Part VlL 
 
 affections which aim folely at this end. In 
 the opinion of thefe authors, therefore, 
 virtue confifts in prudence. 
 
 Another fet of authors make virtue con- 
 fid: in thofe affections only which aim at 
 the happinefs of others, not in thofe which 
 aim at our own. According to them, 
 therefore, difinterefted benevolence is the 
 only motive which can ftainp upon any 
 action the character of virtue. 
 
 The character of virtue, it is evident, 
 mult- either be afcribed indifferently to all 
 our .affections, when under proper govern- 
 ment and direction ; or it mutt be confined 
 to fome one clafs or divifion of them. The 
 great diviiion of our affections is into the 
 felfifh and. the benevolent. If the character 
 of virtue, therefore, cannot be afcribed in- 
 differently to ail our affections, when undei 
 proper government and direction, it muff 
 be confined cither to thofe which aim 
 directly at our own private happinefs, or to 
 thole which aim directly at that of others. 
 If virtue, therefore, does not confift in 
 propriety, it mutt confift either in prudence 
 or in benevolence. Befides thefe three, it 
 is fcarce poilible to imagine that any other 
 account can be given of the nature of virtue. 
 I lhall endeavour to fiiow hereafter how all 
 
 the
 
 Seel. II. of Moral Philosophy. 17$ 
 
 the other accounts, which are feemingly 
 different from any of thefe, coincide at 
 bottom with fome one or other of them. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 Of thofe Svftems 'which make Virtue conjijl in 
 
 Propriety* 
 
 ccoRDiNc- to Plato, to Ariftotle, and to 
 Zeno, virtue confiits in the propriety 
 of conduct, or in the fuitablenefs of the 
 affection from which we act to the object 
 which excites it. 
 
 I. In the fyftem of Pluto* the foul is 
 confidercd as fomething like a little fcate or 
 republic, compofed of three different facul- 
 ties or orders. 
 
 The firft is the judging faculty, the facul- 
 ty which determines not only what are the 
 proper means for attaining any end^ but 
 alfo what ends are fit to be purfued, and 
 what degree of relative value we ought to 
 put upon each. This faculty Plato called, 
 as it is very properly called, reafon, and 
 
 * Sec Plato de Rep. lib. iv. 
 
 confl-
 
 i?6 Cjf Systems Part Vffi 
 
 confidered it as what had a right to be the 
 governing principle of the whole. Under 
 this appellation, it is evident, he compre- 
 hended not only that faculty by which we 
 judge of truth and falfehood, but that by 
 which we judge of the propriety or impro- 
 priety of defires and affections. 
 
 The different paffions and appetites, the 
 natural fubjects of this ruling principle, but 
 which are fo apt to rebel againft their mas- 
 ter, he reduced to two different claffes or 
 orders. The firft confifted of thofe paffions, 
 which are founded in pride and refentment, 
 or in what the fchoolmen call the irafcible 
 part of the foul ; ambition, animoiity, the 
 love of honour and the dread of fhame, the 
 defire of victory, fuperiority, and revenge ; 
 all thofe paffions, in fhort, which are fup- 
 pofcd either to rife from, or to denote what, 
 by a metaphor in cur language, we com- 
 monly call fpirit or natural fire. The 
 fecond confifted of thofe paffions which are 
 founded in the love of pleafure, or in what 
 the fchoolmen call the concupifcible part 
 of the foul. It comprehended all the appe- 
 tites of the bodv, the love of cafe and fecu- 
 rity, and of all fenfual gratifications. 
 
 It rarely happens that we break in upon 
 
 that plan of conduct, which the governing 
 
 5 principle
 
 $ect. II. of Moral Philosophy. tjy 
 
 principle prcfcribes, and which in all our 
 cool hours we had laid clown to ourfelvcs as 
 what was moft proper for us to purfue, but 
 when prompted by one or other of thofe 
 two different fets of paflions ; either by un- 
 governable ambition and refentment, or by 
 the importunate folicitatidns of prefent eafe 
 and pleafure. But though thefe two orders 
 of pafhons are fo apt to miflead us, they are 
 ftill confidered as neceflary parts of human 
 nature : the firft having been given to de- 
 fend us againil injuries, to alien our rank 
 and dignity in the world, to make us aim 
 at what is noble and honourable, and to 
 make us diftinguifh thofe who act in the 
 fame manner ; the fecond, to provide for the 
 fupport and neceflities of the body. 
 
 In the ftrength, acutenefs, and perfection 
 of the governing principle was placed the 
 eflfential virtue of prudence, which, accord- 
 ing to Plato, confifted in a juft and clear dis- 
 cernment, founded upon general and Scien- 
 tific ideas, of the ends which were proper 
 to be purfued, and of the" means which 
 were proper for attaining them. 
 
 When the firft fet of pafhons, thofe of 
 the iraiciblc part of the foul, had that degree 
 of ftrength and firmnefs which enabled 
 them, under the direction of reafon, to de- 
 
 vol. II. N fpife
 
 178 Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 fpife all dangers in the purfuit of what was 
 honourable and noble ; it conftituted the 
 virtue of fortitude and magnanimity. This 
 order of paflions, according to this fyftem, 
 w r as of a more generous and noble nature 
 than the other. They were conhdered 
 upon many occafions as the auxiliaries of 
 reafon, to check and reltrain the inferior 
 and brutal appetites. We are often angry 
 at ourfelves, it was obferved, we often be- 
 come the objects of our own refentment 
 and indignation, when the love of pleafure 
 prompts to do what we difapprove of, and 
 the irafcibie part of our nature is in this 
 manner called in to affift the rational againft 
 the concupifcible. 
 
 When all thofe three different parts of 
 our nature were in perfect concord with 
 one another, when neither the irafcibie nor 
 concupifcible pafhons ever aimed at any 
 gratification which reafon did not approve 
 of, and when reafon never commanded 
 any thing, but what thefe of their own ac- 
 cord were willing to perform : this happy 
 compofure, this perfect: and complete har- 
 mony of foul, conftituted that virtue which 
 in their language is expreifed by a word 
 which we commonly tranflate temperance, 
 but which might more properly be tranflated 
 
 p/ood
 
 Sect. IL of Moral Philosophy. 179 
 
 good temper, or fobriety and moderation 
 of mind. 
 
 Juftice, the laft and greater!: of the four 
 cardinal virtues, took place according to 
 this fyftem, when each of thofe three facul- 
 ties of the mind confined itfelf to its proper 
 office, without attempting to encroach upon 
 that of any other ; when reafon directed 
 and paflion obeyed, and when each paflion 
 performed its proper duty, and exerted 
 itfelf towards its proper object eafily and 
 without reluctance, and with that degree 
 of force and energy, which was fuitable to 
 the value of what it purfucd. In this con- 
 fided that complete virtue, that perfect pro- 
 priety of conduct, which Plato, after fome 
 of the ancient Pythagoreans, denominated 
 Juftice. 
 
 The word, it is to be obferved, which ex- 
 preflcs juftice in the Greek language, has 
 icvcral different meanings ; and as the cor- 
 respondent word in all other languages, fo 
 far as I know, has the fame, there rauft be 
 iome natural affinity among thofe various 
 fignifications. In one ienfe we are faid to 
 do juftice to our neighbour when we abftain 
 from doing him any pofitive harm, and do 
 not directly hurt him, cither in his perfon, 
 or in his eftate, or in his reputation, This 
 N 2 is
 
 i Bo Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 is that juftice which I have treated of above, 
 the obfervance of which may be extorted by 
 force, and the violation of which expofes to 
 punifhment. In another fenfe we are faid 
 not to do juftice to our neighbour unlefs 
 we conceive for him all that love, refpect, 
 and efleem, which his character, his fi fix- 
 ation, and his connexion with ourfelves, 
 render fuitable and proper for us to feel, 
 and unlefs we act accordingly. It is in 
 this fenfe that we are faid to do injuftice to 
 a man of merit who is connected with us, 
 though we abftain from hurting him in 
 every refpect, if we do not exert ourfelves 
 to ferve him, and to place him in that fili- 
 ation in which the impartial fpectator would 
 be pleafed to fee him. The firft fenfe of 
 the word coincides with what Ariftotle and 
 the Schoolmen call commutative juftice, 
 and with what Grotius calls the juftit'm ex- 
 pletrix, which confifts in abftaining from 
 what is another's, and in doing voluntarily 
 whatever we can with propriety be forced 
 to do. The fecond fenfe of the word 
 coincides with what fome have called diftri- 
 butive juftice*, and with the juJUtia attrl- 
 
 ■ : 'J'!:: diftributive juftice of Ariftotle is fomewliat different. 
 It coi.fitts in the proper diftribution of rewards from the pub 
 lie Hock of a communitv. See Ariftotle Ethic. Nic. 1. v. c. z.
 
 Se&. II. of Mo HAL Philosophy. i?r 
 
 biitrlx of Grotius, which confifts in proper 
 beneficence, in the becoming ufe of what 
 is our own, and in the applying it to thole 
 purpofcs either of charity or generoiity, to 
 which it is mod fuitablc, in our fituation, 
 that it fhould be applied. In this fenfe juf- 
 tice comprehends all the focial virtues. 
 There is yet another fenfe in which the 
 word juftice is fometimes taken, ftiil more 
 extcnfive than either of the former, though 
 very much a-kin to the laft ; and which 
 runs too, fo far as I know, through all 
 languages. It is in this laft fenfe that we 
 are faid to be unjuft, when we do not feem 
 to value any particular object with that de- 
 gree of efteem, or to purfue it with that de- 
 gree of ardour which to the impartial fpec^ 
 tator it may appear to deferve or to be 
 naturally fitted for exciting. Thus we art- 
 faid to do injuftice to a poem or a picture, 
 when we do not admire them enough, and 
 we are laid to do them more than juftice 
 when we admire them too much. In the 
 fame manner we are faid to do injuftice to 
 ourielves when we appear not to give iuf- 
 ficient attention to any particular object of 
 felf-intereft. In this laft icnlc y what is call- 
 ed juftice means the fame thing- with exact 
 :ind perfect propriety of conduct and be- 
 N i haviour.
 
 i8a Of Systems Part VII, 
 
 haviour, and comprehends in it, not only 
 the offices of both commutative and diftri- 
 butive juftice, but of every other virtue, of 
 prudence, of fortitude, of temperance. It 
 is in this laft fenfe that Plato evidently un- 
 derftands what he calls juftice, and which, 
 therefore, according to him, comprehends 
 in it the perfection of every fort of vir- 
 tue. 
 
 Such is the account given by Plato of the 
 nature of virtue, or of that temper of 
 mind which is the proper object of praife 
 and approbation. It confifts, according to 
 him, in that (late of mind in which every 
 faculty confines itfelf within its proper 
 fphere without encroaching upon that of 
 any other, and performs its proper office 
 with that precife degree of ftrength and 
 vigour which belongs to it. His account, 
 it is evident, coincides in everv refpeel with 
 what we have faid above concerning the 
 propriety of conduct. 
 
 II. Virtue, according to Ariftotle *, con- 
 nits in the habit of mediocrity according to 
 right reafon. Every particular virtue, ac- 
 cording to him, lies in a kind of middle 
 between two oppofite vices, of which the 
 
 * See Ariflotle, Ethic. Nic. 1. ii. c. 5. et fcq. ct 1. iii. c. 5. 
 tt fe<j. 
 
 one
 
 Sec?:. II. cf Moral Philosophy. jn$ 
 
 one offends from being too much, the 
 other from being too little affected by a 
 particular fpecics of objects. Thus the 
 virtue of fortitude or courage lies in the 
 middle between the oppofite vices of cow- 
 ardice and of prcfumptuous rafhnefs, of 
 which the one offends from being too 
 much, and the other from being too little 
 affected by the objects of fear. Thus too 
 the virtue of frugality lies in a middle be- 
 tween avarice and profufion, of which the 
 one confifts in an excels, the other in a 
 defect of the proper attention to the objects 
 of felf-intereft. Magnanimity, in the fame 
 manner, lies in a middle between the excefs 
 of arrogance and the defect of pufillanimity, 
 of which the one confifts in too extrava- 
 gant, the o'\er in too weak a fentiment of 
 our own worth and dignity. It is unnecef- 
 fary to obferve that this account of virtue 
 correfponds too pretty exactly with what 
 has been faid above concerning the pro- 
 priety and impropriety of conduct. 
 
 According to Ariftotle *, indeed, virtue 
 did not {o much confirt in thofe moderate 
 and right affections, as in the habit of this 
 moderation. In order to underftand thi?, 
 
 '* See Ariftotle, Ethic. Nic. lib. i:'. ch. I, z, 3. and 4. 
 Y t I
 
 1 84. Of Systems Part VII, 
 
 it is to be obferved, that virtue may be con- 
 fidered either as the quality of an action, or 
 as the quality of a perfon. Confidered as 
 the quality of an action, it confifts, even 
 according to Ariflotle, in the reafonable 
 moderation of the affection from which the 
 action proceeds, whether this difpofitinn be 
 habitual to the perfon or not. Confidered 
 as the quality of a perfon, it confifts, in the 
 habit of this reifonable moderation, in its 
 having become the cuftomary and ufual dif- 
 pofitinn of the mind. Thus the action 
 which proceeds from an occafional fit of 
 generof.ty is undoubtedly a generous action, 
 but the man who performs it, is not necef- 
 farily a generous perfon, becaufe it may be 
 the fmgle action of the kind which he ever 
 performed. The motive and difpofition of 
 heart, from which this action was per- 
 formed, may have been quite juft and pro- 
 per ; but as this happy mood feems to have 
 been the effect rather of accidental humour 
 than of any thing fteacly or permanent in 
 the character, it can reflect no great honour 
 on the performer. When we denominate 
 a character generous or charitable, or vir- 
 tuous in any refpect, we mean to fignify 
 that the difpofition exprefTed by each of 
 thofe appellations is the ufual and cuftom- 
 ary
 
 Seel. II. of Moral Philosophy. 185 
 
 ary diipofition of the perfon. But fingle 
 actions of any kind, how proper and fuit- 
 able foever, are of little confequence to 
 Ihow that this is the cafe. If a Tingle action 
 was fufficient to flamp the character of any 
 virtue upon the perfon who performed it, 
 the moft worthlefs of mankind might lay 
 claim to all the virtues ; fince there is no 
 man who has not, upon fome occafions, 
 acted with prudence, juftice, temperance, 
 and fortitude. But though fingle actions, 
 how laudable foever, reflect very little 
 praife upon the perf m who performs them, 
 a fingle vicious action performed by one 
 whofe conduct is ufually very regular, 
 greatly diminifhes and fometimes deflroys 
 altogether our opinion of his virtue. A 
 fingle action cf this kind fufficiently mows 
 that his habits are not perfect, and that he 
 is lefs to be depended upon, than, from the 
 ufual train of his behaviour, we might have 
 ben apt to imagine. 
 
 Ariftotle too *, when he made virtue to 
 confid in practical habits, had it probably 
 in his view to oppofe the doctrine of Plato, 
 who feems to have been of opinion that 
 in ft fentiments and reafonable judgments 
 
 * Sc; Ariftotle, Mag. Mor. lib. i. ch. i- 
 
 concern-
 
 i $6 Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 concerning what was fit to be done or to be 
 avoided, were alone fufEcient to conftitute 
 the mod perfect virtue. Virtue, according 
 to Plato, might be confidered as a fpecies 
 of fcience, and no man, he thought, could 
 fee clearly and demonftratively what was 
 right and what was wrong, and not act ac- 
 cordingly. Paflion might make us act con- 
 trary to doubtful and uncertain opinions, 
 not to plain and evident judgments. Ari- 
 itotle, on the contrary, was of opinion, that 
 no conviction of the understanding was 
 capable .of getting the better of inveterate 
 habits, and that good morals arofe not from 
 knowledge but from action. 
 
 III. According to Zeno *, the founder of 
 the Stoical doctrine, every animal was by na- 
 ture recommended to its own care, and was 
 endowed with the principle of felf-love, that 
 it might endeavour to prcferve, not only its 
 exigence, but all the different parts of its na- 
 ture, in the bed and mofl perfect ftate of 
 which they were capable. 
 
 The felf-love of man embraced, if I may 
 fay fo, his body and all its different mem- 
 bers, his mind and all its different faculties 
 
 * Sec Cicero de finibus, lib. iii. ; alfo D-'ogcncs Laertius in 
 Zenoiu, lib. vii. fegment 84. 
 
 and
 
 Sea. II. of Moral Philosophy. 1S7 
 
 and powers, and defired the prefervation 
 and maintenance of them all in their bed 
 and mod perfect condition. Whatever 
 tended to fupport this ftate of exiftence was, 
 therefore, by nature pointed out to him as 
 fit to be chofen; and whatever tended to 
 deftroy it, as fit to be rejeded. Thus 
 health, ftrength, agility and eafe of body 
 as well as the external conveniences which 
 could promote thefe ; wealth, power, ho- 
 nours, the refped and efteem of thofe we 
 live with j were naturally pointed out to 
 us as things eligible, and of which the pof- 
 feffion was preferable to the want. On the 
 other hand, ficknefs, infirmity, unwieldinefs, 
 pain of body as well as all the external in- 
 conveniences which tend to cccafion or 
 bring on any of them ; poverty, the want oi 
 authority, the contempt or hatred of thofe 
 we live with ; were in the fame manner, 
 pointed out to us as things to be fhunned 
 and avoided. In each of thofe two oppofite 
 claffes of objects, there were fome which 
 appeared to be more the objeds either of 
 choice or rejedion, than others in the fame 
 clafs. Thus, in the firft clafs, health ap- 
 peared evidently preferable to ftrength, and 
 ftrength to agility; reputation to power, 
 and
 
 iS8 Of Systems Tart VII. 
 
 and power to riches. And thus too, in the 
 fecond clals, ficknefs was more to be avoided 
 than unwieldinefs of body, ignominy than 
 poverty, and poverty than the lofs of power. 
 Virtue and the propriety of conduct con- 
 fided in choofing and rejecting all different 
 objects and circumltances according as they 
 were by nature rendered more or lefs the 
 objects of choice or rejection ; in felecting 
 always from among the feveral objects of 
 choice prefented to us, that which was moil: 
 to be chofen, when we could not obtain 
 them all ; and in felecting too, out of the 
 feveral objects of rejection offered to us, 
 that which was leaft to be avoided, when 
 it was not in our power to avoid them all. 
 By choofing and rejecting with this juft 
 and accurate difcernment, by thus beftow- 
 Ing upon every object the precife degree of 
 attention it deferved, according to the place 
 which it held in this natural fcale of things, 
 we maintained, according to the Stoics, that 
 perfect rectitude of conduct which cenfti- 
 tuted the effence of virtue. This was what 
 they called to live confidently, to live ac- 
 cording to nature, and to obey thofe laws 
 and directions which nature, or the Author 
 cf nature, had prescribed for our conduct. 
 
 it So
 
 Seel. II. cf Moral Philosophy. 1S9 
 
 So far the Stoical Idea of propriety and 
 virtue is not very different from that of 
 Ariftotlc and the ancient Peripatetics. 
 
 Among thofe primary objects which na- 
 ture had recommended to us as eligible, 
 was the proiperity of our family, of our re- 
 lations, of our friends, of our country, of 
 mankind, and of the univerfe in general. 
 Nature, too, had taught us, that as the pro- 
 iperity of two was preferable to that of one, 
 that of many, or of all, muft be infinitely 
 more fo. That we ourfelves were but one, 
 and that confequently wherever our profpe- 
 rity was inconfiftent with that, either of the 
 whole, or of any confiderable part cf the 
 whole, it ought, even in our own choice, to 
 yield to what was fo vaftly preferable. As 
 all the events in this world were conducted 
 by the providence of a wife, powerful, and 
 good God, we might be allured that what- 
 ever happened tended to the profperity and 
 perfection of the whole. If we ourfelves, 
 therefore, were in poverty, in ficknefs, or 
 in any other calamity, we ought, firft of all, 
 to ufe our utmoft endeavours, fo far a: 
 juftice and our duty to others would al- 
 low, to refcue ourfelves from this difa- 
 oreeable circumftance. But if after ali wc 
 could do, we found this impomble, we ought 
 
 ro
 
 ujo Of Systems PmXlL 
 
 to reft fatisfied that the order and perfection 
 of the univerfe required that we mould in the 
 mean time continue in this fituation. And 
 as the profperity of the whole mould, even 
 to us, appear preferable to fo infignificant 
 a part as ourfelves, our fituation, whatever 
 it was, ought from that moment to become 
 the object of our liking, if we would main- 
 tain that complete propriety and rectitude 
 of fentiment and conduct in which confuted 
 the perfection of our nature. If, indeed* 
 any opportunity of extricating ourfelves 
 fhould offer, it became our duty to embrace 
 it. The order of the univerfe, it was evi- 
 dent, no longer required our continuance 
 in this fituation, and the great Director of 
 the world plainly called upon us to leave it, 
 by fo clearly pointing out the road which 
 we were to follow. It was the fame cafe 
 with the adverfity of our relations, our 
 friends, our country. If, without violating 
 any more facred obligation, it was in our 
 power to prevent or put an end to their ca- 
 lamity, it undoubtedly was our duty to do 
 fo. The propriety of action, the rule 
 which Jupiter bed given us for the direc- 
 lion of our conduct, evidently required 
 this of lib. But if it was altogether out of 
 our power to do cither, we ought then to 
 
 confi-
 
 Seel. II. of Moral Philosophy. 19? 
 
 confider this event as the mod fortunate 
 which could poflibly have happened; be- 
 cauie we mU r ht be allured that it tended 
 moil to the profperity and order of the 
 whole, which was what we ourfelves, if we 
 were wife and equitable, ought mo ft of all 
 to defire. It was our own final intereft 
 confidered as a part of that whole, of which 
 the profperity ought to be, not only the 
 principal, but the fole object of our de- 
 fire. 
 
 " In what fenfe," fays Epictetus, " are 
 " iome things faid to be according to our 
 " nature, and others contrary to it ? It is 
 " in that fenfe in which we confider our- 
 " felves as feparated and detached from all 
 " other things. For thus it may be faid 
 " to be according to the nature of the foot 
 to be always clean. But if you confider 
 it as a foot, and not as fomething de- 
 tached from the reft of the body, it mud 
 behove it fometimes to trample in the 
 dirt, and fometimes to tread upon thorns, 
 " and fometimes, too, to be cut off for 
 " the fake of the whole body • and if it re- 
 " fufes this, it is no longer a foot. Thus 
 " too, ought we to conceive with regard 
 *' to ourfelves. "What are you ? A man. 
 " If you confider vourfelf as fomething 
 
 " fepa"
 
 %$2 Of S y s t e m s Part VI?. 
 
 " feparated and detached, it is agreeable to 
 " your nature to live to old age, to be rich, 
 " to be in health. But if you confider your- 
 " felf as a man, and as a part of a whole, 
 " upon account of that whole, it will behove 
 " you fometimes to be in ficknefs, fometimes 
 " to be expofed to the inconveniency of a 
 " fea voyage, fometimes to be in want ; and 
 " at laft, perhaps, to die before your time. 
 " Why then do you complain ? Do not 
 €C you know that by doing fo, as the foot 
 " ceafes to be a foot, fo you ceafe to be a 
 s * man I 
 
 A wife man never complains of the def- 
 tiny of Providence, nor thinks the univerfc 
 in confufion when he is out of order. He 
 does rot look upon himfelf as a whole, 
 feparated and detached from every other 
 part of nature, to be taken care of by itfelf 
 and for itfelf. He regards himfelf in the 
 light in which he imagines the great genius 
 of human nature, and of the world, regards 
 him. He enters, if I may fay fo., into the 
 fentlments of that divine Being, and confl- 
 ders himfelf as an atom, a particle, of an 
 immenfe and infinite fyftem, which muft 
 and ought to bedifpofcd of, according to the 
 convcniency of the whole. AfTured of the 
 xvifdom which directs all the events of hu- 
 man
 
 Sect. II. of Moral Philosophy. t^ 
 
 man life, whatever lot bcfals him, he ac- 
 cepts it with joy, finished that, if he had 
 known all the connexions and dependen- 
 cies of tlie difFcient parts of the univerfe, 
 it i< the very lot which he himfelf would 
 have wifhed for. If it is life, he is con- 
 tented to live; and if it is death, as nature 
 muft have no further occafion for his pre- 
 tence here, he willingly goes where he is 
 appointed. I accept, laid " a cynical philo- 
 sopher, whole doctrines were in this refpect 
 thd llllIle ™ thofe of the Stoics, I accept 
 with equal joy ana fat : sfarlkm, whatever 
 fortune can befal me! Riches or poverty, 
 pleafure or pain, health or ficknefs, all is 
 aIikc -* nor would J defire that the Gods 
 Should in any refpect change my deftination. 
 K I was to afk of them any thing beyond 
 what their bounty has already bellowed 
 it mould be that they would inform me 
 before- hand what it was their pleafure 
 ihould be done with me, that I might of my 
 own accord place myfelf in this fituation 
 and demonftrate the clieerfulnefs with which' 
 1 embraced their allotment. If I am po ; np . 
 to fail, fays Kpidctus, I choofe the belt fhip 
 and the belt pilot, and I wait for the fair-. 
 ell weal ~er that my circum dances and duty 
 will alfo., Prudence and propriety, the 
 V0L - lr ' o princ ;.
 
 io4 Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 principles which the Gods have given mc 
 for the direction of my conduct, require this 
 of me ; but they require no more : and if, 
 notwithstanding, a fiorm ariies, which nei- 
 ther the (trength of the veiled nor the fkill 
 of the pilot are likely to withftand, I give 
 myielf no trouble about the confequence. 
 All that I had to do is done already. The 
 directors of my conduct never command me 
 to be miferable, to be anxious, defponding, 
 or afraid. Whether we are to be drowned, 
 or to come to a harbour, is the bufmefs of 
 Jupiter, not mine. I leave it entirely to 
 his determination, nor ever break my reft 
 with considering which way he is likely to 
 decide it, but receive whatever comes with 
 equal indiftereiice and fecurity. 
 
 From this perfect confidence in that be- 
 nevolent wifdom which governs the uni- 
 verfe, avid from this entire refignation to 
 whatever order that wiidom might think 
 proper to eftablifh, it necefTarily followed, 
 that, to the Stoical wife man, all the events 
 of human life mi; ft be in a great meafure 
 indifferent. His happinefs confided altoge- 
 
 :r, firft, in the contemplation of the hap- 
 pinefs and perfection of the great fyllem of 
 the univerfe, of the good government of tlie 
 great republic of Gods and men., of all ra- 
 tional
 
 Sect. II. of Moral .Philosophy. 195 
 
 tional and fenfible beings ; and, fecondly, 
 in difcharging his duty, in acting properly 
 in the affairs of this great republic whatever 
 little part that wifdom had afligned to him. 
 The propriety or impropriety of his endea- 
 vours might be of great confequence to him. 
 Their fuccefs or difappointment could be of 
 none at all ; could excite no parlionate joy 
 or forrow, no paifionate defire or averiion. 
 If lie preferred ibme events to other?, if fome 
 lituations were the objects ci his choice and 
 others of his rejection, it was net becaufe he 
 regarded the one as in themfelves in any 
 refpect better than the other, or thought 
 that his own happinefs would be more 
 complete in what is called the fortunate 
 than in what is regarded as the diftrefsful 
 fituation ; but becaufe the propriety of 
 action, the rule which the Gods had given 
 him tor the direction of his conduct, 
 required him to choofe and reject in this 
 manner. All his affections were abforbed 
 and fwallowed up in two great affections ; 
 in that for the diicharge of his own duty, 
 and in that ior the greater! poiilble hap- 
 pinefs of ail rational and fenfible beings. 
 For the Gratification of this latter affection, 
 he relied with the moll perfect fecurity 
 upon the wifdom and power or the great 
 o 2 Super-
 
 196 Of S y s t e m s Par t VIL 
 
 Superlntendant of the univerfe. His fole 
 anxiety was about the gratification of the 
 former ; not about the event, but about the 
 propriety of his own endeavours. What- 
 ever the event might be, he trufted to 
 a fuperior power and wifdom for turn- 
 ing it to promote that great end which 
 he himfelf was moft deilrous of promot- 
 
 ing 
 
 This propriety of choofing and rejecting, 
 though originally pointed out to us, and as 
 it Vvere K:ommended and introduced to 
 our acquaintance by the things, and for 
 the fake of the things ehofen and rejected ; 
 yet when we had once become thoroughly 
 acquainted with it, the order, the grace, 
 the beauty" which we difcerned in this con- 
 duct, the happinefs which we felt refulted 
 from it, ncceuarily appeared to us of much 
 greater value than the ac\ual obtaining of 
 ail the different objects of choice, or the 
 actual avoiding of all thefe of rejection. 
 From the obfervation of this propriety arofe 
 the haj and the glory; from the 
 
 ru - leer, of it, the mifcry and the dii;;race of 
 human nature. 
 
 But ro a wife man, to one whofc paflions 
 were brought under perie-ft iubjeciion to 
 the ruling principles of his nature, the ex- 
 act
 
 Seel. II. of Moral Philosophv. 107 
 
 ad obfervation of this propriety was equally 
 eafy upon all occafions. Was he in pro- 
 fpcrlty, he returned thanks to Jupiter 
 for having joined him with circum'tances 
 which were ealily mattered, and in which 
 there was little temptation to do wron"-. 
 Was he in adverfity, he equally returned 
 thanks to the director of this frectaele of 
 human life, for having oppefed to him a 
 vigorous athlete, over whom, though the 
 conteft was likely to he more violent, the 
 victory was more glorious, and equally cer- 
 tain. Can there he any fhame in that dif- 
 trefs which is brought upon us without any 
 fault of our own, and in which we behave 
 w * c " perfect: propriety ? There can, there- 
 fore, be no evil, but, on the contrary the 
 greated good and advantage. A brave man 
 exalts in thole dangers in which, from 
 
 no raflmefs of his own, his io .me has 
 
 involved him. They r.uord an opportunity 
 of excrcifmg that heroic intrepidity, whofe 
 exeition gives the exalted delight which 
 Hows from tlie confJoufuefs of fuperior 
 propriety and defcrved admiration. Oue 
 who is mater of ah h'.s cxercifes has no 
 averfion to rmafurc his flrength and activity 
 with the ftrongct. And, in the fame man- 
 ner, one who is mailer of all his pafuons, 
 o 3 docs
 
 1 98 Of S y st £ m s Part VII. 
 
 does not dread any circumftance in which 
 the Superintendant of the univerfe may 
 think proper to place him. The bounty 
 of that divine Being has provided him with 
 virtues which render him fuperior to every 
 fituation. If it is plcafure, he has temper- 
 ance to refrain from it ; if it is pain, he has 
 conftancy to bear it ; if it is danger or 
 death, he has magnanimity and fortitude to 
 defpife it. The events of human life can 
 never find him unprepared, or at a lofs how 
 to maintain that propriety of fentiment and 
 conduct which, in his own apprehenilon, 
 conftitutes at once his glory and his hap- 
 pinefs. 
 
 Human life the Stoics appear to have 
 confidered as a game of great (kill ; in 
 which, however, there was a mixture of 
 chance, or of what is vulgarly underitood 
 to be chance. In fuch raincs the ftake is 
 commonly a trifle, and the whole pleafure 
 of the game arifes from playing well, from 
 playing fairly, and playing Ikilfully. If 
 notwithstanding all his fkill, however, the 
 good player mould, by the influence of 
 chance, happen to lofe, the lofs ought to 
 be a matter, rather of merriment, than of 
 ferious forrcw. lie has made no falfe 
 ftroke j he has done nothing which he 
 
 oujrht
 
 Seel. II. of Moral Philosophy. 
 
 ought to be afhamed of; he has enjoyed 
 completely the whole pleafure of the ye 
 If, 011 the contrary, the had player, 1 
 withftanding all his blunders, fnould, in 
 the fame manner, happen to win, his fuc- 
 cefs can give him but little fatisfacViom He 
 is mortified by the remembrance of all the 
 faults which he commit-:!, Even during 
 
 o 
 
 the play he can enjoy no part of the pleafure 
 which it is capable of afTordine;. From 
 ignorance of the rules of the game, fear 
 and doubt and hefitation are the difagree- 
 able fentiments that precede aimoft every 
 firoke which he plays ; and when he has 
 played it, the mortification cf finding it a 
 grofs blunder, commonly completes the 
 unpleafing circle of his ienfations. Human 
 life, with all the advantages which 
 poffibly attend it, ought, according to the 
 Stoics, to be regarded but as a mere two- 
 penny hake ; a matter by far too inii mi- 
 iicant to merit any anxious conccr j. Oar 
 only anxious concc r;t lO ;X , : 
 
 ttie uaivC, niu «ioo . ■. . .» •. . 
 
 playing. If we y \. J ■.. - 
 winning the fhJe , T - 
 depended upon - . • yond ... 
 and out of our 1. • nee.:; 
 
 cxpofed ourfelves to ;. ici-s a" 
 
 u ±
 
 2co Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 uneafinefs, and frequently to grievous and 
 mortifying difappolntments. If we placed 
 it in playing well, in playing fairly, in play- 
 ing wifely and fkilfully ; in the propriety 
 of our own conduct in fhort ; we placed it 
 in what, by proper difcipline, education, 
 and attention, might be altogether in our 
 own power, and under our own direction. 
 Our happinefs was perfectly fecure, and 
 beyond the reach of fortune. The event of 
 our actions, if it was out of our power, 
 was equally out of our concern, and wc 
 could never feel either fear or anxiety about 
 it ; nor ever naffer any grievous, or even 
 any ferious difappointment. 
 
 Human life itfelf, as well as every dif- 
 ferent advantage or difadvanta<re which can 
 attend it, mi^lit. they laid, according: to 
 different circumftances, be the proper ob- 
 ject either of our choice or of our rejection. 
 If, in our actual fituation, there were more 
 circumitances agreeable to nature than con- 
 trary to it ; more circumflances which 
 were the objects of choice than of rejection ; 
 hie, in this cafe, was, upon the whole, the 
 
 oper object of choice, and the propriety 
 of conduct required that we mould remain 
 in it. . ■ . the other hand, there were, in 
 our actual fituation, without any probable 
 
 hope
 
 Sect. II. of Moral Philosophy. 20 r 
 
 hope of amendment, more circumftanccs 
 contrary to nature than agreeable to it ; 
 more circum (lances which were the objects 
 of rejection than of choice ; life itfelf, in this 
 cafe, became, to a wife man, the object of 
 rejection, and lie was not only at liberty 
 to remove out of it, but the propriety of 
 conduct, the rule which the Gods had given 
 him for the direction of Ids conduct, re- 
 quired him to do fo. I am ordered, fays 
 Epictetus, not to dwell at Nicopolis. I do 
 not dwell there. I am ordered not to dwell 
 at Athens. I do not dwell at Athens. I 
 am ordered not to dwell in Pvome. I do 
 not owed in Rome. I am ordered to 
 
 rocky if] and of 
 there. But the 
 
 dwell in the little an 
 Gyarae. I go and dv 
 ho ufe f mokes in Oyiine. If the fmoke is 
 moderate I will hear it, and flay there. If 
 it is excefhve, I will go to a houfe from 
 whence no tyrant can remove ma. I keen 
 in mind always that the door is cpen, that 
 I can walk out when 1 pleaic, and retire to 
 that hofpitablc houfe which is at all times 
 open to all the world ; for beyond my 
 undermoil garment, beyond my body, no 
 man living has anv power over me. If 
 your lunation is upon the whole difaejree- 
 able j if your houfe fmokes too much ior 
 
 you.
 
 c2 Of System s Part VII, 
 
 you, laid the Stoics, walk forth by all 
 means. But walk forth without repining; 
 without murmuring or complaining. Walk 
 forth calm, contented, rejoicing, returning 
 thanks to the Gods, who, from their in- 
 finite bounty, have opened the fafe and 
 quiet harbour of death, at all times ready 
 to receive us from the itormy ocean of hu- 
 man life ; who have prepared this facred, 
 this inviolable, this great afylum, always 
 open, always acceffible ; altogether beyond 
 the resell of human rage and injuftice ; and 
 large enough to contain both all thofe who 
 wifh, and all thofe who do not wifli to 
 retire to it : an aiyium which takes away 
 from every man qycvj pretence of com- 
 plaining, or even of fancying that there can 
 be any evil in human life, except fiich as 
 he may fuller from his own folly and 
 weakneis. 
 
 The Stole?, in the few fragments of 
 their philcfophy which have come clown to 
 us, fometi nes talk oi leaving life with a 
 gaiety, and even with a levity, which, 
 were we to confider thofe paiiages by 
 themfclvcs, iniirht induce us to believe that 
 they Imagined we could with propriety leave 
 it whenever we had a mind, wantonly and 
 capricioufv, upon the. hirhtefl chhruft or 
 
 i.-cau-
 
 Sea. II. of Moral Philosophy. 203 
 
 uncafinefs. " When you fup with fuch a 
 « perfon," fays Epidctus, " you complain 
 « of the long ftories which he tells you 
 « about his Myfian wars. « Now my 
 « friend, lays he, having told you how I 
 « took poffeflion of an eminence at fuch a 
 « place, I will tell you how I was belieged 
 « in fuch another place.' But if you have 
 « a mind not to be troubled with his long 
 « (lories, do not accept of his fupper. If 
 " you accept of his fupper, you have not 
 " the leaft pretence to complain of his long 
 « ftories. It is the fame cafe with what 
 « you call the evils of human life.^ Never 
 " complain of that of which it is at all 
 « times in your power to rid yourfelf." 
 Notwithftanding this gaiety and even levity 
 of expreiiion, however, the alternative of 
 leaving life, or of remaining in it, was, ac- 
 cording to the Stoics, a matter of the molt 
 fcrious and important deliberation. We 
 ourlit never to leave it till we were diftincdy 
 called upon to do fo by that fupermtend- 
 ing Power which had originally pla.-cd us 
 in' it. But we were to confulcr ourielves 
 as called upon to do fo, not merely at the 
 appointed and unavoidable term o! human 
 life. Whenever the providence of that 
 
 r • r n,,, rP i- li°d rendered our 
 
 fupenntendmg lewei iuu i^-^ 
 
 concii-
 
 20..1 Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 condition in life upon the whole the proper 
 object rather of rejection than of choice ; 
 the great rule which he had given us for 
 the direction of our conduct, then required 
 us to leave it. \7e might then be faid to 
 hear the awful and benevolent voice of that 
 divine Being diilinclly calling upon us to do 
 to. 
 
 It was upon this account that, according 
 to the Stoics, it might be the duty of a wife 
 man to remove out of life though he was 
 perfectly happy ; while, on the contrary, it 
 might be the duty of a weak man to remain 
 in it ; though he was neceflarily miferable. 
 If, in the fituation of the wife man, there 
 were more circumftances which were the na- 
 tural objects of rejection than of choice, the 
 wh >Ie fituation became the object of rejec- 
 tion, and the rule which the Gods had given 
 him for the direction of his conduct, re- 
 quire:! that he mould remove out of it as 
 fpecdily as particular circumftances might 
 render convenient. I 'e was, however, per- 
 ■ haimy even durincr the time that he 
 • thin!: proper to remain in it. lac had 
 jd his happinefs, not in obtaining the 
 ol of his choice, or in avoiding thole 
 
 of it- ;• . lion: hut in always cheating and 
 - : . big villi exact propriety; not in the 
 
 fucceis.
 
 Sect. II. of Moral Philosophy. no - 
 
 fuccefs, but in the fitnefs of his endeavours 
 and exertions. If in the fr uaiion of the 
 weak man, on the contrary, there were 
 more circumdanccs which were the natural 
 objects of choice than of rejection ; his whole 
 iituation became the proper object of choice, 
 and it was his duty to remain in it. He was 
 unhappy, however, from not knowing how 
 to ufe thofe circum (lances. Let his curds be 
 ever fo good, lie did not know how to play 
 them, and could enjoy no fort of real fatisfac- 
 tion, either in the progrefs, or in the event 
 of the game, in whatever manner it mierht 
 happen to turn out *. 
 
 The propriety, upon fome occafions, of 
 voluntary death, though it was, perhaps, 
 more infilled upon by the Stoics, than by 
 any other feet of ancient philofophers, was, 
 however, a doctrine common to them all, 
 even to the peaceable and indolent Epicu- 
 reans. During the age in winch fiourifhed 
 the founders of all the principal fjdts of an- 
 cient philoibphy ; during the Feloponnefian 
 war, and for many years after its conclufion, 
 all the different republics of Greece were, at 
 home, aim oft always difcracted bv the moll 
 furious factions ; and abroad., involved in the 
 
 * See Cicero de fiuibuSj lib. 3. c. 13. Olivet's cdi'J.on. 
 
 mod
 
 206 Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 moft fanguinary wars, in which each fought, 
 not merely fuperiority or dominion, but 
 either completely to extirpate all its enemies, 
 or, what was not lei's cruel, to reduce them 
 to the vileft of all ftates, that of domeftic 
 flavery, and to fell them, man, woman, 
 and child, like fo many herds of cattle, to 
 the higheft bidder in the market. The 
 fmallnefs of the greater part of thofe ftates, 
 too, rendered it, to each of them, no very 
 improbable event, that it might itfelf fall 
 into that very calamity which it had fo fre- 
 quently, either, perhaps, actually inflicted, or 
 at lead attempted to inflict upon fome of its 
 neighbours. In this diforderly ftate of 
 things, the moft perfect innocence, joined to 
 both the hiidieft rank and the greateft public 
 fervices, could give no fecurity to any man 
 that, even at home and amonrr his own rela- 
 tions and fellow-citizens, he was not, at feme 
 time or another, from the prevalence of fome 
 hoftile and furious faction, to be condemned 
 to the moft cruel and ignominious punish- 
 ment. If he was taken priioner in war, or 
 if the city of which he was a member was 
 conquered, he was expofed, if polJible, to 
 ftill greater injuries and iniults. Eut every 
 man naturally, or rather ncceflarily, famili- 
 arizes his imagination with the diftrefies to 
 
 which
 
 Seft. II. of Moral Philosophy. 207 
 
 which he forefees that his fituation may fre- 
 quently expofe him. It is impoffible that a 
 failor fiiould not frequently think of norms 
 and fhipwrecks, and foundering at fea, and 
 of how he himfelf is likely both to feel and to 
 act upon fuch occafions. It was impoiTible, 
 in the fame manner, that a Grecian patriot or 
 hero mould not familiarize his imagination 
 with all the different calamities to which he 
 was fenfible his fituation muft frequently, or 
 rather conftantly expofe him. As an Ame- 
 rican favage prepares his death-long, and 
 confiders how he mould act when he has 
 fallen into the hands of his enemies, and is 
 by them put to death in the mod lingering 
 tortures, and amidft the infults and derifion 
 of all the fpe&ators ; fo a Grecian patriot or 
 hero could not avoid frequently employing 
 his thoughts in confidering what he ought 
 both to fuffer and to do in baniihment, in 
 captivity, when reduced to flavery, when 
 put to the torture, when brought to the fcaf- 
 fold. But the philofophers of all the different 
 feds very juftly reprefented virtue ; that is, 
 wife, juft, firm, and temperate conduit; not 
 only as the moft probable, but as the certain. 
 and infallible road to happinefs even in this 
 life. This conduct, however, could not al- 
 ways exempt, and might even fometimes ex- 
 
 po;
 
 2o3 Of Systems Part VIT. 
 
 pofe the perfon who followed it to all the 
 calamities which were incident to that unfet- 
 tled iituation of public affairs. They endea- 
 voured, therefore, to {how that happinefs 
 was either altogether, or at lead in a great 
 meafure, independent oi fortune ; the Stoics, 
 that it was fo altogether ; the Academic and 
 Peripatetic philofophers, that it was fo in a 
 great meafure. Wife, prudent, and good 
 conduct was, in the firft -place, the conduct 
 mo ft likely to eniure fuccefs in every fpecies 
 of undertaking; and fecondly, though it 
 fhould fail of fuccefs, \et the mind was not 
 left without confolation. The virtuous man 
 might ftill enjoy the complete approbation 
 of his own bread ; and might ftill feel that, 
 how untoward foever things rnhrht be with- 
 out, all was calm, and peace, and concord 
 within. He might generally co; . : him- 
 felf, too, with the alTurance thee he penciled 
 the love and efteem of every inlellk-;em: and 
 impartial ipectator, who could nor fail both 
 to admire his conduct, and tc regret his mif- 
 fortune. 
 
 Thofe philofophers endeavoured, at the 
 fame time, to fhow, that the grcaieft misfor- 
 tunes to which human life wa:- liable, might 
 be fupported more caiily tli/.n was com- 
 monly imagined. They endeavoured to 
 3 point
 
 Seft. II. of Moral Philosophy. 209 
 
 point out the comforts which a man might 
 frill enjoy when reduced to poverty, when 
 driven into banifhment, when expofed to 
 the injultice of popular clamour, wnen la- 
 bouring under blindnefs, under deafneis, in 
 the extremity of old age, upon the approach 
 of death. They pointed out, too, the con- 
 fid erations which might contribute to fup- 
 port his conftancy under the agonies of pain 
 and even of torture, in ficknefs, in forrow 
 for the lofs of children, for the death of 
 friends and relations, &c. The few frag- 
 ments which have come down to us of what 
 the ancient philofophers had written upon 
 thefe fubjedts, form, perhaps, one of the 
 mod inftrudive, as well as one of the moil 
 interefting remains of antiquity. The fpirit 
 and manhood of their dodrines make a 
 wonderful contrail with the defponding, 
 plaintive, and whining tone of feme modern 
 
 fy {terns. 
 
 ' But while thofe ancient philofophers en- 
 deavoured in this manner to fucrgeft every 
 confideration which could, as Milton fays, 
 arm the obdurate breaft with ftubborn pa- 
 tience, as with triple ttcel ; they, at the fame 
 time, laboured above all to convince their 
 followers that there neither was nor could he 
 any evil in death; and that, if their fituation 
 vol. 11. P became
 
 210 Of S y st e m s Part VIL 
 
 became at any time too hard for their con- 
 itaiicy to fupport, the remedy was at hand, 
 the door was open, and they might, without 
 fear, walk out when they pleafed. If there 
 was no world he) ond the prefent, death, 
 they laid, could he no evil ; and if there was 
 another world, the Gods mud likewife be in, 
 that ether, and a juft man could fear no evil 
 while under their protection. Thofe philo- 
 fophers in fhort, prepared a death-fong, if I 
 may fay fo, which the Grecian patriots and 
 heroes might make ufe of upon the proper 
 occafions ; and, of all the different feels, the 
 Stoics, I think it muft be acknowledged, had 
 prepared by far the mo ft animated and fpi- 
 ritcd fong. 
 
 Suicide, however, never feems to have 
 been very common among the Greeks. 
 Excepting Cleomenes, I cannot at prefent re- 
 coiiect any very iiluftrious, either patriot or 
 hero of Greece, who died by his own hand. 
 The death of Ariftomenes is as much beyond 
 the period of true hiftory as that of Ajax. 
 The common fiery of the death of Themi- 
 floclcs, though within that period, bears 
 upon its face all the marks of a mod roman- 
 ti: fable. Of all the Greek heroes whofe 
 lives have been written by Plutarch, Cleo- 
 mencs appears to have been the only one 
 
 who
 
 Seel. II. of Moral Philosophy. 211 
 
 who perifhed in this manner. Theramines, 
 Socrates, and Phocion, who certainly did 
 not want courage, fuffered themfelves to^be 
 lent to prifon, and fubmitted patiently to that 
 death to which the injuftiee of their fellow- 
 citizens had condemned them. The brave 
 Eumenes allowed himfelf to be delivered up, 
 by his own mutinous foldiers, to his enemy 
 Antigonus, and was flarved to death, without 
 attempting any violence. The gallant Phi- 
 lopcemen fuffered himfelf to be taken prifoner 
 by the Meffenians, was thrown into a dun- 
 o-eon, and was fuppofed to have been pri- 
 vately poifoned. Several of the philofophers, 
 indeed, are faid to have died in this manner; 
 but their lives have been fo very foolifhly 
 written, that very little credit is due to the 
 greater part of the tales which are told 01 
 them. Three different accounts have been 
 given of the death of Zeno the Stoic. One 
 is, that after enjoying, for ninety-eight years, 
 the mod perfect ftate of health, he happened, 
 in < T oing out of his fchool, to fall ; and 
 though he fuffered no other damage than that 
 of breaking or diflocating one of his lingers, 
 he {truck the ground with his hand, and in 
 the words of the Niobe of Euripides, laid, / 
 come, why doe]} thou call me? and immedi- 
 ately went heme and hanged himiclr. At 
 
 P 2 that
 
 212 Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 that great age, one fhould think, he might 
 have had a little more patience. Another 
 account is, that, at the fame age, and in 
 confeqncnce of a like accident, he ftarved 
 himfelf to death. The third account is, 
 that, at feventy-two years of age, he died in 
 the natural way ; by far the moft probable 
 account of the three, and fupported too by 
 the authority of a cotemporary, who mud 
 have had every opportunity of being well in- 
 formed ; of Perfaeus, originally the Have,, 
 and afterwards the friend and difciple of 
 Zeno. The firft account is given by Apollo- 
 nius of Tyre, who nourifhed about the time 
 of Auguftus Crefar, between two and three 
 hundred years after the death of Zeno. I 
 know not who is the author of the fecond 
 account. Apollonius, who was himfelf a 
 Stoic, had probably thought it would do 
 honour to the founder of a feci: which 
 talked fo much about voluntary death, to die 
 in this manner by his own hand. Men of 
 letters, though, after their death, they are 
 frequently more talked of than the greateft 
 princes or ftatefmen of their times, are gene- 
 rally, during their life, lb obfeure and infig- 
 3 if cant that their adventures are feldom re- 
 corded by cotemporary hiftorians. Thofe of 
 after- a^cs, in order to fatisfy the public curi- 
 
 ofity,
 
 SAIL of Moral Philosophy. 213 
 
 6fity, and having no authentic documents ei- 
 ther to fupport or to contradid their narra- 
 tives, feem frequently to have fafhioned them 
 according to their own fancy ; and almoft 
 always with a great mixture of the marvel- 
 lous. In this particular cafe the marvellous, 
 though fupported by no authority, feems to 
 have prevailed over the probable, though 
 fupported by the heft. Diogenes Laertius 
 plainly gives the preference to the (lory of 
 Apollonius. Lucian and Ladantins appeal- 
 both to have given credit to that of the great 
 age and of the violent death. 
 
 This fafhion of voluntary death appears 
 to have been much more prevalent among 
 the proud Romans, than it ever was among 
 the lively, ingenious, and accommodating 
 Geeks. 'Even among the Romans, the 
 fafhion teems not to have been cliabiiilied in 
 the early, and, what are called, the virtuous 
 ages of the republic. The common ftory of 
 the death of Regulus, though probably a fable, 
 could never have been, invented, had it been 
 fuppofed that any dishonour could fall upon 
 that hero, from patiently fubmitting to the 
 tortures which the Carthaginians are faid to 
 have inflicted upon him. In the later ages 
 of the republic fome dimonour, I apprehend, 
 would have attended this iubmifllon. ^In the 
 
 \> 1 ulnC'vCni
 
 214 Of S y stems Parr VII. 
 
 different civil wars which preceded trie fall of 
 the commonwealth, many of the eminent 
 men of all the contending parties chofe ra- 
 ther to perifh by their own hands, than to 
 fall into thole of their ei emies. The death 
 of Cato, celebrated by ^ic>ro, and cenfured 
 by Csefar, and become the fubject. of a very 
 ferious controverfy be' ween, pe"h:ps, the 
 two mofr. illuftrious advocates that the world 
 had ever beheld, ftamped a character of 
 fplendour upon this method of dying which 
 it fcems to have retained for feveral ages 
 after. The eloquence of Cicero was iupeiior 
 to that of Csefar. The admiring prevailed 
 greatly over the cenfuring party, and the 
 lovers of liberty, for many ages afterwards, 
 looked up to Cato as to the moft venerable 
 martyr of the republican party. The head 
 of a party, the Cardinal de Rctz obferves, 
 may do what he plcalcs ; as long as he retains 
 the confidence of his own friends, he can 
 never do wrong ; a maxim of which his Emi- 
 nence had himft'f, upon feveral oceafions, an 
 npportunitv of e meriencing the truth. Cato, 
 it feems, joined to his other virtues that of an 
 excellent bottle companion. His enemies 
 accufed him of drunkennefs, but, fays Se- 
 neca, whoever objected this vice to Cato, 
 will find it much eafier to prove that drunk- 
 
 enntfo
 
 Scd. II. of Moral Philosophy. 2 1 5 
 
 ennefs is a virtue, than that Cato could be 
 addided to any vice. t 
 
 Under the Emperors this method oi dying 
 feems to have been, for a long time, perfectly 
 famionable. In the epiftles of Pliny we find 
 an account of feveral perfons who chofe to 
 die in this manner, rather from vanity and 
 oftentation, it would feem, than from what 
 would appear, even to a fober and judicious 
 Stoic, any proper or neceflary reafon. Even 
 the ladies, who are feldom behind in follow- 
 ing the fafhion, feem frequently to have 
 chofen, mod unnccenarily, to die in this 
 manner ; and like the ladies in Bengal, to ac- 
 company, upon fome occafions, their hut- 
 bands to the tomb. The prevalence of this 
 fafhion certainly occafioned many deaths 
 which would not otherwife have happened. 
 All the havock, however, which this, per- 
 haps the higheit exertion of human vanity 
 and impertinence, could occafion, would, 
 probably, at no time, be very greaL 
 
 The 'principle of filicide, the principle 
 which would teach us, upon iome occafions^ 
 to confider that violent action as an objector 
 aoplaule and approbation, feems to be ^alto- 
 gether a refinement of philofophy. Nature 
 in her found and healthful Mate, iecms never 
 to prompt us to filicide. There is indeed, a 
 P 4 fpecics
 
 2i6 0/ Systems Part VII. 
 
 fpecies of melancholy (a difeafe to which 
 human nature, among its other calamities, is 
 unhappily iubjed:) which feems to be accom- 
 panied with, what one may call, an irrefift- 
 ible appetite for felf-deftruction. In circum- 
 ftances often of the higheft external profpe- 
 rity, and fometimes too, in fpite even of the 
 mo ft fci'ious an J deeply imprefTed fentiments 
 of religion, this difeafe has frequently been 
 known to drive its wretched victims to this 
 fatal extremity. The unfortunate perfons 
 who peri in in this miferable manner are the 
 proper objects, net of cenfure, but of com- 
 miil ration. To attempt to punifh them, 
 when they are beyond the reach of all human 
 punifhment, is not more abfurd than it is 
 mijuft. That punifhment can fall only on 
 their furviving friends and relations, who are 
 always perfectly innocent, and to whom the 
 lofs of their friend, in this difgraceful manner, 
 malt always be alone a very heavy calamity. 
 Nature, in her found and healthful itate, 
 prompts us to avoid diilrefs upon all occa- 
 sions ; upon many occa ions to defend our- 
 felves iv-alnil it, though at the hazard, or 
 even at the certainty 01 perifhing in that de- 
 fence. But, when we have neither been able 
 to defend ourfelves from it, nor have perifhed 
 xn that defence, no natural principle, no re- 
 gard
 
 5ed. II. of Moral Philosophy. i i 7 
 
 gard to the approbation of the fuppofed im- 
 partial fpeclator, to the judgment of the man 
 within the bread, feems to call -upon us to 
 efcape from it by defiroying ourfelves. It is 
 only the confcioufnefs of our own weaknefs, 
 of our own incapacity to fupport the cala- 
 mity with pi- per manhood and firmnefs, 
 which can drive us to this refolution. I do 
 not remember to have either read or heard of 
 any American lavage, who, upon being 
 taken prifoner by fome hoftile tribe, put 
 himielf to death, in order to avoid being after- 
 wards put to death in torture, and amidft the 
 infults and mockery of his enemies. He 
 places his glory in fupporting thofe torments 
 with manhood, and in retorting thofe infults 
 with tenfold contempt and derifiom 
 
 This contempt of life and death, however, 
 and, at the lame time, the moft entire fub- 
 milfion to the order of Providence ; the moft 
 complete contentment with every event 
 which the current of human aflairs could 
 pofiibly can- up, may be confidered as the 
 two fundamental doctrines upon which refted 
 the whole fabric of Stoical morality. The 
 independent and fpirited, but often harfh 
 Epidetus, may be confidered as the great 
 apoftle of the firft of thofe (Iodines : the mild, 
 
 the
 
 iiS QT Systems Part Vlf. 
 
 the humane, the benevolent Antoninus, of 
 the fecond. 
 
 The emancipated Have of Epaphroditus, 
 who, in his youth, had been fubjected to 
 the infolence of a brutal matter, who, in his 
 riper years, was, by the jealoufy and caprice 
 of Domitian, bammed from Home and A- 
 thens, and obliged to dwell at Nicopolis, and 
 who, by the fame tyrant, might expect every 
 moment to be lent to Gyarse, or, perhaps, to 
 be put to death ; could preferve his tran- 
 quillity only by foftering in his mind the 
 inoft fovereign contempt of human life. He 
 never exults fo much, accordingly his elo- 
 quence is never io animated, as when he re- 
 presents the futility and nothingnefs of all its 
 pleafures and ail its pains. 
 
 The good-natured Emperor, the abfolute 
 fovereign of the whole civilized part of the 
 world, who certainly had no peculiar reafon 
 to complain of his own allotment, delights in 
 exprefling his contentment with the ordinary 
 courfe of things, ana in pointing out eauties 
 even in thole parts of it where vulgar ob- 
 ferv.rs are not apt to fee any. There is a 
 propriety and even an engaging grace, he 
 obferves, in old age as well as in youth ; and 
 the weaknefs end decrepitude of the one ftate 
 
 are
 
 Seft.II. of Moral Philosophy. 219 
 
 are as fuitable to nature as the bloom and 
 vigour of the other. Death, too, is juft as 
 proper a termination of old age, as youth is 
 of childhood, or manhood of youth. As we 
 frequently fay, he remarks upon another oc- 
 cafion, that the phyfician has ordered to fuch 
 a man to ride on' horfeback, or to ufe the 
 cold bath, or to walk barefooted ; fo ought 
 we to fay, that Nature, the great conductor 
 and phyfician of the univerfe, has ordered to 
 fuch a man a difeafe, or the amputation of a 
 limb, or the lofs of a child. By the pre- 
 fcriptions of ordinary phyhcians the patient 
 fwallows many a bitter potion ; undergoes 
 many a painful operation. From the very 
 uncertain hope, however, that health maybe 
 the confequence, he gladly fubmits to all. 
 The harmed prefcriptions of the great Phy- 
 fician of nature, the patient may, in the lame 
 manner, hope will contribute to his own 
 health, to his own final prosperity and hap- 
 pinefs : and he may be perfedly allured that 
 they not only contribute, but are indifpen- 
 fably necedary to the health, to the profperity 
 and happinefs of the univerfe, to the further- 
 ance and advancement of the great plan of 
 Jupiter. Had they not been fo, the univerfe 
 would never have produced them; its all- 
 wife Architect and Conductor would never 
 
 have
 
 2 2 o Of S y s t e m s Part VII. 
 
 have fufFered them to happen. As all, even 
 the fmalleft of the co-exiftent parts of the 
 univerfe, are exactly fitted to one another, 
 and all contribute to compofe one immenfe 
 and connected fyftem ; lo all, even apparently 
 the moft inhgniricant of the fucceflive events 
 which follow one another, make parts, and 
 neceflary parts, of that great chain of caufes 
 and effects which had no beeinnins:, and 
 which will have no end : and which, as they 
 all neceflarily refult from the original ar- 
 rangement and contrivance of the whole; fo 
 they are all eiTentially neceifary not only to 
 its profperity, but to its continuance and 
 prefer vation. Whoever does not cordially 
 embrace whatever befalls him, whoever is 
 forry that it has befallen him, whoever wifhes 
 that it had not befallen him, wifhes, fb far as 
 in him lies, to (top the motion of the uni- 
 verfe, to break that great chain of fucceffion, 
 by the progreis of which that fyftem can 
 alone be continued and preferved, and, for 
 fome little conveniency of his own, to dif- 
 order and difcompofe the whole machine 
 of the world. " O world !" fays lie, in 
 another place, " all things are fuitable to me 
 " which are fuitable to thee. Nothing is too 
 " early or too late to me which is lcafonable 
 u Lr ih.ee. All is fruit to me which thy 
 7 " feafons
 
 Seel. II. of Moral Philosophy. 221 
 
 " feafons bring forth. From thee are all 
 " tilings ; in thee are all things ; for thee are 
 " all things. One man lays, O beloved city 
 " of Cecrops. Wilt not thou fay, O beloved 
 " city of God ?" 
 
 From theie very fublime doctrines the 
 Stoics, or at leaft fome of the Stoics, at- 
 temnted to deduce all their. paradoxes. 
 
 The Stoical wife man endeavoured to enter 
 into the views of the great Superintendant of 
 the univerfe, and to fee things in the lame 
 light in which that divine Being beheld them. 
 But to the great Superintendant of the uni- 
 verfe, all the different events which the courfe 
 of his providence may bring forth, what to 
 us appear the fmalleft and the greateft, the 
 buriting of a bubble, as Air. Pope lays, and 
 that of a world, for example, were perfectly 
 equal, were equally parts of that great chain 
 which he had predefined from all eternity, 
 were equally the eubcts of the fame unerring 
 wifdom, of the fame univerial and boundlefs 
 benevolence. To the Stoical wile man, in the 
 fame manner, all thoie different events were 
 perfectly equal. In the courfe of thofe 
 event-, indeed, a little department, in which 
 he had himfeif fome little management and 
 direction, had been aiTigned to him. In this 
 department he endeavoured to act as pro- 
 perly
 
 222 Of Systems Fart Vlf. 
 
 pcrly as he could, and to conduct himfelf ac- 
 cording to thofe orders which, he underflood, 
 had been prefcribed to him. But he took no 
 anxious or pafTionate concern either in the 
 fuceefs or in the difappointment of his owii 
 moll faithful endeavours. The higheft pro- 
 iperity and the total deftruction of that little 
 department, of that little fyftem which had 
 been in fome meafure committed to his 
 charge, were perfectly indifferent to him. 
 If thofe events had depended upon him, he 
 would have chofsn the one and he would 
 have rejected the other. But as they did not 
 depend upon him, he trufled to a fuperior 
 wifdom, and was perfectly fatisfied that the 
 event which happened, whatever it might 
 be, was the very event which he himfelf, 
 had he known all the connections and depend- 
 encies of things, would moft ea'rneflly and 
 devouvly have wifhed for. Whatever he did 
 under the influence and direction of thofe 
 principles was equally perfect ; and when 
 he ftretched cut his linger, to give the ex- 
 ample which they commonly made u(e of, 
 Ire performed an aelion in every refpeet as 
 meritoric us, as worthy of praife and admi- 
 ration, as when he laid down his life for the 
 fervice of his country. As, to the great Su- 
 pcrintendant of the uiuvcrfe, the greateft 
 
 and
 
 Sect. II. of Moral Philosophy. 223 
 
 and the fmalleft exertions of his power, the 
 formation and diffolution of a world, the 
 formation and diffolution of a babble, were 
 equally eafy, were equally admirable, and 
 equally the effects of the fame divine wifdom 
 and benevolence ; fo, to the Stoical wife 
 man, what we would call the great action, 
 required no more exertion than the little one, 
 was equally eafy, proceeded from exadly the 
 fame principles, was in no refped more meri- 
 torious, nor worthy of any higher degree of 
 praife and admiration. 
 
 As all thofe who had arrived at this date 
 of perfedion, were equally happy; io all 
 thofe who fell in the fmalleft degree fhort of 
 it, how nearly foever they might approach 
 to it, were equally miferable. As the man, 
 they faid, who was but an inch below the 
 iurface of the water, could no more breathe 
 than he who was an hundred yards below it ; 
 fo the man who had not completely fubdued 
 all his private, partial, and felnm pamons, 
 vhc had any other earneft defire but that for 
 the univerfal happinefs, who had not com- 
 pletely emerged from that abyfs of miiery 
 and diforder into which his anxiety for the 
 gratification of thofe private, partial, and 
 felnm paftions had involved him, could no 
 more breathe the free air of liberty and inde- 
 pendency.
 
 224 Of Systems Part VIL 
 
 pendency, could no more enjoy the fecurity 
 and happinefs of the wife man, than he who 
 was moil remote from that fituation. As all 
 the actions of the wife man were perfect, 
 and equally perfect ; fo all thofe of the man 
 who had not arrived at this fupreme wifdom 
 w r ere faulty, and, as fome Stoics pretended, 
 equally faulty. As one truth, they faid, 
 could not be more true, nor one falfehood 
 more falfe than another ; fo an honourable 
 action could not be more honourable, nor a 
 fhameful one more fhameful than another. 
 As in mooting at a mark, the man who 
 miffed it by an inch had equally miffed it 
 with him who had done fo by a hundred 
 yards : fo the man who, in what to us ap- 
 pears the mi :'\ infignificant aclion, had acted 
 improperly and without a fufficient reafon, 
 was equally faulty with him who had done 
 fo in, what to us appears, the mod im- 
 portant ; the man who has killed a cock, for 
 example, improperly and without a fufficient 
 reafon, w" Ii him who had murdered his 
 father. 
 
 If the firM: of thofe two paradoxes mould 
 v^ r -?~ fu'Tic'ently violent, the fecond is 
 evidently too abllird to deferve any ferious 
 consideration. It is, indeed, fo very abfurd, 
 that one can fcarce help fufpecting that it 
 
 mull
 
 Se£l. H. of Moral Philosophy. 225 
 
 muft have been in fome meafure mifurrder- 
 ftood or mifreprefented. At any rate, I 
 cannot allow myfelf to believe that fuch men 
 as Zeno or Cleanthes, men, it is faid, of the 
 moft fimple as well as of the moft fublime 
 eloquence, could be the authors, either of 
 thefe, or of the greater part of the other 
 Stoical paradoxes, which are in general mere 
 impertinent quibbles, and do fo little honour 
 to their fyftem that I mall give no further 
 account of them. I am difpofed to impute 
 them rather to Chryfrppus, the difciple and 
 follower, indeed, of Zeno and Cleanthes, 
 but who, from all that has been delivered 
 down to us concerning him, feems to have 
 been a mere dialedical pedant, without taftc 
 or elegance of any kind. He may have 
 been the nrft who reduced their dodrines 
 into a fcholaftic or technical fyftem of arti- 
 ficial definitions, divifions, and fubdivifions 5 
 one of the moft effedual expedients, perhaps, 
 for extinguishing whatever degree of good 
 fenfe there may be in any moral or meta- 
 physeal docVine. Such a man may very 
 eafily be fuppofed to have underftood too 
 literally fome animated expreflions of his 
 matters in defcribing the happinefs of the 
 man of perfect virtue, and the unhappinefs 
 of whoever fell fhort of that character. 
 
 The 
 
 VOL. II. CL
 
 22S Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 The Stoics in general feem to have ad-* 
 mitted that there might be a degree of profi- 
 ciency in thole who had not advanced to 
 perfect virtue and happinefs. They diftri- 
 buted thofe proficients into different claffes, 
 according to the degree of their advance- 
 ment ; and they called the imperfect vir- 
 tues which they fuppofed them capable of 
 exercifmg, not rectitudes, but proprieties, 
 fitneffes, decent and becoming actions, for 
 which a plaulible or probable reafon could be 
 affigned, what Cicero expreffes by the Latin 
 word qfficia, and Seneca I think more exactly, 
 by that of convenlentla. The doctrine of 
 thofe imperfect, but attainable virtues, feems 
 to have conflituted what we may call the 
 practical morality of the Stoics. It is the 
 fubject of Cicero's Offices; and is faid to 
 have been that of another book written by 
 .Marcus Brutus, but which is now loft. 
 
 The plan and fyftem which Nature has 
 iketched out for our conduct, feems to be 
 altogether different from that of the Stoical 
 philofophy. 
 
 By Nature the events which immediately 
 affect that little department in which we orrr- 
 felves have lbnie little management and direc- 
 tion, which immediately affect ourfelves, our 
 friend?, our country, are the events which 
 7 intereii
 
 Seel. II. of Moral- Philosophy. 227 
 
 intered us the mod, and which chiefly ex- 
 cite our defires and averfions, our hopes and 
 fears, our joys and fqrrows. Should thofe 
 paffions be, what they are very apt to be, 
 too vehement, Nature has provided a proper 
 remedy and correction. The real or even 
 the imaginary prefence of the impartial fpec- 
 tator, the authority of the man within the 
 breaft, is always at hand to. overawe them 
 into the proper tone and temper of modera- 
 tion. 
 
 If notwithstanding our mod faithful exer- 
 tions, all the events which can arTed this little 
 department, mould turn out the mod un- 
 fortunate and difadrous, Nature has by no 
 means left us without confolation. That 
 confolation may be drawn, not only from 
 the complete approbation of the man within 
 the breait, but, if poflible, from a dill nobler 
 and more generous principle, from a firm re- 
 liance upon, and a reverential fubmiffion to, 
 that benevolent wifdom which directs all the 
 events of human life, and which, we maybe 
 allured, would never have differed thofe mif- 
 fortunes to happen, had they not been indil- 
 penfably necedary for the good of the whole. 
 Nature has not prefcribed to us this fublime 
 contemplation as the great bufinefs and occu- 
 pation of our lives. She only points it out 
 
 c^2 to
 
 22$ 0/ Systems Part VIL 
 
 to us as the confolation of Our misfortunes. 
 The Stoical philofophy prefcribes it as the 
 great bufinefs and occupation of our lives. 
 That philofophy teaches us to intereft our- 
 felves earneftly and anxioufly in no events, 
 external to the good order of our own 
 minds, to the propriety of our own chouiing 
 and rejecting, except in thofe which concern 
 a department where we neither have nor ought 
 to have any fort of management or direction, 
 the department of the great Superintendant 
 of the univerfe. By the perfect apathy 
 which it prefcribes to us, by endeavouring, 
 not merely to moderate, but to eradicate all 
 our private, partial, and felfiih affections, by 
 fuffering us to feel for whatever can befal 
 ourfelves, our friends, our country, not even 
 the fympathetic and reduced paffions of the 
 impartial fpectator, it endeavours to render 
 us altogether indifferent and unconcerned in 
 the fuccefs or mifcarriage of every thing 
 which Nature has prescribed to us as the 
 proper bufinefs and occupation of our lives. 
 The reafonings of philofophy, it may be 
 faid, though they may confound and perplex 
 the underitanding, can never break down the 
 neceffary connection which Nature has efta- 
 blhhcd between caufes and their effects. 
 The caufes which naturally excite our Uefires 
 i \ and
 
 Seel. II. of Moral Philosophy. 229 
 
 and averfions, our hopes and fears, our joys 
 and forrows, would no doubt, notwithftand- 
 incr all the reafonings of Stoicifm, produce 
 upon each individual, according to the de- 
 gree of his adual fenfibility, their proper and 
 neceffary effeds. The judgments of the 
 man within the bread, however, might be a 
 good deal affeded by thofe reafonings, and 
 that great inmate might be taught by them 
 to attempt to overawe all our private, partial, 
 and felfifli affections into a more or lefs perfect 
 tranquillity. To dired the j udgments of this 
 inmate is the great purpofe of all fyftems of 
 morality. That the Stoical phiiofophy had 
 very great influence upon the character and 
 conduct of its followers, cannot be doubted ; 
 and that though it might fometimes incite 
 them to unneceffary violence, its general ten- 
 dency was to animate them to actions ot the 
 moft heroic magnanimity and moft extenfive 
 benevolence. 
 
 IV Befides thefe ancient, there are fome 
 modern fyftems, according to which virtue 
 confifts in propriety ; or in the fuitablenefs of 
 the affedion from which we ad, to the caufe 
 or objed which excites it. The fyftem 
 of Dr. Clark, which places virtue in ading 
 according to the relations of things, in regu- 
 lating our condud according to the iitnefs or 
 
 0^ 3 incoa-
 
 230 Of S y s t e m s Part VII. 
 
 incongruity which there may be in the appli- 
 cation of certain actions to certain things, or 
 to certain relations : that of Mr. Woollafton, 
 which places it in acting according to the 
 truth of things, according to their proper na- 
 ture and eiTence, or in treating them as what 
 they really are, and not as what they are not : 
 that of my Lord Shaftefbury, which places it 
 in maintaining a proper balance of the affec- 
 tions, and in allowing no paffion to go be- 
 yond its proper fphere ; are all of them more 
 or lefs inaccurate defcriptions of the fame 
 fundamental idea. 
 
 None of thole fyftems either give, or even 
 pretend to give, any precife or diftindt mea- 
 fure by which this fitnefs or propriety of 
 affection can be afcertained or judged of. 
 That preciie and diftinct meafure can be found 
 nowhere but in the fympathetic feelings of 
 the impartial and well informed fpectator. 
 
 The defcription of virtue, befides, which 
 is either given, or at lead meant and intended 
 to be g : vcn, in each of thole fyftems, for 
 ioine Oi the modern authors are not very for- 
 tunate in their manner of expreiiing them- 
 felves, is no doubt quite juft, fo far as it goes. 
 Tlieic is no virtue without propriety, and 
 wliei vcr there is propriety fome degree of 
 approbation is due. But ftill this defcription 
 
 is
 
 Sea. II. 0/ Moral Philosophy. 231 
 
 isVimperfed. For though propriety is an 
 clTential ingredient in every virtuous adion, 
 it is not always the fole ingredient. Benefi- 
 cent actions have in them another quality by 
 which they appear not only to deferve appro- 
 bation but recompenfe. None of thofe fyf- 
 tems account either eafiiy or fufficiently for 
 that fuperior degree of efteem which feems 
 due to fuch adions, or for that diverfity of 
 fentiment which they naturally excite. Nei- 
 ther is the defcription of vice more complete. 
 For, in the fame manner, though impropri- 
 ety is a neceffary ingredient in every vicious 
 adion, it is not always the fole ingredient ; 
 and there is often the higheft degree of abfur- 
 dity and impropriety in very harmlefs and 
 infi<miricant adions. Deliberate adions, of 
 a pernicious tendency to thofe we live with, 
 have, befides their impropriety, a peculiar 
 quality of their own, by which they appear 
 to deferve, not only difapprobation, but 
 puniihment ; and to be the objeds, not of 
 diflike merely, but of refentment and re- 
 venge : and none of thofe fyftems eafily 
 andfufficiently account for that fuperior de- 
 cree of deteftation which we feel for fuch 
 adions. 
 
 CL4
 
 23? Of Syste m s Part VII, 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Of thofc Svftems 'which make Virtue confift In 
 Prudence. 
 
 *Tp 11 E mod ancient of thofe fyftems which 
 *** make virtue confift in prudence, and 
 of which any confiderable remains have come 
 down to us, is that of Epicurus, who is faid, 
 however, to have borrowed all the leading 
 principles of his philofophy from fome of 
 thofe who had gone before him, particularly 
 from Ariftippus ; though it is very probable, 
 notwithstanding this allegation of his enemies, 
 that at leaft his manner of applying thofe 
 principles was altogether his own. 
 
 According to Epicurus *, bodily pleafure 
 and pain were the fole ultimate objects of 
 natural defire and averfion. That they were 
 always the natural objects of thofe paffions, 
 he thought required no proof. Pleafure 
 might, indeed, appear fometimes to be 
 avoided ; not, however, becaufe it was plea- 
 fure, but becaufe, by the enjoyment of it, 
 we mould cither forfeit fome greater pleafure, 
 or expofe ourfelves to fome pain that was 
 
 * Sec Cicero de finibus, lib. i. Diogenes Laert. 1. x. 
 
 more
 
 Seft. II. of Moral Philosophy. 233 
 
 more to be avoided than this pleafure was to 
 be defired. Pain, in the fame manner, might 
 appear fometimes to be eligible ; not, how- 
 ever, becaufe it was pain, but becaufe by en- 
 during it we might either avoid a ftill greater 
 pain, or acquire Come pleafure of much more 
 importance. That bodily pain and pleafure, 
 therefore, were always the natural objeds of 
 defire and averfion, was, he thought, abun- 
 dantly evident. Nor was it lefs lb, he ima- 
 gined, that they were the fole ultimate ob- 
 jects of thofe paffions. Whatever elfe was 
 either defired or avoided, was fo, according 
 to him, upon account of its tendency to pro- 
 duce one or other of thofe fenfations. The 
 tendency to procure pleafure rendered power 
 and riches defirable, as the contrary tendency 
 to produce pain made poverty and infignifi- 
 cancy the objects of averfion. Honour and 
 reputation were valued, becaufe the efteem 
 and love of thofe we live with were of the 
 greateft confequence both to procure pleafure 
 and defend us from pain. Ignominy and 
 bad fame, on the contrary, were to be 
 avoided, becaufe the hatred, contempt, and 
 refentment of thofe we lived with, deftroyed 
 all fecurity, and neceffarily expofed us to the 
 
 ereateft bodily evils. 
 
 " All
 
 1 5 4 Of S.y s t ii m s Part VI 
 
 All the pleafurcs and pains of the mind 
 were, according to Epicurus, ultimately de- 
 rived from -thofe of the body. The mind 
 was bapp) rvlxcn it thought of the part plea- 
 fures cf the body, and hoped for others to 
 come : and it was miferahle when it thought 
 or the pains which the body had formerly en- 
 dured, and dreaded the lame or greater 
 thereafter. 
 
 But the pleafures and pains of the mind, 
 though ultimately derived from thofe of the 
 body, were vaftly greater than their origi- 
 nals. The body felt only the feniation of the 
 prefent inilant, whereas the mind felt alfb 
 the part and the future, the one by remem- 
 brance, the ether by anticipation, and confe- 
 quently both Inhered and enjoyed much 
 more. When we are under the greater! bo- 
 dily pain, he obierved, w r e ihail always find, 
 if we attend to it, that it is not the fullering 
 of the prefent inftant which chiefly torments 
 us, but either the agonizing remembrance of 
 the part, or the yet more horrible dread of 
 the future. The pain of each infiant, confi- 
 dered by itfelf, and cut off from all that goes 
 before and all that comes after it, is a trifle not 
 worth the regarding. Yet this is all which 
 the body can ever be faid to fuffer. In the 
 
 fame
 
 Sed. II. of Moral Philosophy. 235 
 
 fame manner, when we enjoy the greateft 
 pleafure, we {hall always find that the bodily 
 fenfation, the fenfation of the prefent inftant, 
 makes but a fmall part of our happinefs, that 
 our enjoyment chiefly arifes either from the 
 cheerful recolledion of the paft, or the ftill 
 more joyous anticipation of the future, and 
 that the mind always contributes by much 
 the largeft thare of the entertainment. 
 
 Since our happinefs and mifery, therefore, 
 depended chiefly on the mind, if this part of 
 our nature was well difpofed, if our thoughts 
 and opinions were as they mould be, it was 
 of little importance in what manner our body 
 was affeded. Though under great bodily 
 pain, we might ftill enjoy a confiderable mare 
 of happinefs, if our reafon and judgment 
 maintained their fuperiority. We might en- 
 tertain ourfelves with the remembrance of 
 pari, and with the hopes of future pleafure ; 
 we 'might foften the rigour of our pains, by 
 recolled-ing what it was which, even in this 
 fituation, we were under any necefiity ol fuf- 
 fering. That this was merely the bodily 
 fenfation, the pain of the prefent inftant, 
 which by itlelf could never be very great. 
 That whatever agony we fuftered lrom the- 
 dread of its continuance, was the effed of an 
 opinion of the mind which might be cor- 
 rected
 
 236 Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 reded by jufter fentiments ; by confidering 
 that, if our pains were violent, they would 
 probably be of fliort duration ; and that if 
 they were of long continuance, they would 
 probably be moderate, and admit of many 
 intervals of eafe ; and that, at any rate, death 
 was always at hand and within call to deliver 
 us, which as, according to him, it put an end 
 to all fenfation, either of pain or pleafure, 
 could not be regarded as an evil. When we 
 are, faid he, death is not ; and when death 
 is, we are not j death therefore can be no~ 
 thing to us. 
 
 If the actual fenfation of pofitive pain was 
 in itfelf fo little to be feared, that of pleafure 
 was dill lefs to be delired. Naturally the 
 fenfation of pleafure was much lefs pungent 
 than that of pain. If, therefore, this laft 
 could take fo very little from the happinefs 
 of a welj-difpofed mind, the other could add 
 fcarce any thing to it. When the body was 
 free from pain and the mind from fear and 
 anxiety, the fuperadded fenfation of bodily 
 pleafure could be of very little importance ; 
 and though it might diverfify, could not pro- 
 perly be faid to increafe the happinefs of this 
 fituation. 
 
 In eafe of body, therefore, and in fecurity 
 or tranquillity of mind, confided, according 
 
 to
 
 Sett. II. of Moral Philosophy. 237 
 
 to Epicurus, the mod perfect: ftate of human 
 nature, the moll complete happinefs which 
 man was capable of enjoying. To obtain 
 this great end of natural defire was the fole 
 object of all the virtues, which, according to 
 him, were not defirable upon their own ac- 
 count, but upon account of their tendency to 
 brinp- about this fituation. 
 
 Prudence, for example, though, accord- 
 ing to this philofophv, the fource and prin- 
 ciple of all the virtues, was not defirable upon 
 its own account. That careful and laborious 
 and circumfpecl: ftate of mind, ever watchful 
 and ever attentive to the moft diftant confe- 
 quences of every action, could not be a thing 
 pleafant or agreeable for its own fake, but 
 upon account of its tendency to procure the 
 greateft goods and to keep off the greateft: 
 evils. 
 
 To abftain from pleafure too, to curb and 
 reftrain our natural paffions for enjoyment, 
 which was the office of temperance, could 
 never be defirable for its own fake. The 
 whole value of this virtue arofe from its uti- 
 lity, from its enabling us to poftpone the pre- 
 fect enjoyment for the fake of a greater to 
 come, or to avoid a greater pain that might 
 enfue from it. Temperance, in fhort, was 
 nothing but prudence with regard to plealure. 
 
 To
 
 233 0/ Systems Part VIL 
 
 To fupport labour, to endure pain, to be 
 expofed to danger or to death, the fituations 
 which fortitude would often lead us into, 
 were furely ftill le£s the objects of natural de- 
 lire. They were chofen only to avoid greater 
 evils. We fubmitted to labour, in order to 
 avoid the greater iliame and pain of poverty, 
 and we expofed ourfelves to danger and to 
 death in defence of our liberty and property, 
 the means and inftruments of pleafure and 
 happinefs ; or in defence of our country, in 
 the fafety of which our own was neceifarily 
 comprehended. Fortitude enabled us to do 
 all this cheerfully, as the bed which, in our 
 prefent lituation, could poffibly be done, and 
 was in reality no more than prudence, good 
 judgment, and prefenee of mind in properly 
 appreciating pain, labour, and danger, al- 
 ways choofing the lefs in order to avoid the 
 greater. 
 
 It is the fame cafe with juflice. To ab- 
 ftain from what is another's was not dehrable 
 on its own account, and it could not furely 
 be better for you, that I mould polfefs what 
 is my own, than that you fhould poffeis it. 
 You ought, however, to abllain from what- 
 ever belongs to me, becaufe by doing other- 
 wile you will provoke the refentment and in- 
 dignation of mankind. The fecurity and 
 
 tranquil-
 
 Seft. II. of Moral Philosophy. 2?9 
 
 tranquillity of your mind will be entirely de- 
 ft roved. You will be filled with fear and con- 
 firmation at the thought of that punifnment 
 which you will imagine that men are at all 
 times ready to inflict upon you, and 'from 
 which no power, no art, no concealment, 
 will ever, in your own fancy, be mfneient to 
 protect you. That other fpecies of jufttce 
 which c'onfifts in doing proper good Mkes 
 to different perfons, according to the various 
 relations of neighbours, kinfmen, friends, be- 
 nefactors, fuperiors, or equals, which they 
 may (land in to us is recommended by the 
 fame reafons. To act properly in all theie 
 different relations procures us the efteem and 
 love of thofe we live with ; as to do otherwiie 
 exekes their contempt and hatred. By the 
 one we naturally leciire, by the oilier we 
 neceflarily endanger our own eaie and tran- 
 quillity, the great and ultimate objects of all 
 our deiires. The whole virtue oi jufttce, 
 therefore, the moft important of all the vir- 
 tues, is no more than difcreet and prudent 
 conduct with regard to our neighbours. 
 
 Such is the doctrine of Epicurus concern- 
 ing the nature of virtue. It may fecm extra- 
 ordinary that this philofopher, who is deicri- 
 bed as a perfon of the moft amiable manners, 
 foould never have obierved, that, whatever 
 
 may
 
 240 Of Systems fart VII. 
 
 may be the tendency of thofe virtues, or of 
 the contrary vices, with regard to our bodily 
 eafe and fecurity, the fentiments which they 
 naturally excite in others are the objects of a 
 much more paffionate defire or averiion than 
 all their other confequences ; that to be ami- 
 able, to be refpectable, to be the proper ob- 
 ject of efteem, is by every well-difpofed 
 mind more valued than all the eafe and fecu- 
 lity which love, refpect, and efteem can 
 procure us ; that, on the contrary, to be odi- 
 ous, to be contemptible, to be the proper ob- 
 ject of indignation, is more dreadful than all 
 that we can fuffer in our body from hatred, 
 contempt, or indignation; and that conse- 
 quently our defire of the one character, and 
 our averfion to the other, cannot arife from 
 any regard to the effects which either of 
 them is likely to produce upon the body. 
 
 This fyftem is, no doubt, altogether incon- 
 fiftent with that which I have been endea- 
 vouring to eftablifh. It is not d'.fncult, how- 
 ever, to difcover from what phafis, if I may 
 fav fo, from what particular view or afpect 
 of nature, this account of things derives its 
 probability. By the wife contrivance of the 
 Author ot nature, virtue is upon all ordinary 
 occafions, even with regard to this life, real 
 wifdom, and the fureft and readied means of 
 
 obtain-
 
 Soft. II. cf Moral Philosophy. 241 
 
 obtaining both fafety and advantage. Our 
 fuccefs or difappointment in our undertakings 
 mult very much depend upon the good or 
 bad opinion which is commonly entertained 
 of us, and upon the general difpofition of 
 thofe we live with, either to affift or to op- 
 pofe us. But the bed, the fureft, the eafieft, 
 and the readied way of obtaining the advan- 
 tageous and of avoiding the unfavourable 
 judgments of others, is undoubtedly to render 
 ourfelves the proper objects of the former and 
 not of the latter. " Do you defire," faid 
 Socrates, " the reputation of a good mufician ? 
 " The only fure way of obtaining it, is to 
 " become a good muhcian. Would you de- 
 " fire in the fame manner to be thought ca- 
 <c pable of ferving your country either as a 
 " general or as a ftatefman ? The beft way 
 " in this cafe too is really to acquire the art 
 " and experience of war and government, 
 <• and to become really fit to be a general or a 
 " ftatefman. And in the fame manner if 
 " you would be reckoned ibber, temperate, 
 " juft, and equitable, the beft way of ac- 
 " quiring this reputation is to become fober, 
 " temperate, juft, and equitable. If you can 
 " really render yourfelf amiable, refpectable, 
 " and the proper objeft of eftecm, there is 
 " no fear of your not icon acquiring the 
 VOL, II. R l0 ^>
 
 242 Of Systems Part VIT. 
 
 " love, the relpecT, and efteem of thofe you 
 " live with." Since the practice of virtue, 
 therefore is in general fo advantageous, and 
 that of vice fo contrary to our intereft, the 
 confederation of thofe oppofite tendencies un- 
 doubtedly ftamps an additional beauty and 
 propriety upon the one, and a new deformity 
 and impropriety upon the other. Tempe- 
 rance, magnanimity, juirice, and beneficence, 
 come thus to be approved of, not only under 
 their proper characters, but under the addi- 
 tional character of the higheft wifdom and 
 moil real prudence. And in the fame man- 
 ner, the contrary vices of intemperance, pu- 
 iillanimity, injuftice, and either malevolence 
 or fordid felhthnefs, come to be difapproved 
 of, not only under their proper characters, 
 but under the additional character of the moft 
 fhort-fighted folly and weaknefs. Epicurus 
 appears in every virtue to have attended to 
 this fpecies of propriety only. It is that 
 which ia mod apt to occur to thofe who are 
 endeavouring to perfuade others to regularity 
 of conduct. When men by their practice, 
 and perhaps too by their maxims, manifeftly 
 mow that the natural beauty of virtue is not 
 r - : to have much effect upon them, how is 
 i: poiTihle to move them but by reprefenting 
 i'hc iV'v of their conduct, and how much 
 > they
 
 Seel. II. of Moral Philosophy. 243 
 
 they themfelves are in the end likely to fufFer 
 by it ? 
 
 ]3y running up all the different virtues too 
 to this one fpecies of propriety, Epicurus in- 
 dulged a propeniity, which is natural to ail 
 men, but which philofophers in particular 
 are apt to cultivate with a peculiar fondnefs, 
 as the great means of difplaying their ingenu- 
 ity, the propenhty to account, lor all appear- 
 ances from as few principles as poflible. 
 And he, no doubt, indulged this propenfity 
 it ill further, when he referred all the primary 
 objects of natural deiire and averfion to the 
 pleafures and pains of the body* The great 
 patron of the atomical philolophy, who took 
 lo much pleafure in deducing all the powers 
 and qualities of bodies from the moil obvious 
 and familiar, the figure, motion, and ar- 
 rangement of the final 1 parts ot matter, felt 
 no doubt a limilar fatisfacrion, when he ac- 
 counted, in the lame manner, for ail the 
 fentiments and paffious oi the mind from 
 thole which arc molt obvious and fami- 
 liar. 
 
 The fyftcm of Epicurus agreed with thofe 
 of Plato, Ariftotle, and Zeno, in making 
 virtue confid in acting in the mod fuitable 
 manner to obtain* primary objecls of natural 
 
 * Prima natv'sc. 
 
 r a defire.
 
 244 Of Systems PartVIf. 
 
 defire. It differed from all of them in two 
 other refpects ; firft, in the account which it: 
 gave of thofe primary objects of natural de- 
 fire ; and fecondly, in the account which ii: 
 gave of the excellence of virtue, or of the 
 real on why that quality ought to be efteemecl. 
 
 The primary oi.jccls of natural defire con- 
 fined, according to Epicurus, in bodily plea- 
 lure and pain, and in nothing elfe: whereas, 
 according to the other three philofophers, 
 there were many other objects, fuch as 
 knowledge, fuch as the happinefs of our rela- 
 tions, of our friends, of our country, which 
 were ultimately deiirable for their own fakes. 
 
 Virtue too, according to Epicurus, did not 
 defcrve to be purfued for its own lake, nor 
 was itfelf one of the ultimate objects of natu- 
 ral appetite, but was eligible only upon ac- 
 count of its tendency to prevent pain and to 
 procure cafe and pleafure. In the opinion or* 
 the other three, on the contrary, it was de- 
 iirable not merely as the means of procuring 
 the other primary objects of natural defire, 
 but as fomething which was in itfelf more 
 valuable than them all. Man, they thought, 
 being born for action, his happinefs mufti 
 confirr, not merely in the accreeablcnefs of his 
 paflivc fenfations, but alio in the propriety 
 of his active exertions.
 
 Seel. IT. of Moral Philosophy. 24, 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Of thofe Sjfiems which make Virtue confijl in 
 Benevolence. 
 
 HE fyftem which makes virtue confift 
 ■*■ in benevolence, though I think not fo 
 ancient as all of thofe which 1 have already- 
 given an account of, is, however, of very 
 great antiquity. It feems to have been the 
 doctrine of the greater part of thofe philo- 
 fophers who, about and after the age of Au- 
 guftus, called themfelves Eclectics, who pre- 
 tended to follow chiefly the opinions of Plato 
 and Pythagoras, and who, upon that account 
 are commonly known by the name of the 
 later Platonifts. 
 
 In the divine nature, according to thefe 
 authors, benevolence or love was the fole 
 principle of action, and directed the exertion 
 of all the other attributes. The wifdom of the 
 Deity was employed in finding out the means 
 for bringing about thofe ends which his 
 goodnefs fuggefted, as his infinite power was 
 exerted to execute them. Benevolence, how- 
 ever, was (till the fuoreme and governing; 
 R 3 attribute,
 
 M& Of S y s t e m s Part VII. 
 
 attribute, to which the others were fubfervi- 
 ent, and from which the whole excellency, 
 or the whole morality, if I may be allowed 
 fuch an expreffion, of the divine operations, 
 was ultimately derived. The whole perfec- 
 tion and virtue of the human mind confuted 
 in fome refemblance or participation of the 
 divine perfections, and, confequently, in be- 
 ing filled with the fame principle of benevo- 
 lence and love which influenced all the 
 actions of the Deity. The actions of men 
 which flowed from this motive were alone 
 truly praife-worthy, or could claim any me- 
 rit in the fight of the Deity. It was by ac- 
 tions of charity and love only that we could 
 imitate, as became us, the conduct of God, 
 that we could exprefs our humble and devout 
 admiration of his infinite perfections, that by 
 fofiering in our own minds the fame divine 
 principle, wc could bring our own affections 
 to a greater refemblance with his holy attri- 
 bute -, and thereby become more proper ob- 
 jects of his love and eiteem ; till at laft we 
 : raved at that in; mediate converfe and com- 
 plication with the Deity to which it was 
 thj great object oi this phiiofophy to raiie 
 
 11 r; . 
 
 This fyftem, as it was much efceerned by 
 many ancient fathers of the Chrifliu:i church, 
 
 fo
 
 Sea. II. of Moral Philosophy. 247 
 
 fo after the Reformation it was adopted by 
 feveral divines of the mod eminent piety and 
 learning and of the mo ft amiable manners ; 
 particularly, by Dr. Ralph Cudworth, by 
 Dr. Henry More, and by Mr. John Smith 
 of Cambridge. But of all the patrons of this 
 fyftem, ancient or modern, the late Dr. 
 Hutchefon was undoubtedly, beyond all 
 comparifon, the rnoft acute, the raoft diftinO, 
 the mod phllofophical, and, what is of the 
 greateit confequence of ail, the foberefl and 
 moil judicious. 
 
 That virtue confifts in benevolence is a 
 notion fupported by many appearances in 
 human nature. It has been obierved already, 
 that proper benevolence is the mod graceful 
 and agreeable of all the affedions, that it is 
 recommended to us by a double fympathy, 
 that as its tendency is neceffariiy beneiicent, 
 it is the proper object of gratitude and 
 reward, and that upon all thefe accounts it 
 appears to our natural fentiments to poffefs a 
 merit fuperior to any other. It has been ob- 
 lerved too, that even the weaknelTes of bene- 
 volence are not very d: (agreeable to us, 
 whereas thole of every other pafilon are al- 
 ways extremely difguiTing. Who does not 
 abhor excellive malice, excellive ielliihnefs, 
 or excellive reientment ? But the moil ex- 
 r 4 cefiive
 
 243 0/ Systems Part VII. 
 
 cefiive indulgence even of partial friendfhip 
 is not fo offenfive. It is the benevolent paf- 
 fions only which can exert themfelves with- 
 out any regard or attention to propriety, and 
 yet retain fomething about them which is en- 
 gaging. There is fomething pleafmg even 
 in mere inftinctive good-will which goes on 
 to do good offices without once reflecting 
 whether by this conduct it is the proper ob- 
 ject; either of blame or approbation. It is 
 not fo with the other paffions. The moment 
 they are deferted, the moment they are un- 
 accompanied by the fenfe of propriety, they 
 ceafe to be agreeable. 
 
 As benevolence bellows upon thofe actions 
 which proceed from it, a beauty fuperior to 
 all others, fo the want of it, and much more 
 the contrary inclination, communicates a pe- 
 culiar deformity to whatever evidences fuch, 
 a difpofition. Pernicious actions are often 
 punifhable for no other rcafon than becaufe 
 they mew a want of fufficient attention to the 
 happinefs of our neighbour. 
 
 Bcfides all this, Dr. Hutchefon* obferved, 
 that whenever in any action, fuppofed to 
 proceed from benevolent affections, fome 
 ether motive had been difcovered, our lenle 
 of the merit of this action was juft io far di* 
 
 * Stf Inriury concti r ■'-,p Virtue 3 feci. I. and 2. 
 
 minifhed
 
 Seel. II. of Moral Philosophy, 249 
 
 minimed as this motive was believed to have 
 influenced it. If an action, fuppofed to pro- 
 ceed from gratitude, mould be difcovered to 
 have arifen from an expectation of fome new- 
 favour, or if what was apprehended to pro- 
 ceed from public fpirit, mould be found out 
 to have taken its origin from the hope of a 
 pecuniary reward, fuch a difcovery would 
 entirely deftroy all notion of merit or praife- 
 worthiuefs in either of thefe actions. Since, 
 therefore, the mixture of any felhfh motive, 
 like that of a bafer alloy, diminifhed or took 
 away alogethcr the merit which would other- 
 wife have belonged to any action, it was evi- 
 dent, he imagined, that virtue mud confift in 
 pure and difinterefted benevolence alone. 
 
 When thofe actions, on the contrary, which 
 are commonly fuppofed to proceed from a 
 fclfifh motive, are difcovered to have arifen 
 from a benevolent one, it greatly enhances 
 our fen fe of their merit. If we believed of 
 any perfon that he endeavoured to advance 
 his fortune from no other view but that o£ 
 doing friendly offices, and of making proper 
 returns to his benefactors, we mould only 
 love and cileem him the more. And this 
 obfervation feemed Mill more to confirm the 
 conclufion, that it was benevolence only 
 
 which
 
 35* Of S ys t e u s Part VII. 
 
 which could (tamp upon any action the cha- 
 racter of virtue. 
 
 Laft of all, what, he imagined, was an 
 evident proof of the juftnefs of this account 
 of virtue, in all the difputes of cafuifxs con- 
 cerning the rectitude of conduct, the public 
 good, he obferved, was the ftandard to which 
 they conftantly referred 5 thereby univerfally 
 acknowledging that whatever tended to pro- 
 mote the happinefs of mankind was right, and 
 laudable, and virtuous, and the contrary, 
 wrong, blameable, and vicious. In the late 
 debates about pailive obedience and the right 
 of refinance, the lole point in controverfy 
 among men of ienle was, whether universal 
 fubmiflion would probably be attended with 
 greater evils than temporary infurrections 
 when privileges were invaded. Whether 
 what, upon the whole, tended molt to the 
 happinefs of mankind, was not alio morally 
 good, was never once, he laid, made a 
 qucuion. 
 
 Since benevolence, therefore, was the only 
 motive which could bellow upon any action 
 the character of virtue, the greater the bene- 
 volence which was evidenced by any action, 
 the e real er the prahc which mult belong to 
 
 Thofc
 
 Sect II. of Moral Philosophy. 251 
 
 Thole adions which aimed at the happi- 
 nefs of a great community, as they demon- 
 strated a more enlarged benevolence than 
 thole which aimed only at that of a fmaller 
 fyftem, fu were they, likewife, proportion- 
 ally the more virtuous. The moll virtuous 
 of all affections, therefore, was that which 
 embraced as its objects the happinefs of all 
 intelligent beings. The leaft virtuous, on 
 the contrary, of thofe to which the charader 
 of virtue could in any refped belong, was 
 that which aimed no further than at the hap- 
 pinefs of an individual, fuch as a fori, a bro- 
 ther, a friend. 
 
 In directing all our adions to promote the 
 greateft poffibie good, in fubmitting all infe- 
 rior affedions to the deiire of the general 
 happinefs of mankind, in regarding one's 
 felf but as one of the many, whole profperity 
 was to be purfued no further than it was con- 
 fident with, or conducive to that of the 
 whole, confided the perfection of virtue. 
 
 Self-love was a principle which could never 
 be virtuous in any degree or in any diredion. 
 It was vicious whenever it obftruded the ge- 
 neral good. When It had no other efred 
 than to male the individual take care of his 
 own haonin.:i's it was merely innocent, and 
 thourh it deierved no praiie, neither ougnt 
 
 it
 
 $$1 0/ Systems Part VIL 
 
 it to incur any blame. Thofe benevolent ac- 
 tions which were performed, notwithstand- 
 ing fome ftrong motive from felf-intereft, 
 were the more virtuous upon that account. 
 They demonftrated the itrength and vigour 
 of the benevolent principle. 
 
 Dr. Hntchefon* was fo far from allowing 
 felf-love to be in any cafe a motive of virtu- 
 ous actions, that even a regard to the pleafure 
 of felf-approbation, to the comfortable ap- 
 plaufe of our own conferences, according to 
 him, dirninifhed the merit of a benevolent ac- 
 tion. This was a felliih motive, he thought, 
 which, fo far as it contributed to any action, 
 elemonurated the weaknefs of that pure and 
 dilintereiled benevolence which could alone 
 {lamp upon the conduct of man the character 
 of virtue. In the common judgments of 
 mankind, however, this regard to the appro- 
 bation of our own minds is fo far from be- 
 ing confidered as what can in any refpect 
 diminifh the virtue of any action, that it is 
 rather looked upon as the fole motive which 
 defervesthe appellation of virtuous. 
 
 Such is the account given of the nature of 
 virtue in this amiable fyflem, a fyftem which 
 lias a peculiar tendency to nouriih and fup- 
 
 * Inquiry conccn,::ig virtue, ful 2. art. 4. alfo 111 u illa- 
 tions on the moral fe.ifv, feet. 5. hiii paragraph. 
 
 port
 
 Se&. II. of Moral Philosophy. 253 
 
 port in the human heart the nobleM and the 
 moft agreeable of all affections, and not only 
 to check the injuftice cf felf-love, but in 
 fome meafure to difcourage that principle al- 
 together, by reprefenting it as what could 
 never reflect any honour upon thole who 
 were influenced by it. 
 
 As fome of the other fyftems which I have 
 already given an account of, do not fuffici- 
 ently explain from whence arifes the pecu- 
 liar excellency of the fupreme virtue of bene- 
 ficence, fo this fyftem feems to have the con- 
 trary defect, of not fulliciently explaining 
 from whence arifes our approbation of the 
 inferior virtues of prudence, vigilance, cir- 
 cumfpection, temperance, conftancy, firm- 
 nefs. The view and aim of our affections, 
 the beneficent and hurtful effects which they 
 tend to produce, are the only qualities at all 
 attended to in this fyftem. Their propriety 
 and impropriety, their fuitablenefs and un- 
 fuitablenefs, to the caufe which excites them, 
 are difregarded altogether. 
 
 Regard to our own private happinefs and 
 intereft, too, appear upon many occafions 
 very laudable principles of action. The ha- 
 bits of ceconomy, induftry, difcretion, atten- 
 tion and application of thought, arc generally 
 fuppofed to be cultivated from felf-interefted 
 
 motive?,
 
 254 Of 3 v s t E m s Part Vrf. 
 
 motives, and at the fame time are apprehended 
 to be very praife-worthy qualities, which 
 deferve the efteem and approbation of every 
 body. The mixture of a felfifh motive, it is 
 true, feems often to fully the beauty of thofe 
 actions which ought to arife from a benevo- 
 lent affection. The caufe of this, however, 
 is not that felf-love can never be the motive 
 of a virtuous action, but that the benevolent 
 principle appears in this particular cafe to 
 want its due degree of ftrength, and to be 
 altogether unfuitable to its object. The cha- 
 racter, therefore, feems evidently imperfect, and 
 upon the whole to deferve blame rather than 
 praifc. The mixture of a benevolent motive 
 in an action to which felf-love alone ought to 
 be fufficicnt to prompt us, is not fo apt in- 
 deed to dimimfh our fenfe of its propriety, or 
 of the virtue of the perfon who performs it. 
 We arc net ready to fufpect ^.nj perfon of 
 being defective in feltimnefs. This is by no 
 means the weak fide of human nature, or the 
 failing of which we are apt tc be fufpicious. 
 If we could really believe, however, of any 
 man, that, was it not from a regard to his 
 family and friends, he would not take that 
 proper care of his health- hi; life, or his for- 
 tune, to which felf-prefervation alone ought 
 to be fuflicient to prompt him, it would un- 
 doubtedly
 
 Sect. II. cf Moral Philosophy. 255 
 
 doubtedly be a failing, though one of thofe 
 amiable failings which render a peribn rather 
 the object of pity than of contempt or hatred. 
 It would full, however, fomewhat diminiih 
 the dignity and refpe&ablenefs of his charac- 
 ter. Careleflnefs and want cf ceconomy are 
 univerfally disapproved of, not, however, as 
 proceeding from a want of benevolence, but 
 from a want of the proper attention to the 
 objeds of felf-intereft. 
 
 Though the ftandard by which cafuifts fre- 
 quently determine what is right or wrong in 
 human conduct, be its tendency to the wel- 
 fare or diforder of fociety, it does not follow- 
 that a regard to the welfare of fociety fhould 
 be the fole virtuous motive of action, but 
 only that, in any competition, it ought to 
 caft the balance againft all other motives. 
 
 Benevolence may, perhaps, be the fole 
 principle of action in the Deity, and there 
 are feveral, not improbable, arguments which 
 tend to perfuade us that it is fo. It is not eafy 
 to conceive what other motive an independ- 
 ent and all-perfect Being, who (lands in need. 
 of nothing external, and whole happinefs is 
 complete in himfelf, can act from. But 
 whatever may be the cafe with the Deity, fo 
 imperfect a creature as man, the fupport of 
 whofe exiftence requires fo many things ex- 
 ternal
 
 256 Of Systems Part VI t 
 
 ternal to him, muft often ad from many 
 other motives. The condition of human na- 
 ture were peculiarly hard, if thofe affections, 
 which, by the very nature of our being, 
 ought frequently to influence our conduct, 
 could upon no occafion appear virtuous, or 
 deferve efteem and commendation from any 
 body. 
 
 Thofe three fy (terns, that which places 
 virtue in propriety, that which places it in 
 prudence, and that which makes it confift in 
 benevolence, are the principal accounts which 
 have been given of the nature of virtue. To 
 one or other of them, all the other defcrip- 
 tions of virtue, how different foever they 
 may appear, are eailly reducible. 
 
 That fyftem which places virtue in obedi- 
 ence to the will of the Deity, mav be counted 
 either among thefe which make it confift in 
 prudence, or among thofe which make it 
 confift in propriety. When it is afked, why 
 we ought to obey the will of the Deity, this 
 qucftion, which would be impious and abfurj 
 in the higheft degree if afked from any doubt 
 that we ought to obey him, can admit but of 
 two different anfwers. It muft either be faid 
 that we ought to obey the will of tlic Deity 
 becaufe he is a Being of infinite power, who 
 will reward us eternally if we do fo, and 
 
 punifh
 
 Reft. IK of Moral Philosophy. 257 
 
 punifh us eternally if we do otherwife : or it 
 muft be faid, that independent of any regard 
 to our own happinefs, or to rewards and pu- 
 nifnments of any kind, there is a congruity 
 and fitnefs that a creature mould obey its 
 creator, that a limited and imperfect being 
 fhould fubinit to one of infinite and incom- 
 prehenfible perfections. Befides one or other 
 of thefe two, it is impoffible to conceive that 
 any other anfwer can be given to this ques- 
 tion. If the firft anfwer be the proper one, 
 virtue confifts in prudence, or in the proper 
 purfuit of our own final intereft and happi- 
 nefs ; fince it is upon this account that we 
 are obliged to obey the will of the Deity. If 
 the fecond anfwer be the proper one, virtue 
 muft confift in propriety, fince the ground 
 of our obligation to obedience is the fuitable- 
 nefs or congruity of the fentiments of humi- 
 lity and fubmiffion to the fuperiority of the 
 obj eel which excites them. 
 
 That fyftem which places virtue in utility, 
 coincides too with that which makes it confift 
 in propriety. According to this fyftem, all 
 thole qualities of the mind which are agree- 
 able or advantageous, either to the perfon 
 himfelf or to others, are approved of as vir- 
 tuous, and the contrary difapproved of as 
 vicious. But the agreeablenefs or utility 
 
 VOL. II. % of
 
 25S Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 of any affection depends upon the degree 
 which it is allowed to fubfift in. Every 
 affection is uieful when it is confined to a 
 certain degree of moderation ; and every 
 affection is difadvantageous when it exceeds 
 the proper bounds. According to this fyftem 
 therefore, virtue confifts not in any one affec- 
 tion, but in the proper degree of all the affec- 
 tions. The only difference between it and 
 that which I have been endeavouring to efta- 
 blifh, is, that it makes utility, and not fym- 
 pathy, or the correfpondent affection of the 
 fpeetator, the natural and original meafure of 
 this proper degree. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 Of licentious Svfiems. 
 
 A 
 
 L L thofe fyftems, which I have hitherto 
 given an account of, fuppofe that there 
 is a real and effential diitinction between vice 
 and virtue, whatever thefe qualities may con- 
 fid in. There is a real and effential differ- 
 ence between the propriety and impropriety 
 of any affection, between benevolence and 
 any other principle of action, between real 
 prudence and fhort-fighted folly or precipi- 
 tate-
 
 Seel. II. of Moral Philosophy. 259 
 
 tate rafhnefs. In the main too all of the.n 
 contribute to encourage the praife- worthy, 
 and to difcourage the blameable difpofition. 
 
 It may be true, perhaps, of fome of them, 
 that they tend, in fome meafure, to break 
 the balance of the affections, and to give the 
 mind a particular bias to fome principles of 
 action, beyond the proportion that is due to 
 them. The ancient fyftems which place vir- 
 tue in propriety, feem chiefly to recommend 
 the great, the awful, and the refpe&able vir- 
 tues, the virtues of felf-government, and felf- 
 command ; fortitude, magnanimity, inde- 
 pendency upon fortune, the contempt cf all 
 outward accidents, of pain, poverty, exile, 
 and death. It is in thefe great exertions that 
 the nobleft propriety of conduct is difplayed. 
 The foft, the amiable, the gentle virtues, all 
 the virtues of indulgent humanity, are, in. 
 comparifon, but little infilled upon, and feem, 
 on the contrary, by the Stoics in particular, 
 to have been often regarded as mere weak- 
 nefles which it behoved a wife man not to 
 harbour in his brcaft. 
 
 The benevolent fyftem, on the ether hand, 
 while it fofters and encourages all thofe 
 milder virtues in the higheft degree, feems 
 entirely to neglect the more awful and re- 
 fpedable qualities of the mind. It even de- 
 s 2 nies
 
 2 6o Of S y st e m s Part VIL 
 
 nies them the appellation of virtues. It calls 
 them moral abilities, and treats them as qua- 
 lities which do not deferve the fame fort of 
 efteem and approbation that is due to what is 
 properly denominated virtue. All thofe prin- 
 ciples of action which aim only at our own 
 intcrefr, it treats, if that be pomble, itill 
 worfe. So far from having any merit of their 
 own, they diminifh, it pretends, the merit of 
 benevolence, when they co-operate with it : 
 and prudence, it is afferted, when employed 
 only in promoting private intereft, can never 
 even be imagined a virtue. 
 
 That fyftem, again, which makes virtue 
 confift in prudence only, while it gives the 
 hisiheft encouragement to the habits of cau- 
 
 O O 
 
 tion, vigilance, fobriety, and judicious mo- 
 deration, feems to degrade equally both the 
 amiable and refpectable virtues, and to ftrip 
 the former of all their beauty, and the latter of 
 all their grandeur. 
 
 But notwithftanding thefe defects, the ge- 
 neral tendency of each of thofe three fyftems 
 is to encourage the bed and mod laudable 
 habits of the human mind : and it were well 
 for fociety, if, cither mankind in general, or 
 even thofe few who pretend to live according 
 to anyphilofophieal rule, were to regulate their 
 tonduct by the precepts of any one of them. 
 
 Wt
 
 Se£t. II. of Moral Philosophy. 261 
 
 We may learn from each of them fomething 
 that is both valuable and peculiar. If it was 
 poffible, by precept and exhortation, to in- 
 fpire the mind with fortitude and magnani- 
 mity, the ancient fyftems of propriety would 
 teem fufhcient to do this. Or if it was poffi- 
 ble, by the fame means, to foften it into hu- 
 manity, and to awaken the affections of kind- 
 nefs and general love towards thole we live 
 with, fome of the pictures with which the 
 benevolent fyftem preients us, might feem 
 capable of producing this effect. We may 
 learn from the fyftem of Epicurus, though 
 undoubtedly the moft imperfect of all the 
 three, how much the practice of both the 
 amiable and relpectable virtues is conducive 
 to our own intereft, to our own eafe and 
 fafety and quiet even in this life. As Epicu- 
 rus placed happlnefs in the attainment of eafe 
 and fecurity, he exerted himfelf in a particu- 
 lar manner to fhow that virtue was, not 
 merely the belt and the fureft, but the only- 
 means of acquiring thofe invaluable poffefr- 
 fions. The good effects of virtue, upon our in- 
 ward tranquillity and peace of mind, are what 
 other philofophers have chiefly celebrated. 
 Epicurus, without neglecting this topic, has 
 chiefly infilled upon the influence of that 
 amiable quality on our outward profperity 
 
 s 1 and
 
 262 Of S y s t e m s Part VII. 
 
 and fafety. It was upon this account that his. 
 writings were fo much ftudied in the an- 
 cient world by men of all different philofo- 
 phical parties. It is from him that Cicero, 
 the great enemy of the Epicurean fyftem, 
 borrows his moft agreeable proofs that vir- 
 tue alone is fufficient to fecure happinefs. 
 Seneca, though a Stoic, the feet moft oppo- 
 fite to that of Epicurus, yet quotes this phi- 
 lofopher more frequently than any other. 
 
 There is, however, another fyftem which 
 feems to take away altogether the diftinction 
 between vice and virtue, and of which the 
 tendency is, upon that account, wholly per- 
 nicious ; I mean the fyftem of Dr. Mande- 
 ville. Though the notions of this author are 
 in almoft every refpect erroneous, there are, 
 however, fome appearances in human nature, 
 which, when viewed in a certain manner, 
 feem at firft fight to favour them. Thefe, 
 defcribed and exaggerated by the lively and 
 humorous, though coarfe and ruftic elo- 
 quence of Dr. Mandevillc, have thrown upon 
 his doctrines an air of truth and probability 
 which is very apt to impofe upon the unfkil- 
 ful. 
 
 Dr. Mandcville confiders whatever is done 
 from a fevSe of propriety, from a regard to 
 what is commendable and praife-worthy, as 
 
 being
 
 Seel:. II. cf Moral Philosophy. iG^ 
 
 being done from a love of praife and com- 
 mendation, or as he calls it from vanity. 
 Man, he obferves, is naturally much more 
 interefted in his own happinefs than in that 
 of others, and it is impoffible that in his heart 
 lie can ever really prefer their profperity to 
 his own. Whenever he appears to do fo, we 
 may be allured that he impofes upon us, and 
 that he is then acting from the fame felfifh 
 motives as at all other times. Among his 
 other ielfiih palhons, vanity is one of the 
 ftrongeft, and he is always eafily flattered 
 and greatly delighted with the applaufes of 
 thole about him. When he appears to facri- 
 fice his own intcreft to that of his compani- 
 ons, he knows that this conduct will be 
 highly agreeable to their felf-love, and that 
 they will not fail to exprefs their fatisfaction 
 by bellowing upon him the mod extravagant 
 praifes. The plcafure which he expects 
 from this, over-balances, in his opinion, the 
 intcreft which he abandons in order to pro- 
 cure it. His conduct, therefore, upon this 
 occalion, is in reality juft as ieiiifh, and arifes 
 from juft as mean a motive as upon any 
 other. He is flattered, however, and he flat- 
 ters himlelf with the belief that it is entirely 
 difinterefted ; iince, uniefs this was iuppoied, 
 it would not fecm to merit any commenda- 
 
 s 4 tion
 
 a 64 Of S y s t e M 5 Part VII. 
 
 tion either in his own eyes or in thofe of 
 others. All public fpirit, therefore, all prefe- 
 rence of public to private intereil, is, accord- 
 ing to him, a mere cheat and impofition 
 upon mankind ; and that human virtue which 
 is fo much boafted of, and which is the occa- 
 fion of fo much emulation among men, is the 
 mere offspring of flattery begot upon pride. 
 
 Whether the moft generous and public- 
 fpirited actions may not, in fome fenle, be 
 regarded as proceeding from felf-love, I (hall 
 not at prefent examine. Fhc decifion of 
 this queftion is not, I apprehend, of any im- 
 portance towards eftablifhing the reality of 
 virtue, fince fell- love may frequently be a 
 virtuous motive of aclion. I mail onlv en- 
 deavour to fhow that the defire of doing 
 what is honourable and noble, of rendering 
 ourfelves the proper objects of elteem and 
 approbation, cannot with any propriety 
 be called vanity. Even the love of well- 
 grounded fame and reputation, the defire of 
 acquiring efteem by what is really cfiimable, 
 does not deferve that name. The firft is the 
 love of virtue, the nobleft and the heft paf- 
 fion of human nature. The fecond is the 
 love of true glory, a paffion inferior no doubt 
 to the former, but which in dignity appears 
 to come immediately after it. He is guilty 
 
 of
 
 Se&. II. of Moral Philosophy. 265 
 
 of vanity who defires praife for qualities 
 which are either not praife-worthy in any 
 degree, or not in that degree in which he ex- 
 pects to be praifed for them ; who fets his 
 character upon the frivolous ornaments of 
 drefs and equipage, or upon the equally fri- 
 volous accomplishments of ordinary behavi- 
 our. He is guilty of vanity who defires 
 praife for what indeed very well deferves it, 
 but what he perfectly knows does not belong to 
 him. The empty coxcomb who gives himfelf 
 airs of importance which he has no title to, 
 the filly liar who aiTumes the merit of adven- 
 tures which never happened, the foolifh pla- 
 giary who gives himfelf out for the author of 
 what he has no pretentions to, are properly 
 accufed of this paflion. He too is faid to be 
 guilty of vanity who is not contented with 
 the iilent fentiments of efteem and approba- 
 tion, who fcems to be fonder of their noify 
 expreflions and acclamations than of the fen- 
 timents themfelves, who is never fatisfied but 
 when his own prailes are ringing in his ears, 
 and who folicits with the moft anxious im- 
 portunity all external marks of refpect, is 
 fond of tides, of compliments, of being vifited, 
 of being attended, of being taken notice of 
 in public places with the appearance of defe- 
 rence and attention. This frivolous paflion 
 
 is
 
 z06 Of Systems Fait VII. 
 
 is altogether diilerent from cither of the two 
 former, and is the paffion of the loweil and 
 the leaft of mankind, as they are of the no- 
 bleft and the create!!. 
 
 But though, thefe three paffions, the defire 
 of rendering ourielves the proper objects of 
 honour and efteem ; or of becoming what is 
 honourable and eltimable ; the defire of ac- 
 quiring honour and efteem by really defer- 
 ving thofe fentiments ; and the frivolous de- 
 fire of praife at any rate, are widely different ; 
 though the two former are always approved 
 of, while the latter never fails to be defpifed ; 
 there is, however, a certain remote affinity 
 among them, which, exaggerated by the 
 humorous and diverting eloquence of this 
 lively author, has enabled him to impofe upon 
 his readers. There is an affinity between 
 vanity and the love of true glory, as both 
 thefe paffions aim at acquiring efteem and 
 approbation. But they are different in this, 
 that the one is ajuft, reafonable, and equitable 
 paffion, while the other is unjuft, abfurd, 
 and ridiculous. The man who deiires efteem 
 for what is really eftimable, defires nothing 
 but what he is juftly entitled to, and what 
 cannot be refufed him without fome fort of 
 injury. He, on the contrary, who defires it 
 upon any other terms, demands what he has 
 
 no
 
 Sea. II. of Moral Philosophy. 267 
 
 no juft claim to. The fir ft is eafily fatisfied, 
 is not apt to be jealous or fufpicious that we 
 do not efteem him enough, and is feldom 
 folicitous about receiving many external 
 marks of our regard. The other on the con- 
 trary, is never to be fatisfied, is full of jea- 
 loufy and fufpicion that we do not efteem 
 him fo much as he defires, becaufe he has 
 fome fecret confcioufnefs that he defires more 
 than he deferves. The lead neglecl: of cere- 
 mony, he confiders as a mortal affront, and 
 as an expreflion of the moft determined con- 
 tempt. He is reftlefs and impatient, and 
 perpetually afraid that we have loft ail refpecl: 
 for him, and is upon this account always 
 anxious to obtain new expreftions of efteem, 
 and cannot be kept in temper but by conti- 
 nual attendance and adulation. 
 
 There is an affinity too between the defire 
 of becoming what is honourable and eftl- 
 mable, and the deiire of honour and efteem, 
 between the love of virtue and the love of 
 true p;loi-y. They refemble one another not 
 only in this reipect, that both aim at really 
 bein"- what is honourable and noble, but even 
 in that reiped in which the love of true 
 glory refcmbles what is properly called va- 
 nity, fome reference to the fentimenU of 
 others. The man of the greateft magnani- 
 mity,
 
 -j6S Of S v s t e m s Part VII. 
 
 xnity, who defires virtue for its own fake, 
 and is mod indifferent about what actually 
 arc the opinions of mankind with regard to 
 him, is ftiil, however, delighted with the 
 thoughts of what they mould be, with the 
 confcioufnefs that though he may neither be 
 honoured nor applauded, he is ftill the proper 
 object of honour and applaufe, and that if 
 mankind, were cool and candid and confid- 
 ent with themfelves, and properly informed 
 of the motives and circumftances of his con- 
 duel:, they would not fail to honour and ap- 
 plaud him. Though he defpifes the opinions 
 which are actually entertained of him, he has 
 the higheft value for thofe which ought to be 
 entertained of him. That he might think 
 himfelf worthy of thofe honourable ienti- 
 ments, and, whatever was the idea which 
 other men might conceive of his character, 
 that when he mould put himfelf in their fitu- 
 ation, and confider, not what was, but what 
 ought to be their opinion, he mould always 
 have the hinrhefl idea of it himfelf, was the 
 great and exalted motive of his conduct. As 
 even in the love of virtue, therefore, there 
 is fli'l fome reference, though not to what is, 
 yet to what in reafon and propriety ought to 
 be the opinion of others, there is even in this 
 relpecl fome affinity between it, and the love 
 
 of
 
 Bed. II. of Moral Philosophy. 269 
 
 of true glory. There is however, at the 
 lame time, very great difference between 
 them. The man who ads folely from a 
 regard to what is right and fit to be done, 
 from a regard to what is the proper object 
 of efteem and approbation, though theie fen- 
 timents fhould never be beftowed upon him, 
 ads from the moil fublime and godlike mo- 
 tive which human nature is even capable of 
 conceiving The man, on the other hand, 
 who while he defires to merit approbation is 
 at the fame time anxious to obtain it, though 
 he too is laudable in the main, yet his ^ mo- 
 tives have a greater mixture of human infar- 
 mity. He is° in danger of being mortified by 
 the ignorance and injuftice of mankind, and 
 his happinefs is expofed to the envy of his 
 rivals and the folly of the public. The hap- 
 pinefs of the other, on the contrary, is alto- 
 gether fecure and independent of fortune, and 
 of the caprice of thole he lives with. The 
 contempt and hatred which may be thrown 
 upon him by the ignorance of mankind, he 
 confiders as not belonging to him, and is not 
 at all mortified by it. Mankind delpile and 
 hate him from a falfe notion of his character 
 and conduct. If they knew him better, they 
 would efteem and love him. It is not him 
 whom, properly fpeaking, they hate and 
 
 defpiie,
 
 270 Of Systems Part VIL 
 
 defpile, but another perfon whom they mif- 
 take him to be. Our friend, whom we 
 fhould meet at a mafquerade in the garb of 
 our enemy, would be more diverted than 
 mortified, if under that difguife we mould 
 vent our indignation againft him. Such are 
 the fentiments of a man of real magnanimity, 
 when expofed to unjuft cenfure. It feldom 
 happens, however, that human nature ar- 
 rives at this degree of firmnefs. Though 
 none but the weaker! and raoft worthlefs of 
 mankind are much delighted with falfe glory, 
 yet, by a ftrange inconfiftency, falfe igno- 
 miny is often capable of mortifying thofe who 
 appear the moit refolute and determined. 
 
 Dr. Mandeville is not fatished with repre- 
 fentingthe frivolous motive of vanity, as the 
 fource of all thofe actions which are com- 
 monly accounted virtuous. He endeavours 
 to point out the imperfection of human vir- 
 tue in many other refpects. In every cafe, 
 he pretends, it falls fhort of that complete 
 felf-denial which it pretends to, and, inftead 
 of a conqucft, is commonly no more than a 
 concealed indulgence of our paffions. Where- 
 ever our referve with regard to pleafure falls 
 fhort of the mod afcetic abftinence, he treats 
 it as grofs luxury and fenfuality. Every 
 thing, according to him, is luxury which 
 1 1 exceeds
 
 Seel. II. of Moral Philosophy. 271 
 
 exceeds what is abfolutely neceffary for the 
 fiipport of human nature, fo that there is 
 vice even in the life of a clean fhirt, or of a 
 convenient habitation. The indulgence of 
 the inclination to fex, in the moft lawful 
 union, he confiders as the fame fenfuality 
 with the moil hurtful gratification of that paf- 
 fion, and derides that temperance and that 
 chaftity which can be praelifed at fo cheap a 
 rate. The ingenious fophiftry of his reason- 
 ing, is here, as upon many other occafions, 
 covered by the ambiguity of language. There 
 are fome of cur pafiions which have no 
 other names except thofe which mark the 
 difagreeable and offenfive degree. The Spec- 
 tator is more apt to take notice of them in 
 this degree than in any other. When they 
 (hock his own fentiments, when they give 
 him fome fort of antipathy and uneafiaefs, 
 he is neceilarily obliged to attend to them, and 
 is from thence naturally led to give them a 
 name. When they fall in with the natural 
 Hate of his own mind, he is very apt to over- 
 look them altogether, and either gives them 
 no name at all, or, if lie give them any, it is 
 one which marks rather the fuhjcflion and 
 reftraint of the paflion, than the degree 
 which it null is allowed to fubfiit in, after it is 
 io fubjecled and retrained. Thus the com- 
 mon
 
 2/2 0/ System* PartVlt 
 
 mon name?* of the love of pleafure, and of 
 the love of fex 4 denote a vicious and ofTenfive 
 degree of thofe pafhons. The words tem- 
 perance and chaftity, on the other hand, 
 feem to mark rather the reftraint and fubjec- 
 tion which they are kept under, than the de- 
 gree which they are flill allowed to fubfift in, 
 When he can fhow, therefore, that they ftill 
 fubfift in fome degree, he imagines, he has 
 entirely dernolifhed the reality of the virtues 
 of temperance and chaftity, and mown them 
 to be mere impofitions upon the inattention 
 and fimplicity of mankind. Thcfe virtues, 
 however, do not require an entire infenfibility 
 to the objects of the paffions which they 
 mean to govern. They only aim at reftrain- 
 ing the violence of thofe paffions, fo far as 
 not to hurt the individual, and neither dif* 
 turb nor offend the fociety. 
 
 It is the great fallacy of Dr. Mandeville s 
 book")" to reprcfent every paflion as wholly 
 vicious, which is fo in any degree and in any 
 direction. It is thus that he treats every 
 thing as vanity which has any reference, ei- 
 ther to what are, or to what ought to be the 
 fentiments of others : and it is by means of 
 this fophiftry, that he eftablifhes his favourite 
 conclufion, that private vices are public bene- 
 
 * Luxury and lull. f Fable of the Bees. 
 
 fits.
 
 Se&. II. of Moral Philosophy. 273 
 
 fits. If the love of magnificence, a talk for 
 the elegant arts and improvements of human 
 life, for whatever is agreeable in drefs, furni- 
 ture, or equipage, for architecture, ftatuary, 
 painting, and mufic, is to be regarded as 
 luxury, ieniuality, and oftentation, even in 
 thofe whole fituation allows, without any in- 
 conveniency, the indulgence of thofe paffions, 
 it is certain that luxury, fenfuality, and often- 
 tation, are public benefits : fmce without the 
 qualities upon which he thinks proper to be- 
 llow fuch opprobrious names, the arts of re- 
 finement could never find encouragement, 
 and mull languifh for want of employment. 
 Some popular afcetic doctrines, which had 
 been current before his time, and which placed 
 virtue in the entire extirpation and anni- 
 hilation of all our paliions, were the real 
 foundation of this licentious fyftem. It was 
 eafy for Dr. Mandeville to prove, firft, that 
 this entire conqueft never actually took place 
 among men, and fecondiy, that, if it was to 
 take place univerfally, it would be pernicious 
 to fociety, by putting an end to all induftry 
 and commerce, and in a manner to the whole 
 bufinefs of human life. By the firft of thefe 
 proportions he ieemed to prove that there 
 was no real virtue, and that what pretended 
 to be fuch, was a mere cheat and impofition 
 vol, 11. T u P° n
 
 274 Of Sy stems Part VII. 
 
 upon mankind ; and by the fecond, that pri- 
 vate vices were public benefits, iince without 
 them no fociety could profper or flourifh. 
 
 Such is the fyftem of Dr. Mandeville, 
 which once made io much noife in the world, 
 and which, though, perhaps, it never gave 
 occafion to more vice than what would have 
 been without it, at lead taught that vice, 
 which arofe from other caules, to appear 
 with more effrontery, and to avow the cor- 
 ruption of its motives with a profligate auda- 
 cioufnefs, which had never been heard of 
 before. 
 
 But how deftructive foever this fyftem 
 may appear, it could never have impofed 
 upon io great a number of perfons, nor have 
 occafioned fo general an alarm among thofe 
 who are the friends of better principles, had 
 it not in (bine refpecls bordered upon the 
 truth. A fyftem of natural philofophy may 
 appear very plauhble, and be for a long time 
 very generally received in the world, and yet 
 have no foundation in nature, nor any fort of 
 refemblance to the truth. The vortices of 
 l)es Cartes were regarded by a very ingeni- 
 ous nation, for near a century together, as a 
 moft fatisfaclory account of the revolutions 
 of the heavenly bodies. Yet it has been de- 
 monftrated, to the conviction of all mankind, 
 
 that
 
 Sed. II. of Moral Philosophy. 275 
 
 that thefe pretended caufes of thofe wonder- 
 ful effects, not only do not actually exift, but 
 are utterly impoflible, and if they did exift 
 could produce no luch effects as are aicribed 
 to them. But it is other wile with fy Items of 
 moral philofophy, and an author who pre- 
 tends to account for the origin of our moral 
 fentiments, cannot deceive us fo grofsly, nor 
 depart fo very far from all refemblance to the 
 truth. When a traveller gives an account of 
 fome. diftant country, he may impofe upon 
 our credulity the mod groundlefs and abfurd 
 iiclions as the moft certain matters of fact. 
 But when a perfon pretends to inform us of 
 what paffes in our neigbourhood, and of the 
 affairs of the very parifh which we live in, 
 though here too, if we are fo carelefs as not 
 to examine things with our own eyes, he 
 may deceive us in many refpedts, yet the 
 greateft falfehoods which he impofes upon us 
 mult, bear fome refemblance to the truth, and 
 muft even have a confiderable mixture of 
 truth in them. An author who treats of na- 
 tural philofophy, and pretends to aflign the 
 caufes of the great phenomena of the uni- 
 verfe, pretends to give an account of the 
 affairs of a very diftant country, concerning 
 which he may tell us what he pleafes, and as 
 long as his narration keeps within the bounds 
 
 T 2 Of
 
 276 Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 of feeming pofTibility he need not defpair of 
 gaining our belief. But when he propofes to 
 explain the origin of our defires and affec- 
 tions, of our fentiments of approbation and 
 difapprobation, he pretends to give an ac- 
 count, not only of the affairs of the very pa- 
 riih that we live in, but of our own domeitic 
 concerns. Though here too, like indolent 
 mailers who put their truft in a {reward who 
 deceives them, we are very liable to be im- 
 pofed upon, yet we are incapable of pairing 
 any account which does not preferve fome 
 little regard to the truth. Some of the arti- 
 cles, at leaft, rauft be juft, and even thofe 
 which are moft overcharged muft have had 
 fome foundation, otherwife the fraud would 
 be detected even by that carclefs infpection 
 which we are difpofed to give. The author 
 who mould affign, as the caufe of any natural 
 lentiment, fome principle which neither had 
 any connexion with it, nor refembled any 
 other principle which had fome fuch con- 
 nexion, would appear abfurd and ridiculous 
 to the moil injudicious and unexperienced 
 reader.
 
 Sea. III. of Moral Philosophy. 277 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Of the different Syftems which have been 
 formed concerning the Principle of Ap- 
 probation. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 A FTER the inquiry concerning the nature 
 A f virtue, the next queftion of import- 
 ance in Moral Philo'fophy is concerning the 
 principle of approbation, concerning the 
 power or faculty of the mind which renders 
 certain charaders agreeable or diiagreeable to 
 us, makes us prefer one tenour of conduct to 
 another, denominate the one right and the 
 other wrong, and confider the one as the ob- 
 ied of approbation, honour, and reward; the 
 other as that of blame, ceniure, and pumih- 
 
 ment. 
 
 Three different accounts have been given 
 of this principle of approbation. According 
 to fome, we approve and difapprove both ot 
 our own aOions and ofthofe of others, from 
 fclf-love only, or from fome view ot their 
 T „ tendency
 
 273 Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 tendency to our own happinefs or difadvan- 
 tage : according to others, reafon, the fame 
 faculty by which we diftinguifh between 
 truth and falfehood, enables us to diftinguifh 
 between what is fit and unfit both in actions 
 and affections : according to others this dis- 
 tinction is altogether the effect of immediate 
 fentiment and feeling, and arifes from the 
 fatisfaction or difguft with which the view of 
 certain actions or affections infpires us. Self- 
 love, reafon, and fentiment, therefore, are 
 the three different fources which have been 
 affigned for the principle of approbation. 
 
 Before I proceed to give an account of 
 thofe different fyftems, I muft obferve, that 
 the determination of this fecond queftion, 
 though of the greateft importance in fpecula- 
 tion, is of none in practice. The queftion 
 concerning the nature of virtue neceffarily 
 has fome influence upon our notions of right 
 and wrong in many particular cafes. That 
 concerning the principle of approbation can 
 poffibly have no inch effect. To examine 
 from what contrivance or mechanifm within, 
 thofe different notions or fentiments arife, is 
 a mere matter of philofophical curiofity.
 
 Se&. III. of Moral Philosophy. 279 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 Of thofc Syjlcms which deduce the Principle of 
 Approbation from Self-Love, 
 
 r-pnosE who account for the principle of 
 * approbation from felf-love, do not all 
 account for it in the fame manner, and there 
 18 a good deal of confufion and inaccuracy in 
 all their different fyftems. According to 
 Mr. Hobbes, and many of his followers*, 
 man is driven to take refuge in fociety, not 
 by any natural love which he bears to his 
 own kind, but becaufe without the affiltance 
 of others he is incapable of fubfifting with 
 eafe or fafety. Society, upon this account, 
 becomes neceflary to him, and whatever tends 
 to its fupport and welfare, he confiders as 
 having a remote tendency to his own intereft; 
 and, on the contrary, whatever is likely to 
 difturb or deftroy it, he regards as in fome 
 meaiure hurtful or pernicious to himfelf. 
 Virtue is the great fupport and vice the great 
 difturber of human fociety. The former, 
 therefore, is agreeable and the latter oflenlive 
 to every man; as from the one he forefees 
 
 * Puffendorff, Mafideville. 
 
 T \ the
 
 28o 0/ Systems Part VII. 
 
 the profperity, and from the other the ruin 
 and diforder of what is fo neceffary for the 
 comfort and fecurity of his exiftence. 
 
 That the tendency of virtue to promote, 
 and of vice to difturb the order of fociety, 
 when we confider it coolly and philofophically, 
 reflects a very great beauty upon the one, and 
 a very great deformity upon the other, can- 
 not, as I have obferved upon a former occa- 
 fion, be called in queflion. Human fociety, 
 when we contemplate it in a certain abftract 
 and philofophical light, appears like a great, 
 an immenfe machine, whole regular and har- 
 monious movements produce a thoufand 
 agreeable effects. As in any other beautiful 
 and noble machine that was the production 
 of human art, whatever tended to render 
 its movements more fmooth and eafy, would 
 derive a beauty from this effect, and, on the 
 contrary, whatever tended to obftruct them 
 would difpleafe upon that account : fo virtue, 
 which is, as it were, the fine polifn to the 
 wheels of fociety, neceiTarily pleafes ; while 
 vice, like the vile rufl, which makes them 
 jar and grate upon one another, is as necef- 
 iarily offenfive. This account, therefore, of 
 the origin of approbation and difapprobation, 
 fo far as it derives them from a regard to the 
 order of fociety, runs into that principle 
 
 which
 
 Seft. III. of Moral Philosophy. 28* 
 
 which gives beauty to utility, and which I 
 have explained upon a former occaiion ; and 
 it is from thence that this fyftem derives all 
 that appearance of probability which it poi- 
 feffes. "\Vhen thofe authors defcribe the in- 
 numerable advantages of a cultivated and fe- 
 cial, above a lavage and folitary life ; when 
 they expatiate upon the neceffity of virtue 
 and good order for the maintenance of the 
 one, and demonftrate how infallibly the pre- 
 valence of vice and difobedience to the laws 
 tend to bring back the other, the reader is 
 charmed with the novelty and grandeur of 
 thofe views which they open to him : he fees 
 plainly a new beauty in virtue, and a new 
 deformity in vice, which he had never taken 
 notice of before, and is commonly fo delight- 
 ed with the difcovery, that he feldom takes 
 time to relied, that this political view having 
 never occurred to him in his life before, can- 
 not poffibly be the ground of that approba- 
 tion and difapprobation with which he has 
 always been accuftomed to confider thofe 
 different qualities. 
 
 When thofe authors, on the other hand, 
 deduce from felf-love the intereft which we 
 take in the welfare of fociety, and the elteem 
 which upon that account we beftow upon 
 virtue, they do not mean, that when we in 
 
 this
 
 282 Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 this age applaud the virtue of Cato, and deteft 
 the villany of Catiline, our fentiments are in- 
 fluenced by the notion of any benefit we re- 
 ceive from the one, or of any detriment we 
 fuffer from the other. It was not becaufe the 
 profperity or fubverfion of foeiety, in thofe 
 remote ages and nations, was apprehended to 
 have any influence upon our happinefs or 
 mifery in the prefent times ; that according 
 to thofe philosophers, we efteemed the virtu- 
 ous, and blamed the diforderly character. 
 They never imagined that our fentiments 
 were influenced by any benefit or damage 
 which we fuppofed actually to redound to us, 
 from either; but by that w r hich might have 
 redounded to us, had we lived in thofe dis- 
 tant ages and countries ; or by that which 
 might itill redound to us, if in our own times 
 we mould meet with characters of the fame 
 kind. The idea, in fhort, which thofe au- 
 thors were groping about, but which they 
 were never able to unfold diftincHy, was that 
 indirect iympathy which we feel with the 
 gratitude or refentment of thofe who received 
 the benefit or iuffered the damage rei'ulting 
 from fuch oppofite characters : and it was 
 this which they were indiftinclly pointing at, 
 when they faid, that it was not the thought 
 of what we had gained or fuffered which 
 
 prompted
 
 Se£. III. <f Moral Philosophy. 283 
 
 prompted our applaufe or indignation, but 
 the conception or imagination of what we 
 might gain or fufFer if we were to act in foci- 
 ety with fuch affociates. 
 
 Sympathy, however, cannot, in any fenfe, 
 be regarded as a felfifh principle. When I 
 fympathize with your forrow or your indig- 
 nation, it may be pretended, indeed, that my 
 emotion is founded in felf-love, becaufe it 
 arifes from bringing your cafe home to my- 
 felf, from putting myfelf in your fituation, 
 and thence conceiving what 1 fhould feel in 
 the like circumftances. But though fympa- 
 thy is very properly laid to arife from an 
 imaginary change of fituations with the per- 
 fon principally concerned, yet this imaginary 
 change is not fuppofed to happen to me in 
 my own perfon and character, but in that of 
 the perfon with whom I fympathize. When I 
 condole with you for the lofs of your only 
 ion, in order to enter into your grief I do 
 not conhder what I, a perfon of fuch a cha- 
 racter and profeffion, mould naffer, if I had 
 a fori, and if that fon was unfortunately to 
 die : but 1 confider what I fhould fuffer if I 
 was really you, and I not only change cir- 
 cumftances with you, but I change perfons 
 and characters. My grief, therefore, is en- 
 tirely upon your account, and not in the lead 
 
 upon
 
 2S4 Of Systems Part VI L 
 
 upon my own. It is not, therefore, in the 
 Jeaft felfifh. How can that be regarded as a 
 felfifh pailion, which does not arife even 
 from the imagination of any thing that has he- 
 fallen, or that relates to myfelf, in my own pro- 
 per perfon and character, but which is entirely 
 occupied about what relates to you ? A man 
 may fympathize with a woman in child-bed ; 
 though it is impofiible that he mould con- 
 ceive himfelf as fullering her pains in his own 
 proper perfon and character. That whole 
 account of human nature, however, which 
 deduces all fentirnents and affections from 
 felf-love, which has made fo much noife in 
 the world, but which, fo far as I know, has 
 never yet been fully and diftinctly explained, 
 feems to me to have arifen from forne con- 
 fufed mifapprehenfion of the fyftem of fvm- 
 patliy. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Of th'fs Sjflcms which make Rcafon the 
 Principle of Approbation, 
 
 T t is veil known to have been the doctrine 
 -*- of Mr. Hobbes, that a {fate of nature is 
 a fi.it c of war ; and that antecedent to the 
 inititution of civil government, there could 
 be no fafe or peaceable focietv amon^ men. 
 
 To
 
 Sect. III. of Moral Philosophy. 2S5 
 
 To preferve fociety, therefore, according to 
 him, was to fupport civil government, and 
 to deftroy civil government was the fame 
 thing as to put an end to fociety. But the 
 exidence of civil government depends upon 
 the obedience that is paid to the fupreme 
 magi (Irate. The moment he lofes ins autho- 
 rity, all government is at an end. As felf- 
 prefervation, therefore, teaches men to ap- 
 plaud whatever tends to promote the welfare 
 of fociety, and to blame whatever is likely to 
 hurt it; fo the fame principle, if they would 
 think and fpeak confidently, ought to teach 
 them to applaud upon all occafions obedience 
 to the civil magiftrate, and to blame all dis- 
 obedience and rebellion. The very ideas of 
 laudable and blameable, ought to be the fame 
 with thofe of obedience and difobedience. 
 Trie laws of the civil magiftrate, therefore, 
 ought to be regarded as the ioic ultimate 
 dandards of what was juft and unjud, of 
 what was right and wrong. 
 
 It was the avowed intention of Mr. 
 Hobbes, bv propagating theie notions, to fub- 
 ject the conlciences of men immediately to the 
 civil, and not to the ecclefiaftical powers, 
 whole turbulence and ambition, he had been 
 taught, by tlie exampl ; 01 his own times, to 
 regard as the principal fource of the dinar- 
 2 ders
 
 286 Of Systems Part Ml. 
 
 ders of fociety. His doctrine, upon this ac- 
 count, was peculiarly offenlive to theolo- 
 gians, who accordingly did not fail to vent 
 their indignation againft him with great afpe- 
 rity and bitternefs. It was likewife offenfive 
 to all found moralifts, as it fuppofed that 
 there was no natural diftincYion between 
 righ: and wrong, that thefe were mutable 
 and changeable, and depended upon the 
 mere arbitrary will of the civil magistrate. 
 This account of things, therefore, was at- 
 tacked from all quarters and by all forts of 
 weapons, by fober reafon as well as by furi- 
 ous declamation. 
 
 In order to confute fo odious a doctrine, it 
 was neceiTary to prove, that antecedent to all 
 law or pofitive inltitution, the mind was na- 
 turally; c:zd r jv:cd with a faculty, by which it 
 diftinguifhed in certain actions and affections, 
 the qualities of right, laudable, and virtuous, 
 and in others thole of wronjr, blameable, and 
 vicious. 
 
 Law, it was juftly cbferved by Dr. Cud- 
 worth', could not be the original fource of 
 thofe diflindtions ; fince, upon the fuppofi- 
 tion of iuch a law, it muft either be right to 
 obey it, and wrong to difobey it, or indifTer- 
 
 * Irr-.utable Morality, ! I 
 
 en!
 
 Sea. III. of Moral Philosophy. 287 
 
 e,nt whether we obeyed it, or difobeyed it. 
 That law which it was indifferent whether we 
 obeyed or difobeyed, could not, it was evi- 
 dent, be the fource of thofe diftinctions ; 
 neither could that which it was right to obey 
 and wrong to difobey, fmce even this ftill 
 fuppofed the antecedent notions or ideas of 
 right and wrong, and that obedience to the 
 law was conformable to the idea of right, and 
 difobedience to that of wrong. 
 
 Since the mind, therefore, had a notion 
 of thofe diflinctions, antecedent to all law, it 
 feemed necelTarily to follow, that it derived 
 this notion from reafon, which pointed out 
 the difference between right and wrong, in 
 the fame manner in which it did that between 
 truth and falfehood : and this conclufion, 
 which, though true in fome rejects, is ra- 
 ther haftv in others, was more eaiily received 
 at a time when the abftract feience of human 
 nature was but in its infancy, and before the 
 diitinct offices and powers of the different fa- 
 culties of the human mind had been care- 
 fully examined and diftinguifhed from one 
 another. When this controverfy with Mr. 
 Hobbes was carried on with the grcateft 
 warmth and keennefs, no other faculty had 
 been thought of from which any fuch ideas 
 could poflibly be fuppofed to arife. It became 
 
 at
 
 283 Of Systems Part VH. 
 
 at this time, therefore, the popular doctrine, 
 that the effence of virtue and vice did not 
 confifl in the conformity or difagreement of 
 human actions with the law of a fuperior, but 
 in their conformity or difagreement with rea- 
 fon, which was thus confidered as the origi- 
 nal fource and principle cf approbation and 
 difapprobation. 
 
 That virtue confifts in conformity to rea- 
 fon, is true in fome refpects, and this faculty 
 may very juftiy be confidered as, in fome 
 fenfe, the fource and principle of approba- 
 tion and difapprobation, and of all folid 
 judgments concerning right and wrong. It 
 is by rcafon that we difcover thofe general 
 rules of juftice by which we ought to regu- 
 late our actions : and it is by the fame faculty 
 that we form thofe more vague and indeter- 
 minate ideas of what is prudent, of what is 
 decent, of what is generous or noble, which 
 we carry conftanily about with us, and ac- 
 cording to which we endeavour, as well as 
 we can, to model the tenor of our conduct. 
 The general maxims of morality are formed, 
 like all other general maxims, from experi- 
 ence and induction. We obferve in a great 
 variety oi particular cafes what plcafes or dif«* 
 pleales our moral faculucs, what thefe ap- 
 prove or difapprove of, and, by induction 
 
 from
 
 Sect. III. of Moral Philosophy. 289 
 
 from this experience, we eftablifh thofe ge- 
 neral rules. But induction is always regarded 
 as one of the operations of reafon. From rea- 
 fon, therefore, we are very properly faid to 
 derive all thofe general maxims and ideas. 
 It is by thefe, however, that we regulate the 
 greater part of our moral judgments, which 
 would be extremely uncertain and precarious 
 if they depended altogether upon what is li- 
 able to fo many variations as immediate fen- 
 timent and feeling, which the different ftates 
 of health and humour are capable of altering 
 fo etfentially. As our mo ft lolid judgments, 
 therefore, with regard to right and wrong, are 
 regulated by maxims and ideas derived from. 
 an induction of reafon, virtue may very pro- 
 perly be faid to confift in a conformity to 
 reafon, and fo far this faculty may be con- 
 fidered as the lburce and principle of appro- 
 bation and difapprobation. 
 
 But though reafon is undoubtedly the 
 fource of the general rules of moralitv, and of 
 all the moral judgments which we form by 
 means of them ; it is altogether abfurd and 
 unintelligible to fuppofe that the firit percep- 
 tions of right and wrong can be derived from 
 reafon, even in thofe particular cafes upon the 
 experience of which the general rules are 
 formed. Thefe firit, perceptions, as well as 
 
 vol. 11. u all
 
 ■2 v o Of S y s t ems Part VII. 
 
 all other experiments upon which any gene- 
 ral rules are founded, cannot be the object of 
 reafon but of immediate fenfe and feeling. It 
 is by finding in a vaft variety of inftances that 
 one tenor of conduct conftantly pleafes in a 
 certain manner, and that another as con- 
 ftantly difpleafes the mind, that we form the 
 general rules of morality. But reafon can- 
 not render any particular object either agree- 
 able or difagreeable to the mind for its own 
 Take. Reafon may mow that this object is 
 the means of obtaining feme other which is 
 naturally either pleafing or difpleahng, and 
 iu this manner may render it either agreeable 
 or difagreeable for the lake of fomething elfe. 
 But nothing can be agreeable or difagreeable 
 lor its own lake, which is not rendered fuch 
 by immediate fenle and feeling. If virtue, 
 therefore, in every particular inilance, necef- 
 larily pleaies for its own lake, and if vice as 
 certainly difpleafes the mind, it cannot be 
 reafon, but immediate fenfe and feeling, 
 which, in this manner, reconciles us to the 
 one, and alienates us from the other. 
 
 Pleafure and pain are the great objects of 
 deb re and averlion : but thefe arc diftin- 
 guiflied not by reafon, but by immediate 
 ienle and feeling. If virtue, therefore, be 
 dclirable for it", own Lie, and if vice be, in 
 
 the
 
 Sea. III. of Moral Philosophy. 291 
 
 the fame manner, the objea of averfion, it 
 cannot be reafon which originally diftinguifhes 
 thofe different qualities, but immediate lenfe 
 and feeling. 
 
 As reafon, however, in a certain fenfe, 
 may juftly be confidered as the principle of 
 approbation and difapprobation, thefe fenti- 
 ments were, through inattention, long re- 
 garded as originally flowing from the ope- 
 rations of this faculty. Dr. Hutchefon had the 
 merit of being the firft who diftinguiHhed 
 with any degree of precision in what refpect 
 all moral difti net ions may be laid to arife 
 from reafon, and in what refpect they are 
 founded upon immediate fenfe and feeiing. 
 In his illuftrations upon the moral ienfe he 
 has explained this fo fully, and, in my opi- 
 nion, fo unanfwerably, that, if any contro- 
 verfy is ftill kept up about this fubjedt, I can 
 impute it to nothing, but either to inatten- 
 tion to what that gentleman has written, or 
 to a fuperflitious attachment to certain forms 
 of exprefhon, a weaknefs not very uncom- 
 mon among the learned, efpecially in fubjecls 
 fo deeply intercfting as the prefent, in which 
 a man of virtue is often loath to aban'lon, 
 even the propriety of a fmgle phrale which 
 he has been accuftomed to. 
 
 u 2
 
 292 (^Systems Part VII. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Of thofc Syficms which make Sentiment the 
 
 Principle of Approbation. 
 
 'f 'hose fyftems which make fentiment 
 "* the principle of approbation may be 
 divided into two different claffes. 
 
 I. According to lorne, the principle of ap- 
 probation is founded upon a fentiment of a 
 peculiar nature, upon a particular power of 
 i erception exerted by the mind at the view 
 of certain actions or affections ; feme of which 
 afieclmg this faculty in an agreeable and 
 ethers in a difagreeable manner, the former 
 are ftamped with the characters of right, laud- 
 able, and virtuous; the latter with thofe of 
 wrong, blameable, and vicious. This fenti- 
 ment be'ng of a peculiar nature diftind: from 
 every oilier, and the effect of a particular 
 power of perception, they give it a particular 
 name, ana call it a moral fenfe. 
 
 II. According to others, in order to ac- 
 count for the principle of approbation, there 
 is no occafion for ihppofing any new power 
 ci percv.) ']' n which had never been heard of 
 
 before ;
 
 Sec~f . III. of Moral Philosophy. 293 
 
 before: Nature, thev 1 u .me, acts here, as 
 in all other cafes, with :i ftricteit ceconomy, 
 and produce? a n uit;tu ' <A efFec.ls from one 
 and the lame came; and lympathy, a power 
 which has alw«y> beer, caicen notice of, and 
 with wine' 1 the 1 mid is maniieftly endowed, 
 is, they think, luflicient to account for ail the 
 effects afjribed .0 ' us peculiar faculty. 
 
 I. Dr. Haiteheion* had been at great pains 
 to prove that toe principle of approbation 
 was not founded on felf-love. He had de- 
 monstrated too that it could not arife" from 
 any operation of renfon. Nothing remained, 
 he thought, but to luppofe it a faculty of a 
 peculiar kind, with which Nature had en- 
 dowed the human mind, in order to produce 
 this one particular and important effect. 
 When felf-love and real on were both exclud- 
 ed, it did not occur to him tha: there was 
 any other known faculty ot the mind which 
 could in any refpect anfvver this purpofe. 
 
 This new power of perception he called a 
 moral fenfe, and lunpofed it to be iomewhat 
 analogous to the external ienfes As the bo- 
 dies around us, by affecting; thele in a certain 
 manner, appear to peifefa tiie different qua- 
 lities of found, tatie, odour, colour ; fo the 
 
 * Inquiry concerning Virtue. 
 
 u ; various
 
 204 Of Systems PartVIL 
 
 various affections of the human mind, by 
 touching this particular faculty in a certain 
 manner, appear to poffefs the different qua- 
 lities of amiable and odi us, of virtuous and 
 vicious, of right and wrong. 
 
 The various fenfes or powers of percep- 
 tion*, from which the human mind derives 
 all its fimple ideas, were, according to this 
 fyftem, of two different kinds, of which the 
 one were called the direct, or antecedent, the 
 other, the reflex or confequent fenfes. The 
 direct fenfes were thofe faculties from which 
 the mind derived the perception of fuch fpe- 
 cies of things as did not prefuppofe the ante- 
 cedent perception of any other. Thus iounds 
 and colours were objects of the direct fenfes. 
 To hear a found or to fee a colour does not 
 prefuppofe the antecedent perception of Any- 
 other quality or object. The reflex or confe- 
 quent fenfes on the other hand, were thofe 
 faculties from which the mind derived the 
 perception of fuch fpecies of things as prefup- 
 pofed the antecedent perception of fome other. 
 Thus harmony and beauty were objects of 
 the reflex fenfes. In order to perceive the 
 harmony of a found, or the beauty or a co- 
 lour, we mull firft perceive the found or the 
 
 Treatife of the Pafiions. 
 
 colour.
 
 Sect III. of Moral Philosophy. 295 
 
 colour. The moral fenfe was confidered as 
 a faculty of this kind. That faculty which 
 Mr. Locke calls reflection, and from which 
 he derived the fimple ideas of the different 
 paflions and emotions of the human mind, 
 was, according to Dr. Hutchefon, a direct 
 internal fenfe. That faculty again by which 
 we perceived the beauty or deformity, the vir- 
 tue or vice of thofe different paflions or emo- 
 tions, was a reflex, internal fenfe. 
 
 Dr. Hutchefon endeavoured ftill farther to 
 fupport this doctrine, by {hewing that it was 
 agreeable to the analogy of nature, and that 
 the mind was endowed with a variety of 
 other reflex fenfes exactly fimilar to the mo- 
 ral fenfe; fuch as a fenfe of beauty and defor- 
 mity in external objects ; a public fenfe, by 
 which we fympathize with the happinefs or 
 mifery of our fellow-creatures ; a fenfe of 
 ihame and honour, and a fenfe of ridicule. 
 
 But notwithstanding all the 'pains which 
 this ingenious philofopher has taken to prove 
 that the principle of approbation is founded 
 in a peculiar power of perception, fomewhat 
 analogous to the external fenfes, there are 
 fome confequenccs which he acknowledges 
 to follow from this doctrine, that will, per- 
 haps, be regarded by many as a fufficicnt 
 U 4 confuta-
 
 zgb Of S y st e m s Part VII. 
 
 confutation of it. The qualities, he allows*, 
 which belong to the objects of any fenfe, can- 
 not, without the grealeft abfurdity, be afcri- 
 bed to the fenfe itieif. Who ever thought 
 of calling the fenfe of feeing black or white, 
 the Uni'c of hearing loud or low, or the i'cwfe 
 of tailing fweet or hitter ? And, acco ding to 
 him, it is equally abfurd to call our moral fa- 
 culties virtuous or vicious, morally good or 
 evil. Thefe qualities belong to the objects 
 of thofe faculties, not to the faculties them- 
 felves. If any man, therefore, was fo ab- 
 furdly conflituted as to approve of cruelty 
 and injuflice as the higheft virtues, and to 
 difapprove of equity and humanity as the 
 moil; pitiful vices, fuch a conftitution of mind 
 might indeed be regarded as inconvenient 
 both to the individual and to the fociety, and 
 likewife as ftrange, furprifing, and unnatural 
 in irfelf ; but it could not, without the great- 
 ell abfurdity, be denominated vicious or mo- 
 rally evil. 
 
 Yet furely if we faw any man fhouting 
 with admiration and applaufe at a barbarous 
 and unmerited execution, which fome info- 
 lent tyrant had ordered, we mould not think 
 
 ' 111 u ft rations upon the Moral Senfe, fcft. i. p. 237, ct 
 ; " ; tl.ird edition. 
 
 we
 
 Seel. III. of Moral Philosophy. 297 
 
 we were guilty of any great abfurdity in de- 
 nomin^tinrr this behaviour vicious and mo- 
 rally evil in the higieli. degree, though it ex- 
 prefled nothing but depraved moral faculties, 
 or an abfurd approbaton of this horrid action, 
 as o^ what ws noule, magnanimous, and 
 great. Our heart, I imagine, at the fight of 
 fuch a fpec~b.tor, would forget tor a while its 
 fympathy with Lhe fufFcrer, and feel nothing 
 but horror and deteitation, at the thought of fo 
 execrable a wretch. We mould abominate 
 him even more than the tyrant who might be 
 goaded on by the (trong paflions of jealoufy, 
 fear, and refentment, and upon that account 
 be more excufable. But the fentiments of 
 the fpectator would appear altogether with- 
 out cau'e or motive, and therefore moft per- 
 fectly and completely deteftable. There is 
 no perverfun of fentiment or affection which 
 our heart would be more averie to enter into, 
 or which it would reject: with greater hatred 
 and indignation than one of this kind ; and fo 
 far from regarding iuch a conftitution of 
 mind as being merely fomething Orange or 
 inconvenient, and not in any refpect vicious 
 or morally evil, wc (hould rather confider it 
 as the very laft and moll dreadful ftage of 
 moral depravity. 
 
 Correct:
 
 29S Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 Correct moral fentiments, on the contrary, 
 naturally appear in fome degree laudable and 
 morally good. The man, whofe cenfure and 
 applaufe are upon all occafions fuited with 
 the greater! accuracy to the value or uirvor- 
 thineis of the object, feems to deferve a de- 
 gree even of moral approbation. We admire 
 the delicate preciiion of his moral fentiments: 
 they lead our own judgments, and, upon ac- 
 count of their uncommon and furprifing juft- 
 nefs, they even excite our wonder and ap- 
 plaufe. We cannot indeed be always fure 
 that the conduct of fuch a perfon would be in 
 any refpect correfpondcnt to the precifion and 
 accuracy of hisjudgments concerning the con- 
 duct of others. Virtue requires habit and re- 
 folution of mind, as well as delicacy of fenti- 
 ment; and unfortunately the former quali- 
 ties are fometimes wanting, where the latter is 
 in the greateft perfection. This difpofition 
 of mind, however, though it may fometimes 
 be attended with imperfections, is incompa- 
 tible with any thing that is grofsly criminal, 
 and is the happieft foundation upon which 
 the fuperilructure of perfect virtue can be 
 built. There are many men who mean very 
 well, and ferioufly purpofe to do what they 
 think their duty, who notwithstanding are 
 
 difacrrce-
 
 Se&. III. of Moral Philosophy. 299 
 
 di (agreeable on account of the coarfenefs of 
 their moral fenti merits. 
 
 It may be laid, perhaps, that though the 
 principle of approbation is not founded upon 
 anv power of perception that is in any refpeel 
 analogous to the external fenfes, it may ftill 
 be founded upon a peculiar fentiment which 
 anfwers this one particular purpofe and no 
 other. Approbation and disapprobation, it 
 may be pretended, are certain feelings or emo- 
 tions which arife in the mind upon the view 
 of different characters and actions ; and as re- 
 fentment might be called a fenfe of injuries, 
 or gratitude a fenfe of benefits, fo thefe may 
 very properly receive the name of a fenfe of 
 right and wrong, or of amoral fenfe. 
 
 But this account of things, though it may 
 not be liable to the fame objections with the 
 foregoing, is expofed to others which are 
 e qu a 1 ly u n a n i w erable. 
 
 Firft of all, whatever variations any parti- 
 cular emotion may undergo, it ftill preferves 
 the general features which diftinguiih it to be 
 an emotion cr iuch a kind, and thefe general 
 features are always more ftrikin£ and remark- 
 able than any variation winch it may undergo 
 in particular cafes. Thus anger is an emo- 
 tion of a particular kind : and accordingly its 
 general features are always more diftinguim- 
 1 ■% able
 
 Q/"Systlms Part VIL 
 
 able than all the variations it undergoes in 
 particular caies. Anger againft a man is, no 
 doubt, fomewhat different from anger againft 
 a woman, and that again from anger againft 
 a child. In each of thole three cafes, the ^e- 
 neral paflion of anger receives a different mo- 
 dification from the particular character of its 
 object, as may eafily be obferved by the at- 
 tentive. But ftili the general features of the 
 paflion predominate in all thefe cafes. To 
 diftinguiih thefe, requires no nice obferva- 
 tion : a very delicate attention, on the con- 
 trary, is neceffary to difcover their variations, 
 every body takes notice or the f rmer ; fcarce 
 any body obferves the latter, it approbation 
 arid dilapprobation, therefore, were, like gra- 
 titude and reientment, emotions of a particu- 
 lar kind, diliinc\ from every other, we iliould 
 expert that in all the variations which either of 
 
 : i ' }\\ undergo, it would (fill retain the 
 general leatures which mark it to be an emo- 
 tion ol inch a ] articular kind, clear, plain, 
 and ealily diftinguifhable. But in facl: it 
 happens quite oiherwite. If we attend to 
 wl at we really (eel when upon different cc- 
 
 ns we either approve or difapprove, wc 
 ihali fnul that our emotion in one cafe is 
 oken totally different from that in another, 
 end that no common features can pofubly be 
 
 discovered
 
 Seel. III. of Moral Philosophy. 
 
 difcovered between them Thus the appro- 
 bation with which we view a tender, delicate, 
 and humane fentiment, is quite different from 
 that with which we are {truck by one that ap- 
 pears great, daring, and magnanimous. Our 
 approbation of both may, upon different oc- 
 casions, be perfect and entire ; but we arc 
 foftened by the one, and we are elevated by 
 the other, and there is no fort of refemblance 
 between the emotions which they excite in 
 us. But, according to that fyftem which T 
 have been endeavouring to eiiabliih, this 
 mil ft ncceffarily be the cafe. As the emotions 
 of the perfon whom we approve of, are, in 
 thole two cafes, quite oppofite to one ano- 
 ther, and as our approbation arifes from 
 fympathy with thofe oppofite emotions, what 
 we feel upon the one occafion, can have no 
 fort of refemblance to what we feel upon the 
 other. But this could not happen if appro- 
 bation confifted in a peculiar emotion which 
 had nothino- in common with the fentiment?. 
 we approved of, but which arofe at the view 
 of thofe fentiments, like any other paffion at 
 the view of its proper objed:. The fame 
 thing holds true with regard to difappro- 
 tion. Our horror for cruelty has no fort 
 oi' refemblance to our contempt for mean- 
 fpiritednefs. It is quite a different fpecies of 
 
 difcord
 
 302 Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 difcord which we feel at the view of thofe 
 two different vices, between our own minds 
 and thofe of the perfon whofe fentiments and 
 behaviour we confider. 
 
 Secondly, I have already obferved, that 
 not only the different paffions or affections of 
 the human mind which are approved or dis- 
 approved of, appear morally good or evil, but 
 that proper and improper approbation appear 
 to our natural fentiments, to be ftamped 
 with the fame characters. I would afk, there- 
 fore, how it is, that, according to this fyftem, 
 we approve ordifapprove of proper or impro- 
 per approbation ? To this queftion there is, 
 I imagine, but one reafonable anfwer, which 
 can poffibly be given. It mud be laid, that 
 when the approbation with which our neigh- 
 bour regards the conduct of a third perfon 
 coincides with our own, we approve of his 
 approbation, and confider it as, in fome mea- 
 iure, morally good ; and that on the contrary, 
 when it docs not coincide with our own fenti- 
 ments, we difapprove of it, and confider it as, 
 in fome meafure, morally evil. It mull be al- 
 lowed, therefore, that, at leaf! in this one cafe, 
 the coincidence or oppofition of fentiments, 
 between the obferverand the perfon obferved, 
 conllitutes moral approbation or disapproba- 
 tion. And if it does fo in this one cafe, I 
 
 wouxd
 
 Seel:. III. <f Moral Philosophy. 303 
 
 would afk, why not in every other ? to what 
 purpofe imagine a new power of perception 
 in order to account for thofe fentiments ? 
 
 Againft every account of the principle of 
 approbation, which makes it depend upon a 
 peculiar fentiment, diftinct from every other, 
 I would object ; that it is ftrange that this 
 fentiment, which Providence undoubtedly 
 intended to be the governing principle of 
 human nature, fhould hitherto have been fo 
 little taken notice of, as not to have got a. 
 name in any language. The word moral 
 i'enk is of very late formation, and cannot 
 yet be confuiered as making part of the 
 Englifh tongue. The word approbation has 
 but within thefe few years been appropriated 
 to denote peculiarly any thing of this kind. 
 In propriety of language we approve of 
 whatever is entirely to our fatisfaction, of 
 rhe form of a building, of the contrivance of 
 a machine, of the flavour of a difh of meat. 
 The word conlcience does not immediately 
 denote any moral faculty by which we ap- 
 prove or difapprove. Confcience fuppofes, 
 indeed, the exiftence of fome fuch faculty, 
 and properly fignifics our confcioufnefs of 
 having acted agreeably or contrary to its di- 
 rections. When love, hatred, joy, forrow 
 gratitude, refentment, with lb many other 
 
 paflions
 
 304 Of S y s t e m s Part VIL 
 
 pafllons which are all fuppofed to be the fub- 
 jects of tills principle, have made themfelves 
 coniiderable enough to get titles to know 
 them by, is it not furprifmg that the fovereign 
 of them all ihould hitherto have been fo 
 little heeded, that, a few philofophers ex- 
 cepted, nobody has yet thought it worth 
 while to beftow a name upon it ? 
 
 When we approve of any character or ac- 
 tion, the fentiments which we feel are, ac- 
 cording to the foregoing fyftem, derived 
 from four fources, which are in fome refpecls 
 different from one another. Firft, we fym- 
 pathize with the motives of the agent; fe- 
 condly, we enter into the gratitude of thofe 
 who receive the benefit of his actions ; thirdly, 
 we obferve that his conduct has been agree- 
 able to the general rules by which thofe two 
 fympathies generally acl ; and, lad of all, 
 when we ccniider fuch actions as making a 
 part of a fyftem of behaviour which tends to 
 promote the happinels cither of the individual 
 or of the iociety, they appear to derive a 
 beauty from this utility, not unlike that which 
 we afcribe to any well-contrived machine. 
 After deducting, in any one particular cafe, 
 all that mult be acknowledged to proceed 
 from fome one or other of theie four princi- 
 ples, 1 mould be glad to know what remains, 
 
 and
 
 Sed. III. of Moral Philosophy. 305 
 
 and I fli all freely allow this overplus to be 
 aferibed to a moral ienfe, or to any other pe- 
 culiar faculty, provided any body will afcer- 
 tain precifely what this overplus is. It might 
 be expected, perhaps, that if there was any 
 fuch peculiar principle, fuch as this moral 
 it\\{o. is fuppofed to be, we mould feel it, in 
 fome particular cafes, feparated and detached 
 from every other, as we often feel joy, for- 
 row, hope, and fear, pure and unmixed 
 with any other emotion. This however, I 
 imagine, cannot even be pretended. I have 
 never heard any inftance alleged in which 
 this principle could be laid to exert itfelf alone 
 and unmixed with fympathy or antipathy, 
 with gratitude or refentment, with the per- 
 ception of the agreement or disagreement of 
 any action to an eftabliihed rule, or laft of all 
 with that general tafte for beauty and order 
 which is excited by inanimated as well as by 
 animated objects. 
 
 II. There is another fyftem which attempts 
 to account for the origin of our moral fenti- 
 ments from fympathy, dirtinct from that 
 which I have been endeavouring to eltablilh. 
 It is that which places virtue in utility, and 
 accounts for the pleaiure with which the ipec- 
 tator furveys the utility of any quality from 
 jympathy with the happinefs of thole who are 
 
 vol. 1 1, x afiecled
 
 3 c 6 O/Systems Part VII. 
 
 affe&ed by it. This fympathy is different 
 both from that by which we enter into the 
 motives ci the agent, and from that by 
 which we go along with the gratitude of the 
 perfons who are benefited by his actions. It 
 is the lame principle with that by which we 
 approve of a well-contrived machine. But no 
 machine can be the objecT: of cither of thofe 
 two lail-mentioned fympathies. I have al- 
 ready, in xhe fourth part of this difcourfe s 
 given fome account of this fyftem.
 
 Sed. IV. of Moral Philosophy. '4q* 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 Of the Manner in which different Authors 
 
 have treated of the practical Rules 
 
 of Morality. 
 
 J T was obferved in the third part of this 
 1 difcourfe, that the rules cf juftice are the 
 only rules of morality which are precife and 
 accurate ; that thofe of all the other virtues 
 are loofc, vague, and indeterminate ; that the 
 firft may be compared to the rules of gram- 
 mar ; the others to thole which critics lay 
 clown for the attainment of what is fublime 
 and elegant in compofition, and which pre- 
 fent us rather with a general idea of the per- 
 fection we ought to aim at, than afford us 
 any certain and infallible directions for ac- 
 quiring it. 
 
 As the different rules of morality admit 
 fuch different degrees of accuracy, thofe au- 
 thors who have endeavoured to collect and 
 digeft them into fyftems have done it in two 
 different manners; and one i'ct has followed 
 through the whole that loofe method to which 
 •hey were naturally directed by the confider- 
 
 •^ 2 a lion
 
 30S Of Systems Part VI L 
 
 ationof one fpecies of virtues ; while another 
 has as univerfally endeavoured to introduce 
 into their precepts that fort of accuracy of 
 which only fome of them are fufceptible. 
 The hrlt. have wrote like critics, tie fecond 
 like grammarians. 
 
 I. The firft, among whom we may count 
 all the ancient moralifts, have contented them- 
 ielves with defcribing in a general manner 
 the different vices and virtues, and with 
 pointing out the deformity and mifery of the 
 one difpofition as well as the propriety and 
 happinefs of the other, but have not arTecled 
 to lay down many precife rules that are to 
 hold good unexecptionably in all particular 
 cafes. They have only endeavoured to afcer- 
 tain, as far as lanrniacre is capable of afcer- 
 taining, hrft, wherein confifts the fentiment 
 of the heart, upon which each particular vir- 
 tue is founded, what fort of internal feeling or 
 emotion it is which conftitutes the effence of 
 friendfhip, of humanity, of generofity, of jun> 
 iee, of magnanimity, and of all the other 
 virtues, ay well as of the vices which are cp- 
 pofed to them : and, fecondly, what is the 
 general way of atling, the ordinary tone 
 and tenor of conduct to which each of thofe 
 fcntiments would direct us, or how it is that 
 a friendly, a generous, a brave, a juft, and a 
 
 humane
 
 Sea. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 309 
 
 humane man, would, upon ordinary occafions, 
 choofe to act. 
 
 To charaderize the fentiment of the heart, 
 upon which each particular virtue is founded, 
 thouo-h it requires both a delicate and an ac- 
 curate pencil, is a tafk, however, which may- 
 be executed with fome degree of exa&nefs. 
 It is impoffible, indeed, to exprefs all the va- 
 riations which each fentiment either does or 
 ought to undergo, according to every poffible 
 variation of circumftances. They are endleis, 
 and language wants names to mark them by. 
 The fentiment of friendfhip, for example, 
 which we feel for an old man is different 
 from that which we feel for a young : that 
 which we entertain for an auflere man differ- 
 ent from that which we feel for one of fofter 
 and gentler manners ; and that again from 
 what we feel for one of gay vivacity and fpi- 
 rit. The friendihip which we conceive for a 
 man is different from that with which a 
 woman affects us, even where there is no 
 mixture of any groffer paffion. What anthor 
 could enumerate and afcertain thefe and all 
 the other infinite varieties which this fenti- 
 ment is capable of undergoing ? But ftill the 
 eeneral fentiment of friendihip and familiar 
 attachment which is common to them all, 
 may be afcertaincd with a fuiffcient degree of 
 x 3 accuracy.
 
 3 to Of S y st £ m 3 Part VlL 
 
 accuracy. The nitture which is drawn of it, 
 though it will always be in many refpects in^ 
 complete, may, however, have fuch a refem- 
 blance as to make us know the original when 
 we meet with it, and even diftinguifh it 
 from other fentiments to which it has a con- 
 fiderable refemblance, fuch as good-will, re- 
 fpect, efteem, admiration. 
 
 To defcribe, in a general manner, w T hat is 
 the ordinary way of acting to which each 
 virtue would prompt us, is Prill more eafy. 
 It is, indeed, fcarce pofllble to defcribe the 
 the internal fentiment or emotion upon which 
 it is founded, without doing fomcthing of 
 this kind. It is impcilible by language to ex- 
 prefs, if I may fay (o, the invifible features of 
 all the different modifications of pailion as they 
 Ihow themfelves within. There is no other 
 way of marking and ciiPtinguifhing them from 
 one another, but by defcribing the effects which 
 r.Ucy produce without, the alterations which 
 theyoccafion in the countenance, in the air and 
 external behaviour, the rcfolutions they fug- 
 ged', the actions they prompt to. It is thus 
 that Cicero, in the nrft book of his Offices, 
 endeavours to direct us t the practice of the 
 four cardinal virtues, and that Ariftotle in the 
 practical parts of his Ethics, points out to us 
 the different habits by which he would have 
 C us
 
 5e&. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 311 
 
 us regulate our behaviour, fuch as liberality, 
 magnificence, magnanimity, and even jocu- 
 larity and good-humour, qualities which that 
 indulgent philofopher has thought worthy of 
 a place in the catalogue of the virtues, though 
 the lightnefs of that approbation which we 
 naturally beftow upon them, mould not feem. 
 to entitle them to fo venerable a name. 
 
 Such works prefent us with agreeable and 
 lively pictures of manners. By the vivacity 
 of their defcriptions they inflame our natural 
 love of virtue, and increafe our abhorrence of 
 vice : by the juftnefs as well as delicacy of 
 their obfervations they may often help both 
 to correct and to afcertain our natural fenti- 
 ments with regard to the propriety of conduct, 
 and fuggefting many nice and delicate atten- 
 tions, form us to a more exact juftnefs of be- 
 haviour, than what, without fuch inftruction, 
 we mould have been apt to think of. In 
 treating of the rules of morality, in this man- 
 ner, confifts the fcience which is properly 
 called Ethics, a fcience which, though like 
 criticifm it does not admit of the mod accu- 
 rate precifion, is, however, both highly ufe- 
 ful and agreeable. It is of all others the raoft 
 fufceptible of the embellilhments of eloquence, 
 and by means of them of beftowing, if that 
 x 4 bs
 
 512 Of 8 YS T E Tvl 3 Part VII. 
 
 be polTible, a new importance upon the 
 (mailed rules of duty. Its precepts, when 
 thus drefTed and adorned, are capable of pro- 
 ducing upon the flexibility of youth, the no- 
 bler! and mod lading impreffions, and as they 
 fall in with the natural magnanimity of that 
 generous age, they are able to infpire, for a 
 time at lead, the mod heroic resolutions, and 
 thus tend both to eftablifh and confirm the 
 be ft and mod ufeful habits of which the mind 
 of man is fufceptible. Whatever precept and 
 exhortation can do to animate us to the prac- 
 tice of virtue, is done by this Icience delivered 
 in this manner. 
 
 II. The fecond fet of moralifts, among 
 whom we may count all the cafuifts of the 
 middle and latter ages of the chriftian church, 
 as well as all thoie who in this and in the 
 preceding century have treated of what is 
 railed natural jurifprudence, do not content 
 themfelvcs with characterizing in this gene- 
 ral manner that tenor of conduct which they 
 would recommend to us, but endeavour to 
 lay down exa£t and precife rules for the di- 
 rection 01 every circumilancc of our beha- 
 viour. Afljuilicc is the only virtue with re- 
 gard to which fuch exact rules can properly 
 be '.. ; v..n ; it is tli:3 virtue that has chieijy 
 
 fallen
 
 Sect. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 313 
 
 fallen under the confederation of thofe two 
 different lets of writers. They treat of it, 
 however, in a very different manner. 
 
 Thofe who write upon the principles of 
 jurifprudence, confider only what the perfon 
 to whom the obligation is due, ought to 
 think lumfelf entitled to exact by force ; 
 what every impartial fpectator would approve 
 of him for exacting, or what a judge or ar- 
 biter, to whom he had fubmitted his cafe, and 
 who had undertaken to do him juftice, ought 
 to oblige the other perfon to fuffcr or to per- 
 form. The cafuifts, on the other hand, do 
 not fo much examine what it is, that might 
 properly be exacted by force, as what it is, that 
 the perfon who owes the obligation ought to 
 think himfelf bound to perform from the molt 
 iacred and fcrupulous regard to the general 
 rules of juftice, and from the mod confeien- 
 tious dread, cither of wronging his neighbour, 
 or of violating the integrity of his own cha- 
 racter. It is the end of jurifprudence to pre- 
 fcribe rules for the decitions of judges and ar- 
 biters. It is the e\\(] of cafuiftry to prefcribe 
 rules for the conduct of a good man. By 
 obferving all the rules ot jurifprudence, iup- 
 poling them ever ic perfect, we mould de- 
 ferve nothing but to be free from external 
 punitnment. By obferving thofe of cafuiftrv, 
 
 fi'.ppofing
 
 3*4 Of Systems Part Vlt. 
 
 fuppofing them fuch as they ought to be, we 
 mould be entitled to confiderable praife by the 
 exact and fcrupulous delicacy of our be- 
 haviour. 
 
 It may frequently happen that a good man 
 ought to think himfelf bound, from a facrcd 
 and confcientious regard to the general rules 
 of juftice, to perform many things which it 
 would be the higheft injuftice to extort from 
 him, or for any judge or arbiter to impofe 
 upon him by force. To give a trite example ; 
 a highwayman, by the fear of death, obliges 
 a traveller to promife him a certain fum of 
 money. Whether fuch a promife, extorted 
 in this manner by unjuft force, ought to be 
 regarded as obligatory, is a queftion that has 
 been very much debated. 
 
 If we confider it merely as a queflion of 
 jurifprudence, the decifion can admit of no 
 doubt. It would be abfurd to fuppofe that 
 the highwayman can be entitled to ufe force 
 to conftrain the other to perform. To extort 
 the promife was a crime winch deferved the 
 higheft punifhment, and to extort the per- 
 formance would only be adding a new crime 
 to the former. lie can complain of no injury 
 who has been only deceived by the perfon by 
 whom he might juftly have been killed. To 
 fuppofe that a judge ought to enforce the 
 
 obligation
 
 Sect. IV". of Moral Philosophy. 315 
 
 obligation of fuch promifes, or that the ma- 
 gistrate ought to allow them to fuftain action 
 at lav/, would be the mod ridiculous of all ab- 
 surdities. If we confider this quellion, there- 
 fore, as a queftion of jurifprudence, we can be 
 at no lofs about the decifion. 
 
 But if we confider it as a queftfon of cafu- 
 iftry, it will not be fo eanly determined., 
 Whether a good man, from a confeientious 
 regard to that mod facred rule of jufticc, 
 which commands the obfervance of all Serious 
 prornifes, would not think himfelf bound to 
 perform, is at leaft much more doubtful. 
 That no regard is due to the difappcintment 
 of the a retch who brings him into this fitua- 
 tion, that no injury is done to the robber, and 
 confequentlv that nothing can be extorted by 
 force, will admit of no lort of difpute. But 
 whether feme regard is not, in this cafe, due 
 to his own dignity and honour, to the invio- 
 lable facredncis of that part of his character 
 which makes him reverence the law of truth 
 and abhor every tiling that approaches to trea- 
 chery and falfehocd, may, perhaps, more 
 reafonably he made a queftion. The cafuifts 
 accordingly are greatly divided about it. One 
 party with whom we may count Cicero 
 among the ancients, among the moderns, 
 Full end erf, Barbcyrac his commentator, and 
 
 above
 
 3*6 Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 uhove all the late Dr. Hutchefon, one who 
 in moll cafes was by no means a loofe cafuift, 
 determine, without any hefitation, that no 
 fort of regard is due to any fuch promife, and 
 that to think otherwife is mere weaknefs and- 
 fuperilition. Another party, among whom 
 we mav reckon* lome of the ancient fathers 
 
 > 
 
 of the church, as well as fome very eminent 
 modern caiuifts, have been of another opi- 
 nion, and have judged all fuch promifes ob- 
 ligatory. 
 
 If we confider the matter according to the 
 common fentiments of mankind, we fhall find 
 that fome regard would be thought due even 
 to a promife of this kind ; but that it is im- 
 poflible to determine how much, by any ge- 
 neral rule, that will apply to all cafes with- 
 out exception. The man who was quite 
 frank and cafy in making promifes of this 
 kind, and who violated them with as little 
 ceremony, we fhould not choofe for our 
 friend and companion. A gentleman who 
 mould promife a highwayman five pounds 
 and not perform, would incur fome blame. 
 Ji the ium promifed, however, was very 
 great, it might be more doubtful what was 
 proper to be done. II it was fuch, for exam- 
 
 * St. Au^uftiHC, La Placettc. 
 
 pie.
 
 Sc'Si. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 317 
 
 pie, that the payment of it would entirely 
 ruin the family of the promifer, if it was fo 
 great as to be fuuicient ior promoting the rnoft 
 ufeful purpofes, it would appear in fome 
 meafure criminal, at lead extremely impro- 
 per to throw it, for the fake of a punctilio, 
 into fuch worthlefs hands. The man who 
 mould beggar himfelf, or who fhould throw 
 away an hundred thoufand pounds, though he 
 could afford that vaft fum, for the fake of 
 obferving fuch a parole with a thief, would 
 appear to the common fenfe of mankind, ab- 
 furd and extravagant in the higheft degree. 
 Such profufion would feem inconfiftent with 
 his dutv, with what he owed both to himfelf 
 and others, and what, therefore, regard to a 
 promife extorted in this manner, could by no 
 means authorife. To fix, however, by any 
 preciie rule, what degree of regard oup-ht to 
 be paid to it, or what might be the greater! 
 ium which could be due from it, is evidently 
 impoflible. This would vary according to 
 liic characters of the perfons, according to 
 their circumitances, according to the fo- 
 lemnity of the promife, and even according 
 to the incidents ot die rencounter : and if the 
 promiier had been treated with a great deal of 
 that ioit of gallantry, which is fometimes to 
 he met with in pcrfons 0'^ the meft abandoned 
 
 characters.
 
 318 Of Systems Part VII, 
 
 characters, more would feem due than upou 
 other occafions. It may be laid in general, 
 that exact propriety requires the obfervance 
 of all fuch promifes, wherever it is not incon- 
 iiftent with fome other duties that are more 
 iacred; fuch as regard to the public intereft, 
 to thole whom gratitude, whom natural affec- 
 tion, or whom the laws of proper beneficence 
 fhouki prompt us to provide for. But, as was 
 formerly taken notice of, we have no precife 
 rules to determine what external actions are 
 due from a regard to fuch motives, nor, confe- 
 qucntly, when it is that thofe virtues are incon- 
 iiitent with the obfervance of fuch promifes. 
 
 It is to be obferved, however, that when- 
 ever fuch promifes are violated, though for 
 the molt neceifary reafons, it is always with 
 fome degree of difhonour to the perfon who 
 made them. After they are made, we may 
 be convinced of the impropriety of obferving 
 them. But ftill there is fome fault in having 
 made them. It is at lead a departure from 
 the higheft and nobleft maxims of magnani- 
 mity and honour. A brave man ought to die, 
 rather than make a promife which he can 
 neither keep without folly, nor violate with- 
 out ignominy. For fome degree of ignominy 
 always attends a lituation of this kind. Trea- 
 chery and falfehoed are, vices fo dangerous, 
 
 fa
 
 Se&. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 319 
 
 fo dreadful, and, at the fame time, fuch as 
 may fo eafily, and, upon many occafions, fo 
 fafely be indulged, that we are more jealous 
 of them than of almoft any other. Our ima- 
 gination therefore attaches the idea of fhame 
 to all violations of faith, in every circiimftance 
 and in every iituation. They refemble, in 
 this refpe£t, the violations of chaflity in the 
 fair fex, a virtue of which, for the like reafons, 
 we are excellively jealous ; and our fentiments 
 are not more delicate with regard to the one, 
 than with regard to the other. Breach of 
 chaftity difhonours irretrievably. No ch> 
 cumltances, no folicitation can excufe it ; no 
 forrow, no repentance, atone for it. We are 
 fo nice in this refpecl: that even a rape difho- 
 nours, and the innocence of the mind cannot, 
 in our imagination, warn out the pollution of 
 the body. :: is the fame cafe with the viola- 
 tion of faith. wn?n it lias been folemnly 
 pledged, even to the noit worthlefs of man- 
 kind. F:J 'lity is fo receffar^ a virtue, that 
 we apprehend it in general to be due even to 
 thole to whom nothing elfe is due, and 
 whom we think it lawful to kill and de- 
 flroy. It is to no purpofe that the pcrfon 
 who has been guilty of the breach of it, urges 
 that he promiled in order to Hive his life, and 
 that he broke his promife becaufe it was in- 
 
 confident
 
 3 so Of S y s t t: m s Part VII. 
 
 confiftent with lb me other refpcctable duty to 
 keep it. Thefe circumftances may alleviate, 
 but cannot entirely wipe out his diftionour. 
 He appears to have been guilty of an action 
 with which, in the imaginations of men, fome 
 degree of fhame is infeparably connected. 
 He has broke a promife which he had fo- 
 lemnly averred he would maintain ; and his 
 character if not irretrievably flamed and pol- 
 luted, has at leaf! a ridicule affixed to it, which 
 it will be very difficult entirely to efface ; and 
 no man, I imagine, who had gone through 
 an adventure of this kind would be fond of 
 telling the flory. 
 
 This inftance may ferve to mow wherein 
 confifts the difference between cafuiftry and 
 jurifprudence, even when both of them con- 
 fider the obligations of the general rules of 
 juftice. 
 
 But though this difference be real and ef- 
 fential, though thofe two fcicnces propoie 
 quite different ends, the famenefs of the fub- 
 jcct. has made fuch a limilarity between them, 
 that the greater part of authors whole prof di- 
 ed defign was to treat of jurifprudence, have 
 determined the different qucftions they exa- 
 mine, fomctimes according to the principles 
 of that feience, and fometimes according to 
 thole of cafuillry, without diftinguilhing, and, 
 
 perhaps,
 
 Seel:. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 321 
 
 perhaps, without being themfelves aware 
 when they did the one, and when the other. 
 
 The doctrine of the cafuifts, however, is by 
 no means confined to the confideration of 
 what a confcientious regard to the general 
 rules of juftice would demand of us. It em- 
 braces many other parts of Chriftian and mo- 
 ral duty. What feems principally to have 
 given occafion to the cultivation of this fpe- 
 cies of fcience was the cuftom of auricular 
 confeflion, introduced by the Roman Catho- 
 lic fuperftition, in times of barbarifm and ig- 
 norance. By that inftitution, the mod fecret 
 actions, and even the thoughts of every per- 
 fon, which could be fufpected of receding in 
 the fmalleft degree from the rules of Chriftian 
 purity, were to be revealed to the confeffor. 
 The confeffor informed his penitents whether, 
 and in what refpect, they had violated their 
 duty, and what penance it behoved them to 
 undergo, before he could abfolve them in the 
 name of the offended Deity. 
 
 The confeioufnefs, or even the fufpicion of 
 having clone wrong, is a load upon every 
 mind, and is accompanied with anxiety and 
 terror in all thofe who are not hardened by 
 long habits of iniquity. Men, in this, as in 
 all other diftreffes, are naturally eao;er to dif- 
 burthen themfelves of the oppreffion which 
 v.ol. 11. ,y thev
 
 322 Of Systems- Part VII. 
 
 they feci upon their thoughts, by unbofoming 
 the agony of their mind to fome perfon whofe 
 fecrecv and difcretion they can confide in. 
 The ihame which they fuffer from this ac- 
 knowledgment, is fully compenfated by that 
 alleviaton of their uneafinefs which the fym- 
 pathy of their confident feldom fails to occa- 
 iion. It relieves them to find that they are 
 not altogether unworthy of regard, and that 
 however their pafc conduct may be cenfured, 
 their prefent difpofition is at lead approved 
 of, and is perhaps fufficient to compenfate the 
 other, at leait to maintain them in fome de- 
 gree of eftcem with their friend. A numer- 
 ous and artful clergy had, in thofe times of 
 fuvcriiition, infmuated themfelves into the 
 confidence of almoin every private family. 
 They poilefied all the little learning- which the 
 times could afford, and their manners, though 
 in many refpefis rude and diforderly, were 
 poliOicd and regular compared with thofe of 
 the iu'c they lived in. Thev were regarded, 
 therefore, not only as the great dir colors of all 
 religious, but of all moral duties. Their 
 familiarity rave reputation to whoever was 
 lu happy at to potiefs it, and every mark ot 
 iheii difapprobation (lamped the deepeft igno- 
 minv upon all who had the misfortune to 
 fall under it. Iking eonfidered as the great 
 
 judges
 
 Sett. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 323 
 
 judges of right and wrong, they were natu- 
 rally confulted about all fcruples that occurred, 
 and it was reputable for any perfon to have it 
 known that he made thofe holy men the con- 
 fidents of all fuch fecrets, and took no im- 
 portant or delicate ftep in his conduct without 
 their advice and approbation. It was not 
 difficult for the clergy, therefore, to get it 
 eftablifhed as a general rule, that they mould 
 be entrusted with what it had already become 
 fafhionable to entruM them, and with what 
 they generally would have been entrufted, 
 though no fuch rule had been eftabliihed. 
 To qualify themfelves for confeiTors became 
 thus a neceilary part of the ftudy of church- 
 men and divines, and they were thence led 
 to collect what are called cafes of confeience, 
 nice and delicate fituations in which it is hard 
 to determine whereabouts the propriety of 
 conducl: may lie. Such works, they imagined, 
 might be of ufe both to the directors of con- 
 ferences and to thofe who were to be directed; 
 and hence the origin or bocks of cafuiftry. 
 
 The moral duties which tell under the con- 
 fideration of the caluifts were chiefly thofe 
 which can, in lome meafure at lealt, be cir- 
 cumfcribed within general rules, and of which 
 the violation is naturally attended with fome 
 degree of remorfe and fome dread offuffering 
 Y 2 puni(h-
 
 324 Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 punifhment. The defign of that inftitution 
 which gave occafion to their works, was 
 to appeafe thofe terrors of confcience which 
 attend upon the infringement of fuch duties. 
 But it is not every virtue of which the de- 
 fect is accompanied with any very fevere 
 compunctions of this kind, and no man 
 applies to his confelTbr for abfolution, becaufe 
 he did not perform the mod generous, the 
 moft friendly, or the moll magnanimous ac- 
 tion which, in his circumftances, it was poffi- 
 ble to perform. In failures of this kind, the 
 rule that is violated is commonly not very 
 determinate, and is generally of fuch a nature 
 too, that though the obfervance of it might 
 entitle to honour and reward, the violation 
 ieems to cxpofe to no pofitive blame, cenfure, 
 or punifhment. The exercife of fuch virtues 
 the cafuifts feem to have regarded as a fort of 
 works of fupererogation, which could not be 
 very ftrictly exacted, and which it was there- 
 fore anneceiTary for them to treat of. 
 
 The breaches of moral duty, therefore, 
 which came before the tribunal of the con- 
 felTor, and upon that account fell under the 
 cognizance of the cafuifts, were chiefly of 
 three different kinds. 
 
 Firft and principally, breaches of the rules 
 of juflicc. The rules here are all exprefs and 
 
 pofitive,
 
 Seft. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 325 
 
 pofitive, and the violation of them is naturally- 
 attended with the confcioufnefs of deferving, 
 and the dread of flittering punifhment both 
 from God and man. 
 
 Secondly, breaches of the rules of chaftity. 
 Thefe in all groifer inftances are real breaches 
 of the rules of juftice, and no perfon can be 
 guilty of them without doing the moft unpar- 
 donable injury to fome other. In fmaller 
 inftances, when they amount only to a vio- 
 lation of thofe exact decorums which ought 
 to be obferved in the converfation of the two 
 fexes, they cannot indeed juftly be confidered 
 as violations of the rules of juftice. They are 
 generally, however, violations of a pretty 
 plain rule, and, at leaft in one of the fexes, 
 tend to bring ignominy upon the perfon who 
 lias been guilty of them, and confequently to 
 be attended in the fcrupulous with fome de- 
 gree of fhame and contrition of mind. 
 
 Thirdly, breaches of the rules of veracity. 
 The violation of truth, it is to be obferved, is 
 not always a breach of juftice, though it is fo 
 upon many occasions, and confequently can- 
 not always expofe to any external punilhment. 
 The vice of common lying, though a moil 
 miferable meannefs, may frequently do hurt 
 to nobody, and in this cafe no claim of ven- 
 geance or iatisfa&ion can be due either to the 
 y 3 perfons
 
 326 (y Systems Part VII. 
 
 perfons impofed upon, or to others. But 
 though the violation of truth is not always a 
 breach of juftice, it is always a breach of a 
 very plain rule, and what naturally tends to 
 cover with fhame the perfon who has been 
 guilty of it. 
 
 There feems to be in young children an in- 
 ftinclive difpofition to believe whatever they 
 are told. Nature feems to have judged it ne- 
 celTary for their prefervation that they mould, 
 for fome time at leaft, put implicit confidence 
 in thofe to whom the care of their childhood, 
 and of the earlieft and moft necelTary parts of 
 their education, is intrufted. Their credulity, 
 accordingly, is exceftive, and it requires long 
 and much experience of the falfehood of man- 
 kind to reduce them to a reafonable degree of 
 diffidence and diftruft. In grown-up people 
 the degrees of credulity are, no doubt, very 
 different. The wifeft and moft experienced 
 are generally the leaft credulous. But the 
 man fcarce lives who is not more credulous 
 than lie ought to be, and who does not, upon 
 many occafions, give credit to tales, which 
 not only turn out to be perfectly falfe, but 
 which a very moderate degree of reflection 
 and attention might have taught him could 
 not well be true. The natural difpofition is 
 always to believe. It is acquired wiidom and 
 
 experience
 
 Sccl. IV. of Moral Piiilosopiiv. 327 
 
 experience only that teach incredulity, and 
 they very feldom teach it enough. The 
 wiieft and molt cautious of us all frequently 
 gives credit to ftories which he himfelf is 
 afterwards both afhamed and alfonifhed that 
 he could poflibly think of believing. 
 
 The man whom we believe is neceflarily, 
 in the things concerning which we believe 
 him, our leader and director, and we look up 
 to him with a certain degree of efteem and 
 refpect. But as from admiring other people 
 we come to wifh to be admired ourielves; fo 
 from being led and directed by other people 
 we learn to wifh to become ourfelves leaders 
 and directors. And as we cannot always be 
 iatisiied merely with being admired, unlefs we 
 can at the fame time periuade ourielves that 
 we are in fome degree really worthy of admi- 
 ration ; fo we cannot always be fatisfied mere- 
 ly with being believed, unlefs we are at the 
 fame time confcious that we are really worthy 
 of belief. As the defire of praife, and that of 
 praiie-worthinefs, though very much a-kin, 
 are yet diilinct and feparate delires ; fo the 
 defire of being believed and that ot being 
 worthy of belief, though very much a-kin 
 too, are equally diilinct and leparate defires. 
 
 The defire of being believed, the defire of 
 
 periuading, of leading and directing other 
 
 y 4 people,
 
 328 Of Systems Part VIL 
 
 people, feems to be one of the flrongeft of all 
 our natural defires. It is, perhaps, the inftinct 
 upon which is founded the faculty of fpeech, 
 the characteriftical faculty of human nature. 
 No other animal pofTeiTes this faculty, and 
 we cannot difcover in any other animal any 
 defire to lead and direct the judgment and 
 conduct of its fellows. Great ambition, the 
 defire of real fuperiority, of leading and di- 
 recting, feems to be altogether peculiar to 
 man, and fpeech is the great inftrument of 
 ambition, of real fuperiority, of leading and 
 directing the judgments and conduct of other 
 people. 
 
 It is always mortifying not to be believed, 
 and it is doubly fo when we fufpect that it is 
 becaufe we are fuppofed to be unworthy of 
 belief and capable of feriouily and wilfully 
 deceiving. To tell a man that he lies, is of 
 all affronts the molt mortal. But whoever 
 lerioufly and wilfully deceives, is neceffarily 
 confcious to himfelf that he merits this affront, 
 that he does not defcrve to be believed, and 
 that he forfeits all title to that fort of credit 
 from which alone he can derive any fort of 
 eafe, comfort, or fatisfaction in the fociety of 
 his equals. The man who had the misfor- 
 tune to imagine that nobody believd a lingle 
 word he faid, would feel himfelf the outcaft 
 
 of
 
 Sect. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 329 
 
 of human fociety, would dread the very 
 thought of going into it, or of prefenting 
 himfelf before it, and could fcarce fail, I 
 think, to die of defpair. It is probable, how- 
 ever, that no man ever had juft reafon to en- 
 tertain this humiliating opinion of himfelf. 
 The moll notorious liar, I am difpofed to 
 believe, tells the fair truth at leaft twenty 
 times for once that he ferioufly and delibe- 
 rately lies ; and, as in the mod cautious, the 
 difpofition to believe is apt to prevail over that 
 to doubt and diftruft ; fo in thofe who are 
 the mod regardlefs of truth, the natural dii- 
 poiition to tell it prevails upon moft occafions 
 over that to deceive, or in any refpect to alter 
 or difguife it. 
 
 We are mortified when we happen to de- 
 ceive other people, though unintentionally, 
 and from having been ourfelves deceived. 
 Though this involuntary faliehood may fre- 
 quently be no mark of any want of veracity, 
 of any want of the moft perfect love of truth, 
 it is always in fome degree a mark of want of 
 judgment, of want of memory, of improper 
 credulity, of fome degree of precipitancy and 
 raihnefs. It always diminiihes our authority 
 to perfuade, and always brings fome decree 
 of fufpicion upon our iitneis to lead and direct. 
 The man who ibmetimes mifleads from 
 
 miftake.
 
 330 Of S y s T £ m s Part VII. 
 
 miflake, however, is widely different from 
 him who is capable of wilfully deceiving. 
 The former may fafely be trufled upon many 
 occafions ; the latter very feldom upon any. 
 Franknefs and opennefs conciliate confi- 
 dence. Wetruft the man who feems willing 
 to truft us. We fee clearly, we think, the 
 road by which he means to conduct us, and 
 we abandon ourfelves with pleafure to his 
 guidance and direction. Referve and con- 
 cealment, on the contrary, call forth diffi- 
 dence. We are afraid to follow the man who 
 is going we do not know where. The great 
 pleafure of converfation and fociety, befules, 
 arifes from a certain correfpondence of fenti- 
 ments and opinions, from a certain harmony 
 of minds, which like fo many mufical inftru- 
 ments coincide and keep time with one 
 another. But this moft delightful harmony 
 cannot be obtained unlefs there is a free com- 
 munication of fentiments and opinions. We 
 all defire, upon this account, to feel how each 
 other is affected, to penetrate into each other's 
 bofoms, and to obferve the fentiments and 
 affections which really fubfift there. The 
 man who indulges us in this natural paflion, 
 who invites us into his heart, who, as it 
 were, lets open the gates of his bread to us, 
 feems to excrciie a fpecies of hofpitalky more 
 
 delightful
 
 Sett. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 331 
 
 delightful than any other. No man, who is 
 in ordinary good temper, can fail of pleafing, 
 if he has the courage to utter his real fenti- 
 ments as he feels them, and becaufe he feels 
 them. It is this unreferved fincerity which 
 renders even the prattle of a child agreeable. 
 How weak and imperfect foever the views of 
 the open-hearted, we take pleafure to enter 
 into them, and endeavour, as much as we can, 
 to bring down our own underftanding to the 
 level of their capacities, and to regard every 
 fubjecl: in the particular light in which they 
 appear to have coniidered it. This paffion to 
 difcover the real fentiments of others is natu- 
 rally lb (Irong, that it often degenerates into a 
 troublefome and impertinent curiofity to pry 
 into thofe fecrets of our neighbours which 
 they have very juftifiable reafons for conceal- 
 ing ; and, upon many occafions, it requires 
 prudence and a nrong fenfe of propriety to 
 govern this, as well as all the other paflions 
 of human nature, and to reduce it to that 
 pitch which any impartial ipectator can ap- 
 prove of. To difappoint this curiofity, how- 
 ever, when it is kept within proper bounds, 
 and aims at nothing which there can be any 
 jufl reafon for concealing, is equally difa- 
 greeable in its turn. The man who eludes 
 our moil innocent qucflions, who gives no 
 
 fatis-
 
 S3 2 Q/" Systems Part VII, 
 
 Satisfaction to our moft inofFenfive inquiries, 
 who plainly wraps himfelf up in impenetra- 
 ble obfcurity, feems, as it were, to build a 
 wall about his bread. We run forward to 
 get within it, with all the eagernefs of harm- 
 lefs curiofity ; and feel ourfelves all at once 
 pufhed back with the rudeft and moft offen- 
 sive violence. 
 
 The man of referve and concealment, 
 though feldom a very amiable character, is not 
 difrefpected or defpifed. He feems to feel cold- 
 ly towards us, and we feel as coldly towards 
 him. He is not much praifed or beloved, but 
 he is as little hated or blamed. He very fel- 
 dom, however, has occafion to repent of his 
 caution, and is generally difpofed rather to 
 value himfelf upon the prudence of his re- 
 ferve. Though his conduct, therefore, may 
 have been very faulty, and fometimes even 
 hurtful, he can very feldom be difpofed to 
 lay his cafe before the cafuifts, or to fancy 
 that he has any occafion for their acquittal 
 or approbation. 
 
 It is not always fo with the man, who, 
 from falfe information, from inadvertency, 
 from precipitancy and rafhnefs, has involun- 
 tarily deceived. Though it mould be in a 
 matter of little confequence, in telling a piece 
 of common news, for example, if he is a real 
 
 lover
 
 Sect. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 333 
 
 lover of truth, he is afhamed of his own careleifc- 
 nefs, and never fails to embrace the firft oppor- 
 tunity of making the fulleft acknowledgments. 
 If it is in a matter of fome confequence, his 
 contrition is ftill greater ; and if any unlucky 
 or fatal confequence has followed from his 
 mifinformation, he can fcarce ever forgive 
 himfelf. Though not guilty, he feels him- 
 felf to be in the higheft degree what the an- 
 cients called, piacular, and is anxious and 
 eager to make every fort of atonement in his 
 power. Such a perfon might frequently be 
 difpofed to lay his cafe before the cafuifts, 
 who have in general been very favourable to 
 him, and though they have fometimes juftly 
 condemned him for rafhnefs, they have uni- 
 verfally acquitted him of the ignominy of 
 falfehood. 
 
 But the man who had the mod frequent 
 occafion to confult them, was the man of 
 equivocation and mental refervation, the man 
 whoferioufly and deliberately meant to deceive, 
 but who, at the fame time wiihed to flatter 
 himfelf that he had really told the truth. 
 With him they have dealt varioufly. When 
 they approved very much of the motives of his 
 deceit, they have fometimes acquitted him, 
 though, to do them juftice, they have in gene- 
 ral and much more frequently condemned him, 
 
 \ The
 
 334 Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 The chief fubjecr.s of the works of the ca- 
 fuifts, therefore, were the confcientious regard 
 that is due to the rules of juftice ; how far we 
 ought to refpecl: the life and property of our 
 neighbour ; the duty of reftitution ; the laws 
 of chaftity and modefty, and wherein confid- 
 ed what, in their language, are called the fins 
 of concupiicence ; the rules of veracity, and 
 the obligation of oaths, promifes, and con- 
 tracts of all kinds. 
 
 It may be faid in general of the works of 
 the cafuifts, that they attempted, to no pur- 
 pole, to direct, by precife rules what it belongs 
 to feeling and fentiment only to judge of. 
 How is it noflible to afcertain by rules the 
 exact point at which, in every cafe, a delicate 
 fenfe of juftice begins to run into a frivolous 
 and weak fcrupulofity of confcience ? When 
 it is that fecrecy and referve begin to grow into 
 diflimulation ? How far an agreeable irony 
 may be carried, and at what precife point it 
 begins to degenerate into a deteftable lie ? 
 What is the highcft pitch of freedom and eafe 
 of behaviour which can be regarded as grace- 
 ful and becoming, and when it is that it firft 
 begins to run into a negligent and thoughtlefs 
 licentioufnefs ? With regard to all fuch 
 matters, what would hold good in any one 
 cafe would fcarce do fo exactly in any other, 
 
 and
 
 Seel. IV. c/ Moral Philosophy. 33c 
 
 and what conftitutes the propriety and happi- 
 nefs of behaviour varies in every cafe with the 
 fmalleft variety of fituation. Books of cafu- 
 iftry, therefore, are generally as ufelefs as 
 they are commonly tirefome. They could be 
 of little ufe to one who fhould confult them 
 upon occalion, even iuppofing their deciiions 
 to be juft ; becaufe, notwithstanding the mul- 
 titude of cafes collected in them, yet upon 
 account of the ftill greater variety of poflible 
 circumftances, it is a chance, if among all 
 thofe cafes there be found one exactly parallel 
 to that under confederation. One who is 
 really anxious to do his duty, mud be very 
 weak, if he can imagine that he has much 
 occalion ior them ; and with regard to one 
 who is negligent of it, the ftyle of thofe writ- 
 ings is not fuch as is likely to awaken him to 
 more attention. None of them tend to ani- 
 mate us to what is generous and noble. 
 None of them tend to foften us to what is 
 gentle and humane. Many of them, on the 
 contrary, tend rather to teach us to chicane 
 with our own confcienccs, and bv their vain 
 fubtilties ferve to authorifc innumerable eva- 
 
 a ,,-r 
 
 five refinements with regard to the ;n: :c eiien- 
 tial articles of our duty. That frivolous accu- 
 racy which they attempted to introduce into 
 fubiccls which do not admit of it, almiv ne-
 
 336 Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 ceiTarily betrayed them into thofe dangerous 
 errors, and at the fame time rendered their 
 works dry and difagreeable, abounding in ab- 
 ftrufe and metaphyseal diftinctions, but inca- 
 pable of exciting in the heart any of thofe 
 emotions which it is the principal ufe of books 
 of morality to excite. 
 
 The two ufeful parts of moral philofophy, 
 therefore, are Ethics and Jurifprudence : 
 cafuiftry ought to be reje&ed altogether ; 
 and the ancient moralifis appear to have 
 judged much better, who in treating of the 
 fame fubje&s, did not afFect any fuch nice 
 exactnefs, but contented themfelves with de- 
 scribing, in a general manner, what is the 
 fentiment upon which juftice, modefty, and 
 veracity are founded, and what is the ordi- 
 nary way of acting to which thofe virtues 
 would commonly prompt us. 
 
 Something, indeed, not unlike the doc- 
 trine of the cafuifts, fecms to have been at- 
 tempted by feveral philofophers. There is 
 fomcthing of this kind in the third book of 
 Cicero's Offices, where he endeavours like a 
 cafuift to give rules for our conduct in many 
 nice cafes, in which it is difficult to determine 
 whereabouts the point of propriety may lie. 
 It appears too, from many paflages in the 
 fame book, that feveral other philofophers 
 
 had
 
 Sect. IV. cf Moral Philosophy. 337 
 
 had attempted fomething of the fame kind 
 before him. Neither he nor they, however, 
 appear to have aimed at giving a complete 
 fyftem of this fort, but only meant to fhow 
 how fituations may occur, in which it is 
 doubtful, whether the higher! propriety of 
 conduct confifts in obferving or in receding 
 from what, in ordinary cafes, are the rules of 
 duty. 
 
 Every fyftem of pofitive law may be re- 
 garded as a more or lefs imperfect attempt 
 towards a fyftem of natural jurifprudence, 
 or towards an enumeration of the particular 
 rules of juftice. As the violation of juftice 
 is what men will never fubmit to from one 
 another, the public magiftrate is under a 
 neceftity of employing the power of the com- 
 monwealth to enforce the practice cf this vir- 
 tue. Without this precaution, civil fociety 
 would become a fcene of bloodfhed and dif- 
 order, every man revenging himfelf at his 
 own hand, whenever he fancied he was in- 
 jured. To prevent the confufion which 
 would attend upon every man's doing juftice 
 to himfelf, the magiftrate, in all governments 
 that have acquired any confiderable authority, 
 undertakes to do juftice to all, and promifes 
 to hear and to redrefs every complaint of in- 
 jury. In all well-governed ftates too, not only 
 judges are appointed lor determining the 
 vol. 11. Z contro-
 
 33 s Of Systems Part VII. 
 
 controverfies of individuals, but rules are 
 prefcribed for regulating tbe decifions of thofe 
 judges ; and thefe rules are, in general, in- 
 tended to coincide with thofe of natural jus- 
 tice. It does not, indeed, always happen that 
 they do fo in every inftance. Sometimes 
 what is called the conftitution of the ftate, 
 that is, the intereft of the government ; 
 fometimes the intereft of particular orders of 
 men who tyrannize the government, warp 
 the pofitive laws of the country from what 
 natural juftice would prefcribe. In fome 
 countries, the rudenefs and barbarifm of the 
 people hinder the natural fentiments of juf- 
 tice from arriving at that accuracy and preci- 
 fion which, in more civilized nations, they 
 naturally attain td. Their laws are, like their 
 manners, grois and rude and undiftinguifhing. 
 In other countries the unfortunate conftitu- 
 tion of their courts of judicature hinders any 
 regular fyftem of jurifprudence from ever 
 eftablilhing itfelf among them, though the 
 improved manners of the people may be fuch 
 as would admit of the moft accurate. In no 
 country do the decifions of pofitive law coin- 
 cide exactly, in every cafe, with the rules 
 which the natural fenfe of juftice would dic- 
 tate. Sy Items of pofitive law, therefore, 
 though they deferve the greateft authority, as 
 the records of the fentiments of mankind 
 
 in
 
 Sect. IV. of Moral Philosophy. 339 
 
 in different ages and nations, yet can never be 
 regarded as accurate fyftems of the rules of 
 natural juftice. 
 
 It might have been expected that the rea- 
 fonings of lawyers, upon the different imper- 
 fections and improvements of the laws of 
 different countries, mould have given occa- 
 fion to an inquiry into what were the natural 
 rules of juftice independent of all pofitive in- 
 ftitution. It might have been expected that 
 thefe reafonings mould have led them to aim 
 at eftabliihing a fyftem of what might pro- 
 perly be called natural jurifprudence, or a 
 theory of the general principles which ought 
 to run through and be the foundation of the 
 laws of all nations. But though the reafon- 
 ings of lawyers did produce fomething of this 
 kind, and though no man has treated fyftema- 
 tically of the laws of any particular country, 
 without intermixing in his work many obfer- 
 vations of this fort ; it was very late in the 
 world before any fuch general fyftem was 
 thought of, or before the philofophy of law 
 was treated of by itielf, and without regard to 
 the particular inftitutions of any one nation. 
 In none of the ancient moralifts, do we find 
 any attempt towards a particular enumeration 
 of the rules of juftice. Cicero in his Offices, 
 and Aiiftotle in his Ethics, treat of juftice in 
 
 z 2 the
 
 34° 0/* Systems, &c. Part VII. 
 
 the fame general manner in which they treat 
 of all the other virtues. In the laws of Cicero 
 and Plato, where we might naturally have 
 expected fome attempts towards an enume- 
 ration of thofe rules of natural equity, which 
 ought to be enforced by the pofitive laws of 
 every country, there is, however, nothing of 
 this kind. Their laws are laws of police, not 
 of jullice. Grctius feems to have been the 
 full who attempted to give the world any 
 thing like a fyi'lem of thofe principles which 
 ought to run through, and be the foundation 
 of the laws of all nations ; and his treatife of 
 the laws of war and peace, with all its imper- 
 fections, is perhaps at this day the rnoft 
 complete work that has yet been given upon 
 the fubject. I mall in another ditcourfe en- 
 deavour to give an account of the general 
 principles of law and government, and of the 
 different revolutions they have undergone in 
 the different ages and periods of fociety, not 
 only in what concerns juilice, but in what 
 concerns police, revenue, and arms, and 
 whatever elfe is the ohjecl of law. I mail not, 
 therefore, at prefer. t enter into any further 
 detail concerning the hi. lory of jurifprudencc. 
 
 THE r. N D.
 
 CONS IDE RATIONS 
 
 CO>CE*NIKB THE F I R 3 T 
 
 FORMATION OF LANGUAGES, 
 
 and i:-:i 
 
 Different Genius of original and compounded 
 LANGUAGES. 
 
 z 3
 
 CONSIDERATIONS 
 
 CONCERNING THE TIUST 
 
 FORMATION OF LANGUAGES, 
 
 \5c. &c. &c. 
 
 ^piiE affignation of particular names, to de- 
 **■ note particular objects, that is, the in- 
 ftitution of nouns fubftantive, would probably 
 be one of the firft fteps towards the formation 
 of language. Two lavages, who had never 
 been taught to fpeak, but had been bred up 
 remote from the focieties of men, would na- 
 turally begin to form that language by which 
 they would endeavour to make their mutual 
 wants intelligible to each other, by uttering 
 certain founds, whenever they meant to de- 
 note certain objects. Thofe objects only 
 which were mod familiar to them, and which 
 z 4 they
 
 344 FORMATION OF 
 
 they had rr.oft frequent occafion to mention, 
 would have particular names affigned to them. 
 The particular cave whofe covering fheltered 
 them from the weather, the particular tree 
 whofe fruit relieved their hunger, the parti- 
 cular fountain whofe water allayed their thirft, 
 would firft he denominated by the words cave, 
 tree, fountain, or by whatever other appella- 
 tions they might think proper, in that primi- 
 tive jargon, to mark them. Afterwards, when 
 the more enlarged experience of thefe favages 
 had led them to obferve, and their necefTary 
 occafions obliged them to make mention of 
 other caves, and other trees, and other fount- 
 ains, they would naturally bellow, upon each 
 of thole new objects, the fame name, by 
 which they had been accuftomed to exprefs 
 the iimilar object they were firft acquainted 
 with. The new objects had none of them 
 any name of its own, but each of them ex- 
 actly refembled another object, wmich had 
 iuch an appellation. It was impoilible that 
 thole lavages could behold the new obiects, 
 without recollecting the old ones ; and the 
 name of the old ones, to which the new bore 
 c!o(c a refcmblance. When they had occa- 
 iion, therefore, to mention, or to point out 
 to each other, any of the new objects, they 
 would naturally utter the name of the corref- 
 
 2 pondent
 
 L A NGUAGE S. 345 
 
 pondent old one, of which the idea could not 
 fail, at that inftant, to prefent itielf to their 
 memory in the ftrongeit and livelieft manner. 
 Arid thus, thole words, which were originally 
 the proper names of individuals, wouid each 
 of them infeniibly become the common name 
 of a multitude. A child that is j 11 ft: learning 
 to fpeak, calls every perfon who comes to the 
 home its papa, or its mama ; and thus beftows 
 upon the whole fpecies thofe names which it 
 had been taught to apply to two individuals. 
 I have known a clown, who did not know the 
 proper name of the river which ran by his 
 own door. It was the river, he faid, and he 
 never heard any other name for it. His ex- 
 perience, it leems, had not led him to obferve 
 any other river. The general word river, 
 therefore, was, it is evident, in his accept- 
 ance of it, a proper name fignifying an indi- 
 vidual object. li tliis perfon had been carried 
 to another river, would he not readily have 
 called it a river? Could we fuppofe any per- 
 fon living on the banks of the Thames ib ig- 
 norant, as not to know the general word river, 
 but to be acquainted only with the particular 
 word Thames, if he was brought to any other 
 river, would he not readily call it a Thames? 
 This, in reality, is no more than what they, 
 who are well acquainted with the general 
 
 word,
 
 34$ FORMATION OF 
 
 word, are very apt to do. An Englifhman, 
 defcribing any great river which he may have 
 {een in Tome foreign country, naturally fays, 
 that it is another Thames. The Spaniards, 
 when they firft arrived upon the coaft of 
 Mexico, and obferved the wealth, populouf- 
 nefs, and habitations, of that fine country, 
 fo much fuperior to the favage nations which 
 they had been vifiting for fome time before, 
 cried out that it was another Spain. Hence it 
 was called New Spain ; and this name has 
 ftuck to that unfortunate country ever fince. 
 We fay, in the fame manner, of a hero, that 
 he is an Alexander ; of an orator, that he is a 
 Cicero ; of a philofopher, that be is a New- 
 ton. This way of fpeaking, which the gram- 
 marians call an Antonomafia, and which is 
 ftiil extremely common, though now not at all 
 neceffary, demonftrates how much mankind 
 are naturally difpofed to give to one object the 
 name of any other, which nearly refembles it, 
 and thus to denominate a multitude, by what 
 originally was intended to exprefs an indivi- 
 dual. 
 
 It is this application of the name of an indi- 
 vidual to a great multitude of objects, whofe 
 refemblance naturallv recalls the idea of that 
 individual, and of the name which expreffes 
 it, that feems originally to have given occafion 
 
 to
 
 LANGUAGES. 347 
 
 to the formation of thofe claiTes and aiTort- 
 ments, which, in the fchools, are called genera 
 and fpecies, and of which the ingenious and 
 eloquent M. RoufTeau of Geneva* finds him- 
 felf {o much at a lofs to account for the origin. 
 What conftitutes a fpecies is merely a number 
 of objects, bearing a certain degree of refem- 
 blance to one another, and on that account 
 denomipj"cJ by a fingle appellation, which 
 may be apphe- to exprefs any one of them. 
 
 Vv 7 hen the greater part of objects had thus 
 been arranged under their proper claffes and 
 aflbrtments, diftinguiihed by luch general 
 names, it was impofhble that the greater part 
 of that almoft infinite number of individuals, 
 comprehended under each particular affortment 
 or fpecies, could have any peculiar or proper 
 names of their own, diltinct from the general 
 name of the fpecies. When there was occa- 
 fion, therefore, to mention any particular ob- 
 ject, it often became neceflary to diftinguifh it 
 from the other objects comprehended under 
 the fame general name, either, fir ft, by its 
 peculiar qualities ; or, fecondly, by the pecu- 
 liar relation which it Mood in to fome other 
 things. Hence the nccefTary origin of two 
 
 * Origine de l'Inegalite. Partie Premiere, p. 376, 377. 
 Edition d'Amfterdam des Oeuvres diverfes de J. J. RoufTeau. 
 
 other
 
 348 FORMATION OF 
 
 other fets of words, of which the one fhouid 
 exprefs quality ; the other, relation. 
 
 Nouns adjective are the words which ex- 
 prefs quality confidered as qualifying, or, as 
 the fchoolmen lay, in concrete with, forae 
 particular iubjecT:. Thus the word green ex- 
 preffes a certain quality confidered as qualify- 
 ing, or as in concrete with, the particular fub- 
 ject to which it may be applied. Words of 
 this kind, it is evident, may ferve to diftin- 
 guilh particular objects irom others compre- 
 hended under the fame general appellation. 
 Tiie words green tree, for example, might 
 ferve to diltinguifh a particular tree from 
 others that were withered or blafted. 
 
 Prepofitions are the words which exprefs 
 relation confidered, in the fame manner, in con- 
 crete with the co-relative object. Thus the 
 prepofitions of to, for, with, by, above, below, 
 <3cc. denote fome relation fubfifting between 
 the objects expreffed by the words between 
 which the prepofitions are placed ; and they 
 denote that this relation is confidered in con- 
 crete with the co-relative object. Words of 
 this kind ferve to diflinguifh particular objects 
 from others of the fame fpecies, when thofe 
 particular objects cannot be fo properly 
 marked out by any peculiar qualities of their 
 own. When we fay the green tree of the 
 
 meadow,
 
 LANGUAGES. 349 
 
 meadow, for example, we diftinguifh a parti- 
 cular tree, not only by the quality which be- 
 longs to it but by the relation which it ftands 
 in to another object. 
 
 As neither quality nor relation can exift in 
 abftract, it is natural to fuppofe that the words 
 which denote them coniidered in concrete, 
 the wav in which we always fee them fuhfift, 
 would be of much earlier invention than thofe 
 which exprefs them coniidered in aburaeT, 
 the way in which we never fee them fuhliil. 
 The words green and blue would, in all pro- 
 bability, be fooner invented than the words 
 greemiefs and bluenefs ; the w r ords above and 
 below, than the words fuperiority and inferi- 
 ority. To invent words of the latter kind re- 
 quires a much greater effort of abstraction 
 than to invent thofe of the former. It is 
 probable, therefore, that fuch abftract terms 
 would be of much later inftitution. Accord- 
 ingly, their etymologies generally (hew that 
 they r are io, they being generally derived 
 from others that are concrete. 
 
 But though the invention of nouns adject- 
 ive be much more natural than that of the 
 abftract nouns fubftantive derived from them, 
 it wouM 11111, however, require a consider- 
 able deerec of abftraccion and treneralization. 
 Thofe, for example, who iir ft invented the 
 
 words
 
 35o FORMATION OF 
 
 •words green, blue, red, and the other names of 
 colours, muft have obferved and compared 
 together a great number of objects, muft have 
 remarked their refemblances and dirTimilitudes 
 in refpect of the quality of colour, and muft 
 have arranged them, in their own minds, into 
 different claries and aftbrtments, according to 
 thofe refemblances and diflimilitudes. An 
 adjective is by nature a general, and in fome 
 meafure an abftract word, and necelTarily 
 prefuppofes the idea of a certain fpecies or 
 aflbrtment of things, to all of wich it is equally 
 applicable. The word green could not, as 
 we were fuppofing might be the cafe of the 
 word cave, have been originally the name of 
 an individual, and afterwards have become, 
 by what grammarians call an Antonomafia, 
 the name of a fpecies. The word green de- 
 noting, not the name of a fubftance, but the 
 peculiar quality of a fubftance, muft from the 
 very firft have been a general word, and con- 
 fidered as equally applicable to any other fub- 
 ftance pofTeffed of the fame quality. The 
 man who firft diftinguifhed a particular ob- 
 ject by the epithet of green, muft have obferved 
 other objects that were not green from which 
 he meant to feparate it by this appellation. 
 The inftitution of this name, therefore, fup- 
 pofes comparifon. It like wife fuppofes fome 
 
 degree
 
 LANGUAGES. 351 
 
 degree of abftraction. The perfon who firft 
 invented this appellation muft have diftin- 
 guifhed the quality from the object to which 
 it belonged, and muft have conceived the ob- 
 ject as capable of fubfifting without the qua- 
 lity. The invention, therefore, even of the 
 fimpleft nouns adjective, muft have required 
 more metaphyfics than we are apt to be aware 
 of. The different mental operations, of 
 arrangement or claffing, of comparifon, and 
 of abftraction, muft all have been employed, 
 before even the names of the different colours, 
 the leaft metaphyseal of all nouns adjective, 
 could be inftituted. From all which I infer, 
 that when languages were beginning to be 
 formed, nouns adjective would by no means 
 be the words of the earlleft invention. 
 
 There is another expedient for denoting the 
 different qualities of different fubftances, 
 which as it requires no abftraction, nor any 
 conceived feparation of the quality from the 
 fubject, items more natural than the invention 
 of nouns adjective, and which, upon this ac- 
 count, could hardly fail, in the ftrft formation 
 of language, to be thought of before them. 
 This expedient is to make fome variation 
 upon the noun fubftantive itfelf, according to 
 the different qualities which it is endowed 
 with. Thus, in many languages, the qualities 
 
 both
 
 352 FORMATION OF 
 
 both of fex and of the want of fex, arc ex- 
 prefTed by different terminations in the nouns 
 fubftantive, which denote objects fo cualified. 
 In Latin, for example, lupus, lupa ; equus, 
 equa ; juvencus,juvenca ; julius, Julia ; Lucre- 
 tius, Lucretia, &c. denote the qualities of 
 male and female in the animals and perfons to 
 whom fuch appellations belong, without 
 needing the addition of any adjective for this 
 purpofe. On the other hand, the words fo- 
 rum,prctum, plaujlrum, denote by their pecu- 
 liar termination the total abfence of iex in the 
 different fubflances which they fland for. 
 Both fex, and the want of all fex, being natu- 
 rally confidered as qualities modifying and 
 infeparable from the particular fubflances to 
 which they belong, it was natural to exprefs 
 them rather by a modification in the noun fub- 
 ftantive, than by any general and abftract 
 word expreffive of this particular fpecies of 
 quality. The expreffion bears, it is evident, 
 in this way, a much more exact analogy to 
 the idea or object which it denotes, than in 
 the other. The quality appears, in nature, 
 as a modification ot the fubflance, and as it is 
 thus exprcMed, in language, by a modification 
 of the noun fubftantive, which denotes that 
 fu! fiance, the quality and the fubject are, in 
 this cafe, blended together, if I may fay fo, 
 
 in
 
 LANGUAGES. 353 
 
 in the expreflion, in the fame manner as they 
 appear to be in the object and in the idea. 
 Hence the origin of the mafculine, feminine, 
 and neutral genders, in all the ancient lan- 
 guages. By means of thefe the moft import- 
 ant of all diftindions, that of fubftances into 
 animated and inanimated, and that of animals 
 into male and female, fcem to have been fuf- 
 jRcicntly marked without the afliftance of ad- 
 jectives, or of any general names denoting 
 this moft extenfive fpecies of qualifications. 
 
 There are no more than thefe three genders 
 in any of the languages with which I am ac- 
 quainted ; that is to fay, the formation of 
 nouns fubftantive can, by itfelf, and without 
 the accompaniment of adjectives, exprefs no 
 other qualities but thofe three above mention- 
 ed, the qualities of male, of female, of nei- 
 ther male nor female. I mould not, however, 
 be furprifed, if, in other languages with 
 which I am unacquainted, the different form- 
 ations of nouns fubftantive mould be capable 
 of exprefling many other different qualities. 
 The different diminutives of the Italian, and 
 of fome other languages, do, in reality, fome- 
 times, exprefs a great variety of different mo^ 
 diheations in the fubftances denoted by thofe 
 nouns which undergo fuch variations. 
 
 VOL. II. A A It
 
 554 FORMATION OF 
 
 It was impoffiblc, however, that nouns fuh- 
 ftantive could, without lofing altogether their 
 original form, undereo fo great a number of 
 variations, as would he iufficient to exprefs 
 that almoil infinite variety of qualities, by 
 which it might, upon different occafions, be 
 necefTary to fpecify and diftinguifh them. 
 Though the different formation of nouns fub- 
 ftantive, therefore, might, for fometime, fore- 
 ltall the neceflity of inventing nouns ad- 
 jective, it was impoflible that this necefhty 
 could be forcftalled altogether. When nouns 
 adjective came to he invented, it was natural 
 that they mould he formed with fome funi- 
 Iarity to the fubftantives to which they were 
 to ferve as epithets or qualifications. Men 
 would naturally give them the fame termina- 
 tions with the fubflantives to which they 
 were fir it applied, and from that love of fun i- 
 larity of found, from that delight in the re- 
 turns of the lame fvilables, which is the 
 foundation of analogy in all languages, they 
 would be apt to vary the termination of the 
 lame adjective, according as they had occa- 
 fion to apply it to a mafculine, to a feminine, 
 or to a neutral fubftantivc. They would lay, 
 ??Lign?is /upns, magna lupa, magnum pratum, 
 when they meant to expreis a great he ivolK a 
 Great floe zvo/f. a great meadow. 
 
 This
 
 LANGUAGES. 3-- 
 
 This variation, in the termination of the 
 noun adjective, according to the gender of the 
 fubftantivc, which takes place in all the an- 
 cient languages, feems to have been intro- 
 duced chiefly for the fake of a certain fimi- 
 larity of* found, of a certain fpecies of rhyme, 
 which is naturally fo very agreeable to the 
 human ear. Gender, it is to be obferved, 
 cannot properly belong to a noun adjective, 
 the lignification of which is always precifely 
 the fame, to whatever fpecies of fubftantives 
 it is applied. When we lay, a great man, a 
 '-rcat woman ) the word great has precifely the 
 fame meaning in both cafes, and the difference 
 of the fex in the fubjeeis to which it may be 
 applied, makes no fort of difference in its 
 lignification. Magnus, magna, magnum, in 
 the fame manner, are words which exprefs 
 precifely the fame quality, and the change of 
 the termination is accompanied with no fort of 
 variation in the meaning. Sex and render 
 arc qualities which belong to fubftances, but 
 cannot belong to the qualities of fubftances. 
 In general, no quality, whenconlidered in con- 
 crete, or as qualifying Ionic particular lubjcc~i, 
 can itfelf be conceived as the fubject of any 
 other quality , though when confidercd in ab- 
 Jlract it may. No adjective therefore can qua- 
 hi} any other adjective. A great good man \ 
 A A 2 means
 
 356 FORMATION OF 
 
 means a man who is both great and good* 
 Both the adjectives qualify the fubftaritive ; 
 they do not qualify one another. On the 
 other hand, when we fay, the great goodnefs 
 of the man, the word goodnefs denoting a qua- 
 lity confidered in abftract, which may itfelf 
 be the fubjecr. of other qualities, is upon that 
 account capable of being qualified by the word 
 great. 
 
 If the original invention of nouns adjective 
 would be attended with fo much difficulty, 
 that of prepofitions would be accompanied 
 with yet more. Every prepofition, as I have 
 already obferved, denotes fome relation confi- 
 dered in concrete with the co-relative object. 
 The prepofition above, for example, denotes 
 the relation of fuperiority, not in abftract, as 
 it is expreflcd by the word fuperiority, but in 
 concrete with fome co-relative object. In this 
 phrafe, for example, the tree above the cave, 
 the word above expreifes a certain relation 
 between the tree and the cave, and it exprefles 
 this relation in concrete with the co-relative 
 object, the cave. A prepofition always re- 
 quires, in order to complete the fenfe, fome 
 other word to come after it ; as may be ob- 
 served in this particular inftance. Now, I fay, 
 the original invention of fuch words would 
 require a yet greater effort of abstraction and 
 
 general™
 
 LANGUAGES. 357 
 
 generalization, than that of nouns adjective. 
 Firft of all, a relation is, in itfelf, a more me- 
 taphysical object than a quality. Nobody can 
 be at a lofs to explain what is meant by a qua- 
 lity ; but few people will find themfelves able 
 to exprefs, very diftinctly, what is underftood 
 by a relation. Qualities are almoft always the 
 objects of our external fenfes ; relations never 
 are. No wonder, therefore, that the one fet 
 of objects ihould be fo much more comprc- 
 heniible than the other. Secondly, though 
 prepofitions always exprefs the relation which 
 they ftand for, in concrete with the co-rela- 
 tive object, they could not have originally 
 been formed without a confiderable effort of 
 abstraction. A prepofition denotes a relation 
 and nothing but a relation. But before men 
 could inftitute a word, which Signified a rela- 
 tion, and nothing but a relation, they mud 
 have been able, in fome meafure, to conlider 
 this relation ab(tra<£ted!y from the related ob- 
 jects ; fmce the idea of thofe objects does not, 
 in any refpect, enter into the ligniheation or 
 the prepofition. The invention of inch a 
 word, therefore, limft have required a confi- 
 derable degree of abstraction. Thirdly, a 
 prepofition is from its nature a general word, 
 which, from its very firft inititution, muft 
 have been coniidered as equally applicable 
 A a 3 to
 
 3j8 FORMATION OF 
 
 to denote any other fimilar relation. The 
 man who firft invented the word above, mud 
 not only have diftinguifhed, in fome meafure, 
 the relation of fuperiority from the objects 
 whicli were fo related, but he inuft have alfo 
 diftinguifhed this relation from other relations, 
 fuch a?, from the relation of Inferiority de- 
 noted by the word below, from the relation 
 of juxtapofition, expreffed by the word bejide, 
 and the like. He mud have conceived this 
 word, therefore, as expreffive of a particular 
 fort or fpecies of relation diilinci from every 
 other, which could not be done without a ccn- 
 fiderable effort of comparifon and generaliza- 
 tion. 
 
 Whatever were the difficulties, therefore, 
 which em bar raffed the firft invention of 
 nouns adjective, the fame, and many more, 
 muft have embarrafTed that of prepoiitions. 
 If mankind, therefore, in the firft formation 
 of lan:ma< r es, feem to have, for fome time, 
 evaded the neceflity of nouns adjective, by 
 varying the termination of the names of fub- 
 (1 ices, according as thefe varied in fome of 
 lluir moft important qualities, they would 
 much more find themfelves under the nccef- 
 fity of evading, by fome fimilar contrivance, 
 the yet more difficult invention of prepofi- 
 ticfiis. The different cafes in the ancient Ian- 
 
 "■uaees
 
 LANGUAGES. 359 
 
 puages is a contrivance of precifely the fame 
 kind. The genitive and dative cafes, in 
 Greek and Latin, evidently fupply the place 
 of the prepolitions ; and hy a variation in the 
 noun fubfrantive, which (lands for the co-rela- 
 tive term, exprefs the relation which fubfifls 
 between what is denoted by that noun fub- 
 ftantive, and what is cxprelfed by fame other 
 word in the ientence. In thele expreffions, 
 for example, fruclns arborls, the fruit of the 
 tree; facer Herculi, j acred to Hercules; the 
 variations made in the co-relative words, arbor 
 and Hercules, exprefs the fame relations which 
 are cxpreffed in Englifh by the prepolitions of 
 and to. 
 
 To exprefs a relation in this manner, did 
 not require any effort of abftracVion. It was 
 not here expreifed by a peculiar word denot- 
 ing relation and nothing but relation, but by 
 a variation upon the co relative term. It was 
 expreifed here, as it appears in nature, not as 
 fomething feparated and detached, but as 
 thoroughly mixed and blended with the eo- 
 rclativc object. 
 
 To exprefs relation, in this manner, did 
 net require any effort of generalization. The 
 words o.rboris and llcrcul'i, while they involve 
 in their bonification the lame relation ex- 
 preifed by the Englilh prepolitions cf and /:>, 
 * A 4 are
 
 3 6o FORMATION OF 
 
 are not like thofe prepofitions, general words, 
 which can be applied to exprefs the fame re- 
 lation between whatever other objects it 
 might be obferved to iubfift. 
 
 To exprefs relation in this manner did not 
 require any effort of companion. The words 
 arbor is and Her cull are not general words in- 
 tended to denote a particular fpecics of rela- 
 tions which the inventors of thofe expreflions 
 meant, in confequence of fome fort of com- 
 parifon, to feparate and diftinguim from every 
 ( ther fort of relation. The example, indeed, 
 of this contrivance would loon probably be 
 followed, and whoever had occafion to exprefs 
 a fimilar relation between any other objects 
 would be very apt to do it by making a limi- 
 ! v variation on the name of the co-relative 
 object. This, I lay, would probably, or rather 
 certainly happen ; but it would happen with- 
 out any intention or forefight in thofe who 
 fir ft fet the example, and who never meant to 
 cftablilh any general rule. The general rule 
 would cftablifh itfeif infcnfib'y, and by flow 
 degree :, in confequence of that love of ana- 
 ' -v and fimilarity of found, which is the 
 f imdati m of by far the greater part of the 
 ! grammar. 
 To exprefs relation, therefore, by a vari- 
 tion in the name of the co-relative object, 
 
 requiring
 
 LANGUAGES. 361 
 
 requiring neither abftraction, nor generaliza^. 
 tion, nor comparifon of any kind, would, at 
 firft, be much more natural and eafy, than to 
 exprefs it by thole general words called pre- 
 pofitions, of which the firft invention muft 
 have demanded fome degree of all thofe ope- 
 rations. 
 
 The number of cafes is different in differ- 
 ent languages. There are five in the Greek, 
 fix in the Latin, and there are faid to be ten 
 in the Armenian language. It mud have na- 
 turally happened that there mould be a greater 
 or a imaller number of caies, according as in 
 the terminations of nouns fubftantive the firft 
 formers of any language happened to have 
 eftablifhed a greater or a fmaller number of 
 variations, in order to exprefs the different re- 
 lations they had occaiion to take notice of, 
 before the invention of thofe more general 
 and abitract prepofitions which could fupply 
 their place. 
 
 It is, perhaps, worth while to obferve that 
 thofe prepofitions, which in modern languages 
 hold the place of the ancient cafes, are of all 
 others, the moft general, and abftracl, and 
 metaphyseal ; and of conlcquence would 
 probablv be the laft invented. Aik any man 
 of common acutenefs, What relation is ex- 
 prefled by the prepofition above P He will 
 
 readily
 
 3&2 FORMATION OF 
 
 readily anfwer, that of fuperioriiy. By the 
 proportion below f He will as quickly reply, 
 that of Inferiority. But afk him, What rela- 
 tion is expreffed by the prepofidon off and, if 
 he has not beforehand employed his thoughts 
 a good deal upon theie fubjecTs, you may 
 Jai'ely allow him a week to confider of his 
 anfwer. The prepofitions above and below do 
 not denote any or the relations expreffed by 
 the cafes in the ancient languages. But the 
 prenofition of denotes the fame relation, 
 which is in them expreffed by the genitive 
 cafe ; and which it is ealy to obferve, is of a 
 very metaphyseal nature. The prepohtion 
 of denotes relation in general, confidered in 
 concrete with the co-relative object. It marks 
 tli at the noun fubllantive which goes before 
 it, is fomehow or other related to that which 
 comes after it, but without in any refpecl 
 afcertalning, as is done by the prepohtion 
 above, what is the peculiar nature or that re- 
 lation. We often apply it, therefore, to ex- 
 prefs the mod oppofite relations ; becaufe, the 
 mofi o oolite relations agree io far that each or 
 them conrorehends in it the general idea or 
 nature oi a relation. We fay, the father of 
 ,V ''/ ; ,7, and the Jon of the father ; the fir-trees 
 >■■/' tie forc/l, anci the for eft of the fir-trees. 
 The relation in which the father (lands to the 
 
 fon
 
 LANGUAGE S. 363 
 
 ion Is, it is evident, a quite oppofite relation 
 to that in which the fon ftands to the father; 
 that in which the parts Hand to the whole, is 
 quite oppofite to that in which the whole 
 (lands to the parts. The word of however, 
 ferves very well to denote all thole relations, 
 becaufe in itfelf it denotes no particular rela- 
 tion, but only reunion in general ; and fo far 
 as any particular relation is collected from 
 iuch expreflions, it is inferred by the mind, 
 not from the prepofition itfelf, but from the 
 nature and arrangement of the fubftantives, 
 between which the prepofition is placed. 
 
 What I have faid concerning the prepo- 
 fition of] may in lome meafure be applied to 
 the prepofitions to, for, with, by, and to what- 
 ever other prepofitions are made ufe of in 
 modern languages, to fupply the place of the 
 ancient caies. They all of them exprefs very 
 abllract and metaphyseal relations, which 
 any man who takes the trouble to try it, will 
 Imd it extremely difficult to exprefs by nouns 
 fubftantive, in the fame manner as we may 
 expreis the relation denoted by the prepofition 
 above, by the noun iubflantive fiipcrlor'iiy. 
 They all of them, however, expreis fome 
 ipeciiic relation, and are, conlequently, none 
 of them io abftract as the prepofition of, 
 ivhich may be regarded as by far the mod 
 
 metaphy-
 
 364 FORMATION OF 
 
 metaphyfical of all prepofitions. The prepo 
 fitions, therefore, which are capable of fup- 
 plying the place of the ancient cafes, being 
 more abftract than the other prepofitions, 
 would naturally be of more difficult invention. 
 The relations at the fame time, which thofe 
 prepofitions exprefs, are, of all others, thofe 
 which we have molt, frequent occafion to 
 mention. The prepofitions above, below, near, 
 within, without, againf, &c. are much more 
 rarely made uie of, in modern languages, than 
 the prepofitions of, to, for, with, from, by. 
 A prcpolition of the former kind will not oc- 
 cur twice in a page ; we can fcarce compofe 
 a fingle fentence without the affiftance of one 
 or two of the latter. If thefe latter prepofi- 
 tions, therefore, which fupply the place of the 
 cafes, would be of fuch difficult invention on 
 account of their abftractednefs, fome expedi- 
 ent, to fupply their place, muft have been of 
 mdiipenfable necefiity, on account of the fre- 
 quent occafion which men have to take notice 
 of the relations which they denote. But 
 there is no expedient fo obvious, as that of 
 varying the termination of one of the princi- 
 pal word-. 
 
 1' is, perhaps, unnecefiary to obferve, that 
 there arc Some of the cafes in the ancient lan- 
 guages, which, for particular reafons, cannot 
 
 be
 
 LANGUAGES. 365- 
 
 be reprefented by any prepofitions. Thefe 
 are the nominative, accusative, and vocative 
 cafes. In thole modern languages which do 
 not admit of any iuch variety in the termina- 
 tions of their nouns fubftantive, the corref- 
 pondent relations are exprefTed by the place of 
 the words, and by the order and conftruction 
 of the ientence. 
 
 As men have frequently occafion to make 
 mention of multitudes as well as of fmgle ob- 
 jects, it became neceffary that they fhould 
 have fomc method of exprefTing number. 
 Number may be exprefTed either by a particu- 
 lar word, exprefling number in general, fuch 
 as the words many, more, &c. or by fome va- 
 riation upon the words which exprcis the 
 things numbered. It is this Lift expedient 
 which mankind would probably have recourfe 
 to, in the infancy of language. Number, 
 confidered in general, without relation to any 
 particular fet of objects numbered, is one of 
 the mod abftract and metaphyfical ideas, 
 which the mind of man is capable of forming ; 
 and, confequently, is not an idea which 
 would readily occur to rude mortals, who 
 were j Lift beginning to form a language. 
 They would naturally, therefore, diltinguifh 
 vvhen they talked of a fmgle, and when they 
 talked of a multitude of objects, not by any
 
 FORMATION OF 
 
 metaphyseal adjectives, fuch as the Engliffi 
 a, an, many, but by a variation, upon the ter- 
 mination of the word which figniiicd the ob- 
 jects numbered. Hence the origin of the lin- 
 gular and plural numbers in all the ancient 
 languages ; and the fame diffinclion has like- 
 wife been retained in ail the modern languages, 
 at leaf:, in the greater part of words. 
 
 All primitive and uncompounded languages 
 feem to have a dual as well as a plural, num- 
 ber. This is the cafe of the Greek, and I am 
 told of the Hebrew, of trie Gothic, and of 
 many other languages. In the rude begin- 
 nings of fociety, one, two, andmore, might pof- 
 fiblvbe allthe numeral diftindtions which man- 
 kind would have any occafion to take notice 
 of. Thefe they would find it more natural to 
 exprefs, by a variation upon every particular 
 noun iubftantive, than by fuch general and 
 abstract words as one, two, three, four, &c. 
 Thefe words, thou Hi cu Mom has rendered them 
 f.irniiiar to in, exprefs, perhaps, the mod fub- 
 rri refined aburaeliions, which the mind 
 of man is capable of forming. Let any one 
 confider wi:hin himfelf, for example, what 
 he means bv the word three, which fignifies 
 neither three {hillings, nor three pence, nor 
 men, nor three horfes, but three in 
 ; :al ; and he will eafily fatisfy himfelf that 
 
 a word,
 
 LANGUAGES. 367 
 
 a word, which denotes fo very metaphyfical 
 an abftraction, could not be either a very ob- 
 vious or a very early invention. I have read 
 of ibme lavage nations, whofe language was 
 capable of exprefiing no more than the three 
 firil numeral diftinctions. But whether it cx- 
 prefild thoie dilYmctions by three general 
 words, or by variations upon the nouns fub- 
 ftantive, denoting the things numbered, I do 
 not remember to have met with any thing 
 which could determine. 
 
 As all the fame relations which fubfifl be- 
 tween Tingle may likewife fubfifl between nu- 
 merous objects, it is evident there would be 
 occaiion for the fame number of cafes, in the 
 dual and in the plural, as in the lingular 
 number. Hence the intricacy and complex- 
 nefs of the declenfions in all the ancient lan- 
 guages. In the Greek there are five cafes in 
 each of the three numbers, confequently fif- 
 teen in all. 
 
 As nouns adjective, in the ancient lan- 
 guages, varied their terminations according to 
 the gender of the fubftantive to which they 
 were applied, lo did they likewife, according 
 to the cafe and the number. Every noun 
 adjective in the Greek language, therefore, 
 having three genders, and three numbers, and 
 live cafes in each number, mav be conlidered 
 
 as
 
 363 FORMATION OF 
 
 as having five and forty different variations; 
 The iirft formers of language feem to have va- 
 ried the termination of the adjective, accord- 
 to the cafe and the number of the fubftantivej 
 for the fame reafon which made them vary it 
 according to the gender ; the love of analogy, 
 and of a certain regularity of found. In the 
 fignillcation of adjectives there is neither cafe 
 nor number, and the meaning of fuch words 
 is always preciicly the lame, notwithstand- 
 ing all the variety of termination under which 
 the}- appear. Magnus viv, magni viri, mag- 
 novum virorum, a great man, of a great man, 
 of great men; in all thefe exprefhons the 
 words magnus, magni, magnovum, as well as 
 the word great, have precifely one and the 
 fame fignilication, though the fubftantives to 
 which thev are applied have not. The dif- 
 ference of termination in the noun adjective 
 is accompanied with no fort of difference in 
 the meaning. An adjective denotes the qua- 
 lification of a noun fubftantive. But the 
 different relations in which that noun fubftan- 
 tive may occafionally (land, ecu make no ibrt 
 of difference upon its qualification. 
 
 If the dcclenfions oi the ancient languages 
 are fo very complex, their conjugations are 
 infinitely more io. And the complexnefs of 
 the one, is founded upon the fame principle 
 
 with
 
 LANGUAGES. 3^9 
 
 with that of the other, the difficulty of form- 
 ing, in the beginnings of language, ab {tract 
 and general terms. 
 
 Verbs muft neceffarily have been coeval 
 with the very firit attempts towards the form- 
 ation of language. No affirmation can be ex- 
 prefled without the affiftance of fome verb. 
 We never fpeak but in order to exrfefs our 
 opinion that fomething either is or is not. 
 But the word denoting this event, or this 
 matter of fact, which is the fubjecl: of our 
 affirmation, mud always be a verb. 
 
 Imperfonal verbs, which exprefs in one 
 word a complete event, which preferve in the 
 expreffion that perfect fimplicity and unity, 
 which there always is in the object arid in the 
 idea, and which fuppofe no abftraclion, or 
 metaphyfieal divifion of the event into its fe- 
 veral conftituent members of fubjeel and attri- 
 bute, would, in all probability, be the fpecies 
 of verbs iirft invented. The verbs plait, it 
 rains ; ningit, it fnoivs ; tonat, it thunders , 
 facet, it is day; turbatur, there is a confufion ; 
 &zc. each of them exprefs a complete affirm- 
 ation, the whole of an event, with that per- 
 fect fimplicity and unity with which the mind 
 conceives it in nature. On the contrary, the 
 phraics, Alexander ambulat, Alexander -walks ; 
 Pctrus fedet, Peter fits, divide the event, as it 
 
 vol. 11. bb were,
 
 370 FORMATION OF 
 
 were, into two parts, the perfon or fubject, 
 and the attribute, or matter of fact, affirmed 
 of that fubject. But in nature, the idea or 
 conception of Alexander walking, is as per- 
 fectly and completely one fimple conception, 
 as that of Alexander not walking. The divi- 
 lion of this event, therefore, into two parts, 
 is altogether artificial, and is the effect of the 
 imperfection of language, which, upon this, 
 as upon many other occafions, fupplies, by a 
 number of words, the want of one, which 
 could exprefs at once the whole matter of fact 
 that was meant to be affirmed. Every body 
 mull obferve how much more fimplicity there 
 is in the natural expreffion, plidt, than in the 
 more artificial expreffions, imber decidit, the 
 rain falls ; or iempefas eft pluvla, the iveather 
 Is rainy. In thele two laft expreffions, the 
 iimple event, or matter of fact, is artificially 
 fplit and divided in the one, into two ; in the 
 other into three parts. In each of them it is 
 exnrefied by a fort of grammatical circumlo- 
 
 1 J o 
 
 cution, of which the fignificancy is founded 
 upon a certain metaphyfical analyfis of the 
 component parts of the idea exprefied by the 
 word plc.it. The firft verbs, therefore, per- 
 haps even the firff. words, imde ufe of in the 
 beginnings of language, would in all proba- 
 bility be fi.i h imperfonal verbs. It is ob- 
 
 ferved
 
 LANGUAGES. 37 i 
 
 ferved accordingly, I am told by the Hebrew 
 grammarians, that the radical words of their 
 language, from which all the others are de- 
 rived, are all of them verbs and imperfonal 
 verbs. 
 
 It is eafy to conceive how, in the progrefs 
 of language, thofe imperfonal verbs mould 
 become perfonal. Let us fuppofe, for exam- 
 ple, that the word venit, it comes, was origin- 
 ally an imperfonal verb, and that it denoted, 
 not the coming of fomcthing in general, as at 
 prefent, but the coming of a particular object, 
 inch as the Lion. The firft lavage inventors 
 of language, we mail luppole, when they ob- 
 ferved the approach of this terrible animal, 
 were accuilomed to cry out to one another, 
 vcuit, that is, the lion comes ; and that this 
 word thus exprefTed a complete event, with- 
 out the affiftance of any other. Afterwards, 
 when, on the further progrefs of language, 
 they had begun to give names to particular 
 fubftances, whenever they obferved the ap- 
 proach of any other terrible object, they 
 would naturally join the name of that obje&, 
 to the word vc/tit, and cry out, ve/iit urfus, 
 venit lupus. By degrees the word -jer.it would 
 thus come to fignify the coming of any terri- 
 ble object, and not merely the coming of the 
 lion. It would now, therefore, exprefs, not 
 
 B B 2 the
 
 3;2 FORMATION OF 
 
 the coming of a particular object, but the 
 coming of an object of a particular kind. 
 Having become more general in its bonifica- 
 tion, it could no longer reprefent any parti- 
 cular diltiacl event by itfelf, and without 
 the afiiliance of a noun fubftantive, which 
 might ferve to afcertain and determine its 
 iignirication. It would now, therefore, have 
 become a perfonal inftead of an imperfonal 
 verb. We may eaiily conceive how, in the 
 further progrels of fociety, it might ftill 
 grow more general in its fignification, and 
 come to fignify, as at prefent, the approach 
 of any thing whatever, whether good, bad, 
 or indifferent. 
 
 It is probably in fome fuch manner as this, 
 that almoft all verbs have become perfonal, 
 and that mankind have learned by degrees to 
 fplit and divide almoft every event into a 
 great number of metaphyseal parts, exprefTed 
 by the different parts of fpeech, varioufly 
 combined in tlie different members of every 
 phrafe and fentence*. The lame fort of pro- 
 
 * As the far greater (art of verbs exprefs, at prefent, not 
 
 an event, but the attribute of an event, and, confequently, 
 
 req '; it -.• a fubjecl:, or nominative cafe, to complete their figni- 
 
 ' n, iunit grammarians, not having attended to this pro- 
 
 ^refs cf nature, and being defirous to make their common 
 
 mIcs quite univerfal, and without any exception, have iniifted 
 
 that
 
 LANGUAGES. 373 
 
 grefs feems to have been made in the art of 
 ipeaking as in the art of writing. When 
 mankind firft began to attempt to exprefs 
 their ideas by writing, every character repre- 
 fented a whole word. But the number of 
 words being almoft infinite, the memory 
 found itfelf quite loaded and oppreffed by the 
 multitude of characters which it was obliged 
 to retain. NecefTity taught them, therefore, 
 to divide words into their elements, and to 
 invent characters which fhou'd rcprefent, not 
 the words themfelves, but the elements of 
 which they were compofed. In confequence 
 of this invention, every particular word came 
 to be reprefented, not by one character, but 
 by a multitude of characters ; and the expref- 
 iion of it in writing became much more intri- 
 cate and complex than before. But though 
 particular words were thus reprefented by a 
 greater number of characters, the whole lan- 
 guage was expreiTcd by a much (mailer, and 
 about four and twenty letters were found ca- 
 pable of fupplvimr the place of that immenfe 
 
 that all verbs required a nominative, cither exprefled or un- 
 dertlood ; and have, aceordin >ly, put themielves to the tor. 
 tme to find tome awkward nominatiscs to thofe few verbs, 
 which iliil cxpreihug a complete 1 .era, plainly admit of none. 
 p':.i'::, for example, according to Siin : ■:, means pluvui phiit, 
 i-i lir.glifh, the n:in ruins. Sec Satxtii Minerva, 1. 3. c. 1. 
 
 b n 7 multitude
 
 374 FORMATION OF 
 
 multitude of characters, which were requihte 
 before. In the fame manner, in the begin- 
 nings of language, men feem to have at- 
 tempted to expreis every particular event, 
 which they had occafion to take notice of, 
 by a particular word, which exprefTed at once 
 the whole of that event. But as the number 
 of words muft, in this cafe, have become 
 really infinite, in confequence of the really 
 infinite variety of events, men found them- 
 felves partly compelled by ncceffity, and 
 partly conducted by nature, to divide every 
 event into what may be called its metaphyseal 
 elements, and to inftitute words, which fhould 
 denote not i'o much the events, as the elements 
 cf which they were compofed. The expref- 
 fion of every particular event, became in this 
 manner more intricate and complex, but the 
 whole iytlcm of the language became more 
 coherent, more connee"led, more eauly re- 
 tained and comprehended. 
 
 When verbs, from being originally imper- 
 fonal, had thus, by the divifion of the event 
 into i:- metaphysical elements, become per- 
 mit is natural to fuppole that they would 
 firrt be made ufe of in the third perfon lingular. 
 No verb is ever ufed imperfonally in our lan- 
 guage, nor, fo far as I know, in any other 
 modern tongue. But in the ancient lan- 
 
 guasres.
 
 LANGUAGES. 375 
 
 giiages, whenever any verb is ufed imperfon- 
 ally, it is always in the third perfon lingular. 
 The termination of thole verbs, which arc lb 11 
 always imperfonal, is constantly the lame 
 with that or. the third perfon lingular of per- 
 ibnai verbs. The confideration of thefe cir- 
 cumttances, joined to the naturalnefs of the 
 thing itfelf, may ferve to convince us that 
 verbs firft became perfonal in what is now 
 called the third peri on fingular. 
 
 But as the event, or matter of fact, which 
 is exprelled by a verb, may bcaihrmed either 
 of tiie perlon who fpeaks, or of the perfon 
 who is fpoken to, as well as oi (bine third 
 perfon or object, it became nccelTary to fall 
 upon fome method of expretung thefe two 
 peculiar relations of the event. In the Englifh 
 language this is commonly done, by prefix- 
 ing, what are called the perional pronouns, to 
 the ereneral word which exprelles the event 
 affirmed, learns, yoa came, he or it came ; in 
 thele phrafes the event ot having come is, in 
 in the mil, aihrmed ot the (peaker ; in the 
 fecond, or the perl. in fpokeri to ; in the third, 
 of fome other perlon or object. The hrft 
 formers oi language, it mav be imagined, 
 might li.vcr dowc tt;e lame thing, ;md prefix- 
 ing in the Lime maimer the two firft pe fonal 
 pronouns, to the lame termination or tne verb, 
 B B A. which
 
 5/6' FORMATION Ot 
 
 which expreffed the third perfon. fingular, 
 might hive laid ego venit, tu venit, as well as 
 ilk or iihid venit, And I make no doubt but 
 they would have done fo, if at the time when 
 they had firft cccafion to exprels thefe rela- 
 tions of the verb, there had been any fuch 
 words as either ego or tu in their language. 
 But in this early period of the language which 
 we are now endeavouring to defcribe, it is 
 extremely improbable that any fuch words 
 would be known. Though cuftom has now 
 rendered them familiar to us, they, both of 
 them, exprefs ideas extremely metaphyseal 
 and abftraci. The word /, for example, is a 
 word of a very particular fpecies. Whatever 
 fpeaks may denote itfclf by this perfonal pro- 
 noun. The word /, therefore, is a general 
 word, capable of being predicated, as the 
 logicians fay, of an infinite variety of objects. 
 It differs, however, from all other general 
 words in this refpecl: ; that the objects of 
 which it may be predicated, do not form any 
 particular fpecies of objects diflinguiihed from 
 all others. The word /, docs not, like the 
 word 77i an, denote a particular clafs of objects, 
 fepar/ited from all others by peculiar qualities 
 ol their own. It is far from being the name 
 of a fpecies, but, on the contrary, whenever 
 ;t is made ufe of, it always denote a precile in- 
 dividual,
 
 LANGUAGES. 
 
 377 
 
 dividual, the particular perfon who then 
 fpeaks. It may be faid to be, at once, both 
 what the logicians call, a Angular, and what 
 they call, a common term ; and to join in its 
 (igniheation the feemingly oppoilte qualities 
 of the mod prccife individuality, and the mod 
 exteniive generalization. This word, there- 
 fore, exprcfimo; fo very abuaracr. and mctaphy- 
 fical an idea, would not eafily or readily occur 
 to the firft formers of language.' What are 
 called the perfonal pronouns, it may be ob- 
 ferved, arc among the lait words of which 
 children learn to make ufe. A child, fpeak- 
 ing of itieh, fays, Billywalks, Billy fits, in- 
 Head oi I walk, I fit. As in the beginnings of 
 language, therefore, mankind fee in to have 
 evaded the invention of at leaft the more ab- 
 itraet prepoiitions, and to have exprefTed the 
 fame relations which thefc ug-ud (land tor, by 
 varying the termination ol the co-rclativeterm, 
 fo they Iikewife would naturally attempt to 
 ew.de the necefhty of inventing thofe more ab- 
 (Iradt pronouns bv varviug the termination of 
 the verb, according as the event which it cx- 
 preill d \v:i intended to be aflir r.ed of the fir ft, 
 fecond, or third perfon. This feems, accord- 
 inglv, to be the univerfal practice of all the 
 ancient Ian ,. In Latin tY/7/, tyv///?/', tv- 
 
 v/7, fullieiently denote, without any other 
 
 addition,
 
 378 FORMATION OF 
 
 audition, the different events expreffed by the 
 Englifh phrafes, I came, you came, he or it came. 
 The verb would, for the fame reafon, vary 
 its termination, according as the event was 
 intended to be affirmed of the firft, fecond, or 
 third perfons plural ; and what is expreiTed 
 bv the Enirhih phraies, we came, ye came, they 
 came, would be denoted by the Latin words, 
 vemmus, vcnylis, venerimt. 1 hole primitive 
 languages too, which, upon account of the 
 difficulty of inventing numeral names, had 
 introduced a dual, as well as a plural number, 
 into the declenfion of their nouns fubftantive, 
 would probably, from analogy, do the fame 
 thing in the conjugations of their verbs. 
 And thus in all thole original languages, we 
 might expect to find, at leaft fix, if not eight 
 or nine variations, in the termination of every 
 verb, according as the event which it denoted 
 was meant to be affirmed of the firft, iecond, 
 or third perfons lingular, dual, or plural. 
 Thefe variations again being repeated, along 
 with others, through all its different tenfes, 
 tli rough all its different modes, and through 
 all its different voices, muft neceliarily have 
 rendered their conjugations dill more intricate 
 and complex than their declenfions. 
 
 Language would probably have continued 
 upon this footing in all countries, nor would 
 
 ever
 
 LANGUAGES. 3:9 
 
 ever have grown more fimple in its declen- 
 lions and conjugations, had it not become 
 more complex in its compofiticn, in confe- 
 rence of the mixture of feveral languages 
 with one another, occafioned by the mixture 
 of different nations. A3 lonir as any language 
 was ipoke by thofe only who learned it in 
 their infancy, the intricacy of its declenfions 
 and conjugations could occafion no great em- 
 barraffment. The far erreater part of thofe 
 who had occafion to {peak it, had acquired it 
 at io very early a period of their lives, fo in- 
 feniibly and by inch How degrees, that they 
 were fcarce ever fenfible of the difficulty. 
 But when two nations came to be mixed with 
 one another, either by conqueft or migration, 
 the cafe would be very different. Each na- 
 tion, in order to make itielf intelligible to 
 the: j with whom it was under the iieeeifty of 
 converging, would he obliged to learn the lan- 
 guage 01 the oiher. The greater part of in- 
 l 0, learning the new language, not 
 I"- an, or by remounting to its rudiments and 
 hill \ "'.iv iples, but by rote, and by what they 
 nlv heard i;i converlation, would he 
 extremely perplexed by the intricacy of its 
 Jecleniiouo and conjugations. They would 
 endeavour, 'therefore, to fupply their igno- 
 rance of thele by whatever ftiift the language 
 
 could
 
 5 ?.o FORMATION OF 
 
 could afford them. Their ignorance of the 
 declenfions they would naturally fupply by 
 the life of prepofitions ; and a Lombard, who 
 was attempting to fpeak Latin, and wanted to 
 exprefs that fuch a perfon was a citizen of 
 Rome, or a benefactor to Rome, if he hap- 
 pened not to be acquainted with the genitive 
 and dative cafes of the word Roma, would 
 naturally exprefs himfelf by prefixing the 
 prepofitions ad and de to the nominative ; 
 and, inftcad of Rome?, would fay, ad Roma 
 and de Roma, Al Roma and dl Roma, ac- 
 cordingly, is the manner in which the pre- 
 sent Italians, the defcendants of the ancient 
 Lombards and Romans, exprefs this and all 
 other fimilar relations. And in this manner 
 prepofitions feem to have been introduced, in 
 the room of the ancient declenfions. The 
 fame alteration has, I am informed, been pro- 
 duced, upon the Greek language, fince the 
 taking of Conftantinople by the 'Lurks. The 
 words are, in a great meafure, the fame as 
 before ; but the grammar is entirely loft, 
 prepofitions having come in the place of the 
 old declenfions. This change is undoubtedly 
 a Amplification of the language, in point of 
 rudiments and principle. It introduces, in- 
 ftcad of a great variety of declenfions, one 
 univerfal dcclenfion, which is the fame in 
 
 every
 
 LANGUAGES. 33 1 
 
 every word, of whatever gender, number, or 
 termination. 
 
 A iimilar expedient enables men, in the 
 fituation above mentioned, to get rid of al- 
 moft the whole intricacy of their conjugations. 
 There is in every language a verb, known by 
 the name oi the iubftantive verb ; in Latin, 
 finn ; in Engliih, I am. This verb denotes 
 not the exigence of any particular event, but 
 exiftence in general. It is, upon this account, 
 the moll abltracl and metaphyseal of all 
 verbs ; and confequentiy, could by no means 
 be a word of early invention. W hen it came 
 to be invented, however, as it had all the 
 tenfes and modes of any other verb, by being 
 joined with the paiiive participle, it was ca- 
 pable of {'applying the place of the v, hole 
 paflive voice, and 0} rendering this rant of 
 their conjugations as iimple and unhorm as 
 the ufe of prepolitions had rendered their de- 
 clenfions. A Lombard, who wanted to fay, 
 / am hied, but could not recollect the word 
 amor, naturallv endeavoured to iupply Jus ig- 
 norance, by laying, ../ ; ''" •■■'•-'• - / •'■• ■ 
 amat'j, is at this day the Italian expre-hon, 
 which corrclponds to the Lngliih phraie above 
 mentioned. 
 
 There Is another verb, which, in the . i:,ic 
 manner, run.; through all languages, and 
 S whi
 
 382 FORMATION OF 
 
 which is difunguiflied by the name of the 
 poffeffive verb ; in Latin, habeo ; in Englifh, f 
 have. 7 his verb, Jikewiie, denotes an event 
 of an extremely abftra£t and metaphyseal na- 
 ture, and, confequently, cannot be fuppofed 
 to have been a word of the earlier! invention. 
 When it came to be invented, however, by 
 being applied to the paflive participle, it was 
 capable of fupplying a great part of the active 
 voice, as the fubfbntive verb had fupplied the 
 whole of the paflive. A Lombard, whd 
 wanted to fay, / had loved, but could not 
 recollect the word amaveram, would endea- 
 vour to fupply the place of it, by faying either 
 ego habcliwi amaiuiii, or ego habui amatum. Io 
 aveva amnio, or fu ebbi amato, are the corref- 
 pondent Italian cxpreiiions at this day. And 
 thus upon the intermixture of different nations 
 with one another, the conjugations, by means 
 cf different auxiliary verbs, were made to 
 approach towards the fimplicity and unr- 
 formity of the declenfions. 
 
 In general it may be laid down for a maxim, 
 that the mere iimple any language is in its 
 composition, the more complex it muff be in 
 its declenfions and conjugations ; and on the 
 contrary, the more firnple it is in its declen- 
 fion>. and conjugations, the more complex it 
 
 mud be in its compohtion. 
 
 The
 
 LANGUAGES. 3S5 
 
 The Greek feems to be, in a great meafurc, 
 a fimple, uncompounded language, formed 
 from the primitive jargon of thole wandering 
 favages, the ancient Hellenians and Pelal- 
 gians, from whom the Greek nation is faid to 
 have been deicended. All the words in the 
 Greek language are derived from about three 
 hundred primitives, a plain evidence that the 
 Greeks formed their language almoil entirely 
 among themfelves, and that when they had 
 occaiion for a new word, they were not ac- 
 cuilomcd, as we are, to borrow it from fome 
 foreign language, but to form it, either by 
 compofition, or derivation from fome other 
 word or words, in their own. The declen- 
 (10ns and coni'ucrations, therefore, ci the 
 Greek are much mere complex than thole of 
 any other European lantruatre with which I 
 aia acquainted. 
 
 The Latin is a compofition of the Greek 
 and of the ancient Tufcan languages. ft> de- 
 clenlions and com ligations accordingly are. 
 much lels complex than thofe of the Greek ; 
 it has dropt the dual number in both. Its 
 verbs have no optative mood diflinguimed by 
 any peculiar termination. They have but 
 one future. They have no aorilt dillinct 
 from the preterit-perfect ; they have no 
 middle voice ; and even many oi their tenfes 
 
 in
 
 3 8+ FORMATION OF 
 
 in the paflive voice are eked out, in the fame 
 manner as in the modern languages, by the 
 help of the fubftantive verb joined to the 
 paflive participle. In both the voices, the 
 number of infinitives and participles is much 
 fmaller in the Latin than in the Greek. 
 
 The French and Italian languages are each 
 of them compounded, the one of the Latin, 
 and the lansruarre of the ancient Franks, the 
 other of the fame Latin, and the language of 
 the ancient Lombards. As they are both of 
 them, therefore., more complex in their com- 
 pofiiion than the Latin, fo are they likewife 
 more fimple in their declenfions and conjuga- 
 tions. With regard to their declenfions, they 
 they have both cf them loft their cafes altoge- 
 ther; and with regard to their conjugations, 
 they have both of them loll th - whole of the 
 paflive, and fome part of the active voices, of 
 their verbs. The want of the paflive voice 
 they f apply entirely by the fubftantive verb 
 joined to the pai'five participle ; and they 
 make cut part of the active, in the fame 
 manner, by the help of the poffeflive verb and 
 the fame p-'.ffive participle. 
 
 '1 lie Englifh is compounded of the French 
 and the ancient Saxon languages. The 
 French was introduced into Britain by the 
 Norman conqucft, and continued, till the 
 
 time
 
 LANGUAGES. 3 <? 5 
 
 time of Edward III. to he the fole Ianirua^c of 
 
 r> o 
 
 the law as well as the principal language of 
 the court. The Englifh, which came to he 
 fpoken afterwards, and which continues to he 
 fpoken now, is a mixture of the ancient Saxon 
 and this Norman French. As the Englifti 
 language, therefore, is more complex in its 
 compolition than cither the Trench or the 
 Italian, fo is it likewiic more hmplc in its de- 
 clenfions and conjugations.. Thofc two lan- 
 guages retain, at leaft, a part of the distinc- 
 tion of genders, and their adjectives vary their 
 termination according as they arc applied to 
 a mafculine or to a feminine iubftantive. But 
 there is no fuch diftinction in the Engliih lan- 
 guage, whole adjectives admit of no variety 
 of termination. The French and Italian lan- 
 guages have, both of them, the remains of a 
 conjugation ; and all thofe tenfes of the active 
 voice which cannot be expreifed by thepo- 
 fleffive verb joined to the p: .e participle, as 
 well as many oi thoh. vvhich can, are, in 
 thofe languages, marked by varying the term- 
 ination of the } amende verb. But ahnoit all 
 thofc other tenfes are in the Engiiih eked out 
 by other auxiliary verbs, io that there is in 
 this language iearee even the remains of a con- 
 j ligation. I love, I loved, loving, are all the 
 varieties of termination which the greater part 
 VOL. II. CC cf
 
 . MAT 
 
 N OF 
 
 of Engliih verbs admit or. All the different 
 modifications of meaning, which cannot beex- 
 l veiled by. any of thofe three terminations, muft 
 bt made out by different auxiliary verbs joined 
 me one or other of them. Two auxiliary 
 verbs fupply all the deficiencies of the French 
 and Italian conjugations j it requires more 
 than hall a dozen to fupply thole of the 
 Engliih, which, behdes the fubflantive and 
 pofleflivc verbs, makes Life of do, did ; ■ yvili \ 
 iVLidd : focdl,jhould ; can, could ; may, might. 
 It is in this manner that language becomes 
 more fnnple in its rudiments and principles, 
 jiifl. in proportion as it grows more complex 
 in its compoiilion, and the fame thing ha^ 
 happened in it, which commonly happens 
 with regard to mechanical engines. All ma- 
 
 -allv. 
 
 clinics are generally, when firft invented, 
 extremely complex in their principles, and 
 there is often a particular principle of mo- 
 tion for every particular movement which 
 it is intended they ihould perform. Suc- 
 ceeding improvers obferve, that one principle 
 may be io applied as to produce ieveral of 
 thole movements ; and thus the machine 
 becomes gradually more and more fimplc, 
 and produces its effects with fewer wheels, 
 and fewer principles of motion. In language, 
 fame maimer, every cafe oi' every 
 
 noun,
 
 LANGUAGES. "-■ 
 
 noun, and every tenfe of every verb, was origi- 
 nally exprefled by a particular diftinct word, 
 which ferved for this purpoie and for no other. 
 But fucceeding obfervation difcovered, that 
 one fet of words was capable of fupplying 
 the place of all that infinite number, arid that 
 four or live prepofitions, and half a dozen 
 auxiliary verbs, were capable of anfwering 
 the end of all the dccleiifions and of all the 
 conjugations in the ancient languages. 
 
 But this Amplification of languages, though 
 it ariies, perhaps, from fimilar caufes, has by 
 no means limilar effects with the corref- 
 })Ondent iimplification of machines. The 
 fimpliiication of machines renders them more 
 and more perfect, but this fimplification of 
 the rudiments of languages renders them more 
 and more imperfect, and lefs proper for 
 manv or the purpofes of Ianema^c : and thic 
 for the following reafons. 
 
 I'irft of all, languages arc by dm {Amplifi- 
 cation rendered more prolix, icveral words 
 having become necc'Iarv to exnrefs what could 
 have been cxpn Ted by a imndc word before, 
 fhm the evords D i and ZV?, in the Latin, 
 lufliciently (how, without any addition, what 
 relation th ' Mgnihed is imden'lood to 
 
 (land in to th ■ obm.fh expreTed bv me other 
 words in the ic:uen.:e. But to exnrefs the 
 
 : 2 .miQ
 
 -'- FORMATION OF 
 
 fame relation in Englifh, and in all other 
 modern languages, we mult make life of, at 
 leafr, two words, and fay, of God, to God. 
 So far as the declenfions are concerned, there- 
 lore, the modern languages are much more 
 prolix than the ancient. The difference is 
 iliil greater with regard to the conjugations. 
 What a Roman exprefled by the fingle word, 
 amaviffem, an Englifhman is obliged to exprefs 
 by four different words, I jhould have loved. 
 It is unneceUary to take any pains to (how 
 how much this prolixnefs muft elevate the 
 eloquence of all modern languages. How 
 much the beauty of any expreffion depends. 
 upon its concifenefs, is well known to thole 
 who have any experience in composition. 
 
 Secondly, this Simplification of the princi- 
 ples of languages renders them lefs agreeable 
 to the ear. The variety of termination in the 
 Greek and Latin, occafioned by their declen- 
 iions and conjugations, gives a fweetnefs to 
 their language altogether unknown to ours, 
 and a variety unknown to any other modern 
 language. In point of fweetnefs, the Italian, 
 perhaps, may furpafs the Latin, and almoff. 
 equal the Greek , but in point of variety, it 
 is greatly inferior to both. 
 
 Thirdly, this fimplification, not only ren- 
 ders the founds of our language lefs agreeable 
 
 to
 
 L A N GUACER. 3^ 
 
 to the car, but it alfo reftrains us from dif- 
 pofing fuch founds as we have, in the manner 
 that might he moft agreeable. It tics down 
 many words to a particular fituation, though 
 they might often be placed in another with 
 much more beauty. In the Greek and Latin, 
 though the adjective and iubftantive were 
 Separated from one another, the correfpond- 
 ence of their terminations (till ihowed their 
 mutual reference, and the feparation did not 
 neceffarily occafion any fort of confufion. 
 Thus in the firit line of Virgil, 
 
 Tityrc tu patulce recubans Tub tegmine lig-i. ; 
 
 we eafdy fee that tu refers to re cub jus, and 
 pjlula to fagl ; though the related words are 
 icparated from one another by the interven- 
 tion of fevcral others ; becaufe the terminations, 
 ihowing the correfpondence of their cafes, 
 determine their mutual reference. But if we 
 were to tranflata this line literally into Englifh, 
 and fay, c fltyrus, thou of f braiding rcc/i:ii>ri 
 ,-.:_''*•/'.'•.' (hade beech. CEdipus himieh could 
 not make fenfe ot it ; becaufe there is here no 
 difference of termination, to determine which 
 Aibllantivc each adjeclive belongs to. It U 
 the fame cafe with regard to verbs. In Latin 
 
 the
 
 ■sjz FORMATION OF 
 
 the verb may be often placed, without any 
 inconveniendy or ambiguity, in any part of 
 the fentence. But in Engliih its place is 
 aimoft always prccifely determined- It muft 
 follow the fubjedtive and precede the objective 
 member of the phrafe in aimoft all cafes, 
 Thus in Latin whether you fay, Joanncm 
 verbcravit Robertas, or lit, berth's verberavit 
 Joannem h the meaning is precifely the fame, 
 and the termination fixes John to be the 
 lufferer in both cafes. But in Engliuh John 
 heat Robert, and Robert, leal John, have by 
 no means the fame fignihcation. The place 
 therefore of the three principal members of the 
 phrafe is- in the Englifh, and for the famerea- 
 fon in the French and Italian languages, aimoft 
 always precifely determined ; whereas in the 
 ancient languages a Greater latitude is allowed, 
 and the place of thoi.e members is often, in a 
 great meafurc, indifFerent. We mufl have 
 recourfe to Horace, in order to interpret, 
 fome parts of Milton's literal translation j 
 
 Who new enjoys thee credulous all goidj 
 Who always vacant, always zircvpab!': 
 Hopes thee; cf flatteiing gaits 
 
 are
 
 \-c i; 
 
 
 ..; e verfes which it is impoflible to interpj ~t 
 by any rules of our language. There are 
 no rules in our language, by which any 
 man could difcovcr, that, in the hrft line, 
 credulous referred to who, and not to thee ; or 
 that all gild referred to any thing; or that in 
 the fourth line, unmindful referred to who in 
 the fecond, and not to thee in the third ; or 
 on the contrary, that, in the fecond line, 
 always vacant, always amiable, referred to 
 thee in the third, and not to who in the fame 
 line with it. In the Latin, indeed, all this 
 °.z ibundantly plain. 
 
 Qu: nunc te fruit ur creduluS aurea, 
 Oi iferoner vacuam, fcmper amabilem 
 
 ' r^rat tc , nefcius aurse fallacis. 
 
 Bccaufe the terminations in the Latin deter- 
 mine the reference of each adjective to its 
 proper iubltantive, which it is impoflible for 
 my thing in the Englifh to do. How much 
 •his power of tranfpofmg the order of their 
 words mull have facilitated the co 
 
 r, t : , 
 
 mpolition 
 
 r,i the ancients, both in verfe and profe, can 
 hardly he imagined. That it mull greatly 
 have facilitated their verification it is needlefs 
 to obferve ; and in profe, whatever beauty 
 i o depends
 
 yj2 FORMATION, &V. 
 
 depends upon the arrangement and conftruc* 
 tion of the fever al members of the period, 
 mull to them have been acquirable with mucli 
 more eafe, to much greater perfection, than 
 it can be to thole whofe expreflion is con- 
 ftant!y confined by the prolixnefs, conftraint, 
 and monotony of modern languages, 
 
 f i n i a. 
 
 Tr'm-td ly A. Xtrahatt, Frintet s-Strctf, Leaden.
 
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