SECT. I. Moral Diſtinctions not deriv'd from Reaſon.

THERE is an inconvenience which attends all abſtruſe rea⯑ſoning, that it may ſilence, without convincing an antago⯑niſt, and requires the ſame intenſe ſtudy to [2] make us ſenſible of its force, that was at firſt requiſite for its invention. When we leave our cloſet, and engage in the common affairs of life, its concluſions ſeem to vaniſh, like the phantoms of the night on the ap⯑pearance of the morning; and 'tis difficult for us to retain even that conviction, which we had attain'd with difficulty. This is ſtill more conſpicuous in a long chain of reaſoning, where we muſt preſerve to the end the evidence of the firſt propoſitions, and where we often loſe ſight of all the moſt receiv'd maxims, either of philoſophy or common life. I am not, however, with⯑out hopes, that the preſent ſyſtem of phi⯑loſophy will acquire new force as it ad⯑vances; and that our reaſonings concerning morals will corroborate whatever has been ſaid concerning the underſtanding and the paſſions. Morality is a ſubject that intereſts us above all others: We fancy the peace of ſociety to be at ſtake in every deciſion con⯑cerning it; and 'tis evident, that this concern muſt make our ſpeculations appear more real and ſolid, than where the ſubject is, in a great meaſure, indifferent to us. What affects us, we conclude can never be a chi⯑mera; and as our paſſion is engag'd on the one ſide or the other, we naturally think [3] that the queſtion lies within human compre⯑henſion; which, in other caſes of this na⯑ture, we are apt to entertain ſome doubt of. Without this advantage I never ſhould have ventur'd upon a third volume of ſuch ab⯑ſtruſe philoſophy, in an age, wherein the greateſt part of men ſeem agreed to convert reading into an amuſement, and to reject every thing that requires any conſiderable degree of attention to be comprehended.

IT has been obſerv'd, that nothing is ever preſent to the mind but its perceptions; and that all the actions of ſeeing, hearing, judg⯑ing, loving, hating, and thinking, fall under this denomination. The mind can never exert itſelf in any action, which we may not comprehend under the term of perception; and conſequently that term is no leſs appli⯑cable to thoſe judgments, by which we diſtinguiſh moral good and evil, than to every other operation of the mind. To ap⯑prove of one character, to condemn ano⯑ther, are only ſo many different perceptions.

NOW as perceptions reſolve themſelves into two kinds, viz. impreſſions and ideas, this diſtinction gives riſe to a queſtion, with which we ſhall open up our preſent enquiry concerning morals, Whether 'tis by means of [4] our ideas or impreſſions we diſtinguiſh be⯑twixt vice and virtue, and pronounce an action blameable or praiſe-worthy? This will immediately cut off all looſe diſcourſes and declamations, and reduce us to ſomething preciſe and exact on the preſent ſubject.

THOSE who affirm that virtue is nothing but a conformity to reaſon; that there are eternal fitneſſes and unfitneſſes of things, which are the ſame to every rational being that conſiders them; that the immutable meaſures of right and wrong impoſe an ob⯑ligation, not only on human creatures, but alſo on the Deity himſelf: All theſe ſyſtems concur in the opinion, that morality, like truth, is diſcern'd merely by ideas, and by their juxta-poſition and compariſon. In or⯑der, therefore, to judge of theſe ſyſtems, we need only conſider, whether it be poſſible, from reaſon alone, to diſtinguiſh betwixt moral good and evil, or whether there muſt concur ſome other principles to enable us to make that diſtinction.

IF morality had naturally no influence on human paſſions and actions, 'twere in vain to take ſuch pains to inculcate it; and no⯑thing wou'd be more fruitleſs than that mul⯑titude of rules and precepts, with which all moraliſts abound. Philoſophy is commonly [5] divided into ſpeculative and practical; and as morality is always comprehended under the latter diviſion, 'tis ſuppoſed to influence our paſſions and actions, and to go beyond the calm and indolent judgments of the under⯑ſtanding. And this is confirm'd by common experience, which informs us, that men are often govern'd by their duties, and are de⯑ter'd from ſome actions by the opinion of injuſtice, and impell'd to others by that of obligation.

SINCE morals, therefore, have an in⯑fluence on the actions and affections, it fol⯑lows, that they cannot be deriv'd from rea⯑ſon; and that becauſe reaſon alone, as we have already prov'd, can never have any ſuch influence. Morals excite paſſions, and pro⯑duce or prevent actions. Reaſon of itſelf is utterly impotent in this particular. The rules of morality, therefore, are not con⯑cluſions of our reaſon.

NO one, I believe, will deny the juſtneſs of this inference; nor is there any other means of evading it, than by denying that principle, on which it is founded. As long as it is allow'd, that reaſon has no influence on our paſſions and actions, 'tis in vain to pretend, that morality is diſcover'd only by a deduction of reaſon. An active principle [6] can never be founded on an inactive; and if reaſon be inactive in itſelf, it muſt remain ſo in all its ſhapes and appearances, whether it exerts itſelf in natural or moral ſubjects, whether it conſiders the powers of external bodies, or the actions of rational beings.

IT would be tedious to repeat all the arguments, by which I have prov'd, ^a that reaſon is perfectly inert, and can never either prevent or produce any action or affection. 'Twill be eaſy to recollect what has been ſaid upon that ſubject. I ſhall only recal on this occaſion one of theſe arguments, which I ſhall endeavour to render ſtill more concluſive, and more applicable to the pre⯑ſent ſubject.

REASON is the diſcovery of truth or falſhood. Truth or falſhood conſiſts in an agreement or diſagreement either to the real relations of ideas, or to real exiſtence and matter of fact. Whatever, therefore, is not ſuſceptible of this argeement or diſagreement, is incapable of being true or falſe, and can never be an object of our reaſon. Now 'tis evident our paſſions, volitions, and actions, are not ſuſceptible of any ſuch agreement or diſagreement; being original facts and reali⯑ties, compleat in themſelves, and implying [7] no reference to other paſſions, volitions, and actions. 'Tis impoſſible, therefore, they can be pronounced either true or falſe, and be either contrary or conformable to reaſon.

THIS argument is of double advantage to our preſent purpoſe. For it proves directly, that actions do not derive their merit from a conformity to reaſon, nor their blame from a contrariety to it; and it proves the ſame truth more indirectly, by ſhewing us, that as reaſon can never immediately prevent or produce any action by contradicting or ap⯑proving of it, it cannot be the ſource of moral good and evil, which are found to have that influence. Actions may be lauda⯑ble or blameable; but they cannot be reaſon⯑able or unreaſonable: Laudable or blameable, therefore, are not the ſame with reaſonable or unreaſonable. The merit and demerit of actions frequently contradict, and ſometimes controul our natural propenſities. But rea⯑ſon has no ſuch influence. Moral diſtinctions, therefore, are not the offspring of reaſon. Reaſon is wholly inactive, and can never be the ſource of ſo active a principle as con⯑ſcience, or a ſenſe of morals.

BUT perhaps it may be ſaid, that tho' no will or action can be immediately contra⯑dictory to reaſon, yet we may find ſuch a [8] contradiction in ſome of the attendants of the action, that is, in its cauſes or effects. The action may cauſe a judgment, or may be obliquely caus'd by one, when the judg⯑ment concurs with a paſſion; and by an abuſive way of ſpeaking, which philoſophy will ſcarce allow of, the ſame contrariety may, upon that account, be aſcrib'd to the action. How far this truth or falſhood may be the ſource of morals, 'twill now be pro⯑per to conſider.

IT has been obſerv'd, that reaſon, in a ſtrict and philoſophical ſenſe, can have an influence on our conduct only after two ways: Either when it excites a paſſion by informing us of the exiſtence of ſomething which is a proper object of it; or when it diſcovers the connexion of cauſes and effects, ſo as to afford us means of exerting any paſſion. Theſe are the only kinds of judg⯑ment, which can accompany our actions, or can be ſaid to produce them in any manner; and it muſt be allow'd, that theſe judgments may often be falſe and erroneous. A perſon may be affected with paſſion, by ſuppoſing a pain or pleaſure to lie in an object, which has no tendency to produce either of theſe ſenſations, or which produces the contrary to what is imagin'd. A perſon may alſo [9] take falſe meaſures for the attaining his end, and may retard, by his fooliſh conduct, in⯑ſtead of forwarding the execution of any project. Theſe falſe judgments may be thought to affect the paſſions and actions, which are connected with them, and may be ſaid to render them unreaſonable, in a figurative and improper way of ſpeaking. But tho' this be acknowledg'd, 'tis eaſy to obſerve, that theſe errors are ſo far from be⯑ing the ſource of all immorality, that they are commonly very innocent, and draw no manner of guilt upon the perſon who is ſo unfortunate as to fall into them. They ex⯑tend not beyond a miſtake of fact, which moraliſts have not generally ſuppos'd crimi⯑nal, as being perfectly involuntary. I am more to be lamented than blam'd, if I am miſtaken with regard to the influence of ob⯑jects in producing pain or pleaſure, or if I know not the proper means of ſatisfying my deſires. No one can ever regard ſuch errors as a defect in my moral character. A fruit, for inſtance, that is really diſagreeable, ap⯑pears to me at a diſtance, and thro' miſtake I fancy it to be pleaſant and delicious. Here is one error. I chooſe certain means of reaching this fruit, which are not proper for my end. Here is a ſecond error; nor is there [10] any third one, which can ever poſſibly enter into our reaſonings concerning actions. I ask, therefore, if a man, in this ſituation, and guilty of theſe two errors, is to be re⯑garded as vicious and criminal, however un⯑avoidable they might have been? Or if it be poſſible to imagine, that ſuch errors are the ſources of all immorality?

AND here it may be proper to obſerve, that if moral diſtinctions be deriv'd from the truth or falſhood of thoſe judgments, they muſt take place wherever we form the judg⯑ments; nor will there be any difference, whe⯑ther the queſtion be concerning an apple or a kingdom, or whether the error be avoid⯑able or unavoidable. For as the very eſ⯑ſence of morality is ſuppos'd to conſiſt in an agreement or diſagreement to reaſon, the other circumſtances are entirely arbitrary, and can never either beſtow on any action the character of virtuous or vicious, or deprive it of that character. To which we may add, that this agreement or diſagreement, not ad⯑mitting of degrees, all virtues and vices wou'd of courſe be equal.

SHOU'D it be pretended, that tho' a mi⯑ſtake of fact be not criminal, yet a miſtake of right often is; and that this may be the ſource of immorality: I would anſwer, that [11] 'tis impoſſible ſuch a miſtake can ever be the original ſource of immorality, ſince it ſuppoſes a real right and wrong; that is, a real di⯑ſtinction in morals, independent of theſe judgments. A miſtake, therefore, of right may become a ſpecies of immorality; but 'tis only a ſecondary one, and is founded on ſome other, antecedent to it.

AS to thoſe judgments which are the ef⯑fects of our actions, and which, when falſe, give occaſion to pronounce the actions con⯑trary to truth and reaſon; we may obſerve, that our actions never cauſe any judgment, either true or falſe, in ourſelves, and that 'tis only on others they have ſuch an influence. 'Tis certain, that an action, on many occa⯑ſions, may give riſe to falſe concluſions in others; and that a perſon, who thro' a win⯑dow ſees any lewd behaviour of mine with my neighbour's wife, may be ſo ſimple as to imagine ſhe is certainly my own. In this re⯑ſpect my action reſembles ſomewhat a lye or falſhood; only with this difference, which is material, that I perform not the action with any intention of giving riſe to a falſe judg⯑ment in another, but merely to ſatisfy my luſt and paſſion. It cauſes, however, a mi⯑ſtake and falſe judgment by accident; and the falſhood of its effects may be aſcribed, [12] by ſome odd figurative way of ſpeaking, to the action itſelf. But ſtill I can ſee no pre⯑text of reaſon for aſſerting, that the tenden⯑cy to cauſe ſuch an error is the firſt ſpring or original ſource of all immorality ^a.

THUS upon the whole, 'tis impoſſible, that the diſtinction betwixt moral good and evil, [13] can be made by reaſon; ſince that diſtinction has an influence upon our actions, of which reaſon alone is incapable. Reaſon and judg⯑ment may, indeed, be the mediate cauſe of an action, by prompting, or by directing a [14] paſſion: But it is not pretended, that a judg⯑ment of this kind, either in its truth or falſhood, is attended with virtue or vice. And as to the judgments, which are cauſed by our judgments, they can ſtill leſs beſtow thoſe moral qualities on the actions, which are their cauſes.

BUT to be more particular, and to ſhew, that thoſe eternal immutable fitneſſes and unfitneſſes of things cannot be defended by ſound philoſophy, we may weigh the fol⯑lowing conſiderations.

IF the thought and underſtanding were alone capable of fixing the boundaries of right and wrong, the character of virtuous and vicious either muſt lie in ſome relations of objects, or muſt be a matter of fact, which is diſcovered by our reaſoning. This conſequence is evident. As the operations of human underſtanding divide themſelves into two kinds, the comparing of ideas, and the inferring of matter of fact; were virtue diſcover'd by the underſtanding; it muſt be an object of one of theſe operations, nor is there any third operation of the underſtand⯑ing, which can diſcover it. There has been an opinion very induſtriouſly propagated by certain philoſophers, that morality is ſuſcep⯑tible of demonſtration; and tho' no one has [15] ever been able to advance a ſingle ſtep in thoſe demonſtrations; yet 'tis taken for gran⯑ted, that this ſcience may be brought to an equal certainty with geometry or algebra. Upon this ſuppoſition, vice and virtue muſt conſiſt in ſome relations; ſince 'tis allow'd on all hands, that no matter of fact is capa⯑ble of being demonſtrated. Let us, therefore, begin with examining this hypotheſis, and endeavour, if poſſible, to fix thoſe moral qualities, which have been ſo long the ob⯑jects of our fruitleſs reſearches. Point out diſtinctly the relations, which conſtitute morality or obligation, that we may know wherein they conſiſt, and after what man⯑ner we muſt judge of them.

IF you aſſert, that vice and virtue conſiſt in relations ſuſceptible of certainty and de⯑monſtration, you muſt confine yourſelf to thoſe four relations, which alone admit of that degree of evidence; and in that caſe you run into abſurdities, from which you will never be able to extricate yourſelf. For as you make the very eſſence of morality to lie in the relations, and as there is no one of theſe relations but what is applicable, not only to an irrational, but alſo to an inanimate object; it follows, that even ſuch objects muſt be ſuſceptible of merit or demerit. [16] Reſemblance, contrariety, degrees in quality, and proportions in quantity and number; all theſe relations belong as properly to matter, as to our actions, paſſions, and volitions. 'Tis unqueſtionable, therefore, that morality lies not in any of theſe relations, nor the ſenſe of it in their diſcovery ^b.

SHOU'D it be aſſerted, that the ſenſe of morality conſiſts in the diſcovery of ſome relation, diſtinct from theſe, and that our enumeration was not compleat, when we comprehended all demonſtrable relations un⯑der four general heads: To this I know not what to reply, till ſome one be ſo good as to point out to me this new relation. 'Tis impoſſible to refute a ſyſtem, which has ne⯑ver [17] yet been explain'd. In ſuch a manner of fighting in the dark, a man loſes his blows in the air, and often places them where the enemy is not preſent.

I MUST, therefore, on this occaſion, reſt contented with requiring the two following conditions of any one that wou'd undertake to clear up this ſyſtem. Firſt, As moral good and evil belong only to the actions of the mind, and are deriv'd from our ſituation with regard to external objects, the rela⯑tions, from which theſe moral diſtinctions ariſe, muſt lie only betwixt internal actions, and external objects, and muſt not be appli⯑cable either to internal actions, compared among themſelves, or to external objects, when placed in oppoſition to other external objects. For as morality is ſuppoſed to at⯑tend certain relations, if theſe relations cou'd belong to internal actions conſider'd ſingly, it wou'd follow, that we might be guilty of crimes in ourſelves, and independent of our ſituation, with reſpect to the univerſe: And in like manner, if theſe moral relations cou'd be apply'd to external objects, it wou'd follow, that even inanimate beings wou'd be ſuſceptible of moral beauty and deformity. Now it ſeems difficult to imagine, that any relation can be diſcover'd betwixt our paſ⯑ſions, [18] volitions and actions, compared to ex⯑ternal objects, which relation might not be⯑long either to theſe paſſions and volitions, or to theſe external objects, compar'd among themſelves.

BUT it will be ſtill more difficult to ful⯑fil the ſecond condition, requiſite to juſtify this ſyſtem. According to the principles of thoſe who maintain an abſtract rational dif⯑ference betwixt moral good and evil, and a natural fitneſs and unfitneſs of things, 'tis not only ſuppos'd, that theſe relations, being eternal and immutable, are the ſame, when conſider'd by every rational creature, but their effects are alſo ſuppos'd to be neceſſarily the ſame; and 'tis concluded they have no leſs, or rather a greater, influence in direct⯑ing the will of the deity, than in governing the rational and virtuous of our own ſpe⯑cies. Theſe two particulars are evidently diſtinct. 'Tis one thing to know virtue, and another to conform the will to it. In order, therefore, to prove, that the meaſures of right and wrong are eternal laws, obligatory on every rational mind, 'tis not ſufficient to ſhew the relations upon which they are founded: We muſt alſo point out the con⯑nexion betwixt the relation and the will; and muſt prove that this connexion is ſo [19] neceſſary, that in every well-diſpoſed mind, it muſt take place and have its influence; tho' the difference betwixt theſe minds be in other reſpects immenſe and infinite. Now beſides what I have already prov'd, that even in human nature no relation can ever alone produce any action; beſides this, I ſay, it has been ſhewn, in treating of the under⯑ſtanding, that there is no connexion of cauſe and effect, ſuch as this is ſuppos'd to be, which is diſcoverable otherwiſe than by experience, and of which we can pretend to have any ſecurity by the ſimple conſideration of the objects. All beings in the univerſe, conſider'd in themſelves, appear entirely looſe and independent of each other. 'Tis only by experience we learn their influence and connexion; and this influence we ought never to extend beyond experience.

THUS it will be impoſſible to fulfil the firſt condition required to the ſyſtem of eter⯑nal rational meaſures of right and wrong; becauſe it is impoſſible to ſhew thoſe rela⯑tions, upon which ſuch a diſtinction may be founded: And 'tis as impoſſible to fulfil the ſecond condition; becauſe we cannot prove a priori, that theſe relations, if they really exiſted and were perceiv'd, wou'd be univerſally forcible and obligatory.

[20] BUT to make theſe general reflections more clear and convincing, we may illu⯑ſtrate them by ſome particular inſtances, wherein this character of moral good or evil is the moſt univerſally acknowledged. Of all crimes that human creatures are ca⯑pable of committing, the moſt horrid and unnatural is ingratitude, eſpecially when it is committed againſt parents, and appears in the more flagrant inſtances of wounds and death. This is acknowledg'd by all man⯑kind, philoſophers as well as the people; the queſtion only ariſes among philoſophers, whether the guilt or moral deformity of this action be diſcover'd by demonſtrative reaſon⯑ing, or be felt by an internal ſenſe, and by means of ſome ſentiment, which the reflect⯑ing on ſuch an action naturally occaſions. This queſtion will ſoon be decided againſt the former opinion, if we can ſhew the ſame relations in other objects, without the notion of any guilt or iniquity attending them. Reaſon or ſcience is nothing but the com⯑paring of ideas, and the diſcovery of their relations; and if the ſame relations have different characters, it muſt evidently follow, that thoſe characters are not diſcover'd merely by reaſon. To put the affair, therefore, to this trial, let us chuſe any inanimate object, [21] ſuch as an oak or elm; and let us ſuppoſe, that by the dropping of its ſeed, it produces a ſapling below it, which ſpringing up by degrees, at laſt overtops and deſtroys the parent tree: I aſk, if in this inſtance there be wanting any relation, which is diſcover⯑able in parricide or ingratitude? Is not the one tree the cauſe of the other's exiſtence; and the latter the cauſe of the deſtruction of the former, in the ſame manner as when a child murders his parent? 'Tis not ſuffi⯑cient to reply, that a choice or will is want⯑ing. For in the caſe of parricide, a will does not give riſe to any different relations, but is only the cauſe from which the action is deriv'd; and conſequently produces the ſame relations, that in the oak or elm ariſe from ſome other principles. 'Tis a will or choice, that determines a man to kill his parent; and they are the laws of matter and motion, that determine a ſapling to deſtroy the oak, from which it ſprung. Here then the ſame relations have different cauſes; but ſtill the relations are the ſame: And as th [...] diſcovery is not in both caſes attended with a notion of immorality, it follows, that that notion does not ariſe from [...]uch a diſ⯑covery.

[22] BUT to chuſe an inſtance, ſtill more re⯑ſembling; I would fain aſk any one, why inceſt in the human ſpecies is criminal, and why the very ſame action, and the ſame relations in animals have not the ſmalleſt moral turpitude and deformity? If it be anſwer'd, that this action is innocent in ani⯑mals, becauſe they have not reaſon ſufficient to diſcover its turpitude; but that man, be⯑ing endow'd with that faculty, which ought to reſtrain him to his duty, the ſame action inſtantly becomes criminal to him; ſhould this be ſaid, I would reply, that this is evi⯑dently arguing in a circle. For before rea⯑ſon can perceive this turpitude, the turpitude muſt exiſt; and conſequently is independent of the deciſions of our reaſon, and is their object more properly than their effect. Ac⯑cording to this ſyſtem, then, every animal, that has ſenſe, and appetite, and will; that is, every animal muſt be ſuſceptible of all the ſame virtues and vices, for which we aſcribe praiſe and blame to human creatures. [...] the difference is, that our ſuperior reaſon may ſerve to diſcover the vice or virtue, and by that means may augment the blame or praiſe: But ſtill this diſcovery ſuppoſes a ſeparate being in theſe moral diſtinctions, and a being, which depends only on the [23] will and appetite, and which, both in thought and reality, may be diſtinguiſh'd from the reaſon. Animals are ſuſceptible of the ſame relations, with reſpect to each other, as the human ſpecies, and therefore wou'd alſo be ſuſceptible of the ſame morality, if the eſſence of morality conſiſted in theſe rela⯑tions. Their want of a ſufficient degree of reaſon may hinder them from perceiving the duties and obligations of morality, but can never hinder theſe duties from exiſting; ſince they muſt antecedently exiſt, in order to their being perceiv'd. Reaſon muſt find them, and can never produce them. This argument deſerves to be weigh'd, as being, in my opinion, entirely deciſive.

NOR does this reaſoning only prove, that morality conſiſts not in any relations, that are the objects of ſcience; but if examin'd, will prove with equal certainty, that it conſiſts not in any matter of fact, which can be diſcover'd by the underſtanding. This is the ſecond part of our argument; and if it can be made evident, we may conclude, that morality is not an object of reaſon. But can there be any difficulty in proving, that vice and virtue are not matters of fact, whoſe exiſtence we can infer by reaſon? Take any action allow'd to be vicious: Wil⯑ful [24] murder, for inſtance. Examine it in all lights, and ſee if you can find that matter of fact, or real exiſtence, which you call vice. In which-ever way you take it, you find only certain paſſions, motives, volitions and thoughts. There is no other matter of fact in the caſe. The vice entirely eſcapes you, as long as you conſider the object. You never can find it, till you turn your reflection into your own breaſt, and find a ſentiment of diſapprobation, which ariſes in you, towards this action. Here is a matter of fact; but 'tis the object of feeling, not of reaſon. It lies in yourſelf, not in the object. So that when you pronounce any action or character to be vicious, you mean nothing, but that from the conſtitution of your na⯑ture you have a feeling or ſentiment of blame from the contemplation of it. Vice and virtue, therefore, may be compar'd to ſounds, colours, heat and cold, which, ac⯑cording to modern philoſophy, are not qua⯑lities in objects, but perceptions in the mind: And this diſcovery in morals, like that other in phyſics, is to be regarded as a con⯑ſiderable advancement of the ſpeculative ſciences; tho', like that too, it has little or no influence on practice. Nothing can be more real, or concern us more, than our [25] own ſentiments of pleaſure and uneaſineſs; and if theſe be favourable to virtue, and un⯑favourable to vice, no more can be requiſite to the regulation of our conduct and be⯑haviour.

I cannot forbear adding to theſe reaſonings an obſervation, which may, perhaps, be found of ſome importance. In every ſyſtem of morality, which I have hitherto met with, I have always remark'd, that the author proceeds for ſome time in the ordinary way of reaſoning, and eſtabliſhes the being of a God, or makes obſervations concerning hu⯑man affairs; when of a ſudden I am ſur⯑priz'd to find, that inſtead of the uſual copulations of propoſitions, is, and is not, I meet with no propoſition that is not con⯑nected with an ought, or an ought not. This change is imperceptible; but is, however, of the laſt conſequence. For as this ought, or ought not, expreſſes ſome new relation or affirmation, 'tis neceſſary that it ſhou'd be obſerv'd and explain'd; and at the ſame time that a reaſon ſhould be given, for what ſeems altogether inconceivable, how this new rela⯑tion can be a deduction from others, which are entirely different from it. But as authors do not commonly uſe this precaution, I ſhall preſume to recommend it to the readers; [26] and am perſuaded, that this ſmall attention wou'd ſubvert all the vulgar ſyſtems of morality, and let us ſee, that the diſtinction of vice and virtue is not founded merely on the relations of objects, nor is perceiv'd by reaſon.

SECT. II. Moral diſtinctions deriv'd from a moral ſenſe.

THUS the courſe of the argument leads us to conclude, that ſince vice and virtue are not diſcoverable merely by reaſon, or the compariſon of ideas, it muſt be by means of ſome impreſſion or ſenti⯑ment they occaſion, that we are able to mark the difference betwixt them. Our deciſions concerning moral rectitude and de⯑pravity are evidently perceptions; and as all perceptions are either impreſſions or ideas, the excluſion of the one is a convincing argument for the other. Morality, there⯑fore, is more properly felt than judg'd of; tho' this feeling or ſentiment is commonly ſo ſoft and gentle, that we are apt to con⯑found it with an idea, according to our com⯑mon [27] cuſtom of taking all things for the ſame, which have any near reſemblance to each other.

THE next queſtion is, Of what nature are theſe impreſſions, and after what manner do they operate upon us? Here we cannot re⯑main long in ſuſpenſe, but muſt pronounce the impreſſion ariſing from virtue, to be agreeable, and that proceding from vice to be uneaſy. Every moment's experience muſt convince us of this. There is no ſpectacle ſo fair and beautiful as a noble and generous action; nor any which gives us more abhor⯑rence than one that is cruel and treacherous. No enjoyment equals the ſatisfaction we re⯑ceive from the company of thoſe we love and eſteem; as the greateſt of all puniſh⯑ments is to be oblig'd to paſs our lives with thoſe we hate or contemn. A very play or romance may afford us inſtances of this plea⯑ſure, which virtue conveys to us; and pain, which ariſes from vice.

NOW ſince the diſtinguiſhing impreſſions, by which moral good or evil is known, are nothing but particular pains or pleaſures; it follows, that in all enquiries concerning theſe moral diſtinctions, it will be ſufficient to ſhew the principles, which make us feel a ſatiſ⯑faction or uneaſineſs from the ſurvey of any [28] character, in order to ſatisfy us why the cha⯑racter is laudable or blameable. An action, or ſentiment, or character is virtuous or vicious; why? becauſe its view cauſes a pleaſure or uneaſineſs of a particular kind. In giving a reaſon, therefore, for the plea⯑ſure or uneaſineſs, we ſufficiently explain the vice or virtue. To have the ſenſe of virtue, is nothing but to feel a ſatisfaction of a par⯑ticular kind from the contemplation of a character. The very feeling conſtitutes our praiſe or admiration. We go no farther; nor do we enquire into the cauſe of the ſa⯑tisfaction. We do not infer a character to be virtuous, becauſe it pleaſes: But in feeling that it pleaſes after ſuch a particular man⯑ner, we in effect feel that it is virtuous. The caſe is the ſame as in our judgments con⯑cerning all kinds of beauty, and taſtes, and ſenſations. Our approbation is imply'd in the immediate pleaſure they convey to us.

I HAVE objected to the ſyſtem, which eſtabliſhes eternal rational meaſures of right and wrong, that 'tis impoſſible to ſhew, in the actions of reaſonable creatures, any rela⯑tions, which are not found in external ob⯑jects; and therefore, if morality always at⯑tended theſe relations, 'twere poſſible for inanimate matter to become virtuous or vi⯑cious. [29] Now it may, in like manner, be ob⯑jected to the preſent ſyſtem, that if virtue and vice be determin'd by pleaſure and pain, theſe qualities muſt, in every caſe, ariſe from the ſenſations; and conſequently any object, whether animate or inanimate, rational or ir⯑rational, might become morally good or evil, provided it can excite a ſatisfaction or un⯑eaſineſs. But tho' this objection ſeems to be the very ſame, it has by no means the ſame force, in the one caſe as in the other. For, firſt, 'tis evident, that under the term plea⯑ſure, we comprehend ſenſations, which are very different from each other, and which have only ſuch a diſtant reſemblance, as is requiſite to make them be expreſs'd by the ſame abſtract term. A good compoſition of muſic and a bottle of good wine equally produce pleaſure; and what is more, their goodneſs is determin'd merely by the plea⯑ſure. But ſhall we ſay upon that account, that the wine is harmonious, or the muſic of a good flavour? In like manner an inani⯑mate object, and the character or ſentiments of any perſon may, both of them, give ſa⯑tisfaction; but as the ſatisfaction is different, this keeps our ſentiments concerning them from being confounded, and makes us aſcribe virtue to the one, and not to the other. [30] Nor is every ſentiment of pleaſure or pain, which ariſes from characters and actions, of that peculiar kind, which makes us praiſe or condemn. The good qualities of an enemy are hurtful to us; but may ſtill command our eſteem and reſpect. 'Tis only when a character is conſidered in general, without reference to our particular intereſt, that it cauſes ſuch a feeling or ſentiment, as deno⯑minates it morally good or evil. 'Tis true, thoſe ſentiments, from intereſt and morals, are apt to be confounded, and naturally run in⯑to one another. It ſeldom happens, that we do not think an enemy vicious, and can diſtin⯑guiſh betwixt his oppoſition to our intereſt and real villainy or baſeneſs. But this hinders not, but that the ſentiments are, in them⯑ſelves, diſtinct; and a man of temper and judgment may preſerve himſelf from theſe illuſions. In like manner, tho' 'tis certain a muſical voice is nothing but one that natu⯑rally gives a particular kind of pleaſure; yet 'tis difficult for a man to be ſenſible, that the voice of an enemy is agreeable, or to allow it to be muſical. But a perſon of a fine ear, who has the command of himſelf, can ſe⯑parate theſe feelings, and give praiſe to what deſerves it.

[31] Secondly, We may call to remembrance the preceding ſyſtem of the paſſions, in or⯑der to remark a ſtill more conſiderable dif⯑ference among our pains and pleaſures. Pride and humility, love and hatred are excited, when there is any thing preſented to us, that both bears a relation to the object of the paſ⯑ſion, and produces a ſeparate ſenſation rela⯑ted to the ſenſation of the paſſion. Now virtue and vice are attended with theſe cir⯑cumſtances. They muſt neceſſarily be plac'd either in ourſelves or others, and excite ei⯑ther pleaſure or uneaſineſs; and therefore muſt give riſe to one of theſe four paſſions; which clearly diſtinguiſhes them from the pleaſure and pain ariſing from inanimate ob⯑jects, that often bear no relation to us: And this is, perhaps, the moſt conſiderable effect that virtue and vice have upon the human mind.

IT may now be ask'd in general, con⯑cerning this pain or pleaſure, that diſtin⯑guiſhes moral good and evil, From what principles is it derived, and whence does it ariſe in the human mind? To this I reply, firſt, that 'tis abſurd to imagine, that in every particular inſtance, theſe ſentiments are produc'd by an original quality and pri⯑mary conſtitution. For as the number of [32] our duties is, in a manner, infinite, 'tis im⯑poſſible that our original inſtincts ſhould ex⯑tend to each of them, and from our very firſt infancy impreſs on the human mind all that multitude of precepts, which are con⯑tain'd in the compleateſt ſyſtem of ethics. Such a method of proceeding is not con⯑formable to the uſual maxims, by which na⯑ture is conducted, where a few principles produce all that variety we obſerve in the univerſe, and every thing is carry'd on in the eaſieſt and moſt ſimple manner. 'Tis neceſſary, therefore, to abridge theſe primary impulſes, and find ſome more general prin⯑ciples, upon which all our notions of mo⯑rals are founded.

BUT in the ſecond place, ſhould it be ask'd, Whether we ought to ſearch for theſe prin⯑ciples in nature, or whether we muſt look for them in ſome other origin? I wou'd re⯑ply, that our anſwer to this queſtion depends upon the definition of the word, Nature, than which there is none more ambiguous and equivocal. If nature be oppos'd to mi⯑racles, not only the diſtinction betwixt vice and virtue is natural, but alſo every event, which has ever happen'd in the world, ex⯑cepting thoſe miracles, on which our religion is founded. In ſaying, then, that the ſenti⯑ments [33] of vice and virtue are natural in this ſenſe, we make no very extraordinary diſcovery.

BUT nature may alſo be oppoſed to rare and unuſual; and in this ſenſe of the word, which is the common one, there may often ariſe diſputes concerning what is natural or unnatural; and one may in general affirm, that we are not poſſeſs'd of any very preciſe ſtandard, by which theſe diſputes can be de⯑cided. Frequent and rare depend upon the number of examples we have obſerv'd; and as this number may gradually encreaſe or diminiſh, 'twill be impoſſible to fix any ex⯑act boundaries betwixt them. We may only affirm on this head, that if ever there was any thing, which cou'd be call'd natural in this ſenſe, the ſentiments of morality cer⯑tainly may; ſince there never was any nation of the world, nor any ſingle perſon in any nation, who was utterly depriv'd of them, and who never, in any inſtance, ſhew'd the leaſt approbation or diſlike of manners. Theſe ſentiments are ſo rooted in our con⯑ſtitution and temper, that without entirely confounding the human mind by diſeaſe or madneſs, 'tis impoſſible to extirpate and de⯑ſtroy them.

BUT nature may alſo be oppoſed to arti⯑fice, as well as to what is rare and unu⯑ſual; [34] and in this ſenſe it may be diſputed, whether the notions of virtue be natural or not. We readily forget, that the deſigns, and projects, and views of men are principles as neceſſary in their operation as heat and cold, moiſt and dry: But taking them to be free and entirely our own, 'tis uſual for us to ſet them in oppoſition to the other principles of nature. Shou'd it, therefore, be demanded, whether the ſenſe of virtue be natural or ar⯑tificial, I am of opinion, that 'tis impoſſible for me at preſent to give any preciſe anſwer to this queſtion. Perhaps it will appear af⯑terwards, that our ſenſe of ſome virtues is ar⯑tificial, and that of others natural. The diſcuſſion of this queſtion will be more pro⯑per, when we enter upon an exact detail of each particular vice and virtue ^a.

MEAN while it may not be amiſs to ob⯑ſerve from theſe definitions of natural and unnatural, that nothing can be more unphi⯑loſophical than thoſe ſyſtems, which aſſert, that virtue is the ſame with what is natural, and vice with what is unnatural. For in the firſt ſenſe of the word, Nature, as oppoſed to miracles, both vice and virtue are equally na⯑tural; and in the ſecond ſenſe, as oppos'd to [35] what is unuſual, perhaps virtue will be found to be the moſt unnatural. At leaſt it muſt be own'd, that heroic virtue, being as un⯑uſual, is as little natural as the moſt brutal barbarity. As to the third ſenſe of the word, 'tis certain, that both vice and virtue are equally artificial, and out of nature. For however it may be diſputed, whether the notion of a merit or demerit in certain ac⯑tions be natural or artificial, 'tis evident, that the actions themſelves are artificial, and are perform'd with a certain deſign and intention; otherwiſe they cou'd never be rank'd under any of theſe denominations. 'Tis impoſſible, therefore, that the character of natural and unnatural can ever, in any ſenſe, mark the boundaries of vice and virtue.

THUS we are ſtill brought back to our firſt poſition, that virtue is diſtinguiſhed by the pleaſure, and vice by the pain, that any action, ſentiment or character gives us by the mere view and contemplation. This deciſion is very commodious; becauſe it re⯑duces us to this ſimple queſtion, Why any action or ſentiment upon the general view or ſurvey, gives a certain ſatisfaction or unea⯑ſineſs, in order to ſhew the origin of its mo⯑ral rectitude or depravity, without looking for any incomprehenſible relations and qua⯑lities, [36] which never did exiſt in nature, nor even in our imagination, by any clear and diſtinct conception. I flatter myſelf I have executed a great part of my preſent deſign by a ſtate of the queſtion, which appears to me ſo free from ambiguity and obſcurity.

SECT. I. Juſtice, whether a natural or artifi⯑cial virtue?

I HAVE already hinted, that our ſenſe of every kind of virtue is not natural; but that there are ſome virtues, that produce plea⯑ſure and approbation by means of an ar⯑tifice or contrivance, which ariſes from the circumſtances and neceſſity of mankind. Of this kind I aſſert juſtice to be; and ſhall endeavour to defend this opinion by a ſhort, and, I hope, convincing argument, before I examine the nature of the artifice, from which the ſenſe of that virtue is derived.

[38] 'TIS evident, that when we praiſe any actions, we regard only the motives that produced them, and conſider the actions as ſigns or indications of certain principles in the mind and temper. The external per⯑formance has no merit. We muſt look within to find the moral quality. This we cannot do directly; and therefore fix our attention on actions, as on external ſigns. But theſe actions are ſtill conſidered as ſigns; and the ultimate object of our praiſe and approbation is the motive, that produc'd them.

AFTER the ſame manner, when we re⯑quire any action, or blame a perſon for not performing it, we always ſuppoſe, that one in that ſituation ſhou'd be influenc'd by the proper motive of that action, and we eſteem it vicious in him to be regardleſs of it. If we find, upon enquiry, that the virtuous motive was ſtill powerful over his breaſt, tho' check'd in its operation by ſome cir⯑cumſtances unknown to us, we retract our blame, and have the ſame eſteem for him, as if he had actually perform'd the action, which we require of him.

IT appears, therefore, that all virtuous actions derive their merit only from virtuous motives, and are conſider'd merely as ſigns [39] of thoſe motives. From this principle I con⯑clude, that the firſt virtuous motive, which beſtows a merit on any action, can never be a regard to the virtue of that action, but muſt be ſome other natural motive or prin⯑ciple. To ſuppoſe, that the mere regard to the virtue of the action, may be the firſt motive, which produc'd the action, and render'd it virtuous, is to reaſon in a circle. Before we can have ſuch a regard, the ac⯑tion muſt be really virtuous; and this virtue muſt be deriv'd from ſome virtuous motive: And conſequently the virtuous motive muſt be different from the regard to the virtue of the action. A virtuous motive is requiſite to render an action virtuous. An action muſt be virtuous, before we can have a regard to its virtue. Some virtuous motive, therefore, muſt be antecedent to that regard.

NOR is this merely a metaphyſical ſubtil⯑ty; but enters into all our reaſonings in common life, tho' perhaps we may not be able to place it in ſuch diſtinct philoſophical terms. We blame a father for neglecting his child. Why? becauſe it ſhews a want of natural affection, which is the duty of every parent. Were not natural affection a duty, the care of children cou'd not be a duty; and 'twere impoſſible we cou'd have the duty [40] in our eye in the attention we give to our offspring. In this caſe, therefore, all men ſuppoſe a motive to the action diſtinct from a ſenſe of duty.

HERE is a man, that does many benevo⯑lent actions; relieves the diſtreſs'd, comforts the afflicted, and extends his bounty even to the greateſt ſtrangers. No character can be more amiable and virtuous. We regard theſe actions as proofs of the greateſt humanity. This humanity beſtows a merit on the ac⯑tions. A regard to this merit is, therefore, a ſecondary conſideration, and deriv'd from the antecedent principles of humanity, which is meritorious and laudable.

IN ſhort, it may be eſtabliſh'd as an un⯑doubted maxim, that no action can be vir⯑tuous, or morally good, unleſs there be in hu⯑man nature ſome motive to produce it, diſtinct from the ſenſe of its morality.

BUT may not the ſenſe of morality or duty produce an action, without any other motive? I anſwer, It may: But this is no objection to the preſent doctrine. When any virtuous motive or principle is common in human nature, a perſon, who feels his heart devoid of that motive, may hate him⯑ſelf upon that account, and may perform the action without the motive, from a cer⯑tain [41] ſenſe of duty, in order to acquire by practice, that virtuous principle, or at leaſt, to diſguiſe to himſelf, as much as poſſible, his want of it. A man that really feels no gratitude in his temper, is ſtill pleas'd to perform grateful actions, and thinks he has, by that means, fulfill'd his duty. Actions are at firſt only conſider'd as ſigns of mo⯑tives: But 'tis uſual, in this caſe, as in all others, to fix our attention on the ſigns, and neglect, in ſome meaſure, the thing ſigni⯑fy'd. But tho', on ſome occaſions, a perſon may perform an action merely out of regard to its moral obligation, yet ſtill this ſuppoſes in human nature ſome diſtinct principles, which are capable of producing the action, and whoſe moral beauty renders the action meritorious.

NOW to apply all this to the preſent caſe; I ſuppoſe a perſon to have lent me a ſum of money, on condition that it be reſtor'd in a few days; and alſo ſuppoſe, that after the expiration of the term agreed on, he de⯑mands the ſum: I ask, What reaſon or mo⯑tive have I to reſtore the money? It will, perhaps, be ſaid, that my regard to juſtice, and abhorrence of villainy and knavery, are ſufficient reaſons for me, if I have the leaſt grain of honeſty, or ſenſe of duty and obli⯑gation. [42] And this anſwer, no doubt, is juſt and ſatisfactory to man in his civiliz'd ſtate, and when train'd up according to a certain diſcipline and education. But in his rude and more natural condition, if you are pleas'd to call ſuch a condition natural, this anſwer wou'd be rejected as perfectly unin⯑telligible and ſophiſtical. For one in that ſituation wou'd immediately ask you, Where⯑in conſiſts this honeſty and juſtice, which you find in reſtoring a loan, and abſtaining from the property of others? It does not ſurely lie in the external action. It muſt, there⯑fore be plac'd in the motive, from which the external action is deriv'd. This motive can never be a regard to the honeſty of the action. For 'tis a plain fallacy to ſay, that a virtuous motive is requiſite to render an ac⯑tion honeſt, and at the ſame time that a re⯑gard to the honeſty is the motive of the ac⯑tion. We can never have a regard to the virtue of an action, unleſs the action be an⯑tecedently virtuous. No action can be vir⯑tuous, but ſo far as it proceeds from a virtuous motive. A virtuous motive, therefore, muſt precede the regard to the virtue; and 'tis impoſſible, that the virtuous motive and the regard to the virtue can be the ſame.

[43] 'TIS requiſite, then, to find ſome motive to acts of juſtice and honeſty, diſtinct from our regard to the honeſty; and in this lies the great difficulty. For ſhou'd we ſay, that a concern for our private intereſt or repu⯑tation is the legitimate motive to all honeſt actions; it wou'd follow, that wherever that concern ceaſes, honeſty can no longer have place. But 'tis certain, that ſelf-love, when it acts at its liberty, inſtead of engaging us to honeſt actions, is the ſource of all inju⯑ſtice and violence; nor can a man ever cor⯑rect thoſe vices, without correcting and re⯑ſtraining the natural movements of that ap⯑petite.

BUT ſhou'd it be affirm'd, that the rea⯑ſon or motive of ſuch actions is the regard to publick intereſt, to which nothing is more contrary than examples of injuſtice and diſ⯑honeſty; ſhou'd this be ſaid, I wou'd pro⯑poſe the three following conſiderations, as worthy of our attention. Firſt, public in⯑tereſt is not naturally attach'd to the obſer⯑vation of the rules of juſtice; but is only connected with it, after an artificial conven⯑tion for the eſtabliſhment of theſe rules, as ſhall be ſhewn more at large hereafter. Se⯑condly, if we ſuppoſe, that the loan was ſe⯑cret, and that it is neceſſary for the intereſt of [44] the perſon, that the money be reſtor'd in the ſame manner (as when the lender wou'd conceal his riches) in that caſe the example ceaſes, and the public is no longer intereſted in the actions of the borrower; tho' I ſup⯑poſe there is no moraliſt, who will affirm, that the duty and obligation ceaſes. Thirdly, experience ſufficiently proves, that men, in the ordinary conduct of life, look not ſo far as the public intereſt, when they pay their creditors, perform their promiſes, and ab⯑ſtain from theft, and robbery, and injuſtice of every kind. That is a motive too remote and too ſublime to affect the generality of mankind, and operate with any force in ac⯑tions ſo contrary to private intereſt as are frequently thoſe of juſtice and common ho⯑neſty.

IN general, it may be affirm'd, that there is no ſuch paſſion in human minds, as the love of mankind, merely as ſuch, indepen⯑dent of perſonal qualities, of ſervices, or of relation to ourſelf. 'Tis true, there is no human, and indeed no ſenſible, creature, whoſe happineſs or miſery does not, in ſome meaſure, affect us, when brought near to us, and repreſented in lively colours: But this proceeds merely from ſympathy, and is no proof of ſuch an univerſal affection to man⯑kind, [45] ſince this concern extends itſelf beyond our own ſpecies. An affection betwixt the ſexes is a paſſion evidently implanted in hu⯑man nature; and this paſſion not only ap⯑pears in its peculiar ſymptoms, but alſo in inflaming every other principle of affection, and raiſing a ſtronger love from beauty, wit, kindneſs, than what wou'd otherwiſe flow from them. Were there an univerſal love among all human creatures, it wou'd appear after the ſame manner. Any degree of a good quality wou'd cauſe a ſtronger affection than the ſame degree of a bad quality wou'd cauſe hatred; contrary to what we find by experience. Men's tempers are different, and ſome have a propenſity to the tender, and others to the rougher, affections: But in the main, we may affirm, that man in general, or human nature, is nothing but the object both of love and hatred, and re⯑quires ſome other cauſe, which by a double relation of impreſſions and ideas, may ex⯑cite theſe paſſions. In vain wou'd we en⯑deavour to elude this hypotheſis. There are no phaenomena that point out any ſuch kind affection to men, independent of their merit, and every other circumſtance. We love company in general; but 'tis as we love any other amuſement. An Engliſhman in [46] Italy is a friend: A Europaean in China; and perhaps a man wou'd be belov'd as ſuch, were we to meet him in the moon. But this proceeds only from the relation to ourſelves; which in theſe caſes gathers force by being confined to a few perſons.

IF public benevolence, therefore, or a regard to the intereſts of mankind, cannot be the original motive to juſtice, much leſs can private benevolence, or a regard to the in⯑tereſts of the party concern'd, be this mo⯑tive. For what if he be my enemy, and has given me juſt cauſe to hate him? What if he be a vicious man, and deſerves the ha⯑tred of all mankind? What if he be a mi⯑ſer, and can make no uſe of what I wou'd deprive him of? What if he be a profli⯑gate debauchee, and wou'd rather receive harm than benefit from large poſſeſſions? What if I be in neceſſity, and have urgent motives to acquire ſomething to my family? In all theſe caſes, the original motive to juſtice wou'd fail; and conſequently the juſtice itſelf, and along with it all property, right, and obligation.

A RICH man lies under a moral obliga⯑tion to communicate to thoſe in neceſſity a ſhare of his ſuperfluities. Were private be⯑nevolence the original motive to juſtice, a [47] man wou'd not be oblig'd to leave others in the poſſeſſion of more than he is oblig'd to give them. At leaſt the difference wou'd be very inconſiderable. Men generally fix their affections more on what they are poſ⯑ſeſs'd of, than on what they never enjoy'd: For this reaſon, it wou'd be greater cruelty to diſpoſſeſs a man of any thing, than not to give it him. But who will aſſert, that this is the only foundation of juſtice?

BESIDES, we muſt conſider, that the chief reaſon, why men attach themſelves ſo much to their poſſeſſions is, that they conſider them as their property, and as ſecur'd to them inviolably by the laws of ſociety. But this is a ſecondary conſideration, and depen⯑dent on the preceding notions of juſtice and property.

A MAN'S property is ſuppos'd to be fenc'd againſt every mortal, in every poſſible caſe. But private benevolence is, and ought to be, weaker in ſome perſons, than in others: And in many, or indeed in moſt perſons, muſt abſolutely fail. Private benevolence, therefore, is not the original motive of ju⯑ſtice.

FROM all this it follows, that we have no real or univerſal motive for obſerving the laws of equity, but the very equity and me⯑rit [48] of that obſervance; and as no action can be equitable or meritorious, where it cannot ariſe from ſome ſeparate motive, there is here an evident ſophiſtry and reaſoning in a circle. Unleſs, therefore, we will allow, that nature has eſtabliſh'd a ſophiſtry, and render'd it neceſſary and unavoidable, we muſt allow, that the ſenſe of juſtice and in⯑juſtice is not deriv'd from nature, but ariſes artificially, tho' neceſſarily from education, and human conventions.

I SHALL add, as a corollary to this rea⯑ſoning, that ſince no action can be laudable or blameable, without ſome motives or im⯑pelling paſſions, diſtinct from the ſenſe of morals, theſe diſtinct paſſions muſt have a great influence on that ſenſe. 'Tis accord⯑ing to their general force in human nature, that we blame or praiſe. In judging of the beauty of animal bodies, we always carry in our eye the oeconomy of a certain ſpecies; and where the limbs and features obſerve that proportion, which is common to the ſpecies, we pronounce them handſome and beautiful. In like manner we always conſi⯑der the natural and uſual force of the paſ⯑ſions, when we determine concerning vice and virtue; and if the paſſions depart very much from the common meaſures on either [49] ſide, they are always diſapprov'd as vicious. A man naturally loves his children better than his nephews, his nephews better than his couſins, his couſins better than ſtrangers, where every thing elſe is equal. Hence ariſe our common meaſures of duty, in preferring the one to the other. Our ſenſe of duty al⯑ways follows the common and natural courſe of our paſſions.

TO avoid giving offence, I muſt here ob⯑ſerve, that when I deny juſtice to be a na⯑tural virtue, I make uſe of the word, natu⯑ral, only as oppos'd to artificial. In ano⯑ther ſenſe of the word; as no principle of the human mind is more natural than a ſenſe of virtue; ſo no virtue is more natural than juſtice. Mankind is an inventive ſpecies; and where an invention is obvious and abſo⯑lutely neceſſary, it may as properly be ſaid to be natural as any thing that proceeds im⯑mediately from original principles, without the intervention of thought or reflection. Tho' the rules of juſtice be artificial, they are not arbitrary. Nor is the expreſſion improper to call them Laws of Nature; if by natural we underſtand what is common to any ſpecies, or even if we confine it to mean what is inſeparable from the ſpecies.

SECT. II. Of the origin of juſtice and property.

WE now proceed to examine two que⯑ſtions, viz. concerning the manner, in which the rules of juſtice are eſtabliſh'd by the artifice of men; and concerning the rea⯑ſons, which determine us to attribute to the obſervance or neglect of theſe rules a moral beauty and deformity. Theſe queſtions will appear afterwards to be diſtinct. We ſhall begin with the former.

OF all the animals, with which this globe is peopled, there is none towards whom na⯑ture ſeems, at firſt ſight, to have exercis'd more cruelty than towards man, in the numberleſs wants and neceſſities, with which ſhe has loaded him, and in the ſlender means, which ſhe affords to the relieving theſe ne⯑ceſſities. In other creatures theſe two par⯑ticulars generally compenſate each other. If we conſider the lion as a voracious and carnivorous animal, we ſhall eaſily diſcover him to be very neceſſitous; but if we turn [51] our eye to his make and temper, his agility, his courage, his arms, and his force, we ſhall find, that his advantages hold pro⯑portion with his wants. The ſheep and ox are depriv'd of all theſe advantages; but their appetites are moderate, and their food is of eaſy purchaſe. In man alone, this un⯑natural conjunction of infirmity, and of neceſſity, may be obſerv'd in its greateſt per⯑fection. Not only the food, which is re⯑quir'd for his ſuſtenance, flies his ſearch and approach, or at leaſt requires his labour to be produc'd, but he muſt be poſſeſs'd of cloaths and lodging, to defend him againſt the injuries of the weather; tho' to conſider him only in himſelf, he is provided neither with arms, nor force, nor other natural abilities, which are in any degree anſwerable to ſo many neceſſities.

'TIS by ſociety alone he is able to ſupply his defects, and raiſe himſelf up to an equa⯑lity with his fellow-creatures, and even ac⯑quire a ſuperiority above them. By ſociety all his infirmities are compenſated; and tho' in that ſituation his wants multiply every moment upon him, yet his abilities are ſtill more augmented, and leave him in every reſpect more ſatisfied and happy, than 'tis poſſible for him, in his ſavage and ſolitary [52] condition, ever to become. When every in⯑dividual perſon labours a-part, and only for himſelf, his force is too ſmall to execute any conſiderable work; his labour being em⯑ploy'd in ſupplying all his different neceſſi⯑ties, he never attains a perfection in any par⯑ticular art; and as his force and ſucceſs are not at all times equal, the leaſt failure in either of theſe particulars muſt be attended with inevitable ruin and miſery. Society provides a remedy for theſe three incon⯑veniences. By the conjunction of forces, our power is augmented: By the partition of employments, our ability encreaſes: And by mutual ſuccour we are leſs expos'd to fortune and accidents. 'Tis by this addi⯑tional force, ability, and ſecurity, that ſo⯑ciety becomes advantageous.

BUT in order to form ſociety, 'tis re⯑quiſite not only that it be advantageous, but alſo that men be ſenſible of theſe advantages; and 'tis impoſſible, in their wild uncultivated ſtate, that by ſtudy and reflection alone, they ſhould ever be able to attain this know⯑ledge. Moſt fortunately, therefore, there is conjoin'd to thoſe neceſſities, whoſe re⯑medies are remote and obſcure, another neceſſity, which having a preſent and more obvious remedy, may juſtly be regarded as [53] the firſt and original principle of human ſociety. This neceſſity is no other than that natural appetite betwixt the ſexes, which unites them together, and preſerves their union, till a new tye takes place in their concern for their common offspring. This new concern becomes alſo a principle of union betwixt the parents and offspring, and forms a more numerous ſociety; where the parents govern by the advantage of their ſuperior ſtrength and wiſdom, and at the ſame time are reſtrain'd in the exerciſe of their authority by that natural affection, which they bear their children. In a little time, cuſtom and habit operating on the tender minds of the children, makes them ſenſible of the advantages, which they may reap from ſociety, as well as faſhions them by degrees for it, by rubbing off thoſe rough corners and untoward affections, which pre⯑vent their coalition.

FOR it muſt be confeſt, that however the circumſtances of human nature may render an union neceſſary, and however thoſe paſſions of luſt and natural affection may ſeem to render it unavoidable; yet there are other particulars in our natural temper, and in our outward circumſtances, which are very incommodious, and are even contrary to the [54] requiſite conjunction. Among the former, we may juſtly eſteem our ſelfiſhneſs to be the moſt conſiderable. I am ſenſible, that, generally ſpeaking, the repreſentations of this quality have been carried much too far; and that the deſcriptions, which certain phi⯑loſophers delight ſo much to form of man⯑kind in this particular, are as wide of na⯑ture as any accounts of monſters, which we meet with in fables and romances. So far from thinking, that men have no affection for any thing beyond themſelves, I am of opinion, that tho' it be rare to meet with one, who loves any ſingle perſon better than himſelf; yet 'tis as rare to meet with one, in whom all the kind affections, taken to⯑gether, do not over-balance all the ſelfiſh. Conſult common experience: Do you not ſee, that tho' the whole expence of the fa⯑mily be generally under the direction of the maſter of it, yet there are few that do not beſtow the largeſt part of their fortunes on the pleaſures of their wives, and the educa⯑tion of their children, reſerving the ſmalleſt portion for their own proper uſe and enter⯑tainment. This is what we may obſerve concerning ſuch as have thoſe endearing ties; and may preſume, that the caſe would [55] be the ſame with others, were they plac'd in a like ſituation.

BUT tho' this generoſity muſt be acknow⯑ledg'd to the honour of human nature, we may at the ſame time remark, that ſo noble an affection, inſtead of fitting men for large ſocieties, is almoſt as contrary to them, as the moſt narrow ſelfiſhneſs. For while each perſon loves himſelf better than any other ſingle perſon, and in his love to others bears the greateſt affection to his relations and ac⯑quaintance, this muſt neceſſarily produce an oppoſition of paſſions, and a conſequent oppoſition of actions; which cannot but be dangerous to the new-eſtabliſh'd union.

'TIS however worth while to remark, that this contrariety of paſſions wou'd be attended with but ſmall danger, did it not concur with a peculiarity in our outward cir⯑cumſtances, which affords it an opportunity of exerting itſelf. There are three different ſpecies of goods, which we are poſſeſs'd of; the internal ſatisfaction of our minds, the external advantages of our body, and the enjoyment of ſuch poſſeſſions as we have acquir'd by our induſtry and good fortune. We are perfectly ſecure in the enjoyment of the firſt. The ſecond may be raviſh'd from us, but can be of no advantage to him who [56] deprives us of them. The laſt only are both expos'd to the violence of others, and may be transferr'd without ſuffering any loſs or alteration; while at the ſame time, there is not a ſufficient quantity of them to ſupply every one's deſires and neceſſities. As the improvement, therefore, of theſe goods is the chief advantage of ſociety, ſo the inſta⯑bility of their poſſeſſion, along with their ſcarcity, is the chief impediment.

IN vain ſhou'd we expect to find, in un⯑cultivated nature, a remedy to this inconve⯑nience; or hope for any inartificial principle of the human mind, which might controul thoſe partial affections, and make us over⯑come the temptations ariſing from cur cir⯑cumſtances. The idea of juſtice can never ſerve to this purpoſe, or be taken for a na⯑tural principle, capable of inſpiring men with an equitable conduct towards each other. That virtue, as it is now underſtood, wou'd never have been dream'd of among rude and ſavage men. For the notion of in⯑jury or injuſtice implies an immorality or vice committed againſt ſome other perſon: And as every immorality is deriv'd from ſome defect or unſoundneſs of the paſſions, and as this defect muſt be judg'd of, in a great mea⯑ſure, from the ordinary courſe of nature in [57] the conſtitution of the mind; 'twill be eaſy to know, whether we be guilty of any im⯑morality, with regard to others, by conſider⯑ing the natural, and uſual force of thoſe ſe⯑veral affections, which are directed towards them. Now it appears, that in the original frame of our mind, our ſtrongeſt attention is confin'd to ourſelves; our next is extended to our relations and acquaintance; and 'tis only the weakeſt which reaches to ſtrangers and indifferent perſons. This partiality, then, and unequal affection, muſt not only have an influence on our behaviour and con⯑duct in ſociety, but even on our ideas of vice and virtue; ſo as to make us regard any remarkable tranſgreſſion of ſuch a de⯑gree of partiality, either by too great an en⯑largement, or contraction of the affections, as vicious and immoral. This we may ob⯑ſerve in our common judgments concern⯑ing actions, where we blame a perſon, who either centers all his affections in his fami⯑ly, or is ſo regardleſs of them, as, in any oppoſition of intereſt, to give the preference to a ſtranger, or mere chance acquaintance. From all which it follows, that our natural uncultivated ideas of morality, inſtead of providing a remedy for the partiality of our affections, do rather conform themſelves to [58] that partiality, and give it an additional force and influence.

THE remedy, then, is not deriv'd from nature, but from artifice; or more properly ſpeaking, nature provides a remedy in the judgment and underſtanding, for what is irregular and incommodious in the affec⯑tions. For when men, from their early e⯑ducation in ſociety, have become ſenſible of the infinite advantages that reſult from it, and have beſides acquir'd a new affection to company and converſation; and when they have obſerv'd, that the principal diſturbance in ſociety ariſes from thoſe goods, which we call external, and from their looſeneſs and eaſy tranſition from one perſon to another; they muſt ſeek for a remedy, by putting theſe goods, as far as poſſible, on the ſame footing with the fix'd and conſtant advan⯑tages of the mind and body. This can be done after no other manner, than by a con⯑vention enter'd into by all the members of the ſociety to beſtow ſtability on the poſſeſ⯑ſion of thoſe external goods, and leave every one in the peaceable enjoyment of what he may acquire by his fortune and in⯑duſtry. By this means, every one knows what he may ſafely poſſeſs; and the paſſions are reſtrain'd in their partial and contradi⯑ctory [59] motions. Nor is ſuch a reſtraint con⯑trary to theſe paſſions; for if ſo, it cou'd never be enter'd into, nor maintain'd; but it is only contrary to their heedleſs and im⯑petuous movement. Inſtead of departing from our own intereſt, or from that of our neareſt friends, by abſtaining from the poſ⯑ſeſſions of others, we cannot better conſult both theſe intereſts, than by ſuch a conven⯑tion; becauſe it is by that means we maintain ſociety, which is ſo neceſſary to their well⯑being and ſubſiſtence, as well as to our own.

THIS convention is not of the nature of a promiſe: For even promiſes themſelves, as we ſhall ſee afterwards, ariſe from human conventions. It is only a general ſenſe of common intereſt; which ſenſe all the mem⯑bers of the ſociety expreſs to one another, and which induces them to regulate their conduct by certain rules. I obſerve, that it will be for my intereſt to leave another in the poſſeſſion of his goods, provided he will act in the ſame manner with regard to me. He is ſenſible of a like intereſt in the regulation of his conduct. When this common ſenſe of intereſt is mutually expreſs'd, and is known to both, it produces a ſuitable reſolution and behaviour. And this may properly enough be call'd a convention or agreement [60] betwixt us, tho' without the interpoſition of a promiſe; ſince the actions of each of us have a reference to thoſe of the other, and are perform'd upon the ſuppoſition, that ſomething is to be perform'd on the other part. Two men, who pull the oars of a boat, do it by an agreement or convention, tho' they have never given promiſes to each other. Nor is the rule concerning the ſta⯑bility of poſſeſſion the leſs deriv'd from hu⯑man conventions, that it ariſes gradually, and acquires force by a ſlow progreſſion, and by our repeated experience of the inconveni⯑ences of tranſgreſſing it. On the contrary, this experience aſſures us ſtill more, that the ſenſe of intereſt has become common to all our fellows, and gives us a confidence of the future regularity of their conduct: And 'tis only on the expectation of this, that our moderation and abſtinence are founded. In like manner are languages gradually eſta⯑bliſh'd by human conventions without any promiſe. In like manner do gold and ſilver become the common meaſures of exchange, and are eſteem'd ſufficient payment for what is of a hundred times their value.

AFTER this convention, concerning ab⯑ſtinence from the poſſeſſions of others, is enter'd into, and every one has acquir'd [61] a ſtability in his poſſeſſions, there immedi⯑ately ariſe the ideas of juſtice and inju⯑ſtice; as alſo thoſe of property, right, and obligation. The latter are altogether unin⯑telligible without firſt underſtanding the former. Our property is nothing but thoſe goods, whoſe conſtant poſſeſſion is eſtabliſh'd by the laws of ſociety; that is, by the laws of juſtice. Thoſe, therefore, who make uſe of the words property, or right, or obliga⯑tion, before they have explain'd the ori⯑gin of juſtice, or even make uſe of it in that explication, are guilty of a very groſs fallacy, and can never reaſon upon any ſo⯑lid foundation. A man's property is ſome object related to him. This relation is not natural, but moral, and founded on juſtice. 'Tis very prepoſterous, therefore, to ima⯑gine, that we can have any idea of property, without fully comprehending the nature of juſtice, and ſhewing its origin in the artifice and contrivance of men. The origin of ju⯑ſtice explains that of property, The ſame artifice gives riſe to both. As our firſt and moſt natural ſentiment of morals is founded on the nature of our paſſions, and gives the preference to ourſelves and friends, above ſtrangers; 'tis impoſſible there can be natu⯑rally any ſuch thing as a fix'd right or pro⯑perty, [62] while the oppoſite paſſions of men impel them in contrary directions, and are not reſtrain'd by any convention or agree⯑ment.

No one can doubt, that the convention for the diſtinction of property, and for the ſtability of poſſeſſion, is of all circumſtances the moſt neceſſary to the eſtabliſhment of human ſociety, and that after the agreement for the fixing and obſerving of this rule, there remains little or nothing to be done towards ſettling a perfect harmony and con⯑cord. All the other paſſions, beſide this of intereſt, are either eaſily reſtrain'd, or are not of ſuch pernicious conſequence, when indulg'd. Vanity is rather to be eſteem'd a ſocial paſſion, and a bond of union among men. Pity and love are to be conſider'd in the ſame light. And as to envy and revenge, tho' pernicious, they operate only by inter⯑vals, and are directed againſt particular per⯑ſons, whom we conſider as our ſuperiors or enemies. This avidity alone, of acquiring goods and poſſeſſions for ourſelves and our neareſt friends, is inſatiable, perpetual, uni⯑verſal, and directly deſtructive of ſociety. There ſcarce is any one, who is not actuated by it; and there is no one, who has not reaſon to fear from it, when it acts without [63] any reſtraint, and gives way to its firſt and moſt natural movements. So that upon the whole, we are to eſteem the difficulties in the eſtabliſhment of ſociety, to be greater or leſs, according to thoſe we encounter in re⯑gulating and reſtraining this paſſion.

'TIS certain, that no affection of the hu⯑man mind has both a ſufficient force, and a proper direction to counter-balance the love of gain, and render men fit members of ſociety, by making them abſtain from the poſſeſſions of others. Benevolence to ſtran⯑gers is too weak for this purpoſe; and as to the other paſſions, they rather inflame this avidity, when we obſerve, that the larger our poſſeſſions are, the more ability we have of gratifying all our appetites. There is no paſſion, therefore, capable of controlling the intereſted affection, but the very affection it ſelf, by an alteration of its direction. Now this alteration muſt neceſſarily take place up⯑on the leaſt reflection; ſince 'tis evident, that the paſſion is much better ſatisfy'd by its re⯑ſtraint, than by its liberty, and that in pre⯑ſerving ſociety, we make much greater ad⯑vances in the acquiring poſſeſſions, than in the ſolitary and forlorn condition, which muſt follow upon violence and an univerſal licence. The queſtion, therefore, concern⯑ing [64] the wickedneſs or goodneſs of human nature, enters not in the leaſt into that other queſtion concerning the origin of ſociety; nor is there any thing to be conſider'd but the degrees of men's ſagacity or folly. For whether the paſſion of ſelf-intereſt be eſteem⯑ed vicious or virtuous, 'tis all a caſe; ſince itſelf alone reſtrains it: So that if it be vir⯑tuous, men become ſocial by their virtue; if vicious, their vice has the ſame effect.

Now as 'tis by eſtabliſhing the rule for the ſtability of poſſeſſion, that this paſſion reſtrains itſelf; if that rule be very abſtruſe, and of difficult invention; ſociety muſt be eſteem'd, in a manner, accidental, and the effect of many ages. But if it be found, that nothing can be more ſimple and obvi⯑ous than that rule; that every parent, in order to preſerve peace among his children, muſt eſtabliſh it; and that theſe firſt rudiments of juſtice muſt every day be improv'd, as the ſociety enlarges: If all this appear evi⯑dent, as it certainly muſt, we may conclude, that 'tis utterly impoſſible for men to remain any conſiderable time in that ſavage condi⯑tion, which precedes ſociety; but that his very firſt ſtate and ſituation may juſtly be eſteem'd ſocial. This, however, hinders not, but that philoſophers may, if they pleaſe, [65] extend their reaſoning to the ſuppos'd ſtate of nature; provided they allow it to be a mere philoſophical fiction, which never had, and never cou'd have any reality. Human nature being compos'd of two principal parts, which are requiſite in all its actions, the affections and underſtanding; 'tis cer⯑tain, that the blind motions of the former, without the direction of the latter, incapa⯑citate men for ſociety: And it may be al⯑low'd us to conſider ſeparately the effects, that reſult from the ſeparate operations of theſe two component parts of the mind. The ſame liberty may be permitted to mo⯑ral, which is allow'd to natural philoſophers; and 'tis very uſual with the latter to conſider any motion as compounded and conſiſting of two parts ſeparate from each other, tho' at the ſame time they acknowledge it to be in itſelf uncompounded and inſeparable.

THIS ſtate of nature, therefore, is to be regarded as a mere fiction, not unlike that of the golden age, which poets have inven⯑ted; only with this difference, that the for⯑mer is deſcrib'd as full of war, violence and injuſtice; whereas the latter is painted out to us, as the moſt charming and moſt peace⯑able condition, that can poſſibly be ima⯑gin'd. The ſeaſons, in that firſt age of na⯑ture, [66] were ſo temperate, if we may believe the poets, that there was no neceſſity for men to provide themſelves with cloaths and houſes as a ſecurity againſt the violence of heat and cold. The rivers flow'd with wine and milk: The oaks yielded honey; and nature ſpontaneouſly produc'd her greateſt delicacies. Nor were theſe the chief advan⯑tages of that happy age. The ſtorms and tempeſts were not alone remov'd from na⯑ture; but thoſe more furious tempeſts were unknown to human breaſts, which now cauſe ſuch uproar, and engender ſuch confu⯑ſion. Avarice, ambition, cruelty, ſelfiſhneſs, were never heard of: Cordial affection, compaſſion, ſympathy, were the only move⯑ments, with which the human mind was yet acquainted. Even the diſtinction of mine and thine was baniſh'd from that happy race of mortals, and carry'd with them the very notions of property and obligation, juſtice and injuſtice.

THIS, no doubt, is to be regarded as an idle fiction; but yet deſerves our attention, becauſe nothing can more evidently ſhew the origin of thoſe virtues, which are the ſubjects of our preſent enquiry. I have al⯑ready obſerv'd, that juſtice takes its riſe from human conventions; and that theſe are in⯑tended [67] as a remedy to ſome inconveniences, which proceed from the concurrence of cer⯑tain qualities of the human mind with the ſituation of external objects. The qualities of the mind are ſelfiſhneſs and limited gene⯑roſity: And the ſituation of external objects is their eaſy change, join'd to their ſcarcity in compariſon of the wants and deſires of men. But however philoſophers may have been bewilder'd in thoſe ſpeculations, poets have been guided more infallibly, by a cer⯑tain taſte or common inſtinct, which in moſt kinds of reaſoning goes farther than any of that art and philoſophy, with which we have been yet acquainted. They eaſily perceiv'd, if every man had a tender re⯑gard for another, or if nature ſupplied abun⯑dantly all our wants and deſires, that the jealouſy of intereſt, which juſtice ſuppoſes, could no longer have place; nor would there be any occaſion for thoſe diſtinctions and limits of property and poſſeſſion, which at preſent are in uſe among mankind. En⯑creaſe to a ſufficient degree the benevolence of men, or the bounty of nature, and you render juſtice uſeleſs, by ſupplying its place with much nobler virtues, and more valuable bleſſings. The ſelfiſhneſs of men is animated by the few poſſeſſions we have, in propor⯑tion [68] to our wants; and 'tis to reſtrain this ſelfiſhneſs, that men have been oblig'd to ſeparate themſelves from the community, and to diſtinguiſh betwixt their own goods and thoſe of others.

NOR need we have recourſe to the fictions of poets to learn this; but beſide the reaſon of the thing, may diſcover the ſame truth by common experience and obſervation. 'Tis eaſy to remark, that a cordial affecton ren⯑ders all things common among friends; and that married people in particular mutually loſe their property, and are unacquainted with the mine and thine, which are ſo neceſ⯑ſary, and yet cauſe ſuch diſturbance in hu⯑man ſociety. The ſame effect ariſes from any alteration in the circumſtances of man⯑kind; as when there is ſuch a plenty of any thing as ſatisfies all the deſires of men: In which caſe the diſtinction of property is entirely loſt, and every thing remains in com⯑mon. This we may obſerve with regard to air and water, tho' the moſt valuable of all external objects; and may eaſily conclude, that if men were ſupplied with every thing in the ſame abundance, or if every one had the ſame affection and tender regard for every one as for himſelf; juſtice and injuſtice would be equally unknown among mankind.

[69] HERE then is a propoſition, which, I think, may be regarded as certain, that 'tis only from the ſelfiſhneſs and confin'd generoſity of men, along with the ſcanty proviſion nature has made for his wants, that juſtice derives its origin. If we look backward we ſhall find, that this propoſition beſtows an addi⯑tional force on ſome of thoſe obſervations, which we have already made on this ſubject.

Firſt, we may conclude from it, that a regard to public intereſt, or a ſtrong exten⯑ſive benevolence, is not our firſt and original motive for the obſervation of the rules of juſtice; ſince 'tis allow'd, that if men were endow'd with ſuch a benevolence, theſe rules would never have been dreamt of.

Secondly, we may conclude from the ſame principle, that the ſenſe of juſtice is not founded on reaſon, or on the diſcovery of certain connexions and relations of ideas, which are eternal, immutable, and univer⯑ſally obligatory. For ſince it is confeſt, that ſuch an alteration as that above-mention'd, in the temper and circumſtances of mankind, wou'd entirely alter our duties and obligations, 'tis neceſſary upon the common ſyſtem, that the ſenſe of virtue is deriv'd from reaſon, to ſhew [70] the change which this muſt produce in the relations and ideas. But 'tis evident, that the only cauſe, why the extenſive generoſity of man, and the perfect abundance of every thing, wou'd deſtroy the very idea of ju⯑ſtice, is becauſe they render it uſeleſs; and that, on the other hand, his confin'd bene⯑volence, and his neceſſitous condition, give riſe to that virtue, only by making it requi⯑ſite to the publick intereſt, and to that of every individual. 'Twas therefore a concern for our own, and the publick intereſt, which made us eſtabliſh the laws of juſtice; and nothing can be more certain, than that it is not any relation of ideas, which gives us this concern, but our impreſſions and ſentiments, without which every thing in nature is per⯑fectly indifferent to us, and can never in the leaſt affect us. The ſenſe of juſtice, there⯑fore, is not founded on our ideas, but on our impreſſions.

Thirdly, we may farther confirm the fore-going propoſition, that thoſe impreſſions, which give riſe to this ſenſe of juſtice, are not na⯑tural to the mind of man, but ariſe from ar⯑tifice and human conventions. For ſince any conſiderable alteration of temper and cir⯑cumſtances deſtroys equally juſtice and inju⯑ſtice; and ſince ſuch an alteration has an [71] effect only by changing our own and the publick intereſt; it follows, that the firſt eſtabliſhment of the rules of juſtice depends on theſe different intereſts. But if men pur⯑ſu'd the publick intereſt naturally, and with a hearty affection, they wou'd never have dream'd of reſtraining each other by theſe rules; and if they purſu'd their own inte⯑reſt, without any precaution, they wou'd run head-long into every kind of injuſtice and violence. Theſe rules, therefore, are ar⯑tificial, and ſeek their end in an oblique and indirect manner; nor is the intereſt, which gives riſe to them, of a kind that cou'd be purſu'd by the natural and inartificial paſſions of men.

TO make this more evident, conſider, that tho' the rules of juſtice are eſtabliſh'd merely by intereſt, their connexion with intereſt is ſomewhat ſingular, and is different from what may be obſerv'd on other occaſions. A ſingle act of juſtice is frequently contrary to public intereſt; and were it to ſtand alone, without being follow'd by other acts, may, in itſelf, be very prejudicial to ſociety. When a man of merit, of a beneficent diſpoſition, reſtores a great fortune to a miſer, or a ſedi⯑tious bigot, he has acted juſtly and laudably, but the public is a real ſufferer. Nor is [72] every ſingle act of juſtice, conſider'd apart, more conducive to private intereſt, than to public; and 'tis eaſily conceiv'd how a man may impoveriſh himſelf by a ſignal inſtance of integrity, and have reaſon to wiſh, that with regard to that ſingle act, the laws of juſtice were for a moment ſuſpended in the univerſe. But however ſingle acts of ju⯑ſtice may be contrary, either to public or private intereſt, 'tis certain, that the whole plan or ſcheme is highly conducive, or in⯑deed abſolutely requiſite, both to the ſupport of ſociety, and the well-being of every in⯑dividual. 'Tis impoſſible to ſeparate the good from the ill. Property muſt be ſtable, and muſt be fix'd by general rules. Tho' in one inſtance the public be a ſufferer, this momentary ill is amply compenſated by the ſteady proſecution of the rule, and by the peace and order, which it eſtabliſhes in ſo⯑ciety. And even every individual perſon muſt find himſelf a gainer, on ballancing the account; ſince, without juſtice, ſociety muſt immediately diſſolve, and every one muſt fall into that ſavage and ſolitary con⯑dition, which is infinitely worſe than the worſt ſituation that can poſſibly be ſuppos'd in ſociety. When therefore men have had experience enough to obſerve, that whatever [73] may be the conſequence of any ſingle act of juſtice, perform'd by a ſingle perſon, yet the whole ſyſtem of actions, concurr'd in by the whole ſociety, is infinitely advantageous to the whole, and to every part; it is not long before juſtice and property take place. Every member of ſociety is ſenſible of this intereſt: Every one expreſſes this ſenſe to his fellows, along with the reſolution he has taken of ſquaring his actions by it, on con⯑dition that others will do the ſame. No more is requiſite to induce any one of them to perform an act of juſtice, who has the firſt opportunity. This becomes an example to others. And thus juſtice eſtabliſhes it⯑ſelf by a kind of convention or agreement; that is, by a ſenſe of intereſt, ſuppos'd to be common to all, and where every ſingle act is perform'd in expectation that others are to perform the like. Without ſuch a con⯑vention, no one wou'd ever have dream'd, that there was ſuch a virtue as juſtice, or have been induc'd to conform his actions to it. Taking any ſingle act, my juſtice may be pernicious in every reſpect; and 'tis only upon the ſuppoſition, that others are to imitate my example, that I can be induc'd to em⯑brace that virtue; ſince nothing but this combination can render juſtice advantageous, [74] or afford me any motives to conform my ſelf to its rules.

WE come now to the ſecond queſtion we propos'd, viz. Why we annex the idea of vir⯑tue to juſtice, and of vice to injuſtice. This queſtion will not detain us long after the principles, which we have already eſtabliſh'd. All we can ſay of it at preſent will be diſ⯑patch'd in a few words: And for farther ſa⯑tisfaction, the reader muſt wait till we come to the third part of this book. The natural obligation to juſtice, viz. intereſt, has been fully explain'd; but as to the moral obli⯑gation, or the ſentiment of right and wrong, 'twill firſt be requiſite to examine the natu⯑ral virtues, before we can give a full and ſa⯑tisfactory account of it.

AFTER men have found by experience, that their ſelfiſhneſs and confin'd generoſity, acting at their liberty, totally incapacitate them for ſociety; and at the ſame time have obſerv'd, that ſociety is neceſſary to the ſa⯑tisfaction of thoſe very paſſions, they are na⯑turally induc'd to lay themſelves under the reſtraint of ſuch rules, as may render their commerce more ſafe and commodious. To the impoſition then, and obſervance of theſe rules, both in general, and in every particu⯑lar [75] inſtance, they are at firſt induc'd only by a regard to intereſt; and this motive, on the firſt formation of ſociety, is ſufficiently ſtrong and forcible. But when ſociety has become numerous, and has encreas'd to a tribe or nation, this intereſt is more remote; nor do men ſo readily perceive, that diſor⯑der and confuſion follow upon every breach of theſe rules, as in a more narrow and con⯑tracted ſociety. But tho' in our own actions we may frequently loſe ſight of that in⯑tereſt, which we have in maintaining or⯑der, and may follow a leſſer and more pre⯑ſent intereſt, we never fail to obſerve the prejudice we receive, either mediately or im⯑mediately, from the injuſtice of others; as not being in that caſe either blinded by paſ⯑ſion, or byaſs'd by any contrary temptation. Nay when the injuſtice is ſo diſtant from us, as no way to affect our intereſt, it ſtill diſ⯑pleaſes us; becauſe we conſider it as preju⯑dicial to human ſociety, and pernicious to every one that approaches the perſon guilty of it. We partake of their uneaſineſs by ſympathy; and as every thing, which gives un⯑eaſineſs in human actions, upon the general ſurvey, is call'd Vice, and whatever produces ſatisfaction, in the ſame manner, is denomi⯑nated Virtue; this is the reaſon why the ſenſe of moral good and evil follows upon ju⯑ſtice and injuſtice. And tho' this ſenſe, in [76] the preſent caſe, be deriv'd only from con⯑templating the actions of others, yet we ſail not to extend it even to our own actions. The general rule reaches beyond thoſe in⯑ſtances, from which it aroſe; while at the ſame time we naturally ſympathize with others in the ſentiments they entertain of us. Thus ſelf-intereſt is the original motive to the eſtabliſhment of juſtice: but a ſympathy with public intereſt is the ſource of the moral ap⯑probation, which attends that virtue.

THO' this progreſs of the ſentiments be natural, and even neceſſary, 'tis certain, that it is here forwarded by the artifice of po⯑liticians, who, in order to govern men more eaſily, and preſerve peace in human ſociety, have endeavour'd to produce an eſteem for juſtice, and an abhorrence of in⯑juſtice. This, no doubt, muſt have its ef⯑fect; but nothing can be more evident, than that the matter has been carry'd too far by certain writers on morals, who ſeem to have employ'd their utmoſt efforts to extirpate all ſenſe of virtue from among mankind. Any artifice of politicians may aſſiſt nature in the producing of thoſe ſentiments, which ſhe ſuggeſts to us, and may even on ſome occa⯑ſions, produce alone an approbation or eſteem for any particular action; but 'tis impoſſible it ſhould be the ſole cauſe of the dictinction we make betwixt vice and virtue. [77] For if nature did not aid us in this parti⯑cular, 'twou'd be in vain for politicians to talk of honourable or diſhonourable, praiſe⯑worthy or blameable. Theſe words wou'd be perfectly unintelligible, and wou'd no more have any idea annex'd to them, than if they were of a tongue perfectly unknown to us. The utmoſt politicians can perform, is, to extend the natural ſentiments beyond their original bounds; but ſtill nature muſt furniſh the materials, and give us ſome no⯑tion of moral diſtinctions.

AS publick praiſe and blame encreaſe our eſteem for juſtice; ſo private education and inſtruction contribute to the ſame effect. For as parents eaſily obſerve, that a man is the more uſeful, both to himſelf and others, the greater degree of probity and honour he is endow'd with; and that thoſe principles have greater force, when cuſtom and edu⯑cation aſſiſt intereſt and reflection: For theſe reaſons they are induc'd to inculcate on their children, from their earlieſt infancy, the principles of probity, and teach them to re⯑gard the obſervance of thoſe rules, by which ſociety is maintain'd, as worthy and honour⯑able, and their violation as baſe and infa⯑mous. By this means the ſentiments of honour may take root in their tender minds, [78] and acquire ſuch firmneſs and ſolidity, that they may fall little ſhort of thoſe principles, which are the moſt eſſential to our natures, and the moſt deeply radicated in our inter⯑nal conſtitution.

WHAT farther contributes to encreaſe their ſolidity, is the intereſt of our reputation, after the opinion, that a merit or demerit at⯑tends juſtice or injuſtice, is once firmly eſta⯑bliſh'd among mankind. There is nothing, which touches us more nearly than our re⯑putation, and nothing on which our reputa⯑tion more depends than our conduct, with relation to the property of others. For this reaſon, every one, who has any regard to his character, or who intends to live on good terms with mankind, muſt fix an inviolable law to himſelf, never, by any temptation, to be induc'd to violate thoſe principles, which are eſſential to a man of probity and honour.

I SHALL make only one obſervation be⯑fore I leave this ſubject, viz. that tho' I aſ⯑ſert, that in the ſtate of nature, or that ima⯑ginary ſtate, which preceded ſociety, there be neither juſtice nor injuſtice, yet I aſſert not, that it was allowable, in ſuch a ſtate, to violate the property of others. I only main⯑tain, that there was no ſuch thing as pro⯑perty; and conſequently cou'd be no ſuch [79] thing as juſtice or injuſtice. I ſhall have oc⯑caſion to make a ſimilar reflection with re⯑gard to promiſes, when I come to treat of them; and I hope this reflection, when duly weigh'd, will ſuffice to remove all odium from the foregoing opinions, with regard to juſtice and injuſtice.

SECT. III. Of the rules, which determine property.

THO' the eſtabliſhment of the rule, concerning the ſtability of poſſeſſion, be not only uſeful, but even abſolutely ne⯑ceſſary to human ſociety, it can never ſerve to any purpoſe, while it remains in ſuch ge⯑neral terms. Some method muſt be ſhewn, by which we may diſtinguiſh what particular goods are to be aſſign'd to each particular per⯑ſon, while the reſt of mankind are excluded from their poſſeſſion and enjoyment. Our next buſineſs, then, muſt be to diſcover the reaſons which modify this general rule, and fit it to the common uſe and practice of the world.

'TIS obvious, that thoſe reaſons are not deriv'd from any utility or advantage, which [80] either the particular perſon or the public may reap from his enjoyment of any parti⯑cular goods, beyond what wou'd reſult from the poſſeſſion of them by any other perſon. 'Twere better, no doubt, that every one were poſſeſs'd of what is moſt ſuitable to him, and proper for his uſe: But beſides, that this relation of fitneſs may be common to ſeve⯑ral at once, 'tis liable to ſo many contro⯑verſies, and men are ſo partial and paſſionate in judging of theſe controverſies, that ſuch a looſe and uncertain rule wou'd be abſo⯑lutely incompatible with the peace of hu⯑man ſociety. The convention concerning the ſtability of poſſeſſion is enter'd into, in order to cut off all occaſions of diſcord and contention; and this end wou'd never be at⯑tain'd, were we allow'd to apply this rule differently in every particular caſe, according to every particular utility, which might be diſcover'd in ſuch an application. Juſtice, in her deciſions, never regards the fitneſs or unfitneſs of objects to particular perſons, but conducts herſelf by more extenſive views. Whether a man be generous, or a miſer, he is equally well receiv'd by her, and obtains with the ſame facility a deciſion in his fa⯑vours, even for what is entirely uſeleſs to him.

[81] IT follows, therefore, that the general rule, that poſſeſſion muſt be ſtable, is not ap⯑ply'd by particular judgments, but by other general rules, which muſt extend to the whole ſociety, and be inflexible either by ſpite or favour. To illuſtrate this, I propoſe the following inſtance. I firſt conſider men in their ſavage and ſolitary condition; and ſuppoſe, that being ſenſible of the miſery of that ſtate, and foreſeeing the advantages that wou'd reſult from ſociety, they ſeek each other's company, and make an offer of mu⯑tual protection and aſſiſtance. I alſo ſup⯑poſe, that they are endow'd with ſuch ſaga⯑city as immediately to perceive, that the chief impediment to this project of ſociety and partnerſhip lies in the avidity and ſelfiſhneſs of their natural temper; to remedy which, they enter into a convention for the ſtability of poſſeſſion, and for mutual reſtraint and forbearance. I am ſenſible, that this me⯑thod of proceeding is not altogether natural; but beſides that I here only ſuppoſe thoſe reflections to be form'd at once, which in fact ariſe inſenſibly and by degrees; beſides this, I ſay, 'tis very poſſible, that ſeveral perſons, being by different accidents ſeparated from the ſocieties, to which they formerly be⯑long'd, may be oblig'd to form a new ſociety [82] among themſelves; in which caſe they are entirely in the ſituation above-mention'd.

'TIS evident, then, that their firſt diffi⯑culty, in this ſituation, after the general convention for the eſtabliſhment of ſociety, and for the conſtancy of poſſeſſion, is, how to ſeparate their poſſeſſions, and aſſign to each his particular portion, which he muſt for the future inalterably enjoy. This diffi⯑culty will not detain them long; but it muſt immediately occur to them, as the moſt natural expedient, that every one continue to enjoy what he is at preſent maſter of, and that property or conſtant poſſeſſion be con⯑join'd to the immediate poſſeſſion. Such is the effect of cuſtom, that it not only recon⯑ciles us to any thing we have long enjoy'd, but even gives us an affection for it, and makes us prefer it to other objects, which may be more valuable, but are leſs known to us. What has long lain under our eye, and has often been employ'd to our advan⯑tage, that we are always the moſt unwil⯑ling to part with; but can eaſily live with⯑out poſſeſſions, which we never have en⯑joy'd, and are not accuſtom'd to. 'Tis evi⯑dent, therefore, that men wou'd eaſily ac⯑quieſce in this expedient, that every one con⯑tinue to enjoy what he is at preſent poſſeſs'd of; [83] and this is the reaſon, why they wou'd ſo naturally agree in preferring it ^a.

BUT we may obſerve, that tho' the rule of the aſſignment of property to the preſent poſſeſſor be natural, and by that means uſe⯑ful, [84] yet its utility extends not beyond the firſt formation of ſociety; nor wou'd any thing be more pernicious, than the conſtant obſervance of it; by which reſtitution wou'd be excluded, and every injuſtice wou'd be authoriz'd and rewarded. We muſt, there⯑fore, ſeek for ſome other circumſtance, that may give riſe to property after ſociety is once eſtabliſh'd; and of this kind, I find four moſt conſiderable, viz. Occupation, Preſcrip⯑tion, Acceſſion, and Succeſſion. We ſhall [85] briefly examine each of theſe, beginning with Occupation.

THE poſſeſſion of all external goods is changeable and uncertain; which is one of the moſt conſiderable impediments to the eſtabliſhment of ſociety, and is the reaſon why, by univerſal agreement, expreſs or ta⯑cite, men reſtrain themſelves by what we now call the rules of juſtice and equity. The miſery of the condition, which precedes this reſtraint, is the cauſe why we ſubmit to that remedy as quickly as poſſible; and this affords us an eaſy reaſon, why we an⯑nex the idea of property to the firſt poſſeſ⯑ſion, or to occupation. Men are unwilling to leave property in ſuſpence, even for the ſhorteſt time, or open the leaſt door to vio⯑lence and diſorder. To which we may add, that the firſt poſſeſſion always engages the attention moſt; and did we neglect it, there wou'd be no colour of reaſon for aſſigning property to any ſucceeding poſſeſſion ^b.

THERE remains nothing, but to deter⯑mine exactly, what is meant by poſſeſſion; and this is not ſo eaſy as may at firſt ſight be imagin'd. We are ſaid to be in poſſeſſion of any thing, not only when we immediate⯑ly touch it, but alſo when we are ſo ſitua⯑ted with reſpect to it, as to have it in our power to uſe it; and may move, alter, or deſtroy it, according to our preſent pleaſure or advantage. This relation, then, is a ſpe⯑cies of cauſe and effect; and as property is nothing but a ſtable poſſeſſion, deriv'd from the rules of juſtice, or the conventions of men, 'tis to be conſider'd as the ſame ſpe⯑cies of relation. But here we may obſerve, that as the power of uſing any object be⯑comes more or leſs certain, according as the interruptions we may meet with are more or leſs probable; and as this probability may in⯑creaſe by inſenſible degrees; 'tis in many caſes impoſſible to determine when poſſeſſion begins or ends; nor is there any certain ſtandard, by which we can decide ſuch controverſies. A wild boar, that falls into our ſnares, is deem'd to be in our poſſeſſion, if [87] it be impoſſible for him to eſcape. But what do we mean by impoſſible? How do we ſeparate this impoſſibility from an impro⯑bability? And how diſtinguiſh that exactly from a probability? Mark the preciſe limits of the one and the other, and ſhew the ſtandard, by which we may decide all diſ⯑putes that may ariſe, and, as we find by ex⯑perience, frequently do ariſe upon this ſub⯑ject ^c.

BUT ſuch diſputes may not only ariſe con⯑cerning the real exiſtence of property and poſſeſſion, but alſo concerning their extent; and theſe diſputes are often ſuſceptible of no deciſion, or can be decided by no other fa⯑culty than the imagination. A perſon who lands on the ſhore of a ſmall iſland, that is deſart and uncultivated, is deem'd its poſſeſ⯑ſor from the very firſt moment, and acquires [89] the property of the whole; becauſe the ob⯑ject is there bounded and circumſcrib'd in the fancy, and at the ſame time is propor⯑tion'd to the new poſſeſſor. The ſame per⯑ſon landing on a deſart iſland, as large as Great Britain, extends his property no far⯑ther than his immediate poſſeſſion; tho' a numerous colony are eſteem'd the proprietors of the whole from the inſtant of their de⯑barkment.

BUT it often happens, that the title of firſt poſſeſſion becomes obſcure thro' time; and that 'tis impoſſible to determine many controverſies, which may ariſe concerning it. In that caſe long poſſeſſion or preſcription na⯑turally takes place, and gives a perſon a ſuf⯑ficient property in any thing he enjoys. The [90] nature of human ſociety admits not of any great accuracy; nor can we always remount to the firſt origin of things, in order to de⯑termine their preſent condition. Any con⯑ſiderable ſpace of time ſets objects at ſuch a diſtance, that they ſeem, in a manner, to loſe their reality, and have as little influence on the mind, as if they never had been in being. A man's title, that is clear and cer⯑tain at preſent, will ſeem obſcure and doubt⯑ful fifty years hence, even tho' the facts, on which it is founded, ſhou'd be prov'd with the greateſt evidence and certainty. The ſame facts have not the ſame influence after ſo long an interval of time. And this may be receiv'd as a convincing argument for our preceding doctrine with regard to property and juſtice. Poſſeſſion during a long tract of time conveys a title to any object. But as 'tis certain, that, however every thing be pro⯑duc'd in time, there is nothing real, that is produc'd by time; it follows, that property being produc'd by time, is not any thing real in the objects, but is the offspring of the ſen⯑timents, on which alone time is found to have any influence ^d.

[91] WE acquire the property of objects by ac⯑ceſſion, when they are connected in an inti⯑mate manner with objects that are already our property, and at the ſame time are infe⯑rior to them. Thus the fruits of our garden, the offspring of our cattle, and the work of our ſlaves, are all of them eſteem'd our pro⯑perty, even before poſſeſſion. Where ob⯑jects are connected together in the imagina⯑tion, they are apt to be put on the ſame footing, and are commonly ſuppos'd to be endow'd with the ſame qualities. We readily paſs from one to the other, and make no difference in our judgments concerning them; eſpecially if the latter be inferior to the former ^e.

THE right of ſucceſſion is a very natural one, from the preſum'd conſent of the pa⯑rent or near relation, and from the general intereſt of mankind, which requires, that [93] men's poſſeſſions ſhou'd paſs to thoſe, who are deareſt to them, in order to render them more induſtrious and frugal. Perhaps theſe cauſes are ſeconded by the influence of rela⯑tion, [94] or the aſſociation of ideas, by which we are naturally directed to conſider the ſon af⯑ter the parent's deceaſe, and aſcribe to him a title to his father's poſſeſſions. Thoſe goods [95] muſt become the property of ſome body: But of whom is the queſtion. Here 'tis evi⯑dent the perſons children naturally preſent [96] themſelves to the mind; and being already connected to thoſe poſſeſſions by means of [97] their deceas'd parent, we are apt to connect them ſtill farther by the relation of property. Of this there are many parallel inſtances ^f.

SECT. IV. Of the transference of property by conſent.

HOWEVER uſeful, or even neceſſary, the ſtability of poſſeſſion may be to human ſociety, 'tis attended with very con⯑ſiderable inconveniences. The relation of fitneſs or ſuitableneſs ought never to enter into conſideration, in diſtributing the pro⯑perties of mankind; but we muſt govern ourſelves by rules, which are more general in their application, and more free from doubt and uncertainty. Of this kind is preſent poſſeſſion upon the firſt eſtabliſhment of ſociety; and afterwards occupation, pre⯑ſcription, acceſſion, and ſucceſſion. As theſe depend very much on chance, they muſt frequently prove contradictory both to men's wants and deſires; and perſons and poſ⯑ſeſſions muſt often be very ill adjuſted. This is a grand inconvenience, which calls for a remedy. To apply one directly, and allow every man to ſeize by violence what he judges to be fit for him, wou'd deſtroy ſociety; and therefore the rules of juſtice [99] ſeek ſome medium betwixt a rigid ſtability, and this changeable and uncertain adjuſt⯑ment. But there is no medium better than that obvious one, that poſſeſſion and pro⯑perty ſhou'd always be ſtable, except when the proprietor conſents to beſtow them on ſome other perſon. This rule can have no ill conſequence, in occaſioning wars and diſſentions; ſince the proprietor's conſent, who alone is concern'd, is taken along in the alienation: And it may ſerve to many good purpoſes in adjuſting property to per⯑ſons. Different parts of the earth produce different commodities; and not only ſo, but different men both are by nature fitted for different employments, and attain to greater perfection in any one, when they confine themſelves to it alone. All this requires a mutual exchange and commerce; for which reaſon the tranſlation of property by conſent is founded on a law of nature, as well as its ſtability without ſuch a conſent.

So far is determin'd by a plain utility and intereſt. But perhaps 'tis from more trivial reaſons, that delivery, or a ſenſible tranſ⯑ference of the object is commonly requir'd by civil laws, and alſo by the laws of na⯑ture, according to moſt authors, as a requi⯑ſite circumſtance in the tranſlation of pro⯑perty. [100] The property of an object, when taken for ſomething real, without any re⯑ference to morality, or the ſentiments of the mind, is a quality perfectly inſenſible, and even inconceivable; nor can we form any diſtinct notion, either of its ſtability or tranſlation. This imperfection of our ideas is leſs ſenſibly felt with regard to its ſtability, as it engages leſs our attention, and is eaſily paſt over by the mind, without any ſcru⯑pulous examination. But as the tranſlation of property from one perſon to another is a more remarkable event, the defect of our ideas becomes more ſenſible on that occa⯑ſion, and obliges us to turn ourſelves on every ſide in ſearch of ſome remedy. Now as nothing more enlivens any idea than a preſent impreſſion, and a relation betwixt that impreſſion and the idea; 'tis natural for us to ſeek ſome falſe light from this quarter. In order to aid the imagination in conceiving the transference of property, we take the ſenſible object, and actually transfer its poſ⯑ſeſſion to the perſon, on whom we wou'd beſtow the property. The ſuppos'd reſem⯑blance of the actions, and the preſence of this ſenſible delivery, deceive the mind, and make it fancy, that it conceives the myſte⯑rious tranſition of the property. And that [101] this explication of the matter is juſt, appears hence, that men have invented a ſymbolical delivery, to ſatisfy the fancy, where the real one is impracticable. Thus the giving the keys of a granary is underſtood to be the delivery of the corn contain'd in it: The giving of ſtone and earth repreſents the delivery of a mannor. This is a kind of ſuperſtitious practice in civil laws, and in the laws of nature, reſembling the Roman catho⯑lic ſuperſtitions in religion. As the Roman catholics repreſent the inconceivable myſteries of the Chriſtian religion, and render them more preſent to the mind, by a taper, or habit, or grimace, which is ſuppos'd to re⯑ſemble them; ſo lawyers and moraliſts have run into like inventions for the ſame reaſon, and have endeavour'd by thoſe means to ſatisfy themſelves concerning the transference of property by conſent.

SECT. V. Of the obligation of promiſes.

THAT the rule of morality, which enjoins the performance of promiſes, is not natural, will ſufficiently appear from [102] theſe two propoſitions, which I proceed to prove, viz. that a promiſe wou'd not be in⯑telligible, before human conventions had eſtab⯑liſh'd it; and that even if it were intelli⯑gible, it wou'd not be attended with any moral obligation.

I SAY, firſt, that a promiſe is not intelli⯑gible naturally, nor antecedent to human con⯑ventions; and that a man, unacquainted with ſociety, could never enter into any engagements with another, even tho' they could perceive each other's thoughts by in⯑tuition. If promiſes be natural and intelli⯑gible, there muſt be ſome act of the mind attending theſe words, I promiſe; and on this act of the mind muſt the obligation de⯑pend. Let us, therefore, run over all the faculties of the ſoul, and ſee which of them is exerted in our promiſes.

THE act of the mind, expreſt by a pro⯑miſe, is not a reſolution to perform any thing: For that alone never impoſes any ob⯑ligation. Nor is it a deſire of ſuch a per⯑formance: For we may bind ourſelves with⯑out ſuch a deſire, or even with an averſion, declar'd and avow'd. Neither is it the will⯑ing of that action, which we promiſe to perform: For a promiſe always regards ſome future time, and the will has an influence [103] only on preſent actions. It follows, there⯑fore, that ſince the act of the mind, which enters into a promiſe, and produces its obli⯑gation, is neither the reſolving, deſiring, nor willing any particular performance, it muſt neceſſarily be the willing of that obligation, which ariſes from the promiſe. Nor is this only a concluſion of philoſophy; but is en⯑tirely conformable to our common ways of thinking and of expreſſing ourſelves, when we ſay that we are bound by our own con⯑ſent, and that the obligation ariſes from our mere will and pleaſure. The only queſtion, then, is, whether there be not a manifeſt abſurdity in ſuppoſing this act of the mind, and ſuch an abſurdity as no man cou'd fall into, whoſe ideas are not confounded, with prejudice and the fallacious uſe of language.

ALL morality depends upon our ſenti⯑ments; and when any action, or quality of the mind, pleaſes us after a certain man⯑ner, we ſay it is virtuous; and when the neglect, or non-performance of it, diſpleaſes us after a like manner, we ſay that we lie under an obligation to perform it. A change of the obligation ſuppoſes a change of the ſentiment; and a creation of a new obliga⯑tion ſuppoſes ſome new ſentiment to ariſe. But 'tis certain we can naturally no more [104] change our own ſentiments, than the mo⯑tions of the heavens; nor by a ſingle act of our will, that is, by a promiſe, render any action agreeable or diſagreeable, moral or immoral; which, without that act, wou'd have produc'd contrary impreſſions, or have been endow'd with different qualities. It wou'd be abſurd, therefore, to will any new obligation, that is, any new ſentiment of pain or pleaſure; nor is it poſſible, that men cou'd naturally fall into ſo groſs an ab⯑ſurdity. A promiſe, therefore, is naturally ſomething altogether unintelligible, nor is there any act of the mind belonging to it ^a.

[105] BUT, ſecondly, if there was any act of the mind belonging to it, it could not na⯑turally produce any obligation. This ap⯑pears evidently from the foregoing reaſoning. A promiſe creates a new obligation. A new obligation ſuppoſes new ſentiments to ariſe. The will never creates new ſentiments. There could not naturally, therefore, ariſe any obligation from a promiſe, even ſup⯑poſing the mind could fall into the abſur⯑dity of willing that obligation.

THE ſame truth may be prov'd ſtill more evidently by that reaſoning, which prov'd juſtice in general to be an artificial virtue. No action can be requir'd of us as our duty, unleſs there be implanted in human nature ſome actuating paſſion or motive, capable of producing the action. This motive cannot be the ſenſe of duty. A ſenſe of duty ſup⯑poſes an antecedent obligation: And where an action is not requir'd by any natural paſſion, it cannot be requir'd by any natural obligation; ſince it may be omitted without [106] proving any defect or imperfection in the mind and temper, and conſequently without any vice. Now 'tis evident we have no motive leading us to the performance of promiſes, diſtinct from a ſenſe of duty. If we thought, that promiſes had no moral obligation, we never ſhou'd feel any incli⯑nation to obſerve them. This is not the caſe with the natural virtues. Tho' there was no obligation to relieve the miſera⯑ble, our humanity wou'd lead us to it; and when we omit that duty, the immorality of the omiſſion ariſes from its being a proof, that we want the natural ſentiments of hu⯑manity. A father knows it to be his duty to take care of his children: But he has alſo a natural inclination to it. And if no human creature had that inclination, no one cou'd lie under any ſuch obligation. But as there is naturally no inclination to obſerve promiſes, diſtinct from a ſenſe of their ob⯑ligation; it follows, that fidelity is no natu⯑ral virtue, and that promiſes have no force, antecedent to human conventions.

IF any one diſſent from this, he muſt give a regular proof of theſe two propo⯑ſitions, viz. that there is a peculiar act of the mind, annext to promiſes; and that con⯑ſequent to this act of the mind, there ariſes an [107] inclination to perform, diſtinct from a ſenſe of duty. I preſume, that it is impoſſible to prove either of theſe two points; and there⯑fore I venture to conclude, that promiſes are human inventions, founded on the neceſſities and intereſts of ſociety.

IN order to diſcover theſe neceſſities and intereſts, we muſt conſider the ſame quali⯑ties of human nature, which we have al⯑ready found to give riſe to the preceding laws of ſociety. Men being naturally ſelfiſh, or endow'd only with a confin'd generoſity, they are not eaſily induc'd to perform any action for the intereſt of ſtrangers, except with a view to ſome reciprocal advantage, which they had no hope of obtaining but by ſuch a performance. Now as it fre⯑quently happens, that theſe mutual per⯑formances cannot be finiſh'd at the ſame inſtant, 'tis neceſſary, that one party be con⯑tented to remain in uncertainty, and depend upon the gratitude of the other for a re⯑turn of kindneſs. But ſo much corruption is there among men, that, generally ſpeak⯑ing, this becomes but a ſlender ſecurity; and as the benefactor is here ſuppos'd to beſtow his favours with a view to ſelf-intereſt, this both takes off from the obligation, and ſets an example of ſelfiſhneſs, which is the true [108] mother of ingratitude. Were we, therefore, to follow the natural courſe of our paſſions and inclinations, we ſhou'd perform but few actions for the advantage of others, from diſintereſted views; becauſe we are naturally very limited in our kindneſs and affection: And we ſhou'd perform as few of that kind, out of a regard to intereſt; be⯑cauſe we cannot depend upon their grati⯑tude. Here then is the mutual commerce of good offices in a manner loſt among man⯑kind, and every one reduc'd to his own ſkill and induſtry for his well-being and ſub⯑ſiſtence. The invention of the law of na⯑ture, concerning the ſtability of poſſeſſion, has already render'd men tolerable to each other; that of the transference of property and poſſeſſion by conſent has begun to render them mutually advantageous: But ſtill theſe laws of nature, however ſtrictly obſerv'd, are not ſufficient to render them ſo ſervice⯑able to each other, as by nature they are fitted to become. Tho' poſſeſſion be ſtable, men may often reap but ſmall advantage from it, while they are poſſeſs'd of a greater quantity of any ſpecies of goods than they have occaſion for, and at the ſame time ſuffer by the want of others. The transfer⯑ence of property, which is the proper remedy [109] for this inconvenience, cannot remedy it en⯑tirely; becauſe it can only take place with regard to ſuch objects as are preſent and in⯑dividual, but not to ſuch as are abſent or general. One cannot transfer the property of a particular houſe, twenty leagues diſtant; becauſe the conſent cannot be attended with delivery, which is a requiſite circumſtance. Neither can one transfer the property of ten buſhels of corn, or five hogſheads of wine, by the mere expreſſion and conſent; be⯑cauſe theſe are only general terms, and have no direct relation to any particular heap of corn, or barrels of wine. Beſides, the commerce of mankind is not confin'd to the barter of commodities, but may extend to ſervices and actions, which we may ex⯑change to our mutual intereſt and advantage. Your corn is ripe to-day; mine will be ſo to-morrow. 'Tis profitable for us both, that I ſhou'd labour with you to-day, and that you ſhou'd aid me to-morrow. I have no kindneſs for you, and know you have as little for me. I will not, therefore, take any pains upon your account; and ſhould I labour with you upon my own account, in expectation of a return, I know I ſhou'd be diſappointed, and that I ſhou'd in vain de⯑pend upon your gratitude. Here then I [110] leave you to labour alone: You treat me in the ſame manner. The ſeaſons change; and both of us loſe our harveſts for want of mutual confidence and ſecurity.

ALL this is the effect of the natural and inherent principles and paſſions of human nature; and as theſe paſſions and principles are inalterable, it may be thought, that our conduct, which depends on them, muſt be ſo too, and that 'twou'd be in vain, either for moraliſts or politicians, to tamper with us, or attempt to change the uſual courſe of our actions, with a view to public intereſt. And indeed, did the ſucceſs of their deſigns depend upon their ſucceſs in correcting the ſelfiſhneſs and ingratitude of men, they wou'd never make any progreſs, unleſs aided by omnipotence, which is alone able to new⯑mould the human mind, and change its character in ſuch fundamental articles. All they can pretend to, is, to give a new direction to thoſe natural paſſions, and teach us that we can better ſatisfy our appetites in an oblique and artificial manner, than by their headlong and impetuous motion. Hence I learn to do a ſervice to another, without bearing him any real kindneſs; be⯑cauſe I forſee, that he will return my ſer⯑vice, in expectation of another of the ſame [111] kind, and in order to maintain the ſame correſpondence of good offices with me or with others. And accordingly, after I have ſerv'd him, and he is in poſſeſſion of the advantage ariſing from my action, he is in⯑duc'd to perform his part, as foreſeeing the conſequences of his refuſal.

BUT tho' this ſelf-intereſted commerce of men begins to take place, and to predomi⯑nate in ſociety, it does not entirely aboliſh the more generous and noble intercourſe of friendſhip and good offices. I may ſtill do ſervices to ſuch perſons as I love, and am more particularly acquainted with, without any proſpect of advantage; and they may make me a return in the ſame manner, with⯑out any view but that of recompenſing my paſt ſervices. In order, therefore, to diſtinguiſh thoſe two different ſorts of commerce, the intereſted and the diſintereſted, there is a cer⯑tain form of words invented for the former, by which we bind ourſelves to the per⯑formance of any action. This form of words conſtitutes what we call a promiſe, which is the ſanction of the intereſted com⯑merce of mankind. When a man ſays he promiſes any thing, he in effect expreſſes a reſolution of performing it; and along with that, by making uſe of this form of words, [112] ſubjects himſelf to the penalty of never be⯑ing truſted again in caſe of failure. A reſo⯑lution is the natural act of the mind, which promiſes expreſs: But were there no more than a reſolution in the caſe, promiſes wou'd only declare our former motives, and wou'd not create any new motive or obligation. They are the conventions of men, which create a new motive, when experience has taught us, that human affairs wou'd be con⯑ducted much more for mutual advantage, were there certain ſymbols or ſigns inſtituted, by which we might give each other ſecurity of our conduct in any particular incident. After theſe ſigns are inſtituted, whoever uſes them is immediately bound by his intereſt to exe⯑cute his engagements, and muſt never ex⯑pect to be truſted any more, if he refuſe to perform what he promis'd.

NOR is that knowledge, which is requiſite to make mankind ſenſible of this intereſt in the inſtitution and obſervance of promiſes, to be eſteem'd ſuperior to the capacity of hu⯑man nature, however ſavage and unculti⯑vated. There needs but a very little practice of the world, to make us perceive all theſe conſequences and advantages. The ſhorteſt experience of ſociety diſcovers them to every mortal; and when each individual perceives [113] the ſame ſenſe of intereſt in all his fellows, he immediately performs his part of any contract, as being aſſur'd, that they will not be wanting in theirs. All of them, by con⯑cert, enter into a ſcheme of actions, calcu⯑lated for common benefit, and agree to be true to their word; nor is there any thing requiſite to form this concert or convention, but that every one have a ſenſe of intereſt in the faithful fulfilling of engagements, and expreſs that ſenſe to other members of the ſociety. This immediately cauſes that in⯑tereſt to operate upon them; and intereſt is the firſt obligation to the performance of promiſes.

AFTERWARDS a ſentiment of morals concurs with intereſt, and becomes a new obligation upon mankind. This ſentiment of morality, in the performance of promiſes, ariſes from the ſame principles as that in the abſtinence from the property of others. Public intereſt, education, and the artifices of politicians, have the ſame effect in both caſes. The difficulties, that occur to us, in ſuppoſing a moral obligation to attend promiſes, we either ſurmount or elude. For inſtance; the expreſſion of a reſolution is not commonly ſuppos'd to be obligatory; and we cannot readily conceive how the [114] making uſe of a certain form of words ſhou'd be able to cauſe any material differ⯑ence. Here, therefore, we feign a new act of the mind, which we call the willing an obligation; and on this we ſuppoſe the mo⯑rality to depend. But we have prov'd al⯑ready, that there is no ſuch act of the mind, and conſequently that promiſes impoſe no natural obligation.

TO confirm this, we may ſubjoin ſome other reflections concerning that will, which is ſuppos'd to enter into a promiſe, and to cauſe its obligation. 'Tis evident, that the will alone is never ſuppos'd to cauſe the obli⯑gation, but muſt be expreſs'd by words or ſigns, in order to impoſe a type upon any man. The expreſſion being once brought in as ſubſervient to the will, ſoon becomes the principal part of the promiſe; nor will a man be leſs bound by his word, tho' he ſecretly give a different direction to his in⯑tention, and with-hold himſelf both from a reſolution, and from willing an obligation. But tho' the expreſſion makes on moſt occa⯑ſions the whole of the promiſe, yet it does not always ſo; and one, who ſhou'd make uſe of any expreſſion, of which he knows not the meaning, and which he uſes without any intention of binding himſelf, wou'd not [115] certainly be bound by it. Nay, tho' he knows its meaning, yet if he uſes it in jeſt only, and with ſuch ſigns as ſhew evidently he has no ſerious intention of binding him⯑ſelf, he wou'd not lie under any obligation of performance; but 'tis neceſſary, that the words be a perfect expreſſion of the will, without any contrary ſigns. Nay, even this we muſt not carry ſo far as to imagine, that one, whom, by our quickneſs of under⯑ſtanding, we conjecture, from certain ſigns, to have an intention of deceiving us, is not bound by his expreſſion or verbal promiſe, if we accept of it; but muſt limit this conclu⯑ſion to thoſe caſes, where the ſigns are of a different kind from thoſe of deceit. All theſe contradictions are eaſily accounted for, if the obligation of promiſes be merely a human invention for the convenience of ſociety; but will never be explain'd, if it be ſomething real and natural, ariſing from any action of the mind or body.

I SHALL farther obſerve, that ſince every new promiſe impoſes a new obligation of morality on the perſon who promiſes, and ſince this new obligation ariſes from his will; 'tis one of the moſt myſterious and incom⯑prehenſible operations that can poſſibly be imagin'd, and may even be compar'd to [116] tranſubſtantiation, or holy orders ^a, where a certain form of words, along with a certain intention, changes entirely the nature of an external object, and even of a human crea⯑ture. But tho' theſe myſteries be ſo far alike, 'tis very remarkable, that they differ widely in other particulars, and that this difference may be regarded as a ſtrong proof of the difference of their origins. As the obligation of promiſes is an invention for the intereſt of ſociety, 'tis warp'd into as many different forms as that intereſt requires, and even runs into direct contradictions, rather than loſe ſight of its object. But as thoſe other monſtrous doctrines are mere prieſtly inventions, and have no public intereſt in view, they are leſs diſturb'd in their progreſs by new obſtacles; and it muſt be own'd, that, after the firſt abſurdity, they follow more directly the current of reaſon and good ſenſe. Theologians clearly perceiv'd, that the external form of words, being mere ſound, require an intention to make them have any efficacy; and that this intention being once conſider'd as a requiſite circum⯑ſtance, its abſence muſt equally prevent the [117] effect, whether avow'd or conceal'd, whether ſincere or deceitful. Accordingly they have commonly determin'd, that the intention of the prieſt makes the ſacrament, and that when he ſecretly withdraws his intention, he is highly criminal in himſelf; but ſtill de⯑ſtroys the baptiſm, or communion, or holy orders. The terrible conſequences of this doctrine were not able to hinder its taking place; as the inconvenience of a ſimilar doctrine, with regard to promiſes, have pre⯑vented that doctrine from eſtabliſhing itſelf. Men are always more concern'd about the preſent life than the future; and are apt to think the ſmalleſt evil, which regards the former, more important than the greateſt, which regards the latter.

WE may draw the ſame concluſion, con⯑cerning the origin of promiſes, from the force, which is ſuppos'd to invalidate all con⯑tracts, and to free us from their obligation. Such a principle is a proof, that promiſes have no natural obligation, and are mere artificial contrivances for the convenience and advantage of ſociety. If we conſider aright of the matter, force is not eſſentially different from any other motive of hope or fear, which may induce us to engage our word, and lay ourſelves under any obliga⯑tion. [118] A man, dangerouſly wounded, who promiſes a competent ſum to a ſurgeon to cure him, wou'd certainly be bound to per⯑formance; tho' the caſe be not ſo much dif⯑ferent from that of one, who promiſes a ſum to a robber, as to produce ſo great a differ⯑ence in our ſentiments of morality, if theſe ſentiments were not built entirely on public intereſt and convenience.

SECT. VI. Some farther reflections concerning juſtice and injuſtice.

WE have now run over the three fun⯑damental laws of nature, that of the ſtability of poſſeſſion, of its transference by conſent, and of the performance of pro⯑miſes. 'Tis on the ſtrict obſervance of thoſe three laws, that the peace and ſecurity of human ſociety entirely depend; nor is there any poſſibility of eſtabliſhing a good cor⯑reſpondence among men, where theſe are neglected. Society is abſolutely neceſſary for the well-being of men; and theſe are as neceſſary to the ſupport of ſociety. What⯑ever reſtraint they may impoſe on the paſ⯑ſions of men, they are the real offspring of [119] thoſe paſſions, and are only a more artful and more refin'd way of ſatisfying them. Nothing is more vigilant and inventive than our paſſions; and nothing is more obvious, than the convention for the obſervance of theſe rules. Nature has, therefore, truſted this affair entirely to the conduct of men, and has not plac'd in the mind any peculiar original principles, to determine us to a ſet of actions, into which the other principles of our frame and conſtitution were ſufficient to lead us. And to convince us the more fully of this truth, we may here ſtop a mo⯑ment, and from a review of the preceding reaſonings may draw ſome new arguments, to prove that thoſe laws, however neceſſary, are entirely artificial, and of human inven⯑tion; and conſequently that juſtice is an artificial, and not a natural virtue.

I. THE firſt argument I ſhall make uſe of is deriv'd from the vulgar definition of juſtice. Juſtice is commonly defin'd to be a conſtant and perpetual will of giving every one his due. In this definition 'tis ſuppos'd, that there are ſuch things as right and pro⯑perty, independent of juſtice, and antece⯑dent to it; and that they wou'd have ſub⯑ſiſted, tho' men had never dreamt of prac⯑tiſing [120] ſuch a virtue. I have already ob⯑ſerv'd, in a curſory manner, the fallacy of this opinion, and ſhall here continue to open up a little more diſtinctly my ſentiments on that ſubject.

I SHALL begin with obſerving, that this quality, which we call property, is like many of the imaginary qualities of the peripatetic philoſophy, and vaniſhes upon a more accu⯑rate inſpection into the ſubject, when con⯑ſider'd a-part from our moral ſentiments. 'Tis evident property does not conſiſt in any of the ſenſible qualities of the object. For theſe may continue invariably the ſame, while the property changes. Property, there⯑fore, muſt conſiſt in ſome relation of the object. But 'tis not in its relation with re⯑gard to other external and inanimate objects. For theſe may alſo continue invariably the ſame, while the property changes. This quality, therefore, conſiſts in the relations of objects to intelligent and rational beings. But 'tis not the external and corporeal rela⯑tion, which forms the eſſence of property. For that relation may be the ſame betwixt inanimate objects, or with regard to brute creatures; tho' in thoſe caſes it forms no pro⯑perty. 'Tis, therefore, in ſome internal re⯑lation, that the property conſiſts; that is, [121] in ſome influence, which the external rela⯑tions of the object have on the mind and actions. Thus the external relation, which we call occupation or firſt poſſeſſion, is not of itſelf imagin'd to be the property of the object, but only to cauſe its property. Now 'tis evident, this external relation cauſes no⯑thing in external objects, and has only an influence on the mind, by giving us a ſenſe of duty in abſtaining from that object, and in reſtoring it to the firſt poſſeſſor. Theſe actions are properly what we call juſtice; and conſequently 'tis on that virtue that the nature of property depends, and not the virtue on the property.

IF any one, therefore, wou'd aſſert, that juſtice is a natural virtue, and injuſtice a natural vice, he muſt aſſert, that abſtracting from the notions of property, and right and obligation, a certain conduct and train of actions, in certain external relations of objects, has naturally a moral beauty or deformity, and cauſes an original pleaſure or uneaſineſs. Thus the reſtoring a man's goods to him is conſider'd as virtuous, not becauſe nature has annex'd a certain ſentiment of plea⯑ſure to ſuch a conduct, with regard to the property of others, but becauſe ſhe has an⯑nex'd that ſentiment to ſuch a conduct, with [122] regard to thoſe external objects, of which others have had the firſt or long poſſeſſion, or which they have receiv'd by the conſent of thoſe, who have had firſt or long poſ⯑ſeſſion. If nature has given us no ſuch ſen⯑timent, there is not, naturally, nor antece⯑dent to human conventions, any ſuch thing as property. Now, tho' it ſeems ſufficiently evident, in this dry and accurate conſider⯑ation of the preſent ſubject, that nature has annex'd no pleaſure or ſentiment of appro⯑bation to ſuch a conduct; yet that I may leave as little room for doubt as poſſible, I ſhall ſubjoin a few more arguments to con⯑firm my opinion.

Firſt, If nature had given us a pleaſure of this kind, it wou'd have been as evident and diſcernible as on every other occaſion; nor ſhou'd we have found any difficulty to per⯑ceive, that the conſideration of ſuch actions, in ſuch a ſituation, gives a certain pleaſure and ſentiment of approbation. We ſhou'd not have been oblig'd to have recourſe to notions of property in the definition of ju⯑ſtice, and at the ſame time make uſe of the notions of juſtice in the definition of pro⯑perty. This deceitful method of reaſoning is a plain proof, that there are contain'd in the ſubject ſome obſcurities and difficulties, [123] which we are not able to ſurmount, and which we deſire to evade by this artifice.

Secondly, Thoſe rules, by which pro⯑perties, rights, and obligations are deter⯑min'd, have in them no marks of a natural origin, but many of artifice and contrivance. They are too numerous to have proceeded from nature: They are changeable by hu⯑man laws: And have all of them a direct and evident tendency to public good, and the ſupport of civil ſociety. This laſt cir⯑cumſtance is remarkable upon two accounts. Firſt, becauſe, tho' the cauſe of the eſtab⯑liſhment of theſe laws had been a regard for the public good, as much as the public good is their natural tendency, they wou'd ſtill have been artificial, as being purpoſely contriv'd and directed to a certain end. Secondly, becauſe, if men had been endow'd with ſuch a ſtrong regard for public good, they wou'd never have reſtrain'd themſelves by theſe rules; ſo that the laws of juſtice ariſe from natural principles in a manner ſtill more oblique and artificial. 'Tis ſelf-love which is their real origin; and as the ſelf⯑love of one perſon is naturally contrary to that of another, theſe ſeveral intereſted paſſions are oblig'd to adjuſt themſelves after ſuch a manner as to concur in ſome ſyſtem [124] of conduct and behaviour. This ſyſtem, therefore, comprehending the intereſt of each individual, is of courſe advantageous to the public; tho' it be not intended for that purpoſe by the inventors.

II. IN the ſecond place we may obſerve, that all kinds of vice and virtue run inſenſi⯑bly into each other, and may approach by ſuch imperceptible degrees as will make it very difficult, if not abſolutely impoſſible, to determine when the one ends, and the other begins; and from this obſervation we may derive a new argument for the fore⯑going principle. For whatever may be the caſe, with regard to all kinds of vice and virtue, 'tis certain, that rights, and obliga⯑tions, and property, admit of no ſuch inſen⯑ſible gradation, but that a man either has a full and perfect property, or none at all; and is either entirely oblig'd to perform any action, or lies under no manner of obliga⯑tion. However civil laws may talk of a perfect dominion, and of an imperfect, 'tis eaſy to obſerve, that this ariſes from a fiction, which has no foundation in reaſon, and can never enter into our notions of natural ju⯑ſtice and equity. A man that hires a horſe, tho' but for a day, has as full a right to [125] make uſe of it for that time, as he whom we call its proprietor has to make uſe of it any other day; and 'tis evident, that how⯑ever the uſe may be bounded in time or de⯑gree, the right itſelf is not ſuſceptible of any ſuch gradation, but is abſolute and entire, ſo far as it extends. Accordingly we may ob⯑ſerve, that this right both ariſes and periſhes in an inſtant; and that a man entirely ac⯑quires the property of any object by occu⯑pation, or the conſent of the proprietor; and loſes it by his own conſent; without any of that inſenſible gradation, which is remarkable in other qualities and relations. Since, therefore, this is the caſe with regard to property, and rights, and obligations, I aſk, how it ſtands with regard to juſtice and injuſtice? After whatever manner you an⯑ſwer this queſtion, you run into inextricable difficulties. If you reply, that juſtice and injuſtice admit of degree, and run inſenſibly into each other, you expreſſly contradict the foregoing poſition, that obligation and pro⯑perty are not ſuſceptible of ſuch a gradation. Theſe depend entirely upon juſtice and in⯑juſtice, and follow them in all their varia⯑tions. Where the juſtice is entire, the pro⯑perty is alſo entire: Where the juſtice is im⯑perfect, the property muſt alſo be imperfect. [126] And vice verſa, if the property admit of no ſuch variations, they muſt alſo be incom⯑patible with juſtice. If you aſſent, there⯑fore, to this laſt propoſition, and aſſert, that juſtice and injuſtice are not ſuſceptible of de⯑grees, you in effect aſſert, that they are not naturally either vicious or virtuous; ſince vice and virtue, moral good and evil, and indeed all natural qualities, run inſenſibly into each other, and are, on many occa⯑ſions, undiſtinguiſhable.

AND here it may be worth while to ob⯑ſerve, that tho' abſtract reaſoning, and the general maxims of philoſophy and law eſtab⯑liſh this poſition, that property, and right, and obligation admit not of degrees, yet in our common and negligent way of thinking, we find great difficulty to entertain that opinion, and do even ſecretly embrace the contrary principle. An object muſt either be in the poſſeſſion of one perſon or another. An ac⯑tion muſt either be perform'd or not. The neceſſity there is of chooſing one ſide in theſe dilemmas, and the impoſſibility there often is of finding any juſt medium, oblige us, when we reflect on the matter, to ac⯑knowledge, that all property and obligations are entire. But on the other hand, when we conſider the origin of property and ob⯑ligation, [127] and find that they depend on pub⯑lic utility, and ſometimes on the propenſity of the imagination, which are ſeldom entire on any ſide; we are naturally inclin'd to im⯑agine, that theſe moral relations admit of an inſenſible gradation. Hence it is, that in references, where the conſent of the parties leave the referees entire maſters of the ſub⯑ject, they commonly diſcover ſo much equity and juſtice on both ſides, as induces them to ſtrike a medium, and divide the difference betwixt the parties. Civil judges, who have not this liberty, but are oblig'd to give a deciſive ſentence on ſome one ſide, are often at a loſs how to determine, and are neceſſi⯑tated to proceed on the moſt frivolous rea⯑ſons in the world. Half rights and obliga⯑tions, which ſeem ſo natural in common life, are perfect abſurdities in their tribunal; for which reaſon they are often oblig'd to take half arguments for whole ones, in or⯑der to terminate the affair one way or other.

III. THE third argument of this kind I ſhall make uſe of may be explain'd thus. If we conſider the ordinary courſe of human actions, we ſhall find, that the mind re⯑ſtrains not itſelf by any general and univerſal rules; but acts on moſt occaſions as it is [128] determin'd by its preſent motives and incli⯑nation. As each action is a particular indi⯑vidual event, it muſt proceed from parti⯑cular principles, and from our immediate ſituation within ourſelves, and with reſpect to the reſt of the univerſe. If on ſome oc⯑caſions we extend our motives beyond thoſe very circumſtances, which gave riſe to them, and form ſomething like general rules for our conduct, 'tis eaſy to obſerve, that theſe rules are not perfectly inflexible, but allow of many exceptions. Since, therefore, this is the ordinary courſe of human actions, we may conclude, that the laws of juſtice, be⯑ing univerſal and perfectly inflexible, can never be deriv'd from nature, nor be the immediate offspring of any natural motive or inclination. No action can be either morally good or evil, unleſs there be ſome natural paſſion or motive to impel us to it, or deter us from it; and 'tis evident, that the morality muſt be ſuſceptible of all the ſame variations, which are natural to the paſſion. Here are two perſons, who diſ⯑pute for an eſtate; of whom one is rich, a fool, and a batchelor; the other poor, a man of ſenſe, and has a numerous family: The firſt is my enemy; the ſecond my friend. Whether I be actuated in this affair [129] by a view to public or private intereſt, by friendſhip or enmity, I muſt be induc'd to do my utmoſt to procure the eſtate to the latter. Nor wou'd any conſideration of the right and property of the perſons be able to reſtrain me, were I actuated only by natural motives, without any combination or con⯑vention with others. For as all property de⯑pends on morality; and as all morality de⯑pends on the ordinary courſe of our paſſions and actions; and as theſe again are only directed by particular motives; 'tis evident, ſuch a partial conduct muſt be ſuitable to the ſtricteſt morality, and cou'd never be a violation of property. Were men, there⯑fore, to take the liberty of acting with re⯑gard to the laws of ſociety, as they do in every other affair, they wou'd conduct them⯑ſelves, on moſt occaſions, by particular judg⯑ments, and wou'd take into conſideration the characters and circumſtances of the per⯑ſons, as well as the general nature of the queſtion. But 'tis eaſy to obſerve, that this wou'd produce an infinite confuſion in hu⯑man ſociety, and that the avidity and par⯑tiality of men wou'd quickly bring diſorder into the world, if not reſtrain'd by ſome general and inflexible principles. 'Twas, therefore, with a view to this inconvenience, [130] that men have eſtabliſh'd thoſe principles, and have agreed to reſtrain themſelves by general rules, which are unchangeable by ſpite and favour, and by particular views of private or public intereſt. Theſe rules, then, are artificially invented for a certain purpoſe, and are contrary to the common principles of human nature, which accommodate them⯑ſelves to circumſtances, and have no ſtated invariable method of operation.

NOR do I perceive how I can eaſily be miſtaken in this matter. I ſee evidently, that when any man impoſes on himſelf general inflexible rules in his conduct with others, he conſiders certain objects as their property, which he ſuppoſes to be ſacred and inviolable. But no propoſition can be more evident, than that property is perfectly unintelligible without firſt ſuppoſing juſtice and injuſtice; and that theſe virtues and vices are as unin⯑telligible, unleſs we have motives, inde⯑pendent of the morality, to impel us to juſt actions, and deter us from unjuſt ones. Let thoſe motives, therefore, be what they will, they muſt accommodate themſelves to cir⯑cumſtances, and muſt admit of all the vari⯑ations, which human affairs, in their in⯑ceſſant revolutions, are ſuſceptible of. They are conſequently a very improper foundation [131] for ſuch rigid inflexible rules as the laws of nature; and 'tis evident theſe laws can only be deriv'd from human conventions, when men have perceiv'd the diſorders that reſult from following their natural and variable principles.

UPON the whole, then, we are to con⯑ſider this diſtinction betwixt juſtice and in⯑juſtice, as having two different foundations, viz. that of intereſt, when men obſerve, that 'tis impoſſible to live in ſociety without reſtraining themſelves by certain rules; and that of morality, when this intereſt is once obſerv'd, and men receive a pleaſure from the view of ſuch actions as tend to the peace of ſociety, and an uneaſineſs from ſuch as are contrary to it. 'Tis the voluntary con⯑vention and artifice of men, which makes the firſt intereſt take place; and therefore thoſe laws of juſtice are ſo far to be con⯑ſider'd as artificial. After that intereſt is once eſtabliſh'd and acknowledg'd, the ſenſe of morality in the obſervance of theſe rules follows naturally, and of itſelf; tho' 'tis cer⯑tain, that it is alſo augmented by a new artifice, and that the public inſtructions of politicians, and the private education of pa⯑rents, contribute to the giving a ſenſe of [132] honour and duty in the ſtrict regulation of our actions with regard to the properties of others.

SECT. VII. Of the origin of government.

NOTHING is more certain, than that men are, in a great meaſure, govern'd by intereſt, and that even when they extend their concern beyond themſelves, 'tis not to any great diſtance; nor is it uſual for them, in common life, to look farther than their neareſt friends and acquaintance. 'Tis no leſs certain, that 'tis impoſſible for men to conſult their intereſt in ſo effectual a manner, as by an univerſal and inflexible obſervance of the rules of juſtice, by which alone they can preſerve ſociety, and keep themſelves from falling into that wretched and ſavage condition, which is commonly repreſented as the ſtate of nature. And as this intereſt, which all men have in the upholding of ſociety, and the obſervation of the rules of juſtice, is great, ſo is it palpable and evident, even to the moſt rude and uncultivated of human race; and 'tis almoſt impoſſible for [133] any one, who has had experience of ſociety, to be miſtaken in this particular. Since, therefore, men are ſo ſincerely attach'd to their intereſt, and their intereſt is ſo much concern'd in the obſervance of juſtice, and this intereſt is ſo certain and avow'd; it may be aſk'd, how any diſorder can ever ariſe in ſociety, and what principle there is in human nature ſo powerful as to overcome ſo ſtrong a paſſion, or ſo violent as to ob⯑ſcure ſo clear a knowledge?

IT has been obſerv'd, in treating of the paſſions, that men are mightily govern'd by the imagination, and proportion their affec⯑tions more to the light, under which any object appears to them, than to its real and intrinſic value. What ſtrikes upon them with a ſtrong and lively idea commonly pre⯑vails above what lies in a more obſcure light; and it muſt be a great ſuperiority of value, that is able to compenſate this advantage. Now as every thing, that is contiguous to us, either in ſpace or time, ſtrikes upon us with ſuch an idea, it has a proportional effect on the will and paſſions, and commonly operates with more force than any object, that lies in a more diſtant and obſcure light. Tho' we may be fully convinc'd, that the latter object excels the former, we are not [134] able to regulate our actions by this judg⯑ment; but yield to the ſollicitations of our paſſions, which always plead in favour of whatever is near and contiguous.

THIS is the reaſon why men ſo often act in contradiction to their known intereſt; and in particular why they prefer any trivial ad⯑vantage, that is preſent, to the maintenance of order in ſociety, which ſo much depends on the obſervance of juſtice. The con⯑ſequences of every breach of equity ſeem to lie very remote, and are not able to counter⯑ballance any immediate advantage, that may be reap'd from it. They are, however, never the leſs real for being remote; and as all men are, in ſome degree, ſubject to the ſame weakneſs, it neceſſarily happens, that the violations of equity muſt become very fre⯑quent in ſociety, and the commerce of men, by that means, be render'd very dangerous and uncertain. You have the ſame pro⯑penſion, that I have, in favour of what is contiguous above what is remote. You are, therefore, naturally carried to commit acts of injuſtice as well as me. Your example both puſhes me forward in this way by imi⯑tation, and alſo affords me a new reaſon for any breach of equity, by ſhewing me, that I ſhould be the cully of my integrity, if I [135] alone ſhou'd impoſe on myſelf a ſevere re⯑ſtraint amidſt the licentiouſneſs of others.

THIS quality, therefore, of human na⯑ture, not only is very dangerous to ſociety, but alſo ſeems, on a curſory view, to be in⯑capable of any remedy. The remedy can only come from the conſent of men; and if men be incapable of themſelves to prefer remote to contiguous, they will never con⯑ſent to any thing, which wou'd oblige them to ſuch a choice, and contradict, in ſo ſen⯑ſible a manner, their natural principles and propenſities. Whoever chuſes the means, chuſes alſo the end; and if it be impoſſible for us to prefer what is remote, 'tis equally impoſſible for us to ſubmit to any neceſſity, which wou'd oblige us to ſuch a method of acting.

BUT here 'tis obſervable, that this infir⯑mity of human nature becomes a remedy to itſelf, and that we provide againſt our neg⯑ligence about remote objects, merely be⯑cauſe we are naturally inclin'd to that negli⯑gence. When we conſider any objects at a diſtance, all their minute diſtinctions vaniſh, and we always give the preference to what⯑ever is in itſelf preferable, without conſider⯑ing its ſituation and circumſtances. This gives riſe to what in an improper ſenſe we [136] call reaſon, which is a principle, that is of⯑ten contradictory to thoſe propenſities that diſplay themſelves upon the approach of the object. In reflecting on any action, which I am to perform a twelve-month hence, I al⯑ways reſolve to prefer the greater good, whether at that time it will be more conti⯑guous or remote; nor does any difference in that particular make a difference in my preſent intentions and reſolutions. My di⯑ſtance from the final determination makes all thoſe minute differences vaniſh, nor am I affected by any thing, but the general and more diſcernable qualities of good and evil. But on my nearer approach, thoſe circum⯑ſtances, which I at firſt over-look'd, begin to appear, and have an influence on my conduct and affections. A new inclination to the preſent good ſprings up, and makes it difficult for me to adhere inflexibly to my firſt purpoſe and reſolution. This natural infirmity I may very much regret, and I may endeavour, by all poſſible means, to free my ſelf from it. I may have recourſe to ſtudy and reflection within myſelf; to the advice of friends; to frequent meditation, and re⯑peated reſolution: And having experienc'd how ineffectual all theſe are, I may embrace with pleaſure any other expedient, by which [137] I may impoſe a reſtraint upon myſelf, and guard againſt this weakneſs.

THE only difficulty, therefore, is to find out this expedient, by which men cure their natural weakneſs, and lay themſelves under the neceſſity of obſerving the laws of juſtice and equity, notwithſtanding their violent propenſion to prefer contiguous to remote. 'Tis evident ſuch a remedy can never be ef⯑fectual without correcting this propenſity; and as 'tis impoſſible to change or correct any thing material in our nature, the utmoſt we can do is to change our circumſtances and ſituation, and render the obſervance of the laws of juſtice our neareſt intereſt, and their violation our moſt remote. But this being impracticable with reſpect to all man⯑kind, it can only take place with reſpect to a few, whom we thus immediately intereſt in the execution of juſtice. Theſe are the perſons, whom we call civil magiſtrates, kings and their miniſters, our governors and rulers, who being indifferent perſons to the greateſt part of the ſtate, have no intereſt, or but a remote one, in any act of injuſtice; and be⯑ing ſatisfied with their preſent condition, and with their part in ſociety, have an im⯑mediate intereſt in every execution of juſtice, which is ſo neceſſary to the upholding of [138] ſociety. Here then is the origin of civil go⯑vernment and ſociety. Men are not able radically to cure, either in themſelves or o⯑thers, that narrowneſs of ſoul, which makes them prefer the preſent to the remote. They cannot change their natures. All they can do is to change their ſituation, and render the obſervance of juſtice the immediate in⯑tereſt of ſome particular perſons, and its vio⯑lation their more remote. Theſe perſons, then, are not only induc'd to obſerve thoſe rules in their own conduct, but alſo to con⯑ſtrain others to a like regularity, and inforce the dictates of equity thro' the whole ſociety. And if it be neceſſary, they may alſo inte⯑reſt others more immediately in the execu⯑tion of juſtice, and create a number of offi⯑cers, civil and military, to aſſiſt them in their government.

BUT this execution of juſtice, tho' the principal, is not the only advantage of go⯑vernment. As the violent paſſions hinders men from ſeeing diſtinctly the intereſt they have in an equitable behaviour towards others; ſo it hinders them from ſeeing that equity itſelf, and gives them a remarkable partiality in their own favours. This incon⯑venience is corrected in the ſame manner as that above-mention'd. The ſame perſons, [139] who execute the laws of juſtice, will alſo decide all controverſies concerning them; and being indifferent to the greateſt part of the ſociety, will decide them more equitably than every one wou'd in his own caſe.

BY means of theſe two advantages, in the execution and deciſion of juſtice, men acquire a ſecurity againſt each others weakneſs and paſſion, as well as againſt their own, and under the ſhelter of their governors, begin to taſte at eaſe the ſweets of ſociety and mu⯑tual aſſiſtance. But government extends farther its beneficial influence; and not con⯑tented to protect men in thoſe conventions they make for their mutual intereſt, it often obliges them to make ſuch conventions, and forces them to ſeek their own advantage, by a concurrence in ſome common end or purpoſe. There is no quality in human nature, which cauſes more fatal errors in our conduct, than that which leads us to prefer whatever is pre⯑ſent to the diſtant and remote, and makes us deſire objects more according to their ſituation than their intrinſic value. Two neighbours may agree to drain a meadow, which they poſſeſs in common; becauſe 'tis eaſy for them to know each others mind; and each muſt perceive, that the immediate conſe⯑quence of his failing in his part, is, the [140] abandoning the whole project. But 'tis very difficult, and indeed impoſſible, that a thou⯑ſand perſons ſhou'd agree in any ſuch action; it being difficult for them to concert ſo com⯑plicated a deſign, and ſtill more difficult for them to execute it; while each ſeeks a pre⯑text to free himſelf of the trouble and ex⯑pence, and wou'd lay the whole burden on others. Political ſociety eaſily remedies both theſe inconveniences. Magiſtrates find an immediate intereſt in the intereſt of any con⯑ſiderable part of their ſubjects. They need conſult no body but themſelves to form any ſcheme for the promoting of that intereſt. And as the failure of any one piece in the execution is connected, tho' not immediately, with the failure of the whole, they prevent that failure, becauſe they find no intereſt in it, either immediate or remote. Thus bridges are built; harbours open'd; ramparts rais'd; canals form'd; fleets equip'd; and armies diſciplin'd; every where, by the care of government, which, tho' compos'd of men ſubject to all human infirmities, becomes, by one of the fineſt and moſt ſubtle inven⯑tions imaginable, a compoſition, which is, in ſome meaſure, exempted from all theſe infirmities.

SECT. VIII. Of the ſource of allegiance.

THOUGH government be an inven⯑tion very advantageous, and even in ſome circumſtances abſolutely neceſſary to mankind; it is not neceſſary in all circum⯑ſtances, nor is it impoſſible for men to pre⯑ſerve ſociety for ſome time, without having recourſe to ſuch an invention. Men, 'tis true, are always much inclin'd to prefer pre⯑ſent intereſt to diſtant and remote; nor is it eaſy for them to reſiſt the temptation of any advantage, that they may immediately enjoy, in apprehenſion of an evil, that lies at a diſtance from them: But ſtill this weakneſs is leſs conſpicuous, where the poſſeſſions, and the pleaſures of life are few, and of little value, as they always are in the infancy of ſociety. An Indian is but little tempted to diſpoſſeſs another of his hut, or to ſteal his bow, as being already provided of the ſame advantages; and as to any ſuperior fortune, which may attend one above another in hunting and fiſhing, 'tis only caſual and temporary, and will have but ſmall tendency [142] to diſturb ſociety. And ſo far am I from thinking with ſome philoſophers, that men are utterly incapable of ſociety without government, that I aſſert the firſt rudiments of government to ariſe from quarrels, not among men of the ſame ſociety, but among thoſe of different ſocieties. A leſs degree of riches will ſuffice to this latter effect, than is requiſite for the former. Men fear nothing from public war and violence but the reſiſt⯑ance they meet with, which, becauſe they ſhare it in common, ſeems leſs terrible; and becauſe it comes from ſtrangers, ſeems leſs pernicious in its conſequences, than when they are expos'd ſingly againſt one whoſe commerce is advantageous to them, and without whoſe ſociety 'tis impoſſible they can ſubſiſt. Now foreign war to a ſociety without government neceſſarily produces civil war. Throw any conſiderable goods among men, they inſtantly fall a quarrelling, while each ſtrives to get poſſeſſion of what pleaſes him, without regard to the conſequences. In a foreign war the moſt conſiderable of all goods, life and limbs, are at ſtake; and as every one ſhuns dangerous ports, ſeizes the beſt arms, ſeeks excuſe for the ſlighteſt wounds, the laws, which may be well enough obſerv'd, while men were calm, can [143] now no longer take place, when they are in ſuch commotion.

THIS we find verified in the American tribes, where men live in concord and amity among themſelves without any eſtab⯑liſh'd government; and never pay ſubmiſſion to any of their fellows, except in time of war, when their captain enjoys a ſhadow of authority, which he loſes after their return from the field, and the eſtabliſhment of peace with the neighbouring tribes. This authority, however, inſtructs them in the advantages of government, and teaches them to have recourſe to it, when either by the pillage of war, by commerce, or by any fortuitous inventions, their riches and poſ⯑ſeſſions have become ſo conſiderable as to make them forget, on every emergence, the intereſt they have in the preſervation of peace and juſtice. Hence we may give a plauſible reaſon, among others, why all governments are at firſt monarchical, without any mixture and variety; and why republics ariſe only from the abuſes of monarchy and deſpotic power. Camps are the true mothers of cities; and as war cannot be adminiſtred, by reaſon of the ſuddenneſs of every exi⯑gency, without ſome authority in a ſingle perſon, the ſame kind of authority naturally [144] takes place in that civil government, which ſucceeds the military. And this reaſon I take to be more natural, than the common one deriv'd from patriarchal government, or the authority of a father, which is ſaid firſt to take place in one family, and to accuſtom the members of it to the government of a ſingle perſon. The ſtate of ſociety without government is one of the moſt natural ſtates of men, and muſt ſubſiſt with the con⯑junction of many families, and long after the firſt generation. Nothing but an en⯑creaſe of riches and poſſeſſions cou'd oblige men to quit it; and ſo barbarous and unin⯑ſtructed are all ſocieties on their firſt forma⯑tion, that many years muſt elapſe before theſe can encreaſe to ſuch a degree, as to diſturb men in the enjoyment of peace and concord.

BUT tho' it be poſſible for men to main⯑tain a ſmall uncultivated ſociety without government, 'tis impoſſible they ſhou'd main⯑tain a ſociety of any kind without juſtice, and the obſervance of thoſe three funda⯑mental laws concerning the ſtability of poſ⯑ſeſſion, its tranſlation by conſent, and the performance of promiſes. Theſe are, there⯑fore, antecedent to government, and are ſuppos'd to impoſe an obligation before the [145] duty of allegiance to civil magiſtrates has once been thought of. Nay, I ſhall go far⯑ther, and aſſert, that government, upon its firſt eſtabliſhment, wou'd naturally be ſup⯑pos'd to derive its obligation from thoſe laws of nature, and, in particular, from that con⯑cerning the performance of promiſes. When men have once perceiv'd the neceſſity of government to maintain peace, and execute juſtice, they wou'd naturally aſſemble to⯑gether, wou'd chuſe magiſtrates, determine their power, and promiſe them obedience. As a promiſe is ſuppos'd to be a bond or ſecurity already in uſe, and attended with a moral obligation, 'tis to be conſider'd as the original ſanction of government, and as the ſource of the firſt obligation to obedience. This reaſoning appears ſo natural, that it has become the foundation of our faſhionable ſyſtem of politics, and is in a manner the creed of a party amongſt us, who pride themſelves, with reaſon, on the ſoundneſs of their philoſophy, and their liberty of thought. All men, ſay they, are born free and equal: Government and ſuperiority can only be eſtab⯑liſh'd by conſent: The conſent of men, in eſtabliſhing government, impoſes on them a new obligation, unknown to the laws of na⯑ture. Men, therefore, are bound to obey their [146] magiſtrates, only becauſe they promiſe it; and if they had not given their word, either ex⯑preſsly or tacitly, to preſerve allegiance, it would never have become a part of their moral duty. This concluſion, however, when carried ſo far as to comprehend govern⯑ment in all its ages and ſituations, is entirely erroneous; and I maintain, that tho' the duty of allegiance be at firſt grafted on the obligation of promiſes, and be for ſome time ſupported by that obligation, yet it quickly takes root of itſelf, and has an original obli⯑gation and authority, independent of all contracts. This is a principle of moment, which we muſt examine with care and at⯑tention, before we proceed any farther.

'TIS reaſonable for thoſe philoſophers, who aſſert juſtice to be a natural virtue, and antecedent to human conventions, to reſolve all civil allegiance into the obligation of a promiſe, and aſſert that 'tis our own conſent alone, which binds us to any ſub⯑miſſion to magiſtracy. For as all govern⯑ment is plainly an invention of men, and the origin of moſt governments is known in hiſtory, 'tis neceſſary to mount higher, in order to find the ſource of our political du⯑ties, if we wou'd aſſert them to have any natural obligation of morality. Theſe phi⯑loſophers, [147] therefore, quickly obſerve, that ſociety is an antient as the human ſpecies, and thoſe three fundamental laws of nature as antient as ſociety: So that taking advan⯑tage of the antiquity, and obſcure origin of theſe laws, they firſt deny them to be arti⯑ficial and voluntary inventions of men, and then ſeek to ingraft on them thoſe other duties, which are more plainly artificial. But being once undeceiv'd in this particular, and having found that natural, as well as civil juſtice, derives its origin from human conventions, we ſhall quickly perceive, how fruitleſs it is to reſolve the one into the other, and ſeek, in the laws of nature, a ſtronger foundation for our political duties than in⯑tereſt, and human conventions; while theſe laws themſelves are built on the very ſame foundation. On which ever ſide we turn this ſubject, we ſhall find, that theſe two kinds of duty are exactly on the ſame foot⯑ing, and have the ſame ſource both of their firſt invention and moral obligation. They are contriv'd to remedy like inconveniences, and acquire their moral ſanction in the ſame manner, from their remedying thoſe incon⯑veniences. Theſe are two points, which we we ſhall endeavour to prove as diſtinctly as poſſible.

[148] WE have already ſhewn, that men in⯑vented the three fundamental laws of nature, when they obſerv'd the neceſſity of ſociety to their mutual ſubſiſtance, and found, that 'twas impoſſible to maintain any correſpon⯑dence together, without ſome reſtraint on their natural appetites. The ſame ſelf-love, therefore, which renders men ſo incommo⯑dious to each other, taking a new and more convenient direction, produces the rules of juſtice, and is the firſt motive of their ob⯑ſervance. But when men have obſerv'd, that tho' the rules of juſtice be ſufficient to maintain any ſociety, yet 'tis impoſſible for them, of themſelves, to obſerve thoſe rules, in large and poliſh'd ſocieties; they eſtabliſh government, as a new invention to attain their ends, and preſerve the old, or procure new advantages, by a more ſtrict execution of juſtice. So far, therefore, our civil duties are connected with our natural, that the former are invented chiefly for the ſake of the latter; and that the principal object of government is to conſtrain men to obſerve the laws of nature. In this reſpect, however, that law of nature, concerning the per⯑formance of promiſes, is only compriz'd along with the reſt; and its exact obſervance is to be conſider'd as an effect of the inſti⯑tution [149] of government, and not the obedience to government as an effect of the obligation of a promiſe. Tho' the object of our civil duties be the enforcing of our natural, yet the ^a firſt motive of the invention, as well as performance of both, is nothing but ſelf⯑intereſt: And ſince there is a ſeparate in⯑tereſt in the obedience to government, from that in the performance of promiſes, we muſt alſo allow of a ſeparate obligation. To obey the civil magiſtrate is requiſite to pre⯑ſerve order and concord in ſociety. To per⯑form promiſes is requiſite to beget mutual truſt and confidence in the common offices of life. The ends, as well as the means, are perfectly diſtinct; nor is the one ſubor⯑dinate to the other.

TO make this more evident, let us con⯑ſider, that men will often bind themſelves by promiſes to the performance of what it wou'd have been their intereſt to perform, independent of theſe promiſes; as when they wou'd give others a fuller ſecurity, by ſuper-adding a new obligation of intereſt to that which they formerly lay under. The intereſt in the performance of promiſes, be⯑ſides its moral obligation, is general, avow'd, and of the laſt conſequence in life. Other [150] intereſts may be more particular and doubt⯑ful; and we are apt to entertain a greater ſuſpicion, that men may indulge their hu⯑mour, or paſſion, in acting contrary to them. Here, therefore, promiſes come naturally in play, and are often requir'd for fuller ſatiſ⯑faction and ſecurity. But ſuppoſing thoſe other intereſts to be as general and avow'd as the intereſt in the performance of a pro⯑miſe, they will be regarded as on the ſame footing, and men will begin to repoſe the ſame confidence in them. Now this is ex⯑actly the caſe with regard to our civil duties, or obedience to the magiſtrate; without which no government cou'd ſubſiſt, nor any peace or order be maintain'd in large ſo⯑cieties, where there are ſo many poſſeſſions on the one hand, and ſo many wants, real or imaginary, on the other. Our civil duties, therefore, muſt ſoon detach themſelves from our promiſes, and acquire a ſeparate force and influence. The intereſt in both is of the very ſame kind: 'Tis general, avow'd, and prevails in all times and places. There is, then, no pretext of reaſon for founding the one upon the other; while each of them has a foundation peculiar to itſelf. We might as well reſolve the obligation to ab⯑ſtain from the poſſeſſions of others, into [151] the obligation of a promiſe, as that of alle⯑giance. The intereſts are not more diſtinct in the one caſe than the other. A regard to property is not more neceſſary to natural ſociety, than obedience is to civil ſociety or government; nor is the former ſociety more neceſſary to the being of mankind, than the latter to their well-being and happineſs. In ſhort, if the performance of promiſes be ad⯑vantageous, ſo is obedience to government: If the former intereſt be general, ſo is the latter: If the one intereſt be obvious and avow'd, ſo is the other. And as theſe two rules are founded on like obligations of in⯑tereſt, each of them muſt have a peculiar authority, independent of the other.

BUT 'tis not only the natural obligations of intereſt, which are diſtinct in promiſes and allegiance; but alſo the moral obliga⯑tions of honour and conſcience: Nor does the merit or demerit of the one depend in the leaſt upon that of the other. And in⯑deed, if we conſider the cloſe connexion there is betwixt the natural and moral obli⯑gations, we ſhall find this concluſion to be entirely unavoidable. Our intereſt is always engag'd on the ſide of obedience to magi⯑ſtracy; and there is nothing but a great pre⯑ſent advantage, that can lead us to rebellion, [152] by making us over-look the remote intereſt, which we have in the preſerving of peace and order in ſociety. But tho' a preſent in⯑tereſt may thus blind us with regard to our own actions, it takes not place with regard to thoſe of others; nor hinders them from appearing in their true colours, as highly prejudicial to public intereſt; and to our own in particular. This naturally gives us an un⯑eaſineſs, in conſidering ſuch ſeditious and diſloyal actions, and makes us attach to them the idea of vice and moral deformity. 'Tis the ſame principle, which cauſes us to diſapprove of all kinds of private injuſtice, and in particular of the breach of promiſes. We blame all treachery and breach of faith; becauſe we conſider, that the freedom and extent of human commerce depend entirely on a fidelity with regard to promiſes. We blame all diſloyalty to magiſtrates; becauſe we perceive, that the execution of juſtice, in the ſtability of poſſeſſion, its tranſlation by conſent, and the performance of promiſes, is impoſſible, without ſubmiſſion to govern⯑ment. As there are here two intereſts en⯑tirely diſtinct from each other, they muſt give riſe to two moral obligations, equally ſe⯑parate and independant. Tho' there was no ſuch thing as a promiſe in the world, go⯑vernment [153] wou'd ſtill be neceſſary in all large and civiliz'd ſocieties; and if promiſes had only their own proper obligation, without the ſeparate ſanction of government, they wou'd have but little efficacy in ſuch ſoci⯑eties. This ſeparates the boundaries of our public and private duties, and ſhews that the latter are more dependant on the former, than the former on the latter. Education, and the artifice of politicians, concur to be⯑ſtow a farther morality on loyalty, and to brand all rebellion with a greater degree of guilt and infamy. Nor is it a wonder, that politicians ſhou'd be very induſtrious in in⯑culcating ſuch notions, where their intereſt is ſo particularly concern'd.

LEST thoſe arguments ſhou'd not appear entirely concluſive (as I think they are) I ſhall have recourſe to authority, and ſhall prove, from the univerſal conſent of man⯑kind, that the obligation of ſubmiſſion to government is not deriv'd from any promiſe of the ſubjects. Nor need any one wonder, that tho' I have all along endeavour'd to eſtabliſh my ſyſtem on pure reaſon, and have ſcarce ever cited the judgment even of phi⯑loſophers or hiſtorians on any article, I ſhou'd now appeal to popular authority, and oppoſe the ſentiments of the rabble to any philoſo⯑phical [154] reaſoning. But it muſt be obſerv'd, that the opinions of men, in this caſe, carry with them a peculiar authority, and are, in a great meaſure, infallible. The diſtinction of moral good and evil is founded on the pleaſure or pain, which reſults from the view of any ſentiment, or character; and as that pleaſure or pain cannot be unknown to the perſon who feels it, it follows, ^a that there is juſt ſo much vice or virtue in any character, as every one places in it, and that 'tis impoſſible in this particular we can ever be miſtaken. And tho' our judgments con⯑cerning the origin of any vice or virtue, be not ſo certain as thoſe concerning their de⯑grees; yet, ſince the queſtion in this caſe re⯑gards not any philoſophical origin of an ob⯑ligation, but a plain matter of fact, 'tis not eaſily conceiv'd how we can fall into an error. A man, who acknowledges himſelf to be bound to another, for a certain ſum, muſt certainly know whether it be by his own bond, or that of his father; whether it be of his mere good-will, or for money lent [155] him; and under what conditions, and for what purpoſes he has bound himſelf. In like manner, it being certain, that there is a moral obligation to ſubmit to government, becauſe every one thinks ſo; it muſt be as certain, that this obligation ariſes not from a promiſe; ſince no one, whoſe judgment has not been led aſtray by too ſtrict adherence to a ſyſtem of philoſophy, has ever yet dreamt of aſcribing it to that origin. Neither magiſtrates nor ſubjects have form'd this idea of our civil duties.

WE find, that magiſtrates are ſo far from deriving their authority, and the obligation to obedience in their ſubjects, from the foun⯑dation of a promiſe or original contract, that they conceal, as far as poſſible, from their people, eſpecially from the vulgar, that they have their origin from thence. Were this the ſanction of government, our rulers wou'd never receive it tacitly, which is the utmoſt that can be pretended; ſince what is given tacitly and inſenſibly can never have ſuch influence on mankind, as what is per⯑form'd expreſſly and openly. A tacit pro⯑miſe is, where the will is ſignified by other more diffuſe ſigns than thoſe of ſpeech; but a will there muſt certainly be in the caſe, and that can never eſcape the perſon's no⯑tice, [156] who exerted it, however ſilent or tacit. But were you to aſk the far greateſt part of the nation, whether they had ever conſented to the authority of their rulers, or promis'd to obey them, they wou'd be inclin'd to think very ſtrangely of you; and wou'd cer⯑tainly reply, that the affair depended not on their conſent, but that they were born to ſuch an obedience. In conſequence of this opinion, we frequently ſee them imagine ſuch perſons to be their natural rulers, as are at that time depriv'd of all power and authority, and whom no man, however fooliſh, wou'd voluntarily chuſe; and this merely becauſe they are in that line, which rul'd before, and in that degree of it, which us'd to ſucceed; tho' perhaps in ſo diſtant a period, that ſcarce any man alive cou'd ever have given any promiſe of obedience. Has a government, then, no authority over ſuch as theſe, becauſe they never conſented to it, and wou'd eſteem the very attempt of ſuch a free choice a piece of arrogance and im⯑piety? We find by experience, that it pu⯑niſhes them very freely for what it calls trea⯑ſon and rebellion, which, it ſeems, accord⯑ing to this ſyſtem, reduces itſelf to com⯑mon injuſtice. If you ſay, that by dwelling in its dominions, they in effect conſented to [157] the eſtabliſh'd government; I anſwer, that this can only be, where they think the affair depends on their choice, which few or none, beſide thoſe philoſophers, have ever yet imagin'd. It never was pleaded as an ex⯑cuſe for a rebel, that the firſt act he per⯑form'd, after he came to years of diſcretion, was to levy war againſt the ſovereign of the ſtate; and that while he was a child he cou'd not bind himſelf by his own conſent, and having become a man, ſhow'd plainly, by the firſt act he perform'd, that he had no deſign to impoſe on himſelf any obligation to obedience. We find, on the contrary, that civil laws puniſh this crime at the ſame age as any other, which is criminal, of it⯑ſelf, without our conſent; that is, when the perſon is come to the full uſe of reaſon: Whereas to this crime it ought in juſtice to allow ſome intermediate time, in which a tacit conſent at leaſt might be ſuppos'd. To which we may add, that a man living under an abſolute government, wou'd owe it no allegiance; ſince, by its very nature, it depends not on conſent. But as that is as natural and common a government as any, it muſt certainly occaſion ſome obligation; and 'tis plain from experience, that men, who are ſubjected to it, do always think [158] ſo. This is a clear proof, that we do not commonly eſteem our allegiance to be de⯑riv'd from our conſent or promiſe; and a farther proof is, that when our promiſe is upon any account expreſsly engag'd, we al⯑ways diſtinguiſh exactly betwixt the two obligations, and believe the one to add more force to the other, than in a repetition of the ſame promiſe. Where no promiſe is given, a man looks not on his faith as bro⯑ken in private matters, upon account of rebellion; but keeps thoſe two duties of honour and allegiance perfectly diſtinct and ſeparate. As the uniting of them was thought by theſe philoſophers a very ſubtle invention, this is a convincing proof, that 'tis not a true one; ſince no man can either give a promiſe, or be reſtrain'd by its ſanc⯑tion and obligation unknown to himſelf.

SECT. IX. Of the meaſures of allegiance.

THOSE political writers, who have had recourſe to a promiſe, or origi⯑nal contract, as the ſource of our allegiance to government, intended to eſtabliſh a prin⯑ciple, which is perfectly juſt and reaſonable; [159] tho' the reaſoning, upon which they endea⯑vour'd to eſtabliſh it, was fallacious and ſo⯑phiſtical. They wou'd prove, that our ſub⯑miſſion to government admits of exceptions, and that an egregious tyranny in the rulers is ſufficient to free the ſubjects from all ties of allegiance. Since men enter into ſociety, ſay they, and ſubmit themſelves to govern⯑ment, by their free and voluntary conſent, they muſt have in view certain advantages, which they propoſe to reap from it, and for which they are contented to reſign their na⯑tive liberty. There is, therefore, ſomething mutual engag'd on the part of the magi⯑ſtrate, viz. protection and ſecurity; and 'tis only by the hopes he affords of theſe ad⯑vantages, that he can ever perſuade men to ſubmit to him. But when inſtead of pro⯑tection and ſecurity, they meet with tyranny and oppreſſion, they are free'd from their promiſes, (as happens in all conditional con⯑tracts) and return to that ſtate of liberty, which preceded the inſtitution of govern⯑ment. Men wou'd never be ſo fooliſh as to enter into ſuch engagements as ſhou'd turn entirely to the advantage of others, without any view of bettering their own condition. Whoever propoſes to draw any profit from our ſubmiſſion, muſt engage himſelf, either [160] expreſly or tacitly, to make us reap ſome advantage from his authority; nor ought he to expect, that without the performance of his part we will ever continue in obedience.

I REPEAT it: This concluſion is juſt, tho' the principles be erroneous; and I flat⯑ter myſelf, that I can eſtabliſh the ſame concluſion on more reaſonable principles. I ſhall not take ſuch a compaſs, in eſtabliſh⯑ing our political duties, as to aſſert, that men perceive the advantages of government; that they inſtitute government with a view to thoſe advantages; that this inſtitution re⯑quires a promiſe of obedience; which im⯑poſes a moral obligation to a certain degree, but being conditional, ceaſes to be binding, whenever the other contracting party per⯑forms not his part of the engagement. I perceive, that a promiſe itſelf ariſes entirely from human conventions, and is invented with a view to a certain intereſt. I ſeek, therefore, ſome ſuch intereſt more immedi⯑ately connected with government, and which may be at once the original motive to its in⯑ſtitution, and the ſource of our obedience to it. This intereſt I find to conſiſt in the ſe⯑curity and protection, which we enjoy in political ſociety, and which we can never at⯑tain, when perfectly free and independent. [161] As the intereſt, therefore, is the immediate ſanction of government, the one can have no longer being than the other; and when⯑ever the civil magiſtrate carries his oppreſſion ſo far as to render his authority perfectly intolerable, we are no longer bound to ſub⯑mit to it. The cauſe ceaſes; the effect muſt ceaſe alſo.

SO far the concluſion is immediate and direct, concerning the natural obligation which we have to allegiance. As to the moral obligation, we may obſerve, that the maxim wou'd here be falſe, that when the cauſe ceaſes, the effect muſt ceaſe alſo. For there is a principle of human nature, which we have frequently taken notice of, that men are mightily addicted to general rules, and that we often carry our maxims beyond thoſe reaſons, which firſt induc'd us to eſtabliſh them. Where caſes are ſimilar in many circumſtances, we are apt to put them on the ſame footing, without con⯑ſidering, that they differ in the moſt mate⯑rial circumſtances, and that the reſemblance is more apparent than real. It may, there⯑fore, be thought, that in the caſe of alle⯑giance our moral obligation of duty will not ceaſe, even tho' the natural obligation of intereſt, which is its cauſe, has ceas'd; and [162] that men may be bound by conſcience to ſubmit to a tyrannical government againſt their own and the public intereſt. And indeed, to the force of this argument I ſo far ſubmit, as to acknowledge, that general rules commonly extend beyond the prin⯑ciples, on which they are founded; and that we ſeldom make any exception to them, unleſs that exception have the qualities of a general rule, and be founded on very nu⯑merous and common inſtances. Now this I aſſert to be entirely the preſent caſe. When men ſubmit to the authority of others, 'tis to procure themſelves ſome ſecu⯑rity againſt the wickedneſs and injuſtice of men, who are perpetually carried, by their unruly paſſions, and by their preſent and immediate intereſt, to the violation of all the laws of ſociety. But as this imperfection is inherent in human nature, we know that it muſt attend men in all their ſtates and conditions; and that thoſe, whom we chuſe for rulers, do not immediately become of a ſuperior nature to the reſt of mankind, upon account of their ſuperior power and autho⯑rity. What we expect from them depends not on a change of their nature but of their ſitu⯑ation, when they acquire a more immediate intereſt in the preſervation of order and the [163] execution of juſtice. But beſides that this intereſt is only more immediate in the ex⯑ecution of juſtice among their ſubjects; be⯑ſides this, I ſay, we may often expect, from the irregularity of human nature, that they will neglect even this immediate intereſt, and be tranſported by their paſſions into all the exceſſes of cruelty and ambition. Our ge⯑neral knowledge of human nature, our ob⯑ſervation of the paſt hiſtory of mankind, our experience of preſent times; all theſe cauſes muſt induce us to open the door to exceptions, and muſt make us conclude, that we may reſiſt the more violent effects of ſupreme power, without any crime or injuſtice.

ACCORDINGLY we may obſerve, that this is both the general practice and principle of mankind, and that no nation, that cou'd find any remedy, ever yet ſuffer'd the cruel ravages of a tyrant, or were blam'd for their reſiſtance. Thoſe who took up arms againſt Dionyſius or Nero, or Philip the ſecond, have the favour of every reader in the peruſal of their hiſtory; and nothing but the moſt violent perverſion of common ſenſe can ever lead us to condemn them. 'Tis certain, therefore, that in all our notions of morals we never entertain ſuch an abſurdity as that [164] of paſſive obedience, but make allowances for reſiſtance in the more flagrant inſtances of tyranny and oppreſſion. The general opinion of mankind has ſome authority in all caſes; but in this of morals 'tis perfectly infallible. Nor is it leſs infallible, becauſe men cannot diſtinctly explain the principles, on which it is founded. Few perſons can carry on this train of reaſoning: ‘"Govern⯑ment is a mere human invention for the intereſt of ſociety. Where the tyranny of the governor removes this intereſt, it alſo removes the natural obligation to obe⯑dience. The moral obligation is founded on the natural, and therefore muſt ceaſe where that ceaſes; eſpecially where the ſubject is ſuch as makes us foreſee very many occaſions wherein the natural obli⯑gation may ceaſe, and cauſes us to form a kind of general rule for the regulation of our conduct in ſuch occurrences."’ But tho' this train of reaſoning be too ſubtile for the vulgar, 'tis certain, that all men have an implicit notion of it, and are ſenſible, that they owe obedience to government merely on account of the public intereſt; and at the ſame time, that human nature is ſo ſubject to frailties and paſſions, as may eaſily pervert this inſtitution, and change [165] their governors into tyrants and public ene⯑mies. If the ſenſe of public intereſt were not our original motive to obedience, I wou'd fain aſk, what other principle is there in human nature capable of ſubduing the natural ambition of men, and forcing them to ſuch a ſubmiſſion? Imitation and cuſtom are not ſufficient. For the queſtion ſtill re⯑curs, what motive firſt produces thoſe in⯑ſtances of ſubmiſſion, which we imitate, and that train of actions, which produces the cuſtom? There evidently is no other prin⯑ciple than public intereſt; and if intereſt firſt produces obedience to government, the obligation to obedience muſt ceaſe, when⯑ever the intereſt ceaſes, in any great degree, and in a conſiderable number of inſtances.

SECT. X. Of the objects of allegiance.

BUT tho', on ſome occaſions, it may be juſtifiable, both in ſound politics and morality, to reſiſt ſupreme power, 'tis cer⯑tain, that in the ordinary courſe of human affairs nothing can be more pernicious and criminal; and that beſides the convulſions, [166] which always attend revolutions, ſuch a practice tends directly to the ſubverſion of all government, and the cauſing an univerſal anarchy and confuſion among mankind. As numerous and civiliz'd ſocieties cannot ſub⯑ſiſt without government, ſo government is entirely uſeleſs without an exact obedience. We ought always to weigh the advantages, which we reap from authority, againſt the diſadvantages; and by this means we ſhall become more ſcrupulous of putting in prac⯑tice the doctrine of reſiſtance. The com⯑mon rule requires ſubmiſſion; and 'tis only in caſes of grievous tyranny and oppreſſion, that the exception can take place.

SINCE then ſuch a blind ſubmiſſion is commonly due to magiſtracy, the next queſtion is, to whom it is due, and whom we are to regard as our lawful magiſtrates? In order to anſwer this queſtion, let us re⯑collect what we have already eſtabliſh'd con⯑cerning the origin of government and poli⯑tical ſociety. When men have once expe⯑rienc'd the impoſſibility of preſerving any ſteady order in ſociety, while every one is his own maſter, and violates or obſerves the laws of intereſt, according to his preſent intereſt or pleaſure, they naturally run into the in⯑vention of government, and put it out of [167] their own power, as far as poſſible, to tranſ⯑greſs the laws of ſociety. Government, therefore, ariſes from the voluntary conven⯑tion of men; and 'tis evident, that the ſame convention, which eſtabliſhes government, will alſo determine the perſons who are to govern, and will remove all doubt and am⯑biguity in this particular. And the volun⯑tary conſent of men muſt here have the greater efficacy, that the authority of the magiſtrate does at firſt ſtand upon the foun⯑dation of a promiſe of the ſubjects, by which they bind themſelves to obedience; as in every other contract or engagement. The ſame promiſe, then, which binds them to obedience, ties them down to a particular perſon, and makes him the object of their allegiance.

BUT when government has been eſtabiſh'd on this footing for ſome conſiderable time, and the ſeparate intereſt, which we have in ſubmiſſion, has produc'd a ſeparate ſenti⯑ment of morality, the caſe is entirely alter'd, and a promiſe is no longer able to determine the particular magiſtrate; ſince it is no longer conſider'd as the foundation of go⯑vernment. We naturally ſuppoſe ourſelves born to ſubmiſſion; and imagine, that ſuch particular perſons have a right to command, [168] as we on our part are bound to obey. Theſe notions of right and obligation are deriv'd from nothing but the advantage we reapt from government, which gives us a repugnance to practiſe reſiſtance ourſelves, and makes us diſpleas'd with any inſtance of it in others. But here 'tis remarkable, that in this new ſtate of affairs, the original ſanction of government, which is intereſt, is not admitted to determine the perſons, whom we are to obey, as the original ſanc⯑tion did at firſt, when affairs were on the footing of a promiſe. A promiſe fixes and determines the perſons, without any uncer⯑tainty: But 'tis evident, that if men were to regulate their conduct in this particular, by the view of a peculiar intereſt, either public or private, they wou'd involve them⯑ſelves in endleſs confuſion, and wou'd render all government, in a great meaſure, in⯑effectual. The private intereſt of every one is different; and tho' the public intereſt in itſelf be always one and the ſame, yet it becomes the ſource of as great diſſentions, by reaſon of the different opinions of par⯑ticular perſons concerning it. The ſame in⯑tereſt, therefore, which cauſes us to ſubmit to magiſtracy, makes us renounce itſelf in the choice of our magiſtrates, and binds us [169] down to a certain form of government, and to particular perſons, without allowing us to aſpire to the utmoſt perfection in either. The caſe is here the ſame as in that law of nature concerning the ſtability of poſ⯑ſeſſion. 'Tis highly advantageous, and even abſolutely neceſſary to ſociety, that poſſeſſion ſhou'd be ſtable; and this leads us to the eſtabliſhment of ſuch a rule: But we find, that were we to follow the ſame advantage, in aſſigning particular poſſeſſions to particu⯑lar perſons, we ſhou'd diſappoint our end, and perpetuate the confuſion, which that rule is intended to prevent. We muſt, therefore, proceed by general rules, and re⯑gulate ourſelves by general intereſts, in mo⯑difying the law of nature concerning the ſtability of poſſeſſion. Nor need we fear, that our attachment to this law will diminiſh upon account of the ſeeming frivolouſneſs of thoſe intereſts, by which it is determin'd. The impulſe of the mind is deriv'd from a very ſtrong intereſt; and thoſe other more minute intereſts ſerve only to direct the mo⯑tion, without adding any thing to it, or diminiſhing from it. 'Tis the ſame caſe with government. Nothing is more advan⯑tageous to ſociety than ſuch an invention; and this intereſt is ſufficient to make us em⯑brace [170] it with ardour and alacrity; tho' we are oblig'd afterwards to regulate and direct our devotion to government by ſeveral con⯑ſiderations, which are not of the ſame im⯑portance, and to chuſe our magiſtrates with⯑out having in view any particular advantage from the choice.

THE firſt of thoſe principles I ſhall take notice of, as a foundation of the right of magiſtracy, is that which gives authority to all the moſt eſtabliſh'd governments of the world without exception: I mean, long poſ⯑ſeſſion in any one form of government, or ſucceſſion of princes. 'Tis certain, that if we remount to the firſt origin of every na⯑tion, we ſhall find, that there ſcarce is any race of kings, or form of a commonwealth, that is not primarily founded on uſurpation and rebellion, and whoſe title is not at firſt worſe than doubtful and uncertain. Time alone gives ſolidity to their right; and ope⯑rating gradually on the minds of men, re⯑conciles them to any authority, and makes it ſeem juſt and reaſonable. Nothing cauſes any ſentiment to have a greater influence upon us than cuſtom, or turns our imagina⯑tion more ſtrongly to any object. When we have been long accuſtom'd to obey any ſet of men, that general inſtinct or tendency, [171] which we have to ſuppoſe a moral obligation attending loyalty, takes eaſily this direction, and chuſes that ſet of men for its objects. 'Tis intereſt which gives the general inſtinct; but 'tis cuſtom which gives the particular direction.

AND here 'tis obſervable, that the ſame length of time has a different influence on our ſentiments of morality, according to its different influence on the mind. We natu⯑rally judge of every thing by compariſon; and ſince in conſidering the fate of kingdoms and republics, we embrace a long extent of time, a ſmall duration has not in this caſe a like influence on our ſentiments, as when we conſider any other object. One thinks he acquires a right to a horſe, or a ſuit of cloaths, in a very ſhort time; but a century is ſcarce ſufficient to eſtabliſh any new go⯑vernment, or remove all ſcruples in the minds of the ſubjects concerning it. Add to this, that a ſhorter period of time will ſuffice to give a prince a title to any addi⯑tional power he may uſurp, than will ſerve to fix his right, where the whole is an uſurpation, The kings of France have not been poſſeſs'd of abſolute power for above two reigns; and yet nothing will appear more extravagant to Frenchmen than to talk [172] of their liberties. If we conſider what has been ſaid concerning acceſſion, we ſhall eaſily account for this phaenomenon.

WHEN there is no form of government eſtabliſh'd by long poſſeſſion, the preſent poſſeſſion is ſufficient to ſupply its place, and may be regarded as the ſecond ſource of all public authority. Right to authority is nothing but the conſtant poſſeſſion of autho⯑rity, maintain'd by the laws of ſociety and the intereſts of mankind; and nothing can be more natural than to join this conſtant poſſeſſion to the preſent one, according to the principles above-mention'd. If the ſame principles did not take place with regard to the property of private perſons, 'twas be⯑cauſe theſe principles were counter-ballanc'd by very ſtrong conſiderations of intereſt; when we obſerv'd, that all reſtitution wou'd by that means be prevented, and every vio⯑lence be authoriz'd and protected. And tho' the ſame motives may ſeem to have force, with regard to public authority, yet they are oppos'd by a contrary intereſt; which conſiſts in the preſervation of peace, and the avoiding of all changes, which, how⯑ever they may be eaſily produc'd in private affairs, are unavoidably attended with blood⯑ſhed [173] and confuſion, where the public is intereſted.

ANY one, who finding the impoſſibility of accounting for the right of the preſent poſſeſſor, by any receiv'd ſyſtem of ethics, ſhou'd reſolve to deny abſolutely that right, and aſſert, that it is not authoriz'd by mo⯑rality, wou'd be juſtly thought to maintain a very extravagant paradox, and to ſhock the common ſenſe and judgment of mankind. No maxim is more conformable, both to prudence and morals, than to ſubmit quietly to the government, which we find eſtabliſh'd in the country where we happen to live, without enquiring too curiouſly into its origin and firſt eſtabliſhment. Few govern⯑ments will bear being examin'd ſo rigorouſly. How many kingdoms are there at preſent in the world, and how many more do we find in hiſtory, whoſe governors have no better foundation for their authority than that of preſent poſſeſſion? To confine ourſelves to the Roman and Grecian empire; is it not evident, that the long ſucceſſion of emperors, from the diſſolution of the Roman liberty, to the final extinction of that empire by the Turks, cou'd not ſo much as pretend to any other title to the empire? The election of the ſenate was a mere form, which always [174] follow'd the choice of the legions; and theſe were almoſt always divided in the dif⯑ferent provinces, and nothing but the ſword was able to terminate the difference. 'Twas by the ſword, therefore, that every emperor acquir'd, as well as defended his right; and we muſt either ſay, that all the known world, for ſo many ages, had no govern⯑ment, and ow'd no allegiance to any one, or muſt allow, that the right of the ſtronger, in public affairs, is to be receiv'd as legiti⯑mate, and authoriz'd by morality, when not oppos'd by any other title.

THE right of conqueſt may be conſider'd as a third ſource of the title of ſovereigns. This right reſembles very much that of pre⯑ſent poſſeſſion; but has rather a ſuperior force, being ſeconded by the notions of glory and honour, which we aſcribe to con⯑querors, inſtead of the ſentiments of hatred and deteſtation, which attend uſurpers. Men naturally favour thoſe they love; and there⯑fore are more apt to aſcribe a right to ſuc⯑ceſsful violence, betwixt one ſoverign and another, than to the ſucceſsful rebellion of a ſubject againſt his ſovereign ^a.

[175] WHEN neither long poſſeſſion, nor pre⯑ſent poſſeſſion, nor conqueſt take place, as when the firſt ſovereign, who founded any monarchy, dies; in that caſe, the right of ſucceſſion naturally prevails in their ſtead, and men are commonly induc'd to place the ſon of their late monarch on the throne, and ſuppoſe him to inherit his father's authority. The preſum'd conſent of the fa⯑ther, the imitation of the ſucceſſion to pri⯑vate families, the intereſt, which the ſtate has in chuſing the perſon, who is moſt power⯑ful, and has the moſt numerous followers; all theſe reaſons lead men to prefer the ſon of their late monarch to any other perſon ^b.

THESE reaſons have ſome weight; but I am perſuaded, that to one, who conſiders impartially of the matter, 'twill appear, that there concur ſome principles of the imagina⯑tion, along with thoſe views of intereſt. The royal authority ſeems to be connected with the young prince even in his father's [176] life-time, by the natural tranſition of the thought; and ſtill more after his death: So that nothing is more natural than to com⯑pleat this union by a new relation, and by putting him actually in poſſeſſion of what ſeems ſo naturally to belong to him.

To confirm this we may weigh the fol⯑lowing phaenomena, which are pretty curi⯑ous in their kind. In elective monarchies the right of ſucceſſion has no place by the laws and ſettled cuſtom; and yet its in⯑fluence is ſo natural, that 'tis impoſſible en⯑tirely to exclude it from the imagination, and render the ſubjects indifferent to the ſon of their deceas'd monarch. Hence in ſome governments of this kind, the choice com⯑monly falls on one or other of the royal family; and in ſome governments they are all excluded. Thoſe contrary phaenomena proceed from the ſame principle. Where the royal family is excluded, 'tis from a re⯑finement in politics, which makes people ſenſible of their propenſity to chuſe a ſo⯑vereign in that family, and gives them a jealouſy of their liberty, leſt their new monarch, aided by this propenſity, ſhou'd eſtabliſh his family, and deſtroy the free⯑dom of elections for the future.

[177] THE hiſtory of Artaxerxes, and the younger Cyrus, may furniſh us with ſome reflections to the ſame purpoſe. Cyrus pre⯑tended a right to the throne above his elder brother, becauſe he was born after his father's acceſſion. I do not pretend, that this reaſon was valid. I wou'd only infer from it, that he wou'd never have made uſe of ſuch a pretext, were it not for the qua⯑lities of the imagination above-mention'd, by which we are naturally inclin'd to unite by a new relation whatever objects we find al⯑ready united. Artaxerxes had an advantage above his brother, as being the eldeſt ſon, and the firſt in ſucceſſion: But Cyrus was more cloſely related to the royal authority, as being begot after his father was inveſted with it.

SHOU'D it here be pretended, that the view of convenience may be the ſource of all the right of ſucceſſion, and that men gladly take advantage of any rule, by which they can fix the ſucceſſor of their late ſo⯑vereign, and prevent that anarchy and con⯑fuſion, which attends all new elections: To this I wou'd anſwer, that I readily allow, that this motive may contribute ſomething to the effect; but at the ſame time I aſſert, that without another principle, 'tis impoſſible [178] ſuch a motive ſhou'd take place. The in⯑tereſt of a nation requires, that the ſuc⯑ceſſion to the crown ſhou'd be fix'd one way or other; but 'tis the ſame thing to its in⯑tereſt in what way it be fix'd: So that if the relation of blood had not an effect in⯑dependent of public intereſt, it wou'd never have been regarded, without a poſitive law; and 'twou'd have been impoſſible, that ſo many poſitive laws of different nations cou'd ever have concur'd preciſely in the ſame views and intentions.

THIS leads us to conſider the fifth ſource of authority, viz. poſitive laws; when the legiſlature eſtabliſhes a certain form of go⯑vernment and ſucceſſion of princes. At firſt ſight it may be thought, that this muſt reſolve into ſome of the preceding titles of authority. The legiſlative power, whence the poſitive law is deriv'd, muſt either be eſtabliſh'd by original contract, long poſ⯑ſeſſion, preſent poſſeſſion, conqueſt, or ſuc⯑ceſſion; and conſequently the poſitive law muſt derive its force from ſome of thoſe principles. But here 'tis remarkable, that tho' a poſitive law can only derive its force from theſe principles, yet it acquires not all the force of the principle from whence it is deriv'd, but loſes conſiderably in the tranſi⯑tion; [179] as it is natural to imagine. For in⯑ſtance; a government is eſtabliſh'd for many centuries on a certain ſyſtem of laws, forms, and methods of ſucceſſion. The legiſlative power, eſtabliſh'd by this long ſucceſſion, changes all on a ſudden the whole ſyſtem of government, and introduces a new conſtitu⯑tion in its ſtead. I believe few of the ſub⯑jects will think themſelves bound to comply with this alteration, unleſs it have an evi⯑dent tendency to the public good: But will think themſelves ſtill at liberty to return to the antient government. Hence the notion of fundamental laws; which are ſuppos'd to be inalterable by the will of the ſovereign: And of this nature the Salic law is under⯑ſtood to be in France. How far theſe funda⯑mental laws extend is not determind'd in any government; nor is it poſſible it ever ſhou'd. There is ſuch an inſenſible gradation from the moſt material laws to the moſt trivial, and from the moſt antient laws to the moſt modern, that 'twill be impoſſible to ſet bounds to the legiſlative power, and deter⯑mine how far it may innovate in the prin⯑ciples of government. That is the work more of imagination and paſſion than of reaſon.

[180] WHOEVER conſiders the hiſtory of the ſeveral nations of the world; their revolu⯑tions, conqueſts, increaſe, and diminution; the manner in which their particular go⯑vernments are eſtabliſh'd, and the ſucceſſive right tranſmitted from one perſon to another, will ſoon learn to treat very lightly all diſ⯑putes concerning the rights of princes, and will be convinc'd, that a ſtrict adherence to any general rules, and the rigid loyalty to particular perſons and families, on which ſome people ſet ſo high a value, are virtues that hold leſs of reaſon, than of bigotry and ſuperſtition. In this particular, the ſtudy of hiſtory confirms the reaſonings of true philo⯑ſophy; which, ſhewing us the original quali⯑ties of human nature, teaches us to regard the controverſies in politics as incapable of any deciſion in moſt caſes, and as entirely ſubor⯑dinate to the intereſts of peace and liberty. Where the public good does not evidently demand a change; 'tis certain, that the con⯑currence of all thoſe titles, original contract, long poſſeſſion, preſent poſſeſſion, ſucceſſion, and poſitive laws, forms the ſtrongeſt title to ſovereignty, and is juſtly regarded as ſacred and inviolable. But when theſe titles are mingled and oppos'd in different degrees, [181] they often occaſion perplexity; and are leſs capable of ſolution from the arguments of lawyers and philoſophers, than from the ſwords of the ſoldiery. Who ſhall tell me, for inſtance, whether Germanicus, or Druſus, ought to have ſucceeded Tiberius, had he died while they were both alive, without naming any of them for his ſucceſſor? Ought the right of adoption to be receiv'd as equivalent to that of blood in a nation, where it had the ſame effect in private fami⯑lies, and had already, in two inſtances, taken place in the public? Ought Germanicus to be eſteem'd the eldeſt ſon, becauſe he was born before Druſus; or the younger, becauſe he was adopted after the birth of his brother? Ought the right of the elder to be regarded in a nation, where the eldeſt brother had no advantage in the ſucceſſion to private fami⯑lies? Ought the Roman empire at that time to be eſteem'd hereditary, becauſe of two examples; or ought it, even ſo early, to be regarded as belonging to the ſtronger, or the preſent poſſeſſor, as being founded on ſo recent an uſurpation? Upon whatever prin⯑ciples we may pretend to anſwer theſe and ſuch like queſtions, I am afraid we ſhall never be able to ſatisfy an impartial enquirer, who adopts no party in political controver⯑ſies, [182] and will be ſatisfied with nothing but ſound reaſon and philoſophy.

BUT here an Engliſh reader will be apt to enquire concerning that famous revolu⯑tion, which has had ſuch a happy influence on our conſtitution, and has been attended with ſuch mighty conſequences. We have already remark'd, that in the caſe of enor⯑mous tyranny and oppreſſion, 'tis lawful to take arms even againſt ſupreme power; and that as government is a mere human inven⯑tion for mutual advantage and ſecurity, it no longer impoſes any obligation, either natural or moral, when once it ceaſes to have that tendency. But tho' this general principle be authoriz'd by common ſenſe, and the practice of all ages, 'tis certainly impoſſible for the laws, or even for philo⯑ſophy, to eſtabliſh any particular rules, by which we may know when reſiſtance is lawful; and decide all controverſies, which may ariſe on that ſubject. This may not only happen with regard to ſupreme power; but 'tis poſſible, even in ſome conſtitu⯑tions, where the legiſlative authority is not lodg'd in one perſon, that there may be a magiſtrate ſo eminent and powerful, as to oblige the laws to keep ſilence in this par⯑ticular. [183] Nor wou'd this ſilence be an effect only of their reſpect, but alſo of their pru⯑dence; ſince 'tis certain, that in the vaſt va⯑riety of circumſtances, which occur in all governments, an exerciſe of power, in ſo great a magiſtrate, may at one time be bene⯑ficial to the public, which at another time wou'd be pernicious and tyrannical. But notwithſtanding this ſilence of the laws in limited monarchies, 'tis certain, that the people ſtill retain the right of reſiſtance; ſince 'tis impoſſible, even in the moſt deſ⯑potic governments, to deprive them of it. The ſame neceſſity of ſelf-preſervation, and the ſame motive of public good, give them the ſame liberty in the one caſe as in the other. And we may farther obſerve, that in ſuch mix'd governments, the caſes, wherein reſiſtance is lawful, muſt occur much oftener, and greater indulgence be given to the ſubjects to defend themſelves by force of arms, than in arbitrary govern⯑ments. Not only where the chief magiſtrate enters into meaſures, in themſelves, ex⯑tremely pernicious to the public, but even when he wou'd encroach on the other parts of the conſtitution, and extend his power beyond the legal bounds, it is allowable to reſiſt and dethrone him; tho' ſuch reſiſtance [184] and violence may, in the general tenor of the laws, be deem'd unlawful and rebellious. For beſides that nothing is more eſſential to public intereſt, than the preſervation of public liberty; 'tis evident, that if ſuch a mix'd government be once ſuppos'd to be eſtabliſh'd, every part or member of the conſtitution muſt have a right of ſelf-defence, and of maintaining its antient bounds againſt the encroachment of every other authority. As matter wou'd have been created in vain, were it depriv'd of a power of reſiſtance, without which no part of it cou'd preſerve a diſtinct exiſtence, and the whole might be⯑crowded up into a ſingle point: So 'tis a groſs abſurdity to ſuppoſe, in any govern⯑ment, a right without a remedy, or allow, that the ſupreme power is ſhar'd with the people, without allowing, that 'tis lawful for them to defend their ſhare againſt every invader. Thoſe, therefore, who wou'd ſeem to reſpect our free government, and yet deny the right of reſiſtance, have renounc'd all pretenſions to common ſenſe, and do not merit a ſerious anſwer.

IT does not belong to my preſent pur⯑poſe to ſhew, that theſe general principles are applicable to the late revolution; and that all the rights and privileges, which ought [185] to be ſacred to a free nation, were at that time threaten'd with the utmoſt danger. I am better pleas'd to leave this controverted ſubject, if it really admits of controverſy; and to indulge myſelf in ſome philoſophical reflections, which naturally ariſe from that important event.

Firſt, We may obſerve, that ſhou'd the lords and commons in our conſtitution, with⯑out any reaſon from public intereſt, either depoſe the king in being, or after his death exclude the prince, who, by laws and ſettled cuſtom, ought to ſucceed, no one wou'd eſteem their proceedings legal, or think themſelves bound to comply with them. But ſhou'd the king, by his unjuſt practices, or his attempts for a tyrannical and deſpotic power, juſtly forfeit his legal, it then not only becomes morally lawful and ſuitable to the nature of political ſociety to dethrone him; but what is more, we are apt likewiſe to think, that the remaining members of the conſtitution acquire a right of excluding his next heir, and of chuſing whom they pleaſe for his ſucceſſor. This is founded on a very ſingular quality of our thought and imagi⯑nation. When a king forfeits his authority, his heir ought naturally to remain in the ſame ſituation, as if the king were remov'd [186] by death; unleſs by mixing himſelf in the tyranny, he forfeit it for himſelf. But tho' this may ſeem reaſonable, we eaſily comply with the contrary opinion. The depoſition of a king, in ſuch a government as ours, is certainly an act beyond all common autho⯑rity, and an illegal aſſuming a power for public good, which, in the ordinary courſe of government, can belong to no member of the conſtitution. When the public good is ſo great and ſo evident as to juſtify the action, the commendable uſe of this licence cauſes us naturally to attribute to the parlia⯑ment a right of uſing farther licences; and the antient bounds of the laws being once tranſgreſſed with approbation, we are not apt to be ſo ſtrict in confining ourſelves preciſely within their limits. The mind naturally runs on with any train of action, which it has begun; nor do we commonly make any ſcruple concerning our duty, after the firſt action of any kind, which we perform. Thus at the revolution, no one who thought the depoſition of the father juſtifiable, eſteem'd themſelves to be confin'd to his infant ſon; tho' had that unhappy monarch died innocent at that time, and had his ſon, by any accident, been convey'd beyond ſeas, there is no doubt but a regency wou'd have [187] been appointed till he ſhou'd come to age, and cou'd be reſtor'd to his dominions. As the ſlighteſt properties of the imagination have an effect on the judgments of the people, it ſhews the wiſdom of the laws and of the parliament to take advantage of ſuch properties, and to chuſe the magiſtrates either in or out of a line, according as the vulgar will moſt naturally attribute authority and right to them.

Secondly, Tho' the acceſſion of the Prince of Orange to the throne might at firſt give occaſion to many diſputes, and his title be conteſted, it ought not now to appear doubt⯑ful, but muſt have acquir'd a ſufficient au⯑thority from thoſe three princes, who have ſucceeded him upon the ſame title. No⯑thing is more uſual, tho' nothing may, at firſt ſight, appear more unreaſonable, than this way of thinking. Princes often ſeem to acquire a right from their ſucceſſors, as well as from their anceſtors; and a king, who during his life-time might juſtly be deem'd an uſurper, will be regarded by poſterity as a lawful prince, becauſe he has had the good fortune to ſettle his family on the throne, and entirely change the antient form of government. Julius Caeſar is regarded as the firſt Roman emperor; while Sylla and [188] Marius, whoſe titles were really the ſame as his, are treated as tyrants and uſurpers. Time and cuſtom give authority to all forms of government, and all ſucceſſions of princes; and that power, which at firſt was founded only on injuſtice and violence, becomes in time legal and obligatory. Nor does the mind reſt there; but returning back upon its footſteps, transfers to their predeceſſors and anceſtors that right, which it naturally aſcribes to the poſterity, as being related to⯑gether, and united in the imagination. The preſent king of France makes Hugh Capet a more lawful prince than Cromwell; as the eſtabliſh'd liberty of the Dutch is no incon⯑ſiderable apology for their obſtinate reſiſtance to Philip the ſecond.

SECT. XI. Of the laws of nations.

WHEN civil government has been eſtabliſh'd over the greateſt part of mankind, and different ſocieties have been form'd contiguous to each other, there ariſes a new ſet of duties among the neighbour⯑ing ſtates, ſuitable to the nature of that commerce, which they carry on with each [189] other. Political writers tell us, that in every kind of intercourſe, a body politic is to be conſider'd as one perſon; and indeed this aſſertion is ſo far juſt, that different nations, as well as private perſons, require mutual aſſiſtance; at the ſame time that their ſelfiſh⯑neſs and ambition are perpetual ſources of war and diſcord. But tho' nations in this particular reſemble individuals, yet as they are very different in other reſpects, no wonder they regulate themſelves by different maxims, and give riſe to a new ſet of rules, which we call the laws of nations. Under this head we may comprize the ſacredneſs of the perſons of ambaſſadors, the declaration of war, the abſtaining from poiſon'd arms, with other duties of that kind, which are evidently calculated for the commerce, that is peculiar to different ſocieties.

BUT tho' theſe rules be ſuper-added to the laws of nature, the former do not en⯑tirely aboliſh the latter; and one may ſafely affirm, that the three fundamental rules of juſtice, the ſtability of poſſeſſion, its tranſ⯑ference by conſent, and the performance of promiſes, are duties of princes, as well as of ſubjects. The ſame intereſt produces the ſame effect in both caſes. Where poſſeſſion has no ſtability, there muſt be perpetual [190] war. Where property is not transferr'd by conſent, there can be no commerce. Where promiſes are not obſerv'd, there can be no leagues nor alliances. The advantages, therefore, of peace, commerce, and mutual ſuccour, make us extend to different king⯑doms the ſame notions of juſtice, which take place among individuals.

THERE is a maxim very current in the world, which few politicians are willing to avow, but which has been authoriz'd by the practice of all ages, that there is a ſyſtem of morals calculated for princes, much more free than that which ought to govern private perſons. 'Tis evident this is not to be underſtood of the leſſer extent of public duties and obligations; nor will any one be ſo extravagant as to aſſert, that the moſt ſolemn treaties ought to have no force among princes. For as princes do actually form treaties among themſelves, they muſt pro⯑poſe ſome advantage from the execution of them; and the proſpect of ſuch advantage for the future muſt engage them to perform their part, and muſt eſtabliſh that law of nature. The meaning, therefore, of this political maxim is, that tho' the morality of princes has the ſame extent, yet it has not the ſame force as that of private perſons, [191] and may lawfully be tranſgreſs'd from a more trivial motive. However ſhocking ſuch a propoſition may appear to certain philoſophers, 'twill be eaſy to defend it upon thoſe principles, by which we have ac⯑counted for the origin of juſtice and equity.

WHEN men have found by experience, that 'tis impoſſible to ſubſiſt without ſociety, and that 'tis impoſſible to maintain ſociety, while they give free courſe to their appetites; ſo urgent an intereſt quickly reſtrains their actions, and impoſes an obligation to obſerve thoſe rules, which we call the laws of juſtice. This obligation of intereſt reſts not here; but by the neceſſary courſe of the paſſions and ſentiments, gives riſe to the moral obli⯑gation of duty; while we approve of ſuch actions as tend to the peace of ſociety, and diſapprove of ſuch as tend to its diſturbance. The ſame natural obligation of intereſt takes place among independent kingdoms, and gives riſe to the ſame morality; ſo that no one of ever ſo corrupt morals will ap⯑prove of a prince, who voluntarily, and of his own accord, breaks his word, or violates any treaty. But here we may obſerve, that tho' the intercourſe of different ſtates be ad⯑vantageous, and even ſometimes neceſſary, yet it is not ſo neceſſary nor advantageous as [192] that among individuals, without which 'tis utterly impoſſible for human nature ever to ſubſiſt. Since, therefore, the natural obli⯑gation to juſtice, among different ſtates, is not ſo ſtrong as among individuals, the mo⯑ral obligation, which ariſes from it, muſt partake of its weakneſs; and we muſt neceſ⯑ſarily give a greater indulgence to a prince or miniſter, who deceives another; than to a private gentleman, who breaks his word of honour.

SHOU'D it be aſk'd, what proportion theſe two ſpecies of morality bear to each other? I wou'd anſwer, that this is a queſtion, to which we can never give any preciſe anſwer; nor is it poſſible to reduce to numbers the proportion, which we ought to fix betwixt them. One may ſafely affirm, that this proportion finds itſelf, without any art or ſtudy of men; as we may obſerve on many other occaſions. The practice of the world goes farther in teaching us the degrees of our duty, than the moſt ſubtile philoſophy, which was ever yet invented. And this may ſerve as a convincing proof, that all men have an implicit notion of the foundation of thoſe moral rules concerning natural and civil ju⯑ſtice, and are ſenſible, that they ariſe merely from human conventions, and from the in⯑tereſt, [193] which we have in the preſervation of peace and order. For otherwiſe the dimi⯑nution of the intereſt wou'd never produce a relaxation of the morality, and reconcile us more eaſily to any tranſgreſſion of juſtice among princes and republics, than in the private commerce of one ſubject with ano⯑ther.

SECT. XII. Of chaſtity and modeſty.

IF any difficulty attend this ſyſtem con⯑cerning the laws of nature and nations, 'twill be with regard to the univerſal appro⯑bation or blame, which follows their ob⯑ſervance or tranſgreſſion, and which ſome may not think ſufficiently explain'd from the general intereſts of ſociety. To remove, as far as poſſible, all ſcruples of this kind, I ſhall here conſider another ſet of duties, viz. the modeſty and chaſtity which belong to the fair ſex: And I doubt not but theſe virtues will be found to be ſtill more con⯑ſpicuous inſtances of the operation of thoſe principles, which I have inſiſted on.

[194] THERE are ſome philoſophers, who at⯑tack the female virtues with great vehe⯑mence, and fancy they have gone very far in detecting popular errors, when they can ſhow, that there is no foundation in nature for all that exterior modeſty, which we re⯑quire in the expreſſions, and dreſs, and be⯑haviour of the fair ſex. I believe I may ſpare myſelf the trouble of inſiſting on ſo obvious a ſubject, and may proceed, with⯑out farther preparation, to examine after what manner ſuch notions ariſe from educa⯑tion, from the voluntary conventions of men, and from the intereſt of ſociety.

WHOEVER conſiders the length and feebleneſs of human infancy, with the con⯑cern which both ſexes naturally have for their offspring, will eaſily perceive, that there muſt be an union of male and female for the education of the young, and that this union muſt be of conſiderable dura⯑tion. But in order to induce the men to impoſe on themſelves this reſtraint, and un⯑dergo chearfully all the fatigues and expences, to which it ſubjects them, they muſt be⯑lieve, that the children are their own, and that their natural inſtinct is not directed to a wrong object, when they give a looſe to love and tenderneſs. Now if we examine [195] the ſtructure of the human body, we ſhall find, that this ſecurity is very difficult to be attain'd on our part; and that ſince, in the copulation of the ſexes, the principle of generation goes from the man to the wo⯑man, an error may eaſily take place on the ſide of the former, tho' it be utterly im⯑poſſible with regard to the latter. From this trivial and anatomical obſervation is deriv'd that vaſt difference betwixt the education and duties of the two ſexes.

WERE a philoſopher to examine the matter a priori, he wou'd reaſon after the following manner. Men are induc'd to la⯑bour for the maintenance and education of their children, by the perſuaſion that they are really their own; and therefore 'tis rea⯑ſonable, and even neceſſary, to give them ſome ſecurity in this particular. This ſecu⯑rity cannot conſiſt entirely in the impoſing of ſevere puniſhments on any tranſgreſſions of conjugal fidelity on the part of the wife; ſince theſe public puniſhments cannot be inflicted without legal proof, which 'tis diffi⯑cult to meet with in this ſubject. What reſtraint, therefore, ſhall we impoſe on wo⯑men, in order to counter-balance ſo ſtrong a temptation as they have to fidelity? There ſeems to be no reſtraint poſſible, but in the [196] puniſhment of bad fame or reputation; a puniſhment, which has a mighty influence on the human mind, and at the ſame time is inflicted by the world upon ſurmizes, and conjectures, and proofs, that wou'd never be receiv'd in any court of judicature. In order, therefore, to impoſe a due reſtraint on the female ſex, we muſt attach a pecu⯑liar degree of ſhame to their infidelity, above what ariſes merely from its injuſtice, and muſt beſtow proportionable praiſes on their chaſtity.

BUT tho' this be a very ſtrong motive to fidelity, our philoſopher wou'd quickly diſ⯑cover, that it wou'd not alone be ſufficient to that purpoſe. All human creatures, eſpe⯑cially of the female ſex, are apt to over-look remote motives in favour of any preſent temptation: The temptation is here the ſtrongeſt imaginable: Its approaches are in⯑ſenſible and ſeducing: And a woman eaſily finds, or flatters herſelf ſhe ſhall find, cer⯑tain means of ſecuring her reputation, and preventing all the pernicious conſequences of her pleaſures. 'Tis neceſſary, therefore, that, beſide the infamy attending ſuch licences, there ſhou'd be ſome preceding backwardneſs or dread, which may prevent their firſt ap⯑proaches, and may give the female ſex a [197] repugnance to all expreſſions, and poſtures, and liberties, that have an immediate rela⯑tion to that enjoyment.

SUCH wou'd be the reaſonings of our ſpeculative philoſopher: But I am perſuaded, that if he had not a perfect knowledge of human nature, he wou'd be apt to regard them as mere chimerical ſpeculations, and wou'd conſider the infamy attending infide⯑lity, and backwardneſs to all its approaches, as principles that were rather to be wiſh'd than hop'd for in the world. For what means, wou'd he ſay, of perſuading man⯑kind, that the tranſgreſſions of conjugal duty are more infamous than any other kind of injuſtice, when 'tis evident they are more excuſable, upon account of the greatneſs of the temptation? And what poſſibility of giving a backwardneſs to the approaches of a pleaſure, to which nature has inſpir'd ſo ſtrong a propenſity; and a propenſity that 'tis abſolutely neceſſary in the end to comply with, for the ſupport of the ſpecies?

BUT ſpeculative reaſonings, which coſt ſo much pains to philoſophers, are often form'd by the world naturally, and without reflection: As difficulties, which ſeem un⯑ſurmountable in theory, are eaſily got over in practice. Thoſe, who have an intereſt [198] in the fidelity of women, naturally diſ⯑approve of their infidelity, and all the ap⯑proaches to it. Thoſe, who have no in⯑tereſt, are carried along with the ſtream. Education takes poſſeſſion of the ductile minds of the fair ſex in their infancy. And when a general rule of this kind is once eſtabliſh'd, men are apt to extend it beyond thoſe principles, from which it firſt aroſe. Thus batchelors, however debauch'd, cannot chuſe but be ſhock'd with any inſtance of lewdneſs or impudence in women. And tho' all theſe maxims have a plain reference to generation, yet women paſt child-bearing have no more privilege in this reſpect, than thoſe who are in the flower of their youth and beauty. Men have undoubtedly an im⯑plicit notion, that all thoſe ideas of modeſty and decency have a regard to generation; ſince they impoſe not the ſame laws, with the ſame force, on the male ſex, where that reaſon takes not place. The exception is there obvious and extenſive, and founded on a remarkable difference, which produces a clear ſeparation and disjunction of ideas. But as the caſe is not the ſame with regard to the different ages of women, for this reaſon, tho' men know, that theſe notions are founded on the public intereſt, yet the [199] general rule carries us beyond the original principle, and makes us extend the notions of modeſty over the whole ſex, from their earlieſt infancy to their extremeſt old-age and infirmity.

COURAGE, which is the point of honour among men, derives its merit, in a great meaſure, from artifice, as well as the chaſtity of women; tho' it has alſo ſome foundation in nature, as we ſhall ſee afterwards.

AS to the obligations which the male ſex lie under, with regard to chaſtity, we may obſerve, that according to the general notions of the world, they bear nearly the ſame proportion to the obligations of women, as the obligations of the law of nations do to thoſe of the law of nature. 'Tis con⯑trary to the intereſt of civil ſociety, that men ſhou'd have an entire liberty of in⯑dulging their appetites in venereal enjoyment: But as this intereſt is weaker than in the caſe of the female ſex, the moral obligation, ariſing from it, muſt be proportionably weaker. And to prove this we need only appeal to the practice and ſentiments of all nations and ages.

SECT. I. Of the origin of the natural virtues and vices.

WE come now to the examination of ſuch virtues and vices as are entirely natural, and have no dependance on the ar⯑tifice and contrivance of men. The exami⯑nation of theſe will conclude this ſyſtem of morals.

THE chief ſpring or actuating principle of the human mind is pleaſure or pain; and when theſe ſenſations are remov'd, both from our thought and feeling, we are, in a great meaſure, incapable of paſſion or action, of deſire or volition. The moſt immediate effects of pleaſure and pain are the propenſe [202] and averſe motions of the mind; which are diverſified into volition, into deſire and aver⯑ſion, grief and joy, hope and fear, accord⯑ing as the pleaſure or pain changes its ſitu⯑ation, and becomes probable or improbable, certain or uncertain, or is conſider'd as out of our power for the preſent moment. But when along with this, the objects, that cauſe pleaſure or pain, acquire a relation to our⯑ſelves or others; they ſtill continue to excite deſire and averſion, grief and joy: But cauſe, at the ſame time, the indirect paſſions of pride or humility, love or hatred, which in this caſe have a double relation of im⯑preſſions and ideas to the pain or pleaſure.

WE have already obſerv'd, that moral diſtinctions depend entirely on certain pe⯑culiar ſentiments of pain and pleaſure, and that whatever mental quality in ourſelves or others gives us a ſatisfaction, by the ſurvey or reflection, is of courſe virtuous; as every thing of this nature, that gives uneaſineſs, is vicious. Now ſince every quality in our⯑ſelves or others, which gives pleaſure, al⯑ways cauſes pride or love; as every one, that produces uneaſineſs, excites humility or ha⯑tred: It follows, that theſe two particulars are to be conſider'd as equivalent, with regard to our mental qualities, virtue and the power [203] of producing love or pride, vice and the power of producing humility or hatred. In every caſe, therefore, we muſt judge of the one by the other; and may pronounce any quality of the mind virtuous, which cauſes love or pride; and any one vicious, which cauſes hatred or humility.

IF any action be either virtuous or vicious, 'tis only as a ſign of ſome quality or cha⯑racter. It muſt depend upon durable prin⯑ciples of the mind, which extend over the whole conduct, and enter into the perſonal character. Actions themſelves, not proceed⯑ing from any conſtant principle, have no influence on love or hatred, pride or humi⯑mility; and conſequently are never con⯑ſider'd in morality.

THIS reflection is ſelf-evident, and de⯑ſerves to be attended to, as being of the ut⯑moſt importance in the preſent ſubject. We are never to conſider any ſingle action in our enquiries concerning the origin of morals; but only the quality or character from which the action proceeded. Theſe alone are dura⯑ble enough to affect our ſentiments concern⯑ing the perſon. Actions are, indeed, better indications of a character than words, or even wiſhes and ſentiments; but 'tis only ſo far as they are ſuch indications, that they [204] are attended with love or hatred, praiſe or blame.

TO diſcover the true origin of morals, and of that love or hatred, which ariſes from mental qualities, we muſt take the matter pretty deep, and compare ſome principles, which have been already examin'd and ex⯑plain'd.

WE may begin with conſidering a-new the nature and force of ſympathy. The minds of all men are ſimilar in their feelings and operations; nor can any one be actuated by any affection, of which all others are not, in ſome degree, ſuſceptible. As in ſtrings equally wound up, the motion of one communicates itſelf to the reſt; ſo all the affections readily paſs from one perſon to another, and beget correſpondent move⯑ments in every human creature. When I ſee the effects of paſſion in the voice and geſture of any perſon, my mind imme⯑diately paſſes from theſe effects to their cauſes, and forms ſuch a lively idea of the paſſion, as is preſently converted into the paſſion itſelf. In like manner, when I per⯑ceive the cauſes of any emotion, my mind is convey'd to the effects, and is actuated with a like emotion. Were I preſent at any of the more terrible operations of ſurgery, [205] 'tis certain, that even before it begun, the preparation of the inſtruments, the laying of the bandages in order, the heating of the irons, with all the ſigns of anxiety and con⯑cern in the patient and aſſiſtants, wou'd have a great effect upon my mind, and excite the ſtrongeſt ſentiments of pity and terror. No paſſion of another diſcovers itſelf immedi⯑ately to the mind. We are only ſenſible of its cauſes or effects. From theſe we in⯑fer the paſſion: And conſequently theſe give riſe to our ſympathy.

OUR ſenſe of beauty depends very much on this principle; and where any object has a tendency to produce pleaſure in its poſſeſſor, it is always regarded as beautiful; as every object, that has a tendency to produce pain, is diſagreeable and deform'd. Thus the con⯑veniency of a houſe, the fertility of a field, the ſtrength of a horſe, the capacity, ſecu⯑rity, and ſwift-ſailing of a veſſel, form the principal beauty of theſe ſeveral objects. Here the object, which is denominated beau⯑tiful, pleaſes only by its tendency to pro⯑duce a certain effect. That effect is the pleaſure or advantage of ſome other perſon. Now the pleaſure of a ſtranger, for whom we have no friendſhip, pleaſes us only by ſympathy. To this principle, therefore, is [206] owing the beauty, which we find in every thing that is uſeful. How conſiderable a part this is of beauty will eaſily appear upon reflection. Wherever an object has a ten⯑dency to produce pleaſure in the poſſeſſor, or in other words, is the proper cauſe of pleaſure, it is ſure to pleaſe the ſpectator, by a delicate ſympathy with the poſſeſſor. Moſt of the works of art are eſteem'd beau⯑tiful, in proportion to their fitneſs for the uſe of man, and even many of the pro⯑ductions of nature derive their beauty from that ſource. Handſome and beautiful, on moſt occaſions, is not an abſolute but a re⯑lative quality, and pleaſes us by nothing but its tendency to produce an end that is agreeable ^a.

THE ſame principle produces, in many in⯑ſtances, our ſentiments of morals, as well as thoſe of beauty. No virtue is more eſteem'd than juſtice, and no vice more deteſted than injuſtice; nor are there any qualities, which go farther to the fixing the character, either as amiable or odious. Now juſtice is a mo⯑ral virtue, merely becauſe it has that tendency [207] to the good of mankind; and, indeed, is no⯑thing but an artificial invention to that pur⯑poſe. The ſame may be ſaid of allegiance, of the laws of nations, of modeſty, and of good-manners. All theſe are mere human contrivances for the intereſt of ſociety. And ſince there is a very ſtrong ſentiment of mo⯑rals, which, in all nations, and all ages, has attended them, we muſt allow, that the re⯑flecting on the tendency of characters and mental qualities, is ſufficient to give us the ſentiments of approbation and blame. Now as the means to an end can only be agree⯑able, where the end is agreeable; and as the good of ſociety, where our own intereſt is not concern'd, or that of our friends, pleaſes only by ſympathy: It follows, that ſympa⯑thy is the ſource of the eſteem, which we pay to all the artificial virtues.

THUS it appears, that ſympathy is a very powerful principle in human nature, that it has a great influence on our taſte of beauty, and that it produces our ſentiment of morals in all the artificial virtues. From thence we may preſume, that it alſo gives riſe to many of the other virtues; and that quali⯑ties acquire our approbation, becauſe of their tendency to the good of mankind. This pre⯑ſumption muſt become a certainty, when we [208] find that moſt of thoſe qualities, which we naturally approve of, have actually that ten⯑dency, and render a man a proper member of ſociety: While the qualities, which we naturally diſapprove of, have a contrary ten⯑dency, and render any intercourſe with the perſon dangerous or diſagreeable. For hav⯑ing found, that ſuch tendencies have force enough to produce the ſtrongeſt ſentiment of morals, we can never reaſonably, in theſe caſes, look for any other cauſe of approba⯑tion or blame; it being an inviolable maxim in philoſophy, that where any particular cauſe is ſufficient for an effect, we ought to reſt ſatisfied with it, and ought not to multiply cauſes without neceſſity. We have happily attain'd experiments in the artificial virtues, where the tendency of qualities to the good of ſociety, is the ſole cauſe of our approba⯑tion, without any ſuſpicion of the concur⯑rence of another principle. From thence we learn the force of that principle. And where that principle may take place, and the qua⯑lity approv'd of is really beneficial to ſociety, a true philoſopher will never require any other principle to account for the ſtrongeſt appro⯑bation and eſteem.

THAT many of the natural virtues have this tendency to the good of ſociety, no one [209] can doubt of. Meekneſs, beneficence, cha⯑rity, generoſity, clemency, moderation, equi⯑ty, bear the greateſt figure among the moral qualities, and are commonly denominated the ſocial virtues, to mark their tendency to the good of ſociety. This goes ſo far, that ſome philoſophers have repreſented all moral diſtinctions as the effect of artifice and edu⯑cation, when ſkilful politicians endeavour'd to reſtrain the turbulent paſſions of men, and make them operate to the public good, by the notions of honour and ſhame. This ſy⯑ſtem, however, is not conſiſtent with ex⯑perience. For, firſt, there are other virtues and vices beſide thoſe which have this ten⯑dency to the public advantage and loſs. Se⯑condly, had not men a natural ſentiment of approbation and blame, it cou'd never be ex⯑cited by politicians; nor wou'd the words laudable and praiſe-worthy, blameable and odious, be any more intelligible, than if they were a language perfectly unknown to us, as we have already obſerv'd. But tho' this ſy⯑ſtem be erroneous, it may teach us, that mo⯑ral diſtinctions ariſe, in a great meaſure, from the tendency of qualities and characters to the intereſts of ſociety, and that 'tis our con⯑cern for that intereſt, which makes us ap⯑prove or diſapprove of them. Now we [210] have no ſuch extenſive concern for ſociety but from ſympathy; and conſequently 'tis that principle, which takes us ſo far out of our⯑ſelves, as to give us the ſame pleaſure or uneaſineſs in the characters of others, as if they had a tendency to our own advantage or loſs.

THE only difference betwixt the natural virtues and juſtice lies in this, that the good, which reſults from the former, ariſes from every ſingle act, and is the object of ſome natural paſſion: Whereas a ſingle act of juſtice, conſider'd in itſelf, may often be contrary to the public good; and 'tis only the concurrence of mankind, in a general ſcheme or ſyſtem of action, which is advan⯑tageous. When I relieve perſons in diſtreſs, my natural humanity is my motive; and ſo far as my ſuccour extends, ſo far have I promoted the happineſs of my fellow-crea⯑tures. But if we examine all the queſtions, that come before any tribunal of juſtice, we ſhall find, that, conſidering each caſe apart, it wou'd as often be an inſtance of humanity to decide contrary to the laws of juſtice as conformable them. Judges take from a poor man to give to a rich; they beſtow on the diſſolute the labour of the induſtrious; and put into the hands of the vicious the means [211] of harming both themſelves and others. The whole ſcheme, however, of law and juſtice is advantageous to the ſociety; and 'twas with a view to this advantage, that men, by their voluntary conventions, eſtab⯑liſh'd it. After it is once eſtabliſh'd by theſe conventions, it is naturally attended with a ſtrong ſentiment of morals; which can proceed from nothing but our ſympathy with the intereſts of ſociety. We need no other explication of that eſteem, which at⯑tends ſuch of the natural virtues, as have a tendency to the public good.

I MUST farther add, that there are ſeveral circumſtances, which render this hypotheſis much more probable with regard to the natural than the artificial virtues. 'Tis cer⯑tain, that the imagination is more affected by what is particular, than by what is gene⯑ral; and that the ſentiments are always mov'd with difficulty, where their objects are, in any degree, looſe and undetermin'd: Now every particular act of juſtice is not beneficial to ſociety, but the whole ſcheme or ſyſtem: And it may not, perhaps, be any individual perſon, for whom we are concern'd, who receives benefit from juſtice, but the whole ſociety alike. On the con⯑trary, every particular act of generoſity, or [212] relief of the induſtrious and indigent, is beneficial; and is beneficial to a particular perſon, who is not undeſerving of it. 'Tis more natural, therefore, to think, that the tendencies of the latter virtue will affect our ſentiments, and command our approbation, than thoſe of the former; and therefore, ſince we find, that the approbation of the former ariſes from their tendencies, we may aſcribe, with better reaſon, the ſame cauſe to the approbation of the latter. In any number of ſimilar effects, if a cauſe can be diſcover'd for one, we ought to extend that cauſe to all the other effects, which can be accounted for by it: But much more, if theſe other effects be attended with peculiar circumſtances, which facilitate the operation of that cauſe.

BEFORE I proceed farther, I muſt ob⯑ſerve two remarkable circumſtances in this affair, which may ſeem objections to the preſent ſyſtem. The firſt may be thus ex⯑plain'd. When any quality, or character, has a tendency to the good of mankind, we are pleas'd with it, and approve of it; be⯑cauſe it preſents the lively idea of pleaſure; which idea affects us by ſympathy, and is itſelf a kind of pleaſure. But as this ſym⯑pathy is very variable, it may be thought, [213] that our ſentiments of morals muſt admit of all the ſame variations. We ſympathize more with perſons contiguous to us, than with perſons remote from us: With our acquaint⯑ance, than with ſtrangers: With our coun⯑trymen, than with foreigners. But notwith⯑ſtanding this variation of our ſympathy, we give the ſame approbation to the ſame moral qualities in China as in England. They appear equally virtuous, and recommend themſelves equally to the eſteem of a judi⯑cious ſpectator. The ſympathy varies with⯑out a variation in our eſteem. Our eſteem, therefore, proceeds not from ſympathy.

TO this I anſwer: The approbation of moral qualities moſt certainly is not deriv'd from reaſon, or any compariſon of ideas; but proceeds entirely from a moral taſte, and from certain ſentiments of pleaſure or diſ⯑guſt, which ariſe upon the contemplation and view of particular qualities or characters. Now 'tis evident, that thoſe ſentiments, whence-ever they are deriv'd, muſt vary according to the diſtance or contiguity of the objects; nor can I feel the ſame lively pleaſure from the virtues of a perſon, who liv'd in Greece two thouſand years ago, that I feel from the virtues of a familiar friend and acquaintance. Yet I do not ſay, that I [214] eſteem the one more than the other: And therefore, if the variation of the ſentiment, without a variation of the eſteem, be an objection, it muſt have equal force againſt every other ſyſtem, as againſt that of ſym⯑pathy. But to conſider the matter a-right, it has no force at all; and 'tis the eaſieſt matter in the world to account for it. Our ſituation, with regard both to perſons and things, is in continual fluctuation; and a man, that lies at a diſtance from us, may, in a little time, become a familiar acquaint⯑ance. Beſides, every particular man has a peculiar poſition with regard to others; and 'tis impoſſible we cou'd ever converſe toge⯑ther on any reaſonable terms, were each of us to conſider characters and perſons, only as they appear from his peculiar point of view. In order, therefore, to prevent thoſe con⯑tinual contradictions, and arrive at a more ſtable judgment of things, we fix on ſome ſteady and general points of view; and al⯑ways, in our thoughts, place ourſelves in them, whatever may be our preſent ſituation. In like manner, external beauty is deter⯑min'd merely by pleaſure; and 'tis evident, a beautiful countenance cannot give ſo much pleaſure, when ſeen at the diſtance of twenty paces, as when it is brought nearer us. We [215] ſay not, however, that it appears to us leſs beautiful: Becauſe we know what effect it will have in ſuch a poſition, and by that reflection we correct its momentary ap⯑pearance.

IN general, all ſentiments of blame or praiſe are variable, according to our ſitua⯑tion of nearneſs or remoteneſs, with regard to the perſon blam'd or prais'd, and accord⯑ing to the preſent diſpoſition of our mind. But theſe variations we regard not in our ge⯑neral deciſions, but ſtill apply the terms expreſſive of our liking or diſlike, in the ſame manner, as if we remain'd in one point of view. Experience ſoon teaches us this method of correcting our ſentiments, or at leaſt, of correcting our language, where the ſentiments are more ſtubborn and inalterable. Our ſervant, if diligent and faithful, may excite ſtronger ſentiments of love and kind⯑neſs than Marcus Brutus, as repreſented in hiſtory; but we ſay not upon that ac⯑count, that the former character is more laudable than the latter. We know, that were we to approach equally near to that renown'd patriot, he wou'd command a much higher degree of affection and admiration. Such corrections are common with regard to all the ſenſes; and indeed 'twere impoſſible [216] we cou'd ever make uſe of language, or communicate our ſentiments to one another, did we not correct the momentary appear⯑ances of things, and overlook our preſent ſituation.

'TIS therefore from the influence of cha⯑racters and qualities, upon thoſe who have an intercourſe with any perſon, that we blame or praiſe him. We conſider not whether the perſons, affected by the qualities, be our acquaintance or ſtrangers, country⯑men or foreigners. Nay, we over-look our own intereſt in thoſe general judgments; and blame not a man for oppoſing us in any of our pretenſions, when his own intereſt is particularly concern'd. We make allowance for a certain degree of ſelfiſhneſs in men; becauſe we know it to be inſeparable from human nature, and inherent in our frame and conſtitution. By this reflection we cor⯑rect thoſe ſentiments of blame, which ſo naturally ariſe upon any oppoſition.

BUT however the general principle of our blame or praiſe may be corrected by thoſe other principles, 'tis certain, they are not altogether efficacious, nor do our paſ⯑ſions often correſpond entirely to the preſent theory. 'Tis ſeldom men heartily love what lies at a diſtance from them, and what no [217] way redounds to their particular benefit; as 'tis no leſs rare to meet with perſons, who can pardon another any oppoſition he makes to their intereſt, however juſtifiable that op⯑poſition may be by the general rules of mo⯑rality. Here we are contented with ſaying, that reaſon requires ſuch an impartial con⯑duct, but that 'tis ſeldom we can bring our⯑ſelves to it, and that our paſſions do not readily follow the determination of our judg⯑ment. This language will be eaſily under⯑ſtood, if we conſider what we formerly ſaid concerning that reaſon, which is able to op⯑poſe our paſſion; and which we have found to be nothing but a general calm determina⯑tion of the paſſions, founded on ſome diſtant view or reflection. When we form our judgments of perſons, merely from the ten⯑dency of their characters to our own bene⯑fit, or to that of our friends, we find ſo many contradictions to our ſentiments in ſociety and converſation, and ſuch an uncer⯑tainty from the inceſſant changes of our ſitu⯑ation, that we ſeek ſome other ſtandard of merit and demerit, which may not admit of ſo great variation. Being thus looſen'd from our firſt ſtation, we cannot afterwards fix ourſelves ſo commodiouſly by any means as by a ſympathy with thoſe, who have any [218] commerce with the perſon we conſider. This is far from being as lively as when our own intereſt is concern'd, or that of our parti⯑cular friends; nor has it ſuch an influence on our love and hatred: But being equally conformable to our calm and general princi⯑ples, 'tis ſaid to have an equal authority over our reaſon, and to command our judgment and opinion. We blame equally a bad action, which we read of in hiſtory, with one perform'd in our neighbourhood t'other day: The meaning of which is, that we know from reflection, that the former action wou'd excite as ſtrong ſentiments of diſap⯑probation as the latter, were it plac'd in the ſame poſition.

I NOW proceed to the ſecond remarkable circumſtance, which I propos'd to take no⯑tice of. Where a perſon is poſſeſs'd of a character, that in its natural tendency is beneficial to ſociety, we eſteem him virtuous, and are delighted with the view of his cha⯑racter, even tho' particular accidents prevent its operation, and incapacitate him from be⯑ing ſerviceable to his friends and country. Virtue in rags is ſtill virtue; and the love, which it procures, attends a man into a dungeon or deſart, where the virtue can no longer be exerted in action, and is loſt to [219] all the world. Now this may be eſteem'd an objection to the preſent ſyſtem. Sympa⯑thy intereſts us in the good of mankind; and if ſympathy were the ſource of our eſteem for virtue, that ſentiment of appro⯑bation cou'd only take place, where the virtue actually attain'd its end, and was bene⯑ficial to mankind. Where it fails of its end, 'tis only an imperfect means; and there⯑fore can never acquire any merit from that end. The goodneſs of an end can beſtow a merit on ſuch means alone as are com⯑pleat, and actually produce the end.

To this we may reply, that where any object, in all its parts, is fitted to attain any agreeable end, it naturally gives us pleaſure, and is eſteem'd beautiful, even tho' ſome ex⯑ternal circumſtances be wanting to render it altogether effectual. 'Tis ſufficient if every thing be compleat in the object itſelf. A houſe, that is contriv'd with great judgment for all the commodities of life, pleaſes us upon that account; tho' perhaps we are ſen⯑ſible, that no-one will ever dwell in it. A fertile ſoil, and a happy climate, delight us by a reflection on the happineſs which they wou'd afford the inhabitants, tho' at preſent the country be deſart and uninhabited. A man, whoſe limbs and ſhape promiſe ſtrength [220] and activity, is eſteem'd handſome, tho' condemn'd to perpetual impriſonment. The imagination has a ſet of paſſions belonging to it, upon which our ſentiments of beauty much depend. Theſe paſſions are mov'd by degrees of livelineſs and ſtrength, which are inferior to belief, and independent of the real exiſtence of their objects. Where a character is, in every reſpect, fitted to be beneficial to ſociety, the imagination paſſes eaſily from the cauſe to the effect, without conſidering that there are ſtill ſome circumſtances want⯑ing to render the cauſe a compleat one. General rules create a ſpecies of probability, which ſometimes influences the judgment, and always the imagination.

'TIS true, when the cauſe is compleat, and a good diſpoſition is attended with good fortune, which renders it really beneficial to ſociety, it gives a ſtronger pleaſure to the ſpectator, and is attended with a more lively ſympathy. We are more affected by it; and yet we do not ſay that it is more vir⯑tuous, or that we eſteem it more. We know, that an alteration of fortune may render the benevolent diſpoſition entirely im⯑potent; and therefore we ſeparate, as much as poſſible, the fortune from the diſpoſition. The caſe is the ſame, as when we correct [221] the different ſentiments of virtue, which pro⯑ceed from its different diſtances from our⯑ſelves. The paſſions do not always follow our corrections; but theſe corrections ſerve ſufficiently to regulate our abſtract notions, and are alone regarded, when we pronounce in general concerning the degrees of vice and virtue.

'TIS obſerv'd by critics, that all words or ſentences, which are difficult to the pro⯑nunciation, are diſagreeable to the ear. There is no difference, whether a man hear them pronounc'd, or read them ſilently to himſelf. When I run over a book with my eye, I imagine I hear it all; and alſo, by the force of imagination, enter into the uneaſineſs, which the delivery of it wou'd give the ſpeaker. The uneaſineſs is not real; but as ſuch a compoſition of words has a natu⯑ral tendency to produce it, this is ſufficient to affect the mind with a painful ſentiment, and render the diſcourſe harſh and diſagree⯑able. 'Tis a ſimilar caſe, where any real quality is, by accidental circumſtances, ren⯑der'd impotent, and is depriv'd of its natural influence on ſociety.

UPON theſe principles we may eaſily re⯑move any contradiction, which may appear to be betwixt the extenſive ſympathy, on [222] which our ſentiments of virtue depend, and that limited generoſity which I have fre⯑quently obſerv'd to be natural to men, and which juſtice and property ſuppoſe, accord⯑ing to the precedent reaſoning. My ſym⯑pathy with another may give me the ſen⯑timent of pain and diſapprobation, when any object is preſented, that has a tendency to give him uneaſineſs; tho' I may not be willing to ſacrifice any thing of my own in⯑tereſt, or croſs any of my paſſions, for his ſatisfaction. A houſe may diſpleaſe me by being ill-contriv'd for the convenience of the owner; and yet I may refuſe to give a ſhil⯑ling towards the rebuilding of it. Senti⯑ments muſt touch the heart, to make them controul our paſſions: But they need not extend beyond the imagination, to make them influence our taſte. When a building ſeems clumſy and tottering to the eye, it is ugly and diſagreeable; tho' we be fully aſſur'd of the ſolidity of the workmanſhip. 'Tis a kind of fear, which cauſes this ſen⯑timent of diſapprobation; but the paſſion is not the ſame with that which we feel, when oblig'd to ſtand under a wall, that we really think tottering and inſecure. The ſeeming tendencies of objects affect the mind: And the emotions they excite are of a like [223] ſpecies with thoſe, which proceed from the real conſequences of objects, but their feeling is different. Nay, theſe emotions are ſo dif⯑ferent in their feeling, that they may often be contrary, without deſtroying each other; as when the fortifications of a city belonging to an enemy are eſteem'd beautiful upon ac⯑count of their ſtrength, tho' we cou'd wiſh that they were entirely deſtroy'd. The imagination adheres to the general views of things, and diſtinguiſhes the feelings they produce, from thoſe which ariſe from our particular and momentary ſituation.

IF we examine the panegyrics that are commonly made of great men, we ſhall find, that moſt of the qualities, which are attributed to them, may be divided into two kinds, viz. ſuch as make them perform their part in ſociety; and ſuch as render them ſerviceable to themſelves, and enable them to promote their own intereſt. Their pru⯑dence, temperance, frugality, induſtry, aſſi⯑duity, enterprize, dexterity, are celebrated, as well as their generoſity and humanity. If we ever give an indulgence to any quality, that diſables a man from making a figure in life, 'tis to that of indolence, which is not ſuppos'd to deprive one of his parts and ca⯑pacity, [224] but only ſuſpends their exerciſe; and that without any inconvenience to the per⯑ſon himſelf, ſince 'tis, in ſome meaſure, from his own choice. Yet indolence is al⯑ways allow'd to be a fault, and a very great one, if extreme: Nor do a man's friends ever acknowledge him to be ſubject to it, but in order to ſave his character in more material articles. He cou'd make a figure, ſay they, if he pleas'd to give application: His underſtanding is ſound, his conception quick, and his memory tenacious; but he hates buſineſs, and is indifferent about his fortune. And this a man ſometimes may make even a ſubject of vanity; tho' with the air of confeſſing a fault: Becauſe he may think, that this incapacity for buſineſs implies much more noble qualities; ſuch as a philoſophical ſpirit, a fine taſte, a delicate wit, or a reliſh for pleaſure and ſociety. But take any other caſe: Suppoſe a quality, that without being an indication of any other good qualities, incapacitates a man always for buſineſs, and is deſtructive to his intereſt; ſuch as a blundering underſtanding, and a wrong judgment of every thing in life; in⯑conſtancy and irreſolution; or a want of addreſs in the management of men and buſi⯑neſs: Theſe are all allow'd to be imperfec⯑tions [225] in a character; and many men wou'd rather acknowledge the greateſt crimes, than have it ſuſpected, that they are, in any de⯑gree, ſubject to them.

'TIS very happy, in our philoſophical re⯑ſearches, when we find the ſame phaenome⯑non diverſified by a variety of circumſtances; and by diſcovering what is common among them, can the better aſſure ourſelves of the truth of any hypotheſis we may make uſe of to explain it. Were nothing eſteem'd virtue but what were beneficial to ſociety, I am perſuaded, that the foregoing explication of the moral ſenſe ought ſtill to be receiv'd, and that upon ſufficient evidence: But this evidence muſt grow upon us, when we find other kinds of virtue, which will not ad⯑mit of any explication except from that hypotheſis. Here is a man, who is not re⯑markably defective in his ſocial qualities; but what principally recommends him is his dexterity in buſineſs, by which he has extricated himſelf from the greateſt difficul⯑ties, and conducted the moſt delicate affairs with a ſingular addreſs and prudence. I find an eſteem for him immediately to ariſe in me: His company is a ſatisfaction to me; and before I have any farther acquaintance with him, I wou'd rather do him a ſervice [226] than another, whoſe character is in every other reſpect equal, but is deficient in that particular. In this caſe, the qualities that pleaſe me are all conſider'd as uſeful to the perſon, and as having a tendency to pro⯑mote his intereſt and ſatisfaction. They are only regarded as means to an end, and pleaſe me in proportion to their fitneſs for that end. The end, therefore, muſt be agree⯑able to me. But what makes the end agree⯑able? The perſon is a ſtranger: I am no way intereſted in him, nor lie under any obligation to him: His happineſs concerns not me, farther than the happineſs of every human, and indeed of every ſenſible crea⯑ture: That is, it affects me only by ſym⯑pathy. From that principle, whenever I diſcover his happineſs and good, whether in its cauſes or effects, I enter ſo deeply into it, that it gives me a ſenſible emotion. The appearance of qualities, that have a tendency to promote it, have an agreeable effect upon my imagination, and command my love and eſteem.

THIS theory may ſerve to explain, why the ſame qualities, in all caſes, produce both pride and love, humility and hatred; and the ſame man is always virtuous or vicious, accompliſh'd or deſpicable to others, [227] who is ſo to himſelf. A perſon, in whom we diſcover any paſſion or habit, which ori⯑ginally is only incommodious to himſelf, be⯑comes always diſagreeable to us, merely on its account; as on the other hand, one whoſe character is only dangerous and diſ⯑agreeable to others, can never be ſatisfied with himſelf, as long as he is ſenſible of that diſadvantage. Nor is this obſervable only with regard to characters and manners, but may be remark'd even in the moſt mi⯑nute circumſtances. A violent cough in another gives us uneaſineſs; tho' in itſelf it does not in the leaſt affect us. A man will be mortified, if you tell him he has a ſtink⯑ing breath; tho' 'tis evidently no annoyance to himſelf. Our fancy eaſily changes its ſituation; and either ſurveying ourſelves as we appear to others, or conſidering others as they feel themſelves, we enter, by that means, into ſentiments, which no way be⯑long to us, and in which nothing but ſym⯑pathy is able to intereſt us. And this ſym⯑pathy we ſometimes carry ſo far, as even to be diſpleas'd with a quality commodious to us, merely becauſe it diſpleaſes others, and makes us diſagreeable in their eyes; tho' perhaps we never can have any intereſt in rendering ourſelves agreeable to them.

[228] THERE have been many ſyſtems of mo⯑rality advanc'd by philoſophers in all ages; but if they are ſtrictly examin'd, they may be reduc'd to two, which alone merit our attention. Moral good and evil are certainly diſtinguiſh'd by our ſentiments, not by rea⯑ſon: But theſe ſentiments may ariſe either from the mere ſpecies or appearance of cha⯑racters and paſſions, or from reflections on their tendency to the happineſs of mankind, and of particular perſons. My opinion is, that both theſe cauſes are intermix'd in our judgments of morals; after the ſame manner as they are in our deciſions concerning moſt kinds of external beauty: Tho' I am alſo of opinion, that reflections on the tendencies of actions have by far the greateſt influence, and determine all the great lines of our duty. There are, however, inſtances, in caſes of leſs moment, wherein this immediate taſte or ſentiment produces our approbation. Wit, and a certain eaſy and diſengag'd behaviour, are qualities immediately agreeable to others, and command their love and eſteem. Some of theſe qualities produce ſatisfaction in others by particular original principles of human nature, which cannot be accounted for: Others may be reſolv'd into principles, [229] which are more general. This will beſt ap⯑pear upon a particular enquiry.

As ſome qualities acquire their merit from their being immediately agreeable to others, without any tendency to public intereſt; ſo ſome are denominated virtuous from their being immediately agreeable to the perſon himſelf, who poſſeſſes them. Each of the paſſions and operations of the mind has a particular feeling, which muſt be either agreeable or diſagreeable. The firſt is vir⯑tuous, the ſecond vicious. This particular feeling conſtitutes the very nature of the paſſion; and therefore needs not be account⯑ed for.

BUT however directly the diſtinction of vice and virtue may ſeem to flow from the immediate pleaſure or uneaſineſs, which par⯑ticular qualities cauſe to ourſelves or others; 'tis eaſy to obſerve, that it has alſo a con⯑ſiderable dependence on the principle of ſym⯑pathy ſo often inſiſted on. We approve of a perſon, who is poſſeſs'd of qualities im⯑mediately agreeable to thoſe, with whom he has any commerce; tho' perhaps we our⯑ſelves never reap'd any pleaſure from them. We alſo approve of one, who is poſſeſs'd of qualities, that are immediately agreeable to himſelf; tho' they be of no ſervice to [230] any mortal. To account for this we muſt have recourſe to the foregoing principles.

THUS, to take a general review of the preſent hypotheſis: Every quality of the mind is denominated virtuous, which gives pleaſure by the mere ſurvey; as every quality, which produces pain, is call'd vicious. This pleaſure and this pain may ariſe from four different ſources. For we reap a pleaſure from the view of a character, which is na⯑turally fitted to be uſeful to others, or to the perſon himſelf, or which is agreeable to others, or to the perſon himſelf. One may, perhaps, be ſurpriz'd, that amidſt all theſe intereſts and pleaſures, we ſhou'd forget our own, which touches us ſo nearly on every other occaſion. But we ſhall eaſily ſatisfy ourſelves on this head, when we conſider, that every particular perſon's pleaſure and in⯑tereſt being different, 'tis impoſſible men cou'd ever agree in their ſentiments and judgments, unleſs they choſe ſome common point of view, from which they might ſurvey their object, and which might cauſe it to appear the ſame to all of them. Now in judging of characters, the only intereſt and pleaſure, which appears the ſame to every ſpectator, is that of the perſon him⯑ſelf, whoſe character is examin'd; or that [231] of perſons, who have a connexion with him. And tho' ſuch intereſts and pleaſures touch us more faintly than our own, yet being more conſtant and univerſal, they counter-ballance the latter even in practice, and are alone admitted in ſpeculation as the ſtandard of virtue and morality. They alone produce that particular feeling or ſentiment, on which moral diſtinctions depend.

AS to the good or ill deſert of virtue or vice, 'tis an evident conſequence of the ſen⯑timents of pleaſure or uneaſineſs. Theſe ſentiments produce love or hatred; and love or hatred, by the original conſtitution of human paſſion, is attended with benevolence or anger; that is, with a deſire of making happy the perſon we love, and miſerable the perſon we hate. We have treated of this more fully on another occaſion.

SECT. II. Of greatneſs of mind.

IT may now be proper to illuſtrate this general ſyſtem of morals, by applying it to particular inſtances of virtue and vice, and ſhewing how their merit or demerit [232] ariſes from the four ſources here explain'd. We ſhall begin with examining the paſſions of pride and humility, and ſhall conſider the vice or virtue that lies in their exceſſes or juſt proportion. An exceſſive pride or over⯑weaning conceit of ourſelves is always e⯑ſteem'd vicious, and is univerſally hated; as modeſty, or a juſt ſenſe of our weakneſs, is eſteem'd virtuous, and procures the good⯑will of every-one. Of the four ſources of moral diſtinctions, this is to be aſcrib'd to the third; viz, the immediate agreeableneſs and diſagreeableneſs of a quality to others, without any reflections on the tendency of that quality.

IN order to prove this, we muſt have re⯑courſe to two principles, which are very con⯑ſpicuous in human nature. The firſt of theſe is the ſympathy, and communication of ſentiments and paſſions above-mention'd. So cloſe and intimate is the correſpondence of human ſouls, that no ſooner any perſon ap⯑proaches me, than he diffuſes on me all his opinions, and draws along my judgment in a greater or leſſer degree. And tho', on many occaſions, my ſympathy with him goes not ſo far as entirely to change my ſen⯑timents, and way of thinking; yet it ſeldom is ſo weak as not to diſturb the eaſy courſe [233] of my thought, and give an authority to that opinion, which is recommended to me by his aſſent and approbation. Nor is it any way material upon what ſubject he and I employ our thoughts. Whether we judge of an indifferent perſon, or of my own cha⯑racter, my ſympathy gives equal force to his deciſion: And even his ſentiments of his own merit make me conſider him in the ſame light, in which he regards himſelf.

THIS principle of ſympathy is of ſo powerful and inſinuating a nature, that it enters into moſt of our ſentiments and paſ⯑ſions, and often takes place under the ap⯑pearance of its contrary. For 'tis remark⯑able, that when a perſon oppoſes me in any thing, which I am ſtrongly bent upon, and rouzes up my paſſion by contradiction, I have always a degree of ſympathy with him, nor does my commotion proceed from any other origin. We may here obſerve an evi⯑dent conflict or rencounter of oppoſite prin⯑ciples and paſſions. On the one ſide there is that paſſion or ſentiment, which is natural to me; and 'tis obſervable, that the ſtronger this paſſion is, the greater is the commotion. There muſt alſo be ſome paſſion or ſenti⯑ment on the other ſide; and this paſſion can proceed from nothing but ſympathy. The [234] ſentiments of others can never affect us, but by becoming, in ſome meaſure, our own; in which caſe they operate upon us, by op⯑poſing and encreaſing our paſſions, in the very ſame manner, as if they had been ori⯑ginally deriv'd from our own temper and diſpoſition. While they remain conceal'd in the minds of others, they can never have any influence upon us: And even when they are known, if they went no farther than the imagination, or conception; that faculty is ſo accuſtom'd to objects of every different kind, that a mere idea, tho' contrary to our ſentiments and inclinations, wou'd never alone be able to affect us.

THE ſecond principle I ſhall take notice of is that of compariſon, or the variation of our judgments concerning objects, according to the proportion they bear to thoſe with which we compare them. We judge more of objects by compariſon, than by their in⯑trinſic worth and value; and regard every thing as mean, when ſet in oppoſition to what is ſuperior of the ſame kind. But no compariſon is more obvious than that with ourſelves; and hence it is that on all occa⯑ſions it takes place, and mixes with moſt of our paſſions. This kind of compariſon is directly contrary to ſympathy in its opera⯑tion, [235] as we have obſerv'd in treating of compaſſion and malice. ^a In all kinds of com⯑pariſon an object makes us always receive from another, to which it is compar'd, a ſenſation contrary to what ariſes from itſelf in its direct and immediate ſurvey. The direct ſurvey of another's pleaſure naturally gives us pleaſure; and therefore produces pain, when compar'd with our own. His pain, con⯑ſider'd in itſelf, is painful; but augments the idea of our own happineſs, and gives us plea⯑ſure.

SINCE then thoſe principles of ſympathy, and a compariſon with ourſelves, are directly contrary, it may be worth while to conſider, what general rules can be form'd, beſide the particular temper of the perſon, for the pre⯑valence of the one or the other. Suppoſe I am now in ſafety at land, and wou'd wil⯑lingly reap ſome pleaſure from this conſider⯑ation: I muſt think on the miſerable con⯑dition of thoſe who are at ſea in a ſtorm, and muſt endeavour to render this idea as ſtrong and lively as poſſible, in order to make me more ſenſible of my own happi⯑neſs. But whatever pains I may take, the compariſon will never have an equal efficacy, [236] as if I were really on ^b the ſhore, and ſaw a ſhip at a diſtance, toſt by a tempeſt, and in danger every moment of periſhing on a rock or ſand-bank. But ſuppoſe this idea to become ſtill more lively. Suppoſe the ſhip to be driven ſo near me, that I can per⯑ceive diſtinctly the horror, painted on the countenance of the ſeamen and paſſengers, hear their lamentable cries, ſee the deareſt friends give their laſt adieu, or embrace with a reſolution to periſh in each others arms: No man has ſo ſavage a heart as to reap any pleaſure from ſuch a ſpectacle, or withſtand the motions of the tendereſt com⯑paſſion and ſympathy. 'Tis evident, there⯑fore, there is a medium in this caſe; and that if the idea be too feint, it has no in⯑fluence by compariſon; and on the other hand, if it be too ſtrong, it operates on us entirely by ſympathy, which is the contrary to compariſon. Sympathy being the con⯑verſion of an idea into an impreſſion, de⯑mands a greater force and vivacity in the idea than is requiſite to compariſon.

ALL this is eaſily applied to the preſent ſubject. We ſink very much in our own [237] eyes, when in the preſence of a great man, or one of a ſuperior genius; and this humi⯑lity makes a conſiderable ingredient in that reſpect, which we pay our ſuperiors, accord⯑ing to our ^c foregoing reaſonings on that paſſion. Sometimes even envy and hatred ariſe from the compariſon; but in the greateſt part of men, it reſts at reſpect and eſteem. As ſympathy has ſuch a powerful influence on the human mind, it cauſes pride to have, in ſome meaſure, the ſame effect as merit; and by making us enter into thoſe elevated ſentiments, which the proud man entertains of himſelf, preſents that com⯑pariſon, which is ſo mortifying and diſagree⯑able. Our judgment does not entirely ac⯑company him in the flattering conceit, in which he pleaſes himſelf; but ſtill is ſo ſhaken as to receive the idea it preſents, and to give it an influence above the looſe con⯑ceptions of the imagination. A man, who, in an idle humour, wou'd form a notion of a perſon of a merit very much ſuperior to his own, wou'd not be mortified by that fiction: But when a man, whom we are really perſuaded to be of inferior merit, is preſented to us; if we obſerve in him any extraordinary degree of pride and ſelf-conceit; [238] the firm perſuaſion he has of his own merit, takes hold of the imagination, and dimi⯑niſhes us in our own eyes, in the ſame man⯑ner, as if he were really poſſeſs'd of all the good qualities which he ſo liberally attributes to himſelf. Our idea is here preciſely in that medium, which is requiſite to make it operate on us by compariſon. Were it ac⯑companied with belief, and did the perſon appear to have the ſame merit, which he aſſumes to himſelf, it wou'd have a contrary effect, and wou'd operate on us by ſympathy. The influence of that principle wou'd then be ſuperior to that of compariſon, contrary to what happens where the perſon's merit ſeems below his pretenſions.

THE neceſſary conſequence of theſe prin⯑ciples is, that pride, or an over-weaning conceit of ourſelves, muſt be vicious; ſince it cauſes uneaſineſs in all men, and preſents them every moment with a diſagreeable com⯑pariſon. 'Tis a trite obſervation in philo⯑ſophy, and even in common life and con⯑verſation, that 'tis our own pride, which makes us ſo much diſpleas'd with the pride of other people; and that vanity becomes inſupportable to us merely becauſe we are vain. The gay naturally aſſociate themſelves with the gay, and the amorous with the [239] amorous: But the proud never can endure the proud, and rather ſeek the company of thoſe who are of an oppoſite diſpoſition. As we are, all of us, proud in ſome degree, pride is univerſally blam'd and condemn'd by all mankind; as having a natural ten⯑dency to cauſe uneaſineſs in others by means of compariſon. And this effect muſt fol⯑low the more naturally, that thoſe, who have an ill-grounded conceit of themſelves, are for ever making thoſe compariſons, nor have they any other method of ſupporting their vanity. A man of ſenſe and merit is pleas'd with himſelf, independent of all foreign conſiderations: But a fool muſt al⯑ways find ſome perſon, that is more fooliſh, in order to keep himſelf in good humour with his own parts and underſtanding.

BUT tho' an over-weaning conceit of our own merit be vicious and diſagreeable, no⯑thing can be more laudable, than to have a value for ourſelves, where we really have qualities that are valuable. The utility and advantage of any quality to ourſelves is a ſource of virtue, as well as its agreeableneſs to others; and 'tis certain, that nothing is more uſeful to us in the conduct of life, than a due degree of pride, which makes [240] us ſenſible of our own merit, and gives us a confidence and aſſurance in all our pro⯑jects and enterprizes. Whatever capacity any one may be endow'd with, 'tis entirely uſeleſs to him, if he be not acquainted with it, and form not deſigns ſuitable to it. 'Tis requiſite on all occaſions to know our own force; and were it allowable to err on either ſide, 'twou'd be more advantageous to over⯑rate our merit, than to form ideas of it, below its juſt ſtandard. Fortune commonly favours the bold and enterprizing; and no⯑thing inſpires us with more boldneſs than a good opinion of ourſelves.

ADD to this, that tho' pride, or ſelf-ap⯑plauſe, be ſometimes diſagreeable to others, 'tis always agreeable to ourſelves; as on the other hand, modeſty, tho' it give pleaſure to every one, who obſerves it, produces often uneaſineſs in the perſon endow'd with it. Now it has been obſerv'd, that our own ſenſations determine the vice and virtue of any quality, as well as thoſe ſenſations, which it may excite in others.

THUS ſelf-ſatisfaction and vanity may not only be allowable, but requiſite in a cha⯑racter. 'Tis, however, certain, that good⯑breeding and decency require that we ſhou'd avoid all ſigns and expreſſions, which tend [241] directly to ſhow that paſſion. We have, all of us, a wonderful partiality for our⯑ſelves, and were we always to give vent to our ſentiments in this particular, we ſhou'd mutually cauſe the greateſt indignation in each other, not only by the immediate pre⯑ſence of ſo diſagreeable a ſubject of com⯑pariſon, but alſo by the contrariety of our judgments. In like manner, therefore, as we eſtabliſh the laws of nature, in order to ſecure property in ſociety, and prevent the oppoſition of ſelf-intereſt; we eſtabliſh the rules of good-breeding, in order to prevent the oppoſition of men's pride, and render converſation agreeable and inoffenſive. No⯑thing is more diſagreeable than a man's over⯑weaning conceit of himſelf: Every one al⯑moſt has a ſtrong propenſity to this vice: No one can well diſtinguiſh in himſelf be⯑twixt the vice and virtue, or be certain, that his eſteem of his own merit is well⯑founded: For theſe reaſons, all direct ex⯑preſſions of this paſſion are condemn'd; nor do we make any exception to this rule in favour of men of ſenſe and merit. They are not allow'd to do themſelves juſtice openly, in words, no more than other people; and even if they ſhow a reſerve and ſecret doubt in doing themſelves juſtice in [242] their own thoughts, they will be more ap⯑plauded. That impertinent, and almoſt uni⯑verſal propenſity of men, to over-value themſelves, has given us ſuch a prejudice againſt ſelf-applauſe, that we are apt to condemn it, by a general rule, wherever me meet with it; and 'tis with ſome difficulty we give a privilege to men of ſenſe, even in their moſt ſecret thoughts. At leaſt, it muſt be own'd, that ſome diſguiſe in this parti⯑cular is abſolutely requiſite; and that if we harbour pride in our breaſts, we muſt carry a fair outſide, and have the appearance of mo⯑deſty and mutual deference in all our con⯑duct and behaviour. We muſt, on every occaſion, be ready to prefer others to our⯑ſelves; to treat them with a kind of defer⯑ence, even tho' they be our equals; to ſeem always the loweſt and leaſt in the company, where we are not very much diſtinguiſh'd above them: And if we obſerve theſe rules in our conduct, men will have more indul⯑gence for our ſecret ſentiments, when we diſ⯑cover them in an oblique manner.

I BELIEVE no one, who has any prac⯑tice of the world, and can penetrate into the inward ſentiments of men, will aſſert, that the humility, which good-breeding and decency require of us, goes beyond the out⯑ſide, [243] or that a thorough ſincerity in this particular is eſteem'd a real part of our duty. On the contrary, we may obſerve, that a genuine and hearty pride, or ſelf-eſteem, if well conceal'd and well founded, is eſſential to the character of a man of honour, and that there is no quality of the mind, which is more indiſpenſibly requiſite to procure the eſteem and approbation of mankind. There are certain deferences and mutual ſub⯑miſſions, which cuſtom requires of the dif⯑ferent ranks of men towards each other; and whoever exceeds in this particular, if thro' intereſt, is accus'd of meanneſs; if thro' ig⯑norance, of ſimplicity. 'Tis neceſſary, there⯑fore, to know our rank and ſtation in the world, whether it be fix'd by our birth, fortune, employments, talents or reputation. 'Tis neceſſary to feel the ſentiment and paſſion of pride in conformity to it, and to regulate our actions accordingly. And ſhou'd it be ſaid, that prudence may ſuffice to re⯑gulate our actions in this particular, with⯑out any real pride, I wou'd obſerve, that here the object of prudence is to conform our actions to the general uſage and cuſtom; and that 'tis impoſſible thoſe tacit airs of ſuperiority ſhou'd ever have been eſtabliſh'd [244] and authoriz'd by cuſtom, unleſs men were generally proud, and unleſs that paſſion were generally approv'd, when well-grounded.

IF we paſs from common life and con⯑verſation to hiſtory, this reaſoning acquires new force, when we obſerve, that all thoſe great actions and ſentiments, which have become the admiration of mankind, are founded on nothing but pride and ſelf⯑eſteem. Go, ſays Alexander the Great to his ſoldiers, when they refus'd to follow him to the Indies, go tell your countrymen, that you left Alexander compleating the conqueſt of the world. This paſſage was always par⯑ticularly admir'd by the prince of Conde, as we learn from St. Evremond. ‘"Alexander,"’ ſaid that prince, ‘"abandon'd by his ſoldiers, among barbarians, not yet fully ſubdu'd, felt in himſelf ſuch a dignity and right of empire, that he cou'd not believe it poſſi⯑ble any one cou'd refuſe to obey him. Whether in Europe or in Aſia, among Greeks or Perſians, all was indifferent to him: Wherever he found men, he fancied he had found ſubjects."’

IN general we may obſerve, that what⯑ever we call heroic virtue, and admire under the character of greatneſs and elevation of mind, is either nothing but a ſteady and well-eſtabliſh'd pride and ſelf-eſteem, or [245] partakes largely of that paſſion. Courage, intrepidity, ambition, love of glory, mag⯑nanimity, and all the other ſhining virtues of that kind, have plainly a ſtrong mixture of ſelf-eſteem in them, and derive a great part of their merit from that origin. Accord⯑ingly we find, that many religious de⯑claimers decry thoſe virtues as purely pagan and natural, and repreſent to us the excel⯑lency of the Chriſtian religion, which places humility in the rank of virtues, and corrects the judgment of the world, and even of philoſophers, who ſo generally admire all the efforts of pride and ambition. Whether this virtue of humility has been rightly un⯑derſtood, I ſhall not pretend to determine. I am content with the conceſſion, that the world naturally eſteems a well-regulated pride, which ſecretly animates our conduct, with⯑out breaking out into ſuch indecent ex⯑preſſions of vanity, as may offend the vanity of others.

THE merit of pride or ſelf-eſteem is de⯑riv'd from two circumſtances, viz. its utility and its agreeableneſs to ourſelves; by which it capacitates us for buſineſs, and, at the ſame time, gives us an immediate ſatisfaction. When it goes beyond its juſt bounds, it loſes the firſt advantage, and even becomes pre⯑judicial; [246] which is the reaſon why we con⯑demn an extravagant pride and ambition, however regulated by the decorums of good⯑breeding and politeneſs. But as ſuch a paſſion is ſtill agreeable, and conveys an elevated and ſublime ſenſation to the perſon, who is actuated by it, the ſympathy with that ſatisfaction diminiſhes conſiderably the blame, which naturally attends its dangerous influence on our conduct and behaviour. Accordingly we may obſerve, that an ex⯑ceſſive courage and magnanimity, eſpecially when it diſplays itſelf under the frowns of fortune, contributes, in a great meaſure, to the character of a hero, and will render a perſon the admiration of poſterity; at the ſame time, that it ruins his affairs, and leads him into dangers and difficulties, with which otherwiſe he wou'd never have been ac⯑quainted.

HEROISM, or military glory, is much admir'd by the generality of mankind. They conſider it as the moſt ſublime kind of merit. Men of cool reflection are not ſo ſanguine in their praiſes of it. The in⯑finite confuſions and diſorder, which it has caus'd in the world, diminiſh much of its merit in their eyes. When they wou'd op⯑poſe the popular notions on this head, they [247] always paint out the evils, which this ſup⯑pos'd virtue has produc'd in human ſociety; the ſubverſion of empires, the devaſtation of provinces, the ſack of cities. As long as theſe are preſent to us, we are more inclin'd to hate than admire the ambition of heroes. But when we fix our view on the perſon himſelf, who is the author of all this miſ⯑chief, there is ſomething ſo dazling in his character, the mere contemplation of it ſo elevates the mind, that we cannot refuſe it our admiration. The pain, which we re⯑ceive from its tendency to the prejudice of ſociety, is over-power'd by a ſtronger and more immediate ſympathy.

THUS our explication of the merit or demerit, which attends the degrees of pride or ſelf-eſteem, may ſerve as a ſtrong argu⯑ment for the preceding hypotheſis, by ſhew⯑ing the effects of thoſe principles above ex⯑plain'd in all the variations of our judgments concerning that paſſion. Nor will this rea⯑ſoning be advantageous to us only by ſhew⯑ing, that the diſtinction of vice and virtue ariſes from the four principles of the advan⯑tage and of the pleaſure of the perſon him⯑ſelf, and of others: But may alſo afford us [248] a ſtrong proof of ſome under-parts of that hypotheſis.

NO one, who duly conſiders of this matter, will make any ſcruple of allowing, that any piece of ill-breeding, or any expreſſion of pride and haughtineſs, is diſpleaſing to us, merely becauſe it ſhocks our own pride, and leads us by ſympathy into a compariſon, which cauſes the diſagreeable paſſion of hu⯑mility. Now as an inſolence of this kind is blam'd even in a perſon who has always been civil to ourſelves in particular; nay, in one, whoſe name is only known to us in hiſtory; it follows, that our diſapprobation proceeds from a ſympathy with others, and from the reflection, that ſuch a character is highly diſpleaſing and odious to every one, who converſes or has any intercourſe with the perſon poſſeſt of it. We ſympathize with thoſe people in their uneaſineſs; and as their uneaſineſs proceeds in part from a ſym⯑pathy with the perſon who inſults them, we may here obſerve a double rebound of the ſympathy; which is a principle very ſimilar to what we have obſerv'd on another occaſion ^a.

SECT. III. Of goodneſs and benevolence.

HAVING thus explain'd the origin of that praiſe and approbation, which attends every thing we call great in human affections; we now proceed to give an ac⯑count of their goodneſs, and ſhew whence its merit is deriv'd.

WHEN experience has once given us a competent knowledge of human affairs, and has taught us the proportion they bear to human paſſion, we perceive, that the gene⯑roſity of men is very limited, and that it ſeldom extends beyond their friends and fa⯑mily, or, at moſt, beyond their native coun⯑try. Being thus acquainted with the nature of man, we expect not any impoſſibilities from him; but confine our view to that narrow circle, in which any perſon moves, in order to form a judgment of his moral character. When the natural tendency of his paſſions leads him to be ſerviceable and uſeful within his ſphere, we approve of his character, and love his perſon, by a ſym⯑pathy [250] with the ſentiments of thoſe, who have a more particular connexion with him. We are quickly oblig'd to forget our own intereſt in our judgments of this kind, by reaſon of the perpetual contradictions, we meet with in ſociety and converſation, from perſons that are not plac'd in the ſame ſitu⯑ation, and have not the ſame intereſt with ourſelves. The only point of view, in which our ſentiments concur with thoſe of others, is, when we conſider the tendency of any paſſion to the advantage or harm of thoſe, who have any immediate connexion or inter⯑courſe with the perſon poſſeſs'd of it. And tho' this advantage or harm be often very remote from ourſelves, yet ſometimes 'tis very near us, and intereſts us ſtrongly by ſympathy. This concern we readily extend to other caſes, that are reſembling; and when theſe are very remote, our ſympathy is proportionably weaker, and our praiſe or blame fainter and more doubtful. The caſe is here the ſame as in our judgments con⯑cerning external bodies. All objects ſeem to diminiſh by their diſtance: But tho' the ap⯑pearance of objects to our ſenſes be the ori⯑ginal ſtandard, by which we judge of them, yet we do not ſay, that they actually dimi⯑niſh by the diſtance; but correcting the ap⯑pearance [251] by reflection, arrive at a more con⯑ſtant and eſtabliſh'd judgment concerning them. In like manner, tho' ſympathy be much fainter than our concern for ourſelves, and a ſympathy with perſons remote from us much fainter than that with perſons near and contiguous; yet we neglect all theſe dif⯑ferences in our calm judgments concerning the characters of men. Beſides, that we ourſelves often change our ſituation in this particular, we every day meet with perſons, who are in a different ſituation from our⯑ſelves, and who cou'd never converſe with us on any reaſonable terms, were we to re⯑main conſtantly in that ſituation and point of view, which is peculiar to us. The in⯑tercourſe of ſentiments, therefore, in ſociety and converſation, makes us form ſome general inalterable ſtandard, by which we may ap⯑prove or diſapprove of characters and man⯑ners. And tho' the heart does not always take part with thoſe general notions, or re⯑gulate its love and hatred by them, yet are they ſufficient for diſcourſe, and ſerve all our purpoſes in company, in the pulpit, on the theatre, and in the ſchools.

FROM theſe principles we may eaſily ac⯑count for that merit, which is commonly aſcrib'd to generoſity, humanity, compaſſion, [252] gratitude, friendſhip, fidelity, zeal, diſin⯑tereſtedneſs, liberality, and all thoſe other qualities, which form the character of good and benevolent. A propenſity to the tender paſſions makes a man agreeable and uſeful in all the parts of life; and gives a juſt direction to all his other qualities, which otherwiſe may become prejudicial to ſociety. Courage and ambition, when not regulated by bene⯑volence, are fit only to make a tyrant and public robber. 'Tis the ſame caſe with judg⯑ment and capacity, and all the qualities of that kind. They are indifferent in them⯑ſelves to the intereſts of ſociety, and have a tendency to the good or ill of mankind, ac⯑cording as they are directed by theſe other paſſions.

AS love is immediately agreeable to the perſon, who is actuated by it, and hatred immediately diſagreeable; this may alſo be a conſiderable reaſon, why we praiſe all the paſſions that partake of the former, and blame all thoſe that have any conſiderable ſhare of the latter. 'Tis certain we are in⯑finitely touch'd with a tender ſentiment, as well as with a great one. The tears natu⯑rally ſtart in our eyes at the conception of it; nor can we forbear giving a looſe to the ſame tenderneſs towards the perſon who ex⯑erts [253] it. All this ſeems to me a proof, that our approbation has, in thoſe caſes, an origin different from the proſpect of utility and ad⯑vantage, either to ourſelves or others. To which we may add, that men naturally, without reflection, approve of that character, which is moſt like their own. The man of a mild diſpoſition and tender affections, in forming a notion of the moſt perfect virtue, mixes in it more of benevolence and huma⯑nity, than the man of courage and enter⯑prize, who naturally looks upon a certain elevation of mind as the moſt accom⯑pliſh'd character. This muſt evidently pro⯑ceed from an immediate ſympathy, which men have with characters ſimilar to their own. They enter with more warmth into ſuch ſentiments, and feel more ſenſibly the pleaſure, which ariſes from them.

'TIS remarkable, that nothing touches a man of humanity more than any inſtance of extraordinary delicacy in love or friendſhip, where a perſon is attentive to the ſmalleſt concerns of his friend, and is willing to ſacri⯑fice to them the moſt conſiderable intereſt of his own. Such delicacies have little influence on ſociety; becauſe they make us regard the greateſt trifles: But they are the more en⯑gaging, the more minute the concern is, and [254] are a proof of the higheſt merit in any one, who is capable of them. The paſſions are ſo contagious, that they paſs with the greateſt facility from one perſon to another, and pro⯑duce correſpondent movements in all human breaſts. Where friendſhip appears in very ſignal inſtances, my heart catches the ſame paſſion, and is warm'd by thoſe warm ſenti⯑ments, that diſplay themſelves before me. Such agreeable movements muſt give me an affection to every one that excites them. This is the caſe with every thing that is agreeable in any perſon. The tranſition from pleaſure to love is eaſy: But the tranſition muſt here be ſtill more eaſy; ſince the agree⯑able ſentiment, which is excited by ſym⯑pathy, is love itſelf; and there is nothing requir'd but to change the object.

HENCE the peculiar merit of benevolence in all its ſhapes and appearances. Hence even its weakneſſes are virtuous and amiable; and a perſon, whoſe grief upon the loſs of a friend were exceſſive, wou'd be eſteem'd upon that account. His tenderneſs beſtows a merit, as it does a pleaſure, on his melan⯑choly.

WE are not, however, to imagine, that all the angry paſſions are vicious, tho' they are diſagreeable. There is a certain indul⯑gence [255] due to human nature in this reſpect. Anger and hatred are paſſions inherent in our very frame and conſtitution. The want of them, on ſome occaſions, may even be a proof of weakneſs and imbecillity. And where they appear only in a low degree, we not only excuſe them becauſe they are na⯑tural; but even beſtow our applauſes on them, becauſe they are inferior to what ap⯑pears in the greateſt part of mankind.

WHERE theſe angry paſſions riſe up to cruelty, they form the moſt deteſted of all vices. All the pity and concern which we have for the miſerable ſufferers by this vice, turns againſt the perſon guilty of it, and pro⯑duces a ſtronger hatred than we are ſenſible of on any other occaſion.

EVEN when the vice of inhumanity riſes not to this extreme degree, our ſentiments concerning it are very much influenc'd by re⯑flections on the harm that reſults from it. And we may obſerve in general, that if we can find any quality in a perſon, which renders him incommodious to thoſe, who live and converſe with him, we always allow it to be a fault or blemiſh, without any farther examina⯑tion. On the other hand, when we enu⯑merate the good qualities of any perſon, we always mention thoſe parts of his character, [256] which render him a ſafe companion, an eaſy friend, a gentle maſter, an agreeable huſ⯑band, or an indulgent father. We conſider him with all his relations in ſociety; and love or hate him, according as he affects thoſe, who have any immediate intercourſe with him. And 'tis a moſt certain rule, that if there be no relation of life, in which I cou'd not wiſh to ſtand to a particular perſon, his character muſt ſo far be allow'd to be perfect. If he be as little wanting to himſelf as to others, his character is entirely perfect. This is the ultimate teſt of merit and virtue.

SECT. IV. Of natural abilities.

NO diſtinction is more uſual in all ſyſtems of ethics, than that betwixt natural abilities and moral virtues; where the former are plac'd on the ſame footing with bodily endowments, and are ſuppos'd to have no merit or moral worth annex'd to them. Whoever conſiders the matter accu⯑rately, will find, that a diſpute upon this head wou'd be merely a diſpute of words, [257] and that tho' theſe qualities are not alto⯑gether of the ſame kind, yet they agree in the moſt material circumſtances. They are both of them equally mental qualities: And both of them equally produce pleaſure; and have of courſe an equal tendency to pro⯑cure the love and eſteem of mankind. There are few, who are not as jealous of their character, with regard to ſenſe and know⯑ledge, as to honour and courage; and much more than with regard to temperance and ſobriety. Men are even afraid of paſſing for good-natur'd; leſt that ſhou'd be taken for want of underſtanding: And often boaſt of more debauches than they have been really engag'd in, to give themſelves airs of fire and ſpirit. In ſhort, the figure a man makes in the world, the reception he meets with in company, the eſteem paid him by his acquaintance; all theſe advantages depend almoſt as much upon his good ſenſe and judgment, as upon any other part of his character. Let a man have the beſt inten⯑tions in the world, and be the fartheſt from all injuſtice and violence, he will never be able to make himſelf be much regarded, without a moderate ſhare, at leaſt, of parts and underſtanding. Since then natural abi⯑lities, tho', perhaps, inferior, yet are on the [258] ſame footing, both as to their cauſes and effects, with thoſe qualities which we call moral virtues, why ſhou'd we make any diſtinction betwixt them?

THO' we refuſe to natural abilities the title of virtues, we muſt allow, that they procure the love and eſteem of mankind; that they give a new luſtre to the other vir⯑tues; and that a man poſſeſs'd of them is much more intitled to our good-will and ſervices, than one entirely void of them. It may, indeed, be pretended, that the ſenti⯑ment of approbation, which thoſe qualities produce, beſides its being inferior, is alſo ſomewhat different from that, which attends the other virtues. But this, in my opinion, is not a ſufficient reaſon for excluding them from the catalogue of virtues. Each of the virtues, even benevolence, juſtice, gratitude, integrity, excites a different ſentiment or feeling in the ſpectator. The characters of Caeſar and Cato, as drawn by Salluſt, are both of them virtuous, in the ſtricteſt ſenſe of the word; but in a different way: Nor are the ſentiments entirely the ſame, which ariſe from them. The one produces love; the other eſteem: The one is amiable; the other awful: We cou'd wiſh to meet with the one character in a friend; the other cha⯑racter [259] we wou'd be ambitious of in ourſelves. In like manner, the approbation, which at⯑tends natural abilities, may be ſomewhat different to the feeling from that, which ariſes from the other virtues, without making them entirely of a different ſpecies. And indeed we may obſerve, that the natu⯑ral abilities, no more than the other virtues, produce not, all of them, the ſame kind of approbation. Good ſenſe and genius beget eſteem: Wit and humour excite love ^a.

THOSE, who repreſent the diſtinction be⯑twixt natural abilities and moral virtues as very material, may ſay, that the former are entirely involuntary, and have therefore no merit attending them, as having no depend⯑ance on liberty and free-will. But to this I anſwer, firſt, that many of thoſe qualities, which all moraliſts, eſpecially the antients, comprehend under the title of moral virtues, are equally involuntary and neceſſary, with the qualities of the judgment and imagina⯑tion. [260] Of this nature are conſtancy, forti⯑tude, magnanimity; and, in ſhort, all the qualities which form the great man. I might ſay the ſame, in ſome degree, of the others; it being almoſt impoſſible for the mind to change its character in any con⯑ſiderable article, or cure itſelf of a paſſionate or ſplenetic temper, when they are natural to it. The greater degree there is of theſe blameable qualities, the more vicious they become, and yet they are the leſs voluntary. Secondly, I wou'd have any one give me a reaſon, why virtue and vice may not be in⯑voluntary, as well as beauty and deformity. Theſe moral diſtinctions ariſe from the natu⯑ral diſtinctions of pain and pleaſure; and when we receive thoſe feelings from the general conſideration of any quality or cha⯑racter, we denominate it vicious or virtuous. Now I believe no one will aſſert, that a quality can never produce pleaſure or pain to the perſon who conſiders it, unleſs it be perfectly voluntary in the perſon who poſ⯑ſeſſes it. Thirdly, As to free-will, we have ſhewn that it has no place with regard to the actions, no more than the qualities of men. It is not a juſt conſequence, that what is voluntary is free. Our actions are more voluntary than our judgments; but we [261] have not more liberty in the one than in the other.

BUT tho' this diſtinction betwixt volun⯑tary and involuntary be not ſufficient to ju⯑ſtify the diſtinction betwixt natural abilities and moral virtues, yet the former diſtinction will afford us a plauſible reaſon, why mo⯑raliſts have invented the latter. Men have obſerv'd, that tho' natural abilities and moral qualities be in the main on the ſame footing, there is, however, this difference betwixt them, that the former are almoſt invariable by any art or induſtry; while the latter, or at leaſt, the actions, that proceed from them, may be chang'd by the motives of rewards and puniſhments, praiſe and blame. Hence legiſlators, and divines, and moraliſts, have principally applied themſelves to the regu⯑lating theſe voluntary actions, and have en⯑deavour'd to produce additional motives for being virtuous in that particular. They knew, that to puniſh a man for folly, or exhort him to be prudent and ſagacious, wou'd have but little effect; tho' the ſame puniſhments and exhortations, with regard to juſtice and injuſtice, might have a con⯑ſiderable influence. But as men, in com⯑mon life and converſation, do not carry thoſe ends in view, but naturally praiſe or blame [262] whatever pleaſes or diſpleaſes them, they do not ſeem much to regard this diſtinction, but conſider prudence under the character of vir⯑tue as well as benevolence, and penetration as well as juſtice. Nay, we find, that all moraliſts, whoſe judgment is not perverted by a ſtrict adherence to a ſyſtem, enter into the ſame way of thinking; and that the antient moraliſts in particular made no ſcru⯑ple of placing prudence at the head of the cardinal virtues. There is a ſentiment of eſteem and approbation, which may be ex⯑cited, in ſome degree, by any faculty of the mind, in its perfect ſtate and condition; and to account for this ſentiment is the buſi⯑neſs of Philoſophers. It belongs to Gram⯑marians to examine what qualities are en⯑titled to the denomination of virtue; nor will they find, upon trial, that this is ſo eaſy a taſk, as at firſt ſight they may be apt to imagine.

THE principal reaſon why natural abili⯑ties are eſteem'd, is becauſe of their tendency to be uſeful to the perſon, who is poſſeſs'd of them. 'Tis impoſſible to execute any deſign with ſucceſs, where it is not conducted with prudence and diſcretion; nor will the good⯑neſs of our intentions alone ſuffice to pro⯑cure us a happy iſſue to our enterprizes. [263] Men are ſuperior to beaſts principally by the ſuperiority of their reaſon; and they are the degrees of the ſame faculty, which ſet ſuch an infinite difference betwixt one man and another. All the advantages of art are owing to human reaſon; and where fortune is not very capricious, the moſt conſiderable part of theſe advantages muſt fall to the ſhare of the prudent and ſagacious.

WHEN it is aſk'd, whether a quick or a ſlow apprehenſion be moſt valuable? whether one, that at firſt view penetrates into a ſub⯑ject, but can perform nothing upon ſtudy; or a contrary character, which muſt work out every thing by dint of application? whether a clear head, or a copious inven⯑tion? whether a profound genius, or a ſure judgment? in ſhort, what character, or pe⯑culiar underſtanding, is more excellent than another? 'Tis evident we can anſwer none of theſe queſtions, without conſidering which of thoſe qualities capacitates a man beſt for the world, and carries him fartheſt in any of his undertakings.

THERE are many other qualities of the mind, whoſe merit is deriv'd from the ſame origin. Induſtry, perſeverance, patience, ac⯑tivity, vigilance, application, conſtancy, with other virtues of that kind, which 'twill be [264] eaſy to recollect, are eſteem'd valuable upon no other account, than their advantage in the conduct of life. 'Tis the ſame caſe with temperance, frugality, oeconomy, reſolution: As on the other hand, prodigality, luxury, irreſolution, uncertainty, are vicious, merely becauſe they draw ruin upon us, and inca⯑pacitate us for buſineſs and action.

As wiſdom and good-ſenſe are valued, becauſe they are uſeful to the perſon poſſeſs'd of them; ſo wit and eloquence are valued, becauſe they are immediately agreeable to others. On the other hand, good humour is lov'd and eſteem'd, becauſe it is immediately agreeable to the perſon himſelf. 'Tis evi⯑dent, that the converſation of a man of wit is very ſatisfactory; as a chearful good-hu⯑mour'd companion diffuſes a joy over the whole company, from a ſympathy with his gaiety. Theſe qualities, therefore, being agreeable, they naturally beget love and eſteem, and anſwer to all the characters of virtue.

'Tis difficult to tell, on many occaſions, what it is that renders one man's converſation ſo agreeable and entertaining, and another's ſo inſipid and diſtaſteful. As converſation is a tranſcript of the mind as well as books, the ſame qualities, which render the one [265] valuable, muſt give us an eſteem for the other. This we ſhall conſider afterwards. In the mean time it may be affirm'd in ge⯑neral, that all the merit a man may derive from his converſation (which, no doubt, may be very conſiderable) ariſes from no⯑thing but the pleaſure it conveys to thoſe who are preſent.

IN this view, cleanlineſs is alſo to be re⯑garded as a virtue; ſince it naturally renders us agreeable to others, and is a very con⯑ſiderable ſource of love and affection. No one will deny, that a negligence in this par⯑ticular is a fault; and as faults are nothing but ſmaller vices, and this fault can have no other origin than the uneaſy ſenſation, which it excites in others, we may in this inſtance, ſeemingly ſo trivial, clearly diſcover the ori⯑gin of the moral diſtinction of vice and vir⯑tue in other inſtances.

BESIDES all thoſe qualities, which render a perſon lovely or valuable, there is alſo a certain je-ne-ſçai-quoi of agreeable and hand⯑ſome, that concurs to the ſame effect. In this caſe, as well as in that of wit and elo⯑quence, we muſt have recourſe to a certain ſenſe, which acts without reflection, and re⯑gards not the tendencies of qualities and characters. Some moraliſts account for all [266] the ſentiments of virtue by this ſenſe. Their hypotheſis is very plauſible. Nothing but a particular enquiry can give the preference to any other hypotheſis. When we find, that almoſt all the virtues have ſuch particular ten⯑dencies; and alſo find, that theſe tendencies are ſufficient alone to give a ſtrong ſenti⯑ment of approbation: We cannot doubt, after this, that qualities are approv'd of, in proportion to the advantage, which reſults from them.

THE decorum or indecorum of a quality, with regard to the age, or character, or ſta⯑tion, contributes alſo to its praiſe or blame. This decorum depends, in a great meaſure, upon experience. 'Tis uſual to ſee men loſe their levity, as they advance in years. Such a degree of gravity, therefore, and ſuch years, are connected together in our thoughts. When we obſerve them ſeparated in any perſon's character, this impoſes a kind of violence on our imagination, and is diſagree⯑able.

THAT faculty of the ſoul, which, of all others, is of the leaſt conſequence to the character, and has the leaſt virtue or vice in its ſeveral degrees, at the ſame time, that it admits of a great variety of degrees, is the memory. Unleſs it riſe up to that ſtupen⯑dous [267] height as to ſurprize us, or ſink ſo low as, in ſome meaſure, to affect the judgment, we commonly take no notice of its varia⯑tions, nor ever mention them to the praiſe or diſpraiſe of any perſon. 'Tis ſo far from being a virtue to have a good memory, that men generally affect to complain of a bad one; and endeavouring to perſuade the world, that what they ſay is entirely of their own invention, ſacrifice it to the praiſe of genius and judgment. Yet to conſider the matter abſtractedly, 'twou'd be difficult to give a reaſon, why the faculty of recalling paſt ideas with truth and clearneſs, ſhou'd not have as much merit in it, as the faculty of placing our preſent ideas in ſuch an order, as to form true propoſitions and opinions. The reaſon of the difference certainly muſt be, that the memory is exerted without any ſenſation of pleaſure or pain; and in all its middling degrees ſerves almoſt equally well in buſineſs and affairs. But the leaſt varia⯑tions in the judgment are ſenſibly felt in their conſequences; while at the ſame time that faculty is never exerted in any eminent de⯑gree, without an extraordinary delight and ſatisfaction. The ſympathy with this utility and pleaſure beſtows a merit on the under⯑ſtanding; and the abſence of it makes us [268] conſider the memory as a faculty very in⯑different to blame or praiſe.

BEFORE I leave this ſubject of natural abilities, I muſt obſerve, that, perhaps, one ſource of the eſteem and affection, which attends them, is deriv'd from the importance and weight, which they beſtow on the per⯑ſon poſſeſs'd of them. He becomes of greater conſequence in life. His reſolutions and actions affect a greater number of his fellow-creatures. Both his friendſhip and enmity are of moment. And 'tis eaſy to obſerve, that whoever is elevated, after this manner, above the reſt of mankind, muſt excite in us the ſentiments of eſteem and approbation. Whatever is important engages our attention, fixes our thought, and is con⯑templated with ſatisfaction. The hiſtories of kingdoms are more intereſting than do⯑meſtic ſtories: The hiſtories of great empires more than thoſe of ſmall cities and principa⯑lities: And the hiſtories of wars and revo⯑lutions more than thoſe of peace and order. We ſympathize with the perſons that ſuffer, in all the various ſentiments which belong to their fortunes. The mind is occupied by the multitude of the objects, and by the ſtrong paſſions, that diſplay themſelves. And this occupation or agitation of the mind is [269] commonly agreeable and amuſing. The ſame theory accounts for the eſteem and regard we pay to men of extraordinary parts and abilities. The good and ill of multitudes are connected with their actions. Whatever they undertake is important, and challenges our attention. Nothing is to be over-look'd and deſpis'd, that regards them. And where any perſon can excite theſe ſentiments, he ſoon acquires our eſteem; unleſs other cir⯑cumſtances of his character render him odious and diſagreeable.

SECT. V. Some farther reflections concerning the natural virtues.

IT has been obſerv'd, in treating of the paſſions, that pride and humility, love and hatred, are excited by any advantages or diſadvantages of the mind, body, or fortune; and that theſe advantages or diſadvantages have that effect by producing a ſeparate im⯑preſſion of pain or pleaſure. The pain or pleaſure, which ariſes from the general ſur⯑vey or view of any action or quality of the mind, conſtitutes its vice or virtue, and gives [270] riſe to our approbation or blame, which is nothing but a fainter and more imperceptible love or hatred. We have aſſign'd four dif⯑ferent ſources of this pain and pleaſure; and in order to juſtify more fully that hypo⯑theſis, it may here be proper to obſerve, that the advantages or diſadvantages of the body and of fortune, produce a pain or pleaſure from the very ſame principles. The ten⯑dency of any object to be uſeful to the per⯑ſon poſſeſs'd of it, or to others; to convey pleaſure to him or to others; all theſe cir⯑cumſtances convey an immediate pleaſure to the perſon, who conſiders the object, and command his love and approbation.

TO begin with the advantages of the body; we may obſerve a phaenomenon, which might appear ſomewhat trivial and ludicrous, if any thing cou'd be trivial, which fortified a con⯑cluſion of ſuch importance, or ludicrous, which was employ'd in a philoſophical rea⯑ſoning. 'Tis a general remark, that thoſe we call good women's men, who have either ſignaliz'd themſelves by their amorous ex⯑ploits, or whoſe make of body promiſes any extraordinary vigour of that kind, are well received by the fair ſex, and naturally engage the affections even of thoſe, whoſe virtue pre⯑vents any deſign of ever giving employment [271] to thoſe talents. Here 'tis evident, that the ability of ſuch a perſon to give enjoyment, is the real ſource of that love and eſteem he meets with among the females; at the ſame time that the women, who love and eſteem him, have no proſpect of receiving that en⯑joyment themſelves, and can only be affected by means of their ſympathy with one, that has a commerce of love with him. This inſtance is ſingular, and merits our atten⯑tion.

ANOTHER ſource of the pleaſure we re⯑ceive from conſidering bodily advantages, is their utility to the perſon himſelf, who is poſſeſs'd of them. 'Tis certain, that a con⯑ſiderable part of the beauty of men, as well as of other animals, conſiſts in ſuch a con⯑formation of members, as we find by ex⯑perience to be attended with ſtrength and agility, and to capacitate the creature for any action or exerciſe. Broad ſhoulders, a lank belly, firm joints, taper legs; all theſe are beautiful in our ſpecies, becauſe they are ſigns of force and vigour, which being ad⯑vantages we naturally ſympathize with, they convey to the beholder a ſhare of that ſatiſ⯑faction they produce in the poſſeſſor.

SO far as to the utility, which may attend any quality of the body. As to the imme⯑diate [272] pleaſure, 'tis certain, that an air of health, as well as of ſtrength and agility, makes a conſiderable part of beauty; and that a ſickly air in another is always diſ⯑agreeable, upon account of that idea of pain and uneaſineſs, which it conveys to us. On the other hand, we are pleas'd with the re⯑gularity of our own features, tho' it be nei⯑ther uſeful to ourſelves nor others; and 'tis neceſſary for us, in ſome meaſure, to ſet our⯑ſelves at a diſtance, to make it convey to us any ſatisfaction. We commonly conſider ourſelves as we appear in the eyes of others, and ſympathize with the advantageous ſen⯑timents they entertain with regard to us.

HOW far the advantages of fortune pro⯑duce eſteem and approbation from the ſame principles, we may ſatisfy ourſelves by reflecting on our precedent reaſoning on that ſubject. We have obſerv'd, that our approbation of thoſe, who are poſſeſs'd of the advantages of fortune, may be aſcrib'd to three different cauſes. Firſt, To that im⯑mediate pleaſure, which a rich man gives us, by the view of the beautiful cloaths, equi⯑page, gardens, or houſes, which he poſſeſſes. Secondly, To the advantage, which we hope to reap from him by his generoſity and libe⯑rality. Thirdly, To the pleaſure and advan⯑tage, [273] which he himſelf reaps from his poſ⯑ſeſſions, and which produce an agreeable ſympathy in us. Whether we aſcribe our eſteem of the rich and great to one or all of theſe cauſes, we may clearly ſee the traces of thoſe principles, which give riſe to the ſenſe of vice and virtue. I believe moſt people, at firſt ſight, will be inclin'd to aſcribe our eſteem of the rich to ſelf-intereſt, and the proſpect of advantage. But as 'tis certain, that our eſteem or deference extends beyond any proſpect of advantage to ourſelves, 'tis evident, that that ſentiment muſt proceed from a ſympathy with thoſe, who are de⯑pendent on the perſon we eſteem and reſpect, and who have an immediate connexion with him. We conſider him as a perſon capable of contributing to the happineſs or enjoy⯑ment of his fellow-creatures, whoſe ſenti⯑ments, with regard to him, we naturally embrace. And this conſideration will ſerve to juſtify my hypotheſis in preferring the third principle to the other two, and aſcribing our eſteem of the rich to a ſympathy with the pleaſure and advantage, which they them⯑ſelves receive from their poſſeſſions. For as even the other two principles cannot operate to a due extent, or account for all the phae⯑nomena, without having recourſe to a ſym⯑pathy [274] of one kind or other; 'tis much more natural to chuſe that ſympathy, which is immediate and direct, than that which is re⯑mote and indirect. To which we may add, that where the riches or power are very great, and render the perſon conſiderable and important in the world, the eſteem attend⯑ing them, may, in part, be aſcrib'd to ano⯑ther ſource, diſtinct from theſe three, viz. their intereſting the mind by a proſpect of the multitude, and importance of their con⯑ſequences: Tho', in order to account for the operation of this principle, we muſt alſo have recourſe to ſympathy; as we have ob⯑ſerv'd in the preceding ſection.

IT may not be amiſs, on this occaſion, to remark the flexibility of our ſentiments, and the ſeveral changes they ſo readily receive from the objects, with which they are con⯑join'd. All the ſentiments of approbation, which attend any particular ſpecies of ob⯑jects, have a great reſemblance to each other, tho' deriv'd from different ſources; and, on the other hand, thoſe ſentiments, when di⯑rected to different objects, are different to the feeling, tho' deriv'd from the ſame ſource. Thus the beauty of all viſible objects cauſes a pleaſure pretty much the ſame, tho' it be ſometimes deriv'd from the mere ſpecies and [275] appearance of the objects; ſometimes from ſympathy, and an idea of their utility. In like manner, whenever we ſurvey the actions and characters of men, without any particu⯑lar intereſt in them, the pleaſure, or pain, which ariſes from the ſurvey (with ſome minute differences) is, in the main, of the ſame kind, tho' perhaps there be a great diverſity in the cauſes, from which it is de⯑riv'd. On the other hand, a convenient houſe, and a virtuous character, cauſe not the ſame feeling of approbation; even tho' the ſource of our approbation be the ſame, and flow from ſympathy and an idea of their utility. There is ſomething very inex⯑plicable in this variation of our feelings; but 'tis what we have experience of with regard to all our paſſions and ſentiments.

SECT. VI. Concluſion of this book.

THUS upon the whole I am hopeful, that nothing is wanting to an accu⯑rate proof of this ſyſtem of ethics. We are certain, that ſympathy is a very powerful principle in human nature. We are alſo [276] certain, that it has a great influence on our ſenſe of beauty, when we regard external objects, as well as when we judge of morals. We find, that it has force ſufficient to give us the ſtrongeſt ſentiments of approbation, when it operates alone, without the con⯑currence of any other principle; as in the caſes of juſtice, allegiance, chaſtity, and good-manners. We may obſerve, that all the circumſtances requiſite for its operation are found in moſt of the virtues; which have, for the moſt part, a tendency to the good of ſociety, or to that of the perſon poſſeſs'd of them. If we compare all theſe circumſtances, we ſhall not doubt, that ſym⯑pathy is the chief ſource of moral diſtinctions; eſpecially when we reflect, that no objection can be rais'd againſt this hypotheſis in one caſe, which will not extend to all caſes. Juſtice is certainly approv'd of for no other reaſon, than becauſe it has a tendency to the public good: And the public good is in⯑different to us, except ſo far as ſympathy in⯑tereſts us in it. We may preſume the like with regard to all the other virtues, which have a like tendency to the public good. They muſt derive all their merit from our ſym⯑pathy with thoſe, who reap any advantage from them: As the virtues, which have a [277] tendency to the good of the perſon poſſeſs'd of them, derive their merit from our ſym⯑pathy with him.

MOST people will readily allow, that the uſeful qualities of the mind are virtuous, be⯑cauſe of their utility. This way of think⯑ing is ſo natural, and occurs on ſo many oc⯑caſions, that few will make any ſcruple of admitting it. Now this being once admit⯑ted, the force of ſympathy muſt neceſſarily be acknowledg'd. Virtue is conſider'd as means to an end. Means to an end are only valued ſo far as the end is valued. But the happineſs of ſtrangers affects us by ſympathy alone. To that principle, there⯑fore, we are to aſcribe the ſentiment of ap⯑probation, which ariſes from the ſurvey of all thoſe virtues, that are uſeful to ſociety, or to the perſon poſſeſs'd of them. Theſe form the moſt conſiderable part of mo⯑rality.

WERE it proper in ſuch a ſubject to bribe the readers aſſent, or employ any thing but ſolid argument, we are here abundantly ſup⯑plied with topics to engage the affections. All lovers of virtue (and ſuch we all are in ſpeculation, however we may degenerate in practice) muſt certainly be pleas'd to ſee [278] moral diſtinctions deriv'd from ſo noble a ſource, which gives us a juſt notion both of the generoſity and capacity of human nature. It requires but very little knowledge of hu⯑man affairs to perceive, that a ſenſe of mo⯑rals is a principle inherent in the ſoul, and one of the moſt powerful that enters into the compoſition. But this ſenſe muſt certainly acquire new force, when reflecting on itſelf, it approves of thoſe principles, from whence it is deriv'd, and finds nothing but what is great and good in its riſe and origin. Thoſe who reſolve the ſenſe of morals into ori⯑ginal inſtincts of the human mind, may de⯑fend the cauſe of virtue with ſufficient autho⯑rity; but want the advantage, which thoſe poſſeſs, who account for that ſenſe by an extenſive ſympathy with mankind. Accord⯑ing to their ſyſtem, not only virtue muſt be approv'd of, but alſo the ſenſe of virtue: And not only that ſenſe, but alſo the prin⯑ciples, from whence it is deriv'd. So that nothing is preſented on any ſide, but what is laudable and good.

THIS obſervation may be extended to juſtice, and the other virtues of that kind. Tho' juſtice be artificial, the ſenſe of its mo⯑rality is natural. 'Tis the combination of men, in a ſyſtem of conduct, which renders [279] any act of juſtice beneficial to ſociety. But when once it has that tendency, we natu⯑rally approve of it; and if we did not ſo, 'tis impoſſible any combination or convention cou'd ever produce that ſentiment.

MOST of the inventions of men are ſub⯑ject to change. They depend upon humour and caprice. They have a vogue for a time, and then ſink into oblivion. It may, per⯑haps, be apprehended, that if juſtice were allow'd to be a human invention, it muſt be plac'd on the ſame footing. But the caſes are widely different. The intereſt, on which juſtice is founded, is the greateſt imaginable, and extends to all times and places. It can⯑not poſſibly be ſerv'd by any other inven⯑tion. It is obvious, and diſcovers itſelf on the very firſt formation of ſociety. All theſe cauſes render the rules of juſtice ſtedfaſt and immutable; at leaſt, as immutable as human nature. And if they were founded on ori⯑ginal inſtincts, cou'd they have any greater ſtability?

THE ſame ſyſtem may help us to form a juſt notion of the happineſs, as well as of the dignity of virtue, and may intereſt every principle of our nature in the embracing and cheriſhing that noble quality. Who in⯑deed does not feel an acceſſion of alacrity in [280] his purſuits of knowledge and ability of every kind, when he conſiders, that beſides the advantage, which immediately reſult from theſe acquiſitions, they alſo give him a new luſtre in the eyes of mankind, and are univerſally attended with eſteem and appro⯑bation? And who can think any advantages of fortune a ſufficient compenſation for the leaſt breach of the ſocial virtues, when he conſiders, that not only his character with regard to others, but alſo his peace and in⯑ward ſatisfaction entirely depend upon his ſtrict obſervance of them; and that a mind will never be able to bear its own ſurvey, that has been wanting in its part to man⯑kind and ſociety? But I forbear inſiſting on this ſubject. Such reflections require a work a-part, very different from the genius of the preſent. The anatomiſt ought never to emu⯑late the painter; nor in his accurate diſ⯑ſections and portraitures of the ſmaller parts of the human body, pretend to give his figures any graceful and engaging attitude or expreſſion. There is even ſomething hideous, or at leaſt minute in the views of things, which he preſents; and 'tis neceſſary the ob⯑jects ſhou'd be ſet more at a diſtance, and be more cover'd up from ſight, to make them engaging to the eye and imagination. An [281] anatomiſt, however, is admirably fitted to give advice to a painter; and 'tis even im⯑practicable to excel in the latter art, with⯑out the aſſiſtance of the former. We muſt have an exact knowledge of the parts, their ſituation and connexion, before we can de⯑ſign with any elegance or correctneſs. And thus the moſt abſtract ſpeculations concern⯑ing human nature, however cold and un⯑entertaining, become ſubſervient to practi⯑cal morality; and may render this latter ſci⯑ence more correct in its precepts, and more perſuaſive in its exhortations.